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sanguineterrain · 2 years ago

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i'll put us back together at heart - s.h.

Summary: It's 1987. You haven't spoken to Steve Harrington in nearly five years. Then Dustin Henderson tells you about a sweet deal he has at Family Video, where he can rent any movie he wants.

Pairing: ex-best friend!Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Word count: 8.8k

Warnings/tags: friends to strangers to lovers. the reader is twenty in 1987 and i technically made steve twenty-one/about to turn twenty-one. s4 happened but eddie's alive and vecna's dead. no earthquakes or anything like that; reader has no idea about what really happened. lots of angst, mentions of billy hargrove (yuck) and steve's s1 asshole friends.

A/N: oh my lord. i don't know where this eighteen-wheeler of a fic came from but here it is. there is a happy ending, not to worry. i'd never do that to y'all <3 feedback and reblogs are always always appreciated!

divider by firefly-graphics

August 1981

"I wish we could stay eighth graders forever."

You lift your head from your orange pool floaty. Steve drifts on the surface of the water. His hair is longer, way longer than you've seen it in the three years you've been friends. He says it's better for styling that way; he's even bought a gel and cream for his hair. You don't understand why he wants to change something that doesn't need changing.

"Why?" you ask. "I thought you were excited for high school."

He hums. The sound echoes in his backyard.

"It's bigger than middle school. More kids, more teachers, more work. I like eighth grade."

"I'll help you with your work," you say.

Steve turns his head and smiles at you. Part of his face is in the water, the image distorted.

"You'll do great," he replies. "You're so smart."

Steve doesn't say those things to get you to help him like other kids do. Steve means it.

"You'll do great too," you say. "You're funny and nice and my best friend. People will like you."

"You think?"

You nod. Steve turns his head and closes his eyes again.

"We'll stay friends, right?" he asks.

The floaty squeaks as you move to sit up. You paddle to Steve so you can look at his face.

"Why wouldn't we?"

"I dunno." His eyes are still closed. "You might make super smart friends. And I'll just be a dumbass holding you back."

You shove Steve's shoulder lightly.

"You are not dumb, Steve."

One muggy June night had had Steve admit he wasn't thirteen, like you and all the kids in your class, but fourteen. He had been held back in third grade after his parents moved from Illinois. It's why my brain's mush, he'd said. I was born dumb.

He had made you swear not to tell anyone.

"You're not dumb," you say again. "Say it, Steve. Say you're not dumb."

His frown deepens, but he still won't look at you.

"Tommy says I am."

"Tommy Hagan is a shithead," you shoot back with so much venom, Steve's eyes fly open. "It's not true, whatever he tells you."

You hate that they've been hanging out more this summer. You can't tell Steve that, because it's not like you own him. He can be friends with whoever he wants. But you can't help that your skin crawls when Tommy and his stupid girlfriend, Carol, drops by and pulls Steve away from you.

“Promise?” he asks.

“Yes, Steve. I promise.”

“‘Kay.” Steve smiles a little. “Thanks.”

You nod and lay back on the floaty.

“Wanna get ice cream after this?” he asks.

“Just us?”

“Just us.”

Now. (January, 1987)

You slam the phone back onto the receiver. A girl playing Pac-Man carefully glances at you.

Whoops. Right. You're still at work.

You smile and give a thumbs-up. She turns around. You return to your wallowing.

You’ve called three different video rentals. Jewel Films, which is about to go out of business; More Movies, whose attendant hung up on you before you could say Molly Ringwald; and finally, Blockbuster, which is thirty minutes outside of Hawkins. None of them have a copy of Pretty in Pink.

And okay. You could just watch another movie. You don't need that specific one. But this year has been shit. You'd thought after starting college, you'd finally break out of the Hawkins forcefield that had limited your social life. You'd thought you'd make friends and not be so terribly lonely. Life is supposed to get better after high school, isn’t it?

Obviously, whoever said that is a big, fat liar.

“Dude!” you hear a familiar voice exclaim. “Stop hogging the game!”

Tawny curls peek from under a green and yellow hat. The hat hovers over an older boy who’s glued to the Tempest booth. You go to them. Dustin Henderson lights up when he sees you. You can read his hat now; it says Camp Know Where ‘85.

“Hey, Y/N!” he greets brightly. “This guy has been here for a half hour. I left to get nachos and when I came back, he was still here.”

“I’m this close to beating my score!” the kid insists.

“Come on, guy," you say, one arm on the machine. "You gotta give other people a turn."

The kid, evidently demon incarnate, sneers at you.

“Who’s gonna make me? You?”

You lean against the side of the game, considering.

“How old are you?”

“Sixteen,” he says.

You snort.

“Sixteen? And you’re still on Tempest?”

He glances at you.

“So?”

“Everybody your age is playing Rampage, that’s all.”

You wink at Dustin. He beams.

“And, uh, I saw a couple girls hanging around Rampage,” you add.

The kid turns to you. You tilt your head innocently.

“Seriously?” he asks.

“Seriously. People always flock to the new games.”

Which is true. The girls part is not, but he doesn’t need to know that. With that attitude, he won't be getting many phone numbers anyway.

You drum your fingers on the game like you have all the time in the world. And sure enough, the kid takes his quarters and heads towards Rampage. Dustin jumps in delight.

“You’re awesome, Y/N!"

You grin. “I try. Where are the others?”

Dustin sours.

“They ditched me. To hang out with their girlfriends! Can you believe that shit?”

“No way!"

He shakes his head.

“I know, right? My friend told me that that’s what happens in high school. People change, y’know? And he’d know, I guess. He’s old like you.”

You scoff. “You make me sound like some kind of ancient. I’m not that old, Henderson.”

“It’s okay, Y/N.” He pats your arm. “In many cultures, the elderly are wise. Now in my experience, this hasn’t been the case. But I think you’re wise.”

“Gee, thanks.”

Dustin smiles like the little shit he is and puts his change in the slot.

“Well, contrary to what this other friend says, I’m sure it’ll pass,” you say. “You guys will hang out again."

You swallow your acidic truth. Dustin's a good kid, and so are his friends. You don't want him to turn cynical like you have. He's too young.

Dustin shrugs, starting the game.

“I guess so. I got a copy of The Lost Boys for us to watch on Friday. They said they’ll be there.”

“Whoa, seriously? That one just came out, how’d you get a copy?”

“My friend,” he says. “The one I mentioned. He works at Family Video and reserves stuff for me.”

“Huh. I thought Family Video was closed."

You'd applied to work there last year and never got a call back. You'd gone by once and it had looked abandoned. Hence why you now work at the arcade across town.

"It almost did, but Keith took over so now it's barely scraping by."

"Ah. Sweet deal on the movies."

“Yeah,” Dustin agrees, eyes crinkling. “My friend's pretty cool. You'd like him."

"Would I now?"

"Absolutely," he gushes. "He's a total badass too. He won his first fight last year. He used to be a jock but he's recovered."

"Wow. Impressive."

"Mmhm. I could ask him to hold stuff for you too, if you wanted.”

“You would?”

The game makes a sad game over noise. Dustin sighs and takes a gulp of his slushie.

“Yeah, totally,” he says through a mouthful of blue raspberry ice. “Which one do you want?”

“Pretty in Pink? I missed it in theaters."

“Sure. I’ll tell him to hold it tonight and tomorrow you can pick it up.”

“Cool. Thanks, Dustin.”

Dustin gives you an apple-cheeked grin.

“Gotta stay in good graces with the arcade attendant who lets me play Tempest as long as I want.”

"I don't know what you're talking about," you say, walking away. "Don't get slushie on the game."

"'Kay!"

Dustin only gets a little bit of slushie on the game, but he cleans it up with about a million of the cheap snack bar napkins. When he leaves, he tells you to mention his name at Family.

"Who do I ask for?"

"You can talk to either of them," Dustin says. "Doesn't matter. Except Keith. You know Keith, right?"

"Unfortunately.” Keith used to terrorize the arcade before he blessedly moved on. “He works there?"

"Barely." Dustin scoffs. "He's almost never there, so don't worry. And feel free to ask for more movies. They owe me one."

Your sole interactions are with professors and a gaggle of high school freshmen. But now you get to watch any movie you want. Maybe this year won't totally suck.

The bell rings pleasantly as you step inside. There's a few people on line, so you take your time walking in. There's a movie display with about thirty copies of RoboCop. A cardboard cutout of RoboCop stares back behind his red helmet.

"Can I help who's next?"

You go to the counter. A girl about your age with a choppy haircut smiles at you but it's sort of strained. She has a pin on her green work vest that says Ask me!

"Please don't ask for Adventures in Babysitting," she says.

"Oh. No, I'm, uh, Dustin's friend?"

You can't believe you're name-dropping a high schooler.

She nods in realization.

"Oh, yeah. God, I keep telling that dweeb not to promise holds."

You wince.

"Sorry. If it's going to get you in trouble…"

Her brows raise. She smiles a bit.

"No, it's okay. Usually my coworker deals with it but, well. He's taking an extra long break today. So, what movie was it?"

"Pretty in Pink," you say.

"Classic," she replies. "John Hughes fan?"

"Somewhat. I didn't get to see it in theaters. I like Molly Ringwald."

She grins.

"Me too. She's pretty."

"Super pretty," you agree.

The girl considers you, then sticks out her hand.

"I'm Robin," she says. "Nice to meet you."

You take her hand. "Y/N.”

"Did you go to Hawkins High?"

"I did. Graduated last year."

"Oh, cool. Are you in college?"

You nod.

"Hawkins State. Twenty minutes from here."

"Sweet! I'm taking a gap year, but afterwards, I’m gonna apply there. It's cheap. College is college, right?"

"College is college," you agree. "But I wish I'd gone away for school."

You don't know why you're telling her this. You've known Robin for all of two minutes. But she seems friendly. And her sense of style is cool. She wears a blue blazer and tie underneath her vest.

"How come?" she asks.

"Everybody from Hawkins is there," you say. "And I… I just want a new start."

Robin smiles sympathetically.

"They're jerks," she says.

You huff. "Yeah."

You'd turned yourself into a social recluse a million years ago. It's your own damn fault you can't befriend anybody in this town. At least, not anymore.

Robin types into the computer, then smacks the monitor. She groans.

"Ugh. Gimme a second," she says. "Stupid technology."

"No problem," you say, smiling. You like her. Maybe you can integrate Family Video into your regular routine, become friends. You can see Robin becoming a good friend. One you wouldn't grow apart from.

She disappears into the back room. You browse the old releases and stop at Die Hard. This one you saw in theaters. John McClane is a badass.

You think of Dustin, and his supposedly badass new friend. It's too bad you didn't meet today. Dustin has a good sense about people. If he says so, it's possible you and this friend really would get on.

The bell rings again. You're slow to look up. The entrance is empty when you do. You keep reading about John McClane's adventures.

"Have you been waiting long?"

You turn at the new voice. The video slips out of your hand and clatters onto the counter.

Steve’s hair has grown since you last saw it. He looks different too, though he has yet to break out of his signature church boy polos. There's a smattering of stubble on his jaw. His arms are lean with muscle. He wears a matching work vest like Robin's, name tag printed Steve in blocky font.

He looks at where you've dropped Die Hard and smiles.

"This is a good one," he says. "John McClane is a total badass."

You blink.

"Did you want to rent that one?" he continues, meeting your eye.

"No," you manage.

"Okay, no problem. Just browsing?"

He doesn't remember you.

You stare and stare. Steve leans in, concerned. He's changed, but he hasn't. He's still handsome with his swoopy hair and big, dark eyes, but the Steve you knew wouldn't have been caught dead working at a video store.

And he doesn't remember you.

"Are you okay?" he asks, sounding genuine.

You take a step back from the counter. The blood roars in your ears. Robin comes back in, Pretty in Pink in hand. She looks at you, then at Steve.

"Got it!" she tells you. "Computer should work now."

"I have to go," you say.

You don't look at Steve again, instead focusing on Robin.

Her brows rise.

"Oh. Is everything—"

"I forgot my wallet," you blurt. "I can't pay for the movie. Sorry."

"That's okay, we can just—"

You run. The bell chimes over her words. You keep running until you get to the bus stop, three blocks away.

Only there do you stop to catch your breath.

And then you cry.

February 1982

"What do you think about Marie?"

You look up from your textbook. Steve is doodling in the margins of his notes. You gently prod his arm. He returns to reading but his leg starts to bounce under the table.

"Marie Iverson?" you ask.

"Yeah."

Steve glances at you. He pushes his hair back. It had taken him freshman year to get his bearings with all the gels and creams, but now, his hair is a point of pride, always perfectly coiffed. Seniors call him "The Hair" and high-five him in the hallway. You hate it.

"I don't know. I don't know her that well."

"She's cute."

"I guess so," you say.

It's harder to get Steve to focus on homework these days. Last year, he happily made flashcards with you and even bought fancy gel pens to share for your notes. Now, he prefers to talk about girls or—

"I was thinking of asking her out."

The tip of your pencil breaks. You really ought to start using pens, but you don't like being unable to erase.

"Shit, here. Take mine."

Steve offers his still perfectly sharpened pencil. You stare at it.

"Y/N?"

"Yeah." You take the pencil. "Thanks."

"Sure. So what do you think?"

"I don't know, Steve. I thought you talked about this stuff with Tommy."

"I would, it's just…" Steve shifts uncomfortably. "He can be rude about it sometimes. He doesn't even get why we're friends, y'know? Doesn't understand why I don't just date you."

Tommy is a moron, but you've said that since last year, and Steve's never listened before.

"Some people don't get it," you say mildly, because you have an upcoming French test and there's no use in getting upset over Tommy Hagan right now.

"But you do. And you know about this stuff better than me. Girls and all."

"Just because I'm a girl doesn't mean I know what girls are best for you to date, Steve. It's weird to talk about."

Steve deflates.

"Oh. Yeah, I guess so. Sorry."

You sigh and rub your temple.

"I thought you knew all about that," you say, extending an olive branch. "Asking girls out and stuff."

"Well, I mean, I've kissed girls but I've never… you're, like, the only girl I really know."

Something like pride swells in your chest. Selfishly, you want to keep Steve. You don't want to help him if it means losing him. Oh, you're so greedy, aren't you? You watch Steve run off with Tommy and Carol and nameless seniors and seethe, because Steve was yours first. Steve is yours.

"Y/N?"

"Yeah." You give him back his pencil and fish for another one in your bag. "Did you ever think about writing how you feel?"

"Writing?"

"Yeah, like a poem or a letter."

"I'm terrible at writing," Steve laments. "The letters get all jumbled and I never spell a damn thing right."

He'd told his mom once how letters melt into each other, how b's become d's. She'd taken him to get his eyes checked, and when the doctor said Steve was fine, Deborah Harrington had told her son to stop begging for attention.

"Someone who really likes you won't care about spelling mistakes, Steve," you tell him. "As long as you write from the heart. Don't do that cheesy shit and quote Romeo and Juliet. They're young, impulsive, and they die at the end, and that's not romantic."

Steve laughs, nose scrunched.

"What!" you demand. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing, 's just—of course you'd have something to say about quoting Shakespeare."

"It's overdone," you say, crinkling your nose. "And girls would much rather read your own words."

"So you think I should write Marie a letter?"

"If you really like her," you say. "Only write letters for girls you really like. Otherwise they lose their meaning."

Steve frowns. "I don't know if I should write her a letter, then."

Don't, you want to say. Don't write any of them letters.

You shuffle your papers into a stack.

"Can we study now?" you ask.

"Oh, sure, yes. Sorry."

"You don't have to keep apologizing, Steve."

He shifts closer to you. His leg has stopped bouncing.

"Lemme take you out," he says.

You nearly swallow your tongue.

"Wh–what?"

"For ice cream," Steve clarifies. "Like we used to. Dairy Queen."

"Oh. Okay, sure. But after we study."

Steve beams. "I'll drive you."

Steve's dad had bought him the BMW as a birthday present this year—not that Richard Harrington actually knows when his own son's birthday is, considering the gift was three months early. Still, it's another point of pride for Steve and about all anybody talks about whenever his name comes up. Steve is the only person in your grade with a car. Junior girls hit him up for rides. You make yourself scarce when they do.

You don't care. You liked Steve before the car. And the clothes. And the hair.

Your throat feels tight. You want your best friend back.

"Just us?" you check.

You can't tell these days. Steve seems to hang out with everybody but you. You're shocked he'd even asked to study together.

"Oh, sure," Steve says. "I just have to drop off Tommy and Carol first, okay?"

You check your watch and close your book.

"I have class," you lie. "I'll see you later."

Steve catches your wrist. He looks at you and you're struck by how sweet his face is. It's not like you didn't understand why girls want him but it's Steve. Your Steve, who still sleeps with a nightlight and who framed a picture of a sports car he cut out from a magazine because he'd thought it would make him cooler (it didn't. You still tease him about it.)

"Please," he says. "For helping me."

Your eyes slit. "I didn't help you to get stuff, Steve. I helped you because you're my friend."

Steve blinks like he's forgotten what it's like to be friends with someone just for the sake of being friends.

"You're right," he agrees. "You're not like that. I'll tell Tommy and Carol to find another ride. It'll be just us. I promise."

You perk up at that. "Really?"

"Really. You can sit in the front with me and we'll play Bruce Springsteen, like we used to. Please?"

"Okay, Steve." You ache. You’ve never been very good at telling him no. "I'll meet you in the parking lot."

And maybe… maybe your best friend is still in there after all.

Now

You ask your shift manager if you can work at the snack bar today. It's in the back and you won't have to deal with any game hogs.

"You didn't put enough syrup in my slushie."

You might have overshot the perks, though.

Slushie Girl's hair is bleach blonde and hairsprayed to God. You want to tell her that all that hairspray doesn't keep friends. Or brain synapses.

"I don't make the slushie," you say for the third time. "That's how it comes out of the machine."

She shoots you a mean look.

"I'm complaining to the manager."

You paste on a smile.

"You do that. Have a nice day."

She finally walks away, probably on the hunt for your manager, who's definitely smoking a joint outside to avoid this exact situation.

Dustin comes around the corner and this time, he's with the rest of his party. You smile.

"Hey, Y/N!" Dustin greets.

Lucas waves at you. Max and Mike are arguing and therefore are in their own world. And there's their newest addition, El, whose story you're still not clear on, as well as Will, quiet as always.

You lean your elbows on the countertop.

"What'll it be, gang?"

"Six nachos and six slushies, please. One blue raspberry, three cherry, and two Coke."

You fill up the slushies first. Dustin dances on his toes.

"So did you pick up the movie?" he asks.

"Oh." You try to smile. "I went there but I couldn't. I forgot my money. Pretty dumb of me."

Dustin accepts this with no argument.

"Well, you can go back. They'll hold it for a few days."

You're never setting foot in there again, but you don't tell Dustin that.

He takes his slushie and immediately starts drinking.

"Slow down, dude. You'll get a brain freeze," you say.

"You sound like Steve," Dustin informs you. "Doesn't Y/N sound like Steve?"

Lucas nods.

"Yup. They're both parents."

You feel queasy. You focus on making the nachos, the cheese pouring out thick and gooey.

"Did you meet Steve?" Dustin asks. "You probably know him from high school, but he's different now."

"Yes," you say quietly. "I knew him."

"I promise he's different. Even Mike likes him, and Mike hated his guts. Right, Mike?"

Mike pauses in his animated discussion with Max and looks at you.

"What?"

"I'm telling Y/N about how Steve is cool now," Dustin explains.

"Oh." Mike shrugs. "He's fine. Much better now that he's not dating my sister."

"He's not?" you ask. "But they were in love. I–I mean, that's what I heard, at least."

"She dumped his ass," El says, and it sounds a little ridiculous in her soft monotone.

Max scoffs, taking her Coke slushie.

"Did you live under a rock? It was a huge thing."

"Now Steve is lame," Mike says with a snort.

"Getting dumped doesn't make somebody lame," you say with an old ferocity you'd thought had disappeared.

"Okay, jeez." Mike holds up his hands. "Steve's alright. He's different, that's for sure."

"He's our paladin," Lucas says. "A protector."

Dustin nods eagerly.

You blink. "He protects you guys?"

Max elbows Lucas. You have no idea what that's about. El steps forward and smiles softly.

"Yes," she says. "He's our babysitter."

"Aren't you guys freshmen? I thought you were too old for babysitters."

"Oh no, Steve doesn't get paid for it or anything," says Mike. "He just does it 'cause he has nothing else to do."

"That's not true!" Dustin argues. Then he shrugs. "Well, it's a little true. But he does like us. He's a good guy. He cares about his friends."

You bite your tongue, not wanting to reply to that.

"That's great, guys. The girl, Robin? She seems pretty cool too."

"That's Steve's best friend," says Dustin. "She's great."

"Oh." You wince. "Best friend?"

Dustin huffs. “Yeah. They don’t date. He won’t say why."

"Platonic with a capital P," Max confirms. “It’s obviously because he’s in love with somebody else.”

“Not Nancy!” Lucas protests.

“There are other girls besides Nancy, Sinclair.”

You busy yourself with serving the last set of nachos. The kids pull out crumpled bills and coins in return. You count the money and stack it directly into the register; you know there won't be any change.

When you turn, they're still there. Dustin has his signature grin on, eyes squinty.

"Yeees," you drag out. "Can I help you?"

"We need a favor," Lucas says. "Please."

"Hmm." You lean over the counter. "What's up?"

"They're showing Prince of Darkness on Friday," Dustin explains. "But it's rated R."

"So just sneak in. Isn't that what you guys did at Starcourt?" you ask.

"We had an inside man then. They're a lot stricter at the new one," Lucas frowns. "They ask for IDs 'cause some mom complained after her kid snuck in to watch Risky Business."

"And why can't your babysitter take you?"

You sneer at the thought. Steve spending his Friday nights herding a bunch of adolescent teens into a movie theater. There's a reason you consider Dustin affectionately delusional.

"He has a stupid date," Dustin groans. "He's a serial dater, Y/N. It's terrible. He gets lucky once and totally ditches us."

Now that sounds like the Steve you knew.

"I see. I don't really like horror stuff."

"You don't have to stay!" Dustin insists. "You can watch whatever you want after we’re in. I'll pay you back for the ticket."

“This would be so much easier if Steve still worked at Scoops,” Mike grumbles.

You blank for a moment, the image of Steve in a sailor’s hat and those ridiculous shorts whiting your brain.

“Um,” you begin. “You know I don’t have a fancy BMW to cart you guys around in, right?”

“It’s cool. We’ll get there,” Max says.

“So?” Dustin bounces on his toes. “Sooo?”

You sigh. It’d been nice of Dustin to get you the movie, even though you’d chickened out and ran. And it’s not like you have anything better to do.

“Okay,” you say. “I’ll get you guys in.”

Dustin pumps his fist. “Thanks, Y/N! You’re my favorite old person.”

You roll your eyes. “Funny. Any funnier, and I might rescind my help, Henderson.”

“Byeeee!”

They all disperse to the arcade. You wonder how on earth Steve got involved with them.

March 1983

“Okay, but if you had to choose.”

“Pass. I would literally rather swallow pennies than kiss Principal Coleman’s bald-ass head, Steve.”

Steve takes a triumphant swig of beer. “So you’re saying you’ve got the hots for Benny the janitor.”

“No!” you insist through giggles. “I don’t. God, you’re gross. Can’t believe I’m being treated like this on your birthday.”

“Exactly! My birthday.”

He rolls onto his side in his deck chair and nearly faceplants on the cement. You reach out, reaction time delayed.

“Steve!” you yell. “Careful.”

“I am, I am,” he mumbles, and rights himself on the chair. “Jus’ wanna see you better.”

“I keep telling you you need glasses.”

“I do not,” he whines. “My vision’s ten outta ten. Could a guy who needs glasses do this?”

He crumples up a Twinkies wrapper and throws it towards the garbage. The wind picks up and sends the wrapped into the pool.

“Shit,” he says.

You belly laugh in delight.

“Wait, wait, redo. Go fish it outta there.”

“Oh, as if. I’m not going in there. I told you you need glasses. Even Mother Nature agrees.”

"She does not. Mother Nature thinks I'm a doll."

You hum and close your eyes. Alcohol always makes you sleepy.

The chair scrapes against the concrete. You hear a crinkle of a chip bag. Those are your only warning before you’re crushed by two hundred pounds of drunk boy.

“Steve!” You wheeze, squirming as his hair tickles your face. “Get off!”

"’M sleepy,” he mumbles.

“Well, don't sleep on me, weirdo.”

“‘S cold.”

“You run, like, a hundred degrees, don’t lie.”

He lifts his head. “So you’re saying I’m hot?”

“I’m saying all that booze cooked your brain,” you reply sweetly.

“I’ve been wounded,” he moans and plops onto your shoulder.

“Ugh.” You resign to your fate and lean back. Steve’s not actually that heavy; even drunk, he has a lot of control over his weight and he’s situated himself so he isn’t crushing anything important. No, you squirm underneath him for a very different reason.

“Steeeeve,” you whine. “You’re gonna squish me into a pancake.”

“Can’t believe no one else came.”

You still. Steve’s face remains buried in your shoulder. His body is beside yours, and he has an arm slung over your belly.

“I didn’t—didn’t want a party,” he continues. “I always throw parties. I thought I’d do somethin’ different. An’ none of them even wished me a happy birthday. ‘Cept you.”

You rest your hand on the back of his hair. It’s wind-blown and messy from the drinks, free of his heady hair gel. You’ve never loved it more.

“Did you tell them your birthday is today?” you ask gently, even though you know he did.

“Yeah,” he says. “Told all of ‘em. Guess they weren’t listening.”

“I listen.”

Steve looks up at you. His eyes are glassy.

“God, I miss you,” he says.

You feel the wall you’ve built this year crumble, just a little.

“I’m right here, Steve.”

“I know but—been a jerk lately. I know I have. You’re my best friend, okay? Nothing’ll change that. I–I love you so much.”

Your breath hitches. Steve barrels on, not noticing.

“And I’ll be better. We’ll hang out more. Not–not here, drunk. But for real. We’ll go to the movies. Y’wanna see a movie?”

“Yeah,” you whisper. “I wanna see a movie.”

“‘Kay, what movie? Anything you want. We’ll get popcorn and Raisinets.”

“You hate Raisinets,” you choke through a watery laugh.

“I’d eat Raisinets anytime with you.”

You lay there, in the dark, the only sound being the pool filter.

“Let’s watch the new James Bond.”

“Hmm, okay. But you’ll have to say the name eventually.”

Your nose crinkles. “I am not calling it by its name.”

His laugh is warm in your neck.

You don’t tell Steve to get up again. He snuggles into you, leg over yours. You fall asleep like that, curled underneath him.

Now

“Wait.” Max stops. “Shouldn’t we have, like, a game plan?”

“Game plan?” El asks quietly.

“Yeah. Some of us aren’t so great at playing it cool.”

She stares at Lucas.

“I play it cool!” he squawks. “I am so cool!”

“Right.”

“Just let Y/N do the talking,” Will says. “She’s technically the adult so she should act like this is a conscious choice.”

You shrug. “Makes sense to me.”

Dustin beams. “This is gonna be great!”

“Or a total disaster,” Max says.

You go to the counter, the kids trailing behind like ducklings.

“Six tickets for Prince of Darkness, please,” you say. “And uh, one for Dirty Dancing.”

The attendant looks at you, then at the kids.

“Don’t you mean seven tickets for Prince of Darkness?” she asks. “It’s rated R.”

Shit. “Right, yes. Sorry. Seven tickets. And one for Dirty Dancing. We have another friend who’s late.”

“Uh-huh.”

The attendant, whose bored expression you’ve recognized on your own face after long days in the arcade, hands you your tickets without any questioning.

“I think we’re in the clear,” Lucas whispers when you enter the concession area.

You wait for them to buy their snacks. Max persuades Lucas to let her mix M&Ms into their bucket of popcorn. He agrees and shuffles closer so they’re pressed shoulder to shoulder while they share.

“Okay, last stretch,” Mike says, shoveling a frighteningly large handful of sour worms into his mouth. “We just have to get past the ticket guy.”

Said ticket guy is a kid who can’t be much older than you. You think you might’ve gone to school together, but you’ve made it a point to eviscerate everything about high school from your mind.

“Hey,” you say, trying to act cool. Maybe you’re the one Max should’ve been worried about, instead of Lucas. “Uh, here are our tickets.”

He takes the tickets, then looks behind you.

“Prince of Darkness is only for people seventeen and older,” he says.

“I’m an adult, so I’m with them,” you explain. “I’m, like, their guardian?”

“Yeah, uh—” He hands you your tickets. “No can do. There needs to be an adult for each person under seventeen.”

“Come on,” you cajole. “They’re high schoolers. It’s not like they’re gonna be scarred for life watching some zombies, or whatever.”

He shrugs. “Rules are rules.”

“She’s an adult!” Dustin argues.

“Look, if you’re gonna hold up the line, I’m gonna have to—”

“Yo, Gillespie! That you?”

Dustin turns and lights up. The seven of you part for Steve Harrington and his date, a pretty strawberry blonde you think you had biology with.

“Harrington, man, what’s up!”

Ticket Prick gets up to slam Steve into a bear hug. You barely resist an eye roll.

“Shit, I haven’t seen you in a year! Where’ve you been all this time? Hey, did you hear about that shit with Munson?”

Steve flinches. It’s a tiny movement, indiscernible to the trained eye. But it’s there all the same.

“Gillespie, c’mon. Don’t bring the party down with that,” Steve says, all sweet charm.

“Sorry, sorry. Daisy,” he greets the girl attached to Steve’s arm.

“Gil,” she replies with a giggle. “You smell like popcorn butter.”

America’s future taxpayers. Terrifying.

“Are you gonna let us in or not?” Max interrupts, arms folded.

You feel a burst of pride.

Gil shoots her a dirty glare and puffs up, ready to fight a fourteen year old. Steve cuts in smoothly.

“Gillespie, listen. I know her.” He points to you. You bristle. “I can personally vouch that she’s just trying to do right by these kids. They wanted to see Prince of Darkness, y’know? Get away from the parents.”

“It’s a sick film,” Gil agrees. “You seen it?”

No, of course Steve hadn’t seen it. He hates horror.

“Planning on it,” Steve says, the ultimate image of playing it cool. “Look, you remember sneaking into the movies. Fast Times? Ring any bells?”

Max rolls her eyes. You’re inclined to do the same.

Gil laughs dopily, and nudges Steve. “Hell yeah, I do. That was a crazy night, Harrington.”

Steve smiles thinly. “Sure was. So whaddya say? For old times’ sake?”

Gil considers your little troupe. Then he shrugs.

“Why not. Manager’s not here anyway.”

He takes the tickets and tears them to stubs, then gives them back.

“Theater six. On your left. Enjoy.”

The kids stampede into the left theater wing. You hang back with your own ticket.

“Appreciate it, man,” Steve says, all smiles. “Take care, alright?”

“Hey, you too, Harrington! We gotta catch up!”

Steve and Daisy go in. You expect them to walk right past you, and Daisy does, predictably. But Steve stops.

“I’ll catch up, okay?” he tells her. “Find us some good seats?”

She paws at him a little, then goes, sodas in hand. You stiffen as Steve walks and stops three feet away from you.

“Hey,” he says. “Sorry about that. Gil’s an asshole.”

“I know. He yawned during my poetry reading sophomore year. And then you guys went to the movies together.”

Steve shrinks. “Your poems were great.”

You’re suddenly exhausted.

“What do you want, Steve?”

“I just… I wanted to see you. Say hi.”

“Okay.” You cross your arms. “Hi.”

“You forgot your movie,” he says. “The other day.”

“I didn’t want it that much.”

“Dustin said you looked everywhere for it.”

“Well, in the end, it didn’t really matter,” you say. “Not enough to stay.”

“Y/N—”

“I think your date’s waiting for you,” you interrupt. “Better get back to her. Wouldn’t want to taint your reputation.”

Steve makes a noise like he’s been wounded. You turn on your heel before you can think better of it.

“Wait.” He catches your wrist. Steve’s grip is light, like you’re something precious to hold. You wrench your arm away. “Y/N, I want to apologize. I’m sorry.”

“For what?” you ask. “For forgetting me? I didn’t expect you to remember, Steve.”

“I didn’t forget you,” he insists. “I could never forget you. I wasn’t—please, can I just explain?”

“I don’t need your explanations,” you snap. The hurt corrodes your tongue like acid. “I know what happened. We were both there. You left.”

Steve’s eyes are huge and dark. He looks like you just stabbed him in the heart, and that makes you feel worse. You’d thought telling him how much it hurts would put you back together, but all it did was break you more.

So you run. Again.

You slam through a back exit and rip your ticket into a million pieces. The wind is cold and unforgiving. Your eyes sting.

You call out sick for two days in a row. You kind of expect to get fired, but then again, people have been leaving Hawkins and if you’re not here to serve the masses their slushies, who will be?

So, after lying in bed not thinking about movies and strawberry blonde girls and how sick you are of this town, you get up and put on your arcade vest.

Now it is two in the afternoon. You’d heard it was supposed to snow today.

Robin eyes the snack counter like it holds the next plague outbreak. You don't blame her; you make it a point to wash up to your elbows after work.

"Slushie?"

She looks at you like she’d forgotten you were there. "What?"

You point a thumb at the machine. "Are you here for a slushie?"

"Oh. No, sorry. Red dye makes me insane in the brain. Steve actually—"

Robin stops, grimaces. So he's told her. Probably everything, if the kids had been telling the truth.

You're honestly surprised she's here. Unless it’s to, like, swirlie you in the vat of artificial cheese.

"Are you here to drown me in nacho cheese?" you ask.

Robin's eyes go wide as dinner plates. "What? No!"

"Just checking." You lean against the counter. "What can I do for you, Robin?"

Robin suddenly looks like she's never interacted with a human being before. You like her a lot. Steve probably does too.

"I came to drop off your movie." She holds the tape over the counter like it's a pool of lava.

"But I didn't pay for it." You shove your hand in your jean pocket; you only have a couple dollars on you. "I guess I can get you the money tom—"

"It's on the house. For a fellow Molly fan."

Robin wiggles the tape with two fingers. You take it and wait for a catch. There is none.

"Thank you," you say. "You didn't have to do that."

"Actually, it wasn't me," she confesses. "I'm just the mailman."

You prepare to hand it back but Robin shakes her head.

"He's not going to pop out of the slushie machine, okay? He's just trying to make it up to you."

"He doesn't need to make it up to me," you bite, except those aren’t the words you mean. "Why does he even care? We're not in high school anymore."

Robin smiles a sad smile.

"I know," she says. "We’re not. I know he should've known to fix things earlier. He's received a lot of blows to the head, though, so he's still catching up."

The thought turns your stomach. More? More you weren’t there to protect him from?

"He doesn't owe me anything," you say and wave the tape again. "You can take it back and leave it for somebody else."

"Y/N, I know we don't know each other, like, at all. But it's important to me you know that Steve cares about you, because you’re important to him. And you knew him way before I did, and you probably know a lot of stuff I don't, and that's good because he has a friend like me, but he should also have a friend like you too, Y/N."

"I don't want to be his friend," you mumble.

"Yeah," Robin says. "I figured. But I don't think that's a confession he should hear secondhand."

You look at her, stunned. She's such a clever girl. You hope she treats Steve well.

"If you two are—"

"We're not," she says, like this is a regular explanation she goes through. "Steve and I are friends. Steve has crashed and burned with every single date since his fall from regency. Steve is the best person I've ever met."

"Yeah, I’ve heard. You and Dustin are his biggest fans."

Robin snorts. "Trust me, I'm not proud of it."

You shake your head. Your eyes feel hot.

"This town is so shit," you say.

"Yeah," Robin agrees. "It really fucking is. But I'm not asking you to give this town a second chance. Just him."

"Why are you trying so much?" you ask. "You don't even know me."

Robin shrugs. "No, but you're the one person Steve used to be friends with who's not an asshole, and I think us non-assholes need to band together."

"I can sometimes be an asshole."

"Me too. So are those little dweebs. How about calling ourselves the Semi-Assholes Club?"

You laugh. "We'll get jackets."

"With partially drawn butts on the backs," Robin says with a giggle.

You look at the tape in your hand.

"Does Steve like John Hughes?"

"He does. He's a total sap for those. He thinks he's in his own coming-of-age movie because he's delusional."

He sounds perfect. He sounds like the friend you loved.

"I did want to watch this one," you say.

"It won't hurt you to," Robin promises.

You suppose not.

December 1984

You don't believe the whispers. All week, the rumor mill spins tales of Billy Hargrove finally pushing the King off his throne. There's no way he'll show his face, a girl at the adjacent lunch table astutes. I sure as fuck wouldn't.

Steve Harrington is a loser. Steve Harrington got dumped for Jonathan Byers. Steve Harrington may as well be dead, and on and on.

Every line gets you angrier. A boy who sits behind you in chemistry taps his pencil like he always does. Tap, tap, tap.

Halfway through class, you snap at him to quit it. He does, but not without a tinge of embarrassment. You’re so angry this year. Angry at your loneliness, angry at the unfairness of said loneliness. You might’ve done this to yourself, and that fact only gets you angrier.

You see Nancy Wheeler in the hallways with Jonathan Byers, and the confirmation of that rumor should make you happy. It doesn't.

A week later, most of the excitement has died down. Everybody’s moved onto the next big thing, which is to deduce who fucked in Vice Principal White's office. One look at V.P. White, and it had been decided that it can't have been White himself.

You can't care less. Once upon a time you might’ve laughed about it with a friend, but you don't have any more of those, and high school is bullshit with or without them. So.

Steve walks in twenty five minutes into the period. Mrs. Kaplan gives him a downright beastly glare and demands to know where he had been.

"I'm sorry," is all he says. "If you give me detention, I understand."

There are a few snickers that rub at an old hurt, one that had flared up whenever somebody dared to make fun of your best friend. It doesn't bother me, he'd said, and you'd known it was a lie.

It bothers me, you’d replied, and Steve had hugged you tight.

Mrs. Kaplan seems more stunned Steve hadn't swaggered past her like a peacock escaped from the zoo and lets him go sit down without a fight. He takes the only empty desk, two rows across from you. You stare. You can't not.

Half of his face looks like it was mashed in a garbage disposal. It's purple and a sickly yellow. His eye and lip are still swollen. You stare and stare. You feel queasy.

Billy had done that. You're so angry. You think you might never get past this grief, this loss of a once permanent fixture in your life.

No one wished Steve a happy birthday this year, you realize out of nowhere.

You stare and stare and stare until Steve looks right back. You're blindsided by thick guilt, like blinking through a milkshake. And then the familiar curl of anger returns because why the fuck should you feel guilty? You aren't the one who fucked everything up, who mascerated this good thing. Steve did this to himself. Steve deserves to walk the halls alone. It's Steve's fault.

But when you look at him, at his raw wounds, at his bruised knuckles, you know that he already believes he deserves every punch Billy Hargrove gave him.

You hate Steve Harrington. But you really wish you'd been there to drive him to the hospital.

Now (And Forever)

The tape sits buried in your drawer for three days. You don’t know what Family Video’s return policy is, but you hope you’re not racking up late fees. You doubt name dropping Dustin will work again.

It’s Saturday when you decide to watch Pretty in Pink. You remove the video from its sleeve. An envelope falls out.

The front has your name printed in squished, loopy script. You remember January at Steve’s house, a stack of thank-you cards courtesy of his mother awaiting the Harringtons’ sign-off. Steve’s hand would cramp and you’d take over while he made grilled cheese for the both of you. Love, The Harringtons, and there was no love in that house, but you think maybe Steve loved enough to make up for it.

Hi, the letter begins. I hope you’re good. Robin told me you’re going to Hawkins State.

That’s fucking amazing. I’m so proud of you. Are you still writing poetry? I liked that one you wrote about the birds who shared a branch and kept each other warm. I still have it in my notebook in my room.

I’m sorry for the other night. I’m sorry for every night since freshman year, honestly. I’m kind of a dumbass, but you know that, so it doesn’t really excuse anything. I think I’ve actually lost brain cells since we drifted apart.

You crumple the corner, suddenly hot with anger. Who keeps telling him he’s dumb? You want names.

I didn’t forget you, you know. I got scared and I thought maybe I could ease into it, but then you recognized me and… well. I don’t blame you for running.

Anyway. I’m talking too much about myself, when there’s nothing to say. I’m really sorry about what I did, or, actually, what I didn’t do. Somebody told me I was living on autopilot, and that it wasn’t really living at all. I think it was you.

I’m not living on autopilot anymore. I woke up. And I realized that you’re the best fucking thing that’s ever happened to me. I love Robin and the kids and this little family that has apparently invayd invaded your life too. Sorry about that. They never leave and they eat all your food. Good luck.

But I miss you. I always have.

Shit happened these last few years that I’ll tell you about one day, if you want. I’d rather not, though, because you’ve always been the paranoiac (like that one? Robin said it’s an SAT word) of the two of us and I feel like this would just make you even more of one. But I will tell you, if you want to hear it. I want to tell you everything. I want you to tell me everything too. Like we used to.

I want you to tell me how college is going. Who the annoying jerks in your classes are so I can go beat them up (kidding). I want you to stop by to rent movies so I can lend them for free and you’ll yell at me about taking advantage of fre friendships.

Fuck, I miss you. It’s always been there, bubbling below the surface. I never stopped missing you. I never stopped loving you. I’m sorry I didn’t write this sooner. I know you said writing is how we express things we can’t say. You were right. You always are. Can’t believe I forgot that.

It’s okay if you don’t want to be friends. I mean, it hurts, but I respect it. I understand. Most days, I can’t believe people can bear to be around me. But then I hear your voice in my head, telling me that most people are shitheads and that I’m golden and. Well, I don’t know if I believe that, but you were right that most of the people I surrounded myself with were shitheads. Except you, of course. And then I went ahead and fucked that up.

I’ve been working on finding the non-shitheads of the world. I think I’m doing pretty well. And I wrote this because I realized that while I will probably end up buried in this fucking town, you’re going to do something incredible. And nothing incredible ever happens in Hawkins, so I figure you’ll be far away when you do it.

I didn’t want to miss this chance to write things I never said. So here they are. And you can do whatever you want with them. You’ve always been the best of the two of us. I trust you.

You should watch Dirty Dancing. You’ll like it. I did. I’ll see it again if you want. I’ll watch anything with you.

Did you know there’s another Bond movie coming out in the summer? We could watch that one together too. If you wanted more time to decide.

Sincer

Your friend,

Steve

You don’t bother ejecting the tape. You run all the way to the bus stop, Steve’s letter in hand.

You have to see him. No other thoughts register except that one. You have to know if Steve wrote these words because he can’t say them or because you won’t listen.

It isn’t too late when you get to Loch Nora. The neighborhood is dead, which is weird. Steve’s house looks frozen in time: his parents’ car isn’t in the driveway. You wonder if they’ve ever come back since you’ve been gone. You wouldn't be surprised if the answer is no.

There’s a tarp over the pool. The gate is locked with a chain. You can’t sneak in through the fence like you used to. Not that you would. You don’t think strangers can sneak through pool gates.

You knock on the door three times. And wait.

Steve’s car is in the driveway, a duller burgundy than when he first got it. There are a few scratches in the paint. No longer a prized possession. Maybe well-loved instead.

The door swings open.

Steve says your name like a prayer. You swallow and steel your spine.

“I got your letter,” you say.

“Oh.” He rubs the back of his neck. His hair is damp like he’s just showered. It curls around his ears. Waves of want hit you.

“I don’t want to be friends,” you continue before he can speak. “I don’t—I can’t do that again.”

Steve’s mouth draws into the saddest frown you’ve ever seen.

“Okay,” he says softly. “Thank you for telling me.”

“No.” You shake your head. “No, that’s not—I don’t mean it like that.”

His brows knit. “What?”

“I…” You pull out the letter and wave it. “Did you mean it? Do you love me?”

“Yes,” Steve whispers. It’s like a shout in the quiet street. “I meant it.”

“Like a friend?”

“If that’s what you want.”

“Will you love me like a friend forever?” you ask.

“Always.”

You squeeze your eyes shut.

“I love you as something more,” you blurt, watery. “I have for a long time.”

You hear the door shut. This is it: your heart on the line, all for nothing—

“Then I’ll love you as something more back,” Steve says. “I’ll love you any way you want me to.”

And he holds you the way you’d held him so many times. You inhale and wrap your arms around his neck. You’ve got an iron grip around the letter. Tears slip down your cheeks.

“I missed you,” you confess.

Steve nods against your shoulder.

“Yeah,” he says, and it sounds a little wet. “I missed you too.”

“You were wrong,” you say into his neck.

“Hmm?”

You pull back to look at Steve.

“Incredible things do happen in Hawkins.”

“Oh, yeah?” Steve smiles, cheeks blotchy. “Like what?”

“We found each other again.”

#steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x yn #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things x reader #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things x you #stranger things imagine #stranger things fic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington angst #friends to lovers #strangers to lovers #friends to strangers to lovers

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pinkkittysaw · 1 year ago

Text

FIVE NIGHTS AT MIKE’S

pairing: mike schmidt x plus sized! female reader

summary: you spend the night at your boyfriend’s place

word count: 5,735

content: NSFW (minors + ageless blogs DNI, you will be blocked!) post canon (but still in the year 2000), established relationship, dry humping, oral (f! receiving), fingering (f! receiving), minor pussyjob, breast/nipple play, protected sex (use of condom), intimacy kink, both reader and mike have pubes

a/n: does anyone else miss blockbuster? because i do 😔 long live physical media! also i did my due diligence and calculated prices of things to my best of my ability for the year 2000 so even if my price match isn’t EXACT, it’s close. this ended up…unexpectedly softer than i thought it would. never did i think i would be stringing sentences together like this to describe mike from FNAF but alas, here we are ^_^

dividers by @/kimjiho1 & @/saradika

"See ya, rugrat," you say to the eager girl as she hugs both you and her brother at the entrance of their front door. She huffs, only slightly, when you ruffle her brunette curls, sporting a faint pout once she pulls away from your hold. You chuckle, kneeling to her height, before attempting to fix the mess you created, smoothing out the hairs that lay atop her head the best you could.

"Call us if you need anything, okay?" Mike repeats for the nth time that night since Abby started getting ready.

"Yeah, yeah." Abby dismisses her brother completely, heading toward the car parked in the driveway after she decides that her hair looks satisfactory enough.

It was a Friday night, both you and Abby had sleepover plans, her at a friend's house and you over at Mike's. Abby was so devastated when she found out that your sleepovers fell on the same day as each other—intentional planning on both your and Mike's part—that she almost bailed on her school friends. It was only when you promised to have a special girl's night with her the next time you stayed over that she eventually yielded, going through with her original plans for the weekend.

She was initially invited by one of her school friends. After Mike had sat through one of the world's most awkward conversations with Abby's friend's mom—one he made sure to recount once they arrived home—he decided that it was probably in her best interest to let her go out and socialize like this while she was still young enough to do so, despite whatever unspoken worries he had about her going off and spending the night on her own for the first time.

"Love you!" Abby yells from the rear car door before opening it and getting inside. The seats are filled with excitable little girls and one slightly apprehensive mom who smiles at you through the windshield. Though the sound is slightly muffled, Mike repeats the same words back to his sister.

He may not be the most outwardly affectionate person, but after taking even the tiniest glimpse into their lives, it's obvious that he cares. Whether that's shown through him triple-checking her pack before she leaves for the evening, giving her friend's mom a list of her safe foods so that she doesn't go hungry, or reminding her numerous times that she can always call home if she needs to because no matter how independent she's become, it's okay to still need your older brother. Although you're sure Mike would say that he's anything but a good older brother.

Abby waves to you both as the car pulls out of the lot before she turns back to her friends again. You and Mike stand waving in the entryway as it turns off onto the street, leaving an empty spot in its wake.

"She's come a long way," you comment, turning your head towards him as he continues to stare out onto the pavement.

"Yeah."

You're unable to help the way your eyes roll at his statement, though it's lighthearted in nature. "It's thanks to you, you know." You nudge him in the side with your elbow.

"I think you had a hand in it too," he chuckles, smirking as his eyes meet yours.

"Just accept the compliment, Mike." You pat his shoulder, then turn on your heels to head back indoors, with him following suit.

"So...what should we do now?"

"I got a spare ten; wanna rent a movie?" You reach down for your wallet that's tucked in your overnight bag sprawled on his couch, pulling out the ten-dollar bill and puffing it between your fingers. "Let me treat you, baby," you coo, twirling around with the money in hand.

He scoffs a little at the display but still reaches for his keys and jacket off the rack. "Let's go."

The drive to the video rental store is a short one, as most of your time is spent lip-syncing songs to Mike that play through the static of his shitty radio.

Once you arrive, you divide and concur. Since Mike got to choose the movie last time, it was your turn, leaving him in charge of the snacks. You take your time leisurely perusing through the aisles, trying to find something that looks interesting enough before making your way to the "New Releases" section. It takes a while before anything catches your eye, but as you keep wandering, a title eventually jumps out at you.

You pick up the VHS and make your way over to check it out. Mike's waiting for you at the end of the aisle, his arms filled with popcorn, soft drinks, and candy. The two of you walk side by side over to the counter, where he drops all his snacks, and you slide over the movie. He lifts the corner of the box to look at the title before the case makes its way toward the cashier.

"American Psycho?" He asks, raising a brow.

"Yeah." You hand over the cash and your ID. "A coworker of mine said it was good, plus the trailer looked...interesting." You smile. "Why? Are you scared of a little horror film?"

"In your dreams."

"Guess we'll see about that, won't we?"

After thanking the cashier and collecting your bagged items, the two of you head back to his car.

It's not long after that the two of you arrive back at Mike's place, having changed out of your day clothes into pajamas.

After feeding the tape into the VCR, you plop back onto the sofa, sinking into the cushions, popcorn in hand, and snuggling into Mike's side.

Around six minutes into the movie, you comment in between bites of popcorn. "I know this movie is rated R, but I honestly wasn't expecting to see Christain Bale's ass."

Mike doesn't say anything in return, just side-eyeing you with a simple "Uh huh."

By the time the credits roll, both of your tummies are full of salty popped kernels and sweets, the evidence of which lies on his coffee table in the form of empty bags and wrappers.

Your bodies have shifted positions since the movie started. He's lying on his back, his body spread along the length of his couch, with you on your tummy nestled on top of him. Your cheek is squished against the space between his neck and shoulder, breathing him in while his chin rests on top of your head, his fingertips drawing slow circles on the small of your back.

The sensation makes you drowsy, both due to his warmth and the methodical motions of his fingers lulling you into an almost slumber.

"So, were you scared?" You tease, breaking through the serene atmosphere.

"Hm?" He mumbles, slow blinking himself to a higher state of alertness. It seems as if he too has been lulled into falling asleep on the couch alongside you.

"Were you scared?" you reiterate.

"Definitely not."

"Yeah... it felt more like a thriller than a 'horror' movie, I guess."

Mike hums in agreement, the two of you lying in silence before he speaks up again. "We should probably get off the couch now, hm?"

You groan a little, not wanting to move from your comfy position on top of him.

"Says who?" You fold your forearms across his sternum, settling your chin on top of your hands.

"Me." He quips, "It's getting late."

You huff, maneuvering your body so you can stretch and look at the clock on his wall. "It's only ten p.m." His eyes aren't open, but they don't need to be for him to tell that you have a pout on your face.

In your best attempt to dissuade him, you settle yourself back in the crux of his neck. "The night is still young."

"Says the one who was snoring up a storm on top of me a few minutes ago," he titters, poking your sides lightly so you'll fold in on yourself. "Using me as her personal pillow."

You don't engage anymore, choosing to stay right where you are in silence. If you don't talk, then no conversation needs to be had, and you can stay where you are.

"Fine," he grumbles, effectively giving up. "We can stay like this a little longer." His fingers change positions now, moving from their persistent prodding to dragging the tips up and down your spine underneath your shirt.

"You're warm."

"You're warm...and snuggly... and safe." You plant a kiss on the exposed skin from the opening in his shirt.

"Safe? Never heard that one before." He smirks to himself amusedly.

"Don't start all that now," you tell him, looking up from your spot nestled in his neck.

"It's true," he retorts, "not sure any of my former employers would agree with you."

"First off, your previous employer was an actual madman. Secondly, I'm not one of your employers; I'm your girlfriend, and thirdly, you should know by now that I don't give a fuck about corporate."

Mike looks off to the side, not meeting your eyes. "You're not exactly a good influence on me, you know," he jokes.

"I never claimed to be." You move to lift yourself more and stroke his stubbled cheek with your finger. You sigh, "Look, I get that you haven't always been the most pacifistic person in the past, but...I mean it when I say I feel safe with you. And I know Abby is safe with you too, alright?"

He doesn't have the words to articulate the feeling that those words dredge up inside him, so he simply nods.

"Good." You lay back down on his front, staring up at him. "Wanna know one of my favorite things about you?"

You stage the question like it was a guessing game, but since he's unable to guess any good qualities about himself, all he responds with is "What?"

"Your eyes. So pretty."

The corner of his lip turns up in a smirk. This isn't the first time you complimented his eyes, and it surely wouldn't be the last. The warm, rich browns that make up his irises are sweet in color, despite him thinking they were as plain and boring as can be.

"You want to know what your eyes are telling me?"

"What?" You smile sweetly at him.

"That you're looking up at me like you want something."

"Maybe I do want something." You shuffle further up his body, settling yourself onto his lap, plush thighs surrounding his hips as you hold onto his forearms for stability.

"And what's what?"

You lean over him, slowly descending upon him, your face hovering just above his. "A kiss?" You wiggle your eyebrows up and down as if to entice him more.

"Go ahead."

"Really?"

"Could always change my mind."

"Meanie," you pout, but you meet him the rest of the way anyway, his lips melding with yours.

Trying to describe your relationship and the intimacy that came along with it was difficult. Trying to describe Mike was difficult. The closest thing that comes to mind is a skittish cat. He wasn't standoffish in the sense that he couldn't talk to anyone, but trying to get anywhere other than skimming the surface with him was a challenge, like a game of tug of war, a delicate balance of push and pull. If you charged forward too quickly, he'd retreat into a corner, baring teeth and claws.

It wasn't his fault, not necessarily. The death of his younger brother being the major catalyst as to why he kept himself so closed off. A death that he blamed on himself for the longest time.

He stayed approachable enough to get along with others on the barest of levels to not cause any problems. for the most part, and any attempts at digging in any deeper than he was willing to allow were met with resistance. If he never gets close, then he never has to lose, even if it means leading an even lonelier life down the road.

The only long-standing relationship he had left was with Abby. His final tether to humanity was the little sister whose life he was holding together with glue sticks and string.

To be honest, it was amazing that you got as close to him as you did. After his short stint at the run-down pizzeria, he asked you out, deciding that he was done trying to flee and cling to the past. It was time to start living in the present, taking care of those who needed him now while he still could.

The kiss is slow, meticulous, and intimate. A word that never used to be in Mike's vocabulary. It's warm. He's warm (and slightly squishy). The heat builds to a simmer inside your tummy.

His hands slide from your thighs to the fat of your hips, squeezing the flesh between his fingers as he pulls you closer against his pelvis, causing a slight whimper to fall from your lips. All you want to do is melt in it, sink into the heat, and slowly let it consume you.

One of your arms wraps around the back of his neck while the other hand cradles his stubbled cheek. It was strange how a man could make you feel as if your whole heart was being consumed all at once. Sickly sweet words come to a boil on your tongue, but you swallow and exchange them for something more simple and primitive. Moans fill the air of his living room, with the more primal part of you taking over.

Your hips begin to rock gently against his, your tongue prodding at his teeth. The groan that comes out of you is a plea for entrance, one which he happily grants, parting his lips and allowing you to swallow him whole.

"That's it."

The kiss becomes a clash of teeth and tongues, nipping at each other's lips while wet muscles glide against one another.

You're not exactly sure why, but kissing Mike like this, in a way that's so raw and unrefined, makes you unbearably needy, not just in the pit of your stomach but in your heart too. You've grown to like this little life you've built here, tending to the seeds of your relationship with care. It hasn't been perfect per se, but it's been yours. You love it. You love his sister. You love him and you can't decipher whether that scares you or not. Excitement and anxiety both make your heart beat to the same erratic rhythm.

He's gentle with how he holds you. Square palms and thick fingers knead the flesh of your sides before sliding down to your rear to give that a firm squeeze as well, his hands guiding your body, rocking it back and forth on his half-hard cock.

A juxtaposition: knuckles once bloody and bruised, calloused fingers with skin split around the nails holding you, caressing your body as if it were velvet. If he were a bit more needy, drunk on love, he'd swear to the heavens that you were softer.

His hands move from your ass to breast, his fingertips delicately sliding up the curves. It's not the first time he's "discovered your body," nor is it the last, but all the times you have sex, which is not often enough, it always feels as loving as the first.

Thumbs brush against the ribs that hide beneath your shirt, soft in a way that makes your heart flutter before they reach their destination, swiping against the soft, stippling peaks of your nipples, your bra having long since been removed earlier that night when you returned to his place. Palms grasp at the fat of your bosom, kneading the flesh.

The roll of your hips increases while your lips separate from his, laying forehead to forehead as you pant lightly against him, breath cascading down his features. The grip of his fingers on your side tightens as he tries to stall your movements. "Stop...stop..." he puffs into your mouth, slight perspiration building on his brow from the heat.

You pout as your hips come to a full stop, peering down at him beneath you.

"I don't want to blow all over the couch," he explains.

"What a lovely mental image you've just given me," you snort, swinging your leg over him as you try to get up, only to be stopped by his hands once more.

"I never said I had a problem with getting my bedsheets dirty, though."

His lips clash with yours as he walks you backward down the hall toward his bedroom. You stumble through the door and crash onto his bed while he flips on his bedside lamp before collapsing on top of you. Another whine escapes you as you feel his hard-on through his PJ bottoms.

"Mike," you exhale, holding onto his shoulders for support.

"I know, I know."

He repositions himself and you, by extension, so that he's lying on top of you properly. Lips move from yours to the corner of your mandible, planting quick kisses all over your skin as if trying to consume you. His facial hair tickles as it brushes against the skin of your neck, causing you to shrink up slightly while releasing a fit of small giggles.

You cling to every part of him just as he does to you, pushing up your shirt to lay claim to every inch of you. Though it's not fully removed, the material is left to rest above the swell of your breasts as he kisses his way down your sternum. He's deliberate as he moves down your body, attempting to cover as much of you in his sweetness as he can.

He takes extra care when he reaches your tummy, fingertips limber and gentle as he caresses the skin. Your eyes stay locked with his as his lips meet the curve of your stomach. Tender kisses are placed across it, showing appreciation for all of the parts of your body, not just the ones you've deemed worthy of his attention.

Sex wasn't always this "easy" between the two of you; even after dancing around each other and finally getting into a relationship, that didn't make all the vulnerability of the act any easier.

He wasn't bad at it by any means; he was just a little misguided. Although sometimes you regret having taught him as well as you have, especially now that he knows how to push all your buttons.

His palms slide up your legs, from calves to thighs, fingers nestled into the waistband of your underwear and pajama bottoms, tugging them off in one fell swoop. A singular kiss is placed at the height of each thigh before he spreads your legs, exposing your sex to the cool air of his bedroom.

Nothing is said, but he does sit there for a moment, kneeling on the bed above you. When he finally does make his descent upon you, he presses a kiss so delicate right on the pudge of your mons. Then he moves to your left inner thigh, then the right, back and forth, back and forth, scrupulous, patient, and SLOW. The point of which is to get you as wet as possible without having directly touched you yet. It's made abundantly clear when he echoes those same thoughts back to you.

His thumb runs through your slit, dipping into your entrance, enough so that he barely breeches through, collecting some of your slick on the rough pads and dragging it up to your clit, rubbing tentative circles on the bundle of nerves.

"So wet," is all he says while continuing, circular motions with even pressure.

Lucky for him and (un)lucky for you, he can go as slow as he likes tonight, taking all the time in the world to warm you up, despite all your incessant whining.

He leans back to pull off his shirt, revealing a cute tuft of brown hair in the middle of his chest.

"You can be as loud as you want."

He lays on his stomach, right in between your legs, landing a singular kiss straight to your cunt before dragging the length of his tongue from your entrance to clit, giving that a kiss as well. He repeats the action a couple more times before settling himself right on your pussy, nose nestled in the wirey hairs of your mons. The wet muscle worms its way to your pulsing hole, digging in deep to drink down every drop that leaks from you.

It's always difficult to maintain eye contact with him like this; his almond irises are blown so wide that it's as if only his pupils remain. He licks and laps at your cunt like it's the only thing he was made to do. He worships your pussy like it's his favorite thing in the world, and has to prevent himself from humping the bed while he indulges himself in your taste. Even though he knows you find it hot as fuck whenever he cums just from eating you out, he needs to feel you stretched out on his cock.

Though unspoken between the two of you, you know that if you stare at him for too long while he makes out with your cunt, you'll cum way quicker than you mean to, and you know if you cum too quickly, he'll lay there and tongue-fuck you right through your next orgasm, because as much as he eats you out for your pleasure, he eats you out for his pleasure too.

Most of the time, you don't feel like giving him a big ego, so you tilt your head back and screw your eyes shut as his lips pucker around your clit and suckles it into his mouth. Even if you don't meet his gaze, he knows the effect he has on you just by the way your fingers rake through his curls, rooting themselves in his scalp while whimpering praises into the aether.

"Mikey."

The pet name used to make him groan and roll his eyes in frustration, but when you're spread out like this underneath him, it's his most favorite sound in the world.

Your opposite hand drifts to squeeze and knead at your breast, tugging at your nipple. His hand comes up to meet yours, warm and grounding, as he begins to work at your clit even more, sucking it more vigorously than before. Your hips begin to buck against his face, the scratch of his stubble giving your inner thighs a delicious beard burn as the heat begins to reach a boiling point in your belly. His fingers squeeze down on yours against your breast while your fists tighten in his hair.

You look down at him finally, and it's as if he can sense you're watching him because his eyes immediately snap up to meet yours. You can barely make out the slick coating his face in the low lamplight.

He works overtime now that he has your full attention, dragging his hand from your breast to your tummy, giving it a gentle squeeze before bracing his forearm across it, allowing for leverage as he sinks one, then two fingers into your cunt. He's quick but not rough with his movements inside you, curling in just the right spot to make you see stars.

Though your hips are restricted by him, you hurdle toward your impending orgasm. You reach down to meet his hand, and he happily clasps his fingers with yours, breaking eye contact with him when the coil finally snaps. Your back arches while your hand tightens around his, nails digging into the skin of his scalp, moans dribbling from your mouth with every passing second.

He eases you down from your high, kissing his way up your body before pulling off your shift completely and meeting his lips with yours, giving you a taste of yourself. You moan into the kiss, clinging onto him for dear life as you begin to wind down. He knows you're all set when your touch goes from frantic grabbing to gentle caressing.

He looks down at you; your expression is happy and a smidgen dopey, but nowhere near fucked out yet.

"Think you can handle some more?"

"Your tongue game isn't that good."

He scoffs. "Still coherent enough to give me lip, I'd say you're good."

He sits up, reaching toward his nightstand drawer, fishing out a box from inside.

"Oh, a new box of condoms..." You rise to your knees. slinging your arms around Mike from behind, your tits pressed up against his back. "Were you expecting to get laid tonight, Michael?" you tease, slowly kissing his neck.

"You say that as if it wasn't your idea to spend the night when Abby had her sleepover." He fiddles with opening the box, tearing off a single condom from the rest.

"If I recall, you weren't opposing the idea either," you goad, trailing your lips onto his freckled shoulder. "It's good that we're being responsible; now come here. I want more kisses." You take the condom from between his fingers and place it back on his nightstand along with the box as you urge him back down on top of you.

He obliges, his lips meeting yours as you trail all over each other's bodies. His hard cock lays in between your thighs, aching and throbbing with need, so you decide to grant him a little relief. You slide your hand into his boxers and slowly stroke his cock. His breath hitches slightly, bringing amusement to your face as your lips brush against his.

"So hard for me already, poor thing." You nuzzle into his face a little, sliding your nose against his as you lick into his mouth, silently asking for his tongue once again. He gives as much as he can, panting into your kiss.

After just a few minutes of lazily jerking him off, you slide his pants lower on his thighs, bracing his cock right in between your slit and slowly start to rock your hips back and forth. The kiss becomes lazy, just tongues caressing each other while moans echo throughout the room, every vein from his cock brushing up against your clit as the two of you rock together. The heat and slick making both of you quiver.

You release him on the brink of going too far, choosing to then reach over for the singular packet, the shiny foil catching in the light.

"Can you manage to put this on, or do I need to do it?" you jest.

"I got it." He sits himself on the edge of the bed, plucking the condom from your grasp. You hear the sound of the package tearing, and soon after his bottoms are gone too, both of you nude together.

"So, how you wanna do this?" he asks while rolling on the latex.

"Wanna be in your lap."

"Are you sure your legs can handle that?" he chuckles, caressing your thigh.

"My legs aren't made of jello," you retort, getting up on your knees while he scoots backward.

"Alright, but no complaining if you get tired."

You crawl over toward him, and he reaches out for you, taking hold of your hips as you swing one leg over both of his.

"Hi," you say as you're face to face with him, one arm slung lazily over his shoulder, grazing his back, the other resting against his cheek as your finger strokes his cheek.

"Hey," he chirps back.

You give him a quick kiss, moving your hand from his face to his cock, feeding him through your entrance, and sinking down on him slowly, the two of you groaning into each other's mouths. Your tummy folds in on itself as you reach the base.

You're not sure if you'll ever get used to the intimacy of it all. No matter how many times you go through this, you wonder if the feeling of overwhelming consumption will subside. If one day, it won't feel like Mike is looking right into your soul every time you have sex.

You whimper slightly as you settle, his girth stretching you out deliciously. You cup his face as your lips search for his again. His hand moves to caress you, one hand gliding down your spine and the other grabbing the fatty flesh at the bend of your hip joint. They never stay in place, though, always on the move, making sure no part of your body is left undesired.

You roll your hips for the most part, bouncing only every so often when you want to feel the stretch of being filled again, mostly wanting to enjoy the feeling of being so close together, so connected. Taking simple pleasures in the feeling of him just being inside you. The hairs that spackle the base of his cock work to add pleasure to your clit.

He kisses his way down your neck, smiling against your skin as he does it, taking in deep breaths of your scent while his hands continue their caress to your breasts, making sure to show them the attention that he neglected while he was eating you out.

His lips move toward your nipple, kissing it before letting his tongue lull out of his mouth, flicking it back and forth.

"Mmm...Mike." Your cunt clenches around him at his efforts, your fingers curling into the hair that sits at the nape of his neck.

His opposite hand slides to your front, rubbing up and down along the curves of your body til it settles on the other breast, rolling the nipple between his digits. His tongue traces around your areola before sucking the nipple into his mouth.

"Christ, Mike," you whine as he locks eyes with you, the movement of your hips quickening with every suck.

This is the only time you get so whiny, when the two of you are in a position like this, so enraptured with each other, in each other's pleasure. You become so sweet and pliant.

He detaches himself from your nipple and eases you onto your back, grabbing the fat of your thighs and pushing them toward your chest so he can fuck you like you need, like you both need. You're not sure if Mike will ever admit to this, but he needs the intimacy as much as you do.

He's deliberate when he sinks back into you, grinding when he reaches the hilt.

When he pulls out, he develops a slow rhythm, one you can both enjoy with its progression. Despite its calm nature, every thrust of his heavy cock ruts into exactly where you need it, rubbing against the spongey spot inside you that makes your toes curl, that lights a fire in your belly and makes you needy once again.

As the moment continues to build, on the precipice of climax, he speaks to you through the haze of pleasure.

"Still need me to kiss you to cum?" He taunts. He knows the answer. It's been the same ever since the two of you got together. The intimacy between the two of you gets you off more than anything else.

You pull him down til he's practically on top of you, his body weight against yours, your tummy folding up so nicely as you lay nose to nose. His scent and his skin on yours grounds you like nothing else. You don't even mind the stretch of your thighs as he holds himself against you.

"Don't act like you don't need this too." You extend your neck in an attempt to push your lips forward on his. "You enjoy intimacy more than your grumpy face lets on." Your eyes are just barely glazed over, the same dopey grin plastered on your face as you reach out to him.

"Shut it," he huffs, pressing his lips into yours for a searing kiss, fucking into you with as much vigor as he can muster. The springs of his mattress squeak wildly as he fucks you through it.

As much as he tries to deflect, he knows it's the truth too. He needs the closeness as well. The intimacy, the skin-to-skin contact, the sweat, the heat, the love

You mewl into the kiss, wrapping your arms around him tightly. Your orgasm sits just beyond the horizon, your cunt clenching down on him harder and harder with every sloppy smack of his lips against yours. The need and desperation grow as your bodies cling together, never wanting to part, edging closer and closer to ecstasy.

You glide your hand down to your clit, rubbing in tight circles as your orgasm crests, taking over your body and moaning into his mouth loudly as you pull him down even further. You're reduced to nothing but babbles and whimpers as he fucks you through your orgasm.

You feel the same words as before bubble up on your tongue. He's here, his body encapsulating yours as close as humanly possible; he's so warm, so safe. He's here, he's yours, and you love him.

You let the words escape you this time, refusing to let them fizzle out into nothingness.

"I love you, Mike," you whisper in his ear.

It's not more than a few seconds later that he's spilling into the condom, his hips still sloppily thrusting and letting out an unexpectedly loud groan while clinging to you.

The air settles, and Mike is still nestled inside you. Your fingers comb through his hair as he brushes along your side, leaving a kiss on your skin every so often, enjoying the afterglow of sex.

You're the first to break through the silence.

"Shower now or in the morning?"

"Morning," he groans, somewhat groggy after everything that went down. He pulls out, getting up to remove the condom and tie it off, tossing it in the waste basket under his nightstand, making a mental note to dispose of it properly later.

"I'm gonna go pee, then we'll snuggle up for the night," you tell him as you head toward the bathroom before he has a chance to trap you in bed with sleepy cuddles.

"Don't fall in," he smirks, feeling proud of himself, and you grin at him for being an idiot.

As you go to wash your hands after finishing up, you hear a muffled. "I love you too" through the bathroom door.

#mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt smut #mike schmidt imagine #mike schmidt x you #five nights at freddy’s x reader #five nights at freddy’s imagine #five nights at freddy’s smut #fnaf x reader #fnaf smut #fnaf imagine #x reader smut #chubby reader #✰ミ angel writes

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rainbowsky · 5 months ago

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Xiao Zhan - Elle China September 2024

Now it has been 8 years since Xiao Zhan's first acting career. Looking at his resume, he has played the leading role in various TV dramas. But he still feels that he is a newcomer and hopes to work with more experienced production teams in the future. He doesn't think too much. He doesn't actually know the work plan divided by year. He only cares about what the next stage of work will be, rather than "asking about things that are too far away." #肖战ELLE Light and Shadow Blockbuster##肖战maintains curiosity and desire to explore##肖战ELLE Golden September Cover#

Photography: @于聪YuCong

Styling: @CloeDong

Makeup/Hairstyle: Qingjun (DDJSTUDIO)

Written by: Green

Editor: JIAWEI

Design: SHU

Art Creation: Feng Ruihua

Producer: Conan (在伍THOO)

Contact Editor: SISSI CHEN

Photography Assistant: Zhang Jun

Producer Assistant: Tianqi (在伍THOO)

Art Execution: Tiantian

Fashion Assistant: Baozhi, M, Kangkang, Xiaofan

Studio Equipment Provided by: Beijing Shangde Elephant

Two black curtains reach the top of the studio, neatly isolating the shooting area from the surroundings. You have to go through the maze-like curtains to get to the core of the small space. Pure white, too much air conditioning, and the high-frequency and continuous camera shutter sounds. Xiao Zhan wears all black clothes and rarely makes unnecessary movements. For a while, the lights broke and the shooting was suspended, so he stood in the dark with one foot on a wooden box; when the staff and photographer discussed the photos and adjusted the shape, he also stood in front of the display screen, with the faint screen light covering him… We recorded Xiao Zhan from another angle.

Xiao Zhan ELLE light and dark light and shadow blockbuster##Xiao Zhan maintains strange heart and explores desire##Xiao Zhan ELLE golden nine cover

Behind-the-scenes photography: Yuanqing Xie

Editor and coordinator: JIAWEI

Halfway through the interview, Xiao Zhan suddenly said that he had a conflicting feeling about long interviews. On the one hand, he was worried about not growing enough and showing his timidity in the conversation. On the other hand, he wanted to explore some subtle feelings through the conversation because he thought he was not good at recording them in words. Observation, feeling, understanding, and expression are the essence of an actor's creativity. "Dialogue is also muscle memory." Xiao Zhan said, "Although I am very i, I am not autistic. Because I think actors need to learn to express, express your inner thoughts, and digest the content handed to you by the other party.

#xiao zhan #chongqing beauty #wtaf gg #elle

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reputationmunson · 2 years ago

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The Stars Align | Eddie Munson x Fem!reader

Summary: Your hopeless crush on Eddie Munson might not be so hopeless after all thanks to a trip to family video

Content: fluff, Steve has a little crush on you but you’re into eddie, swearing, making out, mentions of bullying, she/her pronouns, reader is a year younger than Eddie

Word Count: 3.1K

a/n: i haven’t posted a fic in so long i’m so happy i was actually able to finish something! i hope you all enjoy :)

divider by @firefly-in-darkness

“Oh my god, Robin, she’s here! How does my hair look?” Steve asks frantically as he sees your car pull into family video. “Who is it this week?” She sighs, growing tired of seeing Steve strike out again and again.

“You already know who it is. I’ve been using my best work for weeks and…nothing” he groans. “Really? Telling her about the time you had a dental emergency due to milk duds is your best work?”

Before Steve can respond, the bell above the door rings and you walk in, looking as pretty as ever.

“H-hey! Haven’t seen you in a while. I hope you aren’t cheating on us with blockbuster” Steve says when you approach the counter and Robin cringes so much that she has to walk away.

“Nope” you say with a laugh “I’ve just been busy, but I finally have a night to myself. Can you check if you have a movie for me?”

“yeah, anything for you- I mean, um anything for a loyal customer not like I’d do anything for you. Well, I might, but not in a weird way-”

“Steve” you chuckle “I didn’t think it was anything weird. Until now”

“Right, yeah. Sorry. Anyways, what movie are ya lookin’ for?” He sits at the computer to pull up the movies on file. “Nightmare on Elm Street”

“Actually, my friend, Eddie, rented that yesterday, but I can see if he’s watched it yet so he can bring it back for you?” he suggests

“Eddie munson? You’re friends with him?”

“Oh, yeah, but don’t worry he doesn’t actually worship the devil he’s just like this huge nerd with a weird taste in music”

“No, I know. I just, uh, think he’s really cute”

“Oh” he says in a bit of disbelief. he’s been trying to ask you out for weeks and this whole time you’ve had the hots for Eddie. “You think he’s cute?” Robin asks, appearing out of nowhere with a big smile on her face.

“y-yeah. there’s something about the big brown eyes and long hair, i guess” you sigh, dreamily while Steve thinks hey, i’m a guy with brown eyes and a lot of hair.

“Ya know what, feel free to look around and we’ll take care of something real quick” Robin says and you wander off to the horror section.

“Call Eddie” She tells Steve.

“What? Why?”

“This is fate, Steve. She wants to rent the same movie Eddie just rented and she also happens to be, like, totally in love with him” She states and he rolls his eyes. “In love, Robin? She said he was cute because he has eyes and hair.”

“Aw, you’re jealous.” she teases. “Well, kinda. I wanted to ask her out and I haven’t had any luck in months with anyone.” Steve whines

“Think about it. Do you really wanna ask a girl out who’s into one of your closest friends? That’s obviously a recipe for disaster, so call him” Robin says and Steve groans. He hates when she’s right, but he picks up the phone and dials anyway.

“Hey, munson. Have you watched Nightmare on Elm Street yet?”

“I got it yesterday, Steve, what’s the rush?”

“There’s a pretty girl here who wants to rent it”

“And what do I have to do with that?” Eddie asks, thinking Steve is just trying to use his ‘position of power’ (Steve’s words, literally no one else's) to try and impress any cute girl that walks through the door.

“Well, somehow the universe keeps finding ways to laugh at me because when I told her my friend Eddie has it she said you were cute or something” you can overhear Steve and you could die of embarrassment. You had flashbacks to middle school when your best friend told your crush that you liked him and he made fun of you for the rest of the school year.

“I am cute, Harrington and you know it. Who is she?”

Steve tells him your name and Eddie's heart practically stops for a second. He can’t believe the pretty girl he’s had a crush on for years thinks he’s cute.

“I’ll be right there” Eddie says before hanging up and sprinting out the door with Nightmare on Elm Street in hand.

“Welcome to Fam- Oh, it’s just you. She’s in the horror section” Steve grumbles when Eddie walks in. “Why do you have that look on your face?” Eddie asks Robin. Her eyes are big, smile even bigger with a hint of her ‘I just came up with a master plan’ look. “No reason, just go find your girl”

Eddie strolls over to find you and you look as gorgeous as always. You’re wearing a dress that stops halfway down your thighs, leaving your beautiful legs exposed, your lips shimmer from the gloss you put on, and you have an adorable look of concentration on your face as you look through the movie selection.

“Hey, you must be the pretty girl who’s just dying to watch this movie” He finally speaks up after admiring you. You turn to him and smile “you brought this back for me? you didn’t have to do that. did you at least get a chance to watch it?” You walk closer to him and the smell of your perfume makes him crazy. Everything about you just gets better and better.

“No, but it’s alright. I saw it in theaters, so it’s no biggie”

“Now I feel bad. You obviously wanted to watch it again and i’m only renting it because I’m like the only person who hasn’t seen it yet”

“You haven’t seen this masterpiece yet? It came out four years ago” he gasps and holds up the movie, making you giggle. Music to his ears.“I know. I’m lame”

There’s a beat of silence and if anyone were to look at Eddie, they could practically see the wheels turning in his head. For years, he’s been trying to find a way to work up the courage to just talk to you and now it feels like he’s been presented with the opportunity of a lifetime.

“Maybe we could watch it together” he suggests and feels like he’s stopped breathing until you give him an answer. You look up at him with your captivating eyes and nervously fiddle with your hands. “Yeah, I’d really like that” you respond and Eddie feels like he could do ten cartwheels right here in the middle of the isle. Little does he know you feel the same way.

“Yeah? Are you free tonight around eight?’’ He asks and you nod. “Can I get your address?”

Luckily, you had a scrap piece of paper and a pen in your purse and you write down his address with shaky hands due to the nerves from being asked on by the guy you’ve been hopelessly pining after for years.

“So, I’ll see you tonight?” He asks as you both walk over to the door. Steve and Robin are watching you both like hawks, but quickly act like they are working when Eddie shoots them a glare.

“Yeah, I’ll be there.” you promise and he flashes his million dollar smile. “Me too. I mean, of course I will, it’s my house so why wouldn’t I be there, um, anyways I’m gonna go before I say something stupid again” He chuckles, nervously.

“I should go too. Thank you for bringing that movie back” You touch his arm in appreciation and his head spins at the feeling of your touch. “No problem. Plus, this movie might be too scary for you to watch alone”

“Yeah? Are you gonna protect me?’’ you step closer to him, hand still on his arm.

“With my life, sweetheart”

Ten minutes before eight, you park outside of Eddie’s trailer. You couldn’t believe this was finally happening after wanting this for as long as you can remember.

You had transferred to Hawkins High your junior year, which was Eddie’s first senior year and you’d been smitten since. On your first day, he had one of his infamous outbursts in the cafeteria, and while everyone else was mortified, you couldn’t help but be intrigued at his passion. He was always loud and never let anyone’s opinions of him change who he was. It was admirable

The two of you never had many interactions besides when you’d let him borrow a pen in science class. You were always too afraid to ever say anything to him about the way you felt, and when you graduated while he stayed behind, you’d thought your chance had passed you by. Now, three years after you graduated, you’re standing outside his front door about to watch a movie with him. Life is funny like that.

“Hey- fuck, you look good” Eddie’s words slip out before he can process that he said it out loud and you chuckle “Really? I just threw on some comfy clothes, but thank you”

“You always look good. Anyways, welcome to my humble abode” He bows and motions for you to come inside. You look around once you're inside, taking in your surroundings. You’re in Eddie Munson’s living room and you know it’s silly, but it feels like things are finally falling into place.

“Make yourself at home, I’m gonna get the popcorn. Do you want anything to drink? I got some coke it you want one”

“Yeah, that’d be great” you answer as you sit on the couch. He puts the popcorn in a bowl and pours you both a drink. You take note of the Garfield mug he’s put his drink in and you smile at how adorable he is.

“Lights on or off?” he asks after he puts the movie in. “Off, obviously. Gotta have the whole experience, right” He nods in agreement, turning off all the lights until the tv is the only illuminations. When he sits on the couch, he sits right next to you leaving no space and you couldn’t be happier about it.

Eddie’s confidence seems to grow in the dark. He does that cheesy thing where he pretends to yawn and stretch so he can put his arm around you. It’s cliche, but it makes both of you smile, nonetheless.

As you sense a jumpscare approaching, you nestle closer to his side and hide your face in his neck. He can feel your breath fanning on his skin and he can’t seem to think straight. When you hear a scream from the television, you jump a little and he chuckles. “This coming from the girl who wanted to turn the lights off” he jokes

“Hey, don’t make fun of me. I was promised protection and that’s supposed to come without torment” You move your head to look at him and when he looks back at you, your faces are so close together your noses are almost touching. You’re about to put your lips on his until another scream comes from the movie, causing you to jump again.

“Can I tell you something?” he asks in a whisper. “yeah, anything” you move to position yourself more comfortably, but still close to him.

“I’ve had the biggest, most embarrassing crush on you since high school” he confesses and your eyes widen in surprise. “you have not”

“Cross my heart. You were the only person to smile at me when I’d pass you in the halls. You weren’t afraid of me like everyone else.”

“Why would I be afraid of you? You’ve always seemed like a teddy bear wrapped in leather to me.” You think it sounds too cheesy when you hear it out loud, but Eddie thinks it makes you even sweeter.

“Teddy bear, huh? I didn’t work this hard for my bad boy image to be compared to a stuffed animal” he jokes. “Bad boy image?” you scoff “You’re drinking out of a garfield mug”

“Alright, you got me there, but Garfield is a total badass”

“If you say so. Can I tell you something now?” you ask and he lets out an mhmm before you continue. “I’ve had a crush on you since highschool, too.”

“No shit? I mean Steve told me you thought I was cute but I thought he was just fucking with me” Eddie seems to be playing it cool at your confession, but he’s screaming on the inside.

“It was my first day at Hawkins and you were hard to not take notice of after one your cafeteria spiels. I remember everyone thinking you were obnoxious or a freak, but I was just enamored with you.”

“You never thought I was some satanist sacrificing children? I think you were the only one” he huffs out a laugh. Eddie’s life has been easier since high school. He still gets some weird looks every now and then, but things have calmed down. Although he always put on a brave face, some of those days were harder than others. It’s nice to know that you never thought he could be capable of doing those things he was accused of.

“I always felt guilty that I never stood up for you. I hated watching them berate you and what I hated even more is that I was too scared to ever say anything to them” you say, looking down at your lap to avoid eye contact.

“Don’t feel guilty about that. They wouldn’t have stopped anyways” he places his hand on your thigh and you turn your head to look at him. He has a look of appreciation in his eyes, like he’s trying to let you know that you didn’t need to say anything to those assholes. Just you being thoughtful for him is enough.

“I even left a note in your locker one day. It was when one of those idiots tore pages out of your campaign notebook and I guess I just wanted you to know that there was someone on your side”

“That was you? It’s been driving me crazy for years trying to figure out who that was!”

“you got it?” your eyes light up.

“I did. Still have it, too. This is probably embarrassing, but I’d read it whenever I had a bad day. I guess I didn’t want anyone to know that anything ever got to me and that I was above it all” He sighs. Eddie likes that he can be vulnerable with you. He hardly ever opens up to anyone about anything, but there’s just something about you that makes him comfortable. He feels like he could tell you anything and you wouldn’t judge him for a second.

“Do you still have it? The note?” you ask and he scurries to his room to rummage through his nightstand where he keeps it.

“Closest thing I’ve ever gotten to a love letter” he says before handing you the piece of paper that reads:

Eddie,

Sorry if this is weird, but I just wanted to say I’m sorry for how they treat you. I think you’re awesome and I hope you think that too. This town is a little less shitty with you in it. Never change

P.s. you look really good with long hair please don’t cut it

You chuckle when you read the last line. “I can’t believe you kept it. I knew I was right when I called you a teddy bear. You’re secretly a big softie, huh?”

“The softest. But only for you, yeah?”

“So that crush on me you had in high school… do you still have it?”

“It never went away, but now it’s even bigger than some teenage puppy dog shit”

Everything around you seems to drown out. You’re too focused on how close Eddie’s face is to your own. His lips look so soft and pillowy, the perfect shade of pink. You scan over the rest of his face, entranced with his beauty. His eyes are even prettier up close. You could count his eyelashes with how little distance there is between the two of you and you think that one day you will.

Right now, the one thing you’ve wanted the most is quite literally staring you right in the face. Not a loud sound from the movie, or even if the end of the world was happening right outside could take you away from this moment.

“Can I kiss you?” he whispers, hand coming up to cradle your face. “Please” you barely get out.

Eddie gently places his lips on yours and it feels like this weight you’d be carrying around had been lifted from your body. Nothing in your life has felt more right than this kiss.

You’re kissing Eddie Munson. The boy from the hallway that always gave you a kind smile and made you weak in the knees. The boy from your science class who never had a pen. The boy who you’ve wanted since you were 17. You always criticized yourself for never getting over what you thought was just a silly little crush, but it’s always been more than that. Every moment leading up to this has been worth it and you’d do it all over again if it meant you got to kiss him.

You instantly miss his lips on yours when he pulls away and you can barely stand it, so you pull him back in. This kiss is more intense. You melt when his tongue glides into your mouth and his hand moves to hold your waist. You both put all of your feelings and passion into this kiss. It’s pure electricity.

You wish you didn’t need oxygen to breathe. You wish you could live forever in this position, but unfortunately that isn’t the case, so you both slowly break apart but not without him giving you a few pecks before fully pulling back.

His pupils are blown wide and his cheeks are flushed. His hair is a little messy due to you threading your hands through his soft curls. He’s never looked more beautiful.

“So, I know this was only our first time hanging out, but- uh- do you want to be my girlfriend?” he asks, nervously and you smile so big that it causes your eyes to wrinkle.

“I’d love to” you simply answer.

“Yeah? You wanna be mine?’’ he smiles as relief washes over him.

“I’ve always been yours”

Nightmare on Elm Street has been long forgotten. Eddie restarted it twice, but each time you both end up in deep conversation and he’s kissed you more times than you can count. Maybe one day you’ll watch it, but today isn’t that day. Not when you’re sitting next to the most kissable person on earth.

The End

#eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson on #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fic #eddie munson #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things fic

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38sr · 1 month ago

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same anon that asked about shadows ! , i have another question , how does different budgets for different animes change the way it is drawn , animated etc , like how does it go from average to ultra quality like demon slayer for example ..

Ah so with anime it’s a very nuanced topic. Firstly, I want to preface that what I am about to say is strictly from my experience working in anime for three years now and even then I would highly implore to study the Animator Dormitory Project to learn from animators who are PHYSICALLY dealing with the imbalanced system that is the anime industry. ALSO, it is important to clarify more money does not equal better art visually. More money means more time and resources. How you use said resources and time is what determines the quality of art (as well as the quality of work environment for the people making said product). If we were to follow the logic that more money equals better art, that would mean the average Family Guy episode should look like an average Demon Slayer episode. That is simply not the truth because 1) every production is different therefore their needs and overall artistic vision will differ 2) you’d be surprised on how the money is actually spent versus what you think it should be spent on (ie American animated films choosing to do celebrity voice casting which eats up a shit ton of the budget when that could have gone to the production crew’s schedule and needs). So with that, please understand money does not play in the ways you think it does (ie if it makes the drawings better) but it cannot be denied it’s one of many factors. Alright?

Basically, anime is funded through production committees which are a group of investors (such as manga publishers, merchandise manufacturers, tv broadcast executives, etc). In America, we have a similar system known as the AMPTP however unlike America where an investor can invest in cross industry projects (ie. Mattel can invest in toys and film entertainment) in Japan they can only choose one industry. This leaves budgets for anime to not become incredibly inflated like we have here in America (ie most blockbuster movies nowadays). BUT because of this rule along with the rule of budget caps, the actual budgets of full seasons of animes have not changed much since maybe the 1960/70s. To bring it back to Family Guy, the average episode of that show from script to final broadcast has been reported to cost anywhere between $1-2 million PER EPISODE. If you multiply that with the full episode order (let’s say 13 just to match the average season of anime), you’re working with $13-26 million FOR A SEASON.

Anime, specifically TV anime, is not seeing that. Shinkai’s Your Name was reported to have $4.5mil for actual movie production (not including the advertising budget which would make it 7.5 or roughly 8mil). $4.5mil. For an anime film.

$4.5 million is a good (and rare) budget by American TV animation standards for PER EPISODE. Unless you’re like, Disney or something you can afford to do that but most average American TV animation is anywhere between $1-3 million per episode. And the average anime is seeing that $1-3mil PER SEASON due to budget caps. So if we do the math of dividing that $1-3mil across 13 episodes (and I’m gonna do this evenly because this is a hypothetical and in reality some episodes do have more money put into for more TIME and RESOURCES)…that would mean your average anime episode, from script to final broadcast, is only seeing a couple hundred thousand dollars unlike here in American where we have a couple million.

And so at this point you’re probably thinking, “Wait, this doesn’t make sense. How can Your Name look like the way it is if that’s what America could spend on a single animated episode? Why is there such a wide disparity between the actual budget versus the final product’s visuals?” And that, my dear Shadow (sorry if that came off weird) is where we have to talk about communication. You see, even though Demon Slayer might not be seeing the same episode budget like we do in America what Japanese studios have in spades that American studios spent over 2 DECADES eradicating is in house layout and animation teams.

The reason why anime looks the way it is on such smaller budgets is quite honestly because they are communicating with each other in real time. In America, we ship our storyboards to a studio overseas (usually Korea, Philippines, India, etc) where we are basically playing a gambling game of whether or not the overseas studios produce the desired work we want. And spoiler alert: it hardly ever truly happens because of language barriers and these overseas are often not given enough money (remember that means time and resources) to actually succeed. Hence, you go into retakes which cost money and spend it back to overseas which cost money, and then it comes back and retakes are still needed which cost money yet again and I think you’re beginning to see why this system in American studios is awful.

Because the amount of money you spent doing that back and forth with retakes and shipping with an overseas studio who was not set up for success could have been spent on having an in house layout and animation team like they do in Japanese studios.

As someone who has freelanced on animes as well worked at vendor overseas studios for American made productions, I cannot understate how having that instant communication (as well as cultural understanding) can drastically change how things get animated. Being able to talk to your director about their intent for a scene at an instant is much more productive than waiting 6-8 months for a Russian roulette bullet. So my point is, the direct communication Japanese studios have within is the true unsung hero as to why 1) visually beautiful shows like Dandadan or Demon Slayer exist 2) they are able to have such a wide variety of visual styles under the anime umbrella because Japanese studios do value auteurship just a tad bit more than American studios who as of late is homogenizing our media cause it’s “safe”.

Also, another component that can factor into why anime looks the way it does despite smaller budgets is because Japan as a society heavily values reputation. On one hand, it’s cool that artists are willing to come together to bring the vision of an artist they admire to fruition. But on the other, it is often used to exploit these artists into very shitty work situations (ie me when I worked on JJK). It’s such a hard thing to talk about because as artists we do tend to sacrifice our well being for the sake of art but I could understand why someone on the outside might feel confused (or frustrated) that we would choose to put ourselves in a poor situation. Sometimes, you’re just willing to take a lesser pay and tighter deadlines to work on a project that speaks to you creatively. And it really do just be that. But for the case of anime, it is often because these artist want to work with a person they admire so who I am to judge them when I’ve done the same haha. But my point being, because Japanese studios have that in house communication and are more open to artist auteurship there’s just more room to have visually distinctive episodes, animated sequences, designs and so on despite the budgets not being the greatest (if we’re going by American standard of living because it is objectively true that Japan is not as costly as places like NY and LA).

I could go on and on about this but I think this answer has become way too long haha. But in summary, Japan isn’t seeing as big as budgets as you think you are from an American perspective. Anime budgets virtually have not changed that much for decades despite it being mainstream and incredibly profitable. I will add that studios like Kyoani and Ufotable have the advantage of potentially self funding their projects, which allows more creative power to the studio itself rather than having to comply to the production committee’s whims. But those studios are like….rare gems ‘cause they chose to nurture talent and be selective with their art over time as opposed to Mappa who is spreading the talent and production crew super thin by adapting too many shows. What makes the art in anime look that way is more so a result of passion and respect for the craft (as well as they’re just open to a lot more versus American execs who are risk-adverse). It would be great if they were given more money so they weren’t producing episodes on such tight schedules (usually a handful of months before official broadcast) but it’s really a testament of how they effectively allocate the money where it’s needed as well. It’s truly an amazing balancing act in a system that’s equally imbalanced.

Phew, that was a long one but I hope I answered your question. And with that, always remember kids that money does not equal better art. Money means more time and resources and how you use it is what determines the overall artistic vision of a production.

#ask #industryqs #anime #animation #animation industry #anime industry #txt

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g0ry0re0 · 8 months ago

Text

Josh Futturman (Future Man, 2017, TV Show) - Headcanons

Description: [18+ MDNI] AU where the reader experiences the show's events with Tiger, Wolf, and Josh. This takes place at the end/after the show where you and Josh live together as a couple. / Josh Futturman x GN!Reader

General Notes: Established Relationship, Reader Show Insert, Slight Spoilers For The Ending Of Future Man, Gender Neutral Reader, Romantic Headcanons, Sexual Headcanons Mixed In, No Use Of Y/N, Slight Cursing

Author's Note: Needed to do some headcanons to fill the JHutch void on Tumblr right now, and to get myself back into writing actual fics lol. Also, I can't believe this is only the second thing I've done for my baby boy, Futturman. I love him so much. Hope y'all enjoy! <3

Word Count/Bullet Point Count: 523 Words/30 Bullet Points

You and Josh road trip from Iowa back to California soon after stopping the existence of time travel

You find yourselves doing odd jobs to keep yourself afloat, Josh often doing cleaning jobs

Y'all find a dingy little apartment on the outskirts of L.A.

Despite the smallness of the shitty apartment, you and Josh declared that you didn't need that much anyway, as long as you had each other

Josh definitely gets back into gaming once you come to terms with being stuck in the 2000s

He particularly enjoys Street Fighter EX3 and Tekken Tag Tournament on the PS2 (until Kingdom Hearts and Final Fantasy 10 come out in the next few years)

You also acquire a Gamecube system once it comes out the next year

You liked playing Pikmin and Mario Kart: Double Dash together (you always played as Luigi to spite him)

You both also try to get into taking care of small plants

There's a lot of dead plants on your kitchen windowsill

Though, Josh has the first flower you ever grew together pressed and hung in your bedroom

After everything that happened, Josh is pretty clingy

When you wake up in the morning, Josh does not leave your side

Whether you're making breakfast, coffee, or just trying to get ready, Josh is practically attached to your hip

He gets especially clingy at night when you two make dinner together and watch a movie y'all rented from Blockbuster

He likes to cuddle A LOT, which can often lead to some more intimate activities

After the events at Haven, Josh was a little nervous about sparking any private moments between you two

But, after the first time together, he quickly got over it

He was worried he would hurt you at first too, but the things you went through in the past few "however-much-time-has-passed", you showed that you can take a little pain

He loves how good you take him, as if you two were made for each other

Unless Josh gets pissed for some reason, he is a definite sub

His favorite position is having you on top in any way, shape, or form

Josh is a sucker for pleasuring his partner, first and foremost, to where he can nearly get himself off just thinking about it

Besides being sexually intimate, you both just love physical contact in general

Josh loves taking you out on little dates, taking you to his favorite places in L.A. (sometimes forgetting what year it is and finding out that place doesn't exist yet)

Josh especially loves taking you to Little Tokyo and the Arts District

Josh also loves when music he enjoys is released and he can finally listen to it again (instead of humming it to himself in the shower)

Same goes for films, he really enjoys being able to go to the theaters to experience it for the "first time" with other people. especially the Marvel movies later on

When Josh observed his parents for the first time, he cried

The last time Josh visited his parents, you took him away with the promise of a picnic in the park before his dad could say anything to him

Masterlist Link

Divider: saradika and saradika-graphics on tumblr

Gif: marlosrph on tumblr

#josh hutcherson #josh hutcherson x reader #josh futturman #josh futturman x reader #josh futturman x gn!reader #josh futturman headcanons #headcanons #josh futturman smut #josh futturman future man #future man #future man 2017 #smut #reader insert #x reader #katykat235 #g0ry0re0

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hippiegoth97 · 3 days ago

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Into the Fire: An Eddie Munson x Reader Story Pt. 40

Collage by me :)

Master List

Part 39

Tag List: @keikoraven @ar-jupiter @alcielo1438 @cairro-xx @stolen-in-moonlight

@micheledawn1975 @janiejenn @rafeyscurtainbangs @melodymunson @spacedoutdaydreamer

@veemoon @sariahs-stuff @feral-pumpkin-energy @comeonatmebruh @munsoneightysixx

@morgthemagpie @josephquinnsfreckles @jenniquinn @songbirdmunson @cometzombie

@spookybabey @daggerdaggerkitten @nina6708 @sanctumdemunson @yourdailymemedelivery

@person-005 @slowandsteddie @gri959 @elegantkoalapaper @letitgoandletlive

@loserboysandlithium @costellation-hunter @leelei1980 @h-ness1944 @pretendthisnameisclever

@ohmeg @stalactitekilla @hellfirenacht @birdysaturne @oneforthemunny

@prettyboyeddiemunson @eddievanmunson @msgexymunson @rattkween86 @violetpixiedust

@bimbobaggins69 @angel-munson @eldermayfield @munsonsbtch @bimbogorewhore

@mediocredreams @bloodibambiidoll @taintedcigs @ali-r3n @emxxblog @losingmygrasponreality

Content Warning 18+ Only, Minors DNI: swearing, mentions of smut, light crying, angsty memories, brief mentions of abuse, piles and piles of fluff

Word Count: 8.2k

divider by @strangergraphics

Part 40: A Marshmallow World

The weeks leading up to Christmas Eve are nothing short of bustling. The holiday season is always quite the whirlwind, between shopping for gifts and trying to fit as many festive activities into one month as possible. Luckily, you've already gotten through first semester finals, on break until the new year. Work, on the other hand, has been unexpectedly demanding. With National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation released on the first of the month, the theater has been packed for every single showing. Add on the annual It's a Wonderful Life and Miracle on 34th Street screenings, and neither you, nor the rest of the Hawk staff, have had a moment to breathe.

You've never seen anything like it, not even during summer blockbusters. Because of this, it's all hands on deck almost every single day. The popcorn never goes stale, sodas run out left and right, there's a constant need to restock candy and cups and the like. And the lines. Lines and lines of people with no visible end in sight. You can't help wondering where they're all coming from, Hawkins surely can't have this many people in it. You suppose you could be drawing in the denizens of the surrounding rural towns, or various loved-ones come to visit. Or, the movie is just that good, enough to convince people to come see it over and over. By the time you usher the last showing out the door every night, you and your team are left frazzled, sweaty, and exhausted. And then you clean up and do it all over again the next day.

Despite the absolute insanity work has been putting you through these last few weeks, you and Eddie have still managed to make time for each other. The holiday season is your favorite time of year. The sparkling snow, the cheery music, the magic that lingers in the air. Eddie, knowing this of course, has done everything in his power to make this year as wonderful as all the rest, if not more.

Early on in the month, Eddie insists that you both go pick out a tree and some pretty ornaments and string lights to make your apartment more festive. You opt for a plastic tree, as they're easier to move around and store later on. Sure, the scent of pine from the real thing is amazing, but actual trees are a lot more work than one would think. They need constant watering, and the needles get everywhere, which you just know Arwen would make quick work of eating and then regurgitating onto the carpet.

Saturday, December 2nd, 1989

"How's that look, baby? Is it full enough?" Eddie asks as he unfolds the last couple branches on his half of the tree. He hopes his work is to your liking, the flocked green plastic is starting to make his hands itch. You'd just brought it and the accompaniments home a couple hours ago, practically bouncing with excitement in your van seat on the way. The second you both carried the big box through the door, you wanted to set it up. And what kind of man would Eddie be to deny you?

You take a glance at his efforts from your side of the tree, and give him a satisfied nod. "It looks great. Time for the lights!" You clap your hands together, hopping up and down as you go to retrieve the boxes of twinkle lights from the coffee table. You hum along to the festive song on the radio as you move, fully caught up in the spirit of the season.

"You really love Christmas, huh?" Eddie says with a chuckle, finding your childlike glee extremely adorable. It's been a while since you've been this excited. That's not to say you've been unhappy, or anything. But he's just glad to see you overcome with joy, cherishing every passing second like a precious gift.

"I really do, Eds." You sigh blissfully, turning to him with boxes in hand. "It's just so...perfect. Ya know?" You say, smiling so bright as his hands meet your hips.

"Well, I can't say holidays have ever been all that fun at the Munson household, sweetheart. I mean, Wayne always did his best, but it was never like this." Eddie shrugs, not wanting to sour your ecstatic mood. He's never been all that big on holidays, they usually turned out to be a huge disappointment when he was still with his parents. Halloween was okay, he could cobble together a costume and escape the house for a few hours to get some free candy. The only candy he'd have all year. But there weren't any turkey dinners, or presents under the tree, or even a tree at all. He'd be the one kid at school who got nothing for Christmas, not even something lame like socks. He considered himself lucky if he wasn't gifted a beating.

But Wayne changed all that. His uncle couldn't give him the world, but he did what he could. Chinese take-out and one present for each of them was more than enough. Eddie always made whatever gift he gave to Wayne, per his uncle's request. A clay ashtray here, a painted mug there, lots of drawings and handmade cards, too. And in return, Wayne worked his ass off all year to get his nephew something he really, really wanted.

One year he'll always find the most special, was when Wayne gifted him his first guitar. It was an acoustic. The perfect thing to get him started. And Eddie practiced on that thing until his fingers blistered and bled. Day in and day out, perfecting chords and simple songs like "Hot Cross Buns", until Wayne got him a Beatles songbook the next year. Eddie still has that guitar to this day, it sits in a closet in your apartment, with the words 'this machine slays dragons' painted around the body. He's shown it to you before, giving you a brief history behind it. It's long since out of tune, but he can't ever bear to part with it.

"But, I think this year, it will be perfect. Because I'm with you." Eddie says lovingly, pulling himself out of his brief contemplation of the past. With you, he has a real chance to have the kind of Christmas he's always dreamed of. He brings you in closer, the boxes of lights pressed between his chest and your own. You both lean in for a kiss, your mouths meeting in the middle. Content sounds escape you, his tongue slipping past your lips for a moment. "Let's get those lights up, hm?" He smiles as you break away, his forehead resting against yours.

"Yeah." You nod excitedly, practically squealing with delight as you go back to the tree. You nearly rip the boxes of lights open, pulling the bundles out and dropping the cardboard onto the floor. Arwen comes padding over at the sound, curiously poking her head inside one of the boxes. She then shoves herself inside, only fitting half-way. The cat rolls onto her back, her front paws batting playfully at the clear plastic window. "Aw, looks like someone's found a new toy." You giggle.

"She's so amused by the simplest things." Eddie chuckles, shaking his head. He knew cats love balls of string and chasing mice, but watching Arwen pounce into paper grocery bags or use empty boxes as hiding places is an interesting phenomenon in his eyes.

You work together unraveling the strings of lights, then wrapping them around the circumference of the tree. Eddie plugs them into the wall once they're in place, twinkles of white, blue, red, and green blinking on in unison. The thin, cylindrical bulbs create a cozy glow from the corner of the room, warming your heart as the season slowly comes alive inside your home. Eddie retrieves the packs of ornaments from their shopping bags, bringing them over so you can dress the tree branches together. You're sticking to the classics, red and green baubles, and festive shapes like snowmen and candy canes.

It takes about an hour to have every branch covered, and ensure no two ornaments next to each other are the same. You're very picky about their distribution, Eddie finds. You can't help it, the tree looks uneven somehow if all the same shape or color are on one side. But he's patient, following your numerous corrections of 'no, put that one there', and 'this one here, Eds'. You've done this far more times than he has, so he trusts your judgment on the subject. When you're all finished, with a few ornaments left over, it's time to place the star on top.

"You wanna put the star on, love?" Eddie asks, holding the red and gold star your way.

"No, I think you should." You reply simply, gently pushing his hands back towards himself.

"Really?" He asks, surprised you want him to have the honor.

"Hell yeah! It's your first tree, right? I've put the star on for, like, twenty-one years straight. It's only fair you get to do it this year." You say sweetly, moving one of the dining chairs next to the tree. You pat the seat, ushering him over to step up onto it. "All yours, baby." You smile, eager to see him finish this out.

"Sweet." He grins, coming over to stand on the chair. He wobbles slightly at the height.

You hold it steady so he doesn't fall, gazing up at him. "Just make sure it's on straight." You encourage him. Eddie raises his hands up, holding the star. He brings it down atop the very tallest branch, lacing it through the loop inside and bending it to secure the star. He moves it around to make it perfectly straight, his tongue sticking out as he fiddles with it. He eventually lets it go, making sure it's not crooked and will hold the weight. "That's perfect, Eddie." You praise, holding your hand out to help him back down. He takes hold of it, rejoining you on the ground a second later. You move the chair out of the way, allowing you both to see the dressed tree in all its glory. "Look what we did, baby. Isn't it pretty?" You say contently as he stands behind you, wrapping his arms around you to keep your body close. You lean back into him, admiring your hard work.

"It's beautiful." Eddie replies in agreement, squeezing you a little in his hold. The dark green of the tree has provided the perfect canvas for the colorful dressings. The lights reflect off the ornaments, casting shimmers on the branches, wall, and floor. And the star on top gleams like a beacon of hope. It looks just like the trees he's seen in the movies or store windows, but it's a thousand times better in real life, in his own home. He doesn't think he's ever seen anything so gorgeous before. Except you, of course. "Should I make some hot cocoa, sweetheart?" Eddie asks softly, leaning his head down to press a warm kiss to your throat.

"Mmm, that sounds perfect." You melt in his grasp, savoring the way his lips feel on your sweet-spot.

"Whipped cream?" He asks again, another kiss traveling lower.

"Yes, please." You let out a sigh, tilting your head to the side.

"Cinnamon on top?" He continues, pressing his lips on you one last time, right where your skin ends and your sweater begins.

"Uh-huh." You answer lowly, suddenly feeling very warm.

"You got it, babydoll." Eddie smirks against your skin, pulling away from you entirely to prepare the hot chocolate.

"Fuck me." You mutter once he's out of earshot, completely weak in the knees. You weren't expecting him to pull out that move, but it's got you very revved up regardless.

Eddie just barely hears you and chuckles to himself in the kitchen, assuming you're still standing exactly where he left you. All hot and bothered, rose-flushed cheeks and panties quickly becoming soaked. He's sure you're thinking him quite the tease right now. But he has every intention of keeping the promise his kisses have made. You'll cuddle up together on the couch, share your innocent beverage. And then, he'll fuck your needy little brains out.

And he does. Eddie brings the mugs over from the kitchen, finding you waiting for him on the sofa. You stay sitting up, hoping to control your desires. That is, until his large hands find their way to your shoulders. They rub and squeeze your muscles, working out the knots you'd racked up from the stress of the season. It takes no time at all for you to become pliable in his hands, eyes falling closed as little moans and groans leave your lips. Your head falls back to rest on his shoulder as he massages you. He knows damn well that his magic fingers are your greatest weakness.

Eddie smirks at how fucked-out you are already, practically drooling onto his shirt because it just feels so good. It's not long after that the cocoa is left to go cold, and your clothes are nothing but litter on the floor. You find yourselves screwing six ways from Sunday, hands, mouths, and various interlocking parts working feverishly to get you both off. The sweet scents of artificial pine and chocolate surround you, mingling with the primal stench of sex and sweat. The energy switches from rough and hard, to soft and tender, and back again numerous times. By the end of it all, you're out of breath and exhausted after what feels like well-spent hours. And Arwen is still playing around in her new box.

Wednesday, December 13th, 1989

About a week and a half later, you manage to convince Eddie to go ice skating with you on Lover's Lake. He was apprehensive at first, given his rather clumsy nature. He's worried about falling on his ass and looking stupid. But with your assurance that it happens to everyone, he agrees to go with you.

You hop out of the passenger side of the van once Eddie's pulled up to the lake. There's a good twenty people skating around the ice, mostly couples and a family or two. A small heated hut to rent skates and buy hot beverages sits a few yards away, run by volunteers, usually from the middle and high school. It appears Mr. Clarke 一Dustin's old science teacher一 is manning it today, looking rather cozy behind the counter.

"Hurry up, Eds!" You call to your love excitedly, leaning against the van as you wait for him to join you. You're all bundled up in your matching blue coat, hat, gloves, and scarf. Underneath is your festive sweater, and a knee-length red skirt paired with thick knitted white leggings covers your lower half, cozy black boots on your feet.

"Relax, Y/N. The ice will still be there in a minute." Eddie huffs, coming around from the driver's side. He's layered up, too, per your insistence. A red beanie covers his head, his long tresses falling down from the bottom. His scarf and mittens are the same color, a nice contrast to his black puffer jacket. His jeans are thankfully thicker and without holes today, as well. You'd hate for him to catch cold out here, and he won't have any fun if he's shivering the whole time.

"There's no need to be cranky, love. We're gonna have fun." You tut at him, pulling your hands from your pockets and placing them on Eddie's shoulders. He softens at your touch, though he's still pretty on edge. This is all so new for him, skating...on ice. Sounds kinda dangerous, if he's being honest. "Still nervous?" You ask, noticing the worry in his eyes.

"Yeah." Eddie admits, rolling his eyes. He's well aware that he's being a total weenie right now, afraid of a little fall. Or the blade of his skate somehow cutting you, or the ice falling through beneath his feet. Or一

"Eddie, it's gonna be fine. I swear. No blade accidents, no thin ice, no concussions. Okay?" You say reassuringly, raising your hands to cup his reddened cheeks. "I'm gonna be with you the whole time. You don't have to worry, I'm a pro." You smile, somewhat cockily. Your confidence makes him crack one too.

"Is that so? You know how to do jumps, and spins, and stuff?" Eddie asks, teasing as there's no way you're that advanced.

"Well, no. But I've mastered the basic technique, and I can skate backwards. And that's all you really need to know." You reply matter-of-factly.

"Oh, so...not really a pro, then?" Eddie presses with a chuckle, earning a playful smack across his chest.

"Whatever!" You scoff, officially done wasting time. "You're just stalling, let's go!" You pull Eddie along towards the booth, snow crunching underfoot as you go. You reach the counter, the heat from inside the hut radiating out towards you. "Hey there, Mr. Clarke! You warm enough in there?" You politely greet the man, met with his kind smile.

"Oh, you bet!" Mr. Clarke chuckles. "What size do you need, Ms. Henderson?" He asks. You give him your size, and Eddie's. Clarke retrieves the pairs of skates, exchanging them for a couple bucks. "Well, you two have fun out there. The ice is perfect today!"

"We will. Thanks, Mr. Clarke!" You say, leaving the booth to find an empty bench to sit down and change your shoes.

"Real close with the science teacher, huh?" Eddie asks, taking off his left shoe.

"Nah, not really. I know him from when I used to pick Dustin up from A.V. Club. Why? Are you jealous?" You joke.

"No way. He's not your type." He shakes his head, sure of his own statement.

"I dunno, he does have a pretty sweet mustache..." You play up your 'attraction' to the older man, biting your lip in an exaggerated manner as you gaze back towards the booth.

"Oh, please! You hate it when I'm even a little too scruffy! I doubt you'd enjoy kissing that caterpillar on his face." Eddie retorts, getting a little too serious now.

"Who said I'd be kissing it?" You ask, implying you'd be riding it instead. Eddie just stares at you a moment, suddenly unsure if you're playing around or not. "Oh my god, I'm kidding!" You burst out laughing at his dumbfounded expression, putting your hand over his to get your point across. "Eddie, he's old enough to be my dad!" This makes Eddie laugh, thankful that you were indeed joking.

"Sorry, you're right." Eddie sighs once the laughter dies down. "Maybe I do get a little jealous sometimes." He rolls his eyes at himself, feeling rather childish about it.

"I know." You say, before continuing. "But it's sweet. And you don't go overboard with it. You know, 'asserting your dominance' or whatever. And it's kinda hot, too..." You can't help the mischievous smile that grows on your lips.

"Really?" Eddie asks, as if this is breaking news to him.

"Well, yeah. When other guys check me out, you'll hold me a little tighter, and kiss me a little harder. I love it when you do that. It makes me feel sexy, and desired, and loved." You explain, a light blush spreading on your cheeks.

"Wow, I..." He scoffs, unable to believe it. Over nine months together, and he never knew you found his mildly possessive nature so attractive before. He never really thought you noticed, given how touchy he is with you. "...I didn't know that." He finishes with a grin, glad that you're still able to surprise each other after all this time.

"Well, now you do. Let's get these skates on, hm?" You say with a giggle.

"Sure thing, angel." Eddie replies, pulling his skates onto his feet. You help him lace them up nice and tight, making sure he won't trip. You've long since had your own secured and ready to go.

"Okay, I'm gonna help you up now." You say, holding out your hands to himself as you stand in the snow on your own skates. "Take my hands, and slowly stand up."

"'Kay." Eddie replies, puffing his cheeks as he exhales. He grabs hold of your hands, carefully using your weight to stand up. His ass leaves the seat of the bench, his legs slowly straightening until he's at his typical couple of inches above you. He stumbles slightly, almost falling over. "Shit." He gasps, about to panic. But you steady him, not letting go for anything.

"Just relax, baby. You've got this." You encourage him as he wobbles, his ankles threatening to give out from under him. "Plant your feet. I don't want you to twist an ankle." You instruct.

"Okay, okay." He murmurs, trying his hardest to maintain balance. He forces himself to calm down, putting his weight on each foot. The teetering stops, and he lets out a sigh of relief.

"There ya go. Nice job, Eds. Now for the hard part."

"That wasn't the hard part?" Eddie's eyes widen, unsure if he can really go through with this.

"Sorry. I shouldn't have said that. Just stay still." You shake your head dismissively, letting go of one of his hands so you can stand beside him and lead him to the ice. "Just carefully walk towards the lake, and stop a couple feet before the edge." He gives you a silent nod, far too focused on not falling over to speak. You continue to walk him through this, taking baby steps toward the frozen surface. You stop once you're at the end of the bank, taking both of Eddie's hands again. "Okay, this next part is gonna be a little tricky. But just follow my lead. Okay?" You say kindly, finding Eddie's frightened eyes.

"Let's do it." Eddie nods again, eager to keep going before he gives up altogether. So far, he absolutely hates this. But he hopes that once he figures it out, he can actually have some fun with you.

"Alright. I'm gonna walk back onto the ice. One step at a time." You say as you look behind you. You bring your left foot back, and Eddie's right follows your path, stopping on the edge of the snow. The blade of your skate meets the ice, only sliding the slightest bit. Eddie flinches at the sudden movement. "It's okay, Eds. Other foot now." Your right foot meets the other, his left following suit. You take a moment to let Eddie breathe, he's been holding your hands extremely tight during this part. "Ready for your turn now?" You ask.

"Yeah." He forces a smile, failing to hold in his pathetic whimper of fear.

"Okay, left foot first." You tell him. You watch as he raises it, apprehensively bringing it back down on the slick surface. It slips forward suddenly, almost sending him lunging forward with a fearful yelp. But you stop him, holding him tight. "It's okay. Straighten out." You give him a nod, you know he can do this. He stands upright, his foot sliding back to where he initially placed it. "Good. Other foot now."

"Shit." He mutters, immediately regretting bringing his right foot forward and onto the ice. It lands much smoother than the left, and he's miraculously still standing.

"You did it, baby." You giggle in delight, happy that you've successfully got Eddie on the lake. "Wanna try moving around now?" You ask, biting your lip excitedly.

"I'd love to, sweetheart. But I don't think I can." Eddie replies, feeling completely stuck in place. He's afraid to move a single muscle, worried it'll send him flying.

"That's alright. I can pull you around for a while first. If you want." You offer with a casual shrug. You weren't too dissimilar to Eddie your first time on the ice. It's scary, not having your own two feet planted firmly on the ground. He's no doubt feeling like his legs have turned to stone, frozen in fear.

"Okay." He nods again. As terrified as he is, he trusts you. You know how to do all this, you can help him get used to it.

"Alright, you'd better hang on tight, then." You get yourself ready, pointing the toes of your feet together. You then begin a slow backstroke, pushing your foot back and out to move the two of you in that direction. It takes a few strokes to build a steady speed, given you have to pull Eddie's weight along with you. But soon enough, you're making a smooth trip around the lake. You keep looking behind you to keep from running into anyone, but you make sure to check in on Eddie as you move. "Havin' fun now, love?" You ask, noticing some of his fear has melted away.

"Y-yeah. It's pretty nice." Eddie smiles genuinely, meeting your eyes. He's still scared shirtless of falling over, but he's also over the moon. The gentle speed you're pulling him along at feels really nice. Just gliding around, almost weightless.

You take him all the way around the perimeter of the lake, casually passing by other couples, and parents with kids. By the time you're near your bench again, you think he's ready to try skating on his own. "Alright, time to try it for yourself." You say, dropping one of his hands and going to his side again.

"Y/N...I dunno if I can." Eddie whimpers, biting his lip nervously.

"You didn't know if you could make it to the ice, either. But you did. You can do this. I'll still be holding your hand. If you go down, so do I." You reassure him again, stroking his arm with your free hand. The touch draws his eyes to yours again, and he finds your loving expression beaming at him.

"Alright. Fine." He sighs, mentally cursing you for using basic logic and reason.

"Okay. So, you gotta bend your knees a little. Like this." You demonstrate, waiting for Eddie to copy you. He does, and you keep going. "Okay. Then, you're gonna put your feet together, and sweep out to move yourself forward. Like this." You show him one stroke, pushing your left foot out and bringing it back in. It moves you a little bit ahead of him, but his eyes watch every second of it studiously. "Try it."

"And this is where it all goes to shit." Eddie jokes dryly, before mimicking your action almost perfectly. He's standing right beside you again, a stunned look on his face at how easy that was. "That's it?" He asks, almost annoyed.

"Yep. That's it. Wanna keep going?" You ask, finding his surprise so damn adorable.

"You bet your ass I do!" He laughs cockily, ready to get this shit going. For real this time.

"Let's stop wasting time, then!" You say excitedly, squeezing his hand. You both sweep your feet in sync this time, propelling yourselves forward. Eddie still holds tightly onto you, his free arm extended out to maintain his balance. But you're both smiling, and giggling, and having a really great time.

"Thanks for being patient with me, princess." Eddie says sweetly, gazing at you with nearly heart-shaped pupils.

"I'll always be patient with you, Eds. It's not very hard to be." You reply with a smile. "Besides, everyone's scared their first time on the ice."

"Oh, yeah? Even a pro like you?" He teases.

"Yep. Granted, I was like, five at the time." You laugh, remembering the very first time you'd come to Lover's Lake in the wintertime. Dad had brought you, a 'Daddy-daughter day', he called it. He'd laced up your skates for you, and held your hands just like you've done for Eddie today. You fell at least ten times in the first hour, and you almost gave up altogether. But Dad insisted you keep trying, offering to buy you a nice warm apple cider from the hut if you made it one whole lap without falling over. So you did just that. You landed on your ass again and again, having to start over. But you didn't give up, and Dad beamed with pride once you'd finally pulled it off. You were extremely sore and bruised the next day, but you didn't even care. The sweet, cinnamony taste of cider made it all worth the Epsom salt bath and numerous doses of children's aspirin.

From then on, the trip to the lake became an annual tradition for you two. Dad took you for seven years, each one better than the last. Just the two of you, able to bond and be happy together. Even when your parents were fighting, this frozen lake was a place completely free from that. At least for a couple of hours. During these special outings, you were transformed into 'Daddy's Little Ice Princess'. He'd twirl you around, and lift you up in the air while you pulled some form of graceful ballet pose. You'd hold hands while doing endless gliding laps, sharing cider on the bench to warm yourselves back up. It was your favorite activity of the entire season, and you looked forward to it all year round.

After Dad skipped town, though...skating became a solitary, somewhat sad affair. Dustin's never had any interest, and Mom has the balance of an elephant standing on a bowling ball. So you'd make the trip to the lake alone, silently circling the lake with tears in your eyes. It was probably what started you on the path to being so overly independent. The person who showed you how to do this magical, wonderful thing was gone. And to avoid running the risk of that ever happening again, you started doing everything you possibly could all by yourself. You couldn't rely on anyone. Not without the fear that, one day, they would abandon you, too. Not Mom, not Dustin. Nobody. All you had that was for sure, was yourself. Until Eddie came into your life.

"Aw, I bet you were so cute back then. All pink mittens and pigtails." Eddie teases again, nudging you out of your thoughts with his elbow.

"Oh, you have no idea." You chuckle, wiping away a stray tear when he's not looking. Though you could just blame it on the cold air getting to you if he saw.

"Bet you were still just as bossy, too." He smirks, glancing at you again.

"Maybe." You mutter, hating to admit that he's right. But what can you say? You've always been ambitious and driven.

"I don't mind. It's one of my favorite things about you." Eddie says softly, rubbing your hand with his thumb.

"I'm glad you think so, Eds." You giggle, trying to resist the urge to sniffle.

"Something wrong, angel?" Eddie asks, noticing your eyes are looking a little watery. Sure, it could just be the winter air. But they weren't like that a minute ago, and you've made quite a few laps around the lake now.

"No. It's nothing." You say shortly, shaking your head. Eddie doesn't let it go, holding your gaze, and you sigh. "This is something I used to do with my dad." You explain calmly, no onslaught of tears waiting to fall. For once. "And after he left, I've always done this on my own. And it's..." You pause and shrug, grasping for the words. You look deep into his loving eyes, and miraculously manage to find them. "It's just nice to have someone to share it with again." You smile, the warmth of Eddie's love radiating within your heart.

"And I'm more than happy to be that someone, sweetheart." He replies, leaning over to give you a gentle kiss. His lips meet yours, cold as ice for a moment, before warming up again. As your mouths are connected in this loving moment, however, Eddie's right foot makes contact with a raised bump in the ice. This sends him tumbling down on his back, which unfortunately brings you down with him. You both shriek in surprise, your feet snatching themselves from under you. Your stomachs drop, and the wind is knocked out of your lungs as you hit the surface of the lake.

"Fuck." You grunt breathlessly, fighting to bring air back into your chest.

"Sorry...my fault." Eddie gasps out his apology, turning his head to look at you. "You okay?" He feels awful for being the reason you both totally ate it. But he couldn't help it, your beautiful lips needed kissing.

"I'm fine, it could've been worse." You reply, slowly regaining the ability to breathe. Eddie starts laughing, taking you by surprise. You raise an eyebrow, curious what that's about. "What's so funny?"

"I'm j一" He tries to answer through his cackling. "I'm just picturing how we must've looked going down!" He gets the words out, his face going red as his voice goes all squeaky. His infectious laughter spreads to you, leaving the both of you a howling mess on the ice. The visual of you sharing a romantic moment, only to fall on your asses a moment later is quite hilarious to you. And now here you are, flat on your backs, laughing up a storm as the other skaters glide past you with worrisome eyes.

"Okay..." You take a deep breath once you calm down. "I think we've had enough for one day. Let's give the skates back, and get some apple cider to go. How's that sound?" You ask, getting onto your knees so you can stand back up.

"That sounds perfect, babydoll." Eddie agrees, following your lead once again to get the hell out of here.

The remaining days leading up to the 24th are swirled in mystery for the two of you. You do your Christmas shopping separately from one another, you go with Mom and Dustin, and Eddie tags along with Steve and Robin. You've agreed to get each other one big gift, and a few smaller ones like clothes or books. You have absolutely no clue what your special present from Eddie is going to be, but he's been spending a lot of time after work...someplace. He claims he's helping Wayne fix up a few things at the trailer, but you don't buy that for a second. You're dying to know what he's up to, it must be pretty amazing if he's spending this much time on it.

As for you, you knew exactly what you had to get for Eddie. There's a gorgeous, and pricey guitar he's had his eye on for months. A B.C. Rich Mockingbird. Apparently, it's pretty popular among a few famous guitarists, and Eddie's eyes lit up the second he saw it in the local music store. There were a few colors to choose from, but only one seemed to capture his true attention. Slick, black as motor oil, with a sleek and dynamic shape. You're not even one to know all that much about instruments, but this guitar is sexy as hell. And if it's what your love desires, then he shall have it wrapped up and waiting for him underneath the tree this year.

Sunday, December 24th, 1989

You roll over in bed on the morning of Christmas Eve, your arm absent-mindedly searching for Eddie beside you. When your palm meets empty sheets, you perk your head up to look around the room. Daylight barely peeks through the drawn blinds on the bedroom window, casting the room in a dim gray hue. "Eddie?" You call out sleepily, thinking he maybe just went to the bathroom. But when you look over, the door is closed, which is never the case if he's coming back to bed. It seems he's gotten up before you, which isn't typical of him at all. Early bird getting the worm, Eddie is not. You're guessing he wanted to let you sleep in, perhaps while he prepares his 'surprise'.

Quiet footsteps descend down the hall towards you, and the door opens. "Hey, sweetheart. What's up?" Eddie asks as he comes into the room.

"Nothing. I just woke up, and I didn't know where you were." You answer, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

"I've just been getting your special present ready, baby. Let's have some cereal, and then I'll show you what it is." He replies, excited to give you your gift.

"Okay." You nod, and hop out of bed to go with him to the kitchen. Arwen is munching away at her own breakfast, her face buried in the bowl. She may be smart, but she isn't exactly one for manners. Eddie pours the bowls of cereal, Frosted Flakes for you, and Honeycomb for himself. He brings them over to the table, sitting down beside you. His right hand goes for his spoon, while the other rubs your thigh.

"You sleep okay, babydoll?" He asks, bringing a bite to his mouth.

"Yeah, think I could tell you were missing before I woke up, though." You answer, remembering how cold the bed felt without him in it.

"Sorry about that. I didn't want to leave you in bed all alone. But I promise, it'll be worth it." He gives your flesh a loving squeeze, flashing his charming smile.

"I'm sure it will be, Eds. And I'm looking forward to giving you your present, too." You giggle, digging into your breakfast. You continue to eat in comfortable silence, Eddie's hand still stroking your thigh as you do. You love having him touch you in some way as much as possible. It doesn't matter which way he does it, or if it leads to something more. Just the feeling of some part of him against you, it's comforting.

Once you're finished, Eddie insists you get dressed and come outside to the parking lot with him. You find this a bit strange, but you also noticed he hasn't put anything else under the tree with the other gifts. You do as he says, with him practically yanking you out the door to go downstairs once you're ready. You reach the ground floor, and he doesn't stop for a second. He pushes the door open, leading you outside into the cold morning. He keeps going until you reach the parking lot. And you finally see it. A bright blue 1979 Datsun 280ZX, parked right beside Eddie's van with a massive red bow on top of it.

"Eddie, you didn't!" You squeal excitedly. You've been wanting a car of your own for so long. You'd even dragged him along to a dealership months ago to look at used ones, but nothing was quite within your price range. This exact model had your eyes lighting up, and your mind cursing your lack of funds. Cars aren't really an area of interest for you, but you could tell just by looking at it that the Datsun is one sweet ride. But this passing fascination was so long ago, you didn't think he'd remember. And you sure as shit didn't expect him to buy it for you.

"I did. She's all yours, sweetheart." Eddie beams, dangling the keys in front of you. You snatch them excitedly, cradling them in your own hands.

"How the hell did you afford this?" You question, hoping he didn't steal it or something.

"Let's just say I'll be paying it off until I'm forty." Eddie chuckles, finding the look of pure joy on your face worth every last penny. He considers himself lucky that he convinced the dealer to knock off a few hundred bucks. The car may be in almost pristine condition, but it's also a decade old. And Wayne may have taught him a trick or two when it comes to haggling.

"You're the best boyfriend in the world! You know that, right?" You ask happily, putting your hands on his chest. His arms wrap around you out of instinct, pulling you closer.

"I only know that it's what you deserve, princess." He replies, giving you a gentle peck on the lips. "C'mon, let's take a quick drive." He suggests with a grin, patting your butt to usher you towards your new ride.

"Fuck yeah! Gotta christen the seats!" You cackle, leaving his side to get into the driver's side. The interior is a dark blue suede-like material, soft and comfortable. Perfect for the one thing that's on your mind right now.

"Someone's gonna end up on the naughty list." Eddie laughs, carefully taking the massive bow off the roof. He tosses it in the back, sliding into the passenger seat. It's an odd feeling for him, not being the one driving. Sure, you've driven the van a couple of times. Or driven him in Claudia's car. But this is different, because this badass blue machine is yours. Truly yours.

"I'll gladly be on a thousand naughty lists, if it means I get to properly thank you for this bitchin' present." You say seriously, turning the key in the ignition. The car roars to life, and you're speeding off before Eddie can get another word in. The only destination you have in mind, is the woods.

After you return home from your little 'drive', it's time for Eddie to receive his present. He carelessly sheds his coat and plops down on the couch, still rather dazed from how crazy you went on him earlier. You've always been, in his words, insatiable. But you were seriously something else once you put the Datsun in park and climbed on top of him in the passenger seat. It took every ounce of willpower not to cum in the first couple minutes, with all the insane shit you were doing to him.

"It's your turn now, love." You say sweetly, still riding the intense high you'd managed to reach no more than twenty minutes ago. You bring the gift over to him, large and heavy in your hands. You set it across his lap, and take a seat next to him on the sofa.

"Think I already had a turn in the car, baby." Eddie jokes. He glances down at the long, massive thing you've presented him with. What the hell could it be?

"Mmm, you sure did." You purr, leaning over to nibble his earlobe.

"Angel..." He groans at the contact, his spent cock twitching in his jeans.

"Go on. Open it." You say lowly, your hand coming up to rest on his shoulder.

"Don't have to tell me twice." He chuckles lightly. He tears away the pretty wrapping paper, revealing a cardboard box. He pulls the top open, and his jaw drops. "No fuckin' way." He gasps, finding himself face to face with the B.C. Rich Mockingbird. Just when he thought he'd won at gift-giving this year, you go and buy the guitar he's been borderline lusting over for fuck knows how long.

"Yes. Fuckin'. Way. Merry Christmas, my love." You plant a kiss on his cheek, ecstatic to see him left speechless.

His hands apprehensively reach for the neck of the guitar, as if it's the most fragile thing in the world. He carefully pulls the instrument out of its box, turning it so the body can rest in his lap and he can get a real feel for it. It's all shiny and new, not a single fingerprint or scratch to be seen. And it's absolute heaven in his hands. "This is amazing, Y/N. Easily the best present I've ever gotten." Eddie says after a good couple minutes of silently inspecting every inch of the Mockingbird. "Thank you."

"You're very welcome, Eds. You deserve it, and so much more." You exchange another kiss, trying your damnedest not to deepen it. You're expected at your mother's soon, and there's no time for another detour. "Alright, we'd better get ready to go."

"Do we have to?" He whines, giving you puppy eyes and pouting his lower lip. He's dying to test out his new guitar, get her tuned just right and hear her sing.

"Yes we do, Eds. Mom's expecting us. You can play with your new toy later." You reply, refusing to give in to his charms.

"Okay." He sighs, putting the Mockingbird back in its box for safe keeping. He'd hate for Arwen to get curious and chew on the strings, or scratch the slick paint job.

"It's only for a couple of hours. You'll survive." You giggle at his sulking, getting up to put your coat and shoes on again. "I'll drive." You say as you're both about to leave the apartment for the second time today.

"Whatever you want, babydoll." Eddie's mood lightens again at recalling how happy his gift has made you. The guitar can wait, it's not like it's gonna disappear into thin air. He follows you back down the hall with gifts in hand, descending the stairs and out the door to the lot. You both hop into the Datsun, and head on your way to Claudia's house.

"Merry Christmas, you two!" Mom says cheerfully as you come inside, dressed in her Frosty the Snowman sweater. She's worn it every year for as long as you can remember.

"Merry Christmas, Mom." You reply.

"Merry Christmas, Claudia." Eddie says.

"Oh, who's car is that?" Mom asks when she says the Datsun sitting in the driveway.

"It's mine. Eddie bought it for me." You answer excitedly, flashing her the keys.

"Well, that's great, sugarpuff! I know you've wanted a car for a while now." Mom chuckles, remembering the few times you begged her to buy you a junker back in high school.

"Sweet ride. How'd you swing that, Eddie?" Dustin asks, approaching you both at the doorway.

"Dusty, it's not polite to ask things like that." Mom chides him.

"It's fine, Claudia. I'm sure Y/N thought I stole the car when she first saw it." Eddie teases, nudging you with his elbow. "I got a pretty good deal, though. Wayne taught me how to bargain." He adds with a shrug as he takes off his coat to reveal a festive sweater of his own. You have the same one on, a red and green knitted thing with patterns of snowflakes and reindeer on it.

"What the hell is that?" Dustin snorts at the sight, trying to hold back his laughter. Eddie has never worn anything remotely Christmas-y in all the years he's known him.

"What?" Eddie quirks an eyebrow, wondering what Dustin's deal is. Following the boy's eyes, he looks down at his sweater. He looks back at the young man, glaring now. "One word, to anyone, and you won't see another Christmas." He threatens, hoping Dustin will have the good sense to keep quiet, and not tell a single soul about it. He has a bad-boy reputation to uphold, after all. Though he will admit he really likes the sweater. It’s warm, and comfortable. And you picked it out.

"Not a peep. Besides, you guys look...cute." Dustin says nervously, knowing a threat from his former dungeon master is not one to be taken lightly.

"Thank you, Dustin. I thought so, too." You giggle, taking Eddie's hand in yours. "Although, I think the sweater looks better on you, baby."

"Okay, dinner's almost ready. Oh, and you can put the presents under the tree, Y/N." Mom says, having left the room to check on the Cornish hens currently roasting in the oven.

"Sure thing, Mom." You reply, letting go of Eddie's hand to put the gifts down.

"Hey, um, Claudia? Can we talk for a minute?" Eddie asks abruptly, taking the three of you by surprise. You look over at him from your crouch beside the Christmas tree, finding him fidgeting with his fingers, suddenly nervous about something.

"Sure. We can talk in my room." Mom answers, gesturing for Eddie to follow her down the hallway. You and Dustin share an odd look once they leave the room.

"What's that about?" Dustin asks, but you honestly have no idea.

"Beats me. He hasn't mentioned anything that he'd need to talk to Mom about." You shrug, placing the gifts you brought with the others.

"Do you think it's about Wayne? That maybe he's sick or something?" Dustin keeps the questions coming, which are only setting alarm bells off in your head.

"No. He would've told me about that. But, he has been over at the trailer a lot lately. That's what he said, anyway. 'Helping Wayne fix stuff', or something." You reply, wondering what the hell is going on. Eddie's given you no indication that anything is wrong, nor has Wayne in the few times you've seen him lately. You suppose they could keep something serious amongst themselves, but why would they? It's not making any sense.

"Weird." Dustin says.

"Yeah." You murmur, your mind going to all sorts of unpleasant places. What if Wayne's PTSD has gotten worse? Or if he has cancer? What if Eddie has been lying to you, and he's seeing someone else? You really don't want to think about these things, but you can't help where your mind wanders off to.

It feels like an eternity until Mom and Eddie finally come out of her room. Once they do, you notice their eyes are teary, but not in a sad way. They're wearing mile-long smiles on their faces, and Mom gives Eddie a joyful hug in the middle of the hallway. And it finally clicks. What they discussed isn't anything remotely bad at all. No, you realize now that what Eddie wanted from your mother was her blessing.

To be continued...

#fanfiction #hippiegoth97 #smut #stranger things #eddie munson #hawkins #1980s #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x henderson!reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x you

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strawberrystepmom · 1 year ago

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malevolent enterprise ch. 2

ceo au series. sukuna and yuji are brothers. gojo x f!reader are endgame but this is backstory/lead up. reader has hair that can be swept off of their face. reader is a lawyer (ive taken creative liberties bc i am not a real lawyer so take it up with god if u find an issue) and has an established platonic relationship with sukuna and has an ex boyfriend that is an oc named shigeo. cw drug and alcohol mentions. wc 1.8k.

masterlist coming soon but in the meantime, ch. 1 can be found here

divider thanks to @/cafekitsune ♡

“Forgot I paid you to stand around, ---.”

Hearing Sukuna use a shortened version of your full name, you roll your eyes and pull your glasses off of your face, holding them between your thumb and index finger. Meeting his gaze with an indignant look of your own, you toss the pen you’re holding with your other hand down on the desk in front of you and groan in frustration.

You’re only standing in his office because you've been reviewing contract abstracts for hours and could use a break before your brain starts to turn to mush given his absolutely archaic NDA demands that would never be upheld in court.

“Am I not allowed to pace? Is that one of the workplace rules you’ve set we all have to follow, King Ryomen?”

He appreciates your sharp wit if nothing else so he chuckles, walking around you to plop down behind the heaviest and most ornate looking desk you’ve seen in a modern office.

Truly fit for a man who sees himself as a king.

“Can I make all of you start calling me that? Will HR have an issue?”

You scoff and shake your head.

“Yes. I have a funny feeling they would indeed take issue with you demanding your employees call you king.”

Placing your glasses back on the bridge of your nose, you sweep back a few tendrils of hair that have fallen in front of your face and sigh, raking your fingers through the top of your overgrown layers. You’ve been too busy lately to even get a trim, late nights spent at the revenge motivated Ryomen Enterprises preventing you from doing much but provide general counsel, as your position and official title state.

You left one incredibly oppressive job for another and you don’t quite regret hitching your wagon to Sukuna but you aren’t proud of it either, especially putting your own goal of having your own firm on hold to do it.

Leaving the Zen’in firm seemed intelligent three months ago after Naoya was named partner instead of you, the tireless hours you put into the blockbuster Miyamoto v. DTK, Inc. wrongful termination suit, the first of its kind in the country, meaning ultimately nothing when it comes to family ties and misogyny.

You handed your resignation to Naobito the next day who received it with a knowing smirk, glad to see one less bitch too big for her skirt suit step aside. Two months later Sukuna reached out to you and you assumed you’d be stupid to pass up a comfortable and lucrative in-house counsel position in a well funded company everyone had just started buzzing about.

It also helps that the founder of said company is someone you’ve known for long enough you have seen him shuffle through several life phases.

Needless to say the job hasn’t been what you expected it to be since saying yes though, sifting through a bankers box full of Manila envelopes, muttering aloud about all the shit you need to get done and the severe lack of hours in the day.

“The journalist hasn’t sent back her NDA yet,” you remark and he hums. He knows exactly the pretty little pink haired thing you’re mentioning and he smirks thinking about how easily he pulled her apart in a penthouse suite 8 blocks away a few nights ago but his attention is drawn back to the present when you slam a stack of papers in front of him.

“Your brother’s company doesn’t even have in-house counsel.”

Sukuna arches a brow, sitting back in his chair and slamming his feet on the desk. You don’t even jump, perhaps too used to his antics after only a couple months of working for him. It’s not like he was a stranger to start with, the senior you helped through your sophomore Contracts course remembering you fondly for your plucky demeanor and willingness to fight when necessary.

You simply remember him as a smooth talking asshole who charmed you into doing his coursework successfully but he signs your checks so you keep your assessments of his character to yourself as often as possible.

“How do you know what’s going on at Yuji’s company? Are you a mole?”

A snort is your response and you toss him a glance from over your glasses, one he knows means he’s treading in dangerous territory. Tossing down one of the near bursting envelopes in your hand, you pick up your phone and grimace at the text lighting up the screen.

Toge: maki wants 2 eat w u at some point this millennium - her words

Rolling your eyes, you text back and Sukuna watches with a grin, wondering what in the world could have you so irritated on your phone.

“That’s not Gojo is it?”

You scoff again and add nothing further, continuing to focus on your phone despite the second last message Toge sent you containing a link to a headline showing off the man just mentioned wining and dining a pretty dark haired woman across the world last night.

Quickly, you type a reply to Toge’s message to send the bubble with the news article further out of your periphery.

You: are you guys together? where are you?

“It’s my assistant reminding me to eat since I don’t get a spare second to do it working for you,” you finally remark, locking your phone with a wince.

You try to pretend you’re too good to be affected by the latest news of Satoru’s careless public hookups but you did lock yourself in the executive bathroom to cry at your own reflection for 45 minutes earlier so you opt for silence rather than digging the hole any deeper.

Why you care in the first place is beyond you, the two of you only ever orbiting around one another, no serious groundwork for anything beyond neutrality laid. You can’t help who you’re attracted to, though, and while there’s no use in lamenting that you’re nobody to the man you can at least sit down and dye your hair a shade darker to pretend he’d be interested next time you get the chance.

Sukuna pulls you out of the hole your mind is in, swinging back and forth in his chair, making it squeal with each quarter turn and further annoying you.

“When’s the last time you went out and did anything besides look at paperwork and smoke with the window cracked? You look like shit.”

The expression on your face is priceless, shifting to glare at your boss while he snickers to himself and shrugs, knuckles wrapped around his opposite bicep.

“Yuji’s party is the last time I went out.”

Well over a month ago. Sukuna whistles lowly, still shifting idly in his chair.

“I’m just saying maybe you need more than just a bite to eat to feel better. Text your ex or something, didn’t he just get surgery? He’s probably at home.”

The mention of Shigeo, baseball star, makes you exhale as loudly as possible and throw down another envelope. He’s the last person you want to hear about, given you broke his heart just over six months ago, admitting you didn’t see yourself marrying him when he asked about a shared future for the two of you. He’s sweet, he’s wonderful, he’s a good man but he isn’t your forever man and finally, anger makes your face flush and feel warm, your boss successfully making his way under your skin.

“Don’t you have illicit substances to snort out of someone’s asshole?” You look away and mutter under your breath, much to the amusement of the man watching each irritated step you take. “What are you even doing here anyway? It’s after hours.”

Sukuna takes his feet off of the desk and leans forward on his elbows, sucking his teeth. He isn’t sure why he’s here, actually. Perhaps he’s partied out and tired of hosting giggling girls with nothing better to do than hang on his every word or maybe he wants to look over his kingdom without prying eyes judging his every mood. Both of these are a little true but above all, part of him holds the tiniest bit of fondness for you. At least enough that he’s concerned you’re overworking yourself.

“Go out tonight. All this shit will be here tomorrow and I’m sure I’ll give you even more to deal with by the time the sun is up again.”

You sigh and look down at your phone, screen lighting up as another message from your personal assistant comes through.

Toge: den, just sat down. ordered you vodka soda.

“Fine but let your little pink princess know that if her NDA isn’t in by next week I’m going to sit there and watch you two fuck to make sure nothing gets out.”

Sukuna hums, brows raised.

“I always knew you were a freak.” You roll your eyes and he chuckles, standing up from his chair and letting it roll back far enough it bumps against the glass floor to ceiling window behind it. “You’re one of those girls who wears really sexy underwear but never lets anyone see them, right?”

Tucking documents into a box, you snarl. He’s not

flirting, he's making nasty observations as he is known to do. He has known you for long enough he feels extremely comfortable doing so and you can hardly argue with him. Who cares even if he is right? You’re a grown woman with a lucrative career and life, if you wanna wear 50,000 yen silk panties that’s your business.

“That’s more than enough out of you.” Another document tucked and you approach Sukuna, looking up at him with your mouth in a line. “I’ll be in by 10 tomorrow. Don’t fuck my night up.”

He nods, holding his hands up in a gesture of mild surrender.

“I’m serious about the NDA too. I’ll meet with her if you want but I won’t promise to be nice about it.”

Your boss scoffs but smirks.

“You’re always too nice, that's why you don’t have it yet but I’ll talk to her.”

Nodding, you acquiesce, uninterested in arguing while you tie your coat closed. Your phone lights up again and you look down at the message with a groan.

Toge: ice melting…👎🏻

“I mean it, Sukuna Itadori. I do not want to hear a single report of bad behavior in the morning.”

The only person allowed to still call him his family name is you and you turn on your heel, stilettos clacking across the marble floor with each step.

“Whatever you say, boss.”

His sly remark makes you toss another look over your shoulder while opening the office door but the buzz of your phone catches your attention instead.

Maki: If you aren’t here in 15 I’m dragging you out of that building myself.

Knowing she means it, you stiffen and rush to leave.

“No drama, Sukuna!”

You shout over your shoulder and he chuckles, opening his own phone and scrolling to the contact for the pretty little pink princess he hopes to have back between his jaws tonight.

#sukuna x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #kendall writes #malevolent enterprise

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quackity1999 · 1 month ago

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Hello President Quackity, i wanna ask how many cities are there in Las Nevadas? What are the famous landmarks i can visit around the country? And how is Las Nevadas was divided into regions? And what's the name of said regions?

it's a lot smaller than you'd believe. there's districts and whatnot, but we're incredibly effective despite the size.

in consideration of landmarks . .

THE TOLL GATE — the official entrance of las nevadas. manned by our highest security, requires a fee and background check just to ensure there's nobody bringing their bad intentions with them.

THE CASINO — a las nevadas hotspot for any high rollers or gamblers willing to put their stakes on the line! proudly partnered with a variety of investors to bring you the best of entertainment. blackjack, pool tables, slots, lottery, poker, roulette; we're open 24/7. if you're looking for quackity, he walks the floor on wednesdays. be sure to stop by.

[ ↑ minors are strictly banned from this venue. ↑ ]

THE FOUNTAINS — a visual display positioned right in the heart of the nation. drop in a coin for luck. or you can play in it if. if you really want, we don't especially care??? but please don't use it for a bathroom. Pleas.;e

THE SPACE NEEDLE — also known as the needle. it serves as both a breathtaking landmark and a go-to destination for any las nevadas’ elite. catering to curious tourists, hustlers, or innovators who've got cash to spend, it offers a personal dining experience perfect for exclusive gatherings or business meetings. with a strict reservation-only policy, the upper floors promise unparalleled views and luxury meals tailored to those who deserve nothing less.

THE HOTEL — need to catch up on the z’s? book in a room at the las nevadas hotel, where opulence meets indulgence. from plush, custom-designed suites to 24/7 concierge service, every detail is tailored to ensure a good night's rest. whether you’re unwinding after a big win or escaping the chaos of the strip club, the las nevadas hotel promises tranquility, style, and a better morning than your last.

THE STRIP CLUB — if you've had a long night of losing your bets at the casino, the strip club will tend to your ego with a wave of her feathered fans and a kiss on the cheek. the bartenders, while not always the most social, know how to mix the most eloquent of drinks. with our three stages full of the latest talent, trade your morals for martinis and let the desert’s finest entertain you.

[ ↑ minors are strictly banned from this venue. ↑ ]

THE WEDDING HALL — . . while it can serve as a wedding hall, it's better as an. uhhh. bridge. overgrown garden. thingy. WE'RE GUNNA FIX IT. ITS FINE. ITS GOT SOME COOL LILYPADS.

THE GAS STATION — also known as gas me up. local gas station. you get the gist.

THE RESTAURANT — the local dining hub for regulars, citizens and tourists alike! whether you’re here for a quick bite or a hearty meal, we’ve got you covered. proudly partnered with tubburger, serving up gourmet burgers that are as iconic as the las nevadas skyline. kick back and take in the view, whilst also stuffing your face. no need to try and look pretty.

THE DOCKS — if you're a little overwhelmed by all the glitz and glamor of the nation's central, catch some fresh air down at the docks. yes, we have a cruise ship.

THE POOLHOUSE + SAUNA — the desert gets heated when you're stuck counting your chips, so sink into pristine temperatures at any hour of the day for some critical relaxation. coming soon: a massage parlor!

THE EIFFEL TOWER — experience paris in the heart of the desert. towering high and mighty, our lifesize replica of the eiffel brings the charm and elegance of french taste right to your doorstep. immerse yourself in a piece of history — no passport required. perfect for those seeking romance, adventure, or a simply unique experience. come visit the one of the world’s most iconic landmarks, now closer than ever!

THE THEATRE — from blockbuster films to mesmerizing live performances, we bring the magic of the screen and stage under one roof. we're more than happy to deliver the visual delights, from classic to indie. free seating, membership lounges, and a full-service bar, we offer the ultimate in comfort. our exclusive screenings and priority booking (VIP only) make every movie an unforgettable experience.

OTHER — uhhhhh. walltown, i guess. we got that to settle the dispute with snowchester, blah blah. and as much as i hate to bring any attention to it, there's the . . ranvan? wilburger? thing? just outside the borders, anyway. it's a burn mark on the edge of the greater SMP, in my opinion. i recommend staying on the highway instead of taking a shitstop. sorry, i meant pit stop.

#quackitychirps #ask blog #delegation — LN TEXTBOOK.#ooc: girl this took so long to write. Pleas enjo y

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grlsbstshot · 20 days ago

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MAKE HER MINE

Pairing (Original Characters): Nasir Holmes (Lucky Daye) x Toni St. Cirie (Beyoncé Knowles-Carter)

One Shot Synopsis:

model-turned-actress-turned-hotshot publicist, toni st. cirie, puts her career first over any man. but what happens when actor, nasir holmes, enters her life hoping to become her next beau?

Warnings: smut (18+), usage of the n-word (if you’re white and read it, you owe us $20), oral (female receiving), foot play – if we missed anything, let us know!

Co-writer: @bornysterdays

Word Count: 4.3k // Divider Template: @cafekitsune

Notes: The following characters are original creations.

There will be alternating POVs between our leads.

nasir holmes didn't know how he did it, but he landed a meeting with the toni st. cirie. yes, the supermodel turned successful actress turned public relations powerhouse, toni st. cirie. the blonde bombshell's career was admirable and inspiring, but nasir wasn't interested in any of that. he wanted to get to know toni on a personal level. the man had the biggest crush on her, but he was playing way out of his league.

someone like toni st. cirie was in the major leagues, while he spent his time in the minors. nasir holmes' acting career had just begun. he starred in a few blockbuster hits with smaller roles, came from the holmes family dynasty, and had a recurring spot on the hit show, messy, but that was it. that wasn't enough to impress someone like toni st. cirie.

nasir considered himself a good actor, but he already knew that winning toni st. cirie over would be the hardest audition in his life. everything he's read or heard about her said she was hard to impress, so all of his tricks needed to come out today especially because he worked so hard at meeting toni. he tried reaching out at award shows, but she was always busy with her clientele. he tried getting her number from mutual friends, but they were not risking their relationship with toni. hell, he even tried to use her email from her website, and that failed.

this was his last chance to steal toni’s heart and he planned it like a true heist. he called her company and let them know he was looking for a new publicist (he was not). nasir told them he only wanted a meeting with toni. it couldn’t be one of the publicists that worked for her. it had to be toni. any other man would have given up after the nos he’s heard, but not him. he was persistent. he didn’t give up until he got what he wanted, and that was her sitting across from him.

his friends told him he was crazy. insane even. all of this for one woman? but it wasn’t just any woman. it was toni fucking st. cirie. he took a sip from his wine glass as he waited for her. nasir never got nervous, but now? he was on edge. his leg bounced harder than the ball in a game of jacks as he waited for her.

he organized the meeting at fleming's. it was intimate but not intimidating. it was fancy but not too much. he wore a tan polo shirt with a few buttons open, a pair of black slacks, and some black dress shoes. his outfit was just enough.

nasir had been watching the door for so long that he started to get nervous she wouldn't show. but when she finally did, it felt like his heart stopped. he saw her photos, and watched her from a distance, but nothing could prepare him for seeing her up close. she was much more beautiful, and she had a glow that looked like the sun reflected off of her. he was in fucking trouble.

he stood up, holding his hand out. "hey toni?" he said, like he hadn't google-searched everything about this woman. "i'm nasir. nice to meet you."

the only reason why toni took the meeting with nasir was because she knew his name. she knew his family legacy and she knew it'd be good to have him as a client. but nasir refused to meet with anyone but her. it irritated her enough to want to pass on reaching out to him, but toni was a businesswoman. she knew she couldn't pass up a good opportunity just because she was in her feelings. so she cancelled an afternoon full of appointments, pushed lunch with her niece, imani st. cirie, back to dinner, and made room for nasir holmes.

"you're a very persistent man, mr. holmes." she said softly. the blonde tendrils of hair she left curled against her cheeks flagging through her vision. she shook nasir's hand before pulling back to brush the hair behind her ear.

"i have to be if i want the best, ms. cirie." he said, returning to his seat in front of her. she watched as he adjusted his clothing once he was seated.

"i don't usually handle clients personally anymore." she informed him before she even sat down. there were a few people she managed things for but they were close to her. imani was damn near her own child -- of course she was hands-on with her career. but mostly everyone else? they went to the top-notch team she'd managed to pull together for her law firm. "but you insisted. so i'm here. let's talk nasir."

"i'm glad you decided to take this meeting. so let's start there. it's really an honor to meet you. you know i actually ran into you a few years ago. i think it was at an award show. i don't think you knew who i was though." he said, toni shook her head at his statement.

"you're nasir holmes. been in a lot of movies, a member of one of the most talented dynasties in this town. i know who you are. i probably was just busy." she shrugged, narrowing her gaze at nasir. toni considered herself capable of reading people. it was how she succeeded in the industry that refused to take her seriously. she couldn't get a read on nasir.

he seemed to be a fan of hers, but she had long stopped acting. the occasional appearance wasn't much to gain fans over. she sighed softly, brushing her hair behind her ear. "why were you so insistent on having me for this meeting? we have great agents at malecon. i'm too busy to personally guide a lot of careers -- is that why you requested the meeting? you want me personally?"

"yes, i want you personally." he answered before clearing his throat. "i know you're busy but i'm an easygoing client. you won't be stressing about me too much."

"if you were easygoing, you would have picked one of the many agents that work at malecon instead of insisting on this meeting." toni spoke softly, almost politely. she wasn't busying that nasir would be an easygoing client. she couldn't find any real scandal in his life. either, he wasn't too much trouble or his current team hid shit pretty well. if that was true, why was he trying to switch to her? her instincts didn't really fail her, and toni knew there was more to the story. it was on the tip of her tongue to deny her. she didn't llet herself be manipulated or pushed into doing things that weren't best for her...but he seemed so damn earnest. "i handle five clients personally, mr. holmes. two of which have been with me for over a decade. if i choose to take you on, you have to understand that i will not be available to you twenty four/seven." toni wouldn't have made the speech if she hadn't already decided to take him on. this may be a mistake but she was going to see it through. "tell me five things you want from your career."

there was a pause in the conversation. she stared at the man blankly. it seemed like he was searching for his next words. "i want an oscar, an emmy, to inspire people that look like me, to do a story that's never been told and a date with toni st. cirie."

she looked at him as if a second head emerged from his neck. "i'm sorry, what?"

"i want to take you out on a date." "i don't date my clients." "i'm not trying to be your client. i want to date you." "date me? please don't waste my time, mr. holmes. i don't have time for games." “i am not a man that plays games. i am serious. i want you.”

toni started to grab her things. she pulled away from the table and stood to her feet. the woman took one last glance at nasir. "call me when you want to talk about your career. not this foolishness." she said firmly before strutting away from the table.

it was days later, but the meeting with nasir had been threaded into her mind, and she had been trying to unravel it. she searched his name on google, researching all she could about him. she even searched through her contacts to find out more about him. she didn't understand why but she was curious. he was the first man to stump her in a long time.

as she talked to her best friend, anaïs jourdain, she tried to make sense of it all. "the nerve of him," she shook her head. toni shut her laptop, deciding her research was finished for the day. "did you know that he's only thirty-six?"

"okay, so nine years?" "he probably just wants to tell his friends that he got to fuck toni st. cirie." "but didn't you say he mentioned you in some interview a while ago or something?" toni sighed, "okay, that means nothing. it just means he's been waiting to fuck me for a very long time. did you know he used to be married to? to some instagram model? my shit doesn't sit that high anymore." "so what!? you were married three times before. that means nothing."

she rolled her eyes so hard, she was sure that anaïs could see it through the phone. toni hated even thinking about her past marriages. all of them ended in failure and on the front page. maybe that's why nasir was interested in her. maybe he thought she was an easy lay. "just give him a chance," her friend woke her out of her trance. "what's the worst that could happen?"

the meeting made everything worse for nasir. he only wanted her more. throughout these past few days, all he could think about was her. he thought about the way her curls flooded her face. he thought about the way those hazel eyes gazed at him. he thought about the way she said his name. he even thought about the way she walked away from him.

he was swamped in thoughts of her. thoughts of toni drowned every one of his other thoughts. he hadn't even noticed he was overdoing his set of curls at his home gym until he heard his trainer and friend yell, "hey, man! enough." tariq carter scolded. "where yo' mind at, bruh?"

"shit, my bad man," he said. nasir carefully bent his knees and placed his weights on the ground. "remember how i told you i had a meeting with toni? well, that's what i was thinking about."

tariq took the towel on his broad shoulders and wiped his forehead. "she turned you down didn't she? i told you that shit wasn't gone work. i heard she a tough one to crack."

nasir chest heaved in and out as he tried to restore his heart to a normal pace. it wasn't racing like it was when he got around toni, but it was close to it. he grabbed the bottom of his shirt to wipe his damp forehead. "yeah, i know. i know. i'm not giving up though."

"you not giving up?" his friend looked at him with a confused expression. "hell nah, man. i'm not stopping until she mine." tariq chuckled, shaking his head. "you got too much dip on ya chip. nigga, she turned down a date with an oil tycoon. and that nigga got money longer than the state of texas. you really think you got a chance?"

"okay, but that nigga ain't me. toni gone be mine one day, watch."

it took some convincing. nasir practically begged the blonde beauty over the phone for another meeting with her. once again, nasir convinced her that it was career-related, but it wasn't. she was a force in the pr field. hell, he probably needed a publicist like her, but didn't want that. he wanted to be her man.

he sat at the table across from her, trying not to stare too hard. she was beautiful. all of her facial features glowed over the candlelight. her hazel eyes became more prominent. he noticed the small moles that decorated her face. she was like an art piece that he couldn't look away from.

"thanks for meeting with me again, ms. toni. it's such a pleasure to see you again in the flesh." he said. his throat felt dry, maybe because of how sweaty his palms were. he sipped his water and pretended that this woman didn't make him nervous. "would you consider this a first date? candlelight dinner at a dimly lit restaurant sounds like a date to me."

"no. not at all. my first dates are much more private than this, mr. holmes." noted. she liked her privacy. the gears in his brain were already turning on what could be a perfect first date for her. "why are we here, mr. holmes? are you signing with malecon or just trying to seduce me? you can't have both. you're my client or you're a suitor."

he tried not to get distracted by how his name rolled off of her tongue. it was enough to make his heart shudder, but he focused on her words instead. "i thought it was obvious, ms. st. cirie. but let me make myself clear. i'm not interested in being one of your clients. i know you're great at what you do, but i want something more than that. i want the opportunity to get to know you and see what becomes of it." there was no turning back now. all of his cards were on the table. either she could choose to play or she could move on.

if this was anyone else, toni would have left the table. she would have made sure he never had the ability to contact her again and she would have moved on with her life. but she'd be lying if she said she wasn't attracted to him. she put the truth out there -- and he picked personal. he seemed confident and sure of what he wanted. so toni resolved to give him one shot.

"fine." she stood from her seat, pushing the chair back before she sidestepped it and dragged it around the table to sit closer to nasir. "next time, mr. holmes -- be this direct and clear. i like men who know what they want. i have shit to do and i don't like to waste my time." she settled the chair closer to his before retaking her seat and brushing her hair over her shoulder.

she was close enough to smell his cologne. he smelled of flowers and woods. she liked it. "best believe i tried to get in contact with you, but you're a busy woman." he said, licking his lips. her eyes fell there. "if we on a personal basis, i need you to call me by my first name."

"okay, nasir. you can have one date. but only if you're a good kisser." toni said, eyeing him. she was testing him. toni prided herself on being an intelligent woman. she was also notoriously untrusting when it came to people. she made them pass tests and bend over backward to prove themselves to her. it was her old childhood battle wounds that made her that way. testing nasir was natural to her. she offered exactly what he wanted on a silver platter and waited to see what he would do.

"i can show you better than i can tell you." he smirked, looking at her lips for a moment. nasir cradled her face in his hands and leaned forward. closing his eyes, he pressed a brief kiss to her lips. his lips lingered for a moment before pulling away.

most men would have groped her or stuck their tongue down her throat. they would have taken that one shot to devour as much of her as they could because the odds were...that this was their only chance. but nas surprised her. he showed restraint and patience...as well as the fact that he was confident he'd get another date. damn it. he passed. toni blinked at him in surprise, her hand briefly lifting to press to her own lips. he managed to surprise her.

"where are you taking me?" toni asked him softly, still trying to figure him the hell out.

"it'll be a surprise. you'll know sooner than later." he said before their eyes met. "can i ask you something though? what do you like to do?"

toni smirked, her intent devious, but unable to stop herself from thinking he was cute. "i thought you knew everything there was to know about me." she didn't know if nasir was actually serious about her but he worked his ass off for the time -- and seemed very determined to prove himself. so she'd let him. what was the worst that could happen?

"i know what you tell your interviewers and what you post on instagram, but that's not much."

"i like quiet. i like peace and calm. i don't want big and flashy -- i can do that for myself. something intimate and...from the heart. no fancy jet for dinners in milan or something. just...buy me flowers. make me dinner. take me to see something close to your heart. simple stuff."

"alright, i got you. it'll be the most uneventful eventful date you've ever had." he said, smiling at her.

"i'm actually looking forward to it." toni said honestly, grinning back at him. her gaze lingered on his tongue as he licked his lips. whoa, boy. she had to pull herself together or she was in trouble. "i'm going to count this as a first date anyway since you made me move two meetings for this. i thought i was getting a new client. not a new lover."

"nah," he shook his head. "remember this ain't a first date. plus, you special. i gotta plan some shit out for you."

toni quirked a brow, surprised that he contradicted her. she thought for a minute that nas was going to be wrapped around her finger. he had worked hard enough for her attention -- and seemed to have a crush on her. still, toni liked that he was insistent on having his way. good. she didn't want a man she could run over. "alright then. i won't count it. but don't make me wait too long. i kind of find you charming."

a week later, their schedules hadn't aligned for a date yet. but he called her everyday just to hear her voice. the conversations could be long or short, depending on their schedules. he didn't mind. he just wanted to learn something new about her. A few days ago, he learned her birthday was coming up, and she had no plans. nasir wanted to do something special for her.

he ordered dozens of roses to be delivered at her house. he didn't know if she would have time for him today, but he wanted her to know that he was thinking about her. as he sat on the couch, he dialed her number, just to see if she received his flowers and wish her a happy birthday.

he didn't expect her to answer after two rings but she did. "i love them." she said, skipping over formalities. "you didn't have to do this."

he smiled, listening to her voice. "i know i didn't have to. i wanted to. happy birthday, ms. st. cirie."

"thank you. what are you doing today?" "nothing. my schedule is free for the rest of the day." "come over. i'll text you the address."

"alright, i'm there. give me an hour."

nasir was surprised she invited him over to her house. the hardest part about her invitation was finding something to wear. he didn't know if he wanted to go casual or formal, so he went with the in-between. a pair of khaki slacks with a brown collared button-down and tan dunks. the second hardest part was fighting through l.a. traffic to get there.

after going through security, he gazed through his windshield with amazement. her house was just like he expected it to be. grand and elegant. it definitely looked better than his penthouse in the downtown los angeles area.

he got out of his black mercedes benz g-class suv, grabbing the bottle of 1999 sauvignon he brought. he closed the door behind and walked to the front door nervously. he never met a woman that had him nervous like this. he knocked a few times, waiting for her to answer it.

she opened her door with a smile. "you look very handsome, nasir." she said, beating him to speak.

"thank you. you look very beautiful," he said, gazing at her outfit. it was a pink dress that complimented her curves better than he did. nasir pulled her in for a brief hug, familiarizing himself with the same scent he smelled last week. he hoped when he left that her essence trailed him. he kissed her cheek before pulling away.

toni stepped aside, allowing him to step into her house. he looked around the house, nodding his head. he was impressed. toni had good taste, but that shouldn't be surprising. he held up the bottle of wine. "i was saving this for a special occasion, but what's more special than your birthday?" he grinned.

toni took the bottle from his hands and started walking towards the kitchen. nasir followed behind her. his nose was instantly hit with the smell of seafood and sausages. his eyes followed the scent, spotting a big silver pot on her stove. then he noticed the steam. "thank you, but you didn't have to do that."

"stop telling me what i don't have to do, toni. i did it because i wanted to. are you cooking?" he asked, squinting his eyes. this woman was different. he didn't know too many people who chose to spend their birthday alone and cook for it as well.

"yes, you came just in time. i missed home, so i made gumbo. i got our plates sitting at the table waiting on us." she said as she placed the bottle of wine in her fridge.

they sat and ate gumbo. nasir raved about how good it was throughout the meal. then they had a glass of some of the wine he bought. now, they were cuddling on her couch with their second glass, watching an old western. toni fully intended to spend her birthday alone.

it's what she normally did. she preferred the isolation to people making a fuss over how old she got. she preferred to work than to think about her three failed marriages and no children. she had nothing to show besides a business. but she wanted more...even if it was hard to admit to herself. it was why nasir was here. he was interested in getting to know her so he had to see her as more than just a fantasy.

so far, she didn't have any regrets about inviting him over. she was actually glad she did. her head rested on her shoulder, and his hand sat comfortably on her thigh. he kissed her forehead, looking down at her. "you know, i still owe you one more birthday present. i gotta get your permission though."

"oh yeah?" her brow quirked. she had a feeling about where this was going. they were still getting to know each other, but it was her birthday, and the warmth of his hand against her thigh encouraged her to say yes to whatever proposal he had. "what is that?"

"let me eat you out.." nasir said, his voice only slightly above a whisper. it sent a rumble to her core. she couldn't say no now.

"well what are you waiting for?" it was like her voice ignited the fire inside of him. he sat his glass on the coffee table in front of them before grabbing hers and doing the same. he slipped his arm around her, before he got on his knees in front of her.

she wasn't used to a man wanting to cater to her like this. she liked it. nasir pulled her to a sitting position, causing her to let out an audible gasp. he pushed the coffee table back to give himself more space. grabbing her foot, he kissed her big toe then her second toe and continued until he was at her pinky toe. then he brought her big toe into his mouth, sucking on it hard. she let out a low hiss.

he did the same with her other foot. he was taking his time. part of her was screaming at her to rush him, but the other half wanted to see what he would do next. she let that half win. nasir kissed a trail to her core. her thongs were already drenched, and she was starting to grow impatient. it was nice feeling his lips all over her body, but she needed them on her pussy and he was playing. "stop teasing --" her voice caught in her throat after she felt the flick of his tongue against her core. her underwear was pushed to the side, and now she was at his mercy.

his tongue rolled against her wet lips, causing her to moan lowly. he murmured against her box, "mm, why you ain't tell me this pussy taste that good? open them legs wider for me." now, she was doing as he commanded. she opened her legs wider for him. his tongue dragged to the bottom of her slit, then back to the top, collecting her arousal before bringing it to her clit. toni hissed, grabbing his head for support.

he parted her lips with his two fingers before placing his hot mouth against her clit. his tongue flicked and circled around her bub like he already knew what would make her hot. she thought she would be able to control herself, but once his inserted two digits inside of her, she became a mess. "f-fuck, nas," she hissed.

her body rutted against his fingers, causing them to push deeper inside of her. she moaned loudly as he stroked her walls, and his tongue lapped away at her clit. the sounds of her wetness, his slurping and her moans all competed to be the loudest in the room. as her eyes squeezed shut, his tongue transported her to a different universe. she wished she could go back in time to notice him at whatever award show he saw her at so she could experience this sooner.

he alternated between sucking, licking, and kissing her clit as his fingers worked to find her g-spot. toni felt the familiar tightness in her stomach. "don't stop i'm about to--" nasir sucked her bud harder and stroked her faster until she came all over his fingers.

her hips jerked against him as he stroked her until her legs stopped shaking. he licked her slit dry. nasir kissed her clit and slowly removed his fingers from inside of her. he licked them clean. as she came down and her breathing steadied, she started to think that maybe she could keep him around.

#beyonce knowles carter #beyonce #lucky daye #beyonce fanfic #lucky daye fanfic #beyonce x black!oc #lucky daye x black!oc #celebrity fanfic #oc fanfiction #oneshot #oneshot: make her mine #original characters #Spotify

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flaggermuser · 2 months ago

Text

Patriot Games

The Scent of You

18+

2,371 words || Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, Mirrorlander - Character, Mirroriot, Stalking, Obsession, Underwear, Masturbation with Underwear, Masturbation, Vaginal Sex, Underwear Theft, Underwear Sniffing, Patriot is her own warning, Choking, Mirrorlander | The Homelander's Mirror Alter, Mirroriot | The Patriot's Mirror Alter, CPTSD, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Child Neglect, Not Beta Read ||

Dividers by cafekitsune

Re-shoots.

It’s bad enough that they’re reshooting the entire movie after the debacle with Stormfront; it’s even worse that they’re doing it with her.

Patriot - the Seven’s newest member.

Homelander hates her; she’s just like him with her blonde hair and blue eyes; she even has the same powers, although unlike him, she has an actual family. She wasn’t raised in a lab like a fucking lab rat. Yet there she is, saying her lines with a grating, sweeter-than-syrup voice and acting with a smile on her lips that doesn't quite reach her eyes.

There was clearly something very wrong with her.

But of course, everyone instantly adores her; she seems to reduce them all to stupid mouth-breathing idiots, aggravating him even more. Every so often, those psychotic doe eyes meet him, and his jaw tightens.

Bitch.

He knows she’s testing the limit, how far she could push him until he snaps. He often fantasises about the sound her neck will make when he eventually breaks it. His eyes leave hers when she straightens her back and puffs out her chest more. He swallows nothing as his eyes dart down to see the creamy engorged flesh that he covets.

Luckily, he’s been able to forget her face when he’s busy fucking his hand.

“That’s a wrap!”

“Great work, everyone,” she chirps, infuriating him further, especially as she makes a beeline for him, stopping beside the monitors.

“You seem tense,” she coos. “Maybe there’s something I can do to help you relax.”

He clears his throat, trying not to stare directly at her chest. “I’m fine.”

Leaning forward a little, she tries to catch his eyes, “are you sure? I’m very good at relieving tension.”

I bet you are - whore.

“I said I’m fine,” it’s a growl, making her back off only a tiny amount.

“Fine,” she huffs, walking past him.

He waits until she’s far enough away to readjust his seating position, his cup managing to hide the fact that his cock has been straining against it the whole time.

If Patriot knew that being in the Seven meant staring in some of the worst-written ‘blockbusters’, she would never have accepted Stan Edgars’ invitation. She’s bored out of her mind, completely done with having her makeup touched up every half an hour, her blonde hair ‘fixed’ and Adam Bourke’s ‘attempts at stage direction’, amongst other things.

“If you so much as think about me sexually, I’ll laser your fucking dick off.”

Now she’s taking an ‘extended break’, where everyone stays out of her way, allowing her to wander around the various trailers, including her own. She doesn’t quite get the point of her and Homelander having on-site trailers when they can fly back to the tower in minutes.

Eventually, she strolls up to Homelander’s trailer, knocking politely on the door and smirking when she doesn’t get a response. It’s empty now, so she wastes no time heading inside without knowing how long that will last. She doesn’t want to risk anyone walking in on her.

Immediately, she closes her eyes, taking a deep breath - it smells of him.

That alone is enough to get her hot under the collar, and she instinctively unzips the front of her suit, preparing herself for her afternoon of delights. Every little thing needs to be touched and inspected before the grand finale.

She falls face-first onto his bed, wrapping herself up in the sheets and rubbing the fabric over her exposed body. Drowning in his scent drives her wild despite her hatred for him. Rolling onto her back and slowly sitting up, she undoes her boots, kicking them off.

Her suit soon follows, leaving her completely naked. She’s never seen the point of wearing panties.

Then she spies a discarded pair of pants with the familiar eagle pattern and eagerly grabs them, holding them to her nose. They’re used, the distinct smell of his cum coating the front, enough residue left for her to suck on.

If only he’d be more accommodating, she’d happily suck his cock, and have him empty the entire contents of his balls down her throat. Still, no, he has to make everything so complicated. Instead, she has to resort to this and is entirely unashamed.

Then, a little thought enters her mind, and she gives the pants one final lick before tossing them aside, searching for a fresher pair. When she finds them, an unsettling smile spreads across her lips, and she lies back, spreading her legs wide.

Turning the pants inside out, she carefully pushes them into her cunt, getting as deep as possible. Maybe there’s just enough to get her pregnant, to give Homelander another super baby, to trap him. Because, despite hating everything about him, she’s desperate to keep him to herself.

Her fingers move slowly at first, pulling the pants halfway out before shoving them deep again, her back arching off the bed. Soon, she settles into her semi-usual rhythm, her two fingers curling, pressing the fabric against her g spot. Her eyelashes flutter, her hips lifting off the bed as she finger fucks herself, her mind filled with the dirtiest fantasies she can muster.

The idea of licking blood off his face is enough for her to finish, soaking the pants inside her cunt and the sheets beneath her hips while her eyes scorch the ceiling.

A lovely little present for him, he can’t complain that I’m not generous.

Pulling the pants free, she places them on his pillow, chuckling as she watches her cum soak into the case. There will be absolutely no doubt that she’s been in here, and hopefully, it’ll be enough for her to get a little visitor later on.

That fucking whore.

Homelander nearly rips the door off the hinges as he storms into Patriot’s trailer, finding her leaning against the counter with a glass of champagne. She looks ridiculous in her floor-length sheer crimson robe with feather trim, revealing everything.

Immediately, her aroma clouds his senses, making his cock throb angrily and his mirror image talk into his ear.

‘Jesus fucking Christ. She’s going to be a better fuck than Stormfront ever was.’

He’s not here to fuck her, he’s here because he’s pissed. Returning to his trailer after his scenes, he met the heady stench of sex, soiled bed sheets and his pants on his pillow. Only one member of the Seven is unhinged enough to do something like that, and he is staring at her.

As if the scorched ceiling didn't confirm it.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?”

You have no idea how badly I want to snap your neck.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he hisses directly into her face, staring directly into those maniacal doe eyes. “You know exactly why I’m here. Bet you think your little stunt this afternoon was cute.”

She takes a long sip of champagne, holding his gaze, infuriating him further. “Cute? No. I just had a particular itch I needed to scratch.”

She pouts. “Don’t tell me you didn’t like your gift; I made sure it was special.”

The champagne flute bounces on the carpeted floor, the contents spilling everywhere when he lunges for her, throwing her across the trailer and landing on the bed. She’s barely able to sit up before he’s on her, his hand wrapped tightly around her throat, holding her down as he unzips his pants.

“You want me so fucking badly? Then I’ll give you want you want.”

He doesn’t even check if she’s ready, but he doesn’t have to; his cock enters her cunt with no resistance, her back arching off the bed. He closes his eyes, trying to imagine she's someone else: Maeve, Madelyn, Stormfront, hell, he's even imagining she's Starlight.

They do have the same blonde hair.

‘Don't you fucking dare close your eyes. You look directly at her.’

He growls, trying to ignore his mirror image's voice echoing inside his head. He doesn't want to look at her, doesn't want to acknowledge it's her; he just wants to enjoy that tight, wet cunt clinging to his cock. The squelching is downright disgusting, filling his ears and drowning out the sound of her moans.

She’s not here, she’s not fucking here.

‘Yes, she is. Now fucking look at her before I make you.’

He tries to dislodge the voice with a violent shake of his head, tightening his grip, half hoping to crush her windpipe. Yet it has an effect, her cunt constricts, and he lefts out a noise somewhere between a groan and a whimper.

‘Derranged cunt is the best cunt. Deny it all you want, tiger; the fact is that you’re enjoying this more than you want to admit.’

Shut up.

It’s a fact that he is enjoying this, but he’d never admit it, not to her or himself. Sure, Stormfront was deranged and kinky, but Patriot is on a whole different level of twisted. Her hands on his abdomen violently pull him from his train of thought, forcing him to stare down at her.

Watching those glazed-over eyes staring up at him, mixed with those parted, plump lips, makes it challenging to concentrate, allowing the inner voice to hijack his body. He’s pulled from the forefront, forced to watch the scene unfold.

“Hello Kitten.”

He tilts his head, momentarily stilling his movements while taking in every detail of her face. There’s a fleeting glimpse of confusion in her eyes that melts away into intrigued. He relinquishes his hold on her neck, opting to reach into her hair and pull it, smiling when she lets out a slightly pained yelp.

“You’re not Homelander,” she coos.

“Well, aren’t you a perceptive little thing. You’re half right; I’m not that Homelander, but I am a part of him, a more interesting part.”

He leans over her, rubbing his nose along the column of her throat, teasing her pulse with his tongue. She’s not even the tiniest bit scared; her heartbeat is slow and steady. But she’s enjoying him and his attention.

“I loved your little stunt,” he purrs. “If I’d known you were such a dirty little whore, I would have made him come here sooner.”

She lets out a giggle, sending a pulse directly to his cock. Beautiful and unhinged, the perfect combination. He doesn’t understand why John has resisted getting her into his bed; there’s something between them.

Something undeniable yet indescribable.

He moves again with short, sharp thrusts, grinning like a madman at her responsiveness. It’s clear she’s eager to please, trying to match his pace, her legs wrapped around his hips to draw him in deeper.

He shifts, changing positions so she’s almost bent in half. His hand once again returns to her neck and squeezes tightly. She struggles for breath, yet she doesn’t claw at his hand, trying to free herself from his grip or the position. Slowly, the colour drains from her face, her body completely relaxing.

Only then does he release her, watching with sadistic pleasure as she takes a desperate inhale, panting while she tries to recover. Yet she doesn’t fight back or try to attack him; she lies there and takes it, a twisted smile on her pretty red lips.

‘Your precious Stormfront is going to throw a fit when she smells sweet little Patriot all over you.’

He rolls onto his back, his hands grabbing her ass and bouncing her on his cock, enjoying the way her body moves when her robe falls open. No doubt anyone walking past this trailer is unaware of what’s happening inside, not when she’s close to screaming.

‘She’s the best fuck you’re ever going to have. So don’t you fucking dare fuck this up.’

Sitting up immediately, he nuzzles into the side of her breast, biting down on the plush flesh, making her choke on a moan. It’s clear she’s close, her cunt squeezing him tightly like a vice, making pulling out close to impossible. Not that he wants to.

Reaching into her hair, he pulls tight, bringing her down with him. Angling his hips, he increases the pace to bruising, his peak rapidly approaching.

“Make a mess, kitten, like you did in our trailer, all over our bed.”

The moan she lets out is loud, sending a tingle down his spine that makes his balls pull taut. Her eyes flicker crimson, forcing him to pull her head back so she doesn't laser his face off. Only a few more thrusts and he finishes, his hips flushed to hers, holding her tightly while he reciprocates - scorching her ceiling.

His inner voice finally relinquishes control, only now that he’s emptied himself into her cunt. In a flash, she’s on her back, with Homelander trying to make a swift exit. He barely reaches the door when she grabs his hand, forcing him to stop and face her.

But it’s not her.

At least, not the one he’s just fucked.

“Don’t go, not yet,” her voice is laced with vulnerability, the last thing he’d ever expect from her. “Stay a while; let me take care of you. Please.”

‘You feel it too, don’t you?’

Patriot wakes with a start.

She doesn’t need to check the time; she already knows it's 3 am. She’s been waking up at this time for years. She stares into the mirror, trying to regulate her breathing and slow her thundering heart down.

‘Even with John’s scent, you still can’t sleep, can you princess?’

Her mirror image - her protector.

Tears stream down her cheeks as she softly shakes her head, rolling over and burying her face into the pillow beside hers, breathing deeply.

The smell of Homelander’s shampoo still lingers; her hand pressed the duvet in the exact spot he had been. She desperately tries to remember how he felt, anything to escape slipping back into her mind's big, black pit.

The remnants of her shattered psyche.

For she, too, was once a child, locked away in a lab where she was subjected to experimentation, except abandoned for days on end in favour of the man she's obsessed with.

Patriot - Homelander’s replacement.

Always second best.

‘He’ll protect you; I know he will. He feels the connection.’

How can he protect what he never saved?

#homelander x oc #homelander x patriot #homelander fanfic #homelander fanfiction #homelander x supe oc #homelander smut

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psychedelic-ink · 1 year ago

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I find myself standing at another milestone, scratching my head and thinking, 'You guys are still here? Really?' And you know what? I'm an emotional mess over it!

Whether you've been here since the beginning or just hopped aboard this chaotic train, your presence means the world. I want you to know, from the depths of my sappy heart, that your support is truly appreciated. Each follow, each reblog, each comment is a sprinkle of magic in this crazy writing journey.

Thank you for being here!

**dividers by the most talented @saradika xx

SEND ME AN EMOJI

📖 BOOKISH BITE-SIZE: Send me a request/prompt and I'll write a very bite-sized drabble for it.

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📚 WRITER'S BLOCKBUSTER: I'll make a personalized moodboard or aesthetic based on one of your wips/fics. Tell me your vibes, aesthetics, or a character + trope + scenario for a unique creation!

✒️ PEN PAL PARADE: Send me a short writing snippet or sentence and I'll continue from where you left off, making it a mini collaborative masterpiece!

📸 SNEAK PEEK HAVEN: Ask me about past fics, ongoing series, future projects etc etc

✉️ AMA (ask me anything): As the title suggests, ask me anything!

SOME RULES

For drabble requests, you can send any genre, au etc you want but keep in mind these will be very short so nothing too detailed, please.

You can send in as many requests as you want.

The celebration will end on the 15th of October.

CHARACTERS I'LL WRITE FOR

marvel: moon knight(all), peter parker (all), felicia hardy, loki

all pedro characters except for dio & maxwell lord.

oscar Isaac characters: santiago garcia, miguel o'hara, duke leto, moon knight (all), poe dameron

#on cloud 9k follower milestone #on cloud 9k celebration #i never know how to tag these #pedro pascal characters #marvel x reader #joel miller x reader

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osharenippon · 1 year ago

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Shoujo Manga’s Golden Decade (Part 1)

Shoujo manga, comics for girls, played a pivotal role in shaping Japanese girls' culture, and its dynamic evolution mirrors the prevailing trends and aspirations of the era. For many, this genre peaked in the 1970s. But why?

Manga stands as one of Japan's primary cultural exports, deeply ingrained in the local culture and enjoyed by individuals of all ages and genders across various genres. Conventionally, manga is divided into two editorial segments: shonen (targeted at boys) and shoujo (targeted at girls). While shonen manga, propelled by hits like "Dragon Ball," "Slam Dunk," "Naruto," and "One Piece," has achieved global popularity, girls' comics, with their own international sensations such as "Sailor Moon," hold a crucial position in the market. The evolving landscape of girls' manga serves as a fascinating lens through which to observe the shifting fashionable aspirations and beauty ideals within Japanese society.

Shoujo manga has a rich history, dating back to the early 20th century. However, it truly gained recognition in its modern form in the late '50s and early '60s when prominent Japanese publishers introduced shoujo manga anthologies such as Kodansha's Nakayoshi and Shoujo Friend, as well as Shueisha's Ribon and Margaret. The acclaimed "godfather of manga," Osamu Tezuka, is often credited with creating the first modern shoujo, "The Princess Knight," in 1954, and the first shonen, "Astro Boy," in 1952.

A distinguishing feature of shoujo manga is that it is created by and for girls. But, in the '50s, this wasn't the case, and male artists dominated the shoujo field, which was considered an entryway to the manga business. By the 1960s, that would change as publishers recognized that women creators possessed a unique proficiency in crafting narratives centered around female experiences. Female manga-kas resonated with readers in a way that many male artists couldn't, marking a crucial shift in the landscape of shoujo manga.

The Volleyball Craze

A notable display of how shoujo could mirror societal trends unfolded in the '60s. In 1964, the Tokyo Olympics marked a new beginning for post-war Japan, and the female volleyball team, known as Toyo no Majou (the Oriental Witches), achieved stardom by clinching victory in the finals against the Soviet Republic. This triumph triggered a nationwide "volleyball boom," resonating particularly within the shoujo manga realm.

Shueisha's Ribon, historically the leader in the shoujo manga field, started publication in 1955. Still, the editorial house would only begin to make its series available in standalone tankobon format almost 15 years later through the now iconic Ribon Mascot Comics imprint. The first series to be made available by the imprint was Chikako Ide's "Viva Volleyball."

Simultaneously, over at Kodansha, Shoujo Friend was also eager to capitalize on the boom. Editors commissioned a title about the sport from illustrator Akira Mochizuki and novelist Shiro Jimbo. The final project, "Sign wa V," became a multimedia success, being quickly adapted into a live-action TV drama that achieved very high ratings.

While "Viva! Volleyball" and "Sign wa V" enjoyed success in their time, they did not etch themselves into the collective memory. The true shoujo sports manga blockbuster, a cross-generational classic universally known in Japan, is Chikako Urano's "Attack No. 1," serialized from 1968 to 1970 in Weekly Margaret.

It became the first shoujo manga title to surpass ten tankobon volumes (it had a total of 12 volumes), and it was forever immortalized thanks to its 1970 anime adaptation, which achieved high ratings on Japanese TV. Everything about "Attack No. 1"—from the original manga to the cartoon adaptation to the anime's theme song, which sold over 700k copies as a single—was a success.

The story of a high school girl trying to become the best player in her school, Japan, and eventually, the world became a phenomenon, setting the stage for the '70s "golden era of shoujo."

The Shoujo Lost Years

Until the '70s, manga carried the stigma of being a guilty pleasure, often viewed as a "poison" meant to dumb down young readers. Despite a few discerning individuals recognizing the medium's potential, manga critics, enthusiasts, and tastemakers — predominantly men — largely disregarded female-centric comics. Shoujo manga, despite its immense popularity, faced the harshest criticism.

Because society and critics downplayed shoujo, influential shoujo manga-kas from the '50s and '60s, such as Hideko Mizuno, do not enjoy the same level of recognition as their shonen counterparts from that era.

Hideko Mizuno and a page of one of her most celebrated works, "Fire."

Mizuno was one of the first women to create manga, worked as an assistant to Osamu Tezuka, and was behind several massive hits that had a significant impact on women in the '50s, '60s, and '70s. In fact, the most iconic shoujo manga-kas from the '70s golden period directly mention her as an influence. She fought to include romance -- now the essential element in girls' manga -- in her works back when such topics were deemed inappropriate by male editors.

Mizuno's repertoire was vast: she wrote mangas about little girls and their poneys, magic adventures, and romcoms based on Audrey Hepburn's movies, and she drew the first sex scene in a shoujo manga. The manga in question was "Fire," a teen-targeted manga featuring a rebellious American rocker, which broke new ground by having a male character as its focal point. Alongside other notable female artists from the '60s, Mizuno laid the groundwork for the '70s shoujo explosion, during which girls' comics took center stage.

In 1960's "Hoshi no Tategoto" (left,) Hideko Mizuno created the first shoujo love story. Serialized in Weekly Margaret between 1964 and 65, "Shiroi Troika," set during the Russian Revolution, was the first historical shoujo manga.

A contributing factor to this "golden period" was the emergence of several shoujo mangas as unstoppable hits, selling millions of copies and becoming cultural phenomena. These titles, considered masterpieces, continue to be read and known by multiple generations.

The BeruBara Boom

"Attack No. 1"'s success spread far and wide, forcing Japanese society to take note of the potential of the shoujo segment. Right after this historic success, Shueisha's Weekly Margaret hit the jackpot once again with another epoch-defining manga hit, Ryoko Ikeda's "The Rose of Versailles," which debuted in 1972. Set in the years preceding and during the French Revolution, it weaved together historical figures like Marie Antoinette and fictional ones, like the iconic Lady Oscar, a handsome noblewoman raised as a boy to succeed her father as the commander of the Royal Guard at the Palace of Versailles.

The first volume of the original comic had Marie Antoinette on the cover as Margaret's editors believed she'd be the favorite character. However, the androgynous Lady Oscar turned into a fan fave and the absolute star of the series, which is reflected on the cover of most rereleases since then, including the 2013 bunko version seen above.

When talking about shoujo manga classics from the '70s that are familiar to everyone in Japan, "Rose of Versailles" is probably the first name that comes to mind. It was a hit that really defined the era and impacted the country as a whole. While Marie Antoinette is seen around the world as a tragic, out-of-touch figure, in Japan, many women and girls see her as an aspirational historical fashion icon. While Sofia Coppola's 2006 film "Marie Antoinette" solidified this among younger generations, it was Ikeda's gentle portrait that made her a character loved by so many across all age groups.

When conceptualizing the story, Ikeda was heavily inspired by Stefan Zweig's "Marie Antoinette: The Portrait of an Average Woman," which she read while in high school. Once in college, in the late '60s, she, like millions of others, was heavily involved with the Marxist student movements. These references led to a historical romance that touched on heavy and revolutionary themes, which was atypical for a shoujo manga, a segment that, back then, was primarily catered to elementary school-aged girls.

Because of its unorthodox concept, Margaret's editors were unsure about the series. But right from the start, "BeruBara" (derived from the original Japanese title, "Berusaiyu no Bara"), serialized between 1972 and 1973, was an explosive hit, quickly turning into Weekly Margaret's most popular series. It was compiled in 10 tankobon volumes published, which sold tens of millions of copies. In fact, according to some stats, it is the best-selling '70s manga across all genres in total sales.

In 1974, after the original manga had finished its serialization, Takarazuka Revue, an all-female theatrical troupe, announced a stage adaptation of the story.

Posters of the first three Takarazuka adaptations, from between 1974 and 1975. Since then, the Revue has adapted the manga 11 times, with a new run scheduled for 2024.

The Revue was established in 1913 by the owner of Kansai's leading railway company, Hankyu, to boost tourism to the city of Takarazuka, his line's last stop. It was a huge success, and soon, the group had its own luxurious theater as well as its very exclusive academy where young ladies underwent an arduous audition process to become Takaraziennes. In 1934, a second Takarazuka theater opened in Tokyo.

However, in the early 1970s, Takarazuka faced stagnation, with declining ticket sales attributed to the growing popularity of alternative entertainment forms such as cinema and television.

In 1973, Shinji Ueda, who had risen through the Takarazuka ranks as a director, made his debut as a playwriter in the company with a musical based on ancient Japanese history. While thinking about his next project, he decided to check out a manga popular with some Takarazuka fans, "Rose of Versailles," and he quickly realized it was the perfect theme for an adaptation. Lady Oscar, who had lady-like features but was also as handsome as a man, was the embodiment of the male role-playing Takaraziennes. Ueda reached out to Ryoko Ikeda, who, as an admirer of the troupe, quickly granted the rights.

But Ikeda and Ueda's excitement wasn't shared by many. Most of the Takarazuka team were skeptical about a play inspired by something as vulgar as a manga. Fans of the original were also highly protective of its characters and entirely against a live adaptation.

Amid this climate of distrust, the play opened at the end of August 1974 at the Takarazuka Grand Theater. The reaction after the first night was extremely positive. Soon, Takarazuka's "Rose of Versailles" was the hottest ticket in all of Japan, with the press breathlessly covering the "BeruBara boom" that led thousands of people to stand hours in line to get tickets to the coveted performances in Kansai and Tokyo. Ikeda herself was shocked by the media phenomenon when she returned from an overseas trip and had hundreds of reporters awaiting her at the airport.

A statue of Lady Oscar and Andre surrounded by rose bushes sits outside the Takarazuka Grand Theater in Hyogo, Japan.

The "BeruBara" media sensation single-handedly reversed Takarazuka's fortunes, leading to record-shattering ticket sales for the company. The Takarazuka Academy, which had seen declining applicants, suddenly became highly sought-after again, originating the saying "Todai in the East, Takarazuka in the West," comparing it to Tokyo University, the most prestigious university in Japan. The phrase underscored the desirability and prestige associated with a position at the troupe.

Ultimately, the success of "The Rose of Versailles" propelled Takarazuka back to the pinnacle of the entertainment industry, a position it maintains to this day. The brand continues to hold great esteem among women of all ages in Japan, with Takarazuka's stage adaptations, derived from Broadway musicals, movies, novels, and shoujo manga, consistently selling out. Notably, various adaptations of "BeruBara" have collectively sold over 5 million tickets since 1974.

Following the manga and Takarazuka adaptation's explosive success, the anime debuted in 1979. While the anime received acclaim, Ikeda herself was not entirely satisfied, mainly due to the treatment of her favorite character, Andre, who played a significant role in the manga but had a minor presence in the animated version, which focused almost entirely on the manga's most popular character, Lady Oscar.

In 2013, celebrating Margaret's 50th anniversary, new special chapters of "BeruBara" were published. The first new story in 40 years resulted in Margaret magazine selling out across the country.

"BeruBara" remains a prominent franchise in Japan, spawning numerous licensed products, sequels, and spin-offs. Ryoko Ikeda, known for other successful series, continues to garner widespread respect and media attention. However, while almost everything related to "The Rose of Versailles" turned into a hit, there was an exception.

In March 1979, a few months before the anime premiere, a live-action film adaptation debuted with great fanfare. Fittingly for such a hot property, the movie was one of the most ambitious productions in Japanese cinema, with a substantial 1 billion yen budget.

The Palace of Versailles granted permission to shoot in its interior. The filming was in English, with a European cast. The project was helmed by France's hottest movie director, Jacques Demy. Demy wasn't respected only in the West but also in Japan, where his two most important films, "The Umbrellas of Cherbourg" (1964) and "The Young Girls of Rochefort (1967)," were also hits. In fact, to this day, both flicks remain popular among trend-conscious Japanese as examples of stylish oshare movies that fully capture aspirational girls' culture (alongside, among others, Sofia Coppola's "Marie Antoinette"). Demy, the mind behind dreamy, girly movies, seemed like the perfect choice to turn this blockbuster shoujo classic into a live-action film.

The movie had the backing of three gigantic domestic corporations: Toho, the leading Japanese movie distributor; Nihon Terebi (NTV), one of the main TV stations; and cosmetic giant Shiseido. NTV and Shiseido made sure the movie had one of the most extensive marketing campaigns Japan had ever witnessed. The TV station aired specials and segments on this grand production. Meanwhile, Shiseido made the star of the movie -- British actress Catriona McCall, who played Oscar -- the face of its spring campaign, promoting its new Red Rose lipstick. Catriona was plastered on billboards across the country, made media and department store appearances, and starred in luxurious TV spots.

On the left, Lady Oscar and Marie Antoinette adorn the cover of Margaret in 2016, over 40 years after the end of the original serialization. On the right, Oscar models Dolce & Gabanna new collection for high-end fashion magazine Spur in 2014, celebrating 40 years of the conclusion of the original manga.

Back then, Kanebo, the second biggest local cosmetic company, was in fierce competition with Shiseido. TV ads from both companies had a tremendous impact, propelling singles to the top of the charts, and there was a battle on which commercial would feature the biggest hit. But, in the spring of 79, the focus of the fight changed. As a response to the Catriona "Rose of Versailles" campaign, Kanebo also hired a British beauty, actress Olivia Hussey, and launched a "Super Rose lipstick" with the tagline "You are more beautiful than a rose." The cosmetics war was another proof of the chokehold "The Rose of Versailles" had in the decade.

But when the movie finally premiered, it was a flop. Critics hated it, and Japanese fans thought the adaptation was weak and lacked impact. Catriona, in particular, was criticized for not conveying Oscar's androgynous charm, which perfectly balanced masculinity and femininity. With the well-received anime premiering just a few months later, the expensive movie adaptation ended up being outshone and forgotten. It became only a costly footnote in the manga's history.

An exhibition in Tokyo celebrates 50 years of BeruBara in 2022.

(It's worth noting that Kanebo clearly won the CM war. While the Shiseido co-produced "Rose of Versaille" feature film flopped, the "You Are More Beautiful than a Rose" song Kanebo commissioned from singer Akira Fuse became a considerable hit).

Movie aside, "The Rose of Versailles" is one of Japan's most beloved comics. From its debut in 1971 to its film and anime adaptation in 1979, it remained front and center in the country's mind throughout the whole decade. Its impact was felt in different fields, from the cosmetic business to the publishing business, from live theater to TV. It also forever changed how shoujo manga was perceived and remains one of the country's most beloved properties.

Ace-Scoring Manga

The 1970s marked a turning point for shoujo manga, as it began to gain recognition beyond its traditional audience, propelled not just by critical acclaim but by commercial success. The era witnessed the emergence of several blockbusters that captured the public's imagination. Notable among them were Yoko Shoji's "Seito Shokun," a tale centered on the daily exploits of a mischievous high-schooler, and Waki Yamato's "Haikara-san ga Tooru," a love story set in the Meiji period featuring a tomboy with a lady-like demeanor. These manga were significant hits during their publication in Kodansha's Shoujo Friends, becoming best-selling titles with tens of millions of copies sold.

Some shoujo classics from the '70s are still in publication today, appealing to a diverse readership spanning multiple generations. Suzue Michi's "Glass Mask," serialized in Hana to Yume since 1976, remains a cultural phenomenon with 49 tankobon volumes, over 55 million copies sold, an anime adaptation, a live-action drama, and a stage play. Similarly, Chieko Hosokawa's "Crest of the Royal Family," chronicling the adventures of a young American girl transported to ancient Egypt, has been a consistent presence in Princess magazine since 1976, boasting 69 volumes and over 45 million copies sold to date.

But, when talking about definitive shoujo classics from the '70s, titles that were historical successes, influenced everything going forward, and are known by everyone, three titles come to mind. We already explored one of these, "The Rose of Versailles." One of the other three is "Ace wo Nerae."

Following the monumental success of "Attack No. 1," the prospects of another shoujo sports manga achieving similar heights of popularity seemed improbable. However, Weekly Margaret defied expectations once more in 1973 with the release of Suzumika Yamamoto's "Ace wo Nerae" ("Aim for the Ace"), a compelling narrative focused on tennis that swiftly captured the nation's attention.

Japan and tennis already had some prior history. The first Japanese Olympic medalist was a tennis player, Ichy Kumagae, in 1920. Emperor Akihito met his commoner wife, Michiko, at a tennis match, and they initially bonded over their love for the sport. But, in the 70s, the country was taken over by an unprecedented tennis boom. At high schools across the nation, tennis became the most popular after-school activity. Fashion magazines like JJ and Popeye dedicated pages and pages to "tennis fashion." At the same time, trendy young adults decked in clothes from sports brands populated Shibuya and other stylish districts in Tokyo.

There were several contributors to the tennis boom. But the remarkable success of "Ace wo Nerae," which first conquered girls before dominating the nation, played a part in it.

The manga follows the journey of Hiromi Oka, a high school student initially plagued by insecurities but propelled into the world of tennis through the encouragement of her coach. "Ace wo Nerae" portrays her growth from a hesitant newcomer to a world-class tennis player, navigating challenges and discovering hidden potential along the way.

From left to right: Madame Butterfly, lead character Hiromi Oka and coach Jin Murakata as depicted in the anime. Madame Butterfly, a wealthy teen girl who is gentle and a world-class tennis player, is a fan favorite character.

In 1973, "Ace wo Nerae" was adapted into an anime. Despite initial modest ratings, the anime gained popularity through reruns. Encouraged by this, NTV decided to remake the cartoon. The second adaptation, which debuted in 1978, was an immediate hit. Concurrently, Weekly Margaret revived the manga series, which, after being first finalized in 1975, ran again from 1978 to 1980, spanning a total of 18 volumes.

Since "Ace wo Nerae," several hit mangas focused on tennis -- both shoujo and shonen -- were published. But, thanks to the success of its anime and the intragenerational support for the manga, the original work by Suzumika Yamamoto is still considered one of the defining and most beloved works about the sport. Its role in propelling tennis culture as part of the oshare youth culture of the '70s also defines its impact.

Japan Wants Candy

Following the monumental multimedia success of "The Rose of Versailles" and "Ace wo Nerae," the third shoujo sensation of the '70s is "Candy Candy."

Initially published in Nakayoshi, the story started taking shape when editors at the magazine sought a work of literary excellence akin to beloved classics popular among girls, like "Heidi" and "Anne of Green Gables." They enlisted Keiko Nagita, writing under the pen name Kyoko Mizuki, and paired her with one of the magazine's most famous artists, Yumiko Igarashi. The collaborative effort resulted in the creation of "Candy Candy," centered around an American, blond, blue-eyed orphan named Candice "Candy" White Ardlay.

"Candy Candy" epitomized various shoujo directions prevalent in the '70s. The protagonist, a white girl with lustrous blonde hair, embodied the fascination with Western culture during a time when Japanese youth held a keen interest in Europe and the United States. The manga's narrative style, characterized by its dramatic tone and plot twists, also aligned with the prevalent storytelling preferences of the era.

Candy Candy was such a resounding success that it became the first manga to achieve an initial print run of over 1 million copies of one of its paperback compilations.

Debuting in 1975, "Candy Candy" swiftly captured the hearts of Nakayoshi's readers, leading to unprecedented success. The subsequent anime adaptation by Toei in the following year propelled the franchise into the realm of a cultural phenomenon, sending manga tankobon sales skyrocketing. The seventh volume of the "Candy Candy" compiled paperback reportedly became the first Japanese manga to achieve an initial print run of over 1 million copies. Additionally, Nakayoshi's sales surged, surpassing those of its historical rival, Shueisha's Ribon, for the first (and only) time.

The adventures of young Candy were also licensing gold. With over 100 licensed products, the "Candy Candy" doll alone sold 2 million units, solidifying Bandai's position as Japan's premier toymaker, a status it continues to uphold to this day. The resounding success of "Candy Candy" forged a lasting alliance between Kodansha's Nakayoshi, Toei Animation, and toymaker Bandai, which led to the iconic "Sailor Moon" franchise in the 1990s.

While "Candy Candy" concluded its run in 1979, its appeal extended far beyond its original target demographic of very young girls, captivating kids, teenagers, and adults alike, thus contributing significantly to the manga and anime's widespread acclaim and enduring popularity.

However, a protracted legal dispute between Igarashi and Nagita has prevented the commercialization of any "Candy Candy" related products since the late 1990s, including reprints of the manga and re-broadcasting of the anime. The lawsuit arose from Igarashi's unauthorized licensing of merchandise based on the franchise, falsely asserting sole ownership of the copyright. Although Igarashi was initially credited as the lead artist in Nakayoshi during the manga's publication, the court ultimately ruled in Nagita's favor, emphasizing that Igarashi's artistic foundation was built upon Nagita's written work.

A collection of "Candy Candy" freebies offered by Nakayoshi magazine in the '70s. During the publication of the series, Nakayoshi would eclipse Ribon's sales for the one and only time in its history, (image credit)

Consequently, any commercial exploitation of Yumiko Igarashi's "Candy Candy" artwork necessitates the approval of both Igarashi and Nagita, a challenging prospect given the existing feud. Nagita, on the other hand, can profit from "Candy Candy" as long as she doesn't include any illustrations, which allowed her to release a book sequel in 2010. However, due to the dispute, one of the most beloved works in Japanese manga history is currently out of print. The lawsuit also blocks the anime from being aired or distributed. But, despite the almost two-decades-long media ban, "Candy Candy" remains widely known and beloved across Japan, a testament to its staying power.

While smash hits like "Candy Candy," "Ace wo Nerae," "Rose of Versailles," "Seito Shokun," "Hikara-san ga Tooru," and "Glass Mask," among others were key pieces into shoujo finally earning the respect it deserved, the rise of a revolutionary group of artists during the '70s was another critical element in shoujo's rise: the Year of 24 Group.

Part 2

#1970s japan #1970s #vintage shoujo #shoujo manga #lady oscar #rose of versailles #ace wo nerae #candy candy

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