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yanderenightmare · 1 year ago

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TW: nsfw, anal, suggestiveness & pressuring

fem reader

Thinking about really boyfriendly boyfriends – simpy and helpful and sweet – boyfriend material perfectly cut as if custom-ordered – boxed and shipped and sent express mail from the boyfriend factory with love.

He’s interested in your hobbies and studies and is equally passionate about sharing his interests with you. He’s comfortable and playful with your family and makes a true effort to befriend your friends. He’s even outgoing at parties where he doesn’t know anyone but you instead of sulking and asking you to leave like so many past boyfriends have.

He likes sharing food, sings loudly in the car, texts you throughout the day, and calls you when he’s at the store before coming over, asking if you need or want anything. He’s open and honest and geeks over new releases – that movie trailer, that game, those sneakers, that album, that car, and all that other boy stuff – and yet never fails to tell you how beautiful you are every time he sees you.

And he likes taking you on dates – cinema, arcade, roller rink, amusement park, road trips, picnics, beach days – or simply hanging out at his or your place – making food, binging a series in bed, kissing and dry-humping…

He’s just, all in all, everything you could’ve ever wished for. Perfect in every way.

Only… there hasn’t been a single time he’s had you in bed where he hasn’t all but begged to fuck your ass…

He’s literally crying for it while moaning, “Please~ lemme put it in~ just wanna try it once, please, baby~�� with his hands squeezing your butt over your shorts and his head under your shirt, kissing and sucking your tits with the prayers on his lips as he humps his tented crotch against your clothed cunt – making your panties hot and damp.

You squeeze your eyes shut with a suppressed whine.

He keeps pleading, “I’ll be gentle~ just the tip~ I’ll go so slow~”

His fingers dig into the crevice of your cheeks, wedging your shorts and undies through your slit. Everything clenches from the friction.

Your face is heated, biting your lip with cinched brows. You knew he’d ask for it again today – he never doesn’t. Even though he’ll get pussy-drunk and pound your poor womb in a tight mating press the second he’s made you cum on his fingers.

He slurps your nipple, still begging, “Please, baby, please~ it’ll feel so good~ so-so-so good~”

You’d been deliberating giving in to his incessant proposals for a little while. He’d been so unrelenting you were starting to feel bad denying him for so long.

Not like past boyfriends hadn’t been equally relentless in the ask.

But this one was different… unlike the others… you really like him.

You think you might be in love with him, even though it’s a little early to say.

Still… since he’s so perfect… you want to do your best to be perfect for him, too.

So you’d made yourself ready for it this time – done preparations in the shower.

But… you pout… it was all so embarrassing, and your poor mind was riddled with doubts as though you were a virgin all over again.

What if something… gross happens? What if it hurts so bad you have to stop? Will it disappoint him? What if you hate it but go through with it anyway, only for him to keep asking? What if you have to break up because you won’t ever be able to look him in the eyes again?

“Are you okay? Is something wrong?” His voice slips through the inner turmoil.

He’d resurfaced from beneath your shirt on account of your silence, only to see you’d covered your face in both hands. He gently peels them away – revealing your eyes and the shy way you nibble your lip.

“I’m sorry…” He apologizes then. “I’ll stop asking-”

“No!” You blurt. To his surprise – staring at you with those big puppy-dog eyes you just couldn’t handle seeing look so disheartened. “I mean…”

You look away, cheeks burning – voice just barely above a whisper.

“If you really want to… I’m fine with it…”

He seemed to perk up at that. If he’d had a tail, you know it would be wagging behind him.

His chest swelled, eyes big and unblinking, swallowing thickly – breaths already thick with containment.

He leans in close and nose-kisses you, brushing your lips with heated words, “Really? You’ll let me?”

You made a small sound, too humiliated to say or do much more than nod your head in confirmation.

He seemed to shudder, closing the space between you, kissing your lips softly – he tasted like static – buzzing with restricted urgency. Parting with a soft-spoken yet strained, “Thank you.”

Both his hands messaged your waist – fiddled with the band to your shorts as though he couldn’t wait to drag them down your thighs and free you.

Still speaking against your lips, “Can you turn around on your knees for me?”

Everything was burning – from the tips of your ears to your lips and deep down in your stomach where something equally hungry and anxious was preparing for something.

He moved back to allow you to crawl into position, taking a pillow and placing it underneath you – patting it while telling you to “Lie down.”

You did like suggested, lying with your face and chest against the soft plume, sinking into it with your back in a slope and your ass presented. Heart pounding in your head, loud and hot, as he took position behind you – placing his hand back on your hips.

He hooked his fingers into the band of your shorts again, pulling them back over the fat of your haunches, then dragged them down slowly until they pooled around your knees. You felt the damp heat of his breath immediately hit the peach fuzz on the small of your back – seeping through the cotton of your panties – making your belly brew with butterflies.

“Just relax, okay? Tell me to stop if I go too far.” He said, sensing how you quaked as he placed both palms on your globes – denting the plump flesh with greedy fingers.

It’s not like you haven’t fucked in this position before – it’s just that you knew this time was going to be different. You felt so exposed.

He fingered the frill of your panties and started peeling them off – baring your naked skin and the pretty dip between your cheeks.

You yelped. His mouth was on you before he’d even finished undressing you – placing a sloppy half-bite half-kiss on your upper ass before proceeding to slurp the crack.

You whimpered – flustered and flushed as the heat of his tongue laid wet trails down through the valley until his lips met with your rim. You shuffled your thighs and balled the pillow in small fists as he groaned into you. Shamelessly squeezing your fat with his hands, spreading the cheeks to let him at your little puckered hole.

Your eyes screwed shut while you hid your face in the pillow beneath you – muffling all uneasy sounds as he canted his mouth against your ass. Chin rutting into your puffy cunt while bobbing his jaw, lipping at your taint and rim – nose nuzzled between your cheeks – mouth fully closed around you – moaning at the feel of it pulsing on the tip of his tongue as he runs it over the tight scrunch again and again.

Your shoulders brace as he tries and screw the wet muscle inside. You tense up way too tight for it to happen.

He smacks off with a raunchy sigh. Your heart is in your throat.

Slick from your ignored cunt feels sticky on your swelled pussy-lips – hot and twitching in the cool air.

He pops the cap of the little bottle of lube the two of you always keep on hand. You flinch when his slick fingers come back to rub your hole. He gives it slow and soothing circles before easing the tip inside. Filling you up only to the first joint, waiting for you to relax and loosen before sinking the rest inside.

He hums at the display, groaning, “Fuuh-ck~” Sliding the digit in knuckle-deep before slipping it out to the tip again – repeating the motion while feeling your muscles ripple around it. “You’re so cute, baby~ so pretty~”

He bows and places a chaste kiss on your buttcheek, laying his face on it like a pillow – his eyes half-mast while looking at his finger disappear inside you.

He works another in with the first, shuffling them – messaging the tightness, slowly training it to stretch. His hot breath fans over your wet skin, making you go goosefleshed.

“Fuck, baby – so pretty with my fingers inside yah~” He hums, almost in a whine while curling them inside you. “So fucking hot how you swallow and squeeze on ‘em like that~”

He pulls himself up again, tugging on his belt with one hand – keeping on fingering you with the other.

His pants drop to the floor a moment later, and he lifts his neglected cock out of the sticky mess he’d made in his boxers – throbbingly fat and hard, pulsing in his fist and leaking pre, another pearl each time he rubs over the bulge of his tip.

He looks at your hole – eyes misty. You seem to have loosened up a bit – enough for him to part his fingers.

He pulls them both out with a schlick. “I think you’re ready…” His voice is sticky – stuck to his throat. “I’m gonna try ‘n put it in.”

Your hands curl into the pillow as you nod your head – eyes still squeezed shut. It hadn't felt too bad so far – just weird. Embarrassing and… clinical. A bit like a doctor’s visit. But you knew that would all change now.

His hands glide across your back, catching your crop top in balled fists, stretching it as his tip works on stretching out your opening – nudging against it, coaxing it into accepting the head.

“Fuh- oh fuck~” He moans, lost to the sight and feel of your butt seizing around him – closing up around his tip.

You look so fucking perfect like that – face-down and kneeling with your ass pressed back against him – giving him your second virginity.

His eyes flitter across the slope of your spine – looking over your creamy skin, looking so pretty, all glossy with dew, until he reaches your face. Your brows are pinched together, gnawing on your bottom lip, eyes shut tightly.

“Are you okay?” He pants.

You nod your head – curt and rushed.

He suppresses a sound – feeling even more heated. You’re so perfect, so good to him – the best girlfriend he could have ever asked for. Trusting him like this, letting him do this even when you’re so nervous about it. You must really love him.

He’s nearly crying, holding onto your hips as he fucks you with just the tip – loosening the rim up and going just a little deeper for every shallow thrust. He nearly barrels over, standing there with his back hunched – bowing his head, looking at where the two of you connect while sweat drips from his weighted bangs.

“I love you, too.” He confesses out of the blue, and you blink, looking back at him – seeing his mouth parted with blissful moans, his eyes wet, and brows softly curled. “You’re so fuckin’ perfect fo’me – so good.”

He loves you so much he can barely take the blossoming in his chest, feeling like he wants to eat you up and swallow you whole. His girl – who laughs at all his silly jokes and holds his hand everywhere you go and doesn’t tease him when he yelps and holds you close during horror movies. His perfect perky girlfriend – who lets him fuck you raw and cum inside, and now… even letting him fuck your tight round ass for the very first time.

He's almost all the way in now – just a few more thrusts, and you’ll have him swallowed down to the base with his balls pressed firmly against the puffy lips of your wet pussy.

“Fuh-uuck-” He breathes out again, gripping your hips tight as he bottoms out.

He nearly cums right then, having to bite his lip to hold back – savoring how you ripple and squeeze him – so tight and firm.

You’re such a good girl taking him so well and so deep, lying so sweetly beneath him with your ass presented – letting him nestle his entire length inside you. Curling your toes all cutely as you adjust with only pretty girly mews leaving you.

You didn’t expect him to mount you.

But he does. Now standing with his feet in the bed, squatting over you with his cock sinking balls deep in your ass. Freshly broken-in, it’s tight and firm and twitchy as though it’s confused as to why there's a big fat cock stretching it out.

He can’t help but smile, perched on top of you – hands still hooked upon your hips for balance while he leans forward, settling even deeper.

You moan, and it nearly drives him wild. Barely holding himself together as he pulls out – wishing he had something to bite into instead of his lip as he focuses on the way your firm walls clench on him, clinging to his shaft so tightly it’s hard pulling out despite the wetness – it’s so good he’s losing it.

He’s taking his perfect girlfriend in her perfect ass. And it feels so fucking good his hands leave their grip on your hips as he slugs forward, bending over you until his chest presses into your back, and his head rests on top of yours, cheek to cheek – slinging both arms around you, putting you in a headlock – leaving you to do nothing else but pant, squished between his biceps and his cock kisses your guts.

“Can’t believe I'm fucking your little ass, baby.” He rants breathlessly. “It's so tight and good, gripping me so fuckin’ hard.” Huffing and groaning with his back hunched as he curves into your butt as deep as he can – stuffing into you from behind slowly and carefully as though he’s savoring every single flutter of you hugging him.

He’s barely even pulling out – kneading as far as his cock can reach instead – cock-warming himself inside you.

“Fuck, baby – I can cum inside, right?” He whimpers against you, kissing the corner of your mouth with his tongue out.

You’re so squished beneath him you can only just wheeze out the word. “O-okay-”

“Oh- fuck, I love you.” He cries when he blows, squeezing you so tight you’re choking as he pumps pulse after pulse of thick hot cum deep inside you. “I love you, I love you- love you- love you so much- so fuckin’ much-”

And you don’t know if it’s the confession, the headlock, or the cum being pumped up your guts – but your clit’s pulsing and your cunt’s twitching even though it’s around nothing, gushing down your shaking thighs as your butt pushes itself flush against your boyfriend’s cock, clenching hard around it and milking him free of every drop.

♡ BNHA – Deku, Shoto, Denki, Kirishima, Shigaraki, Touya-Dabi, Hawks, Natsuo, Mirio ♡ JJK – Gojo, Yuji, Yuuta, Choso ♡ HQ – Kuro, Bokuto, Miya twins ♡ AOT – Armin ♡ DS – Zenitsu ♡ WB – Sakura, Nirei, Umemiya

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

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nightwingsgypsyrep · 21 days ago

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One of the things which really annoys me about Dick Grayson’s characterisation by both DC and the fandom is how they treat his being Romani (I say this as a gypsy from the circus myself) also before people cancel me for saying gypsy - I am not American and it’s not a slur where I am from. I am a gypsy myself so please don’t freak out about my using this term which feels comfortable and accurate to me

I know this is a common complaint, but being a gypsy or Romani is such a niche ethnic identity, and so often I see people treat it almost like a nationality. For example, the idea that Dick Grayson grew up not knowing English is so bizarre to me… of course he knew English, he may be Romani and speak it, but he is also American. The shopkeeper who he is buying food from doesn’t speak Romani, nor do the local authorities whose permission we need to even put on a circus/fair, so it makes sense that he’d speak English to them. He works in the circus: his family’s livelihood depended on his being able to draw a crowd - if he can’t interact with the people he’s taking the money from, how does he expect to make it in what is essentially a customer service job (I speak from experience here). Also, historically, by the late 18th century, the vast majority of Romani-speaking gypsies also spoke another language as a first language, and by the 20th century, I could argue that this is about 99.99999% of us, if not all.

The other thing I often see is how Dick Grayson is portrayed as being the Bristol-raised kid who doesn’t understand Jason’s Crime Alley upbringing. And yeah, whilst Dick lived with Bruce from a young age, and might (even based on his personality) have a better chance of mixing with the rich kids, let’s not act like Dick didn’t know struggle as a kid. Even if his parents were fairly comfortable economically, he spent at least half the year living in a trailer/vardo, which people associate with being working class. All gypsy kids are taught to fight from a very young age because whenever we pull on somewhere to open (aka put on the show), we expect a hell of a lot of racism from the locals, which often included getting jumped, often by multiple older gadja/gorja/non-gypsy children - and hell, even adults! As well as knowing how to defend ourselves, this also leads to a lot us developing a bit of a defence mechanism wherein we can talk ourselves out of a situation, or endear ourselves to people quickly in the first place so we don’t get fighting (keeping us safe, and keeping us in the good graces of the locals so we can continue earning a living there) - perhaps this could be explored as part of the reasoning behind the famous Dick Grayson charm? Anyway, all this to say, Dick would fully understand what it’s like to be the poor outsider who has to fight at every corner just to exist, and justifying his existence to others who view themselves as his ‘superiors’.

My final complaint is a small one: every single gypsy I know grows up absolutely BELTING Cher’s ‘Gypsies, Tramps, and Thieves’ and the fact that I’ve not seen Dick pouring his heart into that song, screaming the words ‘I was born in the wagon of a travelling show’ is honestly a hate crime which must be fixed immediately.

#batman #dick grayson #batfam #dc comics #dc robin #nightwing #romani dick grayson #Spotify

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just-aake · 2 months ago

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Endearing Entanglements

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: You give Natasha a visit in Norway and remind her she has more friends to call on for help.

Warnings: fluff, implied sexual themes

Words: 1300

Pulling up to the safehouse, Natasha’s eyes narrow as she catches a faint trail of smoke curling from the trailer’s ventilation.

Instinct kicking in, she turns off the engine and quickly reaches for the gun stashed in the glove compartment.

She’s still on the run, and Rick isn’t due to check in for another week, which means the sign of someone else being here is a red flag she can’t ignore.

Sliding out of the car, Natasha moves silently. As she approaches the door, her grip on the weapon tightens as she takes a steadying breath.

With a practiced calm, she swings open the door, stepping inside swiftly with her gun raised. Her eyes dart across the room, scanning for any immediate threats.

But instead of chaos or an ambush, she’s met with the quiet, domestic sound of sizzling food.

Your back is to her, the scent of spices mingling in the air as you casually tend to whatever is cooking on the stove.

You don’t even flinch at her dramatic entrance.

“You should go freshen up, love. Dinner will be ready in ten,” you say, your tone easy and unbothered, not even sparing a glance in her direction, as though she hadn’t just stormed in with a weapon aimed at your head.

Natasha freezes, her suspicion warring with confusion. She sweeps her gaze around the small trailer once more, confirming that you’re alone, before finally lowering her gun with a disbelieving huff.

Her tension melts into exasperation as she holsters her weapon and crosses her arms.

“What are you doing here?” she demands.

You chuckle softly, finally turning to face her. The spatula in your hand gestures toward the small, cluttered living space.

“I came by to drop off your package,” you reply, your tone light but with a teasing edge.

Natasha’s eyes flick to the black case sitting on the rickety table. She knows without opening it what’s inside—customized weapons and gadgets uniquely gathered and prepared for her.

Like you’ve done countless times before for her.

“I didn’t order anything,” she says skeptically.

“Hmm, you’re right. You didn’t,” you say with an exaggerated nod. “You called Mason instead. And he got you this…quaint little setup.”

The lights flicker as if on cue, emphasizing your skepticism about the condition of the safe house.

Natasha catches the faint jealous pout in your tone and sighs, moving closer until she’s leaning against the counter beside you.

“It’s nothing personal,” she murmurs, her voice softening. “I just needed something quick and discreet.”

Your lips twitch into a slight smirk as you turn to her. Without warning, you tug her closer, capturing her lips in a kiss.

You nip at her bottom lip in reprimand before pulling back, your eyes glinting with amusement.

“Love, isn’t that how most of our…entanglements end up?”

Natasha huffs a soft laugh, her smirk matching yours. Her hands find your waist, pulling you in closer.

“How much longer did you say dinner would take?”

Your grin widens as you turn off the stove, tilting your head closer to hers.

“All done,” you whisper against her lips.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Leaning back against the wall of the trailer, Natasha sits on the bed, a now reheated plate of food in her hands. She eats quietly, her mind half on the simple meal you had prepared and half on the intimate moments you and she shared earlier.

The room is still, save for the occasional flicker of the dim overhead light and the low murmur of your voice.

At the edge of the bed, you handle a phone call that interrupted your dinner with her.

“No worries, love, I can get it to you by then,” you say smoothly, your voice oozing charm as you multitask, the phone pressed between your ear and shoulder while you pull on your pants.

Natasha’s brow arches slightly at your casual use of the term of endearment. Setting her plate aside, she moves toward you.

“Have I ever let you down?” you continue your conversation nonchalantly, though, the slight tilt of your head indicates you notice her movement behind you.

Wrapping her arms around your waist from behind, she leans into you, her warmth pressing against your back. Without a word, she begins trailing soft, deliberate kisses along your bare shoulder, her lips lingering just enough to send a message.

For a split second, your voice falters, the smooth flow of your words disrupted. You clear your throat, attempting to maintain composure.

“I—I gotta go,” you murmur into the phone, your tone edged with faint exasperation as Natasha’s kisses continue. “Mmhmm, I’ll call back later with the details.”

You end the call quickly, sliding the phone onto the table before turning to face her.

Your expression is a blend of amusement and mock disapproval as you take her in. “Really?”

Natasha shrugs innocently, feigning ignorance as she murmurs against your shoulder, “I thought I was ‘love.’”

Your lips curl into a smirk, your brow quirking as you tilt your head to meet her gaze.

“Oh, are we making certain things between us exclusive now?” you reply, your tone light but carrying a playful challenge.

Natasha huffs a small laugh and rolls her eyes, pointedly ignoring your question as she leans back on her elbows, watching you with a small smile as you finish getting dressed.

After zipping up your jacket, you lean over the bed, running your hand along her bare legs before resting it on her thigh.

“I do have other clients besides you, you know,” you say, rubbing your hand in small circles before pinching her skin lightly, “Just like how you have other contractors.”

Natasha slaps your hand away with a scoff.

“Rick’s just a friend,” she says reassuringly.

You hum thoughtfully, your smirk widening.

“And you’re the only client I ever end up in bed with.”

Her lips curve into a faint smile, unable to hide the flicker of satisfaction at your reassuring words.

Grinning, you pick up the black case from the table and set it on the bed.

“So…I guess that means we’ve come to an understanding.”

But Natasha’s smile fades as she pushes the case back toward you.

“I can’t take that.”

“If it’s about payment, I can give you a discount this time,” you offer, your tone playful. “Considering your…circumstances.”

“It’s not that.” Natasha shakes her head, her gaze dropping to the bed. There’s a moment of hesitation, a rare crack in her usual composure. Finally, she murmurs softly, “I don’t want to drag you into my problems.”

Your expression softens, the teasing edge replaced by something more genuine. You step closer, catching her chin lightly with your fingers, tilting her face up until her eyes meet yours.

“That’s sweet, love,” you say gently, your voice warm but unwavering. “But unfortunately for you, you’re my favorite client. That means your problems? They matter to me, too.”

Her lips part slightly, a breath catching as the weight of your words settles in.

You smile, a slow and reassuring curve of your lips, at the sight of the Black Widow so caught off guard by the care laced in your voice and tap her nose playfully in goodbye.

Before she can respond, you turn on your heel, heading toward the door.

Pausing in the archway, you glance over your shoulder, your silhouette framed by the dim light spilling in from outside.

“Oh, and,” you add, your voice carrying a casual charm that hides just how much you mean it, “whenever you want an upgrade from this charming little safehouse, you know how to contact me.”

A slow smirk tugs at your lips as you lock eyes with her one last time.

“Always looking forward to your call, love.”

And with that, you’re gone, leaving Natasha sitting there, a small, fond smile on her lips.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

a/n: just a little cute fluff before I get back into my series. thank you for reading!

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanoff x you #black widow x reader #natasha x reader #natasha romanov x reader #natasha romanoff

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violettwrites · 11 days ago

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american teenagers — iii.

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your mind was still reeling from last night.

it wasn’t the first time daryl had stepped in between you and some guy who didn’t know how to take a hint, but this time felt different. it wasn’t just the way he swung at merle’s buddy or how his jaw clenched with every insult the guy threw. it was something in his eyes— sharp and intense, almost angry. but angry at what, you didn’t have a clue.

daryl was like that though. a locked box with no key in sight. sometimes you swore you could almost hear the gears turning in his head, but he never let much out. you’d know him long enough to understand he wasn’t one for words anyway.

still, he hadn’t come back after walking you to your trailer last night. he claimed he needed to check on merle, who half stumbled into the bonfire and was likely causing all kinds of trouble. he left without much more than a gruff get some sleep, and just like that, he was gone.

now unfortunately, you didn’t have time to sit around and piece together what it all meant. life in a small town didn’t stop for a little heartache or confusion, and neither did your job.

the gas station wasn’t exactly where you’d imagine yourself spending your days, but it paid just enough to keep your dad off your back and your cigarettes stocked. that was enough for now.

leaning against the counter, you stared out at the aisles of junk food and faded magazines, listening to the hum of the cooler in the background. a slow day— nothing new. the usual parade of truckers passing through and the town’s regulars had already come and gone, mostl leaving behind a little more than crude remarks or greasy handprints on the counter.

the bell over the door jingled, pulling your from your thoughts. your eyes flickered toward the entrance, ready to size up the next customer— and froze.

daryl.

he walked in like he hadn’t just turned your world upside down the night before, his shoulders hunched slightly, his eyes scanning the shelves before they landed on you.

“hey,” he spoke lowly, his voice rough but still soft, like he wasn’t sure if he was welcome.

“hey,” you replied, your tone more even than you felt. you straightened up, wiping your hands on your jeans.

for a moment, he didn’t move, just stood there like he was debating whether to stay or turn around. then he scratched the back of his neck, his signature sign of nervousness, and shuffled over to the counter.

“figured i’d stop by,” he muttered, his gaze flickering between you and the counter top. “see how you were doin’.”

your chest tightened at his words, but you kept your face neutral. “i’m fine,” you said, though the slight crack in your voice betrayed you.

his eyes narrowed slightly, and you could tell he didn’t believe you. “that guy last night… he didn’t—“

“no,” you interrupted quickly. “he didn’t. you made sure of that.”

daryl’s jaw worked, his teeth pressing together for a moment before he nodded. “good.”

the silence stretched between you, heavy and loaded, but not uncomfortable. it was the kind of silence you’d shared a hundred times before, the kind where words weren’t always necessary. still, something about this one felt different and you couldn’t stop your mind from reeling.

“why’d you do it?” you asked suddenly, the question slipping out before you could stop yourself. you were aware you had already asked him the same thing last night, but you weren’t exactly convinced.

daryl blinked, caught off guard. “do what?”

“jump in like that,” you clarified, your voice softer now. “i know i already asked, and i know you’ve done it before. but last night felt— i don’t know. different.”

he glanced away, his fingers tapping lightly against the counter. for a moment, you thought he wasn’t going to answer, but then he spoke, his voice low and almost hesitant.

“didn’t really think about it,” he admitted. “just saw him grabbin’ you, and… i don’t know. i just had to.”

your breath caught a little, his words hanging in the air between you. there was something much more raw and honest in his words compared to last night, something that made your heart ache in a way you didn’t entirely understand.

before you could respond, the bell above the door jingled again, breaking the spell. a customer had wandered in, and daryl straightened, his usual guarded expression slipping back into place.

“i’ll see you later,” he said gruffly, already backing towards the door.

you nodded, watching as he disappeared into the sunlight, the door swinging shut behind him.

and just like that, he was gone again. a guarded, closed off, enigma of a being wrapped in the perfect little package of daryl dixon. you weren’t as frusturated anymore, because for once, you felt like you’d seen a glimpse of something deeper in him, something he rarely let anyone see.

but you still needed answers.

when your shift had ended, the sticky heat of the afternoon had finally begun to fade, replaced by the warm, golden glow of the sun setting. you grabbed your things and headed back to the trailer park, your mind still a tangled mess of thoughts about daryl.

the familiar hum of a radio met your ears as you rounded the corner of your trailer. merle was sitting on a lawn chair out the front of his own, a beer in hand and heavy boots kicked up on a cinderblock. hearing your footsteps, he looked up, a crooked grin spreading across his face.

“hey there, darlin’,” he drawled, raising his beer ever so slightly towards you. “thought you’d still be hidin’ out after lasts nights little circus.”

you rolled your eyes, stepping closer to him as you completely ignored his comment. “where’s daryl?”

merle shrugged, taking a swig of his beer. “hell if i know, ain’t seen him since this mornin’. why? you two lovebirds having a spat?”

“cut it out merle,” you muttered, crossing your arms. “i just— i don’t get him sometimes, y’know? one second he’s all protective, and the next, he’s gone.”

merle chuckled, shaking his head. “that’s daryl for ya. thought you woulda known that by now. kid’s got more walls than this whole damn trailer park. don’t take it personal— he don’t even know what the hell’s goin’ on in that head of his half the time.”

you frowned, his words not exactly comforting, but hitting a little too close to the truth. “so what? he’s just like this with everyone?”

“nah,” merle said, his grin fading ever so slightly. “he’s got a soft spot for ya, whether he knows it or not. don’t mean he’s gonna start wearin’ his heart on his sleeve, or whatever.”

you sighed, sinking down onto the lawn chair next to him, forehead pressing against your knees. “figures.”

merle leaned back in his chair, his smirk returning. “give him time, sweetheart. he’s like a stray dog— gotta let him come to you.”

you huffed a laugh despite yourself, shaking your head as you raised it to look at him. “thanks, merle. real helpful.”

he raised his bear in a mock toast once again, his signature shit eating grin on his features. “anytime, darlin’.”

as the sun dipped lower into the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, you couldn’t help but wonder if merle was right. maybe daryl just needed time. or maybe you’d have to find a way to break through those walls yourself.

sure, you had known daryl for a big part of your life, and you thought you knew everything there was to know about him— but apparently not. because merle was right. he did have more walls than this damn trailer park.

and the worst part? you weren’t sure if you’d ever be able to climb over them.

eeeee here’s chapter 3 !!! i really hope you guys enjoyed it ! not much daryl content unfortunately but we’re getting some merle x reader content (one of my fave friendships tbh)

if you enjoyed, please give this a like or a reblog ! i always appreciate it. and don’t forget to comment below if you’d like to be added to the tag list!

tag list: @rotten-biter @negansbestie @moonbaby6 @sunnykittyzz @twd4life7 @r3zn @besosderuina

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iliketangerines · 4 months ago

Note

pov you randomly facetime johnny while he's busy working and you're fucking yourself stupid on a dildo that HE CUSTOM MADE FROM HIS OWN COCK AND BALLS and he's just so caught off guard like

made by you

a/n: @partycatty last request!!!

pairing: johnny cage x afab!reader

warnings: nsfw (MDNI), soft!Johnny, needy (like really needy) reader, masturbating (?), praise kink, phone sex, not proofread

Johnny rubs his eyes with one hand, squinting them at the unfinished script of the video game

the pen in his hand shakes as he circles and scribbles in comments about what he liked and what he didn’t like about what the script writer had put in

he wonders if he had hired an idiot because the dialogue sounded stiff and the staging of the scene seemed to make no sense

perhaps he should just hire a new editor and write his own script and then send it to an editor to have them tweak any small details he might’ve missed

his hand reaches out for the coffee cup next to him, and he lifts it up only to find it empty

Johnny looks up from his script with a disgruntled look, lips curved downward and eyebrows furrowed as he stared at the empty cardboard

throwing it into the wastebasket beneath his desk along with the three other empty coffee cups, he stands up from his seat, hearing the bones in his back creak and his knees pop with pain

he groans and presses both of his hands to his lower back, stretching out after spending so long hunched over his desk trying to edit this ridiculous script

maybe he should just go to bed, wake up with a fresh head and fresh eyes

Johnny glances once more over to the script, the red pen decorating the paper at almost every corner, and he lets out a displeased hum

for as much as the weight on his eyelids felt heavy, he really wanted, needed, to get this done tonight, at least before the next shoot happened

he checks his phone for the time, greeted with the sight of you as his lock screen, a bright smile on your face with the sunset perfectly framing you

you hadn’t been able to come with him this time to shoot the current movie, a new project at work had a deadline that happened to cross over into the workflow of the shoot, and you couldn’t afford to slack off

every day and night, he would text you updates about his day, how he felt, whether the food was good on set tonight, and you tried to do the same, complaining about your colleagues, your boss, the traffic getting to and from work

it never failed to make him smile as he read your texts

lately, however, the actors had pressing questions, the cameramen had questions and positions to be marked, the stuntmen needed more clarification on the moveset

he hadn’t had much time for you, and he tried his best to respond to you, typing as fast as he could with one hand as he went on lunch breaks, eyes glued to his screen whenever the actors needed a short break before they could continue

it was absolute hell for him to not be able to talk to you so freely

Johnny steps out of his trailer, trudging over to the coffee machine, checking his phone for any new messages from you

there are a few from a few hours ago, telling them that the dinner party you had been to had been a bust and that one of your colleagues had passed out from drinking too much

he smiles at the text and goes to text you back, quickly pressing the buttons on the coffee machine to give him the largest coffee possible, when your face shows up with your caller id

that was strange, it was past midnight for you usually you’d be fast asleep at this hour, always claiming you needed your beauty rest to get an early start on the grocery shopping on the weekend

nonetheless, he picks up the call, “hey sweetheart, what are you doing up so late?” and he blows on the steaming coffee in his cup and takes a sip

“‘m miss you, miss you Johnny,” you sound breathless, words all slurred together and slightly too high-pitched to be normal

panic strikes through his heart, had something happened? were you safe? had something happened? Shang Tsung?

the memory of you being at the dinner party flits into his memory, and he realizes that you’re probably just drunk and a little needy for him, just as needy as he was for you

“are you drunk? you should go to bed, honey. drink some water before you do.” Johnny takes another sip of his coffee as he starts striding back to his trailer

he wonders if you’ll be able to get up in the morning, you always complained so heavily about hangovers, he’ll send you a text in the morning to remember to take some medicine

“no, not drunk, want you, Johnny, hah-” you practically whine into your phone, and Johnny stops in front of his trailer, hand frozen, his phone tucked right between his ear and his shoulder

suddenly, with his phone so close to his ear, he can hear the faint shuffle of the bedsheets, the way you breathe heavily into the mic and the familiar wet squelch of your pussy

Johnny practically rips the door open in his hurry to get inside, “oh honey, i know, what do you want? tell me.”

suddenly, the coffee in his hand seems redundant, not when adrenaline rushed through him, the thought of you so desperate for him on the sheets sending all of his blood rushing downwards

he places the coffee on his desk and sits on the edge of his bed, pressing his phone as close to his ear as possible to hear you

“want you, want you to kiss me, mark me all over, want you fucking me right now,” you pant into the phone, a low drawn out moan escaping you

Johnny swears his hand is dangerously close to cracking his phone with how tightly he grips it, and he presses his free hand against the bottom of his chin, still trying to remain calm as thoughts of you naked and covered in a slight sweat filters into his thoughts

“i wish i could, honey,” he lets out a sharp exhale through his nose as he tries to imagine what you look like, the soft caress of your skin against the sheets, your eyes that glossy faraway look, lips turned into a slight pout, “tell me what you’re doing right now.”

“mm, wearing your shirt, your favorite, missed you, i miss you,” Johnny resists a groan at the image of you wearing nothing but his shirt, the purple one that had cost too much money

still, it was worth all the money, especially now that you were wearing it right now, all needy and whiny for him

“what else are you doing, honey? c’mon keep talking to me, you’re doing so well.” he encourages to talk more, to fill out the details of your want for him so that he can fuel his own imagination of you

“riding, riding you, but it’s-i-i can’t,” you sound pained at the end, your voice tinted with tears

“hey hey, what’s wrong, what can’t you do?” Johnny presses his chin further into his free hand, trying to decipher what you meant by you riding him

he wasn’t there, but you wouldn’t take on another partner just for this, you wouldn’t do something like that, at least not without his permission

Johnny closes his eyes, listening to you whimper, voice slightly warbled through the phone line, “can’t make myself cum, can’t without you, please, Johnny.”

you sound so desperate for him, and he exhales through his nose, almost proud of himself for ruining you for anyone else, but he could stroke his pride later

“honey, why don’t you facetime me? show me what you’re doing, i’ll guide you. how does that sound?” he hears your small sound of confirmation on the other end, and he pulls his phone away from his ear and waits for your caller id to show up again

as soon as it pops up, he clicks on accept and is met with the sight of you, the phone resting on the headboard of the bed, slightly tilting as you move away after setting up the camera

you look divine, better than he remembered, better than anything he had ever seen actually

his heart slightly aches at the sight of you, just as desperate as you to see each other again, to feel your touch on his skin, to feel your warmth hold his soul

Johnny sucks in a breath and concentrates back on you, how he can slightly see your chest through the unbuttoned front of the shirt, how your thighs slightly trembled as you ride a toy

your baby hairs stick slightly to your forehead, and you look breathless, lips parted in a moan and your brows furrowed upwards as you sink back down onto the toy

he stares at it, rummaging through his mind which one it could possibly be when it suddenly clicks in his head

you were riding him, him as in the prank gift he had given you on your birthday before presenting you with your actual gift

Johnny thought you had thrown it out, but you had kept it and now you were riding it, riding him and his lips slightly part in surprise

as he stares at you, you continue to ride the dildo and let out a long whine as one hand travels downward to rub harsh circles onto your clit

it snaps him out of his shock and back into the moment as he coos at you, “you look so gorgeous, so pretty on my cock.”

a slight hum escapes from you as you stare at the camera with half-lidded eyes, drinking in his praise, and Johnny has to bite his tongue to keep himself from cumming into his pants at the sight alone

“that’s it honey, slow down your hand, you’re being too rough on yourself,” he says it gently, voice a little breathy as he strains to control himself, and you listen obediently, your fingers on your clit slowing down into small gentle circles

you whine pitifully, wanting more, but you listen anyway, trusting him

the fact that you do so easily in such a vulnerable moment fills him with something more, something proud and smooth, like gold shining underneath the sun

“good, you’re being so good for me, sweetheart. use your other hand to pinch your nipple,” he stares, unblinking at his phone as you follow through, legs shaking as you ride him slowly, whimpering as you twist and pinch your nipple

Johnny can’t look away, not, he drinks in the sight like you were the stars in the sky, the galaxies flying in the universe, a marvel, a miracle, a beauty to behold

because you truly were, something wonderful and marvelous and more than anything you would ever know

“that’s it, just like that, speed up just a little bit, good, so good for me” he watches as you bounce a little faster, your fingers against your clit just a bit faster, your pinching at your chest just a bit rougher

“haah, ahhh aghh, Johnny, please, please,” you can barely speak, mewls of pleasure interrupting your own thoughts

“let go for me,” it’s all he needs to say as you moan loudly, and you sink down fully onto the toy, fingers rubbing against your clit desperately as your thighs tremble and twitch

he watches as you ride through your orgasm, as your breathing slows, as your body slouches over, exhausted and spent

“you did so well, so well for me,” he isn’t sure if wants to push it, to tell you to try and get yourself cleaned up, and he decides against it as you lower yourself to the bed and grip onto a pillow, no doubt the one on his side of the bed

his fingers itch to stroke your hair, to massage out your muscles, to hold you close in his arms and fall asleep next to you

Johnny settles with watching you fall asleep on the bed and then ending the call, sending you a text message asking how you felt and to call him when you woke up

setting his phone off to the side, he drags a hand over his face, the image of you riding the toy, the toy based off of him, buried deep inside of you

he stands up and rummages through his drawer, he needed a change of his clothes before he went to bed

#tangerine writes #tangerine answers #mortal kombat x reader #mk x reader #mk x you #mk x y/n #mortal kombat smut #mk smut #mk1 x reader #mk1 x you #mk1 x y/n #mk1 smut #johnny cage x reader #johnny cage x you #johnny cage x y/n #johnny cage smut

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deathbecomesthem · 2 months ago

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Blizzard

Eddie Munson x a Blizzard treat

MINORS DNI - +18 ONLY

For @jo-harrington. This was meant for your birthday, but we know that didn't happen. I love you forever.

Summary: Eddie works at the DQ and gets weird with some ice cream.

CW: Male masturbation, food play, brief discussion of vomit.

Eddie is torn between two paths of thought - needing cash in his pocket, therefore needing to go to work - and wondering what is the point of selling ice cream in the winter. The defroster in the van quit working in early spring, and Eddie had done what Eddie does - put it off. Well, now it’s cold again, and he’s wiping off as much of the frost accumulated on his windshield as he can with the crumbled Burger King napkins he found on the floor of the passenger’s seat.

He’s thinking about simply turning around and heading back into the trailer where he can at least crawl under the comforter in his bedroom to keep warm, and then he remembers that he can’t fix the defroster in the van without some form of income. Goddamn Rick for getting pinched again so soon after the last time. Eddie’s more than a little concerned that the next time he gets picked up it’s going to be for longer than the usual 90 days in lock up. How many strikes has it been? Surely more than three. Eventually Magistrate Johnson won’t be able to turn him loose on the good people of Roann County, even if that means facing the wrath of Rick’s favorite second cousin who also happens to be his wife.

It could be worse, he could be working at the arcade still. It was 4 blissful hours behind the cash register before that red headed kid, Brant?, puked all over Donkey Kong. Eddie had a fleeting thought that he might be able to handle the situation, and then the smell hit him square in the face. He was out the door before Keith could get the mop from the back room, reaching back in to leave his name tag on Pac-Man as an afterthought.

Of course he knows that vomit can happen anywhere, but Eddie is fully prepared to immediately quit any job that requires him to get up close and personal with someone else’s bodily fluids. Technically, it’s a part of his side work to clean the bathrooms at the DQ after close, but technically, no one ever fucking checks, so technically, it’s the problem of whoever opens the next day. It doesn’t matter, this job is just a placeholder. Well, that’s what he tells himself, anyway.

Eddie climbs up into the cab and turns the key. The old girl coughs back, but ultimately turns over. He kisses the ends of his fingers and pats the dash. Good girl. He cranks the defroster while saying a little prayer that maybe it fixed itself overnight. Regardless, he needs that air to keep the windshield from fogging up while he makes his 15 minute commute to the edge of town. It’s a blizzard out there, and the irony isn’t lost on him. Driving in a blizzard to serve blizzards for $3 an hour.

—

“There he is,” Eddie can hear Lynn before he can see her. He’s late again.

“Sorry,” Eddie calls as he shakes the snow off his jacket. He grabs an apron that’s just clean enough to not give him the heebie jeebies, and heads towards the front of the store. “The roads suck, maybe we should just shut it down for the night…”

Lynn is standing at the cash register, but she’s not alone. A customer is standing in front of her, and not just any customer. It’s you. Eddie slows his steps and lowers his head, as if he could disappear behind the curtain of his curls.

“Eddie, can you please get your ass over here and take over the register? I need to get home before the babysitter decides to take off. Three days in a row, Munson.” Lynn doesn’t wait for Eddie to acknowledge her words, she’s pushing her way through the kitchen to the back door while he’s still tying his apron strings.

Eddie takes in a breath and looks up to meet your eyes. He’s pleased to see you still looking at the menu above his head so he can scan your face unobserved. You got your hair cut since he last saw you; it’s sitting on your shoulders under your blue knit hat.

“Can I get a small Oreo blizzard -” you bring your gaze down to the person standing at the cash register and “- Oh, Eddie. I didn’t know you work here.”

It’s a blur, the next 10 minutes. As soon as it’s over, he couldn’t tell you what he said. The only thing he knows is that there’s heat in his cheeks even after he watches your back go through the front door of the store holding the paper cup of ice cream. If you had asked him before this interaction tonight, he would have pegged you as an M&M blizzard person.

Eddie remembers that you liked M&Ms. You sometimes ate them secretly in Algebra class when Mrs. Harrison wasn’t watching. He would watch you reach into the front pocket of your backpack to get a piece of candy, and place it on the end of your red tongue. Just the memory is making the front of Eddie’s jeans uncomfortably tight.

He sighs to himself, you’re not a goddamned teenager, Eddie. He’s looking out into the empty parking lot as your red brake lights disappear in the swirling snow. It really is stupid to be selling ice cream in this weather. The dining room is empty. Hell, the roads are empty. And you’re as hard as a rock, Munson.

Logic is out the window now, his erection is running the show while he prepares the ice cream treat. Not Oreo, but M&M. He tries not to consider that the smell of vanilla soft serve is making him even harder as the vibrations of the blizzard machine travel up his arms. He’s not thinking about where this is inevitably going to end.

Eddie locks the doors - front, side, and back - all with the blizzard clutched in his hand. Vanilla ice cream is melting down the palm of his hand. He scans the street again, only to continue to see no signs of life. He sighs in relief that there are no witnesses to what he’s about to do.

He allows himself to have a brief feeling of regret about not cleaning the bathroom thoroughly before pushing the thought out of his mind. It’s not that bad. Not really. Besides, his back is staying firmly against the door. It’s locked. He lets himself envision your open mouth, tongue peeking between lips. With his free hand, he feels the outline of his erection and moans.

Ice cream is dripping on the floor as he unzips his jeans and frees himself. He brings the ice cream to his mouth and his tongue laps at it. He strokes himself. He licks at the cold, sugary treat. He squeezes and bites the lip of the paper cup. Sticky melted ice cream runs down his chin while he runs his thumb over his slit.

He doesn’t think about it. It’s instinct. His erection shrinks at that initial shock of cold, and then he gets his rhythm. The cup is too small to accommodate his entire length, but Eddie doesn’t even notice. He’s thrusting as hard as he can, his cock threatening to break through the bottom of the paper cup.

Oh, Eddie! I didn’t know you worked here. You look so good. Eddie’s eyes are closed tight. He sees you with that blue knit hat on your knees in front of him. Mmmm, M&Ms, my favorite. It’s embarrassing how quickly he can come just at the image of your open mouth. Your tongue.

Eddie’s hips thrust into vanilla ice cream with crushed candy bits while his jeans are dropped around his ankles until he unloads his need into the back of that paper cup. He’s left with an M&M and jizz blizzard dripping down his thighs at 7 p.m. on a Tuesday evening in a fairly disgusting DQ bathroom.

“Fuck it,” Eddie says, pulling up his jeans over his sticky legs. He wipes up most of the ice cream and M&M pieces from the tile floor, it would be wrong to make Lynn clean that up tomorrow. He leaves his apron and name tag on the counter before walking out the back door.

Maybe Johnny over at the Shell is looking for a clerk.

#eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson fanfiction

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customconcessions · 11 months ago

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luna-the-cretar · 20 days ago

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After the events of ouaw, I imagine Kremy would start Carnivale Lecroux back up (he would even promote it as “the NEW and IMPROVED Carnivale Lecroux!”, even though it’s just barely improved). He’s actually paying his employees in money now, rather than IOUs (because he would not like a repeat of last time, thank you very much). Granted, it’s not a LOT of money, maybe a gold piece or two every other week, but hey! It’s money!

As far as actual jobs around the Carnivale go, things are mostly unchanged.

Torbek’s been bumped up to helping Gideon with security, as well as the usual rescue/climbing on things. Sometimes he helps run the games, but he’s usually left alone in the shadows.

Gricko runs a miniature petting zoo, in which the animals involved are Hootsie and his spirits made corporeal. Every other hour, Gricko will pull out his ocarina, and the spirits will dance around and entertain guests while Hootsie is doing her little jig and looking cute (this is also the performance he does in the “Big Top” at the end of each night. He is by far the favorite amongst children).

Gideon’s role has been mostly unchanged. He is both the repairman and security (however if Gideon is currently busy with repairs, Torbek helps with the security aspect). He is almost never seen around the games or rides beyond either talking to whoever is running them, or repairing them. He also has a performance in the “Big Top”, which is a lot like his performance in the Witchlight Carnival (where he lights his chains on fire and makes a big show of it), and he is usually the last show of the night

Kremy is, of course, the owner, so most of his work is handled in his trailer (which is another improvement the Carnivale has made, though this only applies to each member of the Krew). He handles most of the ordering, profits, and the like. When he’s not doing that, he can be found wandering the Carnivale, talking to his friends, not-so-subtly watching his husband work, or bossing his other employees around (or being yelled at by angry customers). At the end of the night, while he does not necessarily have an act of his own, he does introduce each act before they’re performed at the “Big Top” (which, btw, is just a large ring in the dirt surrounded by cheap wooden benches. They used to have a tent, once, but, well…you have a lot of risks when your husband is a fire genasi and his main act is throwing his fire around. Coincidentally, this is also the same day where Kremy moved Gid’s act to the end, rather than the beginning)

Frost, like Kremy, works mostly behind the scenes. He helps Kremy with the legal paperwork (lawsuits and the like), since Frost seems to enjoy that sort of thing whereas it gives Kremy a headache. When Frost isn’t doing that, he is either in the local town grocery shopping, or is wandering the Carnivale and talking to Gricko or Torbek if they’re not busy. He doesn’t have an act of his own, but he will still be found by the “Big Top” by the end of the night, looking for any issues or suspicious figures, and mentally letting Kremy and/or Gideon know if he senses that something has gone awry.

As far as trailers go, only the main Krew have them. Frost, Torbek, and Gricko each have their own trailer, whereas Kremy and Gideon share a larger trailer (Kremy argued it was to save money, but considering the noises that come from that trailer throughout the night, they all knew that was a lie). There’s very little space in each trailer, but they serve their primary function (plus, it beats sleeping on the ground). There’s also a communal cooking pot in the center of the living area, though very rarely does anyone other than Kremy use it (and he usually cooks enough for just about all of the staff to eat at least one plate of food, so there’s very little complaint there).

#there’s other staff there of course #like clowns and shit #but they’re not important #and yes there has been at least one other clown killed since the carnivals revival #but it was an accident this time!#how was Kremy supposed to know he had a shellfish allergy?#legends of avantris #once upon a witchlight #ouaw #kremy lecroux #gideon coal #torbek #morning frost #gricko grimgrin #coalecroux #long post

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foodtrailers · 9 months ago

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hudsontrailerco · 6 months ago

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munson-blurbs · 2 years ago

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Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

1 | 2 | 3 | 4

Summary: Eddie's guard is back up after overhearing people gossiping about a secret that only you would know about. When he lets his animosity take over, the damage may be too great to repair.

Warnings: angst, Eddie is really mean to Reader, mentions of CPS, Reader's grandma has Alzheimer's, slowburn, strangers to enemies to lovers, angst, Eddie is 30, Reader is 28, no use of y/n

WC: 3.7k

Chapter 4/20

Scruffy!Eddie edit credit to @eddiemunsons-missingnipple Divider credit to @saradika

Eddie is still fuming when he pulls into the music store’s parking lot. He’s opening today, and his hands tremble as he fumbles with the keys. All of those parents are going to know that he’s a failure of a father. The Munson reputation clung to him like a bloodsucking leech, regardless of his numerous attempts to shed it. He’s destined to be an outcast at best and a monster at worst.

Finally managing to unlock the door, Eddie flicks on the lights, blanketing the shop in a hazy glow. The silence is deafening, and he swears that his brain will implode if he doesn’t get some background noise. He walks to the section labeled ‘METAL’ as if on autopilot, grabbing Metallica’s Master of Puppets and shoving the cassette into the player. Ash insists that they play classic rock over the crummy little sound system; something about it being ‘palatable’ for the customers, but she’s not here to scold him.

He thinks back to when this album was released, towards the end of his third senior year. The good ol’ days, when I only worried about passing O’Donnell’s class and planning Hellfire campaigns, he thinks wryly. But, no; that isn’t quite true. He’d had to worry about the trailer getting repo’d, or whether he and Wayne could stretch their food stamp budget enough to feed two grown men. Concerns that his uncle had tried to hide from him until he no longer could.

“Ed, you’re eighteen now,” Wayne had said, just one month after Eddie’s birthday, “and I’m gonna need you to start payin’ some bills around here.”

At the time, Eddie thought he was just being a bastard. It wasn’t until a few days later when he’d spotted the envelope marked PAST DUE in bold, red letters that he realized it wasn’t a punishment, but a necessity.

He’d been selling for Rick ever since. Well, until now.

“Battery” fades out to “Master of Puppets,” and Eddie flips the CLOSED sign to read OPEN. He glances at the calluses on his hands and smiles sadly, thinking of all the hours he spent learning the chords in his room. After weeks of non-stop practicing—Hetfield’s solo was a bitch—he’d raced down to Gareth’s garage and played all eight minutes straight through. Watched as his friends’ jaws dropped in awe. Gave him a standing ovation. Told him he was a fucking rockstar.

“You’re a rockstar, all right,” Eddie sarcastically grumbles now, clanging a roll of pennies against the counter before dumping them into the till. “Getting ready to drop your new hit single: Do you want a receipt with that?”

His morning has been nothing short of monotonous: help the customer find what they want, ring them up and make small talk, and then organize (or, in his case, pretend to organize) the store when it’s not busy.

There’s too much down time for him to be left alone with his thoughts. As soon as he has a moment to himself, he’s ruminating on his regrets of the past. He turns up the music volume in a half-hearted attempt to drown them out, but they manage to worm their way into every nook and cranny of his brain.

Eight years ago, a twenty-two year old Eddie Munson left his podunk town of Hawkins, Indiana to pursue rock stardom. He’d driven to Chicago with only the pocket change he’d saved up and his guitar on his back. A big city for a man with even bigger dreams.

It didn’t take him long to realize that being Eddie Munson meant next to nothing in a place that was bursting with musicians desperate for the chance to become famous. He appreciated the anonymity at first; he could blend in without being chased by taunts of Freak or Loser. But after nearly a full year of auditions where he was just another guitarist who could carry a tune, he’d started to lose hope. Prepared to return to Hawkins with his tail between his legs, he’d stopped at the nearby bar for one last drink.

“We can’t go on without a lead singer and guitarist!”

A frantic voice captured his attention, drawing his gaze from the pint of beer in front of him.

“Well, Sam bailed. Again,” another man points out, tone heavy with irritation. “So either we go on without him, or we don’t go on at all.”

Eddie finds himself standing up and walking into a conversation where he was never invited. “I, um, play guitar. And sing?” He winces as it comes out like a question. “I can show you, if you want.” What was he doing? He couldn’t line up a gig to save his life, and now he’s offering to play for some band he doesn’t even know?

The two guys, both about his age, exchange a dubious look. “All right,” says one with shaggy dark hair. “Let’s hear what you got, Guitar Boy.” He hands him his own guitar, and Eddie adjusts the strap before diving headfirst into the chorus of the first song that comes to mind:

If you think I'll sit around as the world goes by You're thinkin' like a fool 'cause it's a case of do or die Out there is a fortune waitin' to be had You think I'll let it go you're mad You've got another thing comin'

The other guy cocks his head, a delighted smirk spreading across his face. “Judas Priest. Solid choice.” He paces a bit, twirling a drumstick between his fingers. You got a name, Guitar Boy?” he asks.

Eddie nods. “Eddie Munson.” He sticks out his hand, silently willing it to stop trembling, and shakes theirs.

“I’m Marcus,” the shaggy-haired man says. “This is Bryan. I play backup guitar; he’s on drums. Our bassist should be here soon; his name’s Pete.”

“And Sam was our lead guitarist and singer, but he’s a fucking asshole,” Bryan quips, and Eddie chortles at his brazen attitude. “Anyway, we mostly do covers…check out the setlist and see what you know.” He hands Eddie a crumpled piece of paper, filled with familiar songs and artists.

“I can do any of these,” Eddie says, a satisfied warmth filling his chest as he watches the guys grin even wider.

“Tell ya what,” Bryan says, plopping behind a drum set plastered with a logo reading Hard Knox. “If you don’t suck tonight, you can play with us permanently.”

“Yeah,” Marcus agrees. “We’re gonna be big, man. We just need someone to help us get there.”

“Let me run back to my place and grab my ax,” Eddie tells them, adrenaline propelling him to his apartment. This was it. This was the break he needed. Just as he was about to give up, God or fate or destiny or whoever was finally giving him a chance to prove himself.

The show went off without a hitch; Eddie’s guitar skills bringing a normally quiet audience to their feet. Bryan clapped him on the back as he looked at Pete and Marcus; the three nodding at each other. “Welcome to Hard Knox!” he announced.

“Sam leaving was the best thing to happen to us,” Pete laughs in agreement. A bartender in a tight skirt and fishnet stockings brings over a round of shots, and the four men clink glasses.

“Fuck Sam!” Eddie shouts before taking the drink. The tequila burns as it coats his throat, but he doesn’t dare reach for the lime. No, he has something to prove.

“Fuck Sam!” the rest of the band echoes enthusiastically. Their choral response reminds Eddie of the way Corroded Coffin used to be before he’d left: when he’d say something, Jeff, Gareth, and Danny would listen. He was born to be a leader.

Things started to fall into place. His one night endeavor with Hard Knox turned into a biweekly gig at the bar, which eventually turned into shows almost every night at various venues across the city. He’d even convinced the guys to play some original work of his, reminding them that cover bands don’t get record deals.

He had a steady income. A group of friends who appreciated him and his music. Beautiful women who eagerly threw themselves at him at the end of the show. And then it would repeat the following night in a new place. Everything was perfect.

Until it wasn’t.

Last night’s chaos has you all disheveled; it wasn’t until you got to work this morning that you realized you hadn’t even packed your lunch. You try to convince yourself that you can wait until you get home to eat, but about fifteen minutes before your break, your stomach lets out an embarrassingly loud growl.

“I’m gonna run to the deli and grab something,” you tell Will, throwing your jacket over your shoulders and digging out your car keys. “Want me to pick up anything for you?”

“Uh, Tylenol?” he grimaces, rubbing his temples. The kids had music class today, and the sounds of ten preschoolers singing off-key combined with their clashing tambourines served as a recipe for a pounding headache. “And maybe a bag of sour cream and onion chips?”

“You got it.” You shoot him a thumbs-up as you make your way to the parking lot as quickly as possible, determined to get your food before the lunch rush starts.

You manage to just beat out the crowd of hungry nine-to-fivers, grabbing a veggie wrap to-go. Crunching on a cucumber slice as you take a big bite, you start back towards your car, but the music store next door catches your eye.

A check of your watch confirms that you have a few minutes to peruse, maybe grab a copy of the new Toni Braxton cassette you’d been wanting. If there was ever a day to treat yourself to a little gift, it’s today. Your mind is foggy and your body feels like it’s dragging sandbags as you make your way over. You knew that taking care of an ailing relative would be physically demanding, but you weren’t prepared for the emotional toll it would take. Seeing your grandma helplessly laying on the bathroom floor scared drew all of the oxygen from your lungs, filling your body with worry. And just a few hours later, she was furiously swearing at you, claiming to hate you. She’s an ever-swinging pendulum, and you’re downright exhausted.

A small glob of hummus lands on your lower lip, and your tongue licks it off haphazardly as you push open the door to the music store. The jingle of the bell is meant to alert the employees that a customer has entered, but when you look around, there’s no one there to help you.

You walk towards the aisle labeled R&B, starting by thumbing through the “B” section–nothing. Perplexed, you make your way to the “T” section, still with no luck. Was Toni Braxton so popular amongst Hawkins residents that they’d bought out every copy of Secrets?

“You can’t eat in here,” a terse voice calls out. You’re so startled, you nearly drop your sandwich. A piece of tomato flies out of the tortilla when you jump, hitting the linoleum flooring, and the irritated person sighs. “Aaand this is why.”

You pick up the fallen vegetable and turn around to see Eddie Munson standing before you. “You scared me!” you say, but your body visibly relaxes. Twenty-four hours ago, you never would have guessed that he would have a calming effect on you. How quickly things can change, you muse silently. “Can you help me find the new Toni Braxton? The Secrets cassette?”

Eddie scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “Can you follow simple instructions? No. Eating. In. The. Store.” He rolls his eyes. “Just because you teach preschoolers doesn’t mean you get to act like one.”

The smile that briefly danced across your lips slips into a frown. What the hell happened in the few hours since he’d dropped Harris off at school? Did you imagine that you two had gotten along?

“Are you okay?” you ask, brows furrowed in confusion. “I-I can put the wrap in my car, just give me a sec…”

He shakes his head. “No, actually, I’m not okay,” he sneers. “But I bet you knew that already.” He shifts his posture so he’s standing a bit taller. “Y’know, you have some fuckin’ nerve, coming in here after what you did.”

“Did I miss something?” Your voice gets smaller with the gnawing feeling of brewing confrontation acting as a brick on your chest. “I thought–”

“Tell me what you thought,” he interrupts, leaning on a box of tapes. “Wait, no; let me guess. You thought that because I rejected you, you could go around blabbing my personal business around the school.” He scrunches up his face, biting his lip as he looks at you. “Did I get it right?”

“Your personal business?”

“Mhm,” he answers pointedly, spinning a skull ring around his finger. “Is that not it? Was it because you were embarrassed that I heard your grandma say that she hates you? I don’t blame her, by the way.”

Your force your gaze to remain trained on him, staring into his brown eyes that have hardened with fury. “She doesn’t hate me,” you breathe out, “she just can’t remember me anymore. When she knew who I was, she loved me. A lot.”

“Yeah, whatever you say,” Eddie rolls his eyes. “That doesn’t take away from the fact that everyone and their goddamn dog knows about the CPS report.”

“What CPS report?” you ask, a sinking feeling settling in your stomach. “Is Harris okay?”

He takes one look at your puzzled expression and barks out a harsh, incredulous laugh. “Seriously? You can drop the innocent act.”

“I seriously have no idea what you’re talking about!” you snap, frustrated at his unwillingness to hear you out and your own lack of understanding. “All I know is that this morning, you didn’t hate me–or maybe just hated me a little less–and now you’re back to being the worst human being I’ve ever met.”

Eddie scratches at the shadow of a beard that’s formed on his jawline; an itchy reminder that he didn’t get to shave last night. “You should consider yourself lucky if I’m the worst person you’ve ever met. Tell me, what have I done? Thrown some insults your way?” He claps his palm to his chest exaggeratedly. “How ever did you survive?”

“Mock me and my teaching skills, pretend like you’re going to call when you knew damn well that you weren’t, call me a bitch, and your latest and greatest,” you counter, ticking off the instances on your fingers, “accuse me of something I didn’t do.”

He considers this for a moment, taking a deep breath before speaking again. “So you’re trying to tell me,” he starts, gritting his teeth, “that we were in the same wing of the same hospital at the same time, but you weren’t the one who told people about the CPS case they opened on me?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” you hiss.

“Then how the fuck did Carol Perkins find out about it?!” His volume raises to a roar, and you wince at the sting it leaves echoing in your eardrums. “Because I fucking heard her talking about it with Steve Harrington! So if you, the person who was there, didn’t open your mouth and tell her, who did? The CPS fairy?”

“I don’t fucking know!” you shout, swallowing thickly in a meager attempt to bide time before the tears inevitably leak from your eyes. “I don’t know, but it wasn’t me.”

Eddie rakes a hand through his frizzy curls, smacking the other on top of the nearby box. “Just…just get out,” he mutters. “I can’t listen to any more of your bullshit.” He starts back towards a door marked EMPLOYEES ONLY before turning back around, eyes narrowed.

“Y’know, I wouldn’t have hooked up with you that night if I knew that this is how you handle a one-night stand,” he says, pursing his lips as he steps closer to you. “And I never should’ve let Harris step foot in your classroom. I would drive him to a school in goddamn Timbuktu if it meant having you out of my life.” He pauses, scraping his teeth across his lower lip and exhaling a terse laugh. “It’s too bad I can’t forget about you like your grandma did.”

The words knock the wind out of your lungs. Your knees buckle slightly, and you have to steady yourself on the closest shelf. Tears blur your vision as your legs carry you out of the store; you feel yourself walking, but it’s like an external force has control of your body. The words fuck you sit on the tip of your tongue, or maybe you say them—it’s too hazy to tell. The world is covered in a shiny layer of cellophane; you can see everything, but you can’t touch.

You’re crying too hard to drive, so you sit behind the wheel, seatbelt clicked in place, letting out sobs that leave your whole body shuddering. It’s all too much, and though you logically know that Grandma didn’t want to forget you, his comment hit a raw nerve.

It wasn’t a straight path; Alzheimer’s never is. A few months ago, she could remember you in the morning but forgot you by the afternoon. She would call you by name at 9 AM but ask who you were at 2 PM. One day you were her granddaughter; the next, you were a total stranger. You thought it couldn’t hurt more than it already did, but the repeated reminders that she no longer recognizes you at all is a constant knife through the heart.

You’ll be late if you don’t start driving back to work now, so you turn the key in the ignition and adjust the gear shift to reverse. As you look up to glance in the rearview mirror, you catch sight of him. He’s dumbfounded, and you could laugh at how ridiculous it is that it took him seeing you bawling in your car to realize that he went too far this time.

Unable to stomach the thought of further confrontation, you take a deep breath and drive away, leaving him to mull over what just happened.

He’d assumed you’d left already when he’d walked outside for a smoke break, placing a cigarette between trembling fingers before he’d even left the store. He almost drops the lighter on his scuffed sneaker when he sees you hunched over, resting your arms on the wheel as your body heaves. He’s not sure how long he’s been staring when you lift your head, exposing tear-streaked cheeks and red-rimmed eyes. Your gazes lock for just a millisecond, but it tells him everything he needs to know.

It wasn’t you.

When Eddie arrives at the school for pick-up, he scours the crowd of impatient parents for Carol. He finds her talking with another mom; no doubt spreading more gossip about him. Maybe he shouldn’t have pretended that their Satanic cult rumors didn’t bother him when they were back in high school. Maybe if they knew, they would understand that he’s just a goddamn person trying his best, just like everyone else.

“Hey,” he starts, pushing the fear from his voice and willing his strength to remain unwavering. “Who told you about the CPS stuff?”

Carol plasters an obviously fake smile on her face as she responds. “I don’t know what you mean,” she says simply. Her carefree tone pushes Eddie to his limit.

“Cut the bullshit,” Eddie growls, quickly losing his temper. “I heard you talking to Steve Harrington about it. So either you tell me now, or I’ll make sure your husband knows about that guy I saw you with at the Hideout a couple of months ago.”

Her face blanches, color draining from her cheeks. “It was Jason Carver,” she mumbles, biting her thumbnail. “His wife, Chrissy, is a nurse at the hospital and saw the report. She told him, and he’s been telling, well, everyone else.”

Eddie swears that steam is billowing out of his ears. Everything is coated in a red haze, and he finds himself unconsciously clenching and unclenching his fists. “Where is that sonofabitch? I’m gonna punch him in his smug little–”

“Mr. Munson?” you cut through his rant. His head snaps in your direction. You’ve fixed your makeup; if Eddie hadn’t seen you crying earlier, he would’ve been none the wiser. “Can I speak to you for a moment?”

“Y-Yeah,” he stammers, shifting his weight to the balls of his feet. “Actually, I needed to tell you someth–”

“I think you’ve said enough today,” you say, voice calm but firm. “I just wanted to give this to you before Harris comes out.” You hand him a pink piece of paper. “It’s a transfer slip. Starting next week, Harris will be in Ms. Marion’s class. I didn’t tell him anything about it, so you can say whatever you want. I don’t care anymore.” That’s not quite true; the idea of Eddie feeding Harris lies about you makes your stomach curdle, but there’s only so much you can control.

Eddie’s, usually quick with a retort, is uncharacteristically quiet. “I, um, I thought…the secretary told me that all of the classes were full.” It’s a cop-out, but he can’t push himself to tell you what he knows now. Not when you’re already bruised.

“They made an exception because I was the one who requested it this time,” you explain, clenching your jaw. “Looks like you got your wish. You can forget about me now.”

He takes the paper and shoves it in his back pocket. The confession is on the tip of his tongue, an apology not far behind. Say it, he berates himself. Just fucking say it. You might be able to fix this if you just—

“I’ll go get Harris,” you tell him, breaking into his thoughts. “Good-bye, Mr. Munson.”

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