#i will be turning these posters into finished pieces over the next few days
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flufflecat · 10 months ago
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Look out, look out, look out, look out!
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maplegracefour · 3 months ago
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easier said than done [1]
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Summary: you work in a bar and a man who feels like shadow surrounds him captures your attention
Warnings: you work in a bar, vomit mention, drunk people being assholes, smoking
Word Count: -1040
Author's Note: she's a slow burner but i am living for this version of schlatt hehe
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”I sensed you before I saw you."
Hades to Persephone, Nikita Gill, 2019
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You didn’t think you’d spend your twenties working in a bar, but school is expensive, and this job pays the bills.
Pour drinks. Fill the ice. Clean someone else’s vomit from the bathroom floor. Accept shitty tips from creepy men. Every little helps.
At least the place looks like something from an 80s movie, and that’s something you can get down with. The bright shine of neon signs illuminate the room, making it difficult to decipher what part of the floor has or hasn’t been stained from years of drink spillage and you hate to think what else. Years and years of old coasters, concert posters, knick-knacks adorn the walls.
There’s a shitty piece of graffiti sprayed along the wall behind the bar. One of your locals, an old man by the name of Bernie, has been trying to convince you it’s a real Banksy since you started. You’re not quite inclined to believe him, yet.
“Oi, you!” Your eyes snap to the lovely gentleman at the bar, waving a twenty-dollar note in your face. “Two whiskeys.”
“That’s twenty-two.” You respond, going to grab the house whiskey from the back bar.
The man’s face twists, anger laced through every inch of his features. “That’s daylight fuckin’ robbery! Twenty-two dollars!?” His wrinkles make him look like a caricature. Clearly he hasn’t had a drink in New York for a few years if he thinks that this is one of the expensive bars.
You roll your eyes. “More like nighttime robbery, it’s like eleven thirty. Do you want your drinks or not?”
The man opens his mouth to speak, let rip on how New York is a shit-hole these days. You prep yourself for a barrage of insults but another hand slaps down on the bar, pushing a matte black card across the bar. “Just add it to my tab.” The mystery man says as you turn your eyes to him instead. He’s dressed in all black, clothes all well-tailored. Dress pants, smart jacket, turtle neck. This guy had money. What on earth is a man like that doing in a place like this?
“You sure?” You ask him, a single eyebrow raised, unable to make many of his features out in the dim lighting of the bar but he simply nods.
You finish pouring the drinks and turn to your till to process the card. When you turn to face the customers again, only the smart-dressed man remains. Your eyebrows furrow in search of the one you served drinks to but he’s already lost in the sea of your many drunk patrons.
“Oh,” You murmur. “You scare him off?”
“Somethin’ like that.” The man responds. “I’ll take a whiskey. The good stuff.”
You smirk. “The good stuff, huh?”
His face doesn’t change, staring at you like you were reciting a phone book, instead of attempting playful banter. The kind that usually got you a good tip. You push down the foreboding feeling that washes over you as you reach up to the top shelf for the most expensive whiskey in the building and pour him a glass with ice. It smells good, not a whiskey drinker yourself but you know this is the good shit. Exactly what he asked for.
His face is barely highlighted in the red-tinted glow. His eyes looking almost entirely black. Probably just the lighting, sure. But there’s something about him. It’s like his presence is pulling light from the room. And yet, you couldn’t deny there is a certain attraction to it. The display of a closed book that in your mind you just need to pry open. But hey, you’re a professional. No flirting on the job.
You pass it over and he nods back at you, before taking his drink and walking away.
You spend the next hour or so trying to find the guy and catch his eye but he’s nowhere to be seen.
The music keeps booming and you keep working, your feet are burning and the lights are starting to give you a headache. You’re already dreaming of curling up in bed and sleeping until the sun rises. But alas, money doesn’t magically appear in your bank account every month, someone’s gotta make it happen. You sigh, wiping your brow after mopping up what feels like the millionth dropped beer of the night and announce to your boss you’re going for a break. Without waiting for a reply, you push open the door to the back and step into the cool late-winter air.
You pull a cigarette from your pocket and search for your light. You could have sworn you had it not even 10 minutes ago…
A scratching sound catches your attention and before you can piece it together, a small orange flame has appeared in front of you. And with it, the man from before, holding a lighter to the end of your cigarette. Where the fuck had he come from?
You accept the light, taking a drag before fully turning your attention to him. You thought you’d be able to see him better outside but the streetlight doesn’t help much to illuminate his features. “You’re not supposed to be back here, it’s staff only.” You tell him, though your voice lacks conviction.
“Don’t pretend you care.” He murmurs back at you, leaning against the wall, arms folded over his chest. “Your mommy never tell you it’s unhealthy to smoke?”
“Don’t pretend you care.” You retort back at him. “How do you end up coming to a shithole like this?”
He thinks on it for a moment, the only noise being the occasional burn as you take a drag from your cigarette and the bass of the music inside. He looks you over, from the top of your head down to your shoes.
“I was asking myself the same thing.” He responds. “Let’s just say, I had a feeling I’d find something worth coming in for.”
Your eyebrows furrow again. “The fuck does that mean?” You scoff, stubbing out your cigarette on the wall and tossing it to the floor.
He shrugs, smirking. “I guess we’ll find out. See you around, toots.”
Before you have a chance to respond, he’s walking away.
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calicocoffeecafe · 2 months ago
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Sleepy & Sweet
Colin Gray x Reader (NSFW)
A lazy morning with your love goes from cuddly to passionate ~
The light filtered in through the dark curtains Colin had hung in his room, though not much was able to make it past the dense fabric. He had specifically chosen it because he wanted to sleep in longer on his days off and normal curtains let in too much light. His walls were covered in various art pieces he had made and band posters, some more recent than others in both cases. It wasn't the cleanest of spaces, but it wasn't anything to freak out over. Colin was a creative type; his space reflected that.
Stirring awake, you felt the warmth of the bed contrast with the crisp morning air that permeated the area. Colin was still asleep, his chest to your back and his arms around your waist. Even asleep, his hold on you remained more on the firm side, as if he was afraid you'd slip away if he let you go. Of course, you'd never dream of that, but he couldn't stop himself from being as clingy as he was. Colin felt so safe with you. To him, you were the only person he could be this needy with. You never judged him, you never pushed him away, you just made him happy. No one else had been able to bring out that side of him, especially not the way you did.
Your lover had you flush against him, just as he liked it, his face buried in your hair. He was so warm. You lay there for a few minutes, basking in the morning's promise of a new day before you hear him mumble something.
“...time is it?” Colin's voice was hoarse with sleep, deeper than normal and soft. He shifted a little as he started to properly wake up, still holding you close to himself.
“I think around nine, maybe?” You answered, not being able to see any clocks but just making an educated guess. Colin nuzzled into the back of your neck and hummed in understanding. He pressed a gentle kiss on your skin, pulling a small giggle from you.
“Good morning, baby,” You cooed to him as he slowly got out of his drowsy state, but rather sleepy nonetheless. He grumbled something in response, trying to hide his eyes from the light.
“Morning, my dear,” Colin spoke against you, his breath dancing along your flesh. A few seconds of silence passed before he uttered a question. “Are you wearing my shirt?” He vaguely recognized the color and texture. The truth was that you, in fact, were wearing his shirt. It was an oversized tee he got from a concert a few years back. It was big on him and bigger on you. He adored when you wore his clothes, though. It warmed his heart. Not to mention, turned him on just a bit.
“Oh, yeah, I had to pee last night but I got cold,” You explained, keeping your voice low to match the quiet morning vibe.
“You look good in it,” He purred, squeezing you a little tighter and kissing you once more. You couldn't help but feel your face flush slightly at his affection.
“Thank you.”
The two of you remained in a comfortable silence for a few minutes as he relished the chance to have you so near to him. You had no objections, so you happily stayed put. Colin was the one to break the silence, murmuring a sentiment that made you smile.
“I could stay just like this forever…” His voice was dreamy. Even without seeing him, you knew he had that dumb grin on his face. It was cute. You had come to love his near-constant touch. If the two of you were together, he had at least one hand on you. If you were out at the mall, he was holding your hand. If you were sitting on a bench, he had an arm around you. If you were in a room alone, well, he was all up on you like he was right now.
“Me too…” You agreed, the same stupid smile on your face as his. That's when a thought came to mind, prompting you to ask him, “Hey, baby?”
“Mmm… yeah?” Colin mumbled.
“Do you have any plans for today?” This was only part one of your question, of course. His answer would determine the next query you were to propose.
“I… don't think I do, no,” He paused to consider it for a second, finishing out with relative certainty. He knew he didn't have class, that much was for sure, but he wanted to think and verify if he was doing anything else.
“Well then, what if…” You began, choosing your words carefully even though you had a fair guess as to how he'd respond regardless. Continuing, “You and I…” However, Colin answered before you were even able to get the whole thing out.
“Sounds divine to me.” Colin rubbed small circles on your stomach, his fingers tracing tiny designs on your skin lovingly. You laughed at his impatience.
“I didn't finish the question, silly,” You playfully told him off, not harboring any sincere annoyance.
“Didn't have to. I heard all I needed to,” He snuggled into you some more, lightly shifting positions a little but not majorly disrupting your spooning. You could hear the smile on his lips as he spoke, his voice still retaining that tired quality that gave you butterflies. One time, you told him that whenever he woke up, he sounded like a dead man. He grinned ear-to-ear for like two hours.
“Goof.” A light-hearted tease.
“Your goof,” Colin retorted, knowing he wouldn't rather be anyone else's. That brought out more of your laugh, much to his pleasure.
“Anyway, as I was saying…” You continued.
“Yes, please, go on,” He encouraged, chuckling a bit himself.
“What if we stayed in today and only wore what we have on right now?” Your offer was tempting, referring to you wearing his shirt and nothing underneath and him clad in just his boxers. They were black with little skulls on them. You got them for his birthday as a joke, like a goth version of the white boxers with red hearts, but he unironically loved them.
“Mmm, now that is a good idea,” Colin propped himself up on his arm and trailed a few light kisses along the side of your face and neck. Not enough to set off any kind of mood, but add a dash of passion to the morning lull.
“Perfect, it's a date,” You agreed, leaning into his kisses and turning your head over your shoulder to look at him. His hair was all sorts of messy and his eyes were stained with yesterday's eyeliner. That silver ring on his lip drew you in, forming a desire to reach up and kiss him. Before you could act on it, he beat you to the punch and eased his lips onto yours. They were so soft, contrasted by the hardness of the piercing.
The kiss was tender and sweet, not yet laden with the burn of desire. Colin trailed a hand to your face, cupping your cheek and stroking it with his thumb. Fuck, you were so perfect. Pulling away from you was the hardest thing he could do, but knowing it meant he got to look at you, he figured it was a fair tradeoff. His warm, brown eyes traced over your features, meeting your gaze again as his smile remained. Colin's eyes held so much adoration in them. Him being such a deep and poetic man meant you could always see just how much he thought about the world around him. It was never critical or analytical, his pondering, but always seeing the beauty in the macabre, the unspoken elegance in the smallest characteristics, and appreciating that which many others may consider odd. With you, his stare always said the same sentiment: You are everything.
“What's on your mind?” The question rose from you, words hushed and delicate.
“You,” Colin had no hesitation, further adding, “How you look so effortlessly gorgeous no matter the time of day or what you're doing. It's as if every time I look at you, time stands still as I view the infinite beauty of the stars.”
Your eyebrows furrowed up in flattery, his kind words wrapping around your heart and making it skip a beat. He had such a way with language that never failed to hit just right.
Settling back down behind you, returning to the position he held you in prior, Colin resumed his caress of your lower stomach, his hand slipping under the shirt. With the sensation of his touch on your bare skin, you felt chills slither up your spine, goosebumps appearing all over. It was near impossible to ignore the heat of Colin's growing erection between your asscheeks.
Your breath hitched as his hand ventured lower and lower on your stomach, teasing a few inches above your slit. Biting your lip, you arched your back as his skilled fingers began to lightly rub your folds. Colin had learned every point on your body that would make you unravel within seconds and he loved to show you all the ways he could get you to cross the finish line. There had been many nights where he didn't even take his shirt off but ensured you had cum at least once before calling it a night. He was a giver, in all respects. Colin was a selfless lover who prioritized your needs way before his own, but when it got to be his turn, he held nothing back. Not unless you needed him to, though seldom was that the case.
As you ground your ass on his hardening cock that strained against the confines of his underwear, he circled his fingers around your clit, shooting jolts of electric bliss throughout your body. His touch was so specific, so methodical, as though he were a trained professional. You were unable to bite back the moan that escaped your lips. Your sound was met with him humming deeply, feeling his own pleasure in both knowing he was making you feel good but also your backside providing delicious friction to his now aching dick. With hunger in the way he massaged your button, you could tell he needed you and now.
“My dear,” He growled, his voice gravelly with arousal and tense as he fought back the urge to take you right then, “I don't think I can wait.”
“Please, don't,” You sighed, your own urgency shining through as your body longed for him inside and all over you.
Those were the only words Colin had to hear before he positioned himself between your legs and pulled his shirt off of you so quickly you were worried it might've ripped, but that was a problem for later. Your figure was now bare to him, a hauntingly decadent display. His eyes showed a ravenous yearning as he surveyed every curve, crease, and mark. Just as breathtaking as the first time he saw you in such a way.
You could see the tent that threatened to tear clean through his underwear but Colin wasn't nearly as focused on himself at that moment. His hands instantly went to work, sliding up from your thighs to your hips, and settling at your waist. He kissed a needy line that followed the same path, exploring further up to your chest, the metal on his lip adding to the sensations you felt. Colin's lips found their way to your nipple, having moved gingerly up your breast and ever-so-carefully enveloping the bud as you let out a shudder. With closed eyes and an open mouth, he sucked on your tit, his tongue flicking out and making you whine softly as your body writhed beneath him, your thighs squeezing around his hips. While his mouth gave all that attention to the one breast, his hand pawed at the other, pinching your nipple intermittently and fondling you with gusto. As he worked you over, you felt yourself getting wetter and wetter, growing desperate to feel his cock breach you. You grasped his hair in your fists, crying out much louder as his teeth bit down on your nipple. It stung so good. Colin was dizzy with all the noises you were making. That was always one of his favorite parts of pleasing you; getting to listen to the symphony of moans and babbled pleas that came from you.
Colin, after feeling he made you wait long enough, tugged off his boxers and freed his leaking cock. It was nothing to sneeze at. Maybe it wasn't the most exceptional, being only an inch or two above average, but it had a good girth and he knew how to fucking use it. His bush was dark and lush. He was never the type to shave his body hair, nor did he expect the same of you. He appreciated the body in its natural state. As you trembled with anticipation, nearly losing your mind with how turned on he had made you, Colin rubbed his throbbing dick against the folds of your pussy, getting an idea of just how wet you were for him.
“Mmm, look at you... Such a needy girl” Colin remarked, his voice suave, “You're being so good for me. I'm so lucky to be able to tantalize you so.”
That was about the extent in which he could hold out before lining himself up and rocking his hips, effortlessly hilting himself in you all at once. The sound you let out filled the room and flooded his senses as he groaned, your tight insides gripping him like a vice and quaking at the stretch. He felt so at home inside of you. His mind went blank at the feeling.
Colin placed one hand next to your head, the other firmly gripping your hip. The spot where he held you was sure to bruise, but you didn't mind one bit. He gave you a few seconds to adjust to his size before his resolve ran out. Agonizingly slow, he pulled back, only to plunge right back in, drawing out another mewl from you. Colin's eyes were back and forth between being shut and watching the way your face contorted as he fucked you. It was a sight he could watch all day.
Building a solid rhythm, his balls slapped your taint with each thrust. Colin was so horny for you. You had no idea the things you did to him. You clawed your nails into his back, holding onto him as if he were your life preserver in a typhoon. He was drunk off the cacophony of all that he felt, his grasp on your hip unyielding.
Colin buried his face in the crook of your neck, biting down on you hard and suckling at the marks, leaving a profound hickey in its wake. He let himself get carried away with attacking the sensitive skin of your neck, covering it with more and more hickies that you would surely have to cover one way or another despite his insistence you wear them with pride like he did.
On your end, you couldn't form a single coherent thought, let alone speak a solid sentence. The good thing was that Colin did all the speaking for the both of you. He often talked you through whatever he did, his words varying from sweet and gentle to possessive and commanding.
“That's my good girl, you're taking it so well,” Colin huffed against your neck, "You like the way I feel inside you? The way I pound your pretty little pussy raw?” All you could do to answer was moan out louder, letting him know everything he needed to hear. His mouth latched back onto your neck, his thrusts hitting all the right spots.
The hand he had used to hold himself up, now being obsolete for the time being, made its way to your clit, which he proceeded to stimulate expertly. All that you were feeling was becoming too much, a fire inextinguishable raged inside of you as pressure accumulated between your hips. You were so close, so so close. Colin knew. He always knew when you were getting close to the edge, being able to pull a climax out of you without even trying. He was that good.
“C-Colin!” You choked out, right at the precipice of your orgasm. Colin kept going just as he had been, wanting to feel you quiver with ecstasy as you came.
“Yeah, baby, I know,” His voice was right in your ear, "Cum for me, my dear. Be a good girl and let go.”
Fuck.
You almost blacked out as the bubble burst and your whole body convulsed with euphoria. Your cunt squeezed around his dick, your thighs giving his hips a similar treatment. As you dragged your nails down his back, leaving lines of red in their wake, his name lept from your tongue, only more breathless this time. Colin wasn't far behind you now, his pace growing irregular, his thrusts getting harder and sloppier.
Then it was that incredible feeling. Riding out the waves of your own bliss, you felt him unload deep within you, shooting pump after pump as he throbbed, his breath ragged and heavy. He ground his hips against your ass as he finished, his cum leaking out of you.
Lazily, he kissed you on the neck a few more times as you caught your breath. You could feel the way his body strained above yours. Colin pulled out slowly, both of you shivering with the sensitivity that followed your completions.
You continued to lie there as he wiped his dick on your pussylips, soon descending to clean you up. With great care to not overstimulate you too much, Colin lapped up his own release, doing his best to make sure he got all he could as you clutched the sheets. Once he had gotten what he believed to be the majority of it out of you, he left a few kisses on your thighs and got settled back at your side.
The two of you, relishing the afterglow, shared the moment in silence, save for the sounds of your panting breaths. Colin slipped his arms around your waist as he had them before, pulling you in nice and snug, your bodies flush against each other. You heard his breathing slow and his grip loosen a little as he fell back asleep, a bit spent from such intense activity first thing in the morning.
You decided you would let him sleep as you prepared a breakfast for the both of you, but when you started to scoot away, he pulled you right back in, his arms firmly around you.
“Mine…” Colin mumbled, his voice stern yet sweet. He let there be no room for confusion.
“Baby, I'm gonna go make us something to eat,” You informed, keeping your tone caring, not at all upset with how clingy he was, but just sharing your plan with him.
“Don't leave…” His words were sleepy and not very well enunciated, a subtle hint of fear. Your heart did a flip at his wanting you so near. He couldn't bear to be separated from you for even a moment sometimes. Relenting, you stayed put, enjoying the snuggles he was so adamant about.
“Don't worry, baby, I won't,” You confirmed.
“Good… don't want you… to…” Those were the last words he was able to get out before slumber claimed him once again. Colin was so cute when he was all cuddly and tired like this. He slept like an angel, which you found slightly ironic given his whole aesthetic.
Recognizing you were also rather beat from that whole ordeal, you settled on letting yourself join your love in sleep. The two of you staying in bed for a little while longer with nothing but love and sincerity between you.
This was going to be a good day.
~ ° +. ⛤ .+ ° ~
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spencewalterreid · 4 months ago
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A House In Nebraska: Part II
Summary: Spencer and Ethel settle in Valentine, Nebraska, and try to fit into a town which is very plainly not meant for them. When Spencer gets close to graduation, they must address the move to D.C.
Pairing: Ethel Cain & Spencer Reid
Category: Angst, hurt/comfort
Warning: Fake death, losing a child, heavily implied prostitution, allusion to rough sex (resulting in cuts/bruises), parent suffering from dementia, platonic (?) cuddling, flashback to overdose (very vague), kinda sexual harassment/dubious consent (for a brief scene, doesn't get far, it isn't really smut. just heavy petting), emotional manipulation, meltdown, I think that's it?
Word Count: 6.3k
Author's note: Sorry this chapter is taking so long! I'm not sure how many parts it'll have, but there will probably be at least one or two more, and then we're onto Western Nights! AO3 saw it first. Enjoy, enjoy!
☆☆☆
Winter, 1984
Ethel Cain is dead.
Her mother was shattered when she disappeared. Her younger sister, Allison, was rendered everything but mute in the grief of her absence. For a day or two, Shady Grove was shrouded in a heavy silence much the same, and the next church session was cancelled in favour for search parties sent through the streets, door-to-door, past missing poster after missing poster, and then through the forest when there they found no luck.
The town searched in vain for months before they accepted she had likely passed away. Her mother, understandably shattered, never let go. She continued the search, calling police precincts from all over the state, begging to be heard. She even began calling hospitals and morgues, after a while. In a moment of true defeat, she even called the FBI. She didn’t get more than a few sentences in before the call went dead for sake of lack of proof for kidnapping. She’s a teenage girl, Vera heard time and time again. She ran off. She’ll be back.
Eleanor Reid and her brother Spencer, however, are living perfectly respectable lives in Valentine, Nebraska. They go to church each and every Sunday, much to Spencer’s chagrin. They buy their food at the local grocer. They have a home stacked with books, soft furniture and a fire burning in the hearth. Coffee is brewed every day and poured into homemade mugs, courtesy of Ethe- Eleanor’s recently-embraced prowess in all things pottery. Spencer is finishing up another degree. He’s aiming for a career in FBI profiling. He’d do exceedingly well in that field, though he worries how it might impact Eleanor. She doesn’t do very well with violence.
That’s to say, she does very well with violence. She watches as many horror movies as she can gets her hands on, watching enraptured as yet another damsel is ripped apart piece by piece. She has a particular affinity for Midsummer. Spencer could barely finish it, cringing as the gore worsened throughout the film. His stomach was turning by the end, but Eleanor soaked it in for a while, rambling on and on about the intricacies of the meaning behind a man being stuffed into the skin of a bear before being burned alive with the corpses of his friends.
Since that night, he tries to keep her far away from his work – or, at least, studies.
As far as income goes at the moment, they keep it under wraps. People of the town inquire about Spencer and Eleanor’s occupation, which is generally met with a vague reply insinuating they’re entrepreneurs. They never specified what it was they did. What they did disclose, though, was that they were brilliantly successful. The people theorize, of course; the most popular idea is drug peddling. Naturally, it gets back around to the Reids, but they shrug it off.
Word gets around in small towns, they’ve realized, whether or not the word is true. News of their parents passing tragically in a house fire, or illness, and one particularly gossipy old woman decided Eleanor had killed them. A temperamental young woman, always fidgety and skittish, but fiery when provoked. Surely, she’s capable. Spencer also puts people ill-at-ease, speaking out of turn and avoiding eye contact, but he’s just docile enough to keep his older (or maybe younger?) sister under wraps. It’s all very hazy, but depending who you ask, it’s certain there is violence in their history. Maybe.
When Spencer enters the second semester of senior year, Eleanor gets even worse in her bipolar tendencies. She shuts down, to him and everyone else. When she does speak to strangers, it’s curt and simple. Only when necessary. It has the desired effect, though; pushing anyone and everyone as far away as possible.
Eventually, they need to make their way to D.C., Spencer realizes one night as his frien- sister leans against his side, some crime procedural droning on the television screen. God help him.
“Hey, E?” He rolls his shoulder gently, stirring her from a light sleep.
She hums in response, tilting her head up but leaving her eyes shut.
“I need to talk to you about something.”
“Mnh-mnh.” Eleanor shakes her head against him, burying her face further in his sweater.
Spencer huffs. “No, get up. Seriously, I need to talk to you.”
With a pissed-off groan, she sits up. “What?”
He rolls his bottom lip between his teeth, steeling himself, then releases it to continue. “You aren’t gonna like this, but-”
“Stop stalling. What?” she repeats.
“I need to be in D.C., for, uhm. For my training.”
Eleanor furrows her brow, leaning back against the armrest on the opposite side of the loveseat from Spencer and crossing her arms over her chest. “I thought you already did that.”
“Yeah, I passed all my tests, but I have to do physical stuff too. At the academy.”
“Aren’t there academies in Nebraska?”
He shifts uncomfortably and almost considers conceding to drop the conversation. She has such a talent for making him feel stupid lately. “Yeah, but… El, this isn’t new. We both knew at some point I’d need to be at the office. I figure, better sooner than later, right?”
She squints accusingly. “I’m not going to D.C. I like my life here. We’re happy, aren’t we?” Eleanor’s expression drops into something soft, reaching out to take Spencer’s hand. She lets herself sink into the familiar motion of massaging his palm, and he almost groans at how good it feels.
“Yeah, I like it too.” He forces a smile, and feels himself relax a bit when she doesn’t call him on it. “I just… I guess it can wait.”
When she settles back into his chest, snuffling with a sigh, it doesn’t feel as calm as it should. It feels warped, tilted, like he’s lying. Like there’s a critical truth just on the other side of his longing for his… his sister. Remember? He tangles a hand in her hair and absently considers asking her if she’d like to take a bath tonight. Might be good for her.
The T.V. drones on and he revels in the monotony of the show. He feels as though he’s seen this episode a thousand times, though he knows he hasn’t. These damn procedurals, they all feel like the same thing. White male, mid-30s, killing for his daddy issues. We all have one or two of those, but nobody kills about it. No one in their right mind, that is. He drags his mind away from the in-between he was focusing on, not quite on the T.V. but not quite on anything closer. He settles on Eth- Eleanor.
Her long eyelashes contrast her under-eyes more than they used to; she’s filled her evenings with far more rest than she was able to in Alabama. Her shoulders are a bit broader, grip stronger. She’s more beautiful this way. Happiness looks very good on her.
He couldn’t say when, but at some point, he fell into a fitful doze.
Diana Reid is an uneasy woman. Whether or not she’s always been that way, Spencer couldn’t say. His grandmother didn’t seem to think so. When he was little, she used to tell him stories of his mother. Stories of her gentleness. Of the time she’d had a bird hit her window head-on, and the way she’d cradled it as she brought it inside. The fragility of her voice as she presented it to her mother, begging to save its life. Its wing twitched once, twice, and when they were sure it wouldn’t happen again, they’d resigned to digging a shallow hole in which to let it rest. According to his grandmother, she was a forest fire of a girl. Headstrong, willful, charming, self-assured. Everything Spencer was not. Even in her forgetfulness he’d known in her since childhood, she was still so confident in all she did. When she was demanding to see her son as he stood right in front of her: she simply would not accept anything else until she was sedated. He envies her for it, even still, at the age of 20: a capable adult, in college, after moving across the country, he still finds himself with the uncertain embarrassment of the kid who had to rear his mother.
He takes care of Eleanor the best he can. He wakes her in the morning with a cup of coffee, makes her toast and makes the bed. He does the laundry and he holds her as she screams, blaming him for dragging her away from her home. He understands when she tells him he’s going to hell, the bastardized heathen. He does not raise his voice to match her own. He soothes her like a wounded animal, because maybe she is. He holds her as she falls asleep, more often than not, but it doesn’t always stop the nightmares. He does not push when she wakes in tears under the streetlights illuminating the early hours of the morning through the window. He knows, somewhere distant and uncomfortable in the depths of him, he cannot leave her. She’ll implode. He also knows he cannot stay with her, as much as it tears at him. Tomorrow’s problem, he’s been telling himself, but one day all those tomorrows will twist and wind around one another, and they’ll gang up to strangle him. Rationally, he knows this, but still: tomorrow’s problem.
Spencer wakes a few hours later, an awful crick in his neck from the awkward angle at which he dozed off. He looks down instinctively, admires Eleanor with her face dutifully buried in his thigh, a damp pool of heat under her mouth. He smiles despite himself. “Good morning, sweet girl,” he whispers, and his expression only doubles when she buries deeper into his leg. As much as he hates to wake her up, he hasn’t spoken to his mother in far too long, and he wanted to call her this morning. He debates for a moment whether he wants to go in a different room to call her or stay here, as either choice will wake the woman in his lap. He decides to avoid the morning grumpiness and stay put, straining to turn around against the arm of the couch to get his phone off the side table. He hadn’t charged it; it’s at an honourable 36%. Good enough.
There’s a ringing on the line once, twice, three- ah.
“Bennington Sanitarium, this is Darlene, how may I help you?” chirps a grating, bored voice. It sounds like she has to make a herculean effort even just to say hello.
“Hi. Uhm, this is Spencer Reid. May I speak with Diana Reid, please?” He drags a thumb across El’s temple in apology as she stirs with an unhappy groan, but she fails to be roused.
“One moment, I’ll transfer you.”
“Good morning,” he whispers as he’s put on hold, and El gives him another indignant harrumph in response.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Mom.”
“Spencer! Where are you?” She sounds panicked. Fuck. Here we go again.
He bites his lip before responding in a carefully level voice. “We talked about this. I’m in Nebraska, remember?”
She gasps. “How did you get all the way out there?” Diana clears her throat, then switches lanes. “You need to come home, Spencer. You can’t be alone, you need to come home.”
Eleanor cracks one eye open, tilting her head to look up at him. He very much does not react to the change in pressure against his inner thigh as her chin digs into it. He shakes his head to tell her it’s okay.
“I’m fine. I’m with Ethel.” He knows he shouldn’t tell her this, he shouldn’t tell anyone, because Ethel Cain is dead. Diana Reid, however, speaks to no one but herself and her journals, so he reckons there’s no risk of being found out.
The woman in his lap twists her mouth in a frown, but closes her eyes again and says nothing.
Diana sighs, audibly calmer. “Okay. Alright.” Another huff. “Okay.” There’s a shifting on the other end, then: “Are you happy?”
He dodges the question artfully. “Are you?”
“Spencer.”
He hums. “I’m okay. E is happy. It’s good to see her doing so well.”
Eleanor smiles against his leg, and it’s all that he could ask for.
“I didn’t ask about Ethel, I asked about you.”
Spencer can hear the frustration even all these miles away.
“Yeah, Mom. I've been going to church every week, and school is going well, save for my sociology class. The professor is awful.” He settles into the saggy couch, glad to be back in safe territory. “But it’s good. I’m almost done with my degree, then I’m gonna see about becoming an FBI profiler.” It’s always hard to guess what his mother will and won’t remember, so it’s more efficient to just remind her of the basics regardless.
Diana scoffs. “I don’t like you having a career that’s so dangerous, but… but if anyone could do it, it’s you, honey.” A pause. “Have you seen about applications?”
He tries not to seem overly ambitious, but: “They said as long as I stay on the track I’m on, I have a spot in the Behavioural Analysis Unit.”
Eleanor tenses up, but stays quiet. He scratches lightly at her scalp and she relaxes just ever so slightly.
“I’m proud of you.”
Spencer tries to believe her even if she sounds like she’s about to cry. He coughs lightly. “Did you already have breakfast?”
She stutters at the abrupt change in topic, but recovers quickly. “Oh, no, not yet. I’m about to. They’re bringing french toast.”
“Okay. Good, I’m glad.” In the span of a few seconds, the conversation has turned awkward and stilted. He wants to get off the phone, but at the same time, he doesn’t want to be the one to hang up. Thankfully, she gives him an out.
“Hey, sweetheart, the nurse needs her phone back, okay? Call me soon, Spencer. I love you.”
“Yeah. Yeah, okay, I love you too-” But she’s already off the phone. He hears a muffled click in the background, followed by shuffling footsteps.
“Mr. Reid? Are you still there?”
His eyebrows furrow. “Yeah. I’m here. Is there something you need?”
“We were just wondering if you could stop by sometime soon. Diana always seems to do so much better after a visit from you.” She sounds nervous. Why does she sound nervous?
“I, uhm. I’m sorry, I’m out of town. Is she okay? She sounded alri-”
“She’s getting worse, sir, I’m sorry.”
Spencer feels his heart tumble against his ribs to bounce against his intestines, then pop right back up to the bottom of his esophagus. “You, uh. What do- what do you mean, worse?”
Eleanor fully wakes up then, groggily sitting up and causing his hand to fall to his lap. There must be something in his expression when he looks at her, because she picks up his hand and begins digging her thumbs into his palm, watching his face with worry in her eyes.
“She’s just-” a sigh. “She’s eating less and less. She’s getting, uh. Violent, against nurses. She’s started threatening other patients, demanding to ask why they made her son leave.” Darlene’s sentence gets quieter and quieter, until he can barely hear the last word.
“Violent,” he repeats, disbelief drenching the word to the point it feels heavy in his mouth. “She’s never been violent. What… what changed?”
Another pause, but this time he can hear short, indignant huffs in the speaker. “You,” she says, then adds. “Mr. Reid, sir,” seemingly remembering she’s supposed to be a professional.
He’s warmed at the idea that the staff cares so deeply for his mother, but peeved at her perceived anger at him. He stills his voice, trying desperately to slow the grief and guilt clawing at his throat. “I’ll visit when I can,” he replies, and there’s a scoff on the other end.
“I hope so,” Darlene says. “For Diana’s good.” The call drops.
Eleanor is soft and sweet in her inquiry, eyes cast downward when she says, “Are you okay?”
Spencer hums, pulling his hand back toward him, and Eleanor with it. She falls against him and he wraps around her warm, lithe body like water around an anchor. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t trust his voice not to say something he’ll regret. They stay there until the sun is bright in the curtains and their stomachs growl insistently, enough to pry them off the sofa. But for a brief moment, the easy affection is a welcome respite from the voice in his head.
Take care of her, it growls, his father’s voice so harsh even now, even over a decade later. You need to take care of your mama for me. He blinks against it, breathing in Eleanor’s sleep-heavy scent.
Take care of her.
Spencer bides his time for another two weeks. They continue on in the same limbo they have been for two years; the same foggy, faceless dance they’ve been swaying to for what feels like ages. It feels like he’s living in a purgatory, a time loop, the same thing every damn day. Breakfast. Prayers. Maybe another of those damn T.V. shows. Schoolwork. Lunch. Schoolwork. Prayers. Schoolwork. Asking Eleanor to please turn the damn music down because I need to focus. Prayers. Dinner. Eleanor’s work. Bed. Every. Fucking. Day.
On the other side of things, however, El happily gnaws on her lengthy end of this nasty-ass stick. She seems just as snug as a bug in this little town, bathing herself in the sameness. She chats with the churchgoers like she belongs there, and they glare like they’d tear her face off if they could, and she pretends she doesn’t notice, and so it goes. The same damn thing, every damn day. Spencer isn’t bitter. Of course he isn’t. Eleanor is happy. She’s bright, smart as a whip, kind, and she smiles more than she ever has before. She has just as many angry outbursts as she used to, but he guesses it’s just in her nature. Fiery temper, but when she comes down from it, she crashes and rarely remembers the brunt of it in the morning. At least, if she does, she ignores it. She’s never been keen on apologies.
Spencer bides his time for two weeks, until he gets another call from the sanitarium. He’s lounging on the couch with another novel he stuck under his shirt at the bookstore when he gets the call. Diana isn’t doing well, they’d told him. Another nurse in and out of the revolving door, so he didn’t bother to remember the name. We can’t get her to get out of bed. We don’t know what’s wrong with her. No, her vitals are fine. No, she hardly eats, either. Yeah, she’s on an I.V. She keeps asking for you.
He picks what is maybe the worst possible time to bring it up to El.
It isn’t too late tonight. Relatively speaking, she got done pretty early. She stumbles in the door at around half past ten, makeup smudged almost as if it’s melted down her face, and dress hanging loosely, torn in places. Spencer thinks maybe there’s blood on the lap of it, but he swallows down the thought before he can dwell on it.
With a long-suffering sigh, Eleanor dumps herself heavily on the sofa, eyes shutting on the impact. “C’mere,” she drawls, Alabama accent swaying more recognizably in her sleepiness. When Spencer does not approach, still on his perch at the kitchen table, she cracks open an eye. Pouting, she holds an arm out. “Come here, honey.”
Spencer shifts uncomfortably on the cheap plastic chair and casts his eyes downward before daring to look at her again. She really, really needs to take a shower.
He’d love to be the one to take that damned ratted dress off her battered form, unzip the back and peel it off her shoulders. Run a warm bath, maybe with some body wash poured in first to make bubbles, and ease her into the porcelain vat. Drag a soft washcloth along her arms, her shoulders, her chest. Navigate across the cuts and bruises, the scratches of fingernails up and down her thighs and hips. Wash away all the filth from those that ever-so-graciously provide them with food on their nasty fucking table. He shakes the thoughts away, and in a voice so damn sad he doesn’t know if it’s even loud enough to register, says, “Ellie, we need to talk.”
Eleanor drops her arm, letting it sink into the plush sofa. She hums, closing her eyes and letting her knees fall apart. “Can’t you just come over here?” she whines, a slur in her words he hadn’t noticed at first. This again.
He can’t help his gaze traveling down her now-exposed leg, pale in the spots her tights have been ripped. “Are you drunk?”
El grins lazily. “Maybe. Who cares?”
After a brief war with himself, Spencer pushes up from the kitchen table and migrates to the living room to sit gingerly next to Eleanor. Softly, so softly, he drags his fingertips across a particularly gnarly gash on her knee. She doesn’t react. “This one was rougher than usual, huh?”
“He was good, though. Mm.” Her smile doesn’t fade, but her head lolls to the side to look at Spencer. “Hot. Real hot. And, my Lord, it felt… amazing. He has a motorcycle.”
His stomach twists and jolts at her words. Spencer pulls his hand back like he’d been burned. He knows what she does when she leaves at night. They’d had a long, horrible conversation about it shortly after they’d moved. We have to make money somehow, she’d said, gravel in her desperate voice. He’d agreed, not that she needed his consent. Since then, when she comes home with an odd bruise or bump, they don’t talk about it, but he cleans her up in the bathroom and tucks her in. Always chaste, always clinical, but if he slips in an affectionate word and kisses her head as he pours alcohol on the broken skin, then maybe that’s no one’s business but his.
He knows what she does at night, but that doesn’t make it any less nauseating.
“Yeah?” he coos, knitting his hands together in his lap. She grabs his combined wrists, lifting them up to lay down on her back, head on his lap and legs draped over the armrest. She lays his hands back down on her sternum and he does not touch her any more than this simple contact, the sides of his wrists and forearms laying gingerly atop her dress. He does not think about what may be seeping into the fibers as they speak.
“Yeah,” she agrees, opening her eyes yet again to look at him. She lifts a hand to tangle it in his soft, clean curls. “So pretty.”
He lets her explore. He lets her drag her fingers through his hair, then down the side of his neck, his jaw, and for just a fleeting instant, his bottom lip. He does not open his mouth.
Eleanor looks at Spencer like he’s something important. Even when she’s pissed, knocked around too much by whomever she was rolling around with and arriving home with a vengeance, rage turned uncaringly toward any victim it can find. Even when she looks at him like she wants to peel him apart layer by layer, flay him bare, hang him up and keep him on ice until she’s hungry. Even when she treats him with the same intensity of fury that her father so often displayed, she’s still looking at him like he matters. Like he’s worth getting angry at, and that’s as much as he can ask for. Hatred is its own violent sort of love, when you think about it.
Spencer pries his fingers apart from one another to take her wrist in his palm when she touches his throat. Not harsh, not hurtful, but curious. He can’t take another second of that sweet wonder in her eyes, in the caress of her fingertips. “Ethel.”
She recoils as if she’s been hit, but she lets him keep hold of her wrist.
“El, we need to talk,” he reiterates, voice soft, fighting the urge to press a kiss to the pulse point at the base of her hand. He puts it back on her abdomen with its counterpart just to make sure he continues to succeed.
Eleanor’s face hardens. “I’m tired.”
“Sweetheart, I know, but we have to-”
Before he has the chance to be embarrassed at the name he used, she’s up and off his lap, storming down the hallway and narrowly avoiding putting her head through a wall due to her severe stumble. She drags herself up the stairs, Spencer hot on her heels.
“Ellie, don’t-” The bedroom door slams in his face. He sighs, a deep, scraping thing. He knocks twice. “Eleanor.”
Spencer chose that name for her. She always hated the one she was born with, sounded far too biblical. No real person has a name like that, she’d told him. I like Eleanor. Far more dignified. Since then, he tried never to use her real name if he didn’t have to. Better anyway, safer, because Ethel Cain is dead.
He knocks again. “Ellie, I’m coming in.”
When he opens the door, she’s curled up on the bed, facing away from him. He fights an overwhelming wave of nausea at the memory it evokes. When he approaches, he half expects to find bloody foam at the corners of her lips. He doesn’t. Her face is pinched tight, eyes closed, as if she believes if she just sells the idea of being asleep well enough, he’ll leave her be. She’s wrong either way, but even so, she’s awful at pretending. He sits gingerly at her feet and lays a hand atop what he assumes is her ankle. “Hey.”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” she grumbles, muffled by the blanket as she burrows her face deeper.
“You don’t even know what I wanted to talk about.”
She huffs, shoulders curving even further into herself, if it’s possible. “Can’t be good.”
She got him there. Spencer sighs, lost for how to approach it. “We knew this would come at some point, Eleanor. We couldn’t just stay here forever.”
El sits up, groaning like a disgruntled teenager. As young as she looks, she’s a grown woman now. She’s fuller than she used to be, the hard set of her jaw softened enough to make her look almost kind. She’s just as strikingly gorgeous as she always was. “And why not, huh?” she asks, leaning forward to take his hands in hers. She places them in her own lap. “Why can’t we stay here forever? What’s so important out there that we’d have to leave? What’s out there that’s more important than me?”
Spencer finds himself wishing she wouldn’t touch him so much. It’s intoxicating. He’s desperate for more. He hates it.
“My mom,” he whispers, and resents how fragile he sounds. “My job. I don’t want you to have to-” he cuts himself off. Low blow. “I want to be able to support you.”
Eleanor takes her bottom lip between her teeth, deep in thought, before she pulls his hands closer to her, past her sides, and leans into him. “You know how you can support me?”
“What?” Spencer says eloquently. “I- you-”
El throws one leg over his lap, straddling his hips. “Hush, Spence, okay?”
She lays his hands on her hips, crooking her head over his shoulder and pressing a sweet kiss to his neck.
Oh.
He moans, wanton and horrible, and tilts his head back before he knows what he’s doing.
She bites gently and starts to suck, and his brain clocks back in.
Oh.
He wants this. God, he wants this. He’s wanted this for years. When it happened, he couldn’t say, but somewhere between being bloody in her living room at the hands of her father, just trying to protect his friend, and yanking her from the ledge of a cliff with his fingers down her throat, it clicked. He has wanted Ethel Cain his entire life, as long as he can remember. He wants to drown in her, hair between his fingers, skin under his nails, saliva on his lips, falling into his mouth. He wants to feel her wrapped around him, hot and wet and fucking delectable. He wants all of it, so badly he sometimes wonders how he doesn’t simply implode from the idea of it.
But he can’t.
They can’t.
She’s drunk, and she’s probably got someone else’s cum in her right now, and she’s just trying to distract him, and he can’t.
She rolls her hips forward into his growing crotch, and he digs his fingers into her hips. He’s trying to stop her, trying to keep her from doing that again, but she’s whimpering into his throat at the pressure of it. He wonders if the other guy did that, too.
I can’t. We can’t.
“Eleanor, stop. Stop.” His voice is not his own. How could he say that? How could he stop her, when she’s finally, finally- “Ellie.”
He pulls away as best as he can, pushing at her hips, then putting a hand on her shoulder to push there, too. Her arms wrap tightly around the back of his neck, pressing in, rolling those damn hips again, and his breath catches, voice pitching up. She presses him back, and his head hits the dirty mattress with a soft thud. She abandons her grip on his neck in favor of his wrists, tugging them upward until they’re above his head. For a moment, he wonders if he should just let her do as she pleases. He has never, ever felt this way when he’s done it in the privacy of his own bedroom, and they haven’t even really done anything yet. But she’s so good, so passionate and heady. And she’s moaning and panting and all she’s doing is pressing against him, and-
“God, El, you-”
“Just stop,” she mumbles, whining again at the friction. “Just let me-”
She's drunk. Some other guy just did this; moaned into her mouth, dragged fingertips down her sides, tugged at her hair. She's vulnerable.
Not like this.
“Ethel! Enough!”
Shit.
She scrambles off of him with a hand over her mouth, jaw slack. Spencer can’t guess he looks much different.
He yelled at her.
“I’m sorry, shit, El, I-”
She crumbles. Tears pour down her face and she’s in pieces. “Sorry, so sorry, ‘m sorry, Spence. ‘M sorry. Forgive me. Sorry. God, forgive me.” Her knees buckle and she’s on the floor, knotting her hands within one another, mumbling under her breath. Praying, again.
“No. No, it’s my fault. Hey. Hey, Eleanor. Look at me, sweetheart. You didn’t do anything wrong.” Spencer follows her to the hardwood floor, pulling her into him and she goes, limp against his lithe chest. “Please, honey, look at me. You’re okay. It’s alright,” he continues, pressing his lips into her hair.
Tears soak his shirt and he lets them. She doesn’t reply, and she doesn’t look up, doesn’t do anything for a good long while. It has to have been hours, judging by how long it’s been since the ache in his spine has numbed into nothing. Spencer keeps his mind firmly blank, just dragging his hand up and down her arm for the longest time. When she recovers, she asks him to make her tea. He does, and by the time all is said and done, he’s too damn tired to bring up leaving again, whether it be to visit his mom or go to D.C. Just damn it all to hell.
May, 1985
Spencer has spoken to his mother less and less. Every time he calls, she’s more confused, and every time, he has to re-explain where he is, who he’s with, why he isn’t coming to see her anymore. It’s exhausting, not to mention fucking depressing.
Eleanor starts seeing that boy regularly. Logan, apparently. He’s been around for 4 months and become a staple in daily conversations: Logan said this, Logan did that, Logan made me cum four times last night. Spencer is just so sick of hearing his name.
Ellie comes home in a delightful mood. Granted, it’s 6 in the morning and Spencer was just about to leave for class, but whatever. At the sound of the door clanging open in the next room over, Spencer tosses his legs over the side of his bed and downs the rest of his coffee.
“Spence! Spencer, where are you?”
She bounds through the hallway, turning the doorknob and it’s thrown open, slamming against the wall. Eleanor strides over to the bed, flopping down onto her stomach. “Good morning,” she purrs, a dopey grin on her lips. Spencer is hit with a stab of jealousy, just beneath his ribs.
“Yeah,” he grumbles, dumping his mug on his side table with a firm clank. “Good morning.”
Ellie frowns. “Who pissed in your cereal?”
“It’s nothing.” He whirls through the room, gathering materials: socks, shoes, his book bag.
“Did I do something?” she asks, pushing herself up to sit on the bed cross-legged, all the excitement from a moment ago gone in a blink.
He plops down on the bed, bringing his ankle to his knee to pull on the first sock. “No.”
“Are you sure? You seem mad.”
Spencer rolls his eyes with a scoff, yanking the other sock on before dropping his foot to the ground. “You’re gone all night, didn’t even say goodbye. I stay up half the fuckin’ night waiting on you, and you only bother to come back home at the crack of dawn, right before I leave. You tell me, Eleanor, why do I seem peeved?” He flinches at his own language. He doesn’t like to swear, but with her he seems to knit the words together like second nature.
She seems shocked, but not upset. Score.
“I’m sorry, I just- we got distracted.” Her posture slouches, and her eyes shift around the room. Spencer lets her sit in silence as he tugs on one shoe then the other, and with his shoulders set, he stands by the door.
“Distracted,” he huffs out a laugh. “Next time, try not to get distracted enough to let me think you’re dead, ‘kay?” When he storms out of his bedroom and slams the door shut, he feels just a twinge of vindication. It’s nice to be the one with the temper every once in a while.
When Spencer comes home, the house doesn’t stink as bad as it usually does, like mold and dust. Incense is burning in the kitchen, and it looks like the floors were mopped. Perplexed, he toes his shoes off and lays his bag on the couch. He retires to his bedroom and finds Eleanor sitting on his floor, book in hand. “Hey.”
She looks up, expression soft and controlled. “Hi.”
As long as his legs are, sitting criss-cross-apple-sauce on creaky old oak wood is not the most comfortable position, but it feels the most natural.
“We talked about graduation today. Uhm, my behavioural analysis professor, he was talking about future possibilities for graduates.”
Ellie tenses, laying her book open-faced on the floor, pages downward. She looks at him, but says nothing, so he continues.
“I know you don’t wanna think about it, but… but I’ve gotta go, you know, to D.C. I want you to come with me.” Spencer shifts uncomfortably, leaning back on his palms so he doesn’t pick at his cuticles. He hopes he looks more relaxed than he feels.
“I like it here,” she says, and he’s heard that before. Every time he’s tried to bring this up, he’s heard that.
“I know.”
“I don’t want to go to D.C.”
“I know, El, I’m sorry.”
She looks deep in thought for a moment, lacing her fingers together in her lap before she says, “Okay.”
Spencer reels. “What? What do you mean, okay? You’ll come with me?”
“No, I’m staying here. I’m gonna live with Logan,” she says, nodding her head like she’s come to a conclusion. “Yeah. I can stay with him.”
Spencer blinks. “Uh.” With a harsh swallow, he forces himself to nod right along with her. “Are you sure?”
Ellie shrugs. “Yeah, I mean, you have to go. I get it, but I don’t want to go to Virginia. Too close to…” she trails off, then picks it back up, albeit choppy. “I don’t wanna go south. So I’ll stay here.”
Spencer opens his mouth, closes it, and opens it again. “Okay. I guess… I guess I’ll just go by myself, then.”
Another shrug from Eleanor. “Guess so.” She picks her book back up, leaning against the side of Spencer’s twin-sized bed.
Still gobsmacked, he returns to the living room to get his laptop, and settles on the couch to look at apartments.
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freakingfrackingtired · 6 days ago
Text
Ken&barbie
A/N: This is just a short story based on the song Ken&barbie by Kate Gill
TW: homophobia, terrible parents, cursing
Word count: 3.2k
Two little boys
Met each other on the playground
Alex sprinted as fast as he could away from Oliver.
"You can't catch meeee," he hollered, turning his head to stick his tongue out. His curly chocolate brown hair was bouncing all over the place.
Nick watched Alex carefully, wondering what about him caused everyone to want to be his friend. He turned to scan the playground for someone he could potentially talk to. The next second he was on his side, Alex sprawled out on top of him.
"Sorry!" Alex rolled off Nick and got up quickly, reaching out to help Nick up. He couldn't help but notice how bright Nick's green eyes were and the way his honey blonde hair was sitting perfectly on top of his head.
"It's fine, I didn't get hurt."
Alex was gone in a flash, scrambling up the stairs on the playground.
Just like the rest
Didn't stick out from the crowd 
"...you'll have to make a conversation with your partner, and then make a list of ten things you found out about them." Mrs. Hook, their 1st grade teacher, came around handing out pieces of lined paper.
This was the first time Nick and Alex had really talked to each other. Their teacher had made sure to pair up people who weren't friends.
Alex took lead of the conversation, starting off with a simple, "what's your favorite color?"
Ten minutes later, they sat in silence, only the sound of pencils on paper in the air.
Things on Alex's list
Things on Nick's list
1. Nick's favorite color is green
1. Alex's favorite color is magenta
2. He plays piano
2. He plays soccer
3. He has a dog named Momo
3. His pet fish just died
4. He has a younger sister
4. He has an older sister and a younger brother
5. His favorite food is Mac & cheese
5. His favorite food is pizza
6. His favorite dessert is brownies
6. His favorite dessert is chocolate cake
7. His favorite candy is kitkat
7. His favorite candy is Milky Way
8. His birthday is october 15th
8. His birthday is May 4th
9. His parents are from Canada
9. His mom is from Norway and his dad is from Hawaii
10. He likes Wild Kratts 
10.He watches Ninjago 
Nick and Alex sat next to each other for the rest of the year. Mrs. Hook had seen how well the boys worked together and did everything she could to help them become friends.
Mrs. Hook's efforts had payed off. Nick and Alex were soon inseparable. By 2nd grade, they were being placed on opposite sides of the room.
But between themselves
They knew that they were different
But they pushed it down
'Cause nobody would even listen
Now they were in 6th grade. Alex had come over to Nick's house to work on a science project.
Nick unrolled their poster and used whatever was nearby to keep it from rolling back up. "If we finish this as fast as we can then we can watch something. You can trace this section," he  pointed to a part of it that was done in pencil, "while I color this section."
Twenty minutes later, the boys stepped back to admire their hard work before they turned to face each other. Each boy could tell exactly what the other was thinking and without a sound, they turned to sprint down staircase that lead to the basement. 
Alex flung himself onto the beige sofa while Nick grabbed the remote. He watched as Nick approached the sofa and sat on his legs without hesitation.
"Move your fat ass," Alex groaned, trying to free his legs.
Nick playfully rolled his eyes and stood up, allowing Alex just enough time to turn and sit up. He turned on the TV, opened up Netflix and hovered over Heartstopper. It was dead silent for a second while they both listened carefully for footsteps upstairs.
A few days ago, when they first agreed to watch Heartstopper, Nick had mentioned that his parents wouldn't like it if they were to find out. So they made sure nobody would walk in before they started it. They were now on episode 4, and completely addicted.
Twenty minutes later, they were both so invested in the show that they didn't hear the footsteps coming down the stairs. Of course Nick's dad had to walk in right when Nick and Charlie were making out on four different parts of the screen.
Their parents always saying
"Boy when you grow up
you're gonna find a nice lady
make sure you act tough
you'll be living a life like Barbie and Ken
now c'mon suck it up
and forget this nonsense"
"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU WATCHING," Nick's father's voice boomed.
Nick quickly paused the episode, which turned out to be a bad idea. Now the TV was displaying two boys, lips locked, one laying on top of the other.
Alex froze, too scared to even turn around. Did Nick know this was how his dad would react? Is this why they had to be so careful?
"I DIDN'T RAISE YOU TO SUPPORT SINNERS," Nick was staring intently at the coffee table in front of him, flinching at his dad's voice. "DON'T TELL ME YOU'RE ONE TOO," his dad had moved to stand in front of them, blocking the TV from Nick and Alex's view.
Alex could feel his heart beating harder than he had ever felt before. He carefully turned to look at Nick, noticing how he was holding his breath, eyes brimming with tears.
"YOU'RE GOING TO FIND A GIRL AND MARRY HER," Nick's father continued, his face bright red.
Alex saw how Nick was blinking back tears.
"NO SON OF MINE WILL END UP IN HELL WITH THOSE... THINGS!" He seethed.
Alex saw how Nick's fists were clenched.
"I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN!"
Alex saw how after one tear fell, the rest followed.
"YOU WERE NEVER GOOD AT SPORTS!" 
Alex saw how once Nick let go of his breath, his breathing became shallow. Rapid. 
"ALWAYS WITH YOUR HEAD IN A FUCKING BOOK!" Now Nick's dad was foaming at the mouth.
Alex saw how Nick was biting his lip, hard, trying to stop the tears.
"YOU ARE NOT MY SON!"
Alex saw Nick close his eyes and try to control his breathing.
"YOU ARE NOT THE BOY I RAISED!" His eyes were furious.
Nick's dad grabbed Nick harshly by the shoulder. 
"LOOK ME IN THE EYE WHEN I'M TALKING TO YOU," Alex could almost see the smoke coming out of his ears as Nick looked up, "WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU CRYING."
What if he wants Ken not Barbie?
Why should he have to say sorry?
Tell me are you even listening
to all the dumb shit your slippin'
It had been a year since the incident. Alex had tried talking to Nick about it, asking if his dad had done anything else, but Nick always changed the subject or straight up ignored him. Was Nick gay? But why did it matter? He was still Alex's best friend. 
Alex hadn't been invited back to Nick's house. The one time he had tried, a month after the incident, Nick's raw emotions had stopped him.
"I can walk home with you. I'm planning to go to 7-11," he had lied.
"Okay." 
Once they reached his house, Alex had made an excuse to get inside.
"I haven't seen your sister in a while. Is she home?"
Nick hadn't bought it. His eyes immediately filled with panic and worry when he realized what Alex was trying to do.
"No. You should leave," Nick's voice cracked.
"Oh... wait, didn't you guys renovate the basement? Can I see it?"
"Alex, you need to go," Nick had tears in his eyes, "Thank you, but I'm fine."
"WHO IS THAT!" Alex could never forget that voice.
"Nick-" the door was slammed in his face.
We can love who we want to
Don't say he's not supposed to
If he loves Ken not Barbie
He doesn't have to say sorry
They were 17 now. To Nick, it felt like the incident had happened forever ago. But Alex never let him forget it.
Nick hated the way Alex didn't stop trying. He hated the way he couldn't stop thinking about Alex. But most of all, he hated his father. Nick was gay. He had realized that the day Alex had tried to come inside, using his stupid lame excuses and with that stupid expression on his face. He had realized that he liked Alex. Fuck that, he loved Alex.
He loved his stupid smile. His stupid laugh. His stupid jokes that he would make and the way they could always make Nick laugh. He loved how much Alex cared and worried about him. He loved the way Alex never gave up. The way he was always there for Nick. He never asked questions. He never pushed too hard.
Nick's parents were not the best. He knew that. He knew they would never accept him for who he is. Even his mom had yelled at him because he wasn't being 'manly enough,' whatever the hell that meant.
But today he didn't give a fuck what the world thought. His life couldn't get any worse than this. He had read a million romance books and they all said the same thing. Just tell the person you love that you love them. Everything always worked out in the end. So that was exactly what Nick was going to do.
No, not to you
Not to me
Not to anyone, anyone, anyone
Not to you
Not to me
Not to anyone, anyone, anyone
"GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!" Nick's dad yelled, making Nick flinch.
Nick ran upstairs and quickly shoved some clothes and a toothbrush into a backpack, leaving without another word. He didn't even think about where he was going, but his feet carried him to Alex's house.
He hesitated for a second, hand hovering over the doorbell, and then told himself This is my only option. I don't have a choice. He pressed the doorbell.
Ding-dong!
Nick waited for a long ten seconds before he heard footsteps and the door swung open. Alex was  standing in the doorway, staring at Nick in shock.
"Hi...?" Nick's voice was barely above a whisper. 
"What are you doing here? Did something happen?" Alex spoke in an increasingly urgent tone, "did your dad do something?"
Nick couldn't hold it in anymore. He stumbled into Alex's arms, his body wracking with sobs.
Alex didn't say a word, leading Nick to his room and throwing his mom a meaningful glance. He helped Nick sit down on the edge of his bed and hugged him until his crying slowed down. He rubbed circles on Nick's back and whispered into his ear.
"You're okay, you're with me, you're safe. Take a deep breath in... And out..." he repeated that until Nick's breathing was closer to normal.
"Do you want to talk about what happened?" Nick nodded furiously but couldn't seem to get out the words. He started crying harder.
"Maybe you could write it down?" Alex was lost and scared, trying to figure out how to help the boy he loved. Wait... that can't be right.
But it is... This made Alex even more scared, just wanting to make Nick feel better.
Nick pulled out his phone and started typing.
My dad started yelling at me again. But for no reason! and he told me to leave
"Oh..." Alex was at loss for words.
I just packed some stuff and left. I didn't know where else to go. More tears fell.
"You can stay here of you want. I'm sure my mom will be fine with it, plus we don't have school tomorrow."
"Thank you," Nick croaked out.
"You shouldn't have to thank me," Alex tried to hide his blush, "any reasonable person would have done the same."
"Can I sleep now?" Nick asked cautiously.
"Of course! Is it okay if we share my bed?" By now Alex was the same color as a tomato, "My sleeping bag is somewhere up in the attic."
"Yeah," Nick was already half asleep.
"Okay, then," Alex whispered.
He went to turn off the light and by the time he had gotten in bed, Nick was out like a light.
~~ a lovely little time skip to the morning ~~
Alex woke up with the sun shining directly onto his face. When he turned around he froze, mesmerized by the sleeping boy next to him. Nick's honey blonde hair glowed in the early morning sunlight and the dried tears on his face somehow made him more beautiful. Alex tried to get out of the bed without waking Nick, but failed miserably when he tripped over his own feet and went crashing to the floor.
Nick immediately shot up, looking at Alex with wide eyes.
"Sorry," Alex grimaced.
But Nick was distracted. He couldn't help but notice how Alex's hair was a perfect shade of brown in the sunlight and the way his eyes looked more hazel than their usual brown.
Alex was beginning to get uncomfortable under the other boy's stare.
"You're beautiful," Nick blurted out, unable to stop himself. WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT! He scolded himself.
Alex was shocked.
"What...?"
"Um... I said you're beautiful," Nick was blushing so hard his ears were turning red.
"You really think that?" Alex's mouth was moving on it's own now. He took a cautious step forward, then another, until he was standing right in front of Nick.
Nick stood up, his eyes drifting all around the room before landing back on Alex.
"I... like you" Nick said, "fuck what you think or what my parents think," The confidence in Nick's voice was unmistakable, "I fucking love you."
Alex hesitated, a million things running through his head, before blurting, "can I kiss you?"
Nick studied Alex's face for a moment. Then his face broke into a massive smile.
"Yes."
Alex's lips were on his faster than he could blink. Nick threw his arms around Alex's neck, his hands playing with Alex's messy, curly hair. Alex placed his hands around Nick's waist and pulled him impossibly closer.
When they broke apart, Nick was sure his brain would never work again.
"I love you too," Alex said, pulling him in for another kiss.
17 years old 
Feeling like a stranger at home
Keeping his head down low
Hideaway so that nobody will know
Avoiding mom and dad
When their asking "who's you girlfriend?"
'Cause lord forbid they see
His true identity
"I know you're dating Alex," Nick's younger sister, Sam, said, "you need to tell mom and dad you're gay."
"What!?" Nick didn't know what to say. He couldn't tell their parents! They would hate him.
"You tell mom and dad you're gay or I will."
Then she promptly left, not realizing how big a deal this was.
When dinner started, everyone sitting around the table, Sam shot Nick a look.
"So," their mother started, "do you have a girlfriend yet, Nick?"
His parents always saying "boy, when will you see?
You'll be happy, I know,
It's just a woman you need.
You'll be such a good Ken,
just gotta find your Barbie
Make sure you act like a man
It's what you were born to be."
"Oh c'mon," their father groaned, "he'll only be able to get a girl if he acts like a real man, which," he pointed out, "is never gonna happen."
"No, I'm sure the right girl will come along one day," their mom smiled lovingly.
"NICK'S GAY!" Sam blurted out, giving Nick a pointed look.
Nick was too scared to even glance at his dad. His mom's smile immediately dropped. The dead silence was somehow even worse than the yelling. Then his dad exploded.
"YOU ARE NO SON OF MINE," his dad fumed, his face red, "YOU WILL BURN IN HELL," he stood up with such force that his chair flew backwards, "GO PACK YOUR FUCKING THINGS AND GET THE FUCK OUT OF THIS HOUSE."
Nick ran to his room, shoving whatever he could into his backpack. His mom hovered in the doorway.
"You can get the rest of your stuff later," she snarled.
Nick slipped on his shoes and was out the door faster than a bullet. He ran all the way to Alex's house, hot tears streaming down his face.
What if he wants Ken not Barbie?
Why should he have to say sorry?
Tell me are you even listening
to all the dumb shit your slipping.
We can love who we want to
Don't say he's not supposed to
If he loves Ken not Barbie
He doesn't have to say sorry
Alex had been watching Wednesday when the doorbell rang.
"Alex, can you get that?" His mother yelled from somewhere in the house.
"Yeah," he yelled back, pausing the episode and dragging himself to the door.
When he opened it, Nick was standing there, his hair messy and his eyes bloodshot. He was holding his backpack again. Without saying a word, Alex pulled Nick into a tight hug and they stood there, Nick soaking in all of Alex's love and Alex's shirt soaking in all of Nick's tears.
When Nick had calmed down a little, Alex guided him into his bedroom. He did the same thing he had done mere weeks ago, bringing Nick to sit down on his bed, rubbing circles on his back, and whispering about how much he loved Nick, helping him take deep breaths.
Alex pressed a kiss to Nick's forehead and continued while Nick's breathing slowed down and his tears almost stopped.
"Do you want something to eat?" Alex asked, the love and worry evident in his voice.
"Yes, please," Nick's voice was shaking.
No, not to you
Not to me
Not to anyone, anyone, anyone
Not to you
Not to me
Not to anyone, anyone, anyo-o-one
No, No
He doesn't have to say sorry
No, No
He's never gonna say sorry
Nick had spoken as little as he could have last night, eating and going to bed early. Now he was sitting up in Alex's bed, watching his chest move up and down. Nick was relaxed. He was in a safe place, with the boy he loved.
Alex shifted a little before opening his eyes, finding Nick staring right at him. He blinked a few times and forced himself to sit up.
"You know what I realized," Nick said, looking awfully calm, with a small smile on his face.
"What?"
Nick smiled bigger. "My parents were always shit," now he sounded almost hysterical, "even when we were young."
Alex nodded, pushing Nick to continue.
"I was never happy with them. Only with you."
He always wanted Ken not Barbie
He never ever has to say sorry
And nobody is gonna listen
To all the dumb shit you're slippin'
We can love who we want to
Don't say he's not supposed to
He'll always love Ken not Barbie
And he doesn't have to say sorry
To you
Nick was happy. He was content. He didn't have to even think about his parents anymore, now that he was living with Alex. Nick had always felt like Alex's house was a second home. Now, it was his only one. But he didn't mind. Alex's parents accepted them for who they were, even loved them for it. Something that Nick knew his parents could never do.
And then there was Alex. His amazing, perfect, beautiful boyfriend. Alex was always there now. Nick could kiss him whenever he felt like it. For his 18th birthday, Alex got him a rainbow flag, which was now proudly hanging in their room.
They were finally done with high school. Now, they were off to college. Their lives would be so different, and it should have been scary. But they weren't afraid. Not even a little. Because they had each other.
And that was all that mattered.
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sawdusst · 2 years ago
Text
Theft of a Crew (Coroika Pirate AU) Chapter 1 ⚓
Hi hello hi!!!!! We're back on the writing grind with another choose your own adventure type thing :D
Sorry if this chapter was a bit boring,, I hope you guys enjoy it :'D I had a bit of trouble arranging a few things but I think it turned out ok!
As I do with all of my posts, here's the link back to the main thread in case you'd like to read more about the pirate AU :D or— or re-read, I guess if you're already familiar with everything.
Anyways, enjoy!
[Word count: 1,128 + some revisions]
“Don’t forget we’re here to pick up some supplies that should last us the next couple of weeks,” Barreleye said, pacing back and forth on the main deck. He scribbled a few other notes on the yellowed sheet of paper, “We also should pick up a few ropes, the ratlines are starting to get worn out. I also think we should buy some extra sails. I'm not sure when's the next time we'll reach land."
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Barreleye walked onto the wooden deck, being met with a bright afternoon sun and a soft breeze that brushed through the piers. He held a tattered piece of paper in one hand and a quill in the other.
“I hope I can get myself a new jacket,” Tako mumbled as the anchor was lowered, “My old one's falling apart.”
“And I wonder if there’s any place where my tri-stringer could get repaired,” Mitsuami said, plucking at a stray thread hanging off the bow’s limbs, “For a fair price too, Hagglefish weapon shops are so overpriced.” 
“Tell me about it,” Hornmet interjected, “Seriously, twenty-thousand cash for just a check up??? And it’s just for them to look at it?? As if I don’t already do that every day.” 
Barreleye laughed, "I'm honestly just glad to be here. I might stop by a few gift shops myself."
Port Mackerel was a bright and luminous town that was famous for two things: pickpockets and bountiful markets. By sundown the town had a soft and warm glow with the streets lit up by lanterns that hang from one street light to another. It was certainly a city of life and one that never seems to rest. 
Once the crew was finished docking the ship, some of them hopped off while other crewmates decided to stay behind. 
“We’ll meet back here at sundown,” Barreleye said, “Don’t forget about the supplies! I’ll see you guys later!” 
Barreleye and Mitsuami walked down a cobblestone path, passing by an assortment of merchant stalls as they entered the town. They passed by an old, wooden board with withered wanted posters plastered all over it. The ink on the yellowed paper was starting to fade, the bounties barely legible. Newspaper clippings and other posters were stuck onto the board with short daggers. Barreleye had his hands tucked in his pockets with nonchalance as they passed by the wooden board. Mitsuami held her tri-stringer in her hand, following after him and occasionally stopping to look through shop windows. Her pet salmonid rested on her shoulder while they looked around. 
Barreleye and Mitsuami walked past the merchant’s stalls that displayed a colorful array of trinkets and other mementos. They passed by a stall with a merchant claiming to sell wood from an “island of shadow” when it was really a bunch of logs painted pitch black. 
They walked past another stall directly next to it that sold pieces of a ‘cursed mirror’, which were just regular shards of glass with a yellow tint from regular wear. 
“Do you think they’re real?” Mitsuami asked, “I’ve heard no one’s survived a visit to the shadows before… except for maybe a few rare cases…” 
“Really?” Barreleye responded, “I didn’t know if it was possible to escape from that island or not. I’ve heard the inner coast of the island is too strong for any boat to sail properly. Once you’re there you’re pretty much doomed.” 
“I’m not really sure what to make of it,” Mitsuami replied with a sigh. 
While the two were walking, Mitsuami couldn’t help but feel as if they were being watched. Sure, it was a town with a huge pickpocketing problem— they still had those to look out for. However, whenever Mitsuami glanced over her shoulder— she noticed a silvery blue inkling standing somewhere amongst the citizens passing by.
They wore a white shirt with ruffled sleeves and a pair of dark pants. There was an empty holster for a dagger on their waist. They looked exhausted. Their eyes were dull and emotionless. But as other inkfish passed by, the inkling would disappear into the small crowd.  
As the two walked, Mitsuami could feel someone was watching them from the passing crowds. She looked around cautiously, holding her tri-stringer close to her chest. Everyone else around them seemed to be minding their own business. She gently tugged on Barreleye’s arm.
“Captain, something doesn’t feel right,” Mitsuami said out of the blue, “Something’s— off.” 
The two stopped walking as Barreleye turned to face her. He tilted his head with confusion. “What do you mean?”
“I-I’m not sure, actually,” Mitsuami replied with a shrug, she then laughed it off, “Maybe I’m just being extra cautious— you know, cause of all the pickpockets around this part of town and—”
“Did you see something?” 
“Yeah I—” Mitsuami turned around, seeing the passing inkfish behind them all appeared to be normal. She tilted her head with confusion. “Huh… that’s weird. I could’ve sworn that—” She trailed off mid-sentence and looked back at Barreleye. “I could’ve sworn I saw someone was there…” 
Barreleye turned around, looking in the same direction that Mitsuami was. The two looked carefully at the crowd before Barreleye shrugged. 
“Maybe it was just someone passing by?” Barreleye suggested, “It could just be someone going the same direction as us.”
“No… No it’s not like that,” Mitsuami replied, “It was like— they were watching us. I-I’m not sure, I think I’m probably just being overly cautious— like I said earlier.” 
Barreleye had a look of concern on his face. He took one last glance towards the bustling crowd and busy streets. There was nothing wrong. Everything appeared to be normal. Businesses were operating as usual and merchants were talking to possible buyers. 
“Oh… right—” Barreleye replied, then turned back around, "What was it that we were looking for?"
"The weapon shop?"
"Oh! Right! We should get going then," Barreleye said.
The two continued, eventually arriving at a brick building with a large display window out front with a variety of weapons on display. Barreleye and Mitsuami stood at the front, looking up at the large sign. 
“You don’t have to wait for me if you don’t want to,” Mitsuami said, “I could just meet you back at the ship at sundown, like you said earlier.” She reached into her pocket, pulling out a small, drawstring bag of coins. “Hopefully I have enough for a repair.”
Barreleye reached into his coat pocket, taking out his drawstring bag and handing it to Mitsuami. “Here, you could just borrow some from me if that isn’t enough. I think I’ve got at least three or so thousand in there.” 
“What? No, no, captain it’s okay— I don’t like owing inkfish money—”
“You can have it,” Barreleye insisted with a smile, “It’s just for a repair. You can pay me back another time!” 
“Thank you Captain..” Mitsuami replied.
Once Mitsuami left, Barreleye looked around and wondered what he should do next. 
=====
thank you for reading!!!
im sorry if there wasn't much for this chapter— and also sorry for apologizing so much it's probably growing bothersome HDHDJNFJDNFJ
have a nice day/night!! :D
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brandonjohnbarnard · 9 months ago
Text
Production history around: Disseminate
Today I am going to be going over the roundabout way in which ‘Disseminate’ came to be.
youtube
While reading around the topic of ‘Nouveau Réalisme’, I came across something which I used to always enjoy doing as a kid and which I had forgotten about.
Exquisite Corpses! This is the game you play with your friends where you fold a piece of paper into different sections, and each person takes turns drawing a part of the overall picture, but no one can see the previous work until everyone is finished. To be honest, I had no idea that this was called an ‘exquisite corpse’, and neither does anyone else I talk to about it. Everyone knows the game in some capacity, but just know it as ‘that paper game’.
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(An exquisite corpse that was made on the 24th of August 2024, when I was in the early phases of my thoughts. It was done by me (hat), my wife Isobel (the face), and my friends Louis (shoulders) and Art (hands).)
In terms of my PhD (Chance in Filmmaking), this is a great look into collaboration as a form of chance. The overall creation is heavily influenced by factors outside of each contributors control, yet everyone has a nice equal level of impact. I love these things.
I was wondering how I could create something similar in terms of filmmaking, so I decided to reach out to other creatives so we could make a collaborative art piece called ‘the Corpse Project’ — very creative I know.
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(The poster I threw together for it.)
9 people (8 + myself) noted that they were interested after a few days of asking around.
The way the project would work was each director would create a 1-minute film, and then pass on this minute to another director so that they could continue the narrative. This way, you were forced to work with what another person decided to do, and needed to figure out how to problem solve. How would you replace actors? How would you match their style? Would you even try to? etc. etc.
This process would have resulted in 9 short films, that were each 9 minutes long, that would have had equal contributions from 9 different directors.
The timeline was that each director was expected to contribute 1 minute every 2 weeks. This meant that the final films would be completed after 4 and a half months.
My wife made a turn order schedule (she is a maths person and lover of logic puzzles) that meant that no two directors proceeded or followed one another in separate films. So for example, each person got to start a film, each person got to end a film, and each person always had a different person’s work to follow on from. Isobel made the 6 person version, and my friend Louis made the 9 person version.
Very interestingly, ChatGPT could not create this chart at all. It always broke the rules in one way or another.
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(The schedule Isobel created, allowing 6 directors.)
To skip forward through time a bit: out of the 9 people involved, only 2 people submitted in the end. The main reasons for this was:
Time constraints.
The worry about being good enough to work with other people.
Not knowing how to do a production solo — always part of a team on separate ventures.
If I were to try this again in the future, I would make sure it was way more casual. Even if it took a year, it is better than nothing. Overall, I learnt a lot from this process.
💿 Film Idea 1: Bin Creature 💿
I wanted to create a film where someone was at a construction site chatting away, when they suddenly notice a bunch of noises behind them coming from a bin. They investigate, and are so worried by what they see, that they call their supervisor. Their supervisor, incredulous, goes over to see what is up. After seeing what is in the bin, they also run away.
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(My doodle storyboard, made on the 4th of September 2024, at 10AM (now that’s specific note taking!).)
In terms of the corpse, I was really excited to see what people would do with this premise. Would the next scene be the FBI/MI5, or the creature attacking people? Would the creature transform into something else? Would it take their point of view?
The plan was for me to be the initial construction worker, and for Louis to be my supervisor. I created a bunch of props for this role, and made sure to gather any supplies to help sell the bit.
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However, when it came to the day of filming, it rained. I told Louis we should reschedule.
💿 Film Idea 2: Toilet Creature 💿
Okay. So if filming outside was going to be an issue, and I was struggling to arrange people to come over within the timeframe, I needed to problem solve for this.
As such, I created a version of the previous story that took place inside, with just myself as an actor, and someone on the phone.
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At this point I was stressing. I told so many people to work within 2 weeks, and suddenly I too was struggling to have something created. I felt like a bit of a hypocrite.
💿 Film Idea 3: Cursed DVD 💿
I was watching some Björk music videos, because I think her stuff is rad, but also I wanted to slowly get through her entire discography. I was making a tier list of which of her songs I liked more than others.
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(Where I am so far, don’t @ me lol. I am sure these will all change around as I listen more.)
Well, I was watching the music video for ‘Declare Independence’ and I was really enjoying how Björk uses non-realistic ways to show off concepts. I am very particular about some things, and want to do them ‘correctly’. Seeing someone purposely depicting concepts like influence via media in a more abstract way was very refreshing. I wanted to make something like that with film creation.
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(Original idea card from the 13th of September 2024, at 18:32.)
Originally, the film had nothing to do with me and my work. It was just about a person creating a cursed DVD.
The greenscreen monitors were created by having a jpeg of green opened up on each monitor.
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(Don’t be a desk detective now 😉.)
This had the cool, and unintended consequence, of causing my face to glow bright green. This is what my PhD is all about — a chance discovery has resulted in a film technique being learnt that can me repeated, purposefully, in the future. It is great that this does not affect the background, meaning only my face is picked up by the chromakey.
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(You won’t like me when I’m angry.)
In order to see if this effect was worth pursuing, I created a short demo of me playing with the chromakey. This is where the final seed of this production was planted.
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In order to test the chromakey, I put previous film, ‘Graffiti’, in the background. While the decision to have ‘Disseminate’ be about me and my films was not decided in this moment (it happened when I had all the footage and finally decided to edit it all), the possibility entered my mind here.
The final background shot (on the monitors and my face) was made by taking all of my films, increasing the transparency, and layering them all on top of one another. I also juggled the position of them so one film was not dominant over another.
I really like the accidental symbolism of it all. That creating a film is both ‘what comes from within’ being put onto the editing timeline, but also that your previous creations influence your later ones. Not only that, but the act of creating is an influence (the current typing being internal as well).
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That once a film is out there is the world, the influence leaves you and is free to change people in a way that is out of your control. You create media, but its lasting impact has way less to do with you and your decisions.
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I also like the scene of multiple versions of me going to the post box. Could it be that in releasing a video, you go through the same journey again and again, or that the previous yous are present in that moment. Is it again the building up of influence and experience over time. Again, once we reach the post box, we disappear. From the moment of release, our connection to the creation is severed. I’m not sure, but I like the shot.
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An interesting cheat I discovered for corpse creation is allowing some breathing room at the end of a scene. Because this was created for the Corpse Project, the run-time of the production is exactly 1 minute. An element that helped with that is allowing a buffer shot. In this instance, it was the sky. Thinking about the idea of transmission and etherealness, it works nicely, and also for someone to continue the piece from here, I feel a buffer like this would make it less jarring.
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The song used in this film is ‘Warped Melody’ by Komit.wav — I like these sense of building up that it gives, as well as the vibe of pushing forward into the unknown. It is alien and upsetting (in a good way!).
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💿 Side Note 💿
On a meta-note, here is the meta note I created for this article.
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I would like to catch up with my previous films in terms of articles, and start releasing them as I publish the films. The film I am currently working on is a doozy, so it is taking a while.
Thanks for reading ❤
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betrayedbycinnamon · 14 days ago
Note
Looks like I finally finished this. :) Gonna put this whole thing up on Ao3 at some point, debating if I'll leave it as is for posterity or tidy it up a little bit first.
Bucky moved to hide under his covers, wondering if he could force himself to go back to sleep and maybe get a redo on the whole miserable day. Before he managed to escape the reality of his own making, Steve knocked on his door. He considered having JARVIS send him off but knew he’d have to face the music sooner or later.
“Just spit it out,” Bucky said, from the depths of the blankets he had wrapped around himself, when he heard him hovering in the bedroom doorway.
The mattress dipped beneath Steve’s weight as he sat on the edge and put a heavy palm on Bucky’s side.
“Are you okay?” 
That wasn’t the question Bucky had been expecting and he wiggled himself just enough to peer out from the blankets. 
“I fucked up Stevie.” The words felt thick in his throat. He did his best to flatten the emotions. He had no right to be upset, he was not the injured party in this scenario. 
“The hell you did!” The vehemence in Steve’s voice startled him. What came next was worse. “You didn’t ask to be assaulted this morning.”
Bucky sat up to stare at Steve, the blankets dropping from his shoulders as his mouth hung open. It was a few moments before he managed to ask, “What?”
“He’s lucky Natasha asked me to let her deal with him. Team dynamics be damned. I was going to—“ Bucky cut him off, not wanting to hear how Steve had planned to handle Clint. 
“Nobody assaulted nobody.”
“Everybody knows you hate to be touched and for Clint to throw himself all over you like that—“
“It was a kiss.”
“It was your personal space and it’s not okay for him to just take whatever he wants. You wouldn’t standby if he’d assaulted some woman on the street like that, you shouldn’t let him get away with doing it to you.”
“Steve—” Bucky was bewildered. He’d expected Steve to come chastise him for coming between Clint and Natasha. Not this. 
“How can you possibly defend that?”
“Steve he didn’t—“
“I know you still have a hard time thinking you’re a person after Hydra, but Buck. You aren’t a play thing for someone to pick up and do whatever they want and if Clint—”
“Clint didn’t do anything!” Bucky yelled, it was hard to get Steve to stop when he was on a roll. 
“I watched him grab you this morning, Bucky. And if you think I’m going to sit by—”
“My tongue was up his ass last night,” Bucky snapped, going for shock value. And it worked, Steve looked like a landed fish. “So I imagine he didn’t think a little kiss was that big a deal in comparison.”
“You…”
“I told you. I fucked up.”  
“Bucky.”
“Save it. I already know I’m a piece of shit, okay?” And the pressure behind his eyes was back. He blinked rapidly at the wall, no longer able to meet Steve’s eyes. 
“What happened?” The gentle tone hurt; Bucky shrugged miserably, unsure how to answer.  “Talk to me Buck. What’s going through that head of yours.”
“How long should I wait to apologize to Natasha? How much time you figure she needs to cool off before she won’t kill me on sight.”
“Why would you need to apologize to Natasha?” Puzzlement overwrote the previous gentle tone.
“For sleeping with Clint.”
“What’s she got to do with it?”  Bucky turned back and stared, looking for the joke, but couldn’t find any humor. 
“‘Cause last night. I got swept up. Forgot that he was taken.”
“I’m gonna remind you Bucky, that it takes two to tango. Whatever you two did, it’s not just on you. But — you think they’re together?”
“They’re not?”
“Why would you do that if you thought they were?”
“I didn’t. I wasn’t thinking. It just. Really?”
“Just close friends.”
“They’re always all over each other. They sleep together almost every night.”
“No different from how we were, before.”
Before Bucky had had his boundaries violated so thoroughly that an unexpected hug from his best friend used to throw him into a panic attack. That had gotten much better, now his heart rate only elevated a little at an unexpected touch, but Steve still handled him like unexploded ordnance and Bucky’s touch starvation had gotten worse. 
The fact that Clint didn’t treat him like he’d self-destruct at any moment, and followed Bucky’s lead instead of assuming he hadn't improved at all was a large part of what had drawn Bucky in in the first place. Bucky wasn’t going to tell Steve that, he didn’t know how to explain how things had changed from that first month, the nuance of desperately wanting to be touched but needing to see it coming. Not after it had taken so much to convince Steve that he didn’t hate him just because he kept panicking when Steve acted like their relationship hadn’t been affected at all by the intervening years. With Steve it felt like everything had to be extremes — all or nothing; so Bucky had tried getting by with nothing.
“So I didn’t ruin everything?”
“I wouldn’t go that far. You sure thought you were sleeping with someone off limits. And it doesn’t seem like you think very highly of Clint if you think he would be willing to trample all over his relationships.”
Shame crept back up over the hope that had started to blossom. 
“He looked pretty hurt when you ran off this morning,” Steve added and something deep in Bucky’s gut twisted. It was an ugly feeling. He rolled back into his pillow, back to Steve and refused to talk any more. 
Bucky wanted to cry. Wanted to mourn the relationship he’d destroyed before it even had a chance to develop, but the feeling that he didn’t deserve to be upset wouldn’t let the know of tears loosen. It just sat painfully lodged in his throat.
***
Clint was still staring up at the ceiling when saw Natasha walk into his bedroom out of the corner of his eye. He ignored her and she didn’t try to force him to talk. She just curled into his side and let him keep his silence.
“What did I do wrong?” Clint asked eventually.
“Nothing.”
“People don’t run away from nothing. He literally <em>ran away</em> from me this morning. Guess I shoulda taken the hint when he didn’t stay in bed. It’s like I forgot every rule of hook up culture. Stupid.”
“You aren’t stupid,” she corrected. “He’s the idiot this time.”
“What? Why?”
“Apparently, he thinks we’re together.”
“The fuck?”
“He is not the first to think it.”
“I know, but. What, he just thinks I’m some kinda cheating asshole?”
“What happened last night?”
“We were fucking around on the couch, throwing elbows over the game, then, I dunno. We started wrestling and ended up on the floor, and I just. He was too pretty not to kiss. Nat,” he whined.  “What do I do?”
“Think about what you want and decide if it bothers you that he didn’t stay because he thought I was supposed to be in your bed instead.”
“Can’t you just tell me what to do?”
“I cannot. I am aromantic, any decision I make for me will not fit for you.” Clint groaned and turned on his side and scooted down the bed to press his forehead against her collar bone. 
“Does it have to be a romantic decision?” he asked, slightly muffled.
“It does not have to be, but for you it is. I know you Clint, you fall hard and fast and Barnes knocked you on your ass months ago.”  The use of Bucky’s last name illustrated how irritated she was with Bucky over his actions.
“If we were together,” Clint said seriously, “I wouldn’t have cheated on you.”
“If we were together it would be an open relationship,” she corrected with an indulgent smile. “Be easy, I am not worried about you.”
“You can’t beat him up over this,” he said with a frown.
“Can’t I? He trampled all over your feelings with his idiocy.”
“Not on purpose.” At least, Clint hoped it hadn’t been on purpose. He was going to have to think long and hard about the whole situation. Which sucked. He really liked it better when he got to just fall into bed with someone and let things work out from there.
***
Dinner was an awkward affair. Bucky didn’t show up, and Clint wasn’t sure if he was relieved or not. Steve clearly knew what had happened and kept shooting him sympathetic looks, while giving him wide birth to avoid talking about it.
Sam, Bruce and Tony just as clearly didn’t know what was going on, and kept sending quizzical glances around the table, but Natasha’s aggressive demeanor kept the questions at bay for the first half of dinner.  Frankly, Clint was impressed. He couldn’t point to any one thing Natasha was doing differently, but something about the sharp way she was using her steak knife and the set of her mouth clearly communicated her displeasure.
When she spoke her voice was silky smooth — butter wouldn’t have melted in her mouth — and it seemed like Tony decided that meant he was misreading the other cues she was giving off. 
“Where’s the other half of the Twin Pop?” he asked the table at large.
“What?” 
“Its a popsicle with two sticks,” Sam explained to Steve.
“Why would you want two sticks?” Steve asked, brow furrowed, and Clint just knew he wasn’t mentally picturing the frozen treat correctly. Sam opened his mouth to clarify but Tony spoke over his attempt.
“You know who I mean.”
“Guess Buck’s just not hungry,” Steve said, voice tight.
“Seems fake. I’ve seen the way that cyborg eats.”
“There was a misunderstanding this morning,” Natasha said. “He’s probably taking some time to process.”
“Ah. Lover’s quarrel?” Tony asked Steve who glared back. A jolt of guilt hit him before Clint realized that Tony was being sarcastic and meant between Steve and Bucky. When Steve continued to remain silent Tony persisted, “What happened?” 
“It’s none of your business, Stark,” Clint snapped.
Sam, who had noticed Clint’s reaction gave him a thoughtful look before asking. “What about you. You doin’ okay tonight?”
“I’m fine,” Clint bit out, glaring at his plate. He managed two more bites, then shoved away from he table.
***
Sleep eluded him and eventually Clint’s feet found their way to Bucky’s quarters.  He knew it was later than was polite but he had a feeling Bucky would be up, and knocked before his misgivings could drive him away.
Bucky looked soft and tired in his pajamas, but he didn’t look like he’d just woken up.
“Missed you at dinner,” Clint said, when nothing else came to mind.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Did you eat? We can go get something?”
“I don’t know about going out,” Bucky prevaricated, looking down at his clothes. “And. We probably need to talk. I, uh. Don’t want to do that out in public.”
Clint grimaced, but couldn’t argue the point. “Want me to cook something here?” he offered instead.
“Ain’t really hungry.”
“You need to eat though.”
“Gonna longer without. It’s fine.”
They migrated to the living area, both of them perched uncomfortably on opposite ends of the couch.
“Did I ruin everything?” Bucky asked after a prolonged silence.
“Not gonna lie, it really sucked to have you run off like that after I thought we were gonna wake up together.”
“Is that something you’d want to do?”
“Yeah? I’ve thought about waking up with you in my bed for a while now, but… I didn’t think you were ready to try anything. Then last night, well. Seemed pretty ready then.”
“I thought you were with Nat,” Bucky blurted, looking like he wasn’t sure it was a good idea to admit it.
“Yeah, she told me.”
“Wish she woulda told me. Woulda saved a lotta trouble.”
“I don’t think she realized until this morning. She wouldn’t have kept that from me, or you, if she’d known.”
Clint studied Bucky’s face while he was busy staring down at his bare toes while they sat in an uncomfortable silence. 
“So,” Clint said eventually, and Bucky turned to meet his eyes. “Are we just going to sit here and mope, or what?”
“Sorry.”  
Clint wasn’t sure how much that apology was supposed to encompass, but he wasn’t really interested into hashing out all the things it could be for either. 
“I can think of more interesting things for us to be doing.”
“Is that so?” The hangdog look was lifted a little, hope shining through. It was a much better look on him.
“You were pretty talented with that tongue last night. I bet a repeat performance would make up for leaving me to wake up cold this morning.”
“You cold now? Need me to warm you up?” 
“I dunno. Might be a little tired. Maybe you should take me to bed.”
It was stilted, not quite their usual comfortable banter, but it was miles better than when Clint had walked into the room. Clint shifted on the couch, so he could sprawl back against the couch arm in a provocative pose, legs spread wide, and tilted his chin in challenge.
Bucky was a little tentative as he first moved into Clint’s space, but when Clint yanked him closer by his shirtfront he lost all reservation and captured Clint’s mouth in a fierce kiss. Bucky kissed him like he was starving for it, pressing his body hard against Clint’s. He slid his mouth along the edge of Clint’s jaw until, the worked his teeth on the line of his neck.
Clint’s hips were already shifting restlessly, trying to get some friction on his dick. Bucky encouraged Clint’s arms to wrap around his shoulders before his slid his own hands underneath him. 
Surprised to find himself suddenly in the air Clint scrambled to get a tighter grip around Bucky’s neck and wrapped his legs around his waist. There may or may not have been a high pitched yelp.
“What the hell?” he demanded, sounding a little breathless, and Bucky laughed.
“Takin’ you to bed. Gotta make sure I do it right this time.”
“Just don’t ram me into a door frame and we should be good,” Clint said easily, before bending himself down to suck an earlobe into his mouth. Bucky was just as sensitive as Clint remembered and he stumbled a little, groaning.
“Is dropping me part of the plan to impress me?” 
“It’ll be your own fault if I do,” Bucky retorted, and managed to navigate them to the bed, where he set about doing his best to make up for the shitty day.
"I... did not mean to do that," Clint said, looking down at his coffee.
"I... did not mean to do that," Clint said, looking down at his coffee.
“Yeah? Cause it looked pretty intentional,” Steve ground out, clearly angry. Clint darts a look up — and yeah, those are the Eyebrows of Righteous Fury — then focuses back on the bubbles lazily floating at the top of his mug. One pops and he wishes he could disappear with it.
“I didn’t think he’d react like that.”
“What then, pray tell, did you expect to happen?” And oh god, that’s Natasha chiming in. Clint shrugged his shoulders miserably.
“Well, I guess I had been hoping he’d kiss me back.”
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swabsandcream · 2 years ago
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No Ordinary Fan [Part 1]
Jeffrey Dean Morgan x Fem!Reader
Summary: Y/N finally gets to meet her favorite actor of all time, but something about her manages to grasp the successful actor’s attention.
AN: Jeffrey is portrayed as a single man in this fic.
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“Okay. You got this. You’re going to go in there and look him dead in the eye as if he’s not the man of your dreams. I can’t fucking believe this is happening.” Y/N stood in front of her bathroom mirror, undressed with only a towel to cover her as she gave herself a pep-talk. After being a fan of JDM for many years, she had finally been given the opportunity to interact with the actor at a meet and greet taking place in her city. This is something she had been looking forward to for weeks, but once the day finally came, she was overcome with anxiousness. 
Once Y/N had finished her little speech, she stepped out of her bathroom and back into her room to get dressed. She already had the clothes she intended to wear laid out on her bed along with her accessories. It was a casual outfit, because she wasn’t the type to ‘dress up’ even if it was to meet her longtime crush. She figured that this was the perfect time to show off her t-shirt she had purchased from The Walking Dead merchandise store and her pants were regular blue jeans. Her accessories were also merch pieces dedicated to the popular tv show, but her most favorite were the hook earrings that resembled Negan’s bat she managed to find on Etsy. It only took a couple of minutes for her to be fully dressed, and now monitoring the time as she decided to put on a little makeup right before she heads out. In an effort to make it to the event on time, she quickly finished up and grabbed her things to leave, including the two Negan posters she wanted him to sign for her. 
After rushing out of the house and spending a little over a half hour in aggravating traffic, she had finally made it to the building where the meet and greet was taking place. Her heart was racing as she made her way inside, still partly in disbelief about what was going to happen in a matter of minutes. Once she got inside, she went through the motions of gaining entry and was sent to stand in line with the rest of the fans. She made it relatively early, so the line was short enough to where she could see him sitting behind a table and interacting with a fan. Her composure began to unravel as she watched him speak from afar and tuning everything else around her completely out in the process.
Oh my God he looks so much better in person. His slicked back brown hair, salt and pepper beard, and don’t get me started about that smile. Y/N fangirled away in her head as the line grew shorter, and her excitement became more prevalent. Before she knew it, she was next in line behind the person that was standing in front of her. The man she had only fantasized about in her spare time, the one she referred to as her husband on social media, the Jeffrey Dean Morgan was sitting right there. She kept her eyes on him as she patiently waited her turn, and for a second, she could’ve sworn that he had glanced over at her a few times as he was speaking to the other fan. A few minutes later, the fan’s time was up, and it was now Y/N’s turn to introduce herself for the very first time. She took a deep breath and put a smile on her face as she stepped forward, stopping in front of the table directly in front of him. Her ability to speak had been halted for unknown reasons, but still wore a big smile on her face.
“Well, hello there. What’s your name sweetheart?” His voice was deep and husky, on top of the nickname he called her, was gratifying all on its own. She realized she had been quiet for a little bit too long and snapped herself back into reality.
“I’m sorry, I’m- uh...my name is Y/N. Sorry.” 
“No need to apologize Y/N. That is such a lovely name for a beautiful young lady such as yourself.” He spoke to her softly, giving her that killer smile of his. It was almost like he knew that he had a strong effect on her and used it to his advantage. 
“Thank you. I’m such a huge fan and I love all your work.” She tried not to sound too cheerful, keeping her tone as neutral as possible. 
“Is that right?” He let his eyes wander up and down her body. “I see you got a TWD shirt, very nice. But is that what I think it is?” He brought his hands up to his ears and pinched his earlobes, indicating to Y/N that he is inquiring about her earrings. 
“Oh! They’re Lucille earrings, I found them online.” She moved her hand behind her ear to push the jewelry forward, giving Jeffrey a better look. 
“That’s fucking awesome. I can’t really see them from down here though, come closer so I can see them better.” He leaned forward onto the table, using his arms to support him as Y/N bent down to get closer to him. She was now at the same level he was as he remained in his chair, allowing him to touch the hooked earring in her left ear. He then let go of the earring and moved his face much closer to hers, putting his lips up to her ear.
“I’ve had my eye on you ever since you came in here.” Y/N audibly gasped, remaining still as he continued to whisper in her ear. “I’d like to get to know you better, if that’s ok with you.” He promptly moved back from Y/N, awaiting a response as she slowly brought herself up from the table. 
She had a hard time grasping what she had just heard. He very clearly just told her that she caught his interest, and she still felt as if all this was some kind of fever dream. She turned around to see a line of people behind her, all of them being completely clueless about what was going on at that moment. The sound of the actor clearing his throat made her turn back around, seeing him tap his wrist as an indication that they were running out of time. 
“Ok, yes. But how exactly are we supposed to do this?” She was whispering to prevent the people around them from hearing. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, unlocked it, and slid the phone over to her on the table. He wanted her phone number, so she quickly put it in his phone and saved it under her name. She slid the phone back to him and he put it back into his pocket. Seeing that it was time to say farewell, he reached out and grabbed one of Y/N’s soft hands, giving her one last look with his lustrous, hazel eyes. 
“It’s been really nice meeting you Y/N, and I hope to see you again very soon.” He brought his voice down to a whisper, “and I’ll call you as soon as I’m done here, okay?”
Y/N nodded her head in compliance, hanging on by a thread at the sight of him holding then releasing her hands from his grip. She waved goodbye to her idol as the event coordinator escorted her away. She wanted to make sure that she wasn’t certifiable, and that his entire experience wasn’t all in her head. She pinched herself, gave herself a light smack on the face, and even asked the coordinator if she was dreaming. It all appeared to be happening in real time, and she was going to have a chance to get close to someone she once referred to as her baby daddy. 
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Tag: @artistinyou2
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heartfullofleeches · 2 years ago
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Anon Asked: [Rookie cop and Spencer during his gang leader days- I need Spencer getting "caught" by rookie and flirting while getting handcuffed for the 10th time. I'm split whether I want an exasperated or oblivious thembo reader.]
(Reader is a bit of both. Brief blood mentions)
-
A disturbance call comes in.
It isn't from dispatch. It's not even from your radio. The call comes in directly from your phone from a number you know well by now. You could write a detailed map to the location right on the napkin carelessly cascaded on the top of your food. The mall on the otherside of town.
If you hurried, maybe you could finish your lunch on the way to the subject's house.
-
Pulling up to the scene, the subject sits on the curb outside the mall with his hands folded and eyes scanning the parking lot. He fixes his collar and scrapes specks of dried blood off his face as your patrol car rolls over the speed bump leading into the lot and rolls up to the curb. The security guard watching over him gives him the side eye, which only makes him smile more.
"This is the last time I'm doing this for you."
"You always say that, but I'm feelin a little lucky today."
You step out of the vehicle and approach the two. Spencer lights up like a Christmas tree despite the swelling on his left cheek.
"Well look who it is. The officer who sent in applications to the wrong place, when that pretty face could be on posters. What brings you to our part of town?"
You turn your focus to the guard. "What happened this time?"
"Same as usual. Fight broke out, other guys got away. This moron sat down in the food court and ordered a corndog before we pieced two and two together."
"Got you one too, but they wouldn't let me bring it with me. How about a movie this weekend to make up for it?"
"Got it. I assume the cameras are still out and there were few witnesses?"
"Like I said."
"Alright. I'll just take him home for now then. Next time would you just ban him or something?" You snag your cuffs from your belt and look over to Spencer. "Gonna make a run for it this time?"
He holds out his wrists. "Nah. I want spend as much time with you as I can, plus you have good taste in jewelry."
You help him to his feet and cuff his hands behind his back. As he stands, Spencer makes sure to slide up close to you as he can, damn near stealing each breath you exhale as his chest collided with your vest. You pay no mind as his head fall on your shoulder while you work on the restraints, having some difficulty due to not making him turn around. Why you did things that way is beyond you.
You walk him over to your car and put him in the back. Spencer's jovial expression tumbles as you head up front. "I can't join you up there?"
"Quiet." You pull out of the parking lot and back onto the main road, signal lights kept off as you head in the direction of his father's house. Hearing movement across the leather seats, you can feel his eyes drilling holes in the back of your head. That was his favorite thing to do with you. Stare. The first time you met he studied you for what felt like days, likely deciding on whether he'd throw the brick in his hand at you, or unbeknownst to you - if he had just fallen in love.
It makes you wonder how many slaps on the wrist you had given him. His sob stories about home and the good he was capable of always lead you to listening to your moral code rather than law's.Sure you were close in age, but you had so much more responsibility than him and he was still under your protection despite the trouble he's caused.
"I got a new address you can drop me off for next time. Just signed a lease for an apartment near dad's place. You looking to move anytime soon?"
You look at his bloody close from the mirror. "Are you hurt?"
Spencer's heartrate increases. Finally. "Didn't hear you properly, officer."
"Are. You. Hurt."
He bites the wall of his cheek. "Definitely."
You take a detour on a side road and reach into the glove compartment. Retrieving the first aid kit stashed away, you round to the back of the car and kneel to take care of Spencer's wounds as you open the door and he slides forward. His lip is split, mouth bloody, and the bruise on his cheek purplish. You dab some alchohol on some swabs and take his chin your head. The blood rushes to his head and other extremities.
"You're so reckless.." You gently pat his broken lip with the cotton. Spencer doesn't flinch from the burn. In fact, the sting makes the experience more thrilling. A small jolt of electricity to the already electrified hunger in his chest. Seeing his own blood on the swabs and the bloody fluid rolling onto your fingers has him fantasizing about just about gorgeous you'd look covered head to toe in it. Clean his wounds with your tongue and show off that stunning smile with red stained teeth. Settle down - common sense warns. He can't be getting so excited and you haven't had your first date yet.
You patch up his outer injuries with bandages and restart the commune to his house. You uncuff him and wait for him to walk up to the porch, but his lingering eyes tell you that he wants you to come with. Spencer wants to spend you off with a hug, a kiss - the keys to his heart and all his mortal possessions, but he settles for a handshake to be polite.
"Its been a pleasure, Y/n. I'd said I hope we could see each other in different situations and maybe in each others bedroom, but that's more of a promise."
"Right. I suppose be nice to see you anywhere other than the back of my car." Bye, Spencer."
You return to your car and turn on the radio as you climb behind the wheel, but something in your back pocket keeps you from sitting comfortably. It's a golden watch, a bee engraved on its frame. The horrible realization weights on you as a real call phones in. The fight wasn't just an excuse to see you -
It was only a distraction.
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latenightsimping · 3 years ago
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Kink the 1st - Shibari
Summary: After a bad day, all you want is some downtime with your boyfriend. And downtime includes some rope and a whole lotta fun.
Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem reader
Word count: 4,693
Warnings: SMUT SMUT SMUT 18+ MINORS DNI, bdsm, shibari (using rope), oral sex (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), p in v sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, kiddos), aftercare, lots of fluff, sex with a lil humour sprinkled in as a treat, just quite sweet really? porn with plot, softdom!Eddie, sub!reader, reader has a vagina, use of petnames (sweetheart, angel etc.)
AN: Massive shoutout to @mantorokk-writes, @steve-harringtons-slut & @charlie-heatons-whxre for giving me a boot up the arse to get Kinktober kicked off! Hoping to do at least once a week? I got ideas for the next one, but if there’s anything you wanna see please lemme know! Hope you enjoy!!
You’d both had a hell of a day.
Everything that could go wrong, had gone utterly wrong. Murphy’s law, and all that. Work had been a drag; usually, you could have sworn the diner was cursed or haunted, considering how temperamental the old machinery in there could be. Today? Today, you were sure gremlins had snuck in during the night shift and were determined to fuck with you any way possible. The coffee machine went bust, the dishwasher refused to turn on, and to top it all off, your boss was in one of his shitty moods.
You’d finished up your day shift in a mood that caused your whole features to harden, practically scowling the whole way on your walk home. Usually, you didn’t mind the twenty minutes it took to get to your little run down home, but it was just that little bit too cold to be pleasant, and you’d forgotten your jacket on your rush out the door. Yet another straw to the camel’s back, and you could feel yourself beginning to break.
Though the dark cloud looming over your head didn’t shift fully, it lightened a few shades as soon as you stepped through your front door. The place was pretty run down; when you had first moved in, you could tell the previous owner was still firmly stuck in the 60’s. Wallpaper peeled off the walls, stained jaundice from cigarette smoke, and the kitchen was in desperate need of a renovation, “A fixer upper,” Eddie had told you, when you’d first seen it with him. At first, it all felt like too much. Sure, it was the only thing you two could sensibly afford, but it was hard to see the bigger picture. Luckily, Eddie could see that picture clearly. You kind of missed that honeymoon phase now, when you’d first moved in and spent your free weekends decorating. Painting the walls side by side as the radio played, only getting into a paint fight once. Alright, two times, but you couldn’t leave Eddie that smug that he was the victor. He was quite the handyman, as it turned out. Wayne had come to help, lugging heavy toolboxes, and the Munson men had got to work fixing loose fittings and squeaky hinges. You’d supplied the beer and lunch, watching the two men from a distance as you painted old photo frames that you’d thrifted.
Your home wasn’t perfect. A lot of the furniture didn’t match – a few pieces plucked from various dumpsters around town, the rest second-hand – some doors still had to be jiggled just right to open and close, and your oven seemed to have an attitude problem. But it was yours and Eddie’s. Various photos of moments of your relationship together dotted surfaces and walls, his beloved posters hung neatly in different rooms. His amps and guitars in the living room, your battered old record player and collection of vinyls beside them. Home wasn’t bricks and mortar. It was a feeling. It was feeling safe, and secure, and remembering that the stain on your couch was thanks to Dustin spilling Pepsi when he jumped out of his skin during a Halloween movie night. It was a feeling that soon, Eddie would be home, and you could ease each other’s minds without having to put much effort in.
You heard the roar of his van while you were making dinner, music blasting and no doubt pissing off the neighbours even further. By the time you took the plates out of the cabinet, you heard the front door unlock, Eddie’s voice calling out he was home. You could tell instantly that he had just as much of a shit day as you had by voice alone. The usually melodic timbre now sombre and flat, sounding bone tired. As he came into the kitchen, though he graced you with a smile, it didn’t quite reach his eyes like it usually did. It made your heart slightly ache as you frowned at him. “Bad day?”
He hummed in agreement, hands coming up to scrub his face as he leaned against the counter. “Phil’s been riding my ass all day,” he murmured through his palms, arms dropping as he winced. “Shit, sorry baby. Didn’t mean to come in and just start complainin’.”
“No, tell me about it,” you said as you shook your head, busying yourself with serving up as Eddie moved to set the table. No matter what mood you were both in, it was a routine heavily engrained by now. Whoever cooked, the other would set the table and clean up after. Pretty much muscle memory, at this point.
“First of all, Tina called in to let us know that her kid had broken his arm falling out of a damn tree, so I was left to fend for myself. Then the shipment for that Dirty Dancing album still didn’t show yet again, and I had to deal with hormonal teenagers complaining no fuckin’ end about something I have no control over, y’know? It’s like they expect me to magically pull CD’s out of my ass or something.”
You nodded along as he complained about his day, pottering around the kitchen to grab a couple of beers and finally sitting yourself down at the dinner table. As Eddie talked between mouthfuls of food, you could see him starting to ever so slowly unwind. Having someone to vent to always helped him, and no doubt he was hangry from not being able to grab more than a couple of bites at work. He loved working at the record store, for the most part. He knew about music probably better than anything else, and it was usually slow and steady work when new releases that swept Hawkins like wildfire were readily available. But it seemed like for the both of you, today was just one of those days.
“But enough about me,” he sighed after a few moments of silence, grabbing his beer and taking a sip. “What about you? You look tired.”
“Feel tired,” you chuckled, shrugging as you leaned back in your chair. “Just the diner gremlins acting up again. You know, the usual.”
“Ah,” he nodded, clicking his teeth with his tongue. “Should really cast banishment in that place.”
The serious tone of his voice, mixed with that whisper of a smirk, never failed to make you smile. “Yeah, should really get on that,” you nodded with a mock look of sincerity. “Hard to find any warlocks around town, though.”
You both smiled, tensions easing as you fell into that comfortable bliss that you could both create with one another. The rest of the meal was spent with small talk; everything and nothing, including Eddie asking you if you’d still love him if he was a worm for some reason. To which you replied honestly. Of course. Only the finest soil and decaying leaves for worm Eddie. That seemed to cheer him up.
At first, you wondered if he wanted to just cuddle for the night, considering how you both had a long day. But it seemed that the good meal had given you both energy, and all it had took for you to agree with his slightly raised eyebrow as he suggested going to the bedroom for a bit of playtime was that certain look in his darkened eye as he gestured his head towards the stairs. It was something you both enjoyed often, especially when both of your minds were racing. A way to turn your brains off, for one to relinquish control and the other to reclaim it. Working in tandem to a headspace where nothing but each other’s bodies existed, soft inhales and exhales between locked lips and soft sounds of ecstasy. And by the look on Eddie’s face, he needed it just as badly as you did.
“Turn around a little for me, angel.”
It had felt like hours since you started, but you knew it was realistically not too long ago. The sun had settled behind the horizon just before you sat down on the bed, the bedroom now softly illuminated by the lamps on the bedside table. Eddie had taken his time undressing you, pressing kisses to your skin after each layer was dropped to the floor, beginning to sink you into that place in your mind where everything became slightly fuzzy and dreamlike. He had chosen the hemp rope from the selection that you had both acquired that lived in the bottom drawer of your dresser, and you slowly closed your eyes as you relaxed into the feeling of the soft strands whispering across your skin as he worked.
From the endless conversations that you’d had with Eddie about using rope, you knew it had just as much of an effect on him as it did for you. But it came from another angle. Where you were happy to give up the control for the however hours it took, revelling in the sensation of being restrained and cared for, he found it intensely helpful to have a single thing to work on. He wasn’t thinking about work, or bills, or the trash that needed to be taken out. He was thinking of the intricate folding and gentle tugging of the rope to create works of beauty that made you look so ethereal, so beautiful, nothing else but the here and now. It soothed his mind that was constantly racing about a hundred different things at once, and it was nice to have a repetitive, comforting task. And you have to admit, he was getting really good at it. He would spend hours pouring over books that he got from God knows where, always wanting to try new positions or knots. And you were more than happy to indulge.
Tonight, he had chosen his favourite ties. A pentagram harness that decorated your chest and cupped your breasts, using the extra length to secure your arms in a box tie. Both hands cupping your elbows as comfortably as they could, with enough rope to let them rely on the strands to hold them up. He was getting started on your legs, and judging by the way he wanted you kneeling and the two lengths of red rope in his hands, you had an idea with what he wanted.
Shifting yourself as much as you could with his helpful grip on you, you turned to face the foot of the bed, halfway down the length of it to give you enough space. His warm hands lingered on your skin, smoothing over it as you softly sighed at the sensation.
“Still with me?” he whispered, taking great effort not to be too loud in case it startled you. He knew that you were more fragile in this state, always attentive to when your shoulders slightly sagged and your lips parted. You nodded slightly, and you heard him huff in slight amusement as he gently squeezed your knee. “Need to hear you, baby.”
“Still here,” you murmured, taking a second to take a deep breath before you opened your eyes. Your gaze drifted to him, and you could melt under the look he was giving you. It wasn’t the hard, steely glare that he sometimes had when you played rough, the one that sent shock waves to your core. The look still held control, but God, he was looking at you like you were the finest masterpiece that he’d ever laid eyes on. It made you feel like a priceless piece of artwork in the best way possible; like you were made to be looked upon and revered, worshipped even. But you wanted him to continue, and to finally sink into that place where nothing existed outside of those four walls. “I’m green, Eds.”
He smiled at your use of the traffic light system that you used – green for continue, orange for slow down and red to stop completely – and pressed one final kiss to your temple before he resumed his work. As you suspected, it was a frog tie. Your thigh secured to your calves, making it impossible to move your legs and keeping you kneeling. You opened your eyes just enough to watch his face as he secured the final ties, and you couldn’t help but smile as you noticed the way the tip of his tongue was peeking from his lips, eyes narrowed as deft fingers pulled and knotted the strands. He must have caught you staring out of his periphery, a small smile pulling at the corners of his mouth as he tucked away the loose ends and leaned back to take you in. “Well, aren’t you lookin’ all pretty? Gimme a lil wiggle, gorgeous.”
You did as he asked, being careful not to topple over as you struggled against the restraints. Just like you knew would happen, the ropes didn’t yield, sparks shooting down your spine and straight to your pussy when you realised that you were truly helpless. You could feel how wet you’d become during his work, most likely already forming a damp spot on the sheets. You knew he liked to watch you squirm, and you could tell it was having an effect on him. He was still fully clothed for now; you knew it was for a reason. A non-verbal show of who had the power, and it fuelled your headspace like logs to a fire. But you wanted him to touch you so bad, to finally give that part of you attention that was now grabbing all your attention, and you let out a small whine as you bit your lip, giving him your most sultry look to try and entice him.
Eddie could read you like a book. He knew exactly what you were trying to do, yet he was seemingly playing the clueless card as he tilted his head. “Something the matter, baby?” he asked, a brow raised as he smirked.
“Please,” you mewled, knees separating even further to expose just how soaked you were. “Please Eds, need you to touch me.”
“But I have been,” he countered, face slowly morphing into one of knowing as he tutted once. “That’s it, isn’t it baby? Need me to take care of you? Need me to touch that pretty little pussy of yours?”
You nodded frenetically, letting out another small noise of need as you desperately tried to gain some friction on your clit, trying to rut against the bed and failing to gain any contact thanks to the position you were in. “Please, I wan’ it,” you whimpered, worrying your lower lip between your teeth.
You watched as he reached behind you, laying down two pillows behind your back and pressing a large palm to your chest, fingers curling under the pentagram of your tie as his other hand rested on the back of your head. Gently laying you down with a show of control that had you reeling, you settled on your back, thankful that the pillows left a gap for your arms to slot into, making the position a lot more comfortable. Your knees came up closer to your chest, falling to the sides and exposing you even more than your previous position. Eddie towered over you, sitting on his haunches as his eyes followed every curve and dip of your body, a look of hunger evident in his eyes as his palms skated over the insides of your thighs. So close to where you wanted him, but not enough. Not nearly enough. “You know the rules, baby. You gotta ask me real nicely,” he murmured, a small smirk on his face as he relished in the power.
“Pleeeease.” Your voice sounded so small, elongating every character or the word as your back arched. “Please Sir, please make me feel good. Need it so badly, wan’ you to make me come so much.”
You knew the honorific would wreck him, and judging by the low groan he let out, you were going to have what you wanted. “How can I resist when you say it all pretty like that?” he said, voice gruff and low in the way that it did whenever he wanted you. You watched as he shifted down the bed, laying on his front as he peppered your innermost thighs with kisses. “Gonna keep those legs open for me like a good girl, sweetheart?”
You nodded vigorously. You’d agree to anything, do anything, sell your soul to the fucking Devil if it finally meant having his mouth on you. And fuck, you almost came when he licked a languid stripe from your entrance to your clit, latching onto the sensitive bud as his tongue swirled around it. Your eyes screwing shut as your head tipped back, the sensations of his moans vibrating against your cunt as he continued his ministrations sending you barrelling towards your climax that much quicker. All you could hear were the sinful sounds of wetness and messy kisses to your slit, Eddie’s mumbles against your skin of “you taste so fucking good,” and “so wet f’ me,” making your legs shake as you rutted against his mouth, desperate for your release. You felt his finger enter you, one at first, hilted to the last knuckle before a second joined it, curling until it hit that spot that made you see stars behind your eyes, that coil deep in your gut tightening and tightening until it reached a near unbearable tension.
“Gonna- Fuck Eds, please, gonna…” You could barely think, barely speak under his skilled tongue and hands, but you wanted his permission. Knowing that with it, you could come undone even harder, until the tiny remains of thoughts finally slipped out of your grasp. All you wanted to feel was the bliss, and to know that he was the one causing it.
“Come for me baby, I got you,” he urged, fingers pumping into you eyen faster, words garbled as he didn’t let up from his task of swirling the tip of his tongue against your bud in dizzyingly fast movements. “Let go.”
It was his words, a final jab to your sweet spot inside you, and a soft suck to your clit that finally snapped the last remaining threads of your tether to reality. Your jaw fell slack into a silent scream, back arched and head thrown back as you tightened around his fingers, hips bucking as you rode out your orgasm. The restraints fuelling it, elongating it, as you writhed underneath them and found no escape. The pure hedonistic ecstasy causing your walls to pulse, even after Eddie removed his fingers from you.
Crowding over you after you managed to catch your breath and wrench your eyes open, Eddie kissed you with fervour, all teeth and tongue as he settled his weight onto his forearms on either side of your head. You could taste yourself on him, a pleasant tang that you grew to love whenever he kissed you after going down on you, the shame long gone about it. “You doing okay?” he murmured between kisses, lips trailing down your chin and across the length of your jaw.
“Green,” you managed to whisper, suddenly needy for him again, now he was finally on top of you. You craved him; you craved the fullness of his cock deep inside you, knowing it’d send you toppling over the edge again. During the moments of your comedown he must have got undressed, since you could feel his bare chest against yours, causing the rope to rub against your skin deliciously with his every movement. “More, please. Need you more, Eds. Fuck me.”
He huffed out a small laugh, now tracing his canines over the soft flesh of your neck, soothing it with his tongue afterwards. “Planning on it, pretty girl. Just gotta check you first, ‘kay?”
You were confused for a second, until he pulled away enough to turn you to your side. You felt his fingers gently pinch the tip of your own, checking for good blood flow. You couldn’t help but smile as you felt it, adoring how even in this moment, he would forgo his own pleasure just in case there was a hint of you being uncomfortable. “Feels fine,” you nodded reassuringly, words ever so slightly slurred. “Can go on for a bit longer.”
You were starting to come back to yourself, though everything was still hazy. Like your mind was replaced with cotton wool, like a fogged up mirror after a hot shower. Placing you back down gently, he smiled as he kissed you again, feeling the expression against your own lips. One of his hands reached between your bodies, and you felt the tip of his cock rub against your slit, eliciting a high pitched keen from you that he gleefully swallowed down as his tongue explored your mouth.
Eddie could be patient, when he wanted to be. And right now? Now, he was pacing you, stretching you out so slowly you thought you would combust. You swore you could feel every vein and ridge of his cock, each thrust stealing the air from your lungs as his lips never left your own. You could hear his soft grunts and whines as a hand comes up to stroke your hair away from your face, his hips setting a slow pace when he finally bottomed out into you.
The fact that this was lovemaking so tender, so stark against your restrained body clad in rope, that made it all the more intense. It’s not like he didn’t have the tendency to be rough with you on other occasions, and as much as you loved it, you were thankful that he chose tonight to worship your body. The bad day you had was so far away, when all you could feel was him, the way he rutted into you so carefully, as if you were made of fine china. The hand that tucked away the errant hairs came down to explore you, brush against your pebbled nipples, one after the other, trailing down your stomach and to where of you both met. Circling around your sensitive clit and made your cries even louder. You knew you weren’t gonna last long.
“M’close,” you managed to puff out, wriggling as much as your prone position afforded you to fuck back against him, the urge to come again starting to balloon inside you, until it was all you wanted.
“Me too,” he replied through gritted teeth, pace beginning to get irregular and more frantic as his hand settled on your hip for leverage. “Come with me baby, ‘kay? Can feel you getting so tight, shit.”
All that could be heard were your mixed sounds of pleasure; his grunts and low moans, your high keens and mewls as you tightened around him, walls pulsing and milking him for all that you could. You felt him twitch inside you, the tightening of his jaw the indicator that he was finally there. He spilled into you for what felt like hours, hips still rutting into you as if to push his cum as deep into you as you possibly could, and you loved the sensation of it. He finally slumped after the last few groans, resting his forehead on yours as he panted hard to catch his breath. You were doing the same, and you loved how you seemed to be breathing in tandem. His exhale to your inhale, and vice versa. Sharing air in a way that felt so intimate, making your head spin as you started to finally come down.
You both lay there what felt like an age, until the ache of your joints finally started to seep in, reality hitting you that you’d been in the same position for a while. Eddie must have picked up on your squirming, pressing one last kiss to your temple before slowly pulling out of you. You gently whined at the loss, and he smiled at it, giving you an apologetic look as he kneeled in between your legs and started to untie them. “You back to Earth yet, space cadet?” he asked you, the little quip making you giggle.
“Getting there,” you nodded, slightly hissing as he ever so gently started to ease your left leg straight, discomfort shooting through your muscles as he did so.
“I know baby,” he murmured, soothing you as he gently massaged your thighs and calves to get the blood flow back to them. “Sorry, should’a thought to let your legs go before I fucked you.”
“I’m glad you didn’t,” you smiled, looking down at him as he worked on the other leg. “Was really fuckin’ hot being fucked like that.”
“God, it really was,” he wistfully sighed, taking a second to marvel at the indents that the rope left on your skin. Tracing his calloused fingertips over them, the motion making you bite your bottom lip and let out a soft moan at how good it felt. “Take it you wouldn’t mind doing this tie combination again?”
“Would I mind,” you scoffed, a playfulness coming back to you as you nudged his waist with your ankle. “If you make me come like that again, you can do it whenever you want.”
“Noted,” he smirked, tossing you a wink as he reached forward to carefully take hold of your shoulders. “Gonna help you sit up, if that’s okay?”
You nodded, allowing him to guide you until you were sitting as he settled you on his chest. You perched your head onto his shoulder, breathing in the scent of his cologne and a smell that could only be described as Eddie as you nuzzled into his neck. “Y’ smell good,” you mumbled into the skin.
You felt his laugh rumble though his chest against yours more than you heard it. “I probably smell like nothing but sweat at this point, sweetheart,” he answered, carefully letting your arms fall to your sides as he took care in massaging them like he had done your legs. “Been at work all day and just came so hard I think I saw God for a minute. Need a shower after all that.”
“Noooo,” you whined, wrapping your arms around his neck now they were finally free, hating the idea of him leaving your embrace. “Shower later. Cuddles first.”
Though it surely made his task more difficult, he didn’t make you separate from him as he uncoiled the rest of the harness around your chest, shushing you gently as he carefully pulled the beginning knot from around your middle. “M’ not goin’ anywhere yet, sweetheart. Cuddles first, promise.”
That appeased you enough, letting your eyes close as you felt yourself be gently moved until you were laying down, your head on his chest and hearing his heartbeat begin to slow to a normal pace. He only shifted you one more time, so he could pull the blankets up over you, making sure you were tucked in and warm enough as he kissed the crown of your head. “Did so well f’ me, angel. Such a good girl.”
Your only answer was a small hum of acknowledgement, sleep starting to pull at your mind as you began to drift away. You were so cosy, and so warm and felt so loved. You could barely remember what had led you here, to this moment. All you knew was that before, you were having a bad day. Now, you were finally so relaxed that you couldn’t find it within yourself to move.
“You fallin’ asleep on me baby?” Eddie whispered, sounding amused as he stroked soothing patterns up and down your spine, the motion aiding you in drifting off.
You vaguely remember nodding, before you finally dozed off. And you could remember him saying something about a shower, but you were too blissed out to worry about that. Knowing Eddie, he’d probably wake you up in a while to clean you up and get you changed into fresh pyjamas. But right now, all you wanted was him. To feel him so close to you, and to feel protected and cherished in his arms.
And you felt exactly that.
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phireflies · 3 years ago
Text
𝗺𝘂𝘀𝗲
eddie gives you drawing ideas when you're experiencing art block. [wc; 2.3k]
pairing; eddie munson x fem!reader
warnings; swearing and fluff, i think that's literally it (written on my phone so mistakes too)
a/n; is this completely self-indulgent... maybe... i will edit this when i wake up i swear
"i'm at a loss, eds," you say, throwing yourself onto his bed, arms and legs splayed out.
"why's that?" he was fiddling with the strings on his guitar, not looking up at you.
you sigh. "my sketchbook is like, empty and i have to turn it in by friday."
"that's in two days," he states.
"wow really? i didn't know that."
"teasing." he laughs, putting his guitar down, finally looking at you. "all outta ideas?" you nod. "draw me."
when you sit up, your face is so close to his, noses almost touching. "i can't draw you, i'll mess it up."
"then it'll be abstract. c'mon, i'll sit like a statue, i promise!”
you laugh so hard you throw your head back. the thought of eddie munson sitting still, like a statue no less, was wild. he couldn't stop fidgeting as if his life depended on it.
looking over at him, you noticed that he would make a good subject. his hands were really nice after all, the rings the cherry on top. you loved his eyes too, and his hair, and his nose. everything about him.
"okay," you say, smiling. he leans in so your nose touches his, and smiles. "i can draw you."
"fuck yeah, babe! can you do it with a colored pencil? you have those right?"
you nod. "i only have red and blue though."
"red, red's my favorite color."
you nod again, confirming the color. eddie had taken you home, to his home, after school like always, so you had all of your art supplies with you. it wasn't much, a few hb pencils, pens, and two colored pencils.
inside, eddie was freaking out. he loved your art, and would shower you with compliments and kisses when you showed him a new piece, throwing in a few can you draw hellfire posters? too.
he'd never thought to ask for a portrait before. maybe it was because some part of him, something very deep down inside him, thought it would be scary to see someone else's interpretation of him. he was excited nevertheless.
you pulled out your sketchbook with almost twenty-five percent of it filled and sighed, letting your fingers roam around the cover - feeling the divots of when you pushed your pencil too hard in to make a mark, meaningless doodles, and words.
"you can go back to doing whatever, i can go from there."
eddie kissed your temple and leaned back to get his guitar. he started messing with the strings again as if they weren't perfect the first time around.
you looked around eddies room, which had somewhat become your room. wayne suggested you move in, to help keep it clean. eddie even made a stack of your clothes on his floor.
"what's the theme of this one? they all got themes, right?" he asked, half distracted.
"uh, not sure. think it's something like family or your idea of home."
eddie smiled to himself. "yeah? you're okay with putting me with that theme?"
you started sketching out his room, the perspective a little wonky but it would turn out fine. "'course eds, not to be all cheesy but you're kinda my idea of home." you are my home, you want to say.
"that's awfully sweet of you." he teases again, but neither of you can deny the blush creeping onto his face. it starts at the tip of his ears. "just so happens that you're my idea of home too. i mean, you put your shoes next to mine!" he repeats what you said, but leaves out the kinda.
you laugh hard again, but don't reply. you relish at this moment, of eddie doing whatever he does, back towards you, but still touching you, and you doing what you love, of who you love.
your focus is turned back onto the page as you start to slowly add in blocks, mapping out the clothes on his floor, the posters, and little trinkets. crosshatching is used to add depth and shadows and make it all look a little better, more real.
when it's finished, you write home at the top right and sign your name under. "look, eds."
"you're a modern da vinci, babe." he pretends to not see the title at the top but smiles like an idiot to himself when he turns away.
you move on to the next page. anatomy. it was never something that you were particularly good at, everything looking a little off.
eddie's backside turns out to be a great reference. you start out with the outline of his back and his hair, then you slowly add details in, carving them in. you don't offer to show him this one.
next, you draw the guitar, where it hangs in front of the mirror. eddie moved on to messing with his amp. you draw the pick on his nightstand, and the box of cigarettes, though you don't draw the label. it's just a box on paper, but you know it's more.
"s'it working?" he asks. you've gotten caught up in your drawing that you didn't realize he sat right next to you again.
you hum, nodding. "i'm tired already."
it was pretty late, and you were pretty tired. "m'tired too. you sure this burst of inspiration won't disappear by tomorrow?"
"nope, because you'll still be here, i hope."
he smiles wide again. idiot, you think. my idiot. "always gonna be here."
with that, eddie helps you get situated to sleep, and you're out.
when the birds outside wake you up, you're excited to draw, your hands itching. you're excited because you get to draw eddie. the entire day was going to be focused on drawing him, his features and his hands and his tattoos, everything that makes him eddie.
because of how the trailer is set, the sun shines bright through his window, perfectly highlighting eddie. the sheets have slid down to his lower back, so you can see the curves of his back and the few light freckles on his shoulders.
it’s perfect, he’s perfect. you have to draw him.
moving as slowly as you can, you reach down to grab your sketchbook off the floor, along with a colored pencil. you mark down the general shape of him, and then work on his face - half in the pillow with furrowed eyebrows and pouted lips. you wonder what he was dreaming about.
you make sure to get the way his hair falls into his eyes and over his shoulder, a few distinct curls on his cheek.
“freak.” he mutters, opening his eyes a smidge.
“you asked for this.”
he huffs, slowly getting up with a groan. “guess i did. can i see?”
you shake your head and move the sketchbook away. “not yet, when i get it back. monday.” you say, promising.
“monday.” he agrees. “d’you want eggs? think that’s all we got.”
you nod. “eggs sound perfect, eds.” smiling, you think back on all of the other times eddie made eggs and how he dumped salt on them.
he stands up to find a shirt and pants, but not before he presses a kiss to your temple and each cheek.
you follow him into the kitchen, still clutching the sketchbook. wayne’s sitting in his chair, sipping a coffee. it was rare to see him so early.
“hi wayne.” you say, to which he turns back and waves.
“you know she’s an artist right?” eddie says, cracking four eggs into a hot pan. they sizzle.
wayne laughs. “‘course i do, you show me everything she’s ever given you.”
your face heats up at the new knowledge. “you do?”
eddie looks sheepish, like you weren’t supposed to know. he shrugs, a red blush painting his face. “i mean, yeah, sometimes.”
“all the time!” wayne corrects with a loud laugh.
eddie scowls playfully and returns to his cooking. attempt at cooking.
while eddie begins to plate the eggs, wayne departs, reminding you to show him more art. wayne was your second biggest fan, after eddie of course.
eddie, thankfully, learned how much salt is too much, so the eggs were edible. “wish we had bacon or something.” he says with his mouth full of food. you’d scold him for that, but you were too enamored with the sight before you.
his hair was a mess, his eyes were still droopy and half-lidded, and he was smiling at you once he swallowed his food. his smile. you wanted it burned into your memory forever.
“this is good.” you manage.
“you’re staring.” he states, smiling even wider.
you scoff, trying to play it off. “i do not stare!”
eddie’s finished with his eggs, so he gets up to clean his plate. he kissed your head as he passes you. “i stare at you too. in a completely normal way, though.”
“that was a normal way!” you join him in cleaning your plate.
the rest of the morning continues like it always does, brushing your teeth together, and getting dressed together, and leaving together.
the rest of the day, however, doesn’t go like you hope it does. you don’t see eddie for much of it, and all you want to do is draw him. it’s a funny feeling, not wanting to do anything but draw and draw and draw. maybe it was something eddie-specific.
before you knew it, you were walking into the drama room to watch eddie’s dungeons and dragons campaign.
the boys all lit up at the sight of you, waving and greeting you, then getting back into setting up.
“babe! how’d the drawing thing go today?” he asked, pulling you aside.
you shrugged. “didn’t do much, didn’t see you much.” he frowns. “i can do more tonight though!”
“you’ll show me?”
you smile, shrugging. “can’t make any promises.”
“god, you’re awful.”
eddie laughs loudly before running to begin the campaign. you have a seat near the table, where you can see the party to either side and eddie in the middle. the glow of the florescent light make it look like he’s got a halo around his head.
as the group progresses in the campaign and gets more rowdy, you decide to draw it. a little sketch, nothing too detailed. you’ve adopted the younger kids, so they fit in with the theme. found family, you think.
eddie’s in the middle with his arms out, and everyone else is at the sides, smiling wide with unique expressions on their faces.
you’ve still got a good chunk of sketchbook left, so you draw the party’s characters. it’s a little unclear what the exact vision was for all of them, but you do the best you can. you end up with numerous half-rendered pieces of their dungeons and dragons characters with the respective player labeled at the top.
by the time you’re done, they’ve finished the session and are cleaning up.
“was that a good one?” you ask when eddie’s done.
he puts a hand on your waist and leads you out to his van. he nods. “one of the best. think you’re my lucky charm, babe.”
“that’s cheesy.”
he pauses, thinking. “you’re right, but wasn’t that sweet? i just came up with that!”
you laugh and push his shoulder. “i could tell.”
“you’re evil.” he smiles, no real harm behind his words. “what’d you draw?“
eddie starts his van and begins to drive out of the school lot. “just you and the party, their characters, stuff like that.”
“y’know, they’d love to see that stuff.”
you nod. “i’ll tear out the pages when it’s all graded. they can keep it if they deem it worthy of their vision.”
eddie snorts. “they love you, of course they’d love it!”
you want to disagree, but eddie turns up his music so you can’t. you glare at him, but it eventually fades into an endearing smile.
once you’re at his trailer again, you’re quick to pick up where you left off - sketching his hands doing whatever he’s doing, in this case, smoking.
you draw his hand with a cigarette between his first and second finger, lightly sketching a line to make a string of smoke. you make sure to get his rings. you continue onto his arm, where he’s rolled up the sleeve. his tattoos are visible, so you draw them too. accuracy is not a concern, as you already know you’ve got them down perfectly. you know him like the back of your hand.
“think you’ll finish by tomorrow?”
you nod, drawing his side profile. “sure i will, i’ve got enough you to last a lifetime.”
“god.” he sighs, smiling to himself.
the page is full, so you turn to the next and focus on his eyes. what they look like when he smiles, the wrinkles in the corners, eyelashes kissing. what they look like when he’s happy and full of fondness. what they look like closed.
“you’re gonna get frostbite.” he says, pulling you you up and into the trailer.
“it’s seventy degrees.”
“it happens, heat frostbite.”
you give him a look, raising your eyebrows. “so… heatstroke?”
“maybe.”
the rest of the night is filled with laughter and funny looks as you try to get eddie’s not-so-patient expression down on the page. you’d have to see the real thing though, a pencil can only do so much.
the remaining pages of your sketchbook are filled with his hands. floating hands cut off at the wrist, just doing random things - holding a pick, practicing guitar, attempting homework, hold your hand. that was the hardest, trying to hold his and draw with the other.
“fucking finally.” you swear, wiping your forehead. “finally finished.”
“proud of you. all of little ole me too.” he smiles smugly, poking your side. “you’re gonna get the best grade on that goddamn sketchbook.”
you laugh, looking at him. admiring him. “i think i did well. you’re my muse now.”
eddie laughs loudly, trying to hide the growing blush on his face. to be someone’s muse was an honor, to be your muse.
you were eddie’s muse, numerous corroded coffin songs being written about you or with you in mind. two different artists, but you were all the same.
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burgundybmw · 3 years ago
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Munson's Mixtape
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Masterlist
Pairing: Eddie Munson x Cunningham!Reader
Word Count: 3,056
Warnings: Brief slut shaming (Jason's a dick)
Summary: Chrissy has been acting weird, and like a good big sister Y/N drives to Hawkins from Notre Dame to check in on her. Only to find out she has plans to meet up with Eddie Munson. Things take a turn for the worse and now Y/N gets wrapped in to the horrors of Hawkins. Hey, at least she has the company of the guitarist she was sweet on back in high school for comfort.
Author’s Note: So I did get ambitious and managed to pump out another chapter. Hope you guys enjoy!
Track Eleven
It took longer than Y/N would like to pack all of her things, but she was finally finished. After she the left the church she radioed Eddie and told him her plan. She didn't give him many details about what happened at Chrissy's funeral, the hurt still fresh in her mind. However, Y/N did tell him that she gave her parents a piece of her mind. Eddie said that he was proud of her, and wished he was there to see her unleash her righteous fury. Y/N glowed with the praise he gave her, and she held onto it as she packed up her old life.
She changed back into her Notre Dame uniform, most of the clothes left in her childhood home closet was formal wear, so she was left with little choice. Most of the things she packed up were more personal items, things she didn't bring with her to college. Old diaries, her old Hawkins High cheer uniform, the books she couldn't carry in her car when she first left Hawkins. Before she left for good, she took one look at Chrissy's bedroom door.
A part of her still didn't want to go in, thought it would be too painful to see her sister's room without her in it, but there were a few things of her sisters that she wanted to keep. The car was already packed and ready to go, so it would be the last time she would ever see what was left of Chrissy.
Y/N walked into the room, and it was just like she remembered last time she visited over winter break. The ornate yellow wallpaper was crisp and pristine, not a single poster on the walls. Their mother would have thrown a fit if they ruined the paper, so Chrissy put all of her photos on a large bookshelf next to her bed. Y/N took a moment to look at all of the snapshots of Chrissy's life. There was a picture of both them when they were little, Y/N burying her sister in the sand. She took in a deep breath and quickly moved onto the next one, a photo of Chrissy and Jason the night of junior prom. Y/N remembers how Chrissy called her and asked how get to birth control without their mother finding out, and she just laughed at how embarrassed her sister was on the phone. Chrissy chastised her at the time, and now Y/N just wished she could hear her voice again.
The next photos were normal for any teenage girl, pictures of Chrissy and her friends. A school newspaper clipping of the Hawkins cheer squad in a pyramid, her sister at the very top. A few polaroids of her and Jason on dates. One picture surprised Y/N, she never noticed it on the shelf before.
It was a picture of Chrissy and Y/N on graduation day. She was in her cap and gown, Eddie's mixtape in hand. Chrissy was in a blue sundress, a big smile on her face as she hugged her sister. Their dad took the photo, but what wasn't surprising was the two sisters together, it was who else was in the background. Y/N could see Eddie walking towards them, hand in the air like he wanted to get their attention. After he gave her the mixtape, Y/N assumed he drove away, but there he was. She remembered her mother rushing the girls into the car after their dad took the picture, said she wanted to get to Enzo's before the rush. At the time she believed her mother's complaint, but now Y/N thought it was because Eddie was trying to talk to her. She'd have to ask him what he wanted to say to her, if he could remember. It was two years ago.
Y/N grabbed the photo and put it in one of Chrissy's old cheer duffle bag and continued her path around the room. There was the stuffed dog Chrissy always slept with at night, a little black terrier she named Toto. Y/N knew her parents would throw it away, but Chrissy loved it, so she put that in the duffle too. She grabbed the gold locket that she gave her sister for Christmas, a small picture of them both as children inside, and she grabbed a few other knickknacks as well. Y/N found an old scrapbook they made together, and when she sat down on Chrissy's bed to go through it, a thick leather bound book fell out from under the pillow.
Y/N put the scrapbook in the duffle bag and reached for the book. It was Chrissy's diary. She knew that her mother would probably go through it if she found it, and the last thing Chrissy would want was their mother knowing her personal thoughts. Y/N was going to put it straight into the duffle, but she paused. The same temptation to read it when through her head, and she knew it was wrong when she read Eddie's journal, but Y/N couldn't help herself. She opened a random page and started to read.
February 14th, 1984 Dear Diary,
Today is Valentine's Day. Jason is taking me out to dinner later, and for once I'm really excited about it! He bought me flowers, and gave them to me during lunch. A huge bouquet of red roses! Mom gave me a vase to put them in, and they're sitting on top of the dresser. I can't wait to tell Y/N about our date later. I know she doesn't have a date for Valentine's Day, but she said she was going to the movies with her friends today, so I know she won't be alone. Nobody should be alone on Valentine's Day. I was afraid I was going to be after the fight Jason and I got into, but he seems to be over that now. I'm still a little upset with him about what he said, but he seemed sorry. So I guess everything is okay now!
Y/N didn't know about any fight between her sister and Jason back then, they were just starting out in their relationship and in the honeymoon phase. She flipped back a few pages to see if her sister wrote about it.
February 9th, 1984 Dear Diary,
Jason and I got into a fight today. He got mad at me for trying to comfort him after we slept together for the first time. I told him it was okay that it didn't last very long, and that Y/N told me that we were still getting used to each other and that's normal. Jason said that she wasn't the type of girl to be getting advice from. When I asked him what he meant he said that Y/N hooked up with Eddie Munson, so she must be easy. I yelled at him for that, and told him it wasn't true. Apparently Matthew Grayson told everyone on the basketball team that Y/N cheated on him with Eddie, and that's why they broke up. I told him it was a lie. Jason said that Eddie said nothing happened between them too when he heard about it, but no one on the team believed him. Matthew and other guys from the team beat him up after he tried to tell the truth. I told Jason he should apologize to Eddie, but he said he wouldn't be caught dead talking to the freak. That made me sad. Jason isn't a mean guy, but sometimes he says mean things. I at least told him to say it wasn't true to the other guys, and he said he would try his best. I don't want a rumor like that to spread around school about my sister. I know Y/N likes Eddie, even if she won't admit it, but she would never cheat on her boyfriend.
Y/N never knew Matthew said all those things about her. She broke up with him when she realized that she didn't have feelings for him anymore. It was a messy break up, but she didn't think he would make up lies about her. If she ever saw Matthew Grayson's face again she wouldn't hesitate to put him in his place. It was one thing to spread rumors about her, she could have handled it, but to get physical with Eddie? When he was just trying to set the record straight? He really had the worst luck with the people of Hawkins. Y/N flipped through the pages to find some of her sister's more recent entries. The most recent one was from the day she died.
March 21st, 1986
Dear Diary,
I had another nightmare. This one was really bad. I can't even look at Mom's face without seeing the monster I saw in my dreams. The headaches are worse, and I don't know what to do. I just saw an old clock in my room, and when I blinked it wasn't there anymore. I was awake. I know I was. I wanna talk to Y/N, but I can't with Mom home. I don't want her to hear me. I need something to calm me down. I tried drinking myself to sleep last night, but that didn't work. I know Sarah likes to smoke weed to chill out, but I'm not even sure that would work. I think I need something stronger. I know Sarah buys stuff from Eddie, maybe I can get something from him. I just hope Y/N doesn't find out, she'd be so disappointed in me. I'm afraid to talk to Eddie alone though. Y/N says he's a great guy, but he scares me a little. Jason says he's a devil worshipper. I don't think that's true, but you never know. At this point I'll take a deal with the devil, anything to make this stop. I wish Y/N was here. She'd know what to do. She always knows what to do. I miss her so much. I'll call her when I get to school, maybe she can help me.
Y/N could see the ink smudge from her sister's gel pen as she cried over the pages. A deal with the devil was right, she'd do anything to bring her sister back. But she couldn't, and she would never be there for her sister again. The only thing Y/N could do now was stop Vecna once and for all.
Y/N put the diary in the duffle and made her way to the car. She tossed it in the backseat along with the rest of her things and started the drive back to Rick's house. It was already dark, she'd been gone for too long. She left the walkie in the passenger seat while she was in the house. She prayed Eddie didn't try to reach her while she was gone.
"Eddie? Are you there?" She heard some rusting before Eddie's voice rang through.
"Y/N! Christ, there you are." He was whispering, Y/N could barely hear him.
"What's going on? Are you okay?" She was speeding now, desperate to get to him.
"Yes, no, I don't know, man. Jason and his posse are inside Rick's house. I don't know how they figured out where I was, shit. They've got bats, and crow bars and shit. Where are you?" Y/N slammed her foot on the gas, zipping through the back roads of Hawkins. Why was Jason after him? He was at the funeral with the other guys from the basketball team. Y/N would have liked to think Jason wasn't the type to go vigilante, but she always knew something was off about him. Chrissy's diary didn't make her feel any better either. Jason hates Eddie, and if he thought he was responsible for her death... Y/N didn't like to think about what he was capable of.
"I'm 5, maybe 10 minutes away. Try calling Dustin, maybe they're closer. I'll be there soon just hold on."
Y/N pulled up to Rick's house to see Jason and his friends walking towards the boathouse. She jumped out of the car and ran over to the group, they were still dressed in the suits they wore to Chrissy's funeral. They must have been looking for him all day.
"Jason!" She shouted. They all turned to look at her, weapons tightly gripped in each other their hands.
"Y/N? What are you doing here? You shouldn't be here." Jason said with the fake polite tone he used on her parents.
"It's none of your business why I'm here. What are you guys doing here? Why are all of you carrying weapons? What's going on?" Her heart was pounding in her chest. She prayed that Eddie could sneak away while they were all distracted.
"We're looking for Munson. We just want to talk to him." Andy, Chance, and Patrick all nodded behind him. None of them looked like they just wanted to talk, they were looking for a fight.
"Talk? Do you need crowbars to talk Jason? And why are you looking for Eddie anyway?" Y/N tried to peak behind the boys in front of her, but it was too dark to see anything. She didn't know where Eddie was, and it terrified her.
"He's the one that killed Chrissy!" Andy shouted.
"No, he's not. What happened to Chrissy wasn't his fault. You've got it all wrong." Y/N tried to reason with them. She hoped they would listen to her and leave Eddie alone.
"And how do you know anything about that Y/N?" The fake polite tone was gone from Jason's voice then. He sounded sinister, violent. Like the crowbar in his hand wasn't just for Eddie now.
"Because I was there when she died. What killed her wasn't... it wasn't Eddie. Eddie and I were trying to give her an intervention that night, because she wanted to buy some Special K. I was in his room with him when she died in the trailer. He's innocent." Y/N was trying to be brave now, show no weakness in front of them. She couldn't afford to break, not with Eddie's life on the line.
"Did you see who killed her then? If you are so sure of his innocence?" Y/N didn't know what to say, what she could say. She thought they had more time to get their stories straight. She thought she could talk it over with Dustin and his friends once they had more information to go on. It was too late now.
"I didn't see who killed her. Chrissy was already dead when Eddie and I left the room." It was a half truth, but it was the best she could come up with in the moment. She hoped it would satisfy Jason.
"Oh I see..." Jason was laughing at her now, mean and cruel. "While you were busy whoring yourself out to the freak, Chrissy was left alone to die." It felt like a slap to the face. Every word out of his mouth dripping with venom as he said it. Andy and Chance were laughing behind him, as if this whole thing was hilarious.
"You have no idea what you're getting yourself into. Leave Jason. Right now." Y/N steeled herself in front of them, sick of their useless judgement. All of the boys stayed put, refusing to back down while their leader continued his charade.
"So you don't deny it huh? Wow, turns out Grayson was right boys. Y/N Cunningham, Eddie Munson's little slu-" Y/N didn't let him finish the sentence before she punched him in the face. Jason didn't expect the hit, so he nearly went down when her fist connected with his cheek. Andy and Chance caught him before he fell, dropping their weapons in the process.
"For once in your life Jason just shut the fuck up! You talk as if you have any clue what's going on but you don't! So why don't you just take your little toys, your laughable alpha male attitude, and go... Chrissy would be mortified with your behavior right now. If she weren't already gone, she'd dump your sorry ass in a second." Jason looked like he was about to lunge at her when Chance saw something in the water.
"Look! There's something over there!" Jason turned towards the lake, noticing the ripples in the shoreline. All of them took off running, Y/N following closely behind. Once they got around the boathouse she could see Eddie peddling the small boat in the water.
"Holy shit.. Hey freak!" Jason shouted. Y/N could see Eddie twist to look at them, he pulled the oar out of the water.
"Where do you think you're going?" Jason started to take off his suit, and Patrick started to do the same. They was going after Eddie.
"Stop it!" Y/N screamed. She tried to run closer to the shore, but Chance and Andy held her back. She fought against their firm grips on her arms, neither of them possessing the gentleness Eddie had when he held her.
"Y/N!" Eddie shouted. Y/N looked up, he looked like he was about to dive into the water.
"Go! Start the engine and go! Now!" Eddie paused. He didn't want to leave her there.
"I'll be okay! Just go-" Andy covered her mouth with her hand, she bit it as hard as she could.
"Ow! You bitch!" He kneed Y/N in the stomach, knocking the wind out of her. She could see Jason and Patrick swimming towards the boat, what was left in her lungs she screamed to Eddie.
"Go!" Eddie tried pulling the engine cord, but it was a bust. So he started rowing further out in the lake, Jason and Patrick quick on his tail. Y/N kept fighting Andy and Chance off, but they had her arms pulled so far back she thought they would rip out of their sockets. She was stuck. Stuck watching as Jason and Patrick began closing the gap between them and Eddie.
All of the sudden Patrick stopped, Jason was yelling something but she couldn't hear it. They were too far out. Eddie stopped too, and they all watched in horror as Patrick flew into the air. His body was contorting in every direction, just like Chrissy's body did. Then just like her, he fell. His body plummeting into the water with a deafening splash.
It was happening again. Vecna's curse. He had taken another victim.
Taglist:
@imchangkyunned , @creativedogs , @nightless , @kik51199 , @thecraziestcrayon , @dabzzallday420 , @science--hoes , @efvyqrs , @justanotherkpopstanlol ,
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drrealityslenderverse · 2 years ago
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Mall Date
A03 Request: Chris and Alex (DH) mall date fluff
Back to main Contents || Back to One-shot Contents
It was one of those weekends where everything was perfect. The weather was nice and the noon sun was filtering through the large skylight on the mall ceiling. Chris looked up through the clear glass while listening to the indoor fountain at his back. Some of the water was misting onto his back as he sat on the marble edge but he didn’t mind; it actually felt nice. 
“Chris!” The all too familiar voice he’d been waiting for broke through the mill of other families, couples, and groups of friends.
He looked in the direction of the voice, a smile forming on his lips as he stood and watched Alex walk over. The couple embraced, Alex placing a chaste kiss on top of his shaggy side-swept hair before moving to his side where Chris took his hand. 
“You’re late.” He looked up at the broader man with a light-hearted tone of accusation.
“Sorry, my parents made me finish my chores and I barely got out of watching my little sis.” 
Despite Alex’s annoyed huff at the thought of being stuck home all day to watch his sister, Chris knew he wouldn’t really mind. Alex loved his family and truthfully didn’t mind the make believe games his sister made him play with her—he once dropped by in the middle of a ‘tea party’ to find Alex grumbling with exaggerated displeasure in a frilly tutu and plastic crown.
“Come on, they’ll be sold out if we don’t hurry.” 
Chris tugged his boyfriend along behind him as he be-lined straight for the store they always visited. He’d already seen lines out this morning for the new Zelda game but hoped there was still a copy left that they could split the cost for. He and Alex had been hyped to play it since they’d seen the first trailers for it, especially since they’d already played through the older games several times. Still fun but now they wanted something new to challenge. 
The store was still busy when they walked in, though the lines had certainly gone down. Chris could see cut outs and posters of Link all over the store. As expected, most of the shelves where the new games had once sat were barren. His heart sank despite Alex giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. 
“Don’t worry. I know a guy who works here.” Alex chuckled and headed for the line, waiting patiently.
“Seriously?” Chris shook his head. He probably should’ve guessed considering how calm Alex had been. 
His boyfriend just laughed quietly for a moment and moved to the counter as their turn approached. Chris watched as he spoke to the employee and saw the copy of the game get placed into a plastic bag. He pulled out his half of the payment and sat it on the counter next to Alex’s portion. It was only minutes later that they were walking back out of the store with the new game. Excitement coursed through him as he pondered what adventures the two of them would have while playing through it. 
“You know, it’d be a waste to leave now. Let’s grab some lunch.” Alex suggested, turning to head for the heart of the bustling mall. 
“Sure, you know I could go for one of those big pretzels.” 
“You always get that.” Alex rolled his eyes, teasing of course. He couldn’t actually ridicule Chis about it when a slice of pizza was his constant go-to when eating at the mall.
It was rare they ventured out and tried one of the few actual restaurants here. They usually didn’t have quite enough money for those places unless something on the menu was shareable. Getting good-paying jobs wasn’t exactly easy when they weren’t even out of high school yet. Part time at fast food joints didn’t exactly pay well. 
Minutes later and the two were sitting with their food at one of the many tables in the food court. There were more people bustling around this area of the mall than the rest, though given the time it was to be expected. Chris leaned against Alex’s side as he tore bite-sized pieces of his pretzel off and ate them. The pair chatted between bites of food, excited about the game and complaining about their latest school projects. 
“Where’re we going after this? Mine or your’s?” Chris tilted his head to look up at Alex, cheek still pressed against his boyfriend’s shoulder. 
“Your place. My sister will just interrupt us at my house.” 
Chris figured as much. He shot a quick heads-up to his parents, though knew they wouldn’t care one way or another. His family would let Alex live there if he wanted—he practically did with how often they hung out. Chris was sure Alex’s parents felt similarly about him. 
Alex nudged him and stood, tossing his trash in a bin with Chris following. An arm wrapped around his shoulders as Alex steered them for the exit. “Com’on let’s get going.”
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birdofdawning · 2 years ago
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Sleepovers
@madronash said this should be a thing.
A continuation of Sleepovers, featuring an actual sleepover.
Chapter 3
Myka is feeling full and happy and ever so slightly sleepy after two glasses of wine as Helena lets them into her apartment. It’s in a 1930s building, all brick and ornate glass and ironwork, and is so Helena Myka feels like hugging herself. The room before her is a collection of dark shapes lit only by the pale city lights falling through a tall set of bay windows. Her boots step onto a wooden floor.
Then Helena flicks on a light and Myka says “Oh”. She had forgotten how messy Helena was. There are orphaned pieces of machinery sitting on small tables, on chairs, on a window sill, but mostly carelessly arranged around a soldering station set up on the kitchen counter.  Hand drawn diagrams and lists have been pinned haphazardly to the walls (Myka briefly worries about Helena’s security deposit) or lie, scattered, around the floor. There is a large map of the constellations taped slightly askew above a bookshelf, and an old movie poster proclaiming ‘Carl Laemmle presents H. G. WELLS’ Fantastic Sensation THE INVISIBLE MAN’. On the back of the door Helena has just closed behind them is a calendar featuring ‘fancy pigeons’. But she can see no other pictures, nothing more personal.
But books! There are books everywhere. Myka remembers Helena’s packrat habits from the few exciting weeks she worked as a fellow agent. Even after Helena — and her room — had disappeared, Myka was still finding odd paperbacks and secondhand novels secreted away around the Bed and Breakfast for months after her own reinstatement. Honestly, these constant little reminders of Helena, and of how stupidly happy Myka had been, probably drew out a bad time longer than it needed to be. She allows Helena to take her coat and steps forward to examine the nearest pile of books.
“Perhaps it’s a little cluttered?” says Helena, who has apparently been looking at her space with fresh eyes. “They’re very small rooms,” she adds, hopefully, “Though I still pay an appalling amount for them,” she finishes, more gloomily.
“It’s… charming. ‘The maid’s day off’ I guess?”
“I don’t have a maid.”
“No, that’s a thing people— actually, don’t worry. I guess you did have maids once.”
“Oh, as soon as we could. It was a status thing. And once you could afford domestic staff — who were worked like serfs, by the way, I should know — you were expected to drop all your friends who didn’t have servants.” Still holding Myka’s coat she looks around for somewhere to put it. After a moment she hangs it over a nearby dressmaker’s dummy. “We didn’t drop people, though, Charles and I. We were Bohemians.”
This is probably the most Helena has shared about her previous life in three years, and Myka desperately tries to think how she can keep the conversation going. But Helena’s pocket buzzes and the moment is over. “Excuse me,” she says, taking her phone out and reading whatever is there, “I should deal with this. The bedroom is through there, and the bathroom beyond.” And she steps toward the windows, absorbed.
She has a girlfriend remembers Myka. Her own phone remains firmly turned off, so she takes the top book from the pile beside her and carries her duffle bag into the next room.
Helena’s bedroom is slightly less messy than the rest of the apartment, but Myka can still easily see which side of the bed she favours by the papers and books piled up on the floor and side-table beside it. She drops her bag onto the other side, secures her weapon in its case, and changes into yoga pants and her oversized Eagles t-shirt. In the next room she can hear Helena speaking quietly to someone, so she takes her toothbrush and steps into the bathroom, least she be tempted to eavesdrop.
Ten minutes later, when Helena comes to find her, she is propped up in bed reading Lord Edgware Dies.
“I had forgotten you wore glasses,” says Helena. “A bespectacled Bering. What are you reading?”
“Oh, just a Cozy,” says Myka, smiling happily.
“A Cosy.”
“Oh, you’d probably call it a Whodunnit.”
“A Whodunnit.”
“Or, no, perhaps that term came later. One of these,” she waves the paperback, “A mystery novel based around a crime, usually murder, with a small number of potential suspects. And the puzzle is the point of the story.”
“Ah, yes.” Helena takes off her own coat and, after moment’s thought, hangs it from the top of the open door.
“It must be exhausting, still catching up with everything even after four years,” says Myka, “I don’t know how you manage.”
“I take a lot of hot showers,” says Helena, slowly beginning to unbutton her shirt. She stares expressionlessly at the bed. Myka wonders what she’s thinking.
“It’s nice when I find a new one.”
“What?” says Helena.
“A Cozy. One I haven’t read before. Because I always remember the solution? So I can’t really reread them.”
“Ah.”
“… Are you going to get changed? Into pyjamas?”
“I suppose I am,” says Helena. She opens a nearby drawer and starts rummaging through it. Myka goes back to her book.
She’s onto the third chapter when Helena comes out of the bathroom, freshly showered, and wearing a long white night-gown. Myka laughs out loud in surprise.
“You can shut your head,” suggests Helena airily, pulling back the covers and getting in beside her. “I can’t sleep comfortably in all that,” she points a circling finger at Myka’s t-shirt, “… so it’s either this or…” she trails off, and then: “I have a breakfast appointment at eight. Do you mind if I turn off the main light?”
“Oh, I think I’m done.” Myka glances at her page number and places the paperback on top of the pile of books on her side of the bed. She pulls her glasses off and yawns. “Tired.”
“I’m not at all surprised. You’ve had an intense day. Beleuchtung!” Abruptly the room is dark, the only light coming from the dim room beyond.
Myka pretends she isn't a little impressed. “I’ll probably wake up at five and go for a run.”
“Of course you will,” says Helena. “I won’t. So don’t wake me up. There should be a key…” she stops to have a think about where a key might be. “Or you could just take the ones in my coat pocket,” she decides.
There’s a moment of silence. Then Myka gasps. “Helena! You forgot to brush your hair one-hundred times!”
A sharp elbow digs into her arm and she sniggers, pleased with herself.
“You are overexcited, my girl,” Helena’s voice is stern. “Too much wine, I suspect. I shall have to make sure you take less next time.”
“You’re gonna take me out to dinner again?” says Myka mock-excited, “I didn’t embarrass you too much with my simple country ways?”
“Perhaps asking for a spittoon was a little too much, even for San Francisco, but at least you’ll know for the future. Why, I’ll have you ready for polite company in no time at all. That is, if I wish to win McGillicuddy's wager and repair the fortunes of my estate,” Helena says in an aside to an imaginary audience.
“Take care you don’t fall in love with me, and throw the bet out of misguided sentimentality. And then exile yourself to the continent, drinking too much and consorting with low women because you think I’m too good for you.”
There’s a beat, then Helena’s voice says “Sadly I fear that you have fallen in with a confirmed rake, and will soon discover — and to your detriment, my girl! — that such mawkishness is beyond my character. So yes, if you’re good, I shall take you out to dinner again.”
Myka laughs. “I’ll be good.” She wriggles a little closer to the warm body beside her and sighs contentedly. Tomorrow she will have to deal with Artie and the fallout from her brief text this afternoon, and with Pete being worried and Claudia demanding answers, and maybe even Mrs Frederic. But tonight she is with her friend and happy.
Helena is still talking. “Yes, well, we don’t really have a choice. I’m hardly going to cook for you. I’m not some slavey at your beck and call.”
“I bet you can’t cook.”
Helena sniffs. “I could if I wanted to. It’s simple chemistry, a discipline at which I excel.”
Myka hears her shifting around, and suddenly her breathing is a little closer. She smells of peppermint toothpaste and violets.
“This is nice,” whispers Myka. “I once… um, maybe kinda more than once imagined this. After you told me about sharing a bed with the other apprentices.”
“Yes?”
“Yes. And I imagined how we’d be fifteen and I’d listen to you tell me all the things you were thinking about making stories of. The crystal egg, and the growth formula. Elstead’s bathysphere. You know, no-one invented an actual bathysphere until thirty years after you wrote about it.”
“I did.”
Myka laughs. “Of course you did. But yeah. God, I fangirled over you so bad.”
There’s a pause. “And then I ruined it all.”
“Yeah,” says Myka, because she did.
She lies facing Helena, listening to her slow breathing. She can just make out the shape of her head now, see her black hair spread out over the white pillow.
“I’m sorry.”
“I know.”
They are both still for a time. Outside, beneath them, a bus pulls up and Myka can hear people talking loudly as they stumble off.
Helena stirs. “The other girls thought my ideas were silly. Or strange. They tended to avoid me,” she says. “I was… it was a lonely existence, my adolescence.”
Myka reaches out and finds her hand, because she knows exactly what that was like.
“It wasn’t until I got published… Lord, I was ecstatic, Myka. Even if it was as someone else, a man, even then, having people enjoy my ideas, and discuss them as if they were worth discussion... You can have no idea.”
Myka supposes she can’t, so she just squeezes Helena’s hand.
“Here, working in this city, I am taken seriously. Well, once I show people what I can do. I mean to say, I’m not dismissed out of hand, d’you see? But still, that feeling of capturing the imagination of a nation…” she sighs.
“You miss it.”
“Who wouldn’t? Oh!” And she sits up and twists around, searching for something by the bed. “I was going to read you my—my (where is that bothersome…?)—my story!”
But Myka reaches for her, her arm curling around Helena’s waist, and gently pulls her back under the covers. “Tomorrow,” she says, and Helena allows herself to be drawn close. They end up together in the middle of the bed. Myka keeps her arm around Helena’s waist.
“Tomorrow then,” says Helena, a little gruffly.
She can feel Helena watching her, her breathing a little rougher now, perhaps from the exertion of leaning over the bed.
“Myka?”
“Mmm?”
“When was the last time you slept in a bed with a woman?”
Myka laughs. “God! When was the last time I was in bed with anyone—?” And then they both remember and are silent, but Helena reaches up and begins stroking Myka’s hair. Myka leans into her hand and tries again.
“Tracey, I suppose. Or— no! My roommate when I was pre-law. We’d go to a party or something and then she’d make me come to bed with her.” She laughs, remembering. “God, she was so affectionate when she was drunk, it was funny. I thought she was wonderful.”
Helena doesn’t say anything.
“Nothing. I—” She sighs. “Oh, my darling. What am I to do with you?”
“What?” whispers Myka, because she can feel Helena’s mind working.
Myka smiles to herself. “Nothin’,” she says squeezing Helena gently. “Just be here.” She shifts her head to rest on Helena’s shoulder. “Sleepy. G’night.” She kisses Helena’s neck absently. “Love you.” And she is asleep.
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finnyboywolfhard · 4 years ago
Text
Shut Him Up
Richie Tozier x Reader 
Aged up 5 years after fight with IT so they are 18 :)
summary: The Losers Club has a movie night and Richie doesn’t know how to shut up. 
warnings: cursing, fluff
word count: 2.1k 
           Popcorn popped loudly in the vibrating microwave, Y/N maneuvered around the kitchen gathering the various snacks and drinks that the Loser’s requested. She grabbed a large bowl for the popcorn as a knock pounded against the door.
“Hold on!” Y/N dropped the hot bag and rushed over to the door, pulling it open with a huff, delighted to see Beverly Marsh behind the door. “Oh thank god it’s you.” Y/N said wrapping her arms around Bev.
“You sure are happy to see me.”
“Because I know you’ll actually help me get everything set up and not just goof off. If Richie was the first one here one more time I was gonna go crazy.” Y/N explained as she walked to the kitchen, handing Bev a few bags of chips and a tray holding drinks. Y/N poured the popcorn in a bowl and grabbed the packages of candy from beside her and ushered for Bev to follow her through the corridor to her Living Room. They dropped the snacks onto the table. Y/N looked down to see she was still in her “nicer” clothes.
“Hey, I’m gonna go get changed real quick, open the door if any of them come.”
“I need you to know I’m gonna snoop.” Bev yelled out as Y/N began bounding up the stairs.
“You always do!” Y/N yelled back. Once inside her room, she rummaged through her drawers to find an old t-shirt and a pair of pajama pants. She put on a pair of socks, grabbed a few blankets from her room and came back down to a room full of teenage boys. She looked around at how the chairs and couches filled up, to see that she was once again stranded on the loveseat with the chatterbox himself Richie Tozier.
“Hey Bev! I think you might have left something in my room last week, can you come with me for a sec?” Y/N yelled, just peering around the corner. All eyes looked at her.
“What did she forget?” Ben asked as Bev passed by him.
“A girl thing, there’s a reason I didn’t say what.”
“Oh so a Brassiere!” Richie said in the annoying British voice before switching back to his own. “You could have just said Y/N/N, we all know you both have tits.”
           Y/N simply flipped him off and grabbed Bev’s hand to go upstairs. The two got inside Y/N’s room and Y/N just crossed her arms and looked at her.
“What? Why are you mad?”
“How the hell did I end up next to Richie AGAIN?”
“We practically have assigned seats at this point…” Bev said trying to play it off.
“Bullshit. Last week you sat in the La-Z-Boy with Bill and this week you’re on the big couch with Ben, Mike and Stan. What is up?” Y/N stared at Bev until she finally broke.
“Okay, he has a crush on you and is too scared to tell you so he keeps asking to sit next to you and showing up first.” Y/N’s jaw hung slack for a few moments before she snapped it shut and ran her hands through her hair. She collapsed backwards onto her bed.
“Beeeevvvvvv. This can’t be happening to me.”
“Oh please, like you don’t feel the same way.” Bev said grabbing Y/N’s hands and pulling her to sit up.
“What are you—“ Y/N looks at Bev who just cocks her head as if to ask ‘are you serious?’. “Fine, maybe I do. But he NEVER shuts up during movies. It ruins the experience.”
“Just ask him to stop, he’d do anything you ask, I’m sure of it.” Bev said. “Now, we have to get down there or else they’ll know this was definitely a lie.”
The two giggle as they leave the room and go back down the stairs. Y/N hip bumps Bev as Bev goes to her seat on the couch and Y/N puts in the movie.
“Kay Stanley, what did you bring us on this fine evening?” Y/N said as she glanced down at the CD.
“Forrest Gump. It was released in theaters a few months ago, the woman at Blockbuster said that it is a must see. It has Tom Hanks.”
“Oh that’s the dude on the poster in the Arcade!” Richie piped in.
“Yeah it is Richie! Doesn’t it have umm…the woman who played Princess Buttercup…umm Ro—“
“Robin Wright!” Stanley finished her thought. “Yeah it is, so you’ve heard of it?”
“Yeah my parents saw it, they loved it. I guess we’re in for a treat.” Y/N flashed her smile to the Loser’s as she tiptoed her way to beside Richie. She couldn’t help but notice that there was only one blanket on the seat.
“Hey guys? I thought I brought down a blanket for each of us?” Y/N looked around the room, the sound of previews playing. Her eyes finally landed on Bev, who had a curious smirk across her face.
“Oh…huh…when I was distributing them there was only seven…I guess you didn’t.”
“It’s fine, I’ll just go grab another.” Before she could leave, Richie grabbed a hold of her hand.
“Don’t worry about that, just take this one. I don’t get cold.”
“Yeah, okay, sure. We all know that’s true.” Y/N said sarcastically, dropping onto the seat. The movie had only been playing for about 15 minutes and Y/N swore that Richie was leaning over and whispering something for 14 minutes of it.  
“Psst…Y/N/N…” Richie leaned over to whisper once more.
“What?!” Y/N whispered back with force.
“I actually am cold, can we share?” She looked over, he was giving her puppy dog eyes and her hard exterior was being broken with each second she held eye contact.
“Fine.” She untucked the blanked from under her and threw it across Richie’s Lap. She had to scoot closer in order for the blanket to comfortably cover them both.
“Oooh, awfully close there sweetheart. It’s almost like you like me or some shit.” Richie teased. Y/N just rolled her eyes and kept her focus onto the movie. The blanket and close proximity kept Richie quiet for a bit, but not too long.
“Y/N/N.”
“Richie, please, can you just shut the fuck up?” Y/N/N plead to him in a whisper. She looked toward him, unaware of how close they were, as their noses nearly grazed. Richie took in a breath.
“Make me.” He said, softening his frame. Y/N didn’t know what took over her. Maybe it was the fact that she wanted to actually watch the movie. Maybe it was the fact that she’s had a crush on Richie for the past two years. Maybe she’s using it as ammunition against his crush. She didn’t know for certain, but she leaned forward and kissed Richie. At first gently--longingly. But then she pulled his head closer to her for a more passionate kiss for a few seconds and then she pulled back. She sat back firmly against the couch. Richie sat dazed for a second, glancing between Y/N and his own lap before sitting back just as Y/N did.
           The credits began to roll when Mike leaned over and flicked on the lamp in the room. Everyone did the usual stretching and readjusting to light. Stan and Eddie started to small talk about the movie but their attention was piqued by Bev.
“Y/N, did you break Richie?” Bev asked, looking towards the boy who was sitting back against the loveseat, with love struck eyes and a confused look across his face. Every so often he would just look over towards Y/N and then immediately just back to his lap. Y/N glanced over for the first time since and giggled to herself a little bit.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Y/N said just for the ruse.
“Look at him! He’s like…glazed over.” Eddie said flailing at the boy sitting there.
“Yeah, and I haven’t heard him in like 45 minutes, that’s not normal.” Stanley agreed. Suddenly, Richie snaps out of his daze and cockily turns to Y/N.
“Come on, Y/N/N. Show them what you did to me.” Richie smirked in the cockiest way he ever has. As much as she hated it, she kinda loved it too.
“Fine, I will.” Y/N declared in the same tone, making glaring eye contact as she pulled Richie in for a kiss. It lasted for a few moments before they pulled apart. They looked at each other for a few moments.
“What just happened?” Mike said blankly bursting the bubble the two were in.
“That was so…” Eddie pauses to gag. “So fucking nasty.”
“Wow thank you Eds for those touching words.” Y/N sarcastically said.
“Are you gonna explain or are we just gonna sit here?” Bev asked.
“He wouldn’t shut the fuck up during the movie so I asked him to, and he said ‘make me’, so I kissed him. It worked.” She said, maintaining eye contact with Bev, who then started to giggle. Richie’s eyes moved between the two girls, piecing things together.
“Fuck you Bev. You fucking told her.” Richie said standing up angrily, gathering his stuff up, clearly about to storm out.
“Richie I—“Bev started to answer.
“I don’t want to hear it. You both embarrassed me, I��I gotta go.” Richie tried to get past Bill and Mike who had now formed a barrier in front of the door.
“R-R-R-Richie, just listen to th-th-them.” Bill said.
“Why should I?” Richie said. Y/N nervously stood from the love seat and turned to face the doorway.
“Because I’m in love with you.”
“You’re fucking in love with me?” Richie asked shocked.
“Let’s go upstairs, shall we?” Y/N laced her hands through Richie’s and pulls him up the stairs. She slinks through her door and sits on the edge of the bed, patting the spot next to her for Richie. He sits down, and starts wringing his hands. The silence is deafening. “Hey.” She said as she leans to bump into him.
“Y/N/N…” he said dishearteningly. As she looked at him, her gut told her to just say ‘Fuck it’.
“Richie I have had a crush on you since that day two years ago when you found me crying in the clubhouse. You just sat and listened to me, and you made me feel so…safe. It was a side of you I had never seen before. And I liked it. And then suddenly I started liking everything. Except for when you talk through movies, but everything else.” She giggled, and looked at him. She loved the way his curls framed his face and the way his brown eyes still sparkled unlike any other. She loved the way sometimes his mouth looked too big for his face. She loved the way he would overcompensate with his jokes. She loved the way he would tease and treat all of the Losers the same way, and that he cared about spending time with each and every single one of them. He was so loyal, and funny, and handsome, and he was just so utterly Richie.
“You were even pretty when you were crying.” Richie joked back. “I’ve liked you since after the fight with IT, when you asked me if I was okay. No one ever asks me that. I’m surprised you didn’t catch on to this whole fucking crush thing sooner.”
“I’m surprised you were such a pussy and didn’t make the first move.” Y/N responded back.
“Ouch, Y/N, getting me right where it hurts.” Richie pretending to stab himself through the heart and fell back onto the bed. He pulled a dead face, only for a second before he opened one eye and turned to her to see her reaction. Through breathy laughs, she leaned down to hover over the boy. His hand found a base at the nape of her neck and pulled her in for a gentle kiss. It started off sweet and soft but as they realized the position they were in, Y/N flipped her leg over his waist in order to straddle him. The kiss began to pick up speed and passion. The two started to really get into it, only to be cut off by the Losers slamming the door open.
“Oh gross! You guys! We were right down stairs!” Eddie shrieked. Y/N climbed off of Richie.
“As if I would fuck him the very first night we’re dating.”
“We’re dAting?” Richie’s voice cracked with excitement. Y/N turned to him, gave him a peck and a smiley nod yes. “Oh Fuck yeah!”
“Does this mean we’re gonna find y’all making out during movie nights now?”
“God no!”-- “Hell yeah!” Richie and Y/N responded in unison, there were definitely a few things they still needed to work out, but they were happier than ever before.
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