#i love friends to lovers down bad

[majestyeverlasting]

｡･ﾟﾟ･ 𝐁𝐄𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐂

“And all I can think about every time you leave is how I let you walk away without telling you how fucking much I enjoy you being around.”

AWWWWWFIJGKS 😩😩🥹🩷🩷

Jk. In all seriousness, this fic is so special to me.

I was scrolling through the reblogs after this reread, and I'm shocked by how long some of you guys have been reading my work. Time really does fly. I'm so grateful for those of you who've been following me for a while, and for all the new readers I've gained along the way.

This was literally me reading the usernames:

Writing this fic was so enjoyable. I'm such a sucker for friends to lovers, and I really wanted to create an air of ease around them. One that really made you believe they've known each other forever and are completely gone for one another even though they hadn't quite said it out loud.

There's so much I could say, but I'll be brief and start with the opening scene.

If I'm remembering correctly, the foundation of this fic was built on the concept of making a wish on an eyelash. I thought it would be the sweetest thing to open with reader taking one off Eddie's cheek. I love starting during small, intimate moments like this when it feels right for the story.

As soon as Eddie feels the pad of your finger meet the skin of his cheek, his lips curl into a soft smile.

Uggh. I just love that mental image.

I'd also like to rally a little commotion for the title drop that occurs a little later (spoken by reader). It's ironic but in the best way.

“Here I was thinking this was gonna be just another Friday night.” 

My approach to choosing of titles is to skim through the fic when it's complete to look for lines of dialogue or description that capture the essence of the story in some way, shape, or form.

This whole fic just feels very youthful, and fun, and sincere. I'm so happy to have shared it with the world. Thank you to everyone who has given this fic a chance (and continues to!). It means so much to me.

-Hannah 🤍

Just Another Friday Night

This piece contains 18+ content and explores the idea of Eddie as a soft dom.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Summary: Eddie Munson's been your best friend since fifth grade. And on a night you think is going to pass just like any other, you realize you can't keep running from the way you feel.

Word Count: 6.2k

A/N: I hath returned. So excited to finally have this one out for you guys! Hopefully the person who requested this many moons ago is still somewhere in my orbit.

As soon as Eddie feels the pad of your finger meet the skin of his cheek, his lips curl into a soft smile. It brings small lines to the corners of his eyes and reveals the glint of his teeth in the dim light. Concentration sparkles in your eyes like water does beneath the moon. 

Both of you are seated on his messy bed. Him with his legs falling over the edge, and you angled towards him with your legs crossed. His breaths are steady, fingers lax from no longer strumming the strings of his guitar. 

When you finally manage to collect the fallen eyelash from his cheek, you hold out your pointer finger for him to see. If you’d been focussed on the song he was playing rather than studying his face, you never would’ve noticed the tiny hair to begin with. 

“M’kay.” His eyes flick back up to meet yours. “Now what?” 

You raise your finger closer to his lips. “You’ve got a wish to make.”

If there was anyone deserving of one, it was him. It had been almost a year since he crawled out of the Upside Down by the skin of his teeth. Half alive. You remembered all the long nights you’d spent by his hospital bed as he recovered.  

An air of weightlessness washes over both of you after Eddie blows it off your finger. As if somewhere far away, the course of time and happenings shifted in his favor.

“You can finish your song now. Sorry.” Smiling shyly, you tuck your hands into your lap and wiggle to get comfortable.

He smiles wider, but makes a quick work of tampering it back down. 

When he begins playing, you make sure to focus this time, letting the music soak in and flow through you. The passion is palpable, along with the underlying sense of purpose that hangs off the tail end of each resonant note. 

You’d been around to listen to him since the days he played off-tune chords with unsteady hands. As he sat playing now, hair curtained around his face, you knew he could easily captivate thousands if given the chance. 

As the song winds to an end, he looks at you and his fingers slow as the notes dissolve between you. The only thing left for you to do is applaud. Your approval makes him feel like there’s electricity buzzing beneath his veins. 

He absentmindedly strums a few quiet notes to keep his fingers busy, eyes remaining on you. “You’re the first person to hear it all the way through.” 

“Really? I loved it.” Honesty drips like honey from your words. 

He looks down to the fingerboard so you don’t see the faint flush of his cheeks. “Thanks. Lotta practice.”  

When he stands to hang his guitar back on the wall, you watch the way his shoulder blades shift under his t-shirt. You don’t mean to look as hard as you do. There was something captivating about the way he moved. Some days, he couldn’t sit still, but there were also nights like this one where he seemed to have embodied the very essence of ease. 

“So are you gonna add it to your setlist?”

He doesn’t answer right away, making sure Sweetheart is mounted securely. 

“Maybe after I’ve cleaned it up a bit,” he says. “The turnouts have been sick lately.” Gratitude glints in his eyes as they meet yours. 

Playing in front of a crowd at The Hideout was incomparable to selling out a venue like The Garden. But Eddie swore the gratification felt the same. With each new show, it’d been getting harder to find you in the crowd because of how many people had finally started giving him and the boys a chance. He never thought that locating you amid a sea head-bobbing bodies would be a pleasure he ever had. 

“Will I be getting a raise for spreading the word?” You tilt your head and bite back a smile.

He plays along as easily as breathing, biceps flexing as he crosses his arms. “You already eat my snacks, steal my jewelry, and make me drive you around,” he lists. “I don’t know what else there is to offer you, but it sure as hell won’t be Benjamin’s.” 

You have the nerve to blink up at him like a fawn. “It’s not my fault you hardly tell me no.” 

You make it easy to say yes a million times over. Again and again. 

There’s nothing for him to quip back with, so he sighs and studies you for the umpteenth time that night. There’s something amused about the glimmer in his eyes, but a fondness there as well. You’re wearing soft pants and a baggy sweater, looking effortlessly beautiful in a way that only you can manage. 

Guilt wastes no time prickling beneath his skin when you curl in on yourself a bit, self-conscious. You’ve never grown used to the way he makes you feel so seen. Part of you fears he can see right through to feelings you’ve been fighting to keep tucked away. 

He clears his throat and runs a hand through his eternally disheveled hair. 

“Maybe I should get better about that then,” he decides. “Start telling you no more often.” A lighthearted smile pulls at his lips. 

You look over at his alarm clock so you don’t drown within the increasing warmth of his umber eyes. You’re not ready to fall even though that’s what it feels like you’ve been doing for so long. 

He bites his lip in preparation for the weight of his next words, “I’ve been meaning to tell—“ 

“My folks are expecting me back by ten.” It’s the first thing you can think to say despite the fact that they hardly ever give you curfews. “I forgot to mention it sooner.”

“Oh.” He glances to his nightstand to scrutinize the red numbers glowing on the clock. Disappointment swells within him and makes him fidget. “How the hell is it almost ten already? Thing’s gotta be broken.” 

He pats the top of the device as if the right time was suddenly going to appear. “You can’t say for ten more minutes?” You shake your head apologetically. “How ‘bout five?” Another head shake. “Fuck—a minute thirty?” 

A laugh bubbles up your throat, making a helplessly gooey feeling melt down the walls of his chest. 

All too soon, with no success in convincing you, he’s walking you out to your car. 

The night’s chill nips at both of you without reprieve. You hug your arms and break into a jog to escape it faster, leaving Eddie slowly striding behind you in hopes of prolonging his last few moments with you. 

He watches you hop inside your family’s old station wagon and give the engine stuttering life. The headlights are soon to follow, illuminating a cluster of jittery moths. 

The feeling of his stare boring into the side of your face through the window makes you give into the urge to crank it down, handle squeaking faintly along with your movements. 

“Stop looking at me like that.” 

“Like what?” He huffs out a chuckle. “Where am I supposed to look? Up?” He tips his head backwards, and his demeanor immediately shifts. “Hey, the stars are out.” 

You peer through the windshield to see for yourself. Sure enough, countless of them shine like dull guardians miles and miles above lonesome Hawkins. They seem to span forever in every direction. The child in you looks for any surges of brightness or streaks that would indicate a shooting star. 

“The view’s better out here.” There’s a persuasive lilt to his voice. 

You don’t dare get out of the car. If you do, you wouldn’t make it home at all. It was getting too easy to be in his presence, like he was the bread and you were the butter that helplessly melted on top because you knew it’s where you belonged. 

“I really gotta go, E.” You swallow the sadness that wants to color your words as you buckle your seatbelt and settle back into the seat. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

He kicks at a cigarette butt on the ground, and nods. You were always within arms reach, yet lightyears away. 

“Tomorrow,” he repeats. “Copy that.” 

A silence settles between you. The only sounds that prevail are the hum of your car engine, crickets, and muffled peels of laughter carrying from a few trailers down. 

Every time, it was you who pulled away at the eleventh hour before the dawn of something new. 

“Good night, Eddie.” 

•••

The cash register snaps closed with a resonant clamber. A beat later, you’re reaching out to take your change from the middle-aged lady thoughtfully chewing a piece of pink bubblegum behind the counter. The two of you are the only souls in the store. Humming freezers and a quiet instrumental soundtrack fill the air. 

She speaks up as you turn to leave, “You alright there, sweetheart?” 

“Just tired.” You sheepishly raise the bag carrying the Melatonin you’d purchased. 

Even God knew you weren’t going to be able to fall asleep on your own tonight. You’d lie awake thinking of all the reasons why you should’ve stayed. 

You take the time to read her name tag then: Irene. 

Her frown is sympathetic. “It’s a boy, isn’t it?” Warmth rushes to your cheeks. She then leans onto the counter and you feel compelled to take a step closer. “What’s his deal?” She studies your face for any hints before asking a different question, 

“What’s your deal?”  

You shrug lamely, and Irene tilts her head. You don’t owe her an answer, but you can’t help but feel as though you need to hear it for yourself. 

“I’m scared.” 

“It’s okay to be scared.” She blows a bubble and it pops neatly without sticking to her lips. “But it’s up to you to decide if you wanna be scared forever.”

•••

Eddie’s staring up at the ceiling when a faint series of knocks sound at the front door. Instead of moving, he blows out another cloud of smoke and watches as it dissipates into a thin haze in the air. The breeze entering through the cracked window helps filter it out. It isn’t until the knocks get louder that he’s convinced his mind isn’t playing tricks on him. 

What he’s not expecting is for you to be standing at the door. 

“Hi,” you say softly. 

He doesn’t dare question his luck. “H-Hey.” Eddie lowers the joint from between his lips and turns away from you to quickly exhale. “Tonight, uh, doesn’t count.” 

He was supposed to be taking a break from smoking, and you’d promised to help keep him on track. But now, as he stood doing just that for the first time in two months, it wasn’t the joint that captured your attention. It was the reason why, the conflicted look in his eyes that the pungent haze failed to mask. 

His next words get cut off with a cough, and he doesn’t bother trying to say them again. 

You're met by warmth when he motions you inside. Guilt tries to convince you that you don’t deserve another chance, fear says you’re going to blow it. 

“Eddie?” He raises his eyebrows. “I’m really sorry.” 

The way he nods suggests he knew your curfew was fabricated from the start. “Don’t sweat it,” he lifts his shoulder. “I’m gonna go put this out.” He holds up the joint. 

You trail him back to his bedroom, where your eyes roam idly over the posters covering the walls. Different things to say rise to the tip of your tongue, but none of them spill over. 

Eddie turns towards you when he’s done. 

“You didn’t have to lie.” Your shoulders sink as you meet his gaze, but he easily turns to humor, “You could’ve just told me you were tired of being cramped up in a trailer. I probably would’ve agreed.” 

You can feel the ghost of a smile on your face, but you still mean your next words, “I feel like the worst person in the world.” 

His nose wrinkles. “Maybe the fourth or fifth, but definitely not the worst.” 

In spite of everything, both of you find it within yourselves to laugh. It feels good, mending. 

You regain your composure before Eddie, and upon noticing he tries even harder to quell his amusement. It takes a few extra seconds because he’s high, but he finally manages to get himself under control. 

He thinks before his next words, “I wasn’t expecting you to come back. You never do.” A lump forms in your throat as you toy with the hem of your sweater. “And all I can think about every time you leave is how I let you walk away without telling you how fucking much I enjoy you being around.”

You swallow. “I know you do.” 

He shakes his head. “I like hanging out with the guys too—I’ll hang out with anybody if they’re cool.” You watch him with doe eyes as he speaks. “But you, you’re a whole different story. You drive me crazy in the best fucking way ever.” Those words hang thick in the air. “When I blew that eyelash of your finger, I wished—”

“Wait,” you hold out a careful hand, butterflies fluttering in your stomach. “Don’t tell me.” Part of you wants him to, but not at the expense of the wish not coming true. 

That keeps him quiet for a few seconds. He’s still charged from his confession, electricity having taken the place of blood within his veins. 

“You came back,” Eddie states instead. “Why?” 

His eyes don’t leave you, and you take in his entirety for the first time since you’ve been back. Long hair, short sleeve Metallica shirt, faded pajama pants. He doesn’t have his chest puffed out or his chin turned up in that charming way he often does when he’s working a crowd or a group of friends. 

He’s leveled. No guard up, no mask on, just Eddie. 

The one who’s been by your side since fifth grade. Who could make your sides ache on the days when laughing was the last thing you thought you could do. Who got on your nerves almost every time you were together, but still managed to be one of your favorite people in the world. 

“You know how you always say there’s no shame in running?” you ask, shifting your weight. You’d sat in on enough of his D&D campaigns to have heard that phrase uttered. 

He nods. 

“Well, we both know it’s also worth something when you have the guts to stay. So this is me choosing not to run anymore.” From your feelings or from him. 

The room shrinks and grows one hundred degrees hotter when Eddie moves to stand closer to you. He reaches out to grasp your hand, calluses brushing your skin. The chunky metal rings adorning his fingers glint. 

Your next breath stalls as he presses your palm flat against the left side of his chest. The quickened rhythm of his heart drums against it fiercely. A mix of vulnerability and courage are married in his eyes. 

“Same,” you whisper, and his lips twitch upwards. “Here I was thinking this was gonna be just another Friday night.” 

You let your hand fall from his chest. 

A grin breaks across his face like dawn, more tender than it’s ever been. “I’m glad it’s not.” 

Time slows as he cups your face, eyes flitting over every detail as if to memorize it all over again. “You’re so fucking pretty.” He whispers it like there’s nothing to question, like he's been waiting forever. 

You don’t mean to smile as wide as you do. His heart skips a beat, maybe two. He’s done holding back from what he’s been wanting to do for so long. 

Not another second passes before he presses his lips to yours. 

They move with careful earnesty. Despite the fact that it feels like your entire body bursts into stardust, you kiss him back with an innate sense of knowing. You can feel the puffs of air from his nose fanning over your skin, the way his thumbs brush over your cheeks. It’s intoxicating in a way that makes you weak in the knees. Even with the newness of it all, there’s an air of ease and familiarity that you lose yourself within. You don’t worry if you’re doing it right. 

By the time he pushes you backwards to sit on the edge of his bed, he’s taken off your sweater and tossed it onto the floor, leaving your pale pink bra newly on display. 

From your seated position, you watch him pull his own shirt over his head, further disheveling his hair. His milky skin hosts a myriad of dark tattoos and fading scars. Anticipation swirls in your core as he encourages you to lay on your back, propping himself overtop of you. He pecks the tip of your nose before slotting his lips over yours once again. 

A surprised sound escapes you when his lips begin to plant a trail of kisses along your jaw and down the side of your neck, head tilting to give him more access. The moment your conscience catches up to reality, you push at his chest and he immediately pulls away. 

“Too much?” He studies your face. You can’t bring yourself to say no because you don’t want it to end. 

“I think I just need a second. Sorry.” Embarrassment clings to your words, but you muster a shaky laugh. “I’m not used to this kinda thing.” 

Eddie had experienced his share of sporadic flings, but his feelings never ran as deep as they do for you.  

“You’re okay,” he soothes. “I may like pushing your buttons, but ‘m not gonna do anything you don’t want me to, alright?” 

In all your years of knowing him, he’d never given you reason to believe he’d ever discount your feelings. Or that he was even capable of doing so. 

You raise a hand to cup his cheek. “Let’s keep going.” 

“You sure?” He turns his head to kiss your palm. “Absolutely positive?” He dips down and playfully nips at your collarbone. “Cross your heart?”  

You bite your lip to keep from giggling, but fail when he begins to move lower. He drinks in your laughter like it’s an elixir. 

He continues a disorderly line of kisses down your stomach, and your mind is beyond hazy by the time he reaches the waistband of your jeans. You don’t utter any words of protest when he kneels to pop the button open. The subsequent sound of your zipper being pulled down might as well be thunder with how quiet the room has grown aside from it. 

Your panties are the same pink as your bra, trimmed with thin lace that makes Eddie dizzy. Without waiting for him to ask, you lift your hips for him to pull down your pants. Once they’re on the floor, he runs his hands over both of your thighs, trying his best to memorize the feeling. You briefly close your eyes when his fingers ghost over the soft fabric of your underwear. Nerves bundle low in your stomach to the point where you feel like a live wire laying exposed before him. 

“You’re gonna be the end of me,” he says like a scripture. 

“Me?” you peer down at him in disbelief. 

“Yeah, you. Who else?” He lifts the thin waistband of your panties and lets it snap back down to your skin. “I’m gonna take ‘em off.” He only makes the announcement to give you a chance to refute it. 

Rather than doing so, you brace your feet so you can lift your hips for him once more. 

You’ve known him for the better half of your life. If anyone, your trust can reside in him. 

A string of awed expletives slip past his lips when there’s nothing left between him and your heat. To stop himself from staring, he turns his face into your thigh to suck a bruise into the plush skin. You don’t realize that’s what he’s doing until you feel the tiny pinch that stings so good. 

Your silence is perceived as permission to switch to the other leg to do the same. You can hear your heart in your ears, and regard it as a reminder that you’re alive and breathing during a moment you never thought would come. 

You’re marked now, his.

He runs a gentle finger from your clit to your wet folds, and your own sensitivity surprises you when your thighs snap closed and trap his hand. 

“Sorry,” you breathe, slowly blooming them open again. You make the mistake of meeting his gaze, where fondness seems to radiate like imperceivable rays of light. 

After pressing a kiss to the space just beneath your navel, he stands and climbs onto the bed with you. You sit up and look to him for further direction. 

An easy smile spreads across his face as he settles with his back against the wall where a headboard should be. 

“C’mere,” he stretches his legs out in front of himself. 

You crawl to him and sit so that your back is pressed against the warmth of his bare chest. It isn’t until you shift that you feel his erection pressing into your rear. 

You peek back at him with hot cheeks. “Sorry.”  

Eddie drops a kiss to your shoulder. “You’ve apologized five hundred times tonight.” You shrink in on yourself because you know it’s true. “You’re not allowed to anymore, capeesh?” 

You nod. 

“Now prop your legs up, buttercup.” You can hear the smile in his voice that hopes you caught his rhyme. 

You press your feet into his sheets and spread your knees into a V. 

His pointer finger finds your clit without warning, applying just enough pressure to hitch your breath. You’ve touched yourself before, but had never taken the time to truly gain an understanding of the deeper pleasure there was to be felt. 

Here Eddie was, showing you what you didn’t know about yourself.

He switches to rubbing your bundle of nerves with his thumb while his middle finger glides through the slickness of your folds, making you clench with want. You reach between your legs with the hope of helping, or perhaps egging things along, but Eddie tuts. 

“Hands off or I’ll stop.” His tone is gentle and commanding all at once. 

Even though you follow his instructions, he still withdraws his touch. A protest ends up dying in your throat when you feel his fingers undoing the clasp of your bra and pushing the straps down your goosebump-laden arms. It soon joins the rest of your clothes on the floor. You’ve never been so bare in front of another person. 

“Jesus, look at you,” he murmurs. His large hands raise to cup your breasts, fingers experimentally pinching both of your pebbled nipples. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen a more beautiful sight. 

You watch with hooded eyes and parted lips. Caught off guard when he grabs your hands and redirects them to your chest to take over for him. You tentatively pinch your nipples in the same way he’d done, sending minute shockwaves through your body. 

“There you go,” he coos into your ear. A gasp falls past your lips when his hand dips back between your legs to ease the tip of his middle finger into your entrance. As he pushes it in further, your toes curl tighter. 

But his touch disappears yet again, making an exasperated breath leave you as your head falls backwards onto his shoulder. 

“Eddie,” it’s a whine. “Are you teasing me?”

“No. I forgot to take my rings off.” They clink as he drops them onto the nightstand. “But I think I will now since you just had to say something.” The charged promise of those words sends a chill down your spine.

You’re begging three minutes later. A melodic mix of weakened pleads, his name, and incoherent bargains that only make him smile. 

He’s trapped you on the edge of a freefall. Your thighs ache from tensing, and the strong pulse of arousal between your legs consumes the entirety of your mind. His two middlemost fingers pump in and out of your entrance with no sense of urgency, curling into that spot within you that makes you want to shatter. Whenever he senses that you’re about to topple over the edge, he pauses to let a few seconds crawl by. 

It’s scary how good he is at reading you. At holding the reins. 

“I can’t anymore,” you breathlessly insist, pressing back into him. “Eddie, please.”

“Sure you can.” He suckles the spot beneath your ear. In your head, you scream at him in frustration but in reality you squeeze your eyes shut. 

He doesn’t know who he’s teasing anymore. Listening to you whimper and feeling you squirm has him twitching and straining in his boxers. 

Somewhere along the line, he remembers mercy. 

As soon as the cord within you snaps, your back arches and your walls flutter helplessly around his fingers. Your orgasm crashes over you in strong heated waves, each one fizzling out in their own time, making you tremble. 

When your breaths grow even again, he slowly pulls his fingers out of you as you watch, awed and silent. You place a hand on his thigh to ensure he stays close. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” he promises. 

The two of you sit in silence for a while, basking in the warmth of each other’s body, the new air between you. It’s as if you’re waiting to be roused from a dream. 

“I wanna keep making you feel good,” he eventually murmurs into your ear, smirking when you shiver. “Will you let me do that?” 

The feeling of his erection pressing into your backside suddenly registers in your mind again, and you reach behind you to curiously palm the outline through his pajama pants. He feels it in his bones. 

“You can do whatever you want,” you tell him.

Eddie grabs your waist and gently pushes you forward so you know to let him get up. You settle in the middle of the bed and pull your legs up to your chest in a halfhearted reclaim of modesty. 

He stalks over to his dresser and scans the cluttered surface with his lower lip pulled between his teeth. You trace his back tattoos with your eyes. After pushing a few stray trinkets aside, he makes a sound of frustration.  

“What's wrong?” you ask. 

He continues looking. “Coulda sworn there was a condom lying around up here.” 

After a beat, you crawl to the edge of his bed so you can peek into the drawer of his nightstand. There’s notebooks filled with song lyrics, old magazines, a Walkman, batteries, guitar picks. No square foils in sight. 

“Can’t we still…” your words fade when he meets your gaze, but he gives you an encouraging nod. “You know. If we’re extra careful, right?” Your voice is just above a murmur by the time you stop speaking. 

The innocence seeping from your gaze makes a helpless fool out of him. 

The next thing you know, he’s pulling his pants and boxers down in one go, cock springing up towards his belly as you watch with owlish eyes. A dark tuft of hair curls at the base, and the head is a pretty shade of rose that’s beading pearlescent pre-cum. A prominent vein snakes along the underside. 

You’re more than ready. It’s the lightning in a bottle type sureness that you can’t believe you’ve come to know so well. The second he starts moving towards the bed again, you reposition onto your back. 

Though you don’t utter a single word, every unspoken thought from your mind seems to shape his smile. It’s not entirely proud, there’s a hint of softness to it. Something giddy residing just beneath the surface that takes the edge off the intensity of his gaze. 

A comforting heat radiates from his body as he positions himself overtop of you. 

He reaches between your legs to collect the tell tale sign of your arousal on his fingers, and your eyelashes flutter. “Nice and ready for me, huh?” 

The tone of his voice makes you want to hide. You feel small and on top of the world at the same time. Eagerness is written all over your face. And in the way your chest rises with quicker breaths. How your fingers are curled into the sheets. 

“I’ll take that as a yes.” You’re glad he does because you’re certain all words would fail if you tried to speak. 

All you can do is blink up at him, propping your legs on either side of him as he lines himself up at your entrance. 

It’s overwhelming at first, incomparable to his fingers. But he takes it slow, watching your face the whole while. Before you know it, you’ve stretched to take the entirety of his length, and his eyes are glued to where you’re joined. 

He bottoms out with a satisfied grunt, hair falling into his face. The fullness makes up for the dull ache. Especially as he begins to slowly pull out in preparation for another pump. A gasp escapes you the second time he eases back in, and your face scrunches with the new depth that comes with hooking your legs around the back of his thighs. 

“If you wanna stop at any point just tell me, okay?” He tries his best to keep his voice steady. 

“Okay,” you whisper shakily. 

He finds a rhythm before long, cheeks flushed right along with his chest. He looks beautiful like this. Even his pleasured sighs and huffs rush straight to the pit of your stomach. 

“Lemme hear you,” his voice comes out gruff. “Stop holding back.” 

You swallow a moan. “‘M not.” 

Unconvinced, Eddie rolls one of your nipples between his fingers, and your breath stutters on its way out. You don’t remember being this sensitive earlier, and a few more pinches have your mouth gaping open just as he expected. 

His thrusts grow pointedly harder, forcing the fire building in your core to burn brighter. 

“Oh, god—Eddie,” you finally choke out, gripping onto his biceps. 

He swears he grows impossibly harder, orgasm creeping even closer from its place in the distance. You’re so soft, so warm, so wet, squeezing him in a maddening way. Your blunt fingernails move to dig into the back of his shoulders, leaving crescent indents in their wake.

“Say my name again.”

“Eddie,” you sigh, helplessly clenching around him. “Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.” You sound dreamy. It rushes straight between his legs, and he can feel that familiar coil beginning to wear thin. 

Hearing you say his name like that was going to do him in. 

A sudden burst of confidence finds you. “You’re so deep—gonna make me come.” 

His hips falter and something shifts in his eyes. He starts drawing circles over your clit.

“I wanna feel you fall apart around me,” he says, and you nod because you want that for him. “But not until I say, alright?” 

Your stomach drops. 

When you don’t answer, he slows to a torturous pace that makes your head spin. “Gotta answer me so I know we’re on the same page.” 

“We always have been,” you half slur, drunk on him. 

As Eddie looks down at you, he sees a large fraction of his world woven into the delicate furrow of your eyebrows, the way your eyelashes meet the very tops of your cheeks, the part of your cherry-tainted lips. 

He lowers himself so that his chest is grazing yours as he continues thrusting, pubic bone dragging over your clit. The feeling of his warm breaths fanning into your ear makes you shudder, and when you arch up, you’re only met by more of his warmth, more of him. There is no escape, nowhere to run. Only accept. 

“Wish I could, shit, wish I could bottle this feeling in a fucking jar and keep it forever,” he grits into your ear. “Never felt anything this good… five stars from me.” He’s fighting to hold himself together. 

You miss half of those words because you’re on the verge of an ascension. 

“Eddie,” you breathe, somewhat startled. “Eddie, please. Can I come? I’m so close.” 

“How close?” 

Your voice goes airy and high because he’s hitting just the right spot. “‘M right there.” 

“Tell me how good I’m making you feel.” Whining, you claw into his skin with the intent of making it sting, but it only makes his shoulders shake with a chuckle. “I’ll shut this whole show down if you wanna play that game—” 

“So good!” you whimper, giving in. “You’re making me feel so good. Just… please.” You clench around him in hopes of earning an okay.  

It almost makes him fold, come right on the spot, but he still forces out a, “Not yet, angel. I gotta practice telling you no, remember?” 

His constant denial was only adding fuel to the fire of pleasure burning within you and he knew it.

By his next thrust, he could tell the beginnings of an unraveling had begun sweeping you under. Even though he sees it coming from a mile away, he nearly passes out himself when you let go.

Eyes closed, your walls flutter around him in a strong, rapid succession that carries on for a while. You’re being lifted somewhere higher than you’ve ever known. The world fades around the edges, and the distant sound of Eddie’s voice washes over you as your jaw slacks open.  

There you go, that’s it. Couldn’t hold back any longer, huh?

Only when aftershocks begin to spark through you do you realize how deep your breaths have grown, and the new laxity of your limbs that makes you feel like you’ve become one with his bed, trembling weakly. A wonderful ache resides between your legs. 

A gentle weight soon meets your lower stomach, and your eyes flutter open just enough to see. Eddie has pulled himself from within the warmth of you, and rested his slickened tip against your warm skin. You watch dazedly as he strokes himself a few good times before jolting and releasing onto your belly. 

All you get is a glimpse of his blissed expression before he leans down to tuck his face into your neck. You lift a hand to his head and gently scratch at his scalp as you feel him begin to place soft kisses to your throat. You can still feel his cock against your belly, and you work your other hand between your bodies to wrap your delicate fingers around him. 

His whole body shudders, and when you lightly circle your thumb around the tip your name breathlessly falls past his lips. 

He grunts and makes you stop when you start to do the same lazy motion again, and you chuckle weakly. 

“Oh, is that funny?” he asks, wrestling a smile. When you bite your lip and nod sweetly, he pushes himself up so he’s propped higher above you. “You wanna know what else is funny? I don’t think I ever gave you the green light to come.” 

You blink up at him innocently. “I couldn’t help it.” 

He begins tracing the underside of one of your breasts and you suck in a breath, gripping onto his wrist. He pulls from your hold, and that same hand trails down your body, over your ribs and down your sides. His fingers leave a tingly buzz in their wake. You try not to squirm too much because his spend is still on your stomach. 

“I’m trying to decide if I should do something about it or be nice,” he says, ghosting a finger over your oversensitive clit. 

When you whimper, his fingertips move to revisit one of the marks he left on the inside of your thighs, and the ticklish sensation makes your muscles tense as you huff out a tired laugh. He playfully quirks his brows at that reaction, but you can see the warmth in his eyes. 

You smile when he leans down to give your lips a sweet peck. “I’ll be nice,'' he promises. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” 

•••

When midnight comes, sleep has found neither of you. You’re both fighting it, trying to stay awake so you can continue sharing hushed stories, soft caresses, and smiles that warm you right along with the sheets covering your bodies. 

Your eyes are the first to begin fluttering, and Eddie stops talking when he notices. 

“No, keep going,” you murmur. “I’m listening.” 

“We can talk more in the morning,” he says. You shake your head no, and he chuckles. “Yes. Go to sleep.”

Before you have the chance to say anything else, he reaches out to turn the bedside lamp off. You press yourself closer to his body after he settles back beside you. 

Neither of you say anything for a while, so you begin to assume he’s dozed off. When he speaks up again, his words are soft and honest, “This is what I wished for. A moment just like this.” 

You mean to tell him that you think you’re in love.

-

Thank you so much for reading! Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated.

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[lostinthemazewiththehallows]

cannot even begin to describe how much i love the historical inaccuracy in bridgerton this season- they’ve just fully leaned into it. the hair, the outfits, philippa featheringtons lush tan, i can’t get enough thank you!

i LOVE a silly romance - i don’t CARE about historical accuracy, i like pretty colours and happy couples

so WHAT the napoleonic war was supposed to be going on- NOBODY CARES! :D

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Horse Meshi. Delicious, in Horse.

[hairmetal666]

Never in a million years did Steve Harrington think he'd be standing in the drama club room in front of Eddie the Freak--who's sitting on a goddamn throne with his full lips pulled into a smug grin--asking to be taught how to play Dorks and Goblins. Yet, here he is, face a burning shade of crimson, as he explains for the sixth time what, exactly, he needs.

"Munson, it's not that hard. Henderson wants me to play in the--the game thingy they're doing when Will is home for a visit."

"Yeah, Harrington, and I stop listening every time you call it a game thingy. You obviously don't care about this at all, so why should I waste my time helping you?"

Steve rolls his eyes. "What if I pay you?"

Munson's face goes through a complicated series of changes before falling into a neutral mask, no smirk or teasing smile to be found. "You'll pay me to teach you dnd? Are you fucking kidding?"

"No?' Steve draws a hand through his hair, watches as Munson's dark eyes track the movement. "I thought you might help me out cause those kids never shut-up about you, but I'm willing to put money on it."

"Huh," Eddie says. He steeples his fingers under his chin. "Maybe I misjudged you, Harrington."

Steve lets himself smile at this. "I don't think you did. I don't give a shit about this game."

"Didn't take you for one to have a bunch of nerdy child friends."

"I'm their babysitter," he says, realizes immediately it was a mistake.

Eddie cackles until it turns into a full-bodied laugh, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. "You are something else, Harrington," he manages.

For his part, Steve hopes Munson hasn't noticed how bright red his face is. "Does that mean you'll help me?"

"I guess," he rolls his eyes. "But if you're just screwing around, I'm out."

"No, yeah, totally," Steve nods too hard, sends his hair cascading into his face. "Sounds good. How much?"

"Huh?" Eddie tilts his face up, giving Steve a perfect view of the smattering of faint freckles across the bridge of his nose.

"I said I'd pay you. What's the going rate for dnd lessons?"

"Oh, nah, free of charge, Harrington. Henderson would eat me alive if he knew I made you pay."

The smile they share is soft, tentative, and Steve doesn't notice the swathes of pink decorating Eddie's pale cheekbones.

---

They meet up in the drama room after the last bell. Eddie is waiting on the throne with his feet propped on the table, sipping a Mt. Dew. His eyes widen when Steve walks into the room.

"You're on time," he says.

Steve scoffs. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Eddie shrugs, sets his feet on the floor. "Just wasn't aware that the King put a lot of stock in punctuality."

"C'mon, man, I'm trying not to be that guy, and I'm definitely not king of anything. Unless maybe it's Family Video, but even then, that's Robin."

"You're kind of weird, Harrington, you know that?" Eddie's dimples bracket his smile. The sight does weird things in Steve's chest.

"I've been told, yeah." Steve smiles back. "Where do we start?"

They start with dice, with a character sheet.

"Chaotic-good human Paladin?" Eddie asks.

He shrugs. "That's what Dustin keeps screaming at me. I got no idea what any of it means."

"That's not entirely true," Eddie says. "You've kept up with me so far."

"Yeah, that's you. Dustin rambles and then accuses me of not listening when it's over my head. When he goes on long enough, I start to get a headache right here," Steve rubs the spot between his eyes.

"That kid," Eddie says with the right combination of affection and frustration. "I don't know, you seem to have picked up on some of the stuff he said. You have a solid idea on gameplay, at least. I'd say you're doing pretty good."

"Thanks," Steve laughs. "No migraine yet, so that's a point in your favor."

"Migraines?"

"Head trauma."

"Byers?"

"And Hargrove."

"That was Hargrove?" Eddie asks.

"Hit me in the head with a plate."

"What the fuck."

"He was pissed that Max was friends with Lucas. He came after them. I couldn't just let him--I think he would've killed Lucas."

Eddie nods, hands fiddling with a die. "No wonder those kids love you," he says.

"We've been through some shit together."

"Guess it makes more sense why you wanted to learn dnd."

"As much as it pains me to admit," Steve rolls his eyes. "I love to make those little shitheads happy."

"Well, based on the way they talk about you, you succeed."

"You too, you know?" Steve offers. "All I've heard about the last three months is 'Eddie's so cool,' 'Hellfire's so fun.'"

"Jealous?" Eddie laughs.

"Completely," Steve admits.

"Don't worry, Harrington, I'll make a nerd out of you yet."

---

They meetup after school every day they can over the next two weeks. At first, Steve is surprised that he doesn't really mind spending so much time with Munson, that he actually, kind of, has fun. And the more time they spend together, the more Eddie infiltrates his space. Leans into Steve's side as they sit next to each other, brushes their hands together, hovers over his shoulder, faces nearly touching, as he checks stuff on Steve's character sheet.

It makes Steve feel--well, it makes him think of what it would be like to run his fingers through the soft gloss of Eddie's curls; wonders what that plump mouth would be like pressed against his own; can't stop thinking about if Eddie is as vocal in bed as he is everywhere else. He knows he also likes guys, has for a while, but he's never in his life wanted someone this viscerally; so much he can feel the ache of it in his teeth.

It's the last day before the campaign for Will, and Steve is fucking sad. He thinks maybe Eddie is too. He's at least quieter than normal, explanations not at their usual fever pitch. An hour before they usually call it quits, he claps his hands together (too gently, too unlike himself), says, "That's it, Harrington. You're not going to be more ready than this."

"Right," Steve says. Can't help his eyes from darting over Eddie's face, aching to know what he's thinking. "You'll be there tomorrow?"

Eddie bends his head over his notebooks. "Nah, I don't need to intrude."

"But--"

"It's okay, Stevie. I get that it's family only." He looks like he really means it, but his eyes are sad, don't shine like they should.

Steve doesn't know what to say to that, just nods, and then there's nothing else. They stare at each other for a few very long, quiet seconds, before Eddie says, "I'll see you around, Harrington."

"Right, yeah. You too." And he walks out of the drama room with the heaviest heart he thinks he's ever had.

---

Steve thinks he won't miss Eddie. That if he doesn't dwell on those hours spent with Eddie, learning dnd, that the missing will go away.

It doesn't.

Which is how he finds himself back at the high school on Wednesday, standing in front of the drama room door, willing himself to go inside. Eddie's on the throne, the typical notebooks and binders and Mt. Dew cans clustered around him, but he's not engrossed in imagining up a new campaign for Hellfire. No, his head is in his hands, knees drawn up to his chest.

"Eddie?" Steve asks.

His head pops up, and even in the low light, Steve notices the silvery tracks of tears down his cheeks.

"Steve! What are you--" he hastily wipes at his face with his shirt sleeve. "What are you doing here?"

Steve's acting only on instinct, crossing the room and dropping to his knees, taking Eddie's jaw between his palms, thumbing away the wetness on his cheeks.

"Did someone hurt you?" he asks.

Eddie's laugh is wet. "Nah, Harrington. I only have myself to blame for this one."

"Can I do anything?"

"Are you trying to kill me?"

"Sorry?"

"You, Steve Harrington, kind and compassionate? Learn dnd to make your little nerd friends happy? Who are you?"

"I'm just me, man," Steve blushes. "But, uh, I came to thank you." He's still holding Eddie's face in his hands, can't help but notice the way he flushes, how his dark eyes dart away from Steve's.

"I really liked hanging out with you," Steve says. This close to Eddie, his mind doesn't quite feel like his own. All he can think of is big eyes, soft curls, full lips.

"Yo--you did?"

"So much," Steve whispers. He doesn't quite remember moving, but now their foreheads are pressed together, warm breath mingling, lips almost, almost touching.

"I liked it too," Eddie breathes. After a few seconds, he laughs. "Knew I'd make a nerd out of you, Harrington."

"Shut-up," Steve laughs.

"Make me," Eddie says, and it's just that easy. Steve crosses the space still separating them, presses his mouth against Eddie's.

The kiss is slow, exploratory, the gentle discovery of how they fit together, the promise of all the things they can do in the future, all the pleasure they can bring.

"I'm not a nerd," Steve says when they part.

"No, you're right. You're like a nerd by marriage. Nerd-in-law," Eddie giggles. His eyes are bright, face pink, the most beautiful thing Steve has ever seen.

"Shut-up," Steve giggles right back.

Eddie raises an eyebrow, the dare obvious, and Steve doesn't hesitate to kiss him again.

"You wanna get out of here?" Steve asks when they part, significantly more breathless, jeans significantly tighter, than when he arrived.

"You're gonna have to role persuasion for that, Stevie," Eddie smirks.

[kacievvbbbb]

I think what’s so important to me with MiShanks, and honestly all my favorite ships, is that they are friends. Underneath it all they are just two dudes that like spending time together that have fun together whether they are fighting, fucking or just talking. The don’t just love each other they genuinely like the other as well despite all the terse words (mostly on Mihawk’s side). It’s why they can fall into step so seamlessly even after 10 years apart. They’ve known each other forever and they have fun together they always will. I just….

Like what even is the point if Shanks doesn’t look at Mihawk and remeber the boy he was? If Mihawk doesn’t look at Shanks and feel the years wash away like coats of his shoulders. If underneath it all there isn’t just Shanks and Mihawk two people that fucking love each other in all the ways there is to love. Like if they can’t just hang out the I don’t want it

[chiefcroissantdeanbanana]

Thinking about it, wouldn't Mavbo be Immortal x Mortal?

parkour civilization 2 spoilers below!!

So, as we all know, in the end Evbo becomes the parkour god and EMF becomes the parkour champion. yea?? Since EMF has the champion boots, it basically makes him immortal. Until another person takes his title. Until he isn't the champion anymore. Wouldn't his immortality be taken away with him? Like what we've seen with The Old Man, he dies due to old age because he doesn't have the champion boots with him, and just because his age really is coming to him. Not even command blocks could save him, his death was predetermined from the start. He is a mortal, no matter what title he has.

So is EMF. EMF is a mortal. A mortal with the champion boots that basically gives him immortality, but without that, he is "fragile". without the boots he can't regenerate without food, and his hunger isn't always full anymore. Worst of all with a mortal is that. They can die due to old age. And. and and. Evbo can't do anything when that happens. He can't save EMF. he can't use command blocks, and his godly powers can only summon his spirit. He can't bring him back no matter how hard he tries because he is the god of parkour. What use is parkour in reviving someone?

Now imagine with me, a situation where EMF is dead. Generations upon generations of champions come and go, and Evbo is just alone. He's just like the previous parkour god, a bystander, the audience, just watching.

Missing his trusted ally, the person who stuck through him thick and thin,

His champion, his mortal, his human, his friend,

God's favorite.

[cosmicluvflwr]

i cant wait to kiss you. to hold your face in my hands. to feel your lips on mine. i want to drown myself into you. forget about the world and just focus on you.

[nox-in-a-box]

Thinking about them again and realising that I don't like the idea that Greylock was practically a bully to Cedric in their schooldays or that Cedric hated him. To each their own, but I think they're just two dorks with a bit of rivalry who get super competitive at times. They get along quite well together when they're not competing! Well, and when Greylock's not pranking him. He's just the annoying friend, I guess. I don't want Greylock to ever stop being annoying, and I want Cedric to be seriously concerned if he does stop.

As for why Cedric wouldn't consider him a friend: this is Season 2 Cedric. Literally his whole arc is about friendship.

[wayfayrr]

I finished my tattoo sleeve 🎉 took 3 sessions, and I almost fell asleep while my tattoo artist was doing my bicep, but I’m done ✨ But got me thinking, what’s your thoughts on Hylian vs Human customs when it comes to tattoos? And piercings too, cause thinking on that too, got a couple ear piercings, snake bites, septum, and a nose ring on both sides, love to know your thoughts on this <3

Also, while we’re on the subject, when it comes to pain, what do you think is the difference between Hylians and Humans? Like do you think humans can take more pain? Not sure if you’ve said much on this topic, but I love to hear any thoughts on these things <33

~🍀 anon

CONGRATS ON THE SLEEVE CLOVER!!!! I bet it looks fantastic and that the sessions were all worth it <3 (also your piercings sound super neat too <333)

but about the differing customs when it comes to tattoos? (are there any characters with tattoos now that I think about it?) I think hylians put a lot more meaning behind any tattoo. As in you are not allowed to be tattooed unless there is a good enough reason. Partly due to how hylia sees hyilans as pure and perfect so they shouldn't need to stain their skin like that (I should say I don't have anything against tattoos whatsoever and I'm trying to work up the courage to get one so none of that reflects my irl opinion) Whereas piercings seem to be a right of passage, with the links getting their ears peirced with their hoops when they come of age, it's not about self-expression as much as upholding traditions to hylians

humans on the otherhand? Self-expression all the way babyyyy, you already wear more colourful and patterned clothes than they do. humans make more of a celebration of the self rather than being more 'holy', it helps when you don't have a being like hylia keeping a constant watch for everyone to be held up to impossibly high standards. piercings are another part of self expression, there's no pressure to get them and there's also nothing stopping people who do want them I also think that human tattoos would be far more colourful than any hylian ones, with their's tending to be solely using black ink if there is any present. So I think any fun tattoos would surprise the chain a lot, even sky seeing as he grew up with a lot of hylian societal expectations on him, he's human yes - but he's ripped so far from his culture that I think he'd have a mourning period over what he could - should have had. Not that he doesn't like skyloft, it's just - what could have been.

as for pain tolerance! Thats another reason I came into the sky is a human headcanon, I think that hylians have a lot lower pain tolerance than humans, And if sky is human then this is actually supported by the game! almost every single link starts with three hearts - sky starts with six. it's not like any other hylians are going to be stumbling upon heart containers either I kinda like the idea that later heroes had to be given more potential heart containers to find just to be on par with sky for how much damage they CAN take let alone their pain tolerance. It's hard to make direct comparisons honestly but I think sky would be able to shake off a lot more than the others - say a broken arm perhaps. sure he'd be in pain but he can have it cast and then go around as normal till it's healed. or well, normal as you can with a broken arm yk? if say - time broke his arm it would probably mean bed rest for him until he's healed (although unlike sky he could set the bone and chug down a couple of potions to be done with it in a matter of hours)

[hazellevessque]

Upon further inspection…I’m probably demiromantic

[jessicas-pi]

The Shuttle AU where Nigel Anstruthers is even more devious and DOESN'T separate Rosalie from her family, and he pretends to be nice and good and even invites Bettina to spend her school holidays at Stornham Court one year.

(That last one was not his best idea, tbh.)

Through chance, circumstance, or maybe the weaving hand of Fate, Bettina Vanderpoel and James Hubert John Fergus Saltyre meet, speak, and quickly discover their mutual distaste for Sir Nigel Anstruthers...

Anyway I call this one Jem and Bett Ruin Nigel's Life (Ten Years Ahead of Schedule)

[1shouldbedoinghomeworknow]

Will you bring flowers to a funeral of mine?

Blood. So much blood. It was everywhere, on her– no, his hands, on the floor, seeping into the ground and soaking the grass. But she–he didn’t feel anything anymore. Not anymore. Guess the pain was numbed out now. He was lying on the grass, paper in one hand and knife in the other. Finally, she’d like him. Or at least, she’d regard him with some amount of sympathy. Just thinking of her made him feel even dizzier than he already felt.

Now that he was a boy, she’d finally like him.

Finally.

He thought back to earlier, penning down the poem to finally put the feelings he’d been avoiding onto paper, to give them a form so that he could tear it up and move on to other things as he’d always done. Nobody cared about his feelings, so why should he? But this felt… Right. It felt like what the other girls had told her about love back at school; only, she’d been unfortunate enough to fall in love with another girl in a completely homophobic society, with a straight girl no less. She was one of the few allies in school and one who didn’t have the “lol gae” type of mentality about it. But she wasn’t entirely supportive about it either. She regarded the community with the same mindset as one might with a bug. She simply left them alone out of distaste and didn’t get too close. 

So of course, being friends with Lucia meant that she had to hide her true feelings, just like she did with everyone else. And oh, what a mistake it was. She spent more and more time with Lucia, doing anything to please her, saying yes to everything she suggested, and getting excited with her about her favorite ships being canon, even if she didn’t really want to. After all, hiding her own opinions was a small price to pay for getting to spend time with Lucia. And spending time with Lucia was what she longed for most. It was why she woke up in the morning, even though the pillows were much more comfortable than real life, why she went to school and powered through the day, talking to other people and pretending as though she cared, why she didn’t jump off or drink the bathroom cleaner under her kitchen sink. Though now, it was going too far, her obsession, her… infatuation.

Because she was the only one she had. The only one who she truly cared about. Lucia, the light in her storm, kept her alive, knowingly or unknowingly. She was the only one who seemed like a real person in her school, compared to all the other people who seemed like walking talking cardboard cutouts. The only one who willingly spent time with her and got to know her, even if she had other friends to talk to.  She was the only one who cared to listen to her rant or infodump about random things. The one who attentively listened to her vent about her absent yet overbearing and abusive parents. Her only comfort.

Though, recently she had to fight for her attention as she had found new friends and worst of all, a boy crush. Seeing her with other people made her insanely jealous, and she’d often write about it in her diary. How she was seemingly “afraid of touch” and refused to hold her hand but she’d go so far as to hug her other friends, or how she was busy but always found time to talk to her other friends. She’d just up and leave mid-conversation to speak to her crush if he was nearby. How she’d say “I care about you, you’re my friend” but then make her feel like she was just an outsider. So she should stop caring about Lucia then, right?

Wrong. The jealousy festered and morphed into an obsessive love that was by most standards abnormal. She’d screenshot every single text she got from her, no matter how mundane or unimportant because every single interaction was priceless. She’d pick up any bit of paper that Luciahad written on and discarded and read the writing over and over till the exact shape of each word was engraved in her mind. She’d do anything to get to spend time with her, once even donning a clown’s wig and making a fool of herself by dancing ridiculously in a room full of people, just so she could look at her reaction. Every single glance, greeting, or gesture, she memorized and wrote down in her diary so she could remember forever. She would do anything for her Lucia.

She would drop anything she was doing to do something for her, even if it was as mundane as getting a pencil she’d misplaced somewhere. She hoped every day that her crush would reject her so that she could comfort her. She’d even daydream about a zombie virus killing everyone else in the world so that it would just be her and Lucia for the rest of eternity. But she knew it was all wishful thinking. She knew that she didn’t care about her even as a friend. Nobody did. 

She’d once confessed to her indirectly, giving her a paper heart and even sharing with her a poem about how her special somebody (Lucia) was the light of her life and everything to her, but that special somebody would never see her that way, that she would only bring her flowers when it was her funeral. Even then, she’d shrugged it off and said, “The poem’s nice, I guess. Hope you’re lucky with that special somebody.” Lucia didn’t care.

So she’d come home that day after school, quietly sobbing for fear of her parents hearing her, contemplating things she hadn’t thought of since Lucia. Cutting, hanging, and drowning were her best options, but she’d come up with something better. Something that would surely get Lucia’s attention and prove her devotion to her. So she took the largest knife in her kitchen, which they used to cut ham, a piece of paper, scissors to cut her hair, a sewing kit, and bandages. Then, she’d snuck out of her house, quietly creeping to Lucia’s home.

Chop.

Finally.

He took the paper in hand, collecting the blood rapidly seeping through the bandages wrapped around his torso on his finger. His final words were now immortalized, yet on paper, his true devotion couldn’t be contained. He stopped trying to contain it. He simply wrote:

“Will you bring flowers to a funeral of mine?”

[skhardwarevers1]

who’s gonna be the “what have I ever done to hurt you?” To my “you threw a 64 pack of crayons at me, that hurt a lot”

[itsbrucey]

Need to cement myself as the Darryl Wilson mutual otherwise it'll all have been for nothing

[reiverreturns]

me accepting how love island sucked me in body and soul last year was a one-off occurrence when i usually cringe at dating reality tv: ahaha yeah okay that was weird

also me, a year removed, watching an insta story from davide on how we wants to take “ekin and the kids” back to italy one day:

[paradisaeidaes-deactivated202503]

I wish people actually told me they miss me or randomly strike up conversations with me first and seem genuinely interested in me and not make me beg for any conversation and also not make me wait fifty years for a reply back and they’d tell me they love me not once in a blue moon but regularly or show me that they do through consistent actions .. I don’t want to text people first anymore .. I don’t want to feel like I’m talking to myself or the wall .. I don’t consider any human being my friend unless they do those things AT LEAST. I might call them my friend outwardly for politeness but we are not friends if I have to be the one initiating and on top of that I’m ignored. Just leave me alone . .