#i loved this thing when i got it but they literally installed stuff on it that's integral to its functioning and just stopped updating it

[vulpixelates]

new laptop is getting here on wednesday. vidya gaymz HERE I COME

[bkd-b3ans]

Boothill keeps messing up his revolver from all the slapping and you have to fix it

Heya, love For Boothill too big, so I've started writing something for the first time. Sorry for any mistakes, literally never wrote a fanfic before.

Ship: Boothill x mechanic reader (gn, but possible masc leaning)

Warnings: none, it's just a bit of banter

Chapter(s?) : just one part of a long thing I want to do. I will accompany this with art too of my oc later down the line.

"Boothill, can you stay still for one moment?" You said, clear annoyance in your voice as you almost dropped the small pins you had to hold with a pair of tweezers inside the cowboys disassembled arm.

You were trying to fix his revolver, which so happened to get jammed again due to his recklessness in fighting. You've told him so many times to stop slapping it into place so aggressively, that the springs and pins inside it are going to get worn out faster or shifted out of their place, but those pleas always fell onto deaf ears.

"M'bad sugar, it just gets sooo boring stayn' still like this for so fudging long." He said, rolling his eyes and slumping back down in his chair, tapping the fingers of his other hand onto the arm rest.

He always had these tics of his when getting fixed, which, to a degree, you could understand. After all, sometimes his repairs could take a few minutes or entire days where he'd have to do nothing but stay in your workshop, connected to your many machines in order to ensure that everything is running optimally. By now, he came so often that you could confidently just run your business on his funds alone.

"It won't take that long this time-" you adjusted the magnifying glasses on your nose, tapping the edge to zoom in a bit more, your steady hand placing the tiny pin inside it's hole "Luckily it was just a few pins that got out of their place. Other than that, your body seems to function pretty well."

He heard that little sigh of relief you sometimes did when checking his systems. It was a bitch and a half to fix them, and you were about the only mechanic not affiliated with the IPC that he could trust not to install some weird virus into his body.

" Well, what can I say, lady luck still riddin' shotgun with me I reckon. Can't say the same 'bout those jolly good fellows from the IPC." he let out a prideful scoff tipping his hat "I reckon their faces look better now with a few bullets between their teeth.

You shook your head, already used to his rants about the IPC and his hunt for revenge. Whilst you could appreciate his enthusiasm, you had yet to pry into the issue as to why. Despite all the days and hours spent with him, working on his body and listening to his rants, you had yet to be told the reason for all of this.

"As long as it is their face and not yours. After all, you're my number one customer~" you have him a wink, sticking your tongue at him playfully. Boothill nearly laughed, trying to say something smart back, but he was cut short by you suddenly slapping the revolver back in it's place, giving it a few spins before closing the paneling around it

"All seems to work well now Boots. Again, please stop slapping this thing into place like it owes you money. Your body may be made out of quality stuff, but it's not immune to your own idiocy."

"Hah, as if, that thing works better with a little tough love"

He didn't even have to look at you to feel the knives you were starring at him from behind your glasses.

"Besides, if I were to be careful, what excuses would I have to come pay ye a visit from time to time? Eh, sugar?"

You hated that shit eating smirk he had on his face sometimes. You just knew he enjoyed teasing and annoying you. It was part of your friendship at this point.

"One day your recklessness will be your death"

Standing up, you went to disconnect him from the machines he was hooked up, pulling out the cables from his back one by one.

"Aww, do I sense some worry in yer tone, darling? I'm flattered a-"

He couldn't finish his sentence as you tugged on his hat, pulling it over his face. Boothill couldn't help but laugh.

"Fine fine, I'll stop. Fudge me you can be tough to love sometimes. How much do I owe ya?" he asked, finally being able to stand up and adjust his hat.

"40k, do you want to put this on your tab again or just pay upfront"

"Just put it on my tab darling, I'll pay it once I'm back from this assignment"

You sighed. He always picked that option, but he always paid eventually, so you weren't too worried. What worried you us where the money came from sometimes. But what can you do, money is money after all.

"Fine, I'll see you next time Boots. And hey, bring me something nice from your travels, I might give you a discount too"

"What do I look like? A magpie?" he scoffed.

"You look more like a shark, but sure. Anyway, counting on you, Boots"

You gave him a friendly pat on the back, the cowboy tipping his hat to you before leaving, making you wonder sometimes in what part of the galaxy he's going to end up to next time every time he left your workshop.

[marsoid]

answering these in one go

i got Sugar off a craigslist ad in 2016. she was listed for $9k but i got her for $8800, the seller knocked down the price literally just because he was nice and could tell i loved the car so much 🥹 my bank wouldn't let me pull out all the cash at once so i drove her home and paid him that Monday which is CRAZY but he trusted me to pay him and i did

when i first got her she didn't have power steering or power brakes (turned like a land yacht and stopped when she felt like it) so that was the first thing to address. fixed the horn and some other minor stuff that needed it. i also made the decision to replace the carburetor with EFI, which is kind of controversial in the classic car world lol but it's more fuel efficient

the EFI i had installed actually gave me the most problems over the years it was ALWAYS having issues and breaking down. but i recently had it reinstalled by someone who is NOT an idiot and I've had no problems for like 2 solid years I'm so fucking glad lol now she's more reliable than ever

she has a 350 small block V8 and auto transmission since she's my daily driver and allows for the smoothest ride possible as a commuter car. i don't race but she is fast lmao. I've never put pedal to metal but I've gotten her up to 80mph before without even flooring it so 😭 she can fucking Go lol. she kind of defaults to 30mph coasting so i have to have my foot on the brake to keep the speed limit in residentials

what else uhhh the cabin smells so good.... i love old car smell. I'm so lucky in her 53 years of being on the road she's apparently never had an owner that smoked inside the car i would have gone crazy if it smelled like cigarettes in there lmao

she has bench seats in the front and back which are like two little sofas. i used to nap back there on breaks when i was still working at a studio.

she has no airbags and you have to tighten the seatbelts yourself. there's an over the shoulder belt and separate waist belt. the passenger shoulder belt you gotta tug on after clicking it bc sometimes it comes loose on its own 😭 she is a death machine with no crumple zone so if i crash i will die 👍🏾 but I'm a very cautious driver and i don't even drive that much sooo IT'S FINE

she is very low tech besides the EFI and if there's ever an engine problem u can literally just look under the hood and mess with stuff until it's fixed. it's very spacious in there with a lot of room to poke around. cars in the 70s were made to last and because they are still so beloved to this day there's endless info online from enthusiasts about fixing stuff that pops up. some companies are still making new parts for classics so we don't have to dig through junkyards when we need replacements... unless u want to ofc, the hunt can be fun too LOL

i get people waving me down daily to ask me what year she is and tell me they used to have a Nova when they were younger or knew someone that did and how much they loved them and IDK IT'S SWEET!! ppl are always so happy to see her......... the antithesis of the cybertruck

thanks for reading here's some thirst traps

[intynidad]

Yes sir ma’am sir

Yandere otome au: the DLC

Tw: yandere stuff, suggestive in some parts tell me if I miss anything please

Tag: @pollypocketblog03u thanks for ur request love! <3

As time went on, you noticed something peculiar: despite the approaching "final day" of the game, the heroine had not yet locked a route. It struck you as quite unusual, but you dismissed the notion that it had anything to do with you. Perhaps the game mechanics were different in this "real life" version. Through some trial and error, you managed to discover a sort of "pause menu." However, it didn't prove particularly helpful. It wasn't like you could literally pause time, but it provided you with information about the characters, which you were determined to use to your advantage. Strangely enough, when you examined the character sheets, you found that some of them were either blank or marked with a ??? symbol.

Then, it dawned on you that the final day wouldn't be triggered until the heroine had met all the love interests. Recalling the main cast, you were certain there were only three: the childhood friend, the family friend, and the loner (excluding yourself as the rival and the heroine).

Nevertheless, you were positive that the heroine had interacted with all of them, as you had observed her engaging in (not so friendly) conversations with each.

That’s until you remembered…you had installed the “more love” dlc!

Okay... This is actually pretty perfect, to be honest.

If you manage to meet all the new love interests and make them your friends, or even prevent the heroine from meeting them at all, the "final day" won't trigger, and the heroine won't take revenge on you! This is perfect. What could go wrong?

You honestly had no idea who the new love interest would be and the whole “praying for your life” thing made you exhausted, you needed a way out.

So there were you moving through the game map to a new location exclusive of the dlc, “the obsidian stardust”

The bass reverberates through every fiber of your being, as bodies move in sync with the hypnotic melodies. The dance floor is a mosaic of swaying figures, their movements fluid and uninhibited. The atmosphere is alive with an aura of liberation, a temporary escape from the mundane.

It was just what you needed

With your newfound knowledge of the current route and the realization that the "final day" was yet to come, a sense of relief washed over you, and you felt a wave of relaxation. Tonight, you were determined to forget about everything and simply enjoy yourself on the dance floor, immersing yourself in the music and letting loose.

Lost in your own little world, you accidentally bumped into someone. "Ah, sorry, my ba..." you began to apologize, but before you could finish, the stranger took hold of your hand and pulled you into a dance.

Well, this wasn't exactly what you had envisioned, but it was a club after all, and people often bumped into each other. Perhaps this person simply assumed you wanted to dance, and you decided to go with the flow, embracing the unexpected twist of the evening.

Both of you danced and danced until it was time to go home.

You were outside the club either debating to call one of your friends or just pick up a taxi when you felt a tab on your shoulder.

“You really know how to move, ain’t ya’” this stranger looked at you with half lidded eyes

“Let me tell you something” he got a step closer “my place is a couple of streets away, so what do you say”

“No thanks”

“Perfect, let me just grab my car and we ca-wait what?”

“I said no thanks” you repeated yourself a little bit louder

The stranger was frozen in place while you walked your merry way into a taxi and left

Did?- did he just got rejected??

THE PLAYBOY

This dude is a player, he loves to sleep around and break hearts. He knows he is handsome and is willing to use it in his favor to get what he wants.

Used to sleeping around and breaking Hearts but totally not used to being rejected, so when you do it is like if somebody dropped a bucket full of ice water on top of him.

But when he recovers from the initial shock he sees this as a test, a challenge to test his charm and ability to woo people.

So he tracks you down and starts to shamelessly flirt with you and being very vocal on wanting to sleep with you.

And you just??? Say No? To him??? Who does that!!?

So he tries and tries again, his friends telling him to give it up and to just move to another pray, that any other boy or girl would be in line to get on their knees for him.

But no, he doesn’t want anybody. He.wants.you.

This becomes something personal,he needs to make you his.

This starts to slowly spiral into an obsession but he is delusional, you are just crazy about him! You are just playing hard to get!

He ends up convincing himself that you are completely in love with him and that you are just or too shy or too bratty to accept his- i mean your feelings

Is not until he is fucking another person that he realizes that it doesn’t make him feel good anymore,at least not the way it was before.

His worst fear had materialized before his very eyes: he had succumbed to the allure of love.

The echoes of his past deeds reverberated through his being, fueling a resolute determination to never subject himself to the heartbreak he had once inflicted on his victims.

You will be his,and that’s final

The delinquent

With your newfound understanding of the city's layout, you found yourself strolling through its vibrant streets more frequently (purely coincidental, of course, and certainly not a clever tactic to evade the relentless presence of the heroine and the rest of the love interests). On one eventful day, as you ventured downtown, a disturbing scene unfolded before your eyes. A group of individuals, driven by an inexplicable rage, were beating the absolute crap of some random unfortunate soul.

you and what you assume was the leader made eye contact and you did what was the most logic course of action.

Averting your eyes, your pace quickened, silently signaling your intent to distance yourself from the impending chaos.

What?.you weren’t gonna risk yourself like that!

It was best to mind your own affairs and leave the role of the valiant hero to others.

You thought that that would be the end of the interaction, that until you were in a local bookstore,mostly to pass the time, that’s until you were passing through the cooking section that your eyes meet with the same guy was beating the random person the other day!

He looked well, cleaner?(with less blood you mean) and you could swear that they took out some of their piercings.

The eyes of the ringleader flashed with recognized and panic, and started to speed walk and corner you into an mostly empty part of the bookstore

Long story short, you were threatened with staying quiet with the leader’s apparently-secret-hobby of baking

After that you started to bump into him more often.

He even one day gave you some muffins on the (totally not excuse) of needing a taste tester.

After that you two started to hang out around, his menacing aura was enough to make people move off the way.

He even started to give you more of your favorite pastries (even though you don’t remember telling them about your preferences)

What you didn't know is that the delinquent grew really attached to you because you didn't judge him about his “secret hobby”.

He might or might not started to mix the pastries with…some special ingredients

A thirst was just a little bit of his saliva, just to pretend you guys shared an indirect kiss, then it moved to…other stuff.

Watching you stuff your mouth with something he made, made his mind wander on what that mouth of yours could do.

When some underling of his made the comment of him going soft for somebody, he crushed his skull with a metal bar until probably not even their family would be able to recognize them.

[ssparksflyy]

Hey Hello! I would like to request some headcanons of Leo V. With a children of Hypnos or Dionysus, thank you!

ask and thou shall receive ༉‧₊˚.

leo valdez dating hcs "(っ- ‸ - ς)ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

pairing: leo valdez x child of hypnos!reader warning(s): swearing probably idk i just put it in case now an: honk mimimimimimimi

yall remember that scene in frozen where anna is like "the sky's awake, so im awake, so we have to playyyyyy" and shes trying to wake up elsa? yea. thats leo.

he CANNOT sleep. ever.

his hyperactive ass is always trying to gogogogogogogo!

and youre just like lemme sleep ;(

you try your best to stay awake to be out and about with him

he greatly appreciates it and downs like four melatonin gummies with a cup of coffee so he can finally knock out with you

( coffee reduces hyperactivity for people with adhd 👍👍 )

but ohmygod those days when he gets ideas early in the morning ugh

TURN THE SELENA OFF IT IS SIX IN THE MORNING YOU CAN CLEAN YOUR WORKBENCH LATER

has taken quite a few pillows to the head

but hes fineeeee hes still livingggggggg

mmmm he snores.

leo frickin snores

usually thats a normal human thing

but hes got that latino dad snore

house shaking, earth shattering, loud enough to make you deaf

( my friends and i call it the mexican dad snore because all our dads snore like that 😭)

as of right now its still developing

it still hasnt reached full dad snore

its like in lion king when simba cant roar

it comes with age okay

when his melatonin gummies kick in they kick IN okay

passed out no return

(god i need sleep like that)

im telling you hes either bouncing off the walls or dead

he tries to fight the sleep so badly sometimes

and hes GOOD at it

i honestly dont know how some of yall go days without sleep but hes one of those people

literally falling asleep as hes walking talking about "im fine!!"

NO YOURE NOT GO TO SLEEP

but then like one hug from behind and a small kiss on his neck from you is enough to make him give in

hes literally so weak when it comes to neck kisses bye

folds like a blanket

leo sleeps without a shirt but then has some of the funkiest pajama pants ever

all different kinds of designs and stuff

he REFUSES to be basic and wear those christmas checkered red pants whatever theyre called

but that entire genre of pants.. disowned. refuses to wear them

(no hate btw im literally wearing those pants as i write this)

has made sure u have the COMFIEST bed EVERRRR

hes installed like heaters, a cooler, the mattress is flexible (like in those commercials), the pillows are super soft, everything! absolutely everything!

honestly he doesnt seem too much like a plushies guy but at the same time he does

he has like one and its matching with you but like he stays loyal to that plushie and that plushie only

best cuddler tho ♡

he loves being able to hold you but sometimes he wants to be held too :(

a literal godsend during the winter honestly

no need for a heater when youve got mcshizzle over here

you gotta tough it out during the summer though

he feels so bad cause he doesnt want you to be warmer than it already is

but then you tell him you dont mind, just gotta have the ac on full blast !!

oh how i love leo valdez

[songmingisthighs]

[12:24] dad!hongjoong × baby!minjae (ft. mom!reader)

⇀ having a big family, natural or chosen, could be a blessing or a curse. or both. this time ? hongjoong would rather not choose and just work. his son however, has another idea in mind

⇁ another installment of the baby xikers series finally written after an impromptu discussion about the children and their uncle wooyoung with @starlitmark LMAO LOOKIE I FINALLY WROTE THIS

wc : 1.2 k

genre : fluff ? slice of life ?? baby!xikers, dad!ateez

warning : none

It had been weeks since the big incident and Hongjoong feared his son had started to catch on the situation the parents put Wooyoung in. Or something along the line.

Two and a half weeks ago, Wooyoung took the children to the Seodaemun Museum of Natural History for an educational day. Or so he claimed because not two hours since Wooyoung sent a selfie of him and the kids at the museum entrance to the friend group chat did all of them receive a call to come collect their children (in which Wooyoung's wife was told to collect all three of hers; Junghoon, Hunter, and of course, Wooyoung). Apparently, Wooyoung had told them that they couldn't play with any of the displays which the children took as a challenge rather than a warning. Seeun, Yujun, Minjae, and Sumin tried to get on the Acrocanthosaurus display while Hyunwoo and Hunter took off their shoes and dipped their toes in the Han River section of the Nature Hall to play with the fishies and Junmin, Jinsik, Junghoon, and Yechan somehow got inside the forest ecosystem display. It would have been an easy issue to handle and even let slide had Wooyoung not stood by and taken a video of everything whilst cackling rather than trying to get everyone to stop. After that, the parents rounded together and agreed that Wooyoung was to be put under an indefinite playdate hosting and attendance ban.

Unfortunately, the children were not told of this development as some were still grounded by their parents and some were known to love their Uncle Wooyoung so they'd probably get upset. It took them a while to even notice that suddenly they were not being taken to their Uncle Wooyoung's for playdates nor did their Uncle Wooyoung show up to chaperone.

The first to be told was Jinsik because his dad, Yunho, had given up trying to cover up the issue (literally 20 minutes after Jinsik started asking) and by the time the children were being picked up from playdate at Uncle Jongho's, they were all informed and began protesting in their own ways.

It was safe to say that for the past three days Hongjoong was stuck with Minjae who turned into melted cheese as a form of protest.

"Kim Minjae," Hongjoong called out sternly towards his son who sprawled himself on top of his work bag on his bed. Hongjoong had taken a short shower when he got home only to be met with Minjae groaning and moaning like a stranded starfish on top of his work stuff. Despite being called, Minjae didn't answer and just continued moaning like an injured cat. "Kim Minjae," Hongjoong huffed again, "Please get off my work bag, you'll crush my laptop," he walked closer to his son and stood over him with his arms on his hips. For a moment, Minjae stopped his moaning and looked over to Hongjoong, "Will you take me to Uncle Wooyoung?" Hongjoong raised an eyebrow at his son trying to bargain with him, "I'll take you to the doctor to get a shot instead, how's that?" And with that, Minjae dropped his head back and resumed moaning and groaning.

Minjae kept doing so, even following his dad around who managed to get his things from under Minjae by throwing him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes (and Minjae slid right off his dad's shoulder... like a sack of potatoes). When Hongjoong was setting up his laptop in his home office, Minjae laid on the rug, when Hongjoong took a break to eat the dinner you cooked, Minjae laid across his lap and grumbled despite you trying to get him to sit up and behave when people are eating, then Minjae laid in front of the bathroom like a speed bump which almost caused Hongjoong to trip and fall.

With a sigh, Hongjoong crouched down and stared at his little boy, "Kim Minjae, if you don't cut this out right now I'm going to take you to my room," he threatened. But Minjae blinked and tilted his head, "Can we go to Uncle Wooyoung's room instead?" He asked, trying to bargain yet again. Hongjoong felt the corner of his left eye twitched and firmly stated, "No," then, Hongjoong stood up and tried walking away. Unfortunately, Minjae immediately latched onto his dad's leg and let his body be dagged away. Not even when you ran over screaming, trying to unlatch his grip on Hongjoong's leg did he relent. In fact, Minjae screeched and dug his nails into Hongjoong's leg, leaving the man soundlessly screaming and almost falling on his face. It was quite a sight to behold. Kim Minjae, your usually calm and reserved son, let out a banshee-like screech that managed to surprise the heck out of you, causing you to jump back and stare wide-eyed and as if nothing had happened, Minjae returned to his moaning and groaning while still being attached to his dad's legs.

To say that both you and Hongjoong gave up on trying to get Minjae to stop was an understatement because Hongjoong was now stuck in his home office with his son on the rug behind him moaning and groaning, causing him to lose focus which means that the situation was that bad because Kim Hongjoong doesn't lose focus on his goals. Apparently neither does Kim Minjae. Every 20 minutes or so, Minjae stopped his moaning and groaning to ask Hongjoong if he could go to Uncle Wooyoung's in all sorts of ways. As much as Hongjoong felt annoyed with the incessant behaviour, he had to admit that his favourite was when Minjae offered to prank Wooyoung on his dad's behalf as a form of revenge for the museum chaos.

The moment Hongjoong realized that the moans and groans had stopped was when Minjae finally fell asleep. It was well over 10 pm which means it was past the boy's bedtime. Knowing his relationship with sleep, Hongjoong was not at all surprised that his circadian clock had automatically shut him up. After saving his progress, Hongjoong stretched his body out slightly before getting out of his chair and crouching down next to Minjae who was creating a puddle on the rug ironically enough Wooyoung bought for Hongjoong. The way that they don't even live together anymore but Wooyoung still effectively has his grip on Hongjoong's life.

Gently, Hongjoong moved Minjae's bangs out of his face but as gentle as he was, Minjae still managed to stir and he suddenly opened his eyes. "Daddy going?" he groggily asked, lifting his head up slightly, "It's past your bedtime sir, what do you think?" Hongjoong sarcastically answered, scoffing slightly and shaking his head before scooping the barely conscious boy into his arms without much issue. "Are we going to Uncle Wooyoung's?" Minjae still managed to ask despite the fact that he was already closing his eyes again and resting his cheek on Hongjoong's shoulder. The question sent Hongjoong in disbelief but he simply shook his head, "Not tonight buddy." Thankfully, Minjae nodded and even nuzzled his face deeper, "I'll try again tomorrow," he mumbled in finality before falling back asleep.

As much as Hongjoong wanted to complain and even tell his son no, he knew there was no point. The issue was reserved for the next day. All he could hope for was that Minjae would forget or get distracted.

network :

@cultofdionysusnet @sandsofire @kflixnet @pirateeznet

taglist :

@kodzukein @phenomenalgirl9 @skzatzloveismonsterous @memorymonster @surveilenceysystem @dreamlesswonder86 @maddiebabyxoxo @imababywolf @do-you-actually-care @marievllr-abg @ilsedingsx @wasteitonserendipity @bbymatz @noonaishere @honeyhwaaa @ateezourstars @yoonjunshi @yoongiigolden @camillelafaye @charreddonuts @kpopnightingale @starryunho @atinct @mirror-juliet @hyuckilstan @jayb17 @kpoplover718 @haatohwa @x-bluee @erinaimeexx @blackb3ll @mingiholic @angelicyeo @vampcharxter @meowmeowminnie @marvelous-llama @kawennote09 @hongjoong-lovebot @stopeatread @spooo00oky @jwnghyuns @asjkdk @shinotani @aestheticsluut @luvt0kki

[archangeldyke-all]

EEEEEEE how bout reader finding Sevika hot whenever she fixes stuff or builds things around the house and quite literally not leaving her alone. Like yes Sevika you hammer the nail 😍. Reader would be STALKING Sevika around the house whenever she’s working.

ppppfft this is so real.

men and minors dni

there's just something about it...

the first time sevika does some kind of housework for you is in the very beginning of your relationship, in the middle of your second date.

you'd had plans to go on a picnic, but the weather and rain had other plans, so you ended up cooking for sevika in your apartment and watching a movie together.

sevika asks if she can snoop while you cook. you grin and give her permission, banning her from the top drawer in your room (hoping that it will make her look, hoping to see the sweet flustered look on her face after getting an eyeful of all your underwear and sex toys)

she doesn't, though-- she finds something else more interesting before she can get to your drawers.

"what's this box?" sevika calls from your room. you sigh.

"my new desk. i've been too lazy to build it, so it's just waiting there." you say.

"huh..." you hear.

it's the last thing you hear from her for thirty minutes.

at first you think she's gone back to snooping. then, you think maybe she went to the bathroom. then, you think she fell asleep in your bed.

when you finally put the food in the oven, you decide to go see what sevika's gotten herself up to.

you almost die when you find her on her hands and knees in your bedroom, building your nearly-complete desk.

she'd taken her sweater off, rolled her button up sleeves up her forearms. her tongue is sticking out of her mouth, her eyes focused on the instructions, and her muscles are flexing as she screws two pieces together.

you must make a noise. you must whimper or gasp or something, because sevika's head flies up a second later to look at you.

"what? did you want it in the living room instead?" she asks. you just blink, gulp, then try to speak.

"uh... this is fine. y-you didn't have to--"

"fuck off, you're cooking, it's the least i can do." sevika says.

(the food ends up getting burnt that night, because you park your ass on your bed and watch sevika finish your desk-- not hearing the oven beep because you were too focused on her arms.)

she figures out your appreciation for her handiness about the same time that you guys start living together-- both of you moving to a new apartment.

you aren't sure what tipped her off-- the time you tripped and broke all the ceramic dishes you were carrying into the apartment when you got distracted gawking at sevika as she fiddled with the garbage disposal in just a wife beater; the time you spent an uninterrupted hour watching her install a towel hangers in the bathroom; ...maybe it was the time you made her fuck you after changing the oil on your car-- her hands leaving streaks of dirt and grime on your body as her tongue worked against your cunt...

either way, she figured it out pretty quick.

and now, she tells you each time she's going to be doing any kind of handy work.

last weekend she built a bookshelf. you were supposed to help, to read the instructions for her, but you were way too distracted ogling her to read.

the second she was done, before she could even place anything on the shelves, you dragged her to the bedroom and got your hands on her.

she teases you about it relentlessly.

"this is doing it for you? really?" she asks from the top of the ladder where she's changing a lightbulb. you giggle and shrug.

"it's a pretty good view of your ass from down here. and it's hot that you're so handy." you say, your hands stabilizing the ladder for her.

"it's a lightbulb, babe."

"just take the win, sevika." you say.

she cackles.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @sapphicsgirl @half-of-a-gay @ellabslut @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner @shimtarofstupidity @love-sugarr @chuucanchuucan @222danielaa @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther @gr0ssz0mbi3 @ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess @leomatsuzaki @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai

[ravers8fantasy]

Punch out locker room mishaps: world circuit💥🤑

The world circuit locker room would be bougie af, im talking like proper yknow

Super macho man is abbreviated to SMM cus no way am I doing allat

Sandman feels like he is baby sitting half the time because of the amount of bs that happens in the world circuit locker room

SMM has a double door locker (hell yeah) with photos of himself hanging inside of it

He calles it the 'super shrine', the other boxers think its the stupidest thing ever and soda takes the photos and puts them in the toilet cus why not

When Aran first joined no one knew what the flip he was saying, especially bald bull so he just told Aran to shut up whenever he spoke

Soda is too tall, the W.B.V.A had to install signs to the top of door frames because he kept walking into them

Sandman has watched Aran try break into his locker so many times now its become a normal sight for him

Every one is tired of Aran, bald bull has literally started a fist fight with him which ended up with Aran getting locked inside a locker for 2 hours

Sandman tried making peace between all the other boxers by making a group chat

Aran left it after bald bull kept thinking he was English, SMM thought it was a spam from crazy fan's and sent some stuff before leaving, bald bull said "fuck off" and left as soon as he saw SMM send a thirst trap and Soda was never added because he doesnt have a phone

Aran has to be searched and patted down before walking into the locker room before a match because of all his cheating scandals

When little Mac joined, Aran LOVED to not only make fun of his boxer name but also harrased him pranked him like taking his towel whilst he was using the shower and hid his stuff

Sandman made the others do a temporary alliance to beat up Aran and get poor Mac's stuff back

SMM loves the floor length mirrors in the locker room, his whole social page is full of just him flexing in that same mirror

One time he accidentally got sandman in the background looking absolutely unimpressed and it became a meme for a while

He also caught the fist fight between bald bull and aran in the background of one of his thirst traps as well

Soda's locker is full of 'juice' cartons, he doesnt need space for a gym bag because he's hidden it somewhere underneath the floor tile's somehow

Aran once head butted a wall at full force whilst trying to pick a fight with sand man

Not only did he knock himself out but he also managed to break through the dry wall and left a massive hole in the wall

Soda blasts russian hard bass/techno whilst showering and shouts the lyrics, everyone hates it.

"hell yeah bro's, I was like-

"U SO SEXY RUSSIAN GIRL Прыгай в мой фургон-танцпол"

"uh anyway yeah like as I was saying I totes like hit-

"ABSOLUT HARD BASS. RUSSIAN PARTY IN KAMAZ"

"oh now what the flip. What the flip brah thats so not cool"

Aran often crashes SMM's interviews, and shouts random things in the background (these are all being recorded by the way)

The last time it happened he shouted "OI SUPER MACHO MAN, I KNOW A SECRET ABOUT YOU MATE THAT PEOPLE MIGHT CALL A COMING OUT" (heh nikita mazepin and george russel f1 reference wait wrong fandom-)

Bull and sandman are pretty chill with eachother (on a good day which is once every couple of months), Sandman offers contructive critisism which helps Bull in the long run

Soda also gets help from sandman, Soda then tries to use the tips he heard from sandman in the ring, Soda then blacks out from drinking too much and loses

Aran makes fun of Soda's fear of horses by wearing one of those rubber horse masks (Aran is scared of flying in planes)

When Soda saw it he jumped and slapped the horse mask full force, if you know how silly it looks then you would know why bull started cackling

SMM and bald bull made a truce once, bull trapped Aran in a headlock whilst SMM took all of Aran's cheating stuff and handed it into the W.B.V.A officials

Ya cant be mad at them they were sick of getting hit in the face with his flying rope punching glove

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Help why did I struggle sm doing this💔 thats all the locker room mishaps done, I fear this is only the beginning I have sm more planned keep grinding chat ill see ya next time 😈😈

[vicsy]

Had no idea what to pitch so I literally looked up one word prompts and chose the first few. Pick whichever inspires: Daniel x Max + Sunburn/Tease/Emerge/Afternoon/Impulse/Nurture/Rough/Polaroid/Good

maxiel + polaroid, sunburn

"Drink?"

"Nah, I'm good, thanks. Can't stay long. Duty calls!" Daniel makes an exaggerated gesture. Max cracks a smile. He probably follows the pundit stuff Daniel does more than actual racing these days. "Just wanted to pop by since you're back to calling Monaco home. Nice place, mate."

If not for the sim rig installed in an empty guest room that could have been a nursery in a life he brushed aside, nobody would have ever guessed Max lived here. His new apartment was clean, spacious, incredibly faceless. A simple home for a creature of habit Max always was but not quite a home.

"I wanted to go watch the race this weekend," Max admits and pads through the cluttered living room to the adjacent kitchen, straight to the fridge. It's shiny, sophisticated and very empty, except for a monthly supply of Red Bull and yesterday's leftovers. He grabs a can for himself, wishing he had that beer Daniel used to love. "But I am of course happy to see you after, well. Who knows, yeah?"

Couple years, give or take. Max stopped counting after turning thirty-three.

Behind him, Daniel claps his hands together. Max throws a surprised look over his shoulder, blindly rummaging in the fridge. The shine of Daniel's smile hasn't diminished over the years, but the crow's feet around his eyes, Max discovers, are more prominent than he remembers. He wonders if Daniel notices the little changes about him, too; if he cares for them at all. Max does.

"Oh, congrats on your team winning, uh, another virtual racing thingy," he delivers the line with that old, addictive enthusiasm and, to Max, it's a gut punch. He schools his face, a lump forming in his throat. Daniel gives him a thumbs up, turns around and walks along the empty shelves attached to the TV wall. The lack of decor there makes it look kind of pathetic. Max had only managed to put two of his WEC trophies on display, a helmet he wore for the last race and a nice-looking box of assorted knick-knacks dear to his memory. "Any plans to decimate Le Mans this year, Mr Three Time champ?"

"Fernando is busy with Dakar, so probably I'll skip it. Oscar texted me about doing it next year together, so," Daniel's back is facing him still. Max closes the fridge and opens the Red Bull can, places it on the kitchen counter. Stares at it for a second or two. Then, out of a long-forgotten habit, Max goes for a poorly planned half-joke. "Didn't know you started watching iRacing in your old age. Quick, what's a livestream?"

It's a desperate attempt to even the gap between now and before. Daniel flips him a bird without looking, too occupied with whatever he found on Max's sad little shelves.

"Har, har, fucker. I mean, I gotta keep myself in the game, everything is changing, like, a lot. And, come on, it's you–" he stops talking. Max takes a sip from the can, watching Daniel finally face him. "Huh. Didn't know you still have these."

Max has gone lengths without having to experience a solid enough crash and the debilitating aftermath reverberating through his body. In the sun-flooded apartment, on the freshly turned page, it catches up to Max as abruptly as a rainstorm in the summer.

Forty-three year old Daniel is standing in his unfurnished living room, a splotch of color among the backdrop of generic white paint and a mount of unpacked boxes. Forty-three year old Daniel, with a sprinkle of salt in his hair and a tan line on the ring finger of his left hand, looks at Max like he's a ghost from the past, like it's him who just had to ruin everything when things got too real. He wasn't there when Max paid the price of his own happiness in retaliation.

Forty-three year old Daniel, who sent out an invitation to a wedding Max never attended, holds up two tiny polaroids taken almost a decade ago and all Max can think of is his signature on the divorce papers, the ink still wet.

He swiftly closes the distance to Daniel and snatches both pictures from him, cradles them to his chest. Daniel's hand is left suspended in the air between them. Max ignores the wobble in between his ribs. His eyes trace the line of the rose tattoo in the direct line of vision, memory bristling, anger thrumming underneath his skin.

"I kept them," Max spits. He doesn't mask the bitterness in his voice. He had it bottled up long enough the cork had gone rotten.

Daniel stares back, mouth slack. He looks good and Max hates that, hates his stupid colorful hoodie and his meager attempts to make amends. Above all, Max hates himself for ever conceding. Daniel has always had one foot out the door. Missed chances were Max's fuel and they've still propelled him back to square one.

"Yeah. I figured," Daniel says, too soft, too familiar. Placating. Max should ask him to leave.

Instead, he drops his gaze to the polaroids laid flat on his palm. They're in good condition but Max also hadn't looked at them in months, maybe years; it doesn't matter since those Daniel and Max, everything they stood for, ossified and turned into dust. It doesn't keep Max awake at night anymore.

Out of the two photos, only one comes from the Red Bull PR department. They never cared when it went missing. Max remembers the video they shot too starkly to be unbothered it ever happened — him and Daniel in matching team gear, insane rain in Monaco; Max winning that weekend and Daniel watching from the pit wall.

The other polaroid, a bit rough on the edges, had never seen the light of day. It captured just a part of Max's sunburnt face, a corner of his smile; Daniel's lips pressed to his cheek, his wet curls in disarray. Max gets a phantom ache in his chest when he remembers how the camera ended up in the sand, falling off a small table where they had propped it up against a half-empty cocktail glass.

Daniel cups Max's hand holding the photos from underneath, painfully hesitant. Max flits his eyes up to the hollow of Daniel's throat, to his full beard; to the pleading look stabbing daggers into the soft edges of Max that were once hard and unforgiving. 

Stashing those polaroids was Max’s way to forget he wished to go back. He was never the one to leave in the first place; that was Daniel's sworn prerogative. But he's in Max's living room now, a lifetime away from running.

"Max–"

"I think," he cuts in before Daniel makes it worse or gives him hope. His hand slips from Daniel's hold and Max retraces his steps back to the kitchen. Daniel tracks his every move. "I think I will put them here."

He sticks the polaroids to the enormous fridge door with a Welcome to Monaco magnet he fished out of a nearby drawer. The photos look whacky but, to Max, it's a long shot. He lingers in place, berating himself for giving this another chance. 

When he turns back around, Daniel is just an arm's length away.

"About that drink," Daniel says, low. Max watches his tongue dart out, wetting his lips. His heart jackhammers against his ribs.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Max's back hits the fridge.

Send me a ship/character(s) and a one word prompt and I will write a 5 sentence fic abou

[lilacmingi]

OPPOSITES ATTRACT

My works are 14+ ONLY. If you’re under 14 DO NOT interact with ne ir any of my works.

Pairing: Gryffindor!Jongho x Slytherin!fem reader

Word count: 4,408

Note: Final installment in the Hogwarts AU series! If you don’t know, the Hogwarts imagines for the other members are linked at the end! Reminder that this is an imagine from my Wattpad from 2023 so there will not be extra parts or continuations

Jongho wizzed through the air, holding the Quaffle close to him as he zoomed towards the opposing team's hoops, successfully tossing the ball through the goal, scoring yet again for Gryffindor.

"Yes!" You cheered only to quickly clamp your hand over your mouth afterwards, your outburst earning you some glances from your fellow housemates.

Maybe next time you should sit with the Gryffindors—then again, you'd stand out like a sore thumb. It was hard not to cheer for Jongho. He's the best quidditch player on the whole team, watching him is enough to put you on the edge of your seat. Yes, you two are from opposing houses, but you're the best of friends and you don't let old rivalries stop you from hanging out together.

The game came to a close and Gryffindor took the victory as expected. You had to keep your excitement at bay as you exited the stands to meet with your friend on the ground, holding it in long enough to part ways with the rest of your house.

Jongho approached you looking oh-so-handsome as usual, a thin layer of sweat on his face giving him a post-victory glow.

"That was awesome!" You squeaked.

"It was nothing." He huffed.

"Nothing? Every time I watch you play I'm on the edge of my seat. Honestly, there was a couple times I wasn't sure you'd score, but you pulled through every time."

His warm laughter filled the air as his cheeks turned pink, though that could have just been from all the activity out on the field.

"You act like I'm the best player on the team."

"You are!" You said enthusiastically, giving him a light punch on the arm. "We should celebrate your victory."

"By doing what?"

"We could go to Hogsmeade and grab a butterbeer." You suggested. "My treat."

Jongho's eyes lit up.

He loved butterbeer. You could remember the first time he tried it, the fond memory replaying in your head.

"When?"

"Tomorrow."

That heart-melting gummy smile of his broke out on his face as he nodded.

"Sounds good."

You and Jongho had been friends from day one, literally. You met on the train to Hogwarts and he was nervous as ever. He had only just recently found out there was magic in his family lineage and wasn't sure what to expect at Hogwarts as he had only found out it's existence a few weeks prior to the start of he school year.

"I don't know anything about this place and I'm nervous to be away from home for so long."

"There's nothing to be nervous about. You'll have fun, trust me." You told him. "I've been looking forward to this for a whole year. My older cousin told me they have entire feasts at Hogwarts. There's all sorts of food lined up on these really long tables that stretch across almost the entirety of the room."

"Wow. That sounds much better than instant ramen."

"Instant? Muggles have instant ramen?" You asked with wide eyes.

"Oh. It's not instant, it's just made in a shorter amount of time. We don't have magic so we have meals that can be made easily."

"Ooh. How long does it take?"

"Usually about three minutes unless you want to add extra stuff or cook your noodles longer."

"Three minutes is still really quick." You responded. "That's amazing."

"I guess it is." He chuckled.

Jongho thought so-called "muggle" things weren't special. After all, it's just how he goes about daily life, but seeing your reaction was amusing to him.

The both of you became friends very quickly during the duration of the train ride. You even sat together at the sorting hat ceremony, where you briefly explained what would occur.

"I hope we get into the same house together." You remember Jongho saying.

Unfortunately, you got sorted into different houses, you in Slytherin and him in Gryffindor, but that didn't bother you, nor did it stop the both of you from spending time together.

You and Jongho signed up to take a muggle appreciation class together where you paired up with each other since the professor wanted muggles or half-bloods to pair with purebloods. That was one of your favorite classes. You enjoyed learning about how muggles got through everyday life without magic as well as some of the things they had that you didn't, like pens, you found those to be quite fascinating. Your professor had a few and allowed everyone to try them out to see what they thought. You loved the pen and wondered why the school never used them instead of quills.

"You did so good at the game yesterday." You told Jongho.

He smiled, looking down bashfully. "Thanks."

"You're the best quidditch player at Hogwarts." You continued praising him.

Jongho was visibly holding back a bright grin, doing his best to keep it concealed as he fiddled with the packaging of his chocolate frog he purchased from the candy trolley.

"I get so caught up in the game. I'm sure my housemates want to kick me out." You chuckled.

He had seen you cheering him on many times before, even when Slytherin was against Gryffindor. It warmed his heart that you always cheered for him despite being in opposing houses and seeing you in the stands always gave him an energy boost during quidditch games, but he would never say it aloud.

Once you arrived at Hogsmeade, you couldn't contain your excitement, rushing Jongho off the train. He was fairly excited as well, but he wanted to keep his cool, putting on a calm exterior as he followed behind you through the metal archway with the town name on it.

Jongho's eyes glimmered in wonderment as he gazed at all the shops like it was his first time seeing them.

"Here we are." You announced, looking up at the sign for The Three Broomsticks.

Jongho was quick to step ahead of you and hold the door open. It was a small gesture but it made your heart flutter. Stepping inside the tavern, the both of you made your way to the bar, seating yourselves on the wooden stools that lined it. Someone came around shortly and took your orders before grabbing a couple glass steins, filling them with the sweet amber liquid you and Jongho came for.

"Two butterbeers." The barkeep said, setting the glasses down.

You rummaged in your bag and placed enough coins on the tabletop to pay for the beverages.

"Hey." Jongho frowned in disappointment, his hand halfway shoved in his pocket from trying to dig out money to pay himself.

"It's my treat." You smiled, lifting your stein up. "We're celebrating your big win, after all."

Jongho raised his large mug as well, clinking it with yours before taking a few large gulps of the butterscotch-flavored beverage.

Jongho let out an ahh sound, setting his glass down on the bar top. You chuckled softly at the foam that clung to his upper lip which made him look even more adorable than usual.

"What?" He inquired.

"You've got a little something here." You gestured on your own face.

"Oh." He laughed, his ears turning a light shade of pink as he grabbed a napkin and wiped his mouth.

"You got hit pretty hard by that one chaser on Slytherin. I thought you were going to get knocked off your broom. Are you alright?"

Jongho instinctively rubbed his shoulder while thinking back on the moment he got rammed in the side by one of Slytherin's chasers the day before.

"Yeah I'm fine. A little sore, but he didn't hit me that hard. It's nothing I can't handle."

You shook your head and stifled a laugh.

Jongho was a tough cookie and a strong person both mentally and physically, but that didn't stop you from checking up on him.

"So, should we shop while we're here?" You inquired before taking another drink of your butterbeer.

You could see the faintest hint of a smile playing at Jongho's lips. He loved Hogsmeade and always seemed so entranced by what it had to offer. Even after all these years you can still see how mesmerized he is by everything.

"We could... you know since we're in town." He responded.

"Alright. We can go wherever you want."

His face lit up at your offer.

Once your glasses had been emptied and your craving for butterbeer had been satiated, you and Jongho set off into Hogsmeade to browse the shops and see what grabbed your attention.

"Could we go into Spintwitches?" He asked you in an almost unsure manner, but you could tell by the gleam in his eye that he really wanted to go.

"Of course. Like I said, we'll go wherever you want."

As soon as you stepped foot in the sporting goods shop, you could see Jongho's face brighten, his eyes darting to all the different displays inside.

"Check it out." He marveled, scurrying over to one of the brooms on display.

Your eyes moved to the card set up with the name written across it.

"Hogwarts House Broom." You read aloud.

"It's enchanted to display the house colors of the owner." Jongho informed.

"Woah."

"Yeah. It's pretty awesome, isn't it?"

You nodded.

Though you were a pureblood wizard and Jongho was muggle-born, he seemed to have much more knowledge on quidditch than you. He knew anything and everything about types of brooms and what they do, whereas you didn't.

"This one can go up to seventy miles per hour." He pointed. "It's called the Silver Arrow. You see how the broom itself is made to look like an arrow?"

You nodded.

Honestly, you could listen to Jongho talk about brooms all day just to be able to see the enthusiastic expression on his face. Often times you find yourself thinking back on the day you first met him and how nervous he was to be attending Hogwarts. Now, he fits right in.

Jongho continued spouting off facts about each broom while you both perused the store for a few more minutes before deciding to move on.

"Where to next?" He inquired.

"How about Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop?"

He nodded and you both made your way in that direction.

Upon entering the quaint shop, the scent of parchment and ink reached your senses, a content smile settling onto your features. Displayed on the shelves were different quills that ranged in appearance. Some had fluffy, white feathers while others were flat with patterns on them. Your attention was drawn to a stunning peacock quill, the vibrant array of colors piquing your interest.

You had always been drawn to the captivating quill ever since you enrolled at Hogwarts years ago. Though with its flamboyant appearance, you had passed on buying one, not wanting to cause a distraction during class.

"I never really cared for quills." Jongho commented. "They're difficult to use and you have to keep dipping it in ink."

"Yeah, I can't understand why the school would still want to use them when there are things like pens."

"Ah." He chuckled, thinking back on when your professor for muggle appreciation class allowed everyone to try one out. "You were mesmerized by those things."

"How could I not be? They're much more convenient than a quill. You don't have to constantly dip it in ink."

"Stopping to dip your quill in ink seems like a waste of time if you think about how many times you have to do it during one class period." Jongho mentioned.

"Exactly!" You pointed. "I didn't even think about that."

A small laugh of amusement slipped out of Jongho as he shook his head. Seeing you getting fired up about pens versus quills was entertaining to him.

Moving right along, you started browsing the parchment and notebooks stacked on a shelf. One in particular had caught your eye and had you walking over to it, picking it up from the stack. You ran the pads of your fingers over the intricate embossed design in the leather of the notebook, tracing the swirls and curls on the cover. You enjoyed journaling and writing down good and exciting things that have happened to you, even sometimes writing down bad things just to vent your emotions. The pages in the current notebook you owned were only halfway filled, so there was no need to purchase the one you held in your hands, but it sure was pretty. Maybe you'd come back for it later when you needed a new journal.

You proceeded to the next display, perusing the items for a few moments before noticing Jongho's absence. He was standing with you when you first entered the store, but now you weren't sure where he had wandered off to.

After searching the shop for about a minute, you found Jongho looking at an inkwell filled with rainbow ink, turning the small glass jar around in his hand with a confused pout on his pretty lips that had your heart doing front flips.

"Do people actually use this?" He asked once you were close enough to hear him.

"Only for fun or pranks. It's not really suitable for classwork."

"Ah." He placed it back on the shelf. "People here seem to love their jokes. Prank quills, prank socks, a prank shop."

"Yeah." You chuckled. "Some people do. You'd be surprised how good business is at Zonko's."

"Are you ready to go?" Jongho asked, looking to see that you didn't have anything in your hands.

"Yeah. I didn't find anything."

"Alright. Moving on, then."

Your day at Hogsmeade was a lot of fun. You had stayed in town so long that you decided to grab lunch. Unfortunately, you weren't quick enough and Jongho had paid for your meal, which you shyly thanked him for. At the end of the day, you each left town with a bag of sweet treats from Honeydukes and a new piece of clothing from Gladrags. Jongho found a nice jacket and you managed to snag a pair of pants you had your eye on for a while.

"Thanks for taking me out today." Jongho told you on your walk back to the school.

"It was nothing. I wanted to celebrate your big win, plus I needed a day out. Can't be focused on studies all the time."

"Right." He chuckled.

Once inside the castle, the both of you parted ways to head to your respective dormitories, Jongho standing in the hallway for a moment, watching you walk away.

I should have said something. He thought to himself. It would have been the perfect opportunity. He let out a short huff of disappointment.

Maybe next time.

Jongho took a deep breath in an attempt to calm his racing heart. He had gone over everything at least a hundred times.

"Just say what you need to say. It's no big deal."

Gryffindors were supposed to be courageous and brave, but Jongho was currently lacking that trait. He wanted so badly to confess his feelings to you, but all he could think about was the many ways you'd reject him:

"I only see you as a friend."

"I like someone else."

"I'm sorry. I don't feel the same."

"I don't date muggles."

He groaned, throwing his head back in exasperation. It shouldn't be this big of a deal.

If only he had something that could help him out, give him that little boost of courage he needed.

Then, suddenly, a lightbulb went off in his head. A bravery potion. That's it! He knew how to make that. He just learned it a few weeks ago in potions class. Pulling out his cauldron, he went through the ingredients he remembered were used in the concoction, pulling them out and lining them along the desk.

Less than an hour later, he held a glass bottle in his hands, swirling the liquid around inside while examining it. He had never taken a potion before and was a little nervous, but he needed this. He was afraid he wouldn't be able to confess properly unless he had just a little bit of courage.

"I hope this works." He murmured before downing the potion.

You were walking down the hallway when Jongho came around the corner with a little pep in his step. It was evening and classes were over for the day, so you assumed that's why he appeared so chipper.

"There you are, pretty."

Your body stiffened, your heart leaping at the unexpected nickname.

"Pretty?" You whispered under your breath.

As soon as you were within reach, Jongho took hold of your hand and rubbed his thumb affectionately across your knuckles.

"I'm glad I found you. We need to talk."

"We do?" You questioned. "About what?"

"Follow me."

Jongho led you down the stone corridors of the castle until you arrived at a somewhat secluded area of the school that was, for the moment, free of any students or teachers.

"Is everything alright?" You asked, mildly concerned that he needed to discuss something serious with you.

"You're so beautiful." He sighed out, ignoring your question. "Have I ever told you that?"

Your eyes widened as a faint warmth touched your cheeks. "No."

"You are. Y/n, you are so stunning."

What's with the sudden compliments?

Jongho gazed at you dreamily. "You make my heart race every time I'm near you and when I see you in the crowd at quidditch games cheering for me, it makes me feel so giddy I can't even explain it. Sometimes I wish I could run up to you after a successful game and kiss you. I'd lift you off your feet and spin you around just like in the movies."

"Jongho." You uttered in disbelief.

"I love you so much, Y/n."

You could see the look in his eyes and tell by the way he was sputtering all of these confessions that something wasn't right.

"Are you okay?" You asked him.

"I'm fine." He giggled. "Better than ever."

You pressed your lips together in concern, cupping his cheeks to examine him.

"Please kiss me, Y/n."

You gasped softly at the request, your cheeks set ablaze. Oh how you wanted to give in. You wanted so badly to lock lips with him right then and there, but this wasn't right.

"What did you do, Jongho?" You asked.

"My name sounds so nice coming from your mouth, pretty." He sighed out.

"Jongho."

He giggled in response.

"What did you take?"

He reached into his bag and pulled out an empty bottle, handing it to you. You brought it to your nose, sniffing it, the scent of bubblegum reaching your senses.

Babbling Beverage.

"Jongho." You groaned. "What have you done?"

"It's a bravery potion, Y/n. No need to worry." He smiled almost drunkenly.

"This isn't a bravery potion, this is a Babbling Beverage. It makes you speak nonsense."

He scoffed in offense. "I'm not speaking nonsense."

"Come here." You brought him over to the corner of the secluded hallway, so you'd have a little more privacy.

"Are you mad at me?" Jongho asked.

"No, but why did you do it?"

"I wanted to confess to you but I was too scared. Isn't that silly? You told me Gryffindors are brave, and I usually am, but not today." He rested his head against the wall. "I needed something to help me so I brewed a bravery potion—or at least I thought it was."

"You... wanted to confess to me?"

"Yes. I like you so much, Y/n. You're so beautiful and funny and kind and you made me feel so welcomed on that very first train ride to Hogwarts. You were the first friend I ever made."

Your heart swelled with adoration at his words. Though he was under the influence of a potion, his words seemed genuine.

Jongho took his bag off, letting it fall to the ground as he stepped closer to you.

"I want to kiss you so badly." He murmured.

"I'm not sure that's a good ide-" Your sentence went unfinished as he gently took your chin between his thumb and index finger.

Staring into his captivating eyes, you found yourself wanting to give in, your gaze darting down to his pouty lips and imagining how soft they probably felt. Having his face so dangerously close to yours had you wanting to throw caution to the wind.

"Can I?" He asked.

The tone of his voice was so soft yet temping at the same time. Without mulling it over any further, you nodded.

Jongho didn't let another second pass before his lips landed on yours—and yes, they were soft. Right away, you reciprocated his actions, kissing him back with just as much fervor.

His fingers released your chin, moving to the back of your neck to pull you even closer, the action also causing your lips to press further into his. You could feel every dip and curve of his mouth, the sensation making your closed eyelids flutter. Your hands, which had been balled into fists at your sides, latched onto his shoulders, staying there for only a few moments before your fingers slid into his hair. Jongho's arm snaked its way around your waist, pulling your body flush against his. You gasped at his action, noting how strong he was and how tightly he was holding you against him with just one arm.

It was clear Jongho was starting to get comfortable as his kisses got more heated and somewhat sloppy. He began nipping lightly at your bottom lip, letting out quiet sighs when your nails grazed the nape of his neck.

"Keep doing that, pretty." He exhaled against your lips, sending a shiver down your spine and a rush of butterflies to your abdomen.

You boldly grabbed a handful of his hair and gave it an experimental tug, a quiet groan from him vibrating against your lips immediately after. His hand that was cupping the back of your neck dropped to your waist, squeezing your hip tightly. He then took a step forward, backing you against the stone wall behind you.

"You have no idea how long I've dreamt of this." He murmured, placing a kiss on your jawline

Heavy breaths escaped your lips, your chest heaving up and down while attempting to catch your breath. You had no idea Jongho could kiss so passionately... or boldly, and you were pleasantly surprised by this discovery.

"You're not the only one." You confessed.

He lifted his head to meet your gaze.

"I'm not?"

"No."

Jongho knew when you kissed back that it more than likely meant you felt the same about him as he does you, but hearing you practically confess had him reeling. He wanted to hear more.

"It's probably obvious at this point, but I'm head over heels for you, Jongho."

Still under the influence of the potion, Jongho blurted the first thought in his head.

"I love the way you say my name."

His lips were on yours again, hot and heavy. His kisses were desperate and fast-paced, making you weak in the knees. The Babbling Beverage made one speak nonsense and didn't have an effect on how they kissed, so this was all Jongho.

Your fingers curled around the collar of his robes, fisting the fabric in desperation while he practically devoured you.

It was at that moment, your foot bumped something on the floor which caused you to part ways. Glancing down, you found Jongho's bag that had been discarded only a few moments earlier lying on its side with something sticking out of it.

"What's this?" You asked, reaching for the object that had fallen out of his bag. It was wrapped in brown paper with twine tied around the it, a sprig of lavender tucked into the bow knotted neatly in the middle.

"Oh." The look on his face told you that it was something you weren't supposed to see.

The effects of the potion seemed to be wearing off as he dropped his head into his hands, letting out a groan of frustration.

"I was supposed to give that to you first, before I confessed." He grumbled, his voice muffled by his palms.

When he lifted his head, he saw that you were smiling.

"You got me something?"

"Yeah, but I messed it all up. I had a plan. Give you the gift, then confess. That stupid potion." He muttered the last part.

He only wanted something to give him a tiny boost of courage and instead he made the wrong thing and made himself babble like a fool. Then again, he did have an incredible makeout session with you, so did everything really go wrong?

"Here." He picked up the item and handed it to you.

You carefully took the gift from him, running your fingertips over the lavender.

"You wrapped it yourself?"

He nodded, holding his hands behind his back and rocking back on his heels.

Plucking the sprig of lavender out of the twine, you undid the knot and pulled back the wrapping. Inside was the leather-bound journal you were admiring at Scrivenshaft's just a day ago.

A quiet gasp left your lips. "How did you know?"

As far as you were aware, Jongho had been looking at inkwells when you were perusing the journals.

"I saw you eyeing it in the shop." He responded, holding back a grin, clearly proud of himself.

"You didn't have to."

"I know."

"Thank you." You embraced him in a one-armed hug. "Also, don't worry about how things went today. I think everything turned out perfect. And if I'm being honest, I really enjoyed that little kiss we shared."

"Little?" He raised a brow.

"Okay, not so little."

"I'd be happy to do it again." He grinned, leaning forward only for you to press your finger to his lips, halting his actions.

"Maybe later. I heard some voices down the hall a few seconds ago. Don't wanna get caught."

He pouted, his pillowy lips pressing against your index finger. Unable to resist his puffed out cheeks and pleading eyes, you let out a short sigh, caving immediately.

"We can go to the library. We're less likely to get caught there."

Jongho nodded vigorously in agreement, taking your hand and pulling you down the corridors towards the library, eager to lock lips with you once again.

Hongjoong ⟡ Seonghwa ⟡ Yunho ⟡ Yeosang ⟡ San ⟡ Mingi ⟡ Wooyoung

Masterlist ᝰ — enjoyed this imagine? reblogs & comments are very much appreciated!

DO NOT steal, plagiarize, copy, repost, alter, or translate my works in any way

🏷 @h3arteyes4mingi @weird-bookworm @poppy2007 @parkjennykim @evidive @mxlly143 @lizzymizzy-blogg @minhanbyeol @dinossaurz @laylasbunbunny

[lovebugism]

i need more of “the customer is always right” before i wither away and die <3 the anticipation of IT happening is quite literally killing me ilysm

THE CUSTOMER'S ALWAYS RIGHT | b-minus

summary: eddie munson takes the unconquerable english midterm that's forced him to repeat senior year two times. dustin henderson gets a pep talk. uncle wayne gives his nephew a warning. you cook your eddie spaghetti some spaghetti. (17k)

pairing: virgin!eddie munson / f!reader

tags: idiots in love, experienced!reader, domestic bliss, staying the night, eddie munson tries to get used to being loved TW probable typos, swearing, discussions of being poor, talks of insecurities, kissing, heavy petting, oral sex (m!receiving) 18+ only!!

a/n: hi. hello. me again. you probably don't remember me because it's been almost TWO MONTHS. i'm really sorry about that btw this semester of college was sent from the actual depths of hell. please take this sixth installment of tcar and find it in your heart to forgive me <3 ily all xoxo

( PREVIOUSLY ) | ( MASTERLIST ) | ( NEXT )

 ˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

“Okay, this is officially the last time I let you drive me anywhere,” Eddie gripes from the passenger seat of your too tiny car as one excruciatingly happy ABBA song bleeds into another.

He shouldn’t have expected anything less. You’re made of the same stuff you listen to — sunshine and melted ice cream and summer breezes. You match the blue skies above you as you belt the lyrics to the song you seem to know by heart.

The sight makes Eddie grin to himself, still beaming no matter how hard he rolls his eyes.

This was the only good thing about the breaks of his van going haywire and having to bum a ride to school from you — getting to see more of you in your element. 

As much as he loved having you in his passenger seat, bobbing your head to whatever rock song he’d popped into the cassette player, there was something entirely different about seeing you in the driver’s seat.

This car was your safe space, spotted with stickers on the console and polaroids on the speedometer, where you could sing any damn ABBA song you wanted to because it was your own little bubble where nothing could touch you. 

Eddie’s grateful you let him see it, all these parts of you that you reveal slowly to him like so many tiny rays of sunshine.

It’s even better to witness with a full stomach, which was maybe the second good thing about driving with you. You picked him up with time to spare to get breakfast — to take the long route to school and watch the rising sun sparkle over Lover’s Lake. There was no reason to speed through town like a maniac because he wasn’t in a rush. Today might be the first time all year he’s not five minutes late to first period.

He tells you to sing louder when you get all shy and hyperaware of his gaze, feeding you bits of your breakfast — but only on the instrumental parts so you don’t miss your favorites. The boy props his arm on the center console and folds down the wrapper of your greasy, plain biscuit with his thumb so it doesn’t get in the way of your bite. He doesn’t even complain when you try to sing through the mouthful. 

He figures that this is what love is. A part of it, at least. That stupid, philosophical feeling people have been trying to describe for ages is sitting right beside him — with crumbs sticking to the corners of her mouth as she mixes up the words to the Dancing Queen chorus.

Love isn’t butterflies or tight chests — it’s this. It’s letting a person listen to music you hate because you know they love it and not caring that they’re singing horrifically off-key.

And it’s not like Eddie’s in love with you or anything. He’s just got a lot of adoration for you. It’s the kind of innocent affection that makes him love ABBA and think you’re one of the best damn singers he’s ever heard in his life — even though neither would be particularly true if he didn’t care about you so much.

It’s sort of like the love he’s got for Dustin, to still care about the little shrimp even when he’s annoying him to no end. But, at the same time, it’s not like that at all. Because Dustin Henderson isn’t the prettiest girl he’s ever seen. Dustin Henderson doesn’t make him feel like his heart is being trampled by an entire stampede of zoo animals. 

No one quite makes Eddie feel the way you do. But even if he was in love with you, he’s got no way of knowing the difference — between loving and being in love. The only thing he’s really sure of is that he doesn’t know a damn thing. And that the sick feeling in his stomach he gets every time he looks at you can’t possibly be normal.

“Oh, stop being such a baby,” you retort. Your words come slurred and slightly muffled through the bite of biscuit in your cheek. “I know you secretly like it.”

“Of course I do!” he shouts over the catchy bass guitar and your subsequent laughter. “It’s just not the kinda shit I wanna listen to right before I take the biggest test of my life.”

It’s true. The past two times he’s been forced to take Ms. O’Donnell’s impossible midterm exam, he's listened to the exact same song — ‘Ride the Lightning,’ Metallica. It’s the only song that gives him enough of an adrenaline rush to gather the confidence to fail the same test. Twice. 

Eddie Munson is a creature of habit. Today marks the third anniversary of the dreaded day that makes or breaks his high school career, but instead of spending it with Metallica, he’s spending it with you. He wants to believe you’re a good luck charm or some kind of lucky omen, but he’s terrified of getting his hopes up.

Expect the worst, and you’ll never be disappointed. That’s what Uncle Wayne always said.

“I think ‘When I Kissed the Teacher’ has plenty of useful advice, Eddie Spaghetti.”

The boy turns to you with a bemused wide-eyed gaze. “If you’re suggesting I makeout with Ms. O’Donnell to pass her class, I’m gonna hurl— like actually hurl. And I will deliberately do it all over the floor of your car.”

“Would you rather repeat your senior year? Again?”

“Yes,” he answers without missing a beat and with a very enthusiastic nod that makes his wild curls sway around his face. “I would rather be a senior for the rest of my life than kiss Ms. O’Donnell.”

“Well, it’s a good thing you won’t have to, right? Because you’re totally gonna ace this thing.”

This is what you’ve been doing for over a week now — twisting everything negative into something more overtly positive. You meet Eddie’s pessimism and self-doubt with a sort of hopefulness he lost somewhere between the first and second time he got held back. 

You force him to study in the gentlest way possible because you’re never anything but soft with him. You make him pretty little flashcards and flip through them with him on the opposite side of his bed, obviously more enthusiastic about the whole thing than he is. You give him sympathetic pecks on his cheek when he gets a question wrong and kiss him totally breathless when he gets the odd one right.

Eddie would be lying if he said the incentive didn’t help at least a little bit.

There is no hint of impatience or sign of hubris that makes him feel stupid. You just teach him to be kinder to himself with tiny little reminders that you’re doing all this right along with him.

“Considering I’ve failed it twice already, I highly doubt that, sweetheart,” he counters, and he’s kidding — mostly. He says it with a teasing lilt and a twinkle in his squinted eyes, but you know that’s his way of covering up that he’s totally serious. 

He really doesn’t think he can do it, pass this stupid exam. He’s got absolutely no faith in himself — but that’s okay, because you’ve got all the faith in him in the world.

“Well, that’s because you didn’t have me to help you study,” you argue, just before accepting the last piece of biscuit he plucks from the parchment and offers to you.

You speak through the mouthful. “But now you do! And we’ve been going over this all week and—” You cut yourself off to swallow the dry pastry. “—And you totally got this. You’re gonna blow ‘em outta the park, Eddie Spaghetti. I can feel it.”

Your optimism makes him smile even though he doesn’t really feel like smiling. He lolls his head against the seat to look at you, finds you with a pretty grin and tiny biscuit crumbs on the corners of your mouth, and has the sudden urge to tell you that he loves you.

It comes out of nowhere. It bubbles up all at once like vomit and startles him with its unexpectedness. The sudden and unfamiliar feeling makes him feel sick, like he just went upside down on a rollercoaster. Whoever said love felt like butterflies was a liar because it feels a whole lot more like getting punched in the stomach.

The words rise from his throat like bile and linger on the edge of his tongue. Eddie forces himself to swallow them back down again. The unsaid ‘Holy fuck, I love the shit outta you’ tastes far more bitter going down.

“What do I get if I ace it then, huh?” he wonders after an awkward blink of silence.

“Uh, I don’t know,” you shrug. “Your diploma.”

“I meant as a reward, dummy.”

“I feel like graduating high school is enough of a reward.”

“I just think I should be compensated for a job well done, is all,” he proposes with a lopsided grin. The teasing nature of his words drips from his mouth like honey.

You glance at him once, eyes wide and dumbfounded, then back to the road. “Eddie Munson…” you scold in a lighthearted lilt. “Get your head outta the gutter. It’s not even eight o’clock.”

That sort of thing wouldn’t have bothered you before. Any other time, you would’ve been all too happy to pull over and jerk him off in a barren parking lot, relieve all his pent-up stress about the exam in the form of a quick handjob. But you’ve been quite obviously keeping your hands to yourself since he told you he was a virgin. 

You were serious about what you said before, about starting over, and Eddie learned that very quickly. You take to giving him tiny little pecks on the cheek and holding his sweaty hand in yours and hardly anything else — like you’re a couple of kids going steady.

Eddie likes it, though, the comforting nature of your unhurried disposition. He just hates the ache it leaves him with.

“It’s all I’m gonna be thinking about,” he confesses with a scrunched nose. “Just so ya know.”

“As long as it helps you pass,” you respond with the shake of your head.

“As long as it helps me pass…” Eddie echoes, quieter. 

“Just think about the biggest kiss I’m gonna give you when I see you again,” you tell him, flashing him a beam as you slow at a stop sign. You trap your smile between your teeth and flash him a glance that can only be described as whimsical — full of shy smiles and fluttering lashes and sparkling eyes. “‘Cause I’m gonna kiss you absolutely stupid, Eddie Munson.”

A rose-colored hue sprinkles along the apples of his cheeks. He never thought a threat could sound so appealing.

“Cool…” is the only thing he could think to mutter in the moment, too busy trying not to smile too wide. He turns his glowing cheeks towards his lap and purses his smile towards his fiddling fingers. “But, uh, I have Hellfire after school, so… Maybe tomorrow?”

You meet his disappointed glance with a shrug. “You could come over after if you want?”

He wants to. He always wants to.

“It’ll probably be late.”

“Then just stay over.”

Your offer comes effortlessly but strikes a deep feeling of complexity within him. Eddie doesn’t know why it makes him so suddenly nervous, only that it makes his palms sweat almost instantly.

The two of you haven’t crossed that threshold yet — of sharing a bed to sleep. He’d catch you dozing on occasion, slouched against his headboard with your head on his shoulder, and he’d wake you. Not because it made him uncomfortable, but because he didn’t want your neck to ache. 

You’d rouse with a groggy apology — “I should probably leave before Bowie starves to death and I drool all over your shoulder,” you’d tell him. 

And it’s not like Eddie wanted you to leave, but he was more than happy to sleep alone. What if he snores obnoxiously loud or he does something gross in his sleep? If you got instantly turned off by some sleeping habit he didn’t even know he had, he thinks it might destroy him.

Eddie can’t control the front he puts up around everyone when he’s sleeping. And for a boy who’s still trying to impress a pretty girl, that’s a very frightening thought.

“Uh, okay… Are you— Are you sure?” he stammers.

His apprehension confuses you. The offer hadn’t felt like that big of a deal to you. “I mean… yeah? We practically did it over the phone last week. It’ll be just like that — but, you know, in person.”

“Right… Okay.”

“I can make us dinner, and we can watch a movie or something,” you propose and grin at the daydream of it all. You wouldn’t have to miss Eddie if he was beside you all night. You wouldn’t have to drift off to thoughts of him either, because he’d be right there. “Bowie would be stoked if you stayed over. She’s practically obsessed with you.”

The thought makes Eddie smile to himself. His heart swells at the idea that other parts of your life have already started to accept him. It makes him feel all warm and fuzzy in his leather jacket and ripped jeans and chunky metal rings.

“Her mom is too, right?” he asks you, mostly playful. He smirks all smug, but his cinnamon-tinted gaze gleams with sincerity.

“Oh, obviously,” you scoff without a second thought. “Have you seen her? She can’t get enough of you…” Your teasing lilt and soft smile fades as you squint at him. “Don’t tell her I told you that, though.”

Eddie pinches his thumb and forefinger together, zipping them across his lips, then rolling down the window to toss the imaginary lock out of it. 

Wind whips through the small car with vigor, making a wild halo of Eddie’s already less-than-tamed hair. The intrusion forces you to squint, even more so when you laugh. 

The sound of your giggling is like glitter or sunbeams. It’s as bright as yellow and soft like summer rain. It makes him smile, too, because that’s all he wanted to do in the first place — make you laugh. It’s all he ever wants to do.

Eddie cranks the lever to roll the window back up again as you tell him: “And, you know, if you stayed over, then I could give you that reward we were talking about.” 

You’ve successfully stooped to his level now: head stuck in the very depths of the gutter. Most of your thoughts are innocent, cooking for him and holding him while you slept. Others, not so much.

“And that would be…” he trails off with raised brows.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” you squint at him as you turn the steering wheel to pull into the bustling parking lot of Hawkins High. 

The place is as wretched as it always was. It hasn’t changed a bit, just sort of deteriorated with time. The nameplate on top of the building has started to grey and the tiger mural painted on the bricks is fading, but it’s still the same. The familiarity of it all hits you with an ice-cold pang of nostalgia.

“I would,” Eddie nods a very vigorous nod, all innocent and wide-eyed, as you park on the far side of the lot. “I would very much like to know.”

You lean across the console to press a swift kiss to his cheek. “You’ll find out later,” you assure him, lingering just ahead of his face. Closer by an inch or two and the tips of your noses would nudge against one another.

“Have mercy…” Eddie murmurs to himself, eyes and limbs suddenly heavy under the weight of his desire for you. 

You made him promise he’d stay sober for the exam — no drinking the night before, no smoking while he got ready. Before now, he’d been perfectly clearheaded. Then you go and look at him with that look, and he’s instantly drunk on you.

He tries to close the distance between you but succeeds only in brushing your noses together before a loud honk blares from ahead of you. It sends the two of you jerking away from each other almost instantly, heads whipping toward the direction of the too loud beep. 

It comes from Steve Harrington’s maroon Beemer that he’d parked just ahead of your Volvo. Him and his friends file out one by one — Robin from the passenger, Dustin Henderson from the back, and then Steve from the driver’s side. 

The former two are beaming, far too happy for it to be so early. Steve looks more like a victim to the morning as he leans against his open car door. His smile looks like a wince and he props his wrist on the door, throwing his fingers up in the place of an actual wave. Dustin and Robin are far more enthusiastic with their gestures.

You and Eddie wave a tad bit awkwardly back at them.

“Look at him,” the boy says, trying and failing to hold back his laughter. “King Steve. Carpooling his kids like a real mom.”

“I’m pretty sure he’s a babysitter first and a human being second,” you joke, then more seriously tell him: “You don’t have to come over if you don’t want to, you know?”

“I know,” he nods. “But I want to.”

“Okay… I just— I don’t want it to seem like I’m trying to, you know, force you or something—”

“It didn’t.”

“—I was just saying it could be nice, you know? But I feel like it sounded like I was being a little pushy.”

“You weren’t.”

“And I don’t want you to be, like, scared to say no to me or something, you know? It wouldn’t hurt my feelings or anything, okay? I promise,” you ramble, partly lying because you know it would hurt a little, but you’d never tell him that. “The ball is totally in your court, so… Whatever you want to do, it’s completely—”

Your nervous blathering is brought to an unexpected halt when Eddie brings his hands to your face. He cups your cheeks in his palms, brushing his thumbs along the apples of them. The sleeves of his leather jacket tickle your chin. He sprayed his wrist with cologne this morning, you can tell; the musky cedarwood and tobacco are more prominent now. 

The boy laughs softly when the suddenness of his action makes your eyes go wide, chuckling louder when he squeezes your cheeks and makes your lips pout softly.

“I wanna come over, okay?” Eddie assures through his laughter. “And you’re never annoying me when you ask. I promise. I’ll probably say yes to just about anything when it’s coming from you, sweetheart.”

“And you’re not just saying that?” you press, words slightly muffled with the way Eddie’s holding your face.

“I’m not just saying that,” he echoes more confidently. He shakes his head at you, then moves your jaw back and forth with his palms so he’s shaking yours too. You jerk away from him with a grin. 

“I’ll see you later?” he asks you while he collects his things from the floor, which is just the little tin box he carries everywhere. He swears it has everything he needs in it. You assume it’s just a dull pencil and a couple of baggies of weed he plans to sell between lunch shifts.

“Yeah,” you answer with a smile.

He clicks the handle to open the car door, then kicks it open the rest of the way. He rolls his head back and puckers his lips for a kiss. You happily oblige him, meeting him halfway but turning at the last second so his mouth meets your cheek.

“Kids are watching,” you joke at his surprise.

And even though he’d only pecked your jaw, it makes Robin and Steve roll their eyes. “Gag me with a spoon,” the girl gripes as she walks past the hood of your car.

Dustin follows behind her, too preoccupied to care. He’s got an anticipatory grin on his face that reveals the blue and green braces on his teeth. The composition notebook in his hands has the Hellfire logo drawn in red and yellow sharpie on the front of it.

You’ve never met the kid, but he’s exactly how you’d expected him to be.

You heard a lot about him — from Steve mostly, but from Eddie too. Robin has the occasional story about the boy from whenever he visits Family Video. They all call him little shit most of the time, shrimp on occasion, and Dusty Bun when he’s done something particularly sweet.

It’s all from a lighthearted place, though. You figure it must be because Steve Harrington is waking up at seven in the morning to take some fourteen-year-old to school. And Eddie’s even worse — the second Dustin calls asking for a ride, he’s hopping in his van without a second thought.

The boy barely lets Eddie get out of the car before he starts bombarding him with questions about the latest D&D campaign. He prattles on and on about it while they walk towards the school, pointing adamantly at the notebook in his hands. You imagine it’s full of conspiracies and potential ways to beat the Cult of Vecna. 

He’s so invested he doesn’t even care when Robin slips the cap from his hand and flips it backwards.

“Have the best day ever, kiddos!” you shout through your rolled-down car window.

You get a half-hearted wave from Dustin, but he doesn’t even glance at you when he does it. Eddie blows a dramatic kiss your way, but Robin rivals his sweetness with a middle finger and a rouge-tinted smile.

The bell chimes overhead, high-pitched and too familiar. The parking lot empties slowly, and the mindless muddled chatter fades too.

Steve saunters to your car after everyone else heads inside. He folds his arms along the passenger door as he leans down to look at you. 

His hair is un-styled, but in a cool sort of way that only he can pull off. Chestnut strands fall down over his forehead while others are pushed back from where he’s ran his fingers through them. His jaw is dusted with a fine layer of stubble that sprinkles a shadow of a mustache on his cupid’s bow.

You’re both wearing the elements of your uniforms.

He’s got on a pair of faded jeans and the mandatory collared shirt, even though he swears Keith only makes him abide by the dress code. You’re wearing the all black get-up required of all Enzo’s waitresses. The flowy blouse and a-line skirt are now wrinkled from the drive over. You’re only missing your floral apron and Steve his forest green vest.

“How long until your shift starts?” he asks you, voice deep and gruff with the morning.

Your eyes flit down to the flashing clock on your dashboard, then back up to him. “I don’t have to go in until eleven today, but I was gonna see if I could pick up an extra shift.”

He nods and juts out his lips as he turns to squint down the parking lot. He looks back at you with a more hopeful gaze. “Wanna go fuck around at Family Video instead?”

And, of course, by “fuck around,” he means popping popcorn and playing some terrible, terrible slasher film on the television behind the counter that has more boobs and blood than actual plot.

You’ll stop for junk food on the way like you always do and spend the bulk of the movie tossing gummy bears and M&Ms into Steve’s mouth. You’ll waste hours talking about nothing, but it’ll feel like only minutes have gone by when it’s time for your shift.

“Are you kidding?” you scoff like it’s not the best idea you’ve heard all morning. Or maybe second best because Eddie’s proposal of a reward is still swirling around in the confines of your mind. “Of course I do.”

 ˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

By sunset, Eddie Munson’s got a B-minus on his midterm, a crowd of kids singing his praises, and a date with the hottest woman on the planet. Life, as it turns out, was really starting to look up for the local freak.

“Best… campaign… ever!” Dustin shouts. He’s still so boyishly excited about the whole thing that he has to take in deep breaths before he says each word. 

The emphatic exclamation echoes through the dim, empty hallway of Hawkins High. The rest of the school had left some time ago; all that’s left now are the scraps — the basketball douchebags, the theater geeks, the D&D nerds.

The Hellfire Club gets the entire west wing to themselves, and the unusual vacancy allows them to saunter down the corridor’s length like they own the damn place. 

They don’t have to look over their shoulders for assholes that might trip them or stuff them into lockers. Still bubbling with the after-effects of such an utterly sadistic campaign, they feel like they’re on top of their own little world.

Eddie Munson hasn’t felt this good in a long, long time.

He spins on the heel of his worn-out sneaker and walks backwards ahead of his friends so he can examine each of their faces. He’d unleashed the whole Vecna lives twist that he’d been keeping in his metaphorical back pocket for some time now.

You were the one that gave him the idea, sprung it out of nowhere during a smoke session so many months ago. It feels like it’s been forever now. That was back when you were just his customer, and he was just your dealer — when all you needed was a little free weed, and Eddie just needed to pass a test.

You both somehow ended up with far more than either of you bargained for, but he’s not complaining. He hopes you aren’t either.

Dustin had sort of predicted Vecna’s resurgence. He’d scribbled it down in his journal with all the rest of his endless conspiracies. Well, actually, he suspected that Kas was still a villain and hadn’t slain Vecna like they thought — which wasn’t exactly right, but it was still pretty damn close. Eddie’s never met someone who cared so much about one of his campaigns.

So, needless to say, the curly-haired boy is beaming. His green-blue braces and pearly whites are on full display, partially from excitement but mostly because he was sort of right — in a vague, roundabout way.

Mike had been enthusiastic about it too, but that was before he had to suffer through his best friend’s endless boasts. His brown eyes roll damn near to the back of his skull as he huffs, angled jaw clenching from gritted teeth.

“Well, when you spend eight hours coming up with, like, a thousand different theories, one of them is gonna be right,” he’d finally groused. 

Dustin only smiled at the lankier boy, totally unfazed by his grumbling. “It’s not my fault you have exactly zero work ethic. You’re just mad you lost.”

“Yeah, because staying up all night writing in your diary makes you a real winner.”

“For the last time, Mike, it’s not a diary!”

Lucas was too far away to join in on the bickering. The boy had been distant for a while now, actually. Eddie joked that he must’ve been upset about missing basketball practice with Carver and the rest of his goons, but Lucas hadn’t laughed as loud as he’d hoped. He only chuckled under his breath, shook his head, and said it was just girl troubles.  

Gareth, meanwhile, is still grumbling about Vecna killing his ranger. Even though Dustin’s bard brought them all back with a resurrection spell in the end, he doesn’t like to lose. Eddie doesn’t blame him, but he’d be lying if he said the angry scrunch contorting his best friend’s features wasn’t hilarious.

Jeff had lost his druid too, but he was a much better sport about the whole thing. He usually is, especially compared to the rest of the club. He’s perhaps the only one who doesn’t treat every loss like the end of the world.

“Well, thank you, Ser Dustin,” Eddie responds in a fanciful sort of accent, bending at the waist in a gracious brow. “But I cannot take all the credit, I’m afraid.”

Dustin’s brows pinch together. “What do you mean?”

“He means that his girlfriend helped him put it together,” Jeff lisps.

“No way!” the boy gapes, totally dumbfounded. “The girl from this morning? In the car? She’s… She’s into Dungeons and Dragons?”

“Not really. No,” Eddie shrugs right before flashing a shit-eating grin. “But she is into me, so…”

The less-than-humble brag makes Gareth groan. His sandy curls fall back as he tilts his head toward the ceiling, ocean eyes rolling and then fluttering closed. “If I have to hear about your stupid girlfriend one more time…” he’d griped after the first few times Eddie managed to bring you up in every conversation — about a million of them ago now.

His annoyance doesn’t lessen Dustin’s confusion. “I don’t get it…”

“Gareth's just mad because he’s in love with Eddie’s girlfriend,” Jeff clarifies once more, feigning pity as he pats the boy on the shoulder.

“All I’m saying is, I would’ve tried a little harder to get her attention if I knew she was into freaks,” Gareth grieves, a little forlorn and distantly heartbroken, but shrugging it off like he isn’t all that affected by it.

You were a bit like Steve The Hair Harrington in that way. A little like Vicki Carmichael or, god forbid, Billy Hargrove. You’ve garnered a sort of popularity that’s made you into a sideshow attraction that everyone wants to ride — literally.

You’re popular in a much, much different way than Steve or Vicki or Billy. It’s left you acutely fetishized in an extreme sort of fashion, an object of desire for many in disgusting, lurid ways.

It seems Gareth didn’t go unscathed with his lust for you either.

Well, too little too fucking late if Eddie had anything to say about it. But he would never, because that’s his best friend, so he decides to scoff and tell him: “Like she’d be into you anyway.”

“Oh, please. I’m a total catch.”

“Is there anyone she isn’t into?” Jeff chuckles, too kind of heart to realize the mercilessness in his words. “Isn’t that, like, her whole thing.”

A sharp pang of anger strikes like lightning in Eddie’s chest. It’s ice-cold and red hot, a burst of adrenaline that feels like fight or flight. His hands curl into fists before he even realizes it. If it had been anyone else and not one of his best friends, he imagines he might’ve swung before he even thought about what he was doing. 

Before the words to defend you spill like venom from his mouth, another beats him to the punch.

“Hey,” Lucas scolds from a little ways behind the group, making them all turn to look at him. His brows are furrowed slightly, but the rest of his face is contorted in an unreadable way. His hands are tucked deep into the pockets of the puke-green letterman he wears over his Hellfire tee. “Leave her alone.”

“How do you…” Eddie starts, then squints past the group, gaze zeroing in on the boy. “Since when do you know my girlfriend, Sinclair?”

“She’s friends with Max. And she’s, like, really nice. So maybe we shouldn’t talk about her like that.”

The boy with the wild hair grins something wilder. His gaze is stern but no less playful when he turns back to Jeff. “You heard the kid. Leave my girlfriend alone, Jeffy.”

When the phrase leaves his mouth, for perhaps the billionth time that day, he realizes how often he must say it. My girlfriend, he says. My girlfriend, my girlfriend — because he can’t get enough of how it sounds.

With a grin on his face and his dream girl on his mind, Eddie spins on his heel again to swing open the double doors of the high school’s exit. The chill smacks him in the face almost immediately.

It’s the strange knick of time in early spring where the days are warm, but the nights are so, so cold. This one isn’t any different. A bitter breeze pounds at his chest, ruffles through his curls, and pierces the fabric of his jacket. Eddie’s body mourns the sudden loss of warmth almost immediately.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Dustin continues to whinge, even though the rest of them have more than moved on. “Does— Does everyone know her but me? Mike, do you know who she is?”

The boy perks up at the mention of his name. He tends to get a little reserved unless he’s bickering or talking bout his girlfriend. The kid’s a complete and utter wreck when he’s been away from her for too long. Eddie used to make fun of him for it. Not so much anymore.

Mike runs a hand through his lengthy raven hair, then scratches at the back of his neck. His eyes squint and his nose scrunches. “Uh… not really? I mean, I think she knows El because she knows Hopper, but… I don’t know… No?”

Dustin’s face falls flat at his answer. Or lack thereof.

“Wow. Very enlightening, Mike, as always. Thank you,” he deadpans, then turns back to Eddie. His features go from deadpanned to hopeful: eyes wide, brows raised, lips quirked. “So when are we gonna get to meet her? Do you think she’d do a campaign with us? Holy shit— she could be the fairy! You know, of the Firethorns! I mean, you did just say the campaign was feeling a little empty—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Take it down a few notches, alright, Dusty Bun?” Eddie chuckles as he slumps a heavy arm around the boy’s shoulders.

“Don’t call me that. We talked about this; that name is reserved for Suzie and Suzie only—”

“Didn’t you guys break up?” Mike wonders with a sort of blandness to his tone that only he could pull off.

“Shut up, Mike,” Dustin bites in response.

It was still a bit of a sore subject for the boy who’d just lost the so-called love of his life.

Suzie was a girl he met at summer camp about a year ago. Things were going pretty well until they weren’t. Something about her family being uber-religious and not approving of Dustin’s more agonistic disposition.

She broke up with him over Cerebro and hasn’t been on the channel since. It was cold. Ice cold.

Dustin still hikes up to Weathertop every now and then with nothing but a packed lunch and the hope that she’ll answer. She hasn’t yet.

And Eddie can make a mockery of just about anything — it’s practically a superpower at this point — but he knows when to leave well enough alone. Even the most innocent question can send the boy into a spiral of despair. Even now, he gets so suddenly weighed down by the burden of his sadness; lips turning downward and the insides of his brows curling slightly.

Eddie smiles a sad sort of smile down at the boy, but he’s too busy moping to see it. He pulls him closer with one leather-clad arm and uses the other to pat the boy on the chest. Their feet stumble less than gracefully over one another. 

“Yeah, you’re never gonna meet her…” Eddie says in a mournful sigh.

Dustin blinks up at him, confused and even more hurt than before. “What? Why not?”

“Because she’d obviously like you more than me,” he scoffs like it’s obvious. “And I can’t have anyone taking my girl, Henderson.”

That confuses him even more. He was more prepared for one of Eddie’s stupid quips than something short of a compliment. It takes him by surprise at first, leaves him gaping for a moment, before rolling his eyes. “Shut up…”

“I’m serious!” Eddie chuckles, all loud and boisterous. The sound echoes through the vacant lot, made somehow emptier by the cold.

He stops walking suddenly and makes Dustin stop walking too. He takes the boy a tad bit roughly by the shoulders and looks down at him like it’s the first time he’s seeing him. 

“I mean, look at you! What’s not to like, huh? You got their hair, the smarts, the personality—”

“And Eddie’s only got one of those things, so you definitely win,” Gareth quips from a few feet behind them.

“Exactly! Suzie was an idiot to let you go, Henderson.”

Dustin winces when Eddie jabs him in the chest. His saddened gaze flits to the pavement for a moment, then back up again. His eyes are brighter now, but still a bit melancholy — sort of like the streetlamp that flickers across the way. A light that’s going out but grasping for reasons to stay burning.

“You think so?”

“I know so, Dusty Bun,” Eddie grins — smiling wider when the kid’s beam falls flat again. He wraps his arm around Dustin’s punier frame. It’s supposed to be a hug, but it looks more like a headlock. “Never change, Dustin Henderson. Never change…”

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

Eddie hasn’t been to a sleepover since he was ten.

Fifth grade. Franklin Kowalski’s place in the suburbs. Trampoline in the front yard, pool in the back, and an assortment of soft drinks in a fridge in the garage. Maybe he remembers it so vividly because it's perhaps one of the more traumatizing experiences a prepubescent boy growing out a buzzcut could go through.

He knew he didn’t belong there — not in the good part of town with a bunch of boys in brand-new tennis shoes. Eddie Munson was trailer park trash, through and through. He wasn’t used to new clothes or two-story houses or underground pools. But he didn’t care where he came from. And neither did Franklin. Not at first, anyway.

The other kids were nice enough to him. They offered him their swim goggles when Eddie didn’t have his own and made sure he wasn’t left out of any of their conversations. It was all in a tongue-in-cheek sort of way, though. Their kindness was manufactured, a mask for pre-teen boy cruelty. 

See, they only gave him their goggles so they could laugh when they got tangled in his curls. They only included him in conversation so he could be the punch line to each of their jokes. 

All of it went over Eddie’s head. He was too innocent to realize he wasn’t being treated nicely, he was being taunted. He laughed along with each of their inside jokes because he wanted so desperately to be included, having no idea it was himself he was laughing at.

It took him until two o’clock the next morning to understand. He woke up all alone in the living room and found that everyone else had migrated upstairs without him. They were still awake, still laughing — and Eddie was forgotten in the dark.

He nearly cried when he called Wayne. He wasn’t sure if his tears were from anger or from sadness, but they stung all the same. 

He punched the numbers on the keypad with a clenched jaw to keep from sobbing out loud. His gaze was still blurry with unshed tears. It made it dreadfully hard to see, and what little light spilled from the television — which had turned to static after midnight — didn’t help either.

“It’s three A.M., Eds. You sick?” his uncle gruffed into the landline.

“A little,” Eddie half-lied. He twirled the curly wire around his fingertip until it turned purple. He prayed he didn’t sound as sad as he felt. “Everyone else is asleep… ‘M scared I’m gonna puke everywhere.”

Wayne was there barely fifteen minutes later. He drove his rusted pick-up to the suburbs, found his nephew waiting on the curb, and didn’t ask questions on the drive back to Forest Hills. 

Eddie hasn’t been to a sleepover since.

He’s got a feeling this one will be different, though. Because pre-teen boys are a hell of a different kind and you’re… you. 

He’s pretty sure you couldn’t be mean to him even if you wanted to be. You’re nice, far nicer than he deserves. You’re lovely and sweet and decent — every synonym of the damn word in a thousand different languages. It still floors him that it would ever occur to you to be kind to him. 

Eddie doesn’t feel all that worthy of your sunshine. He happily basks in your golden rays anyway. Maybe it’s because he’s selfish. Or maybe it’s because he’s so damn pale — in both the literal and figurative sense.

Eddie packs his overnight bag without a hint of methodology.

He isn’t totally sure of what to bring as he rifles through his disorganized drawers, so he ends up packing bits of everything. 

He does the sniff test for each of his crumpled-up t-shirts. The one’s that smell the freshest get stuffed to the bottom of his bag. He can’t be sure of how many he’s shoved down there now — three or four, maybe five. It makes it harder for his pants to fit, two of the pajama variety and two of denim. 

He grabs multiples of everything, just to be on the safe side. It takes only minutes for his backpack to fill up. He nearly breaks the zipper trying to fasten it, and still, he worries he hasn’t brought enough.

The bag sits upright on his mattress as Eddie bends down to grab the box of condoms that’s been idling under his bed for a year. The cardboard is coated with a fine layer of dust and time. He holds it between his ringed fingers, debating whether or not to finally break the seal and bring a few — just to be on the safe side. That’s when Wayne walks in.

The man isn’t looking at him. He’s too busy wiping his oil-stained palms on an already-stained rag, but his presence is sudden enough to freak Eddie out. The boy jumps like he’s been caught red-handed, scrabbles for a hiding place almost immediately, making the box sputter out of his grip. The thing falls to the ground with a dramatic thud.

He kicks it back under his bed again.

Wayne’s eyes finally flit up to his nephew’s at all the commotion. His bushy grey brows furrow when he finds him standing upright, hands behind his back, totally not suspicious at all. Raising a teenage boy has taught the man not to comment on what doesn’t concern him, so he keeps on swiping his fingers between the fabric of the grimy rag. 

“I finished looking at your van,” he says, accent deep and husky and not of Indiana origin. “Turns out that noise you were hearin’ was a damn rock in the break line.”

Eddie scoffs, then eyes a stick of deodorant sitting on his dresser. “Wow,” he marvels as he swipes the thing from its place. He stuffs it into the side pocket of his bag. “A measly pebble coulda killed me, huh?”

“Should be good to go now, though.”

“Sweet,” the boy nods.

Eddie squints as his eyes flit around his room, head darting in either direction to make sure he’s got everything. Wayne watches him with an identical squint. “Where you runnin’ off to now? You just got home, what, fifteen minutes ago?”

“Uh… I’m gonna go see a friend,” Eddie answers, voice trembling and slightly far away. He unzips his bag again to make sure it’s sufficiently filled. He does a little mental checklist: shirts, pants, PJs, shoes— how the hell is he supposed to fit shoes in here?

You’ve only got one pair of shoes, Munson, he reminds himself. Where the hell do you think you’re going, anyway? A nature walk?

“Oh, right,” his uncle nods. A smile plays on the edges of his lips, but it weirdly still looks like he’s frowning. “The friend.”

“Yeah— Well, she’s my… She’s my girlfriend, so…”

The admission makes Eddie blush in a way he isn’t typically used to. He can’t count the number of times he must say it in a day, but something about saying it in front of Wayne feels different — real.

He turns his glowing cheeks down to his bag and makes difficult work of zipping it back up again.

Wayne doesn’t bother to hide his excitement. The bright emotion is almost unfamiliar. “Well, shit,” the man’s chuckle sounds from the depths of his chest. “Look at you, Eds. My nephew’s finally got his first girlfriend.”

The boy rolls his chocolate eyes. He jerks under the pressure of the shoulder clap Wayne gives him. It’s equal parts annoying and embarrassing — to be talked to like a child in this way. Maybe because most children have long had their first girlfriends by now, and it took Eddie all of twenty agonizing years.

“We were gonna hang out at her place since I passed my English test and everything...”

The excitement washes from Wayne’s tired eyes. They widen, as though in shock, and reveal more of the glassy whites of them. He just blinks at him for a moment, like his words are still processing. “You… You passed?”

“Yep. Got a B,” Eddie nods, a tad bit sheepishly. He finds it hard to meet his uncle’s mystified gaze. “Well, a B-minus, but… Turns out, I might actually graduate this year.”

Wayne seems to experience every emotion at once. He’s surprised, of course — it makes sense. Eddie spent two years failing the damn thing, after all. Then he’s proud, overjoyed that there’s a chance his nephew might finally grow up. He’s distantly saddened by the exact same thought.

The man swallows thickly, as though to down each emotion. He nods and tries his best to smile. “Damn. Good job, kid. I’m… I’m prouda you.”

Eddie isn’t sure whether to take the praise or cower from it. At a loss, he opts to deflect entirely.

“Yeah, well, she— the friend helped me study and everything, so… I feel like we should probably be thanking her, you know?” he half-jokes as he swings the pack over his shoulder. His winces under the weight of it. “I probably wouldn’t have passed if she didn’t force me to read that stupid book. I mean, it’s 1986; who cares about the roaring twenties and blinking green lights—”

“Hm…” his uncle grunts. It isn’t an acknowledging grunt, though. It’s more of a bemused sort of grunt. And he’s got this quizzical twist to his features that makes Eddie confused too.

“…What is it?”

Wayne only shrugs, trying to act like it was nothing, but can’t help but to ask: “You’re real serious about this girl, aren’t ya?”

Eddie, feeling a bit weighed down by such a heavy question, shifts on his feet.

“Uh… A little bit, I guess. Yeah,” he stammers in the place of an honest answer. If he were being totally truthful, he would’ve said something like, “As serious as a goddamn heart attack.” But that might’ve actually given Uncle Wayne one, so he doesn’t answer with all that.

The man seems to hear all the words Eddie doesn’t say, though. He always does. Eddie figures that’s what happens when you raise a kid for fifteen years — you get attuned to their every thought like a superpower or something. 

It doesn’t make it any less annoying, though. Eddie’s never been able to keep a single damn secret from Wayne because he’s a total mind reader. It’s entirely possible Wayne knew Eddie was in love before he did.

“Just be careful, alright?” the man advises. He looks genuinely concerned, eyes glinting and brows pinched, like you’re a treacherous road or poison ivy.

The misplaced cautiousness makes Eddie breathe out a soft laugh. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“C’mon, Eds. Don’t play dumb,” Wayne tells him with a gruff chuckle — not totally unkind, just a Munson sort of curt. “You know what I’m talkin’ about. I didn’t even know her real name until you started bringing her around, 'cause all the kids at the shop call her the—”

“Don’t,” Eddie interjects sharply.

The bitterness in his tone is foreign. It contains the sort of venom he’s more like to spit at Jason Carver or Mike Wheeler if he’s being particularly dickish. Never at Wayne.

But that dormant urge to defend you rises like a sleeping dragon that just got poked in the belly. The words rise like bile in his throat and spew out before he can think to stop them.

Uncle Wayne is a weathered man. He’s seen a lot of the world, too much of it, but nothing’s ever quite taken him aback like this. He’s never seen his nephew’s chocolate button eyes hardened into something so cold.

Eddie gets all hyperaware of the heart on his sleeve and starts to crack under the pressure of it. He deflates, stern features crumbling into something softer.

“It’s different, okay?” he assures with his chin brought down to his chest — brows raised and wide eyes twinkling. It’s the same thing you’d said to Hopper not too long ago. Eddie hopes you met the words as wholeheartedly as he does now.

“And even if I explained all the reasons why it’s different, you still wouldn’t get it.”

His melodramatic tone makes Wayne scoff. “What? ‘Cause you don’t think I’ve ever been a kid in love before?”

“No,” Eddie shrugs playfully. “‘Cause you’re old.”

The foreign tension ebbs all at once with a pair of laughs. One is gruff, a couple of sharp exhales more than anything else. The other is a lighter, far more boyish giggle.

“I’m just trying to look out for you, alright?” Wayne tells him once the laughter fades.

“Yeah, I know. You always do,” Eddie lilts with a disposition that might make it seem like he’s displeased by his uncle’s constant pestering. In reality, he knows it’s saved him from a world of shit.

Like that time he wanted to get tacos from a new food truck that gave the whole town food poisoning. Or when he’d wanted to ask Tina Burton, the most popular girl in school, on a date his sophomore year. 

It was Wayne that saved him the embarrassment from either. It’s like he can smell bullshit or something.

“But this is, like, the first good thing that’s happened to me since Ride the Lightning came out… So, I’d kinda like to enjoy this whole thing while it lasts,” Eddie winces like it’s a joke, but he means it more than anything.

Wayne nods understandingly. “Will do, kid. But first girlfriends are always hard, okay? Remember that. Try not to let it hurt you too much, Eds.”

His uncle claps him once, then twice, on his shoulder before swiping away the grime he’d accidentally spotted there. Eddie lets him, too far away to shrug him off. He doesn’t even move when Wayne walks out of his room.

He knows his uncle means well, but something about his cynical words makes his chest burn. It’s like he’s betting on his relationship with you not working out or something. 

And Eddie knows he isn’t wrong. First girlfriends are hard. He’s heard enough shit from his friends to know that. Hell, Mike and Dustin have spent all year complaining about how complicated relationships are. 

But it’s different. 

Because they’re just a couple of kids and their girlfriends aren’t you.

Whatever form you come in, lover or executioner, Eddie’s more than ready to receive you.

 ˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

You’ve never cooked for anyone other than yourself. And maybe Bowie.

That’s not to say you were a stranger to dining in company. Binging on takeout with Robin and Steve was routine. You’re pretty sure Benny at the diner has made more dinners for the three of you than you’ve ever made for yourselves — combined. 

But it was different, to make something for someone with your own hands. It took a relative amount of care, an acute sort of attentiveness that only felt deserved for someone really special. 

And Eddie was really special and then some.

There isn’t a word that encapsulates all the special he is. It makes you feel a bit guilty sometimes. You wish you were smarter so you could think of a big enough word to describe how much he means to you. But since you aren’t, you stick to making him homemade spaghetti and hope you can pour enough love into it that he feels all of yours.

Eddie arrives at your apartment before you’re ready for him.

You’d wanted to do more with your appearance by the time he came around — with your hair and your makeup and your clothes. Not because you ever had to, but because you thought Eddie deserved a girl who took extra care of herself in that way.

You got a shower in before you started cooking, but that was it. Your hair is unstyled and air-drying; your face bare and glistening in all its naked glory.

Clad in nothing but a hilariously oversized t-shirt and a pair of fluffy socks, you look more ready for bed than date night.

The knock at your door sends you into a momentary whirlwind. You scramble like someone’s seconds away from catching you naked — like there are four different fires in every direction and you don’t know which one to put out first. The panic is elaborate and fleeting, a bucket of ice-cold water on bare skin.

You figure that’s another part of caring about someone. You make them spaghetti because you love them and get nervous when things aren’t perfect. Love is all things stressful and homemade.

Eddie knocks on your door with several rhythmic raps. They’re evenly timed and spaced out. You recognize the bass line to ‘Crazy Train’ almost immediately. Da-da… Da-da, da-da, da-da. He must’ve been listening to it on the way over.

“Uh, come in!” you waver after an awkward beat. You’re yelling a little because you’re still standing at the stove, stirring the pot of noodles.

The door clicks once when it opens, then again when it shuts. The wall that separates the kitchen conceals your view of him, but you can hear Eddie’s shuffling in the living room from where you are because he’s never done anything quietly in his life.

Eddie toes off his sneakers before he heads into your apartment. You never asked him to do it, so it always confused you as to why. He’d told you, when you asked, that he knows he’s not the cleanest and that he cares too much about your space to make a mess of it. 

He tells you he can’t take care of you in the way he would like — that if he had it his way, you’d never have to work at Enzo’s again; that he wishes he was rich enough so you never had to wait on snobby stay-at-home moms or misogynistic businessmen. But since he isn’t a rockstar yet and The Hideout pays their busboy’s fuck all, Eddie figures the least he can do is not leave shoe prints on your carpet.

It’s boyish and strangely profound and so, so sweet.

He drops his backpack and leaves his sneakers by the doormat like he always does. They fit neatly between the wall and the roughly textured rectangle that reads ‘glad you’re here’ on the front of it. One is upright, the other falls to its side.

Bowie blinks at him from where she idles on her perch, green eyes wide and pupils set in narrow slits. “Hey, pretty girl,” Eddie greets in a quiet coo, scooping her up in his arms. Despite her round belly, the calico weighs no more than a feather. 

She meows once after being so suddenly plucked from her flower petal spot but settles into him instantly. He scratches at her chin to make her purr and revels in the soft buzzing sound she makes. Eddie waltzes into the kitchen with her, cradling her against his chest like a newborn baby.

You look over your shoulder and smile at the sight of them — at your two favorite beings on the planet, so obviously taken with one another. Bowie lolls in Eddie’s arm like he’s made of clouds and cotton candy. Her blinks are slow and lazy, her purrs audible to even you. She’s only this affectionate for him. You can’t even blame her. 

“Smells good in here,” the boy compliments trying his best not to blush at the wide smile you give him. He’s still not used to being looked at so tenderly. 

Failing to feel deserving of it all, he averts his chocolate gaze and flushed cheeks to the counter, where he plops Bowie down beside her half-empty food bowl.

You could only get her to eat so much of it before she got annoyed with you. Now she laps happily at the chunk of cat food like it’s the first time she’s ever tasted its goodness.

“Thanks,” you respond with a slight tremble to the edge of your voice. You turn back to the pot of spaghetti you’ve been stirring for close to ten minutes, eyeing the mixture of noodles and sauce and beef with intent because you need it all to be perfect. “I probably should’ve asked what you liked before you left this morning, but I only know how to make spaghetti, so… I made spaghetti.”

You look back at him, flashing the boy a nervous tight-lipped smile. It makes him grin, too, as he makes the terribly short trek over to you.

“Well, I actually love spaghetti,” he confesses, and it isn’t totally a lie. He just stopped caring for it around the millionth time Wayne made it because it’s one of the only things he knows how to cook too. 

Eddie lingers at your side, hip pressing into the counter, radiating warmth like a sun stuck in human form. You can’t tell if he’s toasty in his leather jacket or if you’re just cozy in the honey-coated tenderness you have for him. You don’t even realize you’re smiling at him when he scrunches his nose at you. 

“You should be careful, sweetheart. I’m kinda starting to think we’re soulmates.”

“That’s crazy,” you marvel, wide-eyed. “I was thinking the same thing.”

“Wow… We really were made for each other, huh?” he huffs with a similar sarcasm.

You try to keep the joke going, but it’s hard not to smile when you feel his hands creep around your sides. His fingers are soft on your waist, featherlight and a little unsure as he slithers along your back. The affection feels foreign on your skin. You bite back a shiver.

“Looks like way,” you affirm with a nod, tilting your head back so you can meet him halfway when he leans down to peck you.

It’s a soft and swift little thing, a brief brush of the lips that doesn’t mean anything but also the entire world. He kisses you just to kiss you — because he likes the feel of you or because it’s the sort of thing he can do now as your boyfriend. Either way, you revel in the unfamiliarity.

“Did the, uh… Did the test go okay?” you ask once he parts from you. You try not to sound like you’ve been agonizing over it all day and more like the thought had only just crossed your mind.

Eddie bites back a smile as he turns to walk to the opposite side of the counter. He makes sure any traces of the smirk have washed away when he hops onto the edge of it.  The forlorn look he gives you is manufactured, all pinched browed and gloomy eyed. 

“Um, no…” he fibs. “I, uh— I failed it again.”

You eye him from over your shoulder and notice how he shifts on his weight, looking down at the tile rather than up at you. It doesn’t cross your mind once that he might be joking. You just hope the flash of disappointment on your features was too quick for him to catch.

“That’s okay,” you assure and cover your chagrin with a smile. You shake your head and shrug. “We just try again, right? Not the end of the world.”

A grin tugs slow at Eddie’s lips. It’s bemused slightly and still sort of sad. He can’t believe how supportive you are of him even after he’s just told you outright that he’s failed — still loving even when he’s not good enough.

He reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulls out a packet of stapled-together papers. It’s perhaps the first piece of schoolwork given to him that wasn’t immediately thrown away. He’d folded it twice in half, then tucked it safely away with the intent to show you later. He unfolds it again to marvel at it once more.

The letter grade is written in red and circled twice. Ms. O’Donnell’s fancy cursive is scribbled just beside it — “Finally! Good job, Eddie! I’m very proud of you!” Even though the boy has never been particularly fond of the woman, her compliment makes his chest swell.

“Oh, shit…” he murmurs under his breath, but loud enough for you to hear.

“Hm?” you hum back in response. You don’t look at him, though, more focused on not burning yourself as you pull a tray of golden brown garlic bread out of the oven.

“I read it wrong…” he answers, feigning surprise. “This isn’t an F. It’s a B.”

The pan clatters to the stove when you spin around the face him. Your eyes are wide and your brows are raised, each of your features agape with shock. You’re not entirely sure how he could’ve misread it, but you’re prepared to celebrate with him anyway. 

Eddie flashes you a pink, lopsided smile as he flips the creased paper around. He puts the grade on display for you with a knowing, mischievous glint in his cinnamon eyes. He’s too pretty and you’re too proud of him — you can’t even care that he was tricking you.

“Oh, my god, Eddie!” you shout with a bubbly laugh, all but launching yourself at him. You have to stand on the tips of your toes to reach where he sits on the counter. The bottom of your stomach digs into the granite as your arms wrap around his neck. 

You don’t realize until you’ve locked him in this embrace that you’ve still got your oven mitt on.

Eddie bends awkwardly to reciprocate the hug, meeting you halfway so you’re not doing all the work.

One hand keeps hold of his midterm, but the palm of his free one spreads wide and warm along your back. The tops of your chests collide, soft and snug. They press together in such a way that it confuses him how he could’ve gone so long without feeling you like this — even in the most innocent way.

His chin settles along your clothed collarbone. With his nose digging into the cotton of your t-shirt, he inhales to find your warm floral scent. Eddies sighs and relaxes against you without thinking. He doesn’t know if anyone’s ever hugged him like this before.

“I’m so proud of you!” you praise, chin bopping on his shoulder. “I knew you could do it.”

Eddie chuckles softly at the severity of your hug, so full of intent — louder when you peck him on his cheek and then the rest of his face when you realize you can’t just kiss him once. His stubble is rough against the plush of your lips as you press them to his jaw and chin and nose and mouth.

He tries to kiss you back, but he’s smiling too wide.

He’s almost certain no one’s ever gotten this much loving over a B-minus.

“It’s ‘cause of you,” Eddie insists.

“No, it’s because you’re smart.”

“Mm, I don’t think that’s it,” he retorts with the shake of his head, too damn stubborn to take a compliment.

His chin pulls closer to his neck when he parts from you. Your noses are barely inches apart, lips so close he can taste them. He could kiss you if he wanted, but he doesn’t want to stop looking at you.

“I’m pretty sure I only passed because I was thinking about you the whole time...” 

His words trail off. He’s got a crooked smirk on his lips like he’s only teasing, but brings his ear to his shoulder and gazes at you that way — so full of love and mischief. You think he might actually be sincere.

“Eddie Munson…” you scold at his suggestive tone. 

A smile dances on the corners of your lips as you pull back from him completely. You finally slip the mitten off your hand as you return to the stove, clicking the knob on the back panel until it turns off again.

“I just hope you’ve been thinking about that reward,” the boy lilts as he slips off the counter. He grins and walks until he’s leaning on the refrigerator beside you. He’s no more than a couple of feet away, but he somehow feels much closer than that. “If I’m not mistaken, I believe we agreed that I’d get something if I passed…”

Eddie’s only teasing. He doesn’t actually want anything. Spending time with you now is enough. Making you blush was just a bonus. 

He’d be lying if he said it didn’t cross his mind, though, far more times than he’d like to admit. 

And truth be told, you had thought about it, too. But that makes it sound too simple. It plagued you, really. First, it was the “oh god, what if he doesn’t pass,” and then the “what the hell am I supposed to do when he does?”

A passing grade isn’t usually that big of a deal. You’ve certainly never received anything from one. But passing a test after failing it the first two times and having to suffer two more agonizing years of school because of it certainly deserved to be celebrated.

Eddie was strange, though. He wasn’t materialistic or overtly enthusiastic about anything other than music and D&D. Maybe if you had more money, you could’ve gotten him a cassette or a new Dungeon Master’s manual. But thanks to Enzo’s salary, you’re lucky if you’re able to pay bills on time. And it sucks because Eddie deserves nice things, and not just for passing some stupid test. 

You hate that you don’t have anything other than spaghetti and adoration to give him.

It’s not fair to either of you.

You’d lamented to Steve about all this over gummy bears and buttered popcorn as Slumber Party Massacre played on the tiny television above the counter. The film was ripe with blood and random nudity, but you hadn’t fully paid attention to a single scene. You don’t think Steve had either because he was too busy trying to fuse two different halves of gummy bears together.

“Okay, you just passed a test you failed two times in a row,” you tell the boy, painting him a picture of your dilemma. “Your girlfriend wants to do something nice for you, but she’s boring and poor. What would you want?” 

“A blowjob,” Steve answers without missing a beat. His brows scrunch together like the answer was far easier than you made it out to be. He shrugs and squishes the strawberry head of one gummy bear onto the blue raspberry bottom of another. “Obviously.”

You didn’t think the answer was so obvious. Especially not when you’re trying to take things slow. It wasn’t an easy feat either — not with Eddie at your place, looking at you with that look. His features drip with honey as rose petal spill from his mouth. It’s like he’s trying to tease you. 

He’s got no idea he’s quite literally dealing with the master of teasing.

“We’ll see how tonight goes,” you tell him, flashing him an arched brow and a knowing smirk as you drag two of your fancy, ten-dollar porcelain plates from the cabinet. “Only if you’re good for me, yeah?”

Eddie quite literally forgets how to speak.

Like, if you’d asked him a question, the only thing that would spill out would be unintelligible murmurs of made-up words. 

His brain turns to mush with the look you give him — a two can play at this game kind of smirk that makes his mind melt. And your words are so effortless, so smooth, like you know just what to say and exactly how to say it to work him like a wind-up toy.

He’s in way over his head. The realization makes his breath hitch.

All he can do is nod like an idiot and let you fix him a plate of your “finest batch of spaghetti.” That’s what you call it, and he figures you must be right because you lay an entire three-course meal out in front of him. Well, it isn’t quite that extensive, but it feels that way.

Plates of pasta, a bowl of salad, and stacks of garlic bread decorate your small square dining table. Eddie almost feels like he’s at Enzo’s, even though there’s never been a world where he’s been able to afford Enzo’s.

You wine and dine him like the finest of them. Even though it’s nothing more than homemade spaghetti and apple juice in wine glasses, it makes him feel special — the kind of special people spend hundreds of dollars to feel. But he gets you for free and fuck, he doesn’t deserve any of it.

He got so damn lucky with you. 

He’s done trying to figure out why. He just wants to be more grateful for it.

Once he’s pleasantly full on a home-cooked meal, you usher him to the bathroom. There’s a bag full of stuff waiting there for him — toothbrush, toothpaste, body wash — all the essential shit that he’d forgotten all about. It makes his chest ache.

It’s less so that you knew he’d forget and more so that you thought about him at all.

Eddie imagines you getting off work, still in your Enzo’s-appropriate skirt and blouse uniform, scanning the aisles of Bradley’s Big Buy for things you think Eddie might need.

It’s mundane, but so beautiful still — to be remembered in the most minuscule of ways.

“—I didn’t know what to get you, and I couldn’t afford a lot, so I just got you that 3-in-1 stuff,” you ramble as you pull the dark green bottle out of the brown paper bag on the counter. You wave it mindlessly in your hand. “I don’t know, it was affordable, and you seem like the kind of guy who might use this sort of stuff, so—”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Eddie chuckles, trying to act like he doesn’t have an off-brand bottle of the stuff sitting in his shower back at the trailer.

“I don’t know,” you answer with a giggle of your own. You shrug and sit the thing back down. “You don’t have to use it if you don’t want.  I just wanted you to have some stuff here so it could, you know, feel more like home…”

Your words strike something profound in Eddie’s chest, a lightning strike or a punch to the stomach. In that moment, he comes to the realization that home isn’t a place. It’s not four walls or the little trinkets that fill it. The people that make you feel all warm and cozy inside, the people that make you feel like you have a place in the world — that’s home.

It’s Wayne and it’s Hellfire and it’s you.

So it’s easy for Eddie to feel at home in your little apartment, and not just because you bought a bunch of stuff to make it that way. 

He’s warmed by the hot shower and the thought that you’re waiting for him in your bedroom down the hall. The idea that he gets this night and so many others you with makes him feel all giddy — like he’s ten years old again and no sleepover has ever traumatized him.

Eddie uses everything you bought, still a little dizzied that it’s for him, but opts to use your vanilla body wash. It’s sweet smelling, with hints of deep musk and high lavender.

The scent of it on his own skin makes him feel like you’re on him and all over him. He has to flip the hot water to freezing before he steps out of the shower. Because, sure, he’s been less than shy about how much he likes you, but walking into your room with a hard-on is a bit more forward than he’s used to.

Eddie finds you waiting for him in your bed. You’re idling at the very center of it, knees up to your chest and back against the headboard, like you’ve been waiting for his return to get truly comfortable there.

You smile when you see him again. It’s that same grin you always look at him with, as though every time you see him is the first time.

He brings an air of cleanliness in with him. He's dressed in fresh pajamas, curls damp and still drying. Steam radiates off his skin along with the scent of freshly baked cookies and flower petals. It’s familiar to you because it’s yours, but it’s different on Eddie in a way you can’t describe.

“You smell good,” you compliment as he maneuvers through the velvet darkness of your bedroom. The black night is evaded only by your dim yellow lamp and the streams of orange that filter through your curtains from the streetlamps outside.

Eddie scoffs as he climbs onto your queen-sized bed. “Did I smell bad before?”

“No. You just smell sweet now. Like a milkshake.”

You shift to make room for him, pulling back your green gingham comforter so he can slip in beside you. Even though you’ve given him ample room to sit down, there isn’t any hint of distance between you. You keep yourself intently pressed to his side despite the several inches of space next to you.

Eddie hopes you never realize there’s a whole world of other places you could be than right next to him. He doesn’t ever want to see a day where you’re separated by more than an inch or two. 

“A milkshake, huh?” he echos as he leans back against the slatted headboard and all your pillows. You twist until you’re practically on your side — hip digging into the mattress, shoulder propped along the cushions, chest pressed against his arm.

“Yeah. Like whipped cream or… vanilla cake…” you trail off, quickly losing interest in describing the scent of him when you’re staring the pretty boy in the face.

One half of him is bathed in shades of golden orange, the other half coated in a deep, deep navy. Eddie’s eyes are somehow darker than any night sky. They swim with their own galaxies and stars that twinkle back at you.

He looks at you and all words lose meaning.

“Yeah, I’m totally stealing your soap before I leave,” he jokes.

You shake your head at him, but smile anyway. “Thanks for letting me know, Eddie Spaghetti.”

Just like all the times before, neither of you realize you’re kissing until you already are. The gravitational pull that brings the two of you together is effortless and natural. You’re like the moon and Eddie’s like the tide — you drag him to you without trying and he bends to your every whim.

Kissing him is easy. It’s like breathing. You don’t ever have to think about it, you just do it. 

You press your lips against the rosy plush of his, and it’s like taking a deep breath of fresh air. It’s an atmosphere kissed by the sun and the trees and the morning dew. It fills your lungs with a new life, makes it impossible to quit kissing him.

But when his tongue swipes against your bottom lip, when his mouth pries yours open to slip the pink muscle inside — that feels like getting the breath knocked out of you. The rough pattern of his tongue slides against your own, and you have to remind yourself to breathe.

Your lungs stop working, your chest aches, and there’s nothing you can do about it but let the moment pass.

Eddie keeps kissing you soft, though, coaxing fresh air back into your burning lungs. He helps you breathe normally again.

You move together like entwining summer breezes. Your thigh swipes against his lap and his hands find your hips to help guide you the rest of the way over. He’s halfway lying down now and you’re looming like an unconquerable mountain above him. Your back arches like a cat’s and your palms cradle his jaw while your tongue makes uncharted territory of his mouth.

The warmth lingering between your thighs presses into his lower stomach. It makes his grip on you tighten, hands pulling your hips further against him until he hears you moan.

The pressure of your clothed pussy against the pudge of his stomach brings you a distant pleasure. What really does you in is the thought of what little separates you — just the fabric of your cotton underwear and Eddie’s faded grey Tatcher Tire t-shirt.

But it’s hard to be indulgent when you’re so stuck in your head. Your mouth moves with Eddie’s on autopilot while your mind travels elsewhere. Because this isn’t supposed to be about you — it’s supposed to be about Eddie. You want to make him feel good for a change, but you have no idea how to go about it.

The foreignness is strange. It leaves you fumbling like you’ve never done any of this before.

In a way, you haven’t. Eddie is different from any guy you’ve ever been with. Not just because he cares about you, but because you’re practically the only girl he’s ever cared about in this way.

He’s a blank slate and you’re scribbled all over.

You don’t want to taint the pristine image he’s painted of you.

“Hey, Eds,” you murmur. The words are halfway spoken against his mouth because you don’t pull away in time to say them clearly. 

Your tongue darts out to feel how numb your spit-slicked lips have gotten after being kissed so ardently. You know they’re probably swollen and more vibrant in their color now. Eddie’s a lot of the same, mouth rosy and obviously kissed.

“Hm?” the boy hums back.

“Do you wanna… Do you wanna do something else?” you ask him, all slow because you don’t want to say the wrong thing. His brows furrow beneath the thin curtain of his curly bangs. The silent question eggs you on. “Would it be okay if I gave you a blowjob?”

Eddie’s eyes widen for a moment. He swears he goes blind because he doesn’t typically see white when he blinks. The question isn’t the weirdest for a guy in this predicament — with a pretty girl on his lap with his spit staining her mouth. It just catches him a little off guard.

“Would it be…” he tries to echo but trails off with a breathy laugh. You say it like it wouldn’t be perfect — to have you between his legs with your warm mouth on his cock, looking effortlessly beautiful while you swallow him whole. 

“Yeah… Yeah, I think that… I’d be a total idiot to say no,” he manages to stammer out, though words have long lost meaning by now.

The sight of his glazed-over eyes, warmed cheeks, and pink mouth makes you smile. He always looks at you like you’re the most amazing thing he’s ever seen — like you're the infiniteness of space or a deep, deep ocean — something profound he desperately wants to discover.

“I feel like you deserve it, right?” you squint down at him, partially teasing. “For a job well done, you know?”

Eddie nods until he finds the words to respond. “Yeah… Right. Totally.”

“Do you wanna lie down? Or would you rather me get on my knees?” you ask him.

Eddie swears he’s dreaming. He isn’t quite sure how you manage to say something so sinful with such sincerity.

“It might be comfortable to stay like this, but most guys like the visual of girls on their knees better so…” 

There is no seductive lilt to your voice, no mischievous teasing to rile him up. It’s just a question of how he wants you, and it’s a very dizzying thought. Knowing he can have you however he wants makes his stomach all whirly and his vision start to swim like he just spun around ten times.

Eddie just blinks at you. His chocolate eyes and heavy lids flutter slowly like he’s trying to look at you through a layer of honey.

It takes him a second to answer because he doesn’t know what he wants — he rarely ever does, but now especially. How is a boy who wants you in every way imaginable supposed to pick only one?

“Uh, can you—” he starts before the words get caught in his throat. He grunts out a cough to clear it. “Could you, um… get on your, uh— your knees? Please?” 

You smile at how politely he phrases it. You don’t think anyone’s ever said please when asking you for a blowjob before.

Eddie fidgets awkwardly beneath you, and you’re not entirely sure why. You’re the one that just offered yourself up on a platter, totally and unequivocally happy to do whatever he wants. He’s not the one that should be embarrassed.

You nod down at him, still grinning like an idiot. “Sure. You can stay sitting if you want. Whatever you wanna do.”

“Okay…” Eddie mumbles in response.

He watches you with wide, inquisitive eyes as you maneuver off his lap and onto the rug beside your bed. When he swings his legs over the edge of it, you settle intently between them. His cock twitches at the sight of you below him, blinking up at him with sparkling eyes that almost look like they’re begging.

Your palms settle on his clothed thighs as your knees press into the woolen rug beneath you. Your chest warms when you’re finally level with his concealed cock. It makes your heart go silly, the sheer thought of what you’re about to do. You don’t think you’ve ever been this excited to suck dick before.

You wait patiently for him to make the first move — then you realize he doesn’t know how because he’s never had to before. Instead, he’s waiting for you to tell him what to do. With button eyes intently focused on your form and hands anxiously gripping the edge of the bed, he’s entirely prepared to move however you want him to.

“Take off your shirt, Eds,” you guide gently.

He listens to you without thinking twice. His fidgeting fingers reach for the fraying hem of his shirt to yank it up and over his head. He has to tug harder when the neck gets caught around his chin.

It isn’t the first time he’s been shirtless in front of you. Between changing and heated kisses, he’s had ample opportunity to get over his lingering insecurities.

For a while there, he found himself comparing his body to all your other more prominent escapades — the Billy Hargroves and the Steve Harringtons. The overtly masculine types with bodies that scream, ‘I peaked in high school.’

Eddie doesn’t look like them. He isn’t as toned or as thin. He’s got pudge on his belly and sparse hair on his sternum in the place of defined abs and pecks covered in layers of chest hair. He doesn’t look at all like those basketball douchebags that could easily model for whatever magazine basketball douchebags read — if they even know how to, that is.

But you don’t seem to care. You love on him anyway.

Even now, your eyes rake over his bare upper half with a gaze that isn’t anything short of hungry. You reach for his face to pull him down for a ravenous kiss that does little to quell your appetite. Your fingers tangle in the drying strands of his hair in the same way your tongues do. 

Eddie’s patient hands curl around the insides of your elbow as he keeps his lips obediently parted for you. He sighs into each of your eager kisses, more than content to let you swallow him whole.

You move down to his jaw and then to his neck. You nose his curls out of the way to sprinkle wet pecks to the warm skin there. You somehow manage to take your time and move with haste all at once — loving on all the places that need loving, but not lingering in one place for too long because there are too many of them to count.

The tip of your nose trails down his milky torso in time with your craving kisses. You press a final one between his ribcage, tongue darting out briefly just so you can hear his breath tremble before pulling away entirely. 

Eddie’s hands remain on each of your arms as your fingers curl around the hem of his plaid pajama pants. It makes his grip unknowingly tighten.

“Wait,” he blurts with his eyes squeezed shut. You tense almost instantly. “Can you— I mean, can we, just… you know…” he trails off, voice tight like he’s holding his breath. It’s probably because he is.

“What?” you pry with wide eyes and the sick feeling like you’ve done something horribly wrong. “Is this… Is this not okay? We don’t have to, like, do any of this if you don’t want. It was just a suggestion, Eds. We can just—”

“No!” he exclaims, eyes flying open to find your panicked ones. He shakes his wild head so vigorously down at you it makes his curls sway. He both wants to quell your worry and plead for you not to stop. “That’s not it. I— I want to, okay? I do. I really… really do. I just… You’re so far away like this…”

His words drip with a soft sincerity, his honeyed eyes even more so.

Your alarm curls into a gentle smile at his reassurance.

You haven’t had many firsts in a long, long time. Your first kiss was on the playground of Hawkins Middle. Your first handjob was in the locker room of the community pool not too long after. Your first time having sex was on a towel in the grass beside Tina Burton’s pool after her birthday party when everyone else had gone to bed.

All your stereotypical firsts happened lifetimes ago, but you’ve had a billion more with Eddie.

You can say with more confidence than you’ve ever had in your life that this is the first time a guy’s turned down a blowjob because you were too far away on your knees. 

“What?” the boy wavers at your silence. Your accompanying smile is somehow more frightening.

“Nothing,” you assure. Your brows pinch together as you smile up at him. “I just… I really don’t think we can be any closer than your dick in my mouth, Eds.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. His cheeks go rosy at your quip. “You know what I mean…”

“Yeah,” you answer softly. “I know what you mean.”

You rise again, this time planting yourself on his thigh. Your knees settle on either side of his leg and dig into the mattress below you, on top of him all over again. The position is a familiar one. The only thing different is a few months’ time and a lack of Fast Times playing in the background.

Eddie tilts his chin to peer up at you. It’s easier this way, he realizes, to be below you and at your mercy rather than above you. Sometimes he thinks you were made to be on top of him like this.

“How about this,” you lilt with a raised brow. “I can just jerk you off—”

“Sounds perfect,” Eddie nods.

A giggle bubbles from your lips. “Let me finish, you weirdo. I can jerk you off, and you can just tell me when you’re about to finish.”

“Okay,” he answers right before his brows furrow. “Uh… why?”

“So you can come in my mouth,” you shrug like it’s obvious.

Your words knock the wind from Eddie’s lungs — it’s like you’ve punched him square in the stomach. Staring up at you through drooping eyelids, he swallows thickly, then nods. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s sounds… Yeah…”

You breathe out a laugh and lean closer to press a kiss to the tip of his nose. You couldn’t help yourself — he’s too damn adorable. Your fingers curl back around the hem of his pants and boxers, dragging them both down in one fell swoop to free his half-hard cock. You tuck the tops of them under his balls.

You’ve seen a lot of dicks in your time — long ones, short ones, thick ones, skinny ones — you could make a damn nursery rhyme of the variety you’ve seen. Eddie’s doesn’t particularly stand out.

It’s middling in length and in girth, not big but not too small either, with a width that won’t hurt to take but will stretch you out nonetheless. 

His cock is pale and a faint strawberry red at the tip. It’s the same rosy color his cheeks get when he blushes. There’s a vein that trails up from his balls and splits like a forking river up to his bulbous head. The bush at his pubic bone is fitting for a metalhead, but it looks like he’s taken a trimmer to the chestnut hair there sometime in the past month or so.

His dick isn’t ugly and it isn’t special, but it’s perfect anyway because it’s his.

“You’ve got a really pretty cock, Eds,” you praise in a low whisper.

He thinks you must be trying to talk dirty, but your gaze gets all shy — quirked brow, curled lip, twinkled eye — like you must really mean it. You seal your compliment with a soft, lingering peck.

“Can dicks be pretty?” he asks you, the question muffled against your mouth.

“Not usually,” you blurt before you realize.

Most guys are gross. They don’t shave because they don’t think they have to. Sometimes they smell bad, too, because they never really learned how to wash themselves. Either that, or they taste overtly of soap because they shoved a whole bar of the stuff down their pants right before.

Boys tend to care less about the situation their cocks are in. Only a handful you’ve been with really knew how to take care of themselves — Eddie for one, Steve for another, and Billy Hargrove on occasion.

“But your’s definitely is,” you promise.

“Um… thanks?” He doesn’t mean for it to come out like a question; he just never thought that exact string of words would ever be spoken to him.

It’s a little bit surreal to receive a compliment on a part of you that most people wouldn’t typically notice — like your shoulders or lips or thighs. Eddie’s almost sure you’ve complimented each of those at some point or another.

You kiss him again, both because he makes it insanely hard not to and because you know that’s the only way to get him out of his head. He’ll never get hard if he’s worried about getting hard. So you keep kissing him, letting him focus on the pattern of your tastebuds and the curves of your cupid’s bow, while you happily do all the work.

Your fingertips trail up and down the underside of his cock. Your caresses are featherlight and meticulous along his warm, stiffening skin, all but coaxing him hard. 

When his cock is totally stiff and standing at attention at his stomach, you part from Eddie to bring your palm to your mouth. You spit a glob of saliva onto the center of it and let the added lubricant help your fist glide along his dick.

A stifled groan rumbles in Eddie’s throat as your fingers wrap fully around him. You’re only touching his cock, but it feels like you’ve embraced every inch of them.

The pleasure feels like static, like he’s just rubbed his socks along the carpet and he’s sizzling with the newfound electricity. He feels it in the tips of his toes and in the strands of his hair.

“Um, just to, uh… save myself the embarrassment,” Eddie cautions shakily. His voice is a few octaves higher than normal and audibly fragile. “I should probably urge you to lower your expectations—” He has to stifle a whine when you squeeze the base of his cock. “—Just a little bit.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that I’m probably gonna come, like, really, really quickly,” he tells you and tries his best to laugh. It’s as shaky as the smile he gives you because you haven’t stopped touching him, even despite his warning. 

Your fist squeezes his cock, then rises again. You pause momentarily to swipe your thumb over his leaking tip before sliding back down again. It’s a slow and methodical cycle that’s going to make him burst far quicker than he’d like.

“That’s okay,” you assure with the shake of your head, brows furrowed because you don’t know why that’s such a band thing. You shrug. “Just means there’s more time for me to make you do it again.”

Eddie huffs out a sigh as his cock twitches in your fist, growing somehow harder at your words.

Your unhurried pace hastens in a way that’s still obviously disciplined. Your hand moves faster until you hear his breath start to race and see his milky white chest splotch with red. Then, when his rapid pants begin to tremble, your pace goes back to normal.

You push him to the very edge of the cliff and then pull him backward before he falls.

It’d be agonizing if it didn’t feel so damn good.

His eyes have long fluttered shut by now. You miss his chocolate syrup irises, but the look of pure serenity on his face is the kind of beautiful most people pay to see. His agape mouth, bared neck, rosy cheeks, and long lashes that tickle the apples of them deserve to be hung in the Louvre. 

It’s a sort of heavenly that everyone needs to admire in their lifetime, but one that belongs to only you. The sheer thought of someone else having him this way makes you angry, sparks raging orange embers just behind your sternum.

Eddie grows quiet. Suspiciously so. He isn’t moaning as much as he was before, and his chest is totally still, as though he were holding his breath. You feel his gentle grip on the outsides of your thighs start to harden. You figure the added tension helps him stay hushed. It’s less so accidental and more like he’s trying not to make noise.

“Let me hear you, Eds,” you urge in a whisper. “It’s okay. Go ahead and whine for me.”

The assurance barely spills from your mouth before he’s moaning for you. It’s a long, drawn-out whine that travels from his chest to his throat and out of his mouth, concluding in a fragile sigh.

The sound makes you double your efforts. You want him to make that noise again — you never want him to stop making that noise for you. So you squeeze harder, rise faster, and pay more attention to his rapidly reddening tip. 

You’re not entirely sure what Eddie likes the most. Most guys moan louder when you do something they like, but he seems to like all of it, so you don’t pay extra attention to one place. You keep jerking his cock, faster still, even when the muscles of your forearm start to burn.

“Fuck—” the boy sighs in a heavy moan, then cuts himself off with a pitiful whine.

He tries to lift his head and open his eyes to look at you, but he doesn’t have the strength to anymore. His head lolls back again when the pleasure begins to crescendo.

Sufficiently stupid, he can’t even find the words to warn you. “I’m— I’m close, sweetheart,” he slurs lowly. “I’m… Fuck… Fuck, I’m gonna…”

He doesn’t finish his sentence. His face screws up, nose scrunching and brows furrowing, as the feeling becomes almost unbearable. It’s all the warning you need.

Your fist holds onto the base of his cock as you dismantle his thigh and settle on the rug again. You don’t think twice before darting forward to lick the dribbles of pearly-white pre-come spilling from his reddened tip.

You wrap your lips around him totally, cheeks hollowing as you suck him there like he’s a piece of candy.

And Eddie dies. He passes away on the spot.

It’s the only way he can describe the feeling.

The crescendo of pleasure — that’s the life flashing before his eyes. The brief moment of numbness is the infinite void of death. The burst of ecstasy that spits from his cock in one, two, three loads is heaven.

It just has to be.

There can’t be a higher pleasure than the feeling of your mouth on his cock and the way you moan around him when his come spills on your tongue.

Eddie whines something pitiful. He loses all the previous inhibition that kept him so quiet he was too scared to breathe. One hand twists in the sheets while the other settles on the back of your hand, not pulling or tugging, just resting there as his hips buck off the mattress. He can’t tell if he’s running away from the intensity of his pleasure or if he never wants it to stop.

You don’t seem to mind that he doesn’t know.

You let his hips jerk wildly even when the tip of his cock hits the back of your throat and makes you gag. It does take everything in you not to laugh, however, when Eddie murmurs a fragile “sorry” through his cries.

And when his fingers knot in your hair, you don’t mind that either. You let him halfway fuck your mouth, even though you’re pretty sure he’s too far gone to notice that he’s fucking your mouth.

You don’t stop until he’s shuddering. Only when you’re sure he has nothing left to give you do you finally pull away from him. You leave a delicate kiss to the tip of his softening cock, no longer the angry red color it was moments ago. Eddie’s stomach clenches at the feeling of blatant sensitivity. His face scrunches as another feeble cry gets trapped in his throat.

You snap his boxers and pants back into place on his waist and rise.

“How was that for your first blowjob?” you ask him, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

Eddie just shakes his head in response. He flops back against the mattress, the springs bouncing under his weight, and tries to find the words to answer you.

He doesn’t know how to tell you that he just saw Heaven and Hell at the same time and that you were both God and the Devil. There isn’t any string of words in any language that could explain the otherworldly pleasure you gave him with nothing more than your hand and mouth, so he decides to stay quiet.

With his eyes still closed, he can hear you laughing quietly at him while you slither in at his side. You lie beside him on your stomach. When you’re finally in reach again, he peeks his eyes open and reaches for you, pulling you toward him for a searing kiss.

You think it might be the first time he’s ever done so without asking awkwardly first — as though there was a world where you would ever turn him down. He seems to understand that now, the way he kisses you without thinking twice about it.

His tongue swipes into your mouth. The both of you moan when he tastes the salty tang lingering there. Eddie doesn’t even realize that it’s him he’s tasting at first — that the heady bitter-sweetness on your tongue is his come.

It’s less so that he’s tasting himself, and more so that his taste is in your mouth at all, that makes him exhale a moan against you. The heavy breath of it fans against your cupid’s bow.

“Oh,” you hum through labored pants when you part again. “It was that good, huh?”

“Better,” he answers with a crooked smirk on his swollen pink mouth. He’s finally able to open his eyes and see more than a blur when his high starts to subside. “That was fucking… I mean, that was… fuck…”

His speechlessness makes you giggle. Your gaze stays locked on his profile when he turns to look up at the ceiling.

“That was exactly what I wanted. And, like, I didn’t even know I wanted it, you know?” he rambles. “How did you— How did you know? How do you always know?”

You’re not entirely sure what he means by that, and honestly, neither is he.

You just always know what he needs. You buy him a toothbrush because you know he’ll forget his, and when you touch him, you know exactly what he likes — even though he doesn’t even know what he likes.

It’s like you’re another half of him, and not in the stupid soulmate way everyone always thinks they’ve found. You’re an identical part of him that no one else can fit. He’s only whole with you — like a sandwich cut into triangles or halves of an orange. 

“Well, to be fair, I did ask Steve what a guy would want in this sort of situation,” you admit with a scrunched nose. “I just sort of went with what he said.”

Eddie’s brows pinch together as he turns his head to peer at you again. He blinks at you for a moment, dumbfounded, then sputters. “Wait— You’re telling me I have Steve to thank for that blowjob? Like Steve-Steve? As in Steve The Hair Harrington?”

His dramatics makes you giggle. You hide your grin behind your palm.

“Hope that doesn’t change anything, Eddie Spaghetti.”

You meant it as a joke, as in, please don’t think of Steve every time I give you a blowjob from now on, but your words settle something heavy on the both of you. 

Because you’ve had Steve The Hair Harrington, in more ways than most friends tend to have one another. You’ve had a lot of people like that. There are people in the world with parts of you that most only give away when they’ve found someone really, really special. 

You learned about that too late. And now you feel a lot less special.

Eddie hears all your dreadful, no-good thoughts because they’re also his own. 

He’s a virgin with the town slut, so he often feels like he’s drowning. It isn’t because of you, though. It’s never because of you. The number of people you’ve slept with doesn’t mean a damn thing to him; he just wants to measure up to them.

He wants to be the kind of man that sticks in your head after you’ve been with a thousand of them — the kind you can’t help but remember fondly because there hasn’t been another one like him.

He’s got no idea he’s already better than every person you’ve ever been with combined.

“No, sweetheart,” he assures with the shake of his head. The apple of his cheek rubs against the fabric of your comforter as he looks at you with eyes deeper than an infinite galaxy. His gaze holds all of its own stars, and each of them is named after you. “It doesn’t change a goddamn thing.”

[jazeswhbhaven]

OKAY SO

When finding new indie games to play, I found yet another one and well......

*pokes cheeks* Look at you, non threatening as if you didn't just kidnap me and lock me in a fucking basement

It's "BP" or "Bloody Painter" is what he tells you to call him and he's a murderer who uses human bodies for art. The reason you're there??? (that's a spoiler won't say here for those who are interested in playing)

BUT as usual running through, I got one of the bad endings where he let's me starve to death because I tossed the food around instead of going to sleep lmao

However, I did unlock all the CGs and the endings.

First. This man is in his 40's which makes me happy because yes gimmie men in the mid thirties and older range to romance please.

Second

OHOHOHOHOHOHO I know you mean that literally my guy, but I know what else is dangerous

LMAO I'm doing way too much.

Anyways, there's a disclaimer at the beginning of the game that says "do not romance a murderer irl, find help or call the police"

You'd think you wouldn't have to put that but-

yeahhhh anyways

BUT good way to kick off spooky month for me by playing a game where I have to romance a murderer. Not really any different than me being in love with this guy

true form sukuna is top tier to me though.

So if ya'll are interested, fair warning this game was hella annoying to install on my PC (yeah sorry ya'll PC only) but the devs will be releasing a STEAM version soon this month if you just wanna wait and not fuss around installing it. -> Download Page for the Itch.io version Also fun fact, this story was originally a Creepypasta that came out back in 2017. You can find the story on Youtube read by none other Mr.Creepypasta himself! (long time fan, was super close to meeting him irl)

So it's really fun being able to play a dating sim based on the stories I've listened to. Please peep the warnings: violence, blood, human dismemberment, Stockholm syndrome, jump scares, cannibalism, kidnapping. it's pretty "tame" in terms of things you'd see in a typical SAW movie for example, but still if this kind of stuff bothers you a lot then it's important to mention.

[sunthyme]

Ah... welcome to another instalment of my headcanons. I lowkey lied again but I think my prefect will be the last of the headcanons to come out. Tyty for all the love, as always, and now...

🪶The NRC Staff🪶

Trying to find characters I hadn't already twisted for my student ocs to make my staff ones was such a pain 😭😭😭 but here they are!!

🐦‍⬛Dire Crowley🐦‍⬛

(he/it) - Bisexual

The most USELESS HEADMASTER EVER!!! God, I know his SSR card looks great but I won't pull for it istg this bitch. We could have had Sam or Crewel but nooooo...

- I wanted him to look a bit older but since we don't know his age, I didn't push it too much. No spoilers for book 7 but I assume he's probably fae or smth idk.

- You'll notice I honestly didn't change much about the staff in general but I do like most of their design already. Kept his sclera dark cause it looked cool and made the gold eyes pop.

- He talks in a weird mix of old language that literally no one uses, like hella old-fashioned, and poorly used teen lingo. He's trying... A for effort, ig.

- His house and office are super cluttered with a ton of stuff he's found throughout the years but knows exactly where things are. His memory's actually incredibly good, he's just lazy. He likes to collect teaspoons.

- Later in the story, when he starts kinda view the prefect as his kid of sorts, it starts dropping off little trinkets at Ramshackle. Various things from old photos to books with old annotations to pretty rocks. He just wants the prefect to make the dorm 'more homey'.

- I'll get into this more with my prefect design but when Crowley attended NRC (in my headcanon idk if he actually did), he was a Ramshackle student. As such, my MC is using his old uniform as he didn't have any extra ones.

- He really likes cats but they just fcuking hate him. Lucius hisses everything he see Crowley. This is why he cries himself to sleep.

Enough of my dead-beat dad, onto the good dad!

🐕Divus Crewel🐕

(he/they) Transmasc - Panasexual

The good father-figure!! I love Crewel. Also, ignore me misspelling his name in the big one, I thought it had two 'l's...

- He is my Mexican father. Idk they give like simultaneously abuelita and Mexican mom vibes and I am so here for it. (Apparently also Jewish grandma vibes according to @thearchiveofalexandria but I wouldn't know lol).

- I also think he'd be older, like late 40s/early 50s but because of those anti-ageing Mexican genes, they look like 30. (Literally, my mom gets mistaken for being that young, she's in her 50s) Gave him some gray hair at the back but don't be fooled, that's just from putting up with Crowley's bullshit. The shit that goes down in-game for sure results in a couple grey hairs for poor Crewel.

- Is the father figure I never knew I needed, well, my prefect anyway. I know my MC would go to him for anything ranging from 'Crowley's threatening to cut off my water supply!' to 'Can you help me make a Halloween costume?' and his ass always helps. Stan Papa Crewel.

Oh god, this next one was HELL ON EARTH I hate drawing masculine men...

🏈Ashton Vargas🏈

(he/him) - Heterosexual

God, I hate Vargas' og design. The worst part is it does it's job, I couldn't find much to change. Also, didn't even know he had a first name lmaooo.

- I gave him more of a beard because it looked so fcuking bad without it ong 😭😭😭 I hated this... that's pretty much all I did.

- That being said, I do think Vargas wants the best for his students. Wait. Dad-bod Vargas. Guys, I just had an epiphany.

- He's got a wife, kids in like elementary school, and like two dogs idk. I feel like he's older thirties. He's giving total family man and likes to cheer on his students like they're his kids too.

- I feel like he's got mad ADHD and it's one of the reasons he became a gym teacher, just to be constantly moving and doing stuff.

My opinion of Vargas has increased while writing this. Onto my funky uncle...

🏷️Sam Cecil🏷️

(he/they/it) Genderqueer - Asexual Aromantic

I LOVE SAM!!📢📢

- They're like mid-twenties, I don't know if they went to college but if they did, they were a business major. I gave him a last name too, idk the fact that he didn't have one made me mad. Cecil cause Dr. Facilier had a daughter named Cecilia apparently.

- I tossed in a couple more piercings and I love the idea that he has tattoos too.

- He's like the fun uncle that occasionally sponsor your weird ideas. Wanna make cookies at 3am? His store's still open. Need some Nerf guns? He's got 'em. If he says it's in stock, he will literally have anything. Don't ask, he won't answer you anyway.

- Also has crazy good like and low-key knows the future but typically drops hints in a joking manner. He's also very good at communing with the dead, sales for sessions are discounted in October.

- Incredibly rich. Probably canon given his store branches and the crazy shit he has in his shop but I felt the need to reaffirm it.

- Also supplies Ramshackle with snacks and groceries. My MC works at its shop part time in return but I firmly believe that it'd refuse to let the MC starve.

Now for the gramps,

📚Mozus Trein📚

(he/him) Transmasc - Heterosexual

- Trans old man, idk. He is to me. Also, he's both the history and literature teacher.

- Also changed pretty much nothing lol, he's just an old trans man whose sick of Crowley's bullshit (you'll notice a running theme).

- All the grandpa memes and stereotypes are so true for him. His drinks tea every afternoon, plays chess with Crewel (that's canon btw), and squints whenever you try to show him something, especially on a phone.

- He uses a flip phone mobile-y but his house has a rotary one. His daughters keep telling him to replace it but he refuses, saying modern one are too complicated. His daughters also went to Royal Blade as he originally worked there before recently transferring to NRC.

- Hates pumpkin-flavoured anything so doesn't care much for fall. Winter is his favourite season though as he loves sitting with Lucius by the window on snowy days and reading. Very academiacore, gramps.

- He totally advocated for NRC to allow students to use preferred names.

Onto the ocs!!

🪐Mèng yáo Yuan🪐

(she/they/it) Agender - Biromantic Demisexual

- First up is Mèng yáo, twisted from the Horned King from The Black Cauldron. Never seen it personally but @thearchiveofalexandria has and recommended I use its villain.

- She's Chinese and a fae of sorts so she's likely quite old, though she looks in her twenties.

- She's the astrology and philosophy teacher because I thought it would make for a good course since it's mentioned in passing in Book 4.

- She's also skilled in potionology and she and Crewel test out potions for Crewel to teach in class. She is intrigued by the concept of immortality but it's more of a passive study for her.

- She's really bad at getting jokes, though she tries. She's generally not too familiar with modern human concepts but does her best to learn.

Finally,

💎Kore Gorgon💎

(she/her) - Sapphic

- Kore is based on Madame Medusa from The Rescuers, which, fair warning, I ALSO haven't seen. I really needed villains though lol. I read the wiki page and prayed tbh.

- She's around her mid-fifties and is the Math and Physics teacher. She works to integrate known magical physics with standard math and physics and teaches such.

- Her wife is named Crystal (based on an inspo character for Madame Medusa) and they're Kyra's adoptive parents. This is a small nod to Madame Medusa having two pet crocodiles. Kyra kept her parent's names as a sort of way to remember them but likes her adoptive moms a lot too.

- Kore's name is a reference to another name for Persephone and is associated with not only 'the maiden' with the underworld as well.

- She loves shiny things and adores being dressed to the nines all the time. She has a small collect of pretty rocks and tends to decorate her classroom with various trinkets.

- She and Crewel get along super well as their personalities are rather similar. (Fun fact: Madame Medusa not only was heavily inspired by Cruella De Vil, but also served as an origin for Ursula's design.)

- She has bipolar disorder and does her best to work around it, sometimes having pre-recorded lectures if she's not able to be in person.

I'll be sharing my designs for some side and family characters tomorrow so stay tuned! Love y'all!🩷🩷🩷

[greenerteacups]

Hi! Just wanted to say the latest chapter is lovely & amazing & sweet & had me smiling the whole time! I absolutely love your characterisation of everyone, especially Draco, so it was so so lovely to return to this world & to his thoughts!! with his best friend and crush at malfoy manor no less! All the yearning is already off to a great start hehe I am so excited for the rest of book 5!

Wanted to ask you how has it been for you to write this new book and volume? Has your writing process changed since when you’d first begun taking on a long form project like this?

& also are there any moments or surprises in this book that you’re especially excited about?

sending so much love & gratitude for you and your incredible works 💓

Thank you so much! This is really encouraging, I so appreciate it.

Inasmuch as I can use this metaphor without having kids myself, I sort of see each of the books as a different child. The first one flew out in basically a few weeks of very intensive writing, and it was a total dream — plot, pacing, symbolism, major beats, all fell into place basically without effort. The character stuff was the hardest, as I've written about before, but even then, the glorious part of writing beginnings is it's the most energy you'll ever have for a project, so the lows were pretty soft lows. Book 2, in contrast, I had to drag kicking and screaming by its ankle from under the bottommost mattress of my brain. It's one of my least favorite books (tone problem; COS has killer plot/setting/ingredients for a YA novel, but it's stuck in the doldrums of Harry Potter's well-documented Early-Installment Weirdness, before Cedric Diggory slams the gas and upshifts the whole series into its correct age bracket). More specifically, once I'd gone through and picked out everything in the book that happened because of Lucius, I didn't have a plot — hey alexa how do you rewrite Chamber of Secrets when We Got No Fucking Chamber Of Secrets — and oh by the way, even if you want to do a moody tone/political setup book, remember that your protagonists are still twelve, so if you go too dark or too intense, you'll risk torpedoing your readers' suspension of disbelief. Good luck, Charlie.

Book 3 felt the most like its own novel, if that makes sense? It's the last truly feel-good book of the series; it's a great stand-alone mystery novel with relatively low stakes. Plus you get a bunch of the big series icons: patronuses, dementors, werewolves, Hogsmeade, the Marauders' Map, and time turners arithmancy. It just felt like a good old-fashioned motherfucking romp of a mystery/adventure story, before any of the complex character work and major stakes of the late books come in.

Book 4 was the most fun I've had writing anything maybe ever. I don't even know what it was. Maybe the tournament arc, honestly? Love me a tournament arc. But in any case, I opened every new chapter feeling a tingle of excitement for what I was gonna get to do. Oh, and the romance started, finally, Jesus God (if it feels like a slow burn reading, just imagine what it felt like writing it, when everything takes ten times as long, and you have to figure out how to word the fucker.)

Book 5, in contrast, has felt much less like that tingle of "here we go!" and more like "oh, man, this is gonna be cool." Because this is the arc of the story that composed the original idea for Lionheart, literally years ago, and to be honest, I didn't think I'd get this far! If you'd asked me "do you know that it's going to take you 500,000 words of backstory before you can start writing that concept you're thinking about, and you're going to do it anyway?" I would have said: "absolutely not, strange mind-reader!" But like... I'm here! Finally! And it's... real now? Like, this isn't just a bunch of clips of scenes in my head anymore! That's rad!

That being said, it's definitely been slower than Book 4, because I kept switching back to my outline document to make sure that certain things were set up properly, and that I hadn't lost any of the plot threads or forgotten a minor beat that was vitally important for the story three chapters later. And I had a minor crisis about three months ago when I ripped out about 8 chapters in the first third of the book — basically everything from September to December — because I'd done a readthrough to check pacing (big mistake! never edit while drafting, that's satan talking) and realized I had a missing storyline. Like, there was a whole layer of the story that was just. Missing. Not there. And the existing text really couldn't fit another thread, so instead of taking weeks to pore through and try to sift out what I could save, I needed to factory reset and start over. And I didn't want to! I vividly remember sitting there with my head in my hands, trying not to weep, because I'd decimated 90,000 words of work in a single edit. But it had to be done. Because the story wasn't going to work. And now (hopefully) it will.

And of course, there's still that sense of excitement and exhilaration from before. Always. But whereas Book 4 felt like a delicious chocolate pudding, Book 5 is a medium-rare steak.

(Book 6, so far, is four shots of espresso and a whiskey chaser. FWIW.)

[joannaliangart]

A LIST OF THINGS I CAN’T REMEMBER (2024) 6.5 x 6.4 in 23 page case bound book and handmade pastepaper. Papercut art and poetry

---

not sure if this is called papercut art? I'd been referring to it as 'paper art' in my mind but googling that leads to a lot of like, folded/oragami stuff too

final project for my praxis class in 3rd year! Got a good reception towards it during crit which was lovely C:

god this project took fucking FOREVER, I'm glad I did it because it turned out almost exactly how I pictured it but my goodness gracious AUGH it was a lil rough. I'd be working on this thing literally ALL day from morning till Very Late into the night for SEVERAL days straight to meet deadline it was kinda crazy. My floor was covered in a fuck ton of pastepaper I'd made and my finger was getting callused from holding the x-acto knife so frequently orz 23 pages of papercut images AND papercut words?? whhooweee

Watching a fullplay through of in stars in time is what kept me company during those long long days and nights haha, tis a very potent memory I have now (which now that the whole project-making ordeal is over is a p fun memory lol; isat is v v good)

some thoughts about this piece I jotted down in preparation for crit day:

A list of things I can’t remember my intention was to gather a list of mundane unimportant things as well as more like sad or poetically troubling things to disrupt it throughout. At the end it says “if I want to remember these things” because that is also something that I don’t remember, and it’s kind of the crux of the whole piece as this book at its core is about what kind of things are worth trying to hold into in your memory. 

That last page had black text because it’s the hardest to remember or think about, and as such it’s meant to be hard to read/make out clearly. 

The wavy black on the spine area is supposed to be like an encroaching darkness of forgetting lol

used pastepaper to make paper art trying to take advantage of the textures and colours I can make with pastepaper

+crit day installation! There were no white plinths left just this bright pink one?? But I was like. Actually that might fit the vibe lol and I think it did C: made the whole piece pop

For the assignment requirements we had to choose something from one of the special collections we visited, and I chose Janet Kellett's beautiful Qualicum Blue. And was also sooo grateful that googling it brought me to a whole website of theirs that had info on its creation. It's what got me into the rabbit hole of pastepaper and hoo boy! making it was a wholleee process haha; here's the slides I made for when we had to present our material research:

I did a WHOLE bunch of experiments; I really wanted to know what I could and could not do with pastepaper and I'm glad I pushed the material so much in the amount of time we had to complete this part of the project. My prof was surprised at how many experiments I did haha

+fun fact: I asked my prof if they could recommend me a place to source black paper for my book, and they sent me to what looked like such a weird sketchy on the edge of town looking place lmao But it was all good they were like a mass producer of paper or smth and they had a lil storefront? in their warehouse selling what I assume were leftover batches in smaller quantities; that was p fun and! Now I know where I can find paper

Also I got some remarks that the papercut art reminded people of The Very Hungry Caterpillar C:

[phdmama]

I'd absolutely love some sterek fic recs because I'm trying to broaden the ships I read. I've watched the first 3 seasons of teen wolf but haven't read any fics and don't know where to start. I'm fairly open to reading any content, although I'm not the biggest fan of like the common school/coffee shop etc AUs.

Also I love how you're gotten into blogging hockey recently. Have you read any hockey rpf since getting into nhl? Personally sidgeno and mattdrai have my heart, but like I said I'm looking for new ships to read like sterek.

WOOOO LET'S GOOOO!!

As always, read the tags etc etc. Probably a lot of these will be author recs. I will say Sterek has the potential for an age gap concern but I don't read fic where that's written as a predatory thing, FWIW, but I do read some where Stiles is 17 but where I feel like it's handled at least somewhat gracefully

Gravity's Got Nothing on You by @zosofi is great - I really like all their stuff actually!

@kalpurna's Fascination and @drunktuesdays' bigger, longer and uncut are both *gems* - so funny.

We've Written Volumes (in Blood and Scars and Ink) by @notthequiettype is absolutely brilliant, one of my fav fics of all time, way up on my reread regularly list. They only have one other Sterek but I love that one too (and they write hockey rpf but I haven't really dived in there yet!).

The Moon's Gonna Follow Me Home by @turningterrific is stunning. They're SUCH a good writer, although sadly this is their only Sterek (but they have written some amazing hockey RPF as well!).

Every stumble and each misfire by @everchanginginks is fucking phenomenal. True story, I read this fic and then didn't keep track of it but it stayed in my brain, and I spent literally HOURS combing my AO3 history to find it, and when I did, I promptly downloaded it and created the "Best Ever" collection on my Kindle specifically for this fic.

Everything by @suburbanmotel. They are an incredible writer and even more incredible person and I'm so lucky to call them a friend!

I really love @lunacanislupus-22-blog writing but particular favorites are: Feel it like a fever, burning through the night , Spirit grows when love goes away and I know that you love me, even when I lose my head (and I'm not normally one for amnesia fics because they make me SO ANXIOUS but this one is SO good).

Cornerstone by Vendelin is really good too (mind the tags on this one).

By Any Other Name by @entanglednow is fucking phenomenal (and again with the amnesia fics?!?!) and so so well-written. Check out all their stuff!

I really love @devildoll's writing very much a lot! Particular favorites include: Come with Me and Walk the Longest Mile (and I don't usually gravitate to post-apocalyptic fic even though I love the genre in fiction but this one is fucking brilliant); Stand Fast in Your Enchantments (painful and so good); My Heart Comes Tumbling Down (OH MY HEART) and Love, Like a Sentence of Death.

There's Monsters at Home by @wellhalesbells | calrissian18 is a classic and really good! They've written a ton of really great fics (the Hilary Duff lyrics one is a another personal favorite!)

Not Quite Lost (Not Quite Found) by @alocalband is gorgeous. Just. beautifully written.

stuck in reverse by @crazyassmurdererwall is also really good! Definitely check the tags on this one, as it is Stiles still in HS.

Start Small, Like Oak Trees by smallbirds is really lovely. Everything of theirs that I've read, I've really liked.

Okay, just a couple more I promise!!

The Difficult Kind (series) by whiskey_in_tea is an old one but really really wonderful.

The First Date series by @halffizzbin - the whole thing is delightful but I absolutely adore the final installment!

I will note that many of these authors also have Hockey RPF fic, JUST SAYING (I really am fascinated as to what that pipeline is??). I've read a ton of hockey RPF as well (sidgeno for sure) and I'll check out mattdrai now!!

Anyway, hope this helps as a place to start!!