#impossible to take bad pictures of because he’s perfect <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[im-still-watching-anime]

our cat keeps laying on me and simply refusing to allow me time to get into a comfortable position first so here’s some godawful pictures i took of her as payback

[narnian-neverlander]

For You, Always [Viktor x GN!Reader]

Plot Summary: You press your forehead to his lightly and whisper your thanks again, and “What you did was more than enough. You will always be more than enough.” He tightens the arm still looped around your waist and pulls you impossibly closer, the hand on your face slipping to the back of your neck, mirroring you. This is how things have always been between you two and how they should stay: clearly caring and loving, yet a certain line never crossed.

Word Count: 4,7k

Warnings: slight angst, self-worth issues (both of them need a freaking hug), internalized ableism, talk about a non-consensual relationship (nothing explicit/graphic or sexual, but reader’s ex is clearly an abusive, ableist pos)

This is part of a series of stand alone One-Shots that all feature the same reader, you can find the masterlist here :3

A/N: Jayce is playing matchmaker, because both Viktor and the Reader have such bad self-worth issues, they’re not gonna get anywhere unless he whacks them over the head with his hammer

“According to Mel, he is an absolute ass, but unfortunately one of the most influential people in Piltover, so—“

“Unfortunately, he’s also kinda, sorta my ex…” you mumble into the rim of your glass, interrupting Jayce and it is comical, cartoonish almost, how his head turns to look at you so fast you’re afraid his neck might snap. Not to mention Viktor accompanying his reaction perfectly by choking on his own drink. You watch Jayce open and close his mouth several times until he finally settles on: “That guy? Seriously? Didn’t think that was your type…”

He casts an incredibly unsubtle, overly obvious glance over at Viktor as he says this and you would’ve loved to strangle him for it; thankfully the man in question is too busy coughing up fancy champagne to notice, he does however manage to get out a “Oh please tell me you lost a bet.”

Downing the rest of your drink in one go, you shake your head. “Gods, I wish. Just… young and stupid and naive and always too eager to please and — and he’s coming this way. Gentlemen, if you’ll excuse me.” You all but flee the scene about to unfold, grabbing another glass off a passing waiter’s tray as you make a break for the nearest balcony. Your friends watch you disappear into the crowd with worried frowns; Jayce’s statement of “Probably a pretty bad breakup…” getting answered with an eye roll and a heavily sarcastic “You think so? I never would have guessed.”

The next hours are spent hopping from hiding spot to hiding spot, snatching drinks and snacks off trays whenever you manage while keeping an eye out for your personified worst nightmare. By some godly miracle you manage to utterly avoid the man and the next familiar face you spot when you dare venture back into the crowds is the Man of Progress himself, surrounded by nobles and merchants alike, polite smile on his face as he makes conversation. A polite, fake smile in danger of slipping that you spot from a mile away. Catching a glimpse of the band getting ready to strike up another song, you decide to be merciful and rescue him. It’s not entirely selfless though, as you figure if the asshole does end up spotting you, watching you dance with Piltover’s very own golden boy might be a good enough repellant.

“Excuse me, Mr. Talis?” Relief floods his features as he turns around to find you right behind him, having shoved your way through the circle of admirers. “I hate to interrupt, but you did promise me a dance. You’re not the kind of man to go back on his word are you?” Voice all sweet and coy and honeyed, batting your lashes at him; the picture perfect flirt making starry eyes at the man leading the city of progress into a brighter future. And it takes all he has not to burst out laughing, because he’s seen this from you before, except it’s usually not him on the receiving end of it, but his partner. It is charming, endearing even, he will admit. No wonder Viktor can never say no to you when you look at him like that. And right now he’s beyond elated you’ve decided to play his saving grace for some reason, so he wouldn’t even dream of turning you down.

“Of course not. If you’ll excuse me.” he states, ignoring any protests from bystanders and guides you to the dance floor with a hand on the small of your back. He leads you into a waltz and waits until you’re swallowed by dancing couples until he lets his face drop into an exhausted grimace. “Oh sweet Gods, thank you. Anymore of that and I would’ve driven the cocktail sticks into my ears.”

“You’re welcome. How did you even end up like that, though? Where’s your better half? He’s usually pretty capable of getting you both out of situations like that.” He sends you a knowing grin as he spins you. “Oh so you think he’s the better half? Ouch.” It earns him an eye roll, but you’re smiling nonetheless. “Like you don’t know I have a favorite. Now answer the question, golden boy.” There’s hesitation before he answers with, “He went home for the evening.” and you almost fumble your next steps. “Excuse me? The bastard begged me to come along for weeks and now he just ditches? The only reason I agreed to come was because he actually promised me a dance.”

Jayce hems and haws and you’re ridiculously close to intentionally stomping on his foot to get him to cough up an explanation; luckily for him he manages in time. “No, no, it’s more like… I sent him home cause if he would’ve had to be in the same room as your ex any longer, I was genuinely afraid he’d take the guy’s head off with his cane.” The laugh that bubbles up from your throat is joyful and real; Jayce has always been good at defusing your irritation with humor. It takes another few seconds and another look at his face to realize that he’s dead serious and your laughter dies on your tongue, leaving behind the taste of ashes. “You can’t be— He— What?! I left you guys for two hours max!”

“Yeah, well…” he starts as he dips you, “your ex has a way of getting under people’s skin.” No shit. But you’d honestly thought Viktor was above it. “What did the asshole do? Dismiss Hextech as an obsolete fantasy?” Shaking his head, he leads you into another turn. “No, quite the opposite, actually. He was incredibly interested, but his demands for becoming a sponsor were ludicrous, to put it mildly. Final say in the direction of Hextech, majority of the shares, unrestricted access to all stages of development and… you.” This time, you do stumble over your own feet in shock, falling straight into his chest. “Pardon?!”

The poor man looks as uncomfortable as you feel as he explains. “Apparently he saw the three of us talking earlier and one thing led to another and— fuck, I don’t know what happened between you, but that man is absolutely not over you. For some reason that is entirely beyond me, he was under the impression that because we’re friends we’d somehow be able to coerce you into being with him again. And the way he was talking about you? Gods, it made me wanna punch him in the face; it was so utterly vile I can’t even repeat it. Scratch that, I just really don’t want to.” All things considered, you’re glad for his hands steadying you, cause the room’s spinning even without the dance you’re still enagaged in and you feel like you’re gonna loose all the fancy hors-d’oeuvres from earlier on the polished marble floor any second now. “Great. Lovely. Perfect. And how exactly does Viktor fit into this now?”

He sighs. “Honestly, I can’t repeat what he said either.” This seems to ground your spiraling for a moment and you cock a brow at him. “Are you kidding? He’s usually pretty eloquent.” To say you’re surprised when he snorts in amusement would be an understatement. “I mean I literally can’t repeat it, because he was so utterly livid, he slipped into his mother tongue and while I can’t be sure, it didn’t exactly sound like he was complimenting the guy.”

Finally all the pieces click into place and when they do, you slow your steps to a stop and blink up at your friend owlishly. “He… Viktor got upset on my behalf?” The way he so openly laughs at you makes your ears burn and your fist connects with his chest in a halfhearted punch. “I don’t see what’s so funny about that!” Catching your hand as you ready yourself for another swing, this time aimed at his stupid, handsome face, he reigns in his laughter and simply smiles at you; not mean spirited or teasing, but shockingly gentle and sweet. “You really can’t even begin to understand the way he sees you, huh? The lengths he’d go to for you?”

The anger and embarrassment in your veins all but evaporates, replaced by something soft and warm; heat gathering at the back of your neck and the balls of your cheeks for an entirely different reason now. Your mouth drops open as you try to formulate some sort of response, only to fail miserably; incoherent stuttering and beginnings of words the only thing you manage to produce. The music finally fades out and is replaced by applause for the band as your friend chuckles and inclines his head towards the door. “You should go talk to him.” A glance over his shoulder shows you the gaggle of potential investors you’d saved him from earlier already making their way towards you again. “And you’ll survive if I leave you alone with these people?” An overly dramatic sigh is your answer. “I’ll gladly sacrifice myself for your happiness.” The ‘my hero’ he gets in return is dripping with sarcasm as he winks at you and makes a shooing motion towards the exit, then turns around to head back into the fray, giving you a clean escape.

Freezing winter air hits you as you exit the venue; bitingly cold but a welcome change from the sweltering warmth of the gala nonetheless. Starting left, you catch yourself after only a few steps to reconsider. Left would be Viktor’s apartment. Right would be the lab. You know him better than that, don’t you? So you change directions, readjusting your scarf over your nose. It’s a relatively short distance to the academy, even so your fingers are starting to go numb when you reach one of the big, heavy doors leading inside. The hallowed halls are quiet and dark, making the high ceilings and ornate walls seem even more imposing than usual as you make your way towards the lab with hurried steps. It all feels like you’re doing something illegal - or maybe it would, if all the security guards hadn’t seen you hang around the two Hextech pioneers often enough for you to know all their names by heart at this point. Arriving at the lab, first glance tells you it’s as empty as the rest of the building. Except for the tiny sliver of light peeking out from under the door. Bingo.

You gingerly, quietly press down on the handle, not wanting to involuntarily startle the man you know to be inside, just in case he’s handling something explosive. One experience like that had been enough to last you a lifetime. You’re in luck, as you instead find him hunched over one of the desks, furiously scribbling notes onto various scattered pieces of paper, muttering under his breath. The small lamp at his side casts deep shadows across his face, but you’re still able to make out the frown; thick eyebrows drawn together in irritation and lips pressed into a thin line. He couldn’t possibly still be upset about what happened at the gala, could he? No, impossible. Preposterous. Idiotic. He’s hit a roadblock in his equations, that had to be it. But seeing as you’re not in any danger of accidentally causing him to blow you both to pieces you make your presence known to him.

“I do believe Jayce told you to go home, didn’t he?” Viktor almost drops his pen in alarm, swiveling around on his stool to find you have sidled up to him, leaning against the desk, in the process of ridding yourself of your coat and scarf, an amused grin on your lips. He puts a hand over his racing heart, as he says “And a heart attack is a fitting reprimand for my crime in your eyes, yes?” You only raise your brows in return, smile slipping from your face, disapproval obvious in your eyes as they flit towards the clock in the corner of the room for just a second; it’s the same look he always gets from you when he’s working when he clearly shouldn’t be. Running a hand through his already messy, chestnut hair, he shrugs. “I simply didn’t feel particularly tired when I left.”

“So I’ve heard.” you muse and pick up a random cogwheel from the table to fiddle with. “Apparently you had some… disagreements with a potential investor?” He clicks his tongue in annoyance and all but chucks the pen still in his hand across the desk. “Potential investor, don’t make me laugh. That appalling, pathetic excuse of a man shouldn’t be allowed in a five mile radius of anything Hextech. Or a five mile radius of you, for that matter.” Humming in both agreement and intrigue, you continue with what’s really been eating you up. “Jayce said you hit him with some choice words. Mind repeating those for me?” A sideways glance your way to confirm you’re certain and then he launches into a repeat of his rant from earlier that evening. He gets about three or four words into it before you throw the cogwheel at him; it bounces off his shoulder and lands on the floor with a ping. “Oh someone thinks he’s particularly funny tonight. In a language I understand, maybe?” Try as he might to hide it, you catch the corners of his mouth tugging upward slightly. “That’s not what you asked of me, though.” Know-it-all bastard.

“Oh how dare you?” Hopping up on the table for additional theatrics, you grip your chest in mock offense and throw your head back dramatically. “Here I am, having braved a journey of freezing winds and complete darkness, to bestow my thanks upon you and you don’t even have the courtesy to thrill me with a retelling of your courageous deeds. Disappointing, truly.” A pointed cough into his fist does little to hide the laugh at your antics. “Please, the venue is a ten minute walk from here and all the streets are lined with lanterns. You’ll need to try a little harder, miláčku.”

Huffing, you run a hand over your face, desperately trying to hide how much the nickname affects you and give you a second to think. Your salvation stares at you from the other end of the lab, the golden horn of the phonograph glinting in the light of the moon that filters through the windows. And he immediately knows he won’t like what comes out of your mouth next, with the way your eyes flash and your lips curl in an absolutely wicked smile. “Well you see, I still haven’t been paid for tonight.” Confusion is clear as day in both his face and his voice. “I do not recall discussing payment for your participation in the gala…?”

“Oh but we did!” you giggle as you hook your foot around the center of his roller stool to drag him closer, very much enjoying the look of utter shock on his face and the slight graze of his hands on the sides of your things as they land on the desk next to you to try and regain his balance. “A certain someone promised to dance with me if I showed up. Guess who ditched before he made good on that?” At least he has the courtesy to look sheepish, a little knowing ‘Ah…’ sound escaping him as he rubs a hand over the back of his neck and drops his gaze to his lap. With how the night had gone, he’d genuinely forgotten all about it. And before the night had even started he’d hoped you’d forget. He really should’ve known better. A finger enters his field of vision to poke him in the chest. “You’re in luck; I am nothing if not merciful, so I’ll leave it up to you: a dance or an explanation. So what’ll it be, darling?”

He’s beyond grateful you can’t get a proper look at his face at the moment, with how pink he knows his cheeks to be, lest you realize how much the nickname actually affects him. And this shouldn’t be such a hard choice, really; the way his heart stutters at just the thought of either, he should be doing both. Besides, you deserve to know. Deserve to know that he’d told that pompous swine to go choke on his wine the moment he’d as much as uttered your name. Told him that he shouldn’t even be allowed to breathe the same air as you, much less be allowed close enough to touch you. That he could amass as much money and power as he liked, he’d never be worth even a fraction of you.

You deserve to know all of that. And yet he doesn’t tell you. Because while he did what he did for your sake, it had still been selfishly motivated. Because if he tells someone interested in you off, then at least it feels like you’re his, even for just a second. Because the irony of the situation is that while your ex might be undeserving of you, so is he. For different reasons, yes, but he feels it’s true nonetheless.

So he doesn’t tell you any of it, his personal demons are not your burden to bear after all, simply grabs his cane in silence and walks over to the phonograph. Slow notes of a gentle melody fill the air a few moments later, as he turns and offers you his hand.

And you’re absolutely shell shocked, to say the least. This is… not the choice you’d been expecting. Words are his forte; he’d always choose them over physicality if given the opportunity. Or so you’d thought. This doesn’t make sense to you; why was he so desperately trying to keep what he’d said about you a secret? Or had Jayce completely misunderstood the situation he’d recounted to you and Viktor had never said anything about you at all? Why would he bother to anyways? You and your past demons aren’t his burden to bear, after all. The uncertainty must be written all over your face, as you’re met with a concerned, “Are you alright?”

It’s a simple enough question, with a simple enough answer, yes or no, but all of a sudden, you’re a child again. Sitting bruised, bleeding, soaked to the bone and crying your little heart out in the shallows of one of the offshoots of the river, an altercation between you and some other kids having turned out to be another case of you biting off more than you could chew. And then a little pale hand holding out a dirty handkerchief had appeared in your peripheral, belonging to a small, lanky boy with a cane and big, worried golden eyes.

Are you alright?

You hadn’t known him then. But you’d taken his hand anyways. Had decided to trust him. He’d never once let you down since and you have no reason to doubt him now. So you do the same thing in this exact moment as you did all those years ago: just take his hand and trust him.

He pulls you flush against him, hands linked behind your lower back, your own coming up to rest on his shoulders. It’s nowhere near as elaborate and elegant as your waltz earlier this evening, more of a simple swaying from side to side, but it doesn’t have to be. Not for you. Not as long as it’s him.

Smiling softly, you say, “A dance with each one of the Hextech geniuses in one night. I must be the luckiest person in Piltover.” He hums in acknowledgment. “And do you have a preference?”

“Oh come now, that is an utterly unfair comparison.” And your heart aches at the way his face falls just the tiniest bit. “I’ve had my preference for years, regardless of dancing abilities; poor Jayce never even stood a chance.” It’s quiet and subtle, barely more than a deep breath in and out, but it’s a laugh nonetheless. “Don’t tell him that, it’ll break his heart.” In direct comparison to him, the bark of laughter that escapes you is loud and boisterous, only amplified by the muted, soft atmosphere surrounding you both. “Please, he knows. He’s been yanking my chain about that for a bit.” Not that you particularly mind; it’s a chain you wear proudly and for all to see after all. You’d shout your love for this man from the highest towers of Piltover if only he asked. “Besides…” you start while tucking your head into the crook of his neck, “I’m here dancing with you because I want to be. I really only danced with Jayce because I thought if… if you-know-who saw it, it might keep him off my back a little longer.”

A slight turn of his head has him nuzzling your hair; the hushed whisper of your name almost sounds pained as his arms tighten around you protectively. He isn’t sure what exactly happened between you and your ex, but he’d be willing to bet that the nature of your relationship hadn’t been… consensual. It’s plain to see that the man scares you and it makes him sick. Angry. Desperate. But most of all, he’s disappointed - in himself. The conversation him and Jayce had had with him had been one thing; the bastard knew how to behave at least somewhat diplomatically while there were people of importance present. Of course, Jayce, and by extension, you, couldn’t know that he’d had the misfortune of running into him yet again while he was leaving. He’d had to listen to that waste of oxygen in expensive clothing talk about you like you were nothing more than a filthy piece of his property yet again and this time around he hadn’t managed to remain even remotely civil. Had thrown every curse and threat under the sun in two different languages his way. Had hissed at him that he’d turn him inside out if he ever even looked at you again - only for the pig to laugh in his face, pat his cheek condescendingly and give a disgusted, embarrassed look at his cane, telling him that he was ’welcome to try’ before vanishing back into the crowd. Viktor had wanted to scream at the top his lungs; it had been a while since he’d felt so utterly livid, yet so humiliated and useless at the same time.

And here you are, wanting to thank him for some courageous, chivalrous deed he didn’t actually commit. Looking at him with the biggest eyes, like he’d hung the stars in the sky just for you, when in reality, he couldn’t even properly defend you against someone who’d clearly hurt you. He has to tell you. He’s not the hero you think him to be.

“About what I said to him—“ is as far as he gets, as you promptly cut him off with, “Don’t tell me. It doesn’t matter.” Not even ten minutes ago, you were essentially blackmailing him into spilling this secret and now you don’t care anymore? “I would argue that it does.” He feels more than sees you shake your head, your hair tickling his cheek. “You stood up for me, right? That’s all I have to know. It’s enough.”

Anger and disgust come back full force, choking him like bile rising in the back of his throat, not aimed at you, never at you, but at himself.

“It’s nothing.”

He doesn’t mean for it to come out so harsh and bitter and cold.

“It’s plenty.”

Soft and sweet and warm, the exact opposite of his own words in every way; the reassurance and comfort he’s supposed to be offering you dripping from every word. When did your roles get reversed? You’re the one in distress and you’re comforting him? He’s not just useless, he’s absolutely pathetic. And even though you might be none the wiser to his self destructive thoughts, some part of you seems to know; it always seems to know as your fingers dance across his shoulders to busy themselves with the hair at the nape of his neck, calming his nerves.

“I haven’t had— I mean, no one’s ever— Most people—“ A sigh, a clear sign of frustration as you try to get your thoughts in order, warm breath fanning over his neck, leaving goosebumps in it’s wake. “I can count the people who ever stood up for me over the course of my life on one hand; I mean, my birth parents never even bothered to. So knowing there’s someone who has my back, even when I’m not present? It’s…” Pulling back to look at him, his breath catches at the way the silvery light from outside empathizes the affection in your eyes and the tenderness of your smile. “It’s a nice feeling. Thank you.”

His hand is moving before his brain has time to play catch up, cupping your cheek and all but melting when you nuzzle into his warmth, eyes fluttering closed.

“For you? Always.”

He’s not sure he’s ever seen you look quite so peaceful and at ease and it feels like his heart is gonna jump right out of his chest; his gaze is drawn to your lips before he can fully think about what that could entail.

He watches your lips part slightly and when he manages to wrench his golden eyes back up, he finds yours already on him, wide in astonishment and he knows he’s been caught red handed.

And you consider yourself most fortunate, cause if he’d looked up even a second earlier, he would’ve caught you staring. The air is heavy and promising and whoever makes the next move decides wether or not things between you both are gonna change irrevocably.

Tonight, you’re the one that makes that decision. The decision that you’re not ready for things to change. You like what you have and are too scared of losing it. Instead, you settle for something different, yet just as poignant and important; a clear and explicit expression of love for people from Zaun. Softly tugging on his neck, he goes oh so willingly, happily even. You press your forehead to his lightly and whisper your thanks again, and “What you did was more than enough. You will always be more than enough.”

He tightens the arm still looped around your waist and pulls you impossibly closer, the hand on your face slipping to the back of your neck, mirroring you. This is how things have always been between you two and how they should stay: clearly caring and loving, yet a certain line never crossed.

Neither one of you notices the music coming to an end, replaced by the scratchy static of needle against vinyl, too wrapped up in the moment, in each other. A bell tolls outside, signaling the coming of midnight and just like in a fairytale, the spell you seem to be under comes to an abrupt end. With a deep breath, you step back, putting some much needed distance between you, if you want your brain to function properly again, that is, and clear your throat awkwardly. “I uh… I should be getting home. Some people still have a regular day and night schedule, unlike you.”

With a small smile, you go to gather your coat as he switches off the phonograph. When he turns back to you, his heart falls in disappointment; you’re already dressed and halfway to the door. He would’ve liked to walk you home, at least, but you honestly look like you’re fleeing from something; he apparently has imposed on you enough for tonight. Pausing with your hand on the handle, you call his name again, delicately, quietly. When your gaze finds him, you’re pleased to find his full attention already on you.

“Next time you’re pulling an all-nighter… save me another dance?”

And with the way his golden eyes start to shine like the stars and his beautiful lips quirk up into that crooked half smile you adore, you can almost believe Jayce’s words - almost.

You really can’t even begin to understand the way he sees you, huh? The lengths he’d go to for you?

“For you? Always.”

[hannieehaee]

Imagine workaholic gf!reader of equally workaholic bf!woozi where they both take a few days leave to enjoy each other and book a luxurious honeymoon suite hotel room thinking they will have a lot of sex with their days off but instead end up with cuddling and lazy make out sessions because their exhaustion just swooshes over them owo

18+ / mdi

content: workaholic!woozi x workaholic!reader, afab reader, heavy mentions of smut, making out, very suggestive, etc.

wc: 1262

a/n: i can really picture jihoon dating a fellow workaholic lol anyways thank u for requesting<3

masterlist

"fuck, finally," you sighed in relief, letting yourself fall backwards onto the cool bed in the luxury hotel room jihoon had reserved.

after endless weeks of equally endless work, you finally had a week off, which jihoon had strategically coordinated with his own time off.

the two of you were extremely hard workers – to a fault. when jihoon bad first met you, he worried that maybe his addiction to constant work would eventually drive you away, yet somehow it had continued to keep you right by his side. you preferred that he was a workaholic, you had once told him. there had apparently been a few prior relationships in which your heavy workload had led to irreparable issues. jihoon being equally as busy as you allowed you to work without feeling guilt of leaving your partner behind – jihoon felt the exact same way.

despite the unspoken agreement the two of you had in regards to the dynamic of your relationship, it sometimes still got to you when you'd realize how little time you were able to spend with your boyfriend – once more, jihoon felt the exact same way.

your individual lives were already difficult to navigate, but making time for each other was even more complicated. your exhaustion was a whole different issue. working as much as the two of you did, it was understandable that you'd spend the lulls in your schedule resting as much as you could rather than with each other. it was a sad truth, but still remained a truth.

it wasn't as if you spent no time together, though. you'd always either see each other in the mornings (either through call or in person – depending on whether jihoon was in the country at the time or not) or at night, always making sure to love on one another as a reminder of the thriving affection in your relationship. you'd also dedicate one night per week to have a stay-at-home date night. everything was perfectly tailored to your relationship, and the two of you were more than happy with it.

these past few weeks had been the issue. as jihoon had a comeback and you had an important project at work, it was virtually impossible for you to see each other as of late. it got to you in all the worst ways, making you moody, irritable, tired, and even sexually frustrated. not only were you physically exhausted of the constant work, but you had been deprived of your daily dosage of jihoon. you had not slept together in weeks, nor had you even had a meal with each other. cuddling? completely out of the question with the insanely packed schedule you'd been having.

it all went like this for the both of you for a few weeks, up until everything managed to reach a standstill. you had a few days off, and jihoon had the ability to move some things around to match your time off. without so much as one word from you, jihoon had decided it was the perfect time to whisk you away on a private getaway at some luxury hotel of your choice.

jihoon wasnt really one to go out much, unbeknownst to you, but jihoon had been feeling extremely pent up from the last moment he got to have you all to himself. the short glimpses of you he managed to catch throughout the busy weeks were the only thing that had kept him going. the singular thought of the next time he'd he'd get to have you was the only thing occupying his mind. renting out a room for the week was the most obvious of choices to jihoon. he would finally get to explore the sheets with you.

upon arriving to the hotel, jihoon chuckled at how pleased you seemed with the place, immediately letting yourself loose on the bed and sighing in contentment. putting down the suitcases, jihoon joined you soon after, still fully clothed as he laid next to you, staring up at the ceiling.

"are you as tired as i am?", you asked him.

he hummed in affirmation, "yeah. what do you wanna do first?"

the unspoken agreement to utilize the week on sex had filled up the room before you had even arrived, so it was obvious what he was referring to.

"i'll take a quick bath first, okay, baby?", you said as you began to get up, stretching your muscles in the process.

"sure, baby. i'll head down to the gym for a bit to unwind then. i'll see you in about an hour, then?"

with a sweet peck, you bid your boyfriend goodbye, giddy to get yourself relaxed and perfumed so your boyfriend could help you destress under the sheets.

~

the bath had been a huge success in terms of getting you relaxed. after an hour lying in the warmest, bubbliest, comfiest water imaginable to man, you felt like a brand new person. accompanied by a lavender-scented bath bomb, a glass of wine and your favorite netflix show playing in the background, you got out of that bath in the best mood you'd been in in weeks.

the one downside was how incredibly relaxed the bath had gotten you. you were so relaxed, you could've fallen victim to endless slumber in that bathtub. as much as you needed jihoon to fuck you to sleep, you weren't sure how well you'd be able to perform if you tried to return the favor.

luckily for you, that would not be an issue.

upon walking back into the room, now donning some comfortable pajamas, you were met with the sight of a fully-asleep jihoon, cocooned between the sheets as he snored softly. the sight had you swooning with affection for the boy. he was the softest, most relaxing thing you had ever seen.

you couldn't help yourself in making your way to him, somehow maneuvering yourself into his arms and under the sheets, feeling more relaxed than ever.

before you could even close your eyes, the boy shuffled behind you, mumbling against your ear as he cuddled further into you.

"baby?", he mumbled.

"sorry, baby. did i wake you?"

"hmm, no you're fine. i meant to stay awake for you, but the bed's just so damn comfy," he chuckled breathily, "i took a quick shower downstairs to prepare for, you know, but fuck, i'm just so tired," he whined.

you turned around in his arms, facing him, breaths almost intertwined due to the proximity.

"that's okay, hoonie. 'm so sleepy. maybe ... we could leave it for tomorrow? just sleep in and then we can have some fun tomorrow?" you suggested, pressing a soft peck to his lips.

his arms tightened around your waist, not allowing you to pull back all the way, "only if you kiss me some more," he murmured, eyes stuck to your lips.

"i can agree to that," you giggled, pressing a languid kiss to his lips as he stuck his tongue in your mouth, softly intertwining with your own in a wet kiss.

the rest of the evening was spent softly making out under the warm sheets, legs tangled up together and fully relaxed in each other's arms. sex was the last thing on your mind as you kissed each other every so often, mostly focused on holding onto one another and finding your slumber together. however, this exhaustion did not stop you from waking up the following day, claiming your highs from one another time after time throughout the day, ready to recharge at night and continue the pattern day after day.

[lovebugism]

i am so sorry but reader talking about robin right before making out with eddie is like absolutely the best thing i’ve ever read i’m obsessed i genuinely can’t wait for anything else in that universe that you do

THE CUSTOMER'S ALWAYS RIGHT | god help the girl

summary: in which you come to terms with the fact that you're hopelessly in love with eddie munson. pairing: virgin!eddie munson x reader word count: 13k warning: phone sex, more discussions of shitty boyfriends, j*son c*rver name drop, talks of unhealthy eating practices, smut 18+ mdni! a/n: this ask has been sitting in my inbox for ages now, but i wanted to save it until robin made an appearance in the series! thank you, anon, for being so sweet! and for the few of you who've been waiting on me to finally post <3 hope you enjoy! xoxo

( PREVIOUSLY ) | ( SERIES MASTERLIST ) | ( NEXT )

They only met once, but it changed their lives forever. 

That’s what the movie cover reads at least, but the words have long blurred into a jumbled mess at your tunnel vision. John Bender stares you in the face, but all you see is Eddie — boyish and brazen and scowling because he thinks it makes him look intimidating, but nowhere near as cruel as he seems. 

He’s certainly got the hair for it, much longer and curls far wilder than Judd Nelson’s measly set of brushed-back locks. He’s got the terribly animated personality down pat, too; the one that either makes you laugh uncontrollably or squirm in discomfort when it’s pointed your way. And the style’s a pretty fine match also, though you’d argue that no one sports a leather jacket quite like Eddie Munson does.

Wallowing in your boredom at the empty Family Video store on Main Street — where your best friends slave over mundane work with aching backs and a lingering sense of gratefulness that no customer has been in in well over an hour — you find yourself analyzing each character pictured on the front cover of The Breakfast Club.

Robin would surely be Allison, you conclude rather quickly, because their deadpanned glowers are eerily identical. They’ve also got this sort of atypical aura to them, too, like a dark storm cloud or the promise of a long night. But strangely it sparkles — strikes of lightning or a sky full of stars. It draws everyone’s attention to them; even when they’re desperately trying to hide in the very back of a room.

And Steve would be Andrew, not particularly because of his affections for this Allison-Reynolds-Robin-Buckley hybrid you’ve concocted, but because "popular guy with daddy issues" is a trope that fits him far too well. He’s way more likely to get detention for trying to look cool in front of his assholes friends than for anything actually malicious of heart. But that would’ve been years ago now. He’s not that kind of guy anymore. 

He’s soft and sweet — a Brian Johnson sort of soft and sweet, if you will. If Brian wasn’t the brains, but the sweetest dumbass anyone’s ever met.

You realize then, that Jim Hopper would make a mean Richard Vernon. He’s impatient to a fault, almost too stern at times, but never enough to make you genuinely fearful of him. You’ve found that it’s virtually impossible for you to take him seriously when he’s so cartoonishly angry. It’s a match made in heaven, you find, though Jim might take offense to the comparison.

And if Eddie is Bender, then that’d make you the Claire Standish of the bunch.

She’s dreadfully stylish, a bit stuck-up at times, and perhaps a little bit more spoiled than the average person; but it’s not like she ever claimed to be perfect. And you wouldn’t either.

You’ll take more pride in your wardrobe filled with pretty pleated skirts and flouncy dresses than your somewhat glacial disposition. And you might not be drowning in daddy’s money, but you’re certainly spoiled in other ways — if only in the employee discount at Enzo’s that got you wine for cheap and your connections at Family Video that meant free movie nights whenever you wanted.

The bad boy and the princess was a tale as old as time itself. It’s a fairytale you wouldn’t mind living in if it ended how it did in the movies — with a kiss on the cheek and an exchanged diamond earring in the calloused palm of another. A soft pink smile and a celebratory fist in the air.

But you’ve met your fair share of John Bender’s and none of them had been particularly kind to you, let alone had fallen in love with you. 

Maybe that’s because you were no Claire Standish. Never pretty enough, never mousy enough, never pure enough.  You try and dissect why you’ve never been successfully loved, and all the signs point to you, you, you.

You hope Eddie’s different. You need Eddie to be different.

“Something’s wrong with me,” you blurt out of nowhere.

Well, it’s not totally out of the blue for you. You’d been stewing over that thought since you got there — since you left the woods with damp underwear and the scent of you on Eddie’s fingers.

But to Steve and Robin, who’d stayed relatively silent and locked eyes only once after they noticed how abnormally hushed you’d gone, it catches them quite off guard.

Steve lifts his heavy head from where he mans the counter. His tired eyes leave the computerized catalog for the first time in forty minutes, and he has to rub at them with the bottom of his palms to see you properly. Meanwhile, Robin crouches at your side, taking returned tapes from the bin sitting next to her and placing them back upon the shelf you lean against. 

She blinks up at you, deep ocean eyes swimming with apprehension, like she can sense the spiral you’ve just about twisted yourself into.

“What do you mean?” she wonders, ever the supportive best friend, as she plucks Heather’s, Pretty in Pink, and Weird Science from the bin and sets them onto their assigned rows in the Teen Drama section.

“Eddie won’t fuck me.”

Neither of them is particularly stunned by the unabashed nature of your admission.

Not only have they both fucked you at one point or another, but they’re your best friends — no one’s ever going to know you quite the way they do. It leaves little left unsaid between the three of you, with secrets you’ve all sworn to take to your graves. Steve once stuck a finger in his ass to see if he liked it (he did) and Robin sometimes gets off on her childhood teddy bear (rather ironically named Mr. Snuggles). 

So this? This was nothing. Especially in comparison to all the other shit you’ve confessed to them because god knows the whore of Hawkins has a plethora of stories to tell.

Steve is more shocked by the name that leaves your mouth than anything else. “Eddie Munson?” he repeats with furrowed brows, like he had to have heard you wrong.

You bring your chin to your right shoulder to look at him, then nod.

“Eddie… The Freak… Munson?”

You nod again, slower for him this time.

“You wanna fuck… Eddie Munson?” Steve reiterates once more, as though the idea was too appalling to be true. “Eddie Munson — The Freak?”

“Yes, Steve,” you huff in irritation.

His face contorts into a puppy-like confusion. A frown settles between his bushy brows and he cocks his head to the side, nose scrunching and his lip quirking slightly. He couldn’t look more disgusted if he tried.

“…Why?”

You groan and tilt your head back dramatically. “That’s not what’s important here, Steve. The better question is why won’t he fuck me?”

The boy’s lack of any actual assistance doesn’t surprise Robin in the slightest — his dumbfounded gaze and innate confusion are actually pretty on brand. It just puts all the burden on her, to help you wriggle out of the mess you’d tangled yourself into. 

It’s not like she isn’t used to it, though, nor does she mind doing it for you. She walks you through your emotions like a professional, squashing out all the burning orange embers for you before they have the chance to burst into flames.

“Well, what do you mean he won’t fuck you? Like… did he actually say that or does he just wanna, you know, take things slow?”

The latter would’ve been way too easy. Eddie’s always been nice enough to you. It’d make sense for him to want to stay unhurried and gentle with you, but those words weren’t exactly in your vocabulary. 

The first time you were alone with him, you were getting yourself off on his thigh after making him come in his jeans. The next time you saw him, after four days of him clinging to your consciousness, there wasn’t as much small talk so much as there were two of his fingers stuffed knuckle-deep inside of you.

You don’t know Eddie’s birthday, but you know how he likes to be touched — squeezed and not rubbed. You don’t know his middle name or how he likes his eggs in the morning or what his relationship with his mother is like, but he’s already made you come. Twice.

You are completely, utterly, and totally incapable of taking things slow. So it wasn’t that. It couldn’t be. So it had to be the other thing. The very scary, terrifying, boogeyman of a thing.

“I mean, I offered to give him a blowjob and he completely turned me down,” you lament in reply.

Robin and Steve wince. Like, physically wince. Their faces scrunch and their heads flinch from something invisible. Audible ooh’s fall from their mouths without them even realizing it, because you don’t get rejected. Ever. Especially not after offering to pleasure someone without much of anything in return.

They don’t mean to react the way they do. The visible shock that coats their features is involuntary more than it is anything, and it only adds to your fears.

“Exactly!” you exclaim.

“I hate to say it, but I think hell might be freezing over as we speak,” Steve half-jokes.

“Well, he was working, right?” Robin asks with raised brows. “Maybe he was just busy.”

“Sorry, Rob, but no guy’s too busy for a blowjob.”

“Real charming, Stevie.”

“Maybe he just has a small dick,” the boy concludes with a shrug.

“I felt his dick,” you shake your head almost immediately. The feeling of Eddie’s hard cock through his denim jeans, all rough and warm against your palm, hasn’t yet left you. “It’s not small.”

“Well, maybe he can’t get it up—”

“Yeah, that’s not a problem either.”

Eddie was rock hard when you left him, throbbing and aching and obviously needing some kind of relief. That’s partly why you’d been so ardent to return the favor, though the other half of it was purely selfish — you haven’t seen a more beautiful sight than Eddie Munson getting off. To deprive yourself of that masterpiece made you feel like you were starving.

You have a hard time imagining the raging hard-on just… dissipating after you’d left him. That means he probably jerked off in the back of his van and you missed it. And if he came, right after he promised everything was okay, that means he just didn’t want you to do it… right?

Steve seems to be caught in the same inner turmoil you’re currently stuck in; and for good reason. In all the years he’s known you, he can count on one hand how many times he’s had to turn you down. And every time, it was because he’d gotten back together with Nancy. It was never because of you. Not once. And sometimes he felt like it hurt him as much as it did you. 

As far as Steve’s concerned, you’re so out of Eddie Munson’s league that you’re not even in his fucking orbit — so the freak show, turning you down, doesn’t make whole lot of sense to him.

“Huh…”

“It’s me. It’s definitely me,” you conclude with the shake of your head. A bitter, almost hysterical laugh spills from your lips. “He thinks I’m fucking ugly or disgusting or something. It’s totally fucking me—”  

Robin completely abandons her basket of tapes then. She rises to stand in front of you, looking timid as she does so. Her raised brows form wrinkles on her freckled forehead and her blue eyes widen to reveal more of the whites of them. She looks like she’s approaching a wild animal. A bomb that’s about to explode.

“Okay… You’re starting to spiral, alright? So let’s just try and take a few deep breaths—”

You don’t listen to her. 

Actually, you do quite the opposite, as you begin to blurt every fleeting thought that crosses your mind.

“I’ve made out with nearly everyone in this stupid town— I’m pretty sure I’ve fucked almost half— and you’d think Eddie would wanna take advantage of that, the way everyone makes him out to be some sort of freak, right? But he hasn’t and at this rate, he won’t, and I just don’t understand why,” you ramble without taking in a single breath. “Usually being a slut is a huge turn-on for guys, you know? But what if Eddie thinks it’s gross? I mean, it is gross— I’m gross—”

You only stop for air when Robin takes your shoulders in both hands. She looks less apprehensive and more stern, as she forces you to look at her.

“Look. I love you, but you need to get a hold of yourself, alright? I know you’re not used to being told no, and I know how much it sucks, but shit happens. I’m willing to bet all the money I’ve ever seen that whatever is going on with Eddie has nothing to do with you, okay? And if it’s making you this upset, maybe you should just talk to him.”

“But I don’t wanna seem like I’m too eager, that’s gross—”

“Then find someone else to fuck,” she offers with her signature Robin Buckley half-smile. “I’m sure it would take you less than five minutes to find a willing participant.”

“Yeah, right here,” Steve jokes from the counter with the pathetic wave of his hand and a dumb grin on his lips. 

You don’t hear him over the voices in your head — half calling you crazy for letting a boy drive you this mad over nothing, and the other half bitterly affirming each of your deep-rooted insecurities.

Your face screws up, like the thought of being with anyone other than Eddie upsets you — it does upset you.

“I don’t want anyone else.”

“Then what do you want?” Robin yells in your face, shaking you by your shoulders.

“I want Eddie!” you shout back without thinking. The words seem to spill out of nowhere. It takes you of all people by surprise. No one in this rat trap town would ever expect the whore of Hawkins to want to settle down, least of all the harlot herself. It’s strange; it’s riveting; it’s really fucking scary. “…Fuck.”

The brunette smirks, proud of herself. “Well. There’s your answer.”

“I hate when you’re right,” you mumble to yourself, pouting as she crouches back down again.

“I know.”

It was a terrifying thought, to know that you were head over heels for someone else. You try to come to terms with what that means. 

Sometimes you think you fall in love with a new person every day. A cute guy holds the door open for you, a pretty girl compliments your outfit — they never think about you again, but they’re on your mind for days. It was so easy to develop such meaningless infatuations, especially when you were bored.

But Eddie was different.

He was a nice guy. A nice guy that was sweet to you just for the sake of being sweet to you; not because he secretly wanted something in return. That made you fall for him at first, but then you just��� kept on falling. Eddie Munson was an infinite void you couldn’t crawl your way out of even if you wanted to, even if you tried.

And that’s what frightened you the most.

Because if you really thought about it, you’ve only truly been in love a handful of times. And, sure, it didn’t work out — that was normal — but some of them fucking ruined you. 

You’re still trying to figure out who you are without all of the people that have broken your heart. You’re still fighting like hell every day to recognize the person you see in the mirror, while Billy Hargrove fucks off with a new girl every other week like he didn’t totally destroy you.

But, even still, Eddie was completely different. No one’s ever made you feel the way he makes you feel. And it’s more than the stupid heavy petting — it’s more than anything. It’s never been like this before; not even with the blonde mulleted asshole who ripped your heart to shreds. 

And you’re scared that if you get hurt again, you’ll never be able to come back from it.

“Steve, do you have another copy of Fast Times in the back?” you suddenly ask the boy, tossing him a look over your shoulder.

It’s your last ditch effort to rid yourself of the ponderous, gray doom and gloom surrounding you like some storm cloud. Your comfort movie solves all of your problems — or, at the very least, Phoebe Cates does — but it seems everyone else in town has developed a similar fondness for minute fifty-three of the film and got all the tapes off the shelf before you could get your hands on one.

“You know I keep on in stock for you,” he answers quietly.

He reaches below the counter to pull out a spare copy for you, and your heart swells with the rays of a thousand rising suns and the songs of every morning bird.

Steve told you some time ago that he could change. And back then, all it did was piss you off, because he didn’t want to change for the town slut — for the girl he put through the goddamn ringer. He wanted to change for Nancy. The princess bruised his brittle ego a little, and then he realized what an asshole he’d been to everyone, to you.

But as angry as it made you, you never believed him. “Once the King of Hawkins High, always the King of Hawkins High,” you remarked bitterly.

You wouldn’t say it to his face, for the sake of keeping his ego from inflating all over again, but you could tell he was really changing.

He was kinder, he was softer. He stopped caring about what everyone thought about him, about what not caring would do to his reputation, and started giving a fuck about the people worth giving a fuck about. 

Apparently, you were one of them.

“…Really?”

He nods with a subtle shrug. Like it was no big deal. Like it wasn’t one of the sweetest things he’d ever done for you — keeping your favorite movie on hand so you’ll always have a spare, knowing that it’s the only thing that gets you out of a deep, dark funk sometimes.

“Stevie… You’re gonna make me blush,” you lilt with a grin as you saunter over to him, hands innocently laced behind your back. “You need to be careful, Harrington. I’m gonna start to think you actually like me.”

He scoffs. “I do like you.”

“Yeah, when it’s convenient.”

It’s obvious your joke hits him where it hurts. It serves as a bitter reminder of the asshole he used to be, the douchebag he’s trying like hell to grow out of. He looks up at you with a sheepish, honey-tinted gaze before ducking away again.

A year or more ago it would’ve made you feel good, to know that you hurt him just a fraction of the way he hurt you. But you know that that isn’t the same man standing in front of you now, that he’d rather die than make hurt your feelings, and it makes you feel like shit for saying it in the first place. 

“Sorry,” you apologize with a scrunched nose. The palms of your hands dig into the edges of the counter as you lean against it. Your shrug. “It just kinda came out…”

The barcode scanner in his hand beeps as he passes the thing over the back of the tape — never charging you, just getting the movie out of the database.

“So, uh…” he starts before clearing his throat. He focuses his gaze on the computer and types on the bulky keyboard with the tip of his pointer finger. “You really like this Eddie guy, huh?”

“Maybe. I think so.”

“And he’s not, like… a total freak or anything?”

You can’t tell if he’s trying to look out for you or if he just wants intel on what it’s like trying (and failing) to bang the local weirdo. Either way, it makes a smile tug slow at your lips as you joke: “Not in the way everyone thinks.”

“Jesus,” he winces at the obscenity of your words.

“Sorry,” you apologize again, though the laugh that bubbles from your lips after cancels out any hint of actual sincerity. “You don’t need to give me the talk or anything, Steve. I can take care of myself.”

“…Can you?” he half-jokes.

It makes you falter. “Well… With you and Robin and Hopper constantly on my ass, then yeah.”

“Just don’t want you to get hurt,” Steve finally admits, soft and suddenly shy as he hands the VHS over to you.

“That’s rich coming from you—”

He jerks back the tape before you can take it from him, leaving your hand reaching for thin air. His cinnamon eyes glimmer with a foreign seriousness, not completely unkind, but lacking their usual blithe. “That’s why I’m saying it. I just… I want you to be okay.”

Steve is one of the rare ones, you conclude right then in there — in the liminal emptiness of Family Video, beneath fluorescent lights that cast sharp shadows upon his already chiseled features. He was a mythical creature of a man, one who breaks your heart and does everything in his power to mend it again.

He hasn’t forgotten about what he did to you, not like Billy did, and he won’t. Not ever. He saw what he did to you and he never moved on from it, just matured enough to make sure it never happened again. And he won’t let another unworthy douchebag hurt you like he did. Not if he can help it, at least.

And he did try to warn you about Hargrove, to be fair. You were just the dumbass that didn’t listen.

“Well, me and my Phoebe Cates wet dream are golden, Pony Boy,” you promise. He hands you the tape again and lets you snatch it from his grip this time. “Don’t worry your pretty little head, Stevie.”

Steve Harrington was right. 

The fleeting thought flashes across your mind for half a second, and you quickly realize that those words have never been uttered in the same sentence before now. But he wasn’t wrong in what he’d said about you, just before you left — you were completely, totally, absolutely, and implicitly unable to take care of yourself.

You nearly passed out in the bathroom after taking the hottest shower of your life, feeling too woozy to slap on anything other than moisturizer because you failed to remember to actually eat something that day. It wasn’t totally your fault, though; if anything, it was because of Eddie and all the butterflies he’d given you that made food the very last thing on your mind.

You half-heartedly dry yourself off, keeping your hair in a towel, while you slip on a cotton set of underwear you’ve had for way longer than what's likely acceptable. Damp and half-naked, you prance into the kitchen to fix Bowie her bowl of dinner before you feed yourself.

You fork a can of wet food onto a flower-shaped plate and let her eat on the counter — because you’re an adult now, and you can do that sort of thing.

The calico purrs while she feasts, but your stomach thunders with negligence. You peek into your mostly bare refrigerator and make a mental note to go grocery shopping when you get paid next week. 

With a lack of food and an even lesser will to cook something, you settle for the half-eaten chocolate bar you keep stashed in the very back of the fridge; kept only for the most special of occasions — when you’re reveling in your loneliness and trying to convince yourself that you can make it on your own.

It was practically the size of your forearm when you first bought the thing at some too expensive candy store in the city. Now it’s no bigger than your hand.

You eat the thing in bed, even though you know you’ll get crumbs everywhere and that it’ll make sleep agonizing for you — if you get any, that is. You’re bound to feel like a total zombie by the time the sun rises and the late-night sweet will likely make its appearance on your skin by then, in a red and raging blemish of a consequence.

You’ll feel empty and starved and surly, a snapping grouch instead of an actual person, until you get some actual food in your system.

And you’re more than aware of all of these things, but you don’t do a single damn thing about them.

You’re nothing but a sulking lump upon an unmade bed, lying in a pitch-black darkness that’s evaded only by the static-y television across your room, trying your best to pretend like you aren’t waiting for Eddie’s phone call. It’s hard to remember to forget him, though, when the movie you’re watching is practically a feature film of him and all the ways he makes you feel.

Spicoli and his terribly inebriated friends slur as they chorus “No shoes, no shirt, no diiiice” and you swear you can feel Eddie’s shoulder bump softly against yours as he laughs, hear every sound of his melodic chuckle in your ear that made you giggle right along with him. The low bass of Moving in Stereo plays in the otherwise empty silence of your bedroom, and every beat feels like the rhythm of your thrusts against his thigh.

Eddie Munson is all-consuming.

Even the thought of him feels physical.

Phoebe Cates all but undresses herself in front of you, but you’re stuck thinking about some guy who lives in a trailer park across town, deals drugs for a living, and can’t graduate high school. You’re a total fucking goner.

Your eyes flutter shut, and instead of the backs of your eyelids, you see Eddie’s trailer. Your lips start to tingle as they kiss his for the first time — hungry, yearning, needing. His thigh is pressed snugly into your cunt, denim jeans rough against your soft cotton panties, and you have to bite back a moan when he tenses every time you squeeze his hard, covered cock.

You can feel it, all of him, like he were here with you now. 

You wish that he were.

His fingers would feel far better, leave far more sparks of electricity in your belly, than the ones as you sneak through the hem of your underwear.

You try and take things slow with yourself, to be as gentle as he had been with you earlier in the woods, but it feels strange to treat yourself with so much tenderness. To touch your pussy like it’s the first time it’s ever been touched. Like it’s a beautiful thing you need to be sweet to.

Maybe you find it so foreign to be careful with yourself because no one has ever been careful with you.

No one, except for Eddie.

Your touch doesn’t rival his. It doesn’t even come close.

No matter how tightly you squeeze your eyes shut or how hard you try to pretend that they’re his fingers inside of you, you can’t make yourself feel as good as he did.

Your fingers aren’t as rough as his guitar-string-scarred ones and they don’t caress your clit with the same methodical care. They don’t fill you quite the same either, nowhere near as satisfying as his much thicker ones.

And you’re no stranger to masturbation, not by any means. Sometimes it’s the only way you can guarantee an orgasm for yourself when you’ve got a partner who cares so little about your own pleasure. But Eddie was different. Eddie cared — so much so, that he’s gotten more orgasms out of you than you’ve gotten from him, which is something you’ve never said about anyone else you’ve been with.

It’s rare and unfamiliar, a bouquet of all things refreshing and terrifying and strange, tied together with a pretty little ribbon.

You know that you can make yourself come. It’ll just take way too long to actually be worthwhile and won’t be nearly as mind-blowing as you need it to be. You won’t be left with trembling thighs and nearly numb legs — just a pitiful excuse for an orgasm that you could get from any one of your exes with half as much work.

What you need is Eddie. 

And you hate that. You hate how much you need him and you’re terrified of what that means.

As far as precedent goes, right when you start needing someone is usually when they start to leave. It’s like fucking clockwork most of the time — like everyone knows that you’re a ticking time bomb and eventually it gets too risky to stand too close to you. 

You’ll just have to keep Eddie at arm's distance. So he won’t see the grenade that you are.

You pull your fingers out of your wanting cunt, still slick and throbbing with a need that you can’t give it, when the phone rings.

The high-pitched shrill in the quiet makes you tense like it’s the first time you’ve ever heard the damn thing. Your breath catches in your throat, first out of fright and then at the inclination of who waits for you on the other line.

Suddenly, you’re scrambling to collect yourself. As though there was any possibility that Eddie might be able to see you through the phone line.

You wipe your wet fingers haphazardly on the cotton of your underwear and sit up straighter from your ungracefully lazed position. Then you count to five — one mississippi… two mississippi… three — so Eddie won’t think you’re some kind of crazy person who doesn’t have anything better to do than wait for his call. 

So he won’t know that’s exactly what you are.

You lift the ruby red rotary from its hook at your bedside table and stretch the corkscrew cord to press it to your ear. “…Hello?”

“Yeah, hi. I’d like to order a pizza. Half pepperoni, half hawaiian.”

You roll your eyes at his dumb joke, even though the familiarity of his voice makes you smile. It warms you like a home-cooked meal, like you were high-pitched and starving before and now you’re on the soothing comedown of finally being satiated.

“Yeah, sorry, we’re closed.”

“Then why’d you pick up the phone, huh?” he teases back. You swear you can hear the grin in his voice. You didn’t know a smile could be so audible. It makes you wonder if he can hear yours — if you’re doing a real shit job at pretending. You anxiously twirl the cord with the pointer finger of your free hand.

“Because I’ve been waiting for you to call me all night, dummy.” 

Your answer is more honest than either of you were expecting. 

Eddie’s sigh crackles through the shoddy reception. “Yeah. Sorry ‘bout that, sweetheart. I’ve been working all night. I only got home, like, five minutes ago.”

You can hear the heavy exhaustion in his voice. “Rough day?”

“Kinda,” he answers with a shrug. You can hear the grating squeak of his mattress as he plops down onto his bed. “I dealt to one of Jason’s goons today… They always give me a hard time.”

“I’m sorry,” is all you can think to answer. 

Eddie’s been the brunt of every joke since seventh grade — people made fun of too big clothes, his too wild hair, his too loud music. But he took it all in stride, laughing with everyone else before volleying a harsher joke back in response. You almost started to think that he liked it. That, somewhere deep down, he was fond of all the attention he got from people who supposedly couldn’t stand him.

But it hurts to know that it hurts him.

“Don’t apologize. It’s not like you did anything,” he assures with a soft laugh. He makes the bold decision to be honest then, too. “You, uh… You made my day a whole lot better, actually.”

You don’t know if he’s talking about the brief fling in the woods or the phone call you’re sharing now or if you particularly care either way. Your heart flutters like it’s been kissed by the wings of a butterfly.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I mean… I don’t know— I couldn’t stop thinking about you, you know. And, knowing that I was gonna get to talk to you again kinda got me through the day, I guess… And, yes, I am fully aware of how lame that sounds, but—”

You don’t get to hear the rest of his excuse, of why what he just told you totally isn’t lame, because you’re covering the receiver with your palm and turning to squeal into your pillow. A far more pathetic sight, in your humble opinion.

There hasn’t been a more fulfilling feeling than this one, to know that he’s been feeling the same way you’ve been feeling about him this whole time. It’s better than all the orgasms he could give you combined, to be loved so wholly.

“…You okay?” you hear his muffled voice ask after you’ve gone suddenly AWOL.

You press the phone back to your ear and nod like he can see you. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good. The phone… fell— you said you just got home?”

“Uh, yeah. I met with Hellfire for a bit at school. We’re almost at the end of the Cult of Vecna, so they’re kinda on my ass about it. The little shits are obsessed.”

“Well, they should be. It’s a really good campaign, Eds.”

“Thanks to you,” he mutters. You can almost picture the glimmer in his button eyes and the shaky half-smirk he always looks at you with when he gets all shy.

“That was all you, Eddie Spaghetti,” you retort. “I still have no idea how you did it.”

“Did what?” he wonders, chuckling a bit at the nickname.

“Make something so beautiful out of thin air.”

Lying in the depths of his bedroom, blanketed by the darkness and bathing in streams of moonlight, Eddie feels his breath catch in his throat. 

For the first time in his life, he doesn’t have a joke to spew out on the spot. He’s speechless, just for a moment, a quick blink of a second, with nothing to say. Because, if he really thinks about it, that’s sort of what happened with you.

You were just his customer and he was just your dealer.

You were a loyal client and then a girl way out of his league that he developed a too big a crush on. Then you made him come in his underwear and washed the sticky stains out of the denim for him. Now you’re on the phone with him. You let him tell you all about his shitty day and apologize like you weren’t the only good thing about it — like you aren’t the only good thing, period.

It’s not the most cliche love story, nor is it the most beautiful, but it has his cynical little heart beating like the wings of a hummingbird.

Then, when all the mushy mess fades like fog, he finally thinks of something to say.

“It’s the witchcraft, sweetheart,” he shrugs to himself. “Didn’t you hear? I’m a devil-worshipping freak.”

“You know that’s not it, Eds,” you retort with the roll of your eyes.

You know that it’s hard, to be a metalhead from the wrong side of the tracks in the eighties — at the height of the Satanic Panic and all the delusional craze. That shit’s followed him since freshman year. Even still, it nips at his ankles like rabid dogs.

Maybe you were never naive or bored enough to believe all the rumors, but Eddie Munson was always more than that to you.

“No?”

“You can blame it on being a freak show all you want, but I know it’s because you’re one of the funniest, smartest, most creative guys I’ve ever met—”

“You must not know a ton of guys then, sweetheart,” he interjects playfully, like he couldn’t stand to hear you compliment him any longer. You’d give anything to see his blushing cheeks just now.

“…You’re kidding right?” you giggle in response.

“Sorry— that’s— I didn’t mean it like— It was— I was joking,” he stammers, frightened that he might’ve offended you in some way. 

It only makes you laugh harder. Both of you know you lost count of all the guys you ‘know’ a long, long time ago. You do imagine it’s somewhere near ‘a ton’, though.

“I know, Eds,” you assure with a contented sigh. “I was just teasing.”

“Oh.”

“The slut and the freak… Who would’ve thought?” you wonder all dreamily, like it’s a fairytale as old as time itself. That’s what it feels like, sometimes.

Eddie isn’t sure what you mean — who would’ve thought you’d be friends? Two people caught in that in-between stage of platonic and romance that’s complete agony and total, total bliss? A couple of kids falling in love—

“It’s sort of kismet, huh?” he answers.

“I think so.”

“So, uh… What are you up to?” Eddie wonders then, equal parts curious and eager to keep the discussion going. He’s frightened any lapse in conversation is going to lead to saying goodbye. 

He wants to stay on for hours, until both of you are fighting to stay awake, and then listen to the sound of your heavy breathing when you inevitably lose — like that isn’t the creepiest thing anyone’s ever wanted. He’ll fight Wayne about the bill if it comes to that, he doesn’t care, he just never wants to stop being this close to you.

“Do you want the real answer or the fake one?”

“Uh… Both?”

“Well, I’d say I was doing something super productive with my night, you know, catching up on all the boring adult shit, but then I’d be lying. And I don’t wanna lie to you, Eds,” you tell him with a teasing lilt playing at the edge of your voice.

Eddie swallows thickly, fearing he’d somehow been caught in his own lie — or rather, his half-truth. He moves on quickly, though not exactly full of grace. “Right. Yeah. Totally.”

“Honest answer is, that the only productive thing I’ve done tonight is shower, and now I’m in bed watching Fast Times and eating all the chocolate in my house, because I can’t cook for shit and I have nothing else better to do with my night,” you admit to him, picking at the thread of your comforter.

“Oh, don’t tell me I missed the ‘Moving in Stereo’ bit,” he agonizes.

“Just.”

“Well, correct me if I’m wrong, sweetheart, but it sounds like you’re having loads of fun tonight.”

“I’m having a lot more fun now,” you assure him.

“Glad I can be around to make you laugh,” he retorts like he’s not all too happy to do it.

“You’re a total comedian, Eddie Spaghetti.”

“If I’m the jester, you’re the queen, sweetheart,” he promises, a grin evident in his voice.

Your breath catches in your throat something fierce; you’re almost worried that he’s heard it. His words pierce your heart, a stroke of lightning or a blade of steel. He’s joking, but it’s so strangely profound, the kindest thing anyone’s ever said to you and it’s dripping in sarcasm. 

It’s sort of Eddie’s love language, you’ve come to understand, to say something so sweet but coated in venom to make it sour again. It makes you feel special, loved, almost.

A fire builds behind your rib cage, sharp and distant and all-consuming.

“Are you alone, Eds?” you ask him suddenly.

The sudden curve ball in the conversation takes him by surprise. “Uh, yeah, Wayne’s at work right now… Why?”

“Because I want you to talk to me…”

“Oh?” is all he can say because isn’t that what he’s been doing this whole time?

“And I want you to say things that… maybe other people shouldn’t hear,” you explain slowly to him.

“…Oh.”

He’s heard about this only once before, the whole phone sex thing. 

It was from Andy in the back of Ms. O’Donnell’s class a year or more ago, though Eddie never called him by that name. Andy, in all actuality, was Jason Carver’s right-hand man, and he meant that in every sense of the phrase. Eddie was more than convinced that the guy was so obsessed with the blonde haired, blue eyed douchebag that he was giving him handjobs on the regular.

But it seemed the dick brigade couldn’t function properly without their leader and Eddie had the misfortune of hearing all the mindless bullshit they were spewing behind him — basketball, parties, girls; in true white bread fashion.

His friends gathered around him like he was telling some sort of secret, though it was loud enough for anyone in a three foot radius to hear. Eddie, caught directly in the line of fire, heard all about Chrissy’s older sister, Wendy, who was two years older and off at college. 

He’d gotten her number from some party he’d crashed. At least that’s how he told it, right before telling everyone that she swore like a sailor when she came and that she told him all the dirty things she wanted to do to him while she did.

“It was like her hand was on my dick, dude, I’m serious. That shit was crazy, bro,” he’d laughed after retelling the whole conversation in excruciating detail.

Eddie rolled his eyes to himself then, inwardly jealous that he’d never get to meet Wendy — or any other girl that would be willing to have phone sex with him, for that matter. His phone only ever rang for telemarketers or a rogue Dustin Henderson calling to annoy him.

But, here you are now, the most wanted girl in Hawkins, offering it to him on a silver platter. He wonders if you’ve done this before, surely you have — oh god, he thinks to himself, what if you’ve done this with Andy?

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” you assure him after his unusually long silence. “I know you’re probably busy and tired and everything—”

“No! No, yeah, I— I want to. I totally want to.”

“Okay,” you nod. Petals of a flower begin to bloom in your chest as you lie back in bed, settling further into the mattress. The movie, already long forgotten, serves only as light and background noise. “So… What are you wearing, Eds?”

“I feel like I should be asking you that,” he laughs. 

On the other side of Hawkins, in a trailer in the middle of nowhere, Eddie rises from where he’d originally flopped back onto his bed with the notion that it was going to be a semi-normal night. He props himself against his headboard. His fingers twitch at his thigh.

“Beat ya to it, Munson.”

“Well, I’ll have you know that it is very sexy, sweetheart. I’m wearing the same Hellfire shirt you saw me in, I don’t know, five hours ago — except now it’s got a rip in it because I totally ate ass on the way back to the van.”

He tells you this to make you laugh — it works — but he prays you don’t ask any questions. Because he got it while hurrying back to his van mere minutes after you’d left him, so hard he thought he was going to burst, with no more than seven minutes until his next client arrived.

 Thankfully, he only needed three.

“I love that shirt,” you respond in place of saying what you really want to — ‘I love how that shirt looks on you’ — how it clings to his lean torso and reveals his midriff whenever he stretches his arms over his head.

“She’s a lit-tle worse for wear now, sweetheart,” he lilts.

“I’ll stitch it up for you.”

“And I’ve got on a pair of boxers that are so old they’re practically see through because I’m pretty sure they used to be Wayne’s back in… I don’t know… the eighteen-hundreds.”

Eddie was right. It was sexy, though, for the exact reason they weren’t supposed to be. 

There was something so domestic about it all. You can picture him lying in his bed, in the most comfortable clothes he owns, in the one place he can feel at peace. Like a renaissance painting, something familiar and comforting and beautiful — fuck, you’d give anything to be next to him.

“…I think that means it’s your turn now, sweetheart,” he teases.

“Is it?” you mock in return.

“C’mon. Don’t leave me hangin’ over here.”

“It’s nothing, special,” you assure. Your eye flits down to peer at your own body — nothing special, indeed, you think to yourself. The lilac cotton set came from the grocery store downtown on the clearance rack you so often frequent. “I just have my underwear on. It’s very boring, I’m afraid.”

It’s not boring. Not to Eddie — the boy who prides himself on his insanely active imagination. He might not be able to pass english with his brain, but he can certainly create worlds with it, and it’s too easy for him to picture you. He imagines you, freshly showered, and smelling of the warm lavender-vanilla scent you always smell like, mostly bare and lazing upon a fluffy comforter.

He swallows thickly. “Oh, that’s— that’s really, uh— that’s really sexy.”

His thankful that you don’t seem to mind his poor excuse for dirty talk.

“It’s only because I was too lazy to get into actual pajamas.”

“I’m glad you didn’t.”

“Yeah?” you press, smiling to yourself and caging your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Yeah.”

“Can I tell you a secret, Eds?” you wonder, made brave enough by his own admission.

“‘Course you can.”

“Before you called…”

“…Uh-huh?” he eggs on, intrigued at the way you trailed off, sounding suddenly shy.

“I was…” The thought of telling him what you were doing mere seconds before he called makes you nervous. It wasn’t like you were ashamed of touching yourself or anything, nor is the art of dirty talking lost on you, but something about Eddie makes you timid.

“You were… what, sweetheart?” he wonders gently, with a too audible grin.

“I was touching myself.”

That’s all you tell him. The words linger and hang in the air of your separate bedrooms and you cling to the silence — almost mortified and anticipating his reply. Eddie, meanwhile, feels like his tongue has swelled in his mouth and all the air has been punched out of his lungs.

“Oh...” he tries to respond without the breath to accurately do so. “…Yeah?”

“You know what Phoebe Cates does to me,” you try to joke.

His laughter crackles through the receiver. “Yeah. I kinda have her to thank for the other night, don’t I?”

“Give yourself some credit, Eds. The hottest guy in Hawkins was sitting right next to me, what was I supposed to do?”

“No way you think I’m the hottest guy in town,” he scoffs. “Everyone knows you’ve got a thing for pretty boys.”

“Pretty boys?” you echo with a giggle.

“Uh-huh. The Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington type, you know?”

“Well, I think you’re a hundred times prettier than he is.”

“Really?” he scoffs cynically, obviously not believing you.

“He wasn’t the one I was thinking about with my hand shoved down my panties,” you admit, immediately quelling his self-doubt. “That’s gotta count for something, right?”

Eddie clears his throat and then stammers, “I— I guess so— yeah.”

“Are you hard, Eds?” you ask in a breathy whisper.

And he just nods to himself at first, too stupid to answer audibly. He can feel himself stiffening in his boxers, only halfway hard now, but getting firmer by the second. Soon, he’ll be aching. 

“Yeah…”

“Can you touch yourself for me?”

Eddie would rather take a bullet to the chest than say no to you — at least, he figures that’d probably hurt less — so he slips his fidgeting fingers through the band of his boxers and takes his warm, stiffening cock in his hand. He squeezes himself just enough to make his stomach tighten.

“Want you to touch yourself, too,” he admits, neither asking or demanding it, just telling you.

“Yeah?” you tease.

“Well, I think it’s only fair, sweetheart.”

You can’t help but notice how breathy he’s gotten — how it shakes on the inhale and hitches on the out. He’s got his hand shoved down his underwear and you’re jealous of the fingers that get to wrap themselves around his cock. You wish they were yours. Both of you will have to settle, it seems.

“Whatever you want, Eds,” you answer playfully. 

You obediently slide your hand back into the warmth of your panties. Your fingers slot between your lips and collect the slick that had gathered there since before you’d even answered the phone. You bring it up to your clit, circling the pads of your fingers there until you twitch, then dragging them down to press into your opening. They slip in with ease. 

Both of you have turned into lovesick idiots, separated by so many miles, and missing the other most ardently. Lying in the depths of your bedrooms, basking in a velvet loneliness, building with a mutual pleasure with nothing but yearning hands and longing sighs.

Eddie’s eyes flutter shut at the sounds of your low moans and fragile whimpers that crackle through the static — beautiful still, but certainly no match to the ones you were breathing in his ear just hours ago. 

His lashes dance across his cheeks as he tries to remember how you’d felt against his fingers, soft like velvet and delicate like silk, weeping and pulsating with need. 

He drags his hand from his boxers and lets the band snap against his pelvis. He spits into his palm and wets his cock with it, sighing as he tugs at himself without much friction.

“Are you wet, sweetheart?” he asks, though the words threaten to get stuck in his throat.

“Yeah,” you whisper back like it’s some kind of secret. 

You work yourself open with your middle finger and slip your pointer in next to it without much trouble. Your walls flutter around them while you fight to find the spot the makes you keen. You’re only able to tease it, fingers not quite long enough to caress it completely. Your thumb keeps working at your clit, though, to make up for the lost pleasure. 

“I’ve been wet since I left you,” you admit through labored breaths. “Haven’t been able to… to stop thinking about you, Eds.”

“Glad I’m not the only one whipped over here, sweetheart,” he manages a laugh.

“No one’s ever made me come that hard before. Not just with their fingers,” you tell him mindlessly, dumb on pleasure, as you feel yourself climbing that peak.

“Really?”

“Never,” you promise, then whine. “Doesn’t even feel as good now… Can’t get as deep as you can—”

Eddie hangs on your every word as he works his palm up and down his stiff cock, squeezing at the base and swiping his thumb over the head with an expert hand. His face scrunches as his stomach starts to tighten, he’s close to coming — too close for his liking. He doesn’t want this to be over so quickly.

“You’ve ruined every other guy for me, Eddie Munson,” you confess, more than pleased to hear how it makes him whine. It sounds like it comes from the depths of his chest, the way it crackles low and needy through the receiver.

“Good,” he grumbles through his pants after he’s gathered himself all over again. “Don’t want anyone else to have you, sweetheart.”

This time you’re the one letting out the most pathetic of whines. It makes a smile flicker at the corners of his lips.

“You like that?”

It sounds so dirty, but you can tell by the sincerity of his tone that it’s genuine. So you answer with a longing truthfulness, a delicate “yes”entwined with a yearning moan.

“You just wanna belong to me, don’t ya?” 

Now, this is dirty talk. The teasing lilt of his tone — it’s almost degrading —  and makes you clench around your fingers. “Yes, please,” you whine, all but pleading for him now.

Eddie’s close, so dreadfully close, with a pleasure so tangible he could taste it. Your words make his cock twitch in his hold as the fire builds in his belly. 

Through your whole-hearted promises and wanting moans, he can hear the sound of your slick through the receiver. The static reception doesn’t do it justice, but the wet click of your fingers working you open was unmistakable.

A moan grumbles in his throat as he digs the crown of his head back into his pillow. “Holy fuck— I can hear you, baby.”

“I’m so wet for you, Eds,” you tell him through fragile slurs, like it wasn’t inherently obvious. 

You were wrong before, about wanting to hide from him. You couldn’t conceal your need for Eddie if you tried. The honey you drip, all sweet and just for him, wouldn’t let you keep it a secret.

“I know, baby, I know,” he nearly coos. “Are you— fuck, please tell me you’re close?”

“Yes,” you promise in a whine. Your thumb presses harder into your clit. It makes your thighs tense until they’re shaking.

“You rubbing your clit for me, sweetheart?” he asks like he knows. “I know that’s what you like.”

You whimper, working at the spongy spot within you as your hips buck off the bed. “Yeah.”

“Keep rubbing yourself like that for me, okay? Want you to keep going until you come for me.”

If he keeps talking to you like that, it’ll come a lot quicker than he’s prepared for. 

It’s too soft to be much of a demand, but you listen obediently anyway, rubbing at yourself though your sensitivity keeps building. It grows like a morning tide, rising and flowing like white waves on an ocean, stirring something fierce in the depths of your stomach.

“Eddie,” you sigh out his name, broken through staggered pants.

You hear his stuttering breaths, too. “Y—Yeah?”

“I’m about to come,” you promise through a whine when the familiar crescendo sends a shock through your body.

“O… Okay,” he responds, pathetically, then whines, even more so.

“Want you to come with me… Please…”

“Fuck— okay. Shit, sweetheart, I’m almost there.”

“What are you thinking about?” you ask him.

“Your pussy,” he answers without thinking — he’s not doing a whole lot of that anymore. “Wish I’d gotten to taste you earlier. Wanna feel you… fuck… Wanna feel you come on my tongue.”

“Holy shit, Eds,” you moan at his words, at the vivid picture they paint in your head.

“And you get so… God, you get so fucking wet. Just want you to drench me, baby.”

It feels good, to be complimented for something boys used to make fun of you for, to realize for the first time that’s it’s sexy — that you’re sexy — and that Eddie is more than happy to drown in you. The feeling almost rivals the impending orgasm that’s bound to hit you like a tidal wave.

“I’m thinking about how I coulda took you on that bench… Just, fucking, get on my knees for you. Shove my head between your legs. Hold your— shit, baby— hold your thighs open, keep you exactly where I want you,” he rambles but then cuts himself off to moan at his own words. “Goddamn, sweetheart. Wanna taste you so fucking bad.”

The moan you let out is pitiful. It leaves your mouth in the most delicate cry. 

No picture has ever been clearer than the one of Eddie between your thighs, your hands knotted in his hair to move him to exactly where you need him most and forcing him there. You can feel his fingers digging into your hips, his rings pressed against your burning skin, and the way your legs tremble on either side of his head.

“Yeah. Keep— Keep doing that. Keep moaning for me,” Eddie tells you. “I’m about to… holy fuck, I’m about to come.”

“Wanna feel your tongue in me so bad, Eds,” you whimper, egged on by the moan he lets out. “Want your cock even more.”

That’s what does him in, the assurance — the promise — that you want him just as bad as he wants you. 

He tightens his fist around his cock, achingly hard and raging a crimson at the tip, trying to imitate the way you’d feel around him. It’s not all that close, not nearly as wet as the honey you’d be dripping for him, but his imagination does the rest of the work for him. 

All at once, you’re on top of him, riding him for all he’s worth, your pussy threatening to swallow him whole. You’ve drenched him, just like he’d begged for, and that wet schlick noise still echoing from the receiver is the evidence of each of your assured thrusts over top of him. 

You’re still pleading for him anyway — for more, for his tongue, for his cock — and he wants so desperately to give everything to you.

“Oh god, baby—” he sputters. He grips the phone in a white-knuckled, fist trembling. “Oh, fuck, I’m coming, baby.”

“Please, Eddie. Please come for me,” you plead over the low sounds of the forgotten film playing across the room and all the dirty wet sounds your pussy makes against your fingers. You sound like you need it, like you want his orgasm more than your own.

“Want you to come with me… Can you— Can you do that for me, sweetheart? Please?” It’s not dirty talk anymore. He’s actually fucking begging you and doesn’t feel the least bit ashamed to do so. 

He wants to hear all the pretty noises you make when you come — that initial cry that stems from the depths of your soul, the high-pitched whimpers that come when the sensitivity builds, and the whines that leave you when it ebbs.

He wants to hear it over and over and over again, like a worn cassette, and play it until the tape spins out.

“Yes…” you promise through a set of stuttering breaths.

There’s no talking when either of you come. Eddie’s long forgotten to talk you through it, but you would barely hear him if he had. The phone slips out of your hand when your grip slackens and it falls to the pillow beside your head.

You chase your orgasm full throttle, working through the crescendo and the strikes of lightning, focusing only on his muffled moaning and the pretty sounds he makes as he comes. 

The breath of your name whimpered through a tight throat is what does it for you. Your body has hardly any time to warn you before you’re gushing all over your fingers, twitching every time the pad of your thumb rubs over clit.

That cry, the one you always let out as you come — all wet and full of need — makes Eddie orgasm right alongside you. 

He swipes his thumb over his head again, collecting the pearls of precum gathering there and sliding them down the base to squeeze himself there like he’d been doing this whole time. He clutches harder this time, imagines it's your cunt locking him in a vice-like grip, and whines in his throat when he comes.

Several loads of it spill onto his cotton boxers, most of it gathering along the side of his hand and dripping down his knuckles. His breath staggers as he works himself through his high, praising you through the phone like you’re the one who brought him to it. 

“Fuck, baby… You’re so good… So fucking good.”

You’ve long settled from your own orgasm, still tingly and numb in some places, but not as gone as you had been just moments before. You still float on a cloud, getting lost as you stare through your window at the half-hidden stars sprinkling the night sky and feeling as though you could reach out and touch them.

You can feel the satin moonlight bathing you, and the jittery static of the neon of the television screen. You can feel everything and somehow nothing at all. 

“I don’t know how you do it, Eds,” you confess, hardly thinking about the words spilling from your mouth when you lazily bring the phone to your ear again.

“Do what, sweetheart?”

“I don’t know… You always make me feel good. Even when you’re not here… Even when we’re not getting each other off.”

“I feel the same way,” he promises you, all mushy, even though he feels like a slob for wiping his hand off on his discarded jeans on his bed. “Just… wish you were here.”

“I wish I was there, too… Wish I could clean you up.”

Eddie’s eyes shut tight as his head tilts back to his pillow at the thought. “Fuck… You’re gonna make me hard again, sweetheart.”

You perk up suddenly as an idea sprouts like a flower in your head. A smile blooms on your lips, and you rise up onto your elbows, glowing with an unanticipated excitement. “How long would it take you to get ready?”

“…Get ready?” he echoes.

“Yeah,” is all you say.

“I mean, I— I don’t know. I figure if I put on some new underwear and a fresh pair of pants, I’ll be good as new... Why?”

“You wanna do something?” 

“Yeah. Sure. Anything,” he answers clumsily in place of saying, ‘Anything to not have to be without you.’

“I wanna go to Skull Rock.”

“Skull Rock?” he repeats. 

Legend has it, you and Steve made that place a local landmark. People have always said that Hopper caught the both of you one too many times up at Lover’s Lake and the Quarry, that you needed a more hidden place to fuck. So you’d stumbled around in the middle of the woods until you found a place the chief wouldn’t think to look for you.

You’d certainly found it. Then every other horny high schooler did too.

It’s the place you go to fuck, the most private place in all of Hawkins — hell, maybe even Indiana entirely for teenagers who can’t get the house to themselves. And as appealing as it sounds, to take you beneath a sky of twinkling stars, Eddie doesn’t want his first time with you to be on dirt or in the middle of the woods. That’s how all the horror movies start, don’t they?

So, needless to say, your answer takes him by surprise.

“Yeah! You can see all the stars really good from there. It’s too hard to see them so close to town.”

Eddie’s heart swells all at once at how sweet you are, like sugar poured directly onto his tongue. You’re not eager to be without him either, it seems, and that thought is as gratifying as it is thrilling. 

You’re an adventure he’s about to go on, without a map or a way out, a journey he’s happy to go into blind as long as you’re holding his hand the entire way through it.

It breaks his heart to hang up the phone. He practically begs you to do it for him, and it makes you laugh — a kind giggle entwined with a tease ‘you’re such a baby.’ It rings in his ears long after the receiver clicks.

Most of all, he hates all the stoplights that separate your place from his. He hadn’t known where you lived before now, not until you uttered it over the phone. He makes a mental note to figure out a quicker way, somewhere through the winding back roads that his old van can speed through to make the distance less daunting.

He pulls into your apartment complex, a quaint two-story thing on the quieter side of town, where the woods are plentiful and the street lamps far fewer. He turns his radio down out of respect for all your neighbors that he’s sure he’ll never meet and spies you through the neon orange porch lights. You shut and lock your door in quick succession, then scurry across the way to meet him.

Eddie leans over to unlock the passenger side door for you, already beaming, and finds you’re smiling too when you climb in next to him. The grin you shoot his way outshines the night sky and makes a bright yellow sun of the girl sitting in his passenger seat.

“Hi,” you’d greeted him, all shy like you didn’t just make him come all over his hand thirty minutes ago.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he volleys back like he always does, with that big ol’ smirk and teasing lilt as he cock his head to the side — using his playfulness to cover up the bashful mess you so easily reduce him too.

Neither of you had gotten particularly dressed up to see each other. All he did was put on fresh under and pajama pants. You succumbed to a smilier laziness it seems, haphazardly brushing through your half-damp hair, throwing on a too big t-shirt, and calling it a day. 

The cotton hangs low at your chest, stretched out and obviously well-loved. It falls well past your thigh, though you spend much of the drive anxiously tugging it down. 

It makes him wonder what you’re wearing beneath it. If you’ve tugged on a pair of shorts or if you’re in the bra and (undoubtedly wet) underwear you’d told him you were wearing over the phone. 

Eddie winds himself up all over again while you sift through the flimsy case of endless cassettes he keeps tucked in the glove compartment that never quite shuts all the way.

“How do you now have any ABBA tapes?” you wonder like it’s baffling, with an Iron Maiden tape in one hand and Cinderella in the other. Metallica plays lowly, nearly inaudibly, from the stereo.

Eddie laughs and darts his eyes from the darkened back roads to look at you, all smiley and bathed in moonlight, before turning back to the road again. “Uh, because I’m not a thirty-year-old woman. That’s the shit moms listen to.”

“Moms and hot girls,” you retort jokingly.

“Right, moms and hot girls listen to ABBA — of which, I am neither, sweetheart. Sorry to be the one to break it to you… Besides, it’s not like you walk around listening to, fucking, I don’t know— Van Halen or whatever.”

“Hey. I listen to Van Halen,” you shoot back.

He scoffs. “Yeah, right.”

“It’s got what it takes!” you sing suddenly, not quite catching the rhythm of the song, but smiling anyway as you reach for his forearm resting on the center console. “So tell me why can’t this be love!”

“Oh, my god— that’s literally their worst song,” Eddie chuckles through the widest grin you’ve ever seen from him. 

It makes you smile big too, looking like an idiot who’s totally head over heels for the boy next to her. And of that, you’re happily guilty of.

“Not true,” you shake your head defiantly. “I love that song.”

“So that means it has to be good, right?” he retorts playfully, shooting you a teasing look, though his beam is more than sincere.

“Obviously,” you answer with a scoff that makes Eddie roll his eyes.

He knows he’s going to start to love it, though, if only because it’s the only Van Halen song you halfway know.

He’s going to hear that song on the radio and he’s going to want to turn it, but he’s going to remember this moment now — the one with you reaching for him while you sing the lyrics to a song he can’t stand, sitting pretty in his passenger seat, while the moonlight blanches your smile and the bare skin of your thighs.

Eddie Munson is going to love that goddamn song for the rest of his life.

He parks as close as he can to Skull Rock, knowing his van can’t work its way that far into the woods. The two of you are forced to walk the rest of the way, not exactly minding it, though Eddie’s incessantly worried you’re going to get cold. 

He’s already forced his jacket upon you, which you took with little fight. It warmed you almost immediately — with his cozy heat and musky cologne.

You make mindless conversation the entire way there, about music and then about his band and then what animal you’d want to be in your band if that were the least bit possible. Eddie chooses a sheep without any hesitation, though you’re confident that a penguin would be far cooler. 

You keep a careful distance between you, at first, like both of you are too scared to initiate the first move. That is, until you trip over a raised branch and nearly eat ass on the forest floor. Then Eddie’s holding your hand the entire way, keeping you close.

“If you wanted me to hold your hand, you coulda just said so, you know?” he jokes. “Didn’t have to go through all the dramatics, sweetheart.”

You try and yank your hand out of his grip in protest then, but he doesn’t let you. In fact, he pulls you closer and twirls you into a bear hug that you happily relax into.

He feels your sigh fan against his collarbone as you rest your head at the nape of his neck, his arms wrap around your shoulders as yours settle at his waist. He rocks you back in forth, in a moment that’s too almost sweet to make fun of.

Eddie finds a way, of course, “See?” he singsongs. “I’ll hug you like this all the time, if you want. You don’t have to almost kill yourself to get my attention, babe.”

“All I did was trip,” you laugh at his theatrics.

“Death by tree root… What a gnarly way to go.”

He holds your hand the entire way to Skull Rock. 

He doesn’t let you go once, not until you’re ascending the large boulders to plant yourselves at the very peak of them. He’s grabbing you again once you settle, though, and the two of you just sit there, for several long moments, just gaping at the stars that dance with life above you. They sprinkle an infinite void with enough light that manages to touch you, trillions of miles away.

There’s a subtle beauty in that Eddie never would’ve appreciated before now.

“Shit, babe,” he breathes through a whimsical existential dread. “You were right. The stars are really fucking pretty out here.” 

You love how much he loves this, to come to Skull Rock with you and count the stars. Any other guy would’ve had their tongue down your throat by now, stuffing your hand down their unbuttoned jeans.

But not Eddie.

He just holds your hand because he likes the feeling of his fingers entwined with yours, grasping tightly onto you while he gazes at an infinite universe — like you might float off right along with it.

His neck is stretched to gape at the night sky. You catch his adam’s apple bobbing every time he swallows. You want so desperately to kiss his milky white skin and sprinkle blotchy red bruises there.

His curly locks fall over his shoulders. He shakes his head to get his bangs out of his eyes while the chocolate buttons of them dart around the endless void.

He’s more beautiful than every star in the sky combined. You can’t be sure of how many that is, of course, but it’s a whole bunch if you had to guess. It makes sense, though, for the prettiest boy in the whole damn galaxy.

“Told ya,” you answer with a smile, leaning over to nudge his shoulder with yours. “You come out here often?”

You’re asking if he takes girls here and he knows it, but it’s not like you’re being inconspicuous about the whole thing. Eddie gauges it almost immediately, the subtle jealousy hinting at your tone — something no one else would’ve caught — and he squeezes your hand in reassurance.

He shakes his head. “No… Never.”

“Never?” you press with raised brows, like his answer shocks you.

“Ever. It’s not really my scene, I guess… But what about you, sweetheart? Never seen you around these parts before.”

You knock his shoulder again, harder this time.  “Shut up. You already know the answer to that.”

“Yeah…” he nods to himself, eyes darting back and forth as he reminisces on something. “You and Harrington, you and Hargrove. Hell, I think I heard about you and Jason one time—”

“That was a long time ago,” you argue. “Before I even knew you, okay?”

“I’m just saying,” he shrugs in defense. “You totally have a thing for pretty boys, sweetheart.”

“I never said I didn’t, Eds. Just that you were pretty, too.”

“Whatever,” he scoffs and rolls his eyes like he isn’t glowing red beneath the moonlight.

“You’re better than all three of them, Eds,” you confess with a sudden softness that catches his attention almost immediately. He turns his attention from the sky to look at you properly again. His breath catches at you sad you look — all beautiful and coated in shades of blue.

“…Yeah?”

You nod and drag his hand into your lap to fidget with his fingers. You trace the skeleton heart on his middle finger, subverting all your attention there because it’s easier than having to look at him now. “Better than all of them combined— not even just them, you know? Out of everyone. No one’s ever been this nice to be before.”

“Me neither, sweetheart,” he confesses with a morose grin. “The freak of Hawkins High attracts a lot of assholes, believe it or not.”

“Is it bad?” you wonder cautiously, like you’re scared to hear the answer. In some ways, you are. 

You hadn’t known him in high school, not really. For obvious reasons, you ran in very different circles. You never even had classes together. There was never any excuse to be close to each other before now, never a reason to become friends. So you didn’t.

You grew to know him as a freak, and he knew you as the town slut. Then somewhere down the line, he became your dealer and now… here you were. 

But you’ve graduated now and he’s still army crawling towards a diploma. You couldn’t save him from the hell of Hawkins High even if you wanted to.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” he shrugs. “Jason and the dick brigade just wanna make my life hell, that’s all.”

“I hope they aren’t,” you respond shyly.

Eddie scoffs then shoots you a smile. “Oh, of course not. Look at me. I’m at Skull Rock with the most wanted girl in Hawkins. I’m living the dream, sweetheart.”

“So you don’t care?” you wonder, peering at him through your lashes, as you twist the silver cross around his finger.

“Care about what?” 

“That I’m a slut,” you laugh like it’s obvious.

Eddie doesn’t think it’s all that funny. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s not like it isn’t true, Eds,” you retort with a trembling smile. “I mean, that’s literally what people call me — most people don’t even care to call me by my real name anymore.”

“I don’t care,” Eddie shakes his head. “I don’t care about that. I don’t give a shit about what people say about you. If everyone cared about what everyone said about everyone, neither of us would be here right now… Because you’d think I was some devil-worshipping freak and I’d think you were too busy getting it on with Chief Hopper.”

You screw your face up immediately at the thought. The mere idea was repulsive. The asshole was practically your father these days. Jim Hopper was in that small bunch of available people you would never fuck, and happily so. 

“I’d never stoop that low,” you joke.

“I like you, how you are, right now,” Eddie promises. “Don’t want you to change a damn thing.” 

His brown eyes twinkle with a sincerity that rivals the stars above you. All of a sudden, you don’t care about a bunch of heavenly bodies light years away from you — you care about this man, the one sitting beside you now, holding your hand even though your palms have gone all sweaty.

It’s too good to be true — the way you looks at you, the way he talks to you, the way he treats you. You’re scared that it’s a dream, that you’ll wake up and find that none of this was ever real. Or worse, that he was, and that he just didn’t care about you the way you cared about him.

It’s almost irrational. Almost. 

But it’s happened before. 

And it’s left you a scarred and mangled mess.

You shake your head to yourself and scrunch your face as you turn to look him. “Have you ever done this before, Eddie?”

“Don’t what?” he wonders with furrowed brows.

“I don’t know…” you shrug. “Any of this? With anyone else?”

He’s grateful he doesn’t have to lie. Or tell some clumsy half-truth for the sake of saving his own skin. He realizes tonight is perhaps the most honest he’s ever been with you, baring his pale soul beneath a silver moonlight. 

“Never,” he answers, unwavering, with a firm shake of his head.

“Really?”

“Really,” he nods, then swallows thickly at a gut-wrenching realization. “I’ve never felt his way about anyone else before.’

“Me neither,” you promise. 

It’s a tad more meaningful coming from you than from a boy who’s never had someone to love and to love him back.

You’re experienced, you’ve found what you like and what you don’t like. You’ve been with guys who have given you the world and guys that have ended yours altogether. And out of all of them — all of the assholes in Hawkins you could’ve picked — you’ve chosen the freak. 

You want him. 

You want Eddie.

The revelation makes him grin. “Promise?”

“Cross my heart, Eddie Spaghetti.”

[nereidprinc3ss]

OMG. i’m just a bit of a overthinker so i have this bit of a bad habit where i tend to overanalyze everything when i shouldn’t 😃 but since you asked, here are some of the things that made me consider that reader might have daddy issues.

just please please don’t let this affect your work, your writing is absolutely perfect and nothing about it should be changed. again, it’s just me being a weird intp autistic overthinker.

1. it kinda looks like she uses sex to feel loved. she even confronts him by speculating that he might not be attracted to her. through the entire series reader is constantly scared of the idea of spencer leaving her after finding out who she actually is as a vulnerable person based on her nakedness if that makes any sense?

“But I just… sometimes I worry I’ll scare you away once you realize I’m not as pretty or… good as you thought.”

2. spencer’s character is obviously well known for having an eloquent vocabulary but he even gives me the vibe of being a little bit much older than reader. which is a common thing in women with daddy issues, like me. but again, this is just my way of interpreting the whole thing. he always seems to be so put up together but of course, that might change with the new chapter. even his actions make him sound more older, like in here:

“He smiles up at you like you’re something divine and lets his hands trail over your hips.” 

i’m probably just being weird about it but i just THINK it’s impossible for a guy close to reader’s age to think like this and be this gentle because young men are stupid by default and very few have this sense of gentleness with their actions. even with the way he calls her honey, i have never in my life seen a guy my age call their girlfriend “honey” and sure, this is merely fiction but for this reason i picture both of them with bit of an age gap going on in their relationship.

3. spencer is a bit of a emotionally unreachable boyfriend sometimes! and i’m analyzing this based on his confession towards reader about him regretting his first time. like there is so much rambling in this dynamic and it takes him long enough to be able to directly say it to her. yeah, he wasn’t ready to tell reader he loved her but there were other ways to tell her that he regretted his first time. almost like there is no emotional connection or actual trust between them.

4. sometimes reader is also unable to trust spencer, it’s so easy to see how she’s constantly battling in her head to ask him a simple question or even taking a compliment from him. i know it’s just meant to be portrayed as insecurity but this is actually a common thing in daddy issues as far as i know.

“He likes me and my questions are important to him, you repeat to yourself silently as you work up the strength.”

5. and moreover, this one sentence:

“It’s every fiber of your being screaming to tell him how you feel, to beg him on your knees not to go because you love him like a child loves a parent or a bee loves honeysuckle or the ocean loves the horizon.”

and this one part as well: Somehow, he makes you feel like a scolded child. But he makes it appealing in ways you don’t understand. 

But again, your work is PERFECT. and i wouldn’t have it any other way. you keep doing you. ❤️

me rambling about the DYBMN age gap and reader potentially being neurodiverse below the cut 🙏 bless

oh so it is definitely interwoven throughout the entire thing and i didn’t even realize you are so right omg😭 this is like in tangled when rapunzel realizes she’s been painting the sun emblem subconsciously her whole life

anyway bff this just made me so ridiculously happy. like the analysis??? the attention to detail???? im ecstatic im losing my mind ily this is so insanely thoughtful thank you for doing this!!!

and yeah i think you could be right about the age gap. i think i technically only put it as an implied warning for one of the chapters but the more i write the more i realize that is definitely a part of the dynamic. but also like?? not all the time?? not for sure?? and i don’t necessarily think that if they DO have an age gap it’s a super big one (although it’s up to you guys, none of my business) i think i feel that way because oftentimes they will behave like peers in the same age group which is how i wrote them on purpose. but it could also be that they’re peers in other ways like let me explain something i’ve been thinking about

reader is insecure not only about being inexperienced in romance but in life, and feeling powerless/helpless in the way that a child might. i think that comes from me being neurodivergent and putting bits and pieces of me into the writing. a very common thing among neurodiverse people is feeling behind developmentally from their peers which the reader is DEFINITELY struggling with so i think she’s lowkey nd coded which wasnt my intent but here we are—and so even if she and spencer aren’t super close in age they might be peers in that sense. as an nd person i often don’t relate well with ppl my age and find myself much more comfortable and finding natural connection w people significantly older than me. so that could very much be a part of it but iddkkkkk reader doesn’t have to be nd and they don’t have to have an age gap but it’s fun to theorize! anyway thank you so much for your thoughts lovely they are so appreciated!!

[trekkele]

what are some things about the execution of zur en arh that you especially liked? seeing different takes from the norm is so refreshing 👀😊

Ok sure let's hope I don't misremember things like last time

1. Seeing one of Bruces contingency plans fail. NO HEAR ME OUT. Things like tower of babel aren't Bruce's plans failing, they're the plans being used in the wrong way. As a contingency plan, Zur failed because he was meant to keep Batman in line, instead he became be worst parts of Batman without any of Bruce to temper him. And it was impossible to fix it without drastic action - technically Bruce killed a part of himself to kill Zur.

2. A very clear picture of how bad Bruce withouts his humanity could get.

3. The sort of slow building horror of "what the fuck is he doing" "wait why is he doing that" "oh my god is that really Bruce?? It is???" "how long has he been like this?" "How did we miss this?" "It wasn't him but it was but who is he now" and obviously, "how long has this been going on and how did we miss this"

4. Ties back to 1 but CONSEQUENCES. FOR. STRESS. you cannot convince me Zur didn't get a hold that deep because Bruce hasn't taken a fuckin seat in like two years. It's been thing after thing and he hasn't taken a break yet and the universe basically said "ok sit down brain parasites be upon ye"

5. The batkids took very little bullshit from Zur-Bruce actually. Like yeah there's some iffy moments here and there but mostly they were ready to throw down

6. Damian being the hopeful one. I know people hate his writing in this run, I love how he's such a little daddy's boy he was convinced the whole time that something was deeply wrong. And he was right!! It's such a nice change i think.

7. They resolved the clone storyline within the run with no chance of (this particular) baby Bruce coming back. I expect some fanfics to keep him tho.

8. Maybe I said this already but Zur being recognizable as Bruce. The absolute worst parts of him that none of them want to see, but they all, deep down, expected him to be capable of.

9. Another part that I know other people didn't like but Jason insisting on being the one in the Lazarus suit, and Bruce accepting his decisions as a capable adult/vigilante

10. Bruce reaching out for help, accepting what was offered instead of insisting they play it his way, and taking responsibility and apologizing for what he/Zur had done. Like, the entire run emphasized that Bruce landed in this mess by isolating himself and insisting things be done his way, so the ending being him reaching out and asking for help is perfect

These are all my opinions! There are a lot parts of this run that could have been better, but I think that's down to opinion and preference and also space. But I do prefer shorter storylines that are contained to a single title so I'll accept the mediocre if I have to.

[crowlixcx]

For the brainrot series - as though you don't have enough requests, but I heard this song again today and the resulting assault on my imagination has irrevocably damaged my sanity, and I had to say something because I will not be suffering alone.

Okay, so, picture this:

Crowley is tired of the way things have been weird in this vague post-S3 world I'm picturing, and he's decided he's gonna Do Something About It (mostly because he's already about 'if I'm not a bush I'm not no one' levels of drunk). Naturally, he decides that what he's gonna do is woo his angel.

Easy enough. Humans do this shit all the time, and without the benefit of 6000 years of mutual pining and some slinky hips. In fact, thanks to his extensive knowledge of romcoms (a must for any demon if they want to learn inventive ways to sow discord among couple, etc, and for no other reason), he's decided that the perfect course of action is to serenade Aziraphale with a song that perfectly encapsulates his squishy, kind of embarrassingly soft feelings that the angel just has to give in and accept his expertly plighted troth (probably not a euphemism).

He is, at this point, at the 'I'm washing me and my clothes' stage of his drinking binge, but he's nervous, so sue him.

It takes him foreeeeever to pick a song (he only knows "bebop" won't do, but unfortunately that covers such a wide and sometimes contradictory swath of all music made since the 1940s, it's pretty impossible), and he keeps second guessing himself, so he makes it to the 'Kiefer Sutherland tackling a Christmas tree' stage of blitzed and hits shuffle on his 'Embarrassing Angelfeels I Can Never Admit To Even Under Pain Of Total Annihilation' Spotify playlist et VOILA! The perfect song! Crowley can't believe his luck, and he sets his plan into motion before he can do something stupid, like sober up.

So, it's about 3 in the morning at this point, and Crowley has set up his speaker system in the middle of the street facing Aziraphale's bookshop, and as you do, he climbs onto a stolen crate (containing an order of dildos the adult entertainment shop three streets over is going to be looking for in about five hours) and shouts for Aziraphale until the angel, and anyone else unfortunate enough to be hanging around at 3am on a Wednesday (mostly Mrs. Sandwich and her girls and poor Nina, who has unwisely chosen to arrive extra early to wait on a delivery of hazelnut syrup), pops their heads out to see what the deuce is going on.

Once he sees his darling angel, Crowley takes another swig of frankly embarrassingly cheap vodka for a demon of his tastes, hefts hus microphone, and starts to sing (for a given value of sing).

It starts off soft, all chimes and romantic piano, full of joy and longing, and Aziraphale's face does that thing where he's definitely embarrassed, but also pleased, so Crowley shuts his eyes, and that's when the disco beat drops.

Oh yes. Crowley is about to fucking boogie down for the love of his life.

He busts out all the moves, wiggling those slinky hips (because he's never been one not to use every weapon at his disposal), belting out mostly the right lyrics in somewhat the right key, generally on time and everything.

Aziraphale's face, if Crowley would open his eyes and look, is now crossing over into horrified, yet hopelessly enamored, with a dash of down bad. His tastes are varied and interesting, okay?

The music fades out before Crowley does, still belting for a good thirty seconds after the track changes to 'The Edge of Glory', which isn't as perfect for his purposes, but Aziraphale hasn't fallen to his knees in besotted supplication (also not a euphemism, probably), so Crowley figures he may as well, and the whole street is both glad and a little disappointed that this is when Aziraphale steps away from the shop door, reaches up for Crowley's hand, and drags him off the box of dildos and towards the shop.

"That's lovely, dear. Why don't we go inside so you can sleep this off before we talk about it."

Crowley, of course, follows along happily, about 80% sure that is a euphemism, and decides send a little blessing to Barbra Streisand in gratitude. He knew 'The Main Event/Fight' had been the right song to choose.

(It was not, in fact, a euphemism, and Crowley thinks the squirming agony of having to listen to Aziraphale somehow turn a love confession into a lecture about proper methods of courtship and being considerate of human sleep cycles while suffering the worst hangover of his entire existence is possibly the best worst thing he's ever experienced. Hell should take notes.)

(They spend the rest of the day getting to know each other, and that is a euphemism.)

Now.

Did I fail to peel this mental image off the surface of my brain for the last 24 hours and decide to share the agony and the ecstasy of it? Oh yes.

Is it the perfect song to confess your love to your ineffable crush with? Debatable, but it has good results of one (1) success and no failures so far, so we can't really say no.

Thank you for coming to my TEDtalk.

The level of detail in this is unmatched. The creativity? Inspired. When I started th brainrot series never did I think I would receive something of this gravitas. Bravo my dear, I'm in the palm of your hand. And the specificity of the playlist turning to Edge Of Glory? Delicious. This is truly, marvellously unhinged. God bless the Babs and to you for the gift you have bestowed upon me. I will treat it with love and care.

[peterpparkrr]

like real people do (pt. 2)

Pairing: Eddie Munson x pianist!reader

Summary: You and Eddie Munson have a drink. 

Word Count: 1.6k

A/N: Did people want a part 2? Unclear. Did I write it anyway? Yes, of course.

part 1 // part 3 part 4

“What do you want? They have coke products,” Eddie asks as he leads you over to the bar.

“Could I have an old fashioned?” You ask.

“Have you had an old fashioned before?” Eddie asks. It’s a pretty hardcore drink to start off with if you don’t drink. 

“Yeah,” You reply. “They don’t usually card at cocktail parties and banquets, I look a bit older in my concert blacks.” 

“And this is what my friend Stewart always orders so… it’s my favorite drink,” You add with a sheepish shrug. You know a lot of what you’ve told Eddie so far tonight has surprised him.

“Sorry, I just always assumed you were a bit of a straight-edge,” Eddie admits.

“Now I know why you’ve always avoided me, you thought I was a stuck-up priss,” You reply with a burst of laughter. The assumptions Eddie’s made about you certainly paint the picture of the type of person that you would want to avoid spending time with too. 

“Hey!” Eddie protests. “That’s… well, kind of, yeah.”

Eddie knows that that’s not the only reason he avoided you. Sure your perfection was annoying to observe from afar. But mostly because there was something about you that kept drawing him, and that was completely unaware of how improbable it was that someone like you would want anything to do with him. Everything about you signified why you were too good for someone like him.

“Ugh,” You groan. “That’s the problem with classical music, it makes everyone think you’re a weirdo.”

“If anyone’s a weirdo out of the two of us, it’s me,” Eddie argues. “I mean, look at me,” He tells you as he gestures to his appearance broadly.

“Yeah, when I look at you the first thing I think is ‘wow, that guy’s a freak’,” You scoff as you take in his appearance. It’s impossible for you to imagine his curly mop of hair and ring-covered fingers being considered as anything less than cool. Even if it’s not the kind of aesthetic that people in a town like Hawkins really appreciate. “You’re probably one of the coolest people in Hawkins.”

“You’re probably one of the only people that think that,” He tells you.

“Well, it’s true,” You state, punctuating the statement with a sip of your drink.

“You’re lucky flattery works on me,” Eddie replies with a smirk.

“I’m being serious!” You tell him. “You’re really intimidating at first, It wasn’t until I saw what you’re really like that I thought you were approachable.”

“What made me approachable?” He asks you curiously. “I need to know so that I can never do it again.”

“Um,” You stammer. Suddenly embarrassed to admit just how closely you’ve watched Eddie Munson. To admit how much you already know about him. “I saw you with Nancy Wheeler’s little brother and his friends.”

Eddie opens his mouth to start to protest.

“You’re a secret softie, Eddie, no point in denying it,” You reply with a smirk of your own. 

“Well, now I need to know one of your secrets, besides underage drinking,” Eddie replies. “Now that I know you’ve got a bad girl alter ego buried underneath that good girl facade.”

“Oh my god, did you seriously think I was that obnoxious?” You ask him as you press your face into your hands. 

“I’m sorry that I made so many assumptions, but you have to admit that you present yourself in a very specific- and wholesome way!”

“Well, you know what they say…” You tell him, “When you assume you make an ass out of-”

“Nevermind! Maybe you really are as annoyingly hokey and perfect as I thought you were,” Eddie replies with a sigh.

“Hey!” You protest.

“So tell me something no one else knows about you,” Eddie asks you before taking a sip of his drink.

The two of you talk for ages, easily flowing from one topic to another, from silly things like arguing about which Lord of the Rings book is best, to admitting to Eddie that the first time you took an edible was completely on accident thanks to a brownie that a 56-year-old violinist named Catherine had left on the coffee table in the reception room and still apologized profusely for every time she sees you because you had a panic attack when you started tripping and not knowing why. 

“Shit, I need to go, my curfew was half an hour ago,” You say when you finally spare a glance at your watch and realize over two hours have passed since you and Eddie sat down. 

“I can drive you home if you want, all I’ve had tonight was that beer and it’s been over an hour since I finished it.”

“That would be great,” You say as the two of you stand up and Eddie leads you out into the dark parking lot with a hand ghosting the small of your back.

“I’m glad we could do this,” You say when Eddie’s van pulls up in front of your house. 

“Me too,” Eddie replies.

“Thanks for inviting me. I’ve never really had friends my age before,” You admit. “So this was… really nice.

“Is that what we are? Friends?” Eddie asks. He’d thought that what they’d been doing all night, the flirting, and the looks had meant something else, but maybe that’s just what you’re like. Unintentionally and accidentally alluring.

“I guess I don’t know, what do you think we are?” You ask him.

“I feel like we could be friends,” He replies as he hedges his bets. “I also feel like I want to be more than friends.”

“Me too,” You admit softly before you start leaning over the center console and press your lips to Eddie’s. 

“We should do this again sometime,” You tell him when you break apart. Leaving Eddie looking back at you a bit breathlessly. 

“Thanks for the ride,” You add with a bright smile as you grab your bag from by your feet and hop out of the van, scampering up your sidewalk to your house. Only offering him a quick glance before you disappear inside.

Yep. Eddie Munson was hopelessly and completely gone.

[eggs-can-draw]

you probably missed those because I copied your tags before saying anything so you couldn't tell from the notifs, which I spammed, mostly with rbs that didn't add anything, it's understandable that you didn't check all of them, so I screenshotted them for you. Again, no hate on your choice of a cat breed, I love all cats, I think I just have a problem with coming on strong when I have an alternative idea. And the way I pictured Monaca's possible involvement, is her recording it for her tiktok or something tiktok adjacent. Komaru tried to install some sort of parental control on her phone that'd make it impossible for her to download it, but out of the two Monaca is far superior in dealing with technology, so Teaching Babies to Swear Pt.9 goes viral

YOU FOOL. YOU UTTER BUFOON (affectionate <3) I READ AND REREAD THESE LIKE EVERY FUCKING DAY BECAUSE THEY MAKE ME GRIN LIKE A FUCKING IDIOT.

I never responded cause I didn't wanna be annoying or anything I'm bad at people sometimes aaaaaugh 👉👈

Listen. Listen to me. Look me in the eyes. At least in my opinion, you come off strong in a good way. You're PASSIONATE!!! I FUCKING LOVE TO SEE IT BESTIE!!! NEVER LET ANYONE PUT YOU DOWN FOR BEING PASSIONATE!!!!! The thought of Kokichi with a ferret is fucking inspired and I LOVE IT SLINKY LITTLE GUY FOR THE SLINKY LITTLE GUY. also YES HAJIME IS SUCH A BASIC BITCH. I could totally see him going to a shelter or smth and just adopting the first kitty that comes up to him. love at first sight. He did not realize how much he would miss the constant chaos 24/7 until he's helping Kokichi with his little backpack (no leash attached this time) and watching him run into school. Sometimes a gremlin is what makes a house a home. (also them having a tabby means so so so much to me now, I had a tabby growing up and she was the sweetest cat ever) Also LMAO I LOVE LOVE LOVE TIKTOKER MONACA. SHE IS AN ABSOLUTE MENACE. KOMARU HAS TRIED EVERY PARENTAL LOCK IN THE BOOK BUT MONACA STAYS SILLY. also just. ough. this one. this one actually makes me sob. I LOVE THIS SO SO SO MUCH IVE BEEN REREADING IT ALL DAY JUST. THINKING. so so so so so so so many thoughts AGH. THE AFTERMATH. HAJIME BEING TOSSED INTO THE ROOM WITH THE PARENTS, TOTALLY PASSED OUT (they got him with a second horse tranq when his back was turned) KOMAEDA WATCHING HAJIME AND THE DOOR LIKE A FUCKING HAWK, SONIA WANTING TO REACT BUT SHE KNOWS SHE FUCKING KNOWS IF SHE DOES ANYTHING THEY'RE ALL GOING TO BE IN EVEN MORE TROUBLE. She takes a deep breath. Pulls out her perfect practiced princess quality smile. She speaks like the queen she was built to become. She wants to tear them apart limb from limb. (also just throwing this out there because I thought of it earlier, Naegi was "Formally Escorted Off The Premises" after the punch) also just. ough. it's an important distinction with the origin of their talents. The dr1 and sdr2 squad's talents are talent born from despair. The v3 kids have talent that's born from hope. Hope for the future hope for themselves and it just. mmmh.

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

Many Christians, particularly many pastors, have insisted that Genesis is not important and the most important thing to do is preach the gospel. But how do you preach the gospel without the foundational knowledge in Genesis to understand the gospel?

One person told me their pastor told them to go and witness to people but don’t use Genesis as it will only cause people to bring up questions. He told them to just tell people about Jesus. But what if they don’t know who Jesus is? And if someone tells a person they are a sinner, do they know what sin is? And when they hear that Jesus died on the cross, do they know who Jesus is and why he died and why we all die? Where did death come from and what’s its importance?

Besides the fact that everyone needs to understand the foundational knowledge in Genesis to truly understand the gospel, we live in a culture where increasingly the younger generations don’t understand the Christian terminology used. These younger generations are very secularized, and many have little or no concept of the Christian faith.

Now Christians celebrate Christ’s death and resurrection every day of the year, and especially set aside the time called Easter for special services to emphasize the vital importance of this historic event and boldly proclaim the “good news,” the saving gospel. But do people today really understand this “good news?” Can they understand the “good news” if they don’t understand the “bad news.”

Now no one can truly understand the meaning of the crucifixion and resurrection of Christ without understanding the historical events outlined in Genesis 1–3. This is the foundational history that teaches us that God created the first two humans, Adam and Eve. We learn that Adam disobeyed God’s instruction, and we call that disobedience sin.

Because we are all descendants of Adam, all humans are sinners. The penalty for sin is death. That’s why all humans will die. But because humans are made in God’s image, our bodies die, but our soul—the real us—will live for eternity. However, sinners can’t live with a holy God, so God promised One (God’s Son) who would step into history to become a man—a perfect man—and pay the penalty for our sin by suffering death and then being raised from the dead. Thus conquering death. Christ then offers the free gift of salvation to those who will receive it by faith. This is the essence of the gospel.

Two verses in Genesis in particular, not only promise the Savior but also point to the message of the cross. Genesis 3:15 is a promise that God will send a Savior who will suffer but conquer the devil: “I will put enmity between you and the woman, and between your offspring and her offspring; he shall bruise your head, and you shall bruise his heel.” Actually Genesis 3:15 is the message of the Bible in one verse!

Genesis 3:21 sets up the sacrificial system (the Israelites sacrificing animals), pointing to the One who would die for our sin. The first blood sacrifice as a covering for sin is a picture of what was coming in Jesus Christ. He is the lamb of God who takes away our sin. He is the ultimate and perfect sacrifice.

Hebrews 10:4 says, “For it is impossible for the blood of bulls and goats to take away sins.” The shedding of animal blood can’t take away our sins, since animals aren’t made in the image of God. Genesis 3:21 is pointing to God’s Son who would become a man, the Godman, a perfect man, to fulfill the promise of Genesis 3:15 and die for sin, “since he did this once for all when he offered up himself” (Hebrews 7:27).

How can any Christian reject Genesis as historical narrative or claim that a person doesn’t need to believe and understand Genesis to understand the gospel? After all, the gospel is not only founded in Genesis but the essence of the meaning of the gospel is given in the two crucial verses, Genesis 3:15 and Genesis 3:21.

When I am teaching, I always think of communication in terms of building a house. One has to start with the foundation, then build the walls and then the roof. When teaching the gospel, I start with the foundational knowledge from Genesis, and then build the walls and roof (the power and hope of the gospel) on top of that.

Actually, I believe we should always start with the foundation in Genesis as even Christians need to be reminded of the foundational knowledge of the gospel. And as I remind people, why did God have Genesis as the first book of the Bible? Well Genesis means origins, and the first 11 chapters give an account of all the basic entities of life and the universe. Genesis 1–11 is the foundation for the rest of the Bible, for all doctrine, for our Christian worldview, and, ultimately, for everything. Genesis 1–11 is the foundation for the gospel. We learn from Genesis the origin of sin, the origin of death, our need for a Savior, and the promise of the Savior.

In a way, we could say that previous generations in the West had an understanding of the foundational knowledge of the gospel to a degree. So evangelists could assume most people understood words like sin, etc. But now we have generations who don’t have that knowledge as they need the gospel explained from the beginning. Although, I would claim we should have always taught the gospel starting with the foundational terms to make sure people did understand it and to make the point we should always start with the foundation.

Now having said that we also need to understand that: “So faith comes from hearing, and hearing through the word of Christ” (Romans 10:17).

I once heard that a man became a Christian after hearing God’s Word in Genesis 5 concerning the genealogies read. He kept hear the phrase, “and he died.” He realized he was going to die and called out to God to save him. But even with such a situation, that man needed to be taught the gospel from the foundation so he understood it and could clearly communicate it to others. – Ken Ham

[nysocboy]

Happiest Season: Christmas romcom with a lesbian couple, pansexual Patrick, and Jake's junk

Happiest Season, on Hulu, is advertised as "A Holiday romcom about being true to yourself and trying not to ruin Christmas."  The icon shows three heterosexual couples, an unattached woman, and what looks like a lesbian couple, but ten to one they're bickering sisters.  

But the husband on the left is Dan Levy, Patrick on Schitt's Creek, and the hunky Jake McDorman, top photo, is at the top of the cast list, so I'll give it a try.

Opening:  They're a lesbian couple!  The opening consists of watercolor-type pictures of two women, a blond and a brunette, meeting, falling in love, going to a family Christmas, celebrating Halloween and Thanksgiving, exchanging gifts, and moving in together.  They kiss twice, so it's unlikely that viewers will identify them as "just close friends."

Scene 1: A residential neighborhood decked out for Christmas, called Candy Cane Lane.  A tour guide gives its history: it was started by Herb Flack, with his nephew Otis playing Santa Claus "until he was arrested for child endangerment."  A pedophilia joke?   The ladies are taking the tour. 

The rich brunette is named Abby, and the poor blonde is Harper.  Somebody goofed --  Harper absolutely has to be the rich one.  It's impossible to keep their names straight, so I'll call them Rich Brunette and Blondie. 

Uh-oh, Blondie doesn't like Christmas, a major crime in these movies, and in real life during the month of December. Rush her to a re-education center, stat!  Brunette argues that it's impossible to not love Christmas -- I've heard that argument a lot -- but Blondie stands firm.

Next Brunette drags Blondie to a house that's not on the tour and up to the roof, so they can look down on the lights.  "Now you love it, right?"  Sure, trespassing makes any holiday more festive.

They complain about being separated for the holidays, kiss and...uh-oh, the homeowner hears them.  They slide off the roof, destroying an inflatable snowman, and run away.  The homeowner is a Santa Claus dominatrix and her reindeer-costume sub, har har.

Brunette has an idea: why not come to her parents' house for the holidays?  Wait -- the water-color intro already showed them with the parents at Christmas.  Blondie agrees.  They kiss for like five minutes. 

Scene 2:  The ladies' elegant brick house in downtown Pittsburgh.  Blondie works as a pet sitter?  Girlfriend must be an heiress. An old-fashioned phonograph playing a new song, "Jingle Bells" by Bayli, as Blondie says "We need to talk."  Uh-oh.

It's nothing bad.  She just wanted to say that she got a substitute pet-sitter, John, so she can go.  Um...the first rule of fiction, even in frothy gay-positive fiction: there has to be conflict.

Cut to a coffee shop, where Blondie is giving John (Dan Levy) pet-sitting instructions.  Wait -- in the intro, he's celebrating Christmas  with the ladies and the parents.  I thought he was the Brunette's brother-in-law, married to the scary-looking sister.   

John is distracted because he left last night's hookup alone in the apartment, so he has to keep tracking him to make sure he leaves.  

Takeaway: he tracks all of his friends.  This will become important later.

In other news, Blondie is planning to ask Brunette to marry her.  John is against it: they're a perfect couple right now, so why spoil things with an archaic assimilationist ritual, trapping her girlfriend in "the iron box of heteronormativity"?

Also: she wants to ask Brunette's dad for his blessing first. You've been reading too many Jane Austen novels, girlfriend.

Scene 3:  Establishing shots of their trek out of the city into the deep, dark wilderness.  You know Pittsburgh is just an hour's drive from West Virginia, right?

Big reveal: When Brunette said that she was out to her parents, she was lying.  They think she is straight, and Blondie is her "roommate."  So, you're about 30, you haven't mentioned a guy in 15 years, and you're  living with a woman. Girl, they know.

And they can't come out now, because Dad is running for mayor, and he's trying to impress this important, homophobic doner.  Sounds like the plot of La Cage aux Folles.

Besides, he has made it very clear over the years that he will only love his children if they are perfect, and being gay is by definition imperfect, so she has a fake boyfriend played by Jake McDorman (butt left).

When they arrive, it turns out that there are three sisters and a scheming ex-girlfriend, all with long black hair, so I can't tell them apart.  But apparently they all have imperfections that they're keeping secret so Dad won't stop loving them:

Eldest sister and her husband are separated and divorcing, but pretending to be together.  The husband is played by Burl Mosely, seen here on Crazy Ex-Girlfriend, where he sings "Don't Be a Lawyer."

Brunette is an imperfect lesbian.

Youngest daughter is writing a Harry Potter-like young adult fantasy novel in secret. 

 Pop Quiz: What happens next?

1. T/F: Brunette dumps Blondie for her ex-boyfriend.

2. T/F: John agrees with Brunette's decision to stay in the closet.

3. T/F: John gets a romantic partner

4. T/F: There are several other LGBT characters.

5.T/F: When Brunette comes out, her parents are fine with it.

Answers with the full review on RG Beefcake and Boyfriends

[jodilin65]

MONDAY, JULY 25, 1988 I’m in school now, wishing it were 3:30 so I could end this very boring day. But guess what? I graduate Thursday!

I meet with Debbie at 4:00 today, then later on around 6:00, Mom and Dad are taking me out to dinner. I hope that goes well but isn’t that a little too much to ask for?

I found out from my sister that Mom miscarried a baby before I was born. Why wasn’t I ever told about this? It pisses me off to think this was kept a secret all these years.

I wish I knew for sure whether or not Debbie will ever approach me for a relationship. I wish she would cuz she’d be perfect for me. I won’t dare say anything, though. I’ll keep my mouth shut. Maybe she’s waiting for the right moment, till I feel better about myself and learn to trust her.

Sometimes I can swear she’s giving me hints by the way she looks at me and talks to me and the things she says. Or maybe I’m wrong about her. I’d take someone like her over Al any day, but I think I’m hoping for the impossible. After all, she is my therapist.

Why am I always living on dreams?

Later…

I’m on my lunch break, just thinking how boring it’s gonna be till I graduate. I wish it were 3:30. Enough is enough already. I could never stand the 8 months of the hairdressing course. Most of the girls are snobs, too.

I’m still confused between Al and whatever my therapist may have in mind. I doubt she’ll ever get serious about me, though. She probably sees me as inferior.

Later…

Mom and Dad are on their way over to take the pictures of me that I need for the state board’s files. She’s bringing some clothes and my graduation present, she said. I didn’t expect that, or so soon either. They’re also bringing me some Chinese food.

Dad’s got to hear that song They’re Coming to Take Me Away. It’s hilarious. He’s never seen Sasha either. I hope to spend some time alone with him. We have fun together. I miss singing for him, too.

SUNDAY, JULY 10, 1988 I realize I haven’t written in quite a long time. Been lazy I guess, and I’ve got to get with it again.

I hate this sticky heat and I can’t wait for summer to end and winter to return once again.

School’s still ok, although I was on a leave of absence for a week until this next coming Monday. My allergies were bad and I was having anxiety attacks and some depression. I’m doing better.

I don’t think I ever wrote about writing to Stavros, a deaf agency on State St., requesting a deaf roommate. I had gone down there a little over a week ago and had an interview with Mark D, who’s also deaf.

Friday, I got a call about a 41-year-old woman named Cecelia who just may be interested. She’s coming over today at 2pm.

Via TTY, Cecelia asked me questions about the people around here, the apartment, and me. She told me she may be a little shy at first, but she’s a very friendly person. She has a car and has worked at Digital in West Springfield for 12 years.

I’m looking forward to seeing her today. I told her that my receptive skills might be a little shaky due to lack of experience, but assured her she’d understand me very well.

Nervous was finally evicted after owing 3 months of rent. He’s living at the Y now.

I can’t wait to start school again. It’ll do me good, and I’m determined to make it through.

I got a new therapist, Debbie, out of the Osborne clinic in Agawam because they do home visits. She’s very nice. Very understanding too, and also gay. She’s not overly attractive but she’s not ugly either, and she’s the type of person I’ve always wanted. At first, I thought she may have been interested in me, but I really don’t think so.

I met this guy named Al L a few weeks ago. I’ve gone to bed with him but didn’t enjoy it. I want a woman, not a male! And Al isn’t quite my type. Why do I feel the need to settle? Because I don’t believe I could ever have what I want?

I discussed Al with Tammy and Mom. Mom was pissed cuz she was afraid for me after what happened with Ron. This is understandable, but I also don’t want to be alone forever either.

[indigo474]

picture perfect days-

some days are just perfect. i try try try my best to be thankful everyday. i have more good days than bad. its been that way for a long time now. I love having days off from work. I got out of bed around 8- a 10 am appointment to have a pedicure. I almost always get sparkles on my toes. if possible i would bathe in glitter. the Chinese ladies don't love me- sparkles are hard to get on and hard to get off. 3 coats instead of 2. the lady asks me today if i like it with 2 coats or do i want 3- i'll take 3 - Thank you!

I talked to my Mexican friend a little-I think i'm going to sext him- ive really never done that before and why not. He doesn't have a car so- chances of us ever meeting a pretty slim.. went to the park for a run. I felt strong- slow i tell myself- i want to run fast- slow. i ran faster the 2nd part of the run.. my mind was good- breath, breath... breath.. i can usually mange to finish running under the cover of the trees.. today the sun was out and i was set to finish in the full sun-- slow-breath-this is uncomfortable- you are dying. i pull my phone out to see 48 seconds left- i struggle to put my phone away. once i do i tell myself 30 seconds left- my mind tells me once again i am dying. surely i can live another 30 seconds.. and i do. BUT- - you are dying-its interesting- the mind body connection. James tells me ALLL the time- walking is just as good-walking is just as good-i get it. i'm not running because of what it does for my body-i'm running because i like what it does for my mind-it's a constant battle. some runs are good and feel good, other are good but feel bad- sometimes i try and fail completely- it's me vs me- for some reason i like that. i have learned so much about myself- there may come a time when i physically can not run- so for now i'm gonna run- ha- or jog-slow run.

Madison is cooking.. a lot of food. All vegan. We looked at a condo. We both like it. Levittown. Not far-my work commute would be about the same- a pool. fire place. outdated kitchen. I say this to MAds and she says- you don't cook. I really don't anymore. I make my chicken breast, some kind of rice or starch- veggies. that is the extent of my cooking. Anyway- it would be such a change for me.. probably a good one.. i tell Mads that i have lost so much these past few years and now my town too- seems so stupid to think that way.. there is nothing keeping me here but me. no reason for me to stay other than i want to. we are going to cook on our neighbors grill- a trip to Walmart- right now- life seems prefect. honestly it does. i was able to donate to a cause Marci is spearheading-homelessness in New Mexico- where he sister and sisters partner live-

i wanted to plan a trip to see my Mom- just impossible- she can not start where we are-right here right now- just be kind. NOPE - can't do it.

Life is good. I think its time to write a letter to myself..

Maybe- i need patience - good things will come. good things are coming..

[akirathedramaqueen]

Thank you for such a wonderful post. <3 That is such an important topic to talk about.

All of that, just everything.

And something in the last point just tingles something too personal to me.

While Stolas is a good parent, he is a wonderful parent, really, he went through impossible with somehow being such a supportive figure and a great dad for Octavia where he didn't have any role models for that (fuck you Paimon I hope you die <3 stab stab stab), he still committed a big mistake, in my opinion, of not letting Via know what's going on.

He has put her in danger over not knowing what kind of mother she has. And while we don't know yet if Via experienced any of direct abuse from Stella, this is still not fine. You just don't hide things like that from your children.

Even though that so far we are implied to believe that Via wasn't directly abused (emphasizing 'directly' here because just existing in an abusive household is an abuse by itself), and more than that, Octavia never says a bad word about her, stays with her on weekends. Still, all it takes is one bad night for the whole picture-perfect family situation to turn out dangerous.

And now, by silencing himself and brushing it under the rug, Stolas enabled Stella. By doing that, as Teal mentioned, he has put his daughter in danger. And, by extension, let Octavia believe that all of it was just for a thrill of an affair, and not because he was handing on a thread and abused for 18 years straight. Which, as we already see, leads to a huge rift between them and renders it impossible for Stolas to protect Octavia because she does not trust him as much anymore.

It tingles something in my core because it's what happening in the real life too. While there's an active abuser and a silent parent, and silent parents sometimes can do just as much harm as abusers, especially when a kid is getting attacked too. When it's not

Now, please, stay with me while I say this—we do not blame a victim for behaving like that. Stolas survived years of abuse and had his reasons to do that, and he firmly believed he protects Via by staying silent. Still, it doesn't make it right.

We don't know how much he lied about their life with Stella, we don't know how much of that Octavia absorbed as something which is okay and normal. And she did. She fucking believes and says multiple times that, in her opinion, everything was alright before Stolas cheated on her mom, and . . . baby, dear owlet, tell me, what do you think of that same 'Not Divorced' party? How many times did you see Stella abusing Stolas verbally and physically? I'll never believe he's never seen it, however covert Stolas was. You just can't hide it perfectly.

Here's the video which is focused on kids who had narcissistic parents, and, AGAIN, please—this is not Octavia situation. Stolas is on her side, and boy do I believe if Stella would raise a finger on her, he would fucking SMITE that stupid dove bitch. But I believe that there were cases when he asked her to act quieter. When she was basically deprived of her mother's attention and Stolas couldn't help it and had to come up with a lie. When she internalized all those maladaptive mechanisms of how family should work.

Just think of it.

Hell's royalty has a culture that enables Stella's abusive behavior.

Point 1: Keeping up appearances is valued above all else. And I specifically mean the appearance of things being the way they're supposed to be. Conformity basically.

Conformity in this culture seems to include a kind of stoic dignity ("you know excitement is unbecoming of a goetia"), an air of superiority ("don't bow to that one- he bows to us!"), and, of course, some good old fashioned toxic masculinity ("cease this bitch crying").

Individuals at the very top are not immune. Even though he gets past it, Asmodeus seems to spend a lot of time and effort on keeping his relationship with Fizz quiet in order to keep up the appearance of fulfilling his "lust" role.

Point 2: The members of the aristocracy who don't conform are seen as the problem, not the members who are being cruel.

Speaking of Ozzie, there's a chance he'll face real consequences for getting out of line . . . Mammon seems pretty confident about getting revenge. Also, if Ozzie had decided that his reputation was important enough to avoid stepping in to help his partner, well . . . I'm just saying. Cultures of conformity create bystanders who stand by and let abuse happen. So it's good that this guy has the courage (and a good heap of privilege and power) to enable him to step out. Yes, I realize that the crowd at Mammon's celebrated Ozzie and Fizz, but the crowd was distinctly NOT aristocratic.

Now look at Stella's party- this woman is not subtle about being cruel to her husband.

She calls the party a "Not Divorced" party. She openly talks negatively about Stolas in a blatant attempt to humiliate him. She's not trying to hide that she hates the man.

Because he's . . . an oddball. Gentle, not as polished as others in his social sphere, awkward and mostly friendless, probably autistic. And importantly, I think, not traditionally masculine.

So Stella has no need to hide that she treats him poorly. She's proud of it. And her social circle seems to support her in it, or at least, they don't push back. Because based on the aristocracy's unspoken (or if we look at Paimon, very much spoken) value system, Stolas's failure to fulfill all of his expected roles gracefully is worse than Stella's cruelty.

Point 3: Stolas's parenting, while much better than his own father's, still reflects this value system in some ways, and that's . . . complicated.

In some ways, Octavia is doing great. She has her own interests (music! gothy fashion!) that don't seem to be based on any role prescribed to her by others. She has a genuine bond with her dad that's based on care and not on molding her into some ideal princess.

But Stolas still puts on an facade in front of Via. We know that he pretended things were fine when they distinctly weren't for most of her childhood. We could argue endlessly about whether Stolas was right (as Georgia Dow explained in her video) or wrong to stop himself from explaining the situation with Stella to Via in Loo Loo Land, but honestly, the man could let his nearly grown up daughter know that abuse was happening without all out trauma dumping. It would enable her to make more informed decisions, and I think she would want to be able to do that.

Instead, Stolas keeps it to himself. Because he feels like Via SHOULD have this picture perfect childhood. Look at the pictures that are up in his palace. Look at his attempt to gloss over the fighting in the household by taking Via to an idealized childhood destination.

A part of him still thinks that good parenting is keeping up appearances, and that the ugly things are best kept hidden. Look at how hard he still tries to avoid crying in front of people. The values he was taught as a child are part of him.

And while it's not his fault (it's Stella's fault, obviously- these are HER actions), his inability to be open allows Stella and Andrealphus to scheme and (we'll see . . .) probably manipulate Via because of her lack of knowledge.

We're meant to see the moments where Stolas breaks expectations and behaves raw and even a little unhinged as triumphant. Sleeping with Blitz. That is the sound of a fucking divorce. Actually going through with the fucking divorce. Insisting on it. Appearances be damned.

And yeah, more of that please. Because if the people around Stella stop caring about aristocratic social trappings, all she'll have going for her is her shitty personality.

Thanks @akirathedramaqueen for inspiring this post with a conversation.

[loki-hargreeves]

So Cold

Pairing: mainly Jake Lockley x fem!Reader (established relationship), Steven Grant x fem!Reader & Marc Spector x fem!Reader

Warnings/Tags: fluff, suggestive stuff [making out, dirty talk, smutty undertones etc], gun violence, car accident, near death situation [drowning], angst, vulgar language, mentions of blood, hospitalization, character death [you and the moon boys will be fine], hurt/comfort

Word Count: 9,5K

Summary: Your date gets interrupted by Jake’s enemies and you end up trapped underwater.

A/N: Not my best but this concept has lived in my head rent free for weeks. @davosmymaster​ has been lovely enough to brainstorm with me and also help me with most of the Spanish parts <3 Any and all mistakes are mine!!! 😤

Please don’t come at me for any technical stuff. I don’t know what it’s like to be in a car that’s stuck underwater nor am I a medical expert (I’m basing it on personal experiences). Just enjoy the vibes <3

YOUR POV

“Jake, oh my god!” Your laughter filled the car and his ears, his name fitting somewhere in between the joyous erupts. The sun was setting below the horizon, directly in front of you as the final rays of the day bounced off the deep, dark sea. Everything was golden with hints of pink and orange. Late autumn leaves were carried by the gentle wind, cascading down onto the ground and some landing on the hood of the vehicle surely to be blown away when you’d eventually drive home.

When he looked at you trying to contain your adorable laughter after the terrible joke he told only moments earlier, he swore he felt his heart expand in his chest. Tearing his eyes off of you was impossible, not even the picture perfect sunset being a match to you, the love of his life smiling so wide it reached your eyes. If telling bad jokes always made you laugh like that, Jake would never stop.

Jake was happy.

Truly happy.

He hadn’t known this kind of love and pure bliss prior to meeting you. Before, his existence consisted mainly of protecting others and dealing with the worst of the worst. Every touch he felt was rough and cold, with violent intentions. When he felt your loving touch, he was hooked. It took time but Jake learned to long for it. Jake hadn’t lived much for himself nor had anyone ever protected him. Not that he really needed protection, not like that. But the way you loved him and made him feel was enough. You protected his heart.

That day had been wonderful so far and there was no doubt in his mind that the night would be just as good. Since it was Jake’s day, he had taken you out on a date to surprise you. Sure, there were some bumps on the road; the restaurant he had wanted to take you to was closed due to water damages, the plumbing had seen better days at that place. 

That didn’t stop you, no. You and Jake opted for fast food instead and drove to a remote area to watch the sunset and eat your food in the car instead. Sure, it had felt a bit ridiculous to walk into a fast food place in your fancy clothes but in a way, it was amusing. The heels, the dress, the suit Jake was wearing that made it hard for you to keep your hands off of him. If the weather had been nicer, you would’ve eaten outside but winter was nearing quickly. Staying in the car where it was warm, especially when you were only in a thin dress, was much better.

Somehow, that was one of your best dates so far. Just the two of you, the sunset and a lot of privacy which allowed opportunities for you to get all touchy and hands-on with each other without being judged by strangers. Jake never loved the way some people, especially other guys, would look at you. He couldn’t blame them though, because you were an absolute goddess. He felt so lucky to be with you, to be able to call you his girl. People who knew what was best for them knew not to even think about getting between you and Jake. The same applied for you and Marc and Steven. The harmony you all had was beautiful and nothing could possibly disrupt that.

Even the music was excellent tonight because the car was connected to your Spotify account. Jake had put some of his favourite songs in the queue. Right now, you were listening to a tune he always loved to sing and whistle around the flat, más allá del sol. It reminded you of the time he had completely surprised you one evening as he played the song and swayed with you in the living room. Jake Lockley was more romantic than you had ever expected him to be - and you loved everything about it.

“You have something there,” Your laughter faded after a while and you pointed at Jake’s cheek with a mischievous smile on your face. It was clear as day you had something up your sleeve.

“Here?” Jake raised an eyebrow, playing along. He pointed past the moustache he had been growing. They had decided to let their facial hair grow after they all learned how much you liked that. Besides, it looked good. Fantastic, actually.

“More like…” You began as you leaned closer to Jake and wrapped your hand around the black tie around his neck. As said, you two were definitely overdressed for a fast food date. Then you tugged at it, pulling Jake’s face close to yours.

“...right here,” You whispered and shamelessly kissed his cheek, concealing the fact that there hadn’t actually been anything on his face. You just wanted to kiss him. There was no harm in that, right?

Jake felt all warm and fuzzy inside when your lips pressed against his skin. He was sure you were able to tell it made his cheeks heat up, not that he’d admit it. The fact that you were acting like this just to smooch his cheek made Jake feel a lot of things. He wanted to return the favour before you’d drive him mad with your little antics.

“If you wanted a kiss, mi amor, you could’ve just asked,” Jake explained. Yup. He had definitely turned soft but he didn’t mind because it was all for you. He looked in your eyes, willing to get lost in the beauty and mystery that was hidden in them, something magnetizing behind your coated lashes that tried to captivate him time after time - and it worked. They said eyes were the doors to one’s soul, there was no doubt about that when he gazed into yours.

“Making you blush is more fun,” You teased. Of course, you did.

“Oh come here you,” Jake had finally reached the point of not being able to keep his hands off of you any longer. He cupped your face with his hands, fingers resting against the back of your head as he kissed you. It was fierce and passionate, a kiss that instantly took your breath away and wiped away the playful gleam. That was replaced by a burning desire, a need that only he could satisfy and you were willing to do anything for.

Jake’s tongue slipped past your lips as he tasted you, his needy and unabashed kiss making you moan. Not even the music could hide the fact. Your closed your eyes and tilted your head, needing him to get closer somehow. In a desperate attempt, you tangled your fingers in his dark locks, pulling him closer while also holding onto him for support as the kiss threatened to make you swoon. Just one kiss was all it took, the feeling of his soft stubble poking lightly against your skin and his hands now roaming down your body, toying with the straps of your dress.

As Jake pulled back from the kiss with glistening lips, it was his time to smirk.

“Do you want me to touch you?” Jake wondered in a low voice, sending shivers down your spine. It didn’t help that his breath landed on your neck, making you think about just how amazing his lips would feel on the sensitive skin. The answer to his question was quite obvious but he thought it was fun to tease you too.

“Please,” You nodded, running your fingers down his neck and then beginning to work on loosening his tie, “I’ve wanted you from the moment you walked out the house in this suit.”

“Really?” Jake acted surprised, peppering light kisses on your neck, right above your increasing pulse and inhaling the sweet, sweet scent of your perfume, “Maybe I should wear it more often. Had no clue you so into men in suits.”

“Liar,” You rolled your eyes, knowing damn well he knew what he was doing.

“Well you’re in luck, cariño,” Jake rolled one strap off your shoulder, kissing the newly exposed skin rather tenderly, “because I’ve been thinking about fucking you dumb ever since you put this dress on.”

This was the Jake you knew, being so shameless with his words yet the boldness did wonders to you. Those words went right to your core. If he kept talking to you like that as his lips were on a journey to touch every inch of your skin, you weren’t sure you’d be able to wait until you got home. You needed him now.

“Jake…” You whimpered his name, feeling your heart thundering in your chest. It wouldn’t be the first time you two got adventurous outside the flat but you wanted to make sure no one could accidentally see you.

Jake knew that. There was no way in hell he’d ever expose you like that, not when he knew what kinds of creeps existed out there. With a quick glance, he looked past your shoulder and in the side mirror. Now that the sun had set, it was darker outside but not dark enough to let anyone hide in the shadows. In fact, it made it clearer than before that there was a car nearby, parked sort of behind you two. That was definitely odd as your car was blocking the view, there was no sensible reason for anyone to be there.

When Jake put his hand on your thigh and sat up straight, you just knew something was wrong. The look on his face said it all. It’s like his mind shut out everything else and focused solely on the fact that you had to get away.

“What’s going on?” You tried to look behind and out the window, but Jake didn’t let you. He urged you to fasten your seat belt as he started the engine with a roar.

The people in the other car realized they had been caught. Their headlights turned on when they prepared to follow you for whatever reasons they had. It couldn’t be good. Suddenly the mood had gone from excitement to genuine fear. The kisses and butterflies had flown out the window, replaced by confusion and worry. Jake got on the road and began speeding up immediately, knowing the best option was to put distance between you and the people who had interrupted your date.

“There’s a gun in the glove box,” Jake told you with a flat tone. He tried so intently to stay neutral for your sake because he didn’t want to scare you. Jake recognized the car that was now tailing you and that plagued him. If anything happened to you now, he would never be able to forgive himself.

“A gun?” You didn’t know why you were surprised. As the initial shock disappeared, you followed the unspoken instructions and opened the glove box. Just as he had said, there was a gun there. The sight made you feel uneasy. What was happening?!

“Do you remember how to use it?” Jake wondered, needing to know that in case things got ugly.

“Are you serious right now?”

“It’s a yes or no question!” He snapped, not meaning to sound so harsh but neither of you had time for bickering. As he took a look in the rear view mirror, he saw the car coming closer and closer. Cars. There were more of them now, each car speeding toward you at a dangerous rate. Something flashed in the reflection. They had a gun too. Most likely guns.

“Yes! I remember how to shoot, Jake.”

“Good,” Jake hit the gas pedal, taking a rough turn to the right. The road was bumpy and in terrible condition, leading you down the hill. There was water surrounding it which meant that this road was the only way out of there. Either that or a swim in the cold, murky water that was quite the long fall away. Walking through the woods wasn’t an option either.

“Joder!” Jake cursed, angry at the fact he hadn’t noticed the car earlier. His mind jumped to the worst places, thinking about every possible scenario from start to finish. Every what-if was already taunting Jake. What would’ve happened if they had gone by unnoticed for longer? What did these people want from him? From you? Guilt was already creeping up to Jake, squirming underneath his skin like a worm and making him feel sick.

He should’ve been more alert. Letting his guard down for just one damn day had been foolish. Jake couldn’t believe this was happening.

You shook your head in disbelief as you stared at the empty road ahead, squeezing the gun in your hands. Although you were prepared to fight, your mind tried so desperately to distance itself from what was going on. The weapon was heavy in your soft hands. You didn’t want to use it but knew you would if someone threatened to hurt Jake. The thought of anyone wanting to hurt him made you sick, it sparked a raging fire you would never be able to tame. So you took a few deep breaths, chasing away the crippling fear that threatened to get the best of you. This was not the time to freak out.

“I'm sorry, mi vida,” Jake hadn’t meant to snap at you but the situation was stressful to say the least. Stress brought out a different side of him. Jake was a protector to the core but he wasn’t used to working like this. Jake preferred going solo against these assholes. Surprisingly gently, considering the circumstances, he reached out to grab your hand, giving you a squeeze before taking the gun away from you. That was simultaneously a relief and incredibly alarming.

“Who are they?” You wondered, trying to put the pieces together, to focus on facts instead of the terrifying and unreliable conclusions in your head. Everything happened so fast. One moment you had been all over each other and now some shady people were tailing you. Jake was holding the gun. You were awfully aware of your own breathing and it became more and more difficult to control it.

“Bad people,” Jake groaned, being vague on purpose. He was aware of the fact you weren’t doing well and it was killing him on the inside. Truly, it shattered his very soul to know you must’ve been scared out of your mind, not knowing the whats and whys. You had done nothing wrong and yet here you were, being hunted like an animal. If only he had a chance to comfort you, he would’ve. Right now though, he could only focus on getting rid of these people and driving far away from here.

As if to confirm what Jake just said, a shot echoed and the rear window shattered. It was loud and it made you flinch. In an instant, Jake pushed your head down as far as you could go, not giving those people a chance to aim at you. He’d rather catch those bullets in his arm than to have them anywhere near you.

He made sure the road ahead was clear so he didn’t have to focus on steering for the next second or two. Another gunshot was heard which came from Jake’s gun. This one was louder. It made your ears ring painfully which seemed to be the least of your worries. He had the gun pointing at the nearest car from behind his headrest, forcing the ‘bad people’ to dodge too. Jake pulled the trigger again, successfully breaking the windshield and disarming the man in the passenger seat. His bullet seemed to have gone right through his shoulder.

After firing behind a few more times, Jake had successfully gotten rid of one of the cars. It lost its steering and ended up spinning around on the road and disappearing into the rear view. Before you knew it, it was far out of sight.

This was getting nasty.

Another round of shots forced Jake to dodge, giving him a chance to look at the road and make sure nothing was in your way and that you weren’t driving into a ditch. He had been in car chases and shootouts many times before but never like this, never with your life on the line.

Jake had Khonshu’s protection, you didn’t.

“Jake, let me help!” You were fighting your tears, hating how useless you felt.

“Please.”

He opened his mouth to protest, thinking there was no reason to make you do anything unless it was absolutely necessary but when he saw your determined expression, Jake couldn’t just say no. The situation was dire. Focusing on the road ahead while dodging bullets and shooting at people when you were right there was too risky. There was a reason they all had trained you to fight. It was now or never.

“Aim at the tires,” Jake instructed you as he handed you the gun, trusting you. He had to. He wanted you to aim at the tires instead of the driver because he knew taking a life wasn’t easy. Jake didn’t wish that burden upon you.

With a deep breath, you pointed the deadly weapon at the enemy, struggling to see properly through the thousands of cracks and holes in the window of the nearest car that tailed you. As well as you possibly could, you tried to control the tremble in your hands. 

Focus...focus!

Before you got a chance to comprehend what was really happening, something hit the side of the car completely out of the blue and it hit you hard. The impact steered you off road instantly despite Jake hitting the brakes so hard that they screetched. Everything became a haze and you lost your sense of balance, dropping the gun in the process. Whether you were upside down or sideways, you had no way of telling. Thud after thud, it became harder to even guess. Hell, it was so sudden you didn’t even get a chance to comprehend what was really going on.

The last thing you picked up before hitting your head against the side of the car was Jake’s voice. He yelled out your name with panic and fear in his voice you had never heard before. It completely broke your heart.

             “Wake up, you idiot!”

What the hell?

“You need to get out of the car, Lockley. You’ve got no time to waste.”

Followed by Khonshu's echoing words, Jake felt the brutal sting of the cold that had enveloped his entire body. His eyes opened up wide in surprise and fear. Not only was it cold to the point it felt like his muscles were burning, it was so dark that he couldn’t see anything at all. How long had he been out?

Water was rising rapidly, pouring into the car from bullet holes and rising up Jake’s legs. It had already reached his waist, soaking his clothes and threatening to take the rest of him too. Jake didn’t fear for himself, he found himself worrying over someone else entirely.

You

Were you okay?

“Y/N!”

Jake snapped his head instinctively to his side and reached out to make sure you were there. After blinking a few times while trying not to freak out, he managed to find the light switch on the ceiling of the car. Miraculously, the lights still worked but they were already flickering. They revealed the murky water that was pulling the vehicle deeper and deeper below the surface, with no promise of ending any time soon. It seemed like an endless abyss.

Then Jake saw blood. Crimson had painted your skin and hair, dripping into the water below and washing away into the vast sea. There was a wound on the side of your head that made Jake feel ill. If the water hadn’t frozen his body by now, the sight certainly did. It’s like his heart stopped for a moment when he realized how hopeless this situation seemed. Jake couldn’t believe he had failed to protect you.

You were unconscious, the seat belt being the only thing keeping you from hunching over into the icy pool below your waist. There was a notable dent in the side of the car, the metal compressed together like a crushed soda can. Whether your legs had wiggle room or not, Jake couldn’t tell. Judging by all the blood, the answer was more gruesome than he wished for it to be.

Jake summoned his suit, feeling how the material wrapped around his body and offered some shield from the biting, frosty water. Without wasting any more time, he ripped his seat belt off with ease thanks to his powers. They really came in handy now as the water pressure had trapped you like bugs in a jar. The belt snapped in half loudly and caused Jake to stumble to the side a little bit. He didn’t know if he was injured or not - it didn’t matter. Jake felt the water rising past his waist and chest, ever so surely making the air bubble smaller and smaller.

Khonshu hadn't been lying when he said there was no time to waste.

“Come on…” Jake groaned through gritted teeth, kicking the already smashed dashboard in order to free your body from the trap the crash had created. His movements were slower than he wanted them to be underwater. Either way, the car bent due to the force, freeing your legs. The damage caused more water to flood inside. It splashed around as he searched for your seat belt, hardly feeling his hands at this point. As he eventually found it, he yanked it out of the lock with a snap and caught your body that slumped forward as the belt no longer secured you.

"I've got you," Jake didn't know if you could hear him but he needed to believe you could. It made him feel less lonely.

Jake’s body was trembling uncontrollably, his teeth beginning to chatter as his breaths became forced and sharp. Despite all that, he managed to pull you toward him, guiding your legs up from the leg room and praying to whoever heard him that you weren’t in too much pain. To his horror, he didn’t feel your body heat. Your skin was ice cold - it must’ve been normal under these circumstances. Jake refused to believe there was any other explanation.

In the poor lighting the car offered, Jake could see that his breath was foggy. However, it was more than just alarming when he realized you weren’t breathing at all. Your eyelashes rested against your bloody cheeks and you looked like you were sleeping. Why weren’t you breathing?!

“Amor,” Jake hoped to catch your attention, that somehow you would reply to him and open those pretty eyes of yours. Oh what he would give to see you looking back at him.

Jake needed to drag you out of there and get you the help you needed. That’s exactly what he was going to do. If doctors couldn’t help you then Khonshu had to. If not, Jake would make that old bird regret it for the rest of his goddamn days.

When he didn’t get a response from you and you looked like that, so tranquil and relaxed as death crept around the corner, the entire world around him shattered. There was no way he’d give up on you this easily but Jake had seen enough bodies in his lifetime to see the striking resemblance.

“No, no, no,” Jake had never felt this way before. This hopeless and terrified, like a child in a room full of corpses. It was like hell had frozen over. Everything about this situation was obscure and so fucking unfair. This was not how it would end! Not like this… Jake couldn’t let that happen. You had so much to live for, so many things yet to see and do. He would give his life if it meant you got to keep yours.

If Marc and Steven had been co-conscious and speaking all this time, Jake didn’t notice until now. He was holding you as Steven’s voice broke the silence, carrying above the sound of water filling the space nearly to the brim. At the very same time, the lights gave out, abandoning you all in a void. That made the bone-reaching coldness all the more brutal as it was overwhelmingly the only thing Jake could really feel. Adrenaline was coursing through his body but even that couldn’t block out the chilling temperature.

“Jake, you’ve got to get us out of here! Now!” Steven was frightened, feeling the panic growing stronger by the second. His sense of survival was stronger and so he urged Jake to do something - anything that would ensure you’d live to see another day.

“Ya lo sé!” Jake wasn’t angry, at least not with Steven. He was just frustrated because of the pressure he was under. He knew he had to get out of there and having his alter freaking out too wasn’t really helping.

“Oh my god, why isn’t she breathing? Jake?! Jake…”

Marc couldn’t even speak. There were no words that did justice to how he felt as memories of his past flooded him and merged with the present. He had caught a glimpse of you slack and boneless in Jake’s arms as water surrounded you all the way up to your shoulders, rising up and up.

  Steven’s voice faded into the background as Jake got into action. It’s like he spaced out and worked on autopilot. He had one mission and that was to get you out of there alive. Nothing else mattered.

How cruel was it that fate threatened to put you through the same torture as it had put Randall through? At that very moment, Marc was convinced his existence was cursed.

Jake needed to stop ‘fate’ before it was too late. It better not dare take you now. This was not your time! 

He pulled you as close to him as he possibly could, making sure his grip was secure because he knew that the moment you’d plunge out of the car, he couldn’t risk losing you. Not when it was so dark. Not when you weren’t even breathing on your own! One wrong move and he feared he’d lose you forever. That was simply not an option.

With one last, deep breath, Jake pushed your face into his suit as if to shield your face from the water and then he kicked as hard as he could. It took a couple of tries but eventually, he kicked off the entire door, which disappeared into the shadows instantly. The air bubble was lost as water surged into the car, rushing in so fast it forced Jake to hold onto you even tighter. Finally, he made it out of the car, using his powers to move up instead of sinking to the bottom like the car did. It was probably going to stay down there for a while.

The only way to tell which was up was by blowing out air and following the direction of the bubbles. In the pitch-darkness, he relied on his other senses, feeling the bubbles moving up his face. Jake felt disorientated and dizzy, but he trusted his senses as he surged through the water and hoped it was toward the surface.

Then, at last, he began to see something again. Distant lights were guiding him in the right direction. Street lamps and city lights from far, far away. Jake reached the surface of the water and immediately sucked in another deep breath, relieved as his lungs expanded with air instead of water. As he breathed in and out a few times, he tasted mud and blood on his tongue.

He soared above the surface with you limp in his arms. The cape was drenched, weighing heavy on Jake’s shoulders. It was the first thing to reach the ground, instantly followed by his boots. As he felt secure on the ground, Jake examined his surroundings through narrowed eyes, not daring to let go of you until he knew it was safe. The shore consisted mainly of countless of rocks and dirt. There was a steep hill that lead up to the road. Right now, that offered you some shelter. Jake couldn’t see any of the cars that had been chasing you. They must’ve assumed you wouldn’t make it out of there alive.

As much as Jake wanted to go and find them, anger boiling in his veins as he thought about what they had done, he stayed put. Vengeance could wait. You couldn’t. He lowered you on your back ever so carefully and knelt by your side, the black and white cape pooling around you two. Jake made sure your head was positioned in a way that wouldn't cause further damage to the gnarly wound. Under the faint, blue glow of the moon, Jake made out your relaxed expression. That scared him beyond comprehension.

Not only that, the dress you wore did little to hide the damage the crash had caused. Cuts and bruises were scattered across your body but seeing your legs out of the water for the first time really showed how bad it was. It didn’t take a doctor to know something was broken. Jake saw the bright, red blood that gushed out of a deep wound on your thigh. After all this time, it was still pumping out blood at an alarming rate.

He cursed as he ripped his cape, not giving a damn what Khonshu thought of it as he used the material to stop the bleeding. Not that it mattered anyway, as the material reappeared out of thin air. Jake secured it around your leg as tightly as he could, hating that he had to use this kind of force on you although he knew it was for the best. If he didn’t stop the bleeding, you’d bleed out. That was much worse.

As he was done with stopping the bleeding, Jake parted his quivering lips as if to say something but nothing came out. Jake brushed your wet hair to the side, gently caressing your face in doing so and then he tried to feel your breath with the back of his hand.

Still nothing.

It only took a moment and he had pulled your head back gently to open your airways as his hands pressed together above your heart. Then without hesitating, he started to push down in a steady rhythm. Everyone always said to give chest compressions in the rhythm of a few certain songs but when the moment arrived, that was the last thing one could think about. Jake relied on Steven's help to merely count the compressions. The black and white fabric vanished from around his head so it wasn’t in the way.

An unfamiliar sting blurred Jake's vision as he tried to resuscitate you. The longer he knelt by your side, pushing your ribcage down in a way that felt way too rough, the more he dreaded the outcome. Why were you still not breathing?! He bent down to meet your lips, pinching your nose shut as he tried his best to breathe air into your lungs as steady as he possibly could. It was difficult to think that only moments before he had kissed your lips, not knowing it could’ve potentially been the very last time.

Jake pulled back, shoved his dark thoughts away and used all his strength to focus on the compressions. This was repeated again. Again. And again...

"Por favor!" Jake cried out like never before, begging for you to be okay. You had to be okay!

Truth be told, Jake began to lose focus. He never lost focus on missions. This was different. When he was faced with the chance of losing you, it shook him right to the core. The very foundation he had built with you, the safety net of knowing you were there was now threatening to slip through his fingers. Dread was making Jake feel sick to his stomach. Nothing he was doing seemed to help and that was the single most haunting realization of his life.

Jake had failed to protect you.

"Abre los ojos, mi amor. Por favor," he pleaded with raw desperation in his voice. Had Jake's enemies seen him now, they would've thought he was a man possessed. His brows furrowed in a sorrowful manner, deep brown eyes filling with tears. Jake Lockley was crying for you. His tough and cool demeanour was nowhere to be seen. How could he possibly keep a grip on himself in a moment like this? Even Jake was just a man who loved with his entire heart.

"Breathe for me. Just breathe." That’s all he asked for. He was sorry but he didn’t ask for forgiveness. Only for you to breathe.

“Lo siento mucho,” numerous apologizes slipped past his quivering lips. Could you even hear him? Did you know how sorry he was for this? 

Then it happened. Seemingly out of the blue, your eyes opened as a coughing fit forced you to turn to the side. Jake pulled his hands back from your chest and looked at you in shock. Although, as he heard the struggle in your breath, he instantly rushed to your aid. Jake rubbed your back and encouraged you to let it all out and then fill up those lungs. The coughing fit came to a halt and you were taking in deep and shaky breaths. They revealed that you were in pain but god was it a relief to know you were alive.

It was a miracle if Jake had ever seen one.

Whatever hope and joy he had felt for only a moment was quickly wiped away when he heard the pain in your voice.

“Jake!” You sobbed his name, hands trying to reach your thigh where the shooting pain came from but he stopped you. Tears welled up in your eyes instantly. Everything hurt in a way you had never felt before. You wanted it to stop.

“You’re okay. You’ll be fine, I promise,” Jake gave you his word but that was hard to believe when you writhed on the rocks in pure agony. His words went in one ear and out the other. Even if you wanted to, you couldn’t find comfort in them. Not when it felt like every cell in your body had been torn apart.

“It hurts!” Those two words absolutely shattered Jake’s heart.

“I know. I’m so sorry,” Jake didn’t know what else to say. Words couldn’t heal you magically, could they? So what was the point? Knowing that you were in any kind of pain was just awful, truly awful. He wished he had the ability to take it all away in the blink of an eye. Somehow, he needed to take you to the nearest hospital but he was terrified of touching you and hurting you furthermore.

In a state of panic, you tried to sit up so you could see what was causing you so much pain, but moving your body was almost impossible. When you tried lift your head from the ground, a sharp sting in your neck forced you to stop. Flashes of what happened came to you, reminding you of the car chase. Where were the others now? Had Jake dealt with them? Or were they out there, waiting for an opportunity to strike again?

“What h-happened?” You wondered as hot tears rolled down your face. God it was cold. You didn’t notice until now how badly you were shivering. Even Jake was cold, his hands not warming up yours like they used to. Even in the state of shock you were in, you realized you were both soaking wet.

Jake didn’t know what to say or do. He just wanted to get you somewhere safe where people could help you. But how? The car was in the bottom on the sea and he had no idea if it was safe to move you. Did you have whiplash? Inner bleedings? Would lifting you make it worse? How could he call for help when you didn’t have phones and the nearest house was probably miles away.

A gush of wind went right to Jake’s bones, making him shiver because of how cold it was but it also revealed that Khonshu was standing right behind him. He didn’t even have to look to know the god was looming over his shoulder. If not to help then Jake didn’t care. He had no patience for Khonshu’s games now.

“I suggest you get up. You’ve got company,” Khonshu warned Jake in a calm and collected way. The god’s words changed Jake’s demeanour. The people who had put you through so much already came back and it was the worst mistake those people had ever made. The spiraling panic and fear were wiped to the side as Jake nodded, acknowledging Khonshu’s warning.

There was no way in hell he would let them hurt you again.

As Jake heard an engine roaring nearby, coming closer and closer, he knew he had to protect you no matter what the cost. He looked down at you, silently apologizing for what he had to do. Even when he did it to make sure you were safe, he felt incredibly guilty for having to leave your side. Just a second was enough to make him feel rotten deep down to the core.

“Everything will be alright,” Jake bent down to your face level, looking you right in the eye as he spoke, “I promise.”

You heard the car as well which filled your every vein with terror. So you hadn’t managed to escape from them after all.

“Be careful,” You could hardly get the two words past your bloodied lips. You knew he was going to face them, there was no doubt about it. You had to trust he would come back for you.

He placed the softest kiss on your forehead, refusing to speak of the thoughts that tormented him. A kiss would have to do. It would have to express how sorry he was. It had to express his promise that he’d come back to you. That soon you wouldn’t feel all that pain anymore.

Then he got up, summoned the hood and the mask so he was fully suited and he got up the hill before the bad guys could come down and find you. If they did, Jake had zero doubt they would aim for you instead of him.

When Jake saw a familiar car parked on the other side of the road, he saw red.

The driver looked scared out of his mind when he faced Jake in his ceremonial armor, much darker than Marc’s, much more intimidating than Steven’s. His cape was now flowing in the wind and his eyes were glowing, glaring daggers into the man’s head. Jake looked furious even when the dark fabric covered his face. Rage was radiating off of him and the driver must’ve realized his mistake; coming after you again.

The driver pointed his gun at Jake and pulled the trigger. Twice. Three times. Then he stopped because the bullets seemed to do nothing to Jake. He kept walking toward the car with only one goal in mind - to defeat the enemy.

“Stop!” The terrified man yelled, trying to intimidate Jake Lockley. He needed a lot of luck if he wanted to succeed in that.

“Don’t come closer!”

Jake noticed another man in the passenger seat. He was already dead, presumably from the bullets that flew their way during the car chase. The driver would join his friend soon. Wherever they went to after this life.

As Jake reached the man, he tried to open the car door and use that to push Jake. Worth a shot, but Jake saw it coming so he slammed the door shut and trapped the man inside. The window was already rolled down so it made it easy for Jake to reach into the car and wrap his hand around the man’s neck. There wasn’t a single part of Jake that felt bad for crushing that man’s windpipe. There were worse things he could do but he didn’t have time. Oh if it was up to Jake, he’d rip his fucking spine out of his back. This was merciful when compared to what Jake would’ve done if you weren’t currently bleeding out on the rocks.

In a last, desperate attempt to come out of this alive, the man pointed the damn gun at Jake’s head. In just a split second, Jake used his other hand to grab the barrel of the gun. His grip was so tight that the solid metal barrel bent under his touch, forcing the bullet to get stuck somewhere in there. Now it was rendered useless and Jake didn’t hesitate to throw it out on the road, smashing it into bits and pieces in doing so.

“No debiste ni mirarla,” Jake made sure that the last thing this poor excuse of a man ever did was regret coming after you. He would have to die realizing the cost of that one mistake.

The man let out a silent scream or plea - it didn’t matter. His nails dug into Jake’s suit, trying to claw his way free from the deadly grip but to no avail. In fact, it just made Jake squeeze harder, pushing the man’s head into the seat because of the sheer force he was using.

As Jake stood there with his arm inside the vehicle, he looked around the empty road and deep into the dark woods. The silence was ominous. The loneliness a reminder of the fact no one was going to help you. Clouds swirled around the moon in the ever darkening sky. It was the only witness to this man’s early demise.

No one else had been stupid enough to follow you there.

                      Seeing you in that hospital bed was the worst thing Jake had ever seen in his entire life.

Hooked up to all these machines with needles and tubes sticking into you to the point he could hardly see your beautiful face. Instead of hearing the soft sounds of your relaced breaths, he was forced to listen to the beeping of a heart monitor and the low buzz of all the other machines that did things Jake didn’t even know about. That repeating beep was tantalizing. 

But it was also a sign that you were alright. In a way, the worst sight he had ever seen was also a relief. You had gotten the help you needed and were now on the path of getting better. There was no place he’d rather be with you now than this hospital, surrounded by skilled experts who could rush in without wasting any time if you needed help.

Getting to the hospital felt like such a distant memory now. Jake had thrown the bodies out of the car and used it to get you from the middle of nowhere to the nearest hospital. Despite the fact that driving was the reason you had gotten hurt in the first place, Jake drove again without hesitation. What were the odds of getting into another accident right after the first one, right?

He barely remembered what he had said when you reached the building. Nurses and guards had swarmed you, taking you away from Jake because they knew you needed urgent care. Letting them roll you away from him had been difficult to do. Jake was so scared someone would try to hurt you again. Trusting strangers with your life, even when they dedicated their lives in helping others, was incredibly difficult. By the time he realized the security guards were refusing him to follow you any further, Jake stopped. 

You were getting the help you needed. There was nothing more he could do. Knowing that your fate was out of his control was scary. Jake had to trust these people to give you the care you needed and deserved. He didn’t trust easily.

Jake learned that they were performing emergency surgery on you when a doctor had walked up to him and asked all sorts of questions. The police had arrived too. Everything had been a bloody mess, as Steven would’ve said.

Hours later, it was all over. The questioning, the nauseating feeling of having to wait for you to get out of surgery. Just to hear that everything went well. Jake needed to know you’d make a full recovery. It took some convincing to do but finally, he was by your side in a hospital room and Jake wasn’t going anywhere.

What if more of those guys decided to find you? What if they found out where you were staying? Would they kill you if Jake left you alone for even a moment?

That was a risk he refused to take. He would rather sit on the uncomfortable plastic chair by your bedside and hold your hand all night long. Was it night or was it morning? Jake had no clue. 

“Mate,” Steven’s careful voice snapped Jake out of the bubble of thoughts he had been in. He raised his gaze from your sleeping face to meet Steven’s in the reflection in the small mirror on the wall right above the sink. He looked worried sick. Worried about you and Jake.

“What?” Jake was beyond exhausted. His eyelids were heavy and he didn’t feel like talking to anyone right now. He had done enough talking with doctors and police who had the audacity to suspect that Jake had hurt you. The fucking nerve of some people.

“You should go home-”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Jake didn’t even let Steven finish that sentence. By shooting another glance at the mirror, Jake realized Marc was still not there. Great. Just great.

“Look at yourself!” Steven put his foot down, trying so hard to look after everyone. “You’re covered in blood and dirt. Do you think that she’ll be relieved to wake up to that?”

Jake clenched his jaw and ignored his alter. He hated to admit that Steven had a point. Then again, he didn’t want to leave your side. Not even when he had dry blood on his face and hair and he could smell it on his torn up shirt. His dark locks were disheveled. 

The nurses and doctors who walked in to check on you from time to time must’ve thought Jake looked terrifying. One of the nurses had even offered him a chance to shower at the hospital, seemingly out of pity but Jake had refused. She even let him know when the hospital cafe opened if he needed anything from there.

“She’ll be fine, Jake. She has all the help she needs right here. Just go home, take care of yourself and come back after.”

A shower sounded nice, it really did. Also food wouldn’t hurt. It felt like forever ago when you and Jake had eaten the fast food on your date. It had only been less than a day but had someone told Jake weeks had passed, he would’ve almost believed them.

“I can’t,” Jake sighed eventually, his shoulders slumping down as he leaned against your hospital bed. He studied your face and brought his still trembling fingers to your cheek, ever so carefully caressing your soft skin just below the tubing of the nasal cannula. Were you dreaming? If so, Jake hoped you had the sweetest dreams. Perhaps the medication caused you to dream of nothing at all. Maybe it was for the best. He knew you needed the rest.

Steven didn’t want to leave your side either, no. But he also knew that Jake wasn’t able to help you when he was in that state. A shower and some food, maybe even a nap would do wonders. Besides, Steven knew you’d be safe here. The hospital security had definitely noticed that something odd was going on here. They had been patrolling the corridor ever since you had been wheeled into the room after surgery. If anyone tried to come visit you that wasn’t Jake or family, they would be stopped.

Steven fronted now, sensing that Jake just didn’t have it in him to fight. Part of Jake wanted to let someone else front, to give up control for a while. So when Steven was in control, he wasn’t really surprised that Jake didn’t even argue with him. It was better this way.

“Oh, love,” Steven felt a pang in his chest as he felt everything so much more vividly. The smell of the hand sanitizer that was a distinct smell all over the hospital. He could feel the exhaustion in his body, feel how the thin hospital blanket felt like against his skin. Despite Khonshu’s healing, it felt like Steven had gone through hell. If he felt this way, he couldn’t even begin to imagine what you were going through. Steven was afraid to touch you but he fought that fear as he placed his hand above yours. It didn’t take long for him to feel the tears in the corners of his eyes.

How could anyone in their right mind ever wish to hurt you? Steven couldn’t understand that. He just couldn’t.

“I’ll be right back, yeah?” Steven tried to smile. He pressed a feather-light kiss on the roof of your hand, relieved when he realized your skin was warm. That alone was a good sign.

“I’ll bring you something from the flat. I promise it won’t take long,” Steven gave you his word as he stood up, taking in the sight of you resting in a hospital bed. That one would haunt his nightmares and memories for a long time.

But he had to go. Steven knew you would stay here for a while so he already planned on bringing you things that would make you feel closer to home. Should he bring a book so he could read to you? Perhaps your own clothes would make you feel more comfortable than the ones provided by the hospital. Surely no one would mind if he brought your favourite movies. It’s not like the hospital TV had Netflix on it. He’d figure something out.

                                        Steven had been right. Jake was too stubborn to tell him though. He felt much better in clean clothes and without blood all over him. Some of it had been your blood, which only made it worse. He had even packed a bag full of clothes and other things he figured you would need on your stay.

Just as promised, you were alright when they came back. Steven hadn’t taken a nap at the flat because he too wanted to waste no time. There was a need to take care of you and that need told him to make sure you wouldn’t wake up alone. Steven had just made it back to the plastic chair. The moment he sat down and knew you were okay, he fell asleep right by your side, his hand never letting go of yours.

Jake was fronting when you woke up. His eyes snapped open as he watched you take in your surroundings. The relief on your face when you saw him was visible. Seeing him made you feel safe.

It was obvious you were in a hospital although you didn’t remember getting there. Not that it mattered. You felt an odd sense of joy when you realized Jake was holding your hand. Perhaps you just felt odd in general. You swore your vision was hazy, almost dream like. Focusing on something was near impossible. There was something on your face that felt uncomfortable and you tried to pull it off. Jake grabbed your other wrist ever so carefully to stop you.

“I can’t let you do that, amor. It helps you breathe,” He explained and then let go of you, knowing you wouldn’t try that again.

“...you…mkay?” You mumbled tiredly, frustrated as your body didn’t co-operate with your mind. Moving your lips when they felt numb was strange. Just finding your voice proved to be hard. Must’ve been the morphine. All you wanted was to know Jake was alright.

Jake knew what you were trying to ask and it made his heart tighten in his chest. After everything you had been through you worried about him. Jake felt undeserving of your pure love and concern. If it wasn’t for him and the entire ordeal with Khonshu, you wouldn’t be hospitalized in the first place!

“I’m okay,” He let you know.

That made you smile droopily, your lips curving slightly more to the left side than the right. At least the drugs were working.

“I’m gonna go get a doc, alright?”

You squeezed Jake’s hand weakly before he could get up. Just for a moment longer, you wanted to be like this. You knew that when the doctor would walk in, reality would crash over you. Honestly, it was terrifying. You didn’t want to hear the awful news they most certainly had nor were you interested in knowing how long you had to be there. For just a brief moment longer, you wanted to be with Jake and tell yourself everything was perfectly fine. Granted, the dull ache in your body told another story.

“Not yet,” You muttered, tilting your head to the side and forcing your body to relax against the stacked pillows. Fear and anxiety were beginning to torment you, whispering terrible things to the part of your brain that wondered what would happen next. That brought tears to your eyes without you even realizing it.

“Okay,” Jake wasn’t going to argue with you. He suspected there was a reason for this request. “I’m not going anywhere yet.”

After he confirmed that, you nodded as if to let the words sink in. In a moment of clarity, you looked down your body that was covered in blankets. You tried to move your legs cautiously, remembering the pain from before. When you felt how restricted your movements were, Jake closed his eyes and let out a deep sigh. He knew something you didn’t. His reaction caused your anxiety to spike.

If something was wrong with you, you wanted to hear it from him instead of a doctor who didn’t know you or care about you. Not personally, at least.

“Baby,” You swallowed the lump in your throat, “how bad is it?”

Of course, you asked that. Jake would’ve been a fool if he believed you wouldn’t. This was your life and your body you were talking about.

“They said you’ll make a full recovery,” Jake started with that, failing to meet your eye as he continued, “but it will take some time.”

“And the…the people who did this?” That question didn’t need any clarification.

“They won’t bother you ever again,” Jake hadn’t taken all of them out but he would stop at nothing to make sure vengeance was delivered upon each and every one of them. 

“I promise.”

“Okay,” You believed him. That didn’t make it hurt any less. Without even seeing most of your body and with strong medications concealing the true amount of pain you were in, you knew it was going to be a long time before this could be put in the past.

That made you feel defeated in so many ways. 

Would they stick by your side through it all? Or would this scare all of them away from you forever? 

Jake saw the tears rolling down your face, glistening in the corners of your eyes as you held your breath in order to keep your sobs and whimpers to yourself. He had never seen such a miserable expression on your face and neither did he want to. If someone had a time machine, he would steal it if that would undo what had already happened. Jake would do anything to make sure you’d never have to feel this way.

“Oh, mi amor,” he didn’t hesitate to move from the chair to the edge of the hospital bed, being incredibly cautious as to avoid hurting you as he wrapped you in his arms. When Jake pulled you close to his chest and you felt his tender embrace, it was impossible to keep the cries at bay any longer.

Jake swayed from side to side ever so softly as you clung onto his shirt and let it all out in violent sobs. At the worst of it, you couldn’t even bring yourself to speak. Jake was quiet too, knowing that no words could fix this. He offered to hold you in his loving arms as you let the pain out.

Eventually, your cries calmed down but neither of you let go of each other. Jake felt your chest rising as you took in shaky breaths, working so hard just to steady them. You wondered if he knew that his cologne was calming you down. It was constant, something that reminded you of good things. It reminded you of home. You wanted nothing more than to go home but you knew you couldn’t. Not like this.

As Jake held you, his eyes peered out through the blinds. The window gave him a view of the hospital parking lot. Cars were driving in and out, struggling to find a parking spot and others struggling to navigate their way through the concrete mess. Somewhere out there, near or far in the distance, were the rest of the people who stood behind this. Living their lives and going on about their days with far less damage. Perhaps they were trying to come up with a new master plan to catch Khonshu’s avatar. To destroy him by hurting the one thing they truly loved.

Jake was heartbroken but if anyone saw his expression, they would see a man full of rage. He shot death glares out the window, only thinking about what he’d do once he found them. It wouldn’t be pretty. He wouldn’t have to go after them alone, no. Steven and Marc would be there too.

A/N: Should I write a part 2? If you enjoyed it pls let me know. The next part would be more focused on hurt/comfort and recovery. Maybe even smut, who knows 👀

[4200nemobackup]

(just an idea <3)

**yandere!sub!jimin

i’ve always seen jimin as pretty soft but it’s always the soft ones that are scary 👀

a scenario: jimin is a neighborhood dog walker. now you y/n own the cutest dog ever and you and jimin are friends because he’s well known around the neighborhood and he walks your dog a few times a week.

jimin is literally obsessed with you and you don’t even know it.

whenever you invite him inside when he comes to pick up your dog he has the sudden “urge” to use the bathroom. later on you notice your usually neatly folded underwear drawer tossed around? strange. and what happened to the spoon you were using to eat your cereal?

whenever you “bump into” jimin outside, he always asks if he can take a picture of you and your dog because your dog is oh so cute and they’re his favorite!

NSFW PART!

remember when i said jimin would be soft? yeah….no.

he is a major masochist. please hit him.

he sees your dog’s leash hanging from your door while he’s rummaging around in your room and wonders what it would be like to be your dog.

once again this is just an idea and feel free to use it <3 also i love your work and i hope you’re doing okay!! :)

-🦝

I’ve decided to thirst about this because wow…….this is so hot anon u don’t understand.

Whilst yandere trope is not always my go to, I enjoy yandere subs. I feel like Yandere Jimin is the perfect example of a yandere sub because he will go out of his way to lie to you about his true motives whilst getting close to you. Being your dog walker is perfect to him because he had considered all of the possibilities of the profession and being connected to you. Yandere Jimin is very intelligent. He’s very skilled at planning.

That day when he goes to your bathroom, of course he secretly rummages through your underwear drawers. He was sniffing your underwear, becoming obsessed with your scent. He even stole some, pocketing them quickly hoping that you wouldn’t notice the absence of some of your underwear.

When Jimin takes pictures of you, you would never suspect his true motives. At this point, he has a about 1000 photos of you in his phone that he puts in a folder album. He even has pictures of your room, pictures of you from behind, pictures of you bending over. It’s impossible to even understand how he’s gotten any of these, but he just has them.

I love that you mentioned that Jimin was a masochist! He gets off on you finding him because he wants to see your unhinged reaction. He wants to see how you take it out on a creep like him. He wants to see how you fuck him up so bad.

When you walk in on him using your dogs leash around his own neck, you’re stunned, you’re shocked. Jimin of all people? But can you really be surprised? How didn’t you realize this before?

Hit him, smack him, choke him. Treat him like a dog actually this time. Make him walk on all fours and milk him on all fours. Leave him naked all the time, and make him eat and drink from dog bowls, he actually likes it. He pretends he’s a dog in heat, rutting against your leg at times, and cumming all over your clothes, shoes and underwear. Sometimes he acts so soft and calm, but you secretly know where his mind is at. You can see the insanity in his eyes.