#like I’m so sorry but at least in that lightning it looks like he’s got a bald stripe 🙃

[nicoscheer]

The reel

Your way. Your world. We are all yours X

[laenordeservedbetter]

Thieves & Prophecies

Words: 2.6k

Pairing: Clarisse La Rue x Fem!Reader (Daughter of Poseidon)

Synopsis: When your friends accuse Clarisse of stealing the lightning bolt, you make a choice that dooms Olympus.

Warnings: PJO EPISODE VI SPOILERS, r has anger issues, r isn't too fond of the gods, ooc!clarisse, Luke. [Let me know if I missed any.]

A/N: People say you should write to get over writer's block, so here's another Clarisse x reader. The new episode had me stressing out for Clarisse and she wasn't even there. At least we got good Percabeth scenes.

masterlist || previous work

---

You’re leaning against a wooden crate while Grover proceeds to explain why Clarisse is the lightning thief. The pounding of your heart was the only thing you made yourself hear, tuning out of the conversation. You couldn’t believe it. You refuse to believe it. Clarisse wouldn’t do something like that. Something’s wrong. They are wrong.

“Y/n?” Percy stands in front of you, looking apologetic. You meet his gaze, realizing that they must have finished talking. You don’t say anything, figuring that your conflicting emotions are visible to them. “I’m sorry about Clarisse. I know that you think she’s not capable of stealing the lightning bolt, but all signs lead to her.”

The glare that you send Percy makes him flinch. “She didn’t do it.” You claim. Percy opens his mouth to protest, but you weren’t done talking. “I know she didn’t. I’m sure of it.” You say the words with such conviction that Percy can’t help but feel bad for you. You scowl upon seeing his sympathetic look, shaking your head. “Don’t give me that look.”

“Y/n…” Grover interjects, moving to stand beside Percy. “I know that this is hard to hear since Clarisse is your—” Grover cut himself off, “But there’s no other half-blood Ares could possibly want to protect except his favorite daughter.” He says softly, trying to reason with you.

You were far past reason, however. Not when Clarisse is involved. You walk a few steps closer to them, your jaw clenching. They both take a step back, their backs hitting a combination of crates and cages. They weren’t used to seeing you like this. They’ve watched you protect them from monsters, but they haven’t experienced being on the receiving end of your wrath. It was not a good feeling.

“Say one more word about Clarisse being the lightning thief and I will make sure none of us get to the underworld in time for the solstice.”

Grover and Percy merely nodded, too afraid to argue.

You retreated to the corner furthest away from them; feeling more exhausted than you had been since the quest began. A part of you wanted to ensure that Percy completes his quest and that he clears his and your father’s name, another part wants nothing more than to protect Clarisse, but the emotion that overpowers both is your anger.

How could they all just sit there and come to that conclusion without thinking it through? Their accusation didn’t even have that much of a backbone to support it with. You were mad at yourself for not being able to convince them otherwise. You were mad at Ares for taking Grover’s bait and for not ratting out the real thief, which you probably shouldn’t say out loud. Though, at this point, you didn’t care because tomorrow morning, Percy and Annabeth were going to send an Iris Message to camp and there will be nothing you can do to stop Chiron, Mr. D, and the rest of the demigods from going after Clarisse. You needed to act and you needed to act fast.

---

As soon as Percy, Annabeth, and Grover fell asleep, you stood up and silently moved to the truck’s doors. Percy was leaning against one of the cages, his eyes peacefully shut. Sometimes, you forget that he’s still a kid. He should be enjoying his childhood, not going off fighting monsters. But unfortunately, that’s just the way life goes when you’re a half-blood, being in constant danger. Yet another reason to be mad at the gods. You shake your head, trying to ignore the pang of guilt when you think about leaving your brother. If there had been another way, you would have taken it.

You just hope Percy forgives you when all of this is over.

…Or if he survives the solstice.

You stop in your tracks, wondering if what you’re about to do is the right decision to make when Annabeth starts to stir.

It was now or never.

You continue making your way to the door, but something in the corner of your eye stops you.

The bag that Ares gave.

There was something about it that drew you in. You know you shouldn’t, but you grab the bag, opening the top zipper. There was cash, clothes, and golden drachmas, exactly what the god of war said. You had no need for cash or clothes, so you take those out. You scoop a few drachmas and place the rest on the floor, putting the coins inside the bag since it would be handier than putting it in your pockets. You sling the bag over your shoulder and bolt for the doors, the metal making a loud bang the moment you force it open. Before either one of the trio could go after you, you were already a few miles ahead – or behind, depending on which direction you’re looking from – of them.

You don’t stop running until you reach a coast. You wanted to collapse in exhaustion, but you force yourself to keep going until your feet touch the water. Sighing in relief, you close your eyes, allowing the water to give you strength. The wind was chilly tonight, darkness looming above you. The possibility of war was getting closer yet here you were, having just abandoned your brother for Clarisse.

You didn’t know what you were going to do when you reached camp. Would you try convincing Chiron that Clarisse wasn’t the culprit? Would you run away with your girlfriend? Or would you take the blame despite not having the lightning bolt yourself?

You hear a whine before you, prompting you to open your eyes. A creature with the head and front legs of a horse but with the tail of a fish appeared in front of you, tilting its head a little. Your eyebrows scrunched in confusion, “Did my dad send you?” You asked.

Yes, my lady.

Your brows scrunch even more (if that was possible) at the term. Your hand reaches out to pet the hippocampus, the creature leaning into your touch. You were still surprised that your father, Poseidon, decided to help you. He did listen to your prayers most of the time, but you thought that he wasn’t your biggest fan at the moment, seeing how you were about to go to camp and possibly ruin his reputation. You guess you were wrong. A small smile graced its way onto your face as you mumble, “Thank you, father.” You get on the hippocampus, the creature making sure you were properly seated before it started moving.

---

The sun had completely risen by the time you reached camp. Being on a hippocampus was by far the best mode of transportation, in your opinion. You got good sleep this time. You get off of Summer (you learned that that was her name when you were trying to make conversation), your feet landing on the shore.

“Thank you, Summer. I promise I’ll give you a snack when I see you again.” You promise, smiling softly.

Summer made a noise of approval before diving back into the water.

You look towards the woods, feeling like something was about to go wrong. “You can’t back down now.” You mumble to yourself. Clarisse needed your help. This is the reason why you came back to camp. You will your feet to move, one foot in front of the other.

This wasn’t gonna end well.

---

Sneaking into camp was easy. Getting past the campers was the hard part. If they saw you, they would bombard you with questions. You can already sense the kind of questions they’d ask, the things they would say. You grit your teeth in annoyance. Everyone seemed to be doing something. Though, the number of campers in the archery practice range and the dining pavilion were smaller compared to the last time you were here. Odd. You shake your head, trudging forward, trying to look for Clarisse.

“You stupid moron! I told you. I didn’t steal the lightning bolt!”

Ah, there she was.

Your heart flutters upon hearing her voice. There was no mistaking that that was her.

You see Luke get out of the armory. You could make out a figure behind him, a girl tied against one of the tables. Your expression hardens as you stare at the Hermes cabin councilor. Before he could meet your gaze, you hide behind one of the cabins.

Anger coursed through you again. Your fists clenched, leaning your head against the structure of the Zeus cabin. You wait for a minute, then another, then another, before you feel your anger subsiding. You use the back part of the cabins in order to get to the armory, rushing past groups of campers before they could spot you.

The armory was unguarded, which was a bad decision on Luke’s part. Like seriously? The armory is the best choice you can come up with to lock up the alleged thief in? There are dangerous weapons in there. If they had caught the real thief and locked them there, it would have been a bloody day. You scowl at their incompetence, but your expression morphs into one of worry when you open the door and see Clarisse.

She glances towards you, squinting her eyes from the harsh glare of the sun. “Y/n? What are you doing here?”

“I don’t have time to explain.” You march towards her and settle yourself in front of her. Her hands were tied. “Gods, what have they done to you?” You mutter, grabbing a dagger from the table above her and using it to cut the rope.

“They’re accusing me of stealing the lightning bolt, which is stupid because I didn’t do it. This must be Percy’s doing.” Clarisse grumbles, an apologetic look crossing her face after she says the last sentence. “Sorry. I know he’s your brother, but…”

“They’re wrong. I know.” You nod reassuringly. Not a second after you finish cutting the rope, Clarisse surges forward to pull you into an embrace. You laugh in surprise, pulling her closer, “Woah, there. Hi.” You close your eyes, inhaling her familiar scent. It was good to have her near you again. You let out a sigh of relief, placing your hand on her hair. “I missed you.” You say.

“I missed you too.” Clarisse replies before reluctantly pulling away. She places both of her hands on your face, as if memorizing it all over again. Her brows were scrunched as she looks at a scar that wasn’t there before you left and you found yourself wanting to ease her worries.

“It’s not as bad as it looks.”

She scowls. “You got hurt.”

“I’m okay now.” You insist. Before she asks follow-up questions, you try to state why you were here in the first place. “I tried to convince Percy, Grover, and Annabeth that you didn’t steal the lightning bolt, but they wouldn’t listen. So, I jumped out of the truck when they were sleeping. I got a few drachmas in case of emergencies. Then, I went to a beach, where a hippocampus appeared and brought me here. And now I’m realizing I didn’t think too far ahead because I don’t know what to do now. If I can’t convince Mr. D or Chiron that you’re innocent, I… We can run away. Yes, that we can do.”

“You did all of that for me?” Clarisse had an unreadable expression on her face. She looked like she wanted to kiss you, yell at you, and cry all at once.

Your brows furrow. “Of course I would. Why wouldn’t I?”

“You could’ve gotten hurt.”

“But I didn’t.”

“That was really stupid.” She says.

“I know.”

“You jeopardized the quest.”

“I know.”

“You could’ve experienced your father’s wrath.”

“I know.” A small laugh escapes you.

Clarisse shakes her head, “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

“Yes, so I’ve been told.” You roll your eyes.

“Gods, I love you.” Clarisse mumbles.

You sport a teasing grin, “Aww, you do?”

“Shut up.” She punches your shoulder playfully.

“Ouch!”

“What are you doing?”

Your playful banter came to an end when you hear Luke enter the front door, two of the kids from the Athena cabin standing behind him. You turn, stepping forward to stand in front of Clarisse. You’ve been in similar positions in the past, except she was the one protecting you. Now, it was time to return the favor.

Both Athena kids step forward on Luke’s signal, dragging both you and Clarisse outside, where there was a cluster of campers watching you.

Great, a show. Just what you needed.

“What were you doing with the lightning thief?” Luke questions.

It took a shake of Clarisse’s head to stop you from attacking him. You settled for “accidentally” stepping on his toes instead. “Clarisse is not the lightning thief.” You state. Around you, there stood at least two dozen campers. You spot Chiron and Mr. D amidst the campers and your eyes light up. “You don’t even have proof that she stole the lightning bolt, so how can you be so sure that it’s her?”

Luke ignores your question entirely. “Just give up, Y/n. Stop protecting her. You know that she stole it. We all do.”

“She didn’t steal it!” You yell, meeting Luke’s eyes. It felt like having a staring contest with a statue.

“Yeah, well, how do you know?!” His voice raises to match yours, his cold gaze almost scaring you. Almost.

You fall silent, not having a proper answer to that. Truth was, you didn’t. You could just feel it. But making choices based on feelings isn’t a good enough reason for anyone in this camp. You turn towards Chiron for help, but he doesn’t say anything. The entirety of the Ares cabin is quiet as well. That’s when it occurs to you that if they don’t speak up, there is a zero percent chance that anyone else will.

Luke appears smug, as if he had proved his point. “Exa—”

“Because I did it.”

You shock even yourself at your words, but you do nothing to take them back. You weren’t able to see any other option left. You were surrounded. If you’d try to escape with Clarisse, you weren’t making it out of camp alive. This was your last resort.

“What?” Clarisse says beside you, her voice barely above a whisper. You force yourself not to look at her. You wouldn’t be able to stand the look of betrayal on her face. You’d rather have her hating you than have her punished for something she didn’t do.

Luke scoffs, “No, you didn’t.”

“Yes, I did.”

You don’t break eye contact with Luke as you say the words, ignoring Clarisse’s screams of protest.

For once, Luke was taken aback. He keeps shaking his head, “No, you’re lying. Just give up already. You can’t protect her anymore.”

“I stole the lightning bolt.” You say, louder this time around.

“Miss L/n, that is a serious admission.” Chiron says, his tone grave. You could see the apprehension in his eyes. “Are you sure you stole the lightning bolt?”

“She’s bluffing.” Luke announces, but he sounds unsure.

Your bag grows heavier, as if someone placed a boulder inside it while you were talking to Luke. It was too much to carry. Naturally, you removed the bag from your shoulder, setting it down on the grass. You open the backpack’s zipper, your breath hitching when you see the thing that has been weighing it down. You pull it out of the bag, hearing gasps and words of alarm from the campers.

The bolt crackled in your hand, the color mesmerizing you. You tilt your head with a sly grin, your eyes fixed on Luke.

“Do you believe me now?”

[229zmi]

BLIND DATE

Kuroo Tetsurō/Reader | 1.1k words, fluff, reader is a little clueless at first, based off of this tiktok

“I’m sorry, what? Could you— sorry, could you repeat that?”

At the sound of Kuroo’s cackles echoing throughout the study room (that you had booked for yourself, and then he decided to invade it after spotting you through the window), you shake your head, feeling the regret creep up your neck like smoke rising from flames. Still, he continues to offer half-assed apologies in between abrupt laughs, as if that’ll soothe your embarrassment in any way.

“You heard me the first time.” You scowl when he opens his mouth to deny it, feigning cluelessness with a dumbfounded look on his face. “And your sense of humour sucks by the way. It wasn’t that funny.”

“But it is. You really want me, out of all the people, to set you up with someone?” He grins, twirling a pen around his fingers. Inwardly, you wish for the pen to suddenly fly out of control, for him to finally have a moment of failure that will eventually spiral into his downfall in the hopefully near future (a few seconds from now), but it never happens.

“Just one date,” you say, with venom preemptively hanging from the tip of your tongue in case you need to further defend yourself.

However, he surprises you when all he does is lean back in his chair instead of bursting into a fit of laughter again. His eyebrows furrow in thought, and the pen stills in his hand; he sets it down atop his notebook.

“I know someone who has a small crush on you,” he tells you after a beat. You straighten at the newfound information, suddenly interested.

“Really? Are they a friend of yours? Who is it?”

Kuroo — that bastard — shakes his head, now sporting a smug smile as he crosses his arms. “That’s classified information, I’m afraid.”

You groan. “You can’t just say that and not tell me who it is! C’mon, can you at least give me a hint?”

“Sure. What kind of hint?”

Your question hurtles toward him at lightning speed, only half-joking. “Are they rich?”

Waving his finger disapprovingly, he reprimands you, “Such a shallow question. I’m disappointed in you.”

“Yeah, well, are they?”

“Can’t say he is. He’s a college student, same university and year as us,” he says, and you act devastated over the news, slapping a dramatic hand over your chest. It’s too bad your dreams of becoming someone’s sugar baby have been crushed so tragically like this, though you suppose there are other important factors to consider as well.

“Is he—?”

“Hey, you said a hint, not multiple hints.”

“Oh, shut it. Is he hot?”

“Very,” he confirms, so quickly that it’s almost suspicious. You eye him warily, to which he shrugs. “What? Birds of a feather flock together, or something like that.”

“Yeah, okay. So he’s butt-ugly, then, by association with you.” At that, Kuroo kicks your knee as you snicker to yourself.

“You know that by saying that, you’re also calling yourself butt-ugly. Plus, I’m doing you a grand favour, and this is what I get in return?” A long sigh escapes him. “Absolutely nothing but insults. Unbelievable.”

“You’re such a baby.”

“Nothing but insults,” he repeats.

You roll your eyes. There’s no winning with him. “Fine, then. I’ll lend you my old statistics textbook. You’re taking Intro to Stats next semester, right?”

“Yup.” He smiles, and you know you’ve got yourself a deal. “I’ll text you the location and time as soon as possible.”

Disappointingly enough, your date is late.

Kuroo, however, is right on time.

You narrow your eyes at him, glancing at the outfit he’s got on. You’re used to him wearing sweatpants and hoodies with holes in the sleeves every time you see him, but today, he’s put something unusually nice on, although you’re not entirely sure why. You’re also not sure why he’s here, outside of the café and at the exact time he told you your date had agreed to meet you.

“Where’s my date?” you ask before looking around for the umpteenth time to check if he’s arrived yet. However, your movement is stopped when Kuroo gently places a hand under your chin, guiding your focus back to him.

A sly grin reveals itself; his hazel eyes twinkle beneath the glow of the café’s hanging fairy lights.

“Right here. I’m your date.”

You frown, still puzzled. “What? But you said a few days ago, you were gonna set me up with someone who—“

Wait a minute.

Oh, you realise.

Then, you shut your eyes tightly, turning away from him.

“What are you doing?” There’s a slight chuckle in his voice that he doesn’t even attempt to hide, obviously entertained by your actions. He steps to the side to see your face, but you turn away again. “Hey, is my hair really that ugly? I tried combing it down like a gazillion times this morning, I swear.”

“No, just—” You stick your arm out, and Kuroo holds onto it awkwardly, both concerned for you and unsure of what he’s supposed to do. “Pinch me, please. I think I’m dreaming.”

“Oh. You’re not dreaming,” he assures you, opting to instead rest his hands on your shoulders, yet it’s pointless in getting you to look at him. Stubborn as always, he thinks fondly.

“That’s exactly what someone in my dreams would say.”

“Ah, I see. So, I’m the man of your dreams?”

Bingo. Picturing himself doing a victory dance in his head, Kuroo watches you open your eyes to glare at him for his remark. His celebration is short-lived, though, because in a matter of seconds, you’re quick to point out, “You’re blushing.”

Rubbing a hand over his cheek as if to erase the pinkish hue, he denies the observation. “I’m not.”

“You are.” You feel all giddy inside, with your heart feeling like it’s about to leap out of your chest, walk inside the café, and buy a cup of coffee. You’re worried a gooey mess of feelings is what’s going to spill onto the pavement if you so much as speak too quickly, so your question comes out tentative, like a butterfly’s wings fluttering in the wind, “And… you like me?”

That, he cannot deny. But there’s a poor attempt at it anyway. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. I said a small crush.”

“Really?”

“Really.” A pause. Then, he adds sheepishly, “Well, maybe it’s a little more than that.”

Your expression breaks into a grin at the confession, but before you can tease him any more for the blush that has now spread to the back of his neck, he pulls the door to the café open and uses his free hand to gesture towards the interior, bowing his head slightly.

“For my lovely date,” he says, looking up just to wink at you. Whether this is actually to charm you or just to distract you from his embarrassment, you can’t tell.

Nevertheless, as cheesy as it is, you decide to play along, intertwining your fingers through his and extending your gratitude to him for his chivalrous act before pulling him along as you head inside.

notes: another kuroo fic 4 the Kuroo kissers ♥︎ tumblr user @kyoghurts i hope u like it teehee

[yourgentlegirlfriend]

hi :3

this shit is absolutely not proof read sorry

Leon being so attentive when you first start working at the station. The throbbing in his pants almost painful when he watches as somebody walks into the building and you lean over in those slacks, pushing your glasses up as you ask the person to sign their name on the bottom of a document.

Does he ever talk to you? Of course not. You were an angel though, your voice so sweet when you let out a “Goodmorning” everytime he walks through the wide double doors. He was to scared to talk to you because what is he suppose to say? He would stutter surely. Or maybe even accident check you out right in front of you- his last intention is to make you uncomfortable.

How long is it suppose to last though? Watching you glance at him, suddenly going on your break at the same time as him?

Well you couldn’t help yourself. It was rare to see such a young, handsome cop. Rookie or not he definitely had your attention. So you made a plan, but It was failing miserably and he never even glanced at you.

-

It’s pouring rain on friday night, of course It is. Every taxi seems to ignore you, tears of frustration building in your eyes as you wave at another and the water splashes up from the blacktop onto your skirt.

Leon walks out of the station, pulling his hoodie over his head to see you literally soaked and desperately waving down a taxi. It was a rough day for you according to the talk around the office, you spilled all of the coffee for the meeting all over the paperwork in the office room and got the lecture of a lifetime.

Leon walked over to you, clearing his throat as he pointed to his car.

“Let me drive you home, I’m sure you don’t live far.”

The first time hearing his voice and it made your throat feel stuck. Your head nodding as you followed Leon over to his car down the street. What a gentleman, he pulls open the door for you, waiting for your shivering form to slip inside before he shuts the door and gets in himself.

Immediately when starting the car he flips the heater on, looking over at you as he reaches in the backseat and hands you a spare jacket.

“You must be freezing. You didnt see the clouds when you went outside this morning?”

Leon chuckled which made you smile, you needed kindness especially today. The car ride home was Leon just listening to you ramble on and on about how favoritism runs the front office and how you wish you were brave like him to go into the field. You could’ve talked forever but of course you point to your small house, tucking your wet hair behind your ears as you look at Leon, reaching for your purse to pay him of course.

Leon shoves your hand away and shakes his head as he unbuckles his seatbelt, he jumps out of his car and runs to your side opening the door for you. You can’t help but blush when he holds his jacket above your head on the way to the door. Thankfully you were so cold and red he definitely didn’t notice. When you get to the door you dig in your bag for your keys, your shaking hands pushing the small key into the handle before you shook the door open, you looked up at Leon and walked inside insisting he came in.

“If you won’t let me pay you, at least let me make you some hot cocoa.”

Leon didn’t mind the wait. You basically begged him to let you make him hot cocoa but you had to shower first. Not even ten minutes passed and you’re walking into your kitchen where he sat at the kitchen table, a slight smile on his face when he sees the slippers you’re wearing, the cute silk pajamas that he so badly just wanted to rub his fingers over.

“Thank you so much, plus you shouldn’t drive home anyways look at It out there.”

You were right but of course you were. It was pouring, the wind knocking the bushes against your window and now lightning striking against the dark sky. Leon just nodded in agreement as you placed one of the cups in front of him. Steam rising to the top as you mixed it for him once more before sitting down across from him.

It was awkward at first, then Leon started to talk about some of things he’s seen on patrol and you’re suddenly cracking up. Both of your mugs empty and your fingers playing with the fabric on his arm as you start to talk about just how stressed you are. It’s obvious in your face, the frustration starting to make you upset as you rub your fingers into your temple.

Leon frowns slightly, his hand by instinct coming up to push the hair from your face. He doesn’t know what happened but he mumbled a quiet.

“Let me help you.”

Extremely bold of him and he was sure you were gonna kick him into the pouring rain. But suddenly he had you laid on the couch, your pajamas on the floor and your legs spread open by his hand while his other hand is three digits deep inside of you. He could tell you needed this so badly, the way your walls squeezed around his fingers. He could watch your face for hours if he was able to, your eyes closed like you’re concentrating on something as he pushes his fingers up in a curling motion, the pads of his fingers brushing against that special spot inside you.

His eyes are hazy when he repositioned himself, laying on his stomach and pushing your legs up as his tongue sloppily laps at your clit, your legs resting against his strong shoulders as his hands slide down to your thighs, massaging them as he looks up at you continuing to lap at your folds as his fingers continue to push in and out of you.

He notices your slight shaking, the quiet whines leaving you as you push at his hands and he can feel the way you flutter around his fingers.

“L-leon-“

Is all you can manage to get out before he’s lapping faster, his face pushing further into you. his fingers slowing down to a softer rhythm as he feels you gush around his fingers, shushing you quietly as you cry out his name, your breath heavy as he pulls himself back up, his lips pressing against yours.

Leon pulls himself away, being careful when he pulls his fingers out of you, kissing the side of your face as he does so.

“It’s okay, nobody at the station has to know.”

Leon smirks as he kisses the side of your mouth and pulls you up to lay against his chest.

[bruisedboys]

can I request the prompt “95: sender cradles receiver’s face” with remus lupin? maybe him and shy!reader’s first kiss?

thank you for the request lovely! and I’m really sorry it took so long. hope this is okay angel 🤍

remus lupin x fem!reader

Remus looks at you like no one’s ever looked at you before. He looks at you and it’s like you’ve been struck by lightning.

“What?” You ask, still not used to how he looks at you like you’re made of gold. Your cheeks burn.

Remus tips his head to the side and drags his thumb across the space beneath your eye. Your heart skyrockets. You’re so unfamiliar with being touched in such a mindless way in such an insignificant spot. It feels like he’s got fire in his fingers when he does it.

“I’m not allowed to look at you?” Remus asks, frowning a frown that’s too deep to be real.

You huff, too flustered by his touching and his staring to do anything else. “You’re allowed,” you say quietly. “I’m just.” Shy? Nervous? So in love with him it freaks you out every time you think about it? “Never mind.”

Remus laughs softly and it sends what feels like a shockwave through your chest. He’s got the best laugh you’ve ever heard, all lovely and smooth like honey.

“You’re just what, babe?” He asks gently. In all the affection you’ve look away, eyes fixed on Remus’ knees, and he tilts you back up to look at him now, both hands on your face so you can’t escape. “Shy? You’ve got no reason to be. It’s just me.”

That’s kind of the point, you want to say. “Right,” you say instead. The word comes out sounding half-strangled though you don’t mean it to.

Remus smiles and pushes his hand backward to brush your hair away from your neck. He keeps his hand there, in the juncture between your neck and shoulder.

“But,” he says, “if you want me to stop I will. Just say the word, pretty girl.”

In truth, you don’t want him to stop. He’s looking at you like he wants to kiss you and he’s close enough to actually kiss you. You bite the inside of your mouth and try to remember if you brushed your teeth before he came over.

“I, um. You don’t have to stop,” you say, words jumbled and your heart pumping hard. You did brush your teeth, you remember with a flood of relief. You do every time you see Remus, just in case. “I don’t want you to stop.”

Remus smiles and a wrinkle like a dimple appears in his cheek. It’s not quite a dimple but you like it better that way.

“I thought so,” he says. Not condescending, but not all together serious either. His smile makes the difference, teasing but still saccharine sweet.

You’re so busy staring at his lips you don’t notice how much closer he’s gotten in the past two seconds. He’s so close you could count his eyelashes. You look up at them, at his unfairly gorgeous brown eyes, the tiny scar running just beneath his eye, and try not to pass out.

He’s close enough that you can feel his warm breath on your lips when he says, “Do you want a kiss?”

You don’t have it in you to open your mouth and say an actual word. Instead you nod, past caring how desperate you look.

You get to see Remus’ pretty answering smile for about a half a second before it’s pressed to your mouth. He’s achingly gentle, his hand a steadying weight at the bottom of your neck, fingers curled round to brush the nape. His other hand stays at your cheek, pulling you into him carefully.

His lips on yours is a feeling you can’t describe. It’s exciting. It’s maddening. It makes you want more and makes you want to pull away for fear of going feral all at once. It’s a short kiss, compared to at least ones you’ve seen on TV, though you know those are staged and unrealistic. You’re happy anyway. And you’d probably die in Remus’ hands if he’d kissed you any longer.

You’re noticeably more breathless than Remus when he pulls away. You’d try to hide it but you’re too busy being frazzled.

“You okay?” He asks you, sounding genuinely concerned. He hooks a finger under your chin. He clocks the look on your face and his concern turns into teasing fast. “Woah. I’m not that bad at kissing, am I?”

You groan and tug yourself out of his grasp to hide your boiling hot face in your hands. It’s likely you’ll hide here for the rest of your life.

Remus laughs. “Oh, come on,” he protests, hands at your forearms and climbing. “Come out and I’ll give you another?”

Never mind.

[puck-bunnies]

behind closed doors

umich!luke hughes x fem!reader

warnings: nsfw 18+, fingering, praising, choking, not proof read

word count: 2.3k

me and luke were never much of friends, never even talked much. at least, that’s what everyone thought. no one ever knows what happens behind closed doors.

i have not used this app in forever, meaning i haven’t written a fic in quite a long time so this is me trying to get back into writing. sorry if this is not great and a little rushed, i just haven’t written anything in like five months. anyways, try to enjoy this fic and ill try to write more as soon as i can.

i sit in the living room of my best friends boyfriends house, she sits beside me as all of ethan’s roommates take up every other seat. the lightning vs islanders game plays on the tv, having all of our eyes glued to it.

the boys are in a constant state of yelling, wether is celebrating, yelling at how stupid the refs are, or booing the other team. i’m not as invested as usual, my teams aren’t playing, but ill never miss an opportunity to a hockey game.

my mind also focuses on the close proximity as luke sits beside me, our thighs lightly rubbing against each other ever so softly. the warm summer weather left me wearing shorts and a tank top, causing luke’s hand to glide across my bare skin as he secretly places his hand on my thigh.

i never intended on sneaking around with luke, it all just happened one day, the house was empty and quiet. we got to talking, venturing from subjects like our classes, plans for our future, and somehow turning into our sex life.

he learned that i’ve never really gotten quite what i need, never feeling that spark with any guy that i’ve been with. them never wanting to try anything i’ve wanted to, i’ve never been fully satisfied.

he continued to tell me how he has slept around quite a bit. nearly almost always leaving the rink with some new blonde puck bunny stuck to his arm. he didn’t wear it as a trophy, or say that he regretted any of it, all just saying it’s apart of his past. his history he can’t and won’t change.

one thing led to another, his hands roaming my body as my lips bit down on his. my hands squeezing the mattress tightly with every moan escaping my lips.

we didn’t even stop there, whenever we could find a time to be alone, we were tangled in each others arms.

here we are now, not even able to keep our hands to ourselves in sight of one another. i try to shake his hand off, not wanting any of the surrounding eyes to see his intimate gesture. he doesn’t move, squeezing my skin harder. i softly pierce my bottom lip with my teeth, try to calm my nerves. i can feel heat bubbling up to my face, painting my cheeks with a faint blush.

my eyes peer over to him, giving him a pleading look to start behaving. he doesn’t budge, giving me a side smirk before returning his eyes on the game.

rutger groans loudly as the 2nd period finishes, “fuck the lightning.” he swears as they’re pulling a 4-1 lead. he chugs back the rest of his beer, throwing the can on the ground in some grown man temper tantrum.

the ads run during the commercial break, leaving the rest of us to disregard the television for the time being. my heart starts to quicken, without their distraction of the game they’re eyes could fall upon luke’s hand on me.

my mind tries to work fast, but the only thing i can think of doing is grabbing the blanket next to me and covering myself with it, concealing us from the wandering eyes. luke’s lips curl into a smirk, proud of me not forcing him off, knowing that i want it. that i want him.

his hand becomes bolder, rubbing up and down my inner thigh. i bite my bottom lip again, trying to stabilize myself from this new feeling. his fingers become more adventurous, going to the hem of my shorts.

“fuck.” i softly mumble to myself, luke’s soft chuckle tells me that he hears my light groans. his fingers don’t stop there, rubbing up to the bottom of my shirt, toying with the cotton material.

the pads of his fingers brush against my sensitive skin, right across the bottom of my stomach. fire engulfs my stomach, my breath hitches as he rubs softly back and forth, tickling my skin.

the game comes back for the final period, my eyes keep trained on the hockey game, but my mind can only focus on his touch as it drives me insane.

he feels my stomach hitch with my breath, he knows i want him so badly, he knows what he does to me. i squeeze my thighs together, trying to cause some type of sensation in my growing wetness.

i can’t take his teasing fingers anymore, “meet me in my room.” i whisper to him. rising from the couch and walking away from the crowded living room. i head for the direction of the bathroom, making them hear my footsteps as i lead their ears to the door closing. i stay outside the bathroom, tiptoeing to my room in an unsteady waiting of luke.

the door finally opens, luke quickly closing the door silently behind him. a deep breath is all i can hear from him, turning around to look at me patiently sitting on the foot of my bed. he takes a seat beside me, quickly gripping my hips and pulling me onto his lap.

“it’s been awhile since we’ve been alone,” my fingers rake up the back of his head, through his soft brown hair, my finger swirling around a curly lock. “too long.” a soft sigh parts from his lips as my fingers lightly scratch at his scalp.

he keeps his hands on my hips, roughly gripping at my denim shorts. “i missed your hands all over me. you can’t tease me out there and not expect me to want more.”

our bodies come closer, our lips so close together, our hearts syncing their beats. i can barely hold myself back from making up that final inch. “tell me how badly you want me.”

“i want you..” he shyly gives into my need. it’s not enough for me, i feed off of hearing how badly he wants me, his hands rubbing up and down my body, the feeling of his cock being buried deep inside me.

“oh yeah…” my lips attach to his neck, softly kissing down from his jaw.

finally he gives in, “i want to feel you against me, your lips on mine, every inch of your beautiful body baby.”

a devilish smirk spreads on my face, “mmm, is that right?” i mumble against his neck, softly sinking my teeth into his sensitive skin, sucking the spot to soothe it after.

“oh god yes.” luke practically moans out. his hands become adventurous, slowly going down to hold my ass in his hands, gripping at my clothed skin. they make their way down farther, gripping at my exposed thighs while my kisses go back up his jaw.

i crave for his taste, forcefully pressing my lips against his in a hungry state. my tongue quickly sliding into his mouth, hands combing through his messy curls, pushing him closer into me. he guides my hips back and forth on him, i can feel him hardening underneath me.

breaking the kiss to catch my breath, i drop my head onto his shoulders as i feel his hands press against my pussy. my hips still grind on him, but instead of just on his hard cock, it’s on his fingers. “mmm, you want me that bad?” he chuckles, i nod against his shoulder.

he undoes my shorts, exposing the top of my pink lacy panties, his fingers drag down them, going farther into my pants. they settle on my wetness, my hips stop rocking, focusing on the closer touch. “god you’re soaked.”

my lip sticks to my teeth in a harsh lip bite, my walls clench around nothing, begging to be filled by him. his fingers work slow and teasingly, rubbing circles around my clothed clit, watching me squirm on top of him. my back slightly arches, legs slowly opening wider for him to have better access to my aching pussy. ���needy, are we?”

i softly whimper, my hips start to grind again, craving more attention from his teasingly slow hands. his fingers move the crotch of my panties aside, touching my wetness with his bare fingers, feeling my folds and them dripping for him. my head lifts off his shoulder, taking a glance down at his hand stuffed down my pants, looking back deep into his eyes.

i take a deep breath out, without a single warning he thrusts a finger in my pussy. making me loudly squeal with surprise. he quickly covers my mouth, stopping his finger in me. “you have to be quiet princess, you don’t want us getting caught, now do you?” he asks. i shake my head no, he hums at my obedience. “good girl.” his voice is in a whisper, softly praising me.

he begins to move his finger once again, letting me adjust to the new sensation before adding another, stretching me out for him. curling his fingers up to my g-spot. finally trusting me enough not to scream, he moves his hand off of my face, settling it down on my hip to keep me steady.

my hands grasp at his curly locks, trying to compose myself. as he adds another finger i bite down on my bottom lip, trying to keep the wanting moans from escaping my lips. a smirk spreads across luke’s face, watching what he can do to me with just his hands. i curse under my breath, dropping my head down to keep my brain straight, the pleasure slowly becoming less bearable.

his fingers quicken, hand comes off my hip and to my chin, lifting my head to force me to stare back into his eyes. “look at me while i’m finger fucking you baby.” my teeth puncture my bottom lip harder, my chest heaving with all the moans i keep to myself. i slip up and let on me out, hard hands hit my throat, softly squeezing. “i thought i told you to keep quiet?”

his grip loosens to allow me to take a breath, closing back up as soon as my chest rises. another finger slips in my cunt, my legs start to squirm, toes curling and hands squeezing his hair. his fingers losen from my throat, falling down to the straps of my tank top. he pulls one strap off each shoulder, one at a time. hooking two fingers at the neckline and pulling down, my tits falling out from my lack of wearing a bra.

he wastes no time before gripping my breast, rubbing his thumb over the sensitive bud. i clench around his fingers, my senses overloading with pleasure. he lowers his head, kitty licking my other nipple. i softly moan, not loud enough for luke to get me in trouble again, but enough for him to know the things he’s doing to me.

my stomach clenches, the feeling i know very well as my head starts to feel light. “i’m so close.” i whimper out. luke doesn’t let up, switching to my other breast, sucking on the nipple before softly biting the skin.

my whole body clenches as i feel my climax, luke’s quick fingers curling inside me quickly. it all comes raining down, my pussy clenching around him as i coat his fingers with myself. he backs up, letting me heave and fall down on his chest to catch my breath.

i quietly curse under my breath, squeezing my eyes shut to recover from my high. i life my head back up to look luke in the eyes. he removes his fingers from my folds, fingers coated with my cum. he slides his fingers into his mouth, licking them clean. my breath catches in my throat again, god damn he makes me want more.

“you’re such a good girl Y/N.” he pops his fingers out of his mouth, “i wish i could fuck you silly right now. but i want to keep all those precious moans to myself, when we can be completely alone.”

before i can even react to his words he puts his lips back onto mine, slipping his tongue in my mouth to let me taste myself. his fingers plant back onto my hips, helping me up to my feet so he can get out from underneath me.

“you go get yourself cleaned up and meet me back in the living room. i pray we weren’t gone too long for anyone to notice.” he whispers, fixing my hair from the sweat that beads on my forehead.

i nod to his words, giving him one last little kiss before he silently slips out of my bedroom. my try to regain my normal breathing patterns, my brain still fuzzy from my previous orgasm.

i obey luke’s wishes, tiptoeing to the bathroom to clean myself off. splashing water into my face to try to remove my blushing red cheeks. i walk back out to the bathroom, seeing everyone engrossed in the final minutes of the third period. i thankfully sigh, slipping back between the guys to sit back down beside luke. he offers me a light smirk, we both then back to the television, watching the game unfold.

[maxiemclaren]

Can you please do one where Oscar and Y/N get a cat together? Ty x

The Orange Tabby

Warnings: fluff with a little angst

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x fem!reader

Summary: you try to convince Oscar to get a cat and he caves.

a/n i honestly blacked out while writing this so let’s hope you enjoy!

“Babe please, just look at how cute they are!” you pleaded with the biggest puppy eyes you could muster, showing him all the cats that were up for adoption at your local shelter. “y/n, love you know how much traveling we do there is just no logical way we could have a pet right now, I’m sorry” he says pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, searching your face for a reaction, you just sigh and fall into his chest and mumble out “fine, I guess one of us has to be realistic”

Over the next few weeks you keep trying to bring up adopting a cat practically anytime you could. When he was working out, making meals, practicing on the sim, even some times when he was in meetings you would find ways to mention the beautiful orange tabby cat that they recently had received. In the kitchen Oscar was making dinner for the both of you, when suddenly you mentioned the orange cat again. “Enough y/n! I understand you might want a cat, but have you thought that maybe I don’t want one!?” Oscar yelled out of frustration, you stood there almost paralyzed, sure you’ve had your fair share of disagreements but he never raised his voice towards you. “Yeah, I guess I never thought about that, sorry Oscar.” you said and retired to the bedroom for the rest of the night. A sigh left Oscar, feeling regretful of yelling at you, he knew better than to come in the shared bedroom when you were both on edge.

In truth Oscar was trying to research how you guys could bring the cat along with you for the races, well along with getting the adoption papers in order, apparently he was a very popular cat having around 15 other people wanting to adopt him.

Oscar kept tip-toeing around the whole cat disagreement for the next week and just blissfully listened to explain why you were so hell bent on getting one. “Well my grandmother had an orange tabby cat when I was younger and he was my favorite thing” you said feeling emotional. He nodded along and held your hand while you explained, he decided enough was enough and he wanted to tell you the good news. “Love, I need to tell you something” he said practically bursting at the seams, you look at him to proceed with what he needed to say “I actually put in adoption papers for the orange tabby as soon as you showed him to me” he blurted out in a rush. “You’re kidding, Oscar Jack Piastri. You better not be messing with me” you said pointing a stern finger at him. “I’m being 100% serious my love, we pick him up next week” 

Next week rolls around with lightning speed, you two have been out almost all day making sure you have everything you need for your cat. Except there was one problem, you couldn’t decide on a name. “Ooh how about Oliver, hmm maybe Thomas” you said very enthusiastically. Oscar just laughed “Seriously Thomas? What is he an old man? A tank engine train?” you huffed back racking your brain for a name you could both agree on when all of a sudden Oscar had a light bulb moment. “Wait what if we named him Papaya?” You thought about it for a moment and came to agreement on the name. 

It has been the best 4 months with Papaya by your side quite literally, it was like your grandmother’s cat was reincarnated into him, he never left your side making Oscar a little jealous that the cat was getting more attention than him. “But loveee, he gets cuddles all day! What about me?” Oscar said pouting, you just chuckled and opened your arms for your clingy boyfriend. “Have I told you that you’re the best boyfriend?” you said while running your fingers through his hair while he laid on top of you. He mumbled out “Yes, at least twice a day since we got papaya” Looking up towards you, pure love behind his eyes. 

[impala-dreamer]

Who We're Pretending To Be

A Story from the YOU Universe

~Joe finds himself getting too close to one of his grad students and he fights the urge to fall completely.~

Joe Goldberg (Jonathan Moore) x F!Reader

5,019 Words

Warnings: NSFW.

A/N: If you've not seen the Netflix show YOU, this may not be your thing. Still a great story, but it helps to know the show. Also, if you've not seen the show, I suggest you get right on that because it is AMAZING.

Set between Seasons 3 & 4. Slight spoilers for s4, but not really. 

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist  ~  Patreon  ~ Published Works

The classroom seems cold today, like there’s something missing. It’s distracting. I can’t quite put my finger on what’s off, but there’s a charge in the air like something’s about to happen; as if lightning could strike at any second.

I don’t mean proverbial lightning, as none of my students seem to have grasped any of the contextual undertones of the book we’re discussing, but actual, live lightning. If I opened the windows behind my desk just a crack, a bolt would sneak through and bury itself in the base of my skull. Maybe that’s what I need- a jolt of electricity, something to break me out of this fog that crept up around me and climbs forever higher threatening to suffocate me.

I think I’d take the lightning to the skull over suffocation, but we don’t always get what we want.

I’m perched on the edge of the desk when the door opens and Y/N comes rushing in.

Suddenly, all of my attention is on her.

She’s never late. Never rushing, always at least ten minutes early for every appointment, every class. She seems- off today, as well. Perhaps she can feel the imminent lightning strike as well. Wouldn’t that be funny? I find a kindred amongst these idiot grad students who can’t even seem to end this horrid debate.

“I am so sorry, Professor Moore.”

Y/N’s voice cracks a bit, which in itself isn’t very unusual. She’s one of the quieter students I’ve encountered, and the only American in my current circle of acquaintances. Her accent is faint, as if she’s attempting to hide it from her schoolmates. She’s been here a while, I can infer; sprinkling in local slang and adding letters to words where back home there would be none. She’s trying hard to fit in, but why? Why not be herself?

“I got held up by-”

I hold up my hand and smile softly. “It’s fine, Y/N. Please take a seat and try to catch up.”

For fuck’s sake, she’s only twenty minutes late, but it looks like every second has weighed her down like lead.

The others pick up their debate and I sit back a bit, cross my arms, pretend to listen. This teaching thing isn’t as hard as everyone makes it out to be. Occasionally, I toss out an idea and let them run with it. Sometimes, I pay attention, mostly I don’t. Mostly I’m thinking of You. Of how beautiful You looked at that art show, of how You gasped when you saw me like You couldn’t decide if You wanted to run to me or away.

From the corner of my eye, I see Y/N timidly raise her hand and You are temporarily pushed aside. She keeps her hand up but close to her chest, as if the very act of asking to speak is somehow terrifying.

How can someone so brave be so terrified to do something as common as speak in class? She’s clearly not a scared person by nature- she moved across an ocean to attend university when she could have gone for free back home to whatever state college she decided to attend. I’ve peeked at her transcripts- she’s smart. Not win a genius grant or a full ride smart, but smart. Why is she so nervous?

I smile and a bit of her nerves seem to quell. Her shoulders relax an inch and she smiles back.

“You know you don’t have to raise your hand, Y/N,” I tell her, laughing gently to put her at ease.

She dips her chin and then looks up with the most beautiful gaze I have ever seen. Her lashes flutter upwards in slow motion, the darkness of her pupils expand, pushing nearly every fleck of color away except the gemlike glow cast by the stained glass window over my head. She smiles and her lips shine like glass. Soft, pink, beautiful glass. I can’t look away and yet I absolutely have to. Thankfully, she speaks and I can act like I’m moving away to sit in my chair and not to get away from her.

“Sorry,” she says, sweet voice sweeping over the room. “I just didn’t want to jump in because I was late but-”

“But you have something to add,” I finish for her.

Her eyes float back to me and the atmosphere shifts. The foreboding of a lighting strike vanishes and the room seems to warm up. Quickly, I sit and scoot the chair close to the desk, set my elbows on the top, clasp my hands near my lips. I can’t stop staring at her.

She nods. “Yes. If that’s alright.”

There it is again, the tiniest speck of British on her tongue. How long has she been living here, and why? It can’t just be for school. She’s too interesting for that. She dresses to blend in; muted colors and clean jeans, her hair always swept back, face free of plastering makeup or too much color. There’s only ever that pink gloss and a gentle brush of mascara. It’s as if she doesn't know how beautiful she is, or perhaps, she doesn’t care.

Or was she one of those kids who never really got any attention until they blossomed but by then it was too late to fit into their personality?

She chews her lip nervously and shyly looks away from me.

No, she knows. She knows how beautiful she is, she just isn’t one to flaunt it; doesn’t need the attention. Or is that how she draws them in?

She’s already talking, but I can’t hear a thing she’s saying. I can hear her voice, that honey like glaze she adds to things when she’s speaking passionately, but the actual words, the meaning- I can’t follow a damned thing. I’m too busy trying to figure her out.

You flash through my mind for a moment; a sweet memory of a smile in the library when You didn’t think I was looking.

What is it about a smile that says so much without words? Does it show who we really are or who we’re pretending to be?

“I just think that love shouldn’t be so easily condemned.”

Y/N’s comment breaks through my thoughts of You and I clear my throat, straighten up in my chair, focus.

Across the room, Nadia rolls her eyes, clearly disagreeing with Y/N’s interpretation. “This isn’t love, it’s obsession. The two can’t and shouldn’t be intertwined.”

Y/N bites her bottom lip and shakes her head.

What does that lip gloss taste like? Berries, perhaps… No. Stop it. Focus.

“I disagree.” Y/N sits forward and tucks her hands below the table. “Love is obsession. Obsession is love. It’s not a tautology, no, but you can have one with the other. If you’re not even a little obsessed with the person you love, is it really love at all?”

My mind is zinging, my ears ringing. Does she truly believe that, or is it all for the sake of debating Nadia? They’ve been at war most of the semester, but this seems truthful, deep.

The bell rings before I can recenter and add anything. I give my head a little shake and stand up, the chair rolling back behind me.

“Class dismissed. Great job today. Lively, wonderful discourse.” I fake a smile at the rest and then settle on Y/N.

She’s taking her time, hanging back as she gathers her things. She stuffs a notebook into her bag and the pen she’s been using rolls away from her.

“Crap.” She lunges across the table for it, but it’s too close to the edge, too far from her reach.

I drop down at the last second and save it from a dusty fate of rolling across the floor. “Gotcha.”

She’s staring when I stand up. Our eyes meet and she doesn’t shy away, but looks even deeper somehow. A smile lifts her cheeks and my pulse quickens.

No.

She holds out her hand and there’s a fleeting second when I want to trace my fingers across her palm, feel how soft and warm she is, but no. I toss her the pen and turn, trying to get her out of my head.

I have more important things to do than become a tired cliche. Some professor falling for a student. It’s an outrageous thought, and besides, I don’t need Y/N, I have You.

I hear the zipper close and a chair being pushed in. She’s leaving.

She lingers in the door and turns back to me with a sweet smile. “Have a good weekend, Professor.”

Her tone is so genuine, so kind that it nearly knocks me backwards. I can’t remember the last time anyone has truly wished me a good time. It’s such an overused pleasantry, so common and boring, but not when she says it. Not when she smiles at me like that, with her eyes still and focused on me.

The warmth spreading through me is real as well and I can’t seem to push it away. “Thank you,” I managed, barely able to stand let alone return the sentiment. “You too.”

The rest of the day goes by quickly but it feels like forever. Two more classes, two more groups of students droning on about what the author really meant, when none of them, not a single one seems to be able to read between the fucking lines. None of them can step back and see the whole picture, capture the meaning as a universe unto itself and not just a line in black and white on an otherwise blank page.

Y/N could read between the lines. Y/N would understand the sum of it all. She would get it.

Stop. Thinking. About. Her.

On my walk home, I think about You. Wondering what You’re up to, where You are tonight. The sun is setting, dragging the sky down into a deep pink and I wonder if You are seeing the same colors where You are. Someday, we’ll sit together on an island in the Pacific and see what that sunset looks like. Would You paint it for me, I wonder…

Y/N crosses my mind for a moment as I gaze at the light reflecting off a window as I pass. Would the sunset hit her shining lip gloss in the same way? Would the pink deepen with the sky? Would she smile if she caught me staring, back away if I leaned in to drag my thumb across her juicy, pink bottom lip?

No.

Darkness has settled and I haven’t moved to turn on a lamp. I’m stuck, glued to my sofa, my hands nailed to my thighs. I keep my eyes open for fear of seeing her face, but bouncing around the room looking for a distraction is only giving me a headache. I need to get out. I need something to do. I need-

A knock at the door.

Who would be knocking at my door at nearly ten o’clock at night?

Curiosity pulls me off of the couch and I switch on the lights as I head to the door. The peephole is clouded as fuck, but I can see her outline. My stomach tightens, my shoulders tense.

What is she doing here?

Her hand raises to knock again, but I unlatch the door before her knuckles hand. I find her dangling in the air, her startled face the most appealing thing I’ve seen in ages. Her eyes go wide, her jaw drops just enough to give me a peek at her tongue. Quickly, she rights herself and shies her gaze away. She chews her lip and I notice the pink gloss is gone, replaced by a deeper red.

Everything about her is different tonight. Her hair is down and fresh, her eyes are lined in black and the color blended above brings out the prisms in her eyes. Her clothes are strange as well: a short skirt, tall boots, a blouse that’s too tight to hide anything. There’s a gold string around her throat, something old, a gift perhaps from a dead relative, or a chance find at an antique shop. She would like diving through boxes of discarded wares looking for treasures, wouldn’t she?

Or maybe I’m just distracted by her appearance. Maybe I should stop trying to pick her apart and send her far, far away.

I’m not that man anymore. I’ve changed. I’m good. I have to be good for You.

It’s been too long since either of us has said anything and the fact of it is hanging in the air between us like some kind of glowing, awkward sign.

Thankfully, she speaks.

“Um… Hi.”

It isn’t much, but it breaks the painful silence.

I smile, confused but curious. My ultimate downfall.

“Y/N. What are you doing here?”

I should say something about it being inappropriate, something about contacting me only during office hours, but she knows. That’s not why she’s here. I can see it in her eyes.

Her hands are tucked behind her back, I notice. She’s holding something, not just shoving her tits in my face, although, I can’t say that I mind. She sees that I’m looking and turns to the side a bit to hide it more.

She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, calming herself, steeling her nerves. Why is she so nervous? What secret is she hiding? What plan has been brewing all day in her head?

That’s it, isn’t it? She was late this morning, distracted and timid because she was planning to come here.

I should be flattered, but I’m too intrigued by her boldness as she slides past me into my flat.

“I know this is highly inappropriate,” she says, the confession like a song on her lips. “But… I… Well…”

Her nose scrunches up in the most adorable way while she searches for the right words. It’s endearing and makes me want to sit for hours and listen to her talk, discover exactly who she is and why.

I’m still standing in the open doorway, I realize, so I move aside and let it close. My back presses into the door and I hold my tongue, letting her get to the point.

She’s struggling, dancing around it in her head.

I want to crack open her skull and watch the thoughts spark through the gray matter like shooting stars.

“If you’re worried you’ll get in trouble,” I say, trying to get things moving, “you won’t. I’m just wondering why you’re here and how it is that you know where I live.”

She laughs and digs her tooth into the corner of her lip. “I’m not… stalking you or anything, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

I almost laugh. Almost.

“Nothing that nefarious,” she goes on. “But I did do something bad.”

The nerves seem to fall away from her the more she speaks and her demeanor changes. Her voice deepens ever so slightly and her hip pops to the side as she looks me over. Is she… flirting with me?

“I doubt you’ve done anything newsworthy, Miss Y/L/N…”

She takes a step forward and her lips pucker gently.

She is flirting with me.

“I hope not,” she says with a little laugh. “You see, I work part time in the admin office…”

I didn’t know that. I don’t know a lot about her. So many things to uncover, so many artifacts to dust off and examine.

“OK…” I push off from the door and take a step towards her. She counters, stepping backwards, guiding me to follow.

“And, well, I accidentally was looking at your files and-”

“Accidentally?”

She presses her tongue between her front teeth and smiles, eyes falling across my face. “Accidentally on purpose,” she clarifies. “I was… curious.”

“About me?”

Another step closer but she doesn’t move this time, letting me close the space between us by a few forbidden inches.

She sighs sweetly. “A little, yes.”

I dip my chin and look up, lifting my brows in question. She pulls in a quick breath, clearly enjoying the look I’ve given her.

“OK, maybe a little more than a little.”

One more step and I’m closer than I’ve ever really been to her, except just now when she invited herself in. I take a breath and she smells warm like vanilla, sweet like honey. The fantasy of berries on her lips falls away and I suddenly want to bury my face in the crook of her neck and do nothing but breathe in her scent, feel it invade my senses, infect my bloodstream.

Her chest heaves with a heavy breath and her eyes grow a little darker. She wants me.

“Maybe a lot curious,” she whispers, lifting her chin and blinking slowly.

Is she daring me to kiss her? Can she feel the lightning between us? Dare I?

No. She’s a student. She’s off limits. She’s not… You.

She must notice my hesitation and steps back a pace. She clears her throat. “Anyway. I saw that it was your birthday today.”

It’s not my birthday. Not my real birthday, anyway, just the one on the fake passport with the fake name and real photo.

I smile because I have to. “It is.”

Whatever she’s hiding behind her back shifts between her hands. “And, well, it’s presumptuous of me but I’ve never heard you talk much about friends or family and… you don’t wear a… ring. I just… Well, I know how hard it is to be a world away from what you know, and this city isn’t exactly kind in general, so…”

She’s rambling and I don’t ever want her to stop. Her voice ebbs and flows over me like a sultry tsunami and I can feel my fingers twitch, my blood rush through my system faster and faster.

“I just don’t think anyone should be alone or forgotten on their birthday so-” Finally, she reveals the mystery behind her back and holds out a green glass bottle. “I took a chance that you were a scotch man. At first I thought wine, but I know nothing about wine, and the guy at the shop said this one was good, so… Happy birthday, Professor.”

She hands me the bottle and without thinking, I take it. It’s not expensive by any means, but it’s the gesture that counts. She doesn’t let go right away, holding it with me, as if she can communicate her desires through the blown glass.

“Thank you.” I smile, let my finger brush against hers. “This is… very thoughtful.”

She lets go but doesn’t move otherwise. Her eyes are locked on me, her stare so pure.

I have to get her out of here.

Y/N shrugs and smiles, so confident now, so sure. “It’s nothing, really. I don’t even know if it’s any good.”

Her meaning lingers and I nod, gesture to the sofa as I start to peel off the seal on the top of the bottle.

“Join me for a glass?”

She bites her lip again and I nearly lose it.

“Love to.”

The scotch isn’t terrible but it’s not great. More like something you’d grab if you were just looking to get drunk, not necessarily gift someone you’re trying to impress.

Is that what she’s doing here? Trying to get me drunk? Surely, she knows she’s impressed me long before today. The looks between us in class, the lectures directed almost entirely at her have not gone unnoticed, but this, this is different. This is dangerous. She is dangerous.

The sofa suddenly feels too small. We sit close, drinking and chatting about life in London. She tells me about her family back home and how she had to cross an ocean to escape a misspent youth and an abusive father figure. I lie my way through a few answers but mostly, I let her talk.

The more she drinks, the looser her tongue gets, the freer her gestures. More than once, her hand falls to my knee and even though I should, I don’t push her away. Even though I should stand up, take her glass, ask her to get the hell out of my house, I can’t. I can’t do anything but stare at her lips as she speaks, drown myself in the tone of her voice, memorize the shape of her ears, her nose, slope of her shoulder. I’m lost in time with her and even though I know the clock is careening past midnight, I don’t care. I don’t want her to leave. I don’t want her to move. I want to be frozen in this moment with her. I want to die in her arms but not before…

“Professor?” She laughs gently, loose and relaxed from the alcohol. She leans in, her shoulder pressing against mine. “Are you even listening to me?”

Honestly, I have no idea what she’s been saying, but I can’t let her know that. I shift a bit, turning towards her. There’s barely room left for the Holy Ghost, as they say, but I doubt he’d begrudge me a little closeness, especially on my- on Jonathan’s birthday.

“I’m listening,” I whisper, captivated by the way she’s glowing. “I’m always listening to you.”

She squirms a bit and smiles behind her glass, takes another sip, downing the rest. There’s a drop of amber gold on her lip and it takes every ounce of restraint in me not to sweep it away with my tongue.

She pats the back of her hand against it and the moment is gone.

“Ya know, you’re one of the best teachers I’ve ever had. And I’m not just sayin’ that. You really are. I get you. I see you, Jonathan Moore. I see inside you.”

She slurs a bit, but not enough for it to be considered a crime if I touch her. That’s all I want to do, just a simple touch. Just to feel how soft she is beneath my fingers, how smooth the curve of her cheek.

Ripping myself away from the impulse, I take the glass from her hand and set hers next to mine on the coffee table. “I think you’ve had enough, Miss. Y/L/N.”

Her hand lands on my chest, right in the very center of me. Can she feel my heartbeat? Does she know how much I want her?

“You can call me by my name, ya know,” she says, dropping her chin and smiling. She’s so close that it would take but a tiny nudge to taste her. “Everyone just calls me Y/N/N.”

This is insane. She needs to leave. I need to slam the door behind her and never open it again.

“Y/N/N.”

Her name falls from my tongue like an incantation and her eyes go hazy. She leans closer, her breath fanning over my lips.

“Say it again,” she asks, nearly begging, “please…”

Fuck, this isn’t good. I can’t do this. I shouldn’t do this. I need to- Fuck, what does it all matter? She’s beautiful and interesting and smart and sitting next to me barely dressed and all she wants is me to whisper her name. What’s the harm?

“Y/N/N.”

The spell falls over her and I know it’s too late to back away. Her eyes fall closed and she leans in, pressing her crimson painted lips to mine. She exhales, pushes herself into the kiss, lets out a tiny moan.

She feels so good and it’s all I can think about. She pulls back and I lean in, needing more. My arms wrap around her, stealing her away. She melts against me, opens her lips to my tongue. The vanilla on her skin mixes with the scotch on her tongue and I’m blown away.

“Professor…”

If feels wrong, so fucking wrong, but I can’t stop tasting her, can’t stop breathing into her with every ounce of air in my body.

I let her go for a second, thinking she’s changed her mind, but no, she’s even more ready than I am.

She stands up, fits her knees in between mine and slowly unbuttons her blouse.

My eyes are huge, I know it. I must look like an idiot but I can’t help it. She’s here, beautiful and curvaceous, teasing me, undressing for me. It’s all for me. She’s here for me.

The blouse floats to the floor and she looks down at me, a hint of previous nerves returning. Her bra is pale pink and covered in lace. Something so pure and innocent covering up something I would kill for.

I would, I realize. I would kill for her.

She wiggles out of her skirt and her hips are distracting. I want to touch, to feel my bones crushing into hers, to sink myself deep inside just to see what it’s like, to know her, to feel all of her.

“You like?” she asks, innocence ringing in her soft voice.

What happened in her past that would make her ask such a thing? Who hurt her so badly, who crushed her self esteem to the point that she wouldn’t be able to tell if I was enjoying her delicious display?

“Of course. You’re… absolutely stunning.”

I can’t say more or I’ll break. I reach for her and she slides into my lap, locking her thighs around mine. She presses down on me and my cock responds, all blood and logic rushing down to push back at her ass.

She wraps her hands around my neck and bends to kiss me. Her fingers tangle in my hair, she curls them, tugs gently, testing, enjoying. Her kisses deepen and her hips roll. I’m about to lose my mind.

“I’ve wanted to do this since the first day of class,” she moans, scraping her nails across my scalp.

The sensation is intoxicating and my eyes roll back a bit as she tugs hard. Her right hand is locked in my hair and her left is dragging down my chest. I should stop her. I should stand up. I should…

“Fuck.”

Her hand sneaks into my slacks and she scoots back onto my knees for better access. I can’t even think straight as she rubs at my cock. Her hand is soft, warm, firm. I know I’m moaning, but I can’t help it. I might just die here beneath her.

Her tongue glides across my lips. “So hard to sit in class and not dream about fucking you…”

Something snaps inside of me and I let go. I grab at her tits, peel the delicate lace down and pinch her nipples hard until she’s crying out and arching against me.

“I can’t even read anymore,” she admits, nearly breathless as my lips seal around her left nipple. “Every page makes me think of you. I can hear every word in your voice. I- oh God-”

I bite down just enough to stop her train of thought and I look up to see a blank, beautiful stare.

“I want you,” she whispers, lips never quite closing after.

Fuck. This is what I was trying to avoid. This feeling, this hunger inside of me. This need to fall into someone else, this treacherous lust that forces me to act.

“Please…”

Her hand falls to the nape of my neck and it’s so delicate, so tender that I break.

Wrapping my arms around her, I stand and twist, flipping her over onto her back. She gasps and reaches for me, kissing through the shock while I tug the slacks from my hips. She yanks at my shirt, fumbling with the tiny plastic buttons, licking at every new inch of exposed flesh.

“Want you inside me so bad,” she sings, nearly praying as if I’m some ancient god on high that can make all her dreams come true.

I don’t know about all of them, but this prayer, I can answer.

I tear the lace from her hips and fall down over her, crushing her into the old sofa. Her breath stops for a blessed second and I swear I can hear her heart racing through the silence. She runs her hands across my shoulders and down, curling them around my hips while spreading her legs wider.

“Please… Please… Please…”

Her whine is pathetic but I can’t get enough. If I had it in me to drag this out, to tease her for hours, I would, but the scotch has clouded my head and the sight of her strung out and desperate makes it impossible to wait.

She inhales hard when I sink into her. I can feel myself falling but I press my hands beside her head and hold on as best I can.

She feels like heaven.

Or the closest thing to heaven I’ll ever know.

Wet and warm and tight, I can feel her throbbing around me. Every thrust is like magic, making her shiver and squirm and tighten up even more. She clings to me, nails digging into my arms, mouth searching and thirsty for more.

“Jon-”

I almost go insane. It’s not even my name, but it feels so right on her lips that I wish it was.

I feel her orgasm; her body clenching down on me and pulling me in deeper. It’s so hard not to scream her name at the top of my lungs. Nearly impossible not to stay here forever.

I fall down, shove my face into the crook of her neck and thrust a few more times. I know it’s over too soon, but she doesn’t seem to mind.

She rakes her hand through my hair, gently this time, and finds my lips, kissing me sweetly.

“Hi,” she laughs when our eyes finally focus and find each other through the afterglow.

God, she’s beautiful. So giving, so loving, so perfect in a million different ways that it’s actually breaking my heart.

I smile and peck her lips as I go soft inside of her.

“Hello, You.”

2024 Forever Tags (Always Open! Send an Ask!)

@alwaystiredandconfused @babysimpala @beardburnsupersoldiers @chenshemesh1 @cosicas-cuquis @deans-baby-momma @deanwinchesterswitch @feelmyroarrrr @foxyjwls007 @hobby27 @impalaspixie @jackles010378 @kazsrm67 @k-slla @leigh70 @lyarr24 @nancymcl @peachy-vans @pizzagirlxnsfwx @rachiem4-blog @sexyvixen7 @suckitands33 @the-wounded-healer05  

[suzukiblu]

Ko-fi thank-you sentences for Octopus behind the cut; Billy adopts Conner and it actually goes pretty good! (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“I mean, unless you’d rather have gotten a tutor or something, I guess, probably Batman could’ve helped me find you a tutor,” Billy says, shrugging a little awkwardly. He used to help other foster kids with their homework a lot, though, and he taught a couple street kids he knew some bits and pieces of stuff, at least. And also–“Wisdom of Solomon, you know? It’s, um, kinda a thing. Anyway, I’m gonna help you with your powers, so it’s the same kind of thing, right? And it’s normal to read to your kids, too.” 

“I don’t need to read to be a weapon,” Lynn mutters, still looking down at Tawky. “Not if I’m being deployed with a team, anyway.” 

. . . Billy thinks maybe he could just go ahead and burn down whatever’s left of Cadmus. Like. Morally, and all. Ethically. Whichever. 

“I’m not helping you with your powers so you can be a weapon,” he says firmly, making himself keep his voice even so Lynn won’t think he’s mad at him. Or, uh–royally fucking pissed at him, more accurately. That’s Cadmus. Like, definitely it’s Cadmus that he’s royally fucking pissed at. “I’m helping you with your powers so you don’t get hurt or accidentally hurt anybody else. Like–so you can use them however you want.” 

“I’m the thing that gets used,” Lynn says as he folds one of Tawky’s ears back and forth, voice and expression both just distant enough to make Billy hate literally everything that’s made Lynn feel like that. 

He is definitely gonna put in a request with the League to let him burn down whatever’s left of Cadmus. Either that, or there’s gonna be a real convenient thunderstorm concentrated right on top of it, and a whole lot of equally convenient and equally concentrated lightning strikes. 

And if that fails, then there’s gonna be a twelve year-old “civilian” sneaking in with some matches and lighter fluid, and he’s just gonna commit arson the old-fashioned way. 

“If anyone ever says that to you again, I’m gonna make them sorry for even thinking it,” he says as evenly as he can. Lynn’s mouth tightens. He keeps his head down. 

“. . . why would you have read to me?” he asks, the question a little guarded. “That wouldn’t have taught me anything.” 

“It would’ve taught you that I’d read to you,” Billy says. Lynn–frowns, like maybe he doesn’t understand what he means. Billy’s not sure he understands what he means, just . . . 

His dad read to him. And his mom too. 

And Uncle Eben definitely did not. 

And Cadmus didn’t read to Lynn either, he’s betting. As far as he can tell, all Cadmus ever did was jam a really biased education into his head and lie to and mind-control him, in fact. 

Cadmus was just really awful to Lynn in general, as far as Billy can tell. 

Lynn thought they’d have kryptonite here, so . . . yeah. Cadmus was definitely awful to him.

Billy really, really wants to make sure that Lynn’s first thought is never something like that again. Or at least, that his first thought is never something like that when it’s about him. 

About the person who’s taking care of him, he means. Lynn should–he shouldn’t–

Billy always felt safe with his dad. With both of his parents. He wants Lynn to feel that way too, because Lynn deserves to feel that way too. Like no matter what tries to hurt him, it’s gonna have to go through somebody else first, and somebody who’d never just stand by and let it get to him. 

Billy doesn’t know if Lynn’s ever felt safe in his life, all things considered. He grew up in a pod being lied to and woke up to mind control and more lies and got attacked by, like, a giant mutated jerk of a doctor who’d been controlling and hurting him all his life already, and then he left the only place he’d ever known just because he thought it was the right thing to do, and . . . 

Yeah. Billy can’t imagine “safe” is a feeling Lynn’s all that familiar with yet. 

Can’t imagine he’s ever really felt it at all, at this point. 

He–swallows, a little, and then makes himself smile at him again. Lynn’s still not looking at him, but Billy figures he’ll hear it in his voice, if nothing else. 

“I’ll read to you anyway, if you want,” he offers as he links his hands together behind his back, his voice coming out a little awkward; a little quiet. He doesn’t mean for it to, but . . . “Even if you can do it yourself.” 

Lynn doesn’t say anything. He rubs the pad of his thumb across one of Tawky’s paw pads and then squeezes it, just a little. Billy doesn’t blame him for wanting to hold somebody’s hand right now. It’s–a lot, probably. All this is probably a lot. 

All this is definitely a lot, and Billy doesn’t blame Lynn for anything he’s feeling about any of it at all. When everything changes all at once like–when somebody’s whole life changes and they lose everything and everyone they had before, and . . . and . . . 

It’s just a lot, he knows. 

Like–yeah. 

Of course it is. 

“. . . sure,” Lynn says, and glances up–not at Billy, exactly, but in his direction. He’s looking at his shoulder more than anything else, Billy’s pretty sure, but that’s fine by him. He brightens instinctively, resisting the urge to float up a little in excitement. 

“Cool!” he says. “Um–okay, yeah. Cool.” 

Lynn ducks his head again, looking more towards the wall now. He’s still holding Tawky’s paw, though, and he didn’t, like, go run off and hide in his room or get mad or anything, so Billy thinks things are going okay, really. Even if–even if some of this is a little harder to talk too much about, maybe. 

He really does want Lynn to feel safe with him, though, so he’s gonna have to be able to talk to him about the harder stuff too. 

He can do that, he promises himself. Or–he’s gonna do that, anyway. He’ll figure it out, one way or the other. 

Lynn deserves a dad who can do that, and Billy’s already decided he’s gonna be the kind of dad Lynn deserves, so–yeah. 

He can do it. 

He wonders if his parents ever felt like this with him. Felt like–like it was hard and scary and weird, but like they still needed and wanted to figure it out and do it right, whatever it took. Like it was more important to do it right than . . . than anything else. 

He doesn’t know, obviously. And he’s never gonna get to ask. But . . . but he hopes he’s at least doing this right enough that they would’ve been happy about it. Been–proud of him, for taking after them. Being like them, even just a little bit. 

They were both really good parents, and he just . . . they’re gone, and he’ll never see them again, and no one really remembers them the same way he does. No one loves them the same way he does. Not anymore. 

So–so if he can be a good dad to Lynn like they were good parents to him, then maybe at least there’ll be a little bit more of them left in the world. A little bit more that they got to do; got to make happen. Make matter. 

And maybe . . . maybe that means Lynn will love some part of them too, technically, if Lynn ever loves him. 

If Billy does this right, anyway. 

“Do you wanna walk to the library too?” he suggests. “It might be a little farther away than the diner, I think, but not too bad. And, um, we’ve got super-stamina and all, so yeah.” 

“. . . I’ve never walked that far before,” Lynn says. Billy blinks, wondering how Lynn knows that. He didn’t say how far it was for sure, just–

Oh. 

“You’d never walked as far as the diner before?” he realizes. Lynn nods stiffly. Billy’s chest sort of–hurts a little, maybe. “Did you like it, or was it too much? I know it’s kind of exposed and there’s a lot more people than you’re probably used to and all, so it’s okay if–” 

“It was fine,” Lynn cuts in, and then hunches his shoulders a little. “Uh. I mean–it was fine.” 

Billy’s own shoulders slump a bit in relief, and he smiles wider at him. Okay. That’s–okay, yeah. 

He really likes Lynn. Like–Lynn’s really easy to like, he means. He’s glad about that. Not that he was gonna take anything back or send Lynn back if he was hard to get along with or anything, obviously, but . . . he’s still glad, yeah. 

Really glad.

[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.”

[hellfirenacht]

Wing Man Part 8

Fic Summary: Steve 'the Hair' Harrington is your best friend, and is constantly striking out. Sick of this, you two make a deal; you'll wing man for each other. Hooking Steve up with dates is easy, but he finds himself struggling to find you a date. At least, until Dustin starts talking about his new cool friend Eddie.

(1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9)

Chapter Summary: Eddie explains himself, and you two make plans to hang out on purpose.

5.7k Words

a/n: Sorry I haven't been updating! I swear, I'm almost always thinking about this fic but I've been trying to figure out where to go with it. I'm started to see how I want to shape the story (over 40k words in, go figure). Thank you all so much for your patience!

Also, I've had a lot of people ask me about Paige and have shown interest in what happened between her and Eddie. She is actually from Eddie's prequel novel, Flight of Icarus! I'll still explain bits and pieces during the story, but I highly recommend reading the novel for the full context. I am trying to write this in a way you don't need to read FoI, but it does give extra context to the story.

Anyway, we continue.

Aside from the mixtape playing in the van, it was surprisingly quiet between you and Eddie. Despite his eagerness to show up and take you out, now that you were sitting in his passenger side seat again, he had no idea what to do next. The sound of Iron Maiden was rumbling through the van, crackling through the old speakers. 

It wasn’t often that Eddie was at a loss for words or couldn’t come up with something to say. After embracing his role in the Hawkins High ecosystem as the resident loudmouth freak he could always come up with something to say to break the ice or cause a ruckus. 

But, being loud wasn’t exactly a substitution for actual charisma. He could hold the attention of his Hellfire Club during the game, and keep them safe enough from most bullies even. But intimidation was different than... whatever the hell he was supposed to be doing here. Flirting? That seemed right. He knew he should be trying to flatter you or compliment you or do something to show that he had an interest in you. 

“So,” you were the one to break the silence between the two of you. “What have you been up to for the past two weeks?”

Eddie know what you actually meant was “What the fuck, man?” which was a really fair question. 

“I should have called you sooner.” It was best to go ahead and rip the bandaid off now and get this conversation out of the way. “I’m sorry, I wanted to but I couldn’t.”

“Why not?” you asked, leaning against the passenger side door as you looked at him. Despite your eagerness to get out of Family Video with him, he could see that you weren’t going to just let him not explain why he hadn’t talked to you. Not that he was going to leave you hanging like that anyway. 

“My phone blew up.” Eddie said bluntly. 

“Your phone blew up? Like... actually exploded?” you asked, trying to see if he was fucking with you. 

“Remember that huge storm a few weeks ago? Turns out that old trailers don’t exactly have the best wiring sometimes so when lightning strikes it knocks out power for a few days and fries some important wires.” he explained. “So... yeah, we just got a new phone today and when I tried to call...”

“So, I didn’t answer my phone so you decided to track me down?” There was amusement in your voice which he took as a good sign. “Seems like you could have done that part earlier. I’m not hard to find.” 

“I’m not exactly interested in stalking.” Eddie snorted. “I’m already on enough people's shitlist in town.”

“Oh, you’re no fun.” you laughed. “You know where I live, you could have shown up at my doorstep in the rain or used random phones around town to leave weird messages about how you can’t stop thinking about me or sent me letters with cryptic meanings.”

“Where do you come up with these things?” Eddie laughed, feeling the tension between the two of you start to dissipate. 

“I read a lot of bodice-ripper books.” you shrugged. “Trashy romance novels are a guilty pleasure sometimes.” 

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a weirdo?” 

“Steve did about an hour ago when I suggested that Bozo the clown could be the shit out of Pennywise from It.” 

Eddie wasn’t sure what he expected you to say, but it wasn’t that. Every time you had shown up in his life, you had completely thrown him off. He was starting to suspect that no amount of “Munson Magic” was going to work on you. Not that he wanted to work his dad’s charm on you to begin with. 

What he really wanted to do at that moment was ask you about your little bet with Steve. No, wait, not a bet. A deal? Maybe he should have asked Dustin more questions, or at least waited until after Hellfire to talk to the kid- 

”So what’s the plan?” You broke through his thoughts once again. “You show up out of nowhere and have me get into your unmarked van to take me to a second location... is there a second location in mind?”

There wasn’t, Eddie really hadn’t thought that far ahead.He’d panicked after his talk with Wayne and had shown up to Family Video on the chance that you’d been there. He’d run straight out the door with every intention of finding you and let you know that he was stupid for not trying harder to call you before. 

”I figured we could just... drive.” He wished he could ignore the sudden parallel between you and Paige. He wished that he could just forget about what happened in ‘84. Fuck, him and Paige never even had an official date, only hooking up in his van for a few weeks before everything blew up. 

Wait, was this a date? Crap, that had been the plan right? Show up, ask you on a date and then... then he’d be on a date. What the FUCK was he actually doing? He was acting so fucking awkward now- everything had been easier before. Why did Dustin have to open his big mouth about this?

“Just driving sounds great.” you said, and Eddie once again tried to relax. Every girl he had been with had wanted something from him. Nicole Summers and Cass Finnigan just wanted bragging rights that they got with the freak, and Paige had wanted him to be a rock hero. What did you want from him?

“Have you eaten?” It wasn’t exactly late, but it wasn’t really early in the evening either. His uncle always asked him that whenever one of them got home, and it had taken Eddie an embarrassingly long time to realize that it was Wayne’s way of showing that he cared. 

“I could eat.” you replied, which at least gave this... whatever this was, some structure for the night. Eddie didn’t have a lot of cash on him, but he could probably scrape together enough to get you each a burger or something. 

When the Iron Maiden tape clicked off and spat itself out, you took it upon yourself to pull it out and look it over. “Got any other tapes in here? I need to judge your music taste.” 

That made Eddie laugh “You and every other person in this town. I have a few more tapes in here.” He tapped on the center console which you eagerly dug into, flipping through the different cassettes with eagerness. 

“Metal. Metal. Metal. Metal.” You said, going through each cassette one by one. “I’m starting to see a pattern here, Eddie.” 

“What gave it away?” He said deadpan. “Was it that I play guitar or the fact that we’ve only bonded over music so far?”

“And Chris Morrison.”

“And Chris Morrison.”

“It was your hair, actually. You look so much like Eddie Van Halen it’s actually uncanny.” You looked up from the tapes and he could feel your eyes studying his face. He was glad that it was dark out now, as he could feel warmth rising in his cheeks at the comparison. Was that a compliment? Were you into him looking like Van Halen? 

“Van Halen?” Eddie asked. “I figured I was more of a Kirk Hammett type.”

“The hair yes,” you agreed, still staring at his face as he continued to drive. “But your smile is definitely more Van Halen.”

When was the last time someone had ever looked at him with that much consideration before? Something in Eddie’s gut twisted as he glanced over at you for a split second to meet your eyes. Huh, that was weird. Had anyone made him nervous like this before? Yeah he’d been attracted to Paige but this was starting to feel different. 

He really needed a cigarette right about now. 

“I hope that’s a compliment.” Eddie managed to say as he fumbled for the packet of Camels in the cupholder by him. 

“Oh, it is. I promise.” you replied, digging out a lighter and helping him light the smoke in his mouth. The world's tiniest supernova...

Eddie hated that the closest thing he had to compare notes on when it came to a healthy romance was two months with Paige and a handful of movies that he barely watched. 

You went back to his tapes, and seemed to pick one out. You removed the tape that had been spat out, put it back in the appropriate case (which Eddie found himself appreciating), and he was surprised to hear the old riffs of Muddy Waters playing. 

“A palate cleanser.” you said, leaning back into the passenger side seat. 

Eddie felt his mind reeling from your choice of music. Muddy Waters had been how his mom introduced him to rock at a young age. The two of you sat in silence for a few minutes, listening to the well loved tape as he pulled into the drive in of the next fast food joint he’d seen. 

When he pulled up to the window to pay, a fresh ten was shoved in his face before he could even reach for his own wallet. It took a moment for him to realize that you were wanting to pay. 

“You got me out of work early, it’s the least I can do.” you said, not giving him the option to say no as cash was exchanged for a bag of questionable but cheap food. You held the bag in your lap as Eddie started making his way out of town. 

“So is this an ‘eating van’ or a ‘non-eating van’?” you asked, messing with the top of the bag. 

“I think I’d starve if I didn’t eat in here.” Eddie snorted. “Knock yourself out.”

You wasted no time digging into the fries and taking a few for yourself as Eddie went to the only place that he could afford to take you right now that might be date worthy. 

Luckily, Lover’s Lake was quiet and private on weeknights. If Eddie had taken two minutes to plan this better, he would have thought to maybe clear out the back of his van and set out a blanket and have a picnic. When it came to music and D&D he was great at planning out details, with dates? Not so much. 

This isn’t a date. He reminded himself for the hundredth time tonight. She’s just a girl that you ran over to spend time with the second it occurred to you that she might have an interest in you and she really willingly hopped in your van and your friends actually like her-

Shit. This had to be a date right? Neither of you had said the word but that’s what it was... right? 

Eddie was snapped out of his thoughts with the sweet smell of hot potatoes and grease was wafting under his nose. You had shoved a few fries in front of his face and Eddie wasted no time in taking them. You continued to absently feed him fries as he found a spot to park.

The two of you divided up the food on his dashboard, and Eddie rolled down the windows to let the cool autumn air in. 

“So... what are you gonna be for Halloween?” Eddie asked, wincing internally. When was the last time anyone he knew had dressed up for Hallowen? Okay, so Hellfire Club did tend to dress up on Halloween for a special one shot but that was different- no one came to school in costumes anymore.

“It depends on my plans.” you answered. “Halloween is on a Thursday so I’m usually working. If I have a morning shift I’ll probably do zombie makeup for work, if Steve and Robin are working with me that day I think we’re gonna attempt to be Luke, Leia, and Hans.” 

“And are you gonna be Leia?” Eddie asked. 

“Ideally, I wanted to be Chewie but I don’t have the time for that.” you laughed. “Robin and I voted on Steve to Be Leia. Robin will be Luke, and I’ll be Hans Solo with a teddy bear.”

“Please tell me that Harrington isn’t going to be in the bikini.” Eddie laughed. 

“Keith said costumes had to be work appropriate so, sadly, Steve will not be gracing the store with his sweater-vest chest hair under a bra.” You sighed dramatically. “It’s like he hates the idea of us having fun!” 

“What if you have to close?” Eddie prompted, adjusting in his seat to lean against the door to face you as best he could. Next time he was absolutely clearing out the back to give you both more room. 

“Oh, I am not closing.” you said firmly. “And if Keith thinks he can schedule me that day he can suck it because I have plans.” 

You already have Halloween plans. Of course you would. It’s not like you had to worry about school on a weekday like he did. Eddie tried not to deflate in front of you and remained calm. 

“And what plans would that be?” he asked. 

“Have you ever seen The Rocky Horror Picture Show?” you asked, a smile tugging at your lips. 

He had, once, with Reefer Rick a few months ago when picking up his usual supply. A quick pick up had turned into a game of pool, which had turned into the two of them high on Rick’s couch watching an old VHS tape while Rick laughed his ass off and yelled at the tv before passing out in the middle of Tim Curry seducing Brad and Janet. 

“Once.” Eddie said, not giving the exact details of circumstance. “With a friend, I didn’t really get it.” 

“Did you see it in theaters or did you just watch it at home?” you asked, finishing off your food. 

“Friend’s house.” 

“Oh, no wonder you didn’t get it. Rocky Horror is an experience, you can’t just pop the tape in and watch it. You have to come see it in a theater.” As you spoke you were absently folding a napkin in your lap turning it into what looked like a heart. When you were done with that one, you started with another shape with a different napkin. 

“Is that an invitation?” Eddie asked, tearing his eyes away from the way your fingers moved for now. He found his heart pounding in his chest, unsure if you were actually wanting him to come to this, and from the knot forming in his stomach as the shapes you were folding reminded him of the times he met you before. 

“It is.” you confirmed, the ninja star you had shaped with the napkin was placed on the center console as you grabbed another napkin. “...It could also be a date.” 

Despite the period at the end of the sentence, Eddie heard the slight waiver in your voice on the word date. It was that same nervous stammer that had been in Paige’s voice when she offered to let him move in with her in California, it was the same hesitant inflection that one of his Hellfire players used when they weren’t sure if Eddie would approve of what crazy plan they had for their character. 

Aside from that first awkward meeting at the Palace Arcade, you had been pretty confident and upfront with him. Now here you are, laying out your intentions and seeing what he would do. 

What would he do? Eddie had shown up at Family Video with no real plan. He only knew he wanted to see you again, and he knew that Dustin and Steve were trying to set you two up. And it’s not like Eddie was completely against the idea of going on a date with you. You were sharp, and you kept him on his toes, and when you smiled at him it felt like his brain might short out. 

But he had also panicked when he had thought that you were going to kiss him before. After Eddie’s disastrous break up with Paige two years ago, it’s not like he’d been completely against any physical relationships. There had been a grand total of two other hook ups that he’d sabotaged. People weren’t interested in getting to know the freak, they just wanted to say that they had been with him. So both times, Eddie had made sure that he’d been a lousy date and a decent enough lay before deciding that he’d rather had a date with his right hand and a Heavy Metal magazine.

Eddie would rather the rumor mill call him a boring date rather than set a standard that he’d go out with anyone who asked. He wondered if he had, would Steve have put his name on the town marquis for the world to see? Would Eddie ‘the Slut’ Munson be treated any differently than Eddie ‘the Freak’?

Shit, you were still waiting for a response. 

“A date.” Eddie finally managed to echo your last words back at you. The napkin you had been messing with in your hands was now taking the shape of a ninja star. 

“I mean, if you’re interested.” you said quickly. “It could just be a friend thing. Or you probably already have plans for Halloween-”

“I don’t.” Eddie interjected. “It could be a date.”

He watched your shoulders relax and you smiled up at him. “It’s a date then.” You grabbed a napkin and your green marker out of your bag and scribbled something down, handing it over to him. 

“In case your phone blows up again, here is the date and time and location for the Halloween showing of the movie.” your eyes narrowed slightly at him. “And my work schedule has been hectic but I consistently work on Sunday’s and clock out at four.”

Eddie got the message loud and clear, he would know where to find you now. There wouldn’t be any excuses for not reaching out, but two could play at this game. He took the marker from your hand and grabbed his own napkin, scribbling his own phone number down and handing it over to you. 

“I’m at school all week, but I still play at the Hideout on Tuesdays.” He answered back. “Friday is Hellfire.”

With that, the playing field felt a little more level. Both of you now had the power to track the other one down or call when needed.   

“So what are you going to be for Halloween?” you asked, tucking the napkin with his number into your bog. 

“Oh, haven’t you heard? When you’re the town freak every day is Halloween.” Eddie chuckled. 

“So what, you’re gonna put on a polo and khakis instead?” He liked the way you scrunch your nose when you laughed. “Ditch the jewelry and cover your tattoos?” 

“That would probably scare some of the teachers at school.” Eddie had considered doing exactly that, but he really didn’t think he’d want that kind of attention. “No one dresses up at school anymore.”

“Boring.” You sighed. “I tried dressing up for Halloween my senior year but when I got to school my friends convinced me to change clothes.”

Eddie raised an eyebrow. “You don’t seem like the type to let other people tell you what to do.” 

“Now I’m not.” you shrugged. “I’m not in high school anymore, and all those people that I saw everyday? Turns out I was only friends with them because I saw them every day. Once you get away from that forced routine you realize that it’s all bullshit.”

Eddie could relate, probably better than anyone else. He was so sick of the day to day hierarchy of highschool that he’d scream it from on top of a table. Literally. 

“What were you trying to be before your friends killed your fun?” Eddie asked. 

“A pirate. It was last minute but I had a bandana, an eyepatch, a sock puppet with feathers glued to it for my parrot, and a wire hanger I was carrying around as a hook.” you laughed at the memory. “I ended up dropping the eyepatch before my friends made me change because I kept running into people. My wire hanger was confiscated, some asshat stole my parrot, and one of my friends gave me a sweater to change into. I didn’t even make it to first period in that outfit.”

Eddie had made it a point to not pay attention to anyone outside of his small group at school, only ever keeping an eye out for lost sheep that didn’t have anywhere else to go. He wondered, if he had seen you that morning in the brief window before you were pushed back into conformity would he have noticed you? Talked to you? You had already been nice to him before. 

“Wait,” Eddie over at you, taking in the picture you had painted for him. “You made a sock puppet parrot?”

“I needed a parrot, or else no one would get it!” you explained. “But then when I took it off and left it to go use the bathroom it was gone. I finally found the thief in fourth period because they kept playing with it and squawking my own parrot at me. But by that point I had just cut my losses and had given up on Halloween.”

“Are you usually this crafty?” Eddie asked, once again looking at the final napkin you were folding into what looked like an old cootie catcher. 

“I get bored easily.” you said. “If I don’t have something to do with my hands I can’t focus.”

“How’d you start with the whole-” Eddie grabbed one of his slightly used napkins and gave it a wave. “Folding thing?”

“Fourth grade show and tell.” you said. “I did not prepare anything and so I spent a full ten minutes in the school library to find something to show. I found a book on origami, found the easiest thing to make and realized that I actually enjoyed it.”

If that was a mystery, it sure did get solved right there. Eddie wanted to ask about Steve and Dustin. He wanted to ask you why him? He could keep his mouth shut, let this whole thing play out and see what happened. Eddie could sit here, and enjoy the fact that a girl was giving him the time of day and leave everything up in the air just like he had with Paige. 

“So I heard you and Steve had a deal going on.” Eddie said. “Something about getting dates?”

You froze for a second, the completed cootie catcher in your hands. Things were dead silent for a grand total of ten seconds. Ten agonizingly long seconds. Even the cassette player had clicked off and was now whirring as it rewind the Iron Maiden tape. 

Then you started laughing. A lot. 

“Jesus, Eddie!” you said, wiping your eyes with the ninja star as a tear threatened to spill down your cheek. “I tell you I have origami as a hobby, and you follow up with ‘So I heard you and Steve are trying to get dates.’ Seriously?”

Eddie remained silent at your reaction, trying to process your laughter. You didn’t seem scared or nervous that he had called you out, and he had to admit that he hadn’t completely thought through the consequences of asking you that question. 

“Who blabbed?” You asked, after your laughter had calmed down. 

“Henderson.” Eddie admitted and, in an attempt to ease any lingering tension he leaned forward to rest his elbow on the center console and held his chin in his hand as he looked at you. “That shrimp informed me that you found me so irresistible that you begged Steve to set you up with me.”

“Is that right?” You asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“Oh yeah,” Eddie agreed. “Told me all about how ever since Chris Morrison shot you down, you’ve been desperate to get my attention to get back at him.”

“So which is it, am I attracted to you or am I using you to get back at a guy I talked to once in high school years ago?” you asked. Eddie saw a glint in your eyes, the same one he’d seen that first night at the arcade when at the air hockey table. 

“Both are true.” Eddie continued to explain, a shit eating grin on his face. “You see, you were originally going to use me to get back at Chris, but then you saw me play guitar and instantly fell in love.”

“Damn, this sounds like the plot of a terrible movie.” you laughed. “So is this the part where I tell you that ‘It started out like that, but I swear it’s not like that anymore!’? Do I beg on my knees that my feelings for you are genuine, even though we’ve hung out a grand total of two-and-a-half times?”

Five times, but who’s counting? 

“What’s the half-time?” Eddie asked. 

“You ditched me at the arcade after I said I’d be right back.” you stated matter-of-factly. “I’m hoping it’s not a pattern where you start dropping off the face of the earth just when things start getting good.”

“Between you and me,” Eddie leaned in closer. “I thought Dustin was trying to set me up with Steve. Not you.” 

Cue more laughter from you as you threw your head back. “Are you kidding me?! Dustin makes me and Steve show up to an arcade and tries to force a meeting with you- and you thought you were supposed to be dating Steve?!” 

“Not dating!” Eddie clarified quickly. “You see, Steve and I only have one thing in common and that’s Dustin Henderson. Kid practically worships Steve. I thought he was trying to get us to be friends or something.”

“Oh my god, you thought Dustin was trying to hook his two dads up!” Your cootie catcher was now crumpled up in your hands, stained with tears from your laughing. “I’m a homewrecker!” 

Yeah, this really wasn’t going the way Eddie had expected it. 

“Shit, Eddie, I’m sorry.” you said, your laughter calming down into giggles instead. “Have I been reading this whole thing wrong? I mean, if you have more of an interest in Steve I could probably set that up. He’s only ever shown interest in girls but you have long hair and are pretty enough-”

“No.” Eddie said. “I don’t have an interest in Steve- you think I’m pretty?” How were you able to throw him off so easily? He could tell that if you had been able to join Hellfire you would have been a menace at his table.

“Extremely.” you said, your voice more sincere now. 

The two of you just stared at each other for a while and Eddie felt that same twisty feeling in his gut again. You thought he was pretty. That was good, right? Did you like pretty boys? You were pretty- he liked that a lot. 

“I...” Eddie started and then dug deep inside himself to find the words he wanted to use. “Prettier than Steve?” Those were not the words he wanted to say, but he said them anyway. 

“Steve is conventionally attractive but, as I said before, not my type.” you said. “I like guys with long hair anyway.”

Eddie really couldn’t tell if he was nailing this or blowing it. “So, what is your type?” 

“I’ll tell you mind if you tell me yours.” you countered. 

Had Eddie ever really thought about what his type was? Yeah, he’d had ill-advised crushes and had been attracted to various women in comics and tv but did he have a type? He tried to connect all the girls in his mind that he’d been with, trying to find a pattern. 

Someone who actually pays attention to me. That’s pretty sad, Eddie. He came to the conclusion. Yeah, aside from his disastrous kiss with Ronnie five years ago, every girl he’d been with had been the one to show interest first, and you were no exception. But had he actually had feelings for the others? Not really. Attraction? Yeah. Feelings? Well, with Paige he had been far too busy dealing with Corroded Coffin, his dad, and school to really decide what he felt for Paige. Any other small flings had been dead on arrival.

So why did he keep wanting to spend time with you?

“Don’t go spreading this around,” Eddie started. “But if I had to pick a type, it’d be She-Hulk.” 

“She-Hulk?” you mulled that over in your mind. “So tall, green, and angry?” 

“Strong-willed, and funny as shit.” Eddie corrected. 

“And green.”

“And green.” 

“If I had known that earlier I would have picked Kermit the Frog as my Halloween costume this year.” you teased. “I don’t have a character off the top of my head, but I like people who feel.. Real.”

Real. The word that Paige and him had used over and over in those two months. 

“What’s real to you?” 

“Not high school.” you said. “Someone who’s not afraid to exist and be themselves. I’m most attracted to anyone who can let go of their desperate ego and just have fun. High school was boring because everyone was so wrapped up in their own bs of looking cool that they didn’t do anything that they actually wanted to do. Shit, even I fell into that.”

Eddie didn’t want to ask if he was real to you. He wasn’t sure if he was ready for an answer. There were lots of times he wished that he wasn’t still in school, but this time really hit harder. He was starting to really like you, and yeah part of him was terrified of that. 

The two of you finished off the last of your food and Eddie shoved all the leftover trash into the brown bag and tossed it in the back so you wouldn’t be stepping on it. 

“I don’t know much about real anymore, but I think you’re pretty badass.” Eddie finally said. “I mean, you brought a wire hanger and a fake parrot to school for a costume. That’s pretty brave, even if your friends did talk you out of it.”

“I’m more mad that the parrot was stolen and used to annoy me than the lack of costume.” you said with a small laugh. “They weren’t even funny. They just kept repeating what I said. It was easier to just shut up at that point.” 

“Didn’t think to make them say anything embarrassing?” 

“Oh, I tried. But, jocks don’t know the art of a good ‘Duck Season, Rabbit Season’ gag. Anything embarrassing I said they’d just turn it around. I’d say ‘I pissed myself in gym.’ they’d reply with ‘you pissed yourself in gym’. No love for comedy.” You took a deep breath and let out a long sigh. “If you’re going to be a bully, at least give me a good story to tell later, you know?”

“I once got slammed against a locker by a jock who called me ‘a myriad freak.” Eddie said. “To this day, I still don’t know what he was trying to mean by that.”

“See? At least that’s funny.” you said, and then. “Holy shit, we’ve gotten off topic.” 

“There was a topic?” Eddie leaned back on the seat again. 

“Yes, an important one that I was very interested in before we started talking about bullies and high school and She-Hulk.” you nodded. 

Talking to you was so easy that he hadn’t realized how many topics the two of you had blown through in a short amount of time. He looked at his watch real quick and realized it was creeping towards 11 pm now. Had the two of you really been talking that long?

“What topic was it?” 

“You flirting with me.” you said, your lips pulling back in a cheshire grin. “I’m pretty sure you were at least, before I became a homewrecker between you and Steve. Normally I’d hate to break up a happy family, but I might have to make an exception this one time.”

“Was I flirting?” Eddie tilted his head with his own grin. “I’m pretty sure I was just telling you that I thought Dustin was trying to make me be friends with Steve. If I had known that the shrimp was trying to introduce me to a cute girl-” He would have shot it down and canceled Side Quest Day- “I wouldn’t have left the way I did.”

“You think I’m cute?” 

“Extremely.” 

You nodded. “Alright, then it’s a good thing that we’re going on a date. I’m glad to know that I’m not coming between you and Steve.”

It was just past midnight when Eddie dropped you off at your apartment that night. This time when you leaned over the center console towards him, he didn’t freeze up or panic. Eddie let you hug him and he hugged you back, his cheeks growing hot momentarily when he felt your lips press against his cheek and he was able to breathe in your scent. 

“See you later, Eddie. Oh, and for the movie- I highly recommend dressing up.” you looked him up and down. “Actually, just wear what you’d normally wear. I think you’ll fit right in.” 

Eddie made a mental note to ask Rick later on what he was supposed to wear for this. 

“I’ll call you.” he said. “I promise. I mean it this time.”

“Not if I call you first, I have your number now. And worst case scenario, I know where you play.” you responded. “See you Tuesday, Eddie.” 

And with that you were gone again, leaving Eddie alone in the van feeling much better than the last time he had given you a ride. There were still questions he had. He still wanted to know why exactly everyone was wanting the two of them to meet again, and why you always so readily agreed to meet up with him. But those were questions for another day. 

“You had a missed call.” Wayne said as Eddie made his way into the trailer. “Didn’t leave a name or number. Said she’d call you back.”  

Eddie laughed and shook his head, guess you meant it when you said you’d call first. 

“Don’t stay up too late watching tv.” Eddie said before heading towards his bedroom. He once again found himself falling asleep with his copy of The Hobbit, the origami flower tucked safely in the back. 

Next Chapter

Ending note: This fic takes place during October 1985. Stephen King’s It did not come out until September 1986. I would like to ask you all politely to suspend your disbelief for the historical inaccuracy of a piece of dialogue that probably didn’t add much to the plot. If this horrible inaccuracy bothers you, please repeat to yourself “it’s just a fic, I should really just relax” which is what most of us should be doing anyway.

Dividers by: @strangergraphics

Tag List: @k8loo @terrormonster55 @sp1dyb0y1008 @crocwork-clockodile @ali-r3n @mxcheese @josephquinnschesthair @gagasbee @peaches-roses-sins @witchwolflea @vintagehellfire @royale1803 @cumslutforaemond @prestinalove @browneyedgirl320 @perpetualmess @thebook-hobbit @mistonk @cultish-corner @grishaversecaptivated @sortagaysortahigh @halialex1119 @bakugouswhOr3 @siriuslysmoking @pookiesnatcher @sky-full-0f-fl0wers @takemetoneverlandbabe @killjoynotes @maelibo

[piratefishmama]

Fake it Till you Make it | Part 17

And adorable.

If one were to ask Steve what he thought was about to happen, he’d be pretty fucking certain that he’d be correct in the fact that Eddie would have kissed him.

He’d have gotten up, crowded Steve against the closet door, and kissed him, and he’d have happily let that and whatever naturally followed happen, had watched in barely contained excitement as Eddie moved, then in deeply fond amusement, as Eddie got himself tangled up in the blankets on the bed and ate shit off the side of it in his haste to get up.

So now Eddie was just lying there, half off the bed, long hair dusting the shaggy rug on the floor, arms over the edge, fingers touching the floor, face down against the blankets, unmoving, wallowing in shame.

Steve adored him.

There wasn’t another word for it. It was a deep, all consuming fondness that warmed his entire being. A fondness that couldn’t allow him to just let Eddie wallow there in embarrassment, so he closed the bedroom door for a little privacy and lowered himself down to his knees in front of the bed. In front of Eddie’s defeated form. “Eddie?” The response was nothing but an oh so sorry for himself little whine. “Oh Bambi… look at me?”

“No. Nope, I’m good here.” Steve huffed a soft little laugh before he crouched lower, hands to the floor, body twisted so he could look up at Eddie from below, using one of his fingers to shift Eddie’s hair out of the way. “Leave me here to wallow.”

“But how will I get the kiss I’m betting my entirely wasted college fund I was gonna get, if you stay there and wallow?” At least that got him to lift his head, surprise flashing across his face as he took in Steve’s position below him “There he iiisss, wanna sit up for me?” It was like Eddie was some frightened animal, expression uncertain, as if expecting ridicule or insult, even as he slowly inched himself back onto the bed, sitting back on his haunches, fingers curled around his own hair holding the strands in front of his face. He looked so small for someone who was actually quite big.

For someone who had the higher position with Steve still on the floor.

So innocent, so perfectly pretty, all dark colours against the white of the sheets and the disarrayed blankets, Steve wanted to ruin him. And then keep him forever.

“You… you want the kiss?” Oh yeah, he was going to get that kiss. Could feel it in the air, the electricity, the calm before a storm where static built before lightning struck. Sure all of that confidence Eddie had momentarily built was now gone, but Steve knew it’d been there. Knew the desire was there. That was more than enough.

“I do if you want to give me one, yeah.” He lifted himself up onto his knees, hands on the edge of the bed, pushing himself up just enough, tilting his head just so, so that if Eddie could feel that same electricity, if Eddie knew to strike, he’d take that chance.

But Eddie didn’t seem as clued up as Steve’s usual hits tended to be. He wanted to, there was no doubt there, but just like in the trailer with their practice, which disappointingly enough they’d not actually needed thus far, Eddie needed coaxing. Needed to be shown that it was okay, he was allowed to want, allowed to take what he wanted, that it was freely up for offer and that all he had to do was take it.

Eddie talked a big game, but present him with a chance at actual intimacy, even something as casual as kissing, and he’d turn into a statue. Or trip over himself and eat dirt. “Can—Can you come up here?”

Steve didn’t miss a thing. One wouldn’t be wrong to call him a little on the stupid side at times, he lacked the intelligence of his small hoard of goblins, but he was observant, he knew what to look for, caught things that most wouldn’t, so when he braced himself, both hands flat on the mattress and pushed himself up, he didn’t miss the way Eddie’s eyes watched his forearms flex. Didn’t miss how he gulped a harsh swallow of gathering saliva, didn’t miss the slight pupil dilation, the flushed cheeks were already there but the rest?

That electricity crackled around them. Eddie didn’t move though.

“There’s nothing wrong with wanting it, you know that right?” Steve had to say it as he joined Eddie on the bed, Eddie tracking his every movement yet unmoving, doe eyes wide as if caught in headlights “I mean, I had a little freak out at first too but... remember in the trailer? How easy it became when you just let yourself go?” How he’d just melted into it, the desire was there, the want, bubbling beneath the surface, desperate to break free.

“It’s not that simple, Steve...” no, not to Eddie, it wouldn’t be, would it? Not usually, and certainly not now with the whole... it’s not real thing hanging over their heads. A hurdle they’d have to get over.

Steve caught Eddie’s chin in between his fingers just as the man tried to break eye contact “you’re thinking way too hard about this, Eddie, where’s all that gusto gone, huh?” He wanted those big brown doe eyes on him.

“Buried by shame.” Eddie pulled his head free from Steve’s grip and sat back on his rear. “And that’s probably for the best too, I mean...there’s no reason to, right? It’s just us in here so you—I mean, we, don’t have to pretend in here, do we?” No reason to get caught up in hormones that should have ebbed years ago. “I mean, in front of your parents, if we have to then—then sure, that’s fine, but... in here?” The bedroom was the safe zone, where they didn’t have to keep up the façade.

“Eddie... I’m going to say this once... just once... and then maybe again every single time you need to hear it because I’m very confident in the fact that you want me, very confident there, almost too confident, but that is mutual, the wanting thing, not the confidence thing because you’re clearly lacking that. The want thing? Very mutual, you’re very attractive and it’s very hard to keep my hands to myself, so if you want it, there’s no pretending here, I would—I mean, I also want that.” Steve had no problem going for things he wanted, even if that thing happened to be a very jumpy metal head he wouldn’t have been seen within ten feet of back in high school. “Why torture ourselves when we could be getting something we both want?”

High school Steve could and very much should go suck something long and hard. Probably blow his damn mind.

Eddie, sweet, innocent, somewhat feral Eddie, took a breath, “you uh... you use those lines on all the girls?” and dared a smile, just enough of one to dimple his cheek in that way that made Steve want to smush them with kisses.

“Never had any of em think this hard about it.” Even the ‘good Christian girls’ didn’t think that hard about it. Steve shifted a little in place, shuffling just a little closer to Eddie. “I’m gonna ask, and if you say no… then that’s that, I’ll respect your wishes” he’d respect the boundaries Eddie put in place no matter how tempting it was to cross them “Can I kiss you, Eddie? Not for this whole thing with my parents but… just to kiss you?”

“…You really want to?”

“Really not sure why that’s so hard to believe, man have you looked in a mirror?” Eddie had always been pretty, he’d always been attractive, he was just… also very loud, and argumentative, and he hurled abuse at the jocks like it was his job to do so. Now… he was quieter, still loud in his own way, but… not in the same way, the post-high school life suited him.

“So it’s strictly physical then, I see how it is” Steve snorted a laugh as he leaned in, butterflies flapping up a storm in his chest because Eddie wasn’t moving away, he was leaning in, didn’t pull away when Steve rested his hand on Eddie’s cheek, cupping his jaw.

“Oh shut up” The giggles puffed against his smiling lips right before they connected? Far superior to any lust-charged kiss, any day.

Part 19

[btsmosphere]

Supercharged | JJK

Chapter 12: Into The Depths

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🗲summary: It starts with a blow to the chest that changes your life. When your city’s most celebrated hero pays a visit, it turns out the noble Bolt has no trouble tossing lives aside. Lives that won't be missed. Lives like yours. Seven mysterious and powerful men give you another chance – one that starts to feel more like a curse the moment you meet golden boy Jungkook. The boy who wants you as far from his brothers as he can get you. Is it you he hates, or the blue lightning that now runs through your veins? And could it be his golden light that illuminates your heart when darkness threatens? 🗲this chapter: If you aren't cut out to be part of the group, then you’ll just have to go it alone.

🗲pairing: jungkook x female reader 🗲word count: 7.7k 🗲genre: angst, action, eventual fluff, enemies to lovers, slow burn, superheroes/villains au, found family 🗲rating: pg15 🗲warnings: violence with superpowers, also physical violence, swearing, guilt, arguing, self-doubt, blood, injury, near-drowning

a/n: the warnings on this chapter may tell you that there's quite a lot in store... and after you all loved last week's found family wholesomeness last week, I really hope you're not mad😅

You were beginning to think Kuyang had had it very lucky. The current ‘lab’ you occupied looked more like a bunker to you.

No windows in sight, you instead had to stare at an array of screens displaying the outside world. Waiting.

You moved your fingers idly, blue static crackling between each one. Though you trained your eyes attentively on the ‘view’ beyond the heavy concrete wall, you couldn’t suppress the itch. You knew you weren’t the only one. You had trained, you could fight, but still all you were able to do was react to Bolt’s every whim with no way to anticipate him.

That was Namjoon’s department, though.

Only a tap of your toes belied your otherwise calm, level gaze as you scanned the images.

At the very least, you were here in advance this time. No rushing halfway across the city on an emergency call. This lab housed some kind of weapon, the ‘shield rifle’, and though you had seen it only in pictures, you had to admit it looked a useful piece of kit. The forcefield spheres it fired could be used both for attack and defence. Something you wanted kept on your side. So, for whatever connection had tipped you off this time, you tried to be grateful.

That is, if the threat turned out to be real after all.

A dart of movement made you blink not a second later, half convinced it had been a figment of your restless mind. But no. It was like they had been waiting for your doubt to begin so they could laugh at you.

Hastily regathering your focus, more figures crept into the frame, confirming what you had first seen. A hungry smirk quirked your mouth as you lifted your receiver to your lips.

“I can see four people outside exit C,” you told them, “don’t think they’ve spotted us, though.”

“Copy that. Anyone else got movement?” Jin asked swiftly after.

“Nothing yet.” Jimin.

“Hm, Yoongi, can you get around to Y/N?” Namjoon instructed, “I’m not seeing any other action yet. But stay alert.”

“On the way,” Yoongi said simply.

Beside the screens was a thick door, barely distinguishable from the blank wall. Eager eyes glancing towards it, your feet couldn’t resist a step closer to where action soon promised to bloom.

Were they really that clueless? You almost felt sorry for Bolt’s warriors as you saw them sneak closer, oblivious to the fact they were already unders surveillance, directly in your line of sight. One of them crouched, producing some kind of tool.

You rolled your neck. So they were going to break down the door? They sure were making it simple for you; maybe you could be persuaded to go easy on them.

“You seeing this?” you asked the receiver.

“You ready?” was Namjoon’s response.

Before you could respond, the screens went dark. Smart move – or it would be, if you hadn’t already clocked them.

Yoongi couldn’t be far away. Another confident step took you towards the door, your powers now thrumming in your veins.

Sure enough, the door juddered, before rising from the ground. A bracing breath and you were ready, on your toes. The intruders didn’t fire yet, though. You would have to let them come for you.

“Wait!” a cry crackled through the radio on your hip. Cursing, you snatched at it, hoping your position hadn’t been given away.

“There’s someone else-”

No sooner had you time to frown than a cacophonous crash sounded, somewhere distantly on your left. Even through all the layers of concrete, it rumbled, stirring horror low in your chest.

Backing away several paces, your eyes darted urgently between the slowly raising doorway and the far end of the corridor, beyond which something bigger had just happened.

What was that? The question was on your lips without you thinking it, the only clear thing among a rush of panic that brought your friends’ faces spinning through your mind. Your hallway suddenly felt so isolated, its darkness stretching out either side of you.

But the words never passed your lips.

The moment your receiver was at your mouth, it exploded with noise again.

“Shit-” you had never heard Hope curse before, “Monsoon’s here.”

Your eyes widened. That was a name you had yet to make an acquaintance with. But you knew it alright. Monsoon was a title you had only ever read side-by-side with Bolt in the papers.

“Y/N,” Namjoon’s decisive tone cut through your reeling thoughts, “deal with the first lot. Everyone else, get to exit A and get this fucker out.”

So you stalked forwards, impatiently lifting one arm to finish the door’s ascent. As your powers met the resistance of the concrete, you gritted your teeth and pushed through, lightning gushing from your palm to haul the door aside, leaving you framed in the doorway.

The people from earlier backed away from the door as you finally faced them.

They clutched familiar weapons. The one closest to your shifted their gun defensively, drawing your attention.

“Please, let’s not,” you said flatly, “I have better things to be doing. Though I’m sure you know that.”

It crossed your mind that this lot had likely been a purposeful distraction. Yet more of Bolt’s fodder.

One of them shot a nervous glance to their neighbour. That was the only movement, making you scowl, eyes rolling.

“That yours?” you asked blithely, tilting your head to a van a short way to the right.

You watched with dark amusement as their heads followed your direction. And then your patience snapped. Letting loose a burst of blue power, an extension of you, it closed like a fist around the van and tossed it skywards with an ease that made you smile.

It arced over the group, suspended, for a moment.

Then you brought it slamming back to earth, right at their feet. Close enough to force them scrambling back, away from you. The force cracked the road, blue sparks skittering through trenches carved from impact.

You glared at them through the blue trails of light leaping and sparking from the wrecked vehicle.

They ran.

Feet still planted in the same spot, you waited just long enough to be sure they were really going for good, before you caved to what you had been itching for this whole time.

Turning on your heel, you raced back inside. Yoongi had probably already passed you by, hidden safely until he needed to be. A restless force took you tearing through the place alone towards the main entrance, where Monsoon must have attacked. Looked like they weren’t going for subtlety with this one.

Another abandoned doorway was a blur as you raced on. Another corner and noise reached your ears. Another step, and you were forced to a skidding halt.

Up ahead, a door slammed shut.

Hurriedly shooting a lightning blast at the solid surface, you were poised to run straight through – but nothing moved.

Behind it, you could hear crashes, a brief roar like flames, a rush like waves. When something collided directly with the other side of the door, you slammed your palms against it in frustration. You needed to get in there, help your team!

The communications had dissolved, an incomprehensible exchange blaring back and forth through your radio. Some instructions from Jin, cut off by a cry by Jimin, before a breathless Hope only got half a sentence out. Clearly called back by the fray. You couldn’t bear to be so close, yet helpless.

Giving it one more try, you watched your powers glide fruitlessly around the doorway’s seams, fizzling out.

Grabbing at the receiver, you called into it.

“I can’t get through! How do I open this thing?!”

Namjoon’s voice of reason never answered you. No-one answered you.

Just the echoing collisions of things you couldn’t see, beyond this unfeeling barrier. You were panting harder than ever despite having stopped running. Were they ok?

You needed to get in there.

Breathing out harshly, you stepped back and squared your shoulders. With the strength of your worry filling you, your impatience to help, you summoned as much as you could muster-

And fired.

Jungkook’s familiar shouts from the training room steeled your mind even more. You had honed this power with him, and now you could use it.

The shock of blue connected this time, illuminated your face and the corridor like welding fire as you concentrated it on your obstacle. You felt the kickback but leaned into it, only digging your heels in harder.

For one moment, the electricity grew taught between you and the door, straining like it was solid-

Then it gave way.

The door smashed inwards. Without a second’s hesitation, you strode forwards into the carnage laid out before you.

The space you had entered earlier was in ruins, chunks of the wall lying on the ground in rippling pools of water, electricals hanging, frayed and sparking, from the ceiling. Daylight was thrown inside from the wide open main door, though the smaller ones around the space still lay shut. Oddly, there was none of the purple fire that your group usually left in your wake.

You were about to find out why.

You had quickly scoped out the figures dotted throughout the space: some running, some firing, some just staggering up from the ground. And only one you didn’t recognise.

The hero wore white, starkly standing out against the battered bunker.

In the opposite corner, a fierce plume of purple flame roared to life, silhouetting the stranger. The next instant, the man struck, a torrent of water following his movements and drenching the fire to ash.

V was leaping out of its path, caught mid-air by the blurred form of Hobi. V was dropped to safety on a pile of rubble in a blink. Then Hope kicked off the wall in a one-eighty, landing with one hand on the ground in front on Monsoon.

Then Hoseok charged. Monsoon staggered and dodged, struggling to track the man who ran circles around him. Suddenly, the hero held his arms out, stumbling even more cluelessly. In your hurry towards the action, you spotted a cloud of shadow hovering at his eyes. Yoongi.

Monsoon stopped.

Then the tsunami hit.

Throwing his arms out, Monsoon summoned a ring of water that frothed with white. It hurtled straight for you – straight for everyone – knocking you back in a winding blow. Hobi was struck from the air, even his lightning pace unable to outrun the wall of waves.

Your back never even hit the ground. Churning water turned you over, and you found yourself stumbling to your feet, running in the total opposite direction.

Gasping from the unexpected impact, you collided with something else.

Someone.

Hands grasped your upper arms firmly, keeping you on your feet as you blinked away the slew of water. You looked up into the face of Jungkook.

Brows drawn, he scanned you swiftly. Then he was pulling you back, both of you retreating from Monsoon, who stood taller in the centre once more. His mask gleamed white again, eyes now rid of darkness.

Misguidedly, your eyes hunted for Yoongi. Of course, you didn’t find him. You hoped him being invisible meant he was still alive in here somewhere.

Jungkook’s hands loosened, making you glance back to him. His eyes had left you, focussed somewhere distant.

“What the…?”

Following his look, words stopped in your throat too.

The small doors, the ones which led inside, to the very lab you were defending… were sliding open.

All of them.

“What… ppening…?” your waterlogged radio spit out panicked fragments of Jin’s voice, “I locked these-”

And as you noticed, Monsoon was not far behind.

Hobi was first off the mark, already in front of the man. He dodged one canon-like column of water, successfully knocking Monsoon to the side, but he wasn’t so lucky the second time. Hurrying to support him, a boulder flew overhead, and you were running.

Jungkook’s hand at your back urged you on before you disconnected, running in step towards the enemy.

Jimin’s projectile found its mark, landing solidly in the doorway Monsoon headed for, but the man simply lifted his palms and a flood carried it away before the next could pile up. And the same flood gathered around the hero, carrying him on faster as he deflected another blow from Hope.

Behind him, you plunged forwards into ankle-high water which only deepened the closer you got to the man himself.

A sharp golden streak caught Monsoon unawares. Falling sideways, off-course, he was slammed against the wall beside the opening. Jungkook leapt into the air a moment later, Monsoon’s next shot falling between the two of you.

While you dived out of its path onto the ground, Jungkook took to the air and fired again, again.

But Monsoon was prepared now he had his assailant in sight. He caught each blow with a splash of water in mid-air. His retaliation avenged him, a cannon-like blast of water sending Jungkook crashing against the wall.

Wincing, you watched him slide to the ground clutching an arm. The way his face twisted, teeth bared with pain, had fire bubbling anew within you.

Something else stole your attention first.

Pushing yourself to sit, your ear came close to your receiver where it had fallen. Almost unheard in the chaos of the fight, Jin was trying to figure out the cause of the error.

“I’ve lost the system… ‘s offline.. disturbance started- section C… one of the door- shorted-”

A door shorted the system? In… section C?

Realisation hit you in slow motion, and it was all too fast. Washing over you, heat prickled menacingly, spreading across your skin. A trapdoor opened up for your stomach to fall through, robbing you of more breath than the impact of Monsoon’s freak wave.

It had been you.

Finally struggling to his feet and unopposed, Monsoon dragged himself through the empty doorway. You should stop him. You should-

Numb, you looked up. It wasn’t the bright white of Monsoon that grabbed your eyes. It was another gaze, looking right back at you through the wall of water.

The wave Monsoon had created to tide him through your attacks sunk slowly, seeping back into shallow puddles around where you lay. As it deflated, Jungkook’s eyes came into sharper focus. His pain forgotten, still slumped against the far wall, he suddenly seemed so much closer than he was. You had seen that glare before; why did it drive such a burning poker through your chest now?

Your own guilt pushed it deeper. His eyes only reflected the piercing regret now surging through you.

The world tilted unnaturally as you forced your legs beneath you. Your own breaths thundered through your skull as you twisted, feet leaden as you tried to catch sight of your friends, counting the shapes of bodies… Losing count…

Then you were at Jungkook’s side. On your knees.

“Jungkook,” you breathed, voice far away, “are you-?”

He didn’t wait for you to finish.

Shoving away your outstretched hand, he was on his feet. You rose too, steps falling away from him with rising dread.

“That was- that was you?! You were watching over section C, right? …Right?”

You flinched at his raised voice, breathing coming faster.

“Hey,” a sharp snap cut him off.

Whipping around, you found Hope standing just a pace away. His eyes fell over both of you. Cold.

They lingered on you for only a second, as if he couldn’t bear to look at you, before they rested on Monsoon’s escape path.

“We should be chasing after him.”

But he got no further.

All the lights shut off at once, plunging the space into near-darkness. Only fading daylight from the entrance behind you maintained your sight. The lot of you jumped.

Head snapping up, you whirled around, searching the space. When you faced the outside doorway, the cause made itself known.

Marching inside was Namjoon. His footsteps echoed like gunshots in the silence after the battle.

You physically felt your heart jolting lower with every step he took. Tension radiated from your leader. Instinct had you stepping back as he passed, fists clenched, and disappeared through the door.

You gulped when a flash of red came from the darkness beyond.

Shame burned your eyes. At least the darkness could hide that.

Again, you turned, slower this time. There was V climbing down from the rubble, Jimin taking his hand to help him. You still didn’t see Yoongi, but perhaps that was by design. His absence would have been noted by now if not one of you could see him.

You swallowed harder, dipping your head. You had thought you could help… Instead, you had caused all this? Swayed an already losing battle in favour of the enemy?

No wonder Yoongi wouldn’t grace your sight right now. And Hobi didn’t even want to look at you. And Jungkook-

Jungkook’s rage screamed loud enough through his eyes. You thought you had been used to this, but all of a sudden you couldn’t stomach the thought of the venom in his gaze.

It reminded you of the time you hadn’t known him. When he had been all brick walls and disdain… and you had just watched those barriers slam back up in real time.

It shouldn’t be the thing that stuck in your throat.

He shouldn’t be the one you desperately wanted to take it back for.

No.

Taking a firm breath in through your nose, you stamped on the feeling. It couldn’t make you feel any shittier, tossing it on the steaming pile of shame and ugly humiliation already festering in your gut.

A new flash made you blink back to the outside world. Namjoon stood in front of you all.

“He’s gone… with the shield rifle. The doors are open all the way to the other side.”

When his eyes landed on you, you wished your powers would burn you up from the inside.

That journey home was probably the most you had ever understood Jungkook’s need to lose himself in the gym in moments of frustration.

The silence of the car locked you in, even your halting breaths feeling like too much movement. Your presence felt like a neon sign, advertising your monumental failure to your friends, drawing their eyes without asking for it. If only the seat could swallow you up, render you truly invisible.

And while you sat still, your insides only rioted more.

So the moment you got home, you broke away from the subdued group heading for the living room. And they let you. Even as you walked away, you couldn’t relax, every step controlled. You wished your footsteps would be quiet.

Your footfalls rang out faster and faster on the staircase as you finally began to give in to your bottled-up impatience to move.

Sights set on the entrance to the gym, you already ached for the burn in your muscles. Any hope of dodging the storm of guilt currently bombarding you full-force. By now, your pace was ready to burst into a run, eyes desperately fixed on the approaching door-

A hand caught your arm, roughly wheeling you around.

Before you even noticed it was Jungkook, you had ripped your arm back from his grasp. Trying to reign in your breathing, you shot him a blazing look.

“Jungkook, please leave me alone-”

“You think you can just walk away from this? What was that, back there?”

You breathed in harshly, unprepared for his exclamation. Turning your face to glare hard at the floor, you ground your teeth together.

“I’m not walking away. Just… can it wait?” Your question came out flat.

His brows only drew tighter, disgust rapidly etching into his features.

“Just like you could wait to come barging in to fight Monsoon?” his voice was cutting, “you wanted a piece of the action then! But now you’re the one who gets to decide when we deal with this? It affects all of us.”

Face pinching, you flinched back from his relentless rain of accusations.

With what you told yourself was a steadying breath, in and out, you tried to swallow down your rising irritation.

“I didn’t know it would fry the circuit-”

“What did you think our power does again?!” Jungkook cut you off, incredulous, throwing his arms out.

Shutting your mouth with a snap, you breathed through your nose. Maybe both of you needed to cool off. It wasn’t like you had wanted this to happen!

And yet he was back to treating you like a child, like he was above you-

Shaking his head, a scowl took over Jungkook’s mouth. His glare slipped back into angry disdain so easily, and with a scoff he backed away.

“I knew I was right about you.”

For a terrifying second, the space between you teetered in silence so steep you wondered if you could hear the shaking of your tense muscles. And then-

Something within you snapped.

“What exactly is your problem?” you yelled, not allowing him to turn his back on you, eyes snapping up and ready to meet his fire this time. “Tell me! Ever since I got here you���ve hated me, wanted me gone. Even though the others never-”

Jungkook responded in kind without blinking, eyes hardening and foot stepping sharply forwards.

“They are my brothers,” he spat, “but unlike them, I’m not ready to trust just anyone who walks through the door with powers-”

“I had no other choice!” you cried, arms flying out.

“And that’s supposed to make it better?”

Jungkook pressed closer with the force of his shouting.

You gritted your teeth, stood your ground.

“Listen: I am not Bolt. Have I not proved that to you?”

“The only thing you’ve proved is that we can’t rely on you!”

“It was a mistake, Jungkook! People make mistakes!”

“We can’t afford to make mistakes!” his anger slid then into something darker, lowering in volume but losing no ferocity. “They are all I have in this world.”

“And you don’t think that’s the same for me?!”

His anger boiled over again in an instant.

“You haven’t gone through what we have! You don’t know what it’s like out there for people like us!” Now toe-to-toe, he jabbed a finger at your chest. “You were picked up straight away when you got powers, and we all held your hand through it! How can I really know we’re fighting for the same cause?”

“So that’s it, huh? I have to suffer in order for you to trust me?” you scoffed.

A heavier frown flickered along Jungkook’s brow, but when his mouth opened it was only to scowl. Had you finally rendered him speechless?

Eyes locked, barely inches apart, you both breathed heavily. Not one breaking away. Not one backing down. Jungkook’s jaw ticked. A similar spasm struck you, only it was a searing swipe of hurt through your chest.

Stirring up the power that dwelt there.

The crackle of lightning was audible, albeit only a single strand of static that escaped your palm. Reflected back in Jungkook’s eyes, your own bright flash of blue.

As if it had burnt him, he jerked away, severing eye contact.

Hurriedly putting distance between you, he looked back up once more. Gone was the hardened glare. Face slack, his expression was wide open with something so raw…

In one motion, the frown shifted his features once more. With a final, chilling look, he turned stiffly and stalked away. The change had almost been quick enough to convince you you never saw him look so wounded just a moment before.

His steps rang out on the stairs, and were gone.

Like a string had been cut, you deflated, finally allowing yourself a few reeling steps back.

You paused there. Staring hollowly ahead, you never turned back to the gym. All your previous intentions of escape had done just that and fled.

A shaky breath transformed into an embarrassing sniff. Gritting your teeth, you did your best to swallow down the sob that tried to break from your throat.

Breaths coming choppily, your eyes tracked the path Jungkook had just walked away from you. Your lips couldn’t resist the harsh downwards tug as his words fed the storm of your thoughts.

There was no brushing off Jungkook’s comments, like you had often done in spats past. There was no hand on your shoulder telling you not to mind him – no, that would have to come from one of the people you had just put in danger. Whose plans you had ruined…

Jungkook may be the only one up to saying it, but they must all agree with him by now.

His words hadn’t bounced off a shield this time. They had split your flesh and buried deep inside you, writhing in the current of regret dragging you off your feet.

He didn’t think you were on the same side? You had thought you had earned their trust, but now you couldn’t blame them for their doubt in you, after such a monumental fuck-up.

You twisted your fingers into a fist to prevent your hand from clutching your head. This was no time for self-pity. You weren’t the one who deserved comfort here. It was you who should be making things right.

With a shallow breath, you rolled your shoulders. Chose to dig your feet in against the stream of ugly emotions.

Some workout wouldn’t fix this.

You would.

At that promise, the waters settled around you, content with being given direction at last. The resolution may have granted a tenuous peace, the mess of shame still swirling below the surface, but at least you could breathe easier. At least you could move your feet, a new ease to your movements at the prospect of redeeming this catastrophe.

The odd sensation of walking a high wire remained nonetheless. Controlling each breath, aware not to make a sound, you cracked open the door at the head of the stairs.

Silence met you.

If you were lucky, the boys may have dispersed already. If they had, though, you had no guarantee as to how long they would stay away. It wasn’t like them to totally split. Knowing them the way you did, you had seen the way they got through things together, sticking by each other’s side after the hardships just as much as the victories.

A bitter weight settled in your heart. You had hoped to be part of that. Their care as a group was the reason you fought, the very people you had now jeopardised.

Stepping into the hallway, the guilt never left you behind, but you forced it to the back of your mind as you emerged, scanning the place. You heard a shower running on your way down the hall. It made sense that they would be recovering, regrouping.

A quick sweep of the living space showed it bare.

Or so you thought. One more step and your breath caught in your throat, catching the top of a head which had previously been obscured by sofa cushions.

Freezing as if you had been caught in headlights, it took you a moment to realise he was asleep. It was V, a faint line over his brows as he dozed. You glanced once more around you; if V was here, it wasn’t like Jimin to leave him alone, particularly in a vulnerable state like this.

You suddenly had to fight down a lump in your throat at the thought that you could be seen as the threat.

Which was why you had to do this; prove yourself anew.

No one was here. You had to move.

Marching fast as you dared, you made it soundlessly to the stairs. You had seen Jin and Jungkook on separate occasions getting the keys, and swiped one from the inconspicuous row of hooks below the counter.

You had never been the one with the keys, but you found you had watched the others long enough to know by instinct the button to open the front door. The instant you could squeeze through the gap, you closed it right behind you again.

Jogging on light feet, you made it to the smallest car they kept here. Another press of the keys showed you had managed to pick the right key, and you slid into the driver’s seat.

A flex of your fingers on the steering wheel, and you were set. You gave yourself no time to think before pulling away. All you would find was an array of thoughts competing for the best way to torment you.

It had been your short-sightedness, selfish impatience, that had brought Bolt one step closer to what he wanted. You had single-handedly put everyone in danger.

And all you had wanted to do this entire time was help.

Sparse rain greeted you outside, swiping heavy droplets against the windows.

The city passed in a blur, each grey road forgotten the moment you turned to the next. You were too stuck in your own mind. Maybe it should have bothered you how much of Jungkook you found there. But with your memories taking you on a wild goose chase – after some vague hope of seeing where it all went wrong, if he had seen the truth about you from the beginning – questioning why his words suddenly meant so much to you wasn’t something you had room to entertain.

Everything he said replayed as you neared your destination.

You haven’t gone through what we have.

What had he meant by that? The rest was clear enough, unpleasant as it was. But this? A brand new stake of guilt twisted at the dawning realisation. The boys all knew how you had gained your powers; they had all been there. But as for the rest of them…

Had you really been so blind? You hadn’t thought of it as easy, but when you walked into this life it had been laid out for you… Had you been thoughtless? Did you take your new friends for granted?

Of course you had wondered… How they had come to be there, how they had ended up together.

You tried to cling onto some hope in the form of, well, Hope, and of course V, who had each wanted to tell you their stories. But now you hardly felt like you had deserved their candidness. Why had they even told you? Had it been out of pity? That conversation had followed yet another of your fuckups... The thought made you wince, and your doubts were accompanied by a sharp needle of guilt for having them in the first place.

Such warring thoughts about your friends only propeled the spiral further. Perhaps you had assumed you would be let in on other stories when the time came. But now you saw you had never been close enough to know, to be deigned worthy. Your arrogance sickened you.

Tearing yourself forcefully from yet another well of self-depreciation, you blinked through the windscreen.

Hurriedly indicating, you pulled off. This was it. The docks showed themselves at the end of the road, and you pulled over in the shadow of a building.

Though the car stopped, you held onto the wheel for another moment, breathing deeply. If your worries had almost made you miss your turning, you knew you ought to be more careful with what you were about to do. Being off the ball could be disastrous.

Attacking any of the top dogs was off the table for bangtan for obvious reasons. Didn’t stop them having tabs on where they hung out. You had clocked it on a map Jin had shown you when he was explaining the various movements they were planning with their partners.

To be fair, you probably could have guessed by yourself that Monsoon would be by the biggest supply of water in town.

Okay, make this as simple as possible. Worrying about the boys wouldn’t help you make it up to them. Probably the opposite was true, in fact.

Stepping from the car, you shut the door softly. Stuck to the shadows as you moved towards the river, not flinching despite the rain against your face.

The river was high in its banks, a great mass roiling downstream, churned by wind you hadn’t previously noticed. Now that you reached the exposed plain of the docks, it pulled at your hair ferociously.

You didn’t mind. It covered you better, no longer afraid to make a sound as you moved, eyes constantly scanning.

Monsoon’s lair was close.

The light was fading fast, the blue of twilight well-established already. This time of day, it seemed the docks were mostly empty. Darting past a couple of warehouses, you saw no signs to direct you to your target, but were not dissuaded.

You used a stack of shipping containers ahead as your shield to sneak up to the river’s edge. Peering over the railings, you squinted at what little you could see of the concrete bank. Black water crashed at the edges, occasional spray joining the raindrops beating thinly at your skin.

Gripping tighter to the cold metal of the railing, you leaned further out. This time, you were rewarded. A little way up, a blue light glistened just above the waves, out of line with the white ones lining the docks’ edge.

Daring to let a smile lift your mouth, you crept nearer.

When you were almost on top of it, a darker patch of shadow fell away in the path, revealing a stairwell. The unassuming concrete steps would have passed you by at any other time, but it was exactly what you were hunting for now.

You hurried down.

It seemed you had hit the jackpot. What simple workman’s entrance would have such a high-tech control panel to get in?

Stepping up to it, you saw no sign of a camera, but that was no guarantee. Placing your hand over the panel, you covered the blue light glowing from the screen. This shouldn’t be too hard for you… But the similar situation mere hours ago had your heart racing a beat too fast in your chest. Aside from the others, you had to prove to yourself that you had the control needed.

Tentatively engaging your powers, you extended just enough to blow out this lock. The blue of the screen was joined by your own light, seeping between your fingers, and then both died.

You hoped you had been quick enough in your caution, not allowed Monsoon time to be alerted of your intrusion.

With the lock disarmed, the door fell open a crack. Just waiting for you.

It slid seamlessly open at your touch. The hallway beyond was dark, but it was clearly the right direction. While the construction was plain as the docks outside, flat walls leading you on, this was not built with identical concrete.

Summoning a ball of glowing light to guide you on, the brightness reflected startlingly back at you. From walls made of marble.

Dimming the light in your palm, you blinked in surprise for a moment. Eyebrows raised, you shook your head and pressed on. Monsoon was really in the lap of luxury here. What more did he want to achieve by stealing weapons?

If you were in a situation to build an entrance hall out of marble, you reckoned you would be calling it quits on any kind of work.

The impression was only elevated when you reached the end of the corridor. Peering around the next door, you were forced to expand your light source again. The room it lit up was vast and lavish. Set into the far wall was a huge window, giving you a view of the rippling water beyond. So you were below the river level here.

Stepping further inside, your blue light glimmered back at you from the depths.

You barely turned your eye over the living space as you stepped on a plush rug between stately sofas. What you were here for was right in front of you.

Laid out before the window, a clear cabinet sat full of various devices. Monsoon kept these weapons like trophies.

Near the bottom, you spied the shield gun he had secured today. You should have taken it and gone, right then.

But as you cast your eyes upwards, they stuck on the gun that took up pride of place. White casing held a clear, spherical centre. Needles of pale lightning darted inside. It froze you where you stood, a paralysing memory of cold and dread crashing over you for a second too long.

“Who the hell are you?”

You weren’t proud of the way you jumped. You instantly shut off your blue light, a second later being dazzled by white flooding the space as the main light was flicked on.

Your eyes were quick to find him. In the corner near the vast window, emerging from another entrance in this impressive lair, was Monsoon. Presumably, in any case. He had no mask anymore, but who else could it be?

Instinct kicking in, you dived for the thing you had come for. One hand stretched out for the shield gun, the other raising to fire a panicked bolt his way.

It never hit.

Monsoon swept a hand forward. Before you could gasp, a globe of water had engulfed you, taking your feet from under you.

Your reaction never got further than a thought. Trying to lash out, your body didn’t respond. Through your watery prison, you saw Monsoon step forwards, lifting his arm to raise you higher from the ground in the bubble he had created – the bubble trapping your electricity in here with you. The current buzzing in the water was your own, you could feel it. But you couldn’t control it. Couldn’t move at all.

“A Bolt wannabe, are you?” his voice reached you, muffled by the water in your ears.

You could only glare back, terror clenching your muscles almost as much as the electric current. A burning ache crept agonisingly from your lungs.

“Did you forget those powers could hurt you, too?”

Through dark splotches rapidly dimming your vision, all you saw were cold, mirthful eyes. Your entire body screamed for air, but your mind was clouding. Vague images assaulted you, of a storm whirling around you as you fell, of blue cutting through the night. You were trapped in a nightmare, your own powers the ones attacking you again, not the thing you had grown to love, understand and use.

Faux sympathy brought Monsoon’s face into a mocking pout, but even the rage it stirred in you couldn’t hold a flame to the flood pushing you farther from consciousness-

Your bones collided with the floor. You were already coughing and gasping before the pain from your knees and head began to bloom.

Choking in blissful air, you forced your shuddering arms to raise you from the ground.

Glaring up at Monsoon, you brought your arm forward again. Your enraged powers were more than ready to strike him down.

In one step, the man stamped down on the wrist stretched towards him. Pressed down harder as his eyes burned into yours.

“You may have powers,” he spoke, ignoring the way you winced as your bone ground against the floor, “but we can still cook you from the inside if we try for long enough.”

Lunging forwards, he released your arm only to grasp your collar. Dragging you up, he left your weakened legs scrabbling on the ground. Then he sent a fist flying hard into your face.

The impact flung you backwards, the weapons cabinet rattling. One temple connected with a solid shelf, pain biting at your forehead. Hands finding the surface, you clung to it, felt blood slick beneath your fingers at the same moment as the warm liquid dripped into your eye.

Striding to close the distance once more, Monsoon towered over you. He rested one shoulder on the cabinet and gave a cocky tilt of his head.

“What is it you were after, hm?” his eyes dragged teasingly along the shelves, “I rather fancy these myself-”

You could only scramble backwards. It wasn’t enough to escape the blade he flung your way, and another. One struck your cheek, one your collar. Inches higher and it could have slit your throat.

Two metal stars clattered to the ground around you while you panted. How were you going to get out of this? Your powers didn’t mix with Monsoon’s.

Pulling your legs out of the way, you did the first thing you thought of. With your good arm, you fired again. Sending a sharp, but powerful, burst, you hit a different mark. Instead of going for Monsoon, you sent the cabinet crashing down over him.

With a shout, he was pushed to the floor among a rain of metal and glass. Your eyes followed one particular weapon as it rolled away, white light mercifully still contained.

Desperately wobbling to your feet, you fell against an armchair, clinging to it to stay upright while the world swam around you. You pushed off it towards a sofa, hands grabbing the back to support you as you staggered on towards the door you had entered through.

A scraping filled the air. Monsoon, throwing off the shelves that crushed him.

Before you could dive for the exit, a winding impact struck you, sending you headfirst over the couch. The wave dispersed, leaving you gasping again, this time on the sodden rug.

A fearful look over your shoulder showed Monsoon looming behind the sofa.

“Get out of my house,” he spat.

And then, as if in reverse, the water puddled around you was sucked inwards. Collecting into a rippling sphere, it carried you helplessly. This time, you could move your limbs, but the thrashing was useless against the force that sent you flying towards the window.

Screwing your eyes shut, you waited for the impact of shattering glass around you.

It never came.

That was no window. The water hadn’t been held back by glass.

Instead, you were plunged straight into the depths. Bitingly cold torrents enveloped you. The bright light of Monsoon’s abode flew from your sight as the raging river swept you downstream in its currents.

Your flailing arms fought a losing battle. The water consumed every bit of strength you exerted, and pushed back harder, flinging you over until you lost your bearings completely in the blinding darkness.

Raging in your ears, the river stretched out black below you and above you… although you couldn’t tell which was which. You were at the mercy of the current thrusting you further into the numbing depths, the water which battered at you stinging in your wounds.

Sapped of movement, the most you could do was bite down and try not to breathe. Your lungs burned; it was only a matter of time until involuntary instinct would take over, flood you from the inside.

The churning water flipped you over again. With the sickening lurch of your stomach, it took too long for your numb skin to register the air that slapped you round the face.

The waves had spat you out at the exact right moment. You hauled air into your lungs in a shuddering gasp, arms desperately pushing down at the waves around you in an attempt to keep your head above them.

There was no getting out of this with your powers, even if you could summon them in your current state. As a wave swiped at your face, sending you back under for a horrifying second, you longed for the ease of simply flying away with a boost from your powers.

Or even… someone blazing down from the sky in a shower of gold, always there when you needed him in battle.

But there was no one to save you. Twisting your head, every snatch of vision between the waves showed nothing but a lonely expanse of water so much bigger than you. The row of lights at the bank was too far away, glinting temptingly out of reach.

Another swell caught you, pushing your head under. Its power swamping you, you were rolled over, the cold clawing at you and forcing its way into your mouth. Each moment you surfaced was cut short, barely enough for a breath before the flow overwhelmed you once more. You couldn't even feel the rain which beat against your face.

As the storm tossed and toyed with you, your rapidly fogging mind only filled with your friends. Their care, their laughter, their loyalty. How you wished you could have been enough.

More waves, more snatches of air stolen away. You wondered if your body would have given out already had you not had powers to bolster your endurance, prolong the nightmare.

A harder impact set off a ringing in your ears.

That hadn’t been water.

Waves already tangled around you again, but the smallest spark of hope had you fighting to the surface. Your arm hit against something solid, the force of the water dragging you against it tearing grazes into your skin.

Somehow you had ended up at the edge, where the river slammed at its banks. Currents tugged in every direction as you scrabbled to grasp something, anything, of the concrete walling you in.

For one terrifying instant, a rebounding swell overwhelmed you, forcing your fingertips away from land-

The next surge crashed around your ears, flinging you back the other way. Upwards, it scaled the wall and you made your last push.

Colliding with brick and metal, you threw your arms around a pole. As the hungry water sucked at your limbs, clawing to drag you down again, you clung to that railing with all the strength you had left.

The water fell away.

Releasing your grip, you collapsed onto the stone. Ignorant to everything beyond your own heartbeat, you were ignorant to footsteps rapidly firing closer. You only closed your eyes. And finally breathed.

Thank you for reading!💜💜

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[snugglebug-mj-blog]

Can't find the perfect (my original idea)

Just imagine finding a secret room underneath the great 7 statues, Like one walking behind one because you saw something and you see a button and pushing it only for it to open a hatch on the back of the statue. You slowly climb down to find a small almost empty room.

“This would be perfect for a ‘me cave’. Just need to add some stuff and not tell anyone about it. A place for me to get away from everyone to just be by myself to think, to cry, or to simply breathe ” Y/n thought to herself as she looked around before nodding.

After decorating the room

Y/n looked around and nodded to herself. It wasn't much but it was hers.

It was after classes on a friday and y/n was tired and had a horrible headache so she went to her secret room and fell asleep. This week was more hectic than normal, grim being grim, Crowley being a huge jerk making y/n do his paperwork and refusing to find her away home, classes, bullies. With the lack of sleep y/n has had she was really tired but happy that next week was a break. Y/n had just planned to sleep for a few hours but instead she slept the weekend away.  {I've done this before i fell asleep on friday and didn't wake up until sunday night.} When she woke up loud thunder, and people shouting could be heard. Y/n quickly climbed out of her secret room only to find the sky dark, with green lightning shooting across the sky, as y/n started walking towards the school a Scarabia student ran up to her “You’re ok! Good! Come!” he said as he gently grabbed her wrist before they both started running through the school. Students and staff sighed in relief as they saw y/n. Soon the two got to the meeting room, the Scarabia threw open the door “I FOUND HER! SHE’S HERE!” The student yelled as he pulled y/n into the room y/n saw all of her friends and teachers. Before y/n could say anything Crewel had her in a tight hug, y/n could hear his heart racing before pulling her away from him “WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?!” Everyone yelled as they circled her “No one has seen you since friday!” Crewel said as he checked her for injuries  y/n blinked in confusion “I’m sorry. I was under a lot of stress because Crowley gave me all his paperwork to do plus school assignments and chasing after grim i guess i passed out somewhere” y/n rambled out quickly as tears filled her eyes. “I didn’t mean to, i’ll make sure i don’t do that again” y/n said as bowed “you can’t control it if you pass out due to lack of sleep but next time at least tell someone how you are feeling” silver said as he rubbed her back. Everyone was happy to see she was ok but right now they wanted to make sure she ate properly, and made sure she wasn’t hurt anywhere. 

All dorm leaders were highly ticked off as was crewel they dealt with crowley their way, Now crowley won’t even ask y/n for anything, he pays her more, and fixes up the ramshack dorm were y/n now has air and heat. Everyone takes turns helping y/n if she needs it.

[jjkamochoso]

Hii!! I'm always hanging out in your askbox, sorry about that! I've got another Feitan request! A Feitan x Female Reader who, similar to my other requests, is normally an outgoing person with a girly personality, but behind closed doors she really appreciates a peaceful atmosphere. Maybe the two of them decided to stay together off troupe duty at a rented place or hotel, and she's less bubbly than Feitan is used to her being with the troupe around. Not that she's any less smiley, just a lot more quiet than she usually is. Bonus points if it's raining outside and they can enjoy the sounds of it together in a dimly lit room! Sorry if that was really specific, feel free to change it up if you like!! Thank you!

I LOVE that you’re always requesting omg don’t apologize!! I love writing for you guys and talking with you all about anything and everything so feel free to keep sending in whatever, whenever!!😁🫶❤️ this idea is SO good and I’m grateful you entrusted me with another wonderful request!❤️ thanks so much and I really hope you love this!!

Lightning Strike of Love

Fluff

Feitan Portor x f!reader

Warnings: slight mentions of violence

“So we’ll meet back up in a few days, right?”

“That’s right. Don’t have too much fun on your off time without me,” Phinks replied to you, shooting you a playful wink.

“We have free time?” asked Shizuku, confusion etched on her features.

Machi sighed. “Yes, Shizuku. You’ve know about this for weeks, remember?”

The girl’s big eyes blinked behind her large glasses. “No.”

Machi pinched the bridge of her nose with her fingers in exasperation. You giggled as you listened to your fellow Phantom Troupe members talk about what they were doing in the upcoming down time allotted. You were sad that you weren’t going to be spending more time with them because they truly were your best friends and closest thing you had to a family. You were, however, looking forward to the peace and quiet of not being on a mission for once.

“Where you going?”

Feitan, stealthy as ever, made you jump involuntarily with the sound of his voice right near your ear. He snickered at your reaction, cocking his head as he awaited your answer.

“I rented a hotel room in the quiet part of the city. I figured it’s a good place to relax for a bit,” you said. “How about you? What’s your plan?”

“Nothing. I stay here.”

“At the base? By yourself? On our vacation?!” you asked incredulously.

“Tch. What else I supposed to do? I wait for you all to come back.”

“But won’t you be lonely?”

He shrugged nonchalantly.

“Why don’t you stay with me?” you suggested, stunning him completely. You leaned in towards him, smiling sweetly and lowering your voice. “I enjoy your company, Feitan. I’d really miss you if you weren’t there.”

Feitan’s heart wasn’t used to beating as quickly as it was and his cowl wasn’t doing any favors to cool his neck that was burning from your saccharine words. He wanted to accept your offer but if you kept gazing at him with that honeyed expression, he’d never survive the trip.

“Tch. You sappy,” he remarked, shoving his fidgeting hands in his pockets.

You checked the time on your phone. “So, wanna join me? The taxi will be here in about 10 minutes.”

“Fine, I go with you. But I not paying for anything,” he teased.

“Neither am I. A dead guy’s credit card will get you anything you want,” you told him, grinning triumphantly. “Now, go pack! We don’t want to keep the driver waiting!”

A suitcase, a suspiciously small duffel bag, and a taxi ride later and you and Feitan had arrived to the hotel.

“Why so fancy?” Feitan wondered, staring up at the old building with curiosity. Columns and arches were in abundance and the weighty, gold handled doors to the lobby were at least double his height. As you checked in, he took note of the indoor fountain and scoffed.

She out of her mind. This place ridiculous.

“C’mon, Fei! Our room is ready!” you called, beckoning him over. He obliged, still shaking his head at your go big or go home tendencies. You were always so bubbly and were attracted to sickeningly pretty things (hence the choice of hotel). He never understood how you two got along so well; you were polar opposites.

“I’m so excited to see our room!” you squeaked, clasping your hands together in anticipation as the elevator brought you up to your floor. Feitan couldn’t lie, he was looking forward to having you all to himself for the next few days, no longer losing your attention to the other Troupe members. He smiled from under his cowl.

Our room. With my girl.

You pulled out the key and opened the door. When you saw the room, you almost started crying. It was absolutely beautiful! The fluffy beds were calling your name and right after you put your suitcase in the corner, you kicked off your shoes and laid down, closing your eyes and quietly enjoying the silence that had filled the room. After a while you heard Feitan ruffle through his bag before lying down on the other bed. You peeked an eye open and saw he was reading a book.

“Oh, that was a good idea. I should’ve brought a book, too,” you said thoughtfully.

“I have extra in bag. You can get one.”

“Thank you! That’s very kind of you.”

His bag, filled only with books, made you screw your nose up in slight disgust.

“Where are your extra clothes?” you asked, afraid to hear his answer.

“I no bring. These fine for a few days.”

You grabbed the first book you saw, deciding to deal with that situation later. “Trevor Brown? I don’t know any of his works.”

Feitan chuckled. “Just look at it. You might like.”

After a few pages, you had seen enough.

“It’s a little too dark for me,” you explained, putting it back, which caused Feitan to laugh harder. “I know there’s a bookstore around here somewhere. That might be fun to do tomorrow.” You paused. “And I’ll take you shopping.”

After you resumed your position on the bed, Feitan enthralled in his book, you felt a chill blow through you. Since the hotel was older, the windows let in cold air so you were grateful that there was a fireplace in your room. With a click of a button, a warm fire began to roar and you smiled to yourself at how perfectly domestic this whole situation was. Having Feitan all to yourself in a place like this was a dream come true to you. You snuck a glance at the man as he read, his hair slightly hanging over his face, his lips, no longer covered by the cowl, pursed in concentration; he looked handsome beyond belief. Not wanting to disrupt him with your staring, you changed gears and grabbed the comforter from your bed, wrapping it around your shoulders. You then pulled a chair in front of the window and stared at the beauty outside, getting lost in your thoughts.

Feitan, on the other hand, was looking forward to you starting your cheerful chatting like usual. He was patiently waiting to hear your voice chirp up, talking animatedly about things that happened that day or what was on your mind. If anyone else spoke as much as you did, he would’ve sewn their mouths shut, but he tolerated—no, genuinely liked—your incessant jovial jabber.

“Why you no talk?” he asked, pulling you from your daydreams.

“Hm? What do you mean?”

“You never stay quiet, you always talk.”

“Are you complimenting me or insulting me?” you joked, but Feitan was looking at you with such a serious face that you immediately stopped teasing.

“Around the others, all day long, talk, talk, talk,” he said, opening and closing his hand in a gesture to mimic you speaking, “but with me, you silent. Why?”

“That’s easy,” you replied, wearing a soft smile, “you make me feel relaxed. At ease. I love to speak with everyone, yes, and I especially love talking with you, but when it’s just me, or just us, like this… I like the calming environment.”

“Oh.”

Feitan was clearly embarrassed by his assumption, although he did think it was good to learn that you two weren’t total opposites after all, since he cherished his quiet time as well. You were completely unbothered by his question but you still tried to reassure him in your own way without making him feel silly. You picked up the big black book that was resting on the nightstand and took up the spot next to Feitan on his bed, your arm brushing up against his.

You opened the book to a menu. “How about we order some room service?”

After ordering and eating practically everything from the menu, you and Feitan were happy as could be. You two shared nice conversations over dinner, Feitan ecstatic at hearing your bad jokes and sparkling laughter, and you were feeling grateful that you were going to be able to share moments like this with him for the next couple of days. When the last of the empty plates were left outside your hotel room door to be picked up, you locked the door and got your pajamas on since nighttime had almost arrived. You exited the bathroom in your cozy attire and sat on your bed once more, feeling Feitan’s gray eyes watch you the entire time.

“Yes?” you asked, wrapping yourself in the comforter again.

“Nothing,” he blurted out, tearing his gaze from you. You giggled, browsing through a magazine provided by the hotel. You were about to turn on the lamp to continue reading when all of a sudden, you heard tapping on the window. You peeked out and saw rain had begun to fall. The last remnants of the sun’s rays were snuffed out by dark clouds hovering in the sky above you and your stomach fluttered at the change of weather. Hearing the droplets hit the building was sending you into a state of pure bliss and there was only one thing that could make it even better.

“Feitan?”

There was no answer but you knew he was listening.

“Come lay next to me.”

Again, no answer.

“Please? I don’t bite.”

“I do.”

Your eyes found his in the dark but he showed no sign of yielding to your request. “Forget I said anything. I’m sorry for pushing it.”

You weren’t going to force him to do something he didn’t want to do. You knew he had an aversion to any sort of touch that wasn’t tortuous, but you thought for sure he would at least sit on the same bed as you. You sighed wistfully as you leaned against the headboard, wondering if Feitan knew of your romantic feelings for him and this was his way of rejecting them. To your total surprise, you felt your bed dip as another body climbed on the mattress.

“You no apologize, don’t be stupid.”

This time it was Feitan who brushed his arm against yours as he climbed into the warmth of your comforter, leaving goosebumps where he touched. You two sat together, no sounds to be heard except for the falling rain and far off thunder. The hotel room was dimly lit by the fireplace and you were admiring the flicker of flames that highlighted Feitan’s profile. The tranquility you were experiencing was unmatched by anything else on this earth and you wished life could be like this all the time. You didn’t know what possessed you, or what wrath you were about to face, but your body moved on its own in its reach for Feitan’s hand.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” you whispered, your rationality catching up to your actions. Right as you were about to grasp his hand, a loud clap of thunder had you pulling back in shock.

“I no say stop,” said Feitan, closing the space between you by placing his hand on top of yours. You turned to look at him fully and he met your gaze for only a second before studying the fireplace instead. In that second, though, you saw more than just flames blazing in his irises—

You saw love.

Taglist: @killuagirly

[hollowed-theory-hall]

Hi, Im not sure if youve written anything about this before (I had a quick look but couldnt see anything), but I find Hermione's relationship with her parents kinda interesting. Obviously they're pretty chill with her being a witch — they go to diagon with her at least once and seem quite interested in that sort of thing, they're obviously very proud of her — but by about gof and ootf theyre completely absent from her life. Hermione doesnt seem to go home during that summer holiday and seems to spend the rest with the Weasleys which I find incredibly odd. Her parents were obviously not abusive, nor were they in any sort of danger until dh when Hermione goes on the run (and of course she oblivates them and moves them to Australia first). Voldemort doesnt even make any attacks until hbp because hes lying low. I just cant think why shes suddenly estranged from her parents to the point where they allow their only teenage daughter, who already spends majority of her time in Scotland, to spend her holidays with a family thats already financially struggling?? Surely no actual parent would do that. Of course it could be lazy writing by JK or the rising popularity of Hermione after directorial choices in the films which called for more page-time, but Id be very interested to hear your opinions on the topic because for the life of me I can't figure this out.

(sorry for the long ask)

Hi, no problem about the long ask.

I think Hermione's parents are probably one of the things JKR didn't think through, but I like looking at things like that froma an in universe prespective. And in universe the relationship between Hermione and her parents, while not abusive, has been estranged from day 0.

What I mean by it, is that I don't think Hermione was ever very close to her parents. We see how a muggleborn who is close to his parents acts with Colin Creevey:

“So I can prove I’ve met you,” said Colin Creevey eagerly, edging further forward. “I know all about you. Everyone’s told me. About how you survived when You-Know-Who tried to kill you and how he disappeared and everything and how you’ve still got a lightning scar on your forehead” (his eyes raked Harry’s hairline) “and a boy in my dormitory said if I develop the film in the right potion, the pictures’ll move.” Colin drew a great shuddering breath of excitement and said, “It’s amazing here, isn’t it? I never knew all the odd stuff I could do was magic till I got the letter from Hogwarts. My dad’s a milkman, he couldn’t believe it either. So I’m taking loads of pictures to send home to him. And it’d be really good if I had one of you” — he looked imploringly at Harry

(CoS)

He tries to keep his muggle parents up to date with his life in the wizarding world. He brought a camera explicitly for that purpose. Hermione, on the other hand, never really included her parents in her life. They try to be supportive, they go with her to Diagon, but I'm convinced they know very little of what's going on at Hogwarts with their daughter.

I mean, she probably tells them about her high grades and about Harry and Ron, but she probably never told them about Voldemort, or at least, not much. Or about the bigotry she has to deal with as a muggleborn. I'm also pretty sure she didn't tell them how dangerous Hogwarts is or that she got petrified in 2nd year. I mean, I don't know about you, but if my daughter told me everything that happened to Hermione, I would start asking about alternative magical education that isn't Hogwarts.

I think Hermione was always a lonely child, her parents were likely at work or conventions more often than with her and she is used to hiding things from them. Hermione 100% used to be bullied in her muggle primary school, you see it in how she acts, and I think she didn't tell her parents about that either. So Hermione and her parents were never close in my opinion.

And then, you take this girl who is used to hiding the less pleasant aspects of her life from her parents and send her to the wizarding world. And she's smart, she quickly realizes no one wants to hear about dentists and that she doesn't belong. So she shuts up, she stops bringing her parents up since everyone thinks surgeons are just maniacs who cut into people. So she reads up, she studies everything she can so she would belong, because she never found herself in the muggle world and she loves magic. She loves the wizarding world and chooses to be part of it, even at the price of cutting her parents out of her life.

In first year, Hermione goes back home for Christmas, but from year 2 and onwards she stays at Hogwarts becouse she doesn't want to miss out in that year's mystery, or time with Ron and Harry. She, like Harry, doesn't want to leave the wizarding world for a world they consider worse.

And the fact she does her best to spend more and more time in the wizarding world is an extension of that. It's not that she hates her parents, she loves them, but she loves them less than she loves the wizarding world.

I think, the moment in book 4 in which she took the chance to fix her teeth magically against what her dentist parents would think is right, is a moment that shows that clear choice. Mr. and Mrs. Granger clearly care about Hermione and want what's best for her, but Hermione thinks she is better than them because she is a witch. She treats her parents like children who don't know what's good for them. She knows because she's a witch, so she can send them away for their safety. They might think using magic on her teeth is dangerous, but they're muggles they don't know better. Even Hermione falls into this prevalent mindset among wizards that they know better than muggles.

The Creevy brothers wanted to keep both the wizarding world and their parents. Hermione chose the wizarding world. She figured that if she truly wanted to belong and be up to date with everything, months in the muggle world would make this assimilation harder, so she stayed in the wizarding world. And when the time comes to make a hard decision to Obliviate her parents and send them away, it is easier to rationalize. She hasn't been part of their life for so long anyway, they would hardly notice the difference, besides, she's the witch, she's the one in the know, not them.

It's quite sad, but it's a result of Hermione's decision to assimilate into the wizarding world as if she was always there which is, I think, influenced by the bigotry that is everywhere. I mean, even the Weasleys look down on muggles:

“Are they doctors?” he [Harry] asked Ron quietly. “Doctors?” said Ron, looking startled. “Those Muggle nutters that cut people up? Nah, they’re Healers.”

(OotP)

So, yeah, Hermione chose to be a witch, and to her, that means cutting her parents she was never too close to out of her life.