#like I’ve had this conversation with my mom. she told me if she ever has to be like disconnected I have to do it and accept she wants to

[dindadjarin]

like if I’m completely honest with myself, yes I would have done the same thing. especially if the person who I love didn’t choose to die themselves. it would be different tho if said person got a choice in the matter, if they said “I want to do this, even if I die, I want to try and you have to accept that” I would have done it for them but if they explicitly told me so even if it crushed my heart.

[pussymasterdooku]

.

[simonrileysfavteacup]

Car Accidents

Paring: Simon "Ghost" Riley x wife!reader

Word count: 600 ish?

Warnings: car accidents, injuries, dad!simon, mom!reader, ambulances

Summary: When your eldest daughter's life is threatened, what will Simon do?

Simon liked James. He treated Emma well. He was polite. He came from a good single mother and he was kind. 

The boy was like him. 

A teenage boy stood at Simon’s door, holding a bouquet of roses in his hand. Emma had run down to answer the door the moment the doorbell rang. Simon had himself leaning against the stairs to make himself seem bigger. Even though he’s huge. 

“James!” Emma throws her arms around him. Simon tenses. You head over to the door, greeting the young boy.

That's when Simon realises the flowers in his hands for you, not Emma. He softens. James introduces himself, shaking his hand. Simon smiles, “Nice t’ meet ya. Keep ‘er safe. Be home by 10.”

***

Simon woke to his phone, not on silent, playing his basic ringtone. He groans, praying it didn’t wake you. When he feels your hand shove him, he knows it did. He reaches over, seeing James’ name on his screen. He picks it up, “What do ya want at this time of night?”

“Mr. Riley?”

“Kid, I’ve told ya. ‘S Simon.”

“Umm…I…Emma and I were at the movies and we were on our way to get ice cream, but this drunk driver hit us and totalled my car and Emma’s not waking up and I’m stuck in the car and-”

“Kid, kid, slow down. Where are ya?”

“50th ave…”

“Did ya call 911?”

“Yes…before I called you.”

“Okay, stay there. Try no’ to move. I’ll be there soon.”

“Okay…please hurry…”

Simon hangs up, getting out of bed. Your hand pulls him back into bed. “What happened?”

“Dove and James got into an accident. I’m gone go take care of them,” he presses a kiss to your cheek before heading into the closet. 

“Wait, what? I’m coming with you!”

“No, lovie, you stay here, ‘kay?”

“I”m coming. That’s my daughter too.”

“Lovie…”

“Simon.”

“Fine, get ya clothes on.”

***

Simon pulls over, recognizing one of the cars in the wreck. James’. 

The boy sits leaning against it, his head in his hands. You run over, taking him into your arms. “Are you okay? Where’s Em? Is she okay?”

“She woke up a few minutes ago. The ambulance is checking on her. I’m so sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Riley.”

“Kid, ya got nothin’ to be sorry for,” Simon says, still looking around to spot Emma.

“I shouldn’t have taken her out so late…”

“KId, listen to me, it’s not ya fault.”

“But-”

“It’s not. Now, what ambulance did they take Dove to?”

James points to the one where she is. Simon walks towards the truck while you take James’ hand. “Did you call your mom?”

“No, she’d kill me if she had to leave work for something this dumb.”

“It’s not dumb. You’re hurt.” 

“She won’t come anyways.” 

“He can come home with us. Spend the night with Dove,” Simon interrupts, hearing the conversation you two were having. 

“Yeah, that sounds good,” you smile at Simon. He heads over to Emma, where she holds an icepack to her head. Her eyes spot her father and she lights up, falling towards him and into his arms. 

James stands behind Simon, a guilty look on his face. “Em?”

“Don’t. Don’t you dare,” Emma sighs. “This wasn’t your fault. I’m fine. I promise.” 

Simon caresses her head, holding her tightly against him. “‘ts nobodys faul’. We’re gone go home. Both o’ ya gonna be fine.”

James looks down at his feet. “Thank you, Mr. Ri-Simon…”

Simon smiles internally. 

He won’t ever admit it but he has 3 sons now.

[catherinnn]

I thought of this at work today and I couldn't stop laughing: Imagine Dustin having an older sister who's back from college. So when they need a sub for Hellfire, he asks her because she's the one that taught him how to play in the first place. As soon as she walks in Eddie's brain short-circuits because "Jesus H. Christ Henderson, why didn't you tell me your sister was my dream girl?!?!? I would've at least brushed my hair!"

Que Dustin not sure whether he should be disgusted because his sister keeps flirting with his DM all night or excited because there is now a very strong possibility Eddie could become his brother-in-law now.

Roll for Initiative eddie munson x henderson!reader warnings: nothing much really, just fluff overall. eddie self-doubts for just a second, no use of y/n, cursing. a/n: thank you so much for requesting! I really hope you like it. reblogs and comments are very very appreciated. 2.2k words masterlist

“So,” Mike starts talking, Dustin takes notice of his sarcastic tone. “Who the fuck do we know that secretly plays D&D and would want to sub for Lucas”

“Um, well…” but before Dustin can get a word out Mike interrupts him.

“I mean, we’re fucked! Eddie’s gonna hate us and kick us out of Hellfire!”

“Dude-“

“No Dustin, I’m serious! I’m gonna kill Lucas and all his stupid new friends”

“Mike! Do you remember what I told you earlier? About my sister?”

“Uh… no?” he confesses.

“Honestly! Do you ever listen to me?!” Dustin claims angrily. “What I told you is that she’s coming back home. And she used to play, dude!”

“Are you serious?” Mike exclaims, unable to believe their luck. He asks “When does she get here?”

--

Dustin's heart pounds with anticipation as he waits at the doorstep. It had been months since he last saw you, and he couldn't wait to catch up.

And as your mom’s car pulls into the driveway, Dustin cannot contain his excitement. He rushes to greet you, nearly stumbling over his own feet in his haste. You step out of the car, a weary smile on your face as you spot your little brother.

"Dustin!" you exclaim, opening your arms for a hug. "You've gotten even taller since I last saw you."

“You think so?” he asks with hope.

“Oh right? He’s turning into a whole handsome tall man already!” your mom butted into the conversation and you both cringe at her choice of words.

“Ugh, I missed you!” you hug him again and he laughs.

Once you’re inside the house, Dustin wastes no time in bombarding you with stories of his D&D campaigns. He told you about the epic battles and the incredible DM the club has. You make a mental note to tease Steve as soon as you see him since he’s no longer Dustin’s coolest older friend.

“That club sounds so fun!”

"Do you think... would you want to join our club as a sub?" he asks eagerly. "We're short one person since Lucas joined the dark side”

You frown in confusion and he explains. “He’s in the football team”

“Really?” you ask surprised.

“Yeah…” he sounds disappointed. “Anyway, would you help us? Please”

“You’re sure they won’t mind?”

“They would be so thankful if you help us beat Eddie’s ass”

“Okay, sure then” you agree laughing.

--

“Come on! We’re gonna be late!” Dustin shouts from the living room waiting impatiently for you.

“I’ve been ready for like ten minutes, you’re the one who’s taking so long” you answer calmly, not knowing what all the fuss is about.

Meanwhile in the drama room in Hawking’s High…

“Alright gentlemen, are we ready to start?” Eddie says as he walks in.

“Umm no, Dustin’s not here yet” Mike stops him.

“Well, where is he?”

“He’s probably arriving any time now”

“Wheeler, we don’t have all day-“ Eddie starts complaining but the door opening abruptly interrupts him. An agitated Dustin walks in and starts apologizing, but Eddie’s not listening to him.

The club leader still frozen mid-sentence, his brain seemingly short-circuiting as he laid eyes on you, standing by the door. He stumbled over his words, his thoughts are silent but screaming at the same time. Suddenly, the room seemed smaller, the air thicker, as if a spell had been cast upon him.

However, you’re still oblivious to the effect you had over him.

“Soo, who’s this?” Gareth finally asks after waiting for Eddie to ask that question, but he was not even moving.

“Oh, this is my sister” Dustin starts introducing you. Eddie’s trance is broken when he hears your name, the prettiest name he’s ever heard. “She’ll sub for Lucas”

“She will?” Eddie asks with a hint of hope in his voice. All of the sudden hoping Lucas won’t be able to join Hellfire ever again.

The rest of the boys are waiting expectantly for Eddie to ask you all types of question until he finds an unsatisfying enough answer and he’ll decide you can’t sub. But he never does. So Gareth starts asking if you even know how to play D&D.

“Sure she does, she was the one who taught me how to play in the first place” your brother steps in.

You tell the boys your level in the game and for some reason they all seem surprised. They start murmuring among each other. But you notice how the boy on the big throne leans over to your brother to whisper something. You play dumb and walk closer to them.

"Jesus H. Christ Henderson, why didn't you tell me your sister was my dream girl? I would've at least brushed my hair!" He whispers-shouts and a smile starts forming on your face.

You’d be lying if you said he hadn’t called your attention. His big puppy eyes, all the rings on his hand. You don’t know why he says that about his hair, you thought it looked really good like that.

At any rate, you take a seat next to your brother, which just so happens to also be next to Eddie. Happy coincidence. And you start playing, Eddie sets the scene. He makes you imagine every single little detail so you feel like you’re actually there. He makes different voices for each character which makes you giggle. He even stands up, or leans over on the table, he talks to every single one of you, not forgetting about anyone. It’s mesmerizing to see him like this.

“I love how passionate you get” you comment and it makes him smile so hard.

He noticed before, every time he would change the tone in his voice to imitate a character, you’d laugh, and now he keeps changing voices just to hear it again.

“Give me the gold! He says. Or I’ll set my hungry wolves free, right this second!” Eddie acts and without failing he’s able to hear your snorts. It distracts him in the best way possible. “You have an adorable laugh” he tells you with a smirk.

This obviously makes you giggle once more, this time with a pink blush decorating your cheeks. “Thanks, it’s just- you’re cute making all the voices”

Now it’s Eddie’s turn to blush and smile once more.

Dustin notices this exchange —all of the other boys did— but he can’t decipher how he feels about it. On the one hand, he feels a little jealous and uncomfortable that you two keep flirting. But on the other hand, it would be really cool to have Eddie as his brother in law.

However, the game continues and so does the places Eddie takes you all to in your minds. So much so that at one point you start getting dizzy.

“Wait, where are we again?” you ask.

“In the mountains near the lake” Gareth answers.

“Are we close to the palace?”

“No no, the palace is behind the woods” Mike explains now. They have more of an advantage than you do, they've been playing this campaign for weeks now.

“Wh- Do you have a map?” You finally ask Eddie and he nods passing it to you.

“Here’s the palace” he comes closer and signals on the map, “and here is where you are”

“Oh, okay”

“You know, if you’re still lost I can stick around to guide you” he whispers giving the closeness.

“Well, you’re the bad guy here,” you argue imagining you’re still inside the game. “How do I know you won’t try to kill me?”

“Me?” he gasps acting offended. “I would never!”

“You already killed Jeff!” you accuse him.

“Yeah, but he’s not half as pretty as you are. I’d miss you too much” he makes sure he’s whispering very close to you now, just because if Jeff heard him he’d start acting offended. Just because of that… no other reason.

“Can we keep playing now? My mom will be here in like ten minutes to pick me up” Mike complains.

Those ten minutes fly by. Before you even realize it, Mike’s mom is honking in her car to hurry him up. And so you finish for the day, starting to gather all your things.

“You know, you owe me a pencil” you tell Eddie.

“Oh really? Why’s that?” he asks playfully.

“I only borrowed it to you! I did not gift it!”

“So you’re calling me a thief? First a killer and now a thief? Glad to know you think so badly of little old me”

“I didn't just called you that!” you say in you defence and he makes confused face, signalling you to continue talking. “I also said you’re cute. You’re a really cute thief and killer”

He starts laughing. “Are you always this charming, or is it just when I'm around?"

“I could ask you the same thing”

“Oh only with you, sweetheart” he promises.

“Me too” you admit a little shyly.

“Yeah?-” he tries to keep flirting but Dustin cuts him off.

“Are you ready? Let’s go”

“Wow, since when are you so eager to leave hellfire?” Eddie notices.

“No reason” he lies, he’s still not sure if all this flirting between you two would be something good or not.

“I think he’s a little jealous his sister is taking all of Eddie’s attention” Gareth teases him.

“No, I’m not!”

“Aw Dusty bun!” Eddie joins in the teasing.

“I’m not jealous! Ask her out for all I care!” he says but regrets it as soon as it left his mouth.

“Really?” Eddie checks in but Dustin is a very proud person, he’s not one to bend. So he nods encouraging his friend.

Good thing you know him like the palm of your hand.

“Let’s go dingus, mom’s probably waiting for us”

Eddie feels this as punch right on his chest. Did he read too much into this? Were you not actually interested? Was it just some playful flirting?

As you walk out the school and into the parking lot. You open the car so your brother can get in but tell him to wait a second, and you walk over to Eddie who was about to get in his van.

“Wait! Thief!” you call him and he turns around. “I think you should, you know… ask me out”

He feels the happiness creeping back into his body. “Yeah? I should?” his playful tone back in his voice. “Would you want to go out with a thief and a murderer?”

“If he’s as cute as you are, then I’d think about it” you make him laugh again.

“How about tomorrow night? I’ll pick you up at eight” he proposes.

“I’ll be ready”

“Good”

“Yeah, good” you walk closer to him. “See you tomorrow then” and before leaving, you give him a kiss on his cheek. Hiding your need to kiss him more after seeing his flushed face. You’ll have plenty of time for that tomorrow.

Dustin sees you getting in the car with the biggest smile on your face. “Did you ask him out?”

“Um, yeah… listen-“

“It’s fine, really”

“No, listen. I know that maybe it’s a little uncomfortable to think of one of your best friends going out with me. But I promise I would never do anything to hurt him and make it weird between you two-“

“I know that, and I know he wouldn’t do that either” he interrupts you. “I’m just- I’m worried that I won’t be a priority to you or to him anymore”

“Dustin, are you kidding? You could not be more wrong about that!” you argue. “Imagine this date goes well, we’ll start hanging out at home and watch movies with you, we could go out to eat all together, go to the cinema, anything! You name it!”

And the more he thinks about it that way, the more he loves that idea.

So the next day, he helps you choose your outfit, he tells you which hairstyle will look better and then hurries you up when it’s 7:50 pm and you’re still putting mascara on.

“You look fine already! Amazing even! Grab your jacket cause he’ll be here any minute now!” and as soon as he says that, he recognizes that car outside with the loud metal music, seconds later he hears the door knocking.

“I’ll get it, mom!” he yells so his mother won’t embarrass you.

“No, you won’t. I will” you stop him before he can open the door. “Go back to your comic-book. I’ll be back in a few hours”

And he waits until you get back. 

When you finally do, he’s on the couch watching TV but mutes it as soon as he hears you.

“Hey” he notices the big smile on your face is on again. He also notices your lips are a little puffy and he cringes at that thought.  

“You can go to sleep happily now, the date went amazing” you explain. “God, I think I’m love with him!” you comment as you go up to your room.

“Already?” he judges a little.

But as you promised, the three of you hang out together most of the time. And as long as he looks away when you two kiss or ignores the fact that Eddie’s spending the night in your room after you all catch a movie and order some pizza. He’s really happy that you two found each other.

[belokhvostikova]

𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭, 𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐁𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 | Perhaps the karma gods of the world were just as perverted as Hawkins’ residential Freak, Eddie Munson, himself, as the perfect opportunity to lay his hands on you arose when you go searching for helpless students to tutor.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | Swearing, brief mentions of religion, naivety, feelings of embarrassment, perversion, and explicit sexual content: fondling, minimal spanking, mentions of virginity, mentions of female masturbation, male masturbation, tiny praise kink, stuffed animal humping, clit rubbing, handjob, oral (both receiving), corruption kink, cum eating and dubcon (just precautionary).

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 | I tried to be gross! Sorry it took so long. It's quite hard writing about a plotline that doesn't pertain to Eddie being mad at us for taking his picture and putting it in the yearbook (my series, you should read it). I'm trying to get into the groove of writing, so I apologize in advance if this is literal butt cheeks, I tried. Also, you will be getting an unwarranted history lesson.

𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬, 𝐃𝐨 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭.

“…Man, I told Jeff that my mom would get pissed off if he left his beer cans in the garage, and he was all like, “Nah, dude, I promise I’ll pick ‘em up,” and he didn’t! Of course, he didn’t…”

In retrospect, tuning out the complaints of Gareth Emerson may not have been the smartest moves, as Corroded Coffin had just lost their only space to freely practice. You know, where they wouldn’t get dirty looks and threats of the police for public disturbance. And surely, as lead guitarist and singer of such an aspiring band, Eddie Munson would have been fully engrossed at the sudden mention of the deterrence into their path to wealth, fame, and glory… right? No. Because this is Eddie Munson we’re talking about here. And behind that domineering rockstar facade of leather jackets, clinking chains, gaudy jewelry, and a tight- tight pair of denim pants, yes, behind those pair of pants was a pulsating cock that was desperate to grow twice its softened size just two minutes and twenty-three seconds before he had to face Mrs. Wither’s biology class, all because Eddie Munson saw you.

Why- why on God’s green Earth would he ever choose to listen to the cracking voice of Gareth Emerson, when you were literally standing right across the hall, not even four yards away? The skirt. The fucking teeny tiny, baby pink, short skirt you decided to wear, the one Eddie was sure that if you bent forward even just a little bit, he would be flashed with the sexy crease of your fat ass cheeks meeting your doughy thighs, and he was desperate to be smothered by it. 

“…So yeah, we can’t practice at my house anymore.” Gareth lamented. That’s when he noticed the oh so obvious, blatantly clear, totally discernable trance of his friend, realizing his entire tangent just deliquesced into thin air with no acknowledgement whatsoever. Gareth slammed his locker shut. “You weren’t even listening to me!”

Eddie’s eyes finally shot away at the bleated tone of Gareth’s rightful attitude. “‘Scuse me? I totally was listening.” He hissed back, evidently not amused with the embarrassing fact that he was caught red-handed. 

“No, you weren’t.” Gareth groused, looking back to follow the ghost trail that once was Eddie’s distracted eye line, which is when he landed on you. “You were just checking out that girl.”

“That girl has a name, y’know?” Eddie retorted.

“That girl isn’t going to help us find a place to practice!” Gareth retaliated. “Stop looking for chicks to score, I’m serious.”

“Hey,” Eddie perked, as he stood straight, countering his friend, “y’know, she’s actually really smart and, like, super fucking funny-”

His friend could only incredulously scoff. “Oh, right, because you’ve totally had a conversation with her.”

“I-I’ve… stood next to her a-and have heard her talk to her friends.” Definitely not the riposte Eddie hoped to shoot out. The stuttering sure as hell didn’t help.

“Oh, so you’re a stalker.” Gareth nonchalantly derided, leaving Eddie to deadpan him. “Look, whatever, man, you can perv on girls all you want, but we have bigger issues at hand, dude. Where the hell are we supposed to practice?” Eddie’s chest ended up being victimized by the harsh poke of Gareth’s stern finger. And if he wasn’t so annoyed with his friend, he would have winced, because that actually kinda hurt a little. But just a little. Eddie’s ego wasn’t about to take a hit today. 

He rolled his eyes with a sigh. “Relax, alright? We’ll work our way around it.”

Truthfully, Eddie had no actual plans of working their way around it, in fact, it was quite a large issue he should have prioritized, but that could wait. Should it? No. But it would. Yes. Surely, staring at you was more of a fun game. He’d done that for the past two years he’d known of you, and he never got tired of it, I mean, how could he? One day—he always chalked up—he would get the balls to actually speak to you. You were always so nice, so sweet, skirting around the halls of Hawkins High that Eddie felt were too unworthy for your leisure, smiling and waving at any and everyone. Last Tuesday, the day you met his perverted eyes—oblivious to his hungry stares—and kindly threw him a beguiling smile as if it wasn’t the most dangerous weapon on Earth, was the day Eddie Munson skipped fourth period and jerked his aching cock in the dingy stall of the boys’ bathroom, before speeding home to fold his pillow in half and slide himself into the makeshift pussy just to fuck it with screwed shut eyes to invision the perfect image of you laying on your back with bouncing tits.

But unfortunately, that was just a dream Eddie Munson would have to deduce himself into every night, because the reality of you ever actually speaking to him was tragically low. Mostly because Eddie was scared he’d stutter and fuck up in front of you. It was embarrassingly shameful when it occurred in the comfort of his own bedroom, as he acted out what he would say to you in the mirror. You literally weren’t even there and he still tripped over his words!

But maybe the karma gods were finally aligning with his life, because he watched you happily place a “Need a Tutor?” sign on the bulletin board of the main hall, with little slips of your phone number ready to tear off and grab for anyone needing some “intimate one-on-one session time.” And, my god, was Eddie Munson anguished for that, so when the pink thumbtack stabbed your preciously designed poster into the cluttered corkboard, and you walked away with a innocent smile that was ready to help anyone in need, Eddie could hear an angel receiving its wings in the distance, as a harp played, and a choir harmonized heavenly, because his mind was stirring with the endless possibilities of raunchy and crude wet dreams. And Eddie was finally receiving a chance to dive into some pussy galore. Gross. 

“Oh, yeah, and how exactly do you plan on doing that? My drum kit can’t fit in your trailer, Grant’s grandma nearly had a heart attack the last time we practiced at his place, and Jeff’s mom still thinks it’s the “devil's music,” so what exactly is your plan here, hotshot?” Gareth scoffed.

“My plan?” Eddie chimed with a menacing smirk. “Oh, well I plan on getting tutored by my future wife.” He slyly leered, as he sauntered his away to your advertisement, Gareth following behind feeling beyond the definitions of vexation. 

“You’re actually insane, y’know that?” Gareth exhaled, as he watched Eddie eagerly tear off a slip and examine it with a prodding tongue through his lips. “This says for anyone needing a tutor in history.” Gareth pointed out. 

Eddie shrugged, as your number slipped into the back pocket of his jeans. “So?”

“You’re not even taking history!” Gareth stressed, as the bell rang to commence class. “What are you gonna do when you show up completely clueless?”

“Dude, she’s looking for idiots to tutor,” Eddie patted him on the shoulder, “she’s expecting cluelessness. And I am the perfect guy. Kay?” He triumphantly smiled. “Stop stressing, go to class. And don’t worry, I’ll send you an invitation to our wedding. Thinkin’ of making it BDSM theme.”

Gareth grimaced. 

Eddie Munson may not have caught onto the obvious insult he just hurled to himself, but that didn’t matter. Not when he had a call to make after school.

-

The ticking minutes of the afternoon couldn’t have passed by any slower, as Eddie managed to work up every excuse in the book to get his uncle, Wayne, to leave early for work: grab some lunch at Benny’s before hand, stop for some coffee at the local cafe, show up an hour early to impress the bosses—though, the bosses didn’t pay Wayne enough for him to feel the need to turn up before his scheduled shift—and soon the minutes turned into hours, and the sun would be setting soon. Eddie could feel you slipping through his grasp, as someone who probably actually needed a tutor was bound to call you before he could- or worse, some sick perv with the same bright idea as him would call you. Though Eddie Munson was adamant on the fact that none of the other guys who creeped on you could take care of you like he could.

Sure, the only experience he ever had was when the older bartender with bouncy hair offered to show the lead singer of Corroded Coffin a “special thank you,” which promptly led him to losing his virginity in the loathsome bathroom of the Hideout, which also led to a frantic eighteen-year-old Eddie anxiously running to the local health clinic for STDs testing when it dawned on him that he just had unprotected sex with a stranger during the dangerous minutes of post-nut clarity. But, Eddie Munson was still a hormonal teenager, and once the negative results cleared him from the nerve-wracking chlamydia or gonorrhea scare, he laid back and relished on the memory of having sex and, well, by the sounds of it—if his memory serves him right—she seemed to enjoy it, too. Granted, Eddie never engaged in any more of her efforts to try again because- well, he was left scarred, but all that is beyond the point. The point is Eddie Munson wanted to be the one to love on you, dote on you, make you feel so fucking good that you were programmatically addicted to him- to his cock. 

Oh, fuck, he’s hard already. 

But finally, as the clock struck six o’clock, his uncle waved him goodbye, and Eddie had ran through the numerous piles of clothes in the trailer—ones he promised to fold—and slammed into the wall phone to begin his endeavors. The crumpled slip of your phone number had been retrieved from his back pocket, and he skimmed the digits, letting his fingers dial as he read each number. It was nowhere near remotely possible, but Eddie Munson had even managed to find your phone number to be so sexy. Mm, so even and divisible. God, he was sick. But nonetheless, the phone rang and rang, and he was muttering the “c’mon, pick up, pick up” mantra to lead him one step closer to you. Communicating through a phone would surely ease his worries about potentially screwing up. He just had to take a deep breath and let the conversation flow itself. But, shit, it was ringing for far too long. You were probably already knees deep into some boring textbook with a helpless classmate, or getting flirted by Nathan Cavanugh, who Eddie once saw check you out; or you were probably cuddling up with Bryce Walters, who would always lean against your locker to sweet talk you during school; or, fuck, you could have already been getting handsy with Harrison Moran, who would always come up and hug you after a footba-

“Hello?” Oh, shit.

“Oh- I mean, uh, hi.” This wasn’t going to work. He was already slipping up. Eddie had never internally cringed so hard, his hand pragmatically slapped his forehead in disbelief, but his mouth just kept moving. “It’s, um, me.” Me?! How the fuck would you know who me is?!

“Oh, my god, hi, Eddie!” You perked with giddiness. What the fuck?

He stammered with confusion, “Wait… how’d you know it was me- like, me, Eddie?” 

“Duh, your voice, silly.” You giggled, as Eddie huffed a breathy chuckle, and leaned against the wall with a curling lip. Maybe this could work. 

“Oh, yeah? You recognize my voice, sweetie?” His lit into a teasing, sultry crisp that had you flustered on the other line. 

“Well, yeah. I mean, you’re always making quite the scene during lunch.” You delicately laughed into the receiver. “I guess it just kinda got stuck in my head, like, you know, when you hear a catchy song?”

Eddie sucked in a breath, as his hand played with the hem of his shirt to tease his sensitive naval with soft touches, and you could thoroughly hear the smirk of his grin oozing through his words. “Oh, really?” He teased rhetorically. “Yeah, no, I understand. I can happily say the same for you, sweetheart. Got such a pretty voice.”

“Oh,” you were clearly rattled, as his compliment hit you, “th-thank you, Eddie. You’re so nice.”

“Aw, well, actually, sweetheart, it’s you who’s so nice. Offering others your help with tutoring, just so sweet, aren’t ya, huh? It’s actually why I’m calling.” He smiled. “You wanna… help me out, princess?”

“Yes, I’d love to!” Your bubbly voice made it certain that you were ready to genuinely help him with his studies, and provide him with the needed lessons. It could almost make Eddie feel guilty. Almost. But his dick was thumping with eagerness, and he was containing all restraints to keep from pressing his bulge against the paneling of the wall to your sickly sweet voice, and thrusting his hips. That would be a new low. Even for him. “I’ve been waiting forever for someone to call, Eds, you don’t even understand. I was beginning to think nobody needed a tutor.” 

“Oh, no, sweet girl, I can assure you I desperately need a helping hand.” He sighed, as the rings on his finger began dancing around the protrusion of his pants, applying just a small amount of pressure. “And I’d fucking love yours.” Your innocent mind absolutely swooned at the opportunity to aid his learning, completely unbeknownst to Eddie’s perverted meaning.

“That’s great, I’d love to help you, Eddie.” You gushed, and Eddie’s teeth had to bite down onto his lip to uphold the self-control of being so desperate he was debating dry humping the wall. “Are you able to come over tonight?

“Oh, yeah, baby, I’ll definitely be coming tonight.” As soon as the call would end, Eddie Munson would drop to his knees and repent all the wrongdoings of his life, if it meant this actually working out for him. It’s doesn’t necessarily fall under the codes of Catholicism to exactly pray in front of the random “Bless this house, O Lord we pray, Make it safe by night and day” calendar with the hopes of finally having sex with his high school crush, but Eddie wasn’t exactly the type to carry around his own crucifix for an impromptu prayer, and he was truly just really fucking horny for you. And he was also smart enough to know his luck. If his life taught him anything, you would actually say that plans came up and you would be too busy to tutor him, and just like that, his opportunity would have disintegrated into dust. Now, while the possibility of that occurring was plausible, it genuinely should not have garnered him the idea to suddenly believe in divine interference and pray to a calendar that he’d get laid, but Eddie Munson did it anyway. Because you had him that fucking forlorn.  

“How does seven-thirty sound? You can come over then, does that work for you?” You were already planning the layout for your study session, when all Eddie could think about was caressing your figure.

“Absolutely.” He affirmed with a tight breath when his teeth bloodied his lip.

“Great, I’ll see you then, Eddie- oh, wait, before you go, do you like cookies? I can make us some as a snack.” God, you really were so fucking sweet.

“Shit,” Eddie mumbled under his breath, “cookies? Yeah, I like cookies, sweetheart. Can’t fucking wait to taste them.”

“Okay, good, I’ll gladly make you some!” You cheered with excitement. “I’ll see you soon!”

Attending high school for six years would surely be more than enough time to, I don’t know, memorize at least one thing about the many lessons Eddie had to endure—science, math, hell, even construction—but nothing cemented into his mind more clearly than the address you’d given him- the address he’d fuck you at… hopefully. God, he could already picture it so vividly. Your pink room of frills and silk. The room where you study. Where you sleep. Where you change. Where you lick your fingers and snake your hand under the lace of your panties to rub your pussy to the thought of being fucked- 

Oh, how the hell was he ever going to survive being in your house?

-

Eddie Munson had stared about the likes of your neighborhood for a good five minutes, finding the audacity to suddenly play undercover detective as a means of “scoping out the scene” to ensure the sanctity of his sexual endeavors. Perhaps the karma gods were desperate to get this twenty-year-old man laid—they had to be tired of the countless prayers for pussy that flooded their heavenly inbox—as Mrs. Winthrop, the forty-something-year-old lady of fancy tracksuits and shiny pearls who loved to patrol the regulations of the HOA, was, fortunately, accompanying her newlywed seventy-something-year-old husband at the City Hall’s Annual Fundraiser Banquet. Had she decided to not meddle into the world of small town aristocrats to weasel her way into her elderly husband’s will, she would have surely caught wind of Eddie Munson’s suspicious activity, and had your house flooded with flashing reds and blues as he sat in the backseat of a police car; hands in cuffs and boner in boxers. 

But Mrs. Winthrop hadn’t been home. And Eddie had deliberated the risk of a possible wandering neighbor catching a glimpse of his dubious acts, and taken it, because in doing so, he was met with the glory of an empty driveway to your home. Where a car—like the silver sedan he learned your mother drove to drop you off to school or the black truck he learned your father drove to pick you up from school—was typically parked had been abandoned to an emptiness, leaving the cemented path to your garage exposed. And peering just a little to the left, he would come face-to-face with the familiar fateful sentiment of that of an empty driveway: an empty curb.

Long gone were the risks of parental interference.

Eddie Munson was fucking you tonight. 

Your doorbell had diffused into quietness. Hidden behind the denim pockets of his jacket, his fists balled tightly, as his mind ran through the notions of how he would manifest this to occur. Worst case scenario, you’d reject his advances… possibly realize his agenda… might call him a freak… definitely a perv… probably slap him in the face, he would deserve it… you could tell the whole school… it would surely spread across town… then the torches and pitchforks would come out- yeah, okay, he should really stop overthinking right about now. But then there were the other thoughts. The thoughts- the debauched thoughts that filled his head of just you and your body completely at his mercy. Best case scenario, you’d fall into his arms… he’d shove his hot tongue down your throat- ooh, better yet, his cock… he’d certainly grope the fattiness of your ass… might tug on your nipples with his teeth… spit on your clit… fuck, then undoubtedly plunge his cock into your cunt until it was drowning in his sticky cum. There was only so much space behind the seam of his zipper before his growing dick would burst through.

The ten seconds of impending footsteps held no merit of preparation for Eddie Munson to secure the steady breath of cool, calm, and collected like he wanted to. He was supposed to up his bravado, put on that bad boy demeanor he knew to flaunt while strutting the streets of Hakwins, Indiana to ensure his character was never physically targeted by the clear disdain the town held for him. And it worked. Never once had it failed to be intimidating. In fact, that very intimidation that was going to be his reliable source of timidly scaring you tino pulling up the soft cotton of your top to flash him the bouncing volume of your boobs for him to pervertedly grab. If it had to get that far. 

But that was all too easy. 

And Eddie Munson hadn’t accounted for the fact that his breath would hitch at mere sight of you beaconing him into your humble home with a peachy “Hi, Eddie” and that sinful skirt that seemed to love your body just as much as he did from the way it clung to your dips and curves. 

“H-Hi, sweetness.” His lips hungry rolled against themselves, as his eyes raked your silhouette upon entering the foyer of your house. “I, uh, I didn’t see anyone in the driveway. C-Can I assume we’re, um, alone?” Eddie shyly smiled.

You were there to kindly answer. “Oh, yeah! My parents drove out of town to attend a familiar friend’s wedding.” See, this is where an attempt at a nice conversation could have occurred, had you not daintily secured your hands together behind your back with pristine posture. With your puffed chest, Eddie’s eyes had absentmindedly diverted to the now pebbling outline of your nipples that seemingly hardened from the draft Eddie had brought in. Heaven truly was a place on Earth- or whatever the hell that Belinda chick sang about. “I hope that’s alright.” You giggled.

“Huh…?”

“I mean, I’m definitely nowhere near as good a cook as my mom, but I made those cookies for you as a treat, and I hope you’ll like them.” You bit your lip. “But, um, if you’re still hungry, we can totally order something for dinner.”

Eddie didn’t know what was louder, the beating in his heart or his cock. Either way, it was blatantly obvious the effect you had on him, and his body was desperately lurching for yours. “Oh, yeah, no, uh, no worries. I-I, um- sorry, I’m just a bit… nervous.” He shied away with a teasing grin.

What more could be expected? Out of the kindness of your heart, your face contorted with concern. “Oh, please don’t be nervous!” You held a soft grip to his bicep, pulling him close. Hook. “I know it can be a little scary being tutored, but I promise you’re totally in control here.” And reel. “We’ll go at your pace. I’m here to help you, remember?” You’d be doting on him the whole night. 

If intimidation wasn’t going to get him to see your pussy tonight, maybe the kicked puppy act will.

A sickening smirk consumed his face, and his hand flew over his heart. “Aren’t you just the sweetest? Got the prettiest heart and face in this town, huh?”

Oh, and how that compliment had you flustering in his grace, looking away with a breaking smile of demure. Being tutored may not have been the most conventional way of getting laid, but the favor was working on his side, and Eddie was loving his ingenious idea of stealing your advertising slip. “I- well, um, thank you, Eddie.” You smiled, attempting to meet his eyes again. “You know, you’re really nice, too. I knew I shouldn’t have listened to Donna.”

“Donna?” That crank with a stick up her ass, who seemingly tried to control every little thing you did? That Donna?!

Now, say all you want about the morality of following around someone you love, but don’t misconstrued things here, Eddie Munson was not a stalker. Nope. Nuh-uh. Sure, he liked to linger around you, who wouldn’t? And, while, yes, oftentimes- no, all the times, you didn’t know of his presence, but still, it wasn’t stalking. He was just learning things about you. Yeah, learning things. Learning the make and model of your parents’ vehicles. Learning your class schedule in hopes of catching glimpses of you in the hallways. Learning about your favorite subjects and what you hated. Learning the acts that guys did that made your face scrunch up with disgust. And yes, learning about Donna fucking McIntyre, who did seem to catch on to his stalking presence- no, linger presence (totally not a stalker).

In the many instances Eddie stood close enough to eavesdrop on your conversations, he’d grown quite a distaste for Donna McIntyre. Actually, it’d do no justice to deduce his hatred as “distaste.” Eddie Munson fucking hated Donna McIntyre. Listening to her speak was like shoving a knife through his eardrum. He’d only endure it if it meant hearing your honey voice and learning more about you. This particular disdain for your close friend hadn’t appeared from thin air, no, Eddie Munson had complete reasons to hate the ginger; Donna McIntyre had sensibility. Where your naivety had you blissfully unaware of Eddie’s hungry stare, Donna McIntyre had caught onto every one of his perversions. Call it bias, he didn’t care, he hated her. In hindsight, your two year friendship with her had truly saved you from some compromising situations in which creepy men bestowed themselves upon you. Donna McIntyre was there to save you. Leave no girl behind. And you loved her for it. 

Eddie Munson, on the other hand, despised her for it.

A daily routine had manifested itself between the two rivals. One where Eddie would lovingly stare at your perched breasts spewing from your low-cut top, only to accidentally make eye contact with Donna during his spare seconds of eyeing you, being met with one of the most—rightfully—disgusted stares from her. He was left scoffing every time she grappled onto your elbow and pulled you away wherever you stepped within his vicinity. 

“Yeah.” You sorely pouted. “See, she’s, like, my best friend ever, but she always says the nastiest things about you.”

“Like what?” He questioned with squinted eyes. 

“Well, I don’t want to say the mean names she calls you, but she always mentions how I need to stay away from you; something about you being bad news.” You huffed. “I mean, literally before you came here, I called her all excited that I was finally tutoring someone tonight, because it looks really good on college applications, you know? But when I told her it was you, she completely lost it, saying you were just taking advantage of me.” Fucking divine interference?!

Eddie Munson had to give it to her. She may have been a pain in the ass, but Donna McIntyre was smart.

“Uh, well, y’know, princess, some people are just downright rude.” He dejectedly suspired. “People have been pickin’ on me since I was a child, y’know? Just because I’m different.” Maybe the bruised kid was taking it a little too far, but a special place in hell was already being dedicated to Eddie Munson, with a fiery plaque being engraved with the devil’s sharp talon, so did he care? No. Not when his sob story had you jumping to console him with a sympathizing hug, one where your tits squished against his chest, and he reveled in the feeling of your poking nipples brushing against his body. 

A more than content hum groaned out of Eddie’s mouth, as he wrapped you close, and inhaled a waft of your perfect smell. “I’m so sorry, Eds.” Your heart of gold oozed out with all sadness for him.

“It’s okay, baby-”

“No, it’s not.” You pulled back to pout at him. “People shouldn’t treat you like that. It’s mean. People shouldn’t be mean to you.” Eddie cooed, copying your protruding lips, and sighed happily at your word of action. “You have me as a friend now! And I promise that I’ll never be mean to you. I just want to be nice to you. All the time, be nice to you.”

There’s no way you couldn’t feel his boner pressing into your tummy. “Aw, precious, I’d really like that. You’ll be nice to me? Do anything for me? Make me feel good?”

The quickness to your fervent nod had a sickening grin formulating on Eddie’s expression. “Yes, of course! Always, that’s what friends do.” You smiled. In a flash, you acted on impulse and pressed your lips to his cheek, where your gloss had marked his skin and burned his body. Witnessing you shyly smile at him afterwards had his eyes nearly rolling to the back of his head. “I just wanna help you out.�� You whispered.

“You can definitely help me, princess.” He spoke in hushed tones. “Y’know how you can help me?” His face gravitated to yours, target of interest aiming for your lips.

And you looked at him with those innocent, round eyes. “Tutoring you!” You beamed, like you just answered the million dollar question on a game show- well, not Eddie’s preferred game show.

“Oh,” he cleared his throat with a forced laugh to keep you smiling, “yes, of course, sweetheart, tutoring me. That’s the only reason I came here, anyway.” He internally perished. 

You squealed in excitement, jumping from the giddiness of being helpful. “Yay!” You beamed, forcing Eddie to follow suit, his faux enthusiasm compelling him to swallow thickly in order to constrain the blood back to his brain if he was going to sit through a tutoring lesson before seeing your ass in whatever baby pink thong he pictured you wearing. You laced your hand within his—being his only saving grace for enduring schoolwork after hours—and tugged him into the coziness of your living room. “So, are you taking American History or World History?”

“Uh…” Two years ago, Wayne Munson urged his nephew to exercise his newfound 26th Amendment Right to vote at the ripe age of eighteen for the 1984 Presidential Election. Granted, not so much newfound, given that Eddie was still falling off of monkey bars when protests about the monstrosity of what was going on Vietnam managed to lower the voting age; but nonetheless, Eddie had gotten severely tired of being bombarded by Reagan signs that infested every neighborhood street he drove past, enabling him to proudly wear Hawkins’ very own rendition of the ‘I Voted’ sticker. Though, the excitement was short lived, when the Munsons gruffed in disappointment watching Ronald Reagan win his reelection and haunt their lives for another four years to come. Eddie Munson didn’t know what the hell was going on with the world fifty years ago, but the CBS Morning News was raving about the wave of the conservative movement, talks of Gorbachev meeting Reagan was happening, something called the internet was kinda freaking him out, and Eddie Munson voted, so how’s that for American history for you? 

“American- yeah, yeah, American History.” 

“Perfect!” He followed your movements, and joined you on the couch, textbooks and cookies laid out in uniform perfection against the wood of your coffee table. Just for him. “With Mr. Conklin? Or Mendez?”

“Mendez.” At least, he did when he was still a junior and vandalizing the back desk with engravings of immature pornographic sketches. 

“Oh! Donna’s also in that class.” Eye fucking roll. “She told me about that killer quiz you guys had today. Said something about how none of the questions were on the study guide that Mr. Mendez gave to y’all.”

Eddie drawed out an exasperated sigh. “Yeah, yeah.” He lied right through his teeth. “I-It’s why I came to you, sweetheart! I completely flunked that quiz, and- well, then, you- you were just like this angel sent from heaven, offering your help.” He grinned watching you heat up from his heavy stare. “Just meant to be, huh?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Your nerves flustered, as your teeth bit into your lip. “I’m happy to help you, Eds. Anytime you need.” You could feel his breath fanning across your cheeks. “Um, did you, uh, bring your books?” Actually getting a good look at him, Eddie hadn’t brought anything. At all. “Or, um, at least… some notes?”

A whistle of slow realization escaped Eddie’s mouth. “Uh… oh, y’know what happened? See, I was just spiraling from the quiz, a-and then I got so nervous for our tutoring lesson that, y’know, it just completely slipped my mind. I’m sorry, princess.”

“Oh, well, that’s okay.” A sweet reassurance came from your part. “We can just share my book.” You patted the distant space of cushion between you two, one which Eddie gladly took up.

And, my god, was he happy he did, because thighs touching thighs, scents mixing with scents, body pressed against body, and one look down, Eddie was exposed to the glory of low-cut shirts, and your tits presented themselves so beautifully to his eyesight. But a worn textbook weighing the size of a fat dog had slammed into his lap, and suddenly his eyes were tainted by the image of an old, white man who surely didn’t arouse him like the picture of your boobs.

“Great… Thomas Jefferson.” A tight-lipped smile concealed his dismay.

“Uh,” your shy giggle captivated his attention, “no, Eddie, that’s actually James Monroe.”

“Psh.” He puffed his cheeks, nonchalantly waving his hand in the air to brush off his blatant error of mistake. “Right. Totally knew that, sweetheart.”

“It’s okay if you didn’t.” You smiled. “I’m here to help you, remember?” 

“Mhm.” His arm circled around your shoulders, letting your rest back in the comfortable bliss of soft cushions and his presence. He hummed seeing you tuck within yourself, thighs pressing into one another, and he could only imagine what you were trying to relieve. Because Eddie Munson had made you feel things. The sweet tingles you would get when you were alone at night and had all the time to yourself. When you would visualize what it would be like to have a boy like you, enough to want to be your boyfriend, and what you two would get up to. Lacey Fisher, four weeks ago, returned from her weekend birthday trip, and confided in you on how her boyfriend, Henry Aronofsky, took her virginity. She detailed to your curious mind that it had hurt. The initial intrusion, it stung. But then he kept going. And it started to feel good. But what was even better was the closeness. His body on hers. His lips on hers. 

You craved that. And having Eddie’s domineering heat radiate on your skin had your pussy pulsating with a thumping tingle that you didn’t know what to do with. Eddie was cute. Cuter than Nathan Cavanugh, Bryce Walters, or Harrison Moran. Eddie Munson had an edge that made you question why your cotton underwear was becoming uncomfortably wet under his stare. How could Donna McIntyre not like him? He was scarily hot. 

“W-What,” You cleared your throat, “what, um, period are you guys on… in Mr. Mendez’s class?”

Shit. “Uh…”

“It was period four, no?” You opened the textbook on his lap, flipping the silk pages to thumb through the chapters. “Donna had mentioned it, said she wanted me to help her study this weekend.”

Thank god for Donna McIntyre’s big ass mouth. Even if it did shit-talk him. “Yeah, yeah, period four, mhm.”

“Okay, so lucky for you, we will be talking about Thomas Jefferson today.” You chuckled. “Period four spans from 1800 to 1848, which will cover different aspects like the developmental growth of political parties as a result from the expansion of suffrage, and definitive aspects of American culture expounded by the Era of Good Feelings…”

Fuck me.

-

Eddie Munson sat through forty-seven minutes of the Jeffersonian Era, listening of the profoundness of the Revolution of 1800s, and America’s god given right to expansion and the manifest destiny- or whatever bullshit propaganda that damn textbook pounded out to high schoolers just to get to some pussy. But if the United States could gain the delusional superiority complex to conquer and prosper on westward, Eddie Munson could do the same- well, on you. This was just one obstacle. One hurdle. One step closer to obtaining his holy grail of getting his dream girl. Shoving a dozen of the triple chocolate chunk cookies you’d baked him was enough to get him through the painful lecture of the demise of the Federalist Party, though, the events of the Mexican-American War was interesting enough to get him into cheering on Mexican troops over Texan volunteers during the Battle of the Alamo, but enough was enough.

“…With the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo, the U.S was able to gain the southwest territory, which would include New Mexico, Utah, Nevada, and California, but Mr. Mendez likes specifics, so also be sure to remember we gained the majority of Arizona and Colorado, which bled into parts of Kansas, Wyoming, and Oklahoma.” You huffed in one breath. “Oh! And recall the Monroe Doctrine! Given that we had now warned European countries of the potential threats that would happen if they continued to colonize the western hemisphere, the American win over Mexico had further cemented the U.S as growing world power, which gets into the promotion of democracy and isolationism, which we can get into next-”

“Okay, sweetheart, stop right there.” Eddie scrunched his eyes in agony, cutting you off from proffering anymore mush that was stirring in his already confused brain. “Sorry, uh- sorry, but, like, can we take a break?” He sighed.

“Oh.” Embarrassment rushed to your cheeks. “I’m so sorry, sometimes I can get too much into things, we can totally take a break or, um, call it a day if you’d like-”

“No, no, no, no.” He adamantly interjected, closing the textbook with crumpled notes of his compulsory—upon your request—chicken scratch handwriting, brandishing it away next to the crumb-filled platter that once was delicious baked goods. “No, baby, trust me, I don’t want the night to end.” He delicately nudged your chin with his finger, a teasing smile to pair. “I just got a little headache, s’all.”

“Well, are you sure you don’t want to leave to get some rest?” Your brows molded with concern. “We can pick this up tomorrow, or whenever you’re free.”

Eddie Munson played into his bluster of confidence, leaning in close to run a rough-tipped finger down the dough of your thigh, letting your skin wake and react to his heated touch. “What if I wanna rest here with you?” He whispered. “Have you take care of me?”

You gulped. “Um, l-like what?” You nervously giggled. “I can, like, make you soup for-for your headache.” 

“Well, I was thinking more like we can lay down.” He pouted to emphasize his pained facade. “Will you take care of me in bed, baby?”

You licked your lips timidly. “Um, I-I don’t really know if that’s, like, a-appropriate for, um, study sessions. Like, I don’t want you to think I brought you here under the guise of doing… stuff.”

“You can say it, princess.” He smiled. “Say it. You didn’t bring me here to have sex.”

Hearing Eddie’s sultry voice whisper the word had sparked up the special tingles nestled between your thighs, and he could see the sensation consuming your being. “Um, y-yeah. I didn’t bring you here to h-have sex.” Heart racing, you could barely gain the courage to force your eyes upon him. “That’s what, um, Harrison thought when I offered to tutor him.”

“Aw, no, I know, pretty girl.” He cooed, as he firm hand squeezed down on your thigh, pressing the hem of your skirt high. Your sunken teeth had become your only extenuative from letting out a squeal from the jolting sensation. “God, those morons are just dicks. Don’t appreciate how good of a tutor you are. How much of a good girl you are. Right, baby? You’re just such a good girl looking to help, huh?”

You nodded to confirm his sentiment. “Yes, Eddie.”

His hand creeped to separate yours, where they stayed tightly clasped within one another, and he rubbed his fingers against the softness of your warm palm, before confining your hand with his. “Why don’t we go to your room to just relax for a bit, sweetheart? You smell so good, bet your room smells just like you. I love it so much.” 

“Uh…”

“It’ll make me feel so much better, princess.” He cajoled. “C’mon, that’s what friends do, right? You said it yourself, sweetheart.” 

“And then we’ll study again?” You eyed him with a twinkle in your eyes. 

“Man, you really like history, huh?” He teased with a chuckle. 

“Of course!” You happily answered, which had him smiling at your enthused face that glowed giddily. “Why wouldn’t I like something I’m good at?” Spoken with all the confidence. 

Eddie softly laughed in admiration. “You’re so cute.” He gave your thigh another tender squeeze. “Why don’t we do this: you make me feel good, like friends do, and I promise to make you feel extra good?” He stuck out a promising pinky, as he watched you consider his all too innocent proposition. “I’ll make you feel so good, precious.” He whispered. 

“Just relaxing? A small break?”

“Mhm.” He smirked. Fairly ambiguous; not necessarily a lie if not clearly verbalized. But just enough to get you alone in your bedroom. Pinky promised. 

Hands held together, you guided Eddie Munson through the halls of your house to reach your beloved bedroom, where secrecy and intimacy laid between the silks and cottons of your sheets. Each step had Eddie’s dick thumping with excitement, just as anticipated as his heartbeat racing out of his chest. You had never had a boy in your room. In fact, this would have to go untold to the authority of your mother and father, too archaic to understand the innocence of it all. Because that’s all it was. Right? Helping a friend in need to aid him to recovery. Headaches can be killer. Mrs. Weber's fourth period chemistry class often had you succumbed with migraines. Science wasn’t like history. As how Eddie Munson wasn’t like Harrison Moran. He wouldn’t do you as the star quarterback tried with you. Because Eddie Munson was different. Nothing like Donna McIntyre tried to get you to believe. He was different. Right?

“We can just relax here for a bit.” You spoke, as you both entered the confines of your room.

The essence of your own personal girlhood defined the sacred space of your room. Where clean, white walls brightened the mood, personal pictures and feminine posters had livened it up. Sweetness had invaded Eddie’s nose, as he was surely met with the arousing smell of your perfume, predicted to the exact notion. Gold jewelry, the one that complemented your skin beautifully, where dainty necklaces would become suffocated in the valley of your tits, where shiny earrings would decorate your earlobes that Eddie wanted to mouth on, had displayed themselves neatly amongst the products of beauty and self care. Pinks and silks, frills and lace, embodying your sweetness to a T. Effeminate in all aspects of nature.

And Eddie Munson was ready to defile everything. 

Unabashedly, Eddie had breached beyond the realms of a visitor’s right, and taken advantage of the whole ‘make yourself at home’ sentiment that you had actually never spoken; nonetheless, he’d marched his way to your comforting bed occupied by a number of stuffed animals that unfairly got the privilege of seeing you in your most intimate times. 

He splayed himself on the expanse of cushions, a groan leaving his mouth as he relished in the feeling of a bed that wasn’t stabbing of springs, starfishing the expanse that left you giggling on the sideline. “What’re you laughin’ at, you little punk?” He perked. 

“Don’t be mean.” You laughed, watching him grab onto one of the many companions that inhabited your bed. 

“Mm, I think I’m deserving of pokin’ a little fun at someone who owns like fifty stuffed animals.” He smirked, as he beckoned you with a curling finger. 

Given his limbs had almost entirely taken up the breadth of your bed, you were left to sit back on your heels, posture pristine as ever, with your hands neatly kept on the safety of your thighs. Such a sight for sore eyes. Brazen without a care, he hungrily eyed you top to bottom. Bitten lips to round boobs to soft waist to expanding hips. Your revealing skirt inching away and away, giving him a sneak peak to his next meal. 

But while his stares lingered on your body, yours had unintentionally followed suit. Laid flat, the apparent bulge beneath worn denim did not hold merit to the art of concealment, and a quiet gasp left your mouth as you scolded yourself for even peering at your newfound friend like that. “N-Not fifty.” You sternly stated with a smile to get your head straight. “Just four.”

“Still a lot.” He said, investigating the furriness of a chubby bumblebee, one where pink and white instead took over the naturally occurring black and yellow.

“Oh.” His comment had suddenly hit you in a way that made you shame with embarrassment. Unbeknownst to him, of course, he was still finding amusement in the flappy wings of the plushy insect. “Um, d-do you think it’s, like, childish? N-Not mature?” You scratched the back of your neck. Perhaps it was the attachment to the juvenile interest—referred to as by Montgomery Davis, a former love interest that didn’t last too long—that prohibited you from finding an adequate boy to be with.

He had chuckled at the fat stinger. There’s no way that could impale someone. But he had heard the apprehension in your voice, peering up from your stuffed animal to see your more than disappointed face. “Oh, no, baby, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.” He quickly forwent Bugsbee the Bee to the side, as a calloused hand landed on your knee for reassurance. Sitting up, Eddie Munson overstepped the boundaries of a tutee to whisper his hot breath against your lips. “I fuckin’ love ‘em. So cute, babe. Just like you.”

“Really?” Your dough eyes scanned his face.

“Would I ever lie to you, sweetheart?” He pinched your cheek. “That’s just not what friends do.” He smiled, as he laid back down. “So, is that what you like to do for fun? Get stuffed animals?”

“Um, not necessarily.” You beamed. “I just like having them around, you know? Keep me company for the things I do like to do.”

“Like what, baby?” He squeezed your knee. “Tell me all that you like doing.”

“Well, let's see, oh, uh, I love journaling. Like, writing my feelings down.” He nodded along, prodding as encouragement for further information. “Uh, typically it started out just in the morning, like, when I wake up, I’d write about what I’d like to accomplish for the day. But then, I kinda realized it’d be nice to vent after a long day, so now, I really just do it whenever.” You shrugged. 

Boys didn’t care about this stuff, but Eddie Munson asked questions. “Yeah?" He grinned. “That sounds nice, baby. Feels like some therapy shit I need.” He chuckled. “Does it make you feel good to write about your feelings?”

“Yeah!” You happily answered. “Um, sometimes it's hard to talk about what I’m feeling to my friends. Like, Donna, for example; she’s got her whole life planned out, she’s so smart. If it’s hard for me to understand what I’m feeling, then I know Donna won’t. I’m scared she’ll judge me.”

“Donna’s a bitch.” He gruffed, with a groan of disdain. 

“No, don’t say that, that’s mean.” You chastised him. “She’s my friend, Eddie.”

“Right, right, sorry, baby.” He quickly made up for it. “It’s just hard to get along with her, s’all. But, uh, this journaling… what kinda feelings do you write about? Like, uh, I don’t know, private ones? You can tell me, honey.”

You nervously laughed, squirming in the seated position of being on your calves. “Y-Yeah, like, uh, well sometimes I worry that I won’t ever get, like, a real boyfriend. Like, a serious relationship. Not like whatever gross hookup the boys at our school want. I don’t want that.”

Eddie caressed the skin of your leg. “Totally, babe. Don’t waste your time with the little boys at our school. You need a real man, huh? Someone who’s gonna take care of their pretty girl.” He smirked, as you nodded in agreement.

Your heart lumped out of your chest, as you followed the languid movements of his large hand encapsulating your bent knee. His touch felt fiery against your skin, creating a series of goosebumps in his guided path, like a mark of territory. Your thighs, once again, clenched at his mercy. Seeing the prominent blue veins reveal themselves from under his alabaster skin had you striked with a familiar heated tingle. The tingles you’d have to satiate alone at night. “You think I can find someone like that?” You softly asked with all vulnerability. 

Eddie snaked his hand upward to gently hold one of yours. “Ugh, absolutely, princess, are you crazy? Sexiest and sweetest thing in the world, remember I told you? I meant it, baby. Sometimes you just gotta look right in front of you.” He smugly smiled. Your mouth went dry, as you attempted to ease your flustered smile. “Just like me, I need a princess to take care of.”

“Mhm, you deserve someone nice, Eddie.” 

“But, uh, I also need someone who’s not gonna judge me.” He perfected a pout that had you sympathizing at his feet. “Y’know, like I said before, some people are just so mean, wouldn’t understand me. Would you judge me, princess?”

“Oh, no! Never, Eddie! Solemnly, I understand the feeling, I’d never do that to you.” You preached with such vehemence, it had Eddie’s blood pooling to the length of his dick with a sickening smile eating his face. 

“So, you wouldn’t judge me if I told you what I like to do for fun, baby?” He played with your fingers, an act of innocence that had your heart soaring. 

“Nuh-uh.” You affirmed with a shake of your head. “You can tell me.” You delicately approached. 

“Well, sweetheart, I really really love touching myself.” He whispered, reveling in the sensation of your hand automatically squeezing his in a tightening hold, eyes rounding in surprise. “I do it all the time, sweetheart.”

“Oh.” Flustered beyond recognition, the single word had become the only thing trusted to speak, as his admission had ignited millions of sparkling tingles, letting a gush of wetness uncomfortably soak your precious underwear. 

He sneered with delight in power. “You’re not judgin’ me, are ya, baby?”

“No, no!” You rushed out. “I, uh- it’s totally n-normal… um, doing that. People- everyone does it.”

“Yeah?” He piqued with interest, watching you unfold into his ingenious trap. “You do it, too, princess?”

Your cheeks were invaded by hot blood, tainting your face with humiliation at the thought of giving up such intimate information. But he was your friend. You didn’t want him to feel judged. And lying was awful. Taught by the man, himself, Honest Abe. Great, and now history was being brought up again! It felt as if the devil had blown his burning breath to flame your face with embarrassment, but the devil was enticing, inching you to the darkside, where you’d be gifted with the persuasion of pure hedonism for the rest of your life. Eddie Munson was the devil. Materialized in the most euphoric way possible. 

You were wriggling, letting spiking friction torment your pussy under his glare. He was waiting. “Um, y-yeah, Eddie. I-I do it. Sometimes.”

An airy groan left his mouth, one he didn’t obscure, simply letting it out for you to witness. “Mm, I knew you would. Pretty girls like you love to touch themselves.” Holding his hand seemed to be the only form of comfort to enduring his gross words. You didn’t want to let go. “Love rubbing your pussy, don’t you baby?”

You didn’t like that word. But words deemed filthy by your definition only seemed to burn you coming from the mouth of Eddie Munson, himself. Harrison Moran once said he’d like to see your pussy. It made you scowl in disgust, and kick him out. But Eddie Munson had you enamored. 

“Yeah.” You whispered bluntly, feeling that his trust could leave you to softly speak with no repercussion. 

“Tell me, sweetheart, with your fingers?” He embraced your hand. “You play with your pussy with your fingers, put ‘em inside to fuck yourself?” Before you could reason, your head had taken the liberty to shake itself for you. No. Eddie’s brow lifted in confusion. Not to define you by the shyness of your nature, but you hadn’t necessarily struck the pervert, himself, as a user of sex toys. Well, at least, he hoped not. Something about introducing you to the world of vibrators and dildos made his cock jump with joy. “You don’t finger yourself? 

“Hands are too small.” You meekly answered, so lightly he could barely hear it.

“What do you do then, baby?”

Perhaps the alchemy of wizardry and spell casting from his beloved hobby of Dungeons and Dragons had magically manifested itself into his current reality—at the very least, it felt as though it had—as Eddie Munson’s words had you reeling in a sudden candid behavior too unfamiliar to your prospective nature. Not to say fibbery came as an innate trait for you, in fact, you honored yourself in the frankness of your words. 

But you had never acted on impulsion. 

And it felt as though Eddie’s provocative language had you destined at his mercy, forcing your body to act with no regards. There was no thinking under his gaze. No hesitation. For the briefest second of quickness, your eyes had landed in the ivory plush of an adorably stuffed bunny sat just three inches away from his shoulder, that had answered his ribald question. 

Your cheeks had ablazened when his quick eye followed your glance that lingered in the air. The corner of his lip had disgustingly peaked into a diabolical smirk, as his perverted mind exploded at the revelation. “Aw, sweetheart.” He groaned, a curious hand reaching out for your bunny.

“No, Eddie!” You tried to jeopardize his movements with urgency. “D-Don’t touch it, it’s not-”

“What is it, sweetheart?” He picked up the bunny, despite your protests. Eddie examined the cute stuffy, his perverted reflection shining back at him through the glassy, round eyes that mimicked your humiliated ones. “Shit, princess, you rub your pretty pussy on your bunny, hm? Does humping your stuffed animal feel better than fucking your fingers inside your cunt?”

“Eddie.” You whined with embarrassment, so shamefaced, dropping your head in your hands to conceal your burning expression. 

“It’s okay, darlin’.” He smiled, loving the twisted feeling of having his dick pulsate at your sheepish state. Eddie pried your hands away, revealing your timid face to him. “Remember, baby, I’m not judgin’ you, I just wanna know. Friends, they tell each other everything and help one another out, you gotta tell me, baby.” With a single hand gripping both your wrists tightly, you refused to look him in the eye, fear consuming you at the thought of Eddie Munson finding you gross for your actions. A wave of tears were threatening your eyes, and you hoped peering at the organized clutter of your nightstand would be enough to withstand the mortifying experience of crying after having him learn what you did. 

“You’re gonna make fun of me.” Your trembling lip managed to mutter out. 

“Aw, no, baby, I would never.” He turned your chin to force you to face him. “Honestly, sweetheart, thinkin’ of you doing that is so sexy.” He groaned with a bite to his lip. “God, picturing you humping your little stuffed animal has me feeling a little hot, see.” His hand deserted your face to rake over his pronouncing bulge, that seemed larger than before. “Mm, got me so worked up, baby. This is all your fault.” He moaned, squeezing his cock with a heavy hand.

Your mouth had opened at the sight of him touching himself over his pants. Those funny tingles had bursted between your thighs, and so insecurely, you questioned him. “Really?”

“Ugh, absolutely, babe.” He returned to your bunny, laying back to play with the small arms of your teddy, as his hand remained stationed on his boner, massaging his erection with breathy grunts leaving his mouth. “You’re so fucking beautiful, princess.” While attempting to ease your emotional nerves, Eddie had taken a good look at your bunny, the evidence of your usage being found in the matted fur surrounding the pink nose of your innocent companion. “Shit, did you fuck yourself this morning, baby?”

“That’s why I didn’t want you to touch it!” You dreaded. “I promise I’ll clean it, give it here-”

A loud gasp left your mouth, as Eddie rejected your request, bringing your stuffed bunny nose to nose, inhaling a waft of the lingering scent of your pussy. His eyes closed in ecstasy, moaning loudly as your raw smell invaded his being, rubbing the tent in his pants harshly for any form of relief. “Fuck, baby, you smell so good. I gotta touch myself.” He flung your precious stuffed animal back, in reach for his belt, cursing under his breath as his abrasive movements momentarily caused the leather to tighten when needing to be off. 

“W-What?” Your brows jumped to crease your forehead. 

“I can’t help it, baby, you’ve got me so fucking hard right now.” Eddie tugged opened his belt, rushing to undo the brass button of his pants. “Fuck, you’re not gonna judge me, right? That’s not what friends do. In fact, friends help each other out. Especially when they’re as sexy as you, baby.”

Swollen to a girth of thickness, Eddie’s cock smacked out with eagerness to fuck, and his precum oozed out, as he watched your face morph into surprise at seeing the first cock in your life. His ringed hand wrapped around himself, cursing under his breath as he felt the jolts of pleasure crash over him. “I touch myself like this, baby, fuck.” He squeezed the head of his cock, smearing his precum down to his base. “Do it so much to you, god, fuck me, princess, I think about you all the time. Can’t stop myself from jerking off at the thought of your pretty, little face.” Eddie whined. 

Your lips stayed stationed agape from the divulgence and sight of what was occurring in front of you. You hadn’t even prospered the fact that your body was reacting more candidly than your mind had anticipated, and Eddie nearly blew his load watching your thighs swish against one another to relieve your arousal. “Y-You think about me?” You delicately spoke. 

“Of course, fuck, fucking look at yourself, mm.” He tightened his grip. “Shit, baby, are you feeling horny, too? Is lookin’ at me making you wanna rub that fucking pussy?”

“U-Um, I-I don’t know.” Nervous eyes attempt to look around for anything that wasn’t Eddie Munson masturbating in your bed. “I-I don’t wanna do anything… anything bad. I don’t wanna get in trouble, Eds.”

“No, no, baby, it’s not bad, it’s good- so fucking good.” He sucked in his breath, as his hand picked up the pace. “Fuck, you’ll feel so good, darlin’- let me make you feel good, princess.” Eddie heaved, inching his large hand up your thigh until his fingers brushed your risened skirt. “Don’t tell anyone, and we won’t get in trouble.”

You watched with heavy pants, as Eddie’s strength managed to dig his fingers into the fat of your inner thigh to part them, and reveal those drenched baby pink panties he so perfectly predicted in the filth hive of his mind. “L-Like this- um, Eddie I’ve never done this with someone else, I-I don’t what to do-”

“Shh, shh.” He demanded, saving your breath from a wrecking tirade of being inexperienced. “Just let me touch you like good friends do.” His fingertips skimmed the puddle in your panties, causing an unwarranted squeal to escape your mouth, as you bucked your hips into his touch. “Oh, my-”

“Mm, Eds, you’re making me feel funny!” You attempted to close your legs, but his hand was quick to lightly slap your thigh in refusal. 

“Don’t fucking close your legs, fuck, just let me touch you.” His grip held you exposed to him, and he was aggressive with the way the pad of thumb smushed against your covered clit, forcing you to ball your sheets into your tightening fists. 

A guttural moan was ripped from you, as his thumb worked intricately to circle your clit, letting your hips ride his fingers. “E-Eddie!”

“That’s right, just hump my fucking hand, baby.” He whined, as he continued to jerk his cock, until his hips were following in sync with yours; his pivoting to thrust into his hand, yours grinding in desperate need for release. “Shit, touch me like I’m touching you- fuck, put your hands on me.”

Eddie’s slick hand grappled onto your wrist, pulling your resisting fist from your balled blanket onto his dick, where he maneuvered your fingers to wrap around his girth and mimic the strokes he once gave himself. A surge of wetness gushed at your given ability to elicit a deep groan from Eddie Munson. Seeing him react to your touch as such spurred a wave of confidence to continue your ministration, tightening your grip around his dick and providing him the languid movements that had his heavy sack pulsating with a need to cum. 

But Eddie Munson’s ego was growing expeditiously. 

And he wasn’t about to be putty in your hands- your oh so tiny, soft hands that gripped him like a vice and made him to want to fuck it for an eternity. No. Not when his hand was cupping your hot pussy, fingers becoming moist through your wet underwear, as they dug between your lips to rub that sensitive little clit and had you whimpering at his command. 

“Fuck, stand up, princess.” He shoved your hand off his cock, simultaneously choosing to regrettably tear his away from the warmth of your cunt.

Whining in despair, you stuttered. “W-What? Why?”

“Because,” Eddie positioned himself to the edge of bed, grabbing your hand to guide onto wobbly feets, pins and needles pricking your legs as they woken from their previous position, “I’m gonna put my cock between your pretty, little lips.” 

Manspreading, his thighs parted for your residence, Eddie’s penis burning red with desire, as it hung heavy against his abdomen, each protruding vein slimed with a coat of his precum. His hands rested on your hips, and he smirked as he took in the sight of your body, one he desired so much to just touch and violate for his pleasure. The blatantly obvious was shown in your face; your undivided attention had primarily focused on his dick, and he couldn’t help the chuckle of egotism that erupted from his chest, as he smoothed down the bumps and curves of your body. 

“Aw, you like looking at my cock, princess?” He sneered with a drenching voice of condescendment that had your head snapping with embarrassment.

“I-I’m sorry-”

“No, no, baby, don’t be.” Eddie’s focus began shifting to the hem of your shirt, teasing it up to reveal the soft navel of your belly.  “It’s all yours to look at. Just like your pussy is all mine.” He bit his lip. “Especially when I fuck my cock inside of you, hm, you gonna let me, baby?”

That had your chest heaving with bursts of nerves, both good and bad. To know Eddie wanted that closeness with you was profoundly what had your heart fluttering with the idea of him loving you to a committed relationship. One where he was a boy calling you his girlfriend, and you were a girl calling him your boyfriend. But Lacey Fisher’s words had suddenly begun playing in your head like a record on loop. “It hurt.”

And Eddie Munson’s cock was pulsating at a length in which both of your hands had to wrap around his girth just to mount it. 

“Um, I-I don’t, uh- Eddie I’ve never done that b-before… I want you, like, to be my boyfriend, right? Like, this is what boyfriend-girlfriends do? B-But maybe I should wait- or we should… as boyfriend and girlfriend.”

There was a little hint in your voice. The way you suggested your ending in a lighter octave, fear that Eddie didn’t want to be your boyfriend, that he’d be just like Harrison Moran. But Eddie Munson wasn’t Harrison Moran, and his smile lit up at the timidness of your stature.

His dream girl. 

“I get to be your boyfriend, baby?” He leaned in to press a tender kiss upon your thigh. 

A shy smile corrupted your face, as you nodded to his question. “Mhm! Is it okay if we kiss like boyfriend and girlfriend?”

He chuckled at your cuteness, squeezing the meat of your legs in frustration at the overload he was feeling for you. “Of course, princess, c’mere.” Bending slightly at the waist, Eddie took the liberty of enduring most of the labor of stretching as far as he could until his lips crashed upon yours. Your mouth just as sweet as your being, Eddie moaned at the moisturizing sensation of the vanilla strawberry lip gloss that conjoined you together. His hands were aggressive to suddenly keep your cheeks in place, forbidding you to leave his mouth until he was ready to let go. It’s why you squealed when learning Eddie had no shame being the messy kisser he was; pushing his tongue between your lips, clashing teeth with teeth, consuming your mouth, and plunging an obscene amount of spit to your tongue, as his ravished in exploration. “Mm, fuck, love kissing you.” His delirious voice murmured against your lips. “Remember, honey,” he finished you off with one more peck, “you can’t tell Donna and friends about this. Not about how we got together, okay?” Eddie stroked your face. “They wouldn’t understand, only say mean things about you and me.”

“Okay.” You quietly agreed, wanting to protect your boyfriend from the harsh words Donna would possibly say. How could she pull you away under the guise of protection, when Eddie Munson’s been nothing but sweet to you? What was she seeing that you weren’t? Surely, you always kept your mouth closed, deciding against your sour opinion of Tucker Walsh, who Donna had on-and-off dated for months. 

“Yeah, you’ll be a good girl and won’t tell anyone?” He cooed, stroking your face. 

“Uh-huh.” You gently beamed, seeing his eyes scan your face with proudness. 

“Perfect.” Eddie pecked your nose. “Now, c’mon, sweetie, don’t you wanna show your boyfriend your tits? Always dreamed of seeing ‘em.” Untrustworthy of your awkward movements, you had let Eddie take the reins, simply standing straight to have him, once again, persist the labor of handling you to undress in front of him. His fingers tickled your sides, as they grappled with your shirt to pull it over your head, and spring your tits from the confinements of the tight material. Eddie dramatically sucked in his breath upon sight, mumbling swears because your nipples had hardened from the chill air. “So fucking pretty- fucking beautiful, sweet girl.” He groaned, taking advantage of your topless self, and having a squeeze at your boobs.

“Y-You think I’m beautiful?” You whimpered, loving the beguiling feeling of his callouses scraping your tits, only to pull and pinch at your sensitive nipples. 

“So fucking beautiful.” Eddie was quick to answer, placing a kiss to your belly button, which had butterflies fluttering in your stomach, making you swoon over your kind boyfriend. Boyfriend. “Most gorgeous fucking girl I’ve ever seen. Just wanna be with you so bad- always wanted to be with you, sweetheart.”

“You are with me… now.” You giggled, which had him grinning salaciously. 

“Yeah, I am, huh?” He hand traveled down to your skirt, playing with the soft fabric. “Got the prettiest girl in school at my hands, I’m so fucking lucky.” He teased his way to the hem of your underwear, teetering between gently pulling them down, only to secure them back in place just to have your squirming with want. “I want you to do somethin’ for me, baby, okay? Just wanna see you out of these cute, little panties, but, honey, turn around and do it.”

Ready to please him, you obliged, turning your backside to him, leaving you to look back and watch him sit back to enjoy the incoming show, as his hand wrapped around his cock and, once again, began his slow strokes. “Like this?”

“Mhm.” He breathily sighed. “Just bend over real deep, princess, so I can see up your skirt, and I wanna- fuck, I wanna see you take off your panties just like that, shit.” 

Eddie Munson was a little weird. 

But maybe that’s what makes your boyfriend so interesting. Getting to know him will be fun. But for right now, you’d do as he says. The idea of making him happy made your heart flutter with joy, as a little voice in your head spoke to you that Eddie Munson was there to make you happy, as well. Bending forward, your skirt had completely risen, exposing your ass to him and that darkened spot in your panties waving at him as a tempting testament to how horny he was making you feel. 

“God, what a fucking ass.” Eddie grunted, spurring his hips to fuck up into his hand. “Go ahead and take those panties off, baby, show me what’s waiting for me.”

Grabbing the lace of your underwear, you tugged down the cotton, fighting the bit of resistance from when Eddie’s fingers buried your panties between the lips of your pussy. But they peeled off, showing him strings of sticky wetness that clung to the gusset and glistened your cunt. Eddie had to immediately stop touching himself, almost shooting his cum out from the sight of your puffed pussy lips squished between your thighs. As your panties teased down your legs, pooling at your ankles, you were startled from the abrupt groping from your boyfriend, feeling him grab handfuls of your cheeks that kept you spread wide, as you stood straight. 

“Eddie!” You shrieked into small laughter.

“Oh, my god, you’re gonna fucking kill, baby, fuck, look at you- this ass, look at this fucking wet pussy.” He kneaded the dough of your butt, before placing a stinging spank to watch the fat jiggle from his heavy hand. 

“Ow, Eddie!” 

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” He was quick to land delicate kisses to the burning area, as the incriminating hand ran over your skin to soothe you. “Just can’t fucking help it.” Securing your hips, Eddie turned you around until your pretty face was smiling down at him, letting his cock twitch with all love and adoration for you. 

“What now?” He loved your curiosity. Getting to corrupt your innocent mind into wanting more, until you were his eager slut, begging to shove his cock into all your holes until you were leaking his cum. 

“Now,” he smiled, reaching behind him to bring forth your plushie bunny, one tainted with your cum and it had his dick jumping for joy, “you’re gonna show me how you fuck your little bunny, baby.” You swallowed thickly at his request, a twinge of embarrassment coursing through you at the request of showing Eddie something so carnal. But he was your boyfriend. And you could find trust in your boyfriend to make you feel good. “But I also need you to work that little mouth around my cock, honey. Can you do that? Suck it for me?”

You feared disappointing him. “I-I don’t know how. I’m sorry.”

“No, no, it’s okay, I’ll teach you, baby. Just get on your knees for me, yeah?” Last month, Eddie nearly combusted into the crotch area of his jeans watching you suck on a red lollipop during the chaotic minutes of lunch. Safe to say, an entire monologue teasing the meaning behind the potential return of hooded cultists had been ruined in the midst of advertising his upcoming campaign to his eager friends, who embarrassingly had to watch their Dungeon Master choke on his spit, when Eddie found your tongue twirling around the cherry ball of candy, only to suck up the syrupy saliva into you mouth. The head of his cock was no different than that lollipop. You’d do just fine. 

Letting your knees rub against your carpeted floor, your hands find perch onto his denim thighs, and you outlined the length of his cock with eyes, wondering how something of that thickness could fit into your mouth. Eddie parted ways with his pants, shuffling out of the rough material, with a metal chain and leather belt clanking along the way, to ensure enough room to have you get off on your stuffed animal.

“Go ahead, baby, start humping your little stuffie for me.” Eddie had meticulously placed your bunny between your legs, watching you for the moment your pussy came in contact with the nub of its nose. 

Eddie hissed at the affliction of pain from your nails digging into his hairy thighs, as you became too enlivened by the friction of your clit grinding against your little bunny to account for the provocation you were besetting against him. But Eddie Munson loved it. His immoral mind found arousal in watching you abuse his skin from pleasure, compelling his cock to jerk with profound need. 

“Yeah, feel good, princess? Rubbin’ that fucking pussy?” You pathetically nodded, gentle whispers of whimpers leaving your mouth, as you humped your teddy with all conviction. “God, just love usin’ that little bunny as a fuck toy, huh?” He pinched your chin to force your glossy gaze upon him. “Just like I’m gonna use you, right, honey?”

“Mhm, oh my- mm, fuck!” Your tummy clenched, as your hips picked up the momentum to circle the stuffed animal's face, and defile its fur with your wetness.

“Yeah, you’re gonna be my sweet, little bunny?” Eddie’s thumb began pulling at your bottom lip, leaving him cursing as it bounced back to its plumpness. “My sweet, little bunny who’s gonna be my little fuck toy to use whenever?”

“Y-Yes, Eddie… whenever.”

“Fuck, open that pretty fucking mouth for me, and stick out that tongue, baby.” Holding his cock up, Eddie smiled as you obliged so kindly, letting him smack the angry tip of his dick against your tongue, as you finally got a taste of him. 

“This w-will make you feel good, mm?” You pondered through mumbles, as you lost yourself in the sensation of pussy buzzing from the burning friction against your clit. 

“Yes, baby, fuck, just keep your mouth open.” Eddie’s hand fell heavy upon the top of your head, as he beckoned you to take him deeper, letting his cock to become enveloped in the soft warmth of your mouth. It became no question of whether this would feel good for him, the guttural moan that left his mouth upon intrusion had your hips bucking with fervency. 

The viscid coating of his cock with pungent precum made you hum, igniting a series of grunts from your boyfriend, as hissing vibrations exploded in his body. Eddie guided your hands to the base of his cock, encouraging you to massage the leftover that wasn’t occupied by your mouth. “Fuck, yes! Make it messy, baby, just spit all over it!” 

Eddie Munson sat back in rhapsody, losing himself in the delirium of having you choke on his cock, as your spit puddled his length, escaping your lips as you suckled on the frenulum of his head. His hair cascaded down, letting his body become too heavy to support as your mouth was bringing him a gratifying high that he never wanted to come down from. Your humps grappled against thumping his thumping veins, enclosing him into a vice grip that had him moaning at your mercy.

“Mm, sh-shit, princess, your—ugh, aaahh—mouth!” He huffed against his restricting lungs. Eddie’s hips began to mimic your bucking, as you moaned at the fizzing rub of your bunny scratching that greedy itch on your clit, allowing him to shove his cock to the gummy constriction of your throat, forcing you to gag on his invasive cock. Sweet spit raining down to his heavy balls, letting his pelvis of bushy pubes become soak with your secretion. 

You pulled off with a sore throat, thick strings of spit sticking from his cock to your lips, as your watering eyes scarily gleamed up at him. “Ugh! Y-Your too big- I can’t-”

“Yes, you can, fuck, it’s feels so fucking nice when you choke!” He urged your head back down, now blubbering with a need to finish on your tongue. “J-Just keep fucking yourself, shit! Don’t stop until I tell you.”

Your tongue reached to tickle the underside of his dick, memorizing his stern rigids that had your jaw hurting from breaking open. Eddie sat up to spy down your backside, where he virtually lost it at the sight of your ass cheeks recoiling from the lively movements of your hips humping your stuffy. “Ugh, you gonna cum, sweetheart?” He cupped your face, guiding your languid movements up and down his cock, as you went through the endeavor of nodding to his question. “Fucking cum, baby, cum all over your little bunny!” He demanded. 

His heavy hand landed on the back of your head, shoving your face to become suffocated in the unruliness of his pubic hair. Nose inhaling his musk, you sputtered on his cock, gagging at his length prodding at the back of your throat, all to bring Eddie’s long arm down to reach for your ass. A burning sting from a substantial slap had you wailing on his fat cock, “Fucking faster.” He dictated your movements, spurring your hips to drive into the plushy with spanks to your tormented ass. “Cum with me, fuck! M’gonna cum! Cum, baby, cum!”

The bundle of nerves in your pussy began detaching from one another, like a rope inching to snap. Rutting into your stuffed animal, your muffled moans were buzzing his cock, bringing you to the brink of a gushing explosion. Your thrusting became uncoordinated, as your tummy bursted with euphoria, and your release adulterated your white bunny. 

Sobbing on his cock, his stomach muscles tightened into an agonizing cramp, as his balls clenched to pump out his seed, flooding your throat with his hot cum. “Ah! Shit, shit, shit—ugh! Fuck me!” Gagging, your hands repeatedly swatted his thick thighs—decorated with the crescents and blistering scratches of your nails—to release you from potentially vomiting on his dick. 

His hand relinquished his hold, allowing you to come up for air. Gasping, struggling to find a breath of fresh air, as a concocted mixture of spit and cum dribbled out from your mouth, but you had no hesitation licking your lips to consume the strange taste of his release.

“Holy shit, that was incredible!” Eddie dropped back onto your bed, hands gripping his sweaty curls, as he urged his mind to collect the events that just transpired before him. Chest heaving, teeth gritted, skin moist, this- this is what that Belinda chick was singing about! It wasn’t until a warm head landed on his thighs, that his thoughts jumped to prioritize your wellbeing. In retrospect, the notion of his sticky balls pressing into your temple with his flaccid cock resting upon your forehead shouldn’t have been so idyllic to Eddie Munson, but my god, was his heart constricting at your exhausted state—half-lidded eyes begging for rest, plump lips parted for airy breaths, and your manicured fingers delicately tracing against the hairs of his thigh to soothe the injuries you were beginning to feel remorseful for inflicting. 

His hand gently stroking your cheek, garnering your attention, letting you tiredly peer up at his rosy state of pink cheeks and glistening skin. “You okay, princess? Too much? I shouldn’t have gone so rough, I’m sorry, baby. Fuck, just lost myself, you felt so good.” 

“It’s okay.” Your saccharine voice assured him. “You’re my boyfriend, you can do anything to me.”

Eddie Munson lovingly smiled at you, as he caressed your hot face. “As long as you want it. Only. Okay?” You nodded with confirmation, and you gazed up at your boyfriend with endearing eyes that had him bubbling with devotion to you. “Such a good girl, did you cum?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I promised to make you feel extra good, didn’t I, baby?” He smirked. “C’mere.” His strength guided you onto your bed, laying you against your cloud-like pillows, before reaching down to grab a hold of your bunny. Soiled with your cum, Eddie’s menacing grin cracked through his face, as he lightly pressed a finger into the wet fur. Your tummy stirred watching his tongue delve into the drenchness, and humming with delight. “Fuck, your pussy taste so good.” He groaned, discarding your stuffy to climb between your thighs.

Steady on his knees over you, he peeled off his ragged shirt, exposing his ivory skin of sharp bumps and squishy softness, ornamented with scary images of permanent ink your parents would surely scowl at if they ever saw. You beamed at him. “You’re so pretty, Eddie.”

His teeth stabbed into his lips, as he teasingly smiled with giddiness. “Thank you, darling. Never as pretty as you, though.”

While wanting the intimacy, you couldn’t help the surge of anxious nerves that brought an onslaught against you, as Eddie began trying to liven his cock with small strokes while eyeing your glistening pussy. “W-Wait, um…” His brows jumped into his bangs, as he awaited your concerns. “No.” You swallowed thickly. “Eddie, I’m not ready for… that.”

He could be Harrison Moran. He could break up with you. He could scoff at your prudeness. But Eddie Munson was simply a perverted man who devoted his longing into the beautiful girl that graced the halls of Hawkins High. He wasn’t Harrison Moran. And you learned that as Eddie stayed silent, merely leaning down to place an electrifying kiss to your lips, pouring out all his adoration for the girl that captivated his dreams every night for the past two years. 

“I still wanna keep my word, sweetheart.” He murmured into your kiss. “Can I do something else?”

You meekly looked into his darkwood eyes. “Will it hurt?”

“Not at all, princess.” He eased the scrunch of your worriment brows with a peck to your forehead. “I’d never hurt you.” 

With the nod of your head and the words of your mouth, Eddie had your corroboration to do as he please, and his mouth had traveled down the junction of your neck, sucking small love bruises to the column length; to the valley of your breasts, where his lips unclosed your hardened nipples with gentle suckles; and the softness of your bell, decorating your stomach with appreciative kisses that made you feel beautiful to the touch; before his breath became hot over your needy cunt. Sugary kisses of mawkish desire met the plushness of your inner thighs, inching to your swollen pussy lips, irritated and slick from the rawness of rubbing against your bunny. 

His long tongue dragged its way to part your cunt, leaving your breath to hitch at the newfound contact of his wet muscle ravishing you. If this is anything close to what he felt when your mouth was on him, surely you could forgive him for the bruised throat you’d have to aid in the following morning. Eddie became brutally gluttonous at the tangy arousal he slurped from your pulsating hole. So small and unused, he’d have a fucking field day when the moment would come he could drill his cock into you virgin pussy.  

The tip of tongue burned against your abused clit, agonizingly teasing swirls around the nub just to flick it with fervency, and have you crawling away from the unbearable overstimulation. “E-Eddie!” You stumbled for air. Your foot had planted itself against his hot forehead at an brutish attempt to push his determined mouth away, but Eddie Munson triumphed you in the realms of physical strength, and his arm had pried you open, before securing themselves to ground your squirming thighs. 

Latched like a leech, Eddie was becoming feverish from the deliriums of being pussy drunk. Sucking onto your clit, his head shook to abuse you, forcing the muscles in your legs to tighten with trembles. Your scent had engulfed him, as his nose smushed against your clit to snake his tongue into the clenching walls of your velvet pussy. Incoherent words were tumbling into your pussy, entirely unheard from your wrenching moans. 

“So fucking good.” He gargled into your cunt, groaning into your pussy, and making out with your entrance. Heaven was a place on Earth, and it was you. 

“I-I can’t, Eddie! Too much!” Though, your actions had conflicted with your words, hands buried into his hair, shoving his face to be submerged between your thighs, as your hips gyrated against the dimensions of his pretty face. On the precipice of letting go, your back flew off the surface of your bed, shaky legs lovingly crushing his head, with a moan beyond hotter than the numerous porno films of corny lines and exaggerated screams Eddie consumed just to perfect his skills. “I’m c-cumming- aahh!”

Eddie slurped your remaining juices, tonguing your pussy in search for anymore of your delicious cum that he would relish in. Patting your throbbing clit with a cherishing kiss goodbye, Eddie climbed your limp body, with a mouth and chin laminated with your wetness. One he smashed into your mouth with a smearing kiss against your lips, giving you a taste of the tarte sweetness of your pussy. 

“You’re such a good boyfriend.” You breathily giggled against his mouth, leaving him chuckling at your inebriated-like state. “Best one I’ve had.”

“I’m the only one you’ve ever had.” He laughed, as he guided you to rest on the thumping beat of his full heart. 

“So?” You smiled. “Donna’s always complaining about Tucker, and you’re nothing like him. I could never complain about you.” You were making him melt into a puddle of mush, as your words erupted in his tummy. He smiled down, kissing your hairline, before nudging you to grab a hold of your lips to his. “Mm, you smell good.” You hummed with delight.

Eddie guffawed. “Princess, that’s your pussy on my face.” He bumped your scrunching nose with a tender finger. “I probably smell like sex, sweat, and cigarettes, sweetheart.”

“But it’s you. I like you, Eddie.” Your round eyes peered up at him, and he held your contact.

“Yeah?” He whispered. Insecurity was swirling within him. Surely you were just babbling from the orgasm gifted upon you from him. Eddie Munson was Eddie Munson. You were fucking you. His vulgar behavior and profligate mind was undeserving of a girlfriend like-

“I’ve liked you for a while.” You smiled with closed eyes. Relishing. The bombshell of the revelation had his bursting with cinching brows of astonishment. “Remember, two years ago, we had art class together?” Remember? It was the day Eddie Munson first laid his eyes on you, of course, he remembers! Don’t say it, don’t say it, don’t s- “I saw you, and you were just so cute doodling in your sketchbook. These scary monsters, and stuff. But they were good. I always wanted to compliment you on it, but I never got the courage. Just stuck to having a crush on you.” You delicately giggled. 

Eddie Munson could have been fucking you for the past two years?!

You were quick to hum into a light slumber. Eddie was stupefied at the actual idiocy he was currently metaphorically forehead-slapping himself for. That was until your sudden jolt had him jumping with concern.

“Oh, my god! Eddie, we completely forgot to go over the promotion of democracy and isolationism coming into the late 1800s!” You heaved.

He cooed. “Oh, sweetheart…”

𝐓𝐚𝐠 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 | @sierrahhh

[artist-issues]

I Saw Wish

And it was the worst animated Disney movie I’ve ever seen. I have to watch it again before I can get into the nitty gritty details. But I don’t need details to sum it up, because my dad actually said it perfectly as we left the theater:

“It was like someone who didn’t really understand Disney movies tried to make a Disney movie.”

Both the form (the technical arts of filmmaking) and the content (the morals, values, and themes of the movie) were totally horrible.

I don’t know who’s fault it was. Jeremy Spears was in the storyboard room and Mark Henn and Eric Goldberg did some 2D animation. But they must have gotten outvoted, or they must not care anymore.

Because holy cow. Here’s some stuff that’s just off the top of my head.

SPOILERS. Not that it matters, because nothing interesting happens in this movie.

The writing? Terrible. Ninety percent of it feels like the characters are filling time with quirky one-liners that are trying too hard to be appealing, then failing, then taking you out of the movie. The jokes aren’t funny. The characters just respond to each other in conversation to check a one-liner box. The other twenty percent is whole conversations repeating tell-don’t-show exposition that has already been covered, usually twice, in previous scenes. Like if in Tangled, every scene had included some variation of Rapunzel saying to friends and enemies alike, “I have to see the floating lights so I’m sneaking to the castle with this thief who wants a mysterious tiara I hid from him. Don’t tell my mother, she’s a bit overprotective!” Over. And over. And over.

The character motivations are way too broad. Asha? Her dream is just “that everybody around me gets to be happy.” That’s it, in a nutshell. No deeper exploration of that. Nobody asks, “why do you care so much?” Nobody tries to convince her she should look out for herself, and then she proves she was right all along. The King? We are told (not shown) that he doesn’t want anyone else’s dreams to be “destroyed.” But he in no believable way expresses that that motivation is still what’s driving him during the movie—what’s driving him is just a plain old lust for power, no nuance.

By the way, the whole premise of the movie? Undercooked. Half-baked concepts strung together with no definitive meaning. Therefore, it’s not believable. Example: The characters act like the wishes are beautiful—well, actually, no, this movie doesn’t know how to show, so there’s not a lot of meaningful acting—the characters just tell us that wishes are “the most beautiful part of someone,” and that’s why it’s worth going through this adventure to give their wishes back to them. But there’s no proof of that in the movie. In fact, it directly kicks it’s own legs out from under that idea, because it has every character who gives up their wish forget that part of themselves. Asha’s grandfather has forgotten his wish, but that doesn’t make him any less “beautiful.” She, and everyone, still treats him like he’s this wonderful old man who deserves the world, who everyone loves…but why is he so appealing? If he “gave up the most beautiful part of him?” The only character who is changed by their lack-of-wish is the Sleepy-analogue character…who is just sleepy, which is described as “boring.” But nobody else who’s given up their wish in the whole kingdom acts like that. It’s just him. Also, the King acts like it’s so important to protect the wishes from destruction. But what does destroying a wish look like? That actually happens to Asha’s mom. Her wish-bubble is broken, literally, and she just says she feels grief. But like. Why? She never remembered it in the first place; it had been missing from her life for years. Also, what the heck is a wish?! It seems to range from broad concepts like “inspire people” to “fly.” Just “fly,” like a bird. The desire to levitate off the ground is the most important, beautiful essence of one background character. Like, what?! But no character ever has the why behind their wish to make us care.

I could go on and on about that point. Like, think about Disney movies that wrote the book on how to make movies about characters with wishes. If Ariel were in Wish, her bubble would look like “dancing and learning and exploring on the Surface with someone who understands her.” But we believe that that is her real, genuine wish, and that it matters to her, because we are shown why being understood is so important to her. Because it’s missing from her life. There’s a scene where she explores a boat alone, and even her best friend doesn’t get excited about it with her. Her dad won’t listen to her point of view. Her siblings don’t ask her about her life even when they think she’s in love. She wants what she wants because of pieces of her life that we are shown.

We are never shown why Asha’s grandfather is obsessed with inspiring people, so we have no reason to believe it, or care whether he gets it or not. We can’t feel disappointed when his wish is said to “never come true,” like we did when Quasimodo was abused by the people he wished to join. We can’t feel elated when he finally “gets” his wish, like we did when Simba smiles on Pride Rock remembering the same way he used to as a cub and claims the crown with a roar. We don’t have anything to hang on to, nothing to relate to, nothing to grasp and feel with the characters. So we don’t feel, because they didn’t put the work in to help us feel. They just say, “the mom’s feeling grief. Feel grief.” And expect us to do the work ourselves. I have to stop harping on this point and move on.

But The main point of the movie is very broad because of that lazy premise, and it’s barely reinforced by any kind of appealing storytelling. If I had to guess, the point would be “Keep wishing for more even when it’s hard.” But the story they told to communicate that meaning was so unimpactful. Asha doesn’t have a dream of her own that’s such hard work to accomplish! (Neither does her grandfather; his wish is “to inspire people.” And at the end, we’re supposed to see him strumming a guitar and believe it’s inspiring? We were never shown how he worked hard to learn how to play the instrument. Or that he carved it with his own hands, or anything like that. So there’s no meaningful demonstration of working hard for it or achieving your wish even if it’s far out of reach.) And nobody except the king is trying to take wishes away from anyone, and he just does it literally, after they voluntarily give them to him, so there’s not even any impactful demonstration of “don’t let anyone tell you your wishes are dumb or unachievable, or stop you from reaching them.” Even when he takes them away, it’s just because they…could, someday, be used to threaten his kingdom in a vague, really unlikely way. There are so many things you could do with “keep wishing for more even when it’s hard.” For instance; you could say the main character has always been afraid to dream (wish for more), because maybe when she was a kid something wonderful almost happened but ended in tragedy, so she keeps her head down and doesn’t want much because if you don’t dream you’ll never be disappointed. She takes no risks, and has to learn that sometimes trying and failing is worth more than slogging through life all self-protective. I mean, the pieces were right there. She has this line about her dad, and how she wished he would get better but then he died. She has lines about how nobody should have to live with grief?? Then that’s never addressed again! It’s just a throwaway emotion-moment with no buildup or follow-through to tie it to and support that main theme.

The compositions of too many shots were so terrible. Characters got cut off in weird places. One shot has Asha dead center, with her grandfather on the left side of the table and her mother on the right, having a family dinner with a super exposition-heavy conversation that is meant to be emotionally charged. But despite everything else being perfectly centered, half of her mother’s body is chopped off. The movie’s shot like someone’s mom who doesn’t understand technology tried to take a video with her phone.

The charm of the art “style” wears off basically immediately. I know what they were going for. I see the sketch lines and watercolor textures. This is maybe the first time Disney ever failed to accomplish a visual “look” that turned out good. Everything looks dull. Muted. De-saturated. Slightly out of focus, but not in a cool Spider-Verse way. The sets or backgrounds are lazy; at no point does the scenery look complete; big, empty, boring spaces that do not create any kind of “stage” for impactful moments. The rendering looks unfinished. When Asha’s hair moves during her belting of the “I Make This Wish” song, it’s bad. It’s unnatural. It flops in a way that doesn’t make sense for the weight of her hair. The most impactful visual moments come from the villain, and they’re moments when he looks way too unhinged for the kind of line he’s saying.

There is no interesting character development. Asha goes from believing everyone is basically good and their wishes deserve the chance to come true , to….that, again. That would be fine, she could be a static character, if she proved contrast-characters wrong, in a believable way. But she never does. Because no other characters argue with her except the King. And it goes no deeper than “everyone’s wishes are basically good and they deserve the chance to make them true” vs. “nuh-uh, because I get to decide what makes them deserving.” The King doesn’t have any kind of interesting development, either. They don’t expand on his tragic backstory—it consists of one drawing of him near a broken boat, and a few images of the corner burned off of his family taoestry. They never say “King Magnifico wished for _____ and it was taken away!” They literally never tell you what his wish or dreams were, or what motivated him to create the whole kingdom that the movie’s premise sits on. So there’s no convincing sense of progression, how he got this way, why he’ll keep going “so far.”

The pacing is weird. It undercuts every moment that could have any kind of emotion behind it. One minute Valentino is suavely bouncing around, then he’s given a two-second beat to blubber with badly-animated tears that he’ll miss Star—then he instantly gets to have another funny one-liner so we forget he might’ve been sad a second ago. We’re clearly supposed to believe that the King and his wife are devoted to each other, and his turning evil was such a big betrayal, but there’s no time and no impactful evidence for us to believe either of those things. And even if we did, the moment he’s defeated and trapped in a mirror, and begs to be let free, the Queen kind of shrugs it off, makes a forgettable one-liner, and tells them to throw him in the dungeon. And he doesn’t look remorseful. And we don’t even get to assume he’s embarrassed or emotionally devastated that he’s come to this—because the last thing he says is “nooo, the dungeon is so smellyyy!” Like this is a half-baked LEGO short that can’t get emotionally deeper than what an actual 3 year-old’s parents might be okay with.

And that’s the worst offense: The movie is not genuine. It works hard for nothing, and it has no vulnerability. It just uses old Disney standbys to pretend to be vulnerable. Have the music swell and the characters gasp and the songs drip emotion when characters are meant to be saying or doing something emotional.

But truthfully, think of all the Disney movies you’ve ever seen with the hardest emotional moments. The sheer joy of Genie when he realizes he’s free. The anguish when Elsa thinks Anna’s been frozen forever, or when Anna thinks she’s dead. The trauma when Simba loses Mufasa. The longing and dreaming of Ariel when she reaches up out of her grotto. The sense of foreboding when Mother Gothel says “fine, now I’m the bad guy” or the heartbreak in Rapunzel’s eyes when she thinks Flynn has abandoned her, or the shame on Aladdin’s face when Jafar reveals he’s a street-rat, or the horror of cruelty when the stepsisters rip up Cinderella’s dress, or Kala’s tears when Tarzan leaves her in the treehouse, or Sarabi’s tears when Simba comes back, or Mulan’s father tossing aside the sword and token of the Emperor to embrace Mulan, or heck, even just Lilo pushing Stitch in the woods and telling him “get out of here.” This movie has no moments like that. It has moments you can tell that the filmmakers wanted to hit like that—but they don’t.

Because no work is put into building them up. You know how much Simba loves Mufasa, because you’ve been watching their chemistry more than any other character all the way up till he dies. You know how much Mulan wants to please her family because she spends all of Act I desperately attempting to do that. You know Quasimodo believes the world below is beautiful and wants them to accept him because he has interesting things like—talking to gargoyles, convincing us that he’s lonely; building a scale model of the townspeople, convincing us that he sees them in a beautiful way and wishes he were beautiful in more ways than one like them, too.

Right down to the facial expressions, none of them are as anguished, happy, sad, excited, silly, in any convincing way like all of Disney’s other movies. Asha’s “low moment” when she’s afraid her “wish” hurt everyone else (still vague on what that wish ever was) lasts two seconds, she’s not crying, she’s barely sitting with slumped shoulders, and her family barely spend two seconds comforting her. They basically just say, “aw, no, it’s not y fault, it’s the king’s.” And she’s like, “yeah okay” and that’s that. It’s like the animators we’re afraid to animate really intimate emotions on the characters’ faces. The voice actors, too.

And the whole movie is peppered with Easter eggs to past Disney movies. But all that does, if you really know Disney beyond the visuals, is make you think of how hollow this movie is in comparison. How much you wish you were watching Cinderella or The Little Mermaid or something with depth and vulnerability instead of Wish.

[greynatomy]

football or football?

lucy bronze x reader

lucy won the very close poll.

been seeing the whole taylor swift and travis kelce thing on tiktok and got this idea.

this became longer than Iithought it’d be. was supposed to be a ficlet. oh, well.

let me know what you think!

-grey

———

For the past two weeks, you’ve been trending on twitter. At first you don’t know what it’s about, but your publicist caught you up saying how there’s a footballer — American footballer — who keeps mentioning you in interviews and on his podcast. It was honestly getting pretty annoying, not just to you, but also to your very jealous girlfriend.

You’d both decided to keep your relationship private, with you being a popular musician and your girlfriend being a top footballer in the league. Except, the media has been labeling your relationship as friends, best friends who support each other. Never once has there been an article where you both are speculated to be dating.

You’ve both been fun with it, being able to not have to hide anything, but with the whole Travis Kelce using your name to stay relevant to the media, your girlfriend is getting fed up.

“I don’t know why he keeps bringing you up? Not once have you mentioned him on anything. ‘The ball is in your court?’ Like what does that mean?” Lucy rambles.

“Honestly, I’m getting tired of it too. I’ve been so busy with touring that I didn’t even know about it until Sarah told me.” You reply, cuddling up to her on the bed, your head on her chest.

“Did Sarah tell you what you should do?”

“Sarah’s pretty much fed up like the both of us so she said it’s up to me. She doesn’t care if I tell him to fuck off, I’d do it anyway without telling her.”

“Didn’t you say he invited you to a game?”

“Yeah, he did. Why?” You we’re getting skeptical with the way Lucy has a smirk and mischievous look on her face.

“Don’t you think it’s time for us to come out, no?”

“Been together four years. Probably long overdue.”

“Well you better tell him that you’d love to accept that invitation, with a plus one of course.”

“I’m liking the way you think.”

———

Now a week later, you and Lucy were dressed up in red, arriving at Arrowhead Stadium. Lucy had a red England bucket hat on that she took off your head. You were being escorted to the friends and family box by security, running into people who recognized you. One hand holding Lucy’s the other waving to people as you passed.

Walking into the box, you were met with lots of people, Travis’ mom was the one to come and greet you.

“It’s nice to meet you Mrs. Kelce.”

“Oh, please call me Donna. It’s so nice to meet you. I’m a big fan of your music, been wanting to meet you ever since Travis said that you’d both started talking.”

“That’s so nice of you, thank you, but unfortunately all the conversations your son had with me are one sided. I’ve never once entertained anything he said. The only time I’ve texted back was to tell him I’d love to attend a game. Never been to an American Football game before.”

“Really? My son said you guys were getting along.”

“Unfortunately for him, we haven’t. But I’d like to introduce you to my partner Lucy.”

“Oh, it’s very nice to meet you as well Lucy. I’m sorry if my son cause any trouble between the two of you.”

“It’s no worries at all. Excited to watch the game.”

“You’ve got an accent. Where are you from?”

“From England.”

“Yeah, I’m a sucker for accents. But let’s not let the situation get in the way and enjoy this game.”

———

liked by fan1, fan2 and 23,749 others

ynupdates yn seen at the kansas chief’s game

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fan1 NO WAY SHES THERE

fan2 MAMA KELCE IS WITH HER

fan3 is ynvis real?!?!

fan4 is everyone gonna ignore lucy bronze right next to her

———

The game just finished. Everyone is cheering as the Chief’s won a game at home. You and Donna hug each other close, jumping up and down. Lucy was actually awestruck by all the people celebrating their team winning, thinking back to all the times fans of hers and her team celebrated like this.

Moments after, you follow Debby to the hallways, no doubt leading to her son. Travis comes out freshly showered and changed a bit after, going straight to his Mom for a hug. Then he turns to you opening his arms out for a hug, so you give him a side hug, not wanting to be mean. Cameras click nonstop towards the two of you.

“It’s nice to finally meet you.” He says to you.

“You as well. Great game you played out there.”

“Thank you. Wanna go somewhere more private so we can hear each other better without the prying eyes?”

“Yeah, sure.”

He leads towards the exit, you following behind him, your hand holding Lucy’s tightly, who Travis hadn’t acknowledged at all. Exiting towards the garage where his and your cars are parked, you relax a bit, relieved to be away from the cameras. Lucy walks a bit off to the side to let you two talk, but still close enough to hear, in case he says something he shouldn’t.

“Im glad you accepted my invite.”

“Yeah, me too. I’ve never been to or seen an American Football game.”

“American Football?”

“Well, yeah. The U.S is the only one that plays this sport. Football is played throughout the world.”

“Wow, you’re gonna be like that?” He says, thinking you’re flirting with him by saying his sport isn’t widely played.

“Be like what?”

“Never mind. But I just wanted to ask if you wanna hang out right now? Get to know each other a bit more.” He steps closer towards you, but you step back.

“I’d have to decline. My girlfriend and I have to get back to England. She’s got a couple Football matches coming up.”

“Girlfriend?” Travis is shocked by the information. “I didn’t know you were even with someone.”

“I’m surprised no one knows. They see two girls and automatically think they’re best friends or something. But, no, been with that girl right there four years. It was very obvious.” You wave Lucy over. “Travis this is Lucy Bronze, my girlfriend—”

“—Actually fiancé. Proposed a couple weeks ago, so there’s still some getting used to. It’s nice to meet you mate. Heard you’ve been talking ‘bout my girl pretty often past few weeks.”

The look on Travis’ face is laughable.

“Uh, yeah. Sorry about that. I didn’t know.”

“Yeah, we’re very private people. But now that you’ve met my girl after being all up in her DM’s, you’d stop using her name to stay relevant yeah? ‘Cause it’s making you look desperate.”

You didn’t interfere. You’re stood off to the side, a proud look on your face.

“Yeah, of course. Never again.”

“The last thing you should talk about in that little podcast of yours is a public apology using her name for fame like many men have in the past.”

After a moment of Lucy staring at Travis she speaks up again. It was a bit funny how intimidated he looked at Lucy, seeing as she’s almost a foot shorter than him

“Well, mate, we best be off. I’ve got some Football to be preparing for, my girl by my side always. Best of luck to you. Hope you find someone that isn’t taken.”

With that, she takes a hold of your hand, leading you to the car. You give him a little wave, leaving him speechless in the middle of the parking garage.

———

liked by leahwilliamsonn, lucybronze and 10,375,829 others

yourinstagram Thank you travis for the invite! Had a lot of fun at my first ever American Football game with my Fiancé. Congrats to you and your team on the win! #KansasCityChiefs

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lucybronze very different from football for sure

↳ yourinstagram very different

leahwilliamsonn where was my invite?

↳ yourinstagram you didn’t get one

↳ leahwilliamsonn rude

fan1 SHES ENGAGED

fan2 ynvis isn’t real thank god!

fan3 OHMYGOD ITS LUCY BRONZE ALCJHD

fan4 this is a very polite way of saying ‘keep my name out your fucking mouth’

[phantomrose96]

Savit-e

My host mother is a woman with long twirling hair and more floral-patterned sundresses than I’ve seen in my entire life. She throws open the closet each morning to flick each dress along its hanging rail, sharp squeaks. “What can I even wear?” The dresses sway like summer willows. I sneak in behind her and grab a t-shirt and jeans from my tiny pile at the bottom.

She loves earrings that swing and she loves stain-glass windchimes which clink and muse while she pours me the bitterest cup of tea I’ve ever had in my life. I fill it with sugar and she chides me. I remind her of all the spicy dishes I make that she cannot eat, and she says, “Okay, I’ll let it go this one time.” She sips her tea black. The birds titter at her joke. We’ll have the same conversation tomorrow.

My host mother is Jira and I wonder how closely we might be related every time I catch that glimmer in her eyes like my mothers’. Jira is too tall to be my mother and her hair is not quite dark enough, but I like to believe I see it. I like to believe Jira’s country and mine are related, that maybe her great-great-grandparents and mine were friends before the records were scorched and the lines were redrawn. Or maybe our countries bore no relation to each other. Maybe they were friends anyway. Maybe they were enemies. I’ve heard every opinion.

Jira has a worry-face like my mother, but she uses it for different things, like plum prices at the market and rain clouds blundering through like clumsy creatures. It used to surprise me, since my mother reserved her worry-face for only the dourest things in her mind. I saw more and more of it from my mother before I left. “Baby maybe you should spend the summer home. Maybe you can get your money back.” She said she’d been reading things in the news. I told her not to worry. I would be safe in my travels. I feel stares pressing into my back while Jira leans over the plums. I notice Jira receives the stares too.

She hums a tune and busies herself in the kitchen in a dress I’ve never seen. She’s been in a great mood since her daughter came home this morning. I didn’t get a good look at her daughter at first because Jira swallowed her right up in her arms. But I got to see her better when I helped bring her bags in. Savine is lithe, baby-faced and a head shorter than Jira, and her eyes carry the same arch and slope as Jira’s. She has the same dimples and she moves in the same way, tilted forward, as if to let gravity do the work of carrying her momentum.

Savine is napping from her trip, and Jira seems to have forgotten all the slow and patient syllables she usually saves for me. She speaks in her rapid pace and I jog to keep up. Too many words slip through my grasp. One in particular I hear too many times. Savit-e.  

“Savit-e?” I ask.

Jira puckers her lips as if to think. Her eyes rove. Footsteps tap gently closer behind me, and Jira’s eyes light up as she looks past me.

“Savit-e!” she says, motioning forward as Savine rounds the counter and pulls her mom into another hug. Savine is only 10. She’s been away almost 6 months for school, according to Jira.

A nickname, I note. Savine wears earrings like windchimes as well.

…

Jira has offered to charge me no rent if I babysit Savine for the summer and cook dinner in the evenings. Savine’s summer classes are early and short, as are mine, so I pick Savine up every day at noon. “This is Reb. She’s my mom’s friend this summer,” Savine tells her school friends. I gather that Jira does something similar every year, taking in an au pair while she works the summer.

There is a park Savine likes in particular, with the tall slides and the cold water fountains and all her friends. It takes me a few days to realize her friends are new to even her. Any child at the park becomes her friend by nature of needing two to play the teeter-totter. I meet parents and I practice my clumsy language with them. They don’t stare strangely at me like the man in the plum aisle.

Three times over the summer, I hear a parent at the park ask me. “Who is Savit-e?” I point to Savine every time. I don’t think too much about it, because they always like the answer, nodding along. Savine’s friends do not use the nickname, but I experiment with it here and there. Savine lights up when I do. “Savit-e,” I call to her from the school lawn, and she squeals and bounds forward to wrap me in the kind of hug she gives her mother.

I pick up a copy of the newspaper from the corner store every day on my way to pick up Savine, and I read what I can of it at the park. The newspaper is not a person, and it does not stilt its vocabulary to be simple and clear the way people do when they notice me struggling with the tongue, so oftentimes I gather just the concepts from articles. It is my fourth week of doing this when one article stops me. I see the spelling of what Jira says out loud so often.

Savit-e.

The article is hard, but I recognize the word for murder, and the words for three men. Three men murdered, and Savit-e. I would ask Savine, but I’m afraid the article may be something upsetting.

I ask Jira that night, after Savine has gone to bed.

“A man killed three others,” Jira says, brow slightly scrunched as she skims the paper and distills its contents to simpler words I know. Her eye creases are deep by the evening lamplight. “He is not charged with a crime, because he was protecting his Savit-e.”

This sinks in slowly, and a red flush of embarrassment makes itself known on my cheeks.

“Savit-e… as in ‘daughter’?”

I use my own word for it, since I don’t know Jira’s word for daughter. Or at least, I did not know, until now.

Jira’s brow scrunch tightens, which she does whenever I’ve used one of my words she doesn’t know.

“Like Savine is to you. Savine is your daughter.”

At this, Jira nods slowly, then more quickly as she lets the meaning sink in. “Yes… Savine is my Savit-e… my daughter.”

I thank Jira for the explanation. I lie awake that night thinking too much about the parents at the park who think Savine is my Savit-e.

…

I start to dislike the newspaper. I’m not sure if it’s the summer heat sewing aggravation, or some deeper unrest, or maybe my own growing vocabulary, but more and more I notice articles that leave me unsettled. I read about the arrest of a man who looks like the man in the plum aisle. Maybe there’s no resemblance at all. Maybe any man with those piercing eyes in a mug shot feels like the man in the plum aisle. There are still many words I don’t know, but country and nation come up often. And Savit-e. More articles of someone acting in protection of their Savit-e.

My mother isn’t here to protect me. I walk more cautiously when I’m alone at night, as a woman, as a Savit-e with no parents here to protect me.

I’m in the kitchen with a knife shunking through the angled cuts of scallion. The pot for the noodles is boiling and I’ve halved the spices as I do every night for Jira and Savine. I don’t even hear the front door kick open.

I do hear Savine scream.

My heart is in my throat and my blood is cold, and I move, because in the moment I have forgotten I am a Savit-e far away from home. All that matters is Savine’s scream.

And my sockless feet are light as I snake through the dining room and round the corner to the living room, entering from the same door as the two men who now stand there, backs to me, both eagerly teasing the handles of a gun. One has Savine in a chokehold, and the men stare at Jira, pressed flat against the wall. I realize Jira does have a worry-face she reserves for the truly awful things.

And the men with their backs to me are plum-men, in ways I understand without knowing what fast and clipped words they’re shouting at Jira. The one holding Savine presses the barrel of his gun against her ear, and the windchime titter of her earrings is drowned under her scream of fear. The plum man barks a demand at Jira, and she watches with moon-plate eyes.

He barks it again.

Jira raises a trembling hand. And her digits curl, and her palm pulls inward, and her earrings clink with the slow stuttering shake of her head. She points her index finger firmly against her own heart, and she declares ‘Savit-e’.

Jira runs out through the second living room door.

“Mooooom! Savit-e!!” Savine screams, and her words choke, and she wriggles under the hold of the man. And suddenly sense returns to my body at the sound of Savine’s screams.

I am still holding the scallion knife.

I don’t remember what I do next, but the knife does.

…

There is a drawl of radio static that seems to dominate my ears. The sirens and flashing lights are background noise to me now. They’ve taken Savine away with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. They’ve assured me I’ll be able to see her, but later, once she’s been looked at, once she’s calmed down, once I’ve been spoken to.

“You are not in trouble,” the detective tells me in my own tongue with a slight accent rounding her words. She’s the only one who speaks my language. They called her in when it became clear I didn’t know enough of theirs to give a report. “You were protecting your Savit-e.”

I flinch, a little bit, somehow still capable of embarrassment with a mind that’s gone completely numb. “Savine isn’t my Savit-e.”

The woman detective frowns. I remember we’re in my own tongue.

“I mean, she’s not my daughter. She’s Jira’s daughter. She’s Jira’s Savit-e.”

The woman’s frown lessens some. “Your daughter, no. Your Savit-e, yes.”

I hold my hands near my face. They still smell of garlic and scallions. “The pot’s gonna boil over. I have to go turn off the stove,” I say, urgently, and unhelpfully, as the thought suddenly strikes and I push myself standing.

The woman’s hand is on my shoulder, and she presses me down. “The pot is not boil. The stove is off. It is okay. Who is Savit-e?”

And the question sits weird. I realize she asks it like those parents at the park.

I don’t answer. The detective chews her lip, and I see her eyes searching for a word she can’t find. “Who is your… The Most? Who is your The Above? Who is your The Most of All?”

“My most what?”

“Who is your Protect Over Everything?”

And from her face I can tell she is frustrated with her own words. There is more she is saying that I cannot know in my own language.

Protect Over Everything. I think about the scream that pulled me from the kitchen.

“I think… Savine… is my Protect Over Everything.”

And this satisfies the woman. And she nods the way the parents at the park do. “You are not in trouble. You always protect Savit-e. You must always. There is no trouble for what you did. Good job, that you protect your Savit-e. You will have her back soon.”

I go stiff.

“Jira needs her back, not me. I go home in a few weeks. I only started—” I falter. “Savine is Jira’s Savit-e.”

The detective shakes her head. “Jira is Jira’s Savit-e. Jira does not come back.”

…

I postpone my flight home. I tell my mother it’s because my studies are going long. I’ll tell her more, later, when I’m ready.

I pick up Savine every day from school as always. She doesn’t smile, and she pulls me into a hug that is too tight and lasts too long. She doesn’t want to go to the park. She comes grocery shopping with me, because it’s better than being left home alone. I look over my shoulder whenever I grab the plums.

I cook dinner and I eat with Savine, and we do this at the counter because when I sit us at the kitchen table, Savine looks too long at Jira’s empty place. I tried calling Jira once, after Savine went to bed. Her phone rang from the next room. I watched it ring until it cut to voicemail.

There’s an article about me in the paper. I can’t read most of it. Or maybe I just don’t try to. I see Jira’s name. I see the plum man words. I see Savit-e written 14 times.

I don’t know what happens to Savine if I leave. I’ve tried asking and I get too many words I do not know, and no one who can explain them better to me. But their expressions stay with me. Like the looks of plum-men and worry-faces and now this new look, which is rooted in something deeper about a country which I know too little about. It’s a sad look. It’s something I can maybe understand without the words attached. I tell my mom I might like to extend my study through the fall.

Savine has started calling me “Savit-e.”

[razorblade180]

What is love?

Carmine:Mom, how did you fall in love with dad?

Ruby:Oof, that question has no real answer.

Carmine:You don’t love him?

Ruby:Not what I said in the slightest. Why would you even- I meant there was no single instance!

Carmine:Oh…

Ruby:We bonded as friends and relied on each other physically, emotionally, mentally; at some point it just sorta hit me how happy he made me and that life without him would be so…miserable. I can’t think of a single person that I’d want in my life like this other than your father.

Carmine:Hmmm, yep, don’t really get it. Sounds nice though.

Ruby:What’s with the interest in love? You like Aero or something?

Carmine:….*looks away*

Ruby:…Awwww, my baby~

Carmine:Stop! None of that. It’s not love. Honestly I don’t fucking get it. I just know he’s important to me and it pisses me off to see him struggle.

Ruby:He’s kinda your first friend. It’s natural to feel that way. You do know he likes you, right?

Carmine:I’m aware. It’s interesting. He got mad at me for calling him out on it and wasn’t really happy about me asking for help with a case.

Ruby:Carmine it sounds like you might be taking advantage of him a little.

Carmine:But he likes to help me. He gets more upset when I do something crazy and without involving him.

Ruby:….

Carmine:What!?

Ruby:Nothing. I’m just wondering if I was this dense back then. *pats head* You want things okay between you?

Carmine:Yes.

Ruby:Then openly express your thoughts. Tell him how you feel and have an honest conversation.

Carmine:But that’s what I- isn’t that what’s been happening!? I’ve never hid anything from him; aside y’know, my eyes.

Ruby:Have you told him you care about his safety and like spending time with him.

Carmine:Y…Yes? No? I mean, isn’t that obvious? I wouldn’t fight thugs messing with him or visit often of if I didn’t care.

Ruby:Sometimes you have to say those things. You know I love you, but i still tell you that you’re my little happily ever after. *hugs her* My sweet little rose.

Carmine:…I guess that makes sense. *hugs back* Okay, maybe your advice is pretty good.

Jaune:*walks in* Hello my two roses.

Ruby:Hello, the author of my fairy tale. My beloved.

Jaune:Your mother is trying to stop me from telling you she had a crush about two weeks after we met.

Ruby:Don’t listen to him! He weaves lies and tricks! I would never get attached that fast!

Carmine:You loved me instantly.

Ruby:That’s different!

Carmine:Did you fall for mom immediately?

Jaune:Nah I crushing on Weiss.

Carmine:Makes sense.

Ruby:What do you- I can’t even be upset honestly. Weiss had a 13 step skin care routine and I couldn’t be bothered to wash my hair some days.

Jaune:*hugs both* It just meant you spent more time with me. It was a long con.

Ruby:Thanks for the out but let’s be real, I was just lazy.

xxxxxx

Aero:*opens window*

Carmine:*sitting in a tree* In case it wasn’t obvious, I actually care how you perceive me.

Aero:Spell “perceive”

Carmine:*red* I also don’t like arguing. I care about your thoughts and emotions.

Aero:Okay? I figured. But like…can you actually apologize.

Carmine:…Oh! I didn’t- I’m sorry.

Aero:….

Carmine:I’m really sorry.

Aero:…..

Carmine:*lip quivers* Am I out of friends now?

Aero:Oh my god; shut up and come inside already before your density snaps the branch.

Carmine:You shouldn’t call the girl you like heavy. *crawls inside*

Aero:You’re doing this on purpose now.

Carmine:Little bit. *hugs him*

Aero:!? You don’t like hugs.

Carmine:Yeah, but you do. So why not?

Aero:…You’re so weird. *hugs her with wings*

Carmine:Okay, if all hugs were this cool I might change my opinion.

[fanwarriorfictions]

Not Again - Part Seven

Summary: Y/n has figured out how to go home. Azriel is desperately trying to hold on, no matter how much it burns.

Warnings: slight descriptions of burns and wounds, angst

Series Master List

-Part Seven-

Azriel was pissed. He had been told by Rhys that she’d figured it out, that she was setting up the portal, that she was leaving at any moment. Something vicious and sharp had punched him in the gut when his brother had reached out with his mind to say those words and there was this instant anger that over took him.

Azriel had left mid conversation with Cassian, ignoring his confused shouts as Azriel launched into the sky. Flying straight for the house of wind.

She was going to leave, any second and she would be gone, and he didn’t know why there was something screaming in him not to let that happen. He’d promised her that she would go home, that he would do everything he could to get her there, and yet his mind and shadows were screaming, stay, stay, don’t let her go, she can’t leave, stay, stay, don’t leave.

Azriel slams onto the balcony, knees barking in pain but he doesn’t care. He’s running down the hall, following this invisible string that tugs him towards her. He’s barely registering where he’s going, left and right, down the steps, right and left, through the halls, towards her. She’s leaving, she’s leaving and I’ll never see her again.

The door is open, voices fluttering out to meet him and he takes a single second to compose himself. Azriel forces each ugly emotion into a box, locking it away behind the mask of the shadowsinger.

“That was quick,” Rhys smirks as soon as Azriel walks into the empty room.

They’d cleared out the furniture of the spare bedroom, a bucket of black paint in the center of the floor. Kneeling before it is Y/n, a thick brush in her already paint stained hand. Her arm is bandaged, dark red seeping through the white cloth, and suddenly he can smell her blood everywhere. It envelops him, and this primal part of him snarls, eyes searching for the threat, to protect her from whatever dared to harm her. He shoves that down, down, down.

“You’re just in time for the party,” she grins, looking him in the eyes without that hesitation he’d seen last night, and he can see the genuine light in them, the happiness, it’s enough to calm the raging beast inside him, just slightly.

“Why are you bleeding?”

She holds up her arm, “old spells seem to require blood for almost everything. We mixed mine in with the paint to make it easier.”

He so badly wants to tear into her for trying to just leave without a word, slicing her arm halfway open to do it, to yell and yell, and yet he sees that spark in her and he can’t, “you figured it out.”

Feyre holds out a piece of paper to him, a sketch in the center of it, and Azriel examines the strange mark. It almost looks like a doorway, an arch, he’s half tempted to tear it to shreds.

“It should have been obvious,” Y/n says, standing up from the ground, “it’s so simple I’m almost mad I didn’t get it sooner.”

She stands at his side, paint stained hand reaching over his arm to trace over the mark, “It looks almost identical to unlocking, which is one of the first things my mom ever taught me, I looked over it so many times. But it’s so simple, stupidly simple that I overlooked it again and again. Didn’t help that the spell is in this ancient language I’ve never seen or heard, even Amren didn’t recognize it.”

She looks up at him, eyes shining so bright that he can’t help but give her the faintest smile. Her eyes dip to his mouth, grin faltering just barely, a brief look passing through her face, Azriel almost convinces himself that it’s longing. If he was delusional he’d think that maybe she’d think twice about leaving, about leaving him.

“How do you open it?” Rhys asks walking around that archway, “or does it just do it on its own in a few minutes?”

“A little more blood and a spell,” she says, unwrapping the bandage on her arm, “I need to write the name of the place or person I’m trying to see.”

Azriel’s nose flares at the smell of her blood, he can’t even look as she dips her fingers in the wound and starts to draw out the marks on the floor, whispering the name of her home over and over.

You look like you’re ready to scream, Rhys says into his mind, don’t tell me you’ve grown attached so soon.

Mind your own business, Azriel growls back.

It takes her several minutes to draw out the word, meticulously examining every curve and line to make sure it’s absolutely perfect. He wants her to hurry up, to slow down, to stop all together.

“Alright,” Y/n says as she stands, “that should be it.”

She takes the Walking Dead from Feyre, who steps away and into her mate’s side. The High Lady curiously watches, glancing at Azriel like she’s connecting pieces in her mind. He’s half tempted to give her the same warning he’d given her mate.

Y/n starts to speak, voice straining over the foreign words. They sound harsh against her usually soft accent. Her face scrunches, almost as if she’s in pain, and Azriel can feel it in his own throat. She doesn’t sound like herself, the words turning to rasps.

Faint green light starts to flare from the painted gate, and Y/n’s voice cracks on the words. A salty tang hits the air and Azriel sees the tears falling down her face.

“Stop,” he says, taking a single step closer.

She doesn’t, she keeps going and the center of the gate turns green. The room turns unbearably hot, hot wind swirling round and round, and Y/n’s eyes get a glassy far away look. Something was wrong, this wasn’t right, wrong wrong wrong.

“Y/n stop!”

She can’t hear him, she can’t hear Rhys and Feyre shouting on the other side of her. Azriel can’t hear them either he realizes, he’s in a shield of air, trapped inside with no way out. Sweat slides down his skin, his wings tucking against him, his shadows hiding beneath. The air slices through his skin, drawing his blood.

She’s stuck there in the center of it, the words she screams turning to a garbled mess, like her throat was being shredded from the inside out. The book in her hands glows bright green, illuminating her face in the sickly color. The gate is dark, that green light being eaten up from the inside, something lurks on the other side and he’s sure it isn’t the beautiful Terrasen she had told him of.

“Y/n let go!” He pushes towards her, heat blasting his skin, “Let go of the damned book.”

He reaches for her, a brief moment of panic hitting him as he touches her scorching hot skin, burning his already scarred hands. For just a moment he’s transported back to that dark corner his half brothers had found him in, to the feeling of oil coating his hands, to the smell of his burnt flesh in his nose. Everything in him recoils, trying to get away from that heat, but she’s right there, tears running down her face. She’s in so much pain, he can feel it in his own chest, pain, pain, pain.

Azriel screams as he wraps his arms around her, trying to pry that cursed book from her hands but her grip is like iron. Every part of him is burning, begging for him to let her go, let whatever it was on the other side take her. But he won’t, he can’t, he screams and screams and begs her to let go of the book, pulling her to his chest, yanking on that string, pleading with the Mother to let her go.

“Please,” he sobs through his teeth, “let go, just let go, Princess.”

Burning, he was burning alive. He wasn’t sure he’d even survive, and if he did her body would be imprinted into his wherever they touched. Screaming, begging, burning and burning and burning

Princess please, he begs, the words not even making it past his lips as he screams, “let go, please, let it go!”

He yanks harder, holding her burning body to his own, “Where’d you go, Princess? Come back, please just come back to me.”

And like a switch had turned off, her hands relax and that Mother forsaken book falls into the inky darkness below, disappearing as the portal closes around it.

She collapses, body still burning into his. Azriel hears screaming, he can’t tell if it’s his or Feyre’s as that shield of air collapses and lets the High Lady and Lord in. Rhys is yelling something, Azriel thinks it’s his name but he can’t tell. He doesn’t know anything, anything but pain and the female in his arms.

Azriel dreamt of fire. Oily slick all over his skin that lit on the tip of a match, burning and burning, it wouldn’t stop no matter how he screamed or how he begged. It kept burning, the scars on his hand melting away till there was nothing left but bone. He’s reaching, flesh melting away, reaching through the flames towards a female on the other side of the dark room, she’s burning, she’s the match to his skin, but he keeps reaching for her.

Everything hurts, his skin, his throat, his heart. That’s the first thing he registers as he wakes, the second is pure panic.

His eyes fly open and he’s searching, sending out shadows, looking for the burning female. It briefly connects that he’s in his bed in the house of wind, that the sun is peaking through the drawn curtains.

“Relax, brother.”

Azriel’s eyes find Cassian sitting in a chair beside his bed, “Where is she?”

Cassian sighs, leaning forward in his seat to rest his arms over his knees, “Why am I not surprised? She’s okay, she’s sleeping in her room across the hall.”

He feels it then, the tendril of shadow that sneaks through the gap in her door, it finds her, and it wraps around her wrist, a tether between them that he can feel right next to his heart.

“How long have we been out?” Azriel asks, his voice rasping.

Cassian hands him a glass of water off the nightstand, “You’ve been in and out for almost two days now. I got here with Madja after you and Y/n collapsed. You went half feral when I tried to take her out of your arms to let Madja look at you. It took both me and Rhys to hold you down, you were screaming at us to let you go, to not touch her. I think you told Rhys you’d rip his head off if he got near her.”

Azriel didn’t remember any of it, he only remembered the pain and the fear as he’d held her, “How bad was the damage?”

“Not as bad as it should be, with the way you were screaming, Rhys wasn’t sure there’d be anything left of you.” Cassian frowns down at the bedsheets, no doubt imagining just that, “Madja was able to heal most of the burns already, the few on your chest will take longer but she doesn’t think they’ll scar to badly. Rhys has a theory that even when she was possessed by that damned book Y/n was able to put a shield between you two, trying to protect you. I think you’re just a lucky bastard.”

“How is she?”

At that his brother’s eyes shutter, and the panic is back in Azriel’s chest. No, no, she had to be alright, she was there, on the other side of that shadowy tether, breathing, alive. He’s pushing himself up off the bed, ignoring the screaming pain beneath the bandages across his chest.

He snarls, “Cass tell me-“

Cassian holds up his hands, “Just please promise me you won’t freak, okay?”

“What’s wrong with her?” Azriel asks, forcing himself to breathe, to calm the hell down.

“She was burning up, her internal temperature was so high, Madja was scared she would burnout,” Cassian describes slowly, “we had to keep filling up the bath with cold water, it would steam and disappear almost instantly. It took hours for her temperature to drop enough for Madja to even touch her to begin examining her. Physically, she’s mostly fine, there’s some damage to her vocal chords, some burns along her arms and back that will heal in time. But she hasn’t woken up, not once since she collapsed. Rhys and Feyre can’t get past that protection spell on her to check on her mind, they don’t know when she’ll wake up.”

There’s a silent ending to the sentence that his brother won’t say, and Azriel can infer it on his own based on the half broken look Cassian gives him. His heart is pounding in his chest, and he’s yanking on that tether. She’s there on the other side of it, alive, she’s alive, she’s alive. He repeats it over and over as the panic locks up his whole body, as Cassian’s unspoken words echo through his head.

They don’t know if she’ll wake up.

It was a battle of wills to get up out of his bed. Cassian was about ready to strap Azriel to the gods damned thing when Az had used a shadow to throw his brother away from him.

“That’s not fair!” Cassian struggles against the creature, “Madja said you needed to rest. You’ll go and open up your wounds and end up with a damned infection!”

Azriel grimaces as he stands up, “I don’t care.”

“Az! Damnit,” Cassian groans, “You stubborn bastard, sit the fuck down.”

Azriel ignores him, limping towards the door on unsteady legs, body screaming in pain at each step. He didn’t care, he needs to see her, to see with his own eyes that she was okay, to scream at her to wake the fuck up so he could scream at her again for being so reckless.

“Mother help me I swear,” Cassian breaks away from the shadowy hold, “You’re not even dressed for gods sake.”

He was in his undershorts, upper body wrapped in white bandages. It was good enough.

Cassian swears loudly as Azriel almost falls, wrapping his arms around his brother to keep him upright. Azriel groans when his wounds come into contact with Cassian’s arms. It was agony.

“I told you,” Cassian growls, “Now will you please just lay down.”

“No. Just help me over there,” Azriel snarls, Cassian opens his mouth to argue and Azriel sends him a pleading look, “Please, Cass, I need to see her, I- please.”

His brother searches his face, whatever Cassian sees in his eyes has him sighing, “Fuck, fine, fine. Put your arm over my shoulder.”

Azriel complies, letting Cassian support most of his weight. They struggle through the door and across the hall, her door opens, revealing a irate Mor.

“You couldn’t have put some pants on first?” She opens the door wider to let them in, “You two are loud enough to be heard across the Sidra, fighting like a bunch of dogs.”

Azriel ignores her, finding the sleeping female in the center of the room. She looks small, frail, swallowed whole by the humorously large bed. The only indication that she’s even alive is the slight rise and fall of her chest, the beating heart he can feel from across the room. His shadow is still wrapped around her wrist, caressing the pulse point, counting each beat.

He pulls away from his brother, moving slowly across the room where he basically collapses on the edge of her bed. His scarred hands reach for her, replacing that little shadow. Her hand is so cold between his, a stark contrast to the raging fire she’d been days ago.

“We’ll be in the hall,” Mor says softly behind him, “let us know if you need anything.”

He doesn’t respond, doesn’t register the door opening and closing behind him, just stares at the beautiful female beside him. Her face is relaxed, no pain, no tears, no sign that anything is wrong. Yet she still sleeps.

She’s dreaming, dreaming, sleeping, she’s dreaming of you, his tendril of shadow whispers in his ear, her heart skips when she hears your voice.

His fingers find that pulse point on her wrist and he whispers, “hey there, princess.”

There’s the smallest flutter beneath his finger tips and he could cry. She could hear him at least, she wasn’t locked away from him.

“I could scream,” he says, keeping his voice low, only for her to hear, “could scream and scream at you for being so reckless, for jumping into the flames head first, for almost getting yourself killed-“

He takes a deep breath to steady himself, “You are not leaving me, not like that, we will get you home safe and sound, but you’re not dying on me, you’re not allowed to do that to me.”

There was something there on the other side of that little string of fate. So he wrapped his hand around it and pulled, ripping it towards him, tying it to his heart.

“Come back,” he begs, “you’ve got to come back.”

He pulls and and pulls and pulls, “Where are you at, princess?”

And there, on the other side of that shadowy string, he feels the faintest tug.

Tag List-

@inloveallthetime , @microwaveallthedemons , @nayaniasworld , @thecraziestcrayon , @fightmedraco , @blackgirlmagicforever , @nikt-wazny-y , @fangirlloza010 , @thisiskaylin , @wolfgirl624 , @khaleesihavilliard , @fluffy-bnny , @mariahoedt , @durgenyx , @glitterypirateduck , @byyalady , @amberlynn98 , @ferrarisbitch , @a-cup-of-nightshade , @breella

[rwrbmovie]

BTS of #RWRBMovie: 'z' in your last name

TZP via HOLA:

Clifton Collins Jr., who plays my father in the film, was amazing. I knew of him. I’d seen his projects, but we’d never crossed paths before. And then we met and we just got along, thick as thieves. And he’s like an OG Mexican from Los Angeles which was so colorful. He made it feel like there was family on set. Same with Matthew being Puerto Rican. Their influences help you get into that vibe, and then you do the scene and it’s wonderful. You really bring that accuracy to it.

There’s a line in the film when Alex and Henry are in Paris, and Henry asks him a question about his mom’s campaign, and Alex starts telling him about his father and his abuela coming to the States. The line is something like “If you’re an immigrant in America and you have a ‘Z’ in your last name, there’s a lot of people in positions of power that don’t look and sound like you. I’ve been given the opportunity to be someone in the world that my father didn’t see when he was growing up.” As someone with two ‘Zs’ in his last name (laughs), that was a tough scene for me because I had to be there as Alex and not as Taylor. It was very emotional to think of my family and what they went through to come to the United States. Even though they came here a long time ago, you still think about all of the people that are coming to America today and about all of their stories. Alex realizes that his father didn’t have any role models growing up and now he’s a congressman. That fuels his fire to be the change. That was so exciting for me.

From NYT:

For both Zakhar Perez and the director, the character Alex’s biracial identity was particularly meaningful. López grew up in Panama City, Fla., with his Puerto Rican father and Polish Russian mother, while Zakhar Perez is of Mexican, Middle Eastern and Mediterranean descent and was raised in northwest Indiana, where he said there was only one other Mexican family. “Matthew and I talked a lot about the mestizo journey,” Zakhar Perez said in a video call before SAG-AFTRA, the actor’s union, went on strike. “Being part Mexican, part lots of other things, I don’t want to say you’re forgotten, but in today’s world, it’s like, you’re either this or you’re that. There’s nothing in between. I’m kind of a cultural chameleon.” “As a young Latiné queer man, I never read something that centered someone like Alex,” López said, echoing his star. “If I had been presented with this character when I was in my late teens, early 20s, it may have changed how I thought about myself.”

From Windy City Times:

Was the part about having a Z in your last name personal or the book? ML: It was personal. That was about me and Taylor. It came from a conversation that Taylor and I had when making the film.

From Metro Weekly:

Alex has a line about grow ing up in Texas as a kid with a last name that ends with Z, which is I guess something else you can relate to, Florida style. ML: And Taylor Zakhar Perez also. Taylor and I talked about that scene a lot as being something that we both understood. My aunt Priscilla Lopez is a beloved, beloved stage actor. She was in the original cast of A Chorus Line. And there's a story that she tells about Mandy Gonzalez, who was in In the Heights with her, and Mandy once told Priscilla that Priscilla made it okay for her to be someone with a Z in her last name. And that was a thing that Taylor and I spent a lot of time discussing as well. It was important to me that that scene be in the movie. There was never a chance in hell that that scene was ever getting cut.

From Teen Vogue:

TV: One of my favorite parts is when they’re in Paris, and Alex talks about being a young person of color coming up from Texas and not seeing anybody who looked like himself or his dad in politics, and Henry’s response to that simply being: “I’m learning.” I don’t know if you were in the theater for that one, but half the crowd was like, awwwww. ML: Yeah, I was for that. TV: I’m married to a white man, and I was like, that is the perfect thing a white man can say in that situation. ML: I’m married to a white man, too. Speaking as someone who is a person of color married to a white man: that’s like the ultimate thing you ever want your white boyfriend or husband or partner to say. That’s it. “I’m learning.”

ML via THR:

There’s a scene in the movie that is very much me, which I gave Taylor after they’ve had sex for the first time. They’re there in pillow talk mode, and he tells Henry about what it’s like to be the son of an immigrant with a Z in your last name. It was really important to me to talk about growing up with a Z in your last name and even just how our names are pronounced, the spellings of our names sometimes if you have Latin ancestry. To have to answer for your name has always been something for me that I struggled with until I stopped struggling with it. So, I needed to put that into Alex’s story and when it came time to shoot that scene again, it was something I didn’t have to explain to Taylor Zakhar Perez. He got it instantly. The only thing that I did screw him up with is like, “We’re going to do this [scene] as a oner, and we’re going to do it as a top shot that starts in a wide shot and comes all the way down to your face, and we’re not going to leave this scene until you get it right in one.”

[hannahssimblr]

Ivy is waiting on the steps when I pull into the driveway. Her face lights up when she sees my car, and raises her arm in a frantic wave.

“Hey!” I say, as she launches herself into my legs, “have you gotten taller?”

“I don’t know. Nobody has measured me.”

“I think you have.”

She grins. “Maybe. You’re really tanned.”

“Am I?”

“Yeah, look,” and she holds her arm against mine, which is now a deep, golden brown. 

“Yeah, I suppose I didn’t notice.”

“Was it fun?”

“The beach?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, mostly! How about you?”

“My summer?” she says. “I already told you on the phone about five times.”

“I was hoping you’d regale me again so I wouldn’t have to talk about myself.”

She does an eye roll, which is remarkably teenaged. It’s like the first glimpse of the adolescent she’ll eventually become. “Boring, so boring. I hope you never get to hog the beach house all summer again.”

“I highly doubt I will.”

“Mom and dad got you a present, by the way.”

I blink. “What, really?”

“Yeah, something. I can’t tell what it is. They’re waiting for you in the kitchen.”

Sounds vaguely ominous, but okay. I follow her as she tears up the steps and from the hallway to the extension, where bright, harsh light spills across the parquet. The house is tidy and smells like bleach, the way it always does after the cleaner has been. By the island, my parents stand side by side, arms crossed, faces stern, as the dishwasher rumbles. 

Maybe it is ominous. 

“Hello,” I say guardedly. 

“Welcome back,” my mother says, in a tone that suggests I am, in fact, not very welcome at all, though she’s always had issues with sincerity. 

I look from her, to my father, then back. “Thank you.”

Ivy, already bored with this conversation, dashes out and begins thumping on the piano in the other room. 

“I, um, I locked up the beach house and made sure everything was switched off.” I volunteer. “So it should be good for next summer.”

“Good,” says Dad, and my eyes flit to a rectangular white box on the counter. 

“What’s that?”

“It’s for you.”

“Oh.” I approach it and turn it over in my hands. “It’s one of those phone things.”

The laugh that escapes my mother sounds halfway to a scoff. “I thought you young people knew all about those.”

“Yeah, I know about them. I’ve seen them.” I’ve tapped at the screens in the phone shops and laughed to myself at the idea that a person would ever really need something so excessively high-tech in their pocket, when we all have computers that work perfectly fine. “Is this the new one?”

“Yes,” she says, and I slide the lid off the box.

“Thank you.”

“It was your father’s idea, not mine.”

Dad shifts from one foot to the other, like the suggestion he might be generous by nature makes him uncomfortable. He mutters, “Lorcan, at work, has one. Says they’re excellent. Though he has the three.”

I tip the slim, white phone into my palm, and it lays there, cool metal on my skin. It’s like something from the future. “This is the four.”

“Yes.”

“Um,” I hit the sole button beneath the screen, and nothing happens. “It’s just funny, like, because I don’t really know what I’d use it for.”

“For a myriad of things.” Mom’s voice is barbed. “Look at the booklet. You can go on the internet, look at live maps, contact people abroad with no need to pay all of those roaming charges.”

“Yeah, all good things, I suppose.”

We lapse into silence as Ivy launches into double handed scales on the grand piano, and I stare at this piece of unnecessary tech, the black mirror screen fogging from the heat of my palm. 

“I’m just saying my old phone was fine, too. It had everything I needed.” 

To this, mom tuts and rolls her eyes. “Is it really so difficult for you to be grateful, for once? It’s a generous gift.”

“Yeah, it’s really generous. I appreciate it. I’m just surprised, is all, because it’s not like I’ve ever been a tech person, or whatever, but I’m sure I’ll realise it’s useful once I… use it.”

“There’s the attitude,” dad says, and I turn to him with a blink. 

“Excuse me?”

“See, Colette, this is the way he always is when you do him a kindness. It was this way with the car, too. Non-appreciative, shrugging it off. Then there was letting him use the beach house all summer, and what thanks do we get for that?”

“Seriously?” I cut in. “Thank you. Thank you for the house. Jesus, you didn’t even give me a chance to-”

Dad swipes something else off the counter, a sheet of paper with text and numbers on it, all looking so dull and so official that my eyes glaze over, even skimming it. “What’s that?”

“A bill.” He snips. “€1700 for a two-month gas bill! Are you kidding me?”

Heat rises to my face as Ivy starts pounding out rising arpeggios in a chromatic sequence in the next room. “Um.”

“Did you have the hot water on twenty-four seven? How is this even possible? I’ve never seen a bill like this in my life, Jude.”

“Dad, c’mon,” I abandon my new phone on a stool and take the bill from him, as though I can prove he has made some obvious mistake, but no, it’s clear as day, in a bold text for idiots like me to understand. €1700. “You know I can’t figure this bill stuff out. How was I supposed to know it’d cost that much? I have no reference for this kind of thing.”

“Anybody else would know. Every other child on the planet knows that gas costs money, and even if, by some stretch of the imagination, you did not, then I told you explicitly to turn the gas off at the boiler when you weren’t using it.”

I open my mouth and close it again. “I-” A scoff. “I didn’t know if I’d be able to turn it on again, did I?”

“Apparently not!”

“Jude, that’s ridiculous.” Mom says in a more even, but no less scathing, tone. “Use your common sense.”

“Well… It’s not like it’s a big deal, is it? You can just pay for that.”

“That’s not the point!” Dad cries. “It’s your careless attitude towards money. I sent you another thousand over the summer, and what did you do with it? I know you didn’t spend it on groceries.”

“I just spent it, I don’t know.”

“Those are new shoes.” Mom points out, and really, she doesn’t have to rat me out like that. We’ve never been friends, but we’ve at least had a common enemy. I can see a new line forming, and for the first time in my memory, they are united against me.

“I got sick on my other ones.”

“Why were you sick?”

I hesitate. 

“Jude. Do you have a substance abuse problem?”

“What? Why have you jumped to that conclusion? That’s-”

“Because you’re spending all of this money, and now you’ve been sick on your shoes. How do you think-”

“Oh. Me being sick on my shoes automatically means I’m an addict? You realise what a massive leap in logic that is, Mom?”

“I don’t know what else to think. You think we never noticed all of those late nights you had during school? What would-”

“Oh, my God, Ivy!” I yell, “Please stop playing the piano, for like, five minutes!”

“I’m practising!” she chirps back, and bangs out some increasingly complicated Bach study from the book I bought her last Christmas. 

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Christ, mom, have you sat with her during her piano practise even once this summer? Gotten her to go through those exercises? They sound worse than they did in June.”

“Now you’re avoiding the subject,” she snaps. “How much are you drinking per week? Are you using drugs?” 

I toss my hands in frustration. “I don’t fucking do drugs!”

“Language!” both my parents yell, and I roll my eyes. 

“This is besides the point, anyway. The fact is that you only gave me €500 to spend for the entire summer at first, Dad. How was that supposed to last me, anyway? It feels like you set me up to fail.”

“I set you up with a modest budget to learn about how to handle your finances whilst living on your own.”

“Well, then, you set up a test without telling me it was a test. That’s hardly fair.”

“It was very obvious.”

“Who was it obvious to?”

“It would be obvious to anybody who knew how to think.” He says, prodding a finger against the side of his head. “Think critically. Employ a bit of sense. That’s who. But look at you. Incapable of even that. I should have suspected.”

“Why are you so dramatic all the time? Huh? It doesn’t have to be this way. I didn’t do so badly this summer. I did all the things you asked in that email. The place is clean, sheets changed, towels washed and dried and put away. I broke a single plate, and that was it.”

“That was your basic responsibility.”

“Nothing is good enough for you, is it?”

Mom’s mouth flattens. “You’re twisting things, Jude.���

“Look, this is about the bill. I get it. I’m sorry. If it’s such an enormous deal to you, then fine. I’ll pay it. When I sell my car, I’ll use some of the money on this. Does that seem fair?”

“We already expected as much.”

“Then, fine. It’s all sorted. I’ll do that. Lesson learned.”

They just look at me, faces unreadable, but their body language makes me itchy, like they’re hiding some infinitely worse piece of information. 

“What?”

Beginning // Prev // Next

I've gotta thank the wonderful @sirianasims for pitching some ideas for this particular section of the story! I've had such a good time running with them

[bellarkeselection]

can you do a cole walter x y/n in the rain storm scene.

cole and y/n get into a fight and y/n get out of the car in the pouring rain and cole comes out too to try and solve the issue and they argue and then kiss at the end??

Rainy Night Confessions

The car ride was the most silent it had ever been in my whole life of knowing the Walter family. Even though it was just me and Cole it was still strange as hell. Normally he would talk about something, make a teasing joke to try and get on my nerves. But in this moment there has been nothing said. Shifting in the passenger seat I did my best to face him. “So are you going to talk to me or are we just going to drive in silence?”

“I didn’t think you wanted to talk with me after you stormed out of the cafeteria at school today.” He pointed out keeping his eyes on the road.

Shifting my gaze to the front of the road I recalled what he was talking about. I had stormed out of the room after seeing him and Jackie spending time together. I got mad because I have basically had a crush on him for years but never had the guts to tell him. “I just didn't want to talk right then.”

“Do you want to talk about what happened now? I mean I can do a quiet drive but as your friend I thought you knew you could talk to me about something that upset you.” Cole glanced over at me and I could hear the hurt in his voice.

Tapping my fingers on my legs I started to say something to him but decided not to. “Cole, there's something I should have told you a long time ago. I have…forget it.” I grabbed the door handle and jumped out of the truck where he had to slam on the brakes so he didn’t nearly run me over.

“What the hell!” Cole cursed under his breath watching me standing out in the pouring rain. He gets out of the truck standing in front of the headlights. “You wanna explain why the hell you just jumped out of a moving vehicle on me.”

Wrapping my arms around myself I was now soaked from head to toe. It was likely I’ve even caught a cold out here but I couldn’t take being in a confined space with him. “I don’t wanna talk right now, Cole. Just leave me alone please.”

“I can’t do that. You’ll get a cold out here. So can we have this conversation inside the truck otherwise my mom will have my ass if you get sick.” He offered an alternative, not understanding why.

I throw my head back growling in his face. “You know everyone talks about the Cole Effect and how you are such a people person. But I don’t understand it because you clearly can’t see how I feel about you.”

“How I feel about you. Are you telling me that you have feelings for me?” He asked me slowly, walking towards me.

Slapping my hands over my eyes I growled kicking up some gravel with my shoes. “God, how blind can you be? Of course I have a massive crush on you, you idiot!” Stomping towards him I didn’t give him the chance to respond when I crashed my lips up onto his since he was taller than me.

Cole paused in his actions taken back by how forward you were in the moment. He was usually the one with girls to make the first move while they fell all over him but you were never that person. He put one hand on my waist and his other rested against my cheek kissing me back.

I gripped his jacket in my fingers leaning up on my toes deepening the kiss. Cole moaned into the kiss when one of my hands threaded into his dirty golden locks. He pressed his body up against mine where we searched for a way to be closer but couldn’t seem to find another way and sadly we needed air so we had to break both staring at the other heavily panting. “I didn’t say anything because I thought you just saw me as a friend.”

“So then why was Erin so upset the other day after school. I saw you two talking before she slapped you the other day.” I asked him resting my hands on the material of his jacket, while the rain was still pouring down on us.

Cole looked up at the sky dragging me back toward the truck opening my door quickly. I climbed back into my seat and he got in on his side shutting the door before he ever said something back. “I broke up with her for good this time. I finally realized the only person I wanted to be with is you.”

“I can’t believe you actually like me. And I’m sorry that I had to confess my feelings out here in the pouring rain.” I apologize to my friend and now boyfriend you can say to me with such joy.

Cole draped his arm over my shoulder and started turning the engine back on so we could go home and not get stuck out in the storm. “It's okay, darling. But please don’t do it again or my mother will have both our asses if we come to her house sick.” He kisses my forehead feeling me snuggling my head against his chest.

Comments really appreciated ❤️

Tag list- send me an ask to be added @cognacdelights @connieisthesun @bbabycass

[thecircularlibrary]

helooooo

i love your writing!!

can u pls do a lyrason as parents one shot?

tyyy

aw thank you <3 here you go!!!!

oh darling don't you ever grow up

Grayson x Lyra

warnings: n/a

words: 1135

border credit: @strangergraphics-archive

Gianna Annelise Hawthorne was the most beautiful thing Grayson had ever laid eyes on. Nothing could’ve prepared him for the feeling of holding his daughter for the first time. Lyra was looking up at him, and no matter how much other people might say she was a mess, to him, she was glowing. He looked into Gianna’s brown eyes and he saw nothing but her mother in them, in every single way that mattered. Her tiny hand grabbed his finger and he lifted it and kissed it, promising her that he’d be there. Promising her that he’d care, that she’d never have to feel what he and his brothers had felt.

Lyra’s mom told the nurse to open the door and let in Grayson’s family. The sudden cacophony of sounds that entered the serene room should’ve been something Grayson anticipated, but he didn’t. Gigi, Avery, and Savannah went to Lyra’s side as his brothers went to his. Nash was the first to hold her. Jameson was the first to cry.

✠⚞☀⚟✠

“Sweetheart, you can sit on the counter while I make breakfast, but if you do, it has to be over there,” Grayson pointed to the actual counter, not the island where Gia had been seated 3 minutes ago. He was making waffles; past-tense. Present-tense, Grayson was covered in flour. His five-year-old daughter was giggling as he picked her up and moved her. 

“Grayson, have you seen my—Oh!” Lyra covered her face in a laugh before walking over to Gia. 

“Gia…what did you do?” Lyra was giggling the exact same laugh as their daughter. Meanwhile, Grayson was still covered in flour. He looked at her, completely deadpan.

“Oh, is something funny?”

Lyra covered her face with her hand, but Grayson could still see a smile in her eyes.

“Nope. Nothing funny here. In fact, this is very serious and I think it calls for an emergency DoorDash order,” Lyra was fighting to keep a straight face in her jeans and graphic tee—the pro of working as a Google software engineer was that she could dress functionally without needing to dress seriously. Grayson had to remind himself to stop thinking about her clothes by looking at the half-mixed waffle batter (which they no longer had enough flour to finish) and then looking at his daughter.

“Yes it does. In fact, it sounds like an emergency IHOP order. For two,” Grayson raised his eyebrows at his wife who was still trying to keep a straight face. They both avoided looking at their daughter who had gasped at Grayson’s words.

“Daddy, I want waffles too,” she said quietly. She was a very soft-spoken child and she rarely yelled. The softness of the statement made his heart melt. Even though Lyra was usually the first to cave, Grayson lost this battle.

✠⚞☀⚟✠

“You aren’t wearing that.”

When Grayson was old enough to have kids, he had told himself that he would just let them make their own decisions about what they wore to school. Especially because he already knew he was going to put them in Heights Country Day as soon as they were old enough (the ninth grade). And he really wanted to stand by that decision.

Until his daughter tried to go to her first day of eighth grade in a mini skirt. A Lululemon mini skirt. 

“But Dad, I have tennis after school today and it’s literally a tennis skirt. It saves me so much time if I don’t have to change,” said Gia. She looked exasperated and tired of her father.

“You also have ballet after school some days but I don’t see you wearing a leotard and tights to school on those days, now do I?” This time, it was Lyra that had spoken. “I’ve had long conversations with you about what you can wear to school versus what you should wear to school and I want you to guess where this one falls.”

“Ugh.”

“Answer, Gianna Annelise.”

“Under what I can and not what I should…” Gianna sighed.

“Exactly,” Grayson said. Before he could continue, Lyra shot him a look.

“Please change, Gia,” Lyra pleaded.

“Okay Mom.” Gia walked back upstairs and to her room.

“Mom? I’m the one who told her to change?” Grayson stood confused by the stairs.

“Girls tend to listen to their moms, Gray. It’s nothing personal, I promise,” Lyra said as she patted his cheek and went outside to start the car. He shook his head and questioned how he got lucky enough to have a daughter that was exactly like his wife.

✠⚞☀⚟✠

“Dad! I’m gonna be late if we don’t hurry! I have to get to the tryout clinic early so I can learn the routine early so I can teach it so they can consider me for captain!” Gianna was standing by the door in cheer shorts and a shirt, ready for her junior year cheer tryouts. Grayson was still getting his shoes on.

“I’ll be right there, Gia, it’ll be alright. You’re the best one there so I’m sure they’ll pick you anyways.”

“Thank you, Dad, but that isn’t true. Besides, even if it was, that’s not enough. I need to show leadership and commitment. And I can’t do that if I’m late!” Gianna lost her soft-spoken nature when she got older.

“Okay, okay, I’m ready, let’s go,” Grayson grabbed his keys and went to leave.

“Wait, Dad!”

Grayson whipped around.

“Yes, Gia?”

Gianna grinned.

“Can I drive?”

✠⚞☀⚟✠

Years later, when Grayson was making a senior video for Gianna’s final cheer banquet, he remembered her tiny hands on the day she was born. He remembered her curly hair that bounced as he moved her from counter to counter when he tried to make breakfast in the morning. He remembered her personality growing more and more like her mothers as she grew up. He also remembered things like her joy the first time she did a tumbling pass. Her face when she was fitted for her first pair of pointe shoes. The grin she had when she won her first doubles match. 

He remembered Gianna’s first homecoming and how her cousin Hannah had insisted on Lyra and Avery making them mums. He remembered, specifically, Lyra’s struggle and the way it had been worth it when he and Jameson got to take pictures of their daughters next to each other at their last homecoming. This time, Grayson cried first. 

When she cheered her last football game. When she danced her last Nutcracker with her ballet company. When she played her last doubles match, and won. These memories and their subsequent tears tore through Grayson’s mind. All of Gianna’s lasts. All the things she wouldn’t experience again.

So when he finished the slideshow and needed to pick a song, he knew exactly which one to pick.

[emsdevs]

requesting a jack drury blurb where you and him have a daughter that absolutely despises hockey + jack is sad about it because that’s his only kid and he wanted to raise another hockey player🫶

a/n: here you go nonnie 🧡 I’m not the most familiar with Jack Drury, but I hope you still like it!

Jack had always thought that when he became a father, he’d get to have a little mini-me to teach about hockey. He thought they’d be able to bond over it, getting on the ice together and giggling about failed shots. When he did finally have a daughter, he was so ready for that to become his reality, but by the time she was big enough to learn to skate, he had to come to the harsh realization that wouldn’t be happening.

Evelyn was his pride and joy from the moment you gave birth to her, and as much as he loves you, Jack knew he’d never love anyone the way he loves his little Evie. He introduced into his world as much as he could, but as she got older, she decided she hated hockey. Unfortunately for Jack, that never really went away.

Now, he was dealing with a teenager who not only complained every time she had to attend one of his games but also left the room any time the topic of hockey came up. He didn’t understand what brought this hatred on, but it did break his heart. She was his babygirl, his only child. He wanted to share this important piece of his life with her, but it turns into an argument every time he tries. He had told you many times how he felt like Evie hated him, not the sport, and your heart breaks just the same every time. You’ve encouraged him to just have a conversation with her, but he swears it would just make it worse.

Tonight, Jack has a home, a rather important one considering it could determine Carolina’s playoff eligibility. He wants Evie to be there. You know he does, but you also know Evie will put up a fight. When that fight does happen, just after Jack wakes up from his pre game nap, it’s intense. After hearing her bedroom door slam, you try to comfort Jack, and when you think enough time has passed, you make him go talk to her in her room.

“Evie,” he knocks on her door quietly, “can I come in sweetie? I think we should talk.” He hears a muffled response from his daughter and takes it as the okay to come in. “Is there a specific reason you don’t want to come to my games? I’m not gonna make you go. I just wanna try to fix this.”

“It’s dumb,” Evelyn trails off, not sure she’s ready to let her dad in.

“I swear I won’t think it’s dumb. If it’s affecting you this much, it’s important to me.”

The girl sighs, “I just- Hockey takes you from me.” She says it so softly he’s not sure he heard her correctly. After noticing his questioning look, she continues, “You were gone all the time. You missed so much, and I remember so many birthdays where my only wish was to see you. Not celebrate with you a few days before or after. I wanted to see you on my birthday, but that rarely ever happened, and it’s still rare. I feel like you’ve missed out on so much of my life, and it’s all because of hockey. So why would I support that sport when it steals you away from me.”

Jack can feel his heart break seeing his daughter cry, especially knowing he’s the cause of those tears. “Oh sweetheart, all you had to do was tell me. That’s why I’ve always pushed you into learning more about hockey. I know I have to devote a lot of time to my job, and I hate it as much as you do. Please never think that I enjoy not being here for you or your mom. That’s why I’ve always tried to bring you into the hockey world though. I thought it would be a good way for us to bond, to make up for the time I have to miss.”

“We can bond in other ways, Dad.”

“You’re right, and I should’ve thought of that. I’ll tell you what. You pick new ways for us to spend time together. I’ll do whatever you ask, as long as you come to my games more often. I need my lucky charm there.”

“I’m your lucky charm?”

“Yeah, kiddo. At the very first game you went to I got a hat trick. You’ve been my lucky charm ever since.”

“I guess you haven’t been very lucky lately then huh?” She looks down at her lap.

“I’m doing okay. I’d just be doing better if you were there,” he chuckles, trying to lighten the mood.

“Okay. I can do that.”

“Yeah?” His heart swells with hope.

“Yeah. I’ll go to games as long as I can pick bonding activities,” she holds her hand up for a pinkie promise, just like they used to when she was little.

“That sounds good,” he connects his pinkie with hers, happy they seemed to work everything out.

[y0urm4m]

No time to die ch.1

Warnings: smoking, swearing, arranged marriage, alcohol consumption, weapons, blood, arguing, possible smut, fighting.(This includes all parts!!)

Summary: What will happen when two strangers with awful backstories are forced into an arranged marriage but one is seeking revenge.

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There I sat cross legged, on my father’s plush leather couch in his office. Cigarette in hand. His little ‘body guards’ standing by the door. “So why did you call me in here?” I asked, exhaling the smoke. “Would you put that stupid thing out, you know I don’t like it when you do that.” He sighed, motioning towards the cigarette. I rolled my eyes, putting it out in his ashtray. “You’re a bit hypocritical, I’m not a little girl any more.” I said, crossing my arms. “Anyways, I called you in here as we need to have a serious conversation.” He said, nodding at the men letting them leave. I never really cared about getting to know their names as it would be different men by next week. “Carry on.” I replied, completely uninterested. “Well you know how much danger you can be in once you turn twenty-one and I couldn’t let that happen, so the last time I was in a meeting I had a chat with a few people and sorted something out.” He explained, sipping on his whiskey. “I don’t get your point.” I snorted, raising my eyebrow slightly. “My point is, you’ll be getting married next week as we needed it to be as soon as possible,” He responded, smiling. “I’ve met him and you would both be a perfect match.” He added, re-filling his glass.

There was no way he was forcing me to get married to a man I’d never met in my life.

“Wait, that’s unfair. I’ve never even met him and we’re getting married in a week.” I explained, standing up to walk out. “Don’t be like that y/n, you know I’m only trying to protect you.” He remarked also arising from his seat. “If you really wanted to protect me you wouldn’t have done any of the things you’ve done and mom would still be here!” I shouted, opening his office door. As the door opened I saw my dad give the men a look and with that the two of them were gripping onto my wrists. “Get off of me.” I screamed, kicking my legs slightly. “I’m sorry sweetheart, everything I’ve ever done has been for you.” He sighed emphasising the ‘for you’. “You haven’t done shit for me, if I was ever in danger it would be because of you,” I disagreed, my face shining with disgust. “I. Fucking. Hate. You.” I spat, and with that I felt myself being dragged to my bedroom, the door being slammed shut behind me.

How could he do this to me, after everything he has put me through these past 13 years. I was forced to grow up, because of him. My mom died, because of him.

Flash back:

I was awoken to a loud crashing noise from downstairs, I slowly slid out of my bed, tiptoeing down the creaky steps. There my mother stood screaming in my father’s face. “I told you to not bring that shit in my house.” She shouted, pushing him back. “I never wanted to but I had to for yours and y/n safety!” He shouted back, looking behind him. I was just to far up the stairs to the point where I couldn’t see who he was looking at.

The next thing I knew, there my mom was, her limp body on the floor. Pools of blood surround her. “Mom!” I screamed, running down the stairs hugging her lifeless body. “Y/n?!” My dad gasped, pulling me away from her. “Daddy what did you do to mom?” I asked, my breathing patterns speeding up rapidly. “Nothing baby, don’t worry about it. Go back upstairs please, I’ll be up in a second.” He told me, ushering me up the stairs.

End of flash back:

That was the last I saw of my mom, he told me she went to live with my aunt and obviously with my youthful and young mind I wouldn’t have understood until recently.

I sighed, sliding down the side of my door. How could he do this especially behind my back, I was supposed to be ‘his little princess’ although I know for a fact I wasn’t, the only reason I’m still alive is because I’m ‘blood’.

Which was one of the biggest lies I’d ever heard. Blood only ever makes you related. Trust, love and loyalty makes you family.

— I stayed in my room for the rest of the day, not even leaving to eat. I felt sick to my stomach just thinking about yesterday and all the events that had occurred, but I just have to get through all this. I was brought out of thought by someone knocking on my door. “Y/n?” My dad called out through the door. “What do you want?” I asked, sitting up from where I laid. “You’ll be meeting some of the your fiancé’s family today.” He said softly, my eyes widened. “I don’t even know his name.” I shouted back, standing up and heading straight for my bedroom door. “You’ll soon find out, now get ready.” He told me, leaving me confused as he walked down the hallway back to his office.

I rushed over to my closet, picking out the most presentable but comfortable clothes I could, shoving them on.

I just had to get married and make my dad happy.

“You can do this.” I whispered to myself as I walked out of my room towards where my dad stood. He was on the phone, as per usual. “I’m ready, I’ll be downstairs.” I whispered in his ear, heading towards the stairs. He turned to look at me nodding as I walked downstairs. 

I was immediately greeted by one of my fathers ‘big bad bodyguards’, who was pointing towards the car. I slid into the backseat, patiently waiting for my dad to make his way to the car. After roughly 15 minutes he had finally got into the car. The car immediately started, as we made our way to the restaurant. “Put your foot on it Darren, we’re going to be late.” My dad told the man driving us, he almost immediately sped up swerving through traffic.

I stared out the window, looking at all the shops and buildings we passed. “Where are we actually going?” I asked, looking slightly at my dad. “Just a restaurant, we’re almost there anyways.” He replied, looking down at his phone. I rolled my eyes, his phone was practically glued to his hand you’d think he was a teenage girl by the way he doesn’t leave the house without it.

As we continued passing people, buildings and other cars, two people caught my eye. It was a man and a little girl. They were walking down the street eating ice cream, they both looked so happy.

Why couldn’t me and my dad have that bond together?

— We slowly approached a small restaurant, which was filled with people; mainly middle aged men and women. “Come on then we’re already late as it is.” My dad said, patting my shoulder as he got out of the car. I slid out the car door, walking next to him as we entered the restaurant. “Can I know his name now?” I asked, looking at my dad. “I guess so,” He sighed. “His name is Chris and I expect you to show him and his family the most utter respect, okay.” He smiled, as I nodded.

“Good afternoon, have you guys got a reservation?” The waiter asked, looking down at the paper placed in front of them. “Yes, yes we have. The last name should be sturniolo.” He replied, looking at his watch. “Great, everyone else is already here so follow me and I’ll grab you guys some more menus.” The waiter said, leading us over to the table.

As we made our way to the table I was greeted with, 5 people. 3 in which all looked very similar in age and looks. An older lady immediately stood up walking towards me. “You must be y/n, I’ve heard so much about you.” She said, kissing my cheeks. I smiled, as the others greeted me and my dad. One boy in particular kept his gaze on mine. “If you couldn’t tell we’re triplets,” One of the boys said. “I’m Nick.” He added, bumping the one who sat on his left’s shoulder. “Oh uh I’m Matt.” The other chimed in, smiling. “And that’s Chris, anyways feel free to sit down.” Nick said, pointing towards a chair. I sat on the chair, looking at my dad who was already deep into a conversation. “So why don’t you tell us more about yourself.” The lady said, sipping from her drink. I bit my cheek slightly, looking at Chris and back down. “Why don’t I start, I’m Nick, I’m 20, I’m a triplet obviously and I really enjoy photography!” He said, smiling at me. “Uh well, I’m y/n and I.” I started speaking, when my dad ;who was now staring holes into my face, caught my attention.

“Why don’t we talk about the wedding.” My dad said abruptly changing the subject as he turned to look at Chris. “Right yes the wedding, aren’t you excited!” Nick said, giddily. “She is indeed, we’ve been discussing it a lot recently.” My dad butted in before I could begin to speak. I sighed, looking down at the water in front of me. “Chris are you happy?” Matt asked, nudging his brother’s shoulder. “What- oh- uh yes I am and it’s been wonderful meeting my wife to be.” He said, fake smiling. I could tell by the rest of his body language that he wasn’t genuinely happy or interested in the current conversation. “Well i was hoping we could go shopping and look at dresses tomorrow, but only if you’d like to.” The lady asked, grinning at me. “I’m sure she’d love to. Wouldn’t you?” My dad replied, looking at me. I nodded my head. “Yes, of course I would.” Just then my dad’s phone started ringing, who looked down at who was calling. “I’m sorry this is important, I’ll be back in a second.” He said, walking outside of the restaurant. “So what kind of dresses do you plan on looking at,” Nick asked. “Oh before you say, we wouldn’t want to spoil anything for Chris you’ll just have to tell us tomorrow.” He added, smiling at Chris who’s attention was now on his phone.

I sat talking with them and eating the food we had ordered whilst I waited patiently for my dad to return from his ‘important call’. “y/n!” Someone beckoned out to me, I turned to look. It was my dad and he wasn’t happy. “We need to leave now, something happened it’s important.” He told me, as I shot up grabbing my stuff. “It was nice meeting you all, I’ll see you tomorrow.” I said waving as I left the restaurant. “What was that about?” I asked, frowning at my dad. “Nothing, don’t worry about it. We just urgently need to get home,” He replied, getting back into the car as I also slid into the car. “Oh Nick asked me to give you his number by the way.” “Okay, I’ll message him now.” I replied, pulling out my phone.

Hi my dad said you wanted me to have your number

Yes I wanted to talk about what time your going wedding shopping tomorrow

I honestly don’t know but i’d love if you’d come with me

I was hoping you’d ask me that

I giggled earning a frown from my dad. “What are you giggling about?” He asked, looking at my phone. “I was just talking to Nick about tomorrow.” I replied, looking back down at my phone. “Oh right, well I’ll get Darren to drop and pick you up tomorrow.” He said, Darren nodding in response as he focused on driving us home.

— We finally made it home, my dad heading straight to his office whereas I headed straight to my room to message Nick.

Me and Nick ended up talking for hours on end about anything and everything. It was as if we’d known each other for years. The connection me and Nick already had was all my 8 year old self would have dreamed for after all I’d never had a best friend because my dad had insisted for me to get homeschooled meaning I never got the chance to meet people.

Maybe this whole ‘arranged marriage’ wasn’t going to be so bad after all. I just had to get to know Chris and Matt more.

┗━━━ 🀥 ━━━┛

A/N: how we feeling about this so far, took me forever to write even though it’s short but this is just the start!!

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