#might make a good sticker if I'm careful

[jhara-ivez]

Give him a hand.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Imagine Bill/Stanford x a clumsy reader who is constantly getting injured or stumbling and bumping into something.

Going on a long hike? Reader falls and busts their fuckin knee. Walking by the fridge after grabbing a snack? Slips over a puddle of water and breaks their wrist.

I'm genuinely curious as to how they would respond separately, constantly having to deal with reader's shit.

Love your content, by the way. Keep up the good work! :D 💗

Bill cipher

Finds it funny, after all pain is hilarious to him but it’s made even more funnier if someone else is doing it to themselves.

Don’t expect him to help you in any way shape or form, he’s like one of those friends who’ll laugh as you fall down the stairs before ever thinking of helping you back up.

But in this instance he just leaves you in pain and gets all bothered when you’re all healed up again, claiming that you’re not as fun as you are when you’re injured. So I’d watch your step for the next couple of days for banana peels or anything that could cause you physical harm.

You’re his very own version of you’ve been framed with how often you managed to end up hurting yourself over near enough everything, so much so that he just develops a sixth sense when you’re about to hurt yourself and appears just in time to whiteness it with some deer teeth.

Needless to say Bill will find your sprained ankles, busted kneecaps and broken arms hilarious and might even record his favourite ones to look back on when he’s bored to reminisce over the good times. (I don’t know what else you expect of me for him. It’s bill cipher, he’s the least helpful dude in existence)

Stanford Pines

Poor guy had gotten more and more grey hairs because of how accident prone you are. He would like you very much in one piece thank you very much.

Also he’s got good reflexes for a man of his age and would most likely be able to catch you by the arm or the waist before you even fall or trip while asking if you were okay with the most concerned look upon his face.

He’ll gladly let you use him as crutch when you’ve tripped and busted your knee or sprained your ankle, anything that he could do to make sure that you were in less pain then you already were, Ford will do it in a heartbeat in hopes that he’d never have to do this again. Only to later come to terms that he was with the most clumsiest person in all of Gravity Falls, and that he would be used as your personal crutch constantly.

After a couple more accidents and Ford is already carrying a makeshift first aid kit and had done intensive research on all he needed to deal with things like bruises, cuts and sprains just for you. However he’ll always try to move you away from any and all potential hazards, only for him to look back at you to see that you’ve somehow managed to trip on thin air and bruise your chin.

You’re lucky this man loves you dearly because you had proven yourself to be a handful at some cases, but Ford knew it wasn’t your fault and would never make it out to be your fault in the slightest. And yet the temptation to baby proof everything -especially the lab- was strong within him, but would rather keep an eye on you himself to make sure you somehow didn’t hurt yourself on the corner of a table or counter.

He only knew you would because you did bump into the corner of a table once and tried to hide it from him, but he knew you better then most and immediately gets an ice pack for your bruise. At this point you being accident prone was about as normal as waking up to being covered in Mabel’s stickers or almost tripping over Waddles because he was sleeping nearby.

Yes you once tripped over waddles because he was sleeping near your bed once, did you hurt yourself? Obviously. Did Ford have to take care of you? Of course he did but he didn’t mind taking care of you now and then as you did the exact same whenever he got himself hurt. You weren’t aloud in certain places without Ford because there was too much where you could hurt yourself on, that and Ford didn’t feel like having a heart attack every five seconds you came even remotely close to injuring yourself. Again.

He kisses your bruises and cuts. Fight me I’m in a soft mood.

[miss-oranje-disco-dancer]

lips of an angel

pairing: married! leon x marriage counselor! reader

cw: infidelity, p in v, oral, over-usage of 'good girl', regret, leon is an asshole (like, he's really a dick), reader is also not a good person (so, hopefully it's ooc for u lol), not proofread enough

summary: leon is married to ashley (she deserves better) and he cheats on her with reader who is the marriage counselor

a/n: based on a reddit post lol. also, it's time for us to admit that lips of an angel is such a fucking good song and leon would listen to it. (imagining this is id! leon and that song came out around that time so actually it's perfect. anyway, bye)

wc: 2.7k

[edit] taglist

@rigorwhoring

@dilfprayers

@porcelainseashore

@dollita-fawn

@xoxoloveless

@admirxation

@pawrincss

@onlyasimp4-2dbitches

@pr3ttyd0llie

It starts like many horror stories do: with a knock at the door. He's tall, dark, and handsome, standing in the doorframe. Except not that dark, not very tall at all, but incredibly handsome and you've come to find over the sessions you've spent together that his looks are your weakness. His weakness is you. And many other women. Including his wife, who usually attends these sessions, but tonight, he comes alone. Maybe it's the rain that's beating down on the windows - thought it should sound like a warning - that makes you feel sympathetic enough to let him in when you know you shouldn't.

You let him sit on your couch, but make him hang up his leather jacket on the coat rack so he doesn't ruin the furniture. So you can see his biceps better. And his forearms when he rolls up the sleeves of his dress shirt. The first two buttons are already undone, but that's how he always dresses. You know this because you spend too much time looking at him. What does his wife wear? Skirts? Dresses? Pantsuits? She could wear a goddamn clown costume to every session and you'd be none the wiser because you're staring at her husband like he's a piece of meat.

"Not that I'm unhappy to see you, but why are you here?" you ask him. "Your appointment isn't until Wednesday."

"I'm having marriage troubles. I thought you might be able to help."

It's in the job title: marriage counselor.

"Where's Ashley?" It's a loaded question, and the gun is pointed at your entire fucking career.

"She couldn't come. Plus, I don't think she'd like to know about these problems I'm having."

You take a deep breath, contemplating absolutely nothing because you've already made your choice. You made your choice months ago when you had your first appointment with the Kennedys.

“Remember when I said I had a history of cheating?”

“I do. Has this become a problem again?”

“Not exactly,” he says with a slight chuckle that you later find is ironic in nature. “But I’ve been having thoughts…”

“Are these thoughts sexual?”

“Very.”

“Have you tried taking care of it yourself?” You make a hand gesture to signal ‘if you know what I mean’ and pray he knows what you mean so you don’t have to say the words ‘jerk off’ explicitly.

“Yes, but it hasn’t worked.” He looks directly into your eyes when he says it.

"Are these thoughts about a specific person?"

"Yes." 

His answers, which are limited to only a few words at a time, make you feel like you're shaking up a magic 8 ball, and the blue goop reveals a die that has little to say beyond 'It is certain', 'My sources say no', and 'Try again later'. 

“Is there a way you could distance yourself from this person so you don’t have any potential ‘slip ups’?” you ask.

“Sure, but I’d have to stop counseling if I did.”

“Excuse me, Mr. Kennedy-”

“Leon.”

“Right. Leon, I’m not trying to be presumptuous, but are you insinuating that these thoughts are about me?”

“That they are.” His smile gives you a golden star-shaped sticker for guessing correctly.

You give him a scowl. "I'll set you up with a new therapist, then."

“Let me ask you something,” he says, leaning forward, staring right into your soul. “Are you attracted to me too?”

“I’m not comfortable answering-”

“That’s not a ‘no’. Is it?”

You try to wipe the look of shock arousal off your face.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to admit it. I remember you asking a lot of questions about my sex life, especially the parts that don’t involve my wife, and getting visibly flustered when I answered them.”

“Of course I asked questions like that. I’m a therapist. It’s what I do. I’m sorry if you-” 

You should ask him to leave, separate yourself before you explode in frustration. Getting defensive is not a healthy way to argue. You know this. You've told him this.

“If I remember correctly you asked me about how I touch myself, when I do it, if I watch anything.” He doesn't wait for a response from you, but it wouldn't have come anyway. “And, the whole time you were sitting there chewing on your pen, pretending not to imagine it. And then writing it down in a hurry, making sure you got down every little detail.” He taps on your pad of paper.

“Can I see this for a moment?” He snags it from the table beside you and flips through the pages. Without thinking, you leap forward and try to snatch it from him, falling into his lap.

The embarrassing part is when he lifts you off of him. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“It’s highly confidential!”

“Mr and Mrs. Kennedy,” he begins to read imitating your voice.

“Enough.” You use your sternest voice with him - which is far from stern.

“It says right here that Mr. Kennedy is 'a total dick’ but ‘totally fuckable’.”

“It does not!”

“You’re right. It doesn’t. But you were thinking it. Weren’t you?” He looks up with a smile on his face that’s both charming and cruel.

"I'm not playing whatever game you're trying to play with me right now, Leon."

It's the devil's edition of 20 questions, it seems.

He flips the pad closed, and says, “I’ll leave right now if you answer one question truthfully.”

“Fine," you huff, snatching the pad of paper and stashing it out of his reach.

“Did you go home and touch yourself while thinking about me?”

You shake your head vehemently. "No. Absolutely not."

“You couldn’t even make it home, huh? You did it right here, didn’t you?”

You don't have to answer - the look on your face gives it away.

“Was it on the couch? Right where I was sitting? Where I'm sitting right now."

“Fine. You win, you got it right. Are you happy now?” You concede because you want to end this conversation as quickly as possible, so you can go hide your face and die. 

You want him to fuck you within an inch of your life and then you'll die happily. La petite mort? That's what they call it, right? You want that.

Leon just hums in response, giving you no insight into his thoughts. Though it doesn't take a therapist to guess that he's mentally fucking you. To your surprise, he slaps his hands on his thighs and stands up.

When he gets to the door, you say, “Wait-”

“What?” He asks, nonchalant to such a degree that one might believe the events of the previous few minutes never transpired at all.

“What are you doing?”

“Leaving. Like I said I would.”

“You’re just gonna leave? Do you get off on embarrassing people? Is that it?”

“No. I get off to you, and you know that." He's oddly defensive despite having the upper hand. "I also know that a large part of you despises me, but it’s because there’s a part of you that wants to fuck me.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

He shrugs. “You’re the therapist, not me.”

“I’m telling your wife.”

“You’re going to tattle on me?" He laughs. “That wouldn’t be very HIPAA-compliant of you, would it?”

“Why are you doing this?" It feels like a nightmare that you can't escape where a terrifying shadowy figure is chasing you while you're screaming out for help and no one's listening. Except, this is more horrific due to the fact that you like it. Your thoughts about the man in front of you are downright depraved. You are both the monster, mirrors of each other. 

"I thought you wanted to fix your marriage," you say.

“My wife wants to fix our marriage. You and I both know it’s doomed. But you’re not allowed to say that, are you?”

You shouldn't be saying half the things you are right now, but it's too late to turn back now. You are the sunk cost. And the ship that was the concept of 'fixing Leon's marriage' has already sailed.

“You want the truth? I’ve known since the moment you opened your mouth that your marriage was done.”

“Then why did you keep having sessions? Was it for the money?” He pauses. “I doubt it. You’re a good therapist. You could get other clients. There was another reason. And, we both know what that reason is, but I won’t make you say it. I’m not that mean.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“And that’s what you like most about me.”

“It is not.”

“Then what is it?”

“Fuck you!”

“Do you want to? I wouldn’t be opposed.”

“Convince me.”

“Haven’t I already?”

“No.”

“Then why are you asking me to convince you instead of telling me to fuck off? You just want me to come up with a reason that doesn’t make you feel bad about doing it.”

“And there isn’t one.”

“No, there isn’t," he says with a bit of pity, knowing he's dragging you down into the second circle of Hell with him.

“You have to swear to tell your wife.”

“Is that a yes?”

He did not swear to tell his wife, but Leon is a cheater and a liar already. If he swore to tell his wife, you'd only be an idiot to believe him. 

“Lock the door.”

He turns around and flicks the lock. “Done.”

You stand up and his mouth is on yours. He’s the best kisser. Silver-tongued, you should've known it. You can fucking taste it too. Metallic. No, that's blood. You bit his lip hard enough to draw blood.

You’re the one who starts undressing him first but he doesn’t make fun of you. He helps you out of your top instead.

“Goddamn you have perfect tits. It’s a shame you always keep ‘em hidden.”

“It’s a professional environment.”

“Yeah, it’s so professional that you fuck your clients in it.”

“I’ve never done this before.”

"Don't worry. You’re not the first therapist I’ve fucked. I’ll lead.” Leon lays you down on the couch  - roughly, but cradling your head so you don’t knock it on anything. 

You gasp. "Leon, the couch is damp from your wet clothes," you whine.

"I promise it'll be soaked by the time I leave."

Before you can open your mouth, he’s kissing down your chest, making his way to your panties. His tongue is good at more than just talking. He has you unraveling within minutes, moaning obscenely.

“As much as love your pretty moans, baby, we’ve gotta be quiet. Don’t want you to get fired.”

“I deserve it.”

“No, you don’t. You’re a good therapist, and a good girl.”

“You think I’m a good girl?”

“So good. And you taste amazing.” He places a kiss on your clit and you nearly cry, having forgotten the feeling of his tongue in the mere seconds you spent without it. “I want you to come in my mouth.” He sucks on your clit until you do.

Leon's lips are dark and puffy when they meet yours - the ones on your face. He asks, “How did you imagine us doing it?”.

“Mostly me on top of you.”

“It’s a good idea, isn’t it?” he says, placing featherlight kisses from your jaw down your neck.

You shake your head. “None of this is.”

“I know. You've got morals. You’re a good girl.” He pauses before whispering into the shell of your ear, “That’s why you deserve to have me however you want me.”

His right hand is busy holding you steady so he fingers you with his left. You watch as his wedding band slips in and out of your pussy along with his middle finger, giving a double fuck you to his wife with each movement.

He seems fascinated by the squelching sounds, no longer focused on getting his dick inside you. The heavy rain outside covers up some of the noise but not enough to save you the embarrassment.

"Jesus. Just fuck me already." You try desperately to avoid sounding desperate, praying he takes your irritation at face value.

But you're too obvious, you wear your sick, sick heart on your sleeve. 

"You want my dick that bad and you haven't even seen it yet."

"I hope it's as big as your ego."

"No you don't. That'd be painful, medically concerning probably."

You want to laugh because he manages to be funny and charming as hell despite being an absolute dick, but that fact makes you hate him more. And the blood that courses through you has nowhere to go but south.

All the while, his fingers refuse to leave your aching center. "Leon," you whine, pushing his hand away, "you're gonna make me cum again."

"I know," he purrs. "I wanna make up for all the months you've spent here by yourself, with your fingers inside you instead of mine."

"I was pretending they were yours." There's no point in saving the confession anymore.

"I'm sure you were, but I've got somethin' better for you, baby."

And, abruptly, he removes his fingers. You watch him unbuckle his belt, and despite this being your fantasy, you look at him like he's betrayed you.

"What?" he says, coyly, "I thought you wanted this."

"I do, but I was about to cum, and you just took your fingers away. You're such an asshole!" You pout like a bratty child.

"Yeah, I know I am," he says - his words are muffled by the square packet he tears with his teeth. He slides on the rubber barrier before he picks you up and sits you down on his cock, disregarding the obscene noises you make as he shoves himself inside you all at once.

You're wet but there's a stretch. His dick is big, maybe not as big as his ego, but bigger than any you've taken before. This is how he gets away with it, you think.

"Fuck, you're tight," he groans. His hands have an iron grip on your hips. "You've gotta learn to loosen up and relax. You're too high strung. This is probably good for you."

It's not, you'll find when the orgasm wears off, but right now it feels really fucking good.

His thumb circles your clit while you bounce up and down, working well in tandem. Ironic, as you've made so little progress in your weekly sessions. As expected, the dual stimulation makes you slick with arousal, opening you up for him.

His voice sounds distant, droned out by your own moans which get even louder as his words get filthier. "Bet all your advice didn't work 'cause your brain was all fuzzy thinking about what my cock would feel like inside you. Or maybe you did it on purpose 'cause you wanted me all to yourself."

"No… n-no-" you say, voice trembling just as your thighs do.

"S'okay, baby. Girls with messy pussies like you can't help it. Just need to get some dick in you and then you can go back to being a good girl."

Can you? Maybe you can a 'good girl' in the bedroom, but a morally-upstanding woman? Even in your own eyes, he's corrupted you.

Still, you call out for him, "Leon," you cry, the singular syllable drawn out. You are lucky that the thunder from the storm is louder than your voice could ever be.

"I know," he says, "I'm close too."

The way your walls squeeze him when you cum drags his own orgasm from him. 

You are oddly dissatisfied at the fact that he spills into the condom, not into you. It feels so impersonal. Because it is. It doesn't escape you that he didn't say your name - not even a pet name - just a simple 'fuck' when he came.

You point him in the direction of the trashcan where he can throw away the physical evidence of the mess you've made.

His pants are back on in a second while you remain naked on the couch.

"Where are you going?"

"Home," he says. "Ashley's making dinner. Don't wanna keep her waiting."

"You're gonna go home to her?" you say, more disappointed than surprised.

"Yeah. What did you think I was going to do?"

Truly, you weren't thinking. If you were, you would not have had sex with Leon. 

"I'm surprised you're not happy. I'm gonna go spend some quality time with my wife. That was your advice - wasn't it?"

"Yeah, but-"

"But what? You're our marriage counselor. I'm just trying to fix my marriage."

"You're doing an awful job."

"I know," he says, with his hand on the doorknob. "See you on Wednesday."

[jji-lee]

you really should've taken some more convincing to be dragged into a party this big and this crowded. the air was thick, the smell of alcohol and sweat stirring together, making you nauseous, you needed air, immediately. you pushed through sticky bodies. there were people dancing, drinking, swapping bodily fluids you didn't even want to name, why did college students enjoy these types of things? there had to be a bathroom somewhere in this huge house, preferably one that didn't contain horny strangers.

to your dismay, when you finally found an empty room, it was not a bathroom, but it would have to do. the music dulled as you shut the door and you were pleasantly surprised by the scent in this room, floral and sweet. you looked around for a moment enjoying the cool air. the ceiling was high, and the room was neatly decorated, matching bed sheets and curtains, with a fluffy carpet decorating the center of the room. your eyes landed on a colorful picture frame that was decorated with fake flowers and silly stickers, in the middle was a photograph of a young boy smiling ear to ear holding hands with what appeared to be his mother. you smiled wondering what your mother must be doing right now.

"what are you doing in here?"

you quickly put the frame down upon hearing the voice feeling embarrassed for intruding. you tucked your hands in your pockets and turned around. your eyes landed on donghyuck, tall and as attractive as ever, you figured it was his room, recognizing his honey skin from the little boy you saw in the photograph.

"sorry, i was, um, just looking for the bathroom"

haechan had no idea he was going to be running into you at his party, especially not in his bedroom. this would've been a dream for him if he wasn't already so irritated after escaping a group of overly preppy college cheerleaders that were willing to throw themselves on him.

"well, it's clearly not here, if..."

but his snarky remark was cut short as you interrupted him, eyebrows furrowed and finger pointing directly at him.

"where have you been? mark's been working his ass off at your shop and you've disappeared from the face of the earth!"

you noticed he was gone? he tried his best to not stutter as he made a weak attempt at flirting with you, a smirk plastered on his face.

"why did you miss me?"

he didn't miss the small smile that escaped your lips as you rolled your eyes at him.

"very funny donghyuck. i know we're not close or anything but i thought that at least i knew a tiny bit about you"

you emphasized the tiny by pinching your fingers together squinting at him, he thought you were adorable.

"you used to make pretty bouquets, now you look like"

you gestured at his outfit.

"like all you care about is these trashy parties and girls!"

he bit his lip, unsure of how to respond to your concern. he felt dumb, for doing all of this, these parties, these flings, he knew this wasn't how he normally was, but he had no idea that you even cared this much about what was going on with him.

"i'm not like this, i'm just, going through some things right now i guess."

some things, aka trying not to kill jaemin every time he sees you two together. he dropped his head a little suddenly feeling silly for acting out all this time.

"look it might not be my place to say this, but you have good people surrounding you hyuck, you don't have to do all this, just ask someone for help"

he took a step towards you noticing how you backed away slightly. he found it cute how you had to raise your head to look up at him.

"will you help me y/n?"

"uh, i, uh, i meant someone like closer to you like mark, but i mean, yeah, i guess we're friends, sure, i can help, if you want"

he backed away from you, smiling at you being a stuttering mess. did he make you nervous? he hopes he does.

"friends huh? i guess i'll accept your friendship, since you asked so nicely. this doesn't mean i'm gonna stop messing with you, you know that right?"

he wishes he could take a picture of how sweet your smiled looked in that moment.

"of course hyuck, i wouldn't want it any other way"

blooming hearts — 15. IM MARRIED

previous — masterlist — next

notes : finally we’re getting somewhere!!! y/n basically friendzoned him but haechan has finally accepted he kinda likes her 😊 i hope the transition from y/n’s pov and haechans made sense if not then im so sorry.

taglist : @nanaxwi , @swee7dream , @mwahaechz , @jenocity23 , @nctrawberries , @seunghancore , @minkyuncutie , @taeeflwrr , @starwonb1n , @mystverse , @jising-jisang-jisung , @beommii , @sunghoonsgfreal , @starfilledgaze , @loveholicness

[luveline]

Hello! Can I request cornflower blue with Aaron, where he's just really into chubby!reader and she's so sweet to him and acts kind of similar to bombshell!reader, but is surprised and ecstatic when she finally notices that he's been flirting back?

tysm♡

You walk into Hotch's office feeling pretty and ridiculous. You know you look cute today, hair done pristine, skin dewy, your outfit one that accentuates the slopes of you (and this is all without mentioning the frankly gorgeous pair of shoes you're wearing). 

"Hello," you say. Something about Hotch makes you feel prettier. You couldn't put your finger on it, maybe it's the way he doesn't seem bemused at your flirting ('cos, oh, there's the flirty fat girl, how funny! like being sweet on people is weird when you do it). "How are you today, handsome?" 

"I'm good," he says, with a real, authentic, sticker of approval smile. "How are you?" 

"Better now I'm seeing you," you say, neatening the edges of your papers on his desk before offering them to a big hand. 

"I could say the same thing," he murmurs, looking down at the papers you've passed him with that boss look about him. He has to check your paperwork before it's submitted, of course, and this batch is a little late, so that's probably why he's happy to see you.

"Charmer. Do you need my help with anything while I'm here? I'm free." 

"You, free?" he says, still looking at the papers, one held above the pile, grabbing for a pen blindly. "In what world?" 

"This one, if you can believe it! Hotch, you understand me like nobody else does." You put on a saccharine, movie star tone, silky and smooth as you sit in the slippery leather chair in front of his desk. Elbows on the desk, you place your chin in your hand and watch him correct things you've written with a dreamy expression that isn't even really fake.

You quite like turning Hotch's innocuous comments into flirtation, if only to see his smile, but today the smile seems different. Almost like he knows something you don't know. You press your pinky finger over your lips and try to work it out. 

… Is Hotch flirting back? There's nothing to do but test it. 

"How do you make paperwork look good?" you ask. And it's important to note that you mean what you say, even if your compliments are said in a teasing, sunny manner. "Is there anything you can't do?" 

"Careful," he says, turning a page. Well, maybe he isn't flirting– "You might get something you aren't looking for." 

Your heart is a bat out of hell, leaping from your chest. "I'm always looking for something as long as you're the one giving it, Hotch... I've been thinking I'd quite like a new moniker, if you're up to it." 

He places the paperwork down into a tidy tray and leans back just a touch in his chair (what the fuck). "What would you have me call you?" he asks quietly. 

"Any Sweetheart will do." Is this real? Is he really giving it back to you? "Puppy love, angel, valentine. You could take your pick."

"Why don't you choose one for me?" 

You stand up from your chair and shake your head at him, fizzy energy with nowhere to go. "Handsome, you're in a mood. I'm going to do a lap, okay? Before I combust. Think you can get this," —you gesture to his chest in a big circle— "under wraps, or shall I start picking out colours for our engagement party invitations?" you ask. 

Hotch laughs and opens one of his desk drawers. You consider the joking over, and while you're disappointed, you're not surprised. That is, until he says, "I like eggshell white over cream, but I'm sure you'll make the right decision, angel." 

[gothamite-rambler]

Harley Quinn's Redemption arc starts with Jason

Headcanon: Harley Quinn is way nicer to Jason Todd after leaving Joker and formal with the other Robins. She wants to prove to him she's not Mister J or affiliated with him. He hates her at first, but Harley Quinzel - Psychiatrist and insane clown girl will not give up.

Harley Quinn, opened the door of an empty warehouse where Jason is tied up at. He got tied up by the drug fiends, but Harley took care of that. Jason eyes widen in shock and then harden with anger as Harley skips over to him.

Harley: Hey Jacey, miss me?

Jason (glaring at the woman while his mouth is tapped shut): *muffled curse words*

Harley (smiling while her eyes shifted in shock): Haven't heard harsh words like that in a few years. Not from who you'd think eitha, it was my great aunt whenever she dropped by for Thanksgiving. Good times. Anyways, dontcha worry, I knocked out the guys blocking the doors. You're welcome.

Harley Quinn rips off the tape.

Jason: How- Owwwww!

Harley : It's just tape, I've had waxes worse than that. Waxin' is the worst, let me tell ya.

Jason: How-

Harley (interrupting Jason): Avoid at all costs. Oh and for the question how did I knows you were here. I'm the partner Batsy set ya up with.

Harley (covering a red faced Jason's mouth): Relax, I pestered him for a week to let me. My idea, not his. I'm really good at breaking people down.

Harley cut the ropes with a large knife. Jason stood up, rubbing his sore wrists. His stare at Harley was filled with fury.

Harley: You got taller and are rockin' the white-

Jason: Leave!

Harley: I can't leave ya alone. Batsy told me to keep ya safe and I will. I tracked who these guys are linked to.

Jason: Great, you can deal with that. I'm going home.

Harley: You have to come with me, I'm trustworthy-

Jason (covering the woman's mouth): Thank you soooo much for coming to my aid. It's super great you 'totally' changed. Do that, away from me.

Jason stormed off, exiting the warehouse, ignoring the unconscious guards. Harley skipped with him, not giving up.

Harley: You're welcome! Jacey, give me a chance we're trauma siblings. We both dealt with the Joker. I get that you hold a little resentment towards me.

Jason: You let him kill me!

Harley: And I am sorry for that. My voice sounds like I'm faking it, but this is how I talk.

Jason: Like a lunatic?

Harley: Ha, ha. Seriously I can make it up to ya.

Jason: No you can't. Bye.

Jason kept walking wanting to be done with this failed mission. Harley crosses her arms with a smirk.

Harley: Guess I'll deal with that cargo of cocaine those guys were movin' over. It's linked to a major drug ring, Snowflame is the drug lord-

Jason: Don't care.

Harley: You never met Snowflame, have you? The cocaine powered super villain.

Jason (over his shoulder): That's not a real man.

Harley: He is very real and very insane. He snorts loads of cocaine to fight people, somehow has an electric guitar play when he talks, but maybe he's too strong for ya. That's okay, I'll leave you be.

Harley skipped past Jason, sly smile on her face.

Harley (slyly): He'll have cocaine powder on his face.

Jason sighs.

Jason: I gotta see this guy. I'll go with you!

Harley: Yay, you're going to love this and afterwards you get a stickea.

Jason: I don't want a sticker!

Harley followed behind Jason eager to be working together.

Harley: But it's a puffy cat sticka.

Jason: I'm not a preschooler.

Harley: Fine, I won't give it to ya.

Jason : I... Might want to see it.

-----------------------------------------------

Two weeks later while Jason was out shopping for fruits, Harley snuck up behind him while carrying her bat.

Harley: Hey Jacey!

Jason screamed causing Harley to scream.

Harley: Calm down!

Jason: How did you find me?!

Harley: Saying I was followin' ya is the least creepy answa. I was followin' ya . Batsy told me ya were lookin' for a therapist. I mean hello, here I am.

Jason (shaking his head): Nope. Nope, not you. I'm not taking you as a therapist.

He walked past her. She jumps in front of him making him throw his arms up annoyed.

Harley: Come on, Jacey, I'm accredited and everything.

Jason: I heard you slept with your professor to coast through college.

Harley: Lies! I hate that stupid rumor! I'm incredibly smart! I can already read you like a book. You struggle with trust issues, have PTSD, anger issues you have to manage and... Severe depression along with an unspecified mood disorder.

Jason: ...

Harley: How close was I?

Jason (walking past the woman): You're not going to be my therapist!

Harley: I was right. Jacey when you get past my accent I give solid advice. Jace, wait, if you don't want me, I know a couple people.

Jason ran off exiting the store, but Harley was hot on his heels, determined to help him whether he wanted it or not. Jason didn’t fully hate Harley; he just recognized that her approach wasn’t the way to earn someone’s forgiveness. He sighed, feeling the frustration of the situation wash over him.

Harley: We're sprintin'! I love sprintin'! That is a healthy way to work out your frustrations.

Jason: Harley!

Harley: Come on, give me a chance!

Jason: Stop chasing me!

[mt-oe]

Hi!!! Hope you're still doing alright because you said you were writing in the hospital 😭💦 whatever happens I hope you will recover soon and keep yourself safe/stay healthy!

And I want to say that I really like the way you write about Mizu, you write it in a way that doesn't look OOC and makes me feel like I'm in the story, through the way you write I can feel how much you spent. time and love to complete a story and I really enjoyed it 😭‼️ I'm a picky person when it comes to choosing fics to read about Mizu but your stories blew me away! ! I hope that in the future you will continue to give love to Mizu and continue to write Mizu x reader stories like that and I will continue to support you 😭🫶

Also, I have this idea I wanted to share it's about the reader being someone active on the internet like she always caught the trend and filming clips online like on tiktok or some, and sometimes makes videos with Akemi! She's always looked like a carefree person but in her private draft, she posts a lot of vids if not say all of them are about Mizu or Mizu and her. There's a video it writes "Wife reveal" on top and under is a clip of Mizu doing the random thing ever, and other are videos she posts about how much she loves Mizu and there are videos of their date. No one knows about this private video of her but some random day when the reader leaves the phone alone with Mizu, she gets bored and just wants to take a peek, the reader gives Mizu the password of her phone anyway and she sees all those videos, and gets all blushy when the reader gets back she being a tease and all, when Mizu ask why the reader leave it private she just said it's not like she doesn't like posting about Mizu, she does have public videos about Mizu and her, but those private clips look cringe and stuff, Mizu laughs at the reader cuteness and after they cuddling and get all lovey-dovey.

The rest is really up to you because I want to see more of Mizu's reaction or sum.

I just wanna share my idea, sorry if this gets long 😭‼️ please feel free to write this at any time if you find it interesting, I use Google Translate so I am sorry if there are grammar mistakes my English is not good 🥹 and remember to take care of yourself first!!💖💖

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Hey dear!

Thank you so much for all the love /// I'm so happy to receive such kind words. Sometimes I think I'm really bad at writing fanfics since my English isn't that good either and I often find myself comparing my works to others, but messages like these make me turn into goo and I'm so glad that my efforts are able to make you happy.

To those who sent kind messages too, I'm sorry for not replying to them in this manner. I like to go back to them when I feel a bit down about my writing so I want to avoid the hassle of having to scroll through my works ;; All of you really cheer me up I swear <3

How do I even recover from how much I'm melting ///

Please take care of yourself too and I hope that everyone continues to love Mizu too <3

Hope you enjoy! Mwa mwa :*

warning/s: not proofread, she/her for mizu, implied afab reader

note/s: username mentioned is fake

Giggles and the sound of soft conversations filled with laughter and genuine excitement enveloped the small cafe you had decided to go to with your friend as a way to relax before finals started. The two of you had decided to go on a journaling date together and were excitedly taking pictures of your setup.

"But wouldn't it be cuter if we put the coffee here instead?"

"Let's see—oh shit the ice is melting. Could you pass the napkin?"

"Here. Hurry!"

"W-Wait it might drip on the stickers"

After a bit of fuss, a relieved sigh could be heard from the two of you before the soft clink of the coffee cup being placed on the table. The two of you checked how the setup would look under the camera before Akemi flashed you a thumbs up.

With her signal, both of you started taking pictures and videos. Ideas on how you were going to edit the clips were already running through your mind. "Are you going to use a template or no?" you asked, turning to face your friend.

Lowering down her phone, Akemi put a contemplative look on her face before shrugging. "I saw someone do a cute new edit on Tiktok. I want to try it but it might not fit my feed's aesthetic soooo I'm not sure. What do you think?"

"Wait let me see." She opened up the app before tapping on the video to show you. After watching the video, you looked at her with an equally contemplative face. "I think you're better off editing from scratch. It totally doesn't fit your feed."

"Awww damnit," she sighed with a playful smile on her face. You stuck your tongue out at her, scrunching your nose, a smile tugging up your lips at her laughter.

Friendly dates like these were definitely one of your favorite things in the world. It all started during freshman year when you had just moved in town and had absolutely no one to talk to. Luckily, your seat mate was quite the angel and had talked to you first.

At first, you were quite shy, especially considering how your hobby of vlogging and editing things was something you thought was cringe to say out loud. However, to your surprise, Akemi was more than supportive and even helped you in setting up an Instagram account just for your reels. Through her encouragement, you started gaining the courage to try photo editing and your interest in sharing and documenting the events in your life through posting on social media snowballed into an even bigger hobby.

An hour more of chatting and planning your next content, the sound of a motorbike could be heard before the wind chime by the cafe's entrance rang softly. The soft scraping of wood against wood creaked behind you before the sound of someone setting their things down. You didn't need to look back to know that your girlfriend had arrived and just didn't want to interrupt the conversation. Who knows? Maybe she was listening in on it too.

You met Mizu a few years ago in a college party. Akemi had invited you to come since you opened up to her that you were having a difficult time getting to know other people. However, the sweat, the smell of booze mixed with something you could not identify, along with being pushed by the people dancing and moving around was too much for you. Before your friend could drag you along to meet another person, you were already out the door, smoking in the yard.

Meeting someone who had the same idea as you was the least thing you expected to happen, but that's exactly what happened. As you sat down on the garden chair, you heard the soft scraping of another chair pulled beside you. Your eyes scanned the figure, observing their features.

Tall, handsome, quite cold, but at the same time, alluring.

If the night was a person, you were pretty sure they would look like this.

Feeling your gaze, the stranger turned to look at you, making you turn away. However, unable to resist, your eyes glanced at them before going back to pack of cigarettes you had brought only to find out that you had none left. Groaning, you pocketed the empty pack, hand toying with your lighter.

Though the person with you didn't seem to want to talk to you, she suddenly lifted up her own pack for you to get one of her's. You looked at her, taking her nod of approval as a sign to get one. An incredibly awkward silence took both of you as you placed the cigarette between your lips and lit it up.

Taking a deep hit out of it, you cleared your throat slightly before looking up at her. "Seven Stars? I never heard of this brand before," you tried to strike up a conversation, body tense as hell. You internally cursed yourself for even trying to break the ice and possibly making the scene more awkward than it already was.

Immediately, her sharp blue eyes snapped to look at you, burning holes into you, seemingly studying your features. The few seconds that seemed like an eternity to you finally passed and she lit her own cigarette up.

"Yeah, it's from Japan," she replied, blowing a puff of smoke out. Your eyes widen a bit at the sound of her voice. You had expected something a bit deeper, maybe a little less rough? But god, her voice was more attractive than you expected. "I...I see," you replied, instantly regretting how weak you sounded.

Silence and the sound of your exhales were the only sounds of that enveloped both of you. With the newfound attraction you had for this stranger, you mustered up the courage to speak again. "So what brings you here?" you asked, trying to strike up another conversation. She let out a soft grunt as she looked over at you again. "A friend dragged me here."

Her eyes widened as the sound of your laughter reached her ears. Raising an eyebrow, she turned to look at you with a seemingly annoyed expression. "What?" You shook your head at her before taking in another puff. "Sorry, sorry. I just didn't expect us to be in the same situation," you replied, noting how her features softened.

To your surprise, an almost unseen smile ghosted her lips. "A pain, isn't it?" she said, a hint of amusement in her voice. "Oh tell me about. I'm almost scared to drink whatever they mixed in there," you joked. The sound of her laughter warmed your cheeks, the warmth and silk-like smoothness of her chuckles melting you.

"Want to stay here instead?"

"Sure."

After the little exchange, both of you found out that the same friend dragged both of you to the party. Through Akemi's help, the two of you were able to meet more often, exchanging contact information and messaging each other. One thing led to another and soon you found Mizu handing you a bunch of flowers, asking you to be her girlfriend.

Surprisingly enough, despite being extremely introverted and closed off, Mizu was extremely supportive of your hobby. At the start of your relationship, you were very hesitant to ask her for help. Though you wanted to take cute clips of your dates, you'd resort to hiding it from her, taking videos from discrete angles.

But nothing really gets past Mizu's eyes.

She definitely confronted you for it which led to you explaining your hobby and showing her your accounts. As expected, she was a bit skeptical about it at first. But soon enough, she found herself watching your clips, reels, and vlogs on her free time, while she ate, before she slept. Now, she's the one suggesting to go on cute dates for you to film, for you to go out with your friends so you could film cute and trendy dances together, and even hold the camera for you. She even learned all your 'good' angles and learned how to take videos and pictures of you. The surprise on your face when she first insisted that you took photos of your food was priceless.

Out of pure curiosity, she'd sometimes ask if she could see your account using your phone. It was a silly request but you always obliged since you had nothing to hide after all. Her heart would swell with all the traction your posts got. She loved that so many people loved her girlfriend too.

Of course, you dragged her in some of your videos too, making sure that they weren't too awkward for her. Simple matching OOTD fits videos, giving her a short moment in your vlogs, and cute couple trends that weren't too cheesy. You always made sure to ask her for consent to put clips of her in your videos, making them as short or as long as she allowed and only showing the clips she was comfortable with.

Though there were times when your love for her would become overwhelming and you just have the urge to edit cute clips of her. You thought Mizu wouldn't really appreciate so much of herself seen on your public accounts so you secretly made a private account just to dump all those videos in. Videos of her cooking (and sort of failing), during training, and more random clips during your dates. There were some cute ones and some that were definitely heating the place up.

Mizu would never know about this though. You didn't like keeping secrets from your girlfriend, but this one would be your only exception.

The coffee in your cups soon emptied and sticker sheets were exchanged as you and Akemi finished up your little get together. After exchanging your goodbyes and waiting for Akemi's driver to fetch her, Mizu helped you put your helmet on before helping you up her motorbike to go home.

As soon as the two of you got home, you wasted no time telling her everything that happened. From the drinks you ordered to the gossips about Akemi's ex-boyfriend, you did not miss a single detail. And though Mizu appeared uninterested, you could tell by the way her body subtly turned towards you as she cleaned up a bit that she was interested.

After tidying up a bit, the two of you sat in front of the television with you on the carpet with your laptop, editing the clips you took, and Mizu on the sofa watching the new episode of the series she discovered.

Some time later, your girlfriend grew uninterested in the series she was watching and had started taking breaks from it more often, standing up to do random things such as making coffee, bringing you snacks, giving you a random plushie from your shared bedroom.

A small snort left your lips as you watched her refill your coffee for the nth time. "Love...if you're so bored with the show, you can just drop it," you snickered at her, gratefully taking the mug from her and taking a sip. Your lover let out a soft exhale from her nose and rolled her eyes. "I'm not bored," she argued, sitting back down on the sofa. "They're just talking an awful lot."

"Well you need to listen through it if you want to understand their lore." You took another sip of the hot liquid and set the mug down on the coffee table. You could hear her huff from behind you, probably rolling her eyes again. "I don't need to know all this to predict who dies next."

You laugh at her impatience, responding with an eyeroll of your own. Feeling the urge to relieve yourself, you stood up and stretched. "Could you hold on to this for a second? I'll be quick," you said, handing her your phone. She quickly yet carefully took the device in her hand, giving you a small nod before you went to the bathroom.

Mizu sighed and leaned back on the sofa. Though she did deny being bored, she was definitely bored out of her wits. She wanted to see fighting and cool scenes, not a bunch of dialogues. Wasn't action scenes the point of watching action shows?

Unable to take it, she picked up your phone and unlocked it. None of you minded going through each other's phone. It wasn't something the two of you did out of mistrust, but rather, just to check the random things that went through each other's feed out of sheer boredom and curiosity. The difference in content was entertaining, okay?

Tapping on the Tiktok app, Mizu fully expected a plethora of cat videos and celebrity edits to come. However, to her surprise, the account that was open was not one that she was familiar with. Her eyebrows scrunched together in confusion.

wife.dump was the username shown on the profile. Her confusion continued to escalate as she saw the profile picture which was a flower that she recognized as the one she gave you when she asked you to be hers.

Clarity soon took the situation as curiosity got the best of her and she started snooping around the account, looking through the liked videos, then the reposts, and finally the private videos saved in the account. At first, the likes and reposts seemed pretty normal, mostly about cats and how to cook certain foods. But then, as she got to the videos, she realized that it was all...her.

Her making breakfast.

Her making coffee.

Her fixing her motorcycle.

Her, her, and her.

All the videos were edited so cutely too. Admittedly, she wasn't as good as editing as you but she could still definitely see how well these videos were made. From the color grading, sequencing, and even the song choice and timing. Each video with a cute caption talking about what was going on in the video or just plain talking about the things you love about her. She could tell you put a lot of effort into these.

Seriously.

How cute could you be?

Her eyes darted to the bathroom door, checking to see if you were about to go back, then back to your phone. She continued to watch each videos, a dust of pink on her cheeks deepening with each one.

'Wife reveal' and its a video of her doing random things. A clip of her frowning while looking for you, then smiling once she spots you. A clip of her looking a bit nervous as you show the extremely (almost dangerously) red looking chicken wings she cooked. A clip of her keeping a straight face during a round of poker.

She didn't even know some of these clips existed.

Just as she was about to watch the next one, the sound of your strangled whine surprised her. Setting the phone down in one quick motion, her eyes lit up like a deer caught in headlights at the sight of your surprised yet extremely embarrassed face.

"What the hell are you doing?!" you almost screamed, charging towards her and scrambling to get your phone back. Immediately, your lover got up and reached the phone away from you. "Love! Stop it!" you whined at her, feeling your face heat up from sheer embarrassment.

A smirk crept up her lips at your continuous attempt to grab your phone back. The embarrassment and panic continued to bubble through your system as you tried pushing her back down onto the sofa which was definitely a challenge in itself with a girlfriend who took a bachelor's degree in strength building, major in roughhousing, minor in being a rascal.

Several attempts later, the reality of your lover's incredibly strong build sunk in as you tried catching your breath, glaring up at her. Her clear blue eyes, hinted with a bit of mischief, stared back at you before she opened her mouth to speak.

"Wife reveal, huh?" she teased, chuckling as you groaned out loud.

Defeat took over you and you found yourself wrapping your arms around her with your head on her chest. "You're annoying," you huffed at her, words lacking seriousness.

A deep chuckle reverberated from her throat and slowly, she set your phone down to wrap her arms around you as well. "That's no way to talk to your wife," she teased, voice softer than before. You pursed your lips at her and snuggled against her chest. "You better sleep with one eye open, love," you playfully threatened, making her laugh.

You wouldn't admit it but you were relieved that Mizu didn't react badly upon finding out about your secret account.

"With what I've just seen, I hardly think you could do anything harsh especially to me," she teased back, slowly pulling you down onto the sofa with her, guiding you to her lap. "Why did you keep your little secret a secret from me though?"

You looked at her and sighed, blush deepening a bit more. "It's just...you're such a private person and I didn't want to overstep your boundaries," you admitted. "But I couldn't help it, especially when I rewatch the clips I took and you're just...urgh.."

Her hold on you tightened as you snuggled further against her body, warmth running deeper than just physical. "You're just so gorgeous," you finished, sighing deeply. "Every time I see you, it feels like my heart turns into a goopy mess. Even the little things you do is so..so...It's so fucking cute."

The mischievous, teasing smile on her face softened with your explanation. A huge part of her was glad that you found her so damn attractive that you couldn't help yourself and the other part was almost in disbelief. Did you seriously find her that attractive?

Damnit, you're so fucking cute.

Mizu ran her fingers through your hair, letting you rest your head on her shoulder. A bit of silence going on between the two of you before she gently kissed the top of your head reassuringly. "Love, I don't mind," she said with a soft fond smile. "It's quite adorable, actually."

"But aren't you uncomfortable?" you asked, finger tracing down her throat, feeling the soft vibrations as she chuckled. "I could take it down if you feel off about it."

Her heart swelled at how much you cared for her own comfort and for considering her so much. All she could think of was how lucky she was to have such a caring lover. Taking your hand in hers, she placed small kisses against the pads on your fingers, each tender and loving.

"I could never be uncomfortable with something that brings you so much joy."

[mysteryshoptls]

SSR Cater Diamond - Platinum Jacket Voice Lines

When Summoned: This museum's been around for 100 years, huh～ Bet there'll be a ton of things to look at! Let's enjoy this together!

Summon Line: I'll just upload a pic of the outside of the building with the tags #ImASupporterNow and #MuseumPR... Perf, now it's posted!

Groooovy!!: Poor thing, adrift in a bottle～ Well, guess that's whatcha get.

Home: A 100th anniversary is pretty rad, huh?

Home Idle 1: From what I hear, the country ruled by the Queen of Hearts was super photogenic. My dorm's gotta make sure we live up to that!

Home Idle 2:��Jamil-kun looked kinda faint looking at that golden scarab painting...

Home Idle 3: No flash photography inside the museum, huh. I'll have to be careful when I'm taking pics～ I should change the setting now before I forget.

Home Idle - Login: I always thought museums were pretty stuffy, but this is actually pretty fun. The building's got some character, so it might actually be a pretty good photo spot ♪

Home Idle - Groovy: Checkin' out paintings with someone's pretty fun because of all the conversation possibilities. It was pretty fun being able to chat with Ruggie-kun about makeup.

Home Tap 1: How well do I do in art class? My professor usually says I have a good eye for composition and color sense ☆

Home Tap 2: Look at the miniature Great Seven on these stickers! They're so cute I had to buy them. Maybe I'll stick them on my guitar case.

Home Tap 3: The Thorn Fairy's men were all dancing around the fire, huh. I wonder if Briar Valley has some kind of similar tradition. I should ask Malleus-kun.

Home Tap 4: Jack-kun says he is drawn to the painting where the King of Beasts is looking real regal. I think I like the one where he's relaxin' more～

Home Tap 5: Why're you just staring me down like that...? Ooh, did seeing your boy Cay-kun all serious about the exhibits captivate you? Ahaha, jk, jk!

Home Tap - Groovy: Ta-daa! Heeeere's Cay-kun in all his formal getup! Since we're both dressed to the nines, let's grab a selfie together ♪ C'mon, come and stand next to me!

Duo: [CATER]: Ruggie-kun, you gotta help me make this shot count! [RUGGIE]: Cater-san, please put away your phone!

Birthday Login Message: A little quiz for you, [Yuu]-chan! What do you think is Cay-kun's lucky charm for today? The answer is... a present! The more I get, the happier I'll be, my horoscope says～ That's why I'm on the lookout for people who might have presents for me. Are you that someone, [Yuu]-chan～?

Requested by @farfalla049.

[utilitycaster]

Hot take: with the way the campaign is going, Ashton is getting dangerously close to turning into someone who has a "don't tread on me" flag. Fully "the reason I am upset by people getting stepped on by the boots of those in power is because the 'little guy' (me) doesn't have the opportunity to be the boot". Which makes all of the people at the beginning of the campaign acting like Ashton was a 'true leftist' punk instead of a bitter and angry person with no direction in life and next to no principles hilarious in retrospect. People love to forget that sometimes the ones rebelling against those in power have a busted view of what power is, does, and who is currently wielding it.

Hi anon!

So I'm broadly in agreement. I don't think this is a terribly hot take not because it's wrong but because I've just reblogged like 5 pretty popular posts that are all saying "Ashton's teetering on the edge of full manifest destiny/blood and soil/humans are the virus ideologies" which all go rather further than just a shitty libertarian flag*.

I have a post in queue somewhere to this effect but there's a weird very Tumblr/Twitter/otherwise terminally online belief that anyone who's experienced systemic oppression is automatically going to have Good Politics from it when that's simply not true. Plenty of people look for someone else to blame, and they blame another oppressed group they don't happen to belong to, or something utterly unrelated. Like, I think a lot of punks are genuinely trying to live in a world that is unkind to them, but a lot of punks do so by taking a fuckload of drugs and kicking the shit out of someone who looks weird. I made this post YEARS ago, literally, very early in the campaign; it is ahistoric to act like punk automatically equals leftist when it started as an aesthetic to sell clothes at a London boutique and when homophobic, misogynistic, and racist subcultures were rampant within it. We remember and uplift the punks who weren't like that, but something that really gets me is like. I know some metalheads and a lot of them are REALLY open about having to learn to spot the metalheads who are here to talk about Norse Superiority vs. the people who just want to scream about Satan for fun. For some reason a lot of people in the CR fandom acted like punks were exempted from this and that's a fast track to being very easily swayed into these ideologies; it's literally "you are not immune to propaganda, but I am" and like. bud. you're not.

It feels related to the weird way people treat Liliana. I am still, to be honest, low-key furious that several white southerners are like nooooooo you should be sympathetic to people in cults, because it could happen to anyone and it's like. well. you see. I am Jewish. I am not hanging around anyone who is white and southern and in a cult long enough to find out if they want to kill me, and it's appalling and indicative of how sheltered and ignorant you are of other perspectives that you would have the gall to demand this. They're entitled people who demand that people most at risk from violence do the work of dismantling it - not them, oh certainly no, they're too busy playing Elden Ring or some shit. There's a certain kind of Tumblr user that claims to be leftist and yet extends a thousand times more sympathy and understanding to their neighbor down the road who openly flies a Confederate flag and definitely voted to deny them medical care, than to people who have a cringe "childless cat lady" bumper sticker and voted to reinstate said care and will bad-faith cherrypick why this is actually very radical of them (if not outright lie) and they have rather transparently claimed Ashton as one of their own.

As I said during Downfall, some of it is people who love the taste of the boot as long as they think it might end up on their foot one day but some of it is just people who are so nihilist they'll let the world burn and ignore that perhaps other people are also living there. Like, a big reason why, even when Dorian was angry at the gods, I never felt the same way about him as I did for Ashton is because Dorian was angry about what happened to Opal and Cyrus. Dorian wanted an option that would hurt the fewest people, and his main experience was seeing a god overtake Opal and hurt people! And as he saw new perspectives and heard from others he incorporated that, and I don't agree with everything he says but he really has been thinking about people other than himself, and increasingly I can't say the same for Ashton. The moment at the end, where they say that apologizing would be for them, was promising; but it also feels like Ashton learned this lesson with the shard and completely forgot it and was like "THE GODS WILL KILL US SPECIFICALLY" and the fact that the gods they literally met in person didn't do so seems to have failed to sink in. This is a character obsessed with their own highly specific experiences, insistent that there is someone ALIVE to blame and not their shitty dead parents, and defined by refusing to hear anything that will conflict with what they already believe, and that's REALLY fucking bad for a hero and a fast track to right-wing reactionary politics.

*ngl the Don't Tread on Me flag is darkly hilarious to me because it's available as a vanity Virginia license plate, which means there's a LOT of people who are like "I shall express my distaste for the government by paying the government 25 unnecessary dollars per year solely to have a customized license plate." Deeply indicative, frankly, of this mentality. I mean I don't hang around anyone who has one because they're probably fucking shitty, but I am going to laugh about it in private.

[lovebugism]

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

THE CUSTOMER'S ALWAYS RIGHT | b-minus

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

pairing: virgin!eddie munson / f!reader

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

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

( PREVIOUSLY ) | ( MASTERLIST ) | ( NEXT )

 ˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I meant as a reward, dummy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He wants to. He always wants to.

“It’ll probably be late.”

“Then just stay over.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Right… Okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know,” he nods. “But I want to.”

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

“It didn’t.”

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

“You weren’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” you answer with a smile.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re both wearing the elements of your uniforms.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 ˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, please. I’m a total catch.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You think so?”

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

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eddie hasn’t been to a sleepover since.

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

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

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

Eddie packs his overnight bag without a hint of methodology.

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

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

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

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

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

He kicks it back under his bed again.

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

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

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

“Should be good to go now, though.”

“Sweet,” the boy nods.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…What is it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t,” Eddie interjects sharply.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But it’s different. 

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

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

 ˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

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

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

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

And Eddie was really special and then some.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s ‘cause of you,” Eddie insists.

“No, it’s because you’re smart.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s not fair to either of you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eddie quite literally forgets how to speak.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He got so damn lucky with you. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He looks at you and all words lose meaning.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm?” the boy hums back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay…” Eddie mumbles in response.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your alarm curls into a gentle smile at his reassurance.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How about this,” you lilt with a raised brow. “I can just jerk you off—”

“Sounds perfect,” Eddie nods.

A giggle bubbles from your lips. “Let me finish, you weirdo. I can jerk you off, and you can just tell me when you’re about to finish.”

“Okay,” he answers right before his brows furrow. “Uh… why?”

“So you can come in my mouth,” you shrug like it’s obvious.

Your words knock the wind from Eddie’s lungs — it’s like you’ve punched him square in the stomach. Staring up at you through drooping eyelids, he swallows thickly, then nods. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s sounds… Yeah…”

You breathe out a laugh and lean closer to press a kiss to the tip of his nose. You couldn’t help yourself — he’s too damn adorable. Your fingers curl back around the hem of his pants and boxers, dragging them both down in one fell swoop to free his half-hard cock. You tuck the tops of them under his balls.

You’ve seen a lot of dicks in your time — long ones, short ones, thick ones, skinny ones — you could make a damn nursery rhyme of the variety you’ve seen. Eddie’s doesn’t particularly stand out.

It’s middling in length and in girth, not big but not too small either, with a width that won’t hurt to take but will stretch you out nonetheless. 

His cock is pale and a faint strawberry red at the tip. It’s the same rosy color his cheeks get when he blushes. There’s a vein that trails up from his balls and splits like a forking river up to his bulbous head. The bush at his pubic bone is fitting for a metalhead, but it looks like he’s taken a trimmer to the chestnut hair there sometime in the past month or so.

His dick isn’t ugly and it isn’t special, but it’s perfect anyway because it’s his.

“You’ve got a really pretty cock, Eds,” you praise in a low whisper.

He thinks you must be trying to talk dirty, but your gaze gets all shy — quirked brow, curled lip, twinkled eye — like you must really mean it. You seal your compliment with a soft, lingering peck.

“Can dicks be pretty?” he asks you, the question muffled against your mouth.

“Not usually,” you blurt before you realize.

Most guys are gross. They don’t shave because they don’t think they have to. Sometimes they smell bad, too, because they never really learned how to wash themselves. Either that, or they taste overtly of soap because they shoved a whole bar of the stuff down their pants right before.

Boys tend to care less about the situation their cocks are in. Only a handful you’ve been with really knew how to take care of themselves — Eddie for one, Steve for another, and Billy Hargrove on occasion.

“But your’s definitely is,” you promise.

“Um… thanks?” He doesn’t mean for it to come out like a question; he just never thought that exact string of words would ever be spoken to him.

It’s a little bit surreal to receive a compliment on a part of you that most people wouldn’t typically notice — like your shoulders or lips or thighs. Eddie’s almost sure you’ve complimented each of those at some point or another.

You kiss him again, both because he makes it insanely hard not to and because you know that’s the only way to get him out of his head. He’ll never get hard if he’s worried about getting hard. So you keep kissing him, letting him focus on the pattern of your tastebuds and the curves of your cupid’s bow, while you happily do all the work.

Your fingertips trail up and down the underside of his cock. Your caresses are featherlight and meticulous along his warm, stiffening skin, all but coaxing him hard. 

When his cock is totally stiff and standing at attention at his stomach, you part from Eddie to bring your palm to your mouth. You spit a glob of saliva onto the center of it and let the added lubricant help your fist glide along his dick.

A stifled groan rumbles in Eddie’s throat as your fingers wrap fully around him. You’re only touching his cock, but it feels like you’ve embraced every inch of them.

The pleasure feels like static, like he’s just rubbed his socks along the carpet and he’s sizzling with the newfound electricity. He feels it in the tips of his toes and in the strands of his hair.

“Um, just to, uh… save myself the embarrassment,” Eddie cautions shakily. His voice is a few octaves higher than normal and audibly fragile. “I should probably urge you to lower your expectations—” He has to stifle a whine when you squeeze the base of his cock. “—Just a little bit.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that I’m probably gonna come, like, really, really quickly,” he tells you and tries his best to laugh. It’s as shaky as the smile he gives you because you haven’t stopped touching him, even despite his warning. 

Your fist squeezes his cock, then rises again. You pause momentarily to swipe your thumb over his leaking tip before sliding back down again. It’s a slow and methodical cycle that’s going to make him burst far quicker than he’d like.

“That’s okay,” you assure with the shake of your head, brows furrowed because you don’t know why that’s such a band thing. You shrug. “Just means there’s more time for me to make you do it again.”

Eddie huffs out a sigh as his cock twitches in your fist, growing somehow harder at your words.

Your unhurried pace hastens in a way that’s still obviously disciplined. Your hand moves faster until you hear his breath start to race and see his milky white chest splotch with red. Then, when his rapid pants begin to tremble, your pace goes back to normal.

You push him to the very edge of the cliff and then pull him backward before he falls.

It’d be agonizing if it didn’t feel so damn good.

His eyes have long fluttered shut by now. You miss his chocolate syrup irises, but the look of pure serenity on his face is the kind of beautiful most people pay to see. His agape mouth, bared neck, rosy cheeks, and long lashes that tickle the apples of them deserve to be hung in the Louvre. 

It’s a sort of heavenly that everyone needs to admire in their lifetime, but one that belongs to only you. The sheer thought of someone else having him this way makes you angry, sparks raging orange embers just behind your sternum.

Eddie grows quiet. Suspiciously so. He isn’t moaning as much as he was before, and his chest is totally still, as though he were holding his breath. You feel his gentle grip on the outsides of your thighs start to harden. You figure the added tension helps him stay hushed. It’s less so accidental and more like he’s trying not to make noise.

“Let me hear you, Eds,” you urge in a whisper. “It’s okay. Go ahead and whine for me.”

The assurance barely spills from your mouth before he’s moaning for you. It’s a long, drawn-out whine that travels from his chest to his throat and out of his mouth, concluding in a fragile sigh.

The sound makes you double your efforts. You want him to make that noise again — you never want him to stop making that noise for you. So you squeeze harder, rise faster, and pay more attention to his rapidly reddening tip. 

You’re not entirely sure what Eddie likes the most. Most guys moan louder when you do something they like, but he seems to like all of it, so you don’t pay extra attention to one place. You keep jerking his cock, faster still, even when the muscles of your forearm start to burn.

“Fuck—” the boy sighs in a heavy moan, then cuts himself off with a pitiful whine.

He tries to lift his head and open his eyes to look at you, but he doesn’t have the strength to anymore. His head lolls back again when the pleasure begins to crescendo.

Sufficiently stupid, he can’t even find the words to warn you. “I’m— I’m close, sweetheart,” he slurs lowly. “I’m… Fuck… Fuck, I’m gonna…”

He doesn’t finish his sentence. His face screws up, nose scrunching and brows furrowing, as the feeling becomes almost unbearable. It’s all the warning you need.

Your fist holds onto the base of his cock as you dismantle his thigh and settle on the rug again. You don’t think twice before darting forward to lick the dribbles of pearly-white pre-come spilling from his reddened tip.

You wrap your lips around him totally, cheeks hollowing as you suck him there like he’s a piece of candy.

And Eddie dies. He passes away on the spot.

It’s the only way he can describe the feeling.

The crescendo of pleasure — that’s the life flashing before his eyes. The brief moment of numbness is the infinite void of death. The burst of ecstasy that spits from his cock in one, two, three loads is heaven.

It just has to be.

There can’t be a higher pleasure than the feeling of your mouth on his cock and the way you moan around him when his come spills on your tongue.

Eddie whines something pitiful. He loses all the previous inhibition that kept him so quiet he was too scared to breathe. One hand twists in the sheets while the other settles on the back of your hand, not pulling or tugging, just resting there as his hips buck off the mattress. He can’t tell if he’s running away from the intensity of his pleasure or if he never wants it to stop.

You don’t seem to mind that he doesn’t know.

You let his hips jerk wildly even when the tip of his cock hits the back of your throat and makes you gag. It does take everything in you not to laugh, however, when Eddie murmurs a fragile “sorry” through his cries.

And when his fingers knot in your hair, you don’t mind that either. You let him halfway fuck your mouth, even though you’re pretty sure he’s too far gone to notice that he’s fucking your mouth.

You don’t stop until he’s shuddering. Only when you’re sure he has nothing left to give you do you finally pull away from him. You leave a delicate kiss to the tip of his softening cock, no longer the angry red color it was moments ago. Eddie’s stomach clenches at the feeling of blatant sensitivity. His face scrunches as another feeble cry gets trapped in his throat.

You snap his boxers and pants back into place on his waist and rise.

“How was that for your first blowjob?” you ask him, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

Eddie just shakes his head in response. He flops back against the mattress, the springs bouncing under his weight, and tries to find the words to answer you.

He doesn’t know how to tell you that he just saw Heaven and Hell at the same time and that you were both God and the Devil. There isn’t any string of words in any language that could explain the otherworldly pleasure you gave him with nothing more than your hand and mouth, so he decides to stay quiet.

With his eyes still closed, he can hear you laughing quietly at him while you slither in at his side. You lie beside him on your stomach. When you’re finally in reach again, he peeks his eyes open and reaches for you, pulling you toward him for a searing kiss.

You think it might be the first time he’s ever done so without asking awkwardly first — as though there was a world where you would ever turn him down. He seems to understand that now, the way he kisses you without thinking twice about it.

His tongue swipes into your mouth. The both of you moan when he tastes the salty tang lingering there. Eddie doesn’t even realize that it’s him he’s tasting at first — that the heady bitter-sweetness on your tongue is his come.

It’s less so that he’s tasting himself, and more so that his taste is in your mouth at all, that makes him exhale a moan against you. The heavy breath of it fans against your cupid’s bow.

“Oh,” you hum through labored pants when you part again. “It was that good, huh?”

“Better,” he answers with a crooked smirk on his swollen pink mouth. He’s finally able to open his eyes and see more than a blur when his high starts to subside. “That was fucking… I mean, that was… fuck…”

His speechlessness makes you giggle. Your gaze stays locked on his profile when he turns to look up at the ceiling.

“That was exactly what I wanted. And, like, I didn’t even know I wanted it, you know?” he rambles. “How did you— How did you know? How do you always know?”

You’re not entirely sure what he means by that, and honestly, neither is he.

You just always know what he needs. You buy him a toothbrush because you know he’ll forget his, and when you touch him, you know exactly what he likes — even though he doesn’t even know what he likes.

It’s like you’re another half of him, and not in the stupid soulmate way everyone always thinks they’ve found. You’re an identical part of him that no one else can fit. He’s only whole with you — like a sandwich cut into triangles or halves of an orange. 

“Well, to be fair, I did ask Steve what a guy would want in this sort of situation,” you admit with a scrunched nose. “I just sort of went with what he said.”

Eddie’s brows pinch together as he turns his head to peer at you again. He blinks at you for a moment, dumbfounded, then sputters. “Wait— You’re telling me I have Steve to thank for that blowjob? Like Steve-Steve? As in Steve The Hair Harrington?”

His dramatics makes you giggle. You hide your grin behind your palm.

“Hope that doesn’t change anything, Eddie Spaghetti.”

You meant it as a joke, as in, please don’t think of Steve every time I give you a blowjob from now on, but your words settle something heavy on the both of you. 

Because you’ve had Steve The Hair Harrington, in more ways than most friends tend to have one another. You’ve had a lot of people like that. There are people in the world with parts of you that most only give away when they’ve found someone really, really special. 

You learned about that too late. And now you feel a lot less special.

Eddie hears all your dreadful, no-good thoughts because they’re also his own. 

He’s a virgin with the town slut, so he often feels like he’s drowning. It isn’t because of you, though. It’s never because of you. The number of people you’ve slept with doesn’t mean a damn thing to him; he just wants to measure up to them.

He wants to be the kind of man that sticks in your head after you’ve been with a thousand of them — the kind you can’t help but remember fondly because there hasn’t been another one like him.

He’s got no idea he’s already better than every person you’ve ever been with combined.

“No, sweetheart,” he assures with the shake of his head. The apple of his cheek rubs against the fabric of your comforter as he looks at you with eyes deeper than an infinite galaxy. His gaze holds all of its own stars, and each of them is named after you. “It doesn’t change a goddamn thing.”

[hbprophetie]

I'm selling little Snape goods with my art to support my daily life!✨

My fellow Snape fans! Long time no see, I hope you've been doing alright. I'm back once more, after what might be my longer absence on here so far.

I owe you an apologize, and even if I won't develop very deep on my personal situation, I wanted to give you some kind of explanations. I've been leaving far from home in Japan for more than 2 years now; last year, I started to work as a 2D animator for the anime industry in Tokyo, and got through a very difficult experience. Working culture in Japan is far from the one why might have in Europe or in the rest of the world, and the anime industry makes no exception; insane working schedules, very bad working conditions, no consideration of personal life and low salary are basically considered as the norm here. Sometimes I was shamed for only working +50 weekly hours and not commiting to work for free on weekends.

As I couldn't stand the toxic environement anymore, I finally moved to the Japanese countryside where I managed to find a little animation studio that works on my favorite series of all times: Pokémon. My collegues now are all very nice peoples, I feel accepted and respected despite the very rought working conditions; But above alI can now realise my dream and work and be implied on my childhood favorite anime.

However, I get close to no money from my long 6 working days week. I hardly pay the rent, and I rely on my savings for paying bills and food. I'm happy and I'm not in immediate danger: I have been saving money in preparation for this kind of cases for years before moving to Japan; However, I want to continue to pursue my dream and know that in the long run, I cannot afford to leave a life that doesn't allow me to move more freely and meet my family even if it's only one time in two years.

That's why I'm now trying and hope to develop a little side hustle to help cover the daily life expenses while developing my skills for creation and illustration. I have little to no visibility on social medias and it's difficult, but I want to trust time and would be extremely grateful in even a few of you could consider checking my work if interested. Of course I don't exclusively draw Snape, but I'm putting all of my heart in my recent illustrations including Pokémon fanart, food illustrations and sketches on the daily life in Japan. My main tumblr is https://lucie-foselle.tumblr.com/ , I also have a IG page called "tenma_draws_pokemon".

However, I have a little treat for you Snape fans: I recently come up with the idea of making postcard and stickers with some of my Snape fanarts. I'm pretty happy with the result and would like to propose you to get them if you want to either get a little Snapey decoration, want to share your love to another Snape fan, or support me and my work!

Everything is printed, signed and stamped on demand! Note that the colors and result might therefore look slightly different than the pictures. My stamp will also appear in the 2 darker background cards, as featured in the visuals bellow.

Everything is made by me, I print in a small local shop and look for the best quality as possible for the illustrations! I can ship worldwide from Japan, and it would be made with love, care and an immense gratitude.

✨ Poscards (4 patterns available now, can be seen on this Tumblr) ✨

Price: 3$/3€/3£ /pc, worldwide shipping included! ✨ I can make little discount if several items are bought.

Size: 10x14.7 (~3.9x5.7 inches)

The little pumpkin is part of a collection I have on my main illustration Tumblr, you can check at https://lucie-foselle.tumblr.com/)

✨ Stickers (Snape crest pattern) ✨

Price: 3$/3€/3£ /pc, worlwide shipping included! ✨

Size: ~5x6cm (~2.5 inches), might add holographic effect. ✨

You can contact me via DM here or on my IG, and payement is made via Paypal. I plan to launch my kofi page soon and might consider selling other goods and take commisions in the future if I feel like it could interest some of you! 💚 I can either draw and animate, still have to sort it all for 2025! 🤗

Note that I would do my best but I'm just starting to print and ship my art, there might be a little delay in the shipment and the goods might take up to 3 weaks to reach you. Plenty of non Snape pattern are also available so if you are interested do not hesitate to check or ask, my DM are open! 🤗

Even a little like, comment or share gives a lot of support. 💚 A huge thank you to all of you who would have read until now, and would show a little bit of support! ✨ Have a good rest of your week-end, fellow Snapers. 🐍

[junktastic]

Hi everynyan,

Some of you will remember that I was taking names/addresses to send out free stickers in September. I am almost done sending them out now, so here's a quick update on that.

The Good!

I like this a lot! It's fun to do. For reference, I'm printing, laminating, and cutting these myself at home, so I'm learning a lot about my machine. I like being in charge of the quality control, I like doing the logistic work. Idk. It's fulfilling to me.

It's also really delightful to see names on the list who I've known of for a long time. Old and new faces, people all over the world, I love seeing people adopt a catgirl. :3 And for free! I'm by no means making a lot, but being able to provide something fun and physical to the people who enjoy my art for free is just! Wow!

The Bad!

Everything that could have gone wrong during this process did, which is why they're going out so late. The at-home manufacturing process was relatively simple but the materials kept being funky, or I'd do something wrong, so I'd have to toss something that I'd completely fucked up, OR I'd just miscount how much stuff material I had left. It's been a pain in the butt, so I'm glad it's done and that I've learned so much from it. I ALMOST FORGOT, I DESTROYED ONE CUTTING MAT MAKING THAT ROGER STANDEE FOR MY WEDDING LOL SO I HAD TO SPEND TIME CONDITIONING THE NEW CUTTING MAT! UGH!

There's also: the money. I know it's gauche to talk about it, but doing this was pretty expensive. I live in Canada now, and most of the letters were going out of Canada, so that postage added up. Materials cost, time, it's a pretty good chunk of change, but I didn't go broke so I want to do it again.

The Other?

I definitely want (and plan) to do this again very soon. I'm talking within this month. I'm making Christmas cards! I've already set money aside for this so it's all good, and it involves less at-home manufacturing since I can just reach out to a local print shop.

I know some people were wary of the google form, but I can't really find a better alternative at this time. MailChimp has had at least one major information leak in 2024 alone, so I am not sure where else to turn for collecting addresses at this time. I had a few people who did not give me towns/zip codes, and the street address would have three or four towns in that state alone with that address. Since I didn't collect e-mail addresses, I didn't have any way to reach out to entrants about this. If you don't see your sticker in the next few weeks, this might be why! I also plan on adding a checkbox just to confirm that the person requesting the sticker is over 18, NOT because I plan on sending anything saucy, but I know what it's like to be a teen with parents who open you mail, an I don't want to cause problems for anyone because Mom and Dad think fairies are satanic or something.

Most people I've talked to about all of this have really emphasized that I need to reopen my Patreon. I'm not saying anybody is wrong on this, but it just makes me feel so uncomfortable. I think anyone who's followed me for a while has seen me try and fail to do art full time or, hell, even have a schedule for something, and I've failed every time. I'm so scared of failing people again. How can I ensure that I'm producing things on time, to a standard I am happy with, that anyone willing to support me (in this economy?) would also be happy with? It will probably happen, but I'm just so... Plus, with all honesty, I have a commission backlog that I need to finish first! I'm bad at the business part of this whole thing, I think. I'm a blue-collar labourer in my heart.

That's my update! I wish you all well, please stay safe and take care of yourself and those around you. I'll post again when I'm collecting addresses for the Christmas cards.

[flannelepicurean]

You know what I love?

The whole idea of Raditz in the role of a nurturer.

I like the idea of him having a chance to go, "You know what? I don't actually wanna fight anymore. I don't actually LIKE fighting that much. I just HAD TO." Because it was such a deep part of the culture, he didn't really have an opportunity to see anything else as an option. And then there WASN'T any other option. If he wanted to survive.

And then he didn't.

But if he came BACK, and saw the changes... maybe he'd get a chance to make some CHOICES. I mean, for fuck's sake, he might come face to face with Dadgeta, and get his whole entire worldview rearranged. And if VEGETA can do THAT, but still go off and join the fight... Well... actually... Well, shit, everybody's so far beyond Raditz at that point, he doesn't really... HAVE to go fight...?

I like the idea of him being the one the kids can go to when they're SCARED. He's not as powerful as everyone else. He's been at the bottom of the pecking order. He knows what it's like to be AFRAID, and not really able to DO anything about it. He's got a different intimacy with doubt and self-doubt than Vegeta does, and I think he'd really quickly grow into way less of a hard-ass about it, in his own way, once he gets more of an understanding of what the kids have been through, and what their present is like. And what their future could be.

I like the idea of Trunks or Goten running to Uncle Raditz when they're totally overwhelmed by literally ANYTHING that could come up, I don't care, pick a plot point or conflict. And either blabbing it all out in a rush, or just stewing on it in silence. And him just receiving it all, with the same calm attentiveness he'd give an adult, and then giving them the most Peak Uncle Response imaginable. Words of wisdom; invitation to a minor crime; invitation to a food opportunity; advice on committing a minor crime; caring insistence that they make something right or correct a course of action, etc. Uncle Raditz.

I also adore the idea of him being a joyful Daditz to an absolute HERD of kids. His, a collective pile of everyone else's, a combination, doesn't matter. Just having the opportunity to BUILD SOMETHING with a new generation, and do things differently, and give them the good parts without all the worst parts. I want the kids who are old enough for missing baby teeth to complain about him letting the toddlers win when they arm wrestle him, and him to patiently explain that the toddlers are learning FORM; the older kids are training STRENGTH and TECHNIQUE, because they're ADVANCED. Now go see if they can put the glittery stickers on Goku when he's not looking.

I... I'm just in love with the whole idea.

[intimidating-fettuccine]

I love the satyr s/o headcanons you've done so far, so I gotta get your headcanons on Tim, Nina, and our beloved BEN separately with a satyr s/o!!! I love your writing so much it makes me scream and shake violently!!!!

I'm glad you like my writing so much, and I hope you enjoy this one too :)

Tim:

Honestly, I think Tim is just incredibly confused about how he managed to land a demon partner. Tim just views himself as Some White GuyTM, so he's very confused about why a demon, especially one as cute as you, would want to be with someone like him, but he doesn't complain about it, and instead, he tries his best to be a good partner for you. I think he finds your characteristics to be very cute, your soft fur, your horns, your hooves, he thinks you're just the most adorable thing in the whole world, and he tells you that all the fucking time. He reasons that you're far too cute to be a demon, with that soft fur and your gentle disposition, telling you as much, but the moment he sees you actually defend yourself from other demons he remembers the fact that your title as a demon isn't just for show. I think he'd call you his Little Wolf, his wolf in sheep's clothing, because you're much stronger than you look, and he admires that fact. I think Tim would probably wonder if he's doing a good job as your boyfriend, wondering if demon relationships are any different from human ones, but when you just smile and reassure him that he's doing perfectly, giving him a kiss and a hug as you do so, it'll definitely ease his concerns. Tim does like to be protective over you, willing to stand up for you even in the face of other demons, but I'd honestly recommend teasing him sometimes, saying that he's your human that you have to protect and care for, and he'll get all flustered about it. 

Nina:

Nina fucking ADORES you. Working for Zalgo she's quite used to being around different types of demons, but you have to be her absolute favorite of the bunch. She loves everything about you, and she was often stuck to your side like glue even before the two of you started dating, so she's incredibly affectionate and loving towards you, which is quite a sight for the other demons around the two of you to see a human being so clingy with a demon. I think honestly Zalgo might even be very happy that the two of you are dating because Nina has a penchant for getting into trouble and causing fights with people she shouldn't be, so it's nice to know she has someone like you around her to keep your eyes on her and keep her safe if you need to. Being as rowdy as he is, I think she probably likes to try and play wrestle with you a lot, and of course, you always hold back to not hurt her, but she gets a lot of enjoyment out of testing out her strength and growth with you, plus she loves seeing you in action. Even if you don't fight very often, she thinks you're incredible, and she loves watching you fight with your unique satyr-specific style. Also, I think she totally brags to pretty much everyone she can that she, as a human, was able to end up dating a demon, which is pretty uncommon, and she feels super happy that she's able to be a good enough partner for you, considering your differences as a human and a demon, and she's committed to being the best girlfriend she possibly can be for you.

BEN:

I'm gonna say it... He has major grabby hands for you. BEN really loves soft things, and your hair and your fur are both just so irresistibly soft, so he can't stop himself from just wanting to constantly love on you and run his hands across your fur and through your hair all the time. BEN finds you to be so fucking cute, and he probably has a photo album on his phone with hundreds of pictures of you that he's constantly adding to because he loves you and he can't get enough of you. Also, the thought popped into my head that he's totally bought the two of you matching goat keychains, stickers, and anything else he can find, but the joke is on him because sometimes he does it to tease you a little but you find all the stuff so cute that he gets flustered about it and it just makes him get you more stuff. I can see him absolutely wanting to take naps curled up on your lap and your legs where it's nice and soft because he finds it so relaxing and comforting (even if he doesn't even technically need sleep), it just makes him feel so content and happy, so it's one of his favorite places to be, ESPECIALLY if you stroke his hair while he's laying on you, you'll never get him off of you. BEN, despite being a ghost, hasn't really been with any demons before, and for you to be his first demon and be this incredibly wonderful and adorable and soft and just the best thing to ever happen to him he feels so incredibly lucky, and he just never wants to leave your side.

[clovers-housetree]

Baby Steps: Drinking Water!

This is the first installment in a series of posts I'd like to do expanding on some of the things I've talked about here (which- blew up by the way??? thank you all so much??? <3) and here!

Long intro/backstory to this post series below!!

I often tend to immediately tense up at the thought of handling a big upcoming project or tackling something I've procrastinated on or neglected to do, even adding things to my daily routine like brushing my teeth or wearing my retainer- even drinking water, since I've spent a majority of my time in my room just sitting, over the past few years.

I know I have different little posts 'n' such that talk about these things already, but I want to expand on things and get a little more in-depth on advice and things that have worked for me and helped me out!

This series is separate from everything else, though I'll probably list more things in other "regression activity lists" or scenes- You might see some of the same content in multiple posts, is what I'm trying to say- but I do that because different things work for different people, and I know regression in particular isn't all sunshine and rainbows for everyone. I want to try to appeal to a wider audience and learn more from the community, be a bigger part of the community so I can help people out, because that's something I enjoy.

My regression in particular is voluntary and solely for stress-relief, so to me, I kinda feel like I only know surface-level things about it, although I've been doing my research.

There may not be that much to it anyhow, I just-

I just wanna help people as best I can, I think. ^^; Which is why I'm so intent on interaction and explaining that I don't know everything but that I want to learn, so that I can help y'all out.

Anyway!!

★ This will probably be a repeat bullet point in this series, but if you have a device that can set alarms, maybe a timer of some sort- any kind of time-keeping device that dings in certain intervals, I'd recommend using it.

Alarms on your phone, timers, any little reminders you can make to help you with the things you struggle with, if you're like me and stuck sitting a lot or don't do much during the day (or are the complete opposite and do so much during the day) that you tend to neglect taking care of yourself.

★ Fill up or grab a water bottle whenever you start your day or are about to do something, and keep it with you! This way if you do end up thirsty, you don't have to stop what you're doing and worry about getting water, you'll already have it on you!

When it gets empty, that's what you've got your reminders for! Maybe every half hour or so to check how much water you've got and if you need to refill, or maybe make something as a reminder once the bottle's empty to refill, just so you've still got water and don't have to go back and forth to fill up a cup so often.

★ You could also put ice or fruit in your water! Different shapes or sizes, and whatever fruit (or veggie? I've heard cucumbers taste good!) you want if that sounds yummy! I like my water with lemon sometimes. -w-

I'm not recommending any sort of flavoring or those Cirkul water bottles with the flavor pods because I'm not sure how healthy or reliable they are, or how much sugar they have, stuff like that. If anyone has any info on those sorts of things they use and would recommend, please feel free to share!

Edit: Check the notes, we've got insight! Thank you to everyone for their input!! :3

★ You can customize your water bottle, sippy, bottle, bowl (for the pets!) with whatever you want! Maybe stickers, maybe a straw, you could get one with your favorite characters on it- make it fit and customizable so it works for you, have fun decorating it and make it something appealing to the eye so it might get you to take a sip!

If you have any other tips, feel free to share! ^w^

Know that I'll always be here for you if you need me, and I'm very proud of you for trying!

"Fluttershy protects this blog! SFW interaction only, please and thank you! ^w^"

"Wouldn't show a kid? Doesn't belong here!"

[z0mbi3k1d]

Romanticizing life part 1

School 📚

School sucks it's probably the worst part of anyone's day but Hot girls romanticize everything so life becomes more fun and enjoyable. Here are some tips and tricks for romanticizing school!

In class🖊

Do your work!! It's even cuter to be smart and attractive

If you finish your work you can read or doodle

Try and work with friends, it makes the work more fun

Listen to music! Make a playlist specifically for school (I'm not gonna link mine because it's not specifically for school it's just my music taste)

Get cute supplies, your favorite colors or ones with cute little characters on them

Notes 🧷

Highlighters and pens!! They make your work look sooo cute!!

Stickers! They also make your notes look more aesthetic and adorable

Practice handwriting, PLEASE omg my hand writing is so bad I have to practice too but your notes will look so cute

Look up borders on Pinterest and use those on your paper they look so cool fr

Organize your notes, weather it's boxes, bullet lists or lines. It just makes it look neater

Social stuff 🖌

Stay out of drama!! It's not cute!!

Use manners and be polite at all times, no body likes someone with an ugly personality. And if they do that's someone you should satay away from

Have good relationships with teachers, say hi and smile to them, it could make a worlds difference!

Have a positive attitude, not everybody is terrible!

Find a club you enjoy, it's easier to make friends with people who have similar hobbies!

Confidence!! 🖇

Be confident you're hot so act like it!!

Keep your head up high, I know it's scary but you'll look more approachable

Pretend you are your favorite character, act like them

Listen to music that makes you feel confident

Wear clothes that make you feel confident, confidence>>looks

Fun little things 📌

When listening to music in the halls pretend your in a movie/music video

Take pictures and record videos with your friends during any free time for memories

With your friend take a paper and write down sweet things about each other, my friend and I do this and it's really fun

You can also pretend you're the main character in a shojo anime!!

Look good, feel good 🖍

"Life isn't a fashion show" yes it is!! Wear things that make you feel like yourself and you'll win!!

Please wear perfume smelling good is a must!!

Make sure your hair is brushed/fixed and looks good

Make sure your bag looks clean please!

Lunch 🍱

Try and pack your own, it's definitely healthier

Please eat lunch, it's important for you to stay adorable!

If you don't have friends sit near people you think are cool, they might end up talking with you!

If you don't want to do that then you can sit by yourself, people don't usually tend to care if you sit at their table as long as you don't bother them

Links ✂️

Cute Amazon school supplies list:

Upcoming posts 📖

Romanticizing gym class

Downtown girl aesthetic guide (rq)

Thanks for reading!! 🩷

Have a great day pretty girl, stay safe and drink tons of water!!

-Lacey~♡