#my taste is a clusterfuck

[punk-in-docs]

What’s your favorite song right now?

Easy. Pearls by Jessie Ware. It’s ludicrously. addictive.

[so2uv]

you guys should totally follow my spotify like

[hylianengineer]

I’ve been trying to force myself to write fluff lately, because I thought it might help with my depression. It’s going... weird. Why is fluff so hard to write? I can do brief scenes and conversations okay but then the plot threads abandon me. Possibly because it’s fluff without plot. Maybe I just need practice. Like, a lot of it.

[aucupariaart]

I added a song from the musical "Man of La Mancha" to my Dress Rosa Spotify playlist and it gives me so much joy everytime.

[yardsards]

ayyy i have one of those too

For all my aro and aspec buddies:

Here's the link to my no romo playlist, in case you feel like listening to songs that have nothing to do with (or at least dont remind me of) romance, sex, or any of that shit

Happy valentines day lmao

[pissed-whizard]

Shuffle your favorite playlist and post the first five songs that come up. Then copy/paste this ask to your favorite mutuals. 💌💜

[prodigalbutch]

tagged by @kittydelight :3

shuffle your likes playlist and post the first 10 songs:

1. people are people - depeche mode

2. i am so mad at you - ajj

3. jessie’s girl - rick springfield

4. big iron - marty robbins

5. spring breeze - hiperson

6. style - foster the people

7. my trains - lemon demon

8. atom bomb - red vox

9. haunted - creature feature

10. connect the dots - wild party

just tagging @electropneumatic welcome 2 the tag game

[terioncalling]

I keep seeing this one floating around, so let's do it. Music, 3, 2, 1, go!

[yum-yami]

i loveee creating my monthly playlists because it's so interesting to see my music taste evolve. i usually hyperfixate on 2 or 3 songs so there's some consistency. but there's always something new in each playlist

[sheisjoeschateau]

"Oh, so we DO love Steve..." | PART I

Steve Harrington x Bauman!fem!reader enemies to lovers, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, upside down mayhem, S2-S4, post S4 universe hot-take, end-of-the-world / dystopian setting, ugly fights turned smut (...but with hella plot). 18+

WHEN THE UNEXPECTED NIECE OF MURRAY BAUMAN GETS THROWN IN THE MIX, THE GANG HAS NO IDEA JUST WHAT THEY'RE IN FOR. SCRATCH THAT - STEVE DOESN'T KNOW. YOU GET ALONG WITH EVERYONE WELL. YOU BANTER WITH THE ADULTS, WHO APPRECIATE YOUR HELP. THE KIDS LOVE AND WORSHIP YOU. YOU'RE HELPFUL ALL AROUND. BUT AS FAR AS STEVE IS CONCERNED, YOU'RE JUST NUISANCE. AFTER ALL, YOU'RE THE REASON HE LOST THE LOVE OF HIS LIFE AND MISSED OUT ON A LIFE THAT "COULD'VE BEEN." IF YOU HAD JUST KEPT YOUR SORRY ASS OUT OF THE PICTURE... IF YOU HAD NEVER GONE WITH NANCY AND JONATHAN AFTER THEY LEFT YOUR WHACK-JOB UNCLE, MURRAY BAUMAN'S, BUNKER? HE WOULD BE HAPPY. SO F*CKING HAPPY. BUT HERE YOU WERE. YOU WERE BASICALLY THE COOLER (...AND SURE, MUCH MORE ATTRACTIVE) FEMALE VERSION OF MURRAY BAUMAN. YOU WERE SARCASTIC, QUICK-WITTED, TOO SMART FOR YOUR OWN GOOD, AND APPARENTLY BUILT FOR THE WAR. SURE, YOU WEREN'T AS BRASH AS YOUR UNCLE. BUT IN STEVE'S EYES, YOU WERE SOMEHOW FAR MORE OBNOXIOUS. HE DOWNRIGHT HATED YOU. HE WILL FOREVER HATE YOU... BUT WILL HE?

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION FOR MY WORK TO BE COPIED AND/OR REPOSTED ON HERE OR ANY OTHER PLATFORM, OR PUT INTO ANY AI PROGRAMS. THIS IS AN 18+ BLOG, MDNI.

An original fanfiction series, written by Misha St. James.

⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ SERIES MASTERLIST ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

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I did not proof-read this after Tumblr gave me hell trying to share. So pls excuse possible typos. hehe

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Let's just get to the point, shall we?

Once upon a time, a young boy named Will Byers went missing. Later, he was found in an alternate dimension by the world's #1 mom and a cynical cop turned hero. A girl with a shaved head had telekinetic superpowers, befriend's Will's four loyal friends along the way and helping them track down their missing party member. Then, whatever the hell was on the other side - whatever was in this...upside down...took back Eleven. She'd been missing ever since that dreadful winter.

Fast forward to now: you're sitting in your uncle's bunker, looking at his wild display of efforts.  Papers, files, whiteboards covered in multiple words, arrows, sketches - all in different colored markers. Murray Bauman was on a mission, and he would be damned if that grumpy, cynical smart-ass known as Jim Hopper honestly thought that he could dismantle his efforts.  Nice try, chum. Game on. Thankfully, you'd gone to school with Barbara Holland. That's whose parents had assigned the task of searching for her to your uncle. Murray was asking you tons of questions, and you were glad to help. It meant spending time with the only family member you cared for, despite his wackiness. You guys got each other. Bantered well. Got shit done. Honestly, it was also a great way of drinking safely and not with a bunch of rowdy teenagers at some stupid party. You got along just fine with everyone at school. But damn, they could all be annoying.  ...especially Steve fucking Harrington, who was now the topic of conversation. You know, given that his house is where Barbara was last seen. "It just isn't making sense," your uncle huffed, raking his hands through his oily dark hair.  You sipped on the glass of vodka that your uncle had poured you, hissing at the strong taste. Leaning across the coffee table, seated on his couch, you tried to connect the dots with him. "I'm telling you, someone in that group of teens knows what's up. Or at least has an idea." Your uncle swigged at his vodka, defeated but ruthlessly trying to piece together his clusterfuck of scattered evidence across his wall. "Well then, guess we better grill 'em."

And that's how you come into the picture. When Nancy and Jonathan came to seek out Murray. And when they arrive, they're surprised to see you. They recognize you from school. Jonathan took several classes with you. In fact, the two of you got along well at Hawkins High. No, you weren't close. But you both were cool. Nancy, on the other hand, didn't know anything about you. Just that you took political science with Barbara, and got straight A's across the board. You could've been class valedictorian. But you were not looking for any sort of title that demanded pressure or attention. At least not in high school. Career wise? Sure. Not here, though. Not Hawkins. "Your timeline is wrong," Nancy is saying, making you and Bauman freeze.  Nancy is telling you that the girl with the buzzed hair is not Russian. She is, in fact, from Hawkins lab. And her name is...Eleven? So they do know something. And something turns out to be everything.

Jonathan sits you both down to relay everything to you both. And woof, does it give you guys a headache. Strangely, though... it makes a whole lot more sense than some mundane explanation of sorts. Obviously though, that puts you all in a tough spot where you'll all need to put your heads together. So the two classmates of yours stay, sharing in chilled Smirnoff and having to endure the hilarity that ensues between you and your uncle. You and Murray both banter well with the two of them. Jonathan finds you to be hilarious. Nancy finds you intimidating. Very intimidating. You’re quick witted, darkly humored and independent. But there is a reserved, mysterious sort of feminine energy to you, despite your more masculine strengths and bluntness. Over glasses of stiff vodka, you all come to the conclusion on how to go about exposing the truth about Barbara Holland's disappearance: water it down.

At the end of the night, you're all winding down -- you and your uncle having convinced the two lovebirds to stay. But when you're telling them they can take your uncle's guest room while you take the couch, Jonathan's asking if he can take the couch. You blink. Huh? ...surely Nancy is not still with --

"Okay, I'm confused," your uncle's saying. "What's going on here? Lovers quarrel?"

You cock an eyebrow, leaning back into the loveseat.

But Jonathan and Nancy are then talking over each other with weird, flustered excuses...saying they're just friends.

You and your uncle bust out laughing. And then you're shrinking back in your seat, knowing what's coming: one of your Uncle Murray's lovebird witchdoctor speeches that he barrels into anytime that two delusional people have convinced themselves that they aren't in love. Or at the very least, not into each other. 

Uncle Murray is breaking them down, one at a time. He's reading Jonathan like an angsty teen novel, seeing right through him and his brooding, mysterious energy.  Trust issues, thanks to daddy issues. Yikes, that makes you sip some more drink.

And then he's onto Nancy, saying that she's harder to read. But he manages anyway.  It's the Bauman way.

He's telling her that she's likely like everyone else, "afraid of what would happen if you accepted yourself for you who you really are." He looks at you. "Am I in the right ballpark?"

You nod, swallowing the last drop of vodka in your cup. "That...and afraid of that might happen if she didn't retreat back to the safety of someone familiar."

Nancy looks bewildered. But more than that, she looks caught. 

"Name?" your uncle is prodding, snapping his fingers.  "Name."

You and Jonathan both say it. "Steve."

Uncle Murray's face is priceless. He feigns adoration, putting on a baby voice as he repeats the name. "Dawh. Steve. We like Steve."

"Yes," Nancy laughs nervously.  Eek, you think.

"But we don't love Steve..." Your uncle's words floor Nancy.

And when Nancy's saying something about still being with Steve, insisting that she loves him, you roll your eyes. Even scoffing, getting her attention. Maybe if the vodka weren't in your system, you wouldn't be so bold. But Jonathan's mopey look just gives you more confidence.

"Boom, ladies and gents," you say with a grin. "Second lie of the evening." "The hell was the first one?" Jonathan asks, blinking. "You guys being just friends." You and your uncle say something along the same lines, simultaneously. You both laugh together, clinking glasses. The two not lovebirds just squirm awkwardly in their seats. Finally, you sigh. "Look. You guys don't wanna give up the ghost? Be my guest. I'll happily keep my bed." You stand up, ready to turn in. But not until casting them one last work, pointing a finger. "But if I were you two? I'd cut the bullshit and just share the damn bed." Murray snorts, rising to stand as well. He stretches. "Welllllp. I'm turning in for the night." You begin mounting the stairs, hollering: "Better act fast, kiddos. At least before this poison in my system knocks me out cold. Don't worry, Nancy, I don't snore. So if you do choose me, you're safe." "But that's so lame," Murray adds to that wryly, heading off to his room. You both tell each other goodnight, leaving the two angsty teens to decide their fate. All you know is that Nancy ends up walking out and not coming back, at one point in the night.  Yeah, thought so. Breakfast the next morning is even more hilarious. You and your uncle ask every single question that drips with innuendo that you ever possibly could. And it's worth every fucking minute.

Murray's gonna need to keep that couch cleaned. To your surprise, Murray sends you off with Nancy and Jonathan, but given that you want to go and see it all for yourself you don't mind. You’re basically his little spy.  Most uncles send off their nieces and nephews with some good advice, maybe a packed lunchbox or snacks, and a warm hug. 

Yours, however, sends you off with a full bottle of vodka, a thick wad of cash and some fun sarcastic banter. But he headlocks you in for a hug, and you cackle. He really is a nutcase, and man you can't help but love him. He is so not the parental type. Yet somehow, he's practically raised you. And in your opinion, you're pretty well-prepared for the world. More than most, in Murray's opinion. So off you go with Nancy Wheeler and Jonathan Buyers, and they both honestly enjoy your company. It helps them get past their umm...well...awkward new reality. That new reality that comes post-sex, after a long ass time of playing the tip-toe game. The sexual tension between them is hysterical to you. But you keep your thoughts to yourself for now. The vodka did most of the talking for you last night.

When you both arrive at wherever the hell your destination is, it's dark outside. And if you're being honest, it's pretty creepy. You're somewhere near the woods, and as you all walk closer you're beginning to see lights approaching you...along with a handful of shadowed figures. 

Fuck, you literally just got here.

But then, after a tense several moments... Nancy and Jonathan call out to them. You jump, startled at the fact that they do it so confidently. But the name that they call out suddenly makes it all make sense. "STEVE?" "NANCY...?" And that's how you became a crucial part of the most royal pain in the ass, King Steve's, life.

[punk-in-docs]

♪

A song that also slapppps super hard for me. The wonderful Lauren Faith and p-rallel go balls deep into my feels with this one. This is the song for that slightly sad feeling I get after drinking too much rosé and overthinking things because I am a terminal over thinker.

Fav line; I dare you to listen to it on full volume and just sink into its bliss and bass and emotiveness.

[mediumgayitalian]

Nico has been watching him intensely for the last twenty minutes.

Will has been letting him.

Nico watches him a lot, actually. While he heals, if he’s tagged along to the infirmary; while he plays volleyball or basketball with his siblings. When they’re sat in Nico’s cabin, curled next to each other on his bed, Will reading, Nico, supposedly, playing on his DS. While Will trains, especially, although it doesn’t take long watching that clusterfuck for him to get up and come help out.

(“You are not this bad at swordfighting, William.”

“No clue what you’re talking about, darlin’. It’s just not my strength!”

“You are holding the sword backwards, William.”

“Oh, am I?”

“I am going to kill you, William.”)

Will doesn’t mind. He watches him, too. It’s hard not to.

“I thought you said you don’t have any musical talents.”

Will shrugs, whistling the last notes of the melody. A quick one that Michael taught him, years ago — something to ease nerves, to calm the mind. “It’s just an extension of my sonic powers, really.”

Nico stares like he knows the exact day you’re gonna die. Will knows a lot of people find this unsettling. He doesn’t get it. He relishes the attention, if anything; the scrutiny. One hundred percent of Nico’s intensity on him is — intoxicating.

“Sounds pretty musical to me.”

Will grins at him, cheeks aching, stomach flipping. Nico’s expression doesn’t change; eyebrows narrowed, mouth twisted into a thoughtful scowl. Evaluating every shift in Will’s expression. He squints one eye, when he’s focused. Will aches to brush his thumb under it.

“Do you know how to whistle, Nico?”

Nico’s dark eyes flip up to meet his. Will’s breath hitches — there are a thousand layers of Earth in those eyes. Like the crackling fractals of Pangea; eyes browner than earth, darker than black dirt. Deeper than the burnt sepia of the planet’s mantle. Two round abysses that Will has been falling down for half his life; air billowing around him, slowing his descent.

Gods, Nico is gorgeous.

“I — think so.”

His endless eyes squint, slightly-freckled nose wrinkling as he focuses on the purse of his lips. He glances down at them like that’ll somehow help, going goofy and cross-eyed. Will’s soul melts like a grape popsicle on a scorching summer day. His impulse melts away with it. He darts in close and pecks Nico’s pursed lips, pulling away just as fast. Those crossed-eyes blow open wide, pupils shrinking, and the air comes out of his lungs in a quiet, punched-out whoosh. Nowhere sharp enough for a whistle.

“…Wow.”

Will smiles sheepishly, rocking back on his heels.

“Um. Sorry?”

Nico’s thin fingers come up and brush the swell of his lips.

“Solace, you are the corniest motherfucker on the planet, you know that?”

Ducking his head to hide his laughter, Will nods.

“I know.”

“‘Can you whistle’, he says.” Nico scoffs. “Get over here.”

“Why?” Will asks cheekily. “Gonna ask me to show you?”

“Shut up.”

Nico grabs the back of his neck and yanks him down. Will can feel the press of his teeth, this time, the warmth of his skin now that he’s not pulling quickly away. He tastes good, too, like the citrusy chapstick he’s always got on.

He kisses as intensely as he stares.

Will finds he doesn’t mind that, either.

———

based off this tweet

[shakespeareanwannabe]

As You Wish, Chapter 3

Summary: When arriving at Camp Silver Star, Abby Floyd was anticipating a summer of adventure with an ocean separating her from the three people she loved most: her mom, her Uncle Bob and her Aunt Natasha. But after a run in with Charlie Seresin, an extremely familiar looking and irritating camper in a different cabin, her summer plans take a turn that neither girl ever could have expected.

Trigger Warnings: reader's children are described as being blond with green eyes because genetics are wild and Jake's genes are strong, reader is canonically Bob's sister, reader goes by Buttercup and is tattooed, swearing, verbal arguing, references to divorce, death of a character, injuries, misinformation about the US Navy and how it works (I tried my best)

Briefing Room, Classified Location, 11 years ago

Briefing rooms after missions go horrifically sideways were typically quiet. Those who were involved in the mission were usually too busy inside their own heads, trying to shove feelings and memories into tiny little lockboxes that would then get shoved into other boxes and hidden in the dark recesses of the mind, only springing free when things got…dark. The top brass was usually reading reports and gathering steam, preparing to bring the hand of God down upon the person (or people) who were responsible for the mission going…poorly. Therefore, the rooms were usually can-hear-a-pin-drop quiet, but they were never this…still. This silent.

The fifteen lieutenants stood in four rows and, while most of them were four people deep, the one missing a person stood out in cold contrast, as did the empty spot at the front of the room, where the team leader usually stood. Cyclone, Warlock and Hondo stood just past that spot; heads ducked together in a whispered conversation. Besides that, nobody moved. Nobody stirred. Not Bob, balancing on a pair of crutches with a cast bracing his leg up to his knee. Not Fritz, his arm strapped against his chest to immobilize it. Not Rooster, with a black and purple bruise on his temple, or Coyote, a neat row of stitches gracing his cheek, or Hangman, who felt a painful twinge every time he breathed, the binding protecting his bruised and fractured ribs pulling taut with every inhale. None dared to move or fidget.

Finally, Admiral Simpson moved into the empty space at the front of the room and sighed.

“Well, ladies and gentlemen…I don’t think I need to tell you what an absolute clusterfuck that was.” Fanboy flinched, his head ducking fractionally as the words carried clear across the gathering. “In fact, it was such an absolute clusterfuck that Rear Admiral Cain has decided to disband the Dagger Squad. Immediately.”

Jake heard Yale gasp behind him, and he would have too, if it weren’t for the sinking weight in his chest. The mission had been a clusterfuck, there was no doubt about it, but they had achieved their mission. He had risked his ass after watching Maverick’s plane get shot out of the sky, putting all thought of his little Charlie girl waiting for him at home and the whisper of ‘god damnit, Buttercup was right’ out of his head, and he had taken charge. He had been the one to pull Rooster out of his single-minded mission to avenge Mav’s death, he had been the one to take down the jet that had been targeting an ejected Bob and Natasha, and he, Payback and Fanboy had been the ones to deliver the payload in the end, effectively taking out the target.

He had brought all but one of them home safely, but he didn’t feel any sense of relief, or even grief over Mav’s death. All he felt was the warmth of his baby girls, curled up against his chest as he rocked them in their nursery. All he tasted was the sweetness of Buttercup’s kiss, all he smelled was that newborn baby smell that he swore to God was the best thing he’d ever smelled in his life. All he saw was Buttercup’s tear-stained face as she gathered Abby in her arms and left, the sound of the door clicking shut echoing in his ears. If his reaction time had been even a millisecond slower, he could’ve been in Mav’s position, and then what? What would happen to his Charlie then?

“…because of the nature of this mission, disbanding the Dagger Squad, and because you all are the best of the best, the Rear Admiral has decided to make you an offer. As you know, the Navy doesn’t often let you make very many decisions, so I want you to think carefully before you respond, because we do need your answer today. Your first option is to be absorbed into another Squad; in which case you would be shipping out today for your new assignments. Yes, Lieutenant Fitch, if both members of your team decide to go with option one, you will be keeping your WSO. Your second option is—”

The clatter of metal against wood stole the words from Cyclone’s lips, and everyone turned towards the mild-mannered, quiet, shy WSO standing behind the glaringly empty space in the third row.

“—retirement, with a full pension and an honourable discharge,” Cyclone finished, staring down at Bob’s nameplate, lying on the desk beside him.

“I think it’s pretty clear what I choose,” the WSO spoke softly, but no one in the squad could miss the barely tempered rage in his voice.

“Lieutenant Floyd—”

“Permission to speak freely, sir?”

“Granted,” Warlock stepped up next to Cyclone.

“I almost died on this mission,” Bob stated frankly, his gaze never wavering from Cyclone’s face. “I had to eject Lieutenant Trace and I from our aircraft after she was struck in the face by shrapnel that broke through our windshield and destroyed her helmet. Debris that came from Maverick’s plane.” The silence was heavy, tension mounting with every word, but Bob pressed on. “Nat’s never going to fly again. They already told me. And frankly, sir? I don’t know if I have it in me to bond with another pilot after holding my best friend’s body as we waited for rescue, already knowing that our team lead was KIA.”

Cyclone opened his mouth to speak, but a gentle hand on his shoulder stopped him.

“I understand, son. If you, or anyone else, decide to retire, know that you’ll be going with the full gratitude of the US Navy,” Warlock responded.

“Thank you, sir,” Bob saluted, then propelled himself out of line, crutching past the waiting rows of his friends and coworkers as he headed for the door. “I’ll fill out any paperwork you need, and then I’ll be out of your hair.”

“There’s no need to pack and go so quickly.”

“All due respect, sir, but yes, there is,” he came to a stop in front of Jake and fixed him with a steely look. “My family needs me. And if I don’t help them, who will?”

Jake swallowed painfully, his heart pressing against his aching ribs with every heartbroken beat, the roar of fear and shame and anxiety swirling around in his head, blocking out every sound other than the whispers of his regrets.

This wasn’t how his life was supposed to go. Football captain, homecoming king, star pupil of the Naval Academy, he flew through OCS and aced his ASTB. He was the only pilot of his generation with a confirmed air to air kill, handpicked for Top Gun and their top-secret uranium mission. And, on top of all of that, up until six months ago, he’d had the most perfect, beautiful wife waiting for him at home with their precious newborn twins.

Now, he was a divorced single dad of one beautiful little girl. A beautiful little girl that he’d had to leave in the capable hands of Penny Benjamin when the Squad had been deployed. A beautiful little girl whose sister he missed so incredibly much that it threatened to bring him to his knees. Whose mother had been right about damn near everything.

“Lieutenant Seresin?”

Jake blinked, his vision and hearing coming back into focus as Cyclone stepped down to face him.

“I’m going to be frank with you, Lieutenant. You’re the best of the best,” Cyclone stated, stepping closer. “Your skills in the cockpit are unmatched and you showed the type of leadership qualities we need in this line of work. There are whispers of promoting you due to your actions on this last mission. With the loss of Captain Mitchell and your actions on this mission, you are now the only ace pilot that the Navy has to offer. You’d have your choice of assignments, should you choose to stay. It would be a damn shame to lose you, son.”

Jake felt something squeeze in his chest, and this time it wasn’t his busted ribs. Being a Naval aviator was the only thing he had ever wanted to be, and Jake Seresin always got what he wanted. He should be elated, planning for his move to the best naval base in the country, where they would probably let him lead his own squad after the way he led the Dagger Squad home safely, tearing victory from the jaws of defeat. He could be Lieutenant Commander Seresin.

Buttercup’s tears and the clicking of his apartment door as it swung shut.

Those bright baby blues that were just now starting to darken into the very same light green he saw in the mirror every morning.

The powdery scent of diaper powder and formula, and the solid warmth and weight of his baby girl in his arms.

“With all due respect, Admiral?” Jake pushed through the catch in his throat. “It would be even more of a damn shame for my daughter to lose her dad. I’m all she’s got. I…I can’t let her down. I can’t let her ever think there’s a chance in hell that her daddy ain’t comin’ back to her. I’m afraid I have to thank you for the opportunity and request that you tender my resignation. Sir.”

Cyclone sighed, a wave of disappointment cresting over his face as he opened his mouth to argue, to convince him to stay, but a firm hand gripped his shoulder.

“We understand,” Warlock reached out and shook his hand. “Thank you for your service, Lieutenant Seresin.”

Jake nodded, shaking his hand before turning and saluting Cyclone. “Thank you, sir.”

“I…I’m with him.” Jake turned and saw Javy saluting the two members of the brass.

“Coyote…”

“Whatever you’re about to say, don’t. I followed your ass on the football field, I followed your ass to the Naval Academy, and now I’m following your ass out the door. You’re not the only one Charlie’s got, man. You both got me.”

“And me.”

The two men turned to see Rooster fiddling with his name plate.

“Bradshaw…” Cyclone’s voice rose in shock.

“My mama never wanted this for me,” Bradley continued, as if he hadn’t heard him. “I know she didn’t. Hell, my mama never stepped another foot on a plane after my daddy died. She was too terrified of bein’ in the air, thinkin’ I might lose her too. I used to think that flying brought me closer to my dad, that I could feel him when I was alone in the cockpit.” He unpinned his name plate carefully, studying the engraving. Lt. Bradshaw. “I can’t feel him anymore,” he murmured. “I’m older than he ever got to be. And now Mav’s gone…” Rooster sighed. “I don’t think I’ll be able to shake this last mission, sir. I’d be a detriment to any team I join, and I don’t want to put anyone in that position. So…I’m walking away.”

“I…understand. Thank you, gentlemen, for your years of service.”

Rooster saluted, then the three men walked out of the briefing room, the weight of their actions blanketing them.

“So…what now?”

Jake rubbed at his ribs. “We go to Mav’s funeral…then I guess we go home.”

“And where exactly is home?” Rooster drawled. “I can’t imagine you want to stay in your apartment after…everything.”

Jake shook his head, his tactician’s brain kicking into high gear. “Javy?”

“Yeah, man?”

“I think it’s time we introduce Bradshaw here to some Texas barbecue.”

The Brig, Camp Silver Star, Present Day

“Amelia? You…you knew?” Charlie yanked at the t-shirt that felt like it was closing in around her neck.

Amelia kicked off her rainboots, shed her yellow raincoat, and shuffled towards them, gingerly taking a seat on Abby’s bed.

“Yeah…I knew.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Charlie’s hands clenched rhythmically as she tried to breathe.

“I didn’t know the two of you were here at the same time,” Amelia soothed. “I found out that day that cantaloupe ended up in the fruit salad. You both came to me to ask about it, and I went to find my mom right away. That’s when she told me that she had sent emails about the camp to your aunt and uncles, offering a friends and family discount if you came for these specific weeks.”

“A-Aunt Penny knew too?” Charlie croaked.

“She did. Charlie, I—”

Charlie shook her head, sending her blond braid flying, the end whipping at her face with the force of it. “No. No. This is all a coincidence. It has to be one big coincidence. My dad and your m-mom…them knowing each other doesn’t mean anything.”

“Charlie…” Amelia started, but Abby felt something snap inside of her.

“You’re not actually stupid enough to believe that, are you?” she spat. “Why can’t you just admit that it all makes sense? Our parents knew each other, they got married, and they had us. We have the same birthday, we look identical, and we have these pictures to prove it! Why is that so difficult for you to see?”

“Because it means he lied to me!” Charlie shrieked, burying her head in her hands. “He lied to me. My whole life. He hid my mom and my sister from me for twelve years! He’s my best friend, we tell each other everything, we do everything together, and he lied to me!”

Charlie’s shoulders shook with the force of heavy sobs as the wind whipped at the windows, making the cabin shake. She’d asked her dad about her mother for years, and he had never told her. And neither had Javy or Rooster, who so clearly knew her mother too. Her chest ached with the sting of betrayal, and she had no idea how she was supposed to go home and look her three favourite people in the eyes after finding out they had been hiding such a massive secret from her.

Charlie flinched as she felt an arm wrap around her shoulders, and she sniffled as her head was tugged onto Abby’s shoulder.

“W-why aren’t you angry?” she whispered.

“I honestly don’t know,” Abby murmured back, staring sightlessly out the window. “I know that I should be. I know that my mum and Uncle Bob and Auntie Nat lied by omission by not telling me about you and dad, but I just…can’t.”

“Why would they do this to us?” Charlie scrubbed at her face with the sleeve of her sweater. “How is it legal to say that each parent gets a kid, and they never have to see the other one?”

“They had a custody arrangement…” Amelia had moved to kneel at the edge of Charlie’s bed.

“What sick judge would agree to something like this?” Charlie hiccupped as Abby removed her arm and leaned forward, desperation shining in her eyes.

“No one,” Amelia sighed and turned her face downwards. “Now, I don’t have all the information. I was just a kid when your parents split up, and my mom and Mav tried to shield me from the worst of it. All I know is that they got engaged after dating for like a really short amount of time, then your mom found out she was pregnant with you two, and they eloped in Las Vegas. Mav was pissed.”

“Why?”

“Didn’t he like my mum?”

“He loved your parents, both of them. Hangman was a pain in the butt, but Mav wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. After that first mission they flew together, when Hangman saved Mav and Rooster’s life, nobody really cared that Hangman was cocky. The way he could needle at the other members of his squad, it only ever pushed them to be the best that they could be. I know Mav saw a lot of good in your dad, and he really cared about him. And your mom? I think Mav loved your mom because she really helped bring Hangman down to earth. He once told me, ‘Buttercup keeps Hangman’s feet on the ground while his brain is racing through the sky’,” Amelia chuckled. “God, I loved hanging around with your parents. They were so cool.”

“Wait…Buttercup?” Abby bit her lip. “That’s what my aunt and uncle call my mum. Well, that and kiddo.”

“Yeah, nicknames around Miramar kinda just…stuck. Your dad started calling your mom Buttercup, and that was that. She was Buttercup from then on.”

“She even has a buttercup tattoo on her collarbone,” Abby said excitedly, her mind racing with the implication.

“That’s great and all, but can we get back to the story? Why was Mav angry?”

“Because he wanted to be there when they got married,” Amelia laughed quietly. “The Dagger Squad got chosen to do an air show in Las Vegas, and Hangman was able to work it so that your mom could come. Mav didn’t question it at all, even though he knew they were engaged and expecting. Your dad had to do 200 pushups when he got back for not telling Mav the plan so that he could be there,” Amelia giggled. “But I never heard him complain about it. He thought your mom was worth it.”

“So then…what happened?”

“Like I said, I don’t know. My mom and dad split when I was younger, and I guess my mom thought that watching one of my favourite couples in the world split up might bring up some bad memories, so she and Mav sheltered me from a lot of it. I know they had a really bad fight, they both said some things, and then they split, and they each took one of you.”

“H-how did they decide who to take?” Charlie trembled.

“I honestly don’t know. But I know it was never supposed to be permanent. The custody arrangement, I mean.”

“Then what happened? Why did they keep us from each other?”

Amelia shrugged. “I know that it was partly your dad’s deployment schedule. It was hard to set up a visitation schedule when Dagger Squad was being called into action so often. Then, the pandemic hit, and nobody wanted to be sending really young kids on international flights where they could get sick and potentially have lasting complications. After that, I really don’t know.”

Charlie took a deep, shuddering breath as Abby chewed on her lower lip. The cabin was silent, save for the wind and rain lashing at the windows.

Finally, Amelia sighed. “I know this a big revelation for the two of you, and I hate to leave when you probably have a billion more questions. But I do have to get back. I’ll be back later tonight to collect your tray, and I’ll hopefully have more time to answer your questions. Okay?”

Abby nodded but Charlie sat stock still, staring into space.

“Charlie?” Amelia called softly, ducking her head to catch her gaze. “Are we okay, hon?”

Charlie nodded mutely and Amelia returning it with a tight-lipped smile. “I’ll see you both later.”

“Bye Amelia,” Abby called softly as the door swung shut behind her.

Silence fell for a brief moment before Abby looked over at Charlie.

“What are you thinking?”

“Shhh…” Charlie hissed, but Abby didn’t take offense. It was clear from the deep set of Charlie’s eyebrows and the pensive look in her eyes that she was planning something. No…plotting something.

Abby shrugged and walked over to the small card table that held their trays of food. Two small Thermos’ of chili, an array of Ziploc bags filled with cheese, chili flakes, bacon bits, and sour cream, and two snack sized bags of tortilla chips were seated neatly on the silver trays, and Abby felt her stomach grumble.

She had just sat down to her freshly topped chili when Charlie moved, sitting across from her with a steely look in her eyes.

“Charlie?”

“I want to get to know my mom,” she stated simply, as though she was saying that the sky was blue or that grass was green.

Abby nodded eagerly. “I know! I can’t wait to get to know dad! Maybe we could call him together on Friday and talk to him together? And then we could do the same for mum!”

Charlie shook her head. “No. I mean really get to know her. I want to meet her in person. I want to be able to hug her. I want to spend time with her, and I want to be able to do that without having to spend time answering questions about how we found each other or her trying to tell me about what happened between her and dad.”

“I…I want that too,” Abby confessed, though Charlie’s words were confusing her. “And we can do that. Once they know that we know, we’ll be able to use that custody agreement and see mum and dad, and each other, more often.”

Charlie shook her head again. “You don’t understand. I don’t want to talk to dad. Or Rooster. Or Javy. They lied to me for my whole entire life! I’m so mad at them that I’ll probably just scream the whole time we’re talking to them. Besides, whose to say that they won’t make excuses and not let us see each other again? What happens if they just decide that I can’t see mom and you don’t get to see dad?”

“They wouldn’t do that!”

“Abby, they already did do that!” Charlie reached out and grabbed Abby’s wrist, her gaze pleading. “Don’t you want to get to know dad without having to deal with all of this? Don’t you want to be able to meet him and get to know him without all the awkward stuff, like him asking you what your favourite colour is or what you got for your tenth birthday?”

“Well…yeah. Of course, I do. But…how would we do that? It’s not like I could just go to Texas when camp is over.”

“Why not?” Charlie’s eyes shone bright with excitement. “Who says you couldn’t just take my boarding pass and fly to Texas to meet dad? Who says I couldn’t just take your boarding pass and fly to London to meet mom?”

“Charlie, you sound insane,” Abby gently removed her hand from her wrist and picked up her spoon. “First of all, I don’t have a boarding pass. I fly stand-by because my uncle is a pilot and gets me on the plane for free, so long as he’s the one flying. Second, we might look a like, but there are still some cosmetic differences! My hair is shorter than yours, I have pierced ears, and we have different accents. They would certainly notice all that. And third, our parents have known us since birth. Surely they would be able to tell that we’re not us!”

“We can fix those things!” Charlie leaned forward. “I can teach you all about my life in Texas. I can show you the layout of the ranch, which cows to avoid, how to tack up my horse at home. I can teach you all about dad and Javy and Rooster. I can cut my hair! And listen, it’s not even that hard to fake a British accent. Pip, pip, cheerio!”

Abby snorted. “And what? You expect me to teach you all about London? Where to catch the tube, the layout of the flat, where the best fish and chips are? You want me to tell you all about mum, and where Uncle Bob hides his glasses cleaning cloth, and how not to stare at Auntie Nat’s scar? You want me to start talking like a cowboy? And what about my ears being pierced?”

“Why not?” Charlie begged, her green eyes shining. “We’ve got like a month to teach each other everything we would ever need to know. And we both have cell phones, so it’s not like we would be completely cut off from each other. If I had a question, I could just text you and ask!”

“Charlie, you sound ridiculous!” Abby threw her spoon down and rubbed her eyes. “There’s no way I can teach you about my life in a month. You want us to try to pull one over on the people that know us best. It would never work.”

Charlie bit her lip then leaned in for the kill. “I saw the way you lit up when Amelia mentioned mom’s nickname being Buttercup. I know how excited you got when you realized that mom has a tattoo of a buttercup. I know you were thinking the exact same thing I was.”

“Which is?”

“That if the people around her still call her Buttercup, maybe she still has feelings for dad. The nickname obviously meant enough to her that she got it tattooed on her body, and she hasn’t tried to get it removed or anything.”

“Mum, she…she’s never dated,” Abby admitted quietly. “She always says she just doesn’t have the time, but…I’ve always hoped that maybe it’s because she still has feelings for my dad.”

“Dad is the same way,” Charlie whispered. “He says I’m his best girl, but I know from Rooster and Javy that dad could be going on lots of dates if he wanted to. They love to tease him about it, and he tells them that he’s too busy with me and the ranch. But I know it’s because he still loves mom.” Charlie reached for her wrist again and this time Abby didn’t pull away. “Abby, if we do this, they will eventually have to switch us back. I’m not suggesting we do this forever. We can get to know them for a bit, then tell them the truth, and they’ll have to meet to switch us back. And when they meet…”

“…they could fall in love again,” Abby murmured.

“They could. Or, at the very least, they can talk and figure out a schedule so we don’t have to be separated again. C’mon…isn’t it at least worth a shot?” Charlie blinked over at her; the puppy dog eyes she had learned from her dad shining in full force.

Abby sighed. “Do you really think we can do it?”

“We’ve got a month, we’ve got social media, and we’ve got access to the computers once a week. I don’t see how we couldn’t pull this off.”

Abby chewed on her bottom lip. “O-okay…but if I don’t feel comfortable with this later, I want to be able to change my mind.”

“Done.” Charlie stuck her hand out and Abby grasped it, pumping it twice in the air with a grin on her face. “Now…let’s get to work.”

Tags List: @mamachasesmayhem @jessicab1991 @waltermis @buckysteveloki-me @allepaula @yuckosworld @seresinsbrat @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @kim-stark @cierra715 @high-speed-r @helpmepleasethanks @starsrfun @tomanyfandomstrash @averyhotchner @the-blueatlas @princessliz86 @dashes-dizzydisaster @a-girl-who-loves-disney @boiolay @djs8891 @torimcc @tgmreader @kmc1989 @landpiranha-blog @sydthekid1518 @lynnevanss @hello7442 @mackenzieblair @minejungwoo @starset21 @ssa-sadboi @tgmavericklover @dempy @rockbottomphilosophies-blog @lovemarvelousfics @starkleila @magical-spit @whatislovevavy @simplyreading96 @vivalas-vega @itsdesiree86 @inky-sun @books-are-escapes @abaker74 @clockworkballerina

[therealvinelle]

Favorite month for each of the cullens? For James’ coven?

I'm fascinated, why James's coven? But alright.

The Cullens

Alice likes parties, she likes decorating, she likes to have a reason to decorate the house for a party. And nothing says parties, decor, and finding a way to be modern, somehow sexy, yet tasteful and teaming up with Esme like Christmas and New Years' Eve. Plus the sun sets much earlier so she can go shopping at human hours, use atmospheric outdoor lighting, and have all sorts of seasonal fun that simply doesn't work the same in the Summer months (and Spring and Autumn are... so wet...). It's December for Alice.

Carlisle likes when he can be out longer, when the snow is still pristine and when there are happy festivities happening. He would uncomplicatedly be a December person, except the festivities are... dampened... by the family and partner violence and suicide attempts he gets at the end of the month. He's a December person who sees it as the time he has to save more people than usual, and also the snow is pretty.

Edward is for the fall months, because fall is such a beautiful time of year and more importantly he can think gloomy thoughts about nature following the cycle of life, every year it comes to life then dies again while he lives on. November... the twilight of the year, that brief flash of rapidly passing weeks just before the darkest time of the year and the death that is winter rolls in.

Emmett loves Christmas. There is no doubt in my mind Rosalie does a "Happy birthday, Mr. President" routine, and that they have some horrible lane about making their own fireworks for New Years' Eve. December is awesome, bro.

Esme loves family, festivities, and the joy of exchanging gifts with loved ones. Christmas is a wonderful time of year, but so too are the days leading up to Christmas, when she can put out the decorations and have a meaningful way of marking the passage of time for a few weeks. December.

Jasper enjoys the happy emotions coming from his family. December.

Renesmee's concept of the passage of time is completely warped. She dutifully says "December" when asked about her favorite month because that seems to be the done thing in this family.

Rosalie has thoughts about how Christmas is a time to be spent with family, specifically with children who believe in Santa Claus and miracles, and while she has a family there's a very central part of Christmas she'll never have, just as she can't enjoy any of the little things that made Christmas what it is, such as gingerbread cookies. It's another painful reminder, but so is her entire life. Renesmee helps heal this for her, in that there's now a child she can have many if not all of these Christmassy things she wanted to experience with, and also in that I somehow know several years of Christmases with the entire extended Black-Clearwater-Cullen-Swan family will be such a clusterfuck, everyone except Bella sensing the tensions, that Rosalie will be completely disillusioned as to what "family Christmas, just like the humans have it!" will never be appealing to her again.

James & co

Victoria prefers whichever month of the year rains most in whichever region of the world she's in. Rain washes away her scent, she can hide, and that makes for a happy Victoria.

James shares Victoria's preference, as more rain makes the hunt more difficult and he loves a challenge

Laurent thinks these people are fucking weird, rain ruins his hair and clothes and can we get a house? Laurent would like a house. ("How badly" is a question he must ask himself chez the Denali.)

[irrelevantwriter]

Captive Heart

Pairing: Dark!Eddie Munson (Stranger Things) x Female Reader/You

Rating: Explicit, NSFW, 18+ only

Warnings: Dark!Eddie, language, mentions of kidnapping, Stockholm syndrome, hint of somnophilia, consensual vaginal sex, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of bodily fluids

Word Count: 2831

Summary: Eddie wanted you. And he got you. 

A/N: Dark Eddie is here and he’s pretty dark. This really came out of left field for me, but it also felt right so enjoy! Share with your friends! Feedback is that good shit.💗

Disclaimer: As always, reader inserts are true reader inserts. If you find any specifics in regards to reader’s appearance, kindly let me know and I will fix that.

Disclaimer: Characters are of age in my fics.

*Check out my other Eddie fics here

*Masterlist in bio.

**********************

Eddie groaned as he lifted his aching body into his van, his grease stained hands calloused from the day’s work.

He eagerly fished out a cigarette from his pocket and immediately lit the stick, not even stopping to start the engine. The cab was thick with the July sun, causing his overgrown bangs to cling to his sweaty skin. He ignored the suffocating heat and rolled down his window, sucking in a much needed breath of nicotine.

His body began to relax once the bitter taste of tobacco hit his tongue. Only then was he able to turn the car on.

Music assaulted him and he rushed to turn it down, the pain behind his skull intensifying. Cool air blasted from the vents as he threw the van into drive. He drove on autopilot, eager to leave the clusterfuck of a day he’d had behind.

The garage had been busy and customers were anything but kind to him. Which wasn’t unusual for a guy like Eddie Munson. The population of Hawkins had never been particularly welcoming. It surely hadn’t changed now that he’d finally graduated and held down a decent job.

That was too much to ask apparently.

The further he drove from downtown, the lighter he felt. The sensation was a reminder as to why he’d taken up residence in a nearly abandoned house on the outskirts of town. He’d let Wayne have his trailer back a few years back, wanting to give the old man his freedom after tying himself to the town freak. Wayne deserved that much.

Eddie thought of what waited for him at home. Who waited for him at home and an ache of a different kind began to settle into his bones as he thought of you.

Pretty. Smart. Kind.

All adjectives he felt were too good for him. But you’d been his from the moment he’d first spotted you in town. And unlike the majority of Hawkins, you’d treated him with respect. Like an equal. He’d fallen in love instantly. A rarity for a pessimist like himself.

He stopped at a familiar intersection, waiting for the light to turn. His eyes caught sight of the newest billboard posted. It changed every few months. The same face always smiling back. Usually the reward amount was higher, a family desperate to have their missing piece returned to them.

A honk sounded from behind him and he realized the light had turned green. He waved in apology and stepped on the gas, leaving the plea for help behind.

His fingers drummed against the steering wheel as he turned on his isolated street. There were only three homes that dotted the road, all separated by thick trees and bushes. Most of the yards were overgrown. He’d never met his neighbors and he preferred it that way. He liked his privacy. And so did they.

His heart sped up and his stomach filled with anticipation, excited to set eyes on you after a long day away. He parked his van under the car park, noticing the wicker basket that sat next to the side door leading into the kitchen. A pair of gardening gloves peppered with dirt lay abandoned at the bottom.

Eddie had mixed feelings about the sight. He turned off his van, finding it odd that you hadn’t come out to greet him. That was your normal routine.

He exited the vehicle and made his way up the concrete steps, doing his best to kick off any lingering grease and mud from his boots. He used his key to unlock the door, a refreshing blast of A/C hitting him in the face. He sighed at the feel of it on his overheated body. The van’s air conditioning was dwindling with every summer that came and went.

Silence permeated the air as he took in the kitchen. He noted the smell first. A mouthwatering scent that practically made him groan. He walked over to the stove, a large pot of pot roast sat beneath a clear lid, condensation collecting near the rim. He noted the oven was off, but the pot was still warm, signaling it’d just been shut off.

He left the food and set out to find you, his body tense and on edge. All he could think about since he’d left you that morning was being back inside you. That was his favorite place to be. And that was the only cure for the shitty hand he’d been dealt that day.

He made his way to the bedroom in the back. His bedroom. The door was ajar, the foot of the bed coming into view as he stepped closer. He reached out and pushed the door open, taking in your sleeping form. His cock hardened at the sight.

You were nude, lying on your stomach with your leg hitched up, face buried into his pillow. The position afforded him the kind of view he’d longed for all day.

He moved quietly as he approached your sleeping form, his fingers itching to reach out and touch you. He gave in to his desires and skimmed your ankle with his fingertips, watching you closely. You didn’t stir.

You slept soundly. And lately, you’d gotten increasingly hot natured. You hardly slept with clothing on anymore. Not that he minded.

He would normally shower once he got home from work, but the overwhelming urge he had to take you was too strong. You were laid out so perfectly for him, beckoning him to come closer. So he listened.

Eddie undressed and crawled onto the foot of the bed, letting his hands roam up the expanse of your thighs. He licked his lips as his thumbs spread your opening, your body winking to him in welcome. Without preamble, he dipped a finger inside. Warm heat coated him. He was desperate for more.

You shifted against his touch, hips inching towards the pleasure. He watched as your walls took him in easily. So he added another finger. He moved them deeper, almost betting he could feel the many loads he’d left in you that morning before he’d left for work.

He watched your face for any signs of consciousness, but there were none. He didn’t like that.

He removed his fingers and moved his mouth closer to your sex, hovering. A large glob of saliva fell from his lips to your skin and he sought out your clit, done with being considerate. He needed you.

He was aggressive with his actions, using his fingers to rub intentionally. A soft gasp was his reward. He smiled as your body jerked, your legs fighting to close around his hand as your eyes flew open. He held your thighs, keeping you in position as he shushed you.

“Shh…shhh,” he soothed, his fingers betraying his gentle tone. “It’s me, baby. It’s just me.”

You settled for only a moment before you whimpered and tried to push his hand away.

“M’still sore, Eddie,” you whispered, voice thick with sleep. The sound made his cock twitch.

He smiled down at you, not at all trying to hide the condemnation in his features. “Sore from what, baby?”

His fingers dipped back into your slit, the appendages flooded with your arousal. You bit your lip, the need to cry out written all over your face. Your brows furrowed and your nose scrunched in that cute way he loved. Your fists clung to bedding below you. It was an indication of just how close you were, despite your pleas.

“This morning,” you answered between moans, hips rocking into his hand now.

“You saying fucking you three times before I leave is too much?”

You didn’t reply. He hooked his fingers, making you arch off the bed.

“Answer me.”

“No. No, s’not,” you slurred, trying to reach for his forearm.

“That’s a good girl,” he praised, his pace slowing, removing his fingers all together. You whimpered and he soothed the ache with a swipe of his palm over your puffy lips.

“Turn on your side.”

You wordlessly obeyed, twisting so that your upper body was now turned towards him, your lower half still flush with the mattress and open to his touch.

“Hold still for me, baby,” he instructed as he shifted on his knees. He held your thighs in place as he angled his throbbing cock to your opening, rutting against you and coating himself in your wetness.

“Mmm,” you hummed, already cock drunk at the feel of him.

“Need you, baby. Need you so bad.”

Eddie gritted his teeth as the tip of his cock slipped past your entrance, your walls squeezing in acceptance. It’d taken him weeks to get you trained to that point and now he was addicted to the sensation.

As soon as he felt your body clench around him, his self control disappeared. He acted on instinct and buried himself to the hilt, his hips meeting the flesh of your ass. A high pitched moan ricocheted in his ears as your body took him.

You always made the prettiest sounds. Even when you cried.

“Fuck, baby…feel so good,” he babbled, fingertips digging into your thighs. Flesh slapped against flesh as he moved, watching the way your tits bounced in response.

This was the feeling he’d been chasing all day. Shit, all his life if he was being completely honest. That was why he’d swooped in and took you for himself. He had to. He had to do it.

He’d planned it for weeks. How he’d lure you to him. Which wasn’t hard considering how sweet you were on him. He could tell. He thought it was cute.

You fought him at first. Of course you did. He’d taken you and held you captive in his home. But over time you grew comfortable with him. You understood he wasn’t trying to hurt you. He took care of you. Took care of your every want and need. And pretty soon you were coming to him. Seeking him out to make you feel better.

Eddie had done his research. He knew all about Stockholm Syndrome. And he put it to the test with you. Now, eight months later with his cock buried so deep inside of you he could practically see the outline in your stomach, he could call it a success. You were well and truly his.

“More, Eddie…please,” you begged, knowing better than to disobey him. He gave you what you wanted and let two fingers seek out your clit. He never let you touch yourself. A rule you were good at following. It’d only taken you two times to know you didn’t want to do it again.

“My good girl…so good for me. Always. Isn’t that right?”

You nodded, mouth agape as your body writhed on his cock. You were close. And so was he.

He sped up his movements, seeing your face twist in pain as he hit deep. He didn’t stop. He kept going.

“Cum for me, baby. I know you want to,” he demanded, using his free hand to swat at your ass. You recoiled, but the moan that left your lips betrayed you. So he did it again.

You came with a shuttering gasp, limbs twisted so tight he was sure they’d snap. He held still so that every shock of pleasure that washed over you traveled along his cock.

When your body went limp, he resumed his efforts. He sought out your chest, squeezing the flesh as he fucked you. Your eyes were glossed over and staring up at him, your lips curved into a drunken smile. When his hand traveled further up to clutch at your neck, you let him.

Eddie growled as he applied pressure. You arched into his touch, your pussy so utterly fucked out that he was nearly slipping from its clutches.

“Fuck. Just like that, baby,” he grimaced between clenched teeth, feeling that telltale sensation at the base of his spine. “You’re so good to me. Letting me use you. Right?”

He released your throat and you sucked in air, your hand wrapping around his tattooed wrist.

“Yes, yes…whenever you want.”

“You’re mine. Say it,” he growled, punctuating his words with a punishing thrust.

“I’m yours, Eddie.”

That was all he needed to finish.

He pumped you full, like he usually did, hips never stopping, even when the sensitivity kicked in. Your whiny moans and whimpers only spurred him on as he collapsed over you, bodies sweaty and sticking to each other. He kissed your cheek sloppily, still stuck in the throes of his climax.

Everything always felt so much better with you. Before you, sex never felt this good. Coming home never felt as good. You were all he needed. And he would fight until his dying breath to keep that hidden from you. Because the moment you realized that you were the one that held all the power, he knew you’d leave him. Just like everyone else.

“Fucking fuck…so good for me, baby…so good,” he panted into your neck, hands squeezing at every part of you he could reach.

Several seconds passed before either of you attempted to move. He settled his full weight onto you, cock still very much nestled between your legs. He could feel his cum trickling out, so he lazily thrust his hips in hopes of catching the runaway drops.

“Sensitive,” you sleepily murmured, hips edging away from him.

He ignored your comment, peppering your chest and neck with kisses.

“You know the rule about wasting,” he reminded you, nose burrowing into your cheek.

Your hands came to rest in his hair in silent apology, pushing the tangled waves away from his face. You met his eyes and all he saw was adoration.

“Let’s take a shower.”

He groaned in protest, nipping at your bottom lip, eliciting a giggle. “Don’t wanna move.”

“You’ll feel better. I’ll help. And then I can feed you.”

Eddie acquiesced, shifting off of you. He was hungry. And a shower did sound nice. Especially when his muscles ached in protest of his movements.

“Come on,” you purred, somehow finding the strength to pull his hand into yours, helping him off the bed.

He followed you wordlessly.

************

An hour later Eddie sat at the small dining table in the kitchen, eating the pot roast you’d made. His hair lay in damp streaks along his naked back and shoulders, the slight chill helping him stay cool. He watched you move around the space with ease, humming to yourself as you made yourself a plate.

He admired the way your ass shifted in the little sundress he’d gotten you last week. The fabric fell over your curves like it was made for you. And with the sun streaming in through the little window near the sink, you looked like an angel with a halo. His angel.

He regretfully pulled his eyes away and reached for the newspaper sitting beside him. While your back was turned, he thumbed through the pages, looking for what he knew would be there.

On page six he found it. He stared back at the picture of you, the words MISSING printed above the image. You were smiling, looking as beautiful as you did now standing in his home. He quickly snatched the page, tucking it into the pocket of his pants, moving quickly so as not to alert you.

You turned just as he folded what was left of the newspaper aside.

“Saw you went into the garden today,” he commented, taking note of the way you straightened in your chair.

“I thought that was allowed,” you whispered, the fear in your eyes giving you away.

Eddie reached for your hand, soothing your worries. “It is. It is, sweetheart. I just want you to be careful. Don’t want anyone to bother you,” he gently explained, seeing you visibly relax. No one ever came around his property, but it didn’t hurt to remind you.

“I know, Eddie. I’m always careful. I promise.”

And he believed you. Because you hadn’t left him yet.

He’d given you more and more freedom over the last few months, and you’d proven time and time again that he could trust you. He still took precautions when necessary. He didn’t have a television. He didn’t own a telephone. Everything you heard about the outside world was through him first. He made sure.

“I know you are, baby. You’re my good girl.” Eddie planted a kiss to the back of your hand, his heart thudding wildly when you smiled at him.

You nodded in confirmation, letting him playfully nibble at your fingertips.

“Now eat your food. The baby needs it,” he gently ordered, releasing your hand.

You did as he said.

He had five months. Five more months to save and get you and the baby out of Hawkins. Shit, he was going to get you out of the fucking state. Settle down on one of the coasts.

He’d done what he’d set out to do.

You were his.

[thecoolerliauditore]

Finished Scar's pov first and then watched a little bit of Cleo's. Something about Scott makes me insane cause I analyze every little move of his. He's definitely afraid of Gem. Also him taking Mumbo's kill so graciously almost does seem to me like he's trying to pretend he's not bothered by it esp cause it was such an embarrassing death my man just got spleefed.

As for Scar's pov: SO SO PROUD OF JIMMY! He's had his first taste of blood which is. an interesting development for the most pacifistic player on the server. Grian has vowed to murder them and it'd be funny if he did but I am rooting for a Jimmy win so hopefully not. Scarian is dead.

Scott in Pearl's POV is insaneeee it's like right after Mumbo kills him he's immediately verbally saying the words "oh that wasn't too bad" "i still have six lives" etc etc if that isn't someone trying to reassure themselves through gritted teeth idk what is. especially since later in the episode he's still seething and mumbling abt his reputation and nervously giggling about how he can't die twice.

He's also like. I haven't watched Cleo yet so I dunno if this is just the way it looks from Pearl's POV (and he's weird abt Pearl so) but he's so grumpy afterwards? He clearly has thought highly of Pearl's building skills in the past ala LL Scottage jealousy and even DL when he genuinely liked Pearl's tower. But he sasses her out here and it kinda reminds me of how he used to talk about Jimmy's builds a lot (demons are getting to me). It's a funny interaction on its own I don't think he's like the devil for it or anything but still interesting.

That is such a cool kill btw I won't repeat what I've said before about creativity and making up for brute force but Mumbo I loved you before but now I respect you as a brother as a player and as a mounder.

JIMMY WAS AWESOME. ohhhhh my god I was so happy to see both him and Scar end this episode on green after the clusterfuck of episode 3. not-so-expendables.

I lovee dearly what Scar had to say about being bad and never giving up. That really is. so Scar. So true.

Jimmy's freaking me out though with that "Is this what killing feels like? I feel ELECTRIC!!" line. what kind of fuckass fanfiction corruption AU dialogue is this. He deserves it tho he's just scaring me. I still can't figure out why he wanted to kill Joel specifically so bad but it's special to me that all season people have been terrified of Gem and Joel and the first person to get a life off of either of them was. Jimmy. Something about that.