#oh god ed you poor puppy

[not-fitzwilliam-darcy]

I don't know why I thought it was a good idea to watch Our Flag Means Death knowing that S2 is not out yet but here I am anyway you can find me at the bottom of the sea with Lucius

[gas-station-trackphone]

ftm trans Eddie Munson gets turned into a chew toy for hell bats and rescued in the 11th hour by his friends who don't know he's trans, who have to run some triage first aid and can hardly make sense of the blood and gore that used to be his body as they cut off his shirt and pants to get access to the worst of the wounds, who definitely aren't in their right minds well enough anyway to think of anything other than stopping the bleeding and getting him to a hospital, which they do, and miraculously Eddie finds himself blinking awake in a bright, fluorescent room feeling exactly like he imagines a chew toy for hell bats would feel in the aftermath which is to say: like shit. Even more miraculously, he finds hometown hero Steve Harrington posted up at his bedside with greasy hair (!!! Eddie never thought he'd see the day) and bags under his eyes.

The overwhelming relief on Steve's face when he sees Eddie is awake is touching, the misty eyes and cracking voice when he says god, i thought you were toast, man are downright flattering and, let's face it, giving Eddie all the wrong ideas that he figures he has an I-almost-died pass for at the moment so he rocks with it, let's himself indulge in the fantasy for a moment. Then, gradually, Steve's relief becomes more and more obviously some brand of deeply felt pity (or sympathy, but Eddie's never been good at distinguishing the two), which bursts his bubble enough to call him out.

"I know I look like what comes out the business end of a meat grinder, but I swear I'm good, dude. They definitely have me on the good shit, I hardly feel it. I'll be good as new in no time." Big fat fucking lie, by the way, but he'll say whatever if it gets that wounded puppy look out of Harrington's eyes.

"I...yeah, Eddie, I'm glad." And whatever it is he doesn't want to say, whatever is putting that you poor motherfucker look on his face, he's absolutely the opposite of subtle about it.

Eddie can hear the manifestation of his panic on the heart monitor.

"What? What is it? Is everyone- is Dustin-?" He can't say it, can't even think it, would rather be slowly torn to shreds all over again than know he failed at his one fucking task to keep the kid safe.

"No! I mean, yes, he's fine, they're all fine. Henderson's got a broken ankle and both of Max's arms are broken but the docs say they'll be fine in a few months with physical therapy."

The release of tension in Eddie's body hurts almost as much as the relief soothes him. "Okay then, what the fuck are you not telling me? It's fine, I'm a big boy, Harrington, I can take it."

He sighs, looking sick with it. "Eds...I don't know how to tell you this."

Oh god, what the fuck. Eddie's right back to freaking out because Steve looks inexplicably guilty, pained in the face like he's about to deliver the worst news he could imagine but if everyone's fine then-

"It's your dick, man. It's- it's gone. The bats-"

And Eddie laughs so hard he tears about a dozen stitches, immediately stops laughing, and throws up over the side of the bed and thankfully not all over his freshly reopened wounds as Steve shouts for help.

Eventually, when he's all stitched up again and barely hanging on to his hard earned lesson to not literally bust his gut laughing about the look on Steve's face (he has to force himself not to tell Wayne the specifics of how he ended up back in the OR, because he's absolutely gonna crack up and Eddie will definitely be unable to help himself from laughing with him), he realizes he's going to come out to all his friends in the very near future because holy shit, he has to tell everyone about Steve's utterly devastated expression at the news of Eddie's Ken doll-ification by way of demobat.

[crappymixtape]

come a little closer

REQUEST → dear nonny, SUMMER BLURB PARTY ❝ 💬 prompt 58, “do i make you nervous?” where steve and reader are more acquaintances and have mutual friends? – tina invites you to a party while her parents are out of town, but aren’t you too old for this shit? and then you run into steve and, god you wished you’d said no • +18 ( a little king!steve, a little spice, a little frenemies and a little fluff • steve harrington x reader )

C O M E A L I T T L E C L O S E R 🎶 waiting for a girl like you, foreigner

This was easily the stupidest decision you’d ever made, telling Tina you’d come to her party and then actually showing up. Because you were too old for this shit. Because you’d been out of high school for a few years now and who partied like this anymore?

You shot Eddie and Robin a glare as they stood next to you snickering under their breaths. They’d dragged you along with everyone else to crowd down in the basement and wait outside a closet door to see if Tommy and Carol would ever come out.

Seven minutes in Heaven. The most asinine game of all time, but everyone was eating it up. It’d been well over seven minutes and you were tired of hanging out with a bunch of old high school acquaintances.

“I’m leaving,” you hissed at Eddie and he grabbed at your hand with ringed fingers.

“No, not yet,” came out in a whine, looking down at you with big, brown, puppy dog eyes.

“There is no way in hell I’m going in that closet.”

Eddie grinned, smile lines creasing his cheeks. “C’mon, it’s not that bad.”

“Eds, you need glasses. Look at this,” you waved an arm around at the potential candidates you’d have the ‘pleasure’ of sharing a small, dark, linen closet with.

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. “The worst is already in there,” he teased, “’sides, Harrington’s here.”

Harrington.

“Don’t even think about it,” you muttered and he grinned even wider.

“What? He’s nice now. Saved my ass more than a few times,” Eddie protested and you rolled your eyes.

“Absolutely not.”

Steve Harrington and his stupid member’s only jacket and perfectly coiffed hair and million dollar smile, the one that could – apparently – bag any girl he wanted. It had boggled your mind when Robin told you she’d made a new friend, Steve Harrington, can you believe it?? No, you couldn’t. Since when did King Steve buddy up with band geeks? A few shifts at Scoops Ahoy and you were already playing second fiddle to some asshole jock.

Well, not today. You didn’t need this.

Shooting back the last of the whiskey sour in your cup you gave the handle of the door one last glance and shook your head – stupid – but when you moved to leave the crowd gave a whoop.

“Shit, Tommy!” “Carol, oh my god, how was it??” “Did you find heaven?” “Gross!”

Tommy emerged from the closet triumphant, pumping a fist in the air with Carol under his arm, cheeks flushed and a big grin on her face. Everyone was eating it up and the thought of having to go in there with someone, anyone, made your stomach flip over.

“Eds, I’m going–”

“No–Sweetheart, stay!” he begged, nudging Robin with his elbow, “Right, Robs?”

“Are you kidding? No, you can’t leave. This is just getting good! What, are you nervous or something? Oh my god, you are! What’re you nervous about? Is it cos Peter Townsend is here? He’s so not your type–”

“Robin,” you hissed, cheeks flushed as every pair of eyes in the room settled on you.

“Wha–oh,” Robin chuckled and pasted on a piss poor excuse for a smile.

“You can’t go now,” Carol purred from under Tommy’s arm, “You’re up next, hon.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck. This wasn’t happening.

“Sorry, I have to be up early tomorrow for work and–”

“It’s only seven minutes,” Tommy sneered, the grin on his mouth pulling up at the edges – a shark with blood in the water.

You couldn’t breathe, air sucked out of your lungs as your grasped at straws, trying to muster up another excuse. You desperately looked to Robin and Eddie for help, but they were too busy whispering and giggling at your expense and your cheeks burned.

“Fine,” you pushed, trying your best to sound unbothered, chin tipped up in defiance.

“That’s more like it,” Tommy said with a whoop, rubbing his hands together, “And while you were too busy arguing with tweedle dee and dum over there we all decided you’re in with Harrington.”

Your stomach lurched dangerously, queasy and full of dread.

“But, I thought you were supposed to spin–”

“Nah, we put it to a vote,” Carol cut you off picking at her nails, “Better not keep him waiting.”

Keep him waiting? Your eyes frantically searched the sea of faces staring at you, but Steve wasn’t among them. When your gaze finally settled on the closet you saw it was just barely cracked, a shadowy figure shifting in the inky black just beyond.

You thought you were going to be sick, but you weren’t about to be made into a wuss. Turning to Eddie you grabbed his beer and chugged it in one go, then finished off whatever was in Robin’s cup too, shit, easy sweetheart.

“You’re on the clock,” Tommy goaded as Carol took hold of your hand and tugged you toward the closet.

“Have fun,” she teased, voice sing-songy, shoving you through the door and shutting it behind you, plunging you into darkness.

❝ MAYBE I’M WRONG, WON’T YOU TELL ME IF I’M COMING ON TOO STRONG?

Your eyes strained against the black of the small room, your body all too aware of there being someone else in there with you. It made the air thick, too warm and too close and the booze swimming through your veins had you feeling on edge.

“Thought you were gonna stand me up.”

Steve’s voice broke the tension and you jumped at the sudden noise, pulse fluttering against your neck.

“You’re lucky I didn’t,” you cut back, trying to stick to your guns, but then he shifted a little closer, his breath warming over you cheek, and it melted whatever resolve you had left.

“Ouch,” he half-laughed, arm brushing yours as he rocked on his feet.

It was slow, but your eyes were adjusting, dense black shadows blurring into soft indigos and violets and Steve’s face swam into focus. Thick, dark lashes framing warm, hazel eyes, the strong slope of his jaw, moles chasing across his neck and cheeks and that dumb grin. The one he was giving you now.

"This is stupid,” you muttered and Steve laughed, tutting at you.

“You didn't have to come, you know,” he teased and you gifted him with a particularly bratty eye roll.

“Seemed like a good idea at the time,” you snarked and it pulled the corners of his mouth up into a tiny grin.

“At the time, huh? Not anymore?”

You scoffed, shook your head and folded your arms over your chest, but the words wouldn't come. Stuck in your throat at the way you could feel the warmth of Steve's chest lingering just a few inches away, the scent of his cologne making you dizzy, hazy at the edges and all of a sudden unsure.

Shifting on his feet, Steve's toes bumped into yours as he put a hand on the wall next to your ear and leaned a little closer.

“Do I make you nervous?” he asked, his voice notched a little lower, closer, closer, closer, and it made something in your belly twist.

“Nervous?” you huffed a weak laugh, “Keep your pants on, Harrington. I don’t even know you.”

“D'you want to?” Your breath caught in your throat as he crowded over you and lifted a hand to tuck your flyaways behind your ear. “You can obviously do whatever you want, but–” his tongue flicked out to chase along his lower lip and heat pooled in your belly at the thought of what he might taste like, “–aren’t you a little curious?”

“Curious?” you breathed, voice barely above a whisper and he nodded softly.

“Yeah, what it would be like.”

You’d been in classes him with since grade school, watched as he won everyone over for popularity in middle school and shot to the top of the social pyramid in high school all while you lingered down at the bottom with Eddie and Robin and Jonathan, but you couldn’t deny it. Of course you’d looked at him just a little too long, eyes stuck on the way his Levi’s hugged in all the right places, heart racing when he smiled at you from down the hall.

“To kiss you?” you asked and he hummed, a low rumble in his chest.

“Only if you want to,” came out strained, a strangled sound as he pushed the words from his lips and you found yourself arching into him.

“I–” you started, lashes fluttering atop your cheeks, “–I want to.”

And Steve wanted it too, hadn’t realized just how down bad he was for you. You in those jeans. You and the way you seemed immune to his charms. You and your confidence and fire and disregard for everything ‘cool’ or ‘trendy.’

“You sure?” he asked again, body tensing as your hips bumped into his, jaw ticking as he bit down on the heat swelling his chest.

“Kiss me,” you whispered and he felt himself unravel at the way your voice edged on needy, a little desperate, a little bossy and God – you were hot.

His free hand moved to rest on your waist, fingers pressing into the plush of your hip, breaths falling heavy between you as he leaned down, down, down to capture your bottom lip between his and it was like a rubber band snapping.

Years worth of tension pulling and stretching and straining as you both played it all off like nothing. Like you didn’t care. The thought of you being with each other like this a joke, but the only people you were fooling was yourselves.

Steve tugged at your bottom lip and it pulled a sound from your throat that put him in the palm of your hand — soft, pliable, yours. He dropped his hand from the wall to grab at your other hip and you teetered a little off balance, grabbing at his shoulders to steady yourself.

Your arms looped around his neck too easy then, like they’d been doing it for years, like they’d mapped the curve of his neck and muscles pulled taut across his back a thousand times. Pressing your tongue to the seam of his lips he opened to you and you licked into him, tasted spearmint, cheap beer, Steve, and you wanted more.

He slotted a knee between your thighs and you gasped, a lovely pretty sound he wished he could keep forever, keening for him as he pressed your back into the wall. Parted your lips with a pop and dragged messy, open-mouthed kissed down your neck, your collarbone, your shoulder–

“Harrington, is your watch broken? Jesus it’s been like ten min–”

“Shit,” Steve stumbled away from you into the shelves full of towels as Tommy yarded the closet door open, the sight of you two dropping his mouth into a little ‘o’. Hair messed, foreheads dewy with sweat, lips kiss-bitten and a hicky sucked to your neck.

“My bad, did you need another seven?” Tommy grinned.

Head leaned back against the shelves, Steve squeezed his eyes shut, chin tipped up as he pushed a heavy sigh from his lungs and all too aware of the way the crotch of his jeans was way too tight.

“Yeah, maybe,” Steve hissed, hands tangled in his hair and it made you laugh. A soft, little thing without any heat behind it, cheeks flushed and pink.

“It’s all good, Hagan,” came out easy, confidence swelling where Steve’s had deflated, “We can finish it in the car.”

And God, Steve would’ve made a mess of his pants right then and there if you hadn’t pulled him from the closet and up the stairs out to your bronco with a bench seat more than wide enough to fit two people on top of it, more than confident you wouldn’t need another seven minutes.

crappymixtape™ • steve harrington masterlist // stranger things masterlist ♥️ reblogs and comments keep me going, friends! ily! ♥️

[eds6ngel]

self care night ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

eddie munson x gn!reader

summary: you notice eddie's skin is a little neglected, so you give him a pamper!

warnings: gn!reader. pet names (sweets, sweetheart, angel). established relationship. swearing. no use of y/n. tooth-rotting fluff. mentions of eddie's tough school life. alcohol mentions. weed mentions. talks on legalising weed (bc i am passionate about it). love bombs bc eddie is a sweetheart. lots of kisses [2.4k].

“Eds, stay still!”

You currently had his head bent over the bathtub, massaging in the leave-in conditioner, giving your boyfriend the well-earned hair treatment he needed. But, the longer you pamper him, the more you come to realise why he’d never gotten this treatment in the past.

“My knees are uncomfy,” he whines, the only words leaving his mouth for the past fifteen minutes being constant complaints.

“I’m almost done honey, okay? It’s easier to get to your roots from this angle.”

After a few more minutes of massaging, you place a kiss on his cheek, “Okay, all done now.”

He groans, mumbling, “Thank God for that,” as he stands up, flicking his hair backwards so it lay correctly on his head. You turn your head to the side, hands behind your back as you give him a warm smile, looking like a lost puppy. Eddie furrows his eyebrows, smiling himself as he chuckles, “What?”

“Nothin’,” you cheerily reply, “You just look cute with your hair messy,” placing a quick kiss on his nose and grabbing his hand, dragging him back into the bedroom. You plop him down on his bed, him letting out an exaggerated “Oof!” as you grab the comb on his dresser.

Eddie notices how the handle appears much more shiny that the other times he had used it, the teeth rid of the clumps of curls. “Looks rather clean.”

You sit behind him on his bed, beginning to tackle the knots, them a lot more easier to comb through with the leave-in conditioner massaged into his scalp. “Mhm,” you hum in response, “Poor thing was covered in hair. Needed its own pamper.”

“See, that’s where you’re wrong sweetheart. Just like me, the comb and I are extremely against pampering. We’d rather stay messy and gross.”

You scrunch up your nose, although he can’t see it, “Thought you were meant to be defying the stereotypes baby? Isn’t being messy adding to the ‘Trailer Trash’ label?”

You pat him on the shoulder, him knowing from routine that was a signal for him to turn around. He faces you, holding up a finger in detest, “Nope! I own my labels angel! So, if anything, I should conform to it.”

“Hmm,” you hum, “Pretty with your hair washed though…”

You purse your lips at him, to which he copies, squinting his eyes as you do the same. You had these little moments where you simply made faces at each other. It wasn’t mocking or insulting in any way, it was more endearing than anything. It was little moments like these that you loved oh so much.

Eddie lunges forward, grabbing your left cheek and littering kisses all up the right side of your face. You scream at the random gesture, although used to it. “Eddie!”

However, what he does next is the real annoyer. He leans back, shaking his head like a wet dog, your neat combing job now even messier than before. He knows what he did, giving you a toothy grin as you purse your lips, trying not to laugh at him. You sigh, shaking your head, “I hate you.”

He lets out the biggest gasp, putting a hand to his heart, “Hate me? I thought we had a love that would last forever.”

The giggle escapes your mouth as you reply, “You’re such a dork,” him leaning forward once again and mumbling, “I know,” lifting your chin up with his index finger, pressing a slow kiss to your lips.

“Are you gonna sit still for me now?” you ask, smiling brightly as he playfully rolls his eyes, “Yes, my liege.”

You quirk an eyebrow up, combing through the curls that frame his face, “I’m your liege now, huh?”

“Always have been. I’d do anything for you sweetheart,” he softly speaks, you mumbling out, “Sap,” in response. He wraps his arms around your waist, putting his head down in the crook of your shoulder so you can tackle the back of his head. He places a soft kiss there, whispering, “And proud.”

The rest of your combing job is spent in silence, the two of you basking in the simple domesticity. You loved it when Eddie went all out, taking you to the drive-in movie theatre, blasting out songs in his van at 3am, but something about this was special. It was mundane, but loving. That’s what a relationship is all about, right?”

“Okay,” you say, tackling the last knot situated at the bottom of his hair, “And we’re done.” However, Eddie doesn’t move, still laying against your shoulder. You move his damp hair, placing a few kisses behind his ear, whispering, “You okay there, baby?”

He kisses your neck in response, humming and mumbling, “Yeah… Just love you.”

You can’t help but blush at his words, even though he had said it a thousand times before. It was just something about him. You were proud to call him yours.

“I love you too. Need to get on with the face mask though. S’getting late.”

He groans, lifting himself up, taking an overdramatic deep breath as he opens his eyes, beautiful brown orbs, the colour of a small square of chocolate, staring back at you. His hair is now neatly styled, laying more flat on his head than usual, the curls not as bouncy as they once were. Less Kirk Hammett, like he aspires to be, and more Eddie Van Halen.

You get up off the bed, grabbing the green face mask and brush from your bag, the little luggage you brought with you for your night over laying on the floor by one of his many guitar amps.

You cross your legs, getting comfy in front of him as you screw off the lid. You place it to the side, whispering, “Close your eyes,” as you push his hair back with your white headband, the fluffy accessory sitting neatly atop his head. You attend to the face mask, dipping in the brush, the white bristles being overcoated with a sage green colour.

You swipe the liquid across his face, covering all of his pores and zits. You repeat your action: dip, brush, dip, brush, dip, brush. Eddie hums in content, “Smells nice. What’s in it?”

“It’s tea tree bubba. Helps clear up your pores. S’good for acne.”

You swipe once more across his forehead, leaning back and examining your work. You smile at him, soft eyes gazing into his soul as he admires your pureness, “Okay, all done. Now we have to wait ten minutes for it to dry.”

You screw the lid back on, heading to the bathroom to clean the brush. Meanwhile, Eddie has already picked up his acoustic guitar, strumming down the strings to make sure it was in tune.

You lean down to place your skincare belongings back in your bag, asking him, “Been working on anything sweets?”

“Just a ‘lil somethin’…” he replies, clipping the capo onto the second fret, “Still working on it though.”

You lie down on your front, heading leaning against the soft sheets as you legs swing back and forth. “Sure it sounds great.”

He plays you his tune, a more softer sound to what he normally forms, reminding you of ‘Fade to Black,’ a song which Eddie introduced you to. You simply lay there, basking in the way that his fingers pluck at the strings, his left hand moving up and down the fret board in a smooth motion. You loved how dedicated he was to his music, to the band. He even talked to you about pursing it full-time after high school, something you were very supportive of. You loved how passionate he was about it all.

He breathes out, “That’s what I’ve got so far… What do you think?”

You smile at him, “You know I always love what you create Eds. The real question is: do you think it sounds good?”

He drums his fingers against the underside of the guitar, “That’s what I can’t figure out sweets, I like the key, but the fingerpicking sounds off.”

“So it’s not a chord problem?”

He shakes his head, mumbling, “No… I don’t think so anyway.”

“Hmm…” you wonder, trying to think of suggestions with your limited musical knowledge, “How about this?” You hum him a tune, taking different turns that the ones his fingers took, him beginning to copy your humming on his guitar.

Once you stop, he picks up, playing the tune you had created. He puts his fingers over the fret, stopping his movements. He huffs, a slight frustration laced in his tone, “How are you better than me? I should’ve been the one to figure that out…”

He wasn’t jealous of you by any means, not at all. No, he was just annoyed in himself. Your boyfriend was very self-critical, no matter how much he tried to hide it behind the facade of owning his labels. He may have been comfortable in his freak identity, but he never overcame the self-doubt of being less smart than other people.

You maneuver yourself so you are sitting up to face him. You lean forward, cupping his cheeks and saying, “Sometimes you just need a little push. It’s okay to ask for help, you know.”

He scratches the back of his neck, sighing out, “I know, it’s just… Apart from Wayne, you’re one of the first people to ever actually help me. You know how the teachers are… I’m not a third time super-senior for nothin’…”

“S’because I care about you and the teachers don’t. You’re smarter than they think. Don’t ever think otherwise, m’kay?”

He purses his lips, pausing a little before eventually nodding. You tap his nose, looking at your index finger to see it come off clean. “It’s dry now,” you say with a smile, pecking his lips. “Sit on the bed for me. Let me bring in a pot of water. No need for you to move.”

He has no time to answer, your request practically a soft demand as he lays his guitar back down gently, shifting himself from the chair over to the bed.

You return with water in a small, grey pot, a similar-coloured flannel to support as you delicately place it on Eddie’s bed, careful not to spill any on his sheets. Although, you’d seen his mattress, it was ruined anyway from various different things, some you don’t even want to think about.

You soak the flannel in the water, letting it absorb the warmth before wringing it out, telling Eddie, “Close your eyes please.”

He follows your request, eyelids fluttering closed as you press the damp flannel to his skin, caringly wiping away the dried, green face mask. You hum once it’s all off, running back to the bathroom to tip away the water, Eddie barely getting chance to recognise your departure as he sees you shifting through your bag again.

Eddie blinks rapidly as you brings over many different bottles and tubs of products. “I need all of this?”

“Mhmm,” you hum, “I use all of these every night.”

“Seems like a lot of fuss.”

You shrug, “Suppose. But, it makes my skin smooth, so I’m not complaining.”

You take the cap off of the first product, “Okay, this is a toner. It gets rid of any last dirt you may have on your face.” You spritz it over, fanning it so it settles on his pale skin. “Also, it makes you stay younger for longer. But… you know me. I say embrace aging, you know?”

“I know you do,” he says, “Because you see beauty in everyone, and I love that about you.”

“Can’t help that humans are beautiful,” you giggle, Eddie’s heart melting at your words. You were just so pure.

“Okay, this is an eye cream. You apply it with your ring finger,” you demonstrate, scooping some of the cream up, “Prevents dryness. Makes your skin smooth.”

Eddie closes his eyes as you gently pat it under his eyes, rubbing it across as it absorbs into his skin.

You smile widely, “You look glowy already. Okay, night serum! This helps with your blemishes, calms them down a little.” You press the top of the pipette, letting the liquid flow down his cheeks, placing more on his forehead and chin. Using the ends of your fingers, you delicately massage it into his skin.

Eddie taps his own skin, grimacing, “Feels sticky.”

“Because you haven’t let it fully absorb yet!” you laugh, “Just one more thing. And I’m sure you’re gonna love it a lot.”

You reach behind you, dramatically holding the pot of cream in front of him. He takes it out of his hands, reading the label, “Weed cream?”

“Pretty much,” you giggle, “They label it ‘Hemp Cream,’ but we all know it comes from the same plant. So yes… weed cream.”

“Fuckin’ knew weed was good for you. The government sitting there telling everyone it’s bad for you, and they’re shoving it into skincare products.”

You scoop the cream up onto your fingers, rubbing it into Eddie’s skin as you explain, “They allow this because it’s non-psychoactive. Although, I have seen THC oil kicking around Hawkins stores for a long time. Stupid regulations.”

“Exactly sweetheart. Only allow it when it’s used by the conforming population…”

“Like alcohol,” you reply, Eddie nodding along with you. You’d had many conversations about how weed and alcohol had the same short-term and long-term effects, even arguing that weed had less of the two. The only difference you concluded was that everyone ‘normal’ consumed alcohol. Funny that the main group that smoked weed were Mexicans. You and Eddie knew they were hiding their racism.

“Okay, and… we are done!” you smile brightly, screwing the lid back on your pot of cream, “Go over to the mirror baby. Judge my craft.”

Eddie heads over to the mirror as you place your skincare items neatly back in your overnight bag. You walk up behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist. “How did I do?”

“Amazing, thank you,” he replies sweetly, lifting your hand up and giving it a tender kiss.

“S’getting late,” you remind him with a yawn, “Have school tomorrow.”

“Indeed we do. You ready to head to bed?”

You hum, getting into Eddie’s bed, snuggling under the silken sheets as he flicks off his bedroom light. Although you don’t see him, you feel the bed dip under his weight, his arm draping over your waist as he presses a kiss to your shoulder, “G’night.”

“Night baby.”

And as the two of you fall asleep, you drift off knowing both of your skins were well-cleansed and softly pampered. The perfect way to end a night.

hope you enjoyed! ♡

eddie masterlist.

[courtingchaos]

There’s Levels To This

Eddie Munson x Fem Reader

A/N: oh my god It’s the beach episode! Dip your toes in kids, the water is fine. This is for my dearest @chestylarouxx who has me yearning on the daily for beach shenanigans with one Edward Munson.

Warnings: Just sex and drinking in the sun.

18+ NSFW No Minors

To say Eddie wasn’t your friend would be wrong. At every level he was dear to you, from a simple ride to work in the mornings all the way to your petty crimes partner now that the two of you were old enough to know better.

“A fall guy.” He’d said.

“Or at least someone with better eyesight.” He’d said, this time pushing your glasses back up your nose.

“Someone that has a getaway car.” He’d said while spinning his key ring around his finger. That callused digit bounces in the corner of your vision, thick and longer than yours. Nails bitten short with grime from the shop still under them.

You’re trying to hand the store over to the night manager and Eddie’s come in early. Beelined directly for you standing behind the elevated register and leaned all cool and carefree on your counter.

“I don’t want to get involved tonight Ed. Trying to leave town tomorrow if you remember.” You mutter at him while you try to finish counting the till.

“Well duh, I’m not gonna get us caught. We need to leave at what, 9?”

“We?” You lift your head and he reaches over and pushes your glasses up again.

“Yeah, you didn’t know?” He gives you mischievous smile. “Your mom invited me. Sorry you had to find out like this.”

“What’d you do to butter her up this time?” You drop the pencil on the till log and shove your hands onto your hips.

“Nothing! I simply told her how Wayne was going on his fishing trip this week too and I was gonna be rotting around the trailer all…by…my lonesome…” He leans in, props his chin on his elbow and gives you big puppy eyes.

You haven’t fallen for those in about four years.

(This is a lie. One of many but this one is a repeat offender in your repertoire of excuses for Eddie Munson.)

“Rotting?” You jerk your hand in front of your hips. “Is that what they’re calling it now?” You grab the till and hand it over to your replacement and she gives you a nod and directs a long suffering sigh at your shadow.

“You think I wait for Wayne to leave town? Barely can wait to get home sometimes.” He grins. “Your bathroom is remarkably soundproof, did you know.”

You smack him in the chest with an old stack of magazines. “You’re a pig.”

“Yeah well what’s that make you?” He follows you to the back, management having long gotten over trying to tell him anything.

“The prize pony whose stall you keep breaking into.” You seethe at him. It’s all in good fun but he still pauses in the doorway and squints at you. He opens his mouth, plush lips forming around a word before he seems to think better of it. Runs his tongue along along his top teeth and leans again while you get your stuff together.

“Do you even have swim trunks?”

“No, that’s why we’re going to goodwill.”

“Please tell me we’re not stealing from goodwill today.” You ask when you walk past him again.

(You do this thing where you never ask him to move. He wouldn’t anyways but you always use this excuse to brush against him. You think he’s gonna complain about tits pushed into his chest? Ha.)

“God no. I wanted to break into Harrington’s pool.”

“Oh, a little B and E before we skip town?” You do a little shimmy and Eddie laughs.

“Yeah. Running away to Florida with your mom and her boyfriend. So inconspicuous.”

Eddie finds the most obnoxious pair of neon pink trunks and you run him into the ground with your teasing.

“Between your pasty ass and these, you’re gonna blind those poor panhandle girls.”

“Listen pet, they’ve never seen something like me before. I’m gonna have jaws in the fuckin’ sand.” He keeps flicking through hangers of swimsuits and misses your face exploding through 10 expressions before you hack out a sound that makes his head whip up.

“Pet?!” The disgust is thick in your tone and on your face.

(Another fake out. The day Eddie stops giving you nicknames is the day you cease finding happiness.)

“Yeah you know what, I don’t like it either. I heard it somewhere and wanted to give it a shot.” He shakes his head and grimaces and quickly yanks a hanger to hold up the worlds tiniest bikini.

“Found your suit.” He wiggles his eyebrows.

“You’re slime.”

“Oh come on, you need something to wear to the beach. Unless you’re going stark because then I need to rethink my whole outfit.” He snorts and playfully tosses his suit over his shoulder onto the ground.

“I’ve already got one.”

“Aw, we didn’t even get to go shopping together!”

“Eddie?” You sigh and his head pops back up over the rack after picking up his dropped clothes. “Shut the fuck up.”

He drops you off at your house so you can finish packing and he goes to his trailer to start. You agree to be ready by 10 so it’s dark enough that Steve’s neighbors won’t call the cops.

(You spend the two hours mindlessly folding laundry and imaging all the tanned southern belles chasing after Eddie and his tattoos on white sand. When you try to pack your socks they’re shoved into tight balls and none of them match.)

“Is this even crime if Steve knows about it?”

“Steve doesn’t know when we’re going so yeah, still crime.”

The drive into Loch Nora is full of Eddie’s ‘songs about weed’ mix until you hit the neighborhood entrance and then Eddie kills the radio. He drives the speed limit and keeps the windows rolled up and slides seamlessly into the Harrington driveway like he belonged there. It isn’t long before you’re both shimmying over the fence and stripping clothes, leaving them like a trail to your crime scene. Eddie cannon balls into the deep end and you wade down the stairs slowly.

The water is hot like the air is hot, barely a difference between the wet and dry parts of you.

(The wet parts of you are definitely wetter when Eddie breaches the water. He’s got chlorine in his eyes so you get to stare longer at his curls flattening to his head. The blue light of the pool reflects off his pale skin and his tattoos come alive under moving water.)

“Oh okay good, I can still swim.” He sputters and runs his hands through his hair while he treads water. “Can’t be playing possum in front of the babes now can I?” He starts his slow paddle over to you until his feet touch the bottom and he can walk. The wet glistening on him has you clenching your hands under the water and hoping that he doesn’t see it.

(You’re good at this, the lying. To yourself and everyone else and especially to Eddie.)

“Is this the infamous bathing suit?” He flicks the zipper on your chest before miming an explosion around his head.

It’s a high necked, high cut one piece split down the front with a long black zipper. When you’d bought it you’d felt like the Babest Babe to ever Babe. Now though, with Eddie giving you an up and down glance you have some second thoughts.

Too much skin? Thigh? Ass? It’s no string bikini but it is tight and that zipper was hanging lower with every shift of your chest under the stretchy nylon.

“Gonna have to keep you in the cooler, baby.” He presses his finger into your bare shoulder and hisses. “Too hot.” He slinks backwards and falls in slow motion, arms spread outward to float.

(You notice it then and you think about it later, how he keeps his hips dipped below the water line. You won’t lie to yourself about keeping your eyes on him in the hopes you’d catch a glimpse of too tight trunks.)

“Shut up.”

“Make me.” He says to the night sky while he floats away from you.

You would if you could, but this isn’t that kind of relationship is it? Eddie is your friend, on every level imaginable.

Except that level that you don’t think about and keep locked in the basement of your imagination.

So you swim in Steve’s pool and Eddie pretends to be an alligator to try and pull you under.

He dives off the board and sits on the bottom of the pool to see how long he can hold his breath.

You sit on the edge and watch him wear himself out with laps and handstands and somersaults.

You sit and watch him glide through the pool like he was made from it.

You two get out of there without anyone noticing and he asks about the trip on the way back to your house. He asks about the drive and if your mom’s boyfriend will let him drive and what the hotel situation is like.

“Am I gonna have to share a bed with you?” He leans away from you, an overtly grossed out look shot at you. “You have those glacier feet and I’m not going to be held liable for any elbows in stomachs if they touch me.”

“You snore like a tractor.”

“But at least my feet don’t kill with their icy touch.”

Wayne drops Eddie off in the very early hours of 8 am. You can hear voices talking downstairs but then there’s heavy footsteps and then a huff and a shove of your shoulder and clammy skin pushing into your own sleep warm skin. Eddie smells like his morning cigarette and his peppermint toothpaste and for a fleeting moment you forget exactly what this is. That level you daren’t imagine is abruptly surface level and you roll back into him. Your nose smushes into his shoulder, your leg winds over his and you settle back into the pillow.

A solid few minutes of waking up and with every braincell that fires, your heart beats faster. He’s motionless like a corpse. Barely breathing judging by the little huffs against your pillow case.

“I am…so sorry.” The regret rolls off you and you shove off him to the other side of your bed, back pressed up against the wall.

“It’s okay I-“

“I was still asleep, I didn’t-“

“I shouldn’t have climbed in your bed unannounced.” He stares. You stare. The sheets between you two shift when you sit up and slide off the end of your bed to get up.

“I’m gonna uh…bathroom.” Stuttering and rubbing sleep out of your eyes you grab your pile of clothes and then sit in the bathroom for ten minutes.

(You lie the whole drive to Florida. 11 solid hours of kidding yourself, keeping a pillow shoved between yours and Eddie’s knees so your thighs won’t touch. Every pit stop you stare at him while he folds out from the back seat and think about wrapping your leg around him again.)

The motel is pink and blue and right on the water. The big arch that indicates the entrance to the beach welcomes you to Emerald Shores and while you don’t consider yourself a beach girl, it’s actually quite beautiful.

Your mom and her boyfriend have a room on the second floor and you and Eddie have been relegated to the bottom floor.

“Just call us peons and get it over with.” Eddie whispers at you from the corner of his mouth and you laugh before The Boyfriend can turn back around with your room keys.

Eddie spends all of ten minutes in the room before he just disappears while you’re in the shower. He comes back an hour later with a handful of shells and a pizza.

“What a resourceful Indiana raccoon you are.”

“Yes, and if I didn’t forage for us, who would?” He tosses the box on the bed next to your legs and you don’t miss his lingering stare on your calves. He covers it with a nod and a joke.

“You better wear socks tonight. I’ve already got the A/C set to 65, I don’t need you putting me on ice too.”

(You withhold the truth from Eddie the next morning by not waking him when you wake at 6 AM and find him latched around your middle.)

Eddie rents a spot with two chairs and an umbrella and he gets to talk to every girl walking the shore that afternoon. You’ve been alternating between PBR’s and waters and now to avoid the dark cloud trying to damped your mood you ratchet the chair back and scoot out from under the umbrella to take a nap. Eddie asks about 100 times if you remembered sunscreen and you tell him 101 times that yes you did and no you don’t need him to reapply it for you.

(Yes you do! If you’d stop being insane for two seconds you could have his hands on your back and over your shoulders and up along the high cut of your hip and maybe he’d dip those musicians fingers behind your convenient zipper and-)

“You might want to pull your zipper up then.”

You peak one eye open to stare down at your chest. From this angle your don’t have cleavage so much as a valley but the zipper on your suit has popped down a few more teeth and Eddie seems to have noticed.

“I just don’t want you burning is all.” He sniffs. You roll your head to look at him and catch his quick shift of attention away from you.

In your light napping you hear a few voices asking Eddie where he’s from and if his tattoos hurt. One girl says she loves his hair, “especially tied back like that, so cute.”

Another girl asks about his girlfriend.

“Oh her?”

You imagine he points over his shoulder at you with a big thumb.

“Yeah. You sure she doesn’t mind you talking to me?”

You’d love to sit up and point out that you’re awake and also that she walked up to him but Eddie beats you to it.

“Oh this is all a cover. She’s actually scoping out this beach.” He gets a conspiratorial lilt to his voice and you imagine he’s leaning forward and turning on his Munson Charm.

“For what?” Mystery girl number 10 asks.

“She’s an international jewel thief and she’s heard there’s some real old money around here.”

You snort and alert them that you are, in fact, listening.

“Wait, seriously?” Suddenly this girl sounds wary. She makes up an excuse and scampers off down the beach back to her tan friends.

“Swing and a miss, Munster.”

“No. I made you laugh didn’t I?”

If Eddie has to watch that zipper unzip another zip he’s also going to unzip all of his zips.

It’s hot, and he and his brain have been baking under the sun but he refuses to leave. With you laid out in that fucking bathing suit he can’t miss a single moment of you in it. He’s on his…sixth, maybe eighth beer and his looks get longer with every empty in the cooler. He can make out the tan line on your hip when you roll over and he almost inhales the last of his drink because you’re all legs and ass. He can’t wait for later when you’ll be laid out after your shower, shorts hitched up from you sliding down the comforter and he’ll be able to catch a glimpse of that darkening line along your butt.

“Fucking hell…”

“You wanna head back in?”

(He does. He really does. He’ll carry the cooler and his towel in front of himself to hide his eagerness. He’ll carry your shit too just to watch you walk unencumbered in front of him, leading the way back to the air conditioned heaven and your thin pajamas.)

Three days in, two left to go and Eddie has decided he’s done lying to himself. He watches you every afternoon out in the sun in your bathing suit or the worlds shortest shorts and the most cropped band tees that he thinks might have been his at some point. He watches you run and roll over sand and wade cautiously into the ocean. There’s this part of your stomach he’s positive he’s never seen before and he watches very closely for the soft roll of it to peak out from under your shirts.

(He’s wanted to sink his teeth into you for a while but this new body part makes his teeth hurt. He drools after your thighs and dreams of digging his fingers into the soft dough of your ass. He imagines while he watches you stretched out on your towel that you’d be so soft in all those hidden places and he imagines so long he lets his beer go hot in the sand.)

He walks to cheap little gas stations over hot asphalt and hotter sand to get beer with you. He’d worry you two were going a little hard in the paint but it’s Florida where it’s practically state law that you drink shitty beer by the 12 pack, daily, if your staying on the beach front.

He follows you around like a loyal hound and acts like a guard dog when these fucking dudes start sniffing around you. Tall and tan and smelling like sunscreen and ocean. Eddie walks close behind, your constant second shadow and these fucking dudes get the hint when he glowers at them.

“I don’t think Floridians take too kindly to us midlanders.” You chew on a fry thoughtfully, knee hugged to your chest.

“What do you mean?” Eddie is finally drinking water after two days and a midnight migraine reminded him why you can’t just exist off of piss water beer.

“That girl the other day didn’t think you were funny which, come on.” You roll your eyes and say it like it’s so obvious how funny he his and he’s instantly convinced he could chuckle his way into your cutoffs. “And these dudes, they practically cross the street when we walk down the same sidewalk.”

Eddie just hums at you and finishes his water. He watches you wipe your fingers on your rapidly darkening thigh and he wants to lick the salt and sunscreen off your skin.

You find this little seafood place for dinner and Eddie is surprised he even sees your mom and her boyfriend show up. They’re not unwelcome but he’s sure they haven’t left their room since they arrived.

He has to put real shoes on which throws him for a loop but it’s not fancy. Neither of you are that, especially after almost four days of bumming it at the beach and being mildly drunk for most of it. He’s still watching everything you do, convinced and baptized in the Florida sun and sand that he can tell you his truth finally.

He waits for a break in your conversation with your mom to tap his index finger on your knee. “Can we go to the gas station before we head back?”

“Of course. Need more beer?” You nod as you ask. “I don’t know if we’ve had our daily allotment.”

He laughs through his nose and when you turn back to answer your moms question his stomach does a nervous flip and he doesn’t trust the shrimp on his plate anymore.

“You didn’t finish your dinner.”

“Okay mom.”

“I just wanted to know if everything was okay. You’ve been quiet today.” You stroll beside him, sandals in hand while he carries a fifth of southern comfort that he nervously bounces against his thigh.

“I don’t know,” he shrugs, “just taking it all in a guess?” The sunset paints the horizon in a way that is alien to the sunsets in Hawkins. “It’s pretty.” He says that to the side of your head while you look at the sky over the ocean. Even in his shorts and his chopped up tee he’s sweating but the breeze coming off the beach tells him this is all nerves and maybe he wasn’t ready to say it.

“Wanna take a walk on the beach?” You stop at one of the entrances and nod your head over, soft smile laid out on your face.

“Sure.”

The light paints both of you in a soft pink light and Eddie really needs to buy your mom something, anything to show his appreciation for the invitation. He could have missed out on this, instead probably working overtime at the auto shop and drinking sadly by himself, counting down time till you or Wayne got home.

Instead he gets to watch you walk ahead of him and lead the way to a tall fishing pier. He watches you kick the sand around and look for shells to add to your new collection.

“Can I ask you something?” You don’t turn around, just trust that the wind will blow your question to him.

“Anything.”

You only stop when you get to one of the massive pilings, turning to lean your shoulder into it above the mess of barnacles. You stare at him, raking your eyes over his body and when he’s about to open his mouth you ask him.

“Can I kiss you?”

He’s 23 and not never kissed, just never been asked. Your open look shows your sincerity, eyes shining in the waning light, lip worried at by your teeth. He wants to sooth those nerves and kiss the salt air off of you. He chuckles, a light huff through his nose.

“Yeah.”

Your eyes light up as you get closer, dropping your handful of things into the sand.

“I’ve wanted to…for a while.”

“It’s not just my laissez-faire beach attitude drawing you in?” He drops the bottle behind him.

“No.” You smile before you kiss him. Soft hands on the side of his face bring him down and in, his curtain of hair blocking out the rest of the world. His lips are plush and a little chapped when they touch yours, damp from him nervously licking them before you’d bridged the gap. His hands find homes on your waist and he doesn’t miss the small sound you make when his fingers creep up under your shirt. You hold on to his face and push up into him and for a moment, he forgets you’re both on a public beach. He lets his hands wander to those hidden places and eats up your groans that you place directly in his mouth. It’s only when he hears the distant roar of an approaching atv that he comes to. Reluctantly breaks the kiss but keeps his forehead pressed to yours.

“Can we go-“

“Yes, please.” You snatch your things off the sand and start walking back towards the motel, his hand clutched tightly in yours.

Later he’ll come out of the bathroom still shaking sand out of his hair even after his shower, to find you watching tv. Still naked but wound up in the starchy sheets, one long leg left out so he can stare.

(That’s where he’d started as soon as the door closed. Backed you right up against the bed till you fell and he followed your leg up to your knee up to your hip, kissing off the sand and the salt and your sunscreen like he promised. He calls you sweetheart and beautiful and sweet like honey and he gets to watch you preen under his words.)

“Have a good shower?” You’re soft and relaxed into the bed, biting on a nail and watching him.

“Eh, so-so.” He didn’t bother with a towel, you’ve just seen him and he intends on you seeing him more.

(He was right. He was able to laugh you right out of your shorts. Nervous giggles while he inched up your stomach, tongue tasting soft skin and dipping in along your bellybutton. Like magic you were out of your shorts and out of your top and he’d had an idea that you weren’t wearing a bra but the light v of tanned skin between your breast makes him pause all the same.)

“Water pressure no good?”

“No, I still have fucking sand everywhere.” He kneels on the bed to slowly crawl over to you.

(He likes how you watch him. He realizes when he has one pebbled nipple in his mouth that you’ve been watching him for longer than today. Your heavy gaze directed down at him while he licks and nips at thin skin. He grabs and gropes your breast and you sigh and he thinks about buying this motel and never leaving.)

“Oh I’m sorry baby.” You coo at him. He hovers over you and shakes his hair above you.

“See?” And you squeal as sand litters the pillow.

(Your noises kill him softly. He’s heard you laugh and groan and yell before but not like this. Your laugh when he kisses up your neck sounds different that before. When he slides your underwear off and wastes no time pushing his fingers into your wet heat, that groan is deep in your throat. He’s not even fully undressed before he has you undone, loudly yelling his name and clutching his arm while he abuses that spot deep inside that makes you gush over his palm.)

“What the fuck Eddie!” You slap at him to get him off but he drops his weight and pins you in place. You still smell like sunscreen and ocean and cheap beer and he swears he’ll find a way to bottle it.

“I don’t want to leave.” He says sincerely.

(He can’t leave actually because this is the room where he got to touch you. A hundred kisses before he even gets his pants off, 50 more before your hands pull him from his boxers, another dozen or so while you lazily run your hand up and down his length and one final one before he pushes into you slow. He forces himself to keep his eyes open so he can watch. Your gasping and your reaching. The way you bounce under him when grabs the headboard for leverage and soundproofing.)

“This is nice, isn’t it?” You sound sad as you card your fingers through his drying curls.

“I mean…Hawkins can be kind of nice too. If you want.” His chest is tight when he asks his non question. Drops his truth out into the open like that.

(That tight feeling isn’t new, he’s always gotten that with you. Now though the levels are all different. You’ve kissed him and made him cum hot across your belly and you keep holding on to his head like he’s something precious to be kept safe and and and-)

“Hawkins can be nice.” Simple agreement makes his heart swell. He takes a deep breath and finally relaxes into you. You shimmy around to get the blankets over both you and Eddie’s dead weight. He plays with the ends of your hair laying against the pillow, white sand flecks sparkling in the dim motel lighting and decides he’s seen enough of the beach this week.

(You don’t lie to him much anymore, just enough to keep his ego in check. If he had any idea just how deep it all went, you’d never be able to pull him off the ceiling. He’s still a pig and he’s still slime but he’s your pig and your little plastic trash can container of slime. You’d be lying if you said Eddie wasn’t your friend, but the levels got all gummed up with sand and shells and now you don’t have to lie to yourself anymore.)

((Sacrifice for the read more))

[dont-offend-the-bees]

Charles/ the cat king and your 22nd song please

Song 22: Six Days in June by The Fratellis Look. This is FIRST wrapped song fic request I got, anon. And it was such a GOOD song, and I wrote the first section, and the first section was so good I got scared the rest of the fic wouldn't live up to it. I know this is a short and weird rarepair hatesex to non-hate sex unrequited love song-inspired one shot but it's also lowkey my magnum opus. So THANK YOU. Don't worry too much about the background, this is set very loosely in canon-verse, in some prospective alternate reality season 2/3 where Edwin is having his hot boy summer and discovering himself and Charles is trying to figure out his own feelings in probably a not super well thought out way. CW for mild but non-explicit sexual content/themes. 2.5k, unrequited love, background endgame Payneland, angst. Enjoy 💛 Also on Ao3

“You think you're all that, yeah?”

“Oh, sweetheart, I know I am. You want my references? Or did you want me to prove it some other way?”

You're playing a dangerous game, batting at that loaded pistol in his ribs. You don't know him well (yet, yet), but you know a man who loves with his whole chest when you see one. It's in the knuckles; bloody from holding on.

His jaw tics. “Go on, then.” He squares up. “Show us what you've got.”

Your smile cuts. “Alright.” You brace for impact. “Let’s dance.”

The first time, is… well. Let's just say it isn't your finest work. Finesse is not what this guy's coming to you for, after all. He's here to prove a point. Prove to you — or himself — that you're full of shit. That you're all talk. That you don't deserve to touch his little BFF with a ten foot pole (or a ten inch di— y’know what? No. Too easy).

And it may not be your best, but by god, you do not give him the satisfaction of being right on that count.

Weeeellllll, he's inexperienced. You can blow his mind with, what? Forty percent effort? Sixty, tops.

He's just the cutest shade of pink when he leaves, shrugging angrily back into his little retro jacket, all ruffled and indignant.

“Satisfied with my credentials, yet, officer?” you drawl.

His ear tips are dark, his collar jerked up around his blushing throat as he stalks away. “Shut up.”

Your laughter follows him out of the cannery, echoing off the high warehouse walls. “Call me!”

It's a joke, obviously. This was a fun little tumble, a chance to knock Mr. Righteous Protector down a peg and have some pretty passable sex in the process. Nothing more or less than that.

Except obviously the joke sailed right over his head, because he turns up like a bad penny a few days later with some more poor judgment to spend on you.

Fortunately for him, you’re not short on that, either.

“So has my score improved, or…?”

He huffs, hunting around for his left loafer where it skittered under the bed. “Piss off, cat. Was just… checking.”

“Checking, riiiiight. Y’know, if you need a second opinion, you could always invite Ed—”

The right loafer flies through the air and kicks you in the face.

“See you next time, then.”

“Not gonna be a next time.”

“Mm-hmm…”

“...Zip it, Whiskers.”

“Charming as ever. Won’t you come on in.”

Since three times is a pattern, that’s about when you stop doubting he’ll show up again, and again, and again. And that you’ll let him in every damn time; or at least when you’ve got nothing better to do.

Terrible idea, honestly. You give it a week.

You never see him for more than an hour or so.

You never see him in any mood besides pissed the fuck off.

And above all, you never see what the hell it is Edwin sees. The boy with the easy smile, the loyal knight in shining loafers. The best friend, the right hand man, the big, soppy puppy heart that a nice boy like Edwin couldn't help but fall for. No, no you don't get that.

You just get what's left over. The claws he never hones because he’d sooner sink them into his own stomach than leave his mark on anyone else. The parts he's too ashamed to show to anyone he gives a damn about; a category you most assuredly do not fall into. But hey, that's fine. A person like you can't be too careful about who you start fucking.

You can't go around screwing anyone who's nice to you — god only knows what ideas you'll come away with!

(That's not to say he isn't nice, of course.)

(Unfortunately he is, despite his best efforts. God, it can never be just a hatefuck with some people — it has to be worried eyes, trembling hands, little gruff check-ins on your wellbeing when you're trying to get fucking railed.)

(You try and focus on it for the boner-killer it is; and not for the sweet, unconscious thoughtfulness of a guy who holds the heart of the man you love precisely because he couldn’t handle it roughly if he tried. No, no, you shove that thought as far away as you can push it.)

(Dangerous thought to entertain, for a guy like you; a guy with his heart on a hair trigger.)

He shows up when he likes; or when he needs. When his skin is too tight and he needs an outlet for that electricity in his ectoplasm. He kisses you like it’s a contest; and you're nothing if not competitive.

He’s not running the show, though. Nuh-uh. You only kiss him back when you like. Or when you need.

The fact you haven’t turned him down once yet is purely coincidental.

He's got you on your back — and you've got him on your hips. Pretty standard. You’ve done this dance enough to have a few favourite positions locked in; and this one gives you a hell of a view.

He’s looking pretty comfy up there — eyes closed, head thrown back, riding it out — and you like to keep him on his toes, so you give him a little shake, bucking like a bronco, laughing at his surprised face when he falls forward, when he catches himself on your chest and stares down at you with wide eyes and that little annoyed scrunch forming in his brow.

Then the line smooths, he squints, laughs — smiles. At point blank fucking range.

You take the hit. Right between the eyes.

You never stood a chance.

You’ll look back on that as the day he snuck his hand through your ribs and clicked the safety off.

He shows up when he likes. When he needs. Sometimes, increasingly, when he’s bored.

“How can you be bored again?” you grouse, fingers attacking his belt. “Don’t you have like a cute mystery-solving husband to bother?”

He scowls. He’s been doing that less and less lately — you’d forgotten how out of place it looks on his lips. “He’s not my… Edwin’s out,” he says, flatly.

“Out where?”

Oof, now that’s a chilly little silence. And a very, very loud one.

“Let me guess,” you drawl, dragging his zipper down tooth by tooth. “You’re not the only one gettin’ some tonight.”

He grabs your face and kisses you, hard.

More reliable than telling you to shut your big mouth.

“See you next time.”

It’s an old familiar exchange, an automatic call-and-response. You wait, palm metaphorically outstretched for the return, the denial, the brush-off.

He slips through the mirror without giving it to you.

You laugh. “Brat.”

Always leave ‘em wanting more.

He kisses words out of your mouth. He crashes into you like a wrecking ball. He throws it all down like a gauntlet, the fucking, the being fucked. He grasps and grinds, scratches and squeezes, lets those little claws out of their casings.

And those big brown eyes find your face every goddamn time. Like he’s watching you, like he sees you; like somewhere along this stupid, fucked-up little journey, he started caring. Caring what you like, caring what makes you snarl and scream, caring about how deep he can sink his claws before the blood wells.

(No, it can never be just a hatefuck with some people.)

(God fucking dammit.)

You’ve got him on his back, this time; and he’s got you on his fucking nerves, right where you like to be.

“Look, leave off, yeah?” he snaps.

“You sure?” You roll your body, feeling the electric tickle of those ghostly hands where they press into the dip of your spine, pinning you close. “Kinda getting mixed signals.”

“Y’know what I mean,” he grumbles, jaw twitching, avoiding your eyes.

You sigh, and fold your arms on his chest. Relaxed, non-confrontational. Idle hands, idle motions. Like you’re just sunning yourself and not, y’know, in flagrante delicto, as Edwin might charmingly put it.

Ah, there he is, again.

Damn ghosts. Always lurking in the corner.

“Look, I am not here to be your therapist,” you drawl, waving your spoon in a lackadaisical manner. “I’m just saying, from experience, little friendly advice: dick isn’t gonna solve all your problems. Not even my dick.”

He sits there, shirtless, cross-armed and endearingly grumpy (god, when did he start hanging around, instead of dipping before the sweat can cool?), his nose wrinkled up at your can of tuna. You roll your eyes.

“You can’t even smell,” you snidely remind him.

“Still mingin’. Wouldn’t kick you out of bed for eatin’ crisps, but this…” He shakes his head — and catches up to what you were saying. “And I don’t need your friendly advice.”

There was a very brusque, British-y compliment in there, somewhere, and you pause to pick it up and admire it. You’re a bit of a collector.

“Coulda fooled me.” You suck the spoon into your mouth, with relish, enjoying the way he grimaces and squirms as you withdraw it with a slow, exuberant pop. “Mm. Now, that’s the good stuff.”

“Does this have a point, or what?”

“The point, you little pest, is that I know what I want, and I go for it.” The compass of your spoon wavers, rocks. “And what I want is, oh, nothing extravagant. Good food. Good sleep. Good sex. Maybe someone around to help handle that last one, someone, oh, I don’t know… someone tall. Handsome. Cute smile, cute accent. Pulse optional.”

You let the ever-present spectre of Edwin Payne fill in the shape you paint; while the spoon settles on the true north right between Charles shitting-goddamn-fucking Rowland’s eyes.

He scoffs; mulishly, adorably oblivious. “You decided you loved him in, what, a week?”

You snatch the spoon back upright, and flick it like a tennis racquet. “And how long’d it take you?”

He shuts his mouth after that.

Maybe, one of these goddamn centuries, you’ll learn how to shut yours.

It ebbs and flows, the shape of your arrangement.

In the wake of that conversation it gets a little spiky for a while, just like the good old days; baring teeth and raising welts.

Then you get back to yourselves, a bit — the new versions that actually, against all the odds, have fun together. The Charles that laughs with you, who scrunches his entire face into uncontrollable giggles when you tickle his skinny little waist with your claws. The Charles who asks if you’re alright when he’s bending you in half, and sticks around for lazy kisses and a little light bickering in the afterglow; who turns up staring at his feet when he’s about to ask you for something he doesn’t think he ought to want. The version that’s so easy to love, it’s all too easy to see why Edwin does.

And then it gets… quiet.

Too quiet.

“C’mon,” he says, with a little hiccup — guy can not hold his enchanted liquor. “Let’s — let’s play something. That’s what you’re s’posed to do, yeah?”

You laugh, swiping the bottle. It’s pricy stuff. Wasted on this kid, really. “Uh, yeah, if you’re twelve.”

“C’mon — missed out on uni, didn’t I? Mm, let’s play… what’s the one… the two truths one. Two truths and a lie, yeah?”

“Jesus Christ.”

“You first. Go on, pusscat!”

You hum, hoarding his silly little pet name for your collection as you make a show of inspecting the bottle. “Alright… two truths. I took a vacation in the eighties and spent it as one of Freddie Mercury’s cats,” you count off on your fingers, that’s one. “Esther Finch owes me two hundred and seventy dollars, eighty-six cents, and my virginity,” that’s two. “Annnnnd…”

Your third finger hesitates, half-extended; your thumb teasing the loosening corner of the wine label. You affect the sarcastic tone like a warding spell.

“And this is the most rare, most expensive wine I got; I brought it out to keep you here longer because I’ve been missing you sooooo much.”

He snorts, and buys what you’re selling. “Yeah, right. Mate, you know you’re not s’posed to make it obvious which one the lie is, yeah?”

You’re probably not supposed to play when you’re a being who can’t fucking lie, either.

But hey, there’s always a workaround.

He shows up less. He fucks you less. You masterfully pretend you don’t give a shit either way.

He shows up once or twice a month and loiters, and chatters. He makes jokes and menaces your cats with penlights and tries to be so annoying that you won’t notice the cogs turning in that pretty little head. Maybe, if there’s enough frustration in the air, one of you’s lucky enough to get their dick sucked.

He hangs around, and you bite your tongue against the urge to tell him to pull. The fucking. Trigger.

(You could pull the trigger. You know you could. In fact, you probably should; call time on this grubby little charade and put both of you out of your misery.)

(But you’re a selfish old creature. Greedy, grasping. And you always want what you can’t have.)

(And you can’t have him. You never could.)

“See you next time.”

He pauses. Glances back.

“Yeah,” he mumbles. “Next time.”

He leaves.

You pour yourself a stiff drink.

“Well,” you say to the empty room. “It was fun while it lasted.”

Thanks, mate. For everything. Think I’ve figured it out.

Take care of yourself, yeah?

-C

Of course you send a couple spies. Just to check it out.

What? You never claimed not to be a nosy bitch.

They return with drooping whiskers, pitying voices that raise your hackles. They return with news of your ‘boys’ smiling, laughing. Holding hands.

They don’t describe the kiss in detail. Why would they? You wonder who initiated. Wonder if Edwin leaned in, all neat and prim and knowing like that time he kissed your cheek. Wonder if Charles did that thing he does sometimes where he bends and sways in like a too-tall tree in a breeze.

You shouldn’t ask.

You ask anyway.

Curiosity killed the fucking cat.

You punch a wall that night. You get mad at yourself.

You realise it’s something he would do. You get even madder.

You fall asleep with blood on your open knuckles and it doesn’t do jack shit to distract from the smoking crater in your chest. You didn’t think it would.

If there’s one bright side to all this — and honestly, you’ll take what you can get — it’s that you did, technically beat out your initial expectations.

You lasted longer than a week.

If you take it all together, anyway, all the time in-between, snatch every last hour, stack ‘em up. If you count the ‘off-season’. If you let the days you spent apart exist as days where he implicitly wanted you enough to string you along, to keep you as an option.

Count those days, and you made it half a year. A Christmas fucking miracle.

If you take out the empty days, well. Then you lasted barely six of them.

[peggy-uwu]

ok liveblogging watching the new episode because I'm insane

omf omg omg

this doesn't feel real

HES SO CUTE

omg what is this opening

OMG???

it has the old season vibes right at the beginning

the imagery??!?????

SEBASTIAN THE MAN THAT YOU ARE

I'm vibing with this op so much it's so fucking metal

giant fire monster??? please don't go off plot omg I'm worried now

ok the moon skull was cool

BISCUIT MY SHOUJO BABY GIRLIE I LOVE YOU

of course he's almost late

"first impressions are crucial, I must focus" *immediately fucks it up*

Redmond the beautiful woman that you are

REMOND RHE BEAUTIDUL WOMAN THAT YOU ARE

violet the beautiful woman that you are

REDMONSDDDD

waaaaaaah McMillan I love you

McMillan you're so cute 😭😭😭

"BOY UP" 💀💀💀

my poor son

GOSDDDDDDSDDDDDDDDD FUXK SEBASTIAN YOURE SO HOOOOOTTTT

let's take ibuprofen together ass pose

ciel is so sick of him already I love it

HES SO SICK OF HIM

omg stfu ur not funny

oooooh the windows are prettyyyy

Redmond the beauti-

violet my beautiful princess

fuck you zombie bitch die sooner

fucking power rangers ass lineup

LMAO GET FUCKED IDIOT

robot ass movements get away from my son

VIPLET MY PRWRTY PRINCESS

ohhhhhh I missed the title cards 🥹🥹

"drudges" remember what they took from you

ciels "target acquired" ass look when McMillan mentions the tea party ajbsksbdidj

McMillan the puppy that you are

what the fuck is wrong with these students omg

also why are the all either blonde or brunet and sitting next to eachother in pairs of 2

"are we little girls in cliques?" I mean if the dress fits 💀💀💀

stay away from the emo kids 📝📝📝

cheerio GOD

THE POSE AKNSNDKD

oooooooooh the eye is so pretty

OOOOOOOOOOOH SEBASTIAN IS SO PRETTY

I love love love that they feminized him it does wonders for my little lesbian heart

his eyes are so pretty ooooouggh

🦋🦋🦋 <- in my tummy

godddd he's so pretty in the dress

WHAT IS ERONG WITH THESE STIFENTS

DOTN GO NEAR THE GOTH KIDS 📝📝📝📝📝

CHESLOOOOOOCKKKKKKKKKK

cheslock I am in deep romantic love with you

my poor boy he's been jumped like 3 times and it's his second day

make that 4

Sebastian's smug ass fuckin smile I love that he always finds ways to get in ciels way by doing EXACTLY what he's told

ciel I'm gonna kill you what the fuck is that pose

"senpai" I'm dead 💀💀💀

"kawaii boya" 😭😭😭😭😭

but fuck the queen fr like why don't you just fucking walk down there yourself and ask

fuck ur cousin lady

wait don't she's a royal she might actually 💀💀

godddd Sebastian's do prettyyyy

ciel is also really pretty my baby princess I love you

Sebastian's eyelashes go hardf

.THEHAIR SRTIP FALLING

ooooh ending time

ohhhhh the windows for the p4 are so pretty!!!!!

oh the style is different it's so lovely

FALLING FROM THE FUCKING SKY??????

romance is real

ohhhh pretty sky

SWBASTIAN FLYING WITH HIM ROMANCE IS REAL??????

oh god oh god oh god I was going to post this to main but it has to go sideblog now

actually fuckit

it goes main anyways

falling through the sky in the sunset together be so fucking fr with me

ohhhhhh the ed is so pretty gofdd

[deadqueerboys]

Steve Harrington x Male! Basketball Player! Reader? STEVE HARRINGTON X MALE BASKETBALL PLAYER READER!!!!

🚨 LOOKING WHERE? 🚨

SMUT/NSFW/+18!!!!

Oh my dear, did you two meet in the middle of a game, new student? Hey, how about meeting this motherfucker-faced hottie (?!).

Even before he knew he liked you, he already knew he wanted you. A new toy for our King Steve? Maybe from his perspective, this asshole just needs sex.

In the Phys Ed., some days, he would take the opportunity to stop playing look at you, sweat dripping and clothes tight on you, because seeing is better than touching, right? He wanted to make the most of it.

The first time, he noticed, THIS really caught his attention, to the point where his gaze was quite marked in his gym shorts. What did you finally realize…

"Happy to see me, Harrington?" you had to get out of the game for a bit to find him in the stands, all to give him a sly grin and that sadistic rant.

The poor thing was stunned and then ran to the locker room, taking a cold shower to try to forget what had happened.

When you went there after the incident, you noticed someone leaning against your locker;

"Dirty play, brat. Why were you looking at my dick anyway?" He asked, with a courage he hadn't shown before, just looking into your eyes and then your lips, it wasn't intimidation, he was too excited just to be around you.

"Because you got so excited in front of everyone, would you rather I told everyone that King Steve likes boys?"

He rolled his eyes, you approaching him, cupping his chin with one hand, insulting the way he submitted so easily.

Seeing how his gaze changed, you reached out with your other hand and tugged at his hair, causing him to moan and finally look into his eyes, which were constantly averted to his lips.

"What? You don't like boys?" You bit your lip "do you like… me?"

Steve just blushed and asked you to end his agony, now going down to relieve him, he had already touched himself, but the lazy man couldn't wait to have you. You stopped at his knees, looking down at him, he got 30% harder than he already was, if that was possible.

"First time with a guy, Harrington?"

"Y-yes… just hurry up, they can come back"

Let's face it, Steve always had everything he wanted, and he felt so pampered and anxious in his hands that this moment couldn't end so quickly.

Taking advantage of his little desperation, you stripped him of his shorts, leaving him only in his underwear - quite a sight, to be honest.

When you touched him, still in the fabric, he was already crying and asking for more, he needs attention, and now, he needs yours.

And, fuck! He doesn't shut up.

Tired of having just a little bit of what you were having, you took off his panties and put them in your mouth. And, gods, he's big. But at the same time, it felt like a key fitting into a lock in a satisfying, peaceful way.

As soon as you did, you let out a strangled groan and grabbed his hair, trying to push it further, you tugged at his hand, giving him a dissatisfied look.

"Ok, sorry…sorry" and then Steve was silent for a while, until he felt close, which was soon after, he started mumbling things again.

"Good…good…God, I'm almost there!" His eyes rolling back with every thrust into your mouth, within seconds he was in your mouth, with so many warnings, you just ignored him and spit your cum into your hand.

"Swear?" you asked, frowning.

"Sorry but I warned you. Besides, it can't be too bad, you seemed to be enjoying it…" He couldn't finish his sentence before you took the cum that was in your hand and wiped it on Steve's hair. like a gel, putting it back in and pulling it out before leaving it alone. "… remind me never to piss you off again"

"It's my little revenge" you blinked as you stripped off your clothes to step into the shower "are you coming Harrington?"

He ran as soon as he heard your last name, following you around like a puppy.

[bobawitch]

Saving my Rebel (Eddie Munson x Reader)

Chapter 2

There you were, sitting in your living room with your little brother and your parents. Your dad flipped through the news while you listened to an old mix tape of yours. You only looked up when you noticed Eddie's uncle on the news. You threw your headset off, it landing on your shoulders. You read the title in disbelief, a dead girl was found in his trailer and Eddie was missing. Your mom sighed, setting down breakfast for you and your brother. 

"Poor girl... those cults just go for anyone nowadays." Your mom said as your brother jumped up and sat to eat. 

"He's not in a cult mom." I snapped. 

"How would you know?" Your dad interjected. 

"He's a regular at work. That's all." You covered your tracks before looking at the clock. 

You had a feeling some crazy people were going to go after Eddie so you had to make sure you found him first. You stood and gathered your things, muttering curses under your breath. 

"Shit shit im late!" 

You ran by your brother, messing up his hair, kissing your mom's cheek and yelling a bye before running out the door. 

You flipped your keys in your hand before starting your shabby old car and driving off. 

Now Eddie got into weed after he failed to graduate the second time but you didn't mind it much. He drove sober so you were ok with it. You smoked on occasion but only when your parents' fights got too loud. Even if it wasn't often you still knew a dealer since Eddie showed you off to him as his "metal friend." It made you laugh at the time but you remembered when Eddie said that his dealer was in prison. You knew where to look first. 

You pulled up a few blocks away and got out of your car, locking it and stuffing the keys into your pocket. You walked over to the seemingly abandoned house and walked past it, checking behind you often. You walked to the shed in the back and opened the door gently. 

"Eds? You here? It's me, it's (Y/N). I saw the news and wanted to make sure you were ok and st-" 

You were cut off as you walked around the shed when Eddie popped out and pushed you against the wall, holding a pocket knife to your neck. You took in a sharp breath but when he met your eyes he loosened grip on the knife, pulling it away and stepping back. 

"S-Sorry (Y/N) I'm a little spazzy..." 

Your tension eased and you sighed, running a hand around your neck gently. 

"Its ok Eds but what the fuck happened with that girl?" 

Eddie's eye contact abruptly ended as he looked around. He looked like a startled puppy that had just been kicked. You stepped closer, gently putting a hand on his cheek and directing his face to look at you. 

"Eds I don't think you killed that girl but you gotta tell me what happened." 

He searched your face in fear before leaning against your hand, sighing and nodding. 

"You aren't going to believe me..." 

"Try me." 

"She- She was over for some drugs... she was just stressed out i don't know... she didn't tell me why she needed shit so strong but I left to go get it and... and when I came back..." 

His voice cracked as you saw tears sting at his eyes. Your heart melted gently seeing him so distraught. 

"When I came back she was floating and- I tried! I tried to wake her up (Y/N)! Really I did!!" 

You gave a small comforting smile, rubbing your thumb against his cheek. 

"I know Eds I know" 

He broke eye contact and took a harsh swallow. 

"And then she went up on the ceiling... she uh... her arms... oh god-" 

He looked sickly pale and you hushed him, pulling him into a hug. It was mildly awkward since you were shorter than him but not too bad. Eddie clung to you, shaking as you rubbed his back. 

"Hey, hey it's ok. You didn't kill her, I know that. But you need some food dude.. Listen I have work later and I'll bring you some food and a drink and some weed ok? I'll stay here all night if you need me to." 

Eddie smiled, finally ending the hug and pushing your hair behind your ear. He nodded and whispered a thank you. 

"Of course, until then let's figure out some escape plans and some backup places to hide in case people find this place." 

He nodded and sat in the boat he popped out of. You stared at it before managing to get in and stabilize, sitting across from him. 

"The woods behind here are fairly thick so if only 1 person is chasing you can probably get to the lake before they can figure out the exact direction you're going in." 

Eddie nodded, still shaken but paying attention. 

"That's only if someone finds you. Since you're hiding in a dealer's place it should be safe to assume that he has some places to hide shit so I can look for something big enough for you to hide in. I say don't use the knife until you really really need to." 

Another nod from Eddie and you smiled, leaning over and patting his knee. 

"We can make up a code so you know it's me coming to visit you." 

His eyes sparkled and he sat up. 

"Can I make the code?" 

You giggled and nodded before looking at your watch. 

"Ok you can tell me the code when I come back after work but my parents probably think I'm off doing drugs so I gotta get home." 

A frown moved across Eddie's face and you tried to soothe him with a smile before you got up. You stumbled from the boat and waved at him before leaving, heading back to your car and going home.

previous chapter: https://www.tumblr.com/bobawitch/691661250138128384/saving-my-rebel-eddie-munson-x-reader?source=share

[ktheist]

01 — show me yours & i’ll show you mine | m

“then won’t you fuck me right now? i’m already wet for you.”

“not tonight,”

➙ muses. seokjin x college student / gamer!reader ft. best friend! taehyung

➙ genre. best friend’s brother au. university au. working au. fwb au. 

➙ word. 5k

➙ warnings. explicit content, reader coming onto seokjin who’s still hung up about how he watched over her and his little brother, taehyung, all these years, they’re six years apart, fingering, rimming.

➙ index. 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | finale | side story 1 |

➙ synopsis. you’re a horny bunny yet kim seokjin always seems to manage to slide out of your grasps like a fox every time.

follow these two as they embark on a sexual adventure whilst keeping their relationship on the low from kim taehyung who may or may not just pull out the (your) best friend and (seokjin’s) brother card to call a time-off on them for good.

➙ note. if you’re used to reading my fics, this one is a little different. it focuses less on healing and more on getting it on w your best friend’s brother ykwim.

also, if you’re not okay with the age gap or the nature of their dynamic, keep it to yourself. block and don’t engage. much love x

x

“i watched you grow up!” seokjin shouts right in your face as he leans so far back against the counter, you thought his back would break.

“exactly,” a suggestive smirk curls on your lips as you lean your breasts against him, making sure the angle allows him to have an eyeful of your voluptuous slopes, “i’m grown now.”

but your words seem to have snapped him out of your wonderful spell, eyes going round with realization, “you’re nineteen!”

“and,” your finger teasingly travel up from his chest and a few inches above dip of his collarbone where the protrusion of his adam’s apple dips and stops at, “legal.”

“taehyung will kill me,” he reasons, large, secure hand wrapping around your wrist before he holds it away from his throat.

“only if he knows,” your free hand caresses the noticeable protrusion in his pants that’s pressing deliciously against your stomach.

seokjin’s mouth opens and closes twice but no words come out. and he’s not exactly making any moves to hold your teasing hand away from his boner.

“please, seokjin?” with a voice as sweet as angel’s and a tilt of head just in the right angle, you give him your best puppy eye, “i can’t take it anymore, after i saw how hung you were last month when i accidentally walked in on you in the bathroom... you’re all i think about - and you weren’t even hard back then!” you giggle when his hand finally captures yours when you try to pull down the zipper of his pants.

seokjin’s lush lips glisten from his tongue swiping out to wet them - you may not have spent as much time with him than with his brother but you know that whenever he does that little tongue thing and seem to stare off into nothing in particular - it’s because he’s heavily considering the possibility of delving into whatever that had his head occupied.

but before he can even say a word, the sound of keys jiggling from the other side of the door echoes into the space where you’d trapped him, in the middle of twirling around with a newly filled glass of water. you’d easily took the glass out of his hand, noting the way he arched a brow but silently watched as you placed it on the counter next to him before you boxed him between you and the counter.

“...that’s why i’m telling you! we need more cheese!” taehyung walks in with two bags of groceries, head craned towards his elder brother and middle child of the kims - namjoon who only shakes his head at the younger boy’s antics.

“we already bought three packets of cheese,” by the time namjoon’s pointing out the unbelievable bought, you’re already helping taehyung get the backs off his hands and placing them on the counter across where seokjin stands, front facing the counter, boner hidden underneath and hand gripping the poor glass until his knuckles turn white.

“oh my god, spicy carbonara ramen!” you squeal, finding out the signature light pink packet before setting that aside - you don’t trust anyone in this house to not steal your food unless you keep it safe in your room.

“you’re too obsessed with that thing,” taehyung asserts from next to you, sitting on one of the stools, eating out of the bag of cheese-flavored chips.

“uh-huh, maybe if seokjin or namjoon says that, i’d take it more seriously,” you don’t miss the way the eldest brother’s eyes sweeps up to you in an automatic response to his name.

to anyone else, your smile would look as if you’re sharing the same humor for teasing taehyung.

“uh, i’m like the boss of moderation,” taehyung waves a dismissive hand.

“the three packets of cheese in the fridge disagrees,” you twirl around, stealing the bag out of his grasp and leaning against the counter as you place one chip into your mouth.

you notice seokjin padding towards the hallway where the rooms are and somewhere at the end, lies the infamous bathroom you speak of that changed your life forever.

x

the kims and your family have known each other for years. having been next door neighbors, it’s almost inevitable that you’d be best friends with the same-age, truck toy-wielding boy. your parents didn’t need to worry when they didn’t find you in your room - they could just ring up the kims’ and ask if their daughter were over without telling them which, most of the time, was the case.

you didn’t get to hang out at school because you went to an all-girls school and taehyung and his brothers went to a co-ed school. seokjin was the kinder but still fun to hang out with brother but wasn’t around most times. he was already in high school when you were in elementary - had his own set of friends, joined robotics for the entirety of his high school career which made him immesurably busy. namjoon’s alright but he’s more quiet and also somehow managed to get you and taehyung to do your homeworks even though you initially came over to get away from your parents nagging you to do said homework.

you should’ve seen that diplomatic but persuasive nature of his would have landed him a job in one of the biggest firms in seoul. seokjin took on a much different route, choosing to work for samsung’s sister company that specialized in r&d-ing micro-everything that goes into the phone - which is also in seoul.

you and taehyung got into the same university but the different in majors yet again obstruct you from hanging out whenever you wanted to which was why you were almost always around in the weekend at the kim brothers’ shared apartment. that meant sacrificing your back, sleeping on the thinly layered futon taehyung bought for you on sale because he finally took pity on your sleeping on the couch and suffering from back pains every morning (they were exaggerated and taehyung knew but you guessed his guilty conscience got the best of him).

“what? so your girlfriend found out i’ve been crashing at your place and she wants you to choose between me and her?” you’re in front of the laptop (they don’t have a tv) in the living room, eating a bowl of ramen while taehyung has his cheesy burrito, the movie freezing in the screen before you turn to him with the most, you’d say, nasty frown.

“i mean - she just said a girl and a guy shouldn’t be sleeping together in a room regardless if one’s on the bed and the other’s on the floor,” taehyung’s avoiding your eyes and that’s how you know he’s actually debating following that snobbish little bitch’s instructions.

now, you don’t call just anyone a bitch but when you do, she’s on your ‘don’t fuck with’ list.

“do you see my girlfriend complaining about us sharing a room when me and her were dating?” you point out in a matter of factly.

“th-this and that are two different things!” taehyung slams the burrito onto the plate in his lap and slams said plate onto the coffee table.

you say slam but it’s really possibly just a tad bit aggressive than what taehyung’s like usually.

“how is it different?” the bowl of ramen clicks sharply when you place it on the coffee table too.

“i-it just is,” taehyung shrugs.

“i can’t believe you’re choosing some bimbo over me!” hand over your chest, you look at him dramatically, jaw hanging loose and eyes accusing.

“you’ve been sleeping in the living room before i got the futon. it’ll just be like one of those days, you know what i mean?” he shrugs - or at least attempts to look casual about it.

“look at this place! it’s not even big enough to fit the futon,” hands flailing, you gesture towards the minimal space on the floor.

“it’s fine, we can move the coffee table somewhere-” taehyung still tries but you’re already vexed-marching towards the hallway with your bowl of ramen without another word.

to just about anyone, it would’ve been obvious that you’ve had it with your best friend. but taehyung being taehyung is probably desensitized to your anger fits because this time, he does sound casual when he shouts, “what about the movie? can i continue watching without you?”

“do whatever you want!” you shout back before slamming the door behind you.

it takes you a moment to gather yourself before you notice the heat of a pair of eyes on you from all the way across the room. seokjin lies in bed with his laptop on his lap, pillows elevating his upper body. he’s staring at you with arched brows and cute naturally puckered lips.

“oh, don’t mind me. i just had a fight with taehyung and i can’t stand to see him right now,” you say, walking over to the vacant table and chair, “do you mind if i finish my ramen here?”

“be my guest,” before he even lifts his hand from the laptop to gesture towards said desk, you’re already plopping down with a “thanks!”

soon enough, the tapping sound of his keyboard fills the otherwise silent room. you don’t know how long time’s passed but you’ve already finished your ramen and scrolling through instagram on your phone when you see seokjin’s latest post.

he’s sitting in a cafe, dressed in a denim jacket over a white turtle neck with a cap casting shadow over his eyes. the angle he has head head lowered makes it all the more difficult to see his expression. only his soft kissable lips are visible.

so you double tap on the picture before going into gallery and scrolling through your own pic. there’s one with you standing in front of a brick wall, clad in all black, bringing out your colorful eye makeup in conjunction with pride month. the way you’re standing accentuates your curve, bringing attention to your hips after the beholder would be done with admiring the emotions in your eyes.

you have taehyung to thank for that picture but you’re not about to tag him for credit because you haven’t really forgave him. he’s on his phone since it dinged with a notification, probably from you liking his picture. but he hasn’t even looked at you once throughout the course of that and you posting a new picture.

relentless, open up snapchat, posing for a picture and making sure the frame captures the sight of your perked breasts as you stick the tip of your tongue out, smirking and biting on it ever so gently.

with a caption of ‘don’t have a bedroom to sleep in tonight, can i sleep in urs, ggukie-yah?’

it takes a second and a half for him to set his phone down... and go back to his laptop. the tapping sound continues without even the slightest hiccup to it - and he’s already opened your snap.

so with that, you stand up, pick up your bowl, making sure to stand in a way that makes your hips more curved and breasts more defined, “well, i guess i need to get out of here since taehyung’s jealous ass girlfriend doesn’t want me sleeping in his room.”

“hm?” his brows raises at that, “you’re leaving? but it’s night time.”

your dorm is at least half an hour away and it’s too expensive by grab - you usually go back on monday with taehyung since he has a car. but since you’re not on speaking terms, both you and seokjin know that even if the youngest brother offers to drive you back - you’d straight out refuse him. would probably even say something along the lines of your friendship being over and that he has no obligations to ensure you return safely. all of it’s gotta be dramatic though. maybe add in crocodile tears.

“i’d probably stay over at a friend’s at least he’ll lend me his bed to sleep in, unlike your woman-choosing brother.” when your hand is on the handle, seokjin stops you.

“this friend... is it ‘gukkie-yah’?” and there goes the fish biting the bait.

“how did you know?” you’d like to think your tilted head and confused, drawn together eyebrows are convincing enough.

“you mistook me for him... i got your snap which was probably meant for him,” he waves his darkened phone screen in the air.

“oh my god, you did?” hand over your mouth, you gasp, “i’m so sorry, that was embarrassing.”

“it’s chill,” he shrugs.

“anyways, i’ll text him on my way there. he usually has no qualms lending a helping hand to a friend in need,” and with that, you twist the doorknob.

“are you guys... close?” the question hits the air with a different kind of tone.

“kinda,” you say, face struggling to stay neutral when you see the way his eyes glint with a dangerous gleam, “we were fwb’s in freshman year before i started dating yoona... might continue where we left off.”

“cool,” is all he says before he goes back to his laptop, the incessant tapping sound echoing throughout the room. not even a glance is spared at you the whole time you slip out of the door and close it behind you.

taehyung’s eyes catch yours for the briefest second and before he can even say anything (he looks like he would’ve said hi like he didn’t just choose his girlfriend over you), you’re holding up a hand, “don’t talk to me. i’m still mad at you for choosing a girl over me.”

as soon as you’re done washing the dishes, you pad back towards the hallway, not even caring that taehyung’s not bothering to get up from his spot or pausing the movie to talk to you - guess you’re both in that stage where you know no matter how mad the other is, they’ll never be mad enough to break the friendship for forever.

either way, if your best friend already exiled you from his room and your crush doesn’t even care about you going over to another boy’s place, you might as well actually go over to said boy’s place.

at least jeongguk’s dick game is good.

“you’re really going?” seokjin’s sillhoutte leans against the door frame whilst you’re stuffing your clothes into a h&m’s paper bag.

“yeah, like, i’m done. i’m not gonna let that bimbo think she won,” you huff while in the middle of shoving your headphones on top of the neatly folded pile.

“you can sleep with me,” as soon as he said those words, you can see panic spread through his face as he quickly adds, “in my room- on the bed- i can sleep on the floor.”

“why can’t we sleep in the same bed?”

his eyes follow the sweater that you were in the middle of folding and discard, tossing it onto taehyung’s bed.

“you and taehyung don’t-” he starts but you’re convulsing in disgust.

“ew,” you manage to hold back your rising bile. so he stays quiet. clad in a creme colored sweater that makes him look cozy and warm, “why’d you think i never complained about sleeping on the couch or on the floor? it’s cause i don’t wanna catch his cooties!”

okay, so maybe that was a lie. taehyung may be cootie-less but you’ve never been the huggy-cuddly kind of best friends. for one, it’s because you both did believe that touching the opposite gender will actually render your whole body spotted with incurable diseases and before you know it, you both were allergic to physical contact with each other at least.

seokjin doesn’t seem to believe so, otherwise he wouldn’t be shaking his head and smiling to himself.

“does that mean we can sleep in the same bed?” you cross the short distance between the bed where you’re standing over and to the door, putting on your best puppy eye.

“sure, why not?” seokjin caves like he always does back then.

you squeal in delight, arms wrapping around his waist as you give him a big hug whilst he freezes under your touch but doesn’t tell you to go away, “eeep, thanks!”

it’s almost as if the incident at the kitchen this afternoon was just a dream.

x

taehyung has tried talking to you - you say talk because no word of apology slipped through his mouth - but you’re having none of it, hiding behind seokjin’s big bro influence, or so you’d like to call it, when he burst through his eldest brother’s door, demanding for his best friend, “i know she’s in here!”

“she is,” seokjin says simply and you’re about to shoot him accusatory looks before he chuckles, “but she doesn’t want to talk to you.”

“____, come on, the squad’s all ready to play,” so that’s what he’s after.

over the years, you and taehyung have gathered your own like-minded people when it comes to video games. you don’t own a personal computer so your laptop suffers for it but the upside is that you get to bring it everywhere and it’s a pretty sturdy, gamer laptop.

“i’m playing here,” you say, laptop already set up on seokjin’s desk, headphones on.

“okay, whatever,” with a roll of his eyes, taehyung closes the door, leaving you and seokjin alone again.

and so it goes, you giving rapt attention to the game and the occasional comments spilling out of your lips when one of you make a dumb mistake or when one of you manage to kill off the enemy team’s avatar until you end up being killed yourself.

“what?” jeongguk - oh, he’s part of the squad - drags out as if he couldn’t belive his eyes.

“that’s cheating, bro,” taehyung’s voice rings in your earphone, “they literally ganged up on ___!”

“shit, shit, shit, shit, we’re gonna lose,” hoseok chants like a mantra.

“no, we’re not gonna lose,” you can just hear jimin rolling his eyes.

“bro, stop capping! we lost our fighter!” hoseok is at a point where he’s shrieking now.

“well, take however-long-it-takes-for-me-to-respawn, i guess,” you say in the middle of them arguing that they still have a hybrid fighter who is jeongguk.

either way, you’re already standing up, stretching your stayed-in-one-position-for-too-long limbs just in time for seokjin to walk in with a towelette draped over his head - you remember him using those cute little printed ones back then to dry his face after he brushed his teeth and cleansed his face. sure enough, he looks as fresh as the air that you’re about to take.

“you’re going to bed?” you ask the obvious.

“yeah, don’t worry, you don’t have to turn off the lights.”

“oh, don’t worry, i’m used to playing in the dark - my eyes are immune,” you wave a dismissive hand.

then he steals a glance at your laptop where your headphone lies next to it, emitting the lowest mumblings from your squad.

“you died?” he asserts - it’s obvious because otherwise, why would you even be talking to him.

“yeah, i think i’m gonna go wash my face now too.”

and with that, you’re out of the door, bursting in taehyung’s and shaking his shoulders to distract him as he reports the act of disturbance you’re comitting to the squad before you leave for the bathroom where your toiletries have made home in the cabinet along with taehyung’s belongings whilst namjoon and seokjin opts for placing theirs on either corners of the sink.

when you’re back, the room is already dark with your laptop being the only thing guiding your steps. there’s a lump underneath the blanket on the left side of the bed and another bright light casting sight on seokjin’s face as he scrolls through his phone.

he doesn’t bat an eye when you climb over, only looking up when it’s too late. thanks to his phone light, you can see how his eyes widen as he gazes at you with a mixture of disbelief and confusion.

you just pecked him on his cheek.

“good night,” and with that, you bound over to your laptop, noting that you’ve already respawned and getting shit talked by your squad for your tardiness and almost being the cause that the whole team was going to lose.

but fifteen minutes in, you make a blunder that causes the whole team to lose, “alright, alright, i don’t think i’m in my zone right now. maybe i’ll hit the sack.”

a chorus of protests erupts through your headphone as jeongguk starts calling you out on uncanny ability to stay up all night playing.

“i’m hitting twenty!” you dramatically moan, “my body doesn’t work like it used to!”

the protests floods in one more time but by then, you’re already saying your goodbyes, making sure to give taehyung a warning not to come bursting into seokjin’s room because he’s already asleep and you don’t want to get kicked out for being the cause his little brother disrupted his sleep to find the best friend he’s housing after she got exiled.

“seokjin?” you whisper into the dark, climbing onto the bed for the second time of the night but this time, you’re on top of the human-sized lump.

when no answer comes from the man, you giggle, “please, i heard your phone shutting off when i was telling the boys i was going to bed- had one headphone over my ear and the other off.”

only then does the man underneath you move, his tone bearing a warning, “taehyung is right across the hallway.”

“shh,” you’re groping blindly, but lady luck deems that you find seokjin’s neck and then his plump lips with ease, “then we better be real quiet.”

unlike this morning, he isn’t as deflective. doesn’t tell you to stop even when you’re grinding directly over him. and boy, is he hung.

“you know,” he lets you pry the sheets off him, kicking it off his feet completely as you take a seat on his hardening self, breasts pressed against his chest as you slowly lay yourself on him, “i was hoping you’d fuck me when i was playing,” his heartbeat is deliciously erratic, “bend me over the desk and fuck me while i talk to my friends like nothing’s happening.”

seokjin’s teeth grazing over your thumb that you use to shush him comes off as a pleasant surprise. your only regret is not letting the laptop stay on so you’d at least be able to see what kind of expression he’d make.

“you might not be able to keep your moans in on your first time with me,” the unadulterated confidence reeking off him is enticing. so ever different from the kim seokjin who’d throw around dad jokes in the house whenever the four of you sit down to have dinner, “none of the ladies i slept with could.”

“is that a challenge?” you don’t pretend to hide your excited tone as you shoot up, eyes searching for a face but all you see is darkness.

but you feel him underneath. you smell his fresh minty breath. you hear his deep breaths. you feel him.

“touch me,” it doesn’t take long for you to find both of his hands after you took off your tanktop and bra, mainly because they’re caressing your ass. all you do is cup them over your exposed breasts.

his hands are larger than jeongguk’s. they swallow your voluptous breasts like they were quarter sized cups. but by god, does he know how to fondle a woman. he teases you, grazing his thumb over your erect nipples ever so gently that you crave for more. it’s no surprise that when his hand snakes behind you and pulls you down, you easily submit.

you’ve always wondered how his lips would feel on you - but you never thought the first thing they’d be on is your nipple. suckling and biting tenderly whilst his hand makes sure your other nipple is kept accompanied.

“ah!” a mixture of a moan and a shout escapes your lips when he bites a tad too hard. teasing. testing the waters.

“for a little minx, you’re quite sensitive,” his chuckle is as warm and endearing. too warm and endearing for someone who’s doing things he shouldn’t do to his precious little brother’s best friend.

“the boys dig it,” you remark, not knowing that it would spark a fire that burns so bright, it can only be put out by your silent suffering as he flips you two over.

“that’s right, you’ve only ever had boys,” it’s not a question and even if it is, you wouldn’t have the time to answer because you’re yelping in surprise at the coolness that licks your entrance, legs forced open by seokjin’s knee.

“and girls- ah!”

a lone, single fingerpad rims around your opening. and that’s all it takes for you to swallow thickly. breath coming out bated with anticipation. heartbeat racing.

“let’s see, if you don’t make a sound, i’ll fuck you while you play next time,” he slips the tip of his finger in as if testing you, hoping you’d moan right when he sets down his offer on the table. your bottom lip hurts from suddenly forcing your teeth on it but that’s a small price to pay especially when you haven’t heard of the second half of the deal, “if you do make a sound, we stop this whole thing - no more teasing, no more seemingly innocent little gestures.”

“alright, bet,” that might’ve come off a little prickly, but it’s all seokjin’s fault! if he wasn’t hung like a horse, you would’ve taken one speculative glance and left him to his own devices!

the sweet chuckle echoing off the walls is disarming. so much so, when he slips one digit into you, your back arches and you’re biting into the pillow to stop a moan from escaping.

“is that a moan i hear? since we just started, i’ll let you off the hook,” there it is again, that disarming trickle of hymn as he slips in and out of you, loosening you up for something much, much bigger.

“it was a cough, god damn it,” you barely manage to get that out before you’re shoving your curled index finger into your mouth when he starts inserting two fingers inside without so much as a warning.

“that’s cheating!” you whine but your legs spread wider anyway.

“all is fair in war and sex,” he comments, free hand pinning your hips down on the bed before he starts thrusting his digits faster, the squelching sound of your juices reverberating against the walls - you fear that even without your moans, the two other brothers that are walls apart would’ve heard and come knocking on seokjin’s door.

along with the fear comes the electrifying euphoric sensation that courses from the tip of your toes to your core and all over your body. you remember clawing at seokjin’s hand that’s pinning you down because of how unbearably rapturous he’s making you feel. you remember his hand not budging a single inch from your meek attempts. you remember trying to bring your legs together but something’s wedged in between them. you remember tears pricking your eyes as the background slowly fades - taehyung’s presence in the room across from where you are, the possibility of namjoon coming back and walking down the hallway right as your back arches upwards and toes curling inwards as sparks course through your veins.

when your senses come back, seokjin’s in the middle of complimenting your hardwork, if “not bad” is even plausibly a praise. his fingers are still inside you, unmoving, possibly waiting for you to come down from your pleasured state.

“did i pass?” you might have been a little too elated.

“surprisingly,” he affirms, that beautiful sound of chuckles spilling out of his mouth.

“then won’t you fuck me right now? i’m already wet for you,” the last part, you say with a tinge of spoiled-ness.

“not tonight,” he says, before instructing you to lift up your head and slipping his shirt over it. you know it’s his because his heat still lingers when you slip your arms through the arm holes, cheeks hot as you forearm brushes against a nude chest as he pulls the sheets up over you.

but you being you, manage to ruin the moment with your, “why not?”

seokjin hums, that sound alone enough to make your heart shake with a sort of emotion that you can’t pinpoint, “like taehyung says - things are better in moderation.”

“he never said that,” you plainly dispute.

“well,” a kiss lands on the side of your head and an arm drapes over your stomach, just above the area where he used the same hand attached to that arm to pin you down as he fingered you, “let’s just say it’s my way of keeping you from going back to that ggukie-guy.”

you gasp into the dark, “are you jealous?!”

“i sure am,” he admits, a bit too willingly - as if it’s a known fact.

“oh,” you say, lost for words becase - “no one really admits that they are, not the people i’ve been with at least.”

“that’s cause you never been with a man... or woman. but i’d say being with a man - me - is better. i’ll show you what you’re missing out on,” he shushes you up with a “shhh” and a hand on your jaw to turn you towards him.

a pair of the softest lips meets yours and whatever retort you’re thinking up of is already out of the window.

x

note. this is different than what i’m used to writing so i’ll probably need some help!! i’m planning to update this from time to time with scenarios like ‘where he picks you up from your uni’ or ‘wherein he takes you shopping’ - idk djashdsakj send in suggestions that you think will fit oc and seokjin’s dynamic and i’ll incorporate them for the upcoming parts in their (nsfw) adventures to realizing their feelings for each other while also sneaking around behind taehyung’s back! it’s cool if you don’t though! but heads up, my smut writing skills aren’t as good so you’ll probably see more sexy times / implied smut most of  the time lol

 either way, hope yall enjoyed this!

[ursbearhug]

Oh, oh! I did it! I really did! I pissed of queer people and straight hoes (I meant allies*) simultaneously! I'm so powerful! Muahahahahahahahahaha!!!!

I saw this post somewhere today; you know folks wanting magic and sex(uality?) to be back on the rainbow flag? So I brought it in to the conversation, ya know? Like, I wanna learn what other people think of it.

And this one ace girl got so upset that fellow ace (me, I'm the massive snowflake) would even suggest it! How come? Sex on a flag for *queer* people??? I'm betraying the entire Ace Kingdom with this blasphemous, insidious idea.

Now, I know we differ when it comes to our look at sex and how it is performed. We talked already in the past and I acknowledged this. But come the fuck on.

So we had heated argument, I guess I'm not being invited for tea anymore. Too bad...

But I'm brining this in for one particular reason: that this attitude pisses me the fuck off.

I didn't have many encounters with ace community. Mainly because I never sought it out but also because... Well, I don't think I'd fit in all that well. But I do browse ace memes every now and again, sometimes I happen to find 'hot' takes on Tumblr too.

But to me it is devoided of any life. The whole "I'd rather have a cake than sex" is very low hanging fruit to me and is quite garish. Mainly because aces I have met personally also happen to have poor relationship with food. But I see it as (mostly) harmless fun, you know? And while I don't agree with idea or the narrative humour, in the end I don't have to - I'm clearly not targeted demographic for it.

But I've seen waaay too many shit where ace people say shit like "sex education is worthless" and I'm just at lost of words. Like, I literally don't know how to convey this anger but... Sex Ed isn't a tutorial on how to blow someone. Sex Ed isn't 'sexy'. And saying shit like this is fucking stupid, ignorant and possibly dangerous. Just because one doesn't plan to have sex ever, for one reason or another, doesn't mean they cannot use this knowledge.

But sex happening within the queer community isn't offending ace people. There are ace people having sex, the same way where there are allos that do not. And besides why the fuck it would offend or affect ace people?? It is everyone's conscious choice to do or not to do, things they're comfortable with. If you're uncomfortable with shit other people do in their spare time, *you're* the problem in this equation. Is this some weird idea that having this additional stripe of fabric will change mechanics of the world??? Nope; media will still potray sex, because that's what consumers wanna see. Not having this colour in doesn't stop creeps from hitting on me.

This is the same talk as with kink shit on prides. I have been on more marches than any other queer folk I know (at least to date) and I *fucking* guarantee you that the worst you can see is few dudes in puppy hoods and leather folks sweating their asses off in 30°C sun (the civilisation is going down hill, what a slippery slip to hell, oh my God, boohooo). But you know what else you'll see on pride marches? Hundreds and thousands of people willing to help you out or explain things to you. And I say this from the coldest, most deprived bottom part of my heart, that I would much rather have teenagers learn about kink in this safe way, than the shit they can go through when they fucking Google it.

Thunderlord, fucking, Zeus Almighty. I'm so fucking pissed off.

[thetravelerwrites]

Karrghed (Orc) Lemon

Rating: Explicit Relationship: Female Human/Male Orc Additional Tags: Exophilia, Orc, Florence Nightingale Effect Content Warning: Blood Mention, Serious Injury Injured Orc Words: 5310

A young woman running a ranch on her own is surprised when an injured orc stumbled out of the woods during a storm. She nurses him back to health and the two grow close. Please reblog and leave feedback!

The Traveler's Masterlist

The ranch your mother had left you when she died could hardly be called that anymore; a single woman running it by herself with no ranch hands could barely get the chores done by nightfall. When your mother fell ill, you ended up having to sell most of the livestock, and the majority of the house’s furniture, just to keep a roof over your head. As it stood, you only had three cows, one bull, a single carthorse, and a handful of goats, sheep, and chickens left. Your great mastiff, Jude, helped wrangle the goats and sheep, and was your only helper.

You subsisted on your small garden, apple tree, and by selling cows and goats milk, the chicken’s eggs, and sheep’s wool to the locals. Otherwise, it was hand to mouth every day of the week.

For the last few hours, the animals had been restless, which could only mean one thing: a storm was on the horizon. A big one too, judging from how the animals were stamping and lowing and throwing their heads around. You decided to forgo letting them roam for the afternoon, like you would on a normal day, and put them into the small barn, one by one, including the hens.

You knew the animals would be safe; your father had built the barn as sturdy as a rock. You were more worried about your garden. Too much flooding would destroy it, and then you were out of fresh produce. It’s not like you could afford to buy more.

It began to sprinkle as you started setting up a rain shield over your crops. Whether it would hold or not was the question, but you had nothing else.

The rain was coming down a bit harder as you finished up, and you were soaked through and getting cold. Just as you turned to go into your house and stoke up the fire, movement in the treeline caught your attention. You straightened up to see a man, orcish based on his coloring, stumble out of the woods clutching his stomach.

He wore furs and armor, looking to be a warrior from one of the strongholds to the north, but you weren’t sure which. He was too far away to make out any identifying features, but you could see a dark stain cascading down from where he was holding. Before you could call out, he collapsed.

Without realizing it, you were rushing out, heedless of the potential dangers, to reach the man. He lay face down in the grass, blood leaking out from his wound.

“Oh gods,” You gasped, settling down next to him, shaking him. “You have to wake up! You’re too big for me to move on my own!”

He grunted but didn’t move.

“Shit!” You swore, making a dash for the barn, throwing a blanket over the carthorse and leading him out into the rain. You made him kneel down in the grass and managed to roll the orc twice in order to get him onto the horse. The physician was too far away, so the only thing you could do was put the orc in your house, ride like mad to the doctor, and pray that he was willing to go out in a storm to treat a patient. Even still, the least you could do is get him out of the rain.

You somehow managed to get the orc into the house, though he was basically splayed out on the floor in front of the door.

“Watch over him, Jude!” You called to the dog. The big girl boofed at you and sat right next to the orc, not moving.

Afterward, you threw a riding blanket over your carthorse and vaulted up, urging it into a gallop and starting the two miles to the nearest town, praying the orc would still be alive when you got back.

The doctor, praise be, was actually willing to ride back to your house with you after gathering a few things based on your description of the wound. He saddled up his own horse and followed you the five minutes back to the ranch house with the wind whipping your face.

Thankfully, the orc was still breathing, though it was labored, and the blood was pooling on the floor underneath him. You helped the doctor pick the orc up and put him in your bed and assisted him in removing the orc’s armor and bloodied clothes, then you went out to tend to the horses to let the doctor examine the visitor in private, taking Jude with you.

“Oh, Jude, my linens,” You bemoaned. “I do hope the poor man lives, but I’ll be shearing the sheep early this year just to replace the bedclothes. I guess I won’t be making that winter coat I was planning.”

Jude whined a little and nudged your hip as you brushed down the horses, tired from their run. You were tired, too. It was barely mid-afternoon, but the clouds from the storm made it seem as dark as night outside. It was throwing off your sense of time.

After brushing, feeding, and watering the horses, as well as making sure all the animals were well in their stalls, you dashed back inside the house. You had Jude stay with the animals rather than have wet dog smell inside your home. Jude made puppy eyes at you, but you promised she could come back in when you were able to come out and give her a proper pat down with a towel.

“How is he?” You asked the doctor, putting on the kettle for some tea.

“Well,” The doctor said, wiping his hands on a cloth. “He lost a large amount of blood, but I don’t think any of his major organs were damaged. The bleeding has stopped, mostly, and I’ve stitched up the wound. My concern is that he didn’t wake up either when I was fishing around inside him or when I was stitching him up. Either he took a head wound that I can’t seem to find, or he’s more dehydrated than I thought and there’s not enough blood flow to get him to come to alertness. You should attempt to get as much water down him as you can.”

“Wait, you’re leaving?” You asked, alarmed.

“I’ve done what I can, miss,” The doctor said, shrugging on his coat. “It’s in God’s hands now.”

“That’s it?” You asked. Oh gods, you couldn’t handle a man that size. “What should I do with him?”

“Just keep him hydrated. I’ll leave you a tincture of wormwood and willow bark for if he wakes. You should also make a poultice from honey to put on the wound to prevent infection, if you have any. Good day, miss.”

The doctor put on his hat and walked out the door, setting a bottle on the table as he went, leaving you to deal with the orc.

The storm passed overnight, during which time you spent a restless few hours sleeping on the floor of your room next to the patient. Every hour or so, you got up to try and get some water down his gullet, massaging his neck to get him to swallow. You did manage to get some fluids down each time, as he swallowed reflexively, but it wasn’t as much as you liked. He was worryingly unresponsive, as the doctor said, you wondered if he was always this pale shade of green or if it was a symptom of the blood loss.

The next morning, you took down the rain shield, relieved to find your garden only slightly damaged in a way that could be fixed, took the animals out for a graze, being sure to keep them out of the field that was particularly muddy, and went to find some honey. You took Jude with you for some much needed exercise, and she happily bound over rocks and stumps.

You knew there was a wild hive just beyond the treeline and hoped you’d be able to get enough without being stung to death. An hour and five stings later, you did end up with a small honeycomb clutched in your hand. Thankfully, you weren’t allergic to them, but several stings in one place was causing a significant amount of swelling. You might need to use some of the honey poultice for yourself, if there was enough. Although, you did have some apple cider vinegar left…

You didn’t know much about medicine beyond basic first aid, but some herbalism was pretty universal. You made up the poultice with the honey and some witch hazel and a few drops of the tincture the doctor had left.

The orc was still laying straightened out on the bed, still unconscious. Last night, during the storm, you’d had only the fire in the kitchen and a single candle flickering, so it had been rather dark. Now in the full light of day, you could get your first good look at the man who had stumbled onto your ranch.

His face was relaxed and handsome, though there were scars on his lip and across his nose. His tusks were large and circled with gold bands, though the tusks themselves had several nicks in them. Additional scars criss-crossed his well-defined chest and abdomen. His stomach, where the stitched wound, was flat and muscular. His arms, too, were pretty well-formed and had scars up and down them. His hair was intricately braided and still a little wet, though there were a few wayward strands falling around his shoulders. He seemed older than his shapely build suggested, perhaps late thirties, though you hadn’t met many orcs and weren’t entirely sure.

You slathered the poultice on the wound and covered it with a bandage. You couldn’t move him to wrap it securely, so all you could do was press it down gently to keep the air off of it. You tried again to get him to drink before wrapping up your hand and going out to take care of your livestock.

The next few days were the same, and you were beginning to wonder if he would ever wake. He was in danger of starving to death, if his wound didn’t get him. But just when you were losing hope, he opened his eyes as you were trying to feed him some broth.

“Are you alive?” You asked him, setting down the tureen.

He coughed and grunted. “Doesn’t feel like it.” He stared at you with startlingly bright blue eyes. “Who are you?”

“You stumbled into my field,” You told him. “I’ve had the doctor round to look at you. Seems like he was right.”

“Doctors don’t know anything,” He said gruffly. “I need to get to my stronghold and see the medicine woman.”

“What is she, if not a doctor by another name?” You asked shrewdly. He grunted again. “In any case, you’re in no condition to be going anywhere. You’ve been here nearly a week. Another few days won’t matter.”

“A week?!” He said. “I’ve been unconscious that long? Has anyone come for me? Is my battalion outside?” He made to get up, clutching his wound. “They need to know I’m alright.”

You tried to stop him, though you had as much luck as you would have had trying to push down a mountain. “There was no one but you! You came out alone. Please, you must stay in bed or you’ll reopen your wounds!”

“I have to see for myself!” He said, standing up, not realizing he was naked. You averted your eyes as he looked down. “Where are my clothes?”

“The doctor took them off to treat you,” You said, blushing furiously. “They’re over there.”

You pointed to a bureau, where his soiled garments and armor lay. He began putting them back on gingerly.

“I need to find them! I need to find my battalion,” He said. “A commander doesn’t leave his men behind.”

“You’ll die if you go out there by yourself in this condition,” You told him sternly.

“Then I’ll die,” He said matter-of-factly. “Thank you for your kindness. I’ll return with repayment, though I don’t know when that will be.”

“Not if you’re dead,” You said in an undertone, but if he heard, he gave no sign. Instead, he strode off across the field to the woods as, showing no trace of the injury under his armor in his gait. He hadn’t even told you his name.

You watched him disappear into the trees grimly, petting Jude’s head as she whined, before wondering if you had anything in your stores that would get bloodstains out of linens.

Another day passed. You ended up burning the linens and, after mourning their loss, sheared the sheep. While you were carding the wool for spinning on your porch with Jude, she barked loudly and stood up, staring out over the field. You looked and saw the orc come back out of the woods. He wasn’t stumbling like last time, but you could see he wasn’t well, even from this distance.

You set down the wool and walked out. You’d already had a cup of water set down next to you, so you snatched that up.

“Here,” You said as he approached, holding out the cup.

His breathing was labored as he said, “Thanks.” He drained it in two large gulps and handed the cup back, his hand going to his belly.

“Did you find them?”

“A few,” He said. “They’d been buried where they lay. It’s too warm and we live too far for them to have been brought home, especially after the rain. Thankfully, it looks like most of my battalion survived and went back to the stronghold.”

“That’s good,” You said.

He nodded. “Yes. I am glad.” He listed sideways and then straightened.

You squinted at him. “Have you rested at all?”

He shook his head. “I hate to impose further, but if you have a place I might lie down.”

“Come on,” You said, leading him into the house. “I’m going to have to replace the mattress anyway. You might as well use it until I make the new one.”

“My apologies for the inconvenience,” He said as you pulled him into the bedroom and prodded him to lie down. “I’ll move on as soon as I’m able.”

“Don’t worry about that right now,” You said. “You were a fool for leaving in your state yesterday. A person your age should know better.”

“Aye,” He said in a tired voice, flopping onto the bed facedown. You pushed him to make him roll over.

“You never told me your name, you know,” You told him.

“Karrghed,” He mumbled.

“Well, Karrghed, let me look at your wound, will you?” You said.

He grunted and assisted you in removing his armor, though he blessedly left his clothes on. There was fresh blood, but the stitches were holding. You sighed in aggravation.

“If you want to make it back to your stronghold alive, you need to take better care of yourself. You stay in that bed until I tell you to get up, understand?”

“If you say so,” He said, already half asleep. You sighed again and left him alone, going back out to finish carding.

You made dinner for the two of you, and after eating your portion, you took the rest on a tray into the room for him. He was still sleeping, so you shook him awake.

“Hey. I brought you dinner,” You said.

He managed a ghost of a smile. “I must be dying if a lovely woman is bringing me a meal in bed.”

You snorted. “Well, if you’re feeling well enough to flirt, I’m sure you’re nowhere close to dying. Sit up.” He did so and you put the tray on his lap. “Can you feed yourself?”

“I can manage, yes, thank you,” He said sardonically, taking the spoon in his hand and scooping up some of the stew you made.

“So… what happened?” You asked, sitting on the edge of the bed. “What brought you dying to my doorstep.”

He shoveled a spoonful of stew in his mouth and swallowed before answering. “A local village came to us about a large bandit attack that had killed several merchants and stolen much of their money and wares. They asked us to find the bandits and take care of them. They didn’t know how many there were, just that several businesses were hit at once. I took my battalion, fifty men strong, out to track them, five men to a team, twenty teams each. Team H came back and reported they’d found a camp that had some of the items that had been stolen, so we went to investigate. We walked into an ambush. And they weren’t bandits. They were a rival stronghold.”

“Oh gods,” You said. “There has to be some serious bad blood for them to do something like that.”

“Oh, yeah,” He said. “They claim they own the land our stronghold is built on and have been trying to push us out of our territory for almost a century. They’ve been getting more brazen lately, but I didn’t think they’d resort to murder. Strongholds are supposed to have a code of ethics. Whatever issues we have with each other, we never get innocent outsiders involved. This incident is designed to provoke a war.”

“War?” You said, frowning with concern.

“Yes,” He replied, eating as though unfazed. “As soon as I’m well enough, I need to make the trek back to the stronghold. They’ll need me for the coming battle. If this was the precursor to a full assault, I will be expected on the front lines.”

“So I’m letting you recuperate here just to die back there?” You asked sourly.

He shrugged. “That is the nature of war.”

“That doesn’t mean I have to like it,” You said, staring out the window.

He was silent, and you could feel his eyes on you. “Are you alone here?”

“Yes,” You replied.

“No family?”

“I was an only child, and my mother died recently. She had been sick for a long time.”

“Your father?”

“He died when I was a little girl,” You said flatly. “In a war. That’s about the time my mother became ill. I always believed it was heartbreak. She was never the same after his death.”

“I see,” He replied in a neutral tone.

You stood suddenly. “I need to tend to the animals. I’ll return later.”

You left the room without looking at him, and he said nothing to stop you.

Another two days passed with a rather formal atmosphere. You came in only to bring his meals, give him the tincture, and check his wounds. He didn’t attempt to flirt with you again, merely thanked you for the food and care.

You slept on the floor in the weaving room with Jude, since there were no other beds in the house. It had once been your bedroom, but you had started sleeping in the same room as your mother after she had gotten sick. You had been working on the canvas for the new mattress. You wished you had linen for the canvas, but you could never grow enough flax for a full mattress.

“Is this where you sleep?” You heard him ask from the doorway.

“Well, a large orc has taken residence in my bed, so yes,” You said groggily, rubbing your eyes. “What are you doing out of it?”

“I had to take piss,” He replied, his arms folded as he looked down at you with a frown. “Why didn’t you tell me I’d put you out so much?”

“Because it wasn’t relevant,” You said. “Do you need your tincture?”

“No, I feel fine,” He said. “I took a look around. You run this place alone?”

“As well as I can,” You replied. “It was much larger before. I had to sell a lot of what we had to pay for my mother’s treatments.”

“That’s still a lot of work for a woman on her own,” He said, his face softening. “You’ve been doing all this and taking care of me at the same time?”

“I’m used to it,” You said as you stood, brushing off your clothes. “I did it for my mother for years.”

“Dedicated. I like that in a woman,” He said with a smile.

You frowned at him. “Don’t waste your time with flirting. You’re leaving soon, remember?”

“You could come with me,” He said, his face serious.

You considered him. “This is my home,” You replied finally. “Besides, I could never commit myself to a warring man. I won’t die like my mother did.”

“Dying as a warrior is the highest honor for an orc,” He said automatically.

“I don’t know much about honor, but it seems to me that dying a happy old man isn’t a bad way to go, either,” You retorted.

“You wouldn’t understand,” He said, turning away.

“You’re right,” You said to his back as he returned to your room. “I don’t understand.”

There was no reply.

The next morning, you and Jude went out to care for the animals, only to find that the morning chores had been done. The water troughs were full and there was hay in the feed bins. The chickens had been fed and the eggs collected. The cows and goats had been milked and the milk was in the jugs, seal and waiting to be distributed. This felt odd. You’d never woken up and had nothing to do. Bemused, you went to make breakfast.

Karrghed came out of the bedroom in just his clothes. They were freshly laundered, the bloodstain still present but cleaned as well as possible and the hole stitched. His hair was rebraided and he seemed to have washed himself.

“Thank you for doing my chores, but you shouldn’t do so much while you’re still healing,” You said, beginning to chop some vegetables for breakfast.

“It was the least I can do,” He said. “Besides, orcs heal fast.” He leaned against the doorframe with his arms crossed and watched you bustle about the kitchen. “I think I’ll be well enough to get out of your hair tomorrow.”

“Hmm,” You hummed. “If you’re sure.”

“I was serious yesterday,” He said. “I’ve never considered taking a wife before. As you say, being a soldier means you’re always putting your life in danger, so it never seemed sensible to get married. But… you’re captivating. Loyal, hard working, kind. Beautiful. You wouldn’t have to struggle to survive. You’d be taken care of.”

“I don’t need to be taken care of,” You told him evenly. “Besides, I was serious, too. I won’t marry a soldier. And I won’t leave my home.”

There was silence for several minutes as he watched you cook. You had a feeling the conversation wasn’t over yet. You plated the food and set it on the table, and he took a seat opposite you.

As you were eating, he said: “Would you be willing to wait for me?”

“Wait?” You echoed.

“I have to go back and see this thing done with the rival stronghold,” He said, setting his fork down. “But… When it’s over… I could return here. I’ve been thinking about what you said, about dying happy. Being a soldier… it fulfills a sense of duty that every orc has, it’s rewarding, sometimes it’s even fun. It’s expected of me, but I’m not sure it’s ever made me happy. Most men my age have settled down, handed the battle to the next generation, usually when they’re wounded to the point that they don’t see the appeal anymore. Perhaps it took a gut wound for me to reach that point. Maybe it was meeting you. But… I’d like to try another life. A happy one.”

“What if you decide you’re not happy?” You asked him bluntly. “What if you give up your entire life and realize you made a mistake? Where does that leave me? Right back where I was. You’ve gotten what you wanted, and then you leave.”

He shook his head. “I wouldn’t do that.”

“You don’t know what you’d do, you’ve never been in this situation.”

He reached across the table and took your hand. “I know myself. No matter what, I wouldn’t abandon you. I’m a man of my word.”

“Karrghed,” You said, sliding your hand out from under his. “We don’t even know each other, and we certainly don’t love each other. We have two different lives. You can’t give up everything you know in an effort to repay a debt you think you owe because I helped you, and you won’t convince me that this offer of marriage isn’t some sort of misguided attempt to reimburse me.”

He sat in a stony silence for a minute, staring at his plate, his jaw working.

“You think I don’t love you?” He asked darkly. You stared at him for a moment before he suddenly stood, said, “Thank you for the meal,” and retreated into the bedroom. You sat stunned at the table, staring after him, feeling confused and out of sorts.

Karrghed didn’t reappear for lunch or dinner, nor did he respond when you ask if he needed anything. You spent the day sewing and stuffing the new mattress and covering, thinking hard on what Karrghed had said. The hurt in his words.

You think I don’t love you?

“Karrghed?” You called through the door that evening, just after nightfall. “I’ve finished the mattress. Will you help me move it to the bed? It’s unwieldy and I’m having a hard time moving it on my own.”

At first, you didn’t think he would respond, but just when you were about to give up, you heard his footsteps approach and the door opened. He didn’t look at you, just brushed past you and hauled up the mattress, taking it to the bedroom. You followed him inside with new linens, waiting as he swapped out the mattresses before making the bed. He took the old one out to the barn and returned before you had finished.

“You should sleep on the bed,” He said. “It’s yours anyway. I’ll sleep in the other room.”

“Nonsense,” You said, smoothing out the blanket. “You’re still healing. You should have the bed.”

“No,” He said, his voice like steel. “It’s shameful of a man to make a woman sleep on the floor.”

You took a big breath and said, “There’s room for both of us.”

His face hardened. “Don’t play with me.” He propelled himself off of the frame and stalked off to the other room.

Your heart hammered in your chest as you watched him walk off. You didn’t know what had overtaken you, but you knew you had to set it right. If he left tomorrow angry with you, you’d regret it forever.

“I’ll wait for you, Karrghed!” You called through the door.

He stopped there in the doorway of the weaving room, his back to you, breathing hard. Slowly, he turned on his heel to look at you.

“You swear?” He said in a hushed tone. “You swear you’ll wait?”

“Yes,” You said. “Karrghed, I swear.”

The first true, genuine smile you’d ever seen split his face. It made him look ten years younger. Three long strides was all it took for him to reach you, and you pressed his lips you yours. You’d never imagined you’d react the way you did, throwing your arms around his neck and drinking in his kiss as if it were a rare wine. He wrapped his arms around you and lifted you, laying you down on the fresh bed.

The heat flooded your body as he placed himself between your legs, kissing your lips, cheek, neck, and shoulders, pulling down your sleeves to expose more of your skin. You tugged up his shirt and pulled it over his head, wrapping your legs around his waist. Your fingers drifted across the stitches in his stomach.

“Wait, wait,” You said. “You haven’t healed enough for this.”

He groaned, but he knew you were right. “Very well. Then I’ll leave you with a promise, then.” He sank down between your legs and touched your swollen lips with his large fingers. You gasped and your head fell back onto the covers. He kissed your inner thighs as his fingers teased you, and you writhed underneath him. Nothing had ever made you feel like this before, and you wanted more.

He leaned forward and his tongue pressed itself to your slit, and your body tensed involuntarily with pleasure. You grabbed his hair and tugged hard, pulling him closer, and he chuckled. His tongue plunged inside of you and moaned, his fingers gliding over your clit, rubbing it in circles. He definitely seemed like he knew what he was doing. He sucked and nibbled and nipped, and you were glad you had no neighbors, as you didn’t realize you could scream so loud.

“I love a woman who’s not scared to make noise,” He said as he came up for air.

“You said you could stop?” You asked breathlessly, laying on the bed like a de-boned fish.

He laughed as he pulled himself up and laid on top of you. “Much more and you’ll be asleep for a week, like I was. You need to recover.”

You mewled unhappily, but submitted to his kiss.

The two of you slept naked, wrapped up in each other, and in the morning, he dressed and readied himself to leave.

“I swore to wait,” You said sternly. “But now you have to swear to come back. Swear to me.”

“I swear, beloved,” He said, kissing you gently. “I don’t know how long it will take to put this to bed, but when it is done, I’ll return. I swear.”

Six months passed, six months of letters, gifts, and treasures sent as “bride-gifts” as it was called in clans, presents to prove to the bride that the groom was more than capable of providing for her. From just these things, it was clear to you that Karrghed was very well off, apparently having made a name for himself as a commander early in his career.

The day finally came when he would return. You watched from your porch from dawn, waiting for him. Jude knew before you did, bounding off of the porch and launching herself toward the woods. He walked with haste up the gravel trail, a horse and cart behind him, followed by a line of cattle, two horses, and a procession of orcs, at least ten in total, all with packs.

You jumped off the porch and ran to him. He left off giving Jude a good pat in time to catch you as you jumped up, kissing you soundly.

When you broke apart, you asked, “What’s all this?”

“This is my family,” He said with a grin, extending a hand. “They’re here for the wedding, and my parents wanted to come in person to thank you for saving my life. My two youngest brothers will be staying on as ranch hands.” He pointed at two young orcs, perhaps not fully grown. “It’ll be good learning for them before they join the corps.”

“But!” You said. “I’m happy to meet everyone, but there isn’t enough room in the house for all of them!”

“No worries, my love,” He said, still smiling. “As their wedding gift to us, they will be helping to build a new barn and add on to the house. There’s no telling how many children we may have. It’s good to be prepared.”

You laughed and blushed at the same time. He chuckled at you.

“I kept my promise, didn’t I?” He asked in your ear.

“You did,” You replied, hugging him around the neck. “And so did I.”

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My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

[happygirl2oo2]

Fence: Striking Distance fanart I'd love see made

Please, I can't draw but I need those in my life so badly, and no this list has no order really so do whatever

Harvard and Aiden's fair date (bonus points if you include Aiden's years of dreaming of it as well)

Seiji and The Bros (any scene of your pick)

Harvard on his motorcycle (bonus points if it includes his leather jacket that he literally bought for "practicality", god I love him)

Harvard and Aiden's first time meeting as kids back in kindergarden (bonus points if that includes the full scene with Harvard being Best Boy even as a 5 year old)

The (failed) trust falls scene

Harvard and his mom (I'd take anything, really, but bonus points maybe if it's their talk after he realized he's been in love with Aiden all this time 'cause he told Aiden when he came back that that's what he did)

The scene of Seiji in the lines "He walked off, a stern, remote presence among the joyful crowd. A guy hopping on one foot almost crashed into him. On reception of a chilling glance from Seiji, he decided to throw himself upon the floor instead."

That scene of Harvard and Aiden in the hospital as kids when Harvard's dad was sick and Aiden came back after he was forced to leave 'cause he "want[ed] to be with Harvard"

Aiden and Rosita (possible ideas for it- her singing to him as a kid, the scene of them in the parking lot...)

The 'steaks run in the woods' scene

Aiden picking out his outfit for his fair date with Harvard (he canonly told Harvard that he just bought that for their date, but boy's been dreaming about this date, in detail, for years ok, so you better believe that either he had this outfit tucked away and saved for that occasion only in the hopes that it might happen and he couldn't tell Harvard that OR that he was so excited he really went shopping to get the perfect outfit for his dream date with Harvard, and I'd take a drawing of either version you want 'cause I love them both)

'Nicholas giving Seiji his fixed watch' scene

Harvard and Aiden's first time to Kings Row

"What are you doing tonight?" "Being heterosexual? Or.. maybe not?" scene

Harvard and Aiden in the rain under one coat (Harvard mentioned that it's been happening constantly since they were 10, so bonus points if if it's them, like this, over the years, eventually ending with the scene of it in the fair date)

Harvard taking care of sick Aiden

Dante being Done® with the fence team (scene to your choosing, there's a bunch)

The scene where Harvard and Aiden are being romantic while the others ignore them to focus on crime

Nickholas and Aiden's talk at the campfire

Harvard cooing over the picture Coach's baby nephew she showed him on her phone (happened in the first chapter, bonus points if you include "Aiden sneaked a glance at Harvard's glowing face and then smiled to himself" in the background)

In the same scene as the one the idea above is from, it was also mentioned that Harvard secretly collected videos of kittens and puppies being friends, so a drawing of that maybe..?

Harvard and Aiden's "Because it means nothing" scene (because apparently I'm not dead enough inside yet)

Seiji's first time at breakfast scene (Bonus points Nicholas lowkey stealing Dante's food, and extra bonus points if it includes the scene with "-the best looking guy in school, everyone agrees-"×"Wait, why are we suddenly talking about Seiji?")

Harvard and Aiden's first kiss

Harvard waking up Aiden in the morning (it's canonly said to happen a lot, so you can make it as you wish, but I have the scene if you want it for reference, and bonus points if it's them doing it over the years, starting with younger them doing it by phone like Harvard recalled and ending with it now with their room and shared bed in Kings Row. Additional bonus points if you also make the scene of him telling Aiden boring stories to help him fall asleep)

Follow up on the one above- if you end up just drawing that 'telling him boring stories to help him fall asleep' scene instead, then bonus points if Harvard starts the story with them both as kids, as he's canonly been doing it for years ever since their first sleepover, and ends it with them as they are now at their room in Kings Row

The scene with Seiji, Jesse and Aiden in the woods but the part where "“I knew it, I knew horrible things were happening at Kings Row,” Jesse muttered. He stopped tugging persuasively and pulled at Seiji’s wrist hard enough to hurt, so Seiji’s sleeve was disarranged and the dying light caught his watch. “And what ghastly object are you wearing on your wrist?!” “That’s my favorite watch,” Seiji snapped, and twisted his arm free."

Harvard and Aiden's first sleepover

The campfire scene, specifically the part in the lines "Nicholas made a grab for the big bag of marshmallows, despite Seiji’s attempts to foil him. He fought for possession of the bag while Harvard brought Aiden a drink from the cooler and Eugene protested loudly: “Watch the fire! Bros, I’m concerned you’re gonna actually fall into the huge roaring fire.”"

Aiden and Seiji little talk in the woods after they walked away from Jesse

Harvard and his mom's magazines

The night cook-in meet thing at Dante and Bobby's room (all parts of that scene are on the table but possible bonus points for the part where Harvard's smiling at a text from Neal and Aiden accidently knocks over the burner which sets the curtain on fire)

The campfire scene, the lines "Eugene reached out with hope for a fist bump. Seiji waved him away irritably. “You saw what happened with the weight lifters earlier. Do you think I am in the mood for more physical contact today?” “Understood, bro,” said Eugene, lowering his fist. “Catch you tomorrow, on another righteous teammate day! I think you’re all the best, bros!” Instantly his fist shot back up in position. Seiji gave Eugene a betrayed look. “It’s a reflex, bro,” Eugene assured Seiji. “I didn’t mean anything by it.” Seiji made a grouchy sound and moved closer to Nicholas for protection from fist bumps."

Harvard and Aiden's double date

The Nicholas and Seiji scene in the lines "Seiji clung to the curtain as if it was a security blanket and he was a big baby. "I need the curtain." "You need me," said Nicholas. Seiji Blinked. "What?" "You require my present?" Nicholas reminded him."

The two Harvard and Aiden Araté scenes, next to each other- the one in the Salle where they're fencing, kinda early in the book, and the one in their room with the last kiss, around the end of the book

Seiji seeing Dante trying to sit next to Nicholas and Nicholas telling him "hey, dude, no, I'm saving this seat for Seiji" before he come to the table and sat there

Harvard playing video games with his little cousin (he mentioned to coach, quite early in the book, that he did it occassionally)

Nicholas and the Bros at the fair

Seiji's chat with his dad (bonus points if you also drew the memory of Seiji as a kid that his dad brought up here)

The scene in the woods with Seiji, Jesse and Aiden, especially the lines "Aiden rolled his eyes. “Oh my God, there are three of them.” “There’s only one of me,” Jesse snapped. “I’m Jesse Coste.” He tossed his head up high. Seiji had seen other people quail when faced with half the fury currently gleaming in Jesse’s blue eyes or contained in the arrogant lift of his chin. “Don’t flip your hair at me, freshman,” Aiden sneered back. “I’m Aiden Kane.” Aiden shook back his own light, bright, curling hair from his face and looked down his nose at Jesse. “Who?” Jesse asked. “Ask some of the Exton boys,” Aiden drawled. “I don’t remember their names, but I guarantee you they’ll know mine.”"

Nicholas and Seiji moving the curtain scene

Eugene telling Nicholas about the prank (poor dude about to pass out while Nicholas is touched by it)

Harvard and Neal (mostly for Haiden angst in edits purposes to be honest 😬 But also 'cause Harvard is Best Boyfriend no matter who he's with and I kinda want to see it)

Seiji & Nicholas being Oblivious Freshmen

Aiden's coming out to Harvard when they were.. 15 I think it was(?) scene (it's been mentioned in Aiden's thoughts in the scene where Harvard comes out to him after his date with that girl), maybe? Idk

[letyourcolors]

reggie and taylor swift

reggie finds out who taylor swift is and won’t shut up about it

she becomes his biggest celebrity crush on the planet

he’s constantly hanging at her house and when she’s not there he plays with her kitties -- “not to brag but i think they really like me!”

he studies each of her albums really carefully and takes weeks to appreciate each one individually

in her first album he’s just obsessed with ‘picture to burn’ and keeps telling julie and the boys -- “guys, this is what i mean! we could totally do this! i mean, not as flawlessly as taylor swift, cause no one can, but we can try!”

he went through a really hard phase during ‘fearless’ because ‘fifteen’ reminded him of being a teenager and it was just too much. he spent a week crying and the boys were genuinely worried about him until they finally convinced him to hear the next ones so maybe he’d feel better

and he DID. ‘speak now’ became one of his favorite albums ever. “the lyrics have improved so much! you can clearly see how mature she is! oh, my baby’s all grown up :’)” and julie has to remind him that the album was released 10 years ago and he’s like “oh. that’s right.”

he would definitely make julie do a number for ‘everything has changed’ where he plays ed sheeran

also he wouldn’t stop singing ‘we are never ever getting back together’ like whenever if they were just hanging at the studio or he was preparing his bass he’d just humble the lyrics to the song

the boys were trying to be cool about it but eventually it started to piss them off. alex would close his eyes and breathe deeply whenever it started and luke would give him the ‘hoe don’t do it’ look

until one day he’s just DONE. he freaks out and screams ‘PLEASE CHANGE THE SONG. I CAN’T TAKE THIS ANYMORE’

poor alex. he didn’t expect that 1989 would hit EVEN HARDER. reggie just won’t stay silent for a second he spends 24/7 altering between ‘cause baby now we got baaaad blood’ and ‘we never go out of style’

when he gets to reputation he’s just really confused. he keeps asking julie what happened to her and luke’s all like “dude, we need to rehearse! this is our chance to become legends! our next performance needs to be awesome!” and doesn’t let him speak

so he asks flynn, obviously. and she’s like “i couldn’t care less about taylor swift. basically i think she got into a fight with the kardashians and that’s why the album came up. don’t really know. maybe you should ask carrie”

and he’s like “but i CAN’T ask carrie! she doesn’t know about us!” and stares at flynn with puppy eyes and she’s like “no. no. don’t make me do it. don’t” and the puppy eye game gets even stronger

long story short, flynn is at carrie’s house asking her to help her understand the story of taylor swift, allegedly for a “school paper”, and reggie’s just sitting there listening very carefully

flynn makes him pay by stealing something from beyoncé’s house

i think he wouldn’t really like ‘lover’. i mean it’s definitely her girliest album and even though he loved the previous ones he’s still really into a completely different style so that one’s not really for him

but FOLKLORE. i mean

“this is a MASTERPIECE! this is the best she’s ever sounded! julie, how come you’re not obsessed with this? we need to do a cover of cardigan! no wait, the 1! BETTER YET, exile! i can totally see it, you and luke staring at each other, feeling the pain... the people are gonna love it, i’m telling you. maybe taylor herself will notice us! OH MY GOD COULD YOU IMAGINE IF SHE--” 

everyone: “reggie, for god’s sake, SHUT UP!”

[toziers]

how about a reddie barn party?

“a barn party?”

“yeah.”

“well what is it?”

mike looks at stan. stan looks at bill. bill, wide-eyed, looks back and forth between the two of them. 

“it’s… a party. in a barn.” stan speaks slowly, though the corner of his mouth twitches like he’s trying desperately not to smile. 

“well i nuh-know that,” bill says in exasperation, and mike lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and laughs, relieved. he knows bill is smart, he knows—the good grades and power essays will prove it—but sometimes bill’s brain cells took vacations. sometimes bill would write the coolest shit in creative writing class: the kinda shit that mike and bev and richie (so, by proxy, eddie as well) liked to read. horror stories, like the slasher films the losers stayed up to watch (ben and stan preferred anything but horror), though bill has a habit of adding corny romantic subplots that appealed more to ben than anyone else. bill would write those, would blow the whole loser’s club away with those, and then turn around and introduce himself as dilliam benbrough. 

his braincells took vacations, but they always came back. 

“i meant what is it fuh-for?” 

mike shrugs. “for fun.”

“why, do you have other plans that day, bill?” stan crosses his arms, and bill grins. 

“i’m in. on wuh-one condition.” 

* * *

“are you kidding me?” eddie scowls. “cowboy attire mandatory?”

“i don’t know why you’re complaining, eds; it’s your fantasy come true. i have two words for you, bro.” richie strikes a pose and the sound of his hand slapping against his thigh is too loud in the small space of the clubhouse. “assless. chaps.”

“take it back, bill, please.” eddie looks at bill helplessly, but bill’s too busy flipping through a Sears catalogue to see it. 

“shuh-should i get classic brown leather style boots? or should i g-go for a buh-bold black instead?” 

bev leans over his shoulder and points to an image on the sheet, her nail polish still wet. “these. they’ll match that plaid you got at the thrifty mart today.” 

eddie turns to mike, eyes desperate, but mike just shrugs. 

“i’ve been looking for a reason to wear my cowboy hat. sorry eddie.” 

richie slaps his thigh again and raises his eyebrows suggestively at eddie. “c’mon cowboy. saddle up, eddie, we’re goin’ full gay cowboy. wanna share a tent with m—.” 

eddie, red with fury (and flushed with embarrassment) punches richie’s shoulder. richie cackles, and cackles, until eddie’s pout twists like he’s holding back his own giggles; until stan turns to mike with a flat look and asks if they can be uninvited. 

“we need eight to square dance, stan.” 

eddie stops mid-tousle with richie and squawks. “we have to dance?” 

bill looks up from his magazine and sighs. “it’s a barn party eddie.” 

eddie flips him off, and this time they all laugh. 

* * *

“oh my god.” 

“wow.”

“holy shit, benny boy!” richie puts his hands on his hips and slowly turns in a circle, surveying the empty barn. “you out-fuckin’-did yourself, now!” 

“richie tozier!” calls a warning voice from the corner, and jessica hanlon gives him the stink eye from thirty feet away. “you watch your mouth while i’m around.”

richie holds up an apologetic hand, though his mouth quivers with the shadow of a smile. “you got it, mrs. h!” 

“nice, richie,” bev smirks. she turns to ben. “seriously ben, this place looks incredible.”

the lights were the hardest part: stringing them up in the rafters, wrapping them around the old wood and across the walls… ben had suffered his share of splinters and spider encounters. it’s a big barn too, and ben’s hands were sweaty from the early june heatwaves (and nerves from the spider encounters). but he’d managed, with the help of mike and his uncle, and now the whole barn was strung with fairy lights and chinese lanterns. 

“it’s dreamy,” bev says, looking ben in the eye as she does. “romantic.” 

ben goes as crimson as the barn and looks at his feet.

“thanks bev.” 

“are you guys gonna’ help set-up or just stand there like raisins on a celery stick?” jessica stands behind the group now, a sheen of sweat on her forehead. “your poor friend is struggling over there and you all are looking at the lights like a bunch of moths.” 

mike turns to where bill’s currently putting up the big banner he and bev painted. well, trying to put up the banner. actually, struggling is really the word he’s looking for. every time bill would get one side taped up he’d walk to the other, but just as he’d get that corner taped down the first side would fall again. mike bites his lip and tries not to smile too wide. 

they all stand there for another few seconds, watching bill continue to struggle, before mike shakes his head and jogs over to help. 

“oh!” bill says as mike pressed his palm to the paper to keep it up as bill fought with the tape dispenser. “th-thanks, mikey.” 

“no problem, bill.” mike watches bill attempt to rip the tape with his teeth. “are you going to the barn party with anyone?”

bill pauses, looks up at mike with the strip of tape still in his mouth. “uhh. the rest of yuh-you guys?”

“i meant as a date.” mike’s face is perfectly calm, but the cage of his rib bones shakes noisily with the thumping of his heart. “are you, you know, going with anyone?”

bill starts fighting with the tape again. “uh, n-no.”

“do you want to go with me?”

bill manages to rip off the tape he needs, and finally secures the poster. mike steps back cautiously from the wall, just in case it decides to fall again. nothing moves. mike looks back to bill, who still hasn’t answered. 

“yes. yuh-yeah.” bill smiles, a soft thing, and nods. “that’d be awesome, mikey.” 

“cool,” mike says, feeling very, very cool. “very cool.” 

* * * 

“whoa, eds, slow down—eddie, damn, what’re you running for?” richie’s keeping up pretty easily with his long legs and therefore long strides, but eddie’s practically jogging at this point and soon richie’s going to have to do the same. “what’s goin’ on, cowboy?”

“don’t cowboy me,” eddie grumbles, his boots making a little click click with every step as the fake spurs tapped against the sidewalk. 

richie stops. “eds, are you mad at me?” eddie’s still walking, albeit a little slower now. “eddie.”

“i’m not mad!” eddie says, madly, though he stops walking too. “i’m just. i’m. ugh!” eddie makes a little noise of frustration and richie tries desperately not to feel so fucking fond about it. “why didn’t you ask me to go with you to the barn party?”

if richie wasn’t already frozen to the spot, that would’ve knocked him out cold. “wh… what? whaddya mean? i’m here, with you, right— “

“but you didn’t ask. you just showed up unannounced like you always do.” 

“well yeah that’s just how it is—”

“but why didn’t you ask?” eddie turns, sparks of red on high cheekbones turned orange in the lamplight. he looks like a puppy, ears turned down and big brown eyes hiding sadness under the brow of anger that covered it. the pieces clicked together in richie’s head. 

“oh. ohhh. i get it.” richie shoves his hands in his pockets. “you wanted to be romanced.” 

“that is not what i said.” 

richie takes a few steps forward. “you wanted me to get down on one knee and lend you my kerchief as an invite to the debutante ball.” richie, playing up the western twang he’s taken on, over-pronounces every syllable in debutante. eddie scoffs to hide the beginning of a laugh. 

“shut up richie, i was just saying—“

“well, mistah edward j. kaspbrak— 

“don’t call me that.”

“— would you do me the honor of bein’ my pardner—“

“i hate you.”

“and accompanyin’ me to the hanlon barn party so i don’t haf’ta ride solo tonight?”

richie’s got his hand cupped under eddie’s chin by now, and the other arm curled loosely around eddie’s waist. in the early twilight glow, richie’s eyes shine with amusement and something else; something that’s always wrapped in every glance sent eddie’s way. love, probably, though eddie’s still scared to say it and richie’s no better. sometimes richie knows he’s in love but he also knows he was in love last year, and the year before, and the year before that one, and every year that goes by richie’s love feels deeper and stronger and real-er. richie used to think love was a peak at the top of a mountain of feelings but being with eddie has him thinking that maybe it isn’t, that maybe love is just a mountain and richie never wants to stop climbing. 

“yes, asshole, of course i want to go to the barn party with you.” eddie’s not even trying to look angry anymore. richie wants to kiss him, and he goes to do so, but the oversized rims of their cowboy hats bump together and it makes them both laugh. 

“gay cowboys sure have it rough, huh?” richie asks. “let’s try that again.” then he tilts his hat back, leans down, and kisses Eddie properly. 

* * *

the lights looked good in the day, but they look downright magical in the dark of night. there’s still a purple tint to the sky, leftover from the stretched out sunset, and though there’s no cracks in the roof to see the stars through, they cast a foggy glow on the grass outside. 

the music is loud, but not too loud, and cheerful, but not overtly so. dancing music, is what it is, and most people are inside making the most out of it. stan’s in there with patty, mike knows—he’d seen them spinning circles around everyone else. mike knows for a fact stan doesn’t take dancing lessons, but the way he and patty swing and dance with such ease and grace makes you think it was practiced. mike just thinks that true love shows in the way you move together. you can always see it in the way people dance. it’s about… well, richie and eddie have it too, and richie’s got two left feet and a tragic lack of the “being able to take things seriously” bone. 

it’s in the way they look at each other, though, the way eddie’s face pulls into a joyous adoration when richie spins him around the room obnoxiously even though he’s telling richie to put me down, put me down! it’s in the way bev brushes her fingers against ben’s when he hands her a cup of punch, and the way ben’s knee lingers when bev’s knee rests against his where they sit on the bench; like every touch is infinite, and worth every second. it’s in the way stan holds patty as they dance, like she’s something to be held, and the way patty holds him just the same. 

fuck, mike knows he’s only eighteen, but he knows what love, true love, looks like. 

“the p-party is inside,” bill says. an adjacent thought to mike’s last, suddenly here before him: bill, in all his plaid and leather fringe glory. mike’s heart, a racehorse poised at the startling line, takes off.

“i needed a break from the line dancing. your mom is kicking my ass.” it’s true. ms. denbrough sure knows how to country-shake it. 

“she was muh-more excited for this than i was,” bill jokes, and then walks the rest of the way from the barn to the edge of the field where mike is standing. 

“you look good.” it’s a bit sudden, maybe, but that thought evaporates when bill lights up with a shy smile. “the cowboy look suits you.” 

“thuh-thanks, mikey.” bill’s hand twitches, like he’s going to reach out, but it stays at his side. “your shirt. it’s a g-good shirt.” 

nice one, denbrough. bill makes a face. 

“i mean yuh-you look strong it it. i mean, handsome. and strong, tuh-too.” bill’s bright pink, and mike couldn’t think him any cuter. “yuh-you know what i mean.”

“i wear this shirt all the time,” mike says, just to see if bill will flush darker. he does.

“yuh-yeah, i know.” 

mike’s eyes flick to the barn and back. out here, the music is muffled, but mike can still tell hear andy williams crooning his familiar tune from the speakers inside. 

“do you want to dance with me, bill?” 

bill’s hand twitches again. “out here?” 

mike nods. bill nods, and mike bets his heart is knocking against his ribs just as hard as the one in mike’s chest. mike offers his hand, and bill takes it, and the next moment mike’s got bill denbrough against his chest as they sway to the easy beat of moon river.

it’s in the way bill steps on my feet, mike thinks. it’s in the way he apologizes every time, even when i just laugh and promise him it’s okay. it’s in the way he keeps apologizing, cheeks flushed and hands curled around mike’s arms, until mike kisses him quiet. 

it’s in the way that mike’s only eighteen, but he knows what love, true love, feels like. 

[bimbopossum]

i know it’s hard to tell (but i think i really like you)

pairing: riche tozier/eddie kaspbrak

warnings: swearing (i think) + a few gross jokes

word count: 3383

summary: In an attempt to fight his feelings for Richie, Eddie makes a list of everything he doesn't like about him. And then, unknowingly, Richie spends a week proving every single one of them wrong.

read on ao3!

“I don’t like Richie,” Eddie says, out loud. He’s alone in his room, and he’s talking to no one in particular. In all honesty, the only person he needs to convince of that fact is himself; no one else would even dare to ask.

“I don’t like Richie,” he says again, louder this time. He stands from his desk chair, and walks to the chalkboard hanging on his wall.

“I don’t like Richie,” he repeats once more. He picks up a piece of chalk and brings it to the board, his hand hovering. He writes.

I don’t like Richie.

It doesn’t feel like enough. He makes a fist and rubs off the words with the side of his hand. He writes again.

WHY I don’t like Richie:

And, well. He makes a list. It comes easily, because frankly, Richie is the worst. He’s crass, and crude, and he’s a boy; he’s the exact opposite of what Eddie would consider “his type.” There’s no way he could ever, ever like anyone like Richie.

1. He’s gross.

Eddie thinks back to the time, the very same day, when Richie ran up to him, tackling him in a bear hug. The gesture was sweet, and Eddie’s first reaction was in the form of his stomach swooping to his feet. That was, until he caught a whiff of the taller boy’s armpit.

“Oh my god, Richie! You stink!” He had yelled, pushing him away.

The sentence on the chalkboard is punctuated with a nod from the small boy who wrote it. Yeah. Richie is gross. He doesn’t even wear deodorant.

2. His jokes.

The worst offense in this category was a few weeks ago, on a class trip to the zoo. Eddie was mesmerized by the elephants. He watched the giant, gentle creatures in awe and therefore, fell for the trap that was Richie’s question.

“Hey Eds, what do you do when you come across an elephant?”

Snapping out of his daze, Eddie turned to the boy.

“Huh?” He said.

The instant regret filled his mind as he saw a smug smile make its way onto Richie’s face.

“Apologize and wipe it off.”

There was a beat of silence. Then, the sound of Eddie’s hand smacking the skin of Richie’s arm, and a cry of “oh my god, that’s not even funny! you’re so fucking gross.”

Eddie rolls his eyes at the memory. It’s still a horrible joke, and a completely valid reason to put on his chalkboard.

3. He’s not cute.

Eddie knows it’s harsh, but c’mon. He knows he’s right. His mind fills with gangly limbs, and broken glasses pieced back together with white tape, and hawaiian shirts with colorful shorts that don’t match and big, stinky feet covered in patterned socks that kick him whenever they can and yeah. Richie is not cute. His hair flies around his face and his eyes always look far too big because of his glasses. He’s not cute, even for a boy.

4. He doesn’t take anything seriously.

There’s too many examples for this one. Every time Eddie is sad and Richie makes some comment about fucking his mom, every time Stan is talking about birds and Richie interrupts him to ask “what kind of bird gives the best head,” every time Bill is stuttering and Richie makes fun of him even though it’s clear that he’s struggling. Richie is always toomuchtoomuchtoomuch and notknowingwhentostop.

And that’s why Eddie does not like him.

The next day, the Losers meet up at the arcade, and Eddie’s holding out on the hope that he’ll convince someone to get ice cream with him. He’s the last one to show up, and when Richie spots him heading their way, he immediately barrels toward Eddie to engulf him in another bear hug. Eddie’s chest rushes with blood as the tall boy holds onto him, and he wrinkles his nose in anticipation for the stench of his armpits. But it doesn’t come.

“Are you…” he trails off. Sniff. “Are you wearing deodorant?” Eddie asks, as Richie’s arms return to his side. Richie chuckles.

“I figured it was time I get a new signature scent. Whaddya think?” He asks. He even goes as far to lift his arm and offer the smell to Eddie’s unsuspecting nose. To his own surprise, Eddie actually takes another whiff. His face fills with color.

“Not bad,” he shrugs. Richie slings an arm around his shoulder, and Eddie can’t deny that it’s nice to not have to smell the boy’s B.O. as they walk.

Hours later, when the Losers have all returned home and Eddie and Richie have finished their ice cream (because of course Eddie was able to convince him), the small boy walks up to the chalkboard in his room and bashfully strikes a line through the first point on his list.

He’s gross.

“Hey Eds, wanna hear a joke?” Richie asks, in the same excitable way he always does—as if he’s a child looking for approval from an adult.

Eddie rolls his eyes. “No, I wanna keep studying, fuckface.”

The textbook on his lap is seemingly being used, but in reality, Eddie doesn’t know a word of what he’s read in the last 10 minutes. He honestly would like to hear a joke, even a horrible Richie joke; anything to distract him from covalent bonds. But he would never tell Richie that.

“C’mon, please? It’s really funny, I promise,” the boy pleads.

“You said that about the cannibal joke last week,” Eddie deadpans.

“That joke was hilarious!”

Eddie takes a deep breath, and immediately regrets even answering Richie’s question in the first place.

“The fact that you still think so is exactly why I don’t want to hear another one.”

“Please, Eds?” He begs, putting on his best puppy dog eyes. Eddie groans.

“God, fine! What is it?”

Richie’s face lights up, and it almost makes it worth the horrible joke Eddie’s about to hear.

“Apparently, every 52 seconds, someone in London is stabbed. Poor bastard.”

Eddie blinks. Then, as if surprising himself, a laugh bubbles out of his throat. He smacks a hand over his mouth, shocked that he actually found one of Richie’s jokes funny. Richie just stares as he laughs, just as surprised that he’s entertained. It’s a really simple joke, and it’s kind of dumb, but. It’s not about dicks or having sex with Sonia Kaspbrak and it’s… a little bit smart, at the same time, too? In a way that Richie never is. And it’s funny. Richie told a genuinely funny joke. As Eddie’s giggles die down, Richie has the most proud look on his face and he doesn’t even look smug about it at all. He just looks happy. And Eddie makes a mental note to laugh at more of his jokes now, even if they suck, if only so he can see that pleased little smile on the boy’s face again.

He also makes a mental note to strike through the second bullet point on his chalkboard when he gets home.

His jokes.

The next day, Eddie goes to meet the Losers in the front lot at school, like he does every other morning. The only person there so far is Ben, and they immediately fall into comfortable conversation. Eddie was always a bit awkward around Ben in the beginning, even though he couldn’t place his finger on why. Now, though, it’s like he’s been a part of the group forever.

They talk for a few minutes, while the others start to show up. Ten minutes pass, and the only person who hasn’t arrived yet is Richie. His conversation with Ben dies down, and he starts picking at a loose thread on his shorts to pass the time. After another moment, he hears a shout from beside him, and feels the weight of a body plopping down on the bench next to him.

“Good morning, Spaghetti!” Richie says. Eddie lazily moves his gaze to the boy sitting next to him, as if to seem unamused, but his breath catches as soon as he sees him.

Richie is just beaming at him, in the way he always does, as if there’s nothing different. Nothing changed, nothing new, nothing to make Eddie’s heart literally jump to his throat at the sight of him.

“You, um…” Eddie breathes. He clears his throat and attempts to make his voice as even as possible. “You got new glasses,” he says, barely above a whisper. No one around them seems to be fazed by this development, but Eddie thinks he could die.

Richie smiles even wider. “I did! What do you think? My prescription changed so I decided to trade the old frames in for a younger model,” he says. He reaches behind his ears and presses on the legs of the glasses, making them move up and down on his face.

These new glasses—they’re thinner, more rounded instead of square. They��re still a bit big for Richie’s face, but in a way that suits his features as opposed to swallowing them. The most drastic change, Eddie thinks, is how much older Richie looks in them. There’s no tape holding them together, and they frame his face in a way that makes his brow look stronger, and his nose a bit thinner. He looks good.

“They’re…cool. I like them,” he chokes out.

And, if all this wasn’t enough kindling for the “torturing Eddie” fire, the first bell rings at this moment, causing Richie to stand from the bench. Eddie catches a good look at what he’s wearing for the first time, and his mouth goes dry. A dark green t-shirt is tucked into a pair of light jeans that sit high on Richie’s waist. The bottoms are cuffed, showing his thin ankles, where a pair of colorful socks peek out of his sneakers. The drastic change from hawaiian shirts and cutoff shorts that fray at the bottom is enough to make Eddie’s knees weak.

Eddie thinks his intention is to ask a question, but when his mouth opens, all that comes out is a choked “clothes?”

Richie looks puzzled for a moment, until he looks down and registers what Eddie is saying.

“Oh! My cousin gave me some of his old clothes he doesn’t wear anymore,” he shrugs. All of the other Losers have left the area, making their way to their first classes, but Eddie stays on the bench for another moment, catching his breath and attempting to collect his thoughts.

Oh my god, he thinks. I was so, so wrong.

He’s not cute.

Eddie doesn’t cry often. You’d think he would—he’s always been kind of sensitive, the kind of boy who doesn’t complain when the class is reading Romeo and Juliet because he secretly really enjoys it. He’s sensitive, but he makes a point of not crying as much as would be expected of him. He’s not weak willed, and he’s not a crybaby. There’s a difference.

But everyone cries sometimes, right?

It was his mom. He came home late from studying with Bev and Sonia got mad. She must have screamed for 20 minutes straight. The loud, shrill tone of her voice combined with the harsh words she was spitting just cut into Eddie like a hot knife—not to mention the mean things she was saying about Bev. When Sonia was done with her attack, and convinced by the look on Eddie’s face that he wouldn’t do such a thing again, she sent him to his room without letting him get a word in. Which was for the best, because no matter how much he wanted to explode at her, and say all the things he’s been wanting to say for years, he knows that if given the chance, he’d freeze. Mouth closed and chest tight, he’d mutter out “I’m sorry, Mommy,” and do as he’s told. He thinks that’s part of why he’s crying.

He can’t be very loud, or his mom will hear, so his face is pressed into a pillow as he sobs. He guesses that this is all the tears he’s held in for however long it’s been, and now that the gates are open it’s hard to stop.

He doesn’t hear the first tap. The second one is a bit louder, enough for the noise to register in his mind but not enough for him to realize someone is trying to get his attention. The third one is a loud rapping, clearly on his window. He snaps his head up to see Richie, leaning his lanky body as far as it will go off of the tree next to his bedroom window. Eddie quickly wipes his face, as if there was any chance in hiding what he was just doing. He scrambles over to the window and opens it.

“What are you doing here?” He asks, his voice thick with tears.

Richie’s brows are furrowed. “Let me in,” he says softly.

Eddie doesn’t have it in him to protest. And besides, the boy is literally about to fall out of the tree. He opens the latch more, to make a space large enough for Richie to fit through without getting squished. He eventually stumbles in, landing on his feet with whatever the opposite of grace is. His eyes are immediately filled with concern.

“What’s wrong, why are you crying?” He asks, putting a hand on Eddie’s arm.

“It was just my mom, it’s whatever,” Eddie sniffs. “Why are you here?”

Richie hesitates. “Bev called. She said you left a binder at her house so she called here and your mom answered…and that someone should check to see if you were okay.”

Eddie cringes. “So my mom yelled at her?” He asks, already knowing the answer.

Richie doesn’t respond, but the silence is answer enough. Eddie feels tears start to burn behind his eyes again, and he squeezes them shut before they can fall. His fists press into the sockets of his eyes, willing himself to not cry in front of Richie. But he takes a deep breath in, and on the exhale, his body lets out a strangled sob against his own will.

He immediately feels Richie’s arms wrap around him, and the light pressure of being pushed towards his bed. As he sits down, he lets himself fall into Richie, shaking and crying as hard as he ever has. The tears are falling freely, now, not being pushed in by his fists or his own mind. And it feels a lot better to cry into Richie’s chest than it did to cry into his pillow. He curls into himself, forming a ball as he’s rocked by the boy holding him. One of Richie’s hands is in his hair, petting his head. The other is rubbing up and down his back in a soothing motion. There’s a quiet whisper, too. In a hushed voice, Richie is repeating himself over and over.

“Shh,” he says. “It’ll be okay. You’re okay.”

Soon after Eddie registers these words, his tears are slowing down. His hands stop shaking as fiercely, and his breathing evens out just a little bit more. Once his state of mind is regained, he can’t help but feel embarrassed.

“I’m sorry,” he says, pulling himself out of Richie’s arms. Richie lets him go, but he keeps a hand on Eddie’s shoulder, rubbing his thumb up and down on the boy’s collarbone absently.

“Don’t be sorry,” he murmurs, keeping his gaze on Eddie’s face even as the other avoids his eye.

Eddie sniffles, but doesn’t say anything else.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Richie probes.

Eddie shrugs. “It’s nothing, I just-“ he cuts himself off as he feels a lump form in his throat once more. “I really hate my mom sometimes.”

Richie nods sympathetically and pulls Eddie into his chest again. He presses his cheek to the top of Eddie’s curls, and for a moment, they just breathe together. After a few minutes of this, Richie breaks the silence.

“Look, Eds, about your mom,” he says, pulling back to look at Eddie’s face.

Eddie exhales sharply through his nose. “I really don’t wanna hear an ‘I fucked your mom’ joke right now, Rich,” he mumbles.

Richie is stunned quiet for just a second. “I wasn’t going to make one.”

Eddie blinks. “Oh.”

“I was just gonna say that I’m sorry, and that she shouldn’t treat you that way. It’s shitty.”

Eddie almost cries again. Not because he’s upset about his mom this time, but because this is Richie. Richie is sitting in front of him, being honest, and genuine, and not making any jokes at Eddie’s expense and holding him when he’s sad and Eddie could just about die. Because god, he likes Richie so, so much. And now, Richie is just staring at him, holding his arm so gently it’s like he thinks he’ll break it if he’s too firm, and Eddie can’t help the words that tumble out of his mouth.

“I wanna show you something,” he says, standing up. He walks across the room, causing Richie to turn his body around completely, facing the chalkboard that had been previously (and conveniently) out of his view.

WHY I don’t like Richie:

1. He’s gross.

2. His jokes.

3. He’s not cute.

4. He doesn’t take anything seriously.

Richie’s eyes scan the words for a few seconds, and he gets up to join Eddie in front of the board.

His expression is unreadable as he stares, and every second that goes by without a word makes Eddie’s heart pound faster and faster.

Richie visibility swallows, and he brings his arms up to cross them in front of his chest.

“Wow, Eds,” he says, a weak smile on his lips. “This is…mean.”

It’s clear that he’s trying to seem unbothered, but it’s also clear that he is very, very bothered. Eddie picks up the piece of chalk underneath it and strikes a line through the last sentence.

He doesn’t take anything seriously.

Richie follows the movement with his eyes. He doesn’t uncross his arms.

“I know,” Eddie says. “I’m sorry.”

Richie just shrugs. “It’s whatever,” he murmurs. “I’m kind of confused. But it’s fine.”

Eddie’s face looks pained, like Richie’s words are physically harmful to him. “I just. I tried so hard to convince myself that I…” He trails off, gesturing vaguely.

“But I was wrong,” he continues, his voice a bit stronger. “That’s why they’re all crossed out. You didn’t even know I made the list but you proved me wrong for every single one.”

Richie’s eyebrows raise minutely, and he uncrosses his arms in exchange for lifting a hand towards the board, in a question.

“Wait, when it says you don’t like me, that means-“

“Yeah,” Eddie cuts him off. “It means.”

Eddie thinks he must look terrified.

Richie turns to make searing eye contact with the boy next to him.

“But…you said you were wrong. So that means-“

“Yeah,” Eddie says, in a bit of a choked laugh. “That means, too.”

The look on Richie’s face is hard to read, but Eddie is hopeful, if only for the fact that Richie is still standing in front of him.

“Eds,” he whimpers. And before Eddie can even think to respond, Richie is pressing forward and closing their mouths together in a kiss. His hands come up to hold Eddie’s cheeks in his palms, and Eddie thinks he might explode.

Under their own volition, Eddie’s arms snake themselves around Richie’s neck, threading his fingers in dark curls as their lips move together. The kiss itself only lasts a few seconds, but when they pull away, Eddie is breathless.

They’re both quiet in the seconds after their lips part, neither knowing quite what to say or how to say it.

But, of course, Richie always knows how to break a silence.

“Would you mind erasing that list?” He says. Eddie laughs, and just nods his head, before untangling his hands from Richie’s hair and moving to grab the rag beside the board. Richie follows him, wrapping his arms around the boy’s waist from behind and resting his chin on his shoulder. He watches as Eddie erases the words on the board, maneuvering the rag around certain areas at the top, so all but 3 words are wiped clean.

        I         like Richie.