#pineapples don't have sleeves

[pdhsofficial]

Welcome to the Broken Hearts Club💔

[thoughtssvt]

orange peeling boyfriends - the orange peel theory

nanami, geto, gojo, fushiguro, itadori

nanami

"i feel like having an orange," you whisper as you clung to his side, fingers raking through his hair.

"would you like me to peel you one, darling?" he turns his complete attention to you, immediately getting up after you nodded. "one or two?" he'd call as he slipped into the kitchen. he'd come back with the orange slices on a small plate, rejoining you on the couch, arm thrown over your shoulders. "they're sweet today," he'd say after swallowing, always testing the fruit so you'd never taste a note of sour, bringing the half bitten slice to your lips for you to try. he'd continue to feed you once you nodded in approval of the citrus.

geto

"i feel like having an orange, would you like one, love?" he'd turn to you, subconsciously patting his belly, the wide sleeves of his kimono providing a chilly wind. "but we did get a good bunch of fruit yesterday... perhaps you'd like a fruit bowl?" he hummed thoughtfully, the side of his index finger scratching his chin. "that's what i'll do, then." he'd decided, patting your knee before he heaved himself off the couch. after a few moments a mixture of sweet fragrances filled the air and not long after that did he reappear with an appetizing arrangement of cut and peeled fruit.

gojo

"i feel like an orange..." you'd say out of nowhere, the two of you sharing the bed as you silently scrolled on your phones.

"...i feel like a pineapple... do you think i should change my hairstyle when i have my blindfold on?" he whispered back thoughtfully, pout moving in every direction as he considered the conversation only for you to fall into a fit of giggles.

"no, no, i want an orange. i just don't want to peel it." you cackle.

"ohhh, gotcha, gotcha. coming right up, babe," he'd slip out of bed, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he retrieved some oranges.

fushiguro

he made it a habit to peel you an orange whenever he went to get himself one. it was like clockwork especially in the winter time. in between breakfast and lunch, lunch and dinner. he'd silently disappear when you two were together, you wouldn't even notice until a small plate would appear in front of you, each slice already separated for you. all throughout the seasom the smell of citrus would linger on his finger tips, the skin a light stain of orange, but it was worth it if he could help prevent you from becoming sick.

itadori

"i really want an orange :(" you texted him while you and the group were out, wanting a little sweetness after a shared meal, the dessert stalls not really catching your attention. you didn't notice when he'd slipped away until he was face to face with you, a bag of oranges hanging from his elbow as he intricately peeled an orange, the skin coming off in one spiraling piece.

"one orange for my love," he said cheerfully as he ripped the citrus in half before handing it to you. "let me know if you want another. the auntie at the stall told me i picked the sweetest ones," he hummed gleefully.

A/N : this was really fun and super cute T^T if there are any other characters you'd like to see please let me know ^-^

j‹𝟹

jjk men x reader masterlist

oranges divider by firefly-graphics

orange line divider by hitobaby

[s3thwrit3sstuff]

*pulls the 45 cents I have to my name out of my pocket and drops them on your table*

I can't believe my name will be forever attached to this but one (1) Kenjaku solo session with Heianera!YN portrait, please

❝ life and death will always lead to love and regret (but you have the answers, and I have the key) ❞

Kenjaku x Heain Era!ftm!reader [one-sided] | Heian Era!ftm!reader x Sukuna Ryomen | r! is a curse-user & sukuna ryomen's concubine, NSFW | sub. bottom. reader (AFAB) | NOT PROOFREAD | wc: 4.1K

warnings: creepy/stalker behaviour, Kenjaku is a 'passive'-yandere (in the sense that Sukuna would and will kill him if he tried anything), manipulative behaviour, gore (detailed), Kenjaku jerking off in front of a portrait of r!, very unrequited

authors note: don't be ashamed, Gabriel. I got way too excited writing this and I think that speaks volumes on how I need to get checked, LMAO. On another note - yes, my YN's will always have a harem of men in the JJK-verse because that's what YN (and you, my dear reader) deserve!

I wrote this partially on my phone so bear with me guys...

*song on repeat: Bernadette by IAMX & Rule #34 by Fish in a Birdcage. * YN is described as having long hair because of the heian beauty standard (hair colour and texture not mentioned).

People often compared the years they lived as sand. The hourglass holding it is comparable to the human body. He often thought that metaphor was weak. People — humans — were not hourglasses and their years were not sand. No, no. That’s far too neat for humans.

Humans are messy. They are loud, and chaotic, they defy nature's rules and destroy her for the sake of progress. They had no balance, their compass broke when the synapses in their brains sparked conscious thought.

In that chaos, humans made curses. Or, well, you could argue it who came first but without humans and their silly consciousness — cursed spirits wouldn’t thrive.

People are flesh left under the sun. With their blood drying out, flies and maggots eagerly feast on what they can while the meat greys and rots. That’s a much more appropriate metaphor for a human life. If anything, the hourglass comparison should be used for himself. Constantly turning it over to keep going; uncaring of what kept the sands in confinement so long as it could continue its path.

Down, almost empty, flip, repeat.

Kenjaku had perfected his cursed techniques. He had earned this, he had earned his right to let his curiosities run rampant. He had earned the right to be in the presence of Sukuna Ryomen and you.

“Yuuji, you still owe me for eating my yoghurt from the fridge. It was expensive and it took so long for me to find it!” Nobara huffed. “You might as well just buy some for yourself. I’m labelling my food now.”

Megumi glanced over his shoulder at the lack of reply from the pink-haired boy. Nobara stopping next to him with her brows furrowed, sighing as she looks around for him.

“...I was just talking to myself? Seriously?” she grumbled. Megumi adjusts his grip on the bags. The grocery trips were a good team-building exercise according to Yuuji, a way to get to know each other better. Megumi and Nobara agreed after a particularly harsh mission that aimed directly at their novice team fighting experience.

So far, the results that were yielded from it were found that Nobara had an aversion to pineapples, Megumi had expensive tastes, and Yuuji was very good at budgeting money.

“No, he was right beside you a few minutes ago,” Megumi reached for his phone. Nobara placed her hands on her hips, tilting her head as she continued to scan the crowd.

A gaggle of businessmen came out from the underground train station and between the crowd of slicked-back hair, desperate combovers, and sweaty bald heads, she spotted him.

Tugging on Megumi’s sleeve, she pointed to him. Yuuji was standing and staring up at some sort of vertical banner. As they both approached, they shared a glance.

“Oi, Itadori,” Nobara placed a hand on his shoulder. Smacked it really. He didn’t budge. There was a dullness to his eyes that unnerved her enough to remove her hand. Megumi tightened his grip on his phone as he called out to him again. She took a look at the banner and her brows furrowed.

It was promoting an opening of someone’s private gallery. Some rich kid’s great-great-grandfather’s collection. The painting they used was of a true beauty. A man with long hair, dressed in the finest robes with a serene barely-there smile. It looked to be more European in nature, the art reminding her of the portraits of giant frilly dresses and puffy shoulder sleeves despite the obviously Japanese clothing, accessory, and manner in which the subject was regaled in the painting.

The banner must have costed a pretty penny considering how much detail they could see. Megumi could practically feel the raised textures the artist had used to mimic the pattern of the traditional robe the man wore. The flow of his hair, the texture and pattern it had; and his lashes were surely not that long in reality.

Megumi tore his gaze to Yuuji.

It was like he was in a trance. His mouth was slightly ajar, his brows furrowed and his hands shaking as his knuckles turned white.

“Itadori?”

Yuuji had long forgotten this. This ache in his chest that he sometimes woke up with. When he reaches for the empty space next to him and finds no one. Those moments in the basement when he watches a historical movie and his chest tightens as the nobles courted one another.

“Do you know the painter or something?” Nobara asks.

No, he wants to say. Not the painter. If he knew who it was that did this portrait, he’d tear their heads off their body. But the man? He knew him.

That hellish grin, that perfect face and most importantly those nightmarish eyes.

You’ve seen dolls, right? Those porcelain ones specifically. The craftsmen who make them, the expensive ones with real human hair. To be left on shelves instead of being played with. They would draw these white dots on the eyes, varnish them even, so their eyes would reflect back. A mimicry of humans, that’s what dolls are. But even then, their eyes still twinkled. Not this man. No. It was devoid of light. Pools of (eye colour) and nothing more. These eyes would swallow up any trace of light and diminish the stars from the sky with just a glance.

Yuuji knew him. His soul knew him. His hand clutches over his heart and his friends watch this with trepidation.

It’s been 2,000 years. Sukuna was no longer human and therefore his memory was not as fickle. He still remembers those moments before dawn; the sight of your bare torso breathing softly as you rested next to him. The sun filtering through the windows and making you appear even more ethereal and deadly. How your brows would pinch seconds before you woke. Those soulless eyes that shot through his very soul.

Sukuna could recognize you even if he was blind. He’d be able to hear you just by feeling your chest rumble. If he had to eat one thing for the rest of his life, your body and flesh would sustain him.

In his Malovent Shrine, whilst he sat on his throne, he’d summon his flames in his palm. There he’d watch as your figure danced across his hand. You’d twirl between his digits, a smile across your face as he watches the imitation of you.

It used to be enough. Lately, the action brings him more contempt then fondness. The flames never quite catch your shape anymore. Constantly shifting. That coyness is gone, mini-you petulantly staying hidden behind his fingers. So he snuffs you out in his fists.

He hates you for making him miss you. A King should not be missing anyone or anything. Yet, as his vessel stands here, Sukuna teeters on the edge of breaking the Unbreakable Vow he’d made with the brat just to gaze upon you.

The painter got your resemblance and it was agony for him.

How could he continue to be without you when he’s seen you again? Days ago, he wanted to kill you for making him delirious and now he wants you back in his arms.

“Itadori.” Megumi’s tone is firmer. Nobara smacks his shoulder again and Yuuji jolts forward, nearly falling until his rigid legs quickly come back to life.

“Huh?”

“Are you alright?” Megumi asks, his thumb hovering over the DIAL button of Gojo Satoru’s number. Yuuji glances at his wrinkled shirt and releases it, confusion painted across his face at the fading pain across his chest.

“I...yeah, yeah. I'm okay. I have no idea what that was....”

Rich bodies made life significantly easier.

What was that saying humans used?

Money can’t buy happiness?

Kenjaku chuckles at the thought. Foolish and vain — typical of humans. Clinging onto whatever they can to convince their egos they’re better than most when they’ll all meet the same fate. Kenjaku forgets the exact point where he stopped seeing himself as one of them, but he’s sure anyone would if you’ve lived as long as him. Apathy. Most call it a disease of selfishness. Kenjaku simply thinks they’re lying to themselves.

“Mr Geto?” the gallery was a lucrative endeavour. A piece in his grand scheme that required little effort but great rewards. More personal gain on his end.

“Mr Hajimoto mentioned you specifically in his will. The private room is all yours. Thank you so much for your donation to this fine institution of arts.” Kenjaku offers the man a polite smile and nod. The awkward silence prompts them to open the large doors and Kenjaku is greeted by you.

(Y/N) (L/N). In all your glory. In his favourite colours and his favourite kanza. The bespoke lighting on your portrait makes his hands fall limply to his side. You were a brushstroke away from taking a breath. The colours used to recreate that undertone your skin had, the delicate curves of your lashes and the plumpness of your lip.

The two guards in the corner of the room are a nuisance. But with a simple twirl of his right hand, the Slit-Mouthed Woman makes quick work of them. This curse technique was truly convenient, the mess she made cleaned up by a different curse who laps at the blood with vigor. The noises are all muffled as he admires those vicious eyes.

Just saying your name makes warmth travel down between his legs.

“I’ve almost forgotten how you look like.”

Silence ticks by for a minute.

Then Kenjaku bursts into laughter. Clutching his stomach and covering his mouth as he does. He can still smell your blood. Even if Suguru’s body had never had the pleasure of touching you — Kenjaku remembers it.

The way it flowed out of you like silk ribbons. Warm and wet and virile.

“You are an unusual sorcerer,” those were the first words you said to him. He knows you meant that in a derisive fashion — the curl of your nose was a clear indicator. But that was the day a feverish need was planted inside of his very soul.

You. You. You.

The shape of your face.

The cadence of your voice.

The way the wind carried your scent to his nose.

The sound of your cat-like foot-steps.

The effortless way you carried yourself despite the heavy robes that a revered concubine of your rank would wear, along with the golden hair accessories that would probably break a lesser man's neck.

It didn't stop there either.

Your brain, the wickedness that ran through your very veins and that fire that burns within you. Kenjaku wanted to be inside of you in every he could fathom. To sit within that perfectly shaped skull, to thread his fingers between the locks of your hair and take a scalpel to that skin he so craves to taste. Or perhaps inside in the traditional sense, between your legs, embraced by your warm insides and your deadly arms.

Kenjaku ponders on the time he has. He decides that he should indulge in you. He undoes the robes this body wore and sighs as it reveals the torso. Bodies were all the same but he does appreciate the care Geto Suguru took into his temple — there was no need for shame when he's already desecrated this corpse so viscerally already. His hands travel down his torso and that pronounce v-line and past the patch of wiry pubic hair.

You make him feel young again. Reckless and stubborn. Your eyes watch him as he leisurely spits into his palm and strokes it over the tip.

Evil is such a lame word. So primitive in its nature, another one of human's attempts at letting go of responsibility. If something or someone were evil, they were inherently irredeemable. Humans used to call snakes evil simply for doing what a snake would do when hungry, instead of realising they shouldn't have left the door to their huts opened and their sleeping brat asleep.

Was something evil when it simply did what it was meant to do?

They were simply following natures course.

This act Kenjaku is doing now, is not perverted or evil, he is simply being. Simply living, existing, relishing.

If anything, you were the undoing. The evil. You've made, and continue to make, him lose crave and hunger. You were so cruel, so ethereal — so evil.

Kenjaku groaned your name, walking backwards and dropping onto the low seat the gallery provided. His legs spread and he hung his head down but his eyes remained affixed to your painting.

"He sounds beautiful, Mr Hajimoto," the blonde painter had told him once or twice or thrice. Young but talented, the way he used his brushes on canvas was so impressive and Kenjaku missed you so much (Y/N). He simply had to spread the wickedness of your beauty, immortalize it forever within canvases and lesser non-sorcerers minds.

"Did you know him?" his accent was clunky, the Japanese language tumbling on its delicate legs following the rhythm of the painters voice. Still, he — Mr Hajimoto, Kenjaku — gave him a gentle grin.

"Very well. He was my lover."

The small notebook the painter had written your features down in, it was displayed in this very room as well. In a glass casing, handled with gloves to ensure pesky skin oils wouldn't deteriorate his inked strokes.

Speaking of strokes, Kenjaku's was beginning to pick up it's pace. His smile now looser, like an animal that caught the scent of blood, his tongue curled over his teeth as he imagined the disgust on your face. You'd probably cover your nose with the sleeve of your robe and the thought makes his cock jump; you were wearing his favourite colours and it made him moan.

The notebook was filled with sketches of you. Kenjaku recalls correcting the human, correcting him when he disrupted the harmony of your anatomy. You were the humans muse for years, (Y/N). Even as he neared his death bed, the blonde artist kept drawing you. Sketches lose, your shape less tangible, but hauntingly beautiful. Like your dark flames flowing in the wind. Even as his memories of his life escapes him, the artist remembered you. What a blessing. Kenjaku had visited him before he died and whispered your name into the old man's ear.

Sorcerer Society keeps your name hidden. It's their way of control. Making Sukuna Ryomen more monstrous by telling others he ruled coldly and cruelly alone; death was not as harsh as being erased. They say Sukuna needed 20 of his fingers and his mummified heart to be revived. That's what those poems talked about after all.

A misunderstanding.

The heart was Sukuna's, yes.

But it wouldn't revive him.

"You were so angry," he chuckled out, "so defiant even when I was inside of you."

The sky was blood red, the black smoke making the colour more saturated as it seemed intent on blotting out the sun. Uraume had felt a sudden chill, you did too, and they swiftly rose as the scent of deceit was so thick in the air.

“Uraume,” your voice remained nonchalant. But there was a tenseness in your throat that even they could decipher through the layers of regality. They turned, mouth pressed into a thin line as they went on their knees.

You continued to stare, impassively looking down at the patterned swirl of their snow-white hair. The red and black sky turning the colour of your eyes a pleasantly mournful shade; the golden kanza in your hair that your Lord Sukuna himself had commissioned for you glimmered righteously. The teeth of a beast, the curling of centipede legs, and the melded wings of a raven. It was beautiful just as much as it was unusual.

“You leave your Lord’s prized possession to fend for himself?”

Uraume lips reveal a modest amount of teeth. Their face like a porcelain doll as they raise their head. It makes your heart flutter and squeeze.

“You are stronger than these worms, they wouldn’t dare attack you.”

This is true. A fact. You were strong. 100 sorcerers or 1, 000 sorcerers — it made no difference to you. They’d turn into dust and wither right before you. But it shocks Uraume when you place your palm against their jaw, thumb stroking over their cheekbone as you gaze down at them.

“How horrid it is, making me defend myself.”

They see your eyes soften. It was no wonder you were Lord Sukuna’s concubine. Just being touched by you, looked down upon by you; it makes their spine melt.

“I should have your head for your insolence.”

Uraume apologizes, lips stilling when your thumb presses down on them.

“Return to me. Whole. My Lord Husband and I will not be pleased if you do not. We don’t want weaklings to stand behind us.”

Uraume bows, their lips kissing your knuckles as they do before they raise and disappear from your sight. The screams of terror that are heard outside at the sight of them make you slip your eyes close.

Kenjaku appeared before you what felt like hours later. He looks at the scene with a raise of his brow. Your feet were soaked in blood as bodies were strewn across the wide room. The floor was shimmering, looking as though it was breathing as it creaked from his weight. The clothes the bodies wore painted a clear enough picture — they were your servants. Loyalties were swayed as the fight prolonged. These little ants thought they could save themselves from punishment if they showed these righteous sorcerers your head.

He couldn’t smell smoke and there were no signs of charring. The bodies were mangled beyond belief, guts spilling out, eyes gouged, arms bent unnaturally.

Yet, in the gore and horror, you stood across from him with only your feet stained by traitorous blood.

You were a vision. Delicately wiping away blood from the tiger claw kanza with the sleeve of a dead servant. Then, he watches as you carefully put it back in place atop your hair.

“Kenjaku.”

He bows his head, bending at his waist, then lifts himself up again.

“The Kamo clan, your clan, joined this rebellion. I feel that should be a good enough reason to kill you.” The fire in your eyes makes his heart race. He moves forward, casually stepping over a torn torso.

“That would be unwise,” he gives you a grin. This body of his is new. The stitches are still fresh and red. Most likely a desperate attempt of his to hide away while they destroyed his old body. The corpse is younger, and more plain-looking. Despite it’s Curse Technique being a mystery, you’ll take your chances at strangling him.

“I’ve come at the behest of your Lord Husband. To ensure your longevity.”

Your brows pinch. Kenjaku delights at the creases it creates, tucking away this sight into his memories for lonely nights. Then, you scowl.

“You lie.”

His giddiness is palpable. The wide grin on the corpse’s face is clearly not his own; cheeks lifted too high and smile too large and unnatural. Kenjaku must’ve been a truly ugly man with a truly ugly grin. The body struggles to adjust to this display of amusement.

“I’m not.”

He takes a step forward and you lift your hand. The standstill would’ve lasted longer if it weren’t for the yells and thunderous footsteps clambering up to your room.

“You lie!”

Dark flames roared out from the windows. The heat so smoldering it causes a burst of hot air to knock back the men on the stairs, burning their skin and face. The blood on the floor boils, the iron scent now more acidic as the once fleshy bodies now crumble into dust.

You feel his breathe against the nape of your neck. As you turn, he wrings his arms around you like a snake. One across your stomach, the other around your shoulder. That horrible smile is pressed against your skin.

“Kenjaku,” you growl through gritted teeth.

“That’s right. Say my name.”

Fighting feels a lot like sex.

Kenjaku can feel your passion behind every strike, the bruises you leave behind on his skin are akin to hickeys. When you yell out and scream, cheeks so hot he can feel the rush of blood to your face just from looking — the rapid pulse you have and the way your face is contorted.

Kenjaku pins you down. Your legs are thrown over his own while you gnash your teeth at him and spit insults his way. Your hair was so beautiful, thrown back around your head like a lion’s mane. He slides your wrists above your head and holds them with one hand while the other undoes the meticulous array of folds your kimono had.

Sweat drips down his nose. It’s all your fault. Using your Curse Technique in this room, charring the wood and setting it all aflame. Still, he could work in this conditions.

“Ah,” he moans at the sight of your bare skin. Watching the rise and fall of your chest, licking his lips as he places a hand over your heart.

When you kick at his stomach, he acts like he cannot feel it. When you kick again, this time hard enough for a loud crack to be heard, he looks at you.

“If you kill me, you will break the Binding Vow you and Ryomen had made with me.”

He feels your feet dig into his rib, the spiderwebs of cracks spreading further. He allows this with a pleased hum. Your ragged breathing all at once calms and with a blink, your eyes lose that unbridled fury.

“You dare say my Lord’s name so casually?”

Kenjaku laughs. As he leans down, he presses his forehead to yours. Your nose curls in disgust but you keep your lips pursed. The feeling of his sweat sliding down the sides of your forehead and dipping to travel the side of your nose; threatening to get into your eyes as it slips just beneath it.

“Forgive me, venerable concubine.” Kenjaku does not mean this. When he presses his fingers together and imbues his hand with Curse Energy. He enjoys it.

Slicing through your skin at a pace that made the cut more ghastly then it would be if it was done quickly. You remained stone-faced while Kenjaku chewed on his lower lip, every twitch or squint just fueling his hunger.

He is past your skin and now he sees the yellow, when he twists his wrist you grunt as he slices through the threads of muscles. He spreads his fingers and your teeth part as you let out a strained yell.

"You can be louder if you want," his lips brush against your cheek every time he speaks.

"When I return, I'll take pleasure in ripping your head off your body."

"Threatening me?"

He reaches bone. His finger scratching against it before he peels away and settles between your legs. Your hands aren't pinned but you do nothing but curl your fingers into fists as he shoves another hand into your chest. The squelching and pulsing of your flesh, the bursts of blood from your throbbing veins and pumping heart. The wetness and warmth of your insides. He can feel your body clenching around him, and he convinces himself its because you truly enjoy this depravity just as he does.

The size of his hands in your chest is unbearably uncomfortable. Invading you, filling you when you want nothing more than to burn him, as he moves his digits and wrists within you.

He grasps onto your bones and breaks it under the pressure of his wrist. Your blood is spraying him, staining his clothes.

"Your blood looks like ribbons," he whispers to you, "even your insides are like works of art."

You want this to be over with already.

Your arms move down, eyes still set in a glare. You slip your fingers under the soaked clothing and spread it apart further to reveal more of your skin. Shimmying your shoulders so your torso is now bare of any clothing.

The tent between his legs pressed into your crotch. It's hard to ignore, but you push through and grasp onto his elbow and force him to go in deeper.

"Promising you."

Kenjaku's elbow straightens sharply and he moans as he feels your heart beating in his palm. He pulls it out of your body, panting as your eyes slip close and your heart slows. Beating slowly...slowly...slowly...

Kenjaku moans at the memory of your heart in his hands. Your warm blood coating his skin, drying under his nails and crackling in the creases of his joints.

"I wanted to keep you on me forever," he grunts out as his pace gets faster. "The smell of you, of your flesh."

"I didn't need your body, but it was too beautiful not to be admired."

Kenjaku throws his head back, placing his palm across his nose and lips as he sifts through his memories so he can conjure it all over again.

The painting watches on impassively. The croons and purrs of Geto Suguru's cursed spirits echo faintly in Kenjaku's ears while his hips thrusts into his own fist. It's desperate. He usually isn't like this. Even when he was creating the Death Womb Paintings — even when his plans are so close to coming into fruition.

You make him like this. Make him lose control, every thought poisoned with you even when you're nothing more than a mummified heart hidden so desperately away by Sorcerer Society.

"I've gotten a lead," Uraume had informed him just a few days ago. "They've hidden him in the ocean in an underwater research facility."

"Underwater, hah, they think it'll keep your flames contained. Keep your loyal servant away as if the depths of the ocean is enough to scare them, us — Oh, (Y/N)."

His fist stops and Kenjaku stands, removing his clothing fully as he places a hand against the wall of the gallery. The textured wall, the grooves, give way to his nails as he digs them in. He stares into your eyes, imagining the crease of your furrowed brow and Kenjaku groans out your name as he cums all over the wall.

"...Oh, I can't wait to see you again, venerable concubine."

[luveline]

Hiiii, Jade <3 How are you? Could you please write a single dad!au for Spencer? Pretty please, with a cherry on top :*

hi! I'm okay thanks so much, and ty for your request! I hope you like it ♥︎ single!dad spencer x fem!bau!reader

Amanda is, as you'd expect, a very small version of her father but without the photographic memory. She is a happy, lovely, caring sweetheart of a child, and everytime you see her, you think you might like to marry her dad. 

There's something to be said for the heart of a parent. You look at Amanda and it amplifies every bit of Spencer's goodness, especially now when she's napping in Spencer's lap at his desk in the bullpen, completely at ease. He has one hand behind her back and the other stretched over to his desk.

"You know," Emily whispers, leaning against your desk with two hot cups of coffee, "he told me why he named her Amanda. It might kill you." 

You take one of the coffees. "Thank you… Do I wanna know?" 

Your crush on Spencer is common knowledge for everybody except him: he's a genius in everything beside social relationships. 

"Amanda," Emily says quietly, "I don't remember the Latin word he definitely told us it's derived from, but I do remember what it meant. 'To be loved,' and 'Worthy, of love.'" She raises her eyebrows at you. "He said he wanted there to be no mistake. That she was loved from the beginning, and she always will be." 

"Oh no," you say. 

"Yeah." 

"Are you kidding?" you ask. 

Emily laughs as you cover your face with both hands, long sleeves pulled over your fingers. You hide away from the world and Spencer and his tiny pretty daughter and pray you'll be swallowed up by your uncomfortable chair. 

"You'll be okay," Emily says. "Drink your coffee. Only six hours 'til we get to go home." 

"I don't even really want coffee," you mumble, lips against the rim of your cup. 

She pats your shoulder. You return to your work but absolutely can't focus. Ever since you started your job here at the bureau you've had the world's worst, most ridiculous crush on Spencer. There are a myriad of reasons why but the most important is that he talks to you. Everyday, all the time, he talks about things you'd never even heard of before, and he talks about the weather. He knows more about you than most people know and he shows it so subtly. 

He links trade routes back to your favourite treats, because this boat got stuck in this place so there's going to be a short supply but he knows where you can get some and he can get them for you the next time he goes. He read this book lately by an author you'd definitely hate, but she talked about a different article Spencer thinks you'd love, so he forwarded it to your email last night. He and Amanda went to Niagara Falls last weekend — here's a mug with a rainbow waterfall on the side because he noticed your old coffee mug has a chip in the lip. 

You scratch down a phone number wrong three times in a row and feel your eyes closing of their own accord. He makes it hard to think. 

"Hi, Miss Y/N." 

You look up from your things to find Amanda waiting still as a post by your chair. 

"Hi, beautiful," you say. You look over her shoulder for Spencer and find nothing but files and computers and the click-click-clicking of twenty computers. "Dad's in the bathroom, huh?" 

"Mm-hm." 

"You want me to drag his chair for you?" 

She shakes her head and rushes back to Spencer's chair, pulling it with her back to your desk. She struggles up into the chair and you pull her in, her shiny black shoes rubbing against your knee. 

"Sorry," she says. 

"No, that's okay, you don't have anything to be sorry for. These are nice shoes, baby, I think your dad's been spoiling you again." 

"He says they make me walk faster," she tells you, "'cos they have ergo-domic shapes." 

"Oh wow! You look amazing, you always dress so smart." You smile at her gently. "You want some dried fruit? I have mango, pineapple and apricot. Or I have a normal orange with all the juice," you offer. 

She nods. You have no clue what she's nodding for so you give her the dried fruits and the orange and smile to yourself when she says a breathy thank you. She can eat all your snacks. You'd offer your moon cake if you weren't worried about her being allowed. Fruit is a safe bet. 

She sits happily eating fruit for a while. You try to poke some light conversation out of her, how's school and how's their pet fish Mr. Banana, and is it fun to be at work with dad today? 

"Hi." 

You bite your own tongue. Amanda doesn't acknowledge her father beyond her head dipping back in wait of his hand. Sure enough, he reaches over the back of the chair and strokes her baby blonde curls, brown towards the ends. You imagine they'll be the same warm brown as his when she's older. 

"Hey, Spencer," you say, crossing your hands over your tummy. 

"Is everything okay?" 

"Yeah. Why wouldn't it be?" 

You're lying. He's a profiler. You both know both of those facts. 

He squints at you playfully. "You should tell me if something's wrong." 

"Dad," Amanda interrupts, "we have to… have to give people space." She offers him the dried fruit bag. "To tell us in their own time." 

Despite the clumsy, adorable way that she says it, she has a point. Spencer bites back a smile, properly chastised, and takes the bag. 

"What is this?" he asks. 

"Sorry," you jump in, "I should've asked you first, I just didn't," —you lower your voice— "really know what to do. I'm not bad with kids. I'm, uh, not good with them, either, maybe." 

"You're great with kids," he says. "Having a baby is complicated, but taking care of them once they get to Manda's age is easier. She just needs love and patience and regular feeding. You're one of the most loving people I know, and your patience is appropriate. And, you know." He passes back your bag of dried fruit. "You always have snacks in your desk." 

His easy compliments warm your face. You cover your cheeks with your sleeves.

"Dad, you made her happy," Amanda says, pleased. 

Spencer laughs and the sound lights you up from the inside out, reaching over the chair to lift Amanda into his arms. He pushes his hand into the small of her back and straightens out the skirt of her red dress. If you'd been paying attention, you'd notice the slight pink tint of a blush working over his ears and cheeks. 

"Aw, Mands," he murmurs, "we really have to work on your context clues." 

[amywritesthings]

I love the Hallo-sleepover idea! Can I request "my friend abandoned me at this halloween party and I don't know anyone. But you look as miserable as I feel" at a bonfire with Levi (:

hallo-sleepover '24!

of course!! this was the most requested prompt in 5 separate asks, so of course i wanted to present you a little levi on halloween day. xo hope you enjoy!

homemade.

pairing: levi ackerman x reader word count: 1.2k tags: modern au, adult language, halloween parties, first meet, levi ackerman as ghostface, reader as bride of frankenstein, mention of annie as your friend credit: dividers by @saradika-graphics

read on ao3.

Everyone’s too loud. The Halloween music keeps repeating.

Not even swirling the bright orange plastic cup in your hand can salvage the separation of pineapple and white rum.

At least the warm crackle of the open fire pit in the backyard feels nice.

You’re not sure why you agreed to come to this Halloween party with Annie — you knew she was going to see one solo cup and run for the pong table to demolish the competition — but you’d worked tirelessly on your costume this year.

Not that you had anywhere to go to show it off — cons got too expensive this year, work days blurred into nights, and before you knew it the date of October 31 was sitting impatiently on your doorstep. 

Waiting on your front porch handing out candy to little ones wasn’t a bad idea.

Trick or Treaters are cute.

(Except you can’t imagine any of the kiddos willingly taking a Snickers bar from the hands of a screen-accurate rendition of the Bride of Frankenstein.)

So you'd get dressed up, fill a pumpkin bucket, and hang out for the night, right?

Wrong.

That plan wasn’t acceptable to your friend, Annie Leonhart.

The moment she arrived at your doorstep in full costume, Annie acted as if staying home was a cardinal sin.

“You didn’t have a plan for this?” Annie asked incredulously. “Are you joking, dude? Come on. This costume is sick.”

Before you stood an elaborate (see: terrifying) rendition of Lady Death: Annie’s blue eyes were sunken in by copious black eyeshadow, her lips cut into the illusion of teeth under a terrifying black veil obscuring most of her face. On her body was what looked to be a dyed thrift store wedding dress, dark as the night sky above.

She gestures to your wrapped mummified dress and large cylindrical white-and-gray wig — all hand-sewn, all homemade — with equally blackened fingertips, gooey with fake blood.

“What?” you murmur, looking down at your dress like something has gone astray.

“What?!” she repeats with a snort. “Oh, no. You’re not wasting this on sitting on a porch. C’mon, we’re going to Reiner’s thing.”

“Annie,” you groan, giving her a pleading look. “You know I hate parties.”

“Yeah? And I hate idiots who waste good costumes,” she retorts, grabbing your hand with hers to fly into your house. “What do you need? Grab your keys and phone, we’re going.”

(Yeah, you’re used to her bulldozing by now.)

It’s what brought you here — stuck at a bonfire, waiting for an appropriate time to ditch and call a Lyft back to your house.

Annie’s no doubt in the semifinals of the competition, so you can’t imagine you’ll see her for the rest of the night.

It’s fine.

It’s fine, you’ll just wait another ten and—

A flash of black clothes shuffles past you to flop unceremoniously into a lawn chair. With a grunt, their legs extend towards the bonfire, the tip of their boots tapping the brick surrounding the pit. 

Slumping into the chair, you recognize the costume right away: it isn’t a traditional Ghostface given the dark denim jeans and the black henley shirt with rolled-up sleeves, but the elongated white and black ghoulish mask is unmistakable.

Unable to help yourself, you watch as the fire illuminates the veins in their forearms. His gloved hand palms the entire mask and rips it off of his face, causing your whole body to have a hot flash.

Oh.

Oh, no.

The Ghostface at the party is hot.

Immediately his bluish-gray eyes find you when he sits back in his chair once more. The black fringe of his hair clings to his forehead like the mask had been suffocating him to a sweat, complimenting his high cheekbones. 

Lips parted, you note the way he gives your costume a once over before speaking in the most rumbled, honey silk voice.

“Bride of Frank, right?”

Blinking twice, you continue to stare. When a few beats of silence pass, the stranger’s chin drops closer to his chest, brow expectant with an arch.

“You’re looking at me like I missed a reboot this year.”

Wait.

He’s talking to you.

Clearing your throat, you sit up taller and absently reach for your tall wig to make sure it’s in place. 

“No, you’re right. The Bride from the 1935 film.” 

You try to smile, though it gets lost somewhere in your anxiety. 

“And you’re Ghostface, right? From the movie Scream?”

The stranger nods. 

“Sort of. Found a mask half-off at the store, but I wasn’t wearing a damn nightgown.”

“The black clothes still fit the look,” you try to reassure, and he snorts.

“You’re far more forgiving than the Michael Myers I came here with,” he states, “but that friend abandoned my ass at this Halloween party, and I don’t know anyone else here, so.”

Crossing his legs by the ankles and his arms over his chest, he continues to observe your costume. From the flicker of the fire, his expression almost seems appreciative of your work.

“You did a damn good job,” he adds, “which is a shame, because you look as miserable as I feel.”

The surprise praise causes your face to heat up.

“I wouldn’t say miserable.”

“Bored?”

“Oh, definitely bored.”

He snorts. “Yeah, me too. I hate this shit.”

“Parties?”

“Halloween parties,” the stranger clarifies. “If everyone showed up to this shit dressed as elaborately as you, then I’d probably eat my own words.” He tosses a thumb back to the house. “I can’t tell you how many goddamn half-baked Jokers there are in that house.”

Somewhere in the midst of his rant is another compliment.

Toying with one of the ends of the mummified dress you wear, you find yourself shrugging a shoulder. “Not everyone has busybody time like me to make a costume, to be fair.”

“Wait.” He sits up more, sitting the Ghostface mask on his lap. “You made that?”

When you nod, you feel your body match the bonfire’s temperature. Annie gave you compliments by the plenty, but that was Annie. Everyone else at this party had been too busy getting drunk or too occupied to notice.

But he did.

“How’d you do it?” he asks with what seems to be genuine curiosity, though you wave it off.

“It’s boring.”

“Doubt it.”

“No, it really is,” you state, but the stranger leans closer with intrigue. You can’t move away, too mesmerized by how damn gorgeous he is. “And knowing me, I could ramble on for hours, so—”

“Hey, I have time.”

The man clears his throat and holds up the Ghostface mask as if it’ll somehow convince you.

“Might as well make the most of this damn thing while we’re stuck here, right? If anything, you’d be saving me from another goddamn Scary Movie reference inside, so you're doing me a favor by rambling for hours.”

The mention brings a slow and relaxed smile to your lips.

Right.

The ye ol’ wasssssaaaaaap to anyone with a Ghostface mask.

“Fine,” you relent, and you swear your mind is playing tricks on you when it sees a half-smile form on his own face, but the fire swipes it away just as fast. “But at least tell me your name — unless you want me to call you Ghostface.”

The man shakes his head, the fringe of his black hair following with him.

“Levi,” he introduces, softer this time. “Just call me Levi.”

[deputyrook]

Prompt Fill- Lucanis/Rook, Fluff Drabble⭐

Word count: 622

---

With a metal spoon, Rook scraped across the bottom of the skillet as she attempted to stir their dinner. Something had gone horribly wrong. The food was quickly solidifying into a layer of crust, and panic was beginning to set in, especially when she thought of the incredible Arroz Con Pollo Lucanis had made the night before.

Why had she tried to impress him, picking a recipe she'd only made a few times before? This was no doubt going to have the opposite effect. He was going to think she was a moron.

"This is so fucked," Rook whispered, with mounting dread. The bubbling sauce was beginning to look more like hot tar than anything edible.

As is sensing the violence being done in the kitchen, Lucanis' head popped out of the pantry door to stare at her in horror.

"Are you using metal utensils on our only good skillet?" Lucanis asked, sounding physically wounded.

"Uhm," Rook replied with a wince, "Well, I'm not sure the wooden utensils would have been able to...make a dent in this."

Lucanis' eyes widened. He made his way across the dining room faster than Rook had thought possible, stopping dead in his tracks a few feet away from the stove. He stared at the monstrosity in the pan, and then at Rook.

"What... are you making?" He asked, voice tight, as though afraid of the answer.

"It was supposed to be pineapple, chicken and rice. But something went wrong with the sauce- maybe it was because we didn't have cornstarch, so I substituted in flour. But I think I used too much, because it's so thick it's becoming, like, some kind of quiche," As Rook rambled, Lucanis approached cautiously, to stand beside her and look upon the nightmare she'd created.

"Mierda, there's chicken in there?"

Rook smacked him lightly on the shoulder, turning off the burner. Taking the food (?) off the heat, and pinching the bridge of her nose, she sighed, avoiding Lucanis' eyes.

"Maybe we can save it?" She suggested hopefully, sneaking a glance at Lucanis. He made an offended noise of protest before he could stop himself. "Okay," she said, "Maybe we can't save it."

"Rook, I appreciate your determination, but there's no saving this," He murmured, turning to her, "I think I would rather eat something cooked for me by Viago."

"Maker, don't sugarcoat it," She snapped, but when she looked at him, Lucanis was staring at the pan, with his hand covering his mouth. At first she thought he was so offended by the mess, and the potential ruination of the skillet, that he was stunned into silence. But just as Rook opened her mouth to apologized, she saw Lucanis' shoulders start to shake.

He was laughing. And trying to hide it, poorly.

"It's not funny," She protested weakly, "I really tried," which elicited a bark of laughter from Lucanis. As he devolved into snickers, Rook couldn't help but chuckle herself- mostly from relief, that he wasn't put off by her inability to cook, or the strange chunky puddle which was supposed to be dinner.

Shaking his head, and still smiling, Lucanis started to bustle around the kitchen. With the same efficiency that he used as an assassin, he began to pull out various meats, bowls, and spices.

"What're you doing?" She asked, as Lucanis scooted around her to grab a pot.

"Making us something else. Come, you can help. I'll teach you," His smile was so fond, so gentle, that Rook couldn't help but feel warmed by it. Rolling her sleeves back up, she gave him a professional nod, moving to stand beside him.

"Alright," She murmured to him, "One sous-chef, reporting for duty."

And that's how the cooking lessons between Rook, Lucanis, (and occasionally Bellara) began.

[cinnabunwanda]

SCAREDY CAT ˗ˏˋ꒰ BUCKY . BARNES ꒱ -> drabble

content warning — fluff only!

pairing — Fem reader x Bucky Barnes

summary — yn and Bucky are celebrating a beautiful day in Wakanda, where he fulfills his father's dreams, He meets T'challa, who presents him with a sleek metal arm for his service. yn helps him put it on and tests it out at his house. He reveals his feelings for yn and takes her to his bedroom, where he kisses and bites her. making yn feel completely under his spell.

word count —  n/a

The sun shone brightly over Wakanda, casting a warm golden light over the bustling city. The air was filled with the sounds of laughter and music as people enjoyed the beautiful day outside. T'challa stood by a small table, carefully cleaning his suit while I sipped on a refreshing glass of pineapple juice beside him.

"This is pure bliss," I chuckled, taking in the peaceful atmosphere.

"My father would be so proud, if only he could see us now," T'challa said with a proud smile.

"Everything is perfect - the unity, the love, the feelings. There is no place on earth that can compare to humanity here in Wakanda. You have truly fulfilled your father's dreams and gone above and beyond," I smiled, gazing out at the joyful people dancing, training, and singing.

"She's right," a deep familiar voice came from behind me. Only when he sat next to me did I recognize his handsome face. "Nice to see you, Bucky," I grinned.

T'challa walked over with a large case in hand. "This is for you, Bucky," he announced.

"Your service to the kingdom of Wakanda is irreplaceable," T'challa continued, opening the case to reveal a sleek metal arm.

"I can't thank you enough," Bucky said gratefully.

"Now L/N, help him put it on. I must join in on the festivities!" T'challa chuckled heartily.

I glanced at Bucky before turning back to his stump where his arm used to be. "No way," I protested.

"Yes way, please?" Bucky pleaded, giving me puppy dog eyes.

"Fine, but I'm literally terrified right now," I admitted.

I rolled up his sleeve and helped attach his new arm. "Is it on?" I asked nervously.

"That's what she said," Bucky laughed, causing my eyes to widen before I hit his shoulder.

"You perv!" I giggled. "Yes, it's on," he confirmed, flashing me a charming smile.

"Now why don't you test it out?" I suggested. Bucky picked up a few sticks and threw them with ease before practicing his shadow boxing. Only when he slowly walked towards me did I feel a nervous flutter in my stomach.

"Buck?" I asked shyly as he approached.

His hands slid around my waist and he looked down into my eyes. "Good, I can still feel," he winked.

Just as I was about to pull away in protest, he pulled my body flush against his. "You can't deny your feelings for me," he whispered.

"I'm not," I breathed before leaning up to kiss his lips. His hands rested on the small of my back as the kiss deepened.

"Your house or mine?" I asked breathlessly when we pulled away.

"Yours," Bucky laughed.

When we reached my house, I fumbled with the lock before being pressed against the wall. His lips met mine again, this time with more urgency and hunger.

"This will truly test out my new arm," he smirked against my lips. He carried me to my bedroom, throwing me onto the bed as we quickly shed our clothes.

"You have the great soldier Y/N at your mercy," I teased as he climbed on top of me.

"That may be true, but you have me completely under your spell," Bucky grinned, licking his lips hungrily. He trailed kisses and bites across my neck before making his way down to my thighs. With a nod from me, he removed my panties and placed his metal hand on my clit while using his tongue on my entrance. The sensation was cold yet electrifying as he expertly moved both his fingers and tongue against me. It didn't take long before I was coming undone under his touch.

He slowly removed his hand and pulled off his boxers, resting his member at my entrance. With a nod from me, he slowly began to enter me, making sure to give me time to adjust to the feel of his metal arm against my skin. As we moved together in perfect rhythm, I couldn't help but marvel at the strength and gentleness in Bucky's touch. In that moment, it didn't matter that he had a metal arm or that we were in Wakanda - all that mattered was the passionate connection between us.

My head fell back in ecstasy as he pushed into me, his head resting gently in the crook of my neck. As he began to move, I felt his hard member graze my sweet spot with each thrust. His movements became more urgent, delving deeper inside of me each time. With ragged breaths and sloppy kisses on my neck, I could tell he was close to reaching his peak.

As my nails dug into his back, releasing all the built-up tension inside of me, he too let go and collapsed on top of me, panting heavily. The metal arm that had once seemed intimidating now felt comforting and safe in this moment of pure intimacy.

do not translate, copy, publish or edit my works without permission. © bunnie 2024-25

[astraariel]

you belong with me

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: you're in love with Eddie, but he has eyes for Chrissy.

word count: 7.1K

warnings: none!

tags: based on "you belong with me" by taylor swift; no upside down!au; childhood friends to lovers; pining; not actually unrequited love; slight angst; fluff; chrissy's a sweetheart

author's note: for some reason my hyperfixation for eddie resurfaced so lol yeah this is what this is. excuse the grammar mistakes, enjoy ♡

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

The trailer park was quiet except for the murmurs and soft noises that the residents made whilst partaking in their nighttime routines. 

The soft ambiance provided comforting background noise as you made your way over to Eddie’s trailer, you were excited to see what movie he had picked from the Family Video tonight.

Eddie and you had made it a tradition to go over to each other’s houses and watch a shitty horror movie while eating pizza to critique said shitty movie. 

This week it was Eddie’s turn to host.

You first met Eddie when you were eight. You had gotten home from school for the day, your mom inside fixing up dinner whilst you played with your jump rope outside. You remember the sun burning down on you but that didn’t deter you from continuing your time for outside playtime.  You had been on your twentieth jump with your pink jump rope when a truck pulled up to the trailer beside yours. Your curious eight-year-old self’s attention diverted to the mysterious boy hopping out of the pickup truck. His denim overalls were loose on him, a strap was unbuttoned showcasing his white ribbed shirt underneath. His gaze met yours, and before you could look away, he offered you a crooked smile, wanna see a trick? You quickly nodded and watched him dash over toward you, his hand had retreated into his pocket and pulled out a deck of cards.

Later at dinner, your mom mentioned how the new boy, Eddie, had moved in with his uncle and was going to be your new neighbor. “He’s a little older, but why don’t you play with him after school, honey?”

Funny to think years later that some silly card trick is what caused you two to be inseparable. 

The door swings open before you even make it up the short steps. “You know I've told you multiple times you can just walk in, right? I never lock the door.” 

Your eyes skim over Eddie’s bare arm that was extended, your eyes glance over his recent addition of tattoos that peeked from his sleeves. “Yeah, and I've told you multiple times that that is a safety problem.” You waved a finger in front of Eddie as he swatted it away with a scoff.

The familiar home of Eddie and Wayne’s trailer met your eyes as you slipped your shoes off; Wayne’s copious mugs displayed on the walls always grabbed your attention when you walked into the trailer. They offered a sense of home that you loved so much.

Eddie had gone to his room to fetch the VHS of his movie pick while you busied yourself with grabbing the pizza menu and walking over to the phone to place the order. 

“What do you want, just pepperoni? Or do you want something else - and don't you dare say pineapple.” You call over to him while leaning on the table holding the phone in your hand.

Eddie’s curly hair appears in the hall as he makes his way toward you, exaggeratedly sighing “Fine, just pepperoni.”

He saunters off to the TV before shouting back, requesting garlic bread while fiddling with the VHS. 

You quickly order the food and walk over to the couch where Eddie was sitting waiting for you so he could play the movie. 

“What monstrosity have you picked for us today, Munson?”

♡‧₊˚

The sound of students chattering with each other filled your ears as you were rummaging through your locker.

Your usual attendance of watching the guys play during their band practice was missed Saturday due to your mom requiring you to run errands all weekend so you haven't seen Eddie since Friday. 

Meaning you left Eddie to his own devices for far too long and you're about to unknowingly pay the price.

“Jesus Christ!”

Speak of the devil.

The sound of your locker closing was muffled by the loud shriek that came out of your mouth.

“Eddie, how many times have I told you not to scare me like that?” You sputter out quickly whilst holding a hand up to your chest.

Eddie offers you a sheepish smile, “Sorry, princess, I was just too excited to see you.”

Your heart flutters slightly at the statement. 

The whole “falling for your best friend trope” was a dumb cliche. In the early years of your friendship with Eddie, your mom would make offhand comments about how “oh you two are so cute together” and “you are both so going to fall in love with each other, just watch.” Your kid self always scrunched your nose in disgust and had you turning your head in the opposite direction. But you weren’t sure when the look of disgust turned into you turning your face to hide the blush that was settling on your cheeks. 

And yeah so what if you knew that Eddie Munson drank his coffee with an insane amount of creamer and sugar and how he would never admit it, but that he had a soft spot for ABBA. How he gets this one specific look on his face whenever he’s telling you about the new campaign he’s currently working on; how his eyes glow with excitement just reciting all the things he’s planning on introducing and adding for the guys. That he smiles so wide you can’t help to notice the dimples he has and how they just fit his face. How you want to just kiss him all over and just constantly wish to see him happy and smiling. 

Yeah, you’re totally in love with your best friend.

“So… I was thinking over the weekend.” 

“Oh, that’s never good.”

He ignores your comment by rolling his eyes playfully. “I was thinking that I have been in this hell hole for far too long. And I haven’t done anything memorable.” 

You send a confused look at Eddie, “What about how you have weekly lectures on the lunch tables in the cafeteria, or how you helped raise the drama club funding due to badgering Principal Higgins constantly for a month.” Beckoning for him to explain, you begin to walk to class.

He rolls his eyes again, “Okay, Miss Know-It-All, I meant more…you know.”

“No I don’t know, Eddie.”

He hesitates slightly before continuing “Well, I was talking to the guys and well they think I’m insane but you won't, right?” His wide eyes look over at you expectantly. 

“I guess that depends on what you’re about to say.” you tease.

He was nervous, you noted. He wouldn't meet your eyes as he begins to fidget under your stare. 

He scratches his head before saying, “I'm gonna ask Chrissy to prom.”

You stop walking, your head spinning to Eddie’s. Your eyes were wide open, which were shifting between his own in disbelief. People walked around you but not without complaining and calling out “Watch out” but you couldn't care less about what was happening around you. Your mind was reeling; it was attempting to decipher whether or not he was telling a joke or not. 

He wasn’t.

Fixing your composure you look forward and keep walking. “Isn’t prom in two weeks, that’s kinda a short notice.” You attempt to keep your voice as neutral as possible. 

You had known about Eddie’s crush on Chrissy Cunningham since middle school. It had been during the talent show, Eddie had come after you to gush about how she had looked so pretty waving her pom poms in the air that night. Chrissy had done some cheer routine which had gotten her the most applause putting everyone else's show to shame. Regrettably for you, you were the follow-up after her spectacle. You can’t say your flute solo, which you had worked hard on the week leading up to the talent show, was a show-stopper after that. 

You didn’t hate Chrissy, you never did and probably never would. She, unfortunately, is the nicest person you’ve ever met, she always talks to you when you have classes together, and how she actually complimented you on your flute solo after you had gotten off the stage even though you had messed up the first measure of the song.

You just couldn’t help but compare yourself to her. You wanted to hate her. You assumed it would be easier to hate her, but that wasn’t the case. You simply hated the fact that you weren’t her. You were the complete antithesis of her; it was honestly ridiculous. While she was the head cheerleader, you were in the stands wearing a stupidly hot outfit and a dumb hat while also playing the flute. You weren’t at rock bottom of the social hierarchy but you still weren't high, you were in the band for Christ’s sake. 

You couldn’t fault Eddie for falling for miss pride of Hawkins High, the star-studded cheerleader that was Chrissy Cunningham.

“Well, I heard from the cheerleaders that she rejected Jason Carver already so she’s free and totally doesn't have a date so I figured… well that I would ask her,” Eddie whispers the last part before stopping at your first-period classroom door. “What do you think?”

You shift your gaze to the quickly depleting students in the hall before looking back at your best friend. “You should totally do it.” you say while avoiding his eyes, “I’ll see you at lunch, kay?” 

You walk into your class before he can say anything back, choosing to drown your sorrows in algebra instead. 

♡‧₊˚

Prom had always been a bit of a dream for you. You had fallen for that American high school cliche, ever since you were ten. 

You were driving around with your mom when you passed by Enzo’s and had seen so many people dressed up standing outside waiting in line to get in. Your mom explained to you that it was the senior prom that weekend; since then you had looked forward to the moment in your senior year where you would get to wear your new expensive dress you had bought solely for the event. 

After you had gotten home that day, you had rambled to Eddie for the rest of the evening while he pushed you on the swingset at the trailer park. He had just shrugged you off and stayed quiet. You paid him no mind and ignored him by beaming at his face with a toothless grin, 

“You’ll go with me to prom right, Eds?”

“Only if you let me swing now.”

“Deal.”

You’d like to say you haven't been in love with Eddie till recently but you’d be lying to yourself. 

In your recent years of high school, you found yourself daydreaming about attending prom with your best friend, you always played it off as of course, you’d attend this huge event in your life with Eddie, he was your best friend. If you ignored how much he hated conformist bullshit things such as prom. And each time he got held back, the closer and closer you got to both of you being in the same senior class, your hope grew. 

Of course, those were always cut short whenever you had caught Eddie looking at Chrissy at lunch or he’d rant to you about how she wrote the most beautifully, detailed short story in English that day and how she would make such a great DM. Or how at the basketball game last week when halftime was over and the band was given a break you had gotten water and had spotted Eddie in the crowd; even though he has sworn up and down (and publicly) that basketball was dumb. You had just shrugged it off as him supporting Lucas, but you knew deep down it was because of Chrissy.

But you refused to acknowledge otherwise. 

You should honestly be happy that he’s going to prom now, granted he wouldn’t be going with you. Nor would he take pictures with you. You both wouldn’t awkwardly be posing in your living room together at your trailer as your mom took a million photos along with Wayne taking the day off to see his boy all dressed up for the prom. Or how your fingers wouldn’t tremble while attempting to pin his corsage on his tux hoping you didn’t poke him. Nor would a single shy smile be transpired between the two of you as you walked into the school gym-turned-prom venue.

Nope, he’d be doing that with Chrissy Cunningham. 

You took painstakingly slow steps as you currently walked to your last class of the day. You weren't looking forward to seeing Eddie again. Opting for skipping lunch to wallow in your self-pity in the library instead. 

Therefore, you hadn't seen Eddie since morning when he stabbed you in the heart unknowingly with his newfound decision, and honestly, it was probably for the best. It’s not like you were going to ask him to prom anytime soon anyways.

The sound of your footsteps stopping in front of the classroom reached your ears. “Just play it cool,” you mutter to no one. You took a deep breath and walked into the classroom, immediately heading toward your seat in the back corner.

Eddie was already in the seat beside yours, his wide doe eyes met yours when he hears your steps and flashes you a smile, “Sup, where were you during lunch, Gareth’s mom made these killer cookies today.”

You look over at him, “Oh I went to the library,  I had to catch up on some homework,” you lie.

He didn't say anything back just simply letting out a noise signaling he heard your excuse while nodding.

“Well anyways, about earlier.” he raises his eyebrows, “I’m gonna do it today.” He whispers so that people couldn’t listen in.

“...are you?” your tone was neutral.

He shifts his eyes away from yours. “I need to do it now while I have the confidence because if not, I'm gonna psych myself out,” he nods to himself, “Yeah I'm gonna wait for her after her practice is over.”

You study his side profile. His brown eyes were looking at the ceiling in concentration. His Adam's apple bobbed slightly, you find your eyes tracing along his jawline. His hair was a little messy, signaling that he had been running his fingers through it all day. 

Willing yourself to say something, “She’ll say yes, Eddie, and if she doesn’t it’s her loss.” You swallow slightly and offer him a small smile. 

His hopeful eyes look at you.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

♡‧₊˚

“This is officially the worst day ever.” You groan as you walk into the Family Video. 

Steve looks over at Robin from where he was reshelving tapes.

“Uh oh, what happened?” Robin asks reluctantly 

“Everything, Robin, everything that could’ve ever gone wrong, has gone wrong.”

After the whole Chrissy-prom-Eddie fiasco yesterday, you had declared the rest of the day a time for self-pitying. All you wanted to do was lie in bed with the covers drawn and completely shut out from the world so that you could comfort yourself in the sad exile you had made. 

That was until Eddie called. 

Since your blinds were drawn, you hadn’t noticed Eddie coming home earlier. Hence why when the phone rang you almost jumped out of your skin.

Debating whether or not to pick up, you looked at your window longingly knowing who it was on the other side. You ultimately decided to stand up and answer because if you didn't you knew he would just come over instead. And you didn’t exactly what to face Eddie right now, memories rushing to your mind reminded you of how much they were like a slap in the face.

“She said yes.” 

He didn’t even wait for you to say hello before revealing his triumph win. 

You zoned out after that, not processing the dial zone indicating that he hung up already. You could only recall a little after you walked back to your room that he was going to hang out with the guys because he had promised they’d celebrate the news if she said yes. 

The morning had come and gone with you forcing yourself to get out of bed so that you could make it to school today. Eddie met your morning daze with his usual smile when you hopped into his van, you returned it with a small smile but stayed silent. You’d just use the excuse of having stayed up late last night due to catching up on some non-existent homework. Eddie on the other hand took this as permission to gush about how he was finally stoked about something concerning school for once and that he’d be able to share the experience with the girl he had been pining after for years. You simply offer him quiet hums to signify that you were listening. 

School was no different, having forced yourself on autopilot, just mindlessly walking to and from class. You attended lunch today, not wanting to rile suspicion and worry with the group, and chose to suck it up and sit through Eddie rambling about how Chrissy had smelled like strawberries and vanilla while he had asked her the million-dollar question. 

How she, quote, “had the most radiant smile shining up at him the entire time he talked to her.”

You also chose to ignore the smiles and slight waves she offered him when she made eye contact with him during lunch as well.

Yeah, you weren’t having a good day at all.

Your eyes scanned the store, relief settling once you noticed that it was empty except for your two friends seeing as you didn't bother to note if anyone was there before you blurted out about the nightmare that was your life currently.

Thank god it was a Tuesday afternoon and no one was there to witness your sad-sad life.

Steve was now standing beside Robin having moved during your entire speech after he finished his task. 

“It’s just one dance, you know?” he offers, “It’s not like they’ll start dating.” He chuckles awkwardly in hopes of comforting you. 

Unfortunately, that was the worst thing he could have said.

“Wait, what if they start dating?” You were going to pass out. “You know, I can’t even be mad at Chrissy, I mean, she’s genuinely the sweetest person. And Eddie, god Eddie, he’s so ecstatic about this, I mean, he’s been pining after her since middle school…middle school! And here I am being a bitch because I couldn't get my shit together and just confess to him about how I feel.” you sigh and drop your head on the counter “He deserves this one thing at least, who am I to get in the way of it?” you say with your voice slightly muffled.

Robin smacked Steve’s shoulder before walking around the counter over to you. “Sweetie, don't get so upset with yourself.” She rubs your shoulders, “Don’t let this small inconvenience deter you from enjoying your prom. Remember? You’ve been looking forward to this since you were ten!” 

You look up at her and glance at Steve, meeting his eyes. “Don't let some dumb guy ruin this for you,” he says.

“But he's not some dumb guy, he's Eddie,” you whisper.

“Well, you got me, babe, kay? You can come along with Vicki and me, we’ll have an amazing time together just us, no guys - well that doesn't bother me - but you know what I mean, just us gals, what do you say?”

You don't reply so Robin continues, “This is me officially asking you to prom, are you gonna reject me or not?” she bumps your shoulder with a slight smirk on her freckled face. 

You smile at her, “Okay.”

♡‧₊˚

After Robin had invited you to accompany her and Vicki to prom, you felt a little better. It helped you keep your mind off Eddie and allowed you to look forward to the event of which you’d be attending with your other best friend. 

It had been almost two weeks since Eddie had asked Chrissy to prom and she had evidently accepted with a “sure why not!” Eddie had ranted to you about how he had a nice conversation with her and how she seemed genuinely excited for prom (you cried in the bathroom after that.)

The entire school was reeling over the fact that Eddie ���the freak’ Munson was taking the queen of Hawkins High, Chrissy Cunningham, to prom. Jason was livid but every time he tried to say something to Eddie during lunch, Chrissy would shut him down, which you were grateful for. 

Another reason why you couldn’t hate her.

Along with Eddie being over the moon about taking his dream girl to prom, he could never seem to shut up about her either. At any possible time, whether at lunch or on the drive home from school, or even during your own personal hang-out time; Eddie always seemed to be talking about one person.

And that person was not you.

Last weekend, Eddie had knocked at your door in a panic about how the suit he was wearing was too big on him and that he looked like a loser, “you always look like a loser.” You pulled him inside so that you could grab your mother’s sewing kit and figure out how you were going to help him tailor Wayne’s old suit to fit him better. “Thanks, princess, what would I do without you?”

While you played tailor, you let it slip that you - surprisingly - haven’t bought a dress yet so in return, he offered to take you dress shopping. The next day he came barreling into your room announcing that the two of you were going shopping at the mall in the town over in hopes of finding your dream dress. 

You're one hundred percent sure that Eddie’s cute little reactions every time you stepped out of the dressing room will forever replay in your mind for the rest of your life. Even for the dresses you immediately dismissed and deemed ugly, you were still praised by him. 

“I look horrible in this, what even are these sleeves?” 

“I kinda dig the sleeves, makes you look like a real princess, princess.”

That smile, god that smile of his. Perhaps it was your delusions or maybe you genuinely saw a flicker of something in Eddie’s eyes when he would glance over your figure, drinking in your body in the dress you were currently showcasing for him. Either way, you were quite literally fooling yourself entirely because he wasn’t going with you,

he was going with Chrissy.

When you got home that day, you decided that you weren't just going to sit around anymore and cry about how things weren't working out. You have been looking forward to prom since you were a kid, you were going to fulfill that ten-year-old you’s dream. 

Pulling your blinds close so that they could block any sort of visual that you'll get from Eddie when he got home you grabbed your walkman and climbed into bed. You weren't in the mood to talk to him at the moment, it was Friday meaning the prom was tomorrow and you were currently losing your mind.

Sadly, God wasn’t through with tormenting you just yet.

The sound of the phone ringing ricocheted throughout your house, forcing you to pull yourself up from your current spot on your bed. 

“Hello?”

“Wanna go for a drive?”

No, you wanted to wallow in your self-pity and die.

“Sure.”

After slipping on some shoes, you walk out of your trailer and trek the small way toward Eddie’s. He was leaning against his van, cigarette in hand. The moon showered Eddie in its light, making him look ethereal. You didn’t check the time before you left but you knew it was a little late already, the moon was high in the sky, set for the night that was to come.

You hadn’t heard him get home earlier you wondered where he had been the entire day. He must have gotten home just now. Weird.

His head perks up at the sound of your shoes hitting the gravel, he gives you that dimpled smile you love so much and drops the cigarette on the ground before putting it out with his shoe. “Thought we both could go for a drive, hop in.” 

He didn’t wait for you to reply and simply walked around to the driver’s side and turned the ignition on.

You took your place in the passenger seat and instantly rummaged through the glove box to look for a new cassette to play.

He looks over at you as you pop in Dio’s The Last in Line, wordlessly. The beginning cords of  “We Rock” play as you sit back and look out the window.

“Where are you taking us, ole mystery man?” you say after a couple of minutes.

“Oh, it’s a surprise, fair maiden.” he laughs softly, “Not really, uh I'm just heading to Lover’s Lake.” His voice is soft, almost too soft. It confuses you slightly, prompting you to look over at your best friend. His eyes were focused on the stretch of road ahead, it felt like he was ignoring your eyes. 

The both of you don't say anything after that, simply basking in Ronnie James Dio’s voice till you arrive at your destination. 

The soft shutter of the ignition indicated that Eddie had parked already, so you quickly unbuckle yourself and crawled to the back of the van while Eddie cracked open the doors.

He had settled on a lone area off the edge of the lake. It was quiet. You took a quick glance at the dashboard before leaving your seat and noticed that it was nine already. The moon shined on the soft ripples coming from the lake, relaxing your surprisingly tense shoulders.

“Here,” Eddie’s voice cuts the air, offering you a blanket from the back of his van to you.

“Thanks,” you say after a beat, “so, are you excited about tomorrow or are you completely shitting yourself about taking your dream girl to the prom, Munson?” 

You peer down to look at his knees that were on display with the worn-out jeans he loved to wear so much. The glint of his rings sparkled signaling that he was drawing shapes on his thigh. One of his nervous ticks, you noted.

You focus your vision back on the water ahead of you, ignoring his stare; you will yourself to not make eye contact with his brown eyes. 

You can do this.

You will not lose your best friend over some silly crush.

“Let’s…not talk about Chrissy. I wanna talk about you. I feel like I don’t know about anything that’s happened to you in the last two weeks.” he pauses for a second, “I’m sorry that I’ve just been talking about her all the time recently.”

The unexpected apology throws you off, you look over at your best friend and bump his shoulder, “Are you okay?”

The question hangs in the air for a bit, it seemed as if he was mulling it over. Your eyebrows twitch in confusion. 

“You remember that day when you learned what prom was and declared to the entire town that you were going to attend it once it was your turn?” His eyes were glassy.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t stop talking about it for weeks, you threatened me that if I wouldn't shut up you’d tape my mouth shut.” You laugh quietly at the memory.

After your laughter dies down as you glance over at him. He looks at you and smiles. “I’m not…,” he hesitates, “I’m not sure…how I should style my hair tomorrow,” 

Your smile falters slightly before you catch yourself and beam up at him, “I love your hair the way it is, Eds, keep it like that.” 

He nods at you and looks away, “We should probably get back, I didn’t tell my mom where I was going,” you murmur.

“Of course, can’t have the princess getting in trouble, can we?” he grins at you.

Oh, how you love him.

♡‧₊˚

If you were to tell fourteen-year-old Eddie Munson that he would be attending prom with the girl he’d been crushing on. He wouldn't have believed you. 

He’d turn to his best friend and laugh in your face with her, cackling to the insane statements along with her. That same best friend who encouraged him to ask Chrissy in the first place. The same best friend who has dreamed about prom since she was a kid and the same best friend whom he wouldn't be attending it with. 

You’d think Eddie would be excited, but he couldn’t help but have a small feeling inside his heart that hurt. 

He drums his fingers on his steering wheel, the anxiety pooling in his stomach. His eyes glance over at your trailer, your blinds were pulled but he could see a sliver of light peeking through, most likely from your lamp. It was quiet in there, he assumed you were listening to your walkman. You had always preferred listening to your music with your headphones rather than blaring it out loud as he did. 

He closes his eyes and lets out a long sigh. “Fuck, she was right,” he mutters.

He couldn’t stop thinking about what Chrissy had said.

He had been walking out of the school after he had finished pre-planning everything he wanted to do in the next Hellfire session. Yesterday, the guys had completely thrown him off so he needed to fix up his original idea for the next session next week. It never hurt to start early.

He was making his way over to the picnic table in the woods behind the school so that he could smoke before he left home for the day. His eyes glanced around the parking lot before passing through it, not many students were loitering around; choosing to immediately book it after the bell seeing as it was Friday and on top of that the Friday before prom.

He had barely stepped onto the grass that led to the woods when he heard his name being called.

He looked over his shoulder only to see Chrissy walking toward him. “Hey, Eddie,” her polished nails were waving at him, causing him to stop in his tracks.

“What’s up?” he shoots her a quick smile.

“Oh, were you busy? Because I really need to talk to you.” Her pleading eyebrows were creased in a slight worry.

“Ah nah, I was just heading to my spot to smoke before I went home.” his gaze shifts back to her, “Walk with me?”

Chrissy simply nods and begins walking beside him.

Eddie attempts to find something to say during the short distance to the picnic table, scouring through his brain in hopes of making the walk less awkward than it was. 

It was never awkward with you.

He shook his head before he realized he had finally reached his destination, he sits down and pulls out a cigarette before beckoning Chrissy to say what she needed to say.

She takes a deep breath. “When you asked me to go to prom with you, I was inclined to say no.” She pauses for a second before catching herself, “Not in that way, um, I just never really thought you liked me. I mean I don’t think we’ve ever really talked before.” She thinks for a bit, “Maybe during the middle school talent show…” Her eyes shoot up to his, “god what was the name of your band, it was such an insane name, I loved it.”

“Corroded Coffin” Eddie answers with a smile.

“Corroded Coffin! Oh my gosh yes!” She laughs before looking off to the side, “I honestly thought you were dating someone already.” She says your name, “Yeah I could’ve sworn y’all were dating, so when you asked me to go to prom, it completely caught me off guard.” She nods to herself in confirmation.

At the sound of your name, Eddie perks up. ���Wait you thought I was dating her?” He quickly laughs, waving her off. “No, we’re not-we’re not dating, we’re just friends.” He doesn’t meet her eyes.

“I don’t think you want to be.” She says quietly.

His eyebrows screw together, “what?”

“Look, I don’t know you too well and I don’t really know her too well either,” she bites her lip slightly, “I think you should go with her…to prom.”

Eddie just stares at her, not saying a word.

Chrissy sets her bag down and sits down now, “I’ve seen you during lunch, well god, I mean how could I not!” she laughs and shakes her head quickly, “Your face just looks so…in love when you look at her. It’s like you hang onto every word she says to you. And I’m not sure you realize that. And if you haven’t, she hasn’t either and is probably devastated that you asked me to prom and not her.” 

Eddie finally looks into Chrissy’s eyes now. Her eyes were big and full, they look a little glassy like she was going to cry, but not of sadness, no, Eddie didn’t think she was upset, she looks like she was in awe. In awe at him. At the love that he had not for her but for his best friend. Her face looked like she yearned for this supposed love that she claimed he had for you. 

She smiles, “So, I’m not going to prom with you, Eddie,” Chrissy says with a tone of finality.

“Thank you…for this intervention,” he looks away, “didn’t know I needed it.” his voice was quiet. 

Chrissy laughs but doesn’t say anything as she gets up, she ruffles slightly with her bookbag and slings it onto her back. She begins to walk away before she turns around to look at Eddie one last time. “I better see you at prom tomorrow and not alone.” She sent him one last smile and walked away.

Surprisingly, Eddie wasn’t upset or sad, instead, he was relieved. 

He sits there in silence for what felt like an eternity. The afternoon sunlight beamed on him like stripes due to the trees providing a bit of shade for him. He felt like he was processing everything and nothing at the same time. 

He had to leave, he had to get to you now.

Eddie’s mind was still reeling when he was getting close to Forest Hills, as much as he wanted to park in front of your trailer, run into your room, and tell you all that he was thinking, 

he simply couldn’t.

So instead he doesn’t turn into the trailer park but rather keeps driving. 

How could he have been so blind? All these years of pining after Chrissy Cunningham he thought it was her he wanted. He thought that whenever he would talk about her smile and how her face would light up a room it was Chrissy he was talking about but in actuality, it was you. It was always you.

It has always been you, ever since he had moved in beside your trailer into his uncle's. It has always been you cheering for him like when he had gotten nervous to go on stage for the talent show and Jeff had thrown up backstage. It has always been you whom he would talk to all through the night after you would slip through the window in his room. It has always been you listening to him rant on and on about the new campaign he was preparing for the guys. It has always been you. It will always be you.

And now it was dark outside, the moon replacing the sun for the night. Eddie sits submerged in your presence at Lover’s Lake. He knows that you suspect something is off about him.

“Are you okay?”

No Eddie wasn’t okay. He wanted to scream to the world that he had been in love with you for the longest time. To lose his voice after telling you about all the little things he loves about you, how he was stupid for not realizing sooner and for making you go through the last few years of him pining after a girl he never even loved.

But instead, he gives a lame excuse of not knowing how to style his hair. 

He sees your smile falter but doesn't say anything. 

And then you offer him that beautiful smile of yours. 

God, he hates himself. Why couldn’t Eddie just say that he loves you? He curses himself for being such a coward.

Oh, how you love him.

Oh, how he loves you.

♡‧₊˚

You spent the morning lounging in your bed basking in your sadness before you force yourself to get distracted with the makeup and the music from the reality that was your life. 

So what if the guy you’ve been in love with was going to prom with someone else? Totally not the end of the world, right?

“Sweetie, you should be leaving to pick up Robin or you’re going to be late.” Your mom’s voice echoes throughout the trailer. 

“Yeah, I'm almost done” you yell back as you grab your heels.

Your eyes dart over at your window. You couldn’t help to notice that Eddie’s van was still parked, meaning he hasn’t left to pick Chrissy up yet. It was getting late already, prom was at seven but it was already quarter past and you had assumed Chrissy would want to get there early or something. 

You finish putting your heels on and go to look in the mirror. This was it. You were finally going to attend prom, granted not with Eddie but you were still going with your friends. 

With one last look in the mirror, you grab your purse and head out of the safe haven that was your room. 

The sound of your doorbell rings throughout the trailer, “I’ll get it,” you say as you pass your mom in the kitchen.

Weird, must’ve been Robin.

A smirk finds its way on your face as you walk up toward the door. “No way, you drove here yourself-” 

You open the door, fully expecting a dolled-up Robin (to her standards) in front of you, but to your surprise, it was someone else. 

Eddie. 

He was standing there in his tux that you had helped tailor. His hair’s down, it looks freshly washed and his curls look bouncy as ever; he had taken your advice that you had told him at the lake. He’s wearing that iconic jewelry of his, the rings he had on extenuating his long fingers. He chose to ditch the tie altogether and instead unbuttoned the first two buttons on the shirt, showing a sliver of his collarbones to the world. 

“Uh, no I walked over actually,” Eddie says with a laugh.  

After getting over your initial shock you smile at your best friend. “Eds, what are you doing here?” 

You look at him expectantly and notice his eyes scanning your form, he swallows quickly before he looks back at you. His face had a slight blush to it. 

No way. Did Eddie just check you out?

Eddie doesn't reply so you begin to ramble nervously. “Look at you,” you force a laugh, “Look at you going to prom” without me.

He just stares at you, not saying anything, so you continue. “I can't believe you're going with your dream girl,” you smile sadly, “you did it.” 

He finally seems to process that he was standing in front of you and quickly stutters out, “Chrissy dumped me,” your eyebrows shoot up, “yeah, I’m not going with her anymore.” His eyes scan your face.

You blink, “Oh, I'm sorry I didn't - you didn’t tell me.”

“She’s not my dream girl”

“Huh?”

“She’s not my dream girl. You are.”

Were you going insane? You didn’t say anything, you couldn’t say anything. What did he mean that you were his dream girl? You simply stared at Eddie, blinking not saying a word. Your mouth was closing and opening attempting to locate words but your brain was currently malfunctioning. 

“I don’t think I understand?” your eyes shift behind Eddie’s form, searching for something. 

This was a joke. Surely Chrissy was going to pop out from behind and yell “Sike!” and then they were going to laugh in your face because Eddie had found out that you’ve been in love with him and had found it hilarious. This must have been some cruel prank that they were pulling.

But no one comes out. Eddie doesn’t laugh in your face but instead, he steps forward.

“Princess, you’re my dream girl. You always have been, I was just too blind to notice.” His brown eyes look at yours.

Those wide, loving eyes of his. God, you love him.

“I realized that I wasn't in love with Chrissy, she was just a crush that I had when I realized I would never be able to be with you. I think in fear of being rejected by you, I inadvertently did it anyway by developing that fantasy idea of her. It’s not Chrissy I've been in love with all these years, it's you.” He finishes his confession with a final sigh of relief.

You gulp. “You…love me?” 

“Of course I love you, how couldn’t I?” he says with a shy smile.

That’s all you needed.

So you kiss him. 

After years of pining. After years of wondering why Eddie wouldn’t just look your way. Of vying after him, you finally have his attention.

The kiss feels rushed like the two of you were chasing the years of lost time. Cursing at the other for having been missing out on this one single act. Hell, at this moment you're not sure how you were able to go years without kissing Eddie, and you don’t ever want to know how again. 

He pulls away reluctantly. “So,” he pecks you once more, “if you’ll allow me, I made a deal, and I intend on keeping that promise, sweetheart.” 

You crinkle your eyebrows in confusion for a second before it hits you,

he remembered.

A grin breaks out on your face. The childish voices ring in your memories.

“You’ll go with me to prom right, Eds?”

“Only if you let me swing now.”

“Deal.”

“I’d love to, Eds.”

A grin splits onto Eddie’s face, “Whew, thank god, I almost thought I had gotten all pretty for no reason.” 

You felt giddy. Your heart was overcome with emotion, you hoped you wouldn't wake up from this dream.

But this wasn’t a dream. This was true. 

Interlacing your fingers with Eddie’s you close the door and smile, “Yeah, let’s go to prom together.”

“Wait, what about Robin?”

“Ah, I already called her.”

“Oh, how presumptuous of you.”

“Big words, fair maiden, you know just how to get me going don’t cha, princess?”

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

Anchor

A/N: it starts off a little angsty and then gets a little silly. I hope the sex scene isn't too silly. I just think that sometimes sex with Eddie can be silly. He's a silly man.

18+ MINORS DNI

Summary: Steve needs to come down from his panic attack. Eddie helps him out.

It was the fourth of July, 1986. . .exactly one year since Starcourt. Steve had been feeling twitchy all day and very on edge. He couldn't sleep last night either. Nightmares plagued him all night long. He heard the term from Hopper before. The anniversary effect. He knows the signs of PTSD. Hopper had sat them all down to explain what to look for and what to do when something like this happened. Steve should have called Eddie to cancel, but Steve had been looking forward to hanging out with one of his best friends all week. This would be the first time they would be hanging out alone, and for some reason, Steve was really looking forward to that. A knock on the door nearly caused him to jump out of his skin.

"Is he knocking to the beat of a Metallica song?" Steve asked himself, and he smiled softly. "It's definitely Eddie."

Steve opened the door and grinned at the sight of Eddie. He wore tight black cut-off shorts, a stripped crop top with cut-off sleeves, and his hair was braided down his back. There were sparkly butterfly barrettes pinning his bangs back.

"Uh, hey, Eddie," Steve said, staring at him in confusion.

"El was hanging out at Max's trailer, I didn't want to say no to the kid," Eddie said, shrugging his shoulders and grinning.

"You spoil her," Steve said grinning fondly at him.

"She deserves it," Eddie said.

"Yeah, she does," Steve said. "By the way, did you knock to the tune of a Metallica song?"

"If you know it through a door, then something tells me that you've been listening to it without me. Stevie. . .are you a secret fan?" Eddie asked, smirking.

"Shut up," Steve said blushing.

He didn't want to tell him that he was listening to the music when he wasn't around because, well, he didn't know why he did it. He recognized the top Eddie was wearing. It was his old black polo that he had given Eddie. It looked better on him than it ever did on Steve. He grinned when he realized that Eddie had ripped off the buttons, leaving a slit open in the middle of his chest. He was showing off his tattoos and not just his tattoos but his scars as well. Eddie had never been afraid to show them off.

"You going to let me in, big boy?" Eddie asked.

"Oh, right," he said stepping aside.

Just as Eddie was walking by him, a set of fireworks went off in the distance. Steve jumped and grabbed Eddie's bicep, gripping it tightly.

"Stevie?" Eddie asked softly.

Eddie placed a gentle hand over the top of Steve’s hand. The sight of Eddie's nails painted a red glittery color caused him to break from his reverie, and he laughed.

"The food is getting cold," Steve said as he closed the door behind Eddie.

"Don't worry. The fireworks fuck me up too," Eddie replied as he followed him into the kitchen. "Stevie! You ordered my favorite. If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were trying to seduce me."

"Please, if I were trying to seduce you, I would do better than pineapple pizza," Steve replied.

"You dare insult the food of gods?!" Eddie exclaimed and Steve laughed.

"You and Argyle should start a long-haired, weed smoking, pineapple pizza loving club," Steve laughed.

"Oh, we already have," Eddie said cheerfully. "By the way, that dude can smoke me under the table."

Steve tried to focus on what was happening inside of the house. They were watching a movie, their empty plates lying on the coffee table. Eddie was sitting so close to him that his shoulder was brushing against his. He tried to focus on Eddie, but there were fireworks going off outside, and suddenly, the guy on the TV started speaking Russian. Steve tried to breathe but found that he couldn't. His chest hurt, and his entire body was trembling. He let out a gasp as he struggled to catch his breath.

"Who do you work for?!"

"I told you! Scoops Ahoy!" Steve screamed. "I swear!"

Steve screamed when they hit him again. He wanted it to stop. He was begging it to stop.

"I don't believe you! How did you find us?!"

He was crazy. This man was crazy. After he hit him, the man ran a hand through his hair, and it was sickening how gentle he was because Steve knew it wasn't real. It was just another tactic. Steve hated the way he leaned in at first, and then he yanked himself away. He hated that he was crying.

"Shh, shh, it's okay," the man said softly. "Just tell us who you work for, and this will all stop. It's okay."

"Steve?!" Eddie's panicked voice broke him out of his memory.

Steve was gasping for breath, and he was crying. Why was he crying?

"I - can't -," Steve trembled.

"Stevie, can I touch you?" Eddie asked.

Eddie placed his hands on his shoulders. Steve flinched but relaxed when he realized it was Eddie who was touching him. He trusted Eddie. The fireworks were still going off, and Steve still couldn't breathe.

"I was telling the truth, Eddie," Steve sobbed. "They still wouldn't stop. T-they wouldn't stop."

"You need to breathe for me, Stevie," Eddie said. "Focus. Breathe in and out, okay? Can you focus on my voice?"

"I'm trying!" Steve snapped.

"I've been reading about this. Okay. Um, you need to focus on the moment. You're safe, okay? Nothing is going to hurt you. I'm not going to hurt you, okay? Stevie, do you trust me?" Eddie asked.

"Of course," Steve gasped.

"I need to anchor you. I need you to come back down, and this is the only way I can think to do it. Can I?" Eddie asked and Steve nodded.

Eddie cupped his face and pressed his lips to Steve’s softly. He could feel Steve relax, and his breathing became steady. Steve started moving his lips against Eddie's, softly at first, and then it became hungry. Eddie could taste the salt of his tears on his lips and the desperation on his tongue. Steve broke the kiss, smiling.

"I think I'm properly anchored now," Steve said, and another firework went off. "Ugh, I don't think I'll be able to sleep tonight."

"You're telling me that you need help, big boy?" Eddie asked.

"Yeah, I think so."

The two young men stumbled upstairs, and once again, Eddie was pushing Steve against a wall. This time, it was the wall of his bedroom, and he was pressed up against him completely, grinding against Steve’s thigh as they kissed. Steve broke the kiss to take off his shirt and smirked at the hungry look in Eddie's eyes. Eddie grinned and went to take off his own shirt. . .and got stuck.

"Steve! Something went wrong! I got stuck! Steve! Stop laughing, asshole! How am I supposed to see your tits?!" Eddie panicked.

Steve continued to laugh as he helped Eddie out of his shirt. He took off the butterfly clips and set them on his dresser. He cupped Eddie's face and kissed him deeply.

"That was very sexy," Steve giggled.

"Fuck off," Eddie said.

Eddie grabbed him by the back of his thighs and picked him up into his arms.

"Jesus!" Steve exclaimed.

"Yeah, I'm stronger than I look, big boy," Eddie winked as he threw him onto the bed. "Now watch as the Magnificent Munson makes his lovely assistants' pants disappear!"

Eddie unbuckled Steve’s pants before yanking them down and completely off, tossing them behind him.

"Voila!"

"You're crazy!" Steve giggled.

"Oh, baby, you have no idea," Eddie laughed maniacally.

He placed his knees on either side of Steve’s hips and leaned down to kiss him. He moved his lips down to his neck, his chest, and then down to his stomach. Eddie grinned mischievously.

"Whatever is that you're going to do, don't do it," Steve warned.

Eddie pressed his lips to Steve’s stomach and blew a raspberry near his bellybutton. Steve burst into laughter. Eddie sat up a little.

"I'm sorry, is this not how you blow someone?" Eddie asked innocently.

"No, Eddie!" Steve giggled.

"Are you sure?" Eddie asked and blew another raspberry on his stomach.

"Eddie!"

"I'm sorry, I think you're going to have to come up with a safe word," Eddie said and blew yet another raspberry.

"Anchor!" Steve laughed.

"That's a good safeword, baby," Eddie said, pressing a kiss to his stomach.

He started kissing the rest of the way down until he came to Steve’s boxers. He grinned and took the elastic part in between his teeth. Using his mouth, Eddie lifted up Steve’s hips and dragged his boxers down until they were off completely. Still in his mouth, he shook his head and then spat them on the floor. Steve shook with laughter.

"Are you putting on a show, or you going to fuck me?" Steve grinned.

"Can't I do both?" Eddie asked.

It finally happened, Eddie was now deep inside of Steve.

"Are you going to move?" Steve asked.

"Gentleman, make sure you keep your arms and legs wrapped around your metalhead at all times!" Eddie said as if he was a train conductor. "Most importantly, enjoy the ride. All aboard the Munson express!"

Eddie slowly started to thrust into Steve and grunted as he moved. Steve moaned, gripping Eddie's back tightly. It wasn't long before Eddie started to make train noises as he thrusted inside of him. Steve rolled his eyes back as he laughed, his body shaking around Eddie's dick.

"Eddie!" Steve giggled.

"You feeling a little unsafe, Stevie? Do you need to use the safeword?" Eddie asked.

Somehow, Steve arrived on time. Eddie had followed soon after, spilling into the condom. Steve was still laughing when Eddie left and came back to clean him up.

"I don't know how I managed to laugh and cum at the same time. That is the silliest sex that I ever had," Steve grinned. "I don't want to have sex with anyone else ever again."

"That was my plan all along, baby," Eddie said, snuggling into Steve’s side.

Steve finally managed to get some sleep that night with a smile on his face and the man of his dreams in his arms even with the fireworks going off outside. All was well.

[billys-pretty-babe]

Hi 🤍 I have a request if you don't mind... So, remember that scene in season 2 where Billy enters the room and and sees Max getting ready for the Snowball ?

I believe that Neil punished Billy for not bringing Max home that night. I think in addition to hitting him, he probably also forbade him to go to that ball. I mean, everyone is preparing for the ball but him: he's not ready at all and doesn't seem to be about to go out.

And that's where my idea came from. Could you write a fic where Reader, who is best friends with Billy, decides to secretly visit him that night (through the window) and keep him company instead of going to the Snowball because she really likes him and doesn't want him to be alone ? In the end they have an amazing time together (laughing, listening to music and maybe slow-dancing too) and Billy is all flustered because he didn't expect anyone to think of him that way. 🥺🤍🤍🤍

May I Have This Dance?

Pairing : Billy Hargrove x Fem!Reader

Summary : ^^^^^

Warnings : Swearing, Billy calls the reader babe, Neil Hargrove shows up at the end for a brief moment.

Word Count : 907

A/N : Requests are open. Thank you @moonlightfountain for the request, I hope I did your beautiful idea justice!!

The Snowball, something that every teen looked forward to but not that everyone could afford. You knew that Max was going to go along with Billy who had two different girls to take.

"Why do you even need two dates?" Billy chuckled, "One for each arm, babe."

You knew there was an incident but that was all you knew. You drove past the school, everything lit up, girls in their dresses and boys in their slacks and nice shirts as you drove to Cherry Lane. Billy's Camaro was on the road, Neil's truck was nowhere to be seen. You drove to your friend's house a few houses down before walking to Billy's house.

Once you made it you tested his window, seeing that it was unlocked before carefully sliding it open and climbing through. Billy laid on his bed, cigarette between his slightly chapped lips, Motley Crue Shout At The Devil vinyl playing in the corner of his room. "B," he looked over at you, his eye beginning to bruise a little. "What're you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be at the stupid dance?" You shook your head, shutting his window.

"Vickie said you cancelled so I came over here to check on you." He nodded, blowing out the mouthful of smoke, "Well, I'm alive, you can leave now." You rolled your eyes and made your way to his bed, the bed was small but you made it work. He looked at you, "Why are you still here? You have a date." You waved him off, "He'll understand, you're me important to me than some stupid dance plus we still have prom to go to so I'm not missing anything important."

He nodded and put out the cigarette before he turned to you, "Was Vickie mad?" You laughed, "I think she was more mad at the fact that you had two dates." He laughed with you, his nose scrunching a little. Vince Neil sang in the background as you both talked. "Okay but what fruit do you think you'd be?" Billy raised a brow, "A fruit?" You nodded and he hummed, pretending to think. "Pineapple, I use it to make my cum taste good." Your jaw dropped, you couldn't help it and Billy cackled, trying not to fall off of his bed.

"Are you serious?" He laughed and shook his head, "No, just pulling your leg but your reaction was priceless." You shook your head, flicking him off. "Can I change the record?" Billy nodded and you sifted through his contained of them, making comments here and there, "Donna Summer?" Billy laughed, "Hey, don't judge. I don't judge you for your weird obsession with rockstars." You rolled your eyes and grabbed the She Works Hard For the Money record and you turned up the volume a little and you laid back down, the record sleeve in your hand so you could see the tracklist.

Every song had passed before I Do Believe (I Feel In Love) and you stood up. "May I have this dance," you asked, putting your hand out and Billy raised a brow, "You serious?" You nodded, "As serious as you are about that car out there." He laughed and stood up, taking your hand in his and he turned up the volume once more. He kicked his bed a little to make room to dance considering he had the smallest room in the house.

You and me, we're together.

He pulled you to his body quickly, taking you by surprise. "I don't know how to dance." You laughed, "Me neither." You both laughed and swayed to the music.

I do believe I fell in love.

He quickly spun you before catching your hip in his hand and one of your hands moved to his shoulder as you held the other as you guys danced around the room.

Oh let me love you. Oh let me kiss you. Baby, I'm fallin', your love is a callin'.

"You trust me?" "Sometimes." He laughed and spun you again before dipping you slowly, his curls falling to frame both of your faces. Your breath hitched, your eyes searching his blue ones, his pupils dilating and he leaned in a little before the front door slammed shut and you both quickly pulled away a little, you trying to catch your footing and he quietly apologized and turned his music down.

"Billy," Neil yelled out and Billy looked at you, his eyes sad. "Go home, I can deal with him." You nodded and squeezed his hand, making sure you had your jacket before climbing out of his window and you jogged to your car. You took backroads back to your house, thinking about what had just happened.

Was Billy going to kiss you? Would you have let him kiss you? Is Billy attracted to you? Is that why his pupils dilated?

You asked yourself questions until you got back home and continued to ask them as you made your way to your bedroom. You got yourself ready for bed and as you laid down you came to your conclusion.

You're in love with your best friend.

You sighed and looked at your bedside table to see a picture of Billy as Lover's Lake as he looked at the stars, the cherry of the cigarette lit up as he took a pull from it. You smiled, admiring the picture before you fell asleep, wondering how Billy felt about you.

[a-narcissists-warren]

haio still on a little anonvoid hiatus ^_^

i'mma just be posting screenshots of all the asks i got so i can clean my inbox and both have them like. go somewhere instead of losing them forever

post is long!!! so click keep reading if you wanna see all the silly stuff ^_^ starting from oldest to newest!

[5th July | </3 okay- like i'm never deleting this from my inbox ever]

[9th July | I'VE WANTED TO LIKE SIT DOWN AND ACTUALLY WRITE A COHERENT TIMELINE OF EVENTS FOR THIS ohuhghr maybe some day......]

[9th July | hhrggrhghrghrghjfdgfhjdbhgjrkhgkjrhgkrjhgkfdjuigj sorgy eye mod i love eye anon but i ain't drawin allat right now]

[10th July | OKAY THIS IS ACTUALLY SO WEIRD WITHOUT CONTEXT.... it was a whole thing from the discord server i don't even know how to begin to explain it. but it was all shits and giggles and i like to think my little self-insert keeps these asks under the bed to look at when feeling down ^_^]

[15th July | secret........ oOOoOoOo i actually don't know if i still wanna do this silly thing... gang should i make this the first magic anon when i get back?]

[18th July | oh shit ummmehhh urmmm also this is old their new anon sign off is a pineapple instead of a lemon because...proshitters be taking emoji combos for some reason. anyways you probably already made the design by now BUUUT.....]

[i wanna have some fun........oohh girrlss just wannna haaaveee fuuunn /lyr ............i still can't believe an anon gave birth canonically]

[20th July | i need to interact with badger more.. <3 warrior cats are literally real bro... vro.... vroanonvodi warrior cats au when]

[26th July | ouh pickly.......... save them. gang look over pickly while i go smoke a pack of cigarettes /silly /ref (i don't smoke) ]

[27th July | aw yeah we're going back to short sleeve tee and baggy pants!!!!!!!!]

[28th July | i think i forgot to reply... sorry aliem mod.........]

[28th July | BRO LITERALLY PREDICTED THE ICE ANON- but really </3 wanted to give him a blanket......ouh i'm sorry princess anon........]

[28th July | girl (gender neutral), i had no idea how to reply, i was not gonna draw myself holding onto a baby or whatever cat breed that is /silly..... so so cute art.........]

[28th July | i would've dropped it, screamed and ran away.... scary bugs]

[30th July | ,,very interesting ask i censored just in case i wanna actually reply to it when i'm back,,,,,, didn't reply at the time cuz it was getting close to august and i didn't feel like i should start something that would've probably taken me a week to complete]

[30th July | thisis part of the convo cupid and sleepy were having........ hgjhggfi]

[31st July | I GENUINELY FORGOT TO REPLY TO THIS ASK.]

[31st July | mermaid anon... no one could make me hate you mermaid anon.... i know a theater kid when i see one and i bow to you to continue the show one day..... sorgy for not replying you're so cool]

[31st July | dear GOD. (eye strain... image darkened.... giggles)]

[31st July | my mf doesn't know how to sew for SHIITT, ily cupid anon mwa mwa /p]

[31st July | licks da rock..........]

[31st July | i don't like bacon surprisingly! i don't like a lot of stuff, you'd be surprised]

[1st August | THIS ISN'T EVEN ANONVOID RELATED GANG??? STOP LOOKING AT MY OLD POSTS THEY'RE UGLY!!!]

[1st August | Dean, i can't believe you still ask]

[1st August | SATURN PIANO...... WAAHHH]

[1st August | SIGH.......................... anonvoid server inside joke]

[1st August | this is based off notepad's portal to earth!! if you guys wanna interact with that go to notepads blog since my self-insert is taking a nap]

[1st August | little do they know..........]

[1st August | they're together in this screenshot cuz i got nothing to say,,,, i'm tired]

[pdhsofficial]

"Colombia in Colors" by Pineapples

[marco-newgate]

Marco X CisFem Reader

5

"Good morning lass." Pops murmured emerging from the hall that lead to both of your respective rooms.

"You're up early." You turned toward the single cup coffee maker taking his dark roast blend out of the cabinet and pouring it into the reusable metal cup.

"Could say the same for you. The sun isn't even up. I wish you'd been like this in your school days." He chuckled taking a seat at the table.

"Don't underestimate me; I can still sleep the day away if given the chance. Still two sugars and a drop of milk?" The old man nodded, "I just wanted to get some apartment hunting done before work."

"I hope you're not in a rush to leave, we only just got you back."

"You talk like I wasn't home every Sunday evening." You placed his cup on the table and took your seat in front of your laptop.

"You know you can stay as long as you want. There's more order when you're around and I miss my only daughter."

"Thanks pops. It'll be a while; I'm just looking at places right now." You smiled.

Marco shambled down the stairs yawning. His lavender button down falling open, revealing the white cotton tank beneath that you could faintly see the outline of his chest tattoo through. A black tie hung over his shoulders.

"Morning F/N, pops." He continued to the coffee maker taking his mug from the hook below the cabinet.

Pops hummed standing to make his way to the patio to watch the sun rise. This was a morning ritual he'd had as long as you'd known him. Occasionally on cold mornings you'd join him, neither of you breathing a word, just simply enjoying the view.

"Morning Pineapple ~ " You sipped your coffee, "You were out late."

"Was I?" The blond cocked his head, "I didn't know I had to report in yoi."

"You don't." Your brows knit, "I was just surprised you're up so early."

"It is a school day." He sighed buttoning the shirt.

"Kids have electives first period now?" You asked.

"It's block scheduling now yoi. I have four hour and a half classes a day." He sat next to you.

"What's first on your agenda?"

"Art four is first period today. They're my smallest class so we're doing silk screening."

"Ah that's so cool. I had to retake algebra two senior year so I had to drop art." You frowned.

"I remember." The blond chuckled, "Pops was so disappointed."

An embarrassed flush spread over your cheeks.

"You want me to make you a tee shirt yoi?" He flipped his collar up and started to fumble with the tie.

"Really? It's been a super long time since you made me anything." You smiled watching him clearly have a hard time, "Come here you aren't doing it right."

He scooted toward you and tipped his chin up.

"I have to make an example for them anyway." He hummed.

"OK I'll give you one of my plain shirts before you leave." You wove the tie around your fingers, "How do you wear a tie every day and not know how to tie it?"

"Thatch ties them and I leave them that way yoi." You rolled your eyes, "How do you know how to tie them?"

You chuckled as he glanced down at you brow cocked.

"Thatch. He said it'd be a great way to impress a boyfriend one day." You winked, "Impressed?"

"I can't believe he was teaching you how to seduce guys in high school." He scoffed looking away from you as you straightened the tie.

"I was too awkward to use those skills anyway." You laughed sitting back to admire your work, "There you look sort of respectable."

"It was useful in the end huh?" Thatch's voice chimed from the doorway.

His hair was down and his shirt was stained with lipstick and missing buttons.

"Look at you walk-of-shaming on a Monday." You laughed crossing the room for another cup of coffee.

"Ah yeah." He flashed a cheeky smile, "Gonna hit the shower before anyone else gets up."

"Yeah I gotta get going too yoi." Marco stood cuffing his sleeves.

"Oh the shirt." You disappeared down the hall reappearing with a heather gray v-neck.

"Thanks. Have a good day at work." He tossed your shirt over his shoulder and pecked your cheek before heading out the door.

"D-did Marco just kiss you?!" Ace practically shrieked - obviously as surprised as you.

You whipped around to face the wide eyed raven unable to find any words and even if you could you weren't breathing.

Breathe!

Ace crossed the room grabbing your shoulders and scrunching his freckled face.

"What's going on here F/N?"

"I- I don't think he even knows he did it." You breathed.

"How could he not? He doesn't do stuff like that." He argued.

"I'm just as confused as you." You shrugged out of your best friend's grasp.

"Heeeeey F/N!!!" Luffy called stomping down the stairs, "Can you drop me off at the campus library on your way to work?"

"S-sure ya got 10 minutes to get ready and meet me at the car." You replied screwing your travel lid onto your coffee cup.

Ace just stood in the middle of the kitchen.

"Don't make a big deal out of it. It was nothing." You tapped his cheek and turned for the door stepping out on the porch.

"What happened to Marco?" Pops asked from his seat on the bench swing, "He came out here red as a tomato."

"No idea." You replied coolly before kissing the old man's cheek and hopping down the steps, "Have a great day pops!"

"You too." He called back. 

[sichore]

23 combined w/or 20 for Pickles and Jimi!!!

[23. Write about your ship supporting each other through a hard time.

+

20. Write about your ship sneaking a romantic moment together.

Y'all are getting a preview of Dethmas: Director's Cut baybee!!!]

"Honestly, they've got all the money in the gahddamn world but don't even have one can opener? Ugh!" Molly huffs in frustration as she continues to slam through drawers.

Jimi opens one on her end and finally finds the prize, liifting it up for the older woman. "Oh, hey, I found one–"

"Ope, there we go." And Molly snatches the device from Jimi's outstretched hand, immediately attacking the canned pineapples.

Jimi catches Pickles' eye, again, and he gives her a slight shake of his head, lips pressed into a firm line.

"Honestly, Jamillah –"

"For the last time, Mom, it's Jamila–"

"Ja-MEE-la." Molly rolls her eyes, aggressively dumping the pineapples into a bowl. "Didn't I teach you not to interrupt a lady when she's talking? The nerve. Anyway, Jamila, it's nice having someone who knows how to follow directions in the kitchen for once. Yer honestly too nice to be hanging around this silly little band."

"This is the opportunity of a lifetime for me." Jimi says, forcing a casual tone into her voice, keeping her eyes on her hands as she sets up her cutting board and knife. "And I'm glad to be here. Did you want the pecans or walnuts for this one?"

"Walnuts, dear, pay attention. Still! Goofing off with these ruffians all day with yer pictures and all that. What would your husband think?"

Jimi tears open the bag of walnuts with a little more force than necessary, takes a deliberate breath, and meets Pickles' eyes again. He fidgets, now, tugging at the left sleeve of his sweater, soon averting his gaze.

"I mean, assuming yer married n' all. If not, that'd be pretty sad, as you're not so young – actually, wait a minute now." Molly pauses in stirring together her slime green concoction (so that's what the pistachio pudding was for?) to lean over and look at the painter's left hand. "Ah, well then," she sniffs at the lack of a ring, and dumps in the marshmallows.

"I'm happy where I'm at now," Jimi says with measured patience, slowly chopping the walnuts.

"You really should think about it," Molly's voice is a bit further way, and soon Jimi hears the hiss of the refrigerator door opening, then shutting with a thud. "I've already long given up on Connor giving me any grandkids – well, unless he's got any rascals running around, but I doubt it. Never could keep a girl long enough to–"

Jimi's knife comes down with much more force than necessary, and this time, she doesn't hide how she has to stop and take a deep breath. "Or maybe," she says slowly, "Pickles is very particular and hasn't found the right partner to meet his standards. Not everyone has to settle for the first thing that's given to them."

"Yeah, Mom. You have any idea what kinda PR nightmare a marriage would be? It takes someone real special to put up with that pressure." When Jimi looks up, Pickles is no longer slumped over on his stool, but sitting straight up. Looking at Jimi directly. "I wouldn't choose just anyone."

"Sounds more t'me like you just lost yer chance a long time ago." Shaking her head in disgust, Molly takes the chopped walnuts from Jimi to add to her bowl. "You still like coconut in this?"

"No, Mom, I don't."

"Since when?"

"Since never."

Molly tsks, stirring her – salad? Dessert? Jimi has no fucking clue anymore. "You are so disagreeable now, can't listen to nobody since you got all this going on. Should've found a nice girl like Seth did, that'd straighten you out–"

"Hey, Pickles, didn't you have some demos for me to listen to before I go?"

"Eyep, sure do!" Pickles slams his hands on the countertop as he stands, swiftly making for the exit. "Sorry, Ma, gotta work!"

"You haven't even done a taste test–"

"See you later, Molly!" Jimi tosses back, already halfway across the kitchen, skin crawling as she feels Molly's judgmental stare follow them. It doesn't fade until they're well out of view and down the hall, Pickles gripping her arm, almost dragging Jimi to keep up with his hurried pace.

He doesn't stop until Jimi tugs back, tugging him into some grandiose-but-empty room like the many dozens scattered throughout Mordhaus. He doesn't stop, until Jimi presses him back against the closed door and holds his face in her hands.

"Baby, baby, hey," she urges, voice hushed and low. "Look at me. Breathe."

The last thing Pickles needs is an asthma attack. His cheeks are tinged red with anger, but he listens, taking big, shuddery breaths, closing his hands over Jimi's wrists. She stays with him, breathing with him, until they breathe as one, calm and collected.

Jimi's thumbs rub against those delicately freckled cheeks, offering a smile to the moss green gaze locked on her. "You didn't have to come with me back there."

"You don't know how she is." Pickles starts to shake his head, but Jimi holds him still, and he inhales. Exhales. "I wasn't gonna just let her talk to you like that."

"I know." Now Jimi finds her own gaze dropping, to their equally garish sweaters, to their feet. She thought she'd be used to dealing with women like Molly, but given the circumstances... of course, this would be different. A lot more uncomfortable.

And painful, judging by the abject misery radiating from Pickles. His head drops to her shoulder and his arms wrap around her, his weight fully against the door behind him.

Jimi leans into him, arms sliding around his waist, and waits. The silence is never truly silent, their hearts beating in tandem to fill the void. She closes her eyes as Pickles settles, until his misery folds in on itself and is once again tucked away into a place Jimi can't reach quite yet.

She turns her face to press her cheek to his chest. "... We gonna tell her?"

His arms tighten around her. "I... I dunno."

They stay like that for minutes, hours, eons. As usual, time is insignificant when it comes to the two of them.

Eventually, Pickles pulls back, brushes a stray curl from Jimi's face. "Y'know, Jim..." His eyes drop, and he pointedly pauses.

Which makes Jimi blink at him. "What is it?"

"Huh." There's a distinct shift in the air between them. Pickles' hands brace around her ribcage, and move up until he's cupping her breasts. "Yer tits look fuckin' huge in this."

Jimi's mouth falls open. "What–"

"Seriously, are they bigger? Is there somethin' yer not tellin' me?"

"Oh, my god, stop! It's just..." She can't stop the giggles that spill out of her, increasing at Pickles' pleased little smirk. "It's just a thing that happens when I wear sweaters, I dunno!"

"We should get you in 'em more often," he muses, leaning in to kiss her cheek. "Or maybe out of 'em, I can't decide." He kisses her other cheek, sliding one hand beneath her sweater and over the bare skin of her belly.

Jimi, predictably, expectantly, shivers. "You're such a horndog."

"Nyeh hehehe." He just chuckles, continues to rub calloused fingertips over her skin. "You love it." And he tilts his head to kiss Jimi properly.

This is how it should be, always. Jimi glimmers and gleams as Pickles wraps around her in seven ways, crimson and content. He pulls back just before Jimi begs for him to sink his hand into her chest and please, please grasp her heart once again. As usual, yearning for that oneness, that completion.

"It would've only been you," he murmurs against her lips. "Ya know that, right?"

"I do." Even if Jimi the mortal still struggles with that truth, sometimes. Jamila, luminescent and eternal, has always known. She trails a finger down freckled cheek and scruff, sighs when he captures her fingertip between his lips. "But I could always use a reminder.

[Soft OTP Prompts]

[drama-glob]

Scare to Care

The heroes of San Fransokyo are running a haunted house for charity and it's been going well, until of course Halloween night when things start to mysteriously go wrong and threaten to shut it down on their busiest night. O_O

(I wrote this last year and I could have sworn I made a post but can't seem to find it to self reblog, so sorry and hope you don't mind me making this one since Halloween is next week and I wanted to get the word out that this story exists <3).

Now it was Halloween night and although it was a school night for many a kid in San Fransokyo, that didn’t stop them from showing up in costume with their parents along with various other citizens, most of whom were dressed up too; a long line about 200ft stretched back from the rusted gate doors that lead inside. Wasabi was on admissions duty tonight as he sat at the grey table outside the entrance dressed up as a banana this year instead of a pineapple (he had claimed it was a scary costume too on account of the radioactive potassium 40). Fred was off to his left next to the adjacent gate door doing his best to lure customers over. He was currently dressed as a zombie master of ceremonies, complete with a cobweb-covered black top hat, ripped pants and sleeves on his red and black suit, and had a sickly grey green paint job with a few stitches on his cheeks. Mini-Max was helping out tonight too since he didn’t get to experience Halloween with everyone last year and him practicing his sneaking skills meant he could surprise the patrons before they even entered the haunted house. He was currently dressed as a skeleton and hiding among the various joke tombstones that decorated the front lawn along with Honey Lemon-supplied fog that creeped low to the ground.

“There you go,” Wasabi politely said as he handed a mom and her daughter their bracelets.

“How’s it going Wasabi?” Fred asked, taking a brief break to get a drink of water.

“It’s going pretty well. Got a nice rhythm going and unsurprisingly most people want photos of Big Hero 6 or horror movie monsters,” he answered with a sly smile as he waited for the next set of customers to fill out their photo request and scare level. The next person that stepped up was a teenage girl dressed up as a witch and wearing a dark green costume along with a hat and broomstick. She proceeded to give Wasabi the $10 fee and her slip.

“Thank you,” the physicist said as he entered the data into his tablet, put the money in the lock box and grabbed the appropriate bracelet for her. “Have a good time.”

Here is the link on AO3:

[swinging-stars-from-satellites]

DO interact if you: enjoy cold weather, listen to Genesis because of your dad, wear primarily Doc Martens, still go to church, can name every song by your favorite band just by intro music, tried to learn drums in middle school, sound like you're from California even though you're not, briefly sang in a band, drink your coffee unsweetened, prefer big dogs, favorite flower is a regional wildflower, write solely on your phone, favorite genre is sci-fi, emo but don't look like it, have never been to Chicago O'Hare Airport, speak an ancient language, bedtime is midnight, are a middle child, enjoy memorizing things, like pineapple on pizza, have never listened to Metallica, want tattoos but don't have any, have a scar above your eyebrow, wear shorts with long-sleeved shirts, brunettes with hazel eyes, guilty pleasure read pulp action novels, have a low alto/high tenor vocal range, have never kept a succulent alive