#please get out of my head
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Text
As Orion Pax falls Megatron rises
As Optimus Prime arises, D-16 falls
Both weren't there to catch, now dead to each other
#there's no undooming for them#only millennium of rivalry#and tfo Megatron gets reformed like idw Megatron#ending with Earthspark MegOp dynamic#there must be continuation I swear#incoherent thoughts#maccadam#transformers#transformers one#tf one#tf1#d 16#orion pax#tfo megatron#tfo optimus#megop#please get out of my head
195 notes
·
View notes
Text
Screw Mornings
warnings: 18+ mdni, smut, matt
word count: 681
summary: just good olâ grumpy morning sex
unfortunately for some reason all i can think about is Matt.. also the fact that he would be SO fucking grumpy in the morning which leads to the most grueling messy sloppy sex. like heâs so tired and mean and wants to just rail into you
·:šàŒș â±âźâ± àŒ»Âš:··:šàŒș â±âźâ± àŒ»Âš:·
Itâs early.. oh so early but once he realizes you're awake he lazily tugs you up against his chest, grumpily rolling out a âmorning, baby". You respond in the same tried grumble as you back yourself up so you're more snug against him, when you begin to feel a familiar pressure against the lower curve of your ass.
The sleep of the morning quickly leaving as realization strikes at the feeling. You grin to yourself as you slowly roll your hips back and forth, causing a hand to snake around your side, gripping at the fat of your hips. Still half asleep, he fumbles with your shorts until he grabs hold of the top band in a bunch and rips them down.
You lift your hips up to help slide them off, as he slips his hand to the waistband of his boxers and pulls out his already rock hard cock. âSo fuckinâ hotïżœïżœ buzzed through the skin of your neck, sending goosebumps to cover your barely clothed body, as he carelessly shoves himself into you.Â
More times than not, heâd take the time getting you practically begging and sopping wet for him, but something about this morning had him much grumper than usual. He finds your hip once again and digs his fingers in, as if you were trying to get away, and picks up to a relentless speed.
In this moment, all he cares about is the feeling of your wet hot cunt wrapped around his entire length, and thatâs just what he did. He took long hard thrusts, being sure to pull out slowly just so he can ram himself in harder, reaching an even deeper spot in your core that begged to be touched. The room was quick to be filled with the sounds of desirous moans and deep grunts alongside the clacking clicks of wet skin slapping wet skin.
Once he found his rhythm and was sure you would follow, he slithers his arm up your side and takes hold of your tit, gripping it and compressing you flush against his chest so he can hiss out just how well you're taking him into your ear.Â
The sounds of his voice that early in the morning mixed with the tone of aggression had you pawing at anything you could reach. Each thrust had you pulsating, and he was quick to notice as he felt you begin to tighten around him. But before he allowed you to do anything, âdonât even think about it til I tell you toâ spat from his lips as he picked up his pace once more.
You bit back tears at the unforgiving force he created as his cock continued to fill and empty your now pounding cunt. The crying pleas that burned through your throat in hopes to slow him were now being used against you, as each one that came begging out was just another deep thrust and ânot yetâ.
You squeeze your eyes shut tight in a desperate attempt to hold onto the orgasm that longed to be let go as the ruts of his hips became undeniably shameless. Tears fell as you felt yourself start to come undone, and with one final plea to show him just how close you were, an almost Godlike âcum for me, baby. I wanna feel you all around meâ flowed through your ears.Â
That alone sent you over the edge as you raddled out his name in a crying scream.
He held you tight as he gave you a few more hastful thrusts before filling you with streams of his cum far into your core. His pace slowed as he let you come down from your high and steady the shaking that overtook your legs.Â
After everything had settled he pulled himself out, watching as the mix of both your cum seeped its way out of your throbbing cunt and onto the mattress, yet doing nothing about it due to the grouch that was still flowing through him.
He rolled himself over to check the time and grumbled out a moan as he pulled you closer yet again and placed his chin on the hook of your shoulder.
ââs too fuckin early..âÂ
#matt dierkes#matt <3#fucking loser#why him??#for the love of god all i can think about is him make it stop#please get out of my head#iâm going insane#plsplspls#bad omens cult#badomenscult#bad omens#noah sebastian#joakim karlsson#nicholas ruffilo#jolly karlsson#nick folio#nick ruffilo#iâm losing my mind
115 notes
·
View notes
Text
Patron
If you wonât be my lover
Read italicized florals with me
Or bring out the perception
of your retina
On graphite and fiber.
Let me be your patron.
Keep me at an arms distance
So I can still admire you.
#poem#original poem#poems on tumblr#prose#untouchable#writing#thoughts#please get out of my head#love#lit#spilled ink#spilled thoughts#writeblr#writer#spilled emotions#literature#self love
21 notes
·
View notes
Text
AAA MISTER CRAZY VILLAIN VILLAIN
#loaf's rambles#teniwoha#villain teniwoha#vflower#Ado's cover reminded me that this song exists and now I'm obsessed again#please get out of my head
29 notes
·
View notes
Text
i hear đ you đ«” Russki đ·đș although the circus đȘ owner đ€Ą may allow â
stowaways đ¶âđ«ïž , if the stowaways đ€« just happens to be đ€Ż the owners. đ Riddle me that. đ
6 notes
·
View notes
Text
fr if i keep seeing more alhaitham stuff im gonna start writing for him at this point
#âË áą kirimoochi#PLEASE GET OUT OF MY HEAD#GET OUT OF MY HEAD GET OUT OF MY HEAD#HES SO HOT??#i want a studious smartass bf
4 notes
·
View notes
Text
yknow when you're thinking about your special little blorbo but in a vague way. nothing specific just them. microwaving them in your head. stirring them in the soup pot. i need professional help.
#helia.#aisha.#please get out of my head#ahdgladhg#anyway i Cannot stop thinking about poly wi.nx it's destroying me#they deserve a fun wlw group relationship <3#also slightly microwaving a poly specialist relationship itd be so funny and so bad#it would never work and thats what makes it so good
5 notes
·
View notes
Text
9/26/22
I hope you are doing well. I hope you are being loved and cared for the way you deserve. I hope you wake up every day with a purpose and drive to succeed and inspire everyone around you.
I hope you havenât forgotten me.
But in a way, I hope you have.
I have met a man who loves me, and he wants to marry me. He is kind and thoughtful and treats me better than anyone I have ever been with.
You would love him.
I see a lot of you in him, and that is probably why I have let myself fall in love with him, too.
I was thinking the other day about one of the last things you ever said to me. You said you wanted to leave, and you would if I would leave, too. I said I was fond of the person I was with. You said that you guessed you would suffer in fondness.
The venom you spat back has stuck with me ever since.
Iâm sorry I canât tell the future, and Iâm sorry for our past. Iâm sorry for all the things I caused to happen because I make stupid decisions.
I guess I just hope you are okay and I didnât ruin your life again for my own selfish reasons.
I know that a part of me will love you until my dying breath. I know I will search for you in every face I meet. Maybe I will find more of you in the man I love.
Anyway, I am writing to say I love you, and I want to let you go. I want to love this person in my life the way he loves me - fully, unapologetically, and overwhelmingly.
He deserves that.
You deserve that.
I deserve that.
I release you from the bonds we had.
I release you from the love we had.
I release you from the feelings and dreams and nightmares that will never come true.
Please release me too.
Yours,
Me.
#dear you#personal#spilled ink#words words words#fuck#please get out of my head#get out of my heart#get out get out get out
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
DC x DP Prompt: Bruce is bad at emoting but at least ghosts are empathic (too bad bat kids are not)
Was reading Twincognito on AO3 when I stumbled across this gem again:
~
" âDanny, Tim. I was justâŠchecking in. Is everything alright?â Curse his inability to make meaningful conversation when it wasnât a life or death situation.
They glanced at each other and shrugged.
Then Danny hauled himself out of the bed and walked over to Bruce.
Bruce tried not to let too much excitement show on his face. "
~
Now I really want to read a story where Bruce adopts Danny post Meta trafficking and is being his usual emotionally constipated self. His kids keep getting mad at him because he's treating their new meta brother who was trafficked poorly (generally being stilted in conversation with him, walking away hurriedly mid-conversation, avoiding Danny when he's feeling really awkward, etc). They think Bruce is discriminating against Danny for being a civilian, meta, dealer's pick, but really it's just Bruce being horribly socially awkward. Danny knows this because of ghost empathy and find the whole thing hilarious. The whole thing comes to a head with the Bat Kids staging an intervention in the Bat Cave.
#dpxdc#dc x dp#dp x dc#dcxdp#batfam#batman#danny phantom#danny fenton#bruce wayne is a good dad#bruce wayne#bruce is terrible at feelings#the whole thing comes to a head with the bat kids hosting an intervention in the bat cave#maybe like a five plus one set up?#each time one of the bat kids thought bruce was discriminating against danny#and one time where they realized 'no#he is just that awkward'#dealer's choice if alfred thinka bruce is discriminating or not too#thinking this is either before adopting duke or not long after#because its one thing to be a light and shadow meta and another to be as OP as Danny is#also i'm thinking they don't know danny is a halfa#like they think he's just an unfortunately useful meta that got trafficked#could also have danny encountering his new siblings in and out of uniform knowing who they are without them revealing it for extra fun#idk#couldn't get this out of my head#my original post#fic prompt#story prompt#prompt#please guys i have no spoons but i want to read it so bad#đ„ș
6K notes
·
View notes
Text
ohmygod
i feel like loki in that scene in avengers where hulk is throwing him into the ground over and over.
who could stay? (you could stay.) (eddie munson x reader)
summary: you're convinced that being loved comes with a cost. he finds a way to prove you wrong. (wc: 9.7k+)
order up! i've got one ash's special for anonymous. âĄ
Keep going, keep going, keep going.Â
Agree to run that errand for someone. Offer a shoulder to cry on for that person. Fix that problem for this friend. Keep going, keep offering, keep becoming indispensable.Â
You couldnât pinpoint the exact age youâd figured out the formula. You can never know for sure if the day was sunny or if it were rainy, if it were a calm December morning or a buzzing July night, but those details arenât very important. The only important detail is that you had finally cracked the code at some point â you had finally figured out the solution to feeling unlovable. And that was that, truthfully, there wasnât a solution. Once you were destined to feel this way, to feel so sour at your core, there is no easy way to rid yourself of that rotten pit. It would always be there â always churning, always burning, always yearning. Yearning to be loved, yearning to feel those waves of warmth cascading over your brain and down your spine, the ones others had always described to you but youâd just never⊠experienced. Never became familiar with.
It felt like everyone was playing an over-elaborate prank on you. Theyâd all conspired against you, invented a false feeling in which someone claims to feel loved, only to sit back and watch as you fumbled to find it. Theyâd laughed as you dug through a graveyard of relationships, caked your fingernails with dirt as you sobbed and would continue to claw deeper, trying to find just one set of bones that might hold that warmth for you.Â
The only solution to that detrimental feeling of being unlovable, was to feel needed.Â
You needed to feel so necessary, so essential, to everyone around you at all times. It never mattered how much of you it took. Youâd give away every piece of yourself a million times over just to feel wanted at some capacity, even if that capacity were one youâd forced upon the other person. You didnât care if youâd built the glass cages of theirs â you just cared that they kept you around to wipe away any smudges that appeared.Â
Being wanted wasnât quite the same as being loved. And if you thought about that for too long or too often, you might just break irrevocably.Â
âI just donât understand him,â Nancy sighs from the head of your bed, reclining against a wall of pillows youâd lined your headboard with. Two of which were body pillows. Long tubes of fluff to try and fill lonely spaces, you suppose, âWhy didnât he just tell me he didnât want to go to the same college? Why⊠Why do I feel like I am forcing him to be with me?âÂ
Because you are. Just like I force you all to need me.Â
âI donât know, Nance.âÂ
That bland, bitter, half-thought out answer lingers on your tongue, almost burns your throat with the whisper of say more, say something useful, say something comforting. Itâs the whisper of those four words not being enough. Itâs the whisper of that threat that those four words could be the beginning of the end, the thing that makes Nancy realize she doesnât need you.Â
After all, what use is a friend that canât give good advice, or be supportive during relationship rants?Â
You open your mouth to add on something sweeter, something to coat the conversation like honey and smooth out the lines forming on Nancyâs forehead, but she beats you to it, âIâm sorry, Iâm rambling, arenât I?âÂ
Yes. âItâs fine,â at least that wasnât a lie â youâd dug this specific grave, had rooted down tooth and nail only to find another empty coffin of a friendship curtained with want instead of love. Youâd all but asked for this, âWhat he did really was shitty. Itâs not fair to you.âÂ
The words are almost robotic, telling Nancy Wheeler what she wants to hear rather than what she needs to hear. You donât always do that, you do make a point of investing in the truth from time to time to truly secure your position as someone who is genuinely needed in her life, but the headache nagging at your temples tells you itâs not worth the fight tonight. Youâre tired, youâre agitated, and you really just want to get Nancy to the point of contentment in her rambling so that you can send her on her way.Â
God, youâre an awful friend.Â
It turns you quiet, a ricocheting thought that bruises your inner skull the rest of the time Nancy sits on your bed. The guilt eats you alive for that moment of irritation the rest of the night. Even after Nancy goes home, even after youâve brushed your teeth and youâve tucked yourself into bed. The guilt gnaws on the edges of that emptiness inside of you, that ever-present black hole that already existed, and says this is why you cannot be loved.Â
Maybe the pity party for feeling like a bad friend is what makes you a bad friend.Â
And maybe if you were a better friend, you would be loved instead of wanted for once.Â
Itâs all part of a cycle, never-ending and treacherous. Itâs always been this way. You make promises to your friends and rip yourself to shreds before remolding yourself into whatever they need; giving rides to the younger kids within your circle to the pool all summer which evolved into taking turns with Steve as to who would pick them all up after their D&D club ran late every Friday night, always lending a listening ear to Nancy once Johnathan moved away and sheâd had to witness her relationship and her love vanishing in real time, always being the one person who will listen to Robin ramble for hours about her sudden interests. None of it was born of ill-intent, but when youâd go home lonesome at the end of the night, you could see it all for what it was.Â
You were trying to fill a void. A hollow rot, a black hole. And it was only working half the time.Â
Half the time, until he came along.Â
And make no mistake, his arrival was as bloody as anyone who had previously entered your life. For a while there, you believed his headstone was at the end of the line already, sanctioned away in this graveyard of the ability to be loved. He came crashing into your life on a random Friday night, and you had sworn you could already see the end as it began, but you had been wrong.Â
âSo, youâre the infamous babysitter.âÂ
His voice caught you off guard. Youâd been sitting in your car with your windows down, enjoying the reprieve of a cooling autumn evening as you waited for the boys to finish up with their D&D club. With your head buried in the latest sci-fi novel that Dustin had recommended and would no doubt be grilling you on once he got in the car, you hadnât even heard the club exit the school.Â
âNope,â you fought a smile as you glanced up from the pages to see an older guy standing there, closer to yours and Steveâs age than the kids. There wasnât a doubt in your mind that this was the famous Eddie all the boys would ramble on about for hours on end, âHarringtonâs the babysitter. Iâm just the taxi driver.âÂ
There was something particularly pretty in the way he threw his head back with laughter at your words. Curls that messily fell just beyond his shoulders, full lips disappearing as his teeth peeked through and shined beneath the parking lotâs lamp posts. His denim vest looked purposefully distressed with a mirage of patches and pins, and he was wearing a leather jacket beneath it, even if it wasnât quite cold enough for it yet outside. He was cute â and watching him laugh because of you sparked something irreversible inside of you.Â
âCâmon now,â he sighed as his cackles quieted, âGive yourself more credit than that. At least call yourself something fancy, like âchauffeurâ.âÂ
âAh, but âtaxi driverâ insinuates that I charge them,â you donât miss a beat, and your quick wit has him chuckling again.Â
You caught sight of his eyes, corners creased with joy â brown. They were deep, russet, tantalizing brown. Almost indiscernible from his pupil in the dark.Â
âIâm Eddie, by the way.â
You took his hand that he shoved through your open window with ease, and felt an immediate shiver run down your spine. Not quite from the cold, but not quite warm. You saw the first flash of his grave, and you knew youâd be digging your greedy hands into it soon enough.Â
As you gave him your name in return, you knew you wouldnât be leaving well enough alone.Â
You had been half right that night. You wouldnât be leaving well enough alone, you would be seeking out the impossible from Eddie â but so would he.Â
It quickly became apparent that Eddie was a pest. Someone who weaseled his way into the lives of others, who made his presence felt and never forgotten.Â
Youâd started with the same slow dance as you did with every new person, a hesitant dipping of your toes into their waters, unsure if your presence in their life would only cause more trouble than youâre worth, when you quickly discovered that nothing could ever be hesitant or slow with Eddie Munson. Heâs the one constantly reaching out to you. Driving the kids home now takes double the time it used to, long conversations being had with him that has the kids dragging you away, practically begging to just be taken home. The day heâd asked for your number, you couldnât tell which one of you burned brighter red. And the moment he had your number in his clutches? Forget about it. You never heard the end of Eddie Munson, and you never really wanted to.Â
Unlike your friends you already had and loved deeply, Eddie was observant.Â
Itâs within the first month of knowing you that he had picked up on your insecurities. Maybe he hadnât directly seen that gaping hole in your chest yet, but he noticed your habit of running yourself dry to see others thrive.Â
The need to be needed. He picked up on it quickly.Â
âWhat about Sunday?â Eddieâs voice traveled over the line as you laid on your stomach, stretched out across your bed for a few moments of rest before you had to get up and take the cookies youâd baked for Steve and Robin into Family Video, just like you had promised, âIâm free then if I finish all my fuckinâ homework on Saturday night.â
Surprisingly, that phone call with Eddie hadnât been something expected or planned. It had been impulsive; in a rare moment of peace, you found yourself craving to hear his voice. Somehow, the two of you had ended up trying to figure out a free day to properly hang out. Eddie wanted to go to Bennyâs for milkshakes, and you wouldnât turn down the free fries he also promised.
âI canât,â you paused just to hear his predictably dramatic sigh, grinning as you continued to explain, âIâm taking Max to the skatepark that day.â
âAnd itâs going to take all day?âÂ
âIt could!â
âThereâs absolutely no way.â
âYou clearly havenât seen that girl skate.âÂ
The conversation continued, light-hearted enough with plentiful jokes made. Something about talking with Eddie made your heart lighter, the usual unbearable and contradictory weight of emptiness no longer on your mind as you listened to him ramble about something that had happened in one of his classes â a teacher tried to embarrass him when he caught Eddie doodling for a D&D campaign by asking him a question, not expecting him to know the answer. Eddie had, of course, leaving the teacher baffled with a smirk.
 Itâs all about my charm, sweetheart, he responded when you asked how he hadnât earned a detention from that.Â
Only towards the end of the call, when the conversation finally lulled and the two of you found yourselves settled into a comfortable silence, did Eddie finally circle back to the beginning of your conversation.Â
âYou know,â he started, âWhen I first met you, I never took you to be someone soâŠâ
âAmazing? Wonderful? Funny?â you jokingly attempted to finish his sentence.
âBusy.âÂ
Oh. You hadnât expected that one.Â
âBusy?â you repeated back to him, âIâm not that busy.âÂ
Your mind immediately started racing with thoughts of what he had meant. Was he feeling neglected? Maybe you should have canceled on Max on Sunday, agreed to Bennyâs with him instead. No, you couldnât bear Maxâs disappointment. Maybe you could tell Max you had a time constraint, even though you knew she hated those when it came to her skating days. Was there any other plans you could abandon? Anyone else you could bear to let down for the sake of not leaving Eddie high and dry? No, no â all your other weekend plans involved going to the movies with Robin, helping Steve look into colleges finally, taking the boys to the Starcourt mall to shop for supplies to make figurines for their newest campaign. The room was suddenly getting smaller, your chest constricting, your head spinning. You couldnât bear the thought of disappointing any of those people, no, but what about Eddie? Maybe he was right in feeling neglected, maybe you deserved whatever guilt was to come from whatever his next words would be. He was your friend, you were supposed to make time for h-
âSweetheart,â he scoffed over the line, and you swore you heart stopped right then and there, âYouâre the highest thing in demand since Cabbage Patch Kids last Christmas â and trust me, I should know how in demand those fuckers were. I worked seasonally at the mall, remember?âÂ
Your breath caught. He was feeling neglected. You weakly began your apology as tears were already filling your eyes, that panic turning over itself in your gut, âIâm-â
âAnd itâs not a bad thing, donât get me wrong,â Itâs clear your voice had been too soft, too weak, for him to hear you, âJust means Iâve gotta fight harder to be worth your time, am I right?âÂ
You had to clear your throat, but it did nothing to subsidize that anxiety that rattled your bones. Itâs blatantly evident as your voice shook with a second attempt at an apology, âIâm sorry, Eddie. I didnât mean- I can⊠Iâll⊠Just tell me when for Bennyâs. I can make it work, I swear-â
âWoah, woah, woah.âÂ
He had to have heard the tears that had escaped down your cheeks. The shake of your breath as youâd stuttered over your words, grasping for a solution.Â
âYou donât need to apologize for that,â his voice was soothing and soft, the most gentle it had been the entire night. You pinched your eyes shut and just tried to imagine those stupid, big doe eyes, those ungodly messy curls (youâd started to tease him about if he ever even brushed or combed them). The panic remained, but Eddieâs voice started to give it a run for its money, âI was just playing around. You know that, right?â he paused to give you room to answer, but your throat was still tightly squeezed by overwhelming emotion, overwhelming fear of having scorned Eddie, âYou could only have enough time in your schedule to see me once a year, and Iâd still be your friend. We could only have these random phone calls, even if they were never longer than a minute, and youâd still be worth it. You know that, right?â Another pause, another wave of silence from your end, âSweetheart, you donât owe me your time. And I donât need monopoly over it for us to be okay.âÂ
Each word made the panic settle. You werenât sure how he did it. You werenât sure how mortified you should be that he had only been in your life for a month at most, and had just overheard you at your most vulnerable.Â
All you were sure of was that you believed him.Â
âOkay,â you croaked, finally feeling that ring of fear loosen, vocal chords finally functioning once more.Â
âOkay,â Eddie repeated back in that same gentle, soothing, soft tone.Â
You werenât disappointing him. You werenât making him feel neglected. He still found use for you, he still wanted you around â he still needed your friendship. That had to be enough. Â
It was quiet over the line for a few moments.Â
It has to be enough, you reminded yourself.Â
âSay,â you finally said, voice back to normal strength and the tears having dried themselves up for the most part. Your heart had almost returned to normal rhythm, âHow does Bennyâs sound tonight?â
âTonight?â he chimed back, sounding as excited as a little kid the morning of a cherished holiday, something like Christmas.Â
A shiver ran down your spine. Itâs not from the cold, and you tell yourself itâs not quite warmth â it canât be warmth.Â
âTonight,â you confirmed, âWith a detour by Family Video, if you donât mind. Iâve got a special delivery of cookies to fulfill.âÂ
âWhat kind?â
âExcuse me?âÂ
You were grinning - God, you were a pathetic fool, grinning and clutching onto that phone like a lifeline. Like if you let go of it, youâd lose his voice, and if you lost his voice, that would be the end of the world.Â
âWhat kind of cookies?â
âChocolate chip.â
He hummed, not answering right away as if he were deliberating this information. When he finally spoke again, another shiver wrapped around your spine, spinning down, down down. Waves of what you almost believed were warmth. âOkay. I suppose I can be your taxi driver, for a price.â
âWhatâs your price?âÂ
âOne cookie.â
âDeal.â
It had to be enough, because you were still clutching that telephone tightly to your cheek, long after the phone call ended with Eddieâs promise of being at your house soon enough. It had to be enough, because after that night, it became clear; the world would not end with the loss of just Eddieâs voice from your life, but the loss of Eddie, period. It was the first night of many in which you played a very, very dangerous game.Â
Even with Nancy gone, you felt restless. You couldnât help but linger just a little longer in all that self-pity, still replaying the night and all you could have done differently.Â
Had she caught on with how out of it you had been? Had she seen through your act and immediately assumed the worst â assumed you werenât worth keeping around?Â
The thoughts might be an overreaction.Â
You were definitely overreacting.Â
You didnât really care that you were overreacting, though, because you really couldnât control it. It was just another dark path you couldnât stop your mind from traveling down. It was endless, and it was lonesome, and⊠and it was just normal. What should be devolving into a panic attack can only settle like an emptiness deep within your chest; youâve been staring at the blank wall of your living room for so long without blinking, your eyes have gone dry.Â
A pattern. Thatâs what the therapist said. You had a pattern for overthinking these interactions, for projecting feelings onto others that didnât exist. You think all your friends hate you, you think that a stranger found your smile to be more of a grimace, you think your mom hasnât called in months because she recognizes you as a failure finally. But none of it is actually what those people think. Itâs like a mirror â you look into the eyes of others, and you see all your own insecurities reflected back.Â
Sheâd asked you to work on it. To take a step back and just breathe, just remind yourself of that, whenever this happens. Youâd decide whether youâd mention this minor slip up later. For now, you were going to wallow. You were going to spiral with just you, this damn blank wall, and maybe even the bottle of wine in the fridge.Â
Yes, your mind was made up, and you force yourself to stand from the couch and wander into the kitchen, eyes still dry and chest still caving in on itself as you open the fridge.Â
Thatâs as far as you get. Your fridge is wide open, the bright luminescent light flooding your kitchen floor in time with the trickling chill that sneaks up on your warm cheeks and already numb toes, when you spot it.Â
A box of takeout. Itâs old enough now you could throw it out, you had known the moment heâd taken the last of his meal to-go that he wouldnât finish it. Teased him about it, even. But he was stubborn and you werenât capable of turning down the opportunity to let another piece of him, another flash of evidence of his place in your life, occupy this apartment. So there it sat, a half-eaten burger he hadnât revisited.Â
But he had revisited the apartment â revisited you. Heâd been here every night this week, and youâd practically had to shove him out on the street to get him to leave this morning to get to work on time.Â
The edges of that emptiness that weighs down your insides blur, already lightening microscopically as you slam shut the fridge and forgo the wine completely to grab the phone instead.
âYou donât have to always take care of everyone, you know,â he murmured as he joined you in the kitchen to retrieve popcorn for the gang, everyone gathered in the living room for a movie night.Â
âPardon?â you asked, hardly glancing over your shoulder as you punched in the designated time for the microwave to turn the kernels into an easy, mouth-watering snack of butter and crunch.Â
âYou always take care of everyone. You donât have to.â
His words rang clearer that time, loud enough to have stopped you in your tracks. You paused mid-reach, the cabinet for the Harringtonâs bowls wide open and shelves nearly too tall for you.Â
âI-â you werenât sure exactly what to say, âWhat do you mean?âÂ
His brows scrunched, eyes having narrowed in the slightest in your direction, âPlease donât play dumb right now.âÂ
âIâm not playing dumb. Iâm trying to get popcorn for our movie night,â you waved your hand towards the shelves lined with bowls for emphasis on your point, âThatâs not really taking care of everyone â it was just being polite. Steveâs hosting, itâs the least I can do.âÂ
âThe least you can do? The least you can do is actually just sit with friends, enjoy the movie,â the crease between his brow deepened, eyeing you with an unfamiliar concern. You shifted beneath the weight of his gaze.Â
You donât know what to say. Except, âItâs not that serious.âÂ
He scoffed, and you nearly flinched from it. Fear threatened to bubble up â heâs upset, heâs getting irritated at you. Heâs getting tired of you.Â
You waited for him to say something more as the buzz of the microwave filled the tense space, but he remained silent. Brooding.Â
âWhat?â your voice shook, your entire being torn between succumbing to all that fear and anxiety in upsetting him further and that voice in the back of your mind that urged you to push him, to hear what he really thought. âI know you have something more to say.âÂ
âIn the six months Iâve known you, you havenât taken a single break for yourself.âÂ
He met your push, stood his ground and didnât let it put any distance between you two. It felt like a goddamn revelation, right there in the Harrington kitchen.Â
âI take plenty of breaks, Eddie,â you tried to laugh off, âI do spend time away from you all, hard as that may be to belie-â
âHardly,â he cut you off as sharply as the first resonating pop that echoed from the microwave.Â
âWhatâs your point? I just like being around you guys. Like I said, itâs not that serious.â
This was the part where the distance would happen. You kept pushing, took the inch heâd given you to bite back and ran with it. Normally, you avoided conflict with any of your friends vehemently. Always afraid, always assuming the relationships to be so fragile and so delicate. You would take such care in never giving them a reason to hate you that youâd never taken to a battleground before.
But there had been a look in Eddieâs eyes that night. A shine that, breaking through all the worry for you, whispered, fight with me. Stand your ground with me. Iâll still call you tomorrow, no matter what words we exchange tonight.Â
A safety net had formed that youâd never even noticed. That delicacy wasnât needed here. You could pick up the sword, there in that kitchen, and it wouldnât turn Eddie to smoke and shadows.Â
âMy point isâŠâ he paused, he swallowed hard, he exhibited the delicacy that was usually expected from you, âYou can like being around us. But you should put yourself first. At least once. At least on movie night.âÂ
âHow is me making popcorn not putting myself first?â you got the question out, you took a deep breath, ready to go on some sort of defensive tirade for your habit you were well aware of.
He beat you to it, âEvery day last week, you only got three hours of sleep, at most, before your shifts. You gave up sleep to hang out with us all way too late, refused to throw in the towel and go home before anyone else.â
âI could have napped-âÂ
âYou didnât nap,â he stressed, taking a step closer to you. The popping of the snack turning in the microwave was erratic, mere seconds left on the timer. Static noise to the conversation at hand, âI know you didnât fucking nap after your shifts because you were immediately running errands for everyone else, or hanging out again. You offered to give Robin a ride to work every single day, and her shifts start⊠what, an hour after yours ended? And then you had to give her rides home, right? But in those hours she was at work, you were helping Dustin with an essay for school â that little fucker told me all about it. You were awake when Johnathan called you and we were all stoned off our asses, went and got us food we didnât need but still wanted. We didnât even expect you to pick up, you know? I told them, I swore to them, you wouldnât pick up. You had a morning shift. You were scheduled literal hours from when we called you. But you picked up. You fucking picked up, and you went and got the fucking food for us fucking idiots.â
Your brain completely malfunctioned. You couldnât comprehend how he was saying all of these things that should be good things, things that proved you were needed and you were reliable, but with such venom in his tone.Â
Anger had sparked within you as you pictured how giddy Dustin had been over the B heâd earned on his essay, that sincere appreciation on Robinâs face every time she left your car last week, the dopey grin that Argyle had worn when youâd arrived with their food order in your pajamas. All previously things to fuel you, filling that aching hole inside of you, now being tarnished because he was concerned.
âOh, Iâm sorry,â you seethed at him, âWould you prefer I hadnât been awake? Would you prefer I let Dustin just⊠get a fucking F on that essay? Or Robin walks to work?âÂ
âYes!âÂ
You were both shocked at the sudden volume in your voices. The quickness in his reply. The quiver in your lip.Â
âYes,â he breathed out, quieter this time, âI would prefer those things if it meant you were taking care of yourself. The word ânoâ should be in your vocabulary, sweetheart. I⊠The world doesnât end just because you donât constantly make yourself available.â
But you all needing me might.
âJust⊠justâŠâ your breaths came out in huffs, eyes downcast and unwilling to meet Eddieâs stare. A final push, and it came out more fragile than youâd ever intended, âJust mind your business, Eddie.âÂ
He opened his mouth to say more, but the microwave started to go off, signaling what you saw as the end of the conversation â the fight. Youâd raised your voice at him, youâd swung that sword in his direction, and he hadnât vanished. His friendship â he â wasnât as breakable as youâd thought.Â
You spun on your heel, you took the popcorn out and divided it into bowls for the group, busying your hands in any way possible. All the while, he never left the kitchen. He stood just feet away from you and let you do what needed to be done, and only stopped you as you turned to exit the kitchen with the snacks acquired.Â
His hand caught onto your elbow, âYou have bags.âÂ
âExcuse me?â
âYou have bags under your eyes,â he elaborated. He no longer looked frustrated, but defeated, a morose distress pinching the edges of his feature.
âJesus,â you were now scoffing, adjusting your grip on those bowls, âYou really know how to compliment a girl, donât you?â
âTheyâve been there for months,â his grip refused to loosen, thumb trailing over the crease in your arm, âPlease donât run yourself into the ground.âÂ
You gave him a cold shoulder as you left him behind to rejoin your friends, unable to shake his consternation. It was so genuine, it terrified you. It made your insides churn, it turned your anxious attachment to dust.Â
It made a shiver of warmth travel down your spine.Â
The empty space beside you on the couch only remained for seconds after youâd passed around the bowls, keeping one for yourself. He was back there, back at your side, as if the two of you hadnât just exited a battle ground. As if a stand-off hadnât just occurred, as if it all hadnât ended in a draw.Â
He looked at you with those eyes.
Fight with me. Stand your ground with me. Donât walk away from me. I will still call tomorrow.
He did more than call that night. As the movie started, he didnât so much as flinch when your head fell to his shoulder in exhaustion. He only tucked an arm around your shoulders, only shifted you to be more comfortable as you used him as a personal pillow. He glared at everyone in warning not to grill you on the plot of the movie when youâd awoke mildly disappointed, heâd let you sleep on the drive home. He never once brought the fight back up.Â
And he still called the next day.Â
After your shift, he was the first voice you heard after dragging your feet into your apartment. A brief apology was exchanged before it was back to business as usual between you two. And somewhere between his rambles, you fell asleep with your phone balanced half-haphazardly between your cheek and shoulder. You could only dream of the grin he wore when heâd hear your soft snores over the line, quieting down immediately to let you rest. He never hung up â he was content to sit on a hushed line if only for the assuredness that you were finally resting.Â
The warmth no longer traveled down your spine, instead curling up timidly near that hole inside of you. You let it.Â
âMunson residence!â
That warmth that had found home in your chest still remains to this day, rousing at Eddieâs voice over the line. Itâs nearly enough to make you cry â the relief that floods you just by the sound of him and his endless chipper. His optimism that always seems to exist, even in contrast with those harsh edges he tries to portray.Â
âEddie,â you whisper, as if youâre not the only one in your apartment, âCan you⊠Are you free?âÂ
Even after a year, you still sometimes felt guilt, asking so much of him. Asking so much, and giving so little in return.Â
But you werenât the one who set that standard. Eddie had. Ferociously, fiercely, stubbornly. The insistence that you simply being was enough for him.Â
âFor you, sweetness?â he chuckles lowly. He recognizes your voice immediately; you never have to say itâs you calling. You could have shrugged it off as Caller ID, but you knew the Munsonâs phone didnât have that. No, he recognized you by voice only. Heâd once joked that only you would one day be able to rouse him from the dead, based on the âsweet melody aloneâ. Recognition in death â you had managed to burrow your way so deeply into his life, youâd earned recognition in death. âAlways. Whatâs up?âÂ
You could have just kept him on the phone. Had one of your infamous conversations about everything and nothing. Sat on the cold tiles of your kitchen and smiled like a child as you listened to him rant. But the cold chill of your lonesome apartment was becoming suffocating, and you remembered that take out in the fridge and the way one of his socks had ended up in your laundry last week. You remembered how you started keeping his favorite brand of beer in your fridge and how one of your pillows started to permanently smell like his aftershave.
He had a toothbrush in your bathroom. He had a key to your apartment. He had a space, here, in this lonesome apartment. And all you had to do was beckon to him, and he would come to fill it. Always.Â
âCan you come over?âÂ
You donât even have to explain yourself. He complies readily, whispers out a soft yes in the voice youâd also recognize even in death, and promises to be there within ten minutes.Â
He makes it within eight.Â
And youâre still leaning on your kitchen counter, your head still swimming dangerously with all the different ways youâd let down Nancy. Once upon a time, you might have worried about inviting him over, worried that your anxieties and your short-comings might bleed into your relationship with him. In the beginning, it had been simple enough. You kept him at an armâs length away the moment you realized you couldnât make yourself needed to him, not out of selfishness but out of fear. Fear, because if he didnât need you, why would he stick around?Â
Because without need, if you did the wrong thing, there was no necessary thread tying them to you. Because without need, there was no chance for the day that you might find love in your grave robbings, and you couldnât handle the thought of someone like Eddie Munson deciding you werenât worth his time.Â
It hadnât occurred to you for a very long time that maybe, possibly, youâd been going around the concept of love with a very wrong mindset.Â
Your safe place. Thatâs what the back of the van had become over these sticky summer nights â your safest refuge.Â
It was always the same scene; Eddie on his back beside you, lazily nursing a joint, while you sat up reading passages of the latest book you two had embarked on together. Sometimes it was poetry, sometimes it was fantasy, and sometimes, it was just a reread. That night, it was a reread. The Hobbit.Â
ââI donât see that this will help us much,â said Thorin disappointedly after a glance. âI remember the mountain well-ââ you recited off of the page, when Eddie suddenly sat up abruptly and snatched the book from you.Â
âNo, no, no!â he wagged his finger at you after he discarded his joint into the ashtray youâd made him start keeping in the fan, âSweetheart, youâre doing the voices all wrong.âÂ
You rolled your eyes at him, reaching to take the book back, âNot all of us have a Dungeon Master voice to whip out, Munson. Give it back.âÂ
âAbsolutely not.âÂ
âDo I need to say please? Iâll say please.âÂ
It was best like this. Just the two of you, away from everyone else. Some nights, the two of you hadnât even needed a book to bond over. Youâd just gaze at stars, or indulge in whatever weed heâd brought along with him. He never pressured you, though â if you shook your head at his offer of the joint, that was that. He seemed to apply that to most aspects of your friendship this last year.Â
You never had to prove anything to him. He saw your worth as if it were glaringly obvious, as if it were as simple of a concept as breathing. No extra effort needed from your end.Â
Just by being, you had managed to become something important to him. He needed you, if only because you were you.Â
âThe puppy dog eyes arenât gonna work on me,â he snorted, shifting so that his shoulder pressed against your own. A warmth spreads from the point of contact. âLet the master show you how itâs done.âÂ
You tried to not let it show, but your grin was radiant. He was the master at those ridiculous voices, at theatrics and at bringing the story to life. You were transported from the shore of Loverâs Lake, in the back of that stuffy yet comforting van, to meadows of soft grass and hobbit holes of comfort. To a place where all the threats were mythical and all the expectations of you were released.Â
Youâd spent the week helping Steve finish up his college plans. His parents had tried to pressure him into picking his top three universities, but the moment he had confided in you that he might prefer a community college to begin, youâd held his hand as you guided him through the process. A rewarding process, have no doubt, but it had left you numb and reeling. Sharing someone elseâs stress, shouldering their burdens â it had been a bit much.
You needed this. You needed Eddieâs ridiculous voices and the sharp press of his shoulder against your temple.Â
âFalling asleep on me already?â he teased when heâd noticed how quiet you had gone.Â
âNever,â you lied through a yawn that quickly exposed you.Â
âLiar,â he huffed. You didnât even need to glance up to confirm the smile you knew he wore. âWe can head back home, if you need. I know itâs getting late-â
âNo,â you quickly sat up, effectively making yourself dizzy, âNo, I- Itâs fine. Iâm awake. I swear.â
âItâs okay that you were falling asleep,â he was quick to reach out, to tug you back down to his side, wrapping his arm around you to press you even closer than before, âI just donât want to keep Cinderella out past Midnight.âÂ
âItâs barely ten.âÂ
âNothing gets past you, Sherlock,â he scowled as you pressed your grin against his t-shirt clad shoulder, âIâm serious, though. Do I need to take you home?â
âNo, Eddie. Iâm good.â
âSwear it? Swear you donât have an early shift, or some⊠some obligation?âÂ
âNo shifts, no obligations.âÂ
âAnd if I just kidnap you for the weekend? Am I going to have an angry mob at my doorstep, demanding your service?âÂ
You smiled wider at the thought. The idea of him hiding you away, letting you live in this reprieve for the entire weekend. It was a nice thought, âI certainly wouldnât complain.âÂ
And so the two of you sat there like that for an hour more. Eddie coming up with ridiculous tones for the various characters, you slipping in and out of consciousness as his warmth stayed wrapped around him. You donât even notice when the warmth heâd planted in you finally covers up that hole inside of you, not even missing the absence of that emptiness until Eddie went quiet.
In the silence, you noticed it.Â
The gash youâd grown accustomed to, the hole that had become an extra limb for you. Vanished. Gone. Disappeared without a trace.
It was a sudden and terrifying realization. Everything in you urged you to jump up, to scramble around you to find the darkness again, like a comfort blanket you couldnât stand to lose. You went against the instinct, though, and rose slowly from Eddieâs hold.Â
In lieu of scrambling, you peered at Eddie curiously. âHey, Eds. Can I ask you something?âÂ
He nodded sleepily, almost as drowsy as you. Youâre shocked when he shifts and instead of pulling you back to him, he opted to lay his head in your lap.Â
That hole was still gone. The weight of his head on your thighs, the feeling of his breath on your bare thigh. For a moment, you canât breathe.Â
Youâre warm. Not uncomfortably so, but encapsulated with an internal warmth. Like a fever spreading, the ice in your spine that you had lived with for years had begun to thaw.Â
âWhy do you keep me around?â you whispered, still sitting stiffly, staring in awe down at the way he just nuzzled his face into your lap.
With his eyes still closed, face smooth from any worry from the question, he mumbled, âWhat do you mean?âÂ
You only hesitated due to the thought crossing your mind; what if you bringing this up reminds him?Â
You thought back to the night in Harringtonâs kitchen. The push and the pull, the bloody battle and the way he still called.
He was not as delicate as you took him for.Â
âI- What do you get out of this?â you couldnât figure out how to phrase it correctly. You knew what you got out of this, but what does he get?Â
âGet out of what?âÂ
âGet out of keeping me around.â
His eyes finally opened, twisting in your lap so that he could stare up at you. âYou say that as if youâre forcing me to be your friend.âÂ
I could be, that nagging voice in your mind whispered. You could very well be forcing him, and just be blinded because you were enjoying the summer of warmth that he carried with him too much to let him go.Â
âYou never let me do anything for you,â you sighed, fingers finding themselves tangled in his roots against better judgment. But you needed to touch him, to ground yourself, as you admitted this hard truth, âYou do shit for me all the time. You drive all the way out to this lake just because I complain about everything being too much. Youâve started playing chauffeur for the kids to give me a break. Harrington said you even offered to look at college brochures with him. AndâŠ. And Iâm not stupid, Eds,â your voice shook as you looked down at him, a sudden feeling of undeserving striking you in your chest, âYou do so much for me lately. And you donât ask for anything in return â you donât let me do anything in return. Why?â
His smile twisted with a hint of sadness, and brown eyes met your gaze without so much as flinching, âSweetheart, why do you think you have to repay me for that stuff?â
âI-â
âNo, hear me out,â he reached up, taking your hand out of his hair and lacing his fingers with yours, slowly dragging it down to rest on his sternum, âI chose to do that stuff. And, yeah, maybe I was trying to take some of that shit off your plate. But you didnât ask me to. I chose to. I wanted to do those things, do nice things for you, because you wonât let anyone else.âÂ
You bit back a scoff, âI let people do nice things for me-â
âYou really donât,â his hold on your hand tightened, âYou really, really donât. You constantlyâŠ. You just, you take care of everyone else, but you act afraid to let someone take care of you. People are allowed to take care of you, too, yâknow? You should let them. They love you â they want to take care of you, just like you take care of them.âÂ
They love you.Â
The air drained from your lungs in a slow, silent sigh. You waited a few minutes, but the oxygen never replenished as you tried to grasp his words.Â
They love you.Â
Why would they love me?Â
âWhy wouldnât they love you, sweetheart?â Eddie looked more concerned now, suddenly prepared to sit up and remove his head for your lap. But his hand still held yours tightly, still clung to you, âYou know they love you, right? God, you gotta know that. We all love you.âÂ
You hadnât realized youâd spoken the bitter thought out loud until he looked at you, utterly heartbroken, in complete disbelief. âIâŠâ
No. I donât know that. What have I done to deserve their love?Â
âThey need me, sure,â you started, narrowing your eyes at the breaks in the waves of Loverâs Lake, âI mean, I just try to make myself useful to them. Itâs the least I can do when I⊠when theyâŠâ you struggled to get the words out. You saw that hole again, like a light at the end of the tunnel, but so far from the relief most mean by that metaphor. Something peeking around the corner, ready to devour you all over again. So you plunged, you prepared yourself for it to spring to life and take you whole as you nearly whimpered, âWhen they put up with me. Itâs the least I can do when they put up with me.âÂ
âNo one puts up with you,â Eddieâs voice cracked. You couldnât even look him in the eyes. âLeast of all me.âÂ
The deadliest of blows. He cracked your hardened surface with that, shook the foundations of every belief youâd held for eternity.Â
âMost of all you,â you corrected without thinking, âGod, I- Eddie, seriously. What reason do you have for keeping me around? I donât know how the fuck you put up with m-â
âDonât finish that sentence,â youâd never heard him beg so painfully before then, âPlease. Donât⊠You want to know my reason?â you nodded numbly, finally looking to find him with wet eyes and lips pressed into a fine line, âBecause youâre you. I⊠Fuck, I love you. I keep you around because youâre you. Youâre good for me. Whether you believe it or not. Youâre good for me just by being you, and thereâs nothing you have to do to accomplish that,â you started to look away before he grabbed your cheeks, turning you to face him as he emphasized each word, âYou donât have to earn love. Thatâs not what love is. Got it?âÂ
You looked into his eyes, and saw all the soft declarations of love echoed back to you, even from the very start.Â
âSweetheart, you donât owe me your time. And I donât need monopoly over it for us to be okay.â
âThe world doesnât end just because you donât constantly make yourself available.â
The entire time youâd been so worried about taking care of everyone else, heâd been worried about taking care of you. Endless late night phone calls, careful check-ins when he saw the exhaustion take the frontlines, sparse fights about putting yourself first. The only thing he ever wanted from you was for you to take care of yourself.Â
While you were busy being there for everyone else, he was busy being there for you.Â
He never once made you dig to the bottom of his grave to find the warmth. Heâd handed it over on a silver platter.Â
So how could you look him in his at that moment, and tell him that you didnât âget itâ? That youâd never been sure if what you were seeking from your friends was really love? That, really, youâd given up on being loved a long time ago, assuming it was asking too much?Â
How do you look him in his eyes in that moment and tell him you had long since declared yourself unlovable?Â
He didnât make you say it. Only kept your cheeks pressed between his palms, as he leaned forward, forehead meeting yours and whispering words for only you, âI love you, no strings attached. Youâre my⊠friend. I love you. Okay?â Â
No one had ever fought so valiantly to get the point across. Not just that night at the lake, but in the entirety of his friendship with you.Â
The hole slinked back behind the corner. The darkness decided it could wait another day. And in its place, warm brown eyes filled the void. Whether he even realized it or not.Â
You nearly believed him. Nearly. But you bit down hard on that belief, throwing it out of sight, and instead of echoing back the âokayâ you assumed he was seeking out, all you did was sob out another, âWhy?âÂ
When you collapsed into him, he held you. Your sobs remained dry, your confusion palpable as you clung to him and tried to let that belief envelope you like his arms had.Â
I love you.Â
How could someone love you?Â
He didnât press it the way you thought he would. He didnât scold you for continuing to question him and he didnât lash out at your disbelief.Â
He just held you. Letting your face press into his neck as his fingers ran up and down your spine, giving it a moment before he started talking again.Â
âYour humor,â he hummed after a couple moments of silence, heavy breathing eventually evening out.Â
âWhat?â
âThe way you take care of others,â he continued on like he hadnât heard you, âThat spark you get in your eyes when you tell someone about something good. A favorite book, movie, story from your day â whatever it is. The way you give the best hugs â and you donât give me them nearly often enough. The way you snore, and the way you definitely deny snoring.âÂ
You opened your mouth, about to lift your head and argue with him, but he just placed an encouraging palm on the back of your head to keep you close to him.Â
âThe way your favorite color changes with the seasons. The way you only like artificial cherry flavoring, not the real stuff. The way you look at night when weâre driving and youâre just screaming your favorite lyrics. The way you look at me to see if a joke lands. The way you fuss about my wrinkled clothes, even when you also donât care about the wrinkles in your own shirts. The way you take your coffee. The way you always offer to paint one of my nails to match yours. The way you treat your recipe for chocolate chip cookies like some top secret, government trade. But we both know itâs just some recipe from a cookbook you thrifted when you were ten. The way you get excited over the small things, like the cows we pass by on the way out here. They're always there, and you always point them out. The way you just⊠are.âÂ
He didnât have to say it. He was answering your question.Â
He was listing his whys.Â
âYou donât have to earn it,â he didnât say the word, not this time. You felt it, âIt just⊠itâs there. Itâs there and itâs not going anywhere. Iâll remind you of that every day if I have to.âÂ
Loved. For the first time ever, it felt like a possibility; to be loved.Â
Eddie always knocks on your front door a certain way â a pattern he rarely strays from. But you can always tell. Heâs the only fool who would find humor in knocking out such an annoying compilation of hits on the wooden panels until you finally unlatch the lock and open it to find him standing in your threshold.Â
His hair is frizzy and in a low ponytail, wearing a baggy band shirt and plaid pajama pants. He greets you with such a wide smile, your chest aches.Â
âHey there, sweetness.âÂ
You donât say a word, just drag him inside before you wrap your arms around his waist. Ever since that night, and his admittance of enjoying your hugs, you made a conscious effort to hug him more often.Â
âMiss me?â he chuckles, and you feel the vibrations against your cheek as you softly pinch his side. Not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make him only laugh harder once you pull away.Â
âNot at all,â you snark back as you make sure the door is securely shut and properly locked.
âNot even a little bit?â
âNope.âÂ
He smacks a fist to his chest as if you had stabbed him with your words, âOuch. You wound me, sweetheart.âÂ
âGet over it,â you tease. Your head has finally stopped swimming, your chest no longer tight with the fear of not being enough. Nancy is long forgotten as you say, âHave you eaten dinner?âÂ
âDepends,â he hums as he toes off his boots, âIf youâre offering to buy me some, then no, I definitely did not eat spaghetti with Wayne right before you called.âÂ
You throw your head back laughing as heâs already making a beeline for your kitchen, digging out that damned takeout menu and reaching for the phone, already so sure of your order.
Knowing your order at restaurants. Without having to ask. Apparently, that was part of the whole âbeing lovedâ gig.Â
Adjusting has taken months. Since that night in Eddieâs van, heâd kept his word. Not a day went by without him finding a way to remind you, whether it be by direct words or small actions, that he loved you. You both kept it under that friendly guise. He loved you in that familiar way, the way the others supposedly loved you. A way you could manage to recognize some days.Â
Other days were still rough. Days like today were still rough.Â
The takeout is ordered and Eddie sets up camp on your couch, rambling about something that had happened during one of the DnD nights he still hosted with the kids. Something about a dumb decision Mike did that cost most of the group their characterâs lives. You have a hard time following along, and heâs quick to pick up on it.Â
âHey, sweetheart?â he murmurs as you lean into the back couch cushion, smooshing your cheek as you watched him animatedly speak.
âHm?â
âBad day?âÂ
He never judged you for the rough days. He never judged you for the days you still couldnât find the love, even after he worked so virtuously to show it to you. He may never understand it, that hollow ache that resided in your darkest corners and whispered that none of it was real, but it never deterred him.
He loved you on good days, and he especially loved you on bad days.Â
You consider lying to him, but you canât. Not when he looks at you so earnestly, âYeah. It⊠yeah.âÂ
âWanna talk about it?â he asks you, shuffling to be more comfortable where he sits as he motions for you to lay down. You do so immediately, head finding a home against his thigh and his fingers stroking over your cheek before they toy with the ends of your hair.Â
All you can do is shake your head. You didnât want to talk about that fear of failing Nancy as a friend, especially when you know that wasnât her take away from it. It felt silly now; all that overthinking, when you know now if you questioned her on it, all she would have seen from the day was a friend lending a caring ear. You know because you had asked her about it once, if she found your listening habits too callous, upon Eddieâs insistence.Â
She hadnât. In fact, all she could do was thank you, had insisted that she was just grateful someone would listen to her ramblings. And you understood that, left it at that.Â
âOkay,â he murmurs, voice so quiet you nearly miss it. His fingers continue to play across your shoulders now, barely weighted against bare skin, âThatâs fine.âÂ
He didnât mind if you didnât want to talk about it. He didnât mind if you never spoke another word, if all you needed was him here. You just needed him close by and to sit with you, to make it all a little less much.Â
Nothing. He needed absolutely nothing from you, asked nothing of you. Because you didnât have to earn this. All you had to do was simply be, and he would provide this.Â
Love. What an odd concept, to have found warmth in a grave you never even got the chance to dig your shovel into.Â
âHey, Eddie?â his fingers pause at your croaking voice. You smile at his stillness, at the way he hums carefully in response, still trying to offer the silence you quietly begged for, âI love you.âÂ
Thereâs more to unpack there. More than just familial love, more than just two friends that love each other without conditions. But tonight is not the night, and you both see that it is enough. There will be other nights to dig your claws in and to dissect what those three little words mean between you two. There will be other nights to consider how your other friends donât have a permanent spare toothbrush on your bathroom counter or a space for their takeout in your fridge. But not tonight.
For tonight, this was enough. The quiet, and the warmth, the being was enough.Â
âI love you,â he emphasizes the last word, leaning down and his lips grazing your temple.Â
You notice the way he leaves off the too. Heâd love you, even if you didnât love him. Youâd love him, even if he didnât love you. Unconditional, no strings attached. A warmth you do not have to fight to earn. A rarity you never encountered before, and may never encounter again, but you have for tonight and for as long as he chooses to stick around.Â
Your shovel sits abandoned in a shed in the distance. Your fingernails are clean of the dirt. The graveyard, it seems, would go another night without its robber.Â
#i didnât expect to be crying this early in the day#this hit really fucking hard for me#âit felt like everyone was playing an over elaborate prank on youâ#get out of my head#âmaybe if you were a better friend you would be loved instead of wanted for onceâ#PLEASE get out of my head#âalways afraid always assuming the relationships to be so fragile and so delicateâ#iâm never going to emotionally recover from this call out#what do i have to do to get an eddie i am BEGGING at this point#eddie munson#eddie munson x reader#FIC REC
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
I dont believe in bottom miguel, thats not my religion.
But also why cant i stop going back to that story, i dont wanna read it please stop living in my brain rent free.
I dont wanna, i dont wanna, *rock back and forth crying
Also i suddenly do understood the appeal of bottom miguel, like im ready to pay big money to hear him whimper
Guys please help ;-;
#intrusive thoughts#no i donât have problems#how the fuck do i tage this#i dont wanna read it anymore#please get out of my head
1 note
·
View note
Text
If I were Dan and Phil I would never hard launch because itâs so embarrassing that we were right. Like what do you mean you were so in love a bunch of thirteen year oldâs clocked it? I would never give that satisfaction.
#no but really Iâm always shocked when people are like I canât believe the fan girls were right#hello?????#dailybooth? early tweets? he smells like warm??? uma thurman watched me have sex with a uma thurman poster next to Philâs bed? vday video?#he smells like warm#thatâs the plan#interrupted by fireworks - phil#the week I spent with Phil >>>>>>>#the lube in their suitcase in Australia (?) (please tell me yâall remember that)#they spent fucking Christmas together like every year#I donât bring my bestie to Christmas and family vacationsđ#thatâs just off the top of my head#like yeah us 13 year olds were batshit insane with tons of undiagnosed mental illness but it wasnât rocket science to figure it out#will this get me cancelled?#raeâs rambles#dan and phil#phan
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
jeremy every time he unlocks a new piece of jeanâs lore in tsc:
#this image was shot into my head and i couldnât get it out#jeremy knox#jean moreau#tsc#the sunshine court#aftg#all for the game#please excuse the rough sketch i am not skilled enough to draw jeremy as he appears in my head
2K notes
·
View notes
Note
#RELEVANT to my INTERESTS#hear me out: vigilante ghostfaces#one day they just get tired of seeing the bad guys hurt people and get away with it while they patch up the survivors#and zip up the bodybags of the not-so-lucky#so one day#on go the masks via @hubcaphalo
no because how did you know that's exactly how i'm writing their first few kills...
GHOSTFACE!BUDDIE????? YES, TAKE MY MONEY đłđłđłđłđłđžđžđžđžđž IM HERE FOR IT
YESSSS I LOVE THE IDEA SO MUCH!!!
adding the edit that started the obsession (the way they turn and it morphs into ghostface!!)đ
#your mindđ€Ż#i literally have the entire plot written out and that's part of it#please get out of my head#thirteen crows
21 notes
·
View notes
Text
euclydia was destroyed, what, a few trillion years ago? we can joke about it by now, right?
(audio is of course from john mulaney's "The One Thing You Can't Replace")
[Video description:
Bill Cipher is shown, heavily zoomed in so that only the top half of his eye is visible.
The speaker in the audio says, "And I had that thought, that only blackout drunks, and Steve Urkel, can have." The audience laughs.
It zooms out to show that Bill is floating in front of the remains of Euclydia, the rest of his body covered in blood.
"Did-" The speaker is cut off as the audience continues to laugh and clap.
Bill looks at his blood-covered hands, then turns to look behind him. He glances back at himself, and jumps back as he notices the blood all over him.
"Did I do that?"
It zooms in on Bill's haunted expression, sharply contrasted by the humorous tone of the words. End description]
#gravity falls#bill cipher#book of bill#the book of bill#book of bill spoilers#the book of bill spoilers#tbob spoilers#euclydia#this is not a website dot com#if i can be real I'm not exactly sure on the protocol for video descriptions?#so if I went wrong somewhere or could improve it please let me know!!#but anyways I saw the family matters references and couldn't get this out of my head LMAO#simply my art
1K notes
·
View notes