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bookshelf-dust · 6 months ago

Text

something’s gotta give

gif by @kwistowee

eddie munson x fem!reader

word count: 5,988

warnings: swearing, crude jokes, sexual innuendos, general hatred for either party, one small mention of a judgmental christian lady, depictions of an accident involving a box cutter, talk of blood and the ensuing wound, banter, both reader and eddie trying to get under each others skin, enemies to lovers trope

synopsis: eddie munson is a prick. a prick who also happens to be your coworker. you hate his guts. he hates yours. and who would think there’d be reason for anything else?

a/n: well, hello!! i’ve been working on this idea for a little bit, and it was definitely a challenge because i’ve never taken on something with this dynamic before. it was so tricky to come up with all these snarky remarks, to build up a world where it made sense. speaking of, this is without a doubt a 90s!au. i am proud of myself for trying something new and i think it turned out pretty good. shoutout to @clovermunson for listening to me vent about my struggles and helping me mold eddie into the smartass he is. also thank you to @steph-speaks for making me a cutie rb banner!! peep it at the end of the fic. happy reading!!! <333

————

“Here’s your change and…there’s your receipt.”

You bump the cash register drawer with your hip, slamming the thick metal shut. You give a big, warm smile to the woman in front of you. She has a face full of freckles and the most beautiful silver hair that makes her blue eyes look insanely vibrant.

She grins back at you, setting her palm on the countertop, her nails painted a pale, shimmery shade of pink. “Thank you, sweet pea. And thank you for helping me find some goodies!” She shakes her paper bag.

You hand her a complimentary bookmark with the store name on it. “You’re so welcome. You’ll have to stop by and let me know what you think about that one!”

“Of course! You have a good day, now.”

“You too!” You give her a small wave as she walks out the door, and move to put away the store’s copy of her receipt. Your smile drops immediately when you feel a looming presence behind you. The paper in your hand gets crushed when you shove it under the counter.

“Damn, you flick the bean this morning?” Eddie’s voice drips with malice. You know he’s wearing that sinister ass smirk before you even turn to face him.

“Why? Need some advice on how to find it, Munson?” You grab a stack of books off the counter and slide out of the way so he can clock in.

The sound of his boots on the carpeted floors tell you he’s following you. He always is.

“I think it’s a valid question, princess. You’re in such a good mood it makes a guy wonder…”

You stop in the mystery section, looking for authors with the last name beginning with ��F,’ and begin to restock. “Well, Eddie, if I got off and that’s why I’m so bubbly today, it’s pretty clear to me that somebody gave you blue balls last night.”

He laughs, snatching a book out of your hand to put it on the top shelf when he sees you rise up on your tippy toes. It pisses you off. “Harsh, princess.”

You turn around at the sound of the doorbell, but he stops you with an arm outstretched to rest on the wall.

You grab his hand and shove it out of your way. “I guess you should’ve put that hand to good use then and given yourself a quick, and probably little, job before you came to your real one.”

When you escape his vicinity, you look around for the customer you heard come in. There’s a young boy wandering through the back section where you sell records, tapes, CD’s, whatever the fuck. It’s Eddie’s section, and therefore not your problem.

You hold eye contact with the man in question, giving him your bitchiest look possible. “You have a customer, Munson. And…” you glance at your watch, “I’m going on lunch.”

Eddie watches as you cross your arms and march off to the break room. His gaze falls to your ass. You’re wearing this long skirt, one that falls just above your ankles so your boots poke out. The fabric is loose and flowy, but manages to cling to your skin and he can see every curve when you walk. Every bounce of soft flesh—

“Hey, excuse me?” The voice of a boy, no more than fourteen, snaps Eddie out of his dick-controlled reverie.

He spins around to face the kid, putting on his customer service face. “What can I do for you, little dude?”

In the break room, you stand in front of the microwave, shifting back and forth on your feet while you wait for your leftover pasta to warm up. It’s rare now for your shifts to line up with Robin’s. She is a good coworker, and you’d built up this system, this rhythm, that Eddie has never even tried to build with you.

God, you miss her. And you fucking hate Eddie Munson.

You pull out a chair and sink down into it, too pissed to care that you’re essentially manspreading and certainly eating like a slob.

What angers you the most is that you tried to be friendly with Eddie when he was hired. You have seniority over him, and you were happy to help him figure out how things worked. But he didn’t give a fuck. To you, it seemed like he was too good for your help.

But the first time you saw him ask Robin for help, you realized that he just…didn’t like you. And you don’t know why. You have always been nice to your coworkers. You have no reason not to be. Except when you get to a point that you’re forced to match their energy.

You down the rest of your drink. You need to go out and get some fresh air, despite the fact that it’s fucking scorching outside.

Up front, Eddie gives the young boy his receipt and a little bag full of cassette tapes, buttons, and a patch that he helped him pick out. Another child saved from the masses of pop music, he thinks.

He taps his ringed fingers against the counter, lowering himself so that his elbows rest against the cool vinyl. Out of the corner of his eye, Eddie catches a sticky note stuck to the edge of the computer monitor.

The store’s goal total for today is written there, penciled messily in your handwriting. Eddie rolls his eyes. Why do you always have to be on top of everything like that? You’re so fucking uptight all the time Eddie’s surprised you don’t waddle because of the stick you permanently have up your ass.

Ever since the day he got hired a few months ago, Eddie has despised you. He remembers taking a small tour of the shop and being introduced to you where you were organizing a new shipment of magazines.

You stood, shyly fidgeting with the pin on your fitted denim vest. You were bubbly, with these sweet little doe eyes and an expression on your face like you were hoping to make a new friend. He remembers your palm feeling unsettlingly cold when he shook your hand, and now it all makes sense to him.

What with the way you can change moods with the drop of a pin, how you manage to bring a storm cloud with you every time you walk in his direction but have everyone else wrapped around your finger.

A cold-blooded bitch like you must surely feed on the souls of little children every morning.

He hates how organized you are, how prepared. How you behave all patiently when you’re with a customer who’s been a prick, even though he knows it’s all an act because you’ll give him a death glare at any given chance.

But most of all? He hates how fucking gorgeous you are. You’d think all that hatred would make you look like an old hag, but no. Instead you walk around in your skirts that show off that perfect ass and every once in a while you wear a shirt that shows the tiniest sliver of your stomach, or in some cases, your back, if you bend over. He hates when you wear those platform boots with the heels that allow you to level with him.

And the fact that you’re walking toward him right now.

Eddie watches as you strip off the cropped button-up you’d been wearing, exposing your bare arms.

There’s a tattoo running up the length of your bicep that he’s never seen before. His gaze lingers on it for long enough that you catch it and raise a brow.

“You cry when you got that, princess?” He points to the dark ink on your skin.

You slide behind him and sit on the stool in front of the computer.

“No, Eddie. I fell asleep. If you want to bond about how you wailed during each of your tattoo sessions, you’ll have to talk to Brian.”

He scoffs. “Guess you can handle a little prick then, huh?”

“I work with you everyday, don’t I?” You smile, but keep your eyes on the computer screen. There’s supposed to be a new shipment of books coming today, and your boss already asked you to set up the display when it gets here. That reminds you, and you speak before Eddie can give you a smartass remark. “Eddie, there’s a box of new vinyls in the back you’re supposed to sort and put out.”

“Yeah? I’ll get right on that, mom.”

You pinch your thumb and forefinger together so that you don’t snap. It’s such a shame that such a pretty man is such a fucking asshole.

The mouse starts to feel slick from your clammy hands as you click around, trying your best to track the package. Slam!

Eddie drops the box of records on the far end of the front desk, making you jump. He grabs a box cutter and pulls open the mess of cardboard and packing tape as aggressively as possible.

Your head snaps in his direction. “Can’t you do that anywhere else, Munson?”

“Nah, babe. My only entertainment for the day is pissin’ you off, and I just clocked in.”

You facepalm. “Jesus fucking Christ, I miss Robin.”

Eddie cups his hand around the shell of his ear. “What’s that, princess? You need Buckley, huh? Bet she puts up with your shit.”

You stand up. “More like she puts up with me talking about the shit you put me through, because you masquerade as a sweet little angel when you work with her.” You’ve moved toward the other end of the counter before you can even realize, leveling with Eddie and getting in his face.

He places both of his hands on the table, grinning like the cat that got the cream. “Maybe it’s because Robin isn’t a fucking priss, and actually has a personality.”

That hits a nerve, and Eddie catches the way your brows twitch. But your poker face doesn’t slip, not for a second. Your eyes flick to the front door.

“You have a customer, Munson. I’ll go take care of the records. Oh, and they’re a chick. Maybe you can go see if she has a personality that’s up to your standards and get your dick wet so that there’s a slight chance you become less of a raging asshole.”

Eddie looks over his shoulder at the young woman who’s just walked through the door. She has long, dark hair and more piercings than he can count. She’s his type, and he hates that you clocked that. When he turns back to you, you’re already taking the box off the counter.

“Oh, and Eddie? Fuck you.”

You get the vinyls sorted and put away in record time.

————

If it’s possible, the next day is hotter than the last. You’re sweating the second you walk out of your front door, your hairline quickly dampening and your thighs sticking together on the drive to work.

You put on the one short dress you own today, grateful for the fact that your place of occupation doesn’t have a strict dress code. It’s too hot to wear anything, but the thin, mesh-like fabric and little spaghetti straps will do just fine.

Luckily for you, Eddie’s shift doesn’t start until one, so you’ll be able to have a chill morning where you won’t feel like blowing your own brains out. Knock on wood, but you even feel a little giddy because Robin opened, which means she’ll be there to welcome you and greet you with a bit of peace.

You pull open the front door, and pick up speed, knowing the cool air is just within your reach. The sounds of heavy metal reach your ears before you see him.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

You consider yourself lucky that the floor is empty, because you did not consult your conscience for one second before expressing your pure annoyance that Eddie is here before he was meant to be.

You push up your sunglasses so they’re level with your eyebrows, and take a look at the figure standing behind the counter. There is no Robin anywhere in sight. “Where is Robin? Why the fuck are you here?” You catch Eddie’s gaze drag up and down your bare legs and that good mood flies right outside the front door.

“Why are you dressed like that?”

You let out a bitter laugh. “What’s the matter, Eddie baby? You not see a lot of shoulders in that fuck ass club of yours?”

You pull your sunglasses back down over your eyes and grin, because you’ve just seen Eddie Munson blush. That one really hit the mark, and you are immensely pleased with yourself.

Even more so when you realize he’s following you. You start switching your hips, knowing where his gaze is. You’re not as stupid as he thinks.

His wallet chain is jingling, his hair flying behind him as he jogs to meet you in the middle of the store. If a customer were to walk in right now, they’d see the both of you standing nose to nose, a murderous look in your eyes, and probably feel like they’d just walked in on a taping for a soap opera.

“What do you know about my fuck ass—” He coughs, practically chokes. “W-what do you know about Hellfire?” Eddie asks. You can almost see his blood boiling.

You put your hand on his chest. “I’m a rogue, bitch.”

The sound of your laugh reaches Eddie’s ears before he’s even registered your hand on him, your breath on his neck, and that you’ve turned around and disappeared. There’s no way you’re not a witch. Are you a witch? What does a hex feel like?

Eddie starts walking to the stacks, suddenly encouraged to see if you carry any witchcraft-related texts. The doorbell chimes and he’s forced to spin around.

The group of people that have just pushed through the doors is huge. At least six teenagers of varying heights, followed by four or five college-aged kids. And they all look like they’re on a mission. Two of them head straight for the records, one for the magazines, and he loses sight of the rest down the romance aisle.

In the back, you lock up your bag and shake out your shoulders.

Your fingers fly over the radio, quickly changing the station Eddie had chosen to one you know plays much better music. You turn the dial down a little too, having already started to feel blood leaking out of your ears.

At the counter, Eddie watches in horror as the teenagers grab armfuls of records and CDs. What’s worse is that a family of four walk in next. An older woman walks straight up to him. “Excuse me, sir?” Sir? What is he, a fucking mummy? “Where are your bibles and Christian novels?” He catches her eyeing the ink littering his pale arms.

“I can show you to them, ma’am. If you wanna come with me, we’ve got a whole section just for that!” Your bubbly voice meets Eddie’s ears. And so do the sounds of “There She Goes” by The La’s.

The woman turns on you, her smile brightening, and she’s quick to follow your purposeful step. Over your shoulder, you wink at Eddie.

He knows it’s evil. He knows he fucking hates your guts. He hates that you’ve just charmed that red flag of a woman. But he’ll be damned if he fails to admit that his zipper didn’t feel just a little tighter at that faux flirtation in your expression.

“Let me know if you need help finding anything, alright? And if we don’t have anything in stock, we can always order it for you!”

Your smile doesn’t reach your eyes and you’re practically stomping on your way back to the counter. You use the walk to actually take in Eddie for the first time since you came in.

He’s wearing a t-shirt that he obviously cut the sleeves off of at home, purely based on the way they’re fraying. His arms are…beefy, to say the least. His skin looks unnaturally soft, and his biceps are just so big and they look like they’re begging to be squeezed or bitten, even.

Your eyes wander lower when he’s called over to help a child cart probably ten CDs to the counter. His jeans aren’t tight, not exactly. But they fit. He’s got more ass than most people would know what to do with. You can’t help but wonder what it looks like outside of that ratty denim. Or what else he might use that bandana for.

You park yourself in front of the register, getting the system set up before the rush you can feel coming on. The cracks in the leather seat below you pinch your thighs, but you can’t be bothered to care. You deserve it for thinking of such a dickhead that way. Why are the gorgeous ones always assholes?

A quick glance over your shoulder tells you that Eddie’s not helping kids anymore, but shamelessly flirting with a girl who can’t be more than twenty-one. She looks slightly intimidated by him, until he flashes his ring-covered fingers in front of her. You recognize that look, the one that tells you she might just eat him alive.

You fear she’ll be immensely disappointed when she truly gets to meet his personality.

In the time he’s been trying to woo this young lady, a line has formed, and now you’re stuck cashing people out. The Christian lady is first.

“You find everything you needed today?”

She drops some change into the tip jar and takes a mint from the tray you just restocked. “Yes, I did, sweetheart, thank you for asking. You see that? Yes, that one—isn’t it gorgeous?”

She forces you to look at the fancy bible she’s picked out, and you do so despite the voice inside your head screaming for her to fucking pay already and get out because she’s been here long enough and the line is only getting longer.

“It sure is!” You do your best to smile kindly. You hand her the receipt and a small card that not only thanks her for her purchase, but promises a ten percent discount if she comes back within the next month.

The next customer is easy, a ten year old with a storybook that has colorable pages and a bookmark with rainbow tassels. You hand him a sticker and tell him you like his Gizmo shirt, and he beams his way out the door.

When you are confronted with a set of parents who clearly have more kids than they seem to want, you feel a warm breath on the back of your neck. “You have a happy pill on you I can have?”

Eddie takes the stack of books out of your hands and places each one in a paper bag. The customers aren’t even looking at you, what with the husband fussing about inflation and How much for a paperback? and the toddler trying to eat the rug.

“No, sweetie,” you start, sliding the bag across the counter, hoping maybe the woman will notice and take her gaze off the street just outside the window. She takes it without looking at you, without a word, and the husband walks away mulling over the receipt, not bothering to do a headcount of kids. “I can’t keep up with your stash of boner pills.”

Eddie laughs. He tosses his head back, bearing his thick neck to you. It’s a slow sound. You can’t help but feel like it’s not something you should hear. It feels like the kind of laugh someone saves for a lover in privacy. And it’s so gravelly and deep.

The line has slowed, and all that’s left for you to do is keep an eye out for the customers slowly making their way up front.

You tilt your head a little in Eddie’s direction, signaling that you’re speaking to him. “You probably do need them though, based on the way you were eye-fucking that girl earlier. God knows you’re gonna need a little…happy to keep up with her.”

Eddie bends a little at the knees, getting his head completely level with yours, his brown eyes twinkling with malice. “You think about my dick a lot, princess?”

You place your hand on the counter, less than an inch between yours and Eddie’s fingers. One move and they’d be touching. Hell, one step forward and your front would be pressed to his. “More like I worry about it,” you say.

He quirks a brow, his lips ticking up at the corners. “Yeah? Why’s that?”

“Since I see you try and pick up a girl in the store at least three times a week and you know what? They never stick. So either it’s that you can’t get it up, or it’s that if you treated any woman as well as you treat that guitar of yours, maybe they’d be satisfied.”

Eddie takes a step forward. You’ve never been this close to him. “You know, Princess, they might not last, but based on your fucking attitude, it seems like you’re jealous.”

“Jealous?”

He pushes a strand of hair out of your face. Your blood pressure spikes. It feels like your veins are turning colors with how angry you are. Eddie has the nerve to laugh.

“Yeah. I think all this bitchiness comes from the fact that no one will put their dick anywhere near you. They’re probably afraid you’ll make it shrivel up and die.” You don’t say anything, and he just keeps going. “Hell, I’m nice enough that I’d fuck you if that meant you’d get off my back.”

Your entire body goes rigid. And in that moment, you know that’s exactly what he wanted from you. But you refuse to give him the satisfaction.

“Thanks for the offer, Munson. But I’d rather gouge my own fucking eyes out than let you touch me. If you wanna see me as a priss, that’s fine. But at least I’m not an insufferable prick who can’t give a damn about anyone who’s not shoved so far up my own ass and ready to fall at my feet at any given moment. Some people have to grow the fuck up.” You practically spit out the last few words, your voice laced with venom.

Eddie blinks. His cheeks are flushed, his eyes glazed over. For the first time since he met you, he doesn’t have shit to say.

————

You and Eddie are the only ones on schedule today.

You haven’t spoken in days, just moving around one another and doing your jobs in silence. You can’t lie about the pride you feel in your chest from having finally gotten to him. Even if the dead quiet is unsettling, you feel a sick sense of satisfaction.

You think Eddie might’ve even mastered the art of a fake, but amiable personality.

You’re currently hiding away in the back room, unpacking new shipments of books, vinyls, display materials, along with all the shit you actually need like paper for the register and cleaning supplies.

Not that it matters where you are because you’ve had a total of one customer today. But that’s how Wednesday’s go.

It’s sort of mindless, this activity. You slide the box cutter over the packing tape, rip open each box, take everything out, stomp the box flat, repeat. It’s not very stimulating, but you don’t hate it.

The last box though is covered in enough clear tape to catch every fly in the world, and it’s taking some serious sawing to get through. You set your hand on the worn and slightly damp cardboard, bracing yourself to get one end of it loose.

You’re just getting there when the blade finds a raindrop on the silky tape and slips free. You’re not expecting that, of course, and the blade slices the skin of your forearm quickly and thoroughly.

You yelp, dropping the box cutter. You’re never one to wail or scream, but you let out a whimper at the shock of pain. Your non-dominant hand starts to shake as you take in the wound.

You’re too panicked to realize that your frightened exclamation could be heard up front, considering there’s no music playing and you left the receiving room’s door open.

It doesn’t look deep enough to need stitches, but it’s bleeding. Quite a bit, actually.

“Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.”

There are thudding footsteps, and then Eddie appears in the doorway. “Fuck fuck fuck, what? Bein’ so damn loud.” He pauses, taking in the sight before him.

Your eyes are glazed over, your hands shaking, and you’re cupping your forearm so as to not let blood drip all over the floors.

“Oh fuck off, I do not need this right now!” you exclaim, knowing he’s going to berate you or say something demeaning and you are not going to cry in front of him.

Eddie says your name.

He never says your name. It makes you look up at him, and you almost feel nauseous at the sincere look on his face.

“Do you need me to drive you somewhere?”

You roll your eyes. “No, Eddie. I’m not fucking helpless! And I’m not bleeding out either!”

He steps towards you, his hands outstretched like he’s a ringmaster, like he’s trying to tame an apex predator. “But you are bleeding.”

“No fuckin’ shit, Sherlock—”

“Let me help you—”

You decide to shove past him, whimpering your way towards the bathroom. Eddie is on your heels. You try to shut the door in his face, but he plants his boot firmly on the floor and prevents you from it. His glare is unwavering.

He repeats your name once more. It sends a shiver down your spine. “Just—just fucking stop for a minute, okay? Let me help you. Let me do this one thing without any of this shit, you hear me?”

You blink. Eddie kicks the door stopper down so it stays open. His eyes flick to the toilet seat. “Sit.”

You’re too winded to say no. So you sit down, cradling your arm, while Eddie rummages around for gauze and wipes and whatever the fuck he can find because he’s not a nurse but he has had to clean himself up on more than one occasion.

You can’t process that Eddie is treating you this way. Like a human. That he’s insisting on helping you when he doesn’t get anything out of it.

When he returns, he settles on his knees in front of you, looking into your eyes to make sure it’s okay for him to touch you. You hate the way your stomach flips. But the little shift in your arm tells him it’s alright.

Eddie’s fingers are cold on yours as he turns your forearm outward so he can look at the wound. You can’t help but watch as he works on you. Takes care of you.

He sets a paper towel underneath your arm, using another to press down on your skin and make sure the bleeding has stopped. The pressure hurts, but you don’t say a word.

Eddie hooks his foot around the corner of the trash can, pulling it closer. He throws out the bloody towel and wets another, being as gentle as he can in an effort to clean all of the dried red splotches from your skin.

The cut isn’t deep, but it definitely nicked a few capillaries along the way. It is a little longer though, and Eddie has to use two big pieces of gauze to cover it. This is after he’d swiped your arm with alcohol wipes, grinning to himself because of how hard you were trying not to show him any weakness.

Eddie’s thumb lingers on your skin long after he’s taped you up. You’re both silent, sitting in your shitty workplace bathroom. You can feel that he wants to say something, but you don’t know what. It’s why you haven’t gotten up yet.

You notice his eyes on your face before you meet his gaze. “Will you look at me?” he says. Your heart jolts in your chest.

“What for?”

“So that I can tell you why I’ve been a giant dick since I met you and you’ll see I’m being real with you.”

Your head shoots up, mainly because you can’t really believe he’s just said those words. “Hold on,” you laugh, “You’re going to explain yourself now? After I spent all that time trying to be your friend and you—”

“Treated you like shit, yeah I know.” Eddie drags his hands down his face. You’re not sure why, but you feel compelled to listen to him. “I showed up and you were there in your cute fucking skirts and you were so nice to everyone and just so…good? I couldn’t stand it.”

You blink.

“I’m not like that. I’m not good with people and empathetic like you are and it takes me a long fucking time to do anything right. And I chose to take that out on you, to hate you, because you were so perfect, and that was easier than falling for you.”

Your mouth drops open. He what? Eddie waves his hands in your direction.

“Close your mouth, you’re gonna catch flies. I hated that I could’ve dropped to my knees for you the second I met you. You looked at me like I was precious, like you were happy to meet someone new, and I’m such a fuck up, such a nuisance to so many people, that there was no way I was going to let a pretty girl like you befriend me and have me ruin it all. Because the truth is, I’d kill to be as fucking good as you are.”

You start shaking your head. You feel your eyes glaze over, so you look down at your freshly bandaged arm.

“And I realize that the only reason you’re a dick to me is because I started that shit.”

You let out the barest hint of a laugh. “It’s called matching your energy. There wasn’t any point in trying to befriend you when you…hated me.”

Eddie says your name again. “I don’t hate you. I do hate myself though, and that I was so—”

“Jealous?” you interrupt, finishing for him.

He tugs on the hair at the base of his neck. God, this is the most ridiculous fucking thing.

“Yeah. Jealous that I don’t have as much good in me as you do. I’d see you working, see you happy to help anyone, see you pull more weight than anyone else here. I hated that you’re everything I’m not.”

When you finally look back up at him, you’ve gone all teary, and something inside Eddie breaks. It snaps.

“We’re not supposed to be the same. If we were, nothing would ever work. You act like you’re just—just this helpless piece of shit, Eddie. You aren’t. But I can’t make you realize that. All I can do is tell you that if you want to be more charismatic—or whatever the fuck—you gotta work at it.”

He’s looking at you with his stupid ass doe eyes, and you think you finally understand him.

“It doesn’t matter if you’re everything I am, Munson. No one else is livin’ your life for you.” You start to trail off, but not quite yet. “I wish you hadn’t been so fucking sincere so I could yell at you.”

Eddie tosses his head back, bearing his neck to you, and laughs. He raises his hands, beckoning you. “C’mon. Let me have it. You deserve it for how many times I’ve called you a priss.”

You shake out your shoulders, and if you weren’t still drained from the box cutter incident you’d jump up and hop back and forth like you’re readying to get in the ring.

“I get it, you know? But I also don’t think it’s fair, because, and I’m gonna be honest here, the day you got hired I thought you were so gorgeous. Trust me, I was fully weak in the knees. You were also dressed like, well, you, and I wanted to at least make friends with you because you seemed, to use your words, good.”

“I heard you crack a few jokes, saw you picking up on how things worked, and then with me it was like you had this alter ego. I just don’t think it was fair that I got the short end of the stick here, even if I did enjoy being a smartass to you. So I guess what I’m really saying is, why me? Why weren’t you a dick to Robin, or Brian or fuckin’ Keith? Why not take out your jealousy on someone else?”

Eddie stands up, shoves his hands in his back pockets. “You can hit me if you feel like it, because I know this is going to sound fucked.” He pauses, and then all the words spill out at once, leaving you completely breathless when he’s finished.

“Not only was I jealous of how perfect your soul is, but you being so sweet made me want you. I wanted you all to myself. I wanted that personality, those kind remarks, that look you get in your eye when you’re listening so well, I wanted it all around me, all the time. It felt like you were this fucking angel, I wanted to lose myself in you.”

“But it didn’t feel like I’d be worthy of you either. I figured you’d get sick of me, real quick, when you realized I wasn’t as good of a person as you. When you figured out all the shit I need to work through. It seemed easier to hate you than to have you see me the way everyone else does. Nobody wants a work in progress.”

You laugh. You take in your surroundings, still in the work bathroom, and you laugh. Eddie’s brows shoot up, and his heart drops out of his ass and onto the tile floors below him.

“Eddie, everyone is a work in progress. And I am an extremely patient person.”

He recovers himself fast enough to make one more smartass remark. “You’re sure you don’t wanna kick me in the balls or somethin’?”

You take a step towards him, breathing deeply. Breathing him in.

“Not right now, Eddie. What’s frustrating though, is how much I want to kiss your dumb ass. Your annoying, over-complicating, completely ridiculous, stupid hot fucking ass.”

Eddie blinks. You might as well have kicked him in the balls because he can’t even think a single coherent thought now. Not with the way you’re pushing up onto your toes and pulling him down towards you, shaking your head so he doesn’t make up something stupid about not deserving it.

And then your mouth is on his. Your lips are so warm, and everything else disappears. All Eddie can feel is you. Your perfume engulfs him, the heat of your chest pressed against him, the soft fat of your hip under his hand. When you pull on his hair he almost whimpers.

You kiss hard, harder than he’d have thought, but it’s so gentle at the same time. You’re kissing him stupid. There’s no other way to put it. The only thing that pops in his head is that his suspicions about you being a witch were totally fucking spot on.

When you finally pull away, your lips have gone all puffy, and there’s this dazed but incredibly satisfied look in your eye. He’d take you home right now and get on his knees for you if you’d let him.

Your lips tick up at the corners, and he has to shake his head so he can really hear what you’re about to say.

“Aren’t we on the clock, Eddie?”

————

note: none of the gifs or images i use are mine! i get most of my images from pinterest or here, and gifs from about the same. please let me know if i ever don’t credit someone properly!

1K notes · View notes

corralinesage · 12 days ago

Text

Child of September (5/?)

Shoutout to @loveisanimaginarydagger3000 for buying the sexiest blanket in the world and giving me the inspiration for this oneshot ;) <3

18+ SMUT WARNING, MATURE

5. Payback's a bitch

“What do you think about this?” You brought a small, square card to Natasha’s nose, giving her a chance to smell the fragrance you had just sprayed on a thin piece of cardboard.

“Darling, the perfume is for you”, she said softly, giving you a small smile. “You can choose whatever you want”, she reminded you, her brow arching at the sharp scent. The perfume she had gifted you a year ago had run out, and as much as you loved the scent, you felt like venturing out more and trying something new.

“Yes, but I want you to like it.” You were already looking at a new bottle of perfume among the long row of them, clearly not impressed by the sample you had given to Natasha.

“I’ll like anything you choose”, she reasoned, earning an annoyed look from you.

“No, you won’t.” You knew for certain that Natasha was someone who appreciated a good perfume. She was by no means indifferent about smells. When you smelled good, it brought her to you like a moth to a flame. It made her cling to you in a whole different way. You could always tell the difference.

“Fine, let me smell that one”, she relented, receiving another piece of cardboard to smell. You had been at the mall for quite some time that afternoon. Natasha had met up with you after classes to come shopping with you for some essentials that you had been meaning to get all fall. You had gotten yourself some makeup products, missing art supplies, and finally gone sniffing perfumes to find one that you could possibly take home with you. She took a shallow whiff of the next scent, not all that keen on switching up what had become your signature scent over the past year. It reminded her of how you had met and how you had made her feel at the time. She couldn’t imagine finding a new, equally good perfume, let alone a better one. She shook her head gently, her nose scrunching up in protest. “You’d smell like one of those women who have a crusty poodle.” You let out a chortle, placing the bottle back in its rightful place. So that was a no.

“How about this?” You smelled another bottle before spraying it on a piece of cardboard. Natasha eyed the packaging warily, her judgement of the exterior predicting her verdict rather accurately. She shook her head again, her hands reaching for the jar of coffee beans on the shelf before you.

“You won’t find a new one if you keep asking for my opinion”, she warned, breathing in the stuffy smell of stale coffee. “Nothing can top your current scent.”

“You’re a big fan of that one, aren’t you, love?” You gave her a teasing look, Natasha rolling her eyes in good nature.

“It holds a lot of memories.” She had a slight pout on her lips as she eyed the perfumes.

“I told you, darling. I’m getting more of that scent as well”, you said gently, turning to the side to see her face.

“I’m just saying. Nothing can top the one I got you.” You smiled brightly, touched by her rather obvious attachment to your scent.

“You’re more than right.” You continued browsing through the perfumes, sniffing them one after the other, visiting the coffee jar a few times to neutralize your sense of smell before going right back to work. You went through maybe ten, maybe twenty bottles of perfume, discovering a few that you liked, but nothing that quite stood out to you. That was until you found a bit more expensive shelf of scents. Your eyes landed on a gorgeous bottle that immediately stuck out to you among the rest. It was a tall, slender bottle made out of black glass, the name written in gold cursive, a few gold accents decorating the glass. You simply had to know what it smelled like, your hands reaching for the bottle like a child reaching for a ridiculously large lollipop at a candy store. You pulled the cap off, bringing the sprayer to your nose, your eyes widening immediately. You inhaled the smell a little deeper, making sure you were truly smelling what you were smelling. Your eyes fluttered shut on their own. It was one of the most pleasant scents you had come across in a long time. You took another deep breath. It was so rich, but not too stuffy. It was perfectly balanced and exactly what you had been looking for. It felt like it was made for you.

“I think this could be it”, you said in excitement, turning around to find Natasha. “Mmh, this smells so good. God”, you groaned, barely able to move the bottle from your nose for long enough to spray it on a piece of cardboard for Natasha.

“Let’s see then. This one better be good, you’re starting to make noises only I should be pulling out of you.” You felt your cheeks flush with warmth at the look she gave you as she brought her nose forward to smell the scent, its depth and tones catching her by surprise in the most wonderful way imaginable. Her slightly widened eyes turned to you, an approving look forming onto her face. “Mmh, that’s… I really like that one”, she admitted in mild astonishment after having scrunched her nose to the last fifteen perfumes you had sampled.

“Really?”

“I guess there’s only one way to find out”, she mused, taking the bottle from your hand. You had a confused frown on your features when she pulled you close by your waist, her other hand tilting your chin up to bare your neck, carefully pulling back your fluffy scarf. She applied some of the perfume on your skin, the cold spray nearly making you shiver as it settled over your skin. She set the bottle down as she waited for the perfume to dry before bringing you closer, dipping her head down, her nose brushing up the side of your neck. She inhaled deeply, shivers running down your spine as goosebumps erupted over the skin of your forearms. You suddenly felt breathless, your eyelids fluttering shut as your heartbeat picked up into a rapid flutter. Her warm breath tickled your neck as her lips grazed over your skin, hands squeezing your waist, sending a spark of heat through you. She placed gentle kisses up to your ear, the sound of her breathing making your knees weak. “You smell good enough to eat”, she whispered, her hand sliding inside your long coat and over your hip to the curve of your behind, pulling you flush against her, sending a violently strong jolt of pleasure up your spine. You let out a shaky sigh, leaning into her touch, your search for a perfume completely forgotten. “This is the one”, she chuckled quietly, pulling away from you to find that specific look of lust in your eyes, the corner of her mouth quirking up into a smug smirk.

“We’ll get a bottle of that then. What else did you need, detka?” You needed a moment to collect yourself, pushing aside the warmth that stirred between your legs from the pressure of Natasha’s hand on your ass, fingertips a little too low on your body for the public but thankfully hidden by your coat.

“I need… um, uh… lingerie”, you mumbled a bit incoherently, Natasha’s lips stretching into a smug smirk from how affected you were.

“Then we better change sections.” With a packaged bottle of perfume in hand, she guided you into another corner of the department store to find the extensive selection of lingerie that distracted you slightly from the ghost of Natasha’s touch that somehow seemed to linger on your buttocks. “What are you looking for?” She asked as you both browsed through the bras and underwear, Natasha eyeing some of the more casual pieces with the intention of maybe finding something for herself since she was already there.

“A set.”

“What kind of set?” She looked at you curiously, clearly intrigued. You merely glanced at her, going back to skimming over some blush toned lace bras on display.

“Something with lace.” Your fingers touched the different styles of lace, studying the intricate patterns.

“Hmm, you wouldn’t happen to need your bust measured, would you?” Natasha asked without an ounce of shame in her voice, glancing toward the fitting rooms. You turned to look at her, a sly smile finding your face. “The sizing can be tricky with this brand”, she mused innocently, shrugging her shoulders as she looked at the rack of bras before you.

“Uh huh.” You couldn’t help but to chuckle. “We did that last time. What was my size again?”

“A nice handful.” Natasha snickered quietly into her brown scarf, her mirthful eyes lingering on you. She looked downright adorable, her red curls framing her face in the most beautiful manner, a very vivid memory of her in a similar get up on a snowy day the previous winter flashing across your mind. You needed to do a portrait of her in the snow with her comically large scarf and beautiful red curls, blushed cheeks and playful eyes. You smiled to yourself, shaking your head in disbelief as you went back to looking through bras.

“A simple set will be enough for today.” You let out a small hum as if contemplating something, your hands pulling out a soft pink bra, bringing it up in front of Natasha. She eyed you in suspicion as you clearly envisioned the piece on her body instead of your own, her stomach bubbling with warmth at the idea. She took a few steps closer to you, the hand that was holding the bra brushing against her coat.

“And may I ask for what?”

“You’ll see.” You gave her a small smirk.

You came home soon after, immediately setting up your easel for a reason Natasha couldn’t quite decipher. You had no artworks due currently, nor had you really mentioned that you were going to paint upon your return home. She watched you make your favorite warm drink to sip on while you painted, but what made even less sense was the way you assembled a bunch of pillows on your bed and spread a fluffy, red blanket over them as if shaping some kind of still-life setting. She watched in curiosity as she put away all that you had acquired from the shopping trip, her eyes going back to you ever so often to see what you were doing, until you suddenly appeared beside her. You had a look in your eyes, a specific look that Natasha was more than familiar with. She knew that look of dedication, that sense of visionary aim. You had something specific on your mind.

She observed you in mild amusement as your gaze dipped down her body, your eyes calculating but still soft and loving, admiring. Your hands came up to her waist, slowly beginning to untuck her blouse from her straight-cut trousers, the silky fabric sliding right out, your eyes coming up to meet hers. You couldn’t help the slight tug of your lips, your subtle smile rubbing immediately off on Natasha as she stood still and let you undress her piece by piece. Her shirt came off, followed by her bra, Natasha maintaining her confident stance even when you peeled off her trousers and underwear. You would never get enough of the compelling poise of her demeanor. She was so confident in her skin that undressing her had no effect on her. Where someone else might have hunched more in on themselves or tried to hide their most sensitive physical parts when exposed in such a vulnerable way, for Natasha it didn’t matter. She had nothing to be ashamed of and she knew it. You ran your fingertips over her bare abdomen where a few light scars lingered, your touch breaking her skin out in goosebumps, yet she remained unmoving, waiting for you to express your wishes. You pulled back enough to be able to reach the back of your desk chair where Natasha had placed the lingerie set you had bought for her. You grabbed it, coming back to her with a smile that was leaning more toward sensual and playful than anything else.

“Put this on, baby.”

“Mm, bossy”, she hummed in an equally teasing tone, matching your flirt. “I like it.” She received the lingerie set from you, keeping her eyes on you as she slowly pulled the bottom piece on, hiking the lace up her defined thighs, your eyes observing carefully how the lace hugged her hips perfectly. The effect of the bra was very similar as she put it on, fitting her breasts into the lacy cups that were just sheer enough to allow the pink of her areolas to push through. It fit her just right, bringing you one step closer to your vision. You guided her to the bed where the luscious fur blanket was spread, instructing her to lie down on it. The inside of the blanket was lined with slippery satin that felt cool to touch when it pressed up against Natasha’s bare skin. You posed her in a horizontal way, your hands fluffing up the pillows you had assembled to support her upper body. She let her body sink into the bed so you could move and adjust her limbs and hair to your liking, her curious eyes remaining on you as you fussed around her. You pushed her a little further into the pillows, making sure the different textures of the textiles were on display, the fur, the lace, the satin. You placed one of her arms closer to her head, the other resting languidly draped over her waist. Her figure was beautifully accentuated in the position, giving her lace decorated hips the opportunity to shine, the curve of her waist undeniably attractive as she lay on her side. The position made you think of an utterly luxurious nap, a giddy smile finding your face.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. You’re perfect. Oh, my god.” You squealed quietly, girlishly, barely able to contain your excitement, a grin stretching onto Natasha’s lips. She loved seeing you in your element. It was beyond fascinating. “Wait, oh, wait.” You rushed away from her, looking through your vanity for something, soon returning with white pearls in your hand. Natasha eyed them a bit suspiciously but allowed you to drape them around her neck. “Oh, oh.” You looked like you were receiving physical pleasure from how beautiful she looked, Natasha laughed quietly. The pearls gave her such a royal and elegant look, reality overpowering your vision. The image was better than you could have imagined. You adjusted her curls a bit, tousling her red locks to give her a messier look, Natasha giving you a small disapproving frown because she had just styled her curls the night before.

“Sorry, baby.” You gave her a small apologetic pout. “It’s for the greater good”, you said playfully, Natasha rolling her eyes in amusement. Your hand found her chest, cupping her breast to adjust the bra, moving one of the straps off her shoulder before gently peeling down some of the lace to make her look like she had simply fallen asleep after undressing herself from what you envisioned to be a gorgeous ball gown. “You are magnificent.” You placed a wet smooch on Natasha’s forehead before practically skipping behind your easel to begin your painting process. You were beyond ecstatic.

You slathered an acrylic underpainting on the canvas, toning it to a more neutral value that would allow your eyes to pick up on more subtle changes in the hues and values of the paint. You paused for a moment as you waited for the thin paint layer to dry, your eyes fixed on Natasha, an enamored smile on your face as you stared at her like a freak. It made Natasha laugh, a few teasing remarks getting slung your way. You were barely patient enough to wait but you managed to push through, your hand flying to the canvas the second the acrylic paint would let you. Natasha watched you nearly vibrate in excitement as you went back and forth between her and the canvas, your paintbrush sweeping over the primed surface with such ease it was truly a joy to watch you paint. Natasha wished she could have seen the canvas, but alas she had to settle for lying in what was honestly a surprisingly comfortable position for modeling. She might have even dozed off for a moment or two during the next three hours you spent painting, the image on the canvas coming to life piece by piece to resemble the setting more and more the harder you worked.

You tried different brush techniques to create a more texturally balanced and interesting piece, doing your very best to replicate the softness of the fur, the shine of the satin and pearls, the dewiness of her skin, the sheerness of her lace lingerie. You did your best to create a beautiful and complimentary color composition for the piece, making sure the red was deep enough, and her ivory skin delicate enough. You used crimson and ultramarine to bring depth to the red of the fur, noting where the tone was darker and where it was lighter. You studied the way the light reflected off the satin material, observed the meticulous hue shifts in the shadows on her body, spent a long amount of time figuring out how to make the lace of the underwear look as soft and as sheer as it was in real life. You did your very best to make her look peaceful in the painting, just as peaceful as she did on the bed in front of you. She was a picture of elegant beauty, one that you would keep in your apartment, in your bedroom, in your life. You would take it to your grave. It was that gorgeous.

Natasha regained consciousness after an unidentifiable period of napping, her body immediately aware that it had stayed dutifully in its pose the entire time. The fur and the satin felt amazing against her skin, it made her want to roll around on the bed just to feel the smoothness of the fabric. She glanced at you after what felt like hours of lying, noting that you were still your busy bee self, working on the painting like you couldn’t have stopped even if the world fell at your feet. It made Natasha’s confidence skyrocket, or rather, the entire situation had been boosting her confidence from the moment you pictured that lacy bra on her at the mall. Her entire body, her mind, her heart felt so light and airy. She felt so empowered by your enthusiasm, like her physical being was getting periodical doses of confidence and power injected into her. She felt almost high from the sheer knowledge of being able to maintain your interest for such a long stretch of time. It was quite exhilarating to see the kind of passion she stirred within you. It made her feel special, important, and so, so good. Maybe a little too good.

Without even really thinking about it, Natasha moved her hand over her abdomen, feeling the cool skin there, her hand moving over the gentle curve of her stomach. She was getting cold despite the warmth of the blanket beneath her, goosebumps littering her arms, her nail beds a delicate shade of purple. You were so focused on your painting that you didn’t even notice her drop her pose, her hand moving down to the lace of her underwear, feeling over the thin fabric with her fingertips. She was nowhere near anything intimate, her fingers simply brushing over the space beneath her navel, yet her body reacted to the sensation, her skin prickling with goosebumps, her senses becoming more heightened. She played with the lace, traced the edge of it with the tip of her nail, her eyes on you and your focused frown. She smiled to herself. You looked so attractive like that, fully immersed in your art, in the process of creation. Her hand slid lower, fingertips gliding over the lace, but her current position didn’t allow much more, so she tilted her pelvis slightly, rolling more onto her back so she could gain better access to the part of her that she wished to touch the most. She closed her eyes, listening to the steady hum of rain that had appeared during the time she had been asleep, her fingers tracing shapes over the lace, gentle tickles of pleasure spreading down the insides of her thighs and across her lower abdomen.

Her hand slipped beneath the lace, fingertips brushing over the coarse curls there. She felt rather sensitive to her own touch, her lower half already restless from anticipation. She allowed her fingers to dip farther between her legs, feeling over her folds. It felt pleasant, but more so relaxing than anything else. Her other hand that was closer to her upper body moved to her chest, gently cupping her lace-covered breast to simply feel her own body. It felt good, not as good as your touch would have felt, but good, nonetheless. The thought of you made her chest feel tight with excitement, her eyes fluttering open to see you, although you disappeared almost completely behind the canvas, so she shut her eyes again, her hand continuing to fondle her breasts, tugging down the lace cups to feel the skin better.

Natasha’s left hand remained in her underwear, slowly building up the mild buzz that had accumulated there. She knew that she wasn’t quite turned on enough to be wet, so after a moment longer of exploring her dry folds, she brought her hand out of her underwear and up to her lips, wetting them with her tongue. She felt the corner of her mouth tug up into a slight smile when she imagined the moment you would notice just how much she had strayed from her position and what exactly had caused it. Her soaked fingertips found her folds again, gliding smoothly over the silky skin of her sex. She parted her thighs just enough to comfortably fit her hand between them, her other hand circling her breasts absentmindedly. She could hear you work, hear the brushes scratch the surface of the canvas, a dizzying warmth finding her lower abdomen when she recalled what exactly you were painting, and how obsessed you were with your work.

“Hey…” Your words died in your throat the very moment you laid your eyes on Natasha again. You had intended to ask her how she was holding up with her posing but the sight of her was enough to let you know where she was at. Your eyes ran along the entire length of her body, taking in her breasts that had spilled from the lace cups, moving all the way between her legs where the gentle movement of her hand elicited an urgent wave of heat to go through you. With the sudden change in plans, you wiped your paintbrush clean and placed it down on the table beside you.

“Oh, I didn’t realize you got tired of posing”, you mumbled apologetically, trying to ignore the fact that she did not stop touching herself.

“Keep going”, she sighed, the certain heaviness in her tone nothing short of sensual. Suddenly you had no desire to paint.

“I think I’m done. If you’re gonna stop then I should too”, you reasoned, but Natasha tutted you in disapproval. “It’s been hours.”

“You keep painting, baby.” She adjusted her position on the bed, arching just enough to get comfortable, a small hum sounding from her.

“But-”

“Listen to mommy, now.” You didn’t even get to finish your rebuttal. You felt a torturous heat rise up your neck at the term she had used, your body reacting immediately to her. You were frozen still, unable to keep painting when all you could think about was replacing her hand with your mouth. She glanced at you pointedly, her firm hand fondling her breasts, squeezing the warm flesh. She could feel your eyes on her as she continued to massage her chest, her mouth falling slightly agape when she pinched a nipple. “Paint.” Her tone was firmer, harsher, unyielding. It was an order, your hand moving to the brush so fast you nearly dropped it altogether.

You did your best to get back into the flow of painting, but there was nothing that you could have done anymore to get your head back in the game. Natasha was on the bed, her knees spread, back arched, lips parted. You could tell that her breath was picking up alongside the speed of her hand, which in and of itself was already enough to make you want to join her, but you knew you couldn’t, sheepishly going back to your work, although this time around you were more than focused on your subject. With your face burning hotter than a bonfire, you began to place paint on the canvas, vehemently ignoring the gentle moans she let out. The room was silent enough to only barely let you hear that she was wet, the sheets rustling quietly as she moved, your eyes fixed on the lace between her legs. To avoid getting scolded for staring, you tore your eyes off her and focused back on your work, but it did absolutely nothing to distract you because the same image was staring back at you in the carefully applied paint. You heard a muffled moan from her, her body jerking slightly when she found the perfect angle against her clit, her teeth sinking into her lower lip.

“Please.” It just slipped. You didn’t mean to be so pathetic, but you could not resist her, sitting helplessly with your paintbrush in hand. You saw the smug smirk on Natasha’s lips, a pitying chuckle falling from her lips, the sound cut short as it morphed into a groan. Your entire body tingled, your heart dropping because you knew the buzz inside you was not going to find relief anytime soon. “I can't focus.” Natasha gasped, her body receiving the moniker with enthusiasm. She couldn’t even try to deny how much she loved it. Unfortunately, witnessing the effect you had on her only made you more restless, which in turn gave you an idea. You may not have been able to touch her while you painted, but you could certainly talk. “At least not on painting.” Natasha’s eyes remained closed, her fingers slowing down, but her chest only heaved heavier from how turned on she was, automatically drawing your attention to her round breasts that looked irresistibly soft and inviting.

“Paint, malyshka (baby girl).” She spoke breathily, arching her back to escape the pressure that was building up in her body.

“I could make you feel so much better”, you whispered. “You know how good my mouth feels.”

“Y/N”, she huffed as a warning, but you rarely tended to listen.

“What, mommy? I just want to make you feel good.” You put on a coy little smile just in time for when she glanced your way. “Remember how good I am?” Oh, Natasha remembered. In fact, she could not forget. “How good my tongue feels? How wet and soft?” Your hands were itching to touch her, squeeze any part of her, your eyes roaming over her toned thighs and glutes, taking in her full hips, full chest, sculpted arms. Natasha’s eyes failed to remain open, her hand taking the speed up a notch. She let out a shaky sigh, squirming slightly under the touch of her own hand. She was getting closer to her release which was only an issue because it wasn’t from your touch but her own. You wanted to be the one to push her over that edge.

“I remember, baby.” She moaned quietly, her head tilting back. “But you need to learn patience.” Right. If you didn’t know her you might have believed that, but you knew that all she wanted to do was tease you.

“I wanna make you come.” Her face screwed up from pleasure, mouth agape, her movements starting to lean more toward spastic. She didn’t respond to you, she couldn’t, any words that she might have wanted to say replaced by breathy moans. In the little time she had spent teasing you, she had become soaked, her fingertips sliding effortlessly over her folds as she massaged her sex, an all-consuming pleasure beaming from her lower abdomen to every inch of her being. She suddenly stopped, moving her hand off her folds, her body threatening to squirm from the pressure that lingered even without any stimulation. Her chest heaved rhythmically, teeth abusing her lower lip all too harshly in your opinion, but she hadn’t come, not yet.

“Please, Natasha-” She gave you a look. One that was laden with pleasure, but chastising, nonetheless. “Mommy”, you corrected yourself.

“We’ll see, detka (baby).” She let out a few long breaths before opening her eyes to look at you, her hands coming down to the lace on her hips, slowly peeling the fabric off. She smiled at you, gave you a taunting little smirk as she tossed the very lingerie you had picked out for her at your feet. Payback was always a bitch. This is what you got for treating her like your personal mannequin. You stared down at the underwear, your eyes quickly returning to her body to see her hand find her sex again. She brought back the same steady rhythm, building her pleasure back up just to show you that she could, but she wouldn’t let herself find release. She was taunting you by edging herself. She knew that every time she brought herself closer to release, you became more desperate to be the cause of it. She was toying with both you and herself to see how long you would last.

“How- how’s the painting?” Oh, she was insufferable. To think that you would give a flying fuck about your painting anymore.

“My model moved.” Natasha laughed in the most genuine way, breaking up some of the tension between you. It brought a pleased grin to your lips.

“What a shame.” There was not an ounce of guilt in her tone, her mouth stretched into a happy smile. You sat helplessly behind your easel, eyes locked on her as her body found a steady tremble again, breath flowing out of her lungs in rapid puffs, a few moans slipping from her whenever her touch felt particularly good. Sitting in your chair was starting to get uncomfortable, the jeans you wore seeming to grow tighter than you remembered them to be. You could feel that you were restless, wishing to move in a way that would allow you to either find more pressure or find relief from the already existing pressure between your legs.

Natasha brought herself to the very edge of an orgasm, clearly starting to get more lost in her pleasure. It was harder to control the sensation the stronger it became. Her moans were no longer purposely slipped to taunt you, but they were becoming involuntary. You could always tell when she had crossed over from performance to authentic pleasure. Her moans turned deeper, breathier, accompanied by whimpers and whines that were completely out of her control as she teetered the very edge of ecstasy. You thought she was going to make you watch her come undone, but just before reaching her peak, she pulled her hand away. She was panting heavily, her gorgeous chest heaving with each gasp of air she took, her legs moving restlessly to prevent herself from falling over just yet.

“Fuck”, you muttered under your breath, cursing the fact that her bent leg and hand were covering up the parts you wanted to see the most. She looked so enthralling, so captivating and straight up delicious that your patience was truly getting tested. You had always been cocky and arrogant enough to think that such cheap manners of teasing wouldn’t get to you, but oh lord, had you been wrong. You were turned on enough to start rubbing yourself against the chair, but you still had enough of your dignity left not to embarrass yourself like that. She let out a little chuckle, one filled with joy, as if she knew just how deep beneath your skin she was getting. You loved when she laughed during sex. There was no better way for her to express just how much fun she was having with you, how well you were taking care of her, than unadulterated glee. You wanted to hear more of it, better yet, you wanted to hear the certain kind of laugh she let out whenever you made her come unexpectedly hard.

She looked at you for a moment, her breath more even, demeanor more serene. The charge between you was undeniable. You almost felt like you couldn’t even move from how charged the atmosphere felt, but Natasha didn’t seem to experience such petrifying awe. She moved slightly, adjusting herself against the assortment of pillows you had gathered under her upper body, directing her lower half more toward you. She smiled to herself, giving you a playful look that made you want to jump out of your seat. You thought that you had been ridiculously and irrevocably affected by her to begin with, but when she spread her knees once more, giving you a completely uncensored look at her sex, you knew that you were one hundred and one percent gone. There was no going back. You didn’t even realize that you stood up, taking a step toward her as if compelled to simply touch her, but Natasha let out a gentle tut.

“Sit down.” She extended her left leg, the sole of her foot pressing over your lower abdomen, just over the button of your jeans, pushing you back. Even that was enough to make your body buzz twice as intensely, but you heeded her command nonetheless, somehow unable to misbehave. Natasha smirked almost smugly. “Oh, I didn’t think you were going to behave today.” You had nothing to say for yourself. She could see from your face that you were waiting for something, waiting for praise, but all you got was a small smile of approval. “Now, watch mommy.” You couldn’t have stopped yourself even if you had wanted to.

She stroked her left hand down her inner thigh, your overactive mind able to recall in vivid detail just how good the tender skin felt both beneath your fingertips and tongue. You wanted to kiss the silky flesh, stroke your tongue over it before wrapping your lips around it to suck a blooming bruise on her. You wanted to feel how warm she was, kiss her until she grew impatient with you. Her hand moved lower, fingertips brushing over her pubic hair, her walls pulsing at the bit of contact. You could see it with your own eyes, feeling an intense flutter of arousal go through you, your body responding to the sight. You could feel how wet you were, your underwear sticking to your folds, your body begging to be touched. You let out a long sigh, watching how her fingertips grazed over the outside of her sex, tracing her shape, refraining from touching the swollen, pink skin that glistened with her arousal.

“Please. You look so beautiful”, you said quietly, hoping that she was going to accept your compliments. You received a gentle hum from her.

“Not yet, baby.”

“When?” You sounded desperate. Natasha didn’t answer, her hand moving again, fingertips reaching her sex. She let out a pleased hum, her hand massaging herself at a tantalizingly slow pace. She let out a slight hiss as if she couldn’t quite handle the burn, her eyes threatening to slide shut, but she managed to keep her gaze on you.

“Take off your shirt for me, baby.” Your shirt had indeed never flown off your body faster. You tossed it to the side, impatiently waiting for more instructions.

“Pants”, she whispered in between silent gasps, her hips already grinding up against her hand. You undressed yourself into your underwear, Natasha’s gaze hot and heavy on you. It made your entire body tingle and burn, every nerve standing on edge, fully alert of what was to come. She slowed down her hand, a small smile finding your face. You were getting to her. “Let me see you, baby.” She said it in a breathy murmur that made your knees weak, your hands moving to the clasp of your bra to remove the garment. “Mmh.” You felt heat rise to your cheeks from her reaction to your breasts, from what you were doing, what she was doing. “Oh, fuck, mmh, you’re gorgeous.” You stroked your hands over your breasts, fondling them for show, pleased that she was so willing to look at you, that you were fueling her pleasure just through your appearance.

“Let me touch you, mommy.” She was so affected that her eyes slid shut, her body writhing in pleasure. “Let me make you feel good.” A part of you wanted to see her finally find release, hear her moans, and watch her come undone, but another part of you, a stronger part of you, wanted to feel it. “You could come against me instead of your hand”, you hummed teasingly, your hands finding your underwear to inch them down your thighs. “Think about it.” Natasha was too wrapped up in pleasure to be able to respond to you, the mental images you were giving her only feeding into the delicious pressure between her legs. “You could come against my mouth, my face. Or if you wanted to, my hand or my pussy.” You trailed your hand down your body, every single nerve standing on end as you dipped your hand between your legs. “I’m so wet.” Your tone was purposely taunting, your fingers feeling around the slick that had gathered between your legs.

She yanked her hand away from her sex, visibly trembling from the tension in her body, but she wouldn’t let herself take it any further. She needed release. She needed it more than anything else, yet she allowed her body to come down slightly and relax further into the bed. She was able to open her eyes again to look at you, an excited, pleased grin finding her face. She was such a sucker for teasing. She loved testing her own limits and tantalizing you in the process. Her eyes dipped down your body before they slid shut once more, her back arching off the bed in an attempt to hold herself off for just a little longer.

“You can touch me, malyshka (baby girl).” You dropped to your knees beside the bed in an instant, your arms hugging her lower body greedily, your hands attempting to pull her closer and closer to you as if you could have fit all of her into your embrace. Your mouth pressed over her sex with visible fervor, your warm tongue flattening against her, Natasha letting out a heavy moan. You were so hungry for her, devouring her with such urgency that Natasha quite literally squealed, the sound making your pussy throb for more. Your hands groped her torso, her chest, giving her soft breasts a squeeze before touching any other parts of her you could reach. You licked over her soaked folds, coating your lips and chin in her arousal before wrapping your mouth around her clit, sucking harshly. It elicited a desperate noise from her that came from somewhere deep inside her. She was drowning in pleasure, her eyes rolling to the back of her head as her body grew spastic and erratic. She was vibrating beneath you, completely lost in her body, in your touch. Her hand found your head to press you closer, the other gripping the dark crimson fur of the blanket beneath her.

It didn’t take much effort from you to bring her over the edge. She was in such a charged state that any kind of touch from you contributed greatly to reaching the peak of her pleasure. The coil in Natasha’s lower abdomen tightened to be unbearable, her focus zeroed in on the warm wetness of your mouth against her equally wet sex. She couldn’t think, she couldn’t function, her body reaching ecstasy with a few good pulses from your mouth. She let out a broken moan that was a mix between a moan and a cry, the sound coming across raw and authentic. It brought goosebumps to your skin, a shiver of pleasure going down your back. She sounded beautiful, just as beautiful as she looked. You could feel her walls pulse against your mouth as you continued to lick her throbbing sex, her body jerking with each dizzying wave of pleasure that she experienced. She let out another unintelligible moan that morphed into laughter of mild disbelief from how insanely good she felt.

“Oh, detka (baby)”, she chuckled quietly, writhing against the bed to soak up every ounce of pleasure she could as your soothing tongue lapped at her folds, cleaning up the excess of come and spit off her. She let out a sigh, her chest heaving dramatically, another laugh falling from her lips, her tight grip on your hair loosening so she could caress your head instead. “God, you know how to eat pussy.” She hadn’t felt such hunger and greed from you perhaps ever before, at least not according to her blissed-out brain. Nothing had ever felt as good as that moment did. You chuckled softly against her, placing a few final sloppy kisses over her clit before pulling away to see her face. She tilted her chin down enough to make eye contact with you, smiling at you fondly. “Moya úmnitsa (my good girl).” You couldn’t help the grin that found your lips as you hid your face against her inner thigh, placing a few kisses there for good measure. “Come here, darling.” She pulled on your arms to bring you onto the bed, adjusting herself enough to fit you comfortably onto the mattress, your body sinking on top of her own. Your cool skin came into contact with her blazing hot chest and abdomen, your body melting into her warmth, Natasha’s firm hands rubbing over your curves as if to ensure that you were perfectly molded against her.

“You’re so…” You failed to find an appropriate word, taking a moment to search for one. “Mommy”, you whispered, kissing her, her laugh vibrating against your lips.

“So mommy, hmm?” She tucked some of your hair behind your ear, kissing the side of your head. Natasha wouldn’t say it, but she could feel her body pulse at the way you said it, at the way it made her feel.

“So mommy.” You chuckled softly, humming at the comfort her touch brought you as she stroked both her hands down your back and over your hips to find your glutes. You pressed your hips tighter against her own when she squeezed your backside. You were restless, leaking against her thigh, which functioned as an effective ego boost for Natasha, not that she needed any more boosting for the day. She smirked to herself, sliding her left hand even lower, her fingers dipping between your legs to see just how wet you were. She hummed in approval when she was met with the distinct and unmistakable sign of your arousal, her fingers sinking further into your sex, eager for more.

“Looks like you made a mess for mommy to clean up. I better take care of this.” You chuckled quietly at her pleased tone, kissing her neck a bit sloppily before humming in agreement.

“You’re welcome.” She flipped you off her and into the sheets, your joyous laughter resonating in the bedroom.

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mawofthemagnetar · 1 year ago

Text

TFC’s Completely Normal Afternoon Where Nothing Goes Wrong And Nobody Dies Horribly

(shoutout to @lindentree for inspiring this silly fic!)

TFC sat in his little bachelor pad, coffee in hand, watching the steam rise out of his mug.

It was a nice mug, all things considered. A gift from the other Hermits. A handmade blue thing, turned on a potter’s wheel, with an extra-large handle to give his old hands a break sometimes. Full of coffee from his ancient coffee machine, that gurgled and growled like a jackhammer being waterboarded.

TFC took a sip, and winced. Okay, so maybe it was time to leave the mine and get more coffee. He’d re-used the grounds for the fourth time, and now it was really starting to get properly bitter.

He drummed his fingers on his glass-top table, listening to the echo against the cold stone walls of his little antechamber. Maybe he’d decorate the walls at some point soon.

TFC shrugged, and opened his comm. Hopefully one of the other Hermits had some coffee beans. He wiped the stone dust off his screen, and held down the three buttons to switch it on. Yes, he kept his comm strapped to his arm like almost every other player with some semblance of sense. No, he refused to let the damn thing be awake for any longer than it needed to be. The Hermits were chatty folks, and when TFC was deep in his mines and deep in thought, the last thing he needed interrupting his musings was a million buzzing noises as Cleo and Jevin got into a slapfight in the general chat.

TFC’s personal logo flashed across the screen (the three letters of his name in red, natch) and he took another slurp of his bitter coffee, wrinkling his nose. The comm beeped, and TFC opened the group chat and tapped out a quick message.

<Tinfoilchef> anyone got any more coffee? I’m clean out.

He put his comm down, and took another swig.

And waited.

TFC frowned. He was a patient man by nature. The same could not be said of the other Hermits, who were usually falling over themselves to help each other out.

And he hadn’t gotten a reply yet.

It had been a whole ninety seconds.

TFC scrolled up in chat, and he sighed, rubbing his face. He sank back in his chair in annoyance.

Of course.

He tabbed upwards, watching things spiral out of control… in reverse.

<Renthedog> THE PAIN! THE PAIN IS INDESCRIBABLE

<Vintagebeef> RUN! THE BOATS! THE BOATS ARE COMING!

TFC rubbed his temples with his free hand, sighing in exasperation. ‘

“Guys, I dug up five stacks of diamonds, don’t make me do this…I don’t want to re-dig those tunnels…” TFC groaned.

And of course the nonsense kept coming as he scrolled farther and farther back. Gee, that last message from Ren was about four hours ago, now...

<Iskall85> HELP GOD THE LOOM’S GROWN LEGS

“Does anyone on this server besides me even know HOW to weave?!” TFC growled, averting his gaze from his pile of unfinished weaving in the corner of the room. It didn’t exist. He couldn’t see it. His WIP’s couldn’t hurt him.

And on and on it went.

“Right, I’ve seen enough.” TFC sighed, “On the bright side, at least I’ll have all the coffee I had a week ago, so there’s that…”

He carefully tabbed through his various screens and menus until he arrived at the one bit of his comm that was set aside for admin functions. Now, TFC wasn’t a server admin. That much was true. But he had slight admin privileges, for one thing and one thing only: server rollbacks.

While, say, Hypno would have had an extensive wall of options, showing his permissions and all sorts of bells and whistles, TFC’s admin console had a text box to input a date and a big red “GO” button.

He looked mournfully at his ender chest, and, with a sigh, keyed in a date one week prior.

And TFC jabbed his thumb on the big red button.

The world flashed white, utterly blinding him, and a second later TFC was deep in the branch mine in a half-finished tunnel, the same spot he’d been exactly a week prior.

Unfortunately, he was still in a comfortable sitting position, resting all his weight on a chair that suddenly wasn’t there, so he immediately toppled to the ground, landing on his ass in an undignified heap.

“Ow.” TFC muttered, sitting up slowly and tapping through his messages.

<Xisuma> oh, we rolled back. Is everyone alright!?

<Tango> Mumbo you are BANNED FROM TIME TRAVEL

<MumboJumbo> It wasn’t me this time! I mean it was. But blame Zedaph!

<Zedaph> ME?! No! Blame Cub! Cub gave me the doodad!

TFC rolled his eyes and typed out a message.

<Tinfoilchef> Does anyone have any fresh coffee beans?

Silence.

No messages. No new complaining. As all the hermits re-read TFC’s words and soaked them in.

Finally, Cleo broke the silence.

<Zombiecleo> TFC. How many times did you re-use your last filter of grounds.

<TinfoilChef> eh, six? Seven?

<Zombiecleo> are you telling me we’d all still be in shuttlecock hell if you hadn’t gotten sick of the taste of reused coffee grinds?!

<TinfoilChef> Pretty much, yeah

<TinfoilChef> anyway

<TinfoilChef> does anyone have some fresh coffee?

#magnetar writes #Hermitcraft fic #TFC fic

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writerblue275 · 1 year ago

Text

How Heartsteel would act when they are tipsy. (18+)

Let me say this right off the bat: PLEASE DRINK RESPONSIBLY (AND ONLY IF YOU’RE OF LEGAL AGE TO BE DRINKING). BE KIND TO YOUR LIVERS AND FOLLOW LAWS Y’ALL.

(Seriously drinking too much is not fun. Either while you’re drinking, or the day after. I once learned the hard way in college that I become extremely emotional if I have a bit much and it’s just straight up not a good time. I still drink, but very occasionally and not much.)

Inspiration: Now all that being said……I’d love to have a drink or two with the Heartsteel members. I think that would be so fun!

Champions: Heartsteel

Genre: Headcanon

Type: Fluff (I’m still saying this is 18+ only. I’m American so technically the legal drinking age where I am is 21, but I know for a lot of places around the world the legal age to drink is 18.)

Gender: Gender Neutral Reader

TW: We’re talking about alcohol use in this one. Mention of a drinking game or two. Mention of sobriety. Swearing.

Aphelios

If you want a calm, chill, but still fun night, Aphelios is the guy to drink with. 100/10 vibes and I’m all here for it.

This is when he’d use more sign language to communicate. (I’m imagining tipsy Phel signing incredibly cheesy pick up lines to his partner and I’m OBSESSED.)

And you know how words can start to slur when people get tipsy? That concept maybe translates into his sign language juuuuust a little bit. Maybe a slightly sloppy sign here or there. But you know him well enough that you know what he’s trying to say.

And while he’s not super touchy, when he’s tipsy, he’s definitely staying connected to you somehow.

Either through linked hands/pinkies, an arm around you, or just some other way of him keeping connected to you.

You two turn into the parent couple a little bit, making sure everyone, including yourselves, is staying safe and hydrated. Aphelios might be mischievous and like pranks, but he knows when it’s time to be more serious, and keeping everyone safe when alcohol is involved is definitely a time to be more serious. (Surprise surprise, you might have thought Yone would be the parent but he’s already the band mom sober. The man needs a break. Out of the other members, I actually think Phel could wrangle people pretty well.)

Ezreal

Ezreal would be such a fun person to drink with just in general, but especially as your S/O. He’s energetic, fun, generally positive. In my experience, those people make for enjoyable beverage buddies (alcoholic or not). He’s the life of any party (#1).

He’s also a lightweight. Absolutely no question in my mind. He’s not a large man by any means. (I love this teeny pop prince.)

It doesn’t matter if the two of you have been together for years, once he’s tipsy, he’s pulling out all his best (read: cheesy as fuck) pick up lines and using them on you.

“Hey, my name is Microsoft. Can I crash at your place tonight?” “Ez, we’ve been dating for over a year.” “Yes we have. And? Can I not flirt with my own partner?” “…Ok that’s very sweet, please continue.” (He always manages to make you blush and make it feel like the first time you met him.)

Only uses them on you though. As flirty as Ez can be, this green bean is LOYAL to you. Only you get his flirty side. Anyone else tries flirting with him and they get some truly bombastic side eye.

Otherwise Ezreal’s just really fun to chat with or play drinking games with. The absolute best beer pong partner. There’s no one more accurate. And unless you’re sitting out a round, he’ll always ask you to be his #2. It doesn’t matter how good or bad you are. When you do sit out and he plays, there’s always an argument about who gets to be his partner. The next best player is Sett, who is also very good, so there’s a house rule that the two of them can’t be on a team together 😂.

Kayn

I was struggling to figure out how to describe Kayn while drinking, and now I realize why I was struggling so very much…

Plot twist: Kayn is sober. (Shoutout to anyone on a sobriety journey, for whatever reason. I have so much respect for you. Our society loves to glorify alcohol and drinking culture, so for those who actively choose to go against that, props to you.)

I genuinely don’t think he drinks at all. Maybe he did in the past but he doesn’t currently. Rock stars historically haven’t always had the best relationship with substances. This could be one of those situations where he realized he didn’t like who he was when he drank.

Kayn is self-aware enough to know he’s already fairly impulsive and a little wild while sober. Alcohol added to that mix wasn’t helping anything. So he stopped and surrounded himself with a network of people that fully support his decision (that ofc includes you and the other Heartsteel members).

Now all of that being said, Kayn still likes to enjoy himself. He’s a fan of fancy beverages, even if they’re non-alcoholic, so he’s always getting a mocktail or a non-alcoholic beer (I’m really glad to see bartenders/companies starting to include NA options. Listen, sometimes I just want to feel fancy and sip a fun beverage that doesn’t have alcohol in it). Having something to sip on makes Kayn feel involved even if he’s the only one in a group that doesn’t have an alcoholic beverage.

Now even though he doesn’t drink, don’t think he’s a spoilsport. Even without alcohol he is a very fun person to be around, so when you’re out with him you’ll still have a great night filled with some shenanigans, fun talks, and laughter.

K’Sante

I’m not kidding when I say I want to have a drink with Heartsteel K’Sante so badly and I’m genuinely a little sad I cannot. I want to pick his brain. I’ve said it before but I get great vibes from him. To me, it’s very easy to see why he’s one of the co-leaders of Heartsteel.

Absolutely gets philosophical/goes into deep conversations when he drinks and those people are SO FUN TO BE AROUND. A perfect companion for someone who might be a little more introverted since he’d be focused only on you and he’d maybe take you somewhere a little quieter so you can hear each other.

I feel like it’s very easy to lose track of time when you’re talking with K’Sante. Like you look down at your phone/watch and an hour has passed just like that while the two of you chat and sip on your drinks.

These deep conversations can be about anything too. Maybe about literature that you’ve both read, dissecting their music with a close eye, discussing the meaning of life, or even him listening to you discuss your problems and offering you advice if you want it.

And even if the topics of discussion are deep, K’Sante is still making things light hearted. He never wants to cause you to not enjoy your evening.

In between discussions of deeper topics, he’s cracking some jokes or telling you funny stories about himself, his family, or the other members of Heartsteel. Whatever is being discussed, the overall vibe with K’Sante is very safe and fun. When you have a drink with him, settle in and enjoy a fun night talking about anything and everything.

Sett

Oh my god Sett would be so fun to have a drink with. He absolutely gives off “life of the party” vibes (#2) and I absolutely love that for everyone around him. Hell he gives off those vibes without alcohol.

This is going to be so damn specific: Sett gives me slight frat bro vibes BUT IN THE VERY BEST WAY!! (I SWEAR I mean this as a compliment!)

When I was in university/undergrad, I was in a sorority. (Hehe surprise! I’m definitely not the stereotypical sorority girl.) Because of this I am familiar with fraternities and frat bros. While generally I don’t have a high opinion of them, there was one frat on campus that was actually awesome. Their guys were safe/fun to be around, respectful, and kind (a lot of them were athletes so they knew they better behave if they wanted to stay on their teams).

THAT is the kind of frat bro vibe I get from Heartsteel Sett. Ma raised him fucking right. He has manners and is incredibly respectful to those around him always. (Unless they give him reason not to be but that’s a whole different thing.)

And just like Ez, his flirty side is totally coming out, but again, only with you. I can’t imagine Sett ever being unfaithful in a relationship. Ma raised him far better then that.

And if you’re out with him and getting unwanted attention, he’s definitely sticking up for you, whether or not you’re dating him. Hell even if you’re a stranger, he’s the type to pretend to be your boyfriend/brother/friend to get you out of a situation. Just overall a 100/10 man to be around. You’ll definitely have a blast with him!

Yone (Yes his is long but listen, I have thoughts!)

This man. This man is my dark horse. There are two possible ways I see Yone acting when tipsy. 1. Completely fucking normal and alcohol doesn’t affect him like at all. 2. Turns him into a clingy koala man who is a lightweight.

Clingy koala man is far more entertaining so THAT’S WHAT WE’RE GOING WITH. I feel like it doesn’t take much for him to feel it. Part of that is, Yone wouldn’t drink that much to begin with. Maybe a glass of wine on a dinner date with you, or the occasional drink at a party, but otherwise it’s not his thing.

All this to say, when he does have something, he definitely feels it. And that’s when he’ll be glued to your side. Now obviously if you’re in public, he’s not going to be wrapped around you, but even then, he’ll link arms to walk with you, keep his hand on the small of your back, or even link pinkies with you.

Now if you two are alone? And you’re not going anywhere for the evening? Oh all bets are off. You better do everything you need to do before sitting down with him, because once you do, he’s pulling you into his lap and that is going to be your spot for the foreseeable future. (It’s like the unspoken pet rule: “if a pet is on you, you’re not allowed to move until they do” but in reverse. As long as Yone is cuddling you, you’re not allowed to move. [Like of course you’re allowed to move, especially if you need to go to the bathroom or get more comfortable. He’s not an asshole. But he just really loves holding you.])

You’re already the only person besides Heartsteel’s hair stylist Yone lets touch his hair, but when he’s tipsy? He practically leans his head into your touch until you play with his hair, sighing happily as you do. He especially loves when you braid it. (God damn I want to braid his hair so badly.)

Thanks so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed! I was discussing with my friends which fictional characters we’d like to have a drink with and that’s where this idea really stemmed from. Random, but fun to think about! 💙

(Also this is just a small reminder that my requests are currently open. If you have specific ideas, send them through my asks! Just check the rules post [linked on my masterlist] first!)

#heartsteel #heartsteel headcanons #headcanon #heartsteel x reader #reader insert #heartsteel fluff #heartsteel aphelios #heartsteel ezreal #heartsteel kayn #heartsteel k'sante #heartsteel sett #heartsteel yone #league of legends headcanon

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saintsenara · 1 year ago

Note

You mentioned fanon turning barty crouch jr. into an uninteresting character. I don't know much about what the new fanon characterisation has really done with him, but I'm curious for your thoughts on why he's a canonically interesting character. I agree that he is, but it sounds like you might have some interesting thoughts on it that are already fleshed out.

thank you for the ask, @jamesunderwater, and i'm sorry for taking so long to drag myself around to answering this.

as you may have gathered if you’ve read my views on jegulus or wolfstar, the common fanon interpretation of marauders-era characters and i don’t really get on.

this is not a new development - me and goofy fanon sirius have been beefing for over a decade at this point, i fear - but our enmity has taken on a new form since [roughly] 2020, when the emergence of what we might call the modern marauders subfandom brought with it a whole series of expectations about characters, ships, personalities, and appearances in first war stories which - let me state my position immediately - have absolutely nothing to do with the characters as they are in canon.

i could talk about sirius or regulus or james or snape or lupin until the cows come home - as, i’m sure, could many of us - but i also dislike the expectations the marauders subfandom has around its supporting cast. these characters - who largely fall under the categories of women, slytherins, or both - have names that we might recognise from canon, but they are - to all intents and purposes - original characters.

to do some marauders fan defending, i do understand the rationale behind this. hogwarts is a school, and it needs to be filled with the sort of incidental characters that lightning-era writers can pull from the canon text [shoutout to ernie macmillan, the mvp]. if you’re writing about lily, then she needs friends - why not have them be alice, marlene, dorcas, emmeline, pandora etc.?

[well, because dumbledore isn’t running a child army. it makes no sense for the entire order of the phoenix to be in the same school year - and the idea that alice is probably around ten years older than lily, that pandora is around the same age as narcissa malfoy and isn’t a pureblood, and that marlene, dorcas, and emmeline are hard-nosed ministry bitches in their fifties who can have mad-eye moody quaking with just a look is something which can be prised from my cold, dead hands.]

and if you’re writing about the epic highs and lows of high-school football going to school during a sectarian conflict, then you need some antagonists. which is to say, you need some slytherins.

the issue i have is that the three key slytherins who seem to have been elevated to principal cast in the marauders pantheon - regulus black, barty crouch jr., and evan rosier - get what can only be called the smol bean treatment. that is, that three teenagers who all canonically join a terror organisation are turned into soft and tiny babies who thought lord voldemort was just feeling silly when he said, "my aim is the eradication of the muggleborn population through violent means."

and even fics which do acknowledge that the three willingly become terrorists often go out of their way to provide justifications for this which don’t contextualise their decision [something which is important - you can’t write about snape becoming a death eater without acknowledging the way that poverty, loneliness, and a sense of hopelessness make someone an easy target of radicalisation] but which minimise it. sometimes, their violence is turned into romantic vengeance - i’ve seen a fair amount of suggestions that barty goes to torture the longbottoms because frank was the auror who killed evan. sometimes, authors imply - or even outright state - that there’s no need to see these boys as aspiring villains: voldemort is right; the class system is good and should be maintained; and purebloods [usually james, sirius, regulus, barty, evan and maybe a token woman or two] should stick together while the half-breeds and the mudbloods go hang.

this - like all aristocracy wank in this fandom - annoys me enough with regulus and evan. but it’s particularly grating when it comes to barty crouch jr. because - unlike evan, who is literally just a name in the text, and regulus, who isn’t much more - he actually has a canon personality.

and it’s fascinating. indeed, i would even go so far as to say that barty crouch jr. is the greatest villain in the harry potter series.

[my apologies to lord voldemort.]

after all, even though he’s been imprisoned under the imperius curse for over a decade, barty is still so lucid and powerful that he is able to:

produce magic capable of tricking the goblet of fire, which is treated by all the adult characters involved as unprecedented.

pull off a year-long impersonation of a man whom dumbledore evidently knows extremely well without being clocked until his mission has been successful, even though his opportunities to observe the real moody can have been virtually non-existent. he is in character within seconds of his ambush on moody’s home - after the intruder-alert dustbins are set off - and is able to persuade ministry personnel who can be presumed to have met moody personally [including both amos diggory and arthur weasley, who appear to know him not only personally, but well] that he is the real deal. he maintains his performance even under close scrutiny from the teaching colleagues he has to interact with daily at hogwarts, despite the fact that he presumably can’t get a great deal out of the real moody, since he’s having to be kept deliberately weak and docile under the imperius curse.

manipulate multiple people into become accessories to his crimes, without ever being suspected of doing so. with the hindsight of knowing who he is, the first defence against the dark arts lesson in goblet of fire, in which "moody" deliberately distresses neville by using the cruciatus curse directly in front of him, before swooping in to be the person to cheer him up so that he can plant information which will help harry win the triwizard tournament and deliver him to voldemort, is chilling. he just gets unlucky that harry has the biggest martyr complex in human history.

commit murder on hogwarts’ grounds without ever being suspected of wrongdoing.

execute lord voldemort’s plan to kidnap harry and use him in his resurrection ritual flawlessly. the plan itself may be convoluted - but dark lords are allowed to have a flair for the dramatic, as a treat - but, crucially, it works, and barty succeeds in every respect.

but, i concede, we’re talking about the adult barty here. perhaps he was once a sweetheart who went unfortunately off the rails after his father sent him to prison and then - in effect - drugged him for years. that wouldn’t be a ridiculous suggestion.

except for the fact that - canonically - the teen barty was just as clever, sly, manipulative, and - above all - ardent in his support for voldemort as his adult self.

at his trial in the early 1980s, young barty gives the performance of a lifetime. he screams, he shakes, he looks terrified of the dementors, he is pale and weak and harmless-looking, he begs his mother to help him, he pleads with his father for mercy, he maintains his innocence as he's dragged off to his cell. he gives off the impression of simply having been in the wrong place at the wrong time so well that harry is almost certain that his conviction is illegitimate. so too, it is implied, is dumbledore.

indeed, barty plays the part of the wrongfully imprisoned so well that - as canon tells us - he not only influences public opinion to be broadly in favour of his probable innocence [or, at least, his diminished culpability - sirius suggests that the widespread view was that he was probably there, but that he only ended up involved in what was clearly bellatrix’s idea because of his father’s failure to relate to him properly], but also changes public opinion against the government’s anti-death-eater strategy entirely.

following his imprisonment, his father - a man who never met an extrajudicial punishment he didn’t like, and whose ruthless approach to dealing with the death eaters in the first war [such as his use of internment for suspected terrorists and his order to aurors to shoot to kill] was, we are told, enormously popular with the wizarding public - is forced to resign in disgrace from his role as head of the department of magical law enforcement. crouch sr. is quietly shuffled off into a boring bureaucratic position, his ambitions to be minister in tatters, and his only way forward to free his son from the prison cell where he is languishing for the crime he very literally did.

[as an aside, i do think that we are supposed to read bellatrix as the ringleader of the torture of the longbottoms. but, all too often, that gets reduced to her doing everything while rodolphus, rabastan, and barty just stand there gormlessly. they were clearly performing the curses too!]

now, barty’s unusual cunning can - of course - be explained by narrative reasons. the text needs to conceal that he’s the villain [since, as with philosopher’s stone, it wants to imply that the dark lord’s faithful servant at hogwarts is snape] until the very end - and this naturally requires dumbledore to not think too hard about whether his good judy alastor is behaving even more strangely than usual.

the text also needs to suggest that he's innocent in order to properly stick the landing on the narrative role of his father - barty crouch sr. as with dolores umbridge in order of the phoenix, crouch sr. exists to show harry [and the reader] that the rot in the wizarding world was not caused by - and will not stop with the defeat of - voldemort. his ruthlessness and inflexibility, his lack of respect for due process, his astonishingly cruel treatment of winky [brutal beyond even the standard way in which wizards abuse their enslaved elves] all serve to teach harry that the anti-voldemort cause can become just as easily corrupted as the disillusioned young men in voldemort’s orbit. the suggestion that crouch sent his own son to azkaban without good reason, simply because he would not deviate from his beliefs, is an important lesson to harry about what "justice" actually means.

but, despite this, barty is also able to pull off his deception because he’s spectacularly talented. it’s not all just narrative.

and his talents are caused by characteristics which aren’t good or bad in and of themselves. he’s clearly very intelligent [he got twelve owls, the series’ benchmark for genius]. he’s hyper-observant, creative, adaptable, good under pressure, and possessed of nerves of steel. he shares these traits with other villains in the series - voldemort above all - but he also shares them with plenty of the heroes. harry, for one.

which is to say that all of his personality traits could be put to non-criminal uses. but - as with harry, who is capable of being quite sinister when he wants to be [for example, when he manipulates slughorn into giving up the horcrux memory] - they would give a non-criminal barty an edge. and this doesn’t seem to be present in his standard fanon persona - as sweet and goofy as all marauders-era men - to any great extent.

finally, there is another aspect of barty’s character which is absent from his fanon version - that he clearly has some sort of childhood trauma, but that this does not excuse any of what he does.

even though crouch sr. is right to send him to azkaban, he was clearly also a cold and distant father, who had absolutely no idea how to relate to his son.

[as another aside, this emotional negligence is bad enough without it needing to be written as having been accompanied by extreme physical and/or sexual abuse. there seems to be a real tendency in fanfiction - not only in marauders-era stuff, although the exaggeration of orion and walburga black into despotic villains is one example of this - to make childhood misery "worse", in order to justify a character’s later actions.]

voldemort demonstrably uses barty’s terrible relationship with crouch sr. [and his absolutely flagrant daddy kink] to groom him into taking the dark mark [not least because there’s otherwise no explanation for why he cheerfully informs him that he too is named after his dad], which he may very well end up taking when he’s still at school. my reading is that he’s recruited to inform on his father - since voldemort would undoubtedly wish to keep the head of the department of magical law enforcement under constant surveillance - and that this is why the dark lord pays him the attention he is so obviously lacking.

but, as with snape and regulus and draco malfoy and all the other young death eaters, barty also colludes in his own radicalisation. voldemort is a master at ensnaring recruits, sure, but he’s also a busy man. he only bothers to make the effort because the clever, creative, cunning, manipulative young man - who wishes to avenge himself on the father who never paid him attention [sound familiar?] - he finds before him is very much determined to become a spectacular part of his terrorist organisation. and stories which feature him owe it to him to give him that dark complexity of character

show the series’ best villain some respect.

#asks answered #asenora meta #barty crouch jr

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toomuchracket · 9 months ago

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for some reason i've been toying with the idea of calling barista matty's coffee shop roadkill and at first i was like hmmm no that's weird but then i figured matty would make some stupid joke about "well that's what everyone comes in here looking like before they have caffeine" so maybe. also roadkill roasting company is a sick name for the offshoot business where he sells the beans (which girly, business and marketing extraordinaire, helps him set up). i think the shop would also get a shoutout on that topjaw best of london series actually. anyway. thanks for listening to my weird lore <3

#mads muses #barista matty

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peniswizard69 · 9 months ago

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Shoutout to the binturong, whose scientific name, Arctictis binturong, means bear marten binturong, which references three animals: one of them is the thing itself and the other two look nothing like it. It's also sometimes called the bearcat, referring to yet another animal it super doesn't look like

It's not closely related to any other goddamn animal you've ever goddamn heard of, except for that one species of civet that poops out the world's most expensive coffee beans

It's closest relatives you've heard of are mongooses and hyenas, and it's about as close to them as we are to spider monkeys. It reportedly smells like buttered popcorn, which like sure whatever who even cares anymore

Wow! Truly the binturong is an animal for wonder

#original broth #shitpost #binturong #biology #zoology #weird animal

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faebriel · 1 year ago

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brrrr rainduo hunger games au

mad shoutouts to bee, beans, daisy and cherry for hopping on the rainduo hunger games bandwagon kdhkdjd

okay so nonnie i have a bit of hunger games knowledge (have watched the first two movies with some pals in the last month, various clips on youtube, etc) so i decided to take this one to my friends in clout farm to bounce some ideas around. niki and wil as tributes? niki as a tribute and wil as an estranged old friend who won the games five years ago and then was swallowed up by the capitol? two coworkers in the world's worst subminimum wage job? then bee comes in with the sledgehammer

for everyone else who also thought oh god i need to google that: avoxes are rebels, traitors or deserters who had their tongues cut out as punishment, and are forced into servitude by the capitol.

alright so. wilbur and niki are two kids in district 12 in the midst of a potential regime change - and they're kids, around ten and fourteen each. to-be-president schlatt is shoving around president dream and it almost seems like this might be a window for change, something wilbur is so passionate about

and then that wrong person overhears, and wilbur is gone.

niki assumes that wilbur is dead. (and tries not to think about how he got taken, because of nothing more than sheer bad luck, and she didn't.) it's awful, but seven years pass and she does her best to cope with it. and then her name is called at the reaping, when she is seventeen years old.

niki has absolutely zero intention of playing along with the games - she thinks they're horrible, just another way for the capitol to terrorise the people of the districts, even if she's learned by now the consequences of actually saying that out loud. she meets her mentor, jack - a year younger than she is, district 12's only remaining victor. he came out of the coal pits at thirteen, with just enough charisma and confidence to win over the sponsors and just enough grit to outlive every other tribute in his games, despite his age.

unfortunately for jack, niki is stubborn as hell when she makes her choices, and she's chosen not to play. fuck the capitol - fuck acting as their entertainment while they burn her entire fucking world down. fuck smiling how they want her to and acting sweet. why should she? she should she, when they've ripped her away from everything she had to lose? niki can hold her own, but not like this - and if she is going to go to her death, she refuses to act pretty about it.

and then she encounters wilbur.

it's one of the dinners for the tributes - one of the early ones, right after they're paired off with their stylists (niki doesn't entirely know what to make of hbomb, who asks her what colour hair dye she'd prefer in one breath and then lays out the most cynical, how-to-get-ahead guide to the games in the second, and then exalts the benefits of a kitty ear motif in the third) but before the interviews and grading. they're eating the fanciest food niki has seen in what is probably her entire life, although it tastes like nothing more than ash in her mouth, and pouring the tributes and their mentors glasses of expensive wine - never mind that almost all the tributes are underage, because when else will they get the chance to drink, hey? niki is still silently fuming, pushing her food around her plate and refusing the sixth damn offer to refill her wine glass and she finally looks up and behind the mask he's wearing, behind the unrecognisable silence, behind seven years of thinking one of her best friends had been horribly killed (and being entirely unable to process that fact) - she sees wilbur.

she immediately asks, wilbur? - not that he responds, and now hbomb and jack are giving her weird looks as hbomb informs her it's just an avox and jack goes oh, yeah, they don't have them in the districts, but -

none of their words matter, because half of niki is solidly trapped in this space between reality and dreams and her worst nightmare - she's only able to pull her shit together once jack has dragged them all back to the district 12 tribute spaces, and gives her the whole spiel about what an avox is, and by extension, what happened to wilbur.

niki is horrified. to think she mourned for all those years, and wilbur was alive - not just alive, but mutilated and tortured at the hands of the capitol. niki didn't think she could become more furious, more enraged with them. she was wrong.

the problem now, then - if niki wants to help wilbur, actually help him, she has to play. she has to win.

(and yes, she does set the forest on fire. she has to win, after all, doesn't she?)

this post is getting so so long so i am putting some more miscellaneous thoughts about The World and more details about niki's games under the cut ⚔️

okay so dream WAS president but was overthrown by schlatt in a "peaceful transfer of power". this was around when niki and wil were 10/14 each - and naturally uprising resulted in a peacekeeper crackdown in the districts, leading to wilbur's capture and arrest :(

2. haven't really nailed down other tributes in niki's reaping (i'm already handwaving the guy from district 12. he doesn't exist to me he is stock image steve) besides uhh ranboo who niki makes brief friends/allies with and then dies horribly. i was thinking aimsey and guqqie because from what i've seen of their content they love a tragedy? but yeah idk

3. sam is the gamemaker for this arena! he was a former victor and has decided to use this knowledge in the worst way possible.

quackity is Also a gamemaker (young upstart with no experience yet in the arena or out of it) and they have terrible workplace drama. is he hooking up with the president? i will not say yea or nay.

4. rest easy in the knowledge that, as a servant to the capitol, wilbur got to see on live television the moment niki was reaped :']

5. niki does, in fact, win the games - by the skin of her teeth. while she is so full of fury at the capitol, i feel like she'd Actually kill like, one career and then feel Extremely ill about it. unfortunately, she has too much on the line to lose. this isn't just about surviving, or going home - she needs to get herself and wilbur home in one piece. she Cannot Afford To Fail.

she ends up winning by setting the arena on fire with use of a match donated by jack and some sponsors he managed to twist the arm of, plus probably some clever digging around in the arena itself to find something flammable (maybe some kind of fuel to power the arena itself?) this fire ends up killing off the remaining few tributes at that point - at least one in front of niki herself - and damages the arena too. niki, already injured before the fire started and now barely clinging onto life past her burns, doesn't even hear the sound of the cannon shots as her victory is announced - she only realises that she's won once the hovercraft descends, perfect steel against a fiery, smoke-filled artificial sky.

she can't really stand the sight of flames after that. unfortunately, fire becomes her new branding.

6. district 13 Is a thing. Eventually. can't overlook niki's beloved anarchist friends :3c

and finally:

#AND THAT IS RAINDUO AVOX HUNGER GAMES AU.#thanks anon i think your ask Awoke something in us #there's a lot of screenshots here but my phone keeps crashing chrome when i try to add alt text so im gonna do it when i can next use my lp #extremely open to further asks and such on this btw and hg aus in gen theyve kind of possessed me. and thanks once again to my lovely cfers #and to nonnie too!! thanks nonnie <3 #asks #hunger games au #aunonnies

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insecthusbandry · 1 year ago

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A visual road map of gay artist influencing style and therefore 1931 dracula.

Hoenestly I forget who made the renfield text one so shoutout if u could. 2nd Edit: @coiled-dragon did it, I may not be the sharpest spoon today

Also if literally anyone knows the name of the type of hat dwight frye wears in 1931 dracula, that would be so swell bc the modern hat makers I've talked to have no clue but one of them did call it a "coffee bean".

#j c leyendecker #1931 dracula #all this bc i wanna write two descriptive lines.

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workingforitallthetime · 2 years ago

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Every UMich Monday question, 2022-23

As is tradition, I have rewatched every single Monday question in a row, and I now present to you a complete list. The most interesting recurring themes this year were sleepy Mackie, Gavin being obsessed with Jaybone, Frankie having a crush on Brendan, and everyone agreeing that Seamus is a total weirdo. Instead of a full ranking this year, I've sorted them into tiers. Bonus links to non-Monday question but still gold star content appear at the end.

Tier I: Every single second an absolute delight

December 7, 2022 If you could make it rain anything, what would it be? This contains the single flirtiest interaction I have ever seen in a Monday question video, and I say this as a survivor of the Thomas Bordeleau era. It’s a crime against humanity that the video cuts just as Rutger starts to loom over Gavin after drawling suggestively about how he has a sweet tooth. Also features Luca sweetly encouraging Truss.

November 15, 2022 Who has the best bromance on the team? BEST QUESTION and Jaybone kicks it off right: “Gotta be the Fantilli brothers for sure.” Other highlights include Luke insisting that he and Duker have the best bromance despite great skepticism from his teammates (Luca: “I mean you got in a fight today.” Luke: “Ya, out of love.”) and Johnny and Luca’s joint announcement of their engagement bromance, immediately endorsed by everyone else on the team.

November 22, 2022 If you had to describe yourself or a teammate using just Thanksgiving foods, what would you say? This is an all-timer. It starts with a series of teammates describing Moyle as the thickest Thanksgiving dishes possible, and then it builds to Johnny describing Seamus as pudding (presumably because he’s soft and sweet) and then looking longingly at Luca while telling him he’s the main dish. Also an unknown staffer chips in with a very important Seamus characterization: “Seamus Casey is green bean casserole. It’s a little different, it’s okay. But you only want it once a year.”

November 2, 2022 If you were sailing around the world, what would you name your boat? Hello, 911? I’m calling to report a murder. It was Jacob Truscott in the locker room with the “I would do Granger. Because I miss my roommates Thomas and Matty so it would remind me of them.” This one also features Adam’s dumb face goggling at Rutger’s incredibly dumb answer. And we also learned that Jaybone calls Gavin “Scooter.”

April 4, 2023 Who’s the best teammate to room with on the road? They ended the season on a high note by revealing everybody's road roommates, with a heavy dose of characterization. Luke praising Truss, and then Truss getting snarky as soon as Luke turns his back. Last year’s Brendan/Dylan and Matty/Mackie roommate combos, a parent trap if ever I heard of one. Jaybone feeding Seamus chicken and rice and putting him to bed on time. Nolan and Gavin ordering Chik-Fil-A and clearly getting up to no good.

Tier II -- Screaming out loud

February 14, 2023 Who makes the best wingman? RICH with characterization. Self-deprecating Seamus vs. self-confident Gavin! (Particularly when contrasted with multiple teammates identifying Seamus as the best wingman and Adam emphatically declaring that Gavin’s the worst wingman even though literally nobody asked.) Luca and Johnny being absolutely besotted with each other, and Rutger manhandling them.

January 17, 2023 Who on the team takes the longest to get ready? Rutger trying to Facetime the Fantillis while they’re taking forever to do their hair is PURE GOLD. Also an early reference to Gavin getting the dance moves going.

March 8, 2023 What’s your favorite memory from the season, so far? Adam’s favorite memory was watching Luca score his first goal.

October 11, 2022 If you could have any zoo animal as a pet, what would it be? Wherein we learned that Phil and Keato adopted ducks last spring. “Shoutout to Moose, Chip, Waddle, Bandit, we miss you.” (Connor Earegood, you still owe us the details. We will not forget.)

October 19, 2022 If you could swap lives with a teammate for a day, who would it be and why? The origin of so many recurring motifs! Seamus being perpetually lost, Mackie lying around in bed all day, smarty Holtzy, and everybody wants to know what’s going in Mark Estapa’s head. Seamus: “I’d probably be Luca. He has a really safe moped. It’s really nice. I’d like to drive around on it.”

February 7, 2023 What is your favorite and most often used emoji? A sleeper hit, primarily due to Holtzy and Adam’s recreations of the facepalm emoji and the silly face emoji, respectively. And Eric’s dig about how Mackie would be the sleepy emoji. Gavin picking the upside down smiley face feels right, too.

Tier III -- Some classic moments

March 18, 2023 If you could fill the B1G Cup with anything, what would it be? Jacob Truscott’s finest Monday question appearance: Frenchifying Philippe LaPointe’s name and hassling Luca about ice cream flavors!

November 30, 2022 Who on the team would you NOT let tape your stick? A very important entry in Disaster Seamus canon. Doesn’t ever tape his stick. Doesn’t know how.

January 3, 2023 What’s on your 2023 bucket list? Yet another reference to Seamus being a liability on a moped. Luca wants to take a trip with the boys after the season. Steve wants to go back to back B1G champions (CHECK!) It’s a light week because the squad is off at WJC, so “Mine’s to give Dylan Duke a big ol’ hug when he gets back,” says Mackie.

September 20, 2022 If you were a cartoon character, who would you be? Great answers top to bottom, but Adam going with Mike Wazowski because “I think he has a good heart” is the most intriguing. Gavin and Luca hugging it out is also important.

September 22, 2022 What would your walk-up song be? Gavin and Luca dancing away together is the highlight of this one. The mysterious Phil/Mark/Seamus pick of Hawaiian Rollercoaster Ride also intrigues.

January 12, 2023 Who would be your dream linemate? Features Luca uttering the supremely horny sentence: “My favorite D in the league right now is Quinn Hughes.” Also Moyle picking Blanks.

October 4, 2022 Who on the team would most likely survive a zombie apocalypse? Best line is from Luca: “Jacob Truscott, because he’s so cute the zombies would just want to hug him.” Seamus also points out that Mackie would survive because he’d sleep through it.

November 8, 2022 Which of your teammates would you want to narrate your life? Nolan Moyle “has a lot of stories about me,” hints Truss, darkly. TELL US MORE. Also Seamus carries two smoothies through the background. Who else did you get a smoothie for, Seamus?

Tier IV -- Merely good

March 15, 2023 Who on the team motivates you the most? Nothing too interesting except Frankie’s giant crush on Brendan Miles. Also a sweetheart answer by Luca about Adam, but that’s standard.

February 21, 2023 Give a compliment to a senior Adam with this bizarre story: “Keaton Pehrson brightens my morning every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. He comes in and he explains to us the dreams that he had that night.” And Seamus brought jokes! “Moyle keeps his house really clean.” (And adds, “You have issues @nolanmoyle” in comments, no less.)

March 30, 2023 Who on the team would build the best sandcastle? Unexceptional except for Seamus’s heart eyes about Gavin

October 26, 2022 What was your worst Halloween costume? Nothing of note except Truss citing last year’s sophomore group costume as his worst.

December 14, 2022 If you could live in any holiday movie, what would it be? Luca: “The Grinch. Whoville looks like a sick time. Whoville looks like it’d be buzzing.”

January 24, 2023 Who would you want on your team in a snowball fight? Confirms many characterizations, not much new here. Always love a reference to Moyle taking things way too far, though.

January 30, 2023 Who on the team would make the best Bachelor? Largely uneventful. Frankie has a crush on Brendan.

Bonus content!

December 7, 2022 Skating on the Diag Gavin’s first big appearance! He burst onto the scene furiously negging Luca and Rutger.

December 19, 2023 Outtakes Featuring Luca and Johnny being clueless together

January 26, 2023 Michigan’s birthday Never forget Moyle’s shorts

February 1, 2023 A Day In The Life Of Luca Fantilli The greatest content ever produced.

February 12, 2023 Super Bowl predictions from your squad Glasses Rutger and Seamus in slut shorts

#luca really is the monday question MVP

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