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lovebugism · 2 years

Note

i am so sorry but reader talking about robin right before making out with eddie is like absolutely the best thing i’ve ever read i’m obsessed i genuinely can’t wait for anything else in that universe that you do

THE CUSTOMER'S ALWAYS RIGHT | god help the girl

summary: in which you come to terms with the fact that you're hopelessly in love with eddie munson. pairing: virgin!eddie munson x reader word count: 13k warning: phone sex, more discussions of shitty boyfriends, j*son c*rver name drop, talks of unhealthy eating practices, smut 18+ mdni! a/n: this ask has been sitting in my inbox for ages now, but i wanted to save it until robin made an appearance in the series! thank you, anon, for being so sweet! and for the few of you who've been waiting on me to finally post <3 hope you enjoy! xoxo

( PREVIOUSLY ) | ( SERIES MASTERLIST ) | ( NEXT )

They only met once, but it changed their lives forever.

That’s what the movie cover reads at least, but the words have long blurred into a jumbled mess at your tunnel vision. John Bender stares you in the face, but all you see is Eddie — boyish and brazen and scowling because he thinks it makes him look intimidating, but nowhere near as cruel as he seems.

He’s certainly got the hair for it, much longer and curls far wilder than Judd Nelson’s measly set of brushed-back locks. He’s got the terribly animated personality down pat, too; the one that either makes you laugh uncontrollably or squirm in discomfort when it’s pointed your way. And the style’s a pretty fine match also, though you’d argue that no one sports a leather jacket quite like Eddie Munson does.

Wallowing in your boredom at the empty Family Video store on Main Street — where your best friends slave over mundane work with aching backs and a lingering sense of gratefulness that no customer has been in in well over an hour — you find yourself analyzing each character pictured on the front cover of The Breakfast Club.

Robin would surely be Allison, you conclude rather quickly, because their deadpanned glowers are eerily identical. They’ve also got this sort of atypical aura to them, too, like a dark storm cloud or the promise of a long night. But strangely it sparkles — strikes of lightning or a sky full of stars. It draws everyone’s attention to them; even when they’re desperately trying to hide in the very back of a room.

And Steve would be Andrew, not particularly because of his affections for this Allison-Reynolds-Robin-Buckley hybrid you’ve concocted, but because "popular guy with daddy issues" is a trope that fits him far too well. He’s way more likely to get detention for trying to look cool in front of his assholes friends than for anything actually malicious of heart. But that would’ve been years ago now. He’s not that kind of guy anymore.

He’s soft and sweet — a Brian Johnson sort of soft and sweet, if you will. If Brian wasn’t the brains, but the sweetest dumbass anyone’s ever met.

You realize then, that Jim Hopper would make a mean Richard Vernon. He’s impatient to a fault, almost too stern at times, but never enough to make you genuinely fearful of him. You’ve found that it’s virtually impossible for you to take him seriously when he’s so cartoonishly angry. It’s a match made in heaven, you find, though Jim might take offense to the comparison.

And if Eddie is Bender, then that’d make you the Claire Standish of the bunch.

She’s dreadfully stylish, a bit stuck-up at times, and perhaps a little bit more spoiled than the average person; but it’s not like she ever claimed to be perfect. And you wouldn’t either.

You’ll take more pride in your wardrobe filled with pretty pleated skirts and flouncy dresses than your somewhat glacial disposition. And you might not be drowning in daddy’s money, but you’re certainly spoiled in other ways — if only in the employee discount at Enzo’s that got you wine for cheap and your connections at Family Video that meant free movie nights whenever you wanted.

The bad boy and the princess was a tale as old as time itself. It’s a fairytale you wouldn’t mind living in if it ended how it did in the movies — with a kiss on the cheek and an exchanged diamond earring in the calloused palm of another. A soft pink smile and a celebratory fist in the air.

But you’ve met your fair share of John Bender’s and none of them had been particularly kind to you, let alone had fallen in love with you.

Maybe that’s because you were no Claire Standish. Never pretty enough, never mousy enough, never pure enough. You try and dissect why you’ve never been successfully loved, and all the signs point to you, you, you.

You hope Eddie’s different. You need Eddie to be different.

“Something’s wrong with me,” you blurt out of nowhere.

Well, it’s not totally out of the blue for you. You’d been stewing over that thought since you got there — since you left the woods with damp underwear and the scent of you on Eddie’s fingers.

But to Steve and Robin, who’d stayed relatively silent and locked eyes only once after they noticed how abnormally hushed you’d gone, it catches them quite off guard.

Steve lifts his heavy head from where he mans the counter. His tired eyes leave the computerized catalog for the first time in forty minutes, and he has to rub at them with the bottom of his palms to see you properly. Meanwhile, Robin crouches at your side, taking returned tapes from the bin sitting next to her and placing them back upon the shelf you lean against.

She blinks up at you, deep ocean eyes swimming with apprehension, like she can sense the spiral you’ve just about twisted yourself into.

“What do you mean?” she wonders, ever the supportive best friend, as she plucks Heather’s, Pretty in Pink, and Weird Science from the bin and sets them onto their assigned rows in the Teen Drama section.

“Eddie won’t fuck me.”

Neither of them is particularly stunned by the unabashed nature of your admission.

Not only have they both fucked you at one point or another, but they’re your best friends — no one’s ever going to know you quite the way they do. It leaves little left unsaid between the three of you, with secrets you’ve all sworn to take to your graves. Steve once stuck a finger in his ass to see if he liked it (he did) and Robin sometimes gets off on her childhood teddy bear (rather ironically named Mr. Snuggles).

So this? This was nothing. Especially in comparison to all the other shit you’ve confessed to them because god knows the whore of Hawkins has a plethora of stories to tell.

Steve is more shocked by the name that leaves your mouth than anything else. “Eddie Munson?” he repeats with furrowed brows, like he had to have heard you wrong.

You bring your chin to your right shoulder to look at him, then nod.

“Eddie… The Freak… Munson?”

You nod again, slower for him this time.

“You wanna fuck… Eddie Munson?” Steve reiterates once more, as though the idea was too appalling to be true. “Eddie Munson — The Freak?”

“Yes, Steve,” you huff in irritation.

His face contorts into a puppy-like confusion. A frown settles between his bushy brows and he cocks his head to the side, nose scrunching and his lip quirking slightly. He couldn’t look more disgusted if he tried.

“…Why?”

You groan and tilt your head back dramatically. “That’s not what’s important here, Steve. The better question is why won’t he fuck me?”

The boy’s lack of any actual assistance doesn’t surprise Robin in the slightest — his dumbfounded gaze and innate confusion are actually pretty on brand. It just puts all the burden on her, to help you wriggle out of the mess you’d tangled yourself into.

It’s not like she isn’t used to it, though, nor does she mind doing it for you. She walks you through your emotions like a professional, squashing out all the burning orange embers for you before they have the chance to burst into flames.

“Well, what do you mean he won’t fuck you? Like… did he actually say that or does he just wanna, you know, take things slow?”

The latter would’ve been way too easy. Eddie’s always been nice enough to you. It’d make sense for him to want to stay unhurried and gentle with you, but those words weren’t exactly in your vocabulary.

The first time you were alone with him, you were getting yourself off on his thigh after making him come in his jeans. The next time you saw him, after four days of him clinging to your consciousness, there wasn’t as much small talk so much as there were two of his fingers stuffed knuckle-deep inside of you.

You don’t know Eddie’s birthday, but you know how he likes to be touched — squeezed and not rubbed. You don’t know his middle name or how he likes his eggs in the morning or what his relationship with his mother is like, but he’s already made you come. Twice.

You are completely, utterly, and totally incapable of taking things slow. So it wasn’t that. It couldn’t be. So it had to be the other thing. The very scary, terrifying, boogeyman of a thing.

“I mean, I offered to give him a blowjob and he completely turned me down,” you lament in reply.

Robin and Steve wince. Like, physically wince. Their faces scrunch and their heads flinch from something invisible. Audible ooh’s fall from their mouths without them even realizing it, because you don’t get rejected. Ever. Especially not after offering to pleasure someone without much of anything in return.

They don’t mean to react the way they do. The visible shock that coats their features is involuntary more than it is anything, and it only adds to your fears.

“Exactly!” you exclaim.

“I hate to say it, but I think hell might be freezing over as we speak,” Steve half-jokes.

“Well, he was working, right?” Robin asks with raised brows. “Maybe he was just busy.”

“Sorry, Rob, but no guy’s too busy for a blowjob.”

“Real charming, Stevie.”

“Maybe he just has a small dick,” the boy concludes with a shrug.

“I felt his dick,” you shake your head almost immediately. The feeling of Eddie’s hard cock through his denim jeans, all rough and warm against your palm, hasn’t yet left you. “It’s not small.”

“Well, maybe he can’t get it up—”

“Yeah, that’s not a problem either.”

Eddie was rock hard when you left him, throbbing and aching and obviously needing some kind of relief. That’s partly why you’d been so ardent to return the favor, though the other half of it was purely selfish — you haven’t seen a more beautiful sight than Eddie Munson getting off. To deprive yourself of that masterpiece made you feel like you were starving.

You have a hard time imagining the raging hard-on just… dissipating after you’d left him. That means he probably jerked off in the back of his van and you missed it. And if he came, right after he promised everything was okay, that means he just didn’t want you to do it… right?

Steve seems to be caught in the same inner turmoil you’re currently stuck in; and for good reason. In all the years he’s known you, he can count on one hand how many times he’s had to turn you down. And every time, it was because he’d gotten back together with Nancy. It was never because of you. Not once. And sometimes he felt like it hurt him as much as it did you.

As far as Steve’s concerned, you’re so out of Eddie Munson’s league that you’re not even in his fucking orbit — so the freak show, turning you down, doesn’t make whole lot of sense to him.

“Huh…”

“It’s me. It’s definitely me,” you conclude with the shake of your head. A bitter, almost hysterical laugh spills from your lips. “He thinks I’m fucking ugly or disgusting or something. It’s totally fucking me—”

Robin completely abandons her basket of tapes then. She rises to stand in front of you, looking timid as she does so. Her raised brows form wrinkles on her freckled forehead and her blue eyes widen to reveal more of the whites of them. She looks like she’s approaching a wild animal. A bomb that’s about to explode.

“Okay… You’re starting to spiral, alright? So let’s just try and take a few deep breaths—”

You don’t listen to her.

Actually, you do quite the opposite, as you begin to blurt every fleeting thought that crosses your mind.

“I’ve made out with nearly everyone in this stupid town— I’m pretty sure I’ve fucked almost half— and you’d think Eddie would wanna take advantage of that, the way everyone makes him out to be some sort of freak, right? But he hasn’t and at this rate, he won’t, and I just don’t understand why,” you ramble without taking in a single breath. “Usually being a slut is a huge turn-on for guys, you know? But what if Eddie thinks it’s gross? I mean, it is gross— I’m gross—”

You only stop for air when Robin takes your shoulders in both hands. She looks less apprehensive and more stern, as she forces you to look at her.

“Look. I love you, but you need to get a hold of yourself, alright? I know you’re not used to being told no, and I know how much it sucks, but shit happens. I’m willing to bet all the money I’ve ever seen that whatever is going on with Eddie has nothing to do with you, okay? And if it’s making you this upset, maybe you should just talk to him.”

“But I don’t wanna seem like I’m too eager, that’s gross—”

“Then find someone else to fuck,” she offers with her signature Robin Buckley half-smile. “I’m sure it would take you less than five minutes to find a willing participant.”

“Yeah, right here,” Steve jokes from the counter with the pathetic wave of his hand and a dumb grin on his lips.

You don’t hear him over the voices in your head — half calling you crazy for letting a boy drive you this mad over nothing, and the other half bitterly affirming each of your deep-rooted insecurities.

Your face screws up, like the thought of being with anyone other than Eddie upsets you — it does upset you.

“I don’t want anyone else.”

“Then what do you want?” Robin yells in your face, shaking you by your shoulders.

“I want Eddie!” you shout back without thinking. The words seem to spill out of nowhere. It takes you of all people by surprise. No one in this rat trap town would ever expect the whore of Hawkins to want to settle down, least of all the harlot herself. It’s strange; it’s riveting; it’s really fucking scary. “…Fuck.”

The brunette smirks, proud of herself. “Well. There’s your answer.”

“I hate when you’re right,” you mumble to yourself, pouting as she crouches back down again.

“I know.”

It was a terrifying thought, to know that you were head over heels for someone else. You try to come to terms with what that means.

Sometimes you think you fall in love with a new person every day. A cute guy holds the door open for you, a pretty girl compliments your outfit — they never think about you again, but they’re on your mind for days. It was so easy to develop such meaningless infatuations, especially when you were bored.

But Eddie was different.

He was a nice guy. A nice guy that was sweet to you just for the sake of being sweet to you; not because he secretly wanted something in return. That made you fall for him at first, but then you just… kept on falling. Eddie Munson was an infinite void you couldn’t crawl your way out of even if you wanted to, even if you tried.

And that’s what frightened you the most.

Because if you really thought about it, you’ve only truly been in love a handful of times. And, sure, it didn’t work out — that was normal — but some of them fucking ruined you.

You’re still trying to figure out who you are without all of the people that have broken your heart. You’re still fighting like hell every day to recognize the person you see in the mirror, while Billy Hargrove fucks off with a new girl every other week like he didn’t totally destroy you.

But, even still, Eddie was completely different. No one’s ever made you feel the way he makes you feel. And it’s more than the stupid heavy petting — it’s more than anything. It’s never been like this before; not even with the blonde mulleted asshole who ripped your heart to shreds.

And you’re scared that if you get hurt again, you’ll never be able to come back from it.

“Steve, do you have another copy of Fast Times in the back?” you suddenly ask the boy, tossing him a look over your shoulder.

It’s your last ditch effort to rid yourself of the ponderous, gray doom and gloom surrounding you like some storm cloud. Your comfort movie solves all of your problems — or, at the very least, Phoebe Cates does — but it seems everyone else in town has developed a similar fondness for minute fifty-three of the film and got all the tapes off the shelf before you could get your hands on one.

“You know I keep on in stock for you,” he answers quietly.

He reaches below the counter to pull out a spare copy for you, and your heart swells with the rays of a thousand rising suns and the songs of every morning bird.

Steve told you some time ago that he could change. And back then, all it did was piss you off, because he didn’t want to change for the town slut — for the girl he put through the goddamn ringer. He wanted to change for Nancy. The princess bruised his brittle ego a little, and then he realized what an asshole he’d been to everyone, to you.

But as angry as it made you, you never believed him. “Once the King of Hawkins High, always the King of Hawkins High,” you remarked bitterly.

You wouldn’t say it to his face, for the sake of keeping his ego from inflating all over again, but you could tell he was really changing.

He was kinder, he was softer. He stopped caring about what everyone thought about him, about what not caring would do to his reputation, and started giving a fuck about the people worth giving a fuck about.

Apparently, you were one of them.

“…Really?”

He nods with a subtle shrug. Like it was no big deal. Like it wasn’t one of the sweetest things he’d ever done for you — keeping your favorite movie on hand so you’ll always have a spare, knowing that it’s the only thing that gets you out of a deep, dark funk sometimes.

“Stevie… You’re gonna make me blush,” you lilt with a grin as you saunter over to him, hands innocently laced behind your back. “You need to be careful, Harrington. I’m gonna start to think you actually like me.”

He scoffs. “I do like you.”

“Yeah, when it’s convenient.”

It’s obvious your joke hits him where it hurts. It serves as a bitter reminder of the asshole he used to be, the douchebag he’s trying like hell to grow out of. He looks up at you with a sheepish, honey-tinted gaze before ducking away again.

A year or more ago it would’ve made you feel good, to know that you hurt him just a fraction of the way he hurt you. But you know that that isn’t the same man standing in front of you now, that he’d rather die than make hurt your feelings, and it makes you feel like shit for saying it in the first place.

“Sorry,” you apologize with a scrunched nose. The palms of your hands dig into the edges of the counter as you lean against it. Your shrug. “It just kinda came out…”

The barcode scanner in his hand beeps as he passes the thing over the back of the tape — never charging you, just getting the movie out of the database.

“So, uh…” he starts before clearing his throat. He focuses his gaze on the computer and types on the bulky keyboard with the tip of his pointer finger. “You really like this Eddie guy, huh?”

“Maybe. I think so.”

“And he’s not, like… a total freak or anything?”

You can’t tell if he’s trying to look out for you or if he just wants intel on what it’s like trying (and failing) to bang the local weirdo. Either way, it makes a smile tug slow at your lips as you joke: “Not in the way everyone thinks.”

“Jesus,” he winces at the obscenity of your words.

“Sorry,” you apologize again, though the laugh that bubbles from your lips after cancels out any hint of actual sincerity. “You don’t need to give me the talk or anything, Steve. I can take care of myself.”

“…Can you?” he half-jokes.

It makes you falter. “Well… With you and Robin and Hopper constantly on my ass, then yeah.”

“Just don’t want you to get hurt,” Steve finally admits, soft and suddenly shy as he hands the VHS over to you.

“That’s rich coming from you—”

He jerks back the tape before you can take it from him, leaving your hand reaching for thin air. His cinnamon eyes glimmer with a foreign seriousness, not completely unkind, but lacking their usual blithe. “That’s why I’m saying it. I just… I want you to be okay.”

Steve is one of the rare ones, you conclude right then in there — in the liminal emptiness of Family Video, beneath fluorescent lights that cast sharp shadows upon his already chiseled features. He was a mythical creature of a man, one who breaks your heart and does everything in his power to mend it again.

He hasn’t forgotten about what he did to you, not like Billy did, and he won’t. Not ever. He saw what he did to you and he never moved on from it, just matured enough to make sure it never happened again. And he won’t let another unworthy douchebag hurt you like he did. Not if he can help it, at least.

And he did try to warn you about Hargrove, to be fair. You were just the dumbass that didn’t listen.

“Well, me and my Phoebe Cates wet dream are golden, Pony Boy,” you promise. He hands you the tape again and lets you snatch it from his grip this time. “Don’t worry your pretty little head, Stevie.”

Steve Harrington was right.

The fleeting thought flashes across your mind for half a second, and you quickly realize that those words have never been uttered in the same sentence before now. But he wasn’t wrong in what he’d said about you, just before you left — you were completely, totally, absolutely, and implicitly unable to take care of yourself.

You nearly passed out in the bathroom after taking the hottest shower of your life, feeling too woozy to slap on anything other than moisturizer because you failed to remember to actually eat something that day. It wasn’t totally your fault, though; if anything, it was because of Eddie and all the butterflies he’d given you that made food the very last thing on your mind.

You half-heartedly dry yourself off, keeping your hair in a towel, while you slip on a cotton set of underwear you’ve had for way longer than what's likely acceptable. Damp and half-naked, you prance into the kitchen to fix Bowie her bowl of dinner before you feed yourself.

You fork a can of wet food onto a flower-shaped plate and let her eat on the counter — because you’re an adult now, and you can do that sort of thing.

The calico purrs while she feasts, but your stomach thunders with negligence. You peek into your mostly bare refrigerator and make a mental note to go grocery shopping when you get paid next week.

With a lack of food and an even lesser will to cook something, you settle for the half-eaten chocolate bar you keep stashed in the very back of the fridge; kept only for the most special of occasions — when you’re reveling in your loneliness and trying to convince yourself that you can make it on your own.

It was practically the size of your forearm when you first bought the thing at some too expensive candy store in the city. Now it’s no bigger than your hand.

You eat the thing in bed, even though you know you’ll get crumbs everywhere and that it’ll make sleep agonizing for you — if you get any, that is. You’re bound to feel like a total zombie by the time the sun rises and the late-night sweet will likely make its appearance on your skin by then, in a red and raging blemish of a consequence.

You’ll feel empty and starved and surly, a snapping grouch instead of an actual person, until you get some actual food in your system.

And you’re more than aware of all of these things, but you don’t do a single damn thing about them.

You’re nothing but a sulking lump upon an unmade bed, lying in a pitch-black darkness that’s evaded only by the static-y television across your room, trying your best to pretend like you aren’t waiting for Eddie’s phone call. It’s hard to remember to forget him, though, when the movie you’re watching is practically a feature film of him and all the ways he makes you feel.

Spicoli and his terribly inebriated friends slur as they chorus “No shoes, no shirt, no diiiice” and you swear you can feel Eddie’s shoulder bump softly against yours as he laughs, hear every sound of his melodic chuckle in your ear that made you giggle right along with him. The low bass of Moving in Stereo plays in the otherwise empty silence of your bedroom, and every beat feels like the rhythm of your thrusts against his thigh.

Eddie Munson is all-consuming.

Even the thought of him feels physical.

Phoebe Cates all but undresses herself in front of you, but you’re stuck thinking about some guy who lives in a trailer park across town, deals drugs for a living, and can’t graduate high school. You’re a total fucking goner.

Your eyes flutter shut, and instead of the backs of your eyelids, you see Eddie’s trailer. Your lips start to tingle as they kiss his for the first time — hungry, yearning, needing. His thigh is pressed snugly into your cunt, denim jeans rough against your soft cotton panties, and you have to bite back a moan when he tenses every time you squeeze his hard, covered cock.

You can feel it, all of him, like he were here with you now.

You wish that he were.

His fingers would feel far better, leave far more sparks of electricity in your belly, than the ones as you sneak through the hem of your underwear.

You try and take things slow with yourself, to be as gentle as he had been with you earlier in the woods, but it feels strange to treat yourself with so much tenderness. To touch your pussy like it’s the first time it’s ever been touched. Like it’s a beautiful thing you need to be sweet to.

Maybe you find it so foreign to be careful with yourself because no one has ever been careful with you.

No one, except for Eddie.

Your touch doesn’t rival his. It doesn’t even come close.

No matter how tightly you squeeze your eyes shut or how hard you try to pretend that they’re his fingers inside of you, you can’t make yourself feel as good as he did.

Your fingers aren’t as rough as his guitar-string-scarred ones and they don’t caress your clit with the same methodical care. They don’t fill you quite the same either, nowhere near as satisfying as his much thicker ones.

And you’re no stranger to masturbation, not by any means. Sometimes it’s the only way you can guarantee an orgasm for yourself when you’ve got a partner who cares so little about your own pleasure. But Eddie was different. Eddie cared — so much so, that he’s gotten more orgasms out of you than you’ve gotten from him, which is something you’ve never said about anyone else you’ve been with.

It’s rare and unfamiliar, a bouquet of all things refreshing and terrifying and strange, tied together with a pretty little ribbon.

You know that you can make yourself come. It’ll just take way too long to actually be worthwhile and won’t be nearly as mind-blowing as you need it to be. You won’t be left with trembling thighs and nearly numb legs — just a pitiful excuse for an orgasm that you could get from any one of your exes with half as much work.

What you need is Eddie.

And you hate that. You hate how much you need him and you’re terrified of what that means.

As far as precedent goes, right when you start needing someone is usually when they start to leave. It’s like fucking clockwork most of the time — like everyone knows that you’re a ticking time bomb and eventually it gets too risky to stand too close to you.

You’ll just have to keep Eddie at arm's distance. So he won’t see the grenade that you are.

You pull your fingers out of your wanting cunt, still slick and throbbing with a need that you can’t give it, when the phone rings.

The high-pitched shrill in the quiet makes you tense like it’s the first time you’ve ever heard the damn thing. Your breath catches in your throat, first out of fright and then at the inclination of who waits for you on the other line.

Suddenly, you’re scrambling to collect yourself. As though there was any possibility that Eddie might be able to see you through the phone line.

You wipe your wet fingers haphazardly on the cotton of your underwear and sit up straighter from your ungracefully lazed position. Then you count to five — one mississippi… two mississippi… three — so Eddie won’t think you’re some kind of crazy person who doesn’t have anything better to do than wait for his call.

So he won’t know that’s exactly what you are.

You lift the ruby red rotary from its hook at your bedside table and stretch the corkscrew cord to press it to your ear. “…Hello?”

“Yeah, hi. I’d like to order a pizza. Half pepperoni, half hawaiian.”

You roll your eyes at his dumb joke, even though the familiarity of his voice makes you smile. It warms you like a home-cooked meal, like you were high-pitched and starving before and now you’re on the soothing comedown of finally being satiated.

“Yeah, sorry, we’re closed.”

“Then why’d you pick up the phone, huh?” he teases back. You swear you can hear the grin in his voice. You didn’t know a smile could be so audible. It makes you wonder if he can hear yours — if you’re doing a real shit job at pretending. You anxiously twirl the cord with the pointer finger of your free hand.

“Because I’ve been waiting for you to call me all night, dummy.”

Your answer is more honest than either of you were expecting.

Eddie’s sigh crackles through the shoddy reception. “Yeah. Sorry ‘bout that, sweetheart. I’ve been working all night. I only got home, like, five minutes ago.”

You can hear the heavy exhaustion in his voice. “Rough day?”

“Kinda,” he answers with a shrug. You can hear the grating squeak of his mattress as he plops down onto his bed. “I dealt to one of Jason’s goons today… They always give me a hard time.”

“I’m sorry,” is all you can think to answer.

Eddie’s been the brunt of every joke since seventh grade — people made fun of too big clothes, his too wild hair, his too loud music. But he took it all in stride, laughing with everyone else before volleying a harsher joke back in response. You almost started to think that he liked it. That, somewhere deep down, he was fond of all the attention he got from people who supposedly couldn’t stand him.

But it hurts to know that it hurts him.

“Don’t apologize. It’s not like you did anything,” he assures with a soft laugh. He makes the bold decision to be honest then, too. “You, uh… You made my day a whole lot better, actually.”

You don’t know if he’s talking about the brief fling in the woods or the phone call you’re sharing now or if you particularly care either way. Your heart flutters like it’s been kissed by the wings of a butterfly.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I mean… I don’t know— I couldn’t stop thinking about you, you know. And, knowing that I was gonna get to talk to you again kinda got me through the day, I guess… And, yes, I am fully aware of how lame that sounds, but—”

You don’t get to hear the rest of his excuse, of why what he just told you totally isn’t lame, because you’re covering the receiver with your palm and turning to squeal into your pillow. A far more pathetic sight, in your humble opinion.

There hasn’t been a more fulfilling feeling than this one, to know that he’s been feeling the same way you’ve been feeling about him this whole time. It’s better than all the orgasms he could give you combined, to be loved so wholly.

“…You okay?” you hear his muffled voice ask after you’ve gone suddenly AWOL.

You press the phone back to your ear and nod like he can see you. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good. The phone… fell— you said you just got home?”

“Uh, yeah. I met with Hellfire for a bit at school. We’re almost at the end of the Cult of Vecna, so they’re kinda on my ass about it. The little shits are obsessed.”

“Well, they should be. It’s a really good campaign, Eds.”

“Thanks to you,” he mutters. You can almost picture the glimmer in his button eyes and the shaky half-smirk he always looks at you with when he gets all shy.

“That was all you, Eddie Spaghetti,” you retort. “I still have no idea how you did it.”

“Did what?” he wonders, chuckling a bit at the nickname.

“Make something so beautiful out of thin air.”

Lying in the depths of his bedroom, blanketed by the darkness and bathing in streams of moonlight, Eddie feels his breath catch in his throat.

For the first time in his life, he doesn’t have a joke to spew out on the spot. He’s speechless, just for a moment, a quick blink of a second, with nothing to say. Because, if he really thinks about it, that’s sort of what happened with you.

You were just his customer and he was just your dealer.

You were a loyal client and then a girl way out of his league that he developed a too big a crush on. Then you made him come in his underwear and washed the sticky stains out of the denim for him. Now you’re on the phone with him. You let him tell you all about his shitty day and apologize like you weren’t the only good thing about it — like you aren’t the only good thing, period.

It’s not the most cliche love story, nor is it the most beautiful, but it has his cynical little heart beating like the wings of a hummingbird.

Then, when all the mushy mess fades like fog, he finally thinks of something to say.

“It’s the witchcraft, sweetheart,” he shrugs to himself. “Didn’t you hear? I’m a devil-worshipping freak.”

“You know that’s not it, Eds,” you retort with the roll of your eyes.

You know that it’s hard, to be a metalhead from the wrong side of the tracks in the eighties — at the height of the Satanic Panic and all the delusional craze. That shit’s followed him since freshman year. Even still, it nips at his ankles like rabid dogs.

Maybe you were never naive or bored enough to believe all the rumors, but Eddie Munson was always more than that to you.

“No?”

“You can blame it on being a freak show all you want, but I know it’s because you’re one of the funniest, smartest, most creative guys I’ve ever met—”

“You must not know a ton of guys then, sweetheart,” he interjects playfully, like he couldn’t stand to hear you compliment him any longer. You’d give anything to see his blushing cheeks just now.

“…You’re kidding right?” you giggle in response.

“Sorry— that’s— I didn’t mean it like— It was— I was joking,” he stammers, frightened that he might’ve offended you in some way.

It only makes you laugh harder. Both of you know you lost count of all the guys you ‘know’ a long, long time ago. You do imagine it’s somewhere near ‘a ton’, though.

“I know, Eds,” you assure with a contented sigh. “I was just teasing.”

“Oh.”

“The slut and the freak… Who would’ve thought?” you wonder all dreamily, like it’s a fairytale as old as time itself. That’s what it feels like, sometimes.

Eddie isn’t sure what you mean — who would’ve thought you’d be friends? Two people caught in that in-between stage of platonic and romance that’s complete agony and total, total bliss? A couple of kids falling in love—

“It’s sort of kismet, huh?” he answers.

“I think so.”

“So, uh… What are you up to?” Eddie wonders then, equal parts curious and eager to keep the discussion going. He’s frightened any lapse in conversation is going to lead to saying goodbye.

He wants to stay on for hours, until both of you are fighting to stay awake, and then listen to the sound of your heavy breathing when you inevitably lose — like that isn’t the creepiest thing anyone’s ever wanted. He’ll fight Wayne about the bill if it comes to that, he doesn’t care, he just never wants to stop being this close to you.

“Do you want the real answer or the fake one?”

“Uh… Both?”

“Well, I’d say I was doing something super productive with my night, you know, catching up on all the boring adult shit, but then I’d be lying. And I don’t wanna lie to you, Eds,” you tell him with a teasing lilt playing at the edge of your voice.

Eddie swallows thickly, fearing he’d somehow been caught in his own lie — or rather, his half-truth. He moves on quickly, though not exactly full of grace. “Right. Yeah. Totally.”

“Honest answer is, that the only productive thing I’ve done tonight is shower, and now I’m in bed watching Fast Times and eating all the chocolate in my house, because I can’t cook for shit and I have nothing else better to do with my night,” you admit to him, picking at the thread of your comforter.

“Oh, don’t tell me I missed the ‘Moving in Stereo’ bit,” he agonizes.

“Just.”

“Well, correct me if I’m wrong, sweetheart, but it sounds like you’re having loads of fun tonight.”

“I’m having a lot more fun now,” you assure him.

“Glad I can be around to make you laugh,” he retorts like he’s not all too happy to do it.

“You’re a total comedian, Eddie Spaghetti.”

“If I’m the jester, you’re the queen, sweetheart,” he promises, a grin evident in his voice.

Your breath catches in your throat something fierce; you’re almost worried that he’s heard it. His words pierce your heart, a stroke of lightning or a blade of steel. He’s joking, but it’s so strangely profound, the kindest thing anyone’s ever said to you and it’s dripping in sarcasm.

It’s sort of Eddie’s love language, you’ve come to understand, to say something so sweet but coated in venom to make it sour again. It makes you feel special, loved, almost.

A fire builds behind your rib cage, sharp and distant and all-consuming.

“Are you alone, Eds?” you ask him suddenly.

The sudden curve ball in the conversation takes him by surprise. “Uh, yeah, Wayne’s at work right now… Why?”

“Because I want you to talk to me…”

“Oh?” is all he can say because isn’t that what he’s been doing this whole time?

“And I want you to say things that… maybe other people shouldn’t hear,” you explain slowly to him.

“…Oh.”

He’s heard about this only once before, the whole phone sex thing.

It was from Andy in the back of Ms. O’Donnell’s class a year or more ago, though Eddie never called him by that name. Andy, in all actuality, was Jason Carver’s right-hand man, and he meant that in every sense of the phrase. Eddie was more than convinced that the guy was so obsessed with the blonde haired, blue eyed douchebag that he was giving him handjobs on the regular.

But it seemed the dick brigade couldn’t function properly without their leader and Eddie had the misfortune of hearing all the mindless bullshit they were spewing behind him — basketball, parties, girls; in true white bread fashion.

His friends gathered around him like he was telling some sort of secret, though it was loud enough for anyone in a three foot radius to hear. Eddie, caught directly in the line of fire, heard all about Chrissy’s older sister, Wendy, who was two years older and off at college.

He’d gotten her number from some party he’d crashed. At least that’s how he told it, right before telling everyone that she swore like a sailor when she came and that she told him all the dirty things she wanted to do to him while she did.

“It was like her hand was on my dick, dude, I’m serious. That shit was crazy, bro,” he’d laughed after retelling the whole conversation in excruciating detail.

Eddie rolled his eyes to himself then, inwardly jealous that he’d never get to meet Wendy — or any other girl that would be willing to have phone sex with him, for that matter. His phone only ever rang for telemarketers or a rogue Dustin Henderson calling to annoy him.

But, here you are now, the most wanted girl in Hawkins, offering it to him on a silver platter. He wonders if you’ve done this before, surely you have — oh god, he thinks to himself, what if you’ve done this with Andy?

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” you assure him after his unusually long silence. “I know you’re probably busy and tired and everything—”

“No! No, yeah, I— I want to. I totally want to.”

“Okay,” you nod. Petals of a flower begin to bloom in your chest as you lie back in bed, settling further into the mattress. The movie, already long forgotten, serves only as light and background noise. “So… What are you wearing, Eds?”

“I feel like I should be asking you that,” he laughs.

On the other side of Hawkins, in a trailer in the middle of nowhere, Eddie rises from where he’d originally flopped back onto his bed with the notion that it was going to be a semi-normal night. He props himself against his headboard. His fingers twitch at his thigh.

“Beat ya to it, Munson.”

“Well, I’ll have you know that it is very sexy, sweetheart. I’m wearing the same Hellfire shirt you saw me in, I don’t know, five hours ago — except now it’s got a rip in it because I totally ate ass on the way back to the van.”

He tells you this to make you laugh — it works — but he prays you don’t ask any questions. Because he got it while hurrying back to his van mere minutes after you’d left him, so hard he thought he was going to burst, with no more than seven minutes until his next client arrived.

Thankfully, he only needed three.

“I love that shirt,” you respond in place of saying what you really want to — ‘I love how that shirt looks on you’ — how it clings to his lean torso and reveals his midriff whenever he stretches his arms over his head.

“She’s a lit-tle worse for wear now, sweetheart,” he lilts.

“I’ll stitch it up for you.”

“And I’ve got on a pair of boxers that are so old they’re practically see through because I’m pretty sure they used to be Wayne’s back in… I don’t know… the eighteen-hundreds.”

Eddie was right. It was sexy, though, for the exact reason they weren’t supposed to be.

There was something so domestic about it all. You can picture him lying in his bed, in the most comfortable clothes he owns, in the one place he can feel at peace. Like a renaissance painting, something familiar and comforting and beautiful — fuck, you’d give anything to be next to him.

“…I think that means it’s your turn now, sweetheart,” he teases.

“Is it?” you mock in return.

“C’mon. Don’t leave me hangin’ over here.”

“It’s nothing, special,” you assure. Your eye flits down to peer at your own body — nothing special, indeed, you think to yourself. The lilac cotton set came from the grocery store downtown on the clearance rack you so often frequent. “I just have my underwear on. It’s very boring, I’m afraid.”

It’s not boring. Not to Eddie — the boy who prides himself on his insanely active imagination. He might not be able to pass english with his brain, but he can certainly create worlds with it, and it’s too easy for him to picture you. He imagines you, freshly showered, and smelling of the warm lavender-vanilla scent you always smell like, mostly bare and lazing upon a fluffy comforter.

He swallows thickly. “Oh, that’s— that’s really, uh— that’s really sexy.”

His thankful that you don’t seem to mind his poor excuse for dirty talk.

“It’s only because I was too lazy to get into actual pajamas.”

“I’m glad you didn’t.”

“Yeah?” you press, smiling to yourself and caging your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Yeah.”

“Can I tell you a secret, Eds?” you wonder, made brave enough by his own admission.

“‘Course you can.”

“Before you called…”

“…Uh-huh?” he eggs on, intrigued at the way you trailed off, sounding suddenly shy.

“I was…” The thought of telling him what you were doing mere seconds before he called makes you nervous. It wasn’t like you were ashamed of touching yourself or anything, nor is the art of dirty talking lost on you, but something about Eddie makes you timid.

“You were… what, sweetheart?” he wonders gently, with a too audible grin.

“I was touching myself.”

That’s all you tell him. The words linger and hang in the air of your separate bedrooms and you cling to the silence — almost mortified and anticipating his reply. Eddie, meanwhile, feels like his tongue has swelled in his mouth and all the air has been punched out of his lungs.

“Oh...” he tries to respond without the breath to accurately do so. “…Yeah?”

“You know what Phoebe Cates does to me,” you try to joke.

His laughter crackles through the receiver. “Yeah. I kinda have her to thank for the other night, don’t I?”

“Give yourself some credit, Eds. The hottest guy in Hawkins was sitting right next to me, what was I supposed to do?”

“No way you think I’m the hottest guy in town,” he scoffs. “Everyone knows you’ve got a thing for pretty boys.”

“Pretty boys?” you echo with a giggle.

“Uh-huh. The Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington type, you know?”

“Well, I think you’re a hundred times prettier than he is.”

“Really?” he scoffs cynically, obviously not believing you.

“He wasn’t the one I was thinking about with my hand shoved down my panties,” you admit, immediately quelling his self-doubt. “That’s gotta count for something, right?”

Eddie clears his throat and then stammers, “I— I guess so— yeah.”

“Are you hard, Eds?” you ask in a breathy whisper.

And he just nods to himself at first, too stupid to answer audibly. He can feel himself stiffening in his boxers, only halfway hard now, but getting firmer by the second. Soon, he’ll be aching.

“Yeah…”

“Can you touch yourself for me?”

Eddie would rather take a bullet to the chest than say no to you — at least, he figures that’d probably hurt less — so he slips his fidgeting fingers through the band of his boxers and takes his warm, stiffening cock in his hand. He squeezes himself just enough to make his stomach tighten.

“Want you to touch yourself, too,” he admits, neither asking or demanding it, just telling you.

“Yeah?” you tease.

“Well, I think it’s only fair, sweetheart.”

You can’t help but notice how breathy he’s gotten — how it shakes on the inhale and hitches on the out. He’s got his hand shoved down his underwear and you’re jealous of the fingers that get to wrap themselves around his cock. You wish they were yours. Both of you will have to settle, it seems.

“Whatever you want, Eds,” you answer playfully.

You obediently slide your hand back into the warmth of your panties. Your fingers slot between your lips and collect the slick that had gathered there since before you’d even answered the phone. You bring it up to your clit, circling the pads of your fingers there until you twitch, then dragging them down to press into your opening. They slip in with ease.

Both of you have turned into lovesick idiots, separated by so many miles, and missing the other most ardently. Lying in the depths of your bedrooms, basking in a velvet loneliness, building with a mutual pleasure with nothing but yearning hands and longing sighs.

Eddie’s eyes flutter shut at the sounds of your low moans and fragile whimpers that crackle through the static — beautiful still, but certainly no match to the ones you were breathing in his ear just hours ago.

His lashes dance across his cheeks as he tries to remember how you’d felt against his fingers, soft like velvet and delicate like silk, weeping and pulsating with need.

He drags his hand from his boxers and lets the band snap against his pelvis. He spits into his palm and wets his cock with it, sighing as he tugs at himself without much friction.

“Are you wet, sweetheart?” he asks, though the words threaten to get stuck in his throat.

“Yeah,” you whisper back like it’s some kind of secret.

You work yourself open with your middle finger and slip your pointer in next to it without much trouble. Your walls flutter around them while you fight to find the spot the makes you keen. You’re only able to tease it, fingers not quite long enough to caress it completely. Your thumb keeps working at your clit, though, to make up for the lost pleasure.

“I’ve been wet since I left you,” you admit through labored breaths. “Haven’t been able to… to stop thinking about you, Eds.”

“Glad I’m not the only one whipped over here, sweetheart,” he manages a laugh.

“No one’s ever made me come that hard before. Not just with their fingers,” you tell him mindlessly, dumb on pleasure, as you feel yourself climbing that peak.

“Really?”

“Never,” you promise, then whine. “Doesn’t even feel as good now… Can’t get as deep as you can—”

Eddie hangs on your every word as he works his palm up and down his stiff cock, squeezing at the base and swiping his thumb over the head with an expert hand. His face scrunches as his stomach starts to tighten, he’s close to coming — too close for his liking. He doesn’t want this to be over so quickly.

“You’ve ruined every other guy for me, Eddie Munson,” you confess, more than pleased to hear how it makes him whine. It sounds like it comes from the depths of his chest, the way it crackles low and needy through the receiver.

“Good,” he grumbles through his pants after he’s gathered himself all over again. “Don’t want anyone else to have you, sweetheart.”

This time you’re the one letting out the most pathetic of whines. It makes a smile flicker at the corners of his lips.

“You like that?”

It sounds so dirty, but you can tell by the sincerity of his tone that it’s genuine. So you answer with a longing truthfulness, a delicate “yes”entwined with a yearning moan.

“You just wanna belong to me, don’t ya?”

Now, this is dirty talk. The teasing lilt of his tone — it’s almost degrading — and makes you clench around your fingers. “Yes, please,” you whine, all but pleading for him now.

Eddie’s close, so dreadfully close, with a pleasure so tangible he could taste it. Your words make his cock twitch in his hold as the fire builds in his belly.

Through your whole-hearted promises and wanting moans, he can hear the sound of your slick through the receiver. The static reception doesn’t do it justice, but the wet click of your fingers working you open was unmistakable.

A moan grumbles in his throat as he digs the crown of his head back into his pillow. “Holy fuck— I can hear you, baby.”

“I’m so wet for you, Eds,” you tell him through fragile slurs, like it wasn’t inherently obvious.

You were wrong before, about wanting to hide from him. You couldn’t conceal your need for Eddie if you tried. The honey you drip, all sweet and just for him, wouldn’t let you keep it a secret.

“I know, baby, I know,” he nearly coos. “Are you— fuck, please tell me you’re close?”

“Yes,” you promise in a whine. Your thumb presses harder into your clit. It makes your thighs tense until they’re shaking.

“You rubbing your clit for me, sweetheart?” he asks like he knows. “I know that’s what you like.”

You whimper, working at the spongy spot within you as your hips buck off the bed. “Yeah.”

“Keep rubbing yourself like that for me, okay? Want you to keep going until you come for me.”

If he keeps talking to you like that, it’ll come a lot quicker than he’s prepared for.

It’s too soft to be much of a demand, but you listen obediently anyway, rubbing at yourself though your sensitivity keeps building. It grows like a morning tide, rising and flowing like white waves on an ocean, stirring something fierce in the depths of your stomach.

“Eddie,” you sigh out his name, broken through staggered pants.

You hear his stuttering breaths, too. “Y—Yeah?”

“I’m about to come,” you promise through a whine when the familiar crescendo sends a shock through your body.

“O… Okay,” he responds, pathetically, then whines, even more so.

“Want you to come with me… Please…”

“Fuck— okay. Shit, sweetheart, I’m almost there.”

“What are you thinking about?” you ask him.

“Your pussy,” he answers without thinking — he’s not doing a whole lot of that anymore. “Wish I’d gotten to taste you earlier. Wanna feel you… fuck… Wanna feel you come on my tongue.”

“Holy shit, Eds,” you moan at his words, at the vivid picture they paint in your head.

“And you get so… God, you get so fucking wet. Just want you to drench me, baby.”

It feels good, to be complimented for something boys used to make fun of you for, to realize for the first time that’s it’s sexy — that you’re sexy — and that Eddie is more than happy to drown in you. The feeling almost rivals the impending orgasm that’s bound to hit you like a tidal wave.

“I’m thinking about how I coulda took you on that bench… Just, fucking, get on my knees for you. Shove my head between your legs. Hold your— shit, baby— hold your thighs open, keep you exactly where I want you,” he rambles but then cuts himself off to moan at his own words. “Goddamn, sweetheart. Wanna taste you so fucking bad.”

The moan you let out is pitiful. It leaves your mouth in the most delicate cry.

No picture has ever been clearer than the one of Eddie between your thighs, your hands knotted in his hair to move him to exactly where you need him most and forcing him there. You can feel his fingers digging into your hips, his rings pressed against your burning skin, and the way your legs tremble on either side of his head.

“Yeah. Keep— Keep doing that. Keep moaning for me,” Eddie tells you. “I’m about to… holy fuck, I’m about to come.”

“Wanna feel your tongue in me so bad, Eds,” you whimper, egged on by the moan he lets out. “Want your cock even more.”

That’s what does him in, the assurance — the promise — that you want him just as bad as he wants you.

He tightens his fist around his cock, achingly hard and raging a crimson at the tip, trying to imitate the way you’d feel around him. It’s not all that close, not nearly as wet as the honey you’d be dripping for him, but his imagination does the rest of the work for him.

All at once, you’re on top of him, riding him for all he’s worth, your pussy threatening to swallow him whole. You’ve drenched him, just like he’d begged for, and that wet schlick noise still echoing from the receiver is the evidence of each of your assured thrusts over top of him.

You’re still pleading for him anyway — for more, for his tongue, for his cock — and he wants so desperately to give everything to you.

“Oh god, baby—” he sputters. He grips the phone in a white-knuckled, fist trembling. “Oh, fuck, I’m coming, baby.”

“Please, Eddie. Please come for me,” you plead over the low sounds of the forgotten film playing across the room and all the dirty wet sounds your pussy makes against your fingers. You sound like you need it, like you want his orgasm more than your own.

“Want you to come with me… Can you— Can you do that for me, sweetheart? Please?” It’s not dirty talk anymore. He’s actually fucking begging you and doesn’t feel the least bit ashamed to do so.

He wants to hear all the pretty noises you make when you come — that initial cry that stems from the depths of your soul, the high-pitched whimpers that come when the sensitivity builds, and the whines that leave you when it ebbs.

He wants to hear it over and over and over again, like a worn cassette, and play it until the tape spins out.

“Yes…” you promise through a set of stuttering breaths.

There’s no talking when either of you come. Eddie’s long forgotten to talk you through it, but you would barely hear him if he had. The phone slips out of your hand when your grip slackens and it falls to the pillow beside your head.

You chase your orgasm full throttle, working through the crescendo and the strikes of lightning, focusing only on his muffled moaning and the pretty sounds he makes as he comes.

The breath of your name whimpered through a tight throat is what does it for you. Your body has hardly any time to warn you before you’re gushing all over your fingers, twitching every time the pad of your thumb rubs over clit.

That cry, the one you always let out as you come — all wet and full of need — makes Eddie orgasm right alongside you.

He swipes his thumb over his head again, collecting the pearls of precum gathering there and sliding them down the base to squeeze himself there like he’d been doing this whole time. He clutches harder this time, imagines it's your cunt locking him in a vice-like grip, and whines in his throat when he comes.

Several loads of it spill onto his cotton boxers, most of it gathering along the side of his hand and dripping down his knuckles. His breath staggers as he works himself through his high, praising you through the phone like you’re the one who brought him to it.

“Fuck, baby… You’re so good… So fucking good.”

You’ve long settled from your own orgasm, still tingly and numb in some places, but not as gone as you had been just moments before. You still float on a cloud, getting lost as you stare through your window at the half-hidden stars sprinkling the night sky and feeling as though you could reach out and touch them.

You can feel the satin moonlight bathing you, and the jittery static of the neon of the television screen. You can feel everything and somehow nothing at all.

“I don’t know how you do it, Eds,” you confess, hardly thinking about the words spilling from your mouth when you lazily bring the phone to your ear again.

“Do what, sweetheart?”

“I don’t know… You always make me feel good. Even when you’re not here… Even when we’re not getting each other off.”

“I feel the same way,” he promises you, all mushy, even though he feels like a slob for wiping his hand off on his discarded jeans on his bed. “Just… wish you were here.”

“I wish I was there, too… Wish I could clean you up.”

Eddie’s eyes shut tight as his head tilts back to his pillow at the thought. “Fuck… You’re gonna make me hard again, sweetheart.”

You perk up suddenly as an idea sprouts like a flower in your head. A smile blooms on your lips, and you rise up onto your elbows, glowing with an unanticipated excitement. “How long would it take you to get ready?”

“…Get ready?” he echoes.

“Yeah,” is all you say.

“I mean, I— I don’t know. I figure if I put on some new underwear and a fresh pair of pants, I’ll be good as new... Why?”

“You wanna do something?”

“Yeah. Sure. Anything,” he answers clumsily in place of saying, ‘Anything to not have to be without you.’

“I wanna go to Skull Rock.”

“Skull Rock?” he repeats.

Legend has it, you and Steve made that place a local landmark. People have always said that Hopper caught the both of you one too many times up at Lover’s Lake and the Quarry, that you needed a more hidden place to fuck. So you’d stumbled around in the middle of the woods until you found a place the chief wouldn’t think to look for you.

You’d certainly found it. Then every other horny high schooler did too.

It’s the place you go to fuck, the most private place in all of Hawkins — hell, maybe even Indiana entirely for teenagers who can’t get the house to themselves. And as appealing as it sounds, to take you beneath a sky of twinkling stars, Eddie doesn’t want his first time with you to be on dirt or in the middle of the woods. That’s how all the horror movies start, don’t they?

So, needless to say, your answer takes him by surprise.

“Yeah! You can see all the stars really good from there. It’s too hard to see them so close to town.”

Eddie’s heart swells all at once at how sweet you are, like sugar poured directly onto his tongue. You’re not eager to be without him either, it seems, and that thought is as gratifying as it is thrilling.

You’re an adventure he’s about to go on, without a map or a way out, a journey he’s happy to go into blind as long as you’re holding his hand the entire way through it.

It breaks his heart to hang up the phone. He practically begs you to do it for him, and it makes you laugh — a kind giggle entwined with a tease ‘you’re such a baby.’ It rings in his ears long after the receiver clicks.

Most of all, he hates all the stoplights that separate your place from his. He hadn’t known where you lived before now, not until you uttered it over the phone. He makes a mental note to figure out a quicker way, somewhere through the winding back roads that his old van can speed through to make the distance less daunting.

He pulls into your apartment complex, a quaint two-story thing on the quieter side of town, where the woods are plentiful and the street lamps far fewer. He turns his radio down out of respect for all your neighbors that he’s sure he’ll never meet and spies you through the neon orange porch lights. You shut and lock your door in quick succession, then scurry across the way to meet him.

Eddie leans over to unlock the passenger side door for you, already beaming, and finds you’re smiling too when you climb in next to him. The grin you shoot his way outshines the night sky and makes a bright yellow sun of the girl sitting in his passenger seat.

“Hi,” you’d greeted him, all shy like you didn’t just make him come all over his hand thirty minutes ago.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he volleys back like he always does, with that big ol’ smirk and teasing lilt as he cock his head to the side — using his playfulness to cover up the bashful mess you so easily reduce him too.

Neither of you had gotten particularly dressed up to see each other. All he did was put on fresh under and pajama pants. You succumbed to a smilier laziness it seems, haphazardly brushing through your half-damp hair, throwing on a too big t-shirt, and calling it a day.

The cotton hangs low at your chest, stretched out and obviously well-loved. It falls well past your thigh, though you spend much of the drive anxiously tugging it down.

It makes him wonder what you’re wearing beneath it. If you’ve tugged on a pair of shorts or if you’re in the bra and (undoubtedly wet) underwear you’d told him you were wearing over the phone.

Eddie winds himself up all over again while you sift through the flimsy case of endless cassettes he keeps tucked in the glove compartment that never quite shuts all the way.

“How do you now have any ABBA tapes?” you wonder like it’s baffling, with an Iron Maiden tape in one hand and Cinderella in the other. Metallica plays lowly, nearly inaudibly, from the stereo.

Eddie laughs and darts his eyes from the darkened back roads to look at you, all smiley and bathed in moonlight, before turning back to the road again. “Uh, because I’m not a thirty-year-old woman. That’s the shit moms listen to.”

“Moms and hot girls,” you retort jokingly.

“Right, moms and hot girls listen to ABBA — of which, I am neither, sweetheart. Sorry to be the one to break it to you… Besides, it’s not like you walk around listening to, fucking, I don’t know— Van Halen or whatever.”

“Hey. I listen to Van Halen,” you shoot back.

He scoffs. “Yeah, right.”

“It’s got what it takes!” you sing suddenly, not quite catching the rhythm of the song, but smiling anyway as you reach for his forearm resting on the center console. “So tell me why can’t this be love!”

“Oh, my god— that’s literally their worst song,” Eddie chuckles through the widest grin you’ve ever seen from him.

It makes you smile big too, looking like an idiot who’s totally head over heels for the boy next to her. And of that, you’re happily guilty of.

“Not true,” you shake your head defiantly. “I love that song.”

“So that means it has to be good, right?” he retorts playfully, shooting you a teasing look, though his beam is more than sincere.

“Obviously,” you answer with a scoff that makes Eddie roll his eyes.

He knows he’s going to start to love it, though, if only because it’s the only Van Halen song you halfway know.

He’s going to hear that song on the radio and he’s going to want to turn it, but he’s going to remember this moment now — the one with you reaching for him while you sing the lyrics to a song he can’t stand, sitting pretty in his passenger seat, while the moonlight blanches your smile and the bare skin of your thighs.

Eddie Munson is going to love that goddamn song for the rest of his life.

He parks as close as he can to Skull Rock, knowing his van can’t work its way that far into the woods. The two of you are forced to walk the rest of the way, not exactly minding it, though Eddie’s incessantly worried you’re going to get cold.

He’s already forced his jacket upon you, which you took with little fight. It warmed you almost immediately — with his cozy heat and musky cologne.

You make mindless conversation the entire way there, about music and then about his band and then what animal you’d want to be in your band if that were the least bit possible. Eddie chooses a sheep without any hesitation, though you’re confident that a penguin would be far cooler.

You keep a careful distance between you, at first, like both of you are too scared to initiate the first move. That is, until you trip over a raised branch and nearly eat ass on the forest floor. Then Eddie’s holding your hand the entire way, keeping you close.

“If you wanted me to hold your hand, you coulda just said so, you know?” he jokes. “Didn’t have to go through all the dramatics, sweetheart.”

You try and yank your hand out of his grip in protest then, but he doesn’t let you. In fact, he pulls you closer and twirls you into a bear hug that you happily relax into.

He feels your sigh fan against his collarbone as you rest your head at the nape of his neck, his arms wrap around your shoulders as yours settle at his waist. He rocks you back in forth, in a moment that’s too almost sweet to make fun of.

Eddie finds a way, of course, “See?” he singsongs. “I’ll hug you like this all the time, if you want. You don’t have to almost kill yourself to get my attention, babe.”

“All I did was trip,” you laugh at his theatrics.

“Death by tree root… What a gnarly way to go.”

He holds your hand the entire way to Skull Rock.

He doesn’t let you go once, not until you’re ascending the large boulders to plant yourselves at the very peak of them. He’s grabbing you again once you settle, though, and the two of you just sit there, for several long moments, just gaping at the stars that dance with life above you. They sprinkle an infinite void with enough light that manages to touch you, trillions of miles away.

There’s a subtle beauty in that Eddie never would’ve appreciated before now.

“Shit, babe,” he breathes through a whimsical existential dread. “You were right. The stars are really fucking pretty out here.”

You love how much he loves this, to come to Skull Rock with you and count the stars. Any other guy would’ve had their tongue down your throat by now, stuffing your hand down their unbuttoned jeans.

But not Eddie.

He just holds your hand because he likes the feeling of his fingers entwined with yours, grasping tightly onto you while he gazes at an infinite universe — like you might float off right along with it.

His neck is stretched to gape at the night sky. You catch his adam’s apple bobbing every time he swallows. You want so desperately to kiss his milky white skin and sprinkle blotchy red bruises there.

His curly locks fall over his shoulders. He shakes his head to get his bangs out of his eyes while the chocolate buttons of them dart around the endless void.

He’s more beautiful than every star in the sky combined. You can’t be sure of how many that is, of course, but it’s a whole bunch if you had to guess. It makes sense, though, for the prettiest boy in the whole damn galaxy.

“Told ya,” you answer with a smile, leaning over to nudge his shoulder with yours. “You come out here often?”

You’re asking if he takes girls here and he knows it, but it’s not like you’re being inconspicuous about the whole thing. Eddie gauges it almost immediately, the subtle jealousy hinting at your tone — something no one else would’ve caught — and he squeezes your hand in reassurance.

He shakes his head. “No… Never.”

“Never?” you press with raised brows, like his answer shocks you.

“Ever. It’s not really my scene, I guess… But what about you, sweetheart? Never seen you around these parts before.”

You knock his shoulder again, harder this time. “Shut up. You already know the answer to that.”

“Yeah…” he nods to himself, eyes darting back and forth as he reminisces on something. “You and Harrington, you and Hargrove. Hell, I think I heard about you and Jason one time—”

“That was a long time ago,” you argue. “Before I even knew you, okay?”

“I’m just saying,” he shrugs in defense. “You totally have a thing for pretty boys, sweetheart.”

“I never said I didn’t, Eds. Just that you were pretty, too.”

“Whatever,” he scoffs and rolls his eyes like he isn’t glowing red beneath the moonlight.

“You’re better than all three of them, Eds,” you confess with a sudden softness that catches his attention almost immediately. He turns his attention from the sky to look at you properly again. His breath catches at you sad you look — all beautiful and coated in shades of blue.

“…Yeah?”

You nod and drag his hand into your lap to fidget with his fingers. You trace the skeleton heart on his middle finger, subverting all your attention there because it’s easier than having to look at him now. “Better than all of them combined— not even just them, you know? Out of everyone. No one’s ever been this nice to be before.”

“Me neither, sweetheart,” he confesses with a morose grin. “The freak of Hawkins High attracts a lot of assholes, believe it or not.”

“Is it bad?” you wonder cautiously, like you’re scared to hear the answer. In some ways, you are.

You hadn’t known him in high school, not really. For obvious reasons, you ran in very different circles. You never even had classes together. There was never any excuse to be close to each other before now, never a reason to become friends. So you didn’t.

You grew to know him as a freak, and he knew you as the town slut. Then somewhere down the line, he became your dealer and now… here you were.

But you’ve graduated now and he’s still army crawling towards a diploma. You couldn’t save him from the hell of Hawkins High even if you wanted to.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” he shrugs. “Jason and the dick brigade just wanna make my life hell, that’s all.”

“I hope they aren’t,” you respond shyly.

Eddie scoffs then shoots you a smile. “Oh, of course not. Look at me. I’m at Skull Rock with the most wanted girl in Hawkins. I’m living the dream, sweetheart.”

“So you don’t care?” you wonder, peering at him through your lashes, as you twist the silver cross around his finger.

“Care about what?”

“That I’m a slut,” you laugh like it’s obvious.

Eddie doesn’t think it’s all that funny. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s not like it isn’t true, Eds,” you retort with a trembling smile. “I mean, that’s literally what people call me — most people don’t even care to call me by my real name anymore.”

“I don’t care,” Eddie shakes his head. “I don’t care about that. I don’t give a shit about what people say about you. If everyone cared about what everyone said about everyone, neither of us would be here right now… Because you’d think I was some devil-worshipping freak and I’d think you were too busy getting it on with Chief Hopper.”

You screw your face up immediately at the thought. The mere idea was repulsive. The asshole was practically your father these days. Jim Hopper was in that small bunch of available people you would never fuck, and happily so.

“I’d never stoop that low,” you joke.

“I like you, how you are, right now,” Eddie promises. “Don’t want you to change a damn thing.”

His brown eyes twinkle with a sincerity that rivals the stars above you. All of a sudden, you don’t care about a bunch of heavenly bodies light years away from you — you care about this man, the one sitting beside you now, holding your hand even though your palms have gone all sweaty.

It’s too good to be true — the way you looks at you, the way he talks to you, the way he treats you. You’re scared that it’s a dream, that you’ll wake up and find that none of this was ever real. Or worse, that he was, and that he just didn’t care about you the way you cared about him.

It’s almost irrational. Almost.

But it’s happened before.

And it’s left you a scarred and mangled mess.

You shake your head to yourself and scrunch your face as you turn to look him. “Have you ever done this before, Eddie?”

“Don’t what?” he wonders with furrowed brows.

“I don’t know…” you shrug. “Any of this? With anyone else?”

He’s grateful he doesn’t have to lie. Or tell some clumsy half-truth for the sake of saving his own skin. He realizes tonight is perhaps the most honest he’s ever been with you, baring his pale soul beneath a silver moonlight.

“Never,” he answers, unwavering, with a firm shake of his head.

“Really?”

“Really,” he nods, then swallows thickly at a gut-wrenching realization. “I’ve never felt his way about anyone else before.’

“Me neither,” you promise.

It’s a tad more meaningful coming from you than from a boy who’s never had someone to love and to love him back.

You’re experienced, you’ve found what you like and what you don’t like. You’ve been with guys who have given you the world and guys that have ended yours altogether. And out of all of them — all of the assholes in Hawkins you could’ve picked — you’ve chosen the freak.

You want him.

You want Eddie.

The revelation makes him grin. “Promise?”

“Cross my heart, Eddie Spaghetti.”

#published by bug #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagine #eddie munson imagine #virgin!eddie munson x reader #virgin!eddie munson

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dragoncat223 · 2 years

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I’ve been thinking about this for the past couple of days. A more mature Scooby-Doo series can be done, and it can be done well. I’ve seen a lot of proposals for an adult Scooby-Doo series, so here’s mine.

Fred doesn’t have family. His parents change from series to series. The only consistent thing about Fred’s family is that it is uncertain, so it starts like this: Something strange and unexplained happened to Fred’s parents when he was a child. He was five years old and ever since he’s been filled with only questions. So he grows up with a curiosity that can never be satisfied. He goes to college, and gets a degree in physics. All the moving parts of any kind of machine is have always fascinated him. As a little ten year old he’d stand for hours in Krispy Kreme watching the machine that makes the donuts. So he’s an inventor. His pride and joy is his old van he paid $100 for an fixed up himself.

The Blakes are old money. They haven’t known financial insecurity since the 1610s. So they’ve got houses, and planes, and helicopters, and cars. Old cars. But the head of the family, (picks name out of hat) Robert “Dick” Blake has no idea how to take care of them. He’s a business man. He finds Fred Jones, a genius mechanic, and hires him on the spot.

Now, Dick loves his daughters dearly. All six of them. He’s been grooming his oldest to take over the company when he retires. Unfortunately that means he gets to spend less and less time with his other daughters to the point where his youngest daughter, Daphne, only gets to see him on holidays and her birthday (he’s trying, he really is). But Daphne is fine with that. After being raised in the lap of luxury, silver spoon in her mouth, she has had access to almost every hobby imaginable. She got excellent grades at her fancy private schools, and in her free time she did Karate, Boxing, Kick boxing, Mixed Martial arts, gymnastics, Ballet, tap dancing, tennis, basketball, soccer, volley ball, skiing, knitting, crochet, baking, embroidery, sewing, synchronized swimming, you name it, she’s done it. She graduated college with a degree in marketing she didn’t really want, wondering what she was going to do with her life. So, she wonders into the garage one day and discovers Fred working on a car. So she asks him about it. She listens and she learns. Eventually, they stop talking about cars. Daphne asks about Fred’s inventions and Fred asks about Daphne’s hobbies. They are fast friends and once they get close enough, Fred tells Daphne about his parents. Daphne immediately pledges to help her friend (and now secret crush) figure out what happened to his parents.

Velma is Daphne’s genius best friend. They were roommates in college. The building Velma had all her lab classes in had Daphne’s last name on it. Velma worked hard to get her scholarship for her forensic chemistry degree, and she was not going to let some spoiled, rich, daddy’s girl, ruin it for her. But one night Velma was walking back to her dorm after dark. Everyone knows to be wary on a college campus after dark, but Velma had just studied her brain into mush. She got cornered by some drunk asshole. Velma in her fear and panic, froze. Her voice wouldn’t work, and she feared for her life, when suddenly, the guy gets punched in the face. By Daphne. The guy crumples to the ground, Daphne grabs Velma by the wrist, and they don’t stop running until they are safely back in their dorm. Velma never doubts her again.

Now, for all their skills and knowledge, none of the three of them, know how to cook. Which is where Shaggy and Scooby come in. I saw someone (on Twitter, I think) say that Shaggy could have diabetes (I don’t know anything about diabetes so I am really sorry about any inaccuracies) and Scooby is Shaggy’s low blood sugar alert dog. I really like the idea that Shaggy is a licensed dietitian, and the only one who knows how to cook. After every case, shaggy herds them all back home and makes a nice, home cooked meal for everyone. Lasagna, stir fry, curry, soup, idk food.

Shaggy is Fred’s roommate, after college. They have a deal, Shaggy cooks, Fred cleans.

In my mind, Scooby starts off as a normal dog. On the gang’s very first case together, they encounter the series’ over all villain, or maybe the first villain they face is an actual witch or something I don’t know, but this witch is caught and tries to put a curse on the gang, but it hits Scooby instead, and now he’s a talking dog. He’s still very much Shaggy’s alert dog, but I like to think he becomes concerned with everyone’s health at least a little bit. They do all that running around, and all these mysteries they solve are very high stress, so he likes to make sure they get plenty of rest.

I’m not really sure about their first case, but I think every episode would start with a grizzly murder. We are using the R rating for blood and guts and bones and death. Not sex or nudity. And Fred is the only one who gets to swear.

Now, Daphne is the one that talks to clients. If they’re particularly shaken up, Shaggy will make them a hot drink and maybe give them a blanket.

I call it Scooby Doo: Private Investigators

I have more thoughts about this, so if you want to know more please ask!!

#scooby doo #shaggy rogers #daphne blake #fred jones #velma dinkley #shaggy and scooby #Scooby Doo PI

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thisapplepielife · 9 months

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Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles December challenge.

Five Christmases

Prompt Day 25: Christmas | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: T | CW: Language | Tags: Established Relationship, Future Fic, Christmas Day, Full Schedule, Family & Friends, Mostly Fluff, A Little Obligation, Steve POV

Christmas, 1999

8:06 AM

Steve is towel drying his hair, when Eddie pops into the doorway and taps his watch.

"The day has just started and we're already six minutes behind, Harrington. C'mon!"

Steve nods, "We'll be fine."

"Steve! Five Christmases! You committed us to five! That's a tight fucking schedule," Eddie shouts, and Steve just laughs. Usually he's the uptight one.

"I told you this was a bad idea," Steve says, just poking at him further. Just for fun, as a Christmas treat.

"This was your idea, asshole," Eddie says, slamming the bathroom door behind him, "I'm leaving in nine minutes, with or without you!"

"Okay, Bono!" Steve screams, not even sure if Eddie heard him.

9:12 AM

"Sorry we're late!" Eddie yells, pushing the front door open, letting themselves inside. "It's Steve's fault!"

Wayne gets up when he hears the door open, and Steve hugs Wayne. Eddie needs to chill the fuck out. Nobody is going to care if they are a few minutes late. Well, his parents will care. But nobody else will, especially not Wayne, that's for damn sure.

Wayne's house smells wonderful, like maple syrup, coffee and bacon. This was a perfect first stop of the day, nobody does breakfast better than Wayne.

They help him carry it all to the small formica kitchen table, sliding into the comfortable vinyl chairs, and it tastes as good as it smells.

This is Christmas.

The one thing they've done every year they've been together. Breakfast with Wayne. It's the only true Christmas tradition they have, and Steve wouldn't trade it for the world.

11:58 AM

Steve looks at his watch. They definitely aren't late as they stand on the steps, having rung the bell at the Harrington residence.

Steve debates ringing it a second time, but just waits. Surely they heard it.

And it takes forever, because it's cold as shit out here, but his mother finally answers the door.

"Hi, mom. Merry Christmas," Steve says, and she nods her head at them, opening the door wider.

"Merry Christmas, Mrs. Harrington," Eddie says, politely.

The long, formal dining room table is set up, and since it's just for the four of them, it's a little ridiculous. But he slides into his chair, a thousand miles away from everyone else at the table. His parents at either end, and Eddie across from him, hands folded in his lap.

He's nervous, Steve can tell. It never gets more comfortable, this awkward tip-toeing they all do around each other.

His parents know about Eddie, but would rather pretend otherwise, Steve supposes.

So, they eat their awkward meal, in uncomfortable stretches of silence.

In the car, Steve reaches over and takes Eddie's hand into his own, bringing it up to his lips.

"Thank you," Steve says, and Eddie nods. "The next one will be more fun," Steve promises and Eddie grins, wide and excited.

2:11 PM

They are barely up the walkway when the front door swings open, banging against the hallway wall.

"Shoes!" Steve hears being hollered from the house, but it's too late. Eddie's got an armful of little girl, despite her mother's warning.

"Uncle Eddie, Santa came!" she yells and Eddie smiles, brushing the snow off of her bare feet.

Gareth appears in the doorway, to usher them inside, as his daughter regales them with tales of all her new toys that Santa brought this morning.

Eddie puts her down once they're inside, and rattles the sack he has thrown over his shoulder, full of more presents.

Gareth shakes his head, but hugs Eddie once Eddie's handed over the sack, and she's ran into the living room, to open them up.

"You didn't have to do that," Gareth says, and Steve hears Eddie laugh. Of course they did.

"Sure we did, that's our girl, too, you know. And it's our right, as her super fun uncles, to spoil her rotten," Eddie states.

Gareth laughs, and settles onto the armrest of the chair Eddie has plopped down into, to watch her tear open the wrapping paper with delight.

5:33 PM

"Merry Christmas, dickhead," Steve says, and hugs Dustin.

"Back atcha," Dustin answers, guiding them into the living room. There's a nice fire going, and it's cozy.

Steve's glad Henderson finally moved closer to home, again. It's been too long.

Dustin pours them both a drink, and they sit and just talk. It's quiet, calm, and comfortable. All things Steve never would have assigned to Dustin Henderson, even ten years ago. But he's grown up, right before their very eyes.

Their kid.

He'll always be their kid.

7:45 PM

Robin's running around her kitchen, and it smells slightly of smoke, so as soon as they're in the door, they both step in to help her, so she doesn't actually burn the place down. She wanted to do dinner by herself this year, and they'd all agreed, but she's clearly in over her head.

"I just spilled on the burner! It's fine! Nothing's on fire!" she yells, and Steve picks up the smoke detector from the counter, that's clearly been yanked off the wall.

"I can confirm!" Robin's girlfriend yells from the other room.

And honestly? Steve thinks they're both right, taking a good look around the kitchen. It all looks really good. A huge mess, for sure, but damn good.

"It looks great, Robbie. You're killing it," Steve says, hugging her from behind, and she shrugs him off, still moving at warp speed around the kitchen.

When they head towards the table, Steve kisses Robin on the top of the head before taking his seat, "Thanks for going to all this trouble."

Robin just rolls her eyes.

11:54 PM

"Merry Christmas," Steve says, as Eddie slides into bed, flopping against his pillow, groaning at the simple pleasure of the act.

"I have one more present for you," Steve says, sliding his hand over Eddie's bare stomach, and that gets Eddie's attention.

"I'm listening…"

Steve laughs, and leans over, kissing him.

Notes: The idea came from the Gilmore Girls episode where they have to go to four Thanksgivings in one day. Then I was googling the spelling of Christmases (to make sure, ha) and realized there is a movie called Four Christmases. So, that too, I guess, lol.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddieholidaydrabbles and follow along with the fun!

If you want to see more of my entries into this month-long challenge, you can check them out in my Steddie Holiday Drabbles tag, right here!

#steddieholidaydrabbles #christmas #christmas fic #future fic #christmas day #established relationship #steddie #steddie ficlet #eddie munson #steve harrington #gareth (stranger things)#robin buckley #wayne munson #dustin henderson #steve harrington's parents #stranger things #thisapplepielife: short fic #thisapplepielife: steddieholidaydrabbles

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applesooyoung · 1 year

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NSFW! SUB!SKZ headcanons (ooooh she bacc and alive (๑•̀ㅂ•́)و✧)

Genre: Spicy A/N: Applied fem! reader Warnings: Adult and suggestive stuff not gonna list them all cuz we'll take the whole day when I list all bc this is N A S T Y

Now playing: Baby I - Ariana Grande

Bangchan - Don't even get me started you guys- - I hope it's already clear that subby Chan is my fave - This baby boy DEF loves quality time and words of affirmations - He's just the best baby boy hands down - Choke him, spank him, tie him, chain him, blindfold him YOU WOULDN'T HEAR ANY WHINES HE'S OK UNTIL HE PLEASES YOU AND I AM NOT OK - and as a person with size kink, him being canonically smaller than me just makes wanna- - though i feel like he has a few bratty streaks but that only happens once in a blue moon - He likes to go vanilla and half kinky but leaning on the vanilla side more ykwim?? - Like he loves borderline bdsm shit but he gets more turned on w/ vanilla shit idk idk but i hope you peeps get my point - YO ALSO IMAGINE PEGGING HIM IN THE MUSIC STUDIO WHILE HE'S MAKING ONE OF THEIR SONGS - Just loves soft yet passionate sex - oh and his moans too? - He has a mommy kink and I'm right so you may shut up - A mommy's boy omg - IM STOPPING HERE I MIGHT NOT BE ABLE TO STOP MYSELF, YOUR HONOR (plstellmeifyouwantmetomakeapt2idgladlydoso)

Lee Know - sugar and spice and everything nice™ - bratty ≥ sassy - lowkey himbo and trophy bf vibes im sorry - he just reminds me of kento in todome no seppun and it's not funny - my fave manwhore </3 - it's power bottom or nothing - the type to force your hips down in his cock type of guy - demanding 10000 - He's cocky at first but ISTG this mf becomes the most submissive piece of schitt's creek when you fuck this little guy - oh don't get me going with the aftercare - he's just so vulnerable at this point that his once asshole facade fades to that an innocent little kitten - He still might have remnants of the a-hole attitude but he's probably ruined by you so there is a chance that he won't - ngl i kinda feel he a switch- but sub!lee know supremacy

Changbin - hard bot :j - The whiniest award goes to.......... SEO CHANGBIN!! - did i mention his pretty whimpers too?? - LOVES it when you hold his hands while doing it - Sugarbaby changbin ; v ; - maybe it's just he loves plushies and I could just see his s/o buying and spoiling him with a fuck ton of plushies -oof what if he fucks those plushies while your gone wtf - that's kinda cute not gonna lie - also i feel like he loves any type of love language as long as you love him, that's enough for him - OH YEAH UM - Phone sex with changbin- - Subby Gamer changbin while you dom him in a discord call - interesting, eh? - ok i just realized that sounded a bit weird but it's kinda cute if you put it in an ok way yk?? - imagine his baritone-ish voice moaning for you ;[ - looks intimidating at first - BUT TRUST ME, HE'S A BABY - a big, submissive, and cuddly one

Hyunjin - sassy ≥ bratty - pillow princess/passenger princess material tho- - REAALLY whiny too not that it's annoying but rather cute - often mistyped as a power bottom... He is - loves praises - he's a people pleaser so we're not really surprised - "Am I a good kitty, y/n" um yes you are, you sassy mf- - DEF loves dressing up for you - IT'S BECAUSE HE'S AWARE OF HOW HE LOOKS LIKE WHEN YOU FUCK HIM OR IF YOU LIKE WHAT HE LOOKS LIKE OR NOT - it's cute ngl gijrothtlrjbdoijth also imagine sugar baby!Hyunjin? - I'm looking respectfully like- - imagine buying things for him because he's been a good boy these past weeks and he's (surprisingly) not been pissing the shit out of you - like buying him accessories and jewelry and treating him like your very own pretty little princess - lipsticks, new dresses, necklaces etc... he loves those - He really loves it when you gift him stuff, he feels loved and appreciated - spoiled little baby omg - I lowkey think masochist!Hyunjin is a thing too so- - Loves punishments (shockers)

Jisung - ngl I kinda feel like he's a wild card (? ?) - but I feel like he's the literal borderline of bratty and good boy - he's really touchy when horny... cute - also, really needy imo - like think of him being horny and he'd definitely and most likely would hump your pillow bcs it has your scent and he couldn't help it - speaking of humping I'm thinking petplay Han -weird ik but not like the extreme bdsm with those whipping and brat taming stuff that needs cages, bowls, collars, leashes, and stuff... right? - hahahahahahahah right, guys? - r i g h t ? */slowly descends into insanity - All jokes aside, I could actually imagine Jisung being like that tho especially since I already put it out there - he's literally the middle of everything... he's neither kinky nor vanilla, good or bratty, top or bottom. That's why I said he's kind of a wild card - weird thought but I feel like he's the type to cum like fast FAST - he's just maybe sensitive on those parts and shit but u get my point - like you could just jerk him for a while and he'll cum under 5 minutes and it's not funny - he loves it when you're protective but in a good way like how you always take care of him and love him always - he also loves when you spend time with him + doing stuff together even if it's silly like who eats the most chips wins $100 and the loser washes the dishes for a week. - he just loves being close and intimate with you

Felix - ok ok ok omg - ok so first of all, he loves his cuddles - you're working? cuddles, sleeping? cuddles, driving? cuddles, cooking? cuddles. - So I hope you get the clue already, yes, he's clingy and touchy - He's so fucking cute omg - burying his face in your chest or the crook of your neck sexual or nonsexual aspects honestly, he loves it - he's so fragile and soft pls protecc him > ﹏ < - spewing out random words of affection is his favorite hobby - he wants you to ruin him </3 - HE SQUEAKS WHEN HE MOANS - I know y'all are suckers for his deep voice but Felix with a higher-pitched voice >>> - He'll melt when you put your hands on his hips while you fuck him, do it, I dare you - whimpers and everything - a kinky baby tho- he likes being tied up - he kins with changbin and I love it - loves degradation - he gets soooo turned on when you stand as his parental figure of like just being the person that takes care of him - Thigh riding >>>

Seungmin - Step aside ladies and gentlemen, the goodest of the boys is coming thru~ - his favorite petname is pup or puppy and that's canon - He's so cute that everything and I mean EVERYTHING you do turns him the fuck on no shit on that - but be careful, he doesn't really enjoy degradation that much, he's vvv sensitive so please take care of your baby seungmin - but instead, give him words of affirmation. This builds his confidence - he cries when you go rough with him, you're being a meanie >:[ - he's your personal fuck toy but again, please be careful. He's so fragile - but I can actually see him taking care of you instead during aftercare - "I hope I did well for you today, Mommy" hufduighdfiughig hold me back, hold me back- - size kink, def size kink. He loves it when you wear your heels - he likes his look simple, just a plain pair of white thigh highs and that's it! He looks so fucking gorgeous and it's not funny - leashing him while he rides your cock is just- - and also when you hold his hands during missionary? Take my money and go. I'm a slut for that and I'm proud of it - but besides those soft things about him... - I believe he has a breeding kink - those puppy eyes when you fuck him in front of a mirror as you hit it from behind- ugh - overall, seungmin is a cute and soft little babyy

I.N - a BEAM of sunshine!! - so bright, so cute, so eager, so.... fuckable - He's such a good boy too and it hurts - although he sometimes kinda brats you but please he's 3% brat and 97% angel descended from the heavens above - idk if it's just me but it's always the maknaes that radiate the most golden retriever energy? Maybe bcs they're so young but nonetheless, I'm living for it - he always greets you with smile and always hugs you awe ;[ - LOVES IT when you mark him up - It doesn't matter where his neck? go, his thighs? go, his arms? go, his jaw? go! go ahead - + the moans and whimpers he'd make while you mark him up is straight up the epitome of immaculate - he has a heck of a stamina - i mean what do we expect from a goldret energy he radiates - loves your regular quickies - can actually handle a lengthy amount of handjobs, he's so good at keeping edged and overstimulated - buff baby boi - clip on fox ears >>>> - doesn't really like dress ups but on special occasions like your birthday, he'd wear his pretty lingerie set you bought him as a gift. - and ofc we know what happens next ;]]]]]]]]

#applesooyoung #stray kids smut #skz #sub!skz #bang chan #lee know #changbin #hyunjin #han #jisung #felix #seungmin #i.n #jeongin #stray kids

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iambicpentameterhamster · 6 months

Text

Every umbrella academy character ranked

Prior to Season 4 coming this year, thought I'd share my character rank with you for the first 3 seasons all together. (Spoilers ahead)

#33- Marcus, Jayme, Alphonso and Fei

Painfully insignificant and underdeveloped. Their only character traits being "spoiled and a bit evil" made them EXTREMELY captivating villians...

#32- Christopher

Only higher because I find the idea of someone carrying around a cube on a stick onset really funny.

#31- Sparrow Ben

Hard to watch honestly, especially in comparison to his lovely counterpart Umbrella Ben.

In general, the Sparrows were terrible and pointless characters, and clearly the writers knew this because most were killed off pretty quickly. All except for Sparrow Ben, which just meant we had to suffer watching him for even longer.

#30- Viktor

This is a controversial choice. He is tolerable in season 1, but then just becomes a moochy emo sod who is boring to watch. I don't know if it's the acting, script or both, but he’s just such a meek and flavourless character who is PARTICULARLY bad in season 3 when he jeopardises his whole family and is repeatedly selfish and has a victim complex.

#29- Luther

He caused the apocalypse in season one and you can't convince me otherwise. Got some alamaba shit going on with Allison...

There are so many reasons I hate Luther. He's a self-centred man child who couldn't care less about his siblings and their feelings, showing zero empathy to Klaus or Vanya, for example. He only shows respect and kindness when he is attracted to the person (As shown when seasons 1 and 2 he is only nice to Allison, then completely ignores her when he moves on to Sloane) or when they pose as an authority figure to him. All he does is whine and feel sorry for himself.

What's that? You lived in the apocalypse all alone for 40 years? You are addicted to drugs and lost the love of your life in a war? You have a power you can't control and a lifetime of rejection? WELL LUTHER WENT TO THE MOON

#28- Carl Cooper

Hated him as a character but he was a menacing villian which I can respect

#27- Harlan

Couldn't care less about him, only there for plot convenience and Victor's arc pretty much

#26- Sloane

An improvement from Luther's literal sibling. Further evidence that Luther will simply fall for any woman who gives a flying fuck about the moon.

Personality: attracted to Luther

#25- Pogo

Basil exposition of the first series

#24- Detective Patch

Barely remember her

#23- The Swedes

They were kind of goofy as villians but there was some good acting and they posed a real threat. Cute moments with the cats. In general, alright, but they could have easily been replaced plot wise with something more interesting.

#22- Cha Cha

Lack of character development for me. I think she deserved to be fleshed out more, I don't think it's fair that only her partner got to be a three-dimensional being. What are her motivations? Who is she underneath it all?

But overall i liked the acting and she was a good villian.

#21- That hotel worker from season 3

He's barely a character but I liked his sass so he's on the list.

#20- Reggie (Reginald Hargreeves)

He is supposed to be the main antagonist/villian of the show, yet The Handler stole his spotlight. He's a bit too stereotypically evil and asshole-ish for me, basically twiddling his moustache and stroking a cat in a dark corner the entire show. The delivery is too blunt and that doesn't help to build the tension and mystery surrounding him as much, but if he were more complicated and cryptic in his personality it would be more effective.

This is very nit picky and overall Reggie is fine. He has some hilarious moments with Klaus in season 3 and I am genuinely intrigued about the unanswered questions surrounding him.

#19- Elliott

He wasn't a particularly important or central character but I enjoyed it when he was on screen and he played his role convincingly. He was a good comic relief in some scenes, and when he died (spoiler alert) the reactions from other characters were realistic and quite impactful. I felt for him throughout, which is impressive for less significant characters and he had a lot of depth relative to the size of his role.

#18- Destiny's children

Not a singular character, but I LOVED Destiny's children. It fit Klaus's character perfectly to have a cult and led to some of the funnies moments in the series.

#17- Dave

From the very limited moments we see with this character, a lot of personality and emotion was communicated, and I feel like we got a big sense of the character. That is down to the brilliant acting from both of Dave's actors and from Robert Sheehan that really sold this character with so little screen time.

Anyway please come back to life Dave! Death doesn't look good on you!

#16- Agnes (Donut woman)

Very sweet and I wish her all the best in life.

#15- Sissy

BRILLIANTLY acted and impactful. Stole every scene between her and Vanya.

Also, she looks EXACTLY like Sheldon's mum in young sheldon...

#14- Herb and Dot

I want to put them both in my pocket and protect them from harm.

#13- Kenny's mum

Again, barely present but I love her. She's a queen. I would go to a rave with Kenny's Mum.

#12- Stan

I love Stan, and he's a big part of Diego and Lila's character development and motivations. I hope they adopt Stan and live happily ever after.

But yeah, great one-liners from Stan.

#11- Grace

Very well acted and haunting.

Top 10 *drumroll please*

#10- Harold Jenkins (Lenoard Peabody)

Again, quite a controversial placement, but I stand by my decision. The acting and delivery of Harold Jenkins as a villain is possibly the best in the whole show. I was totally convinced Lenoard was a nice guy and I was rooting for him and Vanya, until he started dropping hints and slowly revealing his true self and losing the facade and its... it's chefs kiss. So realistic. The actor deserves an award and a standing ovation.

The writers also deserve a pat on the back for this one because he has a convincing motivation and backstory, and the dialogue is DELICIOUS when it comes to Lenoard. He is a truly menacing villain without being overtly scary and powerful and dangerous.

#9- Ray

Charismatic, gentlemanly, empathetic, loving, trusting, supportive... Ray is THE IDEAL MAN. I'm a little bit in love with Ray so I don't blame Allison.

HUGE step up from Luther, for sure.

#8- Umbrella Ben

I would have liked to see more of his character, but I liked what I did see. He loves his siblings and shows it. He is selfless and sacrifices his own existence for Vanya, he is blunt with Klaus because he cares and wants him to improve. Of course, he and Klaus are also a hilarious duo.

#7- Hazel

One of the most touching arcs that offers an insightful message about what life is for, and about Love. Beautifully acted, a very real and lovable character who probably resonates with many in some ways. Hazel is adorable and i miss him in later seasons.

#6- The Handler

I LOVE THE HANDLER MORE THAN WORDS CAN EXPLAIN!!! Funny, playful, entertaining, uexpected and whimsical and yet simultaneously dark and menacing, AMAZING villian that stole EVERY SINGLE SCENE she was in. Kate Walsh was the perfect choice for the role and she played it to perfection.

A bit of trivia about the role, The Handler was originally written for a man, and when Kate Walsh got the role she insisted they didn't change the script (which, let's be honest, they would have.) She put a wonderful spin on it and it's just perfect, I wouldn't change a thing. I would 100% watch a spinoff all about the handler. Season 3 was worse than the previous two thanks to them killing her off (amongst other questionable plot choices)

#5- Allison

Allison was the only character who knew what they were doing, and honestly, if everyone just listened to Allison, there would be no apocalypse. Her storyline losing both Claire and Ray and her powers driving her crazy with power breaks my heart but is well portrayed and impactful.

She's charismatic, clever, strong, and kind. I love Allison and I think most of us do.

#4- Diego

He's stupid but in an endearing way, I find him to be so entertaining and funny, and the actor's face is like an open book. He's not show-stopping but his consistent presence just sets the mood and allows others to act off of him, while he really sells it with his expressions. He's like the rock of the show.

#3- Lila

Lila. Mi amor. Mon amour. Amore mio. Meine Leibe.

#2- Five

For several reasons:

A) He is the daddy here, Luther!!

B) That should be the only reason you need

Seriously, though, I was SUPER impressed with Aidan Gallagher and his incredible screen presence, especially at such a young age. He really embodies the character. Five is the face of the Umbrella Acadamy, and is undoubtedly the most iconic character. 10/10, two thumbs up, absolutely BRILLIANT.

#1- Klaus

No justification necessary.

#the umbrella academy #klaus hargreeves #diego hargreeves #five hargreeves #reginald hargreeves #allison hargreeves #lila pitts #ben hargreeves #luther hargreeves #vanya hargreeves #viktor hargreeves #raymond chestnut #the handler #the sparrow academy

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prettygirlstothefloor · 5 months

Text

a messy review of TTPD

okay i need to preface this that i have the credentials to be able to speak my mind on her. i've been a fan since 2006. i've been a fan since i was 11 so don't get your panties in a bunch.

i think this album is messy. the production is the only thing i can really praise about it. the lead up to it and now the full release has just been so unbelievably messy. i'm going to make a continue reading for the people who still have yet to listen where i won't spoil it for you. PS. i do get mean in this. so if you're not wanting to hear critiques and criticism and taking that in, please scroll.

EDIT: this was pre-anthology release. so this is just based on the original 16 song release.

SPOILERS AHEAD

i am fully aware she is allowed to go through the grieving process of her breakup with joe. i respect that whole heartedly. i completely understand having someone in your life for such a big chunk and for them to be gone and feeling lost and alone and angry. what i don't like at all is essentially telling us in this album that she couldn't handle joe having severe depression. obviously i don't know everything that went down but it seems as though he didn't want to get married until he felt mentally better. and as someone who is also in the same boat as him, i also wouldn't want to fully commit to marriage until i felt like i could give them 100%. and if that's his biggest crime, being too depressed, then that's a her problem. being depressed is not all "haha relatable".

now onto... that man... i did not expect 90% of this album to be about him. i've only hated two people in my life. one being a family member of mine. the other, him (i will not be saying his name because he does not deserve it). the way she spent so much of this album talking about how she will defend him with her life. girl i am begging you to get up off the ground. it felt like a backstab from her in "but daddy, i love him" where she's basically saying fuck everyone for ruining a relationship i wanted. the reason no one wanted her with him is because he's a racist, misogynistic, homophobic asshole. i am aware he supports queer rights but it seems like he only cares about queer rights and the safety of queer people when it involves white queer people (ie. what happened in dubai and malaysia). i'm almost confident she cheated on joe with him while her and joe were still together. i'm sorry to taylor that i care about BIPOC and queer people's rights than making a racist white man happy.

joe truly got the short end of the stick here. he has been treated so horribly this past year by swifties who made up rumors about him just to make taylor seem like the good guy and the only thing this album told me was she was the villain in all of this. i hope joe has a good support system around him and i hope he's able to get any mental health help he needs. i do also think that taylor desperately needs a therapist as well. she is very adament about not having one and just using her mom and her friends but she needs an outside source to really listen and give her advice that isn't "yes man"-ing her all day long.

anyways, like i said at the beginning of this post, i enjoyed the production. my favorite songs were fortnight and who's afraid of little old me. it's gonna take time for me to enjoy this album outside of its messiness. i did enjoy midnights btw. so it's definitely not the sound i don't like it's just everything surrounding it.

70/100

#taylor swift #tay #ttpd leak #ttpd #the tortured poets department #ts11

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drpoisonoaky · 8 months

Text

Therapy homework, fire siblings edition

Azula and Zuko have to share moments from their childhood in order to heal their relationship (therapy homework), even as they are there for each other.

In my own personal Azula’s redemption arc, Zuko is there helping her sister in the same way he got help.

So they talk about everything because they’re healing and they need to do it.

[Turtle ducks]

Zuko: I think those two are playing together.

Azula: Or they’re fighting to decide who will become the Turtle Lord.

Zuko: Don’t project your trauma onto turtle ducks.

Azula: I was not. It’s a very real and possible situation in the turtle duck world.

Zuko: I am going to ignore that because I was wondering why you hate them.

Azula: I don’t hate them.

Zuko: You threw rocks at them every time we were here.

Azula:

Zuko: What?

Azula: That we never included me, you know? It was more like “Mom and Zuko and, oh, Azula is here”.

Azula: So I guess I want my mother to give me attention, and my child brain said “Let’s make chaos”.

Zuko: Oh… I’m sorry I…I never thought about it that way.

Azula: Don’t punish yourself Zuzu. We were children. It wasn’t your job.

Zuko: But now we can feed them together, right? No rocks, only bread.

Azula: You really are a softie. It’s annoying.

Zuko: Let’s take the bread.

[Children]

Zuko: Do you want kids?

Azula: Not really. You do?

Zuko: One. Only one.

Azula: Did I traumatize you Zuzu?

Zuko: Yes, but no. If I had a kid, I want to focus on them, giving them all of my love and support. Being the Firelord and doing that for more than one child it’s impossible.

Azula: Oh, you really think about this… I hate to say it, but you would be a great dad.

Zuko: Thanks. I appreciate it. Why don't you?

Azula: First of all, it would have to be adopted, so the kid comes with baggage. And with my baggage, I probably couldn’t be there as much as the kid needs. It’s not fair to them. I can’t put the happiness of some child behind my own selfishness.

Zuko: Cool aunt?

Azula: I’m going to spoil your child so much that they’ll be as insufferable as you are.

Zuko: Of course you will.

[Fire resistance]

Katara: Hey firebenders, I have a question. Do you really resist fire better by nature or…?

Azula: Yes and no.

Zuko: I mean, look at my face.

Katara: That’s why I’m asking. Why do you resist less than ‘Zula? I swear she could be on fire and not notice.

Azula: We didn’t have the same training. Mother stopped Ozai a lot for the both of us. But when she was gone…

Zuko: I was banished when he started his fire resistance methods…

Katara: but ‘Zula don’t.

Azula: I was burned every day in every place except the face. Well, you saw the marks.

Sokka: Why not the face?

Suki: Don’t be rude.

Azula: It was because I was a princess after all, and you know we had to be pretty and perfect.

Katara: And how do you get high pain tolerance from that?

Azula: I guess some nerves died along the way or maybe my brain learned to ignore that kind of pain…I don’t know.

Azula: I hate him, but in battle it’s really useful. But yeah, don’t try it at home, kids.

Sokka: So if we try to burn your fac-

Katara: Don’t you dare, asshole.

[Crying]

Katara: Did they cry much when they were babies?

Azula: I bet Zuzu was insufferable.

Zuko: I was a pretty nice baby.

Ursa: You were nice, but you cried a lot.

Azula: See.

Ursa: And you weren't nice at all, young lady. But truth to be told, she didn’t cry.

Zuko: Lack of emotions, I see.

Azula: Not dumbass, it was for the balance between you and me.

Katara: She didn’t cry at all? What would happen if she was hungry or hurt herself?

Ursa: She just waited.

Azula: Of course I did that, crying change nothing. Plus, it wasn’t allowed.

Zuko: What do you mean?

Azula: Oh right, that was one of the points of our “educational differences”.

Ursa: Azula?

Azula:

Katara: Azula?

Azula: Fine.

Azula: Father didn’t really like the tears. He said that water isn’t something that should exist around a firebender. So I didn’t cry.

Katara: …but what if you did by any chance?

Azula, smiling sadly: He turned into my personal dryer. Goodbye tears.

Ursa: *gasp* But when you were a child he neve-

Azula: Don’t worry mother… It's not your fault.

Zuko: We should try to cry together anytime you want. As a therapy exercise, of course.

Azula: I-…thanks Zuzu.

Katara: And I hope he knows that you are around water all the time and he can’t do shit.

Azula: Of course master Katara, best master water bender of all times.

Zuko: Mom, we should go. They had started their own weird flirting thing.

Katara:

Azula:

Katara: What are you waiting for? Keep going.

[Compliments]

Aang: I know It’s none of my business, but I was wondering why some compliments make you look awkward but on the opposite sides. *Points at Azula and Zuko*

Zuko: What do you mean?

Aang: Like Azula takes it so well when we say something nice about her bending or her looks but she’s weird when it’s not about that. And you get so weird when we compliment your looks or your bending. Like a yin and yang kinda thing.

Azula: Easy. I was praised for everything Zuko isn’t.

Aang: What do you mean?

Azula: I’m a prodigy and a princess. Being an excellent firebender and looking pretty at the same time is or was my job. Zuzu is a mediocre firebender, under Father’s eyes, and he burned half of his face.

Zuko: And ‘Zula never was praised for being anything else.

Aang: But that’s awful.

Azula: I didn’t need to be anything apart from that, Zuko was banished. That’s life.

Sokka: No, it’s not. Your father it’s a piece of shit.

Katara: And I hope we never see him again. No offense.

Azula and Zuko: None taken.

[Giving Affection]

Katara, fidgeting with the hem of her tunic: I don’t know if it’s awkward to ask you that.

Zuko: …Go on.

Katara: Okay, so when you get out of the fire nation. Do you flinch?

Zuko: …Did I flinch?

Katara: General affection.

Zuko: Not really. My mother used to hug me a lot and you know Iroh.

Katara: …and who hugged Azula?

Zuko: Mom before disappearing, I guess? Me on some special days. I don’t know if our father ever did that.

Azula: Neither of them. Did you go to Zuzu to get information about me?

Katara: I want to know “your background” from another point of view.

Azula: I hate that that is a logical move. But to answer that, maybe Ty Lee was the only one. And you know Mai.

Zuko: Didn’t Mom hug you?

Azula: Do you remember that little detail that mother hated me?

Zuko: She didn’t ha-

Azula: Don’t. Please. We already passed that point.

Katara: So it’s decided.

Azula: What?

Katara: I’m now your personal koala, whether you want it or not. Come here.

Azula: But you do more things…

Zuko: And that’s my cue to get out of here.

[Education]

Aang: Wait, really, you know it all?

Azula: Of course, it was part of my education. I need to know history, especially anything related to war, but knowledge is knowledge.

Aang: But Zuko didn’t know anything about the Air Nomads' history.

Azula: We didn’t have the same education.

Zuko: Basically because Azula is a nerd.

Azula: Excuse me.

Zuko: After you did your homework, you started to read about everything, especially history. That’s why.

Aang: So she's more prepared than you.

Azula: I am. While Zuzu cried, I trained or focused on my studies. Time is gold in war.

Katara: You didn’t rest?

Azula: Not really, but sometimes I needed to rest in order to continue.

Zuko: No you don’t. You can’t count that as resting.

Aang: What, why?

Zuko: It’s not my call. Sorry. But you should explain it ‘Zula.

Katara: Azula?

Azula: What Zuzu means is that the “rest days” weren’t really optional.

Aang: Oh, they force you to rest?

Azula: Not exactly…I have to rest because I couldn’t move. Training wasn’t always��educational.

Zuko: Call it what it was. That shitty excuse of man made us fight against him and beat us until we faint.

Aang: Spirits.

Zuko: And I guess me being gone didn’t make him less reckless…

Azula: Quite the opposite…that’s why learning was fun.

Azula: But anyways Zuzu you should learn that so from now on I’m going to teach you history, physics and math. Be aware.

Zuko: Only if we take rest days. Real ones.

Azula: Don’t be lazy.

[Wake up time]

Katara: I can’t beat Azula.

Sokka: But you did remember…Oh, spirits, don’t tell me is a dirty-

Katara: NO.

Katara: Also not in that way, dummy. I can’t get up earlier than her. It's like every time I wake up early and say “Wow, today I really got up early” she’s already awake and meditating or something.

Ty lee: I tried for a week. Then I got tired.

Mai: It’s a losing battle. You can’t beat them.

Katara: Wait, does Zuko also wake up early?

Mai: Every day, like if he makes the sun or something.

Azula, arriving from sparring with Zuko: Talking behind my back isn’t new, but still hurts a little.

Zuko: Same.

Katara: Why do you wake up so early? Both of you.

Azula, raising an eyebrow: Why do you ask?

Zuko: Why do you wake up so late?

Katara: Don’t answer a question with a question. Both of you don’t know the concept of oversleeping or even slacking. Why?

Zuko: What are you ta-…Oh.

Zuko: Lala, do you remember the “If you wake up after the sun…

Azula: …how do you pretend to use his flames”.

Katara: Oh no.

Mai:

Ty lee: That jerk.

Zuko: So we have to stop.

Azula: I’m going to knock myself out every morning, I swear.

Zuko: Same.

Katara: Or instead of me waking up next to my unconscious girlfriend, you could try not getting out of bed.

Zuko: You mean stay in bed until the sun is up so we can train later?

Katara: I mean yeah. At least until you wake up like a regular human being.

Sokka: But that would imply they are regular human beings and we-AH STOP.

Azula, shooting little lightning at him: Sorry what?

Zuko, burning his butt: We are having difficulties hearing you.

Sokka: KATARA HELP YOU BROTHER.

Katara, ignoring Sokka and talking to Mai and Ty lee: So you two also like to wake up late?

Sokka: KATARA.

Ty lee: Yes, but it doesn’t fit the Kyoshi Warriors’ lifestyle. And that makes Suki angry with me, a lot.

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genshinconfessions · 2 months

Note

Honest to god, the more I see people behaving like actual monsters or children throwing a temper tantrum over characters not having skin as black as the abyss the more I flat out just do not have the capacity to care. I get it sucks that the characters aren't being diverse enough, I get it, but throwing death threats, slurs and god knows what else at the devs while behaving like spoiled rotten brats just makes me not care to any degree. If people can't behave like ACTUAL ADULTS and genuinely have polite points to say other than "Time to attack the devs again/slander the VAs or whoever for agreeing to go with this" whenever a character isn't dark skinned, they have no one to blame but themselves if the devs elect to not listen to what basically amounts to spoiled two year olds not getting what they want. I genuinely feel bad for people who want more diversity but are less hateful and end up being lumped in with the assholes who think threatening the devs lives is a okay, and I also feel bad for anyone genuinely excited about the Natlan characters getting absolutely harassed and ripped to shreds for not "thinking they're ugly for not being dark enough". I feel like if the fan base were ALOT LESS VITRIOLIC about the issue of diversity the devs would likely listen more. But as it stands now I can't wait for the harassing and death threats being thrown around to die down again so I can actually browse genshin twit and tumblr again in peace without having to worry about running into anyone being genuine human trash towards the devs over the color of fucking pixels. I've got enough stressing me out like grieving the loss of a parent, I don't need people being assholes to add to it and it sickens me that they don't see anything wrong with how they're acting. I'm just. I'm tired and wish people could be less like bullies or arseholes for once over a silly little gacha game they claim to love yet act like this. Sorry for this being a long confession, I just needed to get this off my chest cause it's been bugging me and stressing me out so much since the Natlan teaser got released whenever I've gone to look at Genshin stuff practically everywhere lately.....

i'm very sorry for your loss :( and if it will help you feel less alone, i generally agree with your sentiments.

for me, i am a pretty staunch hoyo defender (evident in previous posts when we used to comment on asks more frequently), but i must admit, i was slightly disappointed in the natlan characters since i believed the fan edits with darker skin did look better, and i wished hoyo would have listened to the intl fandom regarding south american/african/indigenous poc things.

that said, it's never okay to send death threats to anyone for any reason. i'm sure the devs are a lot less willing to make changes if all they're getting is death threats and, like you said, vitriolic hate. constructive criticism helps ppl realize where they're wrong and how to fix it; unconstructive criticism is generally useless and tends to be ignored.

the societal issue of colorism runs very, very deep, both in asia and generally around the world. it's not something that hoyo can fix singlehandedly by changing some characters. granted, i'm sure it would set a very good example for future game devs, and it would be really great if they did listen to intl feedback! but if they choose not to, that's not smth we can change their minds about.

side note, regarding a lot of the 'natlan is colonized' comments, we don't know the story yet. it's possible that hoyo will address it as social commentary, or it might be something totally different. leaks and the search for instant gratification have really made it difficult for people to enjoy a drawn-out storyline, and that's really sad.

we've said this a lot on this page but i'll say it again: why spend so much energy hating fictional media? if it no longer brings you joy for whatever reason (i.e. you dislike the natlan characters), stop playing. if the fandom is the main source of negativity, stop engaging with the fandom, block users and tags, curate your own experience. if you claim to hate everything about it but continue to engage with it, that's quite hypocritical and unconvincing.

in any case, if you like the game well enough to keep playing, keep playing. you don't need to justify your reasoning to anyone, and you definitely don't need to fall into a trap of radicalized (and dare i say often performative) social justice.

#genshin #genshin confessions #genshin impact #fandom #natlan

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tojiscumdumpster · 9 months

Text

⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ii. reader

⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⭑๋࣭ summary page

please refresh your memory of the content warnings that's mentioned on the summary page. this chapter will include s*xual activites.

I am met with the sun glaring at me through the windows of my penthouse and the feel of my Siamese cat, Oreo, rubbing her head on my face to wake me up for her breakfast. And of course, left with the emptiness of the bed I hoped would be filled with my husband. I rub my eyes to glance at the clock to see that it’s nine o’clock, which is way past my regular wake up time. It’s been a while since I slept in, and my mind immediately replayed the events of last night.

I cheated on my husband.

I didn't know how to feel about it, however, I would be lying if I said I didn’t feel good.

My sore body would tell me otherwise.

I don’t remember the last time I had sex. The last time I was looked at and fucked with pure hunger. The last time I was stretched and orgasmed three times in one sitting unless it was because of my vibrator. It’s been so long, the feeling started to feel foreign to me. . . Until last night.

Geto Suguru.

He has some good dick on him, but damn, he’s a fucking asshole. Nothing I’m not used to, though. It seems like my pussy has a soft spot for them. I’ve denied men and their advances for months, years, at that. But my body was craving to be worshiped. To feel alive again. I’ve been neglected by my husband for far too long. He hasn’t touched me, let alone looked at me in almost ten months. I’m always met with the excuse that he’s tired or busy with work.

Of course, my first thought was to think maybe he was going through something mentally, so I tried to make sure that he was okay, but he told me not to worry.

I thought he wasn’t attracted to me anymore. I have gained weight since we got married. When I brought that up, rather than reassure me, he said I was overthinking, which only led me to overthink even more.

Cheating never crossed my mind regardless of his promiscuous past he had before we met.

He wouldn’t do that to me.

Right, Y/N?

No. He wouldn’t. It’s just—I can’t win in this marriage, and the natural thing to do is ask for a divorce, but what am I supposed to do? I’m a stay-at-home housewife wife in a foreign country. I trusted my husband enough to take care of me because that’s what he promised.

At least he was able to stick to his word about that.

It feels nice not to work. Be spoiled and have the luxuries. But I don’t care about that. I wanted to be loved and feel wanted. I crave attention from my husband. Not anyone else.

Just take it for me.

I just want to make you cum one more time. Is that okay?

Oreo’s meowing breaks me from my memories of last night.

“Ah. Okay, okay. I’m sorry, Oreo,” I say, scratching behind her ear. “Let’s get you some food.” I get out of bed and make my way to the kitchen to fill my starving feline’s bowl and pour her water.

I need to get my day started. I remembered I have a lunch date with my best friend at noon, so I headed to the bathroom to get ready.

After showering, I stood in front of the mirror while brushing my teeth and noticed a love mark on the left side of my neck.

“Fuck,” I mutter to myself.

I’m not too fond of hickys, but I was too busy being a whimpering mess while getting stuffed with cock that wasn’t my husband’s. I don’t need to worry about him seeing. He’s on a business trip, so I’m sure it’ll be healed by the time he returns.

It’s not like he pays attention to me anyways.

But I need to cover it up for my lunch date with my best friend because I know she’ll throw back-to-back questions at me that I don’t feel like answering.

That was my first and last time cheating on my husband, and I’m not planning on doing it again.

Thank you for giving me this good pussy.

Do you realize how good you feel?

His words invade my mind and pool wetness between my thighs. I finish brushing my teeth and stare at myself in the mirror.

Suguru touched me. The touch of his hands exploring my curves lingers on and burns my flesh. Our fornication wasn’t even intimate, but I felt like I was taken care of. A stranger was able to figure out my kinks and pinpoints that made me explode.

I want him.

I wanted to be fucked like that again—but only by him .

“Gosh, Y/N. What the hell is wrong with you?” Again, I whisper out loud to myself because, yes. What is wrong with me?

I’m married. I have been for seven years. I shouldn’t be lusting over another man. This gnawing guilt in my stomach won’t go away. It’s fine. I’ll be okay. I’ll tell my husband when he returns and atone for my sins. Until then, I won’t have to worry about seeing Suguru again. I won’t think about him either. Despite how fucking good he made me feel. It shouldn’t be hard. We didn’t exchange numbers. So I will be okay.

Right?

⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀A month later. . .

My errands for today consisted of grocery shopping and picking out new furniture for the penthouse I share with my husband. I’m tired of staring at the black-and-white décor. I love the combination, but the lack of warmth makes me feel even more alone. If I can’t feel at home with my husband, then I’ll make it feel like home for myself. It’s missing earth tones, plants, colors, everything.

It would be easy for me to hire an interior designer, but doing it myself will keep me busy and my mind off of...

Look at my pretty girl taking this fucking cock.

His pretty girl. . .

Y/N. No.

How I abused my clit since that night with Suguru, I know she’s tired of me. It’s been a month. I should’ve forgotten about him by now. And I definitely should’ve already told my husband. I just couldn’t find the courage to do so.

He returned from his business trip four days after I cheated on him and I didn’t care to mention it. I figured if we didn’t sleep together, let alone in the same room, what was the point of telling him? I honestly think he wouldn’t care. He probably is cheating on me. He's forty years old and I know his libido is through the roofs.

I would know.

Nothing can convince me that he hasn’t had sex in ten months. Every month he has a business trip. Maybe he’s off to see his mistress. Who knows?

I’m making dinner tonight and he said he’ll be there. I’m not holding it to him, though. If he shows, I’ll tell him about my infidelity then.

All this shopping I did is making me tired. Coffee in the middle of the day sounds right to me. It didn’t take long for me to pull up to my favorite bakery. I walked inside and allowed the sweet aroma of treats and the nuttiness of freshly brewed coffee to infiltrate my senses.

The shop is pretty busy, so the line is long as expected. While I wait, I give my attention to my phone and scroll through my unread messages:

Best friend

Girl, I am long overdue for a vacation. Let’s start planning!

Mom

Honey, you’re coming home for the holidays. Right? Your father and I miss you.

Husband.

What time are you coming home?

Why the fuck does he care? I replied to my best friend and mother but left my husband unread. Since when does he care for my whereabouts? Annoyance pricks my skin just seeing the message. I opted to call him instead of texting him back to see if there was something he needed, but the interruption of a familiar voice from behind caught my attention.

“Excuse me, beautiful. It looks like you’re next.”

No . It couldn’t be.

I whip lashed my head around to be met with dark raven hair that’s pulled into a bun, different from what I remember a month ago.

Those tattooed covered arms I remember holding me up while fucking my pussy.

We’re no longer in a dimmed setting, so the light shines on his irises allowing the deep violet color to become evident. Specks of sweat coats his forehead, and by his attire, he must’ve finished working out. But even so, he smells so damn good. Dark. Woody with a mixture of his natural odor.

Fuck, Y/N. Get it together.

I cleared my throat, pretending like I wasn’t affected by his presence. “Geto.”

“Suguru,” he countered.

I was so stunned by his appearance and became distracted from our intense eye contact, I didn’t even realize the barista was calling me forward because I was next in line.

I immediately looked away from Suguru to move up, place my order, and attempted to pay, but of course, Suguru had other plans.

He came beside me and pulled out his card. “We’re together. Coffee. Tall. Dark. No milk or sugar.”

“I can pay-”

“For your tab. I know,” he interrupted. It’s like deja vu from the night we. . .

Y/N.

He continued. “Gosh, can I simply just be kind and pay for you? Are you really that prideful?”

“Go fu-” I realized he was teasing me, so reacting would only give him the satisfaction he was looking for. “Thank you, Geto.”

“Suguru and you’re welcome, Y/N,” he smirks.

How he says my name causes me to swallow a small gulp and subtly squeeze my thighs. It’s like those pale pink lips were meant to say my name.

No. I’m not supposed to be having these pornographic thoughts about him anymore. It’s time for me to go.

I thank the barista for making my drink and storm out the door to head back to my car. But of course, behind me comes the reason for these wet fantasies in my mind and why power walking out the bakery.

“Y/N!”

I continued walking. “What do you want?”

“I haven’t seen you in a month and you’re acting like I’m some kind of pestering bug.” He finally catches up to me, softly grabs my wrists, and turns me around. That touch spreads chills throughout my body and alarms my pussy. I just know any longer with him I’m going to explode.

I can feel Suguru looking at me, but I refuse to meet his eyes. “What do you want?” I ask again.

“I just want to see how you’re doing. Maybe get to know you. Is that okay?” He asks, gently.

I just want to make you cum one more time. Is that okay?

Fuck.

“Okay. Fine. You can walk me to my car, but after that, leave me alone. Got it?” I demanded.

He chuckles, throwing his hands up in surrender, flexing those sexy arms. “Got it.”

For the next few minutes, I walk in silence while listening to Suguru talk and ask me questions that I give nods or vague answers. Eventually, time slows down and it feels like my car is further away the more he and I talk. But honestly, I don’t mind.

Aside from his asshole tendencies, he's sweet. His constant compliments that I haven’t heard in a while make my cheeks warm. I’m blessed with dark skin because had it been otherwise, I would have resembled a cherry tomato.

We disposed of our finished coffee cups and finally reached my car, which he coincidentally parked right next to me.

I leaned against my door and looked into his eyes. “Hm, I haven’t seen you in a month, you end up at my favorite bakery, and you’re parked right next to me?” I ask, teasingly. “If I didn’t know any better, you’ve been keeping tabs on me, Geto.”

He closes the space between us, rubbing his hand along my arms. “Or maybe it’s just fate?”

I slowly but surely feel myself coming undone from his subtle actions and how he speaks to me. I know what I’m doing isn’t right, but I just can’t bring myself to say no. Suguru gives me the attention I want. The attention I’ve been yearning for from my husband, and I can’t deny it any longer.

“ . . . Geto ,” I say barely above a whisper.

“ Suguru, baby. Call me, Suguru.” He runs his nose along my neck, deeply inhaling my scent and exhaling in pure pleasure.

His hand that’s rubbing my arms trails down to intertwine with my fingers while his other rests on my hips. That touch I can't get rid of returns to my skin and the heat of his hands burns me all over again. I don’t know when, how, or why but I whimper.

Take this cock like a good girl because I know you can.

Yes. I want to take it. I need to again, but I...

“I can’t, Suguru. I can’t,” I murmured.

He peppers soft yet possessive kisses across my face before descending to my jaw and neck. “You can, baby. You can. I can’t stop thinking about that night.” He nips my flesh. “ About you. ”

I whimper again.

“I miss you so much, Y/N. Every fucking night for the past thirty days I’ve been fisting my cock while thinking about you. Thinking about your soft moans and how sweet you sound while saying my name.”

“Suguru. . . please .”

“Fucking that tight pussy to get rid of that spicy attitude you have that drives me insane.” He begins palming my clothed pussy in the middle of the parking lot and I’m too mind fucked to have any shame.

He continues. “Your husband isn’t taking care of you, angel, so let me. Use me for your pleasure.”

Will you do that for me?

Thirty seconds didn’t even pass until I unlocked the door of my Escalade and climbed into the back seat to be fucked once again by someone who isn’t my husband.

Everything about Suguru is intoxicating.

His lips that I love the feel of against mine.

His body that molds perfectly with mine.

And his hands that are so slender yet strong, holding me in place while I ride his cock, on the verge of cumming for the second time. He fills me. All eight-in-a-half inches stretch me the more I drop down his length. My pussy will probably never get used to Suguru, but I will never deny the pleasure she seeks.

Our skin slapping resonates in the air of my car along with our shared moans and my wetness responding to him. I wrap my arms around his neck to deepen our kiss, bouncing even harder on his cock.

“Fuck, angel. You’re doing such a good job riding my cock. I love it when you make a mess on me.” He says it like I’m all that he’s used to, causing my pussy to clench in response.

“Suguru, you’re so deep,” I cry.

“Hm, I know baby but don’t tell me you can’t handle it. You see how pretty you look when you’re confident? Taking every single last inch of me?”

I moan, but that wasn’t a good enough answer for him. So he asks again.

“Answer me, Y/N”—he breaks our kiss to press his fingers in my cheeks to pucker my lips—“Do you see how pretty you look when you’re confidently taking my cock?”

“Yes, Suguru. Yes, I do.” I don’t care how pathetic I sound. When I’m being stuffed like this and this good, I’ll say anything to please him.

“Tell me you can take it, princess,” he orders, softly.

“I can take it, Suguru. I can take it.”

He smirks, kissing my lips. “Hm, that’s my girl. Go ahead. Use me to make yourself cum. Okay?”

I nod. He leans back with his arms spread across the head of my car seats to watch me. My hands took purchase on his broad chest while I continued to chase my release. Every bounce I made his tip kissed my g spot, having me moan and cry his name uncontrollably.

The intensity of his deep purple irises bores into me and I can’t look away. The way he looks at me. . . It’s doing indescribable things to me and my pussy. I flatten my feet on each of his sides and slowly jump up and down on his cock. I’m rewarded with a hiss and a quick kiss on my lips for being his good girl.

“I know many men would do anything to feel how good your pussy is. I don’t deserve this,” he rasps, massaging my bottom lip with his thumb. “Tell me I don’t deserve this pussy and that I should consider myself lucky, Y/N.”

Riding his cock while hearing his praises makes me feel powerful. Like I’m all he wants to worship.

“Y-You— fuck, Suguru —You don’t deserve m-my pussy,” I stammered, bouncing harder on him. “Be glad that you’re fucking me.”

Suguru abruptly thrust upwards, pulling a sharp cry from my throat. “Fuck, yes. Yes, I’m so glad you gave me this pussy again, baby,” he groans while holding my ass cheeks to spread. “Can I fuck you, angel? Please let me fuck you.” He asks me this but has already started pumping his cock inside of me.

“Yes, Suguru. God, fuck me. I’m right there!”

His balls swings against my ass the deeper he fucks into me. The tears that I had the last time we had sex returned, but this time they feel more intense because this fucking feels more intense. It’s like he has grown since the last time. His grips are more firm and his thrusts are more precise. I feel my juices and cream trickling down his cock, creating gushing noises that join our foreign moans. My car windows are up tight, but from anyone looking outside they would know what's going on by how the car rocks the harder he fucks me.

I cuff his cheeks and rest my forehead against his, shaking and whimpering that I’m about to cum because I feel the bubble in my stomach that is less than a minute away from exploding with my release.

How can I feel guilty about cheating on my husband while I’m being fucked like this—again.

“Best fucking pussy I ever had. I love how wet I make you, Y/N,” he breathes. “Cum for me, angel. Please , cum with me.”

And it was like that. . . Those three words caused my orgasm to wash over him while we cum together.

Suguru’s moans were harsh and hitched, slowing down his fervent thrusts while he finished emptying his release in the condom. Our lips met again to swallow how sweet and intoxicating our sounds of pleasure tastes. He nipped harshly on my tongue, and if I didn’t know any better, I was bleeding but I honestly don't care. It shows he’s possessive.

And I like that.

Having sex feels amazing, but there’s something about the after-high sex that does something to my body. I could tell Suguru feels the same way.

After we cleaned ourselves up, courtesy of the wipes that I keep in my glove department, Suguru and I sat in silence. How he was ogling me told me everything I needed to know.

“You want to do this again. Don’t you?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

“I think we both do. You’re just denying it, and I don’t know why.”

“Because I’m ma-”

“Don’t tell me it’s because you’re married because, again, I do not care .” He enunciates every syllable of his last words to make them believable, which I find myself believing.

I look down at the pear-cut wedding ring on my finger that I used to cherish deeply, however, now I feel nothing but sadness when I look at it. Ten months have passed since my husband touched me. I don’t even remember the last time he said the words I love you to me. My marriage gives me security, but Suguru gives me. . . comfort . This is the second time we’ve had sex and I know my needs can be fulfilled by him.

Don’t do it, Y/N. Go work things out with your husband.

I’ve tried.

I’ve tried to for over a year. It just doesn’t feel the same anymore. Eventually, I’ll ask for a divorce, but for now—I think I’ll enjoy myself.

“Okay. . .”

“Okay?” He repeats, questioning.

“Just sex, Suguru. No romantic feelings. No dates. Nothing intimate. Just sex. Don’t think I’m going to leave my husband for you because I’m not. I’m making that clear now, and if you can’t agree to my terms, then I’m serious. . . You won’t see me again.”

He smirks, leaning over to kiss me. “That fucking spicy attitude of yours is going to drive me insane, especially when I know how sweet you sound when you cum on my cock.”

I swat his chest, playfully. “Suguru, I’m serious.”

I may or may not know what I’m getting myself into, but I know I’m more than sure about telling my husband. Despite how fucked up my marriage is right now, we’ve never had lies, and that’s not something I’m planning on starting.

⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ Later that evening. . .

The sounds of cutlery kissing plates and pouring wine into a glass are all I can hear while I have dinner with my husband. The silence is so loud, I’m convinced I can hear every piece of food that swallows down his throat. I’m surprised we’re even having dinner together. Usually, he grabs his plate and heads into his office. I guess he’s tired of eating alone with his thoughts. But why was he so eager for me to come home just to not utter one word to me?

Not a kiss on the cheek.

Not a hug.

Not waiting in the living room for me.

Was all he needed for his sweet trophy wife to come home to make dinner for him?

My eyes pierce his head while I sip on my third glass of wine. I study the man I’m foolishly still madly in love with.

Toji Zen'in.

Memories of those strong arms that are decorated with ink, being wrapped around me at night, play in my mind. When there was a time my soul felt at peace when he looked at me with those jade-colored hues that resembled a rainforest. His midnight locks I tucked my fingers in every time he was in my depths making sweet love to me. Even his jasmine and citrus scent still does something to me. I remember how he makes me feel.

Made me feel.

Looking at him and having sex with Suguru made me realize I have a type.

Dark-haired assholes with tattoos that know how to please me.

Just my luck.

“Something’s wrong?” His deep voice breaks me from my thoughts.

“No. Why do you ask?”

“Because you’re just staring at me.”

I scoffed. “Didn’t think there was an issue looking at my husband. That’s what you are to me, no?”

He shifts in his chair. “No, there isn’t an issue, and yes I’m your husband, but you’re staring at me like you have something to say.”

“Well, I don’t.”

“Alright.”

Here goes that unnecessary tension.

I decided to keep the conversation going. “So why did you text me when I’m coming home?”

“Didn’t think there was an issue with wanting to know when my wife is coming home.” This motherfucker.

“Toji, stop fucking with me. Look at your message thread and tell me when’s the last time you asked me when I’m coming home, let alone ask me anything at all.”

“Again, is there something you want to get off your chest, Y/N? What’s up with all this anim-”

“I’m having an affair.” I blurted.

“. . . What?” He asks, but I know he heard me. Maybe he’s trying to make sure he heard correctly. So I’ll repeat myself.

“An affair. I’m having one.”

He flexes his fingers around the glass of water, and seeing how his veins protruded, I could tell this wasn’t the news he was expecting to hear. I mean, who would want to hear from their spouse that they’re cheating?”

His jaw clenches. “With who? Where’d you meet him?”

“Some guy I met at the bar.”

“What’s his name?”

I arch my brow. “Why does it matter?”

“Y/N. Stop fucking with me. What’s his name?” He asks through gritted teeth.

“Geto Suguru.”

He nods, sipping on his water. “For how long?”

“Not long. Met him last month. Left it at that, then I ran into him today .”

“So you didn’t answer my text because you were too busy being some motherfucker’s cum bucket?”

His harsh words hit me with full force causing me to jump. I feel my heart being squeezed and tears pricking my eyes. In no shape or form am I justifying my sins, but being referred to as a cum bucket was not what I expected.

“Fuck you, Toji,” I hissed. I grabbed my empty dish and excused myself to the kitchen to clean up.

“ Shit . . . Y/N, I’m sorry. I didn’t-”

I turned around. “Yes, you did. Don’t tell you didn’t because if you didn’t, you wouldn’t have said it.”

Toji gets up and strides toward me. “How else do you expect me to react when my wife of seven fucking years tells me she’s cheating on me? Tell me!”

“You can be mad. You can look at me differently or I don’t know, at all. But a cum bucket Toji? Really?” My voice breaks while tears watered down my cheeks. “When was the last time you touched me? Look at me. Said you love me? When was the last time, huh?”

He sighs. “Y/N, you know I love you. Don’t say that.”

“Do I?”

“Unbelievable,” he mutters to himself. “You fucking cheat on ME and now you’re trying to flip this on me?”

“No one’s flipping shit, Toji! I’m telling you why I did it. I’m not justifying my infidelity. It may sound like I am, but I’m not,” I tell him. “I just don’t feel like your wife anymore. This ring says we’re married, but how I feel says otherwise.”

He shakes his head. “And what the fuck do you mean by having ? You’re still going to see this motherfucker?”

I looked away.

That should answer him.

“Y/N. . . I’m going to leave now. I’ll be back when I feel like it, and when I do, I hope you reconsider the answer you just gave me before acting on it.”

I scrunched my brows together. “Are you— Are you threatening me? ”

“Oh, no. Not you, sweetheart. Definitely not you.” Those were the last words he said to me before he walked out the door, slamming it so hard, a few of our frames falls to the tiled floor.

I know Toji. I’m very aware of his past and his threats are more like promises. I can’t help but stand there and think I should reconsider this affair because I don’t need to be the reason why someone gets killed.

previous chapter | next chapter

#jjk x black reader #jjk x reader #anime x black!reader #jujutsu kaisen x black reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #geto suguru x black reader #geto suguru x reader #suguru x reader #geto x black reader #geto x reader

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f1-disaster-bi · 7 months

Note

please tell us your angsty abo pack au thoughts!! I cannot stop thinking about sad angst upando and the packs reaction to him running away

I am so happy to talk more about this au, and the pack reactions!

After everyone cooled off that night, Charles and Max do tell Lewis that he was too hard on Lando. Max especially tells Lewis off for growling at Lando, and Lewis agrees. They all end up admitting to being an asshole to Lando, and it's Alex that says that he thinks something was wrong with Lando because he was clinging to them all and normally he's not the time to seek constant affection.

Although they want to fix it, they know Lando needs space and they're all feeling guilty. So they devise a plan that starts with Charles making breakfast, and essentially decide they're going to spend the day spoiling Lando and apologising to him

Except when Charles goes to wake Lando, Lando is gone and all there is is a letter that ends with "I'm so sorry I was such a burden. You don't have to worry about me anymore. I won't bother the pack again", and Charles is yelling for Lewis. The smell of distressed omega just flooding the house and it only gets worse when the others realise what's happening

Charles is crying, clinging to Pierre and Alex. Max, who wanted to apologise to Lando last night, is mad at Lewis and the others and filled with guilt. Alex is trying to call Lando, just constantly hitting redial and George is having a breakdown because "i told him that. I told him he needed to grow up and stop being a burden"

And Lewis is panicking. He is riddled with guilt and fear and worry, and when he finally thinks to call Jenson, Seb and Kimi in the hopes that Lando went to them, he's just crying and begging for them to help them find Lando

#abo pack au #lewis #pierre #charles #max #george #alex #dando #sebastian/kimi/jenson

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astrowaffles · 11 months

Text

Here's To Never Growing Up

“My favourite story about Megumi as a kid is about when we were painting his bedroom,” Satoru began, laughing a little at his memory. “We were going with a dinosaur theme, so the walls were gonna be light green. Megumi takes one look at the colour he picked, yells ‘it looks like puke!’, throws up on the floor, and storms out. He got a pink bedroom the next week, and loved it.”

“You always tell that story,” Megumi complained. “It makes me sound like a spoiled brat.”

Gojo looked at him pointedly. “What happened when I tried to get you to bake cookies with me?”

“…..”

“You threw flour all over the kitchen, didn’t you?”

“I was five!”

“What about when I accidentally played Justin Bieber at your eighth birthday party?”

“I think crawling under the table to cry was justified. It was a horrible song.”

“And when Toge borrowed your wooden toy car?”

“…Yeah, alright, I guess I didn’t need to hit him over the head with it. Still, even if I was spoiled, isn’t that your fault?”

“Eh, I think you turned out alright in the end.”

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OR: let's talk about Gojo & Megumi.

“So, you’ve got a TV dad in season two,” the interviewer ventured. He crossed his legs. “How does that work for you? I mean, considering your legal dad is in the same show…”

“Have you seen season one?” Megumi enquired. “Like, did you follow the plot at all?”

“Um, are you referring to anything in particular?” The interviewer uncrossed his legs.

“Yeah, I am.”

“And what would that be…?” Crossed legs again.

“How about the scene where kid-me says ‘I don’t care about my dad, he’s an asshole’?”

Gojo hid a snicker behind his hand, trying (and failing) to pass it off as a cough. He cleared his throat. “Alright, Megs, let’s not get snappy-“

“No, no, it’s alright,” the interviewer hurried to assure him. “I quite understand why it would be a sensitive subject… I do apologise.”

Megumi nodded. “Alright, then. The character of my biological dad in the show is completely irrelevant to my character, as you would know if you’d seen JJK.”

Gojo nodded in agreement. “He literally abandons him, man. And then my character swoops in! So, in a way, I’m his TV dad after all.”

“Definitely more than the biological guy,” Megumi agreed. Gojo beamed at him.

The interviewer was nodding along. “Oh, totally, I do remember that episode. I just meant, how is it to have a real dad on TV, when in real life-“

Gojo slapped him.

“Yeah, it wasn’t my finest moment,” Gojo laughed. He was sprawled across the couch, taking up as much space as possible. His arm was around Megumi, who was sat in the remaining corner, legs curled around himself like a cat. “I stand by it though.”

“What’s worse was that Satoru was trying so hard to be nice to the guy,” Megumi sighed. “He was trying to stop me from being mean to him, but the questions just kept going…”

“Pretty much. Megumi tends to get very heated very fast with interviewers who mention the dad character, because he thinks they’re always leading him down Trauma Lane. He was getting better at staying calm, and then that interview came along. We blacklisted the question after that.” Gojo pushed his sunglasses up his nose, and stretched his legs out in front of him. Megumi rolled his eyes.

“Stop stretching out like that, Toru. You’re kicking the table, look.”

“Sorry, sorry.” Gojo grinned at the camera. “See, he’s always keeping me in line. Imagine how bad things have to be before he starts being rude!”

“Haters will say it’s an overreaction,” Shoko commented, taking a sip of her coffee. “But I’m not a hater.”

“And that’s saying something, because she hates everything else Satoru does,” Geto observed. “But I agree with her. To suggest that Megumi doesn’t have a ‘real’ dad, right in front of his dad’s face … there are so many things wrong with that, on so many levels.”

“See, he’s ever the voice of reason,” Shoko shrugged, jabbing her thumb towards Geto. “I literally don’t care. I’ve known that kid since he was three. I think Satoru should’ve just killed the interviewer.”

“I don’t know Megumi very well,” Geto clarified, “but I’m all for murdering the interviewer.”

Shoko stared at him. “Like, just on principle?”

“Just on principle.”

Silence.

“Well, I never expected that from Suguru, he always seemed so nice, but I did say it first, so-“

“Not that there’s anything wrong with not having a dad,” Yuji clarified. “I don’t. I live with my grandpa. But there’s a lot wrong with telling someone sat right next to their dad that they don’t have one.”

“Like, the moment he said ‘legal dad’, I thought, someone should slap him,” Nobara confessed. “You could tell right from the start that he was going somewhere he shouldn’t, and Megumi knew it too.”

“And the thing is, Megumi and Mr. Gojo have always been so obviously family. We’ve known since day one, even though they didn’t tell us until… day three?”

“Mr. Gojo totally just blurted it out,” Nobara giggled. “Megumi would’ve kept it a secret forever, but Mr Gojo was so proud…”

Itadori smiled at the memory. “Have you guys ever heard the story of how Megumi started acting?”

“What? No! Why haven’t I heard this before?” Nobara turned towards Yuji, giving the story her full attention. Yuji laughed.

“Don’t know, but I’m sure he won’t mind me telling you. Alright, so, before Mr. Gojo adopted him, he was his babysitter, right? Like, this was before Megumi’s dad- well, anyway. Mr. Gojo took him on set with him, because he had to be there and couldn’t leave Megumi by himself… Megumi was probably, uh, two or three. Mr. Gojo would be fifteen or something. And basically, Megumi thought Mr Gojo was so cool that he insisted on becoming an actor too. Mr. Gojo thought, why not, because he could give a helping hand if Megumi needed it. So, Megumi got signed up for an agency, and he got cast in his first show when he was four. And the rest is history.”

“Wait, so, Megumi’s an actor because he wanted to be like Mr. Gojo???”

“Yeah.”

“And he was just … naturally talented? No stage school or anything?”

“Yeah. The same as Mr. Gojo.”

“Shut up, is that true??? Oh my god-“ Nobara turned to the camera. “You heard it here first, guys. Megumi’s whole life trajectory was decided because he idolised his dad-to-be as a toddler- are you crying, Yuji?”

Yuji sniffed. “No. Only a little.”

“It was your story!"

“It’s just so beautiful!! They were meant to be!! Destined family! Doesn’t that make you want to cry too?!”

Nobara paused. “Yeah, actually. It kinda does.”

“A long time ago, when I’d just been adopted, Satoru sat me down at the table and said, ‘You don’t need to call me Dad. You don’t need to see me as your father. I just want to look after you.’ And, yeah, I still don’t call him Dad. But that’s who he is. He’s my dad. He has been for … as long as I can remember.” Megumi looked across at Gojo. “I owe him everything.”

“You don’t owe me shit,” said Gojo, fiercely. “You owe me nothing. You could spend all my money and kill my cousins and you’d still not owe me anything."

Megumi smiled. “You want me to kill your cousins, though.”

“True. Please kill my cousins, Gumi, I literally can’t stand another family reunion-“

“My character’s leopard print tie is inspired by Megumi,” Nanami informed the camera, a nostalgic smile on his face. “When he was younger – maybe ten? – he was obsessed with animals. I was transitioning out of a ridiculous phase at the time, and came to visit him wearing leopard print … he demanded to know if it was made of real leopard. He was absolutely incandescent. I’ll never forget it. He wouldn’t speak to me for weeks, even when I showed him the label to prove it was nylon.”

“You’ve known him for a long time, then?” someone behind the camera asked.

“A while, yeah. Since he was seven. Satoru used to say I was the only one he trusted to make sure the kid was fed while Satoru went to work. What he meant was, he didn’t want Shoko and her twenty cigarettes a day to go near a small child. She ended up quitting just so she could keep hanging out with her nephew. Megumi’s absolutely changed lives – and he’s such a talented man now. You have to give Satoru some major credit, he raised a good kid.”

“You always tell that story,” Megumi complained. “It makes me sound like a spoiled brat.”

Gojo looked at him pointedly. “What happened when I tried to get you to bake cookies with me?”

“…..”

“You threw flour all over the kitchen, didn’t you?”

“I was five!”

“What about when I accidentally played Justin Bieber at your eighth birthday party?”

“I think crawling under the table to cry was justified. It was a horrible song.”

“And when Toge borrowed your wooden toy car?”

“…Yeah, alright, I guess I didn’t need to hit him over the head with it. Still, even if I was spoiled, isn’t that your fault?”

“Eh, I think you turned out alright in the end.”

“It was a total take-a-guess-and-hope-it’s-right situation,” Shoko reminisced.

“For fifteen years?”

“Well, more like thirteen, but yeah. No-one tells you how to raise a kid, especially when you’re fifteen yourself. At first, we’d be giving Megumi back to his dad at the end of the day – but then again, all he did at home was go to bed, you know? Everything he learnt, he learnt from us or school. Completely insane.”

“I do have a very vivid memory of the first day of filming,” Geto said, mentally connecting a few dots. “Satoru and Megumi walked in together. Satoru was in a feather boa and pineapple shaped sunglasses, chattering away, and Megumi looked like a glitter factory had exploded in his face. He looked like he was having the worst day of his life, and he had noise-cancelling headphones on. The moment he spotted Yuji, he made a beeline for him – but then Satoru made a super offended noise, and Megumi literally froze in place. He immediately did a complete 180, and went and hugged Satoru, who patted his head and whispered something to him. That’s when I thought, these guys are the real thing. These are the people you want to model your family on.”

“They just understand each other on a different level,” Shoko agreed. “Megumi could be completely overstimulated and about to kill Satoru, but he’ll still hug him goodbye. I don’t know how he does it. If Satoru ever tried to hug me after talking my ear off for an entire car ride, I’d flip him off and go hang out with Yuji instead.”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, he went straight back to Yuji,” Geto nodded. “I just thought their connection was so lovely.”

“Once, I was idly complaining about something- oh, yeah, it was that Nobara was getting a modelling gig,” Megumi began. “It wasn’t serious, it was just along the lines of ‘I’m not earning anything out of this except my actual pay, what the heck, this is unfair’, yada yada. But then this idiot goes, ‘Do you want a modelling contract? I’ll get you a modelling contract-‘”

“Listen, you were complaining about not having one, I could get you one,” Gojo said defensively. “What do you want me to say? ‘Sucks for you, shut up’?”

“No, but you knew I wasn’t serious! He literally picked up the phone and starts calling his agent-“

“Shoutout to Agatha, you’re a star-“

“He’s just so intent on me getting everything I want-“

“What am I for, otherwise??”

“And then he has the audacity to call me spoiled-“

“I think you’d make a good model, though!”

“I did actually end up getting a contract. Not through Toru, though. Through my own hard work-“

“And your pretty eyelashes.”

“-And my pretty eyelashes.”

“Oh, man, my favourite Gojo and Megumi memory? Probably when we went out for boba,” Yuji mused.

“Oh, yeah.” Nobara started scrolling through her phone. “I have pictures, hang on.”

“I mean, I’m used to parents coming to hangouts with us. They’re useful, because they drive us places and pay for stuff and all that. So I didn’t have a problem with Mr. Gojo coming with us, although I was surprised because I thought Megumi wouldn’t like spending time with his dad."

“Oh, how wrong you were,” Nobara sighed. She held up her phone to the camera. “They get along so well it’s ridiculous. We felt like third wheels to a father-son date, rather than Mr. Gojo being a third wheel to a group hangout.”

The camera zoomed in on the photo; it showed Megumi, Gojo, Yuji, and Nobara in a restaurant. Megumi and Gojo were on one side of the booth, Gojo’s arm over Megumi’s shoulders. Yuji and Nobara were opposite them. All four were smiling at the camera, though Megumi’s small smile stood out in contrast from the others’ beams.

“They’re a lot of fun to hang out with,” Yuji said. “Like, a lot. They’re ridiculous. Megumi would trip Mr. Gojo up in the street, and just keep walking, but if he reached the next bench and Mr. Gojo still hadn’t caught up, he’d turn round and wait for him. Mr. Gojo would stop halfway through a conversation just to make sure Megumi was doing something social, and not just ignoring us-”

“Sometimes he’d purposefully walk ahead with me, to force Megumi to talk to Yuji,” Nobara snickered.

Yuji nodded in agreement, cheeks tinged with pink. “He talks plenty if you can get him started. But anyway, Mr. Gojo bought us boba and let us do our thing, because I think he was super excited that Megumi had friends. It was kinda sweet.”

“That was probably the day we realised that they were father and son,” Nobara observed. “Like, logically, we knew. Like Yuji said, we knew from day one, it’s obvious. But you just don’t get it until you watch Gojo steal Megumi’s boba, or you see Megumi pull a pen out of his pocket because Gojo is always being struck with ideas that he has to write down immediately, or you see them walk in perfect sync, even when they’re not next to each other…”

“You’d genuinely think they shared DNA,” said Yuji, seriously. “And not even halves. You’d think they were clones, sometimes.”

“Uh, I think that’s a bit far,” Nobara disagreed. “They have different personalities.”

“Just wait until you Mr. Gojo do his feral scenes this season. You’ll see what I mean.”

“We make new favourite memories every day,” Gojo said. Megumi rolled his eyes and slapped Gojo’s shoulder. “What? It’s true! Just yesterday, you used a cookie cutter to make my carrots into different shapes because I complained about eating vegetables. I love that memory, just the same as I love remembering me doing that for you ten years ago.”

“He’s a sappy little shit,” Megumi told the camera. “He can’t help it.”

“It’s true, I can’t.”

“His actual answer is that he’s indecisive.”

“It’s true, I am.”

“He also apparently can’t answer for himself.”

“It’s true, I can’t."

“Do you ever STOP BEING ANNOYING-“

“If we’re talking favourite memories of all time, it’s got to be Megumi’s adoption,” Shoko decided. “Satoru cried. Megumi didn’t. Megumi was absolutely overjoyed, you could see it on his little face. I’d never seen such a big smile. I thought his face would split in half. And he’s never done it again; he went right back to being his grumpy self the day after.”

“I genuinely can’t imagine that,” Geto confessed. “Satoru crying or Megumi smiling, I just can’t see it.”

“Neither could I, until I did. You know what people say, about such-and-such having changed their brain chemistry? For me, it wasn’t a song or a book. It was watching my little nephew be able to fling his arms around Satoru, and call him Dad. That’s another thing he never did again, but he did then. It was the best day of all of our lives.”

“I don’t believe in destiny, but I do think it was inevitable,” Nanami pondered. “I mean, if there are infinite alternate universes, like scientists say, I don’t think there’s a universe where they aren’t father and son. Maybe sometimes they swap roles. Maybe there’s a universe where it’s biological, although imagining Satoru with a girl is …. unfathomable…”

“So you think it was written in the stars?”

“In a way. I think Satoru and Megumi are two incredibly stubborn, caring people, and they wouldn’t let something as small as an alternate universe stop them. In this universe, they were born and raised in the same area by people who were friends, and they came together naturally. In the next universe, maybe they find each other through Craigslist. We’ll never know.”

“I’m glad to have met Megumi, yeah,” Gojo said, like it was obvious. “After all, with him around, I get to play with Toast and Maple- ow, Gumi!”

“He actually only looks after me for the dogs,” Megumi told the camera, hand resting on Gojo’s shoulder, where he’d hit him moments before. “It’s a sad truth.”

Gojo sighed. “Alright, I see where we’re going. What do I have to bribe you with this time?”

“Airpods.”

“You already have airpods, you donut.”

“New ones. I want blue ones.”

“What, seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“And if I don’t buy them?”

“……….”

“Oh my god, fine.”

Megumi grinned. “Thanks, Toru!” He turned to the camera. “My dad is the best dad ever. He looks after me, feeds me, combs my hair, supports me emotionally, threatens interviewers for me-“

“And buys you Airpods.”

“And buys me Airpods. Everyone needs a Satoru. Thank you, and goodnight.”

A03 | Exclusives | Tip Me | Commissions

#astro speaks wonders #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk gojo #jjk megumi #jjk actor au #gojo satoru #megumi fushiguro

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