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be4chywritez · 1 month ago

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Afterglow | oscar piastri

oscar piastri x roommate!reader

you have a big fat crush on your roommate

request: heyyy, can u do oscar or lando or max w 28 and 36?

prompts: “accidentally” locking other out. (they’re roommates.), and "Quit smiling at me, I can't stop messing up my sentences when you look at me like that."

beachy’s masterlist🐚

prompt list🐚

If you had told your thirteen-year-old self that your best friend’s really cute brother would one day be your roommate, she would have absolutely lost it.

But life works in mysterious ways. Oscar had always been a point of interest in your life—not just because you were next-door neighbors, but because you’d been close with his sisters. You were a year older than Hattie, and the two of you got along splendidly.

As university discussions became more frequent, you decided to take a leap, applying to the International University of Monaco. To your surprise, you got in. At seventeen, you packed your bags, said goodbye to the only home you’d ever known, and headed for a new life by the Mediterranean.

Leaving meant parting with your friends, your family, the Piastris—your second family—and the boy you’d secretly been in love with since you were thirteen.

Fast forward to 2023. You’re twenty-two, settled into an amazing job, and living comfortably in your lavish Monaco apartment. Your connection to home hasn’t faded—you still have regular calls with your parents and close friends.

During one of your weekly catch-ups, Hattie mentions that Oscar’s made it to Formula 1. You couldn’t be prouder. You remember her talking endlessly about his journey through F3, and you have no doubt that now, with him in F1, she won’t stop anytime soon.

After hanging up, you return to sketching prototypes for work, the details pulling you back in. So much so, you nearly miss the chime of your phone—nearly.

Glancing down, your heart skips a beat. It’s Oscar.

Hey, can I call you for a sec?

You hesitate for just a moment before typing back a quick Sure and setting your sketchbook aside.

Seconds later, your phone rings, and when you answer, the familiar sound of his voice sends a ripple of nervous energy through you. “Hey, long time no talk,” Oscar greets, his tone easygoing as always.

You clear your throat, trying to sound normal. “Yeah, it’s been a while. How’s everything going with you?”

“Busy, as usual,” he chuckles softly, and you find yourself fidgeting, your fingers lightly tapping against the sketchbook in your lap. His voice has always done this to you—made it hard to focus, made it hard to breathe, if you were being honest.

“Yeah, I can imagine,” you reply, trying to keep your voice steady. You’d known him for years, but now, with him on the line, your thoughts scatter. There’s a beat of silence before you speak again. “Hattie told me you got into Formula 1. That’s amazing, Oscar.”

“Thanks,” he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice. “It’s been pretty surreal.”

There’s another pause, a moment where you think the small talk is winding down, and you brace yourself for the inevitable goodbye. But instead, Oscar clears his throat. “Actually… I wanted to ask you something.”

You shift in your seat, nerves buzzing under your skin. “Sure, what’s up?”

“So, I’m moving to Monaco soon,” he starts, and the mention of Monaco—your Monaco—makes your heart skip again. “I was wondering… Would it be okay if I stayed with you for a bit? Just until I find a place of my own?”

Your breath catches, and you sit up straighter. Rooming with Oscar? The idea alone sends a jolt of panic and excitement through you. You’re quiet for a moment too long, and Oscar’s voice cuts through the silence.

“If it’s too much trouble, no worries. I can figure something else out.”

“No, no!” you rush out, maybe a little too quickly. “It’s fine, I mean—yeah, you can stay with me. It’s no trouble at all.”

The words leave your mouth before you can fully process what you’re agreeing to. The thought of sharing your space with him, being around him constantly, sends your mind spinning. But you can’t bring yourself to say no. Not to Oscar.

“Thanks, I really appreciate it,” he says, his voice light again, like the weight of the request is off his shoulders. “It’ll just be for a little while.

“Yeah, no worries,” you repeat, though inside, you’re anything but calm.

You hang up a few minutes later after more polite exchanges, but as you set your phone down, the reality of what you just agreed to hits you like a wave. Oscar Piastri, the boy you’d been in love with since you were a teenager, was going to be living with you.

And there’s no way you’re going to survive this unscathed.

That was a year ago.

Oscar hasn’t left as he promised. Not that you’re complaining—you like having his company, and you’d say he enjoys yours as well. But you weren’t going to lie: your crush on Oscar hadn’t faded. If anything, it had grown, expanding until it was something you could no longer ignore.

You’d gotten better at hiding it, of course. But there were moments—little, fleeting moments—when you’d catch yourself staring at him too long or feeling a spark when his hand brushed yours. And those moments? They were dangerous.

Living with him had brought its own routines, little traditions that had become your favorite parts of the week. Like Tuesday movie nights. It had started casually—something to fill the time—but now it was your unspoken ritual. The only complication was when Oscar was away for races, but even then, he’d FaceTime you, watching the movie along with you through the screen.

Tuesday movie nights had become a guilty pleasure, though you’d never admit it. You told yourself it was just because of the routine, but deep down, you knew it was because of him. The way he would sit close enough for your arms to touch, the way his laugh made your chest tighten. It was torture, and yet, you craved it every time.

And then there was the way he looked at you—so casual, so unbothered. He had no idea, did he? No idea how your heart raced every time he smiled at you or how the sound of his voice made you forget everything else.

You often wondered if Oscar noticed—if he could feel the tension simmering between you, or if he was just blissfully unaware. Sometimes, you thought you caught him looking at you a little too long, or that his teasing smile held something more. But you never let yourself hope too much. Not when he seemed so completely, utterly unaware of the effect he had on you.

And so, you kept pretending. Pretending that your feelings were buried, that living with Oscar was perfectly normal. But every day, it became harder to ignore the truth: you were still in love with him, and no amount of time or distance could change that.

It was another Tuesday night. Oscar got home earlier than usual, greeting you with a tired smile that made your heart do an inconvenient little flip. You felt oddly underdressed as he looked at you, even though you were in the comfort of your own apartment—cozy sweats and a tank top, nothing out of the ordinary. But something about the way his eyes lingered made your skin feel too warm.

You tried to shake it off, busying yourself by pulling out snacks from the cupboard for movie night. The crinkle of the chip bags was enough of a distraction—until Oscar walked back into the kitchen, out of his workout clothes and now wearing jeans and a simple white t-shirt.

You raised an eyebrow. Jeans? For movie night?

“So, I know it’s movie night,” he began, leaning against the counter, his hands gripping the granite. You watched the way his fingers flexed on the stone, trying not to think too much about how good he looked—like you hadn’t seen him in casual clothes a hundred times before.

“Yeah?” you prompted, waiting for him to continue. When he didn’t, you glanced up to find him already staring at you. His gaze was soft, but it sent a nervous flutter through your chest.

He rubbed the back of his neck, ruffling his hair. “Meredith from PR asked if I wanted to go for drinks.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, but you forced your face to stay neutral. You knew you shouldn’t feel this way—shouldn’t feel the sudden green wave of jealousy swirling in your stomach—but there it was.

“Oh,” you managed, shrugging like it didn’t matter. “Yeah, I get it. We don’t have to do movie night.”

Oscar’s lips curved into a small pout, and you had to look away because, God, that look was going to be the death of you. “I know you want to do movie night,” he muttered, almost as if he didn’t want to disappoint you.

You kept your eyes on the snack bags, pretending they were the most fascinating thing in the world. “It’s fine,” you said, though your voice was quieter than you intended. “You should go. It’s no big deal.”

There was a brief silence, one that stretched just a little too long for your liking. “Can we do movie night when I get back?” Oscar asked, and the hopeful tone in his voice made it impossible for you to say no.

You hesitated for just a second, your heart already betraying you. “Yeah, sure. What time will you be back?”

“Ten,” he said, and you nodded, already telling yourself that it was fine. You’d fill the time with work. That project needed attention, anyway.

Oscar smiled again, this time a little more relaxed, as grabbed his car keys and wallet. “I’ll see you later, then,” he said, heading for the door.

You forced yourself to smile back. “Yeah, see you later.”

As the door closed behind him, the apartment suddenly felt too quiet. You stood there for a moment, staring at the empty space where he’d been, and tried to push down the uncomfortable knot of jealousy twisting in your stomach. You shouldn’t care this much. He was just your roommate. Just Oscar.

But the pang in your chest told you otherwise.

You tried to shake off the unease, focusing on your project instead. Time passed in a blur of work until you wrapped things up around 9:30. Twenty minutes to spare.

You leaned back, glancing at the clock and then at your reflection in the nearby window. Before you could stop yourself, you found yourself reaching for your makeup bag. Just a little—subtle mascara, a swipe of lip gloss. You told yourself it was because you were bored. But deep down, you knew the truth: you wanted Oscar to see you.

A glance at the clock.

9:48.

You padded into the kitchen, rummaging through the snack cupboard once again. You pulled out some of Oscar’s favorites—chips, biscuits, a pack of his beloved Tim Tams. You reached to the back of the cupboard, fingers grazing the last pack of Tim Tams, and popped a bag of popcorn in the microwave.

The machine hummed as the kernels popped, the comforting sound filling the silence. You found yourself glancing at the clock again.

9:59.

The popcorn was done. You set it on the counter to cool slightly, and grabbed a few blankets from the couch, arranging them neatly. Tonight was your turn to pick the movie, and you had already decided on La La Land. A few sparkling waters from your last grocery run sat ready on the table.

And then you waited.

You sat on the couch, scrolling through Instagram to pass the time. The soft glow of your phone lit up your face, but the anticipation thrummed beneath your skin, distracting you.

10:15.

Your popcorn was cold.

10:25.

Condensation from the sparkling waters was beginning to leave small rings on the coffee table, pooling at the base of the cans.

10:30.

You sighed, the weight of disappointment settling over you. The TV screen remained frozen on the movie selection screen, your remote still in hand. With a frustrated click, you powered it off and got to your feet. Slowly, you folded the throw blankets, placing them back where they belonged. The cold popcorn went straight into the trash.

Sitting back down on the couch, you stared at the wall for a long moment, a heavy feeling growing in your chest. Why were you waiting for him? Why did it hurt so much?

In a snap decision, you stood up and walked to the front door. You pulled it open, crouching down to check beneath the mat for the spare key. Your fingers closed around it, and you slipped it into your pocket.

Oscar never bothered to take his apartment keys when you were home, always joking about how you had “Oscar tingles”—how you’d somehow know exactly when he was coming home and be ready to open the door. It wasn’t tingles at all, though. You just… waited for him.

Except tonight, you weren’t going to wait anymore.

After locking Oscar out, you settle on the couch, arms crossed tightly, trying to ignore the guilt creeping in. Sure, locking him out might have been petty, but he deserved a little consequence for coming home late. Still, your phone buzzes again—his name flashing on the screen.

“You locked me out.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, debating whether to reply. After a beat, you type:

“Oops. Thought you had your keys.”

“I didn’t take them because you’re always here.”

You hesitate, knowing you can’t leave him out there forever. Letting out a sigh, you slowly rise, dragging your feet toward the door. When you open it, Oscar is standing there, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, looking at you with that familiar easy smile.

He doesn’t seem irritated at all. In fact, he’s grinning like this whole thing is some kind of joke.

“Took you long enough,” he says, stepping past you with a shrug. “I was starting to think you’d make me sleep in the hall.”

You force a smirk, stepping aside. “Maybe you would’ve learned something out there.”

As he walks by, you notice his shirt—rumpled, his collar slightly crooked. Then, you see it: a faint smudge of lipstick near the edge of his neck. Your stomach drops, but you swallow down the sting, forcing yourself to play it cool.

Oscar heads for the couch, oblivious as always, and stretches out comfortably. You stay near the doorway, arms crossed, your gaze flicking over him as you try to keep your voice light.

“Rough night, huh?” you ask, eyes lingering on his collar and the mark on his neck.

Oscar frowns a little, looking down at his shirt before brushing at the smudge casually. “Yeah, I guess I wasn’t paying attention. Meredith’s friends get a little… enthusiastic when they’re drinking.” He chuckles, seemingly unaware of the effect his words have on you.

You force a smile, your voice sharper than you mean. “Clearly.” You gesture vaguely at his collar. “Looks like someone really went for it.”

He glances down again, this time actually noticing the mess of his collar, and shrugs. “Didn’t think you’d care about my wardrobe choices.”

You laugh, though it’s hollow. “Oh, I don’t. Just thought you might want to… tidy up a bit. Wouldn’t want to give anyone the wrong idea.”

Oscar, still completely relaxed, glances over at you, confused but not concerned. “What wrong idea?”

You stare at him for a moment, caught between wanting to scream and laugh at his complete obliviousness. Instead, you force out a sarcastic reply.

“Nothing,” you mutter, your voice dripping with bitterness. “Just looking out for your reputation.”

Oscar, unaware of the storm inside you, smiles softly and turns his attention back to the couch. “Right. So, still up for that movie? I did say we’d watch it.”

You swallow down the surge of frustration, nodding even though your chest feels tight. “Sure. Why not?”

You head to the kitchen, not to grab the snacks you’d laid out earlier—those were already thrown out when the disappointment set in—but to busy yourself with something, anything, to avoid looking at him. Your chest feels tight, and your head is spinning.

You settle back on the couch with Oscar, and though you’ve tried to compose yourself, the weight of everything unsaid presses down hard. He’s right there—so close—but he might as well be a million miles away.

The movie starts, but you can’t focus. Your eyes flick to the screen, but your mind races. Oscar is relaxed beside you, oblivious, a faint smile on his face as he settles into the film. Meanwhile, the tension inside you is almost unbearable.

And somehow, despite everything, he remains blissfully unaware.

You’re about halfway through La La Land when you suddenly feel Oscar’s arm settle around your shoulders. His fingers brush against your skin, and for a second, it feels like everything stops. The warmth of his touch sends a jolt of electricity through you, and your heart skips a beat.

Without thinking, you shrug it off. “I, uh… I think I want some crisps.” The words tumble out of your mouth, and before he can react, you practically leap off the couch, heading straight for the kitchen like your life depends on it.

You tell yourself you’re just hungry, but your racing heart and flushed cheeks betray the truth. Your hands tremble as you fumble with the cupboard door, staring blankly at the shelves.

Suddenly, you sense him behind you. He’s so close you can feel the warmth radiating off him.

“You okay?” Oscar’s voice is calm, but there’s a hint of concern in it.

You nod, even though your heart is hammering in your chest. “Y-Yeah, totally fine. Just, you know… snack cravings.” You don’t dare turn around, because you know if you look at him, you’ll probably combust.

Oscar steps even closer, his breath now ghosting over your shoulder. “You sure?” he asks, his tone soft, as if he can sense something’s off.

And that’s when it happens. You can’t hold it in anymore. The dam breaks, and the words spill out, fast and frantic.

“No! No, I’m not okay! Because I’ve been in love with you since I was thirteen, okay? And it’s driving me absolutely insane because you are so damn clueless and oblivious, and I thought maybe after you moved in, my feelings would just—poof—disappear, but they didn’t! They got worse! And then you come home late with lipstick on your neck, and your stupid rumpled shirt, and I try to pretend like I don’t care, but I do, Oscar! I really do! And you just keep acting like we’re—like we’re buddies, and I can’t—”

You stop, panting slightly from the rapid-fire confession, and that’s when you notice it.

Oscar is smiling.

Not just smiling—grinning. A huge, cheeky grin spreads across his face, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

Your face flushes even hotter, and you glare at him. “Quit smiling at me! I can’t stop messing up my sentences when you look at me like that.”

Oscar’s grin softens, but he doesn’t stop smiling. Instead, he takes a step closer, closing the gap between you. “You’re cute when you’re flustered, you know that?” he murmurs.

You open your mouth to respond, but the words die on your tongue as he suddenly pulls you in, pressing his lips against yours. It’s not the gentle, tentative kiss you might have imagined. No, this is full-on, heart-stopping, world-tilting, toe-curling. His hand slides to the back of your neck, pulling you in closer, and for a moment, you completely melt into it, into him.

But then, reality crashes back down. You shove him back, eyes wide as you remember the smudges of lipstick, the crumpled collar, the late night out.

“What about—what about the girls from the bar?” you stammer, stepping back, heart still racing from the kiss.

Oscar blinks, and then understanding dawns. “The lipstick?” He reaches up, brushing a finger over the spot you’d noticed earlier, and then laughs softly. “It was Meredith’s friend. She tripped, spilled her drink, and kind of… crashed into me. PR disaster, but nothing else.” He shrugs, completely calm as always. “I didn’t mention it earlier because, well, I didn’t think it mattered. Guess I should’ve explained, huh?”

You stare at him, still processing what he’s just said. The knot in your stomach starts to loosen, but your heart is still racing for entirely different reasons now.

Oscar steps closer again, his smile softer but unwavering. “You’re the one I want to be with. Not some random girl from a bar. Just you.” His voice is quiet, but there’s no hesitation in it. He looks at you like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

You feel your breath catch, the weight of everything you’ve been holding in for so long starting to lift. But instead of saying anything, you just stand there, staring at him, your mind a mess of emotions. His hand gently finds yours, and even that small touch sends another spark of warmth through you.

For once, Oscar isn’t oblivious. He can see the worry in your eyes, hope and doubt swirling in your mind. “Hey,” he murmurs, squeezing your hand gently, pulling you out of your head. “It’s always been you. I thought you knew that.”

You blink at him, still trying to believe it’s real. But the way he’s looking at you, so calm and sure… it’s hard not to believe him.

And maybe, just maybe, this isn’t as complicated as you’d made it out to be.

#op81 imagine #be4chywrites #f1 x reader #oscar piastri x fem!reader #oscar #oscar piastri smau #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri x y/n #oscar piastri imagine #op81 x reader #op81 #op81 fic

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fashionteahouse · 1 month ago

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out of your league - paul x reader

AN: Thanks so much for the love for the first six parts of this series! i wish i could kiss you all 💜 xoxo

Morning came and you were alone. Goosebumps came easily with the morning, the air chilling your skin. You put on comfy clothes and step out.

Emily offers you something to eat but you’re only thirsty. You didn’t want to accept anything just to half heartedly eat it.

You return into the room and you try to draw. You couldn’t think of what to draw. You stare up at the ceiling, racking your brain for ideas. You let the pen fall out of your fingers due to defeat. You look straight ahead and decide to see what other things Paul likes to do.

Only one graphic novel and you flipped through it. It wasn’t something you would get into. You put it back. A couple of gaming cds and you look around for a gaming console. You feel a bag and it’s in there but there’s no tv. You put the cds back, meaning to just not mess with anything else. As you were, a medium sized book with white pages fall. You pick it up to place it back to where it belongs but you catch a peek at the visuals that are on the paper.

You start from the beginning. You couldn’t believe your eyes. There were sketches. You flip through them in amazement. The style was unique in its own way. You were pissed at first for him not telling you but it was hard to stay upset when you were looking at such beautiful visuals. It was such an innocent hobby.

You almost jump as you get deeper into the book. A portrait that looks oddly a lot like you. It was a peaceful version of you. You tried to draw your own portrait of yourself before but you never liked how they looked or came out. This was different. Then, more pages were flipped and the pictures were erotic. You tried to flip past but more and more kept coming. Your heartbeat racing past, now watching two figures explore each other’s bodies. Very realistic. It felt intruding to look at.

You hear sounds from outside of the door and you slam the sketchbook closed. Just as the door opened, you were sat on the bed with just your own sketchbook.

“Everything alright?” Emily asks you. You just nod.

”Let me know if you need anything.” she says and shuts the door softly and you smile back before turning serious. You close your own book before taking out the library book that you had read all the way through.

You make your way out the door when a tired Paul walks through the door with Sam. He ups his mood when he sees you. He gets to you before Sam gets to Emily.

You pull back, smiling and out of breath. You hold him at bay, with you preventing his hands from fondling you too much.

“Where are you going?” he says and pulls you with him.

“Taking this back.” you tell him and he shakes his head.

“Just do it later.” He says and you’re pulled into his room.

The door is shut and you’re trapped between it and the front of Paul. This kiss makes your knees wobbly and he transfers to your neck and his hands opens you up. On your sides, his hands take waist and makes you grind on his hard-on. When space is available, you move to the side.

“I’ll be quick.” You tell him, raising the book. He walks towards you with a content and relaxed grin and pulls it out of your hands. He sets it elsewhere.

“So will I.” he tells you and takes the directions of his hands up under your shirt. You sigh into his mouth as your body automatically move forward on him. Openly kissing your collarbone, his hands move down and feels all on your semi soaked underwear. You pull back. You wouldn’t be able to keep quiet.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“We shouldn’t. We’ll get caught. I can’t even keep my voice down.” you say and try to look elsewhere.

He stares at you for a moment and nods with acceptance. That meant he really couldn’t do what he wanted to do with you.

“You should sleep. I want to talk to you without you dozing off.” you tell him and rub his shoulder.

He gives you a look and you chuckle. He lays down and right before you turn, “Lay with me until I fall asleep.” He doesn’t even let you object before you’re held on tight to him. You reach and softly sooth his scalp with your fingers running through his hair. He slowly droops his eyelids and tries his best to jerk awake to be able to look at you. But, sleep ended up winning.

You move to slide out of bed but his grip is dead solid. Even the harsher attempts weren’t working. Lightly snoring, he wasn’t waking up any time soon.

Your face was smushed into the pillow and you blink your eyes open and the room was much darker. You hear a knock. With no answer, it creaks open and Emily tells you that it’s time for dinner. You look over and one arm is around you still and another arm is covering the top part of his face. You shake him. He looks at you with tired droopy eyes even though he slept.

He takes his time to sit at the table but he makes sure he holds some of your fingers. You put food on his plate for him while Sam and Emily trail off into their own small talk. Jared walks in looking stressed out. He has a seat and eats silently.

“You know you could’ve came back with us.” Sam says to him.

“Yeah. I went to Kim’s.” he says. You put down your fork.

“How did it go?” Sam asks.

Jared shrugs, “It’s not going anywhere.” he says and just leaves it at that.

“What’s wrong with Kim?” you speak up, genuinely wanting to know.

“Nothing’s wrong with her…I just find it strange that the wolf in me likes her but the man in me doesn’t. Without the imprint, she never had or would catch my eye.” he answers honestly.

You didn’t know what to say to that.

You wash the dishes, shooing Emily away since she cooked for everybody. Sam pulls Jared to the side and Paul decides to use this time to squeeze in more sleep.

In the morning, you woke up to Paul being gone again and you decide to go home and grab your laptop. You looked around at your room and noticed you’ve went from spending almost all of your time in it to always being away from it.

You go on your laptop to log into your email. After scrolling, a subject with important characters are displayed. An illustration feature opportunity in a magazine. You accept it all of the way.

Walking back, clutching to your laptop, you decide to stop past Kim’s. Her mother wasn’t home so it was Kim who opened the door. She was dressed in out clothes and you took a seat at your favorite spot, her window sill seat.

“Jared came by yesterday.” she says to you as she flat irons her hair.

“I heard.” you say solemnly. She just shakes her head as the hot device glides down a piece of hair.

“He talked about something about only feeling something for me on behalf of his wolf.” She mutters and scoffs.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to talk to him? I can set him straight. I know how much you like him.”

Kim looks at you as if you burned her.

“No, Y/N. If he doesn’t want me on his own then it’s useless. It would feel forced.” she says and looks in her mirror that she’s sitting in front of.

“I understand. So, what are you going to do?” you ask.

“I’m going out. My cousin from Neah Bay is throwing a graduation party. I’m leaving a bit earlier because of the drive there.”

You nod. You hope it kept her mind off of the realities of what was happening here.

“You should come. When was the last time we hung out?” she says as she finished her hair.

“Erm..I don’t know…” you say and start thinking, that’s miles away from Paul and you didn’t know if you could handle it.

“Come on..You’re always with..them. I’m even leaving soon. Please?” she says and you ponder some more.

“I’m on for another project..this time in a magazine.” you say, but she just shakes her head.

“Not going for it. You’ll have it done in five seconds. Come on..Please? You’ll have a ride there and back. Plus, I’ll even let you play in my closet.” She offers. You sigh dramatically before smiling, “Fine.” She jumps up and squeals and pull you up.

“Let me just call first okay?” you say and she turns away to open her closet.

You step out of the room and sit on the steps.

“Hello?” a groggy voice answers.

“Hey are you back?” you ask and he clears his throat a bit.

“Yeah. Where did you go?”

“Kim’s. Look, I might come back late tonight. So-“

“Why?” he interrupts.

“Well, I’m going with Kim to her cousin’s graduation party.” you say and you’re met with silence. You pull back your phone to see if the connection was lost. The call is still ongoing.

“Hello?” you then say.

“Where?” he asks and you tell him and that’s when things shifted.

“You’re crazy.” he says.

“What?” you say getting a bit agitated.

“You don’t even know what goes on there. Trust me. It’s not going to be some innocent get together. They’re wild down there.”

“I know myself. I’ll be okay.” You try to tell him but he wasn’t having it. He sounds more awake.

“But you don’t know them. You would be a target just because they would know you’re not from there or hang there. If I wasn’t so beat I would be going with you. Y/N, seriously.” he says through the phone.

“I’ll be okay, I promise.”

“Y/N, I swear to god-“

“Paul, I’ll call you I swear.” you hang up because Kim comes out of her bedroom and shows you what you could wear.

You blindly take it and feel a buzz on your phone.

“If you go , we’re done. I mean it.”

Your mood changed. You kept staring at it. You imagined going against the grain. A pang in your chest shoot sharply of the thought of letting Paul go.

“Shit. I have to start working for this deadline in a couple of days. I’m really sorry Kim. We’re going to hang before you leave. I promise.” you say and her face falls.

“Hope all goes well.” she says dryly, accepts her outfit back, and turns back in her bedroom.

You walk with more attitude as you walk back to Sam and Emily’s. You fly the door open, with a little bit more force than meant. Paul was nonchalantly at the table with his phone right there.

“Really? We’re done?” you then nod. “Fine.” you say and walk to his room.

“You’re absolutely crazy if you think I would let you hit that side of town.” he says and leans against the door frame.

You just shake your head and face the window not wanting to look at his face.

“No trust. What’s the point?” you mutter defiantly and shrug.

You feel a hand on you and you shrug it off. You wanted him to know how you felt so badly. He knew what you felt. He knew too much from his past experiences from just hanging around the people alone. They liked to take partying far most of the time. You having a boyfriend wouldn’t have stopped their pressure.

“I know what I’m doing, Y/N.” he just says.

“What? Be my father?”

“Would you stop being so childish? Obviously I’m trying to prevent bad news. That’s definitely not your crowd.” he says and chuckles with no humor.

”Afraid I’m going to run into many of your tramps?” you say harshly and face him.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he says and you look away.

“You should ask that question to yourself. You don’t control me.” you say and walk to the front door, outside in the fresh air.

He halts your walk, “If I let you go and something does happen, then what? I’m the first person you’re going to call. I’m good enough to fix it but not good enough to prevent it?”

“Don’t worry, you won’t hear from me when I touch Seattle in a few days.” you retort back.

“You probably weren’t even going to tell me huh? So ready to fuck me over.” he says venomously.

“I would’ve had to listen to you whine about what I can’t do…Maybe..I think we need some space.” you say. You didn’t mean it but the emotion took over.

Jared comes out, and stands beside Paul with a look of concern.

“I told you. I fucking told you.” he says and shakes his head. You choose not to say anything. His gaze alone pierced through your heart. Jared tries to persuade him back in the house. You held your chest as it pounded with pain. Fighting with each other caused pain.

You two didn’t speak. You were around each other but you didn’t want to say the wrong thing. He didn’t speak because he would get angry all over again. You mostly stayed up under Emily. You helped her bake desserts before she went off with Sam.

“Trouble in paradise?” Jared asks as he bites into the sandwich he made for himself with a sweet treat to eat after. You sit down.

“Yeah. It’s my fault.” you say and look out of the window with your chin resting on your hands.

“Heard you went out with Kim. Did something happen?”

“Sort of. He warned me about the kids in Neah Bay. I was only going with Kim to her cousin’s party but…He was being controlling.”

“Not saying this because he’s my friend, but he did save your ass.”

“Kim really wanted me to go with her. She’s still messed up about the whole imprinting thing.”

Jared huffs a bit and looks off into space for a bit.

“What’s really holding you back? I mean, you can talk to me.” You offer. He seemed conflicted.

“I was honest when I said it’s only the wolf part of me who feels compelled to be around her and all. I’m not trying to be mean but…she’s plain..basic. And before you say I didn’t at least give it a try, making a simple conversation is like pulling teeth. She can’t even take a joke if her life depended on it.” he vents out and ends that with a bite.

You lean back and continue to look out of the window. He wasn’t finished.

“You two, you and Paul. You already fight like a married couple. You both liked each other before the imprint. It’s more believable for it to be “meant to be.” If I have to spend the rest of my life with someone, I want it to be fun and happy.”

Paul went with Jared to his house. You called Kim to see if she was okay but there was no answer. You were so bored. There was still youth to the nighttime. Emily and Sam were off into their bonding time.

You stayed up very late, almost morning when Paul comes through. You weren’t in bed, you were sitting on the floor with a book you brought. He still didn’t speak or look your way. He got into bed and turned over and went to sleep.

The next morning, you decided to give him some space. As he slept, you quietly took your bag and belongings and made your way home. You were listening to music when you got a call.

The person who orchestrated the illustration project for you, wanted to know if you could come to Seattle for a small interview two days from now. You accept. It’s only a drive away. Hanging up, a text from Paul appears.

“You left?”

”Yes I’m back home.”

You watched, but no text came back.

The next day, you call. No answer. You just decide to call over and over. He answers on the fifth try.

“Hey.” you speak out. He sighs a bit and mutters back a hey.

You went to him tell all of the details of your new project in Seattle. “Do you want to tag along?”

“I’m good. I’ll stay back.”

“Why not? We can wander around.”

“That moment is for you.” he just says.

“I want my moment to be with you.”

You’re met with silence again. Nobody was home, everyone had plans.

“Do you want to come over?” you suggest.

“I’ll see.” You two hang up with each other.

You dozed off, after waiting for some time. You woke up to the creak of your window being open and look over to see Paul swing himself in like he’s been doing it time and time again.

You get up and hug him. It takes him a minute to finally wrap his arms around you and when he does, it’s a very tight bear hug.

“I don’t want you to be mad at me. I messed up. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” you say into his lower chest. He rubs you on the back and sits you down.

“I’m not mad at you.” he says quietly. You nudge him. “Yes you are.”

“No. I’m mad at the situation but not at you.” he says and you know that he’s telling the truth. He sighs and goes on, “I don’t think you understand how much it hurts me whenever I can’t protect you. Even when it’s 100% preventable.”

You nod and look the other way.

“Come back with me.” he says and gives you the eyes to prevent you from saying no.

“I don’t know… I kinda miss my own bed.” You say to tease him.

“Please. You don’t miss it that bad.” Paul comes back with and emits a laugh from you. He takes a hold of the nape of your neck and pull you to him. Instantly you’re melted into him. He glided his hand on your bare back underneath your shirt. After a moment you pull back.

“You’re coming with me to Seattle right?” you say breathlessly.

He lifts his eyelids just a little, “Mmm maybe.” He leans back in. You pull back with a smack.

“Please?” you say and he covers you mouth with his again. This time, he gets your tongue to follow his lead. His hand move to the side of your face and you hold his forearm, trying your best to keep up with him. Ending with a soft pop, he looks at you, “You sure you don’t need space?”

Your hand is now on the nape of his neck, “I will never say that again.”

“Show me you’re sorry then.” he purrs to you and you lean forward to capture him. You take his hand and lead it straight to the point. While kissing him, you pressed his hand to your mound and move sensually, to let him feel you. He raised his hand, never leaving your skin, and discard whatever was covering the bottom part of you.

You lay back as he melts in between you savoring the taste of your lips, the feeling of his poked out flesh was making friction with your underwear covered part. His hands slide up your sides and you followed the blueprint of discarding the shirt. With unspilled drool, Paul is latched onto your spilled breasts. Taking his time with circling them each with his tongue. Your stomach sucks in, gasping occasionally, forgetting how to breathe. He moves down and puts his nose down and inhaled before going on to lick his lips. Your legs are raised with your underwear being slide down.

“Are you flexible?” he asks sensually.

“I think..so.” you answer back quietly. You soon know why he asked when he pushed your legs back making your knees separated with them pressed side by side your head. You were on full display as he looked down. A high note raised from your throat when he leaned down and lapped at you. Your head moves side to side as you could only grip onto his hair and the blankets on your bed. You couldn’t help when your body moved towards his mouth. He was precise. You grab onto his hands as he felt you up, your head was titled back and you whined about.

He pulls back as soon as you feel yourself getting closer to the white light, he shoved his shorts down and a spring of skin bobs out. His eyes never leaving yours, he touched himself softly, admiring you flushed and spread out.

He moves and flip you over him and you can finally kiss him. It was hot. It was sloppy but you both didn’t care. He nudged you to sit up, straddling him upright. You looked down as he lined you up with him. He made sure to gather the sap between you, and you took him in little by little. Thankful for no one being home, you were able to get out your whines and moans of moving back and forth on him. Pure euphoria is what you both felt. Both wanting the feeling to last forever. Your hands laid flat on his chest. His hands cupping and gripping the bottom of you, you look down as you go up and down to see him biting his lip a little as he rakes his eyes on you.

The sopping noises mixed with the small squeaks of your bed is partly responsible for producing more natural sap between your legs. Halfway off of the bed, he looked down as he pounded a steady rhythm with him holding your feet to his chest. Your body arched and you felt the tingles running throughout your entire body. He decides to slow it down, making you lose your mind, wanting him to go faster. He retracted out slow and the thrust in made you shudder without fail.

“Paul” you whine out to him. You didn’t recognize your voice. His thumb traced your pearl to match his strokes. “I’m here baby.” he says erotically. He lets your legs hang on his shoulders, lift you up a bit from the bed as you hang onto him, he pumps fluidly in and out. You now understood the feeling of someone fucking your brains out. Gasping, shuddering and shaking on him, he pulls out and rides out his orgasm. You crawl back, your body still not done trembling. You lay to your side and you moan, letting the climax pass through. Naked and all, Paul pulls you to him, carries you to the shower and he washes you. Possessively feeling all of you. Your back is facing and pressed against him, you’re crumbling all over again. Open kisses are placed on the neck as he circles his finger on your second heart, you hang onto him.

Your legs feel like jelly as you walk down the stairs. Your newly packed bag is in Paul’s hands and he lets you in the car. You felt like a lovesick puppy.

As you sit on the bed, waiting for him to join you to sleep, he flashes a mischievous glance.

“What?” you say.

“I want to sleep skin to skin.”

Flushed skin makes another debut on you as you stutter. He just laughs and kisses you on the side of your mouth, “One day.”

You made sure to bring your best examples of your work. In the waiting area, it was stressing you out. Paul leaned back in the chair, seeming to be totally relaxed. You kept flipping the pages over and over. He has a hand on your knee now and you notice that he paused the bouncing of your leg.

“Just be yourself.” He says to you.

Sitting across from two people, flipping through proof of your work, your stomach is clenched. In fact, you feel so tense all over. You watched their poker faces anxiously as they observe each page.

You already talked. They already asked the questions. You were waiting for their decisions.

A white contract is placed in front of you. They give you a week to make your mind up.

You walk out with the white paper in your hands and your shoulders are dropped due to relaxation. Paul didn’t wait for you to say the words. Your feet are off the ground. Your arms are around his neck and he nuzzled your neck while holding you in a slow swaying hug.

“Thank you..Thank you for everything.” you tell him seriously.

“That was all you, woman.”

You couldn’t have done it without him. His support. His push. You didn’t feel complete without him.

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 6 months ago

Note

Am I the Asshole for ruining a person's life?

©️©️©️©️©️©️ to find later.

This is an old story from when I was in high school. I was a quiet nerdy kid, but I was well liked. No one messed with me and I was on good terms with most of the popular kids. I just tended to like to read and learn. I did academic decathlon, I spent my breaks in the library, I was in the top of the class etc.

My junior year of high school, there were these two sisters that moved into the school. They weren’t twins, but they were in the same grade. The Older (We'll call her Lina) was held back one year. We'll call the younger one Wendy. Lina and Wendy were both painfully awkward little nerds, so we tended to be in the same circles. We were in the same classes and they also joined the Academic Decathlon. I spent a lotttttt of time around them.

Lina was a cunt.

Seriously an absolute cunt. She went out of her way to absolutely DESTROY any confidence Wendy had. Wendy was SO SMART. Way smarter than me. And Wendy didn't have a mean bone in her body. A very kind person. But Lina felt the need to point out EVERY small mistake or blamed everything that went wrong on Wendy. I once saw Lina SLAP Wendy and then demand Wendy apologize for it. Lina called her names, belittled her, etc. And it pissed me off.

It pissed me off even more when I met their Mom and it was SO OBVIOUS that their Mom favored Lina. She even said that "Lina is definitely the prettier one. She could be a model" when Wendy was RIGHT THERE. It pissed me off SO MUCH.

So, I might have reacted in a way that could be an asshole move.

Like I said, I was a quiet nerdy kid. But I was also pretty well liked and I used that to my advantage.

I became a little whisper in people's ears. I spent an ENORMOUS amount of time and effort turning everyone against Lina. I spread rumors that were just baaarely exaggerating the truth. I encouraged people to shit talk Lina and talk kindly about Wendy. I basically changed Wendy's reputation into a glowing saint in the eyes of the school (not difficult, Wendy was great) and I turned Lina's reputation into garbage. Like, actual garbage.

It got to the point where Lina had no friends. No one DARED to risk being seen with her. Everyone loved to shit talk her. She couldn't keep a secret for anything. If she tried to confide in someone, the news would come out immediately. No one was on her side. I even had her boyfriend spilling embarrassing intimate secrets. He kept dating her just so he could make fun of her.

Well, she did have one friend. Lina had me. I was such a kind and faithful friend, who would NEVER gossip about her or be mean. She could tell me anything.

She even drew this REALLY pretty portrait of me. Just a pencil drawing on sketchbook paper. Whatever else Lina was, she was a good artist. It looked just like me.

I still have it, btw, it really good piece of art.

(I didn't have to worry about it staining my reputation, I was already known as being too kind for my own good. It's really not that hard to get a nice girl reputation.)

Anyways, I have been told that this was an asshole move when I tell this story. I don't think it was and I don't regret it, but other people seem to think it was excessive. When I think back to how much more CONFIDENT Wendy was by the time we graduated, and how she went on to an Ivy League college, I'm glad I ruined her sister's social life. Lina was so stressed out that she couldn't even TRY to harrass Wendy. And if she HAD tried, Lina would have had the student body at her throat. I didn't just ruin Lina, I also helped Wendy gain her footing in a new school.

Anyways, WAS I the asshole for ruining her? Or were my actions just?

#aita #am i the asshole

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13keithxpidge13 · 1 year ago

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OH OH ! and miles wanting to count all of hobies piercings because hobie didnt remember how many he had (or even miles didnt ask and just started counting out of nowhere and surprises hobie hehehe) .. getting up really close to his face and noticing how pink hobie got . realising that he gets pink like that when he gets close to miles ....

"Have you noticed it at all?" Gwen asks him and Miles hums as he colors in his sketchbook.

They're sitting on top of one of the ledges in the Spider-Society HQ, chilling and relaxing as they wait for another mission to be announced. For now, Miles is biding his time by sketching.

Beside him, Gwen huffs and jostles his shoulder and Miles curses as he messes up his newest drawing.

"Gwen!" He shouts.

"I'm asking you a question," She laughs as he erases the imperfect line. "Have you noticed how Hobie changes colors?"

"Yeah," He gruffs out. "Why does it matter?"

"It doesn't," She says. "But...haven't you noticed how he changes color based on how he's feeling and that he goes pink around, well, /you/? And, /only/ you?"

"What are you talking about?" Miles glances at her with a raised eyebrow. "No he doesn't."

Gwen scoffs. "Yeah. He does."

"no he doesn't."

"he does."

"no!"

"yes!"

"Gweeennn," Miles whines and slaps his hands over his face as his cheeks darken at the implications of what she's saying. "Don't give me hope."

"I'm just saying," Gwen laughs. "It's pretty obvious."

Miles grumbles and glances away from her as he crosses his arms over his chest. "...I guess..." He mumbles and Gwen leans closer, humming. Miles puffs out his cheeks. "I suppose I /have/ noticed-"

"aHA!" Gwen shakes him and Miles breaks out into giggles. "I knew it! He sooooo has a crush on you! He likes you back, Miles, it's soooo obvious!"

"It's not!" He protests. "He's so indifferent I can never tell!"

"Well," Gwen smiles. "Why don't you try to catch him in the act? Make him bend to your cuteness and charm!" She teases as she pulls at his cheeks. "C'mon, I'll even help you!"

"But, how would we even do that in the first place?" Miles laughs at her poking. "It's not like I can just go up and /ask him/, he'll probably deny it! And, oh, maybe that will make him realize that /I/ like him! Gah! I can't!"

"You won't have too," Gwen reassures. "Just make him turn pink around you, do something that'll get him flustered and confront him about why he turns pink whenever you're around! Surely that'll lead to a love confession!"

Miles huffs in embarrassment and scratches at his sore cheeks that were whining from being pulled. "Oh, alright," He sighs. "But, /you/ have to help set up a time to do this!"

Gwen grins cheekily and pulls out her watch to message Hobie.

"Already on it."

"Uhm, thanks for coming over, man."

"Yeah, no problem, mate. Needed an excuse to leave my dimension fo' awhile anyhow."

Miles chuckles and tries to hide his nervousness as they both enter his room through the window he left open, being careful not to make too much noise as his parents were probably cooking dinner and he didn't want to disturb them.

They sit on his bed and a few moments of awkward silence passes by before Hobie bumps their shoulders together.

"somethin' you needed from me personally? Or did ya' just wan' hang out?"

"uh," Miles coughs and laughs nervously. "Well, uhm, I guess, uh-" He tries to come up with an excuse other than /I wanted to see you turn pink/, and then it hits him. "I, uh, I wanted to draw you!" He shouts and immediately curses himself for it.

Hobie blinks at him largely before laughing. "Ah, I see," He nods. "Ya' wanted a reference for ya' sketches? Well, all ya' had to do was ask, babe."

Miles laughs awkwardly and blindly grabs for his sketchbook which is on his bed.

"Uhm, okay," He brags as he holds his pencil shakily. "Can you uhm, can you turn so I can see your face? I need, uh, I need to get your facial structure right."

Hobie grins. "Sure, honey," He says and turns according to how Miles wants him too.

A few minutes pass while miles glances up and down, looking back up and down at him to make sure he's getting his face as accurate as possible. He gets so into drawing him that, when he glances up and sees the piercings on his face, he blinks.

"Oh," Miles deadpans and Hobie tilts his head.

"Hm?"

"Oh, uhm, well," Miles flushes. "I just, I noticed that you have a lot of piercings...I noticed it before but uh...you have a lot more than I thought."

Hobie grins cheekily.

"Ya' wanna count 'em?" He asks and Miles giggles nervously.

"Uhm, I might need too..." He says. "I wanna uh, I wanna get everything as accurate as possible."

"Mhm," Hobie hums. "I'm sure. Go ahead, love."

He had multiple piercings on his ears, on his eyebrows, on his nose...

Miles gets in closer even though his heart is racing and reaches up to touch his chin. "You've got one on your bottom lip, too?" He asks, tilting his head and attempting to remain calm. "It's big. Doesn't it hurt?"

Hobie's breathing echoes throughout his ear. "Nah, babe," Hobie laughs but it seems a little off. "Hurt at first but, uh, goes away after a lil' time."

"Yeah?" Miles brushes his fingers against his bottom lip and Hobie nearly jumps out of his skin.

Instead, his body goes /bright pink/ and Miles twitches.

"Fuck-" Hobie curses and stands up from the bed. "Sorry, fuck, sorry," He brushes his hands down his vest as though he were trying to brush away the color. "Sorry, mate. I don't know why it fuckin' does that shit, gods-"

"You don't?" Miles asks innocently. "Gwen said it was because your body changes colors based off your emotions like everything else does in your universe."

"That's-" Hobie stops and turns, mumbling something about Gwen being a snitch before he sighs. "Yeah. It does. It's fuckin' weird like that."

"Sooo..." Miles stands beside him and tilts his body closer to him. "What does pink mean? Because you go pink around me a /lot/, I've noticed. What is it? I won't make fun of you, dude."

Hobie's quiet, exhaling loudly through his mouth as he turns away and his cheeks seem to darken even further.

Miles' brows furrow. Come on. He has to /know/-

Hobie leans his head back and sighs once more.

"It's 'cause..." He swallows and scratches the back of his neck. "It's 'cause...I like ya', mate. Not in the bullshit platonic way either. Like, in the I kinda wanna kiss ya' and take ya' out to dates and hold ya' hand and shit."

Miles feels the breath punched out of him. "You-" He can't stop the wide smile that etches across his face. "Really?"

Hobie runs a hand down his face and mumbles; "Well, yeah..."

Miles almost jumps and down with joy until Hobie continues;

"I'm sorry, mate," He says. "I know it's prolly weird, ain't it? I don't wanna make ya' uncomfortable, love. If ya' want me gone, I'll leave, y'know? Just say the word, mate, and I'll be gone-"

"No!" Miles grabs onto him instinctively and Hobie jumps at it. "Don't go! You misunderstood me!"

"Wha-what?" Hobie stutters. "What're you talkin' 'bout?"

"You-I-" Miles felt his cheeks darken. He sputters for a moment and nearly lets go of Hobie's hand before the elder teen grasps at his fingers again so he couldn't get very far. Miles licks his lips and feels impossibly flustered.

"Miles?" Hobie leans forward, obviously concerned and curious. "What did you mean?"

"I just-" Miles turns his head away and Hobie shakes his head. "It's nothing-"

"nuh, uh, sweetheart," Hobie's smiling now. He's grinning from ear to ear and gently turns Miles to face him again and the younger teen is impossibly red. "Somethin' ya' wanna tell me? Like how I told you?"

Miles licks his lips and their eyes meet. Suddenly, a surge of confidence overtakes him and Miles grins.

"You wanna know what I meant?" He stands on his tip toes. "I'll show you."

He locks lips with Hobie and the punk grunts with it.

Miles grabs a hold of the back of his neck so he can force the elder teen to dip forward so Miles can get a better grip on him and he hums as Hobie licks at his lips

Hands grab at his waist and Miles squeals when he realizes how /big/ Hobie's hands are, how perfect they fit around him and his small hips. It makes shivers run up his spine like electricity and Hobie chuckles against his tongue as their muscles dances together.

Then, their lips part and a string of slick saliva is all that connects them.

Miles pants for air and knows his cheeks are flushed impossibly dark. Hobie leans forward again and kisses both cheeks, peppering his skin with soft slick kisses that have his breath hitching.

"Finally," Hobie murmurs. "Yer so fuckin' cute, love. So cute to kiss me like that."

Miles pouts. "It wasn't meant to be /cute/, man! It was supposed to be hot! I wasn't cute, I was /hot/," He whines and Hobie kisses his nose with a chuckle.

"Yes, yes, of course," He coos and Miles scoffs.

"Agree with me!"

"I am!"

"You're not!"

Hobie merely laughs and kisses him again, successfully silencing him.

#punkflower #miles morales #hobie brown #gwen stacy #across the spiderverse

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lanawinterscigarettes · 4 months ago

Text

The Breakfast Club members at the beach

Warnings: swearing, smoking/weed usage mentioned

A/N: just got back from my vacation at the beach and since I wrote nothing while I was gone (oops) I decided to do it now

Claire Standish

Her parents definitely own some sort of vacation home on a private piece of land that she visits every summer (rich people things yknow)

Usually stays on a towel by the shoreline. She doesn't get in the water and if she does it's only to dip her feet in so she doesn't get her hair or makeup messed up

She'll flip through a magazine or something while waiting for the sun to give her the perfect nautral tan

Andrew Clark

He loves the beach but I think he spends more time in the hotel's gym than by the actual ocean since his dad's so strict about him staying in shape even during the summer

Totally the type of person to get up at the fucking ass crack of dawn just to run down to the very end of the shoreline and back. Man's crazy

Extra snacks must be packed if you're going with him because otherwise he'll eat them all in the first day of being there since he needs the calories

Brian Johnson

Poor boy's so overworked from school he has no idea how to relax properly, if his parents would let him that is

Even when on vacation he's still copying notes down from textbooks and flipping through flashcards for stuff that's not getting learned in school until the new year rolls around

He probably sneaks away at some point to use his (really shitty) fake ID to buy some edibles at one of the boardwalk shops to help him calm down some. The cashier is either too stoned to notice he's not twenty one or just doesn't care

John Bender

His reasons for going to the beach are pretty simple: weed and hot people (both guys and girls). Believe me when I say he can and will shamlessly ogle anyone he finds attractive when walking on the boardwalk

Pretty much all he does when there is get high. He has no need to visit any of the shops (other than the cannabis ones) and the beach itself doesn't interest him much

It entirely possible that he might just hang around the boardwalk the entire time, smoking a blunt while flirting with anyone who might pass him by

Allison Reynolds

She takes a couple different busses to go down there for a day trip as she doesn't have anything better to do

Might walk around the boardwalk for a bit, checking out the stores and stealing borrowing from a few of them, stuffing anything she likes that's small enough to carry into her purse

In the evening she sits on the shoreline with her sketchbook and doodles the sunset before heading back home

End notes: I promise I'm working on my asks and stuff okay I just tend to get distracted easily and forget

Likes < reblogs | comments are greatly appreciated | requests are currently open

Main masterlist | The Breakfast Club masterlist | wanna be added to my taglist?

🏷 taglist: @missmewts @ghot-girl @your-next-daydream @alexxavicry @noisy-dumb-piece-of-shit @lovelyy-moonlight @theonetruepotato87

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wintervalewritersecond · 2 years ago

Text

siren song ||| - xavier thorpe

requested: yes! requests: open! siren song part three!

part one, part two click here for my masterlist

A/N: thank you so much for the overwhelming love! i never expected this to blow up, but i couldn't have done it without the person also requesting this! thank you all and i hope you enjoy the next chapter <3 like last time it picks up immediately where the other chapter ended! let me know what you think and enjoy! <3

wordcount: 4,581 warnings: she/her reader, some cursing, sad xavier

Ajax tells Xavier about what happened. Xavier takes everything into his own hands, which may or may not include sneaking into your room. He finds out the truth.

Ajax awkwardly lets out a laugh. He had a list with answers in his head with a correct response to it, but this one was not on the list.

"What do you mean? Xavier. Your best friend?"

You furrow your brows, shaking your head. The name 'Xavier' is not extremely common, definitely not in a small town like Jericho. Besides, you would know your own best friends, right?

"Ajax, I think you have been smoking too much. I know no one by the name of Xavier."

He looks at you like you have grown an extra head. Are you joking right now, or are you dead serious? You look just as confused as him, and you aren't really the best actress. It is already hard for you to keep a birthday gift a secret, so acting as if someone does not exist at all would be impossible.

"I- What?" The Gorgon shakes his head. "I might be wrong then. Don't worry about it."

The two of you return to your own tasks. You are still doing your Botany homework while Ajax sits and stares off into nothingness.

His head is a jumbled mess. Do you really not remember your best friend? Xavier told him what happened, but he wanted to hear it from you as well. Not that he thought Xavier was lying about what he had said, but just because he wanted to make sure you were doing okay.

It was truly strange, though. Yes, you had a big fight with Xavier, but ignoring someone and forgetting someone is a whole other fact. Not to mention that you didn't even so much react to the name.

Xavier needs to hear this.

"Dude!"

Ajax runs through the door as Xavier lets out a yelp, dropping his pencil to the floor. It's late at night already, does he not realize most people are sleeping already?

"Ajax, you can't just burst in at eleven pm?! You're lucky I don't have a roommate anymore-"

"Listen," he closes the door behind him, sitting down on the empty bed that once belonged to Rowan while catching his breath. "Dude, I wouldn't be here if it wasn't important. "

Xavier picks up the pencil from the ground, placing it on his sketchbook before closing it. The sketch was of you. For the last few weeks, he has drawn nothing other than you. Memories he has with you, things you have done together, and even only some half-finished sketches.

"What could possibly be so important right now-"

"Y/N forgot about you."

Xavier straightens his back, his eyes big as he looks at his friend. He has to be kidding right?

"That can't be," Xavier lets out a breathy laugh. "I would have expected her to ignore me, yes, but how can she forget me?"

"I thought she was kidding at first. I asked her what happened at the Rave'n and she said nothing about it," Ajax rolls off of the bed, pacing around the room. "And I thought that the fight would be something she would mention. Then I asked specifically what happened between you and her, but all she asked was 'Who is Xavier?'!"

The boy is at a loss for words. It is like every single word is pulled out of his head, replaced by a pounding headache.

"Are you sure? She- She is not the best actress, was it really not fake?"

Ajax shakes his head, breathing in deeply before rubbing his hands on his face.

"Nothing. Nada. If you even got close to guessing what a gift was going to be she would always immediately tell us, right? She didn't even flinch when I said your name. And then she told me she has never, ever met someone with the name Xavier."

The Gorgon places a hand on his friend's shoulder, slightly squeezing it before letting go again. Neither of them has any idea of what to do.

"I'll just try again," Xavier whispers. "Worst case scenario is that she genuinely doesn't want to talk again. I- Thank you, Ajax."

"Take it easy, okay?"

After a goodbye he exits the room, leaving the artist stuck in his own dorm. Only he and his thoughts. Thoughts seem to be racing through his head as his heart is pounding against his chest. He was a total asshole, but he just hopes that you still hear him out.

"Hey, Bianca?"

The Siren had placed herself on your bed, flipping through a magazine. The room had been quiet for a bit, only the sound of your laptop, pages flipping, and the soft instrumental music in the background. Bianca hums, looking up from the paper.

"I was in the library with Ajax," you slowly say, your leg bouncing up and down. "And... He said something really weird."

Fuck.

She should have known that Xavier and Ajax were going to be up to something. It's not like she didn't notice Xavier trying to talk to you. He tactically counted the seconds on when he should stand up just to be close to you, even bump into you if he had to. But the Song made it so you kept your distance.

A pen floats in front of your face as you try to distract yourself. You didn't use your telekinesis a lot, but your mind has not been on your laptop anyway.

"Oh?" Bianca raises her eyebrows.

"Yeah," you mumble before suddenly turning around on your chair, facing your friend. "Who is Xavier?"

"Xavier?"

You nod as the pen behind you falls back on your desk. You have not been able to get the name out of your head, repeating it over and over again to try and find some memory attached to him.

Bianca bites her cheeks. Is she to tell you? Or should it be kept a secret? Before the Siren Song, you did not really talk about it. But Bianca wouldn't hold the truth from you. She only wants to protect you from him, something you consented to.

"Xavier is," Bianca hesitates. "A student here at Nevermore. He did something incredibly stupid and dumb."

"Do I know him?"

She doesn't want to cause you any distress. She can say no, but then once the Siren Song breaks, it would only be worse. If she says yes, then you might go seeking answers.

"You used to."

Bianca didn't say much more after that. In a way, she was completely honest. She did tell you that you used to know him, but you had made your intentions very clear. Forget about Xavier and just have a moment of peace and quiet to yourself. It had worked for weeks now, yet Xavier doesn't feel like he has changed one bit.

During class, he still tries to get your attention, but Kent and Bianca are quick to shut him down. Kent doesn't know about the Siren Song, though. No, if he did, then the entire school would have heard it already. He just thinks that you want to stay out of Xavier's way, still mad because of the fight. It is true, in a way.

You were quiet the entire day. Not quite sulking, but you were thinking. Why is it that you can't recall anything about him? You even sneak some glances at the long-haired boy. He seems... Miserable. His eyes are dark, his eyebrows are stuck in a frown, and his hair is just messily placed in a small bun. He does not look bad, but just upset.

Even during lunch, you didn't really say a word. You insisted that you just needed some time and that your social battery was dead. But Bianca knew you were thinking about Xavier. If he just had not pulled this, everything would have been fine. She hasn't heard anyone talk about a Siren Song though, so he doesn't know the truth just yet.

Another few days go by before it is finally Friday again. For the entire week, Xavier had been trying to talk to you, but you have always hurried away from him. Not to mention that especially Bianca and Kent almost formed a wall around you. But Xavier also isn't the person to start drama in the entire Quad. So he waited. Patiently waited. During this time, he came up with a plan. Was it smart? Probably not. But this was the only time he could talk to you.

It is well after ten, which meant that everyone had to stay in their dorms. But Xavier had other ideas. He had sneaked out, running through the halls and out into the side of Nevermore. Your balcony had a fire escape, one that he used quite often to sneak in or out when he would hear Thornhill coming. It is a bit too dangerous to walk through those halls right now, especially considering he might wake people up. He doesn't have the patience to take his time right now, wanting to reach you as fast as possible.

He runs up the long flight of stairs, catching his breath once he finally reaches the top. He thought that running would make this a bit easier, but it doesn't seem to work too well. Your window is similar as to the one in Enid and Wednesday's dorm. It has the same spiderweb-like pattern, though yours is missing the colorful stickers on it.

Your side of the room is decorated with lots of smaller lights. The lightbulbs in the Nevermore lights seem to be dim, and you always insisted that the smaller lights looked more fun anyway. He stands in front of the window, trying to look through the glass.

"Y/N? Are you in there?"

Nothing. At least, no response from you. He can hear the clicking of your keyboard.

"I know you're still mad at me," he says again. "And I totally understand it. I have been wanting to talk to you, but Bianca and Kent always stand between us."

Nothing, again.

He looks behind him to make sure no one followed him before he pushes the bottom of the window, opening it before sneaking in.

There you sit.

It is like this is the first time he has ever seen you. At least, it feels like it. You are sitting with your back towards him, your head moving to the music that sounds through the headphones on your head. It was a gift that Xavier had gotten you for your birthday.

You had been planning to buy a new one for a while, but it was hard to save up money. So, he decided to go with you to the closest store to try some out. You had fallen in love with these, but they were quite expensive. So, as you had already walked out of the store, Xavier had quickly paid for them, hiding them in his backpack before giving them to you on your birthday.

You were even wearing his burgundy-colored t-shirt. You must remember him then, right? He slowly walks over to you, tapping you on your shoulder before he aggressively gets thrown against a wall. Ouch.

You turned around in shock, seeing the boy pinned against the wall.

"Oh!" You exclaim, immediately releasing him from your invisible grip. "I'm sorry-"

You squint at him, raising an eyebrow.

"Wait a second," you point at him. "There are no boys allowed in Ophelia Hall. And definitely, no boys that I don't know!"

Xavier stands back up, a pained expression on his face before he shakes his head.

"I just needed to talk to you for a sec, and you know what happened the last time Thornhill saw me in the halls."

Actually, you didn't.

"You have never been in my room."

You stand opposite the tall boy, looking him up and down. He feels familiar to you, and you are guessing that this is the 'Xavier' that Ajax and Bianca had mentioned. He licks his lips before letting out a deep breath.

"Look, Y/N, I know that you are still mad at me, but-"

"The only reason why I would be mad is because a stranger randomly showed up in my dorm room!"

His shoulders slump as he looks at you. Not one part of you recognizes him.

"Well, ever since the Rave'n and the fight we haven't spoken. I know that I was very, very wrong for doing that to you and you deserve much better," he runs his hands through his hair. "But I really need to apologize."

"Xavier, is it?" You awkwardly laugh. "I think you are mistaken. I don't recall seeing you at the dance, much less having a fight. I'm sorry?"

Should you say sorry? Surely he must recognize the person he had a fight with, and it wasn't you. His heart slowly chips away at itself, less and less connected to each other once he truly realizes you don't remember him.

"You truly don't remember, do you?"

His voice breaks a bit as he starts fiddling with his hands. You look up at the boy, feeling quite bad for him. He does look truly confused and stressed.

"No," you grimace. "Sorry. Truly."

"Nothing? Not even from the Rave'n or- or before that?"

"Everything I remember from the Rave'n is dancing, drinking some of those weird, blue drinks, and then that disgusting paint drenching everyone. After that, I just went to my dorm to try and get all of that out of my clothes and hair." You shrug, still looking up at him. "The only thing I did after, was hanging out with Bianca and sleeping."

There really is not one bit of you that remembers him. Or, you have just become a really good actress overnight. He did really hurt you, but he didn't think you would actually forget him. Xavier pulls on his scarf, coughing awkwardly as he nods.

"Yeah, okay."

"I'm really sorry, Xavier," you look at your window which is still slightly open. "Look, you are very pretty and you must also be super nice, but I think it is better if you leave. I hope you find the person you were looking for."

He nods silently, climbing back out of the window before descending the stairs, not once looking back.

The way back through Nevermore is slower. He doesn't feel the need to hurry anymore. Ajax was absolutely right. There was not one memory of Xavier left in you. Not even when you see him up close, when you smell the perfume he always wears, not even when you wear one of his shirts that he left behind.

Did a witch cast a spell on you, leaving you without any memories of him? There are witches at Nevermore, so it isn't unlikely. But how can it be that you remember everyone except for him? Ajax, Wednesday, Kent, Bianca-

Bianca.

If you recall going to the girl after the Rave'n, then that must be the whole reason why you forgot about Xavier.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he groans, picking up his pace before sneaking into the dorms where Bianca sleeps.

He should have known it. Bianca and you had gotten closer after he screamed at you, but he thought it was because you needed someone to talk to. After all, he turned to Ajax to talk about his problems. But, Bianca has one thing that not a lot of others at Nevermore have; the Siren Song.

He doesn't want to accuse her of having used it, the last time it ended badly. But he does want to know if she had anything to do with it.

Once he reaches Bianca's dorm, he knocks on the door. Not softly, either. He doesn't care if someone sees him now.

The Siren opens the door, an annoyed look on her face which turns even more annoyed when she sees Xavier. She expected him to show up sooner or later, and today was finally the moment.

"Do you not realize that it's almost twelve?" She raises an eyebrow.

"Just let me in," he groans.

Xavier is not here to play games. He wants, no, needs the truth. He needs to hear it, because if it isn't the Song, then he doesn't know what else it could be. Bianca steps to the side, closing the door behind him before crossing her arms.

"What do you want, Xavier?"

"Did you use your Siren Song on Y/N?"

"Why would I tell you?" She raises an eyebrow.

She just walks past him, back to sitting on her bed and scrolling through her phone. Xavier only stares at her, at a loss for words.

"I'm serious, Bianca. Just give me a yes or a no."

"Hm," she hums. "Sucks, doesn't it?"

The boy stays quiet, only looking at the girl. Please, just a simple answer. That is all he needs.

"To be completely ignored by someone you like?" She stands back up with a smirk on her face, throwing her phone on her bed before stepping closer to Xavier. "That, no matter how hard you try, she doesn't even bat an eye at you? Much less say your name?"

"What do you mean?" He grits his teeth. "Just give me an answer."

A smirk is still on her face as she shrugs. She has no need to tell him. Besides, he deserves it. He deserves to suffer, just in the same way you did. No matter how much she believes he has feelings for you; he has to find it out himself.

"Come on, Xavier," she lets out a sigh. "I will not help you if you don't get your head out of your ass."

"Bianca, please."

She takes a good look at the guy in front of her. He might be extremely stupid, but she can't help but feel bad for him. Yes, he is the entire reason that you had felt bad for weeks, and though she still thinks that he has to learn a lesson, he might need the truth.

"Fine," the Siren grits her teeth. "After the Rave'n, she came to my room. Like, right after your fight. Asked me to use my Siren Song and I told her that I would think about it."

She steps away from Xavier, pulling the piece of paper that you had previously signed out of her desk drawer.

"Then I saw how miserable she looked and how much you ignored her," Bianca points at Xavier, holding up the piece of paper. "So, with Y/N's permission, I used it."

This was everything he was scared of. He knew he was wrong, he knew he had to make things right, but he had no idea how bad he had gotten.

"You have to undo it, Bianca. I'm serious."

"Why?" She raises an eyebrow. "So you can go ahead and break her heart again by hanging out with the psycho?"

"No!" He exclaims, running his hands through his hair while letting out a sigh. "So I can make it up to her! I just-"

He paces around the room, fiddling with his fingers and pulling on his scarf. He still had not discarded his winter jacket, he simply couldn't be bothered.

"I really like her, Bianca."

"Then tell me why you ignored her."

Xavier doesn't have one reason. It might be because he truly believed you didn't like him back, he could have been too insecure, maybe because he got pulled into Wednesday's theories about some monster, or maybe he was just a total asshole.

It stays quiet for a good minute. Bianca then just places the paper back in its original place, leaning against her desk before looking up at the boy.

"I'll ask her," she mumbles. "I'm not promising you anything. I only do this because I know she likes you. You better get your shit together, Xavier. Now, get out of my dorm."

It was Saturday which meant that you went to Jericho. This time, you went with Enid, Wednesday, and Bianca. You and Enid tried to keep some distance between Wednesday and Bianca, knowing they aren't best friends. Even though Jericho is not a big town, it still has enough little stores to explore.

At one point, Enid had dragged Bianca with her, leaving you together with Wednesday outside of Weathervane. You sat on the little bench, just in silence as Wednesday was reading a book and you were sketching in a small little notebook.

"I want to ask you a question."

You look up from your sketch, looking at Wednesday.

"Sure!"

"What happened between you and Xavier?"

You raise an eyebrow, shrugging.

"I don't know why everyone keeps asking that. Nothing, I think?"

Wednesday doesn't seem to believe it. She has an eye for lies, not to mention that she is talented at finding out the truth. Most of the time, that is.

"You can not believe that that will fool me. Xavier has only been sulking for the last few weeks. He is living up to the whole tortured artist thing."

"Well, I hope he gets better soon. But I had nothing to do with it, Wednesday. Really."

"What are you girls talking about?"

Enid suddenly jumps out, a big smile on her face as she holds a small bag.

"Nothing," Wednesday shakes her head before closing her book. "Let's go back. These Jericho people make me want to throw up."

You take your shopping bags upstairs as Bianca follows you. The two of you were going to go through everything you bought. After all the bags had been emptied and all the items were tried on again, Bianca speaks up.

"I have to talk to you about something."

What is it with everyone suddenly being so serious?

"If it is about Xavier, I truly don't know what happened. He showed up in my room, insisted on apologizing for a fight that never happened, and then left again."

"It did," Bianca grimaces. "You don't remember what you asked from me?"

You slowly shake your head. You can't really think of anything at this moment. The only thing you feel is confusion. You hadn't known anything about Xavier before you finally heard his name when he sneaked into your room.

Bianca looks at you before nodding, breathing in deeply. She has to tell you; you might have changed your mind.

"You used to know Xavier. Really well, actually."

Question marks almost appear above your head.

"He... kind of ignored you for a few weeks," Bianca looks at you. "Then stood you up again at the Rave'n. You asked me to use a Siren Song on you."

You are at a loss for words. The poor boy had spent weeks being miserable for something you didn't even remember. But, from what you understand, he had done something horrible to you too.

"Okay," you just whisper, nodding your head. "So... For a few weeks now?"

"Yeah," Bianca takes the folded piece of paper out of her pocket, handing it to you. "This is what we agreed on. I just... Wanted to check in on what your thoughts are now. You didn't really let me know about the Song ending in any way, even though we both aren't sure if it'll work."

It stays quiet for a moment as you read the letter over and over. You try hard to remember it, but it just doesn't come back up. Nothing. Nothing about Xavier, nothing about the Song, not even the good memories you had with him.

"Do you think anything changed?"

Bianca looks at you as you hold out the piece of paper to her.

"What do you mean?"

"Xavier," you mumble. "Did anything change? The Song wasn't for nothing, right? If I really used to be best friends with him..."

Did he? He did spend weeks in his art studio, sketching every single memory he had of you with him. He tried to map out exactly when to run into you, He had even broken rules to apologize to you, finally getting his jumbled thoughts straight.

"I think he did. He is well on his way. I might have tried to set him straight," she lets out a laugh. "I told him he had to get his shit together. He really cares about you, but he just doesn't know how to deal with it."

"He might need some therapy," you shake your head. "I feel like it has been long enough, right?"

"You want to undo the Song?"

You nod, sitting down on your bed while looking up at her.

"Maybe he didn't mean it. I don't remember a lot about him, it's like I have only seen him vaguely in a dream or in the background of a picture. I trust him."

"Okay," she nods, "Let's try this. But, I am not too sure if it will work."

The least you could do is try, right?

"What do you think about... 'Remember Xavier from then to now, it is no question as to how. The Siren Song will now end, old memories will now again blend.'? You will remember everything from now on top of your old memories. I hope."

"Let's do it."

The amulet gets removed from her neck as she looks at you with a gentle smile on her face. She truly does wish you the best.

"Remember Xavier from then to now, it is no question as to how. The Siren Song will now end, old memories will start to blend."

Nothing.

It stays quiet for a few seconds before you look up at Bianca who is placing the amulet around her neck again.

"Is it supposed to work immediately?"

She looks you up and down.

"Usually, yes... You don't have your memories back?"

You slowly shake your head.

"Absolutely nothing."

This is exactly what Bianca feared. Though you knew the risk was there, it still was extremely disappointing that it couldn't be changed.

"What if I start over? If Xavier and I became friends once, we might become friends again, right?"

"That is something you need to decide yourself," Bianca takes her bag in her hands. "Do what you are most comfortable with. My input? It might be worth it."

A smile is on her face as she turns around to walk out of your dorm, pausing for a second before looking back at you.

"Xavier is a good guy. Genuinely. He just needs a little push sometimes."

Xavier had finally laid down on his bed, his hair still wet from the shower. He had taken the hottest shower ever, trying to get his mind off of things, yet it didn't work. He was back to sketching all he could remember of you. All pages up to now were filled with your face.

When his phone buzzes, he feels like he wants to throw it around the room. He is not in the mood to talk to anyone, but he had to turn on his alarm still anyway. The light of the phone is extremely bright as he squints his eyes, trying to shield himself from the brightness. But his eyes fly open when he sees the notification that made him grab the phone in the first place.

Y/N ♡

hi xavier! could we talk soon? let me know when you have time :)

He can not believe his eyes. He immediately sits back up, typing on his phone like crazy. With shaking hands, he finally sends you a response.

xav!

yeah! any time tomorrow?

He nervously stares at his screen, seeing the notification of your typing pop up.

Y/N ♡

sure! some relaxing before the visiting week, haha :) see you tomorrow!

------------------------

taglist

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@ietss @flowersownme @zestygingergirl @katdog111 @urgirl-iris @buckleylips @maylaysia109 @alexdiedin1999 @i-am-no-one-0 @givemereylo @geekgirleve @no-soy-fer @phoenixgurl030 @hannahnikohl @molllybc @omegaworld @nushy @blahbel668 @temptressofthetarrot @heartsfordeftones @aeplern @katkoosik @percyhyneswhitesgf @luna670 @mypsychoticlove @clingytraitscclist @mk-the-great @mayranakata @grass-sunflower @inky-sun @nikt-wazny-y @alexayoonlee @ghswlz @slngarza @fandomstoryreader25r25 @theworldofkami @itspalaly @blakebearsblog

@roacchan

#xavier thorpe imagine #xavier thorpe x reader #xavier thorpe oneshot #xavier thorpe #wednesday imagine #wednesday oneshot #wednesday netflix #siren song #request

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toffeebrews · 4 months ago

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tell me your Ink headcanons NOW 😼😼😼

You're... giving me permission.... to share my ink headcanons.

well get ready

Talked about this one already but I'll share it again: I think Broomie is semi sentient. I like to think at first Ink didn't know that though, but still talked to broomie anyway. So, regardless of this fact Ink probably would've talked to broomie.

He's good at encouraging people but not comforting people. If that makes sense? (projection much pfttt)

If you ran your hand over the "tattoo" marks it have a slight divot in it. Like a crack in a road. Probably because... in my hc they're literally semi healed cracks.

They're is talented in many types of art not just one. Hes talented in singing, dancing, fashion design, mechanics, and architecture! Really the only one he struggles with is well... cooking. Do NOT let that man in a kitchen (I mean he's immortal why would he not learn multiple artistic skills?)

Y'know how canon!swap climbs on people because hes insecure about his height? I think Ink does the same thing.

(More yappening under the cut)

Deep down he feels like something is missing... what he doesn't know is he's missing his home, his AU. Sometimes hes goes on a search universe to universe in search of "something important he can't remember" but can never find it. Until he gets bored, forgets what he's doing or gets preoccupied with something else.

He likes switching up his looks so he may give himself a tail or paws or claws with his brush. Maybe he even changes the color of his limbs sometimes (that's more a crack hc though). He gives themself a new outfit at any chance he can get. (Edit: I actually imagine one of the reasons he would get excited for multiverseal events is mainly because he gets to show off a new outfit for that event. He goes ALL out)

Due to his dulled sense of pain often he isn't aware he's injured unless it's pretty severe. So he may just go about their day with injuries they don't know about. Typically Dream or Swap have to be like "dude you have a crack in your skull."

After that one comic with Swap and Ink, Swap bandaged up his skull despite Ink insisting he didn't need it. Mainly because Swap didn't know Ink could heal themself and just thought Ink was being humble. Everytime he went to go take it off, Swap would freak about it hasn't had enough time to heal. Until Ink did a more through "I have a brush bro chill" (not ink accurate dialogue).

He's super flexible!! like contortionist level of flexibility.

Oddly specific but I think they're the type to consume all sorts of fan content and enjoy it. Completely ooc and fanon stuff too. He would be the type to read a fic and go "I would NOT say that" with a giggle and write a heartfelt comment anyway.

If you know homestuck... Nepeta has a shipping wall. I think Ink would have something similar (projection?? blasphemy!). Maybe in his sketchbook or smth. I mean do you see how he reacts around his dads smh 😔😮‍💨. He doesn't take it all that seriously though... LMAO. But I feel like he would be like "🏳️‍🌈?" y'know? Is this making any sense? I hope LMAOOO

Ink knows being called "child" annoys Dream so when Dream's like "I'm not a child I'm 500 years old" he just uses different synonyms of kid " heya youngster" " hi boy" stuff like that to annoy him. Just to mess with him.

He loves "aggressive affection." Like he bites people. He also likes to be bitten (not in a sus way but like in a cat like way). He loves bear hugs. Stuff like that.

He loves being drawn on, like literally. He loves the sensation of art supplies on his bones. Particularly the texture of paint and pencil are the ones he enjoys the most. He draws designs and stuff on his bones sometimes.

He has that cartoon ability to walk on walls or the ceiling and completely defy gravity. How? Cartoon skelly powers ig.

#ask #anon #ink sans #utmv headcanons #ink!sans #inktale #_tale #technically

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blakbonnet · 6 months ago

Text

ARTIST OF THE WEEK @merryfinches ♥️

This week's aotw is Kylie who has bewitched us body and soul with her lovely art and even lovelier personality. Always there with a kind word, just all round a stellar human being, and someone who makes my day better anytime I see her on the dash. She was also game for answering a few questions:

Which do you use to draw (app/digital or traditional)?

I use Procreate on my iPad! I like being able to put it on my bag and draw anywhere - I don’t have as much time to draw as I want, so I do it in bits and pieces whenever I get the chance.

I love sketching with coloured pencils in my sketchbook too, I LOVE digital art, but there’s nothing like the texture of pencil and paper!

Fave brushes/pencils/mediums (links/screenshot?)

These are the ones I use most. The top 3 are all standard Procreate brushes. Chalk is my go-to for sketching and line art, and lightbrush and lightpen for highlights. I used Gingerbread Inker for colouring - it’s a free brush I picked up from somewhere, but I can’t find where!

Your favourite piece you've drawn?

Oooooooh, I don’t know! It’s easy to look back at basically every drawing and see the flaws, but this one of Ed and Stede in their inn is special to me, because I think it’s the first time I felt like I’d developed a comfortable style after messing around trying to draw them for months with… varying degrees of success.

And I’m really proud of the comic I drew of Ed having a nightmare, because i find comics so hard to draw and I’m in awe of everyone who does it!

Who's harder to draw: Ed or Stede?

Aaaaah, they both have challenges, but Stede I think? I prefer drawing his left side because of the way his hair swishes differently on both sides, and that side is easier. And he has a very particularly-shaped nose that can be really hard sometimes! Unless I’m drawing Ed’s leathers, in which case it’s him 😆

One essential tip for beginner artists?

There will be a point where you look at all your art so far and think “oh these are terrible, what am I even doing?” But that’s GOOD because it means you’re improving! And I’m sorry but that never stops - you will be improving forever! Nobody I know is ever really satisfied with their own art, and your art style is like your handwriting - it’s unique to you.

Also, get a sketchbook and a pencil, make mistakes, practice drawing your own hands and feet, screenshots, your cat, anything basically. And remember it’s supposed to be fun 🥰

Why OFMD? 🥹

Because it’s the fucking BEST! 😎

No seriously, I guess I like drawing Ed and Stede so much because they’re everything. Love, sex, tenderness, fun, cuteness, heartache and joy. Two souls who are so insecure and alone, and then they have someone who GETS them, who loves everything about them. They’re just wonderful.

#aotw #artist of the week #merryfinches #please go and follow her and show her some love 💗

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r0-boat · 2 months ago

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perhaps some professor sycamore headcanons👀?

The Pokémon bug is biting me.

Probably because of my addiction too Pokerogue

Professor Sycamore headcanons

Sfw cut for length

Wow someone who is mentally stable and all around a really mentally healthy and physically healthy person? Well sort of... You see, Augustine Sycamore has a bad case of 'I can fix them.' a lovely charming and sweet man who has never been married because his track record of dating questionable borderline dangerous people and still somehow being the most wholesome person in the universe. He always has crazy ex stories to share and despite everything he rarely ever blames or resents them. It takes a lot for Sycamore to hate a person.

Professor Sycamore is a cheery person who looks on the bright side of everything and everyone around him except for himself despite his good sense of style, his handsome face, and his beautiful attitude, Sycamore is on the humble side, sometimes thinking rather poorly of himself. Any words of affirmation of any kind will make him melt into a shy mess, stumbling over his words as he tries to brush off the compliments.

He's a man that wears his heart on his sleeve He's proud of who he is and he will tell you everything about him rarely does he ever have secrets then when he does he's not very good at keeping them secret, his darting eyes and sweating face and clammy hands will give him away instantly. His carefree and cheerful attitude make him extremely popular with women. But he is extremely oblivious to how great he actually is.

He is a lover that is second to none he'll make you feel like the most important being in his life because you are. You are the apple of his eye and has a sketchbook where he sketches His Pokémon and takes notes However there are an embarrassingly amount of pages where he just sketches you, sometimes naked sometimes in imaginary clothing various poses, sometimes holding Pokémon, Sometimes holding miscellaneous objects. Anything.(He's a very good artist too) All of his drawings of you in his lab notes are wholesome He has another sketchbook of the more sultry drawings of you.

His favorite thing about you is your smile, and he wishes you could always smile. He craves when your lips curve upward, and he'll do anything to make you smile. His heart will stink if Your eyes will up with tears. His voice will get low, and he will gently murmur in a mix of French and English as he tries desperately to make you feel better, wiping the tears away with his thumbs, pepper in your face with kisses.

Another one of his bad habits is clinginess. Sycamore will go anywhere with you, but that's not what you think. Yes, he does love to give you physical affection like hugs or kisses, but most of the time, he's in the same room as you doing work on his laptop, taking notes, or just playing with a baby Pokémon in his arms. Anywhere you go, Even if it's outside in a park, he'll make it work. If not, if you have to go somewhere by yourself or he's stuck in the lab, he'll send you pictures throughout the day ranging from goofy shots of his face, random shots of his laptop or around the lab, or up close shots of Pokémon he's either working with or his own. When he finally gets home, or when you come home, he'll run up to you, hug you, kiss you, and give you cuddles until you both fall asleep.

Unsurprisingly Augustine's of language is physical touch, quality time, and occasionally gift-giving. This man is so in love with you that if he could, he would take you out on weekly dates. All his Pokémon, employees lab partners, acquaintances, and fellow professors know you.

Despite having powerful Pokémon he's not much of a Pokémon battler, He sees it as a fun activity for Pokémon to get exercise. He's very much a lover, not a fighter. Until... Someone his loved ones. Then it's like a switch snapped inside of him.

Knows how to play the guitar but hasn't done it in years and warns you that he's a bad singer before he sings a song for you. (He's voice is like an angel)

If you don't speak French then sycamore's favorite thing to do is speak to you in French because you'll never know what he's saying to you. He could say it the most sweetest nothings and filthiest things and you'll never know.

When he gets caught up in his work He will go many nights without sleeping sometimes he'll even forget meals. So please get on to him about that.

#pokemon sycamore #augustine sycamore #pokemon headcannons #pokemon imagines #Sycamore x reader #professor sycamore #Pokémon X and y #pokémon za

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danyvhell-writes · 1 year ago

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vere hcs? preferably for a sub reader but it's fine either way!! thx a lot :P

General Vere headcanons (Touchstarved)

GN reader - no warnings | Thanks for the ask <333 Took me more time than I planned but here it is ! (Sorry for the wait lil anon, I was quite busy this month :') Writing about him was so fun, he's just so malicious and silly ?? Hope you'll like it hehe >:)

• Anything becomes a reason to tease you ! A little smile you gave him ? A blush ? Stammering even just a bit ? He will tease you to death if he can.

• He sees everything. Think you can hide something from him ? Ah, how naive of you. If something bothers you he will know, don't try to put on a mask. "Oh someone seems upset hm..." "No I'm not !" "I just said someone, why do you think you were targeted MC ? Care to explain yourself ?" he says with his devious little smile. You don't even need to speak, he reads you like an open book :').

• Not one to talk about his feelings openly but definitely makes you know when he appreciates your company ! It might be by taking you to private operas, going to fancy teahouse, gifting you little paintings he did, inviting you for shopping and more...

• Want to know how he truly feels ? Pay attention to his ears. They tell a lot more than he does, depending on how they twitch, their angle and much more... reading him becomes way easier.

• Would 100% write you letters. Casual letters where he just writes about his life, spicy letters where he describes in various ways how he would devour you... Whenever he needs to express something, he writes to you and doesn't even expect an answer ! You'll open your enveloppe and see "I can't believe Vanessa, this absolute rotten bitch, stole my silver ring ! Can you believe it MC ? I should rip her finger off with the ring and keep it so she remembers her wrong..."

• If he can get any reaction from you, it's a win. Loves to see how you'll respond to his flirty proposition, especially if you get flustered 👀

• You know this type of people who hit furnitures/stuff when they laugh ? Well Vere does it but with his tail, tell a funny joke and you can be sure you'll get hit (gently...or not) with it !

• Would be thrilled to analyze your sketchbook if you're an artist. Trying to hide it from him ? Not an option, you will show him everything ! I just know he'll sneak it to look through every pages, taking notes of striking elements and how your artstyle translates with different techniques.

→ Drawing sessions with him omg ! At first he'd joke about needing a live model and why not try nude modeling but at the end you guys end up super concentrated in your respective art piece. Definitely wouldn't mind becoming your muse tho...

↑ Adding into this but, he'd leave little notes and cute doodles when you're not looking. You just open your sketchbook and see next to your recent stuff "The lines are timid I know you can do better ;)"or "I was there..." or even "Draw me next time ! I'll be the best piece."

• The both of you together can easily become absolute menace to society. The cheer chaos you can cause is too much for this city ! If Kuras ever finds out about your malicious plans, he'll be disappointed.

• Will let you brush his hair and tail if you're good enough. "Mess with my hair and you know what awaits you !" Please convince him to try new hairstyles, make him even prettier than he already is >:)

• As much as he is an expensive fox, he'll enjoy homemade gifts. He won't show it too much but he keeps everything you've made for him at his place. Bonus point if it's decorative pieces ! (The thought of you taking time to put effort into something for him makes him smile more than he can admit).

• This man likes to cook so don't hesitate giving him recipes you like. Not sure he'll succeed preparing them but the effort is always well put ! If you're good in a kitchen, he'll find an excuse to cook/bake with you.

• Enjoys showing you around the city, especially secret places. He doesn't just share his secret spots with anyone so you can feel privileged !

→ Talking about spots he likes, he will take you to his favourite restaurants. You'd expect fancy, luxurious place but no ! Most of them are little family business owned by the same people since decades. The food is straight up heavenly and you let him know. "I've been around this city long enough to know the best places ! You shouldn't be surprised."

• Grows really protective of you. Of course he knows you can defend yourself, but if anyone dares to hurt you, they'll have to face lethal consequences. Anyone threatening you "Do you want me to break their kneecaps ? I can also hit their sciatic nerve if you wish ! Or maybe-" "Vere no."

• If you enjoy some good gossip, you're gonna be fed just right with this guy ! We know he knows everything, he's the ears of the city. Juicy drama to shocking revelation, he's got every type of story in stock ! All you gotta do is ask and the conversation will last for hours.

• If you're in his presence, forget about personal space. Your space is his now ! His body will always be in contact with yours, even if it's not noticeable at first.

• Makeover ? Yes. You will be his personal doll. If he has to test outfits, color combinations or other stuff you'll be his subject ! He'll try a lot of different clothes on you until you look like the hottest person alive (after him). Dressing you up is one of his favourite activities and of course you guys would wear matching outfits. You two are just ✨fashion✨.

• Don't know why but I feel like he would love playing board/card games, especially if they involve money ! Think you can win against him ? Nope no chance, bluffing is too easy for him and he's an absolute beast (pun intended). Just picture him playing 'loup-garou' (The werewolves of miller's hollow in english I think ? My french ass can't remember), I know he'd kill it !

• Has a very distinctive laugh. You could hear him from miles away and recognize him instantly ! Also it's kinda infectious, if he starts bursting out laughing, you'll easily follow into it.

• This man growls. Like literally. It doesn't happen a lot but whenever he does it always surprises you.

• This is him :

#touchstarved game #vere #touchstarved vere #touchstarved #vere x reader #gn reader #vere touchstarved #headcanons #touchstarved headcanons #touchstarved demo #red spring studios #asks #answered asks #this fox sure is foxy...#I want to engage in complete chaos with him like fr #evil fox evil #my hcs

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mvltisstuff · 1 year ago

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hello again, i’ve requested a few times (the feels and sweet nothing) and i was hoping i could request again? (i think i might add an emoji at the end bc i love your writing and will keep requesting as much as you allow ❤️❤️) anyway, i hope you’re doing well and things are going good.

i was wondering if i could request a buck fic where is partner is an artist and he finds a sketchbook of sketches of him and when he asks about it they talk about how pretty he is and how deserves to be appreciated and just making him feel super loved with it. thank you if you get to it and ofc no troubles if you don’t. take care 🥰

also is 🚒 good for a way to recognize me??

wasteland, baby! - e.b

summary: request

evan buckley x reader

a/n: omg you always have such creative ideas! i love receiving requests so always feel free :)) 🚒 = ❤️‍🔥 i also won’t be posting as frequently for the next few weeks due to finals, but after that i’ll be posting a ton!!

buck had come over to y/n’s apartment after his shift for dinner, and the scent of thick acrylic paint and primer had stung at his nostrils. he began to love the smell, as he knew that it meant she was around. he had let himself in with his key, taking in all of the perfectly placed plants and artwork on the walls.

she had a canvas that was almost complete, with just a few finishing touches. buck had walked over to it to examine. her talent was extraordinary. he knew it was out of this world, and the way she was so proud of her pieces his made his heart swell up with love.

“hi, buck!” y/n says, beginning to walk out of the hallway from her room to her art. she was wearing a pair of dark green pants and a white t-shirt which somehow complimented her beautifully. her face had small specks of blue and red on her cheeks and black and grey streaks on her shirt. “sorry it’s such a mess in here, but doesn’t this look great?”

“no, don’t worry about the mess, but how long did that take? it’s amazing!” buck stutters a big, not being able to comprehend how art like that could come out of her hands.

“thank you, love,” she replies, taking his belongings and placing them down for him. “how was work today? anything good?”

“just a normal old day, but you know it’s the 118.”

“it is never normal at the 118,” y/n smiles and gives him a cheek kiss before going to wipe her face off. buck goes to sit down in her living room on the couch, and she follows behind him with a quick change of shirt. she placed a small pizza in the oven to cook for them, and cuddled up next to him while they told each other stories about their day.

“it was wild, y/n,” buck starts. “i mean this woman literally rose from the dead after like 15 minutes, after being under a street. oh! you’re going to love this- and we saved some puppies in a sewer.”

“oh my god, are they ok?”

“they’re all fine, but i’m not sure if we are right now.”

“what do you mean?” she asks, slowly and carefully.

“you don’t smell something burning?”

she takes a deep inhale and looks over to her smokey kitchen. it wasn’t too bad, but definitely enough to make it inedible. “shit! fuck, i forgot about it!” she says, bouncing the pan up and down while trying not to burn herself.

y/n was busy discarding of the pizza when buck looked over at her with joy. he had a cheeky smile on his face and was laughing at the forgetfulness of both of them. he looked back down in front of him and the coffee table, and he saw a book that y/n always has on her. she brings it to work, to her family, anywhere she goes, she has it. it was her beloved sketchbook, filled with hundreds of small doodles and big pieces. buck has seen a lot of things in it, admiring each one before he comes across a bookmarked section.

when he flips the pages of the book, he notices that the person that is sketched and shaded looks particularly familiar. he makes note of the sharp nose and soft, but hard jaw. he sees the famous birthmark on the side of his face. he’s never looking right on, though. he’s always focused on something or has a light grin on his face. buck knows these are of him, but he doesn’t think he had any importance to be the top drawing in her book.

y/n walks back in to greet her boyfriend, “i think we might just have to ord-“ she looks at the sketches that she had put on that paper. a heat rose up into her face, reddening her cheeks and making her feel a sense of embarrassment.

“a-are these me?” buck asks, quietly. y/n nods, slowly, praying that she didn’t make him uncomfortable and that she will see him again tomorrow. “i-um..”

“you don’t have to say anything, buck. i never meant for you to see those and if you don’t like them, i’ll never do it again i swear. you just, you’re so beautiful, buck. and i love to draw beautiful things.”

“i just don’t know what to say, these are so good. i feel like you know me more than i know myself,” he says, chuckling a bit.

“you like ‘em?”

“i love them,” buck says.

“good, i just couldnt stop myself. you are always so pretty, no matter what and i want you to know that, so i tried to convey it through this. i was going to show you eventually, but i wanted to do more.”

“why me, though? you could draw anyone,” buck asks.

“no one else is you! you might have a pretty face and all but there is really nothing more beautiful than your soul. you are filled with so much love and sweetness and i’ve been dying to find a way to show you, because you are loved, evan. i love you and i wanted to put my two favorite things together. not a day goes by where i have anything but love for you.”

suddenly, the feeling in bucks chest is rising stronger, feeling like it’s going to burst. when it does, he has strong riptides of tears in his eyes. with a pure smile on his face, he passionately leaves a kiss on her lips, and he feels loved for the first time.

growing up, his parents never showed him love. he always begged for it from everyone he knew, and now he feels like it isn’t deserved. but someone, y/n made him feel like he will forever be worthy of love. and he will never forget how she fixed him for the best.

#911 #911onfox #bobby nash #eddie diaz #evan buckley #evan buckley fanfic #evan buck buckley x reader #evan buckley x reader #athena grant #henrietta wilson #howie han #maddie buckley

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punk-in-docs · 2 years ago

Text

🕷️ Vanilla Tobacco 🕷️

Eddie Munson x Reader

10.9k words

Summary: Based on one of my favourite Eloise songs- this pure mush but please believe me on the life of my dog, the next piece to follow this with smut is coming in so fast I may get whiplash- watch out- also

Thank-youuuu all of you for being such angels and commenting on my stuff all the time it’s honestly amazing. I know I’m a lazy bum and I need to reply to your astounding comments. But pls know I do see each one and it’s just what makes this all so worthwhile to see how much you all love Eddie X Pencils.

Your morning had been hell on wheels.

You slept through your alarm. Stubbed your toe stumbling out of bed in your rush to get dressed. Burnt your tongue on your too hot coffee. Ended up being late for home room. And now you’ve been lumped with an art essay. Perfect.

Self directed. Six thousand words on a particular art movement of your choice. Which somehow made it even harder to pick-

It’s pokey glass shards stabbing into the already festering wound in your side that was your day.

This would mean you’d be surrendering your lunchtime to this honey of a new project which was due in a week. If you got the books and notes gathered for it now, it would be a great help and a load off further down the line.

You trudge out of class, and back down to the hallway to your locker, with an armful of textbooks and sketchbook. A free period now that you’d spend the entirety of in the library.

In the absence of a certain jingly jacketed, metal head, the music you’ve got blasting through walkman headphones right now, is the only soothing thing that’s helping your scratchy mood stay buoyant.

Well. That and one other salient thing-

You can’t help but draw your thoughts back to yours and Eddie’s movie night. That memory certainly lifts and delights. Wraps up your stomach like being bound in sunny butter-yellow silk.

Being tangled up on Eddie’s terrible scratchy orange couch with wandering hands, seeking more, and so much making out it was like you were kissing each other’s lips raw. Seeing Eddie with those beautiful lips all bitten pink certainly tugged on your guts in the most horny way.

You devoured the pizza together, and he’d tasted like hoppy lite beer and salty pepperoni - licking the greasy cheese mess of it off the corner of your lips. Smiling with oily pizza grease fingers gripping your chin.

You’d laughed so much your ribs hurt. Prodded fun at the gore of his selected horror movies - awed by his taste too. Agreed on the worst and best parts of grainy black and white eerie tones of night of the living dead. The ham acting. The swelling suspense.

He’d grinned with the way you’d squirmed and jiggled and scrunched up your feet in unease at the bit in Nightmare on Elm Street. When Tina grabs Freddy’s face and the whole thing slips into her hand in a bloody rubbery landslide, revealing raw teeth and bulging eyes, scarlet black chasm of a nose.

I love this movie. But I freakin’ hate that bit.

Eddie curls around you tighter. Beaming. Chuckling dryly. Ringed fingers splaying over your hip. Nose nestled in the back of your neck.

Squeamish much, pencils?

Shut up

You both watch as Tina cups at the four claw marks in her stomach as she’s tumbled around the bed and jerked up to the ceiling. Crawling sticky blood up the flowery walls.

You hide again with an ‘Ick.’ Which prompts you to twist around and face him. You don’t do well with blood.

He very kindly lets you shield your eyes behind his hand. Rings warm on your skin.

Freddy’ll have to get through me first. Don’t you worry.

I’ll never let you sleep again, Munson. I will blast the loudest Motörhead in your ears. Okay?

Okay sweets. He winked.

You’d flown into swooning bits at the recollection of how you’d spent a great deal of time on that date, horizontal with Eddie’s warm nose buried deep in your neck. Or his tongue in your mouth. Spit wet lips, hoppy beer breath, and grinding hormones.

Later, much later, after two beers, his teeth and lips were plucking hickie’s at your collarbones and under your jaw. Mainly to distract you from Wes Cravens gore. But, funny how even when the movie ended, neither of you seemed to notice.

Too busy scrunching your hands in his messy hair and kissing him back hungrily. His hands smoothing up your back. Your legs curled open over the cradle of his skinny hips. Grinding into the clutch of yours. His hands were blazing hot on your ass where your skirt was rucked up. Fingertips slipping just-so, under the edge of your panties.

Whenever you hummed or moaned it made him smile. Made his hips jerk to yours. You were grinding on each other like this world would end soon. Entirely composed of rutting feel-good hormones for each other.

He pulled back because he was definitely popping a boner in those skinny jeans and you can’t lie either - you’re wet - you’re both very flimsy underwear barriers away from doing some very x-rated things.

He begs you that he doesn’t wanna be cumming in his pants like a ninth grader. You can’t deny with his hips grinding you like that it wouldn’t take much for your orgasm either. But, you both agreed, that for now, you’d keep it to second base.

All bets are off next time though, Pencils.

Deal. You grin back.

He sighed happily, blushed as a matter of fact, as you nudged a kiss under his ear.

You made out and ate and cracked jokes and chatted for what felt like hours. You tired the moon with your talking - and kissing. So much sparky hot kissing it stunned your lips numb.

You’d never get enough of the taste of Eddie. Smoke and beers on his tongue. Fake snap of chemical apple from his shampoo. Some distant lingering cedar and vanilla cologne that was definitely Wayne’s and had definitely been put on to impress you-

Hewalked you out to your car when time came for you to go. Leaving felt like a ripping pain. Like tearing layers of skin away. You kissed for ten minutes before you even managed to fumble blindly behind you for the door. He kissed you up against the door. Next to the door. All over you with your hands sunk and lost in his hair.

Don’t go I’m not done yet. As he cupped your face and waddled you up against the door - again.

Traffics bad this time of night, Pencils. Give it five if I were you.

I’ve heard a really bad storm is closing in.

Every time you levered apart, he was spinning you back with “Okay but how about one more, y’know, for the road…”

Then proceeded to melt you into another thought-stealing kiss.

Made you laugh into it when he palmed your car keys right out your hand whilst you were distracted by his tongue. And fully launched them over his shoulder.

They landed with a jingly thump over his shoulder on the malt brown carpet. He wrapped his arms around your waist even tighter. Muffled your protests onto the silky bed of his tongue. You moaned and curled your arms around him again.

Thinking of Eddie was definitely one part of your day that didn’t suck. That didn’t scrape rock bottom. It actually lifted you off your dragging heels a bit. Laced a spring in your step that you were careful not to let creep out too much around others.

You lose yourself to that, and into the jagged punk carnality, and let it be known Billy Idol’s sneering roar of a voice was a balm to you.

What didn’t help was that when you came to your locker, Linda was stood against it with the nuclear warhead of a mega-bitch that was Carol P.

They’re gaggled close and smirking about something. There should be a cauldron between them for the amount of shit-stirring and poison slinging they do. You’re thankful you can’t hear it. You turn up Rebel Yell just that tad louder.

Carol was the worst when it came to high school hierarchy. Not only an asshole but determined to drag that festering quality out of everything she touches. Withers the people she considers below her like dead leaves. Thought because she was giving blowjobs under the bleachers, and playing spin the bottle since seventh grade, that it somehow made her the epitome of cool.

You think that much like Linda, its just wearing a mask to cover over the craggy potholes and ultimate shallowness of their personality. They turn into mean, bullying people. Dog eat dog world of high school. Eat or be eaten and these are the pedigree girls with shiny hair, sharp teeth and bitchy smiles.

Really they’re just entirely composed of vanity and rot. Shallowness and arrogance entwined.

Linda barely acknowledges your emergence, as you open your locker and swap out an armful your books for the ones in your hands from an earlier class. You kept your headphones on, muffled the world away to rock music.

A hand shoots over your shoulder and annoyingly jerks on your headphones. Tugging them down the back of your head with a clatter. Making your heart flash fast at the jump of it.

You turn with a glare and see Tommy. H jaunt up to his girlfriend. Giving you a stupid grin. Sneering words back at you. “S’up, Pencil neck.”

Pencil Neck. Mother Mary. Those were some of the ingenious little pet names they had picked out for you.

Because you haven’t had sex and you aim for good grades, apparently this makes you worthy of freakdom in their rabid eyes.

Linda purses her lips a little. Smiles like it’s funny, them calling you that.

Carol barks out her shitty grating laughter. Tilts her head at you and those loose Farah Fawcett auburn curls dance around her snarky face. Popping neon pink gum and looking sly.

Tommy loops his arm around her neck. They stand and eye you like you’re something amusing. Freak show in town. Roll up for tickets.

“Original.” You bite back as you reach for your books.

“Ooh.” Tommy chirps at you. “Not in a friendly mood, are we.”

“My tolerance for vitriolic jackasses is limited.” You narrow your eyes at the pair of them.

You detest the way Carol scans you up and down. Judging your hand me down plaid, jeans and sneakers like you got them from a yard sale. Thinking you’re cheap trash, with a trampy single mom.

Just cause her manicured and caustic mother was the sales rep for a big cosmetic company, and she lives on the gleaming streets of Loch Nora, that it made her perfectly able to peer down her nose at the lower echelons.

She pops her gum with a snap looking at you. Then doesn’t even deign to pay you any attention. Looks towards Linda. A decided bitchy ally.

“You’re coming to the house party at Josh’s tonight, right, Martelli?” She grins as she chews loudly. Wet gummy clicks that get on your nerves. Raking an annoying knife up your spine.

You turn to your locker and ignore the bunch of cognoscenti assholes. You were ashamed to say that included your once fond friend among them.

“Sure I’ll be there.” Linda shrugs like it isn’t a golden gilded invitation handed over, direct from the Queen Bee herself.

“You’re gonna bring Jonny right?” Carol leers. Smile filthy. Like she wants to be the one sucking face with him, as opposed to her own boyfriend currently slung off her shoulder.

“If he can sneak out. His dads being a real dick at the moment.” Linda tells with a glum pouty tone.

“Sneak him out. It’ll be so fun. We got tonnes of beer. There’s bound to be some wet n’ wild fun in the pool.” She grinned all bright and naughty. Sticking her tongue out.

House party on a Tuesday night. These dicks really had nothing better to do than suck face, trash the place, or hump. Make a mess like silver back gorillas parading around in the zoo in their natural habitat.

Tommy decided to drag you back into this razor blade and lemon juice studded conversation. Oh joys.

“Probably not Pencil neck’s kinda evening.” He pouts sticking his lower lip out.

“She’s gotta be back in her convent by 9. Wimple on. Back home with her trampy mom like a good little girl.” Carol mocks in laughing. It’s shrill. Brings to mind a hyena.

Somewhere along the line, the fact your mom was mostly absent and single had become the butt of a joke to these people. Because you don’t live on Maple Street or dress like a Pat Benatar wannabe. You defend your ground in your paint spattered clothes, tatty jeans, and oversized hand-me-down plaid from Charlie, and tees from the goodwill.

It stung like acid each time they swiped and spit nasty words aimed at your mom. Needles pushed under your skin when they sniped their mockery.

You rose above it and grit your teeth. Even though it made you want to start swinging clenched fists. Real tempting to shove the wrong end of your paintbrush in carols stupid eye some days. Splat paint on her expensive jacket or jeans. Knock the books out her hands for once. The dream.

Tommy chuckles along. Carol loves pushing your buttons. It’s her defining character trait. Slamming down on them til they crack into spiderwebs like broken porcelain. It’s all she does best.

“I’m amazed you manage to walk like that what with your head being all the way up your ass.” You slam your locker and turn to talk to a very silent Linda.

“See you after third.” You offer blithely. She barely meets your eyes. Doesn’t answer. She shrinks down. Dumbly clings to her own silent cowardice. Shoves her hands in her pockets and looks at a scuff on her shiny white cavalier boots.

“Got bible studies?” Tommy jumps in quick to say.

You roll your eyes over, let his comment go unmatched. You didn’t have the energy for these two.

You heft your books into your arms and walk away. You hear their laughter and more snideness rips it’s razors at your back as you leave. More insults you don’t care to listen too.

You blast more Billy to blot them out. Forget about their stupidity as you head to the library. You hate the way they slide under your skin like it’s nothing.

You push through the doors and pad through the winding warren of the shelves. Thick carpet tiles muffled your steps. The overly harsh lighting almost buzzed above you. Students hunched hushed over tables, or scanning the stacks. A low thrum of noise and activity compared to the teaming hallways.

It’s a soothe for you. A harbour for you to switch your brain into a slow gear, push it into focusing on something else.

You find a table and set out your books and sketchbooks. Loop your bag on the back of the chair and get scouring through the arts section. You find a stack and pile it against your chest. Take them to your table and hunch over a legal pad. Madly brainstorming ideas for what you wanted to pick.

You settle and let the onslaught of your morning grow quiet. Meld as one into pages and passages. Art Nouveau with its goddesses, natural flowing forms and it’s mimicry of flowers under arched curves. The limpid neon minimalism of Dan Flavin and his light installations. Hockney and his searing blue pool paintings.

There’s so many influences crashing through your head. You skip from book to book. Unable to decide. Tapping the end of your pen against your chin. Raking hands through your lose hair.

You’re curled over a punk art book, looking at the ripped Jamie Reid images, jagged text and rude political satire sprayed and bastardised with paint drips, when something soft hits you on the side of your head, grazing by, and skittering down to your desk. Bouncing off your hand.

You twist back in your seat. Bewildered. Scanning the stacks and there’s nothing save for the usual soft footed librarians drifting around, with their glasses chains, sensible skirts, and hushed voices. The same few quiet kids sat at their tables, dotted around. Unmoved.

You frown and turn back around to the crumpled paper. You smooth it out and make out the chicken scratched words etched there. It was a note.

A love note. Etched in Violet sharpie. It sets a blaze in your chest.

Hey sweet cheeks. You look hot hitting the books. Making me jealous that they’ve got your undivided attention.

Signed it with an E with little sprouting devil horns coming off the top - as if he really needed to identify himself.

You smile when you suddenly feel the tickle of long dry hair feathering it’s tips at the back of your neck. Ringed hands drape for your shoulders. Cold rings even through your worn flannel. Smoke comes with him. Fresh too. He’d just had a cig break you’d guess. Reds curled new on cold leather and carried along with apple.

How was it the worlds nosiest metal-head with his jangly wallet chain and apparently limitless racket, could sneak up on you in absolute silence.

Materialising out of nowhere, like a suddenly gathering storm. Subtle as an earthquake. He presses a kiss to the crown of your head. Inhaled deep like he was trying to drag you in via his mouth alone.

“There’s my little bookworm.” He hushes. Voice all trying-to-be-low and hissing. Rumbling down on your skull. Nuzzling his nose to your hair. Coconut. That Amber and Lavender perfume of yours. Clean luminosity of honeyed notes, and the plain spice of hearty lavender that drifts off you.

It’s dizzying. Consuming. He’s missed it the way a man could miss food and water.

“You threw paper at my head.” You faked mild insult.

Eddie leans up on his sneaker tip toes to peer over your head and catch onto the book that has you so engrossed.

“You looked very invested. How else was I supposed to get your attention.” Comes a clever curl of a grin.

It makes little flecks of gold stars shine and shimmer in those inky eyes.

His hand that landed heavy with a whump on your shoulder, curled up a knuckle and played with an idle curl of your hair. Cool fingers leaving sparks where he touched the nape of your neck.

“What are you doing in here, anyway? You know this is a library don’t you.” You tease him. Rotating in your seat. Gazing up at him. “Books. Studying.”

“Mistook it for something else. Won’t make that error twice.” He tells with that signature clever grin.

“Although it does have you in here, so I automatically like it very much, indeed.” He preens.

Your smile makes his spine slope into fuzziness and tingle all warm. Where his hand is on your shoulder, you edge and curl your fingers over his own. Lacing them through.

He wasn’t gonna be a complete letch and admire the way the twist of your body gaped the buttons of that oversized green and navy plaid you wore. Teased him with the silky valley of skin running downwards from your collarbones. Sternum. Bra. Tits. Your tits.

Okay he wasn’t gonna look, but he’s certainly thinking about it.

Those sweet slips of collarbones he’d been sucking and mouthing for eons long just the other night and was that-

That’s a hickie on your neck. From him.

His stomach trips and crashes into feral frenzy knowing he’s the one to have placed it there, in a rabid fit of horny hormones. Horizontal on his couch with hands all stuffed in tops or jeans, roaming in places that felt so so good.

Tongues fat with kissing and mouths smashing together, raw. Charred bodies grinding. Your fingers edging his stiff jeans zipper. His squeezing your tits through your top. Delightful touches that burned bliss through you like biting electric bolts. The muggy heat of breath on lips.

“That big beautiful brain of yours at capacity yet?” He asks. Swaying into the back of your creaking hard chair.

“I’ve yet to hear a pinging noise indicating it’s full.” You decided. Tapping your pencil down on your book.

“Can my bookworm take a break?” Eddie asks with a conspiratorial looking grin. You tip your head back and meet his gaze.

That ‘my’ warms your belly right though like bad cheap whiskey.

“Why would that be?” You ask cheekily. All lowering your lashes and peering all coquettish.

“Cause if you’re not at capacity yet. I think there’s a little more to learn.” He teases and his smile is all dirty dimples and schoolboy cheek.

He whirls back from your chair and pauses at the walkway between two bookcases. It hooks a smile right out of you when you watch him jerk his head in that particular, enclosed, direction.

Your smile grows, crawls across your lips and you keep your butt planted in your seat. “Gee. I don’t think I know what you’re getting at.”

“Need me to spell it out for you?” He asks with narrowed eyes and a wide wide grin.

You lean in said chair and cast your eyes towards the librarians. Who coincidentally have their backs turned to you. One at the desk, the other helping a freshman locate a physics book.

“I don’t know. Maybe if you could find it in book form and read it to me.” You rile. Poking him with a stick.

“Sure. Where’s that Biology section at.” He leans in and bites his lower lip and grips your sleeve. He doesn’t grip your skin with his rings. Worried they’d dig. Even when riled he’s still gentle.

Scrunching up his nose all silly as he’s yanking you out the chair. You laugh softly as you swing off the thing and slink after him.

You both pad silently down the row of bookcases. Eddie tugs you along to the end. Nestled into the crook with paper spines and a shelf digging in your back. The touch on your sleeve travels up your arm, he’s holding your forearm and then impressively smooth, he’s cupping your hip. Slings a finger in your jean belt loop - keeping you tethered to him.

“You going to reinforce a lesson for me. Munson?” You ask.

You rest your hands on his t-shirt. The almost threadbare black sabbath one that you could barely read the scratchy logo on it anymore. It’s almost flaked away. All that’s left is this beaten old black tee that hangs softly in creases off him.

“Yup.” And he pops the P. Staring at your lips. Thumb rubbing soothing circles on your worn plaid stomach. Soft aged flannel. “Gonna reinforce my brains out.” He decides.

“They say repetition is the best way to learn.” He adds. Flirty brow raised. Body flush to yours. Wrapping you in leather smoke and apples.

“And please don’t go hurting yourself on my account. I won’t allow it.” You say as you smooth a hand over the crazy hair beside his jaw. Stroking your fingers under that handsome cut of a jawbone.

You feel his nearness like a gut punch. Every damn time. Has you squirming in every single good way you can muster. This crush blazes so fiery strong. It’s swallowed you whole whilst you weren’t looking. You were too busy watching him smile.

You tip to him. Tilt to him. Up on your toes. Arms going for his neck. Circling around as his hands smooth across your belt loops and cup your hips. He rolls your bottom lip between his. Sucks you into this sloppy kiss as his hands cup you sacredly.

The moment you’ve both been longing for.

You’d never grow tired of kisses like these ones. It left a chasm when you pulled away from his lips on your date. And now again, finally, it’s like a cool clear sip of spring blue water after years of thirst.

Eddie nibbles your lower lip and it draws an unexpected squeak out of you. Plush and tongue and molten. He pulls back and his spit shiny smile liquifies your insides. Warm air puffs over your lips. “Careful pencils. Gotta keep it on the down low in here.”

You half heartedly whack at his chest with an open hand.

He sways with it. Sways into you. Barely noticed your nudge. He catches it with his own fingers, twining into yours. Through yours. Knuckles slot together. Fused. Your hand in his. He brings it up and rests your hand on his neck.

Drunk hazy eyes cast all whiskey puddle brown in yours. Soft as butter and he melts into you again. Nose brushing alongside yours. You taste like the fruity sour bite of chapstick and he’ll definitely chase some more of that fake nectar sweetness, thank you very much.

“How can I be expected to keep quiet when you kiss me like that?” You ask. Tilting in again, legs knocking into his as you press your lips to his in a slow smooch. Long, languid. Taking the kiss off his slanted mouth, honey smooth.

Your hand follows his lead. You cup his soft neck. Thumb brushing the join of his jaw. His hands rearrange themselves. Wandering to settle neatly. One bunching an arm around your waist. The other cups your head. Tilts your mouth to him so he can take and take and unleash on you more of these amazing, demanding kisses.

You should be caring how loud your making out is. Sloppy mouth sounds and little grunts he makes mixed with the thrill of your moans. It rises just a little above the din of the buzzing lights and the swipe of book pages being leafed over.

When you part again you gasp for breath and your knees are stunned into weakness. Your bodies are so close it’s pretty damn evident that soon you’ll be making noises you cannot hide in the whisper quiet library.

It didn’t help that the swelling hunger for more is prodding between your legs. As urgently as his own must be in those tight jeans. Every kiss is laced with a hunger that could proceed sex if you let it.

You really want to let it. You’re so ready to let it.

You exhale onto each other lips when you next part and take a huge pull of breath. Warm whispers sealed to mouths. Bodies tangled. Sure a book was jamming your spine, and the shelf behind you was not exactly sturdy. It didn’t matter.

Nothing mattered that wasn’t Eddie’s kiss bruised mouth aligned on yours.

“We should probably have another one of those date things soon. Don’t you think?” You ask. Fingers sneaking to his cheek to just touch his skin. A little stubbled.

“You reckon?” He smiles all slanted. Eyes twin honeycomb suns. You stare, stuck into them.

You’ve never seen such warmth leak out those expressively deep carob-eyes. You look at the entirely too long flick of his lashes: the raw pinkness of his cushiony lips. Entirely unfair how he was so pretty. It should be outlawed for a boy to look this pretty when kissed.

Really it was a danger to your health. Your school work would certainly suffer. Your essay sat screeching to be started from your desk.

“I really reckon.” You nod. Eddie swoops in and smooched a boyish charming peck onto your mouth almost in thanks. Pulls back from you with a wet smack.

“If you didn’t say it, I was gonna have to insist.” He teases. Stretches out the last word to almost a hiss so you know he means business.

You bite your lip. “Ok Mr. forceful. What did you have in mind?” You smile. Leaving your arms around his neck. To not touch him would be a stinging agony.

“Anything. So long as we can do this for a good 95 - 98% of the evening. I’m willing to negotiate on the exact percentage.” He asks. “But I would ask you wear that chapstick again.” He requests, no holds barred on the flirt, nudges his lips sweetly to yours.

The flick of his tongue on your lower lip makes your brain twirl and cloud. So naughty.

You kiss him quick. Yank his jacket. Pull back to speak which he pouts at you a little for.

“We could go see a Movie. Go to the arcade. Get ice cream. Go to the old quarry and 420 blaze it, and stargaze. The options are endless.” You say as your fingers find his and twist through. Knuckles stroking those worn metal rings.

“Arcade sounds good. Ice cream is a must.” He says, a little reticent. No one has ever asked him on a date. Much less delved into what he actually wanted to do on said date.

“Arcade and Ice cream it is.” You fix with a grin. “You’re easy to please.”

“Yeah but when it comes to ice cream toppings I’m very picky.” He sneaks forwards and kisses under your jaw.

You have to bite your lip cause he knows how it weakens you. Your gasp from the other night when he slipped his lips all over your jaw is etched interminably in his brain. His tongue traces a hickie he knows only all too well how it got there.

The tip of his nose brushes into anther hickie he’s just given to you. Devil boy. He knows very well what effect it has.

“Whipped cream, Cherries. Lots of cherries, sprinkles. The works.” He whispers all muggy hot into your neck.

“Gotta have cherries. Pencils.” He rasps inbetween heavy plucked kisses on your skin.

You shiver all over with the innuendo. He feels it ripple through you. The way your skin pimples with pleasure that pops, stringing along your veins.

You dig your nails into his hands cause holy shit. Every time you kiss you creep closer and closer to the idea of just slipping your hand inside those ripped jeans and going to town- that barrier of your willpower is being worn paper thin with every caress.

“All the cherries you want, pretty boy. Maybe afterwards we could take a, uh, scenic route up to skull rock and be fools, fooling around.” You smile.

It’s dizzying to him. That idea. Better than Colombia gold spreading all vibrant verdant green and dozy through his lungs.

“I’ll bring the jester hat, Mi’lady.” He flat out grins. It’s borderline Munson manic.

“Perfect evening.” You summarise. Shaking your head and eyeing his lips again.

“Perfect date.” He adds on. Biting his lower lip.

“My god. We’re corny. Even meatloaf would refuse to write a mushy ballad about us right now.” You joke. Hands still looped around his neck. Like hell would you wanna let go.

“Need some help with that essay?” He offers. Closing in for your mouth again.

“Mmhmm need all the help I can get.” You whisper. Barely a brush away from his gorgeous lips.

He kisses you again and it’s stunning. Births a wild jungle of fiery mush and kicked butterflies to rioting life in your belly.

“I promise to be such a huge help. You may not even need those books babe. Don’t you know I’m so brainy it’s unreal.” He wheedles at you.

“I never doubted your big beautiful mind even for a second.” You admit. Holding his chin as you lean in and kiss him solidly once more. Coaxing a lovely sounding whine from the back of his mouth when your tongue swipes his lip.

You drag him back out into the open. He goes - somewhat willingly.

Slips himself into the chair beside yours. Hands splayed over your books as he twirls a pen in his hand as asks you probing and philosophical musings about art.

Cubism. I’m sorry. C’mon? Those guys must’ve been on seriously good pills, man.

How about Constructivism then? You ask.

Gesundheit, pencils.

He scrawls some more devils and live hearts with your name, and leafs through another thick old book. The yellowed pages crack with age.

I got a new twisted sister tape. You should hear it.

I like watching you study. It’s freakin hot. You’re so brainy.

Hey, this chicks kinda neat. She looks like a character from Lord of the Rings or somethin’. He decided as he pawed over an Alphonse Mucha picture.

My favourite too. I love the way he uses colour. It’s dreamy.

You’re dreamy.

He laughs when you bite your lip and look bashful.

He will not stop shooting you a flirty smile as he doodles idly on your legal pad. Swirls big loopy letters of ‘I Love Eddie.’ And ‘Hellfire rulez’ and lots of demon faces, and skulls with horns. Lightning bolts and leathery bats.

His restless hands cannot be stilled. He steals a scrunchie from your bag, and it sits looped on his wrist next to his chain bracelet. Lilac borders leather. He makes no intention of giving it back. Magpie manners.

You make a face at him, asking how you’re supposed to tie your hair up for still life class after school.

“I like it loose and wild.” He says as he skims his eyes over your hair. Thumbs a piece back by your ear so sweetly.

You crook a brow. Smile tips lopsided.

He seems to realise that what he said can be taken an alternative way. “Well, no I uh, didn’t mean it like that.”

Your laugh spins his head into adoring craziness.

“Alright. Alright.” He consoles you by picking a W.A.S.P pin out his denim vest and leaning over to stud it into the collar of your plaid. Tongue bitten between his teeth as he concentrates. Fingers brushing your neck. Skin on skin contact leaving kicks and flutters that shoot stars in his wake.

You look down at it. The shiny metal gleaming in the buzzing light. “Okay, that is a worthy consolation.” You offer.

He makes you smile until your cheeks hurt, and you spend more time leaning into him and trying not to laugh too loud over discussing movies, favourite arcade games and music, than you do actually choosing your essay topic.

When the bell rings for next period you actually detest the thought of scurrying away to your Math class. Yet, Equations and trig beckoned.

Eddie walks you out the library. Opens the door all charming, waves a hand to gesture you on through first, like a true gentleman. You thank him and glide past with your books clutched to your chest.

The hallways are bustling but emptying fast. You twist back and tell him you’ll catch him later. Maybe at lunch.

He smiles that wide trouble-stroked grin. Clutched your hand and leaned down all showy to kiss the back of it and shoot you a dirty flirty wink, before he too whirled away.

You smile and it lingers on your lips even as you part. The press of it makes your whole arm come alive. You watch him for a scant moment before walking off down the corridor the opposite way.

You both look back over your shoulders after about five meagre steps away. Eddie gives you a melting grin, you return it. All eyelashes and beaming.

That grin said a lot. Dead giveaway. The hand kiss. The lingering and swirly body movements, not ever wanting to pull apart. Spoke volumes to those who bothered enough to really look and see it.

The feminine flash of a lilac scrunchie on Munson’s wrist. The telltale purple splotches of hickies hiding just below your collar. The heavy metal pin punched through your collar all shiny. Winking like a far off star.

Far enough down the hall that neither of you paid any notice, Jonny Lopez shut his cloud-grey locker door and leaned against it. Lake blue eyes swam cold. Watching the Freak practically skip away.

He saw him kiss your hand. Saw him pull you close by the corner of your plaid, reeling you in, and all warm smiles backed in flirting familiarity. Watched you beam back, and linger to chat a moment. Your hand laid on leather lapel, brushing at his chest.

It didn’t add up. It’s coming out odd to him. You and the Freak? Close? Since when?

He frowned and tugged his backpack on his shoulder.

Strange sight, that.

“Okay. Please please please for the love of god and on all things holy, don’t get weird.” You call out to your mom as you trudge down the stairs.

Not yet coming to the bottom but you could hear her rifling around in the fridge. Billy Joel’s Anthony’s song clunking out it’s piano notes from the stereo in the kitchen that she always has on when she makes dinner

Which is a strong term for when she just scrounges and grazes stuff out of there like a jackal. When she’s so dragged by jet-lag, she only has the energy to slam some pop-tarts in the toaster and throw back a beer for an evening meal.

She was most definitely not a baked ziti or a casserole mom. She overcooks tater tots, or survived on boxed mashed potatoes and a can of limp greens with some breaded frozen chicken.

More than once she’s resorted to a bag of chips for her dinner. Now you know how she stays so trim. And it’s true what she says about your older sister Charlie being the cook in the family, cause that trait had seemed to have skipped you and her, altogether.

After long haul flights like these, she’s usually all set to scarf a meal down in dribs and drabs and grab a beer, to fall asleep with, as her TV soaps blare on. More than once you’ve had to rush in and stub a Newport gold out her dead asleep hand. More than once she’s burned holes in the couch. Covered them up with a crocheted blanket.

Right now, she’s humming and tapping her toes as she eats cool whip out the tub with a spoon. Stood there in her indigo bootcut jeans and oversized cable knit sweater that slid off one shoulder. White and fluffy.

“Alright.” She calls back slowly. Digesting your words. “Colour me intrigued…” She turns the music right down for this. For whatever this was-

You round the kitchen doorway. And it becomes obvious.

Your wearing a dress, and the oversized box-back leather jacket that once upon a time, belonged to her. With rhinestones on the back that spelled out ‘rock n roll’ with a flaming skull underneath. You’d paired it with a red dress that clung and a nipping big white leather hoop belt stretched around your middle. Sneakers and white socks on your feet. Silver wet n wild on your eyelids. Liner and mascara. Your hair all fluffed and kinked

“You’ve joined a rock band? I want front row tickets. I like the jacket. Very Joan Jett.” She grins wide. The flash of that pearly perfect smile. No whiff of how it was hers that you’d poached for the evening.

“No.” You explain.

Her eyes pin you down. Widening under her shiny bangs.

“Intrigue.” As she lopsidedly and untidily stuffs more groceries into the fridge.

“Linda is dragging you to a… club? Or another trashy house party?” She asks.

“Wrong, again.”

“Ok, connect some dots for me cause I’m lost here.” She waves her hand at you as she unloaded tubs of ice cream into the freezer. Peanut butter chocolate chip.

“Don’t get weird.” You point a finger at her. She holds her hands up in surrender.

“Well, weird is my wheehouse kid. My basic operating system.”

“Mom.”

“So intense tonight.” She grumbles all chirpy.

“I actually have a date.“ You lay out.

She looks right at you as she lets the fridge door slam shut. Mouth gaping.

“A date?” She checks.

“Are you a parrot now, or what.” You tease.

“Look at you. Hiding your light under a bushel.” She beams. Hands on her hips.

“Boy or girl?” She asks, blinking.

“A boy. Mom.” You offer up. “But thank you for that.” You wave your hand at her.

“Hey. No judgement here babe. A date. My god.” She looks floored. Hand laying on her chest floored.

“Yes.” You respond. “Well. Actually to be honest, It’s kind of our second date. We had a movie night at his place last week.”

“Second date huh.” She waggles her brows at you like a dirty minded frat boy.

“Well, tell me how it goes. You can leave out all the gross- y’know.” Bringing her hand up to her face and making obscene wet kissing, slurping smacking noises. Cooing at you across the kitchen.

“You are four years old.” You narrow your eyes at her. She grins.

“Do you need me to feed you and put you to bed before I go?” You jest tiredly as you walk to the hall. Check your hair yet again in the mirror.

“No, no, it’s fine. I’ll just be sticking my fingers in the electrical sockets and running with scissors here, totally unsupervised.” She jokes. Picking a rogue hair off the back of your jacket.

“Guess I’ll just have to sit on the couch and watch reruns of Golden Girls on my own. Eat sad Beefaroni and be a tragic spinster mom.”

“Do so quietly.” You wave off.

When you move to get your shoes: she follows. You have a shadow, apparently.

“So this booooyyy- honey tell me about the boy.“ She grins all giddy. Leaning against the door and swaying her body like a preeny high school girl.

Like she should be twiddling pigtails with a lollipop in her mouth. Candy saccharine sweet.

“Is he on the team?” She seeks. And then gasps. “Is he gonna give you his letterman jacket if you get cold?” She clasps her hands and her voice teeters all high and romantic-like.

“Yeah. Then he’s taking me and Rizzo to the sock hop in his Studebaker and then onto some racing for pinks.” You joke with her archly.

“My god. You got your penchant for dragging sarcasm from me.” She pointed out. Unhelpfully. Shoving you half heartedly in the shoulder for being smartly rude. Beer now in her other hand as she drapes herself against the kitchen doorway.

“Not a letterman then?” She scrunches up her nose. She knew well of your distastes.

“If he was I wouldn’t be touching him even with gloves on, and ten f oot pole.” You insist as you make sure you’ve got everything in your purse.

“Less Steff McKee, more Duckie. I got it.”

You smile at the way she’s phrased it. Whatever Eddie was he was definitely way more Duckie territory.

“So he’s not a jock, alright. That narrows it down. Is Duckie atleast cute? Or am I gonna have ugly grandchildren.” She asks.

“Mom.” You hiss with skated laughter as you fluff your hair in the mirror. She winced suddenly.

“It’s not Keith from the Arcade is it? Cause he’s always been sweet on you. You went in last time and I swear he was drooling over you in your Talking Heads tee.”

“It’s not Keith.” You answer nicely. You liked Keith, but he could be sleazy, and a catty kind of mean, and had a bigger chip on his shoulder than you when it came to the preps and jocks.

Plus he would literally date any girl with a pulse that breathed his way. Besides, he was way way deep into crushing on Nancy Wheeler territory.

You exhale into the mirror. Wondering if the sweet sheen of lipgloss was too much. If you should rethink these earrings. You’re a mess. It’s all whirling around a stubborn coil of packed nervousness in your stomach. A fever twist.

“What you kiddos getting up too? Something salacious? Gonna knock off a liquor store? Go to Wild biker parties with lots of vomiting and sex?”

“We’re going to the arcade and grabbing some junk food. Sadly, I don’t think I’ll have time to work a teen pregnancy or a vomit sex party into the mix.”

“Now see here, Mama didn’t raise no quitters.” She salutes towards you with her beer before she swigs back a sip. You know she can’t resist delving a little more into the nitty gritty details.

“What’s he like. Your Duckie. Blonde, tall, short, fat, thin, dark, athletic. Is he in the chess club? Is he trouble? Does he have a motorcycle or a criminal record?” She’s tapping your arm with the back of her hand as she keeps thinking of more things to ask you.

“All good if relentless questions.” You temper her rambles. “You may need to cool it with the Pretty in Pink references.” You chuckle.

“Spill spill.” She encourages.

“Less chess club, more DND club.” You tell her. Fiddling with the earrings. Definitely deciding to take them out. Untangling them from your hair.

She’s gets very excitable about that prospect. “Is he nerdy hot…” She gets close and rasps at you all low.

“Yes. The orthodontic headgear from his braces, combined with his pressed slacks, Mmmm, really gets me going.” You lie.

She smiles wider. You’re all snippy sarcasm and fluffing hair and you keep peering past her at the banana yellow cat clock with the wagging tail and rolling eyes in the kitchen.

“You’re nervous.” She hits the nail right on the head. Rubs your arm up and down. Cups your shoulder.

You let out a deep breath. “Correct.” You tell her.

You can’t lie to your mother. She’s a human lie detector when it comes to you. She’ll sniff it out of you like those bomb dogs at the airport. One whiff and she’s all over it.

“You must really like this mystery nerd Huh?” Shecomes over and strokes the hair spilling down the back of your neck.

You meet her gaze. You scrunch your nose with a kinda giddy smile you can’t hide bursts across your face. “I really do.”

“Why haven’t I heard anything about him you sneaky thing… you been holding out on me? I mean, I know my being out the country isn’t conducive to mother-daughter late night talk over a tub of ice cream… but-” She wonders. Idly playing with the bangs framing around your forehead. The soft yellow light from the cheap yellow flicks off the fine French manicure sleekly and pretty pink on her nails.

“Recent development. I haven’t been holding anything back from you. Promise. You’d root it out even if I did. Not to mention the guy turning up on the doorstep would be a big tip off.” You suppose.

“There is that.” She nods. Standing her beer down on the hallway table. Coming up behind you and idly rearranging your hair where you’d mussed it.

“Any pearls of wisdom I need to give you? Do you need the talk again of where babies come from.” She plays around.

Give her ten ways to say something serious and she’d still be clowning around.

That actually makes you laugh. You meet her solid gaze in the mirror. It’s so warm. It’s like sun skating on emeralds. The crinkled corners of the eyes that are entirely more hazel than yours.

You’d always thought she was the pretty exception. Pearly smile. Dazzling eyes. It didn’t help that Charlie got her stunning silky hair and piercing eye colour too. You got the frizz and the freckles and the big hips. The hair that more belonged on a wiry messy dog. That never laid nicely or did as it was told.

“Is my hair bad? I used too much product. It’s too frizzy. ” You wince as you ask her. Faffing with it still around your ears.

“No. Baby. It isn’t.” She tells you softly with a grin that’s circling somewhere proud and awed. She puts her hands on your shoulders.

Growing up she taught you that women didn’t need to be only pretty to get by. She’d remind you how you were stunning in your unique way and it was entirely up to you what way you made it.

When toxic high school mixed with the uncertain churning of puberty, she was there to reinforce the idea that you could be brainy, and take up space, and spit and shout, bare your teeth, and throw punches and be gritty, all that- be a fierce Amazonian of a woman. Be wonder woman. Be a sultry sizzling Marilyn. Be whomever you wanted-

“You gonna let me meet Duckie when he gets here?” She asks.

“Well, actually, I was gonna lock you in the attic.”

Her mouth gapes. Offended. “What, like I’m suddenly a Kennedy.”

“Tough choice when you’re a Kennedy. How do you even chose which one in the family to hide in the attic.” You ask dead serious.

She closes her eyes and exasperatedly makes a fist with one hand.

“Ok, kid, we’re veering off topic here. Can I meet him, please? C’mon I will only say two embarrassing things tops.” She grins. Holding her fingers up to signal the two things.

“Don’t explode all over him with questions. He’s nice.” You promise.

“Baby, he’s dating you. Of course he’s gonna be nice. I like to think I raised you with standards.”

“You did think I was dating a jock up until two minutes ago.” You level at her.

“Touché my sweet.” She holds a finger up and gives you an invisible tally mark.

“No interrogations either.” You add.

“I’ll put my interrogation lamp away. And no explosions. Promise. Internal implosions only.”

“Try not to be- y’know? Your usual level of insane?”

“Why. He’s not here to date me. I shouldn’t have to hide my eccentricity in the comfort of my own home.” She mocks, looking evil.

“Good grief.” You sigh as you double triple safety sure check you’ve got everything in your purse. Candies. Lip smacker. Money. Coin change for the arcade machines. She leans over and peers into your purse

“Condoms are in the bathroom cabinet by the way.” She winks before tipping back more beer.

“Right. No to that.” You snap. “Go get in the attic. Now.” You tell her with no evident humour. Snapping your fingers and pointing up the stairs.

She pokes her tongue out at you in a very mature move.

You twist to the direction of the door when you hear a clunky rumble of something that was definitely a van engine, music all shredding shriek and rock heavy, easing to a stop. And then the thump of a door.

She practically inhaled all the air in the house when Eddie does one of his fumbly music-riff knocks on your front door. Deep Purple, you reckon.

“I think your nerd hath arriveth. Mi’lady.” She beams.

Claps her fingers together in overdone excitement. Trying to gawk through the blurry glass in the front door to make out his general shape.

Fuck. Now this is all so real and your stomach is clenching, doing those gravity defying swoops like it’s trying to take off without you.

You fluff your hair one last time and step to the door across the spongey purple entryway rug. You take a deep breath. Palm clammy and slipping on the doorknob. You twist it open.

Eddie breaks into a sunshine stroked grin the other side when he sees you. It melts you. Makes something inside glow coal hot at the sight of him again.

He’s wearing his jacket with a Van Halen tour tee. Faded wings of an eagle and band name crackled on old wash grey. The usual ensemble of chains and ripped jeans. But you see the new sight of fancy polished combat boots.

Wayne had made him sit his bony butt down for five seconds and polish them before he whirled out the door to come get you.

“A man takes pride in his shoes when taking a young lady out on a date, Edward.” As he gruffly handed him a shoe brush. Gestured with a lit red in the other hand.

Full name. Serious. Scary.

“Listen I need to get going if I’m gonna make it out of the Victorian Era on time.” Eddie sassed. Elbow folded up. Checking his Casio.

Wayne pushed the brush into his hand. Slammed the silver pot down in front of him. The claggy thick smell of polish coming from the well used army tin he had sat on the counter. Face as stoic as an Easter Island head. He wasn’t taking any bull.

“Less cheek. Get buffing.”

“Child labour has been outlawed you know.”

“Not in the Victorian Era it hasn’t.”

Eddie did as his Uncle ordered. Now here he is.

Smelling like cologne, cigarettes and the unmovable sticky tinge of dark boot polish. Hair having had a briefly tangled

liaison with a comb.

He’s chewed gum the whole way here worried about his smoky acrid breath. Piece after piece shoved into his mouth. Sharp spearmint spiking the bed of his tongue. It didn’t settle the squirming worms in his stomach. Nor the tap of his newly polished shoes in fidgeting.

“Hey.” He smiles. Nervously tucking his hands in his back pocket. His jacket jangles. The chain around his hip and his bandana sways with him as he stands on your porch.

“Hey yourself. You look nice.” You beam back. There’s an undeniable allure in your pretty face. Honey gold smile skated in shiny gloss. He equates to something like pure magic.

“Ditto, Pencils.” He smirks. Veiled flirt. Not letting himself get too eager with it. His eyes flick up your dress, down your legs, and back up.

Holy shit. Good doesn’t even begin to cover how you look right now.

You also cannot ignore the lingering looming presence of your mom as she practically leaps into his eye-line behind you. She’s utterly vibrating with excitement. You can sense her just jiggling with it.

She sidles up behind you and shoves herself into the gap you’ve left in opening the door.

Whatever he was expecting of your mom, he certainly didn’t imagine this whirlwind of a woman behind you.

She’s young too. Must’ve had you in her late teens. Not stuffy. No silent husband like a fixture in an easy boy chair in the living room. Silently scathing with disapproval. She’s not sporting a beige cardigan and a constant threat of neighbourhood watch association snobbery. Sneering at Eddie on her porch like he’s a flea infected stray, yowling at her door.

There’s no way in hell anything resembling stuffy could cling to this woman.

Fierce hazel eyes traced with crows feet, shiny dark hair all free-wild and choppy. She’s old movie star kinda striking. That Colgate grin touted about in the 1950’s. One he recognises as the one that closely and genetically mirrored yours.

Boot cut jeans and a pearly smile and a big fluffy sweater and denim jeans. Entirely mad and friendly and she’s only met him two seconds ago. Some punchy shredding ZZ top blasts from the kitchen and something tells him that’s all her taste too. As well as pair of violet rhinestone cowboy boots sat by the doormat. Whacky.

He thinks how wildly accurate it is that this busy bright, kinetic energy ball of a woman, raised an unconventional and awesome girl like you. That’s no leap there.

“It is so nice to meet you. Duckie.” She out and out grins. You give her one of your looks.

Eddie chuckles. A little lost. “Duckie?” He asks.

“Her grip on sanity is loose at best.” You explain.

She elbows you in the the hip as she takes the grin down to a less terrifying notch. “Ok. Ugly grandchildren are struck off the list. He’s adorable. Look at those Bambi eyes.”

You really wish you had locked her in the attic. She’s exploding all over the poor boy.

“She’s loopy when she’s off her meds. And around new people.” You sigh to him. It gets an easy smile. Buffs the nervous look away.

“Mom this is Eddie. Eddie, I’m so sorry, this is my Mom.” You introduce. Skating a hand to the woman chomping at the bit behind her shoulder.

“Don’t you say sorry for me.” She slithers her arm through the gap you’ve left in the door. Fluffy jumper all cable knit bobbled and fuzzy. She’s a wave of zingy energy smelling like smoky Newports and designer Yves Saint Laurent perfume.

He shakes her manicured offered hand. “It’s very nice to meet you. She’s told me only good things.”

“Then she’s totally been lying. Edward. A pleasure. I’m Veronica but please don’t call me that, everyone calls me Ronnie. Awesome awesome shirt by the way.” She beams as she peers around the door. Releasing his hand from hers. “Like your metal huh?” She asks.

She perched her hands on the doorframe and stuck her head into this pick up between the two of you.

“Only with my oxygen, food and water.” He jokes. A little of his truer wide smile comes sneaking out. Now he knows there’s no need to stand on awkward shuffly doormat ceremony with your parent.

Because he knows he isn’t a meet the parents kinda guy.

He’s the guy parents ring Principal Higgins about. With distaste sour, and judgement nastily spewing off their tongues. He’s tatted, he’s a cheap weed seller, he’s crazy and scraggy weird, and he lives in a trailer park. Stamp mark of future-convict hovered heavy and eternal over his head.

He’s a jump out the window, hide in the closet kinda guy. No one would ever bring him home all hair combed and sparkly clean, pressed button down, to mom and pop, for a meatloaf dinner. Cause he’s no one to be proud of.

Yet here? Perhaps in the eyes of the most unconventional mom in all of Hawkins, something has shifted.

Something feels like it’s been spun off its axis and set down wrong, cause this bubbly woman is smiling at him and excitedly prodding her daughter out the door to go on their date. And maybe she is insane. As you said.

Talk about falling down the rabbit hole. Punctured through the splintered looking glass. He’s not high, but he could swear on seeing white rabbits and mad hatters right about now. It’s fucking nice. He’d never have expected this funky curveball in coming to pick you up.

“Edward? Eddie?” She asks.

“Eddie is fine.” He offers. Nodding, as he slips his hands into his pockets. Self conscious move, even though he didn’t need to be.

She widens her smile. “Where abouts you from? I know DND club and the fact you’re a white male in high school. Other than that I’m out. She’s been stingy with details.” She jerks her thumb at you.

His tongue shrivels up. She’s tolerated him so far. Maybe this is the sour turning point that will tip the introduction on its head.

“I live in Forest Hill’s with my Uncle. My folks, uh aren’t around.” He tells with a tone she can tell is used to receiving nasty scratchy criticism. Eyebrows raise and moods change when he’s said that before.

She nods. Her smile doesn’t leave. Doesn’t even drop.

“Honey. I grew up in paradise trails mobile park in Sloan Nevada. Don’t sweat it. Doesn’t make us lepers.” She shrugs.

Like it didn’t just wash a whole wave of unease aside in his chest.

“People in this town seem negatively charged when I tell them that’s where I live.” He admits with a big clown smile. Your heart bleeds at the true reverence in his tone.

“People in this town, are snooty assholes.” She chuckles wisely.

Debbie Harry is throatily singing one way or another from the stereo in the kitchen now.

“You done grilling my date?” You ask her with a sickly smile.

“If you stick around, there will be a follow up round where I fetch your baby pictures. And invite him in for a beer.” She threatens. Eyes widening. Kubrick crazy.

“Bye Mom.” You say as you step out the door to join him on the porch. She catches it where you’ve left it open. Calls out as you stand in the clear night listening to the cicadas hum and the street lights buzz and blink into sleepy orange. You leave her chuckling.

“Wise move. Now scram before I dust off my pipe, And my old ‘what-are-your-intentions-towards-my-daughter’ queue cards.” Your mom winks at you.

“Enjoy your night, crazy lady. Go feed the cats.” You answer, calling back over your shoulder as you sling your hand into Eddie’s lapel and pull him across the lawn.

“Let’s get away from this house of lunacy.” You tell him.

He stumbles after you waving a goodbye to your mother. Almost tripping over his boots.

“Home by midnight. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t. No 420ing it without me.” She calls out to you.

Eddie chuckles as you bring him down your front lawn. Sneakers brushing the grass alongside the gentle thuds of his foot falls. Your hand migrated to holding his.

“That’s your mom.” He states. Sounding dumbfounded.

“I know. I should’ve warned you. She’s a whole new spin on the word eccentric.” You offer.

“She didn’t bark at me to get off her porch like I’m some stray, Pencils. That’s a hell of an improvement versus the reaction I thought I’d get.” He says as he looks down.

Avoiding stepping on the dandelions that are scattered across your lawn all yellow and happy. Just trying to grow upwards and peep at the sun.

You slope your fingers through his. He looks up and gazes at you as you fall in step.

“As insane and untethered to planet earth as she is, she’s really not like other moms around here. She likes you already, probably on sight of the Van Halen tee.” You tell him with smiling weight to your meaning.

His grin lopes across his face.

“She’s cool y’know. No stuffiness. No essence of church on Sunday is the law and green bean casseroles.” He nods. He likes it. He really does.

“She had my sister Charlie when she was a teenager. Me a couple years later. Possibly too young for the likings of the pissy bible study moms in this town. She dropped out of Berkeley. Parents chucked her out. She worked three crappy jobs whilst raising us and coping with my deadbeat dad, always hoping for a little better and, being, well, as you saw, entirely unhinged.” You gestured to your house.

“And…” You add. “She’s not a green bean casserole person. She stinks at cooking even by her own admission. Thankfully, we have Charlie for that. She’s the domestic one.”

Eddie smirks. His smile is pure warmth. “You guys are close, though. Tight knit. It’s cute.”

“I love that she’s not a run of the mill mom. Growing up, others didn’t tend to be as kind about it. They see a single parent, they immediately go to trashy, trampy, drunk, who doesn’t give a shit.” You roll your eyes.

Genuine hurt backs your voice though. “They set her and me aside cause we’ve always been different. We don’t have tonnes of money or a fancy house.”

And who knows that better than Hawkins own freak?

He squeezes your fingers. Warm rings all marking their usual grooves in your skin. A thorough loving squeeze that makes your heart go pattering all soppy in your chest.

“People are assholes. So I’m reliably told.” He parrots as he brings to you both to the passenger side of his van. Rings clack on the handle as he gets the door for you.

You stand and smile. “People are assholes. Look at the unfair bad rep they give you.” You point out.

He shrugs. Smirking. “What can I say? My handsome face and awesome personality protects me from total infamy.” He grins all

cheesy.

Yanking open the van door with a hand and turning his palm up to you.

“Here now, I was prepared for a little infamy. Munson. Are you telling me I’m gonna be disappointed?” You smirk as you step up close.

Eddie’s poor little rabbit heart flashes fast with the way your dress is kinda, pretty well low cut. And skimming and squeezing every beautiful curve. When you step close he can smell perfume and cherry gloss and all things sexy sweet.

You’re looking at him directly. Eyes smouldering under your eyeliner and wet n’ wild silver glitter. Angling for a kiss that he’s happy to give you til his lips damn well fall off.

He leaves the van door open. Steps you back just a little. Nudged your hips back to the body of it.

“Think I’m flirting with bad company here.” He smiles. Traces his nose along yours.

“Doubtlessly. Wanna back out now?” You ask in a husky whisper against his mouth. Hearts racing. Pulses whipping fast. Lust stirs.

His chest may implode but he’d be fine with that. Atleast he’d die kissing you. What a way to go-

“Yeah. I’m running for the hills here.” He teases. Cupping your neck and gingerly laying his fingers over your hip. You stroke hours through his long black vines of soft tousled hair.

Then he’s leaning all the way in to kiss you properly, so firmly and urgently on the mouth. Languid spearmint tongue tasting sharp and delicious, playing with your lower lip. You tug him in by his leather collar. Loving the way his body leans against yours. You moan softly.

Maybe you should’ve taken the freakin condoms after all?

Beyond the kissing, you barely hear your front door whine as it’s cracked open. Your mom hollers across the lawn with her beer in hand, and makes the dog down the street bark it’s damn head off.

“Gross. Get a room!”

You pull apart and he can’t help bursting into a smile.

“Let’s leave here. Please.” You ask of him. He can’t contain his blushy laughter.

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