#WORST FUMBLE IN HISTORY. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

marvelsswansong · 2 years

Text

tornado warnings

summary: out of all the girls Eddie could like, of course he'd pick Jason Carver's girlfriend. He kept ignoring the warnings, and now he's in too deep.

tags: Eddie x fem!reader, pining!Eddie, friends to lovers, requited love but both parties are idiots, Dustin trying to talk sense into Eddie, cw for Jason being a misogynistic asshole, song fic, pure fluff, slow burn ish, oneshot

☆ word count: 6.5K+ (she's worth it i promise) ☆

⚠️ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞.⚠️

It's sprialed out of control. Eddie knows that now.

It's as if he's been struck by lightning, the realization jolting him awake when your fingers deftly brush against his whilst you pass over the chemistry pop quiz. The touch lasts for less than two seconds, accompanied by a friendly smile and a quiet "good luck" thrown in, but it's enough for him to falter and almost let the paper slip from his fingers.

It reminds him of the first time you two met, late after school - you because of cheerleading practice, him because of detention.

Eddie was exhausted. Having shown up late to school with mismatched socks and his roleplaying notebook forgotten by the driver's seat of his van - not that it mattered anymore, considering he had to cancel tonight's session due to detention - he swore that the world was out to get him.

It was half past five and the spring rain was unrelenting, the pitter patter of water droplets against glass windows drowning out all other noise. Eddie scowled, not even the weather was on his side today. He'd have to make a run for it to his car, with nothing more than a floppy notebook to hold over his head.

His footsteps faltered, however, when he heard a feminine voice swear followed by the clattering of metal. Peeking his head around the corner, he was met with none other than the sight of you struggling to open up your locker, delicate fingers fumbling with the lock desperately.

"Oh for fuck's sake." you swore, trying the combination again and pulling the lock with all your strength to no avail. Dropping your duffel bag onto the floor, you tried again, this time grasping the metal lock with both your manicured hands.

No luck.

Sighing, you dropped your arms and fell forward onto your locker head first, before perking up and looking around for someone to ask for help - perhaps a janitor would know how to deal with this. Your eyes met Eddie's, and his eyes widened in an instant (fearing the worst, being caught staring wordlessly at one of the most popular girls in school) but your eyes lit up with recognition and joy.

"Hey! Eddie, right?" you called out, waving him over.

You knew his name? Eddie was simultaneously flattered and shocked, considering you two were separated by several stratospheres in the popularity pyramid. He was in your Advanced Physics class junior year before he dropped down to regular Physics, and even then you sat by the front row with the rest of the cheerleading squad whilst he doodled in his notebooks at the back.

"Do you think you could try opening up my locker for me? I left some important notes in there and my European History test is tomorrow, so I really need them." you sheepishly added, leaning against your locker. Eddie hesitated for a few seconds - was this a trick? Why were you being so nice to him? Why was the smile on your face so pure and so genuine, never once faltering?

Ignoring the sirens going off in his mind, he wordlessly nodded and walked up to your locker.

"The combination is 8-1-8-2."

He spun the dials around and tugged at the lock, but it remained stuck. He tried again, being extra careful to spin the numbers to the exact digit this time, but it still didn't budge.

"Nothing?" you questioned anxiously, peeking over from behind his shoulder. Eddie just grinned at that, hand flying to his jean front pocket to fish out an extra hairpin.

"Maybe not. Hold on."

Bending the metal pin straight, he fumbled with the little hole at the bottom of the lock, until a satisfying 'click' rang out. He was then able to finally unhook the lock and open it up to the contents of your locker - textbooks and folders spilling with notes neatly piled up at the bottom, with a Dior perfume, tube of lipstick and a jar of gummies sitting on the top shelf.

He was about to make a lighthearted joke about the gummies when the joke died in his mouth at the warm sensation of your arms wrapping around his waist, face buried in his shirt as you joyously embraced him.

"YES! Thank you so much, Eddie, you are a lifesaver!"

The sudden burst of affection was totally foreign to him and his senses were going haywire - overwhelmed at how your hair was tickling his exposed skin, your sweet scent (notes of caramel, honey and vanilla) evident but not too strong from this proximity. He fumbled over what to do with his arms, not knowing what was appropriate to do, before awkwardly settling on patting your back with his left hand.

"It's uh, no big deal." he managed to stutter out, small grin on his lips. A grin far outshined by the massive one on yours, bubbly laughter flowing as you quickly dug out the notes from your locker before slamming it shut and locking it back up.

There was another foreign sensation now beginning to register in his brain. Warmth, pleasant fires kindling in his lower stomach, an ache in his chest to have you close to him again. And his next sentence was blurted out before he could even think through all the repercussions.

"Do you need a ride home? Since it's raining and all."

"Yeah! That'd be great."

Following the locker incident, you began to wave at him and exchange quick greetings with him in the hallways. It was a minor change, a verbal acknowledgment instead of silent smiles and polite nods, but that didn't stop others from giving Eddie dirty looks. After all, why was the most popular girl in school giving any time of her day to the resident school freak?

Truth be told, he didn't understand it either. But he wasn't going to complain either, only returning the gestures wholeheartedly. This amicable state of acquaintance - knowing each other's names and being friendly, but never crossing the line into friendship - was broken less than a week later, when he was sitting in Mr.Wilson's office and being lectured about how he really needed to get his grades up.

"I've assigned you a tutor. She's one of my star students and she's kindly agreed to tutor you for free, so please do show up on time and try." the elderly man sighed under his breath, pushing his metal rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose before shuffling through a stack of papers.

"Her name's (Y/n). I'll leave the specifics of the arrangement up to the two of you, but the expectation is one session every week or two. Understood?"

"Understood, sir."

So here he was now. Standing in front of your house, double checking the address scribbled down hurriedly onto his notebook for the hundredth time, agonizing over what to do. Should he knock? Ring the door bell? He was a few minutes early, maybe it'd be best to just wait for you outside-

"Hi there!" you exclaimed, throwing open the door excitedly, making him jump back in surprise. "Come on in, we can go up to my room."

Your hands were preoccupied with drying your wet hair with a towel - it looked as if you had just emerged from the shower, the thought of which made his throat dry, a dirty sight he had to immediately scrub from his mind. Not that it worked particularly well, not when you were wearing an oversized black t-shirt that showed off your legs and the cheerleading shorts you had on hugged your thighs perfectly.

Carefully eyeing the living room and kitchen, he half expected for your parents to jump out and begin to interrogate him as to his identity.

"Are your... parents around?" he'd asked quietly, fingers anxiously twiddling by his sides. You shook your head sideways.

"My parents work out of state most of the time. My godfather drops by every few days though to make sure I'm fine though."

He raised his eyebrows at that, following behind you up the stairs.

"Doesn't that get lonely?"

You hummed, dabbing the last droplets of water from your forehead.

"I guess so. But Hopper - my godfather - has a lot of friends in the community so I get invited over to a lot of things. Plus cheerleading and school stuff keeps me pretty busy so it's not too bad."

You then pushed open the door to your bedroom with your shoulder, stepping backwards to let Eddie in first.

He marveled at how well organized your room was: sunflowers potted by the windowsill, a collection of vinyls leaning against a propped up vinyl record player playing a slow Whitney Houston song. White wardrobe pushed against the wall next to pastel pink drawers, makeup and skincare products neatly placed one after another.

Your cheerleading uniform was ironed and nicely draped over a cushy velvet chair, a full length body mirror with polaroids of you and your friends stuck to its sides on the white wooden frame.

You led him over to your study desk, pristine and white, and gestured to the chair to your left. He was still drinking in the sight of your room as you closed the door shut and hung your towel over the frame of your bed - which was complete with frilly lace sheets, pink and yellow cushions, bumblebee patterns stitched into the fabric.

In summary, Eddie thought, the whole room was so damn... clean and cute. A stark and sore contrast to his messy room, unfolded laundry everywhere and his walls crowded with his guitar and various metal band posters. He was just grateful now that he had insisted on doing the first session at your place instead of his.

"Everything okay?" you questioned, noticing his silence and awed expression. He blinked at you wordlessly at that, mind blanking in an instant.

"Yep! Amazing. Awesome, really. Just very stoked to get started on this exciting English Literature." he boasted, tapping his hand down on the thick textbook. You giggled at that, leaning against your chair.

"Listen, I know that Steinbeck and Fitzgerald aren't as exciting as Iron Maiden or Black Sabbath, but I promise you that there's a charm to these authors as well."

"You know about Iron Maiden and Black Sabbath?" Eddie perked up at that, pleasantly surprised. You rolled your eyes playfully, as if it was common knowledge.

"Duh, what else would I listen to whilst I jog? I can't say I'm as big of a fan as you, but I do listen to a bit of everything and metal is a cool genre."

It was his turn to chuckle, leaning forward onto the table to rest his head on his palms.

"You know, (L/n), you're not at all like what I'd expected you to be."

"What'd you mean by that, Munson?" you challenged, quirking up your eyebrows teasingly, his heart skipping a beat at the action.

"Nothing bad, I promise! Just, I don't know, your friends aren't as friendly or as cool as you."

You click your tongue at that, faux frown on your glossy lips.

"But aren't we friends? And you're plenty cool and friendly."

Friends. The word felt heavy on his tongue, goosebumps rising on his skin. Plus, you'd called him cool and friendly - by far the nicest thing any popular student had ever said to him. All logic flew out the window at that moment, walls tumbling down faster than the next words on his lips.

"Of course we're friends."

It was dangerous territory, a quiet voice was nagging him in the crevices of his mind that this was totally new and treacherous - accepting the friendship of the most popular and desired girl in school. The sirens were blaring in his head, red warning signs clouding his vision.

But Eddie consciously chose to turn the other way, running farther into your embrace.

"Cool. Glad to hear it, friend."

Once the initial hurdle was jumped over, the label of 'friends' hanging over you and Eddie, everything fell into place. Weeks flew by with tutoring sessions filled with inside jokes and excited ramblings, with Eddie taking every chance to insert a dirty joke in somehow to make you laugh.

He walked you from class to class at your insistence, your sharp glare at any staring passerbys enough to shut them up. Conversation was never awkward, there was plenty to talk about. His D&D sessions, the latest Metallica record, the next football game that Eddie would begrudgingly turn up to (but ultimately always would, just to be able to hug you in celebration afterwards).

It was all platonic, he told himself. Sure, he thought you were pretty and fun, but that didn't mean anything. He had it all under control, he reasoned, no, insisted. He was feigning igornace, arguing with his inner voice that it was all just excitement and nerves over having a friend who was popular.

"A lot on your mind?" you asked him a few months later, tongue swiping across the top of your ice cream, legs uncrossing underneath your cheerleading uniform.

You'd insisted on celebrating his first A in English Literature by going out for ice cream - "it's on me" you'd added, making it impossible to say no. It was a sizzling hot summer day and both of you were seeking refuge under the shade of a large willow tree, sitting on the roof of Eddie's van with him only a few inches separated from you.

'Yes.' Eddie wanted to say. 'I can't stop thinking about you.' he wanted to confess. 'I hear your laughter whilst I fold my clothes. I see you in the corner of my eyes everywhere I go, laying on my sofa with your legs dangling off the armrest, smiling at me in the rearview mirror from the backseat of my car.'

But he didn't say that.

"Not really. Just still reeling from the fact that I got an A." he joked, choosing to suppress his inner thoughts.

"Aw, well, you're a lot smarter than you give yourself credit for, Eds. This is just the beginning, I know it."

Humming, he shot you a quick wink.

"I'll take your word for it, doll."

Both of you fell into a comfortable silence after that, until a loud shriek was heard from inside the ice cream store. A girl Eddie vaguely recognized from one of his classes was nodding fiercely and hugging her boyfriend close, making his eyebrows raise in piqued curiosity.

"Oh, probably just a promposal for the dance next week." you commented lazily, tongue flicking at the top of your cone.

"Are you... going?" Eddie tested the waters, eyes cautiously picking apart your reaction.

"Yeah, I am! Jason's being really difficult about the color palette we're matching as though. He wants pink and blue, I'd rather we do yellow and blue or pink and white."

Eddie's vision flashed white at the mention of Jason's name, bone chilling cold seeping through his chest.

"Jason as in... Jason Carver?"

You nodded, and the pain he felt upon seeing the fond smile that spread across your lips instantly felt worse than a million needle pricks at his heart.

"That's him. He can be kind of difficult at times but... he's my boyfriend and I love him, you know?"

Eddie knew he'd never have a chance with you. He never deluded himself into that fantasy, but now it was confirmed, written in clear black and white: you were taken. Not only that, but you loved Jason Carver. He was your boyfriend.

It made total sense. How had Eddie not noticed it before? Perhaps you had mentioned it to him previously, an off the cuff comment here and there, but Eddie wasn't listening carefully. Too intoxicated on your quiet giggles, too busy admiring the golden sunlight kissing your hairline.

It was impossible to prevent the smile from dissipating from his face, a forced grin instead replacing his genuine warm smile.

"Yeah. Makes sense, I guess."

"How about you, Eds?" you excitedly asked, slapping him lightly on the shoulder. "Anyone caught your eye that you want to take to the dance?"

It burned his mouth to respond, heart throbbing, fingers strained by his sides.

"Yeah, but uh... I don't think I'll be able to make it, so I'm not going to ask her."

You frowned at that and there were a few drops of strawberry ice cream hanging from your lips, which Eddie reached out to wipe away with his thumb instinctively.

"S-sorry." he muttered out, retracting his hand quickly as if he'd been burnt.

"Yeah, you better be." Jason barked out from behind Eddie, making him straighten up in alarm, not having heard Jason's car pull into the parking lot.

The jock glared at Eddie as he walked around to wrap a possessive arm around your waist, pulling you right against his figure. Your widening smile was unmissable, so was the way you kicked your legs forward in delighted joy when Jason suddenly swooped down and pressed a harsh kiss against your lips.

Eddie awkwardly averted his gaze as Jason continued to glare at the metalhead from over your shoulder, deepening the kiss possessively, his vice grip only loosening from your waist when you patted him on the back indicating that you needed air.

"Ready to go, babe?" Jason asked, not even missing a beat. You nodded, scrunching up the paper cup in your hands and throwing it away to the nearest bin.

"I'll catch you round?" you asked cheerfully, linking your hands with Jason and shooting Eddie a hopeful smile. The smart answer to give would've been to make up an excuse, to cut the friendship there and for good - especially with how Jason was steaming with anger next to you, blue icy eyes narrowing in on Eddie's figure.

There was a storm brewing, toxic smoke billowing into the air. But Eddie stood there, unwavering, only nonchalantly rolling back his shoulders and winking at you.

"Yep. See you round."

Jason's hatred for Eddie only intensified as time went on - you'd tagged along to a D&D session once and the jock found you leaning over Eddie mid-dice roll, metal ring clad fingers on top of yours as he guided you. Eddie waited for you after school whenever you had late practice to drive you back home, only for Jason to then pop out of nowhere and insist on driving you home (though he lived in the opposite direction from you).

"I don't fucking trust you, freak." Jason once spat the moment you ran off to the bathroom, leaving the two men to be standing around your locker. "I don't know what the fuck my girlfriend sees in you, but you better not be dragging her into any of your shit."

Eddie clenched his jaw, fists grasping and ungrasping by his sides in an attempt to control his anger.

"Relax, Carver. We're just friends."

Jason just rolled his eyes at that, stepping forward threateningly.

"Yeah, friends. Just don't get your dick hard thinking she's yours. She shouldn't be wasting her time on you anyways."

Eddie's blood boiled at the way the basketball player talked about you, wanting to control and dictate everything you did.

"She's not property for you to fucking control, jackass." he retorted, only succeeding in causing Jason's nostrils to flare with fury.

"I'm back, and I- Oh." you paused, noticing the tension lingering in the air and the defensive postures. "Is everything alright?"

The boys stared at each other silently, hatred still tinging the air, but it all melted into fake smiles on both their faces when turning to you.

"Yep." they both affirmed.

"Everything's... perfect. Just as it should be." Jason slowly drawled, eyeing Eddie up and down. It was a threat, an alarm bell ringing right by his ears. It dawned on Eddie that this was becoming unavoidable now, the mess that he was in, his love for you an unstoppable tornado.

It was incredibly reckless to continue to be friends with you. But god, it felt so damn good.

So out of selfish nature or not, Eddie didn't pull away. He chose to clutch on to you tighter, grit his teeth harder, damn all the consequences that would follow. He'd wander closer into the eye of the storm, wholeheartedly and willingly, all for you.

Though Jason wasn't silent about his unhappiness over your friendship with Eddie, you never let it affect you. So Eddie continued to be your friend, maybe even best friend at this point after six months, what in between Saturday movie nights and late evening talks on the bleachers after practice.

Eddie forced himself to be content with being your go-to platonic company: of helping you pick out a dress for your date with Jason whilst leaning against the headboard of your bed, carrying your things for you at school as you rushed to class after cheerleading practice, laughing with you over a pack of cheep bear in someone's backyard during a loud house party.

It hurt - doing all the things couples did, but under the label of friendship and under Jason's persistent gaze. After all, Eddie was the one to hold your hair back when you'd had too much to drink at the end of year summer party, helping to wipe your mouth with a stray towel and gently guiding a water bottle to your lips.

Your boyfriend was nowhere to be seen, having ditched you the moment his fellow basketball players called him over. It made Eddie furious, how it seemed Jason only wanted you as a trophy to show off to the school before abandoning you in favor of his friends, but you seemed to be blind to it.

Besides, Eddie reasoned, who was he to intervene? Overall, you were happy, right?

The metalhead wasn't even in the bathroom with you for more than three minutes when Jason came pummeling through the door, chest heaving with anger upon having been told that you were seen stumbling into an empty bathroom with Eddie 'the freak' Munson.

The jock never said it - at least in front of Eddie - but it was clear that he suspected something more than friendship, you two always tilting dangerously close into romantic territory. Jason ordered Eddie out, insisting that you were in need of your boyfriend instead of him, and with a heavy heart Eddie sighed and wandered back into the party.

He still thought about you the rest of the night though, no matter how many jaegar bomb shots he downed.

Come autumn, and it wasn't just Jason who saw what was going on. At this point, you were beloved by everyone in the Hellfire Club and you'd even swung by Eddie's trailer multiple times. Wayne and the kids would all tease Eddie for his clear infatuation with you, which Eddie would vehemently deny, though he knew deep down they were right.

"So are you ever going to admit that you like her?" Dustin teased, knocking his shoulder into the older boy's.

They were sitting on the railings of the skate park, the boys having lost a game of rock-paper-scissors with Max to pick between going to the arcade or to the skate park. The redhead was busy coaching you on how to skate - your legs wobbly on the skateboard as Max held onto your arms, wide amused smiles on both your faces - whilst Lucas and Mike ran off to the corner store to get some water.

"What, (Y/n)?" Eddie tried to play dumb.

"Duh, who the hell else?" Dustin retorted, appalled that his friend would even try to feign ignorance.

Both boys picked up their heads at the sound of loud laughter, your back on the pavement as you seemingly fell, Max laughing so hard that she had tears in her eyes and was hunched over to clutch her stomach. The fond smile gracing Eddie's lips was instantaneous- you were always so good with the kids, they all adored you. The boys pestered you for gaming tips, Max and you bonded over music, Erica thought you were the "coolest adult" she knew.

It made Eddie fall even deeper for you, his heart now fully in the eye of the hurricane. You were ripping down all his walls, your laughter destructive and haunting. You left him dizzy and stumbling through the hallways, heart heavy with infatuation, lips aching to be on yours.

"There. Right there." Dustin commented, pointing right at Eddie's face. "You get that stupid grin on your face whenever she smiles or talks or shit, does anything really. We all have bets on when you're finally gotta make a move, so when are you?"

Eddie shoved off the curly haired boy, fingers scrambling to brush off the sleeves of his jacket in false boredom.

"For the millionth time, Henderson, she has a boyfriend. Said boyfriend, who by the way, hates me and frankly I don't feel like being a homewrecker." he spat, venom dropping from his voice at the thought of Jason. Letting out a short exhale, he flashed the younger boy a tired smile.

"Besides, we've been friends for like, what, over half a year now? The ship has sailed, I've got no chance."

"You're just saying that because you don't see the way she looks at you." the younger boy insisted. "Seriously. Friends don't look at each other like that."

Eddie had nothing to say to that, you looking up from the opposite site of the skate park to wave at the two boys with delight, which they both quickly returned. The fluttering in Eddie's stomach was easy to anticipate at this point, as was the heavy pang in his heart at the realization that Jason would be coming to pick you up in a short bit.

"She's just being nice, Dustin." Eddie muttered, running a shaky hand through his hair.

You looked ethereal whilst skating, so carefree, hair flowing in the wind as your knees bent and braced for the dip off the edge. Fading red orange sunlight accentuating the dip and curve of your facial features, autumn foliage stuck in your messy hair.

You'd come into his life, a tornado, and destroyed his whole being. He was wandering alone now, knees brushing up against green fields with nothing but trees surrounding him, but Eddie didn't mind.

So long as he got to continue to watch you smile like that.

Cut to the present, Eddie's mindlessly filling out the pop quiz, brain still fuzzy from your touch lingering over his skin, ghostly yet ever so present. The rest of the class flies by and it's the end of the school day, so Eddie quickly moves to shove his things into his bag, crushing all his paper notes with the haste with which he does so.

"Any plans for tonight?" you ask, tossing your bag over your shoulder.

It's Friday night, which to everyone else means parties and fancy dinners, but to Eddie it usually means going back to the trailer and watching a rerun of a shitty sitcom over a bowl of microwave mac and cheese. Not that he'll tell you that, though.

"Not really. Why, up for another spontaneous drive through town?" he teases, heart fluttering hopefully. You sigh and shake your head sideways.

"Can't - Jason's taking me out on a date, but... rain check for maybe next Friday?" you question, peeking up from your lashes.

"Sure, next Friday." the bitter smile and forced ambivalence to his tone is painful, but it's a dull ache he's made peace with at this point. "If anything changes, you know where to find me." Eddie jokes, cocking his head to the side.

And unexpectedly, things do change.

In the blink of an eye, it seems.

Eddie's mid-way through the rented copy of Evil Dead, hands stuck in a greasy bowl of popcorn as he lies chest down on the sofa, blue light from the television illuminating his tired face, until someone bangs against his trailer door furiously.

Jumping up at the sudden loud noise, he pauses the VHS tape, abandoning his bowl of popcorn on the couch before throwing open the door.

It's you, mascara running down your cheeks, arms crossed over your chest, clutching at your skin so harshly that the baby blue dress you're wearing bunches at your waist.

"I broke up with him." is the first thing you say, voice shaky, body still trembling. "He said some, fuck, awful things, Eds. Really awful things. I had no choice and I know it was the right thing to do but-"

Your voice breaks as another wave of tears overwhelms you.

"But then why does it still hurt?"

Eddie's quick to shush you and envelope you into his arms, not caring that your makeup is probably smudging against his shirt, his hands coming up to comfortingly cradle your head against his chest. Your body trembles with every sob that escapes your lips and Eddie presses a soft kiss to your hairline, wishing nothing more than to take your pain away from you.

His mind is whirring with a million different things to say to you, but your comfort is on the forefront of his mind above all.

"Hey... have you ever been to the park by Saint Street? You know, the one with the playground." he quietly suggests, pulling away slightly.

You look up at him, confused, wiping your eyes.

"I don't think so, why?"

Picking up the jean jacket thrown over his kitchen counter, he digs out his car keys from the side pocket and extends his left hand out for you to grab.

"Because. We should go. It's impossible to be sad at a playground."

It's a stupid thing to say, childish even, but it does the job of putting a smile back onto your face, your cold hands grasping his warm ones. It's a quick drive - no less than 15 minutes - but he can't help but look over at you at every intersection and red light, making sure that you're okay.

He jumps out first to open the car door for you before helping you climb over the metal fence - "no one comes by, I swear" he assures you - shaky feet meeting dead leaves and dirt, he's quick to tug you towards the swing set.

He refuses to let you talk - "play first, until you stop crying" - and he insists on pushing you on the swing as high as he can. He chases you down the slides then races you to the top of the jungle gym, drunk off of your bubbly laughter and the way your eyes twinkle in the moonlight.

Neither of you know how much time has passed before you two sit across from each other on the seesaw, ribs hurting from the lack of oxygen. You can faintly make out Eddie's features in the dark - moonlight illuminating his curls, amused grin on his handsome face (the same face you've been unable to stop thinking about for the past few months).

"So what'd Jason say?" Eddie asks, leaning forward. "But only if you wanna talk about it, of course." he clarifies.

You let out a slow exhale, nodding tiredly.

"No, no, you... you deserve to know. Jason was on edge at the restuarant - I didn't think much of it, he's always a bit on edge - but he just went crazy today. Like, the moment the waiter left he started screaming at me, accusing me of cheating on him."

"Cheating on him?" Eddie strains his neck with the speed with which he picks his head up to stare at you, wide mouthed. "You? You would never!"

You scoff at that, thumbs anxiously twiddling on your lap.

"I know. That's what I tried to tell him but he wouldn't hear it. Just kept on going and on about how I was clearly in love with-" you stop yourself then, the gravity of the situation falling into place like dominoes.

You just broke up with your boyfriend of nearly a year. You came to Eddie crying, showing up at his doorstep in a heartbeat. Now you two are staring at each other in the park, leaned over opposite sides of a fucking seesaw, pouring each other's feelings out into the chilly winter air.

"With who?" he furrows his eyebrows and you almost want to laugh at how oblivious he is. You suppose maybe you've been hiding it well - well enough for Eddie to not notice how your touch has always lingered a bit too long on his skin, how your head so easily found home in the crook of his neck, how you began to prioritize meeting up with him over your fellow cheerleaders.

But not well enough for Jason, eagle eyed and jealous, constantly hovering over your interactions with Eddie and deluding himself with the gossip around school that you'd gone further than that.

"You."

It's whispered, heart falling to the bottom of your stomach at the confession now lingering in the open, cold and heavy.

"M-me?" Eddie stutters, clearly taken back. You lick your lips, chapped and dry, your shaky breaths coming out in small whisps of white smoke.

"Yeah. Jason insisted that it was clear that I was cheating on him with you and that we were spending way too much time to be just friends, and he... he called me a lying slut. Straight up. Screamed that I was whore to my face, demanded to know how many times we fucked behind his back."

"W-we never even kissed!"

"Yeah, I know." you chuckle sadly, shaking your head sideways, blinking away new tears which spring to your eyes. "But Jason didn't believe me. I dumped him, left him with the check and... I don't know, didn't feel like going home to an empty house. And I just... all I could think about was how much I wanted to see you."

Eddie doesn't know what to say to that. So he takes the safe route, nodding sympathetically and flashing you a small grin.

"Well, I'm glad that you did. I hope me dragging you to the playground wasn't the wrong thing to do." he teases, attempting to lighten the heavy mood. It works, soft grin tugging at your face.

"Yeah it definitely wasn't. Coming here was perfect."

The night breeze blows against your bare shoulders and it hits you that you really aren't dressed for the outside. Even if winter is only beginning to slowly roll in, it's still chilly enough to see your breath in front of your eyes in puffs of smoke and you've been sitting still on this seesaw for a while. So Eddie steps off to shrug off his jacket, musky earth tones warming your senses as he places it carefully around your shoulders.

"Thanks." you mutter, fingers grasping the lapels of the fabric.

"Don't mention it." he responds, waving you off.

A few beats of silence pass and then you throw your head back, staring up at the night sky full of stars.

"You know, weirdly though, I'm kind of relieved."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Deep down, I knew it wouldn't last. Too many red flags, you know? I just keep on ignoring them because... I don't know, really. Don't like change."

"I get that."

"God, feelings suck." you chuckle, shaking your head sideways. "Don't they? Pining, infatuation, love."

Eddie hums, nodding along.

"I'm there with you. For example-" he pauses. He's staring the storm right in the eye now, he has to made a decision.

He's tired of running, he decides.

"The girl I've been fawning over for almost a year now has been totally blind to my love for her and I'm exhausted." he makes it a point to stare straight at you with an unwavering intensity. "But she's worth it."

It's a shot in the dark but there's a surge of courage and adrenaline pumping through his veins, and the dark makes him more bold. He blames it on the wind rush, the night high, how beautiful you look in that velvet blue dress.

"She sounds like a very lucky girl." you choke out, mind blanking unexpectedly. Eddie nods and walks up towards you slowly, your throat running dry under the intensity of his stare.

"Yeah, and she's incredible, too. Head cheerleader. Great English Literature tutor. So funny, so kind, so damn beautiful, especially in blue. Great with kids, loved by my uncle, and I just heard-" his left hand comes over to brush up against your cheek. "That she's single. Funny how things work out like this, huh?"

You nod wordlessly, entranced by his warm brown eyes.

"It is."

You stand up cautiously, never once breaking eye contact with him, leaning in closer and closer. Eddie's expecting you to pull away from him in any instant, disgust springing onto your face or apologies falling from your lips, but you remain still. Your lashes fluttering shut is the last sign he needs before he commits to closing the gap and kissing you squarely on your lips, knocking the cold air out from your lungs.

It's a cold night but his skin's on fire, left hand springing up to cup your chin, other hand supporting your neck as he tugs you in even closer. You taste like cherry chapstick and smell like French perfume, velvet fabric brushing up against his arms as he backs you up against a park bench.

It's a messy kiss, all teeth and tongue, but he can't give a fuck. Not when his heart is soaring, fingertips electric, mind hazy at the realization that he is finally kissing his dream girl after a whole year of pining.

"Holy shit." you manage to say when you two pull apart, hair slightly messied and lips wet and plump.

"I hope that's a good holy shit, princess." Eddie teases, the nickname causing your stomach to flutter with butterflies.

"It's a good holy shit. A really good holy shit." you confirm, nodding fiercely. You both laugh at that, warmth blossoming across both your chests.

"W-why didn't you ever say anything?" you stutter out, head still reeling from the passionate kiss.

"I wanted to. God, I wanted to so many times. I knew I was falling for you from the beginning, all these little indicators and signs and the intrusive thoughts. But I kept on ignoring them and by the time I realized I loved you, I knew you were with Jason and you two seemed happy. And I didn't want to be selfish and intrude on your happiness like that."

He tugs you down onto his lap, sitting both your bodies down on the metal bench. Your hands come up to carress his cold cheeks, trembling thumbs rubbing up and down his jawline, eyes admiring the freckles on his nose and the specks of moonlight in his hair.

"Well, no need to ignore those warnings anymore, huh?" you say quietly, voice heavy with adoration.

He just nods, head falling forwards to rest on your chest, hearing your soft heartbeat through velvet fabric.

"Absolutely."

Eddie ignored the tornado warnings.

But in the wreckage, you two found each other, hands desperately grasping each other's in the darkness.

Burrowing his head into the crevice of your neck, he's content to stay with you in the aftermath of the disaster, so long as you continue to grip onto him like this.

a/n: this was based on the song with the same title by Sabrina Carpenter! Please go stream and support her new album, 'emails I can't send', it is fantastic and there are so many other bangers on the album.

Speaking of which, the way that the metaphor of the tornado is used in the song is kinda different from how I used it here but idk, I thought it was a cute concept and the song motivated me to write it haha. Not sure how this fic will be received but I loved writing it :)

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x fem!reader #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #eddie munson #1k #2k #3k #4k #5k #6k #7k #8k

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evansbby · 1 year

Text

𝐖𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐆𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬☆.｡.:*

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: mean jock!Ari Levinson x naive!reader

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: daddy!kink, smutt, dd/lg vibes, dubcon, dark Ari, liar Ari, cheater Ari, mean Ari, size difference, innocence kink, naive reader, slight voyeurism, 18+ only, minors dni!

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Ari is the campus fuckboy and you’re his little plaything. But he says he’s going to make you his girlfriend soon, right?

𝐀/𝐍: So I wrote this quickly in the past few hours. It’s probably filled with mistakes as I have not reread it even once. But please do enjoy! And tell me what you think.

“Ari, no.”

You pout, but all that does is make him smirk. And it’s not like you’re strong enough to stop him as the beefy 6’6 brunette drags you into the locker room.

“C’mon, babe. Just a quickie while the rest of the team is busy.”

“But I’m not talking to you!”

Ari raises an eyebrow, reaching up to rub his thick beard while his other hand remains pressed to the small of your back. “Oh yeah? Is that why you came to watch me play? And sat in the front row and batted your lashes and gave me those fuck me eyes?”

Your jaw drops open, “You meanie! I did no such thing!”

But Ari uses that moment to shove you through the locker room door, locking it behind you before he pins you against it. And in a second, he’s all over you. This huge, hunky basketball player, his muscular biceps all sweaty from practice, his vest sticking to his toned body that you know all too well. He presses his lips against your neck, sponging wet kisses as he tries to unbutton your top to feel you up, “Just a quickie, honey.” He repeats, “I know how badly you want me.”

“I don’t!” You protest, albeit weakly. But you manage to press your arms against his hard chest and push with all your might. But you might as well be a fly combatting a rhino because of how much bigger he is than you. And yet, you continue pushing and batting at his chest, till he stops kissing you and looks down at you with a raised eyebrow and a mildly irritated look on his face.

“What’s your problem?”

“I told you, Ari! I’m not speaking to you.”

The beefy brunette rolls his eyes before backing away and peeling his vest off. You gulp, trying not to grow distracted by how hot his body is, how big and muscular he is, how defined his sixpack is. He’s the hottest guy on the basketball team. No. Scratch that. He’s the hottest guy on campus and it’s crazy to think that he’s crazy about you.

Ari sits down on the wooden bench by the lockers, taking up the whole area as he spreads out with his legs open and pats his beefy thighs. “Oh yeah? Why don’t you come sit on daddy’s knee and tell me exactly why you’re mad, sweetheart.”

Oh, he was so cocky sometimes! Ari had the worst reputation among all the girls in your college. An asshole. A player. A fuckboy. Your friends had warned you not to fall for his charms, they’d told you he’d prey on you. Take advantage of you because of how “innocent” you were. That’s what he did with everyone else.

But you were different! That’s what Ari had told you when he’d taken your virginity weeks ago at a frat party. You’d felt dizzy from the one singular sip of alcohol you’d consumed and had gone to lie down in one of the upstairs bedrooms. And not ten minutes later, you’d felt the bed dip and you’d opened your eyes to see the hottest upperclassman on campus sitting right next to you. The rest was history. But he’d told you how beautiful you were that night, how he couldn’t take his eyes off you. How he’d had a fight with his girlfriend and maybe you could cheer him up?

And he’d made you feel so good. The two of you had been fooling around ever since. It was crazy to you, how a senior as hot and perfect as Ari Levinson (captain of the basketball team and the most popular guy on campus) seemed to be so interested in a random freshman like you. And he’d done things to your body that no other fumbling boyfriend could ever figure out how to do before. Yes, in your eyes, Ari Levinson was a God.

Which is why you obediently perch down on his lap in the locker room, and the older boy smirks, pushing the neckline of your top to the side so he can play with your bra strap. You feel hot all over but try to remember why you’re mad at him, despite the fact that he’s so close to you and completely shirtless.

“Ari, you didn’t keep your promise.” You begin, but he’s already begun kissing up your jaw, pressing your body flush against his till you can feel his boner digging into your ass.

“Mm? What promise was that, baby?”

You try not to grow distracted by all the cut pet-names he calls you, or the fact that he’s kissing and touching you so ravenously, making you feel so beautiful and sexy and desirable because he of all people wants you so bad. But you need to stay focused and get your point across before he has you completely helpless underneath him.

“Well, you told me you were gonna break up with your girlfriend last week, but Wanda says she saw you hanging out with Sharon yesterday at the ice cream parlour.” You sniffle, “She said… She said you looked all cosy, huddled up in the booth with her. She even saw you guys kissing!” You shake your head and scrunch your eyes shut, willing yourself not to cry.

“Aww, baby.” Ari coos, his heavy arms wrapping around you and cuddling you close, and you can’t help but cry into his bare chest. He was so warm and hairy and just so huggable, and his hand rubs soothingly up and down your back as he hugs you hard. “This is all just a huge misunderstanding.”

You look up at him, “It is?”

“Of course.” Ari says confidently, his expression not wavering for a second as he strokes your cheek. “I was at the ice cream parlour with Sharon, but I was only there to break up with her. And then we hugged it out and she gave me a goodbye kiss on the cheek. That’s probably what Wanda saw.”

“B-But Wanda says you guys were embracing for a long time.”

Ari blinks, and for a fleeting moment, something dark crosses over his features before they relax once more, and he gives you his winning smile. “Well, that’s because Sharon’s uncle died.”

“Huh?”

“Yeah. I wasn’t going to tell you that since it’s kind of private, but since you wouldn’t let it go… Well, Sharon’s uncle died, baby. And she was really sad about it, so I gave her a long hug and comforted her.”

“Oh.” You pause, trying to makes sense of all this new information. Your friends had told you in the past that you could be gullible – but Ari wouldn’t lie about someone dying, would he? You look up at him, seeing his pouty pink lips smiling down at you gently while his big hands continue to rub over your back, slipping down under your top to do so. “Well that’s… That’s really sad, Ari. Is she okay?”

“Hm?” Ari’s too busy staring down your cleavage, and his finger hooks under your bra strap and snaps it lewdly against your skin, his pink tongue darting out to run over his lips. His usually blue eyes look blown out and navy, and he lifts your top over your breasts to give them a squeeze, “What’d you say, baby?”

“I said, is Sharon okay? Deaths within immediate family can be hard to deal with. Was she close with her uncle?” You can’t help but feel bad. Sharon had been Ari’s long-term girlfriend for a while, but Ari had told you that they’d been having a lot of fights recently and that he was meaning to break up with her. He’d told you that Sharon was insufferable and mean and that you were sweet and lovely. He said he wanted to make you his new girlfriend, but it would have to wait until he broke up with Sharon. And now he’d done it.

“I’m sure she’ll be fine.” Ari answers distractedly, gesturing for you to lift your arms up so he can peel your top off you. You yelp in protest when he throws it across the room before expertly unclasping your bra with one hand. And your bra goes flying across the room as well, and Ari wastes no time in latching his mouth onto your nipple, sucking harshly and making you throw your head back and gasp out loud.

His hand slips up to massage your other breast and pinch your nipple which is hard as glass. You pant, loving how you turn into putty in his hands as soon as he touches you. He’s just so experienced and makes your body feel so good with the simplest of gestures, and you can’t help but grab his long brown locks that reach down till the base of his neck, pulling hard at the same time he gives your nipple a hard suck, practically suctioning your whole breast into his mouth.

“Ah, Ari! Does this mean you can finally make me your girlfriend?” You ask, despite all the sensations your body is feeling. You’ve been waiting to be his girlfriend for weeks now. It’s been hard having to meet up with him in secret all the time. Waiting for him to text you late at night, or wait until the early hours of the morning when he shows up to your dorm room for sex. You want Ari to take you out on dates, hold your hand on campus and let everyone know that you’re his girlfriend now. And Ari had promised he’d do all of that for you. Was now finally the time?

“God, you have the prettiest tits, baby.” Ari murmurs against your breasts, pushing them together and burying his face in them, licking and sucking and biting the sensitive skin while you pant and wail. “You had me distracted the entire time I was playing. Kept looking at you jumping up and down every time I scored, fuck!” He drives his hard crotch up against your ass and you whimper, holding steadily onto his broad shoulders. “Felt like you were putting on a private show for me, baby.”

Despite your pleasure, you can’t help but feel indignance towards his lewd insinuation, “I was not!”

Ari smirks, “Oh yeah? You weren’t purposely bouncing your tits for daddy? I guess I forgot what an airhead you can be, not even realising how sexy your body is in all these tiny outfits that you wear especially for me, huh?”

“Ari!” You smack his chest. He could be so rude sometimes, a complete asshole! But he was also the one who’d called you beautiful when he’d taken your virginity. When he’d praised you for being the most sensitive, understanding and sweetest girl he’d ever met. Oh, as much as he made your blood boil with his lewd remarks, he also made butterflies flutter in your tummy with his words that were sweet as honey!

The captain of the basketball team smiles down at you, his blue eyes twinkling with lust as he leans back against the lockers behind him, folding his arms over his chest as he looks you over.

“Get up and turn around, baby. Daddy wants to see your ass.”

You immediately obey. His deep, commanding voice always resonates with your submissive side, and your pussy throbs as you stand up and turn till your back is facing him. Shivers run down your spine when you feel his hand press against the small of your back, pushing you forward till you’re bending over, your ass pointed straight to his face.

“Now take this tiny excuse for a skirt off. And do it slowly.”

With care, you slowly slip the blue denim skirt with pink frills down your bare legs. Ari was right, you’d worn this slutty outfit especially for him – whether you wanted to admit it or not. You were addicted to him and the attention he gave you. Sure, you were mad at him, but that hadn’t stopped you from attending his basketball practice in these tiny clothes, hoping he’d pay you some attention. Which he had.

But it was all okay, and you didn’t even have to feel bad anymore! Ari had broken up with his girlfriend which meant he would make you his new girlfriend!

“Daddy, isn’t it great we won’t have to sneak around anymore?” You ask him cutely. But he’s too busy staring at your ass to answer. You step out of your skirt and shiver when you feel his hands groping your bare ass. You’re wearing a tiny candy pink G-string which barely conceals anything, and Ari’s going to town as he squeezes and fondles your butt to his heart’s content.

“You have such a cute baby ass.” Ari murmurs, pressing kisses on your fleshy cheeks as he keeps a firm grip on them, “Best ass I’ve ever seen, honey. I can always see it peaking out from under your slutty little skirts. I’m always itching to give it a smack and see how it jiggles.” H squeezes it roughly, “Tell me to hit you, baby.”

“Huh?”

“Tell daddy you want to be hit for being a naughty little girl and wearing slutty outfits.” Ari says, his voice deep with carnal lust.

“B-But.”

“Do it. Or I’ll take you over my knee and spank you twice as hard.”

You pout at his threat, but you know he’ll follow through with it. A week ago, Ari had seen you flirting with his friend Curtis. It was completely innocent on your part – you just liked to talk to people, after all! – but Ari hadn’t thought so. He’d reminded you that you were his, and that you couldn’t speak to any other man. And then he’d slung you over his knee and spanked you till your ass was raw and glowing with pain.

You swallow harshly, “Daddy, please hit my baby ass.”

“Why?”

“ ‘Cause I was wearin’ a slutty outfit.”

SMACK.

You’re almost knocked off your feet with the force of the slap, but it also resonates straight down to your cunt. And from your bent over position, you can see your slick dripping down your leg. God, the effect Ari has on you is insane. He plays your body like a fiddle, and knows exactly how to get you so wet.

He continues playing with your ass, slapping it and squeezing it and groping it. And you know he’d happily do this for hours if he had the chance. He’d actually done that once, when he’d come to your dorm room at 3 in the morning. He’d been high and horny as hell, and had asked you to lay on your stomach naked while he played with your ass and ate you out from the back for what felt like hours. Not that you were complaining – you were sure you’d fallen asleep and woken up several times to him still playing with your butt. It was clearly his favourite part of your body, and he’d even stuck a finger up there. That had woken you up and made you squeal, and Ari had just laughed and told you to stop being a baby…

Back in the present, you huff indignantly, growing impatient and hoping he’d get the message. But Ari’s in the zone, spreading your ass cheeks and practically making out with your asshole, muttering about how hot your ass is and how he’d tattoo his name on it if he could.

“Daddy! I’m getting’ sore!” You grumble, because your back is hurting from bending over for so long. Mercifully, the brunette chuckles, grabbing your arm and pulling you back up into his lap. But not before he grabs the flimsy lace of your G-string and rips it in half. You gasp although you’re not too surprised, and grab onto his shoulders as he helps you straddle him. And you both let out collective moans as your core nestles on top of his clothed dick that is hard and poking out against his basketball shorts.

“Poor baby,” Ari teases, nipping and biting against your neck as he humps up against you. “Weren’t you mad at me a second ago? And now look at you, naked in the locker room like you’re getting paid to be my personal slut.” He smirks, liking the sound of that as he can’t help but give your ass another rough squeeze, “The captain’s personal slut. You like that, baby? You like being my slut?”

You pout, “You said you’d make me your girlfriend once you broke up with Sharon.”

Ari sighs, grabbing your hand and pressing it against his hard crotch, “Are you still thinking about that?”

“Well, it’s what you said! And now you’ve broken up with her, so –”

“Honey, I will make you my girlfriend.” Ari chucks you under your chin until you giggle, looking up to meet his sparkling eyes. “But we gotta lay low for a while. You know, since Sharon’s uncle died. It wouldn’t be very nice for me to rub my new girl in her face, would it?”

You blink, “I guess not.”

“It wouldn’t.” He confirms. “Look, you’re my special girl and you already know that.” He gives you a quick kiss while his hand holds yours in place over his crotch. “I already told you I’ve never met anyone else like you, haven’t I? So of course, I’ll make you my girl, but you have to be patient.”

You nod slowly, “Okay, daddy. I can do that.”

“Good girl. Now take my dick out.”

Ari presses your hand inside his shorts, and you feel his dick – so hot and hard – as it pulses against your fingers. You wrap them around the base and pull him out, mouth watering slightly at the sight of his length. Under the bright locker room lights, he looks doubly huge. Every time you see it, you wonder how exactly he fits it inside of you.

You still remember your first time, with the party music blaring in the distance. Ari breathing sweet words against your ear, coaxing you gently while you cried like a baby. Clutching his huge body close to yours as he penetrated you for the first time, calling you his special little baby. Calling you his perfect princess, telling you how good and tight you felt around his daddy dick, promising you how good he’d take care of you. God, it had hurt so much when he’d stuffed himself inside you, but the pleasure that came afterwards was so beautiful and you couldn’t get enough of him since.

“So big, daddy.” You pant, feeling especially little as he holds you in his lap with his hard dick, so red and angry with pent-up lust, throbbing in your hand.

Ari bites his lip, gazing at you with hunger, “Yeah, baby? You like my big dick?”

“L-Love it!”

“Mm, you like how it barely fits inside you? You like how I break your little baby pussy in half every time I fuck you, huh?” He wraps his hand around your smaller one, making you run your hand up and down his length and jack him off.

“Yes, daddy, I love it! Love havin’ you inside me!” You say earnestly, and Ari moans out loud.

His phone vibrates then, and you snap out of your lustful reverie long enough to glance down at the bench where it rests. You see the name SHARON flash on his screen before he grabs it and throws it into his gym bag.

“She’s calling because she wants to set up a time to grab some of her stuff from my dorm room.” Ari explains smoothly when he sees your expression. “Don’t doubt daddy, baby. You know I’d never do you dirty like that.”

You’re all too ready to believe him, letting him lift you up by the hips before he slams you down on his dick. And one second your hole is weepy and empty, and the next you’re stuffed full to the brim with his thick dick. And Ari has to force you down to get it in all the way, his teeth gritted as he drives his huge monster length up your tiny pussy, and you feel like you’ll tear in half but in the best way possible. And all your thoughts and doubts about Sharon are forgotten as Ari completely manhandles you on top of his dick, and you feel so full and you gasp into his mouth as he grabs your face and kisses you sloppily.

“My slutty little girl,” Ari murmurs against your lips, “Coming to all my practices and cheering me on just so you can get your little pussy stuffed to the brim, isn’t that right?”

“N-No! OW! Yes, okay?! YES!” You can’t help but agree with him when he slaps your ass, before lifting you up with his strong arms and driving you back down.

“Tell me you’re my little slut.” He commands.

“I’m your little slut, daddy. Please!” You cry.

“Say it again.”

“I’M YOUR LITTLE SLUT, OKAY? PLEASE, DADDY!”

Ari loves to make you beg and you know it. You remember once in the past, he’d sauntered into your dorm room in the early hours of the morning. He’d sat on your bed like he owned it and lit up a joint, despite you protesting that smoking wasn’t allowed in your dorm. Well, that night he’d sat there and blown smoke in your face while he made you suck his dick. Lazily guiding your face with one hand while he held the joint with the other. And he’d made you beg him to fuck you, beg him for hours before he’d relented. He’d told you he loved playing with you, loved unravelling you till you came undone in his hands. Loved pushing you till the edge, till you were so submissive for him that you could cry.

And cry you had. Big, fat tears pouring down your face as you’d begged him to fuck you. To just put it inside you, even if it was just a little bit. “Just the tip, daddy!” He’d made you beg while your mouth was full of his dick. And you couldn’t believe that you, who’d entered this college as a virgin, were on your knees for the college senior fuckboy while he blew smoke in your face and laughed while you begged and begged for his dick that he’d made you addicted to.

But he always relented in the end. He always gave you that sweet release and then some. Ari was an extremely skilled lover, and he knew just how to make you come undone till you were pulsing around him, almost passed out with pleasure. And then he’d light another joint and when you’d timidly ask for a puff, he’d tell you that babies like you weren’t allowed to smoke. And then he’d laugh some more.

Back in the present, you’re moaning like a wanton whore while Ari bounces you up and down on his dick, and it feels like he’s piercing you open from the inside out while he murmurs dirtily in your ear. And the small locker room is filled with the lewd sound of panting and skin slapping against skin, and you almost don’t hear the loud knocking on the door and the doorknob as it rattles.

“Hey, Levinson! When are you and your side chick gonna be done? The rest of us have to change!”

You head snaps up but Ari presses his lips against yours, his kiss swallowing up all your suspicions.

“It’s just Curtis, you know how much of a dick he can be.” Ari murmurs against your lips, grinding his hips in just the right way that has you feeling that delicious feeling. He moves you up and down at lightning speed, like you’re just a ragdoll that weighs nothing in his strong arms. Your eyes almost roll to the back of your head when you feel your clit rubbing against his pubic hair, making you clench around his dick and causing him to swear profusely.

“Goddamit, baby, so good. Your pussy’s so tight and sexy, baby.” He squeezes your tits harshly, twisting your nipples and adding to your bliss as you feel your pleasure mount up.

“G-Gonna cum, daddy,” You whimper, and earn another slap to your ass.

“Not yet, dumb baby. Not unless daddy says so.”

But you can’t wait, you just can’t! Ari had told you once it’s because you were a virgin and knew nothing about sex, nothing about holding your orgasms. He said he’d found it cute how you could never hold it, how you always chased your release selfishly. But you just couldn’t help it! He made you feel so good! How could he expect you to hold anything?

The invisible rubber band snaps inside you and you explode, your slick walls pulsating around his dick as you cum. Waves of pleasure radiating through your body, making your legs feel like jelly as Ari continues to bounce you up and down. His abs and thighs are covered in your cream, and his eyes grow distracted as he stares at the mess you’ve made. And you sob and cling to him, feeling so needy and overwhelmed as he continues to fuck you.

“What a stupid little baby you are.” Ari mocks, slapping your cheek condescendingly while you gaze dazedly up at him. “First, you dress up like a little attention seeking tart just to get me to fuck you, and then you can’t even play by your daddy’s rules, can you? Always so needy, always cumming without permission. Baby, one of these days I’m gonna fuck you in front of my friends just so they can see how badly you take instruction. Maybe that’ll straighten you up, huh?”

“Nooooo…” you cry weakly, pounding at his chest because you feel overwhelmed as he continues to piston his hips up and pierce into you.

“The whole basketball team’s gonna watch me fuck my little slut next time you cum without permission.” Ari says through gritted teeth before he suddenly throws you off his dick. And you gape, staring in awe at his pink dick completely coated in your sticky cream. But not for long, because Ari mauls your naked body till you’re bent over the bench on your hands and knees. He gives your ass three hard smacks, the force of which would’ve knocked you over had his other hand not been holding you in place. And then he shoves himself back into you, fucking you doubly harder than before.

“Oooh my god!” You squeal and you hear him smirk.

“Not God, sweetheart. Just me.”

And then he well and truly shifts into jackhammer mode, thrusting into you so hard that his hips become a blur. He grabs you by the hair and pulls you upwards, till your back is against his hairy chest and you can feel him biting against your neck. He gropes your breasts lewdly, pinching your nipples as he angles your head to face forward.

“Look at that, baby.” Ari coos, and you gape at the sight of yourself getting fucking like a whore. He’s made you look into the huge full-length mirror that takes up one side of the room. And you can’t believe how much bigger Ari is than you, like a giant dwarfing you completely as he fucks you. As he completely breaks you in half and mocks you as he does it. “Look at you, getting what you deserve. This is what you wanted, huh? You want me to make you my girl, huh baby? Well that means you let me fuck you whenever and however I want, you got that?”

“Y-Yes, daddy, yes, yes, yes!” You cry, ready to agree with whatever he says as you begin to see stars again.

“Whatever daddy says goes, you got that?” He holds your head in place, forcing you to watch as he ruins you. Forcing you to watch the sweaty mess you’ve become as this beefy, giant of a man has his way with you. “If I tell you I want you to lick my cum off the floor, you’ll do it and say ‘thank you, daddy’, won’t you?”

“I will!”

“And if I tell you I want to fuck your ass, what’re you gonna say sweetheart?”

“Do it!” You sob, delirious and ready to agree with whatever he says. He’s making you see stars like no one else could, forcing the pleasure out of your body through his expert hands, his fat dick and his dirty, controlling words. You love how Ari has the upper hand, how he has control over you in every single way possible. He’s older than you, bigger than you, stronger than you, and he holds you at his mercy and you love it. You get off on it. And you’d do anything he’d tell you to.

“That’s my good little slut.” Ari praises, and you can hear the wolf whistles and hoots through the door of the locker room. You know his friends are on the other side, and you know the walls are thin. You know they can hear every little thing, from Ari’s dirty talk to the sick slap of your skin against his to your wanton moans. You see Ari’s expression in the mirror, and he looks smug and proud, like he’s the king who’s on top of his world right now.

His hand snakes down to rub your clit, and your eyes nearly bug out of your head. “Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck!” Your sob, loving how well he knows your body. How he circles your clit with his finger before pinching it, rubbing it sensually like only he knows how to. And all the while holding you in place while he fucks the living daylights out of you.

“And what if I want you to service my friends, honey? You’d do that too?” Ari whispers darkly in your ear, casually running a hand through his long brown mane as if he hasn’t just said the dirtiest thing in the world. His gaze is locked on yours, gauging your reaction. And why does your pussy clench around his dick when he says it? He laughs mockingly, “What a fuckin’ slut you are, baby. You’d service the whole basketball team, wouldn’t you? Shake your little baby ass for all of them and let them tuck money into those slutty little panties you always wear?”

“Y-Yeah,” you moan pitifully, grabbing his forearm as he continues to play with your puffy bundle of nerves. “I’d do it for you, daddy. Fuck, don’t stop! I’d do anything for you!”

“Damn right you would.” Ari boasts, holding you tightly in place against him as his hips continue to move. And you’re sure you’d have fallen down to the ground had he not been there to hold you up. Like a propped-up doll, ready to do her master’s bidding. “And then I’d fuck your ass in front of all of ‘em, so they’d know you belong to me. My slutty little plaything to do with what I please. Remember that.”

You cum so hard, you feel like you’ve blacked out for a few seconds. You squirt violently around his dick, milking him as you whine and scream his name, thank him for fucking you so good, making you feel so addicted to his cock as the searing pleasure courses through you. And that’s when you feel his heavy load release inside you, burning you from the inside out.

Ari never wore condoms with you. He said he wanted his pretty baby to feel him raw.

And you can feel him, alright. Every bit of his thick cum as it overflows inside you. Trickling down your thigh because you can’t hold it in, there’s way too much of it. Your legs give out underneath you, and Ari hoists you up into his arms like you’re his little baby. Trembling in his giant arms as you wrap your legs around his waist and bury your face in his hairy chest. His dick is still inside you, pulsing out the remainder of his load which seems to be never-ending.

“Attaboy, Levinson, you fuckin’ dog! Thanks for the show!”

You hear the voices laughing and hollering from the other side of the locker room door, but you’re too fucked out to care too much, only focusing on Ari and how big he is as he holds you close.

“Daddy,” you whimper, feeling needy. And Ari presses your face with soft kisses.

“You were so good for me baby,” He praises you, “So good for daddy.” And then he grows distracted by his cum as it trickles out of you, swiping it up from your pussy and pressing it into your mouth. You’re so exhausted but you lick it clean, hoping to impress him. He watches you suckle his finger dry, and you can feel his dick hardening inside you again. “I’ve got you trained so well, baby.”

You look up at him needily, “Am I your girlfriend now, daddy?”

Ari chuckles, setting you down on the bench as you try to catch your breath. He already looks like he’s ready for round two, standing tall and barely having broken a sweat, his dick almost fully hard once more and slapping against his abs. He gives you a condescending pat on the head before pushing his shorts off.

“Soon, baby.” He says before making his way to one of the stalls. He turns and shoots you a wink. “Come join me in the shower once you can walk.”

THE END AKFHSDLANA

I’m so nervous yall! i wrote this so spontaneously and it is the first time in a long time that i have posted an ARI FIC!!! please please let me know what you think! please reblog and leave feedback! let me know what you think of ARI! Is he gonna make her his gf?? is he a good guy??? HOW WAS IT??? let me know!! thank you ily all bye hehe

#ari levinson #ari levinson x reader #chris evans #chris evans x reader #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #dark ari levinson #ari levinson fanfiction

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where-does-the-heart-lie · 6 months

Note

Unrelated to the poll but I can NOT stop laughing at Ace’s face here

That is a man who is thinking “Oh my god I fucked up. I accidentally made this guy think of his dead dad while trying to hit on him oh my God I Fucked Up. This is The Worst possible first impression I could’ve ever made in the history of Ever. This is it, he’s going to condemn me and walk away forever and I’m going to have fumbled the bag so hard with this guy it’s going to haunt me for the rest of my life. I can never show my face in Funky Bar ever again in case he comes back. Actually, I can’t even show my face in public anywhere ever again. Oh god. Oh god oh fuck how do I salvage this- if I even CAN salvage this oh christ on a stick-“

LMAOOO a perfect description. You shouldve seen my original sketch for that moment though

I changed it because i thought it was a little insensitive for a man saying his dad died. Like i didnt wanna make light of it. But i do feel like it needs to be said lol

Thanks for the ask!

#ask reply #@theweirdhybrid

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kai-anderson-whore · 7 months

Text

His protégé (James Patrick march x fem reader smut) (kinktober fic 3)

Summary: you met James like his other “students” but after years off him taken you under his wing you couldn’t handle the pressures.

Warnings: smut, mentions of killing, becoming a serial killer, p in v sex, slight edging, knife kink, oral (reader receiving), tiny bit of spanking (like one spank), feeling like being watched, fear of abandonment(James not wanting reader to leave like the countess sort of did), James being possessive.

Word count: 3k

•¤❅¤•.•°˚˚°•..•°˚˚°•.•¤❅¤•.•¤❅¤•.•°˚˚°•.

You met him over three years ago, the same way as all his "students". Coincidentally waltzing into the Cortez when the world felt like it could swallow you whole, well at least that's what you felt like you wanted the world to do. To say this was the worst week you ever had was the understatement of the century.

You sat by the bar toying with the glass of alcohol in front of you. 'Was drowning your sorrows even worth it?', 'is getting so wasted that you'd might get kicked out the the hotel even worth it?' You wondered something that became routine over the past few days residing at this hotel. The bar was practically empty considering it was late on in the night.

The bartender who you soon known as liz shooting you a sympathetic smile every now and then. You observed the lavish historical hotel, full of art deco some antiques from the 1920s. You had heard all the rumours and stories of this hotel's history to say that it intrigued you would be the best way to put it. You heard near enough everything about the hotel Cortez and the "ghosts" residents here thanks to billie dean Howard.

You felt preying eyes on you, furrowed brows you turned and saw nothing... weird you thought. Maybe it was your imagination after all your in an infamous "haunted" hotel. But that was impossible ghosts aren't true, right?. Decided on calling it a night you thanked liz and went to your room 64, famous for being the room of two serial killers John Lowe and the former office of the owner james Patrick march coincidentally.

You still like you were being watched but tried to shrug it off 'relax no one is watching me it's in my head' you thought. Oh how you were wrong, several of ghosts who resisted here had their eye on you. Some curious on why you would come here, others wanted you as their next victim but one specific ghost wanted you as their protege, their next successor.

You finally made it to your room, fumbling around in your Jean pocket for your room key, you jammed the key into the door unlocking the door not before looking around to see if someone was near you. You couldn't shake that feeling that somebody was watching you, no matter how much you tried to shake it off.

Locking your room door you let out a breath out didn't know you were holding in. Making your way over to your suitcase you picked out your night attire. You still felt that eerie feeling going into the bathroom to clean your makeup off.

You exited the bathroom now in your pyjamas, the little clock on the nightstand played it's little song like usual "that thing freaks me out" you said out loud. "Don't let that frighten you dear" a voice chimed in making you let out a yelp in fright. Seeing a man sat on the chair a glass of whiskey or bourbon in hand you didn't know.

"Who the fuck are you" you hissed feeling mixed emotions shock, anger, fear of this intruder. "My names James Patrick march I'm the owner of this hotel and I'm afraid I don't like your tone dear" he introduced in a velvety accent getting up from the chair. He was dressed sharp in a pinstripe suit, crisp white shirt with a neck scarf.

"The owner of this hotel died like almost a hundred years ago" you scoffed at the man, which didn't faze him. "Yes that is true but you see in this hotel the dead doesn't exactly die" he stated stepping closer to you as you took steps back. You could see him more clearly now dark hair, pale skin with a pencil moustache that decorated his upper lip and beautiful chocolatey brown eyes that held something sinister in them.

"What do you want from me?" You asked. Even though his eyes held something evil within them you felt drawn to him like he wouldn't hurt you. "I've been watching you my dear, and I couldn't help but see the rage you secure within you" he said. A confused look on your face 'was I that noticeably angry?' You thought. "Right so?" You shrugged not quite catching on to what the ghost was saying.

"I want to help you set that rage free"

...

You didn't really remember what happened after that night all you remember was James teaching you everything there is to know about being a killer. For those three years he had taken you under his wing, taught you his ways, showed you his little contraptions within the hotel. And you were nothing if not willing to go through with it all.

You listened to every word that rolled off his tongue about his little plan. There were only three rules he had when it came to his little hobby 1: don't have a method. 2: don't be sloppy about it. 3: don't get caught.

You had just came back from another kill entering James's room on the 7th floor. "Ah your back dear how was it? Tell me the details" James's voice chimed the old fashioned record player playing an old time song. "It was the same as any other time James quick and easy" you sighed finding an old rag to clean yourself up.

"Quick you say, how so?" He asked confused at your lack of creativity unlike it usually was. "Because James I don't want to get caught I have a funny feeling that I'm going to be caught soon so I'm done" you sighed placing your knife on the little table by the bed. James watched your every move deep in thought. He wondered if your proposal was a good move "your going to stop killing?" He asked removing his blazer placing it on a chair, rolling his sleeves up.

"Yes James I'm sorry, I'm grateful you showed me your ways and I really did enjoy my time with you but it's best if i stop now before the heat on my ass gets me burnt" you held your hands up in defence making your way to the door.

James didn't know if he was sad or angry at the fact you've given up on your little spree or was it because you were essentially leaving him. Just as you turned the handle ready to exit till that sophisticated accent stopped you. "Don't go... please" he begged.

James didn't want to admit it to himself but these three years he spent with you were the best years he had in this hotel after he died. He didn't spend his time chasing after his ex-wife the countess, he spent every moment near enough with you enjoying the sick bond you both formed. He grew very fond of you more than his other students you had potential the same characteristics as himself.

"What?" You didn't quite believe what you were hearing, it wasn't the words it was the tone complete desperation. Only time you heard that tone of voice was around the first time you met him when he was desperately trying to get the countess back.

"Please don't leave me I couldn't bare it" he pleaded once again with a meek voice. The door still ajar, your hand on the handle. "James it's for the best anyway we had fun but it's time to get out before it's too late but I need to leave before I get caught" you stated. "I DONT CARE ABOUT THE KILLING Y/N" James yelled taken you aback. He never raised his voice at you once even when he was frustrated with you for some reason he never ever raised his voice.

James walked closer to you his face now red with anger. He wasn't going to let you leave he let one woman slip away he doesn't intend to let it happen again. You were a little nervous at the sudden shift in the room.

"I will not let you leave this hotel not after everything" his voice was calm but his expression said otherwise. You didn't know what was going to happen "what do you mean not letting me leave this hotel?" You asked. "I've grown rather fond of you my dear, I look forward to our little meetings and I guess I can't let that go" his cold breath fanned against your neck sending shivers down your spine.

You almost crumbled as his cold hands rested on your biceps, your breathing quickening with the small touch. Looking into his dark eyes held anger and lust. "I've never felt this way for anyone since the countess but with you dearest, it doesn't compare to the feelings I have for you" his lips in a smirk, seeing you melt from just his words.

It all made sense to you now, you couldn't lie to yourself and say you didn't grow to have strong feelings for the ghost (because that was far from the truth). The truth was you were infatuated with James Patrick march, you spent every moment with him for the past three years it felt impossible not to. People would call you a stupid girl for it.

"James-" you were cut off by his ice cold lips on yours. The kiss was rough but you responded nonetheless. His tongue swiped along your bottom lip demanding entrance. Parting your lips moaning into his mouth, he showed dominance with just his mouth, giving into him, kicking the door shut with your foot.

James guided you to the bed effortlessly, the backs of your knees meeting the foot of the bed. His tongue explored your mouth before he pulled away. James then unbuttoned his dress shirt, your hands roamed his bare chest biting your lip. Your fingers hooking around his suspenders pulling James close to you crashing your lips back on his.

A delighted hum left him as he pushed your body down on the bed. Your legs parted automatically allowing James to slot himself between them. His lips moved to your neck slightly biting the flesh there making you feel dizzy. His hands roamed your sides feeling, caressing every curve that came in contact with his hand.

You sat up as James began to remove your slip dress leaving you in just your underwear. "Your beauty doesn't compare to anything in this world" James's voice was more deep, thick with lust making you grow wetter by the second. "Your mine now dear, I'll never let you go" James snarls, his fingers hooking into your underwear peeling the fabric off your body.

Now just kneeling on the foot of the bed James got a perfect view of your dripping core. "Your all mine" James hummed against your thigh trailing his rough lips upwards till he met where you needed him the most. He was like a possessive animal and you were loving every moment of it.

James licked a strip between your folds bringing you arousal to your clit. You gasped at the shot of pleasure of his mouth on your clit, sucking, swirling his tongue on the sensitive bundle of nerves. His hands held your thighs apart as wide as he could getting all access to you.

A moan escaped you as he continued his assault on your pussy. Your hand's gripped into the bedsheets underneath you for leverage. It was already too much but you never wanted it to stop. You already felt dangerously close to the edge. James darted his tongue in your entrance, his nose brushing against your clit adding to the pleasure.

"I'm so close" you warned feeling that knot tightening in the pit of your core. James hummed against you devouring you like his last meal. He never stopped his movements bringing his attention back to your clit more rougher than before coaxing you to let go over his tongue.

Your orgasm ripped through you, back arching, toes curling practically screaming his name. "That's it dear let everyone hear who's making you feel this euphoric" he chimed against your glistening heat. He licked up all your juices before pulling away from your heat.

"Oh god" you sighed regaining your breath. Moving your body to sit up by the pillows. James peeled his suspenders off his shoulders, removing his shirt in the process. His hair now disheveled, a beautiful sight to see. You removed your bra leaving yourself fully naked in front of him.

James glanced at the silver knife on the nightstand, he still felt rage for you ready to leave him. He picked the knife up making up gulp, you didn't know his intentions now a look of slight fear yet excitement in your eyes. "I'm not going to hurt you dearest" as if he read your mind with his free hand he undid his slacks and removed his underwear freeing his rock hard cock.

You were drooling at the sight, he was long and thick but not to thick were you'd think he'd slit you in two. His cock slight curved it was probably the most prettiest cock you'd ever seen.

James then got on top of your body slotting himself between your legs. Crashing his lips back on yours, the blade still in hand. Feeling the flat surface of the cold metal on your thigh, sending a shiver through you. He began dragging the metal down your outer thigh, his cock grinding on your inner side.

James pulled away from your lips taking the sharp edge of the knife to your cheek. "You will never leave me dear, I wouldn't allow it" his eyes dark, lustrous and sinister. It all was too addicting, "I'll never leave you James" you whimpered pathetically, the blade dragging from your cheek to under your chin, not to cut you but feel the harshness.

You grew more wetter than you were before. James lined himself up with your entrance before pushing himself into your sopping cunt without warning. You cried out as his thrusts were rough as merciless. Your hands gripped his shoulders, digging your nails into his skin coaxing his thrusts to become more harsher and expeditious.

James dragged the blade to the valley of your breasts. You moaned out feeling the cold metal under your breast. A grunt leaving James's lips "you feel like heaven" he grunted "you will never leave me, you belong to me from now on" he said in between his thrusts. Your walls clenched around him the desire burning like fire.

"Oh fuck" you cried out, chest heaving, eyes rolling to the back of your head. You could barely hear what he was saying. You could see that veins popping out of his neck the blade soon discarded and replaced with his hand on your breast fondling the lump of tissue.

A sigh of pleasure left your lips, feeling close to the edge once again. James didn’t let it go unnoticed, feeling you clenching around him. Much to your dismay James pulled out of you leaving you feeling empty and whimpering. You shot the ghost a confused look “don’t worry dear just turn around for me” James ordered.

Nodding your head you got on your hands and knees, feeling your wetness dripping down your legs in the process. “Your so wet, who for dear?” James cooed in his velvety voice. “You James all for you” your voice was scratchy from the high pitched moans. You felt that blade once again on your lower back.

“Yes dear all for me, no one else” James was possessive over what was his, you were no exception. From his student to now bent over for him as he drags the knife lower over your ass to your core. You moaned in pleasure you didn’t think this would be your type of thing but with James you’d do anything.

A sting on your ass making you jolt forward, James hand colliding with the skin there. You moaned at the sudden feeling, James’s hand soothing the red mark. Lining himself back up with your entrance effortlessly. Your greedy cunt taking him with one thrust.

Your hands gripped the bedsheets once again, your body jolted with each harsh thrust he delivered. All that could be heard in the room was a mixture of you and James’s pleasures, skin slapping off each other and the bed rocking beneath you.

You could have sworn you could feel him in your stomach, one hand on your hip the other toying with the knife along your lower back again. The thrill of what he was going to do next wasn’t like anything before, the anticipation eating you up.

James couldn’t get enough of you, you were like a drug he never wanted rehab for. The way your walls would clench and flutter around him was enough for him to come undone then and there. The way your loud moans filled the room, like music to his ears. You were just perfect to him, his perfect little protégé.

“Who do you belong you?” James grunted thrusting rapidly into your poor little pussy. You tried to get the words out but you couldn’t comprehend amongst all the overwhelming pleasure. Only a strangled moan leaving your lips instead.

Feeling the knife against your neck and an arm pulling you up flush against James’s chest, his cold breath fanning against your ear. “I asked you a question dear, very impolite not to answer” his thrusts harder hitting your cervix granted to make you see stars. You throw your head back to rest in James’s shoulder as you managed to answer.

“I belong to you james, I’m so close” you warned.

James discarded the knife once again, replaced it with his own hand chasing your orgasm. You reached out for his hair tugging on it, your other hand gripped onto his arm around your waist. “Let go for me, darling” he whispered, that was enough for you cumming for a second time. Your grip on his arm tightened releasing all your juices over his cock.

Triggering his own orgasm, James hips snapped upwards spilling his seed deep inside you. A low moan left James as you came with his name on your lips like your only prayer riding out your highs.

Once you both calmed down you leaned onto James skin glistening with sweat, breathing shallow. Gaining the energy to lift yourself off of James you threw yourself onto the pillows feeling knackered. James got off the bed to grab a rag to clean up.

After getting you both clean James threw his undergarments back on climbing into bed beside you. “I won’t leave you James” you said with a weak, tried voice. James wrapped his arm around you, bringing yourself closer to him resting your head on his chest. “I know darling” he hummed deep in thought.

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seat-safety-switch · 18 days

Text

I'm in the marketplace of ideas, and some of these thoughts are coming from the bargain basement. We've all got terrible concepts rattling around in our heads, but in times long past, there were limited opportunities to disclose them. Maybe to your suffering spouse, sometimes to a beloved family dog, perhaps to your kids if you hadn't sent them out to labour in the fields yet. Once that audience was spent, it was better just to keep your mouth shut.

Now, with the internet, anyone can descend into an international network of other dingbats. No matter your dumb-assed belief, there are statistically several million people with the exact same one. This experience will reinforce your worst behaviours, and soon you'll be kidnapping a state senator to get him to stop making the government owls spy on you at night. Not the private industry owls, those are fine and are only interested in collecting pseudo-anonymized shopping data for marketing purposes. Just the government ones.

Paradoxically, all these free-minded folks are really getting into the swing of old-fashioned, no-thinky-so-much totalitarianism. It has never been a better time to be a charismatic, personable cult leader. A few catchphrases, a hand gesture or two, and an unwavering drumbeat of confidence that the people responsible for the current state of affairs will be punished. Unfortunately for me, "charisma" is not exactly compatible with cornering people in the hallway and one-on-one asking them about their gear ratio setup. Most folks just hiss and try to crawl away, or fumble for mace. What wannabe dictators need, though, is a large luxury vehicle.

Almost universally throughout history, a true leader has needed an enormous luxury sedan, often with little flags on the front fenders. It's how we know someone is important. Sure, the Dutch show up in a squadron of bicycles, and the Japanese Emperor travels in a train that converts itself into an enormous war robot at a moment's notice, but to get that real autocratic vibe, you want an impractically massive car. And that's just what I've been selling out of my yard.

Sure, I don't like selling my New Yorkers and Mark Vs, but I don't really drive them all that often. You have to pay too much attention to where you're pointing the car in today's crowded city streets. They don't even fit in the Tim Hortons drive-thru anymore. Every tinpot internet fascist has a thick stack of banknotes to place in my lap in exchange for some rusty shit they can trick their followers into restoring. And, most importantly, those suddenly-desirable cars are taking up room in my backyard that I could use to store more shitty old cars.

So if you're planning to get into an internet cult this weekend, tell whoever's in charge to come on down to my place, once they've reached a critical mass of acolytes. Only my shitboxes can provide the curb appeal required to add true legitimacy to your insane conspiracy theories.

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anxiefics · 2 years

Text

a visit from the general mahamatra.

: ̗̀➛ ft. cyno x reader

: ̗̀➛ cw: written before cyno's release, leak for cyno's voiceline (i think its a leak, but its paraphrased here), lowercase intended

: ̗̀➛ a/n: does cyno go to the researcher (that cheated or smth) or does he have like an office?? i went with the latter for this fic

_________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

cyno. an audience with the judicator of secrets almost never ends well. almost.

"y/n. the great mahamatra wishes to see you."

your heart dropped. you were sure you didn't do anything wrong. after all, your little crush on him made sure you followed all the rules (and the harsh punishments that came if you didn't).

tap. tap. tap. your heels clicked against the smooth tile floor. your mind raced. was it that paper i turned in yesterday? or was it that thesis i finished a week before? i know i asked around, but that doesn't count as cheating right? before you knew it, your hand hovered above the door to cyno's office. you gulped, heart pounding. you wanted to see him, but not like this!

"come in." his stoic voice gave you butterflies- from fear, or something else?

you turned the knob slowly, anxious about what's to come.

cyno greeted you, nodding at the chair in front of his desk. "sit."

you obeyed. "sir, i will take any form of punishment you deem necessary." you bowed your head, accepting your fate.

"hm?" eyebrow quirked up, he stared at you with a puzzled look. "you're not in trouble."

"huh?" now it was your turn to be confused. "then why did you call me up here?"

cyno laughed, a sound that made your stomach do flips. "i wanted to see you, of course."

your eyes widened, the ends of your ears reddening. what does he mean of course!?

"and," he continued, interrupting your thoughts, "a little bird told me you had a crush."

oh now he's done it. you felt your face heat up, eyes looking everywhere but at cyno.

he stood up and leaned over his desk. you squirmed under his gaze, still in shock from what he had said. i could've sworn it wasn't obvious! "what creature has the worst hygiene in teyvat?"

"w-what?" you looked up at him, eyes widened in surprise.

"cryo slimes. since they never go in water." he deadpanned, though his ruby eyes twinkled in amusement.

you stared at him, unsure if you should laugh or not. you gave a smile instead, not wanting to hurt his feelings. is this really the general mahamatra?

"i made you smile. that must mean my joke was good right?" cyno sat back down, looking at you expectantly.

“uh, yeah! it was pretty funny,” you fumbled with your words, opting for a white lie.

he grinned. “really? i’ve been practicing on tighnari, but all i get is a sigh. this must mean i improved.”

you couldn’t help but notice the gap between how everyone perceives him (including you), and how he is personally.

“anyway, back to why i called you.” this brought your attention to cyno, as if it wasn't on him already. "would you be willing to..."

hurry it up already! the suspense is killing me!

"write a paper researching what happened to khaenri'ah five hundred years ago?" he finished.

you deflated. so he wasn't gonna ask me out? damn y/n, where'd you get that cockiness from? "sure, but why me? and i still have other work due. not that i wouldn't do this one of course!"

cyno chuckled. "i'm looking into the history of the cataclysm as well, a favor for a certain traveler. i would like you to collaborate with me."

"of course!" your eyes lit up, you would surely learn much from this reasearch, and you get to spend time with him. my luck is gone for the next year isn't it?

oh you thought he was done? think again. he grabbed your hand, bringing it up to his lips. you felt him smirk against your skin. "a study date, if you will."

#cyno #cyno x reader #genshin #genshin impact #genshin x reader #: ̗̀➛ ro writes

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weirdworldofwinnie · 7 months

Text

A Darling Distraction

Cillian Murphy as J. Robert Oppenheimer x Female Wife Reader NSFW 18+ only Oneshot

(Mood board by Selene Shelby @forgottenpeakywriter, this fic is especially for you, so I hope you enjoy! Thanks for the initial idea and support💕)

Summary: Robert's been married to you for a while and now in Los Alamos, after the last few years of hard work and a 'successful' Trinity Test, he desperately needs something he won't admit: his wife in pink satin lingerie and sexual stress relief.

Word Count: ~3,703

Warnings: Smut, unprotected and oral sex both ways, light daddy kink + breeding kink, some angst, mention of infidelity, period stereotypical gender roles, unspecified age gap (less than 10 years)

Disclaimer: Obviously NOT historically accurate to real life and is inspired by Cillian Murphy's portrayal of Oppenheimer in the film. It isn't supposed to be in total support and a complete reflection of the man's character, only my interpretation. Scroll away and DNI if you are uncomfortable or take issue with this; it is primarily for entertainment purposes only and it is just fantasy/fiction!

This is strictly a one shot story, no more will be added to it. If you want to read other Cillian!Oppenheimer fanfiction, check out my Masterlist

Tags: @happysparklingshadows (@forgottenpeakywriter wanted me to tag you), @frozenhuntress67, @immyowndefender, @szde8-blog, @bypurple, @irenethewoman, @noirrose21-blog, @gridmouse86

It had been less than 24 hours since the denotation of the gadget and Dr. Robert Oppenheimer's eyes had been engulfed in fire; the aftermath of a hot white flash as bright as a hundred suns blowing out his pupils, followed by a colorful mushrooming cloud that was somehow simultaneously beautiful and horrific. Between the hours before and after Trinity, he had thought of Jean and her influential poetry, and you of course, but now the bomb had become him and only that one vision filled his mind, haunting him.

All day he had been at the lab and offices, but mostly at the main mess hall celebrations that flowed with chatter and too many drinks shared amongst the military and scientists alike whom many believed had been witness to a great success, a miracle, but also the worst of humanity had just been born into creation. Oppenheimer had become what he supposed he had been destined to be all along: Prometheus, doomed to bring great power and advancement to humanity at a steep cost. He was the destroyer of worlds, but not technically yet, and that was the worst of it. The early morning test was exactly that; a trial, a preview of what was to manifest, and very soon would the world get to see such power he had helped birth. He desired peace, but the trick was he was only attaining that through warfare like never before. The stress was far from over and he was afraid to become a nervous wreck by the end of the decade with all these dark pervasive thoughts and doubts. Depression was nigh on the back of pressuring anxiety and there was no way anything would ever be the same again. He had changed, the world had changed, seamlessly overnight.

As he clumsily unlocked the front door to his home with slightly shaking fingers and stumbled inside, reaching up to remove his porkpie hat and hang it up on the coatrack, he called out your name hoarsely. After a beat of listening and there was no response, he sighed... Maybe you'd already gone to bed or were tucking in the children, whatever it was he didn't know and didn't care because he was too wrapped up in his own emotions. He felt ecstatic that all the hard work had come to fruition and they cemented history, but he was also at a paradoxical point of great accomplishment and great moral failure; the duality of man. But most importantly: it worked. Now what they would do with it was another matter he couldn't quit thinking about.

He reflexively twitched for a cigarette in his shirt pocket, but he was empty, so he walked to the bedroom single mindedly and fumbled for a box in the side table, yanking out the drawer and shifting through to pick up a pack of Chesterfield's.

"Darling?"

He jumped, spinning around with a huff and hand on his hip to see you standing in the shadows of the entryway and draped in a pink robe snug around your frame and he noticed your feet were bare as if you'd just been dressing.

"Y/N, I thought you were... Are the children in bed?"

"An hour ago, they were fussy and very insistent with missing Daddy, but once I read to them they finally settled down. You've been absent all day because of the test, what made you actually come home?"

He shook his head, finding relief and refuge in taking a long drag on the cigarette and blowing the smoke out, gesturing at you with the butt of it.

"You brought in the sheets like I told you to?"

"Of course, I knew."

"Good."

He moved to the edge of the bed and sat down heavily, rubbing his forehead and you noticed the tiredness he exuded for a man who usually was so attentive with higher energy levels, and how sunken in and sad his wide ocean eyes were. These past few years had taken a tremendous toll on his wellbeing more than ever... His jutting cheekbones and general gauntness were more pronounced with the unhealthy loss of weight and crinkles of wrinkles were all he truly kept gaining in eventual amounts; crow's feet, forehead lines, nasolabial folds, and etches under his eyes. His dark hair, kept meticulously cut short, was greying at the sides. Even his teeth, if inspected closely, were on a fast track to faintly showing signs of aging decay from all the smoking and drinking he did on a daily basis.

Robert was not the picture, nor rarely the temperament, of boyish youth you remembered from Berkeley.

Truthfully, you and him hadn't had proper sex in many months; it just wasn't very desirable or convenient between his never ending work that created distance between him and anyone who wasn't a scientist, the continuing socializing and parties with many other faces in town, and you personally spending days cleaning up and minding after little (often crying) children who did not have a clue of what their parents were doing out in the middle of the New Mexico desert surrounded by barbed wire fencing and uniformed men always patrolling. Life here was anything but boring, but the bedroom sure had become so. More often than not, Robert couldn't sleep soundly while you kept to your designated side of the bed and tried to ignore his tossing and turnings until eventually he doped himself up on sleeping pills to cope. He also hadn't been the same since the news of Jean Tatlock's passing and you highly suspected - no, knew - he had an affair during his trip to California once he had his security clearance approved. Of course it upset you he could be so idiotic and unfaithful, yet it wasn't shocking given his womanizing track record, but what made you more concerned was knowing how psychologically troubled Jean had been and if Robert thought he could offer her some consolation, he may have just made it worse and partly done her in. If he blamed himself for her death, you couldn't imagine carrying around that kind of guilt in addition to what he spent his time creating to end the war.

He stood now, restless, and began to pace an invisible groove into the flooring as he continually smoked and muttered to himself. You drifted away into the bathroom and shut the door, shrugging off your robe to the floor. You were completely nude underneath, coming off of a fresh bath and you had spritzed yourself with the best perfume you owned, hoping to surprise Robert, but something was clearly missing here.

Yes, and you know obviously what it is. It's his happiness, the spontaneousness that he has lost ever since he ran those calculations and went to Albert Einstein about a chain reaction igniting the atmosphere and blowing us all to bits. It was less than 0.1% chance, but it reminded him of the bigger issue... creating such a weapon with the power to destroy oneself was mighty weighty on any half decent man's conscience and even a rotten one's, for he too would be annihilated in the process if ever taken far enough. Everything these days was pure existential dread, no doubt about that, and no wonder Robert wasn't in the mood for love. His heart was being drained of it daily and you wanted to help, to fill him again even if just for once. It was difficult to watch him continually self-destruct and negatively affect those around him.

So you plucked up the ready matching pink folded satin lingerie he'd gifted you for the fifth wedding anniversary off the countertop and slipped into it, banking on the fact that it made you look sexually irresistible... And oh, it certainly did dial the appeal up to ten. You sauntered out of the bathroom and back into the bedroom where Robert was now seated on the bed, nose deep in a book and paperwork, clearly engrossed and a permanent frown was driven into his skin between his sculpted eyebrows.

"I have something for you, love," you announced softly as you leaned in the doorway, letting your body be on full display in such a loose, risqué little number.

"Hmm?" he murmured distractedly, haphazardly fluttering pages.

"Are you even reading any of that?" you asked flatly and he accidentally dropped it to the floor, hands still quivering and he tried to get up, wavering on his feet as you watched him in a strange state of both nerves cracking and drunkenness. You ached to make him better and by golly, tonight you would even if you had to throw yourself at him.

"Robert, don't you want to look at me? I have a surprise on..."

"I should pick this up and go to bed with a pill," he said to only himself, bending over and scooping the paperwork and book into his arms before standing unsteadily and he turned his back, carelessly dumping the materials onto the side table. You quickly strode up behind him and slid an arm around his waist, fingers drumming on his metal belt buckle splashed with a tinge of turquoise design.

He froze as you wound a bare leg around one of his and he reached behind his back, brushing your scantily clad silky bottom, fingers gliding over the fabric and making you moisten.

"The lingerie, you're wearing it," he stated and you couldn't quite tell if he was delighted by this or not.

"So I am, I know it's been a while since you gifted me with it, so tonight I thought I'd finally return the favor after the amount of stress we've been under, especially you."

"You-you're proposing I need... oh no. No, I don't know if I'm, uh, ready-no, I don't know if I-I can, I mean do-handle it-" he stuttered out and you fought a laugh. Oppie the great improviser, the genius, the man always in control of the proverbial cockpit was ironically clearly not thinking all that straight tonight and for once in his life, absolutely tongue-tied. You may not have much power as a housewife (that earned psychology degree had been so far deemed useless once you moved with him and had children) in this godforsaken place, but you had this way of melting your husband to molten lava that no one else was capable of. His mouth utterly agape, you ran your hands around the leather of the belt and snaked another leg around his, squeezing gently into his side as you put your lips close to his ear, murmuring.

"You know that we both need it, so just let me work my magic like a good old fashioned whore..."

He bristled, catching your hand still fondling his belt and pushing away lightly.

"I would never refer to you as that," he said, completely unamused and perhaps with a veil of disgust too that you thought seemed unnecessary.

"What am I, then, just the stoic scientific director's wife who will be at your side when you receive a Nobel for your work in stopping the world from global conflict with explosions and implosions?"

His sharp jaw clenched and in one swift motion, he abruptly fell over sideways onto the bed and you startled, leaning over and gripping at his shoulder, worried.

"Oh, Robert, are you sick? I was just being a bit sarcastic."

He closed his eyes, obviously in some sort of internal turmoil that didn't merit sharing fully.

"No, I just... We don't need to do this, not now, not when I'm having a pretty bad time. I'm fatigued, probably drunk, and I should talk to the General tomorrow about the schedule. I'll be wanting to fly to Washington soon; the President will be expecting a briefing and they need to determine the exact target and then once it's all over we'll need to settle somewhere else and..."

He began to murmur anxiously about all the engagements he was expecting (postwar and not) and you shook your head, pushing down on his chest.

"But don't you want a distraction, a temporary all consuming joy for one night?" you pressed and he finally looked up at you, really gazed at you, and a genuine buttery smile spread across his mouth.

"Come here, my love," he whispered while tugging at the lingerie panty bow unsuccessfully and you clamored onto the bed beside him. He paused, licking his lips, and then spoke too briskly.

"We'll get straight to it and once I finish, it should help me sleep naturally better than those prescriptions."

You sat up, shoving him playfully and scowling.

"That has to be the least sexist statement you've ever said to me in the bedroom. Don't you want a marathon, not a sprint? Enjoy me, Robert. That's what I'm really here for anyhow, your darling distraction."

He took this in, then rolled over on top of you, his hot alcohol and nicotine infused breath on your cheeks as he breathed heavily, and you made a cringing face.

"How many drinks have you had today? You smell of a bar and I'm thinking you should rinse your mouth out before you get the luxury of having me."

"You do, hm? I guess that's a command, Mrs. Oppenheimer," he smirked and sat up, shoving off to the bathroom and you went to go put on a record on the turntable in the living room. The classical music crackled through and you walked back to the bedroom, laying into a seductive position onto the bed, one leg propped up with a bent knee and your arm draped across the headboard.

When he came back, his eyes widened at the sight of you as though it was finally registering and he wet his lips again, unapologetically hungry. He moved to the bed, shrugging his suit jacket off to drop to the floor, taking off his black tie, and mindlessly undoing the buttons on his white shirt. That was quickly discarded as you waited for him to remove his socks and shoes, pretending to be impatient by switching position to cross your legs and checking your manicure.

"Hurry up, Oppie, I have a time limit here."

He shook his head disapprovingly, kicking the shoes under the bed and whipping off his belt, tossing it to the floor with a clunk before wrestling out of his trousers and you stared at his boxer clad skinny frame, the cock not even engaged yet... Looks like he's making you do all the work again. A petulant sigh escaped when you rolled your eyes and he pointed a finger, chastising.

"Patience, my love. Hasn't Daddy taught you anything at this point?"

You bit your lip as he leaned over and his bare chest collided with yours... You pulled him into an antsy kiss, mouths crushing each other needily and he tasted of tobacco and toothpaste, a strange combination, but better than before. You felt the slight sheen of cold water he had splashed on his skin transferring to yours and you gripped his neck, fingers splaying across the back of his head.

His own hands went to fondle your covered breasts and you pulled away from his kiss for a moment.

"You are divinely doll like in this, I love such feminine expression," he murmured in a kind of rapture.

"Shame it has to be stripped of me," you whispered with raised eyebrows.

"It's only garments, what really counts is here..." He suddenly squeezed both your breasts and you let out a spurt of high pitched noise, allowing him to remove the top, shimming it off your body in one motion and tossing it over his shoulder where the strap caught on the bedpost.

He thumbed over one nipple and then transferred to the other, teasing you to rock hard nubs. He moved to your panty, slipping it down and off to expose you, and you kicked it to the end of the bed. Then, in turn, you yanked down his underwear and his cock sprung out into your ready grip. You began to pump on it and getting him to a more erect state, rising up. He groaned lightly and you pulled the oozing tip to your mouth, parting lips and flicking your tongue out to carefully lick a strip along the length before taking head, making him grow stiffer and wetter by the minute. Your mouth popped of his length, swallowing, and he gripped your waist as he focused hard on you over his throbbing member.

"What do you want, my love? Do you want me?" he whispered huskily and you shivered in anticipated arousal.

"Yes, darling, I want you... I need you, you own me and I own you."

"Sounds like a fair arrangement," he breathed before crushing into you and began to rub, purely animalistic, all over your smooth body. His head burrowed down into your freshly shaved pussy just like how you and him liked it clean, licking at your folds and massaging your lower abdomen in a desperate frenzy. You dug nails into his hair, curling, and bucked your hips to meet his appetite when he slowly slithered on top. You groaned as you took him, all of him, and let his penis expand and stretch out your core to the fullest extent, clenching instinctively around the shaft as he thrust repeatedly until you were sent easily right over the edge in freefall.

"Mmm, Robert!" you squealed in ecstasy and he muffled you, hand slapping down over your mouth and shushing insistently.

"Shh, don't need to wake the children now. God knows they'll find Mommy and Daddy intimately together one of these days and be scarred for life at the sight." He chuckled as you whined behind his palm and grooved further at a pace you both knew very well. After years of marriage and sensual exploration, he knew all your sweet spots and sensitivities, when was too much, and yet it was taking all his self control not to completely plow you apart right now. His skin smacked against yours as he ground into you, hands everywhere at once and he peppered wet kisses all along your jaw to nape.

When his warm cum finally jetted into you, flooding in your cervix fully, you were unable to constrain a loud moan and he growled primally, his whole small frame shuddered through his own climax as you gripped his back, using his boney spine as placeholders for your fingers as he rocked further at a steady pace, not going to come out right away.

More orgasms came fast and one after the other, especially as you rolled over and he took his place beneath and you rode his cock in a fervor, letting the peak hit all over again and he watched in a dazed nirvana as you pleasured. When he finally pulled out from your used leaking hole, you could tell how satisfied he was having been able to hopefully successfully seed you and that signature smugness was so evident.

You laid panting at his side as he took up another smoke, struggling to keep his eyelids from closing and drifting off to sleep. You interweaved legs, soaking wet with combined fluids dripping onto the sheets, and he flit a free finger down to your soaked pussy, groping and nearly overstimulating you with another orgasm you didn't think could be as strong as the first. He grinned at the effect and cupped your mound with his palm, dominant of it as he spoke softly.

"Groves pointed out that I have no knowledge of birth control, which is true. By this rate, you'll be having yet another baby in nine months and I can only hope we are far from this current landscape and political climate then, never to return. You know, I'm hoping for another boy this time."

You sighed with a smile, rubbing your belly and his hand joined yours, rubbing circles over your navel.

"You make a wonderful mother," he commented in praise and you laughed lightly, bitterly, and glanced at him.

"I'm not perfect, I can barely hold it together these days when they're hungry, tired, and upset for no reason I can physically see at all... Sometimes I wish to wring their necks quite honestly. And you're very hardly the model father yourself when you are always away and hardly take care of them. I know the work is everything, but they need genuine paternal love more than your science to save them."

He shrugged, nonplussed, and then set his wispy cigarette to the ashtray before leaning his head against yours.

"We are probably horrible people, but I wouldn't have it any another way. To create life with you is more than I could selfishly do alone, for obvious reasons untold."

You laughed again at his dry humor and intertwined your body with his own, wishing you could crawl inside his skin and live in his bone structure. He was absolutely everything to you, even on bad days, and maybe his prestige and stability contributed to that, but there was real love underneath his flaws.

"Whatever you face, I'll be here to try to mitigate it," you whispered seriously and he nodded, appreciative.

"I trust you and I love you, Y/N. It won't get easier for me, for us, and I'm afraid the future may be as horrifying as I imagine it."

"That's why we have sex, to stave off the inevitable for a little while," you told him, tears pushing out and slipping down your cheeks. He caught one with his finger and wiped it clean off, staring at the translucent wet spot at the tip of his fingernail sadly. It wasn't unusual for you to weep after sex, but this felt different.

"Kiss me," he murmured and you leaned forward as he grabbed the back of your head and smooshed in, tongues writhing together for a few seconds before you both pulled away, breathing in the same air together.

"Tonight is good enough for me," he decided and you snuggled into his neck, closing your eyes to succumbing exhaustion.

In an uncertain frightening world full of variables, you vowed to be his one constant for life.

Thanks for reading 🖤

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galedekarios · 2 months

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I'm not sure if you've seen this going around, but apparently after the new patch, there are people going super pro Gale and Mystra getting back together and acting like she didn't abuse him??? And the worst part is people claiming the player is just who he settles for because Mystra won't take him back and he'll never love the player as much and. I'm going to have an aneurysm. The way I'm suddenly seeing people blaming GALE and calling MYSTRA a victim. Please keep in mind, he can only go back to Elysium if he is the players avatar. And they're saying this is the best ending for him and he was never abused.

I'm so sorry for this rant but I'm SO aggravated by this and I just know if this was a certain other character then this would get people torn to shreds. I'm tired.

don't worry, anon. you can always vent in my inbox. 🖤

as to your ask:

i did see the new added effects and animations to the ending. the ending for origin gale had existed prior to patch 6 already, but they expanded on it with vfx.

my opinion on this personally is:

overall, this changes nothing for me about how deeply imbalanced and terrible their relationship is, nor does it change what mystra did to him, or how she conducts herself within the context of game canon, the decisions she makes and the things she says.

larian can add as many purple sparkles as they want to it - make them heart-shaped next them, too. it changes nothing.

It doesn’t change the fact that she is a goddess. a goddess who sent her chosen to him at 8 years old and made him her lover at some point in time after that. it doesn't change the fact that she was his teacher first, then his mentor, and then changed that intrinsically already imbalanced relationship (which is not even touching on the divine aspect) into that of lovers. it doesn't change the history she has had with her other chosen and what she did to them.

it's an ending that is viscerally uncomfortable to watch in this context and to me, it’s an abuser regaining power over their victim. a victim who, by the end of the game, still hasn't fully realised what has happened to him. the player can set companion gale on the path to it, and some things he comes to see, but there's a lot of healing still left to do.

i also want to add that what people claim doesn't really matter to me in this context, especially if it's what you outlined. so many reads and takes of gale show a complete lack of reading and listening comprehension and general media literacy. a shiny 'new' cutscene tends to do that, too. it happened before when patch 5 and the epilogue released.

i do feel you on being tired though. they fumbled gale's storyline in act iii and it results in a complete 180 from act i and ii. this only adds to it.

other posts than mine have detailed it far better. i don't have to spoons at the moment to rehash it all, but i would recommend reading @messiahzzz's post on gale and mystra's relationship as well as this one here. i also have a post on mystra, elminster, raphael and gale with info from the epilogue here.

#i've come to expect nothing from larian at this point when it comes to characters with female abusers #or characters whose abuse was 'quiet'#again i don't want to always play this card but imagine they had expanded an end with c*zador taking ast*rion's hand to run off together #ch: gale dekarios #ch: mystra #vg: baldur's gate 3 #text: asks #series: baldur's gate #larian critical #bg3 critical #fandom critical #abuse cw #grooming cw

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xianyoon · 2 months

Text

꒰ AFTER HOURS @ THE TEAHOUSE ꒱

PRESENTING . . . the teahouse's secret menu !

here are some of the visitors of the teahouse that sneak in after closing time . . . these are miss ying's most esteemed visitors ! make sure to greet them nicely , because these three will act like her personal bodyguards should anything nasty come their way.

THE WRIOYING SLING!

WRIOYING | wriothesley + ying !

sunshine x stormcloud trope !!!

ying and wrio met when he had finally gone up to the surface to get an errand done himself – until his sunshine spitfire (whom he had no idea who!) rammed into him at full speed. needless to say, there was a lot of apologising, and lots of promises to buy drinks as an apology gift! it didn't take much for him to take up the offer from the girl who caught his eye ( and got caught on his leg. and hence, tripped. )

it was history from then on ;–) he didn't realise that she was a social worker who would be working alongside some fortress inmates who actually wanted to leave after their time ended !!! she was to help them with reentering society :3c

stolen glances at his office, the curtains ever so slightly drawn back to let them take peeks at each other . . . asking for more one on one meetings and insisting that it was "vital to the progress of the inmates" and sneaky kisses before leaving his office hehee.

so maybe this was coworkers au after all

sea goddess au .. . . . official post coming out soon !

song : dawn in the adan / ichiko aoba

first pic | second pic | third pic

THE HAIYING MARGARITA!

HAIYING | al haitham + ying !

calm black cat bf x excitable orange cat gf trope !!

hmm, where did ying and alhaitham meet? i'd love to think of it as a library meetcute – or best student x worst student. the library meetcute happened when both of them reached for the same book . . . cheesy but cute ! alhaitham got so woahed for a bit that he let go of the heavy book so suddenly, and because she was holding it ( and did not expect him to let go! ) she fell forward. onto him. and he caught her so effortlessly that she couldn't help but think that she quite literally fell for him.

and she started going to the library more often to sneak a glimpse of him ! she's not very good at being sneaky, so he caught her and asked if she wanted to join him ( of course she did. ) – she fumbled a little and said "only if you'd like me to." andddd to her surprise? it was responded to with a "of course i would."

girl who's in love with the world x boy who needs to see more of it

library dates !!!!! always ! tutor!bf x needs tutoring!gf !

song : good in me / bones & the boy

first pic | second pic | third pic

THE ISOYING COCKTAIL!

ISOYING | iso + ying !

sunshine x grumpycloud trope !

ying and iso met in valorant hq – ying had been recruited right before iso . . . she knew there was something special to him, but didn't know quite what! it was nice to see another agent of the same descent – maybe she, iso and sage could have dinner together.

honestly, she didn't quite like him at the start. he was too quiet, too stony, too aloof for her liking ; ying couldn't ever imagine being able to hang out with him one on one in fear of having to be the only one to fill the silence or sit through it.

until one day! she wanted to train with sage . . . but iso got there first. "oh! sorry... i'll come back later then." she apologised hastily, grabbing her things and preparing to head out.

"...it's fine. 如果你想留下来，就继续吧." [it's fine. if you want to stay, just continue.]

she sat right down and watched him finish his session before starting her own. it was just a regular session – him standing behind, ying making use of her radiant powers ... until:

“赶快做完。跟我去买珍珠奶茶，好吗?” [finish your training quickly. come with me to get boba, alright?] .. she'd never finished a training session so quickly in her life.

boba & hotpot dates !!!! night market dates once they went back to china !!!

song : 慢慢喜欢你 / karen mok

first pic | second pic | third pic

#selfship #― ying talks.#― latest brew.#idm if we share btw !!! your version is urs n mine is mine hehe! im not too big into this – i love them n this is pretty new to me too :3c #long post #― wrioying.#― haiying.#― isoying.

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munson-blurbs · 1 year

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HEY HEY HEY

How about Wayne at Eddie’s funeral and reader shows up because she was a classmate and secretly loved him

Oh, you wanted sad? I'll give you sad. Enjoy your cry!

Warnings: S4 is canon, told in third person, mentions of death/funeral

WC: 1.3k

Wayne didn't realize who she was at first, when she walked in to the garden in her black dress and makeup already slightly smudged from tears shed on the way to Eddie's funeral. It wasn't until he overheard one of Eddie's friends--one of the younger boys; a curly-haired kid named Dustin--whisper to another one, "Told ya she'd show up."

And then Wayne knew.

He watched as she made her way over to him, hand trembling as she reached out to him. "Mr. Munson?" she croaked, voice breaking.

"'S me," he replies, fumbling with the unlit cigarette between his fingers.

"I'm, um, I'm a friend of Eddie's?" She says this like a question, like she's unsure. "We had world history together this year, and he sat next to me."

Her crystal blue eyes are glassy, and Wayne has to stop himself from wiping the tears from her cheeks. "He was...he was such a kind person," she starts, casting her gaze down at the grass. "He probably never told you this, but one time, right before class started, Jason Carver stuck gum to the back of my shirt, and Eddie..."

"It is you," Wayne muses. "You're the one Eddie gave his shirt to."

She nods. "Literally took it right off in the middle of the classroom and handed it to me so I could change in the bathroom. He walked around the rest of the day with nothing under his jean jacket." She gives a small smile at the memory.

"He was a really special boy," Wayne agrees. "Wish everyone else could see that."

"I have the shirt," she blurts out, almost involuntarily. "He told me to keep it when I tried to return it, but I figured you'd might w-want it back." She reaches into her bag and pulls out a worn Metallica t-shirt, hems frayed.

Wayne wants to take it, bury his face in it and inhale any remaining trace of his nephew, but he refrains. "If Eddie wanted you to keep it, then you should," he says finally. "I have plenty of his shirts back home." Though it doesn't feel like a home anymore, not without Eddie there playing his axe too loudly or headbanging along with the radio or giving his uncle a play-by-play of his latest D&D campaign with his mouth full of pizza.

"Thank you," her voice is barely above a whisper, and she can't hold back from enveloping the man in a hug. He was never one for physical touch, usually opting for a nod of the head rather than a handshake, but he allows himself to fall into her embrace, placing a calloused hand on her back before hugging her tighter.

He pulls back and clears his throat. "There's...there's something that I oughta show you," he admits. "'F you wouldn't mind coming back to the trailer after the service."

She nods in agreement, squeezing his hand before taking her seat amongst the smattering of other mourners. There aren't a lot; Eddie was an outcast at best and a (falsely accused) murderer at worst, but there were more people than Wayne had anticipated. He felt a pang of warmth in his chest each time someone showed up.

People loved you, Eddie, he thinks. You were so goddamn loved.

She finds Wayne as soon as the service concludes, and he motions to his truck. The ride to the trailer is silent but not uncomfortable; just the two of you silently remembering the boy who died a hero.

Wayne leads her straight to Eddie's bedroom. He grabs a cardboard box out of a dresser drawer, clothes haphazardly strewn around it. It's filled with notebooks and looseleaf papers covered in pencil markings, doodles of dragons and elves along the margins.

"Where is it..." he mutters as he rifles through the box. His tongue pokes out of his mouth slightly, just like Eddie's did. When he spots the paper, he snatches it with a victorious grin.

"He wrote this for you," Wayne tells her, tears threatening to spill over his lash line as he thinks back on the memory.

"It's finished, and it's perfect!" Eddie exclaims, flinging open the door to his room. He slams the paper on the snack table in front of his uncle, smiling so wide his cheeks start to ache.

Wayne looks over the lyrics and feels a grin tug at his lips, too. "This for that girl in your history class? The one you keep chewin' my ear off about?"

Eddie nods. "That's the one!" He paces around the room, chewing on a fingernail. "Now I just need to ask her to come to a gig so I can play it for her." He looks at Wayne nervously. "What do I say?"

"He was gonna invite you to a Corroded Coffin show after spring break," Wayne tells the girl now. "I'm sorry that he never got the chance."

Her eyes flit over the lyrics, soaking in Eddie's scratchy handwriting:

Blue eyes cryin' And I'll keep tryin' To stop them from cryin' again

She couldn't be sweeter And I would treat her Like the diamond in the rough that she is

I'd give her my heart if it meant that she'd smile And I'd do it again to hold her for awhile There'd be nothin' more divine Than knowing she is mine

So I'm done with pretendin' Want my happy endin' I'm tearing off my disguise

You and me 'gainst the world Let me call you my girl Just show me those pretty blue eyes

She's stunned into silence. "This was for me?" she asks unbelievingly. "He felt this way about me?"

"Oh, yes," Wayne offers a small chuckle. "He was head over heels for ya, darlin'."

"This is going to sound so stupid, because we weren't even dating or anything," she mumbles, forcing herself to look at Wayne, "but I loved him. I swear to you, I loved Eddie so much."

Wayne swallows the lump in his throat, lips quivering. "He loved you, too. Every day he came home, telling me somethin' about you. How you let him borrow your notes, or if you so much as laughed at a joke he told. There was one time where you pulled a little piece of dust from his hair, and the boy talked about it like you were the second coming of Christ."

"Well, I couldn't let him walk around all day with lint in those curls!" She relaxes slightly when she sees Wayne smile.

"And, well, pardon me if this is too forward," he says, "but your eyes; he wouldn't shut up about them! At one point I forgot your name for a bit because I just used to tease him and ask, 'how was Blue Eyes today?'."

She chews on her lower lip before speaking. "I never knew he liked them. Never knew he liked me." She looks up at Wayne. "What might've been, huh?"

Wayne just nods; there's nothing to be said. "You, uh, you keep that song. Keep it with the shirt," he instructs her. "And you read it anytime you start to forget how much he cared about you."

"I'll do that," she promises him, starting for the door. "Thank you."

"And if you see me around town, don't be a stranger. He might not be here anymore, but he'll always be in here," Wayne points to his heart, and she feels herself instinctively doing the same. "When keeping him in there gets to be too much, you come find me."

"Of course." She pulls him in for another hug, this one lasting even longer than the first.

Wayne watches forlornly as she closes the door behind her. He waits until she's far enough away before he speaks again.

"Hang in there, Blue Eyes."

#eddie stranger things #eddie munson #eddie x reader #eddie x you #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson angst #angst #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things

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kerubimcrepin · 23 days

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Liveblog - Dofus, livre 1 : Julith [PART 21]

I've already said how weird this whole situation is from Joris's pov, but imagine dying, being given a new body with a way smaller brain and no speech yet, as well as no object permanence, and having to comprehend while in this condition, that your brother, who spent the last 50–80 years trying to hunt you down and make you into a coat, just saved your son from being blown up, and is now dying.

But you lack the brain capacity to understand any of that. Or remember any of that history.

You just know that he's hurt, badly, and that you don't like seeing him in pain.

Joris knows now, that for an ecaflip demigod, it's not that big of a deal to die. At least not the first time.

So it's really more of a "You sacrificed yourself for me?" question.

He's paying back his debt. He can't be mean to Joris, when all he's done is be nice to him, he's not that kind of person.

And when he wakes up again, things will be different, between him and Kerubim. Something new is going to happen.

To quote Dofus Aux Tresors de Kerubim: It will have a different taste. A different feel.

Kerubim's current lack of object permanence or the idea of death, is both a blessing and a curse, because he has no fucking idea what happened, or where Atcham went. Poor kbitty.

On one hand, this is inherently traumatic for Joris. He must be tired of watching ecaflip demigods evaporate.

On the other hand, I can't help but feel that this is the moment Joris and Atcham truly begin to love one another. So I can't even feel sad about this moment, like a normal person.

Chat, this is what I cal coping and perhaps even seething. Joris is inclined to think Bakara is wrong because Bakara fucked up Majorly at this part of the movie. Also because Joris has not slept the entire night. Also because he watched 2 people die. Also Simone is far away. Also what IS Simone to do with a dofus-related issue?

Julith would absolutely have hurt Lilotte. There is absolutely not a single doubt in my mind, that if it got her what she wanted, she would dismember Lilotte as Joris watched.

I don't blame him for making mistakes and fumbling, though. He's like 10.

If she really isn't that bad... If ALL she wants to do, is to bring Jahash back... If that's what it takes for her to leave Lilotte and Kerubim alone...

And among all else, if this brings the man she loves back? He doesn't mind, then.

(Puts on a giant, Dofus Aux Tresors de Kerubim themed tinfoil hat)

Joris is a difficult character to read due to his insane multitudes and affinity for lying to everyone and himself.

Due to his passion for wanting to learn about his birth parents, I think spending time with Julith and Jahash is like a dream to him.

But I can't miss the dimension in this interaction that Julith is a scary dark mage called "the butcher", who already killed his father once and then kidnapped his friend, and they are both standing near her, behind him, and she is holding what is essentially the magical equivalent of a nuclear bomb in her hands.

And the things he says to her may or may not be affected by like, idk, two or three of these factors? Like there might be a slight possibility that he said "I'm sure she wouldn't have hurt you" and "a real family" specifically to decrease the chances of her killing Kerubim and Lilotte. Not sure where I get this idea from, though.

This is literally the worst day in Kerubim's life as a father. There is literally no going back. Thank god his little kittybrain is going to forget all about this in roughly 3 minutes.

#ro liveblogs dofus #dofus #wakfu #krosmoz #dofusmovie #joris jurgen

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bizaar · 11 months

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Cruel Summer - Part 11

First - Previous - Next

pairings: Eddie Munson x fem!reader

summary: After breaking up, you and Eddie do your best to soldier on with your lives, but you slowly begin to discover that there is a stronger line of connection keeping you together than just history…

word count: 8k

warnings: swearing, some angst (as always) discussions of closeted queer folk (just in case) probably a lot more - will go back in and edit as needed!

A.N.: I'm back, Chat! After a million years and some change, I really hope you like this chapter even though to me it feels a tad like filler, so sorry it took so long to get back into the swing of things!! - Also, my taglist is broken, so if you would like to be put on it for the chapters going forward, please let me know!

To call the last few days a blur would be an understatement, more so considering how everything that had happened over the course of the last few hours could have filled the duration of those days themselves.

And everything happened so fast, events falling into place one after the other in such quick succession that Dustin has barely had time to process all the steps he’d taken down the road since he and Max first left his house in search of Eddie – in search of you.

Presently, he’s stuck trying to rationalize just how he’d come to find himself sitting huddled on the Wheeler’s sofa, stuffed in between Max and Lucas under the tense scrutiny of the Hawkins PD and the worried coterie of their parents.

Though perhaps “how” is not the question, but why, considering he knows exactly how it happened: they found Eddie, then they lost him, and after a very tense few hours, subsequently found him again, camped out with you at Skull Rock, looking very much like you’d been to hell and back.

From there their road circled back to Lover’s Lake, and now here they find themselves, in police custody with half of their party lost to the gate beneath the water.

It’s the closest thing Dustin can imagine to a worst-case scenario.

That’s not true, he tells himself, Eddie’s still in the clear, so it’s not all bad… not yet…

Still, it’s beyond bizarre to be sitting and getting lectured on the Wheeler’s sofa with Mike so far removed all the way in California.

Karen is nice, sure, and Ted is … well, Ted is Ted, hardly intimidating, but something about being under the direct scrutiny of the Wheelers and the Sinclairs and his mother and the Hawkins PD, all of whom he is actively lying to, has Dustin sinking further and further into the plush cushions in the hopes of somehow shrinking out of existence.

How badly he wishes he was anywhere but here.

It’s not that he’s intimidated or anything so foolish, particularly by the bespectacled likes of Officer Callahan, only that Dustin is painfully aware of how this looks, their merry band of misfits camped out at the water’s edge directly opposite an active crime scene with binoculars in hand. Worse still, he’s painfully aware of how it sounds.

“What were you kids doing out at the lake?” Callahan asks.

It’s as good a question as any, but it leaves the lot of them reeling with just exactly how to answer it.

What are they supposed to tell them, the truth? That they were busy sending half their party through an interdimensional gate at the bottom of the lake to the Upsidedown?

No.

Under absolutely no circumstances will he be telling them the truth, not unless he wants to see the inside of a padded cell.

He could have told Hopper the truth (or at least some summarized version of it), but Hopper isn’t here, so Dustin and his friends open their mouths and all begin to speak at once as they fumble for some sort of credible answer as to what they were doing out at the lake.

“Swimming—” Dustin says immediately.

Max shrugs her shoulders and offers what would have been the most practical answer…

“Nothing—”

… if not for what came tumbling out of Lucas’s mouth.

“Taking a long romantic walk under the moonlight?” He squeaks, voice lilting an octave higher as his sentence comes to a close, making the statement sound much more like a question than anything else.

The silence in the room is deafening, and Dustin suppresses a wince, fully aware of just how well and truly cooked their collective gooses are as he exchanges a horrified glance with you, sitting in a plush chair opposite the couch, wide-eyed and gaping at him from the other side of the room.

It’s a wonder you’re even here, considering Dustin had been sure that you’d go right along with the others, but in a stunning turn of events, you’d elected to stay behind.

It was because, as you said; “I’m the babysitter, it’s literally my job…” – Dustin had been decidedly pleased about that, in stark contrast to Eddie, who had just about capsized the boat right there on the shore trying to reach for your hand.

“Don’t be silly,” He’s insisted, despite how unbelievably practical you were being. “There’s plenty of room,” There was not, as had been evidenced by Dustin’s own rejected application to join the expedition. “– come on,”

But there was no arguing with you, as was always the case when your mind was made up. For as many reasons as Eddie could drum up for you to go, you had just as many reasons to stay, the least of those being that you were injured.

“I’ll only slow you down,” You’d assured him with a slow shake of your head, “It’s gonna be fine, we’ll be waiting right here when you get back.”

It’s yet another thing that is driving Dustin to the very edge of anxiety-induced nausea: they won’t be there waiting on the shore when the others get back … if they get back.

The adults are still gawping at their little group, eyes wide as dinner plates in patent disbelief of their swimming–nothing–romantic moonlit walk at the lake.

“It was kind of, sort of a … field trip scenario…” Dustin says, gesturing flippantly as he fumbles through the poor excuse for an explanation.

“To the lake…” Callahan deadpans.

“Yeah…”

“In the middle of the night…”

It’s less a question than an accusation.

Dustin resists the urge to correct the deputy, considering it’s hardly the middle of the night, and he nods, swallowing hard against the cotton blooming in his throat.

“...I mean, it’s Spring Break.” he croaks, “...No school…”

“Dusty…” His mother presses, “Somebody was just murdered there!”

It sets his teeth on edge.

“We didn’t know that at the time.” He insists, well aware of just how lame this all sounds.

Desperate to claw back some shred of credibility, he elbows Lucas in the ribs. It startles the boy to attention and his head snaps around to regard Dustin with an incredulous look, as if to ask what the hell am I supposed to say?

Max takes the hint for him.

“What’s the big deal?” She starts, “So, we were down at the lake — it’s called healing your inner child, look it up.”

On the other end of the couch, Dustin is vaguely aware of hearing you breathe out harshly, muttering something that sounds very much like “Oh, boy…”

Before he can stop this snowball from rolling, Lucas is nodding emphatically, suddenly very eager to add his two cents to the notion.

“Right, w-we were just trying to …” he trails off, swallowing hard as the rest of his sentence escapes him, and then, “… yeah, like Max said… do that.”

If Dustin thought the first silence was deep, this one is a yawning chasm of infinite depth. They’re great at this, actually, not at all amateurish.

“Right…” Powell says slowly, “...and this has absolutely nothing to do with Eddie Munson?”

Once again, they’re all speaking simultaneously, shaking their heads, gesticulating, and doing anything in their power to make themselves even remotely believable.

No really, they’re doing great.

“No, not at all.”

“Of course not.”

And then, because this is already going so well, Dustin opens his big mouth.

“That weirdo?” He scoffs, refusing to refer to Eddie by any harsher language, and cringing at the way his voice breaks on the word, “We don’t even know the guy.”

Erica Sinclair erupts into a bark of incredulous laughter from her position in the far corner of the room, and Dustin realizes his mistake the moment the words leave his mouth.

Erica… how could he have forgotten about Erica, who very recently had been caught up in the brief euphoria of reading from the Good Book of Eddie Munson.

Erica, who has just caught Dustin in what is perhaps the most blatant lie he has ever told and is trying her damnedest to strike him dead with the daggers she’s hurling in his direction from the other side of the room.

Oh, whoops… it’s the understatement of the century.

“You know they’re lying, right?” She snarls, “The whole couch is on fire.”

Her mother is quick to silence her with a harsh utterance of her name.

Dustin can’t help but feel a sharp stab of betrayal as he gawps at the younger Sinclair.

He’d thought, perhaps foolishly, that their triumphant victory against Vecna during the last Hellfire meeting would be some kind of a turning point for their friendship.

He kicks himself for being so naive and sinks a little further into the couch, pouting as she sneers back at him.

To make matters worse, the police are clearly not buying what they’re attempting to sell. Chief Powell and Officer Callahan exchange wary looks before, slowly, their gazes slide across the couch and over to you.

You begin to fidget under their collective scrutiny, doing your utmost to look anywhere in the room besides directly at the officers.

It’s only when Powell addresses you with the firm and formal usage of Miss followed by your last name that you finally look at him.

It takes him what feels like a very long time to speak.

“Care to chime in?” He finally asks, gesturing to the absolutely bafoonery of the couch.

You glance at Dustin, and he feels a stab of anxiety lance through his midsection as he fails to decipher the unreadable look splashed across your face.

Your attention snaps back over to the police when Powell repeats his overly formal addressing of you, the well of his patience growing ever shallower.

You pull an innocent face and gesture dumbly to yourself.

“Me?” You chirp, like you can’t imagine how they could possibly think you’re involved in this.

You? No, surely not you, who had pulled Dustin and the rest into a quick huddle and quietly instructed them on how best to lie to the cops when they’d found themselves ambushed at the lake.

Dustin had been caught somewhere halfway between impressed and appalled, but he’d stopped himself before the question could even take root in his mind: how do you know anything about lying to the cops?

Eddie. Naturally.

Officer Callahan doesn’t seem to have the same patience as his direct superior for your act. He heaves an overdramatic sigh and rolls his eyes behind his glasses.

“No,” he scoffs, “The other delinquent in the room.”

The mask of innocence slips immediately from your face as you level the man with a hateful look.

“Oh, sure.” You snap, “Because name-calling is the best way to ensure cooperation — real mature, Phil…”

“Wha— how did you—?” Callahan splutters indignantly before clamping his mouth shut and setting his jaw.

Strangely, Chief Powell coughs harshly into a closed fist, and Dustin only realizes that the man is masking a chuckle when his deputy levels him with a dour look.

After a moment to collect himself, Callahan returns to you and shrugs.

“Okay, fine – why don’t we put you in a pair of handcuffs and take you down to the station, see if that makes you feel any more cooperative.”

You blanch at the prospect and Dustin’s heart seizes in his chest in outrage. Before he can leap to your defense, however, the Sinclairs and Wheelers alike erupt into loud protests of the notion.

The collective vitriol of the adults is enough to cause Callahan to balk and suddenly he’s standing a little less tall.

“Oh, really, Officer!” Dustin’s mother tuts, “There’s no need for that — I’m sure whatever it was they were doing was completely innocent,”

He’s not entirely certain how sure she is of that, but evidently enough that she’s managed to overcome the horror she’d previously been experiencing at the thought of them going down to the lake where someone was just murdered.

Still, considering you’re more or less an honorary member of the Henderson household, she goes on to paint a shining picture of you, insisting that you are a good girl – responsible.

The others respond with varying degrees of enthusiastic agreement and Dustin’s chest swells with warm, golden pride.

Damn right.

While you were only ever officially his babysitter, it never stopped the Sinclairs from asking you to carpool Lucas and Erica to and from school twice a week, or Karen Wheeler from enlisting you to look after Holly when she had the odd errand to run – though perhaps more specifically, covering for her last summer and remaining the soul of discretion when a momentary slip in judgment regarding a certain public pool lifeguard had seen her very nearly destroying her marriage and perhaps by greater extension her family as a whole.

Karen Wheeler would have defended you like one of her own children if it came down to it, as is evidenced by the way she comes flying to your rescue.

“She’s their babysitter, for God’s sake.” She scoffs, gesturing toward you in a way that makes the chunky bracelets sitting on her slender wrists clack loudly together, “She takes the boys to the arcade and plays that …fantasy game with them – I mean, really… what kind of trouble could they possibly be getting into?”

Unfortunately, as Dustin realizes too late, the Hawkins PD happens to know exactly what kind of trouble you could be getting into, and they are all too happy to share.

“Listen, folks…” Chief Powell sighs, taking the floor and rubbing a tired hand over his face, “I’m sure you mean well, but I’m afraid that your word just isn’t enough – the fact of the matter is that your babysitter has been caught trespassing at two active crime scenes in about as many days.”

Callahan is quick to chime in.

“Not to mention she’s a known associate of Eddie Munson.”

Dustin bristles. He’d been waiting for that shoe to drop, and now that it has, he feels a thin sheet of ice beginning to form across his stomach lining.

A sticky silence falls heavily over the room as the adults all exchange bewildered looks. Not even Karen knows what to do with that reveal.

“What does that mean?” Charles Sinclair demands, brows furrowed tightly as he turns a hard eye on Lucas, as if his son somehow held the answer.

He freezes like a deer in headlights, but Erica is more than happy to explain, pushing forward to stand in front of her father and remind everyone that she is still there, hands propped up on her hips as she levels you with a particularly snotty look.

“It means he’s her boyfriend.” She drawls, peering back at the denizens of the couch and looking entirely too pleased with herself.

Dustin’s heart seizes with terror.

How the hell does she know that?

“Shut up, Erica!” Lucas hisses.

She reels on him.

“You shut up!” she snaps, and her mother quickly admonishes her for it.

“Erica!” She hisses.

“What? It’s true – I used to see them at the mall all the time, swapping spit, sticking their tongues down each other’s throats… you know, making out?” She makes a show of visibly shuddering before twisting to address you, sitting mortified with your hands fisted in your hair and your face flushed crimson, “You guys are super nasty, by the way…”

“Er-i-ca!” Her mother warns her sharply.

She puts up her hands defensively and retreats a step.

“It’s just the facts!”

Still, the sentiment causes a nervous murmur to pass through the adults… you and Eddie Munson?

Apparently, your dating habits had been as shrouded in mystery to them as it had been to Dustin, and unfortunately, they are less likely to be as forgiving about it.

His mother’s voice quavers as she turns to you and quietly says your name. He watches as, in spite of yourself, you shrink back a little further into the cushions as if you yourself had been hoping that information would not come to light.

“Is that true?” She squeaks.

You don’t answer right away, but to your credit, when you do you try to laugh it off.

“Which part?” You scoff, “The dating thing or that incredibly vivid description Erica just painted for us?”

The attempt at humor falls short on the adults, and in the silence that follows, Dustin can’t help but feel a little angry at how ridiculous this all is.

True, the descriptors were a bit much, Dustin doesn’t need to be picturing that any more than he already had been, but they’re all acting like she’d placed you at the scene as an accomplice to the murders, like you and Eddie are some kind of modern teenaged versions of Bonnie and Clyde, which is ridiculous – Eddie wouldn’t harm a fly, and if anything the truth bomb Erica just set off in the middle of the room means you’re the one who can personally vouch for that.

It would be a pointless endeavor, of course, they’re only going off of what they know of Eddie’s reputation, one that is currently telling them that he is a cold-blooded killer going on a rampage through the Hawkins High School student body…

Dustin feels himself begin to sweat.

Suddenly everyone is holding their breath to see how you will react, and how everyone else will if the truth comes out.

“...Technically we broke up…” you mumble sheepishly, tugging a the hem of your worn t-shirt.

The room erupts in a cacophony of noise.

All at once, the Wheelers and the Sinclairs find themselves split down the middle over whether they find that information credible, waffling between thrusting accusatory fingers at you, at the police, at the couch, and every direction in between.

Ted Wheeler and Charles Sinclair demand to know if they’re lying to the police and what kind of trouble you’re getting their kids involved in, and their wives insist on returning to the rescue of your character, assuring the men that this is all a huge misunderstanding and that you would never dream of putting their children in danger.

Boy, if they only knew the truth.

Dustin’s mother begins to weep, wailing about the state of her poor nerves, all the while you sink further and further into the cushions and do your best to become invisible.

It’s a madhouse.

Dustin wishes, not for the first time, that he was back on the shore of the lake, and silently hopes Eddie and the others are having a better time than they are.

Wherever they are, he hopes they are okay.

+++

Eddie is absolutely positively not okay. He can’t speak for the others, who all seem to be doing a much better job at handling the whole “crossing through a portal into another dimension” thing.

They’re calling it the Upsidedown like it’s the next town over, like they simply hopped in the car and drove down the interstate to arrive in this bizarro version of Hawkins with monsters and nasty shit.

They’ve apparently been through this before, so Nancy says, and Eddie can’t even begin to wrap his head around what that could possibly mean.

That they’ve swum to the bottom of the lake where someone has just been psychically murdered and passed through to another dimension only to narrowly avoid being eaten alive by a swarm of demonic bats? Somehow he highly doubts it’s that specific, though only because he’s having a very hard time coming to terms with the fact that basically, everything he thought he ever knew about Hawkins is complete and utter bullshit.

Eddie supposes he always knew Hawkins was one of those places, the cliche of the happy little midwestern town pretending everything is nice and shining and wholesome meanwhile grandma’s skeleton is rotting in the hall closet. He’d always assumed there was something going on just beneath the shining veneer, just not on the level of “a literal hell realm existing right beneath his feet”.

Nancy is maddeningly calm about all this as if she didn’t just go diving into the pitch black of the unknown to rescue Steve, or rip off the bottom panel of her blouse and tie a tourniquet around his midsection to keep his guts from spilling out.

Harrington himself is taking the whole “almost being eaten alive” thing in stride in a really frustrating way, already walking and talking like someone died and made him king of the goddamn Upsidedown.

In fact, the only one who seems even remotely in the realm of appropriately manic about this whole thing is Robin, talking a mile a minute about rabies and the logistics of bat bites in the Upsidedown, but as far as Eddie knows, Robin is just like that.

Naturally manic, naturally caffeinated, probably on some kind of prescription drug like Ritalin if he had to guess… not that he’d hold any of that against her, Robin’s cooler than most.

They’d had intermediate band together one semester before he realized he’d actually be expected to wear that stupid uniform and dropped out.

They’d even been somewhere halfway to friends during that brief period of time, though that “friendship” could be summed up to nothing more than the casual snide, sarcastic remarks during class, a joke here and there, and one instance of Robin getting way too high on half a joint they’d smoked under the bleachers.

It resulted in her becoming paranoid that Eddie was trying to get into her pants, which he most certainly was not, and inadvertently coming out to him in a moment of panic.

He swore to take her secret to his grave, quit showing up to class, and they didn’t speak again until she came riding in alongside everyone else on Dustin’s little rescue mission.

Eddie wonders if she remembers any of that…

He supposes it doesn’t really matter in the grand scheme of things, particularly since Eddie seems to be the only sane one among them, which is to say the only one teetering on the edge of losing his shit, and it’s really pissing him off because none of this is normal.

It’s a fucking nightmare.

Beyond the dark, however, the perpetual red lightning storm, the alien network of hive-minded vines, and literal goddamn monsters trying to kill them, Eddie is, foolishly, most concerned about you, as always.

He’s well aware of just how stupid that is, to worry about you up on the surface with all the subterranean dangers that pose a direct threat to his life and limb - he’s not even sure that’s the correct way to quantify it, but it sure as hell seemed like he’d swum through the bottom of the lake and crawled out on the other side of the world.

He wishes more than anything that you were here if only because then at least he’d have someone who he could turn to and know with confidence would agree, “Yes, Edward, this is in fact insane.”

Normally he rails against the utterance of his government name because the only people who call him that are typically authority figures preparing to dole out some sort of capital punishment, or his mother when she was royally pissed at him – “Edward Munson if you think I’m about to let that slide you have got another thing coming,”.

And you, of course, though you only ever do so with the utmost fondness… and very often in an affected English accent, which despite being one of the worst impressions he’s ever heard, Eddie actually likes very much.

What he wouldn’t give to have you right here, trying to liven the mood by doing that stupid accent. He can almost hear you chewing through it.

“We’re in a right mess, innit, Edward?” You’d say, “Pip-pip cheerio and the lot…” or whatever.

Still, a decent-sized part of Eddie’s brain is attempting to crawl out of his skull and abandon him to the madness of this place, and imagining all the ways you would try to make the situation seem less dire if you were there is doing nothing to help.

Because you’re not there.

Why in the hell hadn’t you come with them in the boat?

He knows why, of course, rationally so – there was no room, someone needed to stay with the kiddos, and most of all you’re hurt – but there are spiders in his skull, skittering around and irrationally whispering that the real reason you stayed behind was that after everything that happened, you couldn’t wait to get away from him.

A larger part of Eddie than he is ready to acknowledge is pissed about it because you’d only just finished agreeing not to split up anymore.

Together is better, you’d promised him that, but another part of him understands why you might be desperate to get away.

First Chrissy, then Patrick? He’s got to be cursed, why else would he be made to bear witness to those deaths?

Eddie is laden with the feeling, wrestling with the guilt and the misplaced anger and the confusion, and everything else his body is trying to feel all at once as he trudges through the nightmarish woods.

Step by aimless step he follows, careful to avoid the network of vines and the concerned gazes of unlikely companions, who all continue to treat this like it’s nothing more than a casual stroll through the woods, like this is just another Tuesday.

Is it Tuesday? He has no idea what day it is… and he can’t stop thinking about you, playing the moment on the shore over and over in his mind. Thinking about the way he’d reached for your hand, and how instead of taking it you’d carefully curled his fingers back in on themselves, shaking your head and insisting you’d only slow them down.

“Hey, you doing okay?”

The voice startles Eddie, wrenching him violently – thankfully – from the mire of his thoughts.

Steve is there, giving him a strangely concerned look, having fallen back into step with him at some point over the last few contemplative minutes.

Eddie blinks back at him, not entirely sure how to answer and wondering just how long he’s been there. He almost doesn’t realize he’d asked him a question until Steve’s brows jump up toward his hairline.

“Me?” Eddie scoffs, he briefly considers lying, but the truth is out before the notion can really take hold, “No, Man. I’m pretty goddamn far from okay.”

Harrington nods solemnly, in a way that seems, weirdly enough, almost remorseful, like it’s his fault they’re down here in this mess… which, it technically is, if they’re pointing fingers here.

True, Eddie didn’t have to follow them out of the boat, he could have sat there and waited for them to come back, but he knew they weren’t coming back, and he didn’t have to swim to the bottom of the lake, he could have just as easily swum to shore …

It hits him like a brick to the face.

Why the hell didn’t he swim to shore?

Steve casts his gaze down to his feet, exposing the dark, angry ligature marks ringing his throat and Eddie fails to suppress a shudder.

That’s why – because Steve was in trouble, and some repressed kernel of do-right in Eddie, the same one that drove him over the side of the boat and down into the depths to the bottom of the lake, wanted to help.

Or at least it didn’t want the shame of having to look Robin and Nancy in the eyes if he didn’t help and the bats went and pulled Steve’s head off anyway.

Ego is a funny thing, sanity even more so, because as crazy as it had seemed at the time to dive in after Robin, crazier still was the concept that had he not, it could have resulted in yet another death – or deaths, perhaps – that he would have been indirectly responsible for.

Still, his body is still thrumming with adrenaline from the fight, and not in the good, buzzy way either.

He’s been picking at the blackened, drying blood on his hands for the better part of an hour now, and part of him has started to wonder if it’s ever going to come off, if any of the blood on his hands is ever going to wash away.

Before he can get very far down the road with that line of thinking, Steve tries again.

“Thanks for this… by the way,” he says, plucking at the collar of Eddie’s battle vest sitting across his broad-shouldered form in a sorry state.

It’s filthy, splattered with ichor and viscera, and several patches have torn loose, much to Eddie’s dismay, but it’s the strangest combination of freezing cold and unbearably humid down there, wherever they are.

The way he figures, Steve needs it more than he does – that and it’s the only thing shielding their eyes from the knitted sweater he has got sprouting from his chest.

He basically had to hand it over, if for nothing more than modesty’s sake.

Still, the sentiment startles him– gratitude? Really?

Unaccustomed to basic human pleasantries from the likes of Steve Harrington, he finds himself at a loss and he suppresses the urge to twist around and make sure he’s actually talking to him.

For lack of anything else to do, he gives a lopsided shrug and gestures vaguely.

“Oh… yeah – no worries.” He stammers, “Least I could do.”

“...And thanks for... s-saving me… that was–” Steve clears his throat in an attempt to keep his voice steady – it’s awkward, “Yeah… anyway. Thanks for that.”

Eddie gestures vaguely, suddenly unsure of whether he wants the burden of Steve’s gratitude.

“Wheeler did all the work, I just tried to stay out of her way…” He mumbles, “She’s badass,”

Steve chuckles in a way that feels oddly secretive.

“You have no idea.” He says.

Of course, Eddie can’t possibly know what that means, but it’s compelling, nonetheless, and entirely true.

He makes a mental note of it in the Rolodex of his mind:

Wheeler, Nancy: Good grades, pastels, kinda prissy. Dated that douchebag, Steve Harrington – Badass.

A sticky silence bleeds between them after that, and Eddie passes the time stealing a handful of looks at Steve, casually walking alongside him, on purpose.

He can’t help be feel ever so slightly amazed.

If his shitty friends could see him now – only he’s fairly certain Steve isn’t friends with his shitty friends anymore, at least so he’d heard.

Normally it wouldn’t be enough to wash away the history of torment between them. Steve had, for a time, been the driving force behind a campaign to make Eddie’s life a living hell, but this situation is just too bizarre, too outlandish to discount – there might be some merit to Dustin’s hero worship of the guy after all.

Suddenly he can’t help himself.

“That was pretty metal what you did back there…” Eddie posits, and when Steve casts a curious look his way, he continues with tentative enthusiasm, “Biting that thing’s head off? Major Ozzy energy.”

Steve furrows his brow.

“…huh?”

Uh oh. In an instant, the feeling is gone, replaced by the much less desirable panic of an impending social failure.

Eddie scrambles to explain himself and bridge the valley between their interests.

“Ozzy Osbourne?” He tries to no avail, “Bit a bat’s head off on –?” Steve’s face remains unbearably blank, so Eddie abandons ship for his own sake, “Nevermind…” he hums, “It was – yeah, it was cool…”

Another one of those awkward silences falls heavily across their shoulders, and because he’s never learned to leave well enough alone, Eddie simply cannot leave it undisturbed.

Surely Steve has got to know what he’s talking about, even if only indirectly. It’s not like Ozzy is an obscure reference.

“You know Ozzy though, right?” He tries, “Black Sabbath?”

He pulls a face and shakes his head, much to Eddie’s chagrin.

Shit. Okay, lesson learned.

Harrington, Steve: Fucking jerk. Worshipped by Henderson. Doesn’t know who Ozzy Osbourne is.

He dismisses the notion too late.

“Don’t worry about it.”

Thankfully, they are not doomed to yet another unbearable silence as Steve quickly changes the subject, sweeping the interaction away with a wave of his hand.

“Hey, so… look, I’m sorry for what I did back there… starting that fight between you and...” He trails off when he realizes the reference has flown right over Eddie’s head, “Back in the boat house?”

Oh. He doesn't know how to respond to that. Eddie is not entirely sure anyone has ever apologized to him for anything... ever.

Still, it strikes him as an odd thing to say.

Almost everything Steve has ever said to him has been something worth apologizing over, but try as he might, Eddie can’t think of any particularly noteworthy zingers from the last few days.

And he does try, wracking his brain and coming up empty – but he doesn’t trust it, whatever this is, so Eddie levels Steve with an unimpressed look.

“So, this is the part where you get all mushy and remorseful because you almost died, right?” He starts slowly, “You’re gonna tell me you’re sorry for being such a fucking asshole back in the day and I'm just supposed to forgive you because you almost had your head pulled off?”

Strangely, it doesn’t elicit the expected response - no defensive comebacks, no biting retorts, just a weighted sigh that carries the heavy burden of guilt.

“Oh, shit… wait, seriously?”

Steve runs a hand through his hair, which is still somehow maddeningly perfectly coiffed – it makes Eddie feel frizzy and unkempt.

“Look, we’re not in high school anymore…” He starts, then stops like he’s only just remembered that isn’t expressly true, “– well, you know what I mean…”

“Careful.” Eddie warns.

Steve forces out a hard, frustrated breath and rolls his eyes – he’s barely even begun to make his point and he’s already fallen flat on his face.

“What I mean is that there are bigger things happening here,” He huffs, “It kind of puts things into perspective and makes all the stupid petty shit seem…” He trails off as he searches for the right word.

Eddie is more than happy to help.

“...Stupid and petty?” He offers.

“Exactly. I was an asshole – I’m still an asshole, and I’m working on it, but some old habits die harder than others–”

“Clearly,”

Steve clenches his teeth and flexes his jaw and apparently resists the urge to make some kind of snide remark, electing instead to swallow the blow and nod.

He's doing it on purpose, and Steve knows that as well as Eddie does, even if it's not an overt show of effort. Part of him figures if he can get under Steve's skin and rile him up, it will make him drop whatever bullshit act this is and they can go back to hating each other like normal. But try as he might he can't seem to break him.

This may, in fact, be a genuine show of remorse.

He can’t make heads or tails of it, except that Steve had very nearly died less than an hour ago, and nothing sets someone’s head on straight like facing the precipice.

Eddie can’t help but feel a little more than dumbfounded, because this has never happened even in his wildest flights of fancy. He almost can’t believe it, and what’s more, part of him knows he shouldn’t believe it.

He should know better, that at any moment the rug will be pulled from beneath his feet and he’ll find out it’s nothing more than a big elaborate joke, he’ll be doused in pig’s blood and find out he’s not actually the Prom Queen, and that will be that.

Still, he seems genuine, as if Eddie would know what genuine even looks like one Steve.

Maybe Robin’s right and those bats are affecting him in stranger ways than they realize.

“I guess what I’m trying to say,” Steve continues, “Is that I treated you like shit and you didn’t deserve it, and I’m sorry about that.” he averts his gaze then and gestures vaguely in Eddie’s directly, “I mean, Henderson says your decent, and he’s usually a pretty good judge of character...”

Eddie fails to repress a sardonic snort of laughter, though not at Steve so much as the concept of Dustin being a good judge of character when he's out here double teaming friendships with people who are meant to be enemies.

“Is he though?” He presses.

Steve fails to repress a smirk and shrugs broad shoulders beneath torn, dingy denim.

“Yeah– well. The kid’s biased, anyway, he’s pretty much obsessed with you." He mutters, "It’s annoying as hell.”

It strikes Eddie that this is the first real conversation he’s ever had with Steve that didn’t involve him antagonizing him one way or another.

Still, he can't help himself

“Don’t tell me Steve Harrington, arguable deposed King of Hawkins High, is jealous of the town freak?”

Steve pulls a face, brows pinched tight over his eyes and glares back at him.

“Don’t be a dick," He says, though his tone is oddly not malicious, "This is embarrassing for me, okay? I’m opening up here.”

Part of him wants to hold Steve on the hook for it, out of some long-buried yearning for payback for all the shit he has put him through over the years, but in spite of everything and against his better judgment, Eddie suddenly feels a bizarre, misplaced fondness for the guy.

You used to say that Steve was a mean girl with a God complex, but looking at him now, Eddie can see he's really never been much more than a big fish in a small pond.

Popular kids who don’t extend their shelf life by way of scholarships and collegiate glory tend to fizzle out and implode, and Eddie imagines that every day Steve spends in Hawkins, that little pond gets a little smaller, and he shines a little less brightly.

“So…" Eddie begins tentatively, crossing his arms over his chest and hugging his biceps, "You’ve been holding on to this for a long time, huh? The guilt?”

Steve mirrors his posture and casts his gaze down to his feet, shaking his head.

“You have no idea.” He chuckles.

Eddie scoffs.

“Don’t I?” He counters, “Guilt is my bread and butter, Man… I was raised on that shit.”

He doesn't seem to know what to do with that knowledge. The sheer valley between their upbringings is evidently too wide a gap to bridge, so Steve pivots and yet again changes the subject.

“So, are you and the Psycho getting back together or what?”

It only takes Eddie half a moment to realize Steve is talking about you.

He gives him a terse look of warning, but when Steve raises his hands in an show of no offense, Eddie shrugs.

Before he can think better about divulging the intricacies of his lingering heartbreak to the likes of Steve Harrington, the words come tumbling out.

“I don’t know…” Eddie hums, “Things are pretty much fucked in that department.”

“What’s the problem?”

He swings his foot to kick at a rock, send it skittering across the forest floor, but remembers where they are and thinks better of it at the last moment, electing instead to roll in under his shoe as he passes it over.

“It just feels different now. Kind of like we’re just pretending…”

Another one of those heavy pauses passes between them.

“Hey, listen, Man, I don’t wanna step on your toes or anything, but you guys broke up." Steve says, "Things are always gonna be different the second time around. That doesn’t make it any less real. Don’t be so goddamn cynical–”

It's hardly a blow, but in spite of himself, Eddie bristles. He levels Steve with a hard, armored look.

“Look, don’t patronize me, okay? I’ve got no delusions about what I did. I made my bed, now I’ve gotta be a big boy and burn it.”

“I don’t think that’s the saying.”

“You know what I mean.” He snaps.

He supposes Steve means well, but Eddie can’t help but get defensive. It's like he said ... old habits and the like.

Still, Steve meets his gaze stares back at him long enough to make him regret his tone. Long enough even to make Eddie uncomfortable with the proximity, and so he clears his throat, averting his gaze and staring down at his sneakers, tinged nearly black from the ichor of bat’s blood.

He realizes with a start that Steve is still barefoot and wonders how much further they've got to go before they're out of this mess.

“Did you cheat on her?” Steve asks suddenly.

It hits Eddie like a fist to the gut.

“No,” He says immediately, feeling ever so slightly winded.

Steve nods then, pursing his lips like he understands what happened.

“Got in a fight and called her a bitch or something?” He says, "That's what did Tommy and Carol in–"

The notion makes Eddie's heart seize in his chest because beyond the fact that it makes him sick to have his relationship (or lack-thereof) compared to the likes of Tommy Hagan and Carol Perkins, he would never stoop so low, no matter how angry he was, no matter what you did.

He may have been raised with a shocking lack of social skills, but Wayne had made damn sure that he knew better.

Of course, Steve could never know something like that, but he can’t help the way it leaves him bristling.

“No.”

Steve continues to nod slowly, then pauses a moment like he has to really process the information before he knows what to do with it.

“What was it then?" He asks, "What’d you do?”

“Nothing –” Eddie insists, feeling suddenly foolish for how defensive he sounds because it wasn’t nothing and Steve can see that as well as anyone, “I broke up with her – and I was kind of a major prick about it… I mean, not just kind of… I was mean about it.”

“Why?”

He’s loath to admit it, but now that the stopper is out, it’s hard to put it back in, and the truth comes spilling out.

“... I got scared…” Eddie mumbles, crossing his arms tighter over his chest and reaching up to tug at a snarled lock of his hair.

“Scared of what?”

Eddie exhales harshly under the duress of this bizarre interrogation, hating the way he can feel his guts seizing up. When he got in the boat that evening, he didn't expect he was going to have to relieve all the mistakes of his recent past.

“Jesus, what are you some kind of cop? You’re kind of intense, you know that?”

Steve rolls his eyes and makes a chattering little mouth of his hand to mimic Eddie’s whining.

“Quit deflecting and just answer the goddamn question, Munson – what scared you bad enough to end your annoyingly perfect relationship?”

He could almost laugh out loud at the concept of Steve not only referring to his relationship with you as perfect, but apparently to the point of being annoyed by it.

“Perfect relationship?” Eddie splutters, “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Come on, Man – she and I used to run in the same circle, remember? I was there when you showed up. Don’t pretend you didn’t come in and sweep her off her feet like something out of a goddamn movie.”

It takes Eddie a moment longer than he'd like to admit to realize Steve is teasing him. Once again, he doesn't know what to do with that information.

Finally, Steve prods him sharply in the chest in a way that could almost be construed as good natured.

“What happened with you two?”

“Nothing happened…" Eddie insists, and wills himself to shut up about it after that, but now that he’s started he can’t stop, "That’s the problem." Goddammit. "It was the same as it always was and I started getting scared that it was getting too good to last … that she was gonna wake up one day and realize everybody’s right about me.”

The silence the follows is deafening with Eddie's confession hanging in the air between them. He braces himself for a tirade of teasing and razzing and all the other kinds of verbal abuse he can expect from anyone else in this town, but instead Steve just nods sagely.

“So you pushed her away – hurt her before she could hurt you and inadvertently proved that everybody is right about you? That sound about right?”

It's the kind of observation he might have expected Wayne to make, if he'd actually had to stones to open up to him about what happened with you like this, and it leaves Eddie reeling.

Well… what do you know, turns out Steve Harrington is actually pretty goddamn insightful.

For lack of anything better to do and more than just a little bit indignant at being so easily read, Eddie stuffs his hands into his pockets and pushes his shoulders up toward his ears.

“Pretty much.” He sniffs.

“You fucked up,” Steve says matter-of-factly.

“Sure did.”

“...And what about that makes it so unforgivable that things are never going to be okay again? How come she's never gonna forgive you?”

Eddie shrugs and wonders idly how getting trapped in another dimension had turned into receiving a lecture about love.

“Because I broke her heart.”

Steve scoffs.

“Nah, that’s bullshit.” He says, dismissing the notion with a flippant wave, “It’s a speed bump."

Eddie realizes too late he's staring at Steve when he quirks one of those thick eyebrows at him.

"What, you’ve never gone over a speed bump? No way, I've seen the way you drive." He says, and then all the teasing goes out of him and he becomes the one things Eddie never expected to see, sincere.

"Listen," Steve starts, "I know for whatever reason you can’t see it, but ask anyone here – she’s crazy about you, Man. Trust me. Apologize for whatever you said, or whatever you didn’t say – don’t roll your eyes, that goes a long way with girls – and let her know how you feel.”

Eddie shakes his head, more than a little frustrated that he could think it’s as simple as that, like he hasn’t tried apologizing again and again and blanketing you in his affection – smothering you, more like.

“I’ve told her, Man,” He sighs, "Over and over again..."

“So you tell her again. Keep trying until something sticks. It’s all you can do.”

He supposes if he really sat down to think about it, it's as good advice as any.

Still, he can’t wrap his head around the fact that he’s standing there getting unsolicited relationship advice from Steve Harrington, who’d once spectacularly thrown him into a dumpster behind the movie theatre.

He reaches out and claps him on the shoulder, and Eddie fails to suppress a flinch.

“You guys are gonna be fine – hey, who’s the expert here?”

“I’m sorry …Expert?” Eddie snorts.

Steve shrugs like it wasn’t the dorkiest thing anyone has ever said in the history of mankind.

“Yeah, they don’t call me the Love Doctor for nothing.”

Nevermind, that’s the dorkiest thing anyone has ever said or will ever say in the history of mankind and the world forever.

Harrington, Steve: Fucking jerk Not so bad, I guess. Worshipped by Henderson. Doesn’t know who Ozzy Osbourne is. Total fucking cheeseball.

Eddie cannot wait to tell you about this.

“Nobody calls you that.” He’s almost giddy as he says it.

Steve dismisses the notion with a flippant wave of his hand.

“That’s not the point, the point is trust me. I’ve been around the block — I know crazy when I see it, and that girl? Totally crazy about you, and I mean certifiably bat shit…”

Eddie shrugs.

“You aren’t wrong – she’s pretty much nuts.”

“Hey, crazy’s not always a bad thing…” Steve says, and Eddie follows his gaze up the path to where the girls walk far ahead of them, blazing the trail.

He can't help but notice the faintest hint of longing pass across Steve's face, and Eddie feels his face begin to split in a wry smile.

“You know, Nancy’s pretty fucking crazy, diving in after you like that?" Eddie starts, "I mean, you wanna talk about what’s real? That’s as unambiguous a sign of true love as these cynical eyes have ever seen.”

He forces himself to swallow the bitter lump swelling in his throat and along with it the silent wish that he could somehow be different, be better, be a version of himself worth going after that like that.

Eddie clears his throat to banish the notion.

"You sure this isn’t some elaborate scheme to win her back?”

“No.” Steve says firmly, “Absolutely not.”

Eddie is not convinced - he gives a lopsided shrug.

“Well, I sure hope it isn’t Buckley you’re trying to impress, because I think you’ll find you’re barking up the wrong tree with that one.”

Steve's head snaps around so quickly that he's half surprised it didn't twist all the way around to the other side.

“What?" He yelps, "No, I mean – no. Look, let’s get one thing straight, Robin and I are completely – we’re just friends and I would never… h-how do you know about–? I mean… what do you mean?”

Eddie can’t help but roll his eyes at Steve’s fumbling attempt to stop himself from what he can only assume is outing Robin.

It’s noble, to be sure, and he’s got to give him credit for that, but Eddie’s no fool. Even if she hadn’t outright told him, he’s lived long enough in Wayne’s company to recognize the signs of a closeted person living in a conservative midwestern town, faint as they may be.

"What do you mean?" Eddie counters.

The question seems enough to stagger Steve, though not for the obvious reasons, it would seem.

“Nothing." He says quickly.

"You sure about that?"

"This isn’t about Robin, okay? It’s about Nancy – I mean – no, it’s not! But even if it was… look, it doesn’t matter because she’s with Jonathan now, and they seem… fine…”

Eddie stops short and reels on Steve, causing him to stagger a step in an attempt to keep from crashing into him.

In the distance, Robin and Nancy continue on none the wiser.

Eddie drops his tone and leans in to invade Steve's personal space. Steve inches back ever so slightly, out of impulse, he imagines, and Eddie smirks.

“And yet, you will notice that Jonathan is conspicuously absent from this endeavor.” He says slowly, quiet enough that Steve is hanging on his every word.

He lets the notion hang between them, breathe a little, and waits to see if Steve will catch on.

He doesn’t, he just gives him another one of those quizzical looks as the yawning chasm of Jonathan Byers's absence grows louder and louder, and Nancy disappears further up the path.

Eddie tilts his head toward Steve and raises his brows, willing him to understand.

He only knows Jonathan in passing, and from one social pariah with a mean daddy to another, he typically commiserates with him to a degree. He might feel bad about failing to discourage such behavior, but some opportunities are not worth passing up.

If Jonathan is the type of guy to stay out in California and leave his girlfriend to spend spring break swimming in Steve Harrington-infested waters, that’s his poor decision to make.

If it were you, and you had some stupid new boyfriend off in another state, Eddie would not hesitate. He'd go and bang down your door.

Steve shakes his head, still failing to see what Eddie is practically spelling out for him, and he wonders with a brief astonishment whether he could really be that dense.

“What do you –” He starts, then stops as it dawns on him, and his eyes go wide, “Wait… did she say something?”

Eddie shrugs and stalks off.

“Not to me,” he calls over his shoulder, casually lengthening his stride in order to catch up to Nancy and Robin.

It leaves Steve standing dumbfounded at the revelation, and in an instant, he’s scrambling to catch up.

“Do you think Nance is into me?” He asks, and then when Eddie doesn’t respond, “Hey… Eddie–!”

Eddie laughs.

“You tell me. You’re the Love Doctor.”

#cruel summer fic #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson imagine #stranger things fic #eddie munson fanfic #i hope you all enjoy this even though it's a filler chapter #i kind of just really wanted to write that scene between steve and eddie

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thrawns-backrest · 10 months

Text

A big thank you to @anthean for letting me use their concept for a location on Csilla for this chapter! I hope I did it justice. Please take the time to read their fic hang me, oh hang me it’s an amazing read!

Title: Buried in Ice

Characters: Ronan, Ba'kif and others

Chapters: 3/?

Summary: Ronan adjusts to life with the Chiss when a sudden revelation leads him to realize that his fate is not as firmly in his hands as he'd thought it was.

___

Ronan could swear his eyes bulged out of his head.

“Me?”

“Yes, you.”

“That’s –” he stumbled over the words, “Are you serious?”

“We need someone with a good grasp of politics and how administration systems work. That sounds to me like your area of expertise. It’s politics we need to fight the Syndicure with, not military tactics.”

“And you think they would listen to an alien?”

“Oh, you don’t have to speak to them directly.” Ba’kif waved him off. “Or be present at any of the meetings. We need people to do research and keep track of events behind the scenes. Someone to prepare our defense and make a convincing case whenever we need to go head to head with the Syndics.”

The logic seemed sound enough and Ronan fumbled, grasping for a good reason why this was a very bad idea. Because it was indeed a very bad idea.

“You forget I’m not very well versed in your language yet.” Was his best try but Ba’kif parried that just as quickly.

“You’re doing well enough. In any case our officers can handle the talking. The politics that need to go into backing them up however. That requires a different skill set.”

“I don’t see how a human with limited knowledge of your history and politics could do better than a Chiss.”

“These things can be learned.”

Ronan glared at him. Ba’kif returned his stare calmly.

He was putting up a strong front but the Chiss’ determination was beginning to worry him and felt the first signs of nervousness as a bead of sweat trickled down his neck. This whole business was a red flag. To be given that much responsibility while his relationship with these people was lukewarm at best, outright distrustful at worst. And to get himself involved in things that were so far outside his original plans…

He didn’t like this. Not at all, not one bit.

Who was to say this wouldn’t end badly for him? Politics were a slippery slope and for all that Ba’kif seemed to have this irrational trust in him, Ronan wasn’t quite so sure of himself. One misstep and he could sink into a hole too deep to dig himself out of.

And he couldn’t hope to be too careful in a setting he wasn’t completely familiar with. Sure, he could ask for time to prepare but the fact still stood that this wasn’t where he was supposed to be. His initial agreement with Thrawn was for him to go with Ar’alani and if he lost that position now, if he lost his military rank, he could lose all hope of returning to the navy and the one step closer it was to the Empire.

“In any case,” Ba’kif ploughed on, “you’ll be safely tucked out of sight and won’t suffer any of the Syndicure’s rage directly.”

He sounded almost too happy about it, a smile playing on his face and something mischievous swirling in those red eyes.

“Maybe we could even find you a cape to wear as part of your uniform,” he finished, the smile turning into a smirk and that was the final straw.

Ronan shot out of his chair as his face flushed with rage. He shoved the wildly spinning backrest aside and made his way to the door.

“Good day, General Ba’kif. I appreciate the time you took to speak with me.”

He didn’t know where this had come from – Ar’alani or Vanto – but he wasn’t going to take being humiliated like this anymore.

“Sit down, Lyron, we are not done here,” Ba’kif called after him, sounding apologetic? Exasperated? Ronan didn’t know and he frankly didn’t care. “I was being serious about giving you the position.”

“And why would you do that?” Ronan hissed, spinning around on his heel. In a flash he had crossed the distance to the desk again, his arms propped on the glossy surface. “Why would you trust a human to handle your affairs?”

Ba’kif met his glare head on, his movements slow and deliberate. As though handling a wild animal. His voice had dropped to a near placating pitch when he spoke next.

“Because Thrawn sent you to us for a reason,” he said slowly, “I just have to figure out what it is.”

And there it was, Ronan closed his eyes. He should have expected it, he knew, and yet the word still felt like a hand scooping bile out of his throat.

Thrawn. Thrawn again.

The man who had gotten him into this mess. The man who all these people seemed to trust to the point of lunacy and whom crossing paths with had only brought Ronan trouble. Trouble and worry and misery and a future ruined beyond any hope.

A sigh ripped itself out of his chest and he collapsed back into his chair, still warm from having been occupied just moments before.

“Of course…” He muttered to himself as he felt the familiar exhaustion overtake him and dropped his head into his hand.

“Of course.”

Distantly, he remembered something that almost made him want to laugh.

Ba’kif had called him by his Chiss core name. Another move meant to remind him how tightly he was bound to these people. To garner his cooperation and make him feel like he was one of them.

But all Ronan was, was tired.

He wanted to sleep. He wanted to rest. He wanted to forget about Thrawn and the fact that he was here because of him. He wanted to pretend he was back in the Empire, working on Stardust and preparing to start a new day in a place where everything made sense.

Most of all he wanted to feel like he hadn’t squandered everything he’d ever worked for and disappointed the only person whose approval mattered to him. Alas, it was probably just wishful thinking.

The silence in the room stretched and stuffed into the cracks around them.

“I hear Lakuyoo took you out to the surface the other day.” Ba’kif’s voice broke the peace.

Ronan threw him a listless glance.

Lakuyoo. The aide they’d tasked with giving Ronan a tour of Csaplar. Just so he wouldn’t become hopelessly lost on his first day there and inconvenience someone who didn’t have the time or patience to deal with him.

Of course, he said tour but what he really meant was a brisk march through the very limited places he was allowed to be in, ending with a stroll along the planet’s surface. Because they had time to spare and his guide was bored.

Ronan nodded absentmindedly, not even bothering to pretend he knew where Ba’kif was going with this.

“I also hear you barely flinched from the cold.”

“I grew up on a planet with just about the same climate in winter.” A shrug. “Maybe slightly milder.”

“I see.”

There was a loose thread at the edge of his tunic and Ronan focused on tugging on it with his nails. The mess in his head had simmered down to a low apathetic hum and there was little of his defenses left when the words bubbled up his throat.

“Tell me, General,”

The thread snapped at the next tug.

“Is there any chance I will ever go back home. Is there any point in hoping or should I just spare myself the disappointment and give up the idea entirely.”

Ba’kif was quiet for a moment – not that Ronan had expected an answer – and Ronan wondered if there would be repercussions for asking the question.

“One should never give up hope, Lyron.” He said finally and the intensity of his tone sent a shiver down Ronan’s spine. Then the spark all but vanished and Ba’kif was back to being the impenetrable military man.

“But for the time being the answer is no,” he said matter-of-fact, “I can’t let you go back. You do not trust the Chiss and the Chiss do not trust you in return.”

Ronan’s shoulders drooped further.

“Right…”

Another moment of silence where Ronan focused on a different thread and then Ba’kif was standing up behind his desk and reaching for an access card in one of the drawers.

“Come.” He ordered. “I was hoping I could show you something.”

The command was abrupt and Ronan blinked at him for a moment. But he couldn’t muster the will to protest and rose to trail after the Chiss as he walked past him and reached for a spare outerwrap robe at the door.

Ronan took it on autopilot, doing a halfhearted job of the ties.

The path they took once out of the office was a blur. At some point the metal flooring under his feet gave way to a flight of stairs and then they were walking out into the Csillan landscape, a cool wind throwing snow in their faces while a line of jagged rocks rose silently in the distance.

It was both familiar and foreign, Ronan thought as he rewound a handful of memories from his childhood.

The cold became easier to bear as they walked and the snow covered them almost gently, coming in thin wispy sheets. He almost missed it when the ice at their feet dappled with rocks but he felt the moment they entered under the shadows of the distant rock formations, the air temperature around them dropping sharply.

“Please.” Ba’kif stepped aside to let him lead and Ronan looked past him at the small well-trodden path ahead. The end of the path, when they got there, was not something he expected.

He stood there and stared up at the sheer rock face in confusion.

“I assume Lakuyoo didn’t bother to show you the sights.” Ba’kif said from behind, standing just a little ways to the left.

Ronan tried to put his scattered thoughts in order. He had a vague memory of passing by this place but the aide had indeed neglected to mention there was anything special about it.

His eyes found Ba’kif’s in a question however the Chiss had decided to be difficult again and merely waved a hand out in invitation. Ronan bit back an irritated huff and refocused on the cliff in front of him. In a minute or so he had figured it out.

He was looking at some kind of artwork, was the best way he could describe it. A natural rock formation with added chinks and gouges, artificial no doubt, where snow piled up in accordance with the wind’s speed and direction, resulting in a myriad shifting patterns.

Those patterns, he realized, were more coherent than he’d first thought and he began to distinguish images in the accumulated snow; ridges and clumps coming together to form faces, words and charts.

Each pattern made way for the next as the wind brushed it away, a new configuration of cascading accumulating snow, some snow marks holding on longer depending on the force of the gusts blowing them in, and Ronan wondered how many of them there were in total.

It was impressive but also unsettling. Incredibly unsettling, Ronan realized as the scale of the whole thing finally registered in his mind.

“There are many interpretations as to the artist’s intention,” Ba’kif said quietly, coming up beside him.

Artist, Cheunh singular. The work of just one person, Ronan swallowed.

“The one I prefer personally is that the piece symbolizes the Chiss’ ability to change and adapt while keeping our core values. How one thing can be something but also another without losing its essence. It’s a thought worth pondering, no?”

Ronan kept his eyes on the stone in front of him.

He wasn’t so far gone so as not to realize what was happening. This, all of this – dragging him out into the severe landscape, the cold, putting him at the foot of this monstrous creation – was all meant to intimidate him.

It was a completely transparent tactic. And it was also working.

These Chiss were fanatically devoted to seeing something through once they put their mind to it. Ronan remembered the way Savit had griped his arm on the bridge of the Firedrake, tightening his hold with every angry spasm Thrawn drew out of him. He hadn’t been intimidated then. Merely uncomfortable and anxious for the whole ordeal to end.

And yet he felt a jolt of something shoot up his spine as he stared up at that grand rock face, towering over them in its grim, convoluted glory.

His thoughts took a slow turn, veering back to the reality of his situation.

His performance here would determine if the Chiss could truly trust him. And that, in turn, would determine if he would ever set foot back on imperial soil. He could either give it his all and rise to the challenge or keep resisting and dragging his feet and only one of those brought him closer to his goal.

Still, if one of their enemies came and plucked him away, or if he managed to return to the Empire, that was an awful lot of information to put in his hands… But really who would come to take him away from some Maker forsaken office, buried out of sight underground?

Ronan shivered as a chilling thought suddenly hit him.

He wasn’t more likely to leave this place if he agreed to Ba’kif’s proposition. No, that was merely an illusion he wanted to believe in. In reality, working for the Chiss, going anywhere near their politics, would only pile more valuable information into his hands, further tethering him the Ascendancy, to Csilla and whatever plans the Chiss had for him.

Ba’kif’s little speech about change and adaptation confirmed it too. He wanted Ronan’s commitment and expertise but without the loyalties they came attached with. No, he wanted them for the Chiss.

Ronan attempted to swallow again and the dryness in his mouth grated against his tongue.

He would basically be signing the last of his freedom away by accepting this job. He may rise in prestige and the blueskins may be less neurotic with him if he was in a more secure place but in the end he would still be a prisoner.

And yet, something tugged at him inside as he stared up at the cold stone.

The ridges and groves and their meticulous arrangement. The shifting design and the painstaking thought that had gone into it.

There was dedication here, he concluded grimly. Dedication and diligence. Dedication and diligence that reminded him of Director Krennic and dedication and diligence that seemed really appealing if they were going to be directed towards defeating the Grysks. And if there was one thing Ronan knew – from his little adventure with Thrawn and his subsequent experience in the Chiss fleet – was that these Grysks were a grave threat to everyone.

True, Ronan didn’t know the Chiss too well yet but he could maybe see them, see himself, working toward a goal that could benefit the entire galaxy. Just like he was sure he had been doing with Director Krennic.

The wind beat at them again as Ronan steeled his resolve like a man headed for his execution.

“General,”

Ba’kif’s head tilted in his direction.

“I accept your offer.”

A moment of silence and then Ba’kif’s mouth split into a full-toothed smile, his posture relaxing ever so slightly. Satisfied with himself. Pleased.

“I am glad to hear that, Lieutenant. You will find that we appreciate and take good care of those who work for the good of the Ascendancy.”

___

“All you need is here and the file you requested will be sent to you as soon as possible. The rest is on the data cylinder Supreme General Ba’kif should have given you. Will that be sufficient?”

Ronan grumbled under his breath as he scrolled down the file on his questis.

“Yes, yes, I will look into it.”

The Chiss gave him a cursory nod and swept out the room in a flurry of robes.

Ronan didn’t bother with any parting pleasantries as he brushed accumulated flimsi and cylinders to the side and sat down to peer at the file in front of him. Just when he was catching up on his reading too…

The work was grueling, he had to admit, but at least he’d been blessedly busy and it gave him something to think about. It was still up in the air if this idea of Ba’kif’s would take off but so far they’d powered through their first cases with some partial success and partial success was better than nothing.

There was a knock at the door and he lowered the questis with a sigh, shooting the newcomer on the other side a glare.

Ba’kif had mentioned he would be sending another officer his way this afternoon. Ronan had hoped there had been a rescheduling given it was nearing evening that his point.

Did he have the patience to deal with another military snob today? Probably not. But that didn’t mean he didn’t have to, he groused to himself.

“Yes, come in,” he called, jotting down a few quick lines on the file on his screen and making a few mental notes for later.

He was just about to invite the newcomer to sit when he looked up at the stiff thin-lipped face in front of him.

…Oh.

… … Oh.

Well now, this was going to be interesting, he thought with no little amount of giddiness as a smile of pure malicious glee bloomed on his face.

“Senior Captain Aguilos,” he said, waving a hand at the seat in front of him, “please, how can I help you today?”

The Chiss’ face spasmed and twitched, much like the day he had been yelling profanities in Ronan’s face. Ronan felt his heart sing with delight.

It turned out there was, in fact, some poetic justice in the galaxy yet.

“Your case for Captain Aguilos was rather flimsy the other day. Not your best work, I must say.”

“What can I say? The man wasn’t being very cooperative. And I hear he’s a rude fellow anyway, he probably deserved that slap from the Syndicure.”

“You hear? From what source if I may ask?”

“A reliable one, General. I don’t take these things lightly, rest assured.”

___

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