#best mini air coolers | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

immoralkombat · 8 months

Text

feeling(s)

Kenshi has been blind for maybe an hour or two.

Johnny looks over at him with sympathy. He's not sure what he could possibly do or say to make things seem any less bleak for him. The man was just trying to get his family's heirloom back and now, after months of training and dedication, one of his five senses is gone permanently through no fault of his own. If Johnny were in Kenshi's position, he's sure he'd be feeling just as desolate, if not more so.

Kung Lao is sitting in the far corner, talking to Baraka. He seems genuinely fascinated by Tarkat as a disease. Were Johnny not in the same situation as them, he would find that particular conversation topic a bit morbid. Right now, it's really all they have to talk about. They've already exhausted all the small talk options you normally go through when first meeting someone. They might as well start talking about the disease that'll eventually kill Baraka.

The salve on the cloth seems to have worked a little, because at least Kenshi isn't moaning in pain every few seconds anymore. Not that it makes things significantly more cheerful, but it does help the atmosphere a bit.

Johnny taps on his knees as he sits, eyes darting between looking at Kung Lao and Kenshi. He's kind of in between where the two have sat themselves, a visual and metaphorical median between the two ways one could possibly react to getting imprisoned by a sorcerer that's almost 100% going to kill you. (To be fair, there isn't much that connects the points of "casually talking about a stranger's terminal illness with them as though you're both standing by the office water cooler talking about whatever hit TV show is airing these days" and "rocking back in forth in the corner about how a different terminally ill stranger took your eyes and you have nothing left in this world." Johnny supposes the best middle point is "looking anxiously between your two co-workers and not saying anything because Jesus Christ, what the fuck are you supposed to say in this situation besides aforementioned terminal illness.")

He really wishes that Kenshi still had his eyes, because every time he looked at Johnny, it always seemed to make everything feel okay.

Johnny thinks for a second and then scoots closer to Kenshi. It's only once he accidentally bumps up against Kenshi's foot and scares the living shit out of everyone in the cell that he realizes he probably should've given an audible cue that he was going to be approaching the newly blind guy.

After Kenshi's done having a mini panic attack over the sudden Hollywood A-lister jumpscare he's gotten, Johnny looks at him and asks, quietly, "Do you want to hold Sento for a bit?"

Kenshi turns to face him and even underneath the newly christened blindfold, Johnny can tell that Kenshi is looking at him with the most surprised and reverent eyes in the universe. The kind of look that you'd get and say "fuck this stupid sword, I'd pay $3 million just to get this guy to look at me like that again."

Kenshi's mouth opens as though he's going to say something, but it shuts again before any words or sounds can come out. He opts to nod in response and Johnny takes the scabbard from off his back, holds it in his hands gently and passes it to Kenshi. Their fingertips graze one another, a way to indicate that the blind man is in the right spot. The touch sends crackles of electricity through Johnny and he wonders if Kenshi feels them too.

It's like the tattoos on Kenshi's hands are swirling around him, colors dancing in front of his eyes. It's more beautiful than any lame fucking Disney movie ever could be.

The yakuza's voice is hoarse as he says "Thanks." It's so small that Johnny can almost see it breaking in the air. He wants to put his hand on Kenshi's and tell him that things will be okay, that he's going to pay for a sight companion, any kind of corrective surgeries he wants, whatever it takes. He wants to tell him that he's still just as strong and fierce and goddamn handsome now as he was before. He wants to kiss him so fucking badly it makes his entire being ache.

He settles for saying "You're welcome," and then sitting next to Kenshi in silence.

He watches the way that he holds Sento in his hands, feels every single nick in the scabbard, every single imperfection. It's the first time in Johnny's life that he's ever wanted to be a sword and, if he keeps hanging out with Kenshi after this, (which he hopes he can), it almost certainly won't be the last.

Johnny wishes that Mileena had taken Kenshi's tear ducts with her after she'd stabbed his eyes out, because the short sad sobs that wrack through his body are almost too much to bear witness to. When he cries, it moves through his entire being. It sends a shockwave from his gut upward, makes him lurch his shoulders forward and hug himself.

"H-Hey, what's wrong?" Johnny asks. He knows it's a stupid fucking question, obviously everyone knows what's wrong, most of all the guy it happened to. But it's all he can think to ask as he watches Kenshi continue to awkwardly jerk alongside his cries.

Kenshi's head turns to face Johnny. From beyond the thin red cloth that covers his eye sockets, Johnny can feel them boring into him.

"Cage, could I touch you? I want to remember what your face looks like."

If Johnny were operating on his full mental capacity, he would probably explode at this question. He would become the fireworks they popped last night at the banquet over their heads as they feasted. He would be attached to one end of a fuse with Li Mei holding the other end, readying herself to spark it and send him to the stratosphere.

"Y-Yeah, of course you can, Ken-doll. Just make sure not to damage the goods - people pay good money for this mug to show up on their big screens."

The smugness in his voice would normally earn him a "tch" or a groan, (or an eye roll), from Kenshi. Hearing him chuckle under his breath makes his heart soar.

He turns his face toward him and waits, but no touch comes. His eyes close, he anticipates the electricity to come back... and instead he hears Kenshi clearing his throat awkwardly.

Johnny opens his eyes and finds that Kenshi's still got his hands on Sento. He tries not to be jealous of the sword again, but as with any other time he's tried not to be jealous of someone or something that has what he wants, he fails miserably.

"Could you get closer, Cage?"

"Not the first time I'm hearing that question, won't be the last. How close you need me, handsome?"

The words come out before he can even process them. Jesus Christ, is he really that much of a disaster that he can just openly call a guy he's been crushing on for at least a month handsome without even thinking about it? He's a fucking mess. His wife left him and now he doesn't know how to act. She was gonna be the only person he'd ever be able to trick into loving him and now she was gone.

"I'm going to turn, and I suggest you do the same. I want to be facing you. You can sit with your legs touching mine if it helps."

Great, now Kenshi has a colorful blindfold that also serves as a perfect swatch for the shade of red Johnny's face turns every time the man says something that's totally fucking normal for two people that are acquainted with one another.

Johnny does as he's told, because if there's one thing he's good at, it's taking directions. (Ignoring literally every single major motion picture he's ever been in, every statement he's ever made to the press after consulting his legal teams and public consultants, and generally living life up until this point.)

His knees knock against Kenshi's and it takes him aback for a second, how giddy and childish the butterflies he feels in his stomach are. Getting to know Kenshi was so simple. He wishes he had just taken a second and been less of a dickwad back when they'd first met, because maybe then it'd be easier for him to grow a pair of cajones and tell Kenshi that he doesn't spend a single night without thinking about how much he wants to trace the tattoos on his hands and arms. Maybe if he had just given Sento over, it'd be easier to admit that the low rumble of Kenshi's voice does something to stir up the pool of heat in his stomach that he thought had been long since gone after getting married to Cristal. Maybe if he hadn't tied Kenshi to one of his kitchen chairs, it'd be easier to ask him if kissing washed-up celebrities was something he'd be interested in doing.

"I'll put my hand out, you lean forward to match it."

Kenshi's palm is extended and it takes every ounce of willpower in Johnny's aching body to not press his lips against it. He leans forward until his cheek is lightly touching the yakuza's hand.

He must be hearing things, because he swears he hears Kenshi's breath hitch when they make contact for the first time. Nah, surely not. Must've been the wind.

If Kenshi's senses are heightened because of the loss of his vision, then Johnny's senses are heightened because of the gain of his touch. He purses his lips together to stop from letting out some sort of obscene sound as he feels Kenshi's hand slowly smooth over his cheek. He thanks whatever fucked up Gods exist other than Liu Kang that he finally got on that moisturizing routine that he learned off of TikTok three months ago.

As Kenshi's hand slowly feels out every angle and curve of Johnny's face, his thoughts rush a mile a minute. He wonders if he should've done a closer shave today - maybe his stubble is gonna be too sharp and it'll hurt Kenshi and leave him with little cuts or rug burn on his pretty perfect wrap-around-my-throat-please hands. He wonders if his nose is too big. He wonders if he maybe should've invested in hair plugs after that one weird SNL dropout made a comment about his weird square hairline back when he guest starred on the Comedy Central roast of Megan Fox. He wonders if his eyes are too small or too large or too close together or too far apart. He wonders if he should smile so Kenshi can feel his dimples.

"Yep, it all feels just like how I remember it. Although the stubble has gotten a little longer."

That is certainly not the answer he was expecting to hear.

His voice is small, barely there, as he chokes out his question. "You remember what I look like?"

Kenshi nods. "I do."

Johnny goes to open his mouth to ask, "Then why did you ask to touch it if you already knew?"

But then Kenshi's fingers are on his lips, tracing them with the reverence he'd have holding Sento, and for a moment, Johnny finally thinks he's better than that stupid fucking sword. His smile has the same curves, the same edges. The only difference is that Kenshi can't accidentally hurt himself this way. (He can, however, accidentally hurt Johnny. But even that would be better than the alternative, he thinks.)

Kenshi's thumb is on his bottom lip, the rest of his hand now holding Johnny's chin. If he tilts it up even one degree, Johnny thinks it'll be over for him, that he'll be kissing Kenshi before he can even think to stop himself. He'd always had poor impulse control - why else would he have spent $3 million on a fucking sword to hang up in his living room?

"These are the same, too. I'm glad you weren't hurt in the fight, Cage."

Johnny feels so fucking overwhelmed. He wants to ask so many things. First of all, what does "these are the same, too" mean? Second, why does he care about the guy who bought his fucking family heirloom and refuses to give it back? Third, why does he insist on calling him Cage like one day he won't end up calling him Johnny and breaking his heart? Fourth, what in the goddamn fuck does he mean about Johnny's fucking lips being the goddamn motherfucking same?!

Johnny decides to play it up like he always does. "Well, 'course. Gotta keep my pretty mouth. It's what makes the big bucks. I wouldn't be the same without it."

Kenshi smirks, and thank Liu Kang's weird god siblings that he's blind right now, because Johnny is beet red, mouth agape, with his eyebrows raised (and he's fairly certain that something else also rises).

"That's true. You would not be the same without that infamous mouth." Kenshi accents the compliment(?) with a playful slap to Johnny's cheek, and then his hand is withdrawn entirely, leaving an empty ghost where he should still be holding Johnny's face in his hands.

He bites back the urge to immediately ask if Kenshi wants to know just how infamous the mouth is, and settles for clearing his throat and moving back to sitting against the wall next to Kenshi.

He looks over at him after he's gotten calmed down. His heart is still jackhammering against his ribs, but as long as Kenshi can't feel his pulse, he doesn't have to know. Kenshi seems to sense Johnny's eyes on him because he turns to face him, red blindfold all that stands between the gaping holes where Kenshi's eyes used to be and Johnny's gaze full of adoration.

The yakuza grabs Sento from his lap and hands it back to Johnny.

"Thank you. I appreciate you letting me hold it. And I appreciate your help in grounding me back to reality."

Johnny nods, taking Sento back and putting it where it so wrongfully deserves to be, strapped against Johnny's sore fucking back.

"No problem. Lemme know whenever you get the urge to feel out what an Adonis looks like, I'm happy to oblige." His comment is a means to an end. He plays up the egoism to ignore the shock that courses through him as Kenshi's fingertips touch his one last time.

He resolves then and there to give Sento back as soon as they escape from here, and they will escape.

This cannot be the last time he feels Kenshi's hands on him.

Baraka whispers, about as well as he can without lips or an inside voice, "Do they not realize how much they yearn for one another?"

Kung Lao shakes his head, putting a hand on Baraka's shoulder and immediately regretting it once he feels a spike tear into his palm. "They've just gotta be stupid about it for a bit longer. They'll figure it out."

"Surely their pining has to cause some sort of agony for you as well, does it not, Earthrealmer?" Baraka looks genuinely confused, or as close to it as he can get from what Kung Lao can tell.

Kung Lao hangs his head, sighing languidly. "Of course it does. But what else am I gonna do about it? Tell them? They're not gonna believe me. Trust me, they've got to figure it out on their own time, or they never will."

And as he sees Johnny's hand inch closer to Kenshi's, finally overlapping the tattoos and interlocking their fingers, Kung Lao thinks that maybe the agony won't last much longer.

#johnshi #johnny cage x kenshi #johnny x kenshi #kenshi x johnny #kenshi x johnny cage #johnny cage #kenshi #kenshi takahashi #mk1 #mk1 2023 #mk1 spoilers #mortal kombat 1 2023 #mortal kombat 1 spoilers #mortal kombat #this was also posted to my ao3 but i'm keeping works limited to registered users only bc. protecting my works and whatnot!#cross posted on ao3 #immoralkombat.exe

584 notes · View notes

cursedkeyboard · 4 months

Text

PAY ATTENTION ● Older brother Suguru & Younger sibling!Reader

what happens when suguru's cute younger sibling, who'd usually talk his ear off and cling to him, suddenly starts to... do their own thing?

Pairings: Platonic Suguru Geto x Younger sibling!Reader

As we know, Suguru is a rather mature teenager

He carries this air of elegance, always putting on a polite smile and spilling pleasantries past his lips like sweetened lies

But we also know that Suguru can be childish around the right people

So it's not a surprise to anyone close to him that when his younger sibling, you, stops following around like a lost puppy, Suguru immediately starts to sulk

You're only three years younger than Suguru, fourteen to his seventeen

You two always had a close relationship, closer than most siblings tend to have

Suguru loves spending time with you, to him, you're easily the funniest kid he knows

It's hard for him to ever calm down completely since he's constantly stressed with the sorcerer world

But every day when he goes home and you're in the living room or in your room, it's like he can finally breathe

Because before Satoru, you were Suguru's only friend

His little mini-me, partner in crime, best friend

You two clicked and moved like one, so in tune with each other he always marveled at how most siblings tend to hate each other

Of course, the two of you do fight sometimes

Over who gets to take a shower first, who ate the leftovers, who gets to watch what on TV

"Did you use my shampoo?"

"The one you keep hiding from me? Yeah."

"You little– That's expensive."

"That's why I used it, Suguru."

You two are siblings after all, what kind of siblings never fight?

But he never felt the kind of animosity and distrust so many brothers and sisters feel around each other, the kind that made them roll their eyes whenever they even got close to their siblings

To Suguru, you're his little sunshine, someone he'll protect until the day he keels over and dies

Not that he'll ever tell you that

(number one rule of siblingship: Never be too touchy-feely)

So imagine his surprise when the little punk who usually follows his every step, always under his elbow, asking him to hang out or help with homework, stays glued to the phone even when he sits in the same room

Like.... what?

You barely greet him, a half hearted "Hey, you're home." falling from your lips without even looking at him, and he's offended and hurt at the same time

You're fourteen, sure

He knows you'd start pulling away from him now that you have more than a couple of friends, more subjects to study, and... uh..

Puberty

But he thought it'd go away after a bit, that you'd go back to being his cute little sibling once you realized he is so much cooler than the kids your age

He'd walk past your open door multiple times a day after coming home, trying to see if you were going to invite him to hang out

He'd make tea with a mouthwatering fragrance, put on your favorite show, talk to your parents about going to a very trendy and fun place you'd surely want to go with

Damn, at some point he'd probably even talk to Satoru on the phone, loudly, because he knows you're curious about the pretty white haired teen who always teases you whenever he sees you around Suguru's home

But even then, nothing

Nothing at all

Suguru feels like he's watching the baby he helped learn how to walk turn into an adult and leave him behind

And as a big brother, he's upset, a little petty, and worst of all;

Sulky

Of course, Satoru and Shoko definitely notice, because although Suguru is quiet, he's not staying in a corner looking out of the window while listening to sad music and reminiscing quiet

And of course, they both make fun of him when he explains the situation

"And here I thought Gojo was the unreasonable one."

"Hahaha! I– I can't believe! You're sulking because the little brat isn't talking to you?!"

"Shut up, Satoru, and don't call my baby sibling a brat."

"Hah! You're such a loser, Suguru!"

Needless to say, when Suguru comes home and you're still glued to your phone in the living room, he's not in the greatest of moods

You barely look up when he drops his bag on the table

"Welcome back, Susu."

And because no one ever made a law saying Suguru can't act like Satoru sometimes, the teen flops on the couch and hugs a pillow, not answering you

That, you notice

Your brother always talks to you when he comes back home, even when he is all banged up from whatever they do at school

The sight that greets you is... something

Embarrassing, endearing, definitely pathetic for your big brother

Suguru is pouting, looking down at the pillow his strangling to his chest, his knees pulled up to make himself smaller

Not that it works, he's built like a bean pole

His shoulders brush yours, because even though he's mad, he still misses his cute– annoying little sibling

"Suguru?"

...

"Mr. Suguruuuu....?"

...

"Hey, what's wrong?"

He turns his face away, his hair slapping your face, and pushes more of his body against yours

"What the– Dude, you're squashing me! Suguru, what's wrong with you?!"

Suguru still says nothing, silently letting more and more of his weight to lower on top of you until you're smushed against the couch

Once you're a baby sibling pancake, Suguru finally opens his mouth

"So now you're paying attention to me, huh?"

... Huh?

"Huh?"

Suguru huffs, his hair all over your face, body much bigger and heavier than yours not allowing you to move an inch even though you struggle, and squeezes his pillow

"No, it's fine. Go ahead, ignore your big brother all you want. It's not like I helped mom and dad raise you."

"... Are you kiddi–"

"Yeah, keep your eyes glued to your phone, don't need to talk to me or don't hang out with me– actually, don't even look at me at all, since I'm sure you'd much rather look at your phone."

"You're being such a chil–"

"No, no, by all means! It's not like I miss you or anything."

You sighed with some effort, because Suguru is still on top of you and he's not a lightweight, and thump your head against the soft couch

Sure, you know you've been a little distant from your big brother

But, hey, you're fourteen now!

You have your friends and stuff you wanna do without your brother around

And, really, Suguru is a hypocrite

Ever since he started high school he wouldn't stop talking about the white haired cutie

Which you understood, if only visually because Satoru would often call you pint-sized Suguru

But he also spends time with other people!

"You do know I have other friends."

"So I don't matter to you anymore, is that it?"

"No, I'm just not gonna hang out with you all the time!"

"Well, you haven't been hanging out with me at all."

"Urgh!"

"Yeah, urgh."

God, you really wish more people knew about how pouty and clingy your big bro can get

Maybe they'd stop thinking he was this mature and chill guy

You groan against the couch and your brother presses his back down, pushing the air out of your lungs

"You're so annoying!"

"You used to say you wanted to be just like me when you grew up."

This guy...

You sigh, relaxing and surrendering

You're supposed to meet up your friends this weekend to watch a movie, but two of them can't make it so everyone gave up on it

Might as well use the opportunity

"Fine– I'm sorry, okay? Do– Do you wanna watch a movie this weekend? The one that just came out?"

Suguru stops for a second, letting some of his weight off of you and allowing you to breathe properly

He mutters the name of the movie and you confirm it

"Hmm..."

You can hear the smile on his face and you scoff, the exact same smile pulling at your lips too

"If you promise you'll pay more attention to your neglected older brother, then yeah."

Oh, you so want to take it back

But then again, now that he brought it up, you also miss him

If only a little

Like, a smidge

"Fine, I won't ignore you anymore. Happy?"

Suguru took a moment to answer before turning around to press a loud and gross older brother kiss on the back of your head

Now you have to take a shower

"Very happy."

He sounds smug and satisfied, finally a little more relaxed

He really did miss you so much

You're his baby, okay? Growing up too fast will only give him heartaches

And now Suguru can tell Satoru that you don't hate him

Everyone wins

...

"Hey, can you get off now?"

"Hmmm, no, I'm comfortable."

"Well, I'm not! Get off, Suguru!"

"Don't feel like it."

"Suguru!"

#geto suguru #geto suguru x reader #jjk suguru #geto x reader #platonic geto suguru x reader #younger sibling reader #platonic #sibling reader #jujutsu kaisen #suguru x reader #gender neutral reader #gn!reader #suguru x gender neutral reader

258 notes · View notes

inklore · 2 years

Text

wild child, i want you.

part two | series masterlist

premise: coming back to hawkins for your summer vacation from college is the last thing you want to do, but you find yourself back in your hometown and it all goes to shit in a matter of weeks. thinking your summer is already a bummer, getting high with the town outcast doesn't seem like that bad of an idea.

pairing: eddie munson x richgirl!reader

word count: 6.2k

warnings: eighteen+ content, blowjob (eddie’s first one, he’s a lil virgin in this sorry y’all), drug use, cheesy flirting, past crush unmentioned but there, tiny bit of praise kink, i made eddie’s van cooler than it actually is, reader is a lil self absorbed but it’s ok, mentions of past bullying, class difference, and shit family dynamics.

etc: i may write a part two for this, may turn it into a little mini series depending on the love i get on it. but um this boy is the cutest little virgin and no one can convince me otherwise ok thnx. title from the song wild child by wasp aka a song on this verysexy playlist!

i do not give anyone permission to translate or repost my work, please be respectful — if you enjoyed please comment or reblog!

“Shit! Fuck!”

The sounds of aggravation that erupts from your throat are anything but ladylike. The moon shining down just right in the sky to show the hunk of mud that’s now stuck on the top of your red pumps. Pumps that cost too much to be covered in dirt and grime, and yet here they were. Ruined.

All because you had stormed off from the party taking place in the backyard of your long term boyfriend—who was now your ex because fuck him, and fuck this washed up town.

You knew agreeing to come back for the summer would be absolutely detrimental to your psyche. Missing out on what would have been the summer of your life alongside college friends, a new city, on boats, planes; anywhere better than Hawkins!

But being the amazing, doting girlfriend you were, you had been easily convinced by the promise of gifts, booze, and a hell of a summer.

Two weeks in and you were miserable, had ruined Louis Vuitton’s, barely tipsy off of cheap beer, and now newly single.

“Fuck this place!” You scream to yourself, louder than you should have in a not–disturbing–the–peace way, a dog barking in the distance. You needed to catch the first bus out of this dump of a town as soon as possible.

“I completely agree,” comes a voice to the side of you. If the pumping of anger and spite wasn’t making your heart boom in your ear drums right now, or the distraction of materialistic items didn’t have you fuming: you were sure you might have seen them, whoever they are. Or at least smelled them. The heavy scent of weed lingers in the air and you can only assume it’s the weed guy your ex-boyfriend had been talking about.

You weren’t in the mood to deal with anyone else tonight, let alone some stoned out stranger whose opinion you didn’t ask for, or could fake care about.

Turning in their direction you plan on telling them as much, plan on giving them your best bitchy scowl. But when your eyes adjust, actually see who it is; take in the long hair, the mix of jean and leather, the rings that gleam in the moonlight. Your expression changes from annoyance to amusement, your rude rebuttal long forgotten.

“Munson?”

“In the flesh,” his smile is still as boyish as you remember. At least from what you can remember. You graduated two years ago, he didn’t. Either year, so you've heard.

The two of you hadn’t been friends, barely acquaintances. You had a handful of classes with him, even got partnered up with him for one biology project that neither of you truly put the effort into. But you flashed your pretty smile and batted your eyes and got the both of you passing grades—thank god for creepy male teachers.

You and Munson, Eddie, were so far off of the spectrum of being in each other’s realms. The class difference not being the only thing setting you two on two different sides of the universe, let alone Hawkins and your group of friends. The many taunts from your boyfriend and his friends coming back to your mind, and the weird snarkiness Eddie would always fight back with. Unbothered by the stupidity of high school taunts.

“Graduate yet?” You give him a playful smile, lean up against the car behind you to attempt and scrape off the mud on your shoe with your thumb nail.

“No.” He crosses his hands over his chest, “but still keeping up with expectations.” You’re barely listening to him, frowning down at the dirt now caked under your perfectly polished nails, fuck.

You huff out a breath, pull your head back to look up at the night sky. Try to do those breathing exercises you see your mother do when a bird shits on her BMW. “You here for the party?” You both know you’re joking. Know that most, if not all, the rich kids here had once—or still do—rag on him.

“My services got the invite.” He clarifies, “not me, personally, for obvious reasons.” He mumbles that last part and it makes you chuckle under your breath.

“Still the weed guy, huh?” Pulling your head upright again, you look over at him. His response being holding his hands in the air in an ‘obviously’ type motion. Nothing has changed with him, and maybe that’s just what happens when you stay in this dead end town. But something also tells you that Eddie isn’t the type to just change. What you see is what you get, unapologetically.

Must be nice to be that carefree. You could use some carefree in your life; that booming sound of your heart in your ear still pumping with materialistic and asshole boyfriend frustration.

A smile spreads across your lips as an idea pops into your head. As you make the decision to get that carefree feeling in the most synthetic way possible, while also sticking it to the aforementioned asshole in the backyard.

“How much were they going to pay you?”

“For the-”

“Yes, the weed, Munson. How much.” You roll your eyes, that old high school queen bee tone coming back. Making even your own self wince, but who knows when—or if—the smell of weed had already wafted off of Eddie and traveled to the backyard and the two of you were soon to be joined by the rest of the party.

Fuck them.

“Thirty.”

Reaching into your bra, the low cut material of your dress having the perfect swoop to showcase just enough to keep the mystery, but add to the intrigue—helping to house your money snuggly in the cup of your bra; you pull out the folded cash your father had handed to you on your way out of the door.

“I have fifty here.” You hold it out between your forefinger and middle, “it’s yours but we have to leave right now.”

He looks a little surprised, his eyes flash from your chest to the money in your hand.

“You have a car don’t you?” You look around the dead street, try to remember what hunk of junk you may have seen him driving around when you were in school.

“Is the money for the ride or the weed?”

“Both.”

Eddie hums, “seems a bit low.” He crosses his arms, scratches his cheek. Starting up a slow pace as he speaks, “I mean I am risking getting caught with a distinguished lady such as yourself. From what I hear you’re still with your Princeton lover. Don’t know if I need him thinking I’ve stolen you away.”

You think he’s half serious for a second. The look of quarry on his face, but then you see his smile. See that boyish amusement again, it makes the corners of your lips tick up in amusement; contagious. Something you remember from bombing biology together. As much as you wanted to dislike him, ignore him, or push the assignment completely onto him, he had distracted you with weird facts about his band you were not interested in—and the other random nonsense that would slip out always made you roll your eyes and hide the contagiousness of his smile that spread across your face.

But you find yourself holding onto the knowledge that he knew about you and your ex. Don’t know why it’s the only retaining thing your mind seems to keep flashing on, it didn’t matter to you who still talked about you in Hawkins. Especially when you were certain it was out of pure jealousy for you getting out and them not.

You can’t see Eddie contributing in gossip, though. Maybe that’s why you’re holding onto the knowledge that he knows, remembers. Still hates the asshole. Much like you do.

“We broke up.” You state, make clear with a wide smile that you’re more than happy about it. His lips tug up more, stops in his tracks and leans back on his heels a little as he stares at you. The two of you sharing some silent moment before you laugh, “are you going to be my kidnapper or what, Munson?”

He smirks, grabs the money still between your fingers. Nods his head back to the van at the end of the driveway—that only makes sense is his, because of course it is.

“America's Most Wanted here I come!” He hollers a little too loudly, making you laugh.

“Sorry about the mess.” Eddie maneuvers around you, picks up some of the random garbage and clothes strewn at your feet and throws them in the front.

You’re sat on the small couch he has in the back of his van. The velvet from the cushions softer than you expect it to be on the back of your bare legs. Expecting it to feel grimy at the very least, and maybe that’s not fair of you to expect—or think.

You’re surprised at how unfazed you feel about the random things contributing to the mess back here. Finding yourself actually smiling at the makeshift lights he has hung up, how they cast a red glow and illuminate the posters he has tapped with that thick grey tape you know is going to rip off the paint if he was to ever remove it.

The atmosphere oddly calming, compared to what you are used to.

He pulls out a tape from the glove compartment and slips it into the stereo, a heavy metal track playing low through the speakers, the bass deep enough to rock the van.

You’re parked behind his trailer.

When he had pulled up to it and pulled around the back you were once again reminded just how different your lives really were. Had found yourself scrunching up your nose at the drab looking mobile home. Regretting it the minute Eddie caught you and gave a pressed lipped grin, “can’t build mansions this far out. Grounds too mushy.” He joked, but it only made you feel worse.

Why, you have no idea. It wasn’t your fault you were born with a silver spoon and he was born without one. Neither was a bad thing. He seemed more than happy with his life—knowing what you did about him, that carefree way about him—than you did with your own, it would seem.

The cushions bounce from the way he plops down beside you. Pulling a metal lunchbox out of nowhere and placing it in his lap, “who knew the Princess of Hawkins, knew how to be bad.”

You make a face, “people don’t really call me that do they?”

He cocks his head to the side. “Oh how clueless the other half live.”

“I can still take back the money, you know.”

“Ooh, not twenty of it, at least.” He clicks his tongue, opens the metal box. The waft of weed stronger, making your nose burn. “Gotta keep that half for risking my life, it’s only fair.”

“You are the chattiest drug dealer I’ve ever met.”

“You meet a lot of them, do ya?” You can see countless baggies of whatever he’s pushing to the side, a lighter, more random junk, and then he’s pulling out a small bag of weed. “You really are bad, Princess,” he smiles.

You have to look away from him, have to hide the cheesy smile that moves across your own face—because it’s annoyingly warm in here, and you are here to escape and get high not become best buds with him. “Just roll it, Munson.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

This wasn’t your first time smoking. You had dabbled in weed at parties since your sophomore year. Had taken part with it at the handful of college parties you had been to. You were used to the light feeling, the cravings, the giggles. Or so you thought.

Maybe you just hadn’t been smoking the right stuff. Maybe it had been the liquor you had always paired with it, the buzz you thought you felt from what you smoked actually from the malt and not the shit weed.

Because you’ve never felt this good before. Not from weed. Liquor. Even around your friends.

You felt so good right now.

Your cheeks hurt from laughing and smiling so much, can’t remember when you had dropped yourself onto the floor of Eddie’s van. Your heels kicked off and feet propped up on the cushions of the sofa—right next to Munson.

He’s not as spread out as you though, maybe a little more lax. His back slouched lower on the sofa, legs spread further apart. Jacket gone, black sleeves rolled up.

Has he always had that tattoo? Just how many rings does one guy need? Your heavy lids ache as you hyperfocus in on the bracelet on his wrist, the tattoo on his arm. Each one of his rings that don’t even budge as his fingers flex, as he uses the small pocket knife he had pulled out from his back pocket; grabbing your discarded heels to scrape the mud from them.

“You really don’t have to do that,” you giggle. “My dad will just buy me another pair.”

A smile spreads, “but you were so upset about them. Even I winced when I saw the mud pile you stepped in, nightmarish.”

He laughs along with you as you completely lose it, “how shitty is it that that is a nightmare to me? Ruined Louis Vuitton‘s.”

Eddie shakes his head, holds up the shoes. Now cleaner than before, way too clean for him to have just used the pocket knife. The bottle of water between his legs spotted upon further inspection, where did that come from?

“We all have expensive things in our lives we don’t want ruined. Shoes, guitars, people.” He shrugs, “not shitty at all. But this clean job might be.” He chews on his lower lip.

You maneuver yourself so you’re not flashing him from the bottom of your dress, as you move your legs from the couch to sit up. Grabbing the red pumps from him to do your best look over, ignoring the burn your eyes give when you widen them.

“Munson, I think you’re in the wrong career.” You tease, smiling up at him. You’re sat in front of his open legs, have the perfect view of that boyish grin.

“Shoe shiner?” He acts bashful, swings his hand around batting the air. “I’m not that good.”

“Think once you graduate you gotta start your own business, ‘Eddie’s Spit n Shine.’” You joke, the both of you doubling over in laughter. Munson holding onto his stomach as he slaps a hand over his knee.

Once your giggles have died down and you can hold yourself up straight, you watch him. Watch the way his cheeks are redder, watch the way he moves some hair out of his face. His previous words of “but you were so upset about them” and “we all have expensive things in our lives we don’t want ruined”. If this had been anyone else, one of your friends, your boyfriend, they would of been just as grumbly about the heels as you. Would have told you to trash them and offer to take you to the strip mall the next day to help you spend more of your fathers money; no big deal.

They wouldn’t have offered to fix them. To do something as simple as what Eddie had done.

And yeah, they were just shoes, and it wasn’t that big of a deal. But something fuzzy was settling in your chest, something in your stomach fluttering like it very much was a big deal.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” You ask without thinking. Set your shoes down beside the couch, lay yourself back on the cool floor of the van.

“What?” He chuckles lowly with a hint of confusion. Just as surprised as you are at the question.

“Why are you being so nice to me, Munson.” You chew the corner of your cheek, look up at him. “Not like we were friends, ever, in school. And I remember plenty of times where my friends weren’t the nicest.”

“The rich kids not being nice to anyone who doesn’t drive a Mercedes? Shocking.” He jokes, makes you laugh.

“I’m serious.” You tap his knee that’s peeking out of one of the rips in his jeans with the tip of your finger. “Why are you being so nice?”

His face grows serious, but there’s still a hint of a soft smile there as he leans over to dig in the metal lunchbox again. Pulls out the spliff he rolled earlier alongside the one the two of you already smoked. You watch as his fingers run along it, “your friends may have not been the nicest, especially that lover boy of yours.” He gives you a playful roll of the eyes at the mention, that ache in your cheeks continuing. “But, you were always nice to me.”

“I never stopped them though. From being cruel.”

“Yeah, well,” he shrugs, grabs the lighter resting beside your feet. “You made up for it by helping me not fail biology, for once.”

Your face contorts as you laugh, “put my tits on the line for that grade.”

Eddie chokes out a howl, stops what he’s doing to double over again. “Never been more happy for the power of tits.”

Your throat hurts from how hard you’re laughing. Holding your hand up in front of him in a high-five invite, “to tits!”

“To tits!” He slaps his palm against yours as he holds up the blunt in the other one in a show of salute.

You can’t remember the last time you’ve laughed this hard. Or felt this good. This happy. This playful. This whatever-the-hell-that fluttering feeling was in your stomach. You don’t know where Munson got his stash but damn was it good.

And damn was he cute.

Wait—what?

You quickly avert your eyes from him. Look up at the roof of the van, try to focus on the posters and scattered glow in the dark stars up there. You did not find Eddie Munson cute. You were just severely high right now, and still reeling off of your incredibly fresh break up. That’s all.

You hear the flick of the lighter beside you, hear him take a long puff. Fill his lungs, hold and blow it out, before you see him hold it out for you. Taking it silently, not looking at him—you probably shouldn’t have anymore, not with how you are thinking right now. But you didn’t feel like going back to your parents house. Calling it a night right now didn’t feel right, and it’s not like Eddie was rushing you out of the van.

So you press the blunt to your lips and decide to stop thinking. Just smoke. Listen to the beat of the metal still coming from the speakers.

“Lover boy must have done something tremendously fucked, huh?” He gives you a somber smile when you turn and pass the smoke to him.

“Munson, are you trying to gossip right now? Like we are two catty friends?”

He chuckles, inhales. “Us friends?” He makes a face, smoke rolling out of his mouth. “That’s obscene.”

“Nightmarish.”

“Grotesque.” He puts a hand to his heart, “what would the moms at the country club say?”

You laugh. “I don’t think either of my parents own a gun, so you're safe there. And my mother barely notices me,” you confess. Regret it when you look over at him and see the sympathy on his expression. “Please don’t.” You groan, take your turn to smoke, holding it between your thumb and forefinger.

“Don’t?”

“Give me that look.”

“What look?”

“Like you feel bad for me.” The laugh you let out this time is anything but humorous. There’s no joy. Just a salted down wound that you don’t let anyone see—so you don’t know why you’re talking about it right now—that burns the back of your throat. “I have everything.” You mumble, “perfect life. Perfect future ahead of me, money, the car, the friends, the boyfriend. No one should feel bad for me.”

You’re staring up at the roof again as you hold out your hand to give the blunt back without looking at him. Without acknowledging your own words with anything more than woeful self pitying. Eddie wasn’t interested in hearing about a rich girls problems and you had no interest sharing them. Anymore.

A silence settles between the two of you, it’s awkward and filled with the silently passing of the smoke between you; puffs of air, breaths in. Your heart is beating in your ears again. Except this time it’s something close to embarrassment and not anger.

“It wasn’t pity.” He breaks the silence when your fingers brush against each other when it’s his turn to hit. Your eyes finally finding their way back over to him, “how could someone not notice you?” There’s a twitch in his lips.

And fuck are your eyes burning from how high you are right now or because that was teeth rottingly sweet, and your chest is feeling fuzzy again—and Eddie Munson has some pretty eyes. Fuck.

“With the hair alone,” he waves his hand around emphasizing the top of your head. “Kind of hard to miss ya.” That boyish smile coming back when you start to laugh and lean up to swat him.

“I want my money back, Munson!”

“You’ve already smoked the weed!”

“Pain and suffering!”

“Mine or yours?” He jokes and he’s putting out the rest of the blunt to hold his hands out in surrender, as you lean up on your knees to playfully swat at the side of his arm.

“And here I thought we were actually having a moment.” You scowl at him, “you can take the high school out of the boy but not the—wait—you can’t even do that.”

His jaw drops, looking fake wounded if the big grin on his face is any indication of its falsehood. “The Princess of Hawkins has some bite.”

“I’m not the Princess of Hawkins!” You roll your eyes, “I’m just me–”

“Perfect,” Eddie finishes, adds. His lips come together, he swallows. “Perfect–you.”

You make a face at him. Another childish playful insult on the tip of your tongue but swallowed down, your throat feeling drier than ever as he stares down at you with a type of fondness that has your mind thinking—and feeling—way too many things right now.

And it feels like the moment slows, time stops. You take in everything, really take it in. You on your knees in front of his open legs, your palms on the cut out parts of his jeans that showcase his knees. The fuzziness in your chest turning into something else, something racing and filled with heat. Something that should surely not be there—all from what? Meaningless flirting? Eddie jesting with you?

Weed was definitely not a good idea. You should of just went home. Should ask him to take you home right now before your haze filled mind has you thinking of doing something else you definitely shouldn’t do.

Like move forward. Your knees dragging across the floor until the tops of them are pressed to the bottom of the couch. Until there’s no space left between you and Eddie’s thighs flush against the sides of your arms, his groin inches from your face. Your palms now higher up on his thigh.

You can feel how tense he is right now. Watched his expression go from softness to rigid with nerves. And maybe you are the only one who’s been feeling something tonight. Maybe he can handle his weed better than you. Or is simply not interested in you whatsoever. All his mindless flirting just that: mindless.

But you can’t help but want to test the waters. To see if any of those things are actually true.

Leaning up, your palms digging into the meat of his thigh as you do, your eyes moving from his to his lips and back up. A hint he seems to get when he meets you halfway and your lips are being pressed together in a gentle kiss.

It’s slow at first, curious, new to the both of you. Sloppy, and you can feel Eddie’s hand twitch at his side until he loses whatever fight in his head that has him holding back, and then it’s at your cheek and his thumb is digging into your chin the deeper the kiss gets. The more the two of you learn each other’s mouths. Which way to turn your head, that slow timid way his tongue pokes at your lips and then finds its way into your mouth; the quietest of noises coming from his throat when his tongue rubs against yours.

A noise that makes your stomach flutter. Makes an ache start between your legs.

Have you ever been kissed like this? Have you ever felt like the other person was learning you from the inside out? Memorizing how your lips moved, felt, tasted. The way your own deep rooted noise slips out and vibrates against his lips when his other hand comes to the other side of your head and pulls you so close to him as he leans further down into you. The top of your cleavage rubbing against the material of his shirt, tickled by his hair.

When the two of you finally pull apart, your eyes feel heavier than ever. Feel like all your energy went into that kiss and you feel buzzed. Like you’re on cloud nine. Like you’ve never felt better, as the two of you pant. Try to catch your breaths.

Feeling Eddie’s thumb nail running along your bottom lip you look up to his eyes, see they’re on your lips. His brows pulled together.

“Munson.” You don’t mean for it to sound like a whine. It’s not. You’re not whining right now, you’re just…feeling things and really high and maybe you can’t remember anyone you’ve been with ever touching you like this. And he’s barely touching you.

You may not have thought it to be a whine, but Eddie does. The look in his eyes as they finally meet yours has you floored. Has you seeing a want in a pair of eyes you don’t think you’ve seen before—know you haven’t; needy, nervous because of that need.

And when your palm moves of its own accord higher up and over until you feel a bulge in his tight jeans, the intake of breath he does. The slight droop of his eyes. All the decision you need to act on whatever these feelings are.

There’s disappointment in his eyes when you pull away from him, just enough to have his hands drop from your face and yours finding the top of his pants to open them up and fumble with the zipper.

“Whoa,” a nervous chuckle, then his hands wrapping around your wrists to stop you. “Whoa,” he says again. His breath still heavy. “What–should we–you,” he stammers.

It’s a bit cute, but it also has your cheeks burning in embarrassment. Shit. Have you completely misread this? Maybe he just wanted to kiss. You were fine with just kissing, if it was going to be like that everytime. But there’s an ache, a want, to hear that noise again. The one he had made in the back of his throat. To see the impressive bulge that your fingertips had touched.

“Do you,” you pull your hands back, take them from his hold and chew on your lip, “not want to do this? More..” you trail off. You can’t imagine what you were coming off as right now. Have you ever been rejected? Tonight was clearly the night of firsts for you.

“I,” Munson shakes his head, and your stomach sinks. Face falls. But then he’s shaking his head more aggressively, “no, that’s not,” he sighs. Takes a breath to ground himself, his hands coming to hold the tops of your shoulders. His expression serious, “Yes. I want to do this. I just…I’ve–never thought this would be happening and that I would be admitting to it in a situation, let alone this one–“

And then it clicks.

“Munson.” A slow smile snakes its way across your lips, “are you a virgin?”

His leg bounces, teeth chewing at the corner of his mouth. “Yes.”

“Just to be clear I mean sex, you’ve never had sex?”

“Yes.”

“But you’ve done..other stuff, right?”

Silence for a beat and then he’s shaking his head. You try and fail to hide the surprise on your face, “I should take this as a compliment. Your utter shock.” You can see the blush that is growing up his neck and over his already red cheeks.

“I’m sorry.” Your smile falters for a second, “I just thought with that kiss, you had done something before.” You can’t help but look down at his parted lips, yours still tingling from them. “It was..”

“Perfect.”

That word again. Hits you the same way it had before. Has the both of you staring at each other’s mouths until you’re kissing again. This time faster, harder, the passion seeping from the want and morphing into something that now has you completely on fire. Engulfed by Eddie. Your fingers are in his hair. His hands cradling your face like it’s so fucking fragile.

“Can I taste you?” You’re panting against his mouth, running your hands down his chest back to the top of his pants that are still undone. Open enough that you can push your hand in them and move your fingertips against the top of his shaft. That same noise he did earlier coming out as a puff against your parted mouth.

He nods, “yes.” It sounds so soft and filled with need. He presses one more kiss to your lips before he’s slowly pushing himself back, giving you room and helping you maneuver his pants and boxers down his thighs. Just enough to spring his cock free.

It’s bigger than you imagined it would be—never imagined it to be. But, fuck. How has he not done anything when he kisses like that? When he’s so funny, cute, and nice, and his cock is so thick.

Your jaw aches just staring at it. Tongue coming out to wet your lips as you wrap a hand around the base of him, have to hold back the sound you want to make from the sound he makes; a shallow breath let out, just below a whimper. His hips already jerking involuntarily up, precum at his tip.

“Are you sure? You’re not like…just super high–“

“I am super high, Munson.” You smile sweetly and it makes him do the same. A low laugh covered up by you leaning in to press your lips to his, “and yes, I’m sure. Incredibly.” You hope your own look of want for him comes across clearly, not only in your words but with the way your hand starts to move on his shaft, and the way you run your tongue along his bottom lip.

A breathy, “fuck, oh-kay” slipping out from him.

It’s all the consent you need, the push to have you leaning down to run the flat of your tongue across his leaking tip. The hiss of pleasure he lets out only a prelude to the whimpers and gasps he makes when you let your tongue explore along his length, pumping and sucking with your mouth along a thick vein that runs up the side of his cock. Your thumb rubbing a slow circle behind the head of it, making his hips buck and legs tense around you.

And when you finally put him in your mouth, finally swallow down the already there taste of him on your tongue—you both let out a moan. Can feel the top half of him shift like his head has fallen back, an image of his beautifully parted mouth hung open, eyes screwed shut in pleasure has you moaning against him again; your body on fire, your pussy aching.

You match the pumps of your hand with the drag of your mouth up and down his dick. Swirl your tongue around the head and suck when you reach it. Let yourself go as far as your gag reflex will let you until you’re gagging around him and Eddie is cursing and digging his nails into the cushion of the couch.

You completely expect to feel his hand on your head, to be pushing or pulling your hair to guide you. Even fucking up into your mouth. When you’ve done this for other guys they were nothing less than over aggressive about it. So when it doesn’t happen part of you thinks he’s not enjoying it; a thought that’s quickly debunked by the grunts and shaky breaths coming from above you.

And when you steal a glance to the side you can see how red his knuckles look from the death grip he has the cushion in. How his fingers twitch and hand runs along his thigh, acting as if he wants to touch you but not daring to. You steal another glance up at him, “oh, ohmygod” tumbling from his lips when your eyes meet; he looks so desperate right now. So flushed and pretty.

You pull your mouth from him, let your lips press the tiniest of kisses to the tip that makes his hips gyrate, chasing your mouth. “You can touch me, Munson.”

“Where?” He asks shakily.

“Wherever you want.” You reach for his hand and press it to your cheek, “here, so you can feel yourself inside of me.” He whimpers, you smile. “Or here,” you run his hand down your neck, raise your brows to note that area being an option before you descend further. Until you reach the top of your cleavage, “to tits.” You say playfully and it has a deep chuckle scrunching his eyes. “Okay?”

He hums, nods. “Okay.”

And then your mouth is on him again, his tantalizing noises back and making your thighs press closer together. Making you encourage the small thrusts of his hips up into your mouth. Drool slipping down your chin when your own whimper is dredged up from the back of your throat when you feel the pad of his thumb run along your hard nipple; before his palm squeezes and massages your boob in a way that makes you move your body further into his.

The pleasure you’re giving him being handed back to you with the same energy of want and need, and it has you shellshocked. Has your body working overtime with heat, arousal, and wanting to please him. Wanting to hear more of those groans. To feel the head of his cock nudge the back of your throat and his “holy shit, that feels so good” when your throat spasms around him.

If you knew sucking Eddie Munson’s dick was this fun you would of done it years ago.

Why hadn’t you seen him before this night? Why did it take weed and giggles and flirting that turned you on more than you want to admit—to really see him. And why did the thought of not being able to look away from him again, to go back to not seeing him, something that was inevitable: make fear take root in your chest?

His hand has moved to hover over your head, his rings adding more pressure to the back of your skull than his actual fingers do. “You’re so perfect,” he whimpers. Pushes his hips up into your mouth, pulling your lips further down his throbbing shaft. “Perfect.” He repeats, your stomach flutters and flops and you preen around him. His breaths get deeper, hips moving more frequently, fingers flexing in your hair. He’s close, so so close.

And if you thought the noises he was making before were beautiful, the whine he lets out when he says, “I’m going to come, can I–oh fuck–can I do it in your mouth?” Makes your eyes roll back, your head nodding in approval and then you can feel him leaning back; a loud moan coming from his mouth, his fingers gripping the hair on top of your head as he comes against your tongue. The searing heat from it like a salve to the ache in your throat.

You swallow him down. Let your tongue lap at the droplets left on his tip as you suck him into your mouth one last time before he’s letting out a hiss of over sensitivity.

He tastes just as lovely as he looks right now. Completely flushed, eyes red and heavy. One corner of his mouth ticked up in a soft smile.

“Did I hurt you?”

“What?”

“Your hair,” his fingers rub at the back of your skull gently. “I’m sorry if I pulled too hard,” the softness of his words has your chest feeling heavy. Those feelings back, your arousal under shadowed.

“No,” you shake your head. Pull his hand from the back of your head, don’t know why, but you let your lips skate across his rings as you kiss his fingers. “It was perfect.”

His mouth pulls into that boyish grin, for the millionth time tonight. “It was.”

Maybe your summer won’t be so boring after all.

#eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #stranger things smut #eddie munson x fem!reader #stranger things x reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson fic #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfic #eddie munson one shot #eddie munson fanfiction #stranger things one shot #joseph quinn #heavy metal love !

5K notes · View notes

heavenlyhischier · 1 month

Text

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞: 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐧

word count: 1.8k

warnings: almost entirely plot and no dialogue, more of a prologue than anything, mentions of a hookup, tito is a wee bit of an asshole but not in an actual mean way, awfully translated french (please tell me if it's wrong), unedited

note: this is going to be part of an interactive au and a mini series in one so feel free to send me any ideas, thoughts, questions you have about anything!

series masterlist

The first time you met Tito, you were only fifteen and still very much in the awkward phases of your younger years. You wore clothes you thought were trendy, but made you cringe whenever you would look back on them. You had your hair in a ‘sock bun’ more often than not. Your arms and neck were decorated with chunky and bright colored jewelry. The only good thing about that time was you hadn’t gotten into makeup yet, so the most embarrassing thing about your face were the braces that decorated your teeth. Combine all of that with being stood in front of your older brother's attractive friend, and it the thought made your skin crawl just thinking about it.

You didn’t even talk to him after Mat had introduced him to you, too shy to approach the boy that gave you the prettiest smile you’d ever seen, but you couldn’t stop thinking about the way his broken English made you blush like no one had before. It didn’t take a genius to see that you had developed a crush on the older boy, but you hoped that Mat hadn’t developed any sort of observational skills while he was at camp and he was just as oblivious as he always was. You knew he wouldn’t have approved.

You didn’t see Tito again until the next year after both he and Mat managed to somehow be drafted to the same team. It was as if fate was speaking to everyone, telling the world that Anthony Beauvillier and Mathew Barzal were meant to be friends. When you saw him later that night, you waited for him to approach you because the small crush you had formed for him last year never died down like you thought it would. If anything, it increased tenfold. He saw you standing off to the side as you searched through the drinks in the cooler and that was when he excused himself from the group he was previously talking with.

“I think your brother took the last Coke,” He said from behind you, catching your attention as he shoved his hands into his pockets.

“Of course he did,” You rolled your eyes as you turned to face Tito, doing your best to keep your outward appearance calm while your insides flipped, “Congratulations. Hopefully your new team is prepared for the both of you or they’re in for a shock.”

His lips turned upwards into a smile, his blue eyes sparkling as he speaks, “Thank you. It’s pretty crazy we’re going to the same team.”

The air that encased you made your skin crawl, your nerves spiked as his eyes stayed focused on your face and he looked down at you. You hoped he didn’t notice the way you swallowed the lump in your throat, or the way your entire face was a deeper shade of pink than it was before. Luckily, the sound of your sister calling your name provided you with the exit you needed before you embarrassed yourself. You bid him a goodbye before turning on your heels to walk towards your family.

“Oh,” You paused, looking over your shoulder with a mischievous smile, “Ton anglais s'est amélioré.” (Your English has gotten better.)

Tito couldn’t help but shake his head in amusement as he says, “Ton français n'a pas.” (Your french hasn’t.)

After that, you would really only see him when you were watching the Isles play. The two of you would make small talk in passing, but it never went beyond that. You were his best friend's sister, and you were off limits. You knew that the likeliness of Tito ever developing any sort of feelings for you was slim to none, but there were subtle comments and looks that left your brain hazy and hopeful. You had accepted that it was only ever going to be simple fun for the both of you, but then the Isles went to the playoffs.

You and your family went to every single playoff game that you could to support the team. The atmosphere was electric, everyone’s emotions amplified times ten, and that included the way Tito felt for you. It was getting increasingly harder for him to keep up the charade of you being just Mat’s sister the more he saw you. Each time he saw your entire face light up in excitement after the games, or when you would always go out of your way to check on him after a loss, the more he just wanted to pull you into his chest and kiss you until neither of you could breathe.

He was doing his best to keep his composure and respect his friendship with Mat, but then you knocked on his hotel room door to check on him after they were kicked out of the playoffs. He couldn’t stop himself from kissing you then, after you told him how proud of him you were, and when you told him he didn’t have to stop, there was nothing that could keep him from having you the way he had thought about for years now. You thought that night was going to change everything, but when you woke up the next morning and he told you that it couldn’t happen again, you had never felt so used and heartbroken.

A small part of you wasn’t all that surprised because Anthony Beauviller was, after all, a professional hockey player. They had a reputation for a reason and that was the very reason Mat had tried to keep you away from them since he started playing hockey. He knew the likelihood of you getting hurt was greater than not, and he wanted to keep you safe. But of course, you didn’t listen.

Your relationship with Tito changed after that, and not in the way you had ever hoped it would. Every interaction you had with him after that night was awkward and sticky. It made your stomach turn, but not in the way it used to. You found yourself going out of your way to avoid him rather than seeking him out like you had always done before. It was for the best, you told yourself. He had made his feelings crystal clear, and you wanted to put as much distance between the two of you as you could. You wanted to move on.

Tito knew it was his fault that you stopped talking to him. He remembers the way your face twisted in pure heartbreak when he looked at you that morning and told you that you couldn’t tell anyone because it shouldn’t have ever happened to begin with. It was the face that haunted him in his sleep. He thought about reaching out to you almost everyday, but he never followed through. It was for the best, he told himself, you deserved far better than he could ever give you.

When you found out that Tito had been traded to the Canucks, you knew neither him nor Mat were okay. They had been friends for years, nearly attached at the hip, and now he was being forced to move quite literally across the continent with no warning. You had called Mat the second you found out, and you could tell he was upset almost the moment you heard his voice. He tried to convince you that he was okay, that he understood it was just a part of the job, but you knew better.

You put your feelings aside that night and texted Tito as well, asking him if he was okay and telling him that he was bound to be great no matter where he played. You didn't expect a text back the same night, but then a few days went by and the message still went unanswered. You tried not to dwell on the situation too much, instead throwing all of your focus into moving into your new place in a city you’d never been too, but like always, he was always at the back of your mind.

When he got traded to Chicago in the beginning of the current season, it was Mat who called you to complain about it. He was droning on and on about how he doesn’t understand why they don’t see just how good his best friend is. He kept saying how if he had anything to do with it, Tito would be back with the Isles and he wouldn’t go unless Mat did. You tried to listen, but he didn’t really let you talk anyways. Though you’re not sure you would’ve been a great conversationalist as all you could think about was how Tito must feel.

You had just gotten out of the shower after a pretty hectic twelve hour shift when you heard your phone vibrating on the table. It wasn’t late enough in the evening for you to be worried about getting a phone call, but the way your stomach slightly dropped made you nervous. When you picked the device up and saw Mat’s picture staring back at you, you felt yourself relax as you slid your finger across the screen.

“What’s up,” You greeted, walking into your kitchen.

“Just checking on my favorite sister,” He chuckles.

“Oh dear,” You roll your eyes, placing the drink you had grabbed onto the counter, “What do you want?”

You heard his over dramatic gasp echo through the speaker and you know he’s clutching his chest as he says, “I’m offended you think I have to want something to say that.”

“Mathew,” Your voice goes flat as you raise your brows despite him not seeing you.

“Fine, fine. You’re right,” He gives in, and you can hear some shuffling around before he continues, “So, you live in Nashville, right?”

“Did my geography lesson not stick?”

“Ha ha, so funny, but anyways. Hear me out, okay? So, Tito got traded to the Preds and he’s supposed to be there tomorrow and he doesn’t really have a place to stay, so,” His voice trails off.

You go through two different emotions in the span of ten seconds. First, your heart cracks at Tito being traded for the second time in a season. You know that he has to be feeling defeated, let down in himself. Second, panic bubbles in your chest as your eyes dart over to the door of the empty second bedroom in your apartment. Certainly Mat wouldn’t have done exactly what you’re thinking he did.

“You didn’t,” You breathed out, your eyes wide and heart beating against your ribs.

“I might have.”

#anthony beauvillier #tito beauvillier #anthony beauvillier imagine #tito beauvillier imagine #anthony beauvillier x reader #tito beauvillier x reader #nhl imagine #hockey imagine

61 notes · View notes

louloulemons-posts · 8 months

Text

Oil At The Coffee Shop VI

Eddie X Fem!Reader

Summary : October rolls around, it’s time to prep the shop for Halloween with the help of your friends.

Word Count : 1.8k

Warnings : not proofread, fluffy, eddie x reader content, scars, eddie has a mini panic, waitress is slightly rude to eddie, just pure cuteness, halloween fluff

Fic Masterlist

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

The summer days had finally ended, people had gone back to school and the air became a lot cooler now that mid October was around.

Although it was a Sunday, you, El and Max were working hard to decorate the shop for Halloween. Stood on a chair you put a plastic pumpkin up on a higher shelf amongst the books.

“Be careful!” El said as she opened hung a ‘Happy Halloween’ banner on the counter.

“I’m alright Honey,” you smiled at her, taking another plastic jack o lantern from Max.

“Think that’s enough here?” you asked. She took a few steps back, “It looks great!”

“So add a few pieces of cobweb here and then this part is done, then it’s just the outside.”

The bell on the door chimed, signalling someone’s arrival. “Pumpkin delivery!” Steve called out. You smiled, carefully getting down from the stool. “Ah you’re just the best!”

“Tell me something I don’t know! Eddies got them in the van so where do you want them?”

“They’re mainly for outside and the window so. You girls carry on in here, do not climb on the stool,” you said sternly, knowing Max would definitely try it.

She held her hands up in defence and you followed Steve out to Eddies van. The back doors were open, revealing various pumpkins in the back. “Hey,” Eddie said, giving you a slight smile. “Hi, thanks for doing this.”

“No worries Sweetheart, d’you need help getting them in?”

“Would you mind?”

“Not at all,” he said, taking the largest pumpkin and carrying it inside with ease.

Steve raised his brow at you as Eddie headed inside, “Shut up.”

After talking at Steve’s barbecue, you and Eddie had become fast friends. He popped in every few days to pick up coffee and treats for him and Wayne and sometimes just to say hi. You surprisingly got along really well and spoke most days - even over the phone.

“Where do you want it Sweetheart?” Eddie asked, pumpkin still in his arms. “Oh on the widow sill, like here,” you pointed to a spot. Eddie placed it perfectly. “Do either of you want something warm so you don’t freeze?” you asked.

“Coffee please,” Steve spoke.

“Make it two.” You nodded and the pair continued to place pumpkins around. Leaving the warm drinks on the counter you climbed back up on the stood, faux spider webs in hand.

Leaning over the shelves you stuck the sticky webs up, draping it here and there. You didn’t notice that the stool was slightly uneven making it wobble under your weight.

You felt hands grip your waist, steadying you. “Jesus Sweetheart, don’t you own a step ladder?” Eddie said, sighing as he changed his grip.

“Uh no, haven’t got round to buying one. Thanks for saving me,” you joked, smiling down at him. “Keep me steady?”

“I don’t trust you not to fall off in all honesty.”

“You’re so cruel to me!”

“I know, absolutely horrible. When I bring you pumpkins and fix your car and stop you from falling off a stool, I am the worst.”

“We both know you only do that for Cherry turnovers and coffee.”

“God you caught me.”

You let out a noise of offence, smacking his shoulder lightly. “Hey hey, no need to get handsy Sweetheart, you finish up your decorating. I want to get you back on solid ground.”

You finished putting the webs up, Eddie held your hand as you climbed down, making sure you were careful. “Safe and sound,” you smiled at him.

El called your name, “Yeah Honey?”

“What do you think?” You walked over to see that the counter had been decorated, all of your normal takeaway cups had been swapped for orange and black ones. Little ghosts, jack-o-lanterns and skeletons dotted around.

Bunting and cobwebs were strung up, and the same in the window. All that needed to be done now was the entrance. “Oh my gosh it looks fantastic. You all head off now, please you’ve all done so much. I can’t thank you enough.”

“You don’t have too,” Max shrugged, “We wanted to help. You sure you don’t need help in the kitchen?”

“I’m all good, all of you out. Shoo,” you said.

“Hey Halloween party at my house, you’re coming,” Steve said, it was a statement not a question.

“I’ll be there.” The two young girls and Steve headed out, but one person remained. “I’ll stay and help,” he said simply.

“No no, Eddie you should go.”

“I’ll do the outside, you start on the cakes. Don’t tell me no, I’m not budging.”

Before you could say anything, he jogged back to his van. He’s such a pain, you laughed to yourself and walked into the kitchen.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

There were many cakes to decorate, ones as orange pumpkins, others with witches hats, other were little ghosts. You decided to start on a big cake first, pumpkin and cinnamon, it was delicious.

Candy apples were cooling in the fridge as you pulled a big bowl of black icing towards you. Covering the entirety of the cake in it, you began making tiny fondant bats.

It was time consuming, but it’d look great in the end. “Hey Sweetheart, I think I’ve done a pretty good job but you come and correct me if I’m-“ Eddie paused, stopping in the doorway.

He looked at your hands, small icing creatures in them. “Eddie?” He snapped out of his state and looked up at you. “Oh uh sorry, you might just want to check that the front looks good.”

“I’m sure you’ve done an amazing job. Give me two seconds to finish this. There’s a fresh batch of your favourites over there.”

“Oh you are the best person I’ve ever met.”

“You already get free coffee stop being a sweet talker Munson.”

Finishing off the final touches, you spoke to Eddie, “What do you think?”

“I think everyone’s gonna struggle what to pick,” he smiled, coming to stand behind you, looking at your creations.

A timer went off, “Oh my gingerbread.”

“Jesus Sweetheart how much have you made?”

“It’s Halloween it’s bound to be busy, plus this is for then whole week. Then the left overs for the shelter, and I have to make the pumpkin soup!”

You rambled on and on, walking over to the over and getting your gloves. Pulling out the tray you smiled, they were perfect. The second and third tray followed after, all placed to cool. You turned to see Eddie with a slight smirk on his face.

“What?” you asked, shy under his gaze.

“Do you ever rest? The shops closed today, yet you’re working.”

“I have to prep for the week ahead Eddie.”

“You also need to have a break. You’ll over do it.”

“I’m telling you I’m fine.”

“Nope, I’m taking you out. The cakes are basically done, and the soup won’t need to be done in the morning it’s an afternoon food, and I’m assuming you’ve already got it prepped so it could cook overnight.

“Along with that El can decorate the gingerbread when she gets here, and you don’t need to worry about anything to do with displays until morning because Max and you are a great team.”

“Eddie I can’t just leave everything.”

“I’m not asking you to, I’m just asking you to put yourself first and have a break before you work yourself into the ground.”

You sighed, knowing there was no arguing with him, “I need to put the stuff away or it’ll be no good.”

“I’ll help, what do you need me to do?”

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

Eddie had drove you to a diner, the pair of you ordering burgers and shakes. “Thank you for doing this,” you smiled at him.

“Thank you for joining me,” he replied, taking a sip out of his chocolate-y drink.

“Can I ask you something? You don’t have to answer so tell me to shut up-”

“You can ask me anything, don’t worry,” he said, comforting you. “In the kitchen earlier, when I was decorating the cake. You kinda zoned out, is everything okay?”

He went quiet, but nodded. “I just couldn’t believe how pretty someone could look when they’re baking.” Your face flushed.

“Sweet-talker.”

“Oh you know it,” he winked at you, the waitress smiled at you as she placed your food down. It disappeared when she looked at Eddie.

“Enjoy your meal,” she said through gritted teeth and scurried away. “Strange, did you know her?” you asked Eddie, to which he shook his head, picking up a fry, “How rude, don’t you dare leave a tip!”

“You’re the one who has a thing for tipping.”

“That was one time!”

“It was $70!”

“$65 actually.”

“Oh yeah when you snatched it back,” he laughed. “Oh shush, eat your food.”

“Yes Ma’am.”

You grinned, taking a bite of your burger, humming at how good it was. “I want to expand to this, more warm food I mean. Not just one or two options. A whole menu!”

“I have every faith that you will.”

“I hope so, it’d be so great not to just have a few things. I want everyone to feel like they can have something.”

“You’re very generous.”

“It’s how my Gran raised us.”

“Your Gran brought you and your brother up?”

“Yeah, and my Grandpa, but he passed away.”

“Ah I see. Wayne brought me up, moved in when I was really young.”

“Same with us, wouldn’t change it though.”

“Me neither.”

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

After paying the bill and saying thank you to the staff you and Eddie headed out. Walking towards his van, the sky was already dark even though it was barely 5pm. “Thank you for this Eddie,” you smiled.

“I told you, thank you for joining me. It was nice.”

“It was,” you shivered, the cool autumn breeze sending a chill up your spine. “You alright?” he asked.

“Oh yeah,”You spoke rubbing your arms.

“You’re gonna freeze,” he said, suddenly sliding his arms out of his jacket. “Eddie no, I’m fine really.”

“I can hear your teeth chattering.” He walked closer to you, and draped the thick leather over your shoulders.

It was warm from him and held his scent, it was lovely. Eddie was lovely. His own arms were now bare, revealing more tattoos and scars. Like those you’d seen on his stomach and chest.

“Sorry,” he said, attempting to cover them. “Why are you apologising?”

“They make some people uncomfortable.”

“It’s okay, trust me I have some scars of my own. It’s not an issue, they’re pretty cool, and your tattoos.”

“Thanks Sweetheart.”

“No problem, now can we get in the van, I’m freezing,” you exclaimed, to which Eddie laughed, opening up the door for you.

Yes it may have been cold, but with Eddie around, you couldn’t help but feel warm inside.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

A/N : oh i just love them 🥺

Thank you so much for reading 🤍

taglist : @corrodedseraphine @flawiette @witchwolflea @emxxblog @plk-18 @vintagehellfire @Ima1986 @squidscottjeans @eddiesguitarskills

let me know if you want to be added 🤍

116 notes · View notes

things-about-cars-in-posts · 7 months

Note

got any favorite cars from the 24 hours of lemons? (and perhaps some facts about them)

Sure, but not before explaining to the audience!

So, you know how, when you start your car, you turn the key and it starts, and you don't have to fiddle around trying to get the air/fuel mixture to make the damn thing run and stop embarrassing you? And how it has disc brakes, halogen lightbulbs if you've got the standard version and a wing if you've got the sporty one? Yeah, this is all thanks to the century-old 24 Hours of Le Mans, so coveted by manufacturers as to push them to develop all those innovations which would later trickle down into sportscars. They made two movies about it. It is, without question, the most prestigious, serious and expensive endurance race ever.

And this is the 24 Hours of Lemons - without question, the least prestigious, serious and expensive endurance race ever.

It is most famous for the rule that ensures that: to keep you from racing anything but a lemon, a beater, a crapcan, a piece of... well, by now even the unaware have figured out what lemon means in the car world, there is a budget cap. To be precise, $500. Yes, that includes both car and performance enhancing modifications - but notably exempt are safety equipment and decorations. I say notably because decorations are a key component of the Lemons atmosphere in a way I consider best conveyed by a "progressively gets worse" slideshow.

Yes, these are all real vehicles that raced. As you can imagine, regulations are pretty lax. And mostly vibe-based.

So, now that we're up to speed, my favorites!

Favorite as in greatest job from the team? Probably (although I am biased) the Eyesore Racing Miata.

youtube

And since you asked for some fun facts, I have a little treat for you that even the typically impeccable Donut Bumper (or lack thereof) to Bumper (or lack thereof) video about it missed out on:

The team won Lemons' coveted Best Use Of Dangerous Banned Automotive Technology award (yes that is a thing) by cleverly reusing the motor that used to drive the pop-up headlights!

youtube

Favorite as in coolest car used? That might be a tossup (i.e. I am not going to wait for the undoubtedly long list of cooler base cars to shower my mind so I will call it a tossup) between the Chrysler Conquest ran by multiple teams though Lemons' history (specifically the TSis for their sexy flared fenders)...

... and B-Team Racing's Lotus Elite (seen here in two of its many liveries) which, due to its newfound Chevy engine, earned it the name Chotus. Why yes there's a website.

Favorite as in most beautiful car used? That might be a tossup between French Foreign Legion Action Team's Peugeot 505...

...or the engine-swapped second generation Chevrolet Corvair Coupe of... wait, multiple teams?

Favorite in terms of most beautiful decorations? That might be a tossup between the Honda Accord of Stanford students team Buck Ferkeley...

...and SilverSleeve Racing's incredibly-engined frankensteined Wolseley Hornet (for when a Mini is just not coupe nor posh enough)

Favorite as in greatest combination? That might be a tossup between two incredibly different interpretations of sportscar + truck: the Boneyard Butchers' mix of Saturn Sky and Chevrolet Colorado -the more you look at it, the harder it goes-...

...or the Porsche Honkeys' outstanding take on the popular Porsche 944 + V8 recipe that came when they decided to use the rest of the Chevy C10 they got for the engine: the Mulletmobile.

youtube

Favorite as in the bravest, most heroic, most Lemons feat? Well, given Lemons started as a way to experience racing without the pressure and expectations of high-tier stuff and eternally heralds the notioon that a racecar is any car you race, how could I ever go with anything but the far-too-slow-for-any-steadiness-to-remedy, Cali-bought-and-roadtripped-to-Kansas Toyota motherfucking Chinook.

Favorite as in favorite team name? I doubt it, but here you go: Off To Gay Porn. They called themselves this to ensure everyone who beat them could proudly say they beat Off To Gay Porn! And as you could notice, yes, so many of them are this good.

youtube

Links in blue are posts of mine explaining the words in question - if you liked this post, you might like those!

#24h of lemons #na mazda miata #chrysler conquest #mitsubishi starion #(they are the same car just different badges)#lotus elite #peugeot 505 #wolseley hornet #mini #saturn sky #chevrolet colorado #porsche 944 #chevy c10 #toyota hilux #toyota chinook

60 notes · View notes

thinkpink212 · 4 months

Text

A Mini Guide To Better Sleep

According to Why We Sleep By Matthew Walker

Consistancy is key Try to create a pre-sleep routine and set a consistant schedule. This means waking and sleeping at the same time everyday (yes even on weekends). I personally set an alarm for when to start my skincare and overall unwind 45min before my bedtime.

The importance of movement Avoid excercising 2-3 hours before bed, but know that it is important to move your body - specifically 30min on most days. I find that 3 times a week, varying between swimming, yoga and gym reps keep me both strong, flexible and in shape.

Vices to Avoid Cafeeen, alcohol and nicoteen (or smoking in general) should be avoided 6-7 hours before sleep, for the simple reason that they interupt the REM sleep cyle. REM is where our body, mind and memory is rested and restored the most. Smokers also tend to exite the brain even though it feels like it's doing the opposite, and any withdrawl for a few too many hours always results in cravings that can cause frequent wake-ups (to smokers)

Not too much consumption Try not to eat too close to bedtime, as it takes the body a lot of energy to digest. Sleeping right after eating can cause stomech issues, indigestion and heartburns (and more). As for large amounts of liquids, it is best to avoid drinking too much before bed as it will wake you to urinate. I usually stop any water consumption 45min before bed.

No naps passed 3pm Streight forward, any naps after 3pm will make it difficult for most to sleep once night comes. For some it is as easly as 1pm, which is why many places have siestas where most people sleep after lunch, around 12. Napping is a great way to help regain some energy, especially when tired. Ignoring fattigue can also result in health problems later down the line, so if you feel tired, try to take a nap or go to bed earlier.

Before Bed - Routine Attempt to relax a few minutes before bed - I usually take off 30-45min to do my skincare, read, light cleaning and organizing. This is also a good time for you to write down any thoughts that may take up too much time before bed, listen to some relaxing music or podcast.

The perfect enviorment Allowing fresh cooler air into your room before bed can help your body temperature rise to the perfect degree for optimal sleep. This, combined with a warm bath before bed (30min before) can also be a great combination. Avoid bright lights (especially blue lights from screens) and consider investing in a good pair of sleep mask, earplugs if you are a lighter sleeper and blackout curtains. If you like background noise, look into sleep machines with a wide range of sounds to choose from to avoid having to use your phone.

Reading this book made me realize how little sleep we get, compared to how much we need for everyday, and more complex things in life. There are no downsides to getting more and better sleep, only a well rested body and mind - especially if you follow the recomended 8-10 hours. Happy Sleeping

#sleep routine #lifestyle #thinkpink upload #thinkpink moodboard #advice #sleep advice #insomnia #night routine

36 notes · View notes

idontknowreallywhy · 6 months

Text

Estera Ch 5 - Lesson

(Prologue, Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4)

Have I finally got them out of the cave?

Will there be drama when they get to the surface?

Only one way to find out :)

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

“Et tu, Brute?!”

“Then fall, Caesar” Estera muttered as a reflex. It always drove her crazy when the line was unfinished.

“Liberty! Freedom! Tyranny is dead!”

Her head snapped up in surprise to see him grinning. Well! She hadn’t expected him to actually know it. Laughing, she gestured behind him.

“If I promise not to stab you, can I have a quick look? I am a qualified first aider, maybe I can help?”

He backed into the wall.

“Honestly, it’s fine, just a little scratch and a bruise I can get it sorted when we are out.”

“It would be a good opportunity to demonstrate some of the lessons the children have learned in class? And it would keep their minds off other things.”

Right on cue, Sam appeared at her side with an eager expression and the smaller, more portable first aid kit she’d stowed in her rucksack just in case. If only she’d brought the large one.

“Oh wow that’s a big kit… you like to be prepared huh?”

She snorted derisively and beckoned him forward. There was a pause. She raised an eyebrow and waited.

His shoulders sagged and he walked towards her with a wry smile and a whispered “I am never going to live this down.”

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Having checked there were definitely no hitherto hidden exits he could take advantage of, he reluctantly sat down where she indicated and allowed her to step behind him, hoping it she wouldn’t pass out again. The rock had clearly nicked a couple of enthusiastic vessels because the sticky sensation had crept all the way down to the small of his back and it probably looked way more dramatic than it was. He plastered on a reassuring smile for the kids but none were looking at him because they were all crowded around a large bottle of hand sanitiser. Wait, what? Little Alex had a gleam in his eye as he scrubbed up to the elbows like a surgeon preparing for a transplant.

The smile became a little fixed. He wasn’t sure he had consented to a team approach.

The teacher was explaining something and had their rapt attention. He let himself be carried along by her voice too, it had a musical quality to it that was soothing. Lucky that, for someone who worked with little kids. He drifted a little then jumped as her face appeared over his left shoulder and he suddenly realised she’d been talking directly to him.

“Can I cut your suit? It’s got a little mangled.”

“No.”

“Oh. It’s already quite damaged I’m afraid…”

He shook himself.

“Sorry, I mean you won’t be able to… Here, use this.” He palmed the micro laser cutter from his baldric. “Um… maybe don’t give that to the kids.”

He winced as he felt the air on his back. Fortunately it was only the one pair of hands that proceeded to clean the wound, the small ones had paired off and were enthusiastically swabbing each other instead. Her hands were cooler than Virgil’s, but had a similar level of confidence… He forced himself to relax.

Suddenly, the eager mini-medics all crowded round, watching intently. Then retreated like a wave and started covering each other in steri strips.

“Right, should we use warm or cold for bruising, everyone?”

“COOOOOOLD” came the unanimous reply.

She reappeared over his shoulder, accompanied by the cracking of instant cold packs. “I’m going pop a couple of these over your ribs then tape your suit up to hold them in place. I think it would be best to put your arm in a sling to reduce the chance of you pulling the shoulder wound open again.”

For the sake of being a good example to the children he agreed. That was the only reason. Nothing to do with the power of the teacher voice. He sighed… “Yes, Miss”.

A little hand slipped into his and he looked down at Alex who was looking back at him earnestly.

“It’s ok for rescuers to need rescuing sometimes isn’t it, Mr Scott?”

He was saved from finding an appropriate response by his brother breaking through the wall.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

There had been a LOT of hugging and relieved tears. The rescuer who introduced himself as Virgil had finally gathered the parents to give them some quick advice on symptoms of dust inhalation and when they should seek assistance. Meanwhile the blue-eyed one, Scott that was it, was left-handedly signing the kids’ tattered worksheets and distributing tiny die-cast thunderbird models to many squeals of delight. She chuckled to herself as Alex excitedly snatched a model of the red rocket ship before reconsidering and replacing it with the silver and blue one, gazing adoringly at his new favourite-person-in-the-whole-world.

With any luck, much of the trauma of the situation the children had experienced would be overshadowed by the wonder of meeting their heroes. As she watched the injured man pulling funny faces and offering high fives she realised that was entirely deliberate on their part.

She really should find out more about them. The kids, apparently, had encyclopaedic knowledge and it would be best if she could keep up with what was going to be the primary topic of conversation for the foreseeable. They might not forgive her ignorance as quickly as with the plesiosaurs.

It wasn’t that she had deliberately ignored the Thunderbirds’ existence, hard to do that when they were all over the press (and she had to keep confiscating the trading cards until the end of the school day). Scott certainly seemed a bit familiar so she must have seen a press conference or something at some stage. But, well, she’d generally tried to shield herself a little from constant news of disaster and destruction that she could do little to fix. She threw herself into small scale things. She tried not to get overwhelmed by a world determined to drown her in that same sense of helplessness she’d battled against as her country collapsed around her, as she’d stared into the horrified eyes of a soul who knew he was about to die...

Ahhhh, she shook herself, that was the third time today he’d slipped through her defences. She really had to practice her exercises more. Screwing up her face then relaxing it into a pleasant smile she began to approach the group of parents who were beginning to disperse after their medical debriefing.

And got hijacked by two EMTs keen to ask her about her fainting fit in the cave. One of the children must have tattled on her.

She smiled politely, assured them confidently that she had no head injury but suffered from mild claustrophobia and that plus the shock of everything was probably all it was. Feeling it would be hypocritical to refuse, she allowed them to check her vitals and make some notes while she finally looked up and took in the bizarre scene around her. Her eyes drifted past the gleaming silver rocket towards the huge green cargo ship she’d heard so much about. Plenty of room for pockets indeed… she stifled a laugh and her gaze settled on the two international rescue operatives sat on the side of the ramp leading into the ship. The second man had seemed nice, if somewhat harried and oddly concerned about his colleague.

Beyond the temporary floodlights the sun was beginning to set, the sky was clear and the early stars were visible. She was struck by how close she had come to not seeing them again and felt a wave of gratitude for the second chance.

Third, actually.

She looked up the stars and wished she could have thanked the person who’d given her the second.

And then gasped, she had nearly done it again! They were about to leave and she hadn’t actually managed to find the time to express her thanks. She extricated herself from the attentions of the EMTs and hurried over to the two men in blue, running through a few potential phrases in her mind. They’d probably heard it all before.

“Excuse me, I’m sorry to bother you again”

Scott half looked up from where he was perched on a boulder and smiled distractedly while his colleague fussed over him with a medi-scanner. Without his helmet on he looked older than she was expecting, maybe early 40s, a hint of grey shot through the chestnut at his temples and the shadows under his eyes and cheekbones made her wonder just how many “long days” the guy had experienced recently. There was a deep sense of tiredness about him.

“I didn’t want to let you go without properly thanking you for all your help down there” she unthinkingly stuck out her right hand, realising too slowly that he wasn’t going to be able to take it.

Before she could withdraw it he’d reached out with his left hand, twisted his wrist to grasp her right and shook it awkwardly.

“Well thank you for patching me up, you left this little guy with not a lot to do.”

There was a huff behind him prompting another grin which this time reached his eyes as he looked up at her. Blue… vivid, unmistakable blue, sparkled with amusement and a spike of adrenaline hit her like a train.

It was him.

He was still holding her hand but hers was numb and she couldn’t feel it. The ground she was standing on tilted suddenly and she tried to hold on tighter to steady herself but her muscles wouldn’t respond

And she was going to fall.

And she heard him scream.

But he was still smiling and hadn’t noticed the world was collapsing. His eyes held a question.

“Thank you for rescuing me” her voice cracked

“Again.”

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

“Virgil, please, it’s alright. Look it’s just a bit of bruising and a few cuts which you’ll note are already expertly dressed.”

His brother scowled at the scanner which, for once, was backing up Scott’s assertion that he was fine.

Virgil’s litany of grumbling was interrupted by the reappearance of the teacher.

She was younger than he’d thought, probably early 30s, and he was amused to see that amongst the dusty strands of dark brown hair that had fallen from the practical knot at the back of her neck was a lock of bright blue. A little rebellious streak perhaps?

He gave her a tiny wink along with the backwards handshake and wondered how hard Virgil would kick him if he asked for her number.

The blood drained from her face as their eyes met. Huh, not the usual reaction to his attempts to flirt, he noted wryly, maybe he was losing his touch.

Wait, what did she mean “Again”? He frowned in confusion. When had they…?

The sense of unease rushed back into his bones and brought all of its howling friends.

The smell of rust, the taste of blood, a decade of phantoms.

Without conscious thought he was on his feet and had dragged his arm from the sling to grab her by the shoulders as he studied her face… it couldn’t be…

She visibly flinched but lifted her chin to hold his gaze.

Realising his mistake he hurriedly released her and tried to find words, any words… but none would come. His lips moved soundlessly as he stared. It couldn’t be, could it?

“Miss Hermaszewska, mummy says have you got my inhaler?”

She blinked and turned to follow the child who tugged at her sleeve.

Virgil had him by the good arm and was leading him back towards the ships, his concerned voice rumbling questions Scott couldn’t focus on right now. He tried to follow her and his brother’s grip tightened, restraining him. Fury and panic raged through his veins. He snarled and shook the unrelenting hands off violently, spinning to face the aggressor before the shocked face of his brother snapped him back to the present and his heart plummeted.

He ran for his ship and One was in the air before the seat had fully retracted.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #scott tracy #virgil tracy #idontknowreallywhy fanfic #estera #TB Estera

49 notes · View notes

neonponders · 1 year

Text

Part 15 for @wrecked-fuse ‘s pocketverse 🍝

Part 14 & art 💨

(Part 9′s art ) ( pt. 7′s art )

~ on ao3 ~

• • •

Billy watched with dubious eyes as Steve dumped the white queso into the pot. When Steve reached for the salsa jar, he outright grabbed Steve’s elbow. “Absolutely not.”

“It’s the same thing.”

“Like hell it is.”

“Tomatoes? Onions? Peppers? Same stuff that goes into a spaghetti sauce. I’m not adding a lot. This is just for spice. It’s like mixing an alfredo and a tomato sauce together to make a blush. It works, I promise.”

He lifted his elbow out of Billy’s hand, at the consequence of a skeptical grimace. Steve dropped a spoonful of salsa into the pot, and ladled some pasta water over all of it to help it melt and mix. Billy tore his eyes off of Steve’s mad science into order to watch little Steve dancing next to the salt jar, on which small Billy sat kicking his feet and eating a cheerio dipped in yogurt.

“Noodwe time. Noodwe time. Gonna eat some noodwes. Purpwe beans. Purpwe beans. Good for Biwwy’s tummy pwease.”

Despite his best effort, Billy huffed a laugh and rubbed one of his eyes. As the minutes crawled by, he slowly leaned further and further into Steve’s space to see into the pot. Admittedly, it looked like a creamy pasta sauce...plus the addition of black beans and fresh tomatoes. “Where’s the meat?”

“I haven’t been to the store in a few days,” Steve said as answer.

Billy sighed as the colander of pasta got dumped into the pot. “I’ll get groceries tomorrow. Maybe a better pantry will spawn better recipes.”

Steve stabbed a fork into the pot and held it up like an offering and threat simultaneously. “That’s a lot of talk for not knowing what you’re talking about.”

Never one to refuse a challenge, Billy took the fork and popped the egg noodles into his...mouth...

Steve watched him out of the corner of his eye with a smirk tilting his lips. He left Billy to his thoughts as he set a noodle on a dish with a couple of beans and tomato chunks for small Billy and Steve to start feasting.

With the little ones satisfied, he pulled some bowls from the cabinet and rallied Robin and Max before leaning back against the island counter. “Do I get to be told that I was right?”

Billy gestured with the fork as he declared, “No. There’s nothing right about this.”

“Uh huh. Why are you reaching for a bowl?”

“There’s a lot of shit in this world that isn’t right, but here we are.”

Steve snickered and filled his bowl last. By this time, the littles had finished their noodle, so Steve got them a wet cloth to wash their hands and opened a tube of antiseptic gel from the drawer of miscellaneous things. “Come ‘ere, lil man. Let me see your hand.”

Little Steve held up the hand that had touched glue. It looked more or less fine, if a little pinker than his other palm. Steve rubbed the thick gel on the pad of his finger and offered it out. The thin layer was enough to transfer an adequate amount to the tiny hand. “Let that sink into your skin, okay?”

“Wike wotion?”

“Yep, just like lotion.”

“Mmkay. Thank you, Stevie. Big Biwwy?”

He looked up with cheeks guiltily full of pasta. “Hm?”

“Can I west in your pocket? I’m sweepy and you’rwe warm.”

He swallowed thickly and held out his hand. Once slotted into Billy’s breast pocket, Steve stood up and called, “Biwwy? Are you okay?”

Little Billy yawned and rubbed his eyes. “I’m sweepy too.”

Big Steve offered his hand and the little one stepped onto it. He reached for their bedroom as he asked, “Do you want to sleep with a view?”

“No. The sky’s wonely without Stevie to see it with me. Pocket?”

“Sure.” And Billy gratefully nestled inside Steve’s shirt pocket.

They still ate outside, though, since it was a refreshing night and the cooler air would help the littles from getting too stuffy in the pockets. Billy peered at Steve when he took the lounge chair next to him. At the look on his face, Steve explained, “Listen, mini me might like sleeping in your boob, but if he wakes up and mini you isn’t nearby, my ear drums will never recover.”

Billy’s chuckle came from deep in his chest, causing Steve’s eyes to soften as he tried to focus on his dinner. “Are you really making a grocery run or was that just hot air?”

Billy swallowed and confirmed, “I get paid after my shift. This time tomorrow, I’ll be wandering the aisles anyway. It’s never a dull evening at the store.”

“The scaries come out at night.”

Robin warned, “Outcasts usually have a valid reason for keeping to themselves during the day.”

Billy sassed, “How tolerant, Buckley.”

She smiled. “So you’re one of them? That’s nice.”

Max barely contained her mirth at the sight of her brother’s annoyed face. He soon deflected, “Sometimes it’s a party in there. Like everyone in town finished their shifts at the same time. Usually it’s peaceful.”

Robin suggested, “The little guys might like to go with you. Or Steve could meet you there with them. They’re gonna get bored eventually, only seeing the house and video store all the time.”

Steve agreed, with the caveat, “Either you or Max needs to teach them how to ride those toy bikes. We gotta tucker ‘em out before adventures.”

“Why not the skateboard?” Max asked.

It was Billy who responded, “Let’s give him an easy day after a hard one.”

She blinked softly, seeming to think over that before she nodded and kept eating. Robin, meanwhile, announced, “We could have our first conversation without the little monsters. So, Hargrove: top three movies. Go.”

“Aliens, Rocky, and...maybe Animal House or The Birds.”

“The Birds?” Steve wondered aloud. “That’s different.”

“My mom liked Hitchcock, theater, and Marilyn Monroe. Don’t ask me about Gentlemen Prefer Blondes.”

Steve grinned around chewing while Robin admitted, “I expected you to say Jaws.”

He shook his head and his tone had gravel in it. “Surfers know more about sharks than anyone who watches that shit movie.”

Robin turned to Max to answer her own favorite movies. “Probably...Aliens, Halloween, and Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.”

That got a snort from Billy, and her snapping, “It’s better than Animal House.”

Robin hushed, “Settle, siblings, settle. You’re dangerously close to having the same taste in movies. We could show the littles the Chocolate Factory, but we’d have to get the hell out of there before the river boat scene.”

Silence eclipsed the conversation as they each mulled over that, and the quiet snores from two pockets made them break the silence with laughter. Billy admitted, “I guess we’ve dealt with nightmares once already.”

All things considered, a bad afternoon turned into a pleasant night.

The time came for Billy and Max to leave, so they predictably dumped their dishes in the kitchen sink for someone else to clean up, and headed out. Steve and Robin looked at the stack of dishes and the latter realized Steve was staring at her. “What? Oh, just because you cooked, I have to clean?”

“Yeah. It’s called playing fair.”

She rolled her eyes but turned the faucet on. Steve reached into his pocket and carefully scooped up little Billy to tuck him into his shoebox bed...

Little Steve wasn’t in the other bed.

“Oh, shit! ”

“Steve?” Robin called, but he was already sprinting out of the house.

The Camaro rumbled in the driveway, far enough out of the Harringtons’ driveway that Billy had already reversed onto the street the car purred into a roar as he shifted gears and -

“BILLY! WAIT!”

He frowned and looked in his rearview mirror. Moving the stick into park, Billy rolled his window all the way down as Steve ran up to them. “You’re extremely lucky I didn’t have my music on. What’s the matter with you?”

Steve exhaled raggedly with his hands on the windowsill. “Me. In your pocket. Steve’s in your pocket.”

That wiped Billy’s features of any annoyance or humor at Steve’s expense. Sure enough, he pulled the hem of his pocket out, and little Steve rolled with the fabric movement. He was so deep in sleep that his jaw hung open. “This little guy is out.”

“Please give him back.”

“Well, come in here and get him.”

Just like Billy, Steve didn’t refuse a challenge. He reached right into Billy’s car and pocket, gently rubbing small Steve’s arm to warn him through the layers of sleep that change was coming. Then he carefully scooped him out, eliciting a groggy whine, but nothing else.

As Steve’s fingernails scratched the fabric of his shirt, Billy chided, “Hey, there’s a nipple under there.”

“You’re welcome,” he teased, but otherwise busied himself with securing small Steve in the cradle of his hands. “Thanks. He sorta means a lot to me. They both do.”

It was hard to say whether Billy nodded or shifted his weight, and his head simply bobbed with the movement. But he agreed, “He’s a good little guy. Even my high maintenance mini me.”

Steve smiled, “He’s all right. He’s brave, even by regular sized standards. He’s ready to fight god half the time.”

But Billy blinked softly up at him. “And the other half of the time?”

Perhaps to both of their surprise, Steve shrugged like it was no big deal. “He’s sweet. And kind of scary observant. It’s easy to forget that they’re new to the world because of how much B picks up. Oh, and I get off work at ten tomorrow, unless that’s too late for you?”

Billy sniffed and his eyes strayed back to the road. “It’s fine.”

“Will you be home already? I can pick you - ”

“Just don’t make me wait at the store,” Billy finished. A rev of the engine was the only other warning Steve got, then he stepped back, and watching the Camaro drive down the street and turn out of sight at the stop sign.

In the car, Max said bluntly, “Gross.”

“There’s nothing to discuss, Maxine. So long as you understand.”

“I understand,” she disregarded his threat. “I’m not bothered by it being Steve. It’s just gross that anyone likes you.”

“It’s not a good idea for little girls to walk home in the dark.”

“It sure isn’t,” she called his bluff, and turned the radio onto his favorite station.

#i give you *chef's kiss* americana-wtf-cuisine #i've actually made this and it's good #harringrove #wrecked-fuse #neonponders #pocketverse #pocket!au #like magnets

100 notes · View notes

moirasdolly · 1 month

Text

Beach Day, Pharah x Fem!Reader ⊂⊂ ౨・)

Synopsis: It’s an extremely hot day so you decide to cool down at the beach. The hot lifeguard has other plans for you though.

Contains: NSFW, implied chubby reader, oral sex (reader giving), fingering (reader receiving), fluff

Notes: This is a request from a while ago TT I don’t even know if this person follows me anymore… If you’re still here HI! Smut will be in the next chapter.

Listening ♪ ིྀ: big flirt - lil hero

𐙚 Chapter 1: Popsicle

Sweat beaded on your brows as the harsh rays of sun illuminated your skin. You had been lazing around on your day off and no matter how many times you shifted to find another position you couldn’t seem to cool down. You had decided early on that this day would be best spent at the beach. Bringing a friend along was tempting, but on such short notice you weren’t quite sure who would be up for making the trip with you. Maybe spending the day alone was what you needed to reset for the week. A little self-care day never hurt anyone, right?

A sigh left your lips as regret plagued your mind while making the trek through hot sand just to get a good spot next to the water. You cursed your eager past self for making you leave your house. At least it was slightly air conditioned, right now you were facing the cruel, harsh, outside world with nothing but your tote bag, a mini cooler, and a dream to finally cool off. You could almost cry from the joy you felt after finding the perfect spot. It was clear of any other beach-goers, and had a nice view of the tower where the hot lifeguard resided.

You snuck quick glances from under your heart-shaped sunglasses at the tall, muscular woman posted up on the lifeguard tower as you tried to set up your chair and umbrella. She was incredibly distracting, so much so that one of your quick glances had turned into a longer gaze, and that gaze led to you tripping over the leg of your chair. An unintelligible squeak left your throat against your will as you fell to your knees, your hands trying to find purchase in the sand to stabilize yourself. Of course the moment you eat shit is the moment the lifeguard turns in your direction. She shot you a knowing look before chuckling to herself and resuming her scan of the shore before her.

Without a doubt your cheeks were probably dusted with blush in embarrassment. You took a moment to readjust your bikini top, making sure you weren’t exposed after your fall before claiming your seat properly this time. The sound of waves resounded through the air, and for the first time today you finally felt relaxed and not on the verge of a heat stroke. The breeze on the beach and the slight mist the water provided was cooling you down perfectly. You hummed softly to yourself as you dug around in your cooler for one of the popsicles you had brought to snack on while you were on the beach.

You settled on the melon one—your favorite of course. As you unwrapped the cool dessert your eyes met those of a certain lifeguard once more. This time her eyes stayed on you for a little longer, curious about you now. It was as if you grew horns and a little devil tail, because you thought of something absolutely devious to keep her attention on you. Your lips parted to accept the melon popsicle between your glossed lips, giving it a suck before pulling it out of your mouth with a satisfying “pop!” You shot her a small smile, feigning innocence before letting your tongue dart out to taste it once more.

The taller woman leaned against her post, now not even hiding her gaze towards you. Hook, line, and sinker, you thought to yourself. You gasped softly as a droplet of your popsicle landed on your chest, and dripped between your breasts. Your index finger found its way onto the sticky, sweet liquid and you brought it up to your lips, making a show of licking it clean. This whole ordeal went on until you finished the popsicle and the lifeguard couldn’t take it anymore.

You leaned back in your chair, almost giggling to yourself because you knew you had won her over without even speaking to her yet. You assumed someone had to take over her position for her before she could leave, so you decided to let your eyes flutter shut while you waited. You weren’t asleep, but the sound of the waves was lulling you into a peaceful state. The sun hit you in all the right places, making your plush, soft body look even better. In a matter of seconds you felt the sun disappear from behind your eyes so you opened one of your eyes, peeking to see what happened.

Instead of a gray sky, you saw the woman you had been exchanging looks with for the entire day looming over you. Your perfectly manicured nails pushed your sunglasses down and peered over the top of them to get a better look at the woman. Upon closer inspection you noticed the tattoo under her eye, and decided it made her 100 times more attractive. Now that she was up close and personal with you, all your previous confidence was crushed and you felt your cheeks heating up once more.

She was anything but subtle while checking you out. She took notice of your doe-eyes and chubby cheeks first, thinking to herself how badly she wanted to caress them. Her eyes traveled to your breasts next. They sat perfectly in the ruffled bikini top you had picked out this morning. You couldn’t help but giggle as she made no attempt to be subtle.

The little bows you tied on the side of your bikini bottoms squeezed your hips deliciously and your soft tummy was on full display as you sat up in your chair. “My eyes are up here.” You joked, your tone light so she knew she wasn’t in trouble.

The lifeguard cleared her throat, a charming smile playing on her lips before she spoke. “My bad, how rude of me to stare before introducing myself.”

You could finally put a name to the face, you had finally learned that the woman’s name was Pharah. After you introduced yourself as well, you stood up to meet Pharah closer, rather than her looking down at you. Conversation flowed between the two of you and eventually you had urged her to sit with you and get comfortable. You insisted on her taking the chair as it was only the respectful thing to do, but ever the gentlewoman, Pharah laid a towel on the sand for herself so you could remain comfortable.

It had only been an hour since you met, but you were already starting to feel a fondness towards the other woman. Conversation had been fairly innocent until Pharah mentioned the little popsicle stunt you pulled earlier. Blush bloomed on your cheeks, and you knew that might come back to bite you sooner or later.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about…” You trailed off, trying to play dumb, but Pharah wasn’t having it.

She sucked her teeth before shaking her head, “Sweet girl, you can’t make me forget,” She started, “I’ve been thinking about what else that pretty mouth of yours can do all day.” Her thumb grazed your bottom lip gently.

You sucked in a quick breath, surprised at Pharah’s bold move. You quickly regained composure before speaking, “Maybe you can take me home and find out?”

#dolly fics ♡#pharah #pharah x reader #pharah x fem reader

11 notes · View notes