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dykeomania · 4 months

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lovergirl!hazel headcanons

｡.｡ just some evidence of a love that transcends hunger, tbh.

a/n: i needed a break from writing a fic and wanted to write something sappy. this is the something sappy in question. wanted it to give how-you-become-hazel's-lover -> what she does when you're actually her lover vibe but it just got real mushy. i like it. i hope you like it, too. proofread, but i'm blind as fuck + i'm rusty, so.

tags: gender neutral (i think. i may have fucked up once or twice. please correct me if i did, i proofread fr fr over time. not intended for cis men), body neutral, and poc friendly. some niche reader things (tarot mention, reader wears makeup). mild nsfw -- kissing, making out, heavy petting. almost third base. starts in high school, ends in college.

practice fanfic etiquette. please don't plagiarize or repost my stuff.

ღ*♡∞:｡.｡ hazel callahan who sits up straight on the edge of your bathtub and looks up at you in complete awe when you're getting ready. she's got the dumbest, most lovesick puppy look in her eyes as she watches her lover line her lips, and apply a sheer coat of gloss on top. when they turn around to ask if it's even, hazel smiles so wide that it makes the apples of her cheeks sore.

she doesn't really know if it looks okay, she just knows that she wants to kiss you.

she only manages an mhm because it's what you want from her and, well.. at this point, hazel's convinced that she'd drop just about everything to give whatever you want.

you snicker, closing the space between you in slow and steady strides. "what are you looking at, huh?" you teases, grin stretched across lips lined nude, gleaming pink.

"mmm..." hazel can't help but like, drunklenly (she's dead sober).. haphazardly loop you in by the belt loop, head tilting easily to the right. "yyyyyou."

her eyes droop as she falls victim to the familiar spell that you cast over her. one that starts with you taking her face in her hands, and bringing yourself close enough for to take in all at once. she's made dizzy by the smell of your conditioner, made defenseless by the familiar trace of your body wash radiating off of your skin.

"what're you looking at me for?" you grin, your hands hot on her cheeks as you stand between her legs.

"why wouldn't i wanna look at you?" hazel gently manages, hand finding comfortable purchase on your hips. she grips gently with admiration, fingertips pressing into sacred flesh of something, someone, who she couldn't believe is hers. "you're just so pretty."

but let's take a few steps back first,

ღ*♡∞:｡.｡ hazel callahan who meets you purely by coincidence. you don't go to fight club, and you don't do cheer. you don't have any classes together, you hardly even know of each other. you do, however, have to work concessions for football together one night.

ღ*♡∞:｡.｡ hazel callahan who doesn't talk much, and honestly standing next to you feels kinda stupid with the bruise that she has on her cheek. she usually never really cares and she's usually super talkative -- she doesn't talk much because well.. she doesn't really know.. how to. how to talk to pretty people -- well, it's not like she finds you pretty, it's just.. anyways,

ღ*♡∞:｡.｡ hazel callahan who makes some dumb joke about athletes and you kind of snort.. and she's immediately charmed. hazel callahan who has a desire to keep you entertained, and continues to do so throughout the remainder of the game.

ღ*♡∞:｡.｡ hazel callahan who actually is in your class, but, neither of you just really noticed. hazel callahan who sits next to you in the weeks following. who spends her free periods with you. who eats lunch with you. who eventually gets around to telling you about fight club, over turkey and rye sandwiches.

"so you just, like..." you take a break from chewing, tonguing some bread out of your back molar. "punch the shit out of each other, and it's school-sponsored?"

"...well, yeah. but in like a self-defense, queer way. bring people together, create some solidarity. a safe-space on campus for queer community, kind of thing."

"oh okay, so like, in a slay way," you revise.

hazel stares. scoffing out a gentle laugh. "uh... yeah.." hazel furrows her brows, shaking her head. "um.. what does that.. what does that, like, mean?"

ღ*♡∞:｡.｡ hazel callahan who becomes your best friend.

ღ*♡∞:｡.｡ hazel callahan who really likes you. like, as a person.

ღ*♡∞:｡.｡ hazel callahan who likes you maybe a little bit too much.

ღ*♡∞:｡.｡ hazel callahan who doesn't know how to embroider, so when you embroidered her converse -- creating a wreath of vines, speckled with bright little flowers around the all star symbol -- she was so happy. but she felt so bad because she didn't know how to repay you.

"let me make it up to you?" she insists, fingers playing with your own, but not creating enough distraction to prevent you from protesting.

"what?" you scoff, subconsciously locking her hands with yours, as though you're about to declare a thumb war. "no, how?"

"i don't know! this is so nice, let me like..." hazel shrugs voice dropping timidly, "..take you out or something."

a beat passes, one that feels like forever. a large enough one to create space for all the butterflies to rumble around both of your stomachs, and for the elephant to pass through the room. hazel can't tell if it's your hand that's begun to sweat in your grasp, or if it's hers.

your eyes narrow at her, grin stretched into something cheshire as you shake your hand, and hers. "i think you just wanna take me out on a date."

hazel smiles sheepishly, cheeks flushing a bright flamingo. she shrugs, next words quiet and intentional,

"so what if i do?"

ღ*♡∞:｡.｡ hazel callahan doesn't know how to embroider but she does have an eye for wildflowers. when the girl who shows up at your doorstep, it's with a dorky smile, a batch of spring, and a bandaid wrapped around her index finger and her thumb. the flowers that she biked about an hour north to pluck -- from a field she discovered after having simply gone too far -- are bunched together and wrapped in a trader joe's paper bag, the kind that her mom always leaves in the kitchen under the sink. she put the boquet together herself. spent too much time thinking about whether or not you would like the arrangement or the colors, probably went to the store to grab a few of your favorite flowers that she couldn't find.

"oh, these are for you. see, i tried to make this whole thing, like.. semi.. transactional. again, like, i don't really know how to embroider flowers, or like anything really, so... these were next best thing, i guess." she offers, as though it's nothing.

"you look.. really nice." hazel's eyes linger, stricken and dumb. she fills her lungs with air, huffing out her next sentence. "are yoooouuu.. ready to go?"

ღ*♡∞:｡.｡ hazel callahan who thinks that star signs mean nothing, and doesn't know jackshit about crystals or anything of the like. but hazel callahan who is all eyes and ears, criss-cross-apple-sauce with you on her floor, as she watches you knock your knuckles on a deck of tarot cards and shuffle through them for what you called a "semi unreliable, two-card reading."

hazel callahan who jumps a little when two cards fly out from the deck. who furrows her eyebrows when you turn the over. an the lovers and two of cups, both upright.

"what..." she snorts. "what does that mean?"

"um.." she watches you blush. "it means.." and she blushes when your eyes linger on hers, and then look up. feels her stomach flutter when she watches you take a deep breath in through your nose, like you're shuffling through all of the words in your head.

"...let's just saaaaayyyy... nnnew connections might be coming your way, soon."

hazel has no fucking idea what that means, looking at you, she surely could hope that that's true.

...

ღ*♡∞:｡.｡ hazel callahan who is shocked that you want to like.. have a sleepover with her. this doesn't really happen to her. like at all. but it's happening with you, so she's down.. but it has to be planned. hazel callahan pulls out all the stops to try to make sure that it's.. well, perfect, she guesses? she makes sure that it's on a weekend where her mom is out of town (not even because she wants to do anything but you know how her mom is). she asks you what all of your favorite snacks are beforehand, and offers to go get more if you run out. she makes sure that you have satin pillowcases if you have textured hair, just in case you forget a bonnet, or anything. probably does that regardless of whether or not that's applicable to you, because she hears it's better for your skin and what not. she gets a weighted blanket for you and some extra pillows + takes out an extra throw if she knows that you get cold easily, or damn near strips her bed down to just one comforter and gets a desk fan to face her bed if she knows that you get too hot.

ღ*♡∞:｡.｡ hazel callahan who you create a shared movie list with, and who will sit with you and watch all of your favorite movies. all of your least favorite movies. will watch movies that you insist that she must see and will do so with very little fight because it's whatever you want, really. hazel callahan who is very quickly realizing that she would do whatever you wanted, as long as it meant that it got you to smile.

ღ*♡∞:｡.｡ (hazel callahan who, granted, talks through a lot of those fucking movies. like. hazel callahan who has a really fucking hard time paying attention to movies.)

ღ*♡∞:｡.｡ hazel callahan who clearly has overthought everything. who laughs at and understands all of your dumb jokes and is always a little shocked when you laugh at hers. who lets you rest your head on her shoulder when you watch movies in her home-theater. who lays with you in her bed and compares your tiktok for you page with hers and finds it a little too easy to poke fun of you. finds it not as easy to remain calm when your head rests comfortably on her chest, and thus hopes to god that all of the cringy tiktok audios are masking the sound of her heart beating out of her chest.

ღ*♡∞:｡.｡ hazel callahan who looks at you when you mention that it's getting late, and insists that there's a guest room if you wanna sleep in there, or an air mattress that she was supposed to blow up.

"it's too late for that, though." you frown.

"no," hazel, being hazel, is quick to reassure, shaking her head. "no, no, i could totally blow it up. we have an automated pump, it'll take like 20 minutes."

"mm, i don't know, it's still kinda late for all of that..."

hazel blinks at you. her eyebrows raise, corners of her lips gently upturning. "okay. i mean, do you wanna take the guest room?"

you look up at her, eyes big on purpose. "that guest room's kinda scary." you lift a brow. "it's dark. and cold."

hazel thinks she might.. be tripping. she has to be. her blink is slow, and her face knots together, and releases -- the way it does when she gets all timid and indecisive. "o..kay..." she grins nonetheless, furrowing her eyebrows. "so then .. where are you gonna sleep?"

"..i mean.." you burn, and so does she. "...i could just sleep here with you?"

ღ*♡∞:｡.｡ hazel callahan who can't help but feel girlish and vulnerable laying in her bed with you, her stomach tied in knots over how there is nothing usual about this situation. fully seeing you in your pajamas. feeling the gentle flesh of your bare calves rub against hers. being within such close proximity of you that she can still smell the lingering remnants of soap on your skin from your shower.

ღ*♡∞:｡.｡ hazel callahan who dares to let her finger dance on your upper bicep, but that's just about it, really.

ღ*♡∞:｡.｡ hazel callahan who only nudges closer only when you nudge closer. who only lowers her voice, when you lower your voice. who only holds eye contact when you start it, but is always the first to look away.

ღ*♡∞:｡.｡ hazel callahan who falls into a trap: eye contact held after some conversation that did not, and does not matter. she follows your eyes down, chocolate eyes focusing on the arch of your cupids bow. she does tilt her head up to find her nose nudging softly against the underside of yours. she doesn't know how you two got this close. hazel callahan who feels her hands grow sweaty, feeling your breath linger over her the chap of her lips. who nearly stiffens when she feels your hand press into her back, but instead arches into the crevice your body makes and presses her palm against your hip.

ღ*♡∞:｡.｡ hazel callahan who does what she thinks she's supposed to do, and kisses you -- soft and gentle, like the whispers that fluttered over both of your lips earlier. brief, and endearing.

her lips stick to yours, and then her lips press into yours. and then her lips open when yours do, and her hand tightens on you when yours does.

ღ*♡∞:｡.｡ hazel callahan who has no fucking idea what she's doing. like, seriously. she kind of knows -- i mean, okay, yeah, she knows how to kiss, but this is, like.. not just a kiss. hazel's kisses are brief. gentle, maybe a little slow. never this deep. hazel callahan who forgets herself when her fingers weave through your hair. hazel callahan who doesn't recognize the way her breath shakes in your throat when your fingers ambitiously sift through her thick, black locks and pull.

hazel callahan whose lips slot over yours, and unlock. who leans forward when you lean back, and is almost nearly on top of you.

ღ*♡∞:｡.｡ hazel callahan who doesn't know what to do with her hand, so she puts it everywhere. glides it over your side, presses it over the expanse of your lower back. who smooths her hand under your shirt and marvels in the way your skin burns against her palm. who itches to explore, traversing over your stomach, venturing up, up, and up--

ღ*♡∞:｡.｡ hazel callahan who stops dead in her tracks when you hum something sour in her mouth and grab her wrist. who looks at you stunned with parted lips as you softly shake your head against hers.

"not yet," you pant, opening your eyes to look at her. "not yet."

ღ*♡∞:｡.｡ hazel callahan who bats her lashes, dizzy with affection yet sobered from your action. she knows how you sound. not like you're rejecting her, but like you're admitting something, which you.. might be. something that she understands. regardless, she understands.

but she burns bright with embarrassment, stomach rattling with a guilt that crawls up her throat and wraps around it, tightening and tightening...

"yeah," she manages a whispers after a while. somehow, it's still raspy. "yeah, okay.."

"okay.."

"...m'sorry--"

"don't be," you shake your head. "keep kissing me."

you rush, and it's kind of just in time. whatever stinging was lingering in her chest subsides as you bring yourself closer, lips softly capturing her lower lip in affirmation after hazel just stares at you.

hazel callahan who blinks, oscillating between consciences, dazed and a little confused. she's cautious and readjusted, her hand only lingering over your side as she whispers a faint "are you sure..?"

the sentence dissolves when on the tip of hazel's tongue when her lips find yours again, at your action, which is her answer. hazel callahan who listens. who lets you take her hand and place it somewhere that feels more comfortable, somewhere that's right and yet still sensual.

ღ*♡∞:｡.｡ hazel callahan who is wiped, but intentional with every kiss that either you or her leads, every swipe of her lips over your jaw, every tender kiss that you let her place against the stretch of your neck.

ღ*♡∞:｡.｡ hazel callahan who will admire within her bounds. kissing you, and drowning in you until she is simply too sleepy to continue. until she is dizzy and feels comfortable enough to nuzzle her face somewhere into the crook of you, breathing you in until you become a part of her dreams,

and she will wake -- in the morning, and in the middle of the night -- only to have a hard time believing that she isn't still dreaming.

...

ღ*♡∞:｡.｡ hazel callahan who kind of has to get used to.. all of it. who crushes, even though she's already "achieved," so to speak. who grins at her phone when she's texted, who finds any excuse to facetime you and keep you on the line -- sometimes just so that she can look at you. who finds any excuse to be around you.

ღ*♡∞:｡.｡ hazel callahan who you can't get rid of once you go both go to college. who facetimes you whenever, who visits you on weekends. who comes into your space and steals all of your sweatshirts and your pajama pants and of course, all of your spare time.

ღ*♡∞:｡.｡ hazel "no, i can make that for you" callahan who can't embroider, but can crochet. she will buy you that jellycat that you really want, a hundred percent. hazel callahan will also greet you with a fucked up rendition of said stuffed animal that you wanted (giving jamdog, perhaps) and furrows her eyebrows when you have to hide your laugh with your hand.

"what?" she asks, grin dulling only for a moment. "do you not like it?"

"no it's--" you cover your mouth. "it's perfect." you cackle. when you cup her cheeks, all the worry and fear of judgement fades. sort of. at least enough. "you're perfect, babe. i love it."

ღ*♡∞:｡.｡ hazel callahan who does, in fact, keep a picture in her wallet of her lover, ready at all times. hazel callahan who weaves her lover into casual conversation.

ღ*♡∞:｡.｡ hazel callahan who still doesn't really understand figure of speech all that well so when you say things like "i wish you could just come over," she literally goes "..well like, i could,"

and then proceeds to make like, a three hour drive.

ღ*♡∞:｡.｡ hazel callahan who keeps the picture that you hate of yourself as her lockscreen and it's not to spite you, it's because she thinks you're beautiful, and she has no idea what you're talking about.

ღ*♡∞:｡.｡ hazel callahan who figures out what names you like to be called by throwing everything at a wall and seeing that sticks. pretty. handsome. lover. angel. baby. and when she does find one, one that makes you blush just about as hard as she does every time you even look in her direction, she holds it over your head to high heavens. makes it your contact name. uses it to punctuate reassuring sentences, when she greets you, when she tells you goodnight.

ღ*♡∞:｡.｡ hazel callahan who gets to take you on real dates, and gets excited to. who gets giddy when you get ready. who gets to fix your hair and come up behind you when you take mirror selfies once you're finished. who now feels comfortable enough to place her hands at the mid-point of your waist and let them venture toward your frontside while she rests her chin on your shoulder, and leans in to kiss your cheek. who tells you you smell nice, and makes you smile when she buries her face into some part of you and literally just goes rahhhh!!!!

ღ*♡∞:｡.｡ hazel callahan who is also stuck sometimes, in moment such as these, watching the wonder who she has had a crush on since high school -- jesus, has it really been that long? -- with gentle eyes and a completely disarmed disposition.

hazel callahan who is honestly such a fucking loser -- like, literally, loser-since-birth, no-hope-since-middle-school, gay-haircut-and-new-repotoire-can't-save-you, loser, and can't help but ponder and marvel over how someone like you is in her hands. in her face. in her life.

"m'not that pretty," you insist, fingers weaving through her hair, nails etching at hazel's scalp in a way that hazel has grown to like. love, even.

her eyes flicker over your face, smile lopsided and eyes heavy like despite everything, you don't even know the half of it. she scoffs, voice hardly above a whisper,

"yeah no, you are so much more than pretty."

#hazel callahan x reader #hazel callahan #lesbian #wlw #bisexual #sapphic #ruby cruz #ruby cruz x reader #bottoms movie #bottoms 2023 #lets go lesbians

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anjaelle · 1 year

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Hii I’m in loveeee with your writing I was wondering if you could write a Dave Lizewski x bimbo reader fic?

Oooh this sounds fun. I had to ruminate on this a bit, but I think I got it.

Pairing: College!Dave Lizewski x Bimbo!Reader

Rating: She's tame

Word Count: 1.3K

He was staring again. Every time you turned to look at him, he would quickly avert his eyes to the front of the room. In confusion, you turned to look behind you, only to see the blank wall of the classroom. You looked back at him and found him staring straight ahead like he'd been caught doing something bad.

You pulled your phone out of your bag and opened the front facing camera to check to see if you forgot to properly blend your makeup again. Or maybe you had crumbs on your face.

It didn't look like you had anything on your face. Though you did think you could use a re-up on gloss, and maybe a touch-up on your brows. You accidentally left your makeup bag in your dorm, and you kept losing all of your backup purse makeup, so all you had was a lip balm and school stuff. You supposed that you could use this as an excuse to do a quick drugstore run across the street to pick up another backup makeup kit. But you also felt like you'd be missing out on the sushi buffet in the dining hall if you got there too late. You hadn't had sushi in a long time, it would've been a shame to miss it. Then again you could always order it from that one spot you went to with that one guy. What was his name again? Something with a "F"--

"Hello?" The professor said, addressing you and pulling you out of your thoughts. You raised your brows in surprise, and smiled sweetly.

"Hi!"

Your professor tapped her chin with a beautifully manicured nail and looked you over with a funny look on her face. "Your presentation topic for next week?"

"Oh!" You said, looking down at your notes. "Well, I might talk a little about how hard influencing is and how it's actually harder than a 9-5 job. I'm still deciding. What do you think, professor?"

There were a few whispers in the class as she thought hard on the question. At least that's what you thought she was doing.

"Why don't you workshop that and get back to me tomorrow?" She finally said, turning away from you and moving onto another classmate.

You pouted at yet another presentation subject being shot down and made a note in the margins of your notebook to do just that. You hated going to her office hours, because you felt like you could never really do anything right.

When class let out, you pulled your phone out to text your friends about your change of plans tomorrow, when you felt a gentle touch on your elbow and turned to find Lizewski. Knowing that he was quiet and always a little bit stuttery, you smiled politely and gave him your full attention.

"Hi, how are you?"

"H-Hey," he said, shoving his hands in his pockets, "Uh...I saw that you've been having a bit of a hard time with our media class."

A few people passed by the two of you in the hallway and greeted you but shot a curious look his way.

"It's so bad isn't it?" You frowned, crossing your arms in front of your chest, "I'm literally so great at most Social Media outlets, I don't understand why this is so hard. I mean...it's all the same shit."

He nodded, wide eyed and eager as always, "You're so right."

"And I'm trying really hard, but I just can't get it."

"I can help!" He blurted out. "Only if you want. I mean, you probably don't need my help. But I'd be happy to, if you want."

"You'd help me?" You asked, genuinely touched. "I don't know if I can pay you much, but how much do you want?"

"You don't have to pay me, come on." He dropped his eyes to his sneakers and shifted his weight on his feet, "We've known each other since middle school."

This time your eyes widened in surprise, "We have?"

This time it was his turn to look at you in surprise and confusion, "You went to my Bar Mitzvah."

"I did?" Then you thought about it, "I only remember going to one, and it was this boy named David."

He let out a short laugh and nodded, "Yes, that was me."

"David?! But everyone calls you Lizewski! That's your last name?" He nodded again and you gasped. Your whole world turned upside down. Without thinking you pulled him into a tight hug, "It's so nice to see you again, David! I thought you moved away in high school!"

"No," he said against your shoulder, "I just grew my hair out. And got taller. And you can call me Dave, or David, or Lisewski. Whatever you want."

You pulled away from the hug with a huge grin, and you reached out to readjust his glasses which sat crookedly on his face. Then you looked him over, trying to see the skinny thirteen year old you remembered in the grown man in front of you. You could almost see it. If he cut his hair shorter, and lost about a foot of height, he'd totally look the same. You grasped his shoulders in appreciation.

"Well this is wonderful! I've never had a friend for longer than 3 years before!"

As you walked side by side across campus, you could feel people staring like you had three heads. After the fourth set of eyes on you, you nudged Dave with your elbow.

"Do I have something on my face?" You tilted your head from side to side so he could examine you properly, and he shook his head.

"No, why?"

"People keep staring at me." You frowned, "It's kind of weird."

Dave said nothing at first, but looked around to see the evidence of your suspicion and sighed. "I think it's because you're hanging out with me."

You snorted, "That can't be it. That's so silly."

He kicked a small rock down the footpath and hummed in disagreement, "Is it? I mean...you're you. I'm me. We don't really hang out. I think people are used to seeing you with guys from...Sigma Alpha Epsilon"

You still didn't get it, and you crinkled your nose in disgust at the mention of the name.

"I don't talk to them. They're losers," you shuddered again, "They all have a weird obsession with skulls too. Have you ever seen those skulls with the blue stripe down the middle? They all have them on their trucks. It's so weird."

You watched him raise a single brow as he kicked the rock further down the path, "Are you talking about The Punisher's symbol?"

Before you could ask, he showed you a picture on his phone and you nodded.

"Yeah that's it! What's The Punisher? Is that, like, a band?"

He chuckled, "It's a comic book character and his symbol gets misused a lot. He's a vigilante."

You frowned, thinking of why someone would choose to do something like that. That seemed kind of mean.

"Well can you really see me hanging out with a bunch of guys who like vigilantes?"

For some reason, Dave's step seemed to falter, and he peered at you curiously, "Oh. Are you--do you think vigilantes are bad?"

There was a hint of poorly disguised panic in his voice.

You were confused about why he was confused. The answer was obvious.

"Vigils are a good thing," you said, matter-of-factly. You were surprised that you had to break this down to someone as smart as him. "Sometimes people have vigils for their dead grandmas and their pets, and stuff. Someone who's anti-vigils is obviously not a good person."

Dave gave you a long, strange look and laughed. Like, actually laughed. You didn't understand what was so funny about being pro-vigils. You felt like that wasn't exactly a controversial opinion. Were you on the wrong side of history this whole time? Were vigils actually bad?

"Are they bad for the environment or something? Like, the candles?" You squinted at him. He rushed to ease your worries with an extended hand.

"No! No, it's--vigilantes aren't people who are anti-vigils. They beat up bad people."

Oh.

"What a weird name to have for that," You admitted rolling the word over in your brain. Then you brightened at the memory of something, "Hey there was a guy back home that was like that! Kick-Ass! Do you remember him?"

He said nothing for a moment, but shrugged in response.

"Yeah, kinda."

"All the girls in our grade were obsessed with him," you continued, fishing through your bag for your dorm key. "At first, we thought it was that one weird guy who used to try and sell us coke from the trunk of his car down the street from our school. But one girl said that he saved her dad from getting jumped, and he was apparently, like, young. At least college aged."

"Ha," Dave simply said, "Maybe. I kind of remember people thinking it was someone from our school, though. Someone most people wouldn't even really expect, because it'd be super hard to keep a low profile. Someone who's probably super strong and really cool, even though most people don't know it."

You suddenly giggled, "What if it was that guy Todd Haynes?"

Dave stumbled over his own feet and shot his hand out to steady himself.

"You know who Todd Haynes is?"

"Yeah, I know him. He was in my gym class!"

"He's my best friend, I've known him my whole life. I'm--shocked that you know him." You brightened at the new information.

"I didn't know Todd had friends! You sure are full of surprises today." He stared at you again. For a super long time. You weren't sure what was going on in his brain. You touched your cheek, "Again with the staring. I think you're lying. I definitely have something on my face."

#dave lizewski #dave lizewski x reader #aaron taylor johnson x reader #aaron taylor johnson #jaelle writes

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iluvmattsbeard · 19 days

Text

let them look (c.s)

master list

chris sturniolo x reader

warnings: some cuss words, drinking, and inappropriate moments but nothing crazy.

preview: you and your friends head over at the club anticipating a good time. a few drinks in and you start looking at your friend Chris with eagerness. but a few girls also had the same idea by staring him down, which made you extremely jealous.

a/n: jealousy is hot! - L

"Y/n?" you hear a familiar voice call out. you were in the middle of doing your makeup when you stop and turn to look at the voice. "you almost done?" Nick asks with a smile. "i'm ready to get fucked up." he adds as you laugh, going back to apply your mascara. "yeah i'm about to be finished." you say putting back the mascara wand into the tube. Nick sits on your bed as he goes on his phone. "Chris, Matt, and Aly will meet us there." he says looking at himself on his screen. Aly was your younger sister and best friend at once. she was only a year and a half younger so she was easy to get along with. besides the fact she likes to steal your stuff. "okay. who's the designated driver?" you ask with your mouth open a bit, applying a dark shade of lip gloss, smacking your lips together. "I'm pretty sure you know. Matt does not even want to be at the damn place. I think he'd want to be sober and get out of there right away when we're done." he says with a slight scoff.

you let out a laugh as you get up from the floor, tugging down your dress. you wore a slightly sparkled dress that had a V cut neckline, the dress hugging your curves perfectly. Nick puts down his phone as he looks up at you, "Y/n... I think i'm going to have to buy you a drink." he says with his mouth slightly open. you started to laugh as he joins in. "so I look good?" you ask turning to look in the mirror. "that's a stupid question. you know you look good." he says getting up. "now, how do I look?" he says posing a bit. you look at him and smile, "you look great!" you exclaim. Nick smiles and thanks you, "okay lets go! I think they're all on the way there." you nod and grab your mini clutch.

you and Nick head outside, waiting for your Uber driver. as every few moments pass, you were constantly pulling down your dress. "Nick I think I might go back inside and change." you say looking at him. "absolutely not. you look great." he responds, "plus, our Uber driver is almost about to pull up." you nod slightly still pulling down your dress uncomfortably.

once the driver arrives, Nick walks up to the car and opens the door, making sure you guys got the right car. "yes that's me." she says smiling. you and Nick both say hi and get in the back seat.

after about 20 minutes, the Uber driver pulls up in front of a small building that was lit up with a big sign. you two finally have arrived. "you young kids have fun and be safe!" the driver says smiling. you and Nick both thank her and walk up to the line. the bouncer asks for your IDS as soon as you guys were up. "hey you must be the triplet." the bouncer says looking at Nick's ID. that's when you both knew Chris and Matt were already inside. Nick nods and the bouncer lets you both in. you hold onto Nick's arm as you both walk in. you both look around to see lots of people on the dance floor and people laughing at the bar. the music was blasting so you could barely hear Nick when he speaks out, "lets go find everyone!" "what?!" you yell out. he just looks at you and hints at you to follow him. you nod still holding onto him as you both walk to find the guys and your sister.

Nick points at a booth and you look to see Chris, Matt, Aly, and a few random girls sitting down. you both walk over and instantly catch their eyes. "y/n! Nick!" Aly screeches while getting up running over to the both of you. "hi!" you say while embracing her in a hug. you go over and hug Matt greeting him as you lock eyes with Chris across from you. you pull away from Matt as you stand there still looking at Chris. "hi Chris" you say smiling. he looks at you up and down and walks over to you, embracing you in his arms, "hey" he pauses pulling away still looking at you up and down, "you look…” he stays quiet for a quick moment staring you down, “wow.” he says with a slight laugh. "thank you?” you say hesitantly with a nervous laughter mixed with confusion. Nick then interrupts the moment, handing you a shot. "lets get this started!" he says loudly.

you take the shot and drink it throwing your head back. it burnt your throat and you shake your head sticking out your tongue from the taste. Chris stares at you while letting out a laugh. "what is this?!" you ask. "tequila!" Nick shouts. "yeah no. this is definitely going to make me regret tonight." you say nervously laughing. everyone laughs at your sentence.

you couldn't help but notice Chris' eyes on you with a look you haven't quite seen before. you lock eyes for a bit but you look away quickly and take a sip from your drink. "I'm going to go onto the dance floor!" Nick says trying to pull you and Aly with him but you shake your head. "i'll meet you guys in a bit!" you say. "Chris join us!" Nick looks at him. Chris smiles and gets up, joining Aly and Nick onto the dance floor.

the three of them start dancing and you look at the sight with a smile. you turn around and sit down next to Matt and speak, "you know you can still have a good time." he looks at you with a slight smile, "I don't know. this is just a lot." he responds. "hey! wasn't it you that said anybody can have fun sober?" you say raising an eyebrow sipping your drink. he looks at you while shaking his head laughing, "i don't know Y/n! there's just too much people." he shouts over the music. "that's why you just stick with us!" you shout back.

"i'll think about it!" Matt says looking around. "alright you do that!" you respond. Matt looks at the dance floor and laughs, "they're for sure having fun." you whip your head around towards the dance floor to see what he was talking about. you see Nick throwing it back onto Aly as she smacks his ass. you and Matt both let out a loud laugh. "see that could be me and you!" you say to Matt but you both just laugh. "i'm not throwing it back onto you y/n" he says laughing still with you. "shot break!" Aly says handing you one.

as time goes by, you and Matt still were at the booth talking. your words started to slur and your mind felt like it was going everywhere. you soon turn your head towards the dance floor as you see Chris dancing. your eyes analyzed the tall brown haired boy as you bit your lip softly. even before the drinks, there was no doubt in your mind that you thought Chris was attractive. but the drinks were really emphasizing the thought. he looked extra good under the colorful strobe lights, but you weren't the only one thinking that as you look at a few girls stare him down and dance towards him. you tense up as you don't move your eyes away from them. you then caught Chris looking at a few of them with a grin.

you make your way to the dance floor, stumbling a bit. "finally you join us!" Nick says with a big smile. you still couldn't keep your eyes off Chris. "I just needed the drinks to encourage me!" you say starting to dance but it was obvious you could barely stand up.

but you didn't care. you just hoped Chris would look your way and notice you. which, he did. as he continued to dance, all he does is watch as you move your body sensually. you keep it up as you shut your eyes just paying attention to the music. the song switches as you hear Nick yell out, "Y/n! it's your song!" you open your eyes weakly as you smile. 'Mi Gente' is now blasting from the speakers. you then start to put your hands on your knees as you throw it back to the beat. Nick then starts cheering you on as you roll your hips to drop it down low. you get back up stumbling but still dancing.

you then felt cold hands attach to your waist. you flinch a bit as you felt the figure get closer to your ear as he whispers, "what do you think you're doing?" it was Chris. a shiver rolls down your spine as you speak up, "i'm just dancing." still moving your hips under his grip. “yeah i see that.” he says pulling down your dress slightly, due to the fact it rises up from every movement you made.

“what are you doing?” you ask, “i thought you were too busy entertaining those girls over there?” you finish saying. he lets out a laugh as he spins you around to face him. “i wasn’t entertaining them. they were entertaining me.” he replies with a smug look on his face. you roll your eyes as you continue to keep dancing trying to ignore him. “oh come on don’t be like that.” he says. “be like what?” you ask.

“being so jealous. you know i couldn’t keep my eyes off of you.” he responds pulling you slightly closer to his chest. you look into his eyes with your cloudy vision. “yeah sure Chris. like i didn’t catch you grinning at them earlier.” you said. “yeah but i’m dancing with you now. you weren’t on the dance floor earlier.” he says giving you a look of ‘i’m sorry’, flashing a smile. he was so irresistibly annoying. you wrap your arms around his neck as you both now dance in sync with each other. you look ahead of you to see the same girls that were trying to get close to Chris give you dirty glares. it was obvious on your face that you were bothered.

Chris turns his head to look at what’s causing your face to be the way it is. he sees the girls and smirk before looking at you. “why the bothered face?” he asks. “those girls won’t stop glaring at me.” you say with your eyes still on them. “well how about you just focus on me so your face doesn’t get wrinkles from the face your making.” he says causing you to now glare at him. “watch it.” you shot back. he lets out a small laugh, “come on, don’t let them ruin our time. we’re supposed to have fun.” he says shouting over the music.

“well how could i have fun if i feel like their eyes are piercing through me!” you replied. he then rolls his eyes as he pulls your face in for a steamy kiss. your eyes widen as you push him away. “what are you doing?” you say with your mouth agape. “giving them something to look at.” he responds as he holds onto your waist pulling you back in. “like i said, just have fun. let them look.”

you stare at him for a bit taken aback from his words. maybe it was the drinks talking but, this is the most you’ve heard him be so confident. you weren’t complaining though. shortly after, you pull him back in as you kiss him with the eagerness that’s been building up. it eventually made you a little sober realizing not only did the girls watch but so did your sister, Nick, and Matt. you open your eyes during the kiss when you attach looks with Nick and Aly. they had their mouths to the ground. “really Chris?” Nick speaks out. you guys pull away as Chris turns to Nick, “what?” he says confused. “in front of everyone?” Nick says pretending to throw up.

you all exchange laughs at Nick’s actions as Chris speaks, “had to show people to take a hint.” he looks at you as you shake your head. you did feel relief now that the girls gave up their nasty looks. now, all you could focus on was Chris and how all you could do was reattach your lips again and again now forgetting everyone in the club.

a/n: sorry this was so short! my mind is currently everywhere! i have an imagine i’ll post tomorrow that will hopefully make up for this lol - L 🤍

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dejwrites · 2 years

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❪ ♡ ❫ ─── babymaking, n.kento

♡ ˙ ˖ ✧ — (synopsis): nanami wants another lil bundle of joy.

♡ ˙ ˖ ✧ — warning ! husband!nanami, was written with black reader in mind, female reader, female anatomy, established relationship (reader and nanami are married), oral (f.receiving), pet names (baby), cute couple banter, profanity, missionary position, breeding kink, like nanami goes feral in this, one thing on his mind and that's giving you another mini him, reader and nanami have a daughter named yu (yes she's named after yu haibara ok), this could be turned into a full fic on ao3 idk yet, pls don't steal panel cause i colored it myself lol lol, a very late nanami one shot for his birthday, like i wrote this on black people time so sorry nanami, wc: 2.6k, minors dni !!

♡ ˙ ˖ ✧ — you can also read this on ao3

YOU SHOULD HAVE KNOWN THE TALK ABOUT ANOTHER KID WAS COMING. The way he would talk about Yu’s old baby stuff and the importance of hand-me-downs just in case you two would have another bundle of joy. Or the fact that he and your five-year-old daughter Yu would get lost in the department store, just for you to find them in the baby section. Nanami also was becoming very handsy towards you. Outside looking in, anyone would assume that it just was a loving husband showing his wife love. But Nanami was like a hormonal teenager that had just hit puberty. His kisses were deeper, which leads to a makeout session (cue your daughter clearing her throat when she enters the room). Gosh, you couldn’t forget the twinkle in Nanami’s eye as he and you attended a friend’s baby shower as you two watched them open gifts for their child.

Here you were, stumbling and sharing an intense kiss as you entered the home you shared. Hands grasping for each other as you shared kisses that caused your lips to be swollen and for the once lip gloss you were wearing to now be smudged across your lips. You pulled away, breathless and shocked. “Another kid?” You questioned. You just wanted assurance that this is what the blonde-haired man wanted.

“Another kid.” He repeated to you as one of his hands cupped your face while the other was placed on your belly as if it already was a child growing inside of you.

Even if you two weren’t trying for a kid at the moment, you still knew that the pink sundress you wore to the baby shower—hugged your body perfectly was something to always gain your husband’s attention. During the time at the baby shower, Nanami always made it his goal to touch you. From his hand taking comfort on your thighs as you were sitting and socializing to grabbing your hand as you move around your friend’s backyard where the baby shower was set up at. You adored that Nanami couldn’t get enough of your body. He cherished every part of you from the imperfections that you felt insecure about to the striking beauty that had him staring at you with a goofy grin when you weren’t looking.

You stared up at him searching for any problems in his eyes. Searching for anything that would cause you yourself to back out, but you didn’t find anything. He truly wanted another kid. He wanted your daughter to have a sibling.

His lips begin to kiss your jawline, the kisses went from soft to excited. “Please let me fuck a baby in you [Y/N],” Nanami mumbled against your golden skin.

“Okay.” was the only thing that escaped your mouth before Nanami threw you over his shoulder to take you to your bedroom. A giggle bounced from the back of your throat at each step he took. You never saw the man so serious about something other than work, but here he was on the mission to make sure he get you pregnant.

When your back felt the fluffiness of your shared bed, it was a wonderful sight to see your husband standing above you. His fingers combed through his hair as he tugged off the pastel pink polo shirt he was wearing. Fingertips tracing down his toned chest as you watched intensely. His chest was toned as could be as if he was sculpted by a Greek god himself. His hands finally traveled down to the waistband of the pants he wore before he’s unbuttoning them. You could see the band to his grey Calvin Klein briefs and the tent in his crotch area. Your skin felt hot feeling Nanami grab a hold of your ankle to drag you closer to the edge of the bed. He brought your ankle up to his mouth, peppering the inside of it with soft kisses. The scent of you lingered up his nostrils and he could only bask in the familiar scent he has smelt for years now.

“You said you were going to fuck a baby in me, what are you waiting for? You asked with innocence dripping off your tongue. You glanced up at your lust-filled husband through your eyelash while letting your pearly whites graze at your plump lower lip.

Nanami only let a hum pass by his lips before he’s stepping closer in between your legs after dropping the one he once was kissing upon. His hands danced up the sundress you wore. The heat of the moment only turned you on more causing dampness in the panties you were wearing. The silence from Nanami scared you. Not in a fearful type of way, but you knew that when he didn’t say many words during intercourse, he would be focused on one thing. That thing is to make sure you feel good from head to toe.

His fingers grasped at the thin fabric of your panties before he’s slowly taking them down your thighs. He soon discarded you of the sundress you were wearing. The crisp air and Nanami’s touch caused goosebumps to adorn your skin quickly. The look he gave you caused your heart to quicken. When he saw your bare body, he always looked at you as if he was falling in love all over again. The gaze was a complete panty soaker for you, it caused you to want him, even more, when you guys made love.

“It’s not fair that I’m the only one naked here.” You said as your hand reached out to grab a hold of your husband. You lightly brushed against his abs just so you could get a feel of him similar to what he was doing. But he soon pushes your hand away before kneeling in between your thighs.

His firm grasp upon your thighs before tugging you closer to his face caused a soft gasp to come out of you. He tugged your dress up so that it was around your waist. Your lower half was completely exposed as your heart was thumping against your chest waiting for the next move Nanami was going to make. The growing anticipation caused you to shiver under Nanam’s touch before feeling his soft kitten licks upon your folds.

You relaxed under his touch with each soaked lick upon your puffy lips. Your head fell back into the fluffiness of your bed as Nanami was in between your thighs. The pornographic sound of him in between your plush thighs. Each delicate suck on your clit and any rough moan Nanami let out while eating you out pushed you further on the edge. Your teeth nibbled at your lower lip holding back a moan before you once felt Nanami tug you closer to his handsome face. Your thighs vibrated when you felt the flat of his tongue traced along the entrance of your pussy. “Gosh, Kento.” You sighed happily at the way he was in between your thighs.

As if you cooing his name was the green light, you let out a sudden gasp when you felt his fingers push themselves inside you. The wet squelching noise of him gliding his fingers inward and outward at a beautiful pace instantly caused you to moan. Your back arched off the bed before you felt Nanami’s free hand push back down before he dove right back in between your thighs. As his slim digits curled inside you, his tongue brushes against your clit in a teasing manner. His brown eyes glanced at your fucked out expression while your fingers grasped at the sheets below your naked body. His nose rubs at your soft skin with each flick of his tongue. Your orgasm was nearing and the way his tongue was moving was only pushing you further from being a cumming mess.

With Nanami’s slender fingers inside you, while his tongue flickered at your tongue, you could feel the wetness below you that stained your sheets. Your orgasm was screaming to come out as you attempted to run away from Nanami’s explicit touch. He only pulled you back and pinned you down to continue what he was doing (uninterrupted this time).Your slick coating his middle and index finger with each curl inside of you. As soon as you met his brown eyes, the fierce feeling in the pit of your stomach burst. Your head fell back in complete bliss as you sob for Nanami.

You were seeing stars with each delicate whimper that you let out. Your fingers intertwined in Nanami’s blonde hair while your hips bucked through the passionate orgasm you were experiencing. Nanami’s mouth still lapped up every droplet of your wetness as if he was a starving man. The pad of his thumb rubbed comforting circles on your thighs—it was a kind gesture to help soothe the electrifying feeling of your orgasm being pushed upon you so soon. He removed his mouth from your pussy with a pop. The addicting taste of you on his tongue while his lips dragged hunger-filled kisses on the inside your thighs before he’s standing up fully.

If you looked closely you could point out that his bulge indicating how hard he was grew. You quickly gained your composure as you backed yourself further on the bed, your legs quivering with each movement. But you still ached for more. You could hear Nanami tugging off the remaining clothes that were blocking you from seeing his naked body that you’ve seen so many times.

When the time came for you and Nanami to finally intertwine with each other, you felt so many emotions hit you at once. The feeling of love with the way he caressed your thighs with soothing circles as he lined himself up to your entrance. You felt hopeful that after this you would have the satisfaction to carry yet another bundle of joy that you were so proud of to be raised with such a wonderful man. Your nails dug into his forearm as your lips gasped apart with each shove of Nanam’s hips. The intense feeling of his cock stretching you out bit by bit only caused you to choke up a whimper.

Nanami stared down at you with worry in his eyes. His brown-colored eyes look into yours before he’s crashing his lips upon your gasping ones, “I got you, baby, just relax.” He mumbles against your lips. “I always got you.”

His easeful tone and even more comforting words caused your body to relax. Soon your body relaxed and felt like you were on cloud night. The astonishing feeling of Nanami’s hips bucking forward caused your eyes to lolly in the back of your head. Breaking apart from the kiss to moan out his name like a sweet tune playing on a Sunday morning. Once Nanami heard his name fall off your tongue, it was as if a light switch was turned on. His hips pushed forward quicker. His hands quickly spread your thighs apart even further just so the tip of his cock could hit that spot that caused your pedicured toes to curl.

“Fuck—you feel so good,” Nanami uttered through breathy groans. Slow and sensual strokes were always the start of Nanami making you feel good before he turned into a madman that drove you insane.

He took the enjoyment of having you whine out for more like a desperate cat in heat and soon giving you just that until you’re begging for him to let you cum under his strong body. His lips dragged kisses upon your neck as you felt his thrusts become quicker. The sound of the bed's wooden headboard was attempting to overpower the pornographic sound of skin slapping against each other. Your eyes fluttered open to glance up to see Nanami hovering over you. The beautiful sight of seeing the way his teeth chafed upon his lower lip holding back a moan and his cheeks stained red due to the pleasurable sensation of the way your cunt wrapped around him. He was so handsome in a state like this.

Nanami’s hand reached above to grasp at the headboard, not particularly stopping it from knocking against the wall—but to help himself move at a rhythmic pace. He felt your legs snake around his waist completely trapping in the trace of being balls deep inside of you. It was as if you sense that he was about to cum. His body felt hot instantly as beads of sweat decorated his forehead. The salty droplets caused some of his blond hair to stamp upon his forehead. His hand grasped the headboard as he only stuttered out sweet nothings and praise about you.

Something along the lines of, you look so beautiful y/n or you’ll look so gorgeous pregnant with his child. You couldn’t tell due to your constant moaning. The sensational feeling of your orgasm slowly tugging you further and further towards the light. Your legs locked around Nanami’s waist so tightly that you were sure he could feel the heel of your foot tap at his bottom with each thrust. As your orgasm came upon you, the one hand that was holding upon the headboard intertwined with yours completely entrapping you upon his thrusts through your orgasm.

“Nanami!” You snarled out his name. Fingernails digging into his skin wanting to feel his body some more even though you two were around practically insufferable with each other.

“Shit—I’m so close sweetheart. Just hold on a lil longer.” Nanami breathed out as he was nearly going insane with the way your pussy quivered around him.

It didn’t long before Nanami was releasing himself with a quickness. Whiny moans and stuttered words were the only things you could hear from your husband. Your fingers intertwined with each other’s as you could feel Nanami’s cum inside you, a feeling you’ve felt many times before even when you weren’t trying for a baby. Your mouth gaped open before Nanami enclosed the breathy moans that you let out with a passionate kiss. The taste of him imprinted your tongue as you brought him closer basking in the moment of feeling him inside of you. The warm feeling of his cum being inside you caused you to moan in the kiss as you felt yourself flutter around his cock. Both of you cumming at the same time, making it a perfect opportunity to relish the perfect moment you two shared.

When the both of you were tugging out the temporary feeling of your sweet ecstasy, Nanami plopped down next to you. Your legs felt numb, you felt stuffed and you could feel the love bites Nanami placed upon your shoulder. Your eyes barely were open as you lay on your back. Completely dazed and possibly still dickmatized from the feeling of Nanami being inside of you. Nanami’s cum inside of you as you hoped you two did got the job done to give Yu another sibling. You could feel Nanami's head in the crook of your neck, his lips kissing at the small trail of bite marks he left on your body which caused you to close your eyes in complete bliss.

“Hopefully, the first time was it.” You would mumble and could hear Nanami chuckle.

“If you remember, with Yu it took the fourth time and it was at my job Christmas party,” Nanami answered, gaining a groan from you.

“Seriously?” You questioned.

“Seriously. I remember because I had to cover your mouth with my hand to muffle your moans.” Nanami pointed out as his fingers were tracing little shapes on your naked skin.

You didn’t recall Nanami fucking you four times to conceive Yu. Perhaps it was due to him fucking you senseless a few minutes ago that caused your brain to go fuzzy.

“Three more times to go,” Nanami smirked as he once again kissed your skin.

TAGS — @eiflawriting @shamelesshoefairy @idyllicbby @stunnababyyabyyy @drugzforyou @lobotomy-lover @marokinnku @jazzyangel242 @dassmyname @bubs-world @todorokiskitten @whoatherenelly @sftbunnyy @yooniluvbot444 @jademari @caribbeanwifey19 @anajah @tonaken @dazaisfavgf @httphaitani @salimcity @heartsfrommars @allukanezuko @cheesymcgeesneeze @lawscorazon @poohbea @koucaine @maydayaisha

#nanami kento x reader #nanami kento smut #jjk x reader #jjk smut #nanami smut #nanami x reader #nanami kento x black reader #jjk x black reader #female reader

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brattyfork · 6 months

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his girl

summary: chris’ gf convinces him to make fresh love skirts

warnings: hair pulling, face fucking (kinda) nothing super crazy :3 super long tho, you can skip to the hearts, that’s where the fun stuff starts :>

my boyfriends brand has really been taking off lately. he’s reaching people outside of his fans so he’s been trying to add more clothing types. i suggested he should make a tennis skirt, just a simple one with the logo on it. he loved this idea and started getting it in the works.

once chris got them in he surprised me with it, a short white tennis skirt with “FRESH LOVE” on the right side. it was cuter than i could’ve ever imagined. he said that since i came up with the idea he wanted me and some of my friends to be the models for it. i, of course, said yes and texted madi and some of my other girlfriends.

they all said yes so chris set up the shoot date and told us all when to be there. i told chris i’d meet him there with the girls. i wanted to pick up my ladies and get hyped up before.

i picked them up, listening to madi’s “badbitch” playlist the whole way. i texted chris that we were there and he was already out front to show us where to go. he led us into the studio that had a little leather loveseat and an arm chair, the set looked good. chris got pulled away for “business” stuff so the girls and i made out way to the dressing room area. it was super cool, like something out of a movie, there were a bunch of mirror with lights around them over vanities with cute stools in front of each one. one of the makeup artists saw us oogling the room and pulled us all in, introducing us to the three people that would be doing our hair and makeup. we all took seats while they got all their stuff set up and we got started.

chris had asked me before what kind of makeup i thought we should do. i told him something simple so we didn’t take away from the clothes. my artist put me in a light but pigmented blue eyeshadow, lowkey winged eyeliner, mascara, some clear lip gloss and a shit ton of glittery highlighter. i loved the way it looked. madi and the other girls had something similar, altered based on their face shape, skin tone and what outfit they’d be in. we decided simple curls would be best, everyone’s being a bit different due to their hair type but it looked better that way.

it was time to get dressed and i was psyched. even though i had seen the skirts, i hadn’t tried them on. my skirt was white with the blue “fresh” and “love” heart on the corner, it hugged my hips perfectly and was just long enough to cover me. my stylist and i decided it would go best with a blue and white striped sweater. the other girls had different logo variations on their skirts, madi had the little deer while my other friend wore one with the “F” and the heart by it. we had all brought our own simple silver jewelry to go with our outfits and we decided we needed a little something more. madi slipped on some below the knee socks that ended up being over the knee anyway and i had some white knitted leg warmers. chris had already picked out shoes for every outfit, all sneakers of course. we slipped them on and tied them, giggling and squealing about how hot we looked. we took some pictures in the mirrors before chris knocked on the door.

“yall decent in there?” he slowly opened the door, showing his hand over his eyes. i said yes and he uncovered his eyes.

“you guys look great, we ready?” he said to all of us but he didn’t take his eyes off mine. the girls all said yes, making their way out the door past chris. i was behind them all hoping to see chris for a moment. i walked up to him, he looked me up and down, starting at the hem of my skirt, going all the way up to my head before looking back at my shoes.

“one of your shoes is untied baby”

“oh shit” i said as i began to kneel down to tie them

“let me do it” he beat me to the floor, sitting on one knee. he tied my shoe in a very methodical and particular way, then looked up at me and it was like the butterflies in my stomach had been given crack. he pushed himself up off his knee and slinked his arm around my waist. leaning into me, he moved my hair out of the way of my neck so he could leave a wet open mouthed kiss on my neck below my ear.

“you look so fucking good” he whispered in that low sultry voice i love so much. he placed a short kiss back below my ear and pulled away, leaving me standing there, frozen. chris started walking, noticing that i wasn’t behind him, he stopped and looked back at me. he held his hand out for me to grab, innocently staring at me as if nothing had happened. we both knew what he was doing, i could play that game too.

we started the shoot with pictures of just us girls in cute poses that showed off the skirts. i made sure to keep eye contact with chris, every time i looked back at him his pupils had dilated so his eyes were almost completely black when we were done.

after we had gotten all the ones of the girls, the director waved chris over.

“okay we’re gonna do some with just chris and his girl” he stated loudly, hinting for the other girls to move off set. they were done for the day so they started collecting their things. chris and i did some basic shots, sitting next to each other on the couch with his arm around me before he got up and sat in the arm chair next to the couch. i looked at him confused.

“come sit on my lap” i gave him a look but he tapped his thigh beckoning me over. i walked over to him, thinking this would be the perfect time to tease him a bit. i got situated on one of his thighs and crossed my legs. i could feel his very obvious half boner beneath my hip, realizing why he wanted me to sit on his lap. we took quite a few pictures, altering the position slightly every other shot. everytime i moved on him i made sure to press whatever body part was convenient to the area, pulling soft groans from him while he gave me warning looks.

we had finished with the shoot but i wasn’t satisfied. i got up off his lap, a tiny whine coming from him at the loss of pressure. i pulled one of the rings from my fingers and “accidentally” dropped it in front of me.

“whoops” i said almost comically. i bent down to pick up the ring, my backside turned to him, giving him a full view of my light blue lady panties i had on underneath the skirt. i stood back up slowly and wiggled my hips a bit, essentially shaking my ass in his face. when i turned to face him his eyes were dark, the smallest ring of blue surrounding his pupils. he adjusted himself as subtly as he could before standing up and walking past me.

chris went to wrap up the business end of the shoot and i made my way back to the dressing room. i passed my friends who had called their boyfriends to pick them up, saying quick goodbyes. when i got to the dressing room, madi was on one of the little stools.

“hey do you need a ride home?”

“nah my moms gonna take me, she’s just finishing up with the photographers and stuff”

“oh okay”

“dude, chris has been looking at you like he wants to eat you all day”

i blushed a little, slightly embarrassed that she had noticed our behavior.

“yeah i might’ve teased him a bit, i might be fucked”

“yeah i should hope so” we laughed over my choice of words, continuing to talk before we heard laura speak behind us. she stood in the door way with chris next to her with the scariest smile i’ve ever seen on his face.

“ready madi?”

“yep” she got up and grabbed her bag. “good luck” she whispered to me.

“you guys good?” laura asked chris and i. i started to respond but he beat me to it.

“yeah we’re fine” he said, not breaking eye contact with me.

they said their goodbyes and chris watched them turn a corner before closing the door locking it behind him.

🫀🫀🫀🫀🫀🫀🫀🫀🫀🫀🫀🫀

“you’ve been quite the tease today” he said while making his way over to the vanity i was sitting at. i stayed seated, too nervous to move.

once he was in front of me, he caressed my cheek, slowly moving his hand to the back of my neck.

“nothing to say now?” he taunted, tilting his head to the side. i opened my mouth slightly, trying to get any words out but i truly had nothing to say. he quickly moved his hand to the back of my neck, weaving his fingers into my hair before harshly pulling. my head flung backward, making me gasp louder than i would’ve liked.

“i asked you a fucking question slut”

“n-no daddy, just wanted to have a little fun”

“oh we’re gonna have a lot of fun” the knot in my stomach becoming tighter at his words. he moved his face closer, ghosting his lips against mine.

“are you gonna be good baby?”

“yes daddy, wanna make you feel good”

he finally connected our lips and tugged on my hair again, causing me to open my mouth just enough for him to slide his tongue in. his tongue ran over ever inch of my mouth, claiming it as his own.

“get on your knees sweet girl” he released my hair from his grip. i pouted at his order, the floor was basically concrete. his eyes didn’t soften though so i gave in, moving off my stool and kneeling on the cold hard floor in front of him. he moved his hand back to my cheek while undoing his belt and pants with the other hand.

“so pretty for me baby” he cooed, letting his cock spring up out of his boxers and slap his stomach. i looked up at him for permission and he nodded his head ever so slightly.

i licked my way up the underside of him, feeling every individual vein on my tongue before taking the tip into my mouth. i sucked on just the tip for a second while he watched me, neither of us breaking eye contact. i slowly took more of him into my mouth, making him let out a soft groan.

“fuck so good baby” i moaned at his praise, sending vibrations down his cock. this made him grab the top of my head by my hair and force himself down my throat, making me gag and struggle.

“i know baby, breathe through your nose… just like that, that’s my girl” i did as he said, breathing through my nose as calmly as i could. the second i got used to it, he began slowly fucking my mouth, his speed increasing with every thrust as he used me. at this point i was drooling and had tears running down my face, stained black from the makeup.

“i’m close baby” he warned me. i was trying to prepare myself for his load when he shot hot cum down my throat. i gagged before swallowing, keeping his gaze. i was catching my breath when he leaned down in front of me.

“what do you say sweetheart?”

“thank you daddy”

“good girl, i think you deserve a reward, don’t you?” i smiled and nodded frantically, making him chuckle.

he stood up, reaching his hands out for me to grab. he helped me up, making sure i was stable before taking his hands back to slip his shirt off. i stood staring at his torso, mesmerized by every inch of him. he smiled before grabbing at the hem of my sweater and pulling it off me.

“turn around, lean on the table” referring to the vanity behind me. i followed his orders, shuddering as i laid my stomach on the cold surface. i looked up to see him standing behind me via the mirror attached to the vanity, smirking.

he reached up under my skirt to grab my panties before dragging them down my legs. he left small kisses on the backs of my thighs and calves in his wake, causing the puddle in between my legs to grow. he ran one of his hands up the inside of my leg, making me whine louder as he got closer to where i needed him. he finally placed his hand over my pussy while bringing his other hand to unclasp my bra.

“so wet for me baby”

i whimpered at his words, “please daddy, need you”

he said nothing before slipping a finger into me at an agonizingly slow rate. i let out frustrated moans, desperate for more.

“use your words angel”

“more please, i need more” he slipped a second finger into me, giving into my pleas.

“fuck thank you daddy” he was thrusting his two fingers into me at the perfect pace, i could feel myself coming undone.

“daddy gonna cum, can i cum?” i babbled out.

“go ahead baby, cum all over my fingers”

i let go with his permission, my legs shaking from the pleasure. before i could fully come down from my high, i felt something prodding my entrance. i looked up into the mirror, meeting his gaze. he looked to me for consent, i nodded my head, not being able to stand another second without him inside me. he pushed into me, watching my face contort with pleasure, not once breaking eye contact.

chris wasted no time, instantly pounding into me at an insane pace, his hands squeezing my hips. the feeling overtook my body, forcing my head down on the table. he weaved his fingers through my hair to pull my head up roughly, forcing me to face the mirror.

“look at yourself while i’m fucking you”

i let out a high pitched squeal as he sped up his thrusts, i could feel myself nearing the edge.

“daddy fuck can i cum?”

“do you think you deserve to cum slut?”

“please daddy i’ve been so good”

“i think you should beg me”

i threw my dignity out the window, needing to cum more ever.

“please daddy please let me cum” he just stared at me, unconvinced.

“fuck- PLEASE”

“love when you beg me like a whore, go ahead, cum all over me” i let go before he could even finish his sentence.

“fuck i love when you cum on my cock, so fucking tight” he grunted out. his sharp thrusts became uncoordinated and sloppy.

i heard him let out a loud groan before i felt him release inside me, the feeling so incredible, so warm and full, i could stay there forever. he fucked into me slowly, riding out his high before leaning down to lay on my back.

i turned my head to him, “i think you should make panties next”

a/n: sorry this is so late and so fucking long holy shit. i’ve had this idea for like 2 weeks now but didn’t rly know how to execute it. i really like how it turned out, hope yall feel the same :3

#sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo smut

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ashwhowrites · 8 months

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can you write a cheerleader reader x eddie story where eddie and the reader are acquaintances but they both like each other. eddie has a best friend who’s just like him into metal, d&d, black and reader is the exact opposite! i’m talking wears pink 24/7 unless she’s in cheer uniform, room full of stuff animals and ballerina decor and whitney houston. the ultimate girly girl. well one day eddie is supposed to meet reader after hellfire to finally ask her out after flirting for a few weeks and eddie’s best friend sees reader waiting and is a total bitch to reader. says that eddie would never like a girl like her and that she’s in a completely different world than eddie and that eddie is just using her to make the best friend jealous. let’s say they used to hook up or something just to add some angst 😮‍💨 then eddie comes looking for reader and his best friend just says that you left and eddie is very confused because you seemed like you liked him or whatever and after avoiding him for a while he finally confronts you and you explain everything. maybe it ends with them finally getting together and eddie making his friend apologize. this was so long i’m so sorry and i hope you’re feeling better!

I absolutely can! I love this idea. I hope this is what you were looking for and you enjoy it <3

The opposite

Eddie Munson liking a cheerleader was something Hellfire didn't think they'd see. And seeing Eddie swoon over a girl was different for them. But they secretly adored it. He was like a puppy as he watched her from across the cafeteria. His eyes locked on her during the cheer routines.

And people were shocked to see how much she liked him too. How often she stared right back at him. Her flirty smiles in the hallways had Eddie walking into lockers. Everyone seemed to be rooting for them, except Eddie's best friend.

Britton did not like the popular crowd. She stood by the words Eddie used to mean. The endless rants about how the popular are scum and won't exist outside of high school. But here he was, drooling over the head cheerleader like every other guy. She hated it. She hated watching Eddie do everything he could to get Y/N's attention. She can't stand that all he talked about was her.

"I did it! Your boy got himself a date!" Eddie cheered, sitting down at the cafeteria table. Slamming his hands down to make sure everyone's attention was on him. The table cheered but Britton felt herself rolling her eyes.

"Told you she'd say yes!" Dustin said, slapping Eddie's shoulder as a congratulations. Britton knew exactly who Eddie was talking about and it tasted sour in her mouth. She'd been after Eddie for years after he broke off their arrangement, and she didn't understand how Eddie could like a cheerleader over her. She was just like Eddie, and they had so much in common. Way more than him and a cheerleader.

"When is it?" Britton asked, smiling sweetly as she softly touched his hand that rested on the table. Eddie quickly moved his hand as he answered, "Friday night after hellfire." It was a few days away, but he was already excited.

Y/N wasn't someone he thought he'd be into, but she was gorgeous. She wore bubble gum lip gloss, pink sweaters and skirts, pink nails, and always had a smile on her face. Eddie adored her in her cheerleading uniform, but the soft sweaters felt amazing against his body when she'd smash him in a hug. She smelt like flowers and something sweet. He was obsessed with her.

Britton and Eddie had a past, one that Britton didn't want to end but Eddie called it quits. She was still hung up on it and Eddie moved on. They were in two different places and Britton couldn't handle that.

~~~

Friday night arrived, and Eddie and Y/N were nervous. Eddie spent the whole day figuring out what to wear for tonight. He had to wear his hellfire shirt for the campaign so he figured he'd change after it was over.

They spent the whole day smiling and blushing as they passed each other. They didn't have many classes together, but their eyes were always looking for each other.

"Are you sure this is a good idea? You guys are opposites." Britton tried again.

"Yes, I'm sure. We've been talking for months, we have hung out as friends a few times and we exchanged phone numbers. If we didn't get along, we wouldn't be going on the date." Eddie explained, rolling his eyes as he walked through the halls to hellfire.

"Oh come on Eddie! She's the head of the cheerleading team. And probably listens to Whitney Houston while she dances in her bedroom. She's not your type!" Britton argued. She couldn't believe how lovesick he was for Y/N. He'd never dated a girl like that in years.

"And what's my type?" Eddie snapped, turning around sharply as he looked at her. He was sick of Britton bad-mouthing Y/N every single time he brought her up.

"I don't know, maybe someone that knows what DnD is or listens to the same music you like. Someone edgy and alternative. Not miss Pink Ballerina. And not a cheerleader." Britton argued, trying to make him realize how idiotic he sounded.

"What, someone like you?" He chuckled, he knew Britton wasn't going to let their past fling go but damn he wished she would.

"Don't laugh. In case you forgot we were together, Eddie. I'm just like you and I am your type! We would make so much more sense than you and Y/N, why can't you see that? She's popular! She's going to ruin you and embarrass you. She probably doesn't even like you, some type of game the squad is playing and you are the idiot falling for it. All because you want to date the prettiest girl in school." She scoffed.

"And in case you forgot it was just sex and I called that off. You aren't my type. Yeah, she's popular, but she's sweet and caring. She isn't an asshole like the rest of them. Do you think I'm stupid? I'm not being used or being treated as a joke. She and I have something and I don't care if others don't see it. I like her and she likes me. You and I were nothing and will never be anything. Now leave me the fuck alone and keep her name out of your mouth." Eddie spat, turning around to walk into the classroom.

Britton was fuming, her eyes glaring as his body disappeared into the room. At one point, Eddie did like her, and she was the main attraction in his life. Now he's blinded but she had a plan to get him to see clearly again.

~~~

Y/N rocked on her feet as she waited for Eddie outside of the school. She changed out of her uniform and into a pink dress. Her white sneakers scrape rocks back and forth. She was nervous but relieved that Eddie asked her out. She loved talking to him and hanging out with him. And she was worried he'd only want to be friends and she'd be the only one with a crush. But the feelings were mutual and she couldn't wait for their first date.

She checked her watch as she waited. She knew Eddie's campaign could go longer so she wasn't worried. She took out her pocket mirror and reapplied her lip gloss, when she closed the mirror she jumped as she saw a girl standing there.

"Oh hi!" She greeted, trying to recover from her frightened state. She wasn't sure who she was but she knew she was a friend of Eddie's. She's seen her walking around with him countless times.

"Hi! I just wanted to talk to you about Eddie. Girl to girl, I can't let him do this to you. It's too unfair." Britton pouted, faking a sweetness in her voice as she went to grab Y/N's hands.

"Um, what?" Y/N asked, now growing nervous as the girl looked at her with pity.

"You see, Eddie and I used to have sex all the time. Then he asked for a relationship and I just wasn't ready. He was so broken up about it, so much that he never brought it up. But I can tell what he's doing. He's just using you to make me jealous, sweetie. Look at us, you are the exact opposite of me. If he likes me, why would he like you? And I'm so sorry he'd do that to you." Britton patted Y/N's hands. That same fake pout on her face as she watched her words hit Y/N where it hurt.

"But...but how do you know? Maybe he just moved on." Y/N tried to defend him. Not wanting to believe Eddie was that shallow and would use her like that.

"We made out an hour ago." Britton shrugged, a smirk on her face as Y/N took the bait. Y/N removed her hands from Britton's a pained smile on her face.

"Thank you for letting me know," Y/N said, quickly racing to her car as she dug for her keys.

Britton stood proudly as she watched the cheerleader race into her car. A smirk on her face as she watched Y/N wipe her eyes and pull out of the parking lot.

~~~

Eddie threw his hellfire shirt into his backpack as he finished changing. He walked out to the parking lot with his keys dangling on his fingers. He looked around to see where Y/N was waiting but he saw no one. The lot was empty except for his van. He felt disappointed but he knew her. She probably had an emergency, and she'd call.

But when Eddie got home, he received no messages and no calls. He didn't hear a word from her. Was Britton right? Eddie didn't want to believe so. He liked Y/N and he wanted to hold on to the hope that something just came up.

But then he didn't hear from her the whole weekend. Even when he called her, he received nothing.

When Monday came around, he kept his eye out for her. Hoping he'd have a chance to pull her aside and ask her what happened.

"How was date night?" Britton asked, a small smirk on her face as Eddie visibly deflated.

"Got stood up." He mumbled, embarrassed to admit Britton had been right.

"Shit, Eddie. I'm sorry." She said, her eyes looking behind him to see Y/N watching from afar.

Britton quickly wrapped Eddie in her arms, hugging him as she whispered in his ear, a smirk on her face.

Y/N felt her stomach turn seeing Eddie and Britton wrapped up in each other. The smirk on Britton's face gave Y/N a tiny insight into what she was whispering in his ear. She swallowed the lump in her throat when Britton kissed Eddie's cheek.

It was true. She was a game piece.

"Thanks," Eddie said, pulling himself away from Britton. He hated to admit it, but all the popular kids were the same.

~~~

Eddie couldn't get a second with her. Once he found her, she went in the other direction. She ignored him as he yelled her name over and over. She's never been so distant with him and it killed him. He hated the giggles from the other students when they'd watch her completely ignore him. He was being made fun of again, and it was because of her. Because she stood him up because she ran away, and because she refused to acknowledge him. Everything he believed she was wasn't real.

~~~

A few days passed and neither spoke. She was still hurt by his actions and he was pissed at her. She tried to ignore the sting she felt every single time she saw Britton and Eddie together. They were always together, even more now that she was out of the picture. It seemed like Eddie's jealous plan worked.

Eddie still felt anger towards Y/N. Glaring whenever he saw her walk by. She was a coward and Eddie hated her for it. He deserved answers and he deserved an explanation. But she wasn't going to give it to him.

~~~

The winter dance was coming up and Eddie was nervous. The school offered little snowflake flowers to send to someone in the school. Eddie ordered one for Y/N before their falling out and now he wished he never bought it.

Y/N was reviewing her notes when a bouquet with snowflakes was placed in front of her. She looked up confused as the student walked away. She grabbed the bouquet, a small smile on her face. She'd never received something like that before. But her smile fell when she saw who it was from...Eddie Munson.

Eddie was smashing books in his locker when the door was slammed on him. He jumped back as his fingers barely made it out alive.

"THE HELL!" he yelled, looking to see Y/N standing there, holding the flowers and a pissed-off look. He matched her look, glaring at her.

"Your little jealous plan worked, so leave me the fuck alone." She spat, shoving the flowers in his chest, bashing her shoulder into his as she walked past him. But Eddie was confused about what she was pissed about, and what plan. He clenched the flowers as he followed her.

"Nah uh, missy." He growled, catching her elbow as he turned her around. She snatched her arm away, crossing them as she snarled in his direction.

"Now when someone gets you flowers, the nice thing to do is say thank you," Eddie mocked, a smirk on his face as he watched her growl. "And what the fuck are you pissed about? I should be the one pissed off. Which I am!"

"You? Why in the hell would you be mad? You got everything you wanted. I'm pissed off because you hurt me and used me like I meant nothing." Eddie watched as her hard expression broke down. A look of vulnerability crossed her face.

"What are you talking about? You stood me up and then refused to talk to me. You acted like I didn't exist in your preppy little world." Eddie scoffed. He refused to let her guilt trip him. No matter how sad her pretty eyes looked.

"I stood you up because Britton told me everything!" She snapped, her eyes hard again mentioning Britton. Eddie felt his body stiffen. His jaw tight and his teeth clenched.

"What did she tell you?" He said through his teeth. He was even more pissed and not toward Y/N anymore.

"You guys had a fling and you wanted more. She said no and you used me to make her jealous. Well congratulations Eddie, you got your girl." She smiled as she turned around but Eddie stopped her again.

"She lied! It was the other way around. I never liked her like that and she wanted a relationship. I called it off when we started talking. I didn't want anyone else but you. She's been trying to get me to forget you for months. But she won't be able to. You are all I think about and all I want to talk about. I love spending time with you and I was so excited to go on that date. I love being friends with you but fuck I want so much more with you." Eddie explained, praying to anyone listening that she'd believe him. "You have to believe me." He pleaded.

"I don't know, Eddie..." she trailed off but Eddie refused. He flung himself to his knees, the flowers in his hands as he looked up at her.

"Eddie, what are you doing!" She panicked as the bell rang. A flood of students made their way through the halls, and froze as they saw Eddie on his knees.

"Get up, people are looking." She spazzed, trying to yank him up but he refused.

"I am sorry for everything and for the shit, she said to you. I really like you and I want to give us a fair shot. I'm on my knees, begging for you to believe me, and to ask, Y/N will you be my date to the dance?" He dramatically gave his speech, his voice echoing through the halls for every student to hear. She found herself laughing at his ridiculousness.

She pretended to think, the students circling around them.

"PLEASE Y/N PLEASE," he begged, shouting with a smile as she laughed down at him.

"YES! Okay now stand up!" She giggled, Eddie smiled as he jumped back up to his feet. Handing the flowers over to her as she happily accepted it this time.

"NOTHING TO SEE MOVE ALONG!" he shouted, the students going their own ways as Eddie smiled at her.

"You won't regret it." Eddie promised

"Better not, Munson." She smiled, kissing his cheek as she excused herself to walk to class. She looked over her shoulder to smile at him one more time.

Tags!

@bmunson86 @mxcheese @ladymunson @michaelfuckinglangdon @z0mbie-blah @biittersweet @mirrorsstuff @somethingvicked @micheledawn1975 @ago-godance @magnificantmermaid @tlclick73 @hargrovesswifee @cityofidek @manyfandomsfanvergentreblogs @silky-luxe @lokiofasgard616 @loving-and-dreaming @eddiemunsonsbitch69 @thegemaqua @ashlynnkennedy @strangerthingsstories5255 @harringt8ns @pleasinghellfire @whoscamila @stusdollface93

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie stranger things #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson request #eddie munson angst #eddie munson angst x reader #eddie munson fluff x reader #eddie munson x cheerleader!reader #eddie munson angst to fluff #ashwhowrites

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cyyfics · 8 months

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Hello! May I please request some SFW headcanons for both Simon and the Winter King with a feminine and girly S/O?

—————

Girly S/O Hc’s

Pairing: Simon x reader x Winter King

Warning(s): None!!! Yay!!!!

Note: I hope I did this right aaaaaaaa

Mainly just did some of the ‘girly stuff’ (I consider girly stuff) that I do basically

IM SRRY ITS A BIT SHORT I didn’t rlly know what to write hhhhhh

—————

Simon

- he loves seeing the outfits you wear, he likes how some of your high heels make your legs look longer, he likes how when you wear frilly skirts you twirl around so it moves with you.

- he likes watching you put makeup on, he can’t understand how you’re able to do it. Until maybe you force him to let you try it on him. He doesn’t enjoy it, hates the feeling of all the brushes and powders and liquids put onto his face but he doesn’t say much “I think some of it got in my mouth.” But in the end he’s feeling real pretty.

- does not enjoy it when you wear lip gloss, yes he finds you absolutely gorgeous. But he hates the feeling when you kiss him, leaving sticky prints on his skin. Not in a bad way though, most times you wear it you kiss him just to annoy him.

- he will talk with you and keep you company while you do things, wether you’re sitting at a mirror putting on your makeup or you’re by a power point trying to blow dry your hair. He will be there hanging out with you, maybe helping you if you ask for something.

- I’d say that you force him to watch silly chick flicks with you, but it’s honestly the other way around. No one would expect but he’s really into those movies, and it just helps that you are too! You two love to cuddle and lay together on the couch watching mainly 2000’s girl movies or romcoms.

Winter King

- he will buy you clothes. If he can. if he has the money to do so I assure you that he would buy you whatever you wanted from the store, even if your eyes just linger for a moment too long at something he would be buying it for you.

- He likes it when you kiss him and leave prints all over his skin, either on his cheek or smudged onto his lips, he loves it. he likes other people seeing him afterwards and having them know that you two shared a kiss, that he was yours.

- He will straighten/curl your hair for you if you ask him to, even if you don’t he will still be there with you while you do it. I feel like he could do something to help your hair with the heat of the iron damaging your hair, but I’m not sure how to describe it. Something to do with his ice powers.

- he cleans your pillow for you when you’re out of bed. He will be picking up each strand of hair and will be disposing of it before the two of you go to bed again.

- he loves seeing the makeup looks you can do, he finds it amazing- beautiful, wonderful, he can’t just use words to describe it. He finds it very artsy.

- he will at some point attempt to help you with your makeup and he will fail. Somehow.

#fionna and cake #send requests #adventure time #fionna and cake x reader #adventure time x reader #send asks #anon ask #simon petrikov x reader #simon petrikov #winter king #winter king x reader

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powderblueblood · 5 months

Text

HELLFIRE & ICE — eddie munson x f!oc as enemies to star-crossed lovers

CHAPTER FIVE — CHEERLEADERS MAKE BAD NEIGHBORS

PREVIOUS | MASTERLIST | NEXT

summary: after you get kicked off the cheerleading squad by an enraged tina, you're stranded in a rainstorm of biblical proprtions- and the only safe haven is eddie munson's trailer. fuck. content warnings: MINORS DNI I'M NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT HAPPENS TO YOU HERE- male masturbation, sexualized language, some mild objectification, cursing, smoking, drinking, drug mention, reader backstory (i do it for the plot the plot the plot), steve harrington cameo, reader is a pretentious bitch word count: 10.1k

Dear reader, Joan Didion said something because Joan Didion is always saying something. Particularly to me. She comes at me hard, smacking me in the back of the head with perfect clarity and I have not gotten around to not resenting her for it yet.

‘I think we are well advised to keep on nodding terms with the people we used to be, whether we find them attractive company or not.’

Joan Didion probably did not have to stay on nodding terms with a girl she used to be in order to score a cheerleading scholarship because her family blitzed her college fund on ill-chosen legal advice.

But she’s got a point.

You remember that day with perfect clarity.

Middle school had been a lesson in elocution, thanks to your then-best friend Phoebe’s older sister Casey. Phoebe was a relic of your former life– a bookish indoor kid with Coke bottle glasses, a slight stammer and a distinct lack of style. Despite this, you loved Phoebe and she loved you. But more than that, more than anything, you loved that Phoebe had an older sister.

A cool older sister.

Casey was popular in the best way, which is to say that she wasn’t showy about it but she wasn’t humble either. By recognizing the power of being hot and likeable, she knew nothing could ever touch her.

You wanted to be just like that.

You remember the first time Casey told you you’ve got potential. Her hand-me-downs were a little too big for Phoebe, because Casey had boobs and Phoebe’s hadn’t come in yet. Even as a pre-teen, you knew an opportunity when you saw it. Can I try that top? And you did, flipping your hair and adjusting yourself in the mirror just like you’d watched Casey do a hundred times, sitting on her bedroom floor and soaking up her knowledge while Phoebe moaned and sulked about being bored.

Check you out, hot stuff, Casey had smirked, but not in a way where you felt stupid. You’ve got potential.

The shirt didn’t feel entirely right on you, but the way Casey regarded you did.

Fast forward– your first day of freshman year. You were in the parking lot, stepping out of the passenger side of Casey’s car. Phoebe slid out of the back seat, shoulders slumped forward. You were dressed in an outfit that you and Casey spent hours agonizing over the night before–first impressions are everything, girl–while, again, Phoebe looked on glaring.

Come meet some of the crew, Casey said, pointedly to you and not to Phoebe.

Hey– I thought were were going to find our homerooms together, Phoebe protested, grabbing you by the elbow. She knew she wasn’t invited. And she didn’t care– she’d never cared for Casey and her ‘airhead ways’, as she so derisively called them.

Yeah, girl! you affirmed, a note-perfect impression of her older sister. Phoebe’s big eyes flared with disbelief. You’d spent junior high carefully studying Casey’s every movement, absorbing and adopting her behaviors as your own. Stella Adler would have loved your ass. Don’t worry about it. I’ll catch up with you later, ‘kay?

Make a move, freshman! Casey yelled, and you came trotting after her. There would be no catching up later, and you knew that. You bit back the sinking in your stomach with a Bonne Bell-glossed smile.

Look, I love my sister, Casey murmured, but I’m glad that you’re my little freshman experiment, ‘kay? You are way more fun that Phoebs and her goddamn library card.

You nodded, wordlessly grateful. Way more fun. The older girl confiding in you like this made you feel warm, included, grown-up. But not quite so grown-up that you remembered to watch where you were going– the laces of your left Chuck Taylor All-Stars came undone, sending you tripping– tripping–

Oof! Right into the muscular arms of Steve Harrington. Steve Harrington and his autumn colored eyes, his swathe of hair that seemed to grow more voluminous the more girls he flirted with, his shock of grown-up cologne and his perfect, perfect, perfect smile.

But it wasn’t just Steve Harrington. It was also all the surrounding popular kids that had already made a name for themselves coming up alongside you in middle school–Tina, Carol and her boyfriend Tommy Hagan–mingling with the older kids.

You okay? Steve asked, his voice all breathy and cute the way boys voices are when they’re halfway making fun of you.

Uh-huh, you nodded, lashes fluttering like crazy as you wracked your brain for something smart to say.

Let me help you out here.

Then Steve did something you never thought possible, something right out of your daydreams. He got down on one knee and started to re-tie your shoe.

Better watch yourself, Lacy, he said, tightening the bunny ears, gazing right up at you, Wiping out on the first day is not a good look.

Lacy. Lacy. Your heartbeat quickened at the nickname, hammering like hummingbird wings. It was the greatest thing you’d ever heard– it makes you feel fresh. New. Seen for the first time. Seen by Steve Harrington for the first time.

Can you blame me? you said before you knew you were saying it; a common occurrence with you, You’re just too easy to fall for, Harrington.

You drawled out too easy like you’re making fun of him, which of course you weren’t, because he’s Steve Harrington and you would never– but it earned some warm guffaws from the surrounding kids and a little ugh, please, from Tommy Hagan.

Hagan’s something else. Hagan’s hated you since day dot, and you him. You remember his merciless teasing of some kid during Nancy Wheeler’s thirteenth birthday party, the last boy-girl party of your middle school careers, goading that they were too chicken to go into the closet with you for Seven Minutes in Heaven.

Steve grinned at you, eyebrows quirking upward. A fizzing feeling ran through your sternum and you felt like you might faint. Casey threw an arm around your shoulder, a magnet for attention. Well, it looks like some of you already know my little Lacy! You guys better be fuckin’ cool to her, okay, or else you’ve got me to answer to.

You smiled up at her, the older sister you’d always prayed for, and she looked impressed with you. That’s all you wanted. That’s all you craved. That, and for Steve Harrington and everybody else to never quit calling you Lacy.

And they didn’t.

Everything you’d gleaned from Casey equipped you to cruise through freshman year with no speedbumps, no checkpoints– you knew exactly how to wear your hair, how to flirt, how not to flirt, what not to eat, who not to be seen with… and even better than that, these people really took a shine to you. The girls especially.

Hawkins isn’t kind to teenage girls. It’s heavy with passive-aggressive Midwestern sensibility, with all the backwards, misogynistic attitude that comes along with that. It’s not overt, it’s insidious. It makes sense that these girls were scared. Few women make it out of here, and look at the ones that don’t. Their mothers. Your mother.

But what was even scarier was to want something more. To strive for better and be met with the begrudgery of your attempt. To think about life outside the snowglobe of this wicked little town.

That's the thing with wanting. It doesn’t leave you alone. It gnaws at you while you zone out in the cafeteria, churning around with the half fat yogurt in your stomach. It finds you in the middle of the night, awake on the floor of your friend Carol’s room after an evening of pounding secret wine coolers and picking apart the rest of the Hawkins student body for their flaws and faults, looking around at your friends and thinking,

God, I fucking hate these people. God, I’ve got to get out.

And you were working on it. Like a motherfucker, you were working on it– perfect grades, perfect attendance, the perfect extracurriculars in an excruciating balancing act with your demanding social life. Keep your record spotless and you could fly the coop to any college you wanted.

One such extracurricular was–is cheerleading. And god, you were great. You’re a flyer, one of the shining, pretty faces responsible for revving up the Hawkins Tigers and their adoring fans. Given your propensity for perfectionism, it’s an obvious position for you. Tina, the reigning captain of the cheer squad, had even taken you under her wing and spit shined up your back handsprings when you tried out as a freshman. Tina had a prior career as a child gymnast, making her a shoo-in for the title come senior year. And here she is now, hollering you all into formation.

It’s Thursday, and it’s still the week from hell. You had almost forgot about cheer practice, but here you are, in your green and white and gold, ponytail too tight and bruise fading out. The tension between you and Tina casts a thick haze over the gym, the other, less-clued-in members of the squad not exactly knowing where to look.

It probably wasn’t fair, outing Tina and her indiscretion with Hagan like that. But you felt like a cornered animal. It was all you could do, after all of them subtly chipping away at you for weeks when you’d done nothing but be there for them. Wiped their tears.

Bought their crabs lotion, in Tina’s case.

“Sloppy, Lacy! Again!” She’s drilling you like you’ve never been drilled before. Each twist and flip you perform, she finds something wrong with it– and you can’t even tell her she’s wrong. You have gotten sloppy, because your head’s not in the game. While cheerleading was a social and athletic high at one time, it wasn’t high on your list of priorities right now. Dismounting your bases and tugging your ponytail ever tighter over your skull, you stalk towards her.

“Alright, Tina!” you yell, bubbling over with frustration. “How about you just drop the Russian gym coach bit and tell me what I’m doing wrong? Or is yelling at me all you got?”

She does her best attempt at a withering glare. You can’t help but think it looks like something she learned from you. “How about I show you instead?”

Tina shoulder checks you, hard, and calls to one of the underclassmen. A mousy sophomore with sandy bangs and blazing Bambi eyes. This kid looks terrified, and knowing Tina’s reputation, she should be. “Cunningham! You’re up!”

Chrissy Cunningham. Right. Heir to the throne of Hawkins High. You don’t think you’ve heard her speak more than a couple of words and most of those have been in response to her Aryan meathead boyfriend, Jason Carver.

But for what Cunningham lacks in vocal force, she makes up for in aerodynamics. This girl makes a basket toss look like ballet, ponytail pirouetting as she lands in the bases’ arms. Every move, faultless. She’s locked in.

“That is what I want. What I don’t want, Lacy, is a flyer that looks like she’s losing control of her rectum mid-toss,” Tina hollers. “We all know how crucial this weekend is. Not just for us, but for the Tigers, too. Right? So that means the last thing we need is dead weight dragging us down.” She locks her laserlike stare on you. “Right?”

The squad mumbles in the affirmative. Chrissy Cunningham visibly gulps.

And you? A knife slices right through you, cold and exacting. You almost gag, trying to swallow through your thickening throat. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“You tell me, Lace. You’re the one that knows everything.”

You don’t waste a second of time trying to counter-argue, because you can’t be sure it won’t end in your limbs flailing, trying to smash Tina’s head against the waxed floorboards of the gym. Instead, you grab your bag. You give the squad a grimacing nod and head to heave the double doors open.

The sound of your sneakers squeaking against the linoleum floor makes you want to tear your shoes off and throw them through a window, just to watch the glass shatter.

You really never thought of yourself as a violent person, not until– everything happened.

But now, god, now you just want to punch and tear and rip everything apart. This slow burn of your social status, your friends, your tether to reality as you know it slipping away is torturous. You’d rather burn it all up than let it swallow you whole.

Standing on the front steps of the school, your eyes automatically dart to the parking lot.

It’s not there. He’s not there.

And why would he be? you think, starting in the direction of the trailer park. You hadn’t spoken to him since that day in the record store, leaving him hanging with his hands behind his back and his mouth in that grin.

There was a reason for that. Call it post-high clarity or something else, but you knew right then you needed to focus the fuck up. Quit acting out because of your daddy’s mistakes and prove all of these shitheels wrong once and for all.

Blend in. Stop causing trouble. Fall in line and study hard and cheer harder and get the hell out of dodge once you get your hands on that high school diploma. By whatever means necessary. Those means really did not include hanging out with Eddie Munson for even a second longer than you already had.

–which is a nice thought and all, but Tina really shit all over that one with this shedding the dead weight move.

The clouds above you carry the most pathetic of pathetic fallacies, gray and pregnant with rain that starts to hit you square on the crown of your head in fat, heavy drops. You’re still fifteen minutes from the trailer park, at least, and you don’t have a raincoat. You don’t have an umbrella. And you don’t fucking care.

You stomp up the dirt drive leading into Forest Hills, the pleats of your green skirt heavy with water, your cheerleader’s cardigan weighing down your shoulders. Your white knee-high socks are flecked with mud and getting dirtier with every sloppy step. And the rain, the relentless relentless rain, is streaming into your eyes, streaming mascara with it.

You gasp against the cold of the downpour as you approach your trailer– and a glowing yellow light catches in your peripheral vision. His bedroom, the one you can see into from your bedroom. Though you try not to look. And sometimes you fail.

You don’t see much, when you do look. It’s mostly his hunching figure, bent over his guitar or some binder or book or map or figurine. But he always seems calmer, the frenetic energy he wears around like chainmail finally falling to the floor. Watching him like that makes you want to breathe a sigh of relief right along with him, just to see if you’d feel similarly. Calmer.

Calm is not how you feel right now, wiping the rain from your face as you dig in your bag for your keys. Once, twice, thrice they slip out of your hands, and on the fourth try, you finally get them in the door. And then– the key strains in the lock. Come on. This door has always been unnecessarily sticky, but this wasn’t really the time– you push and you push the silver key to the left with no give.

Was your mom in there? Had she left her key in the door by accident before she went on another overnighter with Prince Valium? “Mom! Mom!” you yell, hammering on the door. No dice. You pull at the key again, and pull and pull and–

Snap.

You shudder, a full body shake that’s only partially down to the rainwater that’s soaked you right to the bone marrow. The key has snapped off in the lock, leaving you standing there with a useless silver nub.

“Fuck!” you holler, “Fuckfuckfuckfuck fuck! Fucking–shit!”

Your fists go straight to the side of the trailer, banging one after the other against the metallic veneer. You don’t care that it hurts your knuckles, you want it to dent or crack or something, you want to not feel so impotent and fucking useless, but here you are!

“Hey! Asshole!”

Your head whips around, heavy, sodden ponytail smacking you in the face.

Eddie Munson is leaning out his bedroom window, barely visible through the downpour.

“Keep it down! You’re in a residential goddamn area!” He’s not smiling that shiteating smile. He’s not even grinning. He’s just glowering at you, which is the look you’re most accustomed to seeing him wear. Even so, it feels– it feels– it makes you feel worse.

“Fuck you!” you scream across to him, “Who died and made you the fucking neighborhood watch?!”

“Go inside, you lunatic!”

“My fucking– my key broke off, dickhead!”

That makes his brow loosen a little bit. You just stand there, gasping in the rain. And then he disappears from the window–

–only to fling open the front door of his trailer.

“Come on,” he grumbles, massaging the space between his eyebrows like he can’t believe what he’s fucking doing.

“No.”

“What? Cut the shit, Lacy, come inside.”

“No! I don’t want to!”

Munson’s face opens up in an expression of sheer incredulity– and you partially can’t believe yourself either. What is it about him that just makes you shove and shove and shove, unable to let him win– or in this case, unable to let him help?

“Fine! Fucking drown out there for all I care!” The trailer door slams.

Your teeth have started to chatter, and your options from here on out are… walk or hitch your way back to town and drag your sodden ass somewhere there’s a phone where you then call your mom and pray she’ll pick up (she won’t) and tell her about the lock and try to tell her about the cheerleading squad and pray she’ll understand how upset you are (she won’t) and how much of an awful spiral this whole year has become and it’s not even Christmas yet and–

The trailer door swings back open.

Eddie Munson comes stalking out into the rain, white Reeboks splattering mud everywhere. He’s wearing that shirt from his Dungeons and Dragons club, the one with the big fucking smug Satan splayed across it and you wonder, did he model that after himself?

“What’s your fucking problem?” he asks, point blank. It feels like he’s aiming something at you.

“I’m having a shitty fucking day!” you scream in response, making that dog belonging to that red headed kid sister of Billy Hargrove’s yap somewhere in the distance. “And I keep telling you, I don’t need your fucking–”

“Help? Right!” he scoffs, loud and indignant, crossing his arms across his chest. The fabric of the ringer tee is changing color before your eyes, clinging to him. “You don’t need my help yet you always take it, you don’t wanna be seen with me yet you end up at my lunch table, in my van, smoking my weed– you know, it may shock you but I’m not exactly thrilled to be seen with you either, Lacy! I mean, playing chauffeur to a grade A certified bitch that wouldn’t give me the time of day unless she was desperate? Who stood by and let her shitty friends, who aren’t even her friends anymore, make mine and my friends’ life a living hell for how many years? What kind of an asshole does that make me? How pathetic is that?”

The way he spits the word bitch– it was different from the way he said it in the record store. There, it felt like a come-on. A compliment. Here, it feels like a curse. But oh, he doesn’t stop there! You are rooted to the spot, an unmoving target for his justified rage.

“You can’t even play ignorant, y’know, because I’ve seen you. You’re smarter than them. You know how godawful those people are–Harrington, Carver, Carol, fucking Hagan worst of all–and you just let ‘em run. Because you needed that status, you needed to be the most evil fucking twat at the twat table, and for what? They left you, Lacy! They all left you!”

You’re not sure at what point in his speech you started sobbing but at its crescendo, you yelp. It’s a high, pathetic sound you wish you could stuff back inside your throat and hopefully choke yourself with. See, you know all these things. You’ve told them to yourself in your most honest moments, of which there are not many, but having Eddie Munson lay them out for you in the pouring rain– it’s horrible. You’re horrible.

Eddie’s arms move from where they were bound on his chest. Okay, that was an outburst, sure, but he didn’t mean to make you cry. And you’re like, really crying. He can’t stand it when girls cry, and you, in particular–you, having never displayed much emotion beyond bemusement and annoyance and mild disgust toward him–is especially frightening.

And then you let out this scream. It comes right from the center of your chest, rumbling and primal and visceral and real. It’s a real noise, not one you put careful, curative thought into, tuning it just right before you let it out. Because in this instance, he’s right! You’ve worked so hard, and for what! For fucking nothing! For it to blow up in your face! So you let out another howl– and it feels so, so good. A feeling of satisfaction, more than a feeling of relief–

–so Eddie screams too. God, that feels fantastic.

His is heavier than yours, obviously, because he’s a guy and he probably screams as a hobby in whatever metal band he supposedly plays in. But you like that sound. You like the way it seems to ring off the exteriors of the trailer, ricocheting around like a pinball in its machine.

A couple more painful sobs escape you, and Eddie’s taking tentative steps toward you, like you’re a snarling animal he’s trying to coax.

In ways, you are, but that’s because you feel hunted. You have to blink, through tears and through rain, but you see that his shirt is so soaked that it’s see-through. You can see a vague suggestion of a tattoo on his chest. You see that he’s fighting a smile.

This is so stupid. This is so ridiculous, that you could make a noise like that and completely short circuit the white hot anger he was spewing at you.

“Come inside,” he breathes, a little less than a foot of space between you, “You lunatic.”

Your head, so heavy on your neck, so heavy from crying, so heavy from carrying your spiteful brain around, falls against his chest.

“Uhh…” Eddie mumbles, hands hovering behind your back, not sure if he’s supposed to embrace you or if you’re about to rip his heart out of his chest. Either could be true.

You know what you’d prefer.

You’re positive he doesn’t here you exhale into his chest, into the mouth of the cartoon Satan, into the thrum of his jumping heartbeat. Sorry. I’m really… I’m so sorry.

“Hey,” he murmurs, “hey. Shit.” His hand finally rests in between your shoulder blades. You let him guide you inside, and he even picks up the book bag you had thrown in the mud. You reach, try to grab it from him, but he yanks it out of your grasp. Half teasing, half assuring you that it’s okay.

A squeaky, squelching silence settles between you two as you stand in his doorway. You’re creating a puddle near some old work boots. You wonder if they’re his– you’ve never seen him not wear those Reeboks.

“So… welcome,” he cringes, emitting a pitchy, awkward laugh. You follow him through to the kitchenette, which is identical to your kitchenette, except every surface is not covered in legal correspondence or empty wine bottles or too-expensive tchotchkes. The light in here seems dimmer, warmer. There’s a distinct aroma of stale cigarette smoke and old coffee, which you breathe in deep. “Sorry for the mess–”

“It’s fine. It’s good mess,” you say, a little distant. You peer around the place like you’re in a gallery.

“Good mess?” he queries, crossing to the kitchen sink where he attempts to wring his shirt out by hand– still wearing it.

“Lived-in mess,” you say. What you mean is, it doesn’t look like a mausoleum of a life someone left behind. A storage locker. A haphazard sarcophagus. Before you moved to the trailer, your house was so clean– that was a whole other problem. The same tchotchkes that are scattered on your counter were kept behind glass, only touched when your mother polished them, the only housework she ever did. You stare at a collection of trucker hats nailed along the living room wall, the shelf of novelty mugs that accompanies them.

“Living in mess? What is that, like living in filth? You better start showing this fine abode some respect before–”

“Lived. In. Munson, I said, lived in if you would just listen– it’s good, it’s fine. It’s n-nice.”

It’s warm in the trailer, you can tell, but you’re shivering. You bear down in your body, jaw all set so your teeth don’t start chattering again, but he hears it in your voice.

“Uh-oh,” he says, somehow not at all betraying any signs of being out in the freezing rain except for being entirely soaked. You bet his skin is still running hot, like you felt through his shirt, like you felt grabbing his wrist. “Star cheerleader’s coming down with a case of hypothermia. Right before the big game!”

He slaps his hands to his cheeks in mock horror.

“I’m–” you’re about to tell him a couple things; one, that you’re fine which would be stupid, because you are so clearly not fine; two, you’re not the star cheerleader anymore; and a third, forgotten thing. “--cold,” is what you settle on. It sounds small, vulnerable.

Eddie holds his breath for a second. You sound so delicate. Hard, terrible you.

“No, sure, of course you are,” he fumbles. The way his wet hair has flattened to his skull makes him look younger– exposing a nervous boy behind the metalhead posturing. “You can– take a shower. If you want. To warm up.”

Take a shower. In Eddie Munson’s trailer. Your eyelids flutter closed, taking on their own vibrations from the wracking of your body. This is a hell of my own making. “Yes. Sure. Thank you.”

“I can also,” he starts, crossing the kitchen again and knocking something over on his way– it just clatters to the floor, whatever it was, and he lets it, like he’s used to leaving crashing sounds in his wake. “I can take your clothes if you want. Put ‘em in the washer.”

You hesitate a beat, then follow him down a hallway.

“I probably have something you can wear,” he says. There’s a note in his tone that’s high and nervous. “You’re for sure gonna hate it, but hey– beats freezing to death.”

“Just barely,” you murmur.

“Huh?”

“This, uh– this is dry-clean only,” you correct yourself, gesturing to the uniform.

He rolls his eyes. “Of course. Only the best for the pom-pom shakers.”

He ducks into a room that must be his bedroom, but you don’t follow him. Instead, you linger in the hallway, near the dingy bathroom, staring at the corn themed wall calendar. Going into his bedroom feels too personal– too intimate, as if preparing to take a shower in Eddie Munson’s trailer only to change into his clothes isn’t intimate.

“I figured,” he says, emerging from the bedroom with clothes and a towel in hand, “since you like all that rinky-dinky-tinkly garbage, you wouldn’t hate wearing a Stooges shirt.”

“I–” the shirt is soft under your wrinkled fingers, as are the boxers he passes off to you. Boxers. You hold them up between your forefinger and thumb, stepping into the bathroom. “These are clean, right?”

Eddie stares at you for a second– then leans his head into the bathroom and shakes his sopping locks at you, just like a dog. You let out a shriek that he thinks almost sounds like an involuntary giggle. I’ll take it.

“No comment!” And he slams the door on you.

Then you’re standing. In Eddie Munson’s trailer. In Eddie Munson’s bathroom. Holding his old Stooges shirt and his boxers, with mascara running down your face.

You pinch yourself, hard, just in case.

The shower heats up quick–quicker than yours, you notice–and you rest your head against the tile as the steam swirls up around you. This is so weird. This is so fucking weird, and you can’t scrub away the weirdness fast enough. There’s not enough Irish Spring in the world. You reach into the shower caddy to replace the bottle and notice something familiar– wait, that’s–

Wait.

Do you and Eddie Munson use the same brand of shampoo?

You had to switch from your favorite to the best that the Big Buy had to offer, given the change in your personal means, and this was the top score in terms of quality. Eddie Munson apparently agrees– but better yet, you realize as a grin spreads across your face, Munson uses women’s shampoo.

It’s nice to have a fresh piece of arsenal to aim at him once you get out of the shower.

Toweling off and changing, you do give the boxers a wary sniff before you put them on– but luckily, they smell like generic detergent and aren’t stiff in any way. So you slide them on.

They fit snugly– naturally, given he’s all sinewy and you have hips. He is really sinewy, now that you think about it.

His wrist wasn’t bony, but it was active. Tendons flexing under the thin, soaked layer of his shirt. You wonder, absently, was that a tattoo you saw. What is it. What does it look like. Is it shitty. It’s his, so it’s probably shitty, but I want to see it. Does he have any more.

You shiver, slipping the Stooges t-shirt on, and blame your hardening nipples on the cold.

The cheer outfit is another problem. You emerge from the bathroom, clutching the still-sodden uniform with Eddie’s– Munson’s towel thrown over your shoulder.

“Do you have, like, a garbage bag or something?” you ask, eyes rising to look at him where he stands in the doorframe of his room. He’s still in his soaked clothes.

He takes a second to answer you, and when he does, his voice is all thick. Avoiding eye contact.

“Suuure,” and he disappears and reappears with a plastic bag, quick as a blink.

“Thanks.” You dump the uniform, sneakers and all, into the bag and make for the door.

“Hey, it’s still raining–” his voice follows you, as if you hadn’t heard the raindrop gunshots hitting the trailer roof.

“Yup,” you say, popping the ‘p’. You yank Munson’s door open and fling the garbage bag outside. It lands squarely between your trailer and his.

Munson appears over your shoulder, looking out at the garbage bag. His face is twisted in confusion, concern, curiosity.

“I got kicked off,” you explain, plain as biscuits.

“Off the pom pom squad?” he whispers, eyes flaring in surprise that you think might actually be real. You’re looking at his lashes again, fanning around the almost-perfect circles of his eye sockets.

“The very same.”

“Escándalo. What happened?”

“How about you go and shower first,” you suggest, poking a finger into his chest. He makes a little breathy noise, a little ‘unh’, that you don’t… hate. “Can’t have the star dork of the make believe board game club catch his death, can we?”

“Anything happens to me and you’re the prime suspect, babe,” he grins and snaps the towel off your shoulder.

“Hey!”

“This is the last clean one. What am I, a fuckin’ Rockefeller?”

Christ, he wants to jerk off into this towel but he knows that’s weird. That’s perverted. That’s fucked up. That’s everything everyone says about him and that’s everything you make him feel.

So he strips, turns the hot water to scalding and furiously rubs one out down the drain. One, because he feels bizarre about leaving you alone among all of his things for too long and two, because hot water is in short supply.

And three, because he’s achingly rock hard at the sight of you in his boxers, tossing your cheerleading outfit into the mud and the wet.

The metaphors. The implications. The feeling of your forehead against his chest. The stab of your finger in his sternum.

He cums jaggedly, almost silently, with his mouth rammed against his forearm.

If you heard him– God, you’d be so nasty about it. God, he’d never live it down. God, he’d love to know what you’d say.

He makes damn quick work of sudsing up and rinsing down, wrapping a towel around his waist– only to run into you as he’s coming out of the bathroom.

You stare. You stare at him, and Eddie’s mouth goes dry, and all the blood drains away from his brain. Again.

“Stare much?” he sneers, but only just about. Because his first instinct is to drop the towel and give you an eyeful. See what you’d do– hopefully something with your mouth. God, he hopes it’d be something with your mouth.

“Where are your smokes?” you snap back. “I know you have some.”

“Kitchen. There’s probably–,” he needs you to stop looking at him like that; like you’re going to snap his neck, “--kitchen.”

Eddie slams his bedroom door and smacks his face with three quick strikes. “Come on, man! Get it together!”

Because it’s go time.

He has to formulate some kind of plan.

He hadn’t exactly thought ahead when he invited you inside–or, demanded you come inside–and since you now had no place to go and Wayne had specifically told him not to go near you and your boobs were stretching out his dad’s old Stooges t-shirt…

Christ.

He’s entirely, massively, completely at a loss. Eddie paces around the room like an animal in panic, grabbing a Scorpion shirt and some worn flannel pants as he goes.

“Like, I’m supposed to go out there and do what? Ask her to hang out? Fucking paint her nails, read Cosmo? Study?! Jesus!” he angrily mumbles to his reflection, tearing the towel away and tugging his t-shirt over his sopping hair. “Hey, Lacy, you wanna beer? Who am I, Steve fucking Harrington? Jesus, Jesus, Jesus Christ, dude!”

“Munson. Are you talking to me in there?” He hears your voice from a minute distance away– see, that’s the thing about trailers. Small space, thin walls, and Eddie Munson’s voice travels at super speed.

He stops, seizing, cringing, shoulders hitching up to his ears.

That was not enough time to formulate a plan.

Eddie, jankily tugging his pants on, sweeps out to the kitchenette area like something is chasing him and stops dead when he sees you. You haven’t trashed the place. You haven’t even tried to stick your head in the oven, two things he was kind of concerned about given the way you were wailing outside.

You’re standing in the middle of the room with your hip cocked out, smoking a stolen cigarette and studying his uncle’s trucker hat collection.

All the air in the room seems to orbit around you like a tornado in slow motion.

How is it that you make an old shirt and boxers look like a skirt set? How is it that you can be sobbing your lungs out one minute, then the picture of poise and sophistication the next?

All that air and none left for Eddie to take a breath.

“Hey, Lacy,” he strains, “you wanna beer?”

“What,” you purr– like, he’s so sure that you actually purr, “You mean you’re all out of Sancerre?”

He does not know what the hell that is, but he can only assume it’s some rich people bullshit– and he’s relieved. You’re mocking him. At least that’s some tether to normalcy. She’s baa-aack.

Eddie rolls his eyes, not entirely meaning it, but if he beams right at you he’s going to give the game away.

“Think fast!” He tosses a can of the cheapest beer available at the Big Buy your way and you just about catch it, hands above your head and the cigarette dangling out of your mouth like Keith Richards.

“God, Munson,” you mumble around the filter, “What kept you off the basketball team?”

“Half a brain and a big dick,” he smirks, cracking the pull top and snatching the soft pack of cigarettes you’d left on the countertop. You cross from the living room, propping yourself up on the counter stool in a fluid movement that can only be described as feline.

“Well, we sure can account for one of those things,” you say, ashing with your right hand and tapping at your temple with your left.

“And the other?” Eddie asks, voice dropping a mocking octave.

“I’d sooner drink arsenic than find out.”

He raises his beer can to you. “In that case, cheers!”

Your mouth twists around a smile and Eddie can see you’re fighting hard to keep it at bay. And that you’re losing. You tip your beer to your lips and he braces his elbows on the counter, looking around for a lighter. He spots a Bic, but the trigger won’t light it– just sparks, no flame.

“That thing’s dead,” you say, “I lit this off the toaster.”

“Oh! Right,” Eddie goes to turn, but something chilly snaps to his forearm. Your fingers. Damn. What is it with you? Circulation thing or what?

“Don’t do that,” you shake your head. “I don’t trust you not to burn the whole trailer down.”

“This is my trailer, y’know.”

“Yeah, and I’m in it. So burn it down on your own time.”

You motion for him to light his cigarette off the half-burned length of yours and Eddie tentatively places the filter between his lips. You prop yourself up on the stool, ass raised from the seat, leaning toward him. He leans in too and you cup that little hand with the perfectly painted fingers around the cigarettes. Like you’re whispering a secret. You look down, focusing on making fire, but Eddie’s eyes follow the tiny crease of your brow, the slope of your nose. The little wipe of mascara still underneath your eye.

Tips touch and Eddie inhales just as you do. The cherried ends of the smokes glow orange and you pull back and Eddie just stays there a moment, frozen with the now-lit ember hanging out of his mouth.

You pull back and inhale that smoke like one of those chicks from those black and white movies Wayne is always watching. You exhale all daintily, in one perfect clouding stream. You’re all– you’re so–...

“Fucked,” you groan, shoving the heels of your palms into your eyes. “I am so fucked.”

Eddie finally tugs the cigarette from his mouth, filter gone a little soft with the low-level salivating he’d been doing. “Oh. The cheerleader shit?”

“Yes, Munson. The cheerleader shit.”

“What happened, anyway?” He resumes the position of being elbow-up on the countertop, which incidentally brings him a little bit closer to you. Incidentally. “You crack some skulls this time?”

“Huh,” you chuckle emptily, “Almost. Um, Tina more or less took me out at the knees. Which, I understand of course. If I were her, I would have obliterated me, but–”

“You’re not her, and it doesn’t feel awesome to be on the other end of obliterated,” Eddie nods, giving you a squint-eyed pout of mock-sympathy. “Poor Lacy. Getting shitkicked by the consequences of her own actions.”

Thunk! You punch him in the shoulder, which hurts and he gasps, but it’s so funny and categorically unladylike coming from you. These little peals of violence that keep coming off you are a seemingly bottomless source of amusement for him.

She’s so funny-looking when she’s mad.

“Fuck off!” you bark, as if reading him like a goddamn horoscope, but there’s a glimmer to your narrowed stare. “I got replaced by a sophomore, as if I needed an insult topping on that injury shitshake.”

“Oh, she Old Yeller’d your ass!” Eddie gasps again, chuckling heartily, “Took you out back and–” He mimes blowing your brains right out, nailing you right through the forehead. You stare at him square, unimpressed. “Who usurped ya?”

“Chrissy Cunningham.”

Oh. Well, isn’t that interesting. Eddie’s lips flatten into a straight line and he makes a little mmh sound. And you pick up on that immediately, being that you’re annoyingly perceptive.

“Munson! Come on!”

“What? Whaaat? I didn’t say anything!”

“That’s a child.”

“That is a sophomore and you said so yourself. Besides…” he trails off, pointedly crushing the butt of his cigarette into the ashtray until it’s oversquished. “...we have history.”

If his cigarette extinguishing was pointed, yours is needle sharp with the way you crush it into the ashtray right next to the remnants of his.

“Go on,” you hum, just like you did in the van that last night. I really wanna know. It’s conspiratorial and intoxicating and makes it feel like you’re on his side, which you know he’s not but it’s so, so tasty to think that for a second you might be.

Is this how you make everyone feel? Lull ‘em into a false sense of security? Hoard your ammo and go apeshit later?

Eddie draws back, nearly congratulating himself for doing so. “That’s for me to know, and you to die ignorant.”

The way your lips pop open is almost too good, your little doll face turning to a mask of betrayal too quick for you to hide it. Too quick for you to be all like fine! Keep it to yourself! You’re both totally irrelevant anyway! or whatever other bitchy retort you’re bound to come up with.

“Wow. Well, if that holds any water, Carver’ll shit,” you start, sipping on your beer, “His little virgin Mary deflowered by the devil’s first alternate.”

“Hey, I never said–!” Fuck. Fuck! How do you do that! Eddie pinches his lips together as you smirk over the rim of the beer can, all stuck under your gaze. Fly in the spider’s web.

“A-ha,” you say, irritatingly smoothly. “So nothing happened. She’s just spank bank material.”

“Didn’t– say that either,” Eddie mumbles, mind going annoyingly blank under your rapid fire tearing and the inebriating way you’re delivering it. He hates this and he has no intention of telling you to stop. The duality of man.

“Didn’t not say that, though.”

“You oughta be a lawyer,” he tells you, swigging deep, “the way you find a loophole in everything.”

“The way you want me to get you off, you mean.”

You come out with that, something so incendiary, oh-so-casually and slip off your seat. She can’t just do that. You’re padding around the living room again, bare footed and small-looking, but Eddie’s staring at you like you’re a hand grenade with the pin missing that also has the secret to everlasting life inside. Terrified. Fascinated.

A little stiff.

“What?” he breathes, but doesn’t really want you to answer the question.

And you don’t, you just keep looking around the living room with your arms crossed over your chest. “You need money to be a lawyer, Munson. To go to law school. To go to any school. And I don’t have that. And I foolishly figured getting a cheerleading scholarship would be a cinch of a backup plan, and now I can’t do that either.”

“What are you looking for?” he asks, finally willing his dick down and his legs to work, rounding into the living room with you.

“Your, like… stereo, or record player, or something,” you murmur, smoothing down his boxers over your hips. “It’s too quiet in here.”

Eddie blinks. What should really happen is he should say, no, stay out here in the silence, you insolent wench. Think on your crimes. Reflect. Repent. Stop being such a bossy little ballbreaker and give my balls a break.

“Room. Uh– it’s in my room,” is what he says instead.

“‘kay,” is all you say with a little shrug of your shoulder, grabbing your can from the counter and padding down the hallway toward that same bedroom. His bedroom. Eddie Munson’s bedroom with his bed and his shit in it. “Let’s go.”

How irregular does your heartbeat have to get before you classify it as a cardiac event?

There’s only so many times you can flagellate yourself with the ol’ what the fuck are you doing thing before it becomes redundant.

Songs get overplayed, nail polish color gets overused, trends die. Things become redundant all the time, and you discard them.

The notion of what the fuck are you doing in Eddie Munson’s trailer in Eddie Munson’s boxers walking towards Eddie Munson’s bedroom has become redundant because you simply are doing all those things. Not much point in questioning them. The chips have fallen.

An eerie calm had come over you when he was in the shower and you were staring at all of these trucker hats on the wall– if the insanity is temporary, you might as well lean into it. You can’t go anywhere else. You’re trapped. Might as well get comfortable.

“God, this place is filthy, Munson.” You, with your arms still bound across your chest, toe a discarded t-shirt out of your path as you move into the bedroom with that same reserved interest of a gallery-goer. The place is cluttered, posters and flyers and doodles torn out of notebooks tacked up on the wall in total disarray. Every surface area is covered in what could be organized chaos, but knowing Munson the little that you do, you doubt it.

To test the theory, you ask, “Where are your records? Tapes, anything?”

But he’s just lingering in the doorway, chewing on the end of a lock of hair. Watching you stand in the middle of the room with astronaut eyes, unblinking. It’s kind of– sweet, in a deeply unnerving way. He looks like a kid.

Your brow furrows, grimace turning your lips into a point.

“Fine. Ogle me like a goddamn lobotomy patient, then.”

You resume your perusing of his things, when you spot the most precious piece of hardware hanging by the mirror. A marbled black and red body fashioned into nasty spikes. You reach out to give the strings an aimless thrum but your wrist is rapidly snatched away.

“Nuh-uh. That’s where I draw the line,” Munson says, shuffling you away from the guitar like a security guard. A flash of something as your calves hit his mattress– him shepherding you toward your own bed, you drunk out of your gourd. “Siddown.”

And you sit, bouncing against the sinking mattress on impact. Rubbing at the spot on your wrist that his fingers had been squeezing. Staring up at him glowering down at you. “Ow.”

And Munson, it turns out, knows where everything is in his nuclear fallout of a room. He shoves a shoebox of tapes into your hands and nudges a bigger milk crate full of records nearer to you with his foot.

“Knock yourself out,” he huffs, flinging himself face-down on the mattress next to you. You jerk; always the court jester, this guy. “Not that you’re gonna find anything you want to listen to.”

A scoff flies out of your mouth before you’ve got a chance to suppress it– he’s gotta know, right? He’s gotta know he can’t just say shit like that to you without you fully activating that I can do anything you can do better–backwards–bleeding–in heels chip in your brain. You’ll show him. There’s nothing that matters to you more in the world right now than showing him.

Though, rattling through his box of tapes, each one bearing a different variation of hot chick and the Devil artwork, you’ve got your work cut out for you. W.A.S.P. Mercyful Fate. Dirty Rotten Imbeciles. Witchfinder General. Some band that’s literally just called Loudness, for Chrissake. As you flick and flick, hope wavering, one catches your eye. There’s a jump in your throat. Scrawled letterhead against a draped satin background. A photo of something you always figured was a headless marble statue, though you could never be sure.

“Why do you have this?”

No response from the corpse of Munson, presumably smothered by his own comforter.

“Hey!” you tap the back of his skull with the plastic casing. One eye appears, glaring up at you from the mattress. Rattle rattle goes the Cocteau Twins tape as you shake it in its case. “Thought this was haunted doll music.”

“Ow.” Munson slowly raises himself onto his elbows, looking like he’s about to start kicking his legs in the air behind him. Twirling his hair around his finger. A grin is edging onto his lips, lips he’s pulling strands of hair away from.

“Sometimes the five finger discount chooses you.”

A feeling akin to heat spreads rights across your breastbone. You want to pry, secretly. You want an explanation. Why would you take that? Do you like me, or something? But asking speaks it into existence, and the insanity is temporary, and you’re so waiting for dawn to break on it so you can resume some hobbled together semblance of a normal existence.

One that doesn’t include Eddie Munson stealing tapes that make you feel ticklish in order to, I don’t know, listen to them on his own so he can feel ticklish too.

He hadn’t listened to it, for the record. Not all the way through, at least.

He’d gotten as far as track two and had to switch it off, ejecting it out of the tape deck of his van with such speed that he was sure it’d shoot clean through the doors in the back. Too close, too real. That had veered a little out of the lane of objectifying you as someone whose crotch he maybe wanted to bury his face in and a little into the lane of you being like, a person. With feelings.

The events of tonight aren’t helping that case. He hoped that lying face down for as long as he possibly could might let them just unfold around him, like he’d roll over and you’d just be gone, no evidence left behind except for your hair in the drain.

But you demand attention. Eddie might be obvious, but you demand attention. His attention, at least.

He grabs the tape from you. “We’re not listenin’ to that bullshit. Try again.”

“Fine!” you snap, but there’s this irritating bemusement dancing around your face.

You lean forward from your spot on the mattress and tug the milk crate between your calves. Now, this is more your lane– in here, Munson’s got the classics. Or as close to the classics as he will deign to recognise. Zeppelin, Sabbath, Alice Cooper, Blue Öyster Cult– the combination of which you have something borderline mean to say about, but you’ll leave that ‘til later. You dig around, and then.

And then. Hello there, handsome.

In your hands are twelve inches of beauty, belonging to a grisly-voiced Tom Waits. Blue Valentine. Straight to the record player with this old bastard.

“People give this record too much shit,” you remark, and Eddie watches you as you tentatively lift a sock off the turntable. Yeah, he’ll cop to it, he doesn’t take such good care of some of his gear, but sometimes his brain behaves like a police scanner. Lotta channels operating at once. Anyway. Doesn’t matter. He’s watching you lift the needle onto the vinyl right now. “People say that this is a mediocre addition to the oeuvre, but what is mediocre about this–!”

Rousing strings seep from the stereo speakers– it’s Waits’ cover of Somewhere from West Side Story. Eddie knows it within the first half a second because, and now he’ll never admit it since he knows you like it so much, he has played this album to death.

Somewhere around the halfway mark of Christmas Card For a Hooker in Minneapolis, the record will skip because it's scratched. Or well-loved, if you ask Eddie.

“Fucking Robert Christgau thinks he’s being funny, doing this, y’know,” you sneer, examining the record sleeve as if you hadn’t seen it thirty thousand times before. Your copy had been lost in the move, among a number of your little sonic secrets. The records you’d keep to listen to by yourself, lying on your bedroom floor. “As if the whole core of Tom Waits’ whole thing isn’t heartache, the sentimentality of what-if. What if we could, what if life wasn’t garbage. That’s sentimentality, right there. It’s West Side Story, I mean, c'mon. Tom Waits is singing to us with his heart on his sleeve, but Christgau wants to suddenly be pedantic, turn around and be like, it’s a vaudeville act! because Waits sometimes also wears his dick on his sleeve.”

It’s a tirade you’ve often repeated to yourself, in your diary or alone in your room, pretending like you’re on a panel, pretending like you’re Susan Sontag and people actually give a shit what you actually have to say. You can’t exactly figure why you’ve said it again now. Maybe because you always found the strings on this song too much to bear without emoting, and you’re already vulnerable and tired.

Munson, for his part, has flipped over onto his back on the mattress. “Who?” he drones.

“Robert Christgau,” you say, momentarily distracted by the way his shirt has rucked up around his belly. No six pack. Some meat there. Tendons, like you’d noticed before. “Just one of the most seminal rock writers of our time.”

You have a well-thumbed copy of his Record Guide: Rock Albums of the Seventies somewhere in a still-unpacked box.

Munson has a happy trail that curls like brushstrokes.

“You fucking trifler,” you grumble.

His face takes on that terrible look that he’d given you in the record store, all enraptured and cloudy at the corners of his eyes. Looking at you from where he leans on his elbows, one knee propped up, rocking back and forth ever so slightly. You want to shove it back down.

And see what he’ll do about that.

“How do you know all this shit?” he asks. Eddie can’t help this. He can’t help that he keeps changing his channel about you (again, police scanner) because one second you’ll be such a massive pain in the ass, then the next, you’ll say something so clever that it’ll make him want to vomit.

“I like music,” you say, flatly. You give it to him straight, because you suddenly feel searched. You clutch Waitsy’s printed face to your chest in an effort of self-defense. “And I like… words. Kind of makes sense that I would enjoy music journalism, if you’re not totally stupid.”

“I’m only a little stupid.”

“Debatable.”

“Wait, but I mean–” and he’s gearing up, because Eddie is about to ask you a real question. Something that’s been on his mind, the more ice shavings he can tear off of you. Considering you, all three dimensions of you– four, if you add in how much you like to punch him and stuff. “You’re like, incredibly smart, right.”

“Yes.”

“Like, perfect grades.”

“Almost. Save Kaminsky, because he can’t teach for shit and he can’t grade for piss.”

“And you’re a cheerleader… like, an important one?”

“Artist formerly known as, but yes.”

“And you’re on the newspaper.”

“Very perceptive, aren't we.”

“You’re also popular– or, yeah, were. You party and stuff. You’re always hanging out with those assholes who don’t do half the shit that you do.”

“Are you closing in on a point here, Munson?”

“How?” he nearly whispers, tone close to dreamy. “You’ve gotta have like, body doubles running around or something because no human person could possibly have that much time in the day. How the fuck did you do all that and also be running around ready to cite, like, an issue of the New Yorker from 1975, and not go completely insane?”

How do you know I’m not completely insane. Because, if he had ever witnessed how Jekyll and Hyde you could get, smacking the shit out of yourself with your hairbrush before you could turn on and be Lacy the cheerleader, Lacy the hot chick, Lacy the playground bitch, he would think you are totally insane.

You answer him half-straight this time.

“Diet pills.”

This makes him sit up, and makes you take a couple of steps back towards the bed. You flop down, tossing the Blue Valentine sleeve to the side.

“Diet pills,” he repeats.

“Oohhh, yes,” you nod, drawing the shape of the cylindrical pills on his comforter with your finger. You don’t really want to look up at him. “Rainbow diet pills. Soon as I hit my menses, I started lifting them from my mom.”

“Isn’t that stuff illegal?” Eddie murmurs out of the corner of his mouth, mimicking your criss-cross applesauce seating position. “It’s basically speed, right?”

“Said the drug dealer,” a snort bursts from you. You’ve moved your fidgeting, starting to braid your half-damp hair. “And it is. It’s fully speed. I was doing baby Valley of the Dolls at age thirteen.”

“That is fucked up, Lacy.”

“Yeah. Well. I'm a little fucked up, or haven't you heard?”

“There’s been rumblings.” Eddie watches your fingers work, weaving locks of hair, one over the other. He’s never braided his hair. He wonders what it might look like. You come to the end and twist it around your finger, at a loss for a hair tie. He sticks a finger under his leather and silver bracelet, digging out an elastic he keeps handy, just in case. There are a lot of times that Eddie needs to yank his hair out of his face just to focus. “Here.”

You mouth a silent thanks and wind the elastic around the tuft of hair. Tom Waits whines away about rain washing memories from the sidewalks and you feel weirdly… at ease. You’ve shared a couple of rainbow diet pills with Nicole and Carol (Tina doesn’t mess with amphetamines, a consummate athlete), but you’ve never had anyone ask you how you’ve managed to be the person you’re pretending to be.

To put the clues together about your impossible do-it-all identity.

And not react in disgust when he finds out you’re fallible.

“Hey,” Eddie says. Something about hearing you rattle off, not sniping for once, saying something real… it eased the heartburn. It has loosened his tension around you, a little. He figures it’s his turn to say something real. “I’m sorry I called you evil.”

Most evil twat at the twat table, you nearly correct. “You had grounds.”

“No, no, I didn’t. You–” this is actually harder for him to get out than he thought, “You’re trying. You’re trying really hard to make the best of a messed up situation, and maybe I should’ve seen that– but I didn’t, because it’s high school, and it’s dumb, and I’m trying too, and we’re all trying, just to survive this messed up microcosm of the world– and– and–" He huffs. It's you gazing at him this time. Eyes sparkling in the half-light cast by his bedside lamp. You're... really pretty. "Jesus, can you just forgive me so I can stop talking?”

“That’s a first,” you say. “Microcosm is a five dollar vocab word, Eddie.”

The way you say his name. “I’m a changed man.”

“Can you use adulation in a sentence next?” Your big grin is devastating.

He leans right into you, dastardly looking suddenly. “Is this provocation getting you hot, you psycho?”

Fingertips braced over your knees, your torso keening just the right amount of degrees to favor him, your stare making an unsubtle job of darting from Eddie’s lashes to his lips to his lashes to his lips…

“Maybe.” A beat. A heavy beat. “What are you gonna do about it?”

In any other world, with any other person, the wanting would completely make sense. Wanting him to say nothing more and just do, to plant a big, ringed hand either side of your hips and pull you into his lap. To crush his lips against yours. To dig his hands into your thighs, to wind your fingers into his hair. To feel the chill of silver traveling up, under the back of your borrowed shirt, to press down onto him and–

Hey Charlie, I almost went crazy-ayzy-ayzy-ayzy-ay–

Eddie doesn’t mean to, he really doesn’t mean to, but his head snaps away from you just as the record starts to skip.

Then the door slams.

Fuck.

“Ed?”

Wayne.

He totally forgot to formulate that plan.

author's notes: ZOOWEE MAMA HOW WE FEELING ARE YOU STILL WITH ME longest chapter in the fic so far. thanks for keepin up. i love you, let's not waste any time, i don't think i've got a lot of notes for you this go around but i love you - there is nothing more secretly pretentious teenage girl than loving joan didion and susan sontag (i know this because i was her, i am her to this day in fragments) but particularly joan didion on keeping a notebook really sticks to one's ribs. this is not the last joan didion ref in this fic, sorry for being unbearable - stella adler, the mother of method acting - steve harrington being the originator of the nickname lacy is a tribute to him showing signs of being a goofy motherfucker from day dot. please see this post. it was always there, we just couldn't see it in freshman year because of all the hairspray - what's going on with tommy hagan? does anyone really care but me, probably not. but for those that are keeping tick on the timeline (don't)- he got held back senior year, hence why he did not graduate with steve and is in the same grade as eddie, lacy, carol, et al. - WICKED LITTLE TOWN!!!! - the stooges t-shirt is yet another flight of icarus pick; al wears a stooges shirt and i creamed because i love the stooges. let's listen to one of my favorites - loudness are a metal band from osaka, japan! they got signed to an american label in 1985, but how did eddie munson get that tape in hawkins, indiana in 1984? well, my theory is that eddie loves music and jerry from main street vinyl loves benzos. a trade's a trade's a trade. - reader, you are an 18y/o girl who thinks you're better than everyone. of course you're stealing lester bangs' opinions on blue oyster cult and making them your own - and shitting on robert christgau bc you've got a wetty for tom waits - also, here is tom waits' cover of somewhere! my theory on eddie being a tom waits fan-- of course he is, that man looks and sounds like billy goat gruff and is a storytella just like eddie is. he would especially be into his later stuff, like the megalithic orphans album. y'all remember this song from shrek 2 - rainbow diet pills were a real insane thing! this seems more accessible than adderall for the time period, which modern!lacy would certainly have been abusing - for the time that's in it, let me present tom waits' anti-christmas song, christmas card from a hooker in minneapolis my loves, if you've still stuck with me this far, i thank you greatly. i know i'm nutso but i'm having fun writing this fic. i would've been writing it if nobody was reading, but it's a billion times better now that you are. reblogs are always appreciated, and the inbox is always open to chat shit ♡

#published by powder #in progress #hellfire & ice #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fic #stranger things fic #e. munson by powder

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