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toomuchracket · 6 months

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stress relief (sweetheart!george x reader fluff)

first george fic, who cheered?! day 8 of promptober. a weird little (well, long) fluffy end of high school moment about exam stress, and hitting things and smoking weed and kissing your new boyfriend to make you feel better. i've absolutely not a clue what came over me while i wrote this. but i think it's fun. and i hope you lot do too! <3

you're stomping down the street towards your house when your phone rings. digging it out of your bag, your grumpiness ebbs slightly when you see it's george on the other end of the line. "hiya."

"hi, baby," comes the gravelly reply. george's voice is enough to send you into a fit of enamoured giggles anyway, but hearing him address you with the pet name - a recent development, a free add-on that came with the "girlfriend" title during the summer - has you practically skipping down the street. "how'd it go?"

the reminder of the horrible mock exam almost threatens to block out the enjoyment of talking to george, a black cloud over the sun. "fucking awful."

"doubt that," george replies. there's a shuffling sound in the background on his end; you know, even without seeing him, that he's moved to lean his elbow on something so he can adjust the phone and listen to you better. "but tell me all about it."

"it was just… bad. the questions were all worded so weirdly. felt so fucking thick trying to read them, g," you sigh, kicking at a stone on the pavement. "so obviously i've no idea if i answered anything correctly, because i couldn't fucking understand what they were actually asking, and if i don't pass this then i don't get to sit the actual exam, and then i've got no bloody chance of getting into uni."

your voice breaks on the final word, and so does the invisible dam keeping your tears in. despite doing your best to keep any sobs at bay, george immediately clocks that you're crying and goes into reassurance mode. "baby…"

"it's fine, i'm fine," you sniffle. "sorry, i know i'm being silly. how are you?"

"worried about you, angel. i don't like how stressed out this exam's made you feel, recently," george admits. "and i'm not letting you dwell on it from this point on, alright?"

"babe…"

"you answered every question, i take it?"

you frown. "i mean, yeah, but-"

"no buts, baby," george's voice is firm; it does something weird to your brain. that's new. "you answered every question in the paper to the best of your ability. don't try and argue with me on that one, angel. i know you did, because you never half-arse anything, and it's one of the things i lo-like most about you. and there's nothing more you can do about the exam, so there's no point dwelling on it, even if it was as shit as you say. yeah?"

you sigh. "yeah. you're right."

"i know i am," george's voice is smug, but it softens as he continues. "wish i was there to give you a hug right now, though, make you feel better."

"me too," you say wistfully, unlocking your front door and shrugging off your jacket before heading upstairs. "but i'll get one off you at the party tonight. or several. actually, i might not even let go of you the whole time."

you flop onto your bed, rolling onto your stomach and kicking your legs in the air as george laughs and says "i'm not gonna complain about that, babe. speaking of the party, what d'you want? matty's picking up in a bit."

"are you smoking?"

"was gonna, yeah. want some?"

"please."

"sweet. he says he's already got wine if you want it, too, but he'll get you vodka if you'd rather have that."

"no, wine's good," you say. "thank him for me, please, and tell him i'll pay him back later."

george laughs. "i've got you covered, babe."

you facepalm. "george."

"what? you've had a hard day. let me treat you."

there’s silence for a brief moment, as you ponder and then decide against debating with your boyfriend (even thinking about calling george that makes you smile); as stubborn as you are, george is ten times worse. if this was an in-person debate, a strategically-timed pout would give you the upper hand, but you'll never wear him down via phone.

"fine," you sigh dramatically. "thank you, babe. but you have to accept petrol money from me tonight."

"not a fucking chance. i have to drive past your house to get to matty's, anyway. he should be the one paying me."

you laugh. "if you're sure, babe. i'll get you back sometime, though."

"actually, there is something you could do for me tonight, if you wouldn't mind," george says slowly, voice deepening even more than usual. it sends goosebumps down your arms, and any and all sanity out of your head. "you could wear that top you bought at the weekend."

"the black one?"

"yeah," george's voice changes again; you can hear him blushing. "you looked really beautiful in it."

(his reaction when you'd opened the fitting room door last week had made you aware of that thought of his, but it's far nicer hearing him say it.)

"consider it done," you smile. "what time should i be ready for?"

"six? then we have time to get a maccies on the way."

"you do know the way to a girl's heart, george daniel."

george laughs. your heart flutters. "alright, baby. i'll see you in a couple of hours."

"looking forward to it," you smile, clicking your phone off. the goodbye feels unfinished, you think; the three other words you're too nervous to say to george seem to linger expectantly in your throat every time you talk to him, just waiting to be released from your lips to his ears. it's only been three months since you started labelling the relationship, but there were three of "dating" beforehand (following a two-sided drunken confession at matty's eighteenth), and another eight of crushing and pining preceding that - you know exactly how you feel about him. you just don't know when to tell him.

you nearly do, though, when he picks you up for the party later that night. after chucking your overnight bag in the backseat, you climb into the passenger seat and are immediately pulled into an absolute head-melter of a kiss.

george smiles as he pulls back from you. "hi, baby. you wore the top, i see."

"course i did," you grin in response. "have to keep up with you, don't i, gorgeous?"

"oh, shush," george shakes his head, cheeks pink. "right, let's get you some nuggets."

you clap, and your boyfriend laughs, a sound that continues from both of you as you make your way through the drive-thru and then to matty's. in between giggles and singalongs to the blink-182 album in the cd player, you feed george chips and chicken nuggets, the friday evening traffic stopping the two of you from being able to park and eat your dinner and still make it to the party on time. the vibe is in total contrast to your frustrated tears from earlier; now, doing shitty tom delonge impressions with your favourite boy in the world, you're ridiculously happy.

after parking outside matty's house, george turns to you before either of you can get out of the car. "listen, baby," he says softly, bringing a hand up to stroke your hair. "i know it's been a bit of a day for you, and i just want you to be alright - if you wanna go home at any point, tell me, yeah?"

your heart swells a little at his tenderness. you nod, pouting your lips slightly. "kiss?"

"gladly," george grins, lips on yours within seconds. like earlier, this kiss makes your head spin.

unlike earlier, however, it isn't ended by either you or george pulling away; the two of you are so distracted by each other that you don't hear adam walking across the gravel towards the car. it isn't until he opens the passenger door that you pull away from george in fright, and then he speaks. "matty says no snogging in the driveway."

"tell him i'll do it in his fucking bedroom and see what he says then," george snaps. he kisses your hand. "sorry, baby."

"s'fine. hi, adam," you say, turning to your friend. "how are you?"

"betrayed, actually - you got a maccies and didn't ask if i wanted anything?"

"leave her alone, hann," george says, walking round to grab your bag and usher you out of the car. "she's had a stressful day."

"well, you're in luck, mate - oh, cheers," adam pulls you into a half hug as you pass him your final chicken nugget, and the boys lead you into the house. "matty found an unused piñata in the garage, so you can beat the shit out of that if it'll make you feel better."

"he just… found a piñata? just happened across it?" you ask, mildly bewildered (it's matty, after all), at the exact same time george ponders "what's he put in it?"

"he just found it, yeah. i don't know either," adam shrugs. "and he's literally put joints in it. no sweets. just weed."

interesting.

george nearly pisses himself laughing, while you, as is your wont, ask a sensible question. "won't the force of the hits knock the joints apart, though? like, genius idea to put them there in theory, but will it work?"

"only one way to find out, i s'pose, baby" george says. "here, let me put your bag upstairs. i'll meet you in the garden in a minute, yeah?"

your boyfriend kisses you quickly and hurries upstairs, while you follow adam out to the garden, stopping briefly to hug some of your friends hello. only ross and matty are outside, the former reaching up to attach a unicorn piñata to a tree branch while the latter shouts orders at him. "fucksake, ross, that's far too high!"

"he's right, unfortunately, ross," you chip in, wandering over towards them and slinging an arm round matty's shoulders. "do you really want either of us jumping with a potential weapon in our hands?"

"he already is a potential weapon," comes the grumbling from under the branch.

"taking that as a compliment, actually," matty shouts, steering you away from the tree and hugging you. "hi, darling. where's g?"

"stashing my handbag for me."

"ok, good, because i have news and you're the only person i can tell," matty spins to face you, inhaling deeply and clasping his hands together. "i think i'm in love."

"ok?" you put your hands on your hips, underwhelmed. "you've already told me this, remember? last month?"

"different person. that wasn't real, this is."

"right. and you're only telling me because…?"

"well, it's someone like you i think i'm in love with."

"a girl?" you smirk. "i guessed as much, mate."

"smartarse," matty huffs. "no. i mean, like, she's proper smart. and serious about it. she wants to study law at uni. i'm totally intimidated by her, but i fancy her so much."

he stares at you expectantly. you stare just as blankly back. "and?"

"and i need your help," matty all but wails. "how do i make her like me?"

bless him. you smile. "well, you're in a band. that helps."

"really? even for pulling geniuses like you and her?"

"not to be dramatic, but that day i walked into the music room to tell you lot to shut up and saw george drumming to brianstorm? life-changing," you blush. matty smiles, genuinely. "but also, just don't be a gobshite, yeah? you actually being quite sensitive is unexpected, and it's nice. really."

"ok. thanks, mate," matty pulls you into a quick hug. "i wish she was coming tonight. be a lot more fun."

"we literally have a weed-filled piñata. we're peaking with fun."

he laughs. "true. and i did only meet her today."

you raise your eyebrows. "wait - on the set of your mum's show? have you told denise?"

"do i look like an idiot? actually," matty shakes his head. "don't answer that. no need to tell me."

"tell you what?" george wanders over to the pair of you, hugging matty and pecking you on the lips. "what are you two gossiping about?"

"what we're buying you for christmas," you say smoothly. "and how amazing a gift i'm now obligated to get you, because you won't let me pay for my own bloody weed."

the boys laugh, and george kisses you on the head. "speaking of, ross thinks he's perfected the piñata height. fancy a bit of stress relief?"

"ew, george, not in my house," matty faux-retches, then grins. "kidding. come on, lovebirds, let's beat the shit out of a unicorn and get stoned."

"and other normal sentences he's said today," george murmurs in your ear, making you giggle as you follow your friend towards the tree.

as you near it, ross holds a cricket bat out to you. "heard you were feeling stressed. have at it, mate."

"thanks, ross," you take the wooden stick, turning it over in your hands before turning to look at the host incredulously. "who the fuck in your family plays cricket?"

"how should i know?" comes matty’s equally-incredulous reply. "just hit the horse, please, i need a fucking zoot."

"fine. here goes," you say. "actually, shouldn't we put something on the ground to catch the joints?"

"good point. here," george pulls off his hoodie and throws it on the grass; you're momentarily distracted by his biceps through his long-sleeved t-shirt. "give it hell, baby."

you smirk, closing your eyes and thinking of the awful exam paper from earlier. all the frustration and stress hits your nervous system like a tidal wave; practically vibrating with rage, you swing the bat and hit the papier-mache before you with a satisfying thwack, denting it. the boys cheer, and it spurs you on even more - within minutes, you've beaten the unicorn to a pulp, its contraband insides (mostly) intact on your boyfriend's hoodie, and your insides the most stress-free they've been in a long time.

breathless, you hand the bat back to a wide-eyed ross, who claps you on the back. "impressive, actually."

"thank you," you bow, the boys laughing as they scramble to pick up the joints. george grabs two for each of you and your hand simultaneously, leading you towards the cushioned loungers near the kitchen window.

he sits first, settling you gently on his lap before pulling a lighter from his pocket. you're suddenly extremely aware of the chilly october evening air, and shuffle around so you can half-lean against george's hard chest; you gaze up at him, all sharp jaw and heavy eyes with the joint between his lips. "is this ok?"

"s'perfect, baby," george smiles, hand tracing patterns against the outside of your thigh. he lifts it, though, to take the joint out of his mouth. "you wanna go first?"

you shake your head. george smoking is an incredibly sexy sight; you want a clear head the first time you see it tonight. the flickering flame sharpens his cheekbones in the most beautiful way as he lights the joint, and the way he draws them in as he inhales it is nothing short of stunning. but nothing compares to the way he exhales the smoke, head thrown back in pleasure and faint moans escaping his lips - your thighs clench ever so slightly as he does, which isn't helped by the way he looks at you as he passes you the weed.

he doesn't seem to fare any better while you smoke, though; your eyes close in contentment when the inhale hits your airways (and a little groan of satisfaction involuntarily leaves you), but you open them to find george biting his lip while he watches yours.

it gives you an idea. passing the joint back, you ask a favour of your boyfriend. "will you shotgun me, please?"

george hums happily. "absolutely, baby."

you shuffle so you're sitting directly on his lap, facing him. whether it's the crispness of the night or the weed or just george himself, you don't know, but you're more aware of this particular bodily position than ever before. there's an energy you can't quite describe crackling in the night air - anticipation, maybe.

whatever it is, you like it.

"ready?" george asks, joint halfway to his lips. you nod, loosely clasping your hands at the nape of his neck and leaning forward. he inhales, your mouth opens, he exhales, and you do your best to take in as much of the smoke as you can.

even though you've been smoking properly for a little while now, the best highs are always the ones you share with george; he seems to intoxicate you more than the drug does. given how much longer he's been smoking, you'd be forgiven for thinking that he doesn't feel the same way, but the speed with which he quickly lays the joint in a nearby ashtray (thank fuck the healys are a family of smokers, by the way) and crashes his lips to yours suggests otherwise. the crackling in the air ceases, but seems to find a new home in your body; sparks seem to fly from your lips to your brain, overloading the organ until all you can think is george, george, george.

yeah, you love him all right.

#mads muses #mads does writing #george daniel fic #george daniel fanfiction #sweetheart!george #george daniel fanfic #george daniel fluff #george daniel x reader #george x reader #promptober75

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spicysix · 8 months

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anywhere u go

Argyle had no idea the living nightmare he was getting himself into when he first decided to follow Jonathan Byers. Well, he'd do it again in a heartbeat anyway.

rating: T

warnings: this fic includes weed, the teeniest hint of ptsd, questionable informations about the united states' AND the canadian's geography from a brazilian writer (so, probably, mistakes. look past them pls), also questionable english by a brazilian writer not beta-read, weather as a metaphor, and subtle pining.

word count: 5.6k

author's note: title from the song of the same name by Tove Lo. written for Lex's Spicy Six Summer Fanwork Challenge, for the dialogue prompt “I’m really glad we did this”. thanks for hosting this amazing event @thefreakandthehair ♡

↳ read on ao3

If someone asked him, Argyle wasn’t sure he’d be able to retell the whole thing.

And, sure, maybe you could blame the weed a little bit. He might have partaken in it a few times here or there during the whole thing. It was right there in the van! How could he say no? Not at any of the big moments, though, of course not. He’s a stoner, not an idiot. He only smoked twice on the road when Jonathan was the one driving, that hotbox he did with Eden, beautiful goth goddess of his dreams, and once to prepare the pizza during the whole freezer piggyback thing (he likes being high when working in the kitchen okay, don’t go away judging). When they got to Hawkins, he only collected mushrooms, didn’t do them. He didn’t even have the time.

It wasn’t any kind of substance that made the next few weeks go by hazily.

It was just too much.

Chaos was installed when they arrived in Hawkins. Earthquakes had ripped open wounds into the soil of the small town — living, squeamish, bleeding wounds. Argyle learned later they were portals to the dimension under their own, where all the problems surrounding his friend’s family came from in the first place.

People were missing and hurt, some even died with the way the gates tore through houses and buildings, and the mood around Hawkins as they drove through it was rightfully sour.

Jonathan drove to his girlfriend’s house, some other people were already there and it was a beautiful reunion, it really was, but Argyle felt out of place. They parted ways after, and the ones that had been there already headed to the High School to drop some donations — except for Nancy, who went inside the van and into the passenger seat as if she owned it.

It had been Argyle’s.

But it was okay, he stayed in the back with the kiddos.

They went to the hospital, one of them — the one Supergirl had mentally piggybacked on — was hurt and in a coma. Argyle waited in the van as the rest of them went in to see her — he didn’t know her, didn’t want to invade their space.

After the visit they headed to an old cabin in the woods, abandoned, destroyed, pieces of its ceiling missing. Jonathan said Supergirl used to live there with her dad, the dead cop, and while they all reconnected and cleaned up the place, Argyle found those mushrooms that he didn’t use.

Didn’t even have the time to, because suddenly it was snowing ashes and he found his friend and his friend’s family — including his mom and a tall skinny bald guy, where did they come from? — looking over the city from the hill and the open field, and the flowers were dead and there was smoke coming from the place where all the portals met downtown.

Too much happening at the same time, and suddenly Jonathan was grabbing Argyle’s wrist and pulling him back to the van, “let’s go get the others, oh and by the way the tall skinny bald guy is the dead cop, oh and by the way my mom went to the Soviet Union to rescue him, oh and by the way the world is ending.”

So they went back to the hospital, to warn the siblings that were keeping watch over the comatose redhead, but they didn’t wanna join them back. Told Jonathan to reach through the walkies if he needed them.

So they went to the school, found the pretty guy and the cute girl that looked and acted like siblings plus the small curly one, pretty guy told them all they could go to his house cause it was big and clean and empty and they could use it as headquarters. Nancy shivered at the suggestion, her jaw tensed and Jonathan looked at her with caution, but they all agreed anyway.

So they went to pretty guy’s house, it really was big and clean and empty — all sadly so. The ones coming from California took their much needed showers, un-dead cop called a friend of his and told him to come meet them, the kids reached out to the siblings in the hospital to let them know where they all were.

It was too much.

Argyle set the water of his shower to the coldest temperature he could bare to try and shock some sense into himself. Looked at his reflection in the mirror and if it wasn’t him, he wouldn’t know all the shit that guy went through that last week. Government agents dying in his work van that he ended up stealing, a superpowered girl he helped rescue, an evil dimension with an evil wizard, people in comas and people coming back from the dead, gates to the underworld burning through a small town — and how he got roped into all of that by following a friend across the country.

He’d say he was a pretty good friend at that point.

He waited in the living room with the others as everyone went through rotations of showers, and cute girl made him a sandwich and it was nice of her, Little Byers sat by his side cause he was one of the only people who knew Argyle, and it was nice of him. When Jonathan arrived all cleaned up and smelling soapy, he sat by Argyle’s other side and Argyle felt himself relax if only a little.

They waited until un-dead cop’s friend showed up, and for some reason he showed up with two other Russian guys and a government lady and oh boy was Argyle even more confused.

Everyone took their turns retelling their own stories and gluing all the pieces together, and it was a somber story, it was bad as a horror movie and Argyle kind of wanted to throw himself out the window and get in the first bus back to California but he had no one there and in here he at least had the Byers. They were a good family, the closest to one Argyle had. So he stuck around through the puzzle.

Once in a while they referenced something that had happened in the years before and Argyle didn’t get the references because he hadn’t been there but he was sure Jonathan could fill him in later. Or he wouldn’t, and Argyle wouldn’t mind that either because it would at least save him from nightmares.

There had been losses, some friend of theirs in Hawkins — small curly one seemed to be the most affected by it, and Supergirl’s boyfriend was also really upset when he learned the news. Besides him, other three teenagers were victims of the evil wizard, plus their friend who survived but was in a coma.

On their side, a doctor dead and a doctor missing — apparently captured by the side of the government that was trying to kill Supergirl, that government lady said. Not her side trying to kill Supergirl. Another side. But apparently the doctors could help and it was relevant to know about their situation. The parents didn’t seem to agree a lot, and neither did Supergirl.

Un-dead cop’s friend made a joke about how at least on their side only bad commies had died, but the joke didn’t land. They weren’t in a nice mood for jokes.

It was too much, everyone talking about terrible things happening and talking over each other and Argyle’s head was about to explode in pain so at some point when they were all going through the timeline for the third time, he escaped and headed outside through the front door.

Jonathan found him after a couple of minutes.

“Is this too much?” he asked, and Argyle nodded. “I’m sorry. Wish we could smoke right now,” he said.

Argyle hummed, “It’s gonna look real unprofessional of us if we do, though, right?”

“It really will.” Jonathan chuckled, but it was dry and humorless.

They just stood there in silence for a few minutes, and Argyle’s fingers were trembling a little and maybe it was abstinence, probably was, but the clouds were fucking red and the smoke still made ashes rain down and it was terrifying.

“We should go inside,” Jonathan said after a while.

Argyle sighed and followed him in.

Over the next week they all hung out almost exclusively in pretty boy’s house (pretty boy’s name was Steve, Argyle learned. He dated Nancy before Jonathan did. They had a weird thing going on) and planned for the next step they’d take into, hopefully for the last time, saving the world. Well, it was Argyle’s first, but it still counted right. The kids called their parents and they all seemed to trust the old teens to be good babysitters even during the apocalypse, plus Ms. Byers and the un-dead cop were of course to be trusted.

Argyle was mostly tuned out of everything, but that was okay, firstly because he was the last one to join the mess and didn’t know the details as well as the rest of them, and it wasn’t a good use of their time to explain it to Argyle time and time again when they could be plotting strategies. So Argyle took over pretty boy Steve’s kitchen and kept his battalion fed and strong for battle.

The other reason he kept tuned out was, of course, so he wouldn’t freak the fuck out.

Keeping himself entertained with cooking — and, not going to lie, a little weed here and there when they found it — was the only thing still keeping him from that original plan of throwing himself out the window and catching the first bus back to California.

Sometimes the rest of the Party — as they called themselves, what a weird bunch — would help or at least keep him company. Un-dead cop’s friend (un-dead cop was Hopper, friend was Murray) was a great cook as Argyle already knew from that risotto, but he was also really weird and gave Argyle the creeps. Ms. Byers kept telling him to call her Joyce, tried her best in the kitchen and her food wasn’t bad, but it also wasn’t good. He liked talking to her, though. Cute girl — pretty boy Steve’s platonic soulmate, Robin — was real funny and a delight to talk to, but a fire hazard personified and not allowed near the stove. Steve could bake some mean breakfast and he was also really cool, Argyle didn’t know why Jonathan was so adamant about keeping a grudge.

“You’d like Eddie, he was a dealer,” Steve said one night as they sat in the backyard staring at the pool and smoking what was left of Argyle’s purple palm tree delight. “And he for sure would like you, and this.” Steve waved the joint around before handing it back to Argyle. Steve’s smile was sad, and Argyle hadn’t known the guy so he didn’t know how to feel or what to say. So they just kept smoking.

Nancy was how Argyle found out about the whole story between her, Jonathan and Steve — and Argyle understood partly why Jonathan held a grudge. Steve was a nice guy now though, Nancy said and Argyle knew it was true because they talked and smoked a lot late at nights, but it wasn’t his place to tell Jonathan how to feel about his girlfriend’s ex who called him slurs, physically fought him and then saved his life more than once. It was a tough spot, alright.

The kids were something else. He barely saw the siblings — Lucas Erica, the ones at comatose redhead’s, Max, bedside. They were, all three of them, constantly brought up, though, and it almost made it seem like they were there all the time. The small curly one, Dustin, seemed to think he was touched by god’s wisdom at all times, and it could be funny but it could also be a little annoying. He was pretty Steve’s favorite, though. That was interesting. Little Byers (Will) and Mike — Supergirl’s now ex-boyfriend — had something going on but Argyle wasn’t sure if he wanted to know what. Jonathan went grumpy anytime they were together, and his older brother protective act was amusing.

Supergirl — Jane, El — was Argyle’s favorite though, and there was no competition there. She was weird and tiny and badass and adorable and a huge menace, not only in the way that she could literally blow things up with her mind, but because she could be a little troublemaker kid in the best way a kid should be a troublemaker in. She was sweet and delicate and just so fucking little, and her shoulders were too tiny to hold all the weight they carried, so Argyle did his best to bake her the frozen waffles she loved, told her funny exaggerated stories so she’d laugh, gave her tight hugs whenever she needed them. It was sad that she needed them a lot. But she always thanked him and told him his hugs were the best hugs ever, so he’d hug her once again before letting her go. He liked that she smiled a lot near him. The world owed her more smiles, and he was glad to take that task.

Jonathan did his best to make Argyle feel like he was part of it all. Argyle wasn’t so sure if he even wanted to be a part of it all in the first place, but since he was dragged to it without any other option, he was glad he at least had Jonathan by his side. He chose to pair up with Argyle when they were assigned guest bedrooms in Steve’s big house so Argyle wouldn’t be alone, even if he could be with Nancy. He never scolded Argyle for smoking because he knew Argyle did it to cope, to calm down, to get less stressed and anxious — and he knew the situation was stressing and anxiety-inducing as hell. He never complained if Argyle didn’t participate in their planning sessions because he knew Argyle’s lack of previous knowledge would probably just slow them down, and once during the night he said he’d do anything to leave Argyle as out of it as he could, that he felt guilty for bringing Argyle into all of it in the first place.

Argyle blamed him, it really was kind of Jonathan’s fault, but he also forgave him.

He forgave him the second after it all happened.

He would probably follow Jonathan anyway even if he knew beforehand where he was headed to.

He followed Jonathan into the final battle against that slimy, evil, twisted, disgusting son of a bitch. He followed Jonathan with homemade armor and homemade weapons, and a courage he didn’t really have. He followed Jonathan, El, Will, and Joyce — and all the rest of their weird, codependent, brought together by disasters, wrecked and beautiful found family. He was stuck with them now forever, he knew it. He wasn’t complaining. They were his family now, too.

But that specific day, that was the one that was the most blurred out. Maybe it was a coping mechanism that his fucked up brain came up with to give him a rest, or maybe it was his brain too fucked up from all the weed usage, but he was glad either way. If someone asked him, Argyle was sure he wouldn’t be able to retell the whole thing.

It was way too much. He was glad he didn’t remember.

They were all alive and sore and bruised and hurt after it, and they all still stayed in Steve’s big house — to make sure they were all together if it wasn’t really over, and because they healed better as a pack. The government lady had found her lost doctor sometime in the middle of it all, and the whole Party got some good deals out of everything. Argyle wasn’t even going to be sued by Surfer Boy Pizza for stealing a company van. He actually got to keep it, and he took out the surfboard from the roof, took out all the company stickers, cleaned it up real good and it ended up looking like a regular beautiful yellow van where no man had ever died inside.

El seemed to have lost her powers for good this time, but she was relieved. Will was never haunted by the creepy chills in the back of his neck again. Max woke up, and she was blind and would probably never walk again, but she was so grateful. Argyle cooked her favorite food — information provided by El — when she was released from the hospital, and of course she was led straight to Steve’s house. She didn’t know Argyle before the apocalypse almost took her away, but she thanked him with a beautiful crooked smile of a girl who defeated death, and everyone surrounded her with love and warmth and everything was almost perfect. They were acting like the kids they were. They were allowed to, now. The only thing they’d have to worry about from now on was school and homework, the occasional regular teenage problems. No more evil scientists, no more evil wizards, no more evil dimensions. Just, a bad grade in Latin, or having an unrequited crush, a pimple in the middle of their foreheads. Argyle was so happy for them.

Jonathan and the rest of the older ones also got to go back to normal. Steve and Robin’s only worry was finding a new job. Nancy and Jonathan finally talked it out and resolved their issues — by breaking up. Nancy would go to Emerson, Boston, as she wished, and Jonathan didn’t want to and it was fine. They had grown too much, apart from each other in the few months they were away. They didn’t need to be each other’s grounding points anymore, because they could find other people and find themselves and worry about regular young adult stuff like a bad grade in Journalism 101 or the fact they were out of weed or photographic film.

Jonathan wanted to go to New York.

Argyle could get on the first bus back to California, but he had no one there and that was okay, because here he had Jonathan. Jonathan, who Argyle crossed the country for, who Argyle walked into Hell for, who Argyle would probably follow anywhere.

So Jonathan decided to go to New York, and Argyle decided to follow him.

They took the renewed regular yellow van where no man had ever died, belts buckled in for the first time ever because they valued their lives a whole lot now. They took an atlas from Robin’s collection, a few pre-rolled joints Steve bought from god knows who, a bunch of snacks the kids gathered for them, clothes they borrowed because they ran away from California with no bags, and a tight hug from each and every one of their weird, codependent, brought together by disasters, wrecked and beautiful found family.

They took the I-69 to Indy, the I-70 to Pittsburgh, the I-76 to Philadelphia, and the I-95 to New York. Twenty hours on the road was nothing considering it took them three days to get from middle-of-bumfuck-nowhere (Nevada) to middle-of-bumfuck-nowhere (Indiana). They took turns driving, stopped for gas and lunch and dinner and a smoke session, slept in the back of the van in a parking lot until they weren’t high anymore, arrived in New York as the sky was pouring down on the city.

“The rain is nice,” Jonathan commented as he looked through the window in the passenger seat.

It hadn’t rained in Hawkins ever since the world almost ended. No matter how many times they showered, bathed, scrubbed all the grime and dirt and blood away, sometimes it still felt like they weren’t clean. The town was definitely still dirty.

“The rain is nice,” Argyle agreed.

They kept driving around, they got trapped in traffic, they got screamed and horned at, they laughed back because it felt nonsensical to be mad about cars in streets. They stopped at a diner, ate a bunch of eggs sunny side up, to counter the weather, watched the regulars and the waitresses and the cook in their routines, and they smiled at each other because it was so nice to see normal things for once. People living their normal lives. Not a single one of them aware that the two weird kids in the corner booth almost died so they could be spilling coffee on the counter and getting their mouths dirty with grease.

They asked for a cheap recommendation on a place they could rest, drove a little more, got a little more trapped in traffic, got a little more yelled and horned at, until they found the shitty motel that the waitress promised was decently cleaned no matter how fucked up it looked on the outside. But their expectations bar wasn’t high, anyway. They had two beds, separated by a tiny nightstand table, and they fell asleep turned to face each other, curtains open and bathroom lights on because the darkness couldn’t be trusted.

Next day emerged with the clouds all gone, the weirdest of contrasts, and a chilly wind kept throwing Argyle’s hair to all sides and Jonathan kept looking at him with a soft smile whenever it whipped his pale skin. They left the van in the motel and walked and walked and walked until their feet hurt, had no idea where they were going and no exact place to go to, a joint shared and their fingers touched and their mouths wrapped around the same paper. It was nothing, and it was everything.

They watched people passing by, everyone in such a hurry, people scowling and people smiling and people somehow with their expressions completely neutral. People living their normal lives, not a single one of them aware that the two weird kids walking shoulder to shoulder almost died so they could be running to catch the subway or signing for a cab to stop.

They managed to get back to the motel, took their showers, scrubbed scrubbed scrubbed and still felt unclean, collapsed on their separate beds again, turned to face each other, curtains open, bathroom lights left on.

Jonathan wanted to go to NYU.

Ever since he was six years old, he told Argyle. The Tisch Photography program was a big one, his dream ever since he had a bowl cut worst than Will’s, when his father was still home and his mom wasn’t overprotective because none of them knew monsters existed just under their feet.

Jonathan’s eyes gleamed as he spoke about the university, so Argyle offered and Jonathan agreed, and the next day Jonathan hopped on a subway train and Argyle followed him.

The subway was too much, Argyle noticed. He shared a look with Jonathan over someone else’s shoulder and knew they were thinking the same.

They went south south south to Greenwich Village with its pretty brownstones and its artsy students roaming around, so many of them, and Jonathan stopped across the street looking at the Tisch building for a long time, inconveniently in the middle of the sidewalk, his fellow hipsters having to walk around him. Argyle looked at Jonathan the whole time, saw it firsthand as his gears turned, as the gleam in his eyes faded, as the wrinkle in his forehead deepened.

“Too much?” he asked.

Jonathan nodded. “For now, at least.”

Argyle just started walking and Jonathan followed, and they just walked across Greenwich Village until they were at the pier and they looked at New Jersey from afar, all the ferries crossing the Hudson, people still in a hurry all the goddamn time and Argyle’s fingers tapped against the railing that was there to stop him from falling into the water. He kinda wanted to do it just to see what it would feel like. He lost track of time staring at the water, and the boats, and the people on the boats living their normal lives, not a single one of them aware of the two weird kids on the pier that almost died so they could cross the river on a daily basis; and he felt Jonathan staring at him and maybe it should’ve been the other way around.

“Wanna try again?” he asked after, maybe, hours, and Jonathan nodded.

They walked back, Jonathan stopped inconveniently in the middle of the sidewalk across the street, stared at the Tisch building for what wasn’t longer than a minute and a half.

“Too much,” he decided.

They took the subway back north north north to the motel, took their showers, scrubbed scrubbed scrubbed and still felt unclean, collapsed on their separate beds again, curtains open, bathroom lights left on. Jonathan turned away and slept looking at the wall. Argyle slept looking at Jonathan’s back.

Sun was still out bright the next day.

They went out silently for breakfast at a café a few blocks down, heard the weirdest fucking story told by the people sitting at the table next to them. One look at each other and they were back at the motel, into the van, across the bridge, east east east into Long Island and clouds started to appear the more further east they went.

Montauk sure had that creepy energy hanging in the air, as if everyone was constantly waiting for the shoe to drop, but it somehow didn’t feel as world-ending as Hawkins did. Jonathan whispered that if Will was there, he’d probably be scratching his neck by now. They kept heading east, into the State Park, to the lookout, out of the van. Stared at the ocean. All that amount of water, the vast nothingness of the view and the wide greatness it contained, and it should’ve been too much but Argyle let out a long sigh and breathed in deeply, a single drop of rain touched his forehead and it felt good.

They went back to the van, back to Manhattan, back to the motel, took their showers, scrubbed a little less, collapsed on their separate beds, curtains closed, bathroom lights left on, turned to face each other again. They said nothing. There was a constant hum from somewhere outside the motel, in the neighborhood, that lulled them to sleep. Argyle thought he heard Jonathan call for him but when he opened his eyes again Jonathan was snoring lightly. Argyle smiled at the view and fell back to unconsciousness.

Clouds were back the next day.

They checked out of the motel, Jonathan took the seat behind the wheel, headed back to I-95 again and hit the pedal hard. They drove for about half the time as they did from Hawkins to New York, never leaving the I-95, looking through the windows as they drove past New Haven, Providence, Boston, plus some stupidly small and completely forgettable towns in Maine.

They only left the I-95 when they passed the border, when the Highway didn’t exist anymore.

“Will they know we have weed?” Argyle asked as they were growing closer to the customs. They only had a single joint left, but it was worrying anyway.

“Don’t think they’ll check,” Jonathan answered, and he didn’t seem bothered at all.

Argyle doubted they would be able to cross, he didn’t even have a passport, but Jonathan was thankfully right. The guard asked for their drivers’ licenses only, where they were headed and what they were doing — Jonathan said they were on a roadtrip. When the guard asked how long they were planning on staying, Jonathan said “enough days to see a bit of the three east provinces”, and that’s when Argyle was sure the guard would tell them to turn around and get the fuck out, back to bumfuck-nowhere, Indiana. But he just nodded as he inspected the photos on their documents, and when he handed them back along with a pocket-sized canadian atlas he said: “Have fun.”

And that was it.

Argyle’s shoulders dropped from where they had situated above his ears as Jonathan waited until the customs couldn’t be seen from the windows anymore so he could hit the pedal hard again, this time on what they called the Trans-Canada Highway (information provided by the pocket-size atlas gifted to them by a random and kind government employee).

Jonathan drove for about an hour and a half after they crossed, and Argyle’s sudden drop of adrenaline made him doze off for a while before he woke up as Jonathan was parking at a motel. He looked around, saw some signs, picked up the pocket-size atlas from where it had fallen off to the floor of the van.

“You wanna stay in…” he checked the atlas, “Fredericton, New Brunswick? This was your destination all along?” he asked with a grin.

Jonathan chuckled. “I’m just tired for today. But I wanna keep going, actually. If that’s okay?” his eyes were suddenly filled with doubt, and oh no, Argyle couldn’t have that.

“Absolutely, my man. Point where and I’m headed right behind ‘ya,” he was smiling, and his tone was light-hearted, but he was being the most honest he ever was.

Jonathan seemed to get it, because he was looking back at him with that reserved soft smile of his and Argyle’s brain went a little fuzzy, but it was probably from the nap he took.

They went inside the motel, finally, got their bedroom with two beds, separated by nothing but a few inches, and Argyle’s first instinct was to actually bring them together so they’d be just one big bed, but he restrained. They took showers, didn’t really scrub a lot, collapsed on their barely separate beds, curtains closed, bathroom light left off, turned to face each other. Argyle fell asleep with a smile on his face, and if he didn’t dream it, Jonathan had one of his own on his lips.

Next day was more than cloudy, it was pouring rain again.

Jonathan sat behind the steering wheel once more, hit the pedal and they headed east east east, so far east that Argyle feared for a second that they were going to reach the border of the world or something. They crossed New Brunswick and almost reached Nova Scotia, but then Jonathan took a sharp turn north.

“An island, man?” Argyle asked as they crossed the bridge to Prince Edward. Jonathan just shrugged, but he was smiling wider than Argyle had ever seen him smile before. Not bothered at all. It was a good sight to see.

The capital city was on the southeast, but Jonathan kept going north again. It seemed like they were almost at the end of the island before he finally stopped, at some stupidly small and completely forgettable town.

“This place has probably half of the citizens of Hawkins,” Argyle noted.

“I need a phone,” Jonathan said.

His smile didn’t falter.

They found the single Bed & Breakfast the town had to offer, asked for a bedroom — it only had one bed, they didn’t mind and neither did the young lady in charge —, they asked to use their phone, “How much is a phone call to Indiana, you think?” Jonathan asked Argyle, smile turning into a wicked grin and Argyle had definitely never seen that, so the only answer he could come up with was a loud laugh.

Jonathan dialed.

Argyle saw the lady had a bong on her table, so he lit up their final joint.

They waited for the phone to be answered.

Jonathan’s eyes never left Argyle’s, and their wide smiles were like mirrors of each other. Argyle had no idea what Jonathan was up to, clearly no good, but Argyle was down to it anyway. He’d follow Jonathan in whatever disturbed plan he had, to whatever edge of the world he wanted to go to.

And, finally:

“Hop, hey, it’s Jon. I’m in Canada. Yeah, you heard it right, Canada. Do you think Owens’ FBI friends can do us a final favor?”

⟿

Argyle looks out the window.

In the reflex, he sees Jonathan, his head on Argyle’s shoulder, and he’s also looking out the window. It’s been like this for a few months now, just the two of them, in tandem, doing the same things. Synchronized. It feels good, the best he ever felt. Jonathan’s skin is warm against Argyle where their arms touch, and he smiles without even thinking about it. It’s been like this for a few months now, smiling around just at the thought or sight of Jonathan. It feels good. The best he ever felt about someone.

“I’m really glad we did this,” Jonathan mumbles against Argyle’s shoulder.

This: a trip along the coast to a different country? This: bribing the government for a new beginning in a town so small and forgettable that no monster, human or not, could find them again? This: getting a house of their own, a fucking boat and a fishing license, a truck they could drive down to Charlottetown on good days?

This: falling in love in the process?

Argyle’s not sure what Jonathan is referring to. He’s really glad too, either way.

Argyle looks at their small world out the window.

It’s Sunday morning, commerce is all closed, streets are empty. The sun is covered by clouds, a summer thunderstorm approaching, and he can see the sea from here. There’s no one at the beach. The waves look nice. All that amount of water, the vast nothingness of the view and the wide greatness it contains.

It’s not too much. It’s nothing at all, actually, and it’s everything.

And it’s perfect that way.

#jargyle #jonathan byers x argyle #jargyle fanfic #jargyle fic #jargyle oneshot #argyle x jonathan byers #jonathan byers #argyle #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfic #lui writes #lexssummerfanworkschallenge #should've posted this tomorrow on jargyle jursday but oh well. what's done is done

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slamminslamminmcgill · 10 months

Note

MAN I LOVE UR WRITING I NEED MORE JIMMY MCGILL NOWWW!!!!! that’s unhinged im so sorry

anyways if ur still taking requests i beg u to write smthn abt Goodman helping a client (client is transmasc and tatted and pieced as fuck (me)) with weed possession and he wins the case cus he’s Saul Goodman obviously. after they celebrate with a joint and they have some nasty high sex. like imagining Saul coughing on a joint and being like “damn kid this shit’s strong.. let’s fuck” makes me shensudbwjwbs 🙏🙏

anyways have a good day/night man, congrats on graduating!!! :))

HIIIII im also tatted and pierced so this is personal 2 me 😌🖤 kinda took the piercing idea and ran with it teehee

didn’t wanna describe any specific tattoos but i included some piercing mentions (nipples, septum, tongue, vch for plot relevance >:3c)

this is also way longer than a usual drabble so plbbbbbt

warning: intox kink (weed), light degradation

anatomical terms: clit/dick/cock, pussy, hole

“In light of this new evidence, the court has decided to drop all charges against the defendant.”

Slam dunk. Saul did it again. He’d managed to convince the judge that the cop who arrested you for marijuana possession had conducted an illegal search. He got you off. You were grateful that you wouldn’t have this looming over your head for the rest of your life. So grateful, in fact, that you hugged him as soon as you two stepped out of the courtroom.

“Ah, don’t mention it, kid. Least I could do for you.” He smiled and patted your back. He’d actually taken quite a liking to you while working on your case. You reminded him of his Slippin’ Jimmy days back in Chicago. A naïve 20-something with an affinity for pot and a less than stellar relationship with the law. He hoped he could steer you on the right path, and maybe have some fun with you too. “Say, you’re actually my last client for today. You wanna grab some food with me or something? Maybe Peter Parker’s girlfriend could join us.”

You snorted. Mary Jane. That was your code for inviting each other to smoke, which ironically you'd done frequently while working on your case. You pushed yourself off his chest and smiled up at him. “Sure. I’d like that.”

You two sat in the parking lot of Los Pollos Hermanos hotboxing his luxury car, passing a joint back and forth with greasy fingers. You took a bite of your sandwich, and a glob of chipotle mayo fell onto your nice, clean dress shirt.

"Aw, man." You groaned, before remembering you didn't need to impress anyone anymore. You shrugged, "Eh, whatever," and untied your tie, no doubt getting chicken grease all over the fabric. Then, you unbuttoned and untucked your ruined shirt, wiped the mayo off with a napkin, and tossed it behind you, leaving you in a tank top undershirt with your arm tattoos exposed. "God, I hate wearing long sleeves. I don't know how you can wear full suits in weather like this. Feel like I'm suffocating."

"You get used to it." Saul laughed and cranked the A/C for you. "I just wasn't sure if the judge would appreciate your ink as much as I do. Wanted to make sure you had the 'perfect little darling' look, y'know? Some people are close-minded like that. Least you don't have to anymore." He passed you the joint. His eyes trailed up your forearms to your chest, where he saw two barbells poking through your shirt. "Woah, hey! You got your high beams on! I'm surprised you didn't set off the metal detector with those!"

You had no idea what he was talking about, "Huh?", until your eyes followed his and you looked down. "Oh! Oh yeah, I figured I wouldn't have to take those ones out."

"Well, they look good on you. Not a lot of dudes can pull them off." Saul took a sip of his drink, ice sloshing as he put it down in the cup holder. "How many piercings you got, anyway?"

You ran through your list nonchalantly. “Not counting the ones on my ears, I have four. Septum, tongue, both nipples, and-“ You stopped yourself short and froze. The other piercing was a VCH. Vertical clit hood. If you told him that, you’d be outing yourself. You decided the best move was to say nothing else. He was a smart guy. Let him figure it out.

And he did. “Oh, ho! Naughty boy! You got a Prince Albert or something?" He elbowed you. "Chicks must be ALL over you."

You grimaced, hoping it looked like a nervous smile. "Not exactly..."

"Hm. Tell you what." Saul lit the joint, hit it, and passed it to you. "I'll buy you an eighth if you show me."

You nearly dropped the joint on your leg when he said that. "What?! Are you serious?!"

"Dead serious! I wanna know if I'm missing out! Maybe I should get one." You anxiously took a puff as he spoke with confidence. Confidence that was unwarranted; he had no clue what he was getting into. "Look, I got a guy and his stuff is the shit. It'll be worth it, I promise. You just whip it out, lemme see, put it back, and I'll hook you up. Hell, I'll even knock some off the money you owe me."

You did the cost benefit analysis in your head. Free weed plus less debt to your lawyer, and all you have to do is show him your pussy? Would it really be so bad? He really wasn't the judgmental type. He'd definitely ogle, but surely he'd understand. You sighed. "Okay. I'll do it." You took one more hit of the joint and passed it to him before you unbuckled your belt. "Just so you know, though, it's probably not what you're expecting."

Saul scoffed. "Kid, I've seen a lot of crazy things in my day. Unless your dick has a radio antenna sticking out of it or something, I think I can handle it."

You ignored his sass and worked on undressing yourself. You slid your pants off, and crossed your legs so he wouldn't see the lack of bulge in your underwear. Then, you looked over at him. "Ready?"

"Ready." He answered smugly.

You uncrossed your legs and tugged your underwear down. Your clothes pooled around your ankles, and you kicked your shoes off to free yourself. Now for the reveal. You turned your body to face him, scooted forwards, and opened your legs, hooking one behind the driver's seat, and the other propped on the dashboard. You spread your lips and showed him your, rather unconventional, dick piercing. The metal barbell stared him right in the face, and he stared back, mouth agape.

"Oh my god..."

You could see the gears turning in his head. His eyes flicked back and forth from your junk, to your face, and then back to your junk. For a man who loved the sound of his own voice, it was rare for him to be left truly speechless, but you'd done it. It was honestly quite the confidence boost.

You smirked. "Well? Is it everything you hoped for?"

"Yeah... Yeah it is..." He answered breathlessly. His mind was screaming at him not to fuck this up.

"Got anything to say? Any questions, comments, or-"

Saul butted in the middle of your sentence. Apparently, he did have something important to say. "Can I touch it?" He blurted out.

You knew exactly where this was going, and you were gonna enjoy the ride. "Sure, go for it." You took the joint and the lighter from him, leaving his hands free to explore.

Saul leaned over and brushed his hand against your skin, not fully making contact with the piercing just yet, essentially just rubbing his fingers up your slit. He was taking his time. He was warming you up. "This is... This is incredible. God, you're... you're really something else kid."

You took a hit of the joint and sighed on the exhale. From his gentle touch and praise to the haze of the weed, you were plenty warm already. Once he thought the same, he pressed his thumb against the barbell and flicked it up. Your whole body jolted and you gasped. "Ah!"

"You alright?" He asked, not pulling his hand away. He kept it firmly in position, ready to strike again.

"Y-Yeah, just-" He did it again, "Ngh... just be careful it's-" and again, "ah... it's sensitive..." and again.

He chuckled. "I can tell. Is that why you got it? You like the extra stimulation?"

"Mhm..." You nodded.

"Heh... slut." He pressed his thumb down hard and rubbed you in quick circles. "Keep smoking. I'm gonna have fun with you."

"O-Okayyy..." You whimpered and lit the joint while he teased you, watching him with wanting eyes as you climbed higher and higher. The smoke left your body and carried a sigh of pleasure out with it.

Keeping his thumb on your cock, he scooped his other fingers down and prodded at your hole. "Aw, look at you. You're already wet for me? That's precious." He slipped two inside without resistance, cooing to you as he pumped them in and out, savoring your pathetic whines and tremors. "Oh, now that's a good boy. C'mon, take another hit."

You took another drag, and while your lungs were full of smoke, he shot his fingers up against your g-spot. You moaned for half a second before choking on your hit. You coughed and waved the smoke out of your face, scrambling for some semblance of composure. "You dick! You did that on purp-ohhh..."

Saul kept working his hand, laughing at how easy it was to shut you up. "Yeah. Yeah, I did, but don't act like you don't love it." He leaned in and kissed your cheek before whispering right to you, making sure you could hear him over your own body. "Hear that? Hear how wet you are for me? That's how I know you love it. Whore." He tilted your face towards him and caught you in a kiss. You let his tongue invade your mouth and take what he wanted, a trail of spit connected you two as he broke off. "You like getting filled up, huh, boy?"

Your voice was a high-pitched, desperate whine. "Y-Yes..."

"Yeah? I bet you like getting fucked in your tight little pussy, too, is that right? You like it when a big, strong, man puts his cock in you and uses you like a cheap sex doll?"

Another slam dunk. He was right on the money. "Yes! Yes! Oh, fuck, yes!"

He flashed a sinister grin. "Good boy." He pulled his hand out of you and went for his own belt. He yanked his pants down, showing off a noteworthy tent in his boxers. You didn't get much of a look before those were off too, but the sight of what was underneath was far better. "Gimme the joint." He demanded as he stroked his cock in preparation.

You'd do anything he said. You handed him the joint and the lighter without a second thought.

"Good boy." He took a hit and blew the smoke in your direction. "So," He took a second to cough, "what you're gonna do is you're gonna sit on my cock and bounce that pretty little ass of yours on it. You think you can do that?"

There were no words left in your mind. You were an animal, acting purely on instinct. He gave the order, and immediately you climbed into his lap, bumping into the steering wheel a few times as you tried to situate yourself. Saul offered no assistance, he just continued with the joint. Fortunately, you managed to get into position without help, and you sunk down onto his cock.

"Oh! Oh my-Mmph!"

He used your wide open mouth as an opportunity to shotgun you. He blew the smoke into you and let it fill the parts of your body that he couldn't reach. You gripped his shoulders and squeezed him like you were trying to pop him. When he pulled back, you dropped your head onto his shoulder and whined.

"There we go. You feel so good, baby boy." He kissed your head and rubbed your back, comforting you as you settled into him. "Now," He yanked you up by your hair to look him in the eyes.

"Hold on tight. Cause I'm gonna take you for a ride..."

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selarina · 2 years

Text

He's giving me the Maybes

→ Suna Rintaro x Fem!Reader

Content Warnings: set in christmas, friends to ???, smoking weed, suna is not a drug dealer, dancing, a dead pigeon rip, smut but not quite, unedited, dubious consent (they're both high)

Words: 2.5k words

Author's Note: kinda hate this, kinda love this

Series Masterlist | Read on AO3

You sit on the sofa, eyes downcast on the gift perched on your lap. The wrapping paper has a light red tint to it, with little Christmas trees scattered all over as added embellishment.

Looking up, you feel it's strange to be sitting alone in the living room, especially with the decorations spilling out and about, Christmas trees were strewn around, including some edible ones, and random specks of glitter that most likely fell off a handmade greeting card. All of it serves to bring life to the room, but when you're alone, there is an eerie undertone you cannot seem to ignore.

You don't have sufficient time to dwell on it because you hear some commotion, you trace the noise back to the corridor, and you can only assume your relatives are flocking in to join you.

You decide to remain seated and let other people approach you to extend their greetings. Most of them leave soon after they’re through with their version of small talk. Although you weren't expecting anything less, you feel drained.

The gift in your hand is now seated on your cousin's lap as she babbles on about her new girlfriend. You sigh and tilt your head to the ceiling after she leaves to answer a call. Contrary to today's events, you quite enjoy learning these tidbits of information. It's amusing to talk to your cousins a year later and find out that the information you learned no longer means a thing. However, it has been a long day.

The atmosphere of the room shifts, as your cousin and your brother, arrive. They’re late, as per usual. A loudspeaker in your cousin’s hands spews out hip-hop baselines and you feel a throbbing sensation in your head that you could assume would only build as the night progresses.

You notice a beer already sitting in your brother’s grip, as he sits down next to you placing a brown package on the table in front of you, you can only assume it is more alcohol. "So... What did you get for your boyfriend?"

"Huh?" you question as your eyebrows furrow in confusion, a budding fear in your chest.

"For his birthday?" he clarifies.

"What..." the panic in your voice is immediate. "You better not be fucking with me."

"Err... I just said hello to him on my way here. It's okay, he seemed fine. A little sad, but I would be too if my girlfriend forgot my birthday," he snickers, which soon fades into awkward silence when he notices your glum expression because he was expecting a quip-back instead. "But uh, hey! It could be the birthday blues? What do I know," he adds in a hasty attempt to undo what he’s caused.

Your cousin snickers, ”What kind of person doesn't know their boyfriend's birthday?" A couple of other relatives joined in with the laughter, as though they were part of a paid audience at a talk show.

A terrible one, you think. Your brother opens his mouth, most likely to reprimand them before you say, "Ex-boyfriend," a remorseful edge to your words. "Ex-boyfriend because I just broke up with him like an hour ago."

A groan leaves you as you face palms yourself, your forehead stinging as aftermath. It seemed well-deserved anyhow.

The room falls silent for a brief moment before they resume their conversations with one another. Your brother joins your side, "You barely knew the guy anyway," he says as he offers an awkward pat on your shoulder, a gesture that does very little to ease you.

You're not sure if you should apologise. You have no idea what you would even say and you’re fairly certain you would make things worse.

You had scarcely been dating for two months. The relationship strung a lot more on the physical aspect, which you didn't mind at all. At first, neither did he, but as time passed, you realised you formed a full-fledged relationship with a person who had expectations that your relationship barely met. You weren't sure if you wanted to do anything about to change that, as harsh as that may sound. So, you figured it was only fair to end things now.

"Thank you for that. Now if you'll excuse me — I'm going to get very drunk or very high. Good night, and a Merry Christmas!" You give your brother an exaggerated fake smile before leaving the gathering with your belongings in your hands.

Taking your phone from your jacket, you text Rintaro telling him you'll be home in 20 minutes.

You arrive in front of your house after a half-hour drive to find Suna already waiting for you on the steps to your door. He wears a headphone around his neck and appears to be meticulously playing something on his phone. His hair is longer than you remember, and it's neatly combed and styled.

He quirks up almost immediately after sensing your presence, which surprises you. He stands up, pocketing his phone. As you get closer to him, you notice a soft pink tint on his nose, it makes him look softer in appearance.

Eyeing your outfit for a brief minute before he smirks, knowingly. You roll your eyes, accentuating your movement to express your annoyance. Your cousin's knitting is undeniably adorable as a gesture but not so much as a fashion statement.

Sitting next to Suna on your toasty couch, you reflect on the events that took place today, contemplating whether you should tell him. Suna, you see, is more of a friend than a drug dealer.

In fact, he's not a drug dealer at all, he just happens to know people who are. He doesn’t smoke as often either but he’s on his off-season so he doesn’t mind indulging sometimes.

You first crossed paths in college when you stumbled into Rintaro instead of his roommate, who was supposed to be your presentation partner but they did not show up that evening, and the rest, as they say, is history.

"I broke up with my boyfriend today," you break the comfortable silence.

"You did?"

"Yeah," you chortle. "It was his birthday too."

"Oh," a beat of silence. "One second," eyeing his phone before he gets up. "The food's here. I'll be right back." He leaves and you’re left alone fighting the urge to cuss at yourself.

You're on the verge of ripping your hair out when he reappears, clutching a small bag and two plates.

"That sounds awkward, by the way."

"I didn't know it was his birthday," you say in your defense, which comes out a little too quickly for your liking.

"What difference would that have made?" You give him a look of confusion, open your mouth to ask him where he’s going with this, before he clarifies, “Would you have stayed with him because it was his birthday?”

"Maybe," you say after you stop to think for a few seconds.

He says nothing as he rolls up his sleeves and begins to open the package. You take a brief note of the subtle but noticeable veins on his hand when he extends to retrieve the plates.

You keep going, knowing that he is listening. "That's probably worse, right?” You chuckle remorsefully, “I even memorized the breakup speech a couple of times. I think my priority was to be free of any and all guilt, and I already had a lot from overstaying in the relationship, so I guess... maybe, it doesn't matter."

“There you have it,” is all he can offer with his limited knowledge on the matter.

He continues, "But I did warn you about men who can't cook."

“Oh yeah? That leaves me with who?” You rack your brain for at least one name. One name. “Osamu?”

"I can cook as well," he says, a bit offended. You ignore the possible implication; he most likely missed it himself.

“Knowing how to cook only rice is not cooking cooking.”

"Fine, maybe. I can always learn," he sneers in defeat. His tone shifts and he’s gentle when he asks you, "Are you all right though?"

"Of course," you offer him a soft smile.

You spend the rest of the hour mostly in silence, smoking a blunt while satiating your hunger on breadsticks and lasagna. Halfway through, he asks you if he can play music. You agree, wanting to fill the silence but not by a lot.

Song after song, the soft buzz in your head leaves you as the food starts to empty.

After you're fully done, you decide to wash up, Rintaro and the music on his phone trailing behind you, from the hall to your kitchen.

He's wiping the plates that you washed and you question him about Bean. Bean is a pool black cat who showed up at Rintaro's door one night, meowing her heart's content until she was offered something to fill her stomach, and she has since adopted him.

When you were at his house one evening, she appeared with a dead pigeon, flecks of furious gold in her eyes as she offered it to him, leaving it at his doorstep before she licked her paws and strutted away into the mist. You were reasonably scared of her.

These days, she occasionally shows up. Rintaro thinks it's to check on him. You tell him you think she has better things to do.

His hand brushes against yours as he takes the washed plate from you, the pads of his fingers feel rough against your skin, it seems fitting for a volleyball player.

You're back in the hall again, and the two of you decide to share the last blunt. A slew of smoke leaving his lips as the song ends.

A few seconds of silence before the next song begins — it's a soft instrumental song on a steel guitar.

You smile, and Rintaro asks you why with his eyebrows raised, as you take the blunt from his hand. "It's a nice song, didn't expect to find it on your playlist 's all"

"It's an old song. My parents, they used to dance to this sometimes." You smile.

"Nauseating," he adds. You smile harder.

The two of sit there in silence as take a hit, the song playing as the notes sleepily dance in one after the other.

"Rintaro," you say softly. He turns your way, prompting you to continue. "Would you, maybe, want to dance?"

You're not sure what prompted you to ask in the first place, but you don't have time to think about it as he's up on his feet, stretching his legs after which he holds his hand out for you to take. "All right, come on," he beckons with a smirk, his hand brushing against yours to pull you up.

His hands find the sides of your hips. Your right hand carefully holds onto the blunt as you place your hands on his shoulders.

For a while, the two of you simply sway to the silken beat. You think he's pretty like this. In an objective sense, he has always been attractive, but with the slight smile on his face, he appears even more so, you believe.

He's gently pushing you out into a clumsy spin. You twirl, unabashed chuckles leaving your lips, and it isn’t graceful in the slightest, but when your hands land back on his shoulders, you find that you're happy.

Wanting to rest your head on his shoulders, you move your hands out to envelope him into a hug. Swaying as you feel him reverberate as he hums.

You move away to face him, only now realising that maybe the two of you crossed boundaries you had quietly agreed to. You realised how intimate you were being.

Holding your hand out to pass the blunt to him, you hope it will ease the air. But instead of taking it from you, he holds onto your wrist as he brings your hand closer to his mouth, as he takes a hit.

The smoke covers your view of his face, but you feel it — his lips on your palm as he gently kisses it.

As the smoke clears out on its own, you meet his eyes and it's tentative — the slow reach of his hands towards the blunt in your hand. He bands to put it off and place it on the table.

You inch closer, knowingly or unknowingly, you can't tell really but you find yourself inches away from his face, inches away from his lips.

You feel the need to turn and check on the put-out blunt on your table. You know it’s not about the blunt though, you feel vulnerable and you’re surprised with yourself for not shying away at the sight of his limpid green eyes peering into your own. His lips brush against yours, "Are you sur—"

He doesn't get to finish because you pull him into a kiss. There's nothing cautious about the kiss. It's nothing short of intense, but to an onlooker, the soft music playing in the background makes the scene appear a lot more softer than it is.

You stay in the kiss before you have to pull away, unable to physically sustain it any longer.

You meet his dazed eyes and they soften for a moment, it is hard to miss because Suna rarely wears an unguarded expression on his face. You don't have to cement it to memory because his hands reach for your face again, luring you into another kiss.

A moment of "What the fuck am I doing?" dawns on you as you find yourself in dizzy anticipation. At the end of the day, he is a friend, and despite the initial turmoil at the beginning of your relationship, he has emerged as one of the few people who will always support you when you need it.

An underlying fear of what comes after is ever-present right now, but it fades into merely an after-thought as you find yourself too enticed by his wandering hands and lips that move almost rhythmically.

Breaking away from the kiss, you push your hands against his chest, gently shoving him backward as a gesture to take a seat on the couch. He smirks, and you take notice of his tastefully ruffled hair as if he just crawled out of underbrush somewhere.

He sits, slightly manspreading while his hands remain tethered to your waist. You smile as you take in the sight of him like this.

Ruffled hair, crumpled clothes, glistening lips — you've never seen him this unraveled, not even during those bleary late-night study sessions in college. The sight stirs something visceral within you, and for a brief moment, you feel a smug sense of pride as it dawns on you that you did this to him.

He pulls you towards him, imploring you to sit and you oblige, parting your legs to take the seat reserved for you on his lap. His hands creep up from beneath your top, stopping to fiddle with the underside of your boobs, just beneath your bra.

You let out a soft gasp as you press soft kisses against his neck, unsure if you can leave a mark on him.

You can feel the warmth of his body against your skin, as he groans into the crevice of your neck as you tentatively grind against him.

Your top ruffles up, due to his continued ministrations. The cold air striking against your exposed skin. Your nipples stiffen up against your bra as Suna's cold fingers reach up to rub the fabric of your bra, and you think maybe he's going to—

"Whether you're up in the clouds or going way underground, it's easy to take your music with you wherever you go. With Spotify Premium—"

#suna rintaro x reader #suna x reader #suna rintaro fluff #suna rintaro oneshot #suna rintaro x y/n #suna rintaro x you #suna rintaro drabbles #haikyuu x reader #suna rintaro x reader smut #haikyuu x y/n #haikyu x reader

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ceph-the-ghost-writer · 29 days

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Happy STS Ceph! If someone was looking for your characters, how would they describe them to people? What features would they most pick out to distinguish them from a crowd?

Isaac: His messy black curls are probably the best way to spot him. Not messy as in stylish bedhead, but as in oh, this man is on the brink and desperately needs help with self-care. (It's not until Dorian coaxes him into it that his hair starts to become noticeably healthier and eye-catching for other reasons.) Elfy describes his fashion sense best: Mexican grandpa and/or country veterinarian. That is, flannel/plaid shirts (buttoned all the way to the collar in Isaac's case), and old jeans that don't fit him well at all. Again, it's not until Isaac starts rebuilding and maintaining relationships with others that this changes. 9 out of 10 times you'll catch him with his eyes glued to the screen of his tab, doing something work-related.

Renato: If you meet a man who makes you forget every warning your common sense screams at you, you'll know you met Renato Faria Dimas. Of course the blue-green color of his eyes gets the most attention. Though he acts like this is tiresome, he goes through a lot of effort to groom his brows and hair as well as pick clothing colors to show them to their best advantage. He's a dating sim character come to life: handsome, charming, seductive, and definitely hiding more than meets the eye beneath the pretty façade. Dimples are another weapon in his arsenal he uses to devastating effect.

Dorian: Critics rave 5 stars, want to hug and/or cuddle with them on first meeting. Dorian exudes a love for life and the topics they're passionate about which is downright infectious. Their peacoat is legendary, though they do wear other hoodies and sweaters depending on the season and conditions. They've loved having their hair braided since they were very small, and continue to make an event of it as an adult, with food and movies and drinks with family and friends all day. They also really like the freckles across their face and shoulders, if you're one of the fortunate few to see those. You may have to wade through a sea of their other admirers to get to them.

Kinslayer: Isaac wasn't exaggerating when he described meeting their gaze as staring down the barrel of a rifle. Their eyes are an utter shade of black, reflecting no light whatsoever. Kinslayer has worn many faces and experienced life in all sorts of bodies, but this feature remains a common denominator no matter what they look like.

Elfy: She's the tiny woman with all the piercings, the mop of reddish-brown curls piled on her head, and who's vibrating like a rocket about to take off, unable to keep still. Can't miss her.

Ben: They just don't make 'em like this nowadays. He looks like a thug or back alley boxer from a movie set during the Great Depression because, well, that's kinda what he was. His size, the broken-one-too-many-times nose, and scarred knuckles give him a natural intimidation factor. He's quick to smile though, and the gleam in his brown eyes can turn someone's knees from a solid to a liquid even quicker. You know, if big, bi vampire guys are your thing anyway.

Motley/Noose: Its stitched together skin really makes it stand out in a crowd. Even its sunken eyes are unusual amongst necromancers, smoldering with a sullen red light rather than being the dull, lifeless gray of something that's been preserved in a jar of alcohol. Of course, it could very well be disguised as that stray dog trotting down the street. Or a white-faced barn owl in the tree outside the window. Or--goodness forbid--somebody you knew.

Breezy: One of the three weed-smoking girlfriends, now semi-retired in her 60s and versed in witchcraft. When she feels like wearing clothes, she could be in full, flowing ren faire garb or a pair of denim overalls for working in her garden. (Has a pretty nice tan, given her nudist tendencies.) She might braid her long white hair, but more often than not leaves it in loose waves over her shoulders.

#dysthanasia #writeblr #answered asks #storyteller saturday

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dafitness4shawn · 11 months

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Hey y’all! Went for a run today. It was meh but what should I expect from the first run back. I’ll blame it on not being at sea level anymore. That’s not what I wanted to talk about though!

After smoking weed almost daily for 10 years, tonight marks 28 days of not smoking or ingesting THC. The significance of the number came from this video (https://youtu.be/7u_cm5b1s7Y). According to the video that’s when your “affected endocannabinoid system and CB1 receptors return to baseline.” I take that info with a grain of salt because we are not all built the same but it’s still nice to say I made it to that number, it’s the longest I’ve ever gone. I actually took a home-drug test at Day 14 (brand was Equate) and passed, which I was very surprised about and didn’t want to believe. I feel one reason people never touch the stuff is because you hear things like “it’s detectable for months!” However my lab tech girlfriend who deals with test very similar says it’s accurate and that the time it stays detectable is going to differ from person to person.

Anyway, if you’ve followed for a while you know that I’ve struggled in the past with taking breaks so of course I wanted to share this milestone. Definitely couldn’t do it without support. @emilweeb suggested supplements (specifically the Ashwagandha) and I heard the Magnesium Glycinate helps with sleep so I gave that a try as well. They definitely helped so much in the beginning. Recently I fell off with taking them daily but I’m gonna get back into it, especially since I do feel positive effects from them. Her advice behind the supplements was to replace bad habits with good habits. Also have to give credit to my girlfriend. She doesn’t smoke anymore but did just as much as me in the past/when we first met. Sometimes you need someone to tell you, “Don’t do that,” but in a loving, non-judgemental way.

I guess the question now is, “Am I done with weed forever?” The answer is no. I know I don’t want to be a daily user anymore, and I prefer not to get back into smoking, since no matter what you smoke, smoking is bad for your respiratory system, and that’s a fact. Not gonna lie though, I’m not saying I’ll never smoke again, just not going to make that my main method. I wanna ease back into it at my own pace. I have tinctures and edibles waiting for me when I decide to take that step, but even while writing this out I’m not in a rush to get high again, which is honestly, so weird to think.

I feel like there’s so much more I could add but this post is LONG. I’m always down to answers questions though if this post sparks any for anyone. I hope y’all are having a great day :)

#vegan #vegains #fitblr #dafitness4shawn #personal fitblr #fitspiration #workout #runblr #poc fitblr #plant based #poc fitspo

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bitter-sweet-coffee · 9 months

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Do you think Espio took drugs before he met Wave? Or did he take them after meeting Wave? Did Wave give Espio drugs for the first time or introduced him to new ones.

hm… that totally depends on if you consider weed a drug lmao.

like, listen. YES, marijuana is a drug. sorta. well it is, but it’s not real to me <- canadian who forgets the whole world isn’t pro-weed. espio is, though. 100%

wave however, she’s a wee bit more ambitious lol. mainly your club drugs and some psychedelics (which to me, aren’t real drugs, i know i’m biased!) but you could slide some narcos in there for some flavour and she wouldn’t be opposed.

i’m not saying wave would force espio to do anything, but he IS an arrogant prick who thinks he’s invincible. they’d probably do shrooms together, but that’s some spirituality shit right there so it’s not out of character for him necessarily.

honestly, wave likes that espio’s more stable than her in this department. she wouldn’t want to ruin him, she already likes who he is! espio is an intellectual adrenaline junkie who listens to her rant unconditionally and loves spending time with her. she couldn’t ask for a better match! even if he’s kinda into the darker lifestyle of the rogues and isn’t opposed by any means, wave puts a boundary there since he has a lot more to lose than her.

TLDR: they’re weed smoking girlfriends for the most part! espio isn’t as pure as people may think, and wave isn’t that much of an enabler either… not for drugs, anyways. she WILL enable him to stand up for himself for instance, or encourage him to set work boundaries, but not drugs hehe

#bsc canon lore #bsc ships #espave #espio the chameleon #wave the swallow #drug mention #idk if people care about that stuff #some people might get mad about sonic characters doing drugs but idgaf #if you’re willing to normalize disability and neurodivergency and gender/sexuality hcs in fanon you should also be fine with substance abuse #addiction is a real thing my guys and it doesn’t make you a shitty person to be struggling or to depict struggling #as long as it is in good taste as with any other example i’ve given

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maul1703 · 1 month

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Dear diary, my birthay is almost here. I don't have any weed left. I bought a good stock and spend most of my money on it. It is like a birthday gift for myself because i know i will not receive any gift. Weed is also only thing that help me sleep well without anxiety.

I'm thinking mostly in these days. Thinking, thinking and thinking again about my life. I do have friends around me but their presence feels like strangers. I can't deny that they love me. I love them too but I can't just bond with them. If i just dissappear or die they will be like "oh what a tragedy at this young age. Anyway life goes on." And they will forget about me in 2 month completly.

I have family members and lot of cousins. One of my cousin is more than just cousin. We grow up like brothers. Tomorrow he will make a marriage proposal to his girlfriend and he want me to be there with him. Im so happy for him to be honest. He will experience something that i will never experience. Because some broken people like me can't find peace in their life. I can't even imagine myself with a wife and happy family. Not that because i don't want to but i just can't. It feels cringe to think about that.

But i did accept the truth that i am alone. But in the end i know that i have god with me. I was never kind of a guy that fanatic or religious. But gods presence pushing me forward. It reminds me he is close to me than my blood vessels. I am trying to be more kind and good person every day. Not because of i am scared of being punished at judgement day it just feels like right thing to do. While im smoking alone at my secret place, one cat came to me and sit on my lap. His fur was so soft and he start purr immediatly while im petting him. I was so high but i just get up from the place i sit and found a market that i can buy something for him. I bought some saussage and salami for my little friend.

He ate it all probly he was hungry. I talk about how i feel at that moment with that beautiful animal. Recently what happened in my life, my life story. He just said meow and get closer to me on my lap. That little guy was like "dont worry human, i will be here for you tonight and keep you company" It was like a angel send by god to me.

As i said before, my birthday is almost here and i really dont like the day i born. When i was kid i was always so excited about it. It was like a day that make me feel special. But after a time, it just reminding me how hard is life. But im always trying my best and fighting. Im trying to find things that will make me hold on to life. It can be small smile from a stranger at market or a cat trying to climb on my leg at bus stop. I hope things will be better in time. I am working for it but i also need some luck. I hope i made it one day.

#diary #digital diary #my diary #tumblr diary #depressing shit #tired #tw depressing thoughts #tw depressing stuff

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holyluvr · 10 months

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well as a bi gnc man to us gays you'll always seem like a conformist sell-out traitor who craves the convenience and safety of heteronormativity by seeking out a het relationship despite your real preference being men. you will always look like you have internalized homophobia so bad that you're trying to 'convert' yourself with a woman, that's the reality. you just look pitiable and your girlfriend Will look like a bff/ beard lol. the only women who want you are mostly gay-fetishizing homophobic fruit flies, which doesn't help your case. you will always look like a self-hating femme gay man with a beard, like a pair of zesty hets fetishizing homosexuality. you will never change that perception and this is from everyone, gay straight and bi people alike lol. only deeply homophobic heteros would applaud you for 'trying to be normal', everyone reasonable will clock you as a closet case. because while there are plenty of masc gay men, most feminine men Are same-sex attracted. even neuroscience implies that with there being a slight inversion pattern in gay people's brains, which makes us slightly alike heteros of the opposite sex.

the only thing you can do to stop this perception is either act more masc or date men. why so desperate to be in an innately mismatched and unequal het relationship anyway? bi people need to realize you can’t have the cake and eat it lol, you don't have 'the best of both worlds', perhaps you have the worst pick. why would a het woman be with a man who enjoys getting d***ed down? such a man will always return to the real deal and that's great, good for them. so no normal woman will want that unless she's a homophobic hetero-enforcing wench who thinks she can convert you to 'normalcy' or a gay-fetishizing hoe who sees you as a kinky sex object.

I've tried dating bi women who are gender-conforming and clearly enjoy d*** way too much to ever truly desire me despite me being out of their league. I'll never sell myself short like that again, they can all go to their ugly neck-beards instead of hitting me on only to use me and lead me on. so-called monosexual people don't owe you shit, almost no-one is a 50-50 bi and everyone deserves sb who is at least overwhelmingly attracted to their sex which they can't change? what's the point if your innate reality isn't even their ideal type lmao.

This has a lot happening and plenty of commentary on various subjects; but how is this relevant to me? Your anger is misplaced. 🙏🏻

I’m smoking weed with a faggot and ordering us some Korean-Mexican food, so…I’m too perplexed and don’t give a damn enough to give you a response on this.

#…#🎭👸🏻#💌

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davidtennantpussytulpa · 7 months

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sorry im gonna send you another ask cos im Obsessed with you. now do star trek. um specially ds9 but also tng pls and thank you also i love you . And you can answer for tos too if you want 😋

KICKS MY LITTLE FEETS IN THE AIR FOREVERRRRR 🤭🤭🙈🙈🙈 YAAYAYY MUTUAL OBSESSIONNNN ❣️❣️❣️❣️ILYYYY

Favorite character: tos is spock tng is data ds9 is quark HEEHEEEE 🤭🤭🤭

Second favorite character: tos is jim tng is UHM. IMPOSSIBLE TO CHOOSE. BUT MY SWEET ANGEL WESLEY 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻 OR MY SILLY ANGEL WORF 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻 and ds9 i loveeee jadzia… 💙💙💙

Least favorite character: tos i dont dislike anyone on the crew so probably mudd bc even tho i really love his eps hes a good villain hes also a misogynist </3 tng is pulaski like SORRYYY to all the thinkpiece bitches out there saying its not feminist to hate her bc shes basically the same as bones its like. 1. okay so shes kind of badly written bc they just tried to rip off bones and 2. her thing with data isnt the same as his with spock bc spock was bitchy right back but data just didnt get it. so she was just being straight up cruel to him all the time and nobody defended him. YEAH SHE GOT ME HEATED. and ds9 i got distracted by so many other tv shows shes been on hiatus for a bit but kai winn booooo we hate your ass 👎🏻👎🏻👎🏻

The character I’m most like: now. Uhm. literally fighting one million years with myself to determine kirk or spock and i never fully decided so we will leave it at they are two sides of the same coin and that coin is MEEEE ^_^. tng is hard to say bc i love them all but none of them ever grabbed me by the throat and shoved me into a mirror like so many other shows have done. i think either data geordi or picard (minus his leadership skills) would be the closest fit for me. and well as those who were here for biquark url know. 😏🤭

Favorite pairing: tos is obviously spirk 5ever and always like it changed the world. they are the fucking blueprint for everything they invented gay people. tng literally everything is so fun i think everyone has huge chemistry such interesting dynamics with each other. deanna and riker invented t4t bi4bi love but then geordi and data invented my lovely robot wife but then rikorf invented silly boy and autistic boy love and then qcard invented me and my wet crumpled paper bag weirdo boyfriend. HOW COULD I DECIDE… 💔💔 and ds9 quodo is everythang… i love you sillies ❤️

Least favorite pairing: this has less to do with tos and more the crimes of other trek series using tos characters but. spuhura i guess you had some moments but why did they do both your characters the disservice :(( and tos chapel and spock was so nice and hurting like i love her she crucified herself for the right to love a stoic alien (girl i get ittt) and snw fucking slaughtered her. literally feel sick thinking about how horribly they adapted her. evil and sick and twisted. anyways. tng i didnt love geordis weird hologirlfriend and also barclay stay your ass away from any woman on board. ds9 whaaaleeeee i dont really hate anything at the moment ^-^ i guess when i swing back around to it i may have more to say…. 🧐

Favorite moment: OHHHOHHHHOHHH. WELL. tos pretty much anything with spock he is my beautiful angel. but ill say the entirety of city on the edge of forever its so insanely good and has me vomiting up blood. oh also i love kevin riley when he goes crazy and is singing to the ship :•) tng oh god when data is on that planet with the little girl hes pen pals with. ingrained in my brain forever. but there are honestly so many moments i could name like i think they might be my favorite crew ever like i said the chemistry between each and every character is so fucking amazing. and also horny. i love you deanna and riker 🫶🏻 and ds9 frankly im obsessed with quark and the undercover girl ferengi bc hes so bisexual with her in drag well um. who said that

Rating out of 10: 10/10 fucking all around forever theyre my three beautiful weed smoking girlfriends. We Dont Have To Talk About The Movies.

#alsoooo teehee in good omens when she calls crowley a good lad and he says neither actually #it reminded me of when sulu called uhura fair maiden and she said neither #LIKE!!! TEEHEHEE THEY SHOULD BE BEST FRIENDSSS 🤭🤭🤭🤭😁😁😁❤️❤️❤️#asks #I LOVE YOU FOREVER AND EVAARRRRRRRRR

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petrichorocs · 1 year

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do you think you’re better everyday? / dealer’s choice pt. 1

pairing: eddie munson/oc (cynthia moose) fandom: stranger things wc: 2.8k note: this is me missing them and providing context/backstory to their relationship (i just love them)

"There's always Eddie Munson, Tommy buys from him." Steve shrugged, taking a glance at the clock.

A confused look washed over the girl's face, "Eddie? Like, the D&D guy? He sells drugs?"

or 5 times Eddie and Cynthia got to know each other in the gloomy town of Hawkins

READ ON: ao3 ✰ wattpad ✰ ff.net ✰ quotev

February 1984, Hawkins High School

Cynthia pushed in the doors of Hawkins High with more of a kick in her step than she’d had in the last three months, but the almost elated feeling she had left her as she got nearer to her group of friends. Friends she had almost neglected since her dad went missing back in November. They tried to stay around in the midst of the girl's grief but they could only do so much, they were just kids.

The conversation almost seemed to die as she gathered herself into the circle, “Hey guys.”

“Hi, Cynthia.” Nancy greeted, a kind smile as she was the only one to say hi.

Carol was the next one to greet her, pulling her into a tight hug, arms hanging over the taller girls' shoulders as she squeezed her, “Good to see you, Cyn.”

Cynthia gave a tired smile, Carol’s sweet perfume overloaded her senses, “you too, Care.”

The redhead pulled back, and took Cynthia’s chin in her well manicured hand, “we gotta get some make-up on you. You’re looking gloomy.”

“I got second period free.” She responded, forcing a laugh.

Carol let go with a pat to the cheek, “holding you to that.”

Nodding, she changed the subject, not liking everyone’s eyes on her, waiting for her to say something sad or start crying. “Steve, can I talk to you real quick?”

Steve looked shocked, running a hand through his hair, “sure.”

She nodded to the vacated classroom next to them. Ms. O’Donnell didn’t have a class first period and left her door unlocked.

“How’ve you been? Tim said you got picked up by Hopper.” Steve asked as he flicked on the lights and leaned back against the wall, mirroring Cynthia as she leaned against the empty chalkboard.

“Doing better,” she laughed, “I took off from home for a couple days and my mom didn’t like that. It’s whatever.”

He nodded, not really knowing how to respond to that. “So what’s going on?”

“Do you know where I could get some weed?”

“I buy from Pinelli, I could put a word in for you.”

"Steve, look me in the eyes and tell me one good reason that I wouldn't want to buy from Bull Pinelli." Cynthia rolled her eyes at the mention of her ex and Steve remembered as soon as she spoke.

"Shit, I'm sorry. I forgot you guys used to--"

"Yeah. Wish I could." She laughed dryly.

"There's always Eddie Munson, Tommy buys from him." Steve shrugged, taking a glance at the clock.

A confused look washed over the girl's face, "Eddie? Like, the D&D guy? He sells drugs?"

"I guess. Talk to Tommy."

“Okay,” Cynthia sighed, opening the door, “thanks anyways, Steve.”

The taller boy pushed past her, giving her a nod and comforting pat on the shoulder as he walked out, bell ringing as he did so.

✰ ✰ ✰

Carol’s hand was once again on Cynthia’s chin as she held her still while spreading eye shadow across her lid.

“Yo, Tommy, if I gave you some money could you do me a solid?” Cynthia asked, glancing over at the boy who wasn’t interested at all in what the pair of girls were doing but wanted to skip class.

“Depends, what do you want?” He reached forward into the pile of Juicy Fruit next to his girlfriend.

Carol sat back with a hum, finishing up with the pink shadow as Cynthia shrugged, “you get bags from Eddie Munson, don’t you?”

“The freak?” Tommy popped the gum into his mouth and rolled the wrapper up before throwing it at his girlfriend. “Yeah, you know I don’t fuck with Pinelli.”

“Yeah. Could you get me one? I’ve been smoking with Tim but he’s quitting because of wrestling or whatever. I have twenty bucks.”

✰ ✰ ✰

Tommy Hagan started regretting telling Cynthia yes as he pulled into the Palace Arcade parking lot, spotting Eddie’s shitty van. “Fuck it.” He sighed, turning his car off and walking inside the building, sneering at the younger kids that ran past him as he looked around for the drug dealer.

He finally spotted him with his nerd friends at the furthest corner, huddled around a couple of pinball machines, “Hey, Munson.” He called out, approaching the group of four.

Eddie turned his attention to the boy calling his name, “Hagan. You’re too slow, I closed up shop ‘bout an hour ago.” He already knew what the freckled boy wanted, it was the only reason he associated with him. It was kind of fun to watch him squirm in a ‘nerd’ environment.

“C’mon man, it’s Friday.”

Nodding his head towards the back exit of the building, Eddie grabbed his tin box from the floor and followed the jock outside.

“How much? The usual?”

Tommy slid his hands into his jacket pocket, fiddling with the extra twenty in his hand, “Two.”

Eddie paused, giving a confused look to the boy next to him, “Who you buyin’ for?”

“A friend of mine.” Tommy straightened up, hoping that puffing his chest a little bit would make him not question him more.

“Which friend?” He closed his box back up as a threat.

He debated with himself on whether or not to tell Eddie that he was buying for Cynthia. Tommy didn’t know how his drug dealer was with girls and if he had any weirdo vibes, he didn’t want to send it Cynthia’s way.

“Moose.” He replied with a shrug, hoping to leave it at that.

“Alright. Forty bucks.” Eddie backed down, messing with the black box once again.

March 1984, Hawkins High School

This went on for almost two months. Every other week Cynthia would waltz up to Tommy, and hand him twenty bucks with a smile and he would come back to school the next day and slip a baggie into her backpack at the end of their shared class, seventh period Algebra. Until Eddie told him this last time that he wanted to meet Moose with an almost uncharacteristic seriousness to him.

Tommy slid onto the seat next to his girlfriend and slid the bill into Cynthia’s open hand as she was gesturing while in conversation with Carol. “Bad news,” he greeted.

“What?” Cynthia replied, slipping the money into her flannel's chest pocket, displeasure washing over her face.

“Munson wants to meet you, said he’s ‘over the middle-man shit.’”

“Can’t blame him.” Carol chimed in, slapping Tommy’s hand away from her lunch tray. “He probably thinks you’re up-charging some poor freshman.”

“Fuck.” She groaned, rubbing a hand over her face, “What did you tell him?”

“I said yes, obviously.”

"Shit, alright.

✰ ✰ ✰

Three hours later, right after the last bell rang, Cynthia made her way past the old soccer field, a trail to an old picnic clearing that hadn’t been used by students regularly since before she got to the high school.

“You two really gonna wait for me or ditch as soon as I get in those woods?” She turned to Carol and Tommy sitting on the old bleachers.

“We’re waiting, scout’s honor.” Tommy waved her off.

Rolling her eyes, “‘Cause that means so much coming from you.”

“I can leave.” He wouldn't actually leave, he doesn't trust Munson.

“Please don’t,” she surrendered. “I’m sorry.”

Before she could turn around and finally go to the clearing, Carol spoke up, “Cyn? Try not to charm the pants off this one. You’re oh and one.”

“What the fuck, dude?”

“Just saying.” She shrugged, pushing a piece of gum into her mouth.

✰ ✰ ✰

Eddie came out not too long after, box in hand as he parted ways with his bandmates. Spotting Tommy Hagan with his girlfriend, he got nervous, what if this was some kind of set-up. Keeping a brave face, he nodded at the pair and continued his walk to the clearing.

He spotted a girl with long, dark brown almost black hair sitting on the table with her back to him and he started to feel even more suspicious.

Hearing footsteps on the leaves behind her, Cynthia turned around and spotted Eddie Munson, “Hey, what’s up?”

Eddie walked closer, slowly, before asking “You Moose?”

She replied with a laugh, “That’s what Tommy’s callin’ me? Damn. Yeah.”

He lightened up and sat down on the same side of the table as her feet were. He felt kind of dumb now, he completely expected Moose to be some big ass jock, not her.

“So, why?” He asked, folding his hands on the table, but not meeting her gaze.

“Why what?” She asked jokingly as she scooched down onto the seat next to him. She shrugged, “I don’t know, it was easier. I haven’t exactly been in the right headspace to deal with new people and it’s easy enough to have Tommy do things.”

Eddie hummed, accepting the answer. He could feel her start getting anxious as he kept quiet. Now that he knew Moose wasn’t some nickname for a dude on the football or wrestling team, he started piecing together how he knew her name. “Is your dad Lionel Moose? The cop?”

Cynthia drew lines in the dirt as she kicked her leg back and forth, “Yeah, he retired a year, year and a half ago.” Her mouth went dry as she started waiting for the inevitable next question.

“Oh.” Eddie nodded, tapping the black box on his side, “and how is he doing?”

“Um,” Cynthia swallowed, trying to keep her composure in front of the drug dealer, “he, uh–.” She wiped a hand over her face, trying to keep hair out of her eyes, “he’s presumably retired. From, from life.”

“Shit.” He mumbled to himself, instantly regretting the small talk, “I’m sorry, I didn’t–”

Sniffling out a response, “you’re good. It’s fine. I’m mostly normal about it now.”

“No, man. I shouldn’t have brought it up.” Eddie responded, pulling his box onto the table and opening it. “How about this: I cut you a deal this time. Fifteen bucks for your half.”

Cynthia chuckled, “Is it that easy to get a discount? I just gotta put on the waterworks for ya?”

Eddie rolled his eyes, meeting her gaze with a smirk, “Just this once, Moose.”

“Sure.” She responded, digging in her pocket and handing him her twenty.

August 1984, Bradley’s Big Buy

Cynthia didn’t want to admit to herself that she was avoiding Eddie Munson, she also refused to admit that she may have had a crush on the guy.

Not like it was embarrassing to have a crush, he was cute and nice to her which she felt that’s just how he was. But she definitely thought it would’ve gone away when she left Hawkins for just over a month to go to camp. It didn’t. Now she was avoiding the guy.

She told her friends that she wanted to finish out the summer sober (a minute lie). Ready to get back on the cheer team, the coach was going to let her back on despite being held back as long as she didn’t get into more trouble.

But here she was, working at the grocery store, stocking shelves, actively avoiding Eddie Munson since he was at the store with a couple of his friends. It looked like they were gearing up for a party, but Cameron, a close friend and co-worker, informed her it was likely they were getting ready for a D&D campaign.

“Holy shit. Moose, is that you?” Fuck. There he was.

Cam snickered and told her to go talk to him and Cynthia obliged with a quick huff.

“Hey, man, what’s goin on?” She approached him with a friendly smile.

“Not much,” He laid his hands in the pockets of his jean shorts. “Are you ignoring me?”

“I was out of town.” She informed, mirroring his current mannerisms. “Took my sister to camp.”

“Okay, because a little birdie told me you were avoiding me.”

Cynthia shook her head, feeling heat coming up her neck, “That birdie wouldn’t happen to be standing right behind me?”

Eddie laughed, eyes darting to Cameron, pretending to stock shelves as she kept a close eye on the pair. “The birdie is actually at the front, he’s ringing up Jeff.”

She took the opportunity to change the subject, “I thought you and Tim hated each other.”

“Yeah?” He shrugged, it was mildly true. “I know he’s one of your buddies, so I asked.”

“About me?” Cynthia turned the smug mood around on him, “did you miss me, Munson?”

The taller boy didn’t have a response for that, he just shook his head with a smile, “I gotta go, see you around.”

October 1984, Mevald’s General Store

Cynthia looked up from her position at the register and saw Eddie outside, he gave her a wave and she nodded back and pointed to the back door, hoping he’d get the hint and meet her in the alley. As soon as he gave a thumbs up, she called out, “Hey, Joyce? I’m gonna take my break real quick.”

“Okay, go ahead.” Joyce responded from the store room, where she disappeared with Bob Newby just five minutes ago..

She exited the building into the alleyway and leaned against the bricks, waiting for Eddie as she patted her pockets down, looking for her cigarettes.

Eddie walked up to her quietly, “Hey, Moose.”

“Hi. You got a light?” There was a stick hanging between her lips and she couldn’t find her lighter, probably left it in her car.

“Yeah.” He reached into his jacket and pulled out a plain white BIC, before lighting her cigarette

“Those new?” She was taken aback, changing the subject, hoping he wouldn’t notice the blush on her cheeks.

“What?” He lit his own cigarette, putting the lighter back in his pocket.

“The bats.” She gestured to his right arm.

“Oh. Yeah, got ‘em done about a week ago.”

“Sick.”

“You got any?”

She shook her head, taking a drag, “Want one, don’t know what.”

Eddie got a playfully evil grin on his face, “I could give you one.”

Cynthia laughed, smoke coming out of her nose. “I think you’re cool as fuck, Munson. But there’s no way in hell I’m letting you near me with a tattoo gun.”

He gave her what could’ve been puppy dogs eyes, “I can do stink-n-poke.”

“That’s so much worse.”

Laughing, it was his turn to change the subject, “So what’d you want?”

“An ounce.” Moose muttered, tapping the ashes off the cigarette between her fingers.

“Damn, Cheech, big occasion?”

She laughed at the reference, “Um, kinda, I’m heading to a party tonight and Cam tasked me with bringing the weed, so.”

“Who’s party?”

“Tina’s.” She replied.

Eddie mostly zoned out as Cynthia continued talking, trying to remember who Tina was. When he looked back down at the shorter girl, she was looking at him expectantly. “What?”

She laughed, before taking another drag and asked, “Do you want to come get sheet-faced tonight? More the merrier.”

He almost obliged as he looked at her, her eyes almost sparkling as she asked the question. “I don’t think so, Moose. Not my crowd.”

“Okay.” She almost seemed disappointed? “Well, I get out of here at five, so could you meet me at my place on Cherry Lane later?”

✰ ✰ ✰

7:28pm. Eddie rolled up to Cynthia’s house, a big brown house with a blue wagon out front. Walking up to the front door, he kept his black tin box in his left hand as knocked with his right.

“Come in.” A woman’s voice called out from behind the door.

He entered the home and saw a bowl of Halloween candy sitting on the ledge next to the door, he started looking through, wanting to take one.

“Oh, it’s you.” Cynthia peeked around the corner, a smile on her face, it looked like she was dressed up for the holiday. “Gimme a sec.”

Finally picking out a couple of candies, Three Musketeers and a Snickers, he watched as she came back into the main room, “nice dress.”

She was wearing a lacy button up shirt and a long, almost bubblegum pink skirt, “thanks,” she responded with a smile before holding out a bill for him.

“I didn’t bring any change.” Eddie said as he watched her walk into the living room to turn off the television, checking out the fifty dollar bill between his fingers.

“Keep the change,” she waved him off while approaching him at the entranceway of the house. “I know it’s a hell of a drive from Forest Hills, especially with all the Trick-or-Treaters.”

“Shit, alright. Thanks.” He reached into the box and pulled out a larger baggie and handed it to the girl, “It’s two different kinds, I have to make a run soon.”

“Cool.” She slid the bag into her purse that matched the skirt almost exactly. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

PART TWO

#cynthia moose #ocapp #strangerthingsocs #allaboutocs #fd: stranger things #eddie munson x oc #w: running town #k writes #*

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beachboysnatural · 2 years

Text

OMG OKAY GUYS I AM SO EXCITED. @gaydeanwinchester @thursday111 @hollywoodforevercemeterymp3 HERE YOU GUYS GO.

So Fleetwood Mac formed in the UK in the sixties. It was this guy Mick Fleetwood (drummer) and his friend John McVie (bass guitar), and they did not have a steady guitarist OR singer for a while. I think Peter Green was the founding guitarist but he left like two or three years in.

So for this one song they get some backup singers and one of them is this girl Christine. Her and John have this whirlwind romance and get married. Christine can sing and she can play keyboard so she decides she’s part of the band now and they don’t complain because they need her but they STILL don’t have a steady guitarist and they are not making enough money by any means. The band relocates to LA for better luck in the mid-70s.

In LA in the mid-70s there’s this duo called Buckingham-Nicks, consisting of Lindsey Buckingham (guitar, singer) and Stevie Nicks (singer). Stevie is working three jobs to support her and her boyfriend Lindsey, who spends his time playing guitar and smoking weed with his friends or sick with mono sometimes. Their album (Buckingham Nicks) does not sell well at all and they are both wondering if music is the right career for them.

Mick Fleetwood (the band manager) hears one of Stevie and Lindsey’s songs and contacts Lindsey to ask if he’d like to play guitar. Lindsey says, “Sure, but ONLY if my girlfriend, who is a singer, gets to sing with me.” But Fleetwood Mac already has a singer. So Christine and Stevie have dinner together. If they don’t like each other the band can’t happen. Luckily they hit it off and agree that they can each write and perform their own songs.

So now, finally, Fleetwood Mac has a steady lineup. Five people, three singers, and a guitar (!!). It’s important to note that John and Christine’s marriage was kind of on the rocks, but they put that whole thing on hold because they had a chance to actually make money. They could sort their marriage out later.

It’s also important to note that Stevie and Lindsey’s relationship was shaky at best, but they put it on hold to focus on the band.

It’s also important to note that Mick Fleetwood’s wife was cheating on him with one of the other guitarists from their lineups, Bob Weston.

So the five of them write an album and then tour it relentlessly throughout 1975. During the tour, Stevie and Lindsey break up and John and Christine hurdle towards divorce faster than Mick Fleetwood is! They gain attention but the damage to their personal lives has been done. So it takes almost two years and a divorce for John and Christine for the band to release another album, Rumours (1977), which is the best album ever made.

Every single song on Rumours is either about another band member or it’s a fuck you to another band member. All three singers contributed: Lindsey wrote “Second Hand News,” “Never Going Back Again,” and most famously “Go Your Own Way” about his breakup with Stevie. Christine wrote “Don’t Stop” about John, “You Make Loving Fun” about her sidepiece, “Songbird” about John, and “Oh Daddy” about Mick OR her sidepiece. Stevie wrote “Dreams” about Lindsey, and “Gold Dust Woman” about living in Los Angeles, as well as “Silver Springs” about Lindsey. But “Silver Springs” wasn’t on the album when it released, because Mick felt it was too personal. So it was not released, and they reworked an old song “I Don’t Want To Know” and replaced “Silver Springs.”

There’s only one song that all five of them ever worked on, and that’s “The Chain” which is a composite of at least three other songs which makes it absolutely BRILLIANT but anyways. Yeah. Rumours is a ginormous hit. Also Stevie and Mick start having an affair, but it’s over by their next album...

Two years later the band releases Tusk, which is a much more experimental album (they gave Lindsey more creative control) and doesn’t do nearly as well as Rumours. They also release Mirage and record Last Tango in Paris before Lindsey quits. The band falls apart after this because everyone hates each other and no one wants to work together ever again.

But in Bill Clinton’s presidential campaign, he used “Don’t Stop” as his campaign song. So when he wins the 1992 election, he reaches out to the band and asks them to play at his Inauguration. Every single member says that if it had been more than one song they would have refused.

So they play “Don’t Stop” and they’re done. Right? Except this little reunion made them all realize that maaaaybe they don’t despise each other. So in 1997 the band gets back together and does a reunion tour. Christine leaves the band again in 2003 but gets back together with them in 2017 because they’re doing another reunion tour I think? Things are fuzzy here because no one could agree on anything as we will see in literally the next sentence.

It becomes apparent that old tensions are alive and well when Lindsey is fired from the band in 2018 because of a “touring disagreement.” It comes to light that Stevie approached the other members of the band and told them to fire her or fire Lindsey, because she refused to work with him anymore. Because Lindsey Buckingham is an asshole, they fired him, not Stevie, and he was very petty about it.

When Lindsey released his latest solo album, he was even more petty about it and basically killed any chance that the five of them would ever reunite.

This isn’t even all of it

#THANK YOU FOR ASKING ME <3333333333333333

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davy-zeppeli · 1 year

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1,7,69 mwuah!

HELLO!!!!!! Thank you for feeding my need to overshare 💚💕

1. The meaning behind my url:

'amber' = My name :)

'-' = common piece of punctuation, I am fond of it

'zeppeli' = Evidence I was a JJBA fan but c'mon that name fucks heavily

7. Biggest turn offs:

The universal one of 'British Lad Culture', Coconut-sympathisers (sorry guys), the British Conservative Party, socks and slider shoes, self-deprecating humour with the intent of generating sympathy and to make others feel bad to elevate yourself, y'know. Stuff.

69. Have you ever witnessed a crime?

I saw my neighbours get robbed once in my university house in second year (well, the aftermath - turns out they got in through their open back gate and windows... of our SHARED garden... but we had our doors and windows locked so we didn't get robbed...)?

Actually - I heard a crime being committed! My neighbour when I was in sixth-form was once getting aggressive with his girlfriend and I could hear them arguing clearly through the wall in my room (our rooms are connected). And then she began sounding very scared and telling him to get off her... and then I was like "oh fuck that's serious" and I called the police because I panicked and told them to keep it anonymous and then about 20 min later I heard his back gate rattle and he hurdled it because the police showed up and took his girlfriend in. AND THEN THE POLICE KNOCKED ON MY DOOR AND MY DAD ANSWERED. BRO I SAID ANONYMOUS. anyways my Dad then asked me to come downstairs and asked what I did and I told him what I heard and I felt like I was in trouble?? and my sister was like "If I did that you'd bollock me!" and tbh he would have but I have Baby Sibling Privilege - but my mam told me I did the right thing. Anyway he got took to court and done for it and he's actually really turned his life around now and he's still my parent's neighbour - he started his own scrap metal/handyman business and quit doing hard drugs and now only smokes weed and listens to dad rock. I once heard him having sex with a man through my bedroom wall. But yeah. Does that count?

...THANK YOU!!!!! 💚💕🌈🌟

#ily gina #ask #i love ask games so much

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fairweather-fangs · 10 months

Text

On X and F's relationship. (@caustic-c)

Wammys House was terribly lonely. The building was massively large which gave it a very empty feel, not to mention most inhabitants hadn't felt any decent connection since they had their parents were taken; if they were lucky enough to receive any love from them, that is. There were never enough care takers. Usually they focused on the little kids, the ones who needed more supervision. That, or they sighed up to look after the small, cute ones and didn't bother to care for the older teens. For children like F who had been suffering for coming in seven years now, other students were the closest you could get to genuine connection.

He had some friends, though most he had made were older and had aged out of the syetem long ago. The little kids liked him, he was sweet and understood them better than the adults, but small children were yet to know the agony of waiting years hoping and praying to find someone who would love you only to force yourself to realize you would be in this orphanage until you were an adult. His peers knew him for the man he was: a drug lord. A 17 year old seeling weed, booze, pills and the extremely rare hard-core life ruiner on the occasion, but a drug lord in his own right.

Most stayed away from him. He was nice, yes, but his kind, hardworking persona was just that. A persona. A mask he put on to appear unsuspecting to the staff. F at his core was ruthless and predatory. A cruel business man preying in his fellow students fragility to make a killing all to fuel his own addiction. Yes, F spent his money on other things: snacks, clothes, room decor. Normal kid things. Buy the money was for drugs first and foremost, because F was an addict who only functioned at least a little bit high.

F was well liked at parties. Usually thrown in the woods or a close by abandoned structure, the occasional socialite threw a party for the other students to do anything from hang about and chatter to go completely wild. F was necessary for the wilder parties. It was at these parties where he made a killing, selling to whoever was catering but also to whoever he and his many employees scouted as a potential new customer.

He got his employees, as he called them, a number of ways. Usually addicts looking to pay off debts or trying to make money off the trade. Occasionally someone would want in just for fun or money. His employees did everything from run drugs to selling to scouting and at one such event was X scouted by F himself.

X had issues. F liked issues. It started with F trying to snake his way into X's mind, see what F could sell him and ended with the two stumbling about the dance floor, arms linked, toasting their too-many-th round of F's home distilled cheap moonshine to whatever bond they'd just formed.

X became a regular customer and often came around to enjoy their product with F. They'd grown quite close, closer than F was with most people. After his previous roommate left Wammys he'd been alone and in desperate need of a smoking buddy. Yes, he had his girlfriend K, but that was his partner. She was more to him than a drug buddy and besides, K always tried to ease him away from more intense highs. There was also C, but C wasn't a friend. They were a business partner he occasionally got high around and maybe fucked a few times but not a true friend to be stoned with.

X was different. X would take anything F suggested. X was someone he felt relaxed arouund, someone he could talk to, someone who was willing to sit down with them and just hang out without any crazy business plots being thrown around. X often spent the night in F's room, sleeping on the floor typically, though F wasn't opposed to having someone besides them in bed. Soon, they made the decision that since X spent most of their time there anyways, they may as well live there and X became F's roommate.

As F's roommate, X carried several important secrets. They knew where all of F's stashes were, where and how F kept inventory and of course, F's personal business plans. X quickly got involved with the drug ring, often smuggling goods and meeting plugs everyone else was too much of a coward to deal with. F loved X's initiative, X loved that F saw them as the best employee he had.

The business venture in time, proved lucrative for the both of them. F saw a great rise in efficiency with X's efforts and X was allowed extra cuts of money and drugs. Hell, at some point F let X start taking from his personal stash too. Life was good for them. They were rolling in cash and just about every substance they wanted. The staff had no idea and the two were the best of friends.

But what comes up must come down. As F and X kept using the amount needed for a proper high increased. F was finding himself lower and lower on his own personal supply until he was barely keeping himself satiated. He knew the reason why, he knew X took from his personal stash. He tried to act like it wasn't an issue that X was taking more than his fair share. Tried to say this was a sign to recover. But that didn't work. He needed to get high. He needed to feel something other than dread. He needed X to stop talking his shit.

He tried asking, and X agreed, but he knew from taking inventory something wasn't right. He was missing stock, specifically in the things that X liked the most. He confronted X about it, and X denied it and tried to blame it on C but F knew. He knew C wasn't dumb enough to steal from him and he knew no one else had a key but himself, C and X.

Maybe if F was reasonable, maybe if he talked it over with his friend, maybe had he just stopped to think about what he'd loose he wouldn't be in this situation and yet, here he was. Alone. The other side of his room long abandoned after X had left. He hated sitting alone in his room, smoking his usual mixture with no one to smoke with. He hated waiting outside for his plugs alone, no one to talk to. But most of all he hated just being alone. No one there to wake him up when they overslept, no one to have midnight conversations with, no shoulder to cry on when the world was all too much.

No, now F was left alone in the dark, cold, empty night at Wammys. The only thing to fill the void was more drugs. More dugs to fill the void so he didn't have to think about how lonely he was or how much he missed X. But drugs never helped. Being high reminded him of being high with X, selling drugs reminded him of selling drugs with X, everything reminded them of X. They wanted so bad for X to come back but he knew he couldn't apologize. Not after the incident.

-----

Wammys often sent the older kids on missions for L. Partially to prove themselves as useful, partially because L needed agents. F and X were sent to recover some files. It wasn't hard, just a recovery misson, in and out, quick and easy. But F had other plans.

X kept stealing from him, and maybe if F wasn't so irritated he would have done something different but he didn't. Halfway through their mission their cover was blown, the two were on separate sides of the facility. X was in trouble, he radioed F and F promised to be over there, but he didn't. F set off the security alarm, trapping X in the lab they were investigating along with the hostiles who showed up to do their own research. X barely made it out alive and F was considered lucky, but he wasn't. Officially it was called an unfortunate accident, that X was left to fend for himself alone and F was unable to help, but F knew, and so did X.

X had disabled the security system. It wasn't set to go back online for several more hours and it needed a password forbthat protocol to be overriden. A password known only to him and F, who had watched him out it in.

X was right to tell the staff what F had done. He realized that now, but it didn't take back what did. F hated to be told on, he hated the staff being suspicious and he made up the best lie he could, that the system had failed, that X failed the misson, and that X was paranoid. And somehow they belived him. X was sent to counciling over the paranoia but it didn't last long because soon enough X was convinced he was being irrational and that F would never do that. He tried to make it up to F. To apologize for the failed mission and the drugs. He tried a scheme of his own. It was going against F and going against C but he was determined to prove himself once again to F.

It did work. He nearly got himself killed and it took weeks for F to get the staff to calm down over the drug cartel X incident. Luckily they accepted that X was trying to make it up to F for failing a mission by taking on ankther than F was working on, though F was less forgiving. The cartel members F was involved with were arrested which left F down another plug. Not to mention the fact that X was still taking from F's cut of drugs so F went ahead and did what he did best.

He laced the drugs.

They were his own drugs, so when X came crawling to him in the middle of a medical emergency he laughed. Told him that's what thieves deserve. X was too scared to go to the nurse, but luckily K was around to administer first aid to stop her crazy boyfriend from killing his roommate.

After that, X left. He transferred as far away from F as possible. They didn't talk about the incident outside of the fight they had immediately after and they hadn't spoken to eachother since X changed rooms. F didn't know what X thought of him now. He knew X was still in contact with C but he never asked C about X. He rarely saw him sulking about the property, and he never tried to spy on him like he did the other kids. He knew X had managed to sink lower than him on the grade scale and that he bought alot from his competitors, so he couldn't be doing well.

X never bought drugs from F anymore, not even from his employees. He remined wholy unaffiliated from the Fang Gang. F wished there were some way to repair the relationship, he really did, but there wasn't anyway after X nearly cost F his livelihood and F nearly cost X his life.

#death note rp #f headcannons #F and X #ok so I hope this was good #I tried to incorporate X having a thung about proving himself #and also tried to make a series of events where they both committed some fairly upsetting crimes against eachother #while also maintaining that what F did was worse and mkre importantly his fault #also it was mentioned that C manipulates X inti thinking lesser of themselves so fuck it F did that too #F is a ~terrible person~#also uh #tw drugs #I feel like they were prevalent enough to warrent that

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