#(still love the domestic crumbs they are giving us)

[lacallemojada]

Maya and Carina //  Everybody Says Don't

[aethelwyneleigh27]

Little Ghost Holiday Drabble

Synopsis: Baking during the winters with your kids and husband during the holidays.

A/n: Hi, my lovelies! I know that I have a lot of works to catch up on, I'm a little behind on everything right now as school has taken a toll on me and so has writer's block. I'll try my best to post more consistently, I know most of you who followed me for the domestic content miss it so here is a little something for our favorite family.

Taglist: @wishesforyou @puff0o0 @simping4konig @simp4konig @blingblong55 @azereus @rustic-guitar-notes @callsignsnowpunisher @anonymuslydumb @skeletalgoats @icarustypicalfall @connorsui @capuccino192 @miss-gms-and-the-rotten-womb @celestialhole @the-second-sage @starryylies @everlastingmoonlightsworld @keiva1000 @iexiam @drewsmusee @konigceo @duck-a-doodle

"Momma, look!" You turned your head away from the preheating oven to look at your little sunshine, although she was struggling to mix the cookie batter, her laughter filled the room. Your baby boy coos in your arms as you lifted yourself up.

"Be careful, butterfly. The bowl's really heavy " You smiled at her, she nodded obediently, trying to sneak a taste. "Butterfly, that has raw eggs. How about the chocolate chips instead, hmm?"

Her grin widens, foot stomps like a clumsy, cheery dance on the wood floor as she ran to the pantry. Nothing makes you smile more than the pitter-patter of tiny feet, wherever you were, it was always accompanied by her sugar-laced pitchy voice calling out for you.

She came back a minute or two later, the bag of semi-sweet chocolate chips you specifically bought for her sweet tooth. You give her the child safe scissors, your little girl wanting to be more independent nowadays, something Simon was both proud of and heartbroken about.

Looking up at you with a look of asking permission so you nodded, she squealed before shoving her clean hand in the plastic bag to have a handful of the treat, stuffing her little mouth. "Alright, put the rest in and mix it well, butterfly." You told her as she picked up the wooden mixing spoon again, multitasking on her munchies.

Simon came out of your bedroom together after a steamy shower with the towel around his neck, he wrapped his arms around from behind you, his face buried on your neck which caused you giggle and squeal his name in a playful warning when he lightly nipped at a sensitive spot.

"All done, momma!" She said taking it into her own hands to roll the cookie dough and plop it down on the parchment lined baking tray, her blonde hair sticking out in messy little spikes from what used to be a teeny-tiny bun.

She dusted her dress and flower printed apron before you helped her out in placing the filled tray into the preheated oven. Simon, taking your baby boy off your arms and inviting Ghostie onto the playing mat with them.

You watched them, keeping an eye on the oven which made your whole house smell warm and cozy against the snow outside the windows.

With warm cookies and cold milk, you stare at your loves before you, Ghostie practically stuffing her chubby cheeks full of the baked sweet with one hand, light beige crumbs and the sticky chocolate on the same bouncing cheeks while her other hand was offering half a cookie to her dad's lips.

Reminding you of moments during breakfasts and mornings when it was syrup and whipped cream instead of the crumbs and chocolate, when her giggles and birds chirping filled the otherwise depressingly silent rooms. You aren't ready for her to grow up despite your husband being more open about it.

Your baby boy chewing on his blue rubber teething toy as you enjoyed the ambiance of your warm home. Enjoying and savoring every moment you had while your family is complete, while Simon was still home for this time of year..

Within the very home and family that you and your husband built, your heart as full as it could ever be <3

[moonlit-imagines]

Headcanons for dating Wally West

Wally West x reader

warnings:

a/n: i was debating whether or not y/n is on the team or not n for this im going for y/n being a regular civilian but now im debating making dating hcs for a hero too 🤭

prompt: anonymous: “But if you're still taking requests (and speaking of fast haha), I would absolutely love if you could do a lil' something about Wally West ♡. I love that track star to bits and we're entering my favorite season ever : spooky season (or autumn for people who aren't chronically online like me). So if you'd be tempted to write some fluff/domestic stuff in autumn with Wally, I would be over the moon! 🦊”

wally is so annoying (in the best way!!)

you aren’t too used to the whole idea of dating a metahuman, every day is like an adventure

and for a speedster? you’d be surprised how hard it is for him to find the time

but he makes time

*doorbell rings*

“you’re twenty minutes late” -you

“in flash-time that’s early” -wally, holding a half-eaten box of chocolates “i got a little hungry”

on his “days off,” you could usually find the two of you on the couch with a variety of snacks scattered across the coffee table and crumbs peppering the cushions and floor

“the dog will get them” -wally

“hate to break it to you, but i don’t have a dog” -you

“should i get you a dog?” -wally

he was always so goofy

and affectionate, very affectionate!

he loved to give you cheek and forehead kisses, so many so fast

“how many was that?” -you after noticing repeated pressure on your cheeks

“going on a hundred. i’m trying to beat my record!” -wally

it always ended up tickling and you’d laugh until you fell over

“wally!! wally, come on!!” -you

you’d always get bummed whenever he got called for a mission

especially because it always happened in the middle of something (dinner, a movie, study date, etc.)

then when he came home he’d be a wreck and then you’d be a wreck because you’d see him like that

then he’d have to calm you down and you’d have to help him feel better

“you dont have to do that, im fine! i swear!” -wally while you panic and try to take care of him

being invited to the cave!

meeting the team!

“just because youre meeting a half-kryptonian clone, a martian, an atlantean, some girl with a bow and arrow, and batman’s sidekick doesn’t mean you get to think any of them are cooler than me, kapeesh?” -wally

“oh yes, i know you’re the coolest” -you

the team loves you!!!

“wow, wally, thanks for proving your s/o isn’t imaginary” -artemis

“youre welcome” -wally

“do you want to come bake with me?!” -m’gaan

“please say yes, y/n. i’m so hungry. so so hungry” -wally

“let’s do it!” -you

starting to camp out at the cave while wally is on missions

also once some more dangerous people figured out wally’s identity, you got your own access code to the cave. EMERGENCIES ONLY

you used it to surprise wally once and got a stern talking to from batman. never again

you dont really spend too much time with the team, but you get invited to most of their friendly outings!

and you talk up a storm with the others trying to learn about their lives, which sometimes makes wally a liiiittle jealous

but you want to live vicariously through these interesting people bc ur life is a liiiittle boring

“can you tell me what atlantis is like? what it feels like to be underwater and how your fighting style differs on land?” “what’s your favorite dish to make on mars? do you like communicating this way or the telepathic way more?” “why do you always wear sunglasses, man?” (you know this one dick is like wally’s bestie) -all you

seeing wally less than usual when things start to heat up in his hero life :(

causes some strain and you get so so sad :(

but he always calls you when he can and tries to make up for it

and somewhere down the road when he retires you’re able to spend all your time with him and he makes up for lost time like he promised

ok i’ll stop there. happily ever after.

taglist: @ravenmoore14 // @summersimmerus // @azazel-nyx // @simsrecs // @xoxobabydolls // @ravenstrueluv // @cicatraize // @captainshazamerica // @bad4amficideas // @evilcr0ne // @thedarkqueenofavalon // @elenavampire21 // @jade-178 //

[moronkombat]

hi, can i request MK characters with an earthrealmer s/o who likes to bake & cook food for them? also, hope you get well soon!! 🥰

Reiko isn't the type of man who eats amazingly delicious foods and treats. Food is a means to an end to have enough energy

If his partner were to cook a meal for him, a well prepared meal, he'd be confused. It is not a lasting feeling, soon he is taken aback by how amazing it is. Who knew food could taste this good? He'll be interested in having more meals like this again

Making a meal for him means just so much to Kenshi. He finds the gesture incredibly loving and thanks you throughout the dinner

While you eat together, he picks up your hand to bring your knuckles to his lips. He kisses there tenderly and tells you that when you making meals for him, it really reminds him of better times

Syzoth cannot eat the typical food that his partner can, doing so would make him horrible ill. That doesn't mean he doesn't get pampered, however

The first time he's surprised and in awe that his lover has made him something just for him, something he can stomach. His eyes find yours and he looks as if he near tears. Syzoth would scoop you up into his arms and thank you for making him a meal so special

Prefers sweet treats more than savory meals. Is rather pleased when he is surprised with them and thanks his partner with his tongue in...various ways

Prefers to share the treat with you but this often ends up in bedroom activities taking place within the kitchen area. Neither of you seem to complain

Rain finds this endearing and enjoys eating the meals his lover has made together

When you cook for him, he wants to sit down and eat it with you. Rain is typically not a domestic type of man but this is one of those rarities

Shang thinks you cooking for him is...cute and he will lightly jest and tease his partner about it

He is grateful though and always eats the meal that's made for him and compliments you on your skills with preparing delicious meals

Quan Chi isn't used to warm meals so he is, at first, taken aback by his partner preparing one for him

Being a slave in the mines, he is not used to such luxury but now that he's had a taste of it, Quan Chi is seldom to give it up

Reminds him of times with his late family. His mother used to cook meals for him and sister

Tomas is thankful to have meals like this again and even wants to start cooking them with you

Thinks he is being unfair in terms of how you are always cooking for him. He wants to make it up to you

Raiden tries to surprise you with something he's prepared but it does not go to plan. The cake he tried to make? Too much flour, not enough butter...it's a mess! You still thank him and then offer to make one with him

Loves when his partner cooks for him. He could eat a mountain of it and still not be sated

Kung Lao is excited whenever you walk into that kitchen. He's already thinking about how good the food is going to taste

Bi-Han really enjoys whatever you prepare for him. He doesn't have a favorite or preference. He is merely glad to have something to eat that was created by you

Tries his very best to eat the meals with you. He can be extremely busy as Grandmaster but when you have made him a meal, Bi-Han wants to share it with his lover

General Shao is quite pleased when his partner cooks and bakes for him. He expects such a service provided to him by his partner

His partner prepares grand meals for him and there is never a crumb left. Shao always boasts about his lover is more fantastic than any chef

Can't get enough of your cooking. It is his absolutely favorite and looks forward to it every night

Johnny could eat plate after plate if left unchecked. Using his social media to showcase your culinary prowess

Thinks it is sweet. Liu Kang doesn't have many preferences when it comes to home cooked meals as he enjoys visiting Madam Bo's but he makes an exception for his lover

Is always very gracious and polite, complimenting your cooking. And, of course, he insists with dining with you

Is honored that you would prepare meals for him and thanks you before even beginning to eat one

Really wants to return the gesture, and so, he does! Kuai Liang prepares you something wonderful that you can enjoy together

It can be difficult for him to stomach certain foods but he tries to eat all the meals you prepare for him

These meals remind him of time with his family and he can become quite saddened by this and may begin to stare off into the distance

[chibinasuu]

Drunken Shenanigans | Zoro x Reader

Part of the Thousand Sunny Slice-of-Life Series

Other parts: { Sanji | Nami | Usopp | Chopper | Zoro (here) }

Summary: You and Zoro raid Sanji’s wine cabinet after running out of sake on a night of drinking Word count: 1.7k Tags: one-shot, pure fluff, domestic bliss onboard the sunny, platonic straw hat pirates x reader, main pairing could be interpreted as platonic or romantic, no use of y/n, GN but written with F!Reader in mind, goth family crumbs, spoilers for sabaody/3D2Y i guess

Roronoa Zoro never needed a reason to indulge in a good bottle of sake. 

Tonight, he had simply gazed outside the window after dinner with his arms crossed, then nodded in satisfaction before declaring that it was a “fine night for a drink.” 

You agreed that it was, indeed, a lovely night, before deciding to join Zoro. Franky and Robin seemed to have thought the same, and followed you outside. 

Franky brought out a low table to the Sunny’s lawn deck. A small coal burner was placed strategically underneath it, providing warmth and comfort amid the chilly night.

The cyborg had a huge mug of beer in one hand, whilst the archeologist was nursing a half-empty glass of wine. You and Zoro have been passing a tall bottle of sake back and forth between you, not even bothering with a glass.

The four of you were five rounds-deep into the classic card game of Old Maid when you all collectively decided that this round should be the last one of the night, as it was getting late. 

Robin had then quickly won the game, and was now sitting back leisurely with no cards left on her hand. Franky slapped down the last of his matching cards on the table next, claiming second place with a victorious “SUUPEERR!!” 

The game went on with just you and Zoro until finally, one last card remained on your hand – meaning you only needed to correctly guess which one of Zoro’s two cards would be a match to yours, in order to win. You locked eyes with Zoro, trying to gauge his reaction as he presented his cards for you to pick. His face did not give away a single thing, determined not to be the loser of the night’s closing round. 

After a moment of hesitation, you quickly pulled the card on the left and flipped it towards you. You let out a triumphant whoop as you set the card face up on the table alongside its match that you already have on hand. Zoro groaned in frustration and tossed down his sole remaining card, which of course, contained the dreaded “Old Maid”. Franky, Robin, and you bursted into laughter at Zoro’s defeat – it was his fourth time in last place out of the total five rounds you played that night, despite the game being largely based on chance.

It was well past midnight when the four of you gathered all of the discarded cards from the table, neatly stacking them and stowing away the deck inside its worn-out box. Robin and Franky decided to retire to bed, but you and Zoro, unwilling to turn in just yet on such a beautiful night, opted to stay outside a little bit longer. 

You took the bottle of sake from Zoro’s grip and tilted it to take a sip, but not a single drop fell on your tongue. You glared accusingly at the green-haired man, who only shrugged and said, “My bad. Didn’t realize I drained it.” 

You sighed and flopped down on your back, gazing at the sky full of stars. Zoro soon followed suit, laying with one arm beneath his head. 

The two of you were quiet for a while as you laid side-by-side, shoulders barely touching. Your face was warm from the alcohol, contrasting with the cool night air. 

The gentle crash of the waves was the only sound audible in the darkness, until Zoro abruptly sat up and said, “I still feel like drinking.” 

You chuckled in disbelief, “Seriously?”

He stood up and offered his hand to you in response, “C’mon. You don’t need to drink more if you don’t want to. Just stay up with me for a bit.”

You accepted his outstretched hand, and he pulled you up to your feet. You were hit with a bout of dizziness at the sudden movement and stumbled forward, but Zoro’s strong arms readily steadied you.

He started walking towards the kitchen when you stopped him, an idea popping into your head. Your lips lifted up into a mischievous smirk as you told him, “That’s not where Sanji keeps the good alcohol.”

“Now, we’re talking.” Zoro answered with a sly grin of his own, never wanting to miss a chance to piss off the cook, “Lead the way.”

The lounge was awash with blue light from the giant aquarium that occupied most of the room’s curved wall. The main mast of the ship protruded from the center of the space, extending up to the ceiling. A cabinet was carved into the wood, and you opened the doors to see a variety of wines lined up neatly inside.

“Bingo!” You said with a winning smile, reaching for the first bottle that caught your attention. 

You know Sanji wouldn't be happy with you and Zoro – big emphasis on Zoro – messing with his wine stash, but you figured that was a problem for sober you to handle tomorrow.

You looked at the writings on the bottle's label, but your muddled brain couldn’t seem to comprehend the words and you struggled to sound them out, “Ithy– Ithursbur–” 

“Ithürzburger Stein?” Zoro supplied – in perfect pronunciation no less – then said in disgust, “Not that one. Way too dry.” 

Your eyebrows shot up to the sky as you gave him a questioning look. Since when did the Straw Hats’ sake-loving swordsman give a shit about wine?

Zoro’s face, already flushed from the sake earlier, turned a deeper red that reached the tips of his ears. 

“Uh.. Mihawk loved wine.” He offered vaguely as an explanation. 

You readied two stemmed glasses as Zoro went through the wine cabinet, scanning each label until he finally found a bottle that he seemed to be satisfied with. 

You rummaged through the drawers in search of a corkscrew, to no success. 

“Aw, come on,” You sighed in disappointment, “what kind of bar doesn’t have a bottle opener?” 

You figured someone must have misplaced the item, and was about to go search for it in the kitchen when Zoro uttered, “No need.” 

He suddenly unsheathed one of his swords, and held the wine bottle at an angle. Before your mind could catch up to what he was planning to do, Zoro dramatically proclaimed, “One sword style,” as he took a deep breath, then swung his sword towards the bottle.

Your hand flew to your mouth to contain your gasp of surprise as the rim and cork of the bottle was cleanly separated from its body and flew across the room, thankfully landing safely on the plush couch instead of smashing into a million pieces on the floor. 

A second passed, then two. Zoro silently sheathed his sword. 

And maybe it was the booze getting to your head, but you couldn’t suppress the uncontrollable giggle that bubbled out of you after his sudden theatrical display of skills. 

“Well, that’s one way to open a bottle.” You said in between your laughter, “Did Hawk-Eye teach you how to do that?”  

“I just watched and learned.” Zoro smiled smugly as he examined the smooth cut on the bottle. “Not bad,” he decided, clearly proud of his handiwork. 

He poured out the dark red wine into the two glasses you already prepared, and offered one to you. 

You thanked him, then picked a random spot on the long sofa that ringed around the lounge. Zoro followed and relaxed into the seat next to you, legs wide and one arm rested over the couch behind you. He swirled his glass carefully, brought it up to his nose for a sniff, before finally taking an appreciative sip. 

You watched him attentively for a long minute, before finding the courage to ask, “Tell me more about him?”

Zoro understood who you were referring to without needing further clarification. He was silent for a beat, before starting in a low tone, “He… was strong. And a great mentor.” 

The Straw Hats had exchanged stories with each other about what went on in the two years that you were all separated, although you noticed that Zoro never seemed to go into much detail about his time at Kuraigana Island, and even less so about his mysterious host. 

Zoro took another sip of his wine after responding to your question, and you thought that he would just leave it at that. 

It came as a surprise to you when he opened his mouth again hesitantly, and started talking. 

He talked about the island itself, as well as its inhabitants. From the rabid Humandrills that he challenged everyday, to the “annoying ghost girl” that followed him around everywhere. You recalled meeting the pink-haired girl briefly at Sabaody Archipelago, and at that time, you could feel that she had definitely grown on Zoro, despite his display of contempt towards her. 

Most of all, Zoro talked about his teacher. Mainly about the rigorous lessons he gave, but also about the legendary swordsman’s passion for wine, his surprisingly delicious cooking, and his unexpected penchant for gardening. 

Zoro did not tell you the story of how he lost his left eye, and you did not push for an explanation. Everyone in the crew had been respecting his silence on that matter, knowing that Zoro would tell you all in his own time about what truly happened, whenever he’s ready to talk about it. 

You talked well into the wee hours of the morning, even after the wine ran dry. You couldn’t tell exactly when, but a deep sleep eventually took over you. 

You were woken up with a start, when several hours later, Sanji found you both sound asleep on the sofa — your head on top of Zoro’s shoulder, and his head on top of yours. 

“You shitty Mosshead!!” Sanji’s voice rang out sharply when he saw the empty bottle of his favorite wine discarded on the floor.

Zoro looked disoriented for a second as he woke up, but his lips slowly formed into a smirk when he eventually grasped the situation. He got up and cracked his knuckles in anticipation of his imminent daily squabble with the cook. 

You sighed and got up too. You definitely couldn’t handle their bickering so early in the morning, especially with the pounding headache from your night of drinking. You patted Zoro’s arm, leaving him to deal with Sanji’s wrath, as you made your escape from the room. 

You just hoped Sanji wouldn't find out that the whole thing was your damn idea in the first place.

a/n: my personal headcannon is that zoro is secretly a wine connoisseur after spending two years with mihawk. the trick zoro did with the wine bottle in this fic is based on a real-life champagne-opening technique called sabrage - which is cool as heck btw - and i like to think mihawk opens his wine that way all the time.

Other parts: { Sanji | Nami | Usopp | Chopper | Zoro (here) }

[steddieas-shegoes]

bubbles on the nose

for @steddielovemonth prompt “love is doing the dishes’

rated t | 662 words | cw: suggestive language | tags: domestic fluff, banter, established relationship, future fic, steddie dads

💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕

Eddie assumed his position at the sink, sleeves rolled up, game face on.

“It’s not the final seconds of a championship game, Eds. It’s just the dishes.” Even with his back turned to him, Eddie could hear the smile in Steve’s tone. “They can’t win.”

“Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong. They’ve won before.” Eddie gestured to a small scar on his palm from grabbing a butcher’s knife from the depths of the sink full of soapy water over a year ago. “I simply can’t let them know my weakness.”

Steve snorted, and the sound of the chair at the kitchen table scooting across the floor made Eddie smirk. Apparently, Steve was gonna watch.

He didn’t mind putting on a show.

“I don’t mind doing them if you’d rather sweep the floor,” Steve suggested.

“I’ve seen what under that table looks like. I’ll stick with this,” Eddie reached his hand into the bubbles and pulled out the first of five plates. “Next time we agree to babysit Dustin’s army of children, can we make a rule that they have to eat outside?”

“Sure, if you wanna listen to Grant complain about the bugs and Sam complain about the grass making him itchy,” Steve started. “I think I’d rather clean up the mess.”

Eddie hummed in agreement.

Arms were suddenly around his waist, tugging him upright and slightly away from the sink. He let his wet hands rest on the edge of the counter and closed his eyes.

“Lizzie is a perfect angel. Don’t think she dropped a single crumb,” Eddie muttered.

“She dropped half her dinner while you were clearing the plates, baby. She just knows how to clean up after herself,” Steve kissed his shoulder.

They stayed like that for a moment, soaking in the rare silence. Lizzie was a hyper kid, talkative and fun, and they absolutely loved having her energy in the house. But they so rarely had moments like this that weren’t about rushing to bed, or rushing to shower together. They wanted to soak it in.

“We should have another one,” Eddie whispered, less confident than he meant to.

Steve tensed behind him.

They’d talked about it a lot early on, when they moved to Chicago and found an adoption agency that was willing to work with them. After they officially adopted Lizzie when she was two, they decided to wait. It was a lot taking care of a toddler, especially one as active as Lizzie, and they didn’t want her to feel like she wasn’t enough for them.

But the discussion for more kept getting pushed further and further away from them, and Eddie needed Steve to know he didn’t forget what they wanted.

“Yeah?” Steve asked breathlessly, like he’d been holding his breath for the last four years and waiting for Eddie to be the one to bring it up. “You want another one?”

“I promised you six nuggets didn’t I?” Eddie finally turned around, putting his still-damp hands on Steve’s hips. “Why do you think we got this big house? Lizzie should have siblings, right?”

Steve bit his lip, nodded. “You aren’t saying that just for me?”

Eddie reached up to cup Steve’s face, both of them laughing at the bubbles popping against their skin.

“I’m saying it for us. We both want this. And we have plenty of love to give.”

“Doing the dishes and talking about more kids? You’re lucky I haven’t stripped naked and dropped to my knees,” Steve teased with a wink.

But his eyes were shining with unshed tears, and Eddie felt the same buildup in his own eyes.

“Go strip and wait for me by the bed. I’ll finish these dishes and be there in five minutes,” Eddie kissed the corner of his mouth, lingered for an extra second to make a silent promise of more.

Steve ran out of the kitchen and up the stairs, leaving Eddie to finish the dishes.

They could sweep in the morning.

[in-som-niyah]

soft/domestic!Jason with an overstimulated!reader where he just squashes her in a hug until she calms down???????/

GIVE US THISSSS PLSSS

i keep my promises <3

"These arms are always yours, love"

soft!Jason Todd x overstimulated!fem!Reader

WARNINGS: graphic description of skin picking?? (not self-harm)

Today was going to be a shitty day.

The moment your eyes cracked open to an absence of sun peeking through the window, you knew outside was going to be gloomy.

You turned your head to face your nightstand, but in doing so, increase your awareness on how the sheets feel on your body. Were they always this rough? Surely the fabric softener did its job, right?

Groaning, you made your way out of bed, your feet planting themselves on the small rug on your side of the bed. It was a soft contrast from your now-cold, rough sheets.

As you took a step toward your dresser, you felt a crunch beneath your left foot. Though it was dark, you could make out the leftover potato chip crumbs from the bag Jason was eating before he went on patrol for the night.

You asked him not to eat it there to prevent this exact scenario, but here you fucking are.

Now, you were annoyed at not only the fact that the sun in Gotham is apparently having the same shitty day as you, but now you also have to clean up something that shouldn't be there in the first place.

Thankfully, it was a Sunday, meaning you had Jason all day to make more fucking messes. Yay.

Your spitefulness wasn't warranted, but in the moment, you didn't care.

As you carried on picking the remains of the food off of your foot, Jason stirs on the bed, scanning the other half of the bed with his arms. Seeing that he can't find what he's looking for, he relents and opens his eyes.

Jason knows something is up.

But, he won't push. Not yet.

"why're you s'far away?" he slurs, half awake and starting to shiver since he flung the covers off looking for you.

You wanted to answer him, you wanted to jump back in his arms and hold onto the scent of his skin forever, but you were too annoyed and anxious to say anything.

"No reason." you quip. Far too snappy for such a groggy early morning. Jason knows you've been up for a while now.

Before any more words could potentially be exchanged, you tugged on a pair of clean sweatpants and one of your own shirts. Usually, you would wear one of Jason's to the point where you genuinely forgot you had your own drawer full of clothes.

You storm your way out of the room quickly and go straight to the bathroom to take off your bonnet and fix your hair.

Lo and behold, the twist out didn't work out as intended, and now your hair didn't look as you wanted. The curls were wonky, there was almost no volume, and the back was still wet.

Your frustrated eyes land on Jason's clippers. Through and impulsive rage, you wanted to take it to your head and juts be done with it. This was not the first time your hair didn't work out, nor the first time you wanted to cut all of it off.

Suddenly back in reality, you begin to feel guilty for snapping at Jason earlier, and thinking so badly of him.

God, is this who I am?

All you wanted to do was burst back in there and hug him and tell him that you didn't mean it and that you were sorry and-

Hot tears began streaming down your face, burning rivers into your sullen face. Above all, you craved Jason, but he deserved the sleep and peace on the rare occasions he has to relax. Why couldn't you be peaceful?

You covered your sobs, which only made your feelings worse. The bathroom tile was too cold, but you were too warm at the same time.

It was so dark but too bright. Your skin felt hot but frigid at the same time.

Every quick expansion of your lungs pushing against your ribcage hurt badly. It didn't help that you were beginning to hyperventilate.

Speaking of hyperventilation, you soon realized that even though you weren't sobbing anymore , you couldn't breathe.

Your lungs were taking in all the air around you but also none at all, and you felt lightheaded.

At the same time, your skin began to itch from the beads of sweat surfacing, and your sharp nails began to dig into your skin to scratch it.

Drag after drag of nails on your skin caused it to feel raw and exposed.

While you were caught in your own whirlwind, you didn't hear Jason call out to you. Or his frantic footsteps when you didn't respond. Or his pleas for you to open your eyes and pay attention to him.

Jason was beyond worried when he saw you, panicked and frightened, digging into your skin and rushed to stop you.

He gently pried your fingers from your skin and made a mental note to talk to you about it later.

"Hey shhh baby, no more of that...it hurt's doesn't it?" he cooed as he began to hold your sharp fingers in his hands.

You nod tentatively, still trying to will air to stay in your lungs for longer than half a second.

"Alright princess, you're gonna breathe with me, okay?" Jason says as he tries to hide how concerned he was in effort to keep you as calm as possible.

"Okay breathe in" he begins, eyes trained on your eyes and hands massaging your palms.

You follow his prompts to the best of your abilities, trying to control your breaths the way he does.

After a few cycles of calm breathing, the guilt has nested itself fully in the pits of your stomach.

How could he be so kind after you thought so ill of him juts a few moments ago?

Surely you didn't deserve this.

Surely, he was playing a sick joke on you.

There's no way that he could actually lo-

"Princess? You here with me?" Jason's calm voice cutting through your thoughts.

You look up at him, shame set deep in your eyes.

"I'm so-"

"Nope." he quips with practices ease.

"But I-" you try again, this time determined.

"No. You will not apologize to me for being human." He insists as he rests his forehead against yours.

You close your eyes at the contact, a stark contrast to the sickly feeling your skin had moments ago.

Your eyes begin to sting once more as thoughts of being undeserving of such kindness resurface. You turn your head away from him and haul yourself up from the floor in effort to avoid him seeing you cry again.

As you turn away to step out the door, barely holding back a sob, Jason's warm, soft hand catches your wrist. Gently, he pulls you back into him and wraps his strong arms around you.

Careful not to crush you, he squeezes, physically pressing all his love for you into the hug as you continued to cry softly.

"'m not upset baby, I promise i'm not" Jason reassures as he rocks you in his arms.

He is all too familiar with the guilt you're feeling and so desperately wishes he could make it go away. He knows what it's like to say and think hurtful things you don't necessarily mean about the people you love.

His arms begin to rub at your back, soothing your inner hurt. You felt safe, calm and protected in his embrace.

Slowly, you calmed and your sobs were reduced to sniffles.

Jason tried to let go and move you, but you clung to his tighter in silent refusal.

He chuckles at you gripping his shirt and barely shaking your head that was buried in his chest.

"Alright, alright. These arms are always yours, love."

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

i'm so sorry its taking me so long to finish these requests my chronic pain is making it hard to be a human rn

[freesia-writes]

Chapter 1: Family Dinner

Enjoy a riveting tale of romance, suspense, adventure, and self-discovery as Hunter finds his path after the events of TBB. With engaging imagery, emotional depth, comic relief, and some fun twists and turns, the story will take you on a delightful ride with our beloved Sergeant, leaving you satisfied as he finds his happily ever after… eventually. 😉 Rated PG-13 for some mild suspense, suggestive talk, alcohol and drug use, and adult themes. Banner and dividers by @pinkiemme Master List here

BEFORE WE DIVE IN... Now that we’re past the finale, I’d like to make this fit in as well with that as possible. But I also want to enjoy it. ;) So here’s where this lies… Tech was found alive and well (living in a hut in the forest on Tantiss? lol) and came with the boys after they BLEW IT ALL UP. Omega is living with them as well, for now, because they all thought it was wise to give her a break and some semblance of “normal life” while the rebellion continued to build. She might seem a little less like a full soldier here and more like a typical teenager on the brink of adulthood, and that might be a bit of a shift from her development throughout season 3, but I think it’s still reasonable to think that some of the typical adolescent stuff might come up once she was immersed into a more typical adolescent setting. Maybe not, but again… it’s just for the plot. ;) 

I’m changing the setting for a variety of reasons, but they left Pabu out of fear that the Empire might still have it on their radar. You’ll learn more about the island of Xylo in a couple chapters. Crosshair didn’t lose a hand, but he’s still got some lingering effects from his time on Tantiss. Echo opted to spend a year with the Batch before rejoining the rebellion. The events of this fic may seem relatively domestic after all that the Batch endured, but I really just wanted to have a warm and fuzzy story with family, humor, love, and some plot twists. Ultimately, the purpose here is to enjoy a romance adventure with Hunter, so please forgive any plot holes and just enjoy the ride. ;)

Chapter 1: Family Dinner (Word Count: 2.5k) Fanart by @nika6q

The balmy sea breeze ruffled the tablecloth and made the string lights dance merrily above the jovial scene below as the clinking of silverware on plates punctuated the steady hubbub of conversation that rose and fell with the emotion of what was being shared. Some overly-optimistic sea birds hovered above on a swell, fastidiously watching for any dropped crumbs before swooping gracefully into another updraft. Crosshair was looking at them down the edge of his finger, which he had shaped into a gun with the help of his thumb, and his focused squint was interrupted by a smack on his arm. He flashed his partner a wry grin as they chuckled, shaking their head at his “murder noodle antics”, as they’d come to call it. 

“Stop traumatizing the wildlife and eat your fish,” they laughed.

“This looks an awful lot like traumatized wildlife too, you know,” Crosshair answered, picking at the fillet with a fork. “I mean, what horrors did this thing have to endure at the end of Wrecker’s line?”

“I’m starting to feel like traumatized wildlife,” his partner jabbed, grinning ear to ear as they took a bite of their brightly-flavored steamed vegetables. 

“If it decreases any potential reservations you may yet hold,” Tech interjected, “As far as neuroscience has yet been able to distinguish, this particular genus of sea creatures do not possess the pain receptors necessary for the experience of pain with which humanoid species are familiar.”

“Thanks, Julia Child,” Crosshair muttered, a hint of fondness flickering beneath the dry humor.

“If you are metaphorically comparing me to the infamously accomplished chef of the Core Worlds, it is hardly an insult, Crosshair. You are losing your edge.” Tech’s savage burn was delivered at a slightly louder volume than usual, and Wrecker’s boisterous laugh immediately broke through. The massive clone pointed a gleeful finger at Crosshair as he finished his bite between hearty chuckles.

“That one’s gotta hurt!” Wrecker exclaimed, pulling his hand back as Phee smacked it away. 

“You tryin to resurrect the grumpiness? Come on, big guy. Think it through,” Phee said playfully, arching a sharp eyebrow at Wrecker, whose unabashed grin remained unfazed despite her mockingly stern correction. “Or I’m gonna kick you out of our house.”

Omega giggled, sharing a glance with Hunter across the table, who gave her a half-smile and wink before turning back to Echo, who was filling him in on the newest developments at his Defense Training Academy.

“I didn’t think it would fill up so quickly,” Echo mused, tearing apart the large fish filet on his plate with his fork. “I guess the Empire’s got everyone spooked, even out here. But it’s a good thing, I think… They’ll be ready to fight if it ever comes to that, but Maker willing, it won’t.”

“They’re doing the same on Pabu,” Phee chipped in, leaning forward to nod at Echo. “Shep’s got a whole daily regimen of exercise, strategy, and drills for any possible scenario he can think of. You should talk to him; he could use your military expertise.’

“I’d be interested to hear what he’s doing,” Echo nodded in return. “Maybe we could make a trip that way sometime soon.”

“Can I come?!” Omega said brightly, tugging Echo’s arm from her seat beside him. “I’d love to see Lyana. I wish we’d been able to stay there.” 

“Me too, kid,” Hunter said with a sigh, leaning back in his chair after resting his wooden utensils on his plate. “But you know trouble follows us wherever we go. It’s better for them this way. Besides, Xylo is pretty much the same–”

“Aside from an entirely different subset of ecosystems and a much larger diversity in flora and fauna due to the greater size of the island, yes… Xylo is similar to Pabu in that… they are both islands,” Tech interjected, wavering at the end as he caught sight of Phee's fondly arched eyebrow directed at him.

“I know,” Omega said, “It’s just hard making friends wherever we go and having to leave them… Jek and Shaeeah, Hera, Lyana… But everyone at school is really nice so far too.” She was so sweet, so earnest, always trying to look on the bright side while still being true to her feelings… Hunter’s heart warmed in his chest as he listened to her thoughts. 

“Yeah, how’s that going?” Wrecker asked. He was the best uncle, ever-vigilant about her experiences on the island of Xylo since they’d made a decent attempt to integrate into society. It had been the better half of a year already, and they felt as though things were just now settling into some faint hint of an established life. 

“I love it!” Omega exclaimed enthusiastically, causing infectious smiles to appear on several of her family members’ faces. “It was the best year for me to join – it sounds like everything before this was all just academic units, but now they’re getting to really live it out and see what they want to do in life!”

“Academic units are highly useful building blocks for success in individual endeavors, Omega,” Tech reminded her. “Or for saving one’s life when careening toward the earth at fatal speeds in cargo containers…” he smirked, enjoying his own dry humor for a moment before falling silent. Phee was the only one who caught the slight flash of a frown at the corners of his lips and the way he subconsciously rubbed his thigh – echoes of the pain of the past. 

“I know, Tech, but I’ve been studying everything, and now it’s time to actually do stuff! The forestry section just wrapped up, and this week I get to start shadowing Madame Dreyfus – she’s a seamstress who dyes her own fabrics! I heard that if I do well, she might let me make my own outfit for the Advancement Ceremony at the end of the year!”

“I’m sure you’ll do great, kid,” Phee said confidently, smiling warmly above the table while her hand joined Tech’s beneath, gently placing it on top of his where it rested on his thigh. 

“Maybe you could make Wrecker something to wear so he has more than two shirts,” Crosshair suggested, squinting at his brawny brother, who rolled his eyes, unfazed, and brushed a few crumbs off his open-chested brown tunic.

“Maybe you could make Crosshair some pants that aren’t so kriffing tight so he’s not acting like he’s got a wad of fabric up his–”

“Language, Echo,” Hunter growled, and Omega wasn’t the only one who enjoyed a hearty chuckle.

“You know I hear worse than that at school,” she giggled, eyes sparkling with delight as Echo gave her a wink. 

“I know…” came Hunter’s answering grumble, and Omega reached across beneath the table to give his leg a little tap with her foot, watching his face soften as their eyes met.

“Anyway,” Echo continued, “With the number of sign-ups at the DTA, we’re going to need some other instructors and guides soon. I don’t suppose any of you are interested in donating some of your time and expertise to whip these locals into shape?”

“DTA?” Crosshair’s partner whispered.

“Defense Training Academy,” he murmured back, rubbing an idle hand up and down their muscular arm. “It’s what the cool kids call it.”

“Then I will definitely not call it that,” they snickered, and Crosshair smirked as he turned back to Echo.

“They’re gonna need more time before they can handle anything I’ve got to teach them,” he said. “But I’d pay good money to be able to watch them fight Wrecker for sport. Er, practice.”

“That’d be fun!” Wrecker laughed, smacking his closed fist with his other hand. “Gonna have to wait though. I’m swamped with projects after the last mudslide. Everyone wants things added or changed to their rebuilt homes so it’s all takin a lot longer.”

“They’re keepin you busy, huh?” Phee asked, knowing that Wrecker loved every minute of it. He’d never had the opportunity to put his skills to use outside of his service to the Republic, and she’d been privy to many a conversation filled with his enthusiasm for craftsmanship. It helped that he was able to lift and move most everything by himself, too.

“Yeah! Now if I could just get Hunter to stop freaking out the locals when he’s out huntin,” Wrecker said, narrowing his eyes at the Sergeant, who smirked and shrugged.

“Look, the whole island is open access. It’s not illegal. Besides, I think they’d be complaining a lot more if their favorite meats weren’t available at my shop anymore…”

“That’s for sure!” Omega chipped in, wearing a wry smile. It struck Hunter in that moment just how much she had changed in the short time they’d known her. Especially since the Tantiss rescue, where they’d successfully extracted her along with Tech and Crosshair before blowing up the entire facility and everything in it, her face had gotten more angular, her hair longer. She was wildly intelligent and had an enthusiasm and warmth that was unmatched, but as she’d grown, they’d had their share of conflicts. Hunter couldn’t relate, having had his entire life planned out for him as soon as he’d reached “adulthood” with his rapidly-accelerated aging, but there were endless nuances to a young woman that he was having to figure out as they went along. Sometimes he forgot how much she was aware of – she’d been so sheltered from certain realms of civilian life, but having nestled into life on the island, she’d become much more connected and “up with the times”, so to speak. She continued, a glimmer in her eye now, “I heard some office ladies talking about you the other day!”

“Yeah?” Hunter asked, squinting at the mischief on her face.

“Yeah,” she echoed, idly rolling the last piece of sushi on her plate. “One of them said she loved your butcher shop and that you’ve got the best meat on the island,” Omega said slowly, face straight as a board. “The other one said she couldn’t agree more, and a third one said she hasn’t been to the shop but would love to have your meat in her mouth.”

Echo choked on his drink, Crosshair’s toothpick fell out of his mouth, and Wrecker exploded into a guffaw that sent the sea birds tumbling through the air before quickly regaining their graceful hovering. Hunter pressed his lips together, focusing his gaze on Tech’s completely impassive face to try to stabilize himself before replying.

“You’ll have to point out the third one next time I take you to school,” Phee said quietly, nothing but innocence painted across her features. 

“Seemed like an odd way to say it,” Omega muttered, twisting her mouth to the side, and Hunter genuinely couldn’t tell if she was pulling his leg or not. 

“You will find that there are many nuances to speech specific to geographical and cultural areas that might make one phrase sound entirely different than it would in another place. I would not worry about it. The point is that we should congratulate Hunter on his successful business,” Tech suggested, speaking loudly over Wrecker’s continued laughter.

“Yeah,” Echo agreed. “He sure is satisfying his customers…”

“Apparently not all of them,” Crosshair prodded, and his partner elbowed him again.

“Moving on,” Hunter said emphatically, “Wrecker, when can you fix the chimney? Winter will be here soon and I can only keep it so warm with that draft…”

“Yeah yeah,” Wrecker said, waving him off amid residual chortles. “I’ll come by this week.”

“Taungsday?” Hunter pressed.

“Mmm, Centaxday maybe. Taungsday is the “Grand Re-Opening” at the tiki bar. They got new freshers! Supposed to be all fancy now.”

“Anything would be fancy compared to the pits they had,” Tech sniffed. “While wildly inconvenient for relieving oneself during a raucous night of imbibing, they could have been permanent fixtures in the cultural museum considering how primitive and dated they were.”

“I’m sure the locals would be thrilled at that exhibit,” Phee affirmed, rising to her feet to begin clearing the table. The Primeday tradition of dinner at Tech and Phee’s had been one of the first things everyone had agreed on, and in the months since they’d arrived on Xylo, it had been the grounding activity each week that allowed them to feel a sense of belonging and routine. 

Everyone got up to help clean up except for Wrecker and Hunter, who lingered behind to finish their drinks. Tech had not only developed an interest in cooking, but had also discovered quite the knack for mixing drinks. He couldn’t stand the local tiki bar down on the beach, insisting that their proportions were all wrong and they were using nothing but cheap garbage to try to make as much profit as possible. However, considering the beautiful waterfront location and the fact that it seemed to be the main gathering place for the entire town, no one seemed to mind quite as much as Tech. 

“Headin out early tomorrow?” Wrecker asked, swirling the liquid in his wood cup.

“Mhm,” Hunter answered, mimicking the movement before taking a sip. “The Kod’yok are migrating and the locals love their flank steaks. You good to walk with Omega?” 

“You betcha, although she’s getting old enough that she probably doesn’t need it anymore, ya know…” 

“I know, but let’s let her be the one to suggest that, eh? I don’t want her feeling thrown out on her own in a new place. Plus, we can never be too safe.”

Wrecker sighed. He’d been able to let go more quickly of the paranoia that still seemed to rest on Hunter’s shoulders, although he was aware of the crippling responsibility the Sergeant felt for all that had transpired, from Crosshair being separated from the squad back on Kamino to the rescue attempt that had cost Tech his life, or so they thought. Recovering the rest of the team had been a harrowing fiasco, but they’d emerged victorious… barely. 

They’d found a planet in the middle of nowhere, uncharted in most of the records Tech was able to find, and it had been a welcome respite from the increasing turmoil across the galaxy that accompanied the spread of the Empire. Xylo was similar to Pabu in its feeling of safety and anonymity, unknown by virtually anyone outside the island, and there were a handful of other similar islands scattered across the rest of the planet, most of which was covered by water. Xylo was the largest island on the nameless planet and had so far been a good place for everyone to settle.

It was late by the time everyone had finished their cleaning and conversations, and Hunter was the last to leave, thanking Phee again for her usual hospitality as she disappeared around the corner with a wave. Tech saw him out, pausing on the doorstep to fiddle with one of his pouches.

“I finished this today,” he said, handing a small bag to Hunter. “It will function excellently anywhere on the planet. I can assemble others if you feel a need, but I believe our existing comm devices suffice.”

“Thanks, Tech. One is good for now. I appreciate it.” And with that, they went their separate ways.

~ Master List ~ Next Chapter

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Join the tag list by commenting for the discord server link or filling out my form.

[lovebugism]

i need more of “the customer is always right” before i wither away and die <3 the anticipation of IT happening is quite literally killing me ilysm

THE CUSTOMER'S ALWAYS RIGHT | b-minus

summary: eddie munson takes the unconquerable english midterm that's forced him to repeat senior year two times. dustin henderson gets a pep talk. uncle wayne gives his nephew a warning. you cook your eddie spaghetti some spaghetti. (17k)

pairing: virgin!eddie munson / f!reader

tags: idiots in love, experienced!reader, domestic bliss, staying the night, eddie munson tries to get used to being loved TW probable typos, swearing, discussions of being poor, talks of insecurities, kissing, heavy petting, oral sex (m!receiving) 18+ only!!

a/n: hi. hello. me again. you probably don't remember me because it's been almost TWO MONTHS. i'm really sorry about that btw this semester of college was sent from the actual depths of hell. please take this sixth installment of tcar and find it in your heart to forgive me <3 ily all xoxo

( PREVIOUSLY ) | ( MASTERLIST ) | ( NEXT )

 ˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

“Okay, this is officially the last time I let you drive me anywhere,” Eddie gripes from the passenger seat of your too tiny car as one excruciatingly happy ABBA song bleeds into another.

He shouldn’t have expected anything less. You’re made of the same stuff you listen to — sunshine and melted ice cream and summer breezes. You match the blue skies above you as you belt the lyrics to the song you seem to know by heart.

The sight makes Eddie grin to himself, still beaming no matter how hard he rolls his eyes.

This was the only good thing about the breaks of his van going haywire and having to bum a ride to school from you — getting to see more of you in your element. 

As much as he loved having you in his passenger seat, bobbing your head to whatever rock song he’d popped into the cassette player, there was something entirely different about seeing you in the driver’s seat.

This car was your safe space, spotted with stickers on the console and polaroids on the speedometer, where you could sing any damn ABBA song you wanted to because it was your own little bubble where nothing could touch you. 

Eddie’s grateful you let him see it, all these parts of you that you reveal slowly to him like so many tiny rays of sunshine.

It’s even better to witness with a full stomach, which was maybe the second good thing about driving with you. You picked him up with time to spare to get breakfast — to take the long route to school and watch the rising sun sparkle over Lover’s Lake. There was no reason to speed through town like a maniac because he wasn’t in a rush. Today might be the first time all year he’s not five minutes late to first period.

He tells you to sing louder when you get all shy and hyperaware of his gaze, feeding you bits of your breakfast — but only on the instrumental parts so you don’t miss your favorites. The boy props his arm on the center console and folds down the wrapper of your greasy, plain biscuit with his thumb so it doesn’t get in the way of your bite. He doesn’t even complain when you try to sing through the mouthful. 

He figures that this is what love is. A part of it, at least. That stupid, philosophical feeling people have been trying to describe for ages is sitting right beside him — with crumbs sticking to the corners of her mouth as she mixes up the words to the Dancing Queen chorus.

Love isn’t butterflies or tight chests — it’s this. It’s letting a person listen to music you hate because you know they love it and not caring that they’re singing horrifically off-key.

And it’s not like Eddie’s in love with you or anything. He’s just got a lot of adoration for you. It’s the kind of innocent affection that makes him love ABBA and think you’re one of the best damn singers he’s ever heard in his life — even though neither would be particularly true if he didn’t care about you so much.

It’s sort of like the love he’s got for Dustin, to still care about the little shrimp even when he’s annoying him to no end. But, at the same time, it’s not like that at all. Because Dustin Henderson isn’t the prettiest girl he’s ever seen. Dustin Henderson doesn’t make him feel like his heart is being trampled by an entire stampede of zoo animals. 

No one quite makes Eddie feel the way you do. But even if he was in love with you, he’s got no way of knowing the difference — between loving and being in love. The only thing he’s really sure of is that he doesn’t know a damn thing. And that the sick feeling in his stomach he gets every time he looks at you can’t possibly be normal.

“Oh, stop being such a baby,” you retort. Your words come slurred and slightly muffled through the bite of biscuit in your cheek. “I know you secretly like it.”

“Of course I do!” he shouts over the catchy bass guitar and your subsequent laughter. “It’s just not the kinda shit I wanna listen to right before I take the biggest test of my life.”

It’s true. The past two times he’s been forced to take Ms. O’Donnell’s impossible midterm exam, he's listened to the exact same song — ‘Ride the Lightning,’ Metallica. It’s the only song that gives him enough of an adrenaline rush to gather the confidence to fail the same test. Twice. 

Eddie Munson is a creature of habit. Today marks the third anniversary of the dreaded day that makes or breaks his high school career, but instead of spending it with Metallica, he’s spending it with you. He wants to believe you’re a good luck charm or some kind of lucky omen, but he’s terrified of getting his hopes up.

Expect the worst, and you’ll never be disappointed. That’s what Uncle Wayne always said.

“I think ‘When I Kissed the Teacher’ has plenty of useful advice, Eddie Spaghetti.”

The boy turns to you with a bemused wide-eyed gaze. “If you’re suggesting I makeout with Ms. O’Donnell to pass her class, I’m gonna hurl— like actually hurl. And I will deliberately do it all over the floor of your car.”

“Would you rather repeat your senior year? Again?”

“Yes,” he answers without missing a beat and with a very enthusiastic nod that makes his wild curls sway around his face. “I would rather be a senior for the rest of my life than kiss Ms. O’Donnell.”

“Well, it’s a good thing you won’t have to, right? Because you’re totally gonna ace this thing.”

This is what you’ve been doing for over a week now — twisting everything negative into something more overtly positive. You meet Eddie’s pessimism and self-doubt with a sort of hopefulness he lost somewhere between the first and second time he got held back. 

You force him to study in the gentlest way possible because you’re never anything but soft with him. You make him pretty little flashcards and flip through them with him on the opposite side of his bed, obviously more enthusiastic about the whole thing than he is. You give him sympathetic pecks on his cheek when he gets a question wrong and kiss him totally breathless when he gets the odd one right.

Eddie would be lying if he said the incentive didn’t help at least a little bit.

There is no hint of impatience or sign of hubris that makes him feel stupid. You just teach him to be kinder to himself with tiny little reminders that you’re doing all this right along with him.

“Considering I’ve failed it twice already, I highly doubt that, sweetheart,” he counters, and he’s kidding — mostly. He says it with a teasing lilt and a twinkle in his squinted eyes, but you know that’s his way of covering up that he’s totally serious. 

He really doesn’t think he can do it, pass this stupid exam. He’s got absolutely no faith in himself — but that’s okay, because you’ve got all the faith in him in the world.

“Well, that’s because you didn’t have me to help you study,” you argue, just before accepting the last piece of biscuit he plucks from the parchment and offers to you.

You speak through the mouthful. “But now you do! And we’ve been going over this all week and—” You cut yourself off to swallow the dry pastry. “—And you totally got this. You’re gonna blow ‘em outta the park, Eddie Spaghetti. I can feel it.”

Your optimism makes him smile even though he doesn’t really feel like smiling. He lolls his head against the seat to look at you, finds you with a pretty grin and tiny biscuit crumbs on the corners of your mouth, and has the sudden urge to tell you that he loves you.

It comes out of nowhere. It bubbles up all at once like vomit and startles him with its unexpectedness. The sudden and unfamiliar feeling makes him feel sick, like he just went upside down on a rollercoaster. Whoever said love felt like butterflies was a liar because it feels a whole lot more like getting punched in the stomach.

The words rise from his throat like bile and linger on the edge of his tongue. Eddie forces himself to swallow them back down again. The unsaid ‘Holy fuck, I love the shit outta you’ tastes far more bitter going down.

“What do I get if I ace it then, huh?” he wonders after an awkward blink of silence.

“Uh, I don’t know,” you shrug. “Your diploma.”

“I meant as a reward, dummy.”

“I feel like graduating high school is enough of a reward.”

“I just think I should be compensated for a job well done, is all,” he proposes with a lopsided grin. The teasing nature of his words drips from his mouth like honey.

You glance at him once, eyes wide and dumbfounded, then back to the road. “Eddie Munson…” you scold in a lighthearted lilt. “Get your head outta the gutter. It’s not even eight o’clock.”

That sort of thing wouldn’t have bothered you before. Any other time, you would’ve been all too happy to pull over and jerk him off in a barren parking lot, relieve all his pent-up stress about the exam in the form of a quick handjob. But you’ve been quite obviously keeping your hands to yourself since he told you he was a virgin. 

You were serious about what you said before, about starting over, and Eddie learned that very quickly. You take to giving him tiny little pecks on the cheek and holding his sweaty hand in yours and hardly anything else — like you’re a couple of kids going steady.

Eddie likes it, though, the comforting nature of your unhurried disposition. He just hates the ache it leaves him with.

“It’s all I’m gonna be thinking about,” he confesses with a scrunched nose. “Just so ya know.”

“As long as it helps you pass,” you respond with the shake of your head.

“As long as it helps me pass…” Eddie echoes, quieter. 

“Just think about the biggest kiss I’m gonna give you when I see you again,” you tell him, flashing him a beam as you slow at a stop sign. You trap your smile between your teeth and flash him a glance that can only be described as whimsical — full of shy smiles and fluttering lashes and sparkling eyes. “‘Cause I’m gonna kiss you absolutely stupid, Eddie Munson.”

A rose-colored hue sprinkles along the apples of his cheeks. He never thought a threat could sound so appealing.

“Cool…” is the only thing he could think to mutter in the moment, too busy trying not to smile too wide. He turns his glowing cheeks towards his lap and purses his smile towards his fiddling fingers. “But, uh, I have Hellfire after school, so… Maybe tomorrow?”

You meet his disappointed glance with a shrug. “You could come over after if you want?”

He wants to. He always wants to.

“It’ll probably be late.”

“Then just stay over.”

Your offer comes effortlessly but strikes a deep feeling of complexity within him. Eddie doesn’t know why it makes him so suddenly nervous, only that it makes his palms sweat almost instantly.

The two of you haven’t crossed that threshold yet — of sharing a bed to sleep. He’d catch you dozing on occasion, slouched against his headboard with your head on his shoulder, and he’d wake you. Not because it made him uncomfortable, but because he didn’t want your neck to ache. 

You’d rouse with a groggy apology — “I should probably leave before Bowie starves to death and I drool all over your shoulder,” you’d tell him. 

And it’s not like Eddie wanted you to leave, but he was more than happy to sleep alone. What if he snores obnoxiously loud or he does something gross in his sleep? If you got instantly turned off by some sleeping habit he didn’t even know he had, he thinks it might destroy him.

Eddie can’t control the front he puts up around everyone when he’s sleeping. And for a boy who’s still trying to impress a pretty girl, that’s a very frightening thought.

“Uh, okay… Are you— Are you sure?” he stammers.

His apprehension confuses you. The offer hadn’t felt like that big of a deal to you. “I mean… yeah? We practically did it over the phone last week. It’ll be just like that — but, you know, in person.”

“Right… Okay.”

“I can make us dinner, and we can watch a movie or something,” you propose and grin at the daydream of it all. You wouldn’t have to miss Eddie if he was beside you all night. You wouldn’t have to drift off to thoughts of him either, because he’d be right there. “Bowie would be stoked if you stayed over. She’s practically obsessed with you.”

The thought makes Eddie smile to himself. His heart swells at the idea that other parts of your life have already started to accept him. It makes him feel all warm and fuzzy in his leather jacket and ripped jeans and chunky metal rings.

“Her mom is too, right?” he asks you, mostly playful. He smirks all smug, but his cinnamon-tinted gaze gleams with sincerity.

“Oh, obviously,” you scoff without a second thought. “Have you seen her? She can’t get enough of you…” Your teasing lilt and soft smile fades as you squint at him. “Don’t tell her I told you that, though.”

Eddie pinches his thumb and forefinger together, zipping them across his lips, then rolling down the window to toss the imaginary lock out of it. 

Wind whips through the small car with vigor, making a wild halo of Eddie’s already less-than-tamed hair. The intrusion forces you to squint, even more so when you laugh. 

The sound of your giggling is like glitter or sunbeams. It’s as bright as yellow and soft like summer rain. It makes him smile, too, because that’s all he wanted to do in the first place — make you laugh. It’s all he ever wants to do.

Eddie cranks the lever to roll the window back up again as you tell him: “And, you know, if you stayed over, then I could give you that reward we were talking about.” 

You’ve successfully stooped to his level now: head stuck in the very depths of the gutter. Most of your thoughts are innocent, cooking for him and holding him while you slept. Others, not so much.

“And that would be…” he trails off with raised brows.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” you squint at him as you turn the steering wheel to pull into the bustling parking lot of Hawkins High. 

The place is as wretched as it always was. It hasn’t changed a bit, just sort of deteriorated with time. The nameplate on top of the building has started to grey and the tiger mural painted on the bricks is fading, but it’s still the same. The familiarity of it all hits you with an ice-cold pang of nostalgia.

“I would,” Eddie nods a very vigorous nod, all innocent and wide-eyed, as you park on the far side of the lot. “I would very much like to know.”

You lean across the console to press a swift kiss to his cheek. “You’ll find out later,” you assure him, lingering just ahead of his face. Closer by an inch or two and the tips of your noses would nudge against one another.

“Have mercy…” Eddie murmurs to himself, eyes and limbs suddenly heavy under the weight of his desire for you. 

You made him promise he’d stay sober for the exam — no drinking the night before, no smoking while he got ready. Before now, he’d been perfectly clearheaded. Then you go and look at him with that look, and he’s instantly drunk on you.

He tries to close the distance between you but succeeds only in brushing your noses together before a loud honk blares from ahead of you. It sends the two of you jerking away from each other almost instantly, heads whipping toward the direction of the too loud beep. 

It comes from Steve Harrington’s maroon Beemer that he’d parked just ahead of your Volvo. Him and his friends file out one by one — Robin from the passenger, Dustin Henderson from the back, and then Steve from the driver’s side. 

The former two are beaming, far too happy for it to be so early. Steve looks more like a victim to the morning as he leans against his open car door. His smile looks like a wince and he props his wrist on the door, throwing his fingers up in the place of an actual wave. Dustin and Robin are far more enthusiastic with their gestures.

You and Eddie wave a tad bit awkwardly back at them.

“Look at him,” the boy says, trying and failing to hold back his laughter. “King Steve. Carpooling his kids like a real mom.”

“I’m pretty sure he’s a babysitter first and a human being second,” you joke, then more seriously tell him: “You don’t have to come over if you don’t want to, you know?”

“I know,” he nods. “But I want to.”

“Okay… I just— I don’t want it to seem like I’m trying to, you know, force you or something—”

“It didn’t.”

“—I was just saying it could be nice, you know? But I feel like it sounded like I was being a little pushy.”

“You weren’t.”

“And I don’t want you to be, like, scared to say no to me or something, you know? It wouldn’t hurt my feelings or anything, okay? I promise,” you ramble, partly lying because you know it would hurt a little, but you’d never tell him that. “The ball is totally in your court, so… Whatever you want to do, it’s completely—”

Your nervous blathering is brought to an unexpected halt when Eddie brings his hands to your face. He cups your cheeks in his palms, brushing his thumbs along the apples of them. The sleeves of his leather jacket tickle your chin. He sprayed his wrist with cologne this morning, you can tell; the musky cedarwood and tobacco are more prominent now. 

The boy laughs softly when the suddenness of his action makes your eyes go wide, chuckling louder when he squeezes your cheeks and makes your lips pout softly.

“I wanna come over, okay?” Eddie assures through his laughter. “And you’re never annoying me when you ask. I promise. I’ll probably say yes to just about anything when it’s coming from you, sweetheart.”

“And you’re not just saying that?” you press, words slightly muffled with the way Eddie’s holding your face.

“I’m not just saying that,” he echoes more confidently. He shakes his head at you, then moves your jaw back and forth with his palms so he’s shaking yours too. You jerk away from him with a grin. 

“I’ll see you later?” he asks you while he collects his things from the floor, which is just the little tin box he carries everywhere. He swears it has everything he needs in it. You assume it’s just a dull pencil and a couple of baggies of weed he plans to sell between lunch shifts.

“Yeah,” you answer with a smile.

He clicks the handle to open the car door, then kicks it open the rest of the way. He rolls his head back and puckers his lips for a kiss. You happily oblige him, meeting him halfway but turning at the last second so his mouth meets your cheek.

“Kids are watching,” you joke at his surprise.

And even though he’d only pecked your jaw, it makes Robin and Steve roll their eyes. “Gag me with a spoon,” the girl gripes as she walks past the hood of your car.

Dustin follows behind her, too preoccupied to care. He’s got an anticipatory grin on his face that reveals the blue and green braces on his teeth. The composition notebook in his hands has the Hellfire logo drawn in red and yellow sharpie on the front of it.

You’ve never met the kid, but he’s exactly how you’d expected him to be.

You heard a lot about him — from Steve mostly, but from Eddie too. Robin has the occasional story about the boy from whenever he visits Family Video. They all call him little shit most of the time, shrimp on occasion, and Dusty Bun when he’s done something particularly sweet.

It’s all from a lighthearted place, though. You figure it must be because Steve Harrington is waking up at seven in the morning to take some fourteen-year-old to school. And Eddie’s even worse — the second Dustin calls asking for a ride, he’s hopping in his van without a second thought.

The boy barely lets Eddie get out of the car before he starts bombarding him with questions about the latest D&D campaign. He prattles on and on about it while they walk towards the school, pointing adamantly at the notebook in his hands. You imagine it’s full of conspiracies and potential ways to beat the Cult of Vecna. 

He’s so invested he doesn’t even care when Robin slips the cap from his hand and flips it backwards.

“Have the best day ever, kiddos!” you shout through your rolled-down car window.

You get a half-hearted wave from Dustin, but he doesn’t even glance at you when he does it. Eddie blows a dramatic kiss your way, but Robin rivals his sweetness with a middle finger and a rouge-tinted smile.

The bell chimes overhead, high-pitched and too familiar. The parking lot empties slowly, and the mindless muddled chatter fades too.

Steve saunters to your car after everyone else heads inside. He folds his arms along the passenger door as he leans down to look at you. 

His hair is un-styled, but in a cool sort of way that only he can pull off. Chestnut strands fall down over his forehead while others are pushed back from where he’s ran his fingers through them. His jaw is dusted with a fine layer of stubble that sprinkles a shadow of a mustache on his cupid’s bow.

You’re both wearing the elements of your uniforms.

He’s got on a pair of faded jeans and the mandatory collared shirt, even though he swears Keith only makes him abide by the dress code. You’re wearing the all black get-up required of all Enzo’s waitresses. The flowy blouse and a-line skirt are now wrinkled from the drive over. You’re only missing your floral apron and Steve his forest green vest.

“How long until your shift starts?” he asks you, voice deep and gruff with the morning.

Your eyes flit down to the flashing clock on your dashboard, then back up to him. “I don’t have to go in until eleven today, but I was gonna see if I could pick up an extra shift.”

He nods and juts out his lips as he turns to squint down the parking lot. He looks back at you with a more hopeful gaze. “Wanna go fuck around at Family Video instead?”

And, of course, by ���fuck around,” he means popping popcorn and playing some terrible, terrible slasher film on the television behind the counter that has more boobs and blood than actual plot.

You’ll stop for junk food on the way like you always do and spend the bulk of the movie tossing gummy bears and M&Ms into Steve’s mouth. You’ll waste hours talking about nothing, but it’ll feel like only minutes have gone by when it’s time for your shift.

“Are you kidding?” you scoff like it’s not the best idea you’ve heard all morning. Or maybe second best because Eddie’s proposal of a reward is still swirling around in the confines of your mind. “Of course I do.”

 ˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

By sunset, Eddie Munson’s got a B-minus on his midterm, a crowd of kids singing his praises, and a date with the hottest woman on the planet. Life, as it turns out, was really starting to look up for the local freak.

“Best… campaign… ever!” Dustin shouts. He’s still so boyishly excited about the whole thing that he has to take in deep breaths before he says each word. 

The emphatic exclamation echoes through the dim, empty hallway of Hawkins High. The rest of the school had left some time ago; all that’s left now are the scraps — the basketball douchebags, the theater geeks, the D&D nerds.

The Hellfire Club gets the entire west wing to themselves, and the unusual vacancy allows them to saunter down the corridor’s length like they own the damn place. 

They don’t have to look over their shoulders for assholes that might trip them or stuff them into lockers. Still bubbling with the after-effects of such an utterly sadistic campaign, they feel like they’re on top of their own little world.

Eddie Munson hasn’t felt this good in a long, long time.

He spins on the heel of his worn-out sneaker and walks backwards ahead of his friends so he can examine each of their faces. He’d unleashed the whole Vecna lives twist that he’d been keeping in his metaphorical back pocket for some time now.

You were the one that gave him the idea, sprung it out of nowhere during a smoke session so many months ago. It feels like it’s been forever now. That was back when you were just his customer, and he was just your dealer — when all you needed was a little free weed, and Eddie just needed to pass a test.

You both somehow ended up with far more than either of you bargained for, but he’s not complaining. He hopes you aren’t either.

Dustin had sort of predicted Vecna’s resurgence. He’d scribbled it down in his journal with all the rest of his endless conspiracies. Well, actually, he suspected that Kas was still a villain and hadn’t slain Vecna like they thought — which wasn’t exactly right, but it was still pretty damn close. Eddie’s never met someone who cared so much about one of his campaigns.

So, needless to say, the curly-haired boy is beaming. His green-blue braces and pearly whites are on full display, partially from excitement but mostly because he was sort of right — in a vague, roundabout way.

Mike had been enthusiastic about it too, but that was before he had to suffer through his best friend’s endless boasts. His brown eyes roll damn near to the back of his skull as he huffs, angled jaw clenching from gritted teeth.

“Well, when you spend eight hours coming up with, like, a thousand different theories, one of them is gonna be right,” he’d finally groused. 

Dustin only smiled at the lankier boy, totally unfazed by his grumbling. “It’s not my fault you have exactly zero work ethic. You’re just mad you lost.”

“Yeah, because staying up all night writing in your diary makes you a real winner.”

“For the last time, Mike, it’s not a diary!”

Lucas was too far away to join in on the bickering. The boy had been distant for a while now, actually. Eddie joked that he must’ve been upset about missing basketball practice with Carver and the rest of his goons, but Lucas hadn’t laughed as loud as he’d hoped. He only chuckled under his breath, shook his head, and said it was just girl troubles.  

Gareth, meanwhile, is still grumbling about Vecna killing his ranger. Even though Dustin’s bard brought them all back with a resurrection spell in the end, he doesn’t like to lose. Eddie doesn’t blame him, but he’d be lying if he said the angry scrunch contorting his best friend’s features wasn’t hilarious.

Jeff had lost his druid too, but he was a much better sport about the whole thing. He usually is, especially compared to the rest of the club. He’s perhaps the only one who doesn’t treat every loss like the end of the world.

“Well, thank you, Ser Dustin,” Eddie responds in a fanciful sort of accent, bending at the waist in a gracious brow. “But I cannot take all the credit, I’m afraid.”

Dustin’s brows pinch together. “What do you mean?”

“He means that his girlfriend helped him put it together,” Jeff lisps.

“No way!” the boy gapes, totally dumbfounded. “The girl from this morning? In the car? She’s… She’s into Dungeons and Dragons?”

“Not really. No,” Eddie shrugs right before flashing a shit-eating grin. “But she is into me, so…”

The less-than-humble brag makes Gareth groan. His sandy curls fall back as he tilts his head toward the ceiling, ocean eyes rolling and then fluttering closed. “If I have to hear about your stupid girlfriend one more time…” he’d griped after the first few times Eddie managed to bring you up in every conversation — about a million of them ago now.

His annoyance doesn’t lessen Dustin’s confusion. “I don’t get it…”

“Gareth's just mad because he’s in love with Eddie’s girlfriend,” Jeff clarifies once more, feigning pity as he pats the boy on the shoulder.

“All I’m saying is, I would’ve tried a little harder to get her attention if I knew she was into freaks,” Gareth grieves, a little forlorn and distantly heartbroken, but shrugging it off like he isn’t all that affected by it.

You were a bit like Steve The Hair Harrington in that way. A little like Vicki Carmichael or, god forbid, Billy Hargrove. You’ve garnered a sort of popularity that’s made you into a sideshow attraction that everyone wants to ride — literally.

You’re popular in a much, much different way than Steve or Vicki or Billy. It’s left you acutely fetishized in an extreme sort of fashion, an object of desire for many in disgusting, lurid ways.

It seems Gareth didn’t go unscathed with his lust for you either.

Well, too little too fucking late if Eddie had anything to say about it. But he would never, because that’s his best friend, so he decides to scoff and tell him: “Like she’d be into you anyway.”

“Oh, please. I’m a total catch.”

“Is there anyone she isn’t into?” Jeff chuckles, too kind of heart to realize the mercilessness in his words. “Isn’t that, like, her whole thing.”

A sharp pang of anger strikes like lightning in Eddie’s chest. It’s ice-cold and red hot, a burst of adrenaline that feels like fight or flight. His hands curl into fists before he even realizes it. If it had been anyone else and not one of his best friends, he imagines he might’ve swung before he even thought about what he was doing. 

Before the words to defend you spill like venom from his mouth, another beats him to the punch.

“Hey,” Lucas scolds from a little ways behind the group, making them all turn to look at him. His brows are furrowed slightly, but the rest of his face is contorted in an unreadable way. His hands are tucked deep into the pockets of the puke-green letterman he wears over his Hellfire tee. “Leave her alone.”

“How do you…” Eddie starts, then squints past the group, gaze zeroing in on the boy. “Since when do you know my girlfriend, Sinclair?”

“She’s friends with Max. And she’s, like, really nice. So maybe we shouldn’t talk about her like that.”

The boy with the wild hair grins something wilder. His gaze is stern but no less playful when he turns back to Jeff. “You heard the kid. Leave my girlfriend alone, Jeffy.”

When the phrase leaves his mouth, for perhaps the billionth time that day, he realizes how often he must say it. My girlfriend, he says. My girlfriend, my girlfriend — because he can’t get enough of how it sounds.

With a grin on his face and his dream girl on his mind, Eddie spins on his heel again to swing open the double doors of the high school’s exit. The chill smacks him in the face almost immediately.

It’s the strange knick of time in early spring where the days are warm, but the nights are so, so cold. This one isn’t any different. A bitter breeze pounds at his chest, ruffles through his curls, and pierces the fabric of his jacket. Eddie’s body mourns the sudden loss of warmth almost immediately.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Dustin continues to whinge, even though the rest of them have more than moved on. “Does— Does everyone know her but me? Mike, do you know who she is?”

The boy perks up at the mention of his name. He tends to get a little reserved unless he’s bickering or talking bout his girlfriend. The kid’s a complete and utter wreck when he’s been away from her for too long. Eddie used to make fun of him for it. Not so much anymore.

Mike runs a hand through his lengthy raven hair, then scratches at the back of his neck. His eyes squint and his nose scrunches. “Uh… not really? I mean, I think she knows El because she knows Hopper, but… I don’t know… No?”

Dustin’s face falls flat at his answer. Or lack thereof.

“Wow. Very enlightening, Mike, as always. Thank you,” he deadpans, then turns back to Eddie. His features go from deadpanned to hopeful: eyes wide, brows raised, lips quirked. “So when are we gonna get to meet her? Do you think she’d do a campaign with us? Holy shit— she could be the fairy! You know, of the Firethorns! I mean, you did just say the campaign was feeling a little empty—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Take it down a few notches, alright, Dusty Bun?” Eddie chuckles as he slumps a heavy arm around the boy’s shoulders.

“Don’t call me that. We talked about this; that name is reserved for Suzie and Suzie only—”

“Didn’t you guys break up?” Mike wonders with a sort of blandness to his tone that only he could pull off.

“Shut up, Mike,” Dustin bites in response.

It was still a bit of a sore subject for the boy who’d just lost the so-called love of his life.

Suzie was a girl he met at summer camp about a year ago. Things were going pretty well until they weren’t. Something about her family being uber-religious and not approving of Dustin’s more agonistic disposition.

She broke up with him over Cerebro and hasn’t been on the channel since. It was cold. Ice cold.

Dustin still hikes up to Weathertop every now and then with nothing but a packed lunch and the hope that she’ll answer. She hasn’t yet.

And Eddie can make a mockery of just about anything — it’s practically a superpower at this point — but he knows when to leave well enough alone. Even the most innocent question can send the boy into a spiral of despair. Even now, he gets so suddenly weighed down by the burden of his sadness; lips turning downward and the insides of his brows curling slightly.

Eddie smiles a sad sort of smile down at the boy, but he’s too busy moping to see it. He pulls him closer with one leather-clad arm and uses the other to pat the boy on the chest. Their feet stumble less than gracefully over one another. 

“Yeah, you’re never gonna meet her…” Eddie says in a mournful sigh.

Dustin blinks up at him, confused and even more hurt than before. “What? Why not?”

“Because she’d obviously like you more than me,” he scoffs like it’s obvious. “And I can’t have anyone taking my girl, Henderson.”

That confuses him even more. He was more prepared for one of Eddie’s stupid quips than something short of a compliment. It takes him by surprise at first, leaves him gaping for a moment, before rolling his eyes. “Shut up…”

“I’m serious!” Eddie chuckles, all loud and boisterous. The sound echoes through the vacant lot, made somehow emptier by the cold.

He stops walking suddenly and makes Dustin stop walking too. He takes the boy a tad bit roughly by the shoulders and looks down at him like it’s the first time he’s seeing him. 

“I mean, look at you! What’s not to like, huh? You got their hair, the smarts, the personality—”

“And Eddie’s only got one of those things, so you definitely win,” Gareth quips from a few feet behind them.

“Exactly! Suzie was an idiot to let you go, Henderson.”

Dustin winces when Eddie jabs him in the chest. His saddened gaze flits to the pavement for a moment, then back up again. His eyes are brighter now, but still a bit melancholy — sort of like the streetlamp that flickers across the way. A light that’s going out but grasping for reasons to stay burning.

“You think so?”

“I know so, Dusty Bun,” Eddie grins — smiling wider when the kid’s beam falls flat again. He wraps his arm around Dustin’s punier frame. It’s supposed to be a hug, but it looks more like a headlock. “Never change, Dustin Henderson. Never change…”

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

Eddie hasn’t been to a sleepover since he was ten.

Fifth grade. Franklin Kowalski’s place in the suburbs. Trampoline in the front yard, pool in the back, and an assortment of soft drinks in a fridge in the garage. Maybe he remembers it so vividly because it's perhaps one of the more traumatizing experiences a prepubescent boy growing out a buzzcut could go through.

He knew he didn’t belong there — not in the good part of town with a bunch of boys in brand-new tennis shoes. Eddie Munson was trailer park trash, through and through. He wasn’t used to new clothes or two-story houses or underground pools. But he didn’t care where he came from. And neither did Franklin. Not at first, anyway.

The other kids were nice enough to him. They offered him their swim goggles when Eddie didn’t have his own and made sure he wasn’t left out of any of their conversations. It was all in a tongue-in-cheek sort of way, though. Their kindness was manufactured, a mask for pre-teen boy cruelty. 

See, they only gave him their goggles so they could laugh when they got tangled in his curls. They only included him in conversation so he could be the punch line to each of their jokes. 

All of it went over Eddie’s head. He was too innocent to realize he wasn’t being treated nicely, he was being taunted. He laughed along with each of their inside jokes because he wanted so desperately to be included, having no idea it was himself he was laughing at.

It took him until two o’clock the next morning to understand. He woke up all alone in the living room and found that everyone else had migrated upstairs without him. They were still awake, still laughing — and Eddie was forgotten in the dark.

He nearly cried when he called Wayne. He wasn’t sure if his tears were from anger or from sadness, but they stung all the same. 

He punched the numbers on the keypad with a clenched jaw to keep from sobbing out loud. His gaze was still blurry with unshed tears. It made it dreadfully hard to see, and what little light spilled from the television — which had turned to static after midnight — didn’t help either.

“It’s three A.M., Eds. You sick?” his uncle gruffed into the landline.

“A little,” Eddie half-lied. He twirled the curly wire around his fingertip until it turned purple. He prayed he didn’t sound as sad as he felt. “Everyone else is asleep… ‘M scared I’m gonna puke everywhere.”

Wayne was there barely fifteen minutes later. He drove his rusted pick-up to the suburbs, found his nephew waiting on the curb, and didn’t ask questions on the drive back to Forest Hills. 

Eddie hasn’t been to a sleepover since.

He’s got a feeling this one will be different, though. Because pre-teen boys are a hell of a different kind and you’re… you. 

He’s pretty sure you couldn’t be mean to him even if you wanted to be. You’re nice, far nicer than he deserves. You’re lovely and sweet and decent — every synonym of the damn word in a thousand different languages. It still floors him that it would ever occur to you to be kind to him. 

Eddie doesn’t feel all that worthy of your sunshine. He happily basks in your golden rays anyway. Maybe it’s because he’s selfish. Or maybe it’s because he’s so damn pale — in both the literal and figurative sense.

Eddie packs his overnight bag without a hint of methodology.

He isn’t totally sure of what to bring as he rifles through his disorganized drawers, so he ends up packing bits of everything. 

He does the sniff test for each of his crumpled-up t-shirts. The one’s that smell the freshest get stuffed to the bottom of his bag. He can’t be sure of how many he’s shoved down there now — three or four, maybe five. It makes it harder for his pants to fit, two of the pajama variety and two of denim. 

He grabs multiples of everything, just to be on the safe side. It takes only minutes for his backpack to fill up. He nearly breaks the zipper trying to fasten it, and still, he worries he hasn’t brought enough.

The bag sits upright on his mattress as Eddie bends down to grab the box of condoms that’s been idling under his bed for a year. The cardboard is coated with a fine layer of dust and time. He holds it between his ringed fingers, debating whether or not to finally break the seal and bring a few — just to be on the safe side. That’s when Wayne walks in.

The man isn’t looking at him. He’s too busy wiping his oil-stained palms on an already-stained rag, but his presence is sudden enough to freak Eddie out. The boy jumps like he’s been caught red-handed, scrabbles for a hiding place almost immediately, making the box sputter out of his grip. The thing falls to the ground with a dramatic thud.

He kicks it back under his bed again.

Wayne’s eyes finally flit up to his nephew’s at all the commotion. His bushy grey brows furrow when he finds him standing upright, hands behind his back, totally not suspicious at all. Raising a teenage boy has taught the man not to comment on what doesn’t concern him, so he keeps on swiping his fingers between the fabric of the grimy rag. 

“I finished looking at your van,” he says, accent deep and husky and not of Indiana origin. “Turns out that noise you were hearin’ was a damn rock in the break line.”

Eddie scoffs, then eyes a stick of deodorant sitting on his dresser. “Wow,” he marvels as he swipes the thing from its place. He stuffs it into the side pocket of his bag. “A measly pebble coulda killed me, huh?”

“Should be good to go now, though.”

“Sweet,” the boy nods.

Eddie squints as his eyes flit around his room, head darting in either direction to make sure he’s got everything. Wayne watches him with an identical squint. “Where you runnin’ off to now? You just got home, what, fifteen minutes ago?”

“Uh… I’m gonna go see a friend,” Eddie answers, voice trembling and slightly far away. He unzips his bag again to make sure it’s sufficiently filled. He does a little mental checklist: shirts, pants, PJs, shoes— how the hell is he supposed to fit shoes in here?

You’ve only got one pair of shoes, Munson, he reminds himself. Where the hell do you think you’re going, anyway? A nature walk?

“Oh, right,” his uncle nods. A smile plays on the edges of his lips, but it weirdly still looks like he’s frowning. “The friend.”

“Yeah— Well, she’s my… She’s my girlfriend, so…”

The admission makes Eddie blush in a way he isn’t typically used to. He can’t count the number of times he must say it in a day, but something about saying it in front of Wayne feels different — real.

He turns his glowing cheeks down to his bag and makes difficult work of zipping it back up again.

Wayne doesn’t bother to hide his excitement. The bright emotion is almost unfamiliar. “Well, shit,” the man’s chuckle sounds from the depths of his chest. “Look at you, Eds. My nephew’s finally got his first girlfriend.”

The boy rolls his chocolate eyes. He jerks under the pressure of the shoulder clap Wayne gives him. It’s equal parts annoying and embarrassing — to be talked to like a child in this way. Maybe because most children have long had their first girlfriends by now, and it took Eddie all of twenty agonizing years.

“We were gonna hang out at her place since I passed my English test and everything...”

The excitement washes from Wayne’s tired eyes. They widen, as though in shock, and reveal more of the glassy whites of them. He just blinks at him for a moment, like his words are still processing. “You… You passed?”

“Yep. Got a B,” Eddie nods, a tad bit sheepishly. He finds it hard to meet his uncle’s mystified gaze. “Well, a B-minus, but… Turns out, I might actually graduate this year.”

Wayne seems to experience every emotion at once. He’s surprised, of course — it makes sense. Eddie spent two years failing the damn thing, after all. Then he’s proud, overjoyed that there’s a chance his nephew might finally grow up. He’s distantly saddened by the exact same thought.

The man swallows thickly, as though to down each emotion. He nods and tries his best to smile. “Damn. Good job, kid. I’m… I’m prouda you.”

Eddie isn’t sure whether to take the praise or cower from it. At a loss, he opts to deflect entirely.

“Yeah, well, she— the friend helped me study and everything, so… I feel like we should probably be thanking her, you know?” he half-jokes as he swings the pack over his shoulder. His winces under the weight of it. “I probably wouldn’t have passed if she didn’t force me to read that stupid book. I mean, it’s 1986; who cares about the roaring twenties and blinking green lights—”

“Hm…” his uncle grunts. It isn’t an acknowledging grunt, though. It’s more of a bemused sort of grunt. And he’s got this quizzical twist to his features that makes Eddie confused too.

“…What is it?”

Wayne only shrugs, trying to act like it was nothing, but can’t help but to ask: “You’re real serious about this girl, aren’t ya?”

Eddie, feeling a bit weighed down by such a heavy question, shifts on his feet.

“Uh… A little bit, I guess. Yeah,” he stammers in the place of an honest answer. If he were being totally truthful, he would’ve said something like, “As serious as a goddamn heart attack.” But that might’ve actually given Uncle Wayne one, so he doesn’t answer with all that.

The man seems to hear all the words Eddie doesn’t say, though. He always does. Eddie figures that’s what happens when you raise a kid for fifteen years — you get attuned to their every thought like a superpower or something. 

It doesn’t make it any less annoying, though. Eddie’s never been able to keep a single damn secret from Wayne because he’s a total mind reader. It’s entirely possible Wayne knew Eddie was in love before he did.

“Just be careful, alright?” the man advises. He looks genuinely concerned, eyes glinting and brows pinched, like you’re a treacherous road or poison ivy.

The misplaced cautiousness makes Eddie breathe out a soft laugh. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“C’mon, Eds. Don’t play dumb,” Wayne tells him with a gruff chuckle — not totally unkind, just a Munson sort of curt. “You know what I’m talkin’ about. I didn’t even know her real name until you started bringing her around, 'cause all the kids at the shop call her the—”

“Don’t,” Eddie interjects sharply.

The bitterness in his tone is foreign. It contains the sort of venom he’s more like to spit at Jason Carver or Mike Wheeler if he’s being particularly dickish. Never at Wayne.

But that dormant urge to defend you rises like a sleeping dragon that just got poked in the belly. The words rise like bile in his throat and spew out before he can think to stop them.

Uncle Wayne is a weathered man. He’s seen a lot of the world, too much of it, but nothing’s ever quite taken him aback like this. He’s never seen his nephew’s chocolate button eyes hardened into something so cold.

Eddie gets all hyperaware of the heart on his sleeve and starts to crack under the pressure of it. He deflates, stern features crumbling into something softer.

“It’s different, okay?” he assures with his chin brought down to his chest — brows raised and wide eyes twinkling. It’s the same thing you’d said to Hopper not too long ago. Eddie hopes you met the words as wholeheartedly as he does now.

“And even if I explained all the reasons why it’s different, you still wouldn’t get it.”

His melodramatic tone makes Wayne scoff. “What? ‘Cause you don’t think I’ve ever been a kid in love before?”

“No,” Eddie shrugs playfully. “‘Cause you’re old.”

The foreign tension ebbs all at once with a pair of laughs. One is gruff, a couple of sharp exhales more than anything else. The other is a lighter, far more boyish giggle.

“I’m just trying to look out for you, alright?” Wayne tells him once the laughter fades.

“Yeah, I know. You always do,” Eddie lilts with a disposition that might make it seem like he’s displeased by his uncle’s constant pestering. In reality, he knows it’s saved him from a world of shit.

Like that time he wanted to get tacos from a new food truck that gave the whole town food poisoning. Or when he’d wanted to ask Tina Burton, the most popular girl in school, on a date his sophomore year. 

It was Wayne that saved him the embarrassment from either. It’s like he can smell bullshit or something.

“But this is, like, the first good thing that’s happened to me since Ride the Lightning came out… So, I’d kinda like to enjoy this whole thing while it lasts,” Eddie winces like it’s a joke, but he means it more than anything.

Wayne nods understandingly. “Will do, kid. But first girlfriends are always hard, okay? Remember that. Try not to let it hurt you too much, Eds.”

His uncle claps him once, then twice, on his shoulder before swiping away the grime he’d accidentally spotted there. Eddie lets him, too far away to shrug him off. He doesn’t even move when Wayne walks out of his room.

He knows his uncle means well, but something about his cynical words makes his chest burn. It’s like he’s betting on his relationship with you not working out or something. 

And Eddie knows he isn’t wrong. First girlfriends are hard. He’s heard enough shit from his friends to know that. Hell, Mike and Dustin have spent all year complaining about how complicated relationships are. 

But it’s different. 

Because they’re just a couple of kids and their girlfriends aren’t you.

Whatever form you come in, lover or executioner, Eddie’s more than ready to receive you.

 ˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

You’ve never cooked for anyone other than yourself. And maybe Bowie.

That’s not to say you were a stranger to dining in company. Binging on takeout with Robin and Steve was routine. You’re pretty sure Benny at the diner has made more dinners for the three of you than you’ve ever made for yourselves — combined. 

But it was different, to make something for someone with your own hands. It took a relative amount of care, an acute sort of attentiveness that only felt deserved for someone really special. 

And Eddie was really special and then some.

There isn’t a word that encapsulates all the special he is. It makes you feel a bit guilty sometimes. You wish you were smarter so you could think of a big enough word to describe how much he means to you. But since you aren’t, you stick to making him homemade spaghetti and hope you can pour enough love into it that he feels all of yours.

Eddie arrives at your apartment before you’re ready for him.

You’d wanted to do more with your appearance by the time he came around — with your hair and your makeup and your clothes. Not because you ever had to, but because you thought Eddie deserved a girl who took extra care of herself in that way.

You got a shower in before you started cooking, but that was it. Your hair is unstyled and air-drying; your face bare and glistening in all its naked glory.

Clad in nothing but a hilariously oversized t-shirt and a pair of fluffy socks, you look more ready for bed than date night.

The knock at your door sends you into a momentary whirlwind. You scramble like someone’s seconds away from catching you naked — like there are four different fires in every direction and you don’t know which one to put out first. The panic is elaborate and fleeting, a bucket of ice-cold water on bare skin.

You figure that’s another part of caring about someone. You make them spaghetti because you love them and get nervous when things aren’t perfect. Love is all things stressful and homemade.

Eddie knocks on your door with several rhythmic raps. They’re evenly timed and spaced out. You recognize the bass line to ‘Crazy Train’ almost immediately. Da-da… Da-da, da-da, da-da. He must’ve been listening to it on the way over.

“Uh, come in!” you waver after an awkward beat. You’re yelling a little because you’re still standing at the stove, stirring the pot of noodles.

The door clicks once when it opens, then again when it shuts. The wall that separates the kitchen conceals your view of him, but you can hear Eddie’s shuffling in the living room from where you are because he’s never done anything quietly in his life.

Eddie toes off his sneakers before he heads into your apartment. You never asked him to do it, so it always confused you as to why. He’d told you, when you asked, that he knows he’s not the cleanest and that he cares too much about your space to make a mess of it. 

He tells you he can’t take care of you in the way he would like — that if he had it his way, you’d never have to work at Enzo’s again; that he wishes he was rich enough so you never had to wait on snobby stay-at-home moms or misogynistic businessmen. But since he isn’t a rockstar yet and The Hideout pays their busboy’s fuck all, Eddie figures the least he can do is not leave shoe prints on your carpet.

It’s boyish and strangely profound and so, so sweet.

He drops his backpack and leaves his sneakers by the doormat like he always does. They fit neatly between the wall and the roughly textured rectangle that reads ‘glad you’re here’ on the front of it. One is upright, the other falls to its side.

Bowie blinks at him from where she idles on her perch, green eyes wide and pupils set in narrow slits. “Hey, pretty girl,” Eddie greets in a quiet coo, scooping her up in his arms. Despite her round belly, the calico weighs no more than a feather. 

She meows once after being so suddenly plucked from her flower petal spot but settles into him instantly. He scratches at her chin to make her purr and revels in the soft buzzing sound she makes. Eddie waltzes into the kitchen with her, cradling her against his chest like a newborn baby.

You look over your shoulder and smile at the sight of them — at your two favorite beings on the planet, so obviously taken with one another. Bowie lolls in Eddie’s arm like he’s made of clouds and cotton candy. Her blinks are slow and lazy, her purrs audible to even you. She’s only this affectionate for him. You can’t even blame her. 

“Smells good in here,” the boy compliments trying his best not to blush at the wide smile you give him. He’s still not used to being looked at so tenderly. 

Failing to feel deserving of it all, he averts his chocolate gaze and flushed cheeks to the counter, where he plops Bowie down beside her half-empty food bowl.

You could only get her to eat so much of it before she got annoyed with you. Now she laps happily at the chunk of cat food like it’s the first time she’s ever tasted its goodness.

“Thanks,” you respond with a slight tremble to the edge of your voice. You turn back to the pot of spaghetti you’ve been stirring for close to ten minutes, eyeing the mixture of noodles and sauce and beef with intent because you need it all to be perfect. “I probably should’ve asked what you liked before you left this morning, but I only know how to make spaghetti, so… I made spaghetti.”

You look back at him, flashing the boy a nervous tight-lipped smile. It makes him grin, too, as he makes the terribly short trek over to you.

“Well, I actually love spaghetti,” he confesses, and it isn’t totally a lie. He just stopped caring for it around the millionth time Wayne made it because it’s one of the only things he knows how to cook too. 

Eddie lingers at your side, hip pressing into the counter, radiating warmth like a sun stuck in human form. You can’t tell if he’s toasty in his leather jacket or if you’re just cozy in the honey-coated tenderness you have for him. You don’t even realize you’re smiling at him when he scrunches his nose at you. 

“You should be careful, sweetheart. I’m kinda starting to think we’re soulmates.”

“That’s crazy,” you marvel, wide-eyed. “I was thinking the same thing.”

“Wow… We really were made for each other, huh?” he huffs with a similar sarcasm.

You try to keep the joke going, but it’s hard not to smile when you feel his hands creep around your sides. His fingers are soft on your waist, featherlight and a little unsure as he slithers along your back. The affection feels foreign on your skin. You bite back a shiver.

“Looks like way,” you affirm with a nod, tilting your head back so you can meet him halfway when he leans down to peck you.

It’s a soft and swift little thing, a brief brush of the lips that doesn’t mean anything but also the entire world. He kisses you just to kiss you — because he likes the feel of you or because it’s the sort of thing he can do now as your boyfriend. Either way, you revel in the unfamiliarity.

“Did the, uh… Did the test go okay?” you ask once he parts from you. You try not to sound like you’ve been agonizing over it all day and more like the thought had only just crossed your mind.

Eddie bites back a smile as he turns to walk to the opposite side of the counter. He makes sure any traces of the smirk have washed away when he hops onto the edge of it.  The forlorn look he gives you is manufactured, all pinched browed and gloomy eyed. 

“Um, no…” he fibs. “I, uh— I failed it again.”

You eye him from over your shoulder and notice how he shifts on his weight, looking down at the tile rather than up at you. It doesn’t cross your mind once that he might be joking. You just hope the flash of disappointment on your features was too quick for him to catch.

“That’s okay,” you assure and cover your chagrin with a smile. You shake your head and shrug. “We just try again, right? Not the end of the world.”

A grin tugs slow at Eddie’s lips. It’s bemused slightly and still sort of sad. He can’t believe how supportive you are of him even after he’s just told you outright that he’s failed — still loving even when he’s not good enough.

He reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulls out a packet of stapled-together papers. It’s perhaps the first piece of schoolwork given to him that wasn’t immediately thrown away. He’d folded it twice in half, then tucked it safely away with the intent to show you later. He unfolds it again to marvel at it once more.

The letter grade is written in red and circled twice. Ms. O’Donnell’s fancy cursive is scribbled just beside it — “Finally! Good job, Eddie! I’m very proud of you!” Even though the boy has never been particularly fond of the woman, her compliment makes his chest swell.

“Oh, shit…” he murmurs under his breath, but loud enough for you to hear.

“Hm?” you hum back in response. You don’t look at him, though, more focused on not burning yourself as you pull a tray of golden brown garlic bread out of the oven.

“I read it wrong…” he answers, feigning surprise. “This isn’t an F. It’s a B.”

The pan clatters to the stove when you spin around the face him. Your eyes are wide and your brows are raised, each of your features agape with shock. You’re not entirely sure how he could’ve misread it, but you’re prepared to celebrate with him anyway. 

Eddie flashes you a pink, lopsided smile as he flips the creased paper around. He puts the grade on display for you with a knowing, mischievous glint in his cinnamon eyes. He’s too pretty and you’re too proud of him — you can’t even care that he was tricking you.

“Oh, my god, Eddie!” you shout with a bubbly laugh, all but launching yourself at him. You have to stand on the tips of your toes to reach where he sits on the counter. The bottom of your stomach digs into the granite as your arms wrap around his neck. 

You don’t realize until you’ve locked him in this embrace that you’ve still got your oven mitt on.

Eddie bends awkwardly to reciprocate the hug, meeting you halfway so you’re not doing all the work.

One hand keeps hold of his midterm, but the palm of his free one spreads wide and warm along your back. The tops of your chests collide, soft and snug. They press together in such a way that it confuses him how he could’ve gone so long without feeling you like this — even in the most innocent way.

His chin settles along your clothed collarbone. With his nose digging into the cotton of your t-shirt, he inhales to find your warm floral scent. Eddies sighs and relaxes against you without thinking. He doesn’t know if anyone’s ever hugged him like this before.

“I’m so proud of you!” you praise, chin bopping on his shoulder. “I knew you could do it.”

Eddie chuckles softly at the severity of your hug, so full of intent — louder when you peck him on his cheek and then the rest of his face when you realize you can’t just kiss him once. His stubble is rough against the plush of your lips as you press them to his jaw and chin and nose and mouth.

He tries to kiss you back, but he’s smiling too wide.

He’s almost certain no one’s ever gotten this much loving over a B-minus.

“It’s ‘cause of you,” Eddie insists.

“No, it’s because you’re smart.”

“Mm, I don’t think that’s it,” he retorts with the shake of his head, too damn stubborn to take a compliment.

His chin pulls closer to his neck when he parts from you. Your noses are barely inches apart, lips so close he can taste them. He could kiss you if he wanted, but he doesn’t want to stop looking at you.

“I’m pretty sure I only passed because I was thinking about you the whole time...” 

His words trail off. He’s got a crooked smirk on his lips like he’s only teasing, but brings his ear to his shoulder and gazes at you that way — so full of love and mischief. You think he might actually be sincere.

“Eddie Munson…” you scold at his suggestive tone. 

A smile dances on the corners of your lips as you pull back from him completely. You finally slip the mitten off your hand as you return to the stove, clicking the knob on the back panel until it turns off again.

“I just hope you’ve been thinking about that reward,” the boy lilts as he slips off the counter. He grins and walks until he’s leaning on the refrigerator beside you. He’s no more than a couple of feet away, but he somehow feels much closer than that. “If I’m not mistaken, I believe we agreed that I’d get something if I passed…”

Eddie’s only teasing. He doesn’t actually want anything. Spending time with you now is enough. Making you blush was just a bonus. 

He’d be lying if he said it didn’t cross his mind, though, far more times than he’d like to admit. 

And truth be told, you had thought about it, too. But that makes it sound too simple. It plagued you, really. First, it was the “oh god, what if he doesn’t pass,” and then the “what the hell am I supposed to do when he does?”

A passing grade isn’t usually that big of a deal. You’ve certainly never received anything from one. But passing a test after failing it the first two times and having to suffer two more agonizing years of school because of it certainly deserved to be celebrated.

Eddie was strange, though. He wasn’t materialistic or overtly enthusiastic about anything other than music and D&D. Maybe if you had more money, you could’ve gotten him a cassette or a new Dungeon Master’s manual. But thanks to Enzo’s salary, you’re lucky if you’re able to pay bills on time. And it sucks because Eddie deserves nice things, and not just for passing some stupid test. 

You hate that you don’t have anything other than spaghetti and adoration to give him.

It’s not fair to either of you.

You’d lamented to Steve about all this over gummy bears and buttered popcorn as Slumber Party Massacre played on the tiny television above the counter. The film was ripe with blood and random nudity, but you hadn’t fully paid attention to a single scene. You don’t think Steve had either because he was too busy trying to fuse two different halves of gummy bears together.

“Okay, you just passed a test you failed two times in a row,” you tell the boy, painting him a picture of your dilemma. “Your girlfriend wants to do something nice for you, but she’s boring and poor. What would you want?” 

“A blowjob,” Steve answers without missing a beat. His brows scrunch together like the answer was far easier than you made it out to be. He shrugs and squishes the strawberry head of one gummy bear onto the blue raspberry bottom of another. “Obviously.”

You didn’t think the answer was so obvious. Especially not when you’re trying to take things slow. It wasn’t an easy feat either — not with Eddie at your place, looking at you with that look. His features drip with honey as rose petal spill from his mouth. It’s like he’s trying to tease you. 

He’s got no idea he’s quite literally dealing with the master of teasing.

“We’ll see how tonight goes,” you tell him, flashing him an arched brow and a knowing smirk as you drag two of your fancy, ten-dollar porcelain plates from the cabinet. “Only if you’re good for me, yeah?”

Eddie quite literally forgets how to speak.

Like, if you’d asked him a question, the only thing that would spill out would be unintelligible murmurs of made-up words. 

His brain turns to mush with the look you give him — a two can play at this game kind of smirk that makes his mind melt. And your words are so effortless, so smooth, like you know just what to say and exactly how to say it to work him like a wind-up toy.

He’s in way over his head. The realization makes his breath hitch.

All he can do is nod like an idiot and let you fix him a plate of your “finest batch of spaghetti.” That’s what you call it, and he figures you must be right because you lay an entire three-course meal out in front of him. Well, it isn’t quite that extensive, but it feels that way.

Plates of pasta, a bowl of salad, and stacks of garlic bread decorate your small square dining table. Eddie almost feels like he’s at Enzo’s, even though there’s never been a world where he’s been able to afford Enzo’s.

You wine and dine him like the finest of them. Even though it’s nothing more than homemade spaghetti and apple juice in wine glasses, it makes him feel special — the kind of special people spend hundreds of dollars to feel. But he gets you for free and fuck, he doesn’t deserve any of it.

He got so damn lucky with you. 

He’s done trying to figure out why. He just wants to be more grateful for it.

Once he’s pleasantly full on a home-cooked meal, you usher him to the bathroom. There’s a bag full of stuff waiting there for him — toothbrush, toothpaste, body wash — all the essential shit that he’d forgotten all about. It makes his chest ache.

It’s less so that you knew he’d forget and more so that you thought about him at all.

Eddie imagines you getting off work, still in your Enzo’s-appropriate skirt and blouse uniform, scanning the aisles of Bradley’s Big Buy for things you think Eddie might need.

It’s mundane, but so beautiful still — to be remembered in the most minuscule of ways.

“—I didn’t know what to get you, and I couldn’t afford a lot, so I just got you that 3-in-1 stuff,” you ramble as you pull the dark green bottle out of the brown paper bag on the counter. You wave it mindlessly in your hand. “I don’t know, it was affordable, and you seem like the kind of guy who might use this sort of stuff, so—”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Eddie chuckles, trying to act like he doesn’t have an off-brand bottle of the stuff sitting in his shower back at the trailer.

“I don’t know,” you answer with a giggle of your own. You shrug and sit the thing back down. “You don’t have to use it if you don’t want.  I just wanted you to have some stuff here so it could, you know, feel more like home…”

Your words strike something profound in Eddie’s chest, a lightning strike or a punch to the stomach. In that moment, he comes to the realization that home isn’t a place. It’s not four walls or the little trinkets that fill it. The people that make you feel all warm and cozy inside, the people that make you feel like you have a place in the world — that’s home.

It’s Wayne and it’s Hellfire and it’s you.

So it’s easy for Eddie to feel at home in your little apartment, and not just because you bought a bunch of stuff to make it that way. 

He’s warmed by the hot shower and the thought that you’re waiting for him in your bedroom down the hall. The idea that he gets this night and so many others you with makes him feel all giddy — like he’s ten years old again and no sleepover has ever traumatized him.

Eddie uses everything you bought, still a little dizzied that it’s for him, but opts to use your vanilla body wash. It’s sweet smelling, with hints of deep musk and high lavender.

The scent of it on his own skin makes him feel like you’re on him and all over him. He has to flip the hot water to freezing before he steps out of the shower. Because, sure, he’s been less than shy about how much he likes you, but walking into your room with a hard-on is a bit more forward than he’s used to.

Eddie finds you waiting for him in your bed. You’re idling at the very center of it, knees up to your chest and back against the headboard, like you’ve been waiting for his return to get truly comfortable there.

You smile when you see him again. It’s that same grin you always look at him with, as though every time you see him is the first time.

He brings an air of cleanliness in with him. He's dressed in fresh pajamas, curls damp and still drying. Steam radiates off his skin along with the scent of freshly baked cookies and flower petals. It’s familiar to you because it’s yours, but it’s different on Eddie in a way you can’t describe.

“You smell good,” you compliment as he maneuvers through the velvet darkness of your bedroom. The black night is evaded only by your dim yellow lamp and the streams of orange that filter through your curtains from the streetlamps outside.

Eddie scoffs as he climbs onto your queen-sized bed. “Did I smell bad before?”

“No. You just smell sweet now. Like a milkshake.”

You shift to make room for him, pulling back your green gingham comforter so he can slip in beside you. Even though you’ve given him ample room to sit down, there isn’t any hint of distance between you. You keep yourself intently pressed to his side despite the several inches of space next to you.

Eddie hopes you never realize there’s a whole world of other places you could be than right next to him. He doesn’t ever want to see a day where you’re separated by more than an inch or two. 

“A milkshake, huh?” he echos as he leans back against the slatted headboard and all your pillows. You twist until you’re practically on your side — hip digging into the mattress, shoulder propped along the cushions, chest pressed against his arm.

“Yeah. Like whipped cream or… vanilla cake…” you trail off, quickly losing interest in describing the scent of him when you’re staring the pretty boy in the face.

One half of him is bathed in shades of golden orange, the other half coated in a deep, deep navy. Eddie’s eyes are somehow darker than any night sky. They swim with their own galaxies and stars that twinkle back at you.

He looks at you and all words lose meaning.

“Yeah, I’m totally stealing your soap before I leave,” he jokes.

You shake your head at him, but smile anyway. “Thanks for letting me know, Eddie Spaghetti.”

Just like all the times before, neither of you realize you’re kissing until you already are. The gravitational pull that brings the two of you together is effortless and natural. You’re like the moon and Eddie’s like the tide — you drag him to you without trying and he bends to your every whim.

Kissing him is easy. It’s like breathing. You don’t ever have to think about it, you just do it. 

You press your lips against the rosy plush of his, and it’s like taking a deep breath of fresh air. It’s an atmosphere kissed by the sun and the trees and the morning dew. It fills your lungs with a new life, makes it impossible to quit kissing him.

But when his tongue swipes against your bottom lip, when his mouth pries yours open to slip the pink muscle inside — that feels like getting the breath knocked out of you. The rough pattern of his tongue slides against your own, and you have to remind yourself to breathe.

Your lungs stop working, your chest aches, and there’s nothing you can do about it but let the moment pass.

Eddie keeps kissing you soft, though, coaxing fresh air back into your burning lungs. He helps you breathe normally again.

You move together like entwining summer breezes. Your thigh swipes against his lap and his hands find your hips to help guide you the rest of the way over. He’s halfway lying down now and you’re looming like an unconquerable mountain above him. Your back arches like a cat’s and your palms cradle his jaw while your tongue makes uncharted territory of his mouth.

The warmth lingering between your thighs presses into his lower stomach. It makes his grip on you tighten, hands pulling your hips further against him until he hears you moan.

The pressure of your clothed pussy against the pudge of his stomach brings you a distant pleasure. What really does you in is the thought of what little separates you — just the fabric of your cotton underwear and Eddie’s faded grey Tatcher Tire t-shirt.

But it’s hard to be indulgent when you’re so stuck in your head. Your mouth moves with Eddie’s on autopilot while your mind travels elsewhere. Because this isn’t supposed to be about you — it’s supposed to be about Eddie. You want to make him feel good for a change, but you have no idea how to go about it.

The foreignness is strange. It leaves you fumbling like you’ve never done any of this before.

In a way, you haven’t. Eddie is different from any guy you’ve ever been with. Not just because he cares about you, but because you’re practically the only girl he’s ever cared about in this way.

He’s a blank slate and you’re scribbled all over.

You don’t want to taint the pristine image he’s painted of you.

“Hey, Eds,” you murmur. The words are halfway spoken against his mouth because you don’t pull away in time to say them clearly. 

Your tongue darts out to feel how numb your spit-slicked lips have gotten after being kissed so ardently. You know they’re probably swollen and more vibrant in their color now. Eddie’s a lot of the same, mouth rosy and obviously kissed.

“Hm?” the boy hums back.

“Do you wanna… Do you wanna do something else?” you ask him, all slow because you don’t want to say the wrong thing. His brows furrow beneath the thin curtain of his curly bangs. The silent question eggs you on. “Would it be okay if I gave you a blowjob?”

Eddie’s eyes widen for a moment. He swears he goes blind because he doesn’t typically see white when he blinks. The question isn’t the weirdest for a guy in this predicament — with a pretty girl on his lap with his spit staining her mouth. It just catches him a little off guard.

“Would it be…” he tries to echo but trails off with a breathy laugh. You say it like it wouldn’t be perfect — to have you between his legs with your warm mouth on his cock, looking effortlessly beautiful while you swallow him whole. 

“Yeah… Yeah, I think that… I’d be a total idiot to say no,” he manages to stammer out, though words have long lost meaning by now.

The sight of his glazed-over eyes, warmed cheeks, and pink mouth makes you smile. He always looks at you like you’re the most amazing thing he’s ever seen — like you're the infiniteness of space or a deep, deep ocean — something profound he desperately wants to discover.

“I feel like you deserve it, right?” you squint down at him, partially teasing. “For a job well done, you know?”

Eddie nods until he finds the words to respond. “Yeah… Right. Totally.”

“Do you wanna lie down? Or would you rather me get on my knees?” you ask him.

Eddie swears he’s dreaming. He isn’t quite sure how you manage to say something so sinful with such sincerity.

“It might be comfortable to stay like this, but most guys like the visual of girls on their knees better so…” 

There is no seductive lilt to your voice, no mischievous teasing to rile him up. It’s just a question of how he wants you, and it’s a very dizzying thought. Knowing he can have you however he wants makes his stomach all whirly and his vision start to swim like he just spun around ten times.

Eddie just blinks at you. His chocolate eyes and heavy lids flutter slowly like he’s trying to look at you through a layer of honey.

It takes him a second to answer because he doesn’t know what he wants — he rarely ever does, but now especially. How is a boy who wants you in every way imaginable supposed to pick only one?

“Uh, can you—” he starts before the words get caught in his throat. He grunts out a cough to clear it. “Could you, um… get on your, uh— your knees? Please?” 

You smile at how politely he phrases it. You don’t think anyone’s ever said please when asking you for a blowjob before.

Eddie fidgets awkwardly beneath you, and you’re not entirely sure why. You’re the one that just offered yourself up on a platter, totally and unequivocally happy to do whatever he wants. He’s not the one that should be embarrassed.

You nod down at him, still grinning like an idiot. “Sure. You can stay sitting if you want. Whatever you wanna do.”

“Okay…” Eddie mumbles in response.

He watches you with wide, inquisitive eyes as you maneuver off his lap and onto the rug beside your bed. When he swings his legs over the edge of it, you settle intently between them. His cock twitches at the sight of you below him, blinking up at him with sparkling eyes that almost look like they’re begging.

Your palms settle on his clothed thighs as your knees press into the woolen rug beneath you. Your chest warms when you’re finally level with his concealed cock. It makes your heart go silly, the sheer thought of what you’re about to do. You don’t think you’ve ever been this excited to suck dick before.

You wait patiently for him to make the first move — then you realize he doesn’t know how because he’s never had to before. Instead, he’s waiting for you to tell him what to do. With button eyes intently focused on your form and hands anxiously gripping the edge of the bed, he’s entirely prepared to move however you want him to.

“Take off your shirt, Eds,” you guide gently.

He listens to you without thinking twice. His fidgeting fingers reach for the fraying hem of his shirt to yank it up and over his head. He has to tug harder when the neck gets caught around his chin.

It isn’t the first time he’s been shirtless in front of you. Between changing and heated kisses, he’s had ample opportunity to get over his lingering insecurities.

For a while there, he found himself comparing his body to all your other more prominent escapades — the Billy Hargroves and the Steve Harringtons. The overtly masculine types with bodies that scream, ‘I peaked in high school.’

Eddie doesn’t look like them. He isn’t as toned or as thin. He’s got pudge on his belly and sparse hair on his sternum in the place of defined abs and pecks covered in layers of chest hair. He doesn’t look at all like those basketball douchebags that could easily model for whatever magazine basketball douchebags read — if they even know how to, that is.

But you don’t seem to care. You love on him anyway.

Even now, your eyes rake over his bare upper half with a gaze that isn’t anything short of hungry. You reach for his face to pull him down for a ravenous kiss that does little to quell your appetite. Your fingers tangle in the drying strands of his hair in the same way your tongues do. 

Eddie’s patient hands curl around the insides of your elbow as he keeps his lips obediently parted for you. He sighs into each of your eager kisses, more than content to let you swallow him whole.

You move down to his jaw and then to his neck. You nose his curls out of the way to sprinkle wet pecks to the warm skin there. You somehow manage to take your time and move with haste all at once — loving on all the places that need loving, but not lingering in one place for too long because there are too many of them to count.

The tip of your nose trails down his milky torso in time with your craving kisses. You press a final one between his ribcage, tongue darting out briefly just so you can hear his breath tremble before pulling away entirely. 

Eddie’s hands remain on each of your arms as your fingers curl around the hem of his plaid pajama pants. It makes his grip unknowingly tighten.

“Wait,” he blurts with his eyes squeezed shut. You tense almost instantly. “Can you— I mean, can we, just… you know…” he trails off, voice tight like he’s holding his breath. It’s probably because he is.

“What?” you pry with wide eyes and the sick feeling like you’ve done something horribly wrong. “Is this… Is this not okay? We don’t have to, like, do any of this if you don’t want. It was just a suggestion, Eds. We can just—”

“No!” he exclaims, eyes flying open to find your panicked ones. He shakes his wild head so vigorously down at you it makes his curls sway. He both wants to quell your worry and plead for you not to stop. “That’s not it. I— I want to, okay? I do. I really… really do. I just… You’re so far away like this…”

His words drip with a soft sincerity, his honeyed eyes even more so.

Your alarm curls into a gentle smile at his reassurance.

You haven’t had many firsts in a long, long time. Your first kiss was on the playground of Hawkins Middle. Your first handjob was in the locker room of the community pool not too long after. Your first time having sex was on a towel in the grass beside Tina Burton’s pool after her birthday party when everyone else had gone to bed.

All your stereotypical firsts happened lifetimes ago, but you’ve had a billion more with Eddie.

You can say with more confidence than you’ve ever had in your life that this is the first time a guy’s turned down a blowjob because you were too far away on your knees. 

“What?” the boy wavers at your silence. Your accompanying smile is somehow more frightening.

“Nothing,” you assure. Your brows pinch together as you smile up at him. “I just… I really don’t think we can be any closer than your dick in my mouth, Eds.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. His cheeks go rosy at your quip. “You know what I mean…”

“Yeah,” you answer softly. “I know what you mean.”

You rise again, this time planting yourself on his thigh. Your knees settle on either side of his leg and dig into the mattress below you, on top of him all over again. The position is a familiar one. The only thing different is a few months’ time and a lack of Fast Times playing in the background.

Eddie tilts his chin to peer up at you. It’s easier this way, he realizes, to be below you and at your mercy rather than above you. Sometimes he thinks you were made to be on top of him like this.

“How about this,” you lilt with a raised brow. “I can just jerk you off—”

“Sounds perfect,” Eddie nods.

A giggle bubbles from your lips. “Let me finish, you weirdo. I can jerk you off, and you can just tell me when you’re about to finish.”

“Okay,” he answers right before his brows furrow. “Uh… why?”

“So you can come in my mouth,” you shrug like it’s obvious.

Your words knock the wind from Eddie’s lungs — it’s like you’ve punched him square in the stomach. Staring up at you through drooping eyelids, he swallows thickly, then nods. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s sounds… Yeah…”

You breathe out a laugh and lean closer to press a kiss to the tip of his nose. You couldn’t help yourself — he’s too damn adorable. Your fingers curl back around the hem of his pants and boxers, dragging them both down in one fell swoop to free his half-hard cock. You tuck the tops of them under his balls.

You’ve seen a lot of dicks in your time — long ones, short ones, thick ones, skinny ones — you could make a damn nursery rhyme of the variety you’ve seen. Eddie’s doesn’t particularly stand out.

It’s middling in length and in girth, not big but not too small either, with a width that won’t hurt to take but will stretch you out nonetheless. 

His cock is pale and a faint strawberry red at the tip. It’s the same rosy color his cheeks get when he blushes. There’s a vein that trails up from his balls and splits like a forking river up to his bulbous head. The bush at his pubic bone is fitting for a metalhead, but it looks like he’s taken a trimmer to the chestnut hair there sometime in the past month or so.

His dick isn’t ugly and it isn’t special, but it’s perfect anyway because it’s his.

“You’ve got a really pretty cock, Eds,” you praise in a low whisper.

He thinks you must be trying to talk dirty, but your gaze gets all shy — quirked brow, curled lip, twinkled eye — like you must really mean it. You seal your compliment with a soft, lingering peck.

“Can dicks be pretty?” he asks you, the question muffled against your mouth.

“Not usually,” you blurt before you realize.

Most guys are gross. They don’t shave because they don’t think they have to. Sometimes they smell bad, too, because they never really learned how to wash themselves. Either that, or they taste overtly of soap because they shoved a whole bar of the stuff down their pants right before.

Boys tend to care less about the situation their cocks are in. Only a handful you’ve been with really knew how to take care of themselves — Eddie for one, Steve for another, and Billy Hargrove on occasion.

“But your’s definitely is,” you promise.

“Um… thanks?” He doesn’t mean for it to come out like a question; he just never thought that exact string of words would ever be spoken to him.

It’s a little bit surreal to receive a compliment on a part of you that most people wouldn’t typically notice — like your shoulders or lips or thighs. Eddie’s almost sure you’ve complimented each of those at some point or another.

You kiss him again, both because he makes it insanely hard not to and because you know that’s the only way to get him out of his head. He’ll never get hard if he’s worried about getting hard. So you keep kissing him, letting him focus on the pattern of your tastebuds and the curves of your cupid’s bow, while you happily do all the work.

Your fingertips trail up and down the underside of his cock. Your caresses are featherlight and meticulous along his warm, stiffening skin, all but coaxing him hard. 

When his cock is totally stiff and standing at attention at his stomach, you part from Eddie to bring your palm to your mouth. You spit a glob of saliva onto the center of it and let the added lubricant help your fist glide along his dick.

A stifled groan rumbles in Eddie’s throat as your fingers wrap fully around him. You’re only touching his cock, but it feels like you’ve embraced every inch of them.

The pleasure feels like static, like he’s just rubbed his socks along the carpet and he’s sizzling with the newfound electricity. He feels it in the tips of his toes and in the strands of his hair.

“Um, just to, uh… save myself the embarrassment,” Eddie cautions shakily. His voice is a few octaves higher than normal and audibly fragile. “I should probably urge you to lower your expectations—” He has to stifle a whine when you squeeze the base of his cock. “—Just a little bit.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that I’m probably gonna come, like, really, really quickly,” he tells you and tries his best to laugh. It’s as shaky as the smile he gives you because you haven’t stopped touching him, even despite his warning. 

Your fist squeezes his cock, then rises again. You pause momentarily to swipe your thumb over his leaking tip before sliding back down again. It’s a slow and methodical cycle that’s going to make him burst far quicker than he’d like.

“That’s okay,” you assure with the shake of your head, brows furrowed because you don’t know why that’s such a band thing. You shrug. “Just means there’s more time for me to make you do it again.”

Eddie huffs out a sigh as his cock twitches in your fist, growing somehow harder at your words.

Your unhurried pace hastens in a way that’s still obviously disciplined. Your hand moves faster until you hear his breath start to race and see his milky white chest splotch with red. Then, when his rapid pants begin to tremble, your pace goes back to normal.

You push him to the very edge of the cliff and then pull him backward before he falls.

It’d be agonizing if it didn’t feel so damn good.

His eyes have long fluttered shut by now. You miss his chocolate syrup irises, but the look of pure serenity on his face is the kind of beautiful most people pay to see. His agape mouth, bared neck, rosy cheeks, and long lashes that tickle the apples of them deserve to be hung in the Louvre. 

It’s a sort of heavenly that everyone needs to admire in their lifetime, but one that belongs to only you. The sheer thought of someone else having him this way makes you angry, sparks raging orange embers just behind your sternum.

Eddie grows quiet. Suspiciously so. He isn’t moaning as much as he was before, and his chest is totally still, as though he were holding his breath. You feel his gentle grip on the outsides of your thighs start to harden. You figure the added tension helps him stay hushed. It’s less so accidental and more like he’s trying not to make noise.

“Let me hear you, Eds,” you urge in a whisper. “It’s okay. Go ahead and whine for me.”

The assurance barely spills from your mouth before he’s moaning for you. It’s a long, drawn-out whine that travels from his chest to his throat and out of his mouth, concluding in a fragile sigh.

The sound makes you double your efforts. You want him to make that noise again — you never want him to stop making that noise for you. So you squeeze harder, rise faster, and pay more attention to his rapidly reddening tip. 

You’re not entirely sure what Eddie likes the most. Most guys moan louder when you do something they like, but he seems to like all of it, so you don’t pay extra attention to one place. You keep jerking his cock, faster still, even when the muscles of your forearm start to burn.

“Fuck—” the boy sighs in a heavy moan, then cuts himself off with a pitiful whine.

He tries to lift his head and open his eyes to look at you, but he doesn’t have the strength to anymore. His head lolls back again when the pleasure begins to crescendo.

Sufficiently stupid, he can’t even find the words to warn you. “I’m— I’m close, sweetheart,” he slurs lowly. “I’m… Fuck… Fuck, I’m gonna…”

He doesn’t finish his sentence. His face screws up, nose scrunching and brows furrowing, as the feeling becomes almost unbearable. It’s all the warning you need.

Your fist holds onto the base of his cock as you dismantle his thigh and settle on the rug again. You don’t think twice before darting forward to lick the dribbles of pearly-white pre-come spilling from his reddened tip.

You wrap your lips around him totally, cheeks hollowing as you suck him there like he’s a piece of candy.

And Eddie dies. He passes away on the spot.

It’s the only way he can describe the feeling.

The crescendo of pleasure — that’s the life flashing before his eyes. The brief moment of numbness is the infinite void of death. The burst of ecstasy that spits from his cock in one, two, three loads is heaven.

It just has to be.

There can’t be a higher pleasure than the feeling of your mouth on his cock and the way you moan around him when his come spills on your tongue.

Eddie whines something pitiful. He loses all the previous inhibition that kept him so quiet he was too scared to breathe. One hand twists in the sheets while the other settles on the back of your hand, not pulling or tugging, just resting there as his hips buck off the mattress. He can’t tell if he’s running away from the intensity of his pleasure or if he never wants it to stop.

You don’t seem to mind that he doesn’t know.

You let his hips jerk wildly even when the tip of his cock hits the back of your throat and makes you gag. It does take everything in you not to laugh, however, when Eddie murmurs a fragile “sorry” through his cries.

And when his fingers knot in your hair, you don’t mind that either. You let him halfway fuck your mouth, even though you’re pretty sure he’s too far gone to notice that he’s fucking your mouth.

You don’t stop until he’s shuddering. Only when you’re sure he has nothing left to give you do you finally pull away from him. You leave a delicate kiss to the tip of his softening cock, no longer the angry red color it was moments ago. Eddie’s stomach clenches at the feeling of blatant sensitivity. His face scrunches as another feeble cry gets trapped in his throat.

You snap his boxers and pants back into place on his waist and rise.

“How was that for your first blowjob?” you ask him, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

Eddie just shakes his head in response. He flops back against the mattress, the springs bouncing under his weight, and tries to find the words to answer you.

He doesn’t know how to tell you that he just saw Heaven and Hell at the same time and that you were both God and the Devil. There isn’t any string of words in any language that could explain the otherworldly pleasure you gave him with nothing more than your hand and mouth, so he decides to stay quiet.

With his eyes still closed, he can hear you laughing quietly at him while you slither in at his side. You lie beside him on your stomach. When you’re finally in reach again, he peeks his eyes open and reaches for you, pulling you toward him for a searing kiss.

You think it might be the first time he’s ever done so without asking awkwardly first — as though there was a world where you would ever turn him down. He seems to understand that now, the way he kisses you without thinking twice about it.

His tongue swipes into your mouth. The both of you moan when he tastes the salty tang lingering there. Eddie doesn’t even realize that it’s him he’s tasting at first — that the heady bitter-sweetness on your tongue is his come.

It’s less so that he’s tasting himself, and more so that his taste is in your mouth at all, that makes him exhale a moan against you. The heavy breath of it fans against your cupid’s bow.

“Oh,” you hum through labored pants when you part again. “It was that good, huh?”

“Better,” he answers with a crooked smirk on his swollen pink mouth. He’s finally able to open his eyes and see more than a blur when his high starts to subside. “That was fucking… I mean, that was… fuck…”

His speechlessness makes you giggle. Your gaze stays locked on his profile when he turns to look up at the ceiling.

“That was exactly what I wanted. And, like, I didn’t even know I wanted it, you know?” he rambles. “How did you— How did you know? How do you always know?”

You’re not entirely sure what he means by that, and honestly, neither is he.

You just always know what he needs. You buy him a toothbrush because you know he’ll forget his, and when you touch him, you know exactly what he likes — even though he doesn’t even know what he likes.

It’s like you’re another half of him, and not in the stupid soulmate way everyone always thinks they’ve found. You’re an identical part of him that no one else can fit. He’s only whole with you — like a sandwich cut into triangles or halves of an orange. 

“Well, to be fair, I did ask Steve what a guy would want in this sort of situation,” you admit with a scrunched nose. “I just sort of went with what he said.”

Eddie’s brows pinch together as he turns his head to peer at you again. He blinks at you for a moment, dumbfounded, then sputters. “Wait— You’re telling me I have Steve to thank for that blowjob? Like Steve-Steve? As in Steve The Hair Harrington?”

His dramatics makes you giggle. You hide your grin behind your palm.

“Hope that doesn’t change anything, Eddie Spaghetti.”

You meant it as a joke, as in, please don’t think of Steve every time I give you a blowjob from now on, but your words settle something heavy on the both of you. 

Because you’ve had Steve The Hair Harrington, in more ways than most friends tend to have one another. You’ve had a lot of people like that. There are people in the world with parts of you that most only give away when they’ve found someone really, really special. 

You learned about that too late. And now you feel a lot less special.

Eddie hears all your dreadful, no-good thoughts because they’re also his own. 

He’s a virgin with the town slut, so he often feels like he’s drowning. It isn’t because of you, though. It’s never because of you. The number of people you’ve slept with doesn’t mean a damn thing to him; he just wants to measure up to them.

He wants to be the kind of man that sticks in your head after you’ve been with a thousand of them — the kind you can’t help but remember fondly because there hasn’t been another one like him.

He’s got no idea he’s already better than every person you’ve ever been with combined.

“No, sweetheart,” he assures with the shake of his head. The apple of his cheek rubs against the fabric of your comforter as he looks at you with eyes deeper than an infinite galaxy. His gaze holds all of its own stars, and each of them is named after you. “It doesn’t change a goddamn thing.”

[anabdaniels]

The time for being sad is over

Paring: Agent Whiskey x Female reader

Summary: Convinced that there's no better future for you, Jack turns out to be your light in a life of darkness.

Word counting: 2.5k

Rating: +18

Warnings: Mentions of domestic violence and abusive relationships, cheating, mentions of sex.

Divider from: @saradika-graphics

Masterlist

Silently in front of the kitchen window, you observed Charles leaving the house before focusing again on the breakfast dishes on the sink. Just another usual boring Monday, doing dishes, collecting your husband’s clothes thrown around the house, making a grocery list, cooking something for dinner, and hoping that Charles’ day at work would be good enough for him to not turn the way you chopped the vegetables into a reason to start a bickering.

Most times, you would end up getting distracted by the house chores, but that was one of those days when you simply couldn’t focus on anything other than your insistent thoughts. Before the middle of the morning, you gave up on trying to do anything and grabbed your phone, telling yourself that you would just scroll some random videos on TikTok to distract your mind, but your finger was already touching the messages app and opening that specific conversation.

Not even ten messages were exchanged and you were already feeling the butterflies on your stomach, waiting anxiously and unconsciously walking around the house. The moment you heard the doorbell, you ran to the front door to open it, not giving the man in front of you time to think before you pulled him inside the house and slammed the door closed as you sank between his arms and kissed him.

All that caught Jack off guard. He was used to your warm welcomes, but you didn’t used to be so straight to business like that, what didn’t prevent him from wrapping his arms around your waist and kissing you deeply, smirking against your lips when he saw himself stuck between your body and the wall, taking a look of your face when you leaned back to catch your breath.

“Not ever a good morning, sugar?” Jack teased rubbing your bottom lip with his thumb.

“We both know that our chats work better after sex.” You said with a playful tone, making him chuckle and grab you in his arms, carrying you bridal style to the bedroom.

“I can’t with you sometimes.” He joked kissing the tip of your nose while kicking the bedroom door closed. Carefully, Jack placed you on the bed, leaning over you and resting his hands on the mattress, taking a moment to look at you with a wide smile, still not believing how such a beautiful woman had given him a chance. “You’re the prettiest lil’ thing in this world, sweetie.” You could feel the burning moving up your cheeks and you wanted so badly to look away, but at the same time, his big brown eyes were the most recomforting thing you could ask for.

“You don’t miss a chance to be flirty.” You chuckled and shook your head.

“I was serious about planning to steal you from that asshole.” He raised both eyebrows softly, approaching his face from yours, letting his lips hover next to your mouth.

“A wink of yours and I leave without looking behind.” Despite the joking tone, you meant it; if Jack ever decided to take you away, he’d need no effort to realize such prowess.

With that cocky grin you loved so much, he leaned to kiss you, letting the weight of his body subtly fall over yours, taking a content sight of you. Allowing your brain to turn off its rational thoughts, you hooked your arms around his neck and followed the moment, wondering what would be his next move.

Realizing instantly what you needed, Jack moved further, caressing the sides of your body while kissing you slowly, savoring every crumb of the moment as he felt you melting so graciously under his touch.

And it wasn’t doing any good to your composure.

You were more than conscious that your relationship with Jack was wrong from one end to the other; yes, you shouldn’t have started to flirt with him while being married, you should’ve dismissed him since the first moment, you should’ve gotten divorced long ago. You knew all of that, but the things weren’t that simple.

If it was such a big mistake, why did it always feel so right?

You used to be convinced that something was wrong with your libido, until the first time you were with Jack and he left you boneless on the bed, wondering how you would live without the feeling of every inch of him filling your body. You were sure that sex wasn’t a big deal until you realized that three of Jack’s fingers were enough to make you contort, get noisy, and wet everything around. You believed firmly that there wasn’t such an appreciation feeling as you have read in some books, until you felt like the most beautiful woman in the world while having Jack on his knees in front of you, holding your hips and planting kisses on your skin while mumbling and whispering how you looked like the most breathtaking thing he had ever seen.

You were convicted that you would never know how it felt to truly and deeply love and desire someone until you realized that you felt exactly like that about Jack.

The most you felt his hands sneaking under your clothes and taking them off, the most your miserable life and aggressive husband seemed to be a simple nightmare. At each move of Jack’s body over yours, you felt more at ease and relaxed, as if your stress levels had never been at that height. Every time Jack took a moment to look deep into your eyes with so much passion you finally got to understand how it felt to be truly desired and appreciated. When he moved to cuddle you after sex, you got a comforting reminder of how good it was to be treated as a human being and not only as a tool to someone to relieve himself.

“You’ll tell me what’s going on, sugar?” Jack questioned while caressing your hair. You frowned and looked up at him.

“You mean?” you asked trying to pretend you didn’t know exactly what was the matter.

“C’mon, darlin’. It’s stamped in your face that something is wrong.” Despite de insistence, his voice was gentle.

“I suppose I’m just tired these days, nothing serious.” You forced a smile and shifted slightly to rest better on his chest. Jack was about to give up on asking, realizing that you didn’t want to talk about it if it wasn’t for what he saw as you moved and the sheet uncovered a part of your lower back. For a second, he questioned himself if he could’ve gotten distracted to the point of grope you way too hard to leave a bruise like that, but it wasn’t a possibility; he had kept you comfortably lying on your back the whole time and his hands busy with other parts of you, and even on the times things got rougher between the two of you, the most Jack would ever mark you would be a slight love bite in your shoulder or butt or an almost imperceptible mark on the soft flesh of your hips. That had surely come from someone else, and he hoped for it to not be what he thought.

“What’s that?” he asked the calmest he could, moving the sheet further to see how bad it was. You froze as you realized what he was asking about, wondering how you could have forgotten about it.

“I… I was… playing with my dog, he was running around and his head hit me.” You hoped your dubious answer in a vacillating voice would suffice, but the chances were low.

“We both know better than this. My hyperactive Bernese never gave me a bruise like this, you expect me to believe that your beagle did this?” despite his total disbelief, Jack kept his calm manner, aware that making a scene wouldn’t make you talk.

“Believe what you want.” You answered harshly and moved away from Jack, getting sitting on the bed. He sighed exasperated and got sit either.

“Sugar…” Jack pulled you back to him before you could complain, letting you on his lap “Y’know you matter a lot to me, darlin’. Tell me the truth, is this what I think it is?”

You remained silent for a moment, wanting to give him another dry answer so he would forget about it; you weren’t mad at Jack for asking about it, you were just too ashamed of the obvious truth, ashamed to admit that things had got that far. Giving up on trying to pretend everything was fine, you simply nodded, sighing when Jack tightened his arms around you.

“Darlin’, why haven’t you told me before?” he sounded sincerely worried while caressing your back and kissing the top of your head.

“Because it ain’t that big of a deal, I’m used to it at this point.” You said looking to a random spot on the floor, not having the nerve to face him.

“You’re telling me that this ain’t the first time?” Jack sounded shocked and his brain started to put his memory to use; yes, it wasn’t the first time you showed up with a bruise, but it was always some little bruises that could be justified by your excuses, just at that moment he realized the painful truth. “You need to go to the police.”

“No.” you refused without flinching “I don’t want to deal with this like that, the last thing I need is to be discredited by a bunch of old men in a police station.”

“Then, at least, you have to leave him.” Jack started to get slightly agitated but kept talking calmly with you.

“And how am I supposed to do that? My family would rather give shelter to the devil than me, all acquittances I ever had, were on the other side of the country because Charles knew what he was doing bringing me here, I have no money, no graduation on anything. I have nowhere to go, Jack.” You said both frustrated and conformed.

“That’s not true, darlin’.” Jack grabbed your face between his hands, making you look at him “You know damn well that I sincerely care about you. You’re much more than just an affair to me, sweetheart, I can’t simply let you at your luck here.” Seeing that you still seemed resistant to the idea, Jack made sure to clarify what he thought could be the problem for you. “For the records, if you accept my help and come live with me, this doesn’t put you in any commitment. I have no other intention than to help you.”

“I don’t know.” You said after a few moments of silence “Charles can have quite a temper; I don’t want to put you in trouble.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout that, his type is only brave until he gets to fight a man. Furthermore, he’s a city boy, I can deal with him if happens to be necessary.” Jack affirmed with no worries at all.

“This is complete madness.” You sighed and rubbed both hands on your face, thinking about what to do. You were scared to death with the idea of simply disappearing, worrying about how bad it could end up, but at the same time neither your body nor mind could handle that torturous marriage anymore and you knew that your best and safest option was to go with Jack. “Alright.” You agreed making Jack sigh relieved “We have a few hours until he’s back.”

In a jump of adrenaline, you and Jack got out of bed, got dressed, and started to pack your things. Bob, your dog, followed you excitedly around the house, as if he knew something good was going on.

A couple of hours later, everything was packed and placed on Jack’s truck; you took advantage of the plenty of time and, after grabbing the essentials, you started to pick non-vital stuff, like all of your books and the handmade teddy bear Charles’ late grandmother gave you a few years ago for your future baby that never happened, she was probably the only good thing that happened to you during all those years and, even having no hope left of ever have a baby, since you never even got pregnant during all the years of your marriage, you didn’t had the heart of left such a lovely gift behind.

With your dog in your arms, you walked around the whole house to make sure nothing had been forgotten, still not completely believing you were leaving that nightmare behind. Jack entered the kitchen to meet you, petting Bob’s head when he got close enough.

“Do we have everything?” Jack questioned looking at you.

“Just one last thing I have to do.” You said calmly and approached the fridge, grabbing the sharpie pen you always had handy to do the groceries list and writing on the appliance’s surface with your best calligraphy “fuck you, bitch”. You could already imagine the scene, Charles would come home and go straight to the kitchen, would see your note, and would go hunt you through the house only to discover that you had left him. You turned your head when you listened to Jack’s chuckles, smiling and walking back to him.

“You’re way too polite, sugar. I’d do worse.” He joked as both of you walked out of the house.

You didn’t bother about locking the front door or closing the windows, whatever happened from there wasn’t your problem anymore. You got in the car with Jack and Bob, feeling your heartbeat faster than normal, still not believing what you were doing. While Jack started the car, you realized you still had your wedding rings and promptly took them off, throwing them on the sidewalk as the car started to move, more than ready to leave all those bad days behind.

One year later

Comfortably sitting on the porch sofa with a mug of hot chocolate in hands, you peacefully observed the horses and cows pasturing in the distance, on times like that you used to wonder how you had lived in the city for so long, dealing with that unending noise.

You smiled as you heard the dogs’ paws making those little noises towards their bowls of water and not much later, you felt the warm calloused hands of your husband resting on your shoulders and his lips planting a kiss at the top of your head.

“How’s my beloved lady doing?”

“Tired.” You answered with a chuckle, resting one hand on your 7-months-pregnant belly to emphasize what you meant. Jack chuckled and walked around the sofa, sitting by your side and caressing your belly.

“You’re giving a hard time to momma, hum, little one?” he said in a tender tone, feeling like he could melt when the baby started to move inside your womb.

“You’re not kidding.” You confirmed with a smile and leaned to rest your head on his shoulder.

“Good thing you have your helpful husband to take care of you.” Jack said with his smug manner and smirked, turning his head slightly and kissing your forehead.

Tagging: @missladym1981

[verdemoun]

I. I need to know. Hosea's first few weeks or even months in modern times. How was he found? How was he with Bessie? How'd he adjust? Anything he loved/hated in particular? AND BESSIE???? HOSEA AND BESSIE STUFF IS JUST *CHEFS KISS*

spare some crumbs for a hosea fan im begging

HOSEA BELOVED

Waking up was more peaceful than it had any right to be for Hosea. It was more like the slow confused raise of his head like he'd just fainted for a second. Bessie was the first thing he saw and he just melted into a smile so relieved and in love and happy to see her again before he started to realize she had aged, her hair was cut in a fashion he'd never seen before and wearing a skirt that fell just below her knees? Scandalous? Hot??

Admittedly any happy reunion was cut short by the revelation Lenny also died/timewarped just a few minutes after him and was having a much more violent awakening still wheezing and gasping for breath as if he was still trying to breathe through a collapsed lung. Comforting the young man he calls son was more important than simping. (Sean was fashionably late but soon took over because Lenny very much needed and wanted Sean more)

Did not give a single fuck about how or why or where he was. He held Bessie's face gently and kissed her like he expected the Devil to appear and drag him to the Hell he rightfully deserved after his lifetime.

Absolutely lovesick. Being able to stare at his wife who was still so beautiful with age so happy so healthy the way she looks at him with the same affection in her eyes takes away even the slightest fear or nausea on the drive home. Fortunately Lakay to Blackwater is a significant drive so they got to be introduced to a lot of modern era through passing through cities and towns on the trip.

People forget Hosea absolutely believed in all Dutch's anti-government freedom rhetoric so much - they were shared ideals they originally bonded over. They were the start of the VDLs. He would hate so much of modern era. Laughed the first time he saw taxes on Bessie's payslip and then got angry. First slang term he learns to use correctly is ACAB. Learning that the government recognized retirement age is 65-67? The government would expect him, at 55, to get a job? Bessie can't just retire and spend every waking moment in his arms?? Livid.

His saving grace is his wife. He loves her so, so much. She is practically a beast tamer, how quickly she can touch his arm and kiss his cheek and suddenly he's too happy and content in love to even think about setting the mayor's perfectly manicured garden on fire.

He never learns technology. He is still happy with newspapers and books thank you very much he genuinely does not understand wikipedia and thinks everyone is so intelligent when they look at their phone and suddenly know the answer to a question he asked. Bessie is secretly grateful she is almost certain if there was written record of the things he said about local council he would get arrested.

Hosea was the one to have the obligatory 'no i'm old and hideous now there's no way you could love me' moment because he thinks Bessie's wrinkles and grey hair and signs of age are as perfect as she is. Yet, he finds the exact same things in himself deformities. Bessie assures him he is as handsome as the day she fell in love with him.

Since Bessie is very happy with her job as a professor and Hosea detests much of modern era he is very happy being the house husband. He learns to use appliances and takes over cooking. He makes recipes from magazines and proper cook books. He is the ideal domestic man he is chasing the boys out the door to go to work/get a job with the same energy as his famous 'do something!!' lecture so he can mop and make sure the house is perfect for his beautiful hard working woman's return.

Bessie might dress modestly to most people's standards but coming from 1899 Hosea absolutely loses his mind. His wife wearing pants? Hot. A cardigan with just a shirt underneath? Practically in a state of undress? Genuinely concerned they could get arrested. Watching her do her hair nice and wear cheap jewelry that looks aesthetically nicer than fine jewels in 1899? Acts like he's dating a countess would crawl behind her if she told him to. 50s housedress that hug her waist? Old man is feral.

Honestly their modern era life is just everything Hosea craved and missed and mourned for when settling down with Bessie didn't work because of his stubbornness in 1883. He has absolutely no desire to return to crime (because getting away with crime is significantly harder in modern era (he still crimes. man is a kleptomaniac who plays confused old man with dementia whenever he gets caught)) after a proper second chance to do things right with Bessie. They read together, they listen to music, slow dance in the living room, go on walks through parks holding hands making everyone who sees them wish they had what Bessie and Hosea have.

Side note: Hosea very much has a type. Bessie is as strong-willed and sharp-tongued as Dutch and it is very obvious to anyone who sees how tightly she has him wrapped around his finger. She holds so much power over him just because of how much he loves her. Full Gomez Adaams 'look at her. i would die for her. i would kill for her. either way what bliss'. Fortunately, she is a genuinely very kind, patient, loving person who adores Hosea for the person and way he is and does not abuse the complete control she could have over husband.

[watchingblsnowandforever]

We Are Ep. 14: Part 3/3

Hello again!! =D

Part 1 and Part 2

Warning: long post 😊😅 (also, I'm so sorry for the delay, I've been sleep deprived for the last two to three days because my insomnia and depression made comebacks, but I'm better now)

She reminds me so much of my own mom-

My mom adopts my friends, and no one has any say in it, while my dad encourages her 😭👍🏼

I absolutely love her relationship with all of them. While it's given that Peem will talk about Phum, Q has talked about Toey too, and it's quite obvious that Peem and his og group of friends have visited quite often before. She asks no question, and is so comfortable with them that they don't hesitate for a second to introduce their boyfriends. This is maybe not realistic (I'm pretty sure my mom while very similar wouldn't be this accepting) but it's very in line with this show, and I really like it.

GIVE ME MORE ACCEPTING PARENTS IN BL!!!

I am 100% sure that for a moment there, Phum's brain short circuited 😭

I mean, just look at it from his perspective. The boy he's head over heels for talks about him like this to his mom. If it were me, I'd be having an existential crisis right there, he has much more self control than me.

I'll be living here, in this moment for the next 1000 years, thanks for asking.

Listen, I'm a big fan of domestic fluff, BUT THIS???

Also, I don't usually talk about these, but on Phum's t-shirt, it says "ALWAYS FORWARD NO TURNING BACK" which is very relevant here because Peem helps him see a future, and to enjoy the present as it comes back. He's slowly but surely leaving his scarred past behind.

I have so many fic ideas smh

And yet, I don't really see you, complaining, Peem.

He says while sipping from his own glass. Very convincing, Peem.

THIS WAS SO CUTE OH MY GODS 😭😭🫶🏼

Btw, Peem? Phum is calling you "meow" for the rest of your lives. Just like you'll be calling him Puppy Phum. <3

oh-

These few seconds spoke so much.

The realization that this is what a real family is supposed to look like, that he'll probably never have this with his own parents.

But then- then he realizes that now he can have this. He can have Peem, and a family full of love and sit in the midst of his brother and his friends and Peem's friends and be accepted and loved.

Maybe he can't have this with his own parents, but he can have this with Peem, and that for him, is already far more than he could have ever imagined.

I just love that addition 😭😂

Peem is absolutely incapable of not calling Phum some version of "idiot (affectionate)" and I adore him for it. <33

Oho, violent Fang is back.

But seriously, let the others sleep, Pun and Toey 😭

THIS LOOK. ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL US??

There's only two eps left (?!!!!!), so I really hope that the next one is when they get together

The small thumb soothing his tummy 🥺🫶🏼

All we got are crumbs of ChainPun throughout and they still managed to make us go insane. Mad respect for their friends who have to deal with them on a daily basis 😭👍🏼

Also, when Peem got up to ask what they were doing and Phum pulled him back to sleep, did y'all see that tiny forehead kiss? My man never misses a chance to kiss Peem, and I am so proud of him.

This reminds me of such a funny story-

So. We went to visit this historical building (note: historical) and the stairs leading up were naturally kind of steep and broken. It was very crowded, so it was four or five teams/families to one guide. We went up slowly, but since the guide was obviously very used to it, he went up faster, and was waiting for us at the landing. So one couple asked how he got there so fast, and he jokingly said "I took the lift" and the man was like "Why didn't you tell us before?? One of us [I don't remember who he said] just had knee surgery!" and the rest of us were just staring at him like ???? are you listening to yourself- 😶

My parents and I laugh about it to this day 😭😂 (this was almost 8 years back OH GODS SAYING THAT MADE ME FEEL SO OLD-)

What next ep looks like:

What I looked like after watching the trailer:

(In that order.)

That's it for ep 14! See y'all in 4 days (I fear for what will become of me after I watch ep 15).

If you got this far, thank you so much for reading! 😊

Here have a croissant 🥐

[strawurberries]

i loved your post about vash and reader’s stretch marks. i was wondering if you could write something where the reader is afraid of getting fat, so she skips meals or replaces them with water?

Missed Meals

Summary: Vash notices a change in his companion's behavior. Worried, he decides to confront her.

Authors Note: I'm glad you liked my other post! I hope you like this one as well (though I'm a little nervous because I got stuck writing this and I'm afraid it came out bad). Also, just want to add, I've struggled with eating disorders before (not from self-image but more like Vash's "I don't deserve to eat") so I understand. Everyone is beautiful in their own right and deserves to eat!!! Love all of you guys!!

Warnings: Self-hate, eating disorder.

It started off small; giving her bread to Milly instead of finishing it off, ordering a lighter meal instead of the usual hardy one she adored, and sometimes she simply said, “I’m not that hungry”. But actions like hers always lead to a slippery slope, one that tends to wrap its dirt-crusted nails around its victim and drag them into an early grave. She had never been someone who ate enough to feed an entire village, but not even she could survive on sips of water and the guilty crumbs she rarely allowed herself to consume. After a while though, it became natural, second nature to head off to bed while the sun still hung in the sky, claiming that exhaustion outweighed her hunger—which, she supposed, wasn’t all a lie.

The best lie, she had been told once, is the one that includes the truth. 

Now, she recalled that advice as she sat at a table in the back of this dingy town bar. What should she say? What could she say? Recently she had been using up all her excuses left and right, the hunger in her belly growing and the pain in her heart becoming ever more sharp. The group had decided to stop by a local bar before heading to the hotel for the night, nearly everyone complaining about the rough day that had been forced to suffer through. And, to them, a drink was something they were eager to welcome. She, if she hadn’t been too preoccupied with her stomach pains, probably would’ve ordered a whiskey to clear her head of every annoying little thought. 

She opted for water though. The least she could do was drink water; she owed it to herself, and so she honored that obligation. Throat parched, mouth achy; the water tasted amazing.

The bar erupted in a shout as someone tripped, roaring laughter drowning out the domestic conversation of her table. Too loud. Vaguely she heard someone mention dinner—she cringed. She did promise herself that she’d finally eat a crumb or a bite tonight (after nearly passing out yesterday she became all too aware of her weakness). She wasn’t dumb, she knew she’d have to eat eventually, that she’d wither away—but one more night, one more meal skipped, it couldn’t do any more harm, right? Besides, from what she had seen on the menu, the foods were all greasy, full of fat and carbs, and wouldn’t help her figure at all.

I just want to look pretty, she reasoned, skipping a meal tonight will help that. God forbid she ate too much and all her progress disappeared: letting that baby fat back under her chin, the muffin-top around her waist, or even the extra flesh on her belly? She’d rather die than let her body look like that again, much less look worse. It terrified her to her core. She needed to look good, and that meant, to her at least, that she must be skinny, thin, and agreeable. Starvation is a small price to pay for beauty.

A waiter slowly started to make their way across the room, eyes set on her table. 

I need to go.

She stood up, giving a small smile, “I’m gonna head back to the hotel.”

“You’re leaving already Miss?” Milly asked, “it’s still early enough for one drink! C’mon!” She raised her glass and grinned, “look! Mr. Wolfwood and Mr. Vash are already enjoying themselves!”

Drunken giggles erupted across the table. 

“Oh Milly,” Meryl sighed, “let the girl get her rest. God knows we all need it.” She waved her hand with the flick of her wrist, “if it wasn’t for the trouble you’re all bound to cause, I would’ve already left myself.”

“Hey!” Wolfwood barked out, “we’ve never caused trouble a day in our lives. . . well, can’t say much for Needle-noggin’ here.”

“It’s not my fault!” Vash cried, “trouble finds me! I always run away from it!” He sobbed into the table, “can’t a man catch a break?!”

Wolfwood laughed and patted him on the back, “it’s all God’s plan, my friend.”

“Well he sure does have a stupid plan!”

With a smile and silent wave, she slipped out from the table and weaved through the bar, the happy expression quickly falling off her face. I’m tired, she thought to herself, ignoring the biting air of the night. A dull ache in the pit of her belly made her stop for a moment, really tired. . . 

She barely remembers getting back to the hotel, much less how she managed to get dressed and settled in bed before that wretched knocking woke her up. With a skip of her heart and a rapid smack of her arms to get the blankets off her cold body, she jumped out of bed and reached for the gun she had tossed on the floor. One smooth movement and she delicately wrapped her fingers around the metal. She didn’t even think about the possibility of her friends needing help, or perhaps just room service making their rounds; the only thing on her mind was the fact that she wasn’t prepared to die that night. 

“Who’s there?” she grumbled out, ducking to hide beside the door, back to the wall. She rubbed lazy circles into the metal, finger twitching every so slightly over the trigger. She had never been the greatest shot, nor the most eager to kill, but she would do what had to be done if it came down to it.

“Vash.”

She blinked, sleep-clogged mind getting dunked into a vat of mean, old reality. Her situation hit her upside the head and she resisted the urge to put her face between her knees and groan about how dumb she is. Instead of wallowing in her stupidity (which, if you really think about it, wasn’t the worst reaction she could’ve had), she sighed, “oh.” A spike of relief shot through her like a summer’s breeze on a warm day. Shoulders relaxing and muscles begging to be sent back to bed. . . only, she wasn’t tired anymore. I’m not sleeping tonight, am I? Her heart still beat like a drum, thumping in her chest like no tomorrow, and her body—taunt and tense, ready for a moment's attack; that’s how she’s survived this long, by being prepared for every situation no matter the outcome. 

“Can uh. . . can I come in?” Squeaked out Vash.

She cursed and opened the door, wooden creaking echoing throughout the hotel hallway, letting her occupied hand hang by her side, “yeah, sorry. What’s the matter?” 

Vash stood in his usual clothes—red coat, ridiculous pants, and bulky boots; his gloves though, she noticed, he wasn’t wearing gloves. He gave her a small smile, “sorry did I scare ya?”

The smile made her less mad about the ordeal, kind and small. He never smiled too widely or genuinely, just enough to show that he cared, that he knew what happiness looked like—though she knew that he thought he’d never be able to obtain happiness, a faraway dream is how he described it to be. Oh, how if given the chance, she would give him all the joy he would ever want. 

She shoved that thought aside.

“A little,” she raised the gun and gestured with it for Vash to come inside. “Why are you up so late?” 

He slid into the room silently, walking over to sit on the edge of her bed, “couldn’t sleep.” he sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck.

That was a lie. She could tell. “Want to talk?” She locked the door and once again tossed her gun next to her bed, hoping it wouldn’t go off from the rough handling. “Or jus’ need someone here?” 

“Just talking, if you don’t mind.”

She nodded, “a’right. How was your day?”

He smiled, “good. You?”

“Peachy.”

The conversation died off.

Neither of them really knew what to say—unspoken words disease the heart and kill the soul, making the tongue bloated and thick. She, not knowing how to comfort her friend as her mind wandered from her own problems to the world’s in general, and he wasn’t sure how to get his point across.

Silence.

Vash cleared his throat, finally collecting his words, “are you. . . okay?” The question hung in the air sourly, sucking any sense of comfort out and churning it into an uninhabitable room of misery. He flinched, as if the mood of the room was hurting him physically. “You’ve been acting a little different lately.”

She leaned against the door, hoping the action would give her the confidence to either run away or admit her inner-thoughts.“Hmm? Fine, you?” She turned her gaze away. Could she run? No, he’d catch her in less than three seconds and her trying to slip out of the room would be an admission of her guilt. But she really didn’t want to talk about herself. She’s doing okay, isn’t she? Just a little tired, anxious, and sad. . . but she’ll get over it. Besides, it’s not like she’s dead yet.

“I’m good.”

“Good.”

Oh how painfully awkward this all was. 

The bed squeaked as he moved to get into a more comfortable position, “I have some leftovers in my room, from dinner, if you want any.” He tapped his leg with his fingers, head angled slightly to watch her expression.

He knows. 

Those eyes, no matter how much of a kind smile or goofy aura he carefully crafted to show everyone, his eyes gave away every part of his secret-self. The part of him that was scarily intelligent, observant, and abnormally calculating—a man smart enough to play dumb and a man strong enough to be kind. That part of him is what interested her so, the gravity that pulled her attention to him everytime he entered a room. 

He knows.

With a defeated sigh she rubbed her shoulder and walked over to the bed, shoving herself behind him to lay back down. If she had to bare her soul to him, the least he could allow her to do was to be vulnerable while being comfortable. He moved slightly to allow her more room, facing away from her as if her very gaze would burn him. “I’m not hungry,” she gave one last effort to cover her lie, to toss her truth out the window in the hopes that it would be buried in the sand. 

“You said that yesterday too.” He stared across the room, back rigid. 

The sands never work in your favor. 

“Huh,” she faced the wall, “guess I did.” The blankets were scratchy, old, and ratty, but she pulled them up to her chin nonetheless. She was tired now. All her adrenaline had poured out of her mouth, dripping onto the creaky wooden floor, seeping into the ground beneath. 

“And the day before.”

“Are you sure?”

“Very.”

She closed her eyes, knowing she had finally been caught in her web of little half-truths. “Haven’t had the stomach to eat anything lately.” Perhaps she could escape this somehow—even though she knew it was futile, part of her accepting the fact that he wouldn’t let this go—, make him run away and stop caring, God that caring! It annoyed her to ends she had never seen before, yet she loved it so. If only he didn’t care, she clenched her fist into the blanket, then this wouldn’t have happened. And it’s not like she’s dying! Nor is she killing herself or drawing blood, she’s only skipping a meal every once in a while.

“I don’t. . .,” Vash trailed off locking his fingers together, “I don’t mean to pry, but you’re starving yourself.” He sat the words quickly, sharply, and promptly, as if he was afraid of them and needed to throw them out of his mouth as soon as possible.

All lies come to an end.

“I know.”

But wouldn’t it be nice if they could live forever?

He bit his lip. “Why?”

“You’re prying,” she snapped. 

“Sorry,” he whispered.

The conversation died off. 

She didn’t mean to sound so rough and uncaring—the opposite of that gentleman—but a fear had struck her heart and she couldn’t stop it. The only way to feel okay, to be okay, was if Vash stopped caring, stopped worrying, and walked out of the room without a second glance (no matter how much that would hurt). Only he had the power to alleviate this anxious pain but she knew she would never allow her to wallow in misery alone.

What did Wolfwood say? She thought to herself, misery enjoys company?

The air turned from sour to stiff, oppressing; like a hand had come to clasp her throat, fingers digging into flesh and muscles spasming as they tried to escape the hold, only it was fruitless.

“Sometimes,” Vash’s voice cut through the air, peeling the layers of devilish emotions back. Slowly he shuffled down to lay next to her, on his back, hands laced over his chest. “I feel like I don’t deserve to eat. . . how can I allow myself to eat when I know how the people I failed, the people I let die, will never be able to enjoy things like that again? And, really, I think part of me hopes I’ll die from starvation, so I can take an easy way out.” He paused and let out a shuddering sigh.

She didn’t move. 

“I don’t know why you’re doing this, and you don’t have to tell me, but I understand in part. And if you ever need anything, I’m here. Okay?”

Why did he have to be like this? Why did he have to care? And why did she want to accept it so damn bad? If he had never noticed, if he had never looked at her with those eyes, if he had never met her—then she’d be living in her little palace of warped perception like a Queen of nothing but barren hearts. A ruler of her own land, a lawmaker who bows to no one; only this man had come into her secluded little kingdom, raided the halls of the castle, and whisked her away to feel the sun. It hurt her. To know how delicious the outside tasted, yet know how her soul felt safer within her prison.

“Do you think,” the words died in her tongue, nervousness making her numb. To hell with it, he already figured it out. Might as well bite the bullet.“ That I look pretty?” she whispered. 

Silence. 

Oh, that was a mistake, wasn’t it? The silence hurt in her ways that she didn’t even know could hurt.

Vash choked on his own spit and coughed, “w-what?”

Suddenly she wished the silence was still there.

Of course he’d have a reaction like that! She’s ugly, big, and broken. Why did she think it’s run out any different? “Nevermind.” She buried her face into the blanket, biting back a rumble of sobs in her throat; eyes stinging gently. 

“No! No! You—you just caught me off guard! I think you’re beautiful, really.” He turned over frantically, hand awkwardly hovering over her shoulder as he talked into her neck.

“You wouldn’t think the same way if I was bigger,” she curled into herself, “if I was fatter.” She aggressively wiped her tears away, “and skipping a couple meals isn’t too bad if it’s for a good reason, you know?” She wasn’t sure if she was believing herself at this point.

He was silent. 

“No matter what,” he twiddled his thumbs, ears turning red, “I think you’d still be beautiful. If you were taller, shorter, thinner, bigger, only had one leg or, um, like lost both eyes or something—” he heard her lowly whisper an audible “what?”, “I’d still think you’d look amazing. And, if anyone says otherwise, they don’t deserve you.” He hesitantly set a hand on her shoulder, rubbing comforting circles, “no matter what, I still cherish you.”

Her voice cracked, “thank you Vash.” His words didn’t convince her entirely, but still, they were nice to hear. 

He hummed. “I know my words aren’t going to fix everything, but we can start here, if you want?”

She let out a bubbling sigh, trying desperately to keep her tears away in order not to embarrass herself further. “I'm scared.”

“That’s okay, I get scared all the time. I’ll be right here for you, the whole way.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

[travellingwiththedead]

Ok, watching iwtv s2e2 again and taking notes because everything happening too much:

(Spoilers under read more)

Louis and Armand arguing about who should have made contact first sounds a bit like Louis and his mum arguing about who should have kept in touch, but less angry.

Also Daniel absolutely not buying their domestic bliss charade is hilarious. "Keep selling it"

Ok, on Louis and his photography: How are all your pictures turning out so well? You're taking them at night, free hand, no flash light. I guess for less hurried ones he can, because he's a vampire, just stand very very still, but we see him and Claudia move the camera while taking pictures (or use a way too short exposure time), he's taking pictures on a moving bike. They should all be underexposed or blurry as hell xD

Louis getting nasty when Daniel's questions go places he doesn't like is so good. Three grumpy old men in a penthouse, trying to one up each other.

Love how Claudia is all indecisive about going into Madeleine's shop until someone tells her not to do it, then she immediately goes in. Lestat's daughter, absolutely. They both hear someone say "Lestat/Claudia, no!" and immediately go "Lestat/Claudia yes!" xD

Aaaand now Daniel's hand is shaking again. Guess it's time for another visit from Fareed (give me my mad scientist husbands)

Love Daniel gleefully correcting Rashid (and indirectly Armand) that you're not supposed to be using gloves with old books and documents. Have the writers stolen this from tumblr posts after s1? ;)

Armand, give poor Real Rashid ('it's just Rashid') a raise already xD

Armand, you dramatic shit, making the lights flicker like that when meeting Louis

The whole Theatre part is just so good. Ben Daniels gave his all and he's stealing the show. Standing ovations for this man. (and also wishing him so much strength after the loss of his husband, so sad for him)

The whole Annika scene was so intense, the actress is fantastic.

KP (the MVP of production crumbs) and his little knitted hat ^.^

The whole theatre troop looks so good. And the set is great.

Celeste's "Do American vampiresses all wear pastels?" is giving Morticia Addams xD

Daniel calling it all a telenovela, and making sure to have the fitting background music, is hilarious xD he's right and he should say it

Delainey is so pretty when she smiles. And also once again doing so well.

Roget, what do you know? Also I wanna know what else was in that box, apart from the letter (looks like some kind of deeds or other official documents? maybe money?).

And there Louis goes lashing out again. Vicious.

Hm, not sure where this whole scenes puts the Armand-is-Alice-theory (which I don't subscribe to). Because Louis clearly thinks Alice as an actual person and that he could find her in present day.

Personally I think Daniel remembering 70s Armand here has less to do with Alice and more with Louis now and Armand then using his memories as weapons against him.

I bet Daniel will make them pay for this in the future, he's not just gonna take that. I mean, he sees nothing wrong with slapping a vampire so collecting himself and then striking back even harder would definitely be something he'd do.

the preview for next episode is confusing me. 1576??? But yay for past-Lestat and Nicki ^^

[localplaguenurse]

Tell us.

*cracks knuckles*

Reasons Pantalone is husband material: a thread

So in the context of prev ask, literally anyone would make for a better spouse in an arranged marriage, it’s just that I think Pantalone would be the best because I love him

Because I love him also I’m going off my interpretations of him because where are my fucking crumbs Hoyo it has been a year since his appearance-

First and foremost, he’s a rich bitch. He cannot only provide for you, but he could also spoil you absolutely rotten.

Second, we know he’s very passionate about his work and ideas, going on and on about them. A passion for your craft is a very attractive trait but then you factor in that voice and yeah, even if you don’t know wtf he’s talking about you’re absolutely getting drawn into that discussion just to hear him talk.

He has many stories to share, some he’s more willing to discuss than others, but regardless the stories he has are rarely ever dull. The only dull ones would be business meetings but the voice does the heavy lifting.

From intellectual discussions to hearing him ramble about his day at the bank, no matter how active you are in that conversation, it’s rarely ever a dull one.

He’s the friendliest of the Harbingers save for Childe. His status and his jobs as Harbinger and founder of the Northland Bank means he’s had to learn and master etiquette and manners and how to sweet talk people. Even if it is just a front to get others to trust him, a polite tone and charming smile will get you anywhere if you know when and where to use them.

Getting him to actually open up to you would be a tricky job because childhood trauma is a bitch, but once you actually get him vulnerable you will have that man in the palm of your hand.

His empathy can be a little hit or miss sometimes because again, trauma is a bitch. It’s a side effect of the cynicism he’s developed as a result of growing up in poverty and having to get his hands dirty in one way or another to survive, let alone succeed in life. Still, when it comes to his partner, he takes their troubles and traumas very seriously because he knows what it’s like to be helpless and doesn’t want them of all people to feel that way.

You cannot tell me he isn’t touch starved. In private that man can and will find any way he can to get close to you. He will obvs respect boundaries, but he just finds comfort in your touch. This one is more up to you if it’s a good or bad thing but I like physical touch so it’s good to me.

The man is meticulous. He would want everything to be perfect. He’ll pull whatever strings he can to impress you, and would pay attention to all the things you like. Is there a particular gemstone you like? He’ll make sure all the jewellery he puts on you has them and that they match your attire. You mentioned offhand that there’s a specific dish from Sumeru you haven’t had in a while? Dinner the next day is that exact dish with the most authentic recipe he can have his cooks work from.

Could literally give you any wedding you want, at least as far as cost goes. If it’s some super ridiculous and tacky themed wedding he will more than likely shoot it down, but if we’re talking venues, decor, attire, food, etc, literally do not worry about it. Just tell him what you want and he’ll have it done and paid for yesterday. Small wedding, big wedding, does not matter, he can afford it.

What I’m trying to say is that even if you were to be in an arranged and probably loveless marriage with him, you’d still get a pretty good deal because you still get an interesting and polite man who will take care of your needs. It just happens that if you do marry him for love or eventually fall in love, he will just go all in on you because now he wants to keep you, impress you, and show his appreciation to you.

Anyways seriously hoyo where the fuck is he-

This would’ve been longer but I already shared a lot of my ideas in my domestic pants headcanons, and uh... the rest of my ideas are not pg-13 and I’m not in the smut writing mood (plus I think I’d rather have that in a separate post but I’m not doing it rn)

[absolutebl]

This Week In BL - Strongberry Kisses!

Dec 2022 Wk 3

Being a highly subjective assessment of one tiny corner of the interwebs. Organized by which ones (in each category) I’m enjoying the most.

Ongoing Series - Thai

My School President (Fri YT) 4 of 10 - Gun gets flustered and then Gun gets flirty and comes over all spoiled prince, and poor Tinn loves it suffers. Thiw is the greatest wingman and it was the cutest date inspection: Tinn (confusedly carrying 2 ice creams ) just trailing behind a sunny excitable Gun. Yes, Gun is very extra. Yes, I skipped the singing. But oh my goodness do I love how much this is a traditional Thai high school BL. Thank you so much GMMTV. I missed this style of BL. 

Never Let Me Go (Tues YT) 2 of 12 - I have to say that I’m not entirely sure about Chimon’s casting in this role (he is one of my all time favorite GMMTV actors), but I love Perth. Perth has the hardest role, and he’s such a great nuanced actor with such an expressive face, only he could really pull it off and still feel sympathetic. Meanwhile ironically named Pond = yet another Thai actor made to swim who can’t. That said, PondPhuwin and the attack of the subtle flirtation = wonderful. Honestly? This is a much better role for Pond than FUTS. 

Between Us (Sun iQIYI) 7 of 12 - It’s still good, the leads are great, everything else is meh but at least I’m not bored? WATCH ALONG HERE.

609 Bedtime Story (Fri WeTV) 5 of 11 - So P’Mum is starting to figure out the science (do we call it science?) whatever. In other news, 3 years later, OhmFluke still give the softest sweetest most romantic kisses evah. P’Vee and Game are breaking my heart, honor the sides indeed. 

I Will Knock You (Fri Gaga) 6 of 12 - Noey has a very baby Dom thing to his bully behavior which is oddly cute. Or is that just me being warped? 

Remember Me (Sun Gaga) 11 of 14 - (it’s been extended 2 more episodes and into 2023, what joy is ours) We have switched to mostly focusing on Name and Em. I actually like the 2 actors, it’s just they keep getting stories I don’t enjoy. The JaFirst characters break up is not unexpected, presumably, they had to do some thing to honor the episode 11. After my bd reaction to The Yearbook I’m beginning to lose all faith in this production team. 

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

Choco Milk Shake (Korea Strongberry Tues YT) 11fin - I have to say it felt a little manipulating and there was a lot of dwelling in sad and then a time jump, and then resolution, which is very classic for a Korean drama, but Strongberry usually bucks trends. Still, all the kisses are really good and I do love how the animals w kept their personalities. I’m going with 8/10 RECOMMENDED more below 

My Tooth Your Love (Taiwan Fri Viki) 12fin - The parental abuse, and horseback riding thing was weird. ending with a marriage equality muscle flex and some domesticity was classic Taiwanese BL. I do love that and they were so cute! But ultimately this was oddly disappointing at the end, I think partly because as good as the leads were the crumbs were both excellent too and I wish they had more screen time. 8.5/10

The New Employee (Korea Weds Viki) AKA The New Recruit AKA Shinib Sawo - From WATCHA (Semantic Error) virginal Seung Hyun scores the office internship of his dreams but on his first day at work he gets into it with his cool reserved boss. As you do. Stars Moon Ji Yong (Once Again). Based on Moscareto's web novel of the same name, directed by openly gay & queer activist Kim Jho Gwang Soo (Just Friends?). Grumpy/sunshine, boss/emp, age gap. WAIT, he lives in the same neighborhood as the To My Star boys! And this show reminds me a little bit of that one, same kind of energy. Frankly this is what I wanted from this new crop of office set KBLs ALL ALONG. Fantastic. At last! 

Candy Color Paradox AKA Ameiro Paradox (Japan Fri Gaga) 2 of 8 - I’m not sure about this one, I am liking it OK but it is oddly mature while also being kookie, and also immature. Maybe it’s just Japan being its usual complex self. 

The Director Who Buys Me Dinner (Korea Thurs iQIYI) 3-4 of 10 - The premise of the show is so weird. But once the pink smoke appeared, and I decided we’re actually in a paranormal drama and not an office romance, I’m better about it. Also it’s really nice to see the lead pair start to actually like each other. 

Oh! My Assistant (Korea Thurs Viki) 7-8fin - There was a lot of me going awwww in ep 7. But in the finale, the triangle and jealousy seemed shoehorned in so that in the end, I was kind of torn. 7/10 More below. 

It’s Airing But I’m Not Watching It

Love Bill (Vietnam Sat YT) - Bah Vinh is back but I’m too distracted. Also there’s a lot of fund raising stuff going on. I’ll wait and binge.

The Star Always Follow You (Vietnam YT) - same Team RL peeps we have seen before (Sunshine, Stupid)

Till the World Ends (Thai YT) 10 eps - it seems to be good but I don’t know about the ending, so I’m waiting. 

Ended This Week

Choco Milk Shake (Korea YouTube) Stongberry gave us a full length BL on YouTube! It’s a BL miracle and an endless delight. It was wonderfully cute, unexpectedly hilarious but expectedly silly, a little too poignant, occasionally gut wrenching and with a somewhat expected weird (but happy-ish) ending. The actors playing the two pets must have had the best time. As, indeed, did I watching it. Jealous Milk made me cackle so hard it scared the actual cat on my lap, Choco was perfectly cast, and the chemistry was ultimately decent. In Strongberry I still trust. Thank you thank you, may we have another, sirs? 8/10 RECOMMENDED

My Tooth Your Love (Taiwan Viki) While, I really loved this show, it had a fun premise, and a solid lead pair with charming chemistry and delightful, domesticity, not to mention great communication, I wasn’t wild about some of the darker themes it explored, even though it did a good job with them. But while the crumbs and sides were v adorable they were chronically underused. If I gave half points this is a solid 8.5 but since I don't it’s gonna be an 8/10 MUCHLY RECOMMENDED 

Oh! My Assistant (Korea Viki) This is a very silly show that acts like it comes from a very silly yaoi. Reserved out gay younger assistant (we stan) pretending to be tsundere but is actually just v shy and smitten by his cheerful (seemingly straight) chaos bi himbo artist boss. I think the cross cutting in of old footage with the replacement actor after the re-cast did affect the chemistry with this pair. There was no way around it. Even KBL isn't usually this awkward and repressed. Although this show had the best bisexual awakening sequence ever put in a BL, and I really wanted to love it, I just didn't. 7/10 RECOMMENDED WITH RESERVATIONS

2 Moons 3 (Thai) finished it’s run this week. Rumor is it’s banal. I’m waiting to collect all the eps and then I will try to binge before I finish my 2022 wrap ups.

Why You... Y Me? (Thai YT) It's not primarily a BL, but another meta show about BL shipping, with side BLs. I await @heretherebedork ‘s report on whether to watch or not.

Gossip

Nutt Witsarut (Daisy in Secret Crush On You!) will play the role of Gyogung in 9Cats Studio's upcoming series Hot Bamee and Yummy Gyogung (y-novel adaptation).

PitchBank from Golden Blood (AKA Segus & Tenon) will be the side couple in new medical Thai BL Mystique in the Mirror. 

TutorYim (Cutie Pie) have a busy 2023, they’re starring in upcoming micro project Our Winter, possibly for Tik Tok distribution. They also took on JimmyTommy’s lead for Middleman’s Love and will have a cameo in KBL Jun & Jun (filming now). TutorYim will ALSO star in 2023 KBL (yes Korean) First Love's User Manual under A-Plan International’s Silkwood (Peach Of Time). 

In Case You Missed It

Check Out is being made into a movie that nobody asked for. Then again if they cut it down to 2 hours maybe it'll be tolerable? 

Singapore dropped short Summerdaze Christmas Together on YouTube. It’s ADORABLE and prompted me to talk about BL in Singapore and more. Def gave me Ingredients vibes. I really hope their series happens. 

Coffee Melody also gave us the Christmas special no one asked for. It’s basically a reunion romance, but mostly just domesticity. It cute, but dull. 

My Beautiful Man stars Yusei Yagi and Riku Hagiwara won several awards as a pair and individually at WEIBO Festival 2022.

Short Story Project's Coffee Shop (microfilm Youtube series in the same cafe setting with the same main character) ep 3 installment "ESPRESSO" is a BL. It stars BoyTod from Ghost Host, Ghost House and is a reunion romance. It’s quite cute. 

Moments Of Love (SmartJames AKA LeonPhob from Don't Say No) from Foremorfilm Production supposed to air Dec 24 directed by Golf Tanwarin (609 Bedtime Story and The Eclipse). 

I’ve started my end of year wrap ups, trends lists, and BL stats reported. Let me know in a comment if there is any specifically you want to know of have deep feels about.

Next Week Looks Like This:

Still coming:

Dec 28 - H5: Love in the Future from Taiwan (prob Gaga or Viki) - A cheerful and energetic student from 2000 travels to the future (2022), works as a deliveryman, and meets his first customer, an heir with a domineering personality. Directed by Nancy Chen (HIStory 4, Papa & Daddy).

Dec 28 - Midnight series starts on GMMTV’s TY,, one of which is Moonlight Chicken (EarthMix). Trailer. Maybe not really BL, adult issues, messy gays, cheating, soulmates? Mix plays an openly gay character in a relationship with First’s character. Earth portrays a chef who runs a restaurant while taking care of his nephew.

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENTS

Honestly what a great cast and thank you Strongberry for not betraying our trust. It was a predictably weird, but not traumatic ending. 

No shit. 

Tinn caught himself a live one. 

At least he knows it. (My School President) 

(last week)