Tumgik
#hope you guys like this! my style changed somewhat
foursaints · 1 day
Note
i know you get asked this probably 16 times a day but as a fellow artist who usually paints based off of references of real pics and trying to be somewhat realistic. how did you develop your style? did it take awhile, or was it pretty immediate? did you start out doing mediums like painting and drawing and transition to digital or was it always digital? final question: do you have any “tips” or “words of wisdom” for silly people like me who wanna try digital art but never have and because i never have im too scared to try…? sorry for the elephant stampede of questions i just really love your art and would love to know YOUR THOUGHTS AND FEELINGS!!! (please)
hi ♡♡!! this is so kind & honestly i'm incredibly touched... I forget that people even like my silly art so this had me making 🥺 eyes at my phone. i will answer your questions to the best of my abilities!!!
i'm putting it under the cut so i can attach examples lol
DON'T BE SCARED OF THE SWITCH TO DIGITAL!! it's so fun and the undo button will change your life... come take my hand... my biggest tip is to watch speedpaints! that was really huge for me when making the switch. find artists with styles close to yours & pay attention to their steps (how many layers they have, how they do lineart, do they use overlays, etc). if you do this a lot, you can get a clearer sense for how the digital workflow/process can look for you
i feel like kind of a pompous asshole discussing my own "style" or whatever 😭😭 my silly yaoi fanart 😭😭 but i do want to answer your questions!!! i started out drawing traditionally but i transitioned to digital when i was 16. and for a very long time i was one of the people who drew with my finger on my iphone .......i def get the most questions about my style & the unsatisfying answer is that it's pretty much always been there. it's evolved over time in a way i can't really describe so i'll show it visually
(my examples are all my ocs in an attempt to get you guys to be curious about them)
Tumblr media Tumblr media
^ i did a redraw pretty recently so i can put that here!! these are the same characters from Jan 2020 -> March 2024... the first one was drawn on my literal phone lmfao. to me it's almost as though my "style" has always been there, but it's become like... yassified?
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
^ my art looked like this in 2020-2021
Tumblr media Tumblr media
^ and like this in 2018-2019 when i was still doing trad
sorry for responding to your questions with an elephant stampede of images lmfao!!! I APPRECIATE YOU!! i guess my only words of wisdom are that even if it's intimating, you will never look back & regret trying something artistically. looking at my own stuff like this, im the cringiest yaoi artist EVERRR but im still doing it because it's the most fun when you're being self-indulgent.
i really really wish you the best on your art journey! thank you so much for writing & i hope my answers weren't too long-winded ♡♡
21 notes · View notes
the-holy-ghosted · 9 months
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
inspired by this @archivistbot post that would not leave my head until i drew it
247 notes · View notes
aristia-pjoheadcanons · 2 months
Note
Hi🩵 I hope you're having a great day
I was wondering maybe if you could make headcanons about how percy would be like in bed like his favorite positions and things he does to his s/o
THANK YOU IN ADVANCE 🩵
What Percy would be like in bed NSFW warning
check out my masterlist for more NSFW->masterlist
tags: percy jackson
Tumblr media
missionary for starters: so he can see your face and your reactions from above.
talking about above, I think he would also enjoy the foreplay to start things off - placing his lover against the counter or on top of something and get between their legs.
There, he can take off their shirt or his own shirt and do things slowly. In his mind, the bed is where things really start, so he wants to get comfortable as possible.
the idea of pounding and going harder is for very obv. reasons a turn on but he is hesitant to do it because in the moment he gets really close, so hes afraid he'll cum.
he has the habit of not only staring but also looking away shyly when they stare back. Sometimes he will hold the stare until either looks away, he likes to build tension during and even before they start. When his s/o makes noises, his eyes flicker to their face, he thinks its really flattering that they moan because of him.
once after the first time(s) he would be comfortable enough to start using different positions.
He would stick with the classics, missionary, doggy-style (this one really got his heart pounding in his ears he was so turned on he couldn't breathe straight and kept panting).
He likes the idea of grabbing his s/o's leg or ankle and yank them into place, like dragging them toward him so he can get a better angle.
Percy wants to keep quiet, so he ends up scrunching his face ups and cocking his head to the side, biting down and clenching his jaw tight, sometimes even holding his breath slightly.
but as soon as he breathes, a noise always ends up escaping. its like a half-whine but its somewhat high-pitched and doesn't last long (meaning he doesnt let himself drag it out).
the sight of his s/o looking up at him or looking at them from behind makes his hands somewhat clammy and he feels embarassed that he needs to wipe them on the bedsheets.
praise him, dirty talk him (this one takes him by surprise) and he becomes such a love-struck fool willing to do anything to please his lover. He needs to know if he's doing well, otherwise he will spiral and his thoughts will consume him - to the point where he might even run away.
if his s/o takes the initiative he feels flustered but also insecure for a moment: was he not doing it right? mind you, this guy is a virgin and has not done things with anyone, so he can't help but feel insecure. but yet again, convince him and praise him and he is back.
once the sex and the pillow-talk comes, he imagines scenarios for the future: like his s/o straddling his thighs while they're either on the sofa or in his bedroom, his shirt thrown half haphazardly on the floor somewhere, gripping his s/os thighs and he's leanign his head back in pleasure ...
he takes more initiative, not afraid of grabbign your waist or hips during normal day-to-day activities...it becomes such a visible change that his parents are wondering what happened.
Percy becomes more and more confident in himself.
his favourite position is honestly anything really, he isnt picky. but if I had to choose one, I would say the position where his s/o is laying down on their stomach and hes ontop behind them.
he forces eyecontact, that's all I will say.
he frowns if they try to control their voice, he hates it and will grab their hands away. or do it harder just for them to not be able to hold back.
has tan lines dont ask where ...
handsy and grabby but it depends on what position they're doing and the timing, honestly it's pretty random.
whenever he licks his lips its pretty audible, you can just hear it from across the room.
quirks an eyebrow (not to be judgemental) if you say you're too shy, because you're both naked at this point sooooo. but not pushy.
wants to get to know your body: fingering, touching you anywhere, making out.
Im sorry i need to add on that i feel like hes the type of guy rhat would actually enjoy standing sex. Like his partner gripping the kitchen counter or the wall while hes behind. I feel like he loves to get a nice rhythm going and the sound of his balls slapping against them, the obscene wet noises coming from their genitals, the panting and moaning from the both of them, his fingers turning white from gripping their hips (he's trying to hold himself back), his mouth hanging open supressing his voice (he has a bad habit of holding his breath while doing this so when he finally breathes he's panting loudly), him grinding into the person to pause (again, hes about to cum), he wants to keep going for as long as he can, the idea of milking and dragging out an orgasm is his favourite way to do it. And when his partner finally lets out a long moan when they reached their climax, they unfortunately missed how Percy threw his head back and yelled in pleasure too when he came. I swear the walls slightly vibrated when he finished with that moan, his father is the earthshaker after all....
588 notes · View notes
theloveinc · 9 months
Note
any hobie and/or miguel icks? 😟
whoever sent this: thank you + i ADORE you. i hope you don't mind i'm switching up the formatting/style a it in comparison to my older icks... shorter list, more detailed <3
(warning: some fem terms used at the end, such as “mama!”)
-
Miguel O'Hara
- This guy... has some long ass toenails. Type of toenails that poke you at night in bed, and tear holes in his socks.
It's maybe somewhat related to the claw thing he's got going on? Has a lot stronger and faster-growing nails than the average person... but the real problem here is that he's TERRIBLE about clipping them. Claims it doesn't bother him even remotely and that you're the one overreacting when you ask him to... but hardly anything gets through to him about it. You probably even offer to do it for him one day, thinking the offer of a foot massage would sway his thinking and that it'd actually work... but he fought you on that just as easy...!!!
...which is how you came to the conclusion that you have a man who'll even argue w/ you over toenails. Petty boy.
- Miguel is also tired 24/7. AND yeah, it's pretty hard to be un-sympathetic towards that, but he's tired in the... I'm-gonna-prioritize-this-one-last-email-over-saying-goodnight-to-you way. Which gets real irritating when you're asking him to help you out w/ anything, like cleaning up or answering a question or JUST HAVING A DAMN CONVERSATION W/ YOU and he's using "I'm tired" as an excuse when his response is shitty or distracted.
Like one of those stupid guys whose always squinting at their damn iPad when you ask what he wants for dinner... which is ironic given that he'll get snippy at you for not giving him your full, entire attention whenever he wants it. Type of man to start picking imaginary lint off your head when you're simply trying to finish up a text before engaging him so that you aren't distracted.
- Odd about Lyla. Not that he loves her or anything, but she'll like pop up to give him updates about whatever even if you're MID-MAKEOUT session and he won't change that setting. Pulling away from your lips all pouty and squinty only to glare at his watch for thirty seconds before trying to go right back into kissing you.
No. No sir.
(Lyla will also always say something to or-but-usually-and about you, which... Okay, she's an AI and doesn't Get It... but it's still weird because it feels like someone you don't know just walked into the room.)
- Picks his nose when he's too busy to find a tissue, and forgets to sanitize his hands after. Denies this when you tell him.. but you've witnessed this multiple times (he's weirdly kind of whiney for a dude and lazy for a workaholic LOL).
Hobie Brown
- Lovely boyfriend because he doesn't give a crap about your appearance or the idea of needing to "look nice" for a man... but also stupid, nuisance boyfriend because this means he doesn't give one hoot if you try to get all gussied up for him. Nags you about wasting time getting ready because he doesn't need you to do all that instead of just saying "THANK YOU, YOU LOOK NICE." Even probably complains about you feeding into gender stereotypes or w/e when you do something like shave your legs or pluck your eyebrows😭
You try to talk to him about this, ask if he even cares that you tried to look nice, and he skirts around admitting it because he has an argument for everything. "'oughta know I think you're pretty either way"-ass when you just spent an hour trying to look all good for him.
- Tries to share the most obscure music with you... which is like, sweet in concept, but weird when it actually happens since it's never like a generic love song but an eleven minute underground jam session.
Which isn't to say he has bad taste in music, usually it's fine if not fantastic... but you try to tell him you don't want to listen to some dude's first draft of himself banging on a drum set for a full album and he's like: "tsk."
HOBIE. TSK??? FUCKING TSK????????? WHAT ABOUT WHAT OTHER PEOPLE LIKE????????
(He'll also use his to get out of listening to your music. Claiming his "inconsistency" is why he liked your playlist yesterday but not today. Stop!!!)
- And you know I gotta say it, he's a punk, after all: absolutely refuses to clean his favorite leather jacket, and it smells RANK. He's genuinely sentimental about it, though... and if you even try to bring up cleaning it somehow (even if very gently), he's acting like you betrayed him. Goes through the five stages of grief over you asking him not to wear it on one of your dates, and teases you by TALKING to it:
"Mumma didn't mean that, jackie. She just doesn't understand our lifestyle, does she?" while giving you a (lighthearted) stink eye.
1K notes · View notes
lovebugism · 1 year
Note
i am so sorry but reader talking about robin right before making out with eddie is like absolutely the best thing i’ve ever read i’m obsessed i genuinely can’t wait for anything else in that universe that you do
Tumblr media
THE CUSTOMER'S ALWAYS RIGHT | god help the girl
summary: in which you come to terms with the fact that you're hopelessly in love with eddie munson. pairing: virgin!eddie munson x reader word count: 13k warning: phone sex, more discussions of shitty boyfriends, j*son c*rver name drop, talks of unhealthy eating practices, smut 18+ mdni! a/n: this ask has been sitting in my inbox for ages now, but i wanted to save it until robin made an appearance in the series! thank you, anon, for being so sweet! and for the few of you who've been waiting on me to finally post <3 hope you enjoy! xoxo
( PREVIOUSLY ) | ( SERIES MASTERLIST ) | ( NEXT )
Tumblr media
They only met once, but it changed their lives forever. 
That’s what the movie cover reads at least, but the words have long blurred into a jumbled mess at your tunnel vision. John Bender stares you in the face, but all you see is Eddie — boyish and brazen and scowling because he thinks it makes him look intimidating, but nowhere near as cruel as he seems. 
He’s certainly got the hair for it, much longer and curls far wilder than Judd Nelson’s measly set of brushed-back locks. He’s got the terribly animated personality down pat, too; the one that either makes you laugh uncontrollably or squirm in discomfort when it’s pointed your way. And the style’s a pretty fine match also, though you’d argue that no one sports a leather jacket quite like Eddie Munson does.
Wallowing in your boredom at the empty Family Video store on Main Street — where your best friends slave over mundane work with aching backs and a lingering sense of gratefulness that no customer has been in in well over an hour — you find yourself analyzing each character pictured on the front cover of The Breakfast Club.
Robin would surely be Allison, you conclude rather quickly, because their deadpanned glowers are eerily identical. They’ve also got this sort of atypical aura to them, too, like a dark storm cloud or the promise of a long night. But strangely it sparkles — strikes of lightning or a sky full of stars. It draws everyone’s attention to them; even when they’re desperately trying to hide in the very back of a room.
And Steve would be Andrew, not particularly because of his affections for this Allison-Reynolds-Robin-Buckley hybrid you’ve concocted, but because "popular guy with daddy issues" is a trope that fits him far too well. He’s way more likely to get detention for trying to look cool in front of his assholes friends than for anything actually malicious of heart. But that would’ve been years ago now. He’s not that kind of guy anymore. 
He’s soft and sweet — a Brian Johnson sort of soft and sweet, if you will. If Brian wasn’t the brains, but the sweetest dumbass anyone’s ever met.
You realize then, that Jim Hopper would make a mean Richard Vernon. He’s impatient to a fault, almost too stern at times, but never enough to make you genuinely fearful of him. You’ve found that it’s virtually impossible for you to take him seriously when he’s so cartoonishly angry. It’s a match made in heaven, you find, though Jim might take offense to the comparison.
And if Eddie is Bender, then that’d make you the Claire Standish of the bunch.
She’s dreadfully stylish, a bit stuck-up at times, and perhaps a little bit more spoiled than the average person; but it’s not like she ever claimed to be perfect. And you wouldn’t either.
You’ll take more pride in your wardrobe filled with pretty pleated skirts and flouncy dresses than your somewhat glacial disposition. And you might not be drowning in daddy’s money, but you’re certainly spoiled in other ways — if only in the employee discount at Enzo’s that got you wine for cheap and your connections at Family Video that meant free movie nights whenever you wanted.
The bad boy and the princess was a tale as old as time itself. It’s a fairytale you wouldn’t mind living in if it ended how it did in the movies — with a kiss on the cheek and an exchanged diamond earring in the calloused palm of another. A soft pink smile and a celebratory fist in the air.
But you’ve met your fair share of John Bender’s and none of them had been particularly kind to you, let alone had fallen in love with you. 
Maybe that’s because you were no Claire Standish. Never pretty enough, never mousy enough, never pure enough.  You try and dissect why you’ve never been successfully loved, and all the signs point to you, you, you.
You hope Eddie’s different. You need Eddie to be different.
“Something’s wrong with me,” you blurt out of nowhere.
Well, it’s not totally out of the blue for you. You’d been stewing over that thought since you got there — since you left the woods with damp underwear and the scent of you on Eddie’s fingers.
But to Steve and Robin, who’d stayed relatively silent and locked eyes only once after they noticed how abnormally hushed you’d gone, it catches them quite off guard.
Steve lifts his heavy head from where he mans the counter. His tired eyes leave the computerized catalog for the first time in forty minutes, and he has to rub at them with the bottom of his palms to see you properly. Meanwhile, Robin crouches at your side, taking returned tapes from the bin sitting next to her and placing them back upon the shelf you lean against. 
She blinks up at you, deep ocean eyes swimming with apprehension, like she can sense the spiral you’ve just about twisted yourself into.
“What do you mean?” she wonders, ever the supportive best friend, as she plucks Heather’s, Pretty in Pink, and Weird Science from the bin and sets them onto their assigned rows in the Teen Drama section.
“Eddie won’t fuck me.”
Neither of them is particularly stunned by the unabashed nature of your admission.
Not only have they both fucked you at one point or another, but they’re your best friends — no one’s ever going to know you quite the way they do. It leaves little left unsaid between the three of you, with secrets you’ve all sworn to take to your graves. Steve once stuck a finger in his ass to see if he liked it (he did) and Robin sometimes gets off on her childhood teddy bear (rather ironically named Mr. Snuggles). 
So this? This was nothing. Especially in comparison to all the other shit you’ve confessed to them because god knows the whore of Hawkins has a plethora of stories to tell.
Steve is more shocked by the name that leaves your mouth than anything else. “Eddie Munson?” he repeats with furrowed brows, like he had to have heard you wrong.
You bring your chin to your right shoulder to look at him, then nod.
“Eddie… The Freak… Munson?”
You nod again, slower for him this time.
“You wanna fuck… Eddie Munson?” Steve reiterates once more, as though the idea was too appalling to be true. “Eddie Munson — The Freak?”
“Yes, Steve,” you huff in irritation.
His face contorts into a puppy-like confusion. A frown settles between his bushy brows and he cocks his head to the side, nose scrunching and his lip quirking slightly. He couldn’t look more disgusted if he tried.
“…Why?”
You groan and tilt your head back dramatically. “That’s not what’s important here, Steve. The better question is why won’t he fuck me?”
The boy’s lack of any actual assistance doesn’t surprise Robin in the slightest — his dumbfounded gaze and innate confusion are actually pretty on brand. It just puts all the burden on her, to help you wriggle out of the mess you’d tangled yourself into. 
It’s not like she isn’t used to it, though, nor does she mind doing it for you. She walks you through your emotions like a professional, squashing out all the burning orange embers for you before they have the chance to burst into flames.
“Well, what do you mean he won’t fuck you? Like… did he actually say that or does he just wanna, you know, take things slow?”
The latter would’ve been way too easy. Eddie’s always been nice enough to you. It’d make sense for him to want to stay unhurried and gentle with you, but those words weren’t exactly in your vocabulary. 
The first time you were alone with him, you were getting yourself off on his thigh after making him come in his jeans. The next time you saw him, after four days of him clinging to your consciousness, there wasn’t as much small talk so much as there were two of his fingers stuffed knuckle-deep inside of you.
You don’t know Eddie’s birthday, but you know how he likes to be touched — squeezed and not rubbed. You don’t know his middle name or how he likes his eggs in the morning or what his relationship with his mother is like, but he’s already made you come. Twice.
You are completely, utterly, and totally incapable of taking things slow. So it wasn’t that. It couldn’t be. So it had to be the other thing. The very scary, terrifying, boogeyman of a thing.
“I mean, I offered to give him a blowjob and he completely turned me down,” you lament in reply.
Robin and Steve wince. Like, physically wince. Their faces scrunch and their heads flinch from something invisible. Audible ooh’s fall from their mouths without them even realizing it, because you don’t get rejected. Ever. Especially not after offering to pleasure someone without much of anything in return.
They don’t mean to react the way they do. The visible shock that coats their features is involuntary more than it is anything, and it only adds to your fears.
“Exactly!” you exclaim.
“I hate to say it, but I think hell might be freezing over as we speak,” Steve half-jokes.
“Well, he was working, right?” Robin asks with raised brows. “Maybe he was just busy.”
“Sorry, Rob, but no guy’s too busy for a blowjob.”
“Real charming, Stevie.”
“Maybe he just has a small dick,” the boy concludes with a shrug.
“I felt his dick,” you shake your head almost immediately. The feeling of Eddie’s hard cock through his denim jeans, all rough and warm against your palm, hasn’t yet left you. “It’s not small.”
“Well, maybe he can’t get it up—”
“Yeah, that’s not a problem either.”
Eddie was rock hard when you left him, throbbing and aching and obviously needing some kind of relief. That’s partly why you’d been so ardent to return the favor, though the other half of it was purely selfish — you haven’t seen a more beautiful sight than Eddie Munson getting off. To deprive yourself of that masterpiece made you feel like you were starving.
You have a hard time imagining the raging hard-on just… dissipating after you’d left him. That means he probably jerked off in the back of his van and you missed it. And if he came, right after he promised everything was okay, that means he just didn’t want you to do it… right?
Steve seems to be caught in the same inner turmoil you’re currently stuck in; and for good reason. In all the years he’s known you, he can count on one hand how many times he’s had to turn you down. And every time, it was because he’d gotten back together with Nancy. It was never because of you. Not once. And sometimes he felt like it hurt him as much as it did you. 
As far as Steve’s concerned, you’re so out of Eddie Munson’s league that you’re not even in his fucking orbit — so the freak show, turning you down, doesn’t make whole lot of sense to him.
“Huh…”
“It’s me. It’s definitely me,” you conclude with the shake of your head. A bitter, almost hysterical laugh spills from your lips. “He thinks I’m fucking ugly or disgusting or something. It’s totally fucking me—”  
Robin completely abandons her basket of tapes then. She rises to stand in front of you, looking timid as she does so. Her raised brows form wrinkles on her freckled forehead and her blue eyes widen to reveal more of the whites of them. She looks like she’s approaching a wild animal. A bomb that’s about to explode.
“Okay… You’re starting to spiral, alright? So let’s just try and take a few deep breaths—”
You don’t listen to her. 
Actually, you do quite the opposite, as you begin to blurt every fleeting thought that crosses your mind.
“I’ve made out with nearly everyone in this stupid town— I’m pretty sure I’ve fucked almost half— and you’d think Eddie would wanna take advantage of that, the way everyone makes him out to be some sort of freak, right? But he hasn’t and at this rate, he won’t, and I just don’t understand why,” you ramble without taking in a single breath. “Usually being a slut is a huge turn-on for guys, you know? But what if Eddie thinks it’s gross? I mean, it is gross— I’m gross—”
You only stop for air when Robin takes your shoulders in both hands. She looks less apprehensive and more stern, as she forces you to look at her.
“Look. I love you, but you need to get a hold of yourself, alright? I know you’re not used to being told no, and I know how much it sucks, but shit happens. I’m willing to bet all the money I’ve ever seen that whatever is going on with Eddie has nothing to do with you, okay? And if it’s making you this upset, maybe you should just talk to him.”
“But I don’t wanna seem like I’m too eager, that’s gross—”
“Then find someone else to fuck,” she offers with her signature Robin Buckley half-smile. “I’m sure it would take you less than five minutes to find a willing participant.”
“Yeah, right here,” Steve jokes from the counter with the pathetic wave of his hand and a dumb grin on his lips. 
You don’t hear him over the voices in your head — half calling you crazy for letting a boy drive you this mad over nothing, and the other half bitterly affirming each of your deep-rooted insecurities.
Your face screws up, like the thought of being with anyone other than Eddie upsets you — it does upset you.
“I don’t want anyone else.”
“Then what do you want?” Robin yells in your face, shaking you by your shoulders.
“I want Eddie!” you shout back without thinking. The words seem to spill out of nowhere. It takes you of all people by surprise. No one in this rat trap town would ever expect the whore of Hawkins to want to settle down, least of all the harlot herself. It’s strange; it’s riveting; it’s really fucking scary. “…Fuck.”
The brunette smirks, proud of herself. “Well. There’s your answer.”
“I hate when you’re right,” you mumble to yourself, pouting as she crouches back down again.
“I know.”
It was a terrifying thought, to know that you were head over heels for someone else. You try to come to terms with what that means. 
Sometimes you think you fall in love with a new person every day. A cute guy holds the door open for you, a pretty girl compliments your outfit — they never think about you again, but they’re on your mind for days. It was so easy to develop such meaningless infatuations, especially when you were bored.
But Eddie was different.
He was a nice guy. A nice guy that was sweet to you just for the sake of being sweet to you; not because he secretly wanted something in return. That made you fall for him at first, but then you just… kept on falling. Eddie Munson was an infinite void you couldn’t crawl your way out of even if you wanted to, even if you tried.
And that’s what frightened you the most.
Because if you really thought about it, you’ve only truly been in love a handful of times. And, sure, it didn’t work out — that was normal — but some of them fucking ruined you. 
You’re still trying to figure out who you are without all of the people that have broken your heart. You’re still fighting like hell every day to recognize the person you see in the mirror, while Billy Hargrove fucks off with a new girl every other week like he didn’t totally destroy you.
But, even still, Eddie was completely different. No one’s ever made you feel the way he makes you feel. And it’s more than the stupid heavy petting — it’s more than anything. It’s never been like this before; not even with the blonde mulleted asshole who ripped your heart to shreds. 
And you’re scared that if you get hurt again, you’ll never be able to come back from it.
“Steve, do you have another copy of Fast Times in the back?” you suddenly ask the boy, tossing him a look over your shoulder.
It’s your last ditch effort to rid yourself of the ponderous, gray doom and gloom surrounding you like some storm cloud. Your comfort movie solves all of your problems — or, at the very least, Phoebe Cates does — but it seems everyone else in town has developed a similar fondness for minute fifty-three of the film and got all the tapes off the shelf before you could get your hands on one.
“You know I keep on in stock for you,” he answers quietly.
He reaches below the counter to pull out a spare copy for you, and your heart swells with the rays of a thousand rising suns and the songs of every morning bird.
Steve told you some time ago that he could change. And back then, all it did was piss you off, because he didn’t want to change for the town slut — for the girl he put through the goddamn ringer. He wanted to change for Nancy. The princess bruised his brittle ego a little, and then he realized what an asshole he’d been to everyone, to you.
But as angry as it made you, you never believed him. “Once the King of Hawkins High, always the King of Hawkins High,” you remarked bitterly.
You wouldn’t say it to his face, for the sake of keeping his ego from inflating all over again, but you could tell he was really changing.
He was kinder, he was softer. He stopped caring about what everyone thought about him, about what not caring would do to his reputation, and started giving a fuck about the people worth giving a fuck about. 
Apparently, you were one of them.
“…Really?”
He nods with a subtle shrug. Like it was no big deal. Like it wasn’t one of the sweetest things he’d ever done for you — keeping your favorite movie on hand so you’ll always have a spare, knowing that it’s the only thing that gets you out of a deep, dark funk sometimes.
“Stevie… You’re gonna make me blush,” you lilt with a grin as you saunter over to him, hands innocently laced behind your back. “You need to be careful, Harrington. I’m gonna start to think you actually like me.”
He scoffs. “I do like you.”
“Yeah, when it’s convenient.”
It’s obvious your joke hits him where it hurts. It serves as a bitter reminder of the asshole he used to be, the douchebag he’s trying like hell to grow out of. He looks up at you with a sheepish, honey-tinted gaze before ducking away again.
A year or more ago it would’ve made you feel good, to know that you hurt him just a fraction of the way he hurt you. But you know that that isn’t the same man standing in front of you now, that he’d rather die than make hurt your feelings, and it makes you feel like shit for saying it in the first place. 
“Sorry,” you apologize with a scrunched nose. The palms of your hands dig into the edges of the counter as you lean against it. Your shrug. “It just kinda came out…”
The barcode scanner in his hand beeps as he passes the thing over the back of the tape — never charging you, just getting the movie out of the database.
“So, uh…” he starts before clearing his throat. He focuses his gaze on the computer and types on the bulky keyboard with the tip of his pointer finger. “You really like this Eddie guy, huh?”
“Maybe. I think so.”
“And he’s not, like… a total freak or anything?”
You can’t tell if he’s trying to look out for you or if he just wants intel on what it’s like trying (and failing) to bang the local weirdo. Either way, it makes a smile tug slow at your lips as you joke: “Not in the way everyone thinks.”
“Jesus,” he winces at the obscenity of your words.
“Sorry,” you apologize again, though the laugh that bubbles from your lips after cancels out any hint of actual sincerity. “You don’t need to give me the talk or anything, Steve. I can take care of myself.”
“…Can you?” he half-jokes.
It makes you falter. “Well… With you and Robin and Hopper constantly on my ass, then yeah.”
“Just don’t want you to get hurt,” Steve finally admits, soft and suddenly shy as he hands the VHS over to you.
“That’s rich coming from you—”
He jerks back the tape before you can take it from him, leaving your hand reaching for thin air. His cinnamon eyes glimmer with a foreign seriousness, not completely unkind, but lacking their usual blithe. “That’s why I’m saying it. I just… I want you to be okay.”
Steve is one of the rare ones, you conclude right then in there — in the liminal emptiness of Family Video, beneath fluorescent lights that cast sharp shadows upon his already chiseled features. He was a mythical creature of a man, one who breaks your heart and does everything in his power to mend it again.
He hasn’t forgotten about what he did to you, not like Billy did, and he won’t. Not ever. He saw what he did to you and he never moved on from it, just matured enough to make sure it never happened again. And he won’t let another unworthy douchebag hurt you like he did. Not if he can help it, at least.
And he did try to warn you about Hargrove, to be fair. You were just the dumbass that didn’t listen.
“Well, me and my Phoebe Cates wet dream are golden, Pony Boy,” you promise. He hands you the tape again and lets you snatch it from his grip this time. “Don’t worry your pretty little head, Stevie.”
Tumblr media
Steve Harrington was right. 
The fleeting thought flashes across your mind for half a second, and you quickly realize that those words have never been uttered in the same sentence before now. But he wasn’t wrong in what he’d said about you, just before you left — you were completely, totally, absolutely, and implicitly unable to take care of yourself.
You nearly passed out in the bathroom after taking the hottest shower of your life, feeling too woozy to slap on anything other than moisturizer because you failed to remember to actually eat something that day. It wasn’t totally your fault, though; if anything, it was because of Eddie and all the butterflies he’d given you that made food the very last thing on your mind.
You half-heartedly dry yourself off, keeping your hair in a towel, while you slip on a cotton set of underwear you’ve had for way longer than what's likely acceptable. Damp and half-naked, you prance into the kitchen to fix Bowie her bowl of dinner before you feed yourself.
You fork a can of wet food onto a flower-shaped plate and let her eat on the counter — because you’re an adult now, and you can do that sort of thing.
The calico purrs while she feasts, but your stomach thunders with negligence. You peek into your mostly bare refrigerator and make a mental note to go grocery shopping when you get paid next week. 
With a lack of food and an even lesser will to cook something, you settle for the half-eaten chocolate bar you keep stashed in the very back of the fridge; kept only for the most special of occasions — when you’re reveling in your loneliness and trying to convince yourself that you can make it on your own.
It was practically the size of your forearm when you first bought the thing at some too expensive candy store in the city. Now it’s no bigger than your hand.
You eat the thing in bed, even though you know you’ll get crumbs everywhere and that it’ll make sleep agonizing for you — if you get any, that is. You’re bound to feel like a total zombie by the time the sun rises and the late-night sweet will likely make its appearance on your skin by then, in a red and raging blemish of a consequence.
You’ll feel empty and starved and surly, a snapping grouch instead of an actual person, until you get some actual food in your system.
And you’re more than aware of all of these things, but you don’t do a single damn thing about them.
You’re nothing but a sulking lump upon an unmade bed, lying in a pitch-black darkness that’s evaded only by the static-y television across your room, trying your best to pretend like you aren’t waiting for Eddie’s phone call. It’s hard to remember to forget him, though, when the movie you’re watching is practically a feature film of him and all the ways he makes you feel.
Spicoli and his terribly inebriated friends slur as they chorus “No shoes, no shirt, no diiiice” and you swear you can feel Eddie’s shoulder bump softly against yours as he laughs, hear every sound of his melodic chuckle in your ear that made you giggle right along with him. The low bass of Moving in Stereo plays in the otherwise empty silence of your bedroom, and every beat feels like the rhythm of your thrusts against his thigh.
Eddie Munson is all-consuming.
Even the thought of him feels physical.
Phoebe Cates all but undresses herself in front of you, but you’re stuck thinking about some guy who lives in a trailer park across town, deals drugs for a living, and can’t graduate high school. You’re a total fucking goner.
Your eyes flutter shut, and instead of the backs of your eyelids, you see Eddie’s trailer. Your lips start to tingle as they kiss his for the first time — hungry, yearning, needing. His thigh is pressed snugly into your cunt, denim jeans rough against your soft cotton panties, and you have to bite back a moan when he tenses every time you squeeze his hard, covered cock.
You can feel it, all of him, like he were here with you now. 
You wish that he were.
His fingers would feel far better, leave far more sparks of electricity in your belly, than the ones as you sneak through the hem of your underwear.
You try and take things slow with yourself, to be as gentle as he had been with you earlier in the woods, but it feels strange to treat yourself with so much tenderness. To touch your pussy like it’s the first time it’s ever been touched. Like it’s a beautiful thing you need to be sweet to.
Maybe you find it so foreign to be careful with yourself because no one has ever been careful with you.
No one, except for Eddie.
Your touch doesn’t rival his. It doesn’t even come close.
No matter how tightly you squeeze your eyes shut or how hard you try to pretend that they’re his fingers inside of you, you can’t make yourself feel as good as he did.
Your fingers aren’t as rough as his guitar-string-scarred ones and they don’t caress your clit with the same methodical care. They don’t fill you quite the same either, nowhere near as satisfying as his much thicker ones.
And you’re no stranger to masturbation, not by any means. Sometimes it’s the only way you can guarantee an orgasm for yourself when you’ve got a partner who cares so little about your own pleasure. But Eddie was different. Eddie cared — so much so, that he’s gotten more orgasms out of you than you’ve gotten from him, which is something you’ve never said about anyone else you’ve been with.
It’s rare and unfamiliar, a bouquet of all things refreshing and terrifying and strange, tied together with a pretty little ribbon.
You know that you can make yourself come. It’ll just take way too long to actually be worthwhile and won’t be nearly as mind-blowing as you need it to be. You won’t be left with trembling thighs and nearly numb legs — just a pitiful excuse for an orgasm that you could get from any one of your exes with half as much work.
What you need is Eddie. 
And you hate that. You hate how much you need him and you’re terrified of what that means.
As far as precedent goes, right when you start needing someone is usually when they start to leave. It’s like fucking clockwork most of the time — like everyone knows that you’re a ticking time bomb and eventually it gets too risky to stand too close to you. 
You’ll just have to keep Eddie at arm's distance. So he won’t see the grenade that you are.
You pull your fingers out of your wanting cunt, still slick and throbbing with a need that you can’t give it, when the phone rings.
The high-pitched shrill in the quiet makes you tense like it’s the first time you’ve ever heard the damn thing. Your breath catches in your throat, first out of fright and then at the inclination of who waits for you on the other line.
Suddenly, you’re scrambling to collect yourself. As though there was any possibility that Eddie might be able to see you through the phone line.
You wipe your wet fingers haphazardly on the cotton of your underwear and sit up straighter from your ungracefully lazed position. Then you count to five — one mississippi… two mississippi… three — so Eddie won’t think you’re some kind of crazy person who doesn’t have anything better to do than wait for his call. 
So he won’t know that’s exactly what you are.
You lift the ruby red rotary from its hook at your bedside table and stretch the corkscrew cord to press it to your ear. “…Hello?”
“Yeah, hi. I’d like to order a pizza. Half pepperoni, half hawaiian.”
You roll your eyes at his dumb joke, even though the familiarity of his voice makes you smile. It warms you like a home-cooked meal, like you were high-pitched and starving before and now you’re on the soothing comedown of finally being satiated.
“Yeah, sorry, we’re closed.”
“Then why’d you pick up the phone, huh?” he teases back. You swear you can hear the grin in his voice. You didn’t know a smile could be so audible. It makes you wonder if he can hear yours — if you’re doing a real shit job at pretending. You anxiously twirl the cord with the pointer finger of your free hand.
“Because I’ve been waiting for you to call me all night, dummy.” 
Your answer is more honest than either of you were expecting. 
Eddie’s sigh crackles through the shoddy reception. “Yeah. Sorry ‘bout that, sweetheart. I’ve been working all night. I only got home, like, five minutes ago.”
You can hear the heavy exhaustion in his voice. “Rough day?”
“Kinda,” he answers with a shrug. You can hear the grating squeak of his mattress as he plops down onto his bed. “I dealt to one of Jason’s goons today… They always give me a hard time.”
“I’m sorry,” is all you can think to answer. 
Eddie’s been the brunt of every joke since seventh grade — people made fun of too big clothes, his too wild hair, his too loud music. But he took it all in stride, laughing with everyone else before volleying a harsher joke back in response. You almost started to think that he liked it. That, somewhere deep down, he was fond of all the attention he got from people who supposedly couldn’t stand him.
But it hurts to know that it hurts him.
“Don’t apologize. It’s not like you did anything,” he assures with a soft laugh. He makes the bold decision to be honest then, too. “You, uh… You made my day a whole lot better, actually.”
You don’t know if he’s talking about the brief fling in the woods or the phone call you’re sharing now or if you particularly care either way. Your heart flutters like it’s been kissed by the wings of a butterfly.
“Really?”
“Yeah. I mean… I don’t know— I couldn’t stop thinking about you, you know. And, knowing that I was gonna get to talk to you again kinda got me through the day, I guess… And, yes, I am fully aware of how lame that sounds, but—”
You don’t get to hear the rest of his excuse, of why what he just told you totally isn’t lame, because you’re covering the receiver with your palm and turning to squeal into your pillow. A far more pathetic sight, in your humble opinion.
There hasn’t been a more fulfilling feeling than this one, to know that he’s been feeling the same way you’ve been feeling about him this whole time. It’s better than all the orgasms he could give you combined, to be loved so wholly.
“…You okay?” you hear his muffled voice ask after you’ve gone suddenly AWOL.
You press the phone back to your ear and nod like he can see you. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good. The phone… fell— you said you just got home?”
“Uh, yeah. I met with Hellfire for a bit at school. We’re almost at the end of the Cult of Vecna, so they’re kinda on my ass about it. The little shits are obsessed.”
“Well, they should be. It’s a really good campaign, Eds.”
“Thanks to you,” he mutters. You can almost picture the glimmer in his button eyes and the shaky half-smirk he always looks at you with when he gets all shy.
“That was all you, Eddie Spaghetti,” you retort. “I still have no idea how you did it.”
“Did what?” he wonders, chuckling a bit at the nickname.
“Make something so beautiful out of thin air.”
Lying in the depths of his bedroom, blanketed by the darkness and bathing in streams of moonlight, Eddie feels his breath catch in his throat. 
For the first time in his life, he doesn’t have a joke to spew out on the spot. He’s speechless, just for a moment, a quick blink of a second, with nothing to say. Because, if he really thinks about it, that’s sort of what happened with you.
You were just his customer and he was just your dealer.
You were a loyal client and then a girl way out of his league that he developed a too big a crush on. Then you made him come in his underwear and washed the sticky stains out of the denim for him. Now you’re on the phone with him. You let him tell you all about his shitty day and apologize like you weren’t the only good thing about it — like you aren’t the only good thing, period.
It’s not the most cliche love story, nor is it the most beautiful, but it has his cynical little heart beating like the wings of a hummingbird.
Then, when all the mushy mess fades like fog, he finally thinks of something to say.
“It’s the witchcraft, sweetheart,” he shrugs to himself. “Didn’t you hear? I’m a devil-worshipping freak.”
“You know that’s not it, Eds,” you retort with the roll of your eyes.
You know that it’s hard, to be a metalhead from the wrong side of the tracks in the eighties — at the height of the Satanic Panic and all the delusional craze. That shit’s followed him since freshman year. Even still, it nips at his ankles like rabid dogs.
Maybe you were never naive or bored enough to believe all the rumors, but Eddie Munson was always more than that to you.
“No?”
“You can blame it on being a freak show all you want, but I know it’s because you’re one of the funniest, smartest, most creative guys I’ve ever met—”
“You must not know a ton of guys then, sweetheart,” he interjects playfully, like he couldn’t stand to hear you compliment him any longer. You’d give anything to see his blushing cheeks just now.
“…You’re kidding right?” you giggle in response.
“Sorry— that’s— I didn’t mean it like— It was— I was joking,” he stammers, frightened that he might’ve offended you in some way. 
It only makes you laugh harder. Both of you know you lost count of all the guys you ‘know’ a long, long time ago. You do imagine it’s somewhere near ‘a ton’, though.
“I know, Eds,” you assure with a contented sigh. “I was just teasing.”
“Oh.”
“The slut and the freak… Who would’ve thought?” you wonder all dreamily, like it’s a fairytale as old as time itself. That’s what it feels like, sometimes.
Eddie isn’t sure what you mean — who would’ve thought you’d be friends? Two people caught in that in-between stage of platonic and romance that’s complete agony and total, total bliss? A couple of kids falling in love—
“It’s sort of kismet, huh?” he answers.
“I think so.”
“So, uh… What are you up to?” Eddie wonders then, equal parts curious and eager to keep the discussion going. He’s frightened any lapse in conversation is going to lead to saying goodbye. 
He wants to stay on for hours, until both of you are fighting to stay awake, and then listen to the sound of your heavy breathing when you inevitably lose — like that isn’t the creepiest thing anyone’s ever wanted. He’ll fight Wayne about the bill if it comes to that, he doesn’t care, he just never wants to stop being this close to you.
“Do you want the real answer or the fake one?”
“Uh… Both?”
“Well, I’d say I was doing something super productive with my night, you know, catching up on all the boring adult shit, but then I’d be lying. And I don’t wanna lie to you, Eds,” you tell him with a teasing lilt playing at the edge of your voice.
Eddie swallows thickly, fearing he’d somehow been caught in his own lie — or rather, his half-truth. He moves on quickly, though not exactly full of grace. “Right. Yeah. Totally.”
“Honest answer is, that the only productive thing I’ve done tonight is shower, and now I’m in bed watching Fast Times and eating all the chocolate in my house, because I can’t cook for shit and I have nothing else better to do with my night,” you admit to him, picking at the thread of your comforter.
“Oh, don’t tell me I missed the ‘Moving in Stereo’ bit,” he agonizes.
“Just.”
“Well, correct me if I’m wrong, sweetheart, but it sounds like you’re having loads of fun tonight.”
“I’m having a lot more fun now,” you assure him.
“Glad I can be around to make you laugh,” he retorts like he’s not all too happy to do it.
“You’re a total comedian, Eddie Spaghetti.”
“If I’m the jester, you’re the queen, sweetheart,” he promises, a grin evident in his voice.
Your breath catches in your throat something fierce; you’re almost worried that he’s heard it. His words pierce your heart, a stroke of lightning or a blade of steel. He’s joking, but it’s so strangely profound, the kindest thing anyone’s ever said to you and it’s dripping in sarcasm. 
It’s sort of Eddie’s love language, you’ve come to understand, to say something so sweet but coated in venom to make it sour again. It makes you feel special, loved, almost.
A fire builds behind your rib cage, sharp and distant and all-consuming.
“Are you alone, Eds?” you ask him suddenly.
The sudden curve ball in the conversation takes him by surprise. “Uh, yeah, Wayne’s at work right now… Why?”
“Because I want you to talk to me…”
“Oh?” is all he can say because isn’t that what he’s been doing this whole time?
“And I want you to say things that… maybe other people shouldn’t hear,” you explain slowly to him.
“…Oh.”
He’s heard about this only once before, the whole phone sex thing. 
It was from Andy in the back of Ms. O’Donnell’s class a year or more ago, though Eddie never called him by that name. Andy, in all actuality, was Jason Carver’s right-hand man, and he meant that in every sense of the phrase. Eddie was more than convinced that the guy was so obsessed with the blonde haired, blue eyed douchebag that he was giving him handjobs on the regular.
But it seemed the dick brigade couldn’t function properly without their leader and Eddie had the misfortune of hearing all the mindless bullshit they were spewing behind him — basketball, parties, girls; in true white bread fashion.
His friends gathered around him like he was telling some sort of secret, though it was loud enough for anyone in a three foot radius to hear. Eddie, caught directly in the line of fire, heard all about Chrissy’s older sister, Wendy, who was two years older and off at college. 
He’d gotten her number from some party he’d crashed. At least that’s how he told it, right before telling everyone that she swore like a sailor when she came and that she told him all the dirty things she wanted to do to him while she did.
“It was like her hand was on my dick, dude, I’m serious. That shit was crazy, bro,” he’d laughed after retelling the whole conversation in excruciating detail.
Eddie rolled his eyes to himself then, inwardly jealous that he’d never get to meet Wendy — or any other girl that would be willing to have phone sex with him, for that matter. His phone only ever rang for telemarketers or a rogue Dustin Henderson calling to annoy him.
But, here you are now, the most wanted girl in Hawkins, offering it to him on a silver platter. He wonders if you’ve done this before, surely you have — oh god, he thinks to himself, what if you’ve done this with Andy?
“We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” you assure him after his unusually long silence. “I know you’re probably busy and tired and everything—”
“No! No, yeah, I— I want to. I totally want to.”
“Okay,” you nod. Petals of a flower begin to bloom in your chest as you lie back in bed, settling further into the mattress. The movie, already long forgotten, serves only as light and background noise. “So… What are you wearing, Eds?”
“I feel like I should be asking you that,” he laughs. 
On the other side of Hawkins, in a trailer in the middle of nowhere, Eddie rises from where he’d originally flopped back onto his bed with the notion that it was going to be a semi-normal night. He props himself against his headboard. His fingers twitch at his thigh.
“Beat ya to it, Munson.”
“Well, I’ll have you know that it is very sexy, sweetheart. I’m wearing the same Hellfire shirt you saw me in, I don’t know, five hours ago — except now it’s got a rip in it because I totally ate ass on the way back to the van.”
He tells you this to make you laugh — it works — but he prays you don’t ask any questions. Because he got it while hurrying back to his van mere minutes after you’d left him, so hard he thought he was going to burst, with no more than seven minutes until his next client arrived.
 Thankfully, he only needed three.
“I love that shirt,” you respond in place of saying what you really want to — ‘I love how that shirt looks on you’ — how it clings to his lean torso and reveals his midriff whenever he stretches his arms over his head.
“She’s a lit-tle worse for wear now, sweetheart,” he lilts.
“I’ll stitch it up for you.”
“And I’ve got on a pair of boxers that are so old they’re practically see through because I’m pretty sure they used to be Wayne’s back in… I don’t know… the eighteen-hundreds.”
Eddie was right. It was sexy, though, for the exact reason they weren’t supposed to be. 
There was something so domestic about it all. You can picture him lying in his bed, in the most comfortable clothes he owns, in the one place he can feel at peace. Like a renaissance painting, something familiar and comforting and beautiful — fuck, you’d give anything to be next to him.
“…I think that means it’s your turn now, sweetheart,” he teases.
“Is it?” you mock in return.
“C’mon. Don’t leave me hangin’ over here.”
“It’s nothing, special,” you assure. Your eye flits down to peer at your own body — nothing special, indeed, you think to yourself. The lilac cotton set came from the grocery store downtown on the clearance rack you so often frequent. “I just have my underwear on. It’s very boring, I’m afraid.”
It’s not boring. Not to Eddie — the boy who prides himself on his insanely active imagination. He might not be able to pass english with his brain, but he can certainly create worlds with it, and it’s too easy for him to picture you. He imagines you, freshly showered, and smelling of the warm lavender-vanilla scent you always smell like, mostly bare and lazing upon a fluffy comforter.
He swallows thickly. “Oh, that’s— that’s really, uh— that’s really sexy.”
His thankful that you don’t seem to mind his poor excuse for dirty talk.
“It’s only because I was too lazy to get into actual pajamas.”
“I’m glad you didn’t.”
“Yeah?” you press, smiling to yourself and caging your bottom lip between your teeth.
“Yeah.”
“Can I tell you a secret, Eds?” you wonder, made brave enough by his own admission.
“‘Course you can.”
“Before you called…”
“…Uh-huh?” he eggs on, intrigued at the way you trailed off, sounding suddenly shy.
“I was…” The thought of telling him what you were doing mere seconds before he called makes you nervous. It wasn’t like you were ashamed of touching yourself or anything, nor is the art of dirty talking lost on you, but something about Eddie makes you timid.
“You were… what, sweetheart?” he wonders gently, with a too audible grin.
“I was touching myself.”
That’s all you tell him. The words linger and hang in the air of your separate bedrooms and you cling to the silence — almost mortified and anticipating his reply. Eddie, meanwhile, feels like his tongue has swelled in his mouth and all the air has been punched out of his lungs.
“Oh...” he tries to respond without the breath to accurately do so. “…Yeah?”
“You know what Phoebe Cates does to me,” you try to joke.
His laughter crackles through the receiver. “Yeah. I kinda have her to thank for the other night, don’t I?”
“Give yourself some credit, Eds. The hottest guy in Hawkins was sitting right next to me, what was I supposed to do?”
“No way you think I’m the hottest guy in town,” he scoffs. “Everyone knows you’ve got a thing for pretty boys.”
“Pretty boys?” you echo with a giggle.
“Uh-huh. The Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington type, you know?”
“Well, I think you’re a hundred times prettier than he is.”
“Really?” he scoffs cynically, obviously not believing you.
“He wasn’t the one I was thinking about with my hand shoved down my panties,” you admit, immediately quelling his self-doubt. “That’s gotta count for something, right?”
Eddie clears his throat and then stammers, “I— I guess so— yeah.”
“Are you hard, Eds?” you ask in a breathy whisper.
And he just nods to himself at first, too stupid to answer audibly. He can feel himself stiffening in his boxers, only halfway hard now, but getting firmer by the second. Soon, he’ll be aching. 
“Yeah…”
“Can you touch yourself for me?”
Eddie would rather take a bullet to the chest than say no to you — at least, he figures that’d probably hurt less — so he slips his fidgeting fingers through the band of his boxers and takes his warm, stiffening cock in his hand. He squeezes himself just enough to make his stomach tighten.
“Want you to touch yourself, too,” he admits, neither asking or demanding it, just telling you.
“Yeah?” you tease.
“Well, I think it’s only fair, sweetheart.”
You can’t help but notice how breathy he’s gotten — how it shakes on the inhale and hitches on the out. He’s got his hand shoved down his underwear and you’re jealous of the fingers that get to wrap themselves around his cock. You wish they were yours. Both of you will have to settle, it seems.
“Whatever you want, Eds,” you answer playfully. 
You obediently slide your hand back into the warmth of your panties. Your fingers slot between your lips and collect the slick that had gathered there since before you’d even answered the phone. You bring it up to your clit, circling the pads of your fingers there until you twitch, then dragging them down to press into your opening. They slip in with ease. 
Both of you have turned into lovesick idiots, separated by so many miles, and missing the other most ardently. Lying in the depths of your bedrooms, basking in a velvet loneliness, building with a mutual pleasure with nothing but yearning hands and longing sighs.
Eddie’s eyes flutter shut at the sounds of your low moans and fragile whimpers that crackle through the static — beautiful still, but certainly no match to the ones you were breathing in his ear just hours ago. 
His lashes dance across his cheeks as he tries to remember how you’d felt against his fingers, soft like velvet and delicate like silk, weeping and pulsating with need. 
He drags his hand from his boxers and lets the band snap against his pelvis. He spits into his palm and wets his cock with it, sighing as he tugs at himself without much friction.
“Are you wet, sweetheart?” he asks, though the words threaten to get stuck in his throat.
“Yeah,” you whisper back like it’s some kind of secret. 
You work yourself open with your middle finger and slip your pointer in next to it without much trouble. Your walls flutter around them while you fight to find the spot the makes you keen. You’re only able to tease it, fingers not quite long enough to caress it completely. Your thumb keeps working at your clit, though, to make up for the lost pleasure. 
“I’ve been wet since I left you,” you admit through labored breaths. “Haven’t been able to… to stop thinking about you, Eds.”
“Glad I’m not the only one whipped over here, sweetheart,” he manages a laugh.
“No one’s ever made me come that hard before. Not just with their fingers,” you tell him mindlessly, dumb on pleasure, as you feel yourself climbing that peak.
“Really?”
“Never,” you promise, then whine. “Doesn’t even feel as good now… Can’t get as deep as you can—”
Eddie hangs on your every word as he works his palm up and down his stiff cock, squeezing at the base and swiping his thumb over the head with an expert hand. His face scrunches as his stomach starts to tighten, he’s close to coming — too close for his liking. He doesn’t want this to be over so quickly.
“You’ve ruined every other guy for me, Eddie Munson,” you confess, more than pleased to hear how it makes him whine. It sounds like it comes from the depths of his chest, the way it crackles low and needy through the receiver.
“Good,” he grumbles through his pants after he’s gathered himself all over again. “Don’t want anyone else to have you, sweetheart.”
This time you’re the one letting out the most pathetic of whines. It makes a smile flicker at the corners of his lips.
“You like that?”
It sounds so dirty, but you can tell by the sincerity of his tone that it’s genuine. So you answer with a longing truthfulness, a delicate “yes”entwined with a yearning moan.
“You just wanna belong to me, don’t ya?” 
Now, this is dirty talk. The teasing lilt of his tone — it’s almost degrading —  and makes you clench around your fingers. “Yes, please,” you whine, all but pleading for him now.
Eddie’s close, so dreadfully close, with a pleasure so tangible he could taste it. Your words make his cock twitch in his hold as the fire builds in his belly. 
Through your whole-hearted promises and wanting moans, he can hear the sound of your slick through the receiver. The static reception doesn’t do it justice, but the wet click of your fingers working you open was unmistakable.
A moan grumbles in his throat as he digs the crown of his head back into his pillow. “Holy fuck— I can hear you, baby.”
“I’m so wet for you, Eds,” you tell him through fragile slurs, like it wasn’t inherently obvious. 
You were wrong before, about wanting to hide from him. You couldn’t conceal your need for Eddie if you tried. The honey you drip, all sweet and just for him, wouldn’t let you keep it a secret.
“I know, baby, I know,” he nearly coos. “Are you— fuck, please tell me you’re close?”
“Yes,” you promise in a whine. Your thumb presses harder into your clit. It makes your thighs tense until they’re shaking.
“You rubbing your clit for me, sweetheart?” he asks like he knows. “I know that’s what you like.”
You whimper, working at the spongy spot within you as your hips buck off the bed. “Yeah.”
“Keep rubbing yourself like that for me, okay? Want you to keep going until you come for me.”
If he keeps talking to you like that, it’ll come a lot quicker than he’s prepared for. 
It’s too soft to be much of a demand, but you listen obediently anyway, rubbing at yourself though your sensitivity keeps building. It grows like a morning tide, rising and flowing like white waves on an ocean, stirring something fierce in the depths of your stomach.
“Eddie,” you sigh out his name, broken through staggered pants.
You hear his stuttering breaths, too. “Y—Yeah?”
“I’m about to come,” you promise through a whine when the familiar crescendo sends a shock through your body.
“O… Okay,” he responds, pathetically, then whines, even more so.
“Want you to come with me… Please…”
“Fuck— okay. Shit, sweetheart, I’m almost there.”
“What are you thinking about?” you ask him.
“Your pussy,” he answers without thinking — he’s not doing a whole lot of that anymore. “Wish I’d gotten to taste you earlier. Wanna feel you… fuck… Wanna feel you come on my tongue.”
“Holy shit, Eds,” you moan at his words, at the vivid picture they paint in your head.
“And you get so… God, you get so fucking wet. Just want you to drench me, baby.”
It feels good, to be complimented for something boys used to make fun of you for, to realize for the first time that’s it’s sexy — that you’re sexy — and that Eddie is more than happy to drown in you. The feeling almost rivals the impending orgasm that’s bound to hit you like a tidal wave.
“I’m thinking about how I coulda took you on that bench… Just, fucking, get on my knees for you. Shove my head between your legs. Hold your— shit, baby— hold your thighs open, keep you exactly where I want you,” he rambles but then cuts himself off to moan at his own words. “Goddamn, sweetheart. Wanna taste you so fucking bad.”
The moan you let out is pitiful. It leaves your mouth in the most delicate cry. 
No picture has ever been clearer than the one of Eddie between your thighs, your hands knotted in his hair to move him to exactly where you need him most and forcing him there. You can feel his fingers digging into your hips, his rings pressed against your burning skin, and the way your legs tremble on either side of his head.
“Yeah. Keep— Keep doing that. Keep moaning for me,” Eddie tells you. “I’m about to… holy fuck, I’m about to come.”
“Wanna feel your tongue in me so bad, Eds,” you whimper, egged on by the moan he lets out. “Want your cock even more.”
That’s what does him in, the assurance — the promise — that you want him just as bad as he wants you. 
He tightens his fist around his cock, achingly hard and raging a crimson at the tip, trying to imitate the way you’d feel around him. It’s not all that close, not nearly as wet as the honey you’d be dripping for him, but his imagination does the rest of the work for him. 
All at once, you’re on top of him, riding him for all he’s worth, your pussy threatening to swallow him whole. You’ve drenched him, just like he’d begged for, and that wet schlick noise still echoing from the receiver is the evidence of each of your assured thrusts over top of him. 
You’re still pleading for him anyway — for more, for his tongue, for his cock — and he wants so desperately to give everything to you.
“Oh god, baby—” he sputters. He grips the phone in a white-knuckled, fist trembling. “Oh, fuck, I’m coming, baby.”
“Please, Eddie. Please come for me,” you plead over the low sounds of the forgotten film playing across the room and all the dirty wet sounds your pussy makes against your fingers. You sound like you need it, like you want his orgasm more than your own.
“Want you to come with me… Can you— Can you do that for me, sweetheart? Please?” It’s not dirty talk anymore. He’s actually fucking begging you and doesn’t feel the least bit ashamed to do so. 
He wants to hear all the pretty noises you make when you come — that initial cry that stems from the depths of your soul, the high-pitched whimpers that come when the sensitivity builds, and the whines that leave you when it ebbs.
He wants to hear it over and over and over again, like a worn cassette, and play it until the tape spins out.
“Yes…” you promise through a set of stuttering breaths.
There’s no talking when either of you come. Eddie’s long forgotten to talk you through it, but you would barely hear him if he had. The phone slips out of your hand when your grip slackens and it falls to the pillow beside your head.
You chase your orgasm full throttle, working through the crescendo and the strikes of lightning, focusing only on his muffled moaning and the pretty sounds he makes as he comes. 
The breath of your name whimpered through a tight throat is what does it for you. Your body has hardly any time to warn you before you’re gushing all over your fingers, twitching every time the pad of your thumb rubs over clit.
That cry, the one you always let out as you come — all wet and full of need — makes Eddie orgasm right alongside you. 
He swipes his thumb over his head again, collecting the pearls of precum gathering there and sliding them down the base to squeeze himself there like he’d been doing this whole time. He clutches harder this time, imagines it's your cunt locking him in a vice-like grip, and whines in his throat when he comes.
Several loads of it spill onto his cotton boxers, most of it gathering along the side of his hand and dripping down his knuckles. His breath staggers as he works himself through his high, praising you through the phone like you’re the one who brought him to it. 
“Fuck, baby… You’re so good… So fucking good.”
You’ve long settled from your own orgasm, still tingly and numb in some places, but not as gone as you had been just moments before. You still float on a cloud, getting lost as you stare through your window at the half-hidden stars sprinkling the night sky and feeling as though you could reach out and touch them.
You can feel the satin moonlight bathing you, and the jittery static of the neon of the television screen. You can feel everything and somehow nothing at all. 
“I don’t know how you do it, Eds,” you confess, hardly thinking about the words spilling from your mouth when you lazily bring the phone to your ear again.
“Do what, sweetheart?”
“I don’t know… You always make me feel good. Even when you’re not here… Even when we’re not getting each other off.”
“I feel the same way,” he promises you, all mushy, even though he feels like a slob for wiping his hand off on his discarded jeans on his bed. “Just… wish you were here.”
“I wish I was there, too… Wish I could clean you up.”
Eddie’s eyes shut tight as his head tilts back to his pillow at the thought. “Fuck… You’re gonna make me hard again, sweetheart.”
You perk up suddenly as an idea sprouts like a flower in your head. A smile blooms on your lips, and you rise up onto your elbows, glowing with an unanticipated excitement. “How long would it take you to get ready?”
“…Get ready?” he echoes.
“Yeah,” is all you say.
“I mean, I— I don’t know. I figure if I put on some new underwear and a fresh pair of pants, I’ll be good as new... Why?”
“You wanna do something?” 
“Yeah. Sure. Anything,” he answers clumsily in place of saying, ‘Anything to not have to be without you.’
“I wanna go to Skull Rock.”
“Skull Rock?” he repeats. 
Legend has it, you and Steve made that place a local landmark. People have always said that Hopper caught the both of you one too many times up at Lover’s Lake and the Quarry, that you needed a more hidden place to fuck. So you’d stumbled around in the middle of the woods until you found a place the chief wouldn’t think to look for you.
You’d certainly found it. Then every other horny high schooler did too.
It’s the place you go to fuck, the most private place in all of Hawkins — hell, maybe even Indiana entirely for teenagers who can’t get the house to themselves. And as appealing as it sounds, to take you beneath a sky of twinkling stars, Eddie doesn’t want his first time with you to be on dirt or in the middle of the woods. That’s how all the horror movies start, don’t they?
So, needless to say, your answer takes him by surprise.
“Yeah! You can see all the stars really good from there. It’s too hard to see them so close to town.”
Eddie’s heart swells all at once at how sweet you are, like sugar poured directly onto his tongue. You’re not eager to be without him either, it seems, and that thought is as gratifying as it is thrilling. 
You’re an adventure he’s about to go on, without a map or a way out, a journey he’s happy to go into blind as long as you’re holding his hand the entire way through it.
It breaks his heart to hang up the phone. He practically begs you to do it for him, and it makes you laugh — a kind giggle entwined with a tease ‘you’re such a baby.’ It rings in his ears long after the receiver clicks.
Most of all, he hates all the stoplights that separate your place from his. He hadn’t known where you lived before now, not until you uttered it over the phone. He makes a mental note to figure out a quicker way, somewhere through the winding back roads that his old van can speed through to make the distance less daunting.
He pulls into your apartment complex, a quaint two-story thing on the quieter side of town, where the woods are plentiful and the street lamps far fewer. He turns his radio down out of respect for all your neighbors that he’s sure he’ll never meet and spies you through the neon orange porch lights. You shut and lock your door in quick succession, then scurry across the way to meet him.
Eddie leans over to unlock the passenger side door for you, already beaming, and finds you’re smiling too when you climb in next to him. The grin you shoot his way outshines the night sky and makes a bright yellow sun of the girl sitting in his passenger seat.
“Hi,” you’d greeted him, all shy like you didn’t just make him come all over his hand thirty minutes ago.
“Hi, sweetheart,” he volleys back like he always does, with that big ol’ smirk and teasing lilt as he cock his head to the side — using his playfulness to cover up the bashful mess you so easily reduce him too.
Neither of you had gotten particularly dressed up to see each other. All he did was put on fresh under and pajama pants. You succumbed to a smilier laziness it seems, haphazardly brushing through your half-damp hair, throwing on a too big t-shirt, and calling it a day. 
The cotton hangs low at your chest, stretched out and obviously well-loved. It falls well past your thigh, though you spend much of the drive anxiously tugging it down. 
It makes him wonder what you’re wearing beneath it. If you’ve tugged on a pair of shorts or if you’re in the bra and (undoubtedly wet) underwear you’d told him you were wearing over the phone. 
Eddie winds himself up all over again while you sift through the flimsy case of endless cassettes he keeps tucked in the glove compartment that never quite shuts all the way.
“How do you now have any ABBA tapes?” you wonder like it’s baffling, with an Iron Maiden tape in one hand and Cinderella in the other. Metallica plays lowly, nearly inaudibly, from the stereo.
Eddie laughs and darts his eyes from the darkened back roads to look at you, all smiley and bathed in moonlight, before turning back to the road again. “Uh, because I’m not a thirty-year-old woman. That’s the shit moms listen to.”
“Moms and hot girls,” you retort jokingly.
“Right, moms and hot girls listen to ABBA — of which, I am neither, sweetheart. Sorry to be the one to break it to you… Besides, it’s not like you walk around listening to, fucking, I don’t know— Van Halen or whatever.”
“Hey. I listen to Van Halen,” you shoot back.
He scoffs. “Yeah, right.”
“It’s got what it takes!” you sing suddenly, not quite catching the rhythm of the song, but smiling anyway as you reach for his forearm resting on the center console. “So tell me why can’t this be love!”
“Oh, my god— that’s literally their worst song,” Eddie chuckles through the widest grin you’ve ever seen from him. 
It makes you smile big too, looking like an idiot who’s totally head over heels for the boy next to her. And of that, you’re happily guilty of.
“Not true,” you shake your head defiantly. “I love that song.”
“So that means it has to be good, right?” he retorts playfully, shooting you a teasing look, though his beam is more than sincere.
“Obviously,” you answer with a scoff that makes Eddie roll his eyes.
He knows he’s going to start to love it, though, if only because it’s the only Van Halen song you halfway know.
He’s going to hear that song on the radio and he’s going to want to turn it, but he’s going to remember this moment now — the one with you reaching for him while you sing the lyrics to a song he can’t stand, sitting pretty in his passenger seat, while the moonlight blanches your smile and the bare skin of your thighs.
Eddie Munson is going to love that goddamn song for the rest of his life.
He parks as close as he can to Skull Rock, knowing his van can’t work its way that far into the woods. The two of you are forced to walk the rest of the way, not exactly minding it, though Eddie’s incessantly worried you’re going to get cold. 
He’s already forced his jacket upon you, which you took with little fight. It warmed you almost immediately — with his cozy heat and musky cologne.
You make mindless conversation the entire way there, about music and then about his band and then what animal you’d want to be in your band if that were the least bit possible. Eddie chooses a sheep without any hesitation, though you’re confident that a penguin would be far cooler. 
You keep a careful distance between you, at first, like both of you are too scared to initiate the first move. That is, until you trip over a raised branch and nearly eat ass on the forest floor. Then Eddie’s holding your hand the entire way, keeping you close.
“If you wanted me to hold your hand, you coulda just said so, you know?” he jokes. “Didn’t have to go through all the dramatics, sweetheart.”
You try and yank your hand out of his grip in protest then, but he doesn’t let you. In fact, he pulls you closer and twirls you into a bear hug that you happily relax into.
He feels your sigh fan against his collarbone as you rest your head at the nape of his neck, his arms wrap around your shoulders as yours settle at his waist. He rocks you back in forth, in a moment that’s too almost sweet to make fun of.
Eddie finds a way, of course, “See?” he singsongs. “I’ll hug you like this all the time, if you want. You don’t have to almost kill yourself to get my attention, babe.”
“All I did was trip,” you laugh at his theatrics.
“Death by tree root… What a gnarly way to go.”
He holds your hand the entire way to Skull Rock. 
He doesn’t let you go once, not until you’re ascending the large boulders to plant yourselves at the very peak of them. He’s grabbing you again once you settle, though, and the two of you just sit there, for several long moments, just gaping at the stars that dance with life above you. They sprinkle an infinite void with enough light that manages to touch you, trillions of miles away.
There’s a subtle beauty in that Eddie never would’ve appreciated before now.
“Shit, babe,” he breathes through a whimsical existential dread. “You were right. The stars are really fucking pretty out here.” 
You love how much he loves this, to come to Skull Rock with you and count the stars. Any other guy would’ve had their tongue down your throat by now, stuffing your hand down their unbuttoned jeans.
But not Eddie.
He just holds your hand because he likes the feeling of his fingers entwined with yours, grasping tightly onto you while he gazes at an infinite universe — like you might float off right along with it.
His neck is stretched to gape at the night sky. You catch his adam’s apple bobbing every time he swallows. You want so desperately to kiss his milky white skin and sprinkle blotchy red bruises there.
His curly locks fall over his shoulders. He shakes his head to get his bangs out of his eyes while the chocolate buttons of them dart around the endless void.
He’s more beautiful than every star in the sky combined. You can’t be sure of how many that is, of course, but it’s a whole bunch if you had to guess. It makes sense, though, for the prettiest boy in the whole damn galaxy.
“Told ya,” you answer with a smile, leaning over to nudge his shoulder with yours. “You come out here often?”
You’re asking if he takes girls here and he knows it, but it’s not like you’re being inconspicuous about the whole thing. Eddie gauges it almost immediately, the subtle jealousy hinting at your tone — something no one else would’ve caught — and he squeezes your hand in reassurance.
He shakes his head. “No… Never.”
“Never?” you press with raised brows, like his answer shocks you.
“Ever. It’s not really my scene, I guess… But what about you, sweetheart? Never seen you around these parts before.”
You knock his shoulder again, harder this time.  “Shut up. You already know the answer to that.”
“Yeah…” he nods to himself, eyes darting back and forth as he reminisces on something. “You and Harrington, you and Hargrove. Hell, I think I heard about you and Jason one time—”
“That was a long time ago,” you argue. “Before I even knew you, okay?”
“I’m just saying,” he shrugs in defense. “You totally have a thing for pretty boys, sweetheart.”
“I never said I didn’t, Eds. Just that you were pretty, too.”
“Whatever,” he scoffs and rolls his eyes like he isn’t glowing red beneath the moonlight.
“You’re better than all three of them, Eds,” you confess with a sudden softness that catches his attention almost immediately. He turns his attention from the sky to look at you properly again. His breath catches at you sad you look — all beautiful and coated in shades of blue.
“…Yeah?”
You nod and drag his hand into your lap to fidget with his fingers. You trace the skeleton heart on his middle finger, subverting all your attention there because it’s easier than having to look at him now. “Better than all of them combined— not even just them, you know? Out of everyone. No one’s ever been this nice to be before.”
“Me neither, sweetheart,” he confesses with a morose grin. “The freak of Hawkins High attracts a lot of assholes, believe it or not.”
“Is it bad?” you wonder cautiously, like you’re scared to hear the answer. In some ways, you are. 
You hadn’t known him in high school, not really. For obvious reasons, you ran in very different circles. You never even had classes together. There was never any excuse to be close to each other before now, never a reason to become friends. So you didn’t.
You grew to know him as a freak, and he knew you as the town slut. Then somewhere down the line, he became your dealer and now… here you were. 
But you’ve graduated now and he’s still army crawling towards a diploma. You couldn’t save him from the hell of Hawkins High even if you wanted to.
“Nothing I can’t handle,” he shrugs. “Jason and the dick brigade just wanna make my life hell, that’s all.”
“I hope they aren’t,” you respond shyly.
Eddie scoffs then shoots you a smile. “Oh, of course not. Look at me. I’m at Skull Rock with the most wanted girl in Hawkins. I’m living the dream, sweetheart.”
“So you don’t care?” you wonder, peering at him through your lashes, as you twist the silver cross around his finger.
“Care about what?” 
“That I’m a slut,” you laugh like it’s obvious.
Eddie doesn’t think it’s all that funny. “Don’t say that.”
“It’s not like it isn’t true, Eds,” you retort with a trembling smile. “I mean, that’s literally what people call me — most people don’t even care to call me by my real name anymore.”
“I don’t care,” Eddie shakes his head. “I don’t care about that. I don’t give a shit about what people say about you. If everyone cared about what everyone said about everyone, neither of us would be here right now… Because you’d think I was some devil-worshipping freak and I’d think you were too busy getting it on with Chief Hopper.”
You screw your face up immediately at the thought. The mere idea was repulsive. The asshole was practically your father these days. Jim Hopper was in that small bunch of available people you would never fuck, and happily so. 
“I’d never stoop that low,” you joke.
“I like you, how you are, right now,” Eddie promises. “Don’t want you to change a damn thing.” 
His brown eyes twinkle with a sincerity that rivals the stars above you. All of a sudden, you don’t care about a bunch of heavenly bodies light years away from you — you care about this man, the one sitting beside you now, holding your hand even though your palms have gone all sweaty.
It’s too good to be true — the way you looks at you, the way he talks to you, the way he treats you. You’re scared that it’s a dream, that you’ll wake up and find that none of this was ever real. Or worse, that he was, and that he just didn’t care about you the way you cared about him.
It’s almost irrational. Almost. 
But it’s happened before. 
And it’s left you a scarred and mangled mess.
You shake your head to yourself and scrunch your face as you turn to look him. “Have you ever done this before, Eddie?”
“Don’t what?” he wonders with furrowed brows.
“I don’t know…” you shrug. “Any of this? With anyone else?”
He’s grateful he doesn’t have to lie. Or tell some clumsy half-truth for the sake of saving his own skin. He realizes tonight is perhaps the most honest he’s ever been with you, baring his pale soul beneath a silver moonlight. 
“Never,” he answers, unwavering, with a firm shake of his head.
“Really?”
“Really,” he nods, then swallows thickly at a gut-wrenching realization. “I’ve never felt his way about anyone else before.’
“Me neither,” you promise. 
It’s a tad more meaningful coming from you than from a boy who’s never had someone to love and to love him back.
You’re experienced, you’ve found what you like and what you don’t like. You’ve been with guys who have given you the world and guys that have ended yours altogether. And out of all of them — all of the assholes in Hawkins you could’ve picked — you’ve chosen the freak. 
You want him. 
You want Eddie.
The revelation makes him grin. “Promise?”
“Cross my heart, Eddie Spaghetti.”
2K notes · View notes
luvjunie · 6 months
Note
twirls my hair if you’re taking request uhhh— what about reader with tattoos like a full sleeve and piercings and maybe big hair like a fro, braids something that makes her stand out— basically she’s just real intimidating and popular too fast for her liking she just transferred school and the guys are trying to pounce on her but miles 42 is the one that catches her eye?
— a fresh start
pairing: e-42!miles x fem!reader
summary: it’s your first day at a new school, and surprisingly, making a friend isn’t as hard as you thought it’d be. wc: 1,853
a/n: changed this up a little i hope you don’t mind! 100% unintentional but when my mind wanders i follow it 😭
Tumblr media
Back at Brooklyn High, you were always told by teachers that school wasn’t a venue for your ‘personal fashion show’, but that it was a place for learning. And while you agreed, it wasn’t your fault that you looked the way you did… Well, that’s a lie. But you loved your look, and so did your peers.
While your hair was big and somewhat distracting to others, your dad always told you it reminded him of what your mom’s looked like the first time he met her, so you never bothered to change the way you styled it, no matter how much you dreaded putting it in bantu knots or doing a twist out every three days.
As for your face full of piercings, that was all you. It was something your dad didn’t favor at all, and he definitely didn’t understand how it was ‘a way for you to express and be true to yourself’, but that was the explanation you gave him, and eventually he accepted it. Though begrudgingly— it was still acceptance, so you took what you could get.
The first piercing was your eyebrow, and you’d done it in your bathroom when you were fourteen with a safety pin. One look at yourself in the mirror made you forget all about the throbbing pain radiating from your face, and just a week had passed before you were already thinking of another. You swore to your dad that it’d be the only one, and that you just wanted to try something new; until you wanted to try your belly button, your septum, and both of your nostrils. After that, It’s safe to say that everywhere you went, attention followed.
Expressing yourself through your clothes and accessories was just a part of who you were. And back at Brooklyn High, you were proud of the way you looked.
But you weren’t at Brooklyn High anymore.
The uniforms were drab at Visions academy. Every girl wearing the same two articles of clothing as the other; the same sad story for the boys. And to keep it a buck, if you were comparing visions to your old school, the atmosphere here sure looked a lot like a jail. And if not for the small loopholes you’d managed to locate in the dresscode, it would’ve felt like it, too.
The searing heat of curious eyes followed you the moment you entered the building, and you began to wonder if choosing to stand out on purpose was the best idea after all. It seemed at Visions, that came naturally for someone like you.
For a few reasons other than the ones you could change in five minutes, you didn’t fit in here. Not in the slightest.
With a wavered sigh and your books glued to your chest, you continued on to your first block, tuning out the whispers that were far from hushed.
It took you a little longer than the six minute passing period to discover your History class within the ginormous fluorescent halls, and when you finally stepped foot into the dimly lit room and noticed the Crash Course video playing on the projector, it dawned on you that they were already well into the lesson.
Almost everyone’s head lifted to look at you when you entered. Almost everyone’s head but a kid who was face down, drooling on his desk, and another whose gaze remained welded to a sheet of paper the graphite of his mechanical pencil was scribbling against. The familiarity of crisp parts and blue magic-sheened cornrows stood out to you first, and a small sense of comfort finally washed over you— for a moment.
The video on the projector paused abruptly, and your teacher appeared to be the exact opposite of dazzled at your late arrival. Great.
“Nice of you to join us, miss…?”
“Y/n, sorry…” You cleared your throat and smiled more like grimaced apologetically, the chain clipped to the waistband of your skirt serving as an idle fidget. “Got lost, real big school.”
Mr. Benson, as it read on your printed class schedule, adjusted his glasses when he went to jot something down onto the paper below him. “Alright, y/n. You can sit next to…”
You watched as a few kids straightened up in their seats, attempting to look uninterested enough to play it cool, yet noticeable enough for the teacher to remember they existed and place your seat next to them.
“Morales. Raise your hand.”
The boy in question quietly clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, pencil clacking against the wood of his desk when he set it down. It looked like his concentration had been broken, and instead of raising his hand, he lifted his head from where it was damn near nose deep in whatever he was doing, and just stared at you.
His slowed blinks gave you enough grounds to take a gander that he was the ‘Morales’ in question.
A stunted breath and a silent nod later, you made your way through the aisle of desks and smoothly slid into the one a pin-filled backpack had just been removed from.
You’d be crazy to not let your curiosity get the best of you, especially now that you were this close to where the brooding energy was coming from. So once your teacher unpaused the video, you stole a peek over at your new desk neighbor, and noticed that his right arm was now strategically placed over the geometric sketches on his paper.
Seeing as it was already mid-year and you were new to the huge school, you figured it’d be in your best interest to try and make at least one friend. You opened your mouth to introduce yourself to him, until a light tap on your shoulder from behind stole your attention.
“Umm, excuse me?”
You turned around to meet the freckled face of the boy who was sat behind you.
“Hm?”
“Yeah, sorry, but I can’t see over your hair. It’s kinda… in the way.”
It wasn’t necessarily what he said that bothered you, it was how he said it, and the fact that he barely stifled a laugh when he did.
Reclined in his chair with his arms crossed, Miles fought to hide the scowl threatening to twist his lips. The desks in this class were staggered, specifically to avoid the very issue of heads blocking the line of sight, meaning there was no way your hair was actually hindering his view.
“O-oh… Sorry, it does that. Sometimes.” Flustered, you nervously tried to press your hair down a little without ruining its shape, the one that took you a whole hour to achieve just this morning.
Miles assumed you were the girl his classmate was blabbing about just before the bell rung, remembering the brief yet detailed explanation of ‘fresh face, big hair, decked out uniform and kinda cute’. Poking fun at you must have been his pitiful attempt at flirting.
Miles suddenly spoke in your defense, eyes remaining on the screen in a bored daze.
“It’s not her fault you 5’2, James. Drink some milk when you get home, maybe you’ll have a growth spurt.”
You sent an inquisitive glance his way and kept it there. You hadn’t thought about what you expected his voice to sound like, or that the first time you’d hear it would be because of him defending you, but this was definitely a pleasant surprise. His voice was so smooth it put silk to shame, and it was a bit low, too, as if he’d just woken up a few minutes ago. Yet it didn’t sound as if he’d quieted his voice on purpose; something that led you to believe he was usually this soft spoken.
“Shut up, Miles.” James grumbled.
“Ain’t my fault you can’t flirt for shit. I’m tryna help you out.”
Some surrounding students close enough to hear the retort had snickered, and a laugh managed to leave your mouth before you could prevent it, resulting in a loud “SHHHH!” from the front of the class.
“That’s funny?” Miles’ hazel eyes floated over to you, swirling with mirth and pinning you in place.
He was joking, but his tone probably didn’t give off that vibe, seeing as you were gawking at him like a deer in headlights.
“I’m messin’ with you,” A small grin played on his face. “I’m Miles.”
“Oh,” an awkward chuckle relaxed your shoulders. “Y/n.” you responded quietly.
“Yeah… I know.” There was a hint of a chuckle beneath his voice. It seemed you’d forgotten that you revealed your identity to everyone just minutes ago.
But you couldn’t help it, you’d never seen a boy quite this pretty before, with lashes long enough to make you jealous and a smile you were certain owed its beauty to genetics, and not an expensive set of middle school braces.
He had six freshly done straightbacks with curved parts, and two clear beads hanging onto each tail that sat a little below his shoulders. It was then that you noticed the medium sized, gimmering stud he sported on his ear, and you deemed it safe to assume his other ear had the same. Cute.
Still feeling the heat of your eyes on his temple long after he’d averted his attention, Miles curiously glanced back at you, then teasingly nodded his head towards the front of the room.
“Pay attention,” he whispered, that same molten look in his eyes. “I don’t share notes.”
Class went by in a bit of a haze, to no surprise. It was extremely difficult to pay attention when the fear of your possibly-misshapen fro was on your mind. Today happened to be the one day you’d decided you didn’t need to bring your pick to school, the image of it sitting on your dresser emitting a disappointed sigh from you.
The tinny screech of chairs brought you back to the present, where class had been dismissed and students were shoving papers into their backpacks and shuffling out the doorway, all in a hurry to their next block.
Miles stood up from his seat, appearing to be in no rush.
“I like your hair, by the way.” he observed randomly. “Cool piercings, too.”
The compliment eased your nerves completely. It was genuine, as if he knew you were still thinking about what happened earlier.
“Thank you,” Tucking your notebook away, you looked up to see him sling his backpack over one shoulder. “for defending me earlier, too.”
“S’ no big deal.” he shrugged, but it was, to you.
“Cool braids, by the way.” you parroted through a lighthearted smile.
“Thanks,” Miles’ eyes panned to the floor when he felt himself grin. A habit of his you’d already managed to pick up on in your short knowing of him.
“I’ll catch you later.” He deemed with a two-fingered salute, other hand burrowing into the pocket of his pants.
Rising to your feet, you gave a small wave and watched as he headed out into the crowded hallway with the others; feeling a little less nervous to come to history class tomorrow.
741 notes · View notes
twilightjwy · 6 months
Text
your hand in my pocket to keep us both warm
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
wooyoung x reader
friends to lovers fluff <3 reader is friends with ateez, there are mentions of all of the members :)
summary: you go on a ski trip and become a lot closer with wooyoung than you expected
wc: 1.5k
notes: my whole inspiration for this was from the lyric (that i made the title) in the song ‘abstract’ by hozier <3333 that song is soooooo good
💭 ◟♡ ˒ ⊹ ִ
the air was cold and snow was falling as you rode down the mountain one last time. everyone was getting pretty tired and yunho suggested that they call it quits for the day and head back to the resort to watch a movie and relax before driving home tomorrow so you all raced down the trail to get to the bottom. you and the guys had decided to take a road trip up to a ski resort, which ended up being a real bonding experience (especially because you all had to work together to teach yeosang how to ski since he had never gone before).
the whole trip had been so fun with your best friends, but you and wooyoung had definitely been flirting with each other the entire time (and everyone could tell). you and wooyoung had been friends for years and you’d been in love with him the whole time. you always thought you would never tell him, but after this weekend you were starting to rethink it all. you two were glued to each other the whole time — racing down the mountain together, sitting on the ski lift together (so close to each other you practically left enough room for a third person to squeeze on there with you). you swapped jackets some days to see how long it would take the others to notice and then giggle about it to yourselves. hongjoong would just roll his eyes. “i definitely think there’s something going on between them,” he said to seonghwa.
tonight was the night that everything really changed, though. you had packed up all your stuff and left it in the lodge for you all to pick up tomorrow before heading home. the resort was just a short walk from the mountain but it was cold. your shivering increased with every step you took. you kept rubbing your hands together and blowing hot air into them to keep them somewhat warm since you didn’t have any gloves with you. wooyoung, with his giant warm winter jacket, was walking right next to you and noticed how much you were shaking.
“you cold?” he asked.
“very.”
with his right hand he propped open his jacket pocket.
“put your hand in here,” he said as he raised his eyebrows at you and motioned with his head.
you slowly put your left hand into his pocket and you could feel as he rested his hand right on top of yours.
“there, now we can both stay warm,” he said.
“thanks,” you said softly, with a nervous smile to him.
wooyoung was a touchy person, so you’ve been close like this before, but something about this seemed different, more intimate. you could feel his soft hand on top of yours, suddenly every nerve in your body was on red alert. you’d never been so aware of your own hand before, how does he make you feel like this?
you kept walking along the path and you noticed mingi look back at you both from up ahead. he quickly turned back around and giggled with yunho, his hand covering his mouth. you turned to the side away from wooyoung and smiled to yourself.
after about 20 seconds of silence that felt like an hour, you felt his hand shift in the pocket. you noticed him moving his hand so that your palms were touching and then you felt him lace his fingers with yours. neither of you said anything but you felt butterflies in your stomach — did he really just do that? you walked the rest of the way to the resort, your hand in his pocket the whole time, only taking it out when you got to the suite.
the resort you were staying at had a huge apartment style suite with a living room, kitchen, and multiple bedrooms that you all were sharing. you sat down on the empty couch, hoping wooyoung would come along next and sit down right next to you. but san, completely unaware that something was going on between you guys, immediately took the seat next to you. he was acting so happy and excited with you to watch the movie that you didn’t have the heart to tell him you were trying to save his seat for wooyoung. wooyoung eventually sat down in a comfy chair right across from you. occasionally during the movie he would look over at you, make eye contact, and give you a cute, small smile. he was resting his head on his hand and the way he looked at you was so sweet it made you feel almost lightheaded.
eventually the movie ended and you all decided it was time to go to bed, since tomorrow was going to be a long day of packing and driving. jongho had already fallen asleep on the couch during the movie but no one wanted to wake him, so hongjoong just draped a blanket over him and turned off the lights in the living room.
the thing, though, was that you and jongho and wooyoung were sharing a room. and since jongho was on the couch it was just going to be you and wooyoung. you were starting to get a little nervous as you were getting ready for bed thinking about you and wooyoung alone. you were worried you might end up blurting out how you feel about him and then the whole friendship would be ruined if he didn’t feel the same. you tried to block the thought out of your mind as you slipped under your comforter.
wooyoung walked into the room, pajamas on and looking the cutest he ever has.
“our last slumber party of the weekend,” he said as he puffed out his lower lip, looking sad.
“i know!” you said, “we’re going to have to do it more often when we’re home.”
“i’ll definitely take you up on that sometime.”
he turned off the light, got into his bed and pulled out his phone. “i was going to finish one episode of the show i was watching before i sleep, do you wanna watch it with me?” he asked, hoping you would say yes.
“sure” you smiled. as you got up he lifted the covers for you to get in.
you crawled in right next to him in the dark, your bodies touching. you could feel the heat radiating from him, comforting as it was still so cold, even in the suite. he turned on the show and you leaned your head on his chest to see his phone screen better (which really was just an excuse to cuddle him closer). you wondered if he was feeling the same knots in his stomach as you were. he was invested in the episode but you started to feel your eyes closing and eventually you fell asleep. wooyoung felt the tension release from your body and the weight of your head above his heart, which he hoped you could not feel was beating a lot faster than normal.
you woke up suddenly when the episode ended as you felt wooyoung shift beside you to put his phone on the side table.
“sorry, didn’t mean to wake you,” he said sweetly as he laid down.
“it’s okay, i should probably get back to my bed now,” you said.
“you know you can just stay here if you want to, i really don’t mind, i’d actually kind of like it if you did,” he said shyly. “but totally no pressure,” he added in a hurry, his eyes wide.
you blushed and cuddled in next to him again, this time with his arm around you. you looked up at him and met his eyes in the dark.
“i really don’t want to ruin what we have now, but i really like you,” he whispered to you.
“don’t worry, i really like you too,” you held back, not mentioning how in love with him you have been since the day you met. that would be for another time.
he took his hand and ran his fingers through your hair, still looking into your eyes. you lifted your head to meet his and gently connected your lips. he kissed you back even deeper, cupping your face in his hand.
you pulled away and you both breathed.
“you have no idea how long i’ve wanted to do that,” he said as he closed his eyes and shook his head with a smile on his face.
“me too,” you said and pulled him back in for another kiss. eventually you went to sleep, your body on top of his, legs entangled together, his arms fully wrapped around you, and your head buried in his neck.
it turned out to be a pretty good ski trip — definitely a lot of bonding.
255 notes · View notes
the-lonelyshepherd · 11 days
Note
"fanon lottienatters please stay away from me" oh!! shots fired!! 2,000 dead, 10,000 injured!! BUT curious about your specific definition for fanon lottienat and what you dislike about it <33
ohhhhh okay... alrrrrrr
this is like. one of my biggest issues. im not like a shipper, never rlly have been until yj but i dont like engage in discourse bc thats stupid.
But basically? Fanon lottienat just kinda strips anything thats interesting about the ship away. and makes it like. punk x preppy. loser x popular. ive even heard black cat and golden retriever which makes me want to rip my eyes out.
And its not even accurate to their characterization? at all? like youre flanderizing them but like..... not even their main traits. like ive seen people say "precrash lottie would be like charlotte from status update (curse that movie btw. the things i do for u courtney eaton) which is just. like not at all.
first off lottie is not popular. yeah, shes rich, but shes clearly somewhat of a loner (WHICH PARALLELS NAT?? WHICH MAKES IT MORE INTERESTING???) even courtney has said this in interviews. she feels ostracized, and a lot of it can be traced back to the flashback scenes we see, esp those about her relationship w her parents and her supposed mental illness. the 90s, especially the 90s in a high pressure rich family, was NOT a good place to have schizophrenia (and yeah theres the "she wasnt actually mentally ill" argument but that changes nothing because atp in the story her whole family and probably herself believed she was.
Then we have the nat characterization. The fanon "grumpy" to fanon lotties "sunshine". guys canonically nat smiles more than lottie. girlie was always grinning while lottie was experiencing the horrors all of s1. ofc they both went THROUGH it but that specific stereotype pissed me off sm i had to address it.
also, nat gets shown a lot as masc?? which is a fine headcanon but like for her style like the whole punk thing? she acc dresses relatively femininely.those are little irks abt nat but they bother me idc. too tired to write more on this rn but feel free to ask!
so basically taking this stuff into account - fanon lottienat uses a gross mischaracterization of both characters, especially lottie (also that suspiciously align w stereotypes HMMMMM) to literally make the ship more boring. You are making it a stupid and lame trope. You literally have these two insanely complex characters who mirror each other. Theyre not opposites attract, they are the same character in different skins. They're both loners, one because of her punk/rebel nature and nasty rumors, the other because of her mental illness and lack of closeness to people. Theyre both loners because of their social status and their fucked up home life. Theyre both providers - nat the hunter, bringer of physical and real food like the deer. Lottie the prophet, bringer of hope and, through the teams eyes, the birds, the bear, etc. Lottie who begs to be a martyr but is denied nat who runs from it but shoulders it anyways. They're both bleeding hearts they both give soul to the team and are some of the most genuine characters but they present it so differently.
The fact that the majority of content grossly mischaracterizes them and is the widely accepted fanon just.. sucks tbh. and the fact that people get so up in arms about them, and literally attack fans of other characters (lottielee fans... travis fans....) for no reason?? all these other characters do is contribute to what makes lottienat such a compelling and fucked up and interesting ship. i love them so much but lwk most of yall are insane and dont even appreciate them for what they really are.
thoughts questions comments concerns hmu
67 notes · View notes
honey-milk-depresso · 2 months
Note
OMGG HI I saw your bohemian fashion and I LOVED IT SO SO SO SO MUUUUUUCH ANIANIJAOJSOJ it was so sweet 🥺🥺
Could you do one with Trey (hehe), Jamil and Vil, but with a mc that dresses in Preppy style? Yk, the pleated skirts, bows and headbands, Channel vibes. I love fashion and the way you described the Bohemian one was so sweet. THANK YOU SO MUCH YOURE AMAZING MWAH ❤️❤️
Tumblr media
T*EY???? /hj
Fine, fine, very well, I will write for that DEFINITELY no good man I’m TOTALLY not in love with myself 😒.
Also I didn’t think anybody would be reading my REALLY old fics from when I first started this blog, when I was called the long forgotten “coffee leaf depression”, good to know, and this is kept to GN Reader 👍.
TWST S/o who loves Preppy Fashion
Trey Clover
He’s probably a sucker for this kind of fashion. As in, to see on his lover. You look so pretty in pleated V-neck sweaters and tie.
NRC has a pretty preppy kind of uniform given to the students, it’ll only change depending on how the students wear the uniform, seeing your well ironed tie straight and pleated skirt or pants crisp and neat makes him pretty smitten surprisingly, especially when it comes to you.
He doesn’t mind joining in, hell, he probably has a somewhat prep aesthetic stuff in his wardrobe without even realising it sometimes, it just comes to him naturally although he definitely doesn’t have any aesthetic preference and just wears whatever.
But prep is definitely in there.
You two can be a matching couple outside of school, wearing prep and somewhat prep (I’m sure you know who’s who) and you guys just look super cute together that Trey, for once, feels a bit of an ego boost in him as he smirks to himself. <3
Jamil Viper
Always saw him with the street dancer kind of aesthetic, which is probably a bit more rugged and casual which is why you two come as a complete contrast with one another.
But still, Jamil digs your prep aesthetic even if he doesn’t like wearing that aesthetic on himself, he thinks it makes you look cute.
Besides, the two of you somehow make it work when you’re out in the open, some guy in a baggy hoodie, baggy long pants and sneaker heads while he’s out linking hands with his significant other wearing a headband, sweater vest and polished loafers.
Still, you two are absolutely adorable as a couple inside out, your completely different taste in fashion makes you two stand out in a good way! Wouldn’t mind trying your kind of aesthetic, it looks pretty good on him when he checks himself in the mirror after dressing him up. He hopes you enjoy the baggy hoodies though because he personally wouldn’t mind lending you his. <3
Vil Schoenheit
The two of you together look like cute nerd and actual fashion king.
Honestly, Vil thinks your prep aesthetic is perfect even if he’s the kind to wear those V-necks and have “pretty boy” aesthetic, he also likes wearing prep clothing and wouldn’t mind joining you on the matching aesthetic thing when you two go out.
Sometimes he shops with you for clothing that fits your whole prep aesthetic and the best kinds. This man’s fashion taste is god-tier. Any kind of aesthetic he can pull off and has expertise in knowing what is best to wear for any kind.
Prep aesthetics are no exceptions.
He has a lot of fun dressing up with you: wearing checkered pants and/or skirts, nice ties and shiny loafers around town as everyone gawk at the most prettiest couple they have ever seen that they can’t even get jealous. <3
Reblogs help! ^^
78 notes · View notes
angelic-dew · 9 months
Note
Hi!! I don't mean to be a bother, but could I possibly request rengoku and tengen (without wives and separately done!) smut hcs please? I understand if you don't do it! stay healthy 🤍
Tumblr media
# smut headcannons !
Tumblr media
✧༉‧₊˚୨ 💌 ୧・author's note :: sure anon! I hope these are okay, I'm not the best smut writer qnq also! sorry for the huge delay, I've been lacking motivation lately. when I get tengen's part done, I'll update it here!
✧༉‧₊˚୨ 🍫 ୧・pairing :: Uzui T. x afab reader [not completed yet.] ⁞⁞ Kyojuro R. x afab reader — {you/your pronouns | separately done}
✧༉‧₊˚୨ ✖ ୧・trigger warnings :: mentions of female and male genitals. dirty talk. daddy kink. praise kink. size kink. biting. hickeys. slight mentions of rough sex. semi-public sex. fingering. raw dogging. spanking. ⁞⁞ 18+ content, children dni please. proofread.
Tumblr media
𝐊𝐘𝐎𝐉𝐔𝐑𝐎 𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐎𝐊𝐔.
Tumblr media
꒰🔥꒱. I see Rengoku being into praising his precious lover in bed {consciously and subconsciously he does it}, he is a cinnamon roll after all, and a total sweetheart as a whole. Our beloved Umai King would also be extremely cautious with what he says; always taking into consideration your every action and signals with how you're feeling in bed. This time is precious to him and he takes it very seriously, always muttering phrases and short words of adoration and encouragement for your full enjoyment. Whispering ever so softly in your ear, always singing your praises to his heart's content.
꒰🔥꒱. Back in the Era Demon Slayer does take place in {1912-1926 || Taisho Era}, condoms did in fact exist, however, I believe Kyojuro prefers to go in fully raw for maximum pleasure as your walls tighten around him. That can translate to him wanting to prepare you a bit to take his entire length properly and with ease. He takes pride in prepping you, taking his time and lubing his fingers with some oil to make the process much easier.
꒰🔥꒱. He begins slow and gentle, soft to the touch; always treating you like some sort of dainty, delicate piece of porcelain throughout the process. Checking up on you at every moment as lewd cries of contentment escape from underneath your lips.
꒰🔥꒱. The flame Hashira does have a somewhat "rowdy" side to him. The thought of being able to do the deed with someone he loves ever so much really gets the blood flowing, to certain areas of course. So even though he's such a gentle sweetheart, he can still be rough in some subtle ways at times.
꒰🔥꒱. These can include bite marks along your body — hickeys and even light bruises peppering your breasts and neck; a few sprinkled along your collarbone area as well, as a finishing touch. It depends on what exactly is being done, but, he does tend to leave a few playful bite marks along your inner thigh area while giving you oral.
꒰🔥꒱. Because, let's face it, you know he's eating you out like there is no tomorrow. Rengoku is the Umai King after all, it's no surprise he can take that same talent of eating sweet potatoes and do the same to you, instead this time, he's eating out something that's definitely better than any food. He would ultimately prefer to give oral rather than receive, your needs come before his, always!
꒰🔥꒱. Rengoku is definitely an ass guy, don't try changing my mind. I see him loving to hold it within his palms gently, something about it just feels so enthralling that he can't even begin to come to his correct senses when he sees you in doggy style. That alone will make him pounce on you with little to no hesitation. Regardless of the size as well, he doesn't really care how big it is, once there's enough for him to grip and drool over as he pleases, it'll be a true treasure.
꒰🔥꒱. Kyojuro seems like the type to have a liking towards things smaller than him, so those rules will definitely apply to his lover as well. Especially if you're a bit shorter than the average person, bonus points to you right there, it only makes his size kink worsen each time. He simply adores the fact you're so tiny compared to him, yet so strong and able to take each, individual inch of his meaty cock every time; it makes him feel a sense of endearment per se. His little person's ability to feel all of him, honestly, makes him melt for you.
꒰🔥꒱. An alternative take on his size kink would also be a size kink, but you're bigger than him. He would have just as much adoration and love for you even if you were taller than him in just height alone. The cream of the crop that really gets him going has to be when he actually enters your warm hole. He practically dotes at the sight of your expressions as you tremble under his soft, loving touch. Despite your size difference, you're still extremely tight and sensitive to the touch — the Hashira is indeed fond of that.
꒰🔥꒱. He would most likely have a huge daddy kink as well. Of course, he wouldn't exactly mention it upfront, he would be a bit embarrassed to do so. I don't think he knows he has one until you call him it while he's ramming himself into one time. When you called him that, it almost made him feel a sense of power, but moreover, if he were to be frank, he could've felt himself get harder inside you from that word alone. Rengoku would definitely want you to say it more often; I firmly believe he would even imply it in his words as well while whispering sweet nothings into your ear.
꒰🔥꒱. Sex position-wise, I see him having a preference for wanting to have a view of your angelic face while also being able to please you to the fullest, of course, there are a few exceptions like doggy style, but here's some in line with his preferred liking. So, mating press, missionary, cowgirl {reverse cowgirl at certain times}, g-whiz and the seashell, to name a few. Ideally, Kyojuro would like to do it in a place of privacy so he can focus on you and you primarily, always putting your needs first. However, if there ever came a time when you wanted him urgently, he wouldn't hesitate to take a risk. Whether that be behind a large building or a bathroom stall for a brief moment to have a quickie.
꒰🔥꒱. As I stated directly before, he has a particular fondness for ass, specifically yours, rather than anything else. So out of impulse he would spank you or leave slight bruising along your waistline as he holds onto you.
꒰🔥꒱. He doesn't spank you hard, it's usually a simple small slap, but from the moment you start asking/begging for more, just keep in mind, his normal sweet demeanour will change to something otherworldly; trust me, he will not hesitate to give you what you want by any means. Whether that being you want him to be rougher, harder or even leave more marks on you, he will make sure you're satisfied down to the last touch.
Tumblr media
© yandere-smoothie :: please don't re-claim or translate my works without permission! <3
315 notes · View notes
angel-wings7 · 6 months
Text
so you guys really liked my bf lyney headcanons (linked here) so i thought why not make a pt. 3 when he has KIDS aww
so i present lyney with kids
teaches them magic obviously
you have two (2) kids
they pick up his cheeky demeanour
bit of a pain for you to handle sometimes because of how playful they are
but you love them
and they love you
atp arlecchino has already been introduced to you and because of your lovely personality she (somewhat grudgingly) accepted you
you had to make sure your children lived lives free of the fatui though
even though arlecchino is a harbinger she did understand, she does have some compassion (i hope since she runs an orphanage)
lyney is really happy about this
it allows him to be more carefree with his kids because they won't grow up to be fatuus
both your kids have very strong personalities and as they grow up they have the wish to change the world for the better
it is in one such attempt that they get their visions!
your older kid, the boy, gets blessed with an anemo vision
and your younger daughter gets a cryo vision
they're ecstatic and so are you
ofc aunt lynette helps your son with his anemo vision and lyney calls in a special favour from wriothesley to train your daughter (yes i'm aware freminet has a cryo vision but he's too shyyy + i think he finds it weird he has a nephew and a niece now)
after the whole fortress of meropide thing lyney and wriothesley forged an unlikely friendship
your daughter ends up joining the spina di rosula while your son becomes a diluc-style batman thing but for fontaine
your daughter + navia = besties immediately
and focalors does admire your son's help
overall you're a very fun and happy family
you spend loads of time together
and yknow fight crime in fontaine!! except also commit crimes in lyney's case. but ykwim!!
97 notes · View notes
whisperingtales · 30 days
Text
Update on things I'm working on. This is mainly just like a checklist for me. If anyone is interested, I can totally link the fanfics via this once I'm done with them.
Some of these are eighteen plus, so we just going to put a keep reading sign. If you are not of that age, please go bye bye.
jim hopper x reader | angst, no comfort
The moment you laid eyes on him, you wanted him — only he wanted her.
eddie munson x fiance!reader | fluffs, slight angst
A blurb style series, calling it Trailer Days. The two of you just got engaged and moved into a small trailer across from Wayne.
eddie munson x reader | angst, no comfort
A simple fight turns out to be the downfall of your relationship.
eddie munson x bestfriend!reader | angst, possibly comfort
What A Lie Part Two — You and Eddie haven't seen each other since that precious day until luck was on his side again when you showed up at Hawkins High.
eddie munson x henderson!reader | fluff, angst, no comfort
This will be a series following the events of season four. I have it all planned out, and somewhat of the first part written. This series is my baby, and pretty much what I invasion if I had a character in stranger things. Don't judge me, I'm weird like that okay? Pretty much, the reader and Eddie are soulmates. They've felt a connection from the moment they've met, and it's clear there's more than just friendship between them. By the time they act on their feelings, it's too late.
steve harrington x reader | angst with comfort
The reader in a relationship with Billy. At first, it's wonderful. Billy is everything the reader wants in a guy, falling in love with him. He begins to pull away, only reader still pins for him, hoping he'd change his mind. What she doesn't know, her knight in shining armor has been there all along.
billy hargrove x reader | angst, fluff
Set in season two, Billy just moved to the crap hole of Hawkins. Unimpressed with his surroundings, he makes a show of himself to become king. The reader doesn't fall for his shit, seeing pass the facade. Can he change his ways to win her over?
eddie munson x reader | angst, possible comfort
Friends with benefits, falling hard for each other. Those three little words never spoken, until one day Eddie couldn't take it anymore. A slip up, terrifying you. Pulling a page from his book, you run for the hills.
eddie munson x reader | angst, comfort
A modern, jealous Eddie? And he's our friends with benefits? A blurb of what happens when Eddie sees you on a date with Steve.
eddie munson x girlfriend!reader | fluff
Our beloved, goofball boyfriend gets a little too drunk at Steve's cabin, luckily you know just what to say to get him to bed.
eddie munson x girlfriend!reader | smut
A sexy, little number where you make Eddie blow his load faster than he wanted.
eddie munson x wife!reader | fluff
An interview with rockstar Eddie on being a new dad.
pick a character x reader | angst
He doesn't love you anymore, so he says. I was going to write this for Eddie, but feel free to send in another character. I could do this for Steve, or dare I say it Jonathan? Let me know what you guys want.
eddie munson x reader | best friends to lovers, smut
Corroded Coffin has their first major gig in the city — of course you show up to support them. You hear some girls talking about how attractive Eddie was, you couldn't have that. You stake your claim, sinking your fangs into him.
31 notes · View notes
kairiscorner · 8 months
Note
Could you possibly write hcs for Ben Reilly with a goth, black cat reader who's somewhat of an antihero in his universe? Very chill and introverted to contrast with his dramatic angst self lol
(Love your writing sm, hope all is well :D)
HELLOOOOOO fuck, i love that wHATTT yes please <333 i hope you like this !!
(reblogs are greatly appreciated, it helps get my content out there! if you guys like what you see, please reblog it too <:D)
btw, i made some space for ben reilly fics here on my taglist, you can drop your user to be updated on fics i drop about our blonde sweetie o(*≧▽≦)
Tumblr media
i think the first time you guys met would be when he would be assigned to contain an anomaly that made its way into his universe, but when he was struggling to beat it, you managed to subdue it almost immediately–and nonchalantly yk, like it's a normal day for you to be taking down villains that have wreaked havoc in your city but in a different font.
"yo, not cool, but... really kinda cool though... who are you?" he'd ask you as you kinda whisk him away from the fallen villain (carrying him bridal style bc that is the only right way to hold my baby boy) "not a friend." you'd reply as you drop him to the ground. "ow. you are... quite the formidable foe, then." "would a foe have saved your blonde ass?" "okay, fair point."
he's been looking forward to seeing you ever since you saved him, trying to one-up you and save you and have you think of him as often as he thought of you after he met you :>
he noticed that you had a pretty goth aesthetic, so he...... he kinda changed his wardrobe to a more black and gray kind of apparel to match with you, or whatever colors you like to use! the point is, he wants, so badly, to match with you <33
he would be patrolling in areas he'd sense you were at and just swing over to you, kinda perch next to you as you watch lounge about, just minding your own business.
"hey..." he'd nudge you as you scoot away from him, with him following you and scooching over to you as you moved away. "i really like your... outfit." "thanks." a silence befalls you two as he thinks of what to say, he's never been this close to anyone before (though you two aren't really that close yet) "you look so... pulchritudinous." he murmurs as you look at him with perplexity in your eyes. "pulchri... what?" "it's a big word that basically means... you look beautiful. i thought you'd like it, um, i mean... i knew you'd like it, i, uh, caught you reading poetry the other... nevermind." he shut himself up before he could continue exposing himself to you.
when he gets a small wound from the villain, he clings on to you and """wails""" about how this is the end of ben reilly! the end of... you two... you push him off you as he asks himself why that didn't work, usually people would love to kiss his booboos :(
when he told you he was admitted into the spider society, he had expected you to be much more proud of him, but seeing you be so chill about it kinda disappointed him. "aren't you proud? i'm with the greats!" "i am, just... i don't know. it'll mean you won't always be here with me, will you?" you ask him with a tone of longing he had never heard come from you before. at that, he immediately wraps his arms around you and SOBS. "BABE I WILL ALWAYS COME BACK, I PROMISE...! I'LL LEAVE THEM IF IT MEANS I WON'T BE WITH YOUUUUUUU......" he sniffles into your shoulder as he cries about the thought of him leaving you for a long while eats away at him. even through your comforting, he's determined to make sure he comes home and stays with you, even if you insist you'll be fine on your own.
67 notes · View notes
bozoswozo · 20 days
Text
Tumblr media
Just finished rewatching Death Note, and though it’s completely for my personal pleasure and I would doubt if anyone would read it from start to finish, it’s rant time! *spoilers alert*
First of all, woah. The second watch was truly an experience. Everyone is always talking about ‘I wish I could rewatch … for the first time again.’ and though I’d usually agree, I don’t for Death Note specifically. I don’t really understand why, but in my second watch had a way bigger impact on me than my first. Maybe because I watched it for the first time 4 years ago and I’ve grown now, with different opinions.
ONE THING THAT DIDN’T CHANGE IS MY DISLIKE TOWARDS LIGHT‼️
This being said, the ending where he tried to run away from the police, wounded, made me feel kind of sad for him. He wanted to do good, sure. But after all, anyone who uses bad to solve bad is as bad as the bad they’re trying to solve. Evil cannot be used to fight evil :P
I understand his point of view (somewhat) but I still dislike him. How are you going to watch this man commit genocide, lead his father to his death and feel no remorse, consider killing his sister to save himself (again, no remorse), lead on the angel that is Misa in a cruel way, kill L and Mello (their deaths are enough for me to dislike him but I needed to give more reasons :3) etc etc and still root for him?
Again, no shade to Light lovers. To each their own :P.
Moving on. When I first watched Dn, I was only attached to L. And so, seeing him get killed off and be replaced by Near sparked in me a deep hatred towards that boy. But maturing is realising that Near is the third best character in the show (Right after L and Mello) and that he’s a cutie pie.
And he’s also extremely smart. Correct me if I’m wrong but before L died, he mentionned that if something were to happen to Watari, that he’d erase all the data. That means that Near had none of the informations that L had collected during his investigation.
That also means that he was able to conduct those researches by
1. Not having Light around to examine his attitude or lock him up illegaly
2. No knowledge of what had happened before L’s death
3. He was nowhere near as experienced as L when it came to solving cases (I think…)
He still was able to arrive to the same conclusion as L though, as he mentioned, it wouldn’t have been possible without Mello :)
I also happened to think about Ryuk a lot more and I think he’s the funniest character. My guy dropped his notebook into the human world because he was bored and he landed on a boy who wanted to become God of the new world. And he just went along with it, giggling every now and then. We never truly got a glimpse of his internal monologue, so we don’t know if he agreed with Light or not.
One thing we know, though, is that he sure was amused…
Light is almost as funny. Think about it. If you got a notebook that could kill people, you’d probably get rid of it (I hope so) or AT LEAST ponder on what you would do with it, or if you’d even use it. If you’re a sane human being, your first instinct would be to ‘No way! I could never kill anyone!’.
But Light wasted no time. In only one episode he went from a privileged, smart man to an absolute deranged killer, and that’s hilarious. He didn’t even think about it twice. It’s like he just had a psychotic side to him that just had to wait for the perfect moment to be released.
Also, I knew Matt didn’t have much screen time. But when I rewatched it I noticed that he really DID NOT HAVE ANY! Like they barely add up to thrirty seconds and that sucks cuz he was so cool.
Speaking of cool, MELLO!
He’s so cool like everything about him, his hair his scar HIS STYLE, his aura EVERYTHING. AND I feel like we tend to forget that he is SMART! Like he is smart enough to have been considered a good successor to L and thats crazy to me. It’s sad we didn’t get to fully experience his smartness though.
Same goes for Near. Though it is stated somewhere (I don’t remember where) that he is a little bit smarter than L (but L has a lot more experience, something that cannot be overlooked), I feel like most of the conclusions he’s made appeared from thin air. Did I just not pay attention?
Because at least with L we could see his train of thoughts, his way of thinking and we understood why he came to all those conclusions and decisions.
But with Near it just feels…rushed. (or maybe I js didn’t pay attention…) Like wdym you found that out…It feels like he was more guessing than discovering. Kinda sucks bc he is allegedly smarter than L and I would’ve loved to see it more.
Anyway,
I finished ranting. If you’ve read all this then woah pls get a life (in a nice way <3) .
Death Note amazing anime, amazing openings, amazing aesthetic, amazing characters, AMAZING EVERYTHING‼️
Tumblr media
20 notes · View notes
pascaloverx · 4 months
Text
Hit The Road
Chapter Seven
previous chapter next chapter
Summary: You are a hunter of supernatural beings who is forced to experience a new reality: being a vampire. The only thing stronger than your thirst for blood is your thirst for revenge.
Author's note: the characters mentioned here were created by Kevin Williamson and Julie Plec, based on the book series of the same name by author L. J. Smith. They don't belong to me. That said, this fanfic will be short. This fanfic may address scenes of violence, inappropriate language and adult content. Minors should not interact with this story. In this chapter there will be some flashbacks, whenever the lettering style is different; it will be a memory. Also some information here is not in the order of the series or the same way it happened in the series. I'm changing some things to fit the fanfic story. Hope you like it!
Tumblr media
Tumblr media
You're standing in front of Stefan's car while he's talking to Caroline on the phone. It took about twenty minutes for him to convince her to go get the cure for werewolf. The name Klaus Mikaelson is said a few times during the conversation between Caroline and Stefan. It seems that she finds it curious that Stefan wants her to go after Klaus when she was involved only a short time ago romantically with Stefan. You can't help but think that if Caroline didn't seem to like you when she thought you was involved with Damon, imagine when she finds out that you slept with her ex?
"Caroline, this is much bigger than you and me. It's about saving the lives of two people, one of them is my brother and your best friend's ex. If you can soften Klaus' heart, I would appreciate it." Stefan speaks softly, like he's not nervous but his hands have been shaking since he rescued me and saw the werewolf bite. You are curious about why your imminent death disturbs this Salvatore's mind so much. Maybe he is remembering you, and the past you lived together.
"Thank you so much for agreeing to help, I owe you one. And tell Tyler that I'm in the middle of the highway where I found Damon's car and Y/N. " Stefan speaks seconds before ending the call, while you are standing outside the car admiring the bite mark becomes increasingly ugly on your arm. Your arm hurts like you're burning inside, and it doesn't look the best. You're trying to stay strong, you want to find Damon and help Stefan.
"Do you think she'll be able to talk this guy Mikaelson into helping us?" You ask a little suspicious that someone so powerful would help you in exchange for nothing.
"He will probably ask for something in return, you must be prepared. I don't know if he doesn't know you, if he does You'll probably owe him. But don't worry, I'll do my best to cover you in this." Stefan says, with a confidence that you admire. Maybe his brother and you will end up dying today but he seems to really believe we're going to get out of this.
"Listen, if we don't have another chance... I want you to know that I remembered you. I actually remembered us." You say with a little hope that he will remember you. You don't know how, or why you want him to look at you and say he recognizes you, but you deeply desire that Stefan remember what you felt for each other.
"What exactly did you remember?" Stefan asks, not seeming confused or lost. It appears he wants to know what you recalled because he's curious. Could he have started to believe that you both shared a romance?
"I remembered that you and I had a passion. Something somewhat forbidden because we got involved after I had been with your brother, but I feel like I truly wanted you. My heart seems to remember you more than my memory can convey." You respond hesitantly. You fear he may not have felt the same way or that he may never remember you.
"I also remembered something. You and I in a forest, bathing in a waterfall or something similar. It was like I could feel that moment, as if being with you made me feel alive." Stefan speaks, looking directly at you while he's crouched on the ground, checking the tire, and you're standing with your arms crossed in front of the car.
"I would really like to die knowing how much you meant to me..." You say softly, almost as if speaking to yourself. However, Stefan stands up immediately, facing you. You try to avoid Stefan's gaze by looking away, but he places both hands on your face, directing your gaze back to him.
Stefan doesn't wait another second and passionately kisses you, as if he wants this moment to be unforgettable. You respond to the kiss, running your hands through Stefan's hair. You end up climbing on top of the car, with your legs wrapped around Stefan's waist. At that moment you realized that you missed him, you missed his body close to yours, you missed feeling like he wanted you. The kiss is only interrupted when you hear the sound of a car approaching. Stefan looks over his head and sees someone he knows, as he waves at the person to come closer.
"What's the plan to find your bloodsucking brother?" A man speaks coming towards the two of us as we compose ourselves. When you are about to say something, you feel a weakness take over you, while your conscience drifts away. You lose your breath as you feel your body fall to the ground.
"Love is not something we choose, Stefan. Obviously, I didn't choose to love you and your brother. So don't you dare call me confused." you shout as you angrily walk into the cabin. Stefan is right behind you, trying to hold you back. You slam the cabin door in his face. He follows you into the cabin and you regret the day you let him into it.
"You didn't let me finish talking, but between you and me, it's at least strange that you're in love with me and him. You said yourself that you would never do that." Stefan says while holding your arm, trying to turn you towards him. But you take the wooden stake and it almost sticks in his chest.
"You compared me to the doppelgangers, and then what do you want me to do, suck you under a tree to celebrate the fact that you think I like all this?" You speak furiously but Stefan doesn't take you seriously. He smiles maybe because you mentioned a blowjob or maybe because he likes to irritate you.
"I love it when you get angry and say something dirty like it's nothing. It's just that you don't know what it's like to know that you'll hardly be loved by a woman without her loving your brother." Stefan says, his tone revealing a mix of frustration and vulnerability.
"I love you. Even though it would be easier not to. It would be easier to love your brother and stick to the agreement you and I made to sleep together without getting attached. I'll love you even while loving your brother. Because you're worth the risk. I'm sorry if this isn't ideal for you." You finish speaking with such intensity that you don't feel the tears streaming down your face, but you know you're crying.
"You didn't understand. As bad as it might be, even in hell, your love would be one of the best things that ever happened to me." Stefan says, wiping away your tears. You look at him with such sincerity that you get lost in Stefan's gaze. You then lean in to kiss him. You want him, and even though it's wrong, you want to keep making this mistake.
You wake up again in Stefan's car, in the passenger seat. You're on a dark road that seems to be in the middle of nowhere. You slowly lift your head, feeling a pain coursing through your entire body. Stefan looks apprehensive, even though he's focused on the road. You finally turn fully towards him to let him know that you've regained consciousness.
"You blacked out for an hour, which is quite impressive for a vampire. You also mumbled things, as if dreaming about me, and seemed really upset, so I thought it best to let you rest." Stefan says, glancing sideways at you. His gaze carries a mix of concern and relief as he continues driving along the dark road.
"These visions, when mixed with a bite that's slowly killing me, can be incredibly intense. I almost feel like I'm human again." You say, adjusting yourself in the car seat, while a strange taste lingers in your mouth, as if someone fed you blood while you were unconscious.
"They must have been really intense; you were thrashing against the car seat. I told you it was better for you to stay home." Stefan says, sounding concerned. You find it a bit overprotective but romantic. He keeps driving, maintaining a watchful gaze on the dark road ahead, the worry lingering in his eyes.
"And who will protect you while you play the hero? If I'm going to die, let it be helping what might have been the great loves of my life." You add, the weight of the situation evident in your words. Stefan's expression softens, realizing the gravity of your sacrifice.
The car comes to a sudden stop, startling you. Stefan, who was following the car in front of you, seems to brace for the worst. You realize the warehouse in front of you must be the place where Damon is. Stefan prepares to get out of the car, while you struggle unsuccessfully to exit.
"Stefan, the door is locked. I hope you're not planning on leaving me here." You almost shout, using all the strength you have to try and exit the car with your vampire abilities. Whether it's weakness from the bite or not fully recovering from your fall, you seem unable to get out.
Stefan looks at you, murmuring a "sorry" as if it could make a difference. The humiliation fuels your anger, giving you the willpower to make another attempt at escaping the car. This guy Tyler seems to be helping Stefan with this situation. But something in you says you need to go there. Maybe it's death warning you that you need to go to the Salvatore brothers. You concentrate enough to kick Stefan's car door away. You feel like your strength is fading but you resist. Damon and Stefan need you, that's what your conscience says.
When you enter the warehouse Stefan is holding a werewolf by the neck and breaking its neck. Tyler is beating up two other werewolves, while Damon...
Damon is bleeding, trapped in what appears to be two bear traps, he has blood marks all over his body. His expression is one of pain, you feel like your heart would break just looking at him. One werewolf continues to torture him, using a wooden weapon and piercing Damon. You don't see anything in front of you, you just kill what appears in front of you. When you finally get to Damon, stick the gun that the werewolf was using it to hurt Damon and shoves it down the werewolf's throat. Damon looks at you with passion, and for the first time since you rediscovered him after losing your memory, you feel that Damon truly loves you.
"You kept your promise..." Damon murmurs, almost breathless. You release him from the trap, and he roars in pain. Offering your shoulder for support, you help him lean on you.
"What promise?" Is all you manage to say before seeing an arrow pierce Damon's abdomen.A werewolf shot that arrow to hit you but Damon got in front. He fell to the ground as blood came out of his mouth. You fear that Damon will die, you don't want to lose his love. When you kneel on the floor and see Damon agonizing in pain, you feel like your world is rocked. You knock the arrow out of Damon and shout to Stefan, who can give Damon his blood to drink. You look at Damon, who seems to be recovering from the arrow. You got the feeling as if a weight is leaving your shoulder. And then in the midst of it all you feel something warm come out of your nose when you touch it; see blood. And then you loses consciousness.
Tumblr media
"Marry me?" Damon suggests, as you stand there waiting for him to explain why he's standing in front of your cabin in the middle of the night.
"You just came from a date with your girlfriend, and now you want to marry your second option?" You say, still recovering from your interrupted sleep.
"I was with my EX-girlfriend at a ball that I committed to attend long before breaking up with her, but that's not the point. I can't get you out of my head and my heart. So, marry me." Damon says, his voice holding a mix of sincerity and urgency as he awaits your response.
"Marriage for what reason? You're not even a human, for God's sake." You say, finding it hard to believe that this is happening now.
"Because you're human, and I want that commitment with you. I'll repeat, marry me?" Damon insists, his gaze fixed on you with a sense of determination.
"I do, Damon. If you want me to say I accept you in sickness and in health, even though you won't get sick. I promise to be by your side in richness and in poorness, but as you're a vampire, you must be rich. And all of this until death do us part. But death has already parted us, so..." Before you can finish, he interrupts you with a kiss.
"Do you promise to sacrifice your life if I need help?" Damon adds, as if he's truly conducting a wedding ceremony.
"I promise. Do you promise to protect me from anything that tries to harm me?" You say, looking at him, totally enchanted.
"I promise. I guess we're husband and wife now. You're a Salvatore and I am your husband." Damon says, kissing you intensely and entering the cabin with you.
25 notes · View notes
yamcha-thelonewolf · 3 months
Text
🫂Toriyama forgets, Yamcha doesn't!
This time I want us to relax a little bit. My last analysis, The Heart's Savior, was very challenging both for me who wrote it and for you who read it, so now it is only fair to lighten the load.
In a poll, I asked you whether you would prefer to know more about Yamcha's life as a fighter or as an ordinary earthling, and if you remember, the second choice won. So here I am analyzing a little trivia that has nothing to do with battles. Well... Sort of! Martial arts still has something to do with it, but it only serves as a background. In fact, I will tell you about an extremely strong friendship, not because the bond is actually intense but because it goes against the narrative choices of Toriyama and Toei Animation. Believe me, guys, this analysis could maintain the connection with a character we hear little about now. Lastly, just because I know it's a kind of topic that many people like, I'm going to talk somewhat about one of Yamcha's many looks.
Let's be clear, this is just my theory, it's quite silly, but at least it might make you smile a little... Well, I hope so!
Tumblr media
Before we begin, it seems only fair to warn that the following is likely to be coincidental. Dragon Ball has never dwelled on details, at least not the ones I care about, so it is highly likely that this topic is meaningless. But... What if it doesn't? Assuming Yamcha has a life of his own in this show, talking about it might be worthwhile... Because it would once again show what a beautiful person he is in everyday life.
So... Let's get started!
Tumblr media
Don't worry, I told you. I am not going to talk about Yamcha as a fighter, but as I had anticipated it is necessary to understand how incredible he is as a normal earthling.
We are at the end of the Fortuneteller Baba Arc. Goku has finally found out where the last dragon ball is and so sets off with Upa to resurrect his father Bora. Meanwhile, Yamcha and the others await their friend's return at Baba's palace. It is during this wait that Yamcha reflects at length on his own life and he finally decides to ask Muten to make him his pupil.
A new orange Gi is definitely needed!
Tumblr media
Freeze! It is not the Turtle School uniform that I want to talk about. Let's go back for a moment... A few hours before the 22nd Tournament begins.
Tumblr media
Alright! We've got it!
We are on the plane bound for Papaya Island. Bruce Lee Yamcha has completed his training under Muten, and with this proud pretty face he lets us know that we are going to see some good things. He also seems more mature. He is in his 20s. Guys, many things could be said about this drawing, but in this case I will simply dwell on his outfit. This is the first time we have seen Yamcha in such an elegant look. We were used to seeing him in martial artist outfits or otherwise with looks more suited to his wild nature, so this is a very nice surprise. For a change, he looks great. I mean, you can dress and style him any way you like: Yamcha has the incredible power to be charming in any way. Yes, even with that bowl hair from DBZ...
Tumblr media
Jeez, I love him. Let's go back to our outfit now.
Some will remember it for sure, but for those who do not know I want to let you show that this dress has its own origin.
One more step back now.
We are in the 21st Tournament Arc. Yamcha is in town with Bulma and he's training on his own. Muten's only pupils are Goku and Krillin. Many people do not pay attention to it, but if these two boys managed to get into the Turtle School it is because of a character who unfortunately met a brutal end in the show: Lunch.
Tumblr media
The deal is clear: If Goku and Krillin can find a nice girl to stay at the Kame House, then Muten can train them. It is the only way to access. So we can safely say that if Goku has become so strong, it is also thanks to Lunch. Fortunately, she is found in her quiet form, but soon her secret would come out...
Tumblr media
...Whatever! Goku and Krillin can finally train under Muten. Well, there really would be so much to say about Lunch. She is a character who deserves a lot. She should not have disappeared at all after the great contribution she made to Goku and Krillin. Not only that. She even defeated some Red Ribbon soldiers, she helped Yamcha defeat some criminals because he had a broken leg, in a filler she saves Goku from an attempted "kidnapping," and among many other things she allowed to find front row seats during tournaments! Seriously, she would deserve a separate post.
If we look at Lunch as a function of the protagonist, it is undeniable that she was the mother Goku never had. At least in her good personality.
Tumblr media
The same of course applies to Krillin. Let's think it through. She cooked for them, cuddled them before bed, and who knows how many other mother hen things she did. Goku definitely lacked such a figure, so this is also why I consider Lunch an important character in his growth. If Bulma is more like an older sister, Lunch is definitely his mommy. Have you noticed that? Every person Goku meets represents a family member. It's extremely cute.
Be that as it may, as proof that Lunch is a real mom to the two pupils, she decides to give them a nice gift at the end of their training.
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Tadaaan! Okay, I admit that Goku and Krillin are really funny dressed like this. They look like two little gangsters, something like Joe Pesci and Robert De Niro as kids, but that's okay. Lunch sewed these outfits for them, and that's what matters. It was done with love.
Tumblr media
Seeing her satisfied like a loving mommy getting excited for her kids going to school for the first time always moved me. Although in this case the destination is the tournament, the meaning is the same: Lunch gave importance to their big day by honoring it with this outfit as awkward as adorable.
Well, friends. Now that the puzzle is almost complete, we can go back to our boy! As I said at the beginning, Yamcha begs Muten to make him his third pupil. Once inside the school, it doesn't take long to realize that for all of his three years of training he has been dealing with Lunch as well.
It should be mentioned, however, that the two had actually met for the first time during the Red Ribbon Arc, when everyone leaves to help Goku.
Tumblr media
This is the first real moment when they meet. Lunch is in her "evil" form, but a little later Yamcha will also make the acquaintance of her good side.
This meant that during these three years he also cohabited with Lunch, who must surely have cooked for him as well. I think it's a really interesting detail. Unfortunately, we don't know what has happened during these three years, but I would like to point out that this is the first time Yamcha has dealt so closely with a girl other than Bulma. Imagining that he is still very shy with girls, I have no doubt that he has been embarrassed many times in being so near to her. Stop!, I'm not saying he had feelings for her, but she is still a pretty girl, most of the time very naive as well as sensual, so I wouldn't be surprised if Lunch made Yamcha blush without even meaning to. By the way, it would be interesting to analyze Bulma's feelings in this situation, since she has visited Yamcha several times. I don't think she was ever jealous of Lunch, but she may have punched her boyfriend in the head a few times anyway just because.
Tumblr media
...They were so cute...
Okay, now the topic is clear, isn't it? The bond between Yamcha and Lunch is one of the least explored things in Dragon Ball. There is no point in talking about it because it leads nowhere, but believe me, for an earthlings fan it is worth discussing.
First, let's start by saying that this is a different relationship from that she had with the other two pupils. If with Goku and Krillin Lunch was able to act like a caring mother, the same cannot be said for Yamcha. Yamcha is not a child like them. He is almost the same age as Lunch, so the relationship must be absolutely equal: they are two friends. Nothing more, nothing less. This does not mean that Lunch took less care of Yamcha. Surely she must have avoided giving him a good-night kiss and things like that, that is.
As for her second personality, it becomes more complicated. We will never know whether "Bad" Lunch felt attracted to Yamcha. We know she loves wild guys and Yamcha certainly is, but I don't think she was that disloyal to her friend Bulma. In short: I am convinced that there was never any sexual attraction between Lunch and Yamcha. They have always been two great friends, proving that friendship between boys and girls can exist.
So... Maternal or not, one thing is certain: when the big day comes again, Lunch gives her gift to Yamcha too.
Tumblr media
I don't know how many of you have thought about this. I'm sure I'm not the first one who has thought about it, but geez... It's a detail that has always excited me for no real reason. Perhaps because it is one of those details that indirectly deepens the relationships between Dragon Ball characters, which are unfortunately poorly told.
I mean, try to think of the scene!
Yamcha at that time was not really the type of guy to wear stuff like that. He has lived for many years in the desert, where it is not necessary to wear fancy clothes because the only priority is to survive. Yet in the desert, we don't know how, he also learned good manners, especially with girls. I'm sure he did everything possible not to disappoint Lunch's expectations. Yamcha has always been like that. In order to please others he has often sacrificed himself, so I think something like that happened in this case as well. Let's try to put ourselves in his shoes. He may be gentle and all, he surely must have thanked Lunch for this, but how much he must have cringed wearing this?
It is a bit like putting a bow tie on a wild wolf...
Tumblr media
This is precisely how I imagine him: deeply embarrassed and on the verge of sinking underground. "Boy, I feel so ridiculous!"
Don't worry, silly, it actually fits you much better than you think. I don't believe anyone found him as funny as Goku and Krillin were the first time they wore that thing. Anyway, I assume that this is why we don't see himwith that Al Capone hat. "Hell, I can accept the dress... but spare me that thing!!"
Tumblr media
Here you can see Yamcha now comfortable in his elegant look and Lunch by his side totally unaware that she was the one who sewed it for him. By the way, I think it's superficial to say this but... It's really nice that she handmade this dress for Yamcha. I mean, his body is much bigger than Goku and Krillin's. She must have struggled a lot! It's a proof to how much she loved Yamcha, too.
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Come on, look at her! Here Lunch is as worried as everyone about Yamcha's condition after Tenshinhan broke his leg. The way she addresses him does indeed have something maternal about it, but it mainly shows that she has become attached to him over those three years.
She is so precious...
Tumblr media
...even when she is about to kill Yamcha and Bulma in one shot.
Tumblr media
Gosh, I love her! It is so nice that everyone has learned to accept Lunch as she is. Yamcha is like that. He always accepted his friends, no matter how they are, he is always there for them and always took care of them. I am convinced that he loved Lunch as he loves everyone else.
So... the topic could end here, but it is not like me to conclude so trivially. I like to go beyond the impossible, in fact even this time I want to extend the whole situation.
The real point of the topic is another.
Unfortunately, Lunch's fate is the most horrible of all. In truth, I don't know which is worse between being forgotten and being ridiculed throughout the show. Let's just say that neither Lunch nor Yamcha were lucky. They also have that in common, besides the fact that both are very close to Tien. I would call it the trio of outcasts. However, if we at least know what happens to Yamcha during DBZ, we know nothing about Lunch. The last time we see her is in a bar, completely drunk because Tien is dead. Another appearance, which is really brief, is during the Buu Saga, when she gives her energy to Goku. I consider these two scenes to be frighteningly sad because in both cases we see her alone and that hurts me a lot. It is as if she has lost contact with her friends. After all, she could not even return to the Kame House because it was now inhabited by Krillin, Android 18 and their daughter. There was no place for her anymore. This hurt even more, because we really don't know what happened to her. Finally, she appears without ever saying anything in the OVA Dragon Ball: Yo! Son Goku and His Friends Return!!
Tumblr media Tumblr media
This is quite consoling, but it is not enough. Her presence is highly unnecessary. I think she was thrown into the rabble just to actually pay homage to those who were Goku's friends, but what's the point if she doesn't even say a word? She certainly deserved more since she had been forgotten for almost two decades.
Whatever... Thank goodness Yamcha exists!
He is seriously the hero we do not deserve.
Tumblr media
Well yes, Yamcha may be the one who partly solves this great riddle:
...What ever happened to Lunch all this time?
The truth is that there are no answers. Everyone can imagine what they want. One can think that she stayed with Tien (although DBS has ruled out this possibility for the umpteenth time), one can think that she opened a food truck or that she came to visit Muten sometimes. I personally believe that she has not completely lost contact with her friends. At least, not with Yamcha. I mean, we've seen how Yamcha is not the type to quit. When it comes to loving someone, Yamcha is always in the front row. This makes me believe that he has not stopped seeing Lunch. He is too loyal to forget a person who has done so much for him. Plus, if we add that Yamcha was left alone at one point in the story, it makes even more sense that he spends his time with an equally "lonely" friend. I imagine Yamcha as a very nostalgic guy. It would be unthinkable for him to exclude such an important memory as Lunch from his life.
At least, that's how it is for me. Until now I didn't know it for sure, but a few days ago I had an epiphany. That's when I realized that maybe Lunch is still there, we just don't see her.
Tumblr media
Dragon Ball Z: The Tree of Might, 1990.
Did you notice anything?
Oh god yes, it's that damn gangster outfit again. I mean, the dress sewn by Lunch. Although it is difficult to identify the timeline of this film, it is still clear that we are in a context far away from OG Dragon Ball. At first I anticipated that all this might just be a coincidence, but personally I like to believe that there is much more behind it. Assuming that indeed it is the dress made by Lunch, we need to consider one thing: it can never be that one she gave him for the 22nd Tournament. It would be really old, plus I don't think it would be able to hold up Yamcha's new body. He's now in his 30s, he has not only grown taller but also added a lot of muscle mass. It is practically impossible for him to have been able to wear it. So... Maybe Yamcha asked Lunch to renew that old dress? Think about it, it makes sense to me. Yamcha is also very cheap. Being a former thief, he knows the value of money well and knows that it is easier to lose it than to find it. He is really funny, but also very cute.
Tumblr media
The money accumulated through baseball certainly does not change his stingy nature, that's why it is not strange to think that he turned to Lunch. Of course, also as a matter of affection. I think Yamcha is a guy who is very attached to things, especially if there are a lot of good memories behind them.
I mean, something could have happened like, "Hi Lunchie, how are you? Long time no see, it took me so long to find you! Let me guess, you're hiding from the cops, right?" and then... "Anyway, I wanted to ask you a favor. Going through my closet, I found that fancy dress you had sewn for me for the Tournament. Do you remember? Here it is. I tried to wear it but I only gained a hole in my pants. I'll let you guess where. So... Could you fix it for your bestie?"... So she would say: "Are you kidding, Yamcha? There's no way I'm going to fix that! I'll definitely sew you a new one!"
If so, we could assume that they are still in contact! It would really comfort me to know that Lunch is still part of the gang, even if we don't see her. Yamcha in this case could seriously be the link, simply because he is brought up to be.
That would be great.
I want to believe it.
After all...
...Toriyama may forget his characters, but Yamcha will never forget his friends.
Tumblr media
Thank you!!
26 notes · View notes