#humidity will be my downfall

[aeiou]

shit like this is my 13th reason

[trickortreatmeout]

Either I’m in my romance novel arc or this guy has an elaborate plan to murder me

[1864reruns]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ౨ৎ zoro, sanji, ace, law & "casual" relationships

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ2024 ©1864RERUNS

includingㅤ━ㅤroronoa zoro, sanji vinsmoke, portgas d. ace, trafalgar d. law

tag(s)&warning(s). drabbles, gn! reader, sfw, slightly suggestive, we all yearners here, nothing new, little bit of angst, fwb's and/or lack of labels

from vyon. my intention was to have reader upset on the dynamics of their relationship but i can't see any of the op boys/men loving casually (apart from a couple sluts... shanks.. jokes :p), their love runs so deep, it governs their every move soooo :3 sorry if that was what you were expecting, but i was also expecting that until i started writin for zo and the rest jus followed; i wanted to add lufs, but i feel like if he loved you, he'd make it known and apparent, he leaves no room to doubt when he loves

zoro, unsurprisingly, doesn't indulge in casual relationships. nothing in his life has ever been casual for him, not his swords, not his captain, not his crew, and it certainly won't be you that he'll ever feel casual about. it starts small, it starts stupid, it's a stroke of impulsivity and that's his downfall. the swordsman dwells on the immediate here and now often. though of course, zoro has long–term plans with his life, but a lot of the details between his current now and the promised future are blurred, unclear— which allows him enough space and flexibility to adapt to any new situations that he's thrown into. he's diligent and stubborn, but smart enough to know that it's necessary not to be so rigid and headstrong.

when you become casual, it's like something in him has been satisfied, a ruining ache that'd had settled below the scars he'd first received from mihawk stops hurting. your hands smoothed over his skin, your large smile thrown over your shoulder with the sun melting over your features, your warmth so sticky and humid when you sneak into his hammock— he warns you that he's sweaty from training but it doesn't deter you, telling him that you're also sweating from running around with your captain all day. you'll both just have to take a shower later, you tell him and zoro naturally imagines himself trailing after you into the bathroom with no incentive. it all becomes so natural that luffy, nami, chopper, everyone begins looking for you when it's zoro they want. admittedly, there's still a dull sting where the ache used to lay sometimes. when your head nods down, your body stretched out on top of his, and you press your lips so slow, so sweet against his own that he thinks the next words to leave your lips when you pull away will be a confession. a declaration that might make his own promise to become the best swordsman pale in comparison. but old wounds scar, and those scars hurt when you press down on them because they're so deep.

that's why zoro still feels the ache sometimes when your entire weight presses him down, rendering him immobile— him, a swordsman, immobile. he's allowed your marks onto his back, there's so much softness in how he touches you and yet. there's still nothing tangible.

sanji wouldn't settle for a casual relationship unless it's the only thing he could get and unfortunately, it's the only thing he thinks he'd be capable of having with you. no matter how tall, how gentlemanly, how sweet, generous, attractive sanji was, there's something inherent in him that makes the thought of having you promised to his heart incomprehensible. without that tangible promise, there's nothing there for him to inevitably destory; no heart of yours left in the care of a vinsmoke and he believes it to be for the best.

despite how his heart lurches whenever you sneak up on him in the kitchen, despite your footsteps already so familiar to his heart that it immediately accompanies the dull beating that sounds in his ribs as you draw yourself closer and closer, wrapping your arms around him and leaning yourself onto him. despite how it's like you trust him as your weight falls onto him, despite how you relax as his arm reaches back awkwardly just to accommodate you, laying on your waist. despite the domesticity you offered as a lingering kiss on his cheek and ask him what he's making. despite it all.

he knows he wants something more— robin learns he wants something more when she becomes a witness to the decision to allow his fist to fall on the face of creep that had followed you all the way back to the sunny, but it's knowledge that'll always be foreign to you. it's haunting still, as you hold his hands in yours and dab a cotton soaked in antiseptics on his knuckles. his fingers tighten around yours when you finish, drawing away to put the first aid kit back and he pulls you back. just for a moment, whilst the skin of his hands are raw and bloody and weak enough not to hurt your heart if you ever decided to hand it over.

ace thinks himself capable of keeping things casual, foolish really when he pauses long enough to remember that his entire being was moulded from love. though it helps that he's such a notorious pirate, from such a notorious crew; it helps him pack up with excuses of having things he needed to do, people he needed to see, and people to avoid. he doesn’t stick around one place for too long, an enigmatic and mysterious enough man to make a decent night to tell friends about. he's content with that, whitebeard either doesn't know or doesn’t care, and his crew can't complain since he doesn't ever bring them on board. (though marco sometimes makes him go through very specific check ups that he gets teased for. even then, the trail of hearts he leaves behind is fairly scarce despite how his crew paints him out to be.)

that's why it's surprising for his crew to see him come back to the docked moby dick on an island under whitebeard's protection with someone trailing behind him. some of them hang from the guard rails, watching with interest as he spreads his arms towards his father's ship with a proud smile that only grows to look like it's tearing through his skin as your eyes widen in amazement. he hangs around the dock with you for a while longer, talking your ear off it seems as his fellow pirates swap places watching their commander. when the sun begins setting, ace is waving goodbye to you with a smile that's promising his return and immediately gets teased when he shoots himself up in a pillar of fire to get onto the ship. (the pirates ignore the way he looks over his shoulder to see if you've seen it.)

though surprising, they think they've seen the last of the unlucky soul ace has bought close to the moby dick until they're two days worth of sailing away from that island and he's scrunching his nose up at a sheet of paper, humming and making loud, annoying noises until someone else cuts in and asks what he's reading. a letter, he states. who's sending his ass letters? they wonder. the letters persist. a few months later, they're rounding back to that island because there'd been trouble there. whitebeard thinks it's lucky that ace was off on his own business when he'd gotten the news but when he makes it to the island, there are flickers of flames so vibrant and tamed that could only belong to his son. it takes a while for things to calm down, but ace is holding someone close to his chest as he pushes through the rooms of the moby dick, shouting for marco.

whilst marco is watching over you, whitebeard has to order ace away from your side to talk to him. it's customary for whitebeard pirates to introduce their lovers to their father, he tells ace. ace's face scrunches up, a flicker of regret. it's nothing like that.

law is a realist, a man of science, only convinced by facts and straightforward reasoning. love has neither facts nor straightforward reasoning; it's not something he can study to understand better, he has nothing to cut open, to observe in different conditions under a microscope. the body's desires, on the other hand, is easily explained by science. even then, law isn't one really to have desires often. they're unlikely and rare, but they happen sometimes and he rations that it's simple biology to wake up with his pants uncomfortably tight.

knowing you well enough, law's no stranger to the fact that you're not someone that can be easily swayed enough to the delusions of love after a few nights together— you're smart. though the first time is a simple accident. days, weeks, months of being stuck in the polar tang around his crew with no space or privacy to take care of himself, it only takes a couple lingering touches and a misguided conversation for law to reach out. after, you both come to an agreement that'll simply help you both let off some steam. it's easy, it's simple, until it isn't and law finds out that he was a stranger to himself and he finds that he is someone that is easily swayed by delusion. he rationalises it as a physical attraction.

then, you are separated. he misses his crew of course, and when the thought hones in, detailing out the features of you that he'd missed, he rationalises and he rationalises. luckily, with the arrival of the strawhats and their reckless captain, law has barely any time alone with any thoughts that aren't doubts about teaming up with them and more and more plans to counteract the ones that had been messed up. somehow, magically, luckily, it all works out. for the first time in a while, his mind is quiet. he doesn’t think of you or the strawhats. his mind strays further back to a certain love that'd left him starved, crawling in the shadow of the words that'd been governing him for a long time.

and of course, because nothing in his life ever goes his way, he's shook awake, forced to face his raw and unadulterated feelings with no way to rationalise. don't try to find a reason for someone's love, whilst poetic and helpful in another context, law finds many reasons why he loves you and none of them belong to the categories: fact or straightforward reasoning. he dreads returning to you and having to force his love back under those two genres.

[chocsra]

"Held like Glass, Kissed Alike"

chuuya x fem! reader - how he holds you 🙇‍♀️

a/n: to all my physical touch bbgs 🫶

content: how chuuya holds you, kissing, holding hands, fluff, drabble/small oneshot, smug! chuuya, soft! chuuya, not proofread, prolly grammar errors

"chuuya! hold my bag while you're at it!"

'cocky demands from a cocky person', chuuya thinks. "tsk," he tuts--the downpour of rain at the moment was horrific, especially in a city, a populated, developed, city drowned in sad puddles of slushy water. you and your trusted friend, chuuya nakahara, had came to go shopping, and unbeknownst to the subsequent downfall, you both stupidly didn't bring an umbrella.

so when the rain fell, he swiftly grabbed the closest umbrella in one of the restaurant's stands, successfully covering the both of you. chuuya is one of your close friends, and even though he's slightly annoyed most of the time and yaps a whole lot, he's also decently reliable.

you on the other hand, felt like you needed to make his life worse, a living hell. wanting to feel like those clingy girlfriends in romcoms, you pulled down your purse and dramatically handed it to him. watching as his eyebrows furrow in confusion, "might as well hold my bag while you're at it!" and yes, even with a baffled scoff, the redhead still held your bag for the rest of the day.

"i just realised, why do you always wear gloves?"

a romantic tune of jazz sung in the air, fancy clinks and clanks of cutlery swang past as you and your now fellow date, chuuya nakahara, sat in one of the finest restaurants in yokohama.

the ginger chews on his food intently, elbow planted on the table as he takes two gloved fingers, and motions you to come closer. you cock a brow, leaning forward, ear facing him.

"got a nasty case of athletes foot, but on my fingers." that's one way to swoon you, great work chuuya. the mafioso wiggles his eyebrows sarcastically watching as you sink away back into your seat. "thank you s'much," you reply, now picking at your food, "think I just lost my appetite."

the redhead snickers and pinches the tip of his gloves in between his teeth, removing it. "I'm joking, here." he smirks, a large hand urging you to place yours atop of his. you follow, feeling the warmth of his palms spread to yours, his hands were pretty damn big, bigger than a lot of men despite of his height.

"you like holding hands, hm?" the mafiosos smirks playfully as you try to hide the big smile creeping on your lips. he rubs the back of your hand with his thumb, gently looking as the moonlight illuminates your eyes focused on your hands. chuuya felt damn lucky he could ever get someone to look at him like that. the redhead darts his eyes back to you and your interlocked hands, whispering, "i do too, it's okay." even though chuuya was a terrifying mafia executive, he couldn't help but hide the boyish smile as he held your hand in between his fingers, feeling as your soft skin smooths over his rarely bare, lithe hands.

"this is rush hour in public transit, would ya look at that?"

you beam a light-hearted smile at the redhead beside you, in one of the most crowded subways. sweat and humid air pierced through, and so did the amount of space you could breathe in. chuuya nakahara, your newly and beloved boyfriend, hasn't taken public transportation in years. so he wasn't used to the crushing claustrophobia of other people at all, you, on the other hand seemed rather desensitized to it. smiling and rambling about how 'it's not that bad'. the redhead could only scoff in return, his right hand tightening on the bar for support.

"actually," you continue, clutching your purse in your left hand, "you haven't been here in a while, have you?" you smirk teasingly, causing chuuya to groan in annoyance at your words. the subway doors opening yet again, "well, consider this your fir--"

a new line of bustling people rammed into the compartment, as they filled the station, you stepped back in oblivion, almost seperating you and your fellow company. but with a calculated pull, chuuya hooked an arm around your waist and pulled you close to him, thumb rubbing at your side.

the mafioso lets out a dramatic sigh, "yeah, well? continue?" you look at him in a surprised gaze, eyes darting to the hand still tugged around your waist, even as the sea of other people weren't in threat of a stampede anymore. you felt a knot twist in your stomach as chuuya cocks a brow at you, waiting for you to finish your sentence. "shit, well, now i forgot."

"opinion on people who sleep with socks on?"

you weren't so used to grand gestures in general, but every month your boyfriend, chuuya nakahara, surprised you with something new just because you could deal with his shit. this month, he took you stargazing, with a small theme park next to your designated spot. neon arcade lights reflected off your face and eyes as he took a gloved hand and brushed away some strands with an ever soft graze of his fingers.

you, feeling foreign to the affectionate brush of his fingers, smile tugging at his lips, eyes rested on yours, asked the most random and stupid question that popped in your head. "what's your opinion on people who sleep with socks on?" the ginger chuckles softly at your question, still cupping your cheek, watching as your eyes drag away to anything but him. "shut up already." chuuya smiles boyishly, which reminds you of his raw humanity every once in a while. you hum in a quipped agreement before stiffling a laugh.

"happy not-so-ani-aniversary, pretty girl." chuuya's pillowy lips come down on your left cheek, leaving a soft peck as his thumbs grazes against the side of your face. his lips then connect to your right cheek, making your pinch one of your eyes shut as the redhead pecks your nose. uncontrollably smiling as you giggle, pushing your hair to the side as he presses his soft lips against your forehead, bringing yourselves down.

the mafioso brings you in closer, "i love you." he mutters, as he connects your lips to his. a soft fluttering in his stomach occurs as he feels you smile against his lips, taking his fingers in between your hair as he smooths through it. he was truly enamoured, enchanted, beyond bewitched. chuuya took in how good it feels to have you, a girlfriend, an asshole, a companion.

from every place he held, it was always just you. chuuya knew, that if his fingers fit so perfect in the interlocking of yours, curled around your waist, or cupping your cheek, he was meant to hold you. to be yours, as they say.

a/n: sorry for my vanishing bbgs, ill upload more at christmas break😔😔

[captain-hawks]

i know i usually ask for my boi soshiro but what about narumi and hm... a location... the rooftop of a building? all good if this doesn't spark anything though!!

the shape of your absence

gen narumi x f!reader

In the months since you left the First Division, you've tried so hard to let go of the torch your heart carries for Captain Gen Narumi. But it's nearly impossible to avoid the heady pull of his orbit when he's standing right in front of you under the glow of string lights on a rooftop at Tachikawa Base.

wc: 2.6k

c: 18+ only, exes to lovers, angst, pining, feels, unprotected p in v, creampie

SPICY SLEEPOVER — ROUND V

This was a terrible idea.

“Gen—” you gasp out, head tipping back against the wall as your knees begin to wobble.

He ignores you from where he’s kneeling on the ground in front of you, the skirt of your dress bunched up in one of his fisted hands, the other clasped against the inside of your thigh. His fingertips skirt the bottom of your ass as he slowly, pointedly strokes his thumb over your underwear and down the length of your sensitive folds. Despite the cotton boundary, it makes you shiver all the same. 

(And admittedly, you’re not sure if you’re more affected by the sensation itself, or the inherent muscle memory in your body’s reaction to his touch.)

“Gen, we shouldn’t—”

Soft lips meet skin at the curve of your hip, teeth teasing the waistband of your panties.

“Why not?”

You know Gen far too well to be surprised by his unbothered, matter-of-fact tone. And quite frankly, it’s difficult to find the strength to grasp the flimsy arguments flitting about in your mind under the weight of his steady gaze as he looks up at you from between your legs. 

“Because someone could walk over here,” you protest, jerking your head in the direction of the warm glow of string lights and the sounds of music and laughter.

Most of the Third Division is currently up on the large rooftop of the training building for a party, milling about with food and drinks as the hour grows late and the day’s humid air turns cool beneath the star-speckled sky. 

And your goddamn ex-boyfriend shouldn’t even be here crashing this celebration in the first place, but as luck would have it, he’s at your base running a special month-long training program with the latest recruits. 

Gen gestures at the supply sheds that you’re currently tucked behind. “Nobody can see. And that never stopped us before.” 

Heat crawls up the back of your neck at the memory of all of the careless places you’ve found yourselves in compromising positions together, too absorbed in one another to care.

“—and we broke up for a reason,” you sigh.

Eight months ago, the Third Division found itself in dire need of a skilled Platoon Leader after sustaining significant losses during a difficult battle. You and Gen were both sitting around the same table when news of the request made it to the First Division, and you’d felt sick over the immediate look of pained resignation that crossed his face the moment he met your gaze.

Because you were both well aware that you were the best person for the job.

…and he knew you’d go, without hesitation.

While the geographical space between Tachikawa Base and Ariake Maritime Base is negligible, it was already a struggle for the two of you to juggle the demands of your opposing schedules from the same place.

You knew it wouldn’t work.

(Gen did, too. Even though he did his best to convince you otherwise.)

The two of you always knew this would be a hazard of your jobs, the one potential downfall that could rip away the sole piece of selfish happiness you had been too weak to deny yourself after the first time he kissed you. 

(Following months of flirting and friendly competition. When you finally beat one of his long-standing records on the training ground and ran into his arms grinning and laughing after—all of the gloating swiftly dying on your lips when he picked you up and spun you around, his eyes shining with so much fondness and pride that your legs threatened to give out under the dam of emotions that burst open inside of you. 

Gen kissed you like he wanted to savor every second.)

But this dedication to your jobs, to the JAKDF, it was a reality you had to remind Gen of again and again on your final night with the First Division—a pale strip of moonlight illuminating the tangle of your bodies atop the mattress, his face buried in your hair, your chest rising and falling at unsteady intervals. 

(It was a reality you had to grapple with in the quiet of daybreak the morning that you left, your eyes clenched firmly shut as you tried to memorize rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your palm while he slept soundly beside you.)

The sharp, painful ache of leaving Gen has made itself a home in your chest, a steady pang that you’ve become resigned to in the weeks and months that have passed. It’s made bearable only by your mutual agreement to avoid direct contact—to let the hurt sink into the soft, pliant sand of the past as days tick by like the rise and fall of the tides. 

(Nobody needs to know how difficult it is for you to breathe some mornings when you wake up to the suffocating feeling of all of the empty space beside you.)

–

ONE HOUR EARLIER

“I think we should grab dinner next week.”

Glancing up from the drink clutched in your hands, you look at the fellow Platoon Leader standing in front of you. He transferred into the Third Division less than a month ago, and he’s yet to recognize the complete and total lack of interest that you’ve shown toward him and his cocky attitude. Admittedly, you haven’t even bothered to remember his name. 

“I think I’m good,” you reply with disinterest, taking a sip from the cup.

Tilting his head to the side, he offers you a wry smile. “It doesn’t need to be anything serious, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Exhaling through your nose, you blink at him several times. “I’m not interested.”

“Come on, just give me a—Captain Narumi.” The man’s eyes go wide as he cuts himself off mid sentence, gaze falling somewhere just beyond your shoulder. 

Your grip tightens on your glass as the distinct scent of citrus and sandalwood body wash reaches your nostrils a moment before a familiar voice says, “Anyone ever teach you what no means?”

“Captain Narumi, sir. I was just—”

“Leaving?” Gen’s shoulder brushes against yours as he comes to stand beside you.

“Leaving,” he nods, not even giving you one last cursory glance before turning away to busy himself with another group of officers nearby.

You stand there in silence, not trusting yourself to angle your body to look at the man standing beside you, who you’ve managed to avoid thus far since he arrived at your base earlier this week. 

And it’s ridiculous—the way you suddenly feel as if you can’t quite get enough air into your lungs, despite the wide open, endless expanse of it surrounding you on the rooftop.

“Hey,” Gen murmurs, his body nudging yours ever so slightly as he rocks back onto the heels of his feet, head tilted up to take in the blanket of stars littered across the dark sky.

You allow yourself one small discretion, one brief indulgence as you turn just enough to take in his tall profile.

It hurts—looking at him hurts.

This is why you opted for a clean break, because the mere weight of his presence beside you now is all it takes to puncture a fatal hole in the very fabric of your meager defenses.

“Hey.”

—

NOW

Gen straightens up, letting the skirt of your dress fall back down your thighs as he rests a hand flat against the wall beside your head, his gaze intense. 

Suddenly, the mood feels far heavier now than earlier, when your tentative conversation quickly fell into the easy, comfortable laughter the two of you once shared. When you didn’t pull your knee away as it brushed against Gen’s as you sat down. (When you pointedly ignored the loud thoughts clamoring in your head as you gave in to the urge to grasp the front of his shirt and tug his stupidly pretty mouth to yours.)

“Have you been seeing anyone else?” he asks.

Brows furrowing, you begin, “That’s none of your—”

“Because I haven’t,” he cuts you off quickly. “I haven’t been able to do anything but think of you every goddamn day since you left.”

“Gen—” You can’t get the words out, that you feel exactly the same. That there can’t be anyone else.

“Tell me to fuck off right now, and I will,” he exhales, voice rough. “But I can’t keep pretending like that’s not the truth.”

Your voice breaks a little as you quietly reply, “I miss you all the time.”

His forehead touches yours, a visible shudder wracking through him. You nearly forgot how it felt to see this side of Captain Gen Narumi, to peel back the layers of the perfect soldier, the relentless fighter, the arrogant leader with his sometimes childish tendencies. 

To be the full center of his focus and object of his attention (of his affection). 

To viscerally feel the vulnerable emotions painted starkly across his chest (to be trusted to cradle them within your grasp). 

It was a late summer evening beside the waterfront when Gen wrapped his arms around you from behind, a warm breeze rustling his hair as he pressed a kiss to the curve of your jaw and thanked you for being the one person to see him.

Now, his thumb traces your collarbone, and every part of you aches for all of the time you’ve spent apart. The days you’ve tried to distance yourself from drowning in the grief of this loss, throwing yourself headfirst into work until your limbs have threatened to collapse with exhaustion.

Every minute you’ve tried to convince yourself that this was the right choice—that the erratic thrumming of your heart that rises to meet each stroke of his fingertips against the side of your neck should be regarded as trivial when you have a country to protect.

Somewhere, Maslow is rolling in his grave at this blatant disregard of your own human needs.

And it only becomes apparent now, as you feel every fiber of your being rebel, yearning to sink into the warmth of Gen’s body heat—how fucking starved you’ve become.

“Then what do we do?” he carefully asks.

You take Gen’s face into your hands, letting your eyes drink in every corner and curve. “We worry about it tomorrow.”

(You savor it—the surprised little gasp that leaves him when your mouth crashes into his.)

—-

Gen’s lips are a searing hot brand and a hungry, desperate promise against your own when you stumble into the closed door of your quarters, hands fumbling with the lock—only to find yourself pressed up against the wall and moaning into his mouth the moment it clicks shut.

Clothes litter the path to your bed as you both stumble toward it, his hands equal parts deft and greedy as they roam your body before sliding off your dress. He groans when you begin to palm him through his boxers as he shoves down his pants, inhales sharply when you stroke a finger across one of his nipples and press an open-mouthed kiss to the center of his chest. Your insides go molten as he cups your cunt, chest heaving when he feels the way your arousal has wholly soaked through your underwear. 

He used to be smug about how wet you’d get for him, the way it would already be dripping from your folds and sliding down your thighs before he even got your pants off. 

Now, it’s only desperate, awestruck hunger as he pushes against your quivering entrance, breaching the opening of your tight hole and rubbing your slick, wet panties against your sensitive inner walls. When he slides them down, he drops to the floor along with them, fingertips hooking in the waistband as he leans forward to press a kiss to your mound before lapping one firm, broad stroke up your slit. Your muscles tense with a bolt of pleasure as your toes curl against the carpet.

Gen hardly has time to straighten before you’re sliding down his boxers, forehead dropping against your shoulder with an exhaled groan of pleasure as you cup his balls and wrap your fingers around his achingly hard, flushed cock.

You reach back after a moment to unclasp your bra, only to find his fingertips already there, confidently pinching the hooks to let your tits spill out before him. His mouth is hot and damp against your nipple when he leans in to stroke and suck one with his tongue and his teeth, drawing a needy whine out of you as you begin to back him up toward the bed.

When Gen falls back onto your mattress, he looks utterly transfixed and wholly enraptured as you climb atop him and straddle his waist. You lean in, dragging your fingers through his hair, and he reaches up to meet you with a rough, messy kiss.

Your cunt throbs when you rock your hips, dragging your slick folds up his thick length and gasping into his mouth when your clit catches against the head of his dick. If only to relish in the intoxicating tightrope of need you’re feverishly dangling from, you begin to ride his cock like that—rutting your wet pussy up and down his thick shaft, leaving behind the slippery mess out arousal that continues to drip out of you. Gen’s hands dig into your hips as he grinds up into you just as desperately, moaning with each stroke.

And when you finally, finally sink down onto his cock, Gen’s lips find yours to swallow down the scream of pleasure that crawls up your throat and bursts past your lips. As he bottoms out, you’re both left panting into each other’s mouths, your tight pussy greedily taking in every last inch. 

Gen knows your body inside and out, knows every spot to touch and stroke and kiss and suck to have you gasping his name. And as he cups the back of your head, when he strokes your pebbled nipples just right, when he takes your bottom lip between his teeth and presses his fingers into the base of your spine—you know he hasn’t forgotten a thing.

“I’m not gonna last,” he exhales roughly, teeth finding your earlobe before he drags his tongue against the sensitive spot just below your ear.

Because it’s been so long.

Because it feels so fucking good.

Because it’s him.

Because it’s you.

He doesn’t need to say the rest, doesn’t need to explain any further as you nod in agreement and whimper when he drags his thumb against your swollen clit while you ride his cock.

“Come for me,” he rasps, well aware that he’s got you dangling from the edge as he strokes your aching bundle of nerves and kisses his way down the side of your neck.

Pleasure explodes inside of you, and Gen rocks upward as your pussy clenches down on his shaft, stuffing his cock in as deep as it’ll go as your tight walls expand and contract around him. You tremble and moan under the intoxicating heat of your climax, every cell in your body reduced to the blistering euphoria seeping through your veins.

“Inside,” you breathe out, forehead pressed to his, the fingers of your right hand tangling with his left atop your hip as he resumes moving when your orgasm tapers off, the roll of his hips quickly growing sloppy as your cunt squelches with each thrust.

He sounds utterly and completely wrecked when he moans your name and kisses you hard, his climax tearing through him. Gen’s cock pulses hot and heavy inside of you, spilling thick ropes of cum into your cunt until you’ve milked him of every last drop.

And later, as you find yourself nearing the precipice of sleep while tucked into the contentment of Gen's safe, warm embrace, the tightness in your chest finally loosens as you breathe in deeply for the first time in months.

[belokhvostikova]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤: 𝐂𝐥𝐮𝐛 𝐏𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐬

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 | Tuesday was the development between you and Eddie Munson. Wednesday, peace finally seems plausible for the two hurt kids, and understanding becomes a valued aspect.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | Swearing, yelling, crying, implications to verbal abuse, self deprecating thought, mentions of anxiety, bulling, parent abandonment, domestic abuse, and childhood abuse and neglect.

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 | I've gone back to all my posts and tagged everyone for the tag list. Literally. If you commented, I tagged you. If you reblogged and remotely mentioned you wanted more, I tagged you. If you were not looking to be tagged, please let me know so I can remove you. Also, I sincerely apologize to anyone who I've accidently been excluding from the tag list, that was my mistake.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 | One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈𝐕. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐀𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐥𝐲

There was no investment in moral quandary for him. Logicality. Everything had to be logical under the guise that all faults of the world had been facilitated by the emission of emotions that tainted the globe. 

Feelings were wrong. Sentiment was wrong. Empathy was wrong.

He believed it was such vulnerability that led to the downfall of his life- not that he’d ever verbally admit his life had crumbled right in front of him, but a pit within the deepest tunnel of his consciousness recognized it. Drilled it. Cemented it. He had chosen to blame the emotions of amenability for the reason why his wife came home at four in the morning with the familiar scent of the neighbor’s cologne. From there, he knew to get rid of it. Emotions. So when you sobbed, asking why mommy hadn’t been home for a couple of days, he said it was not worth crying over. When you had to stand in court upon a scary looking man in a robe and hear mommy agree to only seeing you every other weekend, he said to not worry and suck it up. And when mommy stopped picking up calls and seemingly “forgot” it was her day to see you, he said to get over it. But maybe it wasn’t too bad, right? He always said to be grateful that, at least, he stuck around. At the minimum, he always provided good take-out often, though you were quick to realize it was because he had no desire to cook for you. But, hey, he had always let you watch TV during dinner. Granted, it was because he never sat with you, and chose the comfort of the living room couch, where you could always see the history channel playing from the archway of the dining room where you sat lonely. It was then, you got a deep understanding of the Civil War. And at least his stoicism permitted a great hatred for the presuppositionalism that had infiltrated Hawkins, Indiana. That was good, right? Though, you were never one to define metaethics through divine revelation, so it kinda didn’t matter. But it could be worse. He always said he could be worse. That his choice to deprive you from any physical harm was somehow enough to garner him some merit as a parent. 

And maybe that was one of the underlying reasons as to why Eddie Munson scared you so much. He was like your father. And your father scared you. 

-

Mid week. The morning of spring Wednesday had been a groggily dawn of humidity and fog. Though no weather circumstance could derail the perfected routine of your father’s morning. Wake up, shower, brush teeth, make coffee. Black, no sugar. The bitterer, the better. Because that was by true definition strong. 

It was like clockwork. Every morning. Because routine leads to success, he's ingrained. It was the only reason why every summer break since you were a child he had you waking up before sunrise with intentions of appearing downstairs for two hours of study time with a tutor he spent hours meticulously searching for that fit his standards. One with saggy cheeks, thin eyebrows, a thick accent, and a bad habit of reprimanding you with a smack of a ruler whenever you humanly made a mistake. The worst thing that could happen in his eyes was watching his daughter slack because of relaxation over summer. Especially after he programmed you into perfection. 

But the unthinkable had occurred, and his routine was interrupted. 

Between 6:30 a.m and 6:45 a.m, your father was set—like everyday—to retrieve the morning paper, sit down, set the timer, and complete the crossword puzzle. Ten minutes. Nothing more. 

But by 6:33 a.m, Eddie Munson was nearly murdered by your father. 

Oh, his girl. Of course, there was his sweetheart, Eddie was damn near devoted to that warlock, but then there was his girl. Definitely not the everloving relationship he had with his sweetheart, I mean, he touched her, and the harmonious sounds from her strings could elevate the pain of his mind, but there was still no doubt that a sentimental part of his heart was dedicated to his girl. Rusted and cranking, the old van had been gifted to the young man after countless hours committed to Harry’s Auto Shop over the summer. And though her imperfections nearly had him pulling the roots of his hair out of his head weekly, she still managed to get him from point A to point B—not to mention, she looked totally sick and provided the best comfort place to spark up a joint or spend time with a pretty boy or girl whenever the opportunity came (it never did).

But besides that, the moral of the story is his van, his girl, was deeply cared for. 

Except for the occasions of last night. 

Because right now, your father was wrinkling the informative pages of the daily news with a tight grip of pure seethe, because some dirty, gross van had parked over the curb of his property and ruined the pristine, clean-cut, green lawn with muddy tire tracks.

-

You had heard it all.

The blaring alarm at 5:45 a.m, the running shower from your father’s bathroom, and the heavy steps of his feet descend into the kitchen.

Exhaustion couldn’t fathom the ache of your body, as the fluffy duvet beneath you held no substance to the stiffening floor underneath. Not to mention, the heavy sorrow of the events that had only occurred a couple hours prior were relying heavy in your mind, prompting the loss of true sleep, made only worse when Eddie’s drunken snores were echoing as a constant reminder that he was right there. 

Eddie Munson was in your bed- Eddie Munson was in your bed!

The ever so slight glimmer of the awakening sun was bleeding upon his sleeping figure, almost dead with no movement. He hadn’t shifted an arm or a leg, mouth still agape from his roaring slumber with a puddle of drool staining your satin pillow. You’d timidly approached the edge of your bed, knees scraping along the rough floor to reach his peaceful face. The disheveled bangs of his forehead had crumpled against themselves, shielding him from the oozing light through your window. 

This was the calmest Eddie Munson had been in weeks.

No lumps in the mattress, an actual comforter, the pungent stank of his cigarettes now replaced with the captivating vanilla scent of your perfume, which eased him into a comfortable sleep and an all too real dream where you were in his arms. It felt scaringly natural. 

There was a part of you that didn’t want to wake him. Whether it was because you could take an hour studying his pretty face, which led you to wondering how anyone could even fathom being so nasty to something so beautiful, or whether it was because that childhood anger and nestling vexation against a world that hated him was still deeply residing within Eddie, and you could easily fall victim to such hatred. It happened before, it could happen again. 

You rested your head against your bed, a slight alleviation to the malaise of the floor, and let his warm breathing fan across your face. The tips of your fingers benevolently stroked the unruly strands of his bangs away, to reveal the fluttering eyes of his face. You wondered what he could be dreaming of. 

You.

You were all he could think of. Awake and asleep.

“Eddie.” You softly whispered. In hindsight, it probably wasn’t the best choice given his hangover coma, but Eddie needed gentleness. “Hey, wake up.” You shook his shoulder. A pained groan prolonged far longer than you expected, as his face scrunched in a wince of a pounding headache. “Are you okay?”

That was too real for any dream. Eddie’s dry eyes snapped at the sound of your saccharine voice, suddenly realizing the devastating events that occurred last night. “Sh-shit!” He attempted to sit up, but your hand held his arm back.

“Shh, it’s okay.” You cooed, as he peered around frantically confused. He cracked his neck with a sharp turn, and his big eyes landed on you; once again, comforting him, as though he hadn’t put you through hell in the mere days he’s communicated with you.

His head fervently began shaking, as if to reject all that he’d done, as if everything he ever did you to was just a nightmare of his own fears, that he didn’t do what he did. But he did. And his eyes started welling up. “I-I’m so sorry, sweetheart.” He choked. “For everything, I didn’t- I’m so fucking sorry-”

“Shh, Eddie-”

“I don’t want to scare you, and I’m s-sorry for doing it in the first place, I’m so so fucking so-”

“Eddie, just lay down, it’s okay.” You attempted to ease into him, as you lowered him down, his begrudgement leaving him hesitating until his back was flat against your bed. 

Once relaxed, it seemed his body and mind gave up on the restraints of his emotions, and his stream of tears came pouring with all dejection and regret of how everything had played out between you two. Eddie Munson hated himself. Hated who he was. Someone set up for the failures of life, he rejected anything that could steer him from a path of love and acceptance. And he hated that. He hated the life he had. At any given opportunity to go back in time, he would scream at his father, hit his father, just get him and his mother away from his father so that he could just grow up to be a normal person. A normal person, who could process their emotions and not deduce themselves into a nihilistic asshole. A normal person, who wouldn’t degrade the only person who’s held him without hurting him. A normal person, who would love you and cherish you as you deserved. Yet Eddie Munson hated his life and hated any momentous occasion that could possibly diminish the pain of life… like you. Because good things don’t happen to Eddie Munson, and you held so much power to hurt him.

Seeing his palms stab into his eyes, you gently held his trembling wrist to relieve him from the pain he believed he deserved. “Come on, Eddie, please stop.” You softly spoke trying to ease his hands away from his face. “Everything is okay, I promise.” 

“N-no, it’s not!”

“Shh!” You rushed out. “My dad’s awake downstairs.” You whispered.

“S-sorry.” He spoke so meekly, as his hands cleaned the staggering wetness of his eyes and cheeks. 

The atmosphere between you both fell stagnantly silent, as he tried to control his breathing through the tiny sniffles of his nose. He felt you staring, eyes boring into the side of his head, as he peered up at the dark ceiling. He couldn’t stand to look at you right now. He had just drunkenly sobbed and was now blubbering like a child, because of all the bullshit he just put you through. He was a-fucking-shamed. Ashamed of all he’s done. Ashamed of who he was. And you were seeing the worst of it. 

“Eddie.” He closed his eyes and shook his head no. “Please.”

He slowly turned his head and met your tired yet so fucking beautiful face. God, he could stare at you forever. How could he do this to you? Put you through off of that, just because he was scared. He fucking hated himself, and you could so clearly see the despise against himself in his saddened eyes. I’m sorry I am the way that I am, I’m sorry you have to put up with me, I’m sorry I’m here ruining your life. He didn’t have to say it, it was engraved on his face.

His heart almost lunged out of his chest when you crept closer, noses nearly touching, as your eyes engulfed him with a meaningful stare. “I’m really glad you came.”

“What?” You truly couldn’t have been, but your head nodded with the soothing confirmation he needed. 

“Yeah, I am.” You whispered. 

“You shouldn’t be.” He whispered. “What I did was awful.”

“I know.” You sighed. “I know, and please don’t ever do that again. But I’m still glad you came. Glad that we talked. Glad that I got to understand.”

“I wish I told you sooner… and better.” He pinched his eyes closed at the haunting memory. “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to scare you, I’m so fucking sorry I did.”

“I know you are.” There was no “it’s fine” or forgiveness to offer, because he truly did cross a line that terrified you. But you could accept his understanding of the wrongdoing he did. Because acknowledgement was a valuable step in moving forward. 

“I just- Y/N, I just really want to be with you.” There it was. He was putting himself out there once and for all, risking it, because you deserved to know. The torment of his emotional unavailability was ending, because he was ready to face the adversity of his trauma to make you happy. But that was exactly the issue. You could see he was ready to do it for you. Not himself. And whatever was brewing between you and Eddie Munson would not magically dissolve the underlying issue within both of you under the guise that you both got together and skipped away into the sunset happily ever after. Reality was a harsh slap in the face, and you knew he’d hate it, but it was what was needed. 

“I just want you to be okay, Eddie.” You confided with a heavy bite of your lip. “I… want to be okay, Eddie.”

His eyes were glossing with threatening tears again. He knew what was coming. “You don’t wanna be with me.” He murmured. It was no question, but a simple truth he had to face. 

“No.” You spoke with deep conviction. “I don’t want to be with the person you are right now. I can’t be. Not now. It wouldn’t be right, and I just want us to be okay.” You brushed his bangs away. His lips began trembling, but he accepted your boundaries with a vehement nod to his head to let you know he understood. “Eddie,” you punctuated so it became cemented, “I don’t want you to do this again-”

“I won’t, I swear, I won’t drink-”

“No, Eddie… I don’t want you coming here. To my house. To see me.” You sighed, as his eyes desperately scanned your face for the off chance you’d say you were kidding and you wanted him over all the time. But your words continued. 

“I’m really fucking sorr-”

“I know you are, Eddie. I know.” A heavy breath from your chest escaped. “But I need time, and it may not seem like it now, but you need time, too. So I don’t want you calling. I don’t want you asking anyone where I am or how to talk to me. Not Chrissy, not anyone. Promise me.”

He agreed.

But Eddie Munson would break this promise. Not for some drunken, overbearing, emotional reason, though. But for good reason. All because your bedroom door slammed open.

Synchronized through driven fear, yours and Eddie’s head snapped at the sudden bust of your bedroom door, where your father stood effervesce with indignation of pure enragement at the sight of Eddie in your bed. 

“Get out of my house!”

“Dad, wait!”

Your words were not of care to your dad, as he shoved you onto the ground with a shriek of horror escaping your lungs, as he charged himself onto your bed. The shot of adrenaline had coursed out any inebriations from the night before, as Eddie went against the swelling pounding of his head to jump from the comfort of your sheets and tumble onto the floor.

“I’m gonna fucking kill you!” Imprinted with the mud of his shoes, the pool of his drool, and now crumbled under the heavy weight of your father’s fall, the sanctity of your bed—the only thing that had caressed you through the hardships of your life, where you found solace in the safety of its soft cotton and silk, where your mother once cuddled you to sleep as she spoke of the future, I’m gonna lay your pretty prom dress right on the bed and watch you become so beautiful for your special night, where you cried yourself to sleep for countless night because she left you and she didn’t actually want to see you become so beautiful for your special night—had demised under the ruins of men who made you bawl your eyes out and made you feel so little about yourself. And maybe your bed being derelict was a cursory occasion to cry over, maybe it wasn’t; nonetheless, your eyes began to brim with the flooding tears of the overstimulated stress of an exhausted mind, dry eyes, and a splitting heart.

“Please stop.” Too quiet and airy for any big, angry, men to hear.

Because big, angry, men don’t care for the aching pain of the people they hurt. 

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit…” Eddie stumbled onto wobbly feet, planting the palms of his hands to stand himself away from your reaching father. “M’so fuckin’ sorry!” At that point, the directions of his words were either targeted to you or your father, you couldn’t decipher, and truthfully, you didn’t care to decipher. 

Your father managed to unravel himself from the hold of your blankets, stepping off with heavy stomps to follow Eddie around your room. “You better get out of my fucking house, I’m fucking calling the cops! How dare you fucking touch my daughter?!”

“Dad, please.” Weak, broken, unheard.

“I fuckin’ didn’t!” Eddie was fortunate enough to spot his beloved jacket, snatching it from the confines of your desk chair, where he was able to roll it out as an obstruction to your father’s determined path of strangling Eddie Munson. 

Because in the mind of a relentless resolute driven by all the wrong ideas because of the pain he so adamantly refused the face, Eddie Munson was the cause of your ultimate failure. Eddie Munson manipulated his daughter. Eddie Munson got his daughter suspended. Eddie Munson would be the reason your failure tainted the family name. 

Eddie pummeled through your door, coming face-to-face with the extravagant expanse of your home. Cold. Everything was freezing cold, from the temperature to the decoration. Deprived from any signs of life. As if it was a museum. His bulging eyes found the large staircase, and it truly amazed him how his feet found every step without thought, simply autopilot. There was a yanking urge that was demanding him to go back. Go back for you. Make sure you were okay. Make sure to clean your tears up. Once again, he was making you cry. Maybe not entirely his fault, but his being was partaking in your agony and he fucking hated himself for it. But the weighing steps of her father marching right on his ass prompted him to move forward. Your front door was swung carelessly, welcoming the hot air of the burning morning, where once again, the clean cut grass of the manicured lawn was falling victim to Eddie’s destruction of mucky shoes. Maybe drinking hadn’t been too bad of an idea—it absolutely was—as Eddie’s drunken state, at nine at night, had left his keys impaled into the ignition ready to go. 

The haggard van erupted to life, Eddie had never been so grateful to hear the god awful clunk that definitely needed to be checked out. Peer out once more, your wrathful father ran with a tirade of curses that condemned Eddie Munson back to hell, but the screech of his reversing tires interrupted his polemic. “Don’t you ever come back! You’ll be dead before your kind can even step foot into my fucking neighborhood!”

Eddie Munson would return back in eighteen hours. 

-

“There’s an old man sitting next to me…” Wayne softly chuckled, as the lyrics had been repeating out of his mouth for the entirety of his shift, after Rodney Nickelvich decided to play the voice of Billy Joel during break. 

It’d been a particularly difficult shift. His back wasn’t getting any younger, and the evident ache that decided to settle in the lower region was making it known. But the stiffness of his folding bed would alleviate enough, at least until his next shift. But that never came for Wayne Munson. Because the second—the literal second—his head managed to even briefly skim his flat pillow, the presence of his caterwauling nephew combusted through their front door with no regards for the tired old man in the living room. Eddie hadn’t even looked his way. A straight B-line to the phone. 

“And where the hell have you been?” Wayne groaned with prostration. “Comin’ in here like you own the place, have you lost your mind, boy?”

But there was no answer. 

Where Eddie would have normally spoken back with a clear answer of respect, there was nothing. No acknowledgement. 

“Ed.”

Already engraved into his mind like the chords to his guitar, Eddie punched the buttons to your number on the yellow phone. But then he stopped. “I need the time… I don’t want you calling.” But this was bigger than that, right? He needed to know you were okay. “Please don’t hate me.” He scrunched his brows in the burning pain of betraying your boundaries. Once again. His finger dialed the rest of the numbers. 

But it was dead. Not a ring. Not a buzz. Not a single indication that your phone was even ringing. Just a deadline. And Eddie’s heart sank to the deepest pit in his stomach. “Fuck!”

“Eddie.” Wayne’s face etched with concern. “What the hell is goin’ on?”

Eddie’s chest began hyperventilating with worry for you. “I-I… shit, I-uh… I really gotta get to school.”

Wayne sat up, now. Never in the decade he’s been in the care of Eddie Munson had that boy ever rushed out to get to school. Something was deeply wrong. But he couldn’t even hurtle a question of scrutiny, as Eddie had already slammed the door shut with his being gone, so deeply perturbed. 

-

Eddie was truly pissed off at this point. 

The entire proposition of arriving early to school was to find Chrissy Cunningham, but just as it occurred yesterday afternoon, the cheerleader was nowhere to be seen in the breadth of Hawkins High. He knew he was going against your wishes, quite specifically, but his heart and mind couldn’t fathom the possible danger you could be subjected to. He had too. Right? Would you just hate him more for interfering? God, he was shooting himself over the complication he construed the entire situation to become. Asking his friends had quickly been classified as the most imbecilic measure he’d ever succumb to, as those guys had never found the courage to conjure up an idea to jump start an actual conversation with an actual girl. Knowing where the head cheerleader was was beyond their source of knowledge. Yesterday’s clothes, dry mouth, red eyes, the residing ache of his hangover still tormenting his sore limbs, and now having no comprehension of whether or not you were safe at the aggressive hands of your father, Eddie was about to traject the heaviest waterfall of beer and bile onto the grimy floors of Mr. Hall’s carpentry class. But the shrieking bell unexpectedly pacified the turbulence brewing in his belly, and he was shoving passed visibly annoyed bodies to reach the cafeteria. His only chance. 

His overloaded mind didn’t even process the trouble he was walking into, but unwavering was Eddie Munson as he marched into the bustling cafeteria of crackling students and cardboard food, legs pushing him to the table. “Chrissy!” Heads snapped like automated robots. Yeah, he probably should have thought this out. Glares couldn’t even amount to the looks he was receiving from the highest of Hawkins High. This was no laughing matter, but the urge to not laugh at Jason Carver’s battered face left all self control out of Eddie, as the perfect comb-over paired with the purple swollen skin personified the magnificence of juxtapositions.

“You want something, freak?” Jason stood with a puffed chest.

“Look a little different, Carver, that new?” Eddie gestured to the contuse skin, smirking oleaginously. As if it was previously discussed, Andy McAvoy and Chance Williams stood to defend the precious honor of their friend. In Eddie’s mind, it pleased him to know a conversation of protection was ordered by Jason to his goons to preserve any remaining prettiness of his face. Prom was coming up. “Relax, I didn’t say your names, did I?” 

Eddie and Jason’s gaze looked down upon Chrissy, who’s brows were cinched with confusion and worry as to what was going to occur. Jason could only snicker incredulously. “She’s not speaking to you! You really think I’m gonna leave her with some devil worshiper like you? Why don’t you do this whole town a favor and fuck off with the circus, fucking basketcase.”

But Eddie was indefatigable to the insults of the perfectly pristine. They’d been propelled since childhood, the last thing to strike his ego would be the dense words of Jason fucking Carver. Eddie had bigger issues at hand. 

“That’s really cute, Carver, but she can make her own decisions, and right now,” Eddie locked eyes with a frantic Chrissy Cunningham, “we have something important to talk about.” It was imperative for Chrissy to understand, and the moment her eyes softened, a breath of relief escaped Eddie at her understanding. Your name was oozing importance. 

“Are you that fucking insane-”

“Jason,” Chrissy held his hand, “h-he’s right.”

“What?!”

A disgustingly pompous smile eased onto Eddie’s face.

“It’s, uh, it’s for, um, Mrs. Durberry.” Chrissy nodded. “I-I have to, uh, tutor Eddie. We, um, we discussed it yesterday during, uh, lunch. Yeah, during lunch!”

“During lunch.” Eddie smirked with a condescending nod. 

Jason huffed through flared nostrils, bending down to look Chrissy right in the eye. Though whispered in secrecy, Eddie rolled his eyes with agitation. “Are you sure about this? Is he just making you do this?”

“No, I promise.” Chrissy assured. “You know I aced chemistry, Mrs. Durberry is just trying to give me an opportunity to get community service hours, and tutoring was the perfect chance. You know it’ll look good for college applications.”

The lie was good enough to believe- not good enough to like, but good enough to believe, and that’s all Eddie Munson and Chrissy Cunningham needed. Jason sat down in defeat, the other players following in unison, as Chrissy gathered her items. “You try anything, Munson, and you're dead.” Jason pointed with a stern finger. 

Chrissy had quickly walked by, hoping Eddie would just follow, but of course, he couldn’t leave without the last word. “Right, right,” he slyly smiled, “might wanna put some ice on that, s’looking a little nasty. Who did that to you again?”

“Eddie.” Chrissy chastised.

Now, it was most abundantly clear that Chrissy Cunningham was not an indictment of the American education system, her grades almost as perfect as yours—though no one could come close to your precociousness—yet Eddie had to reevaluate his beliefs when Chrissy was marching vastly farther than anticipated. 

“Jesus Christ, Chris, y’know we don’t actually have to intrude Durberry’s class? She fucking hates me.” Eddie giggled. “‘Specially after I used the bunsen burner to light a joint. Kept asking “what’s that smell” for a week.”

Chrissy finally came to a halt after turning into another empty hall. “Sorry.” She sighed. “Just can’t have Jason following us.”

“Y’know, you could probably do better than some control freak who follows you around.” Eddie shrugged.

Chrissy blinked at her shoes in contemplation. Eddie hadn’t expected the words to hit so deeply, a mere critique to the numerous problems he found in Jason Carver, but nonetheless, the cheerleader got extremely quiet, before shaking her head to get back to the point. 

“A-anyways, um, what is it that you, uh, wanted?” She rushed out.

“Oh! Right, um, I need you to go to Y/N’s house.” His eyes widened, as his lips tightened between his mouth. He knew it was outrageous to ask.

“W-what?”

“Look, I know that’s a big ask-”

“I already gave you her number and address, why don’t you g-”

“I did!” He heaved. “I fucking did, and I messed up!”

Chrissy slumped,“Again?!” 

Eddie winced. Again, again, again, again, again. 

“Look, I “made” it to her house, and we got to talk. But her fucking dad caught me in her room, and just went haywire on me. Practically chased me out.” Eddie stressed. “And I-I tried to call her to make sure she was okay, I mean, it’d been a long night and she was crying when I left, and, fuck, Chris, I don’t know what her dad is capable of.” Is he like my dad? “Her line was dead when I tried, like off the hook, and I can’t go over to make sure she’s safe, Chrissy. I have to make sure she’s okay. Can you please just, I don’t know, do this for me, I’m fucking helpless here, I’m…” Helpless to my mother.

Chrissy was taken aback by the pure fear in his eyes as he rambled into oblivion. She knew you. She knew your father. She could only imagine how ballistic he’s gone in the past couple of days knowing what’s happened. “Okay, okay, okay, yeah, um, yeah,” Chrissy took a deep breath with a soft nod to her head, “Yeah, I’ll try to come over- but her dad’s really strict, Eddie. Like extremely, he’s the only reason why she’s so, you know, hard about her grades and stuff, I don’t know if he’d actually let me see her-”

“Please, please, just try.” Chrissy took notice of just how tightly his hands were balling into themselves, knuckles turning a blistering white from the lack of ease he was inflicting upon himself. “She’s your friend, and she doesn’t want to see me, so please, I’m begging you, Chris-”

“I will, Eddie, I will.” She reassured, as she adjusted her knit sweater that suddenly became itchy on her sensitive skin. “I just, um, I’ll probably have to come up with an excuse, a-and skip practice.”

“Look, m’sorry I’m dragging you into this, but I just need to make sure she’s okay, and maybe you can finally have a chance to talk to her about…y’know.” Chrissy shook her head quickly, acknowledging but not trying to think about her implicit endorsement to the status quo at Hawkins High, and how much it had hurt you. And she let it hurt you. “Just- you can’t tell her it was me who sent you, okay? Sh-she wants nothing to do with me, and I’m trying to respect that, I just need to know she’s safe, but she can’t know I sent you. I don’t- I don’t want to make her more upset, Chris. I can’t, I just-”

“Eddie,” Realizing the words were once again coming out a mile a minute, he bit his tongue, letting a bubble of air constrict his lungs with a fervent grip. He wasn’t about to cry. He couldn’t. Not here. Not at school. Not in front of Chrissy fucking Cunningham. Not that she’d judge much, she could already see the sheen of his eyes. “I’ll do it, I’ll check on her. A-and I won’t say it was you.”

His body was finally able to ease at her response, finally letting his airway release all tensions from the stirring anxiety that was still nesting in the crevices of his stomach. “Thank you, thank you so much.” His hands reached for her shoulders with a firm shake of acknowledgement, though his strength had her stumbling on her feet a bit. Not that he noticed. He was still worrying about you. “Just, uh, call me or something, the second she, uh- the second you know she’s okay.” Eddie didn’t want to think of the other possibility. The possibility where your father had laid a hand on you. Or worse. He wouldn’t know what to do. In his experience, silently crying and letting daddy take his frustrations out was the safest option. It was what mommy said to do, so dad wouldn’t do worse. At least ice cream was always promised at the end to make it all go away.

“Yeah, okay, I’ll do that.” She nodded in agreement. 

With the confirmation stated, Eddie had already begun walking away with a determined plan in mind to sit in front of the yellow telephone until the shrilling call came through. His mind dead set on you. 

“Wait!” Chrissy had to snap him back to reality. “Eddie, I don’t have your phone number.” She lightheartedly scoffed.

Chrissy Cunningham began to worry. Yes, about you. She was ready to march her way past your father in order to make sure you were okay, and to pour her heart out on a well needed apology just so you could understand how sorry she was. Even if you didn’t accept it. But she was also worried about herself. Never in a million years did she expect Eddie Munson, of all people, to show her what true feelings were. He hadn’t even talked to you for more than a week, and he was bending over backwards to ensure all his wrongs were corrected for your safety and comfort. Jason Carvered loved her, she knew it, but the subtle things were becoming pronounced. Do you really think you should be wearing that? My parents will be there. Just come to the party, I’ll look bad if my girlfriend’s not there. When she comes back, I don’t want you hanging around Y/N anymore. She’s bad news and betrayed your friendship by fucking around with that trailer trash. Don’t make yourself look bad by being friends with her.

“Shit, yeah, sorry, my, uh, my brains all over the place.” He crazily signaled with a swing of his hand. Unlike yesterday, Chrissy’s pink pen was tainting a small torn sheet of notebook paper rather than skin, as risking the chance of Jason Carver seeing Eddie Munson’s phone number written on her hand would prompt another outburst of fury between the boys. So as Eddie reiterated the numbers to his home, Chrissy copied with intent. 

Intent to see you. Intent to apologize. Intent to inform Eddie.

“Okay, I’ll call you as soon as I leave her place.” Chrissy assured, as the queasiness in Eddie had simmered but surely hadn’t left. He knew as soon as he got home, the consternation would eat him unalive. 

Eddie nodded his head. “Yeah, thanks again, seriously, I’ll owe you whatever.” He sighed, before his brows perked. “Oh! I can give a twenty percent discount!” He didn’t even have to specify. 

Chrissy Cunningham didn’t smoke. But at least he was trying. 

“Uh, s-sure, Eddie.” She simply agreed, and it was able to give him a satisfied smile. “Anyways, yeah, I’ll talk to you later. Just try not to worry too much, I’m sure she’s okay.” She inspirited. 

“Okay, yeah, as soon as you can.” Eddie sighed. “I’ll leave you to it, I’m gonna go throw up or something.”

-

Luckily, Eddie Munson didn’t vomit in the filthy stall that is the boys’ bathroom at Hawkins High, though Chrissy Cunningham sure felt like she was about to hurl today’s lunch and breakfast standing at the doorstep of your home. Her toes tensed in the comfort of her sneakers, hearing the incoming steps of your father approaching the door. Hands gripping the straps of her backpack, she was ready- well, as ready as one can be about to face their best friend’s—did she even have a right to call you that—daunting father. 

The door swung. “Hi, Mr. Y/L/N!” Smile, a bright smile and wave from Chrissy Cunningham was sure enough to get anyone to be polite. But his face plastered the same dead expression he’s had for the last four years Chrissy had known him. No smile. No squint of the eyes. Unemotional stoicism. 

“Hi, Chrissy.” Robots had more pep in their voices. “Sorry, but Y/N is grounded, for quite an extensive period actually, so she’s not allowed visitors. Go home.” He began to close the door, but Chrissy’s manicured hand abruptly stopped the closure. 

“Wait!” She immediately reeled back, seeing the disrespecting look take over his face. “Sorry, sir, I-I’m not here to hang out, it’s just, uh, I brought all the school work Y/N’s missed. You know, from her suspension?” She spoke sheepishly. “A-and well, we don’t want her falling behind, sir.” A nervous chuckle accompanied her faux parent voice. “In fact, Mrs. Durberry and I actually discussed tutoring, so, you know, Y/N is back on track by the time of her return.”

It was in regards to your grades, your father’s favorite. Chrissy Cunningham was a genius. 

“Really?” He questioned quizzically.

“Yeah!” Chrissy bounced on the balls of her feet with a firm pat to her backpack. “I’ve got all her work right here. She’s free to turn it in when she gets back, and you know, she’s firmly secured that valedictorian spot, so there’s no need to worry.” She smiled, and of course, of course, that’s all he cared about in the wake of your suspension. 

So easily had Chrissy been let into your home. She wondered what she would say to you, as she followed behind your father to your room. It was strange. Your home had always been a cold one, but your laughter and the endless sleepless sleepovers had the ability to bring warmth to such a colorless environment. But all that suffocated her was hostility. Long gone were the memories of an innocent friendship between the two girls. Another factor to consider was the mere fact that your father was guiding Chrissy. She’d been over to your house for years, the layout didn’t suddenly change over a couple days, and a nervous thump began upsetting Chrissy’s heart. And she found out why.

“Had to lock her up.” He uttered with no shame, as he pulled out a glowing key from his pocket. Haphazardly bolted on your door was a new lock, evidently cheaply and hastily done, as the lock resembled the numerous ones used for the lockers at Hawkins High, and the chipped paint and exposed wood could only insinuate the fury in which this job was done in. Your door lock, one onced used when you and Chrissy discussed the boys you thought were cutest at school in your pink pajamas, was now accompanied by a prison lock keeping you captive in your bedroom. “Should've seen the trash she was bringing in.” He muttered mostly to himself. Chrissy didn’t speak. She couldn’t speak. Too disturbed for her own wellbeing. “Do me a favor, kid,” he unlocked the door, “knock some sense into that disgrace.”

He walked away without a care.

The door creaked open, and Chrissy had taken a deep breath. Stepping inside, with a soft click of the door behind her, her eyes landed on the still figure on your bed. Turned away and engaging at the neverending nothingness of everything, you cocooned yourself in your blanket, like a hurt child. Because you merely were one. Chrissy looked away, inching tiny steps closer. Disheveled would be an understatement to the usual cleanliness of your room. Knick-knacks and personal items were thrown about, cracked, and broken, and damaged beyond the actions of someone who was depressed. No, this was the destruction of deep rooted anger. 

No expecting the company, you simply screwed your eyes closed with the awaiting words of hatred you thought would be coming from your father at any second. But it didn’t. Only the familiar softness of Chrissy Cunningham, your best friend. “Y/N…?”

You immediately jumped at the sound, meeting your reddening, wet eyes with Chrissy’s round, worried blue ones. “Chrissy…”

The occupying distrust you had for her was incomparable to the pain of what had occurred today. Yes, she hurt you. Yes, you lost your one true friend. But you needed her. And your arms opened like the broken child reaching out for help, and she immediately embraced you on your bed. Your bed, where you spent countless times giving each other at-home mani and pedis, even though your allowances provided enough for professional services, but this was more fun. Your bed, where Chrissy once vented about the first fight she ever had with Jason Carver, because he disregarded her at a party to do a keg stand—yes, it was trivial, but they were sixteen at the time. And your bed, where you both shared the vulnerability of losing a mother, either physically or emotionally, through sobbing tears and tight hugs, but none of that mattered because you were best friends and had each other. Forever. 

“Are you okay?” Her vision appeared blurry under the disorientating state of water welling in her eyes. “I’m so sorry for everything.” Chrissy stroked your hair. You couldn’t muster a word to respond with, merely silently crying into the junction of her neck, where she smelled of spring flowers. You’d picked out that perfume for her. Her seventeenth birthday. “I should’ve stuck up for you, I-I should’ve told everyone to stop, I’m so sorry I didn’t.”

Her apology suddenly revealed why you lost trust in her in the first place. Urgently pulling back from the hug far quicker than Chrissy would have liked, you brought your knees to your chest, letting your face find solace on the tiny space rather than her embrace. 

“What are you doing here, Chris?” You mumbled so quiet, she was barely able to register it from the chirping birds outside. 

“I came to apologize to you.” At least she wasn’t drunk. “I- Y/N everything I did to you was awful.” Her plucked brows furrowed with shame and remorse. You carefully picked up your head, as she gently held knee. “When everyone started saying stuff about you, I was so confused, and before I could even question it, Jason had me promise to not be around you, and I’m so sorry. I’m not trying to excuse what I did, I just should have known better, and I needed to apologize to you.” 

Your eyes had closed in relief. You were beyond the trenches of exhaustion, everything was so sore from the exertion of crying, that the simple apology brought the grand relief you’d been yearning for. “I-I think I need space away from Jason.” That had your eyes snapping open. Jason and Chrissy, in love since the tenth grade, becoming the embodiment of young love in Hawkins. Their parents had practically set up a future in which both attended the same university as young adults, and married each other with the expectation of kids by the age of twenty-five. 

“I don’t like who he is as a person.” She confessed with a wobbly lip. “ I know he loves me, but I love you, and I don’t want to hurt you.”

You took her back into a loving hug, where she fell limp in your arms, as her tears stained your clothes. Though muffled you spoke with a small whine, “You sound like Eddie.” Which had her giggling through tears. 

She had slowly pulled away, smiling at the small curve of your lips that was brightening your face. She wiped your tears, and caressed the hairs out of your face. “Yeah, he’s kinda my new friend now.” She shrugged. “Even offered me a discount to his… business.”

You laughed with a roll to your eyes. “Quite the entrepreneur he is.” She snickered in agreement. “But yeah, I could tell when he came to my house yesterday.”

“Oh, god.” Chrissy plopped back on your bed. “How did you even figure out it was me, you’re so smart?” 

You giggled, joining her, as you stared up at the ceiling. “Seeing someone like Eddie Munson show up with pretty pink writing on him doesn’t seem like something that occurs innately in nature. Figured you had something to do with it.”

“I’m sorry for that, too.” She turned to look at you. “I shouldn’t have given him that information without asking you. He just really wanted to apologize to you, too, and it seemed like the right thing to do. What even happened?” She sat up to get serious.

You couldn’t fathom retelling the occurrence of what happened, so you merely opted for the safest choice, and nodded your head in silence. “He did apologize, just wish he would have done it differently.” You sighed. “And, uh, my dad-” Your throat had automatically constricted at the simple mention of him, eyes tightening with the hopes of suppressing the whirlwind of tears that were about to flood your face. “Chrissy, he wouldn’t stop yelling.” You began bawling, as she pulled you up to wrap her arms around your shrinking body. “H-he kept screaming a-and shouting, then he just- he just started throwing things-” Chrissy could only rock you body, gently and softly, letting your tears hit her shoulder with all might. “I was so scared.”

The dreaded question. “Did- did he hit you?” Chrissy spoke into your hair, terrified of how you might answer. But luckily, the tiniest bit of luck, you had shook your head no, and she let out a deep breath. But the harsh slap of reality was that your father had still severely crossed a line that put you in an unsafe environment. And you were petrified. 

“He’s not letting me leave my room.” You whispered through sniffles. 

“Did he take your phone, Edd-” Chrissy contemplated for a second, before she spoke extremely softly. “Eddie said you didn’t pick up when he tried to call you after what happened.”

“He tried to call me?”

“Just to make sure you were okay.” She emphasized. “He said he’s trying to respect your wishes of wanting space, but after what happened, he just needed to know you were safe… that’s why- that’s why I’m here.” Your brows furrowed and you immediately sat up. “I’d been wanting to apologize to you, and Eddie had been dying to make sure you were okay, so he asked me to come check on you, and so I could finally say sorry to you. He- Y/N, he really cares about you. We both do.”

This was the bit of progress you were wanting to see. To know that the Eddie Munson you met Friday afternoon, the one who coward away at the mere idea of feelings and compassion, the one who uttered the vile words that stabbed right through you, the one who shouted in defense because he was hurt, that that wasn’t him. It wasn’t who he wanted to be. It wasn’t who he truly was. But a recovery from trauma was not a linear progression, and last night you were able to understand the fluctuations of Eddie Munson, the reason why he berated and hurt, the reason why he comforted and protected, the reason why he wailed and sobbed. 

“Chrissy, when’s the next time you’re gonna see him?” You cleared your face from staining tears.

“I’ll see him at school tomorrow, but he asked me to call him to make sure you were safe first.”

You nodded. “I, uh- can you actually ask him something for me?”

-

That one clunking noise Eddie had once been so happy to hear? Yeah, he’s returned back to detesting it, as he felt it drew so much attention to the all too quiet streets of Pinecrest Acres. He made the conscience—and sober—decision to park behind the gray De Tomaso Pantera—fighting the urge to just pop the hood and look at the beauty inside—that resided two houses down from yours. It gave him enough coverage away from any view of your father. Eddie was terrified. Much to his dismay, Chrissy had been fairly vague over the phone when she rang him at 5:59 p.m exactly. Luckily by then, a buddy of Wayne’s had taken him out to an early dinner before their shift at the plant, so his uncle missed out on the Olympic-worthy run Eddie had made to the phone the second it began ringing. And Chrissy had spoken. A lot. But so little at the same time. He was happy to hear you guys made up. Truly he was. But Chrissy had carried on for a five minute tangent about how gladly you accepted her back into your life again. Eddie Munson was honestly jealous. Though she had mentioned how you specified wanting time away from her, too, maybe meeting up to speak that coming Monday at school when your suspension would be over. Eddie had wondered if you would speak to him then, too. But he didn’t have to wonder much longer. After he so kindly told the cheerleader to get to the point, the real point he wanted to hear, she had assured him that you were okay. Physically, at least. Eddie had dropped to his kitchen chair with a breath of relief that no one had touched you. But then Chrissy kept speaking. She wants to see you. Tonight. That had Eddie trajecting back up from his seat. But his questions had disappointingly gone unanswered. No details. No explanation. No reasoning. Just show up, Eddie. At midnight. At her window. And not drunk. Chrissy had never gotten the full story as to what went down between you and Eddie, so that part desperately confused and intrigued the girl, but she didn’t push any further. Eddie, though, had cringed in disgust at himself because he knew. 

An owl had hooted in the distance as he followed the tracks his beloved, dying van had made on your green lawn. Once again, Eddie had found himself in the same position as last night, cracking his neck and rolling his limbs for the climb of a lifetime. If it was somehow possible, he felt he was quivering more than when he was three beers down and no dinner. Yes, he was sober, but his heart could stop beating at the neverending questions his mind was bombarding against himself. Were you mad because he sent Chrissy over? Surely you couldn’t be, she would have said so. But you could also be really fucking pissed. The same type of anger that caught him off guard when his father swung on his little face when Eddie thought they were having a good time.

But he couldn’t rely on heavy thoughts as such. He just needed to get to you. Passed the trellis, over the trimming, onto the roof. Quiet as Eddie Munson could be. He couldn’t really be quiet, but he tried for you. Crouching his way to your window, he sucked in a deep breath before he ever so gently tapped on your window. He was eyeing his reflection, wondering who the hell he had become. The one definitive figure he didn’t want to become: his father. A relentless pessimist, hatred against the world, bruteness to show off, and the inability to take accountability for the hurt they cause, because they were hurt first, right?

But then your curtains opened, and there you were. You.

You, who’d included his friends when no one wanted them. You, who made him smile despite his hesitations of getting hurt. You, who took the fall for everything. You, who gave Eddie Munson a chance. 

You lifted your window open. “Hi.”

Eddie could cry right then and there. His shaky trembling hands slowly offered themselves to you, and you peered down, gently laying yours in his, where your warmth dissipated his coldness. He sighed with a loving grasp. “Y-you’re okay? He didn’t- did he touch you?”

Eddie had heard it from Chrissy, but hearing your small “no” was more comforting than a third-party person. 

“Why, um, why did you need to see me?” He softly cleared his throat. 

“I want to talk, b-but not here.” Eddie nodded ardently at your request. “Just somewhere far.”

Somewhere far, he could give that to you.

Helping you out of your window, you followed Eddie’s led to the edge of your roof, where you traced the dying height from your second story room to the hard, hard, ground. “Don’t be scared.” He soothingly smiled. “Remember, I made the climb drunk.”

You shook your head in disappointment, but he saw that small, beautiful smile peak through your lips. “Just, um, please don’t let me fall.” Your stomach sunk at the eerie possibility. 

But Eddie was there, and he let you know with a secure squeeze to your joint hands. “Never.”

You watched him descend. Off of the roof. Over the trimming. Down the trellis. He made it look so easy, as if he actively partook in the illegal activity of breaking and entering. Eddie would never admit it, not now at least, but for good reason he had done it once. Once. Mr. Godly had a cat that fifteen-year-old Eddie once saw the old man kick. Safe to say, Cronkers now resides in the makeshift cat house of cardboard, wood, and a childhood blanket behind the Munson’s residence. Her favorite is Wayne’s Monday meatloaf. 

He encouraged you down delicately. Instructing you to take small movements, find your steps, and he’ll be right there. He’d always be there. When your Converse hit the holes of the trellis, his hands faintly found your waist, where you trusted him to carry you down the last couple abrasive steps onto your crushed garden. Feet safely on the ground, you gazed up at his staggering height and met his concerned eyes. You merely nodded before he could get the words out, are you okay?

“Your car?” You interrupted his staring. But in his defense, your face was illuminated mesmerizingly in the moonlight of the dark sky. 

“Right, right.” He cleared his throat. “Sorry.” He muttered in embarrassment, as he quickly walked away before you could see his flushing cheeks. As if you hadn’t already witnessed him ugly cry drunk in your bedroom. 

You walked the quiet trip to his van, where he graciously opened the door for you. You didn’t know at the time, but the couple yards it took to get to his car, he’d been battling himself whether or not that’d be the right move to try. He’d never opened the door for anyone. But your small “thank you” that flashed his way had him praising to the gods he didn’t even believe in that he was a genius.

His car smelled strongly like cigarettes and weed. It honestly hurt your head, but you hadn’t expected anything less from Eddie. It made you giggle to yourself. The usual was everywhere; littered receipts and wrappers crumbled into the door compartments, numerous scented trees hanging from the rear view mirror, which you could only assume had been Eddie’s attempt to mask the nicotine and marajuana, and of course, an array of tapes thrown upon the floor at your feet, you could vividly imagine Eddie getting tired of a tape and carelessly getting rid of it. But then there was something else.

Eddie appeared in the front seat. “You ready?” He heaved.

“Yeah, but, um, why do you have these?”

“Ice cream?” He questioned more than answered. Yes, ice cream sitting in the tight space of his cupholders, two cartons with a spoon for each. “Um, well, I figured it’d be nice to, uh, have. I always, uh, liked having it, I guess. Always made me feel slightly better as a kid. It’s vanilla and chocolate. You can take whichever.” You eyed him incredulously, he eyed you worriedly. “Do you not like either of those flavors? I know I went basic, but I thought they were safe choices. I can get you whatever. Strawberry, cookies n’ cream, mint?” He grimaced, as though it was a deal breaker but he’d look right past it.

You giggled at him. “No, Eddie, it’s okay. I just didn’t expect it.” You shyly smiled.

“Okay, good.” He smiled, with a whistle of relievement. “So, it’ll make you feel better?”

-

Lovers Lake had been the destination of choice for Eddie. It was quiet and calming. The car ride had been, too. Eddie had suggested some music, but was adamant about his disdain for the radio, though you weren’t necessarily in the mood to have the voices of Megadeth screaming at you this late at night. Eddie had begrudgingly agreed. So it was quiet. He was itching to ask you why you wanted to talk, though that only seemed appropriate whenever you would arrive. You had reached over and played with the mini bobble head figure of Garfield that was nestled against his van’s windshield. You said it was cute. He blushed. Then proceeded to nervously ramble about how Uncle Wayne had one of Odie in his work truck. You didn’t know Uncle Wayne, but he spoke about him like you knew every detail about Wayne already. The lake had been abandoned and lonely upon arrival. The lights to Rick Lipton’s lake house had been shut off for nearly a year now after his arrest. Eddie had only agreed and smiled when you mentioned how an old, lovely couple probably lived there and sat out by the lake to watch the sunset. Sure, something like that. He’d let you have your fantasy. The way the idea lit up your face and eased your tension, he wasn’t about to ruin that. 

“We can, um, head to the back.” He offered, to which you agreed.

In truth, the bundle of blankets and pillows in the back of his van didn’t paint him out to be the greatest of all people, but he quickly assured that he frequently takes nap in the comfort of his van when he doesn’t have the energy for Mrs. O’Donnell’s voice. Specifically adding a yapping gesture with his hand to emphasize. So there you were. Sitting in the back, doors open to let in the midnight breeze, as you looked out to the glistening waters. You’d settled on vanilla after you noticed the tighter grip Eddie’s hand had clutched around the chocolate flavor, and surely, a blooming smile erupted on his face when he got to secure his preferred flavor of dessert.

“So, um-”

“I just wanted to speak to you.” You confided. “You know, when we’re not yelling, crying, or drunk,” you giggled at his wincing face, “as we have been doing for the past couple of days.”

“M’a fucking mess, I’m sorry.” 

“So am I, Eddie-”

“No, you’re not.” He firmly attested. “You were absolutely perfect before I came into your life and fucked everything up.”

You teased, “You're saying I’m not perfect now?” Your mouth dropped in a dramatic gasp that had him smiling. 

“No! No! I’m not saying that at all, you are perfect now, you’ll be perfect for the rest of your life and you won’t even have to try.” He sheepishly grinned, filling his mouth with a big spoonful to bite back the smile.

“Hate to break it to you, Eddie, but I’ve been far from perfect even before I met you. I wish you would see that. It’s doing more harm than good.” You spoke sincerely. “I don’t like you placing me into a bubble, Eddie, especially when you’ve hated the people who’ve done it to you. But I never have.”

His head dropped with a nod. “You’re right.” He accounted. “I’ve had the bullshit done to me for years, I thought it’d finally make me feel good to do it to someone like you. And it was fucking gross of me, because you’re right, you’ve never done anything to me. Actually, that night you took our photo, that was quite literally the nicest anyone has ever treated me- us. And, fuck me, did I like the shit out of you.”

You laughed at his shy revelation. “You have such a romantic way with your words, Eddie Munson.” You joked. 

“Sorry.” He covered his mouth so kidlike. “But, uh, yeah I obviously liked you, and well, something in me was just fighting me to stay away. Or get away, more than anything. Because, um, it’d… it’d really fucking hurt if you didn’t like me back.” He couldn’t meet your eyes, speaking with pure shame as to who he was as a person. “And, well, mission fucking accomplished, I, sorta, kinda went above and beyond with that logic.”

“You think?” You smiled.

“It was so stupid of me.” He regrettably sighed. “Because-because I thought- you were just so nice to me. Ready to be my friend and everything, that I knew, I fucking knew my feelings would get too much for me and the realizations that I couldn’t be with you fucking scared me.” His voice had significantly softened to ease the burning ache in his throat. “A-and I’m such a shit excuse of a person that I fucking hurt you when you didn’t deserve it.”

“You are not that, Eddie, don’t say that-”

“But I am, Y/N, I’m so fucking terrible. I-I’m, fuck- I really fucking hate my dad.” Your brows creased at the sudden change of topics. “He was an awful person, he- he would-” The crying began. “Fuck,” he wiped his tears completely embarrassed, “He would just do terrible things to me and my mom, and I fucking said- I fucking said I wouldn’t be like him, be like her- she just fucking took that shit, Y/N, she said it was for the best.” You held his hand, his ice cream long forgotten and pushed to the side. “I just don’t want to be like him- them. M’tryin’ so fucking hard that it fucking backfired. M’such a terrible person, and I’m so sorry.”

You wished this conversation wasn’t full of tears, but you realized how inevitable that idea was. You and Eddie Munson were hurting and releasing. Crying was necessary.

“You are not a terrible person, Eddie.” He had to hear, loud and clear. You rested your head on his shoulder, where his head dropped upon yours. “Terrible people don’t sit and wonder if they’re terrible. And the fact that you care about how you are as a person shows it.” You caressed the back of his hand. “You are a worthwhile person, Eddie. I can so clearly see it.”

“I’m really fucking sorry for everything I’ve done to you, Y/N.” He wiped the incoming snot from his nose with his denim sleeve. “I-I need you to know that everything I did was out of fucking stupidity.” He huffed. “What I called you, those names, that was fucking disgusting, and I don’t believe that about you at all. I never have.”

“I’m sorry for what I said about you, too-”

“Don’t you fucking dare say you’re sorry for telling the truth.” He deeply laughed through his sniffles, voice deeper from the being nasally stuffed.

You smiled back guilty. “No, I am! What I said was really mean, too.”

“Absolutely not, sweetheart.” He chuckled. “What was it, ‘a sulking asshole too pathetic to deal with their problems?’ You hit it right on the nail, princess.”

“Well,” you giggled, “even if you won't let me apologize, I need you to know that I still feel bad. Slightly.”

“Fair enough.” He grinned. “But I do need to apologize, and I need you to know that I’m truly sorry, Y/N. For everything. For what I said. For what I did. For making you feel horrible and scared. And for just putting you through all that. You didn’t deserve any of it. I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

“I know.” You whispered. “And if it’s any consolation to you, Eddie, I also hate my dad.”

“Oh, my god.” Eddie clutched his heart. “He really put a fucking number on me, fuck me.” He groaned, turning to face you. “Please, please, please tell me if he does something. I won’t be able to fucking live my life not knowing.”

Your lips tucked tightly within themselves, and with a soft nod you assured him you would.

You spoke. You both spoke for a while. The hours had passed unknowingly until both tubs of ice cream were empty by 3:33 a.m. Tears and laughter had flooded the back of the van, and you felt like you’d been his friends with him since childhood. He couldn’t fathom the way he treated you, when speaking to you floated him into another dimension of peace and acceptance. Something he hadn’t felt in the entirety of his life. But when you caught a glimpse of the repeating digits on his watch, your heart panicked and you urged him to take you home, which he suddenly complied. This time, though, Megadeth was gladly played, and to say you were shocked would be quite an understatement. Eddie had belted a laugh at your abrupt introduction to metal, finding your this-is-weird-but-I-don’t-want-you-to-think-I’m-judging-you face as the cutest thing ever. And sooner than he liked, he pulled up behind the De Tomaso Pantera. Your attempt to say goodbye fell short, though, when he shot down your idea to walk home alone.

“Really, Eddie, go home, it’s late.” You huffed, when you reached your house.

“I will, I will,” He snickered with defensive hands. “Just, uh, th-thank you so much for, um- well, being so understanding even after all that I did. I just- you really are the best, Y/N.” He ranked his hands over his face in hopes of concealing the ever growing smile on his face.

“Thank you, Eddie.” You giggled at his flustered state. “You’re quite incredible yourself.”

“Do, um, where does this… leave us?”

“I still want space, Eddie.” You spoke honestly, to which he concurred. “Until we’re okay.”

“Until we’re okay.” He sighed. 

-

Eddie had managed to take advantage of the four hours of sleep left until school began. There was no sleeping past his alarm clock, no rush to get dressed, no giving up when lateness was inevitable. He’d shown up, showered and full with a bowl of cereal that went a long way, as he approached Ms. Kelly’s office. It was nerve wracking. He’d never considered this to be a good idea, in fact, following his father’s word, therapy was a pussy excuse for the delusional to waste money on. But those were the words that held him captive from the potential he so well deserved to reach. Turning from her filing cabinet, Ms. Kelly had caught sight of his timid figure standing at the door. 

“Eddie.” She hadn’t been unfamiliar with his being, she’d actually been the one to break it to him the last two times that he was in for another year at prison Hawkins High. “How can I help you?”

He sauntered his way into her office, taking a seat with a gruff. It was evident his persona to seem calm, cool, and collected was falling through the cracks, as his finger spun the numerous rings on his fingers. “I, uh, I was wondering if it’d be cool to, um, just talk?”

“Absolutely.” Ms. Kelly dreamed of the day Eddie Munson would enter her office with good intentions. “Anything in particular?”

He shook his head. “No.” He sighed. “Just got a lot pent up inside, I guess.”

“Well, the floor is yours, Eddie.” She smiled. “Talk as much as you need.”

𝐓𝐚𝐠 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 | Unfortunately, my tag list for this series has gotten too long, so I will not be adhering to any further requests to be included. I'm so terribly sorry, but the amount of tags has beyond reached its limit, and I think it's best to stop. I hope it's understandable. Nonetheless, thank you all for your kind support, I hope you guys continue to enjoy the series, and if you ever have any ideas as to what you'd like to see, I'd love to know!

@sierrahhh @harrysgothicbitch @niallerlover8022 @aunicornmademedoit @spring-picnics @sleepy-bunnie @eggo-segual @bambi-horror @aheadfullofsteverogers @sademoloser @freakymunson @princess-eddie @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @negativity4you @nope-thanks @allsortsedits @callingmrsbarnes @f0rgggg @hurricane-abigail @sweet-sunflower64

@redlovett @goldstars-to-all @eddiesguitarskills @goslytherin @sashaphantomhive @maxinehufflepuffprincess @emeritusemeritus @angel-upon @middle-of-the-earth @scarletwitchwhore @my-tearsricochet @ericasdumbworld @animechick555 @gewrgia-black @hookandchain @roseanddaggerlarry @prestinalove @sebismyhubby @maddsunn

@zoeymunson @corrcdedcoffin @sweetmariihs2 @thefemininemystiquee @monserat @findmeincorneliastreet @sheneedsrocknroll92 @silent-stories @batkin028 @btbabyy

[rreskk]

Heatwave

Summary: Sandy Shores experiences a frightful heatwave in which disturbs Trevor and his sleep, leaving him to use the only source of entertainment - you.

NOTES: Hey guys. I've not answering requests at the moment because I really wanna focus on providing much more focussed fanfics! Trying to improve and experiment with my writing, but this means I'll upload more promising works! :)

TW: -Smut

Pairings: Fem!reader/ Trevor Philips

Word count: 1856

The humidity was ravishing like a spiteful bliss of rushed warmth evaporating from an active volcano. The many layers of heat had tangled Hell into Sandy Shores, the rock roads fuming, the metal trailers sparking and burning up. A horrific heatwave during the summer hours of early dawn. What was present outside was also found inside; unbearable temperatures and sticky mattresses heaving at his naked skin. For once he tried to sleep but it came with a downfall of sweat and irritation. The 3 day bender of meth fuelled chaos ended and the sleep deprivation caught up momentarily. So with tiredness and angst, Trevor attempted to sleep the night before and, almost choked up by the heat, ended up lying there with eyes wide open, his back stuck to the duvet and his whole body measured with sweat — head to toe — every inch.

He glanced over to your sleepy figure and glared with distain. His body rolled forwards and it grinds against your backside, needly asking for some comfort and physical contact while in the moment of Hellish heat. Though you were just as sweaty with the mattress becoming damp, you had somewhat managed to enter the process of a light sleep, your eyes closed and face aching with trickles of sweat.

“Wake up…” his finger brushed across your damp stomach, “Don’t sleep without me.”

This tauntingly disturbed your peace and quiet as you began to stir, his breath heavy on the back of your neck. Throughout the whiplashes of consciousness, his stench grew more intense due to the humidity and increasing pressure of the warm heatwave that caused his bedroom to sickly hold this stream of his sweaty musk. Your nostrils were inflamed at the punch and you peered over your shoulder, just now noticing the layers of sweat painting your skin and sticking to your shirt. He met with your eyes, still frowning.

“What?” You murmured after being eruptively woken.

“I can’t sleep.” He simply said like it was your fault.

Begging to differ, your stomach coiled at his demonising scent and slowly, you sat up from the sticky sheets.

Trevor immediately followed you with his eyes and took advantage of the free access to your body, his hands grabbing at your waist and them warm fingers sliding across your bare skin. It made you shiver as the contrast of your sweat and his sweat mixed. The sensation was more or less hot AND bothering, an unwanted caress of butterflies moving around in your tummy and making it harder to breathe. Them damned hands are only making this heatwave worse for you.

“Trevor.” You’d warn since the illy-balanced fractures of bodily temperatures were apparent to cause future sickness.

“What?” He grubbed in response, scowling. His touch remained fixated on your waist and quietly ushering you closer to his side of the bed.

Knowing it wasn’t smart to argue against this revoltingly lustful intimacy, you shook your head to avoid any more of that sober grumpiness.

“This fuckin’ heat is killing me…” And with a slight tug, you were pulled back and into his lap. Your head planted onto the sweaty chest and he gazed down with a snarky smirk. “Hey.”

A hesitant muffle left your lips as you obtained the urge to find comfort in this gooey, humid situation. While lying against Trevor was a diamond in the rough, it didn’t help with your hair and clothes sticking to your body. Overstimulation, at its finest.

“It’s too hot for this.” You protested and attempted to sit up from his close proximity.

“Is it?” He questioned before grabbing the back of your shirt. “It’s never too hot to spend quality time with my girl.”

Your body went into immediate shut down and you couldn’t hold back the grudge. Limply falling back, you gave him a deceitful sigh. “C’mon, please. We both are tired—“

“From what I can remember, you were sleeping fine. Almost too fine…” He murmured.

“Before you woke me up.”

Trevor grimaced, “What’s wrong? You don’t want to spend time with dear ol’ Trev?”

“I didn’t mean it like tha—“ Before your sentence barely spat from your tongue, his hand perversely broke an entrance down your sweatpants, harshly groping at your pussy through your sweat-shaking undies. “Fuck!”

You felt him smirk at your initial reaction. Trevor increased his grip as your back arched, the overwhelming presence of heat turning into an internal arousal, defeating your inner dignity. He maintained your steady position in his lap while that hand only abuses your pussy harsher, suddenly clawing at your clit through the damp cloth.

“Trevor, stop…” You struggled with a smile, rocking your hips and thrusted into his hand.

“Atta girl. You love it, don’t you?” He whispered as his lips remained attached to your neck. His voice vibrated throughout your body, assisting the rush of blood to your stomach and lower. And from what you could tell, as that growing urge bulged from his crotch, he was excited as well. A bit too excited.

Disabled of vocalisation – jerking your hips is the only way of communicating since he had stolen your words. How he responded was physically intimate. His finger, clinging to your panties, pulling it aside and freeing the wet mess caused by his monster teases. You just wanted to rip off your clothes and free yourself from the chambers of sweat and overstimulation but he enjoyed watching you grow frustratingly sweaty and sticky. His eyes were peeled upon the hair that stuck to your face, the silhouette of droplets on your forehead and neck illumining from the lamp beside the bed. Trevor always loved it hot and messy, heatwaves setting him off when you submit such a sight to behold.

You clumsily pulled down your lazy sweatpants with the damp panties, kicking it away with the jerk of your feet. Now you could see his veiny, pulsing hands that dared to finger your clit more than it already is. With circular motion, you watched his thumb press down and interrogate the sex, assassinating the build-up of tension starting within your thighs and making them shake with anticipation.

“Oh yeah, that’s how I fuckin’ like it.” You heard him moan when sighting your exposed lower body.

As predicted, he shuffled around, your back hitting the mattress instead of his chest and his hand, based on your clit, increasing in pressure as he used it to continue the yearnful pleasure. You moaned, eyes closed, feeling his shadow looming over your body when another hand opened up your legs more.

“Look at me, baby.” Trevor pled.

“I can’t.” Everything was spinning that you didn’t have the guts to face him in fear of coming too early.

“Yes you fucking can.” He reached for your face and aggressively open up one of your eyes, grinning when your pupils expanded at the sight of his face. Sweat, perverted eyes, wobbly lips, sharply inhaled chest that his ribs were exposed, you were devastatingly attracted to this ugly version of him.

There he was, your dirty man; all rugged for your taste and all energised for the next taster. Trevor ensured you were to keep your eyes open before glancing down, his briefs hanging around his thin waist, tugging it further down until the happy-trail trickled towards the V-line, then hitting the sight of his touch-starved cock that was caked in god-knows how much sweat. It trembled when the dim light of his night-lamp stared it down, showing off the ugliness and divine ravenous.

“Oh fuck!” You cried out, beastly needing the Devil’s touch.

Trevor whimpered and lined his cock against your loose pussy, his thumb remaining tightly against your clit to keep you actively pleasured. Inhaling the last freedom of oxygen, he pushed inwards and took control. You both moaned at the intense gratification and fulfilment.

“Mhm… Yeah, that’s right,” He breathed when thrusting, his sweat being used as lube, “God, I fucking love you!”

You were being rattled relentlessly against the mattress as your back was inhumanly stuck to the material with nothing but pure sweat. His hands gripped your thighs and kept it wide apart when rocking in and out of your pussy, ignoring how frantically they were shaking. It made your head toss and turn to try and express this unnatural wave of euphoria.

Trevor chewed his bottom lip and adjusted himself onto his knees, leaning forward, lifting your legs up, the access to your sex getting bigger and the deeper he gets to fuck you. His hair was coiled in every direction despite the thinness after it was beyond bewildered by the caking of lather. It would occasionally drool down his face and drip onto your naked skin, his own fluids from the flesh of his body warming you up while he’s inside you – how dirty and filthy – how you are bonding and loving it like a Heavan in disguise.

“Trevor! Harder!” You unconsciously whined.  

He shakingly gritted his teeth and slammed his hips wildly, “Shut –“ His voice lowered, “– the fuck up, baby. Fuck!”

“Please!”

The witch-craft – or as for now, bitch-craft – of your weak voice made him stammer forwards even more, his cock rapidly beating you to a pulp, just like you wanted.

You grabbed onto his shoulders and panted while he dismantled you like a doll. The sweat becoming equally as arousing, unlike before. He was taking great care of your pussy by demolishing it. So sweet and exasperating, a last blow threw you downhill and you gave him a high-pitched moan. “I’m gonna fucking cum!”

“Cum for… Fuck… FUCK!” Trevor aimed to command you but it backfired as he could barely hold himself hostage. So in a haze of immense desire, he pressed his wrenched forehead against yours and memorised this moment before the urge to cum was threatening to follow.

“Ah! Oh! Ohh…” A hurtful whimper lasted for seconds as your whole tummy went into a series of spasms, cum squirting out, painting his cock which was flooded with more warmth and more wetness than it already was. Trevor kept on fucking you through the orgasm and moaned your name repetitively, staring at you through his eyebrows as sweat dripped off his skin and onto your cheek like a dog drooling from it’s mouth.

Your face scrunched up and your climax met with his, a sudden blow of fluids attacking your pussy and deeper. He threw his head back and shouted. “FUCK! YES!”

The bed stopped creaking and shaking when he collapsed onto you. His face buried itself in the crook of your damp neck and his cock stayed inside you while it shook off the rest of his cum. The only sound was the shared breathing between you both that was as familiar as a wolf feasting its prey.  

“Yeah…” He murmured suddenly, hands hugging your curves and more of his body weight pressing against you.

Rubbing his back, you whispered, “That felt so good…”

Trevor didn’t respond and closed his eyes. You were left comforting his tired body as he finally fell asleep, probably sleeping for the next 12 hours and caging you under his weight, making you roll your eyes but smile.

[abyssruler]

you actually have the best cyno fics im not even kidding AAA I LOVE U

thank you!! i love fun little domestic scenes so i try to incorporate them in my writing as much as possible. also cliches!! i love em, give me dancing in the rain, meeting each other’s eyes in a crowded room, just laughing and existing and being in each other’s presence and loving every second of it.

✧

It rarely rains in the desert. Once every few decades — or so Cyno told you when you looked up and saw dark clouds gathering in the sky.

You dragged him outside by the hand, a skip in your step as you waded out onto the open desert, uncaring of the sand that began to cling to your clothes like a second skin. A drop lands on your face, then another, and another, until a torrential downfall of rain is pouring down both of you.

When your clothes are soaking wet and Cyno begins to grumble why he has to stand outside the rain like this, you turn to him with a twirl on your feet and grab both of his hands.

“Let’s dance!”

He lets you pull him into a spin, whirling and dancing as ungracefully as a newborn fawn. Sand mixed with rain water begin to stick to his feet and legs as he waltzes in circles with you, unable to say no to even your most outlandish ideas.

It’s wet and humid and a little bit uncomfortable. His steps miss and stumble, and he once nearly stomped on your feet. It’s unseemly and mortifying and unbecoming of the General Mahamatra to partake in such juvenile behavior but—but.

But you’re smiling. And laughing, and dancing, and holding his hand so tightly he would almost think you never want to let him go.

So he tugs on your hand to bring you close and closes the distance between your lips as he pulls you in for a slow spin. He feels his mouth forming a rare smile against yours.

Who cares what the others will think of him. Yours is the only opinion that matters.

[erismerald]

𝐓𝐡𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 (Samuel Drake x Insecure Fem! Reader) 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝚰𝚰

𝐀/𝐍: Greetings my darlings! I hope you enjoyed the first part, as promised here is the second and final part of Thunder Nights!!! I admit that writing this story has given me the motivation to write again and entertain my and your creative mind!!! Without further ado, I hope you enjoy, enjoy your reading!!!

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: It's amazing how exciting and terrifying living alone can be, during a sleepless night as you think back and rethink the nights others warmed the bed of the person you loved the most, a storm of pleasure hit your door... Just the two of you in that flat, the rain and the storm drowning out the obscene sounds that the two of you were producing… A night of first experiences that neither of you would ever forget.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Insecure reader, Age gap, Nsfw, oral sex (female receiving), vaginal sex, worship and praise kink, a huge load of fluff, Drunk Sam. first time sex

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭:

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈

"Tell me you want me, darling, beg for me, let me be a priest who worships you, let me make you mine, and only mine…" he said between kisses and caresses, your head was light, the only thing you could hear was the sound of your heart and the pounding rain, but with effort you answered

"Yes… please."

"I promise you won't regret it my fallen angel, my beloved Y/N…" for mere seconds your eyes were locked on each other, as if you were vowing something, something so unholy that words weren't quite enough to portray it, yet you couldn't help but look away as you felt Sam's hands move slowly down your curves, your heartbeat quickening with his every touch, you were completely under his domination and that aroused and fascinated you. … the nights you had dreamt of, that you had longed for his touch, had now become a reality, and you couldn't control your breathing, with every touch you felt like you were going to suffocate with so much desire.

Your lips touched once more, once more that forbidden flavour… that one taste that you knew would be your downfall that night, his hands were firmly on your waist, pulling you tightly to him, and without warning his sinful lips travelled up to your neck, kissing lightly, causing you to release sounds of pleasure that you were trying to repress "don't repress that beautiful melody, my little dove, let that be the music to which our bodies will dance tonight" his voice resonated against your sensitive skin, his lips were quickly replaced by his teeth, leaving little marks, bites of love " so that everyone will know who you belong to darling" he whispered, as his hands slid into the fabric of your pyjamas "S-Sam-" his lips muffled his name, as his hands continued their work. … he explored your skin carefully, so as not to hurt you, until… he reached your breasts, his eyes locked on yours asking for permission, but at that moment you couldn't respond, your breathing was ragged, your heart was beating at an unthinkable pace, your face showed how much you wanted him, but that wasn't enough for Sam.

"Tell me, my love…" he began by lightly caressing them, grabbing them then massaging them "how about we remove this stubborn fabric that keeps getting in the way of my task…" he smirked in your direction when he saw that you were embarrassed at the idea of being exposed to him "Yes? Shall we?" you nodded in agreement… he laughed softly and in less than a second the garment covering your breasts disappeared. Ashamed, you tried to hide it, but Sam didn't let that happen. He grabbed your wrists with one hand and slowly raised them above your head. "Don't hide the beautiful piece of art you are… my God, you're gorgeous… you hypnotise me" he said, licking two of his fingers, from the hand that was still free, and stroking them gently against your nipple. The warmth of the humidity and the chill that the room brought made you gasp. You closed your eyes tightly as a wave of pleasure electrified your body. "Yes…please…" Sam smiled, kissing your collarbone, tracing a path of kisses down to your breasts, sensitive and eager to feel more of that sensation, but instead of being direct, he kissed the valley between them… feeling your breathing cease… you moaned softly when his lips parted from your skin "do you desire me so much that you can't bear to let me part from your skin for a second, darling? " and with that he captured one of your nipples, this time you moaned loudly and felt your hands being freed, falling into his hair and pulling him closer, his tongue danced and his teeth caused an unprecedented sensation in your body, with your legs, you wrapped around his body and pulled your bodies closer together.

"You like this, don't you, angel? "your bodies were so close together that even with your clothes on you could feel his hard member against you and you were delirious, your thoughts were wild and erotic, you fantasised about the things you wanted to do at that moment, you removed your hands from his hair and felt brave enough to explore his body, drawing pleasurable patterns on his skin, listening to his growl as he paid attention to your pleasure, until you finally reached his member, running your hand over it lightly, teasing him, watching his reaction "I'm not the only one who's enjoying this little moment of ours" you whispered in his ear, biting his lobe.

He grabbed your hands tightly and pinned you once, stealing a kiss, while your gaze locked "I'm going to be gentle darling, because if it wasn't our first time I'd already be fucking you on top of this stall, without a second thought" with one of his hands still holding yours he moved your hand to his hard member "this is what you do to me my sweet angel, you hypnotise me, you lead me to lapse into a sinful labyrinth in which my thoughts only focus on being deep inside you, the only thing you're capable of saying is begging for more" that comment made you blush even more, he knew exactly what he was doing. … he knew that it would only excite you more, but for a few moments a wave of insecurity passed through your body, reminding you of the women he had already held in his arms, reminding you that you had almost no experience, and this emotion was reflected in your gaze, his hand wrapped around your face, in a gentle way "what occupies your hermetic mind my love?" you carefully moved his body away from yours, your gaze turned away from his and you faced the floor.

"Samuel, I don't have any experience in this, in fact this is my first time… I don't know what to do, what to say, where to touch you… and I'm ashamed of it, I feel inadequate compared to the women you've been with… "For seconds you felt your eyes brimming with tears once again, Sam analysed your expression, slowly with his hand he caressed the left side of your cheeks, his touch was like hot logs feeding the burning fire underneath your skin, the anxiety was still there but with his touch, you felt your mind dissipate.

"Oh no. You’re not inferior. Those women were my mistakes. All of that was my mistake. I got involved with the wrong people. And you’re not the wrong person. You’re perfect." his lips traced a forbidden path through your flesh, led by passion and his fierce desire for your body "Oh darling… focus on me and how well your body connects with mine, I may have had other lovers before, but they only served as mere apprentices so that I could satisfy you like the mistress you are".

His words hung in the air, heavy with promise and desire. You felt his lips, warm and hungry, against your flesh, igniting flames of passion that danced along your nerves. His touch was electric, sending shivers down your spine as he explored every inch of your body with a fervor that left you breathless.

With each caress, each whispered confession of longing and need, you felt yourself surrendering to him completely. Gone was the doubt, the insecurity that had plagued you before. In his arms, you found solace, acceptance, and a love so consuming it threatened to consume you whole.

As his hands roamed over your curves, tracing the contours of your body with reverence, you let out a soft moan of pleasure. Every touch, every kiss, was a testament to his devotion, a declaration of his desire to worship you in ways you had only ever dreamed of.

And as he guided you to heights of ecstasy you had never known, you knew that this was where you belonged. In his embrace, in his bed, where his love wrapped around you like a warm embrace, banishing the shadows of doubt and insecurity forever.

Your body hummed with anticipation as he settled between your thighs, his breath hot against you skin as he gazed up at her with hunger in his eyes. She parted her legs eagerly, aching for his touch as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against her inner thigh with featherlight kisses.

With a soft sigh, you arched your hips, silently urging him closer, and he obliged, his tongue tracing a tantalizing path towards you pussy. You gasped loudly as he parted your folds with his fingers, exposing you to his starving gaze before diving in with a hunger that left you trembling.

His tongue danced over your sensitive clit, flicking and teasing with expert precision as you writhed beneath him, lost in the pleasure of his touch. You moaned his name over and over again, your fingers tangling in his hair as he devoured you with a fervor that left you breathless.

He delved deeper, exploring every inch of your core with his tongue, his lips, his fingers, driving you to the edge of sanity with his relentless reverence. You moaned loud, your body quivering with need as he brought you closer and closer to the brink of ecstasy.

And then, with a final, desperate cry, you shattered beneath him, your world exploding into a million stars as he drank in you essence, savoring the taste of your desire as you surrendered to the bliss of your release.

As you came down from the dizzying heights of pleasure, you looked down at him, your heart overflowing with love and gratitude for the man who had brought you to such heights of ecstasy. And as he crawled back up her body, his lips finding you in a tender kiss, you knew that you were truly blessed. "I… done everything right? I'm sorry if I did something that didn't please you -" Sam stopped your train of thought with another kiss, after leaving you breathless once again he looked at you and you could see the affection and desire in his gaze "Princess you were fantastic, your flavour, your voice echoing like a sweet melody, I myself felt hypnotised by every tiny movement of your body." Slowly he moved closer to you, laying your body back against the soft surface, covering every part of your body with his.

For in that moment, as you surrendered to him completely, you knew that you were not just his lover, but his equal, his partner in passion and desire. And as you melted into each other's arms, lost in a world of pleasure and devotion, you knew that this was only the beginning of a love that would burn bright and fierce for all eternity.

Your bodies melded together in a symphony of desire, each movement choreographed by an unspoken understanding of each other's needs. He traced the curve of your hip with his fingertips, leaving a trail of fire in his wake, while you arched your back, offering herself to him completely.

your lips met in a fierce, passionate kiss, tongues dancing in a primal rhythm as they sought to devour each other. With every kiss, every touch, the intensity between them grew, building to a crescendo of need and longing.

He trailed kisses down your neck, nipping at you delicate skin with just enough force to send a shiver down her spine. You gasped, your nails digging into his back as he teased you, driving you to the edge of madness with his gentle ministrations.

Please, darling, let me devour you once more, let me intoxicate myself with your sweet ambrosia, let me make you feel like the goddess you are once more, can you do that for me? can you behave yourself and let me take care of you?" His voice was raspy, you were both sore, but you didn't want to be unable to feel his touch on you. "Yes-" you were about to speak but his hands slid down to your hips, holding you steady, you could feel his hard member against your core "Not like that love" he said kissing your neck biting and leaving marks where his lips passed "beg for me… you were taking me so well, beg for me"

You were gasping for breath, your face was flushing, but the way he spoke… the way he asked you for things, no matter how embarrassed he made you, you wanted to satisfy him. "Please Sam… let me feel you, make me your muse and use my body as a canvas so that you can leave your mark on it." "Wow… I didn't expect that, love, but I loved it, I think you've been learning a thing or two from me" he laughed lightly

With a low growl of hunger, he moved lower, trailing kisses along your collarbone, your breasts, until he reached the apex of your thighs once more. There, he lingered, inhaling your scent, savoring the taste of your desire before finally giving in to the temptation that beckoned him.

His tongue flicked out, tracing slow circles around her clit, eliciting a soft cry of pleasure from her lips. He teased you, building the tension until she was writhing beneath him, her hands tangled in his hair as she begged for release.

And when he finally plunged into you, filling you with his hardness, they both cried out in ecstasy, lost in the throes of passion. Their bodies moved together in perfect harmony, each thrust bringing them closer to the edge until they were teetering on the brink of oblivion.

And then, with a final, desperate cry, they fell over the edge together, consumed by the flames of their desire as they rode the waves of pleasure to completion. In that moment, nothing else mattered but the two of them, lost in each other's embrace as they surrendered to the bliss of your union.

[respectthepetty]

I want you to have everything your heart desires and more. But my boss is Colombian and he’s a dick so the petty part of me wants Columbia to lose just so he doesn’t get what he wants. How do I choose who to support??

Listen, this is what you do -

You support the downfall of the United States

It's a win for everyone. This is not about Argentina and Colombia. The United States is the real enemy in this situation with this whack ass HOUR delay! Like how did we fuck this up this bad?! We're acting like we don't have the WORLD CUP in two years. We acting like we don't know what we are doing? WE ARE ACTING LIKE WE ARE FRESH!

It is hot and humid in Miami because it's Miami, and those fans were just baking in the sun, then the entry machines didn't work because technology sucks, and people who brought tickets were turned away while others decided to jump the gates (as they should). ME-AM-ME, dafuq?!

SHAKIRA IS WAITING! KAROL G IS WAITING!

I AM WAITING!

I hope we get roasted on every intentional platform for this shit show.

[caminotravels]

Sept 11th

O Pedrouzo -Santiago 21km

To day is the day we arrive. 14 days of walking, to get to one destination. It is 7am and I am still in bed. Not rushing this morning, feeling somewhat strange to think that this is the last walk. I also think this is my last Camino. I have walked it 8 times now, I know I have not done it all in one go., But in have I completed it twice and extra. Plus having done the Portuguese Camino 3 times. I think I can say I have walked many miles in Spain.

But now I have to get up and finish this one.

The walk today started off great . I was feeling good, and looking forward to the end . The trails were nice ,lots of tree filled shaded trails . The only downfall today was for the for 10 km it was generally just uphill . Lots and lots of hills . I thought we were done with them , but no , they kept on coming . To make matters worst it started to rain . We were not expecting any rain at all today . It was just a mist but enough that you had to put the rain cover on back pack . It was very humid then also . We stopped about 15 km and cold drink and a break . We only have 5 km to go , but I know the last 5 is always hard as I bet it will be uphill .

It was , and it was also in the city traffic.so you are juggling regular people who are trying to do their lives , and pilgrims wanting to get to the cathedral. We only had one km to go , but we just needed some food as we had not eaten since 7am and were feeling the hunger pains. So we stopped and had a quick drink and a small snack to just get us ready to enter the square where the cathedral is .

We finally arrived, always such a feeling of joy and accomplishment we did walk 260 km. Now we can relax and enjoy Santiago and hopefully get to go into the cathedral for mass .

But right now it is just time to chill.. I made it once again.

Buen Camino 👣

[glittergrubz]

whoooo kinda a random upload BUT! I had alot of fun with these fellas. Most of these were just for fun and me trying to push the WoF tribe looks. I wanted them to still look like thier canon designs but have a special flare. I even made some tribes related to each other and had a whole tree connecting them all but it looked shitty so i removed it.

anyway these are my headcannons. you can take inspiration but PLEASE don't argue about how this isn't cannon or like how you actually created this headcannon please. I get we are very passionate about our dragons but I'm not having another Phoboid and feathered skywing situation. seriously

also i apologise if i get anything wrong about 3rd arc I havn't read it nor plan to lol. It's also been ages since I read these books. Also these are sketchy because if I made these fully rendered I would have died holy shit lol.  ---

Related Families of Dragon

Aquatic Ancestory Tree - Beetlewings, Seawings and Mudwings Aquatic ancestors of these three tribes were monsterous in size. Thier muscle and power helped them have a terrible hold of the sea. Most of these aquatic dragons did not yearn for land nor did they yearn for peace. Aquatic ancestors were very violent dragons and their violent and stubborn nature would be their downfall. When the dragons began to become hunted down few decided to change thier path. Some went on land on a dry continent (Beetlewings) some went into the deep swamps and bogs (Mudwings) and those who managed to survive the genocide became the Seawings.

Tropical Ancestory Tree - Rainwings, Skywings, Leafwings and Sandwings Tropical ancestors were covered in feathers and serpentine in nature. Their venom and feathers were the pride of thier tribe, often displaying their feathers in the humid jungle. Tropical dragons did not yearn to fight instead party thier lives away. Altho became victims to the terrible and unpredictable weather. Some chose to go deeper into the jungle (Rainwings) some flew to the mountains (Skywings) other to the hot desert (Sandwings) and those who despised the island the most flew to a new place where they could start anew (Leafwings).

Tempered Ancestory Tree - Sandwings, Nightwings and Icewings Tempered ancestors were as violent as the aquatic tribe. Altho they lacked size they had terrible mystical powers and claws that could gouge any beast. Their self reightousnessmade them choose the fate of the other tribes. They used thier mystical power to attack the Tropical Dragons while they killed as many Aquatic Dragons as they could. They could not be reasoned with. But their terrible power came to a close as their home was destroyed my a meoteor. No dragon could fortell these terrible events. Some stayed in the terrible desert and made alliance with some of the tropical wings (Sandwings) other flew to the bitter cold and barely survived (Icewings) and some flew in the complete opposite direction landing in thick green forest (Nightwings).

Beetlewing Ancestory Tree - Silkwings, Clearsight and  Hivewings I honestly hate Clearsight tbh if it were to me Clearsight didn't even breed out Beetlewings. Instead those who didn't like her left and created a small hidden colony and starting repopulating again but struggle bc of how small it is. Silkwings and Hivewings do have Nightwing ancestory but it's so small that it's kinda nonexistant. More so the breeding between both Beetlewings and the Nightwing/Beetwing hybrids created the Silk and Hive fellas. I also havn't read arc 3 so if this seems stupid or something sorry but I have no interest in reading the 3rd arc.

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WoF Tribe Headcannons/Changes

Beetlewings     - Not exstinct     - Specifically looks like Rhino and Hercules Beetles     - Quite large comparing to the other tribes, altho smaller than Mudwings     - Compound eyes + Beetle wings with wing covers     - Their horns can gouge dragons quite easily      - Abilities: Stink pheromone, silk and sense vibrations.     - Medium fellas

Silkwings     - Thier fluffy now bc moths and butterflies are slightly fuzzy     - Their scales now look more bug like bc whoo bug      - Atenae is changed + ears looks like butterfly wings     - Have two pair of moth/butterfly wings     - Compound eyes     - No teeth but instead the proboscis     - Abilities: Can create silk, flamesilk, and sense vibrations     - Smol fellas Hivewings     - NOT INBREED NOT INBREED OKAY NOT INBREED GOD     - Scales again look more like thier bug counterpart bc i love bugs so much     - Added atenae + mandibles     - A smigein taller than Silkwings     - Only have spikes on their neck      - Compound eyes     - NERFED LMAO. Abilities: Paralysing poison (paralyzes a dragon unless they have allergic reaction when then will kill them), Stink pheromone and sense vibration.     - Smol fellas aswell

Icewings     - Horns are based off of reindeer/caraboo     - Still spikey as every     - Added a membrane that mimics the shake of snowflakes and spikes      - 3 rowns of spikes on neck, one on back and 2 on the tail     - Tail looks like a super spikey snowflake     - Abilities: Icebreathe, Icescales (essentially firescales but ice) and Nightvision     - I made em smol because animals in colder enviorments usually are smaller in size. It was also funny imo

Nightwings     - Instead of spikes now they have hair like sandwings, just a bit shorter     - Bat nose cause cute!     - Honestly I didn't go all out with these guys because I kinda find Nightwings boring (lmao sorry Nightwing stans)     - Stars on the edge of their wings cause cute     - Abilities: Firebreath, Mindreading, Seer abilities and Nightvision     - Medium sized fellas

Sandwings     - Frill is more hairlike because I honestly hate how stiff the frills look in cannon sorry     - Simplified the scales because wow Sandwings are hard to draw     - Python pits!! Remnants of thier tropical ancestors     - Also frills show on the neck aswell     - Dark eyes to help with harsh sun.     - Can come in different types like sunbleached, goldenscales and scortched (pale whites to golds and yellows to browns and blacks).     - Abilities: Firebreath, Sensitive Smelling and Nightvision     - Medium sized fellas

Leafwings     - Leafbug inspirations but not as much as the others.     - Leafshaped nose horn + leaf like webbing on the neck.      - Simplified thier scales because imo it was really ugly all layed n stuff.     - Goat eyes whoooo     - Abilities: Leafspeak, photosynthesis and leaf mimicking.     - Smol fellas but slightly bigger than Silkwings + Hivewings

Rainwings     - FEATHERED RAINWINGS YOU HEAR ME??? FEATHERED RAINWINGS AND ANYONE CAN MAKE EM GO FOR IT WHOOOO      - Python pits     - Feathered frill, and frill expanding from on ears, behind the ears and on the neck. (can expand when upset/scared)     - Smaller scales and looks more smooth (kinda like scaleless snakes but not?? idk)     - Werid froggie eyes     - Spikes from head to tail     - Abilities: Vensom spit (spits them like a cobra, fangs fling out) Chamoflage, Color Change and Sensitive Smelling.     - The smollest of the tribes!! SO SMOL

Skywings     - YES THIER ALSO FEATHERED I KNOW SO ORGININAL WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOW     - Different types including Tropical, Songbird, Birds of prety, Aquatic, Giants and Misc.     - Featheres behind the head and on the neck     - More color range, not just orange and red, ALL OF EM BABY!!     - Spikes behind the head of feathers, goes down to the tail     - Feathed tail and slight feathered wings (kinda like a gryphon)     - Abilities: Firebreathe, Firescales, Keen Sight and Sensitive Smelling.     - Medium sized dudes

Seawing     - Comes in 4 types Freshwater, Tropical, Predators and Deep Sea     - (The one here is tropical specifically lionfish traits)     - Not any other major traits tbh     - Abilities: Underwater Breath, Nightvision and Destructive Tail.     - Smol guys who just vibe

Mudwings     - Two types, landbased and aquatic based     - This fella is aquatic based (essentially fins like freshwater fish and barbels but it varries)     - Huge tusks to gouge their enemies + prey     - Large cow or ram horns and cow like ears      - Goat eyes whoooo     - Big ol nose for sniffing     - Abilities: Firebreath, Bloodscales/Fireproofscales, Imencse Strength and Sensitive Smelling.     - Largest Tribe whooo big ol babies. ---

whooo yeah that's really it. thinking next to do some headcannon redesigns of the characters because I think they deserve it.

Also I challenge others to do this fun little artistic exorcise! I apologize if you guys don't want @. Also don't feel like your forced to do it just a fun little thing I think people should try. And if you wanna try it and your not tagged go for it!! Even tag me to show me your finished redesigns

★ Not for Other's Use ★ ★ Feel Free to Take Inspiration★ DA: https://deviantart.com/glitterbonez FA: https://furaffinity.net/user/glitterbonez/… Commissions (CLOSED): https://docs.google.com/document/d/1Hzs23XXIApzOsxdnZ9lAJy3SrRLkb7Teeu0n3OqJUeI/edit?usp=sharing… TOS: http://docs.google.com/document/d/1Zq…

[thinlinez]

My VERY HONEST review of 28 op first drop... Please don't continue if you are easily triggered!

1. Order + Shipping

I ordered within the half hour of the drop. Received an email with my package number two days later. The shipment was sent out on Sept 6th from Belgium. Arrived in my country on Sept 16th.

Easy to track, but the shipment was slow since I live far from the UK.

2. Packaging

My three pieces were packed into one huge box. It was a bit battered from travel but otherwise can still be used and looked pretty with a 28 logo. Each clothes was wrapped in its own Ziploc baggie. There was a simple receipt for each clothing.

3. Unboxing

(1) Green Track Jacket L

The material is entirely waterproof, not breathable and only suitable for windy / cold / rainy weather. Not thin or light at all! The stitchings on the inside are... Kind of messy. If you are particular about the stitchings then I don't think you will be too happy. I don't know if it's because it's "hand stitched"? The jacket is made in and from China btw! I wasn't expecting it to be so messy... After the first wash (I washed it by machine, light wash, only 8 minutes with 5 minutes of draining) the logo on the sleeve looks a little peels on the corners (please don't fall off!) So I think maybe hand wash would be better if you wash often. There are also a bunch of loose threads everywhere...

Rating: 2/5

(2) Green Track Bottoms XL

I ordered a size up since I am tall but you should stick to your true size for 28 op. The waist is too big for me however there are useful drawstrings so this is okay! The material is SUPER THICK, two layers, not breathable, only suited for cold RAINY European weather. I live in Asia and it's really humid and hot so I won't suggest people who live in this climate to buy polyester material from 28 op. You can only wear in cold and rainy weather. The stitching is better, no loose threads! The 28 on the leg looks ok but overall design is tooooooo simple. He should add more, maybe roses on the ass! This one was also from China.

Rating: 1/5 (I'm so sorry I just can't wear them too often and they are so thick)

(3) Black Rose 28 op Hoodie L

This one looks good! Very pretty! The logos and roses and 28 on the back aren't stitched, they are printed on? I think? I was happy with it until I took it off and noticed I was covered in black tiny flaking pieces... I am not sure if this is normal for hoodies? But I remembered his 2022 tour hoodie wasn't like this after I tried it on. I had to take a shower and put the hoodie into the wash. After it came out, the logos and roses and 28 on back are all covered by tiny black flaking pieces... Maybe hand wash would be better... The material isn't that thick and it's comfy! However if I have to deal with black flakes everytime I take it off... that is annoying... The hoodie is from Portugal.

Rating: 3.5/5

Overall: at first glance all look so so so good! The design especially the rose hoodie is very pretty however the quality and endurance of the pieces are the downfall... these clothes are suitable for cold weather countries! I hope he puts out better quality and more choices of summer/spring weather in the future! I'm not sure if he is dropping clothes according to seasons, but these are definitely for winter!

If you pay this much for this quality, there is a high chance of disappointment however it's only the first launch... So I'm sure everything will be better? The three pieces plus shipping took 1/3 of my monthly salary but it was my own choice and since I bought them in support for Lou, I think it's okay? I'll wear them lots in the winter but hopefully they won't flake or fall apart too quickly! The pictures on the models make the track set look thin and comfy, but I don't think so... So think twice before you order anything "polyester"! I think I have grown a little skeptical about this brand, however, improvements can be made I'm sure! Those who didn't get clothes from drop one, don't feel frustrated, I think better designs and quality are coming!

Also! My mom made a good point, she said this is a SMALL BRAND meaning that they will produce not a lot at once and try to cost down so that they can profit more with the high price and low producing cost. People buy because it's designed by Lou. Just like we buy brands because of their names not for the clothes themselves. We buy because we support and love him, however it's a small starting brand which means they need to consider the cost and profit too... that's why It's so expensive (no working class price) and the quality is not good... I hope that it can improve with each drop! But if you do love Lou and support and feel good while wearing 28 op, it's a good reason to give it a try!

[fistsoflightning]

message with a bottle

ffxivwrite2023 01: ENVOY a messenger or representative.

how’d i end up with a letter fic?? erenville & alle. 748 wc.

His payment for services rendered found him not long after he’d checked the last requisition off his list and stored it in his pack at the hands of an adventurer.

“Begging your pardon, sir, but I believe I’ve a delivery for you!” The adventurer—looking rather ruffled, perhaps from the long trek between here and the closest town—pulled out a letter with no envelope sealed by unstamped wax and a small bottle no larger than his palm from her pack. Though he didn’t recognize the bottle, other than it being a common piece of glassware sold back in Sharlayan, he caught sight of the ink stamp on the letter’s back and smiled.

“Thank you,” he said, taking both the letter and the bottle from their hands. “I’m afraid I’ve little to reward you with, at the moment.”

“Oh, no need, sir,” she said, waving her hands. “I was paid by the lady beforehand—quite generously! I was almost afraid I’d have to find you knee-deep in monsters.”

With that, the adventurer left, ready to trek back out into the humid jungle haphazardly before he could warn her about the bugs being more active and irritable at this hour thanks to the floral bloom. Usual adventurer bravado, hopefully with the skill to back it up.

He’d give it a good half a bell before trying to leave, himself—with little else to do or plan, he pried open the wax seal on the letter and sat down to read.

TO E;

Here’s your proof of life.

I found her. The “ears” made it rather easy, thankfully. ^-^

At first she didn’t seem to trust me, but I suppose Archon marks can serve more than one purpose—never expected to get interrogated about my thesis so far from home. It was refreshing to be allowed to thoroughly explain myself, for once.

She left in a rush to respond to a call from the Scions—turns out the rumors of their downfall were exaggerated—and the Warriors of Light. Plural, as in possibly more than a dozen. A very curious bunch. They were quick to accept me into the fold upon seeing me at her side, and seem to be searching for a number of their members, as if there weren’t enough of them. Soon enough I suspect I’ll find myself in extreme excess of company where before I was lacking.

The prospect is… frightening? Perhaps that’s not the word for it. But—not to sound like some sap—even though I’m glad to be away, I miss our table overlooking the harbor, often.

At least the food here is comparable. Some of my fellow scholars at the Studium had nearly convinced me that food was meant to taste offensive, and that the Last Stand was the anomaly.

Very intriguing to see the once-New-Sharlayan for myself now that I’m old enough to remember. Lots of goblins and adventurers here now, if you haven’t been. They’ve certainly renovated the place—though they’ve kept a nice plaza free from “gobbie brainthoughts, pshkohh”. (Does the Studium offer lessons on gobbiespeak? You’d think I’d know, but I don’t. If not, they should think about it.)

I hate that it’s true that exercise and fresh air make you feel better. Utterly awful. Why can’t my body simply adapt to a more sedentary lifestyle? Stop laughing, that’s rude.

It’s likely unsafe for me to keep in touch—did you know that the Bibliothecs have no qualms about sending assassins overseas should it best suit their interests—but if you ever want for an ear (or pair of eyes, I suppose) to receive another scathing critique of the gleaner’s life, direct your letters to a Tataru Taru in Aldenard through a postmoogle. She is the Scions’ secretary, if I’ve understood correctly.

Don’t let that oversized plant you’re after get you with its sap—if it’s the seedkin I believe it to be, it’ll do something awful to your aetheric balance should even a few droplets get on your skin and you’ll be ill for weeks. Better not to question how I know, just that I do from a look at your current list of assignments. I’ve sent along some medicine should the worst come to fruition, if my warning is a touch too late.

Travel safe. By Thaliak’s grace may the waters you sail over be smooth.

Oh, and—thank you. Truly. The world would sooner end ere I forget the good you’ve done me.

ALLE.

[starikune]

Verses

Pretty straightforward and to the point. These are the verses that mostly all of my muses play a part in. Their roles in these verses are explained on their individual muse pages. I plan to add more verses as I go along.

Main Verse | Modern

This universe takes place in a world much like modern-day Earth, except magic and fantasy elements are common and established in everyday life. Supernatural factions, vampire cabals, demon kingdoms, and things of that nature. As a result, my muses may not be surprised if they come across a dragon, an alien, a robot or powerful sorcery. My characters may find themselves fitting better in different genres, depending on who they are, such as sci-fi or fantasy thriller.

This universe is mainly set in the fictional city of Lightcrest. An urban metropolis that seems to be a magnet for supernatural and otherworldly activity that is being studied by Irido Corp.

One of the most influential corporations in the world, Irido Corp is responsible for the majority of human technological development for the past several decades.

Pantheon Verse

In this world, the gods that humanity worshiped throughout history were not beings of myth and legend. They were real and had immense power, able to manipulate matter and energy at will.

While they were strong, they lacked numbers. One of the reasons that had led to the downfall of their civilization. Consequently, they left behind their technological refuse. Thousands of years after they left, another mass extinction event occurred, wiping out a good portion of humanity in the process. This is the story of one young being who is called Jesse and his journey as he rules over his kingdom while being one of the last of his kind. Like all good things, this will eventually come to an end.

Pokémon Verse

It’s safe to assume that most of you that read this are familiar with Pokémon already. Even so, this verse contains a lot of background worldbuilding, as it is set in my fan-region of Fairlyn.

Fairlyn is a huge region that is bordered by mountains in the north, with two of the notable cities surrounded by said mountain range. People who live in towns and villages in the mountain areas must adapt to the harsh environment. Most of the region consists of grasslands and forests, with many of the cities settled near the Great Lake or the river that leads out to the ocean. The region has a continental climate, with a wide temperature contrast, having warm and humid summers and freezing cold winters.

Fairlyn is a region that is big on the arts, especially music, and the residents pride themselves on being some of the friendliest people you'll ever meet.

Superhero Verse

The title here is fairly self-explanatory, I believe. Action and crime-fighting, people in tight suits, plenty of monologues… I think you get the vibe here.

Most of the Main Cast were given their powers from a special meteor shower that rained down on the city. They had banded together and formed The Power Force, led by the star man himself, Jesse Irido.

Being superheroes and all, there would be fighting and action, but this verse would focus on my characters and their relationships with the people they know and how they work with the public. There’s going to be more lighthearted and comedic moments here as the cast goes through their daily lives.

[samble-moved]

hello haters who have been praying for my downfall 🙏 i die tomorrow 4-8pm est (have to wear dress clothes aka long sleeved shirt and pants in extremely hot + humid weather)