#inclusion of older persons

[olderpersonsday]

Promoting Inclusive Ageing Through Technology: Collaborative Perspectives and Use Cases.

The fourteenth session of the UN Open-Ended Working Group on Ageing is poised to address critical issues surrounding accessibility, infrastructure, and habitat for ageing populations. This panel brings together a diverse array of stakeholders from nonprofit organizations, leading corporations, and innovative startups to explore workable strategies and impactful use cases enhancing the lives of older adults worldwide.

Watch Promoting Inclusive Ageing Through Technology: Collaborative Perspectives and Use Cases!

[jokeroutsubs]

ENG Translation of Vecer.com article, translation cr: @kurooscoffee, video transcript: drumbeat

(PHOTO and VIDEO) Joker Out at Lent Festival heated up the Maribor audience: Crowd of teenagers* at Leon Štukelj Square

Last night's highlight of the first Lent Festival weekend

Photo: SAŠO BIZJAK

Maribor was heated up, streets were packed, and there was a crowd full of teenagers* on Leon Štukelj Square. Everything was ready for the concert of the stars, the Joker Out band, who were the highlight of the first weekend of Lent Festival. As we waited to get in and catch the band before the concert, we spoke to Alja from Maribor. "I've been following them since 2018. Back then they had a concert at Lent, and there were ten of us, it was free. It's really good that they managed to do succeed like this now," said the enthusiastic fan*. We caught up with them right after soundcheck and a few other commitments on stage.

Photo: SAŠO BIZJAK

Carpe Diem live in Maribor for the first time

"We have really appeared on stage here in Maribor many times in the last few years, it has been nice to see the crowd getting bigger and louder, we are always very warmly welcomed and we really love coming back here. But in 2018, our first concert at Lent Festival was on the Večer stage, I remember it was raining, there were canopy tents set up, there were just enough people to hide under those four or five tents. Today, I don't think that would be possible anymore," the good-humoured Bojan Cvjetićanin told us. The boys remarked that there would definitely be no rain this evening, because 'we're going all out with partying (1)', and promised to play their entire repertoire for Maribor. "We know both us and them will enjoy it. It will be the first time Carpe Diem will be performed live in Maribor. A premiere," added Cvjetićanin.

(1) T/N this part was said in Maribor dialect

And indeed. There was no rain that evening, and the temperature was very suitable for warming up the enthusiastic crowd. Done as promised. In an hour and a half they provided a medley of songs from the first and second album. They started with Katrina, continued with Ne Bi Smel, Plastika, Dopamin, A Sem Ti Povedal Kdaj, Padam, Demoni, Srce ocena, Metulji, Vse Kar vem, Vem Da Greš… When she discovered the latter song, she started listening to them, the 29-year-old Eva from Maribor told us. "I've been following them for about three years, I've been to their concert in Ptuj, and I've been cheering for them at Eurovision. I like their magnetic energy. Because they are genuine, exactly as they are. They have a special depth in their lyrics that you can find yourself in. They fit Lent, they bring a youthful energy to it. May they come to Maribor many more times," she said. Teja, 17, from Maribor, has been following Joker Out for about a year and her favourite song is Metulji. Her friends Metka and Romina have been following them since Eurovision. They like them because they have a new touch and because the lyrics are a bit different and not so superficial, they told us.

Leon Štukelj Square was full of enthusiastic fans∗. PHOTO: SAŠO BIZJAK

The best concert ever for a Canadian*

Although the concert was, clearly, mostly young people, there were also some older female fans in the crowd. "Our whole family listens to Joker Out. The biggest fan is my granddaughter, who is two years old, but she couldn't come to the concert with us (yet). The rest of us came from Koroška (T.N.: region in northern Slovenia) for the concert," said Andreja from Vuzenica.

PHOTO: SAŠO BIZJAK

As Bojan already noted on stage, it wasn't only the local fans who were listening to them in Maribor. Anna Herran from Canada travelled a lot more kilometres than anyone else to be able to listen to them in Maribor. "I am currently studying in Prague," she explained. She spotted them at Eurovision. "'Well done!' After that I really wanted to go to their concert, I saw their summer tour and I came from Prague yesterday. I've been to Slovenia before, I really like it, but never to Maribor, so it was a great opportunity to combine one with the other. It was the best concert I've been to so far! Everyone is taller than me, so I didn't see some parts, but it was still great, I really want to go to another concert of theirs, I hope that one day they will come to Canada; or Prague, which is closer to them," the smiling 28-year-old told us after the concert. She particularly likes that they sing in Slovenian, and sometimes in Serbian, she added. "When you live in North America, everything is always in English, so it's great to hear other languages. Now that I'm here, I can even say a few things in Slovene. 'Hvala lepa!' That's what I learned from them. And the fans∗ translate the texts online, which I really appreciate," she added.

Anna Herran, Canadian, fan of Joker Out (PHOTO: URŠKA POLANC)

"No, I'm not signing your passport …"

Now that they have already performed abroad, we were curious to see how the band feels standing on Slovenian, home stages. What is the difference? "We like anyone who sings our music in Slovenian," Jan Peteh answered. Kris Guštin added that there is less difference between Slovenian and foreign stages than they thought there would be. "Absolutely, we thought that Slovene would be a really big hurdle between us and the audience, but it turned out that it's not the case. It even turned out that this kind of barrier that the language sets is a very fun challenge for the fans, because they are very relaxed about the concert and they are ready to absorb everything that we give them. On stage we feel very primal, very childlike, and so do the fans∗," explained Cvjetićanin. Are they now more confident on stage after Eurovision? "I think the difference is quite noticeable, especially if we have pink clothes on stage," Peteh added, laughing.

PHOTO: SAŠO BIZJAK

During the concert, many objects flew onto the stage, some of them off it. The singer said that he already has a room full of presents at home, but he is always happy to receive new ones. "That T-shirt I signed was not an invitation to throw all the items of clothing on stage." "No, I'm not signing your passport," the band's singer, among other things, told the audience, from whom they also said goodbye in style. "We've saved it for last because it suitably describes the continuation of the evening … Carpe Diem!"

ENG Translation by @kurooscoffee (jokeroutsubs) DO NOT REPOST!

[urfavisaprideflag]

Sakura Haruno from Naruto is the lipstick lesbian flag!

[snubbullls]

Man sometimes I really wish well meaning coworkers would either ask me my opinion about getting misgendered at work or just butt out rather than going straight to the office pissed on my behalf

[killerkillerkillher]

Bound to Fall in Love

Angel/Demon! 141 x reader

Tags: kidnapping, sacrifices, religious references, reader is too angry to die, reader commits murder lol, canon typical violence??, reader gets a kissy on the forehead, a tad crack-ish

Inclusivity tags: reader is referred to w he/him and they/them pronouns, no bodily description, no y/n

A/n: call my brain an apple w all the worms it's got. This was just a blurb at first, but I made room in there for me to potentially make it into... something I guess.

minors dni!

"Cole, I can't fucking focus while they're just... staring at us like that."

"Ignore it, Bess. We have to finish these candles."

You wish a bolt of lightening would come down and strike all three of you at once. Or maybe the building spontaneously combusting would be better. Anything, anything, would be better at this moment than watching your boyfriend and best friend work together to light a summoning circle after having tied you up in your sleep.

For a fraction of a second, you wonder if any gods are watching, if any of them would be willing to give you a boon and allow you one last chance to punch both of these betrayers in the face.

"Okay, okay, the book," Bess mutters, going to the pick up her ritual book from the coffee table you bought. Honestly, if they were going to try to sacrifice you somewhere, your living room is one of the most disrespectful places. Probably right under your bed room.

"I'm sorry," Cole has the gaul to look down at you with a face stricken with grief. Like you're dead already. "We didn't know what else to do. We're both in bad places and you've always been so good to us, so we figured-"

"You better hope this fucking kills me." You grunt. Cole's face melts into a glare. "Because if I'm still breathing, it's going to take more than Satan's intervention to save you from me. I swear on my mother." You jerk forward, making him jump back a step.

"Cole...?" Bess looks at you, then up at Cole with unease. Cole doesn't say anything for a second, sorting his feelings out with a leer before turning to her.

"Read the book."

He drags you into the middle of their pentagram while she sings Latin words off the old book pages. The candles flicker and waver before their flames grow twice as tall. Cole rolls you onto your back and pulls a knife from his back pocket.

"I meant it when I said I'm sorry," Cole mutters. You snarl, but don't jump at him like you want to.

"Yeah? Yeah, you're sorry? Kiss my ass!" You shout over Bess's reading. "If I'm still alive after this, I'm killing you and burying you in the fucking septic tank!" You crane your head up so you can see Bess as well. "Time to get some stuff off my chest, yeah? Bess, I fucked your older brother on the day we graduated."

Her eyes go wide, and she almost stops talking, but Cole shoots her a look that forces her to continue.

"And his friend Carl, the one you had a crush on. And Cole? I never. Fucking. Finished. Ever! You are the only person I've dated who couldn't get me off." Cole's hand's twitch around the blade.

"Are you serious?"

"Does now look like a time to- ack!" You don't get to finish because Bess finished the spell and it was time for your blood to fuel it. The blade buries in your gut, turning this way and that way at measured increments. You just lay there and twitch, breathy gasps falling from your gaping mouth, the pain only throwing fuel to the fires of your rage.

"Please, we call you here! Honor us with your presence!" Bess chants. Cole step away from you when the candles roar and your vision is filled with bright red and orange.

The ground beneath you rumbles. Whispers fill your ears, nothing you can ever imagine understanding, but something tells you they're other summoners. Or maybe little souls of those who were just where you are now, with a people sacrificing them.

It's odd, you think as blood soaks your back, your hair. You thought you'd be more scared in what could be your final moments. But there's only anguish where there should be fear. Only unfettered violent tension felt in your muscles, and a tongue hungering for iron and gore. You're jaw is wound tight enough to shatter your teeth.

If you could think straight, if you weren't about to die, you might be a little concerned. Never have you wanted to sink your fingers into someone's soft bits as much as you do now. This is normal, right? A normal amount of rage for the people taking your life.

Something in your gut tells you it's not.

In the fog of your rage, you missed the appearance of a pair of men above you. They hover, leathery plum colored wings sagging. One wears a leather strap harness across his chest, while the other favors an unbuttoned silk shirt. One of them looks at you curious as the fire dies, steam and copper colored smoke bellowing from his mouth. A thick cigar hangs on his lips.

"You came! There's... two of you?" Cole gawks, then falls to his knees beside Bess. You can't help but scoff at their sniveling forms.

"We did. There are." The one without the cigar brushes back his long mohawk to get a better look at the whimpering humans. They're nothing new to them, just another set of weak little things looking to get something without putting in the work for it.

Well, they might have had to put in the work to capture you, based on the way you still squirm and fight the rope keeping your arms together. So much blood has left you. You are going to die. Yet you spend your last moments doing what most humans find to be a waste of precious time. Being angry. It's interesting.

"What do you want?" The bearded one in the silk shirt grunts out around his cigar. Bess lifts her head just a bit to speak.

"We want to make a trade. A soul for a better life for us."

There's a moment of silence. You blink your heavy lids, growing too tired to do much else anymore. Both demons look back at you, then to the kneeling humans.

"They're not dead." They say at the same time.

Bess and Cole stiffen and finally chance a glance at you. You're bleeding, a glassy look to your eye and a smile on your face, but you're not dead.

"See, Bess?" You cough up blood only to swallow it back down, "what did I tell you? The cunt can't make me come and can't... can't even make me go."

The mohawked devil pops a wicked smile, not even hiding it from his would-be contractors.

Cole fumes. "I can finish the job. Fuck, am I going to finish the job." He stands, moving to step into the circle only to yelp, the invisible border around the summoning circle becoming visible if only to shock Cole back.

"Not so fast," the bearded one spawns a scroll in his hand. He's eyes glow a molten orange as he scans it. "Section 1, clause 3, part 19 states: executioner(s) must sacrifice one(1) human soul to contractee(s)... Let's see... Here it is: Sacrificee(s) must be dead upon arrival so that proper collection can be done. If sacrificee(s) is still soul bond upon arrival, then they are made the true contractor and all work will be conducted with them."

"In other words," the mohawked one grinned, "you should have went for the heart." He taps at his chest.

"Or the neck." The other devil offers.

"Or that vein in they're thigh."

"The sephenous, Johnny."

"Yeah, that."

"No, no!" Cole grabs at his hair as Bess looks like she's about to start crying. You want to laugh. They deserve the despair. They deserve the horror in their mistake. They were going to kill you!

"That means," the devils lean back to look at you. "You're our contractor. You get two requests at the price of one, human. I suggest one of those requests includes healing you." He flicks the ashes of his cigar on your leg. You don't even have to think of what you want most right now.

"I want you to untie me." You roll on your side. They wait for the rest. Cole and Bess look like they're going to shit themselves from the pale faced looks of terror they give you. Your eyes narrow. "And a hammer. A old fashioned iron and wood handled hammer."

Another beat of silence before the infernals bend over in laughter. The room shacks, sulfuric smoke pouring from their mouths to funk up the room. Cole tries to cox Bess to her feet while they're distracted. Their feet can't move though. It's like they're glued in placed and no amount of pulling and tugging could get them loose. Shame.

"Yer a funny one, love. I'll love having your soul for a few eternities." The one in leather floats over you, tilting his head this way and that way to get a good look at you. You settle him with a neutral look. "My name is Johnny. You sure that's what you want? I think you've only got a few minutes left in you."

"Then let's hurry this up a little, huh?"

"Ooh, you heard 'em." The cigared one snickers and snaps his claws. Two contracts appear in front of your face, both written in a language you can hardly comprehend. A pen appeared in front of your mouth. "Sign on the dotted line please."

You take the quill in your mouth, dip it in the blood beneath you.

"Rah 'ere?"

"Mhm."

You lean forward to dot the paper with your sloppy signature, but bizarrely enough, it seems like the powers that be have decided that they haven't made enough appearances. The floor trembles, and you worry about your poor infrastructure for a fraction of a second, when a set of gold doors spawn right behind you. You roll back onto your back to intake everything. You swear you're hallucinating when a pair of white winged angels step out, the clouded blue of heaven at their back.

"Hello?" You greet stupidly. You must be losing your mind, right? What the fuck is happening.

"Do not sign a thing." The bronzen angel instructs. "Human, we are here as messengers. God sees great things for you in your ascension. Please do not squander that to these demons." He shoots a sharp look at the demonic pair. The angel's counterpart wears a white cloak, obscuring all but his glowing golden eyes. You half expect him to sing "Be not afraid." despite you actively shitting bricks.

Oddly enough, their appearence seems to have some sort of healing property. Your lethargy starts to clear and the blade in your gut starts to get pushed out. Nothing hurts anymore.

"Oh, so we've got a big soul on our hands here, huh?" Johnny smirks. "Price, what's the plan?"

Price the devil throws his cigar to the ground and crushes it.

"Do what we do best. Bargain."

"Don't play with us, Price." The shrouded angel grunts. He's got a mind piercing voice that's got your head ringing, and you swear it echoes despite the room being well furnished. "We can provide them with just as much, if not more, at no cost of their soul." Those gold orbs land on you. "All we ask for is your faith."

"Jesus fucking Christ!" You tug at your bonds with renewed vigor. The angels wince at the mention of their Lord, but only watch as you force yourself upright. "I could not give a rat's ass who gets what! How about this? First one to get me free and a hammer in hand gets my loyalty."

There's two resounding snaps from either side of you. The ropes disappear, a hammer is in your left and right hand. You don't think deeper on what that implies. You finally stand, dropping the hammer in your nondominant hand, and march over to the two people you thought you could trust. They kneel now, seemingly ready to beg for their souls.

"Come on, don't look scared now." You drop your hands on your hips. "What happened to you finishing the job?"

"I didn't want-"

"Say it with your chest." You poke his breast plate with the iron hammer head.

"I didn't want it to come to this!" Cole yells. The divine audience doesn't say anything about it. They watch you curiously as you bounce the hammer in hand. Your soul is visible to them. What should be a glowing ball of light is a red and white morning star, all sharp edges and pulsing like a heart. Your soul will certainly not end up with the others, that much is true.

"I just... I couldn't keep up with you! Your life style, the way you act, your job. I never left good enough. Bess expressed the same thing and we just... clicked. We would have just left, but we could have never lived without struggling, so we just..." He swallows. You can't look at him anymore, hands clenching at what he says next. "The book called for someone we cared for."

''That supposed to make me feel better?" You tilt your head. Cole winces, eyes falling on your feet. You look to Bess. "Thought you were better than this. You were going to kill me. Because what, I was happy? I loved both of you, you could have just talked to me."

"We're sorry! What more do you want?" Bess sobs. You straighten up, bouncing the hammer on your hip, acting like you next action is something to deliberate. You already know what they deserve, and a flash of sadness bubbles in your chest, but it quickly passes as a hot, searing emotion burns a hole into what little hesitation you had left.

"Reckon I want your souls after all the shit you've caused." You grin before swinging the hammer back and caving in Cole's chest.

"Fuck..." is all you can say after everything is done. Cole and Bess lay in a bloody heep, all recognizable features destroyed and crushed. You pant, hands trembling and nothing but white noise and static crunching around in your head. You just killed your best friend and boyfriend. For some reason, you've never felt so light.

Someone's whistle gets followed by a clap.

"Impressive. Done that before?" Johnny chuckles. He floats closer, hand running down your back as he moves past and pokes around the pulped organs. "Shite, did them right in. Can't tell which is which."

"I've never-" you start to answer, but hands are clapped onto your shoulders, shocking you into silence.

"Well, that was a good place to start, lad. Your swings were a bit sloppy, but we can fix that." Price squeezes at your trapezius, massaging the stiffness out of them. A throat clears, and Price sighs like he forgot there was other company.

"We aren't finished. The human is our ward now, Price." The uncloaked angel snaps his finger, pulling you from Price and making you spawn between the two angels. The bronzen angel smiles down at you with teeth so white you could damn near see your reflection.

"There you are. It's nicer to have you close. My friend here is Simon and I'm-"

"Come on, Kyle, you know he's ours!" Johnny spits, his wings flaring out. "We gave him the hammer first, so piss off."

"Uh...huh." Kyle's smile falls. "I think you're a bit mistaken. Look, after executing the human's request, I have his name here." A stone slab appears in front of your face. It's smells like sunshine and warm grass. What the fuck. "His pledge to the Lord has been set and his soul already has a place next to Their throne."

"Right, right, like we don't have documentation neither." Johnny huffs. The stone disappears as a scroll appears next to the devil. The smell of sulfur and smoke wafts over to you. "His name is right there, pretty boy. Getting yer fuckin' lookers on."

Kyle ignores the rude tone and does pull out a pair of reading glasses to go over the scroll. You stand there in the silence, a little too scared to speak up. What could you do anyway? In a blind anger, you didn't really have the mind to think any of this out. Angels and devils are fighting over you because you'd stupid ass was too blood hungry to think past murder. All that can be done is for them to figure this out amongst themselves, and for you to wait for the sentencing. Heaven, or Hell?

"...Simon." Kyle slowly pulls his glasses off. "This is legit. His soul is promised to all of us."

You glance up at Simon, the scary motherfucker. He blinks. Once. Twice. Then pinches the bridge of his nose with a hagard sigh.

"Shit."

That's not good.

Johnny laughs, Price grinning like a dog with a bone. Kyle marches over to you, patting your shoulders with an awkward smile. His demeanor reminds you of the way your mom acted when she said she was going to divorce your dad. And all you can think is "Not this again." Are you going to be spending your afterlife going between heaven and hell forever? Does God get weekends because Their day is Sunday or whatever?

"We need to go and talk this over with some superiors. We'll clean this up," Kyle snaps and the gore is gone, so is the ritual circle and candles. "And we'll get back to you in the morning." He places a feather light kiss on your forehead, and suddenly you're squeaky clean and in the softest set of pajamas you've ever worn. "Stay safe while we're gone and don't allow these two to influence you. Get some rest."

"Blah, blah, blah," Johnny mocks from the sidelines. Price tilts his head, and there's nothing but amusement behind those eyes. Yeah, this is exactly like your parents divorce.

"O-okay? I mean, I'll try." You shrug.

Simon nods. "That's all you can do." He steps back into the golden doorway and Kyle falls in stride. You make some distance, and with a final wave from a white toothed angel, the doors shut with a slam that shakes the house's foundation.

"Just you and us now, stud."

You turn with a comedic slowness to the devils. Price chuffs and floats forward. His assess you, takes you in in all your fluffy white pajama glory, and it seems he finds what he wants when he nods.

"Guess we've got to talk with top brass to see what's going on ourselves. Pity we couldn't stick around longer." The devil's eyes never meet yours, staying glued to various parts of your face. They hop from ears, to your eyebrows, down to your lips. Christ on a bike, is it getting hot in here? His blue, glowing cerulean eyes appear to flash with something.

"Shite, yer right." Johnny groans. "I hate going down there."

"Suck it up, love. You know how I feel about sharing." Price drops his interest in you like an old toy and takes Johnny close by his waist. You watch with a lead poisoned stare as their noses touch intimately, words you can't hear being exchanged. It's kinda of awkward to just stand there and watch but your brain isn't really functioning well enough to tell you to stop.

"Hey, stud." You blink, refocusing on the pair. Johnny seems to have climbed his partner, his legs on his waist and arms around his neck. Price makes busy opening a portal to hell in your livingroom with one hand, supporting Johnny under his ass with the other. "Sit pretty, yeah? 'll be back before those two arseholes, promise."

"Right... yeah." You nod. "Uh, be safe?"

"Be safe, he says." Price mutters. "Cute." Johnny waves until Price steps through the infernal hole and falls from view. The portal closes right behind him so you'd have no hopes of seeing anything but the red hue of smog and dust.

And here you are. A little dazed, a little sad, probably holding back a break down from the last hour of events. But you're alive and you're healed. There's no blood to clean, you're in comfortable pajamas. Could probably sleep right now if your brain would stop for a minute, but it doesn't look like that's in the plans.

So you look for something to do. Cole and Bess and moved around all your furniture to make the summoning circle. Guess you can start there, right?

[wroteclassicaly]

She’s Trouble

(Eddie Munson x Female Reader)

Summary: Tired of trailing behind, feeling like you don’t matter much, you decide that 86’ isn’t only going to be your bestfriend’s year.

Pairings: Eddie Munson x Female Reader

Word count: 16,185

Warnings: Language, violence, mentions of drug usage, blood, NSFW, smut, drinking, Eddie is angry and sad in this, masturbation, slight voyeurism, breeding kink, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, angry sex, creampie, angst, fighting, rough sex, Dom!Eddie, and MORE!

A/N: I started writing this based off the scene of Eddie smirking at the cheerleaders he lets by after his cafeteria speech. And, well… it’s spawned itself a new life and turned into a whole lot more than I planned. But so is the life of an author, am I right? ;) Eddie is a dick in this, Reader is a lot more vocal than I’ve written before. I wanted to do something a bit different and I hope this accomplishes my mission?

I wanna thank @littledemondani for helping me out of my brain fart on which direction to take this! Also, do check out her masterlist, which is pinned at the top of her blog (it won’t let me link it here). She’s an incredible author and a fellow Eddie Munson slut, and one of my longtime best-friends! ♥️

Side note: I’ve also shifted a few things in the timeline of the show, for obvious reasons. The whole Eddie/Chrissy thing doesn’t happen on the same night as in the series. Chrissy and the reader have a good interaction and Eddie is a dickhead, but his reasoning will be explained. Also, while the reader is wearing a bustier top, this is an all inclusive fic, where the reader can be anything you imagine! I believe anyone can wear anything that they choose to—regardless of their size, so don’t let that bit of the story deter your perception, as I’ve left it open-ended! ;)

Enjoy! I’ve got a lot coming up soon! Part twos of multiple fics, prompts, plus other goodies! <3 - Kristen

~*~

You watch the way that he tries to be cute and coy towards them, attempts to impress with a dramatic wave through of his hand. Short skirts, tight little tops, bouncing ponytails, and a shitload of generic gossip on their painted lips—they pass by, everything included but those damned pom poms. Apparently they are giddy at his little show of calling out every group but your own in the cafeteria. Your eyes roll so hard that you feel a protesting sting, ignoring it to stab your fork into whatever creation is wiggling on your lunch tray. All the guys—freshman to seniors, and you—the only girl since founding, and Hellfire Club’s treasurer/manager to Corroded Coffin—make up the outsider table.

This year, however, you’ve felt so fucking off base with this group and their antics that you’re getting exhausted pretending to care about their shit when they don’t respect you or yours. Dustin, Lucas, and Mike are always the sweetest to you, even with Lucas joining a sport, he’s still quick to always give you a smile and a nod whenever you pass him in the halls. They’re young, unlike Eddie and the older guys. You’re finally a senior this year, but still behind your bestfriend by a year in age. All this used to be okay, Eddie multiplying how much he repeats the grade, you trailing behind him like a lost puppy without any brain of her own, but now—it’s unbearably smothering.

And thus, it’s been building. You’re over bringing chips that are from your personal stash and using your gas to go buy smokes with your small work paycheck, or clean equipment for Eddie’s band, or stay up all night just to design campaign posters for Eddie, only for him to be so fucking stoned that he doesn’t even appreciate it, nor remember it.

“Fucking fake losers,” Jeff mutters.

“So fake,” Gareth agrees, both looking towards Eddie as he settles himself back down, wiggling his brows at you.

It’s an unsettling pressure that boils inside you, crackling, and as soon as you look into your best-friend’s brown doe eyes—it all comes apart. “You wanna talk about fake?” Your chest pumps a rush of adrenaline, helping careen the words off your tongue before you can stop them. Everyone’s attention snaps quicker than you’re prepared for, eyes wide and shocked. Sure, you’re vocal and sassy, but never outwardly angry. “The fact that all of you will condemn the basketball players, but would give up any of your seats at our table for one of the bitches in a skirt that they chase, if they popped their gum or batted an eyelash. You’d all be a bunch of drooling, little horndogs.” You can feel your heart racing with each pronunciation of a word, rising from your seat, knuckles white from gripping the edges of your yellow tray so hard.

You hear Dustin whisper a ‘whoa’, but your vocal vomit doesn’t stop.

“Frankly? I’m fucking sick of all this.” You pick the tray up and slam it down for good measure, unwrapping your messenger bag from around your seat, and you leave the table of gaping young men behind you, not even indulging yourself in Eddie’s bugged out, concerned stare.

You don’t even have time to throw your bag across your chest, when Jason Carver shouts out from behind you, “Damn, look at Munson’s slut go!”

It seems your group aren’t the only ones taking an interest in your outburst. Your breath is engorged in jagged pants of pitiful air, a fire coursing through you faster than you can handle, your skin singing, prickling with goosebumps. Your cheeks redden in humiliation, your feet swiveling and carrying you, fast and quick to their table, you throw your bag off, body like some damned slow motion track. Everyone notices Eddie’s antics, but you’ve never garnered any attention. It’s a surreal high.

Your combat boots click across the cement flooring, your hair like a dead weight across your back. Carver and his entire group are expectant, chairs scraping across to get out of your way. It’s all such a blur that you don’t even know your fist has collided with Jason’s face until you feel the pressure bite into your knuckles, a crunch beneath your force. He shrieks, his friends jumping to his aid, your stance shifting, ready to take anyone on. Your ears are bubbling with a murky static, applause in some direction, shouts in others.

Your name is being shouted from two different directions, the one you see stomping angrily towards you belonging to principal Higgins. He’s calling for help, shoving his finger in your face, motioning to your shirt. “This Hellfire Club does nothing but cause trouble!”

You snort, completely coming off your hinges, shaking the ends of your shirt, before stepping back and flinging it over your head, leaving you clad in your jeans and a leather bustier top no one could ever picture you owning. You’ve always kept your shit to a minimum to draw less attention, but you liked the support it provided your breasts with. You spin around, hands in the air, using the shirt as a lasso, tossing it at your old table. You begin to giggle, honestly wondering if you should visit the school nurse, but uncaring. Higgins is literally sputtering, making you snort, waving a hand. “I’m a slut, I’m trouble. Anyone have anything else to add? No? Yes?”

You bend back over to snatch your nap sack up, motioning to Higgins. “Lead the way to your office, Sir! Please fucking do.”

The pep in your step as your principal is angrily leading you from the masses is such a euphoric feeling, you’re sure you’ll never feel again in your life. You can taste the drama on your tongue’s tip. You don’t even spare your friends a glance, not wanting Eddie to have a morsel of satisfaction. This is your moment. Not as Eddie Munson’s best-friend, not as his groupie. As Y/N, Y/N Y/L/N.

~*~

Eddie Munson has been clutching your discarded Hellfire shirt, doused in your perfume that is brimming his nostrils full, damn near trembling for the past twenty minutes that finish up lunch. He can’t move, that swelling between his legs keeping him glued to his seat, all the images of your fist soaring into Jason Carver’s face, ripping off your clothing in front of Higgins and the entire damned school. He went from concerned, angry at how you acted, to so fucking turned on that his stomach knotted up, sucking him to where he’s seated, his cock throbbing in his jeans. He’s never seen you like this.

The guys are silent, unsure what to say, how to even go about comprehending the you they just saw, that even Eddie himself has never heard of. He knows one thing for sure—okay—two. He has to find out if you’re okay and what’s going on.

~*~

You roll your eyes at the lovely note, signature of a three day suspension secured by Higgins at the bottom. Crumbling it up, you slide it into your back pocket, rifling through your pin tattered bag for a cigarette. You already know where you’re gonna go, and it sure as hell isn’t home. No one is there and no one is gonna care about your minor indecency. You can forge your mom’s signature, much like you do every good grade you bring home that she’s never around to see, or every comment from a teacher about how your folks are missing out.

It’s quiet at your house, your space. You parents more or less sleep there when they’re not gone on business. Pinching the filter, you cup Eddie’s stolen Zippo, that ashy hiss helping beckon that sweet bitter taste in past your lips. You don’t desire that home front solace right now, craving different scenery.

Maybe I’ll get lost…

You feel like Hawkins is your oyster, and you’re eager to explore on your own terms, by yourself. You’ve got your smokes, your pocket knife, and a pen and paper. That’s enough for you to make a decision.

Skull Rock it is.

~*~

One thing about Indiana is the ever predictable bite of hot weather that March brings. Spring is automatically Summer in the Midwest, and this is no different. Your leather top had stuck to your skin in an uncomfortable crunching press, making you eventually discard it, leaving you topless, your only accessories a chain with your birthstone pendant and a thicker silver chain, with a cheesy little guitar charm (a present from Eddie) nestled between your breasts. Your form is shaped against the rock behind your bare shoulder blades, a cool sensation that has you tilting your head back, stretching your neck, treetops breezing above you—tall and luscious. You smile softly, undoing the flap on your bag and seeking out your Walkman and sunglasses.

In moments your eyelids are fluttering closed, shielded from sun rays, your Walkman clicking in place, readying Heart’s Barracuda to nick your ears, coasting in welcomed caresses. It’s not thick heavy metal, but it’s you. And in the serenity of these woods, another cigarette you allow yourself—you begin to drift off in a galactic solitude that is solely your own. You’d learnt how to count beats, read sheet music, even sing a few notes from Eddie, so getting into your song’s groove isn’t hard for you, your fingers wrapping around your chain, tapping underneath the swell of your breast along with the chorus. You’re off the precipice and gone, demolished to the point you don’t hear the familiar footsteps, the sound of your name, or leaves and dirt crunching beneath white Reeboks, nor do you hear a throat-deep groan at his discovery.

~*~

Eddie and you always share this in synch kinda shit, which creeps a lot of people in your circle out. Eddie, however, welcomes it today. When he couldn’t find you after abandoning his lunch, spent what was left of the day attempting, only for Henderson to tell him he’d heard you’d been suspended for a few days—he made it his personal goal to find you. Your parents are gone so he knows the times you do and don’t like to be at home by yourself. And with the way you lashed out at everyone, you won’t go anywhere he has easy access to.

That leaves one place. Skull Rock.

~*~

The drive feels shorter to Eddie this time, but the walk longer. He has to shed himself of his denim and leather, tossing it over his shoulder and clambering up the path towards finding you, keeping your club tee in his back pocket. The more he walks, the more he wishes he brought a drink or his smokes, which remain on his dash. If he’s wrong and you’re not here, he isn’t sure if this is reality anymore. This day has been one big mindfuck.

Thankfully, as he hears a loud tone droning over the clearing, a soft hum, his heart patters in his chest, nostrils inhaling sharply. He rounds the corner’s pathway, already calling your name, his eyes widening, jaw unhinged, fists clenching at his sides. You’re reclining against the boulder’s curve, black shades perched over your eyes, hair draped across your neck, your boot clad ankle crossed over the other, a cigarette perched into your puckering pair of lips, your layered chains swaying, slumbering against your skin, and fuck—your tits, Eddie winces, gripping himself to adjust—frozen.

He can’t not notice how your nipples are reacting to the air. He can’t not detail your shape, how your waist is formed, zeroing in on the baby bat you’d gotten to match his larger ones, inked into your ribcage, and he certainly isn’t forgetting your jeans that are settled over your hips. His eyes glaze over, heat prodding his flesh, shrouding him a veil of desire and raw ache. You don’t notice him, calls of your name falling on mainstream rock’s ears. He doesn’t think approaching you is smart, like a cat and mouse, your behavior for once—unpredictable.

Has Eddie just not been paying attention to you that much lately?

Suddenly, when he’s debating a cowardly retreat, baiting his internal monologue for an excuse, your audible gasp is heard, his name crushed between your gritted teeth.

Fuck.

~*~

In all of his glory—stands your best-friend. He’s balling and un-balling his fists, eyes darting rapidly, tongue sucking against his teeth, feet ready to carry him far away. And the more he avoids your stare, the angrier you get. So what, you’re not good enough to look at because your breasts are out? Modesty to a back burner, you take your crossed arms off your chest, scraping your smoke out on the rock, pushing your glasses into a perch upon your head, body facing Eddie as you stand.

I dare you.

Your eyes complicate a challenge—craving him in your proximity, and hating his grunge blanketed sight. Eddie’s neck is a really pretty thing when he tenses, his jugular agitated against a harsh gulp of air. He answers you by meeting you in the clearing, palms sweaty, scrubbing over his back pockets. It’s a cool damned drink of water, as if you’ve been without, making thee Eddie Munson squirm. But he’s still your best-friend, and you are half naked.

Covering yourself back up so he will look you in the eye, you tuck your arms into a push beneath your sternum, forearms shielding your nipples. It’ll have to do.

“Eddie, what the fuck are you doing here?” You snap before he can voice a concern or a question.

Tethered to deep breathing techniques, Eddie is insulted, and is biting back in his acidic response. “After your own personal talent show antics at school, I was worried about you. Excuse-the-fuck-outta-me, Y/N.”

A bitter laugh comes from you. “Oh, you’re focused enough on my shit to actually be worried about me? How kind of you, Edward Munson.”

“Why the fuck wouldn’t I be worried about you?” Eddie is raising his voice, sizzling in a cautious rage. He’s usually happy-go-lucky with you, but you’re pushing these fucking buttons he isn’t aware he’s been hiding.

“You really need a list of reasons? Wait,” you say, moving to circle him, pinching your thumb between your teeth, “you’re probably, completely oblivious, because I’m just Y/N. I’m not your club, not your band, not one of your groupies that flounce around for an ounce from you, then leave your ass for their jock boyfriends.”

“Whoa, whoa!” Eddie raises a hand, rings clattering together. “When the fuck did all this start, Y/N?”

Your arms fall back at your sides with a loud ‘thump’. The heating has settled, your high wearing off, truth remaining as to why you’ve been upset in the first place. A caverning hurt carves its place into your chest, igniting an anguish that drowns you. You’re defeated. “It started when my best-friend forgot that I’m my own person and not his servant. Or maybe it began when my person was so stoned that he barely acknowledged a test I fucking flunked to stay up and make his campaign posters—which, may I add—he also gave zero fucks about-“

“So all this is because I didn’t kiss the very ground you walk on for some posters that you practically begged me to make, and wow—your A+ average went to an A. Curse me into the deepest depths of hell, please.” His bracelet slides down his wrist as he palms his heart.

Maybe you’re not the only one who is changing. Eddie hasn’t ever disregarded you in such a crude manner. Your tongue is practically salivating in need to layer on biting and cruel words, things you won’t be able to come back from. You remain silent, mulling over what to say, glaring, docked, stinging prickles of tears. It’s an elating elevation when the words do come. “I’m your best-friend, Eddie. Not your little groupie. I’m tired of you preaching about conformity, when all I do is conform to you. You don’t ever let me pick music, you always take for granted I’ll give you and the guys rides when your van isn’t working, despite if I might have something to do that doesn’t involve an all male ensemble. I spend my money to buy you cigarettes and snacks for the meetings. I manage gigs, I clean your band’s equipment.”

Eddie sniffs, looking pointedly at you, doe eyes dark and growing increasingly fed up. “Didn’t know you were keeping a tally, Y/N.”

“That’s… That’s all you’re taking from everything I just said to you, Eddie?” You can’t keep that hurt out of your tone this time.

Eddie shrugs, crossing his arms, coldly spitting out, “Seems to me like you’re sick of me. And that’s not my problem, that’s yours.”

Your head is swimming in turmoil, all your acting out and emotions swirling into a mindfuck. He doesn’t care. You’re standing here finally pouring your entire soul out in heaps and your person is pouring gasoline on the pieces, dangling a match.

“I’ve never kept a tally, Eddie. I do these things because they make you happy, and that makes me happy, but it fucking sucks when you don’t appreciate them or care about anything in my life, either.”

“That’s what you really think, Y/N?” There’s a flatline in how he’s speaking to you.

“No,” you murmur, “it’s what I know.”

Eddie’s jaw clenches, teeth grinding. He kicks at the ground with the toe of his shoe, brows raising. “Breaking Jason Carver’s nose and my cold, dead heart.” He splays a hand across his chest. Those rings, which are always a comfort to you, reflecting off the sunlight, dripping in judgement.

Your trembling wavers, crackling sentence structure falling apart. “Eddie. Don’t.”

“No. Fuck you, Y/N. Seriously, fuck you!” He shouts, snapping a finger in your direction.

Your hands rub up and down your goosebump soaked skin, finalizing what you need to do. Heaving in a deep breath, a sentence escapes your lips. And you pray, pray Eddie will heed this warning and value what you have enough to understand, to work it out. “Maybe it’s time to fess up to the fact that 86’ needs to be a bigger year for us both.”

Mind reader. A power you’ve never wanted more than in this moment as you claw at the cusp of your best-friend’s reaction. Outwardly, Eddie shifts, Adam’s apple bobbing, thumb swiping underneath his nose. Your mouth waters, throat reflexes threatening a fountain of vomit. And Eddie takes your warning, slaying through it, every bit of ground beneath your boots threatening to cave in.

“You’re right. Hell, Carver is right. You do act like my slut. And you have every right to change it, because it’s only holding us both back. And it probably has been for a long time.”

Kicking you would’ve hurt less. You’re unable to see Eddie’s form longer, muddled to a watery silhouette, your brave bravado dissipating. You won’t beg him. You’re nothing to him anymore, he’s just confirmed. You try not to think about the first time he taught you how to dance before your first snowball, or how you both snuck Jim Hopper’s cigarettes when you’d get in trouble at school and be sent to see him for minor misdemeanors, or Eddie’s pride when he managed to get you on stage to sing one song with the band, rubbing circles on your back the whole time you both sang to a trio of drunks, or splitting beers on his van’s roof and nearly breaking limbs when it started raining and you had to climb down, how he taught you to drive in the fancy neighborhood and you knocked over the mayor’s mailbox, when you watched him buy his ‘sweetheart’, tears in his eyes at a possession so gorgeous and all his own, his hands gentle as they held you the nights you cried from one stupid thing that felt massive to you, when he was your person and you were his.

Your wet, quivering breaths are what you hear. Birds chirping, wind rustling, even Eddie’s heavy breathing drowned out. It takes what feels like eternity, before Eddie is slashing the quiet, guarded and stoic. “You need to put a fucking shirt on.”

Your jeans are covered in tear drops from a bowed head, fingers shaking hard enough that your knuckles roll into a crack at the motions. You wipe your tears in time to see Eddie hold out your Hellfire shirt—second edition—his being the first. His reverie breaks briefly, and you think… maybe. It’s gone in those brown eyes that you can no longer read or recognize. Filled with loathing and disgust at you, his last words imprinting on your psyche, a physical recoil.

“On second thought. You won’t be needing this anymore.” Eddie makes his way around you and finds his lighter atop your bag, flicking a flame to life and nudging it at the end of your shirt. It catches quick, burns fast, like every fiber of friendship with Eddie Munson.

Eddie tosses the tattered, charred remains to the forrest floor, pocketing his lighter, walking away from you and out of your life.

~*~

He can’t stay any longer and watch you fall apart, not when he’s running away from his cowardice. And he does, run. He moves and clambers, stumbles until he’s from you and the cries that he hears pour off your lips. His chest is thumping sporadically, pulse in his blurry vision. His five fingers catch a tree, slamming, splintering, a sob breaking free of his tear soaked lips.

Eddie Munson forces himself to remember how unsure you looked in your dress when he held you around your waist, never feeling more himself in his entire life than he did with you— at thirteen—during some cheesy school dance, how you entertained his tunes so he could teach you the counting method he uses for his music to move your feet to the beat, all your encouragement every time he hit a new note, or your midnight phone calls to ask what he’d like on his posters, your body trusting him to keep you safe on those nights when everything became too much for you in your life, but you had tried to hide it, or when you both snuck in to see Carrie when you were pre-teens and you couldn’t sleep without him, so he made a makeshift mattress next to your bed for a month, about that time you were so tired from an all nighter that he had walked into his room and found you curled up in his bed, using his vest as a makeshift pillow, your nagging him to study more, because he’s always capable of anything he sets his mind to, and those cookies—the only thing you can bake without having to call for Hawkins fire department—a container you’d brought for him and his Uncle, still sitting on his kitchen counter.

He was your person and you were his. And now? You’re gone. Eddie runs away. He keeps running, leaving you to your own miserable anguish, drowning in his own, getting himself in his rust bucket and going back to his trailer to get completely fucked outta his not-so-right mind.

~*~

By the time your suspension is over and you can no longer barricade yourself into your room and finish off another bottle from your dad’s liquor cabinet—it’s sheer dread. You’re not only the freak who broke Hawkins Highschool’s Prom King’s nose, but you’re the freak without anyone by your side—a true and thorough outsider. As you stand outside your school, nails pinching into already weakened threads dedicated to your bag’s strap, you’re really regretting those couple of drinks this morning and how you’d poured more vodka into a flask to take your Tylenol with. Hell, it’s not like you can get a fix from the school dealer anymore, is it?

Those damned double doors are louder, a jolt to your already throbbing headache, fluorescent lights sparkling in your retinas through your shades that cover a nursing hangover and distraught, red and puffy eyes from a three day sob fest. Each step your boots make sounds like you’re walking to your death, your outfit—sans any Hellfire related attire—is all yours. Your two chains limited to one, Eddie’s gift waiting in a cardboard box you’d half-assed assembled, and tossed in random shit he’d given you. The deeper you get into every hallway, making simple turns you know like the back of your hand, your nausea grows as to what might be awaiting around each corner. Or who. It’s a short lived relief upon arrival at your locker.

You pinch your shades off, raw eyes protesting the moment fresh tears staple your skin in brushes. In red letters, diagonally capitalized across your door contains what you haven’t wanted to face since it happened.

The freak got dumped

You choke on your salvia, throat wet and enduring a suffocation strong enough to have you gagging on the piece of toast and water you’d forced your famished form to consume this morning. You barely make it into the toilets before double over and expelling everything, diaphragm on fire, bones vibrating through tosses. Hair dangling in your face, plastered to your mouth, you sniffle and tremble, vision blurring. You ponder getting yourself fucking expelled, but you made this whole ordeal about it being your year. If you retreat now, what will that do? Mustering all your strength, your courage, you flush your bile, clean off your mouth and face, pop a mint, take a swig out of your flask, and make your way to your first class.

~*~

By the ever popular lunch time, you have managed to clean your locker and pinpoint the culprit (an ashamed that a girl broke his nose, Jason Carver), but neither of you speak on it. You keep your head down, you focus on your school work, you take your Tylenol, and you sip on your vodka. Enough to keep an edge off, but not enough to send you down a despairing hole filled with regret and torment. You know you’re being stared at as soon as you hit the line to get your tray. It’s fake smiles and refusal to acknowledge it that gets you in search of an aisle, and hopefully out of sight. You aren’t so lucky…

“Hey, Y/N! Over here!” You hear an all too cheery voice belonging to Dustin Henderson. It halts you in your tracks, a wince causing a physical recoil.

It’s not his fault you and Eddie no longer have anything resembling a relationship, and he apparently has not told them, and they’ve not seen Jason Carver’s masterpiece.

Good.

What isn’t good is that Eddie is very much at your old table and you know it’s unavoidable. You wished you had borrowed some concealer for your under eyes, but it’s too late. There’s a grand staircase cloaked in invisibility beneath your feet, your stomach knotting in crushing vices, your cheeks stained with red. You walk to your former friend group, trying like hell not to side eye Eddie Munson. Keeping a steady focal point without blinking against your scratchy lower lids is damn near impossible. And guys are going to be guys—much to your chagrin. Gareth is drawing further attention where nothing needs to be, popping off with a, “Damn, Y/N lookin’ like she went on a bender.”

“A week long bender,” Jeff chimes in.

Biting the inside of your cheek between your teeth, you shrug a shoulder. Better them having knowledge of your binge drinking celebration than knowing about how messed up you are.

Don’t look at Eddie. Is your mantra for today.

He, on the other two hands, is not prioritizing that same aspect.

“So what if I did? I know of about ten girls who can drink your asses under the table, myself included.” You smirk, gripping your tray’s edge.

“Been holding back on us?” Gareth is grinning from ear to ear. It eases your shouldered weight tremendously, breaking tension in your table’s ranks.

“You gonna have a seat or what?” Mike Wheeler interrupts, his hands flipping towards a desired target, one that you wish you could keep pretending you never knew.

Fuck it.

You really crave for some divine intervention to help you, because meeting those chocolate brown eyes that are distraught, angry, and rimmed red—your heart constricts to painful blows, windpipes crushed beyond speaking capabilities. Eddie’s been somewhere off planet earth with that kinda high, you remember seeing his demeanor that way only a handful of times, including this one. Maybe he does care? No, doesn’t matter, don’t go there. It’s over and done.

Still, that idiotic, massively moronic part that Eddie owns of you—it’s billowing hope. Eddie Munson dashes it in seconds flat.

“No.”

You glance away, jaw twitching to control an automatic quiver. Dustin is laughing it off as a joke, someone else asking why. Eddie reclines his legs in your empty chair, loud enough to get your attention back. He wants me to see.

“No traitors.” It’s a simplistic answer, aggressive, no room to argue.

Ever-the-curious-freshmen, Dustin and Mike peg their leader for questions. You halt it, tone breaking apart, fingers tucking into your shirtsleeve as you balance your lunch on one hand and wipe across raw flesh to clean fresh tears from your eyeline. That’s when Eddie does look away.

Coward.

“It’s okay, guys.” Is what you say.

“What’s going on?” Gareth asks.

“I won’t be around meetings or practices anymore, but I’m still here if anyone needs anything, okay? You know where my locker is, and where I live.” You pat yourself on the back for that robotic but truthful statement.

“Unless you’re sick of everyone else too…” His deep voice rumbles.

Like a deer in headlights— you’re frozen, a blinding rage of hurt and red hot anger pouring over you in a storm. You explode. Picking up the first thing in your sight, which happens to be on your plate—a glob of some chocolate goop (possibly a brownie)—it’s slung directly at your former best-friend’s crisp white Hellfire shirt. Your second cafeteria incident that, yet again, everyone notices. Eddie yelps, shouting out your name in brisk spits.

You further it, abandoning your food in a repeat of days ago, floating to his side and shoving him back two steps. Eddie stops his rapid shirt swipes and immediately presses his form into yours, chests smashed, food squishing through your top. His hair is frazzled from the humidity, his toffee colored irises slowly polishing into a thick black gloss of dilated pupils. He sucks his tongue against his teeth, swaying into you, not touching you with those hands, an air about him that is beginning to swarm your initial reaction and bend it over, fucking it into the next decade. He’s taller than you remember, but you latch onto your own, tasting that cigarette soaked breath, lips hovering over his, hot tears matting your lashes.

Whether it’s regarding his inability to respond to your reasoning for this whole situation, his lack of expression, your self-disappointment for something roused inside you at his huffing proximity, you crown him with a title off a jagged voice box, damp in her sorrows, just as Dustin steps between you two, gently prying. “You’re a fucking coward, Eddie Munson.”

Teachers are starting to flock in, and you shake your head, hand over your eyes briefly, before sprinting in strides from the room in search of a place to collapse.

~*~

If you had told yourself at the beginning of the school year that you’d be in a camaraderie with the girl’s bathroom—you would have laughed. And if your mind had convinced you otherwise, you’d have expected Eddie to be right beside you, arm around your shoulders, sharing his lunch, making stupid jokes, coming up with lame ideas to make you feel better, but in that endearing Eddie Munson kinda way. You let out a soft cry, giving up on that stinging beneath your lids. You’re a hot mess and the whole building probably knows how alone you really are now. When the outcasts cast you out, where else can you go?

Clenching onto the sides of the ceramic sink, bag slipping off your shoulder and onto the floor, you keep your head bowed between your shoulder blades, not noticing someone come in and approach you, a gentle set of fingers laying upon your shoulder. Through foggy vision you can make out the green colors of her uniform and her perfectly straight ponytail, her face seemingly concerned. Your laugh is exhaustion on steroids, expression bombarded with emotion. “Okay, what the fuck is next? A girl craves some independence and the whole school turns against her. Let me guess, your boyfriend sent you to get even? Why don’t I make it easy for you and you can call your friends in here, and… and—“

Great.

Your lungs start to burn, your ribcage pounding with an erratic heartbeat, throat feeling like it’s been dusted with a thick blanket of ash. You’re panicking in front of Chrissy Cunningham. That alone has you feeling more pathetic than ever before in your life, and it worsens your heaving sobs—broken and unguarded. Chrissy’s eyes are drinking you in, irises glossing over with tears of her own. She grasps your other shoulder and squeezes, not releasing her hold on you, her soft voice strong when she speaks, but gentle enough between the expanse of your shared airspace.

“One, two, three, four. Okay, now deep breath in, and release it for me, Y/N.” She’s actually calming you, keeping you steady on your feet, which feel as if they’re sinking into the flooring below like led weights.

“Chrissy…” You aren’t sure how to articulate, still alarmed and attempting to breathe with her.

“I’m right here. Just keep breathing and counting with me.” And you do. And that’s when it hits you.

She has experience with this mind numbing panic too. That otherworldly anxiety. You feel a connective pull towards the cheerleader—seeing—not this persona you’d imagined, but her calming features, her easy going manner towards you, how she lets you find your lifeline, but also lends you her own in case you need it. When your breathing slows, she gives you a look, a silent communication of question. You may be able to breathe a little easier now, but it doesn’t stop the weight of your situation from crashing down and demolishing what’s left of you.

“Can I… I’m gonna hug you, is that okay?” At this point, if she’s going to put a sign on your back you don’t care. You need the human connection, the comfort. You agree and your schoolmate takes you into a light grip, but folds her arms around you and lets you bury your cheek against her perfumed sweater.

You both stand in the embrace, no trace of awkwardness, a sense of kinship and knowing. It’s when you pull back that hint of a questionable concern with her, wiping your sore eyes with a hiss. She notices.

“Are you here because of Jason? I just need to know.”

“Jason was a dick, Y/N.” Her language shocks you, having only heard her be proper before.

You laugh, your first genuine giggle in days. It’s contagious, as she joins in, hip jutting against the sink. “No, I’m here on my own terms. I promise. I saw what happened with your friends…”

“Yeah, I can imagine how everyone must be amused right now.” You bite your lip, facing away.

Chrissy gives you a saddened smile, but attempts to reassure. “I know this is gonna sound incredibly lame coming from me, but you’re stronger than all this, Y/N. The way you’ve stood up for yourself these past several days… I admire it.”

You frown deeply, wondering if this is a trick, because no way is Chrissy Cunningham admiring someone like you.

“You admire a loser that can’t even manage her own newfound independence?”

“No,” she says with a pause, looking down at her French tip manicure, before facing your curious gaze once more. “I admire your ability to stand up for yourself, despite what everyone is saying or doing to you. It’s a good quality to have, one that many of us are afraid of, you know?”

There’s this hollow pain in her eyes and your continued recognition has you pulling her in for another hug—this time for her benefit, rather than yours.

“Looks like we’ve fallen into the cliché trap, Cunningham.” You grin, pulling back.

Chrissy tilts her head, curious. “What do you mean?”

“A freak and a cheerleader thinking the same as what their peers think, and getting each other totally wrong.”

Her sweet eyes light up, her head nodding. “That’s exactly it.”

You share a knowing smile, a newfound bond forming. Chrissy situates her small shoulder bag, pulling out a compact and tugging you by your sleeve. “C’mhere. Let me fix that.”

She takes a gentle hand, not rushing as she speckles your sore under eyes with her own stash of makeup. After she blends it with soft fingertips, she snaps the lid closed and places it back in her bag, turning you to the bathroom mirror, brushing some of your hair through, giving your back a rub. “Is that any better, Y/N?”

Your circles are mostly covered, puffiness disguised enough where you won’t be embarrassed. You look and feel much better, and you’re overwhelmed with gratitude for the blonde at your side. You incline yourself into a swivel, leaning in her direction. “Chrissy Cunningham, I think you’re one of the sweetest people I now kinda, sort of know.”

Her giggle is infectious, and she gives you another squeeze. You drop down to swoop your messenger bag into your arms, grabbing out a your notebook and a pen, scribbling your home phone on it, hesitating, before handing it over. “If you ever need to talk to someone about all the bullshit, whatever it is, consider me your new confidant.”

She holds the simple sheet paper as if it’s another lifeline and you’ve just given her a treasure. Going back into her own bag, she has a cute little pink embroidered stationary paper that she jots her number on, and uses a smiley face to dot the i in Chrissy. Seconds later, her friends and a group of other girls burst into the bathroom, gossip on their lips. You and Chrissy flash each other a secret smile, and you make another hasty retreat.

~*~

Eddie had to hear a bunch of shit from the guys, overly bearing questions sounded off by Henderson and Wheeler. The eventual revealing by a passerby group of cheerleaders about your specially decorated locker, had surprised him too. As if there’s not already a weighted dagger wedged into his ribcage, one interlocking into his heart muscle—he lost control with his bitter mouth again, and it fueled your temper. But deep down, deeper into those subconscious recesses, you both felt that ignition start, a kind of coercing heat that is waging an internal war in Eddie’s head. His sole reason for blocking you out and refusing to talk about anything with you in the woods.

Eddie Munson is in love with you. Eddie Munson needs to fuck you.

It’s something he’s always done—built walls, got high, stayed drunk, coped with humor, hid behind his guitar or his campaigns. And without his right hand woman, he feels naked, too vulnerable to all the bullshit he’s tried to keep out. And your absence has become a set course for his weakening concentration on anything that isn’t you. His ultimate warrior princess is also his Achilles heel. Your feelings in wanting to branch out, they scare Eddie.

His brain is flipping logic into thinking you are seeing what everyone else sees in him: freak, failure, piece of shit, a nobody, a criminal. He pushed you out before he could pull you back in—easy, abrupt. And it’s not just changing him—no—he could smell your vodka soaked breath across the table, see your eyes swollen and glazed—absent. For the first time in years you weren’t wearing your limited edition shirt (thanks to him), and Eddie isn’t sure why he expected you to still have his chain around your neck. It fucking hurts.

As the room slowly falls back into their daily routine, Eddie loses his appetite and leaves his herd behind, urgent to get the fuck outta this building, out of Hawkins. Hell, maybe even the country. Like you, however, Eddie Munson’s retreat isn’t one that is unscathed. In his urgency, he smacks straight into you, stumbling over his own clumsy ass feet, gripping your forearms to keep you both steady. He’s processed your scent before he even takes in your beautiful features.

Fuck…

You look less like you’ve been partying all weekend, but Eddie knows better. Your pupils are dilated to the bright overhead lights of the hallways, making your sclera more visible. It’s bloodshot red, lower lids swollen and tinged a rough crimson beneath the fresh makeup that Eddie now sees. He swallows and looks away, but he doesn’t let you go. His grip isn’t harsh, it’s simply what it’s always been with you two. Easy and sturdy, safe.

You’re the first to downcast your gaze, focusing more on your shoe wear than on Eddie. It kills him. Even through these notions, this fear, whatever anger you’re both harboring, it’s as if this whole damned school and everyone passing you two are mere bodies, Eddie Munson and Y/N Y/L/N floating, tethered. His stomach churns its lunch contents, teeth clenching tightly. You make a brisk dart off, but Eddie attempts to catch you, instead tugging too hard on your shoulder strap, causing your bag to dump and spread out its contents at his sneaker clad feet.

Eddie’s eyes are quick to see it before you realize. Shining underneath hallway lights, scattered amongst notebooks and pens, is a small flask. His brows perch, he crouches first, scooping it away from your jutting hands. Gareth’s words rewind and play on repeat in his head.

“Damn, Y/N lookin’ like she went on a bender.”

The way his heart rate spikes, hostilely spitting that acid all over his lungs, battering his throat muscles with a pummeling storm. He’s already sure what he’ll smell if he presses the lid to his nostrils, but Eddie has to feed his anxious curiosity, unscrewing the cap with nervous hands, sniffing, shrugging off your grabs. It burns his mouth from its strength, his distraction giving you enough leeway to wrap your hands over his fingers and pull. Eddie locks your digits within his own, second thoughts gone. Against everything inside him he is getting angrier by the second, the anger masking itself, easier than being petrified and scared in front of you.

And Eddie is scared. Is he really so fucking stupid to think you weren’t at all affected by any of this?

“What the fuck, Y/N?” Your fingers sliding through his own, flood him, prickling every vein running beneath his skin, cutting off his blood flow—scorching.

~*~

Having Eddie’s hands on you again, his body so close, despite your shame at his discovery, it’s a feeling that comes more natural than breathing. You avoid his question, feeble grasping docked.

“Why do you have a flask full of fucking vodka?”

“Will you keep your voice down!” You hiss the words, finally breaking off him and retrieving the rest of your items on the scuffed up floor, and securing them back into your bag, Eddie holding back your liquor.

“Did you drive to school drinking this crap? Tell me you didn’t, Y/N, cause’ I swear to god—“

You chortle, a humorless boom smacking across your chest.

“Eddie, this faux best-friend act is getting old. Your on and off switch is enough to drive anyone to drastic measures. But don’t flatter yourself into thinking I’d be an idiot and drive drunk. Not even for you.”

His irises that are glossy with concern, they cave to dilating pupils, an animalistic rage priming them. “Oh, you have got to be the most clueless bitch alive, Y/N.” He steps towards you, frame towering slightly. You’re not afraid, never fearing if he’ll do something, because that is not Eddie, no matter what. But, you are very much dripping with rage at his words.

He pockets your flask in his left back pocket, rings clinking against it as he pats it for good measure. You try to dive around him, beneath his arm, but he swoops in on his own, using that strength for his slender frame, literally scooping you into a half bring-away, only discarding you back onto your feet once you’re both outside. You try to shove at him, palms resting on his stained club shirt. The bell has rang to signal your free period, but you don’t give two fucks, giving up and being the one to leave.

“Who’s the coward now, huh? You’re gonna walk away from me when I call you on your shit, Y/N?”

You spin on your heel, dirt and gravel specks crunched beneath your step. “I thought I was a clueless bitch, Eddie? A traitor? Or, your slut.” You scoff, crossing your arms.

Guilt briefly flickers across his features, but he shuts it down tenfold. “Just because we’re fighting doesn’t mean I want you to destroy your fucking liver or your life. Jesus Christ, you really think I’m that big of an asshole?”

“I don’t know what to think anymore!” You fling your hands into the air. “One minute we’re at each other��s throats, the next you’re up my ass. I don’t know what to do here, Eddie.”

“Thought you craved some individuality and independence.” Though there’s meant to be flare behind the words, Eddie’s tone has splintered across each word, voice breaking apart. Your guts sink into your ass, as does a particularly pointed swallow that stabs at your jugular.

“Didn’t say I wanted to be completely independent from my best-friend.” Your own response is gentle, voice soaked with impending emotion.

Fuck. Stupid fucking tears burning again. Not right now.

Eddie’s attention snaps back on you, proximity closing in. His jaw clenches, he moves it from side to side with a closed mouth, sniffing, whistling air through a wet breath. “Feels like you’re leavin’ me and I can’t do anything to stop it…”

It makes sense suddenly. A catapult of truth slamming right into your chest, spreading throughout your body.

He thinks I’m leaving him. That I want to leave him.

As if the last seventy two hours haven’t happened, better yet, as if they haven’t mattered in the grand scheme of things—you’re the one that meets Eddie, reaching to push that curly hair from his eyes, his head downcast and posture sullen. His brown eyes are brimmed with tears that spill over his lash line, a permanent frown creased between his brows, mouth red and spit slick. Those freckles on his nose are suddenly very prominent to you. You’ve never seen Eddie Munson this vulnerable. Your heart shatters, the ache so physically strong that you have to remain close to him to hold on and find that strength again.

How could you have gotten this so monumentally wrong? Maybe if you’d have expressed what you meant more instead of feeding off Eddie’s anger. His communication and yours both need nurturing, but your sudden shift in mood must’ve made him feel like you wanted to abandon him, not just do things for yourself. He may not realize that yet, but you do. And it fucking sucks.

“Eddie. I’m sorry.” It’s all you can say in the seconds that your heart heaves into your throat.

He shakes that shaggy mane. “Don’t need anyone feeling sorry for me, especially you.” He backs away from you and you see his entire expression crumble, tears spilling onto his cheeks.

That pain drowns your throat, seeing him cry because of your lack of explanation and mutual avoidance. You chase after him, running around to block his view, unable to let him go, gripping onto his waist beneath his jacket to keep him planted. Another familiarity. He tenses beneath your touch before relaxing.

“Eddie, will you please listen to me? I think I know what’s going on now.”

“And look who is the one flipping her emotions this time.”

“Because, I… Eddie, I—“

“What lame ass line do you want me to buy, Y/N? You think I’m not used to worthless promises or idiotic reassurances? Yeah, good.” His sentence is fragmented, voice rough and breaking apart on each word. “You know I still care about you, but I don’t need you to lie to me, you don’t owe me a damn thing, I promise you—“

You press a finger to his quivering lips, halting him. There’s a shift in the atmosphere, a pause in the universe, your legs heavy, fingertip stroking along the plumpness of your best-friend’s full, lower lip. Eddie’s chest is moving up and down swiftly, tongue against his teeth, that warning look. You fail to heed it and Eddie’s hands tremble at his sides before he gives up and cups the sides of your face, bringing your foreheads together. His lips part to speak, your finger still on them. “Think we’re in trouble here.”

You can do nothing but nod as his declaring statement, inclining your head further, nose nudging his own. It doesn’t feel as if you’re standing any longer, every mean thing that Eddie has said, every disproportionate attempt of yours to communicate—obliterate, shrouding you both in the process. His breath is hot as his mouth opens and he sucks your finger inside, tongue licking its tip, biting the digit between those milky white teeth. It sends that throbbing nudge, snapping between your thighs, making you arch into your best-friend. You whisper his name and his fingers move along your jaw, across your ear, sliding through your hair and rubbing a pathway to your necks’ nape, sending an army of goosebumps across your flesh, the coolness of his rings stimulating your skin.

“Yeah, you feelin’ it too?” Your lids flutter closed, Eddie using his thumb pad to brush the corners of your lashes, signally for you to open them. “Didn’t say you could stop looking at me, did I, sweetheart?”

You grind against him, unable to stop. Your last several days, everything between you both is on hold, these buried urges able to finally win out. This dominant side of Eddie Munson has you an inward and outwardly quickening pile of mush and hormones, of fucking need. Eddie about loses his cool when you obey him, pupils blown, mouth looking parched and in need of his kisses. He leans, walls starting to slip, resolve crumbling, his pouting mood long gone.

Years of built up tension and confusion, being rightfully by one another’s sides, it all comes apart, the seams, begging to be repaired into what it has to be now.

You envelop his hold on you, hands sliding into slips beneath his jacket, around his waist, tracing over his back, before dipping under his armpits and grasping his shoulders, knuckles pushed down by his leather jacket. One more step and he’ll kiss you. He’s closing a gap, no more breaches, you tapping his shoulders right down to the blades in encouragement. It’s parted mouths hovering over one another, cigarettes and vodka, school lunch and weed, it’s—

“Hey, guys! Higgins is so pissed off right now… After that shit went down in the caf, he’s ready to expel you, Y/N! Pretty fuckin’ sure.” You hear Gareth approach, and just like, Eddie releases you.

You have to steady yourself, want simmering into a slumber in your belly, not yet gone, but still reminding you where it lives. Your glare is directed at your mutual friend. Eddie, feeling as if he’s been doused with ice cold water, and the moment is shattered, you see those walls rebuilding rapidly, and she shrugs off your hand, leaving you and Gareth, and that slickness that has collected in your panties.

~*~

You aren’t sure just exactly what Eddie is feeling, but you’re very aware of what you are. So driving to his place once you know Wayne has left for the night shift—it’s a no brainer. You’d debated bringing Eddie your box of treasures, even your necklace, but you can’t bring yourself to do it. Maybe, maybe your best-friend doesn’t want you to…?

Want.

A dynamic shift in your relationship, or what it used to be. You can barely sit still as you wrack your brain through all the levels of hazy blurs. So much has happened in three days, but… today, with Eddie nearly kissing you on the mouth, and you nearly grinding against him in the Hawkins High parking lot—yeah, you two have to talk about all of this. As you squirm in your seat, hands tightening around the wheel, that approaching trailer park sign signals your arrival to his residence. You can’t stop the way your heartbeat feels as if it’s ping ponging around in your throat, or that anxious twitch of your mouth’s corner—forget even attempting to deny your cascading memories of the way his chocolate irises wore an expression unlike anything you’ve ever seen on Eddie Munson.

His trailer comes into your sights, that tickle swooping your guts and holding them hostage. You swallow a thick ball of anxiety, parking next to his van, cutting your engine. The lights are all on and you’ve got no excuse to chicken out. It’s your year too, right? Fucking fuck it.

With your keys clutched in your palm, you make your way to Eddie’s trailer, rasping on his door lightly. You don’t hear his music blaring, so he might be reading, planning a campaign, writing some music he’d mentioned wanting to practice with the guys soon, get a feel for its sound—just last week. You have given about three octaves of knocks and are about to give up, head pressed the door, thinking he was just lost in lust earlier, and maybe you’d fucked up on your end beyond repair. Exhausted by the stampeding pain that brings your insides, you flip the Munson’s spare key off your key ring and unlock the door. A bold move—albeit—a very stupid one.

That familiar scent of Eddie and Wayne’s shared carton of cigarettes hits your nose, along with the leftovers from dinner you see sitting out on the stove. Your cookies, which have been devoured, are missing their note. You panic, briefly thinking Eddie probably trashed it, only to come back from that brink seconds later. It’s not what you’re here for. You glance at the couch and it’s empty, not even Eddie’s usual indent on the cushion is there.

Swinging your keys from your pointer finger, you peek down the small hallway to Eddie’s closed door, light spilling out underneath. He could be sleeping, possibly ignoring you, or he snuck out the back door…

Your feet make an echoing squeak across the trailer’s flooring structure, your fingers twisting the knob and pushing, pausing, deciding to go ahead. If he wants you to leave then you’ll go, if he’s asleep, you’ll go, if he left… You can’t fathom that thought, another ignorance that you partake in. You aren’t sure exactly what you expected, but seeing your best-friend’s tallish frame, with his back facing you, lean leg propped atop his mattress, right arm bent at a very clear angle, his left propped on one of his many amps he’d apparently moved since you’d been here last—is sure as hell NOT it. Eddie’s curly hair ruffles and is jostled across his shoulders with each movement his arm makes, his delicious ass clenching as his body thrusts into his rhythm, the outline of his chain on his perspired neck and damp strands of dark hair—clear. You don’t have to hear the thick, slick and wet stroking to know what he’s doing to himself.

You cross an ankle over the other, squeezing your legs together tightly, trying to bounce on the balls of your heels to get relief. Your fingers white knuckle his banged up door handle, your mouth parting. Whether it’s that bond you two share, or your very visible labored breathing, Eddie’s shoulder blades pinch together, his motions abruptly cut. He turns as if caught doing something he shouldn’t be—definitely something you aren’t prepared to handle. It’s like your mouth is speaking for you, eyes in a trance, enslaved to your lustful abiding.

Fucked out, blown up pupils shave off the color of your irises, your tongue gliding across your teeth, that take a turn to sink into your bottom lip, your toes curling in your shoes. You feel hot, body battered in melting flames that won’t cease, won’t let you get in a normal burst of air flow. You know without having to fix your posture that you’ve made a mess between your legs, panties soaked to hell—completely ruined. You’re honest to fuck not sure if you can make it out of here in an upright position, that painfully strong ache tackling your cunt, breaking off your common sense, leaving you Eddie-drunk. Helping yourself to a swiping look between his legs, he’s still got a ring clad hand wrapped around a very generous girth—shiny—a length that leaves saliva pooling on your tongue’s tip.

His chest is slick with sweat, tattoos glossed beneath, nipples hard from the cool air let into his bedroom. Which, you note, is really fucking hot, and the window is steamed up. Your eyelids flutter in rapid blinks to help you reign yourself in, but all you see are glimpses of Eddie’s fist around himself, that creamy and swollen head, full balls on either side, trimmed curls at the base of his shaft. You want to die. And oh, what a sweet and sinful death that would be.

“Mhm… fuck.” You say through the gap between your panting mouth, words take the opportunity to bust free, joining a high pitched whimper.

Eddie’s chocolate eyes are completely black, leaving no room for anything else but purely raw desire. They widen, a sharp heave in his inhaling chest, abdomen flexing as he holds himself tightly. When you don’t move Eddie takes the initiative, slowly approaching, a softness there beneath the want and knowing. He reaches your space, still giving you enough, but you’re able to still feel that radiating body heat. Neither of you speak, because what is there to say right now?

You’d be a pleading mess of profanities, apologizes, and begging to be taken and used.

Thankfully, Eddie makes another move before you. His spare hand joins your own on the door knob, fingers brushing your knuckles, encouraging, giving you one more opportunity if you’re in distress or uncomfortable. You hook onto his offer and you surprise you both by finding something to say after all, throat parched, yet still damp with wanton rasp. “Start touching yourself again, Eddie. Please?” Fuck, well there’s a beg.

Eddie, assuming you want a show, nerves being dipped in lava and left to forever sizzle and smoke—gives in, both of you shutting his door and closing the two of you off from the outside world. He doesn’t wait for you to back away, pushing his hips to a rise, his cock gliding through his closed fist. You let him lean over you, frame against his door, watching his legs spread to widen his stance, obeying your plea. He almost asks, but assumes it would be too hopeful if you would want to touch yourself in front of him too. You’re out of your mind, common sense obliterated for all eternity, watching your bestfriend practically pin you to the door and fuck himself in front of you.

Those sounds you’ve imagined, pictured, they’re even more pronounced in person. Some low enough that it’s a stifling whimper, a needy sobbing. If you don’t do something about the gnawing throbbing between your thighs, it’ll be total combustion. There’s an empowerment that winds itself around a pulsating set of nerves in one’s decision to masturbate in front of their best-friend. That coolness works itself in your palms, your fingers tossing your keys over and onto Eddie’s dresser, toeing off your shoes, his eyes steamy in their grasp on your every move.

You’d wished you had brought your camera to photograph his expression when you walk over to where he stood in front of his bed, turning to face him, your fingers undoing your jeans and the zipper, a resounding echo in the room, Eddie’s tongue poking out on his upper lip, he holds himself around the base, the urgency to fuck his hand as you take your seat on his mattress and scoot with your back to the wall, hips lifting to help you pull off your jeans and panties. You struggle momentarily, but neither of you are saying a word, gazes steady and unwavering.

Discarding your clothing with a soft thump onto his floor, you’re heartbeat thumps in your throat, ribcage taking an unsteady hammering of its resounding drumming. You heed Eddie’s silent command to continue, agreeing to this turning point between you two. Your thighs fall open and that sticky want strings to your swollen folds, glistening in the creases of your thighs, your cunt sopping wet. You’re dripping, and Eddie isn’t missing it when your arousal finally does drizzle from your neglected pussy and onto his bedsheets. You shift to get comfortable, hand cupping yourself, immediately smothered in your own juices, legs falling into a drop, toes finally able to curl without the barrier of your shoes, bunching Eddie’s sheets.

Eddie watches you from where he can see, still eager to be closer, but unable to stop himself from stroking along his length, teasing that vein that runs alongside his cock. You do it again, rubbing your palm up and down your lips, a crude squelch causing Eddie to almost black out, and you shiver. He releases himself, heavy and hot between slim thighs, and he’s moving. He puffs out a gravelly hiss from pursed lips, stalking towards you and giving a cat like crawl across his own bed, planting himself shoulder to shoulder with you to your left. He must be feeling the overwhelming change that is occurring, as he reaches for your hand to give it a reassuring squeeze.

You gravitate towards your hand, fingers slipping through your slickness, your head bowing in embarrassment. Eddie grips your chin and tilts you his way, shaking his head, that same hand dropping to your thigh and lifting to pull up and to the side. And he looks. He fucking memorizes you between your legs with these little mewling coos of appreciation that cement themselves into your subconscious. You do the same, helping yourself to an up close and personal view of what he’s been hiding.

Eddie leans forward and cups the nap of your neck, his other hand taking your wrist and removing it from your self-touches, shushing your protesting whine. He brings it up to his mouth, which is hovering close to yours, your own fingers pressed against your lips, and he licks a straight stripe up your creamy covered palm, humming underneath his breath as he does so. You want to slap him and ride him on every available surface in this trailer. You’re the one to speak, having to.

“Eddie…” It’s a meek little trail-off.

Eddie lets go of your wrist and uses that hand to pull his cock off his stomach, a wet patch left behind in his happy trail. He still doesn’t let your neck go, his fingertips tapping an invisible beat, leaving goosebumps in their wake. He’s laughing, tufts of air settling across your mouth. You narrow your gaze, moving to shut your legs, Eddie’s hand quickly preventing the action, stroking the meat of your inner thigh. “Only fair if I’m exposed, sweetheart.”

“But… you’re laughing.” And it hits you then, why he’s really chuckling in that Eddie Munson way. It’s an incredulous and mind boggling turn of events. Best-friends that broke up when they were never together, now side by side and in a very compromising situation.

You grin and falter into his embrace, your hand working its way into a wind around his neck, taking sweaty strands in scoops between your fingers, his pick chain draped across your knuckles. Eddie licks across his bottom lip, tapping your hips as he moves, your hands falling, and sprawls his legs into a propped spread, cock neglected and flushed, much like the rest of his skin, that you’ll die if you don’t put your marks on. He’s motioning for you to turn in a slow facing position in front of him, and that’s how you end up—vulnerable, so fucking vulnerable. He’s muttering words, huddled and unintelligible, reaching out and tugging you to him by your ankles, stopping, resting, eyes dark as they do a once over to gauge your mental stability. When you don’t protest, palms splaying out to keep yourself upright behind you, Eddie lets his legs flatten against his sheets, a smirk pattering his lips, indenting its knowing presses beside his mouth.

His exhale catches on a ragged breath, a passionate declaration signing off on what’s about to occur, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he pulls you close, your ass resting on his hairy thighs, waiting, held, his arm wrapping around your lower back and lifting you completely into that ink splattered, silk-slick chest, his skin sticking to your long sleeved t-shirt, ruining it with sex-soaked perspiration. You think that there’s nothing—no—you know that in this entire world, no matter what, that whatever will happen to you is never going to compare to the moment when Eddie’s maneuvering hands glide your wet cunt over his cock, using your drenching heat as his own personal lubricant. Your ankles lock around his waist, no choice from the close band that your best-friend has re-tethered you to him with, leaving no room or space where you’re not touching or breathing in the other. Your arms curl around Eddie’s neck, hands draped down his back as you help yourself to pinching and clawing the flesh beneath, relishing every little grumble and groan off his pretty lips. Your face takes solace in his neck, nosing your way through his curly hair, nose bumping his chain to lift so that your mouth can claim him.

“Fuck.” His throat constricts around a swallow, your teeth sinking into a piece of Eddie’s flesh and biting, releasing, lips closing over that angry spot to soothe, tongue tasting salt, licking it off, indulging.

He lets your have your way with his neck, a particularly harsh slap landing on your ass in following of your mouth on his jugular, letting your tongue following that curvature into his jawline. You don’t stop his wandering hands, you don’t dare fight off his vice grip on the globes of your ass, his kneading, using as them leverage to place you right where he wants you. You let him take control, an unspoken agreement, a having to have. Your head falls back as Eddie rolls his hips beneath, rocking his lap, solid presses that drag his fat cock over your embarrassingly wet pussy, scattering your thick arousal and smearing it across his happy trail, getting caught in that patch of curls at the base of his shaft. You’re dripping all over him, quite literally. Caught on a trapped hum, hung in its hisses between your clenched teeth, you croon into Eddie’s neck, your stomach tightening, that velvety drag of his dick through your swollen folds making your lids flutter closed, colors dotting in their dances—translucent.

You aren’t sure where to move your hands, comfortable with having them shred Eddie’s back and empty out the past few days of frustration and desperation. Eddie encourages, palming handfuls of your ass, creating a cresting twist, a thigh trembling rub of sopping wet desire. He’s merely whimpering, appreciating, not overly vocal until his swollen head catches your neglected clit, and his head drops back, fingers pinching so tightly into your skin that it burns.

“Oh, shit. Dammit, baby.”

You’re simpering on a series of whimpers, agreeable and speechless. Eddie is feeding off it. “Yeah? You needing this too? Little clit feels so good rubbing on my dick, sweetheart. You want me to do it again?”

When you’re not immediately able to be vocal, Eddie pulls back a little, shoving his hand between your thighs and drags his rings directly through your arousal, coating them in a glittering shine. His first real touch where you need him the most. You both inhale sharply. It’s the pain from the cool metal of his jewelry that makes it feel so fucking good. He curses, telling you how messy you’re being, flinging his hand in your sights, dragging you in a pry off of his neck, holding your jaw and flashing his knuckles.

“See what you did, messy little angel. You gotta clean em’ now for me.”

His eyes are so fucking demolished, brown crushed beneath a midnight sea of black and insatiable attraction. You’re mewling, tongue lolling out, licking that metallic onto your tongue, sloppily sloping around his knuckles, lips suckling what your tongue can’t catch, your own taste fresh off your mouth. That’s when Eddie brushes a calloused thumb across your bottom lip, tugging it down to expose your teeth, and he brings your lips to his, a feral groan stealing your breath, sharing your juices in your first kiss. It’s a shift in the energy you share, a no going back, no running away, a fate sealed. Eddie loses all control and flips you off his lap, pinning you beneath him, kissing you with such feverish vigor that your hand tangles into his messy curls, and you pull, hard.

His tongue licks your lips open, greedily removing what’s left of your taste that remains. It’s noisy and nasty in the expanse of his small bedroom—diabolically sinful. One hand caresses your throat’s expanse, the other dropping down with a snapped wrist between your thighs, palm smacking your cunt, a guttural groan vibrating from his mouth into your own. Saliva strings on the break away, Eddie’s gaze switching to watch the hand on your cunt, out of it.

“Your pussy always this wet, baby? Or is it just for your best-friend?”

“Only for you, Eddie. Always you.”

Fallen into the depths of satisfaction, Eddie permits a slender digit to drag down your slit, taking that thick honey with it, a squelch echoing in the room when his finger wiggles its way inside of you. You clamp around him, chest heaving with shaky breaths.

“Jesus Christ. You’re gonna drown my dick when you let me fuck you, aren’t you?”

You’re incoherently babbling, tapping the hand that’s on your throat, hungry for it. “Tighter.”

Eddie’s brow raise is comical, a surprise coating his features. “So miss Y/N likes it rough? Never woulda guessed.”

You gulp a pump of air that vibrates across his hold, trying to gain more depth from his finger. It’s moving in exploration of your softly wet walls, an excess of arousal being pressed out upon that squish. Eddie tightens his hold on your throat, before he taps his fingers to your jugular and releases, hand toppling down your side and caressing, bringing. “Fuck, my best-friend’s got such a perfect little pussy. S’ made to be destroyed and used.”

You’re nodding so hard that the motion causes a cracking pop in your neck, Eddie laughing that noise under a cute breath. He’s thick with it, wiggling in a second finger and causing you drop your hands back behind you and push into the sensation, chasing, hunting it.

“Desperate to get away from me all week, now look at you. What a whore.”

Eddie has a mouth on him, something you’d always wondered about in your daily daydreams and nightly fantasies. As vocal as when he’s singing with his band. He’s saying words to you, snapping your attention, you’re whining as his fingers leave your cunt, and he’s pulling you into him so hard your lips split apart, cushioning his cock, cradling him in that overwhelming slick. He must not have meant for that action to cause it, as he jumps when you do, this feral look flickering behind those heated orbs. You know… it’s time.

Eddie is barely able to stand, clumsily bringing you with him by a laced grip in your hands. He gets you upright and you’re dizzy, his hands taking purchase on your shirt (the only remaining piece of clothing on you), and rips it with gritting teeth and anger, as if he’s pissed it’s not the club shirt, or sickened with himself for destroying yours—you’re not sure. Spit pools at the corners of your mouth as you let him tear off your tattered tee and yank your bra down, impatiently yanking the clasp apart and discarding it, helping himself to your tits, closing those plush lips over a nipple. Your hand wraps around his throbbing cock, fingers barely touching around the width, squeezing him—tugging. His hips stutter and he whines against your breast, teeth biting the flesh with a harsh precision.

Your other hand works its way through his wet curls and massages his scalp, tenderly altering in beckoning strokes, ones that switch off into root tugging pulls. Eddie’s hands keep your breast cupped, switching off to the other, whilst you dip lower and fondle his balls, letting your pinky drop off and scratch into his inner thigh. He’s doing that humming thing underneath his fucked out tone again, and you’re focusing your attention on his cock, thumb pad stroking that weeping slit, spreading it around and over that vein, enchanted with how it causes a thin bright shine over him, your own cream matted into the curls at the base of him, pathed up his stomach. His mouth leaves your chest and those big hands grip your cheeks, both of you watching as you jack him with a sticky tug.

Fuck me.

“Who’s the whore for his bestfriend now, Eds? You gonna admit that half the shit I’ve done this week has gotten your dick so hard you can’t decide what you’ve hated me for more,” You say, pausing to twist your grip, making him fold into your holding hand, “my smart mouth or how much you need this.”

Your powering dominance is short lived, hand falling off his erection, with Eddie kneeing you into a shove until your back collides with his desk, his arm reaching around to push most of its contents off and onto the floor, not caring where any of it goes. He nudges your thighs apart and slots his lean frame between, thumb catching the corner of your mouth, his instruction clear, yet awaiting your consent to cross this no back-stepping boundary. “M’ gonna fuck you right here, and you’re goin’ to watch me take you, Y/N.”

You’re pretty sure you’re gonna pass out at any given moment.

“I’m gonna watch you, Eddie.” You agree, zoning out and sprinting after your pleasure.

“Good girl.” Eddie breaks briefly, mouth on your shoulder, hand winding your hair around his fist and tugging it back so hard that the ache inside of you becomes an inferno. He finds the underside of your chin, voice honey-hot. “Because you’re not leaving this room until there’s a puddle of me running back out of your cunt.”

You launch forward so fast that Eddie falls into you, chest smashing against your breasts, your lips crashing into his for a brutally intimate kiss. You sink your teeth into his bottom lip and tug, biting down so hard you taste copper—licking it up and making Eddie’s cock jump. His ring covered hand attaches itself to your throat and he drags you off your prop against the desk, spinning you around and securing you to it, those hairy thighs pressing into you, wet cock so close to where you need him the most. His hand wraps around your hair again and lifts your gaze to that small opening in the mirror where posters and his most prized possession hangs. You’re flushed and soaked with sweat, mouth swollen and streaked with red from biting into Eddie’s plump lip, your pussy dripping thick strings of your creamy essence, slowly slithering in dangles from your pussy and onto the floor.

“You’re so fucking messy, Y/N. Aren’t you ashamed of yourself, baby?” Eddie is like the devil on your shoulder, and you, you’re his angel of eternal damnation.

You’re about to beg, but Eddie saves you the trouble, his fingers tapping in tips down your spine, caressing, stroking, before they spread your lips apart and dip inside, palm flat. “Should fuckin’ split you open, do it raw. Cum so deep inside that you end up pregnant with my baby and have no choice but to always think of me, be around me.”

Though there’s a tease behind his passionate words, there’s this primal exclamation that overtakes you and you clamp down on his fingers. A series of fast paced images are vivid in your mind. Your tummy swollen and breasts heavy, Eddie having you bent over like this—one hand on your belly, the other on your throat, feeling your pulse galavant beneath his touch.

“Y/N… Fuck, sweetheart.” He’s so fucked in his descending tone that the depth is gruff and tipping off his diaphragm, you imagine. He presses his cheek against your own, chin resting on your shoulder as you drink each other in, in the mirror’s expanse, Eddie’s tone weak. “You really willing to carry my kid?”

You meet his eyes in the cluttered mirror, nodding, a softness carving out permanent residence in your features. It’s a topic you’d never shared with anyone else, never banked too much on thinking about, but beyond the idea of how hot this all is, you can’t imagine a scenario like this that doesn’t involve Eddie Munson. Vulnerable and barely above a brisk whisper, you’re answering him with, “Yeah, Eds. Want a family with you.”

At your admission, he lets his hand go in languid thrusts. You groan and let your head shift, but Eddie is jerking you back to stare into the glass, both of you panting and on the cusp of an out of body experience. It causes you to grin, licking your lips as your best-friend pumps those experienced digits to cause a purposeful squelch, his rings clinking together. His hard cock is pressed between his own stomach and your back, that pre-cum pooling onto your lower back and smearing in streaks down your ass. You’ve had more than enough teasing and you’re well aware that Eddie has too.

His look briefly falters, turning to mouth at your chin, a silent question. It’s you who uses your words, or rather, trembles in your feeble attempt. “Eddie, just put your cock inside me, or I swear I’ll—“

He’s smirking wildly at your slack-jawed expression when his fingers slide out of you and stick together with your cum, to which he helps himself to and coats his cock, then lines himself up and presses the thick head into your opening, leaning down to bite at your shoulder and leave an exposed imprint. Your legs feel like jello and he hasn’t even fucked you yet. He’s going to ask you to beg, and you’re an all in willing participant. Surprisingly, though, he doesn’t. He inhales sharply, you hold your breath, and both of you watch him sink into your slick and soft cunt, inch by inch, until his balls rest against the globes of your cheeks.

You’re still holding your breath, releasing it when you feel him sigh, grip on your hair loosening a little, too caught up in the fact that he’s where he belongs, after so much time doing without this. Your legs are about to buckle, jerking, toes curling against the carpeted floor, overwhelmed by everything that’s happened, and by your best-friend’s cock throbbing in your aching pussy. “E-Eds…?” It’s a pathetic cry of a question.

Eddie’s brows pinch together, sweat beaded between. He grips your jaw and his fingertips tap you back to meet his mouth, hovering over your lips. “S’ okay, sweetheart. Let me take care of you.” He briefly drops the playful gimmick, reassuring you that he’s right here with you.

It’s more than enough to have you arching back into him, a brash pummeling of his hips that sends you into the dresser, having to reach out and catch yourself. Eddie is quick witted, gripping your wrists with one hand and pinning them behind your back, stepping with you in toe, elongating his arm to snatch those handcuffs on his wall, that cold metal biting into your wrist, that dull noise presenting itself as the cuffs lock you into place, Eddie gripping onto the chains’ excess expanse, using it as a leverage. A sliver of a chalky moan trickles off your kiss-swollen lips, appreciative. The way Eddie is manhandling you has you so fucking euphoric that you’re sure you’ll be in a comatose state before either of you can cum. Your best-friend’s large hand finds purchase in your hair again, drawing his hips back, the other on the chain of the cuffs—steadying himself into a rhythm, riding you like all that matters is your destruction and his ultimate ownership.

Eddie Munson has owned you since the very moment that you two met.

The way he’s executing such precise and rough thrusts, making sure you’re high on the bring up, toes pressing into the carpet, that you’re stuffed full of his fat cock until it hurts, twitching in overstimulation, sore and fluttering walls eager to be soaked in everything he has to give you, that you are taking in every inch, catching every ridge, leaving you a shambled, panting mess, in pieces only being put back together again when Eddie will allow your release. His hair is tickling your shoulder blades, his fingers leaving the cuffs to press into your mouth and curl over your tongue, relishing in how you gag around the digits. You’re weak, so fucking weak for him, and he knows it.

“Can’t wait to hear you gag on my cock, Y/N. If you have trouble with these bad boys?” He puts an emphasis, wiggling his fingers against your tongue, giving them a secondary push to over extend your gag reflexes, his dick twitching inside you.

You bite down on his fingers, sucking them in, accepting his challenge, willing it to happen. His balls slap into your ass, heavy and hot, every movement causing the metal to rut into the skin of your wrists. He’s got a steady tempo going, alternating it by dipping his hips to bring you with him, letting you nearly collide with your chest flush to his desk. He reaches up and shoves that poster back by peeling tape, revealing more of your fucked out forms. Your eyes widen at your disheveled and unrecognizable appearance, Eddie using your cuffed hands as reigns. Riding you so hard that you can’t breathe anything but his hot air curling around the shell of your ear.

“Dammit, you are such a good girl for me, Y/N. Always pictured you takin’ my cock, but you’re not even crying yet, just taking what I give you.”

Yet… Fuck me running.

Your scalp is tingling with a prickling crowd of flames from his harsh grip, his other hand reaching to smack your ass, using some mechanism on the cuffs—albeit—struggling with his spit soaked fingers that were just in your mouth, to unlatch them and discard them at your feet, and he watches the flesh of your ass cheek redden and jiggle beneath his biting palm. You fist your fingers into a strewn pair of his blue denim jeans left on the desk top, dipping your forehead down and arching your back, trying to look between your own legs from this new angle to see Eddie’s cock cradled in your puffy lips. He tuts at your unsuccessful action, forcing you back into watching him doing his hard work—the hardest he’s worked at anything (sans his band or the campaigns, if he’s being honest with himself)—to make this unforgettable for you. He hits that spot located inside, the one you have to strain an arm to barely graze, and you lose all coherent capabilities.

“Eddie… that’s, oh my god, oh FUCK. Right there!”

Eddie’s throat crumbles under a weak pant, which ends up coming out as a whimper. He remains firm, however, still using your hair to keep you right where he wants you, his other hand reaching around to pet his own shaft as he slides out just enough to make you wetter.

“Yeah, baby? That spot gonna make somethin’ happen for you?”

You don’t answer, mumbles and babbling gibberish. He shakes that precious head of his, curls tickling your back and shoulders, a sigh breaking free. “Sorry, sweetheart. Can’t believe we’re doin’ this in front of you. Both my girls right here with me, one of them at my fuckin’ mercy.” Your attentions snap over your shoulder and you see Eddie looking at his fucking guitar, that is one of the only things remaining on the mirror. You gape, but aren’t surprised in the slightest.

He continues on, pretending he doesn’t see your partial seethe. “Makin’ a mess all over me, but I bet you like to see it too, don’t you?” He sinks his teeth into his lower lip, still talking to the inanimate object. “Both my sweethearts are such sluts for their owner.”

You can’t help that rattle that clamps around your bones and slices through your spinal cord, seizing your abdomen, right down into your cunt. Owner? You have zero time to warn him, ask if you can, alarms unprepared, skin slapping on skin, his taste on your mouth, his breath on your flesh, that slippery glide that has cum running down your thighs, and it’s a sudden wave crashing over your insides and drowning them in your painfully interstellar-esque orgasm. Your eyes burn with tears as you watch your best-friend feel what’s happening, realizing. He’s covered in your release, and instead of being mad, he is influencing you like the little devil that he can be, plump lip pressing to your ear lobe with one continuous command. “That’s it. C’mon, Y/N. Drench my dick.”

You wish you could bottle the feeling of your first orgasm with Eddie Munson, your best-friend—forever. Finding yourself growing into that vulnerability that comes with the high, you seek to find solace in Eddie’s arms, whimpering at the overstimulation of his thick cock. With that connection still in tact, Eddie is spinning you around, dick sliding out with a messy mixture of arousals covering you both—his member completely doused in your cream, painting the trimmed curls at the base of his shaft with even more of you, slicking back some more of that happy trail. You want to be embarrassed, but as he’s red faced and struggling to breathe, you know that there’s no need to be. He steers you back onto the bed, falling easily between your spread thighs, drawing them up and around his waist.

He presses his forehead into your own, kissing each corner of your mouth, rings circling in dusting sweeps on the apex of your thighs. His voice is a shivered whisper. “Fuck, baby. You okay?”

There’s words on your tongue, Eddie’s taste on your mouth, things you’ve known for years, but are unsure if Eddie has, or if this is something he needs because he’s afraid you’ll abandon him, but that he doesn’t feel what you do. Your head is spinning and Eddie brushes sweaty strands of hair off your forehead, taking his cock through your swollen folds, pressing that spongey head into your clit—both of you crying out. “Y/N, m’ right here. Care to join me?”

And god help you, the way that you look at him. Really allow yourself to see him this way—unabashed—it stirs all those feelings Eddie has bottled down since forever. You press your thumb into his mouth, your other hand sliding down to grip onto him, gliding your hand back and forth, relishing in how his abdomen tenses, muscles flexing, body gravitating towards whatever you’re willing to bestow. He doesn’t let you touch him much longer, taking what your hand isn’t around and guiding it back into your cunt, that scrumptious burn brimming you, making your thighs drop open, back arch, only to tighten your ankles around him, digging your heels into his ass. He suckles your fingertip into his mouth, licking the digit in until it’s down to the knuckle.

Your head presses sideways, cheek on his pillow, inhaling his shaving cream and that spicy scent. He pauses his movements, making you frown in displeasure. He lets go of your spit tainted finger, gripping your chin, a possessive fire overcoming him. His irises remain completely black, putting you deeper into that comatose trance of agonizing sin. “I want you to fucking say it, Y/N.”

You start a beginning questionnaire, Eddie shaking his head and pressing in harder on your chin, fingers splaying across your jaw, rings pinching your chin in the most delightfully painful of ways. “Say you want me, tell me you fucking need me. That you’re not tired of me, and that you’re proud to be the freak’s slut.”

Your hands wind around his back and you sink your nails in as hard as you can, bearing down on him, sucking him in deeper, both of you in a state of no return. His hand tickles down from your face and grips your neck. “Still sick of me, baby?” He situates your gaze, lifting his hips to a raise so that you can see where you’re connected. You’re inconsolable, that fire already blazing your gut, turning every sense into nothingness.

When Eddie starts back up again, he slams himself into you so hard that your vision goes dark and you shred your own bottom lip open, body moving closer to his wall due to the force. He’s licking beneath your jugular, words sensual and filthy, making your entire body spike in a sudden electricity. “Gonna cum in every hole you’ve got, so you remember that they’re mine.”

This time you’re more than ready to give him a warning, body beginning to shake beyond your control, breaths stuttering in your chest. Eddie reaches down between you, calloused thumb flicking your clit. Everything is so fucking wet and the way it sounds in the expanse of Eddie’s small room, it has you opening your mouth, out of control and greedily begging for more.

“Eds, harder. Please? Almost…”

He’s grinning in that special way that weakens you—heart and soul, body and mind. “So much more than a slut.” His thrusts become choppy, his own babbling tone turning into Eddie-speak. “You are way more than you know, Y/N.”

You fondle his pick chain and bring him into your immediate airspace, mouths hovering. He’s nearing his end, cock getting fuller inside you. “Need you to tell me how much you love me.”

You both completely go slack. Eddie stops himself all together, body trembling, head bowing. Your heart rate increases, feeling as if you’ve skipped a staircase thousands of feet in the air and you’re now free falling.

Love… You don’t have to think twice.

Your hands move to cup his face, holding on, your eyes shining with tears at all overloaded emotions and senses. “I love you so fucking much, Eddie.”

At your admission, those beautiful eyes—dark with remains of passion—they fill, and he gives you his all, driving his cock into you in calculated presses, trying like hell to get you to cum first. When he speaks, his voice cracks apart. “Let me know that you’re right here with me, Y/N.”

“I’ve always been here, Eddie.” Is what you manage, thumping your hand against his wrist and helping him bring his fingers back to your clit.

He doesn’t let you look away, noses smashed together, sticky foreheads pressing, hair curtaining the apples of pink, sex stained cheeks. Your eyes widen as that knot begins to tighten in your stomach, unraveling so violently that Eddie has to grip your quivering thigh in one hand, the other keeping steady on your clit. You dig into his back, other hand tugging on his hair, and Eddie is giving a throaty seduction. “That’s it, be my good girl and cum again for me.”

And you’re coming apart at your very core, every cell exploding and rebuilding, gluing yourself to Eddie to seize the ache that scrambles your insides and leaves you breathless. He’s cursing, keeping his finger on your clit to help you coast over the high, immediately following you with the lowest, sweetest, whimpering moan that you’ve ever heard. Both of your eyes still drinking in the other’s pleasure, tears spilling over your lash line as Eddie’s hips cease and he holds, his cock swelling and that soft, creamy warmth coating your sore walls in spurts. He collapses onto your chest and you hold him there in a vice hug, his hand still trapped between your exhausted bodies. He gently eases it out, groaning around the wetness that he’s all too eager to sample until the layer of shine is off his fingers.

Holy shit and fuck me…

Your legs fall to the side, unable to stay upright any longer, Eddie keeping a hovering hand to soothe your shaking. He kisses your neck with a plush mouth, his chain dangling between your breasts. You’re petting his hair—which is so soaked it’s as if he’s been in the rain or come from the shower—off his forehead, wincing as he slides out and keeps himself by your side. You gasp and he joins, fascinated by your cum and his own seed pouring from your cunt. He raises up a little. “Mhm. Let me see?”

He props your thigh, sliding his fingers back and forth, zoned in on his bedsheets being ruined from the literal puddle of your shared cum that runs from you. Seconds pass and he grins widely, plopping onto his back, his fingertips caressing your shoulder, down to your arm. It’s a comfortable quiet, even with the intense meaning of the words that were spoken, until Eddie starts with a, “So..?”

And you cut him off, trying to get your uncomfortably hot body closer. “So I love you. And I have never stopped needing you, or wanting you, Eddie. I just hope all this wasn’t because we were fighting and you got scared I would leave, and —“

He doesn’t let you finish this time, that chocolate-ly brown ring swinging back around his pupil in a brisk develop, showcasing the moisture in his eyes. “I was scared because I love you so damn much that I would charge headfirst into Mordor, or some alternate dimension without any weapon or any shield, just for you. You gotta know that, Y/N.”

His softness, that glittering fragility, it makes you seal your mouth to his, kissing him full of your feelings. He cups the nape of your neck, drawing in closer, thumb coaxing a shiver from you as it passes over a certain spot behind your ear. On a wet break away, you’re nodding your head. “Guess we spent all week fighting when we should’ve been fucking and talking about our feelings.”

Eddie smirks, then is serious. “Be that as it may, I’m sorry I’ve been shit at showing you I appreciate all that you do for the guys and me. And for forgetting that you are your own person too. S’ not like I meant to, I swear. I just get so fucking caught up and I shouldn’t take for granted anything that has to do with you or with us.”

“Have I ever told you that you’re my best-friend, Eddie Munson?”

While it’s still true, you’re wondering when the words leave your lips. Eddie just fucked you so hard you probably won’t be able to sit down for a week or walk upright for hours, so friendship isn’t exactly the most appropriate term anymore, is it?

Eddie taps his fingertips to your temple, drawing your dazed expression, clinging to the cosmic connection once more. “M’ yours, Y/N.”

“Oh yeah, Munson?” You’re so high that you could fly out of here right now and make rounds around the whole globe. Your chest is aching with a tempo that promises new hope and ease.

Eddie is giddy too, that wide set smile, cheesing. “Just gotta get you a new shirt.”

The memory of your old club attire being one with the forest floor seems like so long ago. Eddie knuckle grazes your cheek, apologetic. You shush him. “I ruined yours, so we’re even.”

There’s a mischievous glint in his eyes and he’s tackling you beneath him, pinning your hands in a lace above your head. “Nah, we are just getting started on bein’ even, baby.”

~*~

Tagging: @littledemondani @prettyboyeddiemunson @gothbitchshit @thisishellfire @ethereal27cereal @likedovesinthewnd

-I really need to form a bigger tag list! I’m sorry :/-

Lemme know if you want on my general tag list, please! :)

[nanaminokanojo]

BAD NEWS | CHAPTER INDEX/PROLOGUE (Ongoing)

-just when you thought you were over your humongous crush on your older brother’s best friend, geto suguru, you couldn’t be more dead wrong, and maybe there isn’t really anything holding you back from acting on it now that you’re all grown up…except satoru doesn’t like suguru for you because he knows his kind all too well: a huge ass playboy who breaks hearts like he changes socks. but you think. MAYBE you’ll be the exception...maybe not.

CHARACTERS: drummer!geto suguru x (fem/afab) reader | gojo satoru | itadori yuuji | kugisaki nobara | fushiguro megumi | sukuna | fushiguro toji | nanami kento | choso | tsukumo yuuki | shoko ieiri | utahime iori

GENRE: full-length smau + prose | band au, tats, piercings, the whole shebang | college au | stupid pining | aged-up characters | friends to lovers (?) | this is gonna have smutty stuff because why not?

TW/CW: strong/mature language | adult content so mdni on some parts; just skip them. you’re not missing much | mentions of alcohol, drugs | mentions of cheating, promiscuity, mild dubcon (consent >>>), etc. | again, god-awful pet names i’d cringe at if a 3d person says it | toxic behavior | will add more if something arises

AKI’S NOTES: I would like to express my sincerest thanks to everyone who loved and supported “Thawing Ice Queen” as well as those who participated in the poll on which smau I’m going to write next. So, this is what won in said poll, and I hope it gets as much as love as TIQ if not more. Reblogs and likes are very much appreciated, and I actively respond to comments as well as Asks. Also, if you’re interested, I will include you in the tag list. Just message me through whatever avenue you’re most comfortable with. Happy reading!

ADDITIONAL NOTES: i will be using pics and other media which would fit situations and make the smau-ness of this piece a little more realistic and entertaining when i believe it’s appropriate/fitting to the plot (as i've done with TIQ). having said that, with regard to inclusivity, i just want to put it out there that they will not necessarily be aimed as the exact descriptions to fit a supposedly generic reader nor will they be representative of a specific race or color (even if you’re/the reader is gojo’s sister here). it’s all for the simple fact of media availability, for funsies and the fact that i don’t exclusively write in consideration of those aspects when using reader-insert characters unless i specify it. thank you for understanding.

MASTERLIST

CHAPTERS: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15

16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30

31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35 | 36 | 37 | 38 | 39 | 40 | 41 | 42 | 43 | 44 | 45

46 | 47 | 48 | 49 | 50 | 51 | 52 | 53 | 54 | 55 | 56 | 57 | 58 | 59 | 60

© ORIGINAL WORK BY nanaminokanojo. CHARACTERS ARE INSPIRED BY GEGE AKUTAMI’S “JUJUTSU KAISEN”. [20240331]

PHOTOS/IMAGES/GIF/FANART/ANY MEDIA CREDITS GO TO THE RESPECTIVE OWNERS.

[d4yd4iry]

Totally NOT a crush

Pairings: Kang Haerin x Reader

Sypnosis: Haerin thinks you’re a total weirdo but her eyes could never stray away.

Genre: fluff

Haerin of all people knows she shouldn’t be the one to say this but, from the moment her eyes met yours, she thought that you were…weird.

There was something about you that made her eyes immediately stick onto you whenever you’re in the same place. In those moments she would observe your every move, like how you would fiddle with the hem of your hoodie whenever you’re around way too many people, or how you would rather play with your phone than look at her.

The first one she finds cute, the latter not so much. It irritated her, which made her confused. Why does she care so much if you looked at her or not. So inclusion, Haerin thinks that she finds you annoying.

“Want to stay over for dinner? My parents won’t be home until next week, so we can just hangout and eat whatever.” Hanni suggests as she plays Mario kart with Danielle, Minji, and Hyein. Haerin sits by their side, she would rather watch them play than play it herself.

“Sure! I mean, I told my mom that I won’t eat dinner at home anyways.” Minji replies, her brows furrows as she tries her hardest to win. Danielle and Hyein look at each other to communicate before turning to face Hanni, “We’ll stay too.” they say in sync, giggling and bumping their shoulders after doing so.

Hanni nods at their response before averting her gaze to Haerin who is playing with a white kitten, yours to be exact. “What about you Haerin?”

Haerin hums in response, it was enough of an answer for Hanni. “Alright, let’s order food after I win this round!” Hanni leans forward in anticipation, chewing on her lips as her fingers controls the switch.

“As if!” Hyein scoffs as she shakes her head in disbelief. “You mean after I win!” she exclaims in determination, punching her fist up before putting them back in her controller once her character lost control. “shit!” she mutters, yet Minji who was on the other side of the room still heard it.

“No swearing Lee Hyein!” she scolds like how an older sibling would scold their younger siblings. (Having been put in charge of Hyein by her mom, Minji was told to report and control the younger girl incase she does anything mischievous.)

The younger girl who looks like a deer caught in red light, quickly mutters an apology before she freezes her gaze on the TV.

Haerin feels a smile creep up her cheeks as she shakes her head slightly. Luckily Hyein’s mom gave one of them permission to have power of the youngest, or else all hell would break loose. Speaking from experience.

Then she hears a ruffling sound, Haerin averts her gaze to the source to find you taking your shoes off. You are wearing a leather jacket that perfectly fits your body, your wavy hair flows perfectly down your shoulders, glasses perfectly fits your face shape.

Haerin notices your electric guitar that hung over your shoulders, you must’ve been back from band practice.

A burning scent of redness flushes over her face after you looked right back at her. You caught her looking. Haerin pretends that nothing happened and puts her gaze back on the TV, wanting to save herself from embarrassment.

She hears your footsteps behind her, probably making your way to your room.

After a few minutes of her friends one upping each other video games, she hears your footsteps again, heading to the front door.

Then, the voice of an unfamiliar person, a girl. Haerin immediately looks back at your direction, now you’re not alone, accompanied by a girl whom she assumes is your friend.

This time, she does not take your eyes away from you. Her eyes furrows as she fired her gaze at the pretty girl before looking back at you, her eyes softening.

You must’ve caught her staring again since you smile awkwardly at her before holding your friend’s hands, taking her to your room.

“Wait. Who was that?” Hyein saw her too. The girl squinted her eyes, pretending to touch her imaginary goatee.

Hanni snaps her head facing Hyein, “Oh her! She’s Yn’s new friend, I think she’s in the same grade as Minji and I. I forgot her name…Wonji? Or Wony? I don’t know, but she’s been coming over to help her study a lot lately…” her voice trails off before she wince after her character crashed.

Haerin feels her heart beat faster, maybe from the overwhelming emotion she was splashed with after she saw the two. Wonji, Wony, or Wannabe, whatever her name is, she was far too touchy with you. Haerin glares at your bedroom door.

“Ooh! I think that she’s Jang Wonyoung, I heard that she has like a big crush on Yn!” Danielle from her right sight squeals, almost making Haerin’s eardrum ring.

Minji looks at her in amusement, “Really!? Do you think she likes her too? They would look kinda cute together now that I think about it…”

No Minji, they would not. Haerin says in her head. Her mind is all fussy and annoyed by their conversation, it was leading her to nowhere except misery.

Hanni chokes on her bread, coughing for a few seconds before clearing her throat after she drank the water Danielle handed to her. “Nah.” Finally someone with sense. “No way, she likes someone else.” Nevermind.

“What?” Haerin was shocked, she didn’t mean to ask out loud, but she did unconsciously. You like someone. A small part of her wants it to be her that’s the one you like, a bigger part knows that it’s just her delusions.

“Oh em gee! Who?!” Danielle lets out a squeal once again. If Haerin were to continue sitting next the older girl, she would be deaf before old age.

Hanni grins in amusement at the reactions of her friends, shaking her head she replies. “Can’t tell ya, I had to swear on my life to her that I wouldn’t tell anyone.” but her eyes lands on Haerin, giving the younger girl a wink.

Haerin feels herself grow impatient but she can only sit and wait until you come out of your room again.

3 hours, it have been 3 hours and she have yet to see you come out of your room. The girls are gathering around Minji who’s cutting the beef for the bbq.

“My mouth is already watery just by looking at this.” Hanni mumbles, her eyes glossing at the sight of beef. “Me too…” Hyein nods.

Haerin sits still, hands stabbing the meat that is on her plate as she glares at you and Wonyoung.

“Unnie, would you like some more meat? I’ll get it for you.” Haerin rolls her eyes as you smile at Wonyoung who in return, nods with a soft smile.

“What’s wrong? You’re stabbing the beef as if it murdered someone.” Danielle who sits to her right whispers, she looks at the younger girl with a concerned face.

“Nothing.” She mumbles before removing her gaze from you. Now she is starring at the food on her plate instead, suddenly Haerin doesn’t feel like eating anymore.

Danielle notices her friend’s weirder than usual behavior, her eyes follows where Haerin’s were. A smile creeps on her face when she sees you cutting meat into smaller pieces for Wonyoung.

“I didn’t know you have a thing for Ynnie.” The Australian whispers to her sulking friend. Haerin immediately whips her head to face her, a shocked look laid on your face. “I don’t.” she whispers back but the pout on her face says otherwise.

“We’ll talk about this later.” Danielle mutters just loud enough for only Haerin to hear, then smiles when she see you looking between her and Haerin. “I am so going to be Cupid.”

“No.”

[kitkatscabinet]

Running home to your sweet nothings

John "Soap" Mactavish x F! Riley! reader

Summary: Simon’s older sister is his entire world, the last person he has left, and someone he's fiercely overprotective of. This is too bad for Soap, who falls head over heels at first sight.

Word count: 4.8k

A/N: No mention of if reader is adopted/step/half/full siblings for inclusivity. NSFW content.

It was raining the first time he met you, a grizzly downpour that seemed even gloomier than the usual shit Hereford weather. Maybe he’d simply forgotten how miserable the country could be after extended time in South America, but Soap could have sworn mother nature had decided to fuck with him specifically. 

The rain is one of the only things he remembers from that day, exhaustion heavy set in his bones, other than you that is. He remembers because just as he’d been about to head off into the downpour, a car had come screeching into the base and promptly scared the sleep from his body. 

Squinting, Soap barely managed to make out the sight of the car door being thrown open. The booming, thick Mancunian accent that bellowed over the rain was not as hard to distinguish, “Simon, hurry the fuck up!”

Soap nearly choked at the audacity of the stranger, his jaw actually dropping when the Lt. simply grumbled softly, turning to murmur something to their captain. He was still stuck in the emotional rollercoaster when there was suddenly a dripping wet but beaming woman in his vicinity. 

Stunning didn’t even begin to describe you, even as strands of hair stuck to your cheeks, a hand hastily coming up to wipe them away as you made it to the undercroft. You’d grinned at the team, all teeth and sparkly eyes even as Ghost seemed like he’d be more enthused if someone told him his dog died. 

His hulking Lieutenant said something Soap couldn’t even begin to decipher, too entranced by the stranger in front of him when you spoke again. “You must be Soap! Simon’s been trying to keep me away from his team for some reason, So I decided not to give him a choice.”

You threw your friend? Cousin? Brother? Lover? A playful glare before you laughed. It was the best sound he’d ever heard, and one he had instantly vowed to make sure he heard again. 

Soap really hoped you were single. 

“John.” Soap’s heart stopped at the melodic sound of his name coming from your mouth, cheeks flushing in mild embarrassment as he realised you weren’t addressing him but Captain Price. The Captain nodded and smiled back at you, clapping a friendly hand on your shoulder in a way that breathed familiarity. 

It’s only when Soap finally manages to get his tongue to start working again that he swaggers over, elbowing Simon jokingly in the side as he wiggles his eyebrows “Who’s this then? Been holdin’ out on us Lt?” Simon doesn’t answer, throwing him that signature soulless stare of his as you roll your eyes. 

“I shouldn’t be surprised, but I can’t say it hurts a little. Don’t wanna brag about me to your teammates baby brother?” You pouted, leaning against your sibling only to be immediately pushed away by the face as Simon grunted.  

Older sister. Soap was both simultaneously relieved and even more horrified by the revelation. 

You weren’t dating Simon, which meant he had more of a chance! It also meant he’d have to get Simon’s approval, and given the harsh glare he was on the receiving end of, Soap didn’t rate his chances. 

“John Mactavish, at your service lass” he introduced himself, laying on the charm, shaking your hand and marvelling at the feel of your skin against his as you relayed your name. He only spends a few minutes mentally cussing out the Lt for being there, staring into his soul and preventing him from planting a kiss against your knuckles. 

Soap’s forced to let go far too soon for his liking when Simon huffs, tugging you back to your car as you chastise him for being rude, waving a hasty goodbye to the 141 before getting back behind the wheel. Leaving him to pine from afar, internally cursing when he realises he’s got no way to contact you. 

The car has long since peeled out of the lot and is far from sight when a hand clasps on Soap’s shoulder, startling him from his daydreams, “Not a chance son.” Garrick laughs in the background as Soap pouts at the betrayal. 

The second time you meet, the sun is shining, enhancing your radiance as the gentle rays caress your skin. He thinks you’re much better suited to this kind of weather, it allows your smile to really gleam. 

It’s a complete coincidence that you run into each other only a few weeks after your initial and far too abrupt meeting and Soap chooses to take it as the universe’s divine blessing. As much as he’d tried to banish the images of you from his mind, aware of your status as “forbidden fruit”, Soap doubted he’d ever truly be able to. 

He’s calling your name before he can stop and think, one hand raised and frozen in the air as you steal the breath from his lungs once more. Rapid beeping in the background alerts Soap that the crossing light he’d been waiting for has turned green but he pays it no mind, errands forgotten in the prospect of speaking to you. 

You blink in surprise before gracing him with a beaming smile as you jogged to close the gap between you, “Oh, Soap Hello.”

“Call me Johnny,” the words are breathed out with very little thought. He hates people calling him that, but when you utter it he swears he’s never heard a better sound. 

“Enjoying a day off?” You inquire, falling into step beside him as the two of you start to walk again with you following his lead. 

“Aye, been putting off the grocery run for too long.” You nodded in understanding, listening intently as he started to ramble, only cutting himself off in embarrassment a few minutes later when he realised you’d been silent the entire time. Nervously, he scratches his flushed cheek with an apology, “Sorry for gettin' a bit carried away lass, you’ve probably got better things tae do than listen to little ol’ me carrying on like a twat.”

Your pretty lips slip downwards and your brows furrow adorably as you shake your head, “why are you apologising? I’ve enjoyed listening to you.” Soap’s heart skips a beat at your completely earnest expression, fuck. He was so screwed. 

The ding of his phone alerting him to a text from you sends Soap practically flying across the room, leaping onto his bed as he scrambles to respond. Johnny’s not been able to see you in person since that fateful day in the sun, you've been texting nearly non-stop but it’s not nearly enough for him.

Perhaps that’s why he’d so quickly responded with a very enthusiastic yes without fully thinking through the situation's implications. Johnny stares in stunned shock at his phone for a few seconds as it sinks in what he’s just agreed to. A few more seconds and his body kicks into gear, clothes flying as he strips himself to jump into the shower. He nearly slips several times in the rush and ends up squirting shampoo into his eyes, causing him to cuss and then inevitably get it in his mouth. 

The next obstacle is his clothes. He needs to impress you but it is like every piece of clothing he owns is suddenly inadequate. Too casual, far too formal, stained, dirty, gym wear, uniform, nothing is working and by the time he settles on some jeans and a semi-nice shirt he’s worked himself into a sweat again. 

Checking the time, he decides he has enough left to quickly rinse off once more, nearly scrubbing his skin raw in the rush. Outfit on it isn’t until he’s on the street that he realises he’s left his wallet inside. The wallet he needed to buy you the flowers you deserved. 

By the time he finally makes it to your door, wiping sweaty palms on his jeans as he shifts his weight anxiously he’s only got a few minutes to spare. Triple-checking he’s got the right address (after he’d checked multiple times before), he knocks on your door, brain whirring as he tries to figure out his opening line. 

As the door swings open the words die abruptly on his tongue, mouth drying like the Sahara as the lumbering figure of his lieutenant answers instead of you. The silence is damning and John wishes for the first time in his life for the Earth to open up and swallow him whole as all the blood drains from his face. 

“Johnny?” The gruff voice is flat and unimpressed, the gaze that struck fear into the hearts of enemies boring into his soul. Staring up into those cold brown eyes, John realises with horror that Simon is somehow even scarier without the mask. 

“Johnny!” The second call of his name is far lovelier and filled with excitement and Soap dies a little more on the inside as he watches the liuetenants scowl deepens even further. Yet the second he catches a glimpse of the beaming smile on your face as you catch sight of him and the flowers makes it all worth it in Soap’s mind, “for me?” you gasp before giddily taking the bouquet. 

He watches you flit around with the sunflowers as you look for a vase, proudly displaying them on your coffee table and the pulling him for a hug. It’s almost enough for him to ignore the menacing figure that is Simon Riley looming in the background like a wraith, almost. 

The food is divine, most things are to him compared to the food he consumes on deployment and his own cooking, and he makes sure to complement you endlessly. He watches how receptive you are to his flirtations and lays it on a little thicker, he’s willing to risk that his lieutenant won’t actually beat the shit out of him for it. 

Simon’s washing the dishes when Soap finally gets some time alone with you, sitting on the couch next to you close enough that your knee brushes his. “Thank ye for inviting me lass, ‘s been lovely. Though maybe next time I could take ye out, just the two of us?” Your breath hitches a little and you nod eagerly, 

“I’d like that a lot Johnny.” The moment is once again cut short, this time by an aggressive cough, and Johnny and you turn simultaneously to catch Simon standing behind the couch with crossed arms. Like a child caught sneaking a cookie before dinner, Soap feels oddly guilty. Before he can move, you’re placing a comforting hand on his knee, responding to your brother even as the man inquisition glares at said hand. “Done with the dishes already?”

A terse nod is the only response and Johnny gets the feeling that Simon is attempting to blow him up with his mind. Yet the feel of your thumb rubbing comforting circles against his knee makes it all worth it in Soap’s mind. 

The hours pass as drinks and conversation flow, all the while with Simon brooded in the corner like an angsty toddler. You don’t seem to be too bothered by the hulking man’s behaviour and Johnny’s so enamored by you that he can’t find himself to care about the silent threat. 

It’s not until you glance up at the clock on the wall and gasp that Soap realises how late it’s become. “Ah I should probably be heading out,” he reluctantly voices, only to watch as your face becomes aghast. 

“Absolutely not, it’s far too late. You’ll sleep here,” you admonished, flitting about to gather blankets and pillows. It’s the first instance of the night where he’s left alone with Simon and as the man continues to stare Soap silently begs for your swift return. 

Suddenly Ghost is standing right next to him, the height difference abundantly clear, and not for the first time that night Soap feels small. “I don’t know what you think you’re up to Mactavish, but it stops now,” the man’s voice seems even gruffer than usual, a dangerous whisper just for John’s ears.   

Whether it’s from having the silent warning finally voiced or the part of him that is ruffled from being told what to do with his personal life, Johnny’s hackles raise, “and what would that be Lt? Gettin’ tae know a pretty lass that wants to know me too?”

Brown eyes narrow in furious warning, the ‘watch it Mactacish’ abundantly clear. But Soap has never been one to back down, especially not when a potential relationship with you is on the line. 

“She’s too old for you,” Simon huffed when it became clear that the younger man wasn’t backing down and Soap’s blood boiled even further, refusing to admit how much the words shook hims confidence.

“Think tha’s up to her mate.” Unfortunately, his voice wavers slightly and Simon notices, evidently deciding to capitalise on it. 

“You’re just a child to her, someone to look after and mother.” The sound of your footsteps pacing back down the hallway stops the arguments in its tracks. When you stumble back into the room, arms full of more pillows that anyone could possibly use, it’s to an incredibly tense silence. Though Soap’s heart swells at the sight of the various pillows and blankets obstructing your form. 

Finally, Simon exits the room, with one last silent warning as you fuss over Soap, practically tucking him into the couch you’ve fashioned into a bed. 

Try as he might, Soap can’t fall asleep, too wired simply by the fact that he’s still in your living space. That you are sleeping not 100m away from him, never mind your imposing younger brother. The ticking of the clock on the wall is minute and on any other occasion he likely wouldn’t have even heard it but it was like hi senses had been dialled to the max. 

Groaning in irritation he ground his palms into his eyes before he swung his legs around and wandered through the darkness into the kitchen. He’s wary of waking you as he rifles as quietly through your cupboards for a glass as possible, holding back a pained curse as his shin harshly hits the kitchen bench. 

Despite his best efforts he must not have been quiet enough as a few moments later a soft, sleepy voice has him whirling around. “S’everything alright?” You stood before him, rubbing one of your eyes with a yawn and dressed in an oversized shirt. The ensemble was overwhelmingly adorable and it took all his self restraint not to coo at the sight. 

“Fine lass, did I wake ye?” He frowned, voice tinged with guilt as he watched you step closer into his space, acutely aware of how close you’d gotten. You shake your head no as you lean on the counter next to him, your arm lightly brushing against his. 

“Couldn’t sleep… not when I kept thinking about you out here on the couch.” Hesitantly you allowed yourself to look into his wide blue eyes only to find him already staring at you with blazing intensity. 

“Think about me a lot darlin?” His words are a husky whisper, tongue darting out to wet his lips as his gaze darted down to yours. 

“No more than you do about me I’d wager,” you managed to reply over the pounding of your heart. You’re not entirely sure who moves first but the light clatter of the glass Johnny had been holding against the counter is quickly drowned out as large, warm hands gently cup your face as lips lined with stubble are on yours. 

It’s short and sweet and when you pull back your eyes are wide where Jonny’s are half lidded and dazed. Barely three seconds pass before you’re pulling him back against your lips, hands curling in the hair on the base of his neck as one of your thighs pressed between his legs. You swallow the guttral groan he lets out with a smirk, pushing him further against the counter until the sound of a glass tipping over had you darting apart. 

Fighting to regain your breath and composure you reluctantly step back to create a respectful distance even as Johnny’s hands absentmindedly trail after you as if to pull you back against him. When more than thirty seconds pass and there’s no indication that your little brother has awoken, you allow yourself to relax once more.

Johnny’s hands are suddenly on your hips again and he pulls you against him so eagerly your forced to brace your hands on his muscled chest. His lips meet the skin of your neck with a satisfied hum and it takes all your strength to pull away, especially when he whines in dissatisfaction. 

“Not tonight Johnny,” you hummed, placing a soft kiss on his cheek before pulling away and forcing yourself to walk back to your room before you dropped to your knees and took him in your mouth righ there in the kitchen as your brother slept in the next room over. 

Not tonight Johnny. Your words echoed in his mind, repeating over and over as the implications settled in. Not tonight. But not never, just not now. Throwing his head back Soap exhaled heavily, trying to calm himself down over the thrum of his blood. Shuffling back to the couch he tries valiantly to ignore his throbbing dick, an impossible task when he can still feel your lips against his and the soft squish of your hips beneath his palms. 

It’s a long and torturous night.

The next 36 hours are spent with the visage of your kiss swollen lips at the forefront of his mind, the ghost of his name whispered hoarsely from your lips featuring consistently in his fantasies. He’s a lovesick fool reminiscent of a teenage boy but he can’t find it in himself to be embarrassed, especially not when you show up at his front door three days post kiss and drag him off to a local aquarium. 

The sight of you getting excited over the various fish and marine wildlife as you eagerly tugged on his hand only served to further his infatuation. Your first date ends with yet another breath taking kiss and Soap falls asleep that night filled with certainty that there will never be another person after you. 

You don’t even make it to the third date. Soap opens his door only to freeze at your outfit, dinner long forgotten as he pulls you inside and presses you against the door. You’re quick to reciprocate, moaning against his lips as clothes were thrown and you were finally bared to him. Your body was better than anything Johnny could have ever imagined and he eagerly dropped to his knees, burying his face in your cunt with the voracity of a man starved. 

He’s made you cum thrice on his tongue and fingers before you’re harshly tugging on his mohawk and mashing your lips together in a sloppy kiss, walking him backwards until he hits the couch and you're straddling his throbbing length. You’ve already tugged his shirt off, but don’t bother with his pants beyond freeing his cock. He barely gets to appreciate the feel of your soft hand grasping him before its replaced by the silky heat of your cunt. 

Soap’s forehead drops to rest on your collarbone as you both groaned, taking a few seconds to adjust to the sensation. It didn’t take long before you were rocking your hips against his, Johnny’s hands gripping your hips to the point of bruising as he lavished your tits with bites and kisses. He’s so pent up from weeks of fucking his own fist and waking up achingly hard from increasingly risque dreams that it hardly takes any time before he’s practically fighting his orgasm. “Need you to slow down darlin, ‘m not gonna last,” he grunted, trying to get you to cooperate a little.

“Then cum baby,” you nonchalantly commanded, continuing to ride him with vigour and Soap’s ears filled with white noise, all he could see, hear, feel was you.

“Where-” He managed to choke out through gritted teeth, only half heartedly trying to pull you off of him. 

“Inside” you panted, and that was all it took before his hips stuttered and he climaxed, whining a little as you kept riding him until you clenched down on his already softening cock, reaching your own orgasm. The two of you stayed locked together, your head tucked into his sweaty chest placing lazy kisses as you caught your breath. 

By the time you finally rolled out of Johnny’s bed and made your way home the following afternoon you had over twenty texts from your brother and more than a few missed calls that left you cringing. The attempt you make to sneak back into your own residence! Is immediately thwarted by your perpetually overprotective and nosy brother. 

The laser focused glare that settles on your bruised neck has you wilting like a scolded child. You manage to play it off as a one night stand, having picked up a random woman from a bar, asking him is sex was suddenly made illegal when you weren’t aware. 

As you clamber into the shower to rinse off the stench of sex, a shiver runs down your spine as you mentally vow that Simon can never figure out who the culprit of your mauled neck is. 

You’re only granted three weeks of bliss with Johnny before everything came crashing down violently. Until then you’d been vigilant at only sleeping at his and going on dates far away from where you knew Simon would be.

You’d gotten complacent, too comfortable in the belief that Simon wouldn’t find out, that you’d get to enjoy the relationship for a little longer before you were forced to share with your little brother. Simon wasn’t supposed to be home, Johnny had spent the night at yours and it had been so wonderful to wake up in his arms in your own bed. 

Johnny had woken you by peppering kisses along your face and neck as you giggled and tried to push him off, complaining about his prickly stubble. He used his training and bulk to weigh you down, the playful nips turning more sensual as he kissed his way down your stomach, throwing one of your legs over his shoulder. 

Your hands tangle in his mess of a mohawk as you writhe beneath him, whining in protest when he uses his hands to hold your hips down to keep you still. “Johnny,” you choke out a moan of his name at the same instance your bedroom door swings open and there’s a thunderous roar of fury as Simon screams at your boyfriend. 

A shriek leaves your lips as you kick Johnny in the shoulder so hard he flies off the edge of your bed, simultaneously pulling the blanket up and curling in a ball to hide your naked body. Chaos couldn’t even begin to describe the following seconds as your still horny brain tried to cotton on to what was happening. 

The mortification of your little brother not only seeing you naked but witnessing you mid fuck quickly fades when he stalks into your room towards the still prone and processing Johnny, and morphs into an immense sense of terror. “Simon!” You clamber to place yourself between the two men, unsure as to whether things are about to descend into violence, as Johnny finally manages to orient himself.

“Out. Now.” Your brother addresses the sergeant, cold fury tinging his words as the muscles in his jaw clench. You scoff at that, reaching back to grab Johnny’s bicep to keep him there. 

“No. He stays.” Simon completely ignores your presence, glaring past you as if you weren’t even there.

“Johnny,” the warning is clear and you’re familiar enough with Simon’s tells to know how close he is to blowing up, or rather as close to as he ever gets to blowing up. 

“Simon enough! I’m not a child, I’m a grown ass woman and I will fuck whoever I wanna fuck.” You're starting to reach the end of your own tether and it’s only Johnny’s presence, his warm chest pressed to your back that’s grounding you.

“Not him,” he denies stubbornly, arm crossed as he continues to glower at the two of you. 

“Why not? He makes me happy. Don’t you want me to be happy?” It takes everything in you not to burst into tears at how poorly this is going. You would have thought that of all the men in the world Simon wouldn’t have minded you falling in love with one that he already knew and trusted. 

“Right now maybe. What happens when he breaks your heart? When I have to have his back in the field after you’ve spent days crying over him huh? What happens if he doesn’t come home and I have to watch you shatter into pieces all over again like after Tommy?” You fall silent at that, swallowing harshly at the reminder of your deceased brother. Simon’s words hit you like a slap in the face and you actually stumble backwards a little as Johnny catches you.

“Simon mate I get ye wanting to protect yer family but yer being a little controlling dontcha think?” Johnny tries to speak up in defense of your relationship but from the way your brother’s breathing deepens you can tell the words have the opposite effect. 

There’s a few seconds of tense silence before Simon huffed, “fine, do what you want,” before he stormed from your room. It’s not until you hear the front door slam closed that you fully allow yourself to collapse, tears streaming down your face in earnest as Johnny cradled you. 

He does his best to console you, whispering reassurances into your ears that you don’t really process as Johnny manoeuvres you back into bed, bundling you up in his arms and the blankets. You spend the rest of the day crying in bed, obsessively checking your phone for news from Simon and waiting to hear the front door open.

“I’m so sorry lass, never intended to come between ye and Simon,” there’s genuine self loathing in your boyfriends voice and it’s enough to finally pull you from your own spiral.

“Don’t you dare apologise for him Johnny” you hissed, taking his face in your hands, “you have done nothing but bring me happiness. Simon will just have to get over it because I don’t intend on giving you up… unless that’s something you want?”

“Never. I’m afraid yer stuck with me forever now bonnie” he stated with such certainty that you’ve no choice but to believe him.

“Forever?” you breathed out. 

“Forever.” He confirmed with a goofy grin, planting a comforting kiss on your forehead. “Simon will come around. He loves ya too much to brood forever.” With that he finally manages to coax you to sleep, promising to stay awake and keep an ear out for your wayward brother.

Simon makes his way home a few days later, slinking up to the porch where you sat smoking a cigarette to help relieve the stress like a cat that had run away only to decide the outside sucked. You don’t ask where he’s been and he doesn’t tell, simply slumping down next to you before stealing your smoke. 

“Filthy habit, thought you quit,” he grunted, putting it out beneath his boot. 

“I did, but it’s been a stressful few days, my little brother decided to go MIA, left me worried shitless,” you huffed, throwing him a blatant side eye as you can’t bring yourself to look at him directly. 

There’s silence for a few seconds before you make out the soft rumble of, “He sounds like a right bellend.”  You hummed in response, exhaling harshly from your nose. The two of you continue to sit in silence, both unsure how to proceed. 

You’re saved from having to say anything when there’s a bang, causing you and Simon to swivel in alarm to watch as the front door was violently swung open to reveal a grinning Johnny dressed in an apron. He pauses upon seeing your brother but takes the man’s appearance in stride, grin never fading as he proclaimed, “eggs are ready,” before disappearing back inside. 

Wiping your hands on the cotton material of your pants you stand, take a deep breath and then step back inside, pausing at the threshold to finally look at Simon, tilting your head as if to ask, ‘you coming?’

Simon doesn’t move, sighing in exasperation, “He’s staying then?”

“Looks like it.” To your surprise he simply nods, lumbering up the small steps and following you inside to the warmth of your home, stopping only to kick off his boots, exposing the frog socks you’d bought for him only a few months back. 

Things were still far from ok, you weren’t willing to completely forgive Simon for blowing up and promptly worrying you sick with the disappearing act, but the sight of those ridiculous socks was enough to reassure you that they would be soon.

Tags: @innercollectivecomputer @cooliofango @pertinentpostmortem @ghostslillady @domaniquessidehoe2 @ilovehyperfixating @pauphs @skotchi @bunnyreaper @Tokusho @ohworm-writes @jack-crow-lantern @marvellover-12 @skylarf0rest @ghostfkr @bookobsessedram @Frogtowne @dumb-fawkin-bitch @juvenillia

[pumpkzsafeplace]

a│s : agere & being older

this post is more so validation for my older littles out there.

being in the little community is very accepting, i've come to find, but it can be a lot harder for those who are older, we come to deal with a lot of similiar problems, such as.

the stigma around being an older little.

when someone who is of legal age claims their a little, we're always met with half glances from some people in the community. now, i understand how certain adults have stigmatised age regression and little space, but it is unfair to categorise us under the same umbrella.

everyone goes through things at different stages and may turn to regression at any point in their lifetime. it's not up to us to judge <3.

the trouble of making friends.

it's always a struggle making friends, but when you're the 'older' part of the community, it just enhances those feelings by a hundred. It's not as easy for us to make friends (me included) so when you stumble across a blog that has a similiar age to you, it can feel like winning the lottery.

the trouble of resources

there aren't a lot of resources out there for older littles.

most little discords have a range of ages (which is lovely & inclusive!) but it's harder to find resources that cater just to us, and our age group.

(I know there is a few out there though!)

the troubles with personal acceptance.

sometimes you can feel a little out of place as the 'older' ones of the community. it can make you second guess a lot of things and become vunerable and embarrased at the simplist suggestions.

some older indivials may feel embarrased for not understanding the new terms/or ways the younger people of the commuity speak/say, or they may not even know certain ways to regress.

validation section.

& you know what, not knowing everything is perfectly okay!

learing can go both ways, it's not just for one person's benifit. you're never too old or too young to learn something new, so don't feel embarrased that you don't know anything.

and for my older regressors out there, you too are valid.

your journey, your regression, your voice are all completely valid! <3

especially on this side of the interent

gif isn't mine

[fairest-lily]

TWST - fragrances!

Disclaimer: I have not personally smelled most of these perfumes; I chose them based on their notes. Just because a brand has been added it does not mean I support it or align with their values; I am focusing on the products on their own. The majority of these perfumes are quite expensive anyways - if you like any, I suggest directly looking for a dupe. I picked these with the characters' preferences in mind rather than trying to encapsulate their scent/vibe. My explanations are added to each one! Due to the photo limit, only the main cast are present. I will make a future post with others :) As usual, I ask you to not repost any of the photos/the post itself outside of Tumblr or within it. My main sources have been Fragrantica and Wikiparfum (some images used are from their website), along with the brands' sites. The notes are mainly sorted from top (the ones you smell first) to bottom (the ones that linger last), though I have been unable to verify some's placements, thus they are presented in what I assume would be their order. HEARTSLABYUL

Notes: pink pepper, blackcurrant sorbet, pink rose, peony, salty vanilla, patchouli, cashmere wood I wanted Riddle's liking for sweets to be present, though not overwhelmingly, so opting for a floral scent was a better way to show it. I would have searched for an aldehyde-having perfume, but I feel like he already has that clean laundry smell from his clothes.

Notes: orange, elemi, star anise, lavandin, clary sage, petitgrain, fir balsam, cypress, pine needles I imagine Trey spends enough time surrounded by sweet gourmands to want something softer, though even if he hadn't been a baker, he still gives the vibe of enjoying herbals. I had also chosen Velvet Cypress, which matched beautifully with its greenness, but the scent profile wasn't my first bet... :(

Notes: jasmine (and sambac), ylang-ylang, watermelon, carambola, magnolia, blackcurrant, green mango My mind immediately went to fruity sweetness when it comes to Cater, though a toned down version with the involvement of florals. He'd want to match his bubbly image while not overwhelming his senses, right?

Notes: citrus, amber, cedarwood, tonka bean, vanilla, sandalwood Now, the fact that one of the most popular perfumes matches what I had in mind for Ace is genuinely coincidental. I do see him buying this as a treat for himself though, regardless of it being trendy. While he is pretty masculine, there is a freshness still present that would reflect in his perfume - he still lacks the maturity and taste of a man.

Notes: Sicilian bergamot, mandarin, green apple, cashmere wood, cedarwood, petitgrain, violet, pomarose (not pictured), oakmoss, musk, amberwood (not pictured) In contrast to Ace, I picture Deuce to enjoy fresher and sweeter scents, which is how this perfume made the cut. He seems more open to wear less traditionally masculine fragrances. SAVANACLAW

Notes: rosemary, sage, black pepper, star anise, plum, birch tar, cumin, Bulgarian rose, myrrh, tobacco, suede accord, leather accord, honey, oud, praline, frankincense Leona is what Ace still lacks, though more wild and carefree in comparison to an older man. I definitely see him using perfumes with leathery smells rather than herbals or fruits, unless they're toned down; a big part of it is his sensitive nose of course. Under the roughness, there is a sweetness to be found.

Notes: salt, timur pepper, ginger, bergamot, black iris, saffron flower, violet leaf, blue cypress, suede, oud, mastic absolute, tobacco leaf Considering Leona's hand-me-downs to Ruggie, I feel like he would have included a perfume from his younger years too. The profile is similar to the current one, yet lighter thanks to the inclusion of more florals. I think it also matches Ruggie, having some parallelisms to Leona yet toned down.

Notes: amaretto, leather, wood, patchouli, musk Despite maintaining the leathery vibe, Jack strikes me as if he would enjoy sweetness, though in the form of flowers. This perfume only really has patchouli as a plant, but the amaretto, musk and wood make up for it with a deeper & warm sweetness. OCTAVINELLE

Notes: quince, grapefruit, hyacinth, jasmine, iris, musk, cedarwood, amber Azul is a synonym for powdery and light florals to me. I do see him using more classically masculine fragrances as well, though still a softer version. I had originally assigned him Jersey (Chanel) because of the lavender, but this one fit better.

Notes: pear, lily of the valley, aldehydes, iris, rose absolute, orange blossom, patchouli oil, ambrette seeds, white musk I think we can all agree Jade is the president of aldehydes; the cleanest linens you will ever experience. He'd incorporate florals too, especially those he finds during hikes - a deceiving softness.

Notes: mandarin, sea water, Egyptian geranium, clary sage, lavender, rosemary, oak moss, patchouli, vetiver, vanilla orchid People have said this smells like the holidays, which couldn't be more fitting. Floyd has the freshness of a fruity perfume without really having it in its profile (there is a citric note of course). He would also use less conventional scents, such as sea water. SCARABIA

Notes (most I have confirmed, but beware that some I'm doubtful on): bergamot, red berries, blackcurrant, florals, mandarin, honey, caramel, almond, patchouli, sandalwood, vanilla, chocolate I feel like Kalim is a gourmand person; he'd go for the caramels, vanillas, coconuts...I actually wanted to find a perfume with coconut and flowers for him, but I settled on this one since it also fits.

Notes (not 100% verified): mate, pink pepper, violet leaf, clary sage, patchouli, bergamot Albeit simple, Jamil's perfume is definitely a nice one. His choices would be influenced by aromatherapy; he'd definitely wear calming scents. A lot of herbals, but there are some richer fragrances in his collection for special occasions, like ambers. POMEFIORE

Notes: jasmine (sambac), orange, bergamot, mandarin, gardenia, orange blossom, sandalwood, white amber, cedarwood, white musk As soon as I got to Vil while brainstorming, I knew one of the Poison perfumes had to be in his hands. He definitely combines the softness of florals with the sharpness of citrics and the richness of ambers. His fragrances are a luxurious dessert that leaves you wishing for more.

Notes: thyme, tea, lily of the valley, saffron, rose, suede, musk, sandalwood, olibanum, amber Based on the description we got, I wanted Rook to have a perfume with amber and musk, though with other notes too. Originally I thought of Jo Malone's Midnight Musk & Amber, but since it is discontinued, this one took its place. I find the scent profile to match Rook better; he'd want something herbal to soften the warm richness.

Notes: aldehydes, rose centifolia, peony, violet, musk, sandalwood If I may be honest, I first assigned this to Vil (I know, the name), but since I wanted him to have a Poison perfume and eventually found a better scent profile, this one seemed more fitting for Epel. It's especially fitting post-VDC once he starts embracing his femininity, yet with the deepness of musk and sandalwood highlighting his strength. IGNIHYDE

Notes: aldehydes, citric, clary sage, ozonic notes, musk, ironwood (hornbeam)

Originally I imagined Idia would reach for a more metallic scent, though I couldn't find any I particularly liked (I don't even know what metal perfume smells like...), so I opted for my first thought: aldehydes and citrics. While Idia does enjoy his candies, I feel he'd want a very simple scent profile, and this perfume was perfect.

Notes: lemon, mandarin, orange, rose, jasmine, ylang-ylang, cedarwood, musk Like Idia, Ortho to me would reach for aldehydes (which this perfume has) and citrics, though his fragrances would be sweeter. I imagine he'd mask the metallic smell with it. DIASOMNIA

Notes: Italian lemon and mandarin, mint oil, candied apple, geranium flower, clary sage, ambermax, cedarwood, vetiver, patchouli, sandalwood, vanilla While still very masculine, I feel Malleus' choices would have a sweetness to them, wanting to lure you in with a sense of safety. I smelled this perfume years ago and still remember how much I loved it; it truly is fitting to him.

Notes: wild berries, blackcurrant buds, musk, blackberries Immediately, my mind went to berries. Lilia would heighten his cute image through sweet scents, especially fruits, though he could reach for gourmands.

Notes: fig milk, mandarin, sandalwood, violet, tonka bean, musk Silver is on the natural side; he'd reach out for florals and herbals instead of overwhelming scents. Though he reminds me of clean linens too, in a warmer way - like the creaminess of a lactonic without them. It comes through thanks to the notes in this perfume.

Notes: lavender, rosemary, petitgrain, clary sage, geranium, ambery wood Out of everyone in the Diasomnia quartet, Sebek feels like the one that embraces masculinity most, especially its sharpness. Though because of his age, it still has a softness present through floral hints. A relative of mine has owned this perfume, and it's a rather nice scent. I definitely see Sebek wearing it to strengthen his appearance.

[olderpersonsday]

Highlight relevant actions that include efforts toward inclusion of older persons.

The International Day of Older Persons 2022 is a call to action and opportunity, with globally representative older women, parliamentarians, and United Nations representatives offering multistakeholders dialogue on the resilience of living through and responding to climate disaster, conflict, or pandemic, experiencing and managing the physical and emotional disruption to losses of family, income, and social connectedness.

Panels will highlight relevant actions that include efforts toward inclusion of older persons, in particular older women, the protection of their human rights, and enabling the full and equal participation of older persons, in particular older women, in decision-making at all levels. 

Objectives of UNIDOP 2022 New York Commemoration:

To highlight the resilience of older women in the face of socioeconomic, environmental, health and lifelong inequities.

To raise awareness of the importance of improving world-wide age- and gender-sensitive data collection and analysis in order to provide essential evidence for effective policies.

To call on Member States, United Nations Funds, Programmes, Specialized Agencies and other United Nations entities, as well as civil society to include older women in the center of all policies, ensuring gender equality, as described in Our Common Agenda; which represents the Secretary-General's vision on the future of global cooperation.

[artificial-transmutations]

Historically Accurate

"I'm telling you, Hollywood is going down with all the woke crap! You know what they say: Go woke go broke!"

Julian and Wallace were on their way back from the lunch room and the former was listening to the latter complaining. Julian had tried to avoid any topic like this, but, really, it was a mine field with Wallace. Just about *every* topic had the potential to turn out political.

"I don't see what's wrong with a little inclusion in pop culture." Julian said, not wanting to argue but also not wanting to leave that opinion unopposed.

"Everything! It's just plain wrong, and it's brainwash, too. I mean, it's like a mind virus, poisoning everything! There's a western coming out next week. But it's all bullshit woke agenda again. The cowboy is black and gay! Literal brainwash and historical rewrite."

Julian frowned. How could an intelligent person like Wallace be so stupid at the same time?

"Why does that even bother you? I thought you hated westerns."

"Yes, that's not the point. Fact is, it's historically inaccurate and just pushing the woke agenda."

"Actually, I think it's not even historically incorrect." Julian pondered as they entered the lab using Julian's keycard and an iris scan of both scientists.

Wallace was borderline angry now.

"What are you talking about? Everyone knows that cowboys were the whitest and the straightest people there were."

"I'm not quite sure", Julian said. "Weren't there freed slaves and so on? And I would guess if you were underway with another guy for prolonged periods of time, not everything staid straight, too."

"Bullshit! Everyone knows cowboys weren't fags, and they were white."

Wallace seemed agitated now, and his usual stiff demeanor became even more pronounced.

Wallace was in his mid-forties, but the way he was talking, he seemed way older to Julian.

Julian on the other hand was awfully young for the position he had. Being 25, he still didn't look like he had finished college, even though he had his doctorate already.

It was really a bit sad, he thought. Two of the brightest minds and they were bickering over basic, meaningless distinctions like ethnicity or sexual orientation.

"We could just ask the computer." he proposed, but Wallace frowned.

"We are not supposed to use the equipment for private research." he said.

'The computer' was part of the highly secretive project they worked on. When finished, it was supposed to be a time machine, simple as that. The actual time travel device didn't work properly yet, but a part of it, a chronoton boosted quantum computer that was able to access history itself to answer questions about the part, was already functioning quite well.

"But we are supposed to test it from time to time. Are you afraid of the answer it might give?"

"Of course not." Wallace grumbled. "Fine. Computer! Is there any historical evidence of gay black cowboys?"

The voice activated system acknowledged the request with a beep. While waiting for the answer, Julian checked the parameters of the system and found them in near-perfect condition.

Finally, the system answered, with the neutral male voice it was programmed with.

"A significant portion of cowboys consisted of people with African heritage, especially after the freeing of slaves after the civil war. Homosexual acts and attraction were common among cowboys, especially during the trail drives. Demonstrating..."

"Hrmpf." Wallace said, clearly not happy.

Julian, who was still checking the readings, scratched his head.

"Did you remember to disconnect the capsule before making the query? It seems to be drawing power."

"Ah, crap. That's just because of all the bullshit talk. Computer, stop!"

"Unable to comply. Demonstrating... Target: Montana Frontier Area, June 1865..."

The white walls of the chamber started to glow in an ever brighter white that was beginning to hurt the eyes.

"Crap. Julian, cut the power!" Wallace said, now with a clear notion of fear in his voice. The younger scientist didn't answer but tried to do as he was told - but did not succeed in time.

Suddenly, with a flash, their surroundings changed and the two of them found themselves in the middle of a rugged mountain range, on the border of a pine forest. It was late afternoon and the scientists found themselves in a just set-up camp. Two horses were standing nearby, and a small herd of cows was grazing at a meadow.

Wallace sighed and shook his head angrily. "Just great. Look at the mess you just put us in. Now we have to wait until we're rescued. And, apparently, we have to meet some black homo cowboys."

Julian looked around but couldn't see anyone around.

"I would have also guessed so, but there doesn't seem to be anyone there."

His heart sank as he had a terrible suspicion. He had been experimenting lately with a normalization circuit that would embed the time travelers into history instead of superimposing them onto it. That was - according to his theories - a rather elegant way to resolve the repelling effect the historical structure had, but it wasn't finished by any means. It had never been tested and even theoretically, it wouldn't be able to achieve a partial embedding, only a full one at best. And the more he thought about it, the more he was convinced that it had still been connected to the system.

As Julian thought about how to break it to Wallace, he noticed something strange about the other scientist. It could be a trick of the light, but he looked way more tanned than before.

"Uhm... It might actually be somewhat worse than that. I think my normalization circuit was still active when you activated the machine."

"What? What does that mean?" Wallace looked at him, furiously now.

"Well, I would guess..." Julian struggled and gave up. "Look at your hands, I think it's pretty self-explanatory."

Wallace looked down at his darkening hands and paled. Even now, he still had a considerably darker skin tone than before, darkening with every passing second.

"Shit." he said. "That's what you get for fucking around with a half-finished experiment."

Julian didn't even dare to mention his suspicion. If his normalization circuit was really active, that would make Wallace an actual, black cowboy, and not just him. Julian was also a time traveler, so he, too, would be affected.

Meanwhile, the changes in Wallace seemed to have proceeded. His facial structure looked like it was in motion before finally settling on a generally broader, manlier shape: The jawline became more pronounced, and his cheekbones raised.

"Is there... anything going on with me as well?" Julian asked.

Wallace looked over at him.

"Yeah, your hair color is changing, and I think your eye color. Blonde and blue-eyed, how cliché. But most importantly, you're not becoming fucking a fucking Black man."

Wallace didn't say Black man.

For some reason, this didn't bother Julian half as much as it should have. He felt rather at ease, and the untamed wilderness around him awakened a sense of adventure inside of him that he didn't know was in him.

Meanwhile Wallace was also feeling a change within. A surge of confidence emerged from within him that was entirely alien to the deeply insecure man at first, but quickly became more and more part of his personality. It was like his core was solidifying into a confident and assertive nature, a boldness and quiet he secretly always wished he had. At the same time, his body structure changed considerably.

Where before, Wallace had been a physically unimpressive mid-forties man, it now seemed like the years melted off of him, and for every year that he lost, he gained three pounds of muscle mass and beef. His shoulders widened, his height increased, and his frame expanded in order to accommodate the new body mass.

"It's not that bad, ain't it?" While Julian's body had not changed much besides the hair and eye color, his voice sounded entirely different now. It had a southern lilt to it, but it was charismatic and charming. It was the kind of voice you could listen to for hours without end, perfect for reading an audiobook - or telling campfire stories.

"Well now, I ain't too sure 'bout that." Wallace's voice had changed even more considerably when he answered. He had gained a thick southern accent, and his voice had dropped to a low and smooth voice that sounded commanding even if he didn't intend to.

"Ha, look at that, your skin's startin' to change now, too!"

And really, Julian's skin had started to adapt as well, but it was quickly becoming apparent that it went a different route than Wallace's. Instead of darkening to the almost black tone that he was sporting, Julian's skin became rougher and got a sun-kissed tan instead. His facial features sharpened, as his cheekbones looked chiseled all of a sudden and a rugged beard texture was adorning his chin. Julian seemed to notice it, too, since he started touching his new face immediately.

"Cool! Always wondered what I'd look like sportin' a beard." he said, apparently not too unhappy with the changes.

There was no denying Julian looked good, which made Wallace feel a touch of jealousy. In his opinion, it wasn't fair that he was the only one having to deal with the black skin. That feeling quickly faded, though, as his changes continued. His hair became very short, curly and dark. At the same time, a short beard formed on his chin and upper lip, giving him an even manlier appeal. At the same time, chest hair sprouted, sparsely of course, as it was normal for a man of his heritage. A strange feeling overcame Wallace. He wasn't necessarily *proud* to be Black now, but he also didn't mind it anymore. He was proud of a lot of secondary assets, though, like his bulging muscles or his handsome face. As his eyes became a dark brown, he had to smirk as he sat down by the fire, readjusting himself in the process. And, of course, his big cock, which might also have been positively influenced by his new ancestry.

Wallace watched as Julian turned around and tended to the horses. His body was now, finally, also changing. It didn't become nearly as bulky as his own, but instead lean and agile, with narrow hips and a well-distributed surprising strength, as Wallace knew. While Julian was busy with the horses, Wallace had a good view of his ass. It filled out the jeans just so well, and Vallace only noticed now that the other man's attire had changed. He was clad in a pair of blue jeans, a vest and, of course a Stetson now, and Vance always thought that this outfit accentuated the best parts of his partner quite well. He preferred black leather, himself, since the material was sturdier and felt better on the skin.

Vince felt his cock hardening in his leather pants and readjusted himself again while also leaning back and spreading his legs to make more room for the erection. He wasn't afraid of anyone seeing his rude behavior. The only other man within a wide range was Jesse, the owner of that juicy ass. And he was allowed to see... well, everything.

Vince waited patiently until Jesse returned to the campfire, with a big smile on his face.

"How them horses holdin' up, partner?" Vince asked.

"They're good. Just a tad worn out from today's ride." Jesse answered.

"Well, there's somethin' else needs tendin' to, if you're free to lend a hand. Or an ass." Vince grinned and made his cock throb in the confines of his tight leather pants.

Jesse grinned at the display of masculinity and massaged his own cock.

"Hell yes!"

As Jesse moved over in his usual graceful movements, Vince leaned back. There really wasn't anything better than being a big, black cowboy. Especially not with a partner like Jesse, who was always happy to make the nights in the wilderness a little less lonely.

Certainly not poor and lonesome! Also check out this awesome writer!

There are a few more versions of Jesse and Vince, over at my tip jar.

[writers-potion]

heyo got any tips on writing gangs?

Writing Gangsters

Organized Crime vs. Gangs

Although the terms are used interchangeably, there's a difference between organized criminal networks and gangs.

Organized crimes have focuses on material gain and therefore has a more hierarchical leadership structure.

The activities of gangs are usually more fragmented, opportunistic and based on individual contacts, more entangled with the personal lives of its members.

Of course, if a street gang become powerful enough, large enough and resourceful enough, it comes a full-blown criminal organization.

Background: Time, Place, Economic Condition

Research into the characteristics of the time and place where your gang is.

Oftentimes, gangs form when the economic conditions of a country/region is down. People, especially those who are marginalized, are disillusioned which can lead them to make desperate choices.

It's important to note that many gangs are formed initally to serve as the "police" in a neighborhood where no police would enter because (for some reason) they feel as if there's nothing they can do.

Gangs may start with a "good" reason, but it just so happens that eventually they become the very thing they sought to get rid of.

Compelling Character Motivation

With the socio-geographical context as backdrop, give your characters a clear reason why they would join and stay in a gang.

A young teen may join a gang out of pure whim, maybe for money, but eventually it's going to have to be more than that.

Idolization - an older sibling is in the gang

Inclusion - connection with others is so wanted due to a lack of it in a dysfunctional family

Stability - feeling secure in a neighborhood where gangs seems like a viable option; if a gang is already terrorizing the area, joining it may seem like a way to protect one's family

Financial security - jobs may seem out of reach; it si high risk and high rewards but your character may be that desperate

Ambition/thirst for power/revenge

+ Yes, someone may join the gang because they don't want to work a regular job and want quick money, but I wouldn't say they are lazy. From what I understand, gangs require work...

A developmental Model of Gang Membership (use for character arc):

Research:

National Gang Center FAQ: https://nationalgangcenter.ojp.gov/about/faq#0-0

Gang Life Insider Article: https://amuedge.com/the-various-dangers-of-gang-life-an-insiders-perspective/

NY Gang Slag: https://nypost.com/2012/10/28/a-to-z-deadly-slang-by-gangs-of-new-york/

Gangster Short Stories you can Read Online

‘Johnny Mnemonic’ by William Gibson

‘Vice Grip’ by Matthew A. Goodwin

‘Dolan’s Cadillac’ by Stephen King

[whoresidentevil]

Leon and Your Hair

a/n: I haven't written in years so this is very experimental 💀 I'm open to constructive feedback!

Also, I wrote this with the reader having type 4 hair in mind but I tried to make it as texture-inclusive as possible :)

General: 

Leon himself takes pride in his hair and appearance in general which is one of many ways you guys relate to each other.

 I imagine your shared bathroom would be full of hair products and tools more than anything else, though most of it is yours.

Leon isn't ignorant, he knew how important hair is to your culture way before you got together. Because of this, he respects how much effort your maintenance requires.

RE2:

This man 100% uses all your stuff every time he comes over. You start wondering if these containers have a hole at the bottom of them or something. Eventually, Leon just starts buying the shampoo/conditioner combo you use for himself at home because it's doing wonders for his hair. Plus the scent reminds him of you, it's a win-win.

Leon had nice hair before, but your presence in his life introduces him to products like deep conditioner, hair oils, etc that just elevate it further.

When you get your hair braided or styled Leon always wants to be the first person to see it! He even goes out of his way to pick you up from the salon so he can shower you with compliments right after. 

If he has time I can see Leon sitting in the salon with you for however many hours it takes the stylists to be done. He sits there flipping through the hair magazines he took from the waiting area, turning the pages over to you every couple of minutes. "Babe, you should try this next time." with the most genuine smile on his face. Even if it was some atrocious 90's editorial style, you smile and nod at every single one.

RE4:

Once Leon starts going on long missions he's unable to be your personal chauffeur 24/7, so he'd definitely want you to text him pictures every time you get your hair done. He always sets them as his phone wallpaper to have an updated photo of you everywhere he goes.

During his training I doubt he'd have the luxury of technology though, instead opting to get a Polaroid of you every now and then in the mail. He always makes sure to compliment you on something in the letters he sends back and keeps the latest Polaroid somewhere in his pockets while the older ones are tacked to his wall. (poor guy misses you so much)

When he's home with you he realizes how much he missed your silk pillowcases and bed sheets. He didn't think they were actually helping his hair and skin until he had to sleep in crazy locations during training/missions and noticed the difference. he silently thanks you for that.

RE6/ID/DI:

After so many years of being together, Leon knows about all your hair preferences, favorite styles, and even things he hasn't seen you in yet. (our boy is educated 👏🏾).

Sometimes you ask him to help pick what you'll do with your hair next which either ends with him saying "You look beautiful no matter what" or showing you very specific photos he found on Google.

It's been years since you've paid for your own hair because Leon insists on taking care of that for you. It doesn't matter how much it costs, he has no problem with it as long as you are happy.

He'd go into the beauty supply store with you and know exactly where to go and what to get, even reminding you not to forget some things along the way.

Leon has a huge soft spot for your natural hair, whatever texture it may be he's whipped for it. Loves being able to touch your hair (with permission) and probably asks to help you on wash days so he has an excuse to do so.

speaking of which, I can see wash days becoming an intimate thing for you two as you get older. He'd help you shampoo in the shower as a form of affection, or you're sitting in his lap while he helps you detangle when your arms get tired.

If you have locs I can see Leon looking up a tutorial on how to do retwists to help you out. Even if you tell him time and time again that you'd rather have your loctician do it he insists you give him a chance. Turns out he's not half bad at it and you let him do it a few times a year.

[drvscarlett]

Sweet Nothings (4)

Carlos Sainz x Pageant Queen!Reader

Summary: All that they ever wanted was sweet nothings but everything changed like midnight rain.

Sweet Nothings 1 2 3 4

A/N: the final installment for sweet nothings. thank you for your support for this one!! let me know your thoughts or send me an ask for blurbs!!!

2020

It was quite rare for the couple to stay at home. It was weird that they weren't out and about or even racing. Somehow they knew that this lockdown is taking a lot out of life out of them but they were still grateful to be spending it with each other.

Its also that period of time that Y/N has been asked a question.

"What do you want to do?"

A harmless question by Carlos. It was supposed to be something that asks her what does she want to do for the day but she ended up thinking about what does she want to do with her life.

She is 23, lots of people would say that she is still young and there's a lot of things to look forward to. But she can't help about what should she do as she grow older. There is this unspoken pressure that she has to do well before reaching a certain age.

"Carlos, mi amor, do you have plans?" Y/N asked

The man in question met her eyes, he was visibly confused by the question.

"What plans mi amor? Do you mean to ask if I have zoom meetings?"

"No, I mean what's your plan in the future?"

"Well, I'm planning to win a championship, then I'm going to marry you, we will build our family, continue winning, retire, travel the world with you again" Carlos enumerates.

She smiles at her inclusion in Carlos' plans for the future. It was not new knowledge for the both of them that they plan to marry each other and build a family someday. They have already reached a point in their relationship where it feels right to discuss such plans.

"Why did you ask?" Carlos wondered "any change of plans?"

"Not at all, just curious"

2021

Sebastian Vettel is a force to be reckon with. He speaks up to different issues and he won't allow anyone to hinder him. It was a stark contrast from the Sebastian Vettel from Red Bull which is why Y/N always call him the wise sage.

Carlos and Y/N have been invited by Sebastian for an outreach program. Y/N insisted on going and Carlos went along because there was nothing on his schedule for that day. It was that time that Y/N managed to speak to the children about their living situations and how Sebastian gave her an advice.

"You seem to be enjoying yourself" Sebastian noticed "First time doing programs like this?"

"I haven't done these in a while" Y/N admits.

Her very first experience with outreaches like this would have been in high school. It started out as a requirement for school where they have to do community services before they could finish the academic year. There were plenty of slum areas in her home country so she would always be participating in outreach programs or medical missions to help them. It was quite taxing but it was something that she enjoyed doing. She remembered how it was no longer a requirement but she still finds herself volunteering.

Y/N doesn't know how long she has been rambling,Sebastian was a really good listener.

"I didn't see you as that type of person you know"Sebastian said "It's a different side of you"

"What kind of person do you think I am?"

"For starters, I know you do modelling so you are a pretty face. It is a perfect match for Carlos, he is a pretty boy you know" Sebastian discussed.

Y/N has to hold a little laugh because she knows the topic is serious. She just know that Carlos will be elated to be called pretty boy by the sebastian vettel.

"You are always very supportive of Carlos and you cannot be associated without Carlos so I feel like its a good thing that you have a side of you that makes you seperate from Carlos"

The conversation with Sebastian seems to struck a chord in her heart. Everyone thinks that Y/N is a full-time WAG and she knows that it is true. But if someone ask what does Y/N do besides being a full-time WAG the answer is modelling. It still doesn't seem right for Y/N that she's not doing enough of an impact.

"You feel it too right? You know you have to get out of the box of just being Carlos' girlfriend" Sebastian worded it out for Y/N.

"Is that a good thing that I want to be more than just Carlos' girlfriend and create an impact just like you?" she wonders.

"It's not a bad thing at all" Sebastian assured. He would be the one to know especially when he has a wife that has been extremely supportive of him being vocal about his opinions. He knows a true partner would understand.

"But this might change things" and Y/N knows that she might lose Carlos in the process.

"Sometimes we have to sacrifice some things to get better things"

Y/N looked at the children who were happily eating. She wanted to bring more of that to the world. But then she also saw the glint of her necklace, a gift from Carlos.

Can't she have both?

2022

Carlos didn't mean to snoop around her things. It just so happens that he will be using the computer to email someone when he noticed that Y/N left her email open. He was about to delete the message he just sent by going through the sent tab when he noticed an email.

Application for Miss Universe Philippines.

Surely if Y/N is joining then Carlos would have known. So he clicked the email and was surprised by the contents. He felt like there was a cold bucket of ice poured over him.

"Mahal, you wouldn't believe the price of these mangoes I got from the market" Y/N entered the shared apartment "What are you.."

Y/N stops in her tracks as he noticed that Carlos was in front of her computer.

"When will you tell me about this?"he wondered

"I didn't mean to keep it a secret Carlos"

Carlos could feel a twinge as he was called by his name. It was going to end up to be a fight between the two of them.

"Why didn't you tell me that you want to be Miss Universe?" Carlos repeated

"It's not something that I have planned honestly. I just want to try something new and you know that email is just a shot in the dark, I don't even know if I'll be qualified to compete"Y/N explained

"But still, when did you start dreaming of being Miss Universe" Carlos asked.

Y/N started pacing as she tries to find the rigt words to say. Carlos looked at her with worry and he felt left out with the plans that she is creating. They both knew that this is a turning point in their relationship.

"It just happened carlos. I just wanted to use my voice to make an impact or change. I don't want to be just a pretty face and do nothing with my life" there was the frustration and floodgates opening.

Y/N felt herself collapsing after hearing the silence. This is what she feared initially that Carlos won't get her dreams and this will be the end of their relationship. She ruined a perfectly good thing.

But as million of things and scenarios are going through her head, Carlos slowly made his way to her. He takes her hand into his and lifted her chin to meet his eyes.

"Amor, do you think I will hinder you from your dreams?" the gentleness of his voice is the calm that she needs.

"You're not mad?"

"Why would I be mad at you?" he asked "I just wanted a little heads up. I just want to know what you are up to. Im happy to support you if this is what you want"

Bursting into tears,Y/N leaned forward to hug Carlos. Weeks of tiptoeing is over and all she had to do was come clean.

2023

It was the morning after the Singapore Grand Prix when Y/N received the message. She was utterly shocked upon reading the email that she was appointed to represent one of the provinces for Miss Universe Philippines. It felt like a dream so she had to make Carlos read it to make sure she isn't dreaming.

"This is amazing news mi amor!"

Carlos was in glee. He just won a Grand Prix and now his girlfriend is going to compete for her dreams. It was like he was enveloped in a high that he failed to notice the sad eyes that Y/N has.

"Why are you not happy? Aren't you supposed to be happy?" Carlos wondered.

The reality is sinking in that if Y/N accepts this then her whole world will change. No more attending Grand Prixs. No more spending all her time with Carlos. She will be very busy and Carlos will also be very busy.

"Its going to be difficult. There are trainings, meetings,and everything" she is feeling overwhelmed.

"Okay take deep breaths amor"

The couple sits down and Carlos fetched a glass of water for Y/N to drink. He understands how Y/N often has a tendency to overthink or overcomplicate things when it is within her reach.

"I don't think I deserve this"she says

"Nonsense."Carlos disagrees "You are going to compete with that amor. You are going to compete and you are going to win"

"If I do that then I will be leaving you behind mahal. No more hotel rooms,no more grand prixs,no more spontaneous date nights"

The smile on Carlos face falters. Y/N takes a heavy breath, she knows that its for the better. She cannot ask Carlos to put his life on hold for her. She knows that next year, Carlos will want to try to win the championship. She has long accepted that she is ready to free Carlos in case she cannot support him anymore.

"I think we should break up"Y/n dropped.

"No" Carlos' reply came swiftly

"Listen mahal this is how its going to end up. Were both going to busy and then we will fall apart. Its best to end it while were on good terms"Y/N rationalizes.

"Im not listening,no no"Carlos stood up and walked away.

Y/n went to chase the Spanish driver. Tears were already spilling in her eyes because she didn't want to do this and Carlos is not making it easier for the two of them.

"Mahal please,listen to me"

"Why are you breaking up with me? This doesn't change things between us"Carlos reasoned.

"It will change a lot of things."she answered back "Its not going to be the same and its gonna be difficult"

"But no matter how difficult it is,I refuse to break up with you" Carlos states "I love you Y/N and I cannot just stop loving you or let go of you just because things are difficult."

"But what about your dreams?"

"I'll continue chasing my dreams. You chase yours. I'll support you no matter what"Carlos assures.

Yes, it has been years since they got together. Y/N still can't believe her luck with Carlos. Sometimes she feels as if he is unreal and way too good to be with her.

"Are you really willing to put up with me?" Y/N wonders

"I have never been more sure of anything in my life"

His hands intertwined with her as he places a soft kiss on her forehead.

"We'll be alright"

2024

It was a busy start of the year for Y/N. Ever since Suzuka GP ended, she flew back to her home country to train and to prepare. It was honestly very draining but she finds herself enjoying the whole process.

Y/N and Carlos decided that it will be best to keep their relationship on the down low. They are still together but they just have to keep it lowkey for the timebeing so that they can both focus on achieving their dreams. Carlos understands how Y/N didn't want to win just because she is popular as Carlos' girlfriend, she wants to win for her advocacy. Technically they are not broken up, they are on a time out. Its not an arrangement that a lot of people deal with but then again they don't share that bond that Y/N and Carlos had.

They don't usually talk a lot these days since they are both busy but upon reading that article after her evening shoot,Y/N made a call right away.

'Lewis Hamilton moving to Ferrari in 2025'

Y/N couldn't describe how pained she feels for Carlos. She remembered how Carlos mentioned it a few weeks ago that they have been arranging a contract extension. She remembered how she kept assuring him that Ferrari won't let go of him,not after he broke Red Bull's streak. There are no words to describe how much she feels terrible about the situation.

"Mi amor?" Carlos picked up "Its late there in the Philippines why did you call?"

"The article is it true mahal?"

There was a pause on the other line and Y/N felt her heartbreaking.

"I didn't know. It seems unreal but I just got off from a call with Fred and they are really dropping me"Carlos confirms.

"That's so so shitty. They are so fucking shitty. I'm gonna go and wage war with Ferrari. First they fuck up your strategies then now they drop you"she was seething.

"Amor, you can't be rash. There's nothing we could do about it"Carlos, always the voice of reason.

"Where are you?" Y/N asked "Should I book a plane ticket now? I'm gonna give you a hug"

"Amor,you have duties there as a competitor for miss universe philippines"

"I don't care. You are somewhere half across the world and you just got dropped off and I need to be with you" Y/N's desperation could be heard from the phone.

There was a heavy sigh on Carlos end.

"Amor, I'll be alright. Your mere call is more than enough to make me feel like I am not alone"Carlos assures.

"Im sorry mahal,I couldn't be there" she says sadly.

"You are always here in my heart"

Miles and miles away but the two hearts have never been far apart from each other. They spent the entire night talking about their new plans with the following changes that happened.

ChiliUpdates just posted a photo.

ChiliUpdates CARLOS SAINZ WINS THE 2024 WDC! WHAT A SEASON CARLOS SAINZ!!!!

User3 man went from losing an appendix to winning the WDC

User4 OHMYGODDDDDD THAT IS SUCH AN ICONIC MOVE

User5 Carlos Sainz gets axed by Ferrari then wins the WDC then refuses to elaborate.

User7 EL MATADOR!!!! CARLOS SAINZ EL MATADORRRRRRRR!!!

User8 I really love this el matador nickname because he ended red bull's dominance

User9 he is so ICONIC!!!

YNjpeg just posted a photo

liked by CarlosSainz55, LandoNorris, and 762,987 others.

YNjpeg four different colors and there is never a moment that I didn't adore. You are now a world champion and there are no words to describe how proud I am of you. To see you transform into the man that you are today is an honor and a privilege. Never ever stop being you.

Once again, congratulations world champion Carlos Sainz!

CarlosSainz55 Mi amor, thank you for always believing me

User1 OHMYGOD WHAT IS THIS????

User2 TELL ME YOU TWO ARE BACK TOGETHER

User3 Y/N isn't even in the paddock a while ago but she wrote this message???

User4 GET BACK TOGETHER MY DIVORCED PARENTS

User5 Our Miss Universe 2024 and our WDC 2024, name a more iconic duo

User6 the respect that they have for each other.

2027.

CarlosSainz55 and Y/Njpeg posted a photo

CarlosSainz55 we survived the great war.

YNjpeg I'm always thankful for all my lucky stars that they brought you to me. I love you forever mahal.

User5 RUE WHEN WAS THIS????

User7 I DIDNT KNOW THEY WERE STILL TOGETHER??? WE HAVENT SEEN THEM TOGETHER IN TWO YEARS????

User8 is this real??? chat is this real?

LandoNorris FINALLY!

SebastianVettel what a lovely couple, you both deserve each other

Charles_Leclerc mate FINALLY!!!!