#my Very bad ideas

[freezethebeez]

fuck it we ball: catalyst!beeduo gay kiss

It's not— he doesn't want to kiss kiss him, he just wants to maybe press their lips together and— and that would be all— and that would be nice— it would be nice, he thinks.

-> not canon to the fic ofc, just takes place within the universe ^_^

fic below the break :]

(fan-service for ender and ender only tbh /hj)

-

Ranboo's selection of food and drinks that are typically 'human' are limited. Coffee is one of those options, though, as long as it doesn't contain milk or sugar, which makes it objectively awful, and for that very reason, Ranboo does not like coffee.

He likes the smell of it. It's warm and comforting and reminds him of book stores. He really doesn't like the taste, though. It's bitter, and that's something that Ranboo just can't get past.

But the smell is fine. That's been established.

So he doesn't mind when Tubbo makes himself a cup of coffee in the morning— Ranboo's morning, Tubbo's night. In Ranboo's opinion, Tubbo should be sleeping while Ranboo's awake, but he doesn't mind the company.

He also doesn't mind the smell of coffee when he wakes up.

"Good morning," Tubbo greets from where he's perched on Ranboo's counter. Ranboo's always liked being told 'good morning'— it made him feel a bit more normal.

"Hi," Ranboo greets in return. He leans against the same counter Tubbo's sitting on, resting next to him. Tubbo's got one knee tucked up towards his chest, the other dangling towards the floor, but not quite touching.

"Hope you don't mind me sitting on your counter, boss man," Tubbo says before taking what appears to be his final sip of coffee.

"No, it's fine," Ranboo replies, and he truly doesn't mind, but he can hear his mother screaming at him from somewhere in the back of his mind.

"Cool," Tubbo mumbles, leaning towards Ranboo so he can rest his head on his shoulder. Tubbo sets down his empty mug next to him. He stretches out a hand, and Ranboo takes it with a sort of practiced ease— one that he didn't have before, but certainly has now.

(Especially after all those late nights they'd spent together when Tubbo mumbled sleepy, sickly sweet words to Ranboo, and Ranboo encouraged him to start drinking coffee or something, anything to keep him awake in hopes of preventing the humbling word vomit. Needless to say, it didn't work, and Ranboo only ended up more flustered knowing that Tubbo truly meant everything his said and wasn't just spilling his thoughts.)

Tubbo's hands are warm— not sweaty, just warm— and they warm Ranboo's own, aided by Tubbo cupping his other hand over Ranboo's, enveloping it in heat.

"We should get you mittens, or something," Tubbo comments. "Tommy knows how to knit."

"O-okay," Ranboo stutters, unsure of exactly how to respond, defaulting to agreeing with Tubbo.

"Nah," and it catches Ranboo off guard a little bit, because he was the one who brought it up, and Ranboo can sense some sort oncoming flirting. "I like holding your hands too much," Tubbo finishes, almost exactly how Ranboo expected.

Ranboo smiles shyly and looks down at where both of Tubbo's hands are holding his own. He's pretty— everything about Tubbo is pretty. His wrists are— they're really, really pretty— and Ranboo knows that it's just the vampire part of him talking— the part that wants to bite and drink and—

Ranboo blinks away the thoughts and decides to look elsewhere, maybe back at Tubbo. Looking at Tubbo in general is probably a safer bet. He can still appreciate how pretty Tubbo is without being tempted by viens that are thinly veiled by pale skin.

When Ranboo looks up, he finds that Tubbo is already looking at him. Their eyes meet almost instantly, and it nearly makes Ranboo jump. He hasn't even realized Tubbo has lifted his head off of his shoulder— hasn't felt his gaze burning into him.

It burns now, kind of— phantom tingles beneath his skin.

He doesn't mean to, but he catches himself the moment his eyes flick down to Tubbo's lips. They're pink and pretty— almost prettier than his wrist— no, definitely prettier than his wrist. Ranboo wonders if they're bitten like his, or if they're just as soft as they look; he wonders if they're warm; he wonders how warm they are.

Ranboo wants to kiss him, he thinks.

It's not— he doesn't want to kiss kiss him, he just wants to maybe press their lips together and— and that would be all— and that would be nice— it would be nice, he thinks.

(And maybe he wants to actually kiss him, a little bit.)

When Ranboo's eyes flick back up to Tubbo's, he notices that Tubbo's were focused on the same place his were. He wasn't looking in his eyes, rather, he was looking just below.

Now, Ranboo's not the best when it comes to interpreting body language, case in point being this very moment, because he's not entirely sure if Tubbo wants to kiss him, too, or if his eyes are just wandering and he's spacing out and when he comes back things will be awkward so—

Tubbo leans in a bit closer, close enough to the point where their noses are nearly touching. Ranboo can feel Tubbo's breath on his face— it's nothing like his own— it's warm as it brushes over his lips. Ranboo thinks that he may have leaned a bit closer, too, subconsciously, and now the only thing keeping their lips from touching is the smallest shift from either of them.

Ranboo places his freehand on Tubbo's shoulder. He doesn't push, just braces himself and hopes that his hands don't feel as cold through Tubbo's shirt.

There's a moment— a few of them, counted by Tubbo's breaths— before Ranboo takes his chances and closes the gap between them (worst case scenario, Ranboo can just say that he twitched and that it was all an accident).

Ranboo finds out, quickly, that Tubbo's lips aren't bitten— that they're just as soft as they looked— warm, too. They're so, so warm. Tubbo's warm all over, and being this close— being connected to him in this way makes Ranboo, in turn, feel a bit warm, too.

The warmth must find its way just under Ranboo's skin, and Tubbo must feel it because he leans a bit closer— which probably isn't great because warmth means fangs and fangs mean bite and— okay but Tubbo's, like, genuinely scooting a bit closer and running a hand through Ranboo's hair so maybe it isn't horrible?

Yeah, no, it isn't horrible. It's all quite nice actually.

Ranboo makes this realization a little too late, unfortunately, as he feels Tubbo start to pull away— and that's fine, he can cope with that, definitely not internally freaking out right now, nope, Ranboo is feeling very normal and very lightheaded which is, admittedly, not normal.

Tubbo looks at him with these eyes that don't show sadness, or fear— or any negative emotion, really. He looks... kind of happy, actually— pleased, so to speak. That's probably a good thing.

Tubbo exhales and Ranboo feels it on his lips. It sends a chill down his spine, He smiles— they both do.

"Can that please be more than just, like, a one-time thing?" Tubbo asks, his voice barely above a whisper and yet Ranboo things he feels his words in his very core.

"Yeah," Ranboo replies, just as soft, if not softer— and quieter, and he's surprised that Tubbo even manages to hear it.

"Cool," Tubbo quips, smiling a bit wider.

"Cool." Ranboo mirrors.

[beaft]

BG3 is really testing me because my natural inclination in all situations is to be like "well, i think you should do what is best for you :-) <3" and then my companions are inevitably like "i want to kill an angel" "i want to ascend to godhood" "i want to become the most evil vampire in the world" like can we take it down a notch . please

[infernal-lamb]

Searching your eyes for the saint is an act of futility

something that's just been on my mind recently!

[petitelappin]

"For a moment or two I could see nothing, as the shadow of a cloud obscured St. Mary’s Church and all around it. Then as the cloud passed I could see the ruins of the abbey coming into view; and as the edge of a narrow band of light as sharp as a sword-cut moved along, the church and the churchyard became gradually visible. Whatever my expectation was, it was not disappointed, for there, on our favourite seat, the silver light of the moon struck a half-reclining figure, snowy white."

Mina and Lucy in the kirkyard at Whitby, August 11th.

[crybaby-bkg]

I think Deku has a bit of a mean streak, actually. he’s no Bakugou—that’s for sure—but he’s not this innocent, sweet angel baby that the media has painted him out to be. but you only catch it when you least expect it, when you’re pushing his nerves, when the stakes to everything around him are high, when he’s tired of endless sleepless nights and just—snaps.

“Oh?” you go, grin unfurling like some grinch, chin resting on your hands as you leer at him from across his expansive desk. “You’re mean.” your words are teasing, a snarl that curls your mouth up. Deku stutters, eyes going wide, jaw snapping shut in surprise as he tries to think back on how rude he just sounded.

“No, I’m not—I mean, you wouldn’t stop and I just—there’s a lot on my plate right now—and you just—you keep on—I’m not—I’m not mean.” He’s sputtering, hands all over the place, the glasses perched on the bridge of his nose falling even lower with how he jabbers on and on. it’s endearing really, to see how he tries to upkeep his image of being so kind and understanding, even though his nostrils just flared at you. and his eyebrows turned down and he gritted at you, his hands were balled into fists, his words were so nasty, so ugly, so unbecoming for Deku.

you liked it. loved it even—vowed to get him like this every single fucking second that you could.

you pick and poke at him whenever you see him, teasing him and pulling at him. pushing him around even though the hero is so much stronger than you, so much bigger. and he lets you, tries to defend himself but—that’s not what you want. you want the ugliness, the snark, the mean.

he snaps, eventually, when you least expect it. grabs you up in black whip when you go to push him against the wall for the third time in only a minute, his eyes suddenly dark, the aura of the room suddenly charged.

“That’s what I was looking for.” you whisper to him, the grin spreading your face quickly dissipating in only seconds when you become the prey. when you become the one pushed up against the wall with teeth at your neck, a hand in your underwear, bullying your hole with too thick fingers.

“Why do you want me to act like this? Be so mean to you, huh?” he sounds so frustrated with himself, with you, growling and nipping and licking when you don’t answer quick enough. but your breath is caught in your lungs because finally—finally, did you get what you wanted. it just took a little bit of pushing, you suppose.

[twinstxrs]

so much happened in this whole episode but i’m still on fig infiltrating ruben’s dream, making it look like the place where his friend was murdered, and then disguising herself as kipperlilly & repeatedly saying different variants of “somebody needs to take the fall for this, and it’s not going to be me. it’s going to be you.” while adaine as the elven oracle shows up next to her. can you imagine waking up from that, the idea of a horrible truth being pinned on you by your friend to save her own skin while the personification of fate and destiny stands there, almost as a promise that this is GOING to happen to you. we don’t even know if this kid is guilty. my god.

[turtleblogatlast]

Leo getting hit with a truth curse but instead of forcing him to admit to super sad or worrying things it’s things like “it was me who broke the remote” “I saw Mikey prank Donnie and helped hide it because it’s way funnier if he didn’t know who it was” “I rip my clothes to look more like Raph’s because he’s really cool” “my stripes aren’t even red they’re pink!”

[puppyeared]

Odd couple <3

[musubiki]

danmarch 🐉💎

[sketchz]

guess who speedran the game in 2 days and completely wrecked their sleep schedule

[freezethebeez]

c!Ranboo limbo study ft. c!Beeduo in gay love (aka lolza)

He's cried countless times–said 'I love you' countless times. He's yearned and yearned for 22 years.

info: angst, /r c!beeduo, mentioned character death

-> wrote this on c!ranboo's 22nd anniversary in limbo. obviously it's been longer now but yaknow ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ i don't even remember writing half of this tbh

-> fic below break

-

Ranboo doesn't think there's anything he wouldn't give to see him again.

"It hurts"

He struggles to write the words down. His hands don't feel like his anymore. They're cold. They've been cold for so, so long. He tries to imagine his hands here, reaching out and holding his. He imagines soft skin and warmth.

But there's nothing. Just cold air.

"Is he trying?"

He doesn't know if he wants an answer. He's not sure what will hurt more.

"Yes." Then why am I still here? Why am I still so cold? Why does my heart still ache? Why can't I move? Why can't I hear his voice? Why can't I see him? I want to see him. I want him back.

"No." Why isn't he trying? Has he tried? Does he even remember who I am? Have I been gone for too long? Please, I promise I still love you. I will always love you.

Ranboo closes his eyes. He sends the book off again. I feels like ice as it pushes it back into the void, and he can't bother to watch it float away.

It's been 22 years. He's been alone for 22 years.

He's cried countless times– said 'I love you' countless times. He's yearned and yearned for 22 years.

He's been hollow for 22 years.

He tries to imagine seeing him again.

Will he cry? Ranboo wouldn't cry. Ranboo would be strong for him. He's been the strong one for so long. Ranboo would not cry. Ranboo will hold his hands instead. Ranboo will trace each crack in his skin with his fingertips. Ranboo will hold him close and tight. Ranboo will listen to his heartbeat and fall asleep to the sound of him breathing. Ranboo will tell him that he loves him. Ranboo will tell him that he never stopped loving him, and that he will love him forever and ever and ever.

Will he hold Ranboo in return? Ranboo would want him to. Ranboo would want nothing more than to feel his hands cupping his cheeks. Ranboo misses his hands in his hair. Ranboo misses his fingertips stroking his back. Ranboo would hold him. Ranboo would hold him a lot. Ranboo would kiss his cheeks. Ranboo would kiss him a lot. Ranboo misses his kisses. Ranboo hopes he'll kiss him back.

Will he still love Ranboo? Ranboo would love him. Ranboo would always love him. Ranboo would never stop loving him because he is everything to Ranboo.He is Ranboo's sunrise and sunset. He is Ranboo's oxygen and blood. He is Ranboo's life.

And Ranboo supposes that he is dead. Ranboo supposes that Ranboo is speaking in hypotheticals again. Ranboo is hurting himself again. Ranboo does not mean to.

Ranboo wants to go home.

[horse-head-farms]

i can’t believe hypno would ruin beef’s lawn like that 😔

[sketchy-tour]

He has!!! ARIVED!!!!!

He's here he's here he's here!!!!!! Safe and sound!!! We sat down and did some coloring together!!!!

And also made sure he met his new neighbors! Had a nice chat with my childhood stuffed animal! Asking all about what his new home is like. And of course, he had to meet Boober Fraggle!

Watched some Winnie the Pooh together! I think he really liked it. I hope he felt warm and welcomed in my home. A nice and cozy first day here!

[tomboyyyaoi]

cutlery

[ghost-proofbaby]

my little scaredy cat

request: [anon] i would love to see watching horror movies with best friend!eddie and reader instinctively grabs his arm and hides herself against him and it leads to feelings and confessions haha

warnings: none! except it's unedited, which would be scary if that wasn't 90% of my writing on here lmao

pairing: eddie x fem!reader

wc: 3.1k+

i had a lot of fun busting this one out. it's just so cute and certainly how i wish i was spending my halloween! also, rest assured, i am also eyeing the other request you submitting anon. <3 happy haunting, my friends.

This was such a stupid idea. Such a stupid, stupid idea. 

You’ve always been a scaredy cat. Everyone in your friend group was well aware of it – you loved the idea of Halloween, but your poor heart just couldn’t take most of the frights that came with the eccentric holiday. 

It was fine, most of the time. If anyone had the urge to plan out a day at a pumpkin patch, you were eagerly accepting the invitation. If anyone wanted to bake any sort of sweet treats laced with pumpkin spice or caramel apple flavor profiles, you were already in your car and armed with the perfect recipe to help them. Someone wanted to peruse the decoration aisles of various stores? Wait no more, the perfect shopping buddy could be found in you. You, who could handle most of the trivial and sweet aspects of the holiday. You, who divulged in the more aesthetic side of it all rather than the scary side of it. 

Your distaste of being jumpscared or unnerved by gore and ghouls alike only really caused issues when it came to your best friend, Eddie Munson. 

His taste in experience of the frightful time of year was entirely the opposite of yours. It’s not that he didn’t like decorating caramel apples with you or that he didn’t find your choice in decorations cute, because he did. But he liked the terrifying aspect of it all – he liked the adrenaline rush of fictional danger. 

And friendship, in all its glory, is about give and take, is it not? 

Compromise. That’s what he called it when he’d begged and pleaded for you to join him in a movie night. Because the moment the suggestion fell from his lips, you both knew he had no intentions of watching one of your usual festive movies that only teased about the creatures that crept through the night. PG-13 films that didn’t really do it for him. No, Eddie Munson had insisted you join him for a movie night, and you both knew exactly what kind of movie he intended to play. 

You just hadn’t anticipated the scariest fucking movie you’d ever endured for the boy beside you on the couch. 

“Shit!” 

Your squeak is muffled over by the crescendo of creepy instrumental echoing from the small TV across the room. A cycle had quickly been found during this movie night; the movie would fall eerily silent as a tense scene arrived, you’d tense every single muscle so hard that Eddie could feel you shaking from the other side of the couch, and then once the jumpscare occurred and your small squeals were let out involuntarily, his own laughter would follow. 

“Oh, come on,” he coos a little, leaning closer to the middle of the couch, still a fair distance away from your figure bundled up in blankets that were being used more as shields than anything at this point, “That one wasn’t even that bad!” 

“To you!” you snap, yanking the fabric back down from your eyes only to glare at Eddie rather than look at whatever grotesque was plaguing the screen, “I’m a scaredy cat, remember?” 

And oh, remember he does. In all your years of friendship, Eddie had called you that nickname more times than either of you could count. He never meant it with ill will, but it was easier to tease you than to admit just how adorable he found your small reactions. 

Easier to tease than to admit just how badly he wishes you would seek protection or refuge from him during the scares he put you through. 

His face falls slightly, but he doesn’t let his small grin slip up, not wanting to give himself or his twinge of guilt away, “I’m sorry, kitty cat. C’mere – I can protect you from all the big bad monsters-”

Eddie’s opened arms are only met with one of the pillows you’d stolen off his bed to make the couch more comfortable. It smacks into the center of his chest with deadly aim and ferocious power, making him let out an exaggerated oomph. 

“Fuck you,” you grumble, adjusting the blanket around your shoulders now that the scare had passed. You almost tack on a comment about how he’s lucky you like him, because you would never endure this for anyone else.

Robin had tried. Steve had tried. Nancy had tried. They’d all tried to entice you in the scarier, classic Halloween experiences to no avail. Every offer of going to a haunted house, or attending the premiere of the newest horror movies at the local theater, were shot down before they even finished their sentences. 

Only one person could break your staunch demeanor on your limits. And right now, you sort of hated his guts. 

Eddie softens a bit, watching the way you pout and curl into yourself just a little tighter.

“Sweetheart,” he finally drops the cool guy demeanor, his voice gentle as he leans over with genuine concern, “We can turn it off, if you really want. Hell, if you want me to, I’ll put on something in your taste. Little Shop of Horrors, or maybe Beetlejuice? Those don’t usually scare you.” 

The offer is enticing. But you have a point to prove. 

“No,” you sit up a little straighter, square your shoulders with a little more defiance and faux bravery, “No, you wanted to watch…” 

You pause, and Eddie smiles softly as he supplies the title of his film of choice, “Poltergeist.” 

“Right, yes, Poltergeist. You wanted to watch it, so we’re gonna watch it.” 

Your stubbornness is admirable. 

Even when it falters. Even when another jumpscare has you ever so slightly scooching towards the center of the couch, no longer pressed to the opposite arm from Eddie in defiance. Even when Eddie spreads his legs casually, and you bump your knee into his thigh, the slightest touch bringing immense comfort.  

Once you discover that, it all seems downhill from there. 

A press of a knee against the side of his thigh turns into your side brushing his. Suddenly, the blanket you’d wielded like a weapon becomes shared. Moments where you try to hold up a barrier between your eyes and the screen cause slight disturbances in Eddie’s own vision. And then, it happens.

The thing he’d been diabolically planning for years. The one scenario he’d dreamt of every Halloween season, the one intention he’d held secretly every time he’d put your through endless scares. 

The one touch that could send him into cardiac arrest. 

He almost missed it, it happens so suddenly. One moment, you’re just curling up a little bit closer to him. The next, your arms fully wiggly their way around his bicep, capturing his arm in your grasp as your face buries into his shoulder. He can no longer smell the buttery popcorn or faint chocolate on his breath as you invade his space. It’s all sweet shampoo and subtle perfume that tickles his nose, skin against skin in a quick flush as he can hear the vibrations of your predictable scream against the fabric of his shirt. 

You hardly seem to notice the sudden entanglement of your bodies in all your fear — your knees practically in his lap and your torso clinging onto his forearm for dear life. You’re acting on instinct, seeking out humane comfort without considering what you were doing.

When you do notice, you don’t let go, only slacken your grip. 

“Oh, I-“ you stutter, pulling back slightly to look up at a stunned Eddie, “I’m sorry, that’s- I just- I was scared and-“ 

“It’s fine,” he cuts you off, eyes blown wide, “It’s… it’s fine.” 

It’s more than fine.

His heart races in a way no horror movie or haunted house could incite. Every nerve ending tingles, everywhere his body connects to yours burning in delicious warmth. He wants to spend an eternity like this — you, curled up to him, clinging to him like your holy savior. 

Years, and years, and years of wait pays off. Patience is surely virtue as those big eyes of yours look into his. 

After a couple awkward beats of silence, you whisper, “I don’t think I like Poltergeist.” 

Just like that, you have him laughing again. It’s slow and steady, a gentle chuckle that stirs from his chest in disbelief as he tries to thaw from his shock and yearning.

“You think?” he breathes out, tone not nearly teasing enough to cover up the shakiness. 

He swears he can feel your heart pounding against his shoulder. 

“Don’t be mean,” you start to scowl, slowly unfurling. But he stops you — angles his arm so you can’t slip your arms away as easily as before, tilting his head in closer.

“Mean? I could never be mean to you, my little scaredy cat.” 

“You’re literally being mean as we speak-“

And so, he decides to stop speaking. 

It’s impulsive and an even dumber idea than you enduring such a scary movie to be around him. But you look so fucking cute, his heart is tearing up his throat, and suddenly his lips are on yours in his largest spurt of bravery to date. Even more brave than the time he’d made himself a human shield between you and that dude with a chainsaw at the local haunted house, despite the way chainsaws actually kind of made him shit himself.

You don’t fully reciprocate at first. His lips are pressed hard against yours, tips of noses crushed and eyes fluttered shut, and he starts to believe he’s made a mistake. A terrible, terrible mistake that just washed years of friendship down the drain. 

Until your hands tighten on his bicep. Until that soft squeeze comes, and it feels like he can breathe again despite sharing the air with you. 

He breaks away for just a second, “I-“

“Don’t be mean,” you repeat your earlier words with entirely new meaning now. He opens his eyes and finds yours already pleading up at his face, glossy and desperate, movie forgotten. 

Those hands once squeezing his bicep let go and move to the collar of his t-shirt. Normally, he’d make a comment about you stretching it out, deforming the perfect fit that took him ages to wear in, but he can’t be bothered to feel anything but delight when you’re tugging him back in for another kiss. 

And the last thing he wants to be is mean. So he kisses you kindly, kisses you with all the care in the world that he had buried beneath his skin since the day he met you. Kisses you like it could scare away all the monsters that wait in the shadows. Like he’d lay down his life to protect you from the very frights he’d been subjecting you to for far too long now. 

“Hey,” he mumbles, pulling back briefly, “Hey.”

This time, his forehead doesn’t leave yours as he pauses the kisses. 

“God, Munson, I’ve waited for this God knows how long, sat through so many fucking scary movies, and you’re really going to-“ 

“Hold on, what?”

He’s grinning so hard, it aches. In his cheeks, in his chest, in the back of his head. Your words sink in and he relishes each syllable, even in your frustration.

“I- Uh,” you pull back suddenly, fingers still loosely tangled in his t-shirt, “I-“

“Enlighten me, sweetheart,” he insists, eyes finally fluttering back open to catch the embarrassment painted plainly across your face. You wear a nearly painful expression that only tightens as you know he’s watching you, “Just how many scary movies have you sat through wanting me to kiss you?” 

“Fuck off,” you sigh out, shaking your head a little, “I mean it. Fuck right off-“

“Cause I could probably give a ballpark number for how many times I’ve wanted to kiss you during them,” he continues on quickly, “Actually, I bet I could count how many times I suggested watching these fuckin’ films just for this moment only to chicken out.” 

Your eyes are open again in an instant. Sparkling with hope and realization of what he was getting at. “Excuse me?”

“Do you really think I’m that mean?” he scoffs, finally reaching up for your hands, surprisingly calm despite the delightful storm wreaking havoc in his chest. He takes your knuckles in his and lets his thumb trail right over them, “No offense, but if I didn’t like you, I wouldn’t have-“

“You like me?” 

Your voice is sweet as honey, bright and drowning out the horror movie still playing. 

He smiles, boyish glint and all, as he confirms, “I like you.” 

You put the first real amount of distance between the two of you since you’d started to cling to him out of fear, almost as if signaling that bravery beginning to bubble over in your chest, “You actually like me?”

“Yes. Is that so hard to believe?”

“No, I- Well, maybe,” you bite your lip, and he’s suddenly dizzy with the need to capture it between his own teeth, “I just… I always thought you might like someone a little braver.”

His nose wrinkles, hands still twisting yours in his, “Excuse me? I think you’re plenty brave.” 

“Eddie, you’ve said it yourself, I’m a goddamn scaredy cat.”

“So?”

“So,” you persist, shuffling so that your legs fold beneath you and you gain some leverage over him, “You’re the exact opposite. You love scary things. Not even just during Halloween, but year round. And you’re telling me you like me even though I’m a scaredy cat.” 

“I like you because you’re a scaredy cat, thank you very much,” he corrects you immediately, “I love the way you always need me to protect you. I know, I know — not very feminist of me. I’m sorry. It’s just- it’s really fuckin’ cute, y’know?” now that his floodgates have opened, he’s pouring out all the words he’s held back for so long, “And besides, you’re more than just a scaredy cat. You’re also so smart, so beautiful, so funny. Yeah, you scare easily, but you’re also the same person who is the first to put me in my place when I’m being an absolute little shit. And don’t even get me started on all the cute faces you make when you’re talking about things you actually like, or when you’ve been baking with Nance and have flour all over your cheeks-“ 

“Okay, okay,” you stop his rambling before he can embarrass you any further. Any more affection, and your face might end up buried in his shoulder again, “I get it. You like me.” 

It’s quiet for a few moments. The two of you only stare, both smiling stupid, the screams of whatever climax occurring in the movie not even reaching your ears. All you can hear is the echo of his words, of his admission. And all he can hear is the pretty way your breath catches when he gives a small squeeze to your palm. 

It’s nice. It should be more anxiety inducing, it should be more dramatic. Eddie Munson should be absolutely losing his mind right now because he just kissed his best friend he’s been in love with for ages, but he isn’t. Actually, for the first time in a while, it feels as though he’s finally found it — he’s found his mind, he’s found his peace as he’s staring at your shy expression. It just feels right. Like a sigh of relief from the Universe. 

“I like you, too,” you break the silence, unable to meet his gaze, “I mean, you probably already got that, but-“

“Say it again.”

“Huh?”

“I did gather that, but my God, please say it again.” 

Your eyes meet him, and another piece clicks into place. 

Right. It’s so fucking right.

“I like you,” you repeat yourself, a smile beginning to dance on your lips. He can’t help himself — he leans forward and pecks the corner of your upturned mouth, “I like you,” the repetition is music to his ears as he plants a second kiss on your cheek, “I like you, Munson.” 

His peppered kisses mark every inch of skin available to him, making giggles begin to escape you. You even try to hide from his onslaught, but it’s no use. He’s quick to drop your hands and wrap his arms around you, tugging you in close and trapping you against him as each kiss grows more obnoxious. Loud smacking sounds, deliberately leaving spit behind that has you squealing. It’s nothing like the squeaks from when you were watching the movie; these small noises are filled with a little more joy, a little more happiness that only fuels Eddie.

“Eddie!” you try to scold, placing two hands on his solid chest, “Oh my God, stop it. You’re gross.” 

“You love it,” he mutters with his mouth fully pressed to your temple, nose buried in your hair. That sweet, sweet shampoo intoxicating him.

You like him. He didn’t fuck it up. 

You finally go slack in his touch, succumbing and letting him place you in his lap, curled up comfortably as you sigh, “Yeah. Okay, maybe I do. Whatever.” 

“Oh, don’t act all tough now, kitty cat.” 

Your hands are curled back in the fabric against his chest and you share the wonderful ache he had been feeling in his own cheeks and bones as you look down at him with playfully squinted eyes.

When he ducks down for another kiss, you stop him easily, “Nope. First, I have a request.” 

“Anything.”

“Anything?”

“Anything. Name it, and it’s yours.” 

“Please turn off that goddamn movie.” 

He throws his head back in laughter that shoots straight for your heart. The kind of laughter that haunts a chilled autumn night as children prance the streets for candy, as teenagers get into mischief in distant bonfire parties, as elderly couples enjoy morning coffees over eerie fog. 

It kind of feels like home. It kind of feels like everything is as it should be, finally. 

“I suppose I can do that for you, my little scaredy cat,” he muses as his head tilts back forward, chest swelling with affection, “Besides, I think I know something we can do that’s a little more fun than watching the Poltergeist.” 

“Oh, yeah? And what would that be?”

His arms tighten around you as he suddenly throws the two of you to lay down on the couch, his body hovering over yours and pick necklace nipping at your chin while he reaches out to click off the TV. The weight of him between your hips feels even better than either of your wildest dreams.

Years. You couldn’t believe it had taken years for this, and neither could he. But patience is virtue, and he probably would have waited another thousand years for this feeling, truth be told. 

“This,” he says boldly once the TV buzzes in sudden silence, dipping down and continuing where the two of you left off. Two sets of lips fit together like the world’s easiest jigsaw puzzle.

It’s safe to say the rest of the night, any further squeaks and squeals you let out aren’t due to ghosts.

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[efplanning]

the shapeshifting wifeyyy