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#standard diving dress
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frogmanbob · 7 months
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Keys to the kingdom
2023 Sept 8
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regallibellbright · 5 months
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Played Fashion Dreamer until my Switch battery went low, so at least for short-term entertainment I suspect I’ll be able to get my money’s worth out of it personally, and spent some time afterwards reflecting on what I think it’s doing good at and where it’s falling.
As predicted I log into Online Mode and I am greeted by a vast and wonderful array of lolita clothes fitting into at least two distinct subgenres. Since I played more online than off, I’m pretty sure I got an overrepresentation of that branch of the design options, and the comparatively understated but still distinctly dainty stuff, but I saw at least a couple people preferring the more professional or cool looks, respectively. Relatively little of the cutesy pop stuff, which I’ve always had a soft spot for, but I DID get a very cute oversized sweatshirt dress with a polka dot stegosaurus on it in several colors, and that served me quite nicely.
You’ll notice all of this is talking about women’s fashion in a game that also has playable men in a first for Syn Sophia’s fashion games. The gender lock’s aggressive and annoying, and the fact that fucking SOCKS are gendered when headwear and earrings aren’t is baffling. I have to assume it’s something to do with the modeling by this point, because you can give a Type B body a bunny-eared maid headband and whatever earrings your heart desires, and I have. I struggle to see why you would then draw the line at equal opportunity fishnets. Hair isn’t gender-locked, awesome, and Type A bodies can actually have facial hair, which surprised me because my expectations were in the toilet by this point.
But yeah. The menswear. It may just be because I was playing mostly in online mode and therefore more at the whims of player choice the way I could recognize the heavy weighting towards lolita style for the women’s fashion wasn’t representative of the game as a whole, but all the Type B characters I ran into were generally dressed in an aesthetic I’m going to call “slightly generic 2020s boy band”.
Which sounds unflattering, yes, but I consider this a genuine improvement, because the 3DS games’ menswear was mostly an aesthetic I struggled to place for a bit before settling on “totally generic stock photo model.”
I’ll get comparative pictures for you all at some point, but genuinely. Legitimately. The 3DS games were bleak. There were maybe eight aesthetic categories for men’s fashion, total, to the fourteen non-bag women’s fashion brands with corresponding aesthetics. (Granted, one of them was “costume”, so you could argue thirteen, but especially in the later two games there was still a fair bit of depth to that brand such that it had a defined aesthetic.) All of the women’s brands and aesthetics were very distinct - you could tell the difference between “professional officewear” and either “preppy” or “luxury” at a glance, even if there were items that could fit into one of those aesthetics secondarily. With the men’s brands, you had four or maybe five, and there was heavy bleedthrough of the aesthetics they listed. Both the men’s and women’s fashion had categories for “bold” and “edgy”. For the women’s fashion, “bold” is clearly inspired by gyaru fashion and “edgy” is clearly punk rock. They have different brands. For the men’s… “edgy” is SLIGHTLY more punk, but it’s by degrees, and it’s not going nearly so far as the equivalent women’s fashion. They share a brand. In addition to those two, you had “basic” (simple items, solid colors and maybe some stripes,) “preppy,” (school uniforms and stuff, self-explanatory,) “bohemian” (also pretty self-explanatory, but you never saw it in the international versions - it was cut outright for Trendsetters and while some vestiges of the style existed in Style Star, no customers ever asked for it there,) luxury (you want suits? Here’s your suits,) and “contemporary” (more patterns and material textures than basic but the same general aesthetic.)
So: You could wear a suit, you could dress a bit like a rocker but a pretty mediocre one, or you could dress like, as I said before, a stock photo model. With an above-average tendency towards vests in Style Star, but still very much a stock photo model, or maybe a midbudget CW show.
And the more I think about it, the easier it is to articulate the issue with how the men’s fashion has been treated in Syn Sophia games. The women’s fashion has all these distinct and recognizable styles, including a bunch of varieties of streetwear - you’ve got gyaru and punk styles, you’ve got Decora/Pop Kei, you’ve got girly fashion that’s somewhere around cottagecore/mori aesthetics, you have stuff that would be suitable for an office. Gothic and sweet lolita have their own separate brands. While Style Star folded its athletic brand into the pop one, the first three games all had a dedicated brand for that… for the women’s fashion.
The menswear never had a dedicated athletic aesthetic. Not even a brand, since as mentioned there were like four of those. It didn’t have an aesthetic. And THAT is why Fashion Dreamer feels like an improvement to me already, because as sparse as my options are for the men’s fashion there are at least plenty of sweatpants at long last. (I am however struggling to find men’s jeans, and it took me WAY too long to figure out where the bit specifying what type a pattern was for was located.)
The men’s fashion in Style Savvy was consistently an afterthought. And you can tell, because athletic/athleisure clothes were a staple of the women’s fashion for the first three games and still present in the fourth, but totally absent in the men’s fashion. I can trust that there’s more variety for the women’s fashion in Fashion Dreamer and that I was getting an overrepresentation of the lolita stuff because that’s what’s most popular with the playerbase, because I know from past games that there was that depth and that the lolita fashion was particularly popular. I don’t have that same trust for the men’s fashion, not yet. And honestly I doubt the game will deliver for me, much as I’d love to be proven wrong.
But hey! At least this time around, I’ve yet to see an outfit that makes a male character look like the Distracted Boyfriend meme!
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fieriframes · 14 days
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[[ Laughs ] Starting at the cheese prom dress -- crunchy, tear it off, bite it like fried cheese. Toasted bread perfectly. Short rib is just unctuous.]
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inkdrinkerworld · 6 months
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Talk Too Much
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Pairing: Remus Lupin x loud but shy!reader
Cw: college!au, fluff, kind of friends to lovers, obliviousness by Remus for a while, drinking (mentioned), smoking (cigarettes), I think that’s it
Wc: 2.2k
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You’re a loudmouth. Through and through. Of all your friends, you honestly think you and James would be the ones to never shut up or run out of words.
That is until Remus transfers into the school and infiltrates your friend group and suddenly you find the words can run out.
It’s not on purpose.
It seems to take you over purely by coincidence- the way your throat gets dry and your tongue seems too heavy to form the words you want to get out when Remus seems to be paying attention to only you. His gaze isn’t unwelcome- that’s the entire problem.
You like the feeling of being what he looks at, but it feels too good, too natural.
His honey eyes that are just lightly flecked with green, and his sharp jawline that’s adorned with silvery scar tissue that somehow makes him even more handsome.
He’s also always got a cigarette to fiddle with.
You’ve only seen him smoke twice, and had been mesmerised by the way his cheeks hollow and how he blows the smoke out and it seems to curl around him like it’s unable to obey his exhales in the opposite direction.
He reminds you in a way of Charlie Dalton and Stephen Meeks.
Fctional characters who Remus seems to emulate in his confidence (from Charlie) and a sort of confidence that’s self-assured yet mild at the same time (a mix of the two) and that in itself makes you fall a little more for him.
It’s overwhelming- this attraction to him. It confuses you and has you tripping over words in your head, far less for if you voiced them and all that was heard were clunky excuses for sentences.
What makes your sudden bouts of silence obvious is the fact that your friends have caught onto you.
It’s not like it’s exceptionally hard to decipher either- you’re not really good at being subtle.
You suspect James and Sirius are taking bets on when it’ll all be too obvious for everyone to walk around it and you desperately hope that it takes months while simultaneously hoping it takes only weeks.
Remus notices the way your body freezes when you realise you’ve caught his attention in your storytelling. In his mind, it’s because you don’t like him.
The way you shrink down and suddenly go silent the moment his eyes set upon you, the way you remain quiet even though he sees the way the corners of your mouth twitch with something to say.
He thinks he’s put you off somehow, especially when the second he’s gone a little ways away to get a drink or get his lunch, you seem to perk right back up and dive into storytelling once more.
It bothers him so much he asks Sirius about it- a mistake in itself, because Sirius only pokes fun at his friend.
“If you can’t realise why she goes silent the moment you stare at her Lupin, I can’t help you.” Sirius walks off leaving Remus even more perplexed, moreso when he hears Sirius says, “How’s he so thick for someone doing so many higher classes?”
It bewilders Remus for weeks, your always sudden vows of silence and then your equally sudden broken vows.
You’re all at a house party when it comes to an almost end.
You’re dressed pretty like always, a skirt that hugs all the places Remus longs to touch and a top that shows a sliver of your stomach and Remus catches a glimpse of jewellery hanging in your navel.
Your ears have a pair of hanging bat earrings, and your necklace is your standard one- he’s sure he’s never seen you without it.
You’re smiling and laughing with Marlene and Mary as you walk in. Remus wants to figure out why you dislike him so, he desperately wants to change your sour opinion of him. He’s going to at least try to do so tonight, if you can stomach looking at him.
“C’mon losers,” James’ loud voice is unmistakable, “We’re playing seven minutes in heaven.”
Remus is only approaching when he hears your teasing,
“Are we taking a blast back to Year 9 Jamie?”
James nods, “Yeah we are, and would you look at that you and Lupin are up first.” You’re sure there’s an evil little grin on James’ face when you look up and find Remus standing there in his soft brown sweater and jeans.
You can smell a little of the cigarette he’d smoked before coming in, but mostly you smell his citrus, pepper and amber cologne.
It’s heady and you swear your brain gets a little drunk on it.
“Get going you two,” Sirius teases and you sigh standing.
Remus’ mind is reeling, wondering how he’s going to get back at Sirius and James and the rest of your friends that he knows are in on this too.
Out of ear shot of your friends as you both go to the nearest room, Remus says lowly, “You don’t have to come in. I’ll just tell them we talked.”
You look up at him, eyes wide and Remus takes your surprise as a moment to admire you up close. He counts three beauty marks near your right eye, another on your neck just under your chin, and one on your nose. He’s distracted by you for a good long while that he doesn’t register you’ve spoken till he sees you walk into the room and gesture for him to follow.
It’s tense, a silence neither of you are sure how to break.
You think Remus is the most gorgeous man to be placed on the Earth, and Remus thinks you find him repulsive.
You watch Remus climb onto the bed, his long legs crossed at the ankles as his back presses against the headboard.
His casualness makes him look even more attractive and while you’re aware that you’re staring at him, you can’t make yourself stop.
‘Now or never,’ he thinks to himself before asking, “Have I offended you somehow?”
There it is, laid open and bare. The question hangs in the air, like the most tantalising yet foreign fruit you’ve ever seen.
“No?” It comes out like a question. One Remus takes as a chance to explain.
“It’s just that you’re always talking or telling a story with the others, and as soon as I’m near earshot you go silent and you can’t meet my eyes. So I’ve been thinking that maybe I’ve offended you, and I just wanted to say sorry for if I did- directly or indirectly.”
Remus’ attractiveness has been upped by a thousand- you’re sure all the love deities are having a laugh at your hopelessness.
You can’t meet his eyes now, even as you sit on the bed, so close to him that your biceps brush each other’s. “You haven’t offended me.”
Your voice is much softer than he’s ever heard it. Remus thinks this must be the softest you’ve ever spoken in your whole life.
“I haven’t?” he asks and you shake your head. Hazarding a glance at him, you find Remus leaning his shoulder down, his chin tucked as his eyes roam your frame.
“N-no,” your stutter gives you away slowly. “You’re just different from the others.” It’s not a clearer explanation, but the gears are turning in Remus’ head all the same and you can tell.
“Different how?” Remus doesn’t want to assume anything and that’s what causes the gears to come to a screeching halt.
You sigh, fiddling with the hem of your skirt. Remus has never seen you this unsure. Everything you do is with confidence and ease, like you were just made to walk, talk and move the way that you do. Like it was as easy as breathing.
Maybe it’s the way you take your time to consider your words, or the way you fiddle with your clothes or even the way your breathing changes as he leans just a bit closer that makes Remus smile a little.
“Will you look at me for a second, darling gwerthfawr?” The softness of his tone and the way his accent changes to something a little more melodic makes you more jelly-like than you usually are in his presence.
“Hm?” you hum and Remus smirks. Silvery slithers of scar tissue moving with his mouth and making him look wicked in a way that has you falling a little more in love with him.
“Why don’t you like looking or speaking to me?”
Remus doesn’t let you turn away, doesn’t let you tuck your cheek to your shoulder as you deliberate what you want to say. No, instead, the menace holds your chin and stares at you, holding your gaze and making your brain cloud even more as his cologne and attention wash over you.
“I like looking at you,” you admit shyly, the confession coming from your lips with hesitation. Like Remus will be repulsed by the fact that you like looking at him. “But you make me nervous.”
The words are suspended in the quiet of the room. All there is the muffled sounds of the party going on in the living room, and then yours and Remus’ breathing.
“I make you nervous?”
Sirius and James burst through the door, wide smiles that turn into shocked smirks at your positions.
“Well love birds, sorry but your seven minutes are up.” Remus staggers in letting your chin go, but when his fingers slacken, you leave the room, belly in knots in the almost wordy confession.
“So, how’d that go?” James asks him as you bend the corner- he’s sure that Lily and the other girls will be doing the same with you.
Remus flops on the bed, “Nothing that concerns you two gits.” His mind is racing with possibilities of finishing this conversation.
Sirius boos, “After all that planning to get you two in here and snogging each other’s faces off, that’s the thanks we get?” Walking out with James who’s shaking his head.
-
“But you make me nervous,” repeats in his head for days. He’s not dense by a mile, but Remus has a hard time figuring out what about him makes you nervous.
Sure he’s tall and a little serious, but he’s not as intimidating as he’d first thought Sirius was. Remus doesn’t want to turn to his friends, sure they’d tease him endlessly for being ‘thick,’ and then more than likely tell you and that would just make you even more nervous to look or speak to him at the very least.
What Remus does do, is consult the best person he knows that will give him impartial advice; books.
There’s always a book for any occasion, so he delves deep. Behavioural analysis books, books on people with social anxiety (which he doesn’t think you have because it’s just him that gets the selective mutism) and even at the end of it, he turns to romance novels. Something must stand out.
It comes to a head when Remus comes to the library when you’re busy typing away at your essay. You feel the presence, the warmth of his pepper and amber cologne as he pulls the seat out beside you.
Remus doesn’t say a word as he sits down. Instead, he pulls out his laptop and begins typing at the same essay prompt you’re working on.
You’re hyper aware of everything he’s doing- every breath, every sigh, every harsh backspace and enter.
Remus doesn’t seem to be half as affected as you are and it has you whispering, “What are you doing here, Remus?”
He hums, tapping his forefinger near the touchpad. He finishes his sentence and then turns to you. “Working on that essay due tomorrow.”
You frown, lips pulled downwards as you think of your next words. “You know what I mean, why are you sitting beside me?”
Remus sighs, head hanging off the back of the chair. “I want you to not be nervous around me anymore. I also want to know why I make you nervous.”
You swallow, mouth suddenly dry.
Remus turns to look at you and the amber lighting of the library makes his skin look sunkissed and supple. His honey and sage eyes blink owlishly at you, no sign of rushing you along for an answer.
That was something you had learnt while silently watching Remus. He’s always actually listening- not just listening to respond.
“Because,” you start, eyes darting all over his face in search of any insecurity in it. “You always seem so hyper focused on what it is I’m going to say next and it flusters me.”
Remus’ face morphs into a smile, his lazy expression from before melting away as his eyes warm to your embarrassed whisper.
“So it’s not dislike?” He asks, hands itching to tip your chin up like he had the other night.
“Are you going to make me say it out loud?”
“Poor girl,” he feels much more confident now. Now that he knows for sure that you don’t hate him and that you might actually like him as much as he likes you, he can be a little more flirty.
His hand reaches for your wrist, thumb running back and forth around your pulse.
You scowl, more than a little bashful to have exposed your feelings to Remus. He doesn’t mind.
No, Remus feels over the moon. Enough so that his hand moves from your wrist and his forefinger hooks under your chin so you’re making eye contact again.
“I like you too. Just as much,” it’s his turn for a whispered confession and you hope to all hell that he can’t feel the thundering of your pulse. “Maybe more.”
You feel your body buzz under his attention. Remus leans in closer, “Let me take you out after this? We can go somewhere quiet and have a proper ‘first’ conversation.”
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cowgirlcherrie · 7 months
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☆ WISHFUL THINKING. loser! sbf! ellie williams headcanons
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♪ 𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠…wishful thinking by benee
a/n: here are just some quick head-canons of loser ellie, ellie is best friends with the readers sister, basically like bbf! ellie but girls girl coded dynamic.
warnings/content: 18+ MDNI. a nsfw section. breeding kink. switch!ellie. kissing. petname usage. ellie is so loser…LOL but it intertwines with canon ellie. cursing. dirty talking. finger sucking. edging. mostly toothrotting fluff for the first section
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─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
౨ৎ loser! Ellie owns an obscure amount of graphic tees with silly slogans on them:
“I ♡ HOT MOMS” or “I ♡ MILFS” or “BIG DICK IS BACK IN TOWN”
** I can’t find the post but one of my mutuals had an exact post of how she would dress…adam sandler core fr
When she gets complimented on them, she does not know how to take a compliment. When you found one of the slogans funny, your hands delicately intertwined with the fabric of her shirt as you tugged the fabric — with your phone hovering over the bolded text to take a picture – Ellie was sweating bullets beneath your touch.
౨ৎ loser! Ellie dismissed you the first time that the two of you met; she moved like a shadow whenever you were around; if you were talking in the kitchen, she would completely walk out of the room and just avoid the area. At first, you thought Ellie stopped coming around and being friends with your sister until you actively caught her turning on her heels and just heads in another direction.
౨ৎ loser! Ellie goes to your college and is a year above you but you didn’t know she was going to JSU (Jackson state university) because you thought she was planning on community, so it was a shocker to see her around campus because she actually would say hi to you or sit and chat if she wasn’t with Dina or Jesse.
౨ৎ loser! Ellie is obsessed with Jurassic Park and owns all of the DVD collections. She even has posters up on the wall that is stills from the movie and ones she was able to find with a deep dive online *cough* Reddit *cough* Facebook marketplace *cough* 
Frequently she tried to get your sister into it who gets sick of her asking–  but kept on nagging at Ellie to ask you instead, and with many dab pen hits and a quick pep talk in the bathroom, Ellie built up enough courage to ask you to watch it with her. 
The two of you bonded over having crushes on Ellie Sattler which was the first time that Ellie realized that you liked girls and she might have a shot with you.
“It’s even better to watch when you’re high because the dinosaurs are all like-…woahh”
౨ৎ loser! Ellie enjoys it’s always sunny in Philadelphia and parks and recreation, and would definitely enjoy emergency intercom or just podcast-y youtube channels 
౨ৎ loser! Ellie sucks at eye contact, whenever you start talking to her she rubs at the back of her neck, and looks at her feet, twirling the necklace that’s tucked closely to her skin and her shirt. She just doesn’t stop fidgeting. Her face gets all red but she plays it off that Joel kept on turning the heater on when there was no need for it.
౨ৎ loser! Ellie wears flat-brim vintage hats, especially some with corduroy fabric, and apart from her standard arm tattoo gets silly patchwork ones, like one of a drawing she did for Joel. Has a lot of rings and especially enjoys the spinny ones.
౨ৎ loser! Ellie who collects Savage Starlight comics, as always, is surprised when you tell her you found some copies in the bookstore that was actually going to get thrown away but you bargained with the owner to buy the barrel of the books because you knew she would like to have them. She gets all flustered when she realizes that you were thinking of her and it brings the craziest smile to her fast that you took enough time to remember such minuscule detail about her. 
“Do you– uh- do you want me to pay you back?”
౨ৎ loser! Ellie wakes up late all the time when she sleeps over at your house like I’m talking 11-12:30 pm and will walk around the house with messy hair, a large t-shirt and boxers, and dry drool patch on her mouth and down her cheek until she realizes she had been watched for the past few minutes by you who was scared shitless because you didn’t even she spent the night.
౨ৎ loser! Ellie in traditional Ellie fashion uses cursing as a coping mechanism when she gets nervous and doesn’t know what to say:
“I don’t fuckin’ know ask your sister”
“That’s fuckin cute… I guess”
“Oh – Fuck you!”
౨ৎ when your sister started this thing every two weeks where there is a girl’s night, she’d invite Ellie over for a sleepover and the sleepless night would be full of gossip, painting each other’s nails, drinking cheap wine that Ellie got from the gas station down the way —  primarily a self-care night, it takes a lot of convincing to get Ellie to join in but once she does, she regrets it slightly. However, she tolerates it because she can use it as an excuse just to see you and learn about what is up with your life or if you started seeing anyone.
౨ৎ loser! Ellie who bitches and cries when she has a facemask on, and is hissing and spewing curses under her breath every few minutes, with a fluffy headband on that is pushing her auburn hair back, begging you to take it off; meanwhile, you are applying a clear coat on her nails because she would complain about any other color but she keeps tensing up.
“Ow! What the fuck is in this…it hurts, take it off! Take it off!”
౨ৎ loser! Ellie when the summertime rolled around, meant she would be spending way more time with you and your sister – eventually, your sister goes to the locksmith and get Ellie her own key. Ellie will be indulging in pool days with you which is a recipe for disaster
She is tripping all over the place, and terribly applied sunscreen on her face which cast a slight ghostly white cast on her face, adding to how stunned she was to see you in a swimsuit, but she couldn’t look away and caught herself wandering her eyes to places she probably shouldn’t have. 
Underwater kiss! Underwater kiss! 
But she tries to play it off and acts like it never even happened the next day. But when Ellie closed her eyes all she could feel was your wet lips on hers, as the two of you were grabbing at each other and the way for a second time slowed down and all she could feel was the movement of the water and your hands on her skin.
When she applied sunscreen wrong and asks you to fix it for her, gets so embarrassed as you rub your hands over her face to moisturize the sunscreen into her face, but every time she opens her eyes she just sees the view of your boobs in the bikini you are wearing and just squeezes her eyes shut. Visibly pretends to bite her fist when you’re done
౨ৎ loser! Ellie 100% asking strangers on Reddit how to confess for you with crazy ass headlines, 
F(22) IN LOVE WITH MY BEST FRIEND'S SISTER F(21) ADVICE? If a girl’s arm lingers on you for too long does it mean she likes you? (F) Good pick-up lines that aren’t cringy for gays only…please How much does astrology and birth chart compatibility really matter? 
౨ৎ loser! Ellie splits her sandwiches with you and gives you a jacket when you are cold because even though she asks you a million times and you said no each time she asked. She still brings a jacket just for you — and how she would scold you for not bringing one. (all out of love though)
“You fucker! I knew you would be cold, see this is why I said to bring a jacket” 
Pretends to be angry but really she was waiting for this moment.
Eventually, you build a collection, having 3 of Ellie’s jackets in your room, which was Ellie’s subtle excuse to be able to talk to you. 
౨ৎ loser! Ellie doesn’t hesitate to pick you up from an on-campus party, and her heart shatters when you are crying because you had a shitty night and you don’t want her to tell your sister. Takes you to whatever fast food is open at that hour even if that means she’d have to drive 30 minutes extra just to make you smile.  
“Shh…sweetheart terrible nights happen it’s okay”
“Are you hungry?…cuz’ like I’m fuckin hungry” Ellie whispers amidst a thick awkward silence, mentally cringing and wanting to bang her head on the steering wheel as she grips the wheel until her knuckles turn white.
Suddenly becomes good with comforting people when it comes to you, but anyone else – the spinny wheel of death appears above her head as she struggles to formulate a good sentence. 
౨ৎ loser! Ellie who hates when you bring up anyone you start talking to or that you are going out with, will sit there with her fist tight and jaw clenched whispering to you:
“There are people who can treat you way better”
And by people she really means herself. 
౨ৎ loser! Ellie who set off the fire alarm once by accident because she was hotboxing in her room with Jesse and Dina and almost got a dean’s office summons and tried to blame it on the neighbors next door. 
౨ৎ loser! Ellie when Ellie tells your sister that she likes you, your sister makes the most disgusted face at her, but becomes Ellie’s wing-woman and kinda tells Ellie all of your likes and dislikes, which Ellie has a whole page in her journal with facts about you. 
“can I have your blessing to uh…date your um, fuck sorry your sister?”
“ellie please shut up I’m gonna throw up”
౨ৎ loser! Ellie has pictures of michael cera as her icons on every form of social media.
౨ৎ loser! Ellie gets flustered easily over indirect kisses, like sharing food or sharing drinks, and suddenly she becomes so hyperaware. 
nsfw 𖦹⋆彡🫧꩜♪⋆
౨ৎ When Ellie started having more than just friendly feelings for you…her whole demeanor changed, the tension was so thick it could cut with a sharp knife. Subtle touches suddenly had more meaning and her body felt like someone lit a match with gasoline dripping from her body and set her aflame. 
౨ৎ after an accidental confession that leads to the two of you dating, lewd thoughts from the shadow of her brain came after and she couldn’t control it — initially was too embarrassed to tell you and had nights where she would just walk to the bathroom and try her best to get off in the shower but it only got her so far before it wasn’t helping or doing enough and at this point she needed to actually touch you
౨ৎ That time she slept over and was sleeping on your couch, hoodie on her body with the hood up covering her face, blankets falling off of her body giving a full view of her sleep boxer shorts. When you walked by to go grab a drink of water around 3 am you could hear her moaning your name in your sleep.
౨ৎ is one of those people who seem bashful, sparky, and innocent throughout the day but in the sheets is the biggest freak ever, she becomes another level of unholy.
౨ৎ a breeding kink! Definitely owns one of the squirting dildos because she loves to watch the way liquids drip out of you when she’s done, will sit back pulling at your folds with her fingers with the shit-eating grin on her face that reads I did that 
“Look at you~” “all fucked out for me” Ellie speaks coly and in between breaths as her head reaches down to put kisses all over your face.
౨ৎ Ellie likes to see how much she can get away with, smacks your ass, pulls you back by your belt loop, sticks her hand way too far up your thigh, moans high pitched in your ear during public settings 
౨ৎ falls asleep with her hand on your boobs, god forbid she’s having a nightmare, she starts squeezing them in the midst of it. 
౨ৎ makes dick jokes talking about some:
“My pullout game is not weak thank you very much, if that was the case we would have had a lot of children already”
When listening to rap music that goes into heavy description about fucking humps the air sometimes to the lyrics...not elaborating she's hella immature LOL 
౨ৎ The minute the two of you go out and one of your friends says how she is a simp and how you have all the control in the situation, Ellie will make sure you know that she indefinitely has the upper hand. It’s like a switch flips in her head she gets so ruthless and so mean, she doesn’t want you to forget it either and fucks you until you can’t think
You will be moaning and clawing at her back as she pounds in a rhythmic motion in and out of you, her mouth would get so filthy, smirking as her fingers rub over your lips as she slips her thumb in for you to suck,
“but …do your friends know that you cry like this under me? that you look so pathetic under me?”
“Who’s in charge again cuz’ I fuckin’ know it’s not you”
“Are you cumming? Oh no you don’t…let me see you” “What if I just stopped right now?”
Likes to edge you, no doubt.
౨ৎ a switch likes to be topped or touched but also likes to be the top
౨ৎ whimpers whenever you touch her like a puppy, her eyes get glassy and her face gets red as she lets out low mewls of your name, and suddenly it’s like you’re an angel hovering over her and your touch is an addictive drug that she never wants to stop having.
౨ৎ  Overall just the best girlfriend ever, with a combination of silliness and fun in one, a big ol’ dork that is really just obsessed with you.
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© cowgirlcherrie
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tornioduva · 2 months
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Dungeon meshi and body proportions
Ok, i'm feeling the rush i got from binging the manga this last week is starting to fade away, i'll be back to being a normal person soon i think. at least, that is before i find a new something for me to dive into uhuh.
Before that happens, i want to praise Ryoko Kui for one last think. The design of the characters!
For years i've expressed (maybe not so much online) my hate towards the "anime style", this homogenization of traits and beauty standards to an artificial degree, and the mass spread and consumption of it. yes, trends exist for a reason, this is not the first nor the last art current to be popular and i'm not the first detractor of one in history. I do think there is something uniquely harmful in this one though, and that is why i'm able to find the energy to be such a pretentious dipshit about it. That is a discussion for another day though.
All this to say that going through Dungeon Meshi and seiing these characters, plus (and in a way because of it) all the additional sketches of the daydream hour bonus sections, was such a breath of fresh air! (at least for what concerns japanese exported stories)
All i could say and praise in regard to character designs in general is perfectly expressed in this video, which i recommend you to watch if you want to hear my opinions (and the video author's too, uhuh):
youtube
I want to leave you though with at least one specific praise for me: Falin.
i've seen countless time people (online) just not understanding how people's body work, how much differences there can be and how proportions do distribute and affect the body. in anime I see a lot of short and tall people (mostly women girls) that share the same proportions despite their actual height, and that often leads to think "yeah, she is short" and than she's tall when around someone, or (most often) the contrary. same lenght of limbs, same head to body proportions, and little details like this.
Falin you can tell at a glance she is a tall woman before she's around anyone, even when she is standing near her brother who is taller than her.
Kui did her homework in studying bodies and variations, and, whether consciously or not, she differentiated her in body in subtle but fundamental ways: her head being slightly smaller than her body, the neck being fairly long, and her having somewhat broader shoulders.
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I accept that there might be an element of suggestion at play here, considering also how she is dressed most of the time, but I really do think there is a direct effort at differentiation here.
This is the first time in a long time (in a series like this at least) where i've seen a woman carrying herself around others and the space around here kind of like a person like me, tall, would; at first i didn't think much of it, but then i saw her near other characters and....i don't know, i felt a warm, joyful feeling, seeing that i was right in recognizing that trait and being right.
I was especially happy in seeing her next to marcille. not so much for the height difference, but for how different they were in proportions and mannerism. A lesser manga i fear would have used marcille's body type and way of moving and interacting as the default for most other girls, but here she was uniquely herself!
Now, i could've used more extreme exemples to show how this author rocks in body types representations (while aknowledging there could've been even more diversification still), given there are far larger, taller and stranger women, but to me, nailing the little, most subtle details in such a chirurgical manner shows a greater level of mastery and comprehension. As such, Falin left me with a deeper fascination than most other characters.
Sorry for this wall of text, but i needed to let my happy thoughts go, so that i could be free again uhuh.
Feel free to tell me that i'm wrong, or that i should just accept anime media as is. i'm just really happy Dungeon meshi exists as is and i want Ryoko Kui to keep refining her craft, and drawing beautiful women and dwarves.
Plus, this was very much a stream of consciousness, i didn't go into technical details about what i think conveyed what i described, but if someone is interested, or does not get what i'm saying (while expressing it in a curious and gentle way, i won't respond to spiteful assholes), i'll be happy to make a follow up post in which i try to dissect this! For example, i didn't reread the whole manga to find examples of her, i just went to the wiki uhuh. in a follow up post maybe i'll try to go through chapters and pick more specific examples of her.
Anyway, have a good day!
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sarawritestories · 2 months
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My Beautiful Angel
Cassian X Plus Size Fem Reader
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A/N: This was written with the song Beautiful by Bazzi and Camilla Cabelo basically on repeat.
Summary: Cassian comes home from a mission and Y/N is happy to see him. He insists that the IC goes to Rita's. Y/N finally wants to tell him her feelings to find that he's flirting heavily with the bartender and she leaves. The General follows ands clears the air
Content Warning: 18+ Minors DNI, P in V, Oral M receiving. Smut with little plot, Fluff
Word Count: 3.8k
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Sitting in the dining room eating my dinner alone, Azriel went to the townhouse to see if anyone needed anything, Cassian was out on a mission Rhys sent him out for last week. The house was lonely without those two stomping about and finding some petty thing to argue about, which always turned to them ganging up on me. I sigh thinking about how I miss Cassian, he hasn’t been out on a mission for this long since before the war. The way he wraps his arms around my soft stomach and pulls me close and always stays close during outings, especially with meetings from other courts.
I shake my head clearing my thoughts of the Illyrian general and dive back into the book Nesta let me borrow. Diving into a love story about a prince and a mermaid, the mermaid gaining legs during the day found her lover and he pressed her against the wall mouths colliding with a reverent fervor. I adjust in my seat trying to mask the arousal that is beginning. The prince’s hands roam down the mermaid’s body grazing across her slick center.
A warmth kissed the shell of my ear, “You know that’s going to rot your brain. Right.” The low rumble of Cassian’s voice jolted me from my seat, slamming my book shut. I stood up and was about to scold him for sneaking up on me but before I could he grabbed my waist and spun me around. When he stops, he pulls me close to his chest. “Oh, I missed you, Sweetheart,” He kisses the top of my head.
He puts me down and I smile patting his cheek, “I missed you too, Cass. How was your trip?”
He rolls his eyes, “A standard mission.” He wrapped me in his arms again, “I’m just happy to be home.” I wrap my arms around his waist and place my head on his chest. My heart skips at the contact I must remind myself that touch is one of the ways he shows love and that this isn’t him wanting to just take my scent in. “So, we’re celebrating my coming home by going to Rita’s.” That got me squirming out of his grasp, but he holds me tighter. “You’re coming, too.”
I groan and get out of his grasp, “But I wanted to finish my book tonight.” I grab my book and immediately it’s taken out of my hands. “Cassian!”
Cassian waves the book above his head and bends down to make eye contact with me, “You can get it back when we come tonight.” He gives me a shit eating grin that I want to slap right off. “Now, go get dressed and meet me back here so we can meet everyone at the Townhouse.” I glared at him, and I quickly try to jump and grab my book, but he stands to his full height, and I fall short. The general extends his arms to the hall leading to the bedrooms, and I stick my tongue out at him and head to my room to change.
I picked a silver silk gown that has thin straps and a corset back that accentuated my generous cleavage the bodice rouching to beginning the skirt had a slit that starts at my hip down as the skirt flows down to the floor it highlights the stretch marks on my thighs that I enjoy. I place my hair in soft curls pinned half my hair in a bun, letting the rest of my curls flow down. With a pair of heels that I laced around my ankle I make my way back to the dining hall, where I see Cassian with his hair down, black slacks and a white button up shirt that the top unbuttoned his chest tattoo peaking out. I give a low whistle, “Looking good, General.”
Cassian grins and looks up and his face falls into something I don’t recognize. His Hazel eyes graze down my body from the diamond choker around my neck to my dress and zeroes in on the slit of the skirt and his eyes darken, I wrap my arms around myself unintentionally pushing up my chest. “Something wrong, Sweetheart?” Cassian asks his voice sounds like he is gritting out the words.
I bite my lip, “I feel like with that look on your face I need to change, you know I think I will go do that.” I’m about to turn when a calloused hand grips my wrist.
“I’m so sorry, I just wasn’t expecting that dress, I’ve never seen it before.” He kisses my cheek, and I can feel the heat rushing to them. “You look beautiful.” He scoops me up in his arms and gives me a saccharine smile, “Ready?”
“The things I do to get my book back.” He pinches the pinches my side and I giggle, “Lead the way General, just don’t mess up my hair.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” And we take off into the skies.
Once we get to the house, I notice familiar shadows and I hop out of Cassian’s arms before his feet touch the ground. “Azriel!” I leap into his arms, and he laughs wrapping his arms around me.
“Brother, I think she gets lonely when we’re gone.” Az says to Cassian as he pulls away and looks at my outfit, “Y/N are you trying to get Males and Females on their knees tonight. You look ravishing.” A growl emits from somewhere but when I turn in that direction, Mor, Feyre and Cassian were beginning to walk towards Rita’s.
Rhys kisses my cheek, “What did he do to get you to come out? You hate going out to Rita’s?”
I meet his violet eyes and cross my arms, “He is keeping my book hostage.”
Azriel snorted. “Smart. I should try that.” I scowl at him, and he loops his arm in mine, “Come on, we’re going to make you earn that book back.”
The three of us finally met up with the rest of the group, the music in Rita’s thrumming in my ears. Mor flagged us down and Rhys says, “I’ll get the three of us drinks.” with that he walks over to the bar as Azriel, and I go and sit with out friends. A seat is open by Cassian and he pats the spot next to him. I sit and instantly Cassian splays a wing around me and he nudges his knee against mine and I give him a smile.
Rhys comes back with drinks and a round of shots for everyone once everyone has a shot glass in hand, “To Cass and Az coming home.” We all cheer and take our shot, a shiver racks down my spine from the burning sensation. I sip my drink and the drinks keep filtering to our table. After a few drinks, Mor grips my hand, “Come on hotstuff, we are dancing.”
 I groan and face the General a playful smirk on his face, “You owe me.” He chuckled as Mor pulled me and Feyre to the dance floor. Once we reached the dance floor the music consumed me, and I let my body lose and began to sway my hips to the beat. Mor and Feyre were following my lead as we twirled and swayed, and I found myself laughing, enjoying myself and letting myself feel beautiful in my beautiful dress. I feel confident enough to tell Cassian how I feel.
“I’m so glad you came out tonight, even if Cassian had to keep your book hostage for it.” Mor yelled over loud music. I gave her a nod and a thumbs up in agreement.
After a few songs I make my way to the bar to grab water. Sweat coating my brow as I got closer to the bar, I saw Cassian and saw him laughing with the bar tender. I walk closer to him, and the bartender grips his face and presses her lips to hers. Shock runs through my system followed up with hurt.
Rhys, I’m going home, tired, tell everyone bye for me.
Rhys responded quickly, want me to take you home?
No, I’m going to walk. Thanks.
I sever the connection and make a bee line out the door. The cool breeze cooled my overheated skin. I cross my arms as bumps raise on my arms in response to the rapid chill and begin making my descent home.  Thunder booms across the sky and one drop falls on my cheek, and another and the sky opens on a down pour. “I should have stayed home.” I murmured.
I feel dumb, I have always interpreted Cassian’s touches and actions as him being interested when Cassian has always shown his love through touch. I can’t help but let my worst insecurities rise to the surface, he was a general well trained, his body a weapon. My adventures only fell in books and stories told from my friends and I have seen the females Cassian has taken to bed and they are drop dead gorgeous with bodies of warriors. I have always carried more weight and I never have felt shame or ugly because of it but-
A firm hand grabs my arm and spins me around and I meet Cassian’s eyes. “I tried calling you like 3 times.” He shouts over the rain.
“Sorry. It’s just loud. What are you doing out here?
Cassian’s brow furrowed, “You left, Rhys didn’t say why. I was worried.”
I waved him off, “Don’t worry about me I was overheated and tired. Go back and have fun I’ll be good.” I turn once more but his grip on my arm tightens slightly, and I turn back, and his white shirt is completely see through his abs and tattoo on full display. “Cass.”
“It wasn’t because you saw the bartender Kiss me?” He asks to close the distance between us.
I shook my head, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I look away from his gaze as his arm snakes around my waist. Neither one of us disturbed by being drenched in the rain.
“Sweetheart, I was blindsided by the kiss, her lips were not the one I wanted tonight.” He curls a finger under my chin and makes me face him, his eyes dark no hint of hazel.
“No?” I whisper.
Cassian smiles and highlights his chiseled tan face, and my knees feel weak, “No. I was hoping a vision in silver would kiss me.”
Oxygen flees from my lungs as I slide my hands up his chest, “Cass.”
“Y/N,” His hands glide down to my plump ass and digs his fingers in, and a gasp escapes my lips, “May I?”
I almost whimper, “Please.” He bends down and crashes his lips into mine. His lips wet and warm in contrast to the cold ran against my skin. He nips my bottom lip and I moan in his mouth as he squeezes my ass again.  I pull away from him and he growls in protest as I kiss his nose and his eyes flutter shut, “Take me home, Cassian.”
Cassian eyes meet mine and there is playfulness there as he scoops me in his arms and launches into the skies. In mere moments we land on the balcony that leads to his room and he opens the doors and only when we are by his bed did, he set me down. The house closes the door and Cassian’s lips are on my again. His one hand grips the back of my neck, the other sneaks through the slit of my dress his knuckles grazing my bare center. He groans as he finds no underwear there and slides a finger in and I gasp, and Cassian takes it as an opportunity to slide his tongue in my mouth. He begins to slide his finger in and out and Cassian moves his lips from mine and slides toward my neck and he adds a second finger.
“Cassian.” I moan as I lean my head back. His canines bite the tender flesh of neck and his thumb rubs my clit. I began moving my hips, meeting his pace in stride. “Mother spare me. I reach up and grab my breast to get more friction the cold rain already stiffening my nipples.
Cassian releases my neck with a pop and I his voice is lust filled, “Look at you, riding my fingers, wicked little thing, aren’t you.” He picks up his pace and circles his thumb on the sensitive bud and I move my hips in time with his fingers. “Come for me, Pretty girl.” He curls his fingers and I release a lewd moan as stars flicker on my vision as my release overtakes me. Cassian takes his fingers out and licks on as he makes eye contact with me. He closes his eyes and moans, “You taste delicious, Y/N” He holds his finger to my lips my arousal flooding my nostrils, “Open, Sweetheart.”
My heartrate spiked as I opened my mouth for him as he slides his fingers in and suck my juices clean off his fingers, His free hand caresses my cheek, “So fucking beautiful.” I close my eyes and hum at his compliment.
He pulls his finger out and he pulls undoes his pants and pulls them down until his cock springs to attention. I look at the plush reading chair in the corner and an idea form “Go to the chair, General,” He quirks a brow but walks over to the chair and picks up his wings to get comfortable sitting. Once he rests his wings, he spreads his legs.
I prepare to untie my heels when Cassian voice goes, “Those stay on along with that Choker, Sweetheart. Everything else off.”
I begin unlacing my dress and once its loose enough, I slowly pull down the straps facing Cassian, I tug down and turn quickly as I reach my breast, turning my head to give him a wing and slowly remove my dress swaying my hips for him until the dress is pulled at my feet. I step out of my dress and drape my arm over my chest and turn to him. He is breathing rapidly, and his hand is fisting his cock. His white shirt no longer covering his beautiful body and lust over runs my brain as I slowly lower to my knees and his eyes widened. I lower my arm and place both hands on the floor, my breast on full display and the focal point of the general’s gaze. I begin to crawl to him, and he groans leaning his head against the chair. “Fuck,” he moans.
When I reach him, I grip my hands on his calves and slowly raise my hands to his as sit myself in between his legs, “Do you know how long I have wanted to do this, Cassian?” He moans as my hand replaces his. “How often I touched myself thinking about a moment like this?”
Cassian’s eyes met mine, and he smirks, “Show me, Y/N.” I returned his smirk and while maintaining eye contact, I lick from the base all the way up to the tip of his cock his hips jerk slightly. I let my tongue swirl the tip the taste of his precum inducing the lust as I begin to take him in my mouth. His large hand slides through my hair as I take him deeper and deeper. I relax my throat to prevent me from gagging. Cassian fists my hair and pushes my head lightly, “Tap my thigh twice if it’s too much. Tap once if you understand.” I tap his thigh once, “Good girl.” I begin bobbing my head and he moans, I hollow my cheeks, and lift my eyes to meet his pure desire over his handsome features.
I picked up the pace drool pooling at the corners of my mouth and after a few moments Cassian tugs my hair, “That’s enough, I want to be inside you.” I take him out of my mouth as a line of spit that connects from my mouth to his tip. He leans forward and swipes my bottom lip. “You’re so beautiful.” I could feel the heat creep up my cheeks. He stands and holds out his hands, sliding mine into his own he lifts me up and with ease lifts me up and I drape my arms around his neck as my legs wrap around his waist. He presses his lips to mine and I tangle my fingers in his hair. His kiss is urgent and hungry, and he digs his fingers in my soft skin as he walks us to the bed.
Cassian lays me on the bed gently and pulls away from our kiss, he stands removing his pants completely and his soaked shirt. His tattooed tan skin and brood muscles are on full display. I watch as his eyes glazing over my heavy breast, my round stomach and the stretch marks and cellulite that brushes my skin. I instinctively cover myself with my arms he gently grabs my arms and pull them away, “Don’t hide, Sweetheart. I’m just admiring your stunning body,” He kisses my hand, “You’re fucking perfect, Y/N,” and he leans down and kisses my stretch marks on my thighs and moves up to the ones on my stomach, and he moves to my breast, and he places my nipple into his mouth swirling his tongue causing me to arch my back. His large, calloused hand grips my other one and squeezed it and I moaned and lifted my hips.  He releases my nipple with a pop, and he kisses up my neck and my cheek. “I fantasized about having you in my arms, in my bed for so long.” He strokes his thumb across my cheek.
My breathing became labored, “Really?”
He kisses my lips so reverently and he presses his forehead to mine, “Gods yes, since that first day we met, the first time you smiled at me I wanted you. I just knew that you needed a friend first, so I tampered off my feelings.”
I cup his face in my hands and whisper, “I’m yours, Cassian, I’ve always been yours.”
Something primal stirs in his chest, and slants his mouth over mine, his thighs move to spread my legs apart. The kiss is possessive, and tongue and teeth and I grind my hips to try to get friction between my thighs. He chuckles over my lips, “Does my girl, want my cock now?” I moan at him calling me his girl and I nod my head, “Words, Sweetheart. Give me your words.”
“Yes, please, General.”
He hummed, “Well since you asked so nicely.” He slowly guides his cock into my center going slow so I can adjust to his size. My eyes rolled into the back of my head as he stretches me out. The hand that cups my cheek and my eyes met his, “Stay with me, Sweetheart.” I nod my head, “You, okay?”
“Cass,” He tilts his head, “Please start moving.”
“As you wish, Gorgeous.” And he pulls himself out almost all the way until he slams all the way into me, and I arch my back, Cassian tilts his head back and groans as he thrusts in a slow steady pace. “You feel magnificent.” He leans back down and cradles his head in the crook of my neck, I move my hips to meet his pace and he starts nibbling on my neck leaving little love bites on the column on my neck.
His hands find mind and laces our fingers, and he gives my hands a squeeze, and I whimper as his cock hits the right spot, and I murmur, “I love you.”
He stilled and his hazel eyes meet mine, “What did you say?”
I look at him and give him a smile, “I. Love. You.”
Cassian’s stunned face turned into one of pure beauty and happiness, “I love you too, more than you could possibly know.” He quickens his pace, and he leans his head against mine and growls, “You’re mine.”
I smile as sweat coats my brow, “And you’re mine.” He releases one of my hands and his hands finds my swollen clit and my hip jerks at him swirling his finger on it. My climax building in my stomach, “Cass, I’m close.”
He continues his thrusts and whispers, “Come with me, Sweetheart.” His hand works in time with his thrust and him squeezing my hand keeps me grounded. I moan and he swallows the sound with his mouth. And my stomach coils tight and my eyes roll and Cassian roars his wings flaring out, as we both finish together.
Cassian slowly pulls himself out of me and I groan in protest. He chuckles, “Insatiable little, minx.” He goes to his bathroom and comes back with a rag and cleans me up. Tossing the rag aside he lifts my leg and begins to untie my heels on my one foot. Tossing the shoe on the floor he begins to massage my foot and I hum in contentment. He sets one leg down and lifts my other leg and does the same process.
Cassian scoops me up and pulls the covers back lays me back down pulling the covers over me. I watch as he walks to the other side of the bed, his wings tucked in and slides in. He pulls me closer, and I place my head on his chest the steady rhythm of his heartbeat a sweet melody in my ears. He wraps his arm around my waist, his hand rubbing up and down my side. “I didn’t think I was good enough for you.” I whisper.
His hand stilled, “What?”
I slide my hand to his and I trace the line inside his palm, “I’ve seen the females you’ve taken to bed; I don’t look like them.”
Cassian snorts and resumes rubbing my side, “No, your beauty blows theirs out of the water. Not to mention, your kindness and your love for your friends, your love for books and fuck if your smile doesn’t make me want to fall on my knees for you.”
“I love the way I feel safe in your arms, the way he always holds me close especially when you’ve been away for a while. You always have made me felt love and safe and even before tonight made me feel like I was the most beautiful female in the world.”
He kissed the top of my forehead, “You are, Sweetheart,” He pulls me closer, “My beautiful, Angel.”
A thought crosses into my head and I lift my head and meet his honey-colored eyes, “I think I earned my book back, General.”
Cassian laughed a boisterous laugh, and he lightly kissed my nose causing me to giggle, “In the morning, for now let’s go to sleep.” I place my head back on his chest and fall asleep to the steady beat of his heart.
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eddies-house · 6 months
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Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7 | Ch. 8 | Ch. 9 | Ch. 10 | Ch. 11 | Ch. 12 | Ch. 13 |
Smoke Signals
Chapter Seven - Halloween
W/C: 10K
Eddie x Fem reader - Grumpy!Bartender!Eddie x Shy!Reader
Or where you show up to the town's biggest Halloween Bash and you unexpectantly take on the roll of a babysitter.
A/N: this is a long one..and tbh some of it isn't edited...but i'm super excited about this one but also nervous.
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Bass bumped through the unfamiliar house, vibrating all the way down the driveway and to the street where you stood.  Shouting could be heard, no doubt a collection of drunks getting overly excited about something usually mundane.  Fog smothered the driveway, a decision you felt was made by someone sober at the time of setting it up only to neglect the fact that everyone would be wasted by the time it got dark, sending people tumbling down the driveway in their drunken state.  It did add to the atmosphere though, a nice touch that gave it that eerie, spooky feel the owner was probably going for.  
As you trekked up the lengthy and steep driveway, a mock graveyard sat to the right, taking up the space that would usually be the front yard.  Fake limbs stuck out of the dirt and splatters of blood painted the plastic headstones.   A lonely skeleton sat propped up against one, his arm hanging around it as if it were his good friend.  Some pumpkins appeared to be slaughtered and littered throughout the yard, the guts surely rotting in the grass and in one of the trees, hung a hopefully fake body, swaying in the chilly breeze.
From what you had heard, the owners went all out every year, Halloween night being their specialty.  The closer to the house you got, the louder the music and the louder the voices got.  Donnie had told you that it would be a rager but you severely underestimated her words and took them as a joke.  You were already hesitant to even attend but now, you were fully questioning if you should even dare to step through the door.  It’d be smart to turn around now and go home, maybe watch a few movies and indulge in that candy you’d bought and placed in a large bowl on the coffee table at home.  Half of it was gone of course, you stealing a piece here and there throughout the past week.  You could stuff your face with the rest if you left now.  
No. 
You had to be brave and walk through that door with confidence.  Even if it was fake.  You were never going to meet new people if you kept hiding away in your tower.  This town was never going to feel like home if you didn't start treating it like it.  Donnie was the closest person you had to a friend and as much as you appreciated her, she was more than half your age and had a whole family already.  She mentioned that people ‘your age’ would definitely be at this party, everyone went to this party.
You can’t miss it.  She assured.
But on another hand, no one would miss you anyway, no one ever did.  Even if they did know of you.  There was no harm in trekking back down the driveway and rushing home to snuggle up in your pajamas, right?
No, you have to do this.  You have to push yourself out of your comfort zone even if it feels like you're diving off a cliff.  But what if everyone stares at you?  And whispers about how they didn’t invite you?  Donnie promised anyone who’s anyone attends this party, even people from a few town’s over who hear about it from a friend of a friend.  So why couldn’t you shake the feeling that you just didn’t belong?  That you were intruding.  
Everyone’s gonna hate me.
It was especially embarrassing that you were wearing a Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz costume.  It wasn’t even all that out there but you felt so uncomfortable without your standard wardrobe.  You felt as if your ruby red glittery heels would suddenly draw unwanted attention, your pigtails making a mockery out of you even if just for the costume.  Everyone dressed up so why were you the exception?  Why were you the only one they would single out, especially in such a common Halloween costume?  You were sure there would probably be much more flamboyant costumes, ghouls and goblins covered in blood, zombies with ungodly amounts of face paint, and even vampires with those ridiculous plastic teeth.  No one made fun of them so why were you so insecure?
Every possible outcome ran through your brain while you stalled on the doormat.  That is until two men dressed in chicken suits bursted through the door, cackling while they set up for a smoke break on the front porch, completely missing you as you stood there terrified.  They leaned over the railing as they went on, slurring about how crazy it was that someone had somehow punctured a hole in the keg, a seemingly impossible task.  
You took the opportunity to slip in through the cracked door, gently closing it behind you as you entered the chaos that was the famous Knife’s Edge Halloween Bash.  Strobe lights flashed in the corners of what you could make out as the living room and the regular light bulbs in the ceiling were all switched out for purple and green, adding to the ambience.  The floor was hidden beneath a sea of people dancing their hearts out to Thriller by Michael Jackson, some attempting to actually perform the dance, and others simply flailing their limbs around and hoping for the best.  
A rather convincing mummy was stealing the show, everyone else creating a circle around him as he danced like no one was watching.  Not one person glanced your way, either too intoxicated to notice or just unbothered seeing as there were already over a hundred people occupying the house.  The line of cars you’d seen up and down the street should have given that away but to be fair, you were too busy running circles in your head and rehearsing how you were going to walk in.  All of that went straight to the garbage once you saw the nature of the place.  
Everyone was too caught up in having fun to take note of a timid Dorothy sneaking through the front door.  Fun.  Something you couldn’t see yourself having unless you had at least a drink or two in you.  It’s sad but it was the only way to loosen up around such a large volume of people. Sobriety was not an option unless you wanted to remain an anxious fly on the wall.  
The only issue was finding the source of alcohol, more than likely in the kitchen which you had yet to locate.  In order to get anywhere, you would have to weave through the crowd of sweaty bodies, the smell of tequila and beer already filling your nostrils just by standing a few feet away from them.  
Taking a deep breath, you clutch your little wicker basket close to your body and begin squeezing in between people with a polite ‘excuse me’ accompanying every accidental touch.  Along the way you pass a preppy cheerleader, a few stereotypical vampires, a cowboy and a cow, a dentist, and some guy with a fake chainsaw covered in fake blood.  You’re finally able to see your destination just through a large archway, relief already finding you as you inch closer and closer. 
The kitchen’s fluorescent lighting is a major contrast to the purple and green throughout the rest of the house.  It still follows the spooky theme, however, with an orange tablecloth draped over the island and purple and orange streamers hanging from the doorway.  On the island sits a large punch bowl filled with mysterious red liquid along with a stack of red cups and a few choices of liquor next to it.  A bowl of pretzels and some Halloween themed cupcakes are placed next to that, and at the other end, is a bucket of candy along with some various kinds of chips.  
Hanging from the chandelier is a homemade ghost using a torn sheet, the eyes and mouth filled in with sharpie.  The floor is sticky as you slowly make your way forward, most likely the mysterious liquid that had been spilled several times throughout the night already.  More shouting can be heard from the living room, some kind of dance off being announced that you would gladly hide from.  So far, you didn’t recognize anyone although it would be pretty difficult to seeing as everyone was dressed up.
Gingerly, you grab a cup and scoop the smallest amount of the mystery liquid in.  Upon taking the tiniest sip, you can determine that it's some kind of jungle juice.  A hangover in a cup.  With disgust written on your face, you discreetly throw out the remaining juice in the sink, instead opting to take a shot or two to loosen up.  Maybe just one for now.  You learned your lesson when taking four straight tequila shots at a time and didn’t need a repeat.  Especially at a party with several hundred people as witnesses.
So you fill the bottom of your cup with some whiskey, a generous shot.  Throwing it back, it goes down a lot smoother than that tequila had, the burn being mild but still causing your face to twist.  The cup is discarded in the trash, cutting yourself off before you can get ahead so as not to get absolutely wasted within minutes.  If you had an appetite, you’d snatch one of those delicious looking cupcakes but unfortunately, you needed to pace yourself.  Nerves and alcohol didn't make for the most stable stomach and you were already feeling queasy just from the mere thought of having to socialize with strangers.  
Exploring further into the house, you exit through the other archway leading into a dining room that displays even more food than the kitchen, a whole buffet laid out for guests including potato salad, macaroni salad, various horderves, snack mix, a giant bowl of M&Ms, and more.  A dream for a child, dinner and dessert all in one.  
A few partygoers were scooping some food onto their plates, chatting about who knows what while you moved on to the next room which appeared to be the family room.  The TV played some kind of horror film while absolutely no one watched it, the room almost empty aside from a couple in the corner making out.  
A few pops and some celebratory yells are heard just out the back sliding door, drawing you in.  The closer you got,  you could see someone dressed as a scarecrow holding a bottle of champagne overflowing onto the deck.  You were curious as to what everyone was celebrating but got cold feet when you reached for the handle, your hand glued to it but not putting any effort into actually sliding it open.  Just as you decided you were going to chicken out and find a corner to hang out in instead, someone points at the door, outing you, causing your blood to run cold in embarrassment.  When the scarecrow turns around, you can see that it's Donnie, face paint pulling her whole look together.  
At the sight of you, her face lights up, hands thrown up in excitement as the champagne she’s holding sloshes over and further coats the deck.  She doesn’t seem to mind, as she hands off the bottle to someone else and makes her way over to the door, sliding it open.  Your cheeks begin to feel hot as people stare at the interaction, unwanted attention that you could’ve escaped had you been quicker.  
“You made it!”  She just about squeals, giving you a tight squeeze.  
She had clearly had a few drinks, unafraid of any affection as she previously stated that she hated friendly affection of any kind, more prone to use her words to show appreciation.  But you didn’t mind, Donnie was the one person you were comfortable with and your one friend so if she happened to show affection while under the influence, so be it.  And maybe by her doing so, you wouldn’t appear to be such a freak to what seemed to be her friends.  Maybe it would grant you acceptance into their circle.  
“I made it.”  You repeat with a polite smile.
“So we were just popping some champagne we found.”  Donnie explains.  “No rhyme or reason, we just found it inside and thought, hell lets just go at it.”
Nodding, you try to appear as enthusiastic as possible, covering up your anxiety to the best of your ability.  People were still staring at you and it was proving difficult to just ignore it, holes practically being burned into you.  A few of them you recognized as regulars at the bar but the rest were complete strangers.  Either way, you were intimidated.  
“You want some?”  Donnie offers to which you begin shaking your head frantically.
“No, no, I’m okay!  I already had something and I have to drive later anyway.”  You explain.
Donnie nods understandingly before starting a dreadful introduction to the group.  She points out Brian, Sam, and Wyatt, her sons who were fully grown, the oldest Brian, being around thirty.  You didn’t catch who was the youngest or middle since Donnie was talking so fast.  Then she reintroduces you to her husband, Nathan, who you had previously met at the supermarket though Donnie didn’t seem to remember in her current state.  Then there were the owners of the house, Crystal and Gabriel, a very nice couple in their forties who made Halloween their night and everyone knew it.  Apparently Thanksgiving was Donnie and Nathan’s holiday according to a little comment uttered by Crystal.  There were what seemed to be a dozen more introductions though you couldn’t recall every single person.  You only remember Donnie skimming by an introduction to Jett’s mom, Kristy who seemed like a lovely woman.
Thankfully, once everyone was acquainted with you, they seemed to move one rather quickly and continued on with their festivities.  A fire pit sat in the middle of the deck, crackling away while a few individuals rested on the chairs circling it, warming themselves up.  Some orange lights were wound around the railing accompanied by some fake cotton spiderwebs.  Everyone held a drink in their hand except you and you were starting to regret not at least carrying your empty cup with you to occupy your awkward hands.  Rookie mistake.
Your breathing becomes increasingly shallow with each passing second, panic settling in as you attempt to remember how to act like a person.  You almost contemplate rushing off to the bathroom to hide but quickly scrap the idea, knowing Donnie may take notice.  Instead, you stupidly shuffle your feet in place, trying to ground yourself with no luck.  
In your inner turmoil, you can vaguely hear everyone else engaging in conversation about their lives or some silly story.  Something you didn’t care to tune into as your inner monologue chants at you to run.  Even with the one shot that you thought would relax you, you still feel your shoulders tensing and your jaw tightening anxiously.  If anyone were to initiate small talk with you right now, you’d come off like a dunce, thoughts unable to form gracefully.  Tonight was definitely a bad idea and you should’ve just stayed home where you knew your place.
Uncomfortably, you remain standing as everyone passes around the champagne.  There was no way to dismiss yourself without seeming like you were rude and awkward.  This was hell.  
“Okay, elders!”  You hear a familiar voice from around the corner, steps clunking up the deck stairs.  “We got your drugs, now pay up.”  
Jett emerges, a second pair of steps heard behind him.  He’s dressed like a greaser, hair slicked back as he wears a white shirt tucked into his tight jeans.
“We got the goodies!”  Eddie singsongs from behind him, dangling a plastic bag full of weed.  
Eddie seems to be dressed as…himself?  With a bit of smudged eyeliner.  His torso is covered with his standard black leather jacket and he’s pretty much wearing what he wears in his day to day.  Except when he dramatically flings his leather jacket at Jett, he sports a very revealing cut off shirt, all ripped and torn.  And his fingernails are painted black.
“Jeez, Eddie!  You’re gonna catch a cold, put that back on or go inside!”  Donnie scolds.
“‘M fine.”  He mutters, tossing the weed at Jett who just barely catches it as he drops Eddie’s jacket to the floor.
Donnie sighs, giving up on the argument seeing that Eddie was too stubborn to listen.  Suddenly you feel yourself warm up, the chill October air no longer pinching at your cheeks as they grow hot again.  Not out of embarrassment this time. 
“Gon’ get ‘nother beer.”  Eddie mumbles, stumbling toward you though he doesn’t realize it yet.
“That kid gives me a headache and he’s not even mine.”  Donnie says.
“Hey!”  Eddie whines, turning back toward the group mid stride.  “You claimed me ‘s one ‘f your own, ‘member?”  He points at her.
Several people chuckle at the scene while Donnie rolls her eyes and waves him off.  He was clearly a lot more intoxicated than everyone else.  His waddle toward the sliding door is evidence enough.  
“Drink some water, boy.”  Nathan advises.
“‘Rink some water.”  Eddie mocks in a high pitch to himself while hiccuping before colliding into your shoulder.  “Oh shit.”
Stumbling backwards, you stabilize yourself while his hands reach out and rest a bit too comfortably on top of your shoulders, heavy handed.  Almost as if he were using you to keep himself up.  When you dare to glance up, you’re met with heavy, glazed over eyes, bloodshot and decorated in smeared black liner.  His lips paint a perfectly content smile as he sways back and forth, unbalanced.
“Bambi.”  He cooes.
“Hi.”  You whisper, startled like a mouse.
“Heyyy.”  He draws out eyes becoming even heavier if possible.
“Um—“
“Munson, get off ‘er.”  Jett laughs, shoving Eddie to the side.  He manages to save himself from face planting into the deck, leaning himself against the side of the house.
“Should kick ‘yr ass.”  Eddie mutters, glaring at Jett.
“No one wants you leanin’ on ‘em like that!”  Jett defends.  “Hey, Bambi.”  He greets you.
At this, Eddie appears enraged, his face visibly going red as he shoots Jett a glare that no one would want to be on the receiving end of.  Everyone else seemed to have moved on, paying no mind to Eddie’s sudden shift in mood.
“Hi, Jett.”  You reply, a friendly grin gracing your lips.
With a grunt, Eddie pushes off the wall and storms inside, evidently pissed about something.  Jett shares the same confused expression as you, shrugging while he starts asking how you are, if you’re enjoying the party, and if you’d seen the huge array of food they had out yet.  You answer all of his questions to his satisfaction but mentally, you’re trying to track Eddie down.  Trying to understand what set him off and made him leave with such irritation.  Had this been the first week you met him, you would’ve dismissed it as his normal temper but now that you’d known him for almost two months and gotten to know how his emotions function, you knew better. 
He had also clearly been under the influence which could mean nothing happened and his emotions were just sensitive.  But you had a strong suspicion that there was a definite reason he abruptly got angry and rushed inside.  No one else seemed to notice, aside from you and Jett.  And he obviously paid no mind and didn’t intend on going after Eddie so maybe you were missing something.  Or maybe everyone was also blinded by their intoxication and you were the only sound minded individual in the group right now.
“Oh and then—“
“I think I’m gonna head inside, it’s kinda cold out here.”  You interrupt Jett’s tangent on his and Eddie’s journey down the road to collect the weed they had been sent to pick up.
“Oh well just take this.”  He says, snatching up Eddie’s jacket off the ground and handing it to you.
You should’ve come up with a different excuse though to be fair, you didn’t think he’d hand you Eddie’s jacket.  He was supposed to follow your lead and let you go inside.  Wasn’t he concerned about Eddie too? 
“T-thank you.”  You clutch the jacket in your hand, draping it over your forearm.
“Yeah!  So we were just walking—“
“Jett, I’m sorry I’m gonna run to the bathroom, okay?”  You cut him off again.
You felt bad for seeming so uninterested in what he had to say but you couldn’t go much longer without knowing if Eddie had gotten himself into trouble.  He was super out of it from what you could tell and it was eating away at you.  It only made it worse that he was so angry and if you were the most sober one at the party, it would be in your hands if something happened to him and you knew he had run off.
“Okay—“
Before Jett can get another word in, you spin on your heel and rush inside, the music still blaring and everyone still screaming from the living room.  The whole house felt like it was vibrating, your body buzzing as the bass dropped.  That same couple still remained in the corner making out, their stamina impressing you.
Entering the kitchen, there’s no sight of Eddie, only a few guests topping off their drinks and toasting to themselves loudly.  Realistically, you should take another shot to calm your nerves but this nightmare of an evening needed to be cut short and you would need to drive home as soon as you found him and returned him to the group.  
Dreadfully walking yourself back into the living room where the heart of the party beats, you focus on each individual, attempting to spot the one dressed in all black with almost no shirt, tattoos, and a head full of brown curls.  It proves to be more difficult since the lighting was so dim and the strobe lights left you seeing spots.  
Everyone seems to be having the time of their life and here you are, worried sick about someone who never thinks twice about you.  Even before he arrived you were having the worst time and wanted to go home immediately.  Halloween would’ve been perfect if you stayed home where you couldn’t make a fool of yourself in front of people.  
“Tequila!”  A woman dressed as a slutty maid shouts, carrying a tray full of shots past you, only eliciting a gag from the back of your throat at the smell.  “No tequila for you then.”  She jokes, you shaking your head as you cover your nose.
It was obvious that Eddie wasn’t going to hit the dance floor after getting so infuriated. Unless that’s the first thing he would do in his state?  You weren’t completely sure but you were almost certain that he wouldn’t.  As a large group gathers around for shots, you manage to escape down a hallway where you imagine the bathroom might be.  It’s completely dark, the only light coming from underneath a door on the left, probably the bathroom.  At the end of the hall is what looks like a bedroom, the moonlight shining in from the blinds to just barely reveal a bed.  
No one seemed to be in said bed, an empty room for people to crash in at the end of the night.  Eddie could be in the bathroom but you’d have to be sure before leaving.  With a shy knock on the door, struggle to hear any voice that might respond.  Pressing your ear to the door, you try again, only to be met with the annoyed voice of a woman saying she’ll be out in a second and that she was fixing her lipstick.
Clearly not Eddie.
At this point you’ve covered the downstairs, no sign of the man so far.  He would be good at hide and seek, you assume.  Or maybe you’re just the blind.  Retracing your steps back out into the living room, you collide with a few bodies, none of them paying any mind to the impact as they continue to dance, flailing around like rag dolls.  You didn’t think it was possible for the room to get any more humid but you were proven wrong, sweat grazing your arms as you pass by and attempt to avoid touching anyone, failing miserably.  
Your perfect ruby heels are starting to kill you, digging into your skin in all the wrong places, making it more difficult to walk with every step you take.  You know for sure that come the morning, you’ll have blisters that will be bothering you for days.  Reluctantly, you slide them off and scoop them up, dangling them by your fingers, Eddie’s jacket still hanging off your arm.  You were becoming a walking closet.
Going upstairs didn’t seem like a great decision seeing as this wasn’t your house and you didn’t want to give Crystal and Gabriel the impression that you liked to snoop around.  Although, if someone did see you, you could just vouch for yourself by saying you were looking for a bathroom and the downstairs one was taken already.  So up you went, nervously glancing behind you.  The coast seemed clear, not one person paying you any mind, the party still capturing their undivided attention.
Like magic, Eddie appears as you reach the top of the stairs, leaning against one of the doors as he weakly knocks, his forehead pressed to the wood.  He was gorgeous, the perfect image of an 80’s rockstar gone 90’s.  His back was nearly on display, shoulders all broad and waist lean.  You could make out bat wings tattooed symmetrically on his shoulder blades and something along his ribs.  The sight flustered you but you were here for one purpose and that was to retrieve him and get him back to Donnie so she or someone else could keep an eye on him.
“Dude, ‘urry up!”  He whines into the door,  pounding on it with more force.  “Hafta piss ‘n maybe throw u—up.”  He hiccups.
You want to giggle but quickly remember how miserable that feeling is, your stomach rejecting you and releasing its contents in protest of the alcohol you continue to bombard it with.  You realize that no light pours out from underneath the door which meant the bathroom had to be available.
“Eddie, I don’t think anyone’s in there.”  You offer, slowly walking up behind him.  
“Pfft, it’s locked.”  He scoffs, hitting his forehead against the wood with a thump.
When you reach your hand toward the handle and twist the door open, he gasps, nearly falling head first into the bathroom.  It wasn’t thought through, opening a door with a grown man leaning his full weight onto it.  Luckily, he catches himself, hands gripping the countertop as he sways.
“Shit, I’m sorry.”  You hiss, voice tinged with regret.
“‘S okay.”  He mumbles, pulling his zipper down.
“Oh!”  Covering your eyes, you shut the door.
“Wait, wait, wait!”
“Eddie, I am not standing in there with you while you pee!”  You yell through the door.
“God.”  He groans, a stream following.  “Just—I know!”
“I’ll stand right here and make sure you don’t fall and hit your head, okay?”  You bargain.
“Okay.”
After several seconds, you don’t hear any movement, worry kicking in once again.  He couldn’t have hit his head, you would’ve heard it.  What if he passed out but didn’t hit anything?  It was pathetic, the way worry would grow inside you solely for him.  Just when you begin a countdown to burst through the door to check on him, you can hear the unmistakable sound of him puking his guts out.  Now you wonder if you should go in anyway and hold his hair back.  
Dry heaving is heard through the door, the awful sound the only thing you can focus on.  You can’t take it anymore.  You can only hope he remembered to zip his pants back up in his drunken state.  Opening the door, you reveal Eddie hunched over the toilet, his hair draped over his shoulders, clearly in his way.  You rush to his side, dropping your heels and his jacket in the process and collecting his curls in your hands, pulling them back as he breathes heavily, drool hanging from his mouth.  His eyes are wet and his hands are shaky as they grip the toilet seat.  You feel as if he should be vomiting in your lap for payback for puking on him that one night.  
“Ah shit.”  He complains, shaking his head.  “Round two, get o—out”.  He gags.
Throw up was the embodiment of the most disgusting thing you could ever think of, smell and everything but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care at this moment.  Even with his clammy skin and pukey lips.
“It’s okay, just let it out.”  You encourage him, hesitantly running a hand over his back, regretting doing so as you feel the muscles under his skin tense.
“Seriously, out.”  He almost vomits, swallowing it down.  
The action alone should be enough to have you jumping up and leaving but you stay.  
“Eddie, just puke it all up.  It’s fine.  I’m gonna hold your hair.”  You tell him.
He shudders, glancing over at you with his bloodshot eyes.  It’s like he’s shooting daggers at you before his eyes soften involuntarily, irises becoming that caramel toned warmness you were becoming more and more familiar with.  His pupils are dilated, huge planets in the middle of his eyes, clearly high and drunk though you still recognize the puppy dog-look he was giving you.  
“Eddie, if you don’t puke right now—“
As if on command, he lunges forward and spews out the rest of his stomach.  The sound makes you wince but you try to hide it as best as you can for his sake.  It’s not his fault his body is reacting to the substances he put into his body.  Maybe it is his fault since he put those substances into his body but regardless, you felt for him.  Once it has to come out, it has to come out and there’s no going back.  
“There you go.”  You soothe, fingertips gently raking up and down his spine.
“Fuck.”  He whispers into the bowl, spitting out a huge glob of saliva. It would repulse you if it were anyone else.
“It’s okay.”  You whisper just as quietly.
Grabbing the toilet paper and folding it a few times, you rip it and hand it to him to clean himself up.  You linger for a few seconds, waiting for him to grab it but he only continues to stare into the toilet bowl, hands braced on either side.  Just when you’re about to speak up again, he goes in for a third round.  You can’t help but feel bad for him even if the smell is nauseating you.  
“You want some water?”  You offer, standing up in preparation to go find him some.
“No, stay.”  He blindly grabs the hem of your dress, wiping his mouth with his forearm.
He didn’t seem to have a follow up reason as to why he wanted you to stay but you do anyway.  It was still a concern of yours that he stayed hydrated but you would tuck the thought aside momentarily to appease him.  
“Okay, what do you need?”  
Finally, he relaxes, his stomach seemingly empty now as he sits back against the wall.  A sigh leaves his lips, relief slipping off of them as he gazes up at the ceiling.  Shutting his eyes, he shows no indication of responding anytime soon, his pale face exhausted.  Sitting down beside him was your best bet, that way if he did decide that he needed to spill his guts again, you were there to assist.  And it was especially comforting to sit there just in case he passed out since he was at risk of hitting his head against something.  He was obviously still out of it, sobriety seeping in very slowly, the room more than likely spinning from his perspective.
“Dizzy?”  You ask.
“Mhm.”  He hums, squeezing his eyes shut as if it would aid in steadying the room.
“You need water.”
“Mm.”  He disagrees, shaking his head.
“Yes, it’ll help with the dizziness…probably.”  You tell him, standing up once again.
This time he doesn’t protest, the message sinking in.  You do, however, worry what could happen in the seconds that you’re gone.  But, you have no other options right now.
“Stay here—Eddie, stay here.  Do you hear me?  Don’t move.”  You try to drill into his brain.
All he offers is a weak nod, unable to even open his eyes.  Satisfied enough with the response, you speed out of the bathroom and down the stairs into the kitchen.  It was easy enough to grab a cup and fill it with water, dodging the wasted party guests that had gathered around the counter to play some kind of drinking game.
“Hey, where did you run off to!”  Jett calls over to you.
Carefully, carrying the cup of water as not to spill, you turn around to meet his cheerful face.  He had clearly gotten into that weed stash as his eyes were even more bloodshot than Eddie’s and his face was the most relaxed you’d ever seen it.  And he was a pretty laid back guy so that was saying something.
“Oh, uh, Eddie’s not feeling good so I was just helping him out.”  You explain.
Jett offers a suspicious squint, eyes glimmering in mischief as he reaches for a cupcake.  
“What?”  You ask genuinely.
He shakes his head, sticking his hands up in surrender which only makes you question the strange boy further.  What was going on in that hyperactive mind of his?
“Nothin’”  He smirks, orange icing coating his upper lip.
You didn’t have time for him to elaborate, if you could even get him to.  You just needed to get back upstairs, you had already been gone for a few seconds too long, worry burying in your gut like a parasite.
“Okay, I have to get back to Eddie and make sure he hasn’t done something stupid.”
“Mmmhmm.”  Jett giggles.
If only you had the time to interrogate him and inquire as to why he found that so funny.  But you didn’t.  Leaving him behind to laugh to himself, you can just barely make out one last word as you turn on your heel.
“Lovebirds.”
Your eyes grow ten times bigger as you scurry away.  Did he think that’s what this was?  That you were on your way to hook up with your boss?  Did it look that way to everyone else?  Jett was going to rat you out for something you weren’t even doing, you were convinced.  No matter how nice of a guy Jett proved he was, he was higher than a kite and could start up a rumor like wildfire if he relayed his suspicion to anyone.  It’s possible you were being paranoid but come the morning, if there were rumors floating around, you knew exactly who to blame.
Trying to shake the butterflies you felt taking your stomach hostage, you concentrate on getting the water upstairs without spilling a drop.  It was evident that you had filled the cup a tad too high, giving you even more of a challenge.  As you conquer the stairs, you anxiously peer around the corner into the bathroom, hoping and praying that Eddie had listened and didn’t move an inch.  Otherwise, you were on another goosechase for a six foot tall metalhead for the second time that night and respectfully, your organs wouldn’t be able to handle another spurt of anxiety like that.
Much to your relief, Eddie sits against the wall just as you had left him, eyes still shut tight and head bowed.  He doesn’t seem to hear your sock covered feet padding into the bathroom, not one muscle twitching.  
“Eddie.”  You call, holding the water in front of him.
No answer.
“Eddie?”  You say, more panicked.
Nothing.
“Okay, this isn’t funny, Eddie.  C’mon, drink the water.”  You tell him, gripping his chin as you examine him.  
His eyes seem to flutter beneath his eyelids, brows furrowing as his head resists your hand and leans toward gravity.  You continue to hold him up, giving his cheek a small pat.  A deep groan escapes him although he’s still practically sleeping.  
“Eddie.”  Shaking his shoulders, he only moves like a rag doll in your hold.  “Eddie, wake up.”
“Mmm.”  He grumbles, swatting your hands away.
“Okay, I gotta take you home.”  You decide, placing your hands on your hips, attempting to determine just how you were going to even get him into your car.
You couldn’t leave him here, he was still wasted.  You could leave him with Donnie and everyone to look after him but what was the point if you were going to go home anyway and he lived right next to you?  There was no use in making them babysitters if there was a more logical solution.  
“‘M fine.”  He says, curling up into a ball.
“No, Eddie, get up.  Get up.”  You try to be firm with him but he remains on the floor, comfy as ever with his hands tucked beneath his head.  “Shit.”  You sigh.
It was time to call in some reinforcements.
“Jesus Christ, he’s really fucked up isn’t he?”  Jett stares down at the figure of a sleeping Eddie on the bathroom floor, perfectly content.  
“Yeah, can you guys just carry him to my car and I can figure out the rest once I get home?”  You plead.
Jett and Nathan share a look of concern to which you raise your eyebrows in confusion, expecting an explanation.  They glance once more at Eddie’s sleeping body and then back up to you, appearing as if that had said everything though you were still lost.
“How are you…going to carry him out of the car?”  Nathan asks, his bushy gray eyebrows knit in thought.
In all fairness, you didn’t think far enough into the future.  If it were only you, you assume you would be required to drag his body across the yard and onto the porch before fishing out his keys and lugging him up onto his couch before leaving some water next to him and dismissing yourself.  The affair may take you over an hour considering Eddie was proving to be a stubborn drunk.  But you’d surely manage if it had to be done.
“I dunno, I’ll work something out.”  You tell him.
Nathan glances over to Jett once more, concerned expression only deepening as he peers back down at Eddie.  Jett shrugs, surrendering the decision to both of you.
“How ‘bout this.”  Nathan starts.  “We’ll follow you home and help you get him situated–”
“God, ‘m up!  ‘M up, okay!”  Eddie takes the three of you by surprise as he rapidly pushes off the floor and begins standing on wobbly legs.  
“You sure about that?”  Jett teases while Eddie stabilizes himself against the sink.
“Fuck off.”
Eddie’s aggravated demeanor persists once again, a pathetic puppy dog pout at his lips while his eyes become overshadowed by eyebrows, a stern scowl forming.  If it was meant to intimidate anyone, he was sadly mistaken.  Instead, Jett snickers behind his hand, attempting to hide his grin.
“I’m kidding, I’m just kidding.”  Jett continues to chuckle, avoiding Eddie’s harsh gaze.
“What is goin’ on here?”  Donnie emerges from the stairs.  
“Christ, ‘s go.”  Eddie murmurs, rolling his eyes.
Donnie’s face contorts in confusion at his attitude, something that if it were directed towards you, you wouldn’t think twice about.  It was no secret that his moodiness carried over even when he was intoxicated.  But you suppose she has a motherly hold on him and should he act up, she wasn’t afraid to confront him.  It didn’t matter how much taller or how grown of a man he was, she wouldn’t hesitate to pinch him by the ear and drag him off to give him a lesson in manners.
Obediently, Eddie backs down, his expression instantly relaxing.  His scowl is replaced with a blank face, any negative thoughts seeming to fall right out of his head.
“You’re leavin’?”  Donnie questions.
Rather than answering, Eddie shifts his gaze to you expectantly.  Like you were suddenly his keeper.  It was odd, going from being absolutely repulsive in his eyes when you’d first met him, to him essentially submitting to you so willingly.  He was wasted but it was still something you fondly tucked into the back of your mind to remember later, like a little postcard for yourself.
“I, uh, yeah.  I was just heading out and I thought…since we’re neighbors…”  You try to elaborate, only feeling as if you were digging yourself into a deeper hole as you remember Jett’s comment from earlier.
Low and behold, the brief glance you offer Jett only confirms it, a huge smirk displayed on his face just for you.  It was enough for the blood to rush into your cheeks, practically sizzling to the touch.
“You just got here.”  Donnie complains.
Jett puffs out his cheeks, offering some kind of communication that has Donnie reeling back on her previous statement.
“It is late though and if he’s really not feeling good…”  She reasons.
You weren’t stupid and you knew Jett was assuming the position of a wingman and somehow, he was able to convey that to Donnie in just one simple look.  And she ran with it, much to your surprise.  Eddie seemed to check out of any conversation, bags hanging underneath his eyes while they drooped in boredom, his tall frame leaning against the wall as he toyed with the chain attached to his jeans.
Externally, you were irked, irritation written all over your face, even a hint of disgust could be found within your features.  But internally, you were having quite the opposite reaction.  Those damn butterflies had started up again, whirling around in your stomach so intensely, you were beginning to think they were bees.  Your heart pounded in your ears, the tips of them becoming embarrassingly red and hot.  You didn’t know why, maybe it was the prospect of everyone else thinking you had some secret relationship going on or even a little fling and the fact that they seemed to be rooting for you.  It ignited the tiniest bit of excitement in you, you weren’t going to lie to yourself.  Even if there was truly nothing going on.
Within minutes, you had an entourage escorting you to your car, Nathan insisting that it was no issue if you’d rather him drive Eddie just in case he were to pass out again.  Though you were grateful, you didn’t see the trouble in making him drive all the way out to your street only to turn around and go right back to the party.  If Eddie passed out again, you’d splash some water on him and surely figure out a way to wake him.  Besides, he had started to become more alert since stumbling down the stairs and making the walk down the steep driveway.  Of course, you also required that he down some water before leaving, otherwise he could stay and let his friends have their fun and tease him about sleeping in front of the toilet, which he didn’t seem to like as he scrunched his face and grabbed the water from you.
Donnie had advised you to drive safely several times while Jett continued to poke fun at Eddie, only earning himself a sock to the shoulder.  Jett may not feel it now but in the morning there would be a good chance he’d have a nice purple bruise.  
At some point after you had stepped outside, a jacket was draped over your shivering shoulders.  Eddie’s jacket.  And seconds later, he walked ahead of you with his hands shoved in his pockets, no doubt trying to escape Jett’s teasing.  It was in that moment, surrounded by people who seemed to just…care, that you began to feel wanted.  While Donnie talked your ear off about keeping an eye out for deer, Nathan continuing to even offer to drive both of you home, assuring you that he didn’t mind in the slightest.  Eddie resting his jacket over your shoulders, even in his current state, and Jett…well Jett was being Jett but he still contributed to the warm and fuzzy feelings you were experiencing.  
It felt a lot like…family.
The cold glass soothes Eddie’s sweaty cheek, the surface fogging up with every breath as his finger taps away to a beat in his head on the center console.  The slumped position he had been in for the past five minutes was sure to awaken a few aches and pains in his spine but he didn’t budge.  The radio softly sounded through the car, some random pop song he could hardly make out.  His eyes followed tree after tree, nearly causing him to go cross-eyed as he kept up with the little game he made up in his head, counting each tree.  Sometimes he would get distracted by the pavement zooming by before continuing.
Not a word had been shared between you since the bathroom though it was an oddly comfortable silence.  It didn’t feel like you had to speak or fill in the gaps like you usually would, desperately clinging to words that you didn’t have in order to appease the other person.  The fact that Eddie was coming out of his drunken haze could have something to do with it but had it not been Eddie you were driving, you’re certain you would struggle to strike up a conversation as if it were required.
Glancing over at him, you can’t help but feel a small smile tug at your lips, his fingers drawing a smiley face into the fog he created with his breath.  You’d never seen him so content but perhaps you shouldn’t look too much into it.  A few beers and some weed would have that effect on anyone.  It was just pleasant to see him so laid back, the stressors of his life set aside for another time.  You could only hope he could appear the same way sober someday soon.  
“Where’s your family?”  Eddie suddenly mumbles, eyes still glued to the scenery outside.  
The question is out of the blue and the last thing you would expect from him.  Although he had taken somewhat of a liking to you, he’d never taken an interest in something so personal.  And you offered him that same respect.  
“What?”  You ask, sneaking a glance at him, your hands squeezing the wheel.
His focus shifts from the window to you, his body turning inward as he leans his cheek against the headrest, waiting for your response.  The way his lips pucker from his cheek squishing against the seat only makes your heart clench.  His large awaiting eyes reflect the moon and you find it hard to change the subject when they appear so patient and attentive.
“Um, well, they’re back in…back home.”  You answer simply.
“Where’s that?”
He looked the most inquisitive you’d seen him, body turned toward you, his attention not once wavering.  Instead of the usual knit brows he often wore, his features remained softer and full of wonder.  Lips parted and eyes twinkling, who were you to deny his efforts?  Even if he was slightly under the influence.  Worst case scenario, he doesn’t remember this conversation.
“California.” 
“Oh.”  
You didn’t know what kind of response you were expecting but for some reason, the one word was a bit too vague, self consciousness kicking in.  
“What about yours?”  You shift the spotlight over to him.
From what you can tell as you keep your focus on the road, his gaze drops while he collects his thoughts, his breathing going shaky for just a second before he regains his composure.  A hum deep in his throat notifies you that he’s ready to begin speaking again.
“Uh, don’t really have one.  Never really have.  Or, uh, I just don’t remember them?  Other than my uncle, Wayne.  He’s back…”  Eddie hesitates.  “He’s in Indiana.”
“I’m sorry—I didn’t know…”  You start to backtrack and although he was the one who initiated the conversation, maybe it was too bold of you to reverse the question.
“No, ‘s okay.”  He assures you, shaking his head, his curls flattening against the seat.
“You miss him?”
The car is silent again, aside from the radio playing quietly.  You fear you’ve said the wrong thing, struck some kind of a nerve that forced him to go mute.  No longer wanting to engage in the topic.  But when you peer over at him again briefly, he’s biting his lip, getting lost in his mind again before he decides on an answer.
“Yeah.  Yeah, I do.  He visits when he can.”  A sadness lurks beneath the surface of his monotone response, eyes growing shinier in the moonlight.  And then he wipes the slate clean, face devoid of emotion once again as he seems to shake his previous thoughts from his head.  “So what’s your deal?  What made you come all the way out here?”  
This is the part where you would shrug and offer no further insight into the corners of your mind that usually were kept isolated.  But when his gaze softens from the passenger seat like that–like he wants to know, like he cares, you wanted to give him the key to your contaminated brain and let him poke around all he wanted.  As long as he wanted.
“Well, uh, I love my family...”  You start, voice timid.  “But I was feeling super lost.  And like I was living for everyone else.  And when my dad passed months ago he left me his estate…left me everything…”
“I’m sorry.”  He says, sympathy coating his words.
You nod, a silent thank you before continuing.
“So I split it up with my family…then moved away.  Guess I wanted to…I dunno find myself?”  You laugh, as if you’d just told a joke.
Rather than laugh along, Eddie studies you with intent.  Like he’s searching for more, digging into your soul.  
“Why’s that funny?”  He asks.
“I just–I don’t know what I’m doing.”  You laugh again.
“Well, neither do I.”  He begins to chuckle.  “I mean look at me.”
Progressively, you both start to laugh harder, glancing at each other and reveling in the failures that you both had endured up until this moment.  It’s like you were slap happy, a snort threatening to escape you through your uncontrollable laughter.  
“Ah, fuck.”  Eddie exhales, a grin plastered to his face.  “Bar is going to shit, my government hush money has run out–”
“Your what?”  You question, amusement taking over your features.
“Nothing.”  
Suddenly, he has no desire to converse, his lips shut in a tight line as he once again turns his attention to the window.  
“Government hush money?”  You repeat.
With a roll of his eyes and a deep breath, you can tell he contemplates carefully as he chooses his next words.  
“Jesus Christ, I’m really not supposed to talk about it.”  He breathes, pinching the bridge of his nose.  “But, fuck it I guess.”  He drops his hand from his face.
Pulling into your driveway, the gravel crunches under the tires before you kill the engine, headlights leaving you in the darkness.  Eddie has your full focus, your body turned toward him as you pull a knee up to your chest, resting your chin on top.  
“You don’t have to.”  You assure.  “I can just forget you ever said anything–”
“Honestly, it’ll probably do me some good to get it off my chest.”  He interrupts.  
At his insistence, you keep quiet, waiting for him to continue.  He fidgets with his rings nervously, pulling them off and putting them back on.  
“You, uh, you have to swear to never talk about it again.  To anyone.”  
“Promise.”  You whisper, sticking your pinky out.
A puzzled look crosses his face, looking from your pinky to you in uncertainty.  It was becoming apparent that he was sobering up, laziness no longer taking a hold of his eyelids and words coherent.  
“Pinky promise.”  You smile.
“Pinky promise?”  He still appears confused.
“Yeah, you never made a pinky promise before?”  
A small smile forces the corners of his mouth up, eyes shining with entertainment as he stares at your pinky.  Shaking his head, he rests his hands in his lap, almost bashfully.  A contrast to his usual prickly tendencies and forward personality.
“Well, I take pinky promises very seriously.  They can’t be broken.  So I pinky promise, I won’t mention this ever again.”  You stick your hand even further forward, awaiting his pinky.
“Yeah?”  He asks with a lopsided grin.  “How do I know you mean that?” 
“It’s a pinky promise, Eddie.”  You deadpan, as if he was supposed to know how eternally binding it was.
A few seconds pass, Eddie still looking from you to your pinky with round eyes, soft at the edges with something that resembles the innocence of a little boy.  His inner child was sparkling, pouring from him like a forbidden fountain that only you had the honor of witnessing.  When his pinky wraps around yours, his comically larger than yours, you can’t fight the way your heart flutters in response to the touch.  His warmth encompassing yours, melting together like the sweetest chocolate.
Then, once your pinkies part, he speaks of a horrifying earthquake, striking his home town and wreaking havoc on the innocent lives once lived.  He tells you of things that you would never in this lifetime believe, things that he was forced to believe within seconds, creatures that attacked him, putting him on his deathbed only to be revived and put in the hospital for weeks.  Of the horrifying manhunt for him, how he was a wanted man for things he was never responsible for, conveniently at the peak of satanic panic.  How he was blamed for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, how the whole town pinned a murder on him.  How there are things he could never even begin to explain like how Chrissy, the head cheerleader at his highschool had died right in front of him.  And how she was the first girl he was actually interested in, only for her to die a horrific death before his eyes.  He didn’t go into detail, though you didn’t need him to.  You didn’t want him to re-live such trauma just to provide you further explanation.
Once all was said and done, once he was out of the hospital, he was arrested and sat in jail for a week or so, he couldn’t recall exactly how long.  His uncle trying everything, doing everything he could to bail him out but he didn’t come from money so that proved to fail, especially since no one was on his side, even a majority of the police.  He told you of Dustin and Lucas…of Max, Erika, Steve, Nancy, and Robin.  The people that had always been on his side even when he was the only suspect for murder.  The people he missed so dearly every day but could only see every so often when they could find time to visit.  Which they did.  He only wished he could go back home.  If he did, it would only spark up another riot and it was against his agreement with the government to even step foot in the state of Indiana.  
So when he was bailed out of jail, his friends all awaiting him just outside the station, it was bittersweet.  He was relieved that he wouldn’t be stuck in that hell hole for the rest of his life like his dad but he was terrified of leaving everything he’d ever known.  It was his dream to someday get out of that place, a place that he wouldn’t name which was most likely due to his agreement.  But the second he was forced to leave, he didn’t know what was next for him, a terrifying concept for any smalltown boy at the fresh age of 20.
Wayne had intervened, making plans for Eddie to move in with his grandfather, Roy out in the middle of the mountains a few states away rather than being shipped somewhere where he had no connections, a setup for failure.  Eddie told you about how he didn’t know his grandpa his entire life, didn’t even know he still had one until he went to live with him.  But without any hesitation, Roy took him under his wing, stating that it's what his daughter, Eddie’s mother would’ve wanted him to do.  The least he could do for a boy who only knew broken family and lost his beloved mother so young.  
You learn that his grandfather had distanced himself due to Eddie’s dad and truthfully didn’t know of Eddie’s existence until Wayne made that phone call.  The moment he found out he had a grandson, he welcomed him with open arms and put him to work at the bar, giving him a kind of security that Eddie had never been familiar with in his life.  Grandpa Roy died last year of kidney failure, leaving Eddie everything and you could tell it was really taking a toll on him, the responsibility of the bar, the fear of losing it and disappointing his grandfather.
It seems that within the span of ten minutes, you learn Eddie’s life story.  From the incident back in Indiana to how his dad created destruction in his life long before that and how he would teach Eddie how to commit petty theft and hotwire cars.  He was on the route to becoming just like his dad before Wayne got involved, fighting like hell for legal custody of him.  His dad refused time and time again although Eddie spent most nights and days at Wayne’s trailer anyway.  Wayne didn’t want him to have any authority over Eddie, the man was a criminal and an addict that would leave poor young Eddie alone for days to fend for himself until he decided to come back.  He didn’t want that life for Eddie.
Eventually, he won, the courts taking far too long to review the case but he was granted full custody and not long after, Eddie’s dad was arrested for grand theft auto.  He still rots in jail to this day for several other crimes he committed once he got out the first time.
It was all laid out for you, Eddie’s entire upbringing.  His whole life on display for you to judge if you felt so inclined to.  You didn’t.  You sat and you processed.  Deciphering that Eddie is the way he is because of the way he had been treated his entire life.  An outcast among the working class, growing up in poverty and being made fun of for things out of his control.  Kids steering clear from him for the simple fact that he was his father’s son and that his name had already been tarnished before he was even born.  It was becoming clear as to why Eddie was so emotionally withdrawn.  How could he not be?
“Eddie I–” “If you say you’re sorry I’ll puke again.”  He jokes.
It was something you found so endearing within him, his ability to remain playful even when addressing his trauma.  Perhaps it was a coping mechanism.  You could relate if it was.  
“Let’s just, uh, call it a night.  I think that’s enough about me.  I don’t wanna talk about me anymore.”  He shakes his head, exhausted but still displaying a playful smile.
“Okay.  Yeah.”  You agree, opening the door before he stops you with a raise of his hand.
“Would this…would this be a bad time to tell you that I’m ninety nine percent sure that I left my keys at the party?”  He squeezes his eyes shut.
“Wow.”  You sigh, resting your head on the steering wheel.  “Look at how the tables have turned.”  You grin, shoving his shoulder, eliciting a grunt from him.  
“Gonna make me sleep on the porch with the bears?”  He half jokes.  He wouldn’t blame you.
“Only if you don’t puke on me like I did to you.”
Eddie can’t fight his grin, dimples deepening.  He’s thankful that it’s too dark to make out the pink tinting his cheeks.
~end~
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mrsjellymunson · 3 months
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S.A.N.T.A. BABY
[A.KA. Stupid And Nasty Tinsel-Related Activities]
A Festive 5+1 Eddie Munson Fic
Summary: 5+1. Five times reader embarrasses herself in front of Eddie, and one time she doesn’t.
Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem!reader
WC: ~10.5k (oops)
CW: 🔞 18+ MDNI!, SMUT, NSFW. Strangers to sort-of-enemies to lovers. Drinking, smoking, Eddie and reader call each other nicknames, loads of embarrassing situations, swearing, suggestive language, implied birth control, description of and discussion about a sex toy, flagrant and unnecessary use of the number 69, reader has a tattoo but it’s not essential to the story so you can ignore it if you want, bondage fantasy involving fairy lights, lap riding/dry humping, Eddie has tattoos and intimate piercings, fingering, unprotected p-in-v (always wrap it irl!), aftercare, fluff, the Upside Down hasn’t happened. I imagine reader & Eddie to be mid-late 20s and it might be the 90s, but hopefully I left it ambiguous enough that you can choose. I tried to keep reader’s appearance neutral, though I’m still new at this and I may have missed things - let me know if you spot anything (likewise typos or missed tags, etc). The elf outfit in the pic is for costume illustration only and does not indicate reader’s ethnicity or appearance.
A/N: Written for @bettyfrommars’ & @allthingsjoeq’s festive prompt party (thank you, guys!); I decided to smoosh five prompts 6, 8, 12, 14 & 15 together to create… whateverthehellthismutantthingis 😆 It’s my first 5+1, and my first festive fic, please let me know how I did! 🎄 I’ve taken artistic license with the format - if I’ve understood it, it’s way too long for a standard 5+1, and I don’t think they usually have 4+k of unnecessary smut at the end (‘What do you mean, Kittie? Smut is always necessary!’). I couldn’t bring myself to cut it because I’m a deviant and to paraphrase the song, it’s my fic and I’ll add what I want to 😂 Enjoy! 🥂🍷🎁
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Christmas was never your favourite time of year. You suppose that your early Christmasses were probably happy, but once your parents split and family politics came into play, the season just became less enjoyable all round. These days your mom and stepdad tended to use the extended break to visit your brother in California, and this year will be the third in a row that you’ve been left to your own devices. Not that you couldn’t go with them, but you just felt a little out of place and in the way, him with his scrapbook-perfect family and kids, you with your alternative interests and a dress sense that your stepdad once described as, “Far too much black for a family dinner. We’re not the Addams Family, you know”.
This year, though, you were optimistic. It’s your first year away at college in Indianapolis, and your roommate, Robin, who you get on outrageously well with, has invited you to spend the holidays not too far away in her home town, Hawkins.
Plus, Robin has taken it upon herself to, in her words, ‘“Christmas Carol the shit out of you”, after you’d told her about your disdain for the holiday season and that Santa stood for ‘Stupid And Nasty Tinsel-related Activities’. She’d declared that this year you’d have the “Best. Christmas. EVERRR!”, and she’s making good on it, despite the promise being made months ago when you were both soaked in tequila at the end of orientation week.
It’s going fairly well so far. You’ve met a couple of Robin’s friends, a nice girl called Nancy and Robin’s ex Vickie, and together you’ve had a shopping trip, a lunch out and a girls’ night in. You’re optimistic that the rest of her friends will be just as friendly and welcoming. Next on the ‘Best Christmas Ever’ agenda? Seeing a local band at a local bar…
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“Honestly, they’re, like, really, really good!”
“Really, Robs? This band that your friends started in high school are so good that they’re still playing dive bars in their home town?”
The bar is dingy and grubby, but it’s packed, Robin insisting it’s because the band is great, but you suspect it has more to do with the cheap beer prices.
You’re not averse to live entertainment, you just prefer places with a bit more space. More ambience, less… sweat? Ambiguous stickiness??
Half a beer in, you make the excuse that you need some air, not admitting you’re actually hoping to find someone to bum a cigarette off outside, feeling your most recent attempt at quitting is already on seriously shaky ground.
There’s already a couple of guys around the side of the building when you exit the front door, one in a torn flannel and another, his back to you, in a heavier-looking jacket.
You recognise Flannel as the bartender, a lanky, but not unattractive, somewhat worried-looking guy with a grungy haircut and ripped Clash t-shirt, who’s just finishing his cigarette and flicking it to the floor. As he leaves to go back inside he offers a cheery half-salute to his smoking partner and a, “See you inside, dude.” You assume the other guy must be a regular, and from the subtle glimpses you get as he flicks his ash, he’s about halfway through his cigarette.
Whilst he’s not looking you sneakily take in the view (your excuse being that you are a tourist here, after all). He’s tall, dressed all in black, with broad shoulders draped in worn-in black leather, long dark curls falling about them. You can’t determine the exact colour in the poor lighting of the bar’s neon sign, but they look shiny and well cared for, rather than lank and grimy like so many of your college buddies seem to think is the fashionable way to do it these days (ugh).
Trailing your eyes down his back, you see the hem of his jacket half-obscures a black leather belt that’s just visible sitting on his slim hips. It’s studded with silver rivets and adorned with a variety of draping silver chains that jingle at the slightest movement.
Well-fitting, dark black jeans cover his legs, and a scruffy pair of heavy black combat boots complete the look. They're unlaced at the top and casually flare out, his jeans crumpling, effortlessly stylishly, in the tops.
The belt chains catch your attention again as he shifts from one foot to the other, making them swing, drawing your eyes to the seat of his jeans and showcasing a cute, tight, rounded pair of butto-oh! He’s turning around! Shit, shit, okay, be cool, and definitely don’t look like you were just checking out his ass…
He looks at you with surprise, he obviously hadn’t heard you come out. He’s taken slightly aback, but manages to greet you with a quick, “Hey.”
You reply, eloquently, “Hey.”
Smooth.
Leather Jacket gets out his lighter.
“You, uh, smokin’?”
“I was kinda hoping to bum one, actually. I’m supposed to be quitting, but you know how it is when you get around bars and booze.”
You shrug a little, suddenly feeling sheepish, and more than a little selfish when you realise your presumption.
“Oh yeah, I sure do. Think I’ve tried quitting about, what, five times now?”
He chuckles a little, shaking a stick out of the packet he retrieves from inside his jacket, offering it to you.
“You need a light?”
“Oh, uh, yeah, thanks.”
He leans in to spark his lighter, and you’re briefly engulfed by the scent of him. Old leather, hints of a musky, spicy cologne, whiskey, clean sweat, and, of course, cigarette smoke. It feels like a warm hug, but something else too, something more primal, enticing.
You notice his hands as he holds his lighter close to your face. They’re big, strong-looking and veined, his fingers adorned with chunky silver rings that glint and twinkle in the faint neon glow.
It all catches you off guard. You pull back quickly once your cigarette is lit, not ready to explore that kind of sensation right now.
He’s turned sideways to you again, leaning his back against the side wall of the bar. He smirks in your direction, a dimple popping in the cheek nearest to you, and you feel a little heat rise up your neck.
His gaze flows over your form, taking you in from top to bottom. Is he checking you out?
“I, uh, I like your boots.” He nods down towards your feet, flicking a little ash from his cigarette off to the side furthest from you.
You automatically glance down, like some kind of idiot who didn’t dress themselves less than an hour ago.
Sheesh, way to make an impression on the locals…
“Oh, thanks!”
You smile, genuinely pleased. You’re wearing your favourite pair, laced and buckled black leather New Rocks with a chunky, steel-coloured metal heel. You know the style doesn’t have universal appeal, which is of course part of the reason you love them, but it’s nice to have your taste appreciated by someone as cu- erm, as friendly as he is.
“I haven’t seen you around here before. You new in town or sumthin’?”
“Yeah, kinda passing through, I guess. I’m just here for the holidays, hookin’ up with a friend.”
He nods in acknowledgment, curls bouncing softly around his face.
You continue, “Apparently I’ve been promised the ‘best Christmas ever’, and they think they’re going to achieve that by bringing me to this divey bar to see some schoolfriend in a lame-ass metal cover band. I mean, god, no offence, but this town is hardly Seattle. I can’t imagine they’re gonna be Nirvana-quality, right?”
The guy snorts through his nose and then genuinely laughs. “Yeah, they probably are shit. Towns like this are full of wannabe rockstars straight outta high school, y’know?” You don’t notice how his lips purse as he suppresses a grin, as he continues, “Singers are the worst, always such assholes. Second only to guitarists, of course.”
You answer with an enthusiastic, “I know, right?!”, thinking back to the musicians you’ve dated since high school and how they were all convinced they were destined to be the next Eddie Van Halen or Steven Tyler. Thinking of a couple of guys in particular as you take a drag of your cigarette, as you exhale you mutter, “Christ, guitarists really are the pits.”
He snorts, smiling again, then drops his finished cigarette to the ground, crushing it out with the sole of his heavy boot. “At least with all their equipment and shit it makes them easy to spot.”
You gift him a smile and a small nod. “Yeah, I guess it does.”
“I’m heading back inside. Maybe I’ll see you later?” He quirks an eyebrow at his last comment.
“Yeah, maybe.” As he moves to open the door you add, ”Hey, thanks for the smoke!”
He turns back to you, his distractingly broad grin now fully on display, half-shouting back as he moves through the doorway into the bustling interior, “No problem, all you have to do is ask. I’ll see you later, Boots!”
You finish your smoke and get inside just in time to get to your seat, a tall stool opposite Robin around a high table, your back to the stage, as the band start up.
There’s a few complicated beats from the drums as the guy behind them warms up, and the bass and rhythm guitars thrum a few notes, garnering whistles and cheers from the crowd.
You wait for the cliché of the singer coming up to the mic and introducing the band, but what you actually hear is a low, self-assured, somewhat recognisable voice, that’s both commanding and sultry, that drawls, “You know who we are.”
Suddenly there’s a burst of impressive guitar work and drums, and the crowd erupts as the room is saturated with the opening chords to Black Sabbath’s ‘War Pigs’.
You’re impressed, and intrigued. This isn’t the ‘dodgy 80’s covers schoolkid band’ you were expecting. These guys sound… accomplished.
You turn on your stool, and notice a subtly familiar form at the mic. Less bulky as he’s no longer wearing the leather jacket, a ripped band tee now showing off his pale arms and clavicles, and black ink that you can’t make out adorning solid biceps and veined forearms. Guitar in hand, confident, brash, cute. Chains dangling from a studded belt, silver rings glinting, hair flying as he flicks his head, commanding the stage, readying himself to sing the first lines…
Oh shit…
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The band’s cover of ‘War Pigs’ is faster than the original, and they give it their own twist, making it heavier and grittier. After the (irritatingly brilliant) guitar solo Leather Jacket Band Guy even throws in a few lines from Deck The Halls, the audience going wild, and joining in enthusiastically when the ‘Oh Lord yeah’ is replaced with a ‘Fa-la-la’.
The rest of their set is a mix of covers and originals, all in a similar, heavy style, and as they finish to a rapturous throng you realise, flustered, that you couldn’t tear your eyes from the stage the whole time. Robin totally notices. You even let her get in a cheery, “Told ya so!”, as you reluctantly admit they weren’t completely terrible.
You spot the frontman (singer and guitarist, cue internal facepalm) jump down off the low stage, and you feel a little uneasy as you see him start heading in your direction.
You’re at peak embarrassment and can’t bear the thought of having to face him after what you said outside. You hadn’t even heard them play and you dissed the fuck out of them, him specifically. What makes it worse is that they were actually really good. The last thing you need is to have that thrown back in your face, in front of Robin, by their cocky lead guy.
Suddenly you want Spontaneous Human Combustion to be a real thing, turn you to ash so your only presence would be scuffed up on those heavy, unlaced combat boots, going unnoticed and carried out on everyone’s soles into the chilly night. But science and physics are apparently not willing to defy themselves for you this evening. Bastards.
Quickly, you get off your stool, mumbling something about needing the bathroom, and head off in a random direction, in your haste to escape not even asking where it is.
You chance a glance over one shoulder. Oh god, he’s heading straight for you…
As you stumble about in the crowd, you notice a free seat next to a guy at the bar. You hardly register that his coiffed hair and polo shirt don’t quite fit the vibe of the place, so desperate are you to build an alternative narrative that doesn’t involve the guy whose band you just dissed coming to talk to you. You’d said you were visiting a friend, he’s not to know it wasn’t a boyfriend, right? If he sees you with someone he’ll back off and leave you alone, right?? Surely he wouldn’t confront you with a potential Defending Your Honour™️ fight on the table. Right???
So, that’s the plan.
A really good, foolproof one? Um, no. But Band Guy is moving through the crowd, and you’ve gotta do something, fast.
You reach the bar.
“Hey, could you do me a favour real quick? A creepy guy’s been hitting on me, and I need to give him the message that I’m not interested. If I buy you a drink, will you act like you’re my boyfriend for, like, the next 30 seconds?”
He turns to you, and you notice his features. Golden skin, chiselled jaw, stunning hazel eyes, hair to rival the hottest supermodels’, a scattering of moles that look like constellations. Goddamn, he’s pretty. What is it with this bar? Is everyone inside it cute? Why have you never been to Hawkins before??
You give him a pleading look, and tentatively hold out one hand towards where his is resting on his thigh, hoping he’ll take it.
“Well, for a sweet thing like you, how could I say no to that tempting double offer?”
He smiles then, full and beaming, and you almost slip off your stool. A warm palm comes to cup over yours, and you manage to blurt out an order to the barman, saying, “Two of whatever he’s having.”
Just then, Band Guy reaches you. You do your best to swoon at Polo Shirt as your drinks get delivered, lifting yours and clinking it against his with a, “Hey, sweetheart, thanks for bringing me here”.
“Oh, I didn’t realise you were here with someone tonight.”
“Yeah, this is the friend I was telling you about. We’re spending the holidays together. Isn’t that right, sweets?”
Band Guy purses his lips, you hope in consternation, but it’s whatever, you just want him to leave you alone to stew in your mortification.
He backs up half a step, saying, “Well, I guess I’ll leave you to it then.”
Success!
Just as you think your devious plan has worked, Band Guy turns to Polo Shirt, slaps his open palm against his shoulder a couple of times, and saunters off, with a, “Nice to see you, Steve-o. Just checkin’ you're wanting a lift back in the van with the guys, like usual?”
Oh. Oh god. They know each other?!
He turns away, smirking back briefly in your direction to fling a casual, “I’ll see you around, Boots”, before continuing his path to the other end of the bar. You see him greet Flannel with a high five followed by a bro handshake, the latter making exaggerated air guitar movements and clearly congratulating him on a great performance.
If cringing caused bodily trauma you’d be in the ER by now, most likely on life support. What are the chances of embarrassing yourself all to hell in front of a cute guy you’ve only just met, twice in one night?
Also, wait, you totally didn’t just admit that you find him cute. Nope. No siree. Nah. Niet. Definitely not.
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Stupid Robin convinced you to take this stupid job in the stupid mall and now you’re stuck here smiling this stupid smile at all the stupid local kids in this stupid elf costume.
Stupid striped tights, stupid short skirt, stupid tight green tunic, stupid fluffy collar.
And yeah, okay, stupid self-induced hangover from stupid drinks last night thanks to stupid Robin’s stupid friends. Actually, they were all really nice, especially ‘Steve-o’ and the barman, Jonathon, neither of whom mentioned your embarrassing faux pas with Band Guy, which makes them total heroes in your book. Plus, Band Guy mercifully gave you a wide berth for the rest of the night by doing Band Stuff™️, so that was a win too.
At least the dress code for this gig stated ‘black footwear’, so you could wear your own boots. You’d never admit it out loud, but you think the combination of the red and white striped tights with your chunky, alternative boots actually looks kinda cute. It’s just as well, because you’d packed light (you and Robin joking that so long as you had your ”Pills and panties” you were good to go), and hadn’t brought any alternatives.
You’ve been at this for a couple of days already, beaming artificially at the kids as you try to corral them into some semblance of an organised line, and handing out stickers and treat bags for the ones who’ve seen Santa, putting your best singsong voice on as you ask for what feels like the millionth time, “So, what did you ask Santa for?”, and, “Have you been good this year?”
Your face has begun to ache with the effort of all the smiling, although the cheery mall Santa (a big, friendly guy called John? Jack?) takes up most of the slack, with a voice deep and gravelly enough to control even the worst-behaved little shits. You hope his day job uses it, it would be a shame for a voice like that to go to waste. He should probably be in sports, or acting, or law enforcement or something.
You can’t deny the money is coming in handy though. It’s reliably supporting your holiday booze habit, and you’ve even treated yourself to a couple of Christmas treats, some silver skull jewellery from a surprisingly well-stocked accessory shop, and something more, um, personal from the ‘specialist interest’ shop you’d found hidden away at the back of the mall’s upper level. The nice lady who worked there, Karen, even kindly offered to drop off your purchase at your staff locker later today.
You’re on the later shift, so Santa’s already here, and as you make your way out to the grotto area (which is essentially just a few old stage props surrounded by a few giant polystyrene candy canes; you surmise this might be one of the first years they’ve done this) you’re greeted by a predictable, “Ho ho ho!”. But today it’s a different voice than usual. Still deep, still booming, but not the one you’re used to.
As you round the glittery candy cane on the corner, the deep baritone gives way to a much higher, cheekier pitch.
“Ho, ho- hoooooly shiiit, I’d recognise those boots anywhere!”
Oh no… It can’t be…
“Heeey, Boots! I didn’t know you’d be one of my little helpers today!”
Even behind the fake beard you can see the smugness spread across his face.
You stop in your tracks, hands coming up to your face in a vain attempt to shield your embarrassed self from the impending, and, you’ll admit, completely justified, teasing.
Realising you can’t hide from it, you huff out a breath and amble over to him. He looks way too comfortable sitting on that ornate throne, like he’s used to such a position, somehow…
As you move closer you see that even beneath the tacky acrylic costuming, he still looks cute (damn him). He’s foregone the white wig and opted to display his own locks, chestnut curls cascading over his shoulders, and the white faux fur of his hat and beard create a subtle frame around his eyes. You observe their colour properly for the first time, and even in the harsh fluorescent lights of the mall they look like swirling pools of liquid cacao, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen anything quite like them before. They’re fixed on you as you walk to him.
You plonk down on a fabric-covered hay bale next to the throne. There’s no line of kids waiting as yet, and you’re relieved you can get this next part done without too much of an audience. Deep breath, pull off the bandaid, or whatever that stupid phrase is.
“Listen, about last night. I’m really sorry. I not only stole your smokes but also dissed your band before I’d even heard you, and that wasn’t cool. And that thing with Steve at the bar? God, you must think I’m such a loser. And, I know you probably couldn’t give two pebbly shits about what I think right now, but you guys are actually really good.”
He turns to you, looking down his nose and through his lashes at you.
“Hey, don’t sweat it, sweets. I did kinda bait you into that first part. And at the bar? That was… creative. I actually thought it was pretty funny.” Smirking, nodding and turning his face to the front again, he continues, “And for the record, we do play other places, not just this so-not-Seattle town.”
You risk a glance at him. The Santa suit is obviously too big for him, the collar wide enough to show off his pale throat for a moment before he turns back to you and the comically-fluffy beard obscures it again. You can see the outline of his taut, muscular thighs under the loose faux velvet of his pants, and his boots (those boots) are worn just like they were last night, unlaced at the top, casually stylish, the red fabric pooling around the calf and ankle. And to finish it off, there’s what appears to be a large throw cushion stuffed down his front.
It turns out he’s covering for (Jim!) Hopper, who’s apparently the local police chief (nailed it) and has been called out to check on some weird occurrences at an old research facility on the other side of town.
Band Guy Santa continues, sarcastically, “Pfft. Providing the town of Hawkins with security and safety instead of performing the frankly, essential, public service of dicking about in a Santa suit. Inconsiderate, right?”
“Yeah, totally”, you giggle.
“The organisers heard from Hop that I was somewhat… theatrical, so they asked me to fill in.”
You remember how theatrical he looked whilst on stage, and you feel your throat heat up, hoping he won’t notice you subtly pulling at your collar with a finger, or see the perspiration appearing on your décolletage.
“So, you may wreak your revenge now, sweetheart. I’m not exactly in a position to defend my sartorial choices right now, am I?”, he says as he gestures to himself, sweeping a palm up and down his garb. “Gimme your worst.”
You’d feel pretty bad if you laid into him now, not only considering your own current garb but especially with what you’d said last night outside the bar. However, he is giving you an opportunity to even the score for his manipulation, and it would be a shame not to take it. You decide upon a combination of cheekiness and diplomacy. (And not flirty. Definitely not flirty.)
“I dunno, that beard covers most of your face, which obviously does you some favours. But don’t do yourself down, you look… good in red.”
He swallows as you stand to move away from him, and you hardly realise that you’ve rendered him speechless, as you joke, poking at the obvious cushion by his middle,
“Although, I’m totally not buying this padding, you know,”
Suddenly a party of schoolchildren appears from nowhere, and before they get between you and you get too far away to hear, he stammers out, “Uh, I’m Eddie, by the way.”
You half-yell your own name back, adding with a smile,
“It’s nice to meet you. Have fun today, Santa.”
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It’s late afternoon and Santa Eddie is on his regulation break. You’re doing your best to herd the over-sugared, post-school crowd into some kind of order, when Mrs Santa (a lovely lady called Claudia) calls your name and says you can go on your break now too, if you want, and to please tell Santa that he needs to get back here and start doling out Christmas wishes.
You jump at the chance for even just a few minutes away from the diminutive hoards (though you could listen to Erica, one kid you do like, diss commercialism and the ethics of lying to kids en masse all afternoon), and make your way to the locker room.
Eddie’s still there, sitting on the central bench, beard pulled down under his chin, and he appears to be holding a package in his hands, though from the look on his face you don’t think it was one he was expecting. As you move closer and peer into the box, you spy the contents, and a bright red, glittery shape becomes visible.
Oh god, no. No-no-noooo…
It’s the order you placed from the shop at the back of the mall, but Karen’s obviously dropped it off next to the wrong locker - Eddie’s is number 69 and yours is 96.
It’s a dildo (of course it is). A Christmas-themed, flexible, long, thick, glittery, red dildo, with a gold lamé ribbon tied artfully around the base.
Eddie’s face is a picture of surprise as he turns to look up at you, eyes and mouth wide and eyebrows practically disappearing into his hairline. He’s holding the packaging, your name visible on the wrapping, nixing any hope you’d had of feigning innocence and pretending you knew nothing about it.
“Uh, I think this is yours. I’m so sorry. I-it was left by my locker and I opened it assuming it was for me, and then I saw your name on it, but by then it was too late…”
He sees you slump down into the bench a few feet away from him, face in your hands. You don’t know him well, but you decide to let him get whatever he wants to say out of his system rather than potentially make everything worse by trying to get him to shut the hell up.
His tone is mocking, but not exactly mean, as he continues,
“It’s a pretty one, really. Y’know, festive. I admire your choice of aesthetics and commitment to the season.
But you know, Boots, if you wanted to feel special inside this Christmas, all you had to do was ask.
Wait, do you also have an Easter-themed one? Is it a rabbit?”
He’s turned to face you now, far too pleased with himself for that final quip. Arrogant bastard.
The tears come in a wave, and you fold in on yourself, trying to hide your face even more. The heat in your cheeks feels about the same temperature as the colour of that fucking dildo.
“Hey, hey. I was only kidding.” He scootches closer to you on the bench. ”Look, there’s nothing wrong with it. Everyone deserves pleasure, it’s healthy. And I get it, Boots, it can be hard for girls to find a guy who actually knows what the fuck they’re doing. And, maybe you don’t even want or need a guy, you just want some special time by yourself, right?”
There’s a short pause, like he could be considering his next choice of words.
“And anyway, I actually think it’s kinda hot…”
This surprises you. You’ve never met any guy who didn’t take the presence of your toy collection as a personal insult.
You risk a glance in his direction, hoping your wet and stinging eyes don’t look as red as they feel. “You really think so?”
“Oh yeah”, he responds, crossing his legs as subtly as he can, shielding his lap. “The one you chose? It’s… sophisticated. The glitter gives it a real nice touch. And,” he drops his voice a little, continuing in an almost-whisper, “I’d love to see what you do with it.” He clears his throat and looks away, finding a convenient patch of plain wall to focus his gaze upon.
Confused, upset, and unable to fathom exactly what’s going on (is this just banter? Or is he flirting? Wait, does he like you??) you grab the box from him and move to stuff it in your locker. Trying to hide the crack in your voice, you call over your shoulder, “Claudia says your break’s over and to get your jolly ass back out there, pronto.”
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Oh shit… shitshitSHIT…
Stupid collar, stupid faux fur, stupid cheap zips! Goddammit!
You’re at your locker - the one that should’ve secretly contained your special Xmas gift to yourself - trying to get out of your stupid elf costume, but the zip won’t budge. The top of it is enmeshed amongst the stupid faux fur of your collar, and your frustrated, unsighted and fumbling ministrations appear to be making it worse.
You need help. An empathic soul to come to your aid and diligently untangle you from this costuming hell. But there’s only one other person here, and, even though your last encounter ended better than it could have, he’s still the last person you want to see right now.
Why tonight? Of all nights? How could this happen on the one night where the literal only person left in the entire fucking building is him??
You can only assume you’re on the real Santa’s shit list. Were you really that naughty this year?
Your brain rewards you with a brief, but telling, synopsis of your year so far: smoking blunts behind the library with Robin during study breaks, skinny dipping in a freezing lake on a dare, all that tequila, that brief foray in the back of a Camaro with that guy (Bobby? Billy?). Okay, you were no saint, but this? Come on…
Dejectedly, you drop your chin to your chest and let out a frustrated huff.
Looking miserable, and literally dragging your heels, you shuffle back out to the grotto, steeling yourself for whatever mocking banter Eddie will subject you to this time.
He’s leisurely rearranging the grotto area, and fiddling with the fairy lights behind.
“Hey, Boots. What’re you still doing here?”
Still not looking up, and flicking your eyes everywhere but in his direction, you mumble,
“I, uh, I need your help.”
“What is it? C’mon, you can tell me. We’re quite intimately acquainted now, wouldn’t you say?“
You can hear the smirk in his voice and you want to slap it right off his face. Your response comes out in a rush.
“MyzipisstuckandIcan’tgetoutofthisfuckingcostume, okay?”
“Well, honestly, if you want me to undress you, all you have to do is ask…”
There’s annoyance in your voice as you spit out, “For fuck’s sake Eddie, are you gonna help me or not?”
“Of course, Boots, I’m just messin’ with ya.” His voice drops to an almost-rumble as he instructs, “Turn around for me, yeah?”
His voice is commanding, yet soft and velvety. Parts of your brain turn to marshmallow, and you consider that you’d do almost anything he asked, if he asked you like that.
You do as he requests, your back facing him. You tilt your head down slightly, allowing him better access to the top of the zip, inadvertently also exposing the back of your neck.
He exhales (is it a bit shaky?), and you feel the heat of his breath on your nape, the sensation raising goosebumps along your spine and worrying your legs a little. It’s all you can do to not drop to your knees right there and then. You let out a tiny gasp and try to cover it with a deep swallow.
Eddie works gently on the collar of your garment, fiddling with the fur and disentangling what he can. As he works you continue to feel his breath on your neck, and you wonder if he has any idea what it’s doing to you.
Seemingly satisfied he won’t make it any worse than it already is, Eddie grasps the tag with his fingertips and places the palm of his other hand on your shoulder blade, the heat of it radiating through you so intensely that you have to scrunch your eyes closed and try to ground yourself.
With a quiet, “You ready?”, Eddie begins to slowly lower the zip.
It dislodges under his delicate touch, and although the zip is now completely free-moving he continues to pull it downwards ever so slowly. You feel another frisson of excitement, and even though you could at this stage probably quite easily take over and get out of the garment yourself, you don’t move away.
As the opening reaches your shoulder blades, you feel something else. It’s featherlight, barely there, but you think you can feel the knuckle of one of Eddie’s bent fingers brushing the skin of your back as he pulls the zipper slowly downwards.
Part of you thinks you should be freaked, after all an almost-complete stranger is touching you without your consent, but somehow it doesn’t feel weird. It feels… nice. Safe. Right.
The lower the zip goes the more of Eddie’s breath you feel on your back, and as the sides separate the edges of the colourful tattoo on your shoulder blade become visible.
Eddie's breath stutters at the sight, and as his knuckle passes over your bra strap and connects again with your lower spine you abruptly shake yourself out of your reverie.
Clutching the front of your tunic to your body, you move quickly away from him, stumbling back towards the locker room and mumbling, “I’ll take it from here. Thanks Eddie, you’re a lifesaver.”
Plonking yourself down on the bench in front of your open locker, you take a few deep breaths, trying to centre yourself before you get changed and wondering how on earth you’re going to be able to face him again tomorrow, the (yes, you’ll admit it now) hottest Santa you’ve ever seen...
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Back in your own clothes (black, wide-gauge fishnets, an old tee from a punk band that no longer exists, and a flared black skirt - much better) you’re about to scurry out with your head down when you hear muffled grunts and groans from the main floor. What on earth is going on out there?
You amble back out to the grotto area, trying to appear nonchalant and like this is your usual route out of the building.
You see Eddie’s combat boots sticking out from behind a pile of fake snowballs. They seem to be twitching.
You move closer until you can see his entire form. He’s lying on his back, immobile, completely tangled in fairy lights. You can’t help but start to giggle, not least because for the first time since meeting him it’s he who’s the one in a compromising position.
He’s struggling, likely making it worse, and he starts as he sees you, barking out, “Oh god, Boots, you scared me! Well, laugh it up, fuzzball, I guess it’s your turn to rag on me now.”
“What on earth happened? Are you hurt?”
“I said I’d help rearrange these lights, so I was up that ladder, moving them around, when the rung gave way. The lights were the only thing I could grab for when I span, fell, and, well, here we are!”
He gives you a broad but sarcastic grin, realising the absurdity of his predicament, trying to spread out his palms in a jazz hands kind of illustration but only managing to do it with one, the other trapped at his belt line by a string of dazzling pink lights.
“Um, you need a hand?”
“Uh, yes please.”
You take a moment to appraise the situation. You see the broken ladder, the tangled piles of lights, scuffed-up fake grass and unruly piles of snowballs.
As for Eddie, he seems unharmed, if a little bruised in the ego (and, perhaps, the elbows). He’s still wearing the Santa suit. Well, most of it. He still has on the hat for some reason, and the trousers, but he’s discarded the beard and jacket, presumably for reasons of temperature regulation or ease of movement, and his ‘belly’ cushion is nowhere to be seen.
And his top half? Well, his top half is now adorned only in a tight, white tank top.
You swallow as you take in his torso. He looked good on stage that night at the bar, but you never really got to see him this close up. Or this well lit.
His skin is almost as pale as the fake snow that litters the area, but there’s a creaminess to it that just makes him look, well, edible is the only word you can think of. Apart from ’lickable’. Yep, that would work too…
He’s solid, well defined, but he’s not stocky. You imagine that years of carrying amps and band equipment around has toned his muscles rather than bulked them.
And the tattoos… Oh. God.
You’ve always had a thing for people with alternative tastes, but this guy takes the cake. Swirling black ink in a variety of designs and styles covers his pecs and biceps, with smaller but no less elaborate designs adorning his forearms.
You notice a subtle glint under the colourful strings of lights that enwrap him, and spot that one of his nipples is pierced, the ring of metal just barely visible through the taut fabric.
Your eyes drift to his hands (those same hands that entranced you that first night), and although there’s no rings tonight (you guess ‘Badass Santa’ wasn’t the version on the mall’s wish list) his hands are no less attractive, still strong-looking and veiny, and you spot a number of small finger tats that you hadn’t been aware of before.
His position and the fact that he’s still struggling mean his abs are tensed, with his forearms are in front of him, making them, and his shoulders, really pop.
Jeezus.
Your thighs clench and you feel a heat bloom in your core.
He notices you staring, and for a moment seems to revel in it, but eventually breaks you out of your trance, asking, “You gonna help me get out of this, or what?”
“Yeah. Yeah, of course, um, lemme just…”
You decide to start at his feet, reasoning that’s where the tangles are the least bad, and at least if his feet are free he’ll be able to sit up.
That decision has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that you’d like to see him sitting, bound, tied up for you, naked…
Shit. Fuck. Concentrate…
Eventually you free him from the majority of his confines, your fingertips and the backs of your hands brushing his skin and the fabric of his clothes occasionally. As he’s able to sit up, his hair tickles you as you work, his scent invades you all over again, and the two of you share glances and timid little chuckles as you move around him, both aware that you’re closer than you’ve been before.
Eventually he’s completely freed, and as he stands and steps out of the final loop of lights he flops exhaustedly backwards into his golden throne, eyeing the pile of entangled lights and running a hand over his face, mumbling, “Shit, there’s no hope for them tonight. I’ll deal with it all in the morning.”
You stand to the side of the throne, wanting to check he’s ok, and in a bold move that you weren’t expecting he lifts one arm and takes the tips of your first two fingers in his, gently raising your hand in a silent instruction to come closer.
Mirroring your earlier comment, he says, “Thanks, Boots. You’re a real lifesaver”, adding, with a hand against his forehead, “I would’ve been here all night, could’ve starved to death. They'd've found my mummified remains in the morning.”
You find yourself stepping towards him, and with your free hand try to give his pec a playful slap, murmuring, “You’re so dramatic. No, wait, theatrical!”
The slap fails though, as he rapidly brings his other hand up to the back of yours, trapping your palm against his chest. You can feel the heat of his skin, the slight sheen of sweat just noticeable as your fingertips breach the low neckline of his top, the heavy thud of his heartbeat.
You don’t realise how close you’ve become, and you gasp as your knees touch the side of his. He gently grabs the hand that’s on his chest and pulls it to his side, and to stop yourself from toppling forwards you have to step around him, ending up standing astride his legs.
Your eyes lock, and something changes. For a long moment neither of you move, and you feel your breathing rate speed up.
Not breaking eye contact, Eddie slowly moves your arm up to his shoulder, and you find yourself climbing onto the throne with him, straddling his thighs.
He breaks out that low, rumbling voice again, as he murmurs,
“That’s it, Boots, come sit on Santa’s lap.”
As you lower down onto him, you feel the heat of his thighs through your thin tights, and then the contrast of the chill of your metal-coated heels against the backs of yours.
You also feel something bloom in the pit of your stomach. And further down. A warmth, heat, need.
Eddie moves one hand to hold the back of your waist, pulling you gently, moving you further up his lap towards him.
You feel the unmistakable bulge of his arousal between your thighs, and as he moves you closer you gasp as you feel it nudge your mound.
You look at each other for another long moment, aware that this is very new territory. His eyes flick between your eyes and your lips, as he asks, quietly, “Is- is this okay?”
It’s all too much and simultaneously not enough. You definitely weren’t expecting any of this, but at the same time you find yourself desperately nodding, needing more of him, of Eddie.
You answer by slowly rolling your hips lightly against him, your lips parting slightly.
The few layers of fabric between you aren’t enough to dull the sensation of his cock pushing against your centre, and you feel it gradually pressing between your folds, your growing slick making the movements easier.
Suddenly, his bulge nudges your sensitive bud.
You gasp again at the sensation, making Eddie exhale a long low, warm breath over your torso, before he speaks again.
“Boots, can I kiss you?”
You take a breath, considering how this could all go. You could walk away now (albeit with shaky legs and damp thighs) and leave any possible awkwardness or complicated entanglement in favour of a simple, uncomplicated holiday with your friend.
But then you look into his eyes again, as his hips gently buck and nudge you once more, and your decision is made.
Breathing out, you reply,
“Fuck yeah, Santa.”
Wearing a soft, sly smile, he gently brings one hand to the back of your head, bringing you to him as he moves forwards, chocolate eyes roaming your face, scanning your eyes and lips.
Noses bumping and lips millimetres apart, he pauses for a moment before closing the gap, pressing his soft, plush lips to yours. They feel divine, soft and velvety, and this close you can smell everything him now, with the subtle addition of something faintly minty.
You kiss him back, and then you both press forward harder, parting your lips at the same moment, the tips of your tongues touching and dancing before sliding past each other and deepening the kiss, your teeth bumping gently and hot breaths mingling.
It’s wet, hot and needy, your hands grasping his shoulders, and his arms pulling you closer to him.
The rolling of your hips gradually becomes stronger and more forceful, and he bucks harder up into you. You need more. Breaking the kiss for air, you take a couple of lungfuls, toying with the drawstring on his red pants before asking, bold and more than a little cheeky,
“How are you feeling? Still entangled? Do you need a hand getting out of these, too?”
“Yeah, fuck, I’m feeling very… entrapped, kinda claustrophobic. Might be in shock from such a traumatic experience. I might need to loosen my clothing a bit, y’know, for medical reasons.”
You give him a smirk, and untie the cords. Raising up on your knees slightly, you slide your thumbs hands into the waistband of those and his fitted, black boxers (fuck, is there anything about this guy that isn’t sexy?). He quickly takes the hint, lifting his hips off of the throne and allowing you to move his garments down to his thighs.
As you work his member gets caught on the elastic of his boxers, and as it releases from the fabric it springs back onto his abdomen with an audible slap. You can’t help but look, and you’re not disappointed. It’s pleasantly, but not overly, big, thick and veiny, curved slightly and with a large flared head. The tip is shiny and pinky-red, and as you stare it twitches away from his body and a tiny bead of precum leaks from the tip. You’re surprised, but also delighted, to spot a shining pair of steel balls decorating a frenum piercing, and that there’s a few pretty dot and line work tattoos near the base.
It’s beautiful. You want to tell him so, but he grabs you and pulls you in for another deep, passionate kiss, his length trapped between your bodies, hot and pulsing.
You melt into the kiss, tongues slipping and sliding, lips rubbing, noses smooshed against each other and enjoying it for as long as you can both do without air.
Needing another deep inhale, and also wanting to get your hands on his delightful cock, you sit up again, slipping one hand between you and grasping at his length. Eddie hisses, then moans,
“Oh, Boots, you’re gonna fucking kill me.”
You enjoy the feeling of him in your hand for a few moments, relishing the heat and hardness, before you position the palm of your hand behind his cock and push your centre towards him again, trapping his length between your hand and belly.
More thrusts of his hips moves him between you, your slightly adjusted position now pressing him firmly between your clothed folds, his cock dragging the fabric across your clit. You can’t help but let out a high whine, and you feel his cock twitch again.
“Too much fabric. Wanna feel you.”
His voice is gruff, desperate, wanting.
You lean back a little, resting one hand on the arm of the throne, keeping your other hand wrapped around his cock. You’re not sure you ever want to let it go.
His hands move from your ass to your thighs, running over them and squeezing. When he reaches the part exposed by your lifted skirt he growls, feeling the skin of your hips and belly through the mesh of your tights.
Suddenly, his chin dips and he gives you an almost evil grin. His eyes remain connected with yours as the tip of his tongue peeks out of the corner of his mouth as he pushes some of his fingertips through the holes, grabs tightly and pulls.
You freeze as the sound of snapping fabric echoes around the grotto, cool air now gracing your belly and inner thighs. You gasp, not only at his actions but because you packed light and don’t have any other tights with you. But as Eddie’s thumbs trace up to the crease of your thighs, dangerously close to your heated core, all thoughts of packing and capsule wardrobes are erased. You want, no, need him to touch you.
With a smirk, you say, “Please touch me, Santa. I promise I’ve been such a good girl this year.”
His jaw goes slack and he looks at you in awe. You notice how black his eyes have become, the beautiful chocolate hues all but obscured.
He flicks his gaze to your core, black satin panties with lace edging fully on display. He runs one thumb pad up your very centre, feeling the smooth, silky fabric, your heat, the dampness that’s already apparent.
“Christ, baby, is this all for me?”
“All for you, Santa. I’m pretty sure you’ve been a bad boy this year, but you deserve a treat anyway.”
His eyes flick to yours again briefly, his lips curling into a lascivious smirk, before returning to the beautiful display between your legs. He hooks his thumb around one lace edge and, much more gently than he handled your tights, moves the soaked satin to one side.
With a tenderness and reverence that you’ve never experienced before, Eddie parts your folds with his thumb and runs it delicately from your wet lips all the way up to your clit. His eyes are fixed there, jaw slack, and you genuinely think he might drool.
As he connects with your sensitive bud you keen above him, eyes closing and head rolling back.
“That’s the spot, huh?”
You come back to look at him, and manage to breathe out, with a lilting giggle, “Fuck, yes.”
He moves his thumb in a small circle, and your mouth falls open in an O, your brows furrowing slightly.
“You want me to keep going, Boots? All you have to do is ask…”
You’re lost, gone, away in space, and you don’t have the capacity to chide him for his cheek. All you can manage is a breathy, “Please Eddie, please keep going.”
His thumb speeds up slightly and he gradually and gently increases the pressure, and you can feel the coil in your belly tightening already. Fuck, he’s good at this.
Your hand remains clamped around his dick, squeezing it occasionally, his hips rutting up into your fist at a leisurely pace as he watches you fall apart on his lap.
He moves his other hand from where it’s been resting on your hip, and, widening his thighs slightly to create space beneath you, brings the tips of his index and middle fingers to your hole. You’re sopping wet and swollen, lips almost sucking him in just from the slightest touch.
He looks to your face again as he asks, “Is this okay?”
You manage a rapid, shallow head nod and a, “M-hm”, and he slowly plunges two fingers into you, scissoring them and generating a low groan from you, which in turn causes a harsher snap from his hips.
“Jeezus, Boots, you make the most delicious sounds, wish I could record them, listen to them on a loop. Fucking hell.”
“Maybe you can, you’re a musician after a-all…”
That’s the last thing you can say for a while, the combination of Eddie’s smirk, his talented fingers pumping in and out of you, his glorious thumb movements, the feel of his cock in your hand and his hips bucking beneath you all conspire to bring you to your peak.
You grip the arm of the throne hard, nails denting the pile on the velvety fabric. Your eyes close and your vision goes black before becoming a thousand tiny fairy lights, a firework igniting in your core and spreading throughout your body in the most delicious waves as you spasm around Eddie’s fingers.
You don’t notice you’ve been groaning until your senses return, and you feel a slight roughness in your throat. Eddie continues his movements, though slower, and helps you ride out your aftershocks as you pant on his lap.
Only when you start to twitch in discomfort does he remove his thumb from your clit. He slowly pulls his fingers from inside you, and to your surprise brings them up to his lips, pushing them fully inside his mouth and sucking greedily, closing his eyes and humming at your taste. Popping them out with a wet smack, he says,
“My god, Boots. You taste better than sugar cookies and cotton candy combined.”
Your arms feel suddenly weak, and you flop forwards, forehead on Eddie’s collarbone. You feel his warm, broad palm on your back, rubbing gently, soothing you.
“Y’okay there, sweetheart?”
You manage a little squeak, and mumble a tiny, “Mmph, yeaaah…”, as he chuckles lightly.
After a few moments you sit up a little, gazing into Eddie’s blown chocolate eyes through an endorphin haze, and you notice your cheeks are tense, in what must be, given Eddie’s somewhat lovesick expression, a goofy smile.
You realise you’re still holding on to his dick, and give it an experimental squeeze, to test whether your muscles are responding to signals from your brain (yeah, that’s definitely the only reason…). Eddie’s hips buck up, and you sneak a look down to see more precum leaking from the tip. You gather some with your thumb, circling it gently over his slit.
Eddie inhales with a hiss. His strong arm around your back goes to pull you in for another kiss, as his other hand reaches up to the hat atop his head, pulling it off and discarding it amongst the tangled fairy lights.
You move towards him for a deep kiss, releasing the grip on his member and running your hands around his (surprisingly muscular and delicious) neck and into the hair at the base of his skull, tangling your fingers into the curls and tugging gently, earning you another moan.
Shifting your hips along his thighs, you press your soaking folds against Eddie’s turgid cock, and the combination of sensations causes Eddie to break the kiss and emit a loud, low groan. His arms tighten around your torso and he moves his warm mouth down your jaw and neck with wet kisses, then lightly bites the top of your shoulder.
You sigh, knowing what you want.
“You ever fuck an elf, Santa?”
Eddies still mouthing at your collarbone as he mutters into your warm skin,
“Goddammit, you’re incredible.”
You move backwards slightly and Eddie takes the opportunity to reach behind him, grabbing the back of his tank top and dragging it off, dropping it carelessly to the side of the throne to join the lights and his hat.
Fuck, his chest is glorious too.
Bringing a little of your lower lip between your teeth, you run your palms down his solid torso. You want the opportunity to play with that nipple ring and examine each and every one of his tattoos, but right now there are more pressing desires on your mind.
He lets out a shaky breath as you brush his abs with your fingertips, shift your position and line up his swollen head with your eagerly awaiting hole.
“You sure about this, Boots?”
You look up at him, at his blown dark eyes and pink, kiss-bitten, shiny lips, and quirk an eyebrow as you run your fingers into his hair and murmur, “Oh yeah, Eddie. I want you to make me feel… special inside.”
He gasps as you angle your hips and sink down, pushing the head of his cock inside of you, gradually taking his thick length.
He kisses your lips once more, humming, as you acclimatise to his girth, then grins lasciviously as he thrusts his hips upwards, filling you completely. You’re close enough that the moans you let out mingle together and your breaths become shared, eyes locked and mouths agape.
You roll your hips, sliding Eddie’s length in and out of you at a gentle pace. You can feel every ridge and vein as he enters and pulls out, and you’re sure you can feel his frenum piercing dragging against your walls.
You can tell he’s holding back, consciously stilling his own hips and allowing you to set the pace. But this doesn’t last long.
Voice gravelly and ragged with lust, Eddie mumbles,
“Shit, baby, I gotta move. I wanna fuck you so bad, Boots. You gonna let me fuck you?”
Mouth close to his ear, you breathe out a small, “Please”.
It’s all he needs.
Grabbing your ass and squeezing hard but not harshly, Eddie pulls you down onto him as he thrusts up from below. His pace is ruthless as he lifts and drops you, matching his rhythm as he grunts and mumbles incoherent curses. You can’t make out much, but you do hear,
“Fuck, baby, you feel so divine, taking me so well, Jeezus Christ.”
Fuck, he feels amazing.
You remember his cock tattoos, and imagine how they might look, shiny and covered with your slick, disappearing in and out of your glossy lips.
This image, combined with a particularly hard snap of Eddie’s hips causing him to angle slightly differently and start to nudge that special place inside of you, causes you to let out a loud gasp, and your mouth drops open as you try to form a sentence.
“Oh fuck Eddie, I’m- I’m…”
“You gonna cum all over Santa, pretty girl?”
He continues thrusting at that delicious angle and you feel your legs start to tremble.
“Fuck! Y-yes, ye-ess!”
Heat building in your core, you just about hear Eddie mumbling,
“Shit, you’re squeezin’ me so tight, I’m not gonna last much longer. Where do you want…?”
Before he can even finish you’re blurting out,
“Inside me Eddie, please.”
You bounce on Eddie’s lap as his thrusts become deeper, faster, and then harsher and less rhythmic. You grind down onto his pelvis, your clit rubbing against his pubic bone and his thick, dark pubic hair, as his cock continues to bully your most sensitive spot.
Suddenly your muscles tense, thighs clamping around him, your forehead pressing hard into his, as his hips slam up into you. You let out a low whine as you peak again, vision blackening, all your muscles tensing as your walls clench around him.
Eddie follows almost immediately, thrusting harshly upwards and pulling your hips down onto him, and you feel rushes of warmth as he groans and empties himself inside your fluttering cunt.
There’s quiet for a moment, and all you can hear is your panting breaths and the sound of your own heartbeat in your ears.
You sit in silence for a few minutes, foreheads feasting against each other, heartbeats slowing and breathing becoming more regular.
Breathlessly, and without full clarity, you sit up slightly and mumble “Fuck, Eddie, that was…”
Eddie chews a little on the inside of his lower lip, and with the widest, sexiest smile you’ve ever seen, replies softly,
“Merry Christmas, Boots.”
After a few moments spent pecking kisses on various parts of your face, making you giggle, Eddie eventually helps you to lift off his slowly softening cock. He leans over to retrieve his discarded tank top and uses it to help clean the mess you both made between your legs.
You unpeel yourselves from the golden throne, feeling sure the heels of your boots have left marks in your ass, and he aids your passage back to the locker room on wobbly legs, helping you wash and making sure you’re ok.
As you gather your things he changes into his street clothes. They’re not dissimilar to last night, though he’s foregone the chain belt and has chosen a somewhat more fully intact shirt, and he watches you as he slings on his leather jacket.
Almost ready, you look down forlornly at your gaping tights, the hole barely covered by the hem of your skirt. Eddie chuckles, and tries to lighten your hosiery-related mood.
“Perhaps I could buy you a new pair? Maybe at lunch tomorrow we could go visit your favourite shop, and you could pick out something nice?”
The image of Santa and one of his elves nonchalantly browsing the displays in a sex shop amuses you greatly, and you tell him so, but he insists he would totally do it, if you wanted to.
There’s a pause as you retrieve your coat and go to put it on, and as you do he adds,
“Well, I’d call it a Christmas gift, but… I’d actually prefer to get you something a little nicer. If you’re around. And you’d let me, of course.”
You’re surprised by Eddie’s unexpected tenderness, and the implication that he might want to continue… whateverthisis. You don’t want to presume anything, but there’s certainly a little tingle in your belly at the thought.
You reply, sardonically, “Sure, I guess. So long as it’s not red and glittery, I think I've had enough things like that to last me for a little while.”
You both snort-laugh at this.
As you start to walk together to the staff exit at the back of the mall, Eddie offers to take your bag so you can fasten your coat and put on your hat and gloves.
Trying to sound casual, he asks, “Sooo, how’re you gettin’ back to Robin’s?”
“I was gonna take the bus, like usual.”
Eddie looks at you sideways, slightly bashful.
“Could I, maybe, give you a ride? We can stop at Benny’s on the way, if you’re hungry. It's a diner”, he clarifies, remembering that you’re not from around here.
Your tummy flips, and not just from the thought of a milkshake and fries.
“Yeah, sure, I’d like that.”
Eddie smiles that wide smile again, and you see his cheeks turn a little pink. It’s odd, him being all shy and self-conscious after what you two have just done, but somehow it’s also incredibly endearing.
As he walks you through the parking lot, still carrying your bag and toying with a stray piece of tinsel that he found in his pocket, he says,
“Y’know, I’d still really like to see what you do with that Christmas dildo.”
Thinking back to how he looked all tangled up, you smirk back at him as you think of how you’d quite like a redo of him tied up for you.
As you reach his van, you lean against the passenger door and coyly look at him.
“Well, maybe I could show you. Could we, maybe, do something after work tomorrow?”
With the sweetest dimpled smile you think you’ve ever seen, Eddie cocks his head to one side and lifts a hand to run the tip of one forefinger along your jawline, as he replies in that low rumble,
“Oh, Boots, you should know by now. All you have to do is ask.”
🎄You may not yet be completely sold on the whole idea of The Holidays™️, but you’ll have to admit to Robin that this might well be the start of your Best. Christmas. Ever.🎄
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Thanks so much for reading! ILY 🥰
Please support your content creators by not only liking but also commenting and reblogging - it’s so important. If you liked this there’s a good chance others will too, and comments and reblogs are the only way posts get seen. Consider it a Christmas gift to your writers and followers 😍🎅🏼 Thank you, and Happy Holidays, however you celebrate!
Resources: Proof that Deck The Halls can be sung to the tune of War Pigs (and vice versa), plus the ‘Fa la la’ 😊🎄
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dreamgrlarchive · 10 months
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Nicki Minaj’s The Pinkprint Era (+No Frauds)
#PrettyHeiressDiaries: Eras Edition 🎀
this is my first #PrettyHeiressDiaries post. as i’ve previously stated, this series is going to be me diving into my fav muses and celebs and dissecting what i can take from these lovely ladies. this blog will focus on Nicki Minaj’s branding from 2014-2017 roughly. + a few Queen era looks.
The Pinkprint Era Style Elements:
the pinkprint was alter ego free, and a return to hiphop and r&b for nicki. meaning she was highly stripped of the campy pop rap star we had come to know. it was chic DOWN. think collector barbie vs the harajuku barbie. don’t mistake me though, onika was still very in touch with her cutesy girly side. there was a balance of sexy and chic with a few drops of cute. and this is why the pinkprint era is my absolute favorite, with her looks being a standard i follow for a lot of my looks.
nicki’s cute mirrors 🎀
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nicki’s iconic black barbie insta selfies, wearing real hair or natural extensions(often textured ponytails and blowouts), minimal makeup and natural beats 🎀
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lots of black and neutrals, statement purses (often times chanel) 🎀
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nicki makes a return to the harajuku barbie aesthetic during the pinkprint tour 🎀 +
prissy pink looks i loved from this era 🎀
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No Frauds Era Style Elements:
after the pinkprint era was dying down and nicki had become the victim of “the nicki hate train,” her style was still reminiscent of pinkprint. but i would say her branding shifted from the demure somewhat sweetheart to more of an unapologetically bad bitch. this is marked as the “no frauds era” (the time between pinkprint and queen)
glamorous gowns, grandiose blingy bodysuits and adornments, continuing from the pinkprint aesthetic, she’s still wearing natural glams and hairstyles 🎀 +
latex catsuits, lacey looks, pink as seen in the paper magazine cover and the motorsport video 🎀
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literally queen couture (tiaras, headpieces, and maximalist furs), the subtle return of the barbie chain, 40 inch “you b*tches can’t even spell prague” naomi/cher hair 🎀
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My Fav Queen Era Looks:
ex. tusa videoshoot, harpers bazaar vietnam cover, 2018 vma look, chun li cover art look, 2018 harpers bazaar look 🎀
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So What Can We Learn?
Nicki’s style has never been anything short of ultra femme and makes it clear she’s not afraid to take up space and your attention.
As her branding and look shifts through these eras, it’s as if she’s becoming more aggressive with the her fashion to speak to the public.
During The Pinkprint Era, she said “Look, I can put the pink wigs and rainbow paint away and still capture attention while making quality work. Respect me.”
The No Frauds Era saw her evolve into a more flashy Nicki while taking hints of her past looks to say “I AM the greatest, you will NEVER top me, and I can remind you who I am.” Note the Barbie chain while also dressing like modern day royalty.
Nicki Minaj is a highly polarizing figure in pop culture but that should not stop us from acknowledging the cultural resets she’s delivered us in the fashion and beauty industry. When she said “I got all these girls wantin’ to be Barbie Dollz,” it wasn’t just a line, ITS TRUE. So many influential girls on instagram look like either Nicki, Kim K, or Madison Beer, just to name a few. The girls have taken a heavy note from the colored hair, bussdown middle part inches, bulky chains, all while trying to maintain an untouchable level of HYPERFEMININITY. An actual BLACK BARBIE.
-PrettyHeiressDiaries 🎀
credits: nathyyy and blessing mukosha via youtube, @thevirgodoll and @babyphat05’s breakdowns on femmes in the culture on the respective personal blogs.
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psipies · 19 days
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Y'all ever wandered exactly what music would Alastor listen to?
Well do I have a treat for you!
tl;dr I've made a biblically historically accurate playlist with jazz from 1920 - 1933. Enjoy!
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As an old jazz enjoyer, baby swing dancer, hazbin hotel fandom inhabitant and an adhd owner, recently I developed a raging hiperfixation with history of jazz.
So of course I was into the idea of finding a playlist which have recordings from the ✨period✨
You know, stuff that Alastor could actually air in his radio show. Albeit most playlists I found, between music from 1920, have also electro swing and more contemporary music, as well as songs from the show.
So I've made one myself.
Without further ado, here is how madness looks like:
I highly recommend to listen to the playlist on shuffle, since I added the tracks by artist. So it's more fun to have it a bit mixed 🙃🔀
Based on what I could find, Alastor died in his thirties. Most resources state that it was his early thirties. His year of death is 1933 (after fandom wiki). For this project I made an assumption that he lived between 1900 - 1933 and worked in the radio his whole adult life. So on the playlist you'll find the music recorded in years 1920 - 1933.
Vivzie pointed out that Alastor liked Cab Calloway, Charlie Chaplin's "Smile" and his favorite song would be "You're Never Fully Dressed Without a Smile" from the "Annie" musical. Especially that the latter was an inspiration for his character. BUT.
"Annie" musical premiered in 1977, so songs from that work are too modern for the playlist. Although Alastor could enjoy the "Little Orphan Annie", a 1930/31 radio drama show. As far as I'm concerned, it only had a theme song, which unfortunately I can't find on Spotify.
Charlie Chaplin's "Smile" premiered in 1936, but I decided to include it. Let's pretend that the year of death is contractual in this case 😏
Unfortunately most of the jazz standards from 1920 was first recorded after 1940, so I guess they couldn't got into 20s/30s radio. But maybe I should chill a bit on the radio part and include stuff that Alastor could enjoy live, hanging out with Mimzy at some local speakeasies? Whaddya say?
I hope you'll appreciate my exquisite sense of humor, since I was able to choose some tracks basing on the sheer hilarity of how their titles suits our Bambi 🤡 Can you spot them?
I'm not an expert, just a crazy person with too much time on her hands. So if you spot some inaccuracies gimme a shout 👀
I'll be expanding the playlist, because why the hell not?
Phew! Wasn't that a hell of a rabbithole dive? I hope that I was able to introduce you to some fun, new (...old?) music that you'll love 🎩
Personally I grew to love Duke Ellington and Cab Calloway. How 'bout you? Any favorites?
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frogmanbob · 8 months
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If you've always wanted to try a Mark V dive...
Requires a commercial, military, or recreational diving certification
2023 Aug 14
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theowlseye · 1 year
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This is the post I have been meaning to make since last Friday about MGS and historical fashion. I finally have all my thoughts down and organized. First of all, I'm not an expert in fashion nor I a historian. I am just someone who likes looking at pretty pictures on the internet. 
I've definitely posted before about how I wish MGS took more inspiration from historical fashion in its character designs for the games where Big Boss is the protagonist. (The Solid Snake protagonist games obviously couldn't be accurate to their era's fashions because they take place in the near future. Semi-related, I love Fortune's design so much because her makeup and hair are so y2k, yet her body suit does remind me of how female pop stars would start to dress for live performances in 2008/2009). However, in my wish fulfillment searches for how I think Eva's hair and bikini should have looked in MGS 3, I ended up learning that some of the characters do have historically accurate designs, most notably Para-Medic in MGS 3 and Kaz in MGS V. 
Para-Medic/Dr. Clark
Para-Medic is definitely my favorite character design, history-wise, hands down. She has the hair and the clothes of a mid-1960s professional woman. Her overall aesthetic is about taking the clothing and roles associated with men and making them feminine, which is a very 1960s fashion POV to have. The fashion of this era has a lot of contradictions, as women were rebelling against the ultra-feminine conservativism of the 1950s, but still did not dive into more transgressive androgyny or reject toxic standards about women's bodies (we just replaced the 1950s hourglass with the ultra-thin boyish waif frame). As women were entering the workforce in unprecedented numbers, there became this question of how to adapt professional wear for more feminine styles.
Enter, the pussy bow, which is the big bow at Para-Medic's collar made out of the same material as her blouse (yes that is what it was called. It's because it looks like the bow you would tie around a cat's neck. No, I don't think these people had cats because if you tie a bow around a cat's neck it will rebel.) The pussy bow was the soft, feminine answer to the men's tie. It completed the working woman's blouse and from the 1960s to 1980s, it was seen as a symbol of women's growing financial independence from men.
Her above-the-knee pencil skirt is also very 1960s. Like the pussy bow, this style of skirt was a sign of the changing times and women's independence. While professional pencil skirts did not have hems as high as the miniskirt, they were higher than their 1950s counterparts. Her vest also matches the material and color of her skirt, which is very in line with the '60s women's style skirt suit.
She also has her camo jacket slung over her shoulders. I have a reference photo of Grace Kelly coat slinging in the collage. Kelly was more known for being a 1950s-style icon, but she had a tremendous and lasting impact on women's fashion. In the 1960s, we see the coat-slinging trend move towards the development of these coat capes. This is another way of taking something that might be bulky and making it softer and more feminine, yet still trendy and modern.
The sleek bob definitely had its moment in the 1960s. There was a lot of diversity in hair in this decade (which is why I'm so sad they didn't do much with Eva's hair!) and the bob was not hyperspecific to the 1960s, which makes it not as "in your face" 1960s as say, a beehive would have been. However, the fact that her hair is mostly straight except for the little curl at the end cements it as a 1960s cut and not an earlier style of the bob like the bombshell bob of the 1950s.
This isn't 1960s per se, but I do want to note that her shoes are high heel versions of fur-lined combat boots. To my knowledge, this wasn't an overall shoe trend, but it's another example of taking the professional wear of one's male counterparts (in her case, military men's boots) and making it feminine.
I think these style choices also serve her overall character very well. I think she is very much not a submissive woman, she's very independent like the new ideal for women of the 1960s, but she still has this soft femininity about it. These soft aesthetics were also a way for women to soften the perception of their power. On one hand, this makes sense since women are expected to be more accommodating so as not to be threatening to men's sense of authority. On the other hand, some pretty terrible women used fashion like the pussy bow to soften their violent realities. Later in the 1980s, Margaret "Do Poor People Deserve Rights" Thatcher often sported the pussy bow, because she felt it softened her image. This tactic works really well with Para-Medic as a character. Like come on, you really think Dr. Clark is going to clone a man without his consent to produce three offspring designed to be symbols instead of their own people, only to die young because their bodies were made to deteriorate once they passed their years of peak performance? You're telling me she's going to revive a former child soldier who just wanted to be laid to rest and make him undergo agonizing tests because she wanted to make a cyborg? She couldn't do that, she's wearing a pussy bow! 
Kazuhira Miller
Men's fashion doesn't change as drastically as women's fashion does, so Kaz's outfit in MGS V might not scream 1980s at first, but he actually does take a lot of cues from the fashion of the time!
Notably, his trench coat is very 1980s. A trench coat is a rather timeless piece, but the cut and construction change overtime. One of the pictures I have above is Richard Gere in American Gigolo, styled by Giorgio Armani. Armani really changed the game for men's fashion in the 1980s, particularly with his designs for suits. He styled quite a number of films, so his influence was something even people who didn't keep up religiously with fashion would see. Men's silhouettes got boxier, which is evident in Armani's suits and outerwear. Also by the mid-1980s, ties got thinner compared to their counterparts in the 1970s. Collars were popped as part of the emerging preppy culture. You can see that Kaz, Gere, and the other model are all wearing these boxier cuts with popped collars and thinner ties. I will say, most of the trench coats in MGS feature popped collars regardless of time period, but I would also contrast Kaz's coat with Ocelot's duster. Ocelot's isn't as boxy, because his coat isn't following the current trends, he's following a Western aesthetic, which is why he has a duster with shoulder capes and not a contemporary trench coat like Kaz. (I should note that there was also a cowboy aesthetic resurgence in the 1980s, due to the movie Urban Cowboy and the show Dallas but Ocelot's love of cowboy culture clearly predates that.)
What really sealed the deal for me on Kaz's design as a mid-1980s look was the "designer stubble." Men would grow out their facial hair past the 5 o'clock shadow but not get it to beard length, and they would intentionally maintain it as such. It was a way to make yourself look rugged and masculine but still conventionally handsome. It was sported famously by George Michael, who my mom really liked, and also by Baby Venom Snake, Keifer Sutherland, who my dad likes today, but in the 1980s was most popular with teen girls. It was very much a style that young women were attracted to.
Kaz's biggest difference from 1980s fashion norms is that his jacket is buttoned up, whereas suits became looser and had less buttons. Part of this is because he's wearing the US Army Green Uniform, which isn't affected too much by changing trends. I do think it's interesting that he isn't wearing the olive green button-up underneath or the green tie. He's wearing a blue shirt and a red tie, so not necessarily all military-issued clothing. He is also the only main character on MB who is wearing a suit and tie. Venom is usually wearing military fatigues or a sneaking suit, Ocelot is Ocelot, Quiet is wearing...a fucking bikini...and not even a fun 1980s one. Huey (who I don't like to think about) and Code Talker are wearing more white-collar professional wear, but not full suits. Kaz is the only one wearing a suit, which is not something he wore in the Peace Walker/GZ era of 1974-1975. "Power dressing" for the office was big in the 1980s. (If you have parents who entered the white-collar workforce in the 1980s like mine did, ask about what they wore. They'll have fun talking about the shoulder pads.) While Kaz wasn't "thriving" in 1984, God knew that the Greed is Good decade would be special for him, and he let him have this moment to shine like the Material Girl he was.
I'm keeping my Historical Fashion Girly hat on but putting my Kaz Girly hat on over it to say that I really do appreciate this design for Kaz. I think all of us (or maybe just me) originally took the stubble more so as an indication of his depression in V, but now I definitely am more likely to view it as an intentional choice due to him following current fashion trends. I think that could be seen as a nice holdover from Peace Walker, where he was someone who put a lot of thought and care into his appearance. It makes me happy as a Kaz Girly to think that this fictional man (who invented the war economy and did a lot of terrible things) may have had some pockets of happiness during V and still did the things he enjoyed. Like, come on. If someone in Diamond Dogs was wearing an Armani coat, it would be him.
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steddieasitgoes · 6 months
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written for @eddiemonth Day 9 Prompt: Cowboy cw: mentions of alcohol read on ao3 | link to my ao3 Eddie Month series
Eddie’s been in a lot of bars over the years, but none quite like The Lonesome Cowboy. 
Sure, there’s a wrap-around bar along the back where bartenders dressed in god-awful cowboy and girl uniforms shoot the shit with their regulars. Shelves and shelves of liquor sit on the wall behind organized according to price — the most expensive glistening at the very top. But, unlike the bars Eddie frequents, there doesn’t seem to be a collection of spiderwebs around those. 
Where Eddie’s used to dimly lit dive bars, The Lonesome Cowboy is lit up like a damn supermarket. Okay, maybe not a supermarket, but it is bright, is what he’s getting at. Warm can light mixed with the occasional flare of colored ones from the small stage in the opposite corner. There’s also a disco ball hanging over the crowded dance floor. A fucking disco ball! 
The ornate wood walls are covered in saddles and cowboy hats. A mural of famous country musicians stretches across the room, and American flags hang down from the railing on the second level. Of fucking course, a place like this has a second level. Rich ass country people. 
The dance floor is crowded with bodies, everybody line dancing to whatever song the band on stage is currently playing. A rowdy group hoots and hollers around a mechanical bull where a petite girl is hanging on for dear life. 
It’s so not Eddie’s scene, but he’s a good friend. A phenomenal friend if he’s being straight with himself. And as a phenomenal friend, he sometimes goes places where he knows he doesn’t belong, like this bar in Nashville. Especially when said bar is hosting Gareth’s celebratory engagement party. 
“I still can’t believe Gar-bear over there is the first one of us to get hitched,” Freak says, tipping his beer bottle to his lips. 
“M’not,” Jeff snorts. “He always was the most approachable out of all of us in high school.”
“Yeah, but landing and keeping someone like Chrissy?” Eddie whistles, shaking his head fondly. He catches sight of the happy couple on the dance floor, dancing hand in hand as they move across the floor. 
“Yeah, well, Gareth is many things, but a quitter.”
They toast to that before falling into conversations that jump from topic to topic.
It’s been a few years since the whole gang got together. They keep in touch, a telephone call every few months from the Freak. Postcards from Gareth’s adventures with his girlfriend turned fiancee. He sees Jeff the most since they share an apartment in Chicago. But nothing beats getting the band back together in one location. 
Before they know it, five songs have come and gone and the atmosphere in the bar is electric. Freak excuses himself to the bathroom (“‘M too young to have a bladder this shitty,” he groans before wading through the rambunctious crowd). 
A comfortable silence falls between Eddie and Jeff as they nurse their respective drinks — a standard beer for Jeff and a whiskey sour for Eddie that Gareth insisted he try. It’s too damn smooth for his liking. Though, maybe that’s just the guilt rising up like bile in his throat after he glanced at the price tag. Gareth might be picking up the tab, but Eddie doesn’t need to be draining his bank account liquor. Especially not when he has a wedding to plan now. Still, it would be even ruder to waste it, so he takes another sip and tries to hide his grimace behind the glass. 
Eddie’s eyes drift out to the dance floor where Gareth is line dancing up a storm next to Chrissy. He spins her around in a flashy, look-at-me sort of way that would be annoying if it weren’t him. It’s actually really, fucking endearing. He may have his doubts about true love, but Gareth has found the real deal that’s for sure. A fact he makes sure to tell him several times as the night goes on. 
Drinks keep flowing, music keeps playing, and before long Eddie’s the only one still sitting at the bar. Freak’s been summoned to the mechanical bull by some of Gareth’s work friends. And Eddie basically shoved Jeff onto the dance floor a song and a half ago to go dance with one of Chrissy’s best friends who kept making eyes at him.
Everyone’s fully embraced the energy in The Lonesome Cowboy, everyone except Eddie. He doesn’t mean to be a buh humbug, quite the opposite, really. Sitting at the bar is just more in line with his comfort zone. Especially now that the band is passing out cowboy hats to the crowded dance floor in preparation for a new dance they’re teaching them. 
“If you’re not going to join the fun, can I at least get you another drink?” a silky smooth voice asks from behind him. 
An astute observation that the goofy bartender who had  left for the night hadn’t picked up on, despite Eddie’s empty whiskey glass sitting empty on the bar behind him for hours.
A pretty voice and an attentive eye? Oh, I’m screwed, Eddie thinks, already biting his lip as he turns around on the barstool. 
Hazel eyes like honey glimmer under the warm light of the bar top, pulling Eddie into a daze. The cacophony of noise disappears, as does his surroundings. Vision blurred until all he can see is the bartender in front of him. It’s a wonder he manages to break their locked stare, but he’s glad he does as he takes in the man piece by piece. 
A frayed suede vest is slung perfectly over the man shoulder’s, just like every other bartender in the place. But it looks better on him than any of the others. It sits over a tight white button-up that clings to the man’s shoulders. He has the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, strong forearms unabashedly on display as he raps his fingers against the wood bar top. 
The counter is high, obstructing Eddie’s view of the lower half of the bartender, but it doesn’t take a genius to imagine what he’s wearing. The uniform in the place seems to be tight blue jeans and bedazzled cowboy boots, and he can’t imagine Mr. Cowboy Cassanova over here straying from the heard. Though, he is interested to see just how much better he wears the measly uniform. A man with those kind of arms definitely hits the gym more than occasionally. Eddie’s sure he has an ass to prove it, too. 
The only thing out of place on the man is the cowboy hat. Unlike his coworkers, it’s angled weird, barely pulled down on his head as if doing so would ruin his hair. And by the looks of the wisps of hair falling around his eyes, it’s a gorgeous head of hair. 
Eddie’s not one for Western fantasies; the thought is basically boner killer thanks to the hours and hours of Gunsmoke he watched with his uncle in his youth, but right now it’s working for him. 
Really fucking working for him. 
Jesus H. Christ! 
Mr. Cowboy Cassanova is a gift from the universe, and Eddie wants to take him apart with his teeth. 
“So,” the man asks, clearing his throat. “What can I get you?”
You. 
“How about we start with a name,” Eddie says instead. He pillows his chin in his hands, elbows digging into the wood bar as he looks up through his lashes. 
“Name’s Steve,” the bartender replies, a slight hint of pink to his cheeks. “And yours?” 
“Eddie,” he responds, watching as Steve carefully cleans a glass with a pristine white cloth. 
“You here with the happy couple?” 
Eddie hums, glancing over his shoulder to find Gareth and Chrissy surrounded by all their friends jumping and dancing around them as the pair do some fancy little duet. Gareth swings Chrissy around his waist before picking her up in his arms and planting a kiss on her lips. Shows off. 
“Why aren’t you out there with them, then?” 
“Not much of a dancer.” “More of a drinker then,” Steve states rather than asks. 
There’s no time to respond before Steve’s pouring top-shelf bourbon into his shaker. Followed immediately by a helping of lemon juice and simple syrup. Eddie watches, entranced, as Steve shakes the shaker in his confident, skilled hands. He flips it with ease, the yellow-orange liquid flowing into the glass. Steve slides the precut orange slice onto the rim before reaching for the cherries. Two for Eddie’s drink, one for his own mouth. Stem and all. 
The glass slides in front of Eddie with magical ease, but he’s too captivated by Steve to reach for it. Eyes glued to Steve. Watching his jaw moves as he chomps on the cherry, the slow bob of his throat as he swallows before his fingers are at his lips, pulling a perfectly knotted cherry stem from his mouth. 
Tease. 
Oldest party trick in the book, but it works. Oh, how it fucking works. 
With Steve’s big eyes glued to his, he reaches for the glass and takes a tentative sip. It’s another whiskey sour, but this one is in a league of its own. Perfectly measured and shaken. 
Steve’s not the only one who can be a tease, he thinks, as he brings the glass away from his lips and moves his tongue along the rim, lapping up a stray droplet that didn’t make it back into the glass. 
“Tasty,” Eddie says, tilting the glass for another slow drink. 
If Steve’s mere presence was captivating, seeing him with a smile so wide his eyes crinkle in the corners is damn near enchanting. Eddie thinks he could get drunk off the look alone. An impressive feat, given the high tolerance he’s built up over the years for booze and pretty boys alike. 
Reaching into his pocket, Eddie pulls out a few crumbled bills and passes them across the bar. Steve glances down, brows knitted together. “Your buddy’s already covering everyone’s tab.” 
“I know,” Eddie says slowly, eyes locked with Steve’s. “But I can still tip you, can’t I.” 
Eddie’s not expecting the bright laugh that bubbles out of Steve, but it’s music to his ears. Way better than the country twang that’s been playing on endless repeat for hours. He wants to bottle it up and save it for a rainy day. 
“I’ve got a tip for you,” Steve says, shoving the bills into his back pocket. “Next time you come to a country bar, at least wear a cowboy hat. Really gets you into the spirit.” 
“Is that so?” Eddie asks, eyes flicking up to the crooked hat barely resting on Steve’s head. Maybe it’s the whisky, maybe it’s Steve’s kind but intense gaze. Whatever it is, Eddie feels confident as he leans across the bar and plucks the hat off of Steve’s head. With a tilt of his head and his signature smirk, he flips it in his hands and up onto his unruly curls. “S’that better for you, Steve?” 
Something dark flashes in Steve’s eyes before they begin to dilate. Pupils blown wide as he leans against the bar, closing the distance between them until their forearms are touching and their noses are mere centimeters apart. 
With a tilt of his head, Steve brings his lips to Eddie’s ear. He’s so close Eddie can feel his warm breath wafting over him. It sends a shiver up Eddie’s spine and a rush of blood down to his dick. 
“You know what it means when you take a cowboy’s hat, don’t you, Eddie?” Steve asks in that silky smooth, confident but teasing voice of his. 
Eddie’s knees practically buckle at the sound of it in his ear and the closeness of Steve. But he holds himself together. Giving in now is too easy. The chase has always been the fun part for him. 
He pulls back just enough to be able to look Steve dead in the eyes and cocks his own head to the side, again. Plasters on an innocent smile that he knows won’t fool Steve because of the fire burning in his own eyes.
“Save a horse, ride a cowboy, right?” he asks in his own silky smooth, confident voice. And then he leans in so close that the brim of the hat bumps against Steve’s forehead. There’s no time for apologies, though, as Eddie positions his lips a breath away from Steve’s ear this time. “What time do you get off, big boy?” 
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nyaskitten · 3 months
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Imperium is... interesting. Obviously Ninjago is NEVER known for going super in-depth in its commentary on things that are inherently wrong (like Vangelis' slavery) and while it doesn't do like a super deep dive into the inner-workings of Beatrix's fascist empire, it goes far enough to showcase Beatrix's rule as inherently wrong. One of her broadcasts literally says shit about not wanting cultures of previously separate realms to "clash" with those of Imperium.
Another interesting thing to note is I went back to the flashback segments of episode 18, and it seems while Imperium was far better back then, Levo's rule of the kingdom was also... kinda oppresive, he wasn't the pure noble ruler to precede Beatrix that most shows probably would have him be.
It could just be left at "model reusage" but at no point does a single Imperium citizen in these flashbacks wear anything BUT the standard Imperium clothing. However, we also do NOT see any of the job-indication tattoos on any of their faces. That means in-universe the Imperium dress code was likely made long before Beatrix, possibly even before Levo as well.
One other thing in relation to Levo and how he was also possibly a kind of bad person is how he calls Ras an outlander. He says "What could an outlander such as you do about it?" In a VERY clearly malicious way, which even gets Zeatrix to turn her head and kinda side-eye him, kinda raising an eyebrow. For her to react like that means she probably has not seen/witnessed her father talk to ANYONE like that before. It's probably not commonplace in olden Imperium to hold, or at least openly share, such potentially hateful values.
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