#storm stacey

[boanerges20]

Storm Stacey British Superbikes // Oulton Park // 2024

[incorrect-spideytorch]

I will never emotionally recover from this

I’m sorry you’re telling me that Peter said all of this to Gwen’s grave and I’m not supposed to think that Johnny Storm is his soulmate?

[artverso]

Stacey Lee - Storm 

[qualitymoonsuit]

I just got 4 new books in the mail. They are called Star Wars: The High Republic: Defy the Storm, by Tessa Gratton and Justina Ireland; What Have We Here: Portraits of a Life, by Billy Dee Williams; A Drop of Venom, by Sajni Patel and Winston Chu vs the Wingmeisters.

[inhidingxoxo3637]

The off season is treating Aldeguer so poorly he's become a bus driver

[corruptedcaps]

Nurse Stacey

Stacey’s first day as an interning nurse wasn’t going well. How was she suppose to know she had to provide her own uniform? Although the rest of the girls from her class seemed to know as they were all dressed and ready for work. She knew it was somehow Bree’s, her bitchy classmate, fault.

Bree was clearly jealous of Stacey’s innate smarts and aptitude for the job but Bree also made it no secret that she was studying to become a nurse just so she could sink her claws into the richest doctor available. She didn’t want anyone taking any spotlight away from her in anyway so constantly set Stacey up to fail.

However Bree had ‘modified’ her uniform to make it so eyes were always on her anyway. Her tight uniform showed as much skin as was possible under the rules, so bullying Stacey at this point was just a bonus. By lunchtime on her first day Stacey was pulled aside by the head doctor, Lawrence, and told she needed to find a uniform that was white and red like everyone else’s by end of day otherwise she would be let go.

“I’m sorry Stacey but I’ve had complaints from some of the other interns that you aren’t taking your time here very seriously and it’s reflecting poorly on them so please find something appropriate to wear otherwise I’ll have to give you a failing grade.” He said leaving her alone to fume. Her? Inappropriate? Bree was the one with the ‘modified’ uniform, her tits practically dripping out.

“But by the end of day? How can I possibly do that with the rest of my work?” Stacey said to herself after Lawrence walked away.

“Maybe you should use your lunch hour, god knows you could lose a few pounds.” Bree said cruelly chiming in.

Stacey stormed into the locker room to try and find some nurse scrubs, even dirty ones but came up empty. Frustrated she banged against the lockers but felt them shake more than normal against the wall. That’s when she realized they weren’t up against a wall, but a door. Curious, she pulled out the set of lockers to reveal the door. It had been painted over but it was clearly a door and even had a name plate too.

Sliding the plate off she scratched and chipped away at the paint until it revealed it read ‘Head Nurse’. It was only then that she realized that the hospital didn’t have a head nurse. It wasn’t unusual for a hospital not to have one but it certainly was strange for a hospital to have an office for one that didn’t exist. However Stacey also realized that this may be the solution to her problems. Any good head nurse would have a spare change of scrubs in case of emergency.

Pushing the paint covered door hard enough until it gave in, Stacey fell inside to find a long forgotten and dusty room. It was sparsely decorated and had little furniture. What furniture it did have was odd. For example it had a rather plush looking bed and velvety sofa. It looked more like a room to entertain than one to work in but her eyes were soon drawn to a clothes mannequin in the corner. This would be what she needed.

However as she got closer to it she saw that the outfit was far from what she expected. Instead it looked like some sort of slutty Halloween version of a nurses outfit. It was made of white and red spandex and was incredibly short and looked like she wouldn’t be able to breath in it despite it’s flexibility. Stacey would never wear such a thing even as a joke let alone for work but as the end of the day was looming she realized it was her last hope. If nothing else it could buy her time to get a proper uniform after work somewhere.

Stripping down to her underwear she eyed the outfit and realized that she would need to be totally naked to squeeze into it. Locking the door to the office she then removed the last of her clothes and stood for a moment looking at her reflection in the large mirror in the corner.

She was by no means ugly but she was certainly out of shape and unkempt looking. She just never had time to work out and primp herself due to all her studying. She had sacrificed a lot to be where she was and now she was on the brink of losing it because of some gold digging jealous bitch. Her anger spurred her on. She pulled the outfit off the mannequin and held her breath as she slipped into it and zipped it up.

It was the tightest thing she had ever worn and yet she didn’t feel uncomfortable. There was a certain safety she felt by having it close to her skin and yet at the same time it felt as though she were naked. It gave her a weird sense of power, like the outfit was a kind of armour. Taking a moment she looked at herself in the mirror and strangely didn’t think she looked silly as she thought she might have. She didn’t feel shy or reserved either, she felt sexy. Even the antiquated hat looked good on her.

“Wow a head nurse wearing this? I imagine all all the staff were eating out of the palm of her hand, especially the hunky doctors looking like this.” She said to herself in admiration of the previous owner of the outfit. She felt light headed wearing it, like she didn’t have a care in the world which she quickly put down to the outfit cutting down on the blood circulation. It wasn’t tight everywhere however as the outfit was clearly meant for someone with a much larger cup size.

“Even though I don’t fill it out perfectly I think this should keep me from being fired today.” She said to herself preparing to leave but suddenly hearing a voice in her head.

“Fired? Who would dare fire the head nurse?” The voice purred in her mind.

“W-who said that?” Stacey said looking around seeing no one.

“Why me of course, your uniform. I am designed specifically for the head nurse. That’s you of course, correct?” The voice replied. Stacey thought she was losing her mind. Maybe the uniform was cutting off more blood to her brain than she thought.

“Eh yes I’m Stacey, the new, eh, head nurse.” Stacey replied trying to humor her own delusion.

“Stacey? No no no that won’t do, that’s not commanding enough. No you will be Anastasia from now on. Now let me get started.” The voice continued.

“Started with w-?” Stacey began but suddenly felt an intense heat begin in her stomach and reverberate outward. However it wasn’t unpleasant and in fact was quite pleasing making her involuntarily moan.

“Whhhhaaaaat arrrreee youuuuu doooooing?” Stacey groaned as the feeling intensified.

“Why I’m remaking your body of course, didn’t you read your head nurse contract? It’s standard procedure for all new head nurses to undergo a bitchification process. You need to be strong and tough to have this job after all.” The voice said matter of factly.

Stacey felt the uniform crunch in her stomach and her body moulded to its sleek and curvy contours. Her hips flared out, her butt became plump while her waist shrank. It felt good.

And yet she knew what was happening was wrong, she wasn’t the head nurse and pretending to be one would only land her in hot water. She needed to take off the uniform even if it was the more pleasurable thing she had ever felt.

“Noooo stop, this isn’t right. I’m not the head nurse.” She groaned while the changes continued. Hot red nails shot out from the ends of her fingers as her lips inflated into soft kissable pillows. Her tits grew bigger and bigger until it felt as though they’d rip the uniform.

“Of course, it’s perfectly normal to feel that way during this process but the next phase should put you at ease.” The uniform replied to her in words and then in actions as Stacey suddenly felt a barrage of information be thrown at her mind.

Expert medical advice was downloaded in an instant to her mind, knowledge that would have taken a lifetime to learn was suddenly as simple to her as two plus two. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad she thought to herself, she could make a real difference with a mind like hers now.

Just as she was having this altruistic thought, however, she heard bitchy mantras and creeds echo in her head.

Profits over people.

Power is Queen, the Queen will have power.

Serving the hospital so you will be served.

Greed, beauty, excess, fear.

They repeated over and over again in her mind, it was clear that the head nurse wasn’t there to help the patients, she was meant to help the hospital. Stacey was disgusted but the more she heard the words the more she was nodding along. She tried to resist but the conditioning was too strong.

She didn’t want to become a bitch but the temptation was getting hard to deny. Why should she have to work so hard when sluts like Bree walked all over her. Thinking about what a spoilt bitch Bree was ironically sealed Stacey’s fate. Knowing she’d have the power to command Bree to do whatever she said made Stacey unbearably wet. She wanted that more than anything.

“Yeesss you’re right, I was just doubting myself. That’ll never happen again. Insecure nurse Stacey is dead, confident, gorgeous head nurse Anastasia has arrived.” She purred with a new bitchy tone. She expected the uniform to reply but it said nothing. Having completed its job it went back into a dormant state.

Anastasia meanwhile walked over to the upright mirror and took in her new form. She looked every bit the wet dream she felt. Her outrageous beauty was complemented by her steely cold gaze, a duo that would give her the ultimate power over the staff and patients of HER hospital.

However she needed to make it official and there was one person she knew who could rubber stamp her new position and she would make it so he would beg her to be head nurse.

The next morning, the staff of the hospital were gathered outside Lawrence’s office after being summoned there 20 minutes ago. They weren’t certain but some could have sworn that they heard grunting, moaning and spanking.

Bree arrived with her cohort just as Lawrence exited his office, with his tie askew. Bree looked around and was happy to see Stacey not present.

“Guess poor Stacey didn’t find any spare uniforms. Such bad timing that we had offered to wash all the spares this morning, we could have given her one.” Bree smirked satisfied to herself as her friends giggled knowingly.

“Thank you all for coming on such short notice. I’ll make this brief. I’m proud to announce that starting today we have a long over due position returning. The position of head nurse!” Lawrence declared and the staff broke out into a murmur.

Bree and her friends broke into an excited chatter. This could be the stepping stone Bree needed to bag herself a rich doctor. If she became Head Nurse she would work intimately with the upper crust of the hospital. Sure there were more senior nurses but she had a way of getting what she wanted.

“After a long decision process I have decided to fill the position with one of our newest nurses. I know this might irk some of the senior staff but I believe a new position needs new blood.” Lawrence said and Bree felt his eyes land on her. Could she be getting her wish so soon? Of course, there was no other answer.

“So will you all please welcome your new head nurse, Anastasia.” Lawrence announced loudly as a brunette beauty strode out from his office. The staff were completely gobsmacked by the reveal of Anastasia, clad in the tightest uniform they had ever seen.

“Now that is no way to great your new head nurse, is it? Applaud. ” Anastasia said with a long stare that sent a shiver down everyone’s spine. Slowly they began to clap and Anastasia basked in their fearful reverence.

“Now Anastasia will get reacquainted with everyone over the next few days but for now back to work.” Lawrence said and looked over to Anastasia for an approving look but finding only her cold withering stare. Nevertheless he became aroused and quickly left to do his rounds along with most of the staff. Most except Bree and her gang.

“You might have Lawrence fooled with these fake tits, and slutty makeup but I know you’re still a loser Stacey and I’ll have your job by the end of the week.” Bree said defiantly. Anastasia smiled at her unnervingly and slowly clopped over to her in her high heels. As tough as Bree fronted she soon cowered before her new head nurse as she was backed into a corner with her friends.

“That’s head nurse Anastasia worm. You can be as insolent as you like but I now control your passing grades. If you don’t do exactly as I say I’ll fail you, all of you, and blacklist the lot of you from working in any hospital in this country. No job, no hot doctors, no life of luxury.” She said bearing down on the frightened young women.

“But follow me, learn from me and I’ll recommend you as Head Nurses to our sister locations. They’ll be some ‘training’ involved of course but you’ll earn yourself a uniform like mine and the power that comes with it. Understood?” Anastasia said in a cold purr that had all of Bree’s friends nodding enraptured.

“Good. Now off you go, training begins tomorrow.” Anastasia said standing back and allowing the women to escape. But yet again, Bree stood in rebellious rage.

“Screw you slut, my daddy is rich and is on the board of the hospital, if you think your theatrics intimidate me you-” Bree began but was quickly silenced by Anastasia who grabbed the girl by her neck and lifted her off the floor with ease, the uniform granting her super human strength.

“Silence, I heard just about enough of you. I know about your daddy and the power he had over the hospital. Who do you think gave Lawrence the go ahead for my promotion? Your daddy is under my thumb now and he will do exactly as I command, something you’re going to learn to do starting now.” Anastasia cackled as she dragged the young nurse to her office and threw her to the floor.

“Now loser you’re going to clean this place too to bottom. I want all this dust gone by the end of day, if you don’t consider your future as a nurse ended.” The bitchy head nurse said smirking down at Bree.

“By the end of day? How can I possibly do that with the rest of my work?” Bree said to Anastasia who just looked at her as if she were an ant.

“Maybe you should use your lunch hour, god knows you could lose a few pounds.” Anastasia said smirking cruelly at Bree.

THE END

[traincat]

Absolutely losing my mind over love unlimited. If I were Gwen Stacey and I found out my boyfriend bailed on my father’s wake for his celebrity boy toy I would stab him I think. Johnny Storm stays winning.

ABSOLUTELY fuel for the Gwen Stacy comes back and hunts Spider-Man with a rifle plot. She'd be morally in the right.

It's just extremely funny how whenever Johnny calls for help while Peter has a beautiful blonde weeping in his arms Peter's like well I simply have no choice but to go to him.

(Spectacular Spider-Man #42)

Beautiful woman wants him to comfort her and Johnny texts "u up?" He has to go. Peter has a one million dollar bounty on his head but Johnny's back from the tiny dimension he was stuck in for a year while everyone thought he was dead? He's already in the costume. He's like "what choice do I have." You have a choice, Peter. You have a very definite choice. Johnny is a siren and Peter is a sailor who refuses to put in earplugs.

[thebiggerbear]

Something Like This

Summary: A Nor'easter hits Boston and luckily for you, you don't have anywhere you need to be except right here snuggled up with CJ.

A/N: So, I started writing this back in January. We got quite a few snowfalls that month and I had wanted to write some cuddle time with CJ and the reader from the "I hate you" prompt. I wrote about 70% of it but then got distracted due to busy times at work and in life. But after this latest snowfall, I picked it up again and had to finish it. This wasn't originally meant to be for Valentine's Day (obviously) but I changed it up a little since the timing worked out. It's not much but I hope it's alright. Btw, I love snow, just not shoveling it lol.

Unbeta'd so all mistakes are mine.

Please let me know if you would like to be tagged in any future CJ or Dawson's Creek works.

Sequel to this prompt response

Warnings: pure fluff; implied sex

Word Count: 5995

Taglist: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187; @rieleatiel

CJ Taglist: @deans-spinster-witch; @birdiellie; @heartlessdelusions; @illicithallways; @nancymcl; @muhahaha303

Jensen Taglist: @samanddeaninatrenchcoat; @deansbbyx

This was recc'ed by @winchestergirl2 here.

You opened one eye and turned to glance out the window after hearing a low whistle. You watched as snow flakes whipped around in a furious dance against the glass before moving on. “Wow, it’s really coming down out there.”

You felt your boyfriend nuzzling your ear. “Yeah, it is,” he murmured. “Not that I mind.”

You couldn’t help but smile and turn to face him. You saw the blissed out grin gracing his handsome face and the affection in his green eyes as they settled on you. You ran your fingers gently through his hair, making him let out a tiny contented sigh as he burrowed into your neck. 

The meteorologists had predicted a Nor’easter for the weekend, one that was going to produce at least a couple of feet of snow after a 24 hour period, and predictably, people panicked and flooded the stores. Being a college student, you hadn’t needed to make a mad rush to the store to buy bottled water, canned goods, or bread; that was something you normally had in your stash. But the storm was something everyone on campus was talking about. Some students who didn’t want to stick around for the mushy white stuff headed out early on Friday for a warmer (or at least drier) destination. Even some professors had canceled classes in the early afternoon even though it wasn’t supposed to start snowing until well after midnight. During all of this hubbub, CJ had called you and suggested you come stay at his place for the weekend. Considering you didn’t want to get stuck with Stacey and her boyfriend (you had heard her making plans earlier that day) and you hadn’t seen CJ since Tuesday, you were completely on board with that plan.

You had brought what you considered to be your own personal snowstorm kit which consisted of hot chocolate mix (with tiny marshmallows of course), a big cozy blanket, and the warmest pajama set you owned. They may or may not have bunny rabbits dressed in sweaters, hats, and mittens enjoying a snow day on them. And CJ may or may not have laughed and enjoyed teasing you when you put them on Friday night for the first movie of the evening. He hadn’t been laughing long though when he discovered how easily he could unbutton your shirt and get his hands in there or how quickly he could undress you. 

CJ had his own preparations he had made. He had candles, flashlights, the same type of food and drink stash you had with a few differences, blankets, extra pillows, a few movies picked out and ready to go by the TV, and enough Twizzlers to last you the weekend. You had happily kissed him for that last one; he knew how much you loved Twizzlers.

Sure enough, the snow started right after midnight and hadn’t stopped. Boston was covered in a thick white blanket that just kept growing and growing no matter how many plows made their way through the streets. Now it was Saturday afternoon, with the storm halfway over, and it didn’t show any signs of slowing down any time soon. Feeling CJ pressing gentle kisses to your neck, you were just fine with that.

You hummed happily and closed your eyes, enjoying the sensations of his lips on your skin and his hands sneaking under the hem of your shirt to caress your back. “I love this,” you whispered.

“I love you,” he whispered back, making you smile as he worked his way up to your jaw line.

“We just showered and changed the sheets an hour ago,” you whined when you felt his fingers trail from your back to your front, sneaking under the waistband of your pajama pants. 

“I have extra sheets,” he reassured, placing kisses to your cheek and then the corner of your mouth. 

“You’re insatiable,” you teased. He had already had you twice this morning and once last night.

“So, I love having sex with my girlfriend, sue me.” He wiggled his eyebrows playfully before pecking your lips.

“We have all weekend,” you reminded him. Thankfully, his roommate had made other arrangements for the impending snowstorm, something you highly suspected CJ had urged him to do. “Besides, I wanted to just snuggle for a while and maybe make out a little.” You pouted up at him.

He studied you for a moment and then let out a chuckle. “Just snuggling and making out, huh?”

You grinned and nodded, loving the sight of his smile. CJ may be an attractive guy with handsome features, but his smile made your heart leap inside your chest every single time. Enough that you were starting to worry that you should probably go to the doctor for a checkup, but damn did you love his smile. Had you been able to see it through the months of phone conversations the two of you had, you probably would’ve been an absolute goner from the get go.    

“Okay,” he sighed and moved his hand out of your pants and flopped onto his back next to you, pulling you further into his arms. “Happy?”

“Very.” You picked up his hand and began to play with his fingers while he kissed the top of your head. His free hand rubbed up and down your back in soothing circles and he let his cheek rest against your hair.

You both stayed quiet for a few minutes and just listened to the wind howling outside every so often.

“You know, Y/N, I never thought I’d be able to have something like this,” he quietly admitted to you. “A relationship with a girl where I’m sober…and happy.” You smiled, squeezing his fingers in between yours. “I had a plan I was sticking to until I graduated and nothing was going to change it. But then I met you.” You glanced up to find him watching you, an affectionate smile on his face. “And it all changed.”

The words should have made something in your chest warm but instead a spike of anxiety flowed through it instead. He was supposed to be in New York City right now, not Boston. He was only here because of you, because he didn’t want to be two states away from you long term though you had promised you would visit if he went. Nope, he decided he was staying here and finishing out his education at Boston Bay no matter what you’d said to try to convince him not to miss out on an important opportunity. As far as he was concerned, he’d made his decision, he was good with it, and it was case closed. 

So, a part of you started to worry but knowing you as well as he did by now, he leaned forward and kissed you until the worry began to fade away. “And I couldn’t be happier that it did,” he whispered to your lips before kissing you again. You felt him shift an arm away from you but before you could look to see what he was doing, he deepened the kiss and you melted into him.

A moment later, he pulled away, making you whine and reach for him when suddenly there was a bouquet of red roses in your face causing your eyes to widen in surprise. CJ was beaming down at you. “Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart.”

Your mouth dropped in shock. You had been so busy the last two weeks, you had completely forgotten the holiday was today. Truthfully, you had never bothered with the holiday before. To you, it was nothing more than a day that Corporate America hijacked to make even more money off of the backs of its consumers. You had never put much stock into it before, not since you reached high school. And now, you had someone you deeply cared about, someone you loved, and you had made the worst mistake you could’ve made by forgetting the holiday while your amazing boyfriend obviously hadn’t. 

“Th-Thank you,” you stammered. He offered the bouquet to you and you gratefully accepted them, leaning them up to your nose to gently sniff their wonderful scent. “They’re beautiful.”

CJ carefully moved to the side and sat up against the headboard, watching you with a grin. “Only the best for my girl.”

“You know I have to ask how.” You had been here since last night and never once had you come across any flowers. Not to mention, there was no way any flower deliveries were being made today. You idly wondered just how much money florists across the city were losing.  

He inclined his head towards the other side of the room. “Mike’s closet.”

You shot him a look of disbelief. “And they survived?”

CJ laughed and gave you a nod. “They did. I’m not going to lie, I checked on them in the middle of the night when you were asleep. I was worried they would be all wilted or that we might have a Little Shop of Horrors situation suddenly on our hands.”

You snickered and sat up next to him. “If it starts asking me for blood, I’m putting it back in Mike’s closet. It can be a very belated Christmas present.”

He shook his head, chuckling, and wrapped his arm around your shoulders. “I’m just glad they held up. I got them delivered last night before you got here. I put them in water and when you were in the bathroom before, I took them out, dried them off, and hid them on my side of the bed. They seem to be doing okay.” He studied the flowers to make sure.  

“They’re perfect,” you whispered. They really were. They could have been dying or missing petals or even a cheap bouquet from the convenience store, and they still would have been perfect. No one had ever given you flowers for Valentine’s Day before or any flowers period — no one other than your dad that is. 

CJ smiled over at you and leaned in to kiss you. “I’m glad you like them.”

“They must’ve cost you a fortune, though.”

He waved his free hand dismissively. “Worth it.” He pecked your lips again. “And I made reservations for us for Tuesday night at that seafood place you like.”

Your eyes nearly bugged out of your head. “The super expensive one?”

He shrugged. “I was going to take you last night but I knew it would be packed. So this way, we avoid the whole crowd of everyone trying to cram in a romantic dinner at the last minute and we can just enjoy ourselves on Tuesday.”

Shame began to unfurl in your chest. He had really thought of everything. Now him lighting the candles last night, the Twizzler stash, him insisting on ordering your favorite takeout — all of it started to make sense in a different way than they first had for the romantic weekend you both were holed up in for the snowstorm. How could you have been so blockheaded not to realize? Granted, you both never talked about what you would want to do for this holiday; it was your first one since you began dating. But you still should have realized. Now CJ had gone all out for you, and you had nothing to give him in return. He had even been thoughtful enough to choose not only your favorite restaurant but a night where it wouldn’t be so crowded since he knew how you felt about being in the same room as a massive amount of people. You had the most amazing and considerate boyfriend and you literally had nothing for him. What a crappy girlfriend you were. 

And due to the snow, you couldn’t even try to make up for it by making plans or reservations to take him anywhere (you would have sat in a crowded restaurant for him if it made him happy), or go to the store to get him anything or even purchase ingredients for a meal you could cook for him. You hadn’t even brought anything sexy to wear to bed for him, just your old comfortable PJ’s. Girlfriend fail indeed.

Your smile started to fade and you glanced up at him worriedly. “CJ…I didn’t…I wasn’t—”

He gently kissed your nose. “I know. We never talked about it and I knew you were busy these last two weeks. I just wanted to do something nice for you. I know how you feel about this holiday and well…I wanted to change that up a little. Give you some good memories.” He stroked a petal of the rose closest to him before turning a warm smile on you.

You could feel a familiar stinging in the corner of your eyes. He remembered what you’d told him in one of your many phone conversations when you’d been getting to know each other. You’d been discussing each holiday and sharing both of your thoughts when it came to each one. You didn’t care for Valentine’s Day and when he asked why, you surprised yourself by telling him the truth. In high school, every year, roses were for sale. You could choose between red, pink, and yellow ones; they were approximately five dollars each. You could give it to the person (or people) you bought them for directly, leave it taped to their lockers, or have them delivered to the class they were in. And each year, you were one of two people out of your whole class who never received any. You weren’t a social outcast by any means but you weren’t part of the whole cliques business, preferring to do your own thing. No boy was interested in you and while you had friends, they weren’t the type to buy yellow roses for all of their friends on that day. You and Charlotte Campbell never received a rose in any capacity. And that only held true until junior year when finally you couldn’t take the sad expression on Charlotte’s face anymore as she watched deliveries being made in class, knowing that she was going to be crying her eyes out in the girl’s bathroom before next period, and you did something about it. You ignored the shocked look on Justine Helman’s face when you purchased a pink rose and gave her instructions on where and when to deliver it. The surprised and grateful smile on Charlotte’s face later in History class when a student had delivered the rose to her had been worth it. So much so that you repeated the process in senior year. You had no idea if she ever figured out they were from you (Justine was known to be quite the busybody), but you hoped that regardless, it gave her a little bit of happiness in that moment each time the holiday rolled around.

And from there you slowly began to realize that the holiday was an excuse for florists, candy companies, greeting card companies, condom companies (CJ chuckled at that one but didn’t disagree), lingerie departments and boutiques, jewelry stores, and movie studios and TV stations to make more money. Like one big conspiracy they all partook in for the almighty dollar. So, every time the holiday came around, you rolled your eyes and refused to even acknowledge it. If you loved someone and they loved you, you didn’t need a corporate-infused holiday and two empty bank accounts to show it. That’s where you had stood on the holiday of love and you were determined to keep that stance for the rest of your life.

But then you started dating CJ and now…now you were ready to tear up because he had remembered what you’d said and wanted you to have a good memory on this day for once. You launched yourself at him, kissing him passionately while being careful not to crush the flowers. “I love you,” you whispered when you both needed air.

He moved his hands up to your cheeks and wiped tears away with his thumbs. You had no idea they had escaped. “I love you, too.” His brows drew together as he studied your face. “This was okay, right?”

CJ had never celebrated the holiday with someone either. He’d never been in a relationship when it would roll around on the calendar before this one. So this was his first time acknowledging it, too, to anyone outside of family and friends. 

You gave him the most grateful smile you could. “Yeah. More than okay.” You could see the relief playing over his expression. You reached behind you to gently place the flowers on his nightstand and turned back to him, cupping his face. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, sweetheart. I’m really glad you like it.” His soft smile made a leaping sensation happen in your chest.

“Like it?” A glimmer of worry shined in his green eyes. “Oh, you are so getting laid right now, pal.” You started to pull him to you as you leaned back onto the bed. He laughed but it got cut short by you kissing him deeply. You moaned into his mouth when he settled in between your thighs and you cradled his hips with your legs. You began to hurriedly unbutton your top when his hands stopped you and he lifted up for air. 

“Wait, wait.” You gulped for air, watching him intently, wondering why he was stopping you. “As badly as I want this, and it’s really, really badly, I actually have a plan.”

You arched your brows in question. “A plan?”

A small raw sound escaped his throat as you rubbed up against him, feeling him growing impossibly harder. “Yep. Damn, I’m going to have to start thinking about Kierkegaard, aren’t I?” 

You had been smirking, digging your teeth into your bottom lip as you continued to tease him, when that caught your attention. “Kierkegaard?”

He nodded emphatically, his eyes closed, as he tried to pull away from you but you locked your legs around him. “Yeah,” he nearly moaned out as you grinded against his erection.

“CJ,” you called in your most seductive voice, a tone that you knew drove him crazy, as he’d told you one night after phone sex during finals week. That had been the first time you’d attempted it and boy, had that turned out to be one fun evening.

You both had been stressed and unable to make time for one another, so you’d taken the situation by the ‘nads, literally. You were nervous; you weren’t sure if this would be something he liked or if you would screw up or if you would sound horrifically laughable. Before you could chicken out, you’d called him up one night near the end of his shift.

“Hello, Helpline. This is CJ.”

“Hello, CJ. I seem to be having a problem that I think only you can help with.”

“Oh? And what’s that, Jo?” You could hear the smile in his voice, having recognized yours right away. You felt a little bit of a thrill at him using your old name; it just added to the excitement of what you were about to do.

“Well, the thing is, my boyfriend and I haven’t had much time to see one another. Finals, you know?”

“Yeah, finals week can be brutal.”

“Mmm, you know what else is brutal? We haven’t had sex in almost two weeks.”

It took him a moment to respond and in that time, you wondered if maybe you had already screwed things up. Perhaps you shouldn’t have started this while he was on shift. Perhaps you had made him uncomfortable or you sounded like an idiot as you had feared, probably both. You were just about to backtrack when he quietly cleared his throat. “That does sound pretty brutal. Maybe you two should make some special plans to remedy that once finals are over.”

Relieved, you let out a drawn out sigh into the phone. “But that’s at the end of the week. I’m not sure I can wait that long. I’ve tried taking care of things myself, you know? But it’s not the same.”

“Well, perhaps you’re not using that…method correctly. Maybe you should tell me what it is you’re doing and we can figure it out together why it’s not working. Don’t leave out a single detail. I’m here to help.”

You smirked and shook your head. “Well, that’s sort of what I was thinking, CJ,” you played along. “But, I don’t think that it’s anything I’m doing wrong in the process. I think it’s that my boyfriend isn’t present when I do it. So, I was thinking maybe you could pretend to be him while I do it and we’ll see if maybe that will help, you know?”

“Whatever you need. That’s what I’m here for.” You could hear his voice getting deeper and you felt a flipping sensation in your stomach. 

“That’s what I like to hear,” you whispered huskily. “How much longer do you have before we can do this experiment?”

“I’ve got ten minutes left.” He then lowered his voice. “I can be at your place in twenty.”

Oh God, you would have loved for him to come by but Stacey and her worse half were expected to walk through the door in the next hour and you wanted to continue this game for lack of a better word. “Uh, uh, uh. No can do, CJ. My boyfriend wouldn’t like it and we’re supposed to do this over the phone. You’re helping me so I can make it through the next week until I see him again, remember?”

“But if my shift is over in ten then how—”

“Now, CJ, I believe we exchanged room numbers, didn’t we? In case I ever needed your help outside of your hours at the helpline?” You then lowered your voice again. “And, baby, I really need your help on this one.”

You heard a quiet gulp on the other end of the line. “R-Right. You know, Seth just walked in so I’m going to clock out early and head home. I’ll call you when I get there, it should be no more than ten minutes, give or take.”

“Make it seven,” you huskily commanded before hanging up the phone. You snickered, wondering if he would literally run those three blocks to his dorm if he had to. Sure enough, when he called you eight minutes later, panting and breathing out, “I’m here. I’m here,” you knew you had been right. That had been one explosive night and you had not only discovered something new about yourself but you also discovered something new about him as well. You liked to tease him and be in charge sometimes; he liked being teased and he liked for you to be in charge sometimes. Win-win and it had done wonders for your confidence in the bedroom. You had certainly never done anything like that with anyone else. That was another thing you loved about him. CJ allowed you the room to explore and you felt completely safe with him to do so. 

There may or may not have been a few more illicit call-ins at the end of his shift, and there may or may not have been another week or two that you purposely didn’t see each other so it could lead to fantastic phone sex, desperate and passionate sex when you reunited, or both. 

So now, you decided to use that tone on him once more. “Why are you trying to pull away? I want this really badly, too.” You gently dragged your nails down his bare chest down to his navel, knowing how he loved it when you did that. Sure enough, you heard a tiny gasp coming from him. You lifted up to whisper in his ear, “You can still have your plan but let’s do this first. Come on, CJ, I know you want this just as much as I do.” You nibbled at his ear lobe. “So, I love having sex with my boyfriend, sue me.” You couldn't help teasing him by repeating his words back to him.  

His eyes snapped open and he gently pushed you back on the bed, his hands carefully pinning your shoulders down and his chest heaving in and out. You could see his pupils were blown wide with lust. You knew then if you just nudged him a little more, he’d give in and you wouldn’t leave this bed for the rest of the day. “I really want this but I also want you to see the rest of my plan just as much. And we need energy for it. I’m more than willing to give you what you want later but right now, let’s go see what I’ve got planned first, okay?”

You gave him the sad puppy dog expression as he called it, and predictably it made him chuckle. “Okay,” you agreed. Considering how much trouble he’d gone to in order to surprise you on this holiday, you’d do as he asked and stop teasing him. You unhooked your legs from his waist and he released your shoulders. He began to lean down to kiss you in thanks but he seemed to think better of it and lifted his head once more. 

“So, what’s the plan?” You asked.

“Did you happen to bring gloves and a hat in that huge bag of yours?”

Your eyes widened and then narrowed. “Why?”

He grinned down at you and ran a tender thumb along your cheek.

CJ had told you to get dressed and to bundle up. You had begrudgingly done so, not happy that you were obviously leaving the warm cocoon you had both been in since the storm started, but it was what he wanted and you were intent on giving him anything he desired today. Sure enough, he led you out of his dorm and down the street. The thick snowflakes were still coming down steadily but at least the wind wasn’t as bad as it had been earlier. It was almost peaceful, your gloved hand in CJ’s, you two being the only ones out and about. The lack of sounds of city life and the white landscape painted a picture that was beyond beautiful. 

You came to a stop near a park and CJ turned a smile onto you before trudging inward, bringing you along. He settled on an open spot and let your hand go. “Remember when you told me about those snow days you used to have?”

Your lips parted in shock. He really did remember almost everything you told him. You should be used to it by now but it still managed to surprise you every once in a while. Back then, you had no idea just how much he looked forward to your phone calls and how much he truly enjoyed talking to you as you got to know one another. 

You had told him about the snow days you had from elementary school, the rare ones where you would get more than a foot of snow. You didn’t have any siblings and your dad, who was usually busy with work, would take you outside to do all kinds of fun things. You made snowmen, you had snowball fights, you would go sledding…he had even made you a small snow fort once. Afterwards, you would both go inside and your mom would have steaming mugs of hot cocoa with marshmallows waiting. Those days were some of your best childhood memories.

CJ grinned over at you and then began to make the bottom part of a snowman. You let out a tiny squeal of excitement and hurried over to help him, earning you a laugh. 

It wasn’t long before you had the snowman built. CJ reached into his pockets and pulled out buttons, a carrot, and an old pipe that he told you he had managed to buy this week when you asked where he’d gotten them from. You felt that familiar warmth in your chest when you realized that he really had been planning this longer than a day or two. Again, you felt horrible that you had been so oblivious and that you had nothing in return for him. You were resolved that you were going to make this up to him, though. Big time. He could pick all the movies you would watch for the next month. You would play all the mini golf he wanted (when the weather cleared up of course). You would let him choose the takeout and restaurants for however long he wanted. You would do everything he wanted to do and give him whatever he wanted.

He placed the items on the snowman and slipped out a beanie hat to finish off the look. He stood back with you as you both studied your creation.

“Something’s missing,” you wondered aloud.

“Sticks for arms? I can find some.”

“No…something else.” It finally hit you and you removed the scarf from around your neck, the one CJ had lent you, and wrapped it around the snowman’s. “There.” You beamed over at your boyfriend. “All done,” you informed him in a singsong voice. CJ smiled warmly at you and his eyes held a familiar gleam of affection as he stepped forward. He removed the scarf from the snowman, making you frown. “Hey! Now he’s incomplete again.”

He took a step closer to you and shook the scarf of any snow remnants, gently wrapping it around your neck once more. “You need it more than he does,” he murmured, placing a tender kiss on your nose. 

You couldn’t help but smile at his sweet gesture. You lifted up to kiss him when he took a few steps away from you, making your brows furrow. He grinned and suddenly fell backwards, making you gasp and hurry over, falling to your knees beside him. “CJ, are you alright?”

He chuckled and looked up at you. “What was the last part of the story you told me?” He began to move his arms and legs in a familiar motion. 

“Snow angels,” you whispered.

He continued making one and you crawled a little distance away to plop onto your back and make one of your own. You couldn’t help giggling as you did it. God, this was amazing. Why had you ever stopped doing this once you were no longer a little kid? Why weren’t there any other adults out here, minus children, doing the same? This was incredible.

You had just finished making your snow angel when CJ’s face appeared in your vision. His smile rivaled yours. 

“You ruined your snow angel, silly,” you teased, knowing it wasn’t intact from him crawling from nearby over to you. 

He shrugged. “I don’t need it, not when I’ve got the real deal right here.”

Seeing his eyes intent on you, you knew it wasn’t just some cheesy line he was using on you. As much as you loved him, there was a part of you that didn’t understand the reverence he looked at you with sometimes. You didn’t feel you deserved it and sometimes it scared you that he might have put you on a pedestal that you were destined to fall from, being human and all. But when you would remind him of your imperfections, he would simply shrug and remind you that he wasn’t perfect either. He didn’t want perfection; he wanted real, something like what you already had. “Although, I’ve got to say, you’re pretty damn close to perfect,” he’d murmured in your ear. You had gently swatted his shoulder, which made him laugh, and he’d given you a tender smile. “Perfect for me,” he added. You had kissed him thoroughly for that sentiment and he had nuzzled you as you both settled in to watch whatever horror movie he had picked out.

You now lifted your arm up to grab hold of the collar of his coat to pull him slowly down to you. You pressed your lips to his and heard his hands settling on either side of your head, anchoring him so he could keep his weight off of you. “Thank you for today,” you whispered. 

His smile grew bigger. “You’re welcome.”

You bit your lip nervously. “I’m sorry I don’t have anything planned for you. I didn’t even think… But I’m going to fix that. Starting this week. I’m going to—”

He kissed you again, effectively shutting you up. “Today has been a good day for me, too. I don’t want anything else so don’t worry about it.”

You gave him a look. “But that doesn’t make up for—”

“Tell you what, how about we head back to the dorms, get some hot chocolate going, and then you can make it up to me.” He gave you that all too familiar salacious smirk.

“CJ,” you laughed. “I’m being serious.”

“So am I.” He wiggled his eyebrows playfully.

You thought it over for a moment, studying him intently, seeing the red in his cheeks and nose from the cold, and tiny snowflakes hanging from his eyelashes. “Okay,” you agreed. “But we need to do one thing first.”

His smirk grew into a triumphant one. “What’s that?”

You instantly scooped up snow on your right and gently hit the side of his head, causing the snow to fall down the left side of his face and onto you, making you twist and squirm underneath him to keep most of the mess from pelting you. 

CJ glanced down at you in shock, one half of his face covered in snow, his beanie completely saturated with it. You laughed and he immediately caged you in between his arms. “Oh, you’re going to get it.”

You hit him with another snowball and as he recovered, you crawled out from underneath him, laughing. You had just gotten to your feet to run when he tackled you, making you shriek, and began to pelt you with snow. An all out snowball war ensued and you couldn’t remember the last time you had laughed that much. Eventually, CJ won (you let him win though you would never tell him that) and he hovered over you, snow covering every inch of him, smugly smiling down at you. Now, this was perfection. You had never seen a more beautiful sight and your heart had that leaping sensation in your chest again. You hoped that no matter how old you got one day, you never lost this memory. Not only of how he looked but also how much you truly loved him in this moment. 

You lifted up and kissed that smugness right off of his face. It wasn’t long before you were back at the dorms and he had snuck you into the showers with him, promising hot chocolate after you both got warmed up. As the hot water rained down on you both, you gasped as he teased you from behind, his hands roaming all over you. You turned in his arms to face him and wrapped yours around his neck to keep steady. You gasped again when he picked you up, urging you to wind your legs around his waist, and moved you under the spray so he could use the tile wall behind you as leverage.

CJ kissed you deeply, neither of you minding the water trickling down over your faces. He broke away and stared into your eyes. “Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart,” he murmured.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” you whispered back to him, smiling, before his lips covered yours once more. You quickly thought back over everything from today and his words came back to you. “You know, Y/N, I never thought I’d be able to have something like this.” “A relationship with a girl where I’m sober…and happy.” The truth was you never thought you’d be able to have something like this either. But you did; you had it. And like CJ had also said, you had never been happier.

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[boanerges20]

Storm Stacey British Superbikes [BSB] Photo: Double Red BSB

[incorrect-spideytorch]

If Mary Jane never returned, Johnny would probably step in to comfort Peter after Gwen's death.

I mean he did say this to Gwen’s grave so…

[earthtoharlow]

This AU is part of my one year anniversary celebration, where there’s a new fic every tuesday!

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Previous Chapter

THATGIRLSTACEY

liked by neelamthadhani, meekmill, joeywagner, justinbieber, jackharlow, icespice, djdrama and 745,036 others

thatgirlstacey: Happy Father’s Day to my hubby!

I don’t say thank you enough for what you do for our family and I really should say it more often.

Please, let’s stay married forever. I can train you to close the cabinets, it’s not a deal breaker for me.

Love,

Your wife, your best friend, your baby-mama with lots-o-drama.

view all 7,457 comments

user: begging him to stay married to you is crazy

user: this is sooooo sweet

user: find some self respect!! That man hates you

user: dad Jack 🥲

user: he does stuff for the family other than cheating? Oh

user: girl is he having a side baby or not???

user: photo warms my heart ❤️‍🔥

user: who was that man you were kissing

urbanwyatt: best friend? 🤨

user: did Jack really get jumped?

user: yeah….lots of drama. A storm is coming

BARBIEBLANK

liked by cassie, selenagomez, natbynature, kendalljenner, justineskye,future, tmz, theshaderoom and 567,056 others

BarbieBlank: Happy Father’s Day to Noah’s father!

view all 5,097 comments

user: girl you might as well just find another man to raise that baby cause Jack ain’t gonna do it

user: you don’t even know if that’s your baby daddy yet

user: girl

user: is that picture of Jack recent😳

thatgirlstacey: don’t post my husband on your page again

user: Drake and Y/N somewhere laughing

theshaderoom: o h

Tmz: 👀

BarbieBlank: I’ll do what I want 😘

user: the girls are fighting!!

           thatgirlstacey just posted to their story!

URBANWYATT

liked by flomillishit, chloebailey, yourinsta, champagnepapi, cardib, claybornharlow and 687,356 other’s

urbanwyatt: 🤞 my dawg @yourinsta

view all 5,788 comments

user: omg????

user: I know Jack mad as hell

user: almost ate my phone just now

user: besties !!!

yourinsta: can’t believe we ran into each other today! I missed you 🥹

user: y’all think y/n back to talking to Jack? She ain’t post Drake on Father’s Day

user: why would drake like the post if she was cheating

user: she lives with him why does she need to post

thatgirlstacey: are you fucking serious???

user: please Stacey mad as fuck 😭😭😭

user: urban really don’t like that girl 🤣

jackharlow just added to his story!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

AN: Drama between Urban & Jack oh no!  If it ain’t one thing it’s another smh oh and it’s about to get crazy and I don’t think y’all ready 🤭 anyway hope you all enjoyed this and as aways tell me your thoughts! :)) also would anyone be interested if I had a concept night for the toxic series? I’ve been thinking about doing something like that soon 🫣

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@heavyhitterheaux @hoodharlow @neon-lights-and-glitter @babiefries @toocriticalharlow @mace23477 @jackmans-poison @dstark-0706 @harlowsbby​ @itsyagirljaz @leftapricotprofessorlover @comehomeimissyou @minkookie95 @harlowcomehome @jackharloww @jaydaaasworld @blossomluvv​ @fdl305​

[qualitymoonsuit]

New Books.

I just got 4 new books in the mail. The 1st book is called Star Wars: The High Republic: Defy the Storm, by Tessa Gratton and Justina Ireland. The 2nd book is called What Have We Here?: Portraits of a Life, by Billy Dee Williams. The 3rd book is called Winston Chu Vs. The Wingmeisters, by Stacey Lee. The 4th and final book is called A Drop of Venom, by Sajni Patel.

[thebetawolfgirl]

Bonding Time part 2

Pairing: Timmy x Reader

Warnings: SMUT!

A/N: Enjoy!

Bonding Time pt2

The wedding had happened and the lovebirds were on their 3 week honeymoon, both step siblings were able to move back to their respective apartments in New York, although y/n had barely been home long enough to buy groceries as Timmy always ended up coming to her place and bringing over his own food. The happy couple were delighted before they left for their honeymoon to know their children were ‘trying their best’ to get along for them. Y/n just smiled as she said goodbye to her mother ‘I promise mother we will keep an eye on the house while you’re gone just have a nice time’ her mother hugged her tightly in return and pushed the hair behind her daughter’s ear. ‘I know you’re probably sick of my false promises y/n but I think Greg is the one this time.’ Y/n kissed her mother’s cheek smiling as Timmy came up behind her. ‘Don’t worry Elaine, I’ll make sure y/n stays out of trouble’ he smirks throwing his arm around her shoulder and y/n rams her elbow into his ribs ‘Fuck you, like you’re such a fucking choir boy!’

‘I’m not but I know you’re not exactly a Virgin Mary either’ he smirks as she swings her arm to slap him as the parents just roll their eyes and wave goodbye before driving off leaving them to wrestle with each other.

Timmy waited until they left the driveway before he grabbed her throat again and slamming her back against the nearest wall ‘Stop slapping me!’

Y/n shoved him off before heading upstairs to pack her stuff to go home mumbling ‘Asshole.’ She shut her door and smirking began to collect her clothes she brought for the wedding, she heard her door open already knowing who it was and began emptying her drawers ‘Are you seeing Stacey tonight?’

He responded with a resounding ‘No. She wanted me to come over but I said I was hanging out with Stuart tonight.’

She made a face looking at him ‘Stuart is in Canada Timmy, visiting his grandpa. Why are you lying to her? I mean besides the fact she’s annoying, stupid and a bitch.’

‘All of the above!’ He responded picking up her underwear from her suitcase.

‘Have you guys slept together yet?’ She asked again grabbing them out of his hand ‘You know if you don’t fuck her soon she’ll start thinking you swing the other way.’

He glared at her ‘I’m not gay!’

She held up her panties she just snatched from his hands ‘No shit perv. Just fuck her and get it over with.’ She went into the wardrobe as he made a face behind her back ‘I saw that dick.’

She had just stepped through her front door and was going through her mail when her phone rang and saw it was Timmy and she rolled her eyes answering it ‘Who or what have you hit with that piece of shit you drive now?’

‘Fuck you, I’m at home and that car is a classical car-‘

‘It’s a piece of shit, you have money and have no excuse to keep that thing.’

She smirked dropping her mail on the coffee table hearing him taking deep breaths knowing she had pissed him off.

‘You didn’t think it was a piece of shit when I fucked you in the back seat bitch.’

She glared into nothing before hanging up and storming to her front door, ready to go and murder him. But when she wrenched it open she was face to face with her step brother ‘The fuck you think you’re doing hanging up on me like that?!’

‘I was actually coming over to tell you something’

‘And what would that be?’ He replied letting himself inside and shutting the door behind him.

‘This’ she swung her hand and slapped his face hard and because he wasn’t expecting it she got him right on his cheek.

‘Ow FUCK!’ He grabbed her threw her over his shoulder and carried her to her bedroom before shoving back on her bed and crawled over to her and kissed her hard biting her lower lip, the bedroom wasn’t very well lit so they went by touch alone ripping each other’s clothes off scratching each other in the process, before he pushed her back moving between her legs and kissed her roughly as she bit his lips.

‘Timmy’

He moved down her throat kissing and biting before slamming into her clamping his hand over her mouth to silence her moans and whispered in her ear ‘Quiet, you have nosy neighbours. We don’t need the cops being called.’ He began going at a hard and steady pace as she gripped his arms digging her nails into his skin. He removed his hand and kissed her open mouth gripping the back of her neck and pulled her up to sit on his lap when she flipped him onto his back shoving him down when he tried to sit up and began riding him hard as he grabbed her hips digging his fingers into her skin making her gasp in pain and pleasure and rode him harder both of them panting heavily. She ran her hand up his chest before wrapping her fingers around his throat putting light pressure on making him choke out a groan, she smirked and leaned down and kissed him hard and continued riding him before moving down his jawline and neck licking the sweat from his skin before biting down hearing him hiss and bite her shoulder and slam his hips up to meet hers before they came together once again in a sweaty panting mess.

They knew this was wrong in some way, but they weren’t related so they didn’t care. Y/n also knew she would be covered in marks and fingerprints from the way he grabbed and held onto her. Timmy was never gentle when he held her during sex, he was possessive.

They lay panting heavily trying to catch their breaths in a tangled and sticky mess of bedsheets and limbs. She looked over to him and saw he was watching her. She trailed her fingertips over his lips staring back at him ‘What?’

He smirked at her pushing a strand of hair back ‘What if someone we know, or someone who know our parents know find out?’

She shrugs looking at him ‘I don’t care, my mother never gave a shit about me, why should I?’

Timothée looked at her and listened to the way she said it so coldly and could honestly relate. His father went through women like he went through different kinds of coffee without a second thought to his son, so why should Timothée give a shit about his feelings.

He shrugged in agreement ‘Even if they did find out there’s not much they can do about it, we’re not related and we didn’t force them to get together. So who cares what they want? We’re taking what we want out of this shit show.’

She smirks and leans down pecks his lips again and again.

The next morning y/n is woken up by someone banging on her door and she groans feeling arms around her as she tried to get up. ‘Timmy I need to answer that or they won’t go away.’ He groans trying to pull her back ‘Timmy let go I need to answer it.’

‘You have a fucking camera look at the monitor’

She sighed heavily grabbing her phone to look at the front door camera and groaned when she saw who it was

‘Timmy, Timmy let me go it’s Stacey, it’s fucking Stacey let go!’ She wrenched his arms off her not believing he wasn’t more bothered. She couldn’t care less, this was her house, but he should’ve been more bothered at the possibility of his girlfriend finding him naked at his step sister’s apartment.

She grabbed a T-shirt and a pair of clean underwear and trudged to the front door opening it still sleepy but surprised.

‘Stacey? What you want?’

‘Have you seen your brother?’

‘Step brother and no I haven’t. We didn’t drive back together. Why?’

Well I tried calling him last night but he didn’t answer so I went round to his apartment and he wasn’t home, the neighbour said he went out.’

‘Well maybe he met up with some of his friends?’

She looked really anxious and although y/n felt sorry for the girl she was getting bored AND cold standing in the doorway.

‘It’s just we haven’t gone this long without talking to each other, we usually call to say goodnight and when he didn’t call I got worried.’

Y/n rubbed her eyes tired and grabbed the edge of her door getting ready to shut it.

‘Look, if he darkens my doorstep, I’ll let him know you’re looking for him and tell him to call you, okay?’

Stacey nodded smiling thankfully. ‘Thanks y/n, I’ll let you get back to bed I’m sorry it’s so early.’

She waved away her apologies and nodded goodbye closing the door. Grateful she was gone she headed back upstairs after grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge.

‘Your plaything is very concerned of your whereabouts and missed your goodnight call last night. That’s just so adorable I may vomit.’

She mocked as she climbed onto the bed and under the covers handing him the bottle as he smiled sweetly and said in a sugary sweet voice ‘Please go fuck yourself’

He took a drink from the bottle as she looked around the room and pointed at her bedside table ‘You owe me a new bedside lamp dickhead’

‘Buying your own fucking lamp I’m not buying you shit’

He grabbed her around her waist dragging her to him and tugging her T-shirt over her head and tossing it aside mumbling ‘More skin’

She rolled her eyes letting him lay between her legs and began the old routine of rubbing her hands up and down his back.

‘It’s daylight what if Stacey catches us?’

Timmy looked up at her skeptically ‘How? By climbing up the fucking fire escape?’

She glared and dug her nails into his skin hard making him growl in the back of his throat before he grabbed her throat and squeezed before slamming her head down against the pillows ‘Dammit Timmy, stop doing that.’

He released his grip on her throat when she grabbed him by his hair and slammed her lips against his kissing him hard. He kissed her back before pulling away and kissing down her body until he reached between her legs and ripped her panties clean off. He parted her lips and licked a long strip up before sucking on her clit making her grip the sheets and moan. He then slid his tongue into her and pinned her hips down as she screamed his name along with some expletives, he smirked and continued his eating her out roughly with his tongue and eventually fingers and relished seeing her eyes roll back into her head as she came all over his mouth and face. He crawled back up to her and kissed her making her taste herself and wrapped her arms around his shoulders kissing him back. They continued like this for the rest of the day not answering phones or the door, just constantly having sex again and again.

He stayed at y/n’s place for two whole days without leaving the bedroom besides for food water and bathroom breaks. He told Stacey he partied and crashed at a friend’s house.

@sufferingstarlight

@gatoenlaciudad

@kteezy997

@lixzey

@tchalamss

[violetlunette]

Why I love Candace Flynn: Design

Candace is one of my favorite characters of all time. Not just my favorite girl or cartoon character, but one of my favorite characters across all media.

Why? Well, it’s a bit hard to explain, as it’s easier to describe why you hate something than like it, but I’m going to do my best. For simplicity and because I may think of other things later, I’m breaking this into several posts.

First, I’ll start with the basics: her design. I adore Candace’s design.

Candace has a fairly unique design that I didn’t often see in cartoons at the time. The only one that comes close is Jazz Fenton (who is also a great character and the best in the Danny Phantom universe). Yet despite the similarities, Candace is still Candace. You’re not going to confuse her for anyone else. (Except for the Princess and “Kevin,” but I digress.) Even if all you see is her silhouette, you can instantly tell who she is.

Plus, while the design is cute, you can tell that she’s still dorky. She’s extremely tall, has lanky limbs, and has a long neck that holds a rounded “P”-like head. Her body is a flat bean shape instead of a shapely figure like Vanessa’s. And yet, despite this, she still has people who think she’s attractive, while in most shows she’d be the gunk, which I like.

And I think all her colors match her personality perfectly.

Her hair is bright orange, a color associated with energy and zaniness. There is NO ONE on the show with more energy than Candace, and I’m willing to bet she’s the zaniest as well.

Another primary color of hers is red, which embodies passion, love, and war.

Starting with war, Candace is the fighter of the series. (Along side Perry.)

No matter how many times life beats her down, she always jumps back into the fray, just as strong as ever (though some days are harder). In physical combat, Candace more than holds her own, and in universes where she’s allowed to fight, you can tell she’s very much in her element. In 2D, she’s a rebel leader, and in the Star Wars universe, she’s the only Storm Trooper that can aim (sorry, couldn’t resist). Honestly, I think the only one that could match her in a fair fight is Perry, and even then, it would be a close call. (But that’s another post.)

She’s also very passionate about all she does, whether it’s busting her brothers, Jeremy, Ducky Momo, or other little habits. Whether it’s something she likes or hates, she doesn’t half-ass anything. If cares about it, she’ll fight to the end.

Speaking of love and hate, a trait that’s overlooked due to her brattier moments is how Candace loves and loves hard, though she may not always show it. Candace is a romantic through and through, supporting any relationship she sees while doing her best to help, whether it’s for her parents, Isabella, Stacey, or, of course, her own love life. (And Perry’s, but that’s not canon.) Her entire relationship with Jeremy shows how deeply she swims in the pool of love, bordering on obsession. However, it’s not just towards him that we observe this love. We see it towards her friends, her parents, Perry, her brothers, their friends, and others. When not in busting mode, she goes out of her way for them, and when it comes to their happiness, she’s willing to drop busting—for a while, at least.

I could go on, but I don’t think anyone will argue that red is definitely her color.

Her next color is white, showing her innocence in certain things, her need for order, and her resolve to do right. We arguably get to see this displayed best in the Star Wars AU, where Candace is a Storm Trooper with a black-and-white morality, believing she’s fighting against disruption to keep order and peace. When she sees that that’s NOT the case and that she’s on the wrong side, Candace immediately switches sides to try and fight for the greater good. Funnily enough, the Star Trooper armor really reflects her mentality here.

Her final color is her dark blue eyes—aside from her skin. At first, I thought that green eyes would suit her personality best, as in fiction, green eyes can symbolize jealousy and passion. I already covered Candace’s passion, and I don’t think we need to talk about her envy towards her brothers. Further research, however, revealed that people with blue eyes are shown to be cautious, sensitive, and have a high pain tolerance. I am not sure about the cautious part, as Candace is pretty reckless in her busting. But she is a sensitive soul with fragile self-esteem. (Heck, she has several falls of anxiety.)

Following that, we see many times over the course of the series that Candace’s pain tolerance is HIGH. Blue eyes also represent innocence in the media, which is debatable but could fit. I don’t think Candace is “innocent” as much as she’s just oblivious at times. Despite this, there’s rarely any maliciousness in her actions. While her goal is to bust Phineas and Ferb, she doesn’t seem to want to get them in real trouble. What she wants is validation from her mom and others, but that’s another post.

Anyway, Candace’s design is fun and reflects her character perfectly. And, if you couldn’t tell from all the fan art of her on my blog, I love drawing her. The design is fairly simple (which I believe was the intention) but is creative enough that I can have just the right amount of fun.

Anyway, what are your thoughts? Do you like her design or feel that improvements could be made to fit her better?

[dadsbongos]

he's in a band

12.8 K words

warnings - female reader, you are specified to have a step-father and step-brother, the dark crystal is referenced especially towards the end, sorry if i tagged you and you didn't like it i'm just that kid that asks their mom for attention just to fail a back flip

summary - You and Eddie are forced to team up and make him into Snowflake King material so that you can beat Jason Carver in a bet (for fifty bucks and the success of Lucas Sinclair’s high school basketball career).

You’re certain that if Eddie were just a little less forward about his interests, he’d be popular. It’s fucked up, certainly, but it’s also nothing new. Stacey Bennett pretends she doesn’t like science fiction or comics, Chrissy Cunningham acts like she doesn’t go bird-watching every weekend, and Trin Saelim purposefully misidentifies every actor in the Star Wars trilogy.

Eddie has the charisma and the looks and the hair for 1,000 jocks and you just know that with the right nudging, he’d have this school eating out of the palm of his hand. And that’s what you think of as you watch him speak with his freshmen worshippers at a level of respect and kindness you don’t often see between peers of the same age.

“Hey, creeper,” Chrissy bumps her shoulder into yours, “What’re you doing starin’ at him, huh?”

Stacey and Trin snap around to where you stare and you so despise their eagerness.

“Nothing,” you lie, then decide against it, “Munson- Eddie Munson, he could be popular. I think.”

Immediately, there’s the overtly mocking, painfully cynical laughter that peels from Jason. None of you can quite shake him despite the fact Chrissy dumped him eons (months) ago, but also - none of you can quite gather the courage to speak up against him or his friends.

“Right, the freak could be popular,” Jason turns to Patrick McKinney in a histrionic ‘look at this guy’ way, “That fucker couldn’t win Snowflake King, and Fred Benson won Baron sophomore year.”

“Eddie Munson could win Snowflake King and be more popular than you if given the proper push,” you narrow your gaze at him, “And I’ll put money on that,” when Jason doesn’t take the bait, you continue, “He’s in a band, he’s got charisma!”

“You know what?” Jason extends an arm across the table, a hand straight out and brows raised - challenging you, “I’ll take that.”

“Alright,” you catch his hand with yours, squeezing, “but, you, Patrick, and Andy can’t run against him, and if he wins then I get fifty bucks and Lucas Sinclair has to be promoted to actually playing on the court next season.”

Jason takes in the conditions, nodding, “He loses, I get fifty bucks and Lily Pham has to go on a date with me.”

Times really have been rough since Chrissy left if he’s this desperate, you suppose.

Jason squeezes your hand tighter, the sides begin to ache and your fingertips go numb from his force, but you clench his hand right back before storming off to the most avoided lunch table since Billy McFeely puked on the right column’s middle bench.

As you approach the Hellfire table, the freshmen stare and you feel their judgments linger. With scorching gazes and iced tongues, they observe as though you’re a small speck under their microscope. Eddie’s gaze is the hottest of them all, has been since you first met the so-called Satanist from Forest Hills.

“Munson,” you smile saccharine sweet though, leaning onto the sticky, off-white table by your elbows, “I’ve got a proposal for you.”

“Ah, sweet princess,” Eddie tilts back, hooking his hands behind his head, “how I love our talks.”

You two have spoken a mere handful of times, at best. You’re pretty sure that if you weren’t best friends with the cheerleader trifecta then he wouldn’t even know your name. Though, to be fair, if he wasn’t the renowned freak then there was zero shot you would know his. It’s like how two celebrities could speak about one another in an interview without ever having actually met the other.

Eddie would be Vincent Prince only in The Fly and only post-transformation.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” you smack his arm, “Listen. You need to win Snowflake King lest we both be subjected to the humiliation of Jason ‘pigskin hero’ Carver proving us wrong.”

That makes the other boys actually look at you, rather than the ill-wrought attempts to pretend they didn’t care.

“What’s in it for me?”

“Dude,” Dustin pipes up from beside you, leaning over and brushing against your arm in a move that you’re certain he’d never pull under normal circumstances. His eyes are wide and brows high, “take the deal!”

Mike nods eagerly, “If you win, maybe people will stop shoving us into lockers.”

“People actually do that?” you grimace.

Will Byers nods, looking a little more kicked-puppy than human-boy, “Swirlies are real, too.”

“Alright, then,” you click your tongue and look back to Eddie, visibly already working the idea in his head, “You win Snowflake King and nobody will touch your kitten litter,” you point across the table to where a collection of upperclassmen in Hellfire shirts sit, “or your older cats. And I’ll split the fifty Jason’s forking up.”

“Twenty-five, twenty-five?” Eddie tilts his head, tone lilting.

“No shot. Forty, ten.”

“For all the work I’d be putting in to win?” he mocks hurt and leans forward, copying you and settling on his elbows. Your noses are mere inches apart and it feels like the least deadly stand-off is about to commence, “How about thirty, twenty?”

You ‘hmph’. Earnestly about to call the whole thing off if this is how he’s going to be to work with, when you hear sick witch cackles from Jason Carver and his jesters. You don’t have to turn to know that they’re pointing as they laugh, their delight thickens as your patience thins.

“Fine,” you hold out the hand Jason didn’t maim, “but you get the twenty.”

Eddie doesn’t look at you. His gaze flickers straight over the doughy pulls of his dearest sidekicks. Companions more like, he’d say. You don’t know the guy extremely well, but you’ve seen the way he intimidates and shoves people away when it comes to his friends. It’d be sweet if it weren’t, you know, Eddie Munson.

“I’ll take the twenty,” he takes your hand and shakes, firm but not so evil as Jason’s, “And you edit my papers for the rest of the semester.”

“Unfair to add that while we’re already shaking,” he still hasn’t let go of your hand, but you haven’t dropped his either.

“I know, right?” he smiles right at you this time, not entirely genuine but not so twisted into cynicism to be lost, “Come by the theater room at four, my little Satan club should be done by then, ‘kay?”

“Sure,” you rip your hand from his now, swiftly carding between the packed tables and back to yours.

Dustin, Mike, and Will watch you as you go - Will is the first to return, brows furrowed at Eddie, “Hey, doesn’t Hellfire start at four?”

Eddie hums, nods, and tosses up his hands as though he’d forgotten, “I guess it does!”

...

When you walk in, it's as though you’ve entered a meeting in the damn White House.

Eight heads swivel directly toward the heavy door you creak open as soon as you enter - seven pairs of lit, wide eyes aim at you like war machines. Lucas waves shyly and you return it.

“Hi?” you step into the cold, stiff room and jump when the door slams on its stopper behind you.

Eddie, from the head of the table, puts a finger up to his lips - lips that stretch wide with glee as he loudly “shhh!”s you.

The heads turn back to their dreaded Dungeon Master, and you’re suddenly left in the dust of forgotten chip crumbs that crack when you step forward. A boy in red flannel and rosy cheeks glares like you’ve killed his mother and it stops you with the full force Medusa was rumored to have. You haven’t felt so unwelcomed since accidentally walking into the teachers’ lounge.

“And out from that rusty, chipped, half-hung gate crawls a hideous, toothy, bloody-nailed beast,” you would’ve assumed it was typical Dweebs & Dorks talk for a campaign if Eddie hadn’t been staring at you the entire time he said it.

But he’s the literal crux of your plan, so what is there to do except bite the bullet and huff your way to an abandoned table pushed straight into the wall? You plop yourself onto the floral-engraved wood and pull out the statistics homework due tomorrow. Typically, you wait until you’re actually home, but with however many hours to kill left you’ll make an exception.

Eddie, on the other hand, is having the time of his life forcing you to wait on his little “nerd games”.

Eddie hates you. He hates your manicured nails. He hates your 1970s dresses. He hates the rusted silver ring from middle school on your finger. He hates you.

He hates you because you’re popular and rich and don’t have to work the way that he does, and as much as he wants to go against the grain and never judge a person before he meets them - he isn’t that mature. He’s angry that you don’t have to worry about your water going out in the height of July heat. He’s bitter about the fact he had to work three jobs over his freshman year and you haven’t so much as clocked in for a part-time gig.

So, really, irritating you like this is the least he can do.

And besides, it isn’t like you particularly care for Eddie “the freak” Munson. Not his reputation, not his music, not his tattoos, not his obnoxious hair or laugh or way he speaks. None of it.

...

“It’s way too late to stay here, you have to come over so we can discuss the plans.”

Eddie rolls his eyes as you walk in front of him, out the double doors, and into the (mostly) barren student parking lot.

“Alright,” he calls after you, wrangling his keys from the belt loop they hang off, “but I want a meal and to meet your parents.”

“Why in God’s name would you ever wanna meet my parents?” you snicker when he doesn’t use his infamous gunfire wit to respond immediately, “Well, I guess that’s not fair - I know you haven’t heard of the big guy upstairs.”

“The big guy upstairs hates masturbation and people of the same sex fucking, I don’t think he’s quite the role model you want, dolly.”

You swat his arm, “I never said he was my role model, and don’t call me ‘dolly’.”

“But you’re so pretty and sweet,” he pouts, turning to walk back towards his van, “like a little doll.”

You groan and sigh your way into the shredded, puffing leather of Eddie’s passenger seat. You usually save judgments of people’s cars to the jocks that mouth-breathe around you and your friends, but the sheer amount of fast food wrappers and soda cans that orchestra with every shift of your foot seem to justify it.

Eddie picks out the morph of disgust on your face as soon as it appears, “What?” he grins like he’s having fun, “Never been in a guy’s front seat?”

You glare through your peripherals, crossing your arms tightly, “I’ll kill you for that.”

You’d figuratively kill him for less.

“I just don’t like the sound of wrappers- “ you squeeze your hands mid-air as if that portrays anything, “crinkling and making noise.”

“Well, do you happen to like the sound of fucking awesome guitar solos and screaming?”

Your eyes stick to his hand on the stereo's volume dial, “Not particularly.”

“Great,” he turns the dial almost entirely to the right.

You cover your ears, just to really rub it in how you detest his music, “You, Munson, are absolutely insufferable!”

He can barely hear you over the music, but he nods excitedly - curls bouncing, “Yeah! Totally!”

The van bounces and rattles and you think you hear a tire pop every few minutes as Eddie speeds through the streets of Hawkins to your house.

When Eddie steps into the plush beige carpet and yellow floral wallpaper of your cutesy 1970s home, he thinks that bubbling hatred solidifies. At least a little bit. A nicer TV than any that he’s ever seen is settled on a polished, mahogany stand in front of your family’s white couch.

Susan Harris’ Golden Girls is playing and three smiley, sweatered figures lounge about the cushions.

“Take off your shoes at the door,” you very specifically point to a small shelf of sneakers and boots and flats and heels, but Eddie just works off his mud-caked kicks on the carpet and leaves them there. Slightly to the side, so that if somebody tripped over them he could claim he tried to move them.

Your step-brother, a shitheaded eight-year-old you’d live and die for, doesn’t bother hiding the way he sneers while looking Eddie head to toe, “Did you bring home a criminal?”

Your mother swats his shoulder and Eddie can see the resemblance between you two.

If it were any high schooler, then Eddie would be a little more reactive, but this is an actual kid. He can’t bring himself to be mean to a child, so he just laughs and waves off your mother’s concern, “It’s fine, I get that a lot.”

“Well now, that’s a shame,” your stepdad shakes his head in a way you usually see from dads in movies. He sips the beer your biological dad always said he hated and points at the jean jacket adorning Eddie’s torso, “Nice patch, kid.”

Eddie follows the gesture, finding the DIO patch Wayne taught him to embroider for his seventeenth birthday. He’s surprised that your suburban step-dad with the pretty wife and popular step-daughter and snarky son knows what DIO is.

“Didn’t know you knew what DIO is,” Eddie moves into the living room, like a predator encroaching your territory.

You take the time to settle your shoes in their proper slots, and you even move Eddie’s sneakers to an empty spot (one at the very bottom).

“Just ‘cuz I got one foot in the grave doesn’t mean I’m clueless.”

You can hardly stop yourself before you’re snapping, “Stop saying you have a foot in the grave!”

He just chuckles and your mom rolls her eyes. You stroll straight past them and into the ugly mint kitchen your mom insisted on, where a large, water-speckled and soup-drool-stained pot lays on a cooled burner. Like a stray puppy, Eddie follows.

“You know what?” Eddie leans into the counter, head tilting into the white dips and lines of your fridge.

When he fails to continue on his own, you quirk a brow and turn the burner on, “What?”

“I was not expecting your family to be actually decent,” he murmurs, staring into the distance as if revealing a great truth.

“Even my step-brother?”

“Even.”

You shrug off the way his tattoos and veins reflect into your chest - past your ribs and breastplate and through the heart. It’s embarrassing. So you move on.

“My mom was a flower child in the 60s and 70s, so she gets counterculture.”

“And the old man?”

“Been taking care of other people since before he even got a driver’s license, so he’s seen worse shit than a dork that pretends to be intimidating.”

“Oh, am I- “ he points at himself, “am I the dork?”

Before you get the chance to reply, your very dear and precious shithead step-brother runs in. Wondering eyes stare up at you and Eddie, flipping back and forth until they settle on your metalhead guest, “Do you wanna see my room?”

Eddie presses his lips, then grins and nods curtly before pushing himself off the fridge, “Of course, little man.”

Your brother runs faster than Eddie does, but Eddie’s footfalls are nearly millions of times louder when he goes up those rickety stairs yet to be replaced.

You lean out of the coffee bean tinted doorway and shout after Eddie, “Don’t try and convert him to that Satanism shit!”

A quick, simple, “hey!” from your mother follows your outburst and Eddie pops into view long enough to stick his tongue out at you.

Eddie Munson is criminally overconfident and part of you detests that. Another part of you, a growing part perhaps, admires that in him - the ability to be himself even though everyone hates him. He’s a symbol to the geeks and a terror to the general public.

To you, he’s the monster about to gorge himself on homemade soup for the sake of fifty bucks, freshmen safety, and edited English papers.

How stupid.

...

When you go up the stairs and down that creaky floorboard hallway, Eddie is already in the final stretch of a tic-tac-toe game - you hear his win at the doorway when he cackles as your brother whines.

“Wisdom comes with age, big guy.”

Funny way of saying he’s dumb.

But your brother accepts it, weirdly enough - the only reason he got genuinely upset was because you had to drag Eddie away. Funny ways for a funny kid, you suppose.

“Why do you think I have all this untapped potential?”

You don’t hear Eddie’s question, too focused on the sloppy way that he lets soup dribble on his lips. It isn’t until he repeats himself that you take notice, “Hm?”

Eddie tilts his head and winks, “I know I’m hot, baby, but try listening when I talk, yeah?”

“Shut up, you’re a mess,” you snap a napkin from your mom’s pink-stained wooden holder and wave it in front of his face, “Ever used a spoon before, or am I popping your utensil cherry?”

“You think you’re hilarious,” Eddie steals the napkin, wiping down his lips and chin, “I said, ‘why do you think I have potential?’”

Your parents have gone up to bed, the living room lights turned out and long shadows cast along the checkerboard tile by lemon fluorescents. The looping shadows of Eddie’s hair against his rosy face are even worse.

The best course of action is to pretend you haven’t been pondering that exact question just to justify why he’s in your head so often.

“You have this, like, draw. I dunno. You smile like you have something important to say, even if nobody is listening. I think that’s really important. And you’re kinda pretty, but that’s the only time I’ll say it so don’t let it get to your head.”

“Too late, that’s all I’m gonna be thinking about now. You think I’m the hottest guy in Hawkins.”

“I never said that.”

“Well, if I said you’re the hottest girl in Hawkins, would you admit that’s what you meant?”

You freeze. It feels childish to be so caught off guard by someone like Eddie Munson. No, even worse because it was Eddie Munson. Once the shock washes away, though, you abandon your dumbfounded gape and twist up your lips like the cat that ate the canary. You gobble up all tells of naivety and swallow them, talons and teeth that would’ve frightened anybody but Eddie. He was borne of talons and teeth.

You don’t blow the steaming spoonful of your soup before you eat it, though, and that does frighten him.

What else frightens him, is the rolling chalkboard you sit him in front of while he desperately tries not to fall back into your marshmallow bedspread.

“The tenets,” you slap the powdered chalkboard and kick at Eddie’s shoe to make sure he’s paying attention, “of popularity. Also known as - the four-step plan to make you Snowflake King material.”

Eddie follows your manicured finger to a big, circled ‘1’.

“Don’t stand out - this includes your insane personality, your nutty clothes, and your dingbat rings,” your finger drops to a similarly styled ‘2’, “Get good grades. Jason should be enough to say you don’t have to be perfect, but if Coach G would bench you, then you’re out,” Eddie goes to gag, but you silence him with a glare before he gets the chance, “Three: get a hot date.”

Eddie drops his head to one shoulder, squishing his lips to show you an upcoming protest, so you simply cross your arms and wait, “Why don’t you just be my ‘hot date’? Gross phrasing, by the way,” he points right at your eggshell white bookcase, “Maybe open those feminist theory books I see on your shelf.”

“Shut up,” you take a fire engine red copy of Betty Friedan’s The Feminine Mystique and chuck it at his head, easily caught in one of his hands, “It’s too obvious if I do it. We have to find somebody else willing to go out with you. That one’s gonna take work,” you draw an imaginary line beneath point four, “Mystery.”

“Hell does that mean?” he cracks open The Feminine Mystique, seemingly reading from it until you snag the copy from his hands.

“Pay attention. And you’ll see, just listen.”

“Alright,” he throws his arms wide, smiling thin, “so explain. What’s the point of these?”

“To make you popular, like I said, dipshit,” you return the book to its shelf, matching Eddie’s poorly veiled vexation, “If you keep going at the rate you are now with a terminal case of oneirataxia, we won’t get anywhere. So, we’re gonna start employing these.”

“Alright, we’re basically just changing everything about me and hoping it works out?”

“Mhm. Yeah. Just for now,” you step around your wheeled chalkboard to stand directly in front of Eddie, “And the first thing we’re gonna start with is,” you clap your hands and grin-

Don’t Stand Out.

Your mother raised both brows when you told her that Eddie was picking you up for school in the morning, but it was absolutely vital that you ensure he actually put on the clothes you made him take home. Your ex left a plain white T-shirt, burgundy letterman jacket, and simple jeans during an open-door-policy’d sleepover and Eddie dry-heaved at the very sight of such a pile.

You dry-heaved when he was sat beside you in his rustbox on wheels in the letterman jacket, shirt, and black jeans.

“I thought I gave you blue.”

“You did, and I decided it looked weird.”

Your eyes scale him from head to seat, “You look weird anyway.”

“Thank you, delicate princess.”

By the time you and Eddie have parking in the student lot, you’ve pinpointed what it was that made Eddie more unsettling than usual.

“Take off the jacket.”

He nearly chokes on the air between his ribs, “What?”

“The jacket, hair-for-brains,” you pluck at the fitting material, “it makes you look weird.”

“You know,” he unbuckles and shucks forward in his seat to tug off the offending thing, “I was thinking that exact thing.”

Eddie’s tattoos come to life in the sun slivers that beam through his cracked windows. A demon puppeteered by the undead, two dice rolling on the inside of his wrist, and an old faded stick-and-poke heart on the side of his middle finger - to name a few. It’s weird.

Is it weird?

It is, right?

How speechless and dim it seems to render you when his red-sprung, vein-flicked, tender hands bunch up the letterman and throw it into his backseat. It’s all so weird.

You rush out, slamming his scratched door and rushing to the side doors of Hawkins High only to realize when going to tighten the straps, that you’ve forgotten your bag in that scratched van.

Turning, you huff, “Shit!”

“Aw, poor thing,” Eddie, ever the sweet savior, dangles your backpack from two fingers as he waltzes your way, “What would you do without me?”

“Be studying for my bio final,” you take the bag and swat Eddie off when he tries helping your arm through one of the loops, “Okay, remember- don’t bring up your freak stuff so much today. We’re starting off on a new foot, Munson!”

“I know, baby, I know,” he pats your shoulder just a tad too hard, then, suddenly, his lips fly to your cheek, and cherry ripe softness presses a kiss to the skin there, “Thanks for the threads!”

A wolf whistles from behind you as Eddie prances into the building, waggling his fingers at a few staring jocks.

A lithe arm slithers over your shoulders and silky black hair flutters into view, Trin raises a brow at you, “What was that?”

Chrissy and Stacey bounce onto the scene in tandem, the prior speaking first, “Yeah, getting all buddy-buddy with Eddie, huh?”

Stacey leans forward, beaming with perfect pearly teeth, “You two make an adorable pair, ya know?”

“Shush,” you can’t block out their teasings, especially as Trin insists on hanging off your side and smushing lipstick-stained whispers into your ears about how exposed and eye-catching Eddie’s tattoos are. As if you don’t know.

Chrissy and Stacey giggle at your apparent agony as you pass Eddie and his gaggle of goons. All of whom are similarly teasing him for the aesthetic shift.

“Watch your mouths, I’m still in charge of the campaigns,” Eddie snaps, glaring rather lightheartedly at Dustin, Mike, and Will.

Dustin squints, disbelieving, at the outfit his friend had squeezed into, “This isn’t you, Eddie. I’m worried.”

“If this is for the bet, I’m not sure it’ll work,” Mike agrees, leaning slightly into Will’s side, “You still look like you.”

“Just a teeny bit off,” Will smiles slightly, nothing but assiduous.

A girl of yellow cardigan and brown plaid skirt pauses before the group, eyes shameless as they crawl Eddie’s tattooed frame free of its usual baggy attire. She smiles and bunches her shoulders, “Lookin’ good, Munson.”

“You too, sweetness,” Eddie winks.

Mike’s jaw drops flat as the girl scutters off, “Who was that?”

“No clue,” Eddie follows her with his gaze, “I think we have econ together. Maybe.”

“Well, I guess this bet will work perfectly fine, then,” Will muses.

You watch from Chrissy’s locker. A technical success that still burns like the vilest of cough syrup as it goes down.

Eddie, despite the compliment, searches for you as soon as the girl is officially gone. His face sings the sonnet of a boy waiting impatiently for approval, so you eagerly hand it over with a nod and grin.

Good job, you mouth and Trin giggles at your expense.

“And when I finally blend in with the rest of you?”

He folds his arms and twirls a lock of hair around his fingers, sheepish is a new look on him. He’s jabbed in the ribs by Dustin and you’re grabbed away for AP biology by Trin and Stacey.

“Then, we get to something that actually might benefit you. We have to get you some- “

Good Grades.

Ms. O’Donnell is certified in creating pain-in-the-ass tests. Forty-five multiple choice and two free response questions in fifty-five minutes happen to be one of those pains in said ass. As far as you’re concerned, the only bright side to semester exams like this is the seat changes beforehand - and the only bright side to this seat change is that you now sit next to Eddie Munson.

You finish with ten minutes left of class and find yourself entirely unable to resist how you immediately look over to Eddie. You two have studied for weeks in preparation for this, most of which was you just grilling him over raw flames about both minute and exaggerated details in Hamlet.

Not that William Shakespeare was usually anything other than ham-fisted in his works.

Eddie continues to struggle.

You can’t say you’re extraordinarily surprised, Eddie was a serial fidgeter and - no matter how much effort you both put in - was usually useless in recalling information. Not that he didn’t try, typically it was as simple as forgetting. Any which way you put it, Eddie wasn’t failing his classes on purpose. Not at all.

So to watch him violently scratch at the side of his head with the eraser tip of a pencil is painful. Both from phantom sensation and knowing how much he genuinely struggles with classes.

So you reach into your English folder for a stray piece of loose leaf, tearing off a quarter and numbering to forty-seven.

Eddie feels helpless. He’s reread the same question, number fifteen, for what seems like centuries, and yet he’s nowhere closer to actually getting that higher grade you were pushing him for. With someone else depending on him, there’s a new pressure.

Usually, when he’s only disappointing Wayne, it’s a regular soul-crushing experience that’s smoothed over by the fact that Wayne doesn’t prize academics the way he does a “good man”. Now, though, with you - there’s a lack of familiarity that leaves room for the overwhelming sensation he’ll be stabbing someone in the back.

Or through the heart?

Sharp lead jabs the exposed flesh of his arm. Right under the navy blue polo you’d literally strong-armed him to put on this morning. Eddie flinches back, retching his arm from the faint sting. You hold out the pencil, folding your hand in a way that has to be uncomfortable.

He pulls up his own pencil, glaring like you’re a moron.

When you harshly stick him with the lead again, he rips the wood from your hand and a folded piece of paper flutters to his dick-graffiti’d desk.

This time, as his eyes meet yours, you glare at him like he’s a moron. Good God, does he feel like it now, too.

Unscrambling the tightly wound pot of gold, Eddie checks his first fifteen answers and is - though he’d never admit it - overjoyed at the fact that they all match with the ones you have written down. The detail seems small to most, but progress is progress and Eddie can barely believe he’s actually able to understand the connection between question and answer for the remaining test questions.

After class, you wait on linoleum that shines under sickly tube lights for Eddie to walk out with his jingling keys and skunky black lunchbox and torn, weathered, black backpack.

“I should say, I intentionally put a couple wrong answers on there. So she doesn’t assume you cheated,” you pat his shoulder, preparing to walk away when Eddie takes your hand.

It’s warm.

You don’t know why it matters.

“Any of the first fifteen?”

Your brows knit, palpable confusion, “No.”

“Dope,” Eddie takes your bag and throws it over one of his shoulders despite your huffs, “Where to, sweetness?”

Fighting Eddie is pointless, especially on menial tasks such as carrying your backpack to a class. A class on the opposite side of campus from his, might you add.

“AP stats,” you point loosely, as if the class is actually anywhere within this hall, “You know, for extra credit, Mr. Abrahms - the stats teacher - has a band and if you go to a show, Ms. O��Donnell slaps on some bonus points to quizzes and tests, but not book reports.”

“Right, and why does she do that?”

He holds the door to the math sector of Hawkins High, filled with posters advertising the wonders of division and variables and dividing to find variables. For a laugh, he pretends to drop it when you walk through, only giggling as you lour.

“They’re married.”

“No fucking way.”

“Way.”

“Well,” he follows you down the hall, past lightbulbs that short and flicker and mud-stained tile, “I’ll only go if you come with, princess.”

“I’d love to, as long as you don’t talk shit about how it isn’t metal,” you give a pointed stare when he guffaws, slinging over your bag all while playing innocent.

“No promises,” he sings, slamming the door to AP stats behind you.

“And after we get your grades up, we- “

“Well, hold on. We should probably do something that’s actually for me, right?” he removes the leather jacket hung over his shoulders, slowly as though this is some twisted rom-com produced by John Hughes, “I think I need a little thanks for going along with this.”

Your eyes roll almost on their own, “We already discussed payments, Munson.”

“Yeah, but how about something on top of that? Something a little more fun.”

“Ew.”

Get a Date Corroded Coffin Concert.

“I’m serious, honey, I see all about these things on the news - local and national, and you need to stay safe. And if I so much as smell a little alcohol on your breath, you’re grounded until,” your mother pauses, mouth opening and closing as she flounders, “Until I’m dead. So. Be safe and smart.”

“Yeah, Mom, I know,” you climb out of her car and shut the door, but before you’re released, the window slides down.

“Keep a good head on your shoulders,” she smiles, eyes moving past you and towards The Hideout. She gasps and pouts, tone immediately drawling up from the scolding it had been the entire drive here, “Is that your Eddie? Oh, he’s waiting,” she waves you aside and calls, “Hi, Eddie!”

“Mom- !” heat rushes your cheeks and you flip Eddie off from the hip, just out of view from your mother when he hyena giggles, “I’ll see you later.”

“Bye, honey,” she waves out the window, “Bye, Eddie!”

“Bye,” he practically sings as you stomp up to the stained metal door, “I didn’t think Mommy would be dropping you off; where’s your sack lunch, Mary-Sue?”

“Well, I didn’t think you’d be waiting so patiently for me,” you stretch to hold a hand up, pinched as though holding a treat, “Good boy!”

Eddie knocks his hip with yours so hard that you almost fold over sideways, “You wouldn’t have been let in without a fake ID otherwise, sweetpea. Sadly your reign on the population’s feeble minds stops here.”

He holds the door for you and you terribly despise the way it makes your chest thump, so you poke with a forked tongue instead, “Must’ve been mega important for you that I’m here, then.”

But Eddie is typical in that he doesn’t bite. Not in the way you want him to anyway, “Well, duh. How could I not foam at the mouth having you, princess of Hawkins High, at my little show?”

And despite your lack of involvement in the metal scene, and despite how much you wanted it to suck more than your neighbor’s hyper-speed and hyper-light vacuum, the show is good. You swear to God he even winks at you during the third song.

Following a call to your mom on the bright red bar phone, you wait outside with Eddie while his friends pack up.

The moon night is in full swing, a pale face among the stars. Thin purple and black clouds ribbon over the spectacle of craters.

“I really like the moon,” Eddie is a loudmouth at best and sporadic at worst, but something about his timber entrances you, “it reminds me of my mom.”

You hate when he tries to be mystic and poetic.

“Is she nice?”

“She’s dead,” Eddie laughs, but it feels like he’s at gunpoint, “She was nice. She told me once that whenever I feel alone, she’s just one look up away,” he sniffles and that’s when you see a spring of fresh tears, desperate to cling at his waterline, “This is nice. I don’t usually get to talk about stuff like that.”

“It’s nothing, Munson,” you huddle just a little closer, and if he asks you’ll say it was the cold Hawkins’ night. Winter is rough these days, you know, “I’m glad you can get it out.”

He digs deep into the pocket of his jeans and plucks free a pack of cigarettes, “Well, I’m sure it’s a downer on your rainbows and sunshine.”

Perhaps it’s just in your ears, or perhaps the world realizes what a terrible thing to say that was, but you swear that there’s a stock sound record scratch directly overhead, “What?”

“Oh, come on, I don’t call you princess for nothing. You’ve got it all,” he places a cigarette between his lips and your budding resentment blinds you to how they plush around the cylinder, “You’re popular. You’re pretty. You’re loved.”

“Are you kidding me, Eddie?” for some peculiar reason, his first name scalds worse than his last name would have, “Did you miss the part where we’re wiping away who you are to make you popular?” you shove him by the shoulder and he stumbles enough to know you’re far past joking, “So what the fuck do you think I’ve been doing for the past four years?!”

“I think you’ve been having the time of your life getting your ass kissed by a loving, comfortable family and everyone at that stupid fucking high school that I’ve been cursed to repeat!”

“You don’t know anything about me,” you laugh, no humor, and grin, no joy, “My dad was an awful drunk that stopped calling because I tried holding him accountable while he wanted to be the big victim!”

“Yeah, and my dear ol’ dad was a criminal that hated me until he needed somebody small and nimble to hotwire or sneak into a place.”

You’re nearly speechless.

“So you should understand!”

He should understand, and on some level he does. On another level, he’s intimidated by what you represent, and that’s why he fights you.

Your world and his might as well be Mercury and Pluto. You have a two-story house with a loving family and he’s got a trailer with his uncle - God bless Wayne’s heart. You can walk by old ladies and children and housewives and businessmen and CEOs and jocks and be adored. He can’t go to Melvald’s General without being scorned and pointed at and avoided. He hates to say it but it burns, like a live fucking roast.

And it burns even more because he’s obsessed with you. Your manicured, polished nails. Your 1970s dresses and ribbons. Your rusted silver ring with the braid pattern you’ve had since middle school.

Worse than John Bender, he fell for the school princess, but at least Eddie managed to have been around you for more than a day.

Two months, in fact, you two have been working together to make him more popular and even if it’s steadily working, your circles are still entirely different.

Not unlike a wild animal, Eddie bites back when he’s scared, and when he saw you on the empty, beer-mudded floorboards of The Hideout just for him - he realized he was downright terrified.

“Like,” you hiccup, no tears have caked your face quite yet but the way your breathing is so choked, he can sense you’re close, “I really just feel like I ruin people’s lives sometimes and you don’t even know me like that- “ you look away and he sees how bloodshot your eyes are, “It’s so unfair of you to judge me like that. My life isn’t perfect just because Jason Carver thinks I’m cool.”

“And what about you and your friends?” he’s quieter than before, “Judging me and mine over what? A dice game and some loud music?” the quiet splits as he remembers why was ever put into this position in the first place, “Fuck you.”

Your head bubbles. Air clicking between where the gears of your brain should be. He doesn’t know anything deep about you, sure, but you know much less about him. That didn’t stop you from listening to your friends bitch about him.

With no defense to that point, you turn away from Eddie and stare forward. Blank and gagged. Eddie copies.

You want to say something. An apology. A comeback. An expletive. Something.

Eddie wants to say something, too. Similar sentiments and entirely new ones. He’d even promise to do everything you say - head in the sand, hands on his ass levels of ignorance if it meant you’d forgive him. Or just look at him again. Let him delight in the sugar of your perfume once more.

Neither of you knows how, though.

Both of you do know, however, that despite different paths of life being paved, this time together is nice. So maybe it’s best to swallow pride and get over yourselves - for the sake of each other and a tasty, crisp fifty bucks (to split).

But Eddie is better at filling silences than you. So he does what he’s best at.

Almost.

Eddie whispers, so low it rattles between his teeth, “I didn’t say anything.”

It takes you a moment to register that the shithead spoke, “Huh?”

“I didn’t say anything,” he looks at you now, smiling big and wide as if he didn’t just almost make you cry.

You glare and he sees the sprinkles of crystalline in your eyes. Maybe the ‘almost’ isn’t so far back that he can actually begin joking again.

“Okay,” you huff and cross your arms, stiff.

“I shouldn’t have judged you,” he admits, “I’m sorry. It was wrong and unfair and I’ll be better to you. Promise.”

That makes your guarded stance drop, melts like dropped blueberry slush under Arizona sun before rolling into leaf-stuffed grouts.

“I shouldn’t have judged you either,” you drop your arms wholly, and Eddie despises the way he finds you so adorable. Your arms come out to your sides, wide and awaiting. When he refuses to immediately get the sign, you jerk your arms in emphasis - eyes shooting impossibly wide, “Stop embarrassing me and get over here.”

Eddie tosses his head back as he laughs, nose scrunching, and you know that if people put their egos and prejudices aside then they’d be in love with him. Not like you.

Sure, you’ve put those aside, but you’re not in love with Eddie Munson or anything. He’s just helping you prove to Jason what an idiotic, pea-brain he truly is.

Eddie gives nice hugs though. The kinds that squeeze and lock you into the comfort. You can feel his arms around you, leather squawking with your movements. His hands are warm and comforting, pressing you as close to him as you can get. He’s back in his ripped jeans and leather and T-shirt logo'd with a band you don’t recognize, it’s like returning to an old dream from childhood. Kindly and tangerine sugar in your head.

Your cheek smushes against Eddie and you can’t help the way your eyes butterfly shut from the fire that sweeps off his body and homes you.

“Sorry for flipping out.”

“It was justified, I’d say.”

“Still. I feel like I can’t complain to people because I know, realistically, I don’t really have a reason to complain unless they see what I do in my life. So I just say everything is great. So I can see why you’d think everything is great.”

“Still,” he copies your tone on that word, even dragging his pitch up to plop a cherry on the sundae, “as someone who says the same shit to my group, I should have known better.”

Maybe the hug is too long at this point, but something about Eddie catering to you like this feels like when your bedsheets are tucked tight for slumber.

“You wanna go out and look at suits tomorrow?”

“I’d rather die, but please, yes.”

There’s a blotch of inky thick silence. Tar and mud, until Eddie does as Eddie does best and wades through it for a question.

“Do you wanna talk about your dad?”

Nobody has asked you that before, and you agree in full.

“He was just. Nutso. Picking fights ‘cuz he could and nobody would fight back. Stupid power moves just to prove himself as man of the house. It was always about him and when it wasn’t, he lost his shit.”

“I’m sorry,” he squeezes you again, kissing the crown of your head, “I’m really glad he’s gone.”

“Me too,” your arms begin to let and Eddie copies, the two of you splitting apart like sweating popsicles on Summer hazy noons, “My stepdad’s sick to death, though. If I get married, he’s walking me down the aisle. I’m not even calling that asshole.”

“Yeah, well, be careful or else your beloved is just gonna hang out with him instead.”

“You saying he’s cooler than me?”

“Way.”

“He’s cooler than you, too.”

“As if I was gonna say otherwise.”

“Speaking of…” you face forward again, but this time your shoe kicks into the dirt, toeing up daisy roots and grass blades, “my brother wants you to go to his class play, but he was never gonna ask,” you look at Eddie again, grinning, “It’d mean a lot.”

Eddie thinks this is it. Under the pale moonlight his mother always told him was angel’s kisses, his stupid rage and dislike dissipate and that’s the moment he also realizes that maybe he never hated you as much as he proclaimed he did. He was bitter over an idea and he was foolish.

“Fuck yeah, I’ll go. I’ll even wear my fancy ‘I fuck on the first date’ shirt.”

“Shut up,” you toss your head back and smack his arm in a giggle, “It’s tomorrow night at nine. Hawkins elementary. And my parents aren’t going. Grandma’s cousin is sick or something.”

“Sounds incredible.”

Tomorrow night at nine, at Hawkins Elementary School, Eddie shows up in a white shirt with black, bold letters that spell “I fuck on the first date”. You’ll jaw drop, caught in the middle of disgust and humor, but when your brother is up on stage and spots you both in those uncomfortable metal folding chairs with the rest of the audience, he waves. All smiles and excitement and sunshine. And when Eddie is dropping you both off at home, he tells your brother to leave a watermelon on the porch of the boy he hates - for free, legal confusion. And your brother will beg to see him again as soon as his whistling, rusted van is out of sight.

Tonight, though, before suits are found and plays are attended, your mom’s car pulls up to a dingy little bar called The Hideout.

Eddie stops you before you can step forward, though, “Is there anything you’d say to your dad if you saw him again?”

There are so many things you could say. You could weep and cry and yell and scream and break things, if you wanted to. You could be shrill and pathetic, you could be evil and vindictive, you could be devastated, you could be lots of things.

“No.”

Because what in God’s name would actually make him change?

You smile shortly and bounce as you head for the passenger side door of your mother’s car. You stop halfway, putting up a single finger in wait, and running back over on shoes that sort of squeeze your toes when you run. Snagging his leather jacket by the lapel, you pull Eddie down so that the rosy apple of his cheek is exposed.

Pressing a cherry chapstick kiss to his cheek, your plans of leaving him daydreaming for more are dashed like meaningless soot under Eddie’s battered sneaker in a snap second. Before you can return to that car with the broken heater, Eddie grabs you by the elbow and tugs you to his side.

He slings you back enough for it to count as a dip, and pauses, rearing back with a giggle long enough for you to stop him and command that you be let up. But you don’t, and you don’t want to, so Eddie leans forward as you do.

It’s more of a peck than anything - certainly more tame than what John Bender and Claire Standish pulled at the end of The Breakfast Club, but most especially tamer than what you might expect from Eddie Munson.

But may your soul be forfeited if that mere peck doesn’t snatch the air straight from under you. He tastes like strawberries and cigarettes and even though his lips are chapped, they’re loving.

Eddie lifts you slowly, shooting a wink, “See ya tomorrow, sweetheart.”

You hate feeling shy and coy, it’s embarrassing, but something inside you just sings at his voice. So, sure, there is a shot that you’re shy when he whispers so low it rattles.

There’s a titter in your voice as you murmur back, “See you tomorrow.”

Eddie gnaws his bottom lip when you scamper off into the car. You slide onto the leather of the passenger seat and your mom is comically wide-eyed, “I’m gonna forget that for now, and ask if that young man needs a ride.”

“What?” your mom leans over despite the sudden thumping in your chest, “Mom, no!” She sucks in a breath to shout but you work faster, rolling up the window as you repeatedly mutter, “Just drive, just drive, just drive!”

Eddie laughs, open-mouthed and thick, his curls bounce when he tosses his head, waving you off before he slinks back into the loud, musty bar.

You’re damn near stuck frozen as your mother settles back into the driver’s seat. She raises her brows and points right at you, “I want answers out of you when we get home, young lady,” she wags a finger in your face before reaching for the knob of her stereo, “But right now, we’re listening to Billie Holiday. So I don’t wanna hear it yet.”

You nod curtly, face igniting like Satan's very inferno, “That is not a problem.”

“After I go to your concert, will you finally follow my actual plan?”

“Yeah, sure, let’s go, baby. What’s next?”

“Next, you finally- “

Get a Date.

Eddie makes his walk of shame back towards you after an absolutely brutal rejection from the only girl in Hawkins with more than her ears pierced (not that the eyebrow bar looked anything other than infected).

Wait, he thinks.

Did he mention that he’s in a band?

Shit.

Should he have mentioned that he’s in a band?

Maybe that’s the way to a punk’s heart.

He thinks of asking you - you would’ve said no (that’s only for you).

Either way, he ends up at your side, right in front of a trashcan by the straw station of Hawkins’ Theater. You don’t know what it is, but a deep thing inside you actually feels relieved that Eddie got rejected. Similarly, a deep thing inside Eddie just wishes you’d choke back the caveat to this step and let him take you on the damn date.

“No luck, wonder boy?” you pout.

“No,” he copies your expression, twisting his hands into his pockets, “I’m hopeless and in desperate need of guidance, dear princess.”

“Hm,” you flip around the theater lobby for a potential date, ignoring the rolling muck that clunks your lungs and throat, “Not a whole lot of options for the local metalhead and Dungeon Master, I fear.”

“What about…” Eddie purses his lips, eyes narrowed in search, “her.”

A woman with a toddler on her hips is watching with exasperated, wide eyes as a young man struggles to tear her ticket stub. You shake your head, posture straightening, “No way. She’s looking for something serious if she’s looking for anything at all.”

“You don’t think moms want flings? Shame on you.”

You’d actually feel ashamed if he meant it, instead, you roll your eyes, “I guess, but how would you even get with a mom? They’ve gotta be harder to impress.”

“Easy. I’d go over in a wife beater and offer to mow the lawn, and then halfway through I take off my shirt.”

Good God, he’s so stupid. You love it, though. It, surely.

Boots thud on the colorful, confetti-styled theater carpet, jewelry jingles and clings as a couple looking straight from the posh, wine-dry era of Victorian London passes by. Arms looped and loving, they reek of haughty money.

You jerk your chin towards the couple, “What about them? How would you seduce them?”

Eddie clears his throat, brows furrowing, “Let’s see… I’d book a table at a really nice restaurant under the name Ricky Schroder because nobody else is named Ricky fuckin’ Schroder.”

You can’t help but laugh, “And what if the staff ask where Ricky Schroder is?”

“‘He’s gonna join us later,’” he shrugs, “You know what? Anybody here would be lucky to have me. I’m the ideal woman with no high school degree at 19-years-old and children as my best friends,” he cringes suddenly, shucking out his tongue like something vile died there, “Gross when I say it like that.”

“Always was,” you punch his shoulder.

Eddie suddenly perks up, and that typically would be no stress, if only you hadn’t trailed his line of sight. He gestures loosely, doing an excellent job of pretending he was disinterested in the development, “What about Chris?”

Chrissy Cunningham. Utter queen. Warmhearted. Peachy beautiful.

“Chris?”

Nobody but Jason called her that, and she and Jason dated. What the fuck is Eddie doing?

“Yeah, Chris. Sorry, that’s what I call her. She’s a friend, she’d get the situation.”

“Oh,” you hate the way you seethe, “Yeah.”

“See you in a bit,” Eddie waves gingerly, “Snowflake King is in the bag, baby.”

Peachy beautiful. Peachy fucking keen.

Eddie and Chrissy are a little too giggly familiar for your tastes. It’s like moldy cheese between your cheeks, watching Eddie try (and horrendously succeed) to ask out your very own friend, Chrissy. You should’ve thought this through, maybe, just how much you now hate the idea of Eddie going out with a different girl.

But to be fair to you, he never asked you out on a date following that Hideout kiss, and to be equally fair to him, you never asked him out following that same Hideout kiss.

Part of you rears back at the idea of taking that first step, though. It’s easier when other people come to you, and unfortunately - Eddie either knows what you’re attempting to goad him into, or he’s simply that dense.

You made the rule his date couldn’t be you before you two even really knew each other anyway.

“Alright,” Eddie pinches your arm and you cuff his hand sharply, “it’s a done deal for Thursday. Enzo’s. On me.”

You bare your teeth in what is a desperate attempt to smile, “Awesome!”

It is decidedly not awesome.

“Well,” he fidgets with the twisted, folded material of the letterman jacket you made him give another whirl - you notice it suits him more than it did last time, still weird though, “I can take you home now, dearest.”

“Oh- uh,” flashes of Chrissy in her sweetheart neckline dresses and pleated skirts across a table alone with Eddie make you suddenly ill. Violent heat flashes that blot sweat along your brow and twist your gut into something wretched, “No worries, Eddie, I’ll get one from my mom.”

Before he gets the shot to check again, you’re darting out the push doors and to a pay phone, coins slick in your palm when you tug some from your pocket. Holding the potentially spit and gum decorated receiver decently far from your actual ear as the tone sings.

Later on, when you’ve actually been taken home, your instinct is to call Chrissy. Bizarre. Your step-father and brother are watching reports on the Saturday news that follows the cartoons - a young man injured by a drunk driver, and you immediately rush to the kitchen phone. No wonder John Hughes and neurologists are so obsessed with the teenage mind.

“You don’t actually like Eddie Munson, right?”

Chrissy giggles in that classic way she does when you’ve been foolish, and you can imagine that she tosses her head back - part exasperation and part humor, “Jesus- you two!” an overly long sigh follows, “Good God, no. I love Eddie, but I don’t love Eddie. He’s great, but definitely not for me. You, though. You know. You two would be great.”

“Okay, okay,” you sigh something guttural, “Enough teasing. I was just asking a damn question.”

“Yeah, right. You’re so jealous and nothing’s even gonna happen.”

“I’m not- “ she hangs up before you can even get the words out.

You groan and let the receiver tumble back into place, moving into the doorway between kitchen and living room to finally get an eyeful of the news.

“Holy shit, Keith got hit by a drunk driver?”

Your step-father raises a brow, sipping his beer - entirely unimpressed.

“Then,” you tap Eddie’s forehead when you notice his attention drifting to a string of polaroids around your vanity mirror, “we get to add a little bit of- “

Mystery.

Before you are two suits - both purchased in kind by your step-father. One blush pink to compliment Eddie’s complexion, and the other a pale arctic blue to pair with the actual winter wonderland dance theme. A white undershirt for either. It’s a truly difficult choice when Eddie Munson could pull off either color and still be your top choice for Snowflake King. And not just because you want to win that damn bet.

Your savior from the truly world-bearing decision comes in the form of your bubblegum phone prattling. Your hand flings for it loosely, making contact after two tries and yanking it to your ear.

“What?”

“Wow, aren’t you a bowl of candy?” it’s Eddie, undeniably, but he’s hissing in pain after the question.

That makes your brows screw closer, “What’s your problem, Munson? I’m trying to pick your tux.”

You hear him swallow thick and noisily exhale, “Yes, that sounds very hard, babe,” a gruff and he finally spills the beans, “I’m getting a rib tattoo, we took a break,” he blows thinly between pursed lips, “Can you come down here? I’m about to puke.”

“You’re getting a rib tattoo?” you press the phone closer and stand up from your comforters, “Are you insane?”

In your head, Eddie’s eyes shoot up to the water-browned ceiling as he speaks, “I dunno. Maybe. They’re mysterious, right? And cool, yeah?” he sighs, “Come down here. Please.”

You grumble, naturally, but there was never a chance you could turn Eddie down when he needs help, “I’ll be over in ten.”

There’s one parlor in Hawkins, and you assume that’s where Eddie got a majority of his tattoos. If not all. It’s twelve minutes from your house, closer to the outskirts of town than even most of the rundown bars, but you make an effort in rushing there. Probably more effort than what somebody keeping this sort of bet strictly transactional would, but still.

Eddie sighed in relief when he saw you and if he hadn’t been in the midst of a raw tattoo then perhaps he would’ve hugged you in all his shirtless glory. He now lays on his side, squeezing your hand like a nutcracker to shell, “This really fucking hurts.”

You brush tangled curls from Eddie’s forehead carefully, “What’re you getting, big guy?”

“Surprise,” he snickers until he hisses, “Fuck.”

You scratch your brain for anything he might enjoy. Anything that may distract.

“You ever seen The Dark Crystal?”

Eddie would show his utter shock in a gasp if there wasn’t a needle in his ribs, “You’ve seen The Dark Crystal? No way.”

“Yeah,” you squeeze Eddie’s hand as he presses yours, “my brother owns it. Wanna watch it after this?”

“God yes,” he sounds breathless and you hate how your heart seems to twist at the sound, “who’s your favorite character?”

“Kira. I also liked Chamberlain.”

“No shit, I love Kira and Chamberlain,” Eddie beams up at you, “I know that it isn’t very good, but I fuckin’ love that movie.”

“Even the Poddling slave scene?”

“Hm. That one might be terrifying, actually. Still a good movie.”

“Well, my brother never watches it, so you can come over and we’ll have a viewing party whenever you want.”

He releases your hand and motions as if to brush his fingertips gently over your cheek, “Sweet, sweet angel, how I adore you.”

“Shut up,” you hate when he flusters you. It’s embarrassing.

When Eddie stands straight before the parlor’s mirror, he looks at you with big, bright eyes. Once again, like a puppy for praise.

A full moon in front of a starry sky and clouds paint his pale ribs, raw at the outlines.

“Aw,” you twine your fingers and let the excuse of his tattoo explain why your eyes linger by Eddie’s chest, “for your mom?”

“For my mom,” he confirms, quieter. Baby cow eyes flip to his raw flesh, “Do you think she’d like it?”

Realistically, you never knew her, and you have no idea - Eddie knows that, most definitely. But you know Eddie (somewhat) and if she was someone worthy of his time, then she would’ve adored him now - and his tattoos.

You take one of his fidgeting hands in yours, “Absolutely.”

“And what after that?”

“After that,” you settle your hands on your hips and nod assuredly, “you win Snowflake King.”

Snowflake Ball.

It’s been a solid handful of months, Eddie is far more popular than he was before and you genuinely think he has a chance. And not just because of your desperate need to win this bet.

Before you, on the floor by your feet, are your step-brother and his date, Carrie Kith, to their own winter dance at Hawkins Elementary. Carrie turns to you, wide crystalline eyes and freshly braided hair, her cherry button nose turned up as if to say that one wrong answer may set her off.

“Is he your boyfriend?”

“Who?”

She points at the staircase, “Him.”

Your eyes flit to the clock your mother has hanging above the TV, "No."

"Why not?" she tilts her head, golden braid falling to her shoulder.

You shrug flippantly, "Boys are a waste of time.”

Carrie visibly considers the wisdom, nods, turns to your brother, and says, "You're a waste of time."

"What did you teach these poor kids while I was away?" Eddie stands at the final step of your stairs, holding his arms out wide and giving a twirl, "What do you think?"

You pick up your jaw and cross the carpet to where he stands. Pale arctic blue suit to match your dress and you can see the faintest touch of the tattoos that terrify locals through the low-cut chest.

"Incredible, you're- " you stop yourself, "Incredible," Eddie looks ready to tease so you speak before he gets the spotlight, "If you lose in this, then maybe I'm not the fashion genius I think I am."

“Don’t put that much weight on it, sweets,” he digs into his pocket and pulls out a closed fist, "You should wear these."

The first uncurls and in his palm - bitten red raw from the cold - is a pair of glittering rubies.

"They're fake," he lampshades, moving the earrings slowly closer, "but… here."

You take the jewels and find yourself biting your bottom lip to contain the bubbling affection in your chest.

"I wanted to get you something nice," from his voice, you can hear shame and nervousness. It's nice to know you aren't alone, then. Eddie cards his fingers through his hair and brushes a lock behind his ear. A ruby gem sparkles through stray tresses, "I wanted people to know who I was with. Don’t need them mistaking me as Chris’ new boyfriend.”

"Thanks," you press your thumb into one of the pointed edges of your gifted earrings, "you didn't have to. Really."

When you look back to Eddie, he mouths shut up and holds out his hand, "I'll put 'em in. And yes, I did have to get them. I saw them and thought of you and then couldn't stop thinking about it until I bought them."

"So you think of me?"

You don't think you're teasing when you ask that.

It stills.

Eddie pauses.

Your brother gags and Carrie joins.

"Yeah, yeah," Eddie rushes to click the earrings in place, pecking your cheek before running to the door. He puts his hand on his hip and you're frozen in the living room as he speaks, "Alright, rugrats, you wanna go to your dance or no? Train's leaving the station."

You're so stupidly muddled that you don't even comment on the way Eddie's van has been cleaned out. No cans or wrappers or empty bags to crinkle or shriek when you shift your legs.

By the time you're actually inside the gymnasium's snowed-in forest set, voting has begun. You put on the theatrics of disappointment, but you can't pretend to not be grateful you missed the Jason Carver power hour. And you can't pretend to not be shocked when you see your name under the title of Snowflake Queen, right between Stacey and Chrissy.

"You know, I think you deserve a win tonight. In case I don't," Eddie ticks the box next to your name.

"Chrissy is gonna win," you x the box by Eddie Munson for Snowflake King, "We both know that."

"I guess," he checks himself for King as well, "but what kind of king would I make if I didn't support the woman that got me here? Hm?"

Not one at all.

You roll your eyes at his jest and Eddie checks the box by your name on your ballot. Snatching the paper from your hand, he practically skips to the locked box for votes and slips both ballots between the top slot. On his way back, Eddie hops and clicks his heels like a showtunes all-star.

"You're ridiculous," you simply watch as he takes your hand.

"And you're stunning," he kisses your knuckles.

You look away as he peers at you through his lashes. Heat fans your face and there's the sudden, unwelcomed concern that he may think you look sweaty,

"I've gotta powder my nose."

"Coke?" he gasps sharply, all for show, all so you laugh, "I can't believe you."

You grant his desires as you shake your head, "You know what that phrase means."

"I just like teasing," so you've gathered.

…

By the time you return to the cornstarch-stenched gym floor, principal Higgins is on stage with the band forced behind curtains. How cruel.

Chrissy flutters to your side in a lavender ball gown and wraps her arm around yours, "You're gonna miss it, we're getting called up!"

"Huh?"

Trin picks up the train of her periwinkle mermaid dress, "Nominees for royalty are being called to the stage. Duh!"

Stacey nods and presses a curl back into place as you all walk, "Honestly, what would you do without us?"

"Not be on stage," you climb the carpeted, moldy steps to where Higgins stands, "Which is actually looking pretty good right now."

Snowflake King nominees line up on the other side of Higgins. Eddie at the very edge, closest to you - at the head of your own line. You do your best to not squint under the harsh stage lights that beat on you.

Eddie, meanwhile, can't help but watch how your ruby earrings move as you do. He likes that you went with them. That you matched a dress to his suit. He likes that people can tell you two came together. Because he really didn't want people thinking he was Chrissy's boyfriend, but he wouldn't mind them assuming he might be yours. The stage lights cast a shine like heaven and the brief idea of you being an angel doesn't feel so lost when you two make eye contact. Painted lips stretch and you wave, he's utterly helpless to return it.

On his other side is the student council vice president, Thomas Heron. Somebody has to hear the good news, and Eddie decides it's him.

He turns and Thomas doesn't flinch away like he would have before you popularized him. Eddie jerks his head towards you, "God, isn't she beautiful?"

It echoes around the otherwise silent gym and that's how he realizes the microphone in front of him is still on and incredibly sensitive.

“Dude,” you tilt your head, chuckling.

He’s embarrassed. It’s nice to see things come full circle.

“Sorry,” he tries speaking into the mic, but now it’s suddenly dead.

Principal Higgins leans into the head microphone, and reads the letter handed to him by counselor Kelley, “And for the moment I know everyone has been waiting for… our Snowflake Royalty.”

Your heart echoes thickly in your ears, skin chills and bumps and you feel the telling of ants in your stomach. Butterflies in your dress.

“Snowflake Queen,” Higgins turns to your line and smiles, “winning by a landslide is…” students stomp in a makeshift drumroll and you already know who the winner may be, will be, “our very own - Chrissy Cunningham!”

No shit.

You, Trin, and Stacey lavish her in applause and hugs and lipstick-printed kisses to her cheeks as a bouquet and crown are slung to her sides. She’s nothing if not modest, and there are tears of joy springing in her eyes while the plastic crown of snowy clouds and crystal is laid on her honeyed head.

“And our Snowflake King…” he trails as the students drumroll stomp again.

Chrissy leans back, nudging you with her tulip bundle, “Nice earrings,” her eyes move to Eddie and she whispers, “Matching with your boyfriend.”

“He’s not my- “ you stop, glaring, “Hush.”

“A surprising usurp of our Homecoming King!” Higgins gestures to the line of nominees.

Eddie’s fingers knot together and this is the first time you get to see how much this bet actually means. Originally, you assumed he was in it for the twenty and your brains on his essays (figurative), and maybe - just maybe - he grew to love your company the way you did his. But you never quite thought he really cared.

Now, though, he watches with wide and petrified eyes as Higgins moves to stand between him and Thomas Heron, “It’s a close call, folks,” he claps both boys on the back, “With only a two-vote difference! Our winner and Hawkins High Snowflake King is…!”

The student body freezes as one. Your breath tightens and chest sticks together by the ribs.

The moment feels like eons.

You hear Chrissy crinkle the wrapper of her bouquet and you wrinkle your nose at the sound.

“Thomas Bradley Heron - our senior class vice president!”

Confetti in whites and blues of varying shades rains down upon the winners and the royalty rejects.

You deflate, the confetti shredding through your bravado like glass to a balloon. Even Chrissy’s disappointment is palpable until she remembers she’s illuminated by a spotlight. Eddie hisses a “fuck” and tosses his head back, though he does clap for the sweet puppy incarnate that resides in Thomas Heron.

“Congrats, man,” Eddie mutters to Thomas - and nobody flinches when he speaks or raises his hand.

The bizarreness is not lost on Eddie. That everyone hated him and now waves when he walks by in the corridors.

You meander to Eddie’s side as a bedazzled crown is laid on Thomas’ head. He holds out a hand and assists you down the stage stairs, “Well, that was a major bust.”

“Yeah,” he reaches out and delicately picks a confetti sprinkle from your shoulder, “but we had fun, right?”

“Hm,” you rustle a few confetti slips from his hair, “we did.”

When Eddie was younger, he used to think that the vows said during weddings were “in sickness and in hell” - it was only when he was sixteen and ring-bore for Wayne’s best friend that he learned otherwise. He likes his childhood version better though, “in sickness and in health” implies that there is only a desire to stay if better times are promised. But since being corrected, he’s known it as health. However, with you, Eddie now wonders if the difference even matters. He also wonders if maybe in a dream world there’s the chance you’ll let him swear to you that he’d crawl through hell for just a second of your time.

God, he’s changed.

Jason, in all his usual assholery, slow claps as he approaches you and Eddie at the landing of the short stack stairs.

“Not now, Carver,” you groan.

“Yeah, you’ll get your money, just back off,” Eddie shoves Jason back by the shoulder.

But the dimwit remains unperturbed, Jason steps closer and purses his lips, “You’re not so tough when your Satan disguise isn't on, are you, Munson?”

Eddie grabs him by the collar and throttles him a little, grinning “Don’t be too excited, Josie, tomorrow is business as usual,” his grip tightens, choking Jason a little, “So just be patient, okay?”

The venom with which Eddie spits his words proves too heavy on his shoulders, and Jason scutters off to where Patrick and Andy stand in plain, vomit-inducingly boring black suits.

You watch as the trio high-five and circle jerk over their victory.

This is technically the end.

You and Eddie don’t need each other.

Tomorrow, he returns to Hellfire and you’re back with the jocks and preps. It isn’t like you two are dating. Just a couple of good months. A handful of memories to giggle at until you two eventually grow so distant that you won’t even wave at each other in the hallways.

Your eyes drift to Eddie, cluelessly picking confetti out of his twisted hair under golden and cornflower lights, and you can’t help but shrink at what a miserable existence that will be. So you prolong your delight now.

“Wanna watch The Dark Crystal again?”

He sighs deep and plucks another confetti slice from you, “Absolutely nothing sounds better.”

…

You can’t believe that you didn’t notice how clean the van floor bed was until now, “Holy shit. Was this already done when you drove us here?”

“Yeah,” Eddie laughs, glancing at you through his peripherals, “Damn, what had you so distracted?”

“I don’t even know,” a terrible lie, but you don’t bother to rectify it. Something weary rests on your bones. Dies there and rots. You lean back into the passenger seat and stare at the full moon, its beams hit Eddie’s face lovingly, “You know, we may have lost, but at least you don’t have to clean out the van post misery. Still impressed, by the way.”

“Just didn’t feel like hearing you complain the whole way home.”

You pointedly ignore the way he refers to your house as home, “Aw, you remembered I hate wrapper crinkles.”

“Of course, I did, I’m in love with you,” he says it like he’s talking to a friend. So casual and at ease until he realizes exactly what it was that he really said.

You rock forward and bang your chest, breath hitching, “You’re what?!”

“Nothing,” he blanches, “A dick. I’m a dick, that’s what I said.”

“No way, I totally heard you, Eddie! Just say it again!”

“Why?”

He looks at you and you smile, head tilting with all that charm he so desperately fell for, “Just say it again.”

Eddie matches your expression and shrugs, tense, “I’m in love with you.”

You suddenly feel the urge to make him pull over. Just to be closer than what the center console allows.

But you were never the best at speaking so plainly, “Of course, you are.”

“Okay. you know what?”

He glares thinly.

You giggle and he joins.

“I’m in love with you, too.”

You're quiet, but he hears it. Most definitely, he did - he was searching for it, in fact.

Eddie tries to smother the lopsided grin that surfaces, but you most assuredly see it, “Of course, you are.”

The beloved rustbucket van sputters as Eddie pulls along the curb of your house, and you two hurry inside. In the doorway, you peel off ache-rucking heels and leave them in one of many cubbies, Eddie copies.

“So, what should we- “

He takes your cheeks in both hands, pausing long enough for you to stop him if you so desired. Then he commits to the possibility of rejection, “Can I kiss you?” he breathes in shaky, nervous, “Please?”

You cup his face in your hands, giddy and heart thrumming at the warmth there, “Yes. Please.”

Eddie lets his eyes flutter shut, whispering against your lips, “Thank God.”

He kisses you there, sweet and adoring and all things you never would’ve assumed from Eddie upon first meeting him. He tastes like strawberries and cigarettes and he smells like weed and cheap cologne and, faintly, gentle wafts of your own perfume.

When you two part, it’s like the confetti is raining again - but this time, you are the winner. Maybe not Snowflake Queen and King, but something sweeter. Ambrosia and nectar.

Eddie simpers, then rears his head further, brows rising as he “Hmmmmmm”s in an imitation of Barry Dennen’s Chamberlain.

“Ew, don’t- “

He bounces off towards your living room, clinging to one of your hands, “Come on, you promised The Dark Crystal,” when you refuse to immediately jump to his side, he inhales and calls out just as Kira does to beckon her animal friends, “Kame-le-ahhhhh!”

“Alright, jeez,” you yank Eddie back to yourself and kiss his cheek, “You, Eddie Munson, are despicable - just using me for my possession of The Dark Crystal.”

“And you, sweet angel, are evil for making me wear letterman jackets,” you both gag at the very memory.

“Rest assured, that’s never happening again,” you kiss his lips again, another peck that he seems desperate to elongate, “You look hotter in your clothes.”

“Really?”

“Hell yeah.”

“Then let’s get me outta this itchy suit, yeah?” he winks.

You roll your eyes but already begin pulling him towards the staircase for your room, “Yeah. Okay.”

Even if you have to put up with Eddie reciting half of The Dark Crystal in a holey black shirt and checkered boxers on your couch by the end of the night, you’d still gladly consider yourself a winner. And that is worth more than any fifty bucks or a Snowflake royalty title. Fewer crowns, though :(

~~

rbs appreciated (slay)

tagging people i think would maybe enjoy this

@kitmon @chainsaw-man-inserts @punk-in-docs @ramona-thorns @indouloureux @bbylogs

[rillabrooke]

2024 Reading List

The Curse of Pietro Houdini - Derek B. Miller

Far From the Madding Crowd - Thomas Hardy

All Creatures Great and Small - James Herriot

The Hobbit - J.R.R. Tolkien

Death on the Nile - Agatha Christie

Just Stab Me Now - Jill Bearup

The Words and Music of Paul Simon - James Bennighof**

The Paul Simon Companion: Four Decades of Commentary - Stacey Luftig**

Gone Girl - Gillian Flynn

The Zookeepers' War: An Incredible True Story from the Cold War - J.W. Mohnhaupt

The Lightning Thief - Rick Riordan

The Screaming Staircase - Jonathan Stroud

Tress of the Emerald Sea - Brandon Sanderson

The Sea of Monsters - Rick Riordan

Shadow and Bone - Leigh Bardugo

The Whispering Skull - Jonathan Stroud

King Lear - William Shakespeare

The Duke and I - Julia Quinn

Macbeth - William Shakespeare

Siege and Storm - Leigh Bardugo

Redeeming Love - Francine Rivers

The Titan's Curse - Rick Riordan

Six of Crows - Leigh Bardugo

The Thursday Murder Club - Richard Osman

The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society - Mary Ann Shaffer & Annie Barrows

* reread ** for school