#this is the dumbest think i’ve done | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cinnamontoastcrunch-15 · 1 day

Text

We Must Know, How Did it End?

“It was tricky, really. Writing songs that come from a place of pain isn’t usually my thing,” Sirius says, plastering a polite smile onto his face. “It’s difficult to describe a feeling that’s so… overwhelming.”

Peter smiles back, and Sirius can see the empathy etched across his face.

“Okay, I think we have time for some audience questions,” Pete says, turning to the audience. Sirius follows his gaze to a crew member handing a mic over to a young woman.

“Hi, uh, hi. I was just wondering if your album is based on your recent breakup? With Remus?”

His name alone makes the blood freeze in Sirius’ veins. The fan isn’t wrong, his album is essentially all about Remus. It doesn’t stop his heart from stuttering at the mention of Remus. It brings memories that he’s been trying to write out of his system back to the front of his mind. They bring a lump into his throat, and he has to blink harshly to fight back any semblance of a visceral reaction.

Thankfully, Peter steps in.

“You know what? Let’s move on. Anyone else?”

In spite of a few grumblings, the microphone travels further, landing with another fan.

“Hey. I was just wondering if you ever think that Remus dated you for the fame? I mean, his follower count has doubled since you two-”

“No, I don’t think that,” Sirius cuts in sharply. Apparently, his need to defend Remus is stronger than his hurt at their breakup. Peter is opening his mouth to speak, probably to move on again, but Sirius isn’t ready to move on. “Of course I don’t think that. Remus’ talent speaks for itself. He doesn’t need me to be his way to break out in the dance world. We might not be together anymore, but that doesn’t change the fact that he is still one of the most genuine people I have ever met. Honestly, his kindness is indescribable. Everything I said while we were together was true. That relationship was the realest thing I’ve ever had, okay? Us breaking up doesn’t diminish that.”

The whole studio has lapsed into silence, and Sirius is really regretting the way he went about that now. Even Peter’s watching him in shock. Eventually, he seems to remember his own job, clearing his throat and breaking out into a smile.

“Okay! It’s about time for us to move on…”

Sirius is pretty sure that he’s been in a trance for the past hour. He doesn’t even remember the trip back to his house. All he knows is that he’s been scrolling through his tagged posts as his manager, Benjy, shouts at him over the phone.

“This is, without a doubt, the most irresponsible thing you’ve ever done!”

“I didn’t think it was that bad,” Sirius grumbles under his breath. Unfortunately, Benjy has the ears of a fucking hawk.

“If you weren’t a public figure, and I wasn’t your fucking PR Manager, I would think it was sweet, Sirius! However, calling your relationship with Remus the realest thing you’ve ever had?! That gives tabloids every opportunity under the sun to call you obsessive!”

“Yeah, well, it needed to be said,” Sirius says decisively. He’s not wrong. In what world could anyone ever see Remus as anything less than kind? Yeah, they haven’t seen the way Remus would hold Sirius through his panic attacks, say the dumbest things just to watch him smile, or the dance. The one Remus dedicated to him. The one Sirius really should delete from his camera roll.

“God, Sirius, you’re so lucky that I actually like you.” Benjy interrupts his train of thought, thankfully, letting out a groan as Sirius refreshes Instagram for the fifteenth time. “However, now you need to lay low until people forget that this happened.”

“What? That I defended him? Just because he’s my ex doesn’t mean I’m not allowed to say anything nice about him!”

“Yes it does. You can’t say anything too bad, or anything too nice. You have to be neutral. Peter was about to gloss past the question, anyway!” Sirius rolls his eyes, grateful that Benjy can’t see him as he goes scrolling again. He’s being called obsessive in countless different ways by news outlets, people who hate him, and people who have decided that his and Remus’ breakup means that it’s time to take sides. As he looks through them, he’s barely even pausing.

Until he reaches a post with Remus’ face at the front of it.

As much as he knows that he shouldn’t, he wants to watch it. He’s spent a lot of time watching the videos he promised James that he’d deleted and crying, but those were videos Sirius had filmed himself. They were personal. He hasn’t interacted with anything that Remus has posted publicly. He doesn’t actually want to be a stalker.

This feels… different. Mostly because this one has his name on it.

‘REMUS LUPIN BREAKS SILENCE ABOUT EX BOYFRIEND SIRIUS BLACK:’

“Yeah, okay, Benjy, I’ll stay silent,” Sirius says quickly, zoning out.

“Oh, really? Thanks. That was easy-”

“Okay, bye.” He hangs up before Benjy can say anything else, immediately playing the video.

It’s from one of Remus’ livestreams. His face is flushed a slight red, like it usually is after rehearsal, sitting on the floor in his studio. Sirius hates how endearing he finds it. He’s just talking, comments rolling in and the radio playing, when Sirius catches the message. It’s just another one calling him a stalker, but it stops Remus in his tracks.

“Right, you all need to leave Sirius alone,” Remus says decisively. The way his name sits in Sirius’ mouth brings a lump into his throat all over again. He really needs to stop crying over Remus, it’s getting a little sad. Maybe he is obsessive. “He isn’t stalking me. I actually haven’t spoken to him at all. Listen, the- the breakup was amicable, okay? We don’t hate each other, and we really don’t need people taking sides. All he did was defend me, which he didn’t have to do. It was nice of him, yeah, but it doesn’t make him obsessive. He’s just being a good person, he can’t help that.” Sirius smiles to himself, face warming at the compliment.

Okay, he is obsessed.

Still, it’s so unbelievably Remus to be so willing to defend him. To immediately assume the best about Sirius.

Just when Sirius expects the clip to end, a different song starts playing. He recognises it straight away. It’s one from his new album.

‘ I told the moon about you… ’

Remus’ eyes widen at the words. At Sirius ’ words. He never has been any good at hiding the first thought that flits across his face.

“Sorry, I’m, er… I’ve got to go. Thanks for- for watching, yeah,” Remus says hurriedly.

That’s when the clip ends.

For what feels like the thousandth time, Sirius wants to be in the same room as Remus, to have the privilege of finding out exactly what is going on in his head. He wants to press his thumb against the furrow in Remus’ brow and watch his face relax. Christ, he just wants to touch him, really. His forehead, his hand, his shoulders, his waist, anywhere . With a groan, he drops his head into his hands. He’s actually pathetic. James is the only one who’s allowed to hear about this, and Sirius is pretty sure he needs a stern talking to from him right about now.

There’s a knock at his front door, which Sirius assumes is James. It’s like the man can read his mind. The knocking is a little… frantic, but James is bouncy, it’s not exactly out of the ordinary.

He walks slowly over to the door, reaching out and pulling it open.

The moment he catches a glimpse of the familiar amber eyes, every muscle in Sirius’ body freezes.

Remus.

He hasn’t seen him in three months. Not since he left Sirius’ house, got on a plane, and didn’t come back. Sirius has spent a countless number of minutes trying to recall every single detail about Remus, looking at photos of the two of them, wishing that he had spent more time etching every line, every freckle, into his brain. He thought he had, really, but he was right in his interview. Remus is indescribable.

For a moment, they just look at each other, Remus’ mouth slightly ajar as though he hadn’t expected Sirius to open the door. He almost seems like he doesn’t know how he got there.

Well, until Sirius speaks.

“M- Remus? What- what are you…?” He trails off, watching the way Remus’ features set to something much more sure.

“Sirius, I love you,” he says suddenly. They’re words Sirius never expected to hear coming from Remus again. “I’m still in love with you, and I’m tired of pretending that I haven’t regretted every single step that I’ve taken since I left here. I- God, Sirius, I think we made a mistake. I- I know what we said, what we agreed on. It was too difficult with our schedules, we were both being too distant, fighting over little things,” he lists everything like it’s pointless, as Sirius tries to get his brain to fucking wake up and work. “And I get it, Sirius. I really do get it, I understand, but I’d take thousands of fights over- over dishes, or hogging blankets, instead of having to do these months all over again. This is going to sound really sad, and really bloody pathetic, but I’ve watched the videos of you writing songs in my flat more time than I can fucking count since we broke up! You told the moon about me? I know that line. I’d know it anywhere. It’s the one right before I turned the camera off and kissed you. It just made me- I don’t know, I didn’t think hearing it like that would hurt so much.” He seems to be hit with a completely different emotion, some sense of regret, and it’s probably Sirius’ fault, since he doesn’t seem to be able to get his voice to work. He can sing night after night, go on countless talk shows, but apparently this is what it takes to render Sirius speechless. “I know I’m probably overstepping a boundary, and this is really fucking stupid of me, but I- I want to try again.”

Yeah, the words really aren’t going to come out. He’s going to have to find some other way to tell Remus exactly how he feels.

“If I didn’t say something I just know that I’d regret it for the rest of my life. So tell me to leave and I will. I’ll turn around and- and I’ll move country. You’ll never have to see me again-”

He can’t say anything else, because Sirius is kissing him.

He isn’t even sure when he made the decision to do it. It’s almost like a reflex, the first thing to come naturally to him.

There’s not a second of regret that comes with it, though.

Before he can even figure out where he got the idea to do that, Remus’ arms are around Sirius’ waist, pulling him closer and holding him secure, warm, safe . His lips are soft, so familiar that Sirius wants to cry.

Actually, he is crying.

Tears start rolling down his face as he pulls away to look at Remus. Thankfully, Remus is crying himself, and somehow also grinning like an idiot, which Sirius can genuinely say is the most beautiful sight he has ever had the privilege to behold.

“Oh, my god, I love you, Remus. Moony, I love you so much,” he says quickly, hands reaching to cup Remus’ face.

“So- you- do you want-?”

“To start again? Pick up from where we left off? Anything, darling. Anything. I’ll take whatever you can give me, if it means I don’t have to try to move on. You’re not someone I can get over. I’ve tried, and I’m convinced that it’s fucking impossible,” Sirius says, making Remus laugh breathlessly and drag him back into a kiss. Not that Sirius is complaining. He would let Remus drag him anywhere. Remus is his everything. His world.

Oh, my darling, how could I ever have let you go?

#it's been a WHILE since i've written a oneshot #and I'm also not sure what this is #but I lowkey love it #they're so silly #wolfstar #sirius black #wolfstar oneshot #marauders #remus lupin #remus x sirius #young marauders #moony x padfoot #atyd marauders #marauders oneshot

93 notes · View notes

sinsdaycorp · 11 months

Text

Yoko: what’s the dumbest thing Enid has done while around you?

Wednesday, trying to literally think of the dumbest thing while counting on her fingers.

Enid: awfully bold of you to assume I’ve done dumb things!

Wednesday: there was the time that she-

Enid, covering Wednesdays mouth: hey, you like the kisses? Yeah? Then shut up.

Wednesday, licks Enid’s palm, causing her to squeal and wipe her hand off quickly in disgust: I’ve lost count of the times she’s done dumb things. they we’re all equally dumb.

Enid, pouting.

#WenClair #Wednesday Addams #Enid Sinclair #Yoko Tanaka #my Drabble

375 notes · View notes

munson-blurbs · 5 months

Text

086: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader Series

Chapter 002: The Devil Has Come to America

Summary: Following orders and toeing the line is your specialty, but when Patient 086 tries to bargain with the doctors, you're tempted to step out of your comfort zone.

Warnings: dark themes, mostly canon-compliant (Eddie lives), violence, blood, restraint, amnesia, abduction, that scene at the end of S4E9, flashbacks, drug/alcohol use

WC: 5k

Divider credit to @saradika

October 30, 1984

“Have you seen the new guy?” Heather giddily asks you and Carol through a mouthful of macaroni salad. A soft blush creeps into her cheeks as it often does when she gets flustered.

Carol nods enthusiastically. “He sits in front of me in algebra.” She offers a smarmy grin as she tucks into her own lunch. “Let me tell you, I might actually show up to class every day if I get to stare at his ass all period.”

Heather laughs, covering her lips with a manicured hand. “Don’t let Tommy hear that,” she jokes.

“Don’t let Tommy hear what?”

Carol swats at her boyfriend as he sits down next to her, giggling as she explains the situation. “We were just talking about the new kid, Billy…something-or-other.” She waves it off; clearly, the shape of his butt is more important than his last name. “I think he’s from California.”

Tommy nods knowingly. “Yeah, I have phys ed with him. I was gonna see if he wants to go out for basketball this year. He’s pretty damn good.”

“Better than King Steve?” Carol snickers, reaching onto Tommy’s lunch tray and swiping a French fry. “Or should I say, Mr. Nancy Wheeler?”

Heather laughs at this, too, but you can tell by her unnatural lilt that it’s forced. She’s been doing that a lot more often lately–pretending to be amused by Carol and Tommy’s antics just to fit in with them.

Tommy throws a letterman jacket-clad arm around his girlfriend. “And, uh, speaking of dudes who are totally whipped,” he says under his breath, eyes sweeping to the corner of the cafeteria where the Hellfire Club sits. You know exactly what he’s looking at; sure enough, when you drag over your own gaze, there’s Eddie Munson, staring longingly at your table.

“Ooh, I’ll bet he’s gonna be selling at Tina’s party tomorrow!” Carol flashes you the grin you only get when she needs a favor. “Can you talk to him? You know he’ll give you a discount.”

Never mind the fact that you didn’t smoke, or that the last time you’d done this for her, she hadn’t paid you back a single cent. The question is a simple formality: you will get cheap weed from Eddie, whether you like it or not.

“Y’know,” Tommy breaks in smarmily, eyebrows raised like he’s offering classified information, “I heard he flunked last year on purpose so he could keep selling at high school parties.”

“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. He could’ve graduated and still swung by to sell.” The retort spills from your lips before you can stop yourself, but it’s true. It’s not unheard of for recent grads to pop in to snag some beer or jungle juice.

Your words are met with glares from Tommy and Carol; Heather’s foot brushes your own with a dual meaning of are you okay and don’t get us in trouble.

“Sorry,” you mumble, desperate to avoid the unwanted social consequences that await you and Heather if you mess this up. “I can, um, talk to him at the party tomorrow.”

Flirting with him for discounted pot doesn’t sit right with you. But since Heather is your only friend, and she’s now friends with Carol, you can’t risk losing her.

You let yourself look over at the young man who’s been harboring a crush on you since this school year began, feeling a pang in your heart. This is the last time, you tell yourself, and then I’m done leading him on. Carol can buy her own shit, full price.

But when you hear Heather laughing again, you realize that you’re only lying to yourself. The only thing worse than high school is enduring it alone, and if that means temporarily turning into someone you hate, then so be it.

March 30, 1986

“EDDIE!”

The shouted word reverberates around Patient 086’s skull as he wakes up suddenly, body trembling from the nightmare and from the headache forming behind his temples. He winces when he opens his eyes, the overhead lighting only enhancing the pain.

“Eddie,” he whispers to himself, letting it melt on his tongue. “Eddie, Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.” He smiles despite having every other reason not to.

I’m Eddie. My name is Eddie.

His joy dissipates when he fails to recall whose voice was calling out for him. It’s a balloon that keeps getting whisked away in the wind, just out of reach.

Eddie grits his teeth, overdue tears streaming down his scarred cheeks. I know this–it’s…it’s…

“Fuck.” The swear is all exhalation, hardly any force behind it. His shoulders shake as sobs wrack through him, his quest to remember seemingly still fruitless. He’s so close, but still too far away.

The door to his room swings open without warning, one of the doctors from his earlier scuffle standing in Eddie’s line of vision. It isn’t the one he’d bitten–Dr. Snell–but the one who appeared to be the leader. His mere presence unsettles Eddie, like there’s an invisible evil seeping from his pores.

“086.” An unfriendly grin stretches his lips. “I take it you’re feeling rather…well-rested, yes?” He takes immediate notice of the way Eddie’s hands clench into fists, one by his side and one still cuffed to the gurney. “I think we got off on the wrong foot, 086. Perhaps we should start fresh, now that you’re aware of our non-compliance protocol.”

“Eddie.” Eddie grunts, not daring to make eye contact. “My name is Eddie, not 086.”

The doctor’s eyebrows furrow in momentary confusion before he clicks his tongue disapprovingly. “Yes, right. I forgot that 055 accessed that memory.” His signature smirk returns as though it never left. “We use numeric identifiers here. Easier to keep track of our patients. So while you may have been Eddie, you’re now 086. Understood?”

But Eddie’s mind remains trained on the doctor’s previous statement. “Someone…accessed my memory?” He curls inward at this privacy violation. A person he didn’t even know was able to see his memories–yet he still couldn’t.

“Very briefly,” the doctor confirms. “It was more difficult than anticipated because you were sleeping. We will require your cooperation for this task.” His arched gray eyebrow informs Eddie that this is not up for discussion. “Be aware that while it is challenging for 055 to access your memories while you’re asleep, it’s not impossible. If you choose to behave as you did earlier, the consequences will be the same.” He holds out a water-filled paper cup and a small container of two pills, chuckling at Eddie’s ambivalence. “Just some ibuprofen for the headache. They’re standard after memory accession.”

Every muscle in Eddie’s body tenses, his already-dry throat feeling like sandpaper. He gulps down the medication, utterly defeated. “C-Can I just ask…why do you need my memories?” What secrets could he possibly hold that interest them enough to steal them from his unconscious brain?

The doctor sighs, weighing the options of honesty and deceit. He speaks after a moment with a carefully curated response. “The place we rescued you from was nowhere you should have been. Nowhere anyone should ever be.” His lips purse in concentration. “We need to know who, if anyone, was with you to ensure their safety and wellbeing.” The doctor lowers his voice as though revealing priceless information. “What if they’re trapped there, 086, just as you were? We can’t know unless you allow us to see.”

Eddie doesn’t miss the faintest smile, disappearing almost as soon as it forms, as though the doctor is proud of his presentation. Like he’s telling an elaborate fictional story rather than insinuating true mortal danger.

“Okay,” Eddie pauses but agrees, despite the nausea pooling in his stomach. There may have been people with me. Family or friends or anyone links to my past. To who I am, or who I was. “I’ll do it, but I want to see more than just the end. I want happy memories pulled, too. Can 055 do that?” He keeps his voice as insistent as possible, vaguely aware that he just may be making a deal with the Devil himself.

“Of course she can.” He eyes Eddie’s singular restrained wrist; for a second, Eddie thinks he’s going to let him go, but the man just continues speaking. “I’ll bring her in as soon as she’s ready.”

He’s too quick and too smug in his response, but Eddie has no choice but to believe him. It’s the last bit of hope that he has.

October 31, 1984

You can hear music blaring before you and Heather even pull up in front of Tina’s house. She’s meticulously checking her lip gloss in her compact mirror, one manicured fingernail scraping around her mouth to remove any nonexistent excess.

“How do I look?” She asks, eagerly awaiting your opinion. It’s a seemingly stupid question; she always looks gorgeous. It’s almost unfair how beautiful she is, not to mention an impossible comparison standard to which you’ll never measure up.

She’s truly outdone herself tonight, dressed as Wonder Woman. The corset amplifies her cleavage and the blue barely-there shorts showcase her long legs. Diana Prince’s signature crown is perched atop her hair.

“Amazing. Billy’s gonna lose his shit.” You smile as she blushes and gets out of your car, excitedly slamming the passenger door behind her. There’s no point in fielding her the same question; she’ll placate you with an untrue compliment that won’t do anything to boost your ego.

You adjust your black mask and step out, cautiously teetering in your high heels. It was Heather’s idea for you to be Cat Woman, claiming that she couldn’t dress sexily without you, but you feel like a fish out of water. The latex suit just doesn’t look right on your body, or maybe the problem is that your body doesn’t look right in the suit.

Heather waits as you get your bearings, hooking her arm with yours and bringing you an immediate sense of comfort. This is the Heather Holloway you’ve grown up with, the one who’d encouraged you to face your fears and ride a two-wheeler bike, the one who’d used her own allowance to buy you a new pair of pants when you got your first period in the middle of Sears, the one who’d let you sleep over whenever simmering arguments with your parents reached a boiling point. Regardless of her newfound affiliation with Carol–and Tommy, by default–she’s still your best friend.

Someone lets out a low wolf-whistle as you two walk through Tina’s house and to the backyard. Heather holds her head high while your gaze stays glued to the ground, unwilling to make eye contact with the perpetrator. It’s highly unlikely that the flirtation was intended for you, anyway.

Outside, the crowd is chanting as Tommy stands beside the keg, propping up a guy in a leather jacket. Heather squeals and tugs on your sleeve excitedly. “That’s Billy!” she exclaims, discreetly pointing to the man currently upside down, guzzling beer like his life depends upon it.

After twenty-two seconds, Billy motions to be lowered back to the ground. Foam spews from his mouth and drips down his chiseled abs, slick with sweat.

“We got ourselves a new…keg…CHAMP!” Tommy announces, slipping a lit cigarette between Billy’s fingers.

Billy takes a triumphant drag, exhaling smoke as he declares, “That’s how you do it, Hawkins! That’s how you do it!” He looks around the party with a squared jaw, assessing who is impressed by his feat besides the Tommy Hagan-shaped puppy yipping at his heels.

You turn to Heather, trying your best not to roll your eyes while she outwardly swoons. “There’s your Prince Charming,” you mutter, stomach curdling as Billy’s blue eyes flicker up and down her body, a predatory smirk crossing his ale-drenched lips.

Heather saunters over to him with a confidence you haven’t seen from her before. One hand wraps around Billy’s bicep, pulling all of his attention to her. “That was really cool,” she says breathily, biting her lower lip and peering at him through mascaraed lashes.

Billy shakes his mullet of curls, inhaling from the cigarette again before he speaks. “Yeah, well, someone had to breathe life into this shitty excuse for a party.” He sighs and stretches, causing his muscles to ripple underneath his jacket and snaking an arm around her waist to tug her closer. “But it looks like it just got a lot more interesting.”

He’s a walking cliché, the absurdly attractive new kid obnoxiously strutting around like a proud peacock while girls fall at his feet. You can’t blame Heather for being entranced; you just wish she could see through the shiny exterior and realize that, to him, she’s just another pair of panties on his bedroom floor.

An impatient tap on your shoulder draws you from a disbelieving stupor. Carol stands behind you, arms folded across her chest as though she’s irritated with you before you can even say a word.

“Freak’s here,” she reports flatly, shoving a crumpled bill in your palm. “Whatever twenty bucks can buy.”

Right. The second reason you’ve dragged yourself to this party, in addition to being Heather’s loyal sidekick, is to awkwardly flirt your way to a weed discount.

You shuffle back into the house, spotting Nancy Wheeler sloppily ladling jungle juice into a cup, swaying with the beginnings of tipsiness. Your heart sinks; it seems like everyone is enjoying themselves at this party–or is trying to, at least–except for you.

Why are you like this? Why can’t you just be normal and fit in? It was simple for Heather; Mrs. O’Donnell had assigned her and Carol to be lab partners, and within a week, she’d begun her ascent up the social ladder. But you were resistant, remembering Carol’s constant barrage of snide remarks hurled your way, never trusting her the way your best friend did.

“C’mon, don’t you want to be popular? To finally be noticed?” Heather had pressed, eyes shining with the prospects of landing on Hawkins High’s proverbial A-list. “You can’t just let people trample over you for the rest of your life.”

And so you’d tagged along for the ride, only to find that you’d graduated from punching bag to doormat. You did what they asked because they had the power to obliterate your already meager social life, and they knew it.

That’s why you currently find yourself looking over at Eddie Munson as he digs through his tin lunch box. He takes a handful of bills from Linda Becker and gives her a pre-rolled joint, shoving the cash in his pants pocket. He shakes his mop of curls out of his eyes and moves onto his next customer, a junior who just crushed a Miller Lite can on his head.

Eddie only sticks around these parties long enough to sell whatever’s in his stash before he slips away; if you put this off any longer, you risk pissing off Carol, which will upset Heather and further strain your friendship.

You take a deep breath. It’s just some harmless flirting; you’re not proposing marriage, or even sleeping with him. Bat your lashes, tell him he looks nice, ask him about his day, and get some weed. Yeah, you can do this.

Here goes nothing.

One hundred eight…one hundred nine…

The squeak of his door opening disrupts Eddie’s meticulous wall tile counting. Annoyance prickles under his skin when he loses focus. He tries not to let it show, keeping up the cooperative façade so the scientists will be willing to give him what he wants–a glimpse into his past. Not just the parts of 086 they deem important, but the smaller moments that comprise him. The parts that make up Eddie.

The man he’d bitten—Dr. Snell—stands in the doorway with what appears to be another patient. She wears a hospital gown identical to his own, and her hair is also cropped close to her scalp.

Dr. Snell speaks first. “086, this is 055,” he says, gesturing to the young woman to his right. Eddie tries to get a better look at her, but it proves to be more difficult than he’d anticipated. She doesn’t allow her gaze to meet his as though she’s afraid to be seen; ironic, considering she’d infiltrated his mind just hours earlier.

“Um, hi,” Eddie sputters awkwardly, not quite sure how to navigate this unique introduction. Thanks for uncovering my memories? Sorry for whatever you find in there? Also, if you could look past the bloody mess and let me know who the kid screaming my name was, I’d really appreciate it?

He sighs when you offer only silence in response, using his untethered hand to scratch a spot on his scalp where his hair is shaved a bit too close. Impatience gnaws in his chest. “So, uh, we gonna get started on this memory pulling thing?”

Dr. Snell nods, hesitantly making his way to Eddie’s bedside. “086, I am going to remove your restraints. When I do, I expect you to continue giving us your full cooperation. Is this understood?” He conspicuously fiddles with a button hanging from a cord around his neck; Eddie can only assume it’s used to page the other scientists in an emergency.

“Yes, sir.”

“Very good.” The doctor pulls a key from his pocket and plunges it in the slot that joins the clamps together. The metal digs into Eddie’s wrist before the pressure disappears altogether, and he exhales a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

“Now,” Dr. Snell continues, turning to 055, “you will continue revealing 086’s memories of the Nether. You’re going to determine who else was there and what they may have seen.” He ticks off the two agenda items on his pointer and middle fingers as though it’s a simple task.

Eddie watches as 055 pulls up a chair across from him, still avoiding making eye contact until it’s absolutely necessary. “Sit up.” It’s an order, but a polite one, and Eddie follows it without a second thought. “I need you to take the memory I pulled and think about pushing it to the surface of your mind. Do your best to focus only on that, and it’ll make my job a lot easier.”

There’s a familiar cadence to 055’s voice, her last sentence laced with both honesty and a hint of humor. Eddie’s surprised to find himself relaxing a bit, a hint of a smile dancing on his lips. He reflexively closes his eyes.

“N-No…leave them open.”

His eyelids flutter open, embarrassment pinkening his cheeks as though this was something he should have known. He concentrates on the already-fading memory of the boy shouting for him, biting into his lower lip so hard that it draws a bit of blood. The metallic taste stirs something within him, his ribs suddenly aching where they’re scarring.

An earthy scent overtakes his next inhale, a stark contrast from the sterile lab environment. Eddie’s moving too fast to be on foot, the bicycle wheels spinning across dirt and sinking into the mud as he frantically pedals. Something weighs on his back, but he can’t reach back to feel what it is.

He leaps off of the bike without warning, faintly hearing it clatter in the distance, but it’s quickly drowned out by violent shrieking. The sound tornadoes around him as he grabs the items from behind him: a makeshift spear and a garbage pail lid with nails driven through it.

Clang! Clang!

The flying objects ricochet off of the lid, the spikes not impaling them enough to do much damage. The shield begins to bend under their impact, but Eddie continues swinging with all of his might. His grunts are barely audible over the screeching bat-like creatures. His chest tightens as he musters up his remaining strength and courage, bellowing into the wind.

“COME ON!!!”

The scream provides no intimidation; it only further depletes his already-limited energy. He pauses for a second to take another breath, but his air supply is cut off by a barbed tail wrapping around his throat.

Eddie instinctively drops the spear to unravel the beast’s grasp from his neck, but he knows it’s too late. He’s done for. While he wrestles with the bat, others latch onto him and drag him to the ground to feast on his flesh.

“EDDIE!”

The boy.

Eddie hears him over the blood pounding in his ears, willing him to stay away, go back to safety, but shock has rendered him wordless.

And then the shrieking stops, leaving only the sounds of his own ragged breathing.

“Eddie!” The boy’s voice is quieter but still panicked, his face coming into view as he tends to Eddie’s wounds. Shiny braces adorn his teeth and mucus muffles his speech. “Oh my God, Eddie.”

Eddie can only look straight into the misty darkness, unable to move his body. “‘S bad, huh?” he manages through terse lips.

“No, nononono, you’re gonna be fine,” the boy sputters, trying to convince himself more than Eddie, “we just gotta get you to a hospital, okay?”

“Okay,” Eddie agrees too easily, feeling the fight leaving him with each passing second.

The two of them grunt in frustration and agony as Eddie uses his friend as a crutch, but he knows it’s no use. There isn’t any sense in this kid wasting his precious energy saving him from his inevitable demise.

“Just give me a second, okay?” Blood pools in Eddie’s throat; he swallows it down and forces a small smile. This is it. He has nothing left to give.

His gaze meets the boy’s, and they share an understanding glance. There’s nothing that either of them can do: Eddie is going to die.

“I didn’t run away this time, right?”

“No, nonono. You didn’t run,” the boy reassures him with a swift shake of his head, his curls held in place by a thick band.

Eddie grabs his hand, shiny eyes flitting over so he can drive home his point before it’s too late. “You’re gonna have to look after those little sheep for me, okay?”

“No, you’re gonna do that yourself!”

“Nah, man.” He needs this; he needs this promise fulfilled before he can fully let go. “Say you’re gonna look after them.”

The boy almost starts to deny it again, but Eddie’s steadily loosening grip informs him that his time is limited. “I’m gonna…I’m gonna look after them…” he chokes out, no longer able to look Eddie in the eyes.

“Good.” Haziness engulfs him, blurring his thoughts into a swirl of memories that has no beginning or end. “Because I’m actually gonna graduate…” He punctuates the statement with a small snort as he laughs through the pain.

The boy lets out a strained cry, pity and sadness and the early stages of grief rolled into one small sound.

“I think it’s my year, Henderson. I think it’s finally my year.” Eddie’s eyes glaze over; with his final breath, he ekes out a promise of his own. “I love you, man.”

“I love you, too.”

It’s the last thing he hears before the world goes black.

Eddie’s eyes snap open now, the dull roar of a headache barely affecting him. The present bleeds into the past, tile and disinfectant replacing dirt and overgrown moss. He blinks a few times to adjust.

“H-Henderson,” he stammers, looking between you and Dr. Snell. “My friend—Henderson—he was with me there. Dustin Henderson!” He snaps his fingers excitedly, pushing away the discomfort from the rapid movements. “I think we go to school together. Oh, my God, Dustin Henderson!” He laughs aloud, beaming from ear to ear. He remembers Dustin Henderson’s name, which means other memories of him can’t be far behind.

Eddie turns back to you as you wipe away the trail of blood under your nose, speaking so eagerly that he’s tripping over his words. “Okay, I’m gonna—I’m gonna keep thinking about him, and you pull more memories.” He looks you directly in the eyes, emotion written all over his own. “His name is Dustin Henderson. Got it?”

Before you can answer, the doctor cuts in. “I’m afraid that’s all we have time for today, 086.” He doesn’t seem apologetic in the least, practically baring his teeth in a sinister grin.

“N-No, he said—he promised,” Eddie sputters, feeling increasingly pathetic.

Dr. Snell shakes his head. “Who’s ‘he?’” he sneers. “I don’t recall making any promises to you.” He crosses his arms over his broad chest.

“The other doctor—he said that she,” Eddie glances at you, “could pull more memories. Good ones.”

Your blood runs cold; this is the first you’re hearing of this, and you suspect it’s one of Dr. Moseley’s many empty promises designed to foster compliance and break spirits.

Eddie’s throat goes bone-dry and his stomach curdles as the doctor says nothing more, cuffs him back to the bed, and leads you away from the room. You look back for a split second, briefly making eye contact with him, but quickly turn around.

Please, Eddie begs silently, please help me remember. There had to be some good in my life, and I need to know what it was.

Cynicism chips away at his waning hope as you get farther down the hall until he can no longer hear your clipped conversation with the doctor, your presence becoming a memory in itself.

Your time in the lab thus far has been spent obeying orders and doing your best to remain inconspicuous whenever your services are not needed. Your allegiance, coupled with your refusal to make waves, is what’s kept you from experiencing the scientists’ wrath. Silent unless spoken to.

Guilt gnaws at your insides, churning bile in your stomach, and you know what you have to do.

“Dr. Snell, I have to use the restroom.” You push the words out in a single breath, lungs tightening when he actually stops in his tracks and faces you. Skepticism is written all over his face, and with good reason, but you double down on your statement with the three words that fluster nearly every man: “Got my period.”

Sure enough, his cheeks turn magenta as he sputters, “Yeah, yes, of course.” He steps aside as you rush back towards the bathroom, your urgency very much real though the excuse is a blatant lie. You stand behind the door and silently count to five, peering out to ensure that the coast is clear. There’s no sign of Dr. Snell–or any of the scientists, for that matter–so you make your way to Eddie’s room, cursing the soft noise your bare feet make on the tile floor.

Turn back. Don’t risk your safety to play the hero.

If you’re caught, there will be repercussions. You could easily find yourself strapped to the bed or thrown in isolation for days on end; all of the trust you’d built up with the authorities will be tossed in an instant.

Something propels you forward; perhaps it’s the desire to do what’s right, but you know it’s mostly the guilt of what happened between you two, whether he remembers or not.

“Ed—086,” you quickly amend, your voice barely louder than a whisper. Eddie looks around, disoriented and fighting the post-accession headache.

“Y-Yeah?”

You tiptoe closer to him, doing your best to ignore how vulnerable he looks right now. If you think about it too much, you might cry. “You need to obey the doctors, especially Dr. Moseley,” you say.

“Why?” Eddie spits back. “I tried, and they fucked me over. Why should I help them?”

You lean over and tug on the handcuff. “You see this? Notice how I don’t have one?” You shake your free wrist to emphasize the point. “That’s because I do as I’m told and fall in line.”

“This whole place is a goddamn prison,” he retorts, rolling his eyes. “Who cares if I’m strapped to the bed or not? Where the hell am I gonna go?”

“You’re not hearing me.” You want to scream, and it takes everything inside you to hold back. “The less trouble you give them, the less they’ll watch over you, and the more I can access your memories. The ones you want to remember.”

This throws a temporary wrench into his anger, scowl softening until he recalls how he’d recently been tricked. “Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice—”

You cut him off, grabbing his one free hand without warning. Staring into his fear-filled eyes, you pull a memory, though he doesn’t know that it’s easily accessible because it’s one of your memories, too.

That’s a conversation for another day.

The smell of stale beer and unfiltered cigarette smoke clouds the bar while a band of four boys plays onstage. Eddie has one ring-clad hand wrapped around the electric guitar’s neck and the other strumming intensely as he launches into the song’s chorus.

For whom the bell tolls Time marches on For whom the bell tolls!

He turns around and faces the drummer, grinning headbanging along to the beat. The kid behind the drumset is a bit younger than he is, and considerably more nervous, but Eddie’s encouragement allows him to lose himself in the music.

You end the memory before present-day Eddie can hear the applause; you know you were the one cheering the loudest that night, and you can’t let him recognize you.

“There will be a lot more of that if you fly under the radar and give them a reason to back off,” you tell him, plucking a thin tissue from a nearby box to clean your nose. “Trust me, they don’t want to watch over you 24/7. They have bigger issues they need to deal with.”

Trust me. The last time he trusted you, it destroyed him, whether he remembers it or not. This is your chance to make it right.

“Just think about it,” you plead, adrenaline waning and anxiety drawing you back to your room. “Help me help you.”

You leave him with even more questions than he had before. Hopefully, that’s incentive enough.

tag list (still open)

@munsonmuses @vintagehellfire @chrissymjstan @munsonology @lady-munson @roadkill-writes @randomreader1999 @babez-a-licious @madelynraemunson @the-unforgivenn @nailbatanddungeon @lokis-army-77 @laurenlokirby @american-idiot-jpg @str4ngergirlw0rld @tlclick73 @gnrquinn @katethetank @inourtownofhawkins @munson-addict

#eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things #086

157 notes · View notes

aealzx · 1 year

Photo

Better Genes pg 6-10 / 38

A short ROTTMNT comic based off of 2003 TMNT Good Genes

(Read right to left)

Note, this comic will contain in either imagery or text: illness, fever, injury, bruises, blood, IV, needles, syringes, drugs, sedatives, body aches, sprained ankle, mild mutation, cracked ribs, injured eye, tranquilizer gun, pharmacy, TV Medicine, TV Science

as well as

familial fluff, hurt/comfort, very minor drama/angst, personal adjustments to canon designs

Featured characters: Donnie, Mikey, Leo, Raph, April, Splinter, Casey

Pg 1-5 . . . . Pg 11-14 Pg 15-18 Pg 19-22 Pg 23-25

Pg 26-29

Written Add on Part 1

Pg 30-33 Pg 34-35 Pg 36-38

___________

omg I actually didn’t think I would have anything to upload for another few weeks or so, but never underestimate the power of positive reinforcement and a free friday night X’DDDDD You guys have been so sooo sweet and great with the first few pages. A lot of the comments made me laugh. Thank you so much ;v;

This chunk was also a bit faster ‘cause I already had pages 9 and 10 drawn when I uploaded the first 5 pages, so there was just 3 more to get through. I’m finding while doing this that I really enjoy drawing April’s mouth. XDD It’s so fun and easy to get to squish around in different positions.

Fun facts:

I had to google that chemistry shet ‘cause I didn’t really have a chemistry class ever and know nothing X’D I skipped straight to AP chem and that was the dumbest thing I’ve done in my school life.

I defaulted to rice and beans for the food because that’s my default food when I don’t want to eat.

#my art #rottmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #better genes #better genes comic #donnie #april #illness #injury #fever #body aches #sick donnie

791 notes · View notes

cinnamonest · 1 month

Note

Alright, we need to know. Who are top members of the "looking at women, who're minding their own business, and talking about how sad and concerned you are for them because 'with the way they are, they'll end up single and childless for the rest of their lives and no high value man would give them a chance," club? Like on a sclae of 1-10 how delusional would they become after they realize said woman doesn't give a shit?

Honestly one of my favorite tropes is the whole, “nooo what are you doing living your own life you're supposed to be someone's wife and having babies” thing. Like it has both benevolent aspects (the whole “you'll be happier this way” part) while also having malevolent aspects (the “you're a resource to be used and the resource is being wasted” part).

Like, even irl, there are some men who are like. Discombobulated. Baffled. At the suggestion that a woman can have other priorities in life. The sheer reeling disbelief when he sees a woman that's like 30+ with NO kids, NO husband. Unbelievable. It must be so awful for you, you must be so sad and desperate. Equally worrisome is that you might end up accepting some inferior, unsuitable guy that doesn't have the same Husbandly Quality™ of someone like himself, tragic…

But yes I’ve been thinking about this concept ever since the Diluc escape fic, and I know I’ve talked about him with that concept before, but consider CHILDE would be such a major candidate.

Childe is hopelessly drawn to you if you’re mean.

It’s honestly not healthy for his sake either, but it’s far worse to be on the receiving end. He can’t help it, it’s like waving meat in front of a hungry dog, an irresistible urge to have you.

You’re not exactly high rank, but not much of a subordinate, you’re more of an “other” category, you keep records and files and do a lot of scribe work for a division of units you’re assigned to. Unfortunately for you, higher-ups such as harbingers end up consulting you quite often for records and information… well, most of the time, they send someone else to do such a menial task for them, but he always comes in-person, waltzing in all cheerful and full of youthful energy — and loud, God. You wonder if parents these days have stopped teaching their kids about having an inside voice, because this kid certainly is unfamiliar with the concept.

You scowl, evident disgust on your face as you lazily sort through your records, not about to show any urgency for someone so annoying. You were kind of hoping to irritate him, even. But alas, he’s equally smiley and talkative when you hand him what he’s looking for.

Far too talkative. You’ve already handed him what he needs. Why is he still in here? Now he’s talking to you, asking you the dumbest questions about if you like working here and what you do and blah, blah. You didn’t ask for this. You force yourself to give answers, albeit blunt and short as possible, mostly consisting of yeah-s and sure-s, before the annoyance becomes too much and you ask through clenched teeth if he needs anything else or if he’s done here, an all-too-obvious hint to leave.

Thus marks the beginning of the bane of your existence, because unfortunately, by the will of some malicious higher power, he comes back. Regularly. Habitually. Eventually you start noticing that he isn’t even retrieving anything, half of the time, he’s coming in just to annoy you.

See, for him, it’s not just attraction, but a weird sort of pride thing. That initial coldness draws him in, because it presents a sort of challenge. He’s now overheard other people say the same thing, that you’re cold and mean to everyone.

Based on looks alone, he thinks, you’re old enough that you should be married. Maybe that’s why you’re so mean, you’re just bitter or something. Maybe you had bad luck and got hurt a bunch and now you’re all guarded. That’s actually kind of cute.

Naturally… well, naturally for him and whatever’s wrong with him, at least, it sparks an obsession. He likes chases, challenges. Things that are hard to get are that much more satisfying to obtain, you know? The feeling of having won, the feeling of being better than everyone else, knowing that he accomplished something other people can’t and now reaps the rewards, and the pride and ego boost that comes with it — that sort of thing is an intoxicating fuel, a motivator unlike anything else one could offer him. This does not combine well with the fact that he’s young and hot-blooded and in possession of a hair-triggered sexual aggression, not to mention a sense of pride for which the word ‘no’ doesn’t have any meaning.

It’s kind of sad though. Wasting your life away in some menial job, you’ll be so lonely and regretful.

You’re very lucky, then, that he takes pity on your plight. It will all work out.

Because he can fix you.

And he knows that that's just how you are — he's already composed multiple potential sad backstories that explain your behavior in a way that makes you seem cutely pitiable, that writes off your attitude as being ultimately due to being sensitive and afraid of vulnerability, very endearing — he's not deterred by you pushing him away.

In fact, he realizes, once you've opened up to him and he's forced you to expose the vulnerable side of yourself, you'll probably feel bad for all the times you were mean to him. You'll shuffle even closer (in the scene that plays out in his mind, see, you'll be in bed, naked, face buried against his chest, all clingy and needy) and quietly sheepishly mutter out apologies and ask him to forgive you.

Or maybe after a while, if he keeps being nice to you, you'll break down and cry and be more honest about how sad and lonely you are and how much you need him and then he'll be right there to hold you close and promise to be there for you, it'll be really sweet and will make him very happy. He's already planned out several lines to say that should elicit enjoyable reactions.

It will be so cute. It will feel so good. It’s just a matter of winning you over at this point.

Which, you see, proves to be the difficult part.

He’s getting there, he’s certain, you’re just a little more stubborn than he anticipated.

He’s already started trying to work his way there, during his regular visits. He’s already asked you if you’re married, watched the way your face turned all sour the moment the word came out and the way you rolled your eyes before you muttered a no. Ah. Sore spot, then, as expected.

And then asks if you have kids — because the first answer doesn't necessarily negate that possibility, and ‘jaded single mom with a bad ex' is one of the potential backstories he's theorized for you, so, it's worth asking. You still say no.

The ideal response, then, is—

That's too bad. You would make a good mother!

You narrow your eyes and glare like he's just said the most vile thing you've ever heard. But it's okay, it's cute that you’re so defensive (because you know he’s right and it’s what you really want).

It doesn't matter what you say, any words that come out of your mouth will be filtered through his delusions to match the reality he's already decided is the case.

You say you don't want to get married, this means you actually really do, you say you don't need a man, which means you actually really do and are aware of it and it bothers you, you say you're fine by yourself, which means you're very lonely, it's practically a cry for help.

He'll keep being nice, no matter how much you push back. He can tell it's just because you're sensitive. Maybe you think someone as young and charming as him wouldn't sincerely like you, and you're being defensive? That's probably it. Aw. That makes him feel good.

Poor thing. You're so defensive, so guarded. It's endearing, even if it's starting to get a little frustrating. But it will just take a little more work before he gets through to you, and then everything will work out perfectly… and then he’ll have a nice trophy for all his efforts, can savor the defeat and vulnerability you’ll show. You'll become so meek and submissive and it'll be just for him and no one else. It’ll be so nice. Just a little more time.

#i cant help but believe this man has the worst 'i can fix her' complex of any guy to ever live #.ch #.miso

118 notes · View notes

crazykitsch · 3 months

Note

heyy babe! just had a thought abt marc and reader being in the same friend group and they have a friends with benefits thing going and at a party some guy is flirting with her and he gets jealous and there’s an angsty confession🫣

Marc Guiu : killin’ me good

pairing: marc guiu x reader

warnings: none(?) apart from my terrible writing

❝I think of you more than I should, I die when you give me that look. You’re killin’ me, killin’ me good.❞

Recently my .. friend I guess? Well, Marc has been gaining quite a lot of attention from the media. What nobody knows though, is that me and him kind of have a thing going on. I mean we’re definitely not official, it’s more a friends with benefits kind of thing.

It started with one kiss, and then one more came and more and more and we kind of started acting like a couple when no one’s around but then again also not?? Really confusing, I know.

One big thing about being friends with benefits is obviously to not catch feelings. Failed. Can you blame me though? He’s fine, tall, sweet and I can go on for an hour. I don’t think he likes me like that though, im not really a special girl or anything to be honest.

GROUPCHAT: la masia 💙❤️ + y/n & liz😒

lamain hoe:

are we still all going to mateo’s party tonight ??

pau cubarsi:

depends if youre all going

liz gf mwah 💋:

im going if y/n’s going 🤷‍♀️

hector 👎:

same thing for marc

y/n:

im coming for liz ❤️❤️

liz gf mwah 💋:

love you bae

marc 🫶:

hector next time i see you i’ll hit you and drag you to the ground

but yes im coming too

lamain hoe:

didnt need to know all that but okay! i’ll see all of you then ig ??

PRIVATE CHAT: liz gf mwah 💋 & y/n bae 🎀

y/n bae 🎀:

kill me 🙏🙏🙏🙏

liz gf mwah 💋:

no hi

no good evening

but alright!

want me to get you a therapist?

y/n bae 🎀:

my life is too complicated for a therapist to handle

friends with benefits is the dumbest thing i’ve ever done oh my god how did i fall for him

liz gf mwah 💋:

OOOOOOOOOH

YOU LIKE MARC?!??!?,?

y/n bae 🎀

STOP.

i dont know what to do ☹️

and that party tonight ????should i talk to other guys??? or is that weird???? and would he want to talk to other girls????

i guess theres only one solution: moving to a another country 🎀💌🩷🦢

liz gf mwah 💋:

i mean if you want to talk to other guys you should do it, you could try to get over him if thats what you want

and if you move to another country pls take me with you 🙏

y/n bae 🎀:

thank you queen you’re so wise

I’m getting ready for tonight while listening to some music. I can’t stop thinking about marc though.. but I guess that’s a problem for in an hour.

Okay i’m finally ready and hear the bell ring, I look out of my window and see Liz. I run downstairs and open the door. ‘Hi future mrs Guiu!’ she says teasingly, ‘Liz oh my god shut up.’ I reply. I mean not that I wouldn’t like it.. but still.

‘Are you ready to go y/n?’ ‘Yes Liz’ I say and we start walking to the party. Luckily Mateo only lives like 7 minutes away from us. As we enter his house we see Lamine and Hector and greet them. We talk for a bit but then I really needed to go to the bathroom. ‘I’ll be back in a few minutes, bye!’ I say.

I’ve been at Mateo’s house a few time so luckily I know where the bathroom is.

After i’m done I wanted to walk back to where my friends were but then a guy walked up to me. He’s quite tall and attractive.. but nothing next to Marc though.

‘Hey pretty girl.’ he says.. oh my god what do I say!?!?? ‘Hey, i’ve never seen you before’ I reply. I suck at talking to guys oh my god. ‘I’ve never seen such pretty girls in Barcelona either’ ‘Oh really? There are a lot.’ I say, my god y/n am I trying to introduce him to other girls or something?? ‘Hmm I highly doubt it.’ he says and I notice he’s standing closer to me now.

I smile as we hold eye contact but then I look to my left.. from all the people I could see right now I see Marc. Marc Guiu. This world is plotting against me.

I see him looking kind of annoyed? But at the same time upset and mad. What do I do? Do I go after a guy that’s technically just a friend or do I stay here talking to a guy thats actually interested in me? The first option.

‘Sorry.. i’ll be back!’ I say to the guy who’s name I didn’t even get. I walk towards where Marc was walking and see he’s with our friend group.

‘Hi..’ I say. ‘You took long, thought you were making out with someone for a minute’ Liz says and I can see Marc getting more annoyed.. ‘Wouldn’t be surprised at this point.’ Lamine says jokingly and I reply ‘Don’t be mad at me because you cant pull Lamine.’

‘I’m going home, you coming with me Hector?’ Marc says all of a sudden. ‘Oh yeah sure.’ Hector replies. ‘Oh.. ehm, bye Marc.’ I say but he ignores me, maybe he just didn’t hear me.. but then again when the rest of the group says bye he does say something, odd.

A few hours later the party is done and me and Liz walk home. ‘Liz? After I went to the bathroom a guy walked up to me.. we started talking and he seemed interested.’ I say. ‘Oh my god really? Im so happy for you!’ ‘Thank you, don’t think Marc is happy for me though. He saw us and didn’t look too excited for me.. and when we both were back to our friendgroup he also looked annoyed and ignored me.’ I say. ‘You know what that means right y/n?? He likes you.’ You see, I really love Liz.. but sometimes she IS delusional because there’s no way.

The next day I wake up and luckily it’s still weekend. I open my phone and decide to text Marc since we were supposed to hang out today.

PRIVATE CHAT: marc 🫶 & y/n 😺

y/n 😺:

hi marc

are we still hanging out today ?

marc 🫶:

dont know

wouldnt u prefer to hang out with that ugly, shrek looking guy?

y/n 😺:

wdym?

is that why you didnt talk to me at all yesterday?

please reply ☹️

Fuck. He’s leaving me on opened. Now a smart woman would take this as a sign to leave him alone and move on. Yet I am not that intelligent so I decide to text Hector.

PRIVATE CHAT: hector 👎 & y/n 🦭

y/n 🦭:

hiiiii bff!

hector 👎:

since when

y/n 🦭:

since now.

look you and marc are besties right

and you love me right😁

hector 👎:

y/n 🦭:

well ..

would you be so kind to tell me why marc is so upset with me all of a sudden

hector 👎:

not saying marc said anything to me, but imagine if a guy you really liked started flirting with other girls all of a sudden 🤷‍♀️

y/n 🦭:

What do you mean Marc likes me? What the fuck should I do now??? Okay you know, fuck it i guess i’ll just go to his house.

Ten minutes later i’m walking to his house and think about what I should say to him. Before I know it i’m there and knock on the door. ‘Okay girl, you got this.’ I say to myself.

His mom opens the door, okay atleast it’s not Marc. ‘Hi y/n! Marc is in his room.’ she says, ‘Hi, thank you’ I say as I walk in. ‘He seems a bit upset.. maybe you can cheer him up?’ his mom says. ‘Yeah I noticed, i’ll try.’ I say and I walk to his bedroom. Okay girl you got this just knock on his door and tell him how you feel.

I knock on his door and walk in ‘H- Hi Marc..’ I say, god why do I do these things to myself. ‘Hm? What do you want?’ he says. ‘Uhm.. I..’ I say, I can’t find the words to tell him how I feel. ‘Continue.’ he says. Okay this is my chance, don’t fuck up. ‘Look, long story short.. I do not want to be friends with benefits, as a matter of fact I.. I do not want to be friends at all. I like you. As in more than a friend and more than a friend with benefits way.’ I say and only now I realize what I just said. I hope he really does feel the same.

Marc is silent for a minute and right when i’m about to freak out he says ‘I like you too. I don’t want to be friends with benefits anymore either.’

‘Then.. lets not be.’ I say. ‘Y/n, will you let me be your boyfriend?’ He asks and that question sounds unreal to me. I never really expected Marc to ask me that. I reply ‘Yes, i’d love that Marc.’

I smile at him and hug him, he grabs my waist. ‘Were you jealous? back at that party?’ I ask him, ‘How could you tell?’ he says while laughing like it wasn’t obvious. ‘You’re not the best at hiding your emotions.’ I say. ‘Can’t help it when someone flirts with you, don’t like it when you give other guys attention.’ he says. I laugh and say ‘I won’t from now on.’

His mother walks towards the stairs and shouts ‘Y/n? Are you staying for dinner tonight?’ I smile, look at Marc and say ‘Yes i’d love to!’

A/n: Hellaurrrr pookies,, im a bit slow I apologize but im trying my best to work on all requests!! Hope you like it 😜🫶

#fc barcelona #marc guiu #marc guiu x reader #marc guiu fluff #la masia #barca

132 notes · View notes

mrswolffs-blog · 8 months

Note

bestie can I request toto with a black!femreader? he’s just so daddy😩that video of him surfing?! *debby Ryan hair tuck* got me all in my Toto feels😪

Idiot: Toto Wolff x Black!Reader

TW: Cursing, Slapping (non abusive!)

The morning had just started as the sun had risen, lighting up the bedroom that belongs to the Wolff family, Y/n and Toto. Y/n was never one to be excited about mornings as she would rather sleep through the morning and work through the evening into the night; however she knew that staying in wouldn’t get the chores and multiple emails waiting for replies done so she dragged herself up and into the bathroom for a shower.

Upon her return from getting dressed and walking around the house to collect the things she needed, Y/n noticed that her husband who should’ve been at home with her wasn’t in the house yet he left his phone on the counter in the kitchen. Dropping everything in the living room, she went out to the sides of the house, to the garden in the front and had gotten no sight of her husband, she made her way around to the back thinking that he might’ve been relaxing at the poolside or even on a conference call with the team, but dear Lord was she so wrong.

Y/n walked out to find her significant other down at the sea, surfing his heart away with the widest grin mixed with concentration on his face. She was so mad at him yet did nothing as she watched him endanger himself even worse than before as his eyes caught hers and after a couple of minutes, his surf was over and he was on his way to get cleaned up.

Returning to the house walking with his crutches, Toto wasn’t surprised when he was met in the living room by his infuriated wife who was glaring at him from across the room. “Hey schatz, did you sleep good?” He asked trying to distract her from being upset. “Yes I did in fact sleep good. Thanks for asking, but you know what didn’t feel good? The fact that my husband seems to be out to give me a fucking heart attack by doing some of the dumbest shit I’ve ever witnessed on this planet called Earth. Why the hell would you go surfing while injured?! First you went bike riding, now you’ve got a broken arm and leg-mind you this isn’t the first time! Your forearm and leg are in braces for Christ’s sake! If you fell into the water your ass wouldn’t be able to fucking swim! What is wrong with you?! Why do you keep trying to kill me before my time?! I’m way much younger than you but it seems you want me to leave this world before you, huh?!” Y/n scolded her husband as she spanked him on his good arm with her hands.

“Schatz I’m sorry. I really didn’t think your mind would go that far, I thought of it as a harmless morning surf” Toto explained but it fell on deaf ears to his wife who noticed him wincing everyone he moved an injured body part but chose to keep silent. “You see, this is why women live longer than men cause y’all just jump into anything without weighing the pro and cons. You literally have surgery in a few weeks and it’s like you want to make your injuries worse than better so guess what, maybe I’ll call and have them cancel the surgeries, yeah?” Y/n replied sarcastically as he sat down on the couch to rest while Y/n went to start the laundry.

An hour and a half later, Y/n was sat on one end of the couch with her laptop in hand typing away, while Toto sat at the other end obviously now feeling the painful effect of his stupidity from earlier. “Y/n/n my leg hurts!” He whined as Y/n only looked at him briefly before shaking her head and refocusing on her task. “Y/n I know you heard me, please help me. My arm and my leg are hurting! The pain sticks!” He cries this time as tears poured from his eyes, showing that he very well regretted his past decision.

“I’m sorry Mr.I can do anything no matter my condition, I am unable to assist at this time as I’m on my lunch break” Y/n sassed at him. She allowed him to wallow in regret for a couple more minutes before she got up to get his medications and the necessary items to help with the pain. “Here, take a bite of this. Swallow the pills, then you finish eating it.” Y/n instructed as she iced and elevated her husband’s swelling leg. Toto did as instructed and rested his head after everything was done while he waited for the pain to subside.

After a while the pain had been fully gone and Y/n was now resting next to him as they watched some Tom and Jerry to occupy their time. “Thank you schatz for your help, your patience, your love and your kindness. I know that I am a lot of work but you manage me so well.” Toto expressed as his wife listened calmly on the verge of sleep. “You’re welcome sweetheart. I just hope that you’ve learnt your lesson and that something like this will not happen again?” She inquired from her husband “Of course not darling, I promise to stress you a little less. I love you” he giggled out his answer “I love you too you idiot” Y/n joined his giggle in reply while peacefully falling asleep, knowing that no matter what he promised, she would still be getting regular heart attacks in the future all because of her love for him.

#toto wolff #toto wolff angst #toto wolff imagine #toto wolff x y/n #toto wolff x oc #toto wolff x reader #toto wolff x you #toto wolff fanfic #toto wolff fluff

202 notes · View notes

autisticlancemcclain · 11 months

Text

Lance snaps the last piece on — a dorky fingerless leather glove — and smiles, satisfied. He observes the rest of his handiwork and can’t help a single nod.

Damn, he’s a whiz with a sewing machine.

“Don’t get too big of a head,” Pidge mutters, adjusting her new go-go boots. “This is still the dumbest thing any one of us has done ever.”

Hunk snorts. “Speak for yourself.”

That is fair. Lance has caught Hunk negotiating both of his kidneys for a particularly rare machine part.

“It’s still stupid,” Pidge insists.

To her credit, she’s probably right. It had started as a bit. A dumbass, one-off bit that Lance cooked up one random day, after a shitty mission that had them all in the dumps.

“I miss Keith,” Allura had muttered, huffing to herself. “He would have trained with me more so I wouldn’t have been so blindsided. You guys never do any extra training with me.”

The team’s responses had been a mix of mild offense and several other affirmations of missing their friend. All of them did — yeah, sure, each and every one of them finds great joy in giving Keith shit, and some of his leadership skills were…questionable, at best, but he was still their friend. And they missed him.

Lance got an idea.

After everyone else went to bed, he dug through random material boxes littered throughout the castle, and fashioned himself Keith’s infamous cropped leather jacket. It wasn’t quite the same — the only way he’d get leather in space would be from Kaltenecker, which was never going to happen on Lance’s watch — but there was no mistaking who he was imitating. He walked into breakfast the next morning with his fringe pulled over one eye and a smirk making the corner of his mouth twitch.

“Life is a nightmare and existence is a prison,” he’d said in his most emo voice.

Was it a fair impression of Keith?

No.

But was it funny?

Lance’s question was easily answered by the rest of the team losing their shit. He’d kept it up the rest of the day, playfully pretending to be Keith whenever someone asked him a question. As stupid as the whole bit was, it did make him feel a little better. A little more like Keith was just away for a little while, and that he was coming back, rather than a nameless face on a Blade base. It made things a little less scary, a little more lighthearted. It was a stupid joke, but a good one. Lance took off the dorky jacket at the end of the day, hanging it in his closet, not even thinking about it.

A week later, Pidge walked into the kitchen with the jacket she’d lifted from his room, doing her own garbage impression, and from there things had kind of snowballed.

None of them made anything official, obviously. That would be embarrassing as shit. But every Tuesday — or whatever the space equivalent was — someone would inevitably show up in the kitchen with an article of clothing that was unmistakably Keith’s. Eventually Lance started actually making replicas that would fit everyone; a jacket for Hunk, go-go boots for Shiro, fingerless gloves for Allura. Small, stupid things that Lance would make when he had the time and leave by their door without saying anything, without acknowledging the objectively deranged bit they were all overdoing.

It’s been long enough, though, that everyone’s outfit is complete. They’ve been celebrating Keith Day and cycling through enough weekly impressions that everyone has a full Keith outfit, so they’re having a Keith party.

Lance has not had so much fun in ages.

“Yo, Keith, pass the Gufla juice,” Lance says. Coran looks delighted for a moment before schooling his face into a grumpier expression.

“You’re the only one who drinks this garbage,” he says, doing a truly wonderful impression of Keith’s exasperated tone. “Just keep it where you sit.” He passes the bottle to Lance, then leans in close so Lance can hear his whisper. “Am I doing an alright job, lad? I’ve made an attempt to let the fondness he has for you bleed through my words!”

Lance flushes, taking the bottle from the advisor and hurriedly occupying himself with pouring a glass. He clears his throat three separate times before he finally manages to speak, conscious of the various snickers he can hear from around him.

“You did fine.”

Pidge scoffs, leaning back in her chair and raising a cocky eyebrow. “I dunno, usually it’s more like this.” She widens her eyes obnoxiously, batting her eyelashes and clasping her hands under her chin. “‘Nice shot, Sharpshooter. Couldn’t do it without my right-hand-man.’”

Allura and Hunk cackle, offering their palms for Pidge to slap, which she does unashamedly.

Lance, who is the pinnacle of grace and poise and Being the Bigger Person, primly dabs his mouth with a napkin and decides not to attack his horrible gremlin friend where she sits.

“That was the worst Keith impression I’ve ever heard,” he informs her.

Shiro hums before she can respond. “You’re right, Keith.” He nods at Lance. Lance sticks his tongue out at Pidge.

Ha!

“He hasn’t used ‘Sharpshooter’ in a while,” he continues, and Lance’s heart drops.

Shiro? A traitor? No. No!

Shiro adjusts the oversized white collar of the cropped jacket and grins to himself. “It’s a little more like this.” He stands, because he’s a dramatic hoe, and puts his hands on his hips, shaking his head mock-fondly at Lance before saying, in a hugely exaggerated Southern accent, “Well I’ll be, Bluebell. Maybe we make a good team after all.”

Okay. Evidently, Being the Bigger Person is overrated. He grabs a butterknife and throws it at the asshole black paladin, which is narrowly dodged with a yelp.

“There,” Lance says smugly. “Knife violence. How’s that for a Keith impression?”

Besides Shiro’s pout that lasts for a good five minutes, the rest of breakfast is just spent having good fun. They each break character a thousand times each, but it’s fun anyway. Allura in particular is the king of Keith impressions — possibly from the mess that was the Coalition Show — and the rest of them aren’t too shabby, either. Lance thinks he’s pretty good at nailing Keith’s laugh when he’s startled to find something funny (and no, he’s not going to spend any time reflecting on why that is, thanks).

“You know, fellow Keiths,” Shiro says, picking at his gloves, “I’ve teased him about the gloves for years, but they kind of do make me feel cool.”

Lance sighs. “Yeah, that’s the worst part. The gloves really do make me feel like a ninja sword guy.”

Instead of the various affirmations he expects to hear — come on, he and Shiro cannot be the only ones to feel that way — there’s only silence. He glances up at the rest of the team, only to find them all slack-jawed and horrified, staring wide-eyed at the door.

Lance’s stomach turns to stone.

There’s no way.

Slowly, as if he can make his suspicions disappear if he halves his speed, he turns toward the dining room door.

Where, of course, stands Keith, somehow, the real one, Blade uniform clinging to his body as he leans on the doorframe. He sports the tiniest of smirks, and yet somehow it’s more smug than any expression Lance has witnessed before.

“Hey, guys,” Keith says, casual. “Mission got cancelled so I had a couple days off, and I was nearby. Thought I’d hang with y’all for a while; Black let me in.”

He speaks so casually, walking into the room with a slight sway to his hips, a swagger, that leaves no question about it: he sees the situation in front of him. He gets it. He knows damn well he has the upper hand here.

He’s playing them.

The whole team sits frozen in their seats, hyper aware of their outfits, each knowing they have no excuse and no way out. They will never be able to successfully clown him again. He’s won. He knows how much they like him. Worst, still, is that Keith knows exactly who on this ship can make fingerless leather gloves from scratch. He knows exactly who’s dumbass idea this bit was, who put hours and hours into making accurate Keith outfits.

Lance is going to reacquaint himself with that airlock.

“Oh, nice, you guys are having that Dushan stuff.” Keith strides over to Lance’s seat, places a hand on the back off his chair and leaning in close. Lance puts his head in his hands and prays his ears aren’t as red as they feel. Keith reaches right over his shoulder and plucks a piece of food off his plate, popping it into his mouth. For a moment there’s nothing but a horrible silence, none of them knowing what to say.

“And by the way,” Keith says, when it’s clear none of them are going to speak up. His smirk has widened significantly, and he looks like he’s just won every argument he’s ever wanted to have at once. “The gloves make me feel cool, too.”

———

based on this scene in teen titans

361 notes · View notes

bokutosmochi · 10 months

Text

CALL ME LITTLE SUNSHINE (WHEN YOU FEEL ALL ALONE) or when you don't use the shaw pack boys' nickname

what's it? crack/fluff

allergen warning/s? food mention in asher's

sugar level? 0.6k

names for the order? davey david shaw, ash asher talbot, miles milo greer

parlor's note? in this one shot, milo has the nickname miles since he doesn't really have a canon nickname as far as i know at least :3

also 'tis the first time i've written for the redactedverse, i hope you guys like it (⁠*⁠˘⁠︶⁠˘⁠*⁠)⁠.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡

bon appetit!

DAVID SHAW

"david."

he twists in his chair, momentarily paying attention to you instead of paperwork. he swears up and down that he hates that stupid little nickname you gave him - no one has ever used that on him since he was a very small child - but he cannot lie, his given name sounds wrong when it comes from your lips. he thinks to himself if he's done anything wrong in the past few hours that you've been out of the house, any chore that you asked him to do that he may have forgotten about, anything that could possibly upset you, but he's stumped. he can't think of anything. well, except for that shit eating grin you have on your face. in classic david fashion, he graces you with the huff, eye roll, and glare combo you love so much and it gets you giggling. "what? are you so bored that you've resorted to playing pranks that don't work on me?" his deep voice grumbles and you do nothing but nod. "c'mere, you can sit on my lap while i deal with all this paperwork. just don't distract me."

ASHER TALBOT

"asher."

his hand freezes around the playstation controller for a short second before turning to where your voice came from slowly with a too-sweet-and-innocent grin on his face that you recognize from the times when you catch him doing things that he wasn't supposed to. "i swear i didn't eat the last mochi." your eyes widened at his statement. "i was just doing that as a joke! you ate the last mochi?" from the corner of your eye, you watch him mute his mic and you make a mental note to take it easy on him because you're sure that david and milo are gonna give him a hard time for abandoning their game. he sets down the controller on the coffee table in front of him before standing up and walking towards you. "babe, i just said that i didn't. why must you misconstrue my words?" despite yourself, you walk right into his open arms and rest your head against his chest. "i wanted that mochi." a cute pout was on your lips and while asher might find that absolutely adorable, he still wishes that he had more self control. "i'll make it up to you, i promise."

MILO GREER

"milo."

he jumps in surprise for a moment. you appeared in the room out of nowhere, as always. but because of the word that just came out of your mouth, instead of complaining about how you've spooked him for the nth time and how you'll probably give him a heart attack one of these days, his eyebrows furrow in confusion and he looks away from his phone to stare at you. "what's with the name, sweetheart?" the both of you had the day off and you spent the majority of it together. he's sure that he hasn't done anything to upset you since you were practically beaming at him all day. much to his dismay, you say nothing and continue standing by the bedroom's doorway with your arms crossed and an unreadable expression on your face, in your eyes. when you've first met, he advised you to practice having a poker face, but now that you're using it against him, he's not sure if he likes it after all. unless... "this isn't for some dumb tiktok, right? they always got the dumbest challenges there."

i get: reblog

you get: a ride on these werewolf boys' back

#order of the day!#order up for david!#order up for asher!#order up for milo!#one kona coffee mochi #with a side of coconut italian ice #with a side of orange creme italian ice #redacted audio #redacted asmr #redacted david #redacted asher #redacted milo #redacted angel #redacted babe #redacted sweetheart #asher x babe #david x angel #milo x sweetheart

191 notes · View notes

whitefeathers · 2 years

Note

ah awesome, thank you for letting me know!! could i please request a yandere’steve x reader imagine where he’s obsessed with reader (his best friend) and is pressuring her to get with him and is really possessive, stopping people from flirting with her and telling her that he eventually wants to marry her and have a family? you can change it however you’d like. thank you so much!!! :)

OMG HOT I LOVE!!! I’ve changed the plot a little from what you requested but I hope that’s okay.,,, first yandere work on this acc let’s go

Content Warnings: YANDERE, dead dove do not eat, dark content, no explicit sex but it's a sexual fic, weed smoking, mention of teary blowjobs and you grinding against his shoe, pervert!Steve Harrington, yandere!Steve Harrington, implied non con, Steve stops people from flirting with you by threatening him, violence, AFAB!fem!reader

You're sat in the back of his car, that burgundy BMW 733i of his, parked in a secluded stretch of the forest in the south of Hawkins. There's not many places outside of here that you can spend time alone with him, with both your and Steve's parents constantly in the house. You've told Steve time and time again that it's alright for him to come over - it's not as if you guys are dating, after all, you're just best friends - so your parents are fine with it, as long as you leave the door open. Steve always turns down the offer, and you think it's out of politeness, so you don't push it. Instead, you agree hang out with him in his car. You like being alone with him. He's a good friend to you. Charismatic, sweet, funny. Makes the dumbest jokes, and you make even dumber ones back. There's an easy dynamic between the two of you; one of easy friendship, of playful teasing, and underlying mutual trust. People often think you're dating, to which you both vehemently deny, laughing. You want to be alone with him because you know your relationship with him is just not like that.

He wants to be alone with you because it very much is like that. To him, at least. You don't pick up on the signs since he's so good at hiding it. You don't pick up on his stolen glances at your lips, don't pick up on how he's always miraculously within a five minute's walk of you, don't pick up on the box in his glove compartment containing all the cum-splattered polaroids of the two of you together. He's smooth, sure, and forward, but you chalk that up to his flirtatious womaniser personality, which still hasn't been fully shed from his days as king of Hawkins High. You rest your feet up on the dashboard, out stretching and yawning slightly, having had a long day. Steve doesn't notice, too preoccupied with rolling his joint and stealing glances of your face through the rear view mirror, your half-melted makeup still making your eyes seem wide and innocent. He wants to see that makeup run down your cheeks as he throatfucks you, as he tells you how much you're all his, as you grind against the leather of his shoes and whimper for him. "Stevie?" "Mmhm?" He's nonchalant, stoic, his eyes drifting back to the joint he fiddles with in his lap as if that's what he's been staring at the whole time. "You nearly done? It'll be the 90's by the time you're done rolling,"

Steve scoffs, smiling, turning to look at you with an arched eyebrow.

"What's that? Did the girl who can't roll say something?"

"I can roll!"

"You cannot. You managed to roll an L shape last time,"

"That's not true! It just... the paper just had a natural bend to it, as if you can do any-" Steve interrupts you, an amused look on his face, as he holds the joint in front of your face.

"Lick,"

Pouting at him, eyebrows scrunched together, you keep steady eye contact with him as you lick the lip of the paper for him to seal it. He rolls his eyes, completely contrasting with his inner dialogue. I love this girl. That tongue is going to be the death of me. Fuck, she's so adorable and all fucking mine. You finish, sticking your tongue out at him for emphasis, and he snorts. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. Feet off my dash," "But it's comfy!" Steve rolls his eyes again, but doesn't make you take your feet down. He's so soft on you and you literally have no idea. He lights the joint, taking the first puff, a deep inhale that he slowly exhales from his nose. He passes it to you, and you take a few puffs, knowing your routine with Steve - for every one puff he takes, you take three. You think it's because he doesn't like to get too high, but it's actually because he loves to see you pliant and out of it. He's done many things while you're too stoned to think about them properly. Had you sit in his lap, rested his hand on your thigh, put you in that yellow sweatshirt of his by convincing you yours was 'dirty', taking yours and keeping it to huff as he masturbates later on.

It's not long before you're absolutely baked and he's just nicely stoned, and he takes the opportunity to sit in the back, tugging you into his lap (saves space, it's more comfortable) as you both talk and laugh through the fog of his hotboxed BMW 733i. The conversation drifts to a guy you've been talking to, and you don't notice, but Steve tenses beneath you. "This dude, right- he's such an ass, was talking to me and telling me about how he wants to take me out to dinner, then the next day he completely blanks me! Like... what the hell? What an ass! An asshole, actually. Not just the ass. The hole too," you laugh. Steve knows this already, because he'd cornered the guy in the bathrooms and held a switchblade to his throat, daring him to talk to you ever again.

"The hole too? You've got some serious dislike for the guy,"

Good. "Yeah, sometimes I think maybe... maybe the whole boyfriend stuff isn't for me, y'know? Boys keep blanking me out of nowhere all the time recently!" It's good to know that what Steve is doing is working. He wants to tell you that the 'whole boyfriend stuff' is for you, just with one boy in particular - him, Steve Harrington, your best friend - and not only that, but you're going to be his wife someday, and have a family. Maybe with kids, maybe with puppies. He's torn in his fantasy, not too sure which to pick yet. Maybe both. He keeps his mouth shut, knowing he needs to wean you onto the concept. He doesn't want to have to kidnap you and force you into being his girlfriend, he wants you to go willingly, but if push comes to shove, he does have a supply of duct tape and sedatives. "Thank you for listening to me whine, Stevie. I love you," "Shush. You aren't whining. I love you too," More than you will ever fucking know.

#steve harrington x reader smut #steve harrington x reader #yandere steve harrington #yandere steve harrington x reader #stranger things yandere #stranger things smut

1K notes · View notes