Yeeees, Burn In Guilt, You Son Of A Bitch.

Yeeees, amaziiiing 😍😍😍

the last in line || e.m.

in which you really need coffee and eddie just happens to be in your way

eddie x fem!reader we’ve all heard of luna lovegood readers, now I give you lorelai gilmore readers (aka caffeine-fueled slightly chaotic individuals). 

content: meet-cute,  a lil’ bit of flirting, a lil’ bit of caffeine dependency, 100% inspired by my favourite story in gilmore girls, badly proofread because it’s 2:30am

word count: 2.9k

The diner is unsurprisingly busy, like every Friday night, when the Hellfire Club walks in. Small but cozy, it’s  located on the very edge of town. The checkered floor is sticky and the smell of oil mixed with cinnamon clings to the light blue walls and the fake leather seats like bad perfume, but they always have rock music playing softly in the background and, better yet, they make the best burger and fries in town since Benny’s closed down -greasy, tasty and cheap. Perfect for a bunch of hungry boys with limited budgets.

Grabbing a bite after their weekly meetings has become new a tradition now that Eddie and Jeff have graduated, both boys part of Hellfire still, their friendship and bonds over shared interests transcending the halls of Hawkins High. They’re a rowdy group, rambunctious and loud, and they don’t have the best reputation in town, but the owner knows them and always welcomes them in without qualms, just a plea to keep the noise to a minimum. They try their best to behave and fail half the time.

Tonight, the Club is particularly animated. They started a new campaign earlier today and Eddie’s gone all out. With an intricately designed storyline, extra minor quests, tricky villains and a surprise plot twist at the end that no one’s expecting, this is his best work yet, if he says so himself. Satisfied with the feedback he’s received so far, Eddie is in a very good mood as they sit around their usual booth, one to the right that’s big enough for all seven of them, so much so that he volunteers to order for the group.

As it often happens when they get together, chaos ensues, each boy outscreaming the others trying to get their leader’s attention, words mixing in that cacophony of incoherent noise that seems to follow them everywhere. But if the party’s loud, Eddie Munson is louder, and he commands attention with ease. Slamming is ringed hand on the wooden table, he makes himself heard. “Shut up!” 

Six pairs of eyes focus on him, knowing better than to try and argue with the boy -he’s nothing if not stubborn, and although kind and generous, Eddie hates to be contradicted or ignored. So they look in silence, expectantly, as they do when they’re in the middle of a campaign and he’s weaving stories in a low voice.

Continuar lendo

Yeeees. There's so little fanfics about Ryan Reynolds and his characters. Totally unfair.

Thank you for this story 🥹🥹

Torture

Pairing: Nolan Booth x Fem!reader

Summary: What happens when The Bishop decides to torture you instead of Hartley?

Warnings: swearing, kidnapping, torture

A/n: I love me some Ryan Reynolds and I was shocked to see that there weren’t a lot of fanfics based off Red Notice so I had to write something

You met John Hartley and the infamous Nolan Booth after getting arrested in Rome. Your life as a criminal was just starting and this was your second heist. Call it beginners bad luck. Somehow all three of you found yourselves intermingled with unearthing the three cleopatra eggs. It has been quite an adventure, an FBI agent, the world’s second best art thief, and the worlds best failed art thief.

Unbeknownst to you, Nolan and Hartley were handcuffed together in a room further down. You couldn’t hear a thing over the sound of a crowd cheering.

For some unknown reason the only thing you could think of was whether Nolan was okay. Your heart raced at the idea of the Bishop torturing him for information on the third egg. You hated to admit that the criminal had grown on you, his constant humor and dashing looks made him completely irresistible but there was also something much deeper and gentler that drew you towards him.

“Where is she?!”, Nolan spit at the Bishop.

She walked in front of him, “That’s not important Booth, this is the time where you tell us where the third egg is.’”.

Nolan let out a breathy laugh, “Piss off for a thousand years.”.

“Oh bummer, I really wanted to do it the easy way.”, she sighed, “That’s okay, I’ll get the information from you, by hurting him.”., she gestured towards Hartley.

“I’m sorry what?”, Hartley questioned.

“I love this plan.”, of course Nolan would.

Bishop turned up an electricity machine and made her way towards Hartley, “You two share a special bond, I mean why else risk your lives together attempting to steal the eggs.”, she grabs two metal pliers, “Isn’t that right, Agent Hartley?”.

“There isn’t any bond between us, I barley know the guy…Booth tell her we’re not friends.”.

Of course being the cheeky one, Booth had to play this one out, “She knows about us pal.”.

“That’s bullshit..”, Hartley immediately knew what he was doing.

“She knows about our special bond..she knows you were the best man at my wedding…”.

“You son of bitch.”, Harley spat at Booth, “He’s lying!”. The Bishop teasingly sparks the pliers in front of Hartley’s face.

“If she hurts you bad enough, I mean if she gets really creative with it, than I’m gonna have no choice but to tell her everything.”, Nolan continues his speech.

“Now Mr. Booth, where is the third egg?”, Nolan stayed silent, “Okay..here I go..”.

“No don’t wait..”, Nolan sarcastically pleas.

He seemed completely unfazed with the torture his new found friend was being subjected to.

“Hm, let’s switch it up.”, the Bishop nods to Sotto and he exits the room with one of the pliers, “If this isn’t working maybe giving a few shocks to that pretty little thing down the hall will.”.

Nolan freezes, suddenly the air feels stiff and the once humorous situation turned sour, “Don’t you fucking touch her.”. He says in a serious tone.

“Seems like we’ve struck a nerve, tell me where the egg is.”.

“Eat shit!”, she lets out a low chuckle and presses a button.

Your screams could be heard clearly, crying for help, crying for Nolan’s help, “NOLAN!!”.

“NO NO STOP IT!”, Nolan thrashes around, “ITS IN EGYPT!”, Nolan finally caved in.

She stoped the machine, “Where in Egypt?”.

“It’s buried with Cleopatra in the Grand pyramid, there’s a secret entry way, alright!Just please stop hurting her.”, Nolan breathes heavily.

“See! That wasn’t that hard, I would say nice working with you but we both know that would be a lie.”, and with that The Bishop left.

“I swear to God I’m gonna to kill that bitch”.

While the two of them got into a shooting fight with Sotto, you were still trapped in the chair. Your body felt numb and your cheeks felt wet, you presumed it was your tears. There was a metallic taste in your mouth and all you could do was whimper as you heard gun shots.

Than there was silence, you heard a door open and your blindfold was ripped off. It took a minute for your eyes to adjust to your environment but the only thing you could see was Nolan’s worried expression as he looked down at you.

“Nolan, it hurts”, you sobbed.

“Hey hey hey, I know sweetheart.”, he didn’t mean for the name to slip out but he was too distracted to care.

Nolan unhooked the restraints and guided you to your feet, you immediately crashed into his chest due to how weak you felt.

“The electricity affected her worse than me because she’s much smaller than I am.”, Hartley spoke and met Nolan’s eyes. Hartley knew the look Nolan had and felt guilty for how badly injured you were.

“I was so scared they were going to hurt you.”, you spoke.

“I wish it was me rather than you.,” he said in a whisper.

You pulled back from the embrace and met his eyes which looked down upon you lovingly yet concerned. He lowered his head and placed a hesitant kiss on your forehead. As he pulled back he analyzed your face for any sort of reaction, once he saw the faint blush on your cheeks and your smile he returned it. He cupped your face and leaned in, your breath hitched as your two lips connected.

You deepened the kiss by pulling him closer by the neck earning a short groan from him.

“Okay okay, break it up!”, the two of you pulled away both out of breath and looked towards Hartley.

“Dude! A little privacy here!”, Nolan said and promptly returned to kissing you.

“Why did I agree to any of this.”, Hartley left with a huff.

You didn’t know what the futures has in stored but for now you felt safe in Nolan’s arms and you knew that this is where you belong.

Dieter is such a cutie, really 🥺😍🥺😍🥺😍

Poor Dieter having to watch lots of horror filmes, but at least he had reader to sleep with him after

For the Love of Horror

(Dieter x horror-loving female reader)

Summary: The reader is totally me; I love horror films and I usually watch them on my own as most of my friends are scaredy cats. There aren’t that many fics where the male character is the one scared of film and Dieter seemed to be the perfect fit.

Warning: no use of y/n, mentions of scary films, Dieter being scared of said scary films, slight euphemisms, saucy suggestions, lots of adorable fluffiness

Dieter Bravo loved you, but you loved horror films, and he was the biggest scaredy cat in the world.

You’d first met the strange but handsome actor as his makeup artist for an indie film. On Sap of Justice, he played a man hunting down his wife’s killer while slowly being turned into a tree. He won a SAG or something for that, he didn’t care, but it required hours in the makeup chair.

You showed up on the first day wearing a bright yellow jumper, an even brighter smile and a Tupperware full of homemade cookies. He was instantly smitten.

His latest rehab stint actually worked this time, but he ended up developing a giant sweet tooth. While the rest of the crew did not appreciate your delightful treats, Dieter ended up consuming more than he should have, usually while he was sitting in his makeup chair, making a bit of a mess.

You then came up with the idea of giving him a piece of chocolate to slowly melt on his tongue so he could sit back and let you do you work. You’d slip in another piece onto his tongue when he ran out, it was probably the most sensual thing he’d ever experience.

He was happy to just sit and listen to you as you babbled on about films, most of which he’d never heard of. You knew a surprising amount, more than most directors he’s worked with.

He couldn’t help but smile at your bubbly enthusiasm and he just wanted to be around you. But that tiny colourful you had a dark interior: your love of horror films.

The first time you invited him over to watch a scary movie, he thought it was a euphemism for his favourite activity and he was excited.

But no.

You put on Hereditary.

He spent the rest of the night alone in his room with the lights on, his eyes never leaving the ceiling.

The following night he had a nightmare where he was stuck in a dollhouse with naked people.

He was so relieved when you wanted to have another movie night. He suggested maybe a romantic film this time round.

So, you put on Candyman.

Dieter couldn’t look at himself in a mirror for at least a week.

The third time he suggested watching a comedy film.

So, you put on An American Werewolf in London.

This time it was less scary as he mainly spent the time looking at you while you enthusiastically explained in detail how Rick Baker achieved the first transformation scene and how horror films lead to your career choice.

That was when he fell in love completely and utterly in love with you.

And he needed to come clean about his horror film phobia.

Thankfully, you didn’t kick him to the curb like the piece of garbage he believed he was. You apologized profusely for taking over film choices with your favourites and it was definitely his turn to choose his favourite.

Dieter shyly suggested Beauty and the Beast to which you sighed and said it was your favourite non-horror film and immediately put it on. You put your head on his shoulder as you watched it.

“So why is this your favourite film Dieter?”

“Well…I like to think that if a beast can fall in love and get a happily ever after, then that gives me hope”

Your reply was a hug and kiss on the cheek,

He could certainly get used to this. It was nice.

Eventually, you both found a compromise with your film watching together. No horror film before dark and not every time you got together. You hunted around to find the least scary horror films when it was your choice. And you suggested he watch Dead Meats Kill Count which helped because Dieter could at least anticipate when the scary parts would happen beforehand. You always made sure to turn the volume down when a jump scare was going to happen.

In the meantime, Dieter worked with his therapist to uncover the reason behind his scaredness of scary films. He suspected it was that donkey scene in Pinocchio was the cause of trauma but there was still work to do.

You saved him from your guilty pleasure films such as Snakes on a Plane and the Final Destination series, so you instead only subjected him to the good ones: the really good, critically acclaimed, award-winning ones. He finally watched The Shining and Get Out which ended up not being as scary as he thought.

Dieter discovered he had missed out on a huge amount of great films. You were both sobbing wrecks at the end of Train to Busan and he absolutely loved Willem Dafoe’s crazy ass monologue in The Lighthouse and immediately had to learn it himself.

You discovered that Dieter had a huge love for animated films and would sing along to every song, every time. Of course he knew all the lyrics to Under the Sea and Be Our Guest which you couldn’t help but smile at, he was just that adorable.

And you were roped into a duet of A Whole New World. Dieter was just a big romantic at heart. It was a side of the actor no one knew or cared about.

Whenever a new horror film came out at the cinema, you were more than happy to go by yourself as you were used to that. He survived watching A Quiet Place with the volume down and praised your bravery and madness for seeing it at the cinema alone.

But when there were times when you really wanted to see a film not in the cinema and Dieter didn’t want to be alone, something to do with his love of cuddles with you or something. This would be when you’d watch it with headphones one and Dieter would be hiding his head in your lap. Most of the time you’d run your fingers through his hair, and he’d fall asleep.

He liked this.

He could get used to this.

Two years later…

“Honey cakes, I’m home!”

You practically skipped across the hallway to give your boyfriend Dieter his well-deserved welcome home hugs and kisses.

This was the best part of his day.

You were now living together in his huge house, and both couldn’t be happier. Dieter was happy to wake up next to you every day and you were happy to finally be able to watch horror films on his huge TV.

“How was the meeting with your agent?”

“Not bad. Got given this script for a TV thing to read through.”

You perked your face in interest. “Oh? Thinking of moving away from films?”

“Well, I’m told this is a pretty good script. Written by some guy named Mike Flanagan…”

You promptly screamed.

Dieter almost flew across the room; he’d never heard you scream before. And he thought he did a pretty good job in the bedroom.

“Mike Flanagan?!!!”

“Is he good?”

“Is he good?!!!”

You proceeded to grab the collar of his shirt and started shaking him in excitement.

“He makes Stephen King good, that’s how good he is!”

You’d never been rough with him before, and he liked it. A lot.

Your tiny body was bouncing around like a jellybean, you were that excited.

“You remember that film Oculus? The one with the mirror?”

“Is that the one with the hook hand guy?”

“No, that was Candyman; the second film we watched together. Oculus has that one big mirror and Karen Gillan.”

He was surprised you remembered your second date.

“Oh yeah, that one”

“And Gerald’s Game was amazing!”

“I still occasionally have nightmares about that tall man”

“Aw, I’m sorry”

You immediately hugged him, and he rubbed your back in appreciation.

“So, you think I should read the script?”

“If you get to work with Mike Flanagan, I’ll marry you!”

“Seriously?”

But you had bounced away at this point. Pouting, Dieter immediately pulled out his phone and called his agent.

“Hey, that TV thing you gave me the script for: I’ll do it, sign me up”

“You’ve already read it? That was quick”

“No, but I have it on good authority from an expert that it’ll be good, so I’ll do it”

“Alright then, but still read the script”

“Yeah, yeah of course. Hey, um…are they needing any makeup artists by the way?”

“Probably. Are you recommending your girlfriend again?”

“Well, she’s the best, and if she got to work on this job, she’d probably have my baby which sounds…nice”

Dieter was lost in this happy fantasy until his agent interrupted him.

“What was that?”

“Nothing. Gotta go. Bye!”

He quickly hung as because you had returned by then and you had that look: the look that meant he was going to be subject to a new horror themed piece of media.

“Now, I’m thinking you should at least watch one of Flanagan’s series to help with your decision and we should definitely watch Midnight Mass”

“Hang on, I’ve heard of that one. That’s the one everyone on set wouldn’t shut up about”

“Because it’s good!”

“Hasn’t it got vampires in it?”

“Yes. But it also has monologues”

This piqued his interest.

“I like monologues”

“I know you do and there’s lots in this one.”

You got up on your tiptoes to give him a kiss.

“Now, get in your favourite comfy clothes. I want us to fit in a few episodes before it gets dark.”

“Yes ma’am!”

You gave his small butt a playful slap as he walked away.

He was going to have to get out that engagement ring from its hiding spot sooner than he thought.

Okay, I know that we must hate Agatha, she is the villain, she murdered Sparky... But I can't!

Agnes is such a great character, I absolutely love her and discovering that she is Agatha and hearing her theme song?! FUCKING INCREDIBLE

Well, I guess that makes one more villain to my list of "characters who I must hate but I don't"

Please, do it! I'm sure I will read and with your talent and your wonderful writing, I'm sure other people will read too! 😍😊

i want so bad to start a story like not just a oneshot, one with actual chapters and all but im scared that people won’t read and i’ll be left writing them for no one to see

Stop starting discourse about Freddie’s sexuality 2k18

It’s been 27 years. Let it go. It doesn’t matter. Freddie hated when people constantly prodded about his sexuality in life. There is no reason to fight over it in death. He wanted to be known as a musical legend, not as that one gay/bi/whatever the fuck man who also happened to sing. It’s disrespectful to him. Just stop. Leave it be. Let him rest.

I confess that I cried my eyes out reading this 😭

ALSO STEDDIE ANGST IDEA: the reader is always super supportive of the boys endeavors, she goes to all the corroded coffin shows and steve’s basketball games whatever, but the one time she has something important, they accidentally sleep through it @mysticmunson

elora elora my beloved. this is for u i love u 🤍

— poly relationship, however they have their own bedrooms for this one! for the sake of the story, anyway. fem!reader

the boys' ears perk up at the sound of your bedroom door opening. steve turns away from the stove, eddie stops chewing and lets his spoon fall onto the cereal bowl and beneath the milk that he's too distracted to frown about it. they hear your heavy footsteps, which quite sounds like feet dragging through the floor and more like stomping.

when they see you emerge, it's nothing like they expected.

while your hair is combed and your clothes flattened, your eyes resemble the long hours of weeping; from the puffy eyes, the pinkish scleras, and the loud, long sniffing. steve's excited smile falls, eddie's shoulder slumps. it's sometimes amusing how they mirror each other's expressions.

"hey," steve turns the stove off and drops the spatula on the pan, a hand reaching out towards you with his lips into an upcoming pucker. but you dodge his hand, swerving, maybe even flinching with a stoic look. his heart swells.

eddie tries next. he moves away from the kitchen island, a hand hovering at your back to place itself there but you swerve away to take the decanter off the coffee maker to pour yourself a cup.

his hand falls disappointedly down his side, his lips twitching downward, looking at steve sadly and miserably.

you ignore them both, the octave sound of hot coffee falling onto the porcelain mug filling the silence that coalesces with the tv in the back and the muffled yelling of children outside of steve's house. out the corner of your eyes, you see steve swallow thickly before he takes a plate from the rack and tilts the pan until the eggs fall onto the middle, whereas eddie hesitantly goes back to eating his cereal.

when you place it back, steve sees you debate, whether you go back up with your coffee only, or sit down with a chair between you and eddie. he makes the decision for you, wanting to know what's wrong — he slides you a plate full of scrambled eggs and toast.

you stare at it for a bit, before you finally decided to sit down and look down at your food than at steve, though you speak your gratitude through a small 'thank you,'

they decide to settle in silence, both of them eating breakfast as you slowly sink into your corner, trying your best to eat your food faster so you could just go back into your room. you only wanted silence for now, anyway. you're still upset. too upset.

but eddie, poor boy can never stand the silence, looks at you and clears his throat. "so, what'd you do yesterday, sweets? don't think stevie and i saw you the entire day."

their cluelessness ignites the vexed incendiary inside your chest. your fingers tighten around your fork, shoving an egg inside your mouth, your eye twitching and your eyebrows furrowing together slowly as you reply,

"it was fine," you say curtly, sharply. both of them taken aback by your laconic reply. eddie senses something wrong, his mind racketing through countless memories, while steve tries to stop the bomb from exploding.

"yeah?" steve spreads the butter on his toast, the rough scraping of knife against the toasted bread. "uh, where'd you go?"

he looks at eddie cautiously, who's eyebrows raise like a shrug. you stab the egg this time. "an event."

"an event?"

at this point, you're about to break the plate. you shrug, taking deep breaths. "yes."

steve wipes his fingers on a towel hanging by a knob, taking a bite of his bread. "what event? why didn't you tell us?"

maybe you could have bent the fork in half if you could. your eyebrows furrow, all of you dissolving into nothing but a vestibule of exasperation.

eddie sees it as clear as day; he knew that what steve said had struck up a mark, so he shoots him an wide-eyed 'what the fuck' kind of warning to him, the soggy cereal stopping on the left side of his cheek.

"wow, gee, i wonder why i didn't tell you," you snort, though despite that, it's absolute irritation in your voice. with a hint of sadness, eddie thinks. "maybe because i told you, like, everyday of the fucking week. maybe even the night before that event."

it clicks to steve, only then, that you actually did tell him. and eddie, who's expression has fell similarly to his when it comes to a realization.

"i was thinking maybe you guys would have remembered because you promised." you continue, barely looking at them in the eyes, like they're embedded between the hills of your egg. "but maybe, maybe you guys didn't remember. so i guess it's my fault that i didn't fucking tell you about it,"

"babe, i—" steve looks forlorn. you don't feel guilty about it at all. maybe a little, even though your voice had been soft yet somehow sharp, because you really are upset. you had every right to be.

eddie reaches out to hold your hand but you flinch and he thinks he could have just sobbed in his seat. "sweetheart, we must have slept in. i- we're sorry."

"no, you're not," you can't help but sniff and blink from something that stings your eyes, pushing the plate of eggs away.

"we are, baby, hey–" steve rounds over the counter so that he could kneel in front of you. eddie, who's got no clue how to deal with this situation, decides to kneel beside him. "baby, come on..."

you look away from them with a small whimper, your bottom lip wobbling. "i just thought, maybe, you guys would have done the same thing. come to this event and be there, y'know? and i just- i just kept waiting and waiting–"

"and we're complete idiots," you feel eddie take your hand. you know it's him because you feel the roughness on his ever-loving fingertips that dotes heat over your trembling hand. "we slept in, (y/n)."

steve nods. "we slept in and we're idiots." he rephrases. he doesn't like the way eddie had said their reason, and pinches his thigh. he winces quietly that you miss. "that's– that's not a good reason. in fact, we shouldn't even be reasoning at all,"

then, it comes as a jagged whisper. it's a blunt knife that pierces deadly through a heart. "i just thought that maybe i was as important as you said i am."

the two boys quiet down and stare defeatedly, both rocking back from their weakened knees.

"you are important,"

"steve—"

"punch me in my goddamn head if i ever made you feel like you're not important."

and eddie, ever the jest, knocks his shoulder against steve's. "in fact, do it now. now baby, he's an idiot. he deserves it."

"you're just as much as an idiot as i am,"

"just stop," you dig the heels of your palms on your eyes, your chest heaving.

none of it is helping; normally, a thing like this was something you were just gonna brush off. but they'd promised, and you expected, and then all you felt was disappointment and utter shame. and now you're mad, because you feel that way and because they'd been the one to make you feel that way.

you're mad because they made you wait for nothing.

eddie's whiskey eyes are sorrowful at his mistake. it's a sight that makes you cry abruptly, looking away from them and hiccuping into your damp palms. steve's hands reach up to tug on your wrists and wipe your fat tears with his thumb, eddie standing up to move behind you and to wrap his arms around your neck to keep you close.

"stopping, baby," steve leans up to kiss your forehead. "stopping. we're stopping, honey, i'm so sorry,"

"it won't happen again," eddie's lips move against the hair on your temple as he spoke, his mouth puckering to leave the faintest kiss ever. steve picks up a tissue somewhere above the counter and wipes your tears. "i promise you, princess,"

"we promise," steve wipes gently under your nose. you let him, clasping weakly onto eddie's forearm around you. "we love you, okay? you're important to us,"

you sniffle, the slightest scrunch on your nose. your proclamation is baulky as you say, "i still don't forgive you,"

"you don't have to," eddie swerves in front of you to face you again, placing his hands on your arms and massaging them. "not right now, at least."

the sigh you admit reassures them, even the small smile that paints your tear-stained face. the two boys come up to kiss each cheek, making you giggle; forgiveness is yet to be built, but you know they're willing to work for it.

THE. CUTEST. THING. EVER. WRITTEN!

Absolutely perfect. Poor Eddie is so in love and so desperate 🥺🥰

Head Over Heels / Code Lime Green (Eddie Munson x F!Reader)

Summary: Dustin’s code red — the one that disrupted your perfectly good night — turned out to be a false alarm. But maybe racing across town wasn’t so bad after all.

Word count: 2.7k

Warnings: curse words, self indulgent fluff

(Note: this fic does not follow any timeline that is canonically possible.)

I do not consent to my work being uploaded on any other platforms, translated, nor copied.

A/N: I’m 90% sure this trope has been written before, if not already overdone. But I wanted to try my hand at fluff, so I hope that’s okay ;)

Wether it be through comments, shares, asks, or anything, all feedback is appreciated!

check out my masterlist!

You ran through the halls, your shoes screeching loudly on the grimy tiles that were usually being trampled on by you and your classmates.

Except now the school was eerily quiet, only your laboring breaths disrupting the silence.

Ignoring the snarls from teachers who stayed after hours and cutting every corner, you finally burst into the drama room, exactly where Dustin told you to meet him. He was incredibly specific, his voice urgent and blaring from the walkie he had given you last summer:

“CODE RED. I repeat, CODE RED! Meet me in the drama room NOW.”

A rush of cold flooded your veins at the message. You grabbed the device and you were in your car not a minute later. You sped down the streets like a madman - running stop signs and steering so erratically that you almost hit a squirrel.

As Dustin’s frantic words echoed in your mind, the most horrific scenarios conjured:

Is there another gate open?

Have any monsters gotten into the school?

Is Will okay?

You held your breath as if it were your last the entire way to the drama room.

Now, exactly where Dustin needed you, you find that there is. . . absolutely nothing wrong.

No danger. No demogorgons. No commotion.

It was just the Hellfire Club.

Actually, it was just two members of the Hellfire Club: Dustin and Eddie, folding DnD game boards and collecting stray figurines.

What the hell is going on?

An unworried, completely normal Dustin looks at you and smiles. It’s the same smile he wore when he finally beat Max’s score in Frogger. The expression quickly devolves into something more confused, however.

“Why are you breathing so hard?” he asks.

“You. . . You said ‘code red.’”

“Yeah? So?”

You throw your hands up with a dry laugh. “Have I gone mental? Code red is worst case case scenario. Just last week you were complaining that I’m always late to code reds and to rush.”

He tsks. “Yeah, because you are always late. But now you’re here, right on time, and I need a ride home.”

You gape at him, your fists clenched so tightly you think you might break your fingers.

“. . .Your code red was needing a ride home from Hellfire?”

He shrugs, nonchalant. “Yeah.”

Eddie - a presence you had completely forgot about until this moment - snickers from the corner. Your gaze shoots to him, eyes filled with rage daring him to laugh again. He puts his hands up in a surrender and quickly ducks his head.

He hopes you didn’t see him blush.

“Dustin,” you continue with a sigh, “that’s, like, a code, I don’t know. Lime green or something.”

“That’s not a thing. Lime green means nothing.”

“You are deliberately missing the point here.” You groan. “Why couldn’t Eddie have taken you home?”

Holy shit.

You know his name.

You didn’t call him “freak” or anything, either. You called him by his name.

And, damn, did it sound good from your lips.

As you continued fighting with Dustin, Eddie watches, somewhat entertained but mostly freaking the fuck out because you’re in the drama room after a Hellfire session.

Embarrassingly, Eddie has imagined this scene often. You, coming to Hellfire. Maybe to go on a date or just to see him.

He’s imagined a lot of things, admittedly. You drinking coffee he made for you, you in his arms as you watch a movie together, you next to him in the school cafeteria.

You laughing at one of his jokes. You kissing him. Even you simply standing next to him.

You, you, you.

A few short weeks ago, as he watched you through not-so-discrete glances in English class, biting your lips in concentration as you took notes, Eddie decided he’s had enough of imagining.

He decided that he was going to talk to you, ask you out, and hopefully go on a date with you. If you don’t burst into laughter the second he starts asking, that is.

Either way, the girl of his dreams or the worst heartbreak known to man, he vowed to talk to you.

The first time he tried went very poorly.

He waltzed up to your locker, an entire speech prepared.

But he’s pretty sure he just ended up staring at you for three minutes straight.

“What?” You asked, looking confused and a bit terrified.

Eddie realized that he came over, leaned on the locker next to your’s, and did nothing.

Absolutely

fucking

nothing.

“Shit,” he blurted. You jumped. He hated himself. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to— um.”

As you looked up at him expectantly, realization crashed over him like a tidal wave.

You were too good. Too sweet, too beautiful, too kind.

And Eddie was Eddie. The Freak of the school. The Cult Leader. The Outcast.

You, a gentle wind carrying fallen leaves and stars through the sky, could only ever be a dream.

“I just wanted to know if you had notes I could borrow from last period?” he asked.

You frowned and turned to rummage in your locker. You handed him a page from your notebook. He took it and practically ran.

When he got home that night, to a trailer that would never smell like you or be warmed with you or echo with your laughter, he couldn’t do anything but sulk.

Wayne got over that very quickly.

“Son,” he said, “if this girl has you wrapped around her finger this tight already, then there’s no harm in tellin’ her how you feel.”

“What if she doesn’t feel the same?”

“But what if she does?”

It was two weeks after that endeavor that he saw you again, your nose in a book and your eyes lighting up and your smile making his heart ache.

He thought of his vow and Wayne’s words and you — always you. And he was again resolved that he would talk to you. He just needed a little help.

He almost thought that he would never hear the end of it after he asked Dustin about you during lunch.

“How do you, Dustin Henderson, the boy who wears Weird Al t-shirts and thinks it’s cool, know her?”

“Weird Al is cool, and she used to be my babysitter.”

Gareth was the first to joke: “You wish she was your babysitter, huh?”

Then Jeff: “He wishes she was his anything.”

“Very clever,” Eddie said.

“The rebel and the babysitter,” Gareth joked, again. “You guys could be a John Hughes movie.”

Wheeler tried to have his fun, but Eddie promptly cut that off, “Shut up!”

But he thinks all of that may have been worth it because shit, you know his name.

Dustin was eager to help Eddie get to this point. To you. (“She’ll be yours in no time, Eddie. Just let me pull a few strings.”

“Okay, well. That makes it sound like you’re going to kidnap her.”

“If that’s what it comes to.”

“Ah. How comforting.”)

And you’re here, just like Dustin promised and how Eddie imagined. Dreamt. Fantasized.

The kid actually did it.

Eddie is definitely getting him a new D20 die for this.

Dustin shakes his head in disbelief. “You are especially grumpy tonight.”

“I am not.”

“Eddie, don’t you think she’s being grumpy?”

Dustin looks to him expectantly, his eyes widening as if to say, “Here’s your chance, man. I’m serving it to you on a silver platter. Take it!”

Take it!, Eddie thinks, nodding. Take it! What are you waiting for?

“I-I think the lady is being very reasonable,” he blurts, his voice shaking in and out of an embarrassingly terrible British accent.

He can’t believe he opened his mouth at all.

Why did he just say ‘the lady?’ Why did he put on an accent? Why did he think he was prepared for this? Why—

“Thank you, Eddie,” you say. “See? He gets it.”

A better question, he realizes, is why hasn’t he mustered the guts to speak to you before?

He’s opening his mouth again, bolder with your receptiveness, and he doesn’t know what comes over him when he says, much shakier than he intended, “Your pajamas are cute.”

You freeze, eyes boring into his. Your angry expression softens as you become flustered. Your lips twitch into a smile, your cheeks flush.

“O-Oh.” You look down at your outfit - your baggiest pants on with ‘Tears for Fears’ plastered across them. “Ha. Thanks.”

“I love them.”

“You do?”

No, Eddie does not love Tears for Fears. But he thinks he might be in love with you, so he will buy their album on his way home and try to love Tears for Fears.

“Hell yeah,” he lies, for now. “They rock.”

You smile and Eddie thinks his knees might give out.

You have gone over this moment a million times in your mind. How you would greet Eddie, talk to him, laugh at every one of his jokes. In your wildest dreams he would get down on one knee the minute you smiled at him, but that seemed a bit hasty.

Point is, you had this moment all planned out since your big fat crush on him started. Right down to the little details.

Clearly, as you stumble over every word and wring your fingers together, your planning was no use whatsoever.

“How was the, um, campaign?” You ask, so timid that you bite your tongue after in shame.

But he smiles so wide that his eyes crinkle and his dimples show, and suddenly you don’t think this is going too poorly.

“Really great,” he answers. “Better now,” he adds, and he wants to die because of it until you giggle at the corniness and now he wants to live just to make it happen again.

Dustin, on the other hand, wants to hurl.

“Okay,” Dustin interjects. “I’m glad my plan is going well, but I have a curfew and my mom will be irate if I don’t get home soon.”

“Plan? What plan—”

“Okay, let’s go!” Eddie jumps over a chair to get to you and ushers you out of the door. “Wouldn’t want Dustin to suffer the wrath of his mother. Or mine, really,” he muttered.

All of your questions fade away as Eddie’s hand rests on your lower back, guiding you out of the room.

“I’ll walk you to your car?” he says.

You nod. You try not to seem too disappointed when his hand falls from you.

You ask, “How’s your band coming along?”

“You know about Corroded Coffin?”

You giggle, again. “Of course I do. You guys rock as harder than Tears for Fears.”

Eddie can feel his heart beat all over his body.

“It’s going, um, fine. We only play for a few drunks, but it’s something.” His hands start trembling. “You should come see us, if you haven’t already. Tuesdays at—”

“At the Hideout,” you finish for him.

He huffs something akin to a laugh. He pushes open the door at the end of the hallway and you step outside.

“Make yourself known next time you come,” he says. “It would be nice to know there’s a pretty girl in the crowd cheering us on.”

You bite the inside of your cheek so hard you think it might bleed. You smile at him, unable to form words much less string together a sentence.

He smiles widely back at you. You can feel his warmth from how close you’re standing. You can feel the toe of his shoe pressed to yours. You can hear the hitch in his breath and see the determination in his eyes.

He’s is about to say something when Dustin interjects,

“This is taking way longer than I thought it would. Can we please—”

“Dustin,” you bite, strident, cold, and suddenly sobered from your lovesick haze. “Remember that campaign when I Iured a demogorgan out of your estate, nearly jeopardizing my character?”

“You can’t use that every time—”

“How about that one when I fought evil Russians?”

“I don’t see the relevance of either of those—”

“Or when you made me race down here from the other side of town to give you a stupid ride?”

“Okay! Okay! I’m going. Jeez.”

“Henderson.” Eddie stops him. “You put evil Russians in a campaign?”

Dustin glares at you. “Yeah.” He lies through barred teeth.

You smirk, your skin heating with your smugness. Or maybe it’s because you can feel Eddie’s breath on your cheeks as he speaks.

“I thought I taught you better than that, young warrior.”

“I—”

“The car!” You urge.

“Fine!”

“More importantly,” Eddie continues, eyes flitting from Dustin’s retreating figure to you, “you play DnD?”

“I used to, but they don’t let me anymore.” You snort. “They didn’t love having to hold my hand through every step of the game, you know?”

“Not really,” he says. “I’d hold your hand every step of the way.”

You freeze, staring at him wide eyed. He stares back equally surprised at his words.

He knew he would say something to fuck this up eventually. That was too over the line.

He stands in front of you motionless, all of the blood drained from his face. This might be more embarrassing than any moment he’s had tonight, but he just can’t think. Especially not with you looking at him like you are.

“I should probably get home, too,” you say eventually. You stand there for a few moments, hoping he might say something else. When he doesn’t, you bid, “Well, goodnight, Eddie.”

There his name is again, making his stomach flutter and all the courage he has swell in his chest.

“Would you like to go out sometime?” The question escapes lips almost breathlessly as you’re turning away.

Your steps falter. Your breath catches in your throat.

“What?”

“I. . . Christ.” He laughs uncomfortably, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “I want to take you out on a date.”

Eddie feels like he can breathe with the question off his chest. Now it’s all up to if you’re going to hate his guts after this or the impossible — you liking him back.

You smile, you actually fucking smile, and ask, “Do you actually want to take me out on a date or do you still claim Tears for Fears rocks?”

With a small groan, he drags his hands down his face. “Saw through that, did you?”

“Like glass.”

He shakes his head disparagingly and, with another breath of courage, steps closer to you. “I can dig Tears for Fears.”

“You can?”

“Sweetheart, I’d listen to nails on a chalkboard if it meant you’d give me a chance.”

He’s once again so close that if you leaned in just slightly, you could press your lips to his. You could pull him in by the collar and taste him. Feel him. Have him feel you.

But instead, you kiss him on the cheek. “Have their album memorized by Friday and I’ll consider it,” you say, sarcasm coating your words like honey.

He chuckles, a boyish delight bright in his eyes.

As you turn on your heel and walk toward your car, you hear him call, “I’ll pick you up Friday at 7!”

“6!” You call back as you climb behind the wheel. Dustin lets out a small, “Finally.”

Dustin is almost bouncing in the passenger seat when he asks, “Did he ask you out?”

A strangled sound of surprise escapes your lips. “Why would you ask that?”

“That was the whole reason I called you down here.”

A beat.

Then, “Your code red was Eddie?”

“Seriously, do I have to connect all of the dots for you?”

He rolls his eyes as you continue to stare at him, utterly perplexed.

“Eddie has had a crush on you since forever but he never had the guts to talk to you. Thus, my genius plan to get you to come to the drama room. Thus, your date.” He sighs. “Must I continue?”

You let his words sink in, your breaths shallow and your teeth worrying your bottom lip.

Holy shit.

“I’m like Cupid,” he says cheerily.

“I don’t think Cupid ever reveals his master plan, Dustin.” You laugh. “He also doesn’t make me run around school when I could be home watching TV.”

“Well, he just got you a date, which is much better than any Family Ties rerun.”

Eddie waves at you as you drive out of the parking lot, a smile brighter than the moon igniting one of your own.

“Yeah,” you say dreamily. “I guess so.”

You are so getting Dustin a milkshake on the way home.

Eddie Munson taglist: @chickpeadumpsterfire @luvslogan (having a taglist is insane!! I feel so cool. Thank you for reading 💗!)

do not chastise the dove (4) ✧ steven grant, marc spector, jake lockley

do not chastise the dove ✧ a royal moon knight au | ao3 | pinterest board

pairing: knight!steven grant x fem!princess!reader x knight!marc spector x knight!jake lockley

series summary: you were a princess who would rather be anything but a royal; he was the knight her father forced her to marry—a true match made in hell if there ever was one. but, as the wedding inches closer and closer, it seems that, perhaps, your father had finally done something right by you. 

chapter summary: things get much, much worse. 

word count: 4,028

warnings?: royal au, arranged marriage, mention of affair, mention of illegitimate child, mention of assassination attempt, mention of demonization of did, pet name (dove), not proofread

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Reblog if you’ve ever imagined yourself being interviewed with the avengers cast as if you were apart of the movie

I feel like this will get no reblogs because I’ve always felt like I’m the only person who does this haha :)