Update: I will take ideas/prompts/requests if you have any. Reiterating that I only write female readers with AFAB anatomy, and currently only accepting to write for Eddie Munson and Isaac Night.
Not all of the people reading your x reader fics have white skin
Just a gentle reminder before you write characteristics that assume whiteness and exclude your black/indigenous/poc supporters-specifically in 'x reader' works.
I love and appreciate writers, but this is a recurring avoidable issue (going on for decades now).
"your dusky pink nipples" "your face turned just as red as his" "he could see the blush on your face" “your cheeks furiously blushed” “your ears burn bright red” “The look in your reddened face” “your knuckles white with effort” “bruised purple against your light skin”
Describing the physical feeling instead of the visual change helps include your readers while also elevating your writing IMO.
Anyone can say "Your cheeks turned red with embarrassment" or "Your face flushed" but wouldn't you rather say "A burning heat rushed across your face, from your neck to the tip of your nose, prickling right underneath the surface. You look anywhere but him, hoping your newfound interest in the buildings ceiling tiles will ease the fire tightening beneath your skin" And instead of the other character pointing out that the readers face is red, they can point out the obvious flustered facial expression/body language.
If you want your reader insert to have white/fairskin, then just label them white!reader or put the mention in the warnings/summary.
↪I have reached out to writers I favored/supported before and sometimes I have been met with severe hostility and defensiveness. I often wonder if people are doing this purposefully or for some reason think only white people read their fanfics (?)-if that's the case then be upfront and label your reader inserts as white!reader or something PLEASE. It’s gotten to the point where I feel like black women and other POC aren’t wanted or considered in these fandoms because it comes off like that in your writing. If you need a different motivation, just know you're missing out on more interactions, reblogs, and a bigger reader base. I don’t know why white is the default for so many writers in unspecified x reader/reader insert fics-the people on your blog following, reading, and supporting you aren’t all white and fair-skinned.
I am not talking about OC fics or fics where race/skintone is x specified in summary or warnings. This is specifically about unspecified "x reader" where whiteness is assumed as the default
Put in the comments good replacements for writers to use!
Summary: Eddie enlists your help to work on his stamina in bed before his big date.
A/N: It was a tight race, but here you guys go. Thinking thots…at the whim of my brain worm here…also, this is less an actual fic and more: thots that ran long. Forgive any weird wording or shit—I wrote this in a haze of passion that has since passed lol.
Word Count: 1.6k
Warnings: 18+ MDNI!!! Smutttt, non-traditional views of virginity (in a pervy way), virgin!Eddie, experienced!Reader, porn with very little plot, kinda dom!Reader and sub!Eddie but you’re teaching him stuff so that’s just how the cookie crumbles, dirty talk kinda, orgasm denial, ruined orgasm, lot of edging, masturbation, riding, PiV unprotected sex, cream pie, little bit of degradation, you’re single handedly molding Eddie’s virgin brain
Masterlist
I feel like he’d come to you in preparation for a date he’s almost sure is going to end in sex—Tiffany Sanders was pretty transparent about her intentions when she asked him out.
Imagine he comes to you worried he won’t last during his first time and you tell him you know exactly how to help him with that.
He’s laying on the bed, letting you ride him and any time he gets close to cumming, you freeze your hips, not moving an inch. You can only give him about three good bucks before he’s whimpering, slurring out warnings that he’s close.
You do that dance over and over in an attempt to teach him how to hold it. You’re edging him so much, tears are nearly rolling down his cheeks; messy pleas are directed at you, begging you to let him cum.
You balance your voice perfectly between loving affection and stern admonition as you remind him it’s for the best—“How will you ever become a good boyfriend if you don’t learn how to control yourself in bed?”
Every reprimand is met with whining whimpers and a twitching body—he’s trying so hard for you, he wants to learn so bad.
“You can’t just blow your load after two pumps,” you chide. The lewd sentiment falling from your sweet lips has him jerking with need, almost cumming from your words alone—not that it’s a particularly difficult feat, considering his inability to stave off his orgasm for longer than forty-five seconds.
Of course, what he doesn’t realize is that this whole ‘first before the first’ ordeal is giving him a complex. But he’s learning quickly that he’s always about two seconds from cumming—whether it’s when you reprimand him for his poor sexual etiquette or when you talk him through it, reminding him how he should behave if he wants a bright future in pleasing women.
All of that is a bit much to ponder, though, especially when your pussy is nearly choking his cock and you feel so warm wrapped around him—he’s never felt anything like it. He wants to stay under your tutelage forever, feel the weight of your body on his every single night.
Imagine you don’t even let him cum, telling him, because of that, it doesn’t count as a first time—that’s you graciously saving him for Tiffany Sanders. Although, at that point, he’d much rather you ruin him forever—take his virginity like it belongs to you. It’s kind of like you already have. After all, he’s not sure how he’ll go on the date or even have sex with the woman and not think of you.
Instead of letting him cum and so rudely taking his virginity, you just continue to teach him how to stave off an orgasm long enough to pleasure a girl. Because it’s his first sexual experience with another person, you do all the work—making sure to touch yourself while he’s inside you so he can feel what it’s like when a girl cums on his cock.
It’s an important lesson; before you, he had no idea what a pussy felt like. He could only imagine in the deepest parts of his brain as he would hump his pillow or fuck his warm, spit-slick hand. You tell him he needs to be prepared for the pressure he’ll feel when a girl’s walls become a vice grip around him—how he needs to feel it so he can practice not cumming the moment he’s squeezed.
Of course, that lesson is a bit advanced for him—more daring. The sight of you touching yourself on top of him, desperately grinding your hips in search for any relief you can find on his limp body—it’s all a bit much. When you feel his aching cock twitch and flex inside you, you pause your breathy moans, warning him to “hold it,” with a breaking voice.
The tone and order you use make him feel like a dog being told to hold the trick longer. That demeaning feeling twists in his stomach, making him grit his teeth harder, summoning every last bit of willpower he has to keep from cumming.
I could picture it going well, and he doesn’t cum, or I could picture your orgasm—the tightening of your walls, the pulsing squeeze on his cock—being a bit much for him, and he ends up blowing his load deep into your cunt. He suffers your disappointment as you shake your head, telling him how you thought he was better than that, how he was so close to being done with his lesson—now he’s selfishly gone and ruined it all.
Shivering from the powerful aftershocks, he whines out regretful apologies, begging for your forgiveness. He didn’t mean to ruin the lesson, you just felt so good, he’s never felt something so…all-consuming. Your pussy was too tight, too wet, too warm—it felt like home around his leaking cock.
With his failed lesson, you take pity on him, petting his damp hair with a mocking pout. “It’s okay, honey. I know you’re so weak right now, I guess this just means you’re not ready for Tiffany yet.” You shake your head as if disappointed he can’t go fuck another girl. “We’ll have to have another lesson. You wanna be the best you can be, don’t you?”
With wet cheeks and a sniffle, he nods fervently, wanting to be the best for you—Tiffany, wanting to be the best for Tiffany.
Oh, but imagine you do ‘let’ him cum. Except it’s not in the way he wants—the way he needs. You push him a bit too far on one of your bouts of riding him. The power goes to your head a little, and with him knowing he’s not supposed to cum, he tries to frantically alert you when you seem to ignore his first whimpering warning.
You can’t help the hunger that overtakes you as you hold his pleasure in the palm of your hand. Pushing him past his limits, eliciting pretty sounds and broken cries, you grit your teeth at the horny aggression thrumming through you. He’s been so good—you just want to break him.
Chanting the warning, he’s groping and pushing at your soft thighs as you trap him under you. He’s just trying to be a good pupil, trying to get you off of him before he ruins everything with his sensitive cock. After all, how will you continue to teach him if he fucks it all up by cumming when you told him not to.
Continuing to bounce on his length, you remind him of your instructions, “Don’t you dare cum, you know you’re not allowed. Be good, baby, no girl wants to fuck a limp cock”
Your words and the extra bucks you give, despite his many warnings, has him practically shouting, still trying to alert you that he’s nearly there. The second he groans, shivering and throwing his head back—giving his climax away—you pull your hips off of him at lightning speed, leaving his achy, flexing cock to shoot out pitiful ropes of cum into the cool air. You watch with barely contained glee as he flinches when the hot spend lands on his skin, humiliating him even more than his inefficient, virgin cock ever could.
“No! No, no, please, no” he cries, missing the warmth and stimulation of your walls and gyrating hips. The orgasm is simultaneously the best and worst he’s ever had.
The best because he’s never experienced a lead up like that before; his lotioned hand in no way compares to the way your warm, wet walls suck him in, consuming him wholly. The worst because whenever he fucks his own fist, he always follows through. You didn’t. You ruined his orgasm.
Because of your actions, he’s still hard, the full load he’d been saving for you—or Tiffany, yes, saving for Tiffany—is only a little depleted. If you’d ridden him home, so to speak, he would’ve had a massive load for you. But seeing as you took away all stimulation right as he was crescendoing, he's left bereft and reeling.
Before he has a chance to cry out an exasperated, “Why,” you sink back down onto him, his stiff cock sliding into your cunt with trained ease. He jerks violently at the overwhelming pressure—he's so sensitive from the shitty orgasm, and the sudden tightness around him has his brain going haywire.
"I told you not to cum, honey. That's what happens when you don't follow the rules—I take things away from you."
He's so pussy drunk he doesn't know whether you're talking about taking your wet heat or his orgasm away. Regardless, you've made your point—he's learned his lesson. Though, he doesn't exactly know how to improve on that lesson as it seemed to be you who neglected to get off of him in time. Maybe that's just another reason he needs to get better at preventing early orgasms.
After the lesson, you practically shove him out of your home, leaving him with a breezy, “Give Tiffany my regards,” before slamming the door in his face. His eyes are still hazy as he tries to remember where he is, what his name is… and who the hell the president is.
All he knows is he’s not going on a date with Tiffany-fucking-Sanders after what just happened. Instead, he’s thinking about going down to the nearest pawn shop to buy the cheapest ring they have and begging at your door like a no-good hound dog looking for a crumb of attention.
A/N: Did anybody enjoy this? This is the one I was editing in shock and horror.
— eddie munson starts acting distant out of nowhere. turns out the idiot has been taking romantic advice from dustin and steve, and apparently step one was play hard to get. good thing you catch on fast, because eddie is terrible at pretending he doesn’t want you, and even worse at hiding that he always has.
🌌 2.3k — eddie munson x fem!reader, mutual pining so bad it’s concerning, jealous!eddie, reader is oblivious on purpose, dustin ( and steve ) give good advice for once, confessions full of word vomit + soft fluffy ending
request — [ by @sunnliqht ] love your superhero soirée ivy! ‹𝟹 can i have parker’s prompt patrol + eddie munson w/ “ugh, why would i be jealous? you can flirt with whoever you want. i don’t care.”
author's note — okay first time writing for eddie munson and i am feral. this man has ruined my life in the best way possible. huge thank you to brooke for the request, because now i’m fully in my eddie era and none of us are leaving. i think everyone can agree when i say that eddie is alive and well. requests are open. enjoy <3
gif by @winterswake | divider by @/lavendergalactic
Eddie Munson had really hit rock bottom in his life.
And not in the metal-song-playing, lightning-cracking kind of way he always imagined. No. His rock bottom was worse. It was taking romantic advice from a fourteen-year-old who got his romantic advice from Steve Harrington. That was how far he’d fallen.
But maybe rock bottom was what he needed to crack himself open, let some of the feelings piled up inside him spill out before they drowned him completely. So, as advised, he did what Dustin (and apparently Steve) told him to do and tried to play hard to get. With you. Which was basically impossible because you were the only person he had ever been easy for.
Which brought him to his current predicament — watching you work with Steve and Robin (mostly Steve) at Family Video. Dustin and Lucas were digging through the shelves while Eddie stood uselessly at the front of the store, pretending to browse a rack of staff-picked recommendations he couldn’t see because his gaze was glued to you.
You were leaning on the counter, chin on your hand, grinning up at Steve as he told you some long-winded retelling of his latest heroic teen-movie disaster moment.
He gestured wildly, knocking over a stack of return cards, and Robin groaned without looking up. You laughed. Loud and pretty. Eddie almost flinched at how the sound hit him.
It wasn’t like you were totally enamored with Steve. You weren’t leaning over the counter, you weren’t twirling your hair, and the second the bell rang when Eddie walked in you had immediately waved at him and the gremlins beside him.
You’d even raised your brows asking, "Want me to help you find something?"
The offer was right there on your lips before Dustin elbowed Eddie hard in the ribs and dragged him toward the horror aisle with Lucas tagging along.
Eddie hadn’t protested. He was trying to be hard to get. That meant not going to you, not claiming his usual spot against the counter beside you, not stealing a pen out of your pocket just to annoy you, not calling you sweetheart in front of everyone because he could. His body refused to move toward you, even though every instinct screamed that you were where he belonged.
From where he stood, half-hidden by the shelves, he watched Steve keep talking, watched you laugh again, head tipping back, your smile so easy it made his chest ache. Steve laughed too, bumping your shoulder with his.
He forced himself to look away, jaw clenched. Playing hard to get wasn’t supposed to feel like swallowing glass.
Dustin and Lucas were choosing between two nearly identical horror movies, whispering loudly to each other. They absolutely were not actually picking tapes. They were watching Eddie watching you. Waiting for this whole stupid plan to magically work.
He had survived bats from literal hell. He had survived the entire town hating him. But watching you laugh at someone else’s jokes while he pretended he didn’t care?
That might actually kill him. No, he couldn't wait anymore.
He hooked two fingers into Dustin’s jacket sleeve and yanked him out of the aisle hard enough that the kid stumbled into his side. Lucas looked up from the tapes, startled, but Eddie didn’t care. His eyes were still locked on the counter where you were, now leaning closer to Steve to see something he was pointing at in the register.
Jealousy crawled up Eddie’s spine.
“Hey, Henderson,” he muttered under his breath. “You sure Harrington isn’t in love with her or something? Would make sense why he gave me that torturous advice.”
Dustin scoffed immediately. “Are you kidding me? Steve? In love with her? Nope. Steve loves Nance. It’s sad actually. I’ve given up on him.”
Eddie blinked down at Dustin. “The. . . the reporter girl? The one with the eyes that could murder a man?”
“Yes,” Dustin answered flatly. “He’s been in a weird life-or-death pining spiral for like a year.”
Eddie opened his mouth, closed it, then frowned even deeper. “So he told me to act like I don’t care about the girl I like because he’s. . . emotionally stupid?”
“Pretty much, yeah.”
“You don’t see how that might be a problem?”
“Nope.”
Eddie stared at him, baffled.
“Listen, Steve doesn’t give sucky advice. Ever.”
Eddie snorted so sharply it sounded painful. “Henderson, the man gets rejected more often than the school janitor takes out the trash.”
“That’s because he keeps choosing girls he can’t have,” Dustin shot back. “Not because his strategies don’t work.”
Lucas chimed in reluctantly, eyes still on the tapes. “He’s not totally wrong. Steve actually knows what he’s doing with the whole. . . dating. . . thing.”
Eddie pointed toward you and Steve at the counter. “He knows what he’s doing? Look at him! He’s already in love with the way she organizes tapes!”
Dustin rolled his eyes. “Oh my god, man. That’s called friendship.”
“It’s called emotional intimacy and I don’t like it,” Eddie hissed.
“Dude,” Dustin said, grabbing him by both shoulders, eyes wide with older than his age confidence, “you play this right and she is going to be obsessed with you.”
Eddie swallowed hard. “She already was obsessed with me. Now she’s laughing at King Hair over there.”
“She laughed at you yesterday,” Dustin snapped. “In fact, she does that every day. Because she likes you.”
Eddie wanted to believe him. God, he wanted to. But the longer he watched you smile at Steve, the more something sharp twisted inside him.
Dustin tugged on his sleeve again, lowering his voice. “Look, man. If you want her to chase you, you have to stop orbiting her. Trust the process.”
Eddie breathed in through his nose, out through his mouth. Trust the process. Trust the plan. Trust the child who didn’t understand taxes but apparently understood romance.
He watched as you tossed your head back laughing once more at something Steve said.
And then you looked over.
Your eyes found Eddie immediately. Your smile softened into something warmer. You lifted a hand and waved.
Eddie froze.
His heart was doing things medically inadvisable. He lifted his hand automatically to wave back before Dustin slapped it down.
“No!” Dustin whisper-yelled. “Hard. To. Get.”
Eddie grimaced, trying to school his expression into the neutral, vaguely mysterious cool-guy face Steve had demonstrated. It probably looked more like he was constipated.
You raised both eyebrows at his weird non-reaction, confusion slipping across your features for just a second before Robin pulled you away to help reshelve a pile of returns.
After a few minutes, Eddie saw you coming. You rounded the end of the aisle with that determined little stride you got when you were trying to figure someone out, and Eddie’s lungs stopped working. His eyes snapped to Dustin and Lucas in full panic.
They both gave him the most useless encouragement in the world—two enthusiastic thumbs up—and then immediately backed away.
You stopped right in front of him. “Hey. Is everything alright?”
Eddie straightened, trying to pull on the casual attitude he had practiced in the mirror. “Yes,” he said.
“You sure?” you asked, tilting your head. “Because you didn’t wave back just now.”
“Oh, yeah. . . I had a, uh. . . a fly on my hand.” He pointed vaguely at his wrist. “Henderson was just swatting it away.”
You blinked at him, totally not buying it. “Right. . . the fly.”
He nodded aggressively.
You let it go. “Well, did you get the movie you came in for?”
“The what?”
“The movie you came in for,” you repeated gently. “You know, the reason you’re here.”
“Oh,” he coughed, scratching the back of his neck. “That was just for Henderson and Sinclair. They were planning a horror movie night.”
You nodded slowly. Then silence settled between you.
The kind that made your stomach twist. Things had been weird between you lately. He’d been a little distant and it was not like he was fully pulling away, but just not orbiting you the way he used to. Conversations were shorter. His jokes didn’t land the same, mostly because he wasn’t really telling them.
You kicked the toe of your shoe softly against the carpet, trying to think of what to say next, but Eddie beat you to it.
“So you and Harrington have been spending a lot of time together.”
“Oh, Steve?” you asked, taken aback. “Yeah, you know we work together, silly.”
Eddie muttered something under his breath, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides.
You took him in and suddenly it clicked.
“Are you jealous?”
His head snapped toward you defensively, cheeks already blooming red. “Ugh, why would I be jealous? You can flirt with whoever you want. I don’t care.”
You stared at him. “Who said anything about flirting? You didn’t think that was flirting, did you?”
Eddie scoffed, scoffed again, then nodded with false confidence. “Of course I know what flirting is.”
“Are you sure?” you asked.
He blinked, narrowing his eyes in offense. “Yes, I’m sure.”
You leaned in slightly, just enough to make his breath hitch. “Then why don’t you show me?”
Eddie froze.
“Huh?” he managed, voice cracking.
You met his eyes confidently because you were done with him pretending he didn’t want you. “If you know what flirting is,” you said softly, “show me.”
Eddie stood there, mouth opening and closing with absolutely no data processing happening behind his eyes. If an error message could appear on a human face, it would’ve been on his.
You waited, arms loosely crossed.
He cleared his throat, trying to remember every suave line he’d ever used in his life. Normally he could flirt with you without thinking. But now that you were asking for it? His brain emptied like someone had flipped a switch.
“So,” he started, leaning one elbow on a display shelf in what he hoped looked smooth. The shelf wobbled dangerously. “Uh. . . you come here often?”
You stared. “I work here.”
Eddie swallowed. “Right. So. That’s. . . that’s a yes.”
He tried again, standing up straighter, trying to channel his usual cocky grin. “You’re, uh. . . pretty. I mean, not pretty. I mean. . . you are pretty. Obviously. You’re so pretty it’s like. . .”
His hands waved helplessly in the air as if the right word might land on them.
“You know, sweetheart,” His voice cracked halfway through the word. “I’m. . . available. Like very available. Like, aggressively available.”
You pressed your lips together, trying not to laugh. Not because you wanted to make fun of him but because this was the worst flirting Eddie Munson had ever done. It was almost endearing how hard he was trying to act like he didn’t care while caring more than anyone ever had.
“Okay, I can’t do this anymore,” he confessed, eyes finally lifting to meet yours. “I. . . look, Dustin said I should play hard to get. And Steve backed him up. And they both looked very sure of themselves, which is stupid now that I say it out loud.”
Your eyebrows lifted. “Play hard to get? With me?”
“Yes! Which is insane, because I am very easy to get with you. If you asked me to jump, I’d already be in the air.”
He took a shaky breath, words tumbling out before he could stop them.
“Anyways, they said it because apparently girls don’t like guys who are obsessed with them too fast. And I was trying but it’s like trying to pretend I don’t need oxygen around you. I thought if I didn’t talk to you as much, if I acted like I didn’t care, you’d chase me. Instead I just got to watch you laugh with somebody else and it felt like my ribs were being pried open.”
Your heart cracked right open.
He kept going. “I wasn’t flirting just now because I didn’t want to flirt. I couldn’t because I’m so crazy about you it breaks my brain. I don’t know how to flirt with you when you’re staring at me like that. I don’t know how to pretend with you. Not about anything.”
You stepped closer giving him every chance to retreat. He didn’t. If anything, he leaned in.
“So you weren’t jealous because you thought Steve and I were flirting?” you asked softly.
“Yes, obviously I was jealous!” he hissed like he couldn’t believe you even needed the clarification. “I’m jealous of the air you breathe. It’s disgusting.”
You smiled, warmth blooming deep in your chest. “You didn’t need to play hard to get.”
He nodded miserably. “I know.”
“You didn’t need to pretend you didn’t want me.”
“I know.”
“You could’ve just told me.”
His voice dropped to a whisper. “I was scared.”
You reached forward slowly and took his hand, threading your fingers together like you’d done it your whole life. Eddie sucked in a breath like you were electricity.
“Why would you listen to them?” you whispered.
He swallowed hard. His voice was small when he answered.
“Because I like you too much. And I didn’t want to mess it up by. . . liking you too much.”
You squeezed his hand. “You didn’t mess anything up.”
Eddie’s face split into the kind of smile that could’ve powered the town if someone hooked him up to a generator.
“So. . . ” he said, “does that mean I can stop playing hard to get?”
“You never played it well to begin with.”
“Thank god,” he exhaled. “It was killing me.”
You tugged him closer by his hand.
“Now,” you teased, “you wanna try that flirting thing again?”
Eddie leaned in confident, the way he always was with you.
“Oh sweetheart,” he murmured, “now that I don’t have to hide anything? I’ll show you flirting.”
And when he kissed you, it wasn’t hard to get. It was everything he’d been dying to give you all along.
CW: MDNI still applies, Isaac is a yearner, smooching
WC: 702
A/N: It’s short, it’s dogshit, but the brain needed to spew it onto the internet. Barely edited.
The rain was relentless, forcing those with their sanity intact to stay inside and find other activities. While your best friend Isaac, endlessly tinkered in the tower, you were buried deep in a novel, sprawled on your side, over the couch he had graciously hauled up for you to keep him company; a common routine recently established. He would never admit it out loud, but he loved having you around. You grounded him in a way that nobody else did. Unbeknownst to you, he had purposely positioned that couch so you would be within eyesight no matter where he was in the lab. A personal gratification he would never tell.
Isaac dropped the screwdriver to his desk, sighing in frustration. He had been working to perfect some new modifications for his heart, only to come across problem after problem. He’d had enough by this point. He looked up, to see you, content in your own world. He took in the way your tired eyes glistened, and how unruly your hair had gotten over a few hours. You were just so effortless. The simplicity of your beauty was something that had him permanently captivated.
His eyes trailed slowly over your soft curves hugged by well-fitted clothes, small slivers of your skin exposed where your shirt had ridden up. He imagined what it would be like to run his hands along your hips, stomach, ribs and breasts. You looked so soft, enticing. He wanted so badly, for you to look up at him with that beautiful smile he loved so much and coax him over to you just to kiss him.
Yet again, he was lost in made-up scenarios he yearned to be a reality. You had noticed the little distracted episodes, raising concern at first, but each time he’d brush it off as brainstorming, and you left it at that, opting to observe instead. While you had your suspicions, you didn’t want to jump to conclusions. Your skin tingled slightly with the feeling of somebody watching, and you lifted your eyes to see his roaming over your figure, bottom lip trapped under his top teeth. You raised an eyebrow and watched how his body deflated in a sigh.
“You okay there Izzy?” you spoke, amused. Your voice broke through the drone of the pounding rain, pulling Isaac out of his fantasy. He gave you a pointed look at the nickname.
“I’m fine, thank you,” he muttered, clearly embarrassed he had been caught. He leaned back in his chair, averting his eyes to the abandoned project in front of him. You tossed your book to the side, strutting over to him with a menacing smirk gracing your features. You stopped between him and his desk, partially seated there, blocking the view of his work.
“What were you thinking about? You’ve been staring at me pretty intensely,” you crossed your arms. For once, Isaac struggled to form a believable response, opting for silence instead. You wanted answers, and he could be a stubborn bitch sometimes. You moved forward to straddle him, seating yourself comfortable in his lap. He tried not to make his panic obvious, however the irregular tick of his heart gave him away.
“Talk to me, Izzy,” you demanded, tone low. You studied the way his breath hitched when you placed his hands to your hips. It was clear to you that the Isaac Night, notorious for being all work and no play, was experiencing a romantic and physical attraction.
He took a deep breath, “Can’t help it, you’re so pretty,” he said, his fingers digging into you, as if he were holding onto the last of his dignity.
“Hah! I knew it. You’ve got a little crush on me,” you teased, and he rolled his eyes, loosening his grip in disappointment, ready for the fun part of rejection. His worst fears were about to come true – he just knew it.
“I shouldn’t have said anything,” he sighed, cursing himself.
“Yes you should have, now give me some sugar,” you retorted, wasting no time in grabbing his cheeks to press a kiss to his lips. You pulled back, chuckling at his dazed expression.
Leaning your forehead against his you whispered, “You’re pretty too.”
ok so in all seriousness father i was in a dark place mentally and your works really helped me.I was deep in an ed (sorry if this is tmo) and your writing generally put me in a better mindspace.i really appreciate you.
I can't even begin to tell you how much this means to me. First of all, I'm so glad that you're comfortable enough to be able to share this. That's more significant than you know, and nothing is ever tmi!!
Second, I apologise for taking so damn long on these other fics I'm in the middle of, life outside of my online world has been exhausting, and I'm finding it quite difficult to concentrate atm, plus experiencing a little bit of writer's block where I'm just unsure of where to take the plots (also trying to expand my vocabulary).
Third, I'm so happy that I've been able to provide a safe space for you where you can get lost in your imagination, even just for a moment. I'm so sorry that you've had to struggle through such a horrible thing, ed's are beyond fucked, I wouldn't wish it upon anybody. I truly hope you are okay.
Remember that you are beautiful, loved, cared for, appreciated and that you deserve to take up space on this earth.
Thank you so much for your kind words and your continuous support, even though I've been on a mini hiatus uploading fics.
Funny enough I was so in denial on my crush towards Eddie at first. When I watched the show the first time I was like omg I didn't grasp the depth of his character enough.
Then I kept watching Season 4 over and over just to see him and I would look for more content of him but I thought it didn't mean anything.
I actually hated him at first. I thought he was a fuckwit (and I was right), because I'm here like, 'how dare you treat my sons that way?' based on his first scenes, but then his interactions with Chrissy had me intrigued. I thought the way he softened around her was sweet, and then I fell in love after he began showing how awkward and pathetic he actually was.
Also how dare you roast Erica like that? She handed your ass to you. D e s e r v e d.
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