Im Just Saying If Yall Wanted To Tag Me In Your Works Of Shang-chi I Wouldnt Be Mad About About It

i’m just saying if y’all wanted to tag me in your works of shang-chi i wouldn’t be mad about about it 😳👀

Masterlist

Poe Dameron:

Can be found here. 

Din Djarin/The Mandalorian:

A Little Too Far** - Din Request: You needed to figure out if the Mandalorian’s feelings are as strong for you as yours are for them, so you decide what better way than to try and make him jealous? You might have taken it a little too far though … 

Five Times Din Accidentally Turned You On** - It’s embarrassing how a man whose face you have never seen is able to turn you on so quickly without even realizing it.

Mistletoe* - Someone has hung up mistletoe all over the Razor Crest, and you have to hurry up and hide it before Din sees and thinks you’re trying to pressure him into kissing you.

Surprises** - After loosing the Razor Crest, Grogu, and the Dark Saber coming into Din’s possession, you’re not sure either of you can handle another surprise being thrown your way.

To Be Alone With You** - You had only had guesses, brief moments in time where you thought that Din might reciprocate the feelings that you have for him. Now, he’s about to make it very clear he does.

Trust and My Kar’ta*** - The Mandalorian has been gone on a bounty, and when he returns, he seems to not be hiding his emotions as easily as he once was. Maybe you’ve broken through that beskar more easily than you thought.

Useless* - Din Request: After failing to keep the Child out of the Empire’s hands, and losing your leg in the process, you’re feeling too useless to do anything. However, Din is there to remind you that you’re far from it. 

Finn:

The Distraction - You’re not great at improvisation, but when Finn’s life is on the line you have to come up with something … Even if it’s stupid.

Pick Up Lines - Finn Request: Finn has been acting off for days now every time that the two of you are alone together. When your plans to find out why go awry, you start to wonder if your friendship might be over all together. 

Obi-Wan Kenobi:

Birthday Surprises - It’s the day before your birthday, but you find yourself not excited for it at all. How could you be when the one person you wanted to celebrate with more than anyone wasn’t here? Little do you know, he has a surprise up his sleeve.

Daydreams With Me* - Obi-Wan Request: For several months now, Obi-Wan and you have been in a secret relationship. With being a Princess, and him being a Jedi, you knew that it would never be more than that, and you were okay with it. Until a secret plot threatens not only your relationship, but everything you hold dear.

Exile - Based on the song Exile. You’ve managed to avoid Obi-Wan since you had to break his heart, but when he shows up at a function, and your on the arm of someone else, feelings that buried can stay hidden no longer.

I Know You Are Mine* - Obi-Wan Kenobi, your, not so secret to anyone but himself, crush, is assigned with Anakin and Ahsoka to accompany you on a mission to your home planet. With a war going on, and always facing the possibility of never seeing him again, will you admit your feelings?

I Need Your Help - Obi-Wan Request: After the shocking revelation that Obi-Wan did not in fact perish with the rest of the Jedi, he comes to see you, seeking your help to find Anakin through Padme. You had told him before you never wanted to chose between him and your closest friend, but do you have a choice after hearing Anakin has turned to the dark side?

Jealous?* - Obi-Wan Request: Never before did you think you would see Obi-Wan Kenobi jealous, but when he catches you agreeing that a certain Jedi Knight is attractive, you find yourself having to assure him that there’s only one man you have eyes for.

One More Night* - While wandering around town with your partner, you run into an old flame, Obi-Wan Kenobi. He needs your help, and even though you have your reservations about helping the Republic, you agree. But when he lets slip the reason he hasn’t contacted you in so long, you can’t help but question everything you thought you knew about his feelings for you.

Secret Shower Missions - Obi-Wan Request: The two of you are on a mission on what is supposed to be an empty base. Turns out it’s not that empty. 

Rey: 

A Normal Date - Between trying to recruit other systems to the Resistance cause, fighting a War with the First Order, and Rey’s new Jedi training, the two of you hadn’t had time for normal things like a date. You’re determined to change that.

Anakin Skywalker:

Can be found here. 

Han Solo:

Afraid of Dying - Nothing much shakes you, being a smuggler, but for some reason this nightmare does. Han’s there to comfort you. Well, sort of. It’s not his strong point.

Just Business - Han Solo Request: You liked being on your own for the most part, but not having your own ship does have its drawbacks. Like having to work with Han Solo. But is it really a drawback? 

Two Heathens - After a failed attempt at getting a mysterious object, you find yourself being taken prisoner by the Empire. You have to find a way out of there, and away from a StormTrooper who seems oddly familiar …

Ben Solo/Kylo Ren:

Attention - Kylo Ren Request: Bored at the First Order base, you decide to flirt with someone else to get Kylo’s attention. It’s either the best, or worst thing you’ve ever done. 

Colors - Kylo Ren Request: Kylo and you are both in a foul mood when you come back to your quarters after dealing with training and Snoke. Thankfully, you both know how to get each other out of it. 

I Can’t Pretend - After Kylo saved you, the two of you have been growing closer than ever. Watching him being berated like a child by Snoke sets off an urge to protect and comfort him. You’re not sure that’s what he wants though.

Lie For Me* - Ben Solo’s relationship with you has never been great. Something about the two of you didn’t mesh well. Now though, Ben needs someone to pretend to be his girlfriend at a party where a major job opportunity for you will be. Is having to put up with him all night worth it?  Modern AU

Something So Real* - Ben Solo Request: Ben Solo knows that it’s not going to be easy, going back to the Resistance Base and into the enemy’s arms, but he knows the risk will be worth it if he gets to see your face just one more time. No matter what you might think of him now.

Yours - Ben Solo Request: Parties are not your thing. But you want to show how proud you are of Ben, so you go for him. The more of his coworkers you meet though, the more angry he seems to get … Modern AU

*most popular

Cruel Summer - Part One

- Next

pairings: Eddie Munson x fem!reader

summary: After breaking up, you and Eddie do your best to soldier on with your lives, but you slowly begin to discover that there is a stronger line of connection keeping you together than just history...

word count: 5k

warnings: ANGST (the most dramatic babies you've ever seen) mentions of death/dying, swearing, breaking up (so sorry if I forgot anything!)

A.N.: First part of the Babysitter!reader series! I just broke up with someone so you're getting angsty sorry not sorry byyyyyyeee

Your breakup with Eddie was bad. As bad as any teenage horror story of doomed summer romances you’d heard talk of over the course of your adolescence. Bad because you’d always laughed at those couples who went from mooning hopelessly over one another, unequivocally mad for the enduring nature of their love, only to stand in fits of wailing despair when it ended as quickly and passionately as it began. Bad because that was never going to be you, and then suddenly it was. It left you standing hideously exposed, the rosy haze of the life you’d lived enveloped in his everything suddenly lifted to leave you blinking stupidly under a spotlight, fumbling to explain yourself to the crowd. 

You try to fool yourself into thinking it wasn’t that bad – it’s only the end of your first real relationship, your first real love, you’re first real anything – hoping that somehow saying it will make it true. You rub yourself raw trying to cocoon yourself in the lie. 

It was that bad, worse, even, because you didn’t see it coming. Movies had told you that your first love was meant to be an enduring thing, forever if you were careful with it, and that true love was the most powerful force in the universe. You could move mountains and heaven and earth with true love, you could bring back the dead with but a gentle word and a kiss. With true love? You could do anything.

You couldn’t do shit with what was left of Eddie’s love. 

A spectacle such as the fallout of a high school relationship is something to behold akin to a volcanic eruption. Toxic to the point of choking anyone within a twelve-foot radius of the poisonous ex-lovers, leaving radioactive trails in their wake. You swore you’d never be foolish enough to lose your mind over someone like that, open yourself up to the kind of hurt that could push you to madness when it was over too soon. Star-crossed lovers turned mortal enemies as the people in their lives take petty sides and do their utmost to tarnish the reputations of the one they once revered. 

Real Romeo and Juliet shit, only the really real version, where they don’t get the opportunity to martyr themselves for love, and one day they realize in spite of everything they are still Capulets and Montagues, and the rivalry lives on, made all the more putrid by a love that has overstayed its welcome. 

You always told yourself you were too smart for that kind of nonsense, and yet you’d loved Eddie Munson completely, madly and unequivocally, with every inch of every particle in your body, and you’d foolishly thought he felt the same. 

You should have seen it coming.

Some tiny, rational part of you had told you not to go see him. You knew you had to babysit tonight, but you’d been too caught up in the fires of your righteous indignation to heed your rational mind.

It’s not every day your boyfriend skips your graduation ceremony and proceeds to avoid you for the better part of the following month. All you’d wanted was a sign of life, an explanation, any kind of answer as to what the hell was going on, and by God had you gotten one.   

You do your best not to fall apart as you make your way across town, though if you cared enough to take a look at yourself in any passing reflective surface you would see that you’re doing a piss poor job at that. Your face is pinched tight and streaked with tears, and every odd breath comes in a ragged sob. Your chest aches with a sharp, lancing pain that hurts so terribly you would not be surprised to look down and find that you were bleeding. You imagine the dark, crimson trail you must be leaving, like gorey breadcrumbs one could follow all the way through town back to the Forest Hills trailer park. 

You wish you’d thought to drive, then at least you could have broken down in the relative privacy of your car, but you’d wanted the walk to gather your thoughts, to prepare yourself for whatever it was that had kept Eddie so distant from you. Now, subjected to a different kind of walk of shame, your mind is buzzing with the concept of insult to injury. 

You imagine you must be quite the sight to behold. 

It’s dark by the time you reach your neighborhood, and well past the agreed-upon time when you knock at the Henderson’s front door. 

A cursory glance at your watch sends a violent spasm of alarm lancing through your midsection.

You’re late. You’ve never been late before. 

It's just another piece of Eddie you’re going to have a very hard time extracting, like a shard of glass from the bottom of your foot.  

You try to make yourself presentable in the brief interval between your knocking and Mrs. Henderson’s answering, scrubbing at your eyes and taking deep breath after deep breath. All it accomplishes is to streak your already running eye makeup and push you towards hyperventilating. You are noticeably out of breath when the door finally swings inward, bathing you in golden light. 

You imagine you are not the picture of an angel she'd expected, standing there, white-knuckling the strap of your bag, sweating in the August heat, and doing your utmost to look somewhere halfway to normal.

You try not to notice the way Mrs. Henderson’s round, cherubic face falls a little when she claps eyes on you.

Her voice is laced with saccharine concern as she says your name in a way that has you teetering on the edge of breaking down again. 

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” you start, choking on the lump swelling in your throat. “I was— I just—“ In a panic, you bite the excuse off before it can cross the threshold of your lips. 

What had you even planned to say? I’m sorry I’m late, Mrs. Henderson, but you see, my stupid boyfriend just got finished curb-stomping my heart into a pulpy mess and I’m just a bit upset? 

Ex-boyfriend, you remind yourself with a sobering start. He doesn’t love you anymore. 

You feel like you could cry again. 

“Time got away from me,” you mumble, tugging sheepishly at the sleeves of your ill-advised cardigan.

In spite of the state of you, Mrs. Henderson brightens and dismisses the notion with a flippant wave. 

“Oh, don’t be silly! You’re here now, that’s what matters – come in!” 

You follow her over the threshold and into the living room in a haze, depending entirely upon familiarity and muscle memory to get you on track, going through the motions of setting down your bag on the kitchen island as you have hundreds of times before.

Still, you can feel yourself slipping and begin groping for familiarity in the dark, anything to anchor you to this moment: warm wood paneling tinted orange by incandescent light bulbs, dated shag carpet half worn down to threads in the grooves of routine living, frigid air conditioning blasting down on you, flash drying the sweat beading across your neck and shoulders. You blink and watch colors run into each other like crayons in the sun, and breathe deep the strong tang of air freshener covering the faintest hint of a cat somewhere in the house.

You lie to yourself that you're going to be fine as you pluck at a loose string hanging from the fraying hem of your cutoff shorts. 

You are vaguely aware of Mrs. Henderson speaking somewhere very far off in the distance.  

“Dusty, look who’s here!”

You don’t really hear her, you’re still standing at the bottom of the steps leading up to the Munson trailer, watching the door ease open after you’d pounded on it. 

Eddie had blanched and physically recoiled upon seeing you, confirming your suspicions that he was hiding from you. 

“What the fuck, dude.” had been the only thing you’d been able to get out, hurt feelings mixing with anger in a potent combination that had you brimming with angry tears. 

You’d watched Eddie hesitate at the door, very clearly considering going right back inside and shutting you out again before he heaved a sigh that carried the weight of the world. The anger that welled in you was poisonous.  

Two years of your life washed down the drain in less than twenty minutes. Time wasted. It makes you want to scream.

The next four words you’d spoken ring out, though not in your own voice. 

“Where have you been?” Dustin asks, bringing you back to where you stand in the Henderson’s living room. “We were worried sick!” 

He’s got his hands on his hips as he stares at you, his tie-dye shirt undulating beneath the warm lights and making you feel like you’re swaying. 

His mother is quick to scold him for the audacity of his outburst. 

“Dusty.” She warns, tut-tutting him with a slow shake of her head. 

Mrs. Henderson had never been much of a disciplinarian. 

Dustin makes an incredulous sound and throws up his hands in a way that paints the picture of a mother who has been sitting up, waiting for a wayward child out well past curfew. It would be halfway funny if you had the capacity to laugh.

He slumps moodily into the couch cushions as his mother brightens again and turns to regard you as you slip further out of your body. 

“We’ve gotta stop kidding ourselves.” Eddie says somewhere very far away, “This thing has pretty much run its course…” 

Mrs. Henderson clasps her hands together and breathes out like she’s preparing to dive into an overlong speech. 

“Okay, you know all the emergency contacts, the house rules, I should be back by 11:30...” She says, trotting back and forth across the living room to collect her purse and keys, all the while chattering away, giving the same babysitting spiel she went through every time you stopped over to make sure Dustin didn’t burn the house down.

You nod absently and bid her farewell as she slips out the door, and you feel the bite of pins and studs from Eddie’s battle-vest in the palms of your hands as you shove him. 

“Why are you doing this?” You cry, your voice is tight and quavers, threatening to fail before you can even put up any kind of a fight. You’re half blind from the tears collecting at your lashes, “You can’t just—” You choke on the sob welling in your throat. “What happened— Eddie—Baby, just talk to me. Please. We can move past it, whatever it is we can fix it if you just let me—”

He rubs at the back of his neck and rocks back on his heels, like he’s desperate to get away from the situation and it’s taking every fiber of his being to make himself stay. 

“Please don’t make this harder than it already is.” He huffs, his voice trembling.

The silence in the living room is punctuated by the muffled sound of Mrs. Henderson’s receding footsteps, followed by the clunk of a car door slamming shut and the rumble of the engine starting. Headlights paint the walls through the front window in a burst of white, and just like that she’s gone. You’re stuck staring out across the street at your house, sitting dark and empty. Your parents aren't home... they're never home, that's why Eddie always comes over... Suddenly, you have to fight the urge to run out the door and retreat to the sanctity of your bedroom, like maybe you'll find him there, and you'll discover you imagined the whole thing.

All you want is to crawl under the covers and disappear from the world entirely, but there are too many artifacts of your relationship scattered across the expanse of your bedroom. Polaroids, mix tapes, band-tees, memories. You wonder with stark despair whether you’re ever going to be able to set foot in your bedroom again. It feels perhaps a tad overdramatic, but there’s so much of Eddie in you now, so much of his personality blended with yours, that it feels like an appropriate response. "Drama" may as well have been Eddie's middle name – his middle name is Joseph, you think absently, and suddenly you don’t know what you’re going to do with that kind of intimate information. 

You aren’t exactly sure if you’re failing to grasp the situation or just plain rejecting it, but you refuse to accept that Eddie is trying to end your relationship over what essentially equates to nothing, and the fight it has kicked up is arguably the worst thing either of you has ever been through. 

Despair turns him mean. He’s pacing and carding his hands through his hair like he can’t stand it, like he’s about to fly apart at the seams, and somehow it’s your fault.  

“What do you want me to say?” Eddie snaps, face wet with tears, “What— you want me to tell you I don’t love you anymore? Is that what you want?" When you fail to answer he takes a step toward you and suddenly he's shouting, "Tell me what I can say to make you understand that this is over!” 

You shake your head in defiance and openly sob, hands crossed over one another, pressed flat to the left side of your chest where you feel the pain of a phantom wound, gaping, bloody, and raw. Your strident refusal to answer the terrible question speaks for itself, and it wrenches a sob from somewhere deep inside Eddie. For the briefest of moments, he crumples, crushing the heels of his palms into his eyes in a way that is so heartbreakingly boyish you have to stop yourself from trying to hug him.

For a long moment, it’s all either of you can do but stand there, watching the other fall apart and hating each other for it. 

Finally, Eddie breathes out hard like he’s trying to calm down. It doesn’t work. 

“Okay,” He sniffs, voice trembling as he swipes the back of his hand across his nose, “Fine, I can do that– be the bad guy? If that’s what it takes...” 

You shake your head and can’t help but take a tentative step toward him. Then another, and another, until suddenly you’re toe to toe with him.

“Don’t…” you plead, your voice is small and very nearly doesn’t make it through the vice that has your throat. “Please don’t…”  His hands are shaking as you reach for them, his brows knit together and the corners of his mouth turn down in a mask of devastation. 

“I don’t love you anymore.” He says softly, forcing the words out like it physically hurts to say them. 

They embed themselves in you like little shards of glass and suddenly you've taken to bleeding, but you don’t believe him. You think you wouldn't be able to make yourself believe him if your life depended on it, even if it was true, because you loved him so much it hurt. So much you felt like this could very possibly kill you if he didn't stop. How could he not feel the same? How could this not be killing him the way it was killing you?

You knit your fingers desperately in the front of his shirt. 

“You don’t mean it — please don’t say that.”

You try to meet his gaze, like maybe if you can make him see you, really see you, it might stop this, but he won’t look at you. You have to bite back the violent urge to damn him for his cowardice.

Eddie shakes his head, dark curls dancing around his face as he gets caught on a sharp intake of breath.

“I don’t fucking love you anymore.” His voice breaks.

“Yes you do!” you shout, shoving him hard enough to send him staggering back a pace. “Why are you doing this, what the fuck is wrong with you—”

Eddie hangs his head as new tears roll down his face to collect at the point of his chin and suddenly you can’t decide if you’re more angry or heartbroken as you reach for him again. You know you're babbling, but you're desperate to say anything that might somehow get through to him to make him abandon this terrible crusade. 

Eddie won't hear you. He shrugs out of your touch and shakes his head again, crossing his arms over his chest to hug his biceps like it’s the only sense of security he has. All the fight has gone out of him.

It's over...

“Are you okay?” Dustin asks from where he’s sat on the couch. 

You turn slowly and blink at him, feeling suddenly like you’ve been submerged in water, swaying on your feet with the tide. You’d almost completely forgotten he was there.

He’s staring at you with the most intense mask of concern you’ve ever seen on him. It’s a strangely sober look for Dustin, somehow too world-weary for the little boy you’d thought you knew so well. 

You realize a bit too late that he’d asked you a question. You know you need to respond if only to keep up appearances, but you feel wrong, like you’ve been pulled out of your body and had something else stuffed back in that is trying very hard – and failing – to emulate a human being. It makes you feel like you’re going to be sick.  

“I’m good.” You lie. “I’m really really good. In fact, I’m great.” 

He furrows his brows and you know immediately you’d pushed it too much.

You’re bad, you’re so so bad. In fact, you’re terrible.

“O-kay…” He clearly doesn’t believe you, but he seems too preoccupied with something else to care much about it.

Dustin fidgets with his fingers, twisting the digits and picking at the skin of his nail beds like he’s become suddenly nervous in your presence.

“So… listen,” He starts, “There’s something I wanted to talk to you about.” 

You hear the words, but not in Dustin’s voice. 

Eddie has walked you out to the empty jungle gym standing in the middle of the trailer park. Before the fight, before the violent implosion of your relationship, before he says the words he can never take back, he slumps against the rusted metal structure and stuffs his hands in his pockets, casting his gaze down to the divet in the earth he makes with the toe of his dingy sneaker.

“We need to talk…” He says, and you feel yourself getting pulled swiftly down into the dark... deeper under the water. 

The pressure makes your head swell. 

From the beginning, everyone had warned you Eddie was going to break your heart. Friends, family, even teachers, as inappropriate as that advice had been. It always made you angry, determined to prove them wrong. Maybe it had started as an act of rebellion, leaning hard into a relationship that was evidently no good for you, but none of them knew how Eddie was sweet, and kind, and fun and funny and everything but what everyone warned you he would be. 

You hate that in the end, he was the one who had made them right. Self-fulfilling prophecies and all that bullshit.  

The end… 

Just the notion of it is enough to send you teetering over the edge of hysteria. Something wells up from the aching spot behind your lungs, like a balloon filling with water, blocking your windpipe and threatening to suffocate you. Your ribs crack and you feel yourself begin to bleed again as it swells to the point of pain. You feel like you’re about to burst. 

The words are spilling out over your lips before you have the good sense to realize you should excuse yourself before you have a breakdown in the middle of the Henderson’s living room.

“Hold that thought, Dusty, just for one second,” You gasp, turning and practically sprinting for the bathroom down the hall. 

You shut the door behind you and rip one of the fluffy white towels Mrs. Henderson keeps down from the rack and cram your face into the thick terry cloth. For a moment there is nothing, then a sharp intake of breath before you’re screaming, as loud and as long as you can before your head starts to swim. The sound is mercifully muffled by the fibers. It catapults you into a memory from last spring. 

You’re sitting on your bed, knees pulled up to your chest, absolutely fuming over the injustice of something completely trivial – a poor grade on a test, an undeserved reprimand, the specificities of it don’t matter, because Eddie is there, and he still loves you, sitting cross-legged on the bed, doing his best to lift your spirits. 

Your toes are tucked neatly beneath his thighs and he’s got his hands around your calf, tapping out a guitar riff there. As casual a gesture as it may have seemed, it’s suddenly so intimate and you’re struck with a pang of grief as you realize you’re never going to be that close to him again.

“Jesus, I’m so mad I could scream.” You huff, the angry lump in your throat makes you feel like you’d tried to swallow a softball.

Eddie tilts forward and crosses his arms over your knees, hugging you there. 

“Do it.” He says, ghosting his lips over the exposed skin poking through a tear in your jeans, “Let’s see what those pipes can do.”

You cast a dour look his way and wire your jaw shut, beginning a mental count of all the reasons you can’t just start screaming in the middle of a suburban neighborhood. You’re not supposed to have boys over and if you scream your mom will come running and flip her lid, someone might call the cops … it’s going to be too loud?

As if he’d anticipated your excuses, Eddie pushes up and snatches one of the pillows you sit nestled among at the head of your bed, tucking it into the space between your knees and your chest. 

“Scream into the pillow.” He instructs, patting the creases flat in a way that feels gentlemanly. 

When you level him with an unimpressed look he rolls his big dark eyes and takes the pillow back. 

“Like this,” Deep breath, and the muffled smack of his face hitting the pillow before there is the faintest sound of Eddie screaming theatrically into the fabric and goose down. You bite your lip to keep from giggling and remind yourself that you’re supposed to be furious, indignant, incensed even. Hard to keep up that facade when you’re dating someone like Eddie, who would more than likely combust into flames if he tried to go a full day without doing something entirely absurd and unhinged just to make you laugh.

When he’s done screaming, Eddie is red-faced, hair wild and brows furrowed beneath the curly fringe that falls across his forehead. There is a thin line of spit, grossly drawn out from the semi-damp pillowcase to where it is attached to the plump flesh of his bottom lip. He severs the connection with a swipe of his tongue and makes a show of coughing and spluttering, fishing a stay feather from his mouth. You snort with laughter. 

He grins that Cheshire Cat smile of his, cheeks indenting with dimples, and shoves the pillow back towards you. 

“You’re up, Babycakes.” He says.

You recoil with playful disgust, “Gross, no way!” 

“Why not?” He asks, furrowing his brows in a way that conflicts with the wide stretch of his mouth.

“You just slobbered all over it!”

Eddie narrows his eyes at you, and suddenly there is the faintest hint of mischief glinting there. You meet his gaze, tentatively waiting for whatever appalling thing he is about to say. 

“Like that’s ever bothered you before.” He says. 

It’s relatively tame in the grand scheme of things, but the way his eyebrows jump with innuendo has you blushing. 

“Eddie!”

“Ed-die!”

Your mouth falls open in a gasp as he mimics you, pitching his voice up to mock you, absolutely scandalized.  

His pretty doe eyes sparkle with delight and you take the opportunity to snatch the pillow from him, only to whip it around and whack him upside the head. The pillow explodes in a snowy cloud of feathers, and the next thing you know he’s surged forward, and you’re screaming with laughter, bracing your hands against his chest and shoulders to try and hold him at bay as he licks a fat wet stripe up the side of your face.       

The towel in the Henderson’s bathroom is perhaps as effective a buffer as a pillow, it certainly does a better job at mopping up your tears as you release yourself from the cotton prison, red-faced and breathless. You’ve left dark smudges on the white fabric where your tears have made your eyeliner run, more than it already has. You only manage to feel slightly bad about that, suppressing a pitiful whimper as you turn on the faucet and splash your face with cold water. You’re hoping the shift in temperature might force you into some kind of hard reset, bring you back to your senses, but you’re not so certain it’s going to work this time. 

Eddie taught you to do that. 

“Helps with panic attacks,” he’d said at the time, rubbing your back and speaking soft, gentle words to you as you stood with your head in the bathroom sink.  

The foolish tragedy of breaking up is that everything reminds you of Eddie. Every inch of this town, your house, your bedroom, your own goddamn body is laced with him. You feel raw, and despite this being your first real heartbreak, somehow you know even after you get over him, if you ever get over him, you’re never gonna be the same again.  

You hate how you suddenly understand all those sappy love songs, all those foolish people standing in not so private corners of very public spaces, wailing about how they thought someone had loved them while everyone looks on in varying degrees of concern. Therein lies the problem of giving yourself over to someone so completely, loving them entirely. 

I thought he loved me. 

You slump to the cold tile floor and hug your knees to your chest. 

You tell yourself you could leave, should leave, pick up and start over somewhere new, somewhere quiet and untainted by the echoes of him. Your memories are loud and pervasive and every one of them revolves around him, foolishly, as if he is all you’ve ever known. 

You could just leave… It’s sorely tempting, you’ve graduated, no immediate plans on the horizon… newly single? There’s nothing holding you here –you quietly wonder if that was Eddie’s aim, but you’re still too upset to give him that much credit– you even allow yourself to begin a flight of fancy, entertaining an escape from Hawkins, from Indiana entirely. Then you remember the way he had cradled your face in his hands as he extracted himself from your life. 

“There’s nothing for you here. This goddamn town is gonna suck the life out of you if you don’t get out.” 

If you leave Hawkins now, that means Eddie wins, despite the fact that you’d been so painfully unaware it was even a competition. You suppose that this is how it starts, the taking sides, the tearing down one’s reputation. You can just imagine yourself, maybe a year from now, in a new town with new friends, going on and telling stories about how your ex was such a fuck up, a total man-child, couldn’t even graduate high school… He was a guitarist in this really shitty metal band and played this stupid fantasy game every weekend with a bunch of kids, that’s weird right? What a freak. You could knock the teeth out of that version of you for being so cruel. 

He’s not a freak, you insist to no one in particular, He’s wonderful and generous and … and and and? …And he doesn’t love you anymore. 

You thump your head against the bathroom cabinet and heave a sigh as you remember that you’re here in the house for a reason. 

Dustin is waiting on you. 

With a heavy sigh, you push up from the floor on shaky legs and turn back to regard yourself in the mirror. 

It’s fine, I’m fine, we’re fine…

And you are. There’s no gaping wound in your chest, no bloodstains streaking down your front. You breathe deep and tell yourself that you really are fine, a little red and puffy in the face, and feeling very much like you’ve been hollowed out, like carving a pumpkin, but fine enough to sit and watch movies with Dustin for a few hours at least. It’s just a breakup. People break up every day. All you have to do is hold your shit together until midnight – you glance at your watch – just four hours and then you can fall apart, rant and rail, and rave and tear down the walls if that’s what it takes.

You take a deep, steadying breath, count backward from three, and whip the door open, doing your best to plaster what you hope is a genuine smile across your face.

"Okay kiddo, you wanna watch a movie or something?" You call as you head down the wall.

You’re fine. You’re going to be fine.     

THE CUSTOMER'S ALWAYS RIGHT MASTERLIST !

summary: eddie muson is a virgin and doesn't want anyone to know (because being an adult who's never fucked anyone is a total reputation ruiner). but you, his favorite customer, are more than willing to change that.

pairing: eddie munson / f!reader

tags: nsfw! (minors look away now), virginity loss, friends to lovers, new relationship shenanigans, mentions of previous toxic relationships, angst with a happy ending, canon divergent

☄. *. ⋆ ┄ SERIES

✶ ┄ CHAPTER ONE: quid pro quo

✶ ┄ CHAPTER TWO: screw the deal

✶ ┄ CHAPTER THREE: heart-shaped

✶ ┄ CHAPTER FOUR: god help the girl

✶ ┄ CHAPTER FIVE: square one

✶ ┄ CHAPTER SIX: b-minus

☄. *. ⋆ ┄ DRABBLES

✶ ┄ coming soon!

A simple place where I can update things!

As You Wish series

Where the Heart Is series

Big Brown Eyes series

You Belong With Me | Hesitate

The Wyvern

New Outfit

Wrong Crush | Double date with Will

Man of My Dreams | Sleeping Beauty

Love Comes Walking In | Road Trip

Mommy Issues

Birthday Girl | Birthday Boy

Cold Turkey

Eddie’s Girl

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this man is a trained killer who has one brain cell, daddy issues, and parks cars for a living. please respect him as he is the only person that matters to me