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trashmouth-richie · 2 years

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Eddie x Fem! Reader [vol ii]

Summary: you were desperate for a roommate after Nancy got married and moved out. An ad in the paper goes unanswered until someone comes knocking on the door.

W.C 3.8k

Trigger warning: enemies to lovers trope, eventual smut, language, crude behavior, Eddie is a fucking menace 🖤 this will be a series 💋

{a/n} I probably should have added this when I originally posted it. But I’m a little dumb— anyway, this is my submission for @newlips ’s milestone of love hope you all enjoy it 💋 I truly enjoy writing and I wouldn’t be here without the support you all as readers/ fellow writers bring to me every single day! Thank you all from the bottom of my heart ♥️

He wasn’t your first option for a roommate, in fact he was so far off your radar for a potential housemate, you damn near shrieked when you saw him. But when nobody had showed up besides him to view the small two bedroom house that you were forced to sublease after your roommate got married— you didn’t have a fucking choice. It was too expensive to run another ad in the Hawkins Post and summer was coming to a close. You were fucked.

“You’re fucking kidding me,” you snarl as you throw open the door to see his stupid grin. Always too toothy, too goddamn endearing. Made your stomach bind up. “No, no way.”

Standing in all his sadistic leather glory was Eddie fucking Munson. He’s taller than he used to be, still a long haired asshole, reeking of weed and cheap deodorant. What kind of sick twisted joke is this? Did you really piss off mother karma that bad that you have to live in a separate, more fucked up layer of hell? Fuck you Dante, and your inferno. There’s not a single other person in this town who needs somewhere to stay?!

He pushes his way into your home, leaning forward with a shit eating grin, eyes hooded and winking as your lips curl in disgust. “Nice to see you too sweetheart.” He taunted. Licking his lips as he stalked past you, his filthy work boots tracking dirt onto the carpet.

“Yuck — do not— call me that,” you hissed, you stand with your hand still on the knob, not fully committing to wanting to shut the door— praying that he was some sort of a hallucination.

“You gonna show me around, or should I raid your panty drawer while you sulk?” A dimple dips into his cheeks as his stupid grin grows wider on his face.

You slam the door with a thud, “kitchen, living room, my bedroom, the other bedroom, bathroom, garage, laundry in the basement.” You’re practically shouting, as you stomp around the small space, pointing to the direction of each room, taking a grand total of twenty seconds to point everything out, not giving a fat rats ass if he was following you or not. His laugh echoes off the walls, taunting you, making your skin crawl and your ears itch. You turn around to find him quick on your heels, your face almost smashing into his grease covered work shirt.

He doesn’t move, or make any attempt to step away from you, forcing you to put the space between you both, stepping back and smoothing down your hair. His eyes kill to yours, dark swirls of muddy browns searching your own, he asks, “Why do you get the bigger room?”

The fucking audacity of this man. You could wring his neck right now and nobody would even know.

“Excuse me?” You question, peering into his chocolate eyes, waving a finger in his face, “maybe because It’s my fucking house, you’re lucky if you’ll get a room at all.”

He leans his head back with a laugh, letting it slam forward as he deadpans, creeping forward and stepping around you, waiting til he’s behind you to whisper in your ear, “I’m lucky? That ad was in the paper for over a week,” he seethes, “I bet I’m the only one who showed up to view the place, so nice try, Tooty— but you’re desperate for the cash.” He wasn’t wrong, you were desperate, the salon paid okay but Josie just upped the price on your rental chair, making your mortgage almost impossible for you to pay on your own.

“…I’m doing you a favor. So, if you want me to pay rent and utilities, then I’ll, so graciously, be taking the bigger room.” His breath fans across the back of your neck, making the hairs stand up, and goosebumps riddle your skin. You turn to face him, hands on your hips trying to show how serious you are.

“I know it took you like four times longer to graduate than anyone in United States history, but you can’t possibly be this damn dumb.” It was a cheap shot and you know it, but who does he think he is? Barging in here with demands like a fucking A list celebrity. Not today, mother fucker.

A comment that would have normally made anyone else burst into tears, or at least leave hollering ‘bitch!’ as they stomped out to their car, only fuels Eddie’s perverted fire, “Ooo, an insult and a scolding, what’s next a spankin’?”

Your hard-ass facade drops, your face faltering to one of disgust instead of stern, don’t-fuck-with-me, boss lady, “Get out, Munson.”

“Nah, I think I’ll stay.” He saunters towards the kitchen table and pulls out his wallet, of course its a chain wallet, you roll your eyes as he starts forking over an impressive amount of bills and sets them down, one by one.

“Here’s my first month, last month and deposit.”

The total is way more than what you’d even told him but you're still tongue tied from his comments, he lives for this shit and you had fallen for it—rookie mistake.

“I’ll be back in a few hours to start moving stuff in.” He smiles widely, moving towards the door, “See you then, roomie.”

His figure haunts you for the next few hours you have left of peace. His smell lingers around the house, you shove open every window you can, including the one that was painted shut by the previous owners. He was so fucking annoying. Is that supposed to be charm he was throwing at you? Fucking barf. The only thing you were feeling was rage, and that you needed to shower after feeling his breath on your skin. Lighting every scented candle you can find, Sugar cookie and beach sands will do— the smell slowly wafts out of the windows. You shower quickly, figuring better do it now than after he arrives, the dreaded walk in a towel from the bathroom to your room was something you hadn’t thought of until this second. Hot water sprays against your skin, assaultingly hot, almost blistering the skin on your back.

You are seething, raging mad. If you were a cartoon, smoke would be funneling out of your ears. Mocking him, you think of better comebacks than you had thought up earlier. Scrubbing your skin until you resembled a lobster, and angrily scratching your scalp. “What’s next a spankin?” GOD he’s so nasty, the sheer nerve of him makes you want to throw a toaster into the shower with you. Nothing a few volts can’t fix. You towel off, looking at your reflection in the mirror as you wipe away the condensation. The stress of the day slowly melted off as it was rinsed down the drain.

You’re applying your eye cream when a—loud as fuck— knock on the door shakes the walls.

“Honey, I’m home!” Eddie hollers as you peek through the glass. He’s carrying a duffle bag and a 30 pack of Busch Light. 3 smiling idiots are behind him, two passing a joint back and forth while balancing a very worn mattress, the other swaying on the sidewalk holding a guitar, most likely already drunk.

Tucking the tail end of the towel wrapped around your head into itself, you fling open the door, “Jesus Christ Eddie, will you shut up! I have neighbors you know!”

“Oooo— first fight!” One of the idiots with shaggy blonde hair preens.

Your glare could compete with lasers against his skin, prying through his epidermis and burning the vessels.

Eddie lets out a laugh, “aww sweetheart, I didn’t know you were planning a slumber party!” he says gesturing to your towel and pink robe. “Give me about 30 minutes and I’ll be braiding your hair and you can paint my nails, give me all the hot gossip!”

You turn with a huff half closing the door behind you. The gaggle of idiots roaring with laughter at Eddie’s joke.

He pushes through the door into the house, tossing his bag onto the table, knocking over the napkin holder and the stack of mail, letting out a loud sigh. He rips the thirty pack open on the side, making the beers crash to the floor. You still your eyes and cross your arms, unamused by his stupid antics. He cracks one open, slurping up the spray of suds as it puddles around his hand and down onto the carpet. He kicks a beer towards you and raises his up in triumph. “Here’s to you roomie, Home Sweet Home!”

You’re so fucked.

“Robin, I’m seriously going to kill him. I don’t care if I have to go to jail—anything would be better than this!” you whisper-yell into the phone, you watched Eddie and his band of misfits bring in box after box, most of his stuff was in black plastic garbage bags. They formed a line throwing the bags to one another and the last one haphazardly tossing them into his room.

“Oh relax! A hunk like him moving in and you don’t even have to pay him? You just hit the jackpot!” She giggles on the other end of the phone, smacking through her licorice.

“More like jackass with all the shit he’s moving in.”

You’re hunkered in your room, between the wall and your bed, twirling your bedroom phone cord through your fingers, “Seriously the place smells like weed so bad I’m probably getting a contact high as we speak.”

Robin lets out a throaty laugh, “Might do you some good, you’re so fucking tense all the time.”

“Sorry—” you say, twiddling the blue carpet fibers through your fingers, “I’m just stressed after Nancy moved out is all.” It wasn’t a lie, Nancy moving in was a huge relief to you, she took care of almost everything. Organizing bills, scheduling pest control when needed, she even wrote the garbage pick up days and hung it on the garage door. With her gone, this all falls on you. “What if he steals my stuff in the middle of the night and bails?”

She curses your full name, “He may be a lot of things, but a thief is not one of them—seriously you have nothing to worry about, calm your boobies!”

“Boobies!” Steve yells, joining the room Robin was in, “it’s Eddie, he’s a total nerd, you’ll be fine.”

“If he’s so great Then you can live with him Steve!”

“Nope, no can do,” he says around a mouthful of food,

“I gotta keep this clumsy oaf on a short chain”

“Oh, you’re dead Harrington.” The phone drops and all you hear is squealing and thudding of feet running around.

“Robin! Not my shampoo! ”

“Steve? Robin?” You wait in silence as the line goes dead, “Uhh!” Slamming the phone into the receiver you hear Eddie and his leather clad Barbarians holler goodbye to one another. One too many “see ya later man” ’s and you’re practically puking. You open the door to your room and poke your head out. Watching closely as Eddie tears through garbage bags, unloading heaps and heaps of clothing, an entire bag dedicated to just band shirts, another revealed bedding that was quite literally rolled up and thrown into the bag. A quick sniff test has him turning up his nose.

The kitchen is taken over by Eddie’s stuff, more bags, more boxes, a cookbook titled: The Dungeonmeister Cookbook is sitting on the stove. A stack of Burger King collectible Disney cups is cluttered around the microwave. Along with an impressive amount of neon twisty straws and a bowl with a straw connected to drink the milk.

It’s like a small child moved into your home instead of a grown ass man.

Opening the fridge to get an apple, you can’t help but notice Eddie also moved some refrigerator items with him as well. Two big bottles of hot sauce, more beer than the local bar probably holds, a half drank carton of orange juice, and a giant jar of pickles, without a lid. Huffing with annoyance you step over Eddie’s bags of shit and get a knife from the drawer to slice the apple. The loud shrill screeching of 80’s metal almost makes you cut your finger. Stomping into Eddie’s room with your fuzzy slippers you don’t bother on knocking before you look for the plug to his cassette player, unhooking it from the outlet and pointing the knife in his direction, you all but scream in his face, “I almost cut my fucking finger off! Turn it down or I’ll cut the goddamn cord!”

He’s sitting crossed legged on the floor, cassettes littering his lap, his eyes almost bored, “aww Tooty I’ll play with you in a little bit, daddy just has to get some things done first, ‘kay?”

You roll your eyes in disgust, did he seriously just refer to himself as ‘daddy’?

“God you are foul,” you retort, throwing the cord down onto the carpet and placing the knife on a nearby box, “wouldn’t surprise me if you were a dad.”

Eddie throws his head back with a chuckle, “why? You into dad bods? Listen sweetheart, my metabolism will slow down eventually, gimme three—four years max and I’ll be all gut.” He flashes his pearly whites towards you and winks.

Ignoring him completely, your nose scrunches. “Stop calling me that!” your heart is pounding in your chest fury on high, “what the hell is that?”

“That,” Eddie says batting his eyelashes, “would be my masculinity wafting from my aura to yours, why does it turn you on?”

You fold your arms over your chest, and shift your slippered feet beneath you, “Do you have a certain amount of disgusting phrases you have to get out throughout the day or are you just naturally this nauseating to be around?”

“No idea, anyway,” Eddie continues, standing to his full height and shucking off his jacket and tossing it to the ground, “I’m gonna order a pizza you want in?”

“Maybe you should finish unpacking,” you say taking a quick glance around the clothes strewn everywhere around the room, “it’s a fucking mess in here.”

Eddie leans in close eyes ghosting over your features as they gawk over your lips, “well, sweetheart, maybe if you had given me the bigger room— like I had asked for— I would have enough space to put my stuff, besides,” he says, standing up and leaning backwards to crack his back, a small trail of hair peeking out from his waistband makes your breath hitch in your throat, “I bought dressers and they’ll be delivered on Monday, so my clothes don’t have a place to go right now, unless you wanna split your closet?”

“I’d rather drop dead.”

“Aww don’t do that, far too pretty to be dead, and what would the neighbors think?” He strips off his shirt and throws it in the corner of his room, your eyes dart away but not before catching a glimpse of his pale skin.

The small tattoos he had in high school are slightly faded with time, new ones are inked down his arms, across his chest and down his side. You can’t help but notice the silver hoops pierced through his nipples as they reflect light and draw you in towards his chest. He’s lean but built, no defining abs but the muscles in his arms could be carved from a sculptor, replicating a greek statue. Surely minutes have gone by but in reality it has only been seconds, you don’t even realize he’s still talking.

“…don’t need to give the cops more of a reason to watch me more than they already do.” He drops his eyes to your face, seeing you peek at his body. A grin is plastered to his lips as they curve upwards, he stretches his arms out wide, the veins in his arms protruding further out, oh what you’d give to just touch it with your hands, your tongue— wait what?—“Shit,” he says, drifting forward, your body pulling away from him, “looks like you aren’t into dad bods after all.”

Your cheeks flare red as you stomp out of his room, his joker laugh vibrates the walls as you slam your door. Throwing yourself on the smooth purple cotton of your comforter, and screaming into your pillow.

Nobody ever got under your skin the way he is. Why are you allowing him to frustrate you this much? He’s a boob. A pimple on your ass. That annoying twitch that your eye sometimes does when you don't have enough sleep. Yes, the festering wound, the bad rash that kept coming back, the burn in your belly, the thorn in your side— is now your roommate. Fuck.

A knock on your bedroom door, brings you back to your current state of throwing a hissy fit. You launch your cup of pens that adorns your nightstand at the door.

“Does that mean you don’t like pineapple on your pizza?”

Thank God you showered before Eddie started unloading his stuff, because he has been in the bathroom for at least a half hour. You’re sitting on the couch, the same rough, itchy upholstery that used to take up way too much space in the Wheeler’s basement. But a $20 bill and Nancy promising her dad that she would mow the lawn for the entire summer of ‘91, and it was now yours. Karen would sigh with relief that the ugly furniture was leaving, meaning her living room would get an upgrade as their now living room furniture would find solace in the basement. No longer stinking of cheesy pizza farts and bad B.O., or screaming threats from middle school boys about the inner demons of DnD, Mrs. Wheeler would come to miss the yelling, and the rotten stench of boys running amuck in her house. Nancy parted with the under stuffed, well loved, hideous piece of furniture when she moved in with Jonathan. So now, the outdated, wagon wheel patterned couch, was all yours.

The smell of finger nail polish fills the living room as you attempt at painting your toenails a shimmery blue that you had gotten at the mall with Robin. A fuzzy navel wine cooler tucked between your legs, you’re trying hard to get it finished before a new episode of “The Nanny” comes on. Eddie is singing in the shower, loudly. You recognize the tune as “Come As You Are” by Nirvana. Not that you were admiring the way his voice sounded. You were just surprised that a twenty six year old weirdo actually knew good music. The doorbell rings, snapping you out of, yet again, another strange spiral of thinking about Eddie Munson.

“Eddie!” You holler from the living room, “door.”

“Money’s in my wallet, just pay the dude quick and I’ll be out in a minute.” He yells back from the shower.

“Eddie, I’m busy— get the fuck out here and do it yourself.” There is no way you are walking around with wet toenails, what the hell was he thinking?

“I’m in the middle of washing my ba— “

“Alright! Fine!” You walk on your heels to the door, opening it quick to find a Hawkins High student in a red hat with the pizza logo on it.

“That’ll be $19.50,” he says with a less than enthused remark.

“Hang on,” walking back to the bathroom on heeled feet you knock on the door, “where’s your wallet?” you ask in a hurry through the door.

“Uh, my jeans I think,” Eddie yells back. You cross into Eddie’s room, looking around the mess he made, realizing the only thing he managed to make an attempt at organizing was his never ending cassettes, a few records, and an old record player. Posters decorated every wall. Metallica, Nirvana, Judas Priest, Black Sabbath, and White Zombie. The clothes were piled high in a mountain of leather, flannel and white cotton socks. Not a single pair of jeans that you could see. His bed sat on the ground, cluttered with notebook papers, dice, and tightly rolled joints.

“Eddie!” You yell from his room, “where the hell are your jeans?”

A chuckle echoes in the bathroom, muffled slightly by the spray of the shower head, “they’re in here, sweetheart.” His voice dripped with smugness and sweet notes of laughter.

Fuck it, we don’t need pizza. I can eat cereal. I’ll just tell the pizza kid to leave and Eddie can fend for himself. Fuck this.

“Tooty?” He calls from the shower, enunciating every syllable. “Come on,” he sings, laughing to himself, “I promise I’ll stay behind the curtain. You won’t see a thing— unless of course— you want to.”

You barge through the door, fumbling through Eddie’s jeans pockets, finding the black leather of his chain wallet and yanking out $25. An idea crosses your mind and you can’t help but go through with it. A flick of the lights had Eddie cursing every word imaginable as he was cast into darkness.

Thrusting cash into pimple head’s hand and shutting the door, you walk into the kitchen to get some plates. Eddie emerges from the bathroom. His hair is dripping in long strands, and your robe is wrapped right around his body, barely covering his southern region. The pink terry cloth material lined with lace looking absolutely ridiculous on his tattoo covered body.

Oh— this mother fucker.

“Are you seriously wearing my robe?” You ask, hands on your hips, nails digging into the cotton pajama shorts you’re wearing.

Eddie does a spin and swings his hips in a circular motion, his dick swinging like a helicopter.

“Well sweetheart, when you so rudely turned the lights off on me, I was forced to find the first thing I could to dry off with, and besides— you can’t deny how good I look,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows, smiling the widest smile you had ever seen from him.

A lump of anger and sheer rage catches in your throat, “you’re repulsive,” you say, turning away from him and tossing pizza onto plates.

“And you,” Eddie says sliding beside you, his breath fanning your cheek, the cold drops of water from his curls pressing into your shoulder as he grabs a greasy slice of pizza straight from the box, “are extremely uptight.” The whites of his teeth bite into the cheesy triangle and chew loudly as he smacks his lips, licking the orange grease from his lips.

Anger boils in your belly, filling your veins with agitation so thick they’re bound to clog up. “I. Am. Not. Uptight,” you seethe through clenched teeth, and closed eyes.

“Yeah, sure sure,” Eddie says, mouth full of pizza, and his eyebrows raised, “whatever you say.”

You weren’t always this high strung. But having everything ripped away from you, would make anyone pretty goddamn bitter to the lemonade life had to offer.

vol ii

volume ii

A/N: thank you to everyone for reading this and continuing to support my crazy ideas. Thank you to everyone I had beta this story—@agentmarvel @pinkrelish + @sweetsweetjellybean you all push me to be a better writer and I am forever grateful for that ♥️♥️🖤💋

Taglist: @luna-munson83 @tlclick73 @idkidknemore @joejoequinnquinn @newlips (omg, they were roommates)

#newlipsmilestoneoflove #eddie x you #eddie x fem!reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #enemies to lovers #eddie munson x you #eddie x reader #mechanic!eddie #eddie munson #eddie fanfic #eddie fanfiction

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munson-blurbs · 1 year

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Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12

Summary: After you attend Harris's birthday party, Eddie's forced to confront some big feelings, and a Valentine's date has the two of you navigating a much different type of big feeling.

Warnings: smut (18+ only, minors DNI), oral (f! receiving), fingering, protected p in v, slight breeding kink, very fluffy smut, brief mention of parental abandonment

WC: 8.6k

Chapter 12/20

Eddie's card credit to @girlwiththerubyslippers Mixtape credit to @lofaewrites Divider credit to @saradika

The mingled scents of wood polisher, stale cigarette smoke, and old frying oil invade your nostrils the second you step into Hawkins Lanes. Bowling balls thud as they make contact with the fiberglass lanes, subsequently crashing into the waiting pins. You offer a smile at the exasperated teenager clearly nursing a hangover, holding back a dry heave as he sprays a pair of red and blue shoes with a can of deodorizer that, given the undertones of pungent sweat permeating the air, is likely well past expired.

“I’m here for Harris Munson’s birthday party?” It comes out like a question rather than a definitive statement, and you hold up the gift bag in your hand like it’s some kind of evidence.

The teenager jerks a thumb towards the back left of the building, not bothering to look up. “Party room’s down there,” he mumbles, and you thank him as you walk along the pink and purple carpet.

You’ve arrived a little early, hoping to steal a few moments with Eddie before the chaos of the day begins. Wayne is the only one in the small room, stretching to hang up a sign proudly declaring ‘Happy Birthday,’ each letter a different color of the rainbow. He grins when he sees you approaching, and you hold one end of the sign in place as he adheres it to the door frame with Scotch tape.

“Good to see y’again, darlin’.” Wayne greets you with a grin, taping your side of the banner.

You put your arm down and return his smile. “You, too!” you chirp, glancing around the room. “Where can I put Harris’s present?”

The older man points to an empty table off to the side. “Right over there should be good,” he figures aloud. “Ed just took Harris to the little boys’ room, but they’ll letcha know otherwise.”

You nod, gently placing the bright yellow bag atop a table covered with a Hot Wheels-themed cloth. Amusement dances on your lips at the realization that Eddie must have splurged on decorations; it’s far better quality than one from the local 99-cent store.

“Ms. Sweetheart! You’re at my birthday party!” Harris’s enthusiastic voice captures your attention, and you spin around just as he’s launching himself into your arms. A tiny human rocketship.

“I am!” You laugh, motioning towards the gift table, “and I left your present over there.”

Harris’s face lights up and he starts towards it, arms outstretched and ready to tear through the tissue paper, but the sound of his dad clearing his throat stops him in his tracks.

“Remember,” Eddie says, keeping his tone calm but firm, “we’re gonna open everything once all your friends are here, after we eat cake.”

Harris juts out his lower lip in a pout. “But Daddy,” he protests, “I wanna open it now!” He stomps his foot indignantly, and you have to suppress a laugh at how silly it looks with the clown-esque bowling shoe on.

“Harris, can you wait until you open the ones from your friends?” You phrase it like a favor, hoping to appeal to him that way. “I’m really excited about what I got you and I want them to see you open it, too.” Of course, you couldn’t care less about what a bunch of random four- and five-year-olds think about your gift, but you had to think quickly before the whine escalated to a tantrum.

He releases a sigh of exasperation but ultimately concedes. “Okay, I guess I can wait.”

Eddie mouths thank you and winks as the four of you walk out to the lanes to wait for Harris’s friends. You feel a hand slip into yours, too small to be Eddie’s, and beam when Harris looks up at you with pure joy.

“Daddy! Grampa Wayne! I’m holding Ms. Sweetheart’s hand!” he exclaims, baby teeth on full display

Eddie ruffles Harris's hair. “I’m jealous.” If prompted, he’ll claim that he’s envious that his son chose to hold your hand instead of his. But you and him–and Wayne, let’s be real–know the real meaning behind his statement.

As Harris’s friends arrive and the birthday boy greets each of them with a hug, you and Eddie spring into action and line them up to get fitted for shoes. There are five kids, three boys and two girls, and though you recognize them as Ms. Marion’s students, you don’t know any of them by name. The bowling shoe laces are flimsy, and a few of them struggle with the fine motor skills necessary to tie them.

“Can I help you with that?” you ask one boy, who nods and extends his leg towards you. You crouch down and rest his foot on your knee as you double-knot the laces. When you finish, you look up to see that the rest of the kids have formed a line for your shoe-tying expertise.

Eddie returns from dropping off the guests’ gifts in the party room, laughing when he stumbles upon the queue of children. “You don’t have to do all that, Sweetheart,” he tells you, using his hands to assess the weight of different bowling balls before distributing them to the kids.

You shrug as you finish tying the last shoes. “I don’t mind.”

Eddie has reserved two lanes for the party, and before anyone can figure out who will be bowling where, Harris is tugging on his Black Sabbath t-shirt.

“We wanna play in teams,” he reports matter-of-factly. You’re not sure who ‘we’ refers to, since you didn’t see him corroborating with any of his friends, but you don’t question it aloud. “Team Harris and Team Daddy.”

Eddie gasps with feigned offense, bringing his palm to his heart. “What? You don’t want me on your team?”

“Nope.” Harris shakes his head, curls swaying back and forth. “I want Ms. Sweetheart on my team.” He pauses as he glances around the group, eyes brightening when his gaze lands on the eldest Munson. “You can have Grampa Wayne.”

“Old man’s probably gonna break a hip.” Eddie grumbles teasingly, picking up a red marbled bowling ball and hoisting it up to his chest.

Wayne scratches the top of his head. “And yet I can still kick your ass.” He keeps his voice low so that little ears can’t hear, but you and Eddie can, and you tuck your lips into your mouth so none of the kids catch on.

Harris is up first, squatting down and using two hands to roll the ball down the lane. His method proves to be somewhat effective when he knocks down a few pins, and the scoreboard screen flashes a giant number 5.

“That’s how many years I am!” Harris proudly announces, skipping back to where the rest of his team is standing. He cocks his head at the ball return’s open mouth for the neon green ball that Eddie had handed him earlier, eagerly scooping it up when he spots it. Assuming the same stance, he once again rolls the ball and successfully topples two more pins.

Eddie raises his brows incredulously. “Hmm, let me try that strategy.”

“I don’t think there’s enough pins for all of your years,” you quip, and Eddie sticks out his tongue in your direction before mimicking Harris’s approach, knees aligned with his toes. He draws the ball back between his legs and releases it a few inches ahead of him, smirking as it cascades down the lane.

His cockiness is apparently earned, since he gets a strike. He attempts a victory moonwalk, clumsily dragging one foot behind the other in a manner that would make Michael Jackson regret ever making the move popular. The heel of his shoe catches on the floor and he stumbles backwards, landing on his ass.

The kids burst out into peals of laughter, and you and Wayne join in once it is evident that Eddie’s not hurt, only embarrassed. You stoop down, clutching your ball between your palms as you grin. “That’s what you get for gloating,” you whisper in his ear, a joking lilt in your voice. “Try setting a good example for the kids next time.”

Unbeknownst to you, one of the kids, Kelly, strikes up a conversation with Harris while you’re up to bowl. “Is that your mommy?” she asks him, strawberry blonde pigtails softly swishing as she looks over at you.

“No, but she’s gonna be my mommy soon!” Harris replies happily. “She and my daddy are gonna fall in love and then she’ll be my mommy.” His voice lowers as concern mars his words. “But don’t tell anyone, okay? Because it’s my birthday cake wish and I need it to come true.”

Kelly nods, taking this obligation seriously, and she averts her gaze when she spots you walking back to the ball return. Since you’d only knocked down eight pins, you take another turn, slipping your thumb, middle, and ring fingers into the holes, frowning when you don’t get the spare you’d hoped for.

Harris’s chipperness brings a smile back to your face. “Ms. Sweetheart, can you teach me how to bowl like a grown-up?” He blinks a few times, hammering in his naturally docile nature.

“Of course!”

When it’s Harris’s turn again, Eddie watches you go up with him. It’s noisy, but he zeros in on your sweet tone among the clattering of bowling pins and cacophonous conversations.

“See, you put your middle finger and ring finger here, and your thumb here,” you’re gently explaining. “And then you lift the ball back just a bit, bring it forward, and let it go.” You go through all of the motions without actually letting go of the ball, Harris’s eyes glued to your every move. “You try.”

Harris follows your instructions, pink tongue poking from his mouth in sheer concentration, and knocks down a single pin. Eddie braces himself for his disappointment, maybe even escalation to a tantrum, so he’s pleased when his son spins back with a wide, toothy smile.

“I did it! I knocked it down!”

“You’re amazing! I’m so proud of you, Harris.” Eddie’s posture softens as Harris runs into your arms and gives you a giant hug, tiny fingers digging into your biceps as he squishes the side of his face just below your collarbones. When he does this, Eddie notices that Harris’s cheeks have lost some of their chubbiness; his son’s baby-like features subtly disappearing to make way for attributes of the older child he’s growing into. It brings a slight pang to his heart, and he swallows the emotion and focuses instead on the bonding moment between you and the not-so-little boy.

There’s a shared love; more than that, there’s trust. Harris knows he can rely on you to teach him with kindness and patience, that you won’t berate him or yell at him for doing something incorrectly. You’re his Ms. Sweetheart.

Wayne takes note of the goofy smile adorning his nephew’s face, nudging him before he drops the bowling ball on his foot. “I know you’re in love with her, but she ain’t worth losing your toes over.”

Eddie’s face flushes pink, the tips of his ears burning now that he's been caught. “I’m not in love with her, Wayne.” At least, I didn’t think I was yet, but now I might be.

“Whatever you say,” Wayne mutters under his breath, taking careful steps towards the lane. “You, uh, might wanna wipe the drool from your chin before you take your turn, though.”

Team Harris ultimately wins, mostly because Wayne throws the game so the birthday boy can have a victorious moment. You, Eddie, and Wayne quickly corral the kids into the party room, seating them at a large rectangular table for cake and presents before anyone can take offense over the game results. The three of you breathe silent sighs of relief when you easily shift their focus to the next activity.

Eddie pulls his lighter from his back pocket, flicking it on and lighting the five thin blue and white striped candles unevenly jabbed through the chocolate frosted homemade cake. He picks up the plate, supporting it from the bottom as he leads the group in a hilariously off-key rendition of Happy Birthday.

Harris squeezes his eyes shut before blowing out the flames with gusto, a big grin on his face when he opens them again.

Feeling a hand clap on his shoulder, Eddie swivels his body to see his uncle armed with a disposable Kodak camera. “Let me get a picture of you and the birthday boy,” Wayne insists, peering through the little viewfinder and snapping a photo. Eddie’s crouched down, right arm slung over Harris’s shoulders. Both of them wear matching smiles; the only difference is that Harris is still sporting his baby teeth.

“Now Ms. Sweetheart!” the little Munson declares. Eddie goes to leave, pressing his palms to his knees and standing up, but Harris grabs his wrist and pulls him back. “No, Daddy. You and me and Ms. Sweetheart together!”

You shuffle over to stand on Harris’s other side. When you place your hand on his upper back, Eddie’s slides over yours, the two of you and Harris chiming “cheese!” in enthusiastic unison.

Blinking from the brightness of the flash, you extend your arm and make a ‘gimme’ motion with your hand. “Let me get one of the three of you,” you say to Wayne, who begrudgingly places the camera in your outstretched palm.

Eddie pulls him in closer. “Alright, Munson men. Flex those muscles!” You giggle as the three of them bend their arms to show off whatever biceps they have.

“Ms. Sweetheart, who’s got the biggest muscles?” Harris asks as you lower the camera.

You scrunch up your nose as though seriously contemplating the question. “Um, me, obviously!” You smack your own bicep, sending Harris into hysterics.

“That’s so silly!” he cackles, glancing up at Eddie. “Daddy, isn’t Ms. Sweetheart so silly?”

You expect him to agree with his son, but he just puts his hands on his shoulders and gives a quick squeeze as he says, “Nah, she’s the strongest person I know.” Your stomach flip-flops when he peers at you through his impossibly long lashes. He picks up the plate and brings it over to the smaller, empty table. “Let’s cut this cake before the kids start revolting.”

The two of you use plastic knives and forks to divide the cake into slivers and toss them onto paper plates. Once all of the kids have their slices, Eddie licks the excess frosting from his fingers and hands you a plate.

“Havin’ fun?” He carefully wraps the question in a joking tone, but you can tell that he’s genuinely curious about whether you’re enjoying yourself.

You spear a piece of your slice with the plastic fork. “I am, actually.” The chocolate melts in your mouth, and your tongue glides over your lips to catch any crumbs. “I haven’t been bowling since I was a kid.”

“And it shows,” he teases, wincing when you flick his cheek. “Hey, now—violence is never the answer. What values are you instilling in these impressionable young minds?”

Harris pops up from his seat, waving an empty plate. Whatever cake bits were left on it have tumbled to the floor. “Daddy, I’m done! Can I open my presents now?”

“Jesus, did you inhale that thing?” Eddie wonders aloud, but ultimately agrees. He grabs a bunch of thin napkins and wipes Harris’s hands and face, laughing when the boy sputters as the paper presses against his lips. “Har Bear, you don’t wanna get your presents all messy.”

Once he’s all cleaned up, Harris grabs each of the gifts and brings them to his seat at the head of the table. He tears through brightly colored wrapping paper at lightning speed. Eddie tries to keep track of who gave what as his son unveils a Hot Wheels track from Charlie and his brother Brendan, a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle action figure from Kelly, a G.I. Joe from Emma, and—regrettably—a tub of Gak from Zachary. He makes a mental note to pick up a harmonica or a kazoo or something else noisy when that kid’s birthday rolls around.

The last gift left is from you, and you twiddle your thumbs as you await Harris’s reaction. Should I have gotten him a toy?

“It’s a stencil kit,” you feel the need to explain, as though you wouldn’t be able to handle the embarrassment of him asking what it is. “So you can trace shapes for your art. It’s got all different ones: food, animals, holidays…” You clamp your mouth shut, willing yourself to stop talking.

Your panic is short-lived; Harris’s brown eyes light up as he runs to you and wraps his arms around your legs in another giant hug. “I’m gonna draw you so much things!” he promises, gazing up at you excitedly.

“I can’t wait to see what you make me.” A drawing from Harris holds a deeper meaning than you ever realized. It’s more than a simple display of creativity; it’s a symbol of love and acceptance into his life.

He looks at his dad now with pleading eyes. “Can Ms. Sweetheart come to our house after the party so I can draw her a picture? Please?” He stretches out the last word so that it has at least five syllables.

Eddie looks at you expectantly, a timid smile on his lips. “Well?”

“I think that’s a great idea.” Your response earns you another quick squeeze from Harris before he darts back to his seat to further inspect his gifts.

Eddie’s warm voice is low in your ear, his fingertips ghosting the small of your back in a manner that lets you—and only you—know how starved he is for touch. “And you can help me get rid of that slime thing, too.”

Once the party has ended and you, Eddie, and Harris are back at their apartment, the cherubic boy takes the stenciling kit into his room.

“I’m gonna do art in here so you can’t peek,” he declares, clutching the kit to his chest as though there’s already something to hide.

Eddie chuckles, raking a hand through his curls. “Okay, bud. We’ll be out here, watching TV. You go be a little artíst.”

Once he hears the bedroom door click shut, Eddie puts the TV on a random channel and plops on the couch with a soft oof. You sit down next to him and he puts his arm around you, allowing you to snuggle in closer. The shirt fabric against his underarms is slightly damp with the day’s sweat, but you’re far too comfortable to even consider it an issue.

Your unsuccessful attempt at stifling a yawn has Eddie grinning. “Can’t hang with the kids anymore?” he goads, lips flush against your scalp.

“It’s exhausting being on the winning team,” you playfully retort, adding in an over-the -top fake yawn to drive home your point. “Not that you would know.”

“Oh, yeah?” He pulls you closer to pepper kisses across your neck and cheek until you’re a giggling mess. Satisfied with his handiwork, he allows himself to sink deeper into the cushions and lets out a yawn of his own.

You rest your head on his shoulder, gently brushing his curls back so they’re not in your eyes. A hum of contentment escapes you as you fully relax for the first time today.

You feel a slight nudge on your chin as Eddie tilts it upwards and kisses your lips. The gloss you’d applied before the party is long gone, a casualty of conversation and cake consumption, but he has no complaints.

“Been wanting to do this all day,” he murmurs, shooting shivers down your spine. “And when I saw you helping Harris? Baby, I just…” he searches for accurate words. Nothing he can think of seems to fully convey the depth of his feelings, but he tries his best. “I’m so fucking lucky. We’re so fucking lucky.”

The feeling of your body against his relaxes him further; a marvelous white noise replaces the plethora of overanalyzed problems constantly buzzing through his brain. The heaviness of sleep falls over both of you, and you shift your body even closer to his in a primitive quest for the safety his presence brings. Whatever show is on the fuzzy TV set is now a dull hum until it’s muted by the dreams your subconscious brings.

Eddie only stirs fifteen minutes later when the bedroom door hinges give a soft squeak, ears trained to pick up on Harris’s innocuous noises that often precede chaos. Grogginess overpowers attentiveness, so he misses the smile on his son’s face and the way he whispers, “my birthday wish is coming true.”

Gray clouds cover Hawkins the next day, drenching the small town in cold rain. And while Eddie is certainly grateful that it’s not snowing, this means that he has to find indoor activities to keep his endlessly energetic son occupied.

Luckily, Harris is still enamored with his birthday gifts, particularly the stenciling kit you’d given him. He sits at the kitchen table now, tracing an outline of a cow on a Valentine for his classmate. Eddie’s not quite sure of the correlation between the animal and the holiday, but he’s learned that some battles are best left unfought.

“That looks great, Har Bear.”

“I know.” Harris agrees, not looking up from his drawing as he says, “Daddy, you should make a Valentime for Ms. Sweetheart.” Before Eddie can answer, Harris slides over a piece of red paper and a black marker.

“I should, huh?” Remembering a trick he learned back in elementary school, Eddie folds the paper and draws half of a heart against the crease. He has to use Harris’s blunted safety scissors, much too small for his fingers, to cut the paper. Pleased when he sees that it actually resembles a heart, Eddie taps the marker against his dimpled chin as he contemplates what to write. “You really like Ms. Sweetheart, don’t you?”

Harris nods, putting down the blue marker he’s using and reaching for an orange one. “Mhm. I love her, Daddy.”

Eddie’s heart soars at the confirmation of Harris’s adoration of you, but he tries not to make it obvious. “That’s, uh, that’s good.” He finally decides on a simple message: Be Mine, and he signs his name underneath with a dash. It feels a little less impersonal than “from,” but isn’t as strong as “love.” Do I love her? He wonders. No, it’s only been one date. He can’t fall in love this quickly. It’s not possible. “How’s this? Be mine,” he reads aloud, underlining each word with his finger.

“Oh, I like that.” Harris picks up a green marker and writes the same two words on a pink sheet of paper. The letters are a little too big for the paper’s limited space, and he ends up squishing the “e” in “mine” very close to the edge. “How do you spell ‘mommy’?”

Eddie’s throat goes bone-dry. “You wanna make a card for your mom?” Harris has never wanted to make anything for his mom before; never brought her up, really, but maybe that was changing now that he was in school and surrounded by children with present mothers.

But Harris shakes his head. “No, it’s for Ms. Sweetheart. I wanna write ‘Be Mine Mommy.’”

It takes Eddie a second to realize that Harris means “be my mommy,” and he massages the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “Um, Har, you can’t just ask her to be your mom.”

“Why not?”

He doesn’t want to tell Harris that wants to make sure you’ll stick around, nor does he want to make a promise neither one of you can keep. “Because you…you just can’t, okay?” It comes out harshly, and he sputters to fix his tone when he sees Harris’s lower lip quiver.

“But it’s not fair! You didn’t have a daddy, so you got Grampa Wayne as your daddy. I don’t have a mommy, so I want Ms. Sweetheart as my mommy!”

Eddie flash backs to their zoo trip, when Harris had innocently asked him if Wayne had taken him out on father-son days. There’s no child-friendly way to articulate that Wayne had initially been legally obligated to act as his guardian. “I know, bud. I know you do–”

“Then why can’t I ask her?” His expression shifts from anger to confusion, brows pinching together.

Because she could say no, Eddie thinks. Because the responsibility of being a mommy was too much for your biological mother to handle; why would Ms. Sweetheart take it on? What if she doesn’t have a problem being your mommy, but she finds issue with the idea of being connected to me?

He takes a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. “Look, Har. I know you want her to be your mommy. And between you and me, I’d love for her to be your mommy, too.”

“But–”

“But, grown up feelings are weird sometimes,” he presses on, borrowing your verbiage from Thanksgiving, “and feelings like love take time. But I’m gonna make you a promise right now.” He sticks out his pinky finger. “I promise that if me and Ms. Sweetheart fall in love, I’ll tell you, and I’ll let you ask her to be your mommy. Is that a deal?”

Harris looks dubious, but ultimately hooks his pinky around his dad’s. Eddie breathes a sigh of relief that the crisis has been averted for now.

“Before we can ask her to be your mommy,” Eddie continues, “I need to figure out the perfect Valentine’s Day date to impress her. Wanna help?”

Harris purses his lips in concentration, resting his chin in his hand. “How about McDonald’s? They have a ball pit!”

Eddie has to tuck his lips into his mouth to keep from laughing out loud. “A definite contender,” he finally manages. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

Friday night. Valentine’s Day.

You had been unsure whether Eddie wanted to do anything for the holiday; your relationship was still so fresh, and you didn’t want him to feel pressured. When he crept into your classroom Monday morning with a coffee and a heart-shaped note—far more conspicuous than he’d intended to be—you couldn’t hide the excitement on your face.

The card reads Be Mine and currently resides under a magnet on your fridge, finding a home among the plethora of drawings from Harris. It’s got some creases in it that Eddie had explained were the result of Harris shoving it into his backpack that morning. You thought it was perfect as is.

“Are you free on Friday? For Valentine’s Day?” he’d asked, shoving his hands in his jean pockets. When you answered in the affirmative, he visibly relaxed. “Great. I’m taking you out.” His smile lights up his face. “Wear something that you don’t mind getting messy, and I’ll pick you up at 6.”

You’d wanted to try and pry more information from him, but Carol Perkins and her son Frankie walked in just then, and you’d put away the heart as quickly as you could as Eddie scrambles from the classroom.

You stand in your bedroom now in your Levis 501s and a fuzzy red sweater, taking one last look at your makeup in the mirror reflection. You scrape your fingernail along the bottom of your lip to wipe off any excess gloss. Underneath your outfit is a special surprise, wishful thinking if the night goes well.

At 5:55, you sling your pocketbook over your shoulder and make your way down to the lobby. You spot Eddie the moment you step out from the elevator. He’s pacing, hands shoved in his dark wash denim pockets and lower lip pinched between his teeth.

Your voice draws him from his thoughts. “Happy Valentine’s Day, baby,” you say, wrapping your arms around his waist and pulling him so your stomachs touch. “You look really, really handsome.”

“You’re…you’re beautiful.” He’s almost breathless as he says it, eyes roaming down your body and taking in the view. The way your sweater drapes the slope of your breasts has his heart leaping into his throat. He kisses you slowly before proclaiming, “My beautiful Valentine.”

You reach into your purse and pull out a tiny red gift bag, letting it sway and dangle from your fingertips. “I got you a little something.”

The tissue paper crinkles as Eddie rifles through it to pull out a silver lighter, much heavier in his palm than the usual plastic Bic he uses. “Sweetheart, this is…” He takes a closer look and reads aloud the engraved words etched on the front. “Fill my heart with song…”

“It’s from Fly Me to the Moon. Because of Thanksgiving, when you played the record, and Grandma…” you trail off, not wanting to get choked up, “and because you’re a rockstar. My rockstar.” You kiss his lips again, feeling his palm softly cup your cheek.

“I have something for you, too. Um, I didn’t get to wrap it, but I hope you like it.” He unzips his jacket, exposing the gray t-shirt clinging to his pecs. He digs into the inner pocket and clutches a cassette tape, handwritten label stating,“Ms. Sweetheart’s Mix.”

“‘S nothin’ crazy, just some songs that remind me of you.” There’s an array of genres and artists on there. Guns ‘N Roses, of course, as well as Frank Sinatra. There’s Def Leppard’s Pour Some Sugar on Me, Un-Break My Heart by Toni Braxton, and a plethora of songs with ‘sweetheart’ in the title: Bob Dylan’s Sweetheart Like You, Bing Crosby’s Let Me Call You Sweetheart, The Spaniels’ Goodnight Sweetheart Goodnight.

Tears prickle along your lash line, and you blink them away before you smudge your mascara. “Thank you, Eddie. I love it.” You hold the gift in two hands, giving it a small shake to emphasize your excitement.

A small pang in his chest has Eddie realizing that he wishes you’d ended that statement with you instead of it, but he tries to shove the thought down by kissing you, tongue parting your lips, hand traveling up your side. His hands aren’t even touching skin, only your sweater, yet it’s so electrifying that you feel your thighs clench in wanting.

“C’mon,” you urge him gently, “let’s go on this date before we end up making out in the lobby all night.”

Eddie cocks his head. “Would that be such a bad thing?”

“Eddie…” Truthfully, you’re thinking the same thing, but your desire for a romantic Valentine’s Day date with him propels you towards the door. You take his hand so he dutifully follows.

“Fine,” he relents with an exaggerated sigh, smile showing off the soft dimples in his cheeks. “But only because you’ve got me wrapped around your little finger, y’know that?”

“Oh, I know.”

Twenty minutes later, Eddie’s car pulls up to The Novice Chef. You’ve never been–taking care of Grandma didn’t allot you much time for hobbies–but Jess has told you about their incredible cooking classes. She and Robin went to one right before Thanksgiving and insisted that they’d perfected the art of turkey basting.

“Figured we could learn how to make pizza since we’re basically funding the local Surfer Boy,” Eddie grins, turning the key in the ignition. The car stills and the two of you unbuckle your seatbelts, pushing open the car doors. “Just, uh, no olives on my half.”

You find an unoccupied cooking station with two aprons on it, the venue’s cursive logo displayed on the front in an eager advertisement. You slip one over your head and Eddie does the same, twirling his finger in a turn around motion. You feel the brush of his fingers on the small of your back as he ties the strings in a bow. After returning the favor for him, you squeeze his waist, giggling when he yelps in surprise.

“What was that for?”

“I dunno; you’re just really squeezable.”

Eddie just shakes his head, already missing your touch after that brief moment. He slides a rubber band down his wrist and ties his hair in a bun at the nape of his neck before slipping his rings off of his fingers. He flexes his hands, almost taken aback by their nakedness, and you suppress a heaving sigh when you catch sight of the protruding veins, dark purple snakes that disappear amongst soft arm hair.

“All right everyone, let’s get started.” The unfamiliar voice brings your attention to the front of the room, where the instructor is standing behind his own station. “My name’s Argyle, and I’ll be your tour guide on our journey through Flavortown.” He claps his hands and rubs them together. “First thing we’re gonna do is knead the dough.” He gives a demonstration and then invites the class to try on their own.

“Damn, that dude has some badass hair,” Eddie muses, noting the man’s long raven locks that are pulled back into a waist-length ponytail. He nods approvingly and flips the silver bowl of dough onto the table. A small puff of flour rises as it hits the surface with a thwack, and you’re very glad you’d heeded his warning not to wear something new.

Eddie presses the heel of his palm into the dough, kneading it with precision. Flatten, stretch, flatten, stretch, until he’s satisfied with the consistency. He shapes it into a thin circle, fingertips digging into the edges to form the crust. The movements are hypnotizing, and it’s not until he clears his throat that you bashfully realize you’ve been staring.

“Y’good, Sweetheart?” A sly, knowing grin stretches from one cheek to the other; now you’re certain that he’s caught you.

“Y-Yeah.”

The next step is to spread the sauce onto the dough, Argyle explains, and Eddie places the crust onto the pan and steps aside so you can take over. You dip the ladle into the pot, filling it to the brim. Bits of dried basil and oregano swim in a red tomato sea as you use the ladle’s base to evenly distribute it across the crust.

“Y’got a little somethin’ on your face.” Eddie whispers in your ear, making you stop mid-swirl.

“Huh? Where?” You use the back of your free hand to wipe at your cheeks and chin for any sauce that may have splattered, but a close inspection shows nothing.

Eddie leans over you, his chest flush against your back. You fight the urge to press the curve of your ass to the seam of his jeans, wiping a sweat-slick palm on your apron. “Right…” he swipes his finger down the ladle’s curved side, catching some sauce and dotting it on the tip of your nose, “here.”

“Eddie!”

“Don’t worry; I’ve got it.” He leans over and licks the sauce off, a quick lap of his tongue on your skin. The unexpected sensation makes you giggle louder than you’d intended. You clap a hand over your mouth, surely smudging the gloss, but you’ve already drawn the instructor’s unwanted attention.

“Lovebirds, are we here to flirt or to make pizza?” Argyle punctuates his rhetorical question with an exasperated sigh. You duck your head in shame and Eddie just coughs to stifle his own mischievous laughter.

“All right, now for the cheese,” Argyle continues, dipping a hand into a glass bowl and retrieving the ingredient. “Some people think that ya just pile it on; the more cheese, the better, but there’s an art to–hey, not cool, man!” He’s looking right at Eddie, and you glance over to see your date drop a handful of shredded mozzarella into his open mouth.

“Sorry,” he mumbles through a mouthful of cheese, but you’re willing to bet that his apology is anything but sincere.

Argyle rolls his eyes, not even attempting to hide his irritation. “You got one more strike, and then you’re out.” He points one finger at Eddie and then jerks his thumb backwards to emphasize his point.

“Yes, sir,” Eddie salutes, and you elbow him in the ribs.

Once the cheese has been sprinkled across the sauce–whatever remains after Eddie’s impromptu snack, anyway–you reach for the mushrooms. Eddie’s sharp gasp makes you freeze up before you can grasp any.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he demands, placing his flour-coated hands on his hips.

You flick your gaze from the bowl of mushrooms to his impatient face. “Um, putting toppings on the pizza?”

“Not that one, you’re not,” he argues with a disapproving shake of his head. “Vegetables don’t belong on pizza.” He picks up the bowl of pepperoni and starts layering the slices on top, either unaware or indifferent to the fact that some of them stick together in a double layer of cured meat. “This is more like it.”

You nudge him, triumphantly layering mushrooms around where he’s placed the pepperoni slices. “It’s called compromise, Eddie. It’s how relationships work.”

His jaw drops and he places his hand over his heart like a southern belle who’s just been presented with extraordinary gossip. “Oh, this is a relationship?” He snickers when you give him a small shove. “I had no idea. I just thought we were two friends who make out sometimes.”

“God, I hate you.”

“I hate you, too.”

An hour later, stomachs filled with pizza that might rival Surfer Boy’s, you and Eddie return to your apartment. A tense stillness fills the air when he walks you to your door, daring either of you to speak your mutual desire into existence.

You’re the one to break the silence. “I had an amazing time tonight, Eddie.”

“Yeah?” he asks almost incredulously, as though he doubts the truthfulness behind your words. He pushes the insecurity aside with a joke. “Even though I almost got us kicked out?”

The memory brings a smile to your face, though you would imagine that the annoyed instructor would not share the same sentiment. “I still need to get you back for that.” You lick his nose and giggle, knocking his hand away when he lifts it to his face. “Don’t wipe it off!”

“And what if I do?” Eddie takes a step closer, resting one hand on the small of your back and putting the other on your cheek. He kisses you and you lean into it, pressing your body against his. His tongue parts your lips, and you hook a finger into his belt loop as you melt into each other.

“Do you wanna come in? Or do you have to get back home to Harris?” You’ve pulled the trigger. There’s no turning back now, and though you’re certainly in a healthier place than the last time you’d made this suggestion, the fear of a similar reaction has your heart in your chest.

He shakes his head, nose rubbing against yours. “Wayne’s staying with him tonight.” He omits the fact that his uncle was the one who’d offered to babysit overnight, a not-so-subtle hint at his expectations of Eddie’s evening plans.

“All night?”

“All,” he kisses you again, “night.”

You fumble with your keys and unlock the door, Eddie wrapping his arms around your waist from the back as though he never wants to let go. As soon as you get it open, its grimacing creak mere background noise to the pounding in your ears, you’re kicking off your shoes and pulling Eddie into the bedroom.

Your hands on his shoulders pin him against the door, only moving them to the hem of his shirt to begin tugging it over his head. It proves to be a difficult task as you try keeping your lips on his neck, but he wraps his fingers around your wrists and stops you.

“Been dreamin’ about worshiping this body…you,” he clarifies, pupils blown so wide that they overtake his chocolate irises. “Please,” he adds, a slight break in his voice. His begging starkly contrasts the bravado that dominated his personality the night you’d met. There was no patience or tenderness, just teeth clashing and hands searching for the fastest and easiest way to bring pleasure.

You nod. “I have a surprise for you first.” You take off your sweater, drawing it slowly up your torso to build up the anticipation, and toss it to the side.

Eddie goes slack jawed at the sheer mesh bra that leaves nothing to the imagination, just as you’d expected him to. He quickly snaps his mouth shut and swallows, a last-ditch attempt to salvage his machismo before he fully loses his mind.

“It’s a matching set, if you wanna see.”

“Uh-huh.” Eddie walks over, pressing kisses to your collarbones that leave your knees weak. His thumbs graze your breasts, slipping the bra straps down and unhooking the clasp. It falls to the ground and he stoops a bit, bringing his mouth to one hardening nipple and sucking it before moving onto the other. “Perfect.” He trails kisses down your stomach, dropping to his knees as he does. “Perfect.” He lifts one hand, kissing each individual finger right on the first knuckle. “So perfect.”

He remains on his knees as his nimble fingers, still cold from the brief walk to your building, unbutton your jeans, and you shimmy out of them eagerly. His eyes widen when he sees that your panties do, in fact, match your bra: a red-tinted mesh thong that has everything on display.

“Baby,” he moans, grabbing one ass cheek in each of his big hands and pressing soft kisses to your clothed pussy. “Baby…f’me?”

“All for you, Eddie.” Your breath hitches when you feel his lips graze your most sensitive spot. He’s not intentionally teasing you, but logic has no place in your current state.

He kisses down your thighs. “Lay down f’me, yeah?” You do as he asks, laying your head down on the pillow as your body sinks into the mattress. Eddie climbs on top of you, slotting one knee between your slightly open legs. He brings his lips to your ear, gently biting your earlobe and singing in a low murmur, “got it bad, got it bad, got it bad…”

You giggle, the breath from his whisper tickling the shell of your ear, and you tilt your head slightly so you can see his face. “Can I undress you now?” He nods, and you wrestle with his shirt to expose the pale expanse of skin. There’s a dusting of curls across his chest, thicker in the middle and thinner around his nipples. You plant a kiss on his left bicep and drag your palm down his tummy, practically concave during his teenage years but now has a slight softness to it, stopping when you reach the bulge in his pants. He groans at your touch, and you feel his cock twitch slightly. Eager to alleviate his pent-up energy, you undo the button and tug down his zipper, cupping his erection through his navy blue boxers.

“Not yet,” Eddie mumbles, “not done showing you how much I l–care about you. How much you mean to me.” With a burning in his cheeks from what he’d nearly admitted, he drags your thong, a wet patch formed on it, down your thighs and past your calves until it drops to the ground unceremoniously. He balances your legs on top of his shoulders and pulls himself in closer, nudging your clit with his nose as he licks a stripe up your folds. His lips wrap around your sensitive bud, brushing it with his tongue. Soft brown eyes peer up at you, desperately seeking your approval.

“F-Feels good,” you manage, words caught in your throat as pleasure seeps into your body. “Please keep going.”

Eddie needs no further convincing, reveling in your growing wetness against his face while slipping his middle finger into your pussy. You whimper at the feeling of him inside you, bracing yourself for a comment about how needy you are, but he just continues to draw you closer to your orgasm. His finger glides in and out, in and out, rhythmic but not too slow. The bed shifts ever-so-slightly, and you realize he’s rutting his hips against the mattress, desperate for relief.

Your hand finds purchase in the curls adorning his scalp, digging your fingers into them and giving a small tug. Eddie lets a second finger into your tight hole, curling them upwards and hitting your sweet spot over and over.

“Right there, th-that’s it, please, Eddie,” you beg, your moans barely audible over the sounds of him fervently fingering you and lapping at your cunt. “Fuck, Eddie, ‘m gonna cum!”

Eddie just lets out an “mmm,” in acknowledgment, the vibrations shooting through your core and bringing you right to the edge. Your release overtakes you and your thighs instinctively squeeze against either side of his head. He makes a mental note to ask you not to do that because he absolutely needs to hear every noise you make while you cum.

“Y’good?” he asks as you drift down from the high, still perched between your legs. He wipes his slick-glistened lips with the back of his hand before licking the taste of you from his fingers. “I can keep going, trust me.”

“Need you closer.” You try to sit up, but your legs fail you, and you flop back onto the bed. “I have condoms in the top drawer–”

“Brought my own,” he grins, reaching into his back pocket–now positioned just under his ass from the way he’d dry humped the bed–and pulls out three connected foil packages. “Ribbed, for her pleasure.”

“Such a gentleman,” you tease, but it’s the truth. The way he took care of you, made sure you were okay after, offered to continue eating you out despite the raging hard-on he’s sporting…his chivalry isn't lost on you. You watch as he strips down until his body is rid of any clothing, tearing one wrapper and rolling the rubber down his cock, and you bite your lip in anticipation of its delicious stretch.

There’s an unspoken disappointment at the addition of the barrier, regardless of its practicality. You want to be as close as you possibly can without anything in the way, but neither of you are in any rush to give Harris a sibling.

Imagine it, though, Eddie can’t stop himself from thinking. Imagine the intimacy of filling her up every night until she’s carrying my baby. Taking any little bit that drips out and stuffing it back inside to make sure it takes. Imagine kissing her growing bump every morning to greet her and our unborn child.

He puts one thigh on either side of yours, looking into your eyes as he asks, “Yes?”

“Yes.”

Eddie lines up with your entrance, pushing in gently and keeping his gaze trained on the way you take him in. Inch by inch, he disappears into your wanting hole until he bottoms out. He holds your hips while he finds a steady pace, and as soon as you arch your back, he’s slipping his hands around your waist just above the curve of your ass. “I can’t believe you’re mine,” he whispers. “You make me so fucking happy.”

Your hands grasp at his shoulder blades and you kiss him, tongues intertwining while you moan into each other’s mouths. “I’m always yours, if that’s what you want,” you promise, wrapping your legs around his.

“Of course, that’s what I want. Most beautiful girl in the world, asking me if I want her to be mine.” He grins cheekily, burying his head in the crook of your neck and sucking on it lightly before asking, “do you want me to be yours?”

“Yeah,” you exhale as his cock presses against your walls. “Yeah, I want you to be mine.” You smile, moving your hands to the nape of his neck and deepening the kiss. You want to be the only one he touches like this, the one who goes to bed next to him every night and wakes up next to him every morning. The one who celebrates his wins with him and brings comfort during the losses. You want everything that comes with belonging to each other.

Eddie thrusts into you, pulling wanton moans from your lips. “Say my name,” he pleads. “Need to hear you say it.”

“Eddie,” you pant, not able to fathom a single thought beyond the pleasure you’re feeling and who’s bringing it to you. “Eddie, ‘m so close. You feel too…too good.” Good is an understatement; perhaps a more accurate adjective would be euphoric, but finding a more elaborate term is low on your priority list.

Eddie’s peak is not far behind, with the feeling of your warmth around him bringing him closer every second. “Always wanna make y’feel good, baby,” he says. His face hovers just above yours, a bead of sweat sliding down the bridge of his nose onto the tip of yours. “I gotta–”

“Cum for me, Eddie,” you tell him, and with your permission, he pistons his hips a final time and spills into the condom. Your walls contract around his length as you finish with him.

Eddie stays inside you as the two of you catch your breath, smiling and stealing kisses from each other. He’s never felt anything like this before; for him, the thrill of sex is typically fueled purely by the primal instinct to get laid, but he’s in no rush to let you go. His cock begins to soften and he slowly pulls out, chuckling when you whine at the loss of fullness.

“Gotta toss this,” he says, removing the condom with a soft hiss and tying a knot. “Then I’m gonna hold you, mmkay?” Part of him is waiting for the post-sex adrenaline to wear off and the inevitable crash down when he realizes he’s mistaken lust for passion, urgency for belonging, but that doesn’t happen. As much as he’d love to be inside you again, hearing and feeling your satisfaction as you unravel for him, what he wants more than anything is to lay next to you and keep you safe. Safe from what, exactly, he’s not sure, but something compels him to protect you.

He takes you in his arms, the two of you a tangled, sweaty mess of naked limbs. Perspiration mats his sparse chest hair to his skin, but you press your cheek to it anyway and breathe in his scent. Your body grows heavier as sleep overtakes you, but Eddie’s low voice pulls you back for just a second.

“Baby?”

“Hmm?”

I love you. The words want to flow freely but come to a screeching halt on the tip of his tongue. It’s only your second date, and his mind is clouded with the sappiness of Valentine’s Day and oxytocin; what if he just thinks he loves you? Or what if he truly does, but you don’t feel the same way? Would you tell him, or would you pretend to reciprocate to spare him the hurt? Which is worse?

I love you. But it’s too soon to feel that, to know it for certain. And if he rushes things, he’ll get Harris’s hopes up–get his own hopes up–only to be met with heartbreak and disappointment.

I love you. And what would that admission accomplish, anyway? Where would you go from there? What would it change?

“Get some rest,” is what he settles on, biting the inside of his lower lip in shame. He kisses your forehead and watches you drift off, grateful when the exhaustion of the evening hits him and he follows suit.

I love you, is his last thought before he falls asleep, but he convinces himself that he’s not ready to speak it into existence.

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

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daycourtofficial · 6 months

Text

Falling in Love on the Fourth Floor - part 11

Summary: Out of an act of desperation, you move in with a guy you kind of know who happens to have a really hot brother who lives next door.

Author’s note: hmmmmmmmm things are getting… interesting… Wonder what's going to happen next..... also shout out to @aboggoblin, @doriansgf and @prythianpages for help with the plot ily 🫶

(Masterlist)

After letting his hands slip through your own, the muscles of his palm freshly massaged, his hands trail up your hips, making their way up to your breasts.

“Is this okay?” Azriel’s voice whispers in your ear.

“Gods, yes,” you whisper back, your hands tracing up his thighs. He groans at the touch, the way your fingers delicately move up closer to his hips.

His fingers begin cupping your breasts, your skin hot from his touch. You moan into his ear, and he turns his head to capture your lips in a kiss. His lips are everything, as they move from your mouth down your neck. His hands move towards your pants, unzipping your jeans and helping you shimmy out of them.

His fingers begin moving down stomach, gently hooking into the waistband of your panties before-

You wake up with a jolt, feeling as if his hands are still in your hair. You take a deep breath, reaching for your pillow to hide under to calm yourself down, but when you reach your hand up, it meets skin.

Your eyes widen as your head shoots up to find Azriel underneath your hand, a soft groan coming from his lips as he wakes. The sound mimics the ones he made in your dream, shooting straight to your core.

Oh gods, you think. You fell asleep out here after finding him in the middle of the night.

Oh gods. You fell asleep with him on your couch and had a dirty dream about him. If you had any luck at all, you kept quiet in your sleep and the man underneath you had no idea of the dream you just had about him.

His eyes open ever so slightly, and you swear his hand squeezes your back a bit tighter as he says, "good morning." You melt at his touch, burying your face further into his neck.

“G’morning,” you mumble into the shirt as he chuckles. You reach your hand out, searching for your phone to see how long you have until your alarm goes off.

Your arm pads around the table, and you find his phone on the coffee table, the screen lighting up to display the time.

No fucking way.

“8:40?” You screech, scrambling to sit up off of Azriel, using his chest to push yourself up. Your limbs get dragged back down by the weight of the large blanket and long legs tangled with yours. “My class starts in twenty minutes!”

Azriel can’t contain the chuckle he lets out as you scramble, trying to claw your way out of this ever sinking couch.

You’re able to get out of the cocoon of blankets surrounding you two, one foot meeting the carpet. You start swinging the other leg, and on unsure footing, you’re on the carpet.

Until you aren’t. Falling forward, you brace your hands in front of you to catch yourself.

Fortunately, you catch yourself on Azriel's thighs, him having sat up trying to help you. Unfortunately, your face is now approximately four inches from his crotch.

Your cheeks are burning as you start to stutter, trying to stand back up. You can't even look at Azriel as you grip his thighs, using them to hoist yourself back up.

“I- um- class-,” you say, pointing a thumb at your door as your feet connect to solid ground. You look at him, getting lost in his eyes for a few moments before remembering that you are late.

"Um, class. I have. Today."

You scramble into your room, not letting yourself think about how outrageously idiotic you sounded, grabbing a pair of pants and quickly brushing your teeth as you jump into your pants. You spit out the toothpaste, grabbing a bra and then your shirt before swiping deodorant on.

Once you’re dressed you open your door back up to find Azriel still on the couch, and before you can register what’s happening, you’re bending over the couch, placing a kiss on his forehead before grabbing your bag and ducking out the door.

You would have been much better off staying in your apartment with Azriel because you have no idea what your professor is talking about today, only able to tune in to every hundredth word or so. Your thoughts keep going back to how it felt to wake up in his arms and how badly you wanted to nuzzle back into him, and how fucked up it was to dream about his hands right after he opened up to you about them.

And how badly you may have messed everything up by falling on him and trying to fix it with a forehead kiss.

Class eventually ends and you make it back to your apartment and groan as you push open the door, knowing that Azriel will not be on your couch, but hoping you’d see his messy curls anyway. You can’t hide the disappointment as you find Cassian in your living room, sheepishly at your door.

“Can you tweeze my eyebrows?”

You walk in, placing down your bag, “hello to you too, Cass. I had a great day, thanks for asking.”

He rolls his eyes at you, clacking the tweezers in your face, “I’m seeing Mor later tonight and she hates when my eyebrows are unruly.”

“Why don’t you ask her to do them?” You ask, moving to sit on the couch, patting the spot next to you.

Cassian rounds the couch, holding the tweezers out to you as he sits, “because she says it’s better if I’m already pretty for her and she doesn’t have to do anything.”

You laugh, taking the tweezers from him, “are you a baby about your eyebrows being done?”

“No,” he huffs, crossing his arms. You sit up on your legs, putting your hand on his face. You look at his eyebrows, taking a moment to figure out the shape of them and where you want to pluck from.

You place the tweezers around the first hair, and Cassian squeezes his eyes shut as you pull just hard enough for the hair to come out.

“Was that it?” Cassian asks, still not opening his eyes. “Are you done?”

“Yes, I have plucked off your entire eyebrow.”

“Maybe I can just draw them on every day,” he muses, as you grab another hair and pull.

“Says the man who wakes up ten minutes before he has to leave to go somewhere.”

The two of you sit in silence as you continue plucking his eyebrows, despite Cassian’s constant twitching, when the door opens and Mor’s blonde head pokes out from the other side.

“Hello darlings.”

You chuckle, both you and Cassian greeting her. She stops in her tracks at seeing you plucking Cassian’s eyebrows, a huff coming from her lips.

“Cassian, what do you think you’re doing?”

Cassian tenses beside you, putting a hand up to block her view of the tweezers, “nothing, dearest.”

She stalks towards you two, pointing at him, “did you really ask her to pluck your eyebrows?”

He shrugs, “your hands are so cruel, they hurt me.”

You laugh as Mor swats at him, “of course they’re going to hurt, you big baby.”

You nearly avoid stabbing Cassian in the eye as Mor sits on the other couch, away from your roommate, and says hi to you again.

“Hi Mor. You won’t believe what happened last night.”

“Try me,” Mor replies, a hint of challenge in her voice. Your eyes dart to Cassian, trying to gauge if you should discuss this in front of him. You turn back to Mor, whispering quickly, “I fell asleep on Azriel on the couch and I had a sex dream about him and then when I woke up I fell onto his cock.”

Mor is quiet for a second before saying, “so you slept with him, then you slept with him?”

“No, I just slept with him the once, I didn’t sleep with him.”

“Okay, so you had sex with him on your couch? What if Cassian had walked in on you two?”

“I would never be able to look at you again for defiling my brother in such a way,” Cassian says, shaking his head.

“Mor, no. We slept together,” you reply, ignoring Cassian completely.

“Yeah, you slept together.”

You sigh, trying to make this as clear as possible. “No, we fell asleep on the couch together, and I had a dirty dream about him and then when I woke up I slipped on the blanket and my face landed right next to his cock.”

“Was he hard?”

“Mor that is not the point.”

“What?” She shrugs. “If he wasn’t, that’d be worse.”

Cassian points to her, nodding his head in agreement. You pluck the next hair extra harshly, a soft ow coming from Cassian as he pushes your hand away.

“I’m going to go wash my face. Thanks for your help. You have delicate hands, unlike some people,” Cassian says, glaring at Mor. She gives him a shrug, but he still walks over to her, giving her a forehead kiss before walking off to his room, closing the door behind him.

Mor watches Cassian close his door, and once she can hear the water running, she turns to you and asks, “what are you doing tonight?”

You narrow your eyes, sitting up straighter, “why do you want to know?”

“Mor,” you press, voice more stern when she won’t respond.

“Let me set you-“ You cut Mor off before she can finish her sentence.

“Mor, please. The last date was awful - I need at least 10-15 business days to recuperate from it. He showed me his NFTs for pete’s sake.”

She sighs, “this one is different, trust me. It’s someone Cassian knows.”

You groan, hitting your head against the couch. You pick up your throw pillow, holding it against your chest like a shield. You think back to Az telling you to just say no. To stand up for yourself more.

“No, I’m not going.”

You felt proud standing up to Mor, but you could hear her frustration as she sighs, looking up at the ceiling as she muttered something.

“Cassian says this guy is crazy hot, really sweet, and that you’d really like him.”

Azriel’s face appears in your mind, as you squeeze the pillow. You can’t go out with someone else, not when it feels so right with Azriel.

Especially not when you spent your night cuddled up to him on your couch.

You sigh, “Mor, what about Az-“

She interrupts you, “it’ll be a great date, I promise. And if it sucks, I’ll never set you up again.”

Your ears perk up at that, “yeah?”

“And I suppose if it goes well, I won’t have to set you up again.”

You laugh, “okay, but only if you promise that if it sucks you will never, ever set me up again, and you’ll leave me a giant container of ice cream.”

“Deal.”

Seven o’clock at a restaurant downtown, she tells you. You'll explain to Azriel later that it was purely a chance to get Mor to stop setting you up. Surely he'd understand that.

Right?

#acotar fanfiction #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel fanfic #azriel #azriel fluff #azriel x y/n #acotar writing

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christinarowie332 · 11 months

Text

goofy ass smile

chris sturniolo x reader

no warnings really : swearing , mentions of drugs and nicotine , not proof read , i literally just wrote this in like 20 mins

love ya !!!

___________________________

“chris bro get off me!” i struggle out as my boyfriend decides to sit on my lap and sprawl his body over me on the couch .

“huh ? sorry can’t hear you ?” he turns his head smirking at me before fully lying his back on my face smothering me .

my muffled giggles are the only thing i could hear before i decide to dig my fingers in chris’s side , resulting in a yelp and him dramatically throwing himself of the floor rolling around and heaving up winded moans.

“bro your fucking finger went into my ribs-AUGH” chris’s complains were cut off as i frog jumped onto him , pushing his shoulders down so he is pinned to the floor .

straddling his lap , with my hands on his chest . i look him in the eyes in full seriousness, holding eye contact before both of us erupting into laughter .

“bro my legs are numb right now, u literally have taken away my fucking legs” i said through giggles as chris sits up , holding his body up by his hands on the floor leaning back . his fingers stretched out , being engulfed by the cream carpet underneath us .

“wouldn’t be the first time , hmm?” chris says trying to be serious but laughs at his own joke through a teeth smile . he squints his eyes and laughs harder looking at my shocked wide eyed expression, mouth agape and laughing as i lift myself to sit between his legs.

i place both my thighs over his and he places a hand on one of them . stroking it slightly with his thumb as our laughter dies down .

i exhale deeply and smile at him .

“whats that goofy ass smile on your face for” chris says matching my smile and tilting his head slightly.

“oh i’m so sorry at i not allowed to smile at my boyfriend ?? that’s crazy” i reply back before rolling my eyes and beginning to get up from my place between his legs .

chris notices this and grabs my hips slightly to push me down. my body flushes at his touch and my eyes follow his touch on me . i look back up at him and smile while shaking my head slightly

“whatever dude, OH!!, guess what matt picked me up this morning” he says excitedly wiggling his eye brows slightly and reaching over to the couch grabbing his hoodie and sitting back as he was

“hopefully some deodorant bro cuz u stink .bad”

chris turns his head slowly in fake offense at my words before lurching forward and pushing me to the ground by my shoulders.

“AUGH, CHRIS BRO U FUCKING WINDED ME !?” i shout through coughs and giggles

“I STINK ?? YOU ARE IN THE SAME CLOTHES FROM LAST NIGHT BRO , YOU REEK OF WEED !!” he shouts in disbelief, on all fours above me .

i look down at the clothes i am wearing . it’s chris green and white star’d sweatshirt , i smile at it before looking back up at him with a tight lipped smile .

“what did matt get you?” i suddenly remember the origional topic of the conversation, furrowing my eyebrows and lifting my chin up in anticipation.

chris matches my confusion. furrowing his own eyebrows and looking around in thought .

“OH SHIT YEAH !!” he gets up again and grabs his hoodie as i push myself off the floor and crossing my legs .

“i asked him to get you um … i think it was pink grapefruit u mentioned u liked that flavour last week so he grabbed you three babe, i will be stealing one tho” he says with a teasing tight lipped smile that doesn’t reach his eyes . holding out two lost mary vapes and throwing them in my lap . sitting opposite on me on the floor crossing his legs matching me .

“ugh this is why i love you christopher” i say leaning forward and grabbing his face for a fast peck on his lips . before grabbing the vape box from my lap and opening it .

as i focus on opening the box in my lap , chris just stares at me smiling . i don’t see him but i feel his gaze . ignoring him but smiling at the thought of him .

“love u too i guess” he says rolling his eyes before getting an empty box thrown at his face .

“bro”

i chuckle to myself .

—————————

bosh

two posts in a day i’m on a roll rn

@urmyslxt @mangosrar @sturnphilia @jcwrites-blog @sssturniolofart @lividnity @biimpanicking @bluesturniolo333

(also thank you sm for the support on everything , i have literally been on this app for a week and y’all are the sweetest most realest people ever)

-love milkie

🤍🤍🤍

#chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo #milkietalks #nicolas sturniolo #chris sturniolo oneshot #chris sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo imagines #matthew sturniolo #send anons

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little-annie · 1 month

Text

Thanks to the @strangerthingswritersguild and @penny00dreadful for the prompt!

Wax | T | 1,018 WC | Steddie

They're set up in the kitchen of their tiny apartment. Wax pot hot and ready sitting on the countertop, popsicle sticks, muslin cloth and rubber gloves next to it neatly laid out. It's the best set up Steve could manage in their small home. Sure the lighting in the living room is immensely better, but he's not about to spend an hour or more trying to get wax out of shag carpet when he unavoidably gets some on the floor.

In nothing but his underwear, Eddie's laid out on one of the hot pink massage tables the school lends their students, shuffling uncomfortably atop the paper cover, wrinkling and ripping it before they can even begin. “You're sure about this?”

Well, not entirely. But Steve's not about to tell Eddie that. He needs the practice for school.

“Yeah, Babe. You'll be fine.”

“Like it's not going to burn me or rip my fucking skin off?”

Okay. Well. It's not like Steve's about to tell Eddie that both of those are actual possibilities.

He gives his boyfriend a placating pat to the top of his head instead.

“Steve! It's not actually going to burn me is it?”

Again, it is 100% a possibility.

“You'll be fine.”

"Fucking ow!”

They've been at it for a little over an hour. Steve's beginning to sweat and his arm is starting to get sore.

And Eddie. Well….

“Oh holy mother of Wayne!”

…. He's not doing great.

They started with Eddie's eyebrows. Which evidently were very difficult to do as the man chose to glare the entire time, and took much longer than they should have with his struggle. Then they did his knuckles and arms, which surprisingly wasn't bad. They just learned Eddie absolutely needs to exfoliate more because his tattoos looked nearly new once the hair and layer of dead skin was removed.

Then they moved to Eddie's chest, which has hardly any hair. Just a sprinkle between his pecs and a dusting around his nipples. That Eddie didn't mind. Actually he seemed to like it a little too much. Tenting his underwear proudly and stating with a bitchy attitude, “I will not apologise for my body's natural reactions to you playing with my nipples.”

Which Steve supposed he couldn't argue with that.

Now though they've moved on to Eddie's armpits. Which has been eventful. He'd put on pit-stick like Steve had asked him not to, thus resulting in Steve wiping at the damn things until they were clean and sore, and maybe a little inflamed. Which should have been a good enough sign as any to stop, but Steve was too focused on berating his boyfriend to consider taking a break until the skin calmed down.

So, after applying the baby powder like he should and swiping a layer of wax onto Eddie's skin, Steve had pulled back the first wax strip with Eddie's wiry black armpit hair and evidently a layer of skin intacted.

It's nothing awful. It's not like he's oozing blood but, like, there is some there. Popping from Eddie's inflamed skin in little red pin pricks. Dotting now what looks like the rug-burned skin of his boyfriend's armpit.

….He blames Eddie.

None the wiser to the current layer of skin that's been removed from his body in a pinky size strip, Eddie continues to scowl at the ceiling as he bemoans his current situation. “I'm going to die on this bubble gum pink table Steve. Perish from pain alone. I survived bats from hell and I'm going to meet my untimely demise by – why do you look like that?”

Oh, maybe he shouldn't still be staring at the piece of his boyfriend's body stuck to the mess of wax and hair on the muslin strip in his hand.

“Steve, what's wrong?”

“I- well.” God he's never going to hear the end of this, “Remember how you were worried about ripping your skin off?”

Eddie's eyes grow comically wide, which unfortunately in his case is made even funnier by the red splotchy, freshly waxed skin around his eyebrows.

“Steven.”

“Don't Steven me. If you didn't put on deodorant like I told you to, this wouldn't have happened.”

After a solid second of attempting to surely glare daggers into Steve's soul, Eddie twists to try to get a better look at his one underarm.

“How bad is it? Is it bleeding? Baby, is there going to be permanent damage? Is there a hole!? I can't have a hole in my armpit, Stevie, they'll call me holy pits! I'll die on this godforsaken pink bed and my headstone will read ‘Edward holy pits Munson, Gone Too Soon.’ My obituary will tell the tale of my sordid demise. ‘Perished at the latex wrapped hands of his lover. For if his death were caused by immense pain or bodily harm via hot wax, we'll never know.’”

Steve's giggling by the time Eddie's finished.

“You laugh now, but in no time at all I'll have expired in the kitchen of the home you love.”

“Eddie-.”

“Will you mourn me?”

“Ed-.”

“Promise me you will, and that you'll take no other lover.”

Steve fondly rolls his eyes. “I promise to mourn you until my dying day, and to leave this world as lonely as I was before you.”

Eddie nods to himself then, still laying on the bed with his arm propped above him, “Good. Now kiss it better.”

He can't be serious.

“Your armp-?”

“Kiss it better and all shall be forgiven!”

Mumbling to himself a quiet ‘Jesus fucking Christ,’ Steve kisses Eddie's armpit and then immediately after, his lips, whispering against them, “Better?”

Eddie hums, kisses Steve again and whispers back, “One more should do the trick.”

“I hate you.”

“You love me.”

“Yeah,” Steve sighs, kissing Eddie's lips again, “I really do.”

An impromptu make out session on the creaking massage table later, Steve sits up in Eddie's lap.

“I do still have to wax your legs though.”

“Baby, no.”

“And, um, you know what a Brazilian is?”

By the horrified look in Eddie's eyes, Steve assumes he does.

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montrealmadison · 10 months

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in your palace warm, mighty king

okay i’ve recently found myself on angel tree tiktok. if you’re unfamiliar with the concept, basically, some stores will put out a tree around the holidays with gift tags for anonymous local kids, and people coming in to do their own shopping can take a tag off the tree and buy kids gifts off their wishlists for the store to pass off to them. (the linked video shows it in action!)

anyway this got me thinking about jack zimmermann at the beginning of his career. he has been fabulously wealthy and privileged for his whole life, but he’s only recently started earning a massive salary of his own and has no real idea of what to spend it on. he’s comfortable. he has a car and a nice apartment and an engagement ring hidden somewhere in said apartment. he knows he should probably donate to a worthwhile cause, but he hasn’t figured out what.

one day, though, bitty’s visiting for the weekend and comes to the store with him, and right there in the entryway, he just… stops. jack doesn’t notice and consequently almost runs him over with the cart.

“you alright? careful, eh?”

bitty does not respond, because he’s looking at the tree.

“bud?”

jack follows his gaze. it really doesn’t look like much. it’s fake, unlit, and has seen better days if the way it’s a little flattened on one side is anything to go by. there is an equally squashed-looking stuffed snowman sat on the floor next to it. it’s the kind of thing your eyes slide over easily, hurrying from one place to another. blink and you’ll miss it.

bitty isn’t blinking.

“lord, i haven’t seen one of these in years,” he says. his voice is soft. he still isn’t looking at jack. “do you know what it is?”

jack doesn’t, so bitty explains. and when they inch closer, jack sees that all the ornaments he thought were plain paper before are actually printed with ages, shoe sizes, requests for warm coats and toys and cute jeans and deodorant. here and there is a specific wish—a bluetooth speaker. a particular board game. one kid, age eight, is fervently hoping for a bike.

and—okay. here’s the thing. they’ve been together for more than a year, and bitty is pretty willing to go along with jack’s desire to spoil him. but although he’s so open and accepting when jack wants to kiss him, or cook dinner for a change, or lay him out on their bed and make him feel good—he will always, always get uncomfortable where significant amounts of money are involved. it was the subject of the one and only fight that sent them to bed still heated. the fundamental difference between their upbringings is the hardest for them to grasp: jack has never known a life without plenty. and bitty—

“i think my parents put me on one,” bitty says. “the year we moved back to madison, after—”

the closet looms between them, black and yawning.

“well. you know. coach had to leave a good job in lawrenceville. took us a while to get back on our feet, i think. and that year, they couldn’t—i mean, i heard them talking at night about how we might not be able to make christmas work, when they thought i couldn’t hear them. but i still wrote my letter to santa, and there were a couple presents when i woke up christmas morning, so.” he scuffs one shoe on the industrial carpet. “maybe an angel sent ‘em.”

the words make something sizzle down jack’s spine and settle low in his gut. he steps forward, reaches out, turns over the nearest tag.

boy, age 11. shoe size: 8. wishlist: sneakers, earbuds, basketball, patriots merch, chapter books. loves fantasy and mythology.

once upon a time, jack spent three months in a rehab center designed specifically for the privacy needs of celebrity clients. his parents footed the bill, had the windows on all their cars tinted for him to hide behind when he got out. at the same time, thousands of miles away, bitty sat at the top of the stairs in his parents’ house and listened to them wonder if they could afford to keep the magic of christmas alive another year.

people are stepping around them to get out of the cold, now, their eyes skipping right over the tree and the boys in front of it. once upon a time, strangers on the street picked apart jack’s overdose like a piece of tabloid gossip. strangers on the street made sure a thirteen-year-old kid had something to unwrap with his family on christmas morning.

“bits?”

bitty sniffles, swipes at one eye with the sleeve of his sweater. “yeah?”

jack lifts the tag gently off its branch, catches bitty’s gaze. bitty’s intake of breath is so sharp it’s audible over the music playing overhead. do you see what i see?

“what do you think? wanna go get us another cart?”

#and then they buy those kids presents like it’s NOBODY’S BUSINESS #sorry this really got away from me but like… come on #my teeth are rotting out of my head jack zimmermann you’re a dingdong a gentleman and a scholar #jack zimmermann #eric bittle #omgcp #omgcheckplease #my writing

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sucka4pain · 10 months

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𝑌𝑂𝑈 𝐴𝑅𝐸 𝑀𝐼𝑁𝐸~!♡︎

𝑌𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑒!𝑇𝑜𝑘𝑦𝑜 𝑅𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑥 𝐹𝑒𝑚!𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟

Previous chapter, Chapter 2

wc: 3.9k

𝑊𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠/𝑇𝑟𝑖𝑔𝑔𝑒𝑟𝑠: 𝑐𝑢𝑟𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝑎𝑛𝑥𝑖𝑒𝑡𝑦, 𝑝𝑎𝑛𝑖𝑐 𝑎𝑡𝑡𝑎𝑐𝑘, 𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑙𝑚𝑒𝑑 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝑚𝑒𝑑𝑖𝑐𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑢𝑠𝑎𝑔𝑒, 𝐹𝑢𝑗𝑖𝑠𝑖𝑘𝑜 𝑏𝑒𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎 𝑓𝑎𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑓𝑖𝑔𝑢𝑟𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑠𝑙𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑠𝑜𝑐𝑖𝑎𝑙 𝑎𝑤𝑘𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑑𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑠.

𝑷𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆 𝒈𝒐 𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒐𝒍𝒖𝒈𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒓𝒊𝒈𝒈𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒍𝒖𝒅𝒆𝒅! 𝑩𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒅, 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒈𝒆𝒕 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒌 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒄𝒌!!

The bright sunlight beamed through the white curtains and gazed over Y/n’s sleeping figure. The light hit her in the face making her groan and stuff her face in her pillow.

Her alarm on her phone went off, the loud noise blaring in her ears making her grumble and slam her hand on her phone to turn it off.

‘Why does it have to be so early?..’

She thought before sitting up and rubbing the sleep away from her eyes. Her vision was blurry for a few moments until the room in front of her now became clear.

Her legs shifting out of the warm soft blankets and her feet placing down on the fluffy white carpet. She stretched her body, her arms slightly shaking from the well done stretch and standing up. Her body moved along to the bathroom, stripping off her clothes and getting inside the shower.

The perfect room temperature water gliding down her skin making her sigh in relaxation. She reaches over for her shampoo, squirting some of the white liquid in the palm of her hand and rubbing it in her scalp while bringing some of the product down to the rest of her hair.

Her hands massaging the shampoo into her scalp and hair follicles, making sure it is hydrated and clean. She then takes her luffa, applying some body wash on it as she watched it foam up under the water. Her hands gripped the soft luffa and scrubbed it all around her body, making sure to not miss a single spot on her skin.

The body wash dripping down her body as she started to rinse off the shampoo from her hair. After a relaxation time in the shower, she gently stepped out the shower and dried her body off with the towel that was hung up.

A towel wrapped around her hair to get it dry and the towel wrapped around her body getting every little droplet of water. She takes the towel off of her head after her hair dried up for a bit and starts to do her hair care, making sure that her hair is fully healthy and hydrated.

It took a while but it was a good thing she woke up early since she knew how long it usually took to do her hair. Once her hair was done and finished to her likings, she brushed her teeth, put on some deodorant then walked out the bathroom and went into her bedroom. Making her way to her closet and taking out her school uniform.

‘Today is the first day….I really hope I don’t end up having a panic attack…’

She thought before putting on her undergarments and then her uniform on top.

“The top is a little tight…”

The mumble leaving her lips as she noticed her uniform top was a bit tight but not too tight. She shrugged and put on her socks then grabbing her phone, chapstick, bag, and the key for her apartment door.

She left her bedroom and went to the front door, putting on her shoes and leaving, of course locking the door behind her. She then made her way to the elevator, pressing the button to the main floor.

The ding echoed through the walls of the elevator as the doors opened and she stepped out.

Fujisiko looked up and smiled softly at Y/n’s walking figure to the front door.

“Good morning Y/n!” His voice beamed making Y/n slightly smile.

“Good morning to you too, Fujisiko.” She replied.

Her handed her a bento box that had a black cloth tied on it and white cartoon cat doodles all over it making her slightly smile at it.

“I had a lot left over so I thought I’d give you some!” He said.

“Thank you, you didn’t have to.” She replied.

He waved it off. “Don’t worry, it was the least I could do.”

She paused for a moment before looking up at him again.

“If you don’t mind, can you accompany me to school? I know it sounds childish but-“

He immediately cuts her off. “No no! It’s fine I’ll be glad to accompany you! Plus, it’ll feel like taking my daughter to her first day of school.”

He said with a soft slightly sad tone before standing up and going by her. she raised a brow at his words.

“You have a daughter?” She asked as they started to walk towards the entrance.

He looked down a bit before opening the door, letting her go out first and him behind her.

“I do but…I can’t see her anymore.” His tone was shifted to a different direction, almost a sad tone.

Y/n hummed and curiosity got the best of her.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what happened?”

She felt the atmosphere of the air between them go tense when she asked him.

A small bead of sweat dripped down the side of his cheek as they began walking.

“Well…it was years ago when I was in my early twenties. Me and my girlfriend at the time, we had intercourse. I used protection just in case but, I suspected something. She didn’t take her birth control and she ended up pregnant because she apparently poked holes in the condom.”

Y/n could tell by his body language that he wasn’t comfortable with speaking of the subject from his past. She placed her hand on his bicep which caused him to slightly flinch and look down at her.

“Hey, you don’t have to continue. I won’t force you to. I can tell by your body language that you aren’t comfortable with the topic.” She softly spoke reassuring him.

He felt his eyes slightly water but her quickly wiped away the tears before they could spill.

“Do you think that I’m a good father? Or could be?” The crack in his voice from the overwhelming emotions build up in his throat.

“Of course. You seem like to be an amazing father. A father anyone could ask for, hell…a father even I could ask for.” She said.

He looked at her with slight widen eyes before shifting to a soft expression.

“You’re just like her…” He mumbled making her look at him confused before soon realizing what he meant.

In his eyes, she reminded him of his daughter.

“Well then…is it alright if I call you dad?” The word rolling off her tongue was something he never thought he would hear ever again.

Fujisiko’s bottom lip quivered as he nodded eagerly.

“Yes! Yes you can. I’ll make sure to the best father for you.” He spoke and crossed his heart.

They had made it to the school and he looked at Y/n one more time before patting her head, slightly ruffling up her hair.

“Hey! I spent all morning taking care of my hair dipshit!” She huffed and shook his hand off of her head making him chuckle.

“Sorry sorry! Have a good day at school, sweetie.” He said with a bright smile and turned his back but glanced at her one more time.

“I’ll pick you up, let me know when you’re done.” His last words rang in her ears before he started to walk away.

She nods and looked at the building in front of her. She glanced over and noticed many motorcycles in the school parking lot and saw the flags that were flying in the wind underneath the motors.

Her breath hitched and her grip on the strap of her bag tightened.

‘Baham?…Black Dragons?…Toman?…Tejiku?…Vahallah?…those gangs go here?!’

A panic thought went through her mind, making her breathing her slightly heavy. Suddenly, a female with short pinkish hair and another with medium length blonde hair walked up to her.

“Hi there! Are you new?” The short haired pinkette asked. She was pretty, a sweet smile and a beauty mark by her bottom lip. The blonde had a small pout on her lips and her hands on her hips as she had a pink and white checkered cardigan tied around her waist.

“I’ve never seen you here before, this your first day?” The blonde asked tilting her head.

Y/n felt her social anxiety rising and she started to panic. Her throat went dry and she immediately ran past them without giving them an answer.

“Hey, wait!” The pink haired girl said wanting to stop Y/n but she had already ran.

“Man…that was kinda rude.” The blonde said.

“Maybe she just got nervous? She was shaking a bit.” She replied.

Y/n kept running until she found the girls restroom and went inside. She got into a stall and pressed her back against the cold tile wall, sliding down to the floor as her hands trembled in her hair.

“Stay calm…stay calm…” She mumbled to herself as her heart raced.

‘They were just being nice, why did I have to fucking ruin it?…stupid social anxiety..’

She thought to herself before reaching in her bag, grabbing her water bottle and drinking some while taking her anxiety medication.

After a few minutes, she managed to get her breathing back to normal. She stood up and got out the stall, heading towards a sink and washing her face.

“You got this..it’s fine,” she mumbled to herself before drying her face and grabbing her bag, making her way out of the restroom. She felt everyone staring at her, making her grip tighten on the strap of her bag.

She looked down at her schedule and saw that her first period was algebra II. She looked up and down until she found the room.

‘Deep breath…’

She thought before inhaling deeply and opening the door of the classroom. Many eyes were sent on her making her scream internally.

“Oh! You must be the new student!” The teacher spoke making her nod.

“Go ahead and sit there on the right side in the back behind Shinichiro.” The teacher pointed to a short black haired boy who had an empty seat behind him.

Y/n nods and made her way to the seat, she could practically feel their eyes burning holes into her. Once seated, she kept her head down to avoid eye contact with anyone.

He looked behind him and smiled.

“Hey! My name is Sano Shinichiro, what’s yours?” He introduced.

She looked at him and then remembered that Fujisiko said to pretend to be his daughter. It shouldn’t be that hard, right?

“Kowada Y/n.” She replied quietly but loud enough for him to hear.

“Kowada?! As in the daughter of Kowada Fujisiko?!” He exclaimed with sparkles in his eyes.

“Shinichiro, lower your tone.” The teacher called out sternly making his face red up from embarrassment and his friends laughing at him.

“Chill out Shin..you’re gonna scare the poor girl.” A tall muscular man that had white buzz up like hairstyle spoke. Another man with purple and yellow mixed hair was sucking on a lollipop and just lazily grinned. Another with slicked back hair and a scar going down his left eye chuckled.

Y/n felt her anxiety rising again as she recognized them as the gang, Black Dragons.

‘Just my luck…I have to sit behind the Black Dragons, let alone the damn founders…’

She sighed mentally before hearing the teacher start the lesson and she took out her notebook to take notes.

As her day went on, the first five classes passed by like a fly. They went by so quickly that it was already lunch time. She started to walk in the crowd of students who were heading to the cafeteria.

The cafeteria was enormous, it had many tables mostly full. Her anxiety slightly coming up but she managed to keep her composure. She walked over to a vending machine and bought a drink. Her legs then brought her to an empty table that sat in a far corner, away from everyone else.

It felt like an introverts dream, being alone in a table with no one else. Her fingers untied the cloth on her bento box and opened it up. A small sparkle in her eyes as she looked down at the beautifully variations of protein and grains.

She clasped her hands together, uttering ‘Itadakimasu’ before digging into her bento.

‘This is really good…feels like I’m eating heaven..’

She thought as she savored the flavors and textures of the food. The peace she had alone was cut short when the two girls from the morning walked up to her but they had three more girls with them.

“Hey!” The blonde said with an angry pout and furrowed brows.

Her shoulders tensed up and she looked up at the girls with her leg bouncing which was normal for her anxiety.

“Why did you run away from me and Hina when we talked to you in the morning?” She asked squinting her eyes down at Y/n

“Emma-Chan please…” Hina said with her hands up In defense.

“Uhm…sorry, my social anxiety got to me. I’m not used to talking to people.” Y/n said with her head down but it was loud enough for them to hear.

Emma blinked blankly at her.

“Oh.” She said.

“Hey, how come you’re the only female wearing the boys uniform pants? You’re supposed to be wearing a skirt.” A white haired girl pointed out.

“Yeah, that’s true.” A girl with orange-ish hair spoke and crossing her arms.

“The principal said it was okay for me to wear it. I don’t feel comfortable in skirts after an incident in my past.” Y/n explained.

The girls looked at her with softened eyes and nodded their heads.

“My name is Akashi Senju by the way!” Senju introduced.

“I’m Sano Emma.” Emma spoke up.

“Shiba Yuzuha, pleasure to meet you.” A small smile on Yuzuha’s lips.

“Seishu Akane.” Her yellow lashes batted with her sparkling eyes.

“Tachibana Hinata, but you call me Hina!” She laughed.

Y/n looked at the girls and introduced herself as well.

“Hey, why don’t you come sit with us?” Hina offered since she noticed Y/n was sitting alone.

“O-oh, are you sure?” Y/n asked with her face slightly red since she wasn’t used to people being this nice to her.

“Yeah! Come on!” Senju exclaimed and started to pull on her arm.

“Quit pulling on the poor girl’s arm, Senju!” Yuzuha scolded before pulling her away from Y/n.

Y/n stood up, grabbing her things and walking with the girls to another table.

“Emma! Where’s the dorayaki you promised me?!” A blonde haired boy whines to Emma making the girl roll her eyes at his attitude and toss him a brown bag which he immediately dug into it.

“Hey, who’s that?” A lilac haired boy pointed out as he looked at Y/n.

“This is Y/n! She’s new!” Hina spoke making the whole table look at her.

‘Ughh..I hate stares…’

Y/n thought as she thickly gulped when she noticed their black jackets with gold writing.

‘First, I have to sit behind the first founders of the Black Dragons in class and now I’m here about to sit by Tokyo Manji gang known as Toman?..what the fuck!’

She groaned mentally before the girls pulled her to sit between them causing Y/n to yelp.

“So Y/n, what made you come to this school?” The lilac haired boy from before asked. He had a sweet welcoming smile on his lips making her feel relaxed just for a little.

“Well, it’s really the only one that’s close by to where I live at.” She spoke after finally managing to get the words out of her dry throat.

“That’s cool. My names Mitsuya Takashi.” He introduced.

“Kowada Y/n.” She replied.

“Kowada?!” A short blonde haired boy exclaimed making Y/n flinch at his sudden outburst.

“Takemichi hush! You scared her!” Hina scolded.

“It’s fine, it just caught me off guard.” Y/n defended.

Eventually, everyone introduced themselves which Y/n made mental notes on their appearance so that she doesn’t forget their names or what they look like.

The boys went back to doing what they were doing before. Some of them just chilling and calmly talking to each other while others were fighting over food.

“So Y/n, what do you like to do? Any hobbies?” Akane asked curiously.

“I like to draw and write. I might not be the best at drawing but I’m trying. I mostly write short stories and poems.” Y/n said, for some odd reason she didn’t know why but she felt comfortable already with the girls.

Almost as if she knew them her entire life!

“Poems? I heard that it’s also a way to vent when you don’t have someone to talk to.” Yuzuha mentions.

“Yeah, I actually turn my problems into poems and short stories.” Y/n said.

The girls turned their head towards her.

“Really?” Emma tilted her head.

“That sounds fun! Wait no- not as in fun of your trauma but-!” Hina stumbled on her words making the rest laugh.

“Don’t sweat it, I know what you mean.” Y/n waved off.

“Ken-chin…” Mikey whispered to the taller blonde making him hum.

“I don’t know why, but I feel my stomach tingling.” He said in a hushed tone.

Draken raised a brow at him and glanced over at the girls.

“Why is that?” His deep voice spoke.

“It’s only when I look at Y/n. My stomach gets this weird feeling.” Looking over at Y/n as he talked.

“So you feel it too?” Mitsuya said joining in on their conversation.

“I only get those type of feelings when I look at Emma and Emma only.” Draken said making Mikey playfully push him.

“Cmon’ Ken-chin! It doesn’t hurt to crush on two people.” He teased making Draken shove him.

“I haven’t even known that girl no longer than twenty minutes, I don’t get attached that quick unlike someone.” He huffed and aimed his last sentence to Mikey, making it obvious that it’s aimed.

“Let’s maybe not argue and try to be civilized for once?” Mitsuya said pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Taka-Chan…” Hakkai gulped nervously.

“Yes?” He replied.

“I think you spoke too soon.” The buzz cut boy said pointing to a scene where Baji jumped over the lunch table attacking Chifuyu after he took the last bit of chocolate mushroom shaped biscuits.

Watching the scene unfold made Mitsuya face palm and stand up to go separate the chaos.

“Is that normal?…” Y/n asked seeing Baji on top of Chifuyu as he was holding a box with chocolate mushroom shaped biscuits.

“They’re like cats I swear. If their past life was them as cats I wouldn’t be surprised.” Emma shrugged making the girls giggle.

“Hey! Y/n-Chan!” A voice yelled out making Y/n and some other attention from other tables look over.

It was Shinichiro who had his friends behind him.

They had caught up to the table as the black haired male flashed a smile.

“I have a favor to ask if you don’t mind.” He panted a little out of breath.

Y/n raised a brow at what his favor was.

“So I didn’t quite get the lesson for first period and I saw how good you are at solving the equations! You made it seem easy and I was wondering if you could help me out a bit?”

He asked rubbing the back of his neck nervously with red cheeks and a shaky smile.

‘Me? Seriously? My introverted ass? Dear anyone above please help me…’

She mentally sighed before nodding.

“Sure…” She mumbled.

“Great!” He said and sitting in front in front of her with his friends sitting with them.

“Hey! Hey! You guys know that this is the Tomans table, go to your original table Black Dragons!” Nahoya spoke with a vein slightly popping out of his cheek but he still had a smile on his face.

“Shut it Ice Spice.” The purple and yellow mixed hair boy said making some of the boys laugh.

“Me personally…” Yuzuha mumbled with her jaw slightly dropped.

“The disrespect..” Senju gasped.

“I wouldn’t take that to be honest, but that’s just me.” Emma replied.

“The hell you say?!” Souya said defending his older twin brother.

“Great, here comes Cold flavored water.” The male said while swirling the lollipop in his mouth.

“What?!” Baji said before holding his stomach from laughing.

“It’s not funny, it’s not funny.” Mitsuya said bitting the inside of his cheek to restrain himself from bursting into a laughing fit.

“Alright, that’s way beyond disrespectful.” Y/n said with a flabbergasted expression.

“Sorry about them.” Shinichiro apologized and elbowed the droopy eyed male.

“By the way, I’m Imaushi Wakasa.” He introduced.

“Akashi Takeomi.” The slicked back haired male spoke up with a grin.

“You can just call me Benkei.” The short almost buzzed white haired male said.

“Nice to meet you three, I’m sure you already know my name by now.” Y/n said.

They all nod.

“Okay so, am I still gonna help you with the lesson or?” She asked making Shinichiro to frantically gather his things and stand up.

“R-right! Let’s go?” He spoke as she nodded and gathered her things.

She then stood up, bidding a goodbye to everyone at the Toman table and walked away with Shinichiro to another table that wasn’t too far and was empty.

“Hey, who’s that over there?” A male with two braids spoke and pointing his baton towards the two.

“I’m assuming that’s a new student?” A male with a buzz cut and heterochromia spoke up.

“But Shinichiro isn’t a new student.” A blonde with a half shaved head while licking his brass knuckle.

A male with tan skin, short white hair and violet eyes spoke.

“Of course he isn’t a new student, we’re talking about the girl that’s sitting with him you dumb fuck.” His voice spoke with his long red earrings dangling along his ears.

Now the attention was shifted over to Shinichiro and Y/n who sat alone together. Y/n was helping Shinichiro with the lesson, getting just a little bit frustrated.

“How did you mess that up? It’s one of the simplest formulas in this lesson.” She huffed in frustration.

“It’s not my fault! I can’t remember all of these formulas. It’s too much.” He complained making Y/n pinch the bride of her nose.

“You asked me to help you because once you’re done with high school, you said that you wanna open up a motor shop. In order to get into that type of business, you need to know these!” She groaned making him frantically find a reason.

“Damn, looks like he’s giving her a real hard ass time.” Wakasa chuckled.

“Watch her probably switch schools. I bet $30.” Takeomi betted.

“You guys are seriously betting?” Draken spoke up.

“Hey, it’s only them. I’m not part of this.” Benkei blankly defended.

“I hope he’s not making her uncomfortable by how close he’s sitting with her.” Emma said as she realized how close Shinichiro was sitting next to her.

“Awwe~ Emma-Chan being protective.” Hina coos with a sweet smile.

“Can you blame me? You girls would feel the same too, especially since she’s new!” She exclaimed.

“True.” Yuzuha nodded in agreement along with the others.

Y/n could feel the tension coming from everyone around her. After Shinichiro finally got the concept, she stretched her arms out and turned her head and made eye contact with a tan blonde haired male that had glasses.

She didn’t want to seem rude so she sent him a quick smile before standing up and going back to the table she at with the girls.

“Kisaki is blushing~!” A black haired man with a blonde on front teased, pointing his finger at him.

“Shut up Hanma…” Kisaki grumbled and adjusted his glasses to try and hide his blush.

ᴛᴀɢʟɪsᴛ: @reiners-milkbiddies, @0fftherec0rd, @simpingfor-wakasa, @melou008

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