#and no NOT EVERYONE I’m generalizing Jesus

[ikilledyvette]

(Realized I was never gonna finish this long ass 9-1-1 fic before the premiere, so today I’m doing the seriously condensed version for Tumblr—which I still have to break into two parts, ffs.)

It’s Thursday afternoon, three days before Father’s Day, and the atmosphere at the 118 is grim. Gerrard is gone, at least, and everyone celebrated with cake—specifically, a Ding Dong, The Witch is Dead! cake, complete with a chocolate house crushing little black boots—but to everyone’s surprise, Buck isn’t exactly welcoming Bobby home with open arms anymore. He hasn’t forgiven Bobby for resigning in the first place. Making matters worse, Margaret and Philip Buckley are flying in for the weekend. Also, Eddie is depressed because Chris hasn’t called since he left for Texas six weeks ago, and Eddie doesn’t expect to hear from him on Sunday, or possibly ever again.

Hen tells Eddie Christopher will forgive him. “He’ll come home. He just needs a minute.” Eddie says that six weeks is a hell of a minute, but Hen persists. “You’re a good father,” she says, ignoring Eddie’s humorless laugh. “You messed up; I’m not saying you didn’t. But that doesn’t negate all the good you’ve done, too. Kids, they want you to hear them. They want you to show up, so when Christopher calls, pick up the phone and listen. You two love each other, Eddie. It’s going to work out.”

But Eddie’s gaze just drifts to the kitchen, where Bobby is quietly looking at the stack of uneaten fire-engine-shaped mini-waffles that Buck refused to eat, even though he’s the one who bought Bobby that ridiculous novelty waffle-maker in the first place

“You ever think maybe love just isn’t enough,” Eddie says, and Hen isn’t sure how to answer that.

*

Meanwhile, Chimney, thankfully, has the day off and is drinking a beer with Tommy. (Hen, left to deal with these weird morose vibes at the 118 by herself, quite rightly considers this a betrayal and has appropriately sworn revenge.) Chimney and Tommy talk a little about their own families: Tommy hasn’t spoken to his dad in years; meanwhile, Chimney finally gave up months ago after actually telling his dad how he really felt about being abandoned. He just needed to hear his father apologize once, just once—but he couldn’t do that, not even that, and Chimney decided enough was enough. 

Tommy, who’s only ever met the Buckley Parents one time (but has quickly clocked to Buck’s wildly shifting moods whenever discussing them), asks Chimney how much of a disaster this weekend is likely to be. Chimney tells Tommy that—apart from big family secrets and the general emotional trauma—every time the Buckleys visit, someone comes close to death: warehouse fire (Buck), lightning strike (Buck), viral encephalitis (Chimney). 

“Maybe don’t go up in a helicopter till they’re gone?” Chimney suggests, and Tommy says, “Jesus,” and gets another beer.

*

Back at the 118, things have gone from bad to worse. A call leads to Buck recklessly risking his own life to save someone. He walks away with only a few bruises, but Bobby yells at him for nearly getting himself killed. Buck snarks that he must still be that young, impulsive hothead after all. Bobby, a bit at a loss, tells Buck that he has come a long way, but he can’t put himself in danger just because he’s angry at Bobby. 

“What is this really about? You can talk to me, kid. I’m here.”

“Right,” Buck says, scornful. “You’re here. For ... how long again? Seven more, I think you said? No—no, you never actually said, did you? That one’s on me. Right, Cap?”

The bell goes off, ending the argument. Bobby tries to talk to Buck again after the shift, but Buck is already out the door. He barely gets any sleep that day before he and Tommy drive over for The Big Family Dinner. Tommy tries to talk Buck into staying home, suggesting they go tomorrow night instead, but Buck insists it will be a Thing if they don’t go.

Dinner goes badly. Margaret and Phillip aren’t intentionally rude or actively malicious, but there’s still a thread of casual biphobia in much of what they say: Evan’s always going through these phases. Well, if it’s not a phase, Evan, you must have known; how could you not? Please don’t misunderstand, Tommy, of course we like YOU. Very much! Yes, Tommy, thank you for your service. We’re just saying, Evan likes to throw us for a loop now and then. Really, Evan, you’ve had so many girlfriends you’re basically straight, aren’t you?

Buck finally loses it shortly after Maddie goes into the other room to check on Jee Yun. Margaret suggests that while she’s happy that Buck and Tommy are happy, of course—happy for now, at least—she’d just hoped Buck would’ve started to settle down by now, get serious about someone, rather than start experimenting. Phillip also jokes that he’d thought Buck had outgrown making bids for attention, and Buck just—snaps. 

“Why did I have to work so hard to get your attention again? Right. Cause it was too hard to look at me. Cause I was the reminder of what you lost, the screwup you got left with. Maybe if Daniel had grown up and turned out bi, you’d—"

—and Margaret slaps Buck across the face. 

It shocks everyone, very much including Margaret, but when Buck finally blinks and glances at his dad, Phillip automatically moves to stand behind his wife, silently taking her side. Buck, a bit dazed, mutters he’s sorry and tells Chimney not to tell Maddie what happened, right before Tommy all but pushes Buck out the door and drives him home.

Buck, still a little shellshocked, mostly can’t believe he said what he said, insists he shouldn’t have gotten that upset, and tries to brush off Tommy’s efforts to comfort him. Tries to get him to leave. Tries to distract him with sex when Tommy refuses to leave. Tommy, not having any of it, sits Buck down and talks a little about his own childhood, how he’d run away from home after his father had found out Tommy was gay, how—broken and bleeding—Tommy had never called, never looked back. Buck protests it’s not the same because Margaret and Philip aren’t abusive, have never hit him before tonight, aren’t really homophobic—at least, not in the same way—and also, Buck deserved that slap. 

“Who throws a dead kid in their parents face?” Buck asks, miserable.

“Someone who lived under the shadow of a brother he never knew about for 30 years?” Tommy asks, then takes Buck’s hand and makes Buck look at him.

“Look, maybe it’s not the same. You’re never going to convince me you deserved it, Evan, not any of it—but what I’m saying is, when people repeatedly hurt you? You don’t have to look back. You don’t have to keep trying. You can, if that’s what you want—but you don’t have to forgive anyone just because they’re family. That’s not what being a family should be. And, for what it’s worth, that includes Bobby, too. Just ... maybe consider what you’re actually angry about—or if it’s even anger you’re really feeling here—before deciding to cut him off for good.” 

Slowly, Buck sinks into Tommy’s side. Tommy wraps an arm around him. Kisses him gently just above birthmark.

(Part II is finished, coming tomorrow or the next day)

[halfricanloveyou]

ok ok ok like i thought “the chosen” would suck cause ��blah another series about the life and times of jesus” like we GET it it’s been around for CENTURIES you guys make the same damn movie all the time

but it’s actually legit really good? lots of pretty good representation! not everyone in the movie is white. actual portrayals of jewish culture instead of just ignoring that part. disabled people. matthew being autistic. characters that aren’t just two dimensional. the people in it feel like real people. there’s actual jokes, jesus cracks a few and they’re really funny?? so far nothing hateful, no gay or transgender bashing. it calls out the church for being judgemental and hateful in a way that’s very tasteful

it’s not perfect tho. jesus is…still white for some reason? despite mary not being white? and no one else around him being white? no gay people in it which is kind of a bad and a good thing…but it’s a portrayal of jesus and the people around him as human. as real life people who felt things and made jokes and rolled their eyes and stuff. also the guy they cast as jesus is pretty hot as are all the disciples. which isn’t the point or whatever but i can’t say i’m complaining. it’s free online and i think it’s worth a watch!

[autistic-katara]

tell my we i just got a strangely pro-ai blog on my dash-

[eddiesghxst]

LIGHTS, CAMERA, ACCIÓN - AN EDDIE MUNSON X READER AU

credit for cute lil cut off divider: @cafekitsune

————

18+ — MINORS DNI

pairing: eddie munson x pornstar!reader

summary: eddie is short on rent this month and needs quick cash, luckily he stumbles upon an ad for casting in an adult film and finds himself shooting a porno with you

contains: strangers to lovers trope, drug and alcohol use, mentions of smoking, awkward situations, oral (f and m receiving), p in v (unprotected — be safe pls), mentions of people being judgemental of readers line of work, mentions of anal, slightly exhibitionism, lots of smut, a sliver of mechanic!eddie, and eddie being the charming loser he's always been <3

word count: 13.5k (i am so fucking sorry omg)

-masterlist-

Eddie might be way in over his head.

Eddie’s been naked in front of groups of people before (the high school boy's locker room is a scary place to be, honestly), but never in those awful days of forced physical education was Eddie’s dick the center of everyone’s attention.

It’s weird, no doubt about it, standing at the front of a conference room with a table full of producers and writers and whatnot just… ogling Eddie’s naked frame.

“Can you lift your dick, please? So we can see your balls.”

Yeah. This is definitely going at the top of Eddie’s ‘weird things I’ve done for money’ list.

Still, Eddie reaches down and presses his dick up against his lower stomach to give his audience an unrestricted view of his balls.

Jesus.

“Okay, you can put your clothes back on.”

Honestly, Eddie wouldn’t be in this situation if it weren’t for Robert, the manager at Eddie’s job— well, old job. 

Robert had some kind of weird fucking vengeance out for Eddie. Maybe it was because Eddie came back high from, like, most of his lunch breaks, but should that really matter if Eddie still got the job done? How coherent do you have to be to organize music records by name? Not very fuckin’ much.

Robert disagreed, though, so he fired Eddie.

Robert was an asshole, though, and whenever Eddie would nicely warn him, ‘Hey, Rob, I’m gonna be out of town next Saturday,’ Robert would still fucking schedule him to close on that exact day! 

Good riddance.

Except now, Eddie’s short on rent for the month, which is why he’s found himself standing fully naked in a room full of adult filmmakers.

Eddie’s almost dropped out of this deal ten times by now. He wasn’t sure if he was keen on the idea of his bare, naked body being out for the entire world and future generations to see. But then Eddie thought about it, and, well, he’s got a pretty decent cock. It’s an average size, and it’s not weird looking or anything, and his balls don’t sag— and, like, isn’t his dick primarily the star of the show? Eddie Jr. could pass for a star, Eddie thinks, and so do the people looking at it right now. 

And he also really fucking needs the money, so. Porn it is.

Whatever.

Eddie could deal with it as long as he gets enough money to keep a roof over his head. Which reminds him— “Hey, uh, how much will I be getting paid, by the way?”

Eddie’s now fully clothed, car keys in hand, and ready to go now that he’s been dismissed, and he’s scratching the back of his neck as he waits for an answer.

One of the men at the table (Eddie thinks his name is Brian, but he’s not 100% sure) glances up at Eddie from the pile of papers he’d been sorting through, “Eight hundred for the booking and ten percent from the sales.”

Which, yeah, that covers Eddie’s rent. It also leaves a little bit of change in Eddie’s pocket, so “Sweet.” Eddie nods.

So, Eddie follows one of the assistants to her office, where she hands Eddie a file with the word SCRIPT written in bold and red letters, “Read over it, practice the lines a few times, do whatever you need to do to prepare for Friday.” She kindly smiles.

She’s sweet. Short, stout, and pretty, and she has these cute glasses that remind Eddie of a ladybug. Eddie takes the manila folder, bowing his head with a cheesy smile, “Thank you, Emily.” 

“So, will I be getting a costume? Do pornos still have those dramatic plots with, like, pirates and shit?” Eddie rambles as he cracks the folder open to take a gander.

Emily snorts, “Sure, but unfortunately, you’re not a pirate for this one,” Eddie glances at her and dramatically pouts, “You will be taking on the role of a neighbor. Pretty simple and easy, not much setup needed, but I’m sure you’ll see that when you read over the script.”

Eddie looked over the script as soon as he got in his van, and Emily was right: there’s not much setup at all. There’s a few cheesy lines, cliche porno shit that definitely gets skipped over, and then they go straight to fucking. Eddie tries to run his lines a few times, but then he fails miserably, so he ends up tossing the script in his passenger seat and making a mental note to look at it later.

How hard can it be?

Apparently pretty fucking hard.

It’s Friday, and Eddie’s a chaotic mess as he walks in through the doors of the film studio. He’d just spent the last 30 minutes in his van trying to practice his lines, but Eddie was never the greatest theater kid, and the lines wouldn’t stick, so he ended up smoking a joint to ease his nerves.

People are bustling around the room, calling out orders and setting up lights, mics, furniture— the whole mile. It’s an entire ordeal that Eddie has walked into, and for a second, Eddie forgets that he’s one of the actual stars when someone walks up to him and says, “You're the new talent?”

“Huh?”

“New talent. Are you the guy we’re filming today?”

Eddie glances around and catches a glimpse of a half-naked girl eyeing him from across the room as a lady fixes her hair for the cameraman. She’s pretty. Gorgeous, actually. Nice body and soft-looking skin that Eddie would like to sink his teeth into and leave pretty little marks.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, I’m Eddie.”

“Good. You’re late.”

Shit. Eddie must’ve lost track of time while practically hacking up a lung in his hotboxed van.

The person drags Eddie to a vanity and nudges him toward the high chair, “You’ll get your hair and makeup done, then we should be rolling in about half an hour.” 

It’s jarring, really, seeing the amount of work that goes into the shitty raunchy films Eddie jacks off to, but it’s captivating nonetheless. Eddie can see the movement behind him through the vanity mirror, but he’s more focused on the pretty girl still posing for the camera. If that’s the girl Eddie will be working with, then this will be way easier than Eddie thought it would be because he’s already getting hard. Some might call it pathetic, but oh well.

“Hiya, hon! You the new talent?” A chirpy girl walks up behind Eddie, pearly white teeth and glossed lips working in tandem as she chews her gum and blows a quick bubble. She doesn’t wait for Eddie’s response as she digs her fingers into Eddie’s curly strands, tossing and gently pulling them about to see what she’s working with. 

Her name is Nicki. She’s friendly and very talkative; Eddie comes to learn, because for the majority of the time that she’s working on Eddie’s hair, her mouth is running nonstop. Eddie doesn’t mind, though; honestly, it helps to take his mind off of whatever the fuck he’s gotten himself into.

Emily, the assistant from earlier, walks up to the vanity, her cute ladybug glasses slipping down her nose as she steps into Eddie’s view— and Eddie is happy to see a familiar and kind face. “Will you be needing a fluffer?”

Eddie blinks, eyes fluttering when the hairstylist dusts his bangs over his lashes, “Uh— a what now?”

Nicki loudly pops her gum as she shakes a can of hairspray, “A fluffer, honey. Someone to jack you off and get you ready for the scene.” 

Eddie’s eyes widened for a split second, and he made the mistake of glancing over at the girl who was still modeling across the room. Her tits are out now, and they’re perfect, and she catches Eddie’s eyes for the second time, and it makes his already stiffened cock stir within his pants.

Eddie shakes his head as he looks back at Emily, his voice higher when he responds, “No, I uh… I think I’m good.”

Which, duh. Eddie's dick is practically breaking the seams of his jeans because of the pretty girl, and it’s only getting worse because now she’s walking toward him dressed in a white robe. “You must be Eddie.”

Eddie’s surprised you know his name, but then he figures, obviously, you must know his name given the fact that you’re about to let him swing his dick near you. “That’s me,” Eddie smiles, “You must be… I’m sorry nobody’s told me anything.” He awkwardly laughs.

You nod with a shrug and tell him your name, “Is this your first time filming?” You ask.

Eddie nods, “Is it that obvious?” He nervously asks. You shrug, “Most guys in the industry need more than a pair of tits to get that hard.” You nod towards Eddie’s crotch— and oh god. How embarrassing! She knows you were checking her out!

“No need to be embarrassed though, Eddie. Pretty soon, you’ll be shoving your cock down my throat, so.”

Eddie’s cock may have gotten harder from those words alone.

“A rookie? Seriously, Don?”

Your makeup is being done, so you don’t see how your manager rolls her eyes at you. “When I said I wanted someone fresh, I didn’t mean never-been-under-the-camera fresh.” 

The makeup artist finishes with your touch-ups, and you take the opportunity to turn to Don and glare at her, “He doesn’t know what he’s doing, Don.”

The older lady waves a dismissive hand, “He’ll do just fine, babe,” she deadpans. You shake your head, turning to look at the man of the hour. He’s attractive; you’ll give him that. Tall, pretty curly hair, sweet brown eyes, a panty-dropping voice. Sure, he’s attractive, okay. But he’s got no clue how to do this type of thing. Clearly— I mean, you’re literally watching him gaze down at the dildos that have been lined up for you as if he’s never seen one in his life— which you doubt. If he knew how to find an adult filmmaking studio, then he’s definitely seen some fucking dildos.

You suppress a laugh when he accidentally drops a glass dildo, turning back to your manager as you ignore his chorus of apologies to the staff, “My case in point.”

Don fails to hold back a laugh, “So he’s a little off the walls,” she shrugs, “He’s cute though. And his dick is nice. Trust me.”

And, well, she’s not wrong.

Don’s never been one to lie without reason, so unfortunately, Eddie’s cock is nice. Pretty, even. Which is weird because after some time being in this industry, the thrill of a nice-looking cock has gotten lost on you because they practically all look the same— just different shades of colors, really.

But Eddie’s cock is nice in the sense that it’s real. He’s not shot up with steroids to make it overly veiny and big or cleanly shaved or any of that superficial camera-ready shit. No, Eddie is natural. He’s got neatly trimmed curly hairs across his pelvis that smell like his body wash when you nuzzle your nose against it, and he’s big enough to wrap your hand around, but you know the second he pushes inside of you, it will be a nice stretch. He’s cut, and he has a slight curve to the left, and he’s so sensitive his cock jumps when you tap the pearly white drop that leaks from his tip. You giggle, shuffling forward on your knees as you stroke him.

You’re already done with the opening scene, finally. Eddie couldn’t remember any of his lines, so it took a lot longer than it should’ve, but you think it was worth it either way because the way Eddie moans when you finally wrap your lips around his tip is the prettiest sound you think you’ve ever heard.

“F-fuck,” He quietly curses, hips shifting as you swallow more of him. He sinks a slightly shaking hand into your hair, gently cupping your head as you work your mouth over him. Your eyes flutter to gaze up at him, and your stomach flutters at the cocky grin he gives you. “You’ve got such a good little mouth on you, sweetheart. Gonna let me fuck it?”

You hum and nod as best as you can with his cock in your mouth, and he hums, “Open up for me, baby.”

You shift on your knees, finding a comfortable position for the action before blinking up at Eddie, indicating you’re ready. Eddie’s hands are steady and certain as he cups both sides of your head, holding you still as he draws his cock out once before slowly thrusting in until your throat tightens around his tip.

He fills your mouth so perfectly, just enough to where you won’t get bored, but you also won’t get an overly aching jaw, and you can’t wait to feel him inside you. Can’t wait to feel how his cock twitches when he first nestles deep in your walls or how much better the sounds he makes will be.

It’s a nice feeling, having Eddie fuck your mouth, and you usually don’t care much for shots like this because most of the time, it’s either underwhelming or overwhelming, but Eddie fucks your throat in a sense that’s dirty yet so caring. He’s spewing out filthy praises, and you're drooling onto his balls, but he’s looking at you with these soft brown eyes and caressing you so gently you might quiver. Fuck, you really wanted to hate him.

Behind the camera, the director makes a motion for you to cut to the next action, but since your back is to them, Eddie is the one that sees it and gently coaxes you off from his cock, cooing when you let out the smallest whine that only he can hear. He smiles, thumb running beneath your swollen lip to catch the strings of spit and cum, “What? You liked having me down your throat, sweet girl?”

You mewl, pressing your chin into his palm as you nod.

"Yeah. Want it, please?" You whisper. God, you didn’t expect to be fucked out within the first scene. "Aw, maybe next time, princess. You can keep me warm as long as you'd like."

It’s almost embarrassing, how much you like the sound of that and how it makes your tummy flip, but you don’t have much time to think about it because Eddie’s ushering you up from the floor to climb onto the couch and straddle his lap. 

You’re both bare now, and when Eddie had first taken his shirt off, you wanted nothing more than to run your hands down his graffitied chest, but you were too busy sinking to your knees. But now you have the chance, and boy, do you fucking take it.

You marvel as you coast your hands across Eddie’s body, fingertips gliding through fields of inked stories and vast skin. His breath hitches when you graze over his nipples, and his hips shift beneath you, wet cock slipping against your sticky folds. You whimper, grinding down onto him, and he curses as he grabs ahold of your hips. “Y’like them?” He sweetly asks, referring to his tattoos.

"Yeah," you nod, grinding down harder to have his cock nestled between your folds, his ruddy tip nudging your clit. “I can tell you all about them if you want.”

You giggle at his timing, but before you can respond, a director speaks up from the side, “Less talking, please.”

Eddie glances over your shoulder and salutes the man, “Roger that, sir.”

You can’t help but snort at his actions, but you’re quickly hushed when Eddie reaches down to paint his cock between your folds before lining himself up, “Go ahead and sit on it, baby.” He whispers.

You listen, nuzzling your face against his shoulder as you wriggle yourself down the length of his cock.

And god, you love being fucking right. The stretch is so good, better than you had imagined it to be, and you can’t help the high-pitched moan that slips from your lips when Eddie thrusts up into you. 

"O-oh. Oh fuck," You whimper. You’re practically boneless as Eddie fucks you, your entire body just draped over him as his hands dig into your ass to help bounce you on his cock. “Jesus fucking— you feel so good,” He pants, and you mewl, cunt clenching around his cock as he drills up into you. “You gonna cum for me, hm? Be my best girl and cum for me. I know you’ll sound so pretty.” He whispers.

Before you know it, you’re moaning out and writhing in Eddie’s hold, juices dripping down his cock and forming a sticky mess in the patch of curls at his base as you cum.

“Let’s have a shot from the back.” 

Your body feels weightless as you and Eddie change positions so you’re on all fours. You’re blinking through a hazy fog, and it feels so good. Eddie’s hands send chills up your spine as they grip your waist and tug you towards him. 

“Oh, baby, you’re shaking,” Eddie hums, running his hands over the fat of your ass, thumbs digging into the skin to spread you open. You’re so wet you can hear the sticky noise of your folds parting, and Eddie groans as he watches your pussy clench around nothing. “You open up so well for me, sweet girl.” 

Jesus.

You don’t get much of a warning before you feel Eddie lapping and sucking at your cunt, devouring you until you’re nothing but a mess of moans and quivering limbs.

Jesus Christ, that wasn’t in the fucking script. Half of the shit Eddie’s doing isn’t in the fucking script, and it's making your head spin.

God, who is this man?

You whimper his name, reaching a shaky hand back to grapple at his hair, and Eddie nuzzles his face deeper into your cunt, nose nudging your ass in a way that makes your toes curl. He’s good. He’s really good, you’ll give him that.

You and Eddie go at it for about an hour, switching positions and pausing every now and then to get a good shot of your cunt wrapped around Eddie’s cock, or Eddie’s tongue lapping over your clit or tits.

And it's fun doing this with Eddie.

Eddie is like a breath of fresh air. Most guys in this industry are stuck up and make things annoyingly serious, and most girls are either bitchy or just want to get it over with, which you don’t blame them for. 

But Eddie makes things feel so normal— like you’re just two best friends getting filmed having sex— because he keeps whispering tiny jokes to make you giggle. He tells you how pretty you sound and look, and he’s so incredibly clueless because he keeps leaning in and asking things like, “Is this, like, a good angle for the camera?” and “Should I maybe kiss you more?” and “Is it okay if I stop fucking you for a second? Because I’m about to blow.”

And all you can do is breathlessly moan and nod because he’s plunging himself so deep into you that it almost hurts, but it’s so good.

You’re so fucked out you barely even register Eddie’s words when he tells you he’s about to cum, but your body immediately reacts when he pats your hip, indicating for you to get ready.

You scramble down from the couch, limbs weighted from pleasure as you settle on your knees, batting your lashes up at Eddie as he towers over you, stroking his wet cock. Eddie rests a hand on your head, fingers grasping your hair to keep you still as he gazes down at you. You’re impatient, so you can’t help but let yourself sneakily lick the tip of his cock, and he grins, “It’s coming, precious girl. Stick your tongue out for me.”

You shuffle closer, sticking your tongue out as you eagerly await the taste of Eddie on your tongue— and when you get it, god, you never want it to stop. Everything about it is perfect: the way his face twists up, the way he tastes, the pretty moans he lets out. You want it on repeat.

You might buy this film just to relive it.

You take every last drop Eddie has to give you with a happy hum; a little bit catches your lip, and Eddie swipes it with his thumb before bringing it to his mouth and suckling. You whine, frowning and causing Eddie to laugh, “You got most of it, sweetheart. Can’t be too greedy, can you?”

It’s like you’re both in your own world. Only talking to each other and enjoying each other's bodies because Eddie just… it’s weird, but he makes the room go away. He makes things feel less performative— and maybe it’s just your hazy, blissed-out state of mind, but you think you might like Eddie.

You’re snapped from your trance when the director yells cut, and then everyone’s springing into action to tear down the set because another crew will be using it next. Eddie helps you stand on your wobbly legs, “You alright?”

You nod, “Great. You did good, by the way.”

Eddie leans forward and grabs your robe that had been pushed to the side. He smiles as he holds it open for you, “Thank you. You did pretty awesome yourself.” He responds as you slink your arms through the sleeves.

You turn to Eddie as you close your robe and tie it shut. Your assistant, Emily, hands Eddie a robe for himself, and he thanks her, curtly bowing his head as he grabs the plush article. “So,” Eddie starts as he slips on the robe. You both start walking towards the dressing rooms as he speaks, “Think I could make a career for myself here?” He asks. 

You halt at that, turning to Eddie with a confused look, “Is that… is that not why you’re here?” You ask.

Eddie shakes his head as he ties his robe, “Nah, I got fired from my job. Needed some cash for rent this month.” He explains.

Is it selfish to say you’re disappointed to hear this? If Eddie had been wanting to join this industry, you would’ve had the opportunity to work with him again. But maybe it’s more selfish to say you’re happy he isn’t joining this industry. Eddie becoming an adult film star would mean half of the time, he’d be fucking other people, and unfortunately, that idea alone makes your gut twist with jealousy.

You nod, pursing your lips as you fiddle with your fingers, “Well… would you be interested in this type of thing?” You try your best to sound casual about it, and you think it works because Eddie only shrugs again with a short hum, “I don’t know. Wouldn’t be opposed to it, I guess.”

Before you can respond, Emily calls your name, “Don needs to speak with you in the other room about your next shoot.”

You turn back to Eddie and try to commit his pretty brown eyes to memory, “I guess I’ll see you around, Eddie.” You smile. Eddie smiles back and does somewhat of a dramatic bow, and you snort as you walk off.

You glance over your shoulder as you walk with Emily.

“Could you do me a favor?” You ask her. Emily nods, and you take one last glance at Eddie before he disappears into the dressing room. 

“Get his number for me. And leave it in my purse, please.”

A couple of weeks have passed since Eddie made his big debut in the film world.

Eddie made a pretty penny from that film, enough to pay his rent and have some play money on the side. Thankfully, Eddie doesn’t have to scramble for cash this month again because he got a job at the mechanic shop downtown. It’s a lot of labor and a lot of hours, but the pay is good, and nobody gives a shit if Eddie comes back from lunch smelling like a dispensary, so.

Suck that, Robert.

However, Eddie’s still thoroughly surprised to see you sitting in the shop office when he returns from a quick smoke break. “Woah, funny seeing you here. Car problems?” He questions. Eddie tries not to think about the fact that he’s seen you completely bare before. Tries not to think of how he’d spent over an hour in your guts last month or how you swallowed his load like it was nothing. Eddie fails miserably.

You shake your head as you stand up from the leather couch in the office, grabbing your purse as Eddie walks closer to you, “No, actually, Lola’s doing great.”

Eddie cocks his head, “Lola?”

You nod, “My car.” You gesture out towards the window where your car is parked. Eddie makes an understanding noise as he nods. 

“I was actually hoping to talk to you.” 

Eddie pauses at that, confusion settling over his body as he looks at you. You’re beautiful, kind, soft eyes with soft, pretty lips that Eddie thinks about kissing when he goes to bed. Eddie points to himself with raised eyebrows, “Me?”

You nod again, “Yeah, about like… my job and stuff.”

Oh.

Ohhhh.

“Oh, shit, yeah, um,” Eddie glances around the office and nods, “Yeah, we can step out and talk, like, in my van, maybe?” He offers. Not because he’s, like, ashamed to talk about porn or something, most people watch it! But a few of the guys that work here are downright dipshits, and Eddie won’t hesitate to punch one of them if they say some sly shit about you or your job. And, well, Eddie would like to keep his job, so.

You don’t take offense to it, though; you just nod with your pretty smile and tell Eddie to lead the way.

Eddie’s van smells like weed, cologne, and a hint of whatever he had for lunch.

“Sorry,” Eddie mumbles as he clears off the passenger seat that’s filled with bottles of different drinks, rolling papers, food wrappers, and things of the like. “She’s seen better days.” 

You smile nonetheless, thanking him when he steps away and holds the door open for you. You hop into the seat, glancing around as Eddie shuts your door and jogs to the driver's seat.

He gets in with a heavy sigh, hair unruly from the wind, brown eyes wide and excited when he looks at you. “Hey.” He huffs with a smile, and there’s a piece of hair in Eddie’s bangs that’s sticking straight up. “Hey.” You giggle, reaching out to fix the rebellious strand. Eddie softly thanks you, and you swear you see a hint of pink dust across his cheeks.

He shifts in his seat, rubbing his hands against his thighs as he sighs again, “So… what’s up?”

God, he’s so cute. So incredibly weird and awkward and cute. He looks handsome in his navy blue coveralls, grease stains smeared across his torso, and some sneaky smudges on his neck. “You’re very hard to get ahold of, you know?” You tease.

Eddie’s face twists in confusion, “Huh?”

You shrug, distracting yourself by poking around at his dashboard, sifting through the CDs and tapes he has lying about. Eddie doesn’t stop you; he only watches, and you give him a cheeky smile. “My assistant got your number, right? But then you, like, never answered my calls.” You shrug as you flip through more of his things. You hear Eddie mumble something about needing a new cord for his home phone before he asks louder, " So, how’d you find me?”

God, he must think you’re a stalker or something. You didn’t really think that through, honestly.

You hum, “Just asked around a bit. You’re a bit of a hot commodity around here, by the way. Heard you started a cult? What’s that about?” 

Eddie’s eyes widen at your words, and you laugh, “Oh god. Jesus, no, I didn’t start a cult. I just,” he groans as he pinches the bridge of his nose, “I was just weird in high school.”

“You’re still weird.”

Eddie’s face falters at your words, but you smile as you add, “I like it.”

Eddie blushes again, but he turns to look away this time, and you think he’s the cutest thing you’ve ever set your eyes upon. He turns back to you with a shy grin, “Did you come here just to flirt with me?” He teases, wrapping a strand of his hair around his finger to twirl in a shy manner. “Maybe… but I also have a question.” You respond.

Eddie nods, “Shoot.”

You take a deep breath as you shift in your seat, “Well, uh, I wanted to ask if you maybe…” You glance at Eddie, who's expectantly awaiting your question, and your stomach twists with nerves. Why are you so nervous to ask Eddie for something you’ve already done before?

“Well, I’m doing a shoot tomorrow,” you finally begin, “And I just found out the guy they paired me with is, like, a total asshole— I’ve worked with him before, he’s just… awful,” You explain. “So, I was just… I don’t know; I was just wondering— hoping— you’d be up for it, maybe? To take the guy's place, I mean.”

You finish rambling and glance at Eddie as his eyes widen, “Oh, um. Like— like, film with you again?”

Eddie could leap for joy right now.

Not only are you, like, the cutest, prettiest, kindest fucking human being to ever grace this earth, but you’re sitting in Eddie’s van, chewing on your lip and asking Eddie to fuck you for the cameras again.

Eddie must’ve done something incredibly right in his past life.

“Oh!” Eddie starts, “ Um… yeah, I’d love to!” What? Weird, take that back. “No, I mean, like, not in a weird way. I just— I’d rather not let the asshole do it if I can do it.”

God, could Eddie sound any more pathetic?

Still, despite how dumb Eddie sounds, you smile and clasp your hands together, “Oh, are you sure? I know it’s last minute, and it’s not really the ideal task—” 

“Woah, wait. What do you mean not the ideal task?” 

Because literally, what do you mean? How could that not be the ideal task? And who made you think that fucking you isn’t the ideal task? If it’s that asshole you were supposed to work with, then Eddie has a few colorful things to say about and to him.

You shrug, fiddling with your fingers in your lap, “Nothing, I just know my job isn’t… you know, traditional or whatever. And you had only done it that one time because you needed it, so I get it if you’re, like, not in the mood to fuck on camera for a bunch of random people.” You ramble. Which, uh, no. You could not be further from the truth. Eddie would love to fuck you on camera for a bunch of random people. Hell, Eddie would love to fuck you under any consensual circumstance, if he’s being honest, so. Yeah, he’s pretty excited.

“No,” Eddie shakes his head, “No, I— I want to, really, I do.” Eddie nods.

Your unsure frown spreads into the prettiest smile before you reach across the center console to pull Eddie into the most bone-crushing, you-scented, chest-warming hug Eddie’s ever been given as you spew out a chorus of thank yous.

“I brought a copy of the script for you to look over so you’re not totally confused,” Eddie watches as you pull back to reach into your bag and pull out a manilla folder. “I usually like to color coordinate my scripts, so I did it for you too. The pink is me, and the red is you, and the specific actions they want us to do are in blue.” You point out. And Eddie thinks he might kiss you right now— you’re so fucking cute!

“Wow, thanks, um… I wish I were, like… good with these types of things, but I think you saw how majestic I am with scripts.” Eddie huffs out a laugh as he scratches the back of his neck. You smile, “I can help you— if you’d like.”

Oh, you’re trying to kill Eddie at this rate.

Eddie nods either way, even though he’s six feet underground and knocking at the fiery gates. “I would love that, actually. I finish work in about three hours if you’re free.”

Eddie definitely broke a handful of laws while driving home.

Since you offered to help Eddie with his lines, you both decided to meet at Eddie’s place. He gave you his address, told you how to get into the complex, and said see you later. Now, Eddie is ecstatic to see you, obviously, but Eddie can’t remember if his home looked normal or like a Walmart clearance aisle after black Friday, so he ran through multiple stop signs and red lights to get home before you showed up so he could clear things up.

He’s hustling through his apartment like a madman, picking up strewn clothes and cat toys before speeding through the few dishes he had in his sink. Honestly, Eddie’s apartment has seen worse days, so there’s not much cleaning he has to do, but he’s still stressed when he hears a knock on the door. 

Eddie doesn’t even like candles, but he lit one just in case there’s a smell he’s grown used to lingering about. Eddie just doesn’t want you to think he’s a slob. Because he isn’t. He just has an orchestrated chaotic lifestyle.

Eddie couldn’t be happier when he opened his door because there you were, beaming with a smile and a bag of takeout, and Eddie thought it wasn’t normal to be this soft for someone you’d basically just met.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” Eddie dramatically bows with an extended hand to show the entrance of his small, homey apartment. You smile as you walk in, taking in your surroundings.

It’s nothing extraordinary, honestly. Eddie’s home is really just vomit of everything Eddie likes: favorite colors, favorite movies, favorite game characters, etc. It’s like Eddie’s brain exploded and painted itself all over the place. Eddie had a girlfriend many moons ago, and she changed things around to become more coordinated, so now it’s less of a shit show and more of an abstract museum sort of thing.

Whatever. Doesn’t matter anyway because you’re gasping and picking up the little roommate Eddie has. 

“Who’s this?” You coo at the little creature. You’re looking down at the furball as you scratch behind her ear, “That,” Eddie sighs, “Is the reason why I didn’t get your calls.”

You look up at Eddie, confusion written across your face. Eddie points across the room to the wall where his home phone hangs, except the wire is broken. “Little asshole chewed through the wire, and I’ve been slow to replace it. Her name is Banshee.”

The cat meows at the mention of her name, wide eyes blinking up at Eddie as you coddle her. She’s a fluffy cat with a black coat decorated with two white spots: one on her back and the other just behind her ear.

You hum, “So technically,” You drag, “It’s your fault.” You tease. You coo as you press your cheek to the tiny kitten, gazing up at Eddie with these soft eyes, “I don’t think you can blame this cutie for your laziness.” 

Eddie rolls his eyes, wills away whatever power he has to not kiss you, and gently takes the takeout bag from your hands so you have less to carry. “Fine then. Ask her what happened to the laces of my work shoes, too, since she’s so innocent.”

Eddie’s home is so… Eddie.

He’s got music and horror movie posters framed along his walls, cute little scary figurines randomly placed within his bookshelves, and there’s an overall smell of Eddie’s musk and the sandalwood candle he has burning. It’s cozy, a nice space for one person who enjoys their alone time, and he let you choose a record to play from his extensive collection, and he has the world's cutest little cat, so it’s safe to say you could spend an eternity in Eddie’s world.

“Shit, that wasn’t my line,” Eddie stresses. You smile as Eddie tosses the packet onto his coffee table and falls back onto the couch, “We’re wasting our time here, princess. I dropped out of theater for a reason.” He grumbles.

You sigh, tilting your head against the couch cushion as you gaze at Eddie, “You’re thinking too hard about it.” You say. “It’s a porno, not a Grammy-nominated film.” You point out.

Eddie snorts before giving a short shrug, “For the record, I think you could land a Grammy, sweetheart.” 

You roll your eyes, “Yeah, right. You don’t need to suck up to me, Eddie, you’re already gonna fuck me tomorrow.” You jokingly say.

Eddie waves you off and shifts into a more comfortable position. “So,” He starts, “What’s the asshole guy's deal?” 

Banshee has hopped onto the couch and made her way into your lap, tiny paws kneading the material of your jeans as she settles. You gently pet her as you glance at Eddie and shrug, “Not sure, he’s just a total dick,” You grumble. “I worked with him once last year, and he, like, told me I wasn’t the best or whatever— which, okay, I can totally understand,” You ramble, “I don’t think I’m, like, some sex god. I don’t expect to be everyone or anyone’s best fuck, but still! It just… it didn’t make me feel good, the way he said it.” You windedly explain. You distract yourself with the cute animal in your lap as you finish your explanation, “So, I asked my manager never to pair us again, but—” You shrug.

Next to you, Eddie shifts once more and scoffs. “He’s a fucking shitfaced liar, princess.”

You snort, playfully rolling your eyes, “Eddie—” “No, I’m serious. He’s a liar. Anybody who even gets the chance to touch you is a lucky fucker, okay? If anything, he probably begged your manager to let him work with you again.”

“You’re just saying that. I don’t need you to try and make me feel better, and it was so long ago anyway.” “Yeah, but that’s the thing, I’m not.”

You frown as you gaze over at Eddie, watching as he sits straight and looks at you with a serious gaze in his eyes. “I don’t know what’s up with that guy, maybe he was dropped as a baby too many times, but anybody with common sense and a properly functioning dick knows just how fucking amazing you are. End of discussion.”

And well, it’s pathetic how your chest warms at his words, but it does. And as Eddie goes on to ramble about his hectic week at work, you can’t help but let your mind spin with Eddie’s kind words until nothing is in your mind but the echoes of Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.

Not many times has Eddie woken up with a girl in his home. Well, at least not a girl that he’s actually liked for more than a one-night stand or a shortly-lived fling.

After running the script for the last time, Eddie suggested putting on a movie and digging into the takeout you’d brought. The meal was delicious, and the movie you’d landed on was hilarious, but it’s hard to keep your eyes open on a full stomach, so when Eddie felt your head drop onto his shoulder, he couldn’t help but let his body sink into the couch and fall asleep too.

You’d woken up about an hour later and tried to make your escape quietly, but Eddie insisted you shouldn’t drive in such a sleepy state, so he let you make yourself comfy in his bed. Banshee, the little traitor, trotted right behind you and left Eddie on the couch to snuggle up beside you for the night.

You’re cute in the morning, Eddie thinks. You have an adorable little pout, and you yawn about 80 times until you’ve had a sip of coffee. 

It takes nearly a lifetime to drag you away from Banshee so you and Eddie can head to the studio because you adore the little asshole, and Banshee loves anything that’ll give her the time of day. You make Eddie promise to let you see her again, though, so you sadly say goodbye with a soft peck to the fluffy area between her eyes and let Eddie drag you to his van.

The car ride is nice; Eddie lets you mess around with the contents of his van and go through the stack of CDs he’s compiled over the years. You land on one of Eddie’s favorites, an old mixtape Wayne made in college that Eddie spent most of his high school blaring loud enough to blow out a speaker.

Today, you’re shooting in a house— a nice one that Eddie could only conjure up in his dreams—but he doesn’t have much time to dwell on it because he’s being dragged over to makeup and hair as soon as he steps in.

“You thinking of joining the industry?” Nicki asks as she works a nice-smelling mousse into Eddie’s hair.

Eddie had been busy watching you talk to one of the producers, but he finds the strength to tear his eyes away and gaze at Nicki through the vanity mirror. “No, not exactly. Just… doing a favor for a friend, I guess.”

Nicki raises an eyebrow, “A friend? Don’t act like I didn’t see you two come in together.”

Eddie’s face warms at that, the tips of his ears turning red as he stutters, “Huh?” 

Nicki looks at Eddie with a ‘Don’t bullshit me’ look.

“I mean, like, yeah, we had breakfast together–” “Mhm.”

Eddie huffs out a gentle laugh, “No, really, we’re friends.”

“Friends that fuck on camera and look at each other the way you two do? Sure.”

Eddie doesn’t ask what Nicki means by that because— well, he knows what Nicki means by that. He’s caught himself looking at you like you put the stars in the sky one too many times, and it’s almost embarrassing. Almost.

But can you blame Eddie? Can you really blame him when you’re the prettiest girl he’s ever seen, the softest smile, the greatest laugh, and the sweetest personality? It’s not Eddie’s fault that you’re perfect.

Eddie just thinks you’re neat. 

He thinks you’re amazing, actually, and it’s hard to remember his fucking lines when you’re standing under a steaming shower, wet body glistening and pebbled nipples practically begging for his mouth.

He’s butchering the script, that’s for sure, but he figures it’s not too bad since nobody’s corrected him. 

The scene starts with you taking a shower and Eddie being a peeping tom, which ultimately leads to Eddie sinking to his knees and licking into you until you’re a quivering, sticky mess on his tongue. Eddie would spend forever on his knees, between your legs, if he could because you taste heavenly and sound better than any song Eddie’s ever listened to, and that says something.

Your fingers thread through the wet strands of Eddie’s hair, and Eddie rapidly blinks when he gazes up at you, only to get an eyeful of his wispy bangs. You smile, petting back his bangs so he can see, and he hums, nudging his face further against you, his tongue teasing more, fingers curling deeper.

It doesn’t take long to make you cum, and the second you do, Eddie is standing up, shutting off the shower, and ushering you out into the expansive main bathroom. It’s almost as if it’s just Eddie and you in the room. No cameras, no directors or producers, or that weird pervy lighting guy that compliments you way too fucking much for Eddie’s liking. It’s just you and Eddie.

“Let’s do an over-the-counter shot next.”

Fuck. It’s not just you two, actually.

What a buzz kill.

Either way, Eddie finds himself pressing your wet, naked waist down against the sink, smiling when you squeal at the cold marble touching your skin. “Stick your ass out, baby, let me see that gorgeous ass.” 

You mewl as you follow Eddie’s instructions, tipping your hips back to present yourself to him and the cameras. You’re dripping. Swollen and wet and throbbing, and Eddie— god, Eddie feels like a fucking animal.

“Got such a pretty pussy, honey. All wet and ready for me, hm?” He teases, gently running his fingers through the sticky arousal between your legs. You shakily breathe as you nod your head, “Yeah. All for you. Please.”

Eddie steps forward, grabbing his cock and painting it between your swollen lips as he hooks his other arm across your shoulders, pulling you back to press against his chest. He presses a wet kiss to the skin of your cheek in front of your ear, voice dry and needy as he whispers in your ear, “You’re so fuckin’ pretty,” His eyes catch yours in the mirror as you keen. “Ask me to fuck you.”

You whimper out loud, wriggling your hips back into his as your hands grip the counter, “P-please fuck me. Please. Need it so bad, want your cock so bad I— o-oh.”

The slide to home base is fucking otherworldly. It was life-changing the first time, and it’s life-changing now, and if Eddie ever gets the chance to fuck you again, he knows it’ll be life-changing then.

You’re so warm, and you're sucking Eddie’s cock in so nicely, so sinfully, that Eddie almost makes a deal with the devil right then and there. Your chest is heaving by the time Eddie’s pelvis presses to your bum, his cock nestled deep into your pulsing cunt. Eddie leans forward, pressing his chest against your back as he loops an arm around your shoulders, holding you tight to him as he gives one slow thrust. He coos when your eyes flutter shut, and your jaw drops, a shaky hand reaching up to sink your nails into Eddie’s forearm.

“S-so deep,” You slur, wriggling your hips back against Eddie.

Eddie grunts, “Fuck. You feel so good, baby. Always so warm and ready for me, hm?” Eddie’s lips are wet against your jaw as he whispers into your ear, and you nod with a mewl.

Eddie works up the pace relatively fast in favor of the cameras, and at some point, he reaches down to grip the thick of your thigh and haul your leg up to rest on the counter so you’re spread open even more. The angle makes it easier for him to catch your spot, and it’s better for the camera to capture the sight of your soaking pussy wrapped around Eddie’s cock, dribbling onto both of your thighs and creating a sticky ring of arousal at the base of Eddie’s dick.

Eddie’s hand is wrapped around your throat when you begin twitching around him, mumbling promises of your climax, and Eddie doesn’t waste time in sinking his hand between your legs to help you reach the edge quicker. Your moans fall silent, eyes squeezed shut, and jaw dropped wide open as Eddie fucks you through your orgasm— and fuck, you feel so good. Squeezing and pulsing and dripping around Eddie’s thighs, throat vibrating beneath his palm when air comes back to you.

“There we go, baby. Get it all out, push it out, honey.” Eddie encourages you.

You’re shaking, trembling like a leaf in Eddie’s arms, and Eddie wants to spend forever tucked into your pussy, warm skin sticky against him, pretty little whines and mewls coating his brain in this cutesy pink fog that makes him want to fucking marry you.

Get you a home, give you his babies, maybe even get you a fucking dog and just live happily goddamn ever.

Jesus, Eddie’s a goner.

“F-fuck, I’m gonna cum.”

Eddie pulls out last second, jerking himself off between your cute ass cheeks until he’s spurting white ropes of cum up your back.

Eddie, ever the considerate man he is, pushes your hair out of the way to avoid getting any of his sticky release in it. You’re breathing heavily, pretty eyes glazed over as you glance back at Eddie, a shy glint in your eyes at the sight of your skin painted in his cum.

Eddie’s obsessed with you now, no doubt.

His ringed fingers slide through the sticky mess on your skin as he grips your ass cheeks, gently spreading them apart and humming when you arch your back, proudly swaying your ass in front of him. The sight makes Eddie dizzy; pools of cum dripping down your back to slink its way through your ass and over your sticky folds. “You’ve got such a cute little hole, baby.” Eddie compliments, taking his thumb and smearing his cum over the puckered muscle, softly laughing when you whine. 

He lightly slaps your ass then, reaching forward to gently grasp your face with his messy hands and pull you back to press a firm kiss over your lips. His thumb, the one that had smeared his cum over your tight hole, sinks between your moving lips, pushing into your mouth and onto your tongue as he whispers a small command to taste it, and you mewl.

“So good, princess—”

“Cut!”

You both jolt at the booming voice, getting rudely snapped out of the daze you’d fallen into. 

These fucking cameras.

You smile, dropping your cheek onto your shoulder as you bat your eyelashes up at Eddie from over your shoulder, “You’re a natural, Eddie, you know that?”

Eddie huffs a laugh, thanking the assistant when they bring you towels and robes.

“Well,” He breathes as he slinks the robe over his shoulders, watching as you do the same, “I’ve got the best coach.” He winks.

Now that you and Eddie have done two films together and basically had a sleepover, you’re practically inseparable.

It’s funny, really. Eddie thought maybe the fact that you’ve seen each other bare and had sex on camera might hinder the aspect of any friendly connection because, well, Eddie’s never done this before! He’s not a pornstar, so he’s not sure how the friendship/relationship aspect of it works, but luckily, it’s easier than most normal friendships Eddie’s had before.

You talk almost every night over the phone (Eddie finally fixed the wire), going over one another’s day and laughing at embarrassing or funny moments. You go on for hours until either one of you falls asleep, and it’s usually you since Eddie has the sleep schedule of a newborn baby who doesn’t know the difference between night and day. All the better for him, though, because he gets to poke fun at you the next day and tease you about how you sometimes snore.

And Eddie loves listening to you talk— could spend hours cuddled up with Banshee as he listens to you ramble on about whatever new show you’re watching or the latest gossip at work. It’s Eddie’s favorite part of his day, talking to you, so he kicks himself when he realizes he forgot to call you last night.

He’s getting ready for bed when he remembers, and he practically sprints to his phone on his nightstand and dials your number in less than thirty seconds. It takes you three rings to answer, and Eddie smiles at the sound of your voice, “Hello?”

“Hi, princess,” Eddie responds.

You gasp, “Eddie, hi! Oh, I was just about to call you! Where have you been?” You ask. Eddie groans, dropping back onto his mattress with spread arms. “Working. I’m so sorry I forgot to call. I just started a new schedule at the shop, and the hours are awful.”

Eddie can hear your frown when you respond, “Bummer. I’ve got a way to cheer you up, though.”

Eddie’s eyes are closed, and sleep is so heavy in his bones he feels like he’s sinking through the mattress, but he smiles as if it’s second nature when he responds, “Hit me.”

You cheer, and Eddie hears the rustling of grocery bags on your end as you speak, “My manager gave me a shit ton of holiday chocolates she had left over, and well, I was wondering if you’d like to drown yourself in sugar with me?” 

Eddie softly laughs, folding his arm to rest his hand on his tummy as he nods, forgetting you can’t see. “You didn’t even have to ask.”

The drive from your flat to Eddie’s is typically around twenty minutes, but with the benefit of it being nearly midnight and most normal people being in bed by now, you’re knocking on Eddie’s door in just a little under twelve minutes. 

Eddie opens the door to let you in and immediately just wants to kiss you. You’re dressed in an oversized sweatshirt, loose pajama pants with cute little ducks printed on them, and fluffy house slippers. You grin up at Eddie as you lift a bag full of candy, “I come bearing gifts!”

Eddie had been exhausted all day, but now that he’s had two handfuls of sugary treats, he’s ready to run a fucking marathon.

He’s sucking on a sour apple jawbreaker and watching some shitty romcom with Banshee curled in his lap when he feels your head softly drop onto his shoulder. He glances down at you and sees the soft flutter of your eyes, “Are you tired? You can take my bed.” He offers.

You tilt your head to blink up at him tiredly, “Will you come with me?”

And well, Eddie was originally going to take the couch, but you’re looking up at him with these cute, bleary eyes, and Eddie can’t even imagine saying no. So, he shuts his TV off, makes a mental note to clean up the candy wrappers sometime tomorrow, and lets you drag him off to his room.

Banshee decided to take advantage of the new space on the couch and sprawl out, so Eddie doesn’t have to worry about asking if you’re okay with her cuddling up on his bed like she usually does. 

Eddie doesn’t do this very often— sleep with other people in his bed, he means. And sure, he’s had partners before that would stay the night here and there, but he hasn’t had that in over a year now, so it’s safe to say that Eddie’s a little bit nervous.

He doesn’t know if you want to be close, but considering how cuddly you are on a daily basis, he’s not surprised when you press yourself into his side with a content sigh, snuggling deeper into the warm covers. He turns, shifting to wrap his arms around your frame, trying his best to ignore the fast beating of his heart in his chest— but that’s not the main issue. The bigger problem is— “Eddie? Are you hard?”

Shit.

God, this is awful. Nothing even remotely sexual happened, and Eddie’s popping a boner and practically stabbing your stomach. Fuck, you probably think he’s a perv now. Nice going.

“No.”

It falls silent for a moment, and Eddie can feel the quiver of your body as you giggle into his shoulder. He smiles, an embarrassed blush rising over her cheeks as he lifts a hand to palm at his eye, “I’m so fucking sorry.”

You turn in Eddie’s arm, pressing a hand to Eddie’s shoulder to lay him on his back. You stay lying by his side, body pressed to him, head resting on his shoulder. You nose at the curly strands of hair on Eddie’s neck, and your hand runs down his torso, fingertips dipping beneath the waistband of his sweats. “O-oh. No, you don’t need to, princess.” Eddie says, yet his voice is shaky and holds anticipation as you drag your nails through the coarse hair leading to his cock. 

“I want to. Please?” You ask. And you’re so good, so obedient, not touching Eddie’s cock until he swallows and nods his head yes. You wriggle, like a happy pup that got a treat, and your hand sinks lower, wrapping around the thick of Eddie’s cock.

Eddie’s breath hitches, sinking into the feeling of your warm hand stroking up his cock, your thumb running over his leaking tip. Eddie curses, hips twitching up into your hold, and you press a kiss to his jaw, and Eddie nearly bursts into stars.

You press another kiss to his jaw, soft and sweet, and Eddie slinks an arm around you, sinking his hands into your hair and shakily breathing. “You keep kissing me like that, and I’m gonna— fuck.”

And it’s so pathetic; you’ve only had your hand down his pants for less than five minutes, and Eddie’s quivering like a virgin having their first time. God, this is so embarrassing.

You kiss Eddie once more, “Wait, wait. Not yet.”

And then you shuffle away from Eddie, and he’s frowning because he feels cold without you snuggled against him. But then you’re sinking underneath the covers, and Eddie’s cursing, “W-what are you doing, honey?”

He lifts the covers just as you wriggle your way between his legs and hook your fingers over the band of his sweats. You peel his sweats away, mouth opening like a hungry lion when Eddie’s cock pops out. You push the front band of his sweats to catch just below his balls, and Eddie’s hips squirm from the pressure making you giggle when his cock twitches.

You loop your fingers around his cock, twisting up on a long stroke, “Did I ever tell you how pretty your cock is, Eddie?”

Jesus Christ.

Eddie breathes shakily through his nose, tummy quivering as your gaze flickers; he shakes his head no. Eddie sinks a hand to pet your hair back, smiling when you nuzzle into his touch, letting your lips brush against his tip, “You think it’s pretty, baby?” He asks.

You nod, letting your tongue loll out of your mouth to catch the pearl of pre-cum dripping from his tip. You don’t say anything else as you lean forward and wrap your mouth around him, languidly taking him as far as you want and sucking him for all he’s worth.

Eddie’s head drops back then, his entire body just losing strength to do anything as you slowly fuck your mouth over him. The blanket falls over you then, and Eddie curses, scrambling to push it back over your head so you don’t, like, suffocate on his cock.

And Eddie was already close before, so it doesn’t take long for him to start cursing and warning you that he’s gonna cum. Before he knows it, he’s emptying himself into the warm cavern of your mouth, soft mixes of curses and your name tumbling from his mouth as you happily take every last drop.

You pull off of him with a small pop, licking up the small remnants of cum that drool down his cock. Eddie feels weightless now; the effects of sugar are long gone now that you practically sucked his soul through his dick. You tuck Eddie back into his pants, and as if you couldn’t get any cuter, any sweeter, you press a gentle kiss to Eddie’s tummy right where the waistband sits.

Eddie’s got a loopy grin on his face when you crawl back up to snuggle back into his side, mumbling something about how you love licking his cock. Eddie nearly dies, by the way.

He thinks he’s in love with you, maybe.

You breathe in deep, draping an arm across Eddie’s tummy and slinking your leg between his, and you sigh all sleepy and cute as you say, “G’night, Eddie.”

Yeah. Eddie’s definitely in love with you.

Weeks go by as you and Eddie become thick as thieves.

You carry on with your nightly calls, obviously, but now there’s a healthy mix of one of you going to the other's home and crashing there for the night, then that bleeds into the next day where you just spend hours with each other doing fuck all.

Eddie just likes being around you. You don’t have to be doing anything particularly fun or sexual; no, Eddie just enjoys your company. And most times, you and Eddie will be doing your separate little activities— you reading or watching a movie while Eddie writes up new campaign ideas for Dustin— and you will reach out to twirl a strand of Eddie’s hair around your knuckle and gently tug or poke your finger into his cheek where his dimples reside and Eddie just melts.

Most of the time, you’re only doing it for your peace of mind (Eddie knows because you told him when he asked), but something tells him maybe you actually have something to say when you poke Eddie’s cheek for the third time.

He turns to you, brows raised and hiding beneath his bangs that so badly need a trim, “Yes, doll?”

You smile now that his attention is on you, and you shift, careful not to wake Banshee in your lap from your movements. Eddie thinks Banshee might like you more than she likes him, which is just downright traitorous, considering Eddie’s the one who feeds her and keeps a roof over her head. He doesn’t really blame the cat, though. 

“What are you doing on Saturday?” You ask.

Eddie hums, closing his notebook and leaning back into his couch, “This Saturday?”

You nod, and Eddie shrugs, lips pouting as he speaks, “Nothing, I’m pretty sure. Why?”

You sigh heavily, sinking into the couch as you gently pet Banshee behind her ear, “We have an event for work, and I was just wondering if you would maybe wanna tag along?”

Eddie’s head tips in interest, “Sure. Is it, like, fancy dress shit?” He asks. Eddie thinks he has a tux somewhere deep in the trenches of his closet. Probably the one he wore to Wayne's wedding two years ago; he hopes he still fits.

You shrug, “Eh, nothing too fancy schmancy. Slacks and a nice shirt will do,” You mindlessly watch the television, gently rubbing Banshee’s ear between your fingers. “That I can do, princess. But uh,” Eddie pauses, “You don’t seem too ecstatic about this.” He points out.

You shrug, glancing over at Eddie, and Eddie wants to kiss your pouty lips because you look adorable swallowed up in a throw blanket with sleepy eyes blinking up at him. “S’cause I’m not,” You huff, “I hate those ignorant assholes— don’t get me wrong, some of them are good friends of mine! But most of them are just…” You make a face and roll your eyes, and Eddie softly laughs. You let your head lazily turn to gaze at him, “Don says I have to go, though. So I figured I may as well drag someone I actually enjoy being around.” You softly smile.

Eddie’s heart flutters and grows three times the size of his body.

Saturday night comes quicker than most, and Eddie spends nearly an hour digging through his closet. By the time Eddie finds a nice enough shirt to pair with his neatly ironed (to Eddie’s standard, which is probably not very high) slacks, he’s running behind and starts to stress that he won’t pick you up on time, and he’s just totally made an ass of himself.

It’s five o’clock when Eddie gets to your flat, and when he knocks on your door, he’s out of breath because he smokes more than a godman grill, and he skipped every other step on the staircase to get there quicker. He’s thinking of a million ways to apologize for being late, and he thinks he has it right when you open the door, but then— “Oh. Hey Eds! You’re early!”

Eddie huffs, nearly doubling over in exhaustion because he seriously needs to quit smoking, “Wha– early?”

You hold the door open for Eddie to step in and nod. You’re in a white fluffy robe with house boots on, and your hair is tied back, so you have a clear canvas to work with for your makeup. “Yeah, it starts at seven.” 

And, oh, what the fuck? Here Eddie was stressing and thinking he’d completely ruined his chances with you because he decided to be an asshat and lose track of time on his video games, but in reality, he’s nearly two hours early?!

“Oh, but now you can help me pick a dress. Come on.”

No, Eddie has zero complaints, actually. He’s grateful that he’s timely challenged, he thinks as you drag him toward your room.

Eddie spends the next thirty minutes or so seated at the foot of your bed, judging whichever dresses you surprise him with from out of your closet.

It isn’t easy to give a solid answer because, well, you look good in all of them. And Eddie’s not even being biased because he’s got a sickening crush on you— no, you genuinely look amazing in every dress.

“Eddie, you’ve said yes to all of them.” You huff. “Because they all look good!” Eddie exclaims.

You frown, resting your hands on your hips and tilting your head at him. Eddie shrugs, “I don’t know why you’re upset with me when it’s technically your fault.” He points out, to which you roll your eyes and jokingly throw a dress at his face.

It takes a while for you to decide; by the time you’ve figured it out, there’s about forty minutes until the event begins.

The dress you landed on is evil, to say the least.

It’s a black puffy babydoll-style dress, except instead of a poofy top half, it’s tight fitting and pushes your chest up to sit nice and pretty, and the straps are thin, and Eddie thinks about the sound you’d make if he just reached out and teasingly snapped it against your skin. Wants to coo when you squirm and mewl and press yourself into him.

And the dress is so short, long enough to cover everything, but you wouldn’t have to bend over very far to flash a lucky person, and the sight of your thighs makes Eddie’s head spin.

He doesn’t know where the courage comes from because Eddie is anything but bold when it comes to people he has ridiculous crushes on, but Eddie couldn’t help himself, watching you bent over the sink as you do your last touch-ups to your makeup, the way your silky thighs rub against one another when you shift to get closer to the mirror— Eddie didn’t stand a chance.

He’s behind you before he knows it, and you’re smiling at him through the mirror, “Almost done, promise.” You say.

Eddie lets his hand slink around your waist, dropping his head to nuzzle into your neck, brown eyes fluttering up to hold your gaze through the glass as he kisses your skin before playfully nipping at you. You squeal, curling away from him, and he smiles as you push at him. “You’re cute,” Eddie softly says, and he grins, teeth digging into his bottom lip when you shy away from his gaze, “So pretty.” He adds.

Eddie turns you to face him as he presses you against the bathroom sink. He seeks your lips, but you pout and shake your head, “My lipgloss.” 

Eddie huffs out a laugh, shaking his head before pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth, careful not to catch any of the sticky application before sinking to his knees, hands gentle and greedy as they caress your thighs.

Eddie leans forward to kiss the inside of your knee, “Gonna let me taste you, honey?” He hums, leaning in the press a kiss further up the inside of your thigh. Your breath hitches, legs subconsciously spreading wider to accommodate Eddie. Your nails dig into the countertop as you shakily breathe, “W-we’re gonna be late,” You weakly say as Eddie lets his tongue draw shapes in your skin. Eddie hums, sucking the fat of your thigh into his mouth before leaving with a pop, lips brushing against your hot skin as he says, “I’ll be quick. Promise.”

He doesn’t wait for your response as he coasts his hands up your thighs to loop his fingers around the band of your panties, dragging them down your legs and helping you step out of them. 

Eddie doesn’t waste time then; he kisses a sloppy wet trail up the inside of your thigh, fingers digging into the fat of your skin and helping you spread open for him so he can nuzzle his head beneath the fluffy tulle of your dress and begin his task of devouring you. You’re wet, dripping, and throbbing for Eddie’s tongue, and this is the third time that Eddie has found himself licking into you, and god, it never gets fucking old.

The sounds you make, the way you writhe, the tiny gasps you give, and then the way your cunt pulses around his tongue— it’s the pinnacle of Eddie’s night, he already knows. 

“E-Eddie— oh,” Your breathy whine makes Eddie stuff his face further into your pussy, nose brushing against your clit as he thrusts his tongue into you, your hands scrambling down to sink into Eddie’s hair and tug.

And it took Eddie longer than he’d like to admit to get his hair slicked into the neat bun he’s sporting, but with his tongue plunged deep inside of you and your pretty moans filling his ears, Eddie can’t seem to care that you’re definitely messing up his hard work.

Eddie could spend eternity here, down on his knees, under the dress of your skirt, lapping at your pussy like it’s the last meal he’ll ever have. And sure, Eddie makes this conclusion, like, every single time he finds himself between your legs, but can you blame him? You’re the sweetest thing he’s ever had the pleasure of dealing with.

You lift a leg to hook over Eddie’s shoulder, the heel of your foot pressing into his shoulder blade and pushing a moan from the depths of Eddie’s chest as he snuggles deeper into you, licking and sucking and nipping. 

“S-so close…” You whimper, thighs beginning to quiver on each side of Eddie’s head. He fixes his grip on your hips because Eddie wouldn’t dream of letting you fall in his presence, and you’re standing on your tiptoes when you fumble over the edge, crying out for Eddie as you soak his tongue.

Eddie’s moaning into you, fingers massaging and caressing the thick parts of your hips and thighs as he continues working you through your orgasm. You’re twitching and heavily breathing when Eddie parts his mouth from your slick folds, strings of arousal and spit snapping and falling to his chin. God, it makes Eddie ache in his pants.

He presses sweet and sticky kisses to the insides of your thighs, savoring every moment he has here, breathing you in, tasting you, feeling you, hearing you. He doesn’t doubt for a moment that he looks like a madman when he brings his head out from under your dress, and you giggle, pressing your hand to your lips.

Eddie wants to hear that noise on repeat. Put his headphones on and, like, clean his house or something. Let your giggles play on a constant loop until they’re engrained into the grooves of his brain so he never has to go a second without hearing them.

“What?” Eddie smiles, hands still under your dress and soothingly squeezing the shaky muscles of your thighs. Your eyes are glazed from pleasure, and you look warm as you speak, “I– your hair,” You laugh. You press the wispy curls of Eddie’s bangs back, “I’m so sorry. It looked so nice, and I messed it up.” You happily frown.

Eddie huffs out a laugh, pressing a kiss to your knee and shaking his head, “That’s okay,” He responds, reaching over for your panties to help you slip them back on. “It was for a good cause.” He winks.

Eddie doesn’t frequent fancy parties.

The fanciest event Eddie’s ever been to was a masquerade-themed dinner that he and Jeff snuck into because there were rumors of a big hit producer being there, which, big fucking shocker, they never found him since everyone was in a fucking mask. It was a waste of time, but at least they ate like kings that night.

Besides that, Eddie doesn’t go to fancy places— it’s just not his kind of scene. And it’s not like the event you’ve brought him to tonight is, like, Buckingham Palace tier, but everyone here looks like a million bucks and up, and Eddie’s not quite sure he’s up to that standard.

He would be more worried if you weren’t clinging to him like a koala bear and keeping him in light conversation.

You introduced Eddie to a few of your industry friends, and one or two of them even remembered Eddie from the films he’d done with you, which, Eddie doesn’t know why, but his head grew three times bigger in size from that. And for the most part, you keep to Eddie’s side, pointing out different people from across the room and telling him the lore behind them and whatnot as you share a plate of snacks.

And you love grapes, apparently, because Eddie’s had to get up and refill on them about three times now. “Do you want more?” Eddie asks when he realizes you’re almost done. You glance at him with a small smile as you nod, “I’ll get it this time, though. I want to try some of the cheese.”

So, Eddie nods and keeps an eye on you until the crowd obstructs his view. He busies himself with watching the room, tries to see if he can pick out anyone from any pornos he’s watched before he realizes that’s fucking weird and cringes at himself for being a perv. He finishes his glass of champagne, which Eddie isn’t a champagne guy, but it was either that or whiskey, and Eddie would rather not get shitfaced tonight.

And what’s taking you so long? You’ve been gone for a while now, and Eddie had first thought you maybe made a quick stop at the restrooms, but it’s been more than enough time, and he misses you (as fucking sappy as that is), so he gets up and makes his way to the food bar.

He’s got his empty flute in one hand and the other in his pocket, brown eyes softly scanning the room as he walks. And then he spots you, near the food where you said you’d be, with some guy talking to you, but something isn’t right. 

Eddie’s spent enough time with you now to be able to tell when you’re feeling uneasy just by the way you anxiously drag your nail against the length of your thumb, the way your eyes dart around, or the tense pull of your shoulders.

Your gaze lands on Eddie, and your eyes soften, and Eddie doesn’t even have to think twice before he walks over.

The man's back is facing Eddie, so he doesn’t see the curly-headed boy until he steps around and slinks an arm around your waist, pulling you close with a soft smile, “Been looking for you, sweets.” He presses a kiss to your forehead as you sink into him.

“Mm, just catching up with..a friend.” 

Eddie doesn’t miss the pause. He looks over to the man you’d been talking to, and you take a breath, “Eddie, this is Chris, a coworker.” You introduce the man. And Eddie remembers that name; he thinks he remembers seeing it on the script of the last film you and Eddie did together— the one where you’d asked Eddie to take over because the other guy was an asshole.

Chris reaches out a hand, “Chris. You must be a good friend of hers?”

Eddie doesn’t like that. Doesn’t like that he doesn’t refer to you by your name, or the smug grin on his face, or the sly tone in his voice when he says it. 

And Eddie doesn’t know why he does it, okay. He doesn’t know why the words fly out of his mouth or why he didn’t, like, think it through, but suddenly, Eddie’s introducing himself as your boyfriend. Which, Eddie is not your boyfriend. And you’re not his girlfriend.

Eddie would love to be your boyfriend, and he’d love for you to be his girlfriend, but— but you’re not. So, Eddie doesn’t know why he does it, but he does, and god, it’s comedic how the guy's face falls. Eddie can feel your gaze on him, and he panics a little because what if Eddie just crossed the line big time?

Chris’s gaze flickers to you, and his brows raise as you look at him, “So, I take it this is why you’re only doing solo content now?”

Which, fucking gross. That’s definitely none of this meathead guy's business! So what if you’re making solo content only? And why does he know, and why does he care? God, this guy’s a creep.

But also… why are you only doing solo content? Eddie can’t help but wonder. Did something happen? Was it this asshole's fault? Eddie will kill him if he has anything to do with it. You and Eddie have become so close; you tell each other everything about everything, so why didn’t you tell him about this? It’s not a big deal or whatever, but—

“Does it matter?” Shit, Eddie didn’t mean to say that out loud.

You’re both looking at Eddie in shock, and Eddie just blinks and waits for an answer.

You take in a deep breath, arm squeezing around Eddie’s as you answer— since this guy can’t take a fucking hint, “Yeah, actually, it is. Just didn’t feel right.” You shrug.

The guy nods, pursing his lips together, “Fair enough. Well, if that ever changes, you know where to find me.” He winks before turning around and leaving. Eddie cringes, and he almost steps forward to say something, to tell him to fuck off somewhere, but your grip tightens around his arms, and Eddie understands that you just want the conversation to be over.

Eddie’s quickly turning his attention to you, though, when you press yourself into his side, “Thank you.” You sweetly say.

Eddie nods, a warm hand reaching up to squeeze your hand that's resting over his bicep, “Don’t sweat it, princess. That guy’s a douche.” And you huff, nodding your head, “Yeah. You definitely scared him, though. It was pretty hot.”

Eddie tries not to let that get to his head. 

He fails.

The rest of the night goes well with fewer dickhead run-ins and more grapes, and Eddie is more than Elated when you say it’s time to go.

The ride home is pleasant, and you’ve been extra cuddly all night, so Eddie’s heart is practically the size of Texas when you bring his hand into your lap and slink your fingers together. You’re spending the night, so Eddie’s kind of excited to get in bed and snuggle until you both pass out— but then Eddie’s thrown in for a loop when you both get under his covers.

Banshee is busy in her bakery down at the foot of the bed, kneading little biscuits in preparation for her sleep, and you’re fresh-faced and wrapped in one of Eddie’s shirts when you look over at him with a teasing look, “So,” you start, “You’re my boyfriend.”

Eddie blinks at you, wishing the bed would just let him sink in and become one with the mattress. “Oh god,” He groans, pressing his hands to his face, “I’m sorry, it just came out! That guy was being a dick, and it was the first thing that I thought of, and— god, I’m sorry.” He drags his hands over his face and shoots you an empathetic look. “You can totally, like, kick me in the nuts.”

And Eddie kind of braces himself for you to chew him out or something; tell him he’s a weirdo, and he’ll never in a million years get to call himself your boyfriend because you’re way out of his league. But then you giggle. 

And it’s not the teasing ‘get a load of this loser’ giggle— no, it’s your sweet, kind, and adoring giggle.

“No, no. I was… I was wondering when you would ask, actually.”

Eddie’s never turned his head so fast. He thinks he imagined you saying it, like, maybe he drank too much champagne even though he literally only had less than two full glasses the entire night. “Huh? I– w-what do you mean?” Eddie gapes. “Like… like, ask you to be my girlfriend?”

And you’re so cute as you shyly nod, glancing at Eddie with this expectant gaze.

“Shit, well uh, I-I wanted to ask you in like a bigger way. Like flowers and shit because I… well, I really like you, and it’s what you deserve and—”

You cut Eddie off with a laugh and scoot closer to him, and if Eddie’s heart beats any faster, he might die. “Eddie,” You lowly and softly say, holding his gaze. Eddie nods, eyes darting down to your lips as he holds his breath. “Will you be my boyfriend?”

Shit, Eddie’s never said yes so quickly in his life.

————

a/n: HELLOOO! if you have made it to the end of this awfully long baby i am so thankful and appreciative of you, these two are my babies so I hope you enjoyed them as much as I've enjoyed my time with them <3 as always, thank u for reading and being here, i love and appreciate any feedback, ILYSM MWAH <3

————

cutie teeny taglist: @vol2eddie @paleidiot @hideoutside

[eddiexmunsonlover-archive]

Heat Wave ~ E.M.

Neighbor!Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Summary: A heat wave coursing through Hawkins sends Eddie seeking out any form of relief. Even the cheap, little inflatable pool in your backyard will do, but he'll have to do something for you first. WC: 2.7k Warnings: MDNI 18+ SMUT. Unprotected p in v, oral (f receiving), singular use of the phrase 'good boy', no use of Y/N, outdoor semi-public sex. Inspired from laying in the pool during the heat wave that just hit my area, wanted to get this out before summer's over!

Follow my new blog for future fics @eddiexmunsonlover

In the dead of summer in Hawkins, Indiana, it’s another day in a seemingly endless heatwave cooking the midwest. In the Forest Hills Trailer Park, poor insulation does little to help keep the heat out of the metal sided homes, few in the neighborhood able to afford A/C costs, window units struggling to combat the high temperatures. Rather than sweltering in his room, Eddie finds relief walking under the trees in the park, leaves providing shade from the relentless sun.

He’s beginning to think it’s the only relief he’ll get from the rising temperatures this summer. Until he approaches a trailer, glimpsing through the passing trees into the backyard, yellow plastic catches his eye… and crystal clear water.

A pool. 

A cheap, inflatable one only a couple feet wide, but a pool nonetheless. Filled with cool water. He can practically feel it engulfing his warm, sweaty body. 

Next to it on a plastic lounge chair lays you, basking in the sun. Back home from college, he assumes.

“Well, well, well. Back to visit us peasants?” his voice booms, startling you out of your trance. He leans against your trailer, arms crossed with a grin plastered on his face.

“Jesus Christ, Munson. Can you be any less subtle?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Would you rather I have knocked?”

You roll your eyes, readjusting in the chair as you eye the metalhead.

“What do you want?”

“Oh, you know. Just perusing the neighborhood, decided to stop by and say hi to an old friend.” He meanders closer to your position, hiding an ulterior motive clear as day. An arched brow peeks over your sunglasses.

“Uh huh… friend…sure”

“Hey, you never spewed insults at me in the halls at school, I consider that a friend!”

You scoff out an amused chuckle as he throws a cheeky grin your way.

“Okay, sure. So, friend, what exactly is it that you wanted?”

“Well, I couldn’t help but notice you’re keeping this sweet slice of heaven back here, all to yourself.”

“Yeah, I bought it all by myself.” You state matter-of-factly.

“Hmm. I guess maybe I just thought, being the generous person you are, you’d be willing to share with a friend. I mean, considering the conditions.” He gestures around him with open arms, putting on all the charm he can muster in those dimples.

Despite his stance on the existence of your friendship, you’d never been more than neighbors and classmates. Your circles at Hawkins High never ran or meshed together, your friends falling into the norm of calling him a ‘freak’. A nickname, insult rather, that you never partook in berating him with. An insult that remained when he failed his senior year, meant to graduate with your class. You’ve heard from friends in passing that he failed this year too. You never thought less of him for it though, unlike everyone else in town.

To be honest, you’ve always had a liking for him despite your minimal interactions. Eyes lingering over him when you’d see him in class or the halls, fighting a smirk from his theatrics at lunch. You’d become an outcast like him if your friends knew, but you’d been hiding a crush on Eddie Munson for years. As you look over him now, it becomes strikingly clear that your crush hasn’t faded in the year away at college.

“You think flattery will work on me, hmm?” you remark with a grin.

“Well I only speak the truth, cross my heart.” His actions follow his words, hand over heart.

“Hmm” Your propped up leg fidgets side to side as you consider him.

“Okay, I’ll let you take a dip. But only if there’s something in it for me.” You decide with a confident smile, reveling in the way it catches him off guard before his theatrics kick back in.

“Why, of course. It’s only fair. What would you have me do?”

You keep him a little on edge, taking your time in deciding as you look amongst the yard until a perfect idea pops into your mind at the bottle next to you.

“Well, it is time for me to reapply. Mind giving me a hand?” You throw your own charm his way, a bottle of sunscreen extended out to him.

He only falters for a split second before nodding like a bobble head.

“Uh y-yeah, sure. Of course.” He answers almost too eagerly. “Skin care is important.” 

He worries the forced chuckle gives him away.

When you turn to lay on your stomach, he’s grateful you can’t see the way his entire expression fumbles.

To be fair, he’s always had the hots for you. Given your differing social groupings, he never thought he’d stand a chance. Now, he wonders if his mind is playing tricks on him with your demand. Eying the way your bottoms have bunched up between your cheeks, full figure on display for him, barely covered by the cloth.

A deep sigh rises from your chest at the sensation of his calloused hands spreading the cool lotion along your warm skin. Working from your shoulders and down your arms, you feel the anticipation rising as his hands move down your back. 

Lower and lower until.. his hands meet your calves. His tongue peeks from between his lips, watching as his hands move higher, from your calves to your thighs. An irresistible tug pulling his eyes and hands to move to your ass. 

“Do you uh- want me to..?” he questions, eyeing your cheeks only half covered by your bottoms.

“If you wouldn’t mind… not trying to deal with sunburn on my ass.” You answer sweetly, ending with a lighthearted laugh.

The sensation shoots right between your legs, only inches away from where his calloused fingers knead the plush flesh of your ass. You have to bite your lip to muffle the moan threatening to rise up your throat.

Eddie almost swears he feels the slightest push of your ass against his hands. He’s mesmerized by it, unable to stop himself from visualizing what’s underneath the slither of cloth. He never thought he’d ever be this close to you, let alone touching you like this. He wants to lose himself in it, in you but stops himself before his lingering touch becomes suspicious.

“A-alright, you’re all good.”

You flip over onto your back with a smile.

“Thanks, Eddie. You wouldn’t mind doing this side too, right?”

His eyebrows shoot up with a bob of his adam’s apple, gulping at the proposition before forcing a chuckle.

“Just trying to get a free massage out of me, aren’t ya?”

“Well you know, college is very stressful and I did say you’d have to make it worth my while”

He licks his lips before sinking his teeth into them, looking down at the sunscreen in his hands.

“Yeah, alright” he agrees with a smirk.

His movements mimic his work on your backside. Shoulders, down your arms, slowing as they glide across your chest, forcing himself not to linger before moving down to your stomach. Working up your calves, to your thighs. Admiring the way his fingers dig into the doughy flesh, your covered pussy right in his face.

You’re enjoying yourself far too much, watching how flustered you’re making him through the shade of your sunglasses. As his fingers glide up your legs, you spread them open ever so slowly. Biting your lip as his hands caress up to the inside of your thighs, eyeing the growing bulge in his shorts.

“Eddie…”

Wide eyes shoot up from your core to meet your eyes, now uncovered with your sunglasses moved atop your hair.

“Do you want a taste?”

He watches as your hand slides down your stomach, inching toward your pussy before they flash back up to meet yours.

“It’s a question, not an order.” You giggle at his silence, giving him an out.

“You’re serious?” He asks in disbelief, mouth agape. 

You nod softly, biting your bottom lip as your fingers ghost over your clit.

“Wanted you for a long time” You mutter, breathing becoming heavier at the prospect of finally getting what you’ve wanted for so long.

“Shit…” His gaze falls back down to where your hand is, rubbing your pussy through your bathing suit. “You don’t have to ask me twice, sweetheart.”

His hand replaces yours, gently sliding your bottoms to the side and groaning at the sight of your pussy. You gasp softly as his tongue dives between your folds, licking a long stripe from your already wet hole and up to your clit. Hands sliding up your body, pulling both sides of your top to the side to free your breasts. Rough hands engulfing them, massaging them between his fingers as he shoves his face in your pussy like a starving man. Tongue exploring every crevice, lapping up your juices as his nose nudges against your clit.

“Oh fuck” You moan, head falling back as your fingers tug at his curls.

His fingers pinch and roll your nipple between them as his tongue circles your clit, bringing his other hand down to tease your entrance with his fingers. Slowly sliding two ringed digits in, tongue flicking against your clit before sucking it into his mouth, your eyes rolling back at the overwhelming pleasure, moans freely falling from your lips. 

You force your eyes open to watch. The sight of Eddie Munson between your legs, mouth worshiping your pussy, tongue working you in a way no guy ever has before, it’s sending you closer to the edge faster than you ever have before. 

You bite your lip at the sight, fingers running through his hair. The metal of his rings digging into the flesh of your ass with each thrust of his fingers into you.

“Mmm, good boy.”

A deep, rumbling moan rises from his chest, sending vibrations through your clit sucked between his lips as the pads of his finger rub against your g-spot.

“Fuck, Eddie. You’re gonna make me cum!”

Your admission only eggs him on more, sucking onto your clit harder, fingers moving faster in and out of your soaking walls that clench around them. His eyes flutter open to meet yours and that’s all it takes, every muscle in your body tightening, thighs trembling around his head as you grip it. 

Coming down from your orgasm, he replaces his soaked fingers with his tongue. Licking up every bit of your juice he can.

“Taste s’good, baby” he mumbles, face still buried in your pussy.

You whine at the praise and sensation, grabbing onto his hand and bringing his fingers to your mouth, sucking your cum off them. He pulls his attention back to you with a guttural moan, the action making his cock throb even harder in his shorts. Your other hand reaches out to rub him through the fabric, never breaking eye contact.

“Need to feel you inside me” you beg, rubbing the pads of his fingers along your bottom lip.

“Christ…”

His other hand eagerly reaches for the waistband of his shorts, pulling them down under his balls, throbbing cock springing free. Yanking his shirt off to relieve him from the heat of the sun and your sweating bodies.

He lines his cock up with your entrance, slowly sliding himself into your warm, wet walls until he’s fully sheathed inside you with a moan. His mouth latches onto one of your breasts, sucking and nibbling your nipple as he begins slowly thrusting into you.

“Fuck, yes!” you gasp out in pleasure, one hand in his hair as the other grips onto the lounge chair beneath you.

His mouth moves from your breast to your mouth in a hot, wet kiss as he shoves his cock as deep as he can inside you.

“Feel so good. Always wanted to fuck you, sweetheart. Feel this tight pussy wrapped around me.” he mutters against your lips. Sweat makes his bangs stick to his forehead, lips moving to latch onto your neck.

More moans escape your lips from the power his words, mouth, cock, the power he has over you, giving you more pleasure than you’ve ever felt by any other guy in Hawkins or college.

One of his arms hooks under your knee, giving him deeper access as his hips collide with yours, your hands attempting to grip onto his sweaty back. The sensation, his cock stretching you out with every thrust is overwhelming, consuming every bit of your attention, the fact of being in your backyard long forgotten.

“Eddie!” 

Your whines of pleasure are met with a stifled chuckle.

“Better quiet down, sweetheart. Don’t want the whole neighborhood to hear you, do you?” his husky voice and breath fan over your ear, sending chills down your spine amid the relentless heat surrounding you. 

His reminder, the reality that anyone passing along the same path he did, looking through just the right break in the trees at just the right time, would see Eddie “the freak” Munson balls deep in your pussy on the lounge chair in your backyard.

It only turns you on more, making your walls clench around him, delighting in the broken moans it pulls from him against your ear before he chuckles again.

“Mmm you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Dirty girl”

His thrusts pick up in pace, your sweat aiding to the wet sounds of his skin slapping against yours.

“You were so cocky earlier, what’s wrong? Cat got your tongue?” He teases, out of breath. Sporting a smirk as his face moves into your vision, hovering above you.

You groan in a mix of pleasure and annoyance.

“Just- oh…shut up and fuck me”

His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip as he moves your legs to rest on his shoulders, allowing his cock to go even deeper inside you. His hands keep a harsh grip on your hips as he plows into you mercilessly. The new position and rough thrusts making the wet, slapping sounds of his skin on yours, his balls slapping your ass grow even louder along with your moans.

“Oh god oh god, yes!” your desperate whimpers fumble from your lips, a white knuckle grip on the plastic holding your bodies up. You’re sure it’ll buckle beneath you at any moment from the power of his thrusts.

“Mmm. What if your mother came home right now, fuck, to find her precious daughter getting fucked by the town freak, huh?” 

Even in his pleasure, the smug teasing still breaks through. Taking even more pleasure in watching you unravel beneath him, because of him, a girl once thought to be completely unattainable, now cockdrunk for him.

“Mmm don’t care, feel too fucking good” you answer breathlessly, feeling yourself quickly barreling toward your climax again.

He can’t decide where to look, watching your face twist in pleasure or watch his cock disappear in and out between your pussy lips. Despite his teasing, he can feel he doesn’t have much longer, and if the way your walls are pulsing around his cock is any sign, he knows you don’t either.

“Gonna cum again for me, baby? Give it to me, wanna feel you soak my cock, pretty girl”

He keeps up his relentless pace as much as he can and you feel like his cock is about to split you in two, making your toes curl in their position next to his head. You can’t stop it even if you tried, waves of pleasure crashing through your whole body as you meet your end.

“Fuck, Eddie!” you squeal in overwhelming pleasure, hands moving to grip onto his arms. Your head thrown back, mouth falling open, back arching off the chair as everything in you clenches.

The tight grip you have on his cock and the scream of his name as you cum is all it takes to drive him into his own climax, removing his cock from the warm confines of your pussy to cum all over your bare stomach with a deep moan of your name.

Your grips loosen, his head falling to rest on your chest as your legs fall to his sides. Heavy breaths and chests heaving as you recoup from your highs.

“Shit. If this is what I have to do to use your pool… I’ll be here all summer.”

[luveline]

Hi I love you coworker! James series feel free to ignore if you don’t like this idea but what if Remus convinced reader to go to a karaoke bar with them and she gets a little tipsy and signs her heart out and James is just heart eyes over it

thanks for requesting <3 fem!reader

“What is that?” James asks, genuinely scornful as he points at you where you’re leaning on the bar. “Is that another margarita? Jesus Christ.” 

“You should be enjoying this.” Sirius smiles around the lip of his beer. 

“Why would I enjoy this?” 

“She’s coming out of her shell, isn’t she? You’re always calling her a priss.” 

“She is a priss, but binge drinking isn’t the same as extroversion.” 

Sirius taps their beers together. “And what are you doing tonight, James?” 

James scowls as you collect your new drink. You’ve had four or five by now and they’ve more than started to affect you, your giggling endless, your hand wrapped around the crook of Remus’ arm for balance. 

“Remus! It’s your turn, hun, get up here!” your general manager calls from the stage, a mic in her hand.

“Me!” you shout suddenly, to James’ shock and Sirius’ bright laughter. “Remus, please let me have your turn, please! I know exactly what song I want to sing.” 

Remus, who’d convinced you to come through a lot of pleading and a promise that you won’t have to sing at all if you weren’t ready, looks at you like you’ve grown horns. “Are you sure?” 

“Yes? Can I please?” 

You take his arm into your hand and you look at him with widened eyes, thumb rubbing a line that James zeroes in on, doesn’t mean to, can’t believe he’s noticed at all. He’s irked you’d even look at Remus that way. 

Because you’re annoying. Yes. Very annoying. 

You drink a good half of your Margarita and ask Remus to hold it for you before you take the steps onto the stage and chat with your general manager about what song you want to sing. You put your hands on the mic stand and prepare yourself with eyebrows pinched together, determined, even though you look a little shaky at the same time. Sirius nudges James from behind, the two of them joining Remus in the small crowd of your coworkers as the music starts. 

There are two screens for lyrics. A huge one for you, a smaller for everyone else beside you. You clutch the mic and stare resolutely at the bigger one as the melody becomes recognisable. James watches in what he thought would be smugness, but instead lays somewhere between awe and mild horror as you begin to sing.

The song is Brandy (You’re a Fine Girl) by Big Head Todd & The Monsters. James loves this song, he sings it every time he has to drive Remus to cornwall. He knows every word back to front and he likes how you seem to like it too, even if you’re butchering it, and the drunken slur to your words is ridiculous. You know the chorus well enough and sing it with a beaming smile. James maybe doesn’t like you, but it’s hard not to smile when someone else is happy like that. 

“Don’t make fun of her, James! Please don’t, she’s trying her best,” Remus says at his smiling. “And she won’t come again.” 

“I’m not,” he says, not bothering to look away from you.

Your eyes scan faces and get caught on his. He can feel the moment you realise he’s watching too, see your slight falter, and then, magically, your excitement. “James! It’s Brandy! You love this song!” 

Sirius snickers at his expression. “Mate,” he says quietly, “I thought you didn’t like her?” 

“I don’t.” 

You stumble a little where you’re standing and James has to stand extremely still so as to prevent his hands from reaching out for you. “James, I didn’t take your favourite song, okay? You have to sing Don’t Stop Believin’! Oh, shit–” You don’t realise your cue to sing the chorus until it’s halfway through, but when you do find the right words, you’re extremely passionate. 

“She sounds like Melly coughing up a hairball,” James says, wrinkling his nose. 

An emotion far from disgust settles hot at the base of his neck. 

“She looks cute,” Remus says.

“Sure, if you’re blind. And deaf.” 

“Well,” Sirius says, “you do wear glasses.” 

[loveinhawkins]

was this written to solve my own inconsistencies because i keep forgetting Eddie literally hotwired the RV, they don’t need keys, why do you keep mentioning keys, you fool? maybe. do i also think they’d be this stupid? yes. ❤️

“Oh, son of a bitch,” Dustin says, midway to The War Zone.

Steve, who is used to this sort of outburst for things as mild as Dustin forgetting just one out of the eight pens on his person, does not react.

However Eddie—Hellfire rants aside—is not quite as familiar yet. He jumps practically a foot in the air.

“Jesus Christ, what now?”

All Dustin offers by way of explanation is an accusatory, “You,” pointing his finger right in Eddie’s face.

And then Eddie sees what’s dangling from said finger.

“… Oh.”

“What?” Steve says, glancing at the rearview mirror; Eddie quickly blocks Dustin from view, goes right up on his tiptoes and spreads his arms wide, curses when Dustin throws the keys—

—to Max, who catches them one-handed, who gives Eddie a grin that’s not so much pitying as it is evil, and then she—

—throws them to Lucas, and he somehow gets the metal ring to land on his finger, like he’s in a movie, and he twirls them round and round until Max snorts, and he grins like that had been his aim all along.

“Sinclair,” Eddie says, “I am begging you.”

“I’m not hearing much about what’s in it for him,” Erica says.

Aha! Eddie zeroes in on Erica and blocks her from Lucas, like a very unjust game of Keep Away.

“Dude,” Lucas says, affronted, “that’s not fair.”

Eddie has the decency to look a bit ashamed. Not too ashamed to stop because he is a pathetic man, but at least Steve still hasn’t noticed the—

“Lucas,” Erica says, in the aggrieved tones of a sister who’s despaired at him many, many times. “You’re on the basketball team. Just do a pass fake, nerd.”

Lucas feigns to the left, and Eddie falls for it—but, in what he’s sure is a completely unsportsmanlike move, he uses his height to his advantage, jumps…

And drops the keys with a clatter.

Steve must instantly recognise the sound for what it is, because he starts to cackle.

Eddie’s only saving grace is that Steve is driving, so at least he can’t see—

“Eddie’s going, like, super red in the face right now,” Dustin narrates helpfully.

“Scarlet,” Lucas says.

“Vermillion,” Robin pipes up from the floor.

“Ooh,” Dustin, Lucas, and Max chorus, impressed. Jesus Christ, they almost harmonize.

“Yeah, Eddie,” Steve says dryly, “you fucking moron. How did you miss those, it’s not like you had literally anything else on your mind.”

“You’re a real gentleman, Harrington, anyone ever told you that?” Eddie says weakly.

“Maybe once or twice,” Steve says, drawing it out teasingly, as if he means not often enough.

“Well, at least we got on the road,” Nancy says. Her voice quivers like she’s trying not to laugh—perched on the table, eyes shining with amusement. “And it did look pretty cool, Eddie.”

Eddie thinks this is an incredibly generous assessment, considering his main thought while breaking into the RV had been don’t get stuck in the window, Jesus Christ.

And then… like, he didn’t expect Steve to actually come up and watch him hotwire the damn thing, like, with rapt attention, so close that Eddie was kinda concerned he’d electrocute himself instead. Honestly, it was a miracle he got the engine started.

“That’s sweet of you, Wheeler, but I’m self-aware.”

“Since when?” Erica says.

Underneath everyone’s laughter, Steve grins and says, “Hey, don’t worry, man.” He catches Eddie’s eye in the rearview mirror, winks. “It was an educational experience.”

“Oh, wow, your face is even redder.”

“Henderson, I’m gonna put those goddamn keys so far up your ass.”

[ataliagold]

Flowers In Your Hair

For @astrangersummer week 3 prompt 'flowers'. Title from Flowers In Your Hair by The Lumineers.

Pairing: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson

Rating: General

W/C: 1249

Tags: Post Series 4 Volume 2, Everyone Lives, Established Steddie, Fluff, Soft Steve Harrington, Steve Loves Yellow Flowers, Eddie Loves Steve, El and Max are best friends, summer, this is just softness

Summary: Eddie enlists some help to find the perfect flowers for Steve. Despite his own insecurities, Eddie is learning that his boyfriend loves soft things.

___

“Robin, what kind of flowers does Steve like?”

Eddie was draped over the Family Video counter, having stolen the barely-working desk fan air flow for himself.

Robin paused where she was rifling through the box of returned tapes to give him a confused look. “Flowers? Really?”

Eddie threw up a hand, then regretted it, because that had taken far too much effort in the stifling heat. “What? You think a man can’t buy flowers for another man? You judging me, Buckley?”

Robin scoffed. “No. Just…why flowers?”

“It’s romantic!” Eddie whined. “We have a date tonight and Steve loves that stuff. He might not say it, but he does. On Valentine’s Day I got him chocolates and roses and you should’ve seen his face, honestly if we hadn’t been in public I probably would’ve got on my knees there and then -”

Robin leaned over and slapped a hand across his mouth. “Jesus, enough.”

Eddie grinned behind her hand, and poked his tongue out to touch Robin’s palm.

She snatched it away with a shout, fake gagging behind the counter. “Munson, that was disgusting.”

Eddie shrugged. “You love me, though.”

“Steve loves you,” Robin corrected. “And so, by extension, I’m unfortunately forced to too.” She smiled a little, taking any sting out of her words. “Seriously though, the kids are over there, watch your mouth.” She dipped her head towards the sci-fi section, where Dustin and Mike were loudly arguing over which tape to rent for their next movie night. Max and El were hanging back, Max eagerly trying to explain a movie synopsis to El. Whatever it was, it sounded violent, and El looked confused.

Eddie leaned further over the counter, letting the weak breeze from the fan flick his hair around. “Help me?” he asked, batting his eyes at Robin.

She screwed up her nose a little before responding. “Honestly, I don’t know. You said you got him roses before, right? Did he like those?”

“Well, yeah, but I think he liked the gesture more than anything else.”

Robin shrugged. “Just get him anything, then. It’s from you, so he’ll love it.”

“But I want to get his favourite,” Eddie lamented. “He deserves the best.”

“Well, I agree with you there.”

“Eddie?”

A small voice sounded behind him, and Eddie summoned the energy to turn his head. El was standing behind him, looking a little shy.

“Yeah, supergirl?”

“You wanted to know Steve’s favourite flowers?”

Eddie slid off the counter a bit, straightening up. “Yeah, I do.”

El glanced between him and Robin for a moment. “Steve used to help me and Max with our hair. When mine was longer, we would make daisy chains and Steve braided them into my hair, he even let us put them in his sometimes. We tried to use other flowers sometimes but they did not stay together very well. But Steve’s favourites are yellow ones.”

And that…made sense, Eddie supposed. Yellow was Steve’s favourite colour, after all, but Eddie wasn’t sure where to find yellow flowers. He couldn’t afford much at the florist, and what flowers were yellow, anyway? Sunflowers? Where the hell would he get those?

Robin tugged his sleeve, pulled Eddie back to the counter so she could lean over and whisper, “The Klines have yellow roses growing by their fence.”

“The old Mayor?” Eddie asked with a frown.

“Yup.”

A smile slowly spread across his face.

“There are marigolds by the school field,” El added. “And yellow violas and tulips by the cabin. I can show you.”

And that was how, a short time later, Eddie was snapping off fragrant yellow roses at the stalk where they were poking out between the stark white pickets of Larry Kline’s fence. Max and El were standing further down the footpath, acting as lookouts while Eddie huddled by the fence and took his quarry as quickly as he could.

At the first surprised shout from inside the fence, he darted away, collecting the girls with a grin as he ran past them.

He threw back his head and laughed, roses clutched in his warm hand, Max beaming beside him.

“That guy’s an asshole,” she told Eddie as they jogged away from the house. “Serves him right.”

They couldn’t move too quickly – Max’s bones had healed, but she wasn’t exactly up to a sprint across town just yet. But they made it to Eddie’s van parked around the corner, and moved on to their next stop.

Just like that, Eddie spent the afternoon traipsing along with the two girls. El showed him where to find all sorts of different flowers, and Max went along because where El went, she went. It was hot, the sun baking them from above in a cloudless sky, but Eddie didn’t care – this was for Steve.

By the time they were finished, Eddie had gathered a large handful of flowers in all different shades of yellow and orange, and the girls had wrapped them in some plastic procured from Hopper’s cabin and poured some water into the bottom to keep them fresh in the summer heat.

“There,” El told him proudly, handing over the bouquet while Max tried to find some ribbon in a drawer to tie around it. “They’re pretty. Like Steve.”

Eddie spluttered a little at El’s directness. “Oh…yeah. Yeah, they are. He is.”

El nodded. “Max often says so, too.”

“Oh my god, shut up,” Max yelled from El’s room.

Eddie smirked, because the girl’s little crush on his boyfriend was no secret. “It’s ok Max, I agree with you.”

Max stomped back towards them, slapped a length of gold ribbon into Eddie’s hands, and then took El’s arm and pulled her back towards the room.

Effectively dismissed, Eddie returned to his trailer to rush through a shower and getting changed, barely with enough time left to get to Steve’s before their dinner plans.

Waiting in front of his boyfriend’s door, Eddie passed the bouquet from hand to hand, a little nervous.

This is stupid.

Steve Harrington, former jock supreme, once-captain of the basketball team, nail-bat wielding badass wasn’t going to appreciate some yellow flowers.

Eddie almost turned tail. Almost tossed the flowers into the back of his van to be dealt with later, almost gave in to the nerves in his stomach.

Almost.

Because there was a softness to Steve that Eddie was learning to know and love. It was in the way he treated the kids, the way he gently held Eddie’s hand, the way he baked cookies when his friends were coming over and apparently braided flowers into the girls’ hair.

Eddie took a deep breath, clutched his yellow flowers, and knocked on the door.

It opened after a moment.

“Eds, hey, sorry I just gotta get my shoes on -” Steve trailed off as he took in the sight of Eddie standing there, flowers gripped in shaky hands.

Eddie cleared his throat, held out the bouquet. “For you. If, um…if you want them. Sorry if it’s stupid, I wanted to get you something but I couldn’t afford much and El told me you liked yellow flowers so I spent the afternoon going around town and finding them, and the roses actually involved some petty theft but -”

Steve took the flowers with one hand, and pulled Eddie through the door with the other, lips seeking his mouth and swallowing the rest of his sentence.

When they finally pulled apart, Eddie smiled shyly. “You like them, then?”

“I love them, Eds.”

___

[emptyjunior]

It looks like with the movies taking off, everyone is on the Dune train now!! Which is very exciting, I’m glad a bunch of new people are discovering this media and reading the books, but can I recommend you the David Lynch, Dune (1984) movie.

First of all, if you are invested in the lore of the books and the deeper messaging of the story, you’re going to need to turn that part of your brain Off. If you love kick ass shit and are willing to be slightly tipsy while you watch and have a great goddamn afternoon, this is the flick for you.

Now first fun fact I’m going to share with you. David Lynch (twin peaks, eraserhead director, celebrated surrealist) turned down the opportunity to direct Return of the Jedi for this film. A film that was devastatingly slow to make, changed hands multiple times, had a pricy VFX budget of $40 million and then made barely $31 million, David Lynch turned down Star Wars to work on it. And he did this when he had never read the novel, and did not even like or engage with sci fi media. THAT’S how you know we’re really in for something.

Now this film has some big names in it! We’ve got a young Kyle MacLachlan who is rocking some Devastating outfits:

We’ve got Sir Patrick Stewert as our Gurney and Sting, lead singer of the police, playing the 15 year old Feyd Rautha! If you wanted to see a grown man, sprayed orange, basically naked playing a free wheeling maniac you are in for a treat! And another fun fact, David Lynch also did not know who these actors were, he made a mistake and thought Patrick Stewert was someone else and when Sting said he was in the police he assumed he was in an organization of lawmen.

Now these characters are familiar to you, but let me get into the unfamiliar. Lynch made some directorial executive decisions throughout this film, for I suppose the ease of the viewer? I mean an adaptation is supposed to adapt so he went let me change some stuff up👏👏👏.

Those who paid attention to Jessica’s backstory may know about the Weirding Way. This is a martial arts style created by the Bene Gesserit, and practiced by Paul. It is more than just a fighting style but also an important philosophical concept, like Aikido or how Kung Fu has foundations in Buddhism.

You may also be familiar with the quote “My name is a killing word.” This inner monologue of Paul’s refers to how his title Muad’dub will be used to spur a holy war. A simple name is what people will die and bleed for, it will be what they scream as they cut down enemies.

Dark! Intense! That’s Dune, anyways in the novel it’s easy to take your time exploring these concepts. Introducing the audience to the religious ramifications of a simple name and fighting practice and how these things can have rippling repercussions upon a society like the Freman.

Now David Lynch didn’t have time for that! He had the belief (that may be right🤷‍♂️!) That watching a bunch of people kick each other on top of a sand dune would be Lame😭😭

So he made the choice for his film that “My name is a killing word” was to be taken Absolutely Literally and invented a device where if the freman said the name Muad-dib, shit would explode.

If they said Paul’s name, they could Explode Stuff. Let it sink in how rad that is. Hell yeah man, hell yeah. Imagine me interpreting religious text that way, imagine if I made a bible movie and the moral I took from a parable is that when Jesus asked for food and everyone donated fish, I concluded that Jesus was a mutant who had fish powers and could immediately conjure fish with magic and gave him fish death rays that shot out of his hands.

So that’s what you can expect from this interpretation, the weirding way now means everyone has Lasers its rad as hell.

Some other incredible choices made! This is a spoiler, but in the novels and the new films you can see the Freman collecting every scrap of water they can. Dr Liet-Kynes, the planetologist, reveals to us it’s because they have a long, multiple generation spanding plan to fix the planet. By introducing this water back they hope to reset the ecosystem over centuries of work. The reason they have been unable to do this is because a green planet would obviously not have worms and sand who produce spice, the most coveted drug in the empire, so imperial and harkonnen forces have been stopping this from ever happening. They want to be free from oppression so that they can start to work on slowly fixing their world, a project that plays out in Paul’s adult life and has its own dramas and complexities.

In Dune 1984??? The moment, the Moment Paul lays out his cousin and throws the final punch, it begins to rain in Arrakis. As if they were all under a magical curse and were just waiting for a teenager to come fight another teenager and then the water will come back. It’s so good, it’s so funny.

Also Pugs! House Atreides official Pugs! Paul has pugs in his lap!!

This is honestly an adaptation choice that I really really like! Paul is the result of centuries of selective breeding, this practice is an artform to the Bene Gesserit and a skill that they monitor closely. It produces bizarre and sometimes terrifying results and is the reason for Paul’s existence.

I think having an animal that was also created through selective breeding, was engineered from a wolf into an animal that can hardly breathe is an incredible metaphor! A smart and identifiable symbol for the audience, I think it’s a slam dunk and the new movies should have done it to.

Anyways can not recommend this film enough.

-The body suits the bad guys wear are made out of real body bags, that actually had been used.

-David Lynch to this day hates it.

-The original cut was four hours.

-The cast and crew were sick the Entire shoot with something they called Montezuma's Revenge, which was probably just food poisoning, side effects from the constant smog because they shot the whole thing on backup generators, illness from the cockroach infestation and terrible morale.

-Frank Herbert saw it multiple times and said he absolutely loved it.

-When they ride the worms, sick rock jams play.

If you love electric guitar, lasers, worms and will forgive me for not including all the trigger warnings cause Yes this film will gross you out, then go watch this movie.

[rememberwren]

A Dichotomy of Thought || 1

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Further Parts You move next door to a disabled veteran and his troubled partner.

Warnings and details: disabled!Johnny; established Ghoap future Ghoap/reader; domestic abuse (not Ghoap); heavy themes of suicide, violence, abuse, poor coping mechanisms, prescription drugs. I’m not sure if I have anything here, let me know if anyone is interested in this series.

#

A helicopter goes down in the mountains of Kazakhstan and it takes a piece of Soap with it. They never recovered the arm—nor the three service members who lost more than their arms in the crash. The thought is one that Johnny’s mind cycles back to often, in moments of quiet or while he lies awake at night feeling tremors in an arm that’s no longer attached. Suddenly he’ll wonder: what are those bones up to, buried in snow and ice so deep the sun will never touch them again? Do they miss me?

Fuck, he misses them.

#

After the accident, the world is very black and white. Mostly it’s black. Blackness at the edge of his vision threatens to creep in when he stands too long, when he stands on his own, when he turns his head too fast. Anytime his blood pressure rises over that Goldilocks number of 120/80, it threatens to drop him faster than Simon used to during their first weeks of training together in the 141.

The doctors say that he’s a miracle. The traumatic brain injury had his brain swelling and pushing at the confines of his skull like water freezing in a bottle. Give him a little longer in the cold and maybe his cap would blow off. Except it hadn’t; he was still dealing with swelling all over: in his thalamus, his hypothalamus, in his cerebrum, all the words he’d never bothered to learn in school and couldn’t fucking remember now no matter how hard he tries. He gets the point. Simon does too. Johnny should be dead.

Instead he just wishes he were.

Even now, when he can remember his name and Simon’s and even (more often than not) the name of the waitress who serves them chicken and waffles at the local diner every Saturday, there are still more bad days than good. Still more darkness than light. Still more nights waking up to the sound of helicopter blades slowing, the relentless hum becoming a deafening chop chop chop like the thrum of his heartbeat. There’s that moment of weightlessness when the helicopter goes down and he has yet to go with it that makes him wake in a cold sweat, nauseous and looking for something to be sick in.

Through it all, Simon is there. Simon is the light. He’d laugh if he heard Johnny say that—though a laugh is probably too generous. Simon doesn’t laugh much these days. Not when he spends three fourths of his time taking care of Johnny and the other fourth thinking about how better to take care of Johnny. If it weren’t for Simon, Johnny would have done himself in by now. There’s a thousand ways to do it; plenty of arms and munitions in the apartment they share together. Or there are the pain pills, if he wanted it to look like an accident. A few too many of those and he could crawl right through that darkness in his vision and find out what’s on the other side. As soon as the thought crosses his mind (and it crosses his mind more often than that fucking chicken crosses the road), the guilt comes, like anyone and everyone can read it on his mind: his mama rest her soul, Simon, Jesus on the cross. After all of the work that has gone into him, into saving his broken body and mind, into rehabilitating him, how can he even think of throwing in the towel?

Turns out it’s pretty fucking easy to think about it.

As a matter of fact, he’s thinking about it the first time he meets you, when you nearly do the job for him.

It’s spring, cool, and he’s working up a goddamn sweat anyway. Simon stands in the alleyway, smoking and pretending not to watch as Johnny hobbles up and down the length of the parking lot with his forearm crutch. His armpit throbs. His knee throbs. His head throbs as he continues along, beating out a strange little rhythm on the concrete—thum-thump, thum-thump, thum-thump. He says all the curse words he knows and dreams up a few new ones too. It’s supposed to be getting easier, but Simon just pushes him harder to make up for the ground he covers. That’s one of the shitty parts about loving an ex-military man; he never goes easy on you.

Johnny’s thinking about the tub upstairs, just big enough for him if he curls in on himself. Sometimes a hot bath helps the knots in his muscles, but sometimes when Simon leaves the room to get a washcloth Johnny will slip beneath the surface of the water and see how long he can hold his—

Then you come out of absolutely nowhere in your shitty little four-door and nearly hit him. As a matter of fact, you do hit his crutch, sending it sprawling out of his hand and sending him clattering to the ground on his bad side. For a moment, he thinks: this is it. This is how I die. Not in a helicopter in Kazahkstan but here, now, today, and he can’t tell if it’s relief in his belly or regret. Then your tires squeal like pigs on the pavement, the smell of burnt rubber thick in the air, and he is face to face with you and your horror, close enough that the air from your hasty turn brushes along his body and sends his heart pounding.

“What the steaming bloody fucking Jesus do you think you’re doing?” he finds himself shouting, pain lancing all along his side from his fake knee to the stump of his arm. Simon is there all at once, cigarette abandoned to smolder to ash in the alleyway, putting his hands under Johnny’s armpits and lifting him like a child even when he yelps in pain like a kicked dog. Johnny leans against him heavily. The edges of his vision are turning black. He bangs his fist against the hood of your car. “Did Jesus send ye? Did He tell ye to finish the fucking job and do me in? ‘That’s the cunt right there, beam him with your car’? Did he tell you that?”

You reluctantly get out of the car, not even wearing a goddamn seatbelt. The car’s soft, insistent alarm begins to remind you with unending politeness that the door is open and your seatbelt is off while you stand there, pallid, eyes huge and watering in the face of Johnny’s shouts.

He sees then that one of your eyes is swollen almost completely shut, blood turning the white sclera pink like the fine mist of blood over the snow when they finally pulled Johnny free from the helicopter. No wonder you didn’t see him coming, with a single functioning eye. He’s opened his mouth to tell you so (and to tell you a dozen other fucking things) when he nearly swoons, the rug of the world being tugged under his feet by the hand of God.

Simon slips a firmer arm around Johnny’s waist.

A man gets out of the passenger side. He begins to berate you for not paying attention, for nearly killing Johnny. Johnny agrees, but is annoyed all the same. He’s the one who almost died; leave the shouting to him.

“I’m so sorry,” you choke out, tears dripping near-constant from your eyes. “I’m an idiot. I’m so sorry. Let me get your—”

“Done enough, haven’t you?” Simon asks cooly. It sends you reeling back into the car where you sit with both hands over your mouth, chest hitching with your panicked sobs.

“Hey, is he, like, okay?” your partner asks.

“Fuck off,” Simon says, deftly ushering Johnny over one shoulder and holding the crutch in the other. He carries them back to the elevators without breaking a sweat, and Johnny cries on his shoulder from the pain of it, the sheer embarrassment of it the whole way home. The day before Kazahkstan he couldn’t have been able to tell you the last time he cried; now he cries every fucking day from one reason or another.

“I’m fine,” Johnny says when they make it back to the apartment and Simon eases him down into a chair. They arrange his knee in the one position that has it throbbing less, but then Johnny bats Simon’s hands away. “Go. I’m fine. I don’t need you hoverin’ over me.”

“Alright.”

“Fuck off with yer alright.”

Simon doesn’t say anything. Johnny hears his footsteps leading toward the bedroom they share—hardly a bedroom, how long has it been since they slept there together peacefully? Since they fucked? Johnny can tell you how long it’s been. Since before things went black and white. The footsteps stop then.

“You stepped in front of her, Johnny,” Simon says, his voice low but not quiet enough to count as a whisper. “I watched you do it. Don’t think you’re so fucking slick.”

He shuts the bedroom door behind him.

[norris55s]

mastermind - lando norris

kelce sibling reader x lando norris social media au

a/n: the whole taylor x travis ordeal gave me this vision and i couldn’t get it out of my head so this is the materialization of my brain rot! everything is possible if you’re delusional enough 🧡 face claim is xandra pohl (if u know u know her tiny connection to f1 and it’s just funny if u ask me)

————————————————————————

y/nkelce

liked by killatrav, jason.kelce, landonorris and 67,286 others

y/nkelce: in light of my brother successfully shooting his shot with literal taylor swift, i’m thinking about shooting my shot with landonorris 💕

view all 5,683 comments

brocedeslove: the nfl and f1 crossover we need

kelcechief: u thought trav was delusional and unhinged, wait until you meet y/n

norrisvlog: you call it delusional, they call it manifesting. lando just liked the post

killatrav: Jesus

jason.kelce: You are both insane

————————————————————————

newheightshow

liked by 80,682

newheightshow: Jason and Travis’ younger sister guests on today’s episode of their podcast to answer the questions everyone’s been asking 👀

view all 6,792 comments

y/nkelce: always a pleasure to get cooked by my big bros

carlosleclercs: im so serious someone spill what she said im at work

mclarenorris: tbh a lot of the questions were not about lando but more roasting her in general, but travis was like “how did the trick work on you?” and she just laughed and said “like it worked on you”

sainzsmooth: jason also asked her if she had plans to attend future motorsports events lmao and she was like sure if i’m invited

lando81: does she even know abt f1 or is she just like after lando for his looks

kelceworld: she mostly knows nfl (duh) but she follows many sports plus norris would be lucky to bag her

————————————————————————

y/nkelce

liked by landonorris and 76,692 others

y/nkelce: the fact that i am saying this is insane but pic creds for trav’s game night: taylorswift - at MetLife Stadium

view all 6,629 comments

landonorris: cheesin

y/nkelce: smiles all around

twitchquartet: there is no way

scuderianorris: i am hallucinating

holyleclerc: the chaos taylor swift, travis kelce, lando norris and y/n kelce are causing in the sports world, music world and influencer world

swiftielore: honestly this is all changing my life’s trajectory

————————————————————————

f1waggossip

liked by 56,873

f1waggossip: The story keeps unfolding! y/nkelce ‘s best friend seems to expose they are attending today’s race at the Circuit of the Americas with McLaren, as per her Instagram stories. What do you think? 👀

————————————————————————

landonorris

liked by y/nkelce, carlossainz55, oscarpiastri and 1,872,629 others

landonorris: cota, it’s been real. thanks for the P2 🧡

view all 4,296 comments

y/nkelce: congrats or whatever 🧡

landolover: i can’t believe my eyes right now he just hard soft launched y/n

kelcesrep: the manifestation powers run in the family, they masterminded this shit

————————————————————————

y/nkelce

liked by landonorris, lilyzneimer, killatrav and 106,692 others

y/nkelce: mexico, te amo 🇲🇽

view all 4,037 comments

landonorris: wrong part of mexico

y/nkelce: i’m sure mexico city’s grand prix deeply missed the fun i brought to cota

lilyzneimer: it did 🥺

ricciardobutterflies: i still can’t believe my damn eyes

carlandonation: she is so pretty wtf

————————————————————————

landonorris

liked by y/nkelce, carlossainz55, mclaren and 1,982,927 others

landonorris: been dreaming of this since i was a little kid. P1 in vegas. thank you so much mclaren ayayayayya🧡🧡🧡

carlossainz55: Congratulations muppet! 🍾💪🏼

lewishamilton: So happy for you, congrats!

oscarpiastri: Big up mate!

y/nkelce: so very proud

norrisrepera: i haven’t stopped crying since he crossed the finish line but the fact that he included y/n in his post celebrating his first ever f1 win just destroyed me

————————————————————————

y/nkelce

liked by killatrav, jason.kelce, landonorris and 150,038 others

y/nkelce: papaya weekend! i love u, im so proud landonorris

view all 4,682 comments

landonorris: i love u, delusion works

y/nkelce: delusion created us and let you beat the lando nowins allegations 🧡

lilyzneimer: cutest!

killatrav: Congrats landonorris 💪🏼

————————————————————————

lando.jpg

liked by y/nkelce, daniel3.jpg, lnfour and 345,692 others

lando.jpg: las vegas celebrations debrief

view all 2,835 comments

y/nkelce: u did me so dirty

landonorris: nah, i manifested myself the prettiest girl

y/nkelce: what if i told you im a mastermind

daniel3.jpg: ah the love

[capslocked]

KINKVEMBER DAY: 6

[prompt: blowjob]

male reader x hyeju

12k words

“I mean, don’t you think,” Hyeju says, wagging a finger at you, “that when you suffer through a bad date, the world ought to owe you something?”

"Like what?" you ask.

"Better taste in women - maybe more orgasms; I dunno, a blowjob?" She shrugs. "The general idea is just that someone gets to cum."

You nearly choke on the air in front of you. "Jesus, Hyeju, warn a guy."

“What? I’m trying to commiserate with you,” Hyeju laughs. “Wouldn’t that be funny? Being able to kiss someone who actually, you know, might love you back, and at the same time. Imagine not hooking-up just to forget a shitty day. Sounds wild, right?"

"Utterly deranged."

"So wild."

-

The first time you hook up with your roommate, it’s because of genetics - though not in the weird, uncontrollable way your body gets rigid and sensitive to any pretty girl who wears nothing but a towel moving between her bedroom and the bathroom, or how her eyes might flick fast from your chest up to yours - or given that the absolute shape of her is a blessing from one god or another (benevolent, clearly). That's not why Hyeju and you find yourselves only a few months later grinding on each other after the clock ticked past midnight, making out on New Year's Eve.

No, it has to do with the fact that Hyeju's nearly failing the nine AM section of molecular genetics because she's spent every lecture doodling stars and planets and planets shaped like asscheeks and planet-ass constellations while everyone else writes notes or doom scrolls twitter or whatever and she is somehow simultaneously the only student who never slept with her face on the lab desk or missed an assigned reading and the only one who absolutely needs a tutor.

It's just cosmic odds that you'd be that one: her roommate, who shouldn't be talking so loudly in the library about sex (in a sort of non-sexy, Mendelian kind of way) or be thinking the kind of things you've started thinking when Hyeju wears one of her more sleepshirt-esque long sleeves, her voice getting lower as you rattle off, "fruit flies and thale cress, definitely, it's just an error of fate or chromosome splitting..." before trailing off into a question.

"This is the worst thing that has ever happened to me," she finally tells you. You listen to her sigh into the binding of her textbook, facedown. "I'm really going to bomb this exam."

You tap her hand twice with your highlighter across the desk. "Then you're pretty damn lucky, if you think about it."

She turns to you, smiles a bit. "Okay, point. The worst thing will be having to retake this stupid fucking class."

"Why didn't you ask for help or go to office hours if you knew you were... failing?"

"Maybe because doing anything more than the bare minimum to get through a class I don't care about is my definition of, failing," she mumbles. "Why didn't anyone tell me a single lab is worth half my grade? Or that the TA is this fucking unreliable? How is this the one thing, really, beyond the basics, that can't be taught by wikipedia, a wikihow article and a youtube video?"

You scoot your seat closer to her. "You really need to relax."

"Fucking tell me about it."

You turn it over in your mind a few times, capping the top of your highlighter.

"Want me to get you off?"

And it’s not like you really mean it, when you say it, which is the strangest thing: you wouldn't actually suggest it, normally, wouldn't mention it in passing and then leave yourself open to the follow up and cross examination; yet there it is, after three, four hours of cramming notes on heterochronicity and the sloshing of gametes - you actually did propose it.

Hyeju jerks up, surprised.

"Are you serious?" She looks around, nearly snorting. "In the library?"

The face you’re giving her makes her scoff.

“You’re absolutely nuts.”

You have character flaws; the inability to admit wrongdoing chief among them. Hell, maybe it's from your mother - or maybe all your brains are just scrambled by the fact that Hyeju's sitting there with her pen against her pretty lips, hair glossier than usual as she scans your face and makes your entire body feel like a reactor core in meltdown.

Maybe you can blame what comes next on that.

"I'm always serious. I'm asking a serious question," you whisper, closing the textbook and resting your elbows on top. You look around quickly, like you're sneaking something in instead of this perfectly reasonable exchange, the perfectly platonic - except maybe not so much - way for friends to help each other.

"And I'm wondering what you're asking." Her cheeks are definitely pinker, you think, or the way it fills out her face, from the bottom up, is just that easy to imagine.

“I’m saying you haven’t gotten laid in months.” Here, you realize, these blocks of mental logic that definitely weren’t there when you blurted it out start to coalesce into something solid as you go on.

And you hadn't been wrong when you thought no one had given Hyeju a helping hand in a long, long time: you've heard through the walls or the floorboards at odd hours of the morning that she spends far too long fingering herself to a mind-numbing, tear-worthy frustration that leaves her knuckle-deep but never, ever sated or satisfied.

"No one's around, you'll feel better. You said it yourself."

Not a work of your imagination here - her ears are fucking burning.

"Wait a minute." She pushes her chair back, away from you and your gleaming offer. It clatters on its back legs, and a librarian waves her finger in warning. You wave back, sheepishly, until she stops and Hyeju stands and moves away from the table to talk, hands crossed over her front.

She turns and asks in a hushed-down-voice, "how did you know - did you hear something last night?"

"You couldn't keep it down even if you wanted to, honestly."

Hyeju turns further and throws a glare at the library doors, because obviously her noisiness and their collective noisemanship, or whatever the hell the word is, is clearly the root of the whole goddamn problem.

"Look - if not, no big deal - but I'm just saying you'll probably get over it and at least think less about sex. Or at least the wrong kind of sex."

You expect her to turn, sigh, and ask if you've lost your mind. Expect her to gather her jacket from the back of her chair, take her books and stomp out the room. Or even burst out laughing at the insanity, before slapping your arm lightly, in playful retaliation - anything other than the serious look she gives you in return, tilting her head, pressing her lips.

She turns up at the ceiling for a moment, contemplating something. And it's cute. It's so very, very cute, how her mouth pouts as she considers the possibility, right up until she says, "okay, fine."

The moderate twist of surprise taking hold in your brow must be visible.

"Oh, don't tell me that was all talk. Get me thinking about the right kind of sex or whatever."

You laugh, which has the librarian staring at both of you - until the librarian stops staring and probably sees Hyeju sliding back into her chair, the full, pent-up weight of her concentration pointed your way, knees inching apart - you, and Hyeju waiting, your knee bumping into her inner thigh, leaning closer as the textbook hits the floor.

"Don't laugh."

"Not laughing, seriously. Not laughing," you stammer. “I just think you’re just full of surprises.”

She spreads her knees further and sits taller, looking right at you.

"So then, surprise me," and then presses her cheek to the crook of your elbow.

You slide your chair right into the space next to hers, nuzzling up into the space under her ear. “Keep studying, Hyeju, you’ve got shit to do.” And then you slide your hand beneath the waist of her sweats, knead the swell of her thigh until you find the seam where her leg meets her body, press your palm down on the place just next to her center, your thumb in the middle. All this perfect pressure.

"Fuck," Hyeju says under a shudder. She's breathing heavier when your hot, open-mouthed kisses start landing at her neck, and she probably tries to read her textbook for about forty-five seconds longer. But there's the clench of her jaw right as your middle finger begins tracing circles beneath the fabric of her panties, and her gaze is blurring until she can't tell the difference between an allele or your fucking name.

"Shh-shh," you quiet her, finger tapping harder, playing with the slick wetness beneath all those layers of thick cotton and pressing two fingers there until her knees part like they’re not interested in resisting at all. Your lips press a kiss to the shell of her ear and she tenses all at once, hand shooting up to cover her mouth.

She simply leans back, closes her eyes, and lets you take care of her.

“Okay, you’re right,” she says, shaky and uneven, “that really did take some of the edge off. Did we ever review - poly- uh, pol-polymers here?"

The sweatshirt sleeve falling off your shoulder is a hindrance to any actual reading; her shifting against the chair isn't helping either, but you manage to push down the thoughts of stripping her down completely and giving her your tongue as yet another distraction.

"What did the syllabus say? I don't know if we need to read too far on 'polymers'," you say, having going through an entire afternoon without considering this once, but as you curl your fingers and take an honest crack at cramming the remaining chapters into her head, the knowledge that no one else is getting her this wet - except for whoever she's got in her mind's eye at three AM - is enough to get you feeling a little dizzy.

-

It’s probably supposed to be weird, given that you’ve never gotten any of your other friends off spontaneously in the library, or there's the fact that you can't really avoid each other afterwards, how she shows up in a silk negligee when you're pouring coffee before sunrise to prep for another day and you have the opportunity to notice - yes, she has amazing taste in underwear, yes, you might not have really appreciated her chest and figure enough before - yes, fuck it. She catches you noticing that first time, after coming downstairs with nothing but one of her cropped t-shirts and her board shorts, and she smirks when she realizes you're still thinking about it that afternoon, when her foot grazes yours while you're both washing dishes, and she dries the plate in her hand with a slow swipe.

And it is weird, actually, to describe what’s going on between you in words. 

A few words, anyway, like a one-word label to describe what it was: friends or roommates-with-benefits, or - fuck buddies - god, it's even worse. Fuck buddies? Fuck friends? Something equally terrible and stupid that still makes sense, like something out of a shitty rom-com: it doesn't capture any of the rest of the myriad ways in which things can feel less or less friendly between two people.

So, friends was never, ever going to cut it. Roommates - although technically correct - is just this side of too clinical. And let's be clear: strangers don't wake up every morning together, walk to the same class, sit close together in the middle seats, secretly flick a strangers' skirt up in an empty lecture hall and get on their knees and work your mouth onto her pussy and watch the legs of the desks shake when her feet arch into the floor.

"The notes you've got are better than mine," is how Hyeju tries to put things, the next day and every time after that, standing in the doorframe, or at the foot of your bed and looking every bit the disheveled and hopeless mess you imagine she might spread out over the sheets of her own.

-

It gets complicated, which isn't really a surprise.

"You think your roommate is going to be home tonight?" is the question that comes up multiple times - from a revolving door of pretty names and faces. Hyeju has at least one opinion, if not more, on each of them.

"Tell Jinsoul I say hi," she says once, watching you get ready for a date, and you nearly bang your knee on the edge of the bathroom vanity. 

It's one of the more harmless comments she's offered.

Another, backhanded: "if you’re just looking for a blowjob everyday between lunch and our physics lab, let Hyunjin or Heejin or whatever-her-name-is know she's easily my favorite," Hyeju says on your way out one morning, still under her covers.

Or,

Hyeju's texted a simple "uh, Chuu? really??" when you mention, once, how much fun you've been having - and what kind, as you make a round of self-conscious and rambling phone calls the next day that land you with only one prospect for the night - but your roommate's also no longer being your roommate by the end of it, bouncing against your thighs in the bathtub and moaning something about please more and fuck or fucking make me cum; the details escape you a bit.

That's what friends are for, probably.

Still, in the same, bare-bones explanation, friends also aren't for falling asleep on you - or letting you hold her - or fucking you awake in the middle of the night. Friends aren't for pushing down your jeans when the early-morning dew settles on the back patio, or jerking you off in the seat beside yours with a sweatshirt over your lap when a group project is due later and you all should probably work on that and instead get yourselves off and leave the mess of what you're doing half-finished. Friends aren't, probably, for offering to watch you rub your palm up and down your cock the night before next semester's exams when you can barely sit in a single chair and you can't think about molecular biology or neurochemical transcriptions when your whole body aches to do the transcribing. (If you can catch that drift.)

The lists of who are and are not good enough for you goes on and on - the latter longer than the former.

So, there's Choerry, who according to Hyeju is 'straight up, a total slut'. Yeojin, who gets mistaken for your little sister enough times that Hyeju refuses to - in good faith - let you keep sleeping with her. Both Heejin and Gowon are apparently too pretty for you. "Kim-lip?" she asks, in the middle of peeling garlic, "is that one name or two?" And laughs into a bottle of beer, loud, while you're telling her to quit being nosey and watch her fingers with the damn knife.

"You have a problem."

"Why, because I asked a few simple questions? I think anyone would be a little curious with the -" she pauses to wave her fingers - "I'd be remiss to not be interested in the very drama that unfolds literally across the hall."

She waggles her eyebrows.

You look up at the ceiling. God save you, you think. "Hyeju."

("Seriously," Hyeju chimes in one evening, arms around you, and a mouthful of the dinner you'd cooked.

"You need better taste in girls. Don't waste time on anyone too dumb, or who drinks the milk straight from the carton, or doesn't wash her socks with the same load of laundry. Oh, and - no one who chews loudly. No one who can't tell you're going to cum. The worst is someone who doesn't know what you like, trust me on that. And remember the last rule: don't do anything with someone who eats at a really slow pace, it's incredibly depressing."

You rest your chin on her shoulder from the spot behind her. "Duly noted, oh Master of all Knowledge."

She sighs into your arm, but in the next moment, her voice gets a lot softer, her hips fidgeting slightly against you. "I just mean you're the kind of person people would want to sleep with again," she says, before turning to say your name and kiss you again and again as your bodies curl inward.

"I wonder what that means, Hyeju," you say.

"Fuck," Hyeju groans as you slide further into her, pushing her back into the sofa - hands on her shoulders, legs bent on her either side, "don't tease me like this.")

-

The first snowfall of the year is mild, a tiny dusting, nothing that sticks on the pavement in the alley or on the sidewalks - or the lintels - or in Hyeju's hair, but by evening, when the snow picks up and everything goes quiet, Hyeju has changed into flannels and wool socks in anticipation, curled up like a cat at one edge of the window ledge as the world begins to go white. It's enough that you even pull on a thicker sweatshirt, open up a book, and join her.

She turns toward you, quiet.

You've reached a point in the semester where this, the silence, doesn't unsettle you anymore. It's the space you fill up with time in-between, where you can see the contours of her body against the orange lamplight of the space heater, or watch her kick off the top half of the duvet at night as you fight over space in her bed and wonder about the bare skin peeking out from her shorts.

"Feeling bored?" She slides her foot a little closer to yours, almost imperceptibly. "Am I keeping you entertained enough?"

Her lips pull up at the corner. You chuckle.

"Oh, no."

She scoffs and puts her hands on her knees, pushes herself closer to the window sill and bumps her elbow into your shoulder. The bare skin of her neck and shoulders and face is getting a little redder as she cranes it forward. "Okay, if not, do you need someone to entertain you, maybe."

Your mouth twists, fighting a smile.

Hyeju is so close to you, you could kiss her really, really easily and not care how she'd feel about that. It's not a habit, not as often as it used to be, but every once and a while - she starts this game. Every once in a while, Hyeju just starts smiling like that, and leans into you like she's daring you to play along, hard round of chicken until it's clear what the two of you are doing with each other; the minutes pass by, one, then two, and then - maybe she pushes first, her leg on yours, or a kiss to your jaw or a palm on your back as she walks behind you - and then you'd turn and kiss her full on the mouth and pull at her clothes like nothing's holding you back.

She cocks a smile, and says, "why don't you go and call what's her name."

"Because."

You glance out at the cold, gray light outside. If you had a better understanding of any of the workings inside you, you could reach forward and tell her everything that's stopped you.

-

You're supposed to meet the girl-of-the-month at a New Year's party. Hyeju looks disgusted within the first ten seconds of the whole story.

"Heejin dumped you once, like, two months ago? For no reason."

"It wasn't a break-up. We talked about what we did wrong and we're doing better," you say, lifting one finger.

She glares, then, tilts her lips into this unamused purse that you can't take seriously at all when she starts walking back and forth across your living room, hands moving emphatically to the sides as she speaks, like she's in the process of unveiling a brilliant argument and is using both palms to guide your eyes toward the unquestionable logic. "God, you're the worst. You're just her easy fuck and you'll still answer her late night calls, really."

She leaves the rest unsaid - that she's just not that into you.

"I don't tell you which boys or girls you can call up," you try, putting on a boot. "If you'd like, I can. Name off the list, and make sure that the right name leaves my mouth this time."

Hyeju doesn't blush when you glance up, which is the surprising thing. No - her cheeks have grown a little more sullen, and she stares down at her socks in contemplation. You're in the middle of fastening up the lace and getting to your feet, waiting, wondering if Hyeju's going to continue this conversation, when Hyeju takes one small step forward.

And her hand goes out to touch your chin, thumb at your lip, fingers holding it in place - like you'll turn if she lets it go - the sharp shock of the sensation like a short circuit, before her knee comes between yours, and your body tingles, at the root and stem. "Hey," she says, eyes meeting yours. The edge of her nail flicking gently as she drags the curve of her thumb downward.

"Hyeju, please - I need to get going."

When you start walking toward your car, she calls out from the window. Something about how you better have the time of your life, fun for the two of you - it’s only fair.

(You feel, somewhere, a certain strange loss.)

"What, are you going to stay up and wait until I come back? Or am I interrupting your session for the night."

You can barely make it out, the smallest look passing over her face. "Maybe," she says, and then: "god, it's fucking cold."

-

New year's parties have this sort of quality of being simultaneously the most thrilling, exciting prospect on earth and the absolute worst fucking event in the history of the planet - depending on the venue, how egregious the racket is for a gin and tonic, the guests - oh, and the company.

Jinsoul and Choerry are both in attendance; in separate corners and in equal states of undress and intoxication, which seems fine by every present party, who are for the most part busy ogling one or the other in the full spirit of the New Year - as you would too, if the stars are aligned and Heejin hasn't already gone upstairs with half the guestlist, her arm wound with someone else's, as per her recent habit; if you haven't been tossed aside for any of the usual, less forgettable prospects and for something bigger, better and certainly much more enjoyable.

Which, if there were any way to track these things down with math, you'd already be reaching for your pen and notebook, as Hyeju would describe this sensation in a phrase she picked up from some podcast. Inevitable means necessary, or something.

"Good party," says Heejin, throwing back another drink.

"Yep. You said that," and you finish yours in one long draw, hissing through your teeth.

Heejin is a goddamn delight, of course, in all the simplest of ways. When she looks up at you - mouth pink, hair framing her face - she is so clearly and completely aware of what she is, and exactly what the world has in store for her, what it has set aside.

"Do you want to know what happened at the other New Year’s party we went to last year?"

"I - yeah. Hit me. Tell me all about (another date you were on) Heejin, that’s exactly what I’d love, let’s hear it."

She throws her head back and laughs, before starting into an overlong recount of her latest, greatest conquest, you on the outside. This is the thing - this is how a pretty face, with just a hint of a flirt, will make you feel for a beautiful, attractive, vivacious - absolutely shameless, raving sex-crazed lunatic of sorts who, apparently, loves to run around town and make a bunch of your closest friends fall in love and heartbroke-er, with every passing notion of her beauty, her charm - just the tilt of her chin, and some poor fucker is lost, absolutely lost.

 Even she knows it's a bad habit of hers. 

But who doesn't have a weakness? You've got plenty of your own - plenty, Heejin can admit - everyone does, in a way, and so Heejin, the other sloppy drunks milling about the party, and Choerry and Jinsoul all agree - someone like her just happens to have the best kind of weakness - so, so many of them, in fact:

"Can you believe how easily a few words get Jinsoul riled up? Or how it only takes a couple drinks for Choerry to pull up the hem of her skirt, not knowing the effect that'll have?"

And as for the last, and arguably worst kind -

"Hyeju, huh? What a great start to the New Year," is her final word. Heejin reaches across and downs your drink. Her expression turns just shy of grave, a pensive look. "Not your smartest idea, the living-together situation. Who in their right mind would put themselves in such a mess?"

"Thanks for the great advice." You wave her off, irritated.

There's another laugh before Heejin leans her face onto the table.

"Though maybe she's onto something, now that I think of it. Who needs anyone for the New Year?" and it's almost convincing the way her mouth, lined up with the rim of the glass, smirks when she drinks. "Mm. All a matter of taste."

-

The snow is halfway up your calves when you realize you need to find a cab at 11:30 PM on New Year's Eve. (Which, categorically, is the worst time to need to find a cab on New Year’s Eve.)

Or just:

11:36 PM and the nearest bus stop is too far away.

11:41 and the temperature feels like its dropped by fifteen degrees, like you should start wondering what hypothermia symptoms look like and what signs to look out for in yourself, your future wife and your children. You try not to think about why, but you get your phone out and immediately call Hyeju, so you're not sure what you think you're denying.

"No party?" she asks. Her voice is distant and sleep-ridden, but Hyeju's quick to pick up, like always.

"It sucked, I'm trying to find a way home early. Happy New Year."

"Happy New Year." There's a long pause, filled in by the squeak of snow beneath your boots. "Get a kiss?"

"Uh, not yet. In the market, I guess."

Hyeju's low hum isn't reassuring, either. "Well, you're kind of missing your window. Bad time to start looking."

"Says you, and here you are - still up for someone to spend the night with. Look at you," you respond, all this snark in your voice that she clearly hears. There's a long sigh.

"Actually," and Hyeju, much to the confusion of you and possibly the whole world, doesn't respond, and for a few seconds, the line goes completely silent, leaving you hanging.

She breathes once and comes out of her sleep with a yawn.

"I actually," she begins. There's a lot less preamble this time - this tone - and when she speaks again it comes through not nearly as sleepy, "was sorta wondering. Are you on your way home?"

"If I don't freeze to death, yeah."

"Yeah - no, yeah," and that's it. That's the sum total of what makes any difference between where you were a moment ago, and where you are right now, head spinning, fingers buzzing. Hyeju waits and there's the wind on the line, snow settling on your hat and in the corners of your face.

"I - sorry. I probably woke you up. Are you expecting someone else," you say, very small. Your foot drags behind the other. The cars whizz by you faster, passing.

"Hm. You're the only one, I guess," and after that - just static and the muffled sounds of her footsteps on creaky floorboards - or the tick of her ceiling fan? You can't make heads or tails of the rest of the background noise. All those words she said.

You bite your tongue to stop whatever curse words start pouring out from the jumble and cross streets, or the pedestrian underpass; snow gets stuck in your lashes and burns, but your chest is like a molten furnace. You consider telling her right there on the line, everything you're feeling - so hot, it feels like fire, Hyeju, I'm not used to getting heated and desperate and impatient - that even if you're not here now - just imagining your face - the sound of your breathing, it feels like I'm on the cusp.

"Yeah. Sure - good - okay, Hyeju."

"I guess, see you soon?"

"In a bit."

(It takes 33 minutes, trudging through cold and wet. It's all very dramatic, you think, and there's no one there to even watch you suffer for it, or - though you try not to think about that particular line - really, no one at all.)

-

You hear the way your key grinds in the lock - it's been like this, jammed since summer, when you pushed the front door in late at night a little too hard and something came undone and made a sound like a small stone tumbling down the world's deepest well. The hinge squeaks, and there's ice on the stoop, on the doormat, on every nook and corner you can see, all the way up your neck.

And your face, too. You shake off your hat, undo the buttons on your jacket, and pull off your boots before hanging them and all the layers to dry.

You can make out the outline of her profile at the edge of the door frame, right in the kitchen - barefoot, hip pressed against the island, pajamas - the dim lights illuminating the shadow of her head, hair over her face -

- but you don't pause. The next layer. There's nothing left to say. You're too cold for excuses, too smart to use the same ones you'd been taught, like: this is a normal, acceptable circumstance; everything, anything, will be perfectly normal if the two of us act as though that's the case; pretend we're both acting within the norms of reason, within our senses and logical thinking and I won't make myself go out in the cold a second more - won't stand for more than five minutes with your eyes looking like they're waiting.

So you move instead toward the kitchen, where the heating is better and she's already pouring coffee. There's a heat radiating out of the oven, and it smells sweet in there, like cinnamon and warm butter, and you wish you weren't still shaking, blood barely thawed, but there it is - her face, watching you - eyes gleaming as you wrap your hands around a mug, steam rising up - a shiver running up your arms; her knees skirting yours when she takes one step back and there's the cabinet door shut, then open again, and then a palm on your back.

Hyeju presses a cup of the fresh coffee, now warm enough to drink, to your chest, and says, softly. "What the fuck happened out there?"

She starts reaching out to wipe the frost and slush from your face. You let her hand hold you still, eyes wide.

"Oh you know," and her palm stays, even though it's obviously - suddenly - gotten warmer, and wetter too, and the longer she stands there and lets her fingers warm the pale bones of your cheeks, her wrist, the base of your forehead and ears, the more expectant the look on her face grows. "The usual."

Her eyes go as narrow as they ever can. For just a moment. "You're gonna die a slow, pathetic death someday, just for the record."

"Don't forget how this starts," you try, and feel your neck go warm, throat and breath tight. And not even when her shoulders shift, her mouth going smug - just looking at you.

“I mean, don’t you think,” Hyeju says, wagging a finger at you, “that when you suffer through a bad date, the world ought to owe you something?”

"Like what?" you ask.

"Better taste in women - maybe more orgasms; I dunno, a blowjob?" She shrugs. "The general idea is just that someone gets to cum."

You nearly choke on the air in front of you. "Jesus, Hyeju, warn a guy."

“What? I’m trying to commiserate with you,” Hyeju laughs. “Wouldn’t that be funny? Being able to kiss someone you actually, you know, might love you back, and at the same time. Imagine not hooking-up just to forget a shitty day. Sounds wild, right?"

"Utterly deranged."

"So wild."

When Hyeju sighs and gives a long, nonchalant hum, leaning her body closer, pressing up until her waist hits the cabinet top and you're pressed together chest-to-chest, she looks at you and her hips settle, the heel of her foot reaching around your calf.

There's that tingle. Again and again. You're not even trying to not think about what it might mean.

But then, you start, silently and unconsciously, trying to answer the question: why don't you, maybe. Why don't you, actually - Hyeju kisses you, pulls on the loop of your jeans and lets your lips brush the corners of hers and pulls away, suddenly, mumbling and head-turning. And just as abruptly, your nose buries in the space between her neck and her shoulder, where it's all warm. And when she puts her palms on your hips and squeezes and twists her knuckles into the fabric there, it seems she wants your hands up her shirt and under the small of her back.

And her hands - they're fidgety tonight, fingers curled up to keep their nails and the chill away, moving lower - one on your ass, while the other comes forward and begins rubbing circles, a handful of times - enough so you're letting a deep, low breath escape into the space just above her collar, your knee working its way between hers.

"That," Hyeju breathes, lips at your ear, hand reaching down to trace the hard curve of your cock pressing in the spot right between you, and there's that small rush again, familiar now, like you've caught a rhythm and she wants to feel it in its fullness: "is how you can make it up to me. For making me stay up. Worrying about you, god knows why. Waiting."

You're still half-frozen in a way, slowly thawing. "Hyeju, I've been trudging through the consequences of my actions this entire night. What am I about to suffer through now?"

"It's no consequence, honestly."

You squint.

"Just an idea, but," she breathes again; your bodies getting closer, and looking up at you, she grins and reaches down to touch the very root of you, her fingers drumming. You make a sound, and at that she says, her voice coming out thick, low:

"Want me to get you off?"

She squeezes again for good measure, just to be clear. Just a slight curl of fingers that's enough to send a flash of heat and the transient thought: why, why, why is she always wearing those fucking shorts, even in the winter?

Your blood thrums through the pulse at the end of your cock. You shake.

"Alright," is the response you let out.

And at that, Hyeju takes your wrist and leads you upstairs.

"There's that look. Don't worry. We'll find a way," is all she says as your feet walk forward, up step-by-step and higher and further up to her room. "After all, isn't that what we've always done?"

"It's usually whatever will make me stop talking."

Hyeju puts her chin on your shoulder. Her eyes follow the lines and shapes in the patterns of wallpaper as you turn onto her side of the apartment, and even through the wall and behind the doorway, her arm still around you, she pulls at your chin until your faces turn and you both can share each other's heat.

"Who, you and your awful habit of talking out-loud in your head while you work through equations?" and she brings her lips to yours, close and warm.

"Hey. Fuck you," and your voice breaks into an odd, low laughter when she kisses you harder.

"Yeah, I know," she whispers as her hand dives past the band of your boxers, palm sliding easily until she's gripping you fully and letting her fingers rub. She holds you there, in her room, her arm looped through yours, another arm resting at your belly.

And she stops there. She stays like that: holding your gaze.

"Look, Hyeju," you say, unable to not, though this can hardly count for anything; this, what you're about to admit, is nothing new. You swallow. "The thing is - you shouldn't."

"Don't want me to touch you?" she says, finger to your lips.

"Well, that's different. Maybe. Is there - maybe it's not the best thing to ask you right now."

Hyeju considers for a brief moment and tuts under her breath. "Can you at least do me the decency of waiting until I'm done wringing you dry before you say shit like that."

And she moves then, toward the bed.

So:

No. Yes. Maybe. Who knows, you tell yourself. Maybe, but only because you'll do anything if it makes you feel less sick, like a creature standing over its own skeleton - an abandoned shell; a relic, something to be feared and disgusted, as you let her go between your thighs, kneel beside the bed.

"I mean - since when - have you felt," is just as far as you're allowed to go before Hyeju presses her nose into you and pulls you out of the thin, cold fabric - palm, thumb, all those slender fingers swiping over your head - and now there's just the smell of her room and the shock, the buzz that runs down your spine and settles somewhere, somewhere inside the small and desperate movement of your hips and the tension building just below.

And god, fuck, Hyeju’s lips.

These soft, wet, pouty fucking things that could suck you straight off if you were feeling any less stupid or inexperienced or sentimental - if she wasn't solely intent on teasing it out of you first; a slow drag of the tongue up the underside; the tip of it poking, tracing the rim, like she's figured you out, just where to lead you. She's ready to smoke you out - always - until you're not taking in a breath every ten seconds but starting to close your eyes to the overwhelming, needling pleasure, too sharp, the way she knows you like best.

"Now you're finally - mm - starting to sound hot," and that smirk comes back to the corner of her mouth, teasing the sensitive belly of your cock and tracing her tongue everywhere. "With the voice and -"

You're losing track, her thumb and fingers circling the whole length of you - just, one after the other - mouth a hair-breadth away, her breath hovering like a promise.

"- that face."

"Don't, fucking tease me-"

The sound of your cock going in is like nothing else.

Wet and filthy in all the right ways.

Just the suction in her throat has your eyes nearly roll back into your head - Hyeju's gaze calmly watching the terrible sort of helplessness that washes over you like this: her lips wrapped around, bobbing - her hair falling into the wet mess of her mouth and sticking there. Hyeju likes being a little sloppy, likes feeling that spark run up the length of her tongue when she slides. It's the wet and the heat that gives everything away.

"I don't have much of a choice -" her jaw and chin is smudged when she pulls back off of your cock, mouth glossy and glistening, "and honestly, wouldn't it be a better use of our time, or my talents if I actually do that thing?"

“Which is?”

She looks up for a bit and sighs, the flush blooming pink to the tip of her ears and into the rounds of her cheeks and all across her neck. "Since, as far as I can see, what you really like - is, oh I'm just spit-balling here," and she stops just to bite her tongue and look into your eyes, "it's letting the girls take care of you? Isn't that right?"

You want to tell her, no, not always, that it's not as though you enjoy giving control completely - that that would be completely and unarguably, the opposite of true -

That most of the time you love it when the person you're with is a little bossy, a little crazy for you. You know some guys really get off on a strong woman and maybe, maybe if a girl's pretty and dressed up, and - sure - a little wet, but that's hardly -

“You know I’m right,” she says, a flicker of mischief skittering across her features. “These walls are paper thin.”

You want to tell her, perhaps remind her, that she likes someone in charge just as much as you do - to be taken care of, told what to do - to have a hand curled up around her throat and the other at her tits while a guy fucks her the right way and takes the reigns when she needs. So who are you, when it comes to knowing her better? And who, really, are you fooling?

But before you can get any words in: Hyeju dips, lips parting where the head of your cock throbs, and then disappears; and the hot wet warmth, enveloping all around your shaft and back; the curve of her throat contracting.

You moan - a lot, and louder this time - into the whole feeling. The way her fingers work the distance from the base, twisting and twisting and twisting into the pout of her lips; or how the sound is like nothing - a whimpering, messy sound - almost a whine and definitely not a slurp as your cock sinks further and further, until it's all one big, heavy throb.

And it's like Hyeju can read your thoughts, the visual you have of her lips screwed tight around your shaft - cum leaking from the corners, and her eyes scrunched up tight, as she looks up to watch your face unravel - this perfect image of her taking you, all of you, swallowing each drop as your hips start rutting up into her and - and - and.

Or else she gets impatient, because then Hyeju gives one long pull off the tip of your cock - saliva mixed in the precum there, and that shiny string of fluid hanging, caught in the middle between your bodies - a disgusting and irresistible sight. Her jaw slack, lips swollen and full, and her mouth gone wide open, wanting.

"Fuck - that's good. Don't stop," you start to whimper, desperate, at the sight, the smell. Her hot breath coming quick over the red wanting wetness left behind - then touched by the cold air - fuck -

She slaps your cock to the corner of her lips as she speaks.

"Can you believe what's going on down here?"

"God, can you -"

"And to think most guys wanna jump straight in. That or fuck a load out between my tits."

"Hyeju, shit, come on -"

She kisses the soft tip, right where it’s most sensitive, rolls it along her lip. Then, back down the length of your shaft where she's generous with her mouth inch after inch - lapping, licking, laving - and Hyeju begins working her way down and downward, nestling in at the edge of the bed and between your thighs.

Your eyes blow up the first time she dips low enough to put your balls in her mouth. 

“Mmhm,” she hums.

It’s killing you and she knows it; it’s killing you and she can feel the pre-cum leaking from your slit - the thumb she has moored there, keeping everything right where she wants it, running circles up the length with such little intention - she could bring you to the end just like this. 

"Am I supposed to believe it?” she asks out from beneath the shadow of your cock, looking up at you with her eyes all wide and brilliant - pupils dark as sin. “That not a single one of those girls ever did you proper?"

You curse under your breath. Hyeju seems amused, at least, like she can't help but love doing that to you, which is almost worse and honestly the sexiest thing a girl can be. You groan - wanton, raw and desperate and feeling exactly what she wants you to feel when her nails drag along the dip of your hip bones.

"Did they not leave you fucked-up the right way?"

Her wrist flicks out these twists and turns, making your spine bend to her control. Like even when you're sure to be bundling her hair in your fingers and fucking the whole length of your cock down her throat, all of this is the worst kind of power-trip for her - not the other way around.

Her tongue runs through the tangle of your balls, slowly, lasciviously, as though the plan is to memorize and map every detail. 

And the worst part is, how much it's making you desperate for the warmth of her mouth - where she'll run her tongue up and down and over and around and inside - before sucking you off nice and slow.

"Or maybe," she laughs; another flick to the top and then suddenly her hand goes faster and the fist pumping the rest of you tightens. "They left you so needy you're resorting to having the bestie suck you off so that you won't be desperate the next time you date. Oh my god-" 

Hyeju breaks into this fit of laughter, and you're nearly cross-eyed at the feeling of your entire existence - not just your cock - so wholly held within her mercy, and her pity, and you're breathing so shallow now you'd think this is the real reason people have died and will die - this exact moment where you're choking and stuttering at the edges, so very close to cumming and going absolutely bonkers with how good Hyeju is with her hands, her tongue, her mouth - everything - how much she's wrecking you, and your jaw drops, wide open, her name dripping like molasses off your lower lip.

"Are you going to cum?" she asks, curiously. All as if she can't see you nodding, collapsing under pressure, and then and there: "should we make it official?"

Her nose tickles the seam of your balls. And your toes begin to curl and uncurl - all this anticipatory, coiling pleasure burning from her throat, shooting from the pit of your stomach; the tightening spiral, twinging and stretching every nerve - as her lips enclose around the end of your cock, softly.

And oh, just excruciatingly slowly.

You watch the irresistible shape of her mouth travel down until her throat feels so incredibly, beautifully, and unbelievably tight, and then, just like that - Hyeju starts fucking herself onto you; pushing forward and down the full, rigid length of you, hard and fast - each time hitting deeper inside her - all that sticky, messy, wet squelching.

"Unh-unh, yeah. Unh. Mm-!" you say, or moan, or some animal version of that, maybe, it’s incoherent.

But regardless:

It's messy and your hands scramble for purchase in the sheets of her bed when you feel that snap, the tightening of a trigger; when your balls roll up and it builds, and builds, and it comes faster - harder and -

"Hyeju," you pant, and it sounds so, so filthy. "I'm gonna cum, if you - gonna cum-"

Hyeju pulls you free from her lips, quite possibly at the most final of final moments, to rub the base up and down, just right, between her fingers. Your cock is resting right on her cheek when it all happens. When she squeezes her fingers around your balls just enough to hear you wheeze and make a sound no sane man should have the right to. And fuck, you're cumming all over her face - or just one side of it - which is already just -

Okay, fuck.

She makes a startled sound and her fist closes tightly around your shaft when you pump another fresh load of white up onto her eyebrow.

"I'm, ah-shit," your mouth moves faster than the blood in your veins - and now the shame - oh god, the humiliation, it's pulsing right behind you. "Hyeju," you apologize.

Only, Hyeju has no interest in any of it. She doesn't seem offended or disappointed in proportion to how you're ruining her pretty face: "no, just do it, cum wherever you fucking like."

Which isn't what you're expecting at all, because Hyeju makes no effort to close her lips, let alone avoid any of it; nor is she making a fuss about the sticky mess in her hair, her mouth, nor as another stream of cum throbs from your cock, all tangled up in the long dark eyelashes that sweep down across her cheek.

It’s fucking filthy: you're cumming all over her and she's just kneeling there, telling you, "good boy."

See, she pushes through it, languidly - all those filthy sounds, and those watery little tears gathering at the edge of her eye and all of that, mixing up together until you're rolling your head back with your orgasm, shuddering, feeling weak - drained dry -

Except,

Hyeju's pushing a finger to your chest, kneeling up tall from the side of the bed. She turns her body toward the center of the bed and wipes a bit of the cum on her knuckles into the sheets. Here you feel like you've done something terrible or at least regrettable, like that last round at the bar when you have a test the next morning; a dick move, all of the sort that requires apology.

"You gotta give me a minute, if you're thinking about hopping on."

"Hmm. Sounds like a lot to ask."

"Wait," you grab her arm. Hyeju grins and there's nothing stopping the shake of your knees now, that weakness between your thighs: "let me get you a drink."

"Or."

"Or?"

Her tongue peeks out, running along her upper lip. Her eyes drop again, hands dipping below, beneath the hem of her shorts and oh. She slips a hand past her bra. The whole outline of it. And you -

"Mm, I could show you what that actually means." She lowers her chest, her breasts, and a lot of skin to the mattress while keeping your cock firmly in her hands. "That look tells me you wanna stick around a bit. Stay up past New Year’s, you know?"

You're almost unable to parse her words, there is so much to look at: the jutting curve of her chest, cleavage pressing into the mattress as her body settles between your knees. A soft chuckle; a sigh: "you are seriously the best lay, no-one else can get hard the minute after they just fucking exploded all over me-"

"Fuck, watch it," you hiss, because there's oversensitivity - and then there's Hyeju's mouth on the line of your cock, polishing you clean.

And it’s not that she isn’t trying to prove a point. Or that she's not trying to tease - that's an inherent quality of her character: a naturally dominant position with a high appetite for your lust. That much, Hyeju gets from you, whether you've got your head down between her thighs or the other way, too, so that her neck is arched around and her ass pushed up high in the air, legs open, and if she had any idea you would spend the next twenty minutes or more just going down on her, licking into her creaming cunt while two fingers work over her aching clit, then really, Hyeju would only encourage it - maybe get on top, force you to gag - and so you don't know where it comes from - how and why you want nothing more than to drive your fingers inside her and work her until she's a wet, squelching mess, not when this was always Hyeju's role of being the aggressor; and yes, sure, even the aggressed.

Surely not because you came so hard, still somewhat shivering with the remnants of a rather abrupt, painful, sudden and all-consuming orgasm.

"We're not doing anything else," she says, lips pulled up into a smirk right at the crown of your cockhead. But before you can respond she pushes a hot open kiss, and goes lower. She presses the flat of her tongue to the seam, just below the head. Licks a line right up to the tip and finishes with a tender flick that sends you fisting the bedspread in your fingers and leaning back as your mind begins to disintegrate -

"I'm not going to ride you yet, or going to get my hips in your hands so you can fuck my pussy real hard until I cry and pass out. Nothing of that sort is gonna happen." She licks one long drag of her tongue. Then, the other way. "I want to make this very clear: this isn't some huge favor - and if you want it - want it so bad, you can stay there and I'm going to do everything for you. We will get there - together," and with her voice shaking as she brings the wet, glistening skin of your cock just inside her mouth, she looks up. "We'll get each other off, just like this," and it's the deep, dark, throated moan that makes your thighs and all the nerves in between stiffen and buck when she swallows you again.

Hyeju's hands tug, pull her whole body closer still as it slowly bends, curves - her ass raised, her stomach lying on the bed. Her mouth takes you another few inches, until the tip of her nose is barely visible, but when she pauses to lick the cum still left over - the cum that's starting to leak out again - to breathe through it, then squeeze her palm and bob her mouth down, take another inch, until the sides are stuffed and emptying out again, that's when she finally has something to say: "got anything left? I'm a little starved."

"I. Christ, yes-" you whine, which doesn't help your case at all: the image, the image of you lying flat - back with Hyeju's head tucked between your knees, her hand pulling out your cock.

Sloppy, slimy-wet.

She presses an innocent, not-at-all-innocent kiss right to your tip, puckering - 

"You know what I did learn in that genetics class?" she muses, tongue flicking over her lips. Hyeju's about ready for a second helping - you're losing it. "When I first saw that DNA diagram - the double helix and all those little base pairs, and everything - it made me think of your cock. Your cock and me. Specifically our DNA. Did you know-"

She presses her palm over the head and rolls it - teases and strokes her palm - her knuckles - her fist - the whole nine. "When I hold your big fucking cock, mm, and just get it right - up in here, rubbing all along my walls - so deep, it gets me in my fucking ribs, makes me choke like I never been choked before, ah-mm," and it's this thought sliding toward the front of your mind, this perfect picture: Hyeju, getting fucked hard and open and stuffed full and stuffed good and stupid; you’ve got more than a few inches on her, can make her feel small and delicate; you know how to do her right.

But here you have Hyeju stroking the shaft - holding her hand tightly up near the head, rolling and twisting and sliding down and pushing her whole body right into the side of your legs: the soft, solid length, warm flesh and curves everywhere pressing into you.

You sit back, and just watch Hyeju with her eyes cool and composed, like half of her fucking face isn't streaked with your cum, mouth wrapped and looking fucking satisfied to be a total, gorgeous mess. She makes a dramatic display of kissing the tip again, just before telling you words you probably dreamt up at some point - either sleep deprived, or, during three AM jackoff, fantasizing. "Sometimes, just from riding your cock, I can't sit up straight."

"Fuck," and you feel your whole body run rigid, because apparently that's something you’ve been aching to hear.

You're covering her mouth again. White streaking onto her lips - where she's catching it in the well beneath her tongue and letting it spill out of the corner of her mouth. Into the crook of your thumb, which catches a drip here and there and rubs it down the length - down the curve - and pushes it back between Hyeju's pert little pout.

"Doesn't count, mister, just more pre-cum," she says, all with the audacity of a wink and smile; her words are a little garbled around the head of your cock between her teeth. And when you nod and realize just how painfully your jaw hurts, your throat becomes tight and raw, a knot pulling the underside from the center. Hyeju slides her lips lower, lower down, to the hilt and stays there, just like that - one hand holding down the flat of your belly to keep your hips still, her chin hanging - bobbing-as she feels every pulse, every twitching shift. You curl one hand around the side of her face, over the sharp edge of her jaw; rub a thumb into the delicate skin of her throat.

She shifts. You start to tell her what you like: how hot the rush comes when a girl puts her tongue against the slit at the very tip, and licks at the precum in nice, quick circles, soft and fluttering. And how her fingers shouldn't hesitate either, Hyeju's not even struggling to give it to you - god - just giving and -

She jerks her head up, swallowing down her next breath like it's one of her last. "I'm serious, if you're going to fuck a hole, start with my mouth - we can move onto everything else after."

"You're ridiculous -"

She meets her lips to your head, kissing once. Again. Kissing every inch, letting her mouth wrap around and then just - staying, just - staying like that and humming, with you, enjoying the fullness, the smell of you, the taste, the shape, just the weight and size and you.

There is spit fucking everywhere.

And if it's not clear what you're supposed to be doing - her fingers weave through yours, squeezing hard at the wrist and you can imagine: pulling her forward by her hair and holding her down while she chokes on your cock. "Fuck, Hyeju," you say, and your voice comes out way shakier than you'd like, "when, how did it get like this, huh? You always - always did, shit, always want your mouth filled."

"Never figured you to be someone who'd get turned on watching their friend sucking their cock like this."

"Doesn't everybody love the sight of their cock in a pretty girl's mouth?

"You were really convinced they weren't lining up behind you? Or anyone in the queue who can't keep their eyes off of this thing. Tell me, and try not to lie, try not to bullshit this one out: how many girls have you come home and fucked and creamed their brains out - then asked for the sloppiest, most -"

"Honestly."

"- Filthiest, nasty, ball-busting, gut-wrenching blowjob ever to make them think - to make them really start wondering what the hell it was you did - like it's gotta be something that leaves them so ruined, they can't ever not compare - can't ever not compare this moment, right here. Ever. When you give them the hardest fucking of their life, compared to any other guy - can't not, because no-one, literally no-one's cock can fuck like you do-"

"Fuck-"

"Any harder. Come on, seriously, tell me it isn't true. Come on."

Her voice - her fucking words, the tone she uses and how her words roll: honey-warm and soaking with sweet, thick degradation - she talks like sex, and that's exactly what gets you harder, like it’s something else; like it’s nothing, like it’s less, so much worse - you feel this guilty-dirty heat pool at your tailbone and push down the hard press of you throbbing all the way to her nose. And Hyeju smiles as much as she's capable around the fat, round stretch, humming around the warm taste of you, before opening wide and sinking her throat on it.

There's nothing like it.

You've got two fists in her hair; she's so tight and wet around every god-damn inch. Her cheeks flush - hot to the touch; her tongue laving in slow, long drags, slicking your shaft nice and warm until you're balls-deep and pushing her further: a small shift to the hips, a push here, a harder, faster pull, and Hyeju's feet behind her go curling like an angry cat, wanting the tug.

A long, satisfied breath slips from the hollows of her throat.

There are tears threatening, thickening her lashes, and though she doesn't choke - you're just afraid. Every sound that she pulls out, her eyes blinking up to you as if it's only natural to love getting used by her friend's cock, like the very premise of it - swallowing down the very shape of you, dragged over her tongue and brushing cum into the back of her throat - is something she can’t go without.

But this is nothing compared to the noises from where her lips are pressed tight around you, where you're hearing and even feeling:

That gluck, gluck - where her chest spasms just the slightest when her nose gets nuzzled right into your belly and you remember how much she likes to hear you talk dirty, how fucking wet it gets her. The heavy, deep breaths, gasps; the strangled moans when your hips just buck - the heat and the thrill, and this is better than every other time because there's just something in this moment -

"I'm not gonna come again, not like this. Not in your mouth. You can’t-"

But Hyeju refuses to hear a word; just pumps your shaft faster, feeling it's familiar hardness grow and throb and ache and retch, all her effort paying off: you're slick with precum and spit, hard and straining, the whole shaft begging for release - all because of her. And Hyeju won't stop, she pushes her cheek onto your thigh and then taps a hand there to pull your hips. The motion drives your cock further still inside her. Until it’s bathed in her spit, your cum, all this mess.

Until it's reaching, choking her, and the muffled sounds she's making are filthy and wet and so incredulously hot.

But god. Hyeju has something of a temper and a habit, too: with those big beautiful eyes and the perfect plump of her pouting lips, her tits swelling up around, when your grip slips on her shoulder, and her mouth goes tighter - how the pleasure begins to make you unbearably cruel and you push her away from you, only for a second -

She doesn't wait or seem to care; Hyeju follows the cock with her whole head and whimpers so hotly in her throat when it plops right back on her tongue. "That's more - more like - fuck, oh, there we go," her nose and fingers prodding.

You groan through a high, strangled whimper, a helpless shiver that turns into an uncontrollable roll of the hips - you can't believe it: she's already so thoroughly debauched and defaced; just fucking painted with it. Your cum dripping off her chin and rolling down her neck.

"Fuck - gonna make me - ah, Jesus -"

When Hyeju seems to have reached her fill, the feeling, you're cumming - pumping the length of your shaft. And the moment she feels you twitch and throb and that first hot spill lands in the bend of her mouth, it's as if she understands and holds herself tight - her legs going stock-still while your eyes blow up behind her, your cock spewing another and then another thick, milky load into her mouth, over her tongue: all along the topography of her throat - sticky cum landing in every ridge and valley -

Hyeju catches as much as she can. What little she can. You cum and pump and gush so much that when you're finally finished - done - every last drop spent and given - your cock throbs soft between her fingers; her chin is a complete and utter mess and her chest heaves with the sound of her catching her own breath. Hyeju groans softly and just swishes the load around in her mouth for a bit as if wanting to remember its feel and weight before lifting her eyes to look into yours. You can just barely see the color.

"Jesus, Hyeju-"

The entire bit of it, slick and shining-wet. With a small moan, a sound from the back of her throat: one swallow and the cum is gone, disappeared, vanished. She smiles like she didn't just ruin your entire goddamn life and, with her body limp and exhausted beside you - her gentle hand rubbing a flat stroke over your thigh before yours slips up to meet her chin.

"You," you curse and roll your eyes, catching the mess at the edge of her jaw, the very little left in the corners of her lips. You feed the cum over her bottom lip - her chin, her throat - watching your friend: Hyeju's throat, bobbing. "Really didn't have to," you start, but you realize just how useless a point it is to make.

She's smiling and biting and showing you what's left between the tips of her canines. "Do you always do this to the people who suck you off?"

"That's an awful habit. A pretty girl's lips aren't meant to get that messy," you reply.

"Oh." She frowns. "Well, I do a lot of things I shouldn't."

"God, seriously," and you think there's no greater hell, no sweeter pain than whatever's lingering in these little aftershocks - this fizzling and dying sort of pain, where the body is buzzed with all you're aching for. It's impossible to stop this train of thoughts, is the fucking feeling of her-

But just then, Hyeju rises to her knees, a new spark in her eyes, as she grabs ahold of your wrist and tugs you off the sheets, a few inches closer.

"And you," she purrs as she drags the palm of your hand across her neck and collarbone, collecting what remains and making the perfect image, "well - you are going to help clean me up, like you said before." She sits tall; the arch of her spine is pronounced - her back, so, very, slightly tapering, to where your hand slips right off the last of it: the wide flare of her hips. "Now isn't that the gentleman's thing to do?" she asks.

"Of course." You sigh, resigned and in desperate need of water. "Of course," you add and smirk a little and slip your hand lower, toward where her skin is getting hot, and her body, "let's get you clean."

"Mm." She's already grinning. "You know what wasn't in those textbooks?"

"Oh, I can only guess." You bite your cheek and start to lower yourself back. "Give it a try."

Hyeju drags you by the wrist toward the hall, the bathroom, ostensibly the shower -

"There's no way in hell you don't want to put a baby in me, like, right fucking now."

"Is that what we're doing?"

Hyeju makes a face like you're stupid - she might've grabbed a towel on the way out. She wipes her chin a little while walking - the corner of her mouth where, well - where it looks like a little dribble has somehow remained. "No. But you’re going to fuck me like it is."

-

(There's got so much on her mind. 

The door of the shower rattling in its frame as she struggles standing up against it. Getting fucked so fast and full, the feeling of both your hands cupped beneath the weight of her breasts. It's not the fact of where you are and your situation, per say - more about the immediate, the imperative nature. About fucking you. She was already feeling herself like, leaking the moment the door shut, so all that waiting, all that patience, really - and it's what drove her insane when you were, well: like that, after she put her mouth around your cock, made a right and proper mess of herself, and sucked you off.

Though there's less on her mind, clearly, when she cums all over your cock.

She's crying with her tits up onto the glass, your palm holding her ribs. Your cum-slick cock working itself hard again as it slips, back and forth, as you're fucking her open, spread apart. It's your finger in her asshole. That's what's on her mind then. How the press of your knuckle lights her entire fucking spine on fire - how the other hand finds her clit in all this, too, when you're no longer supporting the both of you but rather Hyeju is folding on her bent knee and trusting, on shaking and shivering, raw nerves, that you're not going to collapse.

"Fucking. God, please-"

There's the harsh slap of flesh - skin on wet skin, your palms against the sides of her ass and the curve of the breast. But otherwise - it's you, sighing - soft and gentle, like you can't get over the feel of her. "Hyeju, oh-fucking, god, fucking," is what you're saying, and it doesn't end up really mattering which one of you came last because she can feel you twitching, squelching in and out with how badly you're wanting to explode inside, but also you can feel her cunt absolutely begging, this fucking fluttering and clamping down on every thrust and the moment you manage to grind this angle she loses her ability to speak properly because you're not just, like - fucking her-

Just, absolutely, completely pounding her pussy, stretching her insides, dragging and sliding along the walls; each rough rub and thrust makes her knees quiver until her body is trembling and falling. But mostly her voice, the sharp gasp that shakes into her, how her nails are scraping the walls of the shower stall and she's saying - telling, crying and asking and wondering and pleading - just utterly astounded:

"Amazing," she huffs, breathes coming out cloudy and true onto the pane of glass, "you - it’s, fucking amazing.")

-

“And I am… Ironman.”

Your eyes flicker awake, hazy, as Tony Stark snaps his fingers, killing himself alongside Thanos’ army in the process.

The TV's long been running on background noise, though not as ambient. Its characters now bickering between the rubble and ruins and being picked up for the end credits. In the dark of the screen, you see Hyeju had nodded off and slumped over the side of your body. A new year means new beginning means resolutions and diets and gym routines -

Maybe no sooner than the sun can come up, apparently.

You lean over to grab your phone from the table: 4:14 A.M.

There's a lot of things you want to say, even more you want to hear, but your mind has begun to settle a bit - a lazy and dreamy thing that fills you with this sort of, tired kind of - not sad, or empty - no, of course not. That's hardly fitting; not after tonight. You want to wrap this in an idealistic sort of sentiment - maybe hold Hyeju close and let the hour carry you and the comfort be enough to forgive whatever there is to miss: like the fact, it's still really dark, so dark even outside. The moon reflecting off the sheet of snow on the street. And not even a distant dog barking, or car driving by or someone playing loud music in the early hours of the new year.

As the film drifts off into another set of commercials, you slip into an easy sleep that feels effortless. Your head drops, landing on the cushion by the arm of the couch, where Hyeju's hand begins to slip mindlessly across your belly, tickling your waist and causing you to slightly squirm - things are cooling down, but still a little agitated.

"Don't tell me you're waking me up, cause I just -"

She kisses the pulse at your throat and answers, mumbling half-words into the spot below your ear. "A kiss for a new year."

And maybe the world doesn't owe you anything at all.

Maybe it just gave you more than enough.

[reidmotif]

Coffee and Consequences

Summary: Reader joins the BAU, and Spencer seems insistent on being a problem for her.

Request: pls i am such a sucker for angst/smut, can you do one where spencer is closed off and cold to a new recruit, and it upsets her, so she tries to get him to like her, which leads to an argument and confession, with soft smut?

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Smut/Light Angst (Happy Ending)

Content Warning: Reader POV, little shit Spencer, oral sex (f recieveing), gunshot wound/typical canon violence, unprotected sex

Word Count: 6.1k

Upon starting at the BAU, I believed there was no question about me, especially when it came to my skills and ability to perform my job. From stellar recommendations from my superiors at the Academy, to general demeanor and tact, there was no question about whether or not my success was imminent. Most of the team were more than elated to welcome me to the small family they’d built over the years, despite my younger age than most of them, which I was eternally grateful for. 

Most, being the keyword in that sentence. Since I’d begun, there’d been one thorn in my roses, the bane of my existence, you might say. Spencer fucking Reid. I’m aware of the fact that not everyone could like me, that was a given. I'm an FBI agent, for god’s sake. To expect warmth and friendship from everyone would be naive and lead to disappointment in any given scenario. 

But Jesus Christ, this was getting absolutely ridiculous. 

I consistently replayed the events of our first meeting. In an attempt to make a good first impression, (which seems stupid, in hindsight) I brought coffee to each of my new co-workers, hoping to establish myself as a friendly, non-threatening presence in their lives. I’d covertly asked Emily for help, as within the interviews and background checks required to even be considered for a position in the BAU, there was a certain camaraderie and friendship forged through the continued exposure to each other. 

Emily advised me carefully, understanding the intentions behind the act, and being more than happy to help.  “JJ likes vanilla lattes, nothing too fancy. Rossi is a little simpler, a Caffe Americano.” I spoke, and continued to go through my team’s regular orders, until there was hesitation on a somewhat infamous name, one that I myself was already intrigued by. “Spencer’s an easy order to remember, but you have to make sure you get it right.” 

I found myself nodding, the seriousness of Emily’s words striking me- momentarily finding myself forgetting that they were speaking about something as mundane as coffee. "Emily spoke slowly, as if I was advising a child. 'Reid likes black coffee, but you have to make sure to add extra sugar.'" I nodded quickly, "Alright, black coffee with extra sugar, got it-" Emily interrupted me abruptly. "No, no. You're not hearing me, extra sugar. I mean a lot, okay? Otherwise, he quite literally won't drink it."

I found myself chuckling a little bit, thinking about the image of Spencer Reid I’d built up in my head before I’d even met him. I knew he had been framed and had endured a considerable time in prison. I was also aware of his intelligence, a natural by-product of all the papers he’d written, and how many of his own techniques in geographic profiling were referenced during my time in the Academy. Working with him seemed like a dream come true. The idea of a grown man needing as much sugar in his coffee as Emily made it seem added just a bit of charm to the already positive perception I’d had of him. 

In the coffee shop, I carefully recited the orders of my new teammates, taking extra caution in advising the barista that the black coffee needed extra sugar. I could tell the patrons behind me were definitely annoyed, but it didn’t matter. First impressions matter more. Even after my incessant requests about sugar, I took the time to open the lid of the steaming black coffee to add in 3 extra packets of brown sugar provided at the customization station in the back of the coffee shop. I could tell the barista was boring holes into the back of my head, and I honestly wasn’t surprised or could blame her. At this point, the sugar had to be more than the coffee itself. I gave a satisfied grin to myself, knowing I’d followed Emily’s directions and the possibility of friendship with someone I’d already come to admire wasn’t something far-off to wish for. 

God, was I wrong. 

I approached the bullpen cautiously, being greeted by an assortment of new faces. I quickly matched names to descriptors that had been given to me from Emily. I then noticed one face that hadn’t greeted me yet, sat alone in the back with his nose in a book. I couldn’t discern the title, which I quickly figured was due to the fact that the book appeared to be some European language I’d most likely never even heard of. The man had a mess of brown hair on his head, and even from across the room I could tell it was curling softly near the nape of his neck. He was handsome. More handsome than I had pegged him for. I knew almost immediately that this had to have been the infamous Spencer Reid, and I cautiously approached him, flashing a small smile. 

He heard me a mile away, looking up quickly and putting away his book. His eyes seemed to size me up, and he didn’t seem to return my smile. I knew better than to shake hands with him, being predisposed to his germaphobe nature and instead held out the coffee, almost as if it was a peace offering. 

“Hi, uh. I’m the new recruit, I believe Emily warned you all about me and I just wanted to introduce myself. (Y/N). That’s my name. It’s nice to meet you.” I said, a little dumbly, still holding the coffee out. I quickly realized I hadn’t explained the reasoning behind the coffee cup and quickly added, “Coffee. I asked Emily about how you liked it. And brought it. So, yeah.” I said. I was aware of how awkward this conversation was becoming, considering I was still holding out the cup, like an idiot, and he hadn’t said a word to me yet. He nodded, taking the coffee cup from me and placing it on his desk. “Dr Reid. Welcome.” His greeting was short, but I tried not to let it bother me. Perhaps he wasn’t as forthcoming to strangers, nevermind that. The coffee was enough. I smiled, again, hoping to make my intentions clear. “Nice to meet you, Dr Reid.” 

I turned back, feeling satisfied. I’d done what I’d come there to do. Except a sound from behind me alerted me that maybe I was a bit early to assume that, because when I’d turned around, an incredibly displeased Dr Reid was throwing away his coffee- the coffee I had brought! That I’d waited for in a morning rush for, that I’d taken the time to add even more sugar to- that coffee! In the trash! His eyes met mine as he dropped it into the trashcan near his desk, shuddering a bit as he did so. He didn’t even look apologetic. 

I approached him, a bit upset and sad, but there was caution in my tone, not wanting to offend him before he even had a chance to know me. “Dr Reid, I’m sorry was the coffee-” Dr Reid quickly interrupted me. “Did Emily not tell you my order?” He asked, a little bit of sharpness to his tone. 

Okay, so this guy took his coffee seriously. Emily was not kidding around. 

“Um, yes-” He interrupted again. “Yes? Are you sure?” He said, a bit of condescension in his tone. Okay, holy shit. All this over coffee? “Very sure.” I responded, confidently. “Black, with extra sugar- I even put extra at the counter.” I added this, trying to convey that while I was sorry it wasn’t to his liking, it’s not like I didn’t try. That had to count for something, right? 

Wrong. Spencer Reid did not seem like the type of man who cared about trying. He retorted with, “Well, it wasn’t enough.” And with that, he shuffled to the breakroom, seemingly to make his own coffee. 

It seemed like from there, things only got worse. In one of my first cases, I quickly made a quip about the statistics on suburban murders, hoping to add some valuable information to the conversation. I tried hard not to overpower anyone and stay in my lane as the resident newbie, but Spencer seemed to take personal offense to it, going out of his way to argue that it meant nothing. I fired back, hoping to affront my point but Reid quickly cut me off.

 “You’re new, alright? And young. It’s granted that you should be clueless when it comes to some of these things.” His words, although somewhat true, were accompanied by a harsh tone and a coldness in his voice. What could’ve been well-meaning advice from a senior agent on the team was clearly not that at all. All signs pointed to one thing: He absolutely hated me. 

For all I tried, it seemed like he only disliked me more. It wasn’t unnoticed by my teammates, how he’d dismiss me. I was aware of my newness, of my inexperience, how this team had had years to grow around each other before I was ever even considered for this position, but it seemed with the more time I spent at the BAU, Spencer’s disdain only increased. He seemed to go out of his way to not sit by me on the jet, or how he seemed absolutely uninterested in anything involving me. I understood that not everyone would like me, but a bit of respect would be nice. I didn’t need friendship, just his tolerance, and even that seemed out of reach for Dr Spencer Reid. 

Eventually, this led to the dynamic  we harbored now. A year into the BAU, and instead of a friendship, or even acquaintanceship, it was constant bickering. It’s not like I wanted to argue- he just made it impossible for me to find footing within the BAU. I obviously stood up for myself, but was met with resistance from the doctor, and so the cycle continued. 

Still, despite the obvious dislike Reid harbored for me, it wasn’t like that magically made him dumb, or any less attractive to me. His intelligence was as impressive as I’d expected it to be, if not even moreso. I watched in real-time as the cogs in his mind turned, his slender fingers finding a point on the side of his mouth to tap, before stopping and sharing what he’d just thought of. He was brilliant, and no one could take that away from him

 However, in this particular case we were currently dealing with, it seemed that brilliance simply didn’t matter, because how could someone like him be so absolutely stupid? 

The hostage situation we were dealing with was tricky, to say the least. Multiple civilians, and a trigger happy unsub. Any experienced agent would be at a loss when handling something like this, but Spencer seemed confident. He’d been pushing to storm the building, citing that more people would get hurt the longer they allowed the unsub to continue making demands. I found myself  wholeheartedly disagreeing, attempting to put my foot down and be heard. I found that perhaps, through negotiations, we could not only save the civilians, but walk away with zero people hurt. Naturally, this caused commotion between the senior agent and myself. 

“Reid, I’ve told you for the millionth time that this unsub can’t be approached like this!” I whisper-yelled, clearly fed up with Spencer by this point. He questioned every decision of mine, and it's gotten to me. 

“(Y/N), you’ve dealt with maybe 3 hostage situations in your life. This isn’t something for you to take point on. We have civilians in there, and it’s more important we save them.” He responded, in his own hiss. 

“You’re being ridiculous!” I retorted. 

“You’re naive!” He shot back. 

We’d clearly reached a head when it came to this. Spencer huffed, rolling his eyes. “I’m using my seniority here. We’re going to give the go-ahead to SWAT and make our way into the building.” 

I found myself returning the gesture. “Spencer- '' I began, only to be interrupted.

 “Dr Reid.” He corrected, venom in his voice. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I replied, furrowing my brows. 

“What?” He countered, seeming calm, but his eyes gave away simply how determined he was to win this. 

“This is a terrible idea.” I said, firmly. “Someone’s going to get hurt.” 

“Oh, and how do you know that?” Spencer quipped. “Is it your years of experience in the field? Or your time spent as an FBI agent?” He said, sarcastically. 

“I understand I don’t have as much experience as you, but-” I started, but I found myself cut off by him again. Bastard. He never let me finish my sentences. “Exactly.” He responded, calmly. “You don’t have as much experience. I know what I’m doing. Let’s go.” And with that, he walked, leaving me to simply follow. God, I fucking hated that guy. Forget the intelligence, none of that mattered when he was such a dick. 

As they entered the warehouse doors behind SWAT, I  knew that it was wrong. Something was off. We’d profiled this unsub as the dominant type, and an egotistical personality that wouldn’t allow for a partner. It was a part of the profile that they were sure of. It was part of the reason why Spencer was so confident of going in. 

Upon entering though, the SWAT team had a clear shot of the unsub, but in a split second, there were shots heard from an entirely different part of the warehouse. From the direction in which Spencer was directly in line of. 

It wasn’t like I thought about it, maybe if I had, I wouldn’t have done it. It was based on pure instinct. I found myself in front of Spencer Reid, the man who’d questioned my every decision since I’d begun my job, taking a bullet for him. Maybe he was right, maybe I was an idiot. 

I heard the gunshot first, then felt the cold floor pressing into my cheek where I’d been knocked down. Then a tight pressure in my arm. I finally looked down, seeing a bloom of red appear under my dress shirt where a bullet had struck, away from the vest I wore to prevent this sort of thing. I took in a sharp breath of air, eyes widening as my breathing began to quicken. I rolled onto my back, only to be met with Spencer’s concerned and frightened expression above me. I heard ins and outs of his speech into his receiver, as I faded in and out of consciousness. 

“Yes! We have an agent down. We need medic, now!” He yelled. I watched him in fascination, his face currently seeming to be the only thing I could focus on besides the overwhelming burning that I felt. I heard him speak to me, calmly. “Y/N? Stay with me, okay? You need to stay conscious. Okay?” He spoke to me calmly, but the waver in his voice was unmistakable. I found my eyelids growing heavier as I nodded. 

It wasn’t long until I came to, groggily opening my eyes to see Spencer’s concerned face looking back at me. I heard his voice, soft and distant. 

“(Y/N)..?” Spencer said, cautiously. 

“Dr Reid?” was my response. I was still a bit dizzy, and a bit confused about my whereabouts. 

“You were shot.” He replied, immediately. “In your arm.” He added, as if that wasn’t already obvious. 

I found myself chuckling, “Yeah, I can tell.” I said, my eyes meeting his. His expression was a bit unreadable, a mix between sternness and apprehension. I watched him, as his gaze shifted and he bit his lip. “You took it for me.” He said, suddenly. “The bullet, I mean.” He continued. “It would’ve hit me if you hadn’t gotten in the way.” 

“Gotten in the way?” I questioned, raising an eyebrow. 

“Gotten in the way.” He repeated back to me, his face hard. 

“Are you upset I took a bullet for you?” I said, furrowing my brows, my lips parting in shock. Was this guy serious? 

“Yes.” He said, his voice angry. “What were you thinking?” His voice wavered with anger and another emotion I couldn’t quite discern in that moment. 

“I wasn’t thinking, I just-” 

“Exactly.” He responded, harshly. “You weren’t thinking.” He said, his voice reaching a volume I’d never heard before, granted, it was still collected, but I’d never seen this side of him. 

I contemplated how to respond to this, actually not being able to believe that he could be mad at me for something like this. Yes, it was brash but- he didn’t get shot! Isn’t that a plus? His voice broke my thoughts, now a bit more shaky, softer. “Do you have any idea what that would mean? If you’d been hurt worse, what that would mean for me?” He said, looking right at my face, into my eyes with a blaze. “What you mean to me?” 

I found myself unable to respond, still not being able to grapple with what he was saying. What he was implying. “Sorry?” I asked, softly. 

“(Y/N)..” He said, softly. His own expression mirrored my confusion mixed with longing I’d never seen before on him. Especially when he looked at me. His hand brushed across my face, moving some hair that had drifted near my eye. I held my breath as he did so, watching as his tongue slipped out to wet his bottom lip, still watching intently. I felt my lips slightly part as he came closer, unsure what was going to happen in this moment, but regardless, my gaze was intently trained on his. 

In a split second though, the sounds of the rest of the BAU filtered into the hospital room. They jumped away from each other, Spencer now 4 feet away from me. Emily came up to my bedside, looking at the wound. 

The typical chastisement came, and the general choruses of appreciation that I was still alive. The diagnosis revealed that (Y/N) would be just fine, given I remembered to clean my wound liberally and change the bandages.

In about a week, I found myself discharged. I was given about 2 more weeks to rest at my apartment. I assumed the time would be enough to forget the strange moment I’d had in the hospital room. At some points, if I tried hard enough, I could convince myself it hadn’t happened at all. The tenderness in his eyes, the way his gaze drifted to my lips, so subtle it could’ve as easily been a figment of imagination. I shook my head, as if I could rid myself of all the feelings I’d harbored about that specific moment. I made my way to the kitchen, grabbing a fresh-set of bandages to apply on the recovering wound, wincing as I peeled away the layers of gauze to reveal the injury. As I began to apply the anti-septic, I began to wrap the gauze, until I heard a knock at my apartment door. 

I put down the gauze, looking through the peephole and being surprised to see the senior agent that had been haunting my thoughts for the past few weeks. I opened the door quickly, meeting his pensive gaze. 

“Can I come in?” He said, quickly, almost if he didn’t say the words fast enough, he’d bolt the other direction. I sensed the confusion about his own actions, and opened the door wider, allowing him to push past me into my apartment. He noticed the gauze, and the open wound, and raised an eyebrow. 

“I was changing the gauze, sorry.” I said, explaining the sight on my kitchen table. He immediately took a step towards the table, picking up the bandages. “Let me help.” He said, quietly, motioning for me to sit down. 

I found myself sitting, out of pure habit of obeying him, but still shook my head. 

 “Dr Reid, no, it’s fine.” He quickly shook his head, mirroring my previous actions,  already beginning to take my arm, his light touches on my bare skin shooting a shiver up my spine. This was noticeable to him, him immediately retracting his hand. 

“Sorry, did I hurt you?” He asked, softly. 

I found myself shaking my head. “No, no. Sorry. Just. Continue.” I said, trying to get the words out without looking at him. I suddenly remembered the strangeness of this situation, and forced myself to calm down as he began to carefully wrap the bandages around my injury, swallowing and looking up. 

“Dr Reid, why are you here?” I asked, carefully. I made sure that my tone was neutral, not trying to express displeasement, but still a bit confused about his intentions here. 

“You took a bullet for me.” He replied, simply, as if that explained why he was in my apartment, looming over me as he tenderly wrapped gauze over my arm, looking at me with the gentlest gaze I’d ever seen on him. I sighed, locking eyes with him. “I know, but-” He interrupted. “No, (Y/N), you don’t know.” 

Immediately, the rage returned to my eyes, the months of dismissal I’d faced from him flooding back in a moment, and those emotions came to full light in that moment. my brows furrowed, my face turning sour. “Oh, I don’t know, Spencer?” I said, sneering at him. “Am I too young, too stupid, too inexperienced for you?” I question, sarcastically. “Am I so dumb, that I wasn’t aware of what I was doing when I stepped in front of you?!” I say, my voice practically yelling at him now. 

“Yes.” He whispered, dangerously close. 

“Excuse me?” 

“Yes. You weren’t aware.” He says, repeats, softer this time. “It’s the only way any of this makes sense. That.. that you were so unaware, so blinded that you weren’t thinking when you stepped in front of me.” He said, quietly, remaining just as close as before. 

“I wasn’t.” I said, firmly, my brows still furrowed but the tension slowly left my face, being replaced with a softness. 

“Why did you do it then?” He said, dropping his gaze as he began to focus more on the bandages. “I haven’t been very forthcoming with you since you’ve begun your time at the BAU.” 

“Ah, so you’ve noticed.” I said, trying to make humor of the situation, but it came out a bit more breathless and dry. I was aware of the intimacy of the situation, and it seemed my body was catching up. I could physically feel the way my cheeks were heating up, and how they were close enough that I could see every breath that exhaled from his lips. How, despite everything, I still desperately wanted to kiss him at that moment. 

I couldn’t be crazy, when he secured the bandages and slowly trailed his eyes over my figure, sitting in front of him. I saw the same desire I felt, reflected in his eyes, and I found myself biting my lip. What the fuck was going on?

“So why’d you do it?” He repeated, still looking at me. 

“It felt natural, I..” I trailed off, trying to find the words to explain what I had felt in that split-second, but instead went with the simplest retelling my brain could manage, considering how close he was. “I didn’t want you to get hurt.” I said, looking at him. “I.. I care about you.” 

I felt stupidly vulnerable. His breath fanned over my face, and I bit my lip. I waited for him to say something, anything, staring anxiously at his face. 

“I’m a good profiler, you know.” He says, softly. 

I  chuckle a little at this, moving away so the tension can be relieved. “Trust me, I’m reminded of that every day.” I said, feeling like the distance between them was now more manageable, allowing me to talk.

But in a moment, he closed that distance to its predecessor, just as close as they were a moment ago. “You learn a lot about body language. Not just by learning to profile, but through years of experience. It just comes naturally, reading people. You can’t really turn it off. It’s like trying to forget how to breathe.” I hung onto his every word, and found my breath hitching when he directed his monologue to me. 

He gently inquires, “Do you understand?” 

I nod, looking up at him, as he inches closer. 

“So I hope you’ll understand and not take offense when I say I’ve been profiling you.” He pauses.  “Would you like to know what I’ve found out?” He says, looking right into my eyes at this point. 

My brain is screaming at me to say no, to not take the bait that he was dangling right in front of me, and to not cross that line tonight. Because, surely, that’s where this was going. I had a sneaking suspicion that the man in front of me was going to ruin me, if I let him. 

Instead, I ignore the instinct and intuition I normally rely on, and nod. “What did you find out, Dr Reid?” I responded, a bit shakier than I wanted to sound. 

“Your pupils dilate when I come near you. It’s an involuntary response, but I notice it every time. I’ve seen it in low and heavy lighting, the only commonality in both those situations being that we were in some proximity to each other.” His voice was low, and seductive, something I’d never heard from him before. 

“Your heart rate.” He murmurs, slowly picking up my wrist and pressing a thumb to the pulse point. “This isn’t exactly the best way to measure heart rate.” He explains, “My thumb. It carries its own pulse that can make it hard to distinguish between mine and yours. But right now, (Y/N)?” He mumbles. “I can tell. Because your pulse is going crazy right now. It’d be hard to miss.”  He said, with a low chuckle.

And he’s right, I can feel my heart getting faster with every second he speaks to me, in that hushed tone that seems to be driving me crazy. 

“It’s not just tonight. I’ve noticed it since the day you walked in.” He whispers, getting closer to my ear, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear. “Since you brought that terrible coffee, actually.” 

I pulled back, letting out a noise that was both composed of surprise and amusement. “Oh come on, it was not that bad.” 

“It was, but I can tell you tried.” He said, a small smirk playing on his face. “It was cute.” He said, now taking the time to brush some hair out of my face. It all happened quickly, his gaze tender and soft, before he captured my lips in a swoon-worthy kiss, pressing himself against me. I quickly melted into the kiss, letting out a satisfied sigh as I gripped his forearm, before rising from the chair as he slowly guided me to my couch. I let out a nervous laugh as my knees hit the cushions, tumbling a bit as I fell onto the soft pillows. He immediately pulled back, breathless, looking at me worriedly. 

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” He murmured softly, kissing me again, a bit more gentle so I could murmur a soft “no” against his lips. 

“Good.” He growled, positioning himself above me on the couch,  beginning to press hot kisses down my neck, eventually reaching my exposed sternum, and looking up at me through hooded lids for implicit consent to continue, to which I nodded, feverishly. 

“Please.” I whispered, hoarsely. 

He took no time in obliging my request, rising a bit to remove the fabric of my shirt in one, clean swoop and continuing his assault on my chest, leaving open-mouthed kissed, eventually switching to nips and playful bites, as he sucked marks into the swell of my breasts, leaving me letting out delighted sighs and soft moans, which only seemed to encourage him to go lower. I arched my back, screwing my eyes shut, until he felt him stop, and come back to my neck. 

He murmured against me, close to my ear. I could feel his lips slowly brush the sensitive skin between my ear and neck, barely giving me any real stimulation, but it was enough to drive me crazy anyway. 

“Keep your eyes open, baby.” He whispers. “I want to see every part of your pretty face when I do this.” He says, returning lower again, leaving little kisses everywhere he could possibly go with his lips. I opened my eyes on command, watching as he went lower and lower, before finding the button on my jeans, slowly undoing them with nimble fingers and moving them off  my legs. I could imagine them so vividly inside me, expertly guiding me to pleasure in a way that mine couldn’t. But right now, if I wasn’t fucked senseless by him right now, I’d just about lose my mind. 

“Spencer.” I whispered, breathlessly. “I need you.” I breathed out. “Please.” 

“You need me to do what?” He asked, smirking as he already began to undo his own belt. 

“Spencer.” I repeated, firmly, not wanting to say the words. 

“Say it.” He says, in a much more commanding tone. 

“Spencer..” I repeat, breathing out again. “Fuck. I need-” I waver on the words, biting my lip. “I need you to fuck me. Now.” 

His smirk turns into a grin of satisfaction and pride, capturing my lips in yet another passionate kiss. “Mm. Wasn’t so hard, was it?” He says, cockily. I whined against his lips, tacitly begging him to just get on with it and he chuckles, moving off of my mouth. 

“Alright. I get it.” He says, moving his lips downwards again, his lips brushing against my underwear, as he began to remove that fabric as well. He nearly moaned when he saw just how wet I really was. It was a bit embarrassing, just from a few touches and words, but it was hard to care when I felt his tongue right on my core, beginning to lap at the hot flesh, reducing me to moans as I knotted my fingers into his hair, arching my back and bucking my hips to feel more of his ministrations. He seemed to understand, hooking his strong arms under my thighs, firmly planting me to the couch we were currently on, continuing. I could feel his moans against me, sending vibrations that only heightened my arousal in that moment. As if that was even possible. 

And then it was, because I heard him murmur against me.“You taste-” he paused, using his tongue to lap up more of my arousal. “So fucking good.” He finished, beginning to now harshly flick at my clit, which caused an entirely new slew of sensations. I recognized my end was fast approaching, and I tugged on his hair, unable to form the words as the white-hot pleasure overtook me quickly, he seemed to understand this without a word, nursing me through my orgasm as my thighs shook around him and he held my hips down. Even then, he didn’t stop, continuing to flick his tongue, lapping up my arousal until I had to physically push him away with a soft groan. “Spencer.. It’s too much.” Even then, he continued, reducing me to nothing but moans, and I heard him whisper. “Come on. One more. Please.” The words unintentionally caused a flutter in my stomach, and in record time I was being pushed towards my second orgasm in a matter of 5 minutes.

His mouth was clearly so much better at this than arguing. 

I felt him lap up the last bit of my arousal, looking up at me with a glistening chin, and I’d be lying if I didn’t say it was the most erotic sight in the world at that moment. The man that had questioned me at every turn, now in between my legs. He gave a smirk, moving up and giving me a rough kiss, and I didn’t hesitate to moan in his mouth when I could taste myself on his tongue. He smiled as he broke the kiss, caressing my cheek with one of his hands. His thumb moved along the smooth expanse of my cheeks. 

“Are you okay?” He asks, gently, concern in his eyes. 

I couldn’t help but break out into a dazed smile, nodding, a thin cover of sheen over my body, where I was still breathing heavily. “Yeah. I’m good.” 

“Good.” He breathed out. “I’m not stopping.” 

“I don’t want you to stop,” was my response, his shirt coming off before I’d even finished my sentence. 

I watched in fascination as he undid his belt, the very sound of it filling me with anticipation and desire. I could feel myself getting more aroused by the second, despite my previous two orgasms. I wanted him, I wanted this so badly. 

I felt him position himself over me, and feeling the head of his arousal run through my folds. I let out a breathy groan, as I felt him push into me. He let out a moan of his own, shutting his eyes. “You feel.. So fucking good.” 

I whimpered slightly as my body adjusted to him and his size. He was so big, and I’d never felt full like this before. He noticed this and placed a gentle kiss against my lips, watching my face as it contorted in pleasure and pain. As the pain began to subside, I looked up at him nodding. 

“Move, please.” I begged, the desperation evident in my voice.

He took no time in obeying my request, beginning to slowly thrust in and out of me. I moaned, feeling his cock stretch me and fill me up in a way I had never been full before. A pleasant sensation bloomed through my lower abdomen, and I could feel him bury his head into my shoulder as he pushed into me, my walls clenching on his length with every movement he gave. He pressed wet kisses into my neck, and I moaned happily at the feeling. In an instant, I could feel him fucking me desperately, placing both of his hands on either side of my face. I could feel my jaw drop, and no sound came out. I was being hurdled towards my third orgasm of the night and it was all at the behest of the man in front of me, plowing into me like it was his job. 

I moaned loudly, my legs wrapping around his waist in an attempt to keep him buried in my deepest point, feeling my release creeping up on me. 

“Sp-Spencer..” I groaned, attempting to alert him of my impending orgasm, but he simply swooped down, kissing me roughly, which only caused me to moan into his mouth. 

“I know, baby.” He whispered, in a deliciously dark tone. “Come for me, baby. Wanna feel you make a mess all over my cock.” 

It took no more provocation from there, as I felt my hips buck up once more and my thighs shake. I came with a loud moan of his name, my free hand gripping onto him and leaving scratches I knew wouldn’t go away for a while. 

My release seemed to spur him on, the wetness allowing him to fuck into me harder. I watched the man above me lose all control, and it was beautiful. He grunted a bit, and I could feel his hips stutter, chasing after his orgasm. 

“Please, Spencer.” I begged. “Fill me up, I need to feel you come inside me.” I whispered. 

It didn’t take long after that, after a particularly hard thrust, a warmness filled me at my hilt and Spencer nearly collapsed over me. He gave me a kiss, murmuring into the skin of my neck. “So perfect, so fucking perfect for me.” 

I smiled at the praise, biting my lip. I let my hand traverse over his back, drawing figures into the warm skin. I looked at the man laying on my sternum, looking absolutely fucked out despite being the one to give me three orgasms tonight. “Perfect, you say?” I teased. 

He looked up at me, kissing my lips softly, before mumbling against them, “Mm. Perfect.” 

I had a sneaking suspicion the next time we were at work, and he’d have something to say about my work, (because he always did), it wouldn’t take long to have him whispering sweet nothings to me in an instant, just like he was now. At least I could do something right on the first try.

hi!! this is my first fanfiction i've written since i was literally in middle school. spoiler. far from middle school right now. leave a comment, reblog, like, whatever! i had fun writing this. my ask box should be open for more requests? if anyone would like. anyway! hope u enjoyed!! :3

[hp-hcs]

i see your theo and mattheo are bottoms post so i ask of you BOTTOM 👏🏻 YANDERE 👏🏻 FICS 👏🏻 i'd go feral if you dropped any plsplspls 😭‼️

• smut • hook up boyfriend — yandere! switch! theodore nott x male! switch! toxic! reader

look at this little bottom bitch he’s mine back off

so, my boyfriend proofreads most of my works on here, and i gave him my rough draft for this ask. he then said, and i quote, "jesus christ, [hp-hcs]. you write smut like a nun." and then he took my phone from me. so basically, this is a long winded way of saying that my boyfriend helped me write all the smexy stuff. tell me if I should let him keep helping me or if he's a god awful smut writer who should not be allowed within a hundred feet of my tumblr, mkay?

INCREDIBLY TOXIC READER JFC WHYD I MAKE YOU SUCH A MANIPULATIVE BASTARD IDK

WARNINGS: SMUT MDNI, amab reader, switch reader, implied unprotected sex w/ multiple sexual partners (you’re not magic irl. wrap it before you tap it.), lot of power dynamic changes—traditional top dom/bottom sub but also some top sub/bottom dom stuff as well, toxic shit in general, lot of manipulation, pretty mild yandere from theo, degradation, praise

i’m of the opinion that theo would be a bottom/dom just so that he could save face for posterity

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“What do you mean I can’t hook up with him?”

“Because you’re already hooking up with me!”

“So? We’re not exclusive, Theodore.”

“Yeah, but-”

“Friends with benefits. That’s it. I’m not beholden to give you my loyalty and undivided attention, dipshit.”

Theo growls and runs a hand through his hair while he paces around his dorm. You lay back on his bed, watching him with a bored expression.

“But he’s my best friend, Y/n!”

“Mhm. He’s also a damn good fuck.”

“I don’t need to know that!”

“Why not? You seem to enjoy fucking your friends, no?” You shrug, stretching out across his bed without a single care. “Maybe you ought to add Matty to your hook up rotation.”

“Matty?”

“Yeah? I’ve got nicknames for all my partners, Teddy-Bear.”

“All?!” Theo splutters. “Well- well, tell me this. Does he even satisfy you? Do you ever think of me when he’s fucking you?”

“He’s the bottom, actually.”

“Wh- huh?”

“He’s the bottom,” you repeat. “Why are you shocked? You’re well aware I’m a switch, Theo. And everyone knows that Mattheo is a Bottom-with-a-capital-B.”

A flame of white-hot jealousy heats up Theo’s skin. He grits his teeth in barely-restrained anger; it’s as if just saying the wrong thing right now would cause him to snap and go hunt down Riddle to put his head on a pike.

“I could be your Bottom-with-a-capital-B. You don’t need Riddle. You’re mine, and I’m yours. Got that?”

You snort. “No offense, Teddy, but I couldn’t see you bottoming in a million years. You’re my top hook up. I’ve got bottom hook ups so that you don’t have to do that.”

He stubbornly crosses his arms over his chest. “Well, maybe it’s high time you teach me how to bottom then. I don’t want you seeing other people. Especially if it’s just because they give you something I’m too chicken to.”

You blink. “Huh. That’s some weirdly endearing possessive dedication, love.”

“I aim to please,” he says dryly, those unnervingly dead eyes of his seeming like they could see inside your soul when he stares at you.

You consider the offer before a wicked grin slowly spreads across your face. “I bet you do, darling.”

~~~

"Sh-shit! Fuck! Y-Y/n, I-"

“You gonna cum, pretty boy? Hm? Already?” He whimpers and nods frantically, his fingers scrabbling for hold on your shoulders and leaving stinging nail-bitten marks across your back.

Your teasing relents a bit at the sight of his blissed-out expression. Theo’s mouth hangs open in ecstasy, his eyes shut tightly and his back arching up from the mattress.

You groan at the sight of him splayed out under you. You grip his cock, reveling in his whimpers, and quickly start jacking him off in time to your thrusts. “C’mon, baby. You can do it. Be a good boy for me.”

His entire body stiffens as he cums with a moan that would make even a Muggle porn star blush.

You groan and start to slow down, but before you can fully pull out, he locks his knees around your hips to keep you in place.

"D-don't you fucking dare. More.”

“More?” You tease gently, hesitant to continue despite his request. “What a fucking slut you are, Teddy-Bear. Insatiable.”

He growls at your hesitance, far too impatient for that kind of bullshit.

He grips your shoulders, his knees tightening around your hips again as he uses all of that hot boy quidditch strength to roll you both over.

You let out a tiny yelp of surprise as he flips you onto your back. He whimpers loudly and moans at the shift in position, having to tuck his face into your neck for a moment while he collects himself.

Your hand moves up to comb your fingers through his hair, but he knocks it away before you can.

He sits up, supporting his weight with his hands flat on your chest, and takes a shaky breath at the shift of positions. “Want you t’ cum too.”

Your hands find his hips and grip them firmly, your breath becoming uneven as he starts to grind back and forth.

You help him raise himself up then lower his body again, listening to his sweet moans. As he finds a steady rhythm, you watch as his thighs begin to tremble.

“Merlin- I’ll never complain about you getting tired while riding me ever again. This is a fucking workout.”

“You’ll be fine. You’re not on the quidditch team for nothing.”

That was apparently the wrong thing to say.

His face darkens.

Maybe he just doesn’t like me bringing up his teammates while we’re literally fucking, you consider. Maybe he-

“How good of a fuck is Riddle anyways, huh? Could he ever ride you like this?”

Ah.

Fuck.

Mattheo’s on the quidditch team as well.

Theo starts moving with passion, roughly slamming down on you. “I asked you a question.”

“G-god- Theo!” You gasp, caught off guard by the sudden influx of sensations.

“Answer me.”

You whine and scratch your short fingernails over his abs, marveling at the pink and red lines that bloom at the surface a half-second later. “C-could never be as good as you, love. Shit- you’re perfect.”

He shivers at the sensation and grins slyly. “Perfect, huh?”

“Perfect,” you repeat, cupping the back of his neck and pulling him in for a slow kiss.

He sighs against your lips, returning the kiss. The sweet moment is cut off by you suddenly jerking your hips up into him and cursing loudly.

“Fuck- you feel so fucking good, babe-”

He gasps and his fingers claw frantically at your shoulders for any kind of support. “Merlin- I’m gonna-”

You watch as Theo’s second orgasm hits him and he goes practically boneless, slumping over on top of you.

He’s spasming around you like mad, and you can’t help but moan loudly when you cum just seconds later.

You both lay there in silence for a moment, trying to catch your breaths. Theo slowly eases himself off of your dick and rolls over to lay beside you.

“What‘s the final verdict?” You grin cheekily after a moment. “You a pillow prince now or nah?”

“Mmm…nah. I think I can settle for the label of switch though.”

“Aha! Welcome to the dark side!”

“Yeah, yeah. Shush. Now, roll over, I’m on top this time.”

~~~

“I heard you’re going steady with someone now.”

“Mm…mhm,” Theo hums an affirmative around the cigarette in his mouth, one hand cupped around the flame of his lighter as he lit it.

“Who’s the lucky fella?”

“Your ex-fuckbuddy.”

“Which one?”

“Y/n.”

Mattheo’s brow furrows. “Y/n? Y/n and I have never slept together.”

Theo suddenly launches into a coughing fit as he chokes on his lungful of smoke. “What?”

“Now, don’t get me wrong. I’d hit that in a heartbeat if he offered. But, I’m also like ninety percent sure that you’d kill me if I did that, and I rather enjoy being not-murdered, believe it or not. He is incredibly hot though.”

Theo just stared, his mouth hanging open.

You never slept with Mattheo?

What?

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

• standalone!! •

i will not be writing a part two!!

[mikkomacko]

Him and I - Broad Street Bullies

Mob Boss Nico Hischier x female reader

Warnings: kidnapping, cussing, blood, weapons, general violence and threats

A/n: She's finally here!! This is a blurb from the beginning months of Mob Boss Nico and reader's relationship. It is extremely long but I tried to keep it as short as possible without cutting out any pivotal moments or details. Also disclaimer, I have nothing against the Flyers and they're simply a plot tool in this.

Thanks for reading!

______________________________________________________________

The streets of Manhattan are busy, even with the chilly fall weather. The line outside of Lady Liberty stretches around the block, all the rich and famous of New York trying to get in.

Nico doesn’t care. He pushes through the groups of people, feels the weight of the gun in his waistband as he shoulders his way to the front of the line. Igor is bouncer tonight, long hair tucked back under a beanie and he’s smiling and laughing with the group of blonde influencers at the front of the line when Nico gets there.

The smile quickly falls when Nico splits through the group, grabbing Igor by the collar or his long sleeve. Someone gasps behind him, a few people shout at him but it falls on deaf ears.

“I’m here to see Trouba,” he grits out, “now!”

Eyes wide, Igor lifts his hands up in surrender. “Alright, alright. Give us a sec would ya?”

Nico lets him go, clenching and unclenching his jaw as Igor calls over Rempe and mutters instructions in the rookies ear. A hand slides up Nico's bicep, fingers tapping at the clenched muscle.

"Hey handsome," a drunken voice purrs. Nico's ears go hot, anger flushing through his body and he shakes the girls hand off, glaring over his shoulder at the honey blonde making eyes at him. Even in her drunken state she flinches away, the rest of her group yanking her a couple steps back.

When he turns back forward, Rempe is already watching him and the stupid kid has the audacity to smirk and wink at him as he heads to the bar.

That’s all it takes for Nico to lurch forward, yanking the security rope down and storming towards the door.

“Whoa, whoa, Hischier!” Igor cuts him off, shoving at his chest to push him back. Rempe disappears inside, Nico struggling to follow after him. "Give him a sec, Jesus fuck," Igor mutters, giving Nico one final shove back.

He's angry, but he's not stupid so he doesn't retaliate, instead paces back in forth in the area between Igor and the dismantled security rope. Finally, Igor lifts a finger up to his ear piece, eyes squinting as he listens. Then he's nodding to the doorway and Nico pushes around him into the humid and packed bar.

Jacob Trouba is sitting at a large booth in the upper level, the brown leather of the seat cracked and sticky when Nico slips in across from him. Mika and Bread eye Nico, standing guard by their boss but with a wave of Trouba's hand they disperse.

"When you asked to visit a bar on this side tonight, I didn't think you meant mine." The Rag jokes, a crooked smirk on his face. Elbows thudding on the table, Nico leans into closer to him.

"My men were attacked tonight," he spits "at your bar, on your side of the Hudson. And I want everyone who was taken back right now or you'll be cleaning up a big mess here tonight."

Red and blue party lights pulse around the bar, the crappy lighting obscuring some of Trouba's features. But it does nothing to hide the way his eyebrows pinch in confusion.

"My men have been here all night Hischier," Trouba says earnestly, and Nico feels his heart sink to his stomach, the anxious knots in his belly squeezing it tighter and tighter.

He hadn't even let himself think it might be possible that the Rags don't have you. There was no reason to entertain the idea because the universe wouldn't do that to him. There's no way you're that far from him, that lost. It can't be true because if it is, this just got a lot more complicated.

Trouba is looking at him curiously, head tilted to the side like he's examining him. Nico ignores the inquisitive eyes, pulls his phone out of his leather jacket and texts Timo.

Start pulling up camera feeds around our hot spots, familiar faces but not NY ones

"Who is she?"

This isn't what he's here for. Not to tell Trouba about you, to reveal to his biggest rivals that he's got a vulnerable spot for them to exploit. But when he meets Trouba's gaze, it doesn't matter. He's already given it away.

"Important to me."

Trouba smacks the table so hard his scotch rattles, a deep laugh bellowing out of him. "Aren't they all? Or have you just gone soft?"

"No," he spits out, jaw clenching and unclenching "which is why I need you to start talking or I'm outta here and my boys are coming in."

Amusement twinkling in his eyes, Trouba sips his drink. "This is clearly new for you Hischier, so I'm gonna help you out. Lee and Barzal spotted Farabee and Couturier around the Upper West Side earlier today,

"My guess is that they've got your girl."

His ears ring, like someone just shot a gun right by his eardrum. It echoes in his head, beats against his temple. This is the worst thing he could've been told, absolute worst case scenario. That would mean you're not tucked away somewhere in this bar or just down the street, but that you're halfway to fucking Philadelphia with the biggest jackasses Nico's ever encountered.

"You're lying." He denies, standing up from the booth and crowding over Trouba. "Giroux doesn't know about her."

The Rag leader scoffs, mockingly pouting at Nico. "You have lost it, Hischier. What is that girl doing to you that you're not using your fucking brain anymore?"

"Don't fucking talk about her!" He's seething, pinning Trouba into the back of the booth by his shoulders until the man is wincing.

"Alright alright, calm down! I'll tell you what I know if you just fucking sit down!"

He has to pry his hands off Trouba, chest heaving as he slumps back into the booth and glares at the man across from him. Luckily, Trouba is just as fed up with this little meeting as he is and he starts explaining right away.

"You've been different the past like year," he starts "we saw less and less of you, more of the boys. And yet your operations were going smoother than ever, deals were coming in easy, it all worked.

"And then you were back for about a month, and worse than ever I'll tell you that. Fucking everywhere I looked, you and Devs were there, you were ruthless and angry.

"And then it all went away again."

Nico doesn't get what he's saying, the point of it all. None of it has anything to do with you other than the fact that he met you almost a year ago.

Sighing, Trouba rakes a hand through his hair. "Look, it's obvious that you were with someone. Less hands-on time with the job for more hands-on time with her. It's what happens when we finally decide to try and have it all, because you can't. It's the business or the girl, you can't protect both."

Nico huffs. "Maybe you can't but we're-"

"Different, yeah I know." Trouba interrupts, lips smiling knowingly. "My girl and I were different too. Until we weren't. Because she made it better, all of it. The Rags run so well today because of her. And you can't hide what having that partner does for you and the business.

"That's how Giroux knew. He's been there too."

Sinking further into the seat, Nico lets it fully hit him. Trouba is right. That long streak of deals and success were because he had you, because he was happy with you and was trying to make it all work. He couldn't separate you from his work and it showed, even when he did everything to hide you.

You're the soft spot of the Devs.

Even tonight. He missed the Flyers roaming around the city because he was too busy letting all his patrollers follow you. He was so paranoid about a night out in the city that he put all his resources into protecting you, and instead it just revealed his greatest weakness. He doesn't know how to do this with you.

"I gave her up," Nico mutters, "I brought too many men over and it showed them that it was her."

For what it's worth, Trouba does look sorry when Nico meets his gaze. Nico imagines he's reliving it, how terrifying it was for him to fall in love too.

"Yeah," Trouba says softly, throwing back the rest of his drink. He drops the glass back onto the table. "They're our best and our worst, our strength and our weakness.

"And they always will be, so you gotta let her in Hischier. Once she's yours, even for a second, that's it. Every squad in the area will know, so you better make sure she's ready for it."

That's the thing. Nico isn't sure you're ready for it. God knows he hasn't done jack shit to make sure you are, not like this.

He feels like he's moving on autopilot when he gets up, throwing a half-assed thanks to Trouba and stumbling out of the bar. He recognizes Igor as he leaves, but the faces and bodies are blurry, just obstacles between you and him right now.

Nico doesn't know what he's doing, how he's going to fix this. All he knows is that the longer it takes him to think, to act, the further you get from him. And the more danger you're put in.

Timo is waiting outside the Range Rover when Nico rounds the block, practically running towards the gathered group of vehicles. Jack and Haula are hanging out of Erik's truck, ready to move at a moments notice. Jesper's SUV hums, him and Jonas leaning against the light up headlights. He can see the silhouette of their guns in hand. Mercer is with them too, and for the first time in his life he doesn't have that goofy grin on his face.

He looks like he might throw up. In fact, almost all of them do.

Nico imagines he must look the same.

"We gotta go," he rushes out when he's in earshot. "Giroux has her, we gotta get to her before he gets her into Fargo."

Like a gun at a starting line, the boys shoot into action. They're clambering back into the vehicles, engines roaring to life. Nico climbs into the passenger seat, flicks on the radar gun and map for Timo who's already pulled away from the curb.

Grabbing the radio off the dash, Timo brings it up to his lips. "They've got an hour on us boys," he informs the following vehicles, "let make it up."

Static beeps of confirmation come in, a shaken but determined "copy that." from Jack. Timo steps on the gas harder, and Nico tries to piece together a plan in his head. No matter how fast Timo drives, they won't catch her before the Flyers make it back to Broad street.

Yanking out his phone, Nico brings up the contact of the one man that he knows can help. Rumor has it that the Flyers were causing trouble in Pennsylvania lately, and the Pengs pushed in on the boundaries to keep them from heading West.

Praying it's true, he hits dial and brings the phone up to his ear. It rings, and rings, and rings, and then it clicks.

"Sid, I need a favor."

~~~~

The air smells of garbage and popcorn, so thick it cuts through the fabric of the hood over your head. It's an odd and disgusting combination, and it makes your heart thump even quicker in your chest. You have no idea what place could be responsible for such a smell, no idea at all of where you could possibly be.

All you know is that you were in car for a long time, long enough that you're almost certain you're not in New York or Jersey. Time is hard to tell when your head is in a bag though.

And that's even worse. The more confused and discombobulated you become, the harder it'll be to survive.

A loud, metal clanking sounds behind you, like rusty gears of an industrial door closing. Sure enough you here it bang shut, and immediately the air grows thick and hot without the fall breeze blowing in.

"Move it!"

You flinch at the demand, flailing forward when two hands roughly shove you. Blindly, you stumble forward until the men take ahold of your arms, pining them behind your back and marching you forward.

Panicking and unsure of what to do, you think of every self-defense tip you've ever seen online, on posters around school, from friends.

"Hello!" You shout, and relax all your weight into the ground. "Help! I don't know these men! I need help!"

Your knees scrape the ground, feet dragging and shoulders stretching painfully as the men struggle to hold your weight up. Someone kicks at your foot, screams for you to shut up but you keep yelling.

"I'm in danger and I need help!"

The words echo, bouncing off the walls of wherever you may be and you feel your throat close up in panic. It's silent, there's no one here to hear you.

"I said shut the fuck up!" The hood is yanked off your head. You blink, shake your head and frantically look around for any sign of help. It doesn't matter.

Your surrounded by cement walls, long tunnels of a dark and empty warehouse. Pallets and boxes line the walls, industrial freezers and coolers tucked into the sturdy walls.

"No," you mutter, tears blurring your vision. "No. no. no-"

A hand clamps over your mouth, squeezing your jaw tightly. You still can't see who it belongs to, but their grip is so rough it makes the tears in your eyes bubble down you cheeks.

"Walk!"

Helpless, the men drag you down the long hall, away from whatever door led to the outside world. Rounding a corner into a smaller opening, you wiggle and try to kick free when you see the enclosed cage against the backwall. It's surrounded by boxes and trash, abandoned warehouse equipment tipped over against the chain link. But the door in the front is wide open, taunting as you get pushed closer and closer.

Now within reach of the cage, you quickly spring to your feet and press your toes into the bars of the door. Trying to fight back, you push back into the men, locking your knees and bracing yourself against the opening.

"For fuck's sake," one of them cusses behind you, pushing your wrist up towards your shoulders. You cry out, the sound muffled by the hand over your lips and crumple to the ground in pain. In a last ditch effort you yank your head back, the hand sliding down to your chin and you clamp your teeth down on the man's palm, biting until you taste blood.

"Oh you bitch," he screams, pulling his hand from your mouth and stepping away. The sudden action makes them both release you, and you spit the coppery-blood taste from your mouth. Spinning around in hopes to get up and run, your stopped when stars suddenly flash in you vision, everything going dark for a split second as pain shoots across the right side of your face.

The hit knocks you onto your side, startles you so much that your being picked up and thrown onto all fours into the cage so quickly you'd think you were on fire or something. Which you might be because heat springs up in your left wrist, burns and sizzles up your arm and you instinctively move to get the weight off of it.

Not that it matters, because a new slice of pain bites at your thigh, far worse than the sting on your cheek and in your arm. You cry out, jumping up and backwards onto you behind. The closed door of the cage digs into your back, the footsteps of the men fading as they leave you there.

You don't even get a chance to turn and see what they look like. Because a large shard of glass has stabbed into your left thigh, the jagged end sticking out of your ripped jeans. Blood soaks into fabric, wet and sticky against your skin. Fingers shaking and numb, you touch the large piece of glass and hiss when it knicks your fingertip. You're not sure what's worse, the blood or the fact that you have no idea what to do.

Or any idea where you are.

~~~~

Music plays throughout the office, the bluetooth speaker in the corner swapping colors with the beat of the song. Johnny's not sure what song this is, but the artist is definitely British and can definitely play a fucking guitar well.

He bops his head along with it, gnawing at his bottom lip as he looks through expense books. Tanger is pretty good at keeping them up to date, but with the group not fully in Pittsburgh right now, Sid thought it would be best to have a second set of eyes look over them.

Taking a swig of his Red Bull, Johnny blinks to refocus on the ledger when the music cuts out abruptly. His phone vibrates on the desk and the speaker announces "Incoming call from Sid."

It's really late for Sid to be calling, especially when he knows Johnny is here at work so the boy swipes up his phone and accepts the call.

"Marino," he answers, leaning back in the desk chair and nibbling on his thumb nail.

"It's Sidney," his boss answers and Johnny rolls his eyes because obviously he knows that. Sid is still old school though and forgets the world can see his contact just fine.

"What's going on boss?"

"Got a quick job for you," Sid replies, the sound of an engine turning over in the background. "I got your gear in the car and I'm coming to get you so be ready."

Johnny gets up, holds the phone between his ear and shoulder as he begins to clean up. "What's the job?"

"I'll explain more on the way, but it looks like the Flyers found their way up to New York and started some trouble."

"With the Rags?"

"Nah the Devs," Sid corrects, sounding amused. "Hischier's got himself a girl that likes to go out in New York apparently. Claude jumped at the first chance to get her."

Locking the books away in the safe and shutting off the speaker, Johnny flicks the lights down and grabs his keys. "A girl? With Hischier?"

He locks the office door, making his way down the old creaky steps.

"He may be untouchable as a boss but at the end of the day he's still just a man. And the right girl will turn any man stupid."

Johnny shakes his head, praying to god that's not him one day. This must be some girl though, if she's got Nico dragging the Devs all the way to Broad Street. Wonder what's so great about her.

~~~~

Digging your teeth into the back of your hand, you yank the shard of glass out of your leg and bite down. Electric shocks of pain zip down your thigh, your toes feeling numb as you curl into yourself and cry.

Hot tears roll down your cheek, the saltiness making the right side of your face ache and you guess that whoever had hit you earlier had broken skin.

Grabbing the jacket you peeled off earlier, you press the fabric into the wound and wrap the sleeves around your thigh, tying it off as tightly as you can. The knots digs into the tender flesh, sends another wave of tears down your cheeks and you sniffle, wiping your blood stained hands off on your shirt before wiping at your cheeks.

Gentle and curious, you prod at the right side of your face. It's sore and swollen, and sure enough you can feel a freshly opened wound right on your cheekbone. Your fingers shake as you push up the sleeve of your shirt, stretching the fabric up to pat at the wound. Little flakes of dried blood stick to the sleeve, and you sigh in relief, at least a little bit of it. It's not bleeding too much so that's something.

Still propped up against the door, you finally take a look around the area. Two rows of metal shelves rise to the top of the cage on either side of you, bottles of every kind of liquor in the world stacked on them. Which would explain the broken glass on the floor.

Sure enough when you look down by your feet the orange lid of a Tito's bottle lay there, surrounded by shards of the glass. With your good foot you push the glass away as best as you can, careful to not cut yourself anymore.

When your fairly sure it's safe, you press your weight into your good foot and wrist, climbing up from the floor. You have to hold onto the cage to keep yourself up, your injured leg trembling in protest when you begin to put weight on it.

Ignoring the painful throbbing, you slowly look around the area. More freezer doors line the walls, the giant silver handles stamped with signs that say "Cooler 1" and so on. You shiver, not even wanting to imagine what these men store in there, if it's something that actually belongs in a freezer or not.

Nausea stirs your stomach, mouth watering as the taste of bile builds up in your throat and you squeeze your thumbs in your fists, wincing when your wrist painfully aches.

The pain is a good distraction from the nausea though, and it gives you time to choke in and out deep breathes. Looking around the area, you take in more details of the place.

Championships signs on the walls, old broken hockey sticks scattered in pieces around the room, an abandoned Zamboni in the opposite corner.

It's an arena.

And you were correct about it not being in Jersey or New York. Because a large crate by the Zamboni is stamped with a location in big, black letters.

3601 S BROAD ST, PHILADELPHIA, PA

You've never been to Pennsylvania, don't even know how far from Jersey it is. Which is stupid because you know geography and should be able to recall how close the states are to each other but you can't get the photo memory of the map to focus in your brain.

All that keeps flashing in your head is that you're in another state, bleeding and hurt, surrounded by freezers large enough to hide a body (or 12).

Nico's not coming, you realize. Why would he? How could he? He has no idea where you are. Maybe he'll sniff around New York but for how long? How long until he gives up on it, on you?

It's not like you’re a Devil, not anyone big like Timo or Jonas. You're not in the family, so why would it matter if you disappeared from it?

Bone crippling fears claws up your throat, chokes you and you slump back onto the concrete ground. Gasping, you rapidly blink against your blurring vision and try to focus.

You need to find a way out of here.

~~~~

The interstate passes by far too slow for Nico's liking. He feels like he could get out and run faster, and it makes him uneasy. That stupid gut-wrenching, heart pounding, nausea inducing uneasy, and he can't stop himself from peaking over at the dash.

102 MPH

Groaning, Nico throws his head back against the headrest, brings his hands up to his hair and painfully tugs at it before he explodes. It doesn't really help but the pain is a little distracting.

"I swear I'm going as fast as I can." Timo defends but that just pisses Nico off even more because he knows that, he knows this isn't Timo's fault but saying that just makes him realize even more that it's his fault.

"We're not gonna make it in time at this pace."

"In time for what?" Timo scoffs, "It took us too long to track her down, they've already got her inside Nico. There's no intercepting her."

His fault, his fault, his fucking fault. That's all Nico hears as Timo goes on and on about how the Flyers and how they finally managed to do some damage to a rival. The words bubble in his veins, his skin growing hot and bones jittery. He feels like he's choking, gagging on the guilt in his chest and he explodes.

"I know! I fucking know Timo! I fucked up, I let her go into the city tonight and I'm the fucking idiot that brought all our men with!"

The silence in the car seems to ring in his ears, so unbearable that he just keeps blabbering.

"I should've told her no, I should've been a fucking man and just dealt with the puppy dog eyes or the cold shoulder or whatever bratty treatment she would've given me because at least she'd still be here!

"Or I could've gotten her a better spot in the bar, made her stay in the back by an exit or next to the wall but no she wanted to be close and I couldn't disappoint her..."

Nico feels manic, like he's sliding down an icy hill and kicking his feet trying to stop but he can't. And he's just falling and rolling on the ice, the cold, hard surface smacking him in the face.

"And I brought every fucking available man with us, and I didn't even put them to good use! They should've been patrolling, watching the bar but I let everyone just hang out because she wanted to, she wanted everyone to have fun!

"Some fucking fun we're having now Jesus fuck!"

Chest heaving and throat burning, Nico runs his hands down his face and realizes his cheeks are wet. He's not sure if the few tears that trailed down his face are from sadness, anger, or fear but it doesn't matter. All that matters is that he royally fucked up again and has lost you worse than he had before.

"Are you done?"

Nico clears his throat, feeling pathetic as exhaustion settles in the little space left in his body for even more emotions. He nods, watches the yellow line on the highway fly by his windows.

"I know you probably don't want to hear this from me because I know you don't wanna hear it at all, but just listen for a sec, ok?"

Timo waits for him to nod before continuing.

"This is not your fault Nico," the words sound earnest but they hit hollow to Nico. Of course this is his fault. Who else's could it be?

"Yeah we should've been better prepared for an emergency like this, and I mean we, not just you. But this has never happened before. None of the other girls have ever been messed with, because they're not yours. And like it or not, that's what really matters. Is that she's yours Nico."

He hears what Timo is saying, tries to shove it into his brain so he'll understand. Mine, he says over and over in his head, she's mine. All it does it remind him that the blame is also his.

"You love her, you wanted to do something nice for her after the past few months she's had. And that was the right thing to do for her, but we weren't ready for this, for her. And accidents happen Nico, you can't beat yourself up over it like this."

Nico inhales, takes a moment to hear his best friend. Timo is right. You, the whole situation tonight, it's all different. He's never had to deal with something like this. Still, he was raised in a mob family, he knows what it means to bring a partner into this life.

"I should've been ready," he argues, but it feels weak. Defeated, he feels defeated. "It's my job to be ready Timo and I didn't do it, and who knows how she'll pay for it."

"You can't pick when to fall in love, man. Just like you can't pick who you fall in love with, and how it'll happen, and how it will go. So you can't really be all that ready for it either.

"The fucked up thing with our lifestyle is that tiny detail of unpredictability usually gets someone hurt."

Again, he knows deep down that Timo is right. His friend has become wise beyond his years in the time since they started the Devils. It's what's made him such a good #2, a good person to work with. That and the fact that Nico has never had to shy away from his feelings and thoughts with Timo. Not like he does with the others. With Timo, he doesn't always have to be strong.

"It' scary," Nico mumbles, "Every day of my life since I've met her I've been scared. Scared to lose her, to hurt her, to ruin her life, to have her in my life. But it's even worse to not have her in it."

Fingers find his shoulder, hold onto his hoodie tightly and squeeze reassuringly. Nico looks over across the center counsel and meets Timo's quick glance. Even in the small fraction of time before he refocused on the road, Nico could see the certainty in Timo's eyes.

"It's worth it though, isn't it?"

Nico nods, licks at his dry lips and chokes out a painful chuckle. "Yeah, it's worth it. Of course she's fucking worth it."

Timo laughs with him, puts both hands back on the steering wheel and checks the police radar scanner before pressing down a little harder on the gas. The engine roars in protests, hesitating for a moment before pushing forward.

"I can't lose her Timo. I don't think I could ever get over her."

"You won't have to Nico, we're gonna get her."

Nico checks the GPS on the screen. Halfway there.

~~~~

Sid parks the car two blocks away from Fargo. Him and Jarry open up the back hatch, Jarry immediately pulling out equipment for Johnny to take in with him.

"Simple task John," Sid starts, taking a firm hold of Johnny's shoulder with his left hand to make sure the boy is actually listening. He is, but Johnny has one of those faces that always looks clueless.

"My guess is Giroux has got her somewhere in the warehouse. He wouldn't want her near the offices or shop talk..." If she's new to Hischier, she's new to it all. No sense in letting her hear anything that could help her out. "You just gotta get in, find her, and report back to us on how she's doing. Hide somewhere and keep her company until Hischier or his boys get in there for her."

Jarry shoves a mic pack in Johnny's jean pocket, handing him the wireless cuff to put in his ear. He rolls the little bud in his fingers, waiting for the signal to test it.

"Under no circumstance do you engage with the Flyers, ya hear me?" Sid shakes him a bit, brown eyes serious and commanding. Johnny nods.

"Unless they're gonna kill you or her, you're just surveillance. Keep her alive long enough for the Devs."

"Yes sir," he confirms, and Sid ruffles his hair, grins proudly.

"Atta boy, now test out that mic for us."

Johnny puts the earpiece in, hears the static burst of it connecting to Jarry's equipment. He tests it out, listens to his own voice echo back to him through Jarry's speaker. Once they're certain it works, he grabs brass knuckles and a knife, tucks them into his pockets.

"Ready?" Sid asks, and Johnny quickly agrees. "Report back to us how you find her, I gotta let Hischier know how to get to her the quickest."

"Yeah, no problem Sid." He confirms, the toe of his boot crunching as he turns to start walking towards Fargo. He only makes it a couple feet before stopping and turning back around.

"She means that much to him?"

It's unspoken who him is. They all know Hischier is the topic of the night. More specifically his sudden loyalty to this girl, sudden interest in a relationship.

Sid shares a look with Jarry, one Johnny can't really read from where he's at but he feels the weight of the words just as heavily.

"She's everything to him Marino."

~~~~

Your fingers ache, wrist throbbing painfully as you maneuver try to jam the sliver of metal further into the padlock. You’re not even sure where the thing came from but after scrounging around on the shelves you found it and figured might as well try.

It’s difficult to hold the padlock, your wrists having to twist it at an odd angle to reach the key hole on the bottom. You don’t even know how to pick a lock but something’s gotta give right?

Cursing when the lock doesn’t budge, you violently jiggle it and hope that something gets knocked loose or falls into place. You yank on it, metal clattering loudly in the abandoned warehouse before dropping it. Petulant and annoyed, you tenderly rub your rapidly swelling and bruised wrist, glaring at the lock.

The shuffle of a shoes scraping on the dirty floor of the warehouse makes you freeze, body stiffening and sense going on high-alert. You look around the large room, a cold chill trickling down your spine as you wait for any sign of the men from before.

But no one comes through the open door, not even a mouse. Yet you can hear movement from somewhere, little scuffles like they’re sneaking around.

“That things too dull to pick the lock.”

You whip around, gasping in surprise at the head of curly hair and brown eyes peeking out from behind stacks of crates and boxes.

“W-what?” You stumble, unsure of what to even say. You don’t know who this boy is or how long he’s been here. Is he with them? Or did they take him too?

“You can’t pick the lock with that,” he says again, pointing to the hunk of metal you had previously been holding. “It needs to be thinner at the top.”

You look down at it, kick it away with your shoe and take a deep breath to try and calm your racing heart.

“Oh,” you mumble, dumbly. “Ok. Who are you?”

The boy looks around the room, checking for anyone else. When he’s sure it’s just you, he rises to his feet and perches on top of one.

“John,” he introduces. “Marino. M’here to make sure you’re ok and not like gonna die or anything.”

And well that tells you nothing. Not about who he is, who sent him, why he’s in charge of checking up on you. For all you know the men that took you sent him here to make sure you don’t bleed out.

However, he did seem to be sneaking around. Like he shouldn’t be here. Or he could just want you to think that, think that he’s actually helping you so you let your guard down.

John looks confused when you don’t say anything. He taps at his ear, purses his lips together and starts gently swinging his foot.

“Nico sent me,” he adds and just the name of your boyfriend has you trembling. Instinctively you stumble forward, pushing yourself to the far end of the cage. It’s pathetic, the way you half drag your injured leg behind you and crash into the chain link.

“Nico sent you? You know Nico?” You beg, desperate to know anything at all. Desperate to see him, to know that you’ll see him again.

Your fingers cling onto the fence, squeezing painfully and your wrist throbs so hard you think you’d be able to see it beating if you looked down. But you can’t look away from John, not until you know for sure that he knows Nico.

“Yeah I do,” he confirms, skeptically.

Frowning, you pull back just the slightest bit. “If you really know him,” you murmur “then tell me something about him?”

John bawks, looks you up and down like you’re crazy before his eyes narrow challengingly. He hums, taps at his chin like he’s thinking really hard.

“I think you’re lying Johnny boy.” You taunt, narrowing your own eyes at him.

“Fine,” he grunts “I know that Nico has a tattoo of a triangle on his ankle that he never shows anyone and no one knows what it means.”

You’re shocked by his answer, leaning back and loosening your hold on the fence. Nico does have a tattoo like that on his ankle and no one who’s just passed him in the street or heard of his reputation would know that. It’s always hidden by his clothes, a secret mark of his and he’s yet to tell you its importance. Even Timo told you he doesn’t know.

John takes your silence as victory, smirking proudly and tauntingly pointing at you. “Did you know about the tattoo sweetheart?”

“Of course I did,” you scoff “I know every little mark on that man’s body, thank you very much.”

Facing scrunching in disgust, he groans quietly, leaning back on the crate as if he’s trying to physically get away from you. “Ok didn’t need to know that.”

“Sorry,” you say quietly, and then the room is silent again. Nervous, unsure of what’s happening or what you’re supposed to do you gnaw at your bottom lip.

“It’s ok,” he says gently when you don’t continue. For the second time that night John looks you up and down, slower this time as he takes in the details of your face and clothes, eyes lingering on your wrist that’s now turned a dark shade of purple.

“Are you hurt?” He asks, “like really hurt?”

Teeth sinking painfully into your lip to keep it from wobbling, you inhale shakily and nod. Up until now it felt like you couldn’t admit how much your body hurt, how every muscle feels sore and bruised. Your leg feels useless and cold, and just the air on your wrist makes you want to curl into a ball to shield it.

“My leg is bleeding,” you choke out, hands shaking as you let go of the fence and reach for the jacket you’d tied around it. “A lot, I don’t know what to do about it.”

John is silent as you untie the knot with trembling fingers, unwrapping the jacket and revealing the rip in your jeans, the dark red and still gushing blood slit only your thigh.

“Oh my god,” he mutters, jumping up from his seat like he’s just been electrocuted. “Ok, quick wrap that back on there.” He instructs you and you immediately do as you're told, tears slipping down your cheeks as you try not to cry out in pain. It hurts even more the second time around.

John holds his finger up to his ear. “Sid we gotta get a sewing kit or something in here, she’s gonna bleed out on the concrete.”

Your head snaps up to look at him. "Who's Sid?"

"My boss," he responds, looking away as he listens to whoever is in his ear. Sid, you guess. "Hold up, yeah that'll work. Get it to the Southwest vent, last one on the right. I marked it with my knife."

Now addressing you, John crowds up close to the cage, his own fingers gripping the chain link. "I'll be right back ok, just sit down or something and don't move, capisce?"

Alarm bells go off in your head, your hands reaching out and locking over his in panic. "N-no don't leave, please don't leave Johnny."

"Hey, hey, hey..." he murmurs, ducking his head down to be eye-level with you. His gaze is reassuring, strong and certain in a way you've only ever seen from Nico. It makes you stop, heart jumping into your throat. God you wish Nico was here. "It's gonna be ok, I just need a moment to run and get something to fix that leg of yours, ok?"

He waits for a signal that you're hearing him before continuing. "I'm gonna be right back, I promise. You'll be ok, you're tough, I can tell. No girl of Nico's wouldn't be, huh?"

"Yeah," you mumble, the words sounding muffled in your ears.

"Ok good," John nods, rising up to his full height. "When I come back you're gonna sit your cute butt right there and tell me all about it, ok? I gotta hear how Hischier hooked you."

Nervously, you laugh and agree but you're not really sure what you're laughing at. You just know he was smiling at you like he made a joke and that was all you could do.

Watching John disappear in the back corner, you slump back to the ground and squeeze your eyes shut, counting your breaths until he gets back.

~~~~

The phone line rings, trilling through the speaker. Giroux sits with his feet propped up on the desk by it, dirty black boots lulling back and forth with each ring.

He answers moments later.

"What the fuck do you want?"

"Now, that's not a very nice way to answer the phone." Giroux tsks, lips curling in amusement when Farabee shakes his head across the room. "Is this how you always handle business?"

"I have no business with you Claude," Nico snarks back, the static of the phone giving him more of a growl than he usually has.

"Hmm then what would you call the pretty little bird I've got here?"

"Off-limits," he spits, "touch one hair on her head and you'll be fucking sorry."

Giroux laughs, a loud obnoxious belly laugh that has Couturier and Farabee snickering alongside him. "Oh I don't think I will Hischier," he sighs happily. "But I can offer you her back, in mostly good condition, just as long as you hand over the contract for the deal with Met."

The line goes silent for a moment, so quiet that Giroux sits up and drops his boots back to the floor just to make sure the call is in fact still going.

"What the fuck did you just say to me?" Nico finally responds, and his tone sounds like it's dropped a few octaves, heavy with rage.

"You heard me, hand over the deal?"

A sarcastic laugh barks through the phone, harsh and unforgiving. "You even dumber than I thought you were," he goads, "there's no fucking contract you idiot. Unlike your gang of fuck ups, I actually know how to do business."

The two men are watching Giroux, confusion etched all over their faces. His face flushes with embarrassment and anger, hating being talked to like this in front of his men.

"Watch your tone Hischier or that girl of yours will hear for it."

"Like I said, touch her and I'll make you regret it," Nico spits, the venom of his words practically dripping through the phone and all over the desk. It makes Giroux rise, his stomach twisting uncomfortably.

"Let me tell you about how we do things in Jersey, Claude. We're respectable gentlemen, we hold open doors and we help carry grocery bags, and we shake hands with our acquaintances. Acquaintances that we do business with, and that personal touch is a helluva lot stronger than a fucking piece of paper."

Dread creeps down Giroux's spine. There was never a deal, not one that can be breached. Nico and the Devils had a Jersey contract with MetLife, and even if they stole deal right out from under the Flyers, local gang sealings always win out over paper contracts.

Giroux has just never bothered to have one, never needed one. The Philly deals have always been minor. But he knows the unwritten law of the gangs, knows what not to breach. His mistake was believing Hischier had done this on the books.

"On the other hand," Nico continues, cutting off his spiral. "we protect what's ours. And you've taken something of mine that was not up for grabs, you've taken one of ours. I don't know how you run shit down there, Claude, but up here in Jersey, we don't play games with the women that feed us, clean up our wounds, keep the family together ya know?

"That's just bad manners. And we answer bad manners, with bad manners of our own. Things like showing up uninvited, or I don't know even burning all of Broad Street to the fucking ground. And don't think I'm joking Claude, there's a reason we're called the Devils, after all.

"We're not afraid to fight with fire. And we will raise hell."

Claude smacks his hand over the phone, hitting mute before looking up at his men. "Find somewhere to move her, now!" He demands frantically waving them around the room. "Hischier can't find her here, we need another safe house or drop her on the fucking street, I don't care. And call in back up!”

Farabee and Couturier spring into action, moving around the room like headless chickens. Nico barks his name through the phone and Giroux unmutes it, clearing his throat and putting forward his best amused voice.

“You do that Hischier,” he encourages, “Drop out of the deal or the only place you’ll see your girl again is in hell.”

~~~~

You’re still counting your breaths when his boots scuffle on the floor again, eyes snapping open to find him crouched by the cage. John is holding a little black box in his hand, fingers trembling slightly as he grips onto the fence.

"You still with me?"

"Yeah," you nod, swallowing thickly and sitting up straighter. "What do I do?"

John motions to the shelf behind your back. "First, I need ya to get that bottle of Everclear."

Doing as told, you force yourself to collect the bottle of alcohol for him, sitting back in your original spot with your wounded leg straightened out in front of you.

He keeps going through instructions, almost methodically as he tells you to take a quick swig of the drink, for nerves of course. Choking back the drink, you untie the jacket from your leg once again and lay it off to the side, looking at the boy next to you expectantly.

"Now here's the hard part," he winces, "you gotta sterilize the wound as much as possible."

"What?"

Sighing, he jabs a finger at the bottle of Everclear. "Pour it on there, as much as you can for as long as you can. And try not to be too loud, last thing we need is Flyers coming down here."

Hesitantly, you bring the bottle up and over your leg. Your free hand grips onto the collar of your shirt and you lift it to your lips, biting into the thin fabric. Squeezing your eyes shut, you tip the bottle and let the alcohol pour down onto the wound.

The pain is unbearable. You want to scream, cry, kick your legs like a toddle in a rampage. But it's paralyzing, has you stiff as a board as you cry into your shirt and twitch uncomfortably.

You don't know how long you keep pouring, but it feels like minutes to you, though it can't be. Not judging by the amount of liquid still in the bottle. Even so John looks pleased when you pry your collar out of your mouth, swallowing down another harsh gulp of the drink before discarding the bottle to the side.

Messily, you wipe at your cheeks, sniffling as you blink up at him.

"What now?"

The box in his hand is a sewing kit. Meant for clothes or bags, but he insists it'll do the job, at least for now. John cleans the needle for you, pulling out a small pink lighter from his pocket and holding the needle in the flame. Then he's threading it for you, softly muttering instructions as he shows you. You're glad he doesn't make you thread it because you can't really feel your fingers anymore. Just buzzing, numb fingertips.

Too soon, he's slipping the threaded needle through the cage to you, telling you how to hold it and keep the thread untangled. He doesn't have to tell you what i's for, you already know.

So you steel yourself again, biting into your cheek as you follow his commands of pinching the wound shut with one hand, methodically pushing the needle through the flesh until you've got a fairly good looking stitch.

"Atta girl," he compliments, grinning proudly and it makes your chest flutter with relief. At least something is going well tonight. "Bellissimo."

You chuckle wetly, beginning the next one. "Non male, eh?"

John's grin grows at your words, eyes twinkling. "Tu parli Italiano?"

"Sì lo faccio," you answer, wincing at the pinch of the needle. "My family is Italian. Mamma and papa left Italy to get married, here in Jersey."

You're not sure why you're telling him all of this, but having something to talk about it making it easier to sew up the wound so you keep going.

"They were running from the mafia," you snort, humorlessly. "Little did they know, huh?"

John shuffles, drops down onto his bottom so he's sitting facing you, back leaning against the crates. "I left Italy for school," he says quietly, "my Papa stayed back to pay for it. Went through some mafioso friend to pay for it for me. Four years at Harvard, he's sill paying for it."

You tilt your head in confusion. "Still?"

He clears his throat, nodding solemnly. When he speaks, it's in Italian again. "They killed him, when he couldn't pay it back in time. I was two months away from graduation."

Pausing, you sit up and look at him. He looks younger than he did before, hunched in on himself, brown eyes heavy and sad. "I'm sorry John." you reply, addressing him in Italian too. "I can't imagine."

"Johnny," he corrects, "call me Johnny. And it's not all that bad. I got to stay here, with Sid and the Pengs. S'nice. M'sure you get it, feeling at home with the Devs, yeah?"

You scoff, rolling your eyes and slowly going back to stitching yourself up. "They don't speak Italian," you say, "For awhile I think it was just Swiss guys and Bratter. But Nico's got a big heart, he ended up letting anyone in."

Johnny laughs. "You joined a mob that's not Italian? How'd that happen?"

"I didn't join," you correct, "I fell in love."

The two of you continue on like that, speaking softly in Italian like it hasn't been months since you've used the language. Johnny seems to enjoy it too, giving you tips and pointers on your stitches.

And you tell him everything, the story of the past year of your life with Nico and the Devils. How you met Nico just before the start of your senior year of university, at his bar that you basically made your own. And for months you were with him all the time, spent every free second with him, even if meant he was just watching you study, patiently waiting until you gave him the sign that he could slip you out of your clothes and into his bed.

You're friends learned about him, warned you about what the streets said. But you ignored it because he felt so right, and the more you were with him, the more wrong you're friends became. Around Spring you become his unofficial girlfriend, his girl to the group and to your friends, but hidden from everyone else.

Two weeks before graduation you asked him about the group, for real this time. And he told you everything, what he did, how he got into it, how they got their reputation. Exactly what kind of lifestyle it was.

Not the greatest, but for him worth it. So worth it that when you went to your parents with the information that your boyfriend, your mafioso boyfriend would be attending graduation, they gave you the ultimatum. They didn't flee organized crime just for you to bring it back into the family here.

You showed up for graduation unsure, confused, and lost. But Nico had shown up, and with him came Timo and Jack and Dawson, all somehow in the front row being rowdy and annoying.

It was a no brainer. You'd pick him in any lifetime. Because you know he wouldn't make you choose, he'd find a way for you to have everything. After the ceremony was the last time you spoke to them.

Four days later you told Nico you were all in, that you'd given up your parents and brother, your life to be a part of this life.

And the worst happened. He said no. Even when you begged and cried, told him that you love him more than anything else, he still said no. You're not dumb, you knew what he was doing. You loved him enough to lose everything, and that terrified him.

For a month, you lived without him. Miserable, family-less, and doing everything to just move on. It came in the form of going out every night with your friends, to forget him, to let loose before your adult lives started for real.

That month must have been hell for him too, because he came running back not too long later. Telling you he was sorry, that he had been scared and unsure, that you caught him off guard. He hadn't been ready before, but he was now.

You knew better than to let that feeling of love go, so you went against the advice of your friends. You followed him to Jersey, set roots in the Devils that had been growing ever since.

Talking to Johnny is nice. It feels like having an old friend back, not one Nico has assigned to you or ordered to listen to you, but someone genuinely curious. You haven't felt like that since early summer, when you were still with your college crowd.

"Wow," Johnny whistles when you've finished. "I never would've thought that that is what Hischier had up his sleeve this past year."

"Yeah," you laugh, listening closely as he tells you how to tie off the thread of your stitches. They're a little wonky and sloppy, but they do the job just fine. At least that what he tells you before instructing you to cover them with your jacket again.

"So when did you officially join?" He continues, and you chuckle.

"I haven't," you reply, "I don't have a pendant yet. Up until tonight, I didn't even think anyone actually saw me as Nico's girlfriend except him an-"

"Wait," he interrupts, shaking his head. "Giroux and the Flyers came after you without a Devs mark?"

Assuming that's who you've been taken by, you silently nod. He fishes out a pocket knife, slips it to you so you can cut the thread off. You hand him the needle back, trying to slip the knife back through when he grunts.

"Nah you keep it," he says, "you can use it to carve up some Flyers when we get you outta here."

~~~~

Timo has barely slammed on the brakes when Nico is throwing the door open, jumping out of the vehicle and stalking towards Sid and Jarry.

"What's happening?" He demands, shoving his gun back into his waistband. Behind him, the other vehicles come to a stop, all the boys slipping out in similar fashions.

Sid waves him over, an iPad in hand that he holds out to Nico. It's a simple map of Fargo, specifically the ground level. A thin red line trails through it, carving out a path.

"Earpiece my guy has got in has a tracker," he informs Nico, nodding to Jarry's equipment. The broody brunette is hunched over a radio system, large headphones over his ear. "He's in there with her now, this is the route he took."

Nico's head snaps up, glancing over at Jarry. "He's in there now? And she's with him, you're sure?"

"Yeah," Sid laughs, "he's been in there for a little over an hour. No sign of them coming down to fuck with her since he got there, but he mentioned medical aid."

Jittery, Nico takes in the map, commits it to memory. Then he's handing it off to Timo. "Memorize it," he instructs gruffly, "all of you. We get in, get to her, and take the same way out. Jack and Mercer, you keep two vehicles out here running. We get out with her, get her in one and drive, no matter what. Seperate, don't let anyone see what car she is in. You don't meet up again until you're sure you're not being followed,

"The rest of you will kill as many fucking Flyers as you see in there. And on the way out, burn it."

Sid is giggling when Nico finishes explaining the plan to his men, and he looks over at him through a burning glare. "What's so funny, Crosby?"

He holds both hands up, shaking his head in amusement. "Nothing. I’ll instruct the boys on where to take her. Got a safe house not too far away.”

“Thanks,” Nico nods to Jarry. "What's he doing?"

Sid looks over, raises an eyebrow. "He's in Marino's ear, taking reports on what's happening inside. Been listening to him chat with Miss Devil for a bit now."

"He's listening to her?"

"Oh yeah," Sid nods, "not that he really got anything. They've been talking in Italian I guess. Jarry's strictly English over there and well I just know a little Russ-"

"Can he talk to her?" Nico interrupts, impatient and tired of this conversation. "Can she hear him?"

"Well Marino can," Sid confirms, "he can't take the comm out because it'll disconnect but he can relay a message to her, for sure."

That's all Nico needs to hear. He's ripping the earphones off Jarry, the cord slipping unplugged and static erupts from the machine. But then he hears it, slightly muffled but definitely you. He'd know that voice anywhere, how sweet it sounds, even when it's speaking a language he barely knows.

"The mic," he demands, and Jarry is handing him the tiny mouthpiece, bristling when Nico yanks it out of his hand and shoulders him away.

"Marino," he calls into it, "it's Hischier, do you copy?"

The speakers go silent for just a moment before his voice flows through, louder and clearer then yours. "Marino here, I copy."

Nico breathes out a sigh of relief, shoulders slumping inwards. "I-just wait with her a bit longer, ok? My men and I are coming in, tell her to hang on for me, ok?"

He knows he sounds pathetic, weak and desperate but he doesn't care. Not right now, not with her so close but so far.

"You got it," Marino confirms, continuing his words in Italian and Nico knows he's sending the message along. He's not sure entirely what he's telling her but he recognizes the words good and lucky.

Nico barely gets to here your far away voice say his name before shouts are cutting you off, scuffling and you screaming breaking through the line.

And then it goes dead.

~~~~

"Looks like it's our lucky day," Johnny grins at you, removing his finger from his earpiece. "The good guys are here for ya."

Your hand clenches around the pocket knife you've been holding, heart thudding in your chest and you try to fight back the smile tugging at your lips, the relief fluttering in your veins.

His name is on the tip of your tongue, desperate to ask for him, to ask to hear him through the earpiece, just for one moment, just to know he's actually here.

All that comes out instead is a terrified screech, one that rips through your throat and chest painfully. Johnny is roughly hauled up into the air and around the side of the cage, tripping over his feet as a tall brunette towers over him. Though he's got quiete the build on Johnny, it's not him that's terrifying. No it's the barrel of the slick, black pistol pointed at Johnny's head.

"Well look what waddled in," the man hisses, effortlessly tossing Johnny to the ground next to him. You're frozen, mouth hanging open with horror as Johnny scrambles to his feet only to hold still when he comes face to face with the gun.

"Farabee," Johnny says lowly.

"Last I checked she was with the Devils, not the Penguins," Farabeee says, tilting his head in thought. "Walk, now."

Farabee shoves Johnny around the front of the cage until he's at the locked door. Then the brunette is glaring over at you, dark eyes so piercing and cold you stutter, mouth clamping shut.

"Over here sweetheart," he instructs and you hesitantly get up, wincing at the pull in your stitches. You don't stop until you're standing in front of the door, peering at Johnny with wide eyes through the chain link.

"I'm gonna unlock the door," Farabee explains, faux sweetness dripping off his tongue. "and you're gonna open it for your good friend Marino here. Then I'm gonna close it, and we'll see how much fun Giroux let's me have with you two, ok?"

Johnny's jaw clenches, nose flaring as he grunts out his agreement. Your throat is to dry, tongue too big in your mouth to say anything so you just nod, meekly.

"Good, now get on your knees!" Farabee barks, his voice echoing off the concrete walls and you sink down onto your tender leg, gnawing at the inside of your cheek.

"Oh you like that one, huh? No hesitation, sweetheart? No wonder Nico likes you." He taunts. Heat crawls up your neck and ears, burns at the apples of your cheeks. You keep your gaze lowered, focusing on the low top converse Farabee is wearing. No socks underneath either, the pale skin of his ankle sticking out.

Nico never wears those. Of course he's got Nikes that he loves, wears them everywhere, even with formal attire. But he always wears boots on a job, protective and steel-toed. Heavy too, you know from the time you tried them on and clunked around his apartment like a clown.

He's protecting weak spots, you realize, he can't get away if a deal goes bad if someone's injured his ankles or feet.

Ears ringing, you swallow harshly and let your fingers find the blade of the pocket knife in your hand. You hear key rattle, the lock above your head jingling, though it's muffled by your thoughts.

With a shaky left hand, you push open the door of the cage, looking up at Johnny through your eyelashes. Farabee shoves him into the cage and he stumbles into you, enough that when you lean to the right and leap forward, it looks like you're simply moving out of his way.

But your fingers have locked on the knife, pushing the blade out and you quickly swipe at the left foot of Farabee. With all your strength you drag the blade over the back of his ankle, the knife getting hot and slippery at the amount of blood that spurts out.

Farabee cries out, falls forward onto his knees. The gun in his hand clatters to the ground as he reaches for the wound behind him, and you drop the knife to reach for the pistol.

You don't know much about guns, but you know that the safety is off and all you really have to do is pull the trigger. Which is what you do, aiming for his chest, but the recoil makes you flinch back and the bullet sinks into his right armpit.

Falling back, the gun once again clatters to the ground. You're ears are still ringing, hands numb as you scramble back into the cage, kicking until you've collided with the shelf behind you.

He is laying in a heap on the ground, is legs squished under his body awkwardly. Even from here you can see the pool of blood around him. But you can't move, can't hear, can't see anything but the blood on him and on your hands. It feels like the gun is still in your hands, heavy and daunting.

You gasp, wheezing as you try to catch your breath, try to get your head to focus. Someone will definitely come down here after that, and you and Johnny can't be here.

Two hands cup your face, so cold on your flushed and sweating skin that it jolts you, makes you blink and look up to find Johnny looking down at you.

"Cara," he calls gently, in Italian “we gotta get up, we gotta go now."

Dumbly, you latch onto his arms, let him haul you up onto your feet. He leaves you standing there as he picks up the gun and knife from earlier, glancing at Farabee on the floor before rushing back to your side.

When he speaks to you again, it sounds like your underwater. "Take this, try to keep up."

He shoves the bloodied knife back in your hand before crouching down to slip your left arm over his shoulders. Then he's taking you by the waist, practically dragging you as you limp out the open door and past Farabee’s body. You can't bring yourself to look at him, to see if he's dead or not.

He's not moving, and that's enough for you.

You're choking down breathes, clinging to Johnny as he guides you back towards the old zamboni. The two of you have just rounded it to reveal a short hallway when your eyes seem to focus, a familiar figure busting though the door at the end.

"Y/n!"

It's instinct, the way you immediately leap from Johnny's hold at the sound of his voice. More figures have followed him through the door, but you don't spare them a glance, you can't look away from him.

Nico seems to pick up his pace when he realizes your limping, quickly closing the gap between you two. You fling yourself at him, arms locking around his neck as you push off your good leg.

The knife Johnny had given back to you presses into his shoulder, the blood staining his white shirt but you don't care. You just squeeze your eyes shut, let the others shove around you two as you try to keep sucking in air.

You’re panicking, dry heaving, shuttering sobs that get caught in your chest and throat. Nico strokes over the back of your head protectively, his arms and body so strong and safe.

Gunfire sounds behind you, some shouting and you pull back from Nico, grabbing onto the hem of his shirt as you look back down the hallway. Johnny and Timo are there, leaning around the corner to fire shots. And pressed against the side of the zamboni are Haula and Jesper, their own weapons out and ready to go.

"Let's go baby," Nico urges you, hands on your waist as he guides you back down the hall. After a few limping steps, Nico stops, turning and swiftly picking you up.

Your hands stay locked in the fabric of his shirt, terrified that if you let him go he'll disappear. Through the door is another abandoned room, smaller and darker, with old wooden desks. Like it was some sort of office.

Numbly, you look around, only stopping when you come face to face with Nico. He's glancing down at you as he goes, trudging through another door and hall. You bite your lip, take in the way his eyebrows are pinched together and mouth pursed in a thin line. And his eyes, they're so unlike him that you don't even know what to say. Dark and droopy, almost haunted looking.

You open your mouth and the only words that come out are “You came for me?”

Nico falters in his steps, slowing down as he stares at you incredulously. “Of course I came for you baby,” he says and shakes his head in disbelief. “You thought I wouldn’t?”

“I don’t know,” you hiccup, dropping your gaze in embarrassment. “I-We’re in Philadelphia and it’s far and I didn’t know h-“

“I will always come for you,” he interrupts, unable to just stand there and let you break his heart. "Baby, you gotta know that. There's no way I would have just left you here."

His earnest rattles your chest, brings a fresh wave of tears to your eyes and you swallow heavily. After everything these past couple months, you should know that. He came back for you before. But you're mind loves to focus on the month he didn't want you, the month that he did leave you.

You shake the thought away, sniffling as he comes to a stop by the back corner of the wall. "Alright baby," gently, he places you back on your feet. "I'm gonna lift you up through the vent. Jonas is out there waiting for you, he's gonna help you ou-"

"You're coming too right?"

Nico clamps his mouth shut, tilting his head sympathetically. You immediately shake yours, tightening your hold on him. "I can't - Nico please-"

"Ok, ok, breathe for me baby, breathe."

He holds your face in his hands, frowning when his thumb ghosts over the cut on your swollen cheek. Trembling, you breathe in and out with him, squeezing your eyes shut when he presses a sweet kiss to your forehead.

"M'not leaving you," he promises quietly, "s'ok, I'm not leaving you."

Clinging onto him and his words, you take another deep breathe and for the first time all night, bask in the hope of walking out of here alive.

~~~~

Sidney Crosby is his real name. That's what he tells you when Nico helps you out of the car Mercer had been driving. By the time you'd driven away from the warehouse it was already going up in flames, Nico looking through the back windshield with glee.

You felt it too, for a moment. Heart thumping excitedly and relief flooding through your veins. It quickly faded when the adrenaline did, and the pain in your face, wrist, and leg returned.

Barley able to hold yourself up, Sidney motions you into the front door of his overly large mansion. Right, he's the boss, he's Johnny's boss-

"Johnny!" You gasp, straightening in Nico's hold as alarm bells go off in your head. You remember seeing him with Timo, seeing Farabee’s gun in his hand. "Johnny, where is- I left him Nico."

Both him and Mercer look at you like you’re crazy but you're already fighting off their hold, trying to limp back to the front door. "I have to go back for him," you cry when they latch onto you again, Nico easily pining you to his chest. "No, I have to-"

"He's ok, he's ok!" Nico is yelling over your cries, "He's with Timo and the others, he's ok."

You grab at Nico's hand, dig your nails into them as you sob. "I forgot him, I forgot him..."

Everything in you gives out after that, bones and muscles turning to mush in Nico's hold. He drags you across the living room and into the kitchen where a man is standing by the table with a medkit.

Now that you're crying again, you can't stop. You can barley see through your wet and swollen eyes, broken whimpers leaving your lips and Nico has to fall into the dining room chair with you in his arms, holding you tight to his chest.

You feel the sharp sting of the needle in your arm, bristling as you look up to find an unknown pair of brown eyes and a thin face peering down at you. Warmth spreads through you, everything turning to Jell-O and all you can do is lay in Nico's arm, hiccupping as they go to work fixing you.

~~~~

"I didn't realize she had such an attachment to Marino," Sid says quietly, him and Nico watching you from across the room. After Sid's personal doctor Fleury sedated you, Nico was able to hold you still until your hysterical cries had quieted. But as soon as the rest of the boys arrived and Marino came barreling into the kitchen shouting for you, he was quickly kicked out of the dining room chair.

You're holding Marino's hand, perched on top of the kitchen counter as Fleury finishes up stitching your cheek. Your poor little face is swollen and bruised, lip busted in the corner. Fleury's got a temporary cast around the wrist you fractured, and he's had to cut the pants leg off of you're injured leg to redo the messy stitches there.

"Me either," Nico murmurs, arms crossed over his chest. You look like a trainwreck to put it honestly. And yet still so sweet, even when your mind is half gone. You're talking, the words slurring a bit but it's in full, fluent Italian and from the look on Marino's face, he can understand you. So you must be pretty coherent.

It has been awhile since they sedated you to be fair. Nico still worries though, wonders what you're blabbering on about.

"Eh kid needed a friend," Sid says, nodding towards Marino. "I took him in after his father was killed in Italy, he was fresh outta college. Never really got to have fun, to be a kid. And he sure as hell never gets to speak Italian."

Nico hums. "She doesn't either," he says. "All the family she's got is us, and we don't know the language."

Him and Sid look around, take in Haula, Timo, Jonas, and Jesper sat at the kitchen table, sipping on beers as they too watch her. Jack and Mercer hover, standing behind her like they might jump into the conversation if they could.

"S'pretty good fucking family." Sid compliments.

"Yeah," he agrees. "Thanks, for your help tonight Sid. And tell Jarry thanks too."

"Of course, no problem Hischier."

"If you ever need anything, you know who to call. I guarantee my men will be fighting over chances to pay you back for her."

Sid laughs, claps Nico on the back. Before he can say anything, Marino is calling for him.

"Her highness over here is ready for a shower," he says, jabbing a thumb at her. She giggles at him, messily wiping at her sniffling nose before looking to Nico. "And she really needs one too, peeew."

Nico comes over, takes her warm hand from Marino and helps her off the counter. Sid motions to the hall across the room. "Gotta a room down here for ya, Geno took in clothes for you both."

Nodding gratefully, Nico leads you and your bambi legs down the hall and into the bedroom, closing the door behind you. Not wanting to get blood or dirt on anything, he doesn't let you sit down until your in the bathroom, perched on the countertop.

He turns the water on, strips himself of his shirt and jeans before moving to you. You're already watching him, eyes red and glossy, and you hold your arms up for him to peel you out of your shirt.

"I think I killed a Flyer," you say quietly "Johnny said maybe he lived but I didn't see him move."

Nico swallows, distracts himself with gently removing your cast from your arm. "You didn't kill anyone baby," he comforts. "Anyone that died, anyone that got hurt tonight is on me."

His throat burns as he says it, eyes stinging with tears. It's the truth, all of tonight was his fault. Your pain, Johnny's, even the Flyer you hurt, is on him. Because he put you in that situation.

"He was a bad person," you say slowly, but the words are strong and certain. Nico keeps going, helping you undress and lay your ruined clothes on the bathroom floor. "I don't feel bad, but it was scary."

"Yeah," Nico sniffles, "I was scared too."

You gasp. "You were?"

"Of course I was, I was scared I'd lost you for good this time."

Tender hands cup his jaw, force him to look up at you. You've got the sweetest smile on your lips, so pretty even with all the bruising and cuts.

"I told Johnny how much I love you. While he taught me to stitch."

He nods. "Marino kept you alive."

"Eh," you make a face, "I think it was more the thought of you. Of getting back to you. That's why he asked me about you."

Nico heart aches, the pain so bittersweet he thinks he could look down and physically see his own chest cracking open. But he keeps his eyes on you.

"You don't cry very much," you whisper, stroking his cheeks. "Maybe we should sedate you too."

Unexpectedly, a wet laugh bubbles out of him and you giggle in response. Yeah, you're definitely still feeling that shot.

"Maybe," he agrees, "but first let's get you cleaned up and ready for bed, ok?"

"Ok," you agree, sitting there patiently while he finishes undressing. "Can Johnny sleep with us?"

He frowns, helps you down from the counter. "No, he can't"

"Just in the same room then?"

"Baby, no. Why would you want that?"

You pout, looking up at him with sad eyes as he peels back the shower curtain. "I like him," you say, as if that's enough of an explanation for Nico to let another boy sleep in the bed with you.

"He's got his own bed."

"Can we sleep in there with him , then?"

Nico huffs, steps into the hot water and tries to urge you in. You don't budge.

"I want to sleep in our own bed."

You sigh, holding his hands and join him under the spray of hot water. "How about Sid then?"

Nico runs his hands over your face, wipes away all the dripping dirt and blood. "Why do you want us to sleep with everyone?"

"I don't know," you shrug, "I like Sidney Crosby."

Shaking his head, Nico laughs and helps you wet your hair.

"He's pretty," you continue, fingers reaching out to play with the wet hair matted to Nico's forehead. "If he had dimples he'd be as pretty as you."

Nico blushes. "Thank you."

"Johnny has no tooth," you add, "but he's still cute too..."

And he lets you go on and on for the rest of the shower, any little thought that pops into your head coming out, even when he's in the middle of rinsing shampoo out of your head and instructed you to keep your mouth closed. Instead you get a mouthful of suds.

Neither of you care. You mostly because you're still loopy, but for him, it's because he knows you're home safe and sound. And Giroux and the Flyers on choking on their own ashes right now.

[weebiewrites]

Things in the Miraculous movie that were way better than the show

Everything

Ok but actually, adjustments made in the movie that vastly improved the show’s canon:

Marinette’s awkwardness being equally applied to everyone she interacts with. Having her reputation be that she is a walking disaster makes Adrien’s (and Alya’s) kindness to her more impactful. Also makes Chloe’s bullying more believable. IN GENERAL makes Marinette’s character more believable.

In the same realm, the entire school and world not revolving around how perfect and cool Adrien is fixes SO. MANY. THINGS. The only person at school who seems to care about his status is Chloe, which not only makes his overall character less annoying, but also adds to Chloe’s characterization.

Speaking of Chloe, making her an actual character and not a bitch who torments her classmates relentlessly for no reason? Like yeah she’s still a bitch and a bully but she has sense of decorum and won’t take it too far if her reputation is on the line.

Sabrina having agency? Hello??

The subtilization of Marinette’s crush on Adrien. Like, hello, she has a lot of shit going on! She doesn’t have time to be swooning over her classmate all day! Yet another thing that makes her more believable.

TIKKI AND PLAGG CHOOSING THEIR OWN HOLDERS. Fuck Fu. Kwamis are literal eldritch gods, why wouldn’t they have a bit of agency?

The entire sequence of Marinette saving Fu. A clever way to have Fu meet the holder while still having Tikki be the one who chooses. Also way better storytelling for him to not intentionally put himself in danger to find a holder, makes the whole thing more organic.

The addition of the rule that the Tikki and Plagg only awaken when there’s a miraculous-level threat. Gives actual purpose to the role of the Guardian, imo.

Unpopular opinion but Tikki’s personality change was great. Once again, literal eldritch God!

Not to harp on this, but once again, the kwamis still having some level of control and AGENCY even when their holders are transformed. Tikki being in Ladybug’s yo-yo and actually guiding her was cool af and WHY WOULDN’T SHE BE ABLE TO DO THAT???

Ladybug and Chat having more general abilities BUT not having their special abilities right away. The sequence where Chat caught the invisible bullet? Cool af. And Ladybug NOT having the reset button right away really raised the stakes and honestly just felt right. It was really rewarding and triumphant when she used it towards the end.

The earrings/ring glowing as a way to communicate when one of them is not transformed. Such a good and cool idea.

Adrien and Marinette frequently hanging out together in a group with Alya and Nino without it being weird!!! Jesus!! Let the kids be kids!!!!!

Gabriel Agreste being less of a piece of shit.

Chat Noir’s “You’re my sidekick!” To, “I’m your sidekick!” progression. Followed by Ladybug’s, “we’re partners!” Immaculate.

Marinette gaining confidence as Marinette from being Ladybug AND ALSO SPECIFICALLY from her partnership with Chat Noir. LET THE SUPERHERO CHILDREN HAVE A MEANINGFUL AND UPLIFTING PARTNERSHIP FFS

Speaking of, LADYNOIR HANGING OUT

LADYNOIR PLAYFIGHTING

Ladybug liking Chat romantically maybe before the 5th fucking season? Making Chat’s first confession less cringey bc she actually really likes him back and totally wants to kiss him? Being internally conflicted ab it?

Marinette confessing right after she gently lets Chat down for the first time, literally perfect angst set up

Adrien BEING ABLE TO STAND UP TO HIS FATHER. Fuck Sentiadrien.

Gabriel being capable of feeling human emotions

Identity reveal