#look at me making up lingo and shit

[shaguro]

♡ imagine onyankopon as your boyfriend... ♡

sfw

ony loves to pretend that he’s not completely obsessed with you, that you don’t have him wrapped around your finger but everybody around yall knows that’s not true. when you call he’s dropping everything to be by your side, doesn’t matter what he’s doing or who he’s with. you're his top priority, always.

acts of service is one of his love languages. any problems that you have, ony makes it his business to solve them. as his girl, you’ll never be stressed or be in need of anything because he’ll always provide, he’ll always take care of you. no independent woman shit round here. 🤭 “what’s wrong, baby? talk t’me, let daddy fix it.” “already told you don’t worry bout that shit.. i got it, mama.”

very attentive. surprises you with random gifts, usually things you’ll talk about and forget later on. (as long as you act right.)

definitely a “gimme kiss” type of nigga. lovessss kissing.

the sassiest nigga alive. loves using all the girl lingo. “yeah.. not too much.” “what you be saying? you ate thattt.”

as much as he loves expensive dinners and planned dates, he usually prefers to be home relaxing with you. ony is a homebody fr.

can’t sleep right if you’re not with him. and when he’s all cuddled up with you, you’re stuck there. better hold that pee till the morning.

possesiveeee. he tries to tone it down fr but he doesn’t play about you at all. anybody tries to push up on you, he’s ready to knock their head off. gets rowdy real quick.

steals your bonnets. like imagine you’d spent forever looking for your favorite one and you find him in the kitchen with your jumbo pink bonnet on his big ass head. “ony… take off my fucking bonnet.” “come take it off me, pookie.” knowing damn well you can’t reach him. 🙄

alwayssss buying you food. he loves to eat and makes sure you eat whenever he does. making you gain all the happy weight. “you ate mama?” “what you wanna eat? ima pick it up on my way back to the crib.”

you’ll always catch him staring at you. sometimes he can’t believe that you’re all his. and he doesn’t gaf, he’ll just be like “what? I can’t look at yo pretty ass?” “you too sexy t’not stare at, baby.”

nsfw

big dommmm. loves manhandling you, he’ll let you take control sometimes but it’s rare. (gotta catch him off guard)

will fuck the attitude out of you everytime. it’s like you tempt him because you know he’ll fuck some sense into you. (and do!)

loves spitting in your mouth. like holding your face and letting it drip off his tongue onto yours. jus nasty.

not much of a moaner, he curses and grunts a lot. some moans definitely slip out when he’s really in the moment, though. 🤭

eats your pussy as a form of apology. the way you grind your hips into his mouth? and grip his head? he knows you’ll accept it everytime. nigga you ain’t shit

loves backshots but also loves pushing them thick legs to your chest, giving long deep strokes that you can’t run away from.

loves putting a thumb in your butt like future LMAO

talks you through it, very verbal during sex in general. big dirty talker. 🤭 “let it out, mama. cum on this fucking dick.” “mhmm, just like that, fuck.” “this all mine… this my pussy, huh? say it.”

taglist: @kittyarmin @dionnethinks @90ekz @rintcrous @zuriayan @prettypixigrl @bey0nseh

@/hoesluvshanti, 2023. do not copy, steal or repost my content without permission.

[kitten4sannie]

for love of the game (teaser)

pairing: rival team! wooyoung x rival! reader (fem) x teammate! yunho

genres: college baseball au, enemies to fuckbuddies, bsf fuckbuddies, smut

summary: jung wooyoung, a pitcher with a fearsome curveball, and your self-proclaimed enemy since the beginning of the playoffs, is beyond determined to show you that he is in fact, on top. Yunho, your close friend and reliable teammate, will do everything in his power to watch it all go down.

future tag warnings (may be subject to change): tobacco/vape usage, baseball lingo?? idk, nasty mean dom! wooyo, perverted soft dom! yuyu, subby! (tiny bit bratty) reader, light brat taming, pet names/name calling, praise/degradation, dirty talk, exhibitionism/voyeurism, biting/marking, tag teaming, manhandling, size kink, oral (giving), deep-throating, spit kink, finger sucking, hair tugging, nasty hate sex against some lockers, sloppy seconds, breeding kink, creampies, dumbification

w.c: 1.6k (so far) while this teaser is about 500?? words

a/n: i love a good sports au (despite my inability to play any) fhwhwh so i’ve decided to write a nasty lil baseball fic for you all~ the parasites told me to >:)) 🖤 so here’s a teaser!!! it’s a pretty big one hehe. and if you’d like to join this specific taglist (if you’re not on my general taglist) please click on the tiny heart at the bottom of the post :33 enjoyyy~~

“Yo, baby, you got some chew on you?” someone with an irritatingly smug, yet distinctly familiar voice asked you from the other side of the snug dugout.

You immediately stood up from your seat, turning your head in the direction of the voice, just in time for you to come face to face with the Devil himself. 

Jung Wooyoung, a pitcher with a fearsome curveball, and your self-proclaimed enemy since the beginning of the playoffs, was casually leaning down against the small metal fence that separated your teams, looking up at you through the yellow lenses of his sunglasses. 

“Do I look like the type to put that nasty shit in my mouth?” you immediately snapped, taking a few steps in his direction, not realizing how hard you were squeezing your plastic water bottle until it began to audibly crunch inside your tight grasp. “Huh?” 

Wooyoung licked at the mole on his chapped bottom lip, his canines becoming visible when he smiled cockily at you. He missed his favorite plaything. You were so easy to rile up. It made his already tight pinstripe pants even tighter. “Mm, but you’ve put nastier things in your mouth, haven’t you, baby?”

Scoffing, you placed your hands on your soft hips, shaking your head, pretending his perverse words didn’t make your cheeks feel like they were already sunburnt, wanting to put up more of a front, now that your entire team was possibly listening in. “You would know a thing or two about that, wouldn’t you, Wooyoung? The handjobs you give your team aren’t doing enough for you these days, huh?” 

Wooyoung did his best to ignore the snickers and whispers of your team, taking his cap off to run his fingers through his silky raven hair, biting the corner of his lip all the while. “People talk in the locker rooms, you know. They say you really know your way around a cock. Probably from all that practice you get with your teammates, yeah?” He looked over to Yunho, who sheepishly smiled at him. “You can vouch for me, can’t you, Yun?” The batter remained quiet out of fear of your wrath.

Wooyoung was about to say more, when his vision was suddenly blurred by something cold. You had offered him mercy, dumping the rest of your water on the pitcher’s head, rather than shoving the entire bottle up his ass like you desperately wanted to. Instead of blowing up on you and embarrassing himself like you had hoped he would, Wooyoung simply flipped his hair back and put his cap back on, resulting in a few squeals from some nearby fangirls that were sitting in the stands. “If getting me hard was the goal, you succeeded, Y/N.” 

You grimaced. “You’re fucking disgusting, Wooyoung.” 

Wooyoung reached over the fence to push a few loose strands of hair behind your ear. “But, you love it, don’t you? That’s why you’re so obsessed with me.” 

“You should be obsessed with me. Maybe if you paid attention, you could figure out how to pitch a ball that I won’t knock out of the goddamn stadium.” 

You irked Wooyoung to no end, your equally quick-witted jabs getting underneath the pitcher’s tan skin. However, he wouldn’t let you have the satisfaction of seeing that, until hell itself froze over. “And if you paid attention, maybe your team would actually make it past the playoffs.” 

That was when a vein visibly began to bulge out of your temple, your jaw tensing. Wooyoung had struck a nerve. You knew it, he knew it, and your team definitely knew it. You’d give anything to make it to the championship game, but it was always just barely out of reach. The fact that Wooyoung would stoop so incredibly low had your blood boiling. You wanted nothing more than to grab the smug pitcher by his collar and spit directly in his face, but you were afraid that he would enjoy that more than you would have. So, instead you simply accepted defeat in that moment and sat back down on the bench, staring ahead at the expansive baseball field.  

You were too caught up in your own furious thoughts to notice that Yunho had left the spot he had taken up on the bench, instead leaning on the same fence Wooyoung had been chilling on just moments ago. 

“Your girl’s feisty, Yun. I fucking love it. She seems like she bites. Does she bite?” Wooyoung prodded the taller man, just as he pulled a vape out of his pocket and took a long hit, causally blowing out the smoke into Yunho’s face. 

Yunho waved the vapor away, shaking his head slightly. “She’s not mine, but yeah, she bites.” He chuckled to himself. “I bite too.”

Wooyoung hummed in response, his eyes shifting from the crowd, to the busy field, then back up to Yunho. “She’s not yours, but she lets you hit, doesn’t she? And she’ll let you hit right after the game, right?” 

“She does…She’s just very...rough.” Yunho bit his lip, thinking about how ferociously you would ride his cock in the empty locker rooms after the games you would ultimately lose, remembering all the deep bites and scratches you littered his broad body in, knowing you wouldn’t let him go until you left his cock raw and so sensitive, he was ready to cry. He was more of a softie himself, not exactly cut out for the animalistic sex you required after such a brutal loss. Wooyoung, however, seemed more fit for that. In fact, Yunho felt his throat go dry just imagining the two of you going at it in such a way, especially in front of him. That was allowed, right? 

“Yunho.” Wooyoung took another long puff from his vape, using his free hand to take his glasses off and placing them over the brim of his baseball cap.

“Yeah?” 

Wooyoung reached up to place his hand on Yunho’s tense shoulder, massaging his digits into it to loosen up the muscle. “I got a proposition for you. If your team wins today, you get to fuck a happy, calm Y/N. She’ll probably even blow you without expecting anything back. Who knows, she might even swallow.”

Yunho unconsciously licked his lips, glancing back over the shoulder Wooyoung was massaging into to admire your pretty face, even if it was contorted with rage-induced determination. He slowly looked back down at the pitcher. “And, if your team wins?” 

Wooyoung grinned deviously, licking at one of his sharp canines. “I get to show Y/N just how disgusting I can get.” 

Apply for the taglist here ⇢ ♡

© kitten4sannie, 2024.

[rakurairagnarok]

I dedicate this story to my good friend and writing buddy @idesofrevolution. Merry Christmas buddy and please PLEASE Enjoy. Happy holidays to everyone and Happy TF's.

A Green Christmas

`What!!`

Ryan screamed at the news.

You sighed.

´I have no choice, my family has to move, and I have to go as well, I don´t have any accommodation here.´

Ryan grumbled. `Bro... you can´t leave me man... you´re my best bud.´

You grimaced. Your friend had been acting weird lately. You used to be super close, and you honestly still are, but your interests had began to shift. You used to play games, watch cartoons and study together, but lately Ryan had become absent from you life. He had been ´busy´ with other things but his grades had been plummeting and he had picked up smoking. Ryan had no idea you knew this, but you had seen the pictures from your classmates. His wardrobe had changed too. Before he would wear shirts and khakis, now its oversized shirts and hoodies. He started wearing contacts as well, which, to be honest, was a great look for him, he looked very handsome without glasses. His lingo had switched as well. No more academic jargon. Just simple sentences, which almost always had at least one bro in them.

`Look Ryan, I really am sorry, but I just can´t make this work´

Your family was moving, and while you were a college student, who by all accounts should have received some form of scholarship due to your amazing grades, you never did. The truth however, was that you wanted to move. The alienating feeling you got from your former best friend broke something in you, and you had to put some distance between eachother. You could easily apply for the on-campus dormitories but you just couldn`t bear staying near the now almost stranger.

`Look you´d better go, I want to be home before Christmas and I still have a lot of packing to do.'

Ryan sighed and left. After closing the door behind him, You let out a grunt.

"Why does it have to be this way! What happend to him?"

Reluctantly you began packing. Your father would come and get you and your things on Christmas eve, so you had your work cut out for you. You were currently staying Ryan, but this had always been a temporary solution. Ryan's landlord didn't want two friends staying together only couples or families. Ryan had become quite open to you about his sexuality. He had told you he was bisexual and that he could always tell the landlord the two of you were dating, but you had declined. You had a hard enough time not getting picked on. If word would get out that you two were dating, you would not be able to survive. What Ryan didn't know is that you were in fact also bisexual. You really liked girls but men really were where you got your satisfaction. From porn that is, because you were still a virgin. You grew up in a strict Christian household, with a Father from the south. Your parents would never approve and they were the reason you didn't have to work, so coming out was never an option.

A loud knock shook you from your deep train of thought. You opened the door and Ryan was standing right there, smiling.

"Steven, can we talk bro?"

"Ryan, I told you. I need to pack for..."

"Please, just for a little while."

"...Fine..."

Ryan walked in and sat down on your bed.

"Look man... I've been thinking... I need to be honest with you about something."

You looked at your former best friend with confusion. He had been so dominant and confident these last few weeks, and all of a sudden he looked shy and insecure.

"I... I picked up smoking... and... not just cigarettes. Weed too"

You sighed.

"I know Ryan, I have seen you. Don't worry, it's whatever... Your body, your choice."

Ryan smiled.

"Yeah for reallll broo but, I wanted to ask you a favor."

"What is it?" You asked, slightly impatient.

"Come sit down first" Ryan had this shit eating grin on his face, his perfect white teeth on display. Wait that doesn't sound right. he had braces right?

Because you took so long, Ryan grabbed your arm and pulled you onto the bed, right next to him.

"What the hell man!" You exclaimed.

He quickly wraps an arm around your shoulders, his musky scent drilling into your nose, and holds something up to your face.

"I really, really want to smoke this with you man. Like dying wish and shit."

You look down and see a blunt in between his fingers.

"I don't smoke Ryan, you know this" You point out.

" Just one hit bro, that's all, I won't tell anyone, you don't have to smoke any more, just humor me with this man."

You took a deep breath and wanted to decline, but then something clicked.

"You know what. Sure."

Ryan's grin widened. 'Let's fucking go bro!!!" He quickly grabbed a lighter, and lit the blunt.

He took the first hit, blowing the smoke right into your face, the fumes invading your nose and throat, leaving you gasping for air.

"Sorry there bro, just wanted to give you a little taste."

"I'm only taking one hit bro... fuck" Your eyes widen not only did you just curse, something which you rarely do, you also just used bro in your sentence. Hoping he didn't notice you hold out your hand to take the blunt.

Ryan, who's grinning from ear to ear, hands you the blunt, and you quickly take a hit. You deeply inhale, feeling the smoke fill your lungs and the weed invade your brain. A single hit, and you can almost feel your brain stopping.

"W...whaaat the fuuuuuck" You mumble. Your jaw slacks a bit as the smoke escapes from your lips.

"You gonna take that hit or not bro?" Ryan asked with a sly grin on his face.

"Huh didn't I just?'' You asked confused.

"Bro are you already tripping? I just blew some smoke in your face man, thats all. Now come on bro, you promised."

You took a hit, taking a deep breath, feeling the smoke fill your lungs, and your whole body. Slowly blowing out you feel constricted. You look down to see your buttoned up shirt bulging. You tug on it a bit, and it flies open, revealing a chiseled abdomen and two meaty pecs.

"Brooo wat the fahk' You mumble. "My chest is so big... what the hell"

"Yeah bro I know right. I love that strain. Made me who I am today" Ryan smirks as he takes off his hoodie showing his massive arms and chest.

You look in awe as he stretches a bit, his smooth torso , and bulging muscles on display. He drops his sweats, showing off a massive bulge in his white briefs as he looks at you and smirks.

"Wanna take another hit bro?"

Before he even finished his sentence the blunt was back in your mouth, filling you up with even more smoke. You look down and begin to giggle as you bounce your growing pecs.

"Huhuhu broo they are so bigg... what the shit..." You say as a familiar musk begins radiating from your growing body.

Ryan smiles back.

"Yeah bro you're getting so fuckin huge. You're so hot"

You look at him with a flushed face.

"What... did you say?"

"You're hot. You look amazing."

"Thanks..." You can't help but blush, seeing as he himself is a fucking model.

"You're really hot yourself" You say with a beetred face

Ryan stops smiling and looks at you. He sits down and looks you in the eyes.

"I don't want you to go Stevey. I love you..."

Your eyes widen at the words, and before you know it, his lips get pressed against yours. Before you can react he pushes his tongue into your mouth, and a torrent of smoke follows suit. It's almost as if hes blowing you up, and it feels that way too, Your muscles getting bigger, your mind hazier, and your dick... well...

You manage to push away and look at him.

"Ry... I ... "

"yeah?"

"I think... no ... I know... I love you too man"

Ryan signature shit eating grin flies back onto his face.

"Fuck yeah bro!!"

A sheepish smile creeps onto your face as you grab the blunt from his fingers, taking a massive hit before grabbing his neck and blowing the smoke into his mouth.

"You're so sexy." You say as he blows the smoke back into your face.

"What about you then, such a fucking cute stud you are"

The two of you continue laughing, finishing the blunt before crawling into each others arms.

You text your dad that he doesn't have to come get you anymore, as you will be staying with your boyfriend, and promptly block him afterwards.

You nuzzled up to your boyfriends pit and took a deep breath. It smelled amazing and it bricked you up knowing you smell the same.

This will be a pretty special Christmas.

__________________________________________________________

Happy Holidays Everyone!!!! Feel free to send in some asks or order something at Rakurai Inc.!!!

[k4marina]

— type || s.r

synopsis: some new recruits ask you what your type is

warnings: suggestive language, some military lingo i guess, not proofread btw 🤺

inspired by rules by doja cat

simon”ghost”riley x gn!reader

the inside of the helo buzzed with excitement as it got ready for take off. you and the 141, with a few new recruits were off to a mission. it was quite simple, locate enemy base, eliminate any threats, and safely retrieve the intel.

price, gaz, and soap we’re going in a separate helo while you and ghost had to babysit the newbies in another helo.

you took a seat, shifting your rifle and your hips to get comfortable for the ride. once settled you leaned your head back, eye closed hoping to get some peace before landing at the destination.

“..what? no! you ask them!”

“bruh.. why me? i don’t even say anything about this.”

“bro, martinez, you ask them since you’re so whipped.”

the not so hushed whispering grew louder and you more annoyed. geez, would it kill for some silence?

“lieutenant, i have a question.” the voice came from across where a few new recruits had sat themselves.

with a sight you opened your eyes, tilting your head to look at him. he wore a cocky smile, eyeing the way you sat, staring a little too long. “yes?”

“i was just wondering, y’know, what your type is.” the deck got quite, all eyes on you and the soldier across from you.

“and what do you want to do with that information for?”

“well, i was thinking how about you and me go out for some drinks?”

his friends watched with a mix of awe and horror as their friend tried to hit on his superior. “seems like you’ve been doing a lot of thinking.”

he smirked. “what else am i supposed to think about when you’re running around up there.”

god, how you wanted to gag.

you crossed your legs, purposefully moving you hips around, catching his attention.

you licked your lips, “i’ll need devotion.”

“lemme show how much i can give.”

gag.

you shifted forwards, letting your foot touch his leg. a glance down at his pants showed that they’d gotten significantly tighter.

“be honesty,” your voice can out sultry. “do i make you horny, baby?”

he licked his lips. “that obvious?” you huffed, moving away from him with a shit eating grin.

“too bad.”

even under the red light of the inside of the helo, you could see the heat rise up to the tips of ears. “let me give you a few tips. one, don’t talk to your superiors like that and two, you’ve gotta fake gold chain on- change that.”

a few other snickered at the two little jabs you said. martinez sat back with a “yes lieutenant, sorry.”

you groaned, leaning back again only to hear heavy boots stomping up the ramp and down towards the empty seat next to you.

“hey martinez. wanna know my type?” you tilted your head towards ghost walking to you. “that it right there.”

simon sat now next to you, glaring daggers at the recruits across from you, who now could look at anywhere but you.

you looked up at him, watching as his eyes went from them to you. he leaned down to youre ear, “you’re a cheeky little minx, ain’t ya’?”

you gave him a little shrug. “maybe you should take so long next time.”

—

was this rushed? yes.

it’s it still better than nothing? yes.

[chiquititaosita]

˗ˏˋ꒰♰꒱ gojo dating a latina | (gojo satoru x latina! reader)

I got inspo for gojo recently, he’s so hard yet easy to write for but when it comes to x readers YALL MOTIVATE ME also please comment if y’all wanna be on the tag list @sanjisblackasswife @mommypieck @backwzzds @chrollohearttags @painism

- finds it hot when you dance shaking your hips

- immediate wolf whistle and tries to use his charm

-loves that you played hard to get

- when you speak Spanish oh my god his love for you grows 10x bigger

-he even loves how you say his name, makes him melt

- he’s in love with your dialect fr

-then your distinctive latina indigenous features

-loves to kiss your nose bridge specifically

-If you wear lip liner, he’s gonna call your kisses spicy kisses

-“I want besos and I wan’em now!!l

-calls you spicy, and exotic (man’s got jumped) 😭😭

- LOVES ALL SIZED LATINAS POINT BLANK PERIOD

-loves it when you wear honey on your lips

-“oh hello there mamacita!!” The way he says it sounds so white you find it funny 😭😭

-will call you mamas, mami, or princess

-picks up on Spanish lingo claiming he’s learning on duolingo but he’s serious yet never finishes things 💀

- LOVES IT WHEN YOU COOK!! He’s never had that much flavor even Japanese food has tons of flavor

-dances to everything

- actually is afraid of your aim when you throw shit at him (specifically the chancla)

- he hates it when you grab it and spank his ass sometimes playfully

-y’all make fun of each others accents.

-when he yells your name he adds a Spanglish accent.

- he fw bad bunny and romeo santos

- gets hard when you get angry in Spanish,

-“dude why are you not scared?” “I love it when she’s angry.” he’ll be all smitten for you

- feeds you (we Latinas are ALWAYS HUNGRY)

- “so uh quieres joder?” That’s how bad it is

- loves that you’re possessive and clingy because he won’t have to worry as much about you being loyal

-“WHY IS YOUR LOCATION OFF?!”

-“Im on a mission—“

-“I’m going over there.” You’ll hang up and drag him by the ear, take the train home lecture him on not scaring you on missions. Because well like curses and some curse users

-“you look bonita!!”

- he loves how wild you are!!

- hands on hips when doing perreo IS A MUST

-man’s got some seasoning in him you just brought out the rest of the inner spice he needed.

-when you tell him your insecurities about being a phase or used as a token girl he’ll be serious and reassure you that he only has and does have eyes for you only

-nah bc you got him that much weak in the knees

- loves the fact you are always calling him papas, amorcito, satorito (HIS FAVORITE)

-pretends to be sounding dumb not knowing some basic Spanish words just to hear them in English or Japanese (whichever language y’all speak to each other)

-“te amo.”

-“what does that mean?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too!!” He’ll kiss you and also finds you addicting

-when you both kiss he gets addicted “ugh you taste amazing!!”

- will never get his hands off of you

-loves you for you. Forever and always

[indigosunsetao3]

The Car

Warnings: Jealousy, Manipulation (from both parties), Smut, Oral Sex

Second expansion of the Ex Husband Price list.

"No no no," you groan as you car splutters on the road. You knew something felt off when you had pulled out of the garage at work but decided to risk it anyway. You had recently started a new job, finally able to find a company that was willing to take a risk on you after such a long time away from the work force. Eager to show your enthusiasm for the job you worked late all week, even this Friday evening.

"Shit," you sigh as the car bucks in protest and you pull over to the very narrow shoulder. It's whining and idling so low you know it's going to stall out and before you can even throw the hazards on it does just that. It had done this before and you never got a solid answer from John what the issue was. He threw a whole bunch of lingo at you explaining but he knew it would go over your head.

You give the car a few seconds rest before trying to the key to start it again. The car stutters, engine squealing as it tries to turn over but it doesn't get there. You wait and try again, same result. One more time and you let out a yell of frustration and throw the keys into the passenger seat. It's nearly ten at night, on a Friday. You couldn't just leave your car here but a tow was out of your budget, and actually going to the shop to fix it was out of the question.

There's only one other option and it eats you from the inside as you stare at his number in your phone.

"John," you say when he finally picks up. It had rung so long you were sure it was going to go to voicemail. He doesn't say anything but you know he is listening. "My car's dead," you explain with a irritated sigh. "I was leaving work and it did that weird bucking thing and I think I saw smoke," you explain, eyes darting to the road as another car flies by. "You we're able to fix it last time and I just thought you could tell me-" you don't finish before he cuts you off.

"Call a tow," John replies flatly and you hear something rattling; glasses. "I'm busy," he continues and then you hear someone talking in the background. A man but you also hear a woman's lilting laugh a second later. That makes you freeze.

"You know what," you snap, jerkily removing your seatbelt and going for the door. "I'll figure it out myself," you climb out and slam the car door shut. Another car races by and the loud roar of the engine makes you wince as your jam the phone between your shoulder and ear as your fingers scramble to find the hood latch. "Have a nice evening with your friends."

"Get back in the car," John snaps, obviously having heard you climb out and the cars going by. "Where are you?"

"Doesn't matter, you're busy," you answer back finally finding the latch. You let the phone slide down and you grab it with your hand as you wrench the hood above your head and look for the support piece to hold it in place. "I'm sure someone will pull over to help." And you hang up.

He calls back four times but you ignore him as you stare at the engine. You have no idea what you are looking at and when you reach for something familiar the heat wafting from it makes you flinch back. Then, because England lives for being dramatic, it starts to rain. The water fizzles as it hits the hot engine and you huff, moving to let the hood fall with a loud bang again not sure if it was wise to let the engine drenched.

Stomping around to the drivers side door you stare at the phone as John starts sending texts before calling again and you finally pickup.

"Figure it out, sweetheart?" John asks sarcastically. You can hear music in the background and you do your best to not let your ears strain to see if you can hear that woman again.

"I'm calling a tow," you answer simply as you smooth your hair back off your face. "Maybe they'll actually fix it properly this time," you snipe. He had been the one to 'fix' it last time.

"Where are you?" He asks ignoring your jab.

You sigh before giving him the road you're on and lean back into the seat. He says he'll be there in thirty, he has to drop someone off at home first. You don't ask who that person is, though you feel a squirm in your stomach at the thought if it was that woman. Maybe a date that you interrupted. If you hadn't been so exhausted after a long week you probably wouldn't have even called him. The instinct to reach out to him when something went wrong was still too strong and it irked you that he was still your safe space.

Lights flare in your rearview mirror as John pulls up in his truck, flashing them once to let you know it's him. The rain is coming down in a proper downpour now and you snatch up your purse and dart out into it. You twist to lock your car over your shoulder, the battery is functional at least. When you pull the door open you have to pull yourself up, the stupid thing so tall that John used to help you in it whenever you two would take it out.

"Don't," you say as he looks at you and opens his mouth. You're shivering and you wrap your arms around yourself as he throws on his signal to pull back into traffic. "I'll call a tow for it in the morning," you state as you watch the dark form of your car in the mirror disappear into dark. "Maybe I just need a new one. I don't want something unreliable." Not that you could afford a new car by any means.

"I'll look at it first," John states as he leans over and turns the heat up a bit. "Probably just the fuel injector again," he mutters, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. He doesn't say anything else for the rest of the ride and you don't fill the silence either. You're exhausted, cold and frustrated with yourself and the whole situation. Especially the jealousy burning in your chest as you catch sight of a lipstick covered straw on a fast food cup in the cupholder. He catches you looking at it and smirks as you quickly advert your eyes back out the window.

"You can stay on the couch," you offer looking at the radio clock as he pulls into your driveway. It's almost midnight and you know his apartment is across town, "if you want." You tack on before climbing out and wobbling on your heels on the driveway. It's the least you could do for him taking pity and coming to get you, plus if he's here he's not with the woman wearing shocking pink lipstick.

"Gaz is going to meet me in the morning," he offers as he kicks his shoes off at the door while texting on his phone. "See if we can fix it."

"Right," you answer, not turning around to look at him as your climb the stairs. "You know where the blankets are."

"You're welcome," John calls up the stairs, to which you answer with a snap of your bedroom door. You flick the lock for good measure even if the cheap doorhandle would never keep John Price out if he was determined.

Rest is fitful. You wake up multiple times and stare at the ceiling thinking about the fact John is downstairs. How long had it been since you had spent a night together, even if it was in different rooms? Months. You nearly crack and go down to check at him a three am. Telling yourself you just wanted to make sure he was comfortable, but when you open the bedroom door his resounding snores tell you he's just fine, ruining your pathetic excuse.

When you wake next it's nearly nine in the morning and you quickly hop out of bed. You can hear music coming from outside and you peer out the window to see John in the driveway, bent over tinkering over your car engine. He must have been up early to have already gone out, managed to get it running, get it back here and Gaz already be gone.

Not sure what to do with yourself you keep busy in the house, willing yourself to not look out and stare at him. When you brought him out a bottle of water and some crisps he's humming along to the music, a smirk on his lips as he works. He glances at you as you watch over his shoulder, doing your best to look at what he's doing and not the back of his actual shoulder where the muscles are rippling under the skin as he loosens a few bolts.

"Need something?" He asks as you stand there uselessly for another few minutes. "I'm almost done if that's what you're here for," he tacks on as he stands up and wipes his face with the bottom of his shirt.

For fucks sake. You bite the inside of your cheek at the glimpse of his stomach, the sweat that is shining there and the matted hair that trails deliciously down to the waistband of his pants. He lets his shirt fall before chugging the water as he looks at you waiting for an answer.

"I've got a few errands to run today," you cover quickly. "Is this going to be working properly when you're done with it? Only, I don't want to get stranded again," you state, doing your best to sound annoyed and not impossibly distracted by him standing there.

"It'll be fine," John answers, "you need to keep up the maintenance on it. The oil was sludge," he admonishes as he toes the waste can. "When was the last time you actually took it in for a tune up?"

"That was your job," you answer with a small shrug. "Didn't cross my mind. Just another thing to add to my to do list until I find someone else to do it for me." You turn heel and you know he's glaring at your back.

You spend the rest of your time burning off the nervous energy cleaning the house. When you drag the overflowing trash out to the bin you spot the fast food cup from the night before sitting in there. The bright pink lipstick glaring in the sunlight and you reach in to grab the cup to look at it, pausing when you realize how ridiculous that is before dumping the rest of the trash over it. When the lid slams shut you look over to see John staring at you with a shit-eating grin. He knows you had saw it, as if he had planned it.

Sometime later you hear him come in and find him washing his hands in the sink. He's covered in dirt, grease and sweat. You lean on the door jam watching him for a bit, watching him attempt to suds off the dirt with one of your flowery hand soaps.

"Just go shower," you state after a second as he leans down to rinse his arms up to his elbows. "You're making a mess of my kitchen," you state, tilting your head at the puddles of dirty water that he's dripped all over the sink and floor.

"I'll be out in a few," John states as he brushes past you. "Car should be all set by the way. Fully tuned up and running perfectly," he turns to walk backwards for a second, "you'll still need to get an oil change in six months though."

"I'll be sure to let the next person know. Six months should be plenty of time to find someone else to do it," you smirk as you see his shoulders tense as he rounds the stairs. You wipe up the kitchen and realize he doesn't have a towel and you'll be damned if he gets oil all over your nice ones.

Darting up the stairs you pause at the linen closet to grab an old ratty towel before knocking on the ensuite. The shower is running and you're about to crack the door open and throw the towel in for him when he calls for you to come in. You twist the door handle and push the door open to find him standing there in just his pants, hands in the midst of undoing his zipper.

"Forgot to give you a towel," you state, holding it up to him. He nods his head to the side to indicate for you to just set it on the counter. Then he undoes his zipper fully and steps out of his pants in a swift movement. He acts as if this were normal, that you were still married and he was just getting in the shower after a long day.

"John!" You snap as you drop your gaze to the floor quickly and twist your head a bit.

"Never knew you to be shy," John answers simply as he bends down and grabs his pants and folds them on the counter. He's going deliberately slow and you dart your eyes up to look at him. He's watching you like a hawk and you swallow as you take in the sight of him in the rapidly steaming bathroom. "Get out then if you're that upset about it," he teases as you let your eyes roam over him. He holds perfectly still, letting you drink him in knowing that you're struggling. "Or join me," he tacks on with an eyebrow quirk. "Saw you watching me all morning," he smirks. "Don't lie," he says quickly as you open your mouth to fight him on that.

"Get in the shower," you breathe out as you move to leave. "I don't want to see the lipstick on your cock from your girlfriend last night." There was that jealousy you had been trying to fight for hours. You hadn't seen anything, but you had certainly looked for the evidence despite yourself. His hand grabs your wrist swiftly and tugs you back toward him.

"I cleaned that off already," he taunts pulling you closer to him. "You jealous, sweetheart?" He tilts his head to the side a bit as you twist your wrist to pull back, it's a false attempt and you both know it.

"You're free to do whatever you want," you answer, eyes flicking up to his face. "Does she know you went to your ex wife's rescue?" You see his eyes narrow at the word ex-wife and you do your best to squash the glee you get at his anger of the term. "And you stayed in her house?"

"She's not worried about it," John answers and he knows he's hit a sore spot, but he keeps needling. "I told her exactly where I was going and she just told me to be careful." He's confirming your worst fear and the sudden jerk of your arm breaks his grip on you.

"Wash up and get out," you snap and turn to leave but you barely make it to the door before he grabs you around the waist to pull you back. He's chuckling and you thrash seeing red.

"She doesn't care if I'm with my wife," he states, either purposely or slip of the tongue forgetting the ex part. "Because she's Johnny's bird. I had them over the apartment last night," he nips your ear as your still in his arms. "Now who's a jealous arsehole?" Something you had accused him of so many times.

"You lied," you gasp out, the fight dying in you as you piece everything together. He nuzzles the side of your neck and kisses your pounding pulse. You don't fight him as his hands roughly untucks your shirt from your sinfully short pajama shorts.

"I never said a word, you made your own assumptions," he admonishes as his hands find your now bare breasts and kneads them roughly. "Turn about is fair play," he grinds out as you arch up off him as he pinches your nipples. You know he's referring to what you had done last time he had been around, taunting him about your ex.

"You let me make them on purpose," you whine as one hand slides down your stomach toward the hem of your shorts.

"So what if I did?" He asks as his fingers toy with the elastic of your underwear. "I like getting you all worked up. Watch you squirm a bit," he palms your center through the thin cotton material and you attempt to grind down on his hand but he pulls back a fraction of an inch. "Get you needy for me," his fingers brush down the v of your bikini line, "remind you that you did this to yourself." He bites your shoulder as you grab his wrist to force him to touch you but he barely grazes your clit with his finger before pulling away.

"John," you say frustrated as he lets go of you and steps around to get in the shower. "We can't kept doing this. It's just dragging it out."

"I seem to remember it was you calling me last night," he states as he opens the glass shower door and barely steps in. His eye are watching you, a commanding look on his face as he lifts his hand up to you. He's making you go to him, making you beg him.

You stare at him determined to hold onto some dignity this time. You couldn't be the one to give in twice in a row, even if you had gotten yourself off last night thinking about him to take the edge off to get some sleep. But when the hot water rushes over John's naked form and he curls his fingers in a come-hither motion, you follow obediently.

You strip out of your shorts and underwear and step into the steam of the shower. Before the door even clicks shut he's got you pinned to tile wall, causing you to gasp at the bite of cold on your back. His tongue takes that chance to sweep in and you moan as his fingers finally find your clit and rub gentle circles. He kicks your legs a bit wider so he can run his hand further down you and he roughly pushes a finger in without warning.

"This is something you can't take care of yourself," he says as he pulls back from the kiss to rest his forehead against yours. "I heard you last night," he states as he curls his finger, pumping antagonizing slow. "Heard you open the door before retreating again. Then I heard you whimpering my name a few minutes later," he hitches his breath with you, a mockery, as he pushes a second finger in. "Yet here you are, still so needy for me. Can't take that edge off yourself can you?"

You narrow your eyes. You thought you had heard something when you had dug around in the nightstand. Had frozen in your hunt for something, anything, to get yourself off but found your stash depleted. Your toys had slowly been disappearing, or losing charge when you needed them most, over the past few months. You just thought you had just misplaced them in the bathroom or forgot to charge them. But the way John is taunting you, you're suspicious he's the reason you haven't been able to properly get yourself off.

"You sneaky bastard," you pant as he kisses you feverishly a few times before dropping down to his knees before you. You run your hands through his soaked hair as he kisses his way down your stomach, his one hand never stopping its ministrations as his other slides down to the back of your thigh to lift your leg up over his shoulder.

"I would have helped you last night," he replies as he kisses you just a fraction of an inch above where you want him most. "But you're the one who locked the door," he finishes before darting his tongue out to lick a long, wide, stripe over your clit.

You buck up and have to slap one hand on the wall to keep yourself balanced as he begins to lap at you in earnest. The water is scalding against your already heated skin and when you look down you see John's eyes staring up at you. The piercing blue eyes crinkled in the corners because he's smirking at what he's doing to you, at the noises he's getting out of you.

"How many times did you cum last night?" John asks as he picks up the pace with his fingers, pressing his free hand on your lower pelvis to keep you from riding his hands and helping yourself.

"O-once," you shudder, "barely." You admit because damn it you want to get off properly. If his smug attitude at 'winning' this fight meant that would happen, you would you'd take it. "Fuck John," you throw your head back on the wall, feeling it bounce lightly, as he nips at your clit.

"Poor thing," he taunts as he places a chaste kiss where he had just bitten. He twists out of the grip you attempt to get on his hair to pull him to you; he's going to decide when and how you finish. "Impatient, jealous and oh so needy," he spreads you a bit wider before sucking lightly causing you to shake with exertion.

"Stop teasing me," you say frustratedly before yelping as he bites you harder than before. "Please," you tack on knowing he's never one to accept your demanding things.

"Since you asked so nicely," John says before finally giving you what you want. His fingers find that spot in you without hesitation, he knows your body too well, as his tongue abuses your clit. You rock your hips into his face, riding him as he pushes you to that edge. You finally topple over the abyss at a scrape of his teeth and he holds you steady to keep from slipping in the water.

You come down, sinking a few inches on the wall as he unhooks your leg off his shoulder. He's smirking as he pushes up from the ground and you reach for him, more than ready for a second, or third, orgasm but he stops you despite being rock hard himself.

"I've got a meeting," he explains as he grabs a bottle of shampoo absently and begins to quickly wash his hair, using the excess suds to wipe down his skin. "And unlike you, I can finish myself," he smirks as his palms his heavy dick for a second just to taunt you before rinsing off.

You narrow your eyes reach for him again but he grabs your wrist to restrain you. He's serious. He is going to leave you here aching for more. With one last gloating smirk he steps out and grabs one of your nice towels, the raggedy one left forgotten on the counter.

In his haste to clean up he hadn't gotten all the grease off his skin and the remnants are left on your nice fluffy towel. You glare at the mess before attempting to finish the job John had left for you but it doesn't work. It's a ghost of an orgasm that he had given you in the shower.

What John didn't tell you was his meeting was simply paying off Simon for helping him. He had asked him to follow you home from work to make sure you didn't end up in too dangerous of a spot when the car did eventually splutter to a stop. And after John had picked you up Simon fixed the car in a second. He just had to put the fuse back in that John had ripped out earlier that evening.

Once the car was running properly, Simon pulled it safely into the woods for the evening. A task that thankfully didn’t require hot-wiring since John had given him the set of spare keys he had stolen after he fucked you over the couch all those days ago.

Next chapter, The Date, can be found here.

--------------

Tag Request: @shadofireshinobi

[tapesfrom1980]

dating louis partridge would include..

-london dates. absolutely

-louis loves his city and knows it inside out, he will take you to EVERY spot he knows (if you aren’t from london or unfamiliar with it)

-vice versa, when he visits the US you’ll show him all the places you could visit during his trip

-making fun of each others accents

-“bottah o wota 🤓”

-“oh yeah? howdy partner! gonna rustle up some grub?”

-“i’m not even from the south you idiot!”

-teaching each others lingo

-“why do you call them chips?”

-“why do you call them french fries? you’re not even french”

-“if you call french fries chips, what do you call actual chips?”

-“crisps!”

-visiting him on set <3

-taking pictures of him in his character costume and making him pose

-“oh you look so precious lord tewkesbury”

-he gets all blushy and pretends to hate it

-despite his multiple kissing scenes with millie, you and her are great friends

-“oh y/n, i am so happy to see you on set again! it’s been ages!”

-“oh don’t mind me right here ladies”

-you loved his look as sid, he was a little hesitant about the hair at first but with some flirting and compliments he ended up really liking it

-while you weren’t a big fan of the role itself, he looked incredibly handsome and keeping your hands off of him was more difficult than you thought, especially the scene with him shirtless in a cowboy hat

-“like what you see?”

-“oh please, calm yourself”

-“don’t act like i haven’t seen you yearning for me to kiss you this whole time”

-he was the cockiest little shit when he knew his effect on you

-“whatever”

-(louis is definitely not the jealous type, this is for my delulu girls including myself)

-he’s always liked to be touchy with you at all times, but when you’re at a red carpet with him / premiere or generally just in public and he can tell guys are wanting to talk to you, he’ll kiss you basically every minute

-“y/n, knock knock”

-“who’s there?”

-*smooch*

-you pretend not to know what he’s doing, but it makes the butterflies in your stomach go crazy

-he’ll have his arm around you 24/7

-one time when a guy had the confidence to come talk to you while louis was talking to a castmate, he was over in a flash.

-“hey babe! who’s this?”

-“we’ll i’m-

-“oh yeah! anyways, y/n, we have that date for 7:00 tonight. i got us a hotel room for after too. they even have a jacuzzi, can you believe that?”

-the guy had long gone rolled his eyes and walked away

-“you have nothing to worry about louis, trust me”

-“thank y-

-“i specifically told all my secret boyfriends not to come talk to me so you don’t have to see them”

-“haha.”

-PASSIONATE KISSES !!!!!!! (!!!)

-this man will grab your face and kiss you and pull you as close as possible to him

-another classic, he’ll put his hands on your waist and trace his finger tips around it during a deep makeout session

-he KNOWS his effect on you and will take every chance possible to make you flustered

-coming to his model events, who wouldn’t?

-it gets so difficult for him sometimes, he has to ignore his girlfriend in the audience who is silently cheering like crazy and blowing kisses

-you like to bring him bouquets of flowers each time and he loves it, it makes him feel appreciated. especially with how many times he had been rejected as a model for his height (true story, isn’t that crazy??)

-weekend getaways on weeks he isn’t too busy, you go out to a different area each time usually just the two of you

-even when he’s extra busy, he’ll try to still make room for at least a saturday. he doesn’t wanna lose the special connection you have

-he is such a sweetheart. such a sweetheart

-he was raised to be a gentleman and it SHOWS

-if you guys are outside and paparazzi or fans get too rough, he won’t hesitate to raise his voice at them. it’s one thing to overwhelm him, but his girlfriend? never in a million years would he allow that

-same with backlash from fans, he doesn’t care if they don’t “like” your relationship and he’ll publicly speak out about the backlash if it gets too much

-candid pics!!

-he loves taking candid pics of you when he thinks you look pretty (basically every hour of the day)

-tons of polaroid / film photos

-he has them hung up and has his favorite one of you together in his wallet so he can always have you near him

-when you wake up and have bed hair, when you’re doing your skincare / makeup, when you’re eating etc

-he loves buying you outfits or accessories and seeing you in them, especially jewelry

-he never gets you ring finger rings, he wants to get you one when it’ll be only ring you’ll ever wear for the rest of your time

-he’s the best

[iwanty0uu]

ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : Can I ~Kehlani

ᴠᴏʟᴜᴍᴇ : ▮▮▮▮▮▮▯▯▯ ↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺

“This shit so good like it should be illegal” you said to yourself after discretely taking a puff out of the pre-rolls connie left for you, feet over the arm of the huge chair that held you inside of the common rooms of your college. Notebooks of all colors displayed messily along the table in front of you, filled with doodles of the brain, and respiratory system. You were trying to prepare yourself for your pre-med exam in two days, but you couldn’t help think about him.. How he made you touch the back-board of his bed like you was a free throw, how he spent so much time with you that you found yourself…“Little Miss Scholar” using all his lingo,how his ex-girlfriend claimed he lied when he told u he was single. The way his hands slid in between your thighs, fitting like a puzzle piece that you never knew was missing. How he always said “a sweet girl like you shouldn’t know how to fuck like this cus you fuck me like a porn star.. u sure that I’m ya only one?” How he intertwined his longer tattooed fingers with your own freshly polished ones, and squeezed tighter as he heard the mumbles of your “friends” asking “how the fuck he know her home-body ass?” How he left you in shambles everytime his tongue grazed against your clit, shutting your mouth with his hand when you got too loud in the dorms.

You felt as if your pen went dry because of your day dreaming, you scribbled on the paper attempting to gain some ink flow, but managed to get lost in your thoughts again..

The thoughts about him making you squirt, leaving the juices on his pretty white tee shirt, the same night he convinced you to make a sex tape cus he strokes himself to the bloopers..How your velvety walls clenched around his pink tip as a reward, almost as if they were saying “you lasted long babe you’re a trooper.” Gripping him, forcing him to cum inside you.. “Don’t pull out my love, make me proud n thug it out” you would whisper in his ear, running butterfly kisses along his temple. How he then massaged your clit, squeezing the fat of your thighs, while pussy drunk, muttering about how you’re a keeper..But not just because of how you fucked him senseless considering you didn’t partake in those activities, but because it was never hard to read him, to understand him. He wasn’t like everyone else, and you realized this when you didn’t automatically dislike him, it makes you feel even more confident in your relationship knowing how he always says “Baby i need ya” and not in sexual ways. He made it known that he cared about you because he changed his ways so you can mold into him, gave you room to grow and de-cluttered himself so you could use him as extra space when you needed it, when you were stressed and the burden was too much. How he always thought of you and made it obvious in everything that he did even when he didn’t realize it.

“Damn…” you thought wrapping up your daydream realizing that an hour more than passed. The suns rays danced through the huge windows, slightly blinding you almost as if it was a punishment for getting yourself distracted. Eyes peering at the still notebooks below you, waiting to be used, basically taking up dust because of your negligence. The red water bottle resting in your lap was snatched up as you took sips, ignoring the obnoxious sound of the doors opening in the comms, but off of instinct, you still looked up and made eye contact with the tall man who stood in front of the sun..As if he became your sun for a second, and as he came closer, you noticed the buzz-cut and relaxed, resting the water bottle on the table, trying to stop the smile that crept onto your face…

“Hey, can I come over? Is it okay if I stop by n see u later?”……….

↺ ᴿᴱᴾᴱᴬᵀ ‖ ᴾᴬᵁˢᴱ ≫ ᴺᴱˣᵀ ˢᴼᴺᴳ

this one if for you pook! i highlighted my fav lyrics🥸 @soulaanshere ~𝓁ℯ𝓁ℯ

[a-world-with0ut-dr34ms]

A Table of Contents to all my CoD Men x Reader Fics

My shit was getting disorganized as fuck, so I collected everything I've typed on here and put it into a single post, just to make it easier to find my stuff if you ever choose to. User Accessibility matters!

Note - All of this is 18+ and Mature, but not all of it is Smut

SFW/Fluff // Masterlist

The masterlist to all of the SFW/Fluff One-Shots for Ghost x Reader.

No Good Men Left To Spare // Masterlist

No pair of people hated each other more than you and Ghost. To him, you were just another loud-mouthed, obnoxious, and immature little princess needing to be humbled. To you, he was just a boring, broody asshole hellbent on not liking you. Things between you two couldn't be any worse. After pushing one too many of his buttons tonight, you and Ghost going off to have a quick smoke turns into something else entirely.

Make Me Beg

Ghost had been curious to see if you could be the one to make him beg for a change, in which to both his pleasure and dismay, you oblige.

Greedy

Ghost x Dom!Reader x Soap

Ghost and Soap find themselves crushing on the same woman on their team, a friendly bout between two comrades to see who you'll choose, only your answer's not one they'd expected to hear.

The Lights Stay Off

No Summary :(

NSFW, 18+, Shameless Smut, No Plot, Porn w/out Plot, Sex in the dark, Explicit, Graphic Language, Teasing, Touch-Starved Touching, Embarrassing, First Time Together, Fingering, Sloppy Kisses, Somewhat Rough Sex, slightly Intimate, Ghost is a bit of a dom, Reader's a bit snarky

Ghost Fan Edit

My thirst for this man is endless. I've been thirsty since I was 11 and first laid eyes on him in 2009. He just gets finer each year. I don't think I'd have my mask kink without him.

Now you get to see how rhythmically challenged I am. These are fun to make; once I get better at them I'll be unstoppable (｀∀´)Ψ

I Won't Forget

Short Drabble ~ Your last night with Johnny...

Can You Spot Me?

You decide to reward Soap after finishing a set on the bench press.

NSFW 18+, Explicit, Shameless Smut, Porn w/out Plot, Semi-Public Sex, Gym Sex, Teasing, Fluff, Flirting, Cunnilingus, Blow-Jobs, Cowgirl, P in V, Might be a little tame, but still Graphic Description, no Y/N usage

Greedy (same story as above one in Ghost's section)

Speedracer

Gaz x Reader x Soap

It's not every day Gaz gets to drive fast cars. It's also not every day he gets to race hot strangers on the road either.

SFW, Some swearing, Fluff, Flirting, Banter, Racing, Three-Way flirting, Random, Innocent, Some Car Lingo, Soap and Gaz sharing a single brain cell, Eventual smut in part two, scarcely proofread

Been In Love

After a breakup, Price figures a walk along the beach might make for a good distraction. What he did not expect to find was a strange woman standing off to the shore, who looked as though she were about ready to drown herself at sea.

pt. 0 | pt. 1 | pt. 2 | pt. 3

Bloodstained Honesty

Wounded, bloody, and just the two of you. A mission gone wrong leads to a long overdue moment between both you and your Captain, perhaps too late to count for anything. Not if either of you two can help it at least.

pt. 1 | pt. 2 | pt. 3

Sex Tape ~ Kinktober Prompt

No summary (._. )

NSFW (18+), Shameless Smut, Explicit Detail, Groping, Fingering, Nipple-Play, Oral (Female Receiving), AFAB!Reader Long-Distance, Sex Tape, Scarcely Proofread, Kinktober

Some Days

Drabble ~ Price has a tendency to wake up most mornings before you...

SFW, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Innocent, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Mornings, Wife Reader, Soft Price, Price is a little mopey, scarcely proofread

Let Me Play You A Song

During a get-together, you and the Captain decide to sneak off for a spell. The intentions were mostly pure. At the start...

Captain Price Fan Edit

My first time making a video like this EVER (ʃᵕ̩̩ ᵕ̩̩). It came out more like a trailer than an edit, but I had so much fun making this. I really hope you like it! *totally not nervous* (　◜◡‾)

Captain Price Fan Edit 2

Control Masterlist

Slow Burn, Love Triangle, Angst, Romance, Drama

You’ve been with Shadow Company long enough to know working alongside 141 on their search for the stolen American missiles wouldn’t be an ordinary assignment. And most importantly, you knew Graves. Shadow Company keeps its allies close, and its enemies closer. When you’re given a job, it gets done without conflict. Without loose ends.

Your true mission is clear to you -- keep an eye on 141 and keep them comfortable. Anything it takes to alleviate suspicion of Shadow Company’s involvement with the missing missiles. This wasn’t about saving lives, this was a deadly game of control, and you intend to do so flawlessly.

Phillip Graves Character Trailer

Deepthroating ~ Kinktober Prompt

Drabble - You decide to pay your commander a little visit during one of his later nights in the office...

Welp, that's that. Thanks ( .-.)

...

Here are links to some of my gaming clips if interested (shameless plug)

One | Two | Three | Four | Five

[harmonictechnicality]

model!steve and voice actor!Eddie (part 3)

part 1 here | part 2 here | ao3 link here | the temp is up on this one so like... dni if under 18 pls

Eddie is a superstitious person, always has been. Avoids cracks in the sidewalk, refuses to walk under ladders. Says ‘bless you’ despite his lack of goddamn faith (well… scratch the god, keep the damn). That’s why, when Eddie wakes up at 11:11 that morning, he takes it as a sign. A good one too.

Okay yeah, it’s a little gross that he didn’t wake up until now. But he spent most of the night tossing and turning. A thirstfest visual loop of Steve Harrington jerking it to him. Or just his voice. Maybe both, but Eddie would be a conceited fuck if he were to ask for clarity on Steve’s preferred fantasies.

Look, he makes a lot of digs about his appearance because it’s harmless fun. In reality, Eddie is aware that he’s not an un-attractive person. Could he put a little more effort into his skincare routine so that it doesn’t peel off of him anytime he’s in direct sunlight? Sure. But his features are decent enough to get him matches on that dating app he used for exactly four days before deleting. 

Steve, though… Steve is something conjured up by a young adult novelist - creating the dreamiest boytoy for the angsty yet endearing protagonist. Steve is that. He’s something from a fictional world of hotness. And somehow, he exists beyond coffee-stained manuscripts and bestseller lists.

He’s real. And Eddie Munson has a fucking date with him in exactly eight hours.

Holy shit.

It takes two hours for Eddie to decide on an outfit. He facetimes his audio engineer/closest friend after the first hour, because his room is starting to look like an M. Night Shyamalan adaptation of Grey Gardens. 

“Show me the jean options again.” Chrissy’s tone is all business, staring intently on the other side of the phone screen. 

They met at an escape room right outside of the city. After setting a record-breaking time at that location, they got to chatting and quickly discovered they were both in the audio production business. 

Each of them lives the freelance lifestyle now. Highly ideal for their competitive escape room fixation.

Eddie holds up the three pairs of jeans. One pair is his favorite, well-worn and loose around his thighs, just how he likes them. The other two, are pairs that Chrissy bought for him last Christmas.

Lets just say… he only wears those when she’s offering to pay for dinner on their weekly hangouts. 

She hums for a while, twisting her mouth side to side before speaking again. “The dark blue with the gray crew neck. Final answer.”

“These?” Eddie holds the skinny jeans up to his hip bones. He tugs on the waistband to show how very little movement will be possible in these pants. “My dick cannot breathe in these, Chris. It’s like you want me to embarrass myself on this date.”

“I’m doing you a favor.” She shrugs, concealing a smirk behind her water bottle as she takes a sip. “Those pants are so snug, he’ll have no choice but to get you out of them as soon as possible.”

“Are you insinuating that I put out on the first date?

“Absolutely not.”

“Good.”

“I’m insinuating you put it in on the first date.”

“How dare you.” Eddie points at his phone screen. Sucks in his laughter because yeah. Props. That was a good one. He can’t admit that though because no part of him wants to wear these boa constrictor jeans.

“You were just telling me how you fucked him with your words last night.”

“Fair. But I also explained that I was clearly possessed by the spirit of Blanche Devereaux.” Eddie slips out of his lounge tee, pulls over the one Chrissy picked out for him instead. “I swear, that woman had quite the knack for dirty lingo.”

Chrissy rolls her eyes and gives Eddie a halfhearted salute. “And that’s my exit cue.”

“What? Why?”

“Because anytime you bring up Golden Girls, we start arguing over who would play them in the gender-swapped remake.”

Wrong. Totally false. There’s absolutely no argument to be had. Eddie knows exactly who he’d cast right off the top of his head. Joe Pesci, Michael Caine…

Chrissy must see the gears turning in Eddie’s head because she hangs up before he can launch into his well-rehearsed presentation. Which isn’t a joke, he has a PowerPoint on this particular topic (with cited sources and fancy transitions).

Eddie does one last glance in the mirror before heading out. The pants make his waist look slender, nice. His skin is being squeezed in too many areas, but that’s kind of the point. At least the shirt is loose, albeit a little short. Reveals a patch of his lower tattoos every time he lifts his shoulders.

Okay damn, Chrissy probably knew that too. Maybe she’s the one possessed by the horny spirit of Blanche Devereaux. 

Spiritual possession or not, Eddie ruffles out his bangs one last time. Heads out feeling much more confident than he did after his initial interaction with Steve Harrington.

Eddie agrees to pick Steve up at his last photoshoot of the day. It’s close to his side of town, which means he doesn’t have to fight his way through LA traffic. 

A good sign sent from his lucky wake-up time, no doubt.

He doesn’t expect the photoshoot to be at an amphitheater, but it is. A small one, probably only used for local productions. There’re cameras lining the outer rim of the stage, shuttering and flashing like headlights on a highway. Eddie can hear the director and photographers spewing directions from his car. There’s an audience of producers and crew members, seems like a big fucking deal by the looks of it.

The set is, well, breathtaking - way better than that knockoff fantasy shit from the cologne ad. It’s full of greenery. Trees swaying with the breeze and ivy carpeting the stage floor. A forest that’s almost too beautiful to be synthetic. Eddie wonders if any of the plants are real or if the props department was just that damn good at finding fake ones.

After a few minutes, he checks the time. The shoot is running long. No biggie - Eddie is enjoying the view anyways. Especially, when he finally spots Steve. The view is exceptionally priceless now.

Steve perched on top of a tree trunk, feeding some other model grapes. The dark and stupidly jealous part of Eddie hopes they choke on those grapes. 

His costume almost blends in with the backdrop, dark hues of green. Subtle shades of browns. Perfectly camouflaged by nature. There are vines wrapped around his bare arms, leaves tucked into his tousled hair. 

Honestly, he looks a lot like a wood nymph that Eddie would selfishly design for a DnD campaign. Better, actually. Eddie should take notes. Steal the designer's sketches when nobody's looking.

He’s positively itching to get out of his car, get a closer look at Steve in all his botanical glory. But that might come across as too impatient. Or worse, too presumptuous. So Eddie picks one of his lengthier playlists and settles into his seat.

There’s a tap on Eddie’s window, startling him out of his nap. He must’ve dozed off about twenty minutes ago because the last song he remembers listening to was from the mid-90s section of the playlist. Now, they’ve moved into early 2000s territory.

Seriously, math is way easier when music is leading the equation.

Steve is right there, peering in, still tapping incessantly. His eyes are wide, concerned maybe. Which, yeah. Concern makes sense, considering his date is yawning before the date has even started. Fucking yikes.

Eddie rolls down the window, gives Steve a toothy grin as he rubs the sleep out of his eyes. “Heya, FernGully.”

Steve doesn’t acknowledge Eddie’s costuming reference. Probably missed out on that era of cult classic cartoons. “Up late?” He leans against the car and smiles, far more dazzling than the sun setting behind him.

“You would know.”

Oh, and that earns Eddie a wink from Steve. The nun-converting wink he saw months ago and still thinks about.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Steve reaches into the empty space, pushes the latch down to unlock the front door. “Come on.”

“Uh-”

“I’ve gotta change before we head out.” Steve swings the door open before Eddie can protest.  “Unless you want to have dinner with me dressed like this.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow. “Don’t give me any ideas.”

If there were a Renaissance Festival in town or a Medieval Dinner Show still in business, Eddie would definitely trick his way into getting Steve to go dressed like that. But he tucks the idea away for now, walks down the hill with Steve to the amphitheater. Does his best impression of a civilized human.

“So… what are you supposed to be exactly?”

Steve points to the body glitter on his cheeks. “A fairy.”

Yup. A new file of woodland fantasies starring Steve Fairyington have downloaded into Eddie’s mind. If voice acting didn’t pay so well, he could make an impressive career out of his whimsical porn concepts.

So he deflects. Humor is the only solution to keep the conversation PG-rated. “Just because you’re into guys doesn’t mean you’ve gotta use outdated terms like that.”

“You know what I mean.” Steve knocks an elbow into Eddie’s arm. “I’m a literal fairy.”

“Are you implying that literal fairies exist?” Eddie teases.

“No.”

“Seems like it.”

“Jesus, you’re a piece of work.”

“I can tone it down.”

Steve stops walking, places a hand in the center of Eddie’s chest to stop him too. His playful energy fucking warps into something new. Savory and seductive. Bewitching.

“Don’t even think about it.” He answers, slipping his hand down a little, almost between Eddie’s ribs. The motion sends static through Eddie’s core, up his spine. Raises the hairs on his arm and the back of his neck.

It shouldn’t be alarming that Steve’s touch is powerful. Look at him. 

Eddie has a hard time focusing on the conversation after that. Luckily, the timing works out for him to get his shit together, as Steve heads into the trailer that's parked next to the stage.

He tells Eddie he can take a closer look at the set that he suddenly can’t seem to shut up about. It really is stunning. The size, the details, the color choices. Eddie is fairly certain this is the closest he’ll ever be to experiencing Endor in real life.

Most of the crew members are gone, a few still packing up equipment while Eddie observes a variety of plants used for decorating the wooden platforms. Learns that some plants are real and some are fake, which is actually genius. The mixture of the two distract from the plastic-y finish on some of the vines.

“This is for a special-edition cover of some Shakespeare script.” Steve says, joining Eddie at his side. His outfit is rather colorful. It checks out that he's one of the few people that can pull off a purposeful athleisure aesthetic (Eddie hates that he knows what that style looks like, ugh). “Hence the fairies and forests and shit.”

“Wait.” A lightbulb goes off in Eddie’s head. “Is this for A Midsummer Night’s Dream?”

“That’s the one.”

Eddie does a sharp turn, starts shaking Steve by his shoulders. Absolutely bursting with excitement. “Steve literal fairy Harrington, this is ridiculously cool! Like… the history-making kind of cool!”

“If you say so.” Steve agrees calmly.

“How the hell are you not more jazzed about this?”

“You sound just like my manager.” Steve mumbles. “Truth be told, the only Shakespeare play I’ve ever read is Macbeth.”

Eddie gasps, sucks in enough air to fill an inflatable kiddie pool. “We’re on a stage, you can’t just blurt out the Scottish Play like that.”

This is not good. Horrible, even. Not a damn chance that Eddie can be mellow about this. Superstitious person, believer of traditions, blah blah blah. 

And while hiding that piece of his personality should be a simple task, he cannot blatantly ignore such a major fuckup on Steve’s part. No matter how accidental of a fuckup it might have been.

“Okay, what are you talking about?” Steve asks. Still calm. 

“It’s bad luck.” Eddie explains. “The closest thing to cursing a theatrical production.”

“Well, good thing this isn’t a theatrical production then.”

And as Steve laughs off the thoughtless joke, a loud thud is heard at the back of the stage. 

There it is. A warning of impending doom in the form of a loose stage light, hanging by a few loose wires. 

Almost everyone is gone, only two crew members remain on the sidelines. One of them gets on their walkie talkie, mumbles something about a safety hazard incident.

Pfft, not just an incident. A fucking threat from the ghost of theater, that’s what it is.

“See?” Eddie waves both arms at the light structure swinging upstage. “You’ve pissed off Thespis with your loose lips.”

“Who?”

“Oh my god, you’re so-” 

A high-pitched scream cries out from a nearby street. Both Steve and Eddie jump at the sound. It’s a long, frightening scream. Something straight out of a slasher film, which is a likely possibility, for sure. Things are filmed out on the streets of Los Angeles quite a bit.

But the fear ringing out from this particular scream sounds real. Gritty and hoarse.

Fucking terrifying. 

Once the screaming stops, no sign of returning, they share a look. It’s not an ‘I’m gonna jump your bones’ look either. It’s awkward. A fine line between guilt and ‘I told you so.’

“That was just a coincidence.” Steve waves off the scream like it’s just a daily occurrence. Nothing out of the ordinary. “Curses aren’t real.”

Eddie doesn’t want to shout ‘you’re wrong’ from his metaphorical megaphone. Not on a first date, at least. Outright dogmatic behavior shouldn’t come into play until like… the end of the third date.

All he can do is shrug, swallow back the urge to correct this beautiful person standing beside him.

He’s so rigid now, almost timid from the lingering anxiety that more freaky shit is about to happen. 

“Come here.” Steve motions his head to the side, peering softly at Eddie’s expression. His shoulders are relaxed, arms reaching out for Eddie to follow. Join him.

Which he does. Can’t help it. Fully dazed by Steve’s patience, legs moving without a chance to reconsider.

“Wanna get out of here?” Steve thumbs over Eddie’s cheek, skims his nail against the scratchy bits of stubble along Eddie’s jaw. His movements are slow, precise. Only a smidge of pity in his smile. 

Yup. That’s what this must be - Steve probably thinks Eddie is being dramatic. Must assume he can smooth over Eddie’s knotted nerves by just touching him. Tracing hypnotic patterns over his skin.

Eddie is mildly irritated that it’s working. If he can’t find the strength to look away from Steve’s sunny-tinted eyes soon, he’ll float away. Slip through the air as particles. Dust. Nothing but his slutty wishes will remain.

“Not yet.” Eddie gulps.

“No?”

He can’t in good conscience let this theater stay plagued by Steve’s words. This place is on verge of being the location for a Final Destination sequel.

So Eddie removes Steve's hand from his face, squeezes once before returning it back to Steve’s side. “Gotta reverse the fuck out this bad omen first.”

“There’s no such thing as-”

“Don’t.” He pleads. “Put my superstitious mind at ease. Can you do that for me?”

Steve at least has the decency to look away while he rolls his eyes. Pretty and considerate. “Fine. How do I break the curse?”

Eddie has spent enough time in theaters to know there’s a few variations on this process. Changes from director to director. The most common one is going outside and spinning in a circle three times, then knocking on the door till someone lets you back inside.

But that’s where the problem comes in. They’re already outside and there’s no door to knock on, while pleading for forgiveness.

Hmm…

It’s a good thing Eddie remembers a few adjustments to the protocol. It’s an even better thing that he was captain of his improv troupe for three years back in college. Thinking of solutions on the spur of the moment? Adapting for the sake of the scene? Eddie lives for that shit. Comedy fucking chameleon, that’s him.

And what’s better than all of that? His leftover luck from waking up at 11:11am.

Guess it pays off to be a superstitious person. Sometimes.

Eddie clears his throat, delivers the instructions with a southern drawl. Fucks around with it because he can. “So first, you have to walk around the theater three times.”

“Okay.”

“Backwards.” That’s definitely not part of the procedure, but oh well. Steve doesn’t have to know that.

Steve scoffs, shaking his head. “Yeah, fuck that.”

“Sorry. I don’t make the rules, gorgeous.”

Except he does make the rules. Currently having way too much fun watching Steve squirm at the stupidity of it all. He’s quickly learning how easy it is to push Steve’s buttons. That shouldn’t be so thrilling for him but whoops. It is.

“Whatever.” Steve kicks a piece of gravel off the stage and sighs. “Then what?”

So he wants more? Eddie can do that. “You have spit on the ground to show your remorse.” 

“This is a bunch of shit.”

“I said spit, not shit.” Eddie leans into Steve’s ear, uses his studio voice, watches as Steve turns pink all over. He lowers the volume down to a whisper. “Try to keep up.”

“Asshole.” But there’s a grin plastered all over Steve’s face as he grumbles. Eddie’s chest is fizzing, total carbonated joy inside him knowing that Steve is a vicious little monster, just like him.

He shoos Steve off to complete the reversal process. Sits on the edge of the stage, legs dangling over the rim, fingers fidgeting with a thread on his jeans.

He’s so smug, watching the prettiest boy on the planet become the grumpiest goofball. Steve might look like an angel, but he has the aura of a full-bred Pomeranian left in the rain.

“I’m making a new rule!” Steve shouts from the back of the theater. 

“How ambitious of you!”

Eddie swears he can hear Steve growling in response, which fuck, that shouldn’t be such an adorably hot combo. But Eddie pictures the curve of Steve’s upper lip as he snarls and the zigzag of his arched eyebrows, and that’s exactly what it is. Hot. Adorable. Sensational.

Steve Harrington is a game of Mad Libs. Every adjective, every word that invokes head rushes and heart flutters, they’re all about him.

“As I was saying before you rudely mocked me,” Steve is in Eddie’s peripherals now, still stepping backwards. Toe to heel, hands loosely in his pants pockets. Not fair that he can make walking backwards look slick and cool. The nerve, the gall. “My new rule is that I get to ask you a question each time I get to the front.”

Eddie pulls one knee up to his chest, lets his chin rest over top of it. “Well then... ask away, o’ cursed one.”

Steve stops at the front of the stage. He doesn’t turn all the way around or start walking forward again. He turns just enough to look at Eddie. Focusing on him.

The sudden attention to Eddie’s face gets him all stuffy. He tries to hide the color that’s surely settled on his cheeks by digging one side of his face into his kneecap. It’s a dopey move. Too bashful, even for him.

“Alright.” Steve says. “How do you know so much about theater?”

An easy question with an easy answer. Relief surges through Eddie. “Most voice actors start out as stage actors. Not always, but a lot of us do. Gotta start somewhere, ya know?”

“Yeah. I know.” Steve nods, and continues with his second lap.

Once his footsteps are far away enough for Eddie to think properly, it dawns on him - they’re getting to know each other. Like authentic people would do.

Like… an actual date.

Shit, it’s been so long since someone in this artificial fucktown has wanted to know things about Eddie beyond hookups and screenames. A genuine moment was right in front of him, and he almost missed it.

That sobers him up. Eddie shoves away his need to Cause Chaos and accepts the sincerity. Gives it right back to Steve. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“How did the modeling gig start?”

“Agents found my instagram again.” Steve replies. “Liked my pictures enough to offer me some shitty jobs to build up my resume. The usual story these days.”

“Right.” 

Eddie can’t fathom being that attractive. So attractive that people seek him out. 

Different worlds is an understatement. Different realms is more like it.

“Next question.” Steve says, arriving to the front again. “Would you rather visit the beach or the mountains?”

Eddie has to think about that one for a minute. He doesn’t take many vacations, can’t afford to on a single artist’s income.

But he remembers a trip to Colorado that he took as a teenager. Vaguely recalls not appreciating any of the landscapes because he was too busy texting his new girlfriend during the whole damn trip.

“The mountains.” Eddie answers, just as Steve begins to walk again. “The Rockies and I have some… unfinished business, if you will.”

Steve chuckles. “Sounds like there’s a story behind that.”

“Definitely.”

“Maybe I’ll get to hear it sometime.”

“If you want.” Eddie says, beaming at the implication. 

Steve’s footsteps stop. “Like I said on the phone, Eddie. Hearing you talk is...” The Earth feels silent. But the tension in Eddie’s ears is audible. “Well… I'm into it, I guess.”

Eddie has to switch knees to ease the thump in his dick. “And is Steve Harrington a mountain man or a beach bum?” 

“Depends on the season.”

“Such a diplomatic answer.” Such a vague answer too, Eddie thinks. 

“Okay. Last question.” Steve arrives at the front, shorter of breath than he was the first two laps. He hesitates for a second, then takes a couple of steps towards Eddie. “All those tattoos you have… did getting them done hurt?”

“Like a bitch.” Eddie bunches up his shirt to show off the sleeve of ink he has on his left arm. Took years for it to look this intricate. This complete. He’ll never get tired of staring at it. “Why? Itching to get one or something?”

“Nah. Never got the appeal of putting yourself through hours of pain or whatever.”

“It’s all about the art. The memories. The stories.” Eddie stretches out his bent knee. Lets it drop back down, relaxing into his explanation. “All of those things stitched into designs that I get to admire every damn day for the rest of my life.”

“Art, huh?” Steve takes a few steps closer, close enough to touch.

“What can I say?” Eddie is shamelessly studying the specks in Steve’s eyes. How all the colors blend and separate the closer he gets. Can hear himself grinning as he speaks. “I’m a big fan of gazing at pretty things.”

He’s so tempted to reach out, pull Steve in. Have him straddle his waist while they taste each other for hours.

But he’s still mooning over those eyes - the ones that deserve myths and legends to be told about them for ages. Centuries. Whichever is longer.

“Um.” Steve’s voice snaps Eddie out of his spell. “So… spit?”

“Sorry what?”

“The curse.” Steve says. “I’m supposed to spit on the ground, yeah?”

“Right, yeah. Uh huh.”  Eddie rambles, still internally choking on the fact that Steve just said spit to him. In public.

Steve backs away, puts some space between them. He begins making this nasty, gravelly side with his mouth. His jaw sags slightly as he does it, the lump in his throat bobbing the whole time. 

Eddie gawks, fully unable to look away while Steve swishes the spit around. Filling one cheek, then the other. He’s getting harder with every noise, every swish.

All at once, Steve forcefully hocks the stream of spit onto the ground. It goes diagonally, lands way closer to Eddie than he was expecting. Gets some goddamn distance, which makes Eddie’s eyes roll back. He’s pretty sure he lets out a wobbly ‘fuck’ at how obscene it all looks.

Steve wanders back over, avoids stepping in the wet mess he made on the ground. He places a hand on Eddie’s knee, works his way up the rough edges of denim.

Eddie’s vision is still spotty from what he just witnessed, so he decides to talk until everything clears up. Steve is into that right? The talking bullshit?

“There’s one more step to complete this.” Eddie watches the blurry outline of Steve’s hand rubbing his thigh, slowly blinking the image into full focus.

“And what’s that?” Steve’s voice is low, eyes fixed on Eddie’s mouth.

“You gotta…” Eddie licks his lip. Places a hand over top of Steve’s. Moving where it moves. Going where it goes. Buys himself some time to get the words straightened out. “You gotta kiss the nearest sewer rat loser.”

“And if I don’t do that?” Steve leans in till their noses touch. “Then what? The curse won’t be broken?”

Eddie nods. Only able to give a thin ‘mhmm’ in reply. He wraps two fingers around Steve’s wrist, the hand that's still trailing heat along his thigh. Needs to press against the pulse there, feel it jump. Spike.

Steve is so quiet. So controlled compared to his pulse. “Can’t have that then, can we?”

His lips part, hovering over Eddie’s mouth. The kiss starts out like that. Lips treading, only meeting between breaths. Neither of them pushing for more than seconds of warm contact, brief and sweet. 

That is until Steve’s free hand starts twisting into Eddie’s shirt, tugging him along by the soft fabric. Eddie sinks forward, dives fully into the kiss. He holds his breath or maybe it just gets caught in his lungs from how good it all feels. How Steve touches him like he's captured. How Steve kisses him like he’s dessert.

Eddie can't help but smush their lips together, forcing their faces closer than faces can scientifically be. He hears the wet smack of their tongues echoing underneath the amphitheater, waking his lungs the fuck up. Lets out the weakest sigh, hopes most of the sound gets trapped between Steve’s lips. 

Oh god, his lips. They’re fuller than Eddie’s, puffier now from kissing this hard. He wants to squish them around with his fingers, push them into pout so he can suck on them. Turn them nice and red. Eddie gets his hands tangled in Steve’s hair, knots them up enough to resist the lip-squishing temptation that’s burning him up inside.

“Here.” Steve exhales, hooks one of Eddie’s legs around his waist. 

That… okay, fuck. That’s so hot, so unexpectedly assertive and right. Eddie takes the hint, wraps his other leg around Steve. The heel of his scuffed boots is digging into Steve’s ass, not too hard, but enough to earn a dirty whine out of Steve. He pushes them together, clothes rubbing back and forth, scratching loudly. Muffles their mouth noises though.

“Can we…” Eddie wants to move this elsewhere, anywhere less public. He’s so fucking selfish for that. Needs to swallow every sound Steve makes, secure every expression with a lock. Nobody else should be allowed to see Steve like this besides Eddie.

He lets one hand unravel from Steve’s hair, glides down to the collar of Steve’s tank top. He yanks the material lower, presses his lips against the new area of exposed skin. Sips and sucks over that spot, claims it like he could extract a piece of Steve’s soul if he sucks hard enough.

“Yeah, fuck yeah.” Steve responds, whimpering into the top of Eddie’s hair. Not entirely clear if he’s saying that out of pleasure, or agreeing with Eddie that they should relocate, but whatever. It's all too good to overthink the meaning.

Eddie unhooks his legs and kisses the deep purple mark he just made. Too fucking proud how easily the color spreads into reddish tones around the edges. 

His vision goes fuzzy again as he stands upright, has to blink away all the white specks of dizzy lust. Eddie offers a hand to Steve, but there’s no damn point for that. Steve is already hopping up onto the stage, makes it look effortless. Cool as shit.

“Follow me.” Steve grabs the crook of Eddie’s forearm, pulling him into the forested scenery.

As if there were any need for Steve to request that. Eddie Munson would follow Steve into the sketchiest alleyway of Hell, if it meant they could kiss like that some more.

They duck underneath a few tree limbs, weave through the maze of green. A few leaves get into Eddie’s mouth, but he hardly notices anything besides the dent that Steve’s fingernail is leaving in his arm. It would make the sickest crescent moon tattoo, inked and perfectly shaped. 

Damnit, Eddie’s thoughts are getting more fucked the deeper they hide. Steve slams Eddie against the trunk of a large tree. He realizes with the thud on his back that it’s plywood, not tree bark. Doesn’t care one bit if his shirt tears from the nails jutting out. Cares even less if he gets splinters from the slow grinding of their hips, hitching his shirt up further with every thrust.

“These are sexy.” Steve tugs at Eddie’s empty belt loop. Didn’t need an actual belt with how suffocating they are. “But they’ve gotta go. If that’s cool.”

“Get them the hell out of here.” Eddie is subconsciously thanking Chrissy for suggesting these stupid pants. She’ll be insufferable when he tells her about the jean's success rate. But right now? Worth it.

Anything seems worth it to have Steve popping the button out, ripping the zipper down. He’s so focused on getting these pants off that his forehead wrinkles, little beads of sweat gathering on his temples. 

Eddie can’t resist any longer, not after seeing Steve equally covered in desperation. He palms the front of Steve’s pants, wants to give him some relief for this valiant jean-removing effort.

“Steve.” Eddie huffs, brushes his lips over Steve’s ear. “You have no idea how much I’ve thought about this.” He bites over the skin, nibbling carefully with the tip of his teeth.

It must tickle because Steve laughs while shrugging the jeans lower, boxers going with them. 

“So tell me then.” He kisses Eddie. It’s harsh, mostly panting into his mouth. Steve sinks to the floor and looks up. “Keep talking.”

This. This goddamn view. Eddie wasn’t expecting to get a view of Steve on his knees tonight. Wasn’t expecting his head to go limp, looking up at Eddie the way he eyefucked the camera on the day they first met. 

Only difference is, Steve’s not acting - not pretending to be needy.

He just is. He’s all of those coy and sinful things, exclusively for Eddie this time.

“Spit in my hand.” Steve stretches his hand up towards Eddie’s chin - gives him those big, midnight eyes that could make dormant volcanoes erupt instantly. Defy physics, end climate change. 

Eddie doesn’t use brain cells anymore, just does what he’s told. He gathers enough spit in his mouth, then watches it trickle out. Pooling in the center of Steve’s hand. It’s gross, sure. But also, it’s the hottest thing he’s ever done. 

Gross and hot. Those sensations are fucking synonymous right now.

“Tell me, Eddie.” Steve gets his fingers around Eddie’s cock, the warm wetness makes it twitch in his hold. Apparently, no part of Eddie’s anatomy can believe this is really happening, not even his dick.

“Uh-”

“You said you’ve thought about it.”

“Lots.”

“So tell me while I get you off.”

“Oh.. god, okay.” And Eddie is good at that. Talking nonstop. Revealing all of his filthy secrets when asked so politely. He did it last night, slipped into his darker persona with ease so Steve could feel good.

But that’s just it, isn’t it? Eddie would say a flurry of fuckery for Steve Harrington’s approval. Get him to come until he shakes because Eddie wants that. Wants Steve to feel like liquid gold dripping between his fingers. Wants Steve to bend and break under his words and touch.

Talking dirty to get himself off is new territory. Eddie is a perpetual giver, loves being that way most of the time. Especially for someone as spectacular as Steve.

“Go ahead, babe.” Steve urges, licks the muscle of Eddie’s inner thigh till it tightens.

Right, he can do this. Even if he is short of breath. Eddie can be as confident as he was last night while Steve strokes him. “Thought about you since the commercial production.”

It’s a start. He bites his lip and keeps going. “All I could think about was… fuck. Opening you up. Leaving my fingerprints on your hips.”

“What else?” Steve purrs, working Eddie roughly with his spit-slick fingers. Sounds just as ruined as Eddie does.

“Wanted to fuck you in my lap.” Eddie pauses to moan, chest falling hard. He gets another glimpse of Steve’s hand on him, picking up the pace. A tempo so delicious that it shuts off Eddie’s judgment skills. His mouth running wild. “Let you ride me just like that. Use me till your legs go weak.”

Steve huffs out a laugh. His grip gets a little firmer, loosening up between strokes. Makes a fucking pattern out of it, has Eddie craving it. Needs more.

“And what if I wanted to fuck you, huh?” Steve’s question hits his ears like a whip. Cracking every nerve in Eddie’s body.

“I’d let you.” And it’s true, so very true. Eddie’s mouth is still going rogue, uttering truths like he’s on trial. Ready to testify all his desires to Steve. Sign his name on the dotted fucking line. “You could wreck me any way you want, sweetheart.”

Eddie seems to have found the secret words to Steve’s wild side. He’s taking Eddie down his throat, almost too fast. So fast that drool forms at the corners of his stretched lips, mouth gurgling already.

Eddie is swearing, not even real words half the time - just moans that sound explicit enough to get bleeped out on public access television. One hand goes over his own mouth while the other keeps combing through Steve’s hair.

It’s so damp now, sticking out erratically at the sides. Eddie curls a few strands over his thumb, watches the color drain from his finger. So demented, so good.

Steve is taking his cock so damn well, so Eddie tells him. Truly, all that he’s capable of is sex-drunk praise. Letting Steve know how gorgeous he is, how bruised his throat will be from sucking this much cock, how swollen and sore his lips look at this angle.

Eddie can’t stop because every phrase makes Steve get messier. Whining and whimpering each time he pulls off. Looking up at Eddie before taking him in again. Getting louder. Loud enough that sidewalk pedestrians definitely could hear him if they linger nearby for too long.

Eddie's knees buckle as he gets close. Doesn't have the energy to straighten back out, let alone warn Steve that he’s about to come. None of that seems to matter though. Steve nods twice, still bobbing around Eddie, like he just knows. Knows Eddie is there and is fucking willing to work him through it.

“Holy fuck, Steve.” Which yeah, Eddie gets it. Uttering someone’s name while he comes in their mouth is a little tacky and cliche. But saying it is involuntary, totally out of his control. Truthfully, Eddie relinquished all control to Steve hours ago.

Steve swallows, cleans Eddie with a few swipes of his overworked tongue like it’s nothing. No problamo. Like that’s the only way to handle the aftermath of an orgasm. In the most delightful way, or whatever musical shit Mary Poppins sings about. 

He gives the laziest, dreamiest grin as Eddie collapses down to his level. Both of them heaving, kissing with aching lungs. 

“Fucking fantastic.” Eddie whispers, brushes his knuckles over Steve’s pink-stained cheeks. Hopes his rings don’t hurt too much, absently forgetting how chunky they are.

Steve leans into the small touch. “Glad to hear it.”

“You’re fantastic.” Eddie clarifies. Means it more than any superstition he’s ever heard in his life.

He’s more than ready to get his hands all over Steve, make him come until he faints. But Steve is adamant that he’s chills with waiting. Says he actually enjoys the buildup from staying horny for hours and hours. Mentions something about that being a new discovery that he wants to explore. 

With Eddie. 

Steve fucking Harrington wants to explore new sides of himself with Eddie. That sends him reeling. Smitten and spiraling.

“Are sure?” Eddie paws at Steve’s hard-on, ready to jump in and save the day via orgasm.

“Very sure.” He lifts Eddie's hand away, snickering as he lays a quick kiss on each finger.  “I like being around you. That’s not gonna change overnight.”

“Like being around you too, Steve.” He takes Steve’s face into his hands, smushes it back and forth until Steve smiles. “Crazy about it, actually.”

The sun is low, barely any light left in the sky. But as Eddie holds Steve’s face, watching him smile, he notices that Steve is glowing. Not beaming, actually glowing. Even through the dimness of sky and the shadows formed by tree limbs, Eddie can see all of Steve’s features.

How is that possible?

They each look up and see it. Taking it in, this mysterious glow.

“Wow.” They say in unison, almost matching pitch. Matching levels of disbelief too.

Between the branches and leaves, they are tiny lights. Floating, orb-like lights. The brightness shining off of them is warm, soft on the eyes. They’re scattered high over the forested backdrop, orange and yellow hues twinkling against rich greens. 

Enchanting is the only word to describe this new addition. Incredibly and unbelievably enchanting.

“Set designer really popped off with this cover shoot, I guess.” Steve throws the theory out there, barely sounds like he believes it himself.

Eddie rubs his eyes. His voice comes out hushed, doesn’t really mean for it to but it does anyways. “Steve… those aren’t attached to anything. No strings, no wires. They’re just-”

“Floating?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Be serious, dude.”

And Eddie is. Completely serious. No jokes or snarky replies in his system right now. He points to the nearest light, then back at Steve. “You broke the curse, right?”

“Apparently.” Steve shrugs.

“So maybe Thespis is showing his forgiveness.”

“Who the hell is Thespis?” Steve pinches the skin between his eyes and groans - acting like Eddie’s hypothesis is giving him a migraine. Honestly, it might be. Wouldn’t be the first time Eddie worked someone up to the point of desperately needing tylenol.

He switches tactics, nuzzles into Steve’s shoulder with his nose. Attempts to lighten the mood with at least one joke in these trying times of bad luck and headaches. “Or he’s giving us his blessing for copulating on his holy grounds.”

The lights answer, flaring out all around them. They pulsate for a minute, maybe two, before returning back to their normal glow. Eddie tucks in a grin because Steve’s gorgeous little head looks like it’s about to detonate off of his gorgeous little body. So if he smiles right now, Steve will undoubtedly explode on this very flammable set piece.

Which would be a wicked awesome way to die. Post-orgasm, then up in flames. But alas, they have dinner reservations. It would be rude not to show up.

Really, it’s no surprise to Eddie that the ghost of theater is into partial voyeurism, signaling his approval with twinkling lights. Semi-public sex probably classifies as its own unique strand of performing art in Ancient Greece.

Or the dead dude is just into taboo stuff. 

If so, good for him. You do you, Thespis.

“Look.” Steve says, standing up. “Maybe it’s… an optical illusion.”

“Or magic.”

Steve lets out a deep sigh and offers his hand to Eddie. Pulls him up in one swift motion. Doesn’t let go of his hand afterward either. “How about we drop it and go get some dinner?”

Typically, Eddie is all about a verbal bloodbath. But Steve laces their fingers together, connects them in a way that has Eddie forgetting all about his need to be right. 

“Consider it dropped.”

The lights flicker out as they walk further away from the stage. And as they get into Eddie’s car, they go out entirely. Steve flicks on the radio, defaults to the classic rock station, which is playing “Magic” by The Cars.

“It’s a sign.” Eddie sings to the tune, poking a finger at Steve.

“Just drive, you big dork.” Steve swats him away, placing a hand on Eddie’s thigh while he drives. He turns up the volume, surprisingly knows every lyric by heart. Belts them out. Full on screams the parts he likes best.

Which Eddie totally can relate to. He wants to scream about all the parts he likes best about Steve. About their date that’s not even finished yet.

On their way to dinner, Eddie avoids the cracks on the sidewalk. On the drive home, he taps the roof of his car whenever he makes it through a yellow light at an intersection.

And when he drops Steve off at his apartment precisely at 11:11pm, he doesn’t say a damn word. Keeps his mouth shut, only opens it to kiss Steve goodbye (with tongue, obviously).

Sure, it’s just a dumb superstition, Eddie can admit that to himself.

But tonight… it feels like more than that.

More than a coincidence.

More than a good omen.

He sends a ‘got home safely’ text to Steve as he pulls into his designated parking spot. Totally obsessed with how fast Steve texts him back, it’s too fucking cute.

Steve: glad :) had a great time btw

Eddie: really?

Steve: yes *really*

Eddie: i had a great time too

He quickly taps the voice-record button before Steve can respond:

“Actually,” Eddie sneers. Uses the voice that Steve goes crazy for. “I had a magical time.”

Steve: ugh

Eddie: ;)

[chelseeebe]

gasoline.

so this was supposed to be like a the bear au and then i just got carried away and now it’s just whatever the hell this is lmao it’s been sitting in my docs since july and i thought it finally needed to see the light of day :)

this is two parts in one bc i hate doing two seperate parts but it’s highlighted where p1 ends and p2 begins

wc: 12k+ oops

‎♡‧₊˚

Look, the sleazy, deteriorating walls of Frank’s had never been his idea of a dream. But flunking high school and a failed band had meant limited this is where he’d ended up. Running the line at the frankly failing restaurant was more like his idea of hell but it paid the bills and with a solid team of other degenerates, meant that it wasn’t all that bad. 

Well, that was until the devil incarnate came along. And by devil incarnate he means you. 

Eddie couldn’t grasp why someone of your stature would ever take a job at such a shitty restaurant, with your fancy knives and kitchen lingo that really meant nothing to him, why wouldn’t you look for something else? Something better?

You’d ended up here because… well, despite going to culinary school, getting the big job after you had graduated and doing everything by the book so to speak, you’d missed that burning passion that could only be found in the shittiest, dirtiest kitchens. 

Well that, and the fact you’d been let go. But that wasn’t relevant. 

“Honey, I’ve been here for years, I really don’t give a shit about anything you’ve gotta say,” flapping his arms around at your suggestion of maybe washing his hands when he got back in from smoking, “Helen never had a problem with it, so why do you?”

“First off, I have asked you not to call me honey or whatever other stupid pet name you wanna give me… it’s chef,” brows furrowed, the rest of the kitchen pretending not to listen to your latest bickering, “and secondly, Helen is gone, so whatever rules she implemented mean nothing now, okay? You wash your hands when you come back in or… or…” struggling to come up with a suitable punishment. 

“Or.. or what?” he mocks, turning to his colleagues for a little backup, “you gonna fire me? ‘Cause I’d love to see you try,” refusing to back down. 

It was the principle, you see. Eddie really would’ve had no issue with washing his hands if literally anyone other than you had asked. He was positively fuming that you had just flounced in here and started laying down a bunch of bullshit rules that no other soul had cared about in his five years working here. Not only that, you’d beaten him to the head chef role. He was certain that he was a shoe in the second Helen announced that she was moving on. Only to walk in one morning to your grinning face, your uniform crisply ironed and this certain energy only Eddie had seemed to sense.

You sigh, you never liked to be the first one to resign after an argument but Eddie was relentless and would’ve kept at it all day if you didn’t, “Just wash your hands.. chef,” it was entirely too busy to spend all day going back and forth with the man child. 

“Say please and I’ll think about it,” he’s smirking now, knowing he’s got you exactly where he wanted you. 

“Please,” you frown, hand firmly on your hip as you stare back at him. You felt pathetic begging for the tiniest bit of respect in your damn kitchen but it was simply the only way to get him to cooperate. 

“See, that wasn’t so hard was it?” he goads, brushing against your shoulder as he makes his way to the sink, the rest of the kitchen is in complete silence, watching and waiting to see how this one would end. 

You readjust your collar, pressing your lips together in a firm line, choosing to ignore his childish remark. There would come a day that he’d regret every horrid thing he’d said to you and maybe that day wasn’t today but it would come and you could not wait. 

-

It’s another month of butting heads with the long-haired prick before things come totally to a head. His inability to just follow simple orders had you at wits end, because Eddie truly believed that he knew better. A suggestion to add thyme to the mash potatoes had caused all out war in the kitchen. 

“No, we add rosemary… not fuckin’ thyme,” he spits, aggressively stiring the pot, his back to you, guarding his precious dish from your grabby hands.

“And I’m saying to add both- actually no, I’m not saying, I’m telling,” grabbing the container of thyme and attempting to sprinkle it into the pan, “move out of the way, that’s an order.” 

“Oooo,” he mocks, knuckles turning white from his grip on the handle, “An order.. I’m so scared,” chuckling as he blocks you from reaching over his shoulder, “why d’you think you know better, huh? You don’t know shit about this restaurant, we’ve done it my way for years and that’s not gonna change now.” 

“Because I’m the fucking chef and I know better than you,” finally snapping at the man, slamming the container down onto the stainless steel countertop, “move. now,” you bark, widening your eyes as he twists around to meet yours, you could feel the disgust radiating from his glare. 

“No.” 

You huff, wanting nothing more than to wrap his fucking ponytail around your hand and slam his head into the worktop, “Step out chef,” a simple order that you thought was far more gracious than he deserved.

His mouth falls open, still gripping onto the now-overworked potatoes, “What the fuck?” frantically flailing for some comradery from his fellow workers, it seemed that they’d all fallen into place, no longer the bunch of grimy assholes he once knew. 

“Step out,” you persist, teeth gritted as you stand strong on your order, tilting your chin to meet his harrowing gaze. Eddie didn’t frighten you per say, but he was intimidating and if it came down to it, you probably weren’t going to be the one to win that fight. 

“Fuck this,” he exclaims, slamming the pan down onto the stove top with a loud bang before storming off out of the fire escape door, not before grabbing his cigarettes from the shelf you’d repeatedly told him not to keep them on. 

There’s now mash potato all over the hob that would probably need some extensive scrubbing and would ensure that your kitchen would absolutely reek of the stuff all night. If you could have it your way, you’d have made him scrub the entire oven with a dang toothbrush until you could see your face in the metal. 

You squeeze your eyes shut, feeling your cheeks burn as the rest of the kitchen watches on in utter amazement, even the old, hardened chefs had taken to your ways even if it had taken a little bit of pushing. There was no understanding as to why he couldn’t just listen, just shut up and get on with his job without trying to constantly argue and bite back. Maybe because you were a woman? You were younger than him? Or maybe it was simply because someone was finally up to the job of challenging him and he hated that fact. 

Whatever it was, it was getting on your last nerve. 

Eddie wasn’t by any means a bad chef, he was innovative and knew how to make shit taste good, he was just incapable of accepting that maybe his way of doing things wasn’t the only way. 

You smooth your clammy palms down your apron, nodding at Tina. A subtle way of telling her to carry on and take charge while you dealt with the pathetic man outside. 

The door slams as you step outside, looking around the dark alley for the man, following the trail of smoke to his slouched position around the corner. Now, this was the difficult part, you weren’t really looking to fire him but what choice did you have if he couldn’t just accept that you were his boss now. 

“Have you calmed down?” breaking the silence, fingernails pressed into your palm leaving tiny crescent moon indentations. 

You never were one for confrontation. 

He scoffs, refusing to look in your direction as he puffs on the cigarette, “I’m calm.. are you calm?”

Even now, he couldn’t just smile and nod, always had to say something else, “I’m calm,” swallowing the saliva that had gathered in your mouth, “do you want to work here?”  

“Nobody wants to work here, shit- even you don’t wanna be here,” chuckling to himself, smoke falling from his lips. 

“Yes I do. Do you? Because I can help you if you don’t, trust me I am not scared to just let you go.” 

He chews on the inside of his cheek, tossing the cigarette to the ground before finally meeting your gaze, “you’re firing me?” 

“No,” relaxing your shoulders, “but I need to know that you want to work here. That you aren’t going to keep arguing with me about stupid shit because I truly do not have the energy for it anymore,” watching as his expression falls, at a stretch you’d say he looks remorseful but that could very well just be the moonlight reflecting on his face, granting him more grace than he deserved. 

The alley falls into silence, the only sounds being that of the bustling city around you and Tina’s faint voice barking instructions inside the kitchen. 

His eyes avert to the concrete, with a pained expression he breaks the silence, “I do… wanna work here,” it’s like that tiny sentence caused him physical pain to get out. 

“Good,” you nod, his words may mean nothing but it’s a relief to finally hear that he gives somewhat of a shit about this place running smoothly, “Eddie, for what it’s worth, I think you’re a really good chef… but even the best chefs have to take orders sometimes and you are no exception to that.”

Eddie untenses his jaw for what must be the first time in ten years, that tiny bit of affirmation was exactly what he was looking for, “...thank you,” he turns his head towards yours, “I think you’re… you’re an okay chef,” the tiniest traces of a smile on his face as he pushes himself from the rough brick.

Your eyes roll instinctively but you’re not mad, for once, “get back inside,” waving him off towards the door without turning to look at him. 

Taking the moment to gather yourself and your thoughts. Who knew if Eddie had meant what he said or if it was even going to change anything but it had definitely meant something. It wasn’t a burning desire of yours to come in and be the new evil boss in fact, it was the very opposite of what you’d pictured. There just wasn’t much lee-way when you were given a team of stubborn assholes that had gotten far too used to slacking off. 

Frank’s could really become something if everyone wanted it and were willing to put in the effort required to get there. Sure, you probably weren’t going to earn a Michelin star but you were sure you could make it worthy of something. 

-

Eddie had mostly kept to his word. Finally washing his hands and keeping his hair out of his face, even if you had had to nag at him a little. There wasn’t as much kick back as before. Sure, he’d roll his eyes and huff and puff but he’d actually do it. 

It’s another Saturday night, you’re not so busy but enough to keep you on your toes. Just longing for the moment you collapsed into your bed and didn’t have to think about this place until Monday morning. 

Eddie sidles up to where you’re working, going over the rota for the next two weeks. Weighing up if waking up at the ass crack of dawn was actually worth all this. 

“So I was thinking..” 

“Uh oh,” you add, snapping the book shut before turning to him, he’s hopeful. Well, that or he’s about to say the dumbest thing you’ve ever heard. 

“Yeah great thanks.. so I was thinking, it’s getting warmer, right? I think we should put sandwiches on the menu, and not just boring old sandwiches.. like, like good ones,” his vocabulary is limited but you get what he means. 

You ponder for a moment, staring into his wide, optimistic eyes. It was a good idea to be fair to him, you just weren’t sure if you had the time to conjure up a whole new sandwich menu on top of everything else on your plate. 

“Okay, I actually think that’s a great idea,” you two were civil, not exactly the best buds but you think maybe now you could trust him. “If you can come up with some ideas and make them for me.. I’ll think about it.” 

His grin is infectious as it spreads across his face, “I got you… what are you thinking? Something with chicken or..” fishing for ideas. 

You throw your hands up, a shadow of a smile on your lips, “that is entirely up to you, okay?” 

He nods knowingly, slowly backing away, eager to get started on his first individual project since your arrival. 

“I’m trusting you with this!” you holler after him, getting back to the mess of a rota in front of you. 

“Yes boss,” he calls back from somewhere in the kitchen, “I mean chef,” catching himself. 

Your heart warms a little. Maybe your lectures hadn’t gone so unnoticed after all? 

-

No matter how hard you stare at the screen, willing for something to magically appear, it doesn’t. The line marker blinking at you, taunting you, pleading with you to just write something. Anything!

There’s a quiet wrapping of knuckles against the door causing your head to fly up, finding a surprisingly clean Eddie standing in the doorway.

“Hi,” spinning your chair slightly, “shit, sorry I forgot to say you’re good to go, I’ll see you tomorrow,” flashing him a tight lipped smile. 

“Oh no… most of ‘em have already gone,” vaguely motioning to the now empty kitchen, “uh… a few of us were gonna grab a drink and wondered if you’d wanna join us?” He resembles a shy child, fingers tapping along the battered door frame. 

“Oh!” you must’ve sounded shocked as his eyebrows travel up his forehead in surprise, getting invited out by your crew had just.. never really happened before, “I’m sorry, I actually can’t tonight,” pointing at the blank word document, “the menu is due next week and I uh- I have nothing but you guys have fun,” shooing him off. 

It was a Thursday night and you couldn’t think of anything worse than waking up tomorrow with a blinding hangover. 

“You need help with that menu shit? I mean, my sandwiches are a hit so.. maybe I could help?” placing his jacket on the old cabinet in the corner, prepared to help no matter what you replied. 

You’re not exactly in the position to say no to help at this point.. 

“I mean.. yeah, if you can think of six amazing, brilliant, showstopping new dishes then be my guest because I sure as shit can’t,” unintentionally coming off a little rude. 

It’s just frustrating, the first big step you were taking for this restaurant and you were still somehow managing to fuck it up

“Okay, what’ve you got?” he peers over your shoulder at the blank screen, “ah, right,” he sucks his teeth, “not great.” 

“No.. no it’s not,” slouching down the chair, “I’m completely fucked,” pushing the loose strands of hair from your forehead. 

“You’re not completely fucked- not yet,” dragging the spare chair around to the other side of the desk, “I’m sure we can think of something tonight,” pulling the laptop closer to him. 

You smile at him, grateful for his positivity even if it was fake. 

The pair of you throw some shoddy ideas back and forth for a half hour. None of them good enough to make it to the word document, instead getting scribbled onto a ripped out page from your notebook. 

“I am fucked, aren’t I?” you frown, rubbing your sleepy eyes. 

He chuckles softly, “nah.. there’s some good stuff here,” running his finger down the messy list. 

You feel completely vulnerable with him here, it might have been the lack of sleep or just the fact that you appreciated his presence so much but you foolishly begin to let your thoughts wander. 

“I just feel like I’m fuu-,” immediately regretting opening your mouth, “no, you know what? Doesn’t matter,” you look at the clock on the wall signalling that it had gone well past midnight, “you should get going, it’s late,” pretending to scroll on the still-bare document. 

“No, what were you gonna say?” 

You keep your eyes on the screen, tapping your foot against the leg of the chair, “I said it doesn’t matter.” 

“It obviously does,” he pushes, egging you on. 

You take a sharp intake of breath to signal that you weren’t willing to go any further with this. Why couldn’t he just fucking drop it?

“Oh my God, you started this conversation and now you don’t wanna finish it,” frustrated that it had seemed like you were finally beginning to seem like you were somewhat human, he grabs his discarded jacket, rolling his eyes as he starts to exit the office. 

“I’m scared I’m not doing a good job… you all obviously care about this place and I’ve just come in here and ruined it,” biting down onto your bottom lip, “and as much as you all pretend to like me, I know you don’t and- and that’s fine,” you shrug, exasperated with the weight of a thousand bricks hanging onto your shoulders, “I don’t care about being liked, I just want this restaurant to work but it feels like I can’t even do that,” slumping forward, confounded and slightly in shock that the first person you’d spilled all of this to was fucking Eddie.

“I do like you,” he says quietly, stopping in his tracks, throwing his jacket back down, “everyone does… you’re making this restaurant better,” rejoining you at the desk, “we’re all just stubborn and mean so no one’s told you but you’re doing good,” a reassuring smile overcoming his lips, his hand wavers, unsure of whether to reach out to touch your shoulder or if that was a step too far. 

He flops back into the chair and you offer him a genuine smile for his words. It was really all you could muster without starting to cry. Coming into an already established restaurant with new ideas and ways of working was never easy but to be met with such pushback from him had made it even harder. So to now have him say in front of you, telling you that what you’re doing is right, well it meant the world. 

“Thank you,” you mouth, blinking earnestly as you flip the laptop lid shut, it was too late and you were far too tired to even try to continue. “That really means a lot from you,” attempting to turn your vulnerability into a joke. 

“I mean it, though,”scooting closer on the chair, “I just enjoy arguing with you too much to admit it.” 

You roll your eyes playfully, that much was true, he definitely enjoyed getting under your hair and pissing you off as much as he could. 

“We should go, it’s super late and I’ve got all day tomorrow to do this,” sliding the pen into the pot, feeling his eyes still boring into the side of your face. 

You stand from your seat, expecting him to follow but he stays firmly planted in his chair. Hand reaching out to grab your wrist as you grab your bag. Jolting away as you’re not expecting the sudden contact. 

He swallows, standing up before deciding whether to just fuck it or if this was about to get him fired. You’re blissfully unaware that this internal battle was even happening until his hand is on your cheek, tilting your chin upwards before closing the distance between your bodies, smashing his lips to yours. 

Oh shit. 

It takes a second for your brain to process what was happening but you don’t.. dislike it. He tastes like cigarettes and coffee, sliding his tongue into your parted mouth with a quickness. 

Leaning into the kiss, your hands hesitantly coming to rest on his shoulders. You’re taken aback by how easy it feels, moving together just right. The small of your back crashes into the rigid desk, pulling you out of the kiss and back into reality. Staring back at his darkened eyes with a slight bemused expression. 

“No.. not here,” squeezing his shoulder. His hand paused on your shirt button, getting ahead of himself. Maybe you had found yourself wanting to fuck Eddie but not here. You weren’t that stupid. 

His hand falls, swinging to his side, “oh.. you didn’t- did I fuck up?” still mere inches from your face, so close in fact, you could feel his breath on your flushed cheek. 

“No.. no, I just..” deciding to just bite the bullet and go for it, “do you wanna go back to my apartment? It’s not far,” blinded by the haze of lust that was filling the small room to the brim. 

His eyes grow wide, realising exactly what you meant, buzzing with impatience and excitement. “Yes.. yeah I’d love to,” his plump lips still wet with the remnants of your mouth. 

You nod, letting go of his shoulder to gather your things, and yourself, before pulling him out of the restaurant. Eddie is more than willing to leave his van in the parking lot, jumping into your car with an primal eagerness. 

The car journey is quiet and you wonder if this maybe wasn’t the best idea. What would everyone at work say? Maybe they didn’t have to know? This could be a one time thing and you’ll both just never mention it again. Well, you hope anyway. 

You think your head might just burst the second he walks into your apartment, somewhere you had never expected Eddie to ever appear. 

You’re quick to continue the abandoned kiss, not giving him any opportunity to make wise cracks about your apartment. It somehow felt easier if it was just mindless sex where you didn’t speak. 

Guiding him towards your bedroom because the couch felt just a tad too casual. His hands are everywhere, sneaking underneath your blouse and then back down into the waistband of your pants. You shove him backwards onto your bed, clambering on top quickly so as to not give him a chance to start speaking or to do anything stupid. 

Eddie’s obviously not keen on giving you the higher ground, gripping onto your waist and flipping the both of you so that he led on top. He’s got this devilish grin on his face that is so smug, you just want to slap it off of him. You chase the taste of his mouth with yours, becoming accustomed to the mixture of cigarettes and mint. God, you hope this doesn’t become a regular thing. 

He pulls away from you to gawp down the space between your bodies, mouth hung open, gasping for breath while his fingers skillfully unbutton your pants, pink tongue poking out to wet his lips, “woah… when the hell d’you get that?” staring at the black ink covering your thigh, a rose curling around the length of your flesh. 

A dumb decision you’d made the first week of culinary school. You felt out of place alongside the other chefs who were absolutely covered in tattoos and felt the need to join them. Except, you hadn’t exactly thought about it and just went along with the first thing the dodgy artist had suggested. He’d also quite purposely left out just how much such a large piece would fucking hurt, especially for a first tattoo. 

You join him in looking down at it, curling your lips in disgust, “when I was like… eighteen, it’s ugly and I hate it so thank you,” continuing your task of getting his jacket off, ignoring the fact that he was still ogling the inking and slightly starting to regret your decision to bring him here. 

“It’s fucking sick, what are you talking about?” he’s smirking, running his fingers along the thick lining as your pants hang around your knees, “I thought you were like… boring,” finding the hem of your lacy underwear and tugging on it. 

Your lips hover above his, eyes hooded as you glare at him, “can you just shut up before I regret everything and make you leave?”

He nods instantaneously, connecting your lips with a quickness, shaking his jacket off of his arm and onto the floor with a thud. Repositioning his knees to either side of your thighs, you’d done a good job of getting your shirt half-off, his fingers fiddling with the rest of the buttons as you break from his lips, leaving wet kisses along his stubbly jawline. 

“Holy fuck, you’re joking?” his eyes just about popping out of his head as your pierced nipples spill out of your bra. Another spontaneous teenage decision you hadn’t got round to getting rid of yet. 

His hand is immediately drawn to your exposed breast, full of pure glee, “you’re a dark horse, you know that right?” thumb running over the erect nipple as you fumble with his tattered old belt. 

Your mouth opens to protest his ogling but is quickly replaced with a soft gasp, his thumb working miracles on the sensitive bud. Head falling back against the pillow when his lips replace his thumb, licking and sucking on your nipple with a wicked grin. 

“Shit,” you moan, his growing erection rutting against your core, “can you- please hurry up,” it sounds strangled coming from your throat, embarrassed that you’ve completely melted into a pile of putty beneath him. If you’d have known that his mouth could be put to such good use, maybe you’d have tried this earlier. 

Thankfully, he takes the hint, leaving one last kitten lick to your chest before rushing to get his pants down. Kicking them off to the side somewhere, the clunk of his belt buckle hitting your bed frame on the way down. 

“Oh baby, that all for me?” remarking on your absolutely sodden underwear, hurriedly pulling them down your thighs, before using the same hand to position himself at your dripping entrance. 

You’re too desperate to think of anything smart to say back, knowing that if you opened your mouth you’d probably just start begging. 

His face mere inches from yours as he pushes himself inside, a groan from somewhere deep in his chest falls out, “Jesus Christ,” he stutters, willing himself not to cum right now. Sex is always better with someone you detested. Now why is that? 

Your arms loosely knot around his neck, intertwining your fingers with his hair, trying your utmost to hold eye contact as his hips begin to move. Slow at first, reaching the hilt before pulling back and sliding in, it’s excruciatingly slow and your legs tighten around his waist, begging for more. 

“Faster.. please Eddie,” whining as his pace quickens, eyes fluttering shut. 

“Yeah yeah.. yeah, say my name,” he blabbers, one hand sliding between your, thumb tapping against your swollen clit before rubbing tiny circles to the sensitive surface. 

“Shit,” you breathe, feeling incredibly full as his tip nudges against that soft, spongy spot. Your eyes squeeze shut, illuminated with an illustration of stars and white hot light. Your heart wasn’t eager to just adhere to his demands like that but shit, when he sounded this desperate, you couldn’t help it. 

Chanting his name like an oath in time with his thrusts. The filthy sounds of his balls slapping against your ass fills the room, accompanying the strained groans coming from his throat. It was far too late and your neighbours could surely hear every single thing. 

“Fuck,” he breathes and you can feel his hips stutter, “you gonna cum for me? Huh?” dropping his forehead to rest against yours. 

Your thighs squeeze around his torso at the words, feeling yourself grow closer to your impending orgasm. His thumb still expertly rubbing your clit, slow but deep thrusts as he nears his own end. Your brain too hazy to think coherently about anything as you tighten around him, overcome with the blinding pleasure of your orgasm. 

“Yesyesyes,” you garble, trembling as you come undone completely, back arching from the mattress which brings your bodies impossibly close. Tugging gently on his curls as a means of encouragement, not that he needed it. 

“Ohhh fuck yeah.. shit,” unable to stop himself in time, spurting thick ropes of cum inside of you. You’re too fucked out to truly think about the implications yet, still gasping for air as he pumps his cock a few measly times before pulling out and sitting up on his knees. 

His wild hair stuck to his moist forehead as he looms above, trying to catch his own breath between your knees. “I’m so sorry.. you’re not.. you can’t get pregnant, can you?” one hand coming to rest on your thigh. 

Your eyes roll on their own, accelerating back to Earth at an insane pace, “no,” reshuffling so you laid comfortably on the pillow, “but you can’t do that again,” glaring up at him without any realisation as to what you just said. 

“Again?” his brows raise, still poised between your legs, “there’s a next time?” 

You huff, turning on your side, away from Eddie and his stupid doe eyes and that ridiculous smirk. Reaching down to grab a shirt from your bedside table while he chuckles to himself. 

Ashamedly, your heart skips a beat when he slides in behind you, pressing his body into yours. You were losing it, and embarrassingly quickly too. Ah fuck. 

-

A hand snaking around your waist pulls you from your sleep and for a brief moment you start to think someone had broken in and decided to crawl into bed with you. Until said hand creeps down to your hip and those lips you’d hung off last night press a small kiss to your shoulder. 

“Morning,” you grumble, placing your hand atop of his to stop it creeping into the waistband of your shorts.  

“Ah c’mon..” frowning against your back, “best way to start a long day.” 

“I have to get ready for work, so do you actually,” keeping your head firmly on the pillow, there were no real intentions of getting up. Not yet. 

“Hmm.. five minutes,” hand descending even with yours on top, his smirk evident, dripping through his words. You shudder as his hand reaches your cunt, leaning backwards into his chest, ever so slightly parting your legs. 

“Five minutes,” you agree, fully acknowledging that you were slipping into dangerous territory here. 

-

“Did you fuck Helen too?” you ask, not really wanting to know the answer but just having to know if you were right in your stereotyping. 

Every kitchen had one. The one that seemed to make their way around everyone eventually. You were sure Eddie was that one and you were the last on his hit list. 

“What? Helen was like fifty dude,” messing with the volume dial on the radio. 

“So? Did you?”

He’s silent for a second, throwing his hands into the air, “it was one time,” raging that you’d caught him out on such a baseless accusation. 

“I knew it,” nodding smugly to yourself, he most definitely has the aura of the kitchen bike and that was for sure. 

“Yeah but… you’re like actually hot and I know what you’re thinking but no, I am not a slut… it was once and we were drunk and that was it, so you can shut up,” deciding to turn the stereo off, not a fan of your choice of Taylor Swift records. 

“I’m like… actually hot?” mimicking his tone. 

His eyes roll into the back of his head, of course that’d be the only part of the sentence you picked up on, “hon, you don’t notice me pop a boner everytime we argue?”

Your face screws up, unsure of whether to take it as a compliment or if you should be speaking to HR, “wasn’t generally looking in that direction if I’m honest,” swinging round into the car park, just past Eddie’s abandoned van, “thanks though… I think,” smiling at him as you gather your things. 

“It was a compliment, by the way,” stepping out of your car, tapping the doors of his rusty old van before walking inside, going on and on about Peggy (his van) and how important she was to him. 

You’re not entirely paying attention as you walk into the kitchen, startled by the presence of somebody already clattering about in there. Eddie follows closely behind, just as confused as you that anybody sane would be here this early. 

“Hello?” you call out, rounding the corner to spot Marcus who had taken it upon himself to come in early to start prep, making a monumental mess of the counter. 

“Oh yeah, hey… I wanted to start now ‘cause I need to leave early- you two came in together?” perplexed by the sight of Eddie peering over your shoulder, the batter covered wooden spoon pointed at the pair of you. 

“Right… er- his van broke down last night and I said I’d give him a ride,” nodding at your obviously fabricated story, looking to Eddie for some back up. 

He nods along happily, “I’m gonna take a look at ‘er later, fingers crossed or you’ll be givin’ me rides all week,” slinking away into the locker room with a sly smirk on his face, thankfully hidden by the shoddy wall as he winks. 

“God forbid,” you quip back, scrunching up your nose as you leave the two of them and make your way to the office, throwing your bag onto the cluttered desk and collapsing onto the desk chair. 

You had to get this damn menu done by Friday or you were completely, utterly fucked. Already three days behind on the schedule, you’d be lucky if you even made it home tonight. Flinging the discarded laptop lid open to be met with the very much blank menu once again. An email pings through that makes your heart jump. It must’ve gone unseen when you were otherwise occupied last night. 

Hello,

I hope this email finds you well. 

I just wanted to confirm that Joan will be in attendance on May 18th as per your invitation. She is looking forward to trying the new menu and will subsequently write a review expecting to be published on or around the 20th. 

Thank you, 

Imogen Smart, The Indianapolis Star

Oh shit oh fuck oh balls. 

It had slipped your mind that you’d even invited her along to try the new menu. What a colossal mistake this would turn out to be. 

Stupid, stupid girl. 

You’re slouched over the desk, head in your hands when Eddie creeps through the open door, startling you when he speaks, “you good?” making his way to the desk, leering down to look at the screen as if it was any of his business. 

“I really do not have time for you right now,” smoothing out your new-found forehead wrinkles. You never had time for his bullshit but you certainly did not have time for them now. 

“Eh, what the fuck? I was inside of you like three hours ago and now you’re being weird again?” 

“Shhh- shut up,” you whisper-shout, the chair rolling back as you stand rather ferociously, staring at the gap in the door and just praying that Marcus was too busy doing whatever the fuck he was doing to hear. 

“Jesus… chill out,” his hands are on your shoulders, soothing your nerves irregardless of how much you cared to admit it. 

You blink at him, cheeks burning, “I just- I have so much to do today, this critic is coming and I still haven’t finished the men-” 

Your sentence is rudely interrupted with his soft lips pressing against yours, caressing your cheek with his rough hand. It’s automatic, but you’re leaning into it, finding yourself gripping onto his bicep as he nudges you back towards the desk. It’s probably a good thing that your tailbone smacks into the sharp edge, pushing him from you as you come back to planet Earth. 

“Stop.. stop,” gently squeezing his arm, the other consoling your throbbing spine, “I need you out there today, okay? You’re gonna have to take charge, get shit done and do not bother me unless that kitchen is on fire or you’ve cut your arm off, okay?” lowering your head to meet his eyeline. 

“My arm? That’s a bit extreme,” deciding to turn your high stress situation into a joke. 

“Yes your arm, finger you can deal with, capiche?”

“Yes ma’am,” hand lingering on the small of your back, “you sure you’re good?” 

You exhale slowly and perhaps a tad too harshly snap, “yes.. I’m okay, now unless you have a brand new menu for me.. get out,” sweetening the blow with a sickly smile, motioning for him to leave. 

“Okay okay..” he begins walking to the door, “I’m in charge, right?” ever the opportunist. 

“Yes, but do not make me regret it,” flashing him a warning look. 

“Sweet,” winking at you as he slips out of the door, rubbing his hands together like the little demon he is. You roll your eyes but can’t deny the way your heart thuds with affection.

Whatever was blossoming had the potential to fuck up every single good thing you’d done for this place, but you’d be damned if you weren’t going to at least see how far you could go before total chaos.

- p2

You had meant for it to be casual. Like a few times a month sorta thing. And yet somehow you’re sat with your head on Eddie’s shoulder, half asleep as the gory horror film he’d picked plays on. 

It had started that way, to be fair. After a stressful day or on a quick lunch break you’d catch him and pull him into the office. It’s no surprise really that it didn’t take long for the rest of the kitchen to catch on. 

But back to right now, you’re only supposed to be  resting your eyes as you lean into his shoulder. He smelt like kitchen, cigarettes and the new cologne you’d bought for him as his old one was quite frankly disgusting and had irritated your nose. He jolts upright when the screen flashes, knocking you from his shoulder and rudely pulling you out of your slumber. 

“You’re a prick,” you mumble, glowering in his direction before opting for the opposite side of the sofa, the side that wasn’t rude. 

He snorts but quickly realises that you are very serious and very much not happy, “I’m sorry.. come sleep on me again,” pleading with you, “or d’you wanna go to bed?” clicking the pause button on the remote. 

“I wanted to go to bed an hour ago,” grumbling into the cushion as he’d ignored your request and swore that you’d just love this new movie. You didn’t. It was fucking boring. 

“Okay okay, let’s go to bed,” he shuts the television off before standing from the couch, towering over your curled up body, “I’m not fuckin’ carrying you,” already wise to your tricks. 

You groan something incoherently, something deeply offensive to his entire bloodline, before pulling yourself from the couch. “You know, if we’d gone to bed when I’d asked, I would’ve let you put it in my ass,” shrugging innocently before leading the way to your bedroom. 

“Wait what? You didn’t say- I didn’t know that was an option!” speed-walking to catch up with you, incredibly eager to figure out if this offer was still on the table. 

It was not. 

“Yup, shame really.. you should probably listen to me more,” clambering into the unmade bed with the tiniest smirk on your face. 

He’s not far behind, leaping into your bed, “we can still do that though, right? It’s only..” glancing at your alarm clock, “..two” he doesn’t even sound sure of himself. 

“Nope,” pulling the blanket over your shoulders, purposely choosing to face the other way, “you missed your chance buddy.” 

-

Whoever had done the ordering (you) had royally fucked up and left tomatoes off of the list. So as a consequence of your stupidity, you were now in Bradley’s trying to balance ten packets of stupid fucking tomatoes in your arms. 

You’re not even looking where you're going, too focused on not dropping the damn horrid red things as you skulk through the store. It’s already too late when you bash the elbow of some innocent bystander, knocking multiple packets to the ground. 

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” you grumble, grabbing at the discarded fruits with your spare hand. 

The kind gentleman had already started to try and balance them back in your arms. You look up to thank the stranger to be met with a face you hadn’t seen since high school. 

“Steve Harrington? I- what the fuck?” you remark, clutching onto the produce so as to not cause another collapse. 

“Holy shit, it’s you,” he’s utterly dumbfounded, staring back at your face in amazement. 

You’re suddenly extremely aware of your dirty uniform and messy hair, eyeing his well pressed suit and just general put-togetherness. His hair still perfectly styled though just a bit shorter now. 

“What are you doing here? I didn’t think you lived in Indiana anymore?” the last you’d heard of him, his father had sent him away to his office in New York, desperate for his son to have the life he never had. 

“Ah.. well, I do now, bit of a long story,” chuckling awkwardly as he takes the majority of your tomatoes to the counter, lightening the load. 

“Oh well, that’s cool..” you nod to the cashier who asks if you’d like a bag or multiple bags in your case, “I’d love to catch up but I’ve got a bit of a tomato crisis, uh..” digging in your pocket for the company card. 

“Yeah definitely… here let me,” he grabs one of the jam packed bags under his arm, “I’m gonna assume these aren’t all for you?” leading the way to the parking lot. 

“Oh no, I fucking hate tomatoes.. I messed up at work so it’s my job to fix it,” loading the bags into your dusty old car, “here, take my number and we can plan something.. it’s been so long,” grabbing for your phone in your apron. 

“I uh- I actually have your number,” he nods, not bothering to get his own phone out. 

“I’ve changed my number since high school, Steve.” 

“No, yeah I know.. I got it from Robin, I was s’posed to call you when I got back..” rubbing his thumb along his forehead and into his hair, “I’ll give you a call later and we can do something,” smiling softly as he closes your back door. 

“Oh, okay.. yes please call me, I- uh I really have to get back,” sliding into the driver's seat, fumbling with your keys, as you roll the window down to continue the conversation. 

“I will, I hope your tomato crisis.. gets better,” shrugging awkwardly as you start the engine. Wincing at his choice of words. 

“Me fucking too,” rolling your eyes as you pull off, not entirely registering what had just happened, focused on getting these stupid vegetables back to the restaurant. 

It’s not until an unknown number flashes up on your screen that you think about it again. He’d left it until you were right in the middle of stuffing dinner down your throat to call of course. 

“Hello?” you muffle into the phone, chewing on the lukewarm piece of chicken. 

“Hey! It’s Steve.. you said to call so.. I called,” he sounds nervous, like he was calling a stranger and not you. 

“Oh hey.. sorry I’m eating,” covering your mouth as you loudly swallow, “how are you?” 

“Yeah I’m good, hope your crisis turned out okay,” laughing into the receiver. 

“Surprisingly, it wasn’t too bad.. thank you for your help, you saved me from squishing a ton of tomatoes.” 

“Of course,” he clears his throat, “would you wanna grab a coffee or something tomorrow? I take it you’re busy with your.. tomatoes but I’m free pretty much whenever.” 

“Yes.. yes erm-,” you set the phone onto loudspeaker and flit through the bookings for tomorrow, it wasn’t insanely busy and you were sure they would manage without you for an hour or so, “does ten sound good for you?” 

“Ten is perfect,” you can hear his smile through the phone, “I’ll see you there then, enjoy your dinner,” still sounding as awkward as ever. 

“Okay.. I’ll see you then, then,” making a mental note for tomorrow that you’d probably end up forgetting anyway. 

You end the call, locking your phone and finally giving all your attention to the cold plate of food in front of you. 

“Who was that?” Eddie appears out of nowhere, frowning as he walks into the office. 

“Hmm? Oh, my friend Steve,” devouring the chicken without a second thought as to why he was even questioning it. 

“Your friend? That you’re going for coffee with…?” 

“Were you listening to my conversation?” blinking up at him. 

“No.. I overheard you- don’t change the subject, you’re ditching work for a date?” he’s scowling, coming to perch on the desk. 

“It’s not a date,” you warn, prodding the fork into his rib, “he’s a friend from school and we’re catching up while it’s quiet tomorrow, is that okay with you?” shaking your head, not that you were genuinely asking for his approval. 

He narrows his eyes, “I suppose..” he takes the fork from your hand, helping himself to your dinner, “it’s just coffee?” asking tentatively as his greedy ass tucks in. 

“Oh my God yes, it’s just coffee,” he was incredibly jealous for someone who was not your boyfriend. 

“Okay okay.. sheesh, no need to get defensive.. date whoever you want,” shrugging as if he couldn’t care less. 

“You’re the one getting jealous, not my fault you never ask me to go for coffee.” 

“Because we spend every waking moment together anyway,” repetitively banging his heel into the desk, irritating you to no end. “But I’ll make sure to ask you to go for coffee from now on.. don’t want some loser taking my place.” 

You huff, pulling the plate away from his greedy hands, “are you done?” 

He shuffles backwards, still picking at your food despite your obvious attempts to get it away from him. “Okay okay.. I’m done.” 

Eddie, in fact, does not drop it. 

He’s still pouting when you climb into bed, sighing to himself like a pathetic old dog. Except now, he’d become desperate and slightly weird about it. Making all sorts of promises and hypothetical dates for you two to go on. 

“Why don’t we go for coffee tomorrow? I’ll even pay,” walking his fingers along your side. 

“Eddie please, can you stop? Who am I in bed with right now? Because it’s not Steve, I can tell you that,” exasperated by his incessant attempts to piss you off. 

“Okay.. okayy,” retiring this tired bit for the night at long last, “you’re still taking me to work, right?” settling his hand on your waist, cuddling into your back. 

“Yes, you bum,” switching the lamp off before setting your head on the pillow. 

“I’m not a bum,” feeling him frown against your back, “it’s not my fault you refuse to get in my van.” 

“It’s a death trap, I’d rather risk walking along the highway,” smiling into the darkness. 

“Yeah whatever, good night,” he mumbles, pretending to be pissed off until you feel the tiniest, sweetest kiss to your shoulder. 

-

You’re running late, as usual. Something about the bookings being fucked for tonight meaning you were either going to have a full restaurant or have absolutely no one show up. 

It didn’t matter to you, not right now anyway because you’re jogging along the sidewalk to get to the dang café before Steve thinks you’ve abandoned him.  

You’re huffing and puffing when you shove open the door, making a royal fool of yourself as anyone would believe you’ve just sprinted in a marathon to get here. 

Steve jolts up the second he hears the door go, giving you a small wave from his table in the corner. It’s a relief that he hadn’t just up and left considering you were fifteen minutes late. 

“I am so so sorry,” you say hurriedly, sliding into the other chair, “another crisis and obviously I’m the only one who’s capable of fixing things so..” you stop your rambling to look at him properly, “sorry- you don’t care, shit did you order?” 

He chuckles nervously, “yeah.. I didn’t know what you wanted so I didn’t get you anything,” he stands up, “what d’ya get?” 

“Uhh a cappuccino would be great.. thanks,” setting your bag down on the vacant chair beside you. 

You chat about nothing and everything for a while until Steve turns the conversation back to high school. Now, you and Steve had a weird relationship during high school; hung around the same group, had a massive crush on the guy and was pretty certain that he at least liked you too. It had just never amounted to anything. 

“I remember in school, you always used to cook shit for us.. it’s crazy that you’ve got your own restaurant now,” shaking his head in slight disbelief. 

You’d bring tupperware full to the brim with whatever random shit you’d cooked up the night before. Forcing your friends to eat it and share their opinions no matter how harsh they could be. 

“It’s not really my restaurant,” sipping the cappuccino he’d kindly bought, “I just run it and make sure it doesn’t burn down or go bankrupt,” laughing to yourself. 

“So it’s technically yours..” fingers fiddling around with the empty sugar packet, “I’ll have to come by sometime, I wanna see what all the fuss is about.” 

“I mean, I could probably get you in tomorrow.. if you wanted?” 

“Well yeah, that sounds great,” smiling earnestly across the table. 

“Great! I’ll text you the details later but you should definitely bring your wife, I’d love to meet her,” you vaguely remember seeing the extravagant wedding pictures on Facebook a few years back. 

You hadn’t paid much attention as to who he’d married just recalled noticing the absolutely gargantuan manor house in the back and how stunning her dress was. 

His smile fades and his mouth opens to speak but doesn’t manage to squeeze anything out. You get the feeling that that might have been the wrong thing to say. Immediately wanting to slide down your seat and hide under the table. 

Steve takes it well though, laughing softly, “Ah.. not anymore but uh- thank you for bringing that back up,” playfully shaking his head. 

“Oh no, oh my God.. I’m sorry,” grimacing because of your big fat mouth, “I thought I’d seen it on Facebook but maybe that wasn’t you.. oh fuck.” 

“No.. it probably was me, we just- yeah not anymore,” wiggling his empty hand in your direction, only just now are you noticing the lack of a ring. 

“I’m sorry,” smiling apologetically, “I’ve gotta ask though.. what happened?” 

He sits back in his chair, preparing for the absolute novel of a story he was about to tell, “well, my dad moved me to New York, wanted me to learn how to be a man or whatever,” waving his arms about, “and I met the love of my life- I thought I met the love of my life.. we got married and it was great for a little while but she..” he inhales, recalling the still bitter memories, “..obviously didn’t feel the same way,” you’re sat eager eyed, waiting for the real gossip, “she was fucking her boss.. whole time.” 

“Shittt…” baring your teeth in a pained expression, “that’s awful Steve, I’m so sorry,” gingerly patting his outstretched arm, “what a bitch.” 

He nods along, “yeah she is,” his fingers drum a rhythm into the table, “that’s why I’m back here… I’m sick of New York.” 

“God,” guilt rising into your chest for being the one to bring that back up, “at least you’re home now, right? Must be nice seeing everyone again,” your eyes flitting to your phone that had lit up for the umpteenth time. 

eds:) : when r u coming back?? 

eds:) : helloooo? 

eds:) : stop fucking ur boyfriend and come back 2 work 

eds:) : i’m being serious now we need u 

Steve follows your gaze to your phone screen, realising that you’d been sitting here for a while now and he’d just pulled you from your work to talk about his messy divorce. “Work?” 

You look back at him, “yeah.. I’m gonna have to run, but I’ll get you a table for tomorrow,” pushing your chair back, grabbing for your bag, “bring whoever.. I’ll text you the details!” offering him a small smile as you rush out of the busy cafe not bothering to wait for his reply. 

-

Eddie is just as irritating as expected when you get back, hanging off of your arm the second you walk in the door. 

“So, you just had coffee? You were gone a long time, man,” an attempt to play off his jealousy, though it was hardly working. 

“Don’t call me man, and yep, just coffee. Like I’ve said a hundred times before,” hanging up your bag and tying the apron around your waist. 

“Right.. he wasn’t tryna do anything though, was he? ‘Cause I can tell him straight if you need me to,” hanging around your ankles like a lost puppy dog. 

“He’s in the middle of a divorce. I don’t think you need to do anything, big boy,” gently patting his arm. 

“Ohh so that’s why he’s back and trying to fuck you now.. I get his game.” 

You turn to face him, sandwiched between his body and the rusty lockers, “will you just relax? Please,” running your hands down his chest. 

Eddie frowns slightly, but nods, “he’s got nothin’ on me anyway..” a silhouette of a smirk forming on his face, “you know who’s givin’ it to ya good,” planting his lips on yours before you get the chance to express your utter disgust. 

You’re smiling when he pulls back but push him away from you regardless, “do not ever say that shit to me again,” tightening the straps around your waist, walking away from the freak and into whatever hell awaits you in the kitchen.  

-

It’s not very surprising that Steve comes in alone, your heart aches a little seeing him sat at the table on his own. 

Unbeknownst to you, Eddie is watching your face with a foul scowl on his. His eyes roll to the back of his head when you announce that you’re going to see how he is, practically snarling at the thought. 

He knows the dish in front of him is Steve’s order, he’d audibly criticised the fact that Steve had removed the mushrooms from his food, is he a fucking toddler or something? 

His eyes dart around the room, pursing his lips as he prepares to maybe just let the glob of spit fall out of his mouth and accidentally into Steve’s childish dinner. 

“Don’t,” Tina’s hand clamps over his mouth, stopping his despicable plans in motion. 

“I wasn’t actually gonna do it,” he protests, glowering at his co-worker. He definitely was going to do it and she knew it. 

“Leave him alone,” flashing him that universally understood look that tells him not to even dare, “can you blame her, though? Meow,” grinning as her eyes flicker to you and Steve through the tiny window. 

Eddie kisses the back of his teeth, whipping the dish towel at her, “ha ha very funny,” she’s desperate to rile him up as much as possible, taunting him with her mean quips. 

His eyes slide to the window, met with the image of you absolutely cracking up at something Steve had said. It was the kinda laugh he loved to force out of you, usually late at night when you were overly tired and a little hazy. Unheard by most people. It was a slight comfort to know that Steve definitely wasn’t that funny, he could almost bank on it. 

It’s like torture watching the pair of you interact for what feels like forever. Pulling his eyes away, deciding to go for a cigarette instead of putting himself through any more of that. 

The air outside is still, it’s getting colder again but it seemed like Indiana was still hanging onto the dregs of summer; the sky illuminated with streaks of pink and orange. Maybe that’s what he was doing? Desperately clawing to keep your thing alive all the while you were trying to wriggle out of it. 

He’s harshly pulled out of his self-pitying cloud, “Eddie?” you call out of the door, bounding over to where he was slouched against the brick wall, “thank you for doing that.. he said it’s great,” your toothy grin making an appearance. 

Eddie grunts something in response, trying desperately not to think of you smiling at Steve like that. 

“What? You okay? Why’re you being weird?” 

“I’m not being weird,” he shrugs, lying through his teeth. He couldn’t help it, his heart twisting and contorting with every mention of that prick's name. 

“Yes you are,” sighing softly, “you’re actually jealous? I thought you were just joking,” stepping toward him as he throws the cigarette to the floor. 

His eyes eventually find yours, “I’m not.. jealous,” curling his finger into the bow of your apron strap, using it to pull you in, “I don’t get jealous,” another blatant lie. 

“Mhm is that right?” you giggle, his behaviour over the past few days had proven that statement to be false. Wrapping your arms around his waist as your cheek begins to rest on his chest. 

Desperately trying to convince himself that this is a sign. That if you’d really wanted to, you’d be in there, doing this with Steve. But you’re not. You’re here. You’re clinging onto him and everything is fine. 

-

The door handle at the front of the store rattles a couple times before whoever is behind it gives up and knocks, you all look at each other slightly confused before Eddie takes the plunge and goes to answer. You’re standing behind the counter with a guarded expression, not prepared for whatever crazy was trying to get in at stupid o’clock in the morning. 

Steve is standing behind the open door with an apologetic smile, holding up a takeaway cup obviously bought for you. Eddie is less than thrilled, skulking back into the kitchen with the most horrendous scowl plastered on his face. 

“I’m sorry.. I should’ve text first,” kicking the door shut behind him, offering out the warm cup for you to take. 

You breathe a sigh of relief, “yeah.. that would’ve been a good idea, thank you though,” gladly taking his offering. 

“I just wanted to say thank you for last night, I didn’t catch you before I left so thought I’d stop by,” sipping on his own coffee, poised in the middle of the restaurant floor. 

Eddie’s stood leaning against the wall that separates the kitchen from the front of house, arms crossed against his chest. Disapproving glare set solidly on Steve. 

“Yeah absolutely, I’m glad you liked it,” smiling fondly at the man, sipping appreciatively on your cappuccino. 

“I uh- I have a question for you,” his eyes flit to Eddie who was still stood with his eyes narrowed, scowling, “in private.. if that’s alright?” 

You spin to look at Eddie, nodding towards the back, “I’ll meet you in my office in a minute,” shooing him off, “please.” 

He snarls back at you, looking back over his shoulder to shoot daggers into Steve before eventually disappearing into the kitchen. For someone acting so jealous, you’d think you’d have been in a committed relationship for years. 

Rolling your eyes as you trundle closer to Steve, “ignore him.” 

“He a handful?” 

“Mm and a mouthful sometimes,” perching on one of the tables, totally oblivious to your innuendo. 

Steve’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead, blinking ferociously as you finally catch on. 

“Oh no- I just meant he’s like.. rude,” stumbling over your words, cheeks beginning to burn. 

“I know what you meant,” Steve assures, though he looked a little flustered himself. 

Your eyes squeeze shut, “just continue,” rolling your hand, desperate for him to forget you’d opened your mouth.

He clears his throat, “so I was talking to my buddy.. he owns Garson’s in the city and he was saying there’s a spot opening for a sous,” glancing at you, “I just mentioned your name and I’ll give you his number but he said he’d love to meet you,” his mouth twitching into a smile. 

Well, that was not at all what you were expecting.  

In fact, it was a massive curveball ball that you’d not rehearsed a response to. 

Garson’s was insane, they’d just earned their first star and everybody who was anybody was trying to get a reservation. It would be career defining to even stage there. 

“Oh wow… Steve I actually don’t know how to reply to that,” placing your coffee onto the table in fear of dropping it on the floor. 

“Well obviously think about it, I’ll text you his details later, he seemed pretty eager to get someone in so.. don’t take too long,” drumming his fingers onto the table. 

“Yeah.. right, holy shit,” you remark, trying to take it all in. It’s unclear what to even say to him in this situation, thank you seemed too small but slathering his face in kisses was probably a step too far. 

“I gotta go, let me know what you decide,” his smile honest and genuine as he grabs his coffee and heads to the door. 

Just before he slips out, you jump back into action, “thank you!” beaming with pure unadulterated joy. 

He nods, disappearing into the street as the door slams shut behind him. 

You can barely contain yourself, practically skipping through the kitchen to go and find Eddie who you were absolutely certain was not going to share the same level of excitement you possessed. 

“What’s got you so happy? He ask you out on a real date finally?” turning up his nose without you saying a word. 

“Noo..” you chime in, still riding the high, kicking the door shut behind you, traipsing over to rest your hands on Eddie’s shoulders, “so.. Steve said there’s a position going in Garson’s and it’s basically mine if I want it..” struggling to contain your grin. 

His hands falter, brushing down your sides to now hang limp beside him, “what?” Unsure if what he had heard had been correct. 

“There’s a job at Garson’s and it’s basically mine.. isn’t that great?” grabbing at the back of his neck. You were expecting a little more happiness than this, you can’t lie. 

He looks almost offended. Features screwed up in pure confusion, as if you’d insulted his mother. “So you’re leaving? Some fancy job pops up from your fancy pants boyfriend and you’re suddenly abandoning us?” 

“Wha- no? I’m not abandoning anybody,” removing your arms from his shoulder, “this is an opportunity to actually do something with my career, show everyone what I’m capable of,” you couldn’t understand why he couldn’t just pretend to be happy for you. 

He stands up, the chair making a god-awful noise behind him, “so you get to come in here, change everything and then jump ship as soon as something better comes along?” eyes that once looked at you with pure adoration now full of disgust. 

You’re gobsmacked. Utterly speechless that he was acting like such a petulant jerk. You hadn’t seen this side of him since that night so many months ago in this very office. 

“Eddie, what has got into you? This is good news! You didn’t expect me to stay here forever, did you?” 

“I don’t know,” exasperated, “I just didn’t expect you to run to the next best thing so soon,” he looks venomous, mean. 

“I’m not! He’s my friend and he’s helping me out.. why are you being like this?” he may as well have torn your heart from your chest and stomped on it in front of you. 

Eddie scoffs, running a hand over his mouth, “your friend… who you haven’t spoken to in years suddenly has this great new job for you and has absolutely no ulterior motive? Ha, right.” 

It finally clicks in your brain, he doesn’t really give a shit whether you stay or go. This was about hating Steve and being a jealous loser despite still not asking you to be his girlfriend. 

“That’s what this is about? You think Steve.. what? That he wants to fuck me? You’re pathetic, do you know that?” 

“It’s not about that,” raising his voice, chest puffed out. This was the Eddie you’d met and hated six months ago. You were sure you’d never have to deal with that prick again. “I don’t.. I don’t care what or who you do, I just think you’re a traitor and I don’t want anything to do with someone like that.” 

Your face falls, blinking rapidly as the tears prick in your eyes. Swallowing the growing lump in your throat. He could be an evil prick when he wanted to be and before, it never would’ve upset you this much. But now it felt personal, like you’d let him in only for him to use everything you’d told him against you. 

“Get out,” bottom lip quivering, tears threatening to spill. You wouldn’t give him that satisfaction at least, waiting until the door is slammed in your face to let them fall. 

Humiliated and utterly pathetic as you flop into the chair, letting the tears fall free. 

If he was trying to convince you to stay, then he’d failed. Majorly. 

-

You’re hidden in the office for the remainder of the day. Courtesy of Eddie’s horrible words. 

And he’s just a ray of sunshine in the kitchen. Clattering about as he drops pans, recklessly launching knives and utensils onto the counter. 

Marcus has had enough of his tantrum, tapping on his shoulder, “let’s get some fresh air, yeah?” steering Eddie towards the back alley. 

He slides down the brick wall, cigarette poised between his lips while Marcus mouths something to the rest of the beady eyed staff. 

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Marcus asks, he’s genuine but stern. Has talked the boy down a multitude of times but this seemed different. 

“She’s fucking leaving..” blowing the smoke from the side of his mouth, “some stuck up restaurant that dickhead Steve got her into.. that’s what’s wrong with me.” 

Marcus’ mouth opens but doesn’t speak, deciding to get down to Eddie’s level, perching next to him on the floor, “and why’s that made you so angry? She break up with you as well or somethin’?” struggling to understand why he cares so much. 

“No,” Eddie glowers at the floor, “you can’t break up if you’re not together. I’m just.. I’m pissed off, she came in here.. changed everything and now she gets to just move on like it’s nothing.” 

Poor Marcus is trying to piece it all together in his head. Settling on the only sensible conclusion that maybe whatever was going on between you and him was perhaps a hell of a lot deeper than either of you were admitting. 

“So.. you’re pissed that she made this shithole better? You sure that’s it?” questioning the validity of Eddie’s anger. 

“What’re you tryna say?” Eddie snaps, gritting his teeth together. How dare Marcus not believe his incredibly flimsy words? 

“That you’re not really angry ‘cause she’s moving on, you’re pissed because of this new guy and you think he’s.. he’s gonna take your spot or something? I can see right through you bro,” clapping his hand emphatically on Eddie’s shoulder, having caught him red handed. 

Eddie glares at the man, snarling but unable to respond. Because he was right. Eddie is a pathetic, insecure loser who can’t bring himself to just admit to you that he was jealous of Steve. It was easier for him to just make you hate him than to be honest with you about how he felt, at least that way you didn’t have the opportunity to shut him down. You couldn’t reject him if you didn’t know. 

“You’re gonna fuck this up forever if you keep acting like this,” Marcus sighs, getting up from the floor, “get in there and apologise or you’ll just push her right into his arms and I really don’t wanna deal with you if that happens,” flashing him a stern but well-meaning glare before disappearing back into the kitchen. 

His eyes squeeze shut, and as much as he didn’t want to hear that, he knew he was right. Self-sabotage had always been his forte except this time he was truly terrified of the possibility of losing you. And he wasn’t going to let that happen.  

-

There’s a quiet knock on your office door and you’re just about prepared to bite the head off of whoever dares to disturb you. 

“Come in,” you bark, dropping the pen onto the desk in frustration. 

A very meek Eddie peeks around the door, testing the waters to decide if it’s safe to fully come in without you throwing something at him.

Nothing collides with his head so he pushes the door open, holding onto a plate of pasta he’d made especially for you. He’s chewing on his bottom lip, still deciding on the right words to say. 

“You haven’t eaten all day..” he decides on, gingerly placing the plate in front of you on the desk, “you don’t have to eat it but don’t throw it away,” stepping back from the desk with extreme caution. 

You’re taken aback, not at all expecting the kind gesture, blinking at the delicious food in front of you. “Can I have a fork..?” 

“Shit yes I got one,” digging in his apron pocket for the utensil, laying it down next to the plate gently. 

“Thank you,” you nod, poking your fork into the food. It is delicious and it was still warm which is an even better bonus. 

He smiles slightly, “I wanted to say.. I’m sorry for being an asshole, you should..” trailing off into silence, swallowing the lump in his throat, “you should go for it, it’s a great opportunity,” reassuring himself even if he didn’t quite believe it. 

You chew slowly, apprehensive about his sudden change in attitude. This surely hadn’t been a conclusion he’d reached on his own and you wonder just who in the kitchen had given him a pep talk before sending him in here. You appreciated it nonetheless. As weird and complicated as you guys were, you weren’t quite ready to give it up already. 

“Really?” you look up, trying to gauge his reaction. It was evident that he was putting on a brave front and he still had some apprehensions about it all but for you he was willing to ignore them. 

Your heart swells. Which makes you feel a little sick. In a good way though, well, you think so anyway. 

“Yeah.. you’re a great chef and you deserve better than this shithole,” one side of his mouth twisting into a smile. The words are heavy and difficult to get out, but they’re true. He means it and would really do anything to ensure you were happy. Even if it did mean swallowing his pride and letting you follow that douchebag Steve. 

You stand from your chair, rushing over to wrap your arms around his neck. “Thank you..” resting your chin on his shoulder. His arms wrap around your waist, placing a soft kiss upon your forehead. 

He was going to miss these little moments the most, he thinks. Shaking his head slightly when his mind flits to the thought of you in some other kitchen doing this with someone other than him. 

“You want some food? Don’t wanna eat this whole thing myself,” pulling away from his grip, motioning back towards your desk. 

“Thought you’d never ask,” masking the ache in his heart with a sloppy grin. 

If his uncle had taught him anything, it was that you had to make sacrifices for the people you loved. Or thought you loved. Whatever. 

-

It doesn’t take long for Steve to show his stupid little face again and it irks Eddie to know that you were probably texting with him this entire time. Getting excited about this new position with another man. Blergh. It was knocking him sick. 

You look over Steve’s shoulder to give Eddie a small glance, smiling ever so tenderly as you disappear into your office. That should be enough confirmation that he truly had nothing to worry about. It was just a job. Oh God, what if you find someone else to bicker with? Look what had happened to you two. 

That sicky feeling returns and he wants to bolt. But he doesn’t, he’s big and brave and instead chooses to focus on finely dicing some onions until you reemerge from your office. Whenever the fuck that would be. 

It must be a whole half an hour before Steve walks through the kitchen, giving Eddie a sly pat on the back on the way out. Smug prick. He just grips the knife tighter, waiting for you to confirm that you’d be gone next week and that he should really start moving on before you left. 

“Ed’s can I talk to you outside?” your voice snaps him out of his pity party, giving the rest of the crew what looked like a sympathetic smile, you’d tell all of them the bad news later. 

He knew this was it. You were about to lay it all bare, tell him it’s okay, maybe we can still be friends? I hope you understand but I have to go and work at this fancy restaurant with my fancy high school boyfriend, sorry! 

Reluctantly walking into the alley way, the alley way you’d shared many sneaky kisses, reassuring words and that one time you’d got carried away and almost gave him a hand job right then and there. It was painful, the once comforting aura of the brick walls had since vanished. 

He’s already bracing for the worst, keeping his back to you as he walks further down the path. It’s the only way he could be sure that he wouldn’t end up begging on his knees for you to stay. And even then he couldn’t guarantee that wouldn’t happen. 

“Will you look at me?” your voice echoing through his veins. 

He does, turning on his heel excruciatingly slow. Bottom lip starting to sting as his teeth cut into the skin. 

“When are you going?” solemn and miserable, honestly trying his hardest not to start pleading with you. 

“Never,” shaking your head, “I’m staying here,” feeling incredibly smug. You looked it too, nose scrunched up as you grin at him. 

Fuck. He’s not even sure if he’s heard that right. But the blood rushes back through his body and he almost crumbles, falling to his knees to thank whichever being up there had answered his prayers. The glum look he’d seemed to possess had vanished, grinning like a fucking maniac as he bounds over to you. One minute you’re on the floor and the next you’re being spun around, his arms almost crushing you. 

“What? Why’d you change your mind? I- fuck I’m so happy,” setting you back on solid ground, much to your relief. 

“Well, the thing is.. there’s this guy who works here, he’s a bit of an asshole but for some reason I really like him and he’s convinced me to stay,” fingers digging into his biceps, still afraid that you might become airborne at any moment. 

There’s not time to catch your breath before he’s crashing his lips into yours with great force, sending you flying backwards against the wall. His hands grabbing at anything he could touch, travelling the length of your body to brace your cheeks. Keeping you steady, making sure this was actually real. Christ, he thinks he loves you. 

Scrap that, he’s fucking certain that he loves you. 

[blacklesbothatlovestowrite]

On My Mama Pt 1

OOC Shuri

Shuri x reader, Riri x Reader, Shuriri x Reader.

Summary: Shuri and Riri bet on who can cuff Y/n first. However the road to getting there is a hell of a ride when Y/n absolutely despises Shuri and Riri by association.

Trigger warning: Mama's that are jealous of their daughter.

When they say she get it from her mama, Imma say You fucking right....

Riri sat on the hood of her car pretending to listen to Shuri ramble on about her latest plaything. After everything happened and she'd secured Wakanda again she decided to take a break and try schooling in America.

She was beyond advanced so her going was purely for the college experience which she was learning to love. She was drinking, smoking and partying to numb the pain of losing her entire family.

As worried as Riri was at times, she knew Shuri was in control of her extracurricular activities. She kept a watchful eye over the Wakandan Princess. She knew that her friend would find her way when she was ready.

"Damn..." Shuri says and Riri whips her head around in the direction that's captured Shuri's attention too used to the African girl's American lingo she'd caught onto.

Both girls eyes were focused on the brown skinned beauty with dark eyes and perfect plump lips. You were beautiful beyond words and they were captured by your looks.

You

"She's fine..." Riri mutters, her eyes watching as you walked on campus with black sunglasses, a silk press down to your waist, a black midriff top that showed ample cleavage without showing too much and a pair of baggy boyfriend jeans with stilettos.

"Who is that?" Shuri demanded.

"Y/n L/n." A passing student says, she was overly cheerful and only too willing to gossip. "She's a genius with a nasty attitude."

Riri stifled a laugh as you walked by, she could tell you heard what the girl said and rather than respond you simply bumped the girl and kept on walking.

"You could say excuse me!" The girl shouts, pissed at your audacity. When you don't respond she mumbles. "Bitch..."

"Why are you still here?" Riri raises a brow, and the girl's eyes widen before she makes herself scarce. She couldn't stand bitches that gossiped. Even though she was grateful for learning your name.

"I call dibs!" Shuri quickly says.

"Bitch, fuck you." Riri scoffs. "Don't you got that 40 something year old cougar? Save some pussy for the rest of us."

"Like you could handle her. She's like 5'8." Shuri smirks, as she stares down at Riri.

"Height don't mean shit. I can still tame a stallion." Riri gloats.

"Ok, if you can get her to go out with you she's all yours." Shuri says.

"I'm not playing no childish game with you Shuri." Riri snaps, she hates how competitive Riri can be when it comes to women. Her competitive side was reserved solely for inventing, business and vigilante activities.

"You saying you think you can't bag her?" The taller girl raised a brow, a devilish grin on her lips.

"Fuck outta here, I'm from Chi Town. I'm definitely bagging her." Riri snorts as if it were really a question.

The two scientists shook hands, a silent agreement going unsaid. Neither planned on playing fair, after all all was fair in love and war right ?

-

The whole morning you'd been in a foul mood. You and your mother were beefing and she still wouldn't stop calling you. You were so angry at her and for the first time in your life you wanted nothing to do with her for an indefinite time.

Maybe you were being immature, maybe you weren't. However you couldn't process what she'd done and even worse what she'd caused. Everything seemed to be falling down all around you and you felt as if you had no one to turn to.

"Y/n, right?" You hear and look up. You see the girl from earlier, Riri Williams. You knew her from the run down one of the Sorority girls gave you, you'd barely lasted twenty minutes in that home before you said fuck it and left.

If your mother thought you were going to her sorority house she was sadly mistaken. You scored a huge dorm room to yourself by miracle and had spent the day moving in.

"Yes?" You state Riri up and down. She was attractive, and very cocky. She was known all over campus for her business in helping the underachieving, lazy kids that had no business being there pass their classes with moderate grades.

"I just wanted to come and introduce myself." Riri holds her hand out. You look from her face to her hand.

"Ok. You've done that. Bye." You say dryly. Before looking down at your nails.

"Ahhhh so your little friend was right about you being full of attitude." Riri chuckles, eying you with interest. You were making her want you more. There was nothing she liked more than a bratty girl full of attitude. She loved fucking the attitude out of stubborn women and making them submit to her.

"A, I have no friends. B, I could care less what some nosy bitch said about me." You roll your eyes. You were unimpressed with Miss Riri Williams or her acquaintance, friend or whatever the hell Shuri Udaku was to her.

"Ok then, how about I become your friend?" Riri winks, flashing her perfect pearly teeth.

"No." You decline, crossing your arms.

"No?" She looks shocked.

"No, No thank you, No thanks, I decline, I don't think so, Fuck no." You deadpan. You watch as her eyes narrow at your words.

She steps so close to you, your noses are touching. She looks turned on, her pupils dilating as she looked you over with a smirk.

"You're insanely attractive when you act like a little brat." She shakes her head. "It may be no for now, but it'll be yes soon."

And with that she walks away leaving you in the hallway of your door as she enters the room across from yours and closes the door.

"Great." You huff realizing she's your neighbor.

-

You'd spent three days getting used to campus and your dorm. Riri was constantly bumping into you, she'd go as far as putting flowers outside your door. You could admire her effort, but you weren't allowing yourself to be distracted.

Your classes were a breeze. You barely had to think when it came to your work both in class and outside of it. Your professors were quickly starting to like you as you were engaged, ahead of the curve and not obnoxious with your answers like the other two high achievers on campus.

You walked through the courtyard wanting to find something to eat after two back to back classes with no breakfast because of procrastination.

"Hey, Y/n!" You hear and let out a huge sigh at the sight of Shuri Udaku heading your way. You sped up not interested in any conversation with the girl.

"Wait..." She exclaims, quickly catching up to you and moving to block you.

"What?!" You glare at the tall woman, who's fresh twist out hung in her face. The sight of her sickened your stomach.

"I just wanted to see if you wanted to go out with me?" She asks, flashing her grills. You swallow as you notice her pouty lips turning up.

"You're serious aren't you?" You stare at her incredulously.

"I mean it can't be hard to fathom that I would want to date you, Can it?" She laughs.

"I mean considering just how audacious you are, yes I believe it is." You grumble, annoyed she was stopping you from getting something to eat. You were starving.

"Audacious?" She repeats. She looks confused. "Because I want to take you out?"

"Ha!" You snort. "You don't even know who I am do you?"

"I do, you're a beautiful, bright girl that's caught my eye." She replies, while thinking of what Riri said about you being tough to crack.

"Apparently not the only one." You roll your eyes, before moving to walk around her only for her to capture your wrist in her hand.

"I am currently single. I'm not with anyone." Shuri assures. But her words fall on deaf ears.

"Is that what you call it? Single? So you don't have to deal with the aftermath of your shitty decisions?" You hiss. She was pissing you off. You snatched your wrist away from her.

"Did I mess with one of your friends?" She asks, while scratching her neck.

"I have no friends. I'm sure your buddy told you that when I rejected her several days in a row. Or maybe she didn't, someone that cocky and relentless hates the word no." You shrug.

"So what's with the animosity?" Shuri inquires, confused as to why you seemed so put off by her. Sure she had a reputation of partying a lot, having sex with women that she found attractive that were willing to have no strings attached hookups. But that wasn't reason to dismiss her the way you were.

"How you can live with yourself is wild to me." You take a deep breath as you fight the urge to deck the princess of a foreign country with special privileges.

"Live with myself about what?"

"I'm M/N's daughter. (Mom's name)" You watch as her eyes widen and her mouth drops open.

"Maybe next time you wreck someone's family, you'll at the very least learn who their immediate relatives are so you don't hit on them too." You huff, and start heading towards the food court on campus.

"Y/n!" She calls and you swivel around curious as to how she'll try to work her way out of that one.

"I see why your body's so unpolite... You get it from your mama." She smirks watching as your face darkens.

"Did you just...." You stare in shock at her words. Nope. You didn't dislike her. You hated her.

You spin on your heels and storm off not even giving her the opportunity to say anything else.

-

"You fucked her mother???!!!" Riri's rolling on the floor. She can't stop laughing at Shuri's predicament.

"It's not funny." Shuri snaps. She was annoyed, fucking M/N was a foolish choice. As attractive as the woman was she was cross faded and looking for an escape. It'd only happened once and she'd let her mouth run recklessly to you. She couldn't believe the words that left her mouth.

"Nah, this is good." Riri chuckles, trying to stop the laughter. She had tears streaming down her face. "You just made this too easy."

"I'm not giving up. M/n owed her family loyalty and fucking decency. I didn't even know she was married, let alone a mother. I met her at a club and fucked her in the bathroom, she didn't even act like a mother." Shuri groans. This was what she got for not being more selective in the women she slept with. Attraction was her only thing as she had no plans of seeing them more than once.

"Wait, wait, wait!" Riri gasps, trying to catch her breath. "And her mama a freak? I'm definitely bagging her, all that anger and attitude is fucking hot. And what's more she can't stand you so I now have a way of getting closer."

"Fuck you, Ri..." Shuri growls, the whole situation was pissing her off. And more than that she felt guilt. The look in your eyes when she'd said what she did hit her deep. She regretted her words. She had a terrible habit of speaking in anger.

"Nah nigga, I'm good. Go fuck on M/n." Riri bursts into laughter again, watching as Shuri gets angry and storms out of her dorm; slamming the door behind her.

-

You laid in your bed sniffling, you hated that you cared so much about what happened with Shuri and your mother.

You were so angry because had your mother not been such a whore you'd still have your father. She'd cheated on him, and when he found out he'd left the house in a rush too angry to even be near her. He barely made it five minutes into his drive before he'd gotten into the accident that took his life.

You hated her so much. You couldn't understand how she could be so selfish. How she could do what she'd done. How she pretended to give a fuck about him at his funeral knowing she caused his death.

You'd made it clear you hated her and that you would never forgive her. Despite all the nasty things you'd said to her, your father was still gone and you were all alone. You'd cut off all your friends. And only went home to sleep, choosing to study all day at a cafe while you waited for the semester to begin.

You think the worst thing about everything wasn't even the fact you hated Shuri. But why you hated her. You were attracted to her, you'd had the biggest crush on her since she'd shown up on your social media feed when she enrolled in college in America.

And that made you sick with guilt.

-

Should I continue?

Bonus chapter dedicated to whoever helps me figure out how to make a tag list for those that want a continuation.

[hotheadedhero]

Do you know what I would absolutely love? I'd love to see Raphael - any iteration of him - go toe-to-toe with a British girly that has grown up in the rougher parts of England

I know that the stereotype is that New Yorker's are rather brash but I feel like certain characters in the UK can be quite... colourful with their language. Not to mention, creative

Language warning

And given Raph's affinity for quickly growing hot-tempered, I think this would be interesting and hilarious. I don't know about anyone else in this country but easily angered people make such good prey when it comes to these things

The lingo would both infuriate and confuse him

"A'ight, you fuckin' bell end, you think you're some 'ard shit, do ya?"

Like, the missed t's and h's are enough to throw him through a loop but what the hell is a "bell end"??? Some of these words are so alien to him, it pisses him off: prick, twat, pillock. He has no idea what they mean but he doesn't like how they're being directed at him

No matter how many quips he tries to throw back, she just looks unbothered and sends more right back

Matters aren't helped by the fact that his brothers state how "this must be the British version of Brooklyn" because we all know how different Raph's accent is from theirs

It was just a funny idea that came to me now and I cannot stop thinking about it. I... I may have to write something with this in mind

Just add it to my never-ending list of ideas... bloody hell

[theloveinc]

bakugo x reader - i guess a lil drabble related to my succession!au here! caitie writing? it's more........ no jk im just as surprised as you...

(warning - toxic relationships, sex as business tactic, you wear a thong but gn otherwise i think, made up business lingo idfk)

-

You’re already waiting for him by the time Bakugo makes it back to his office. 

Blazer off and strewn across the arm of the leather armchair you lean against, fingernails clacking away as you type a message on your phone; you look busy, you look sexy, you look mad, though he already knows why you’re here and you waste no time either in looking up from your device to absolutely scour. 

 “Fuckin' what?” he grumbles, throwing his own jacket and stack of files next to yours, refusing to give in to the thought of looking into your eyes, something he knows will cause more of a fire to light up in his veins rather than put him into a business-like mood.

“You said no.” 

“‘Course I did," he responds before you can say anything else. "Your write-up was crap, and I don’t feel like wasting time entertaining unnecessary shit.” 

“It’s a good plan. Would make up the public outburst you had that tanked our stock fifteen percent. You and I both know that.” 

He does, but he doesn't care enough to risk another move that might cause more harm than good. It's not like his sour personality is a secret from the business world or has stopped him from getting what he wanted in the past.

“If you care so much about it just go ‘n get Deku to approve it. Fuck knows all you do when I disagree with your stupid ass ideas is cry and get him to start signing shit, anyway."

“That is not true!” you hiss, one of Bakugo’s very-clearly-plucked eyebrows immediately raising at the annoyance in your voice. “My advice is great, and yeah, I do think you should take it sometimes.”

“It’s average at best and you fucking know it"—it's actually better than average, way better, it's just hard to say now that Deku's got top spot in the running for CEO, a fact that pisses Bakugo off so badly that he can't even think about your talent lest he lose his mind even more—"You’re just one of the board's little brats. Spoiled rotten.” 

You purse your lips at that, eyes narrowing as he stands up tall. “Like you’re any better. Getting mommy to call competitors anytime one of your shitty deals doesn’t go through.”

He approaches you, hands leaving his pockets as he walks you back into his desk—your ass meeting the oak just as he begins unlocking his cuff links and pushing his sleeves up to the bend of his elbows. You stand there in silence, in faux-battle through your glares, though it’s not much longer before he puts his hands on your waist and jerks you to his chest. 

“Least I do my damn job instead of sucking dick on company time.”

(You don’t remind him that it was actually him on his knees the last time any inappropriate workplace intercourse occurred… nor that it was Kiri’s idea—not yours—to screw your way into Yo Shindo’s board of investors. He already started a fight the first time it came up, lord knows he’d have an aneurysm if used it against him in an argument, too.) 

“Fine,” you wiggle your hips in an attempt to loosen the static between your bodies, but he only seems to get closer: the newly-tenting fly of his slacks digging into the soft dip of your own pants, instead. “Next time I’ll go ask Todoroki for advice then and you can work alone.”

He nips at you where his mouth presses against your cheek, hands splayed on your back to keep you from being pressed into the hard line of wood at your hips. You inhale at the contact, turning your face away from him if only to let his mouth fall next to your ear. 

“Talk to that half and half fucker in front of me, baby,” he whispers, “and you watch what fucking happens.” 

His fingers dip themselves into the band of your panties, tugging the elastic away from your skin in such a manner that the string of your thong gets pulled taut between your ass cheeks. 

“Bakugo…” you warn, pulling back to glare at him though simultaneously giving into the fight, your hands leaving your hips to swat his away from behind you before they’re allowed to do anything more lewd.

He huffs, though his chest rumbles in the most silent of laughs as he catches your palms in his, swinging them back around til he’s holding them between you at your front. 

“You’re such a damn tease,” he leans down close enough to touch his nose with yours, your breath warm and enticing on his lips. “Gimme a kiss for wasting my time.”

You roll your eyes. “No. I’m reporting you to HR.” 

“Like hell you are. Kiss me.” 

 “I’m gonna kiss Deku.” 

Hands still tangled with yours, he tears away for only a moment to fake a gag over his shoulder. 

“That’s even worse!”

"You deserve it."

And he doesn't exactly disagree.

[cerastes]

Hey how come you making flippant comments in regards to your own self-improvement fetish is so enlightening in regards to mental health things is this the whole 'professional' thing at work.

I would like to think so! When we think of "psychology", most people might have a very Freudian image of it: A therapist solemnly but very comprehensively taking notes as a patient lies on a couch and spills their guts, only interjecting once or twice in the hour-long session and then charging you. Psychoanalysis, the Freudian technique, I don't think it's useless, but it's definitely just one of a myriad of techniques and methods with which to carry out therapy (and one I myself am trained in and do not like). I myself am more of systems theory of psychology kind of guy (Humberto Maturana, Ludwig von Bertalanffy, Gregory Bateson, among others), and systems has a very input-output sort of view (if you want to learn more, you can also look up second order cybernetics and radical constructivism).

Where I am going with all of this is that if it may seem like I'm making flippant comments, then that means I've synthetized my own self-care mind palace to such a degree that it has simply become part of my discourse, my lingo, my poise, if you will, but that in itself took a lot of introspective work in a way that was tangible to me, or in other words, in a way that my brain accepted it. Ultimately, it's the role of the psychologist to lead one to something rather than to reveal any sort of secret to wellness. Using myself as an example, as someone that had suicidal depression at one point, being told to "think positively" didn't do a damn thing, because if it was that easy, then depression wouldn't exist. Instead, I more or less had to trick my own brain into giving it reasons as to why it should think positively, because it makes sense to do so, and in the same vein, I had to give it reasons as to why thinking negatively was dumb. Because that sort of logic works with me. So it's less "hey, think nice things :)" and more "okay but does it have to be like this? Does everyone else have this crushing sadness as their normal as well? I don't think so, so maybe what I'm feeling isn't normal. Why am I thinking that way? What do they have that I don't? Oh, thing A and thing B, yeah, makes sense, and do I want these things? Mmm thing A doesn't really matter to me, but thing B, I'm loathe to admit, is something I desire, how about I work towards having thing B for now as a goal and then see if that is good enough or at least improves my mental state? Are things really as hopeless as I think they are and am I enlightened by my grim outlook? Probably not, so why am I hopeless and why are they not? There's something I don't have or don't know, let's see what that is, and put these shit thoughts on hold until I can ascertain these things". This is a summarized version, of course, but you know what I mean.

But where I'm going with this (again) is that once you grab onto your own internal logic (which is where the introspective work leads to!) and know what makes you click and how your own metrics and parameters of motivation work, it becomes much much easier to have a healthy mental state and keep it healthy. This, in my opinion, should be the long term objective of any good therapy: To at least start your user (I don't really use the term "patient") on this road. I'm making it sounds all sunshine and rainbows, but introspective work worth having does entail having to look at the uglier parts of yourself and acknowledging them, hence why not a lot of people see it through. It takes commitment and guts because you very much do reach a point where you need to look at these things that are awful and be like "yes, this, too, is me" before you can start going into how to turn these into advantageous things instead.

Likewise, the therapy I do tends to have this as goal: Let's work this shit together so we can organize it in a way that's easier to handle for starters, and then you can have a very good grip on the reins of what makes you feel good and what makes you feel bad, and so can easily dispel the brain fog by simply consulting your inner blueprint. Each user is a whole different journey, and it's part of what makes psychology such a beautiful field.

[rileyslibrary]

Living With Ghosts: 3. Air Time

"First the pistachios, now the leak; I swear, kid, you and your bloody pantry are doing my head in."

Relationship: Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Reader

Word Count: 1,366

Notes:

Warnings: Mention of physical injury (sprained ankle)

Air Time: the time during which riders of a roller coaster experience either frictionless or negative G-forces.

Entire work on AO3

Table of Contents

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A fucking genius, that’s what you are! What a smart move, getting up on that roof while it was still wet and slippery, climbing that sketchy ladder even though the lieutenant warned you not to.

Of course, you did; you had to! That was your rationale. Had to. Now, look at you, sitting on the kitchen counter with a broken ankle.

“it’s not broken; just a sprain.” He mutters as he examines it. “You‘ll survive, for as long as you stop acting foolish, that is.”

“The ceiling is leaking; what else would you suggest I should have done?” you mutter as you examine your ankle. God, it hurts.

“Well, you could have refrained from getting up there like a fuckin’ idiot as per my order,” he replies.

‘As per my order’ means ‘I told you so’ in Ghost lingo. That mother—you’ll show him who’s the idiot!

“The leak goes straight into our pantry,” you whimper as the pain worsens by the second. “If the water ruins our supplies, we’ll be left with nothing else but lemons!”

You don’t think he would mind eating lemons. He is sour himself.

“First the pistachios, now the leak; I swear, kid, you and your bloody pantry are doing my head in.” he rumbles as he steps to the freezer for ice. “It’s pissin’ down, for fuck’s sake, and this house is ancient. What did you expect? It stands to reason that something like this would compromise the ceiling.”

‘Compromise’, ‘As per my orders’, ‘Negative’, ‘Roger’. Does he ever speak like a human?

He’s livid. You can tell by how he fiddles with the towel, trying to ‘MacGyver’ an ice pack. It looks like he’s done it before, yet anger is getting the best of him. Ghost doesn’t like to be defied. ‘Roger’ that.

“Alright,” you sigh, “what do you want me to say, huh? That you’re correct?”

“IT’S NOT ABOUT WHO’S ON THE RIGHT HERE,” he yells, slamming his hands against the kitchen counter.

You jump out of your skin, startled by his outbreak. You’ve never seen him like this. Sure, he had a temper now and then, but never towards you.

He tries to collect his thoughts, both hands in fists, stretched against the counter.

“We need to stay safe and lay low.” He pauses in an attempt to calm himself. “We don’t know what we’re up against yet; could you fathom what will happen if that danger finds us first?”

“You think I don’t know?”

“You sure as hell act like you don’t know.”

“I was trying to help with the lea-.”

“I don’t give a shit about the leak.” He angrily states. “The only thing I care about that ceiling,” he says, pointing up, “is that it doesn’t hinder our position. Climbing on top of it not only puts a target on our backs, you could have also ended up on a stretcher. Bloody dangerous move.”

Ha! ‘Bloody dangerous move,’ says the guy who makes a living by throwing knives.

He approaches you with the improvised ice pack and offers it to you, only to yank it away as you reach for it.

You look at his hand in disbelief. Is this some form of hazing? How can he toy with you at a time like this? He should know better.

Your eyes travel up to his, the only unclothed part of him.

You’re only a few inches apart, locking eyes; his petrichor-like odour is now detectable. You can feel the heat radiating through his body. If you slightly lean forward, perhaps he might take off that mask and-

“What was your plan, anyway?” he hisses, eyes squinting behind his balaclava. “What were you going to do while it was raining, mind you, to stop the leak?” The irony is evident in every word he speaks.

He’s mocking you. His head is tilted back, looking down at you, taunting you. You want to punch him and kiss him at the same time. But you do neither, for all you can do is stare. He’s too close, too intimidating. He feels dangerous yet welcoming, like a siren’s song luring sailors to their doom. His chest protrudes like steel armour, his shoulders considerably broader than the ones you often fantasise about; he’s built like a mountain, this man.

“Are you taking mental notes, y/n?”

He noticed. Shit.

“What?” You ask, trying to buy some time to think.

“Look at you, acting all dumb now.” His husky voice draws you in, the echos lightly pounding in your chest.

Shit, shit, shit. Snap out of it!

“I-I know what to do!” you exclaim in a desperate attempt to salvage the situation. “I’ve been here far longer than you; I know what to do.”

You liar. It has barely rained five times this past year, and this was the first time you experienced such a problem. You have no idea how to fix it, and you know it.

He shakes his head in dismay and walks to the First Aid Kit; his bullshit metre is now in the red zone. He, too, is aware of both your incompetence in roof insulation and arrogance.

There’s silence—awkward silence.

You decide to break it. Apologise and end this. This has gotten way too far; it’s time to kill your ego.

“I was trying to help; I’m sorry, I truly am. I know you don’t care about the damn ceiling or me, but being an inconvenience to you was the last thing on my mind.”

“You want me to care for you, y/n?”

Oh, wow.

You suddenly recall the first time you went down a roller coaster. The adrenaline rush, that sinking feeling, falling as fast as gravity pulls you. That’s what he was to you—that roller coaster plunge—Air time.

Yes! Oh, God, YES. Say it, say it, say it. Say it and see what happens! What’s the worst that can happen?

“No. No, thank you. I can take care of myself.”

You fucking idiot. You absolute, utter moron. Your ego is too powerful to be killed.

“Fair enough,” he states as he angrily slides the First Aid Kit across the kitchen counter, lightly hitting the side of your hip. “You deal with your shit.”

No, no, no.

“Where are you going?”

“None of your business.”

“What about my fucking ankle, lieutenant?”

“You said you can take care of yourself, didn’t you? Do it yourself, then.”

Fear washes over you. The idea of being alone once again in this damn house. Time to kill your ego for good. Now. It’s not helping; it never does. Kill it now.

“Don’t leave, please, don’t leave me like this.” You plead.

He pauses at the door, his right hand clenching that door frame for dear life. He’s contemplating his decision.

He turns around and speeds towards you. You shrink.

He picks up the gauze from the First Aid Kit, your shoulders barely brushing for a second. He kneels in front of your foot, signalling with his hand.

“Your ankle. Now. Not another word.”

You comply with his orders. He was touching you now; what else was there to say?

You’re mesmerised as you watch him wrap the bandage around the ball of your foot. He’s careful, concentrating, working his way up to your ankle, then down again, circling his way around your foot’s arch. Is he always like this? Does he alw-

“-All done.” He notes as he stands up, proceeding to pack up the First Aid Kit, snapping you out of your nirvana.

Oh, well. It was good while it lasted.

You thank him, eyeing your wrapped ankle. That part is fixed, at least. The only thing that’s left now is...

“The roof. What about the roof?” you hesitantly ask.

“We’ll fix it—“ he pauses, his gaze fixed on your ankle, “I’ll fix it when it dries up.”

“You fix roofs as well, Lieutenant?”

Look at you trying to build the rapport you completely shattered before. Adorable.

“I can fix lots of things, y/n, including that bloody attitude of yours.”

And with that, he walked out that kitchen door, not another glance back, leaving you going down that roller coaster plunge, experiencing air time over and over again.

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