#okay that's a lie. i also liked the jacket

[creativewritersposts]

Fucked up - Nico Hischier (part two)

summary; Nico Hischier x reader

Part one: click here

warning(s); angst, argument, insecurity, FLUFF , maybe grammar errors

author's note; hi lovely people out there! At first thank you so much for ✨100✨ followers. So many people asked for part two. Hope you like it, like I do!

tags; @hockey-hischier13 🌟 --------------------------------------------------------------

"I'd like to invite you to Switzerland, meeting my family."

This sentence hunts you until now. Two weeks later after getting the news from Nico. Your only reaction was "I'm not sure", secretly you'd jump into a sea for him, if he asks for it. You promised to change your clinginess.

He just sent you the ticket if you want to join. That's it. He did not visit you, he only left a voice message.

Maybe you did the wrong decision to fly to Switzerland and running after a man who feels annoyed from you.

"Babe!", Nico's sunglasses mirrors your face in it, kissing your cheek because you moved your head, that he couldn't kiss your lips. You don't feel deserved to get kissed.

"Hello, Nico", you smile and drive without a conversation to his parents house. It's a cute one, like in one of these Switzerland prospects everyone knows. "Are", he pauses between," are you okay? Like are we okay?", his brown eyes meet yours, him on the driver seat, parked. "We're cool", you nod and open the door.

"I'll take the bags", he smiles and walks into his family home.

You feel way too much familiar in this house. Maybe it's a red flag for him. That you feel too comfortable.

"Nice to meet you!", his mom comes out of the kitchen, hugging you tight, "you are way more prettier than Nico described me", she giggles and looks at you, "I'm Katja!".

You mumble a thank you, until you come in and meet the rest of his family, sitting in their garden. "are you cold? I can give you my jacket", Nico whispers these words through your shoulder after a few hours and the gone sunset. "I'm ok", it's a liar. You're freezing and everyone can see it, like your blue lips. Nico looks confused, you love this clothes. You begged for this jacket for months. "I'll go to bed", you smile thankful in the family round, leaving Nico's siblings and parents behind you.

"I'll go with you", he says goodnight to all and walks into the house with you. "I'd like to shower", you ask for his permission, "you don't need to ask me", Nico observes you, completely insecure, leaving him. You're literally running away from him, like fading apart when he wants to talk with you.

"Hi", he looks at you, smiling seeing you with a towel around your body after showering and him sitting on your shared bed. "hi", you avoid his eyes, random searching clothes in your bag.

Maybe he doesn't like cellulite. Maybe it's a red flag for him too.

"I'm the luckiest man alive to have you, my family loves you too", he smirks in completely chill. "I'm glad you're happy now",comes out of your mouth, your chest hurts. Deep inside your soul. Your soul is shit.

Your soul is a red flag. Without changing he couldn't loving you. Nico stares at your face, aren't you happy? You acted weird for weeks now, he posted a funny selfie just to geg your attention (usually he would never do this for a woman) but you didn't react.

"Aren't you happy?", he asks. "Sure", you bite on your lip, you hate to lie. "What's wrong?", Nico takes your arm, petting it. It's a lovely gesture for a man who feels disgusted about you.

"Can you ever love me the way I am?", you can't blink away the tears anymore.

"Wh-", he looks annoyed.

"You don't owe me anything, I should be happy you're still dating me", you shrug your shoulders. "Wh-", he starts again.

"of couse you're lovable", he gets worried. "I fall more and more in love with you", he explains his feelings, "no you fell in love in someone who I am not! Maybe I'm clingy and I'm annoying and love to spam-", you're sobbing your pain away.

"I miss your spamming and I also miss your real smile", he lovely whipes your tears away from the cheeks, his hands are shaking.

"I stress you out and you don't want to ask me to be your-", you whisper exhausted about the whole situation.

"My mom told me if a woman drives you crazy it's real love", he pets your hair, calming you down.

"I'm not lovable!", you sob, "you are", he promises. "I wanted to ask you tomorrow if you want to be my girlfriend. I'm sorry to let you feel this way!", he clears his throat. "Can you please be like yourself again?", he kisses your hand, holding it in his.

[wejustvibing]

love the top, man

[sukunasteeth]

Your First Time on Sukuna's Bike

You lost a bet. 

That’s ultimately how you ended up here.  

"Hey," Sukuna is calling your attention to him, sitting on his motorcycle with a spare helmet outstretched in your direction. "Put it on."

The sun was just starting to set behind him on the horizon, casting him in this warm orange flavored glow that was almost comforting. Almost. 

"'Kuna, maybe this is a bad idea." You stay where you are a few feet away, shifting from foot to foot nervously. "Maybe you should go to the meetup by yourself-"

He interrupts you with one call of your name, effectively silencing you. He raises a brow.

"C'mere," He's smirking at you, seeing your unease as a challenge. Like he always did. 

"No, totally, I would. It's just-I- " You can't find the words to deny him. They don't come to you anymore. Your heart aims to please him in everything but your body is frozen in fear. Your brain scrambles to produce something- any kind of lie under his lion-like gaze. "I just remembered that Yuji asked me to do something with him-"

"Yuji's with his goth boyfriend." Sukuna rolls his eyes, quickly swapping the helmet to his other hand and leaning across the short distance between you to grasp your wrist instead. He tugs you closer to him, until your shoe is nearly touching the tire of his bike.

He's grinning up at you, with that convincing little squint to his eyes.

"Chicken shit." He accuses.

You gape at him.

"I am not afraid of your little motor bike, okay?"

"Then put the helmet on, Braveheart." He shoves said helmet into your hands and releases it before you can say no to fully grasping its weight. You fumble with it, trying not to let the piece of equipment slip to the asphalt, it felt expensive and heavy with quality, just as a lot of Sukuna's things did.

When you finally have it secured to your chest, safe and sound, you pale at the thought of the next step. 

Now, Sukuna was nothing if not a gentleman. You knew that. But, he also was constantly toeing the line of gentleman and... complete and utter vagrant menace. He would come over to your apartment after a meetup like the one the two of you were going to, with wind whipped cheeks and adrenaline clearly glimmering in his eyes. Occasionally, he would even ask you if you had a spare tarp so that he could cover his bike in case the police came around the neighborhood looking for a similar one.

Being in one of his turbo kitted cars was different. If there was an accident, it wasn't just between you, the heavy leather jacket Sukuna had bought you, and the rough merciless asphalt of the street.

You're staring down at the helmet like it's a death sentence when Sukuna calls for your eyes again, his hand coming up to caress the back of your arm with a gentle, coaxing touch. He ushers you until you're within his airspace, creating a timeless bubble where only the two of you exist. 

You’re slightly guilty when you look up at him. You hated questioning Sukuna, especially when it came to something like your safety, which he would never put at risk, but you can't help the nerves curdling in your stomach.

His gaze melts into something similar to sympathy, still slightly amused with you. 

"Why're you scared?” He wants to know. He knows just which soft and low tone of voice to use on you- to make every secret you have come rushing to the surface, desperate to please him just like the rest of you was. 

"Scared? Of a stick with two wheels that can go in between cars that weigh literal tons while riding at a speed of 120 miles per hour? No. No, why would I be scared?"

"120 miles per hour?" He repeats, cocking a brow at you. "And put my little chicken shit in danger? Are you insane?"

You bite your lip. 

“Can we go slow?” 

Sukuna merely laughs, turning back towards his bike and turning the key to kick start the ignition. The time for conversation was clearly over. 

“Put it on.” ~

Sukuna actually does go at a reasonable speed for the majority of the time. You get used to the feeling of the wind gliding over every inch of you, hissing so loudly in your ears that all other sounds become moot. It’s almost like white noise. 

Sukuna’s body is warm and sturdy against your front, and you press more of yourself than needed into him, just to be closer. Occasionally he’ll reach down and squeeze your thigh or point something out for you to look at, but otherwise he lets you take in the scenery at an easy pace. 

After an hour of riding, you may very well say it was comforting on the bike. 

At least, until you get to a long stretch of highway, that is. Empty and wide as it is long. A highway to some rural part of the city you had never been to before. 

Sukuna taps your knee, and then reaches up and tightens your hold on his waist. It was a signal. 

“Wait-” Even if Sukuna could hear you past the helmets, the unrelenting wind, and the roar of the motorcycle beneath you, he didn’t give you a chance to say much. 

The bike climbs speed as your heartbeat climbs in speed and if it weren’t for the helmet, it would be impossible to breathe easy with the wind whisking around you in such a flurry. Your thighs press into Sukuna’s, and you peek over his shoulder at the speedometer to watch it hit 95. It felt so much faster to you. It felt like you were flying. 

You can’t help the giggles that escape you as exhilaration plucks them out of you. 

Fear had long since revealed itself as excitement to you, and Sukuna could tell in the way you would kick your feet as he revved the engine that you were on the same page now. 

By the time the two of you make it to the meetup, you’re buzzing like a ball of electricity. Sukuna parks the bike, kicks the stand out, and immediately turns around to unclasp your helmet first. 

You tear it off of you, barely containing yourself long enough for him to remove his own before you're winding your arms around his neck. Giggles are still leaking out of you and into his ear, which is searing cold beneath your lips. 

“I told you you’d like it.” He chuckles, leaning backwards into you and forcing you to be the one to keep the both of you upright. You use your free hand to pull on his hood, forcing him back even further until you can press a kiss to his prideful smile.  

“That was fun.” You whisper.

“Good.” He whispers back, grabbing his keys from the ignition without moving his head from your grasp. “You’re drivin’ us home.” 

[bluejutdae]

• best friend Stray Kids saving you (or being saved by you) from a bad date | Felix x you

Chan | Minho | Changbin | Hyunjin | Jisung | Seungmin | Jeongin

genre: romance, best friend to lovers

warnings: none, except that i am not satisfied at all with this but I’ve read it so many times I’m starting to hate it. I might edit heavily later

The moment you park outside the restaurant Lixie is in, you press the call button. Faking an emergency is not too hard, you talk about a friend getting injured and at the hospital, exaggerating your tone and almost making Felix laugh.

He’s out in less than five minutes. Under his bright smile there’s something you can’t decipher. He gets in your car and just his presence makes you happy. Everyone loves Felix, and you’re not immune to his charm either. He’s always kind, generous, sweet and funny. You’re really lucky to have him in your life.

“Ice cream?”

“Yes, please.” It’s so funny to hear his deep voice in such a childish tone.

You don’t press for answers about his date during the drive to your favorite ice cream place, you put on some music and sing loudly with him. Save for that indecipherable look in his eyes, he seems pretty normal.

You take your ice creams and decide to take a walk on the riverside. The wind is pretty chill, but neither of you mind too much. It’s him who brings up the date he was on.

“The date… it was like a blind date. But I didn’t know it was a date until it was too late.”

“Uh- what?” It doesn’t make sense: how did he manage to go on a date without knowing?

“Hannie.” Yeah, maybe it makes sense. Jisung means well, but most of the time the execution is, at best, messy.

“How did he get you?”

“He begged me to go on a double date on the premise it was just because this girl he wanted to go out with was wary of going out alone with him so she’d bring a friend with, but we were supposed to be just wingmen. Or so he told me.”

He licks his ice cream and shakes his head.

“About 10 minutes before we were supposed to meet he called and told me it was a lie and it was a blind date…”

You’re not sure as to what to say. It is very on brand for Jisung, but you can also understand how frustrating it can be for Felix. He’s a sweetheart, he must have felt guilty for having unwillingly misled the girl.

“I couldn’t just leave and stand her up. She knew nothing about the lie, so it wasn't her fault.”

“Was she nice, at least?”

He nods, but he seems almost distracted. “She was nice. Pretty and funny, to be honest.”

“Why didn’t you stay, then?”

He slows down to a stop, and the moment you notice you turn around to look at him, a question on your face. He cleans his mouth with the small napkin and exhales with a small grimace.

“Lix?”

“Because I like you. And I’m not interested in other girls.”

He likes you. Felix likes you. And not in a friendly way. In a like like way. You weren’t expecting that.

“I-“ you start, but you don’t know how to continue that sentence. What do you say to your best friend who just said he likes you? Do you even like him? You’ve always been pretty good at keeping your feelings in check, so after knowing him, when it was clear you were headed towards just being friends, that’s what you set your mind -and your heart- to. He’s your friend, and you didn’t even ever consider more.

“I’m sorry. I’ve kept it from you for a while but I couldn’t anymore. That’s why Jisung insisted on this date. He was trying to distract me.” He turns slightly to watch at the river flowing fast but quietly. “Things don't have to change. If you don’t feel the same it’s okay, but I’d like to stay friends if you’re okay with that. I don’t wanna lose you.”

The idea of Felix losing you is ridiculous to you, nothing is ever gonna make you distance yourself from him. You try to tell him so by hugging him. “Lixie, we’ll always be friends, no matter what.”

You speak into his jacket, and maybe it’s easier this way.

“I thought we were only meant to be friends, so I didn’t even consider looking at you in a different way.” You can feel him tense under your hug. “Wait, wait, listen to me please.” Still hugging him you try to look at him, a smile on your lips. He’s your best friend, he’s the best person you’ve ever met. Being liked by him is an honor, and if you think about it, trying to be something more it’s not something that you hate.

“You’re my best friend, Lix. You know I love you, and I think you’re perfect. I never let myself think about you like that, but I know that if I give it a chance, it’d be so easy to fall in love with you romantically.”

“You don’t have to make yourself like me.”

“Don’t be silly. I’d be lucky to love you. Give me a chance?”

He’s smiling now, and he’s so so pretty like this. He’s always pretty, you tell him constantly, but when he smiles it’s his best look.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure Lixie. Let me take you out on a date? I promise to spoil you…”

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking you out?”

“It’s okay. You can ask next time.” You kiss him on his cheek and hold his hand, making him resume your stroll.

He really is easy to love, and not even a month later you ask yourself how you ever managed not to be head over heels in love with your best friend boyfriend.

[bby-deerling]

genie in a bottle (law x reader nsfw)

law uses your clit as a fidget toy :^)

18+, nsfw, mdni, wc: 1.8k masterlist || commissions

cw: fem!reader, semi-public stuff, mild body horror (maybe ? law has your clit in his pocket), edging, oral (reader receiving), fingering, fingers in mouth, overstimulation, dirty talk, teasing, established relationship

tagging: @willowbelle @eelnoise @risenwrites @atanukileaf @cloudzoro @kaizokuniichan @sanjisprincesswifey @mirillua

Trafalgar Law is a lot of things—a skilled doctor, a gifted swordsman, and a man with innate leadership skills coursing through his veins.  Sharp as a whip and possessing a unique charm, he is captivating enough to swallow someone whole if they aren’t careful.

He’s also an amazing multi-tasker.

As he nonchalantly moves through the agenda items during the bi-weekly crew meeting, Law’s right hand stays buried in the pocket of his jacket.  The detail goes unnoticed by most of the crew; Law is often restless and prone to fidgeting, and usually has something in his pocket to mess with.  If it was the usual stress ball, rock, or other small item that he was rolling his finger across rhythmically, you wouldn’t have paid it much mind, but your captain is playing with something different today.

It was beyond insane of you to let him temporarily take the most sensitive piece of you to mess around with in his pocket for a little while, but the way his eyes darkened coupled with the devious smirk he gave you when suggesting the idea had turned you into putty in his hands.

And now you were so limp and malleable, wholly at his mercy as he tries to get you to crack the stone-cold expression on your face while he drones on about kitchen cleaning duties for next week.  It wasn’t like you weren’t turned on—you were grateful the lining of your boiler suit masked the way your arousal had already soaked your panties and was dripping down your inner thighs—but you were determined to keep yourself together until the meeting is over and you can jump his bones behind closed doors.

A pair of eyes locked onto you turns you hyper-aware of everyone in the room, making your face flush even warmer.  To your right, Ikkaku shoots you a look of concern and leans over.  “You alright?  You look like you’re coming down with something.” she whispers in your ear.  Biting your cheek, your mind scrambles to put something together.  Not trusting your ability to get any words out without letting a squeak or a moan slip from your tongue, you simply nod in response, though it might have been just easier to lie—a small fever would have been the perfect excuse for your bright red cheeks and restless shivers and twitches—but the way Law’s thumb traces patterns into your needy bud turns your brain into a pile of mush.

Turning your focus towards the front of the room, your eyes glaze over as you watch Law, and his words turn into babble as all you can fixate on is the deep tone of his voice sending echoes and vibrations up through the floor.  A painful eternity passes by before Law dismisses the crew; most of your crewmates hop up to go to their posts, but a few hang back to ask their captain some questions.  You stay firmly fixed in your seat, face still red but expression blank as you wait for him to finish up, hoping he’ll take your diligent patience into account and grant you some form of mercy.

Finally, after a conversation with Shachi that seemingly lasts eons, Law sits down beside you, taking Ikkaku’s place and places his free hand on your shoulder.  “Are you feeling okay?  I noticed you look a bit off.” he asks innocently, as if he wasn’t still playing with you—as if he hadn’t purposely worn his sweatpants that were a size too big today instead of his skinny jeans in an attempt to mask the way his cock throbs in his boxers as he toys with you.

“I think I’m coming down with something.” you mumble softly, all of your focus going towards keeping an even and unassuming tone—a few of your crewmates were still in the room, after all—though Law makes it hard as he starts tracing the alphabet into your clit with his thumb, seemingly just to mess with you and keep you right on the edge of falling apart.

His face doesn’t betray much as he tries to maintain professionalism and responds with, “Come with me, then.  I’ll check you out.” but something in the way he says it shatters the façade—maybe it’s the smugness, or the smirk creeping across his face, but it makes you twitch with need as you follow him, hot on his heels and eager for release. However, as you seemingly take a loop around the entire Polar Tang and holding back your twitches and noises becomes increasingly more difficult, you realize that Law is going to draw this out as long as he possibly can; taking matters into your own hands once the two of you are in a secluded part of the submarine, you start making demands.

“Give it back.” you hiss, standing up on your tiptoes to ensure your demand was heard by his ears alone.

Law scoffs and continues walking down the cramped hallway, not even sparing you a glance; however, a broad grin spreads across his face at your frustration, making you even more heated and indignant. “No way.  This is too much fun.” he replies with a smirk, continuing to rub circles into your clit that make your spine shiver.

“Then at least let me cum—” you snap back, dripping and desperate for release to the point of being irritable.  Law’s footsteps halt as he glances in both directions to ensure the two of you are alone before placing a hand near your head along the wall and leaning in close.

“Right here?  In the middle of the hallway?  That’s what you want?” he teases, pressing his thumb harder against your bud; the wave of pleasure rolling through your body makes you weak in the knees and plants your feet firmly to the ground as you still stubbornly stifle the moans clawing their way up your throat.  Taking a sharp inhale, you close your eyes and compose yourself before shaking your head.  “That’s what I thought.” Law murmurs, his lips so close that they ghost along the sensitive skin of yours.

“Take me to your room, please—” you whisper, finally letting your hard, determined exterior fall to pieces, allowing the overwhelming need that you’re drowning in to pour out through your voice.

Clicking his tongue, Law seemingly isn’t satisfied as the corner of his lips quirk upward. “Try again.” he replies smugly, letting his free hand trail down your side and rest on your hip.

“Take me to your room, please, Captain.” you say, whimpering softly at his touch as you correct yourself, meeting his playful gaze with pleading eyes blown out with lust.

“Good girl.” he purrs, bathing the two of you in a bright blue light as he swaps you for two flecks of dust on his sheets.  Another mumble and flick of his wrist puts everything back where it’s supposed to be, but somehow, he hasn’t had his fill of teasing you yet.  Slipping off your boiler suit and laying you down on your side, his limbs and tongue entangle with yours as he greedily pulls you as close to him as possible.

“Fuck, you’re soaked.” he murmurs against your lips as his inked hand drifts between your legs, pushing your panties aside and running them along your slit.  Dipping them inside, he curls them against your sweet spot until he has you mewling for him, only to pull them out and tap your bottom lip with his slick-covered fingers.

“Taste it for me.” he orders, and you obediently open your mouth to suck on his digits, swirling your tongue around them and moaning softly as you taste yourself.  “Suck them clean for me.” he mumbles, groaning slightly as you run your tongue along his fingers one last time before he pops them out of your mouth, wiping the saliva off onto the outside of your thigh.

Smirking with satisfaction, he nudges you onto your back and slips down your torso, letting out a pleased sigh when you instinctively spread your legs for him.  Holding them apart with his tattooed hands, he drags his tongue along the side of your thighs, coating it in your essence as he licks upward towards your core.  Swirling his tongue along your entrance, he smirks as you twitch with need against him.  “You want me to let you cum?” he asks teasingly, letting one of his hands trail upward to play with your sensitive clit.

“Please, Law, I need it so bad…” you whimper, letting out a gasp as he tongue slips inside of you, thrusting in and out and flicking along your walls.  The fullness turns your vision red hot as the coil in your core nearly snaps; your hips snap towards his thumb to get just a little more friction on your bud, until all of a sudden, he pulls away.

“Law!” you exclaim in frustration as you let out a deep sigh and dig your nails into the palm of your hand.  He only smirks and lets out an exhale of amusement in response as he sheds his boxers and sits beside you, grabbing you by the waist and nudging you to get up and straddle him.  Complying, you sink down onto his cock, and both of you throw your heads back as the sensation sends tingles down your spines; however, any control you have in this position is short-lived as his hands grip the plush skin of your hips possessively, fucking into you as he grinds you against him.

“I’m gonna make you cum so hard you won’t be able to see straight.” he mumbles in your ear as he feels you start to twitch intermittently around him; you try to let him know that you’re close, but your mind is so overheated that the words all spill out as babbles and whimpers.  There was nothing left in your mind except the white-hot pleasure building in your core, and a few more drags against him is all it takes to let it completely flood through you, blinding your senses and making your back arch so hard a few vertebrae crack back into place.

“That’s it, cum for me.” he mumbles as he continues to rub your sensitive bud against him, drawing out your wave of pleasure as much as he can.  Twitching in his grasp, and letting out soft moans, you slowly catch your breath and fall limp against his chest, burying your face into his neck and letting out a few tiny whimpers.  “Such a good girl for me.” he praises as he rubs your back and wraps his arms around you, planting soft kisses along your collarbone.

But, through it all, the slow pace of his thrusts inside of you never falters, and he can’t help but pick up the pace as you emerge from the haze clouding your mind and spring to life once more, grazing your teeth along his neck as you leave kisses along the sensitive column of skin.

“I’m not done with you yet—not even close.” he whispers in your ear, a needy rasp coating his words with lust.  Trafalgar Law is many things—but above all, he’s beyond thorough, in everything that he does.

Especially you.

[sp0o0kylights]

I once had to pose in a ton of photos for a friend's AP photography final back in high school so may I present to you:

Steve Harrington, who gave in to Robin's begging that he act as her weird art model for her senior year portfolio (the same one her teacher is encouraging her to bat out of the ballpark and enter into contests.) 

She's doing a whole thing on fashion, subcultures and sexuality using photos and collaged poetry, a project that has Steve trying on different outfits and posing in different places. 

"This might help me land a scholarship, Dingus." She hisses while she's got him bent over her bathtub, spraying parts of his hair blue with wash-out dye.

Steve, soulmate and best friend extraordinaire, goes through it all with minimal (for him) bitching, even if the goth outfit feels absolutely ridiculous, and the 'geek' photoshoot downright laughable.

He starts to have fun when she has him mimic Nancy's straight laced, all A's good girl aura, and equally has a blast with the country look (he has no idea where Robin got a miniature horse but it conned him for every piece of food he had on him and then some.) 

The final piece is the one they're struggling with, the one Robin's now (fake) dying his hair partially blue for. 

A few hours later and he's dressed up once again in a studded leather jacket, the tightest jeans he owns ringed with belts, and combat boots.

 Robin had even talked him into letting her use eyelash glue to attach a few metal studs on his face--two acting as an eyebrow piercing and one on his nose. 

The looks he drew took a minute to get used too when all was said and done, Robin dragging him around Hawkins while she tried to find the 'perfect backdrop' but he's not gonna lie. 

He kinda enjoys being punk Steve.

That is, until Robin has him posing in an alleyway and Eddie Munson comes around the corner, jaw right about falling to the floor.

Even better? 

Eddie doesn't recognize him. 

Not at first, when he siddles up to Steve, nodding to the handkerchief in Steve's back pocket and then flicking the pink triangle pin on his jacket with a finger. 

Steve owes Jonathan a bottle of his father's best alcohol for giving him enough knowledge to get through the music razing Eddie subjects him too, and Steve's all too happy to play the part of punk asshole to Munson's music-snob metalhead.

It's not until Eddies playing with his hair and Robin gives in to letting him have a quick break from the shoot that he gives up the ghost, leaning in to whisper in Eddie's ear. 

"Gotta say, Munson," Steve all but purrs."I wasn't expecting you to fall for the Harrington Charm that fast."

"What?" Eddie asks, jerking his head back to look at him with wide eyes. 

Maybe it's the outfit giving him the extra ounce of courage, but Steve likes to think more that it gives him the freedom to lean forward and brush their lips together. 

Eddie doesn't return it, but that's alright. 

Steve's played this game enough to know that it was merely a hook for a real kiss. 

"Okay." Robin says, annoyed, camera at her side. "Steve, I'm happy that you're finally exploring that repressed as fuck homosexuality we keep arguing about, I really am, but I have to get this last photo!" 

He ignores her, instead nudging Eddie's shoulders.

"Care to pose with me?" Steve asks, grinning. He can tell Eddie still isn't sure if this is a joke, that he's seconds from running, and reaches out to tug on his black handkerchief. "Get Robin her photo, and then talk about this after, Mr. S&M."

Eddie flushes scarlet, but after some reassurance (and wheelding) from Robin, finally agrees. 

(Later, he agrees to a date, which Steve also credits the outfit for.

Even if Robin demands half the credit.) 

[voxsremotec0ck]

𝐑𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞.ᐟ

ᝰ Blitzø x Fem!reader

ᝰ NSFW, oral (fem receiving), fingering, degrading names (slut), tail play??

wc - 1.4k

˗ˏˋ Blitzø does return the favor in the bedroom, and he’s going to prove it ˎˊ˗

Your lazy night in was interrupted by a loud banging on your door, making you jump and pause your TV. Checking your phone, you see that it's just after midnight, and you frown; who the fuck would be knocking on your door this late?

Whoever it was loudly knocked again before yelling through the door, “It’s Blitz open up!”

You sigh in frustration at the familiar name and voice of your frequent booty call. Of course, it was Blitzø. The man would never call or text; instead, he would just show up at random and expect you to rework your plans for him. You get up and drag yourself to the door, opening it and fully prepared to cuss him out, “Blitz, what-”

You barely got the door open before the imp was storming inside your apartment and slamming it shut behind him, “Listen, I’ve had a long and shitty night, and now I need to prove something to myself, so if you could get naked and in bed that would be fan-fucking-tastic.”

Blitzø walked around you and made his way to your bedroom, taking his leather jacket off and tossing it on the couch in the process. You stood there dumbfounded for a moment before taking off after him, “What?”

“Oh my fucking Satan, can you just take your fucking pants off.” Blitzø snapped, standing at the foot of your bed with his arms crossed. You could tell something was wrong, even if he hadn’t told you he had a shitty night; it was obvious from his expression alone.

The two of you weren’t exactly the ‘talk about your feelings’ type, but you’ve never seen Blitzo this bothered before. Something really fucked up must’ve happened for him to be this visibly upset, “What happened?”

“Maybe I’ll tell you after I’m done with you.” Blitzø tried to flirt, and you only glared at him in response. He huffed in annoyance, “A lot of shit that I don’t want to talk about happened, okay? But one thing that did happen is that my ex said I don’t reciprocate in bed, and I know that shit is a lie.”

“So that’s what you need to prove to yourself? That you can please your bedmate?” you asked, rolling your eyes and leaning on the doorframe.

“Not just any bedmate!” Blitzø yelled, obviously getting worked up at the memory of whatever happened, “I need to prove that I can pleasure a pussy haver! That bitch made it seem like I don’t know where the clit is, and I cannot have that!”

Your eye twitched at the term ‘pussy haver,’ but still, you sighed and walked over towards the bed, “Yaknow, I don’t think you’ve ever eaten me out before.”

“Yeah, well, you’ve never sucked me off either. We’re more of the quick fuck type of booty call.” Blitzø rolled his eyes, “Now, am I gonna have to cut your stupid sleep shorts off or what?”

You stood silently in front of him for a moment, looking him up and down, trying to decide if you were really going to do this. The assassin seemed almost desperate for you to agree, and honestly, you did kind of want to see if he actually was good at eating pussy or not.

With a tired sigh, you slip out of your shorts and panties before climbing up onto your bed. Blitzø smirks at you before clapping his hands together and rubbing them, “You should also take your top off; I’m about to give you some real underboob sweat.”

“Literally, what the fuck?” You snap, glaring at him as he pushes your legs apart. The feeling of the cool air on your exposed core makes you shiver, and you quickly pull off your t-shirt.

Blitzø pulls your folds apart with his thumbs, exposing you even more, and spits on your pussy. You jump at the suddenness of his action and open your mouth to yell at him before he moves one of his thumbs, sliding it between your folds to spread his spit. You moan softly when he just barely brushes your clit, and you hear him mumble, “See, you fucking skank, I know exactly where the clit is.”

“Yep, you sure showed her. Now, why don’t you rub it or something.” You whined when his thumb only grazed the sensitive nub again.

“Oh no, I’m gonna do this right,” Blitzø said and began circling your entrance with his middle finger. “Which means I’m gonna draw it out as long as possible.”

You moan loudly when he slides his finger inside of you; your legs fall open impossibly wider as you glare down at him, “You’re an ass.”

“It’s your fault for thinking otherwise, sweetheart.” Blitzø meets your glare with a smirk before leaning down and flicking his forked tongue against your clit. Your hips buck up at the small bit of friction, pushing his finger deeper inside of you and making you grip the sheets tightly.

Using his free hand to hold your hips down against the bed, Blitzø started to pump his finger in and out of you slowly as he dragged his tongue between your folds. Every time the forked tip of his tongue cradled your clit, your hips jerked, and you moaned, no doubt alerting your neighbors to what you were up to.

After a few minutes of this slow torture, Blitzø finally pushed a second finger inside of you, making your back arch, “Oh fuck, Blitz.”

“Yeah, that's right,” Blitzø grunted against your mound, his fingers moving faster inside of you, “You better remember who’s making you feel this good.”

“Blitz your tongue-” You whine, missing the feeling of his mouth on you.

“What about it, sugar?” Blitzø asked, bringing this thumb up to rub agonizingly slow circles against your clit as his fingers continued to fuck into you, curling up just right and hitting your sweet spot. “Awe, does the dumb slut want my tongue on her clit? Are you gonna beg for it?”

You let out a frustrated groan, not wanting to give in to this stupid game but also needing his stupidly long tongue to cum, “Please, Blitz, fuck! Please use your tongue!”

“Well, when you ask so nicely.” You didn’t have to look at the imp to know he was smirking as he said that before he sucked your clit into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the small nub and making you all but scream.

You couldn’t help yourself anymore and reached down, grabbing Blitzø’s horns and pulling his face closer. You felt more than heard his muffled grunt of surprise, the noise vibrating against your sensitive skin and making your legs shake. That all-too-familiar heat began coiling in your abdomen, and you started rocking your hips against him as you moaned, “I’m so close!”

Something suddenly brushing against your left breast, pushing against your neglected nipple, and sending a shiver up your spine caught your attention. You pried your eyes open to see Blitzø had snaked his tail up your body, the flat end of it pressing against your tit until it lifted and came back down with a hard smack.

“Blitz fuck!” You cried out as you came, body overwhelmed with the amount of stimulation.

Blitzø continued his brutal pace as you soaked his face. His fingers still fucked against your g-spot, his tongue still circled your swollen clit, and his tail still smacked against your nipple until you were begging him to stop. He finally pulled away from you with a wet pop and leaned over you with a smirk while he licked his lips.

“So?” He asked, sounding out of breath but looking way more smug than when he showed up, “How was that?”

You panted, completely slumped against your bed, and getting pissed off at the sweaty feeling under your boobs, “That was-”

The sound of a high-pitched barking started blaring from Blitzø’s pocket, and you tilted your head to watch as he quickly pulled his phone out. You knew that was his daughter Loona’s ringtone, so when the imp’s eyes widened impossibly large before he scurried off the bed, you became nervous. “Blitz? Everything okay?”

“Yeah- shit!” Blitzø cursed as he fell off your bed, and you just rolled your eyes, “Yeah, Looney just needs me to pick her up!”

You just sat on your bed and listened as Blitzo ran out of your room and grabbed his jacket, “Okay, well-”

The sound of your front door opening and slamming shut cut you off, leaving you alone again. Looking at the clock on your nightstand, you saw time as a little past one in the morning and sighed. If it weren’t for the wet feeling between your legs and the satisfied ach in your body, it would almost feel like he’d never been at all.

You flopped back down on your bed with a huff, “Asshole.”

I did it guys I finished the fic high me decided I was gonna write😌

[lovewithmary]

Okay I’m gathering all my brain power for these and repurposing my own aus in my head 😼

Anyways imagine Dutch princess reader x lando. Hear me out okay so imagine every year when they hand out the trophies in the Netherlands reader hands it out and she’s friends with max because of him being their pride and joy of the country. Blind item comes in to duexmoi (want the person to be anon but their tag is like orange land or something that plays off orange and the fact that lando has the joke that natherlands is like a second home race)(idk how to spell it I’m not a gossip follower) about a certain Dutch princess with a f1 driver and everyone immediately assumes max and reader. Lando could hard launch them being like wrong orange boy or they could just be spotted on winter break having a vacation together. Imagine they met at like a gp when lando podiumed there (im manifesting for this season) and like when she was visiting garages there he rizzed her up

Idk you could scrap everything and I would still eat it up 🫶😽

WRONG DRIVER — LN4

summary: in which people think that you and max are dating, but lando is determined to prove them wrong

pairing: dutch princess!y/n x lando norris

fc: elle fanning

masterlist

notes: for my pookie @renarots 🫶 also not me saying i have writer's block and don't know when I'll post but when rena sends me an ask I 🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️ to write

liked by maxverstappen1, landonorris, and 1230223 others

princessy/n: thank you to f1 for inviting me and for letting me present the awards once again! and congrats to maxverstappen1, landonorris, and charles_leclerc for podium!

comments

user1: THE PADDOCK PRINCESS (LITERALLY) 🫶

user2: max and lando in the likes?/? ↳ user3: they literally got mentioned by Y/N???

user4: Y/N growing up attending gps to actually presenting in one is such a full circle moment for her

user5: Y/N you are literally the most fashionable person when you attend the paddock, please teach max 🙏🙏 ↳ princessy/n: i've tried, but he's too attached to being a walking-talking sponsor for his team ↳ maxverstappen1: says the one who's obsessed with a certain jacket 👀 ↳ user6: WHAT DOES THIS MEAN?

landonorris: 🧡🧡

liked by maxverstappen1, f1, mclaren, and 9438143 others

landonorris: can't imagine being with anyone except you 🧡

tagged: princessy/n

comments

user1: lando saw people were speculating Y/N dating max and proving EVERYONE wrong 😭

user2: the hand placements in the photos AHHHHHH

user3: lando fr said wrong driver

maxverstappen1: now say thank you max for setting us up ↳ princessy/n: thank you max <3 ↳ landonorris: thank you max 😄

princessy/n: THAT BIRTHDAY PHOTO IS A CRIME ↳ landonorris: no it's cute it's my lockscreen

maxfewtrell: the fact i've been present for most of these moments tell me i should hang out with you guys less ↳ princessy/n: don't lie max, you're just waiting for the perfect time to take lando away from me 😒 ↳ maxfewtrell: lando's always been mine, don't lie

user4: lando dating THE Y/N aka THE PRINCESS was not on my bingo card for this year

princessy/n: my love 🧡 ↳ landonorris: my princess 🧡

[thesparklingwriter]

unspoken thoughts

tags: modern au, wrothesley x fem! reader, roomates to lovers, reader goes on a blind date with a karen (tm), biker! wrio!!!!

word count: 1.7k

masterlist | taglist

“Hey, Bun. How was work?”

You meet Wriothesley with a level glare, as you fumble with locking the door. Maybe rooming with him had saved you money on rent, but what you’d saved had definitely been replaced with extra stress.

“I told you to stop calling me bunny.”

“Perhaps if you didn’t blush like that when I do, I would stop.” He replies, nursing a cup of tea and a book as he relaxes on the sofa. You glare at him again but lower yourself onto the sofa beside him.

“New delivery?” You ask, referring to the tea.

“The one that was delayed,” he says. “It was worth the wait.” He raises the cup to you and you take a sip, taking stock of all the flavours you can before Wriothesley begins to talk about it. One day, you’re sure he’ll find out that you actually have no interest in his teas, and that despite the fact he drives you mad, he’s actually just nice to listen to.

“Seems it was worth the money too,” You say once he’s finished talking. “Definitely belongs in the top ten.”

“Maybe even top five,” he replies, mostly to himself as you stand up. “More work?” he asks lightly, expecting you to grumble about how you're tired of always working, and you wish your manager would stop expecting you to work overtime for free, but this time you smile coyly.

“I have a blind date,” you say quietly, trying to ignore the way he’s looking up at you. “My friend set me up. He’s apparently a very refined, classy guy from a good family, and my friend says he thinks we’d get along well.”

“I wonder what your friend defines as a good family,” Wriothesley says, sipping his tea. “Money? Influence?” He’d never truly considered what you’d look for in a partner before, in fact, he liked to try and avoid the thought if possible. He prefers to only think about the things which affect him directly. But now the topic has been brought up, he suddenly feels strange. If coming from a good family is important to you… That would immediately take him out of the running, wouldn’t it?

“I dunno.” you shrug. “Sometimes my friend just says things. Anyway, thanks for sharing your tea. I’m gonna go get ready.”

Wriothesley watches as you walk away, sighing lightly as he takes another sip of his tea. He’s lived with you for so long that he never truly thought about how his life at home would change if you got a boyfriend. Would it mean he could no longer share his teas with you? Would he have to stop letting you sleep on him when you watch movies together?

He sits with his thoughts until he hears your keys as you leave your room.

“I’m off. Don’t stay up for me.” You smile, and Wriothesley can't help but hate himself for hating how happy you seem to be leaving. He sips his now-cold tea and nods.

“Have fun.”

“You’re grumbling. What’s the matter?” you say, pulling your jacket on.

“I am not grumbling.” he shoots back, standing up to go to the kitchen. “My tea got cold. That’s all.”

“You are so grumbling right now.” you grin. Wriothelsey doesn't know if you are purposefully ignoring his bad mood or if you're so excited about your date that you simply don’t notice, but he doesn’t really like either of those answers. “See you later!”

And then Wriothesley finds himself alone again. Maybe he’d taken it for granted that you’d always be around. Maybe he isn't as okay with the silence as he’d made himself believe he was. 

Even though you told him not to wait up, he finds himself unable to sleep. He tells himself it's not because he’s worried, it's just because he had a rare lie in this morning. It's natural for his body to be slightly out of sync, right? You’re perfectly capable of taking care of yourself, and today is just like every other day and–

His phone is ringing. It’s odd for him to get called by his manager so late in the day, but it's also not rare. 

It's even rarer for it to be you calling.

“Wriothesley?”

“Hey, Bun. What’s going on?” He can’t help but smile a little. There you are on a date, but you’re calling him.

“Are you busy right now?” 

It's only then that he notices the wavering in your voice.

“I’m not. What’s the matter?”

“Can you come and get me? I… I’m sorry, I just don’t know who else to call.” 

You sound cold, he notices. Your teeth chatter together in between your words, and the wavering in your voice seems to be getting worse.

“Where are you? Why aren’t you inside?” He grabs his keys and he’s out of the door before you even have the chance to respond. His legs are moving faster than his mind can, and he’s already halfway down the stairs before he knows it.

You tell him where you are, but pointedly avoid his second question, and he supposes that’s fair. Maybe you just don’t want to share.

“I’m coming. Don’t move.”

Even despite the fact he’s glad you called him, Wriothesley wonders why you didn’t call an Uber. You’ve always been very vocal about how much you hate his motorcycle, and how you wish he’d just get a car. is the situation so dire that you don't care anymore?

When he gets to you, you’re sat outside of an upscale restaurant. He’s sure you left with a jacket, but you don’t have it on now.

“Hey,” he says, sitting next to you. “What’s the matter?”

You burst into tears when he asks you that question, and for a second, Wriothesley has no clue what to do. It’s you who buries your face into his chest, sobbing desperately.

“It was going okay at first, but the waitress got the guy’s order wrong and he went crazy. So they asked him to pay and leave, and then he said he didn’t want to because his order was wrong. He demanded that a manager come and then he said that I should pay. And I said I’d pay for my half, but as I was saying that I wasn’t going to pay for him, the manager came and picked up the wrong end of the stick, and she wouldn’t listen to the waitress who was defending me. So she asked us both to leave, and he’s screaming his head off, and they barely even gave me time to grab my phone before they marched us out. They would have left me with him while he was blowing his top if it wasn’t for the waitress who came with me until he left.” you cling onto his jacket. “I’m so embarrassed.”

“Don’t be embarrassed.” He says lowly. “It’s not your fault. It was never your fault.” He shrugs his jacket off and puts it over your shoulders. “Show me your table. I’ll get your stuff.”

“Wriothesley, please.” You can feel the anger radiating off him, and you worry about what will happen if he ends up on the wrong side of that manager.

“You shouldn’t suffer because of a guy with no manners. Let me get your things.”

You nod but insist on staying outside. The waitress that you said helped you earlier is the one that greets Wriothesley at the door, and you watch on as she brings him your things, and he settles the bill.

“You didn’t have to do that,” You tell Wriothesley as he returns.

“I did. Shall we go?” He asks, handing you a helmet. He’d bought that helmet for you when you first moved in together, just in case you ever needed to use his motorbike, but you always refused. He’s glad that it’s finally getting used at least once.

The ride home is silent, and you don’t say anything until you get back into your apartment. The feeling of the wind against your skin and your arms around Wriothesley calms you, and even though you feel humiliated by the actions of your stupid blind date, you feel that maybe things aren’t all that bad.

“You finally stopped calling me bunny,” you say, as you flop onto the sofa. Wriothesley hums in response as he fills up the kettle. In his haste, he’d left all of the lights in the apartment on.

“Does it bother you?”

“A little.”

“You’re so contrary.” He says finally. “You say you hate me calling you bunny, but here you are. You say you hate my motorbike, but you’re okay with me using it to pick you up.”

“I don’t hate your motorcycle.” You say, sitting up to look at him properly. “I think it’s cool.”

“Right, that’s why you refused to ever be near it.”

“I just hated the thought of you getting hurt on it.” You say finally. “It scared me.” He hands you a cup of tea and sits next to you. He hadn’t expected that to be your reasoning. “A part of me hoped that you wouldn’t let me go on that date, you know.”

“Why? It’s not my place to tell you what not to do. If you want to go on a blind date, I can’t stop you.” Those are the words he’d told himself as he watched you leave—you were your own person and it wasn’t his place to try and police what you do.

“You don’t understand.”

“Maybe I don’t,” he replies. “Help me understand.”

You take a deep breath. “If I kissed you, would that help you get it?”

“I don’t know. I suppose you’ll have to try.” He smiles. He barely even gets to finish his sentence when you pull him down to you and kiss him. In all the time he imagined he’d get to kiss you, he didn't think you’d be the one to initiate–-but even still, he wraps his arms around you and pulls you closer.

“Do you get it now?” you ask giddily.

“Not quite.”

So you kiss him again and again until he gets the message.

Bonus:

“You’re not the sharpest pencil in the box, really, are you?”

“Luckily for me, you’d make a great sharpener.”

© 2023, thesparklingwriter. please do not copy, edit, repost, or translate.

notes: um ig its time to add wrio to my taglist form lol.. i really cannot get a good grip on his character so if you read this without thinking "he would not do that" then I am relieved but if you did i am also not surprised lol

[harmonictechnicality]

Grocery shopping with Steve Harrington should not be such an arousing task, but it is.

It so is.

Eddie swears on all of his calloused fingers that watching Steve strut down the cereal aisle with his little shopping cart is better than hand stuff.

Seriously. He always walks a few feet behind Steve, just to get the perfect view of that award winning ass (Eddie made him a trophy for it last Valentine’s Day - it’s on their mantle).

They’ve been together for what? Eight years? And it never gets any less sexy. Watching him reach for the granola bars on the top shelf, stretching his annoyingly tucked in shirt.

Eddie pretends to peer through imaginary opera binoculars as Steve reads over the nutrition label. Steve flips it over a couple of times because he always forgets which brand he likes better - the blue box or the red box. Eddie never reminds him that his favorite is the blue box because the whole charade is too adorable.

But once Steve figures it out, he tosses the blue box into the cart, and Eddie always lets out this rumbly throat sound at the sight.

Steve turns his neck to look at Eddie. “This again?”

“This always.” Eddie catches up to Steve’s side at the canned food section, slides his hand in Steve’s back pocket. “Never not this.”

Steve rolls his eyes and bends down to grab a few cans of chicken noodle soup. Which holy fuck, seeing his boyfriend at a 75° angle holding his favorite soup preference? Eddie might as well be packaged and placed on the shelf. Cause his mind is turning to liquid. He’s becoming a bowl of horny broth at the sight of Steve all domestic and bent over.

Eddie quickly flicks off his jacket because the entire store just warmed up exponentially. Global warming doesn’t have shit on Steve Harrington holding discounted canned goods.

Steve lightly smacks Eddie's arm. “Pull yourself together.”

“I’ll pull your self onto my self.”

“Really?” Steve snorts. “That was the best you could come up with?”

“Yeah well, the lower quadrant of my brain shut off the second I visualized your ass dimple in the middle of the bread aisle.” Eddie explains, untucking one edge of Steve’s shirt.

“Sorry for the inconvenience to your grocery-kink brain.”

“You should be.” Grocery kink. Steve with a shopping cart kink. Eddie has both, no doubt.

And it’s totally true. The bread aisle is usually where all hope is lost for him. Fluffy breads, kneading dough, squishy carbs all around them. Steve’s sides are just begging to be squeezed in that aisle (amongst other places). The deli employee outwardly gawks as Eddie pokes at Steve's waist, pinching any area of skin that he can get his hands on.

"Just making sure the products are nice and fresh!" Eddie shouts to the employee, hugging Steve firmly from behind. The poor meat-slicing guy laughs nervously before scurrying into the stock room. Honestly, Eddie should probably feel more sympathetic but it's so hard to focus on anything else when Steve kisses his cheek. Accepts his weird affections fully.

"These people don't get paid enough to put up with your shit." Steve is laughing as he says it though. Clearly not that bothered by all of the attention he's getting. That's part of the reason they work so well together. They're absolute attention whores, equally.

"Okay, cut it out." Steve wiggles out from Eddie's grasp. "You're gonna smush the sourdough."

Eddie freezes. Mulls over the consequences over the next thing he's about to say. "Is that an invitation?"

"Ew."

"You said it."

"You twisted it."

"How could I not?"

"You need help." Steve turns down the next aisle, still speaking as he stays on task. "Preferably the kind that involves a person with a legal pad and a couch that you can lie down on."

Eddie snickers, thoroughly loves it when Steve bites back. Makes the chase feel like it just started, even after all these years.

He keeps it together for roughly twelve more minutes, which is probably a record. Eddie also deserves a trophy on their mantle for that - he's gonna hint to Steve about investing in one whenever they get back home.

But the aisle where Eddie’s composure levels malfunction entirely, is the frozen food section. See, whenever Steve opens the door to get milk or eggs or whatever essential dairy item they need, a rush of frigid air blows out. Makes Steve’s already bitable skin all bumpy. His neck is covered in little chill bumps, all of his baby hairs stick up with his raised skin.

This is the only instance where Eddie mildly wishes he were a cannibal, just to give Steve a little chomp. A little nibble at his change in skin texture. Eddie's not even sure why the chill bumps send him over the edge but they do - every damn time.

“Baby, we’ve talked about this.” Steve says once Eddie gets him pinned up behind the corner freezer in the very back.

"There were no snoopy old ladies around this time." Eddie licks all the way up to Steve's ear, tugging gently around the edges. "I checked."

Steve huffs once before taking Eddie's face with both hands, kissing him deep. The rest of his body is cold from the surrounding freezers, but Steve's lips are warm. Hotter every time Eddie's mouth connects to his again. Steve still tastes like the nectarine samples they had back at the produce aisle. The taste drives Eddie to suck on Steve's bottom lip, drinking up any leftover flavor he can. Make Steve's natural pout even more plush than it normally is.

He untucks the rest of Steve's annoying polo - lets his hands slide all the way around, landing at the small of Steve's back. Eddie presses his fingers into Steve's skin, making him shiver. Causing more chill bumps to rise. Ones that he created this time.

They've kissed like this over a thousand times by now, but it always feels different. It’s a new kiss on a new day.

And Eddie couldn't give a single fuck if the deli employee or the snoopy old lady saw them making out next to the lactose-free cheese selection. He'd show off his stupidly gorgeous boyfriend everywhere, make a complete spectacle out of it every damn time.

Steve would let him do it too. Eddie bets that Steve would let him get away with a full anarchist uprising if he wanted. Which he does. Kinda. After they're done kissing, obviously.

They stop only because Steve lets his lips part and his fingers drag down Eddie's chest. And whenever Steve does that move, he's approximately thirty seconds away from moaning explicit words. Loudly too. Eddie knows all of Steve's physical indicators by heart now. It’s practically Eddie’s native language, he would speak only that one if he could.

Eddie takes the cue to stash all of his hormones away - goes back to dotting small pecks all over Steve's face. He needs to get Steve laughing instead of panting. It's safer that way. Eddie isn't trying to get arrested in a supermarket for christ's sake (although that would make one hell of a story for family reunions).

They're sort of blotchy, all pinks and reds, as they get to the checkout line. The cashier must think their complexion is permanently like this. Every time she’s seen them, they’re blushed-up like Vegas showgirls. Eddie is immune to the embarrassment of the situation. He's pretty sure Steve is too - he can tell by the way Steve is still leaning all over him while he fumbles to get his wallet open. All love-drunk and kittenish.

They head back to their car, and Eddie gets one last look at Steve's signature shopping cart strut. He sighs dramatically - crushed inside that he'll have to wait till their next grocery run to see it again.

"That's it." Steve says after Eddie sighs for the fifth time. "You're returning the cart."

"Why?"

"It's punishment for your ridiculous behavior."

"Rude."

"Necessary."

"Fine." Eddie snatches the handle and stomps all the way to the cart corral at the front of the store.

This is an outrage. Steve should know that his sexy cart-walking encore is the best part of Shopping Day. Seeing him walk further away before returning - always doing a little hair ruffle thing as he comes back. It's Eddie's own version of Baywatch and Steve is ruining it.

He slides into the passenger seat, slamming the car door to emphasize his anger.

"Steve Harrington, I'm so fucking mad at y-"

Eddie can't even finish his sentence before Steve's mouth is on his. It's a messier kiss this time, Steve is doing all the moving while Eddie tries to figure out what's going on. He pulls back, raising both eyebrows.

"I get it now." Steve answers Eddie's nonverbal 'what the fuck' question.

"Get what?"

"The shopping cart thing." Steve looks Eddie up and down. "I get it."

Holy shit. "Were you checking me out?"

Steve nods. Shrugs. Nods again.

"How much time do you think we have before the ice cream melts?" Steve motions to the backseat, tucking in his lips, hiding a smirk.

Oh. That. They're doing that.

"I'd say we have..." Eddie checks the nonexistent watch on his wrist. "More than enough time."

They haven't had desperate car sex like this since their first year of dating. It's so good that Eddie wonders why they stopped having desperate car sex.

For the rest of the car ride home, they're obnoxiously touchy-feely. Eddie's hand stays glued to Steve's overpriced jeans. The denim is much softer than any pair of jeans that Eddie owns. Maybe that's why they cost a fortune.

Steve takes one hand off the steering wheel whenever there's a straight shot - rubs his fingers over Eddie's knuckles. Bounces off his rings like stepping stones.

They're nauseating. If Eddie saw any other couple act like this, he'd throw tomatoes ate them. Taunt them mercilessly.

But Steve Harrington is the prototype that future scientists will use one day to build their genetically flawless human race. So Eddie is allowed to be as nauseating and revolting as he wants.

Their plan failed. The ice cream is completely melted by the time they get home. But who fucking cares? Eddie is dating someone with his same weird shopping cart kink and that's all he could ever ask for.

And besides, that just means that they’ll have to go grocery shopping again.

[the-modern-typewriter]

A villain who doesn't want to harm the hero, is trying to take them down as gently as possible and thinks the hero is the one being crazy about this, while the hero is desperately fighting to protect the world.

Bonus points if the villain is the hero's big sibling or similar figure.

"Father wanted to put you in an institution," their sibling said. "There was no way I was going to allow that." They carded their fingers through the hero's hair, soothing, like they were still five years old and waking up from a bad dream. "Those places are awful. They'd hurt you."

"I can't move."

"It's okay. You're okay."

"The - the tea. You." The realisation of it choked off in the hero's throat. Sharp. Catching. Betrayal.

"I told father I'd handle it," their sibling said, almost absently.

"Handle me."

"Yes." Their sibling ducked to gather up the jagged shards of the fallen mug, depositing them on the coffee table. They met the hero's eyes. "Handle you."

The hero glared. They willed their noodled limbs to move, but all they got for their efforts was nearly crumpling to the floor again. Their sibling caught them, steadied them, pushed them back into the chair. The hero's heart thudded wildly beneath their palms.

"He wasn't having it though," their sibling continued. "He told me that you needed to be corrected, by any means necessary. He told me that it was just the place for a crazy person like you. That you'd bring shame on the family." They grimaced. "You know father."

The hero did, unfortunately, know their father.

They also knew their sibling though. They knew they were drugged up in their own living room, not being wrestled into a straight-jacket somewhere for some non-consensual therapy sessions.

"What did you do to him?" it came out raspy.

Their sibling smiled, small and grim. "He should have known better. Just like you should have known better, but you always were a little idiot, so no shockers there."

"...what are you going to do to me?" That was, perhaps, the better question. Their mind still felt sharp, after all, even if nothing in their body wanted to cooperate with them.

"Do you think I'd hurt you?"

"You hurt father."

"Father was a jackass. You're just stupid."

"I'm trying to make the world better!"

"Yeah," their sibling said. "Stupid."

"It's not stupid!"

"I'm not going to debate this with you."

"Just drug my tea!?"

"Eh, that was for your own good. For all his many sins, father wasn't totally wrong. You do need help. A friendly intervention."

"They'll come for me. My friends will come for me."

Their sibling shrugged. "I have no such reservations hurting them."

The hero swallowed. Their mouth still felt dry, sticky and cloyingly sweet. They searched their sibling's face for any sign of a lie. They found none.

"You know what father and his friends are doing is wrong," the hero said after a beat; maybe just frantic to see some glimmer of recognition of that fact.

Their sibling shrugged again, easy. "Sure."

"You could help us fight them. You could come with me. You could...keep me safe. That's what you want, right? To keep me safe."

"Your friends aren't going to kill you. You're perfectly safe like this."

"But what father's friends are doing - don't you - you have to care."

Their sibling raised an eyebrow.

The hero wanted to snarl. As ever, it seemed, their sibling did not have to care about anyone or anything. Who cared about the world if going along with monstrosity was easier?!

"Don't you care that I care?"

"You care about everything," their sibling rolled their eyes. "You held a funeral for the fish."

"He was my pet!"

"He was a fish."

"This is nothing like the fish!"

Their sibling straightened up with a sigh, looking down on them, hands on hips. "I've made my decision."

"Fuck you."

"I don't expect you to be happy about it, but you're gonna deal with it. You're underage. That makes you my responsibility. I'll let you go when this all blows over."

"You mean when father's friends finish wrecking the world?"

"Don't be so overdramatic."

"You drugged me and I'm overdramatic?"

"Overdramatic looks better on me. I have the cheekbones for it."

"This isn't funny!"

"No." Their sibling's voice shifted, abruptly. "It isn't. Do you want me to get serious?"

The hero...paused. The air suddenly felt oppressive.

"I am being very gentle," their sibling said. "And you are infinitely squishy and breakable. Father's institution would have crushed you into teeny tiny pieces, so shattered that you didn't even care anymore. You would kill your friends if they asked, by the time they were done."

The hero swallowed, stricken, horrified.

"Tell me again how unfunny this is," their sibling said. "Like you think I'm stupid."

The hero shook their head.

As swiftly as the storm had come, their sibling offered them a sunny smile. The tension vanished as they booped the hero's nose.

"We're going to get through so many film nights. It's going to be great. Now." They reached for the coffee table. "Have some more tea."

[goldenlikedayl1ght]

wildest dreams - m. murdock

a/n: i have literally not been inspired for two weeks then i was STRUCK with the urge to write this. guys. i am so proud of this one i am not even going to lie. this one is dedicated to @bunmurdock because i am literally always thinking about professor murdock.... i really hope you guys enjoy this one, because i enjoyed writing it :) warnings: SMUT! inappropriate dynamic, P in V smut, so much cursing, lots of inappropriate thoughts and pining, power dynamics, dirty talk, reader does an edible and is high for a small part of this fic, reader isn't stupid in this one! she is just horny! she is also deaf, and there is yapping of readers daddy issues word count: 6.3k likes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated! <3 summary: you have a huge crush on your professor and spend many days desperate for him. pairing: professor!matt murdock x hoh!reader now playing: wildest dreams - taylor swift (taylor's version) "i said, "no one has to know what we do"/his hands are in my hair, his clothes are in my room"

You could treat him better than any of these other horny grad students.

Seriously, that is your only conscious thought watching this man move around the front of this lecture center. You’re not dumb, you know everyone sitting here wants him—Those who are attracted to men want to fuck him and those who aren’t seek his approval. But you are built different, you’re also lacking a major sense, besides, your brain runs ramped with disgusting thoughts about the man.

Today’s focus is on the man’s outfit. It’s his last class of the day, and it shows. His clothes are a bit more wrinkled, and his hair is messier than it had been when he started the day. But most importantly, his jacket is thrown on the back of his chair, meaning you have a phenomenal view of his torso.

He wears a white button down, with the cuffs of the arms rolled up to just below his elbows, the bottom of the shirt tucked into the waistline of his pants. The shirt is tight, maybe a little too tight, especially around the arms. Maybe it’s because he works out. Or at least, you assume he works out.

That brings us to his tie. Oh, his tie. It’s nothing special—a pure black tie, just hanging from his neck. Your mind wanders. It starts at the dissection of a key court case in the subject of minimum wage, but from there, it starts drifting to his tie.

You think about the tie moving back and forth above you as he thrusts into you, brushing against your face, pulling on it to bring him closer. You think about that soft half chuckle he does, before he says something dirty like—

“Did you have something to add?” His voice right in front of you snaps you out of your trance. Fuck. You were not paying attention.

“Uh, No, Professor..” Your face is a deep red, embarrassed. You wish you could take off your hearing aids to stop listening to all the giggling from around you, from peers who are thrilled that Professor Murdock’s little (not-so) secret admirer got called out for her staring.

“Hm,” he taps the table in front of you, “Then I want you paying attention.” He says, before going back to his lecture. You could die right there. Everyone is laughing at you. He embarrassed you.

Okay, so you have no proof that he’s ever wanted you in the way that you’ve been so god damn desperate for him, but it’s still crushing that he’d single you out in that way. That maybe while you were increasingly needy for him, he found you fucking annoying, in such a way that he felt the need to embarrass you in front of your peers.

You want to melt—Melt into a puddle with just your boots and your hearing aids left behind so you never have to face him ever again. That’s why you’re so relieved when he dismisses class right on time (Well, right on time for him. He always ends class five minutes early to leave room for questions) and you quickly gather your things.

Because of the sheer level of embarrassment he has caused you, the other students in the class who want him try to flock to him, sensing that you no longer have the confidence to engage with him—But your desire is still there, as you messily shove your things into your backpack. You turn when you’re finished, slinging your bag over your shoulder.

Your face is still flushed, part because you’re embarrassed, part because you are out of breath from rushing. But you are faced with the view of your professor, all alone. Your breath hitches when his hand moves up to the top of his tie, as he smooths it out, running his fingers down the fabric.

“I read your essay on the expectations of the courts and law versus the realities of it. I loved it. The argument using Gideon versus Wainwright to justify the existence of the right to counsel as a civil right and not a liberty was fascinating, especially considering your other arguments about how race, class and gender play into those realities. Well done. I thought it was some of your best work.”

Your face is flushed for a new reason now. Wasn’t this the same man who was mad at you for not paying attention?

“I thought so too.” You confess, and he just smiles. He loves that you’re confident in your work. You’ll make a great lawyer one day.

“Oh, and,” He digs through his leather satchel to pull out some notes, running his finger over the folder tab to make sure he has the right folder, “Here are the printed copy of our notes from the last few lectures.” It’s part of your accommodations that professors give you a copy.

“Thanks, Professor.” You smile gently, reaching out to take the papers. Your hands meet and as you grip the notes, the tips of your fingers just barely brush against his. Neither of you say anything. Neither of you let go.

“I’m sorry if I embarrassed you today.” He starts, “But you’re bright—Smarter than most of your professors, I bet. And I don’t want you to fall behind.” He says softly, and without saying it, you know he’s worried because of your hearing. He was disabled in law school once upon a time, and he recognizes your potential.

“It’s okay.” You say softly, softer than your voice usually is. “I get it, really. It won’t happen again.”

“Good.” He says gently, letting go of the papers now. As you clutch them close to your chest, his hand goes back up to mess with his tie again. Does he know what he’s doing? Does he know how wild it drives you? He must. “I’ll see you on Thursday.”

“See you on Thursday.” You agree, and that’s when you leave the classroom.

As the door closes behind you, he listens intently. He hears your nervous heartbeat, could practically feel the heat radiating off you. But he knows your routine by now. You’re about to start playing music, and he likes knowing what sort of mood you’re in as you leave his class.

A smile spreads across his face when he hears the opening notes of that new Hozier song, ‘Too Sweet’.

• • •

You are a straight A student. You study days in advance for exams, you write elaborate study guides and most of all, you do not miss class, unless you are dying (no, seriously, the last time you missed class you were rushed to the hospital, sick with pneumonia after a big exam, which you aced). So, when you’re not in Matt’s class on Thursday, he tries not to panic.

You’re a grown woman, he tells himself, and he doesn’t have an attendance policy, having told the class on syllabus day that he trusted them to know when to come to class and when they should go lay in the sun or stay home with a bad cold.

But you once came to class doped up on cold medicine with a mask on, just because you didn’t want to miss any important information. He heard it before you got to class, so he faked a family emergency to cancel class early that day. He could hear your rattled sigh of relief as the other students flooded out.

And he knows for a fact you didn’t show up today because of how fucking loud you are; You don’t mean to be, but he can hear the light buzzing of your hearing aids, and you wear these big work boots that stomp even when you’re trying to step lightly. And he heard neither buzzing nor stomps today.

Oh, your boots. He’s spent years with everything being too loud, but he just can’t help but think about the boots—What color were they? What were their texture? He has this fantasy that lives at the very back of his mind of putting you in heels, heels too big for anyone let alone a girl who only wears clunky work boots, that way he would have to help you, take care of you, and it is a fantasy that will probably live at the back of his mind until he dies.

Sure, he’d probably get married, settle down with someone his age and never worry if she might be dissatisfied with an older man, and she’ll be quiet. No hearing aids, no big boots. They’ll have kids, they’ll be happy together. He’ll still go to you when he can’t sleep, and no one will ever know.

Wait, what was he doing? Oh, right. You weren’t in class today.

His fingers move over the keyboard to look you up in the system. He clicks on the audio assistant to read him your information. It reads out your first and last name, middle initial, then your grade in his class (A+), your accommodations (Notes, time and a half, things like that), your birthday, and—

Wait, he takes a moment, and his fingers go over to his braille calendar, realizing that you’re taking a day off because it’s your birthday. A laugh escapes his lips, because how silly was he being?

His fingers move again to find your email address. He debates for a moment before adding the subject line, “Absence Today.” Then, he erases it and changes it to, “Class Today”, hoping you wouldn’t freak out before reading the email.

And just for a moment, he lets himself dream. He writes the following email to you,

“Hey, sweetheart—

Happy Birthday. I’m so happy you’re taking a break, you deserve it, more than anyone else I know. Are you doing something fun for it? Going out and getting wasted? Hooking up with some college guy who couldn’t fuck you properly?

If I could, my birthday gift to you would be a day spent with my face buried between your pretty thighs, although that might be a birthday gift to me and not to you. I’ve always been a selfish man, and you seem to be something I am entirely selfish about. I want your hands tangled in my hair, tugging on it as I taste you. I want you all to myself. I didn’t hear the buzzing of your hearing aids or the clunking of your boots, and I felt this striking yearning.

I can’t stand being around you without having you. It’s torture.

Happy Birthday,

Matthew.’

He thinks about it for a minute, before completely erasing the email, and sending you this one instead:

‘Missed you in class today! We went over the reading for Chapter Seven. Happy Birthday! Professor M’

He sends it, and then rubs his face, a long sigh leaving his lips. He is completely enamored by you, and it is so unfair.  You’d be in class on Monday, he told himself. He’d see you then, and it would be like getting his fix of you.

Then, he turns to the distraction of trying to grade papers. It won’t work. He’ll still have you on his mind all day, and there will be no relief in sleeping. Hopefully he’ll dream of that long day between your thighs.

• • •

Truth be told, you were not drinking and fucking some random guy when Matt emails you. You were cuddled up in bed, giggling and eating snacks, so many snacks, because, well, you took an edible with a bunch of your friends and now are high out of your mind.

Some animated shows are on in the background, and when your phone buzzes, you pick it up and almost melt when you see the email from your favorite professor. You start giggling like a kid, your fingers clutching your phone as you read the email over and over again.

One friend looks up to you from her place on your floor and asks, “Are you alright?”

You don’t answer at first, but then you nod, and pull your blanket close, imagining Matt’s arms around you. Your brain paints you a picture of him holding you against his chest and gently playing with your hair.

It’s a nice fantasy.

• • •

For being a law student, you really fucking hate it sometimes. Okay, that’s not true. You love being a law student and are so excited to go out into the world and make that difference. But you’d be lying if you don’t sort of contemplate dropping out and getting a sugar daddy over certain assignments.

Maybe Matt is in the market. Then you shake your head to get the thought out of there, before opening your laptop to check your professor’s office hours. The one that assigned this assignment is an old bat who does not have office hours except for during your other classes on Fridays.

Then, you look at Matt’s office hours. He has office hours right now. You click the pen in your hand a few times, thinking. Contemplating. Would he want to see you at this point? Would you be able to control yourself?

You give the question you’re working on one more time before you lean down and grab your boots, starting to lace them up. Then, you pack up your bag, heart beating nervously over what—Asking him for help with an assignment?

You make it all the way across campus, the whole time worried about if you’ll walk in on your professor with some other girl. You almost laugh at that thought, because you think you’re silly for how dramatic you are about the man.

You stand down the hallway from his office for a few minutes, just contemplating. You could just turn around and not at all open the possibility of being around him, and everything stays the same. Nothing changes, and your relationship with your professor maintains it’s strictly professional relationship.

You walk towards the door, knocking on it before holding your breath.

“Come on in,” He calls from behind the door. Now or never. You open the door, and smile in his direction.

“Hey, professor,” You greet, a soft smile on your face. His tie is loose around his neck. You blink away whatever daydream your brain wants to dive headfirst into.

“Hey,” He greets, “I don’t think you have any assignments due, so what’s up?” He asks, tilting his head in your direction. As you think about it, you realize that you do not need help with an assignment.

“This is going to sound like a lie. But I had trouble with this assignment earlier, and suddenly I walked in here and realized I knew exactly what I was doing. I’m sorry for bothering you.” You explain, but you make no attempt to turn around and leave.

“Let me guess,” He starts, gauging by what year and academic proficiency you’re at, “Professor Reid’s estate planning class? That assignment about the will and testament of an old lady with a marriage less than 90 days and estranged kids?”

You groan and take a seat in one of the chairs in his office. He laughs in response, shaking his head.

“That old bat.” You roll your eyes. He just smiles and shakes his head.

“You’ll be fine. Just remember to cheat on your final.” He tells you, and you give him a perplexed look.

“What?”

“Well, for the final, there’ll be a question about a super niche argument on inheritance. Just cheat on it.”

“You’re a professor, telling me to cheat?”

“I cheated on it,” He shrugs. You suddenly remember that he used to go to school here and has taken all the classes you’re struggling with right now.

“You’re being unprofessional.” You tell him, and he smiles again. Your heart skips a beat, and somehow, his smile grows. As if he knows exactly what sort of effect he has on you. As if this is all a game he likes to play with you, his eager and willing participant.

“Okay, forget that I told you to cheat on Reid’s exam. We have to talk about something, it would be awkward to just sit here in silence. Uh, what did you major in in undergrad?”

“English. I minored in Disability studies.”

“So why Law?” He asks curiously, leaning forward and clasping his hands together, before resting them on his desk. Jesus Christ.

“I’m tired of being poor.” The answer slips out before you can really stop yourself. He laughs again, and something in you stirs. As if making him laugh is the newest way you feel good about yourself. How twisted is that? “I’m being serious!” You laugh too, unable to contain it.

“I’m sure,” he promises, “I grew up poor too, I was sick of it too. But if you’re going to be a lawyer—”

“You need to have respect for the law and the people taken advantage by it,” You finish, “I get that, really, I do. And I want to help people. I want to go into divorce law and help all the poor and battered women like—” You’re forgetting yourself. You’re forgetting that this isn’t a date and that this man is your professor.

“Like..?” He prods you to finish, curious. He is on the edge of his seat about you. This is more than he has gotten of you in the past few weeks you’ve been taking his class.

“Like my mom.” You finish suddenly looking for something to do with your hands. Anything, really. “But the check that comes with it isn’t exactly deterring me, you know?”

“I get that,” he says earnestly, “I was an orphan, one of those dirty scrappy ones you feel bad for,” he does that half chuckle that makes you want to go over there and kiss him. “Never knew my mom, and my dad died when I was young. So, I get it. Being poor and wanting to do better for yourself. For your parent who sacrificed for you.”

But it clicks for him, the hidden meaning behind your ambitions. You have daddy issues, and he can tell that’s part of your crush on him. Though, he’ll never say it to you. He’ll let it be something unspoken between the two of you.

“Yeah, I guess you do get it.” You smile softly. But this is dangerous. So so dangerous. The two of you are dancing this dangerous line—Well, more like you’re damn well dancing clear over the line and ignoring it. But you don’t know how to stop it. Maybe you don’t want to stop it.

“Well, uh, maybe you could finish that assignment while we’re here.” He clears his throat, straightening his tie and you try to connect the wires in your brain to focus on the assignment. You pull it out of your bag and place it on his desk, smoothing it out a bit. Matt gets up and starts to wander around the office, and you look at him curiously. “I think better when I can move around.”

You should’ve known that much, you have stared at him doing lectures, wandering from end to end of the rows and rows in the classroom.

“Yeah, totally,” You nod, focusing on the assignment. It’s on paper, the old bat refuses to use online assignments. You’re practically flying through the assignment, and it’s at the point where you are forgetting your company. In fact, you really don’t notice him.. Until you lean back and stretch, jumping when you realize that Matt has taken a spot right behind you, his hands on the arms of your chair, leaning forward. You’re practically leant up against him.

“See? Was that so hard?” Your face flushes, his voice right next to your ear. He has to know; he has to know how you’re affecting him. You tilt your head a bit, and your eyes are level with his chin. His stubble moves as he sets his jaw. He doesn’t smell much like anything… except the faintest hint of clean sheets and this slight scent of mahogany. It would go perfect with a whiff of whiskey.

“No,” you say quietly, and he almost shudders at the feeling of your warm breath against his cheek. “Not at all, Prof—”

“Call me Matt.” It’s almost begging. You’re kind of into it, but that’s not surprising given how incredibly attractive you find him.

“Okay.” You say quietly. He has reduced you to one-word answers. The two of you stay quiet for a while. You’re unsure what to say. Matt is contemplating his options. Anyone could walk in on the two of you like this. The door isn’t locked, and you want to bring this up, but the words die out in your throat. His head tilts a bit towards you, and you get a glimpse at those perfect lips of his.

“You know—” He starts, but before he can get any farther, you lean in and kiss him. You kiss him intensely, your hand on his cheek, and for once, you are not filled with regret at a bad decision. He doesn’t react at first, and for just a second, you’re nervous.

Then, He kisses you back, letting out this deep hum as he deepens the kiss. He tilts his head to get deeper into your mouth, and his hands make their way down to your hips. He focuses for a second, before wrapping his arms around you to pick you up and sitting you on his desk.

His hands trail down as the pair of you kiss, landing on your thighs. His fingers rub back and forth, and you gasp when he squeezes your thighs. He grins and takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. Your clunky boots hit against his desk and he practically growls at the sound. He pulls away, his teeth biting your bottom lip as he does.

You’re completely out of breath, and so is he. He stumbles back a bit, his lips swollen and bright pink from kissing you. He wipes his mouth as he pants, and inhales deeply. You run your fingers through your hair, brushing the hair that has fallen onto your face.

“We..” he mumbled gently, running his hand over his chin. “Holy shit, kid—”

“Don’t call me kid—”

“Listen,” he goes over to you and brushes the hair from your face, “That was.. it was phenomenal, but someone could’ve walked in on that, and.. Fuck, if we do that again, I won’t be able to keep my hands off you.” he confesses, his hands on your cheeks.

“When I was staring off into space last week, I was thinking about your tie.” You tell him, your hands are finding the base of it now. He tilts his head, curiously.

“What were you thinking about?”

“Was daydreaming about it brushing against my face as you fuck me.” You could swear his face is red. You grin.

“Yeah?” He laughs, taking the tie from you and bringing the tie up to brush against your cheeks, “Like that?” he teases, and you laugh back. Dick.

“Mhm,” You giggle, and your hands find his, wrangling the tie out of his hands, and tugging on it, before bringing him in for another kiss. He inhales deeply as he kisses you, taking the taste of you in for a moment before pulling away.

“I’m serious, sweetheart, this is dangerous.”

“Sweetheart?” You grin. He takes your chin and grips it between his thumb and pointer finger.

“Hey. Pay attention.” He says, and you want to argue that saying things in that low gravely tone will not help you pay attention, but you can tell he’s serious. That he wants your attention focused on him, this is important. “Listen. I like you. I like you a lot, but we have to be careful if we want any of this to go further. We have to be subtle and watch our steps.” He says softly.

“Okay.” You promise, “Okay, we should be careful.” He smiles gently and leans in to kiss your forehead.

“Good pup.” He hums, and your face flushes.

“I like ‘pup’.” You like sweetheart too, but your stomach flips when he calls you pup.

“Yeah, I know you do.” He grins. “Wanna get out of here?”

“I thought you said we have to be careful.”

“Okay, then I’ll give you my address and you can come over.” He shrugs. “I know how badly I need you, I can only imagine how you feel.” He hums, and you grin.

“Okay, Here, give me your phone.” Matt fishes his phone out of his pocket and hands it to you. You put your number in with your name, sending yourself a quick text before handing the phone back to him. “There. Send it to me.” He steps back so you can hop off the desk, before putting your homework back in your bag.

As you sling your bag over your shoulder, he grabs your wrist in his hand and pulls you close, just to kiss you again.

• • •

Your hands are shaking as you drive over to Matt’s apartment. You’re so full of desire for him, and you take a second after parking the car to adjust your hair and makeup. Luckily you had no plans with your friends so it’s not like you’re hiding anything from anyone.

Are you about to sleep with the professor you’ve had a crush on since the beginning of the semester? Hopefully. You take a quick glance down to the apartment number he sent you before climbing out of the car, locking it behind you.

Then, you manage your way through the building, finding yourself in front of his door for the second time tonight. You hesitate. Though, you’re not sure why. Well, maybe you do. Maybe you’re terrified that this is going to be bad. Or maybe that you’re scared you’ll be bad, and he’ll hate you.

Maybe you just need to get over yourself. Although, you can’t really do much more convincing because Matt swings open the door and grins at you. You almost die at the sight of him. His tie is gone, and his shirt is unbuttoned by three buttons.

“You’re so hot,” You blurt out as you hand him a cheap bottle of wine you picked up on the way here.

“You’re cute,” he hums, grabbing your arm and pulling you into the apartment, leaving you giggling as he closes the door behind you. You look around his apartment, your eyes catching on the giant billboard. You’re standing in front of the window when he comes up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. His lips gently kiss your neck, up and down, biting your shoulder gently. “Enamored by the billboard, sweetheart?”

“Your windows are so big, probably a lot of light in here during the day.” You say softly, and he smiles against your neck.

“Mhm, one day, I’ll fuck you against those windows—”

“Matt,” You groan, but he just shushes you and kisses your neck again.

“I know, pup,” He hums, “But don’t worry, I’ll show you a very nice time, hear all those pretty noises you can make for me.” You blush, turning to say something to him but he wraps his arms around your waist again, before throwing you over his shoulder and carrying you to his room. You’re laughing all the way there, before throwing you onto the bed.

“Mean.” You accuse, but he shrugs.

“You’ll get over it, sweetheart, I promise.” He hums, and you sit up on his bed. He stands between your legs, leaning down to kiss you gently, his hands finding your cheeks again. He kisses you like this for a few minutes, before slowly kneeling in front of you, never breaking the increasingly sloppy kiss. You pull away from the kiss to study him. He tilts his head, his hands finding your thighs to rub them again as he did in the office. “What?” he asks gently.

“I spent all those lectures only being able to study you from a far.. Just let me really look at you for a while..” You request. He grins gently as your fingers run over his stubble again. Your hands move up to his glasses. “Can I take these off?” You request, tilting your head.

Matt hesitates, just for a second. He’s not really used to it, to someone truly wanting to see him, every part of him. But he trusts you, wants you to see him. So he nods, letting out a soft ‘yeah’ as you pull off those circular red glasses, gently folding them and setting them down somewhere safe.

Then, you take a good, long look at his eyes. They’re this deep brown, almost black, irises that are drop dead gorgeous. The skin around his eyes is scarred, but the scars are old, yet, you rub your thumb gently against that scarred skin. You lean in and press a kiss to the corner of his eyes, first the left one, then the right one.

He leans up and kisses you after that, his hands slowly making their way down your legs. Your hands find his buttons of his shirt starting to undo them. He pulls away from the kiss, before slipping off his button up, throwing it away somewhere in the room. Your eyes drift down to these scars on his collarbones, and your fingers run over them. Then, you notice other scars on his skin, and your hands find those too.

“Your boots are so loud,” he hums, and you’re taken back by it.

“What?”

“Your boots.” He hums, “I hear you stomping around with these things on, they’re.. Like a bell, you know? I like knowing you’re around.” His fingers go down to the laces of your left boot, slowly untying them. Then, he does the same with the right boot.

He pulls off your boots, before running his fingers over your socks.

“They’re multicolored. Bright and patterned.” You confess, and he grins, before pulling them off. Then, he stops, realizing you have another pair of socks on. He blinks, before starting to laugh.

“You have two pairs of socks on?” he chuckles, your face flushing.

“My boots are just a little too big!” You tell him, and he laughs, resting his head against your thigh. He finishes taking your socks off, before working on the buttons of your jeans. When he finally gets those undone, he pulls off your pants, throwing them somewhere close to his now abandoned shirt. His hand comes up to rub you through your panties, and he lets out a scoff as he does.

“So wet for me, pup..” He mumbles, coming up to gently kiss your cheeks and then your jaw, as you whine. “I know, baby, I know,” he says softly, rubbing your clit gently. You whine gently at the feeling, gripping his wrist. He chuckles softly, kissing you to shut you up a bit.

He pulls his hand away from your throbbing cunt to pull off your tee shirt, throwing it wherever. He starts to kiss you as you fiddle with the buttons of his pants and pull them off, letting him step out of the before he casts them away.

You grin into the kiss, before he pulls away.

“What? What’s got you so giddy, pup?” he asks, a grin on his face too.

“Briefs,” You hum, fiddling with the waistband of his briefs, and he laughs, shaking his head.

“Thinking about your professor’s underwear?” He teases, leaning in to bite your neck. “Dirty, dirty girl.” He grins, and you swat at his shoulder, which causes him to laugh. He likes having fun with you, even if it’s not inherently sexual.

His hands come up to run gently over your skin, trailing from your hands up to your shoulders, and then all the way to your ears, where his fingers gently run over your hearing aids. It’s a nice gesture, really, but as soon as his fingers brush over your hearing aids, you immediately retract, the feedback shooting through your skull, uncomfortably.

“Ow—” You cringe, leaning your head back to try and get away from his fingers. He cringes, hearing the feedback, not as badly as you do but knowing it’s there and that you’re in pain pains him.

“I’m sorry,” he coos softly, his fingers moving down to cup your jaw. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart, I hadn’t realized—”

“Hey, it’s okay,” You hum, tilting your head to kiss his palm gently. “It happens, It’s why you should never touch them while I have them on.” You shrug. He leans down and kisses your stomach a bit, before going back to kiss you again, deepening the kiss a bit before roughly shoving you back on the bed. You giggle as he climbs on top of you, caging you in between his legs, as he slips his tongue into your mouth again. He kisses you with passion and need, and it drives you entirely too wild. As he pulls away, one hand comes up to grip your chin, before he leans down with his head against yours.

“Want me to fuck you, pretty thing?” He asks gently, his voice sweet as honey as he talks so obscenely to you. You whine, finally getting what you want after weeks and months of waiting. He just smiles and shakes his head, “No, no, puppy, you gotta say it to me.” He requests.

“Yes, I want you..” You groan, bucking your hips a bit at the thought of him finally fucking you.

“Want me to do what?” he asks, innocently.

“Want you to fuck me, please..” You request, and this finally seems to satisfy him. His hand comes down to unhook your bra, throwing it behind him with the rest of your clothes, before his lips begin to travel downwards, kissing down your jaw and neck, before he’s kissing the valley of your breasts, his hand going down to rub your clit again.

He groans against your skin at the feeling of your wetness soaking through your underwear and listening to your moans. His hands begin to work to take off your panties, and as soon as those are gone, your hands come up to his briefs, wanting them gone.

“Off, off, off—” You huff, and he laughs as he slips them off. Then, he reaches over and grabs a condom from the bedside table, but you grab his hand, shaking your head, “No, no—I’m on the pill, promise.”

“You sure?” He asks gently, and you nod, leaning up to press a kiss to his lips.

“Sure.” You nod, and then you’re kissing him again, your hand going down to stroke his cock, and he gasps into the kiss, before chuckling. He pulls away to mutter out to you--

“Needy girl,” he purrs, before moving to kiss you again. As you’re kissing, he slips his cock into you, and you moan into the kiss, tensing at the feeling, “Relax for me, pup.. So fucking tight for me.” He groans, his hand coming down to swat your thigh. “Relax.” He tells you, his voice sterner this time.

You nod, trying to form a more conscious thought than the pure bliss you feel, your hands wrapping around his neck, scratching down his back a bit. He groans softly, as he starts to slowly thrust into you. He is using every ounce of self-control he has, resisting the urge to absolutely violate you.

But he’s trying to be gentle, be nice.

“Faster,” You gasp out, your fingers pulling on the hair at the nape of his neck. He does that half chuckle, and it makes you whine as he begins to speed up.

“Beautiful little pup..” he says lowly, “Been staring at me.. Wanting your professor so badly these past few weeks, dirty little thing,” he hums, “Fuck, so.. fuck..” Your legs are beginning to shake the longer and harder he thrusts into you. “So fucking good for me..” You whine into his lips as they crash into yours, one hand going down to rub your clit gently, the stimulation too much for someone who hasn’t had sex this good, ever, but especially because you haven’t had sex at all in the past.. well, six or more months.

“Matty, ‘m..” You can barely get the words out as he fucks you harder,

“I know baby, come on, cum for me, pup,” he coos, his thrusts nor rubbing slowing down, maintaining his pace. Within a minute, you’re coming with loud moans into his ears, and he’s following suit shortly after, coming deep inside you.

But for the few minutes after the two of you finish, he continues his thrusting, relishing in the pretty moans and the sound of his deep thrusts into you. Eventually, he slows down, remaining deep inside of you. He pulls you close, kissing you deeply before flipping the pair of you over, and holding your legs close to stay buried deep inside of you.

For a few minutes, there are no words spoken, just deep, frantic pants and sweaty skin against each other.

“You know, that was as good as I’ve been fantasizing about for weeks.” You pant, “Better, even..” He laughs and nods.

“Me too..” he kisses you softly. “Let me take you out somewhere.”

“I thought we had to be careful..”

“We’ll go away somewhere then. Just the two of us for the weekend. I need to be with you, I can’t get enough of you now that I’ve had a taste.. Besides, I haven’t even eaten you out. Now that, that is going to be fun.” He grins, and you swat his arm.

“Evil, mean man!” You gasp, and he just laughs, kissing your forehead.

“I’m sorry, pup, let me make it up to you,” he hums.

“How?”

“Calling you pup a few times, ordering Thai food and teaching you how to suck me off?”

“I know how to suck you off,” You scoff.

“Oh yeah?” He tilts his head, leaning in to kiss him. Then, lips still against yours, he whispers, “Prove it, pretty puppy.”

[our-happygirl500-fan]

Leo's face man persona has allowed Leo to read between lines & twist words & situations in his favour which is often why Leo could possibly be considered a foil for Big Mama who also knows how to twist words & situations in her own favour.

Leo: My deal was no weapons for you, not me.

However Leo's ability to twist his words in order to push things in his or his family's favour might possibly be something that Leo originally learnt from Raph.

Leo has been shown to have a habit of copying traits from his siblings often imitating or showing similar or the same traits as April, Donnie & Raph which is why Leo learning to his words to get the result he wants might have been something that Leo learnt from Raph as it has been stated that Raph sometimes twists the truth or lies to his brothers to try to get them to be more responsible.

Donnie: How about when you tell us training stats an hour earlier because you know we’re always late, mm?

Leo: Or when you told Mikey that if he doesn't take out the trash the trash monster would eat him in his sleep.

In the episode 'Pizza Puffs' that Raph has been stated to twist the truth or tell small lies in order to try & get his brothers to be more responsible due to a belief that he often can't trust them to do 'simple stuff' however Leo has been shown to have the ability to see through his brothers whenever they try to hide something from him.

Leo: Hey buddy. Trouble sleeping?

Donnie: What’s with the interrogation, Leo?! Everything's fine I said!

Leo: Huh, it's like someone who wears a red bandana really hurt this guy's feelings once. Strange.

In both the episodes 'The Purple Jacket' & 'Sparring Partner' Leo seems to imply that he suspects or knows things that Donnie & Raph were trying to hide showing how well Leo knows his brothers as he can almost immediately tell if they want to hide anything. Leo's tendency to see through his brothers whenever they try to hide anything possibly means Raph's attempts at bending the truth probably did not ever fully work on Leo with Leo most likely aware that Raph wasn't being fully truthful with him in those moments.

Considering that Leo often picks up different traits from his family members it is possible that Leo saw Raph telling their brothers about trash monsters to get them to clean their room or saying training started earlier than it did to get them to show up on time & ended up with a conclusion of 'oh it's okay to twist the truth or lie to get people to do what you want & since Raph does it it's fine' which possibly led to Leo's face man persona & ability to talk his way out of things.

[hsyvers]

WHATCHA GOT THERE? - nakamura kazuha x 6th member!f!reader

SYPNOSIS; you and your girlfriend love cats. and you always joked about getting one. but what happens when you smuggle one back home without her knowledge?

NOTES; this is insanely fluffy...kazuha with cats...giggling and kicking my feet AGH this was actually self-indulgent. based after the icarly "whatcha got there?" "..a smoothie" meme ^_^ also slight reference to that one leniverse ep at the end LMAOOO let's ignore the fact that kazuha is a dog person ok....

you bite your lip when you slowly open the door to yours and kazuha's room, hoping that she isn't there. the small creature in your rain jacket purrs in fond response to your body heat.

you whisper softly to it before you open the door, looking down at your jacket, "shh, you're gonna have to be as quiet as possible, okay? i still don't know if she'll let me keep you or not."

opening the door fully and peeking in, you sneakily step into her room, sighing inaudibly when you see her sleeping form on the bed.

then, all of a sudden, "baby?" a soft voice calls you closer, before you realise you're actively trying to hide something. you quickly take a step back, just in case.

kazuha sits up in bed groggily, rubbing at her eyes, a grin on her face now as she tilts her head, "whatcha got there?"

oh god. curse the fact that she obviously had basic comprehesion and observation skills.

you look down at your coat, that had a small, offputing bump in the middle, "uh, a smoothie?

"what?"

"what?"

kazuha stares at you, confused, though her usual smile still graces her lips as she opens her arms in a hugging gesture. you approach her but you don't accept the hug, making her pout.

"are you okay?"

"me? oh, of course. i'm super fine actually."

"...you're rambling," she mumbles, sneaking another glance to your jacket, "you do that when you're hiding something."

"n-no, i don't," you protest.

"and you stutter whenever you lie," kazuha points out again, "baby, what's wrong?"

"meow."

kazuha's eyebrows furrow.

you facepalm.

kazuha carefully leans her ear closer to your jacket.

"meow?"

her face leans back with a half knowing and half concerned expression.

"baby, why is your jacket meowing?!"

her slightly bewildered tone causes you to bite the inside of your cheek nervously, "promise you won't get mad?"

kazuha's gaze softens even more so as she shakes her head, "since when would i ever be able to stay mad at you?"

"okay, so like," you open your raincoat and your girlfriend gasps when she sees a small black kitten in your hands, "wait, let me explain."

"i was on the way back and it was raining so heavily and i heard meows and you know how much i love cats. so i ran to the source of the sound and the poor thing was wet and hungry so i ran to the nearest convenience store and that's why i'm back so late then i dried her up before coming in and she loves my body heat and it's so cute but-!"

"baby," kazuha whispers, patting her lap, "come here, and breathe, okay?"

you take a deep breath before sitting on her lap, and feeling her arms link around your stomach from behind gives you a sense of comfort immediately.

kazuha seems to realise that you're processing your words still, so she uses her fingers to pet the kitten in your hands. you giggle when the kitten purrs even harder, bumping its head against her hand. then, she presses a kiss to your cheek and lays her head on your back, "are you okay?"

"mhm, thanks," you sigh, nodding, "anyway, i was scared you'll turn her away...and that chaewon will freak out about her."

kazuha hums in acknowledgement of your worries, "don't worry, i already love her."

that sentence makes all the tension in your body dissipate and she feels you melt in her arms, a soft chuckle escaping her lips.

"did anyone else see you come in with her?"

"oh my god, what is that," eunchae mumbles, poking at your stomach only to jump back with wide eyes when she hears a small meow, "why is there a cat IN your stomach?"

"she's not inside, what?" you stiffle a laugh with your hand, shaking your head at her words, "and as for you, why are you awake at 1 am?"

eunchae's mouth opens, then it closes. she thinks for a second before whispering, "i won't tell chaewon about it if you don't tell on me."

"deal," you roll your eyes when she points two fingers to her eyes and then back to you in a "i'm watching you" motion.

"well..? just eunchae...don't worry about it."

"and you do know we will have to tell chaewon sooner or later, right?"

"yeah," you sigh, holding your kitten closer at the thought. kazuha squeezes your hand then pet the cat's head, as though to imply that she won't let anything happen to either of you.

"okay! one more question."

"anything," you say, and you mean it, turning your face to look at her as she pretends to be deep in thought.

"can we name it eric?"

"no, zuha, we are not naming her eric."

[thebestandrealestever]

~NOT YOU TOO!~

miles1610/hobie brown x black fem! reader

sum: miles cheats on reader w gwen, reader gets even 🤷🏽‍♀️

warnings : slang, the n word, cursing, cheating . emotional cheating. READER BEING PETTY unedited and not proofread

genre: angst, a lil of comfort?

a/n:i rly hope it don’t disappoint, part 2 w miles and reader make up eventually, cause i can’t stand writing miles as a dickhead. JUST A STORY, I DONT CONDONE CHEATING, DONT THIS TO PEOPLE.

- - - - - - - - - <\3 - - - - - - - - - -

first time in a long time.

hurting deeply inside .

there it was. the confirmation you so desperately needed to blow off on miles. you’d suspected he was messing with gwen for a little while now, him leaving you too go on missions with her that ONLY they knew about, being on facetime with her while he was at YOUR house, his highlight on instagram for her, not to mention the countless drawings of her around his room that he hid horribly, just a bunch of weird shit. you had conversations about it before but he always reassured you and gaslit you until you shook of the accusations. but now, now you knew he was cheating. miles was in the shower he left his phone on the nightstand, you looked long and hard at it. debating whether if it was a invasion of privacy, as you thought about it you get more and more upset. if gwen could be an invasion of your relationship then this didn’t really matter. you pick up the phone and put the password it, it’s his birthday (narcissist 🙄.) you go to gwen’s message thread, the blue heart next to it made you infuriated. your stomach twist and your eyes leak with tears that you don’t even try to wipe not wanting to miss anything. all of the “i love you’s” and the “im with her right now’s” made your fingers tremble as you scrolled farther into their text. why did he waste his time with you if he loved her? why would he do that to you? when did he fall out of love? what did you do? your thoughts quickly interrupted by the sound of the shower turning off you jumped up turned the phone off and put it in the same downward facing position wiping your face speed walking back to the bed pretending to watch tv.

“what’s going on now , ma?“ he asked referring to the episode you were watching. your face turned as you came up with a lie. “uh nothing really they just found out she was pregnant” you huffed, you’ve never been a good liar and miles could read your emotions like they were his own, you had no idea how you were going to go the rest of the night with him, so you didn’t. getting up from the bed you acted like your mom texted you to come home, frowning looking at the fake text. miles squinted at your pout, walking closer to you he said,

“you okay?” “my mom said i had to come home, she’s going out tonight and wants me to watch my sister, she’s sick” miles fake frowned “you want me to come with you?” he suggested walking to his drawers to get some clothes. you shook your head no “i don’t want you to get sick, it’s fine i’ll just facetime you okay?” you said as you picked up your purse and put on your shoes. “okay at least lemme drive you home. can’t have my baby walking alone in the dark.” he joked as he put on his own shoes and jacket too. you internally cringed at his sentence reminded of who he also called his “baby”.

trust, trust who?

watching my back even when i’m in the booth.

ohh, trust who?

you’re in the passenger seat of his car, seeing the blue hair tie in the cup holder that wasn’t yours. you stared at it for a bit rethinking your entire relationship. he glanced at you, then the hair tye. he spoke up rubbing your thigh trying to get your mind off of it. “u wanna go to the mall tomorrow? we can get froyo.” he suggested knowing that you liked the froyo place in the mall, you knew he was trying to make you happy so you wouldn’t question the hair tye you just went along with it.

“yea okay.” you smiled warmly at miles not meaning it at all. his phone buzzed and you both looked down at it, the speed of which he grabbed it in was almost inhumane. you side eyed him closely as he swiped the opened the message then turned his phone off placing it into the cup holder facing away from you. as you pulled up to your house he leaned forward to peck your cheek, you couldn’t stand the feeling of his lips on your skin right you. “bye mami, facetime me later okay?” he whispered as he looked into your eyes with that same look on his face that made you swoon once before. “okay, i will” you said knowing you weren’t. as soon as you got into your room you cried, searching in your mind for a clue on why he was doing this to you. you’d tears interrupted once again as your phone buzzed, who was calling you and why couldn’t they go away ?? you checked it as a small smile speared on your face it was margo. margo kess had been your best friend since before you met miles, she worked at the same spidey agency he did , or whatever the fuck it was called. you answered wiping your tears. she was eating unti she saw your expression. “what happened??? why you crying boo?” she frowned at you through the screen “miles is cheating on me with gwen, i checked his phone” you chuckled through sniffles as her jaw dropped “what the fuck?? u exposed him his ass right ??” she shouted and you shook your head “i was in denial i guess, i still can’t believe this shit” “you know what you gotta do right?” she said and your face turned into a confused expression “what i gotta do?” she rolled her eyes “get even duhhhhh!! you way to pretty to let this nigga cheat on you with a big back ass bitch you know that.” you snorted at her compliment “ion know mar, maybe gwen didn’t know we was dating” you said trying to express grace to gwen.

“bitch how?? all that nigga do is talk about you, not to mention youre his lock screen.” you tilted your head in agreement, she spoke up again “and you been told his ass all that shit he did with gwen was weird and he didn’t stop it? if he wanna act nonchalant you can act notchabitch” margo smiled as she her attempt to cheer you up worked. “speak of the damn devil, guess who texted me.” you smirked as margo raised her eyebrow “don’t tell me you talm bout hobie.” you tried to fight the smile on your face as you clicked on his message

“hey, wyd rn?” the text read. margo sighed as she saw the smile on your face “HOBIE. HOBART BROWN?? really (name)? well i mean the way he looks at you is crazy, and i been saying y’all would be mad cute .” she shrugged as she resolved up her own feelings, you nodded as you thought about it . was this really what you wanted to do? hurt miles? nonono if he didn’t care about hurting you he can’t say shit when you do it back. you texted hobie back “nun rn, wby?” and he replied almost instantly “im bored, lemme come over?” you almost laughed at how you realized that hobie has never cared about your relationship with miles . you told him yes and you said your goodbyes to margo as you got ready for him to come over, eyes burning as you saw the multiple hoodies that miles owned .

“hey love.” hobie said as he walked into your room from the window, you always noticed hoboes accent but you never noticed how attractive it was until now. “hey hobie.” you said as he lifted your chin up with index and thumb. “you’ve been crying? what happened ?” he said trying to read your face. “um nothing just stuff with miles” he almost winced at the mention of miles, he would offen tell you that he wasn’t good for you, guess he was right. “what did he do now. something when gwen again i bet” you sighed deeply remember the messages in his phone again. “yea, he’s cheating i just found out.” hobie eyebrows furrow as you say this, if he didn’t like the way miles was treating you before, he definitely hated him now.

“i was just joking but, really? what the fuck? after everything you’ve done for him? i’m gonna murder him i swear to g-“ “hobie no, no don’t say anything. i’m fine i’m gonna deal with it myself.” you say pushing him back with your fingers. “at least let me make you feel better.” he said giving you a tight hug. he smirked as he said “you know i’d never make you feel like that.” you snorted into his chest pulling away, hobie grabbed your face with both hands and kissed your forehead. “you don’t deserve this ,(name) you deserve the entire world” he muttered , looking down at you with so much care. stand on your tipe toes to kiss hobie, he doesn’t kiss back for a while in shock but then he reciprocates it and you know you shouldn’t do this, that’s the exact reason why you did it anyway . you pull away looking up into his deep brown eyes, you needed this, comfort from someone that wasn’t hurting you. someone that wasn’t him. he kissed you again more aggressively this time. he pulls away this time only to catch his breath. he pecks your lips once , then twice. he smiles at you then walks to the bed and turns on the tv, you thought it was weird but you also didn’t want to talk about it, and definitely didn’t wanna do anything further. after watching tv with him at a uncomfortable distance you decide to address the elephant in the room.

“so, we not gon talk about that?” you turn off the tv before turning your head to look at him and he does the same “we don’t have to, you know i like you. but i don’t think you need that tonight, i think you just need me here.” he said and honestly, he was right. even though he had you all the way fucked up onna tuesday, you still loved him. you just nod at hobie and he kisses your cheek wrapping his arms around you so he’s spooning you, the way hobie is holding makes you think that he’s the only boy in the world. he falls asleep and you lie awake looking at the ceiling, you decide to go on instagram looking at people’s story until you see gwen’s story, it was a picture of her and miles in his car her feet up on the dashboard, the same car you were just in, the same car you had your first kiss in. that’s not even the half of it, the picture had a “besties” caption on it but you could tell from 20 miles away they were far from that. you take a picture of hobie asleep and post it, tagging him too copying the same caption as gwen had. after maybe 20 minutes miles replies to it “wtf? why are you letting hobie touch you like that? and i thought u had to watch your sister” “and i thought you and gwen were besties?” you reply back sending him the screenshots you send to your phone if gwen and miles text he starts blowing u up like crazy but you put your phone down and snuggle closer into hobie, maybe you could get even.

doing my own thing,

i’m down to come clean,

not like you.

lmk wat u think 😭.

[trashmouth-richie]

Eddie x fem! Reader [masterlist]

Prev | vol viii

Summary: November 1st, Steve’s birthday celebration, a new friend is brought into the mix, Eddie’s past is revealed.

Trigger Warning: no minors pls, language, drinking, reader wears Eddie’s jacket, fluff, angst.

W/C: 11.5k

@jo-harrington + @ghost-proofbaby for beta reading this a tiny bit for me

The sun is waning through your curtains, blinding your eyes with a light so bright it’s like you’re staring into a flashlight. The ominous whirring of your fan oscillates, sending a chilling breeze across your room

Silently thanking yourself for taking ibuprofen before falling asleep last night, the pounding in your head is minimal, but the scratchy dryness of your throat is a steady reminder of the impromptu karaoke singing and the toe to toe chain smoking contest you bullied Eddie into. Your former drunker self turned cockier with every drink.

“I bet you… this house! This fucking house! That I can smoke more cigarettes than you can at once,” you slurred in a buzzed stupor as you swayed your body with the faint music of REO Speedwagon, your finger pressed into his chest where the fabric v’d open.

Red eyed and already higher than Willie fucking Nelson, Eddie grins wider than the Cheshire Cat, dipping low to your ear to whisper, “game on, sweetheart, but we’re smokin reds not your menthol shit.”

News flash. You couldn’t out smoke Eddie. And your burning croaky throat was proof of that.

Feet on the floor, your cold toes inching towards purchase against the carpet for your slippers. Opening your eyes, you assess the room. The Eddie costume you proudly wore all night, was strewn across your floor, complete with the wig. A rumbly laugh reverberates through your lungs along with a horrendous hacking cough. The memory of Jeff wearing it and imitating Eddie jogs across your mind. The way Eddie pouted and glared through his lashes made you smile sweetly at the memory.

A quick glance at your body in the mirror shows that you’re still wearing the soft black DIO shirt from lastnight, but thankfully you changed into pajama pants.

Another rough barking cough against your already achy throat surrenders it’s vices and begs for water. Opening the door you are met with a freezing chill. Eyes blinking in the bright sun from the windows in the living room, you take note of the heaps of bodies snoring and drooling amongst the floor.

Mike and El are cuddled up like two little kittens against the back corner in the living room, her blonde wig used as a pillow, Mike’s Mad Hatter jacket and his arm draped over her. Finding yourself gawking at the sweetness of seeing them curled into each other, you wonder if you would ever have a great love like they did. Your stomach leaps when the one crossing your mind is Eddie.

It was wrong. You shouldn’t be feeling this way about your brother’s friend, your roommate for fucks sake! He was everything you hated about the male population. Loud, annoying, an absolute pervert. Messy beyond belief, couldn’t boil a goddamn egg. But, he was also gentle, kind, and caring. Your yearning heart ached for his touch like the day he held you close to his chest during your darkest hour.

Not to mention he was cute. Okay, that’s a lie. Eddie was hot, in that rugged ‘I-don’t-give-a-fuck’ kind of way. Different from most guys in Hawkins, who were obsessed with their appearance, their family name. Eddie didn’t care, he was just himself. Always had been, always would be. And something about that cocky demeanor, burying the kindest heart you’ve ever come across, made your heart stutter in your chest.

Would he hold you like Mike was holding El if you were his? Would he cover you in kisses and do cliche things with you like matching couples costumes on Halloween? Something deep inside told you he would.

“Cute aren’t they?”

You jump out of your skin at the low, velvet voice, not realizing he was awake, your hungover mind foregoing the aroma and slow drip of black coffee being made. Too wrapped up in thinking about him to notice that he had approached you on your left, his messy curls swing against your cheek as he had bent down to your ear.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” he says with a chuckle.

You turn and look at him, he’s so close to you your noses almost touch. The tickling shock of nervousness from last night returns and travels up your spine, curling into your hair, igniting every hair follicle, a burning welcomed pleasure against your scalp. A quirked smile on his lips as you take a step back.

Blinking slow, you take him in. His smile could melt the polar ice caps, that goddamn panty dropper grin, you curse yourself silently for feeling the heat on your neck. He’s wearing black sweats, cut above the knee and rolled at the hem from many washes. A horrendously sawed off cut t-shirt adorns his broad shoulders. The same raw hems rolling inward, exposing a silver hoop in his nipple. The sun catching the steel ring and casting a blinding glare against it. He tips the coffee mug he’s holding back to his lips, emptying the contents in one gulp. The smell of potent orange juice fills your nose as you stare at his lips. His tongue poked out to lap up the last spilled drops.

“No, you’re fine—I didn’t realize you were up,” you explain, rubbing sleep from your eyes. Peering around him at the small wooden clock on the wall, it’s only 8:30, “didn’t know you were aware that there was an 8:30 AM on Sundays.”

“Are you always this witty in the morning?”

“It’s a gift,” you say with a smirk, “consider it a blessing, you’re late by the way.”

“Late for what?” The lazy way he smiles at you should be a crime.

A coy smile on your lips, “Sunday Service.”

Eddie snorts a laugh and grabs his side, wincing slightly, “agh, don’t make me laugh,” he groans, “I think I fucked up my back or something from falling down those steps last night.”

“…twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six…”

Gareth turned his head from the spout engulfing deep breaths from the chilled night air. Argyle and Jonathan let his feet back down to the deck. Standing next to Nancy and Ash, you whoop and holler along with everyone else, cheering on the new Keg Stand Champion. Gareth, stands on wobbly legs, taking a deep breath, he shouts, “And that's how it’s d—“

Before he can finish his victory speech, he projectile vomits all over Big D. Covering him shoulders to waist in foamy chunks of party food and the cheap keg beer. Laughter erupts from Eddie, he throws his wild hair back in amusement. Clutching his stomach and choking on the smoke from the joint he had just inhaled. Karma, proving again that she’s a cunt, Eddie leans back just far enough to fall backwards down the five steps to the ground.

“Jesus down, Jesus down!” Eddie exclaimed, roaring with laughter.

Concerned, you delicately reach for his wrist and move his hand away from his ribs. A small splatter of deep purpling color against his alabaster skin suggests that they are more than likely bruised from the fall. The dainty touch of your fingers on his body sends goosebumps against his flesh, and it wasn’t because your hands were cold. He swallows hard, adoration in his brown eyes as he takes in your smell, how messy your hair was, the hum on your lips as you observe him, pressing the pads of your fingers into his skin.

Who would have thought that simple minuscule touches from you could cause a frenzy in his blood. He thought the hair washing would bring him to his knees, but this? He didn’t realize he stopped breathing until you spoke.

The hitch in his throat is dismissed by you, “sorry, my fingers are probably freezing,”

He murmurs, something along the lines of “it’s fine,” but you barely hear it.

His skin is surprisingly smooth. Women spend hundreds of thousands of dollars in their lifetime to have perfect skin, and here Eddie Munson was, baby soft skin on a metal head’s body. You take the time to admire the exposed tattoo on his ribs next to the bruises. Tracing your finger over the triangled black ink outlined in red, angry against his skin. You’ve seen the symbol before but never understood what it was. An eight laying sideways, in the overlapping section is a cross with two lines instead of one.

Seconds fade to minutes of your fingers tracing his skin. Neither you or Eddie have said a word. Unhurried migrations on your fingers skate across the alabaster, feeling for any broken bones, but only feeling the velour cream of his skin beneath your hands.

Clearing your throat, you look into his blown out eyes, “I —um,” the air is thick between you both, making it hard to breath, or it could be the fact that the caramel pools of his eyes are pouring into yours, “ looks like it’s just bruised,” you say, slowly moving your fingers away from his skin. Your nails scratching his skin casually. And a quick intake of breath hisses between his teeth.

Eddie’s voice comes out shakier than he would have liked, he licks his lips, “o-oh good.”

He casts his eyes downwards, his fingers tug gently at the sleeve of the DIO shirt you’re still wearing from last night. His eyes find yours again, the browned oasis beckoning you, “are you still mad at me for winning the costume contest?” he asks in almost a whisper, lips barely moving, his focus full on the way your soft skin under your shirt feels against his calloused fingers.

The jump in your lower belly ignited the flame within you, sending burning hot coals to your core at his ghosting fingers on your arm. You blink rapidly and scoff. Rolling your eyes to extinguish the flames, you force yourself away from him, brushing past him, your shoulder grazing his chest sends more fire through your veins, a last attempt on keeping the heat blazing. “I was never mad,” you explain. Opening the cabinet with shaky hands and grabbing a white mug with tiny yellow flowers on the rim, you take a deep breath to steady your voice, turning it into a makeshift yawn, “who do you think decides who wins the contest anyway?”

Pouring the hot black coffee into the mug the aroma fills the room. Creamer sloshes against the liquid mixing merrily into a toffee colored dream.

Eddie leans against the counter, taking a piece of candy from the plastic jack-o-lantern dish and twisting the ends between his fingers, the orange hardened sugar melting slow on his tongue.

“You voted for me?” he asks earnestly, his head bowed in bashfulness, “you’re going to make me blush, sweetheart,” he coos, swirling the candy around his mouth, clacking against his teeth as he tries to hide a smile.

Sipping the piping hot coffee gingerly between your lips, you shrug, “not every day I get to see you acting so holy, thought we should capitalize on the opportunity, plus, it really was one hell of a costume.”

The bubblegum blush on Eddie’s cheeks make him look like a teenager, twisting his hair as if he just received his first kiss.

“I don’t know, I kinda liked yours,” he said matter of factly.

“That’s cause you’re full of yourself,” you say with a teasing tone, sticking out your tongue, and coughing roughly again.

Eddie’s eyebrows pull inward, a mocked scoff on his lips, “I refuse to take insults from someone who sounds like my Uncle Wayne— told you you couldn’t hang with the big dogs— but no, Tooty doesn’t listen.”

You dismiss him with a suggestive middle finger and a smirk as you sip the coffee again, “I can do anything I want, you’re not my babysitter.”

Neither of you knew that Robin and Steve were both awake, listening intently to your light banter, your giggling voices as you teased each other. The way yours pitched in a high squeal when Eddie’s hands tickled your sides and you tried to fight him off with the paper towel row.

The two friends sit side by side on the couch, smiling widely at one another, wondering when you would let eachother in.

-

It was noon before Gareth woke up, a combination of dried puke and drool on his face. The other four party go-ers had already left and did the sad walk of shame out to their vehicles. Both Robin and Steve give you weird looks and wide glances all morning, you even noticed Steve wiggling his eyebrows.

Yawning and reeking of alcohol. The loud snores from Gareth’s slack mouth could awaken the residents lying 6 feet under in East Hawkins. He’s laying with his head in a popcorn bowl, a poorly drawn sharpie penis crudely coloring his cheek, thanks to Eddie. The cold puke slowly oozing from the bowl onto himself has your stomach lurching.

Eddie finally woke him by shaking his shoulders violently, yelling into his face, “dude! You’re gonna rattle the fucking house off the foundation with that deafening snore, Christ almighty!”

Gareth stirred alive, swinging his arms frantically. “Fuck, man, scare the hell out of me why don’t ya!”

“Oh relax, trust me— it was either this or the Tooty method,” Eddie says with a grin motioning to you standing behind his shoulder holding a cup of cold water, a devilish smirk on your face, “seriously though, get up you smell like two-week-old rotten asshole.”

After Gareth and Eddie argue over why he has a dick drawn on his face, and Eddie swearing it wasn’t him, Gareth bumps his fist into Eddie’s and waves goodbye as he stands at the front door, and addresses you, “helluva party Tooty, hopefully I didn’t make too much of a mess and you’ll invite me again next year,” his easy smile is something you’ve never seen directed at you. Of all Eddie’s bandmates, Gareth was the hardest to read.

“Duh, you’re the reigning keg stand champion, you gotta make a return,” you smile back.

Gareth laughs, his floppy thick hair matted from the habit he wore all night, “think my keg stand days are over.” He looks from you to Eddie, watching the way Eddie smiles at you adoringly, and he starts to finally get it. Understand why his friend acts the way he does around you. You’re easy to talk to, friendly, kind, once you let your guard down. He looks to Eddie again as you turn and walk back to the kitchen, giving him a knowing glance shifting his eyes to you, and nodding his head once in approval, “see ya around dickhead,” he jokes to his oldest friend, his role model, his brother.

-

“Why the fuck do I have to wear this?” Eddie groans, pulling at the stiff collar on his shirt, buttoned too tight around his neck, not used to material that wasn’t leather or soft cotton, the metalhead was crabby and uncomfortable in the borrowed maroon button down shirt and black skinny tie from Harrington, “I look like a bible salesmen!”

Steve’s birthday was tonight and he requested to have dinner at his favorite restaurant in Indianapolis. He had gotten a big promotion at work the week after Halloween and was in need of a little celebration before the task of being executive director started.

Slotting silver iridescent dangly earrings you had borrowed from Nancy into your ears and adjusting the matching choker against your throat, you take the last curler out from your hair and fluff it with your fingers to give it shape. You holler from closed confinements of your room, “it’s for Steve’s birthday, not your birthday— quit being a big baby!”

Stepping your tights into the borrowed black velvet pointed heels, and smoothed down the black velour mini dress with the spaghetti straps you had bought last week from an ad in the paper about selling prom dresses for cheap. The material was snug against your curves fitting like a glove. Your makeup was darker than you would have normally done on any other given day but since this was such a fancy event for one of your closest friends— you smoked out a brown eyeshadow across your lids and added a heavy coat of mascara to your lashes with a thin line of eyeliner. Your favorite lipstick swiped delicately across your lips.

Looking at yourself in the mirror, you are pleased at your reflection. A patch of doubt trickles up your chest making you question if you should change. Is it too much? Is it over the top? But all that comes to a halt when loud banging is heard on your door. Stopping your spiraling shame cold in its tracks.

“Tooty?” Eddie raps on the door, “Steve just pulled up. You ready or are we leaving your ass at h—”

For the first time in Eddie’s life he is speechless. Not counting the time that his jaw was wired shut for 6 months when he took his skateboard off the roof of Gareth’s house in middle school.

Tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, dry and itchy like eighty grade sandpaper. His eyebrows are lifted, tucked beneath his bangs. It’s as if everything was going in slow motion, he couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, he was stunned by the drop dead gorgeous woman in front of him.

Your beauty wasn’t something that just happened in a movie with you pouncing down the stairs to some cheesy song with your friends clapping at the top and high-fiving over their “miracle makeover”. Eddie just simply wasn’t accustomed to seeing you dressed up like this.

It’s taking everything in him to not spring forward like a rabid dog and close the gap between you. Slot his lips against yours. A desperate, needy kiss so full of urgency that your head would spin. He’d keep you in the spinning wonderland until both of you were seconds from passing out. Dizzy from the floating clouds and blissful euphoria soaring around in his arms. He wants to grab your waist, wants to fist his fingers around the nape of your neck, wants to see the way your mouth would open with a gasp as he kissed your collar bone, so sweetly, so delicately— his name a whisper on your breath. He’d kiss your lips until they were chapped, sore, and tender to match his. Then he’d kiss them better, his lips the antidote, curing your craved pain.

He’d give anything— his van, his guitar, the band whatever it took— just to get a taste. In this dream land he’s everything you wanted, everything you needed. You loved him, adored him. Accepted his flaws, his past, his scars. He’d hold you tight while you slept, your head tucked into the crook of his neck, stealing sleepy kisses on your hair, enamored by the perfume of your hair, intoxicated, drugged by the lust of your skin. He’d learn how to cook, make you delicious meals, clean the house, do the laundry, be the perfect man. All for you.

He wanted to feel your body forming and molding around him. Yearned to know the valleys of your body, each curve, each beauty mark, each scar visible or not. If it weren’t for his heart hammering into his ears he would have thought he had gone deaf for sure.

You’re talking but he can’t hear you.

He’s still in the dream land, dancing on Saturn’s rings, cooling his feet in Jupiter’s springs, holding your hand and taking you higher with him. Your smile taking flight in his chest and ascending you along the majestic sights of the Milky Way. Completely gone from this world. A world where you were his, and he was yours.

The more he fantasizes it— the more the impossibility of this dream increases. His bravado falls, crashing through the sparkly dream with fluffy clouds, falling further down. Away from you. Away from the dream he wanted, craved to be reality.

He fell through the clouds, clinging to your fingers, would you reach out for him? Help him? Save him?

Would you ever want to be his? He was Eyeball’s friend, Prince of the Trailer Park, probably annoyed you more than Eyeball himself did. You were beautiful and put together, and him? He was lint in the dryer, causing house fires when forgotten about. Voted most likely to end up in prison for the graduating class of ‘85 and ‘86. A failure, a crack in the sidewalk you’d avoid to break your mother’s back as a kid.

Avoid the trailer park trash. Avoid Eddie Munson.

So he pushed the thoughts away, the ooey galaxy of cotton candy trees and rainbow lollipops— fading back to black as he fell faster harder, back to reality. The dead, decaying ashen life of shitville Hawkins, Indiana. Where reality came in the form of working long days to barely survive. A name branded to his soul, weathered and tarnished like forgotten silverware in a rich dementia riddled woman’s home.

Nothing. Munson trash. The town freak. Social outcast. Scum in the drain. Bastard child.

“Earth to Eddie!”

A snap of your fingers and the impatient wrinkles between your brow bring his soul back to his body.

“S-sorry,” he stuttered, wiping his clammy palms on the thighs of the cleanest pair of black jeans he owned, “We—uh,” blush creeps to his cheeks, adamant to push it down, to the cobwebbed box in his brain that never opened, he grabs your hand and starts to yank you towards the door, a gruff annoyance in his voice, “let’s go.”

You’re crestfallen.

Oblivious to his inner intergalactic battles of hoping that he was good enough for you but deep down knowing he never would be.

Not anywhere near the suaveness of Casanova he pretends to possess on most days, motor-mouth Munson was all out of gas. Spending his last tank, last drop of fuel taking you to the moon and spinning you amongst the stars.

-

Steve is wearing a black suit, standing against a new SUV, shiny ink black like the velvet of your dress, and the pretty girl’s hair standing next to him, she’s wearing a purple velour sweetheart neckline dress, with rhinestone straps, her shoulders are bare until the dress continues to cover her arms, into a full sleeve. Robin is hanging out of the back passenger side window, a tie hung loosely around her neck and a white button down tailored shirt adorning her body. Waving a bottle of Boonesfarm around.

“Come on! Let’s party like it’s 1984! Before Steve had this new bitchin’ car and still half of his virgini—“

“Robin!” Steve scolds, threading his fingers through his hair, the girl on his arm shooting Robin a pleasurable laugh, her hand on Steve’s chest.

Eddie is still dragging you along, hurrying you along. In a rush but not saying a word. “Eddie, Jesus Christ, stop, I have to get my purse,” you yank your wrist from his grip and take a step backward. Silent and fuming, your arms crossed over your chest. Looking up at him with water brimmed eyes, corners of your mouth turned downward in a confused frown.

It’s the same expression he had seen during the first few days he had moved in, when he hurt you.

Shaking his head with a huff he descends the concrete steps and stands next to Robin, clutching the Boonesfarm bottle and taking a long hefty swig, wallowing in his own self pity and self doubt of never being good enough for you.

Of course this is how it would be with you. Why would you ever want him when there are people like Steve Harrington in the world. Offering you anything and everything you could ever need. And what could he offer you? Nothing. A tainted name and a ring pop replacing a diamond.

He wasn’t good enough for Chrissy, wasn’t good enough for Trish. How would you be any different? Swallowing his pride with each swig of the sugary Boonesfarm, he tries his hardest to push the idea of you wanting to be with him, wanting anything other than someone to take up space and pay rent on time, out of his mind.

“Tooty,” Steve says, waving you over once you shut the door to the house and locked it, “Eddie, this is Leighanne, my girlfriend.”

A smile breaks on your face, pure unadulterated joy for your friend. The way his face lit up saying girlfriend, the way they’re clutched together, a perfect match, him looking adoringly into her face, staring in wonder and awe as she beams a radiating light back up to him— it’s sugar sweet.

A low ache in your chest fires again, whatever had burned for Eddie was now boiling on high heat but the pot was empty.

You thought that maybe he… hadn’t he? The bitter truth stinging your tongue, not admitting it to yourself. Not allowing yourself to think any further on the subject, you extend your smile to Leighanne. Pleasantries in your voice as you push down your own worrying heart and open it up to hear all about how Leighanne and Steve met.

“Damn, new fancy job and a car to match— never seen one of these in real life before Harrington.”

Steve dives into the story of him trading in his car for the G Wagon, a year old and less than 10,000 miles. Eddie asked questions and walked around the vehicle with Steve as he kicked the tires and inspected the paint job.

The ride to Indianapolis was full of Leighanne’s bright laugh, teasing Steve and joking with Robin. Her fingers never unlaced from his. She was funny, charismatic in a way that complimented Steve. You’re stuffed in the middle in the backseat. Robin on your left and Eddie on your right, preoccupied with staring out the window.

He’s brooding, steeping like a tea bag in the heat of the sun. Only he’s cold, off putting and sulking. Not engaging once in conversation other than. Answering yes or no to Steve’s questions, giving little up.

And you were doing the same, trying hard to focus on what Robin and Leighanne were giggling about but finding Eddie’s bad mood taking you over. His pitch black aura sucking you in and consuming you. Dampening the celebratory night for your friend that hasn’t even begun because he’s irritated by God knows what. It’s the longest ride to Indianapolis you’ve experienced yet.

The restaurant is burnt brick with an old prohibition era feel to it. Low jazz music is playing by a live band in the back corner. Reservations for Harrington bring the five of you to a secluded area low lit with hues of blacks and coppers and mahogany wood filling the space, setting the ambience for a private affair. The round table is set with a cream colored silk cloth that alone probably cost more than the value of your house.

Steve pulls out a chair for Leighanne. A pinky rouge on her cheeks as she sits down delicately. Robin climbs next to her, body angled towards her, her feet on the seat of her chair.

Taking the seat next to Robin, Eddie takes the seat next to you, angling it ever so slightly away from you, his right elbow on the table, head facing away from you.

What the fuck?

Two waiters arrive holding a large round platter filled with various selections of wines, whiskey, and beers in stout glasses. Each one filled to the brim of the finest liquor ranging in black browned ale to lighter amber on one side, the others full of their house made brew, an inch head of foam in each glass, and wine ranging from white to a deep burgundy red.

Before the waiter can even walk away Eddie has two glasses of the dark colored whiskey in front of him, shooting them down like he’s at a high school party and has a curfew. “Shit man, these are for sipping, ya gotta ease into it a little,” Steve says with a chuckle. Eddie grabs another glass from the circle of the platter, sipping it slow between his lips, letting the fervor of the liquor burn his mouth, welcoming the burn.

-

Eddie hasn’t said a word to you all night. In fact— he’s ignoring you. Usually the first to start joking around, he’s completely sullen, sinking into his bad mood letting the veil of self loathing cover himself like a blanket, choking his insides. He’d converse with everyone but you. “Can you pass the pepper,” you’d asked after laughing obnoxiously with Leighanne about how Steve couldn’t throw a punch to save his life.

Silence.

“Eddie?” You ask again, “can you please pass me the pepper?”

Another ignored moment of silence from the brooding metalhead.

“Eddie! Hello!?”

Nothing.

A swift kick from Steve to the shins finally roused him alive, blinking his eyes slowly away from his glass, thumb moving over the condensation. “Dude—Tooty needs the pepper.”

Eddie looks at the pepper shaker with hooded, bored eyes, far from the conversation around the table. Trapped in the black box of dread in his mind. He scoots it closer to you but not enough by far. Scooting your chair back with a screech, you stand and lean across him, fully in his space. Encroaching on his doomed self with your perfume wafting into his nose. Your hairspray stinging his eyes when your hair brushes over your shoulder in front of him. It’s intoxicating. The way your necklace catches the light, as you lean over him hits his chest like a lightning bolt. b

A quick turn of your face and he catches your glare, heated and angry, but his eyes are soft, solemn, sad.

“Thanks, Eddie— really appreciate you helping me out there. Next time I’ll just lay across the table when I need something, or I could simply go fuck myself if that’s easier for you? Don’t want to interrupt whatever the fuck you’ve got going on.” you spit, venom on your lips dripping from your teeth as you aggressively shake the pepper on the salad.

Eddie stands abruptly, “going for a smoke,” he says to nobody in particular, Steve stands and follows him out, with the helping nudge of Leighanne’s elbow in his ribs.

The two guys strut outside, breathing in the night air, a flick of lighters and the burning, crinkling sound of the end of two cigarettes fills the almost barren sidewalk. A minute or so passes before Steve speaks first, “nice night out, considering it’s the middle of November.”

Eddie only nods, inhaling the smoke and trying to relax.

“You alright?”

Again, Eddie only answers with body movements, shrugging his shoulders, blowing smoke through his nose.

Steve inhaled his cigarette slow, “Tooty looks nice tonight.”

Eddie bites his bottom lip and rubs his eyes with this thumb. Smoke curling around him in a makeshift halo. “Yeah,” he finally speaks, nodding his head, a huffed chuckle on his lips, “she does, doesn’t she?”

“What’s going on, man?” Steve questions, “last I knew you were head over heels for her— now you’re ignoring her and acting like a jackass in there.” He says pointing to the door, “you’re gonna fuck this up before you’ve even let it start!”

Eddie shoves himself off the wall, the cobwebs on the box in his mind where he stored his pain, were wiped away, fingerprints on the lid, “oh give it up, Harrington.” Rubbing his hands down his face with a groan, “I’m— fuck, I’m so fucking stupid. Falling for someone like her.”

“What do you mean someone like her?” Steve asks frustrated, “fuck man you really are dumb aren’t you?”

“What?” Eddie asks, his chest puffed out in confusion, “this isn’t like some magic eight ball shaking it to see if your crush likes you Steve! That’s not how shit works!”

“You’re a dumbass! Even I can see that she’s hurt by the way you’re acting!” Steve shouts, stomping out his cigarette.

“Dude I’m not talking about this right now, back off,” Eddie pleads, flicking his cigarette into the street and attempting to walk around Steve.

“Why are you being an asshole and trying to shove her away?” Steve goads.

“I’m not.” Lid is off the box, contents exposed.

“Don’t be a douche fucking tell me!”

“Because she’s too fucking good for me!” Eddie finally screams into the night, throwing his hands up in the air.

The box is dumped out. Contents spilled out in his mind, hurt behind his eyes, for anyone to see.

He hangs his head, shoulders slumped forward, he slides down the wall and sits on the cool concrete, breathing heavily, “She’s— fuck, she’s never gonna want to be with someone like me, man.”

All of his self doubt from earlier tonight, all the pain he’s ever felt from being a neglected child, an outcast in school amongst his peers, being cheated on, lied to— it all came crashing down around him. All the alcohol he consumed wasn’t helping matters either.

He was a failure, in more ways than he could count. Twenty-six and just freshly moved out of his uncle’s place. Twenty-six and still playing in a band at the bar on the weekends. Twenty-six and still alone. Horribly, utterly, bitterly alone. Drowning himself in groupie pussy every night before he moved in with you. He hated himself.

“Has she said that? Did you ever think that maybe she doesn’t care what anyone else thinks? You think it was easy for her to stay in Hawkins after her parents up and left? After Kevin was thrown in prison? After that piece of shit Chad Cunningham hurt her? If there’s anything we know about Tooty it’s that she’s a fighter, she could have left at any time, packed her shit and never looked in the rear view mirror. But you and I know that she’s too damn stubborn to let Hawkins get the best of her.”

Eddie lifts his head, looking at Steve sitting beside him.

“She needs you, man, you’re good for her.”

Mansion dreams on a trailer park budget. He could never afford the things you deserved. He loathed the thought of anyone else being able to give you the things he couldn’t, the pit of his stomach rolling.

“I don’t know, Steve,” Eddie says, timidly throwing his curly head against the brick behind him, “I saw her today all dressed up looking so absolutely gorgeous, and it hit me, I could never give her the life she deserves.”

“Come on, man,” Steve chides, knocking his shoulder to Eddie’s, “you really think I would have told you about her needing a roommate and insisting that you go and look at the house, if I didn’t think you’d be good for each other?”

Eddie shrugs his shoulders again, the self doubt creeping back, putting the box back together.

“After Nancy moved out, I knew she was scared— she’d never say anything about it, but we worried about it. She needed someone around who she could trust. Robin and I couldn’t get out of our lease, but then you told me you were looking for a place, and honestly there isn’t anyone better for her than you.”

Eddie thinks on this for a few seconds. Steve was right, he did fuck this up. “Christ, she’s probably madder than hell at me right now,” he says with a groan.

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, standing and holding out a hand for Eddie, “you’ve got some making up to do.”

-

“Am I drunk, or is he acting weird as hell tonight, like more weird than usual?” Robin slurs, almost falling out of her seat as she whisper-yells across the table at you the minute Steve follows Eddie out the door.

“Oh, honey,” Leighanne whispers, holding Robin by her arm and guiding her back into the chair, “you’re very drunk, but also I’ve never met him, but he seems sad.”

Stewing in a pot of shame and regret, you try to tune Robin and Leighanne out. A shiver of hatred stirs in your chest, pulling at your heart strings and gnawing on the fleshy stretch cords until they’re rotting, black and withered.

How silly of you to be so nervous about wearing this dress, when Eddie only took one look at you and immediately turned sour. How stupid of you to think that he had somehow turned into a decent human being, a friend, a confidant, a shoulder to cry on when you were desperate and needing consoling. How fucking dumb of you to be so mad in this moment that he was ignoring you, acting like a complete jerk and ruining this nice evening by being a pouty child.

Fuck him, and fuck this.

Reaching for the now warm wine you toss it back, chugging until your throat ached. It’s easier to swallow than the embarrassing way you thought that Eddie was growing to like you. Your mistake.

Won’t happen again.

-

By the time the guys come back, you were slightly buzzed, feeling giggling with the bubbling of the flutes of champagne that had been brought out after the dinner was cleared from the table.

Steve slaps Eddie on the back and shakes his shoulders a bit, sitting down quickly beside Leighanne and whispering into her ear, she turns scarlet red as he nudges his nose down to kiss her neck. You turn your face away, ashamed again, for wanting a love like that so bad, yet sold short.

“You okay?” Robin asks Eddie. You can feel eyes on you, burning into the side of your face, but you won’t give him the time of day. To hell with him.

He answers her back, making up some lame excuse about not feeling good as to why he was acting like an asshole all night.

“Hmm,” you hum, raising your eyebrows and huffing. Tossing your napkin from your lap onto the table, grabbing another flute of champagne and downing it instantly, crossing your legs and leaning further away from him. “Isn’t that funny?”

“Tooty?” His voice is soft, dipped in butter and spread across a warm croissant. Almost timid the way he’s barely speaking above a whisper, you pretend not to hear him.

A nudge in your side goes unanswered as you turn your face towards an almost passed out Robin. Another poke to the ribs, a ticklish spot for anyone. A tap on your hand, fervent and annoying, your name repeated in high and low tones, as you actively avoid him. He finally stops, and when he does you take a shaky breath, right as your chair is flung backwards on the back legs, and you’re suddenly upside down, peering into Eddie’s face. That cocky Munson grin plastered onto it, the one you haven’t seen all night, sends shock waves to your core, and a burn to your chest.

Goddamn him.

“Put me down,” you emphasize with bitterness behind each word.

Eddie smiles widely, “not until you talk to me, sweetheart,”

“Oh look at that everyone, the pouting child act is over, guess we are blessed after all,” you spit back, crossing your arms and trying to wriggle the chair free.

His smile is pulled back slightly, voice dipped low as he leans forward slightly, “can we talk? Privately?”

You glare back at him, venomous cold eyes peering into his, hoping he understood how annoyed and hurt you were with the bullshit he’d been pulling for hours, “Congratulations on finding your voice Ariel, but if you don’t put my chair down I’ll—“

“What? You’ll do what?” Eddie bickers back with a grin, leaning closer you can smell his musky cologne, and the burnt scent of his cigarette on his breath. He enjoys watching you squirm and get pissed off at him. Something about the way you scold him sends him over the moon.

But, he could never anticipate what you would do next.

His hands on the back of your chair, you turn your head in a swift motion and find his thumb and bite down on it until he squeals and yelps in pain.

“…bite you,”

Instinct taking over Eddie pulls his hands from the back of your chair. And you start tumbling backwards. Falling falling, reaching backwards, you grab onto the first thing you can get your frantic hands on.

It all happens too fast, one minute you’re falling backwards, the next your fingers are gripped tight on the buckle of Eddie’s belt. Your breath hitched in your chest, as you grappled to stay upwards. In a swift motion Eddie grabs under your arms and the chair falls to the ground.

Eddie pulls you up, your body skimming his as he turns you around to face him. “Damn, I’m right here. No need to get so handsy,” he murmurs in a low husky laugh.

You take a deep breath to calm yourself, sudden shock of fear fading from your body as you look into his face. Even though he’s laughing, his pupils are blown and dark, eyebrows twisted inward, and raised, pulled into concern.

“Fuck Munson,” you say, straightening your dress, trying not to melt from the heat of Eddie’s hands on your waist, “trying to kill me?” The room was spinning, you hadn’t hit your head, but maybe the rush of falling backwards mixed with the alcohol you had drank was a combination for a migraine. Definitely not the way he was lazily drinking you in, his lips stretching into a wide, pretty smile.

“Kill you?” He scoffs, hands still heavy on your waist, rubbing slow circles with his thumbs, sending your nerves into a fizzing frenzy of want. “I’m not the one biting others, kitten.”

Of all the nicknames Eddie has called you— princess, sweetheart, baby— kitten was a new one. And you’re ashamed at the pulse in your core and the heat in your cheeks as his eyes twinkle like brown Christmas lights back at you, the flick of his tongue against his lips almost sends you into cardiac arrest.

“Hey—“ Steve interrupts, stepping into your peripheral vision, “—don’t mean to break this up—but we have a problem.”

-

“Alright guys, good news or bad news?”

Steve steps through the lobby door to the sidewalk, where you, Leighanne, Robin and Eddie were all waiting for him. The chill of the night air is biting through your tights and stinging your cheeks. Even in the cozy musky warmth of Eddie’s leather jacket that he insisted on you wearing, after listening to your chattering teeth for ten minutes, “here,” he announced, stopping abruptly and shucking the jacket off his arms, and wrapping it around your shoulders, “I swear you’re gonna chip your teeth with the way you’re chattering them, it’s annoying,” he said in a faux grumble, his voice mean but his face lighting up when you hurriedly slot your arms through his jacket. Inhaling his smoke musk and cool leather combination as it dizzied your mind.

Ever since the restaurant kicked you all out on account of being too drunk, you’d been walking to a hotel. The restaurant manager had refused to let Steve get his car from the valet because they thought he was too intoxicated to drive. And also denied him from using the phone to hail a cab. There was no other choice.

So that's what led you all here. Walking fifteen blocks— in heels, dresses and fancy shirts, to the nearest hotel. Well technically thirty blocks because the waiter gave Steve the wrong directions. Everyone was freezing, tired and crabby. The drunken happy stage left about twenty blocks back.

“Bad news, Harrington hit me,” Eddie gripes.

Steve brushes his fingers through his hair, “Okay, uhh—bad news… there’s only one room available, with two beds.”

“But, there’s one… two…three..four.. six of us!” Robin counts, hiccuping loudly and letting a giggle escape her slack mouth. Maybe the restaurant wasn’t wrong in kicking you all out after all.

“No— there’s five of us, but there is a chair!” Steve chimes, “that’s the good news!”

You knew what that meant, obviously you would be sharing a bed with Robin or Eddie, and given the fact that Robin was probably a good ten minutes away before she started throwing up like she was notorious for— you were about to share a bed with Eddie.

-

The room was small but decent. Maroon, itchy bedspreads with pilling fabric sat atop the beds, white linen sheets and overly stuffed pillows with matching cases shoved into the perfectly made beds. A tiny tv sat atop a chestnut dresser complete with channel listings and a remote velcroed to it. Leighanne crosses the room and immediately finds the furnace, cranking it up as high as it will go and shutting the drapes, she sits on the bed furthest from it, and begins taking her earrings out of her ears. Sighing with relief as the heavy dangly bejeweled gems clink onto the bedside table. Steve sits beside her, leaning forward and grabbing her ankle, delicately sliding the strappy heels from her sore feet, rubbing them between his hands and murmuring apologies to her, kissing her shoulder.

Eddie is kicking the toe of his boot into the carpet, hands pushed into his pockets and looking downward. The awkward question of who-will-sleep-where is weighing heavy on your mind, just when you’re about to ask him what he thinks, Robin pushes between you both and makes a mad dash to the bathroom. Like clockwork.

“I’m never letting her drink again!” Steve says with a huff, “every time, she does this every single time!”

You snort out an exhausted giggle, this night went to hell in a handbasket the minute you left Hawkins. The only thing left to do was laugh about it.

Leaning your body against the wall, you carefully step out of your heels, the dingy carpet a glorious welcome to your aching feet. Stretching your toes out and wiggling them against the carpet brings a sigh to your lips.

Body tired from the constant shivering and cramped calves, you couldn’t wait to get the dress off and feel the warmth of the blanket around you, cocooning yourself like a caterpillar in a chrysalis.

Fuck.

You didn’t have any clothes with you, just the dress you were wearing, tights and a black thong. If it was Eddie you’d be sharing a bed with, what the hell were you supposed to wear? The thought hadn’t even trickled into your mind until this very second as you noticed Eddie unlace his boots.

Panic riddles your body, fuck would you lay naked next to him? Should you keep the dress on?

“Hey,” Eddie whispers into your ear, reigning you back in with his velvet voice, “there’s a vending machine by the elevator, wanna come with me?”

His lips contort into a smirk, and his hair wisps against your cheek, tickling your skin as you turn into him. Still wearing his jacket the neckline covers your mouth and nose as you nod your head yes.

-

The low pile fibers of the emerald and turquoise hallway carpet feels plush and luxurious against your nylon toes. A welcomed dream to your throbbing feet. You focus on the intricate leaves pattern as you walk the hallway with Eddie, his socked feet thudding along softly in tandem with yours.

The silence is deafening, and you can practically hear your heart beat out of your chest when his knuckles ever so gently, ever so delicately, graze yours as he swings his hand when he walks.

“Think it’s this way,” Eddie says pointing a thick ringed finger down a hallway at a T intersection. “I’m so hungry I’m going to eat the carpet if I don’t find something to eat.”

“Should have ate while we were at the restaurant,” you poke at him, “but you were too busy being an asshole.”

Eddie chokes out a throaty laugh, “I saved your life, Tooty— how am I still an asshole?”

“I wouldn’t exactly call me-falling-because-you-tipped-my-chair-backwards saving my life, but whatever helps you sleep at night, sweetheart,” you barely choke out the last part before you burst into a too-tired giggle, hiding your mouth with the collar of his jacket.

His own nickname on your lips burns his insides, mocking or not he wanted to hear it again and again.

“You fight dirty, I had no idea you were into biting.” Eddie teases, his eyes bright and playful matching his smirk, the vending machine comes into view and his eyes light up even more, “oh fuck yeah, come to daddy!”

The black vending machine is lit with a flickering light over head. Eddie thumbs through his wallet and grabs out ten one dollar bills.

“Alright, sweetheart,” Eddie crooned, “pick your vice.”

Deciding on a package of orange squared crackers with cheese, Eddie buys a bag of chocolate cookies, chips, and two bags of candy.

Carrying five cans of pop from the pop machine and Eddie’s plethora of snacks, both of your arms are full.

“So back to you assaulting me—I’m going to take your dental record down to Hopper— I’m turning you in.”

Laughing harder than anyone should have at midnight, your laugh echoes off he walls and bounces around the hallway. Making Eddie’s heart soar with glee. “Turning me in huh?”

Eddie knocks his shoulder into yours, throwing you off balance slightly, “yeah, I’m turning you in, you could have rabies! And I could start foaming at the mouth in my sleep, you’re dangerous and when I get home I’m taking you to the vet!”

The flirty banter is undeniable between you, his giggles match yours as you pad slowly down the hallway. Cheeks burning, coy smiles filling the empty hallway.

Stopping in the hallway with one hip thrown out and a perfectly placed look of innocence on your face you ask in the sweetest voice you could muster, “I’m dangerous? Me?” Making sure you bat your lashes and pout your bottom lip.

Here it was, his opportunity to show you what you really meant to him. No longer laughing, his face turns very serious. Shuffling the snacks around in his arms so he has a hand free, he reaches up to your face, tracing the outline of your jaw and brushing the pad of his thumb delicately against your cheek.

“Baby,” he whispers, that velvet smooth voice on his tongue, eyes dipped in gold and yearning into your own, “I wouldn’t turn this cute face in even if you murdered that son-of-a-bitch, Mr. Derry.”

Heart rate increases, you’re sure there's a pulse where Eddie’s hand is placed on your cheek. The calloused pads of his thumbs stroking your cheek has you weak in the knees. Tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth.

“Cute?” You exclaim, feigning shock, heat trickling up your neck and planting itself into your cheeks, the warmth spreading below Eddie’s hand.

His eyes are trained on yours, flicking from your lips and back up again, and you know whatever he says next 100%, without a doubt shouldn’t be taken lightly.

“Tooty,” Eddie breathes, his voice melting around you, forming to every cell in your body and holding you tight. “You’re beautiful, and not just tonight…every single day.”

No one.

Not your parents.

Definitely, not Chad.

Nobody.

Has ever uttered those words to you. The final wall around your heart falls, crumbling at the base with Eddie holding a sledge hammer to it, begging to be let in.

This menace, prick, pervert, absolutely disgusting man. Has made you fall for him and without words has made it clear that he’s falling for you too.

Butterflies tickle your stomach the rest of the walk back to the room.

-

Steve and Leighanne are already asleep by the time you make it back, she’s wrapped tight against his bare chest, a hand threaded at the nape of his neck and through the tufts of his chest hair. His lips lay lazily against her forehead.

Robin took the comforter from the other bed and made a makeshift bed in the tub, Eddie places a can of 7-UP next to her, rustling her hair and making sure she’ll be okay for the night.

Flipping through the channels and leaning your back against the headboard, you find an episode of the Golden Girls, opening your snack crackers and nibbling into them,a can of Pepsi nestled between your knees. Eddie runs and jumps onto the bed beside you and starts ripping open his snacks, starting with the chips, and cracking open a can of Mountain Dew. Chugging the lime colored liquid until it drops down his chin.

He lets out a louder than life belch and wipes his lips with the back of his hand. Looking over at you to see if you’re impressed.

You raise up ten fingers and clap, applauding his behavior.

“I’d like to thank my fans, and the Pepsi company, for encouraging the best of burps, with the help of carbonation.” He bows and waves like he’s at the academy awards and you giggle along with him.

You both stay like that for a while, on top of the blankets, watching the Golden Girls and eating snacks, content with filling your stomachs with crappy food and over carbonated beverages.

-

The looming idea of sleeping in the same bed with Eddie is no longer something you can avoid, when a loud yawn escapes your body and has you snuggling deeper into his leather jacket.

“I—I can sleep in the chair, or on the floor.” He says quickly.

The idea of him sleeping on the floor or with a strained neck in the office chair is unacceptable to you. “No, you can sleep in the bed with me, we can—“ thinking fast for an easy solution, “we can just use different blankets.”

“Oh good,” Eddie whispers, taking off his already loosened tie, and unbuttoning his shirt, “because I would bet a million dollars that you’re a blanket thief.”

Laughing and unzipping his leather jacket, you smirk, hanging it on the back of the chair, “how do you have the vocabulary of a ten year old and a foul sailor all at the same time?”

Eddie unzips his pants and untangles his legs from the dark denim, sitting on the bed with a groan in just his boxer briefs, “I’m like a poor Peter Pan, who grew up on the wrong side of tracks, I’ll never grow up.”

Foregoing any previous thoughts of keeping the dress on, you decide to take it off, exhausted from the night, the cold seeping into your bones and chilling them made you almost delirious with needing sleep, “Can you—will you close your eyes?” You ask in a hushed voice, “at least until I lay down?”

Eddie yanks hard on the sheet and wraps it around his head in a giant makeshift blindfold. “Will this work?”

This angle gives you free range to see his body. It’s not as if you haven’t seen him like this before, but this time it felt different. Every inch of his creamed colored skin, every inky smoked out line of tattoos, the veins protruding from his muscled arms, the ruddy roughness of his knuckles, ghosting with the silver rings on his fingers and in his nipples. The fading sun colored bruises on his ribs. You could write sonnets on the way his breath expands his chest and falls back flush with the rest of his body.

It’s hard to peel your eyes away, but you manage, grabbing your dress by the bottom hem lifting it off of your body. Sliding the tights down your legs until you are completely naked besides the silk black thong. Covering yourself with the off white cotton threaded blanket on the bed, you wrap it around you and sit delicately on the other side of the bed, facing the window, and the furnace.

“I’m done,” you announce, laying your head onto the goose feather pillow and facing Eddie, curling your legs to your chest. Taking slow breaths through your nose to even out your nerves and settle yourself down, the excitement of laying next to Eddie in a bed with both of you only wearing underwear has your body throbbing.

“Finally!” He exaggerates, “were you wearing a dress from the 1800s with all those fancy layers?”

“I was having some trouble with the zipper,” you lie.

“Funny—“ Eddie preens, “I didn’t see a zipper on your dress.”

The idea of him watching you, eyes stuck on your silhouette all night, through dinner, walking to the hotel, makes you feel less bad about staring at him before you crawled into bed. You clench your thighs together.

“How would you know there wasn’t a zipper? Unless of course— you were gawking.”

Two can play this game, and what Eddie didn’t realize is that you’d gotten pretty good at bantering with him.

“Why would you say your dress had a zipper when it didn’t? Maybe you were the one gawking, I mean I get it sweetheart, I’m funny and sexy. Double whammy.”

“Good night, Eddie.” You say with a final laugh. “And I swear to God, if this bed starts jerking in any way—I’ll shave your head and bleach your eyebrows.”

He lets out a laugh loud enough that it makes Steve roll over, scolding you both, about the time and needing to get some sleep. Always in mom mode.

“Sorry dad,” Eddie whispers, giggling like a little kid as he tucks himself in, and turns off the tv and the light between the two beds.

You close your eyes and breathe deeply, allowing sleep to take over your body. Sleep finds you quickly, a deep dreamless sleep, you aren’t sure if you’re awake or not when you feel a pair of lips on the crown of your hair line, a hand moving your hair away from your face, and a voice whispering to you, “good night, pretty girl.”

-

The next morning, Steve drops you and Eddie off at your house. The ride home seemed to drag on forever, everyone was hungover and trying to stay awake. Robin having her head out of the window for most of the drive. Still gagging from the night before.

Getting into Hawkins, Eddie turns towards you, a menacing smirk on his lips and a devil gleam in his eyes, “rock, paper scissors for dibs on first shower?”

“You’re on Munson,”

-

“I just don’t understand how paper beats rock!” Eddie complains as he takes a piss talking to you as you take a shower. The humidtiy from the bathroom moistens his curls, frizzing them into oblivion, “in what fucking universe does a paper lying over a goddamn rock win?”

Placing the razor against the white pillowy peaks of the shaving cream you slide it up your leg, careful to not cut your knee. “Don’t be a sore loser because you chose rock three times in a row.

“It’s the most common way to win!” He whines, slamming the toilet seat down and plopping himself on top of it. “Are you almost done? I feel like I’ve been freezing for 24 hours, I never warmed up lastnight.”

Rinsing the last bit of conditioner from your hair you turn the water off, throwing a hand out from the shower curtain to reach for your robe, wrapping it around you tightly, and opening the shower, you notice that Eddie looks paler than usual.

“Are you getting sick?” You place the back of your hand on his forehead, it’s clammy and abnormally warm. The twinkle he almost always has in his eyes is gone, he looks rundown. “In the nicest way possible, you look like hell.”

“I feel like shit,” Eddie complains.

“Here,” you offer, starting the water for him, “take a hot shower and I’ll go make us some food.”

-

When Eddie gets out of the shower the kitchen smells of sweet thick batter, sprinkled with a hint of cinnamon. The waffle iron you had bought with Nancy before Halloween worked like a dream, it was in better condition than you had thought.

Two plates are sitting on the counter, as Eddie walks into the kitchen, wearing a hoodie and sweats, he comes behind you, moving your hips gently to the side as he peers over your shoulder to see what you’re making.

“Waffles?!” He squeals into your ear, “I didn’t know we even had a waffle press thing,” he says, messing up your still damp hair with a tousle, “wait is that the thing that’s kept in the bathroom under the sink?”

Racking your brain you try to envision what he’s thinking of, “no Eddie that would be Nancy’s hot rollers, for her hair..”

“Well that’s not edible,” he says walking to the fridge and pulling out his jug of milk.

Hollering over your shoulder and opening the waffle iron to carefully remove the perfect round breakfast delicacy from the iron with a fork, you announce, “that’s why they’re in the bathroom, under the sink. I bought the waffle iron when Nancy and I went shopping a few weeks ago, how are you feeling?”

Taking a big gulp of milk Eddie mutters, “better, much better, I’m just really tired.”

Plating the waffles and getting the syrup from the cabinet you set the plates down at the table, bringing over two glasses and two sets of silverware, “can you grab the orange juice, and the butter?”

Bringing the requested items to the table, Eddie sets them down, next to the napkin holder. Grabbing a knife hastily and spreading the pale yellow butter around the crispy pockets of the waffle, melting into delicious puddles of savory goodness, awaiting the courtship to be reunited with the sticky sweet syrup to combine into heavenly wedded bliss.

Cutting his waffle and diving in, the kitchen is surrounded by sound of Eddie’s satisfied moans, “fuck,” he cries with a mouthful of food, shoveling more in, “this is so fucking good, you’re a saint— no no! Wait, an angel.”

The waffles were good, the perfect amount of crispy and soft. Eddie finished both of his waffles in record time.

“So where did you get this thing?” he asked curiously, pointing to the waffle iron on the counter.

“With Nancy—oh! I completely forgot!” you say excitedly, “I got a record too, it’s by the rest of them near your record player, I didn’t want to use it and break it.”

Eddie pads over to the record player and thumbs through the stack on the shelf.

He had already been staring at the record for over a minute before you spoke again, saying his name asking if he wanted another waffle.

“Damn,” he interrupts you sniffing loudly, “I haven’t heard this since…”

He carefully pulls the sleeve from the record and slots it in place, putting the needle in place. The soft twang of Bobbie Gentry’s guitar plays as she plucks the strings, a few beats in and her sultry, smoky voice begins singing, retelling the story of the day she found out the fate of Billie Joe.

Eddie sits cross legged on the floor next to the record player, staring in awe. His socked feet tucked under his thighs. Elbows digging into his legs.

His mind drifts to a small house on the outskirts of Hawkins, the paint peeling and chipping away, a dog named Ruby running alongside him as he pedals his bike up the dirt lane.

She was standing in the kitchen, her soft brown curls waving behind her as she ashed a cigarette and cut his ham sandwich into squares, taking the crust off. She hummed along to the waning wonky tunes of the radio as Bobbie Gentry sang about Billie Joe. Her smile fading in his memory.

He never allowed himself to think of her. Despite what Uncle Wayne and the therapist at the stuffy office with the seafoam green painted walls, the cheerful posters with kids and their perfect families staring at him as he glared at the floor, toe of his converse trying to dig a hole through the tile. It only brought him sadness. It was something he couldn’t talk about, not to anyone. The panic attacks in the night when he dreamt of the day she was taken from him, right in front of his big doe eyes, would send Wayne into a frenzy. Helping Eddie breath, making the small child ground himself with his surroundings. So he moved on, throwing himself into music, and his friends. Anything to keep his mind from thinking of that day. But here in your living room, twenty years later, it was all he could think of.

Her perfume, hints of jasmine and lilac a tinge of cigarette smoke underneath. The way her glasses were perched on her head as she read through the paper. Her light brown eyes, like caramel apples you’d see at the fair. Her long fingers always thumping along to whatever song she heard. The gift of a piano player. The way she would dance with him in the living room, barefoot and giggly as she swung him around and around. Those were the good memories, the ones before she was ripped away from him.

The song finishes and Eddie leans up onto his knees, placing the needle to replay it again, this time the warm tears are flowing freely, running down his cheeks. He no longer cared if you saw him cry like a baby.

You’re standing at the edge of the kitchen watching him. You figured his mom was dead by the way he never mentioned her. Chrissy once asked him about his parents after he mentioned his Uncle Wayne, and he blew it off, like he blew off lots of things, “shit, think she joined the circus, married the world’s strongest man.” You wonder if the fib was easier for him to tell himself. Rather have her still around, happy and breathing than what she actually was. You’ve only seen him like this one other time and that was after you saw Chad at the grocery store.

Steve had told you how concerned he was when he came in to talk with you. How scared he was, how bad he felt that he wasn’t around to protect you when you needed it. And just like he did for you, you’d do for him.

Walking gently towards him you stand behind him, not sure if lightly touching his shoulder would cross a boundary but wanting to reassure him, you do it anyway. The pads of your fingers daintily skim his shoulders, running soft figure eight patterns. His face is hidden by his curtain of hair but you can hear him sniffling softly. A soft squeeze of his shoulder and he wraps an arm around your bare calf, holding onto dear life as you pull him into you. His death grip on your leg almost has you falling over. You find yourself threading your fingers through his wet hair. Rubbing along his scalp, his shoulders jump and shake with a deep sigh as the song finishes again. Eddie peels himself from you and turns the record player off. Standing and looking at the ground. Toeing the carpet with his sock.

“I have…,” he says, clearing his throat, trying like hell to gain composure, “I haven’t heard that song in years… it was her favorite.”

Reaching for his hand your fingers find their way into the spaces between his. Squeezing and rubbing his pointer figure with the pad of your thumb. “Eddie,” you whisper to him, your small soft voice reaching out to him beckoning him.

His eyes turn to you, tear filled and red, his body shaking with a light sob. Instincts kick in and you don’t realize what’s happening before it does, you drag him down the hallway, into your room. The same room where he comforted you in the warmth of his arms, you sit down on your bed, your back to the headboard and bring him down with you, his head in your lap. his arms wrapped tight around your bare thighs. Brushing his hair away from his face with your fingers, his body is racked with sobs, the tops of your thighs wet with his tears. You rub his back, comforting him and whispering to him that you’re sorry, that it’s okay, that you’re here for him.

The dishes would have to wait.

When you wake, you’re snuggled down into the confinements of your bed. Blankets covering both you and Eddie, his arms wrapped tightly around your middle like a child with a balloon at the fair, afraid to let go. His body is curved with yours, his light snores tickling your hair. Not waking him, you gently fall back asleep, the thought that he was right, skids across your mind.

Eddie was the first guy to sleep in your bed— and your heart leaped when you selfishly hoped he never wanted to leave it.

A/N: SEE YOU IN VOL: VIII HOPE YOU ALL ENJOYED

[this message is for read more —, you big nasty, smelling bitch. Why you took me off the mf schedule with your trifflin’ dirty ass. Big bitch Oompa Loompa body ass bitch, I’m comin up there and I’m gonna beat the fuck …… (it’s a reference from TikTok) BUT TRY ME READMORE TRY ME]