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trashmouth-richie · 1 year

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Eddie x Fem!reader

master list

summary: feelings burst. Fluffy. Fluffy fluffy. Eddie helps reader when she finds herself in a bind.

warnings: no minors gtfo- eventual smut in the series.

W.C: 11.8k 🫣

A/N: per usual thank you the my beta readers @sweetsweetjellybean

Clunk

Clunk clunk humm

You were already late for work this morning and now this? Must be a fucking Monday. This must be that bitch karma’s payback for you talking shit about Eddie’s van the other night when he backed it up to the garage to unload some shit he salvaged from the junkyard.

“You would think that since you’re a mechanic, you could tune up that piece of shit so it isn’t so fucking loud.”

Eddie scoffs and rolls his eyes, unloading another arm load of car parts from the back of the van to the middle of the garage, “don’t dog on the shaggin’ wagon, you know how much ass I get in this thing?”

The unspoken agreement you had with Eddie the other night after spilling your guts about your past, gave you more patience towards him than ever before. Instead of finding him repulsive, you two were almost friends.

“No I don’t and also I don’t care.” you say taking a bite of a ham sandwich.

“More than a public toilet seat,” Eddie boasts, “Ladies love it, feel like I’m Shaggy or something.”

More like his other four-legged snack-loving friend.

“I really hope you use a rubber, don’t wanna extend the Munson blood line anymore than you have to,” you bite back.

“Oh sweetheart, I always wrap it with the groupies, especially watching Jas bounce from Gareth, to Big D to Walt all in one night.”

“Well look at you, Mr. Perfect bill of health.”

Eddie smiles widely a stupid grin plastered on his face, “I’m so good at the doctors they even give me a sticker. ”

Now here you are, stranded at the gas station east of town, past Merrill’s pumpkin patch. Losing all faith in your sanity, you slam your hand into the steering wheel one more time. Your chunky boots clunk across the pavement as you pull the door towards you, a dingy brass bell dings overhead, alerting the gas station attendant that someone has entered the store.

“Back again?” the balding creep with the greasy combover presses. His coke bottle thick glasses full of breakfast pizza slime from his fingers from pushing them up on in place after sliding down the oils on his nose. A brown paper bag with orange spray paint sitting next to it sat on the counter, and a tinge of orange around his mouth.

With no time for small talk or shooting the shit with the local bachelors of Hawkins, you simply need to borrow the phone and call… fuck. You didn’t want to have to call Boom’s, but the other shops didn’t open yet, and you didn’t know any of them. The decision was made.

“I need to use the phone,” you say laying your hands on the counter.

“No can do, this is a business line,” he spits, bits of his barely chewed breakfast falling from his over stuffed mouth.

Irritated beyond belief you say through gritted teeth, “What? My car broke down, I need to have it towed.”

Showing no sympathy, the combover greaseball says, “That sucks, don’t it,” a throaty chuckle erupts from him. Clearly the man got off from making next to little effort in helping someone.

“Listen,” you say peering over the counter to read the slobs name tag, “Ralph— you’re going to give me the goddamn phone so I can get my car towed, or I’m going to tell your boss about your little huffing habit. Got it?”

His cheeks crimson at your threat, “…what’s the number?”

After dialing it wrong three times, Ralph’s oversized fingers and his altered mind getting hung up on where the 4 was on the dusty rotary phone, you hastily reach across the counter and grab it and the Hawkins phone book. Flipping through the worn yellow pages, finding the number yourself and slotting your fingers in the appropriate places to get the number correct, it finally starts ringing.

Angrily tapping your foot, the serenade of dial tone ringing loud in your ear.

“Boom’s” a bored voice says, after ehat seems like hours of waiting.

“Hey, — is Eddie there?”

A scoff is heard from the other end of the phone, followed by an annoyed voice, “Why who wants to know?”

You don’t have time for childish games with whoever this fucking prick is. “Jesus Christ what is it with assholes today? Is he there or no?”

“I don’t know, you stupid bitch— why don’t you tell me if Eddie is here or—”

A scuffle is heard as the phone falls to the ground.

“What the fuck did I tell you? Huh? I’ll drop your ass just name the time and place mother fuck— hello?”

“Eddie?” You ask exhaustedly.

“Tooty? Oh shit, you miss me so much you’re making calls to my work?”

“E—” you begin, frustration rising.

“Or did you call to gossip? Ooooh, tell me all about the salon drama, is it that blonde again, damn just slap her already I know you want to.”

“Ed—!”

“Shit if you’re worried about going to jail I’ll come bail y—”

“Edward Joseph Munson!”

There was a pause on the other end of the line, “Did you just use my full name? I only hear that when I’m in trouble with Wayne.”

“Will you listen to me?! I need help. I’m at the gas station east of town and my car won’t start.”

“What? What happened?” Eddie asks, his joking tone immediately fading to concern.

“I have no idea, but I’m already late for work—can you come pick me up?”

“Usually this is where a please would be.”

“Eddie!”

“Ooh even begging?”

“Goddamnit,” you say under your breath, “Eddie will you please, come get me?”

“That a girl, see that wasn’t so hard. So where are you?”

Eddie rolls up in an old orange and white tow truck, head banging with a cigarette hanging limply from his bottom lip. “So what happened?”

“Well I drove here, got gas, and then it just wouldn’t start.”

“Damn, I wonder if your starter is out.”

“Great, so what the hell does that mean?”

“Well, I’m not sure if it is that or not, but if it’s not that— it means that your car is probably going to need more work than it’s worth, but I won’t know until I get it in the shop.”

“Son of a bitch.” you curse, covering your face with your hands and tipping your head back up to the sky. Could this fucking day get any worse?

After buying the house last year, your savings were completely wiped out, the last few months you had been pinching pennies trying to build it back up

“I’ll tow it, but I don’t think Boom has any loaners right now,” Eddie explains, “but since I’m such a kind, handsome, good roommate….”

You roll your eyes.

“I’ll bring you to work.”

Shock evident on your face, “You sure?”

“I mean its either that or the city bus, and last I checked—Hawkins doesn’t have one.”

Eddie agrees to give you a ride until your car is fixed on one condition, the band gets to use the garage for practices again. Too tired to fight with him, you give in.

He backs the truck up, moving the steering wheel with one hand the other hanging out of the window, his tongue poked out through his lips. He jumps down from the truck and maneuvers the wheel lift into place by your front tires.

The muscles in his forearms jut out, tattoos dancing with each movement and covered in a thin sheet of sweat as he grabs the chains from the flatbed and hooks them along your front tires, securing them into place. Your car is lifted slightly giving enough clearance to be able to tow.

“Ready?”

Bouncing along side Eddie in the tow truck you sigh heavily, “fuck, I hate Mondays.”

“Okay, Garfield,” Eddie chuckles, turning down the radio and glancing towards you, a cigarette balanced between his teeth, “could always be worse,” he digs into his front pocket for his pack of cigarettes and hands them to you.

You smile weakly and take the pack from him, plucking a tanned filter from the pack and shoving it between your lips. Before you can even say that your lighter is in the car, he’s leaning over. A scratched zippo with a fading design on it, in his hand already flicked open, the flame threatening to go out with the help of the lazy breeze through the open driver’s side window. It’s the same lighter he’s had since you first bummed a cigarette from him when you were thirteen.

Leaning towards him you put the cigarette into the flame, inhaling deep— the cowboy killers burning the pinky tissue of your lungs. He flicks the lighter closed with a metallic snap and smiles out of the corner of his mouth at you. Suddenly your lungs aren’t the only thing burning.

“Thanks,” you say, trying to avoid the skips in your stomach, “I usually prefer menthols, but I guess, these’ll do,”

“Always gotta bust my balls dontchya?” Eddie laughs, a stream of smoke billowing out from his nose. “Hey, uh— I’m not trying to tell you what to do, but that gas station is rated 5 stars on the creepiest place in town.”

You glare your eyes at him, absolutely not having it, “they have cheap gas.”

“There’s a reason for that, and every drug dealer in town sells out of there,” Eddie scolds.

“You would know,” you say in a hateful tone.

“You’re right,” Eddie protests, looking at you earnestly, “I would know— it’s not a good place to be— no matter what time of day, so stay away from it.”

You knew he was trying to look out for you, and from what Steve said, — he blamed himself for the things Chad did to you. But it was never his fault, he didn’t know just like most of Hawkins didn’t. You lived with the Wheeler’s and not even they noticed until you walked home that night. You decide to let it be. For once in your life agreeing to what he had to say.

“Alright,”

Boom’s was on the opposite side of town, the rest of the drive you listened to Eddie hum along to the radio and snuck a peek at him playing air guitar. Despite him being so foul, and a royal pain in the ass, he was actually a decent human being.

No other men in their twenties could help you through your panic attack, aside from Steve. But Eddie? He was different from Steve in ways that you couldn’t grasp. You didn’t find yourself staring at Steve. Even if you had been swimming with him on more occasions than you can count. Sure he was good looking, but you never once understood why the girls at the pool practically flocked to him. Eddie hardly ever wore a shirt around you and your stomach ached each time you saw his broad shoulders and tattoos. Steve was like a brother to you, he scolded you and gave you advice, all with his hands permanently attached to his hips. A mother hen among his friends. Eddie teased and taunted you, his irritating behavior and the way he chewed his food, the way his hair was everywhere in the bathroom, the way his hair looked when he was fresh out of the shower, a towel slung on his hips. The way his hips made a ‘V’, small trail of hair from his belly button to his waistband. Fuck.

Is it hot in here?

What the hell were you doing?

There’s no way.

No fucking way.

Nope, not today.

Not ever.

…

But what if?

Eddie couldn’t understand what was going on with you in the passenger seat. Instead of bitching at him like normal, you were staring out the window. Looking as if you were fighting a storm in your cute little head. Maybe you were reliving the past. Silently suffering through something that he should have been there to stop. But judging from your reflection against the dirty window, you didn’t seem to be crying.

After that night, Eddie was putting in more effort to make sure you felt safe. He gave you distance. Avoided the bathroom in the morning, and stopped making dick jokes altogether. He still joked around, still acted like an idiot— but his perverted meter was dipped into the green zone, the safety net.

He meant what he said, you didn’t have to be afraid with him around. And he would do whatever he could to prove that to you. So when you called Boom’s earlier and asked for help— he dropped everything to make the trek across town to pick you up. Especially when you told him the gas station you were at. Known for being the skeeziest one in town, he worried about you being there alone.

Seeing the tow truck pull into the parking lot, Sean and Aaron had their noses pressed against the glass, the cheap flimsy blinds hung crooked over their heads.

“Damn,” Aaron exclaims, “you were right, that is her.”

“Told you, Munson hasn’t shut up about her since he moved in. Wonder if Chad knows where she’s been hiding.”

Eddie parks the tow truck and you both climb out. He gives you the keys to his van and tells you he’d be right back. Walking into the shop with a whistle on his tongue, he goes into Boom’s office. He’s sitting at a worn down wooden desk. Papers, and receipts clutter space where a framed family picture might be. A steaming styrofoam cup of coffee in Boom’s left hand suggested he stopped at the donut mart, and a dozen of glazed holes from heaven would be sitting in the break room, their sweetness tantalizing the crew all day.

Eddie raps his knuckles against the yellowed paint by the door frame.

‘Yep,” Boom chirps without looking up, reading the daily arrest records in the Hawkins Post.

“Hey, I brought Tooty’s Escort back, I’m going to bring her to work quick and when I get back I’ll move it.”

“What’s wrong with it?” Boom gripes, not looking up from the paper, sipping the coffee slowly.

“Dunno, I’ll take a look at it— “ Eddie shifts his weight from one foot to another, “I was wondering if I could maybe work on it after hours, or on the weekends.”

Boom considers what Eddie is saying, “off the clock?”

“Yeah, or maybe I could take some of my tools home? Work on it there?”

Boom thinks for a while, taking a sip of his coffee. His pudgy finger hovering near the name “William Hargrove” mulling over if he knew him. He finally looks up, “Whatever you wanna do, Eddie, you’ve got keys—I trust you.” Boom offers, “just don’t let those other two jackasses know what you’re doing and who for— that’s all they’ve been yappin’ about since you left this morning.

Eddie rolls his eyes, “I’m just helping out a friend, don’t know why they give a fuck.”

“Personally, I don’t give a shit— but you’re my best mechanic, and those other two are on their last strike with me. One more time I read their name in this paper and they’re both out of here, and when that time comes— I’m sure they’ll be lookin’ for someone to blame.”

The familiar scent of stale weed and a spilled rotting beer in the back of the van flood your nose. Even though his van was a dirty pile of shit and it stunk like hell, you’re thankful for Eddie taking time out of his day to help you.

He could have easily told you to fuck off, hung up on you the minute you called. But he didn’t. He kept good on his word even when he didn’t have to. He doesn’t owe you anything and yet here he was, proving to you again, that he could be someone to rely on. You peer at him through your lashes, falling deep into a spell of fondness. He was always clean shaven, showing off his babyish features. If you didn’t know his age you wouldn’t guess he was over twenty two, his youthful pale skin a glow like the moon across a lake at midnight. The deep browns of his eyes squint in the bright sun, his dark eyelashes almost kissing his cheeks. His thick ringed fingers tapping on the steering wheel as ‘Holy Diver’ plays gently in the background. The bob of his Adam's apple jutting out as he swallows and takes a drag from a cigarette.

You barely recognize your own voice when you say barely above a whisper, “thank you, by the way— not just for today but for the other night,” your fingers go back to the same nervous habit, twiddling the end of your cream lettuce hem shirt.

“Of course,” he says, a look of shock on his face, “I know I like to give you shit, but I wouldn’t leave you stranded somewhere.” He looks over at you lazily and smiles. The kind of smile associated with cool guys on tv, the kind of smile that’s crooked and truly only on one side of the face. And for the first time, you smile too, letting the warmth radiate through your body, venturing into places that you have to readjust your crossed legs to avoid entirely.

Pulling into the backlot of the salon, where you and Nancy smoke cigarettes and read trash magazines, you jump out thanking him again, the creak of the door slamming back into the frame as you wave goodbye.

“What time?” Eddie yelled after you, silently admiring the way the sun catches your face, highlighting your features, the slight breeze catching your hair, he can’t help the smile that dances on his lips. “What time are you off work?”

Walking back to him, he’s leaning his head back on the head rest, an arm hanging out of the window, a stupid grin on his face.

“My last client is at five and it’s just a cut, so probably six o’clock, why?” A creep of jittery shock threatens your nerves, fluttering your stomach and sending waves of fluster through your body.

“Thought I’d pick you up, unless you wanna walk home?” He smirks, tracing the small paint chip near where his fingers set on the door.

Biting your lip and moving back on your heels you make your way back to the door, “Okay.”

“Alright, I’ll be back at six.”

“Six” you repeat, turning on your heel and walking into the salon.

Eddie has thought about you all day, the cards of life and the hand you were dealt were shitty. But he was happy he was around to help in any little way he could. He thought maybe he was crazy, seeing shit when you smiled at him, a sort of shyness in the way you flirted by dipping your head into your shoulder almost giddy at him picking you up.

But that couldn’t be.

The rest of your day was monotonous. Shampoo sets, perms, cuts, rinse and repeat. The long haired metalhead hardly left your mind. When it’s just you and Josie left in the salon after your last appointment, it’s 5:30. She sits down, exhaling loudly. Her long dark braids trailing to her waist, cascade down the length of the chair as she leans back.

“Broke down again? Girl, you need a car that actually works.” Her hot pink fingernails dip into a bag of skittles, popping them into her mouth.

“I know,” you sigh, throwing yourself into your salon chair, “hopefully in the next few months I’ll have enough saved to get myself a new one.”

“So how did you get here? If we had someone else in the salon today I would have came and picked you up,” her mouth puckered into a sucking expression as she pops another skittle into her mouth.

“My roommate… he works at Boom’s so he towed it there and then brought me to work,” you express nonchalantly.

“Ooh the rich one who you used to work with?”

“Steve?” You say with a laugh, “No, Eddie Munson.”

“Eddie Munson? Why does that name sound so familiar? Ohh the infamous Hawkins bad boy, my cousins used to run around with him, some club or somethin’ ”

“Yeah, that's him, he’s turned himself around quite a bit since high school though.” The annoying need to defend him is obvious in your tone.

Josie’s eyes go wide, “Wait—“ she says, pointing a pink nail at you, “he had a girlfriend. He’s living with you? Shit, you’re a brave one.”

Heat creeps to your cheeks, the thought of Eddie having a secret girlfriend that you didn’t know about was almost torture on your soul, “no, no girlfriend… that I’m aware of at least.”

Speak of the devil and he will be present.

Opening the door with the sun waning behind him, peeking an orangy-yellow glow through his unruly curls, stood Eddie. His coveralls are full of motor oil and brake fluid. Black grease is smeared across his face, and his hands. Bandana still snug around his head.

“Oh shit,” Eddie blurts, eyes scanning around the room, bouncing from your face to Josie’s. Clearly uncomfortable in such a clean establishment. “Sorry, I’m uhh, a little early.”

Josie’s eyebrows are turned up in shock, her mouth slightly agape. “Damn, you’re the roommate!?”

Before she can embarrass you any further you blurt, “Josie, this is Eddie,” holding out a hand and pointing, introducing him to her, “Eddie this is my boss and the owner of the salon, Josie.”

Eddie waves with his fingers, “so you’re the one lookin’ after our girl here, the mechanic?” Josie asks.

“Uhh, yeah that’s me.” he puts a hand on the back of his neck and rubs it slow

Josie stands and walks towards you, a clicking of her heels and munching on her candy as she grabs your hand and drags you upwards, dragging you to the back of the salon.

Eddie looks around the room. The salon is decorated in light washes of pink and green and flowers decorate almost every surface, White painted baskets hang from the ceiling holding fake flowers. The salon chairs are black as are the mats under them. Green sinks in the back and cabinets overhead. Two mirrors on each wall and station with a name and family pictures decorate them. Eddie can’t help but notice that where you were sitting, there are only three pictures. A photo of you and Nancy looking like it was taken last summer, you’re holding up the keys to the blue ranch style house he now calls home. Another picture is of you Robin and Steve, in green Family Video Vests in front of the counter. You and Robin are both pulling one of Steve’s ears and he’s making a monkey face. The last picture is of you and Eyeball as kids, a portrait more than likely taken at a JC Penney’s.

“Don’t forget to lock up, okay? Enjoy your day off tomorrow. Eddie, be good to her!” Josie calls from the back, the heavy metal door slamming as she leaves for the night, a smile painted on her lips, shaking her head.

You walk back towards Eddie, he’s sitting in your chair, poking around at all of the different brushes and curling irons that were on your station. Your tired eyes scan him and find him in the mirror. “What is all this shit?”

“My tools to style, cut and color people’s hair.”

You’re standing behind him. You hesitantly grab one of his curls in between your fingers, noting how silky and smooth his hair is despite the split ends. “You could probably use a trim, Eddie. When was the last time you had your hair cut?”

“You think these curls have been in a salon? Please! I cut it myself thank you,”

“I can tell,” you mutter under your breath, going full hog and untying his sweaty bandana and tossing it onto the counter. “Come on, let’s go wash your hair, and then I’m gonna give you a trim.”

“You’re not cutting my hair.” Eddie protests, arms crossed and resisting.

“Your ends are dead, if you don’t take care of it now, it’ll keep going further up and then you’ll have to shave your head.”

Eddie practically trips standing up quickly. “Those are fighting words.”

“Do you really think I’d do that?” You ask in a bored tone.

“Actually no, but— okay fine! Only because you went to some fancy school.”

Eddie stomps over to the sink and sits down with a plop in the smooth cushioned black chair. You follow behind him and place your apron back around your neck, tightening it around your back. You lean his chair back telling him to lift his head from the headrest as you gather his curls into the basin.

Turning on the water and testing the temperature on your wrist, like a mother testing a bottle making sure it isn’t too hot for a baby, you gently put the spray into the ends of Eddie’s hair, gently working the spray up the length of his head to his scalp.

“Is the water okay?”

“Ow, holy shit!” Eddie yelps, his body flopping around like a fish out of water. You immediately turn the faucet the other way, apologizing profusely until you realize Eddie is shaking with laughter.

“Oh fuck, … you…” more laughing as he chokes out his words, “should have seen your face.” He mimics your face and bursts into a fit of giggles, you aren’t sure how long he would have kept it up if you didn’t put the hose directly into his face and throw a towel at him.

“Wipe that grin off your face or I’ll wax your eyebrows.” You spit at him, letting out a small laugh.

Mumbling from under the towel is faint but you swear you hear the word bikini.

Eddie finished cleaning his face and lays his head back into the sink again, you don’t ask this time but immediately start wetting his hair. “So,” he says, closing his eyes, so water won’t get in them, “I think I figured out what is wrong with your car.”

“Oh really? Is it going to be an easy fix?”

Not wanting to admit to you that he was working on your car for free or that he would borrow as many tools as he had to to get your car fixed, he settles for a half truth.

“Shouldn’t be too bad, gotta get some parts ordered for it.”

You let out a groan, “oh God— how much are they?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Exactly what I just said, don’t worry about it, now treat me like one of your clients and tell me all the hot gossip in your life.”

Taking three giant pumps from the white shampoo bottle in the cabinet, you gently massage it into his scalp. Letting the cool smooth pearlescent liquid suds up. His hair feels like brown ropes of silk in your hands. All the years of having your hands in someone else’s hair were nothing compared to the odd feeling of lightly working the suds into Eddie’s mane. Baby soft. Luxurious in ways that contradicted the metalhead image he wore so well like a coat of armor.

You weren’t the only one admiring the way his hair felt in your hands.

Eddie is fighting hard not to melt into a puddle right there in Josie’s salon. Your hands were like magic against his scalp, your nails lightly scratching small circles against his skull. He was sure he’d fall asleep if he kept his eyes closed for any longer. It was the closest thing he could compare to what heaven would be like. Hints of tropical coconut mixed with crushed pineapple filled the air. He didn’t even realize you were talking until he opened his eyes and caught a glimpse of your mouth moving over him. Your face was concentrating on the story that you were telling, but it fell on deaf ears. He was in a trance. The scrape of your nails against his head was almost pornographic to him. The way your eyes were trained on the job at hand. The way your lips parted and moved as you told the story. The animated look in your eyes, sparkling with each slow blink, your eyelashes teasing him.

He had never noticed the features of your face before. Usually if he was this close you were staring up at him and pointing one of those glorious fingernails into his chest, yelling at him— eyebrows pulled in, your face set in a scowl. But now here you were, scratching an itch he didn’t know he had. Filling a void he wasn’t aware was missing. He could die right now and he wouldn’t even know it. It was almost orgasmic the way you were making him feel, all with just simply washing his hair.

He caught himself before you could notice it. He crossed his legs and willed himself to think of anything else. Shutting his eyes and imagining the least sexy thing he could think of. Not wanting to ruin the moment between you both and make you never want to trust him again because he had got an accidental semi while staring at you while you were wrist deep in shampoo, scrubbing his scalp like a woman in the 1800s washing clothes on a board in the creek bed.

Nobody had ever washed his hair before, that he could remember at least. He never wanted it to end.

“…but that’s crazy right? Like she’s a psycho!” The hazy fog of lust finally left Eddie’s mind, his other four senses returning. Looking at your face and seeing that you were hurt by the story you had explained, and ashamed that he wasn’t even listening, he agreed, not even knowing if he should.

“What a bitch.”

You giggled, smiling down at him. Finally realizing you had been scrubbing his hair for almost five minutes, lost in the story. A stupid distraction to force yourself away from the feeling of the silk length of his hair, the way it felt in your fingers. Not wanting to let it slip away. You gather it all in one hand and grab the hose with the other, starting at the crown of his forehead, you rinse the suds from his hair.

Bubbles circle the basin. Disappearing down the drain along with the same shared feelings of lust and yearning. Shoved down deep away from the surface, hidden beneath hardened surfaces, shielded away from the inner depths of the softening heart.

You ended up cutting half an inch from Eddie’s curls, careful to not lose yourself in his hair again, almost cutting yourself in the process. Hee watched with wide sad brown eyes with each snip. “It’s like I’m watching you cut parts of my soul away.”

You roll your eyes, “It’ll grow back, and when it does it’ll be healthier and longer.”

His bangs were the next to be trimmed, not even half an inch taken off. You place a leave-in conditioner spray to keep his curls soft and to help with the tangles. Knowing full well that Eddie didn’t even own a hair brush.

When you finish and are sweeping up his curls, Eddie stands shaking his head like a dog and running his fingers through it. “Alright, I’ll admit, it does feel better.”

Since the agreement was made for the band to practice every other day of the week in the garage, Eddie had been bringing you to work, and picking you up. On days the band wouldn’t be practicing, when he dropped you at home, he would leave immediately after, sometimes not showing up again until midnight. Coming home tired as all hell, and just like you had done weeks before, a Tupperware of food with instructions on how to warm it up taped to the lid, would be waiting for him in the fridge, each and every time.

There was no more yelling from you when the three members of Corroded Coffin showed up. There were also no more beer cans or greasy food wrappers on the ground either. Instead a trash can sat in the corner, and Eddie paid for pizza after you ordered it.

Actually the band was pretty good. You would never tell him that, that would simply go to his head. And with the ego he already had, he didn’t need another boost of confidence, leave that for the groupies. So every Sunday, Tuesday and Thursday night the band got together, playing covers from their beloved 80’s metal Gods and sometimes original songs they would write. All of them thankful that you let them practice in the garage, Big D picking you up into a bear hug and swinging you around like a rag doll.

“Jesus Christ, D, this is why the ladies run from you, you’re too aggressive, put her down!” Eddie barks. A pang of burning in his chest at the sight of you in someone else’s arms.

Big D sets you down and apologizes, “sorry Toots, and hey speaking of ladies, whatever happened with you and those hotter than hell twins?”

“Oh shit, Gareth hollered, “Fuck dude they were all over him, surprised he’s even able to walk with the way they were strung around him like cats in heat. You usually can’t wait to tell us about it, bragging until the next gig about it at least.”

“That’s cause he probably didn’t do shit, too chicken shit to handle them.”

Your stomach flips, so it wasn’t something you remembered wrong, there were two girls that Eddie had brought home that night. A strange feeling of angst washes over you, coating your mind with uncertainty mixed with inadequacy. Your cheeks warm, embarrassed by the way you are feeling. Excusing yourself to go order the pizza, you don’t see the way Eddie dismisses the guys, blowing them off with a “why don’t we keep our sexcapades to ourselves.” Or the way he throws a full beer at Big D.

After ordering the Corroded Coffin special, two large pepperonis, two large sweet and swine, and an extra large order of cheesy breadsticks— you go into the cupboard and bring out several bags of chips and five paper plates. Your favorite, sour cream and onion, and Eddie’s favorite, cool ranch Doritos. You let your mind wander. Thinking about him with those two girls. Realizing this is probably where he went at night after he dropped you off.

No need to feel like that when he was just your roommate, you shake the jealousy from your head. Just Eddie. Barely a friend. Yet he was still going out of his way to take you to work every day, till doing the chores you both shared. You let the silly feelings drop, carrying the chips and plates to the garage, shutting the door behind you. Pulling up your usual lawn chair, listen to the band play and finish painting your toenails.

When the boys end the song, they start again on the conversation they had started before playing, “dude I’m not dressing up as KISS again this year,” Jeff whines to Gareth “took me forever to get that white paint off my face. And don’t even get me started on the eyeliner.”

A spray of beer soaks the ground as Eddie spits it out, laughing hysterically about the memory of watching Jeff struggle lining his eyes like Paul Stanley. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, “yeah I agree, I’m not painting your ugly mugs again this year, what else are you thinkin’?”

“We could all be different villains from scary movies. Freddy, Jason, Michael Myers’s, and Pinhead.” Big D suggests, taking a drag from his cigarette.

“Nah, no chicks wanna fuck something scary. I don’t know about you— but I tried all of last Halloween to get some tail and no girl would even look my way with all that clown paint on.” Gareth huffs twirling his drum sticks in his fingers.

“What about you Tooty?” Eddie asks earnestly, “Do you and Robin go bar hoppin’ on Halloween or do you usually stay home like an old lady knitting sweaters and handing out black licorice and molding fruit?”

Making a face at him, you paint the last coat of polish on your toe nail. “Actually, Nancy and I usually throw a party. Costume contests, kegs, beer pong… we kinda go all out.”

Eddie picks his jaw up from the floor, scoffing, “no way— Nancy Wheeler and you, throwing a rager on Halloween? I don’t buy it.”

“Call Steve and ask him, he’s the reigning Cherry Lane Halloween costume contest winner for two years running.” You say with a smirk on your lips, stretching your legs and crossing them at your ankles, the pretty maroon polish catching the dim light in the garage. “You guys are more than welcome to come, obviously it’s on Halloween night, and the only stipulation is to bring a good costume, and $5 for the keg.”

Eddie moves his tongue over his teeth, twisting his body to look at his band mates, all three of them shrugging and nodding. “Yeah, we’ll be here,

“Yeah, if you think you’re up for it. Sure.” You say nonchalantly.

The smell of mildew and damp carpet currently being air dried with a fan stung your nose. The soggy basement and the crumbling foundation of Sally’s Secondhand in downtown Hawkins was a hidden gem and only open in the afternoons on Mondays and Wednesdays, but they had decent prices and good quality items when you were in a pinch if you could learn to breathe through your mouth for the time you were there.

“So how’s the roomie situation going?” Nancy asks, holding up a hand mixer with two mixing parts and a wooden handle labeled for .10¢. You had scored gold when you found a gently used, practically brand new waffle iron. It was wedged between two cook books for only $2. The same one Karen Wheeler had used on Sunday mornings. You were hunting for discounted Halloween decorations still not sure on what you were going to dress as and Halloween was this Saturday, Nancy was searching for spare camera parts for Jonathan and a toy cowboy hat for her costume that she wouldn’t tell you about.

Putting a masking taped bundle of forks into the blue plastic grocery basket, your forks magically kept disappearing everytime Eddie brought leftovers to work, you let out a sigh, “It’s going okay, better than it was in the beginning. He’s fixing my car up and I cut his hair a few weeks ago. I um.. also told him about Chad.”

Nancy stops dead in her tracks, blue eyes wide, her small mouth agape, “wh-what?!” Nancy was shocked at the news, you nonchalantly delivered like saying ‘fine’ when some asked how you were. She knew how frightening that situation was for you, it was scary for her too. Seeing someone she loved and cared about hurt in ways she couldn’t even fathom.

“We ran into him while getting groceries—like a month ago. I had a full blown panic attack, and Eddie, he helped me through it.” You go into detail explaining everything that had happened. Leaving out the part of you being comforted by Eddie and the gentle way his thick hands caressed you while you sobbed into him like a child who lost their cat.

Nancy's face goes from shock and softens into content, “wow, honestly didn’t think he had a caring bone in his body, he always seemed like such an asshole.”

“I mean he still is, don’t get me wrong— I don’t think he’s giving donations to the local churches or anything, but he seems a little more reserved, if you will,” you say, adding a floral embroidered set of towels for every day of the week to your basket.

“Hmm,” Nancy says with raised eyebrows, and nodding her head, a silent confirmation of approval. Always looking up to Nancy, almost as if she was your real life sister, you admired her. She was always put together, whether you were shopping during the week or at home, she was stylish in a way that said, I will run the world, and have dinner on the table at 6. Her white huarache sandals matched her high waisted pink pastel shorts and white button sleeveless blouse. Effortlessly stunning.

Moving along the aisles you and Nancy both finger through the clothing racks. Pulling out neon prints and a pair Madonna—esque white lace gloves, they probably belonged to that muppet singing idiot, Tammy Thompson. Chuckling at how fashion trends in high school were borderline ridiculous. a denim vest in your size with safety pins on each hem gave you an idea for your costume. Finding everything you needed you were ecstatic to put it all together.

The carpet squashed beneath your feet the further you got into the store. The back room held vhs’s, records, tapes, and books. The records were in a milk carton next to a shelf of adult themed books. The fading sharpie written sign reading “Adult fiction for Women 25 cents” posted bold along the top of the shelf. Nancy discreetly placed, “Thursday and the Lady” by Patricia Matthews into her basket, covering it with matching salt and pepper shakers, a crimson tinge to her rouged cheeks.

Diving into the records you flip them towards you as you lazily scan through them. Fleetwood Mac’s Rumours, Thriller by Michael Jackson, Abbey Road by the Beatles, Kind of Blue by Miles Davis, stuck to the back of it was a small single, Ode to Billie Joe by Bobbie Gentry. It had been years since you heard it, tucking it into your basket, Nancy clears her throat nervously, the blush evident in her cheeks, “I’m ready if you are.”

The Saturday of Halloween the salon was closed, giving you Robin and Steve plenty of time to decorate for the party tonight. Eddie was working but was scheduled to get off around 5, just in time to come home and get his secret costume on.

Orange pumpkin printed garbage bags filled with autumn foliage lined the streets of Cherry Lane. Toilet paper streamers were in Mr. Derry’s tree, a prank the seniors of Hawkins High did to him every year, including egging his front door. Vinyl witches hung from doorknobs. Plastic ghosts holding jack-o-lanterns littered lawns. Fake strings of cotton resembling cobwebs with bendy plastic spider thrown around like glitter, lay atop shrubs. Orange lights were wrapped around the trees in your front yard, flimsy ghosts made of white sheets were hung from the branches. It was a child’s Halloween paradise.

“Higher, no lower, well now you’re just doing it wrong.” Steve was in charge of Robin who was in charge of decorations. The beer pong tournament would be in the basement, every strand of Christmas lights you could find were lighting the ceiling, table set up and cups in place. The tournament bracket started with Mike and El playing against Jeff and his girlfriend Ash. The kegs would be delivered later. Buckets ready for ice sitting on the deck. Robin and Steve were still arguing over who had the better costume last year. Twisting black and orange streamers together and hanging them in the doorway to the bathroom.

In the kitchen, you’re finishing up the Jell-O shots, small clear dishes full of cherry red jello made with everclear. A bitter threat to anyone brave enough to eat them. The spinach and artichoke dip is prepped in the fridge, along with 10 packages of crescent rolls, 5 packages of hotdogs, the fruit cut and ready to be put into Steve’s horrendous Jungle Juice that you would actively be avoiding. Nancy and Jonathan were bringing pinwheels and rotel dip. Dustin and Susie are in charge of bringing candy. It’s going to be a blast.

“Be right back,” Robin and Steve call out as they leave to go get their costumes. Putting the finishing touches on your costume your hand shakes with nervousness while swiping mascara on your lashes, the pre party jitters wracking your nerves. The ring of the doorbell startles you. The obnoxious ringing should be a dead giveaway but you don’t recognize it until the door is wide open and you’re face to face with Jesus Christ himself and three nuns. Or as you knew them, Eddie, Gareth, Jeff, and Big D.

You aren’t sure whose mouth is hanging open more. Yours or Eddie’s. Eddie is wearing a long sleeved cream colored gown, complete with a crimson sash. His usual black leather boots on his feet and a crucifix in his hand.

Eddie is the first to laugh, hands held out like he’s blessing the house before he enters it. “Aww sweetheart, you really are my #1 fan aren’t you?”

You are dressed as the most annoying on the planet, pain in the ass, voted most perverted of all of Hawkins: Eddie. When shopping with Nancy you found the vest, adding a few hand sewn patches and the best replica of Eddie’s DIO patch on the back, even shoving a pack of reds into the pocket, it looked pretty good. A twin of the aforementioned jackass. Borrowing Nancy’s cheap leather jacket when she went as Sandy from Grease last year, and putting holes into a pair of jeans and washing them as many times as you could to fray the edges, it was perfect. Complete with a horrible curly wig that you thought was a life dog upon seeing it.

“I was going for scary and scary annoying,” you shrug, “think I nailed it.”

“As hilarious and surprisingly accurate your costume is, the real winner for the party is going to be us” He gestured to him and the nuns. “figured I’d go as something that everyone says I need more of and you recognize the boys right? They’re dressed as your friends from work.”

The kegs finally show up and Eddie blesses the delivery man before he leaves. Fully throwing himself into character. Dustin and Susie are the first to arrive, dressed as Mrs. Doubtfire and Sally Ride, the first woman astronaut to go into space.

Dustin laughs so hard he cries at your costume. “Oh my God please you have to say, ‘forced conformity, it’s what’s killing the kids!’ Please Tooty Holy shit!”

Mimicking Eddie perfectly you saunter away and scream about society and how good Metallica is.

“Oh haha, so funny Tooty,” Eddie pouts, holding a beer funnel in his hands, “come on Henderson let’s see you put your money where your mouth is.”

The backyard is sprayed with foamy beer as Dustin very much can not put his money where his mouth is. Gareth’s up next, chugging like a champion and doing a lap around the backyard like he won a trophy. Eddie and Jeff shotgun beer, Eddie winning by a mile. Laughing and putting his hands in a praying gesture to bless Jeff for his shortcomings.

The rest of the party goers show up, Nancy is dressed like Annie Oakley wielding a fake shotgun and a straw cowboy hat and a long brown dress with fringe hanging from the shoulders. Jonathan and his long haired friend Argyle arrive behind Nancy dressed as Sonny & Cher. Argyle had given up the fast moving life in California once a Surfer Boys pizza arrived in Hawkins. He delivered to the house so much during the nights that Corroded Coffin was practicing that he had your order prepped and ready to go by the time you had called it in. He’d show up so blitzed out of his mind that he’d forget he was at work, sharing his different strains of weed with all the Corroded Coffin boys.

Robin and Steve are in the kitchen, ladling jungle juice into empty cups. The duo dressed as Thelma and Louise, Robin wearing a black muscle shirt and sunglasses, and Steve wore a white tank top with a neckerchief. Both talking in horrible southern accents.

Eddie is standing next to Argyle in the living room both holding almost empty cups of the forbidden jungle juice, deep in conversation about something called Purple Palm Tree Delight, but knowing them, it had nothing to do with a lavender paradise. You reach around Eddie to grab a pinwheel, taking a bite when Argyle, clearly stoned, goes wide eyed leaning into Eddie his eyes still transfixed on you he whisper yells.

“Yo, I swear to God, I just saw two of you.”

“Argyle it’s me, Tooty.” You explain standing next in front of them trying not to laugh. “This is the real Eddie, I’m just dressed like him for Halloween.”

Argyle leans forward and whispers into your ear, “Yeah okay man that’s what the aliens would say before they clone us and take over.”

He leans back and takes two big steps backwards, eyes wide in a horrified daze, before disappearing down into the basement.

“Don’t think I’ve ever said this before, but that guy smokes way too much.” Eddie chuckles, downing the rest of his jungle juice and eating the fruit at the bottom of the cup.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” you warn him watching with your own gut twisting as the sweet juices of strawberry slither down his chin and down the slope of his neck.

“Sweetheart,” Eddie says, smacking his lips, “I’m twenty six years old, I can handle my liquor.”

“Okay,” you reply, “just so you know, the fruit soaks up all the alcohol and Steve presoaks it all in everclear the night before. Last time he ate all the fruit he spent an hour in the bathroom crying about his love life or lack thereof. And besides, we have to play in the pong tournament in a half hour.”

“We?” Eddie asks, lips turned up and a slight blush to his cheeks, “I didn’t sign up for beer pong.” His dark eyes pour into yours.

Heat creeps up your neck as you reach for a Jell-O shot cracking the lid off and circling the dish with your finger before sucking it into your mouth.

“I signed you up,” you say, reaching for another Jell-O shot, “everyone had a partner but Argyle and Will, so I paired you with Argyle, and I’m with Will,” you slide your finger around the Jell-O dish and suck the cherry gelatin into your mouth, savoring the bitter bite to your tongue before you crush it between your teeth.

“You better bring your A game Munson,” you say, taking a step into him and poking him in the chest, “because I don’t lose.”

Eddie isn’t sure if it’s the alcohol that’s making him feel this way or you but suddenly he can’t stop blushing, laying the charm on thicker than peanut butter, “oh really?” he asks intrigued, “Well babe, I don’t think you know this but I’m the Forest Hills Trailer Park Pong Champion for eight summers in a row, so technically,” he’s leaning forward now, whispering low to get his point across. Your breath hitches in your throat, you can feel the tickle of his lips against your ear, his hair is brushing against your face, the faint smell of motor oil stuck in his curls, “I never lose either.”

He pulls back and your eyes lock. The heat flooding your cheeks burn, the ache in your stomach travels south and pulses with want. You can’t deny it to yourself, even dressed as Jesus Christ, Eddie is the best looking guy you’ve laid eyes on, and you were melting at the way his dark eyes gazed into yours, a smirk placed on his lips as he brushes his tongue over his bottom lip to catch the remnants of the horrific fruit juice. His eyes never leave yours as he takes the Jell-O shot dish you’re holding and sets it behind him on the table. The tension could be cut with a knife, thick and heavily hanging in the space between you both. Eddie opens his mouth to speak but is interrupted by El screaming for Mike to get to the backyard instead of puking in the kitchen sink. Her Alice in Wonderland wig askew on her head and holding Mike’s mad hatter hat between her hands.

Running to open the sliding door you get it open just in time for Mike to projectile vomit off the deck.

“Christ, what did he eat?” Eddie asks from behind you, “damn Mike you’re such a pussy!”

“His dumbass didn’t eat all day and when he got here he decided that Jell-O and fruit would be a good option.” El says, rubbing his back as he pukes again and again, “I don’t feel bad for you Mike!”

Wiping his mouth on his forest green jacket sleeve, he murmurs, “Babe, I’m fine, seriously, a few pieces of bread and I’ll be in tip top sh—“ puke splatters wetly against the grass again.

You grab El’s hand and squeeze, “let me know if you need anything, okay?” She nods and smiles sweetly.

“C’mon,” Eddie says behind you, “let’s go so I can kick your ass in beer pong.”

You turn your head, half facing him, “game on, Munson.”

The sharpie bracket on poster board continued moving forward thanks to Steve’s basketball knowledge. Jeff and Ash beat Mike and El, Nancy and Jonathan beat out Gareth and Big D in a very close came both opponents having one cup left. Steve and Robin were beat out in the first round by Dustin and Susie, something King Steve would never be living down. Nex on the bracket to play would be you and Will playing Argyle and Eddie. Honestly it should be a piece of cake, a walk in the park. Will wasn’t the most athletic but last year him and Jonathan got second place against you and Nancy so the odds were pretty high. One thing you were absolutely certain of was that you would not be losing to Jesus and Cher tonight.

The basement is packed with everyone besides the ill Mike and faithful El. Argyle and a pink lensed Will are in the corner smoking a fat blunt the sequin jacket he’s wearing sparkles through the haze of smoke and the catches the lights. You haven’t seen him since Nancy and Jonathan’s wedding. But he’s letting his hair grow out, finally letting the bowl cut Joyce insisted on him having all throughout middle school and high school go. Steve has Dustin in a headlock for teasing him about winning against Mr. Hawkins High basketball star of 1985.

“Ya know for once, I was actually good, like really good, Steve overthrew the last cup and it was game over once Susie got the ball. She’s strangely amazing at beer pong. Probably found the mathematical equation from the distance of the table and her elbow to the solo cups.” Robin rambles on, only stopping to get her breath. “How are you? I haven’t seen you all night. Killer costume by the way, if you can’t beat ‘em be ‘em right?”

Robin and her absolute no filter mouth, always make you laugh, linking your arm with hers, “I really like your and Steve’s take on best friends driving off a cliff together to evade police.”

“JESUS CHRIST!” someone yells from upstairs.

Not missing a beat, Eddie can be heard returning the exclamation. “You rang?”

Rolling your eyes and looking his way, you laugh when you see him, holding up his arms in praise.

Robin’s voice bringing you back to the conversation, “Epic right? Steve thought we could be conjoined twins but then decided against it when he figured there was a small chance he could possibly get lucky tonight when that black haired girl at his job kept hinting that she wanted a date with him.”

“What!” you shout, “He never told me this!”

Robin rolls her eyes and takes another drink from her too foamy beer, “he’s nervous, I think he really likes her but doesn’t wanna fuck it up like he does everything else.”

Steve deserved to be happy and to have someone love him. He was always making sure everyone else was okay, you smile at the thought of him with a girlfriend.

“So,” Robin presses, wiggling her eyebrows, “Eddie looks good tonight,” a wicked smile dances wildly on her lips.

“I’m not at all buzzed enough to have this conversation,” you say, taking a peak at Eddie through your eyelashes, he was laughing loudly at something Steve had said, head thrown back, exposing his neck.

Will joins your side, reeking of weed and heavy musk cologne. “Tooty!” He squeals, wrapping you into a tight hug, “the house looks so fucking good I can’t believe it, also I heard that you’re living with Eddie? I’m going to need all the details!”

“It’s so good to see you, look at your hair!” You say holding his arms. Will threads a hand through his hair and laughs a little.

“Thanks, it’s new but it’s kinda growing on me, now, spill it. Tell me everything.”

“Next game!” Nancy announces, advancing her and Jonathan to the next bracket. “Argyle/ Eddie vs Tooty/ Will.”

Will grabs your hand and drags you to the beer pong table, “after?” He asks and you nod your head.

Eddie and Argyle are standing on one end, you and Will on the other. The cups are arranged into a triangle and filled with the warming pitcher of keg beer.

“You ready to go down groveling, sweetheart?” Eddie sings from across the table, eyes squinting when he leans on the edge of the table smiling at you.

Your stomach flutters, taking a long swig of Will’s jungle juice, staring Eddie down as you gulp the vile liquor and fruit punch combo down, “You ready to get your ass kicked, Munson?”

“Woo! That’s balls back ba-by,” you sneer, hooting and hollering as Eddie begrudgingly tosses the balls back your way. It was almost as if Argyle and Will weren’t even there, this game was between you and Eddie. You were definitely buzzed, between the warm beer and the Jell-O shots you had eaten you were feeling good.

When you miss the first cup, Eddie makes devil horns at you and howls at the moon like an idiot. You sink the next cup, earning a high-five from Will, and a sly grin from Eddie as he removes the cup and chugs the warm beer. He’s secretly excited that you’re so happy, letting loose, in your element, surrounded by your loving friends. You glowing with a sense of freedom. In that moment when your eyes caught his, he knew he was in trouble, you were wrapped around his finger and he didn’t think of hardly anything else, but you, your beautiful smile, the way your hair caught each light you were under. He was in deep, and for right now, he was perfectly and utterly okay with that.

It’s Argyle’s turn and he surprisingly sinks both cups, being awarded with balls back, as you and Will each take a cup and drink the suds down. Trying to distract him, you whip off your Eddie- esque wig and toss it towards Eddie, shaking your hair out like a wild woman.

Unphased by your antics he does it again and you groan. Four in a row? This guy was half asleep the entire game and all of a sudden he’s an athlete? They only have 1 cup left. Tension rises and the room goes to silence at Steve’s request. Argyle sinks it. Eddie erupts into cheers grabbing Argyle by the shoulders and jumping up and down.

“Redemption attempt!” Steve shouts, giving Will the ball. Will takes it with nervous fingers, blowing the ball to dry it slightly as you chug the last cup. He only has two cups to make. Will tosses the ball and the room goes silent, it feels like it’s in slow motion, or maybe that’s the alcohol. The ball soars through the air, bouncing against the rim of the cup lapping up the foamy beer, before it falls off and teeters off onto the table.

Argyle raises both hands in the air, “VICTORY!” the room erupts with cheers. Will apologizes profusely but you hug him tight, telling him you were happy he was your partner.

“Next game is Jonathan/Nancy vs Jeff/ Ash starting in 20 mins!” Steve hollers. The basement clears out as people go upstairs to use the bathroom and refill their drinks.

You expect Eddie to be gloating, cocky beyond belief. But he’s the opposite, coming up to you slowly, head bowed, upper teeth practically biting his lower lip in half.

“Good game sweetheart,” he says barely above a whisper, “not gonna lie, I really thought you guys were gonna win.”

Holding your chin high, face only inches from his, the brown pools of colored whiskey stare into your eyes. Placing a hand on his chest, the alcohol gives you enough of a push to cross the line. The thin gauzy material of the gown he’s wearing is sticky with sweat and warm from the heat radiating from his body. “Told myself I wouldn’t lose to Cher and Jesus tonight.”

Eddie let’s out a throaty laugh, “can’t believe he pulled that off, he didn’t make a cup all game.”

“Guess you get to continue wearing that tarnished crown, speaking of wardrobe… where the hell did you get this outfit?”

“You know that church across from the police station?”

“The one with the Jesus statue inside?”

Eddie raises his eyebrows and gives you a knowing glance, waiting for you to catch on.

“No way! Eddie! You broke into a church and stole an outfit off of a statue?”

“Amen,” Eddie says roaring with laughter, “ahh c’mon you can’t tell me it wasn’t a genius idea.”

Rolling your eyes, “I wouldn’t exactly call it genius, but funny? Yes.”

He laughs again, “not everyday I get a compliment from myself,” he says eyeing your costume, “you do make a pretty cute Eddie Munson if I say so myself.” he wasn’t even thinking anything of it, just blurted it right out.

Flirting came easy to him almost as a second nature, he was never nervous around women, usually finding the game of sex not just something he was good at but conquered with ease. But this, here, with you? Was a slippery slope. A different game for him entirely. He was a pawn amongst you and you were the queen, striking down whoever came near, holding all the power.

Your cheeks heat from his compliment, blood rushing through your body and warming your skin, he holds your hand to your chest, stroking your fingers with his thumbs.

A thousand bolts of lightening ignite you, he smells like smoke, ashy and burning, the cheap keg beer on his breath as he smiles softly at you.

“Tooty!” Steve calls from the top step, clinging onto it for dear life, “are you down there?!”

You’re the first one to break away, pulling your hand from his grasp, threading them together at the last minute, finger tips clinging to each other like velcro. The flames between you both extinguished fast, no oxygen left in the room to keep it going.

Getting to the bottom step and turning, you give him one last glance and a small smile, before trotting up the stairs to Steve.

Eddie opens the patio door to find Gareth and Big D blowing smoke into the sky and talking about the best DIO song.

“Shit man, where have you been? Didn’t your game end like 15 minutes ago?”

Eddie thinks of a lie quick, “Taking a piss why you wanna watch?”

“That’s weird,” Big D questions, “cause Gareth just came out of the bathroom unless there’s a magic bathroom you haven’t told us about.”

“What are you guardian of the toilet?” Eddie says slotting a cigarette between his teeth and flicking his zippo open.

“I mean he’s got a point,” Gareth interjects, “where have you been tonight, turning water into wine? Or are you healing the blind?”

“Cool it, Whoopi,” Eddie bites, “the fuck does it matter where I was or wasn’t?”

“You’ve changed dude. Used to be a ladies man, different chick every night. Smoking and drinking all night watching the sunrise. Fuck man you were hell on wheels. Then all of a sudden you move in here and you’re acting like the Pope, fixing up her car off the clock, bringing her to and from work, you’re like her fucking babysitter.” Gareth exclaims.

“Fuck off man, she’s Eyeball’s sister, and I’m just looking out for her.” Eddie grits through his teeth.

“Or,” Big D suggests, “you like her, I mean you still haven’t even told us about the twins— and you stare at her like she’s about to combust at any moment.”

“Yeah and what do you two know about anything?” Eddie spits.

“Clearly not shit, but you’re all fucking riled up about a girl you don’t like.” Gareth flicks his cigarette and goes inside, Big D following.

The door opens again, “listen man, I’m not in the mood for your stupid fucking advice.” Eddie groans, turning to see Steve standing at the door, an empty pitcher in his hand. “Shit, sorry, thought you were Gareth.”

“Nope kept my habit at home,” Steve says with a chuckle, setting the pitcher on the edge of the deck, “nice party, huh?”

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees, “ya know when Tooty first told me that her and Nancy threw a party every year I didn’t believe it, turns out I was wrong about her, seems to be a theme of mine lately.”

“She doesn’t let a lot of people in, but once you’re here, it means she trusts you, respects you.” Steve explains.

Eddie smiles softly, ashing his cigarette.

“She cares about you, ya know? She might not want to admit it— may even be scared to admit it to herself, but she likes you.”

Eddie gives him a look. Sure you were nicer to him, not threatening to kick him out anymore. You had let the band practice in the garage, even staying out there to hear them play. But that didn’t mean anything did it?

“How many times do you think she’s cut my hair?” Steve inquires, leaning next to the railing on the deck beside Eddie.

“I don’t know,” Eddie says honestly, “a dozen?”

Steve chuckles, “Never, not once, never even offered. You think she made elaborate meals for Nancy when they lived together? Wrong— she barely touched the stove. You move in and she’s changed, for the better. It’s like she’s coming back to life, and the only common thing in that equation, is you.”

Eddie mulls this over, could Steve be right? “I don’t know man.”

“I may not be Mr. Relationship but I do know Tooty, and you’ve softened her edges. Tamed that frightful girl we all love and adore. She’s got walls up, keeping people out, but not around you, not anymore.”

Eddie hangs his head, his heart bursting with sad euphoric bliss. He couldn’t go about this like any other conquest. And with you it would never be how it was with the other women. Faceless broads in mini skirts, praising him, doing whatever he wanted them to. He never saw you in that way. Holding you on a pedestal about the rest. He hadn’t been in a relationship in years. One too many times of being cheated on was enough for him. But you were hurt too, more so than he was. He was still licking his wounds with anything willing and able. You? You were a shell of yourself. He couldn’t act on this like he would with anyone else. He cared about you too damn much to make you feel like you couldn’t trust him again.

“And I know you care about her. Everytime I look at you you’re staring at her like a sad little puppy.”

Eddie looks up then, looking at Steve like he held all the answers to life’s questions. He turns and leans against the deck, elbows on the railing just how Steve was facing the house.

“Yeah, you’re right, I do care about her, more than anything. So what do I do?” He asks Steve.

Steve shrugs, letting out a loud sigh, “keep doing what you’re doing, she knows you care about her, just don’t disappear on her.”

Eddie turns his head from Steve and catches sight of you through the patio doors. He can see you taking a Jell-O shot with El, Robin and Nancy. A sleeping lump of clothes on the kitchen table with black hair must be Mike. You light up the room as you laugh when Robin makes a repulsive expression after taking her Jell-O shot. He can’t hear your full laugh, it’s faint through the glass. But, he doesn’t need to hear it to know the sound—having heard it more and more the last few weeks, the way you throw your head back when something is really funny, sometimes covering your mouth. He’s certain he’s never seen anyone more angelic in his life. Like you have sucked all the air from the room, even dressed in a sheer mockery of him, you’re radiating a glow that makes his heart swell. He has never cared about anyone the way that he does for you.

Seeing him through the doors standing next to Steve, he has a smirk on his face. A sudden rush of shyness creeps up your neck and you turn away from him, but you reciprocate his actions, smiling at him. A small gesture that melts him on the spot.

Eyes trained on you but still talking to Steve, Eddie beams, “I’m not going anywhere.”

A/n: see you in volume vii

Hope you all enjoyed this. There were some little hidden Easter eggs in this chapter, go to my askbox if you found them 💕

readmore eat my ass or this line you decide, whore.

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#eddie x fem!reader #eddie x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson #eddie munson angst #eddie x y/n #stranger things season 4 #stranger things #eddie munson smut

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missmugiwara · 1 year

Text

Got It Bad ♡ Part 1

summary: fem!reader x Luffy. You ogle the Straw Hat captain, and he takes you for a ride. Make of that what you will! warning: 18+, slightly NSFW, very suggestive Note: IF YOU AREN'T A LUFFY SIMP, THEN I WILL MAKE YOU ONE. First tumblr fic, let's gooooo! Kinda long. I'm so nervous.

♡ You can read Part 2 and Part 3 here! ♡

God, you had it bad. How long were you going to last like this? You were sure to snap at any moment. And when you did snap, you would go right after your captain. Could he not feel your gazing eyes boring into his back?

You licked your lips. They were suddenly feeling dry. So was your throat, and that meant it was time for a sip of the drink Sanji just gave you. When you were done, you placed the drink back on the table where the cook had lovingly placed it. You lowered the book from your face and tilted your sunglasses off your nose. Your attention was directed elsewhere at the moment. The laughter of Usopp, Chopper, and Luffy was much too distracting to focus on reading right now. However, it was one special person of that trio that had your undivided attention.

Oh. Your captain.

There he was in utter perfection.

You longingly gazed upon the rubber man who was smiling, laughing, and just enjoying the day. Everything went silent around you - the only thing you could hear was your heart thundering in your chest. All you could focus on was the captain. Your god, your rock, your heaven - and yet he had no idea how you felt. It was killing you, honestly! You wanted to tell him how you felt… but how would that go? Luffy was a simple man - you were positive that he could understand these types of feelings, but… has he ever really interacted with these types of feelings from others? Surely, he has to know something - or at least understand why people want to kiss or get married. You shook your head. It didn't matter here, and you wanted to stop asking yourself these difficult questions.

Besides, it wasn't fair! He was just running around with no shirt on - getting sprayed by a hose Usopp was wielding. These sunny days were amazing (but also tortuous) because it allowed your captain to run around like this and left you to ogle.

Shirtless. Wet. Gorgeous.

Jeans shorts that were soaked so badly that they clung to his skin. Denim gets quite heavy when wet, so they clung to his hips in desperation of staying up - but no good. They rode a little lower as they began to slip, but not quite enough that they would fall completely. Hmm, was he even paying attention to that? You took the sunglasses off your face for a better view in the sunlight.

Luffy's dark-as-night black hair stuck to his forehead in cute, messy waves. The small little scar under his left eye almost grinned at you like the grin upon his lips. Your eyes lowered from his sun-kissed face to his scarred chest. Beads of water glistened on it as it heaved up and down from his breath while he ran. You took a few moments to stare at his musculature, wondering how would it feel if you could just lick every part of his abs? How would it feel if you could just kiss each part of his body?

Luffy let out a loud laugh, and your eyes darted back up to his face.

And that smile? You swooned. Oh, his warm, beautiful smile. There was so much in that smile. He was genuinely happy being with those he cared most about, and the simple things made him so joyous. You couldn't help but tilt your head to the side and beam at him. His personality was contagious. How could you not step back for a second and appreciate these little moments together of playing in the sun? He taught you that. As high-maintance as Luffy was, there were always these slowed-down moments where you could just genuinely feel so happy near him. Not a care in the world. His smile was ear-to-ear, and he let out a laugh you could never get sick of.

It was hot out enough already, but goodness. These feelings for your captain made your heart skip a beat. You would have been fine just admiring from afar, but there was a moment when the three goofballs stopped for a second to catch their breaths. Then, they were nonchalantly walking toward you for a drink break, but you weren't ready for social interaction yet as your head was still in the clouds, daydreaming of Luffy. Instantly, you sat up and grabbed the nearest thing you could to appear as natural as possible - the plate of drinks Sanji left on the table.

Shakily holding the tray, you called out, "Hey, guys! Thirsty?"

Did that sound natural? Did they sense you were lusting? Or thirsting? Did anyone see you stare at Luffy with amorous eyes?

For a split second, you turned to reach for a towel to wipe up some lose water beading on the glasses, only to feel yourself being slightly launched off your chaise. You turned around to find Luffy, nose-to-nose with you, who happily took a seat. You froze, clutching the towel close to your chest.

"What did Sanji make?" Luffy grinned, not giving a damn about how close he was. You quickly forgot how to speak and words and… oh god. Luffy stuck his tonge out from his mouth and let out a deep exhale at the unbearable weather.

"Whew, I'm soooo hot!"

Oh, he had no idea.

Your mouth salivated, staring at the scar on his chest and having your mind fantasize about all the ways you could just run your hands over him. Could you stare any harder? God, how many ways could that rubber body bend if you could just have your way with him all night long? You looked back up at his soft, gentle face. He was waiting for you to do something, say something, anything! You realized you hadn't responded to him once, but you were out of words.

Just… try to act normal.

The only thing you could do was smile at him. You reached out and dabbed the towel softly to his cheek to soak up any sweat or water, not like you'd be able to tell at this point. It was something you always did, and Luffy let you. Whether nursing him back to health from battle or cleaning his face after he ate - he'd willingly let you do this, and no one else. Luffy let out a hum, closed his eyes, and proudly pointed his face upward to bare his neck, waiting for you to dry it next. That was new, and it was freaking adorable. Becoming a tad flustered, you looked down immediately out of sheer bashfulness. Your eyes landed on his shorts, and using every fiber of your being, you restrained from asking him if he wanted help out of those later.

Now kiss him.

Wait… no!

This internal battle caused your face to erupt in volcanic heat. Usopp and Chopper's comments sounded like white noise in your ears, and you realized you weren't even paying attention to a word they said. They took their drinks and thanked you while you mumbled a bunch of yeah's and sure's after they merrily ran away.

"Feels soooo good when you do that!" Luffy said as you continued to half-assedly dab his face. Your froze at those words. He had to stop saying all this… this stuff! He slapped his hand over your hand, and you squealed at that. You've held his hand before but only when he was helping you up if you fell, yet this was so much different! It was so… much gentler than you anticipated considering how boorish he was at times. But that slap was the momentum you needed to get moving again like a normal person instead of this horny animal out for flesh and rubber.

"Um, let me get-"

You managed to come back down to earth and reached for the last drink saved for Luffy, managing to grab it before he did - but not fast enough for his next motions. With a slight misjudgment of time, he brushed his hand onto your fingers just as you grabbed the glass. In your not-so-right state of mind your brain just decided to turn to mush… and you dropped the drink all over your lap. You had zero control of your fingers and Luffy's touch made you open your hand on command. How the hell did that work? The drink had spilled all over your thighs, and you thanked yourself for wearing a bikini today so you wouldn't have to worry about washing any pants later. Or maybe later you could use laundry as an excuse to get Luffy out of his.

Luffy pouted for a second upon seeing he could not drink his beverage. Then, a smile reappeared on his lips before he let out a, "Shishi! You spilled!"

He seemed rather amused at your clumsiness. Usually, you didn't screw up like this at all, and even Luffy knew you didn't screw up like this at all. Clumsiness wasn't part of your nature so this was like a great new thing for him to poke at and tease you with later. You felt a tad embarrassed.

"I'm sorry, Luffy! I'll go ask Sanji to make another one," you stood up, but took a moment to look down at yourself, "Oh, I'm all sticky now!"

It was as if that were a cue, because Luffy let out a mischievious laugh as he grabbed your wrist, "Then you need to get cleaned up!"

You turned to him. What did he mean?

"Luffy, please let go - OH!"

Before you knew it, he had lowered himself to swoop his arms around the back of your knees, lifting you up into the air. He held tightly but with care. You knew he would never let you fall, but what an embarassing position to be in. Especially in front of everyone! Every one of your friends was outside, enjoying the day much like the three troublesome boys, save for Sanji who was still cooking and out-of-sight. Again, the heat blossomed to your face as your crewmates laughed and jeered at your compromising position. Before you had time to even think, Luffy was once again faster.

"USOPP! CHOPPER! GET HER! GET HER!" Luffy roared while bearing a huge grin.

Luffy took off like lightning, running full-speed ahead while still somehow maintaining a perfect hold onto you as Usopp and Chopper screamed in triumph, holding the hose high into the sky. You gripped Luffy's shoulders for extra balance, and his grip tightened once more around your legs as you began to slip. Your face flushed as his head was pressed into your thighs, the water from his face somehow suctioning your skin to his. You were slipping, and Luffy's face was definitely getting closer to your -

Oh good god!

You looked down at him, and he up at you.

He smirked, "No escape!"

Then, Luffy wrapped his rubber arms around you and himself several times. He pressed his grin against your groin, and you nearly toppled over because of this. Feeling this topple about to happen, Luffy tightened his strong grasp so that you couldn't fall.

"Put me down, put me down, put me down, put me down!"

You shrieked over and over as Luffy's lips were just pressed into the warm space between your thighs, letting out hot breaths against your groin that reduced your legs to jelly. You weren't worried about falling, no, but you were concerned you might just pass out from the feeling of his mouth and the amount of intimate contact. Not to mention, you both were practically naked! You pulled your hands from his shoulders and covered your face. Screw balance. The urge to hide was much greater! You could just feel the sensation of warm, wet skin on skin rubbing and rubbing and -

Usopp yelled once more and put the hose on full blast, dowsing you and Luffy with ice cold water from the sea. The kind of cold that was shockingly painful and yet so refreshing all at once on a hot summer day. You and Luffy screamed from the coldness, and after Usopp stopped running after you both - you and the captain burst into a fit of laughter.

"Okay! Enough! Cold!" You begged Usopp to stop, and he turned off the hose.

As the laughter subsided, both of you panting heavily to try and catch your breaths - you realized Luffy did not let go of your legs. His touch was so soft. Again, you thanked the heavens for this intimate moment with the rubber man. You both stared at each other while panting, you still wrapped in his arms so masterfully. Luffy's muscles flexed in the sun, more water beading on every part of him - completely soaked head to toe. He then lowered you gently, your hands moving from his shoulders to his neck as you readjusted yourself as he did.

Smiling, he let out a laugh as your thumb brushed his jaw up to the corner of his lips. The captain twitched at this, and a small pink blush feathered over his face. He wasn't stopping your touch though. You just reached for him so intimately without realizing it. You weren't even thinking! Would he say something?

You quickly retracted your hand from his face as he unwrapped his arms, placing his hands on your hips to steady you. He could sense you were recovering after being attacked with cold water, but he gave a look that asked if something else was the matter.

After a moment of composing yourself, you pouted at him and lazily slung your arms around his neck.

"That was dirty, captain. I'll get you back for this!" You whispered with a smile.

A smirk worked its way onto Luffy's face. He stared at your lips before blinking and averting his eyes to meet yours.

"That's what dirty girls get!"

He whispered to match your playful tone. Luffy let his hand linger on your waist for a split second before Sanji came out of the kitchen, and immediately Luffy was off. He left you standing with wide eyes and butterflies deep in your stomach. Did he understand what he even said? Did he know what a double entendre was? Those words left your ears burning. You took a moment to stare after him. No, he probably meant you were dirty because you spilled a drink on yourself. Of course! Right?

Yet there was something else in those wild eyes of his that left you feeling otherwise. Especially when he turned once more and flashed another smirk at you before yelling at the cook. Was it just playful teasing or something more? Fighting the growing heat to your face, you smirked and placed a hand over your mouth.

No fair.

Luffy was such a tease, and he didn't even know it.

#one piece fanfiction #luffy x reader #luffy x you #luffy x y/n #op fanfic #one piece x reader #mugi writes

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lethalchiralium · 2 years

Text

Ducks | Simon “Ghost” Riley x Wife!Reader

a/n: listen… i don’t have to explain anything. i think we all are onboard with great dad simon

warnings: vague mentions of simon’s trauma, mentions of you (you’re not really in this one), winnie and mellie being cute kids because i said so, mentions of miscarriage but he’s explaining it in a good way to winnie, mentions of medicine

summary: It’s hot in England, so it’s time to pull out the plastic kiddie pool and dip toes in the frighteningly cold water. Winnie finds a new friend.

PREVIOUS << | >> NEXT | SERIES MASTERLIST

“She can be Duckling too!”

Winnie pushed the little ducks in her plastic kiddie pool around, making them tap Simon’s leg that was in the water. He looked down at the little mini you in between his calves, sitting against the very small wall of the little pool and admiring the little octopus in her hand.

The sun was beaming down and even with the windows open, Simon was sweating up a storm. What better idea than to take out the foot tall kiddie pool, fill it with water and toys so he and his girls can stay cool? Even though he wouldn’t be sitting on a chair next to the pool with his feet in the water, he still had his dark blue swim trunks on and a white t-shirt, sunglasses on his eyes but his gaze never left the water. Even a moment’s look away can kill, he knew it was able to happen.

Winnie was sat in her light green swimsuit with her hair messily done up, Simon had pulled it into a little high ponytail but there were strands poking out from the top. The curls she got from her mom always gave Simon a little tug on his heart - if he could tell Winnie’s mom one thing right now, it would be that her daughter was happy.

Mellie cooed from her snug seat between Simon’s feet, little hands splashing down her smaller toys into the water.

“Or Duckie.” Winnie suggested. “I like Duckie, Melsie can be Duckie.”

“What if I like a different nickname?” Simon asked, leaning forwards to adjust Mellie’s mini boonie hat, purple with flowers, to make sure the sun didn’t hurt her little face. He almost heard his mum in his head, reminding him that all children need sunscreen, even babies!

Winnie hummed a little, splashing down one of her bigger yellow rubber ducks, the water spraying on Mellie. “I like Duckie.” The baby giggled, splashing her own duck back at her sister. The older girl smiled wide. Simon glanced up at the sky before back down to his daughters, deciding to grab the sunscreen stick beside his chair. He uncapped it, holding a hand out for Winnie. “C’mere, little love.”

The five year old glared at her father, almost grumbling as she stood out of the now lukewarm water, moving out of it so he was able to reach her. Her little hand was so small compared to his huge bear paw of a hand, yet he held hers with care as he began to smear sunscreen on her little face. Her nose scrunched, eyebrows furrowed as she complained, “I’m fine, Daddy!”

A stripe of sunscreen down her nose almost made Winnie stomp her foot if it wasn’t for Mellie giggling. The big sister was now distracted as she peered around Simon’s legs to see what the baby was doing, he wiped the sunscreen stick on every showing part of skin on his daughter, knowing that his mother would come from the grave to kill him if he didn’t. “Melsie!” Winnie squealed, a smile on her face, he could feel the baby’s head hit his leg to look for her big sister.

His nose twitched as he recognized how he thought of his mother more now, and not in the way he used to. He used to dream about her tears, her arms shielding him from his father, her hands settled on his face to tell him that it’s okay. Now, it was like she was making her presence known by forcing him to think about her again.

Simon Riley wanted his mother and brother to meet the little girls playing in the water in his backyard, wanted his mother to have been here while you were pregnant with Mellie. He wanted his mother here to hold him one last time, and tell him that he was doing this right - because he was flying blind.

As soon as the last swipe of sunscreen went to Winnie’s hand, she tugged herself from his grasp and got back into the pool, purposefully sitting in front of her sister in the water. She began to pull her bigger plastic dolls and rubber ducks towards Mellie, a smile on her little face. The toy haul was short-lived when Simon pulled Mellie up and out of the water, settling her on his lap so he could see her face. The baby scrunched her nose just like her sister did, all he had to do was swipe the sunscreen on her feet, hands and face since her swimsuit covered the rest of her little body. He was a little more gentle with Mellie, holding her back as she shook her head, trying to escape the sunscreen. She let out a little huff, eyes that matched his stared at him with an intensity like his own. He was happy that Winnie didn’t stare as a baby, but Mellie stares like he does when he’s on deployment - like the person on the receiving end is going to die.

Please tell me there’s a way to make babies forget how to stare.

White streaks on Mellie’s skin meant she would be protected from the sun for at least another couple hours or so, he made sure to get her little chubby chin. The baby squealed a little, her hands always trying to grab for the sunscreen yet failing.

“Well, Wins, you call her Melsie,” The baby in question cooed at the nickname as Simon looked to his oldest daughter. “Why do you want her to have another nickname?”

“For you, Daddy!” Winnie smiled, brown eyes warm in the sunshine. He capped the sunscreen stick, tossing it to the ground before moving Mellie to have her actually sit on his lap, her back against his stomach. The baby began to kick out her legs, whining as he kept his hand on her belly, keeping her secure to his body.

Winnie pulled out a small duck from the pool, holding it up and towards Mellie, who cooed and reached for it. “Melsie’s mine, but I’m Duckling too! She can be Duckie or something, what do you want to call her?” Winnie looked up to her dad as her sister took the duck in her hand, curiously inspecting it. “She can be Duckie.”

“I like Bug.” He said, a smile on his face while Winnie lit up - her smile even wider.

“Buggie!” She declared, moving away from him and out of the pool, beginning to run around the small grass backyard.

Simon’s attention went to Mellie, who was now looking up at him and squinting. “Hi, Bug.” The baby babbled, lifting up her duck towards his face. He then picked her up again, moving down and placing her in the water in between his feet again. She kicked out her legs, splashing the water and giggling. She threw the duck down into the water, letting the water spray out of the little pool.

“Daddy!” Called Winnie, his head snapped up and whipped to his left, scanning the small yard for Winnie - his eyes widened.

Winnie stood by the little yellow shed, a wide smile on her face as she held up what looked like a kitten.

“Only my kid,” He mumbled to himself before picking Mellie up - who protested by screeching in annoyance - and placing her against his chest, water dripped down his shirt as he stood. “Winnie, put it down.”

“It’s a cat!” She exclaimed, the little thing squirmed in her harsh grasp. “Daddy, it’s a cat!”

“I can see that.” He answered, stalking towards his oldest daughter. He was not a fan of pets, definitely ones that his daughter probably scooped up out of the garden. “Put it down.”

Winnie’s nose scrunched again as she pulled the kitten back into her chest, the little thing barely even moved. “No.”

Simon almost stopped walking towards her, eyebrows furrowed. She had never defied him before, and he sure as Hell was not going to make a scene because he knew that if she cried, it would be over for him. He’s break instantly and do whatever she wanted. He took in a small breath through his nose. “Winnie, you need to put it down. It’s dirty.”

“She’s sick, Daddy.” Winnie mumbled, looking down at the ground as he finally reached her. He kneeled in front of her, she looked away. He could clearly see the kitten now, it was small and dirty - it looked barely a couple weeks old. His daughter met his gaze, her best puppy eyes being used as she whispered, “Can we help her?”

There was nothing wrong with cats, he just didn’t like them. Scratching up furnishings, hairballs, peeing everywhere - well, that was what his brother’s cat was like when he was a kid, before his dad found it and it disappeared. Simon shook the memory from his head before sighing, keeping Mellie farther from the cat since she was trying to reach for it - the baby squirmed in frustration.

He scrunched his nose too, trying to decide if doing this was a good idea. Yes, responsibility for Winnie and blah blah blah, but he had no idea if his wife would be okay with it. She was sleeping right now and he didn’t want to bother her now so it was just him, his daughters, and a sickly looking kitten his eldest found somewhere. He sighed. “Mum’ll decide what to do later.” His daughter’s face lit up. He glared at her. “She’s not going to stay here, Winnie. We’ll wash her up and get her medicine, but then she has to go back to her mum, okay?” His hand goes to brush a small strand of hair behind Winnie’s ear, her smile quickly faded.

“But… I want to keep her.” Her bottom lip quivered, he sighed.

“It’s not up for discussion. Go inside and hold it, don’t let it wander.” He stood then, Winnie darted away towards the back door. He looked down to Mellie, who stared up at him with an annoyed face. He found it incredible that she was more like him than Winnie was, he smiled to her. She didn’t like it.

He followed his oldest daughter inside, moving to grab a towel he had placed on the counter to dry off Mellie. He pulled off her boonie hat before wrapping her in the fluffy towel, he wanted to go back outside so he moved to the living room and placed her in the mesh-fenced play pen, lined with soft toys. The baby no longer made her upset face and cooed as she unraveled herself from the towel to begin to play. He moved away towards the kitchen, finding Winnie standing next to the sink, the little kitten in her arms hadn’t moved. His eyebrows furrowed before he opened a drawer and grabbed a tea towel, holding it on his hand and saying, “Give it here.”

“You’re gonna put her outside.” Winnie’s bottom lip trembled, he sighed.

“Gotta wash it, Duckling. It might be injured.” He explained. “I won’t take it outside, I’m gonna wash it upstairs. Go play with your sister for me, it’ll be as good as new soon.”

Winnie looked up at her dad, weariness in her eyes before she gently pulled the little creature from her chest and gently placed it on the towel in his hand. He lifted it towards his face, now noticing the black cat with a dirty white face was barely even breathing. He turned away from his daughter, moving towards the stairs as his other hand began to gently poke at the kitten’s face, trying to get it to respond. He glanced behind himself, seeing that Winnie had found her way into the playpen with Mellie, and turned back to the upstairs. Taking the stairs two at a time, he made it to the hall bathroom, which was decorated with pinks, blues, and greens. He moved towards the sink, rubbing the little kitten’s face to try and wake it up.

After a few seconds of rubbing its face, its eye opened and revealed a light yellow eye. The little thing shuddered, he frowned. He pushed the drain plug into the sink drain with his free hand, then starting the faucet with warm water. The kitten barely moved an arm, he noted how frail she looked. Probably abandoned by her mum.

“Alright, Missy, let’s getcha cleaned up, yeah?”

The little thing pawed a little at the towel, he settled her on the counter before shutting off the water so it was just a little water in the basin. He gently settled it in the water, using Mellie’s baby soap to wash its fur. The kitten was still in his hand, little yellow eyes watching the water. He washed its back, looking for fleas, finding none. He inspected its neck and face too, no injuries or fleas - it must have been malnourished, he could very distinctly feel its bones. He gently washed its little face, the dirt falling away and revealing white rings around its eyes. It almost reminded him of his mask.

As soon as he was confident that the kitten was throughly washed and not injured, he grabbed a hand towel from underneath the sink - something that would be a lot softer on the creature. It had closed its eyes as soon as he gently wrapped it with the towel, he moved the small bundle to his chest as he pulled the drain plug. The water drained as he left the bathroom, silently walking down the stairs and to the living room.

Winnie was standing in the play pen, watching him intently as he walked towards them. He saw Mellie on her back, chewing on an ear of a stuffed dog. He chuckled a little as Winnie asked, “Is she okay now?”

He looked down at the kitten’s head, seeing its ear twitch a little. “She’s fine for now, kiddo. We’ll keep her ‘til she gets a little bigger, but then she has to go somewhere else.”

She pouted a little before holding her hands out, “Can I have my kitty please?”

He laughed humorlessly. “No.”

His daughter made a noise of confusion. “I asked nicely.”

“Yes, you did. But it’s too sick for you to take care of.” He answered. “You can have it when it’s better.”

Winnie scrunched her nose and turned away, sitting beside Mellie and refusing to look at him. He looked down at the little kitten, sleeping away in its little cocoon. He sighed, not wanting to believe that his little girl was getting big enough to have tantrums.

He spent the rest of his day taking care of the little kitten, keeping it in an open cardboard box with a couple towels in it, it slumbered away after he fed it was little cow’s milk he had left in the fridge. He made a mental note to go to the market in the morning as he now held Mellie on his chest, bouncing a little on his feet as he neared her crib. She was sound asleep and in comfy colorful pajamas, her little hand gripped his shirt. He slowly peeled off the baby from his chest, laying her on her back in her crib. He gently pet her head, whispering a sweet good night before leaving her room.

He then walked down the dark hallway to Winnie’s room, her lamp illuminating her room as she laid in her bed, facing away from the door. He saw her green bear on the floor next to her bed, he quietly stalked into the room to grab it. As soon as he grabbed it, he almost jumped back when Winnie turned towards him, annoyance on her face. He held out the bear names Pricey to her, she took it.

“I’m not giving the cat away for fun, you know.” He whispered, kneeling beside her bed. “It’s for the best.”

She stared at him. “What if Mummy wants a kitty?”

He shrugged. “It’s not good a time to have a cat right now, honey. Mum’s still sick.” He hated not being able to help ease his wife’s pain, going through a miscarriage of a baby you really wanted was tough - it was rough for him too, but he put his children first to let you take the time you needed.

“Mummy’s been sick for forever.” She murmured, arms wrapped around her bear. “Why can’t she get better so I can have a kitty?”

He fought the urge to roll his eyes, moving to tug her blanket up to her chin. He spoke with a gentle calmness, “Remember when Mum told you you’re gonna have a brother?” Winnie nodded. “And then he went away?” His daughter nodded again, he sighed. “He put Mum in a lot of pain, both in her tummy and in her heart. She feels sick all the time,” He gently brushed Winnie’s curls around her ear as he looked into her brown eyes. “Mum just needs all the love she can get and a long time to feel better.”

“The kitty can love her.” She whined, pouting a little.

“Mum only feels better when you and Mellie and me love her, Duckling.” He was losing the battle, knowing that Winnie would end up winning by outsmarting him with her little kid brain. That’s when he had an idea. He retracted his hand from her head, saying, “Once the cat gets better, I’ll give it to Uncle Soap until Mum gets better. Then you can ask her about the cat, okay?”

This way the cat would get attached to Soap and never have to be back in the house. Great idea, hope he’s not allergic. You know what? I hope he is. It’s what he deserves for pranking my ass every chance he gets.

His daughter nodded, whispering, “Can you name my kitty, Daddy?”

His eyes widened a little, lips pressed into a thin line. “Why don’t you name it?”

“I don’t want to.” She shrugged, he sort of laughed.

“Alright, Duckling. We’ll call her Missy.”

The girl smiled. “What’s her real name then?”

His eyebrows furrowed, he grew confused. “What do you mean?”

“My name is Winter, but it’s also Winnie.” His daughter then yawned, her eyes fluttering to try and fight off sleep. He gently settled his hand on her cheek, her little hand sat on top of his.

He almost smiled, almost broke his straight face as he said, “Missile Launcher.”

His daughter smiled so wide as she giggled, “Okay!” Yep, she’s just like me.

“Alright, now go to sleep.” He leaned forwards and kissed her forehead.

He moved to stand but Winnie spoke, “Tell Pricey good night too, Daddy.”

He sighed, facing her bear and saying, “Good night, Pricey.” He gently pat his daughter’s face before he stood and turned to her lamp, turning it off. Her little nightlight beside the door now dimly illuminated the room, he whispered, “Love you, little love.”

She whispered a little, “Love you too, Daddy.”

He was silent when he left her room, closing the door behind him before making his way to his bedroom. He closed the door behind himself, his own lamp illuminated the room. You were curled into a ball on your side of the bed, his pillow tucked under your chin as you faced his side. He moved towards the bed, being careful of the cardboard box settled on the floor next to his side. He peered into the box, observing the little black kitten until he could see it breathing. He then got into bed, reaching to shut off his lamp before moving towards you.

He would be okay without a pillow to sleep on, but he would never be okay not holding you as you were in pain. He rested his head halfway on the pillow, his arms coming to pull you into him. You murmured in your medicine induced slumber, the sleeping pills giving you a while without pain. He kissed her forehead, gently brushing his hand down your back.

He’d ask you about the cat beside your bed later.

taglist: @sigynxlokiwifelover @lumpypoll @multitargaryen @chloeforde @blueoorchid @vir-tual

#simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley call of duty #simon ghost riley cod #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x f!reader #simon riley x you #simon riley #simon riley call of duty #simon riley cod #simon riley x reader #simon riley mw2 #simon riley x wife!reader #simon ghost riley x wife!reader #simon ghost riley x fem!reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x afab!reader #simon riley x fem!reader

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neil-gaiman · 1 year

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Hi mr gaiman sir,

If you don’t see this that’s fine or if you don’t want to answer it that also fine but,

I have a question concerning the scene where Crowley kills ligur and idk if you’ve already answered it but I havent been able to find it. so is there actually holy water in the spray bottle? Because in the scene before Crowley is seen using rubber gloves and handling it with great care. Was there actually a chance of him getting sprayed with holy water?

With lots of love,

Vespen❤️

What he handles with great care and rubber gloves is the holy water that kills Ligur.

The spray bottle is what he uses to spray his plants. When the drip of water touches his skin nothing happens, and Hastur knows he is bluffing.

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antigonenikk · 4 months

Text

modern day liebgott is an uber driver who exclusively plays chief keef on his busted out speakers. his car is a 2004 toyota corrolla that smells like cigarette smoke and axe body spray. the rubber is peeling off of two of the doors. the left blinker does not work. a door handle has been mysteriously ripped off and the windows wont roll down. he has ten parking tickets he refuses to pay off and does not care about right of way. if hes delivering your food for uber eats you can count on the fact that he has eaten some of your fries. in spite of all of this he pulls more bitches than all of his friends combined.

#certified xandemic victim i just KNOW #during lockdown he got too into bladee and it fucked with his head #now hes arrived at inner peace by weaning off the xans and replacing with copious amounts of bad vodka #no child left behind policy means he hasnt read a book since 7th grade #hes a fucking menace #this post dedicated to all my nympho friends from wayba k who fucked their hot uber drivers lmaoooool #in 2013 during high school he became obsessed with keef and made a bunch of handmade ralph lauren polos to post fit pics in skcnfnnc #if you bring this up to him he will cold clock you.#i still hate bob idk but i will keep posting about my man no one can stop me #joe liebgott #joseph liebgott #band of brothers

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protowilson · 1 year

Note

Nice Pyro cosplay! Any tips on the suit? I've been thinking of making my own, but can't figure out what fabric would drape right but still be, y'know, NOT RUBBER and therefore breathable.

Thanks in advance! :)

Thanks!

Well, there's the rub: finding something that sits right. I wish I could tell you I found something that was breathable, but I used red furniture vinyl, which is a bastard to sew, and to wear is like being slowly roasted in a bag. I had to wear a layer of cotton clothing under is purely to soak up the sweat. I think the first time I wore the outfit, it was something crazy like 36degC (97F) in Melbourne.

A heavier fabric may be a decent alternative. The thickness would probably make it sit a bit more like the rubber suit, while still being breathable.

The suit pattern was actually a modified clown suit that a friend (froggiebecky) helped me with, cos I have no experience re-purposing a pattern. I made it in calico a couple of times until I was happy with the shape and fit before committing to the furniture vinyl.

The charring at the bottom of the legs was done with spray adhesive and charcoal dust.

Unless your boots are well-broken in, blister guard plasters are a god-send. I've shredded the backs of my heels and it's excruciating!

The gloves were chemical gloves, with the finger tips dipped in Plasti-dip, and the cuff was yellow electrical tape. If I could, I would love to be able to latex cast the gloves so they're much more like in-game.

Wearing the Pyro outfit is difficult and exhausting. You have NO skin exposed, so sweating and temperature regulation are big problems. Vision is also on the difficult side, especially in a crowded area, and I would never be able to wear it unless I had my partner with me to help shepherd me through crowds and/or small spaces and stop people from bumping into the flamethrower or the backpack.

In an effort to remain anonymous as part of Pyro's mystique, I would rarely take the mask off where people could see me, which added to the temperature-contol issue. There's also the balance between being hydrated enough, but not so much that you gotta pee every 10 minutes and it takes AGES to get the outfit off in order to do so. Getting the mask on and off was a two person job.

The suit also has the double-problem of being cold to wear in cold weather because there's not much insulation to it - I guess furniture vinyl's not really designed to take temperature into account! I remember standing about for (seemingly) hours for a Guinness Book World Record of 'most cosplayers in one photo' and freezing my ass off. If I was wearing it in the winter, it was more bearable than in summer, and I could even wear a hat without spontaneously combusting.

I don't say this to dissuade you, just to let you know that it can be a difficult outfit and you should take care that you don't overheat - take frequent breaks!

GOOD LUCK!

#tf2 #pyro cosplay

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frankenkyle19 · 1 year

Note

can you write about frankenkyle and fem reader giving him shower and comforting him because he was scared of water 🥹

Absolutely! This was a quick little one because I leave to get on my plane in less than 48 hours and should be packing but am instead writing… oh well

——————————————————————————

Rubber Ducky 🧼

Kyle didn’t put up a fight much if at all really. He let you do as you pleased to him. Dressing him, helping him eat and even tucking him in at night. But there was one thing Kyle absolutely hated and let it be very very known.

Baths. Showers. Water. He hated it. Maybe it was a result from his trauma, or maybe it just didn’t feel comfortable on his scarred, sewn together skin. Maybe a mix of both. But one thing was for sure- Every time he needed to get washed up, he put up a fight.

You tried to console him. Telling him it would be over soon, but he still cried and groaned, shaking his head as his doe brown eyes begged for you not to do it. You hated seeing him upset, but he really did need a wash. It had been far too long and he didn’t exactly smell pleasant.

You had tricked him into coming into the bathroom under false pretenses, saying that there was something cool you wanted to show him. You felt bad about this too, but it did work. You quickly shut the door behind him and stood in front of it, blocking his path if he tried to escape.

Now realistically, if he wanted to leave, he could. He was a lot stronger than you and could easily overpower you. Luckily, Kyle was a gentle giant and tried his best to be as careful as possible, not wanting to hurt a hair on your head.

His eyes widened in fear as he saw the bathtub half filled with water, soapy bubbles and a rubber ducky catching his eye. The bright yellow of the duck intrigued him a bit and he glanced back at you before nodding.

He clumsily took his shirt off before he looked at you for help with his pants. He trusted you completely, and though at times he was a bit jumpy, he knew you’d never do anything to hurt him. He trusted you. Loved you even, if his mind could understand and comprehend exactly what that meant.

You smiled softly and helped him slide off the rest of his clothing, leaving him stark naked in front of you. His body was a mismatch of parts, slightly varying in skin tone, scars lining each different piece of him. He still looked perfect to you though.

He tensed as he stepped into the tub, sitting in the water and looking back up at you for reassurance. You smiled softly and grabbed the rubber ducky in hand, showing it to Kyle who quickly took it, smiling a bit as he watched it float on the soapy water.

Once he was distracted, you carefully reached over and turned the shower head on, the spray startling Kyle who’s eyes went wide as he tried to back himself up into the corner of the tub away from it.

You turned it off as quickly as it had been turned on. Okay. He didn’t like that but seemed to accept sitting in the bath, so that’s what you’d do.

He calmed once again and played with the rubber duck, covering it in the soapy bubbles before splashing around it to make it appear again. His small laughs and mumbles made your heart ache (in a good way) seeing how much more comfortable he was becoming with everyday activities such as bathing.

Soon enough you had taken a washcloth and washed him off, handing it over to Kyle as he wanted to use it. But instead of using it on himself, the sweet boy began to wash off the rubber duck, wanting it to be just as clean as him. You then worked on his hair, which was the easiest part of this whole experience by far. He loved the feeling of your hands in his hair, nails massaging his scalp. It was heaven.

After the bath, you wrapped him in a towel and dried his damp curls with a blow dryer. He ran back to the tub, which confused you until you saw what he was doing. He carefully grabbed the rubber duck out of the water and used the edge of his towel to dry it off, smiling proudly at himself and holding up the duck triumphantly.

Each action from the zombie boy made your heart melt a little bit more.

#evan peters #american horror story #evan peters icons #ahs fandom #ahs kyle spencer #kyle spencer #ahs coven

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abibliophobiaa · 1 year

Note

hello lunieee

I would like to request some dad!Steve-

HAH

just kidding.

I would love some dad!Eddie in the summer playing with his tween kid - maybe running through the sprinkler or someone gets sprayed with the hose, maybe eating ice pops, but most important of all is Eddie being a nerdy, kinda lame adorkable dad that his kid both loves and cringes at. Bonus points if we are watching him and really feelin' a surge of attraction or affection based on his antics.

thank you love youuu 💕

Gone Fishing: Just Go With It…

warnings: r is pregnant, minor injury & barely edited — i needed something soft, sweet and fluffy today. (2.6k words)

dad!eddie munson x afab!mom!reader.

masterlist

——

It’s meant to be a joke.

A little Russian Roulette game, if you will. A precursor to the barbecue plans with your friends for the summer festivities to determine if the pitcher of sangria Robin put her heart and soul into will end up going to waste.

Once you’ve all taken your tests, Max and El have you all turn around and scramble the order. When ready, you all turn around to find the three tests face up on the countertop.

“Mine’s negative,” Robin says, dramatically wiping the back of her hand over her brow. “What a relief!”

But she’s met only with silence.

Until. “Holy shit,” Max breathes out, trying to not break out into incredulous laughter.

“That one is definitely positive,” El points out, hooking her chin over Nancy’s shoulder.

Two lines.

Two very dark lines.

So you…or Nancy.

Baby number four for her, or number three for you.

Shit.

Nancy bites her lip. Turns to you, smile a little hopeful despite the fact your nerves are buzzing to life at the prospect of another baby when you and Eddie hadn’t intended for another baby.

“Guess we have to take another,” she says, reaching for more test strips.

——

“Hey man, can you watch Quinnie?” Eddie asks, passing off the giggly two year old to her honorary uncle. “I’m just going to run to the bathroom.”

And they prove to be famous last words.

Words that change a lot.

Because as he’s washing his hands, humming a song that had been playing on the radio before he’d run inside, he spots the tests.

Multiple tests.

He’s seen a few since becoming a dad to know what two lines or a smiley face means.

He also knows that you, Nancy, Robin, El and Max had all gone to the bathroom at the same time to ‘take care of something.’

So despite it being his bathroom, in his home, he’s not sure if it’s your test.

But, he does know someone is pregnant.

Someone standing outside in his backyard just a few feet away.

The sudden realization hits him then. Either he’s becoming an uncle again to four, or a father of three.

Shit.

——

“And you’re sure?” Steve asks, carding his fingers through his hair. Eddie pulls the strips out of his pocket and Steve whisper-yells, “There’s pee on those!”

“Grow up, Harrington, they’ve got the caps on. We have bigger things to worry about.” Eddie holds the tests in the space between the two of them, bent low near the grill, far away from the rest of the guests.

In the distance he can see you and Nancy watching the youngest Harringtons and Munsons in the pool while the older “kids” watch on. James’ laughter echoes as Dustin and Lucas toss him up into the air and catch him, his little rubber ducky floaties keeping him from slipping too far beneath the water’s surface.

You’re glowing, Quinn bouncing on your hip, wearing the same brightly colored summer dress you’re wearing that flutters around your thighs in the cool summer breeze. And he wonders briefly whether or not you carry a little secret beneath your heart.

“So one of us is pregnant?” Steve exhales deeply as Eddie nods, running a palm down his face. “Look—I know I said I wanted six, but I’m overrun by girls at the moment, Ed. Do you know how terrifying throwing a fourth girl into the mix is?”

Steve’s gaze travels over to Nancy and his three little girls. One reaches out to grab at her little ‘cousin’ Quinn, while the other two try to quite literally become mermaids in the pool, little legs kicking behind them, spraying Mike Wheeler in the face until he’s redder than a damn tomato.

“What do you think we should do?” Eddie asks, flipping over the burgers on the grill, waving as you look over your shoulder and give him one of your wonderful smiles he loves so much.

“Should we ask them?” Steve wonders, tossing some cheese on top, both men watching with increasing nervousness over their present (potential) situations.

“No—no, you absolutely cannot ask them if they’re pregnant.” Eddie shoves the bag of burger buns into his best friend’s chest. “Start laying the buns in that container right there. Yeah, that one. But as I was saying…asking a woman if she’s pregnant is enough to get you as number one on their to-kill list. Do you not fear death?”

Steve seems to consider this, swallowing thickly as he lays out the buns in the tin container so Eddie can begin loading burgers on top. “Nancy will murder me in my sleep.”

“Exactly.” Once the burgers are loaded up, he calls out into the open yard that dinner is ready and then claps Steve on the shoulder. “Best plan of action is to be supportive, remain calm, and act natural.”

——

“Are the guys being a little weird?” You ask, running your fingers through Quinn’s little curls, the two year old dozing against your chest.

“You two married the weirdest guys in Hawkins,” Robin says, sipping her cup of sangria. “I’d say this is within normal limits for them.”

“Steve knocked my drink out of my hand,” Nancy points out, pulling at a piece of cookie and popping it into her mouth.

“And Eddie kept demanding I eat more,” you add, laughing at the memory of your overly eager husband adding more macaroni salad to your plate as soon as you’d finished your first spoonful. “He also kept asking me if I should be holding Quinn.”

The men in question are presently standing in the yard bare chested in their swimsuits, with the sprinkler running. The kids rush through the stream all taking turns, still donning their little pool floaties, little shrieks of joy and peals of infectious laughter warming your heart.

Because you and Eddie finally saved up enough to buy this home, and are now sharing it with your friends who are more likely family now, and seeing the happiness on all their faces has made all the endless hours of work, hardships and obstacles so worth it.

So no, you can’t help the fear that wedges into your heart if you disrupt all of that.

——

“J! NO!”

Quinn whines from Eddie’s lap as James leans over and snatches a marshmallow from the bag his daughter is insistent upon keeping clutched in her tiny palms.

“Quinnie, give me!”

Quinn’s newest favorite word in the dictionary other than Momma and Dadda?

No.

She uses it so often, Eddie sometimes forgets she’s picked up others throughout the past few months.

“NO!”

This time, her little fingers curl in her brother’s hair and give a harsh tug. Hard enough he winces and scrambles onto Eddie’s lap, knocking the wind from him when his knobby knee jabs him in the stomach, to try and alleviate the stress on his hair.

Catching his bearings once more, Eddie grips his daughter’s hand and unfurls her angry little knuckles, finger by finger until she reluctantly releases James.

“Quinnie, let’s be nice to your brother,” Eddie coos, bouncing her on his thigh as you start to rise from your chair, conversation with Nancy and Robin pausing to see the commotion. Wanting to show you he can, in fact, handle three kids, he shakes his head, reassuring, “I’ve got this.”

“NO!”

Steve glances over from beside him, braiding both his little girl’s hair into braids at the backs of their heads. Eddie frowns, and Steve gives him a sympathetic smile as his own littlest one trips over the leg of his chair and takes a tumble onto the patio below, scraping her knee and bursting into ear piercing wails, crying out for Mama.

——

“Chloe, do you want vanilla or chocolate ice cream for being such a good girl?” You ask, leaning your back against the kitchen counter as Nancy finishes putting a pink bandaid on her youngest daughter’s knee.

Hazel eyes that resemble her father’s peer up at you, fingers pointing to the vanilla container held up in your hands. “‘Bow sprinkle, pease!”

“She wants rainbow sprinkles,” Nancy clarifies as you get to work on her daughter’s ice cream, shoulders slouching, tears burning on your lower lash line. “Hey. Hey. What’s going on? You’ve been quiet tonight.”

Forearm pressing to your sweat-slick forehead, you sigh. “Eddie and I never talked about having another baby. We’ve been trying to save up for the house, we got the house, and now we’re really only just settling into the house. And I don’t even know how this happened, or how he’s going to react, or if he even wants another baby. We always said two and I-I—”

“Momma cry,” Quinn huffs beside Chloe, lifting at the edge of her frilly little summer dress.

You let out a weak laugh at that, sniffling noisily. “Momma is crying, yes sweetie.”

Nancy tugs you close as you join her and the girls on the counter, handing each of the greediest little ones a tiny spoon to likely smear vanilla ice cream on their faces with.

“We planned for James and planned for Quinnie.” With a groan, you grab your own spoon and shovel a spoonful of rainbow sprinkles into your mouth, needing a little sweetness to quell the nervousness bubbling in your belly.

“Well, it seems like that little one had other plans. I know it’s not ideal. But if you take away the house, if you take away all the other things stressing you out right about now, what do you feel?”

And that’s the thing. If you think about it. If you really think about it, you love your husband. Have for so many years now. You married him for all of the reasons you’d said in your vows. Wanted to take on life together, build a family, build a home.

Now here you are, still as deeply in love with him as you were that day, in the house of your dreams you never thought you’d own, with your sweet little boy who has love in his heart and joy in his laugh, and your little girl with her father’s tenacity and your features, and this unexpected little one, faceless and nameless and yet loved.

So so loved already.

“I’m happy. Just…really happy.”

“Then you’ll figure everything else out as you go.”

——

Outside, Eddie’s sitting near the bonfire with his acoustic guitar on his lap, strumming along to a silly song meant for the children. Made up, naturally. A tale of beautiful princes and princesses who wield swords and fight impressive dragons, of harrowing tales and defeating evil.

James sits on his lap, beaming bright, with chocolate smeared across his cheeks, heading into what is surely to be a lovely night of sleep induced by a food coma. Steve’s got his two older daughters, Olivia and Violet, draped over each of his thighs, their heads swaying back and forth and feet kicking as Eddie slips in and out of singing and speaking his stories.

The older kids in “The Party” have started cleaning up, weaving in and out of the house as you and Nancy make your way back outside the sliding glass door with Chloe and Quinn on your hips.

And later, as Steve and Robin show the kids how to safely play with sparklers, tips of their little fireworks exploding into colorful light, Eddie pulls you into his side and presses a kiss to your temple, murmuring he loves you against your skin.

You reply the same, turning your head enough so you can peck him once. Then again, humming into his smile. “Our first party in our new home.”

“The Munson home,” he says, kissing you once more.

And as his arms loop around your waist and James calls out “Mommy and Daddy look!” his little face illuminated in the dark, excitement blooming across his features, and your little girl dancing with Max and El off in the grass, you know you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

In this home, with your family, and these people.

——

Quinn is already down for the night when Eddie starts getting James ready for bed. The boy in question yawns and protests very little as his father lifts him once he’s done dressing for bed and lays him down in his bed shaped like a little race car that Steve had helped put together for him on his sixth birth.

“Can we read The Hobbit?” James asks, clambering over his father’s chest as he settles down beside him on the mattress.

“Yes, but only one chapter, okay?”

James nods his agreement and Eddie begins where they left off, using all the silly fake voices that James always laughs at. Those belly laughs that shake the boy, and warm Eddie from head to toe. Those same laughs that remind him he’s not his father. That reminds him that he’s been made for this; to be your husband, James’ dad and Quinn’s dad. He’s got his support system. His uncle who is more a father to him now than anything else and the strength of his friendships. All he needs, really.

As he finishes reading, and James’ eyes grow heavier, his head curling into Eddie’s neck, James whispers, “I love you, daddy.” Eddie replies the same. Lifts his head and finds you there in the doorway.

Sees the worry lining your brow, remembers the way Nancy had warned him you’d been a little upset as her, Steve and the kids had left, and he has an inkling why. But he doesn’t know for certain.

All he knows is no matter what, as long as you have each other, it’ll all be okay.

You’ll figure out the rest as you go.

——

“Hey, baby? Can you come here for a second?” Eddie calls, just as you finish brushing your teeth and pat your face dry.

Exhaling deeply, you slip out of the bathroom and find him already propped up against the mountain of pillows on your bed, bare chest on display. He’s added tattoos as time has gone by, meant to cover the tapestry of scars across his skin, the same ones that you’ve traced countless times over the years, forever thankful that he’s still here.

His hands reach out to curl around the fullest part of your hips as you lower yourself down onto his lap, a thigh bracketing each of his hips, your own hands resting against the heat of his chest.

He rubs gentle patterns there. Callus scarred fingers dance across your thighs, along the curve of your hips, over your ribcage, the smallest point of your back, the softness of your stomach. Eddie pauses there, dark eyes meeting your own, tongue dragging a slow line across his lips.

“Eddie…” you begin, but Eddie jumps in before you can say any more.

“I want you to know I saw the pregnancy tests in the bathroom. I don’t know if they’re yours, but I wouldn’t be upset if they are. We have this home, we have each other. I got that promotion to manager at the shop, we’ve been saving. We might not have planned for another one, but I think we did a pretty damn good job with the first two, and I would love this baby so much and I—”

“It was my test. Both of them. I’m pregnant.”

His fingers spread further across your stomach, before reaching up to grip at both your cheeks and pull you close for a lingering kiss that has your toes curling. Before you can say anything else, he’s rolling you over onto your back and shoving at the flimsy sleep shirt you’re wearing, pressing kiss after kiss to your midsection.

“I’ll take it that you’re happy?” you giggle, threading your fingers in the soft curls at the back of his head.

Another kiss, this time to your belly button. “So happy,” he says, a grin growing against your skin. “Hi Maisie, it’s your daddy. I already love you so, so much.”

“Maisie, huh?”

“We always liked the name, and I have a gut feeling.”

Several months later, Eddie’s right.

Maisie Munson enters the world.

Seven pounds, six ounces, and pure love.

——

#lunaloveseddie #Eddie Munson x reader #Eddie munson x you #dad!eddie munson x mom!reader #dad!eddie munson

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nico-di-genova · 4 months

Text

Heart On Your Sleeve (I Think It's Mine)

Summary: Alex knows the pain of tasting a win only to have it ripped from you, the way it leaves you gaping and wounded and spilling every part of yourself across the floor. He knows the hurt, and yet it is worse to see it, somehow. Or: Post Indy 500 comfort for Pato, who so very dearly needs it.

Ao3 Link

Pato smells like shampoo, clean, hair damp against Alex’s skin where his lips are brushing the crown of Pato’s head. Beneath the cedarwood scent, there is the lingering undercurrent of rubber and gasoline, remnants of racing that are forever embedded in him – in both of them. It is a smell that tends to stick, soaked into the core of a driver and becoming a permanent piece of them.

Laying on the mattress at the back of Alex’s bus, with Pato curled up in his arms, his face buried in the crook of Alex’s neck, Alex breathes in the scent of him and tries to ground himself in the familiarity of it. He can’t afford to float off into his own thoughts, not with Pato still sobbing against him. They both lost today, but it is Pato who is tasting the sharp bitter taste of failure so strongly he is choking on it. Racing is in Pato’s blood, and it is spilling out of him, across the sheets, with every sob that wracks his body.

He had been so close. Alex had seen it.

“I got you,” Alex promises, tastes the shampoo as he does. “I got you, it’s okay.”

“It hurts,” Pato cries, shakes, clings to Alex tighter with hands that must have been so sure on the wheel earlier but now tremble when he curls them around the fabric of Alex’s shirt.

Alex knows it does, knows the pain of tasting a win only to have it ripped from you, the way it leaves you gaping and wounded and spilling every part of yourself across the floor. He knows the hurt, and yet it is worse to see it, somehow. To see the haunted sort of look on Pato’s face when Alex had asked him if he was okay and Pato had shook his head before stepping in front of the cameras, red-rimmed eyes and wobbly smile something that he couldn’t hide. And then in the press conference. In the shadows of the speedway as they made their way to Alex’s bus. In the shower, when Pato stood under the spray of the water and stared unseeingly at a spot on the wall behind Alex.

Alex had washed his hair and Pato had let him, arms limp at his side, leaned forward enough to rest his head against Alex’s chest and softly cried. Alex is not gentle with very many things, he can be abrasive, brusque, but when he lathered soap along Pato’s back and worked at the tension in his shoulders it was done with all the care and gentleness he possessed. And then he watched the soapy water swirl down the drain at their feet and hoped it took the day with it.

Instead, when he closes his eyes he sees Dixon passing him, Josef passing Pato, a sick shared parallel between the two of them. For a moment, Alex had given into the hope that he could pull it off, that they both could, when he and Pato had been trading the lead back and forth with each other and the racing had felt like riding a livewire. Alternating who had the clean air and the tow and being told by his engineer that they were focused on 1 and 2, that it was all beginning to slot together. He hadn’t been thinking far enough ahead then to consider which one of them would win, if second place would have felt satisfactory enough if it meant he got to watch Pato douse himself in milk. And then the cracks started to show, when they said Alex didn’t have the fuel to go all out, when he realized victory wouldn’t be his. It had fractured further when he watched Josef gain on Pato, shattered completely on the final lap, lay broken and crystalline in the pitlane when he got out of his car but had watched as Pato couldn’t.

He is trying to fix it, reassemble Pato and the hope back together with calloused hands, but Pato keeps shaking in his arms and he can’t seem to make the pieces fit.

“I got you,” he continues to promise, as Pato cries harder, clings tighter.

“Please,” Pato begs, and Alex doesn’t even know what he’s begging for. Release maybe, relief, something to ease the ache he must be feeling. The physical ache from having his body held so tightly for so long, or the mental one from replaying that last lap again and again trying to will it to go right. Alex knows he wouldn’t be able to vocalize it even if he tried, not with his throat raw from the sobbing and his breath coming out uneven.

He runs a hand along Pato’s back, presses a kiss to the crown of his head, tries to slow his own breathing so that Pato will maybe feel it and mimic him.

“Easy, Pato,” he tries, quiet against the drying tufts of Pato’s hair, like he’s speaking to a spooked animal.

“I can’t-“ Pato starts, chokes on a ragged inhale. His grip on Alex’s shirt goes so tight Alex can feel him begin to grab at skin, the pinprick of fingernails against his back.

“Easy.”

“It won’t-“Pato tries again, chokes again, presses himself impossibly closer to Alex.

Leave. Alex thinks, realizes. It won’t leave.

Alex closes his eyes and watches third place slip away, Pato keeps his closed and has the win dripping through his fingers like water, or like the blood he was offering in exchange for the chance to finally know what it felt like to have a wreath rested around him. He’s not in front of the cameras anymore, no media or fans to distract him with questions and praise and sympathy. It’s just them now, and instead of sleep offering relief, it is the repeat of a race they gave their all to that plays on a loop in both of their heads. Only, Alex has won here before, he at least has the relief of memory to fall back on, Pato has only the loss, the absence.

“Hey,” Alex soothes, “Pato, baby, come here. Look at me.”

He eases himself back, grips Pato by the shoulder and works to pry him away for long enough that he can actually see his tearstained face. There’s a damp patch on the collar of Alex’s shirt, moisture cooling at his neck. When Pato opens his eyes they are red-rimmed, glassy, and blood-shot.

“That’s it. It’s okay. You’re okay.”

“I- I need- the-“

“I know, it’s okay. It’s done. It’s okay.”

Pato’s lip trembles, his eyes fill with fresh tears.

He shakes his head and forces out raggedly, “It’s not.”

“It will be. I promise, baby, it will be. I know it hurts, but you’re hurting yourself more right now.”

He isn’t letting it go, not the way you have to once the adrenaline wears off and there’s nothing left but the loss. He’s clinging to the hurt of it with a desperate sort of wish that if he hopes enough it will change the outcome and they both know it won’t. This isn’t St. Pete, a fluke and a delayed win, this was just Josef having the better car and Pato already having admitted he had driven his to the limit. Alex knows he’d pulled everything from the McLaren, drained it of every bit of potential that it had till there was nothing left but the metaphorical fumes. He’s proud of Pato simply for somehow managing the performance that he did, but Pato is only seeing the back of Newgarden’s car as it crossed the line first.

“I can’t,” Pato pleads, unwraps his arms from where they’d been around Alex and then grabs at Alex’s chest instead. Alex lets him, lets him pull on his shirt until he’s pulled forward to close the gap between them again and Pato is breathing heavily in the hot air between them.

He moves his own hand up from where it was resting on Pato’s shoulder, threads his fingers through damp hair. His thumb rests at Pato’s temple, soothes at the headache he is sure is forming there, if not pounding already. Pato has been crying so much he’s surely lost what little water he did manage to sip down after the race.

“You have to let it go, Pato. You have to.”

“How?”

Bury it, shove it so far down you maybe forget the taste of it, push and keep pushing until there’s time until it works its way back up again. That’s what he would do, what he does, but that maybe wouldn’t work for Pato. He’s got his heart on his sleeve along with the rest of him, maybe wouldn’t know how to bury something at all.

"You focus on the next one, right?” Alex offers instead. “And then the one after that, and the next one. Until it’s next May and you go again.”

Because one of these days it will work, one of these days Pato will cross the line first. Alex believes that, unfailingly. He’s raced with hundreds of drivers, across so many series, and very few of them have driven the way Pato does. Quick with his hands and quick to recover and so very good at finding that space where they all want to be. He zones in with a precision Alex has experienced himself, but Pato somehow lands in much faster. He will win, because Alex has been a winner, and knows them, and can see the makings of it in the man he holds now.

“And the further you get, the less this one hurts.” He says it for himself just as much as Pato.

“But it hurts now,” Pato forces out around the breath he draws in, manages to say all four words even if they are muffled against the fabric of Alex’s shirt.

“And it won’t stop until you let it,” It’s a harsh truth, but a truth nonetheless, because Alex doesn’t like to lie. His comfort has always come in the simple form of brute honesty, and maybe that made him a dick sometimes, but sometimes it was just what it was.

Right now it’s what Pato needs to hear. Because Alex will continue to hold him, kiss him, whisper comforts against his cedarwood smelling hair as long as he needs, but it won’t change the race. And Pato will drift off to sleep in his arms restlessly, his breath evening out only in unconsciousness, but he will still wake with an empty look in his eyes and a distant gaze as long as he stays in that car. He could go in circles on that final lap forever, pull Alex along with him if he needed, but it wouldn’t change it. He knows that. Alex knows he does.

It’s close to midnight, the lamplight in the room is dim enough that it’s luring them both toward unconsciousness. Alex can feel the toll of 200 laps at 200+ mph beginning to set in, truly set in, and knows he’ll wake to the ache of it tomorrow. There was a time he could bounce back quicker, but he knows come morning there will be a soreness in his joints, his chest, that Pato will try to ease away with whatever breakfast he manages to produce from one of his many favorite spots. Or maybe with his hand around Alex’s cock, distracting him from the pain and replacing it with slow-building pleasure as he’s done in the past.

He takes care of Pato now, and Pato takes care of him tomorrow, and they pass comfort back and forth the way they had the lead today. But tonight he only needs Pato to breathe, to look at him with eyes that don’t shine with tears, to speak and not have his voice come out wrong. He needs to put Pato back together enough that the pieces hold just for a while, just long enough for him to get some sleep.

“I know it’s not the win you wanted. I know it hurts, and it sucks, and you maybe want to take a crowbar to Josef’s car-“

Pato laughs against him, breath warm against his skin. It doesn’t sound right, not yet, but it’s almost him. Almost, which is the best they can do right now, in the car and out of it.

“But I’m proud of you. The team is proud of you. You didn’t do a single thing wrong today, baby. It just wasn’t your day. Not yet.”

“Yet?” Pato asks, pulls back, shifts up on the mattress so he’s resting his head on a pillow alongside Alex. Face to face, Alex is able to trail a hand down from out of his hair to cup his jaw. His eyes are still shining in the light, but the tears don’t fall as steadily.

Alex smiles, really smiles, the sort only reserved for Pato because he doesn’t think it’s fair that Pato should get to express all the joy in their relationship. And because he isn’t an asshole, not really, he’s just careful with who he gives himself to.

“Of course, ‘yet’. Your name will be written here someday, and you’ll get to chug a mouthful of disgusting milk, and you’ll know how it feels to win here. I know it.”

“You do?” Pato asks, earnestly. There’s a light in his eyes, a dim ember, nowhere close to its usual spark, but rekindled, nonetheless. He asks it like Alex is responsible for deciding who wins himself, like Alex will be the one to wave that checkered flag come next May and welcome Pato to the brickyard, kneel beside him and kiss them like it’s a win they both have earned. He asks like he’s surprised Alex believes in him.

Alex feels like he’s made himself clear in that regard, what with the way he’d hugged Pato earlier and whispered in his ear that, ‘it should have been you. It will be you. One day.’ But maybe Pato hadn’t heard him over the crowd still chanting his name and the reporters calling to him and his own internal voice repeating that he was a failure too loudly to process much else at all.

So Alex repeats it in the silence of the bus, where he’s sure Pato will not miss it, “Of course.”

He shifts so there’s barely a breath between them at all, feels and hears Pato’s quiet inhale as Alex closes the distance and kisses him. Alex pours himself into it, into the gentle touch of his palm against Pato’s neck, the loop of his leg around Pato’s so he can pull the man to him fully. Pato tastes like salty tears, Alex licks them away. He closes his eyes and dredges up things he has buried, just long enough that Pato can maybe taste them, the honesty of it, and then he packs it all away again and pulls back.

Pato chases him, and Alex laughs, soft and breathy.

“No wait, let me finish,” he demands.

Pato stills, nods, opens his eyes from where they’d fluttered closed during the kiss.

Heart on his sleeve, Alex thinks when all he sees is love, but then Pato smiles at him, and he thinks he maybe isn’t hiding his own heart as well as he thinks. He’s seen the photos the social admins post, the ones where he’s staring at Pato with so much adoration it’d be impossible to miss how much he respects him. Affection pouring off of him through the cracks in his mask that he isn’t sure if he wants to fix sometimes.

He swallow and then confesses, “Dixon passed me today because I let up. Because I was coasting, and he was to the floor, and I didn’t care. I didn’t care about third place or fourth, Because you got around Josef and I watched it. It should have been you, Pato. And it wasn’t today, but it will be. I don’t believe in fate, or luck, but I believe in you. Even if you don’t right now.”

It’s sappy, and cheesy and everything Alex hates, but all the things Pato loves. The words come easier when he has Pato grinning at him.

“You were watching me?”

“I was cheering your name. Along with everyone else. Your world remember?”

Pato’s brow furrows until he remembers their car ride from a few days ago. The joke Alex had made to the cameras about it ‘just being Pato’s world’, how maybe Alex hadn’t meant it as a joke at all.

“Shut up, it is not,” Pato laughs, shoves harmlessly at Alex’s chest.

“Maybe not to everyone else,” he admits, grabs Pato’s wrist and raises it to kiss at the exposed skin there, feeling his heartbeat against his lips.

Pato stills, lips parted slightly, tear tracks on his cheeks dry and breathes out fully. It doesn’t catch in his throat, isn’t choked by grief and failure.

“So it is just you fighting me for the win next year then?”

Alex grins, “Of course. I’m not just gonna give it to you.”

“Oh? No?”

“No, gonna push you all the way to the line. Make you earn it.”

It’s late, and they need to sleep, and Alex isn’t meaning to veer into suggestive territory, but he ends up there somehow anyway. He’s not even slightly interested, dick soft in his sweatpants and exhaustion pulling at him now that he doesn’t have Pato falling apart in his arms to focus on.

Pato waggles his eyebrows, “Oh yeah? Earn it? I thought I was pretty good at that?”

“Eh, sometimes. If you’re trying to get me to call you a ‘good boy’ again you’ll have to wait until morning though.”

Pato pouts, but quickly loses it to the yawn that escapes him.

By one, they’re asleep, Pato curled back up in Alex’s arms with his back pressed to Alex’s chest. Outside, there is the occasional bark of a dog, the shout of someone who had found satisfaction in their race finish and was content to party for the sake of it. But they are not content people, Alex and Pato, unless it came to each other. Pato is restless, hungry for more, and Alex has never known when to stop moving, stop chasing, stop hunting for another win. So tonight they do not party, instead, they fall asleep to the steady sound of each other’s breathing in Alex’s bus while Pato’s stands empty and largely untouched.

“So proud,” Alex mumbles when he’s on the edge of unconsciousness, teetering in and out of awareness, “Always.”

He doesn’t know if Pato is already asleep, if he hears him, and then he himself isn’t awake to gauge if there’s any sort of response. But it doesn’t matter anyway, he’ll say it again come morning, say it until Pato believes it. Alex doesn’t wear his heart on his sleeve, but he’s put a piece of it on Pato’s, lets the man carry it and trusts him enough to do so. It’s the piece that makes loving Pato easy, the piece that believes he’ll win at the brickyard, and he’s given it to Pato in hopes that one day he will believe in himself too.

#pato o'ward #alexander rossi #palex #first time writing indycar fic #I come from f1 land so...idk how this is...we'll see #anyway I just think they're neat!#And I think pato should continue to get all the hugs from everyone for the rest of time forever

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sobeautifullyobsessed · 6 months

Text

A Khan By Any Other Name

a prequel to Star Trek: Into Darkness

mystery, suspense, danger ~ romance & NSFW material to follow

summary: Seraphina DiPietro is wise in the ways of the world of world; she has to be, as she travels the California coast as a torch singer in pubs, bars, and nightclubs. She knows how to take care of herself and stay out of trouble--most of the time. When trouble comes, it's usually because she lets her kind heart overrule her common sense. Stopping to check on a handsome stranger stranded roadside in the Mojave Desert, her curiousity is piqued as much by his classic, mint-looking Mustang, as by its driver--a tall, dark, mysterious drink of water, whom she quickly learns is so much more than he appears.

characters: Khan Noonien Singh (aka: John Harrison), Seraphina DiPietro (OC)

word count: 2.4k

Chapter One

Her first mistake had been slowing down to have a second look. Three plus years with a vintage car enthusiast (her ex now, thank god; three months gone and good riddance to him, her mantra whenever he crossed her mind) had ingrained the habit in her. The habit, frankly, plus an appreciative eye for the sweetest of rides. Thanks to Simon (and his obsession), she could distinguish in seconds between the genuine article and that which easily fooled the masses, a cunningly detailed replica—and the sleek ragtop that looked to have skidded to the side of the road, leaving a spray a gravel and black, burnt rubber in its tracks, was absolutely the real thing.

So she’d slowed down, only half meaning to, cataloguing the fine details and quickly estimating its worth, while admiring its classic lines and the bright flash of its chrome detailings. Seraphina couldn’t keep from grinning, thinking about how instantly covetous Simon would be in the face of such a find, and how jealous he would feel to know that she had stumbled upon it with no effort whatsoever.

The man bending over the open hood

straightened as she passed, arresting her attention with a commanding, steely gaze that left her feeling like a marked woman. As though he not only saw her, in her every visible feature, but somehow inexplicably knew her—and needed her. Vitally, and immediately. Despite the lick of common sense apprehension that fluttered through her vitals, simple curiosity and a deeply embedded tendency to act the good Samaritan had Seraphina making her second, even bigger, mistake of the afternoon--pulling over to park her hovercraft several feet in front of his stalled vehicle.

She looked into her rearview mirror; he had turned to watch how she would proceed, holding his hands up with his fingers splayed wide, surely his way of expressing she could approach him safely. “Not so fast, buddy,” she murmured, “I wasn’t born yesterday…and I’ve seen your kind before.” Sera cut the engine, pulling the keys from the ignition and flicking the lock mechanism off the small can of mace dangling from her keyring. She wasn’t so foolhardy as to face the tall, well-built stranger unprepared; nearly a decade of travels up and down the coast of California, performing in seedy, small town dives, then upscale pubs and bars, and finally city nightclubs, had taught her well to be ever on her guard.

And she’d learned a few tricks in the course of her career, for if the mace should fail; she could—and had—flipped a drunk onto his back a time or two, who’d tried to cop a feel when she passed across a darkened dancefloor; and she knew all too well how much force was necessary, knee to groin, in order to incapacitate those pigheaded brutes who wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer when they followed her out to the parking lot at the end of a gig. Handsome he might be (decidedly so, she mused, angular features, piercing eyes, thick, dark hair, an errant lock strayed upon his brow; such a striking combination!) but she was not fool enough to ever judge the book by it’s cover.

The stranger stood motionless a moment more, the light breeze ruffling that wayward lock until he brushed it back, a swift yet languid move that spoke of cat-like grace and an elegance that didn’t fit the setting or the way that he was clothed. He was straight-backed, slim-hipped, long-legged--and poised with a confidence befitting a prince, and not the work-a-day posture of a blue-collar joe or road-weary drifter. Yet the smile he gave her did not reach his eyes; Sera found it a little feral, and felt her pulse increase as a taste of adrenaline—that trusty “fight or flee” response—hit her system.

But she was already committed, having left the safety and cool comfort of her two-seater; if he was an actual threat, the worse that she could do was show the weakness of timidity now. Sera left her sunglasses in place, determined he would not read a bit of doubt in her eyes or bearing, the can of mace tucked neatly in the palm of her left hand, and walking forward into the dry, baking, Mojave Desert heat.

Sera gave a low but audible whistle, advancing as casually as she could, finally calling out to him, "She's a real beauty--and someone's taken serious loving care of her too." The 300-year-old Mustang appeared as close to mint as any vintage vehicle she had ever seen; given its obvious value, she had to wonder why the hell he would even have it on the road--especially in desert conditions. That instinctive voice of warning sounded an answer in her head: that's because it's not his.

Okay, Sera, she cautioned herself, give him the benefit of the doubt; he could have come by that automobile in any number of ways. She stopped a half-dozen steps from where the stranger stood, aiming to read his reaction as she asked, "Early 21st century, right?"

The man smiled--more sincerely this time--and nodded. "That she is," he replied, sparing a brief look at the stalled car, "Unfortunately, she's not going anywhere, anytime soon." His smooth, deep voice was as pleasant to the ears as his form was easy on his eyes, and his accent distinctly British, leaving Sera to ponder how and why he'd found his way into the midst of the Mojave. "I believe it's the transmission," he added.

In an instant, his eyes flicked downward, as though he registered that small, innocuous movement. She rushed to fill the vacuum of silence that hung between them, hoping to distract him from whatever suspicions her little move might have awakened. “I know collectors,” she told him, running her right hand through her hair, fluffing it a bit, hoping to draw his eyes upwards again “…fanatical ones, who would pay a small fortune to make such a treasure theirs.” She leaned toward him, adopting a confidential tone, honest in her curiosity, “However did you manage it?”

Sera could hear the tick of the internal combustion engine as it cooled, informing her he hadn't been stranded long. Surveying the area behind the Mustang, she spotted several telltale puddles of transmission fluid in the car's wake. "Looks like you might've blown a hose," she speculated, indicating the fluid spotting the back trail. "Those kind of parts are few and far between these days...but I bet we can find a mechanic who might be able to juryrig something enough to get you on the road again."

She turned back to find him watching her, his exotic-looking eyes narrowed. Appraising her in a way that made her feel...exposed. Unnerved. Vulnerable. Sera squeezed her hand against the reassuring weight of the small, defensive weapon cupped in her palm.

He inhaled sharply, a fleeting look of calculation crossing his face. “It was an unexpected…” he paused, studying her carefully, “…but well-timed acquisition of…convenience.” Such a reply was far too vague to answer her question—but didn’t surprise her in the least.

“Then you must be a man of remarkable luck, Mr…” Sera let her voice trail off with the question, fully expecting there would be little truth in his answer.

And then he was moving past the safe cushion of space between them, extending a large, powerful looking hand towards her, as way of introduction. “Harrison. I’m…John Harrison.” His grip was firm, not too tight, but Sera sensed—felt—a strength restrained that fit his bearing perfectly. Intimidating, but not frightening; confident—and intriguing her beyond her good sense should allow; and his eyes were locked on her, regarding her with such curiosity and healthy appraisal, that she slipped her sunglasses atop her head without a moment’s hesitation, meaning to meet his gaze directly.

Sera hadn’t realized she was staring until he cleared his throat. “And you are?” he asked, smiling warmly, surely feeling the advantage now of having gotten past her bravado. Her mouth felt dry—it had to be the arid atmosphere and not embarrassment over her awkward reaction to him--so that her tongue actually stuck a moment before she stammered out her name. “Seraphina.” She said it rather breathlessly, then bit her lip against revealing her surname.

Harrison had not released her hand, although his grip was gentle, and the warmth of his skin pleasant against her own. “Seraphina,” he repeated, the small smile creases bracketing his mouth deepening, and a hint of his true smile finally reaching his eyes. “Lovely name, Seraphina. Exotic in its way, and as rare and fetching as a desert rose.”

Ordinarily, Sera would laugh off such obvious flattery; she’d had enough of it--and insincere at that--throughout her years as a torch singer. This stranger—John Harrison—looked a better class of man than those who usually tried to ply her with compliments. That was no reason, of course, to take him more seriously than any of the others. And yet she felt a sort of…solemnity…about him; a dignity and self-assurance that spoke of a far more purposeful life than those of plain, ordinary men. He was damned attractive too, enough to have her a bit flummoxed at so dear a distance.

"Seraphina,” he reiterated, teasing the syllables along, the depth and richness of his voice making her shiver a little despite the desert heat. “A derivative of seraphim, the highest order of celestial beings in religious myth. Heavenly, fiery, winged immortals, tasked with surrounding and praising the throne of god.” He leaned nearer, well past that unspoken barrier of personal space, closing his eyes while inhaling deeply through his nose, seeming to seek her essence by scent alone.

Such unexpected intimacy left Seraphina speechless, every instinct she had telling her to give ground a step or two—yet she remained still, for when he opened his eyes, she found herself fascinated by their changing hue. Seraphina had never seen such striking eyes on a man before; and she’d have sworn that they were blue. Pale blue when she’d seen them from a distance, in the bright, unfiltered sun; then a surprising, piercing, azure when she met him face to face. Now they seem to shift unpredictably from purely blue to nearly green with however the light played upon them, with flecks of gold speckling around the pupils.

“I wonder,” he mused, almost to himself, while Sera remained entranced and silent, unable to look away despite knowing she must look utterly foolish, “Might you be the angel of mercy I’m in such desperate need of?”

Befuddled, Sera sputtered back, "I...um...what?", finally taking a step back and pulling her hand from his grasp.

"I mean to say how fortunate I am, you came along precisely as you did. " Harrison shrugged and took a step back as well, his manner self-effacing enough to lend sincerity to his words. "And that your nature is a kind one--I imagine most women would have cruised by without a care for my predicament, given this isolated location and the potential threat I could embody."

Regaining her composure, Sera lifted her chin proudly, "I've managed to look after myself for many years now, and in dodgier situations." Her usual insoucience restored, she asked the most vital of questions, looking him squarely in the eyes to read the truth before he even answered, "Do I have reason to fear for my safety, Mr. Harrison?"

His eyes widened and he grinned, and then he began to laugh. Heartfelt, and deep in his throat; the rich sound of melted, dark chocolate--the rare sort of sweet that was supposed to be healthy for one, but only if consumed in moderation. A woman could lose herself in such a laugh, she realized, and I'll bet he knows it too.

"If there was any reason at all, you've quite disarmed me already." Now it seemed he was sizing her up beyond first impressions--and liking what he saw, by the look of satisfaction on his face. "I promise you, Ms..."

"It's just Seraphina for now please, if it's all the same to you. " Sera pressed her lips thin against the smile that wanted to break forth, enjoying both his unspoken surprise at her overall boldness--and what she dared to believe was an appreciation for her physical charms.

Harrison acquiesced with a tilt of his head. "Then I promise you, pretty Seraphina, that I harbor no ill intent towards you. And I would be deeply indebted to you for the aid I am sure you intend to offer me."

She felt her cheeks flush at his easy compliment--not taken in, but happy to accept it nonetheless. "Well, it's a shame to have to abandon her here, but the closest hope you have for a spare part--and a mechanic with working knowledge of antique cars--is at least a hundred miles away."

"Alright then," he affirmed, moving past her to slam shut the Mustang's hood, "We should probably be on our way."

"Of course." Sera turned to follow him, wanting a closer look at the rare vehicle before they drove away. "You should put the top up too; you may not make it back here until tomorrow at least."

He nodded again, striding to the driver's side door to start the car and raise the top. Something not quite right here, she thought, frowning; I could swear that this model and the ones that followed, had a remote on the key fob to control the mechanism. It reminded her that she'd initially thought the car did not belong to him--and that somehow she had allowed his charm cause her to lower her guard.

She stepped to the passenger side, hoping for a peek inside to confirm her growing suspicion. "You ought to raise the windows, too," she told him, leaning close enough to peer inside the passenger side window, "No telling what might find its way inside here once darkness falls. It gets pretty cold here at night..." Sera swallowed hard when she got a look at the ignition cylinder; it had been removed from its place beneath the steering wheel and hung down by several wires. The wires themselves appeared to have been rearranged.

Her heart in her throat, Seraphina searched her memory for the word to describe exactly what she was seeing. Hotwired. That's what they called it; a quick and easy way to boost a car. Simon had educated her, marveling at the skill of those he'd read about who could do do in under a minute. She'd never dreamed of seeing something like it up close. Yet there it was, and the man who'd done it clearly hadn't wanted her to see it. Which meant...

He was faster than her by far; almost preternaturally fast. Harrison had grabbed her left arm ( --- damn, he had noted she was carrying something there! --- ) through the window opening, his iron grip digging into her flesh painfully. "Drop it," he ordered her, "Drop it now. I can explain everything if you just remain calm, Seraphina."

She didn't mean to, but she whimpered softly, not only at the discomfort he was inflicting, but also for the cold menace in his eyes. Had she thought them beautiful, compelling, alluring, just moments ago? Now it seemed to her they were the deadliest eyes she had seen in her life.

(to be continued)

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lazygirlie9 · 2 months

Text

Finding Home- Part one

Fandom-DC Titans (HBO Max)

Notes- Hello!, This is my first ever writing a DC fanfiction, please let me know if you guys have any suggestions for plots for this fanfic, do also let me know if you have suggestions for any other fanfic. Thank you, you can enjoy reading now. Happy reading!

Summary -In this version of events Jason Todd also had his own Batgirl, someone akin to Dick Grayson's counterpart(Barbara Gordon). Perhaps this would have steered him away from the downward spiral into drugs and heartbreak that ultimately led to his demise, or maybe not. The female OC's name is Sanny Benaxnoate. She is characterized by her bubbly and affectionate nature, coupled with her love for parties and taking risks. Despite her innocent demeanor, she possesses exceptional acrobatic skills and a unique situational intelligence that enables her to react swiftly and adeptly in perilous circumstances. Although she may be selectively intelligent, her loyalty and dedication to her friends runs deep, leading her to protect them at all costs. Her bubbly and outgoing nature masks a fierce determination and courage that only becomes apparent when push comes to shove.

Warning- Swearing, 18+,Descriptions of death, usage of drugs, Violence, injuries.

Character appearance and relevant information about the character:-Sanny's appearance is striking--shoulder-length blonde hair with a straight and pointed texture, deep green eyes, and a height of 5'7. She has a slim, athletic build and is proficient in acrobatics, Sanny has mixed fighting style of karate, Brazilian jitsu and muay-thai, she and Jason are the same age.

Character background and origin:- Sanny's parents were dead and she was taken care of by her aunt, Sanny was originally from Wales, where Sanny attended a private boarding school, when she was 10 years she found out that her parents had been murdered while they were on a trip to Spain , Sanny's aunt was later assigned as her guardian who lived all the way in Gotham in America, though her aunt lived in the wealthy Bristol side of Gotham, she was a lot abusive towards Sanny made her work all the extra work after Sanny came back from school, Sanny did start to idolize the superheroes in Gotham, Sanny knew that living in Gotham is not the same as living in Llantwit Fardre , the town she was born in, she read the news everyday and witnessed enough crimes in the city to know better , she was prepared, she had made a makeshift tools and weapons out of trash, rubber gloves, wires, broken cords, compact disks, sharp metal junk, she knew a bit of karate she had learnt before her parents died , when she still was in boarding school, she did practice all that to better herself. Once when Sanny was 16 coming back from her gymnastics classes at 8pm , she witnessed few masked robbers with guns robbing the most ostentatious and luxury jewelry shop in all of Gotham, The robbers had already stolen a significant portion of the jewelry and were preparing to flee when Batman entered the scene. He confronted the ten masked criminals, all of whom appeared highly skilled and proficient in their craft. It was a challenging ordeal for Batman to prevent the five robbers from successfully escaping in their van. Once he had successfully apprehended them, two more robbers attempted to attack him from behind, aiming to ensnare his leg with a crowbar and thereby throw him off balance but Sanny who was witnessing this, immediately runs into the scene in the alley with determination in her eyes and hits the guy behind batman with a rock with force on the head, she sprayed pepper spray on the eye area of the mask of the robber who was distracted, and tackled the other robber as she pushed him on his knees by locking his head with her arms from the back , while doing so she removed the makeshift weapon that she had made and stabbed it in the side of his neck , the metal of the weapon was poisonous as it was soaked in a chemical compound that Sanny had synthesized and had poured the chemical in the small glass weapon holder that she had designed , the robber yells in pain as he blacks out , after all the robbers had been defeated, batman stood there watching Sanny do fight them with calculated moves and creativity of the weapon she made with nothing but scraps, he was shocked yet had a look of admiration on his face, as Sanny begged him to let her be a vigilante with him just like robin(first robin-dick Grayson) used to be , Bruce eventually thought about it and saw her potential to become the second batgirl after Barbara , Bruce revealed himself to Sanny and sent her to Barbara to get her acquainted with her, Barbara saw the potential and the resoluteness in sanny's personality, Barbara passed her batgirl mantle onto sanny who latter got trained by batman to become the second batgirl , she and Jason were trained together since Bruce adopted Jason some time later he presented Sanny with the opportunity, consequently he sent Jason to find dick Grayson to warn him that members of Haly's Circus were being systematically murdered, after when the young titans arrive at san Francisco and get acquainted to the old titans' base of operations, a day after the young titans get settled there Sanny pays a surprise visit stating that she was sent by Bruce to train with the titans which dick latter calls Bruce and gets to know that it was because Sanny too needed some more experience and training and that it would benefit her and Jason both if they fought in a team.

Start-

It was a rainy day outside , storms and chilly air passing through San Francisco's air, it had just been the first week in the titans tower and he felt irritated, annoyed and basically bored, he desperately wanted to go back to Gotham , to Bruce, to Alfred, it was so boring and lonely here, even with Sanny here, dick was not the person he expected to be, he looked grim, stoic and strict leader like figure, he gave of vibes that he positively hated his existence in the tower, he made him fight blindfolded with the other new titans Gar and Rachel, or 'outcasted freaks' as he would have called them , he was more advanced than them, but then why was dick making him fight with them, heck!, the senior members of the titans looked at him as if he was some sort of annoying cockroach that wouldn't die, not that he wasn't annoying enough as it is, Sanny was being her hyperactive self as usual he thought, it had been two days since she came and already made friends with Rachel and gar, she seemed to make the stoic faced dick crack up from her ridiculous jokes that she would often say, hank already seemed to approve of her, liking her energy, donna and dawn seemed to like her as well, she was like her usual self , chaotic mess, Sanny seemed be taking this all too well is what Jason thought. It all seemed to fit the picture of a happy family, dick being the dad of the group trying to control 4 kids, Sanny being the chaotic energy , always bubbly and yapping of something, she was so casual with dick, like she was talking to some old friends even though dick was awkward most of the times, just nodding off to whatever she said , finding a reason to just run off from her constant chattering, and he was just a temper tantrum, nosey and sticking his shit where it didn't belong to, Rachel acted like dick was her father or something and doing some voodoo shit that he thought was creepy,Gar was like the obedient kid trying to follow whatever dick was saying and just being friendly with anyone. Jason was currently all alone in the tower, dick went off to meetup with hank, donna and dawn, Gar and Rachel went to the supermarket to buy some groceries since everything “vegan” was finished, just imagining eating all that tofu and that horrible disgusting green juice with all the godamm greens in the world made Jason want to puke , 'who the hell in their right minds would drink that inedible concoction of greens anyway ,looked more like vomit', he thought. Sanny went back to Gotham to visit one of her old friends, he would rather describe them as crazy like her, one of her friends named pansy literally carries a knife inside her under pockets of her skirt, not like Jason wouldn't approve of them , sure he had done such things when he was living on streets, you never knew who would attack you at any given point of time, now here he was all alone in the tower, his tummy grumbled since he hadn't eaten anything since the morning except that apple he ate before his workout, he got up and went to the kitchen to cook something and opened the fridge to check what was there, Rachel and Gar were right nothing much in the fridge except for few tomatoes, bread , leftover chicken and the fancy ass vegan ice cream they both whipped up yesterday called “sorbet” , he opened one of the cabinets and found a pack of Kraft mac and cheese, although he would rather prefer the homemade mac and cheese with real and fresh ingredients like Alfred would have prepared , this would do for the time being, he took out the left over chicken from the fridge and started to cook the mac and cheese in a pot, drumming the spatula to one of the songs he was listening to on his headphones

He can hear the rain outside the window, drumming gently on the glass. The sound is soothing, almost hypnotic. It reminds him of the rainy nights in Gotham, when he used to be out patrolling the streets with Batman. He missed those nights, the thrill of the chase, the adrenaline rush of dodging bullets and throwing punches.

He sighs, wondering if he'll ever get that kind of action here in San Fransisco.

As he finishes cooking the mac-and-cheese, his stomach growls loudly in anticipation. He serves himself a generous portion and grabs a fork, ready to drown his thoughts in the cheesy goodness.

With a frown, he shakes his head. No, he can't think like that. This is his chance to start over, to be a part of a team, to do good. And he's got Sanny here with him, the only person here who doesn't treat him like dirt under their shoe.

He glances over at the clock, wondering how much longer it will take for Sanny to get back.

He knew sanny was oh-too-busy with god knows what, besides all the training and vigilante stuff she did, she had taken a short term hybrid course in gotham university in the field of cybersecurity , where she had made some lame ass friends whom she chatted and did assignments with. Seeing this even Bruce wanted him to go to college which obviously he denied but knew a college degree would help him in the long run. He felt bored thinking all this, he was frickin robin , way smarter than those college nerds , he knew more than what the graduates would know since Bruce had taught important and essential subjects to both him and sanny but it was'nt his problem that sanny chose to be boring and is doing a course , but in her defence she was learning something useful atleast and sanny was coax him into joining some course to deepen his knowledge but he has time so he will think about it later...maybe...or maybe before its too late.

As he stirs the pot, the sound of the front door opening catches his attention. He turns off the gas and takes off his headphones, listening intently to the sound of footsteps coming from the living room. He couldn't tell if it was just Sanny or if it was both Rachel and Gar. His heart skips a beat and he hopes it was the former. He quietly steps out from the kitchen and peeks into the living room, only to see Sanny walking in through the door. She was still wet from the rain outside, her silky blonde hair sticking to her face and her clothes damp from the water, she looked tired with a big book about cybersecurity in her hand that she had cluched it on her chest with her bag slinging to her shoulder, she slumped on the sofa of the living room looking exhausted and checked her phone as usual, as she got a call and started talking while coming into the kitchen , she smiled at him and nodded her head at him to acknowledge him as she was still humming to the person on the phone, she stole a bite of his pasta , as she pulled the bowl to her side eating few spoons of pasta and giving him hand signals that it tasted good as she was listening and humming off to someone on the call, while she slipped away to the living room sitting on the couch with his pasta bowl in her hand Jason smiled back at her and rolled his eyes at her typical food thievery. He chuckled at her hand signals and sat down beside her on the couch taking the bowl back from her hands and jokingly waving it away from her reach, as she still on the call she just pouts not being able to do much, he looks at her and

says smirking“this is mine, go make one for yourself, besides who's the lucky person on the phone taking up all your attention?".

She puts the phone away from her ear and mouths “my professor” and goes back into listening to the call and humming to the person on the call with her.

Jason huffs in tiredness, knowing she was busy , she gets up from the couch with her belongings and move towards her room, As Sanny gathers her things and heads towards her room, Jason can't help but feel a pang of loneliness and abandonment. He was used to being alone, but somehow, it stung more this time. Maybe it was because he thought he finally found someone who cared about him, someone who wouldn't ditch him like everyone else, she did care about him and always stuck to him but these days even she had gotten a bit busy, He can't help but feel a pang of loneliness, even though he knows he should be used to it. He goes back to the kitchen and continues to eat his pasta.

the silence of the tower only making him feel more isolated. As he eats, he can't help but think about how much he misses the hustle and bustle of Gotham. He misses the routine and discipline of the Batcave, the way Alfred would nag at him for not taking care of himself, he walks away to the gymnasium to get himself to start training and distract himself .

Part two coming soon-feel free to give suggestions

Thank you for reading~

#dc comics #dc titans #jason todd #oc fanfiction #dick grayson #rachel roth #garfield logan #koriand'r #dc universe #titans fanfiction #2nd robin

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