#skulls remembers things and freaks out

[local-meme-lord]

I KEEP FORGETTING PLUTO HAS KIDS

[airbenderedacted]

please god let’s not make this person relevant again

[cherry-shipping]

BTW during my nightly nap i had a dream abt horrortale sans...... it was sorta all over the place cause i fell asleep watching youtube so it affected the course of my dream a lot but i think it was something along the lines of him working someplace on the surface and saw me from afar semi-regularly and was like. really weirdly fixated on me. but he was totally nuts about it too like hed follow me around with the sole intention of trying to figure out WHY he was fixated on me and what id done to make it that way. like. obviously there was something mega suspicious about me since he couldnt get me out of his head and also he thought i was the one stalking HIM because i kept showing up in places he went to. like i remember he had some special quiet place near his work where hed go to watch a nearby lake and calm down (super cute) and it was way behind some bushes and shit so it was like a secret for him. but then he went there one day and i was there napping in the grass and he was like ok what the fuck. anyway all in all it was a good dream and i think thats sort of what hed be like, even just regular sans is like that too. also my appearance in this dream was that of my self insert which was neat and also there was a part where he was watching me in secret and i was stressed out and he saw me take my eyepatch off and stab myself in the fucking eye over and over again and he was like. woah Thats just like when i pick my broken eyesocket....... and it was like a whole thing. lmfao

[leviathanspain]

I WILL GET ON MY HANDS AND KNEES FOR SOME GOOD OL FINNICK ODAIR FLUFF AND COMFORT ALR After the arena is shot down, reader and Finnick desperately attempt to find each other in District 13. I'm talking reader is FIGHTING to get out of the hospital bed and screaming for Finnick. What would he do? Thank you if you fulfill this request, and remember to take care of yourself!! <333

devotion

finnick odair x reader

synopsis: you would’ve died without him, and now he’s all you can think of

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

screams erupted from your medical room. nurses and staff had been knocked unconscious on the floor, and you were scrambling to get out of the room but one of the stronger male nurses has his arms around your waist stopping you from moving.

you grunted in his arms, “where’s finnick?!” you were blind with rage and fear, unsure of your surroundings you had tried to fight them all off. perhaps the capitol had captured you, and this was part of your torture. desiring to find finnick and unable to seemed like a good method.

the male nurse didn’t say anything and you finally maneuvered an escape, your shoulder knocking back into his face, causing him to fall behind you.

you broke free just as hit the ground and you launched yourself to the door, banging on it until you heard the glass begin to crack.

haymitch had observed you and had been overhearing matching screams coming from down the hall. he turned to the doctors who had opted to stay out of the room, all deep in their patient notes. he raised his eyebrows, “just let the poor girl out. or else she’ll shatter that glass like she did the skulls of your staff.” he bluntly commented and the doctors all raised their heads in concern.

he scoffed as they acted surprised, “and don’t get me started on the other one. he nearly killed himself to get her out. that’s devotion, and a glass wall won’t stop that.”

finnick had been freaking out. he felt disoriented, shaky and confused when he awoke, and it hadn’t stopped since. you were nowhere to be found, and he had attacked all the staff who refused to give him answers on your whereabouts. he tried to find any sign that he was in thirteen, but to no avail. any markings had either been erased or hidden from view.

he emptied out a medical cart looking for anything sharp, throwing the rest of the materials at the window to break it down, he yelled in anger at the frustration of it not breaking.

meanwhile, you on the other hand had been bleeding as you finally broke through the glass. your knuckles and arms were embedded with glass but you had stepped through to find a bunch of doctors looking at you with shock.

you were going to attack them as well, but once you heard his screams, it sent you flying down the hall. you ran as fast as you could, your hospital gown dragging behind you as you did, you finally made it to the origins of the screams. inside a room just like yours, finnick was sitting with things made out to be weapons around him.

and as you banged on the glass, looking for a handle, you screamed his name.

the handle clicked open as you grabbed it and in you ran, finnick exhaling with relief as you jumped into his arms, he nearly cried as he held you.

“finn-“ you cried, holding him tightly, he didn’t feel real, none of this did.

“they were just watching me- watched me hurt all those people to get to you and they didn’t care.” you whispered, “i’m scared finnick.”

finnick nodded, “it’s okay. katniss and beetee should be here too, it’ll be alright.” he tried to reassure you, but the bodies behind him mirrored the same thing.

“i love you.” you whispered, “i love love love love you..” you kissed him, “don’t- don’t do that to me again. don’t leave me again.” your words came out breathy and frantic, and finnick could only nod to agree.

[unclewaynemunson]

Yall voted for the sober version of this premise so here ya go:

Steve doesn't know exactly what he had expected kissing Eddie would be like, but it sure as hell wasn't this. He would've expected something rough and raw, bared teeth and maybe fingers pulling at his hair. But what he gets instead is something infinitely soft, something resembling tenderness... It makes it all the more difficult for him to pull back.

“What's wrong, Stevie?” Eddie asks after one look at Steve's face.

“I need to tell you something,” Steve manages to choke out.

And Eddie wraps his arms all around him, pulling him closer until his head is lying right against Eddie's beating heart. That heartbeat, steady and reassuring, is all he focuses on while he talks.

“Remember last summer? The mall fire that wasn't really a mall fire?”

“You finally gonna tell me what happened there?” Eddie says. It doesn't sound accusatory, just curious and a little confused as to where this is headed.

“I don't really like to talk about it,” Steve confesses. He closes his eyes, flashes of what happened back then floating to the surface of his mind again.

“We – Robin and I – we were captured by Russian soldiers. They tied us up and interrogated us for hours. They thought we were spies, so they tried to get us to give up information. They hit me.” He pauses to take a breath. “They hurt me real bad, Eddie. Until I was bleeding all over. Until I lost consciousness and Robin thought I was dead. The only reason we survived is because they thought we would have useful information for them.”

“Jesus Christ, Steve...”

Eddie's grip around him tightens, but Steve lifts his head up and makes a half-hearted attempt to crawl away from him. The hardest part has yet to come.

“I really, really like you, Eddie,” he says. “But I can't do this with you.”

Confusion flashes over Eddie's features: his eyes widen and the lines around his lips become deeper. But he still doesn't loosen his grip.

“What do you mean?”

“It's the –“ Steve clears his throat. “I know what it means, the – your hanky. I got a cousin in New York who knows all about that shit, they send me magazines sometimes when my parents aren't home. I'm sorry, Eddie, but I can't do that, like, ever. It's only gonna make me relive that shit from last year. There's no way I can ever give you what you need, so it wouldn't be fair to...” He trails off, not quite knowing how to finish that sentence.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Eddie still looks as confused as ever.

“Your hanky,” Steve uselessly repeats. “You're flagging, aren't you? You're into, like, hurting people, right?”

Steve watches how Eddie's jaw drops, almost in slow motion.

“This?” he asks, grabbing behind him and taking the black piece of fabric, covered in skulls, out of his back pocket.

Steve nods.

Eddie laughs, but it sounds fake and on edge, quickly dying out again. “Steve. This is a metal thing. It looks badass, y'know. I literally have no idea what you're – flagging?”

A gasp escapes Steve's lips and he feels his heartbeat speed up with something that must be hope.

“Are you serious?”

Eddie nods, his brows still furrowed and that endearingly confused look of I-have-no-clue-what-the-hell-is-going-on not leaving his eyes.

It feels like Steve's heart is starting to run laps in his chest, now. He can barely suppress the laughter that's bubbling up inside of him.

“What the hell are you trying to tell me, Steve?”

He grabs the hanky that's still in Eddie's hand.

“I thought you were flagging,” he weakly explains. “It's like a code. To signal what you like to do, y'know, in the bedroom. The black, it means – I thought you were into, like, BDSM shit. Things I can't do: being tied down, getting hurt...”

“Why the hell would I get off on hurting you, Stevie?”

It sounds so ridiculously innocent and horrified: Eddie the freak, Eddie the scary metalhead – Eddie who is genuinely shocked at the suggestion that he had in any way created an image for himself in which it made sense that he'd be into pain.

“I mean, if you would, I wouldn't wanna judge you or whatever,” Steve is quick to say. “You'd be surprised how many people are into that shit, I'm not here to shame anyone. But if you aren't... I'm really fucking relieved, man.”

He still vividly remembers what happened when he was dating Daphne, who had once taken his wrists in her hands and pinned them down on the mattress above his head while she was on top of him. Or when he was with Melissa, who had half-jokingly slapped his ass one time when things were getting heated between them. Anything restricting his movements, anything unexpected, could make him lose his shit now, as he had had to find out the hard way. It had made him believe that he could never actually have Eddie, that that would be asking too big of a sacrifice of either one of them, an impossible kind of compromise, no matter how much they liked one another. But instead, here he is, with Eddie looking at him with the softest look in his eyes, actually having talked about his shit before they even got up to anything more than kissing.

So he tells him, stumbling his way through the words, about his experiences with Daphne and with Melissa. And Eddie listens to him patiently, his big eyes never once leaving Steve's, nodding as if he's mentally taking notes of what to do and what not to do.

“We can take it as slow as you need to,” Eddie tells him when he's finished, his voice sincere and reassuring.

“It's not about taking it slow,” Steve assures him. “It isn't about not being ready. It's more about...” He pauses to think. “It's about trust. I trust you.”

Eddie's hands, that are still wrapped around Steve's torso, tighten for a moment and he blinks rapidly a few times. He looks overwhelmed by Steve's words.

“Okay,” he finally says, a little bit more hoarse than before. “So if it's about trust, can I trust you to tell me whenever something I do is bringing back unwanted memories?”

Steve nods. “Yeah, I can do that.”

It's always been difficult for him to talk about what happened that day underneath the mall. But he realizes he has already done the difficult part: Eddie already knows about the memories he is carrying with him. That must make it easier to talk about it in case it will ever be necessary.

Soft lips press against his temple and he drops his head back on Eddie's chest.

“Good,” says Eddie. The sound of his voice vibrates through Steve's whole body; he doesn't think there's anything more comforting than being completely wrapped up in Eddie like this.

A hand lands in his hair and starts stroking through it softly.

“Thank you for telling me this,” Eddie mumbles. “That couldn't have been easy.”

In return, Steve wants to thank Eddie for being as sweet and understanding as he has been, but the exhaustion of having this talk is washing over him in big, heavy waves. So he merely hums and lets his eyes fall shut.

“You wanna stay the night?” Eddie asks. “We don't have to do anything right now – we can go straight to sleep, how does that sound?”

Steve nuzzles his head further into Eddie's chest. “Sounds good,” he murmurs. He can't imagine ever wanting to sleep on his own again.

[appocalipse]

summary: you were way too drunk last night and said some funny things...so, of course, steve had no other option but take you to his place to take care of you. :)

read part 1 here

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Your head hurts.

Everything feels a little weird, in fact, but especially your head, spinning and throbbing and, when you try to pry your eyes open, the sudden harsh light streaming into the room feels like it's physically boring straight through your brain.

"Fuck," you whimper pitifully, eyes squeezing shut once more. Your ears are ringing, there's a coppery film lining the inside of your mouth and, for a terrible second, your stomach churns dangerously. "Fuck."

Someone hums somewhere near your right ear. A low, gravelly, vaguely amused sort of hum. There is absolutely nothing and no one alive on this green earth that would hum in that particular fashion except your best friend.

You peel your eyelids apart with great difficulty. When you tilt your head to the right, you see Steve sitting on the edge of the bed, gazing down at you with a soft look on his face.

Naturally, you proceed to freak the fuck out.

"Jesus Christ," you cry, scrambling backwards until you feel the back of your head slam against the headboard with a resounding thud. The dull throb in the back of your skull intensifies, and you have to fight back the urge to throw up. "Ow! Shit, I—What—what happened? Why are you in my—"

Hold on a second...this is not your room.

You cast an anxious, furtive glance around the unfamiliar setting of Steve Harrington's guest room. Panic floods your veins and has your heart hammering in your chest when you notice that you're clad in only one of his shirts and sweatpants that definitely don't belong to you.

Oh, Dear Lord.

Did something happen last night that you can't remember? Did something — oh, God, no.

Steve raises his eyebrows at you as though he can read your mind. "Relax. Nothing happened, relax, come back down," he coos gently, placing a placating hand on your arm. "And I...I didn't see anything, if that's what you're worried about. Nancy and Robin, uh...they helped you shower and get changed last night. Not me."

You cover your face with both hands, letting out a muffled groan as your memories come trickling back in. You don't remember every little detail from the previous night, but what you do remember is already more than enough to fill you with mortification and regret.

"...you said some pretty interesting things while you were drunk, though."

"Shut up," you mumble, peeking up at him through splayed fingers, "go away."

"Really, though," Steve continues, the teasing glint in his eyes a sure sign that he is very much enjoying your suffering, "who knew you found me so attractive?"

"Oh, Jesus," you mutter, groaning as you slide down to hide underneath the comforter, "where are my clothes? I want to leave now."

Steve snickers but makes no move to get up from his perch on the bed. You can hear the rustling of fabric, like he's adjusting his position as he waits for you to come out from under the blanket. "Clothes are in the wash, sorry," he says, sounding very much not sorry at all. "You, um, thought it was a good idea to lie down on the grass last night."

"Kill me now."

"Nope," he chirps, quite cheerfully so, "can't do that, because then who would watch Back to the Future with me tonight?"

You part the comforter just enough to peer up at him from beneath the thick layer of blanket.

"'Back to the Future'?" you echo, trying to ignore the fact that you feel a little lightheaded when Steve smiles down at you.

He looks nice. He always does, but even more so now for some reason — you're guessing it has something to do with the fact that you just woke up and haven't had the time to mentally prepare yourself for seeing him up close yet.

"Mmhmm. You up for it?"

"I'm pretty sure that my head is literally going to explode any time now." 

It's really not that bad anymore, but Steve doesn't need to know that, does he?

He nods seriously in agreement. "Right, because you drank way more than you should've last night. Might have mentioned something about rules and...mhmm, what was it? Oh, yes, dying if I didn't let you touch my hair…?"

"No, I didn't."

"You really did," he tells you, leaning back on the heels of his palms, "but don't worry, it was cute."

"I am very much worried," you say miserably.

Steve lets out a quiet sigh and leans forward again, hands reaching out to tug the blanket down far enough to uncover your face completely. "Come on," he says, "do you need anything? Aspirin, maybe? Food? Water?"

You consider his offer, taking the time to mull it over while you avoid his gaze. 

"Why did you bring me home with you?" you ask, curious despite yourself. "Why didn't you just take me home?"

"You, uh...really didn't want me to. Pretty much refused to let go of me all night."

"Steve."

"No, really!" he insists, holding both hands up in surrender. "It was like trying to pry a koala off a tree. You even asked—"

You let out a helpless moan of protest and turn away from him as much as you can, hiding your face in the pillow. Steve laughs, clearly delighted by the fact that he's managed to thoroughly embarrass you in less than ten minutes.

"You asked me if I—"

"I don't wanna know!"

"—would sleep in your bed with you."

"Nope," you whisper, your voice coming out a little garbled due to the way you've pressed your face into the pillows, "don't wanna hear it. Shut up, Steve, oh my God. Please."

"It was very adorable."

"I was drunk."

"Still. Cute."

You prop your head up on your elbow so that you can see him a little better, keeping the blanket held tightly around your shoulders as you do. "Sorry I called you. I don't even remember doing it, Tina just told me to and…sorry."

Steve looks down at his lap, shifting a little uncomfortably on the bed.

"I don't mind," he says, lifting his gaze up to meet yours briefly. "You said you missed me. At the party."

A dry, humorless chuckle leaves you and you cringe when the sudden motion sends a sharp pain lancing through your forehead. "Ow. Of course you would remember that," you say, cheeks heating up.

"Do you...remember everything?"

You blink, momentarily confused by the sudden change in conversation. "Everything?" you ask, more to buy yourself some time than anything else.

"You, um..." Steve trails off, clearly unsure of how to broach the topic with you, "you said I made you feel…stuff inside. That you felt stuff. Or something like that. Do you...remember saying that?"

You can practically feel all the color draining out of your face, leaving behind a blank canvas that hides none of your inner panic. 

"Uh...no, no, I don't. Do you have a...I need to, um, use your bathroom, like, right now, if you don't mind."

Steve blinks. "Oh, okay. Sure. I bought you a toothbrush earlier, by the way. It's in the medicine cabinet if...if you want."

"Yep," you say, climbing out from under the blanket with as much dignity as you can muster (which is very little), "yep, okay, thanks. I'm...gonna go do that. Now. Okay, bye."

You spend a good five minutes inside the bathroom splashing water in your face while silently wishing for death to come claim you sooner rather than later. Then, you brush your teeth with the toothbrush Steve left out for you — which is totally not cute, it's not cute, why did he do that, ugh, damn him — before venturing out into the hall.

"Steve?"

"Kitchen," he calls out from somewhere at the bottom of the stairs, "you want pancakes?"

You hesitate.

The idea of staying to have breakfast alone with Steve Harrington seems oddly intimate after last night, a dangerous prospect that will undoubtedly lead to awkward small talk and more teasing. However, he did go out of his way to buy you a toothbrush this morning...

You swallow down the nervousness you feel and pad barefoot down the staircase into the foyer, following the sounds of clinking utensils and soft humming to the kitchen.

Steve looks up from his place at the stove when you appear in the doorway.

"Hey," he greets, giving you a quick once over. "How's your head?"

"Feels like there's a little person in there hitting it repeatedly with a little hammer," you admit, grimacing a little as you come further into the room and sit down at the island. "Thanks, by the way. For helping me out last night. And today. I really am sorry for...um, you know, that."

"'That'?"

You purse your lips and Steve grins.

"Yes, that," you mutter, swiveling your seat from left to right while you watch him attempt to read a recipe on the back of a box of pancake mix. "Drunk me is like, twice as embarrassing as sober me."

"Embarrassing isn't the word I'd use."

"Please," you scoff, "I was pathetic. I could barely walk by myself."

Steve glances back at you. "I didn't think you were pathetic."

You raise an eyebrow at him skeptically.

"Okay, maybe a little pathetic," he concedes with a little snort, "but mostly just…sweet."

"Sweet?"

"Yeah, sweet. Don't know if anyone's ever told you that before."

"Sweet," you say again, the headache suddenly no more than an afterthought. "That's how you'd describe me?"

Steve, apparently having given up on making sense out of the instructions on the back of the box, turns around to lean against the counter behind him and studies you with his arms folded loosely over his chest.

"Yes," he says, tilting his head to the side a little. "Not the word you expected me to say?"

There's something about the way he's looking at you. It's warm and piercing all at once, like he can see right through you. It makes it hard for you to breathe all of a sudden, hard for you to do anything but gape at him like a goldfish that's been pulled out of water.

"Uh, I'm...confused."

"Me too," he admits with a little huff of laughter. "I was thinking about what you said."

"About your hair?"

"No, well, yeah, but—" Steve pauses, dragging a hand down his face with a weary sigh. "Look, what you said to me yesterday, about the things I make you feel, I—"

"I said I'm sorry—"

"Don't apologize," Steve interrupts, shooting you an unamused look, "I'm trying to say something here, come on, give me a sec."

"Right. Sorry. Go on."

"You're not supposed to apologize for apologizing."

"I'm s—okay, right. Mouth shut."

Steve purses his lips to stifle his amusement at your antics. You fold your arms in front of your chest and keep your gaze fixed firmly on the marble countertop as you wait for him to continue.

"I, uh," he says, pushing himself away from the counter so that he can wander over to the other side of the kitchen, where you sit, "I feel things too, you know. With you."

"Oh."

"Yeah," Steve chuckles, scrubbing a hand across the back of his neck as he stops beside you, "'Oh'. Weird, right?"

You'd like to, but can't think of anything clever to say that would serve as a suitable response. You don't think Steve's looking for one, anyway, because he reaches out to tap his fingers lightly on the back of your hand, taking a seat on the stool next to yours.

"S'weird, 'cause I don't know if you meant what you said when you were drunk, or if it was just the alcohol talking, or what."

You shake your head quickly, and then wince because of the way the headache thuds behind your right eye.

"Robin says I'm an idiot and should stop being such a chicken," he continues, with a slight roll of his eyes. "And Eddie says if I don't 'shut up and tell you how I feel soon', he'll do it for me."

You nod, smiling despite your hangover. "Eddie's, uh, got a point, no?"

"Maybe," Steve allows, rubbing absently at the side of his neck.

He lets his hands slide down to the legs of your stool, fingers curling around the metal of each side. You don't quite understand what he's doing until he gives them a light tug, jerking you closer to him without warning.

You let out a little shriek of surprise as you reach up to clutch onto the first solid thing your hands find — his forearms. 

"Ah! What—Steve!"

He's got an amused smile on his face, but his eyes are bright and nervous all at once. Steve pushes your stool even closer to him, until your knees knock against his own and he's forced to lean down to keep his eyes on you.

You hold his gaze steadily as he edges closer. "What are you doing?" you murmur, watching his eyes flit downward to track the movement of your tongue as it peeks out to wet your dry lips.

"Not sure yet," Steve hesitates when your lips are a hairsbreadth apart. He watches, half-dazed, half-entranced by the way you stare back at him, unblinking. "But I've got a theory."

"A theory?"

He lowers his head toward yours. You press your hands flat against the hard plane of his chest to steady yourself, fingers splaying over the soft material of his t-shirt as you curl them around the fabric. Steve exhales, and you can feel his breath on your skin, a soft tickle that raises the goosebumps all over your skin.

"Wanna hear it?"

You nod slowly, aware of the way his eyes darken as they trace your face. He's so close that you can make out the fine dusting of freckles and moles that litter his skin, the long fan of his lashes as they flutter to a close. If you moved even slightly, your lips would brush against his.

"What's your…your theory?" you whisper.

You can feel his heartbeat thudding in his chest as he releases his hold on your stool, lifts both hands up to cradle your face instead. He slides the tips of his fingers along the side of your neck, lets his thumb trace your jaw.

"I think," Steve says, and you can tell he's struggling to string two coherent words together when you feel his thumb quiver against your cheekbone. "I think that, uh, you're—Christ, I—"

His nose brushes against yours and you tilt your chin up instinctively, chasing the brief contact. You smirk. "Christ, you...?"

"Shut up," Steve huffs out a breathless laugh. "I'm getting to it."

"Are you?" you tease, wrapping your fingers around his wrist, your turn to pull him towards you gently.

Steve goes easily, moving his hand from your face to brace the back of your neck. "I think," he starts, eyes crinkling at the corners, "that I might be in love with you."

It's such an unforeseen, unexpected confession that your heart almost gives out in your chest. 

You gape up at him, at his crooked grin, at his rosy cheeks. "You think?"

He blinks and then squints down at you like he can't decide whether he wants to be annoyed at your antics or kiss you. You hope for the latter, but he says, "What're you, a parrot?"

Shrugging, you're unable to keep your lips from quirking into a grin of your own. "Rude."

Steve's head falls forward and he rests his forehead against yours. You can feel his pulse thundering wildly against the hand you've pressed flat against his chest, and it makes you feel a little better about your own pounding heart.

"M'sorry."

You smooth a hand over his shirt and hook a finger under the neckline. "Forgiven," you tell him.

"Good," Steve says, nudging his nose against yours playfully.

You want to say something else, maybe tease him about his hair or something equally as inconsequential, but he doesn't let you. Instead, he leans down and closes the distance between you with a slow, tentative press of his lips to yours.

Now, Steve's mouth is soft and warm, and he kisses you like he's got all the time in the world. You shiver when he drags his fingers up the back of your neck, tangling them in your hair so that he can pull you closer yet.

You only pull back when the need to breathe becomes too urgent, giggling at the little noise of protest he lets out as you do. But Steve is nothing if not persistent, and he pulls you back in almost immediately, the movement so abrupt that you nearly topple backwards off the stool.

"Steve—I..." you manage to say, between your giggles and the heated press of his lips against yours. "I still...need to breathe, mister."

He huffs out a little laugh against the side of your neck, nips at the sensitive skin in retaliation. You squeal in delight and jab him playfully in the stomach, laughing as he recoils in mock agony.

"Stop laughing," Steve complains, the warmth of his own laughter tickling the underside of your chin when he nuzzles his nose into your neck once more, "come on, you're ruining the moment."

"Wait," you breathe, right before his lips meet yours again, "so...no pancakes, then?"

He drops his forehead against your shoulder and shakes with quiet laughter."You," Steve mumbles into the side of your neck, "are something else, you know that?"

You grin. "Apparently, you like that. Love that...no?"

You can feel him smile, the stretch of his lips curving against the skin of your shoulder.

"Apparently...yeah, I do. I do."

[unfinishedslurs]

gay bar (steddie)

“Well, well, well,” says a voice from behind. “Steeeeeeve Harrington. I must be dreaming.”

Steve turns around to see a guy, dressed in black and chains. Rings decorating his fingers, studs in his ears, curly hair pulled back in a ponytail. He’s hot, yeah, but something about him has Steve squinting, trying to figure out why he looks so familiar. 

“I know you from somewhere,” he says, pointing out the obvious. The guy knows his name.

The not-a-stranger snorts. “Of course you don’t remember me. Why would the likes of King Steve stoop to—“

As soon as the nickname leaves his mouth, Steve’s brain lights up. “Munson!” He exclaims, snapping his fingers. “You used to climb on the lunch tables to give speeches.”

It was so obnoxious, too. The kind of thing that had him and Robin reminiscing late at night, celebrating some of the weirder shit about Hawkins that didn’t come from monsters, or Russians, or government conspiracy. Remember that one asshole? Yeah, he stepped on my lunch one time!

Condolences to Robin’s pb&j. She never sat at that table again.

Munson’s whole face turns pink. “Seriously? That’s what you remember?”

“It was pretty fucking memorable, dude. Like, gross, doesn’t this guy know not to put his feet where people eat? Dustin thought you were so cool for it too. I had to nip that in the bud before he started imitating you or some shit.”

“Oh,” he says, voice gone flat. “Because God forbid some poor kid try to immolate the freak.”

Steve gives him his bitchiest, most deadpan stare. “Feet,” he says slowly. “Nasty, fifteen year old boy feet. On my kitchen table. He almost slipped and cracked his skull, and I would have sent you the hospital bill.”

He had to get creative to make him stop, too. Stood there, hands on his hips, and made Dustin tell him exactly how many germs he thought were on his shoes. Then when he tried to do it barefoot, decided the only course of action was to stuff Dustin’s abandoned sock in his mouth and ask if he wanted that shit with every meal. Erica still has the photos. 

Munson has the decency to look embarrassed, face flooding an even brighter red that wouldn’t be out of place in a tomato patch. “What are you even doing here, Harrington?”

What does he think Steve’s doing here? It’s a fucking gay bar, it’s pretty self explanatory. “My friend is here somewhere,” he says, waving out at the crowd of people. “She’s going through a dry spell, so…”

“Right,” Munson says. Steve squints at him. Does he look disappointed?

Eh. Doesn’t matter. 

“You gave my kids the best freshman year of their nerdy little lives,” he tells him, because he knows Dustin would want him to. Plus, the guy was Mike’s gay awakening. He should probably get some credit. “So thanks for that.”

He lights up. “Yeah! How was Hellfire in my absence?”

“I had to hear them bitch and moan for months about how it ‘wasn’t the same,’ but it’s doing pretty all right. Erica Sinclair is running it now.”

“Erica Sinclair…” Munson mutters, snapping his fingers. “Lucas Sinclair’s little sister? Lady Applejack?” He beams when Steve nods. “She kicked ass. Best finish to a campaign my entire high school career. How’s Lucas, anyway? And the rest of the runts.”

“He’s doing great,” Steve says. “College basketball at Yale. Pretty sure he’s dying under the workload, but that’s what you get for majoring in physics. Dustin’s at MIT, and Mike’s taking a gap year.”

He whistles lowly. “Yeesh, I don’t blame him. How about Byers?”

“Which one?”

“Zombie boy.” Steve’s hackles raise, but Munson just grins. “God, that nickname was badass.”

“How do you even know about that?”

Munson taps the side of his nose. “A magician never reveals his secrets. Besides, all it took for you to remember me was calling you by your high school nickname.”

“That wasn’t my nickname.” Steve rolls his eyes. “Literally three people ever actually called me that, and you were one of them.”

He has a feeling it was Tommy who started it, bitter and vicious. Told himself Steve was self possessed, high and mighty, above it all. That’s why he left his old friends behind. Not because he was in love, or because he wanted to be better. No, King Steve just sits alone in his castle, looking down on the peasants with contempt. 

Billy must have taken his angry ramblings and run with them. After all, what better way to get a start in a new town than declaring yourself royalty? Never mind that Steve hadn’t cared about anything like that for almost a year by then. 

Munson had just been a drama-loving asshole. 

“That can’t be right.”

“I stopped being popular in junior year. Why the hell would anyone call a sophomore King?” Steve points out. 

“You were Prom King.”

“Again, in junior year. Pickings were slim. Who else would it have been? Tommy?” He has to laugh. 

Luckily, Munson takes the hint and swerves the conversation into new territory. “You know, I always figured you’d be homophobic.”

Steve snorts. “What, and get kicked out for nothing?”

Munson stares at him, and Steve furrows his brow, looking into his glass like it will have the answer to why the hell he said that to this guy he barely knows. He just decided he wasn’t going to spill all his daddy issues to a near-stranger in a dingy bar, dammit. Is he already on his fifth drink?

Actually, this might be his sixth. That tracks. 

“What?”

“My dad caught me kissing a boy,” he says. If he’s going to give Munson his life story, he might as well commit. “Can you believe that boy ruined my life in three different ways? Two of them didn’t even have anything to do with the gay thing.” 

Maybe four ways, if you accounted for the way he broke his goddamn heart, but everyone and their mother saw that coming a mile away. Even Steve. Especially Steve. 

No offense to Jonathan. None of those things were really his fault. Or actually life ruining, but it sure fucking felt like it at the time. 

He should give him a call soon, actually, see how he and Argyle are doing. He misses the guy. Maybe he and Robin should save up for a visit to Cali. Get Nancy on it. They could see San Francisco while they were there, that’d be cool. Apparently it was the queer capital of the country. 

He’s thinking about asking the bartender for a napkin and a pen to write down the plans he’s forming when Munson speaks up again. Steve honestly forgot he was here. 

“I thought you said you were here for a friend.”

What?” Steve blinks, confused, and then catches on. “Yeah, to get her laid. I’m not in the mood right now.”

Munson cocks an eyebrow. “Wearing that? Could’ve fooled me.”

Steve looks down at his Springsteen T-Shirt that Robin cropped, and picks at the frayed hem of his shorts. Okay, yeah, they’re on the skimpy side, but in his defense it’s summer and even if he’s not cruising Steve likes being looked at. “Yeah, yeah. What about you? Here for anything in particular?”

“Just to talk to some pretty boys,” Munson says, leaning on the bar to flag down the bartender. Steve smirks, reaching out a hand to tug at the hanky in his back pocket. Pinned, damn. 

Munson whirls around, a flush starting to crawl onto his ears. 

“Wearing that?” Steve echos snarkily. “Could’ve fooled me.”

He swears that for a minute Munson’s eyes darken. 

He’s almost tempted to follow through, high school reputation be damned, when someone crashes into his side and nearly sends him careening. 

“Steeeeeve,” Robin yells happily into his ear. “This is Bernie, she’s gonna take me home, see you la—oh, hi!” She says, noticing Munson. “I know you from somewhere.”

“Eddie Munson,” Munson greets. “Steve and I went to high school together.”

“Munson! That’s it, you climbed on tables and had shit music. I’m Robin. Okay, I’ll call the apartment and leave a message when we get there. Bernie’s waiting on me, it’s-nice-to-meet-you-bye!” Just like that, she’s gone. 

Munson’s mouth has dropped open. “You told her I had shit music?” He demands. “Wait, you talked about me?”

“She went to school with us, dumbass,” he says, as if he can talk. He still barely remembers her as more than a vague, glowering figure in his peripheral. “It’s not my fault you blasted your screamy music for everyone in the parking lot. Such a fucking headache, God.”

Munson turns his nose up. “Sorry for having offended your jock sensibilities.”

“Oh, I don’t play anymore,” he says, and knocks on his head. “Concussions, yanno. Apparently brain damage will fuck you up. Who knew?”

“What, like the fight you had with Byers? He did you that bad?”

“He did me just fine,” Steve blurts out, before he can stop himself. Munson chokes. “Shit, sorry, I’m kind of a horny drunk.” Weird thing to say, Steve. “Also, I cannot stress enough how much I needed to be punched in the face. It was a monumental moment for me, you know. Started me on the path for changing my entire worldview. Plus, he was my first guy crush.” He swirls his empty glass, lost in thought, before brightening up. “I should call him!”

Munson is staring at him, mouth opening and closing like a fish. 

“What?”

“You’re drunk.”

“Well, yeah. Duh.”

“I should probably stop you from booty-calling the guy who punched you in the face.”

Steve wrinkles his nose. “It wouldn’t be a booty-call,” he says. “He and Argyle are happy together, man. I’m not gonna ruin that.”

“Oh, so you’d call him because…”

“I call him all the time,” Steve says, confused as to why this is such a big deal. “We’re friends.”

“Jonathan!” He yells happily into the pay phone. Munson is standing to the side, looking on in annoyance. Whatever, it’s not like Steve asked him to do this. “Jonathan, man, how are you?”

“…Steve?”

“Yeah!”

“It’s like…” he hears something clatter in the background, like Jonathan is looking for something, “two in the morning there. You okay?”

“I’m doing great!” He exclaims. “How about you? It’s been ages, man, I miss you.”

“This is so fucking weird,” Munson whispers behind him. Steve ignores him. 

“Are you drunk?”

“No,” he says. “Well, maybe a little. Do you not miss me too?” He pouts, and Jonathan sighs loud enough he hears it over the phone. 

“I just talked to you yesterday.”

Steve frowns. “Yesterday? That can’t be right, it’s been, like, forever. Oh, hey, have you heard from Nance lately? How’s your mom? I love your mom, she’s so fucking cool. Does she know I think she’s cool? How’s Will? It’s been so long, is he taller than me yet? How’s Argyle doing with his degree? I miss you guys.”

“We miss you too, Steve.”

“Awww, Byers, getting soppy on me? Gross, man.”

“You literally just—yeah, okay. Are you alone?”

“Nah, I’ve got this guy with me, he’s walking me home. Oh! Dude, do you remember Munson?”

“Munson?”

“Yeah, Eddie Munson! From high school! The one who used to climb on tables and shit, remember him?”

“Jesus Christ,” Munson groans. “Please let that die.”

“No one is dying,” Steve informs him seriously, and turns back to the phone. Munson sighs. 

“Wasn’t he a drug dealer?”

“Yes! Yeah, drug dealer Munson! Did you ever buy from him?” He turns to where Munson is looking around furtively. “Did Jonathan ever buy from you?”

“How about we not talk about this here,” Munson says through gritted teeth. Steve sighs and turns back to the phone. 

“Never mind, he says he doesn’t want to talk about that. Not like we can judge him, but whatever. Maybe the guy’s turned into a prude—“

“Okay, give me that.” Munson wrestles the phone out of his hand, and Steve whines at him. “Hey, Byers,” Munson says. “Yeah, it’s Eddie. Or Munson. Whatever. Listen, I’m getting kind of sick of standing here watching Harrington slobber all over the receiver, can he call you tomorrow? What? No, I don’t sell anymore—yeah, total bummer, whatever. Listen, I’ll get him home safe—no, I’m not going to serial murder him. He’s gonna be fine, he’ll call you tomorrow—Nancy Wheeler? Like that girl he dated? Didn’t you—shoot me? Jesus, okay! I’m not gonna kill the guy, Christ. He’s gonna be fine, oh my God. He’ll call you tomorrow. Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Yeah, okay. Bye.” He slams the phone into its holder with more than a little contempt. 

“Hey!” Steve protests. “You didn’t let me say bye.”

“You can call him tomorrow and apologize,” Munson says. “Now c’mon, Harrington. I’ve been tasked with getting you home safe, and if I fail, apparently Nancy fucking Wheeler is going to shoot me in the balls.”

“Oh, yeah, she’s really hot when she does that,” Steve says fondly, and Munson splutters. 

“What, does Wheeler just go around shooting people? Does she even have a gun?”

“Of course Nancy has a gun.” Steve frowns. It was one of the sure things in the universe at this point. The sky is blue, Hawkins is fucked up, and Nancy Wheeler has a gun. “And she doesn’t shoot people, stupid. Well, she shot at Billy, but he deserved it.”

“Billy?” Munson mutters, starting to usher Steve in the direction of home. “Who the fuck is Billy?”

“He was trying to kill her first!” Steve defends. “I hit him with a car before he could, so she was okay.”

“Okay, yeah, sure. Why wouldn’t you hit some guy with a car? 

“It wasn’t some guy,” Steve says. “It was Billy. He was, like, possessed or some shit. Oh, and he beat me up. Total psycho.  And that was before the melted flesh monster.”

Munson stops and stares at him. “You know what, sure. Demonic possession. Yeah, okay. Some guy named Billy kicked your ass—wait, are you talking about Billy Hargrove?”

Steve lights up. “Yeah! You remember that? That’s one of the concussions I was talking about. I gotta wear glasses 'cuza that shit. Man, fuck that guy.”

“Didn’t he die?”

“Oh, yeah,” Steve frowns down at the ground. “Shit, I’m, like, speaking ill of the dead, aren’t I? Max wouldn't like that. Unfuck him, or whatever.”

“You wanna come up?” He asks. “For old times sake?”

Munson stares at him like it’s the craziest thing he’s said all evening. “‘Old times’ was your asshole friends calling me a satan worshiper and pushing me around in hallways, Harrington.”

“I know.” He grins. If he was sober he’d definitely feel worse about that, but as it is he’s pretty single minded. “Don't you kind of want to make me cry about it?”

Deer in headlights isn’t usually a good look, but Munson’s got the eyes to make it work. Or Steve is drunk. Either way, it’s kinda cute. 

“You’re drunk,” he finally says, stumbling over the words a little. If Steve pays close attention and ignores most of reality, it almost sounds like he’s trying to convince both of them. “You’re so incredibly drunk.”

“I’m not that drunk.” He totally is. 

“I just had to supervise you calling Jonathan Byers so you didn’t say something you’d regret in the morning.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Steve asks, offended. “I love Jonathan! I tell him all the time. Just because I said he ruined my life—“

“That was him?”

“Did I not say that? Huh. Whatever. Point is, I’m not that drunk.”

“You’re definitely drunk,” Munson says. “I’m not—yeah, no. I’m not coming up.”

“Damn.” Steve shrugs, not too put out about it. It’s a bummer, sure, but he handles rejection like a champ. Just ask Robin. “Worth a shot. See you ‘round, Munson.”

“Don’t kill me,” Steve says. 

“Oh, god, did you punch him?”

“No, I, uh.” Steve rubs the bridge of his nose. “I think I tried to fuck him.”

He has to hold the phone away from his face so Dustin’s screeching doesn’t break his eardrums. 

“Your exes are weirdly protective of you,” Munson says blandly. “Also, didn’t they date?”

“Yeah,” Steve shrugs, not exactly eager to start spilling his life story again now that he’s sober. Munson doesn’t need to know more about his dating history than he already does. “We’re all a little weird about each other, sorry.”

“Weird about your exes,” he hums. “No wonder you’re single.”

“Oh, fuck you. It’s not like that.”

He raises an eyebrow. “No?”

“Are you always this nosy?” Steve asks, a little waspish. 

“Absolutely,” Munson replies without hesitation. “I’d say sorry, but I’m not. When did you even date him?”

“Dude.”

Munson just cocks an expectant eyebrow, hip resting against the bar. He can’t imagine why someone would be so interested in the romantic lives of their old high school classmates. It’s not like Steve is about to ask what was going on between him and Chrissy Cunningham. 

“Well, Harrington?”

“First grade,” Steve answers, deadpan. He grins when Munson chokes. “Nah, it was actually after he and Nancy broke up. Fall of ‘86.”

Arms squeeze him from behind, and Robin slides into view, leaving one hand wrapped pointedly around Steve’s waist. She gets clingy when she thinks someone is bothering him, or when she’s just on the side of drunk that she gets possessive. She told him, embarrassed and hungover, that it’s because she registers someone he’s getting along with as infringing on “her Steve time.” Steve thinks it’s hilarious and kind of sweet, an obvious lesbian trying to pretend he’s her date. Especially because he gets the same way when he’s tipsy and feels like he doesn’t have enough of her attention, so she can't yell at him for being a cockblock. Cuntblock. Whatever the lesbians call it.

He wonders what category she thinks Eddie is. Of guy, that is. Not block-anything.

He'd actually be pretty damn happy if the guy miraculously changed his mind and decided to sit on his cock instead.

“What’s going on here?” She asks, almost cattily. He loves when Robin gets bitchy. It brings him back to their Scoops days, except he gets to see it turned on someone else. 

“I’m telling Eddie my life story,” Steve says blithely.

“Ugh. Who would want that?”

Eddie grins. “I’m curious about the adventures of a former king.” He dips his head in a bow, waving his hand in a flourish. “I don’t know if you remember me from last time, I’m Eddie—“

“Munson, I know. You stepped on my lunch in junior year.”

Eddie turns beet red in record time. 

“Aww, Robbie,” Steve almost coos. “Leave him alone. I wanted to be the one who made him blush like that.”

“It’s not my fault your boy’s easy.”

“Not my boy, clearly,” he mutters under his breath. “And if he were easy, I’d have gotten fucked by now.”

Eddie’s mouth drops open with a choked little sound. Whoops. Steve forgot volume control again. 

Robin takes one look at Eddie’s face and bursts into cackles. 

“He was asking about,” he waved a hand in the air, “the whole Nancy-Jonathan thing.”

Her eyebrows jut up. “You told him about the threesome?”

“The what?”

Steve sighs. “No, Robin. I did not tell him about the threesome.”

“…oops.”

“When?” Eddie demands. 

Robin gives him the evil eye. “Why are you being weird about this? It’s not gonna make him fuck you.”

Steve wisely keeps his mouth shut. 

Eddie does not. “Your boy here already asked,” he smirks, leaning closer. “I said no.”

Then, as an added punch to his ego, he twirls a strand of Steve’s hair around his finger and tugs slightly. Steve’s too stunned to protest. 

Robin watches the exchange. “Oh, no thank you,” she says. “Nope. I’m out. I don’t want to see whatever this is. Ugh, stop making me hear about your sex life.”

Hypocrite. “We have thin walls, Buckley,” Steve reminds her. He turns to Eddie and stage whispers, “She likes her girls loud.”

“Steve!”

“You do!”

“Oh, because you’re so quiet,” she snaps, smacking him. “How many times have I had to bang on the wall because you couldn’t keep it down? You wanna talk about loud? I know more about you than I ever wanted to.”

His mouth drops open in mortification. “You know it’s rude to be mean to the man who told you how to eat out,” he hisses. 

“I’m not dying without fucking Eddie Munson,” he declares. “I mean, his high school nickname was literally ‘The Freak.’ He’s got to be good in bed, right?”

“I think that was mostly because everyone thought he was communing with the Devil or something.”

“Maybe the Devil gave him sex magic.”

“Of course he thinks I’m cute.”

“I do?”

“Do you not?” Steve turns to him, widening his eyes in the same pout that always has Robin throwing something at his face, or the kids reluctantly agreeing to do what he wants. He’s found it’s useful for guys too, especially if he ducks his head to seem smaller and looks through his eyelashes. Makes them imagine him looking like that on his knees. 

Munson is no exception. He melts faster than Steve can say gotcha. “You’re very cute, Harrington,” he purrs, and Robin snorts into her drink. 

“You’re a weak, weak man, Eddie Munson,” she tells a blushing Eddie. Then she kicks Steve. “Stop bringing out the ‘fuck me’ eyes when I’m around, I’ll gag.”

“You could leave.”

She gasps, affronted, and kicks him harder.

“So you would fuck me if I wasn’t drunk?”

“Uh…” he looks everywhere but Steve’s face, which is just rude. He has a very nice face. He’s been called dreamy before. 

Which made Robin laugh so hard she fell off the couch when he told her, but he’ll take the lesbian’s opinion with a grain of salt. 

He makes his way onto the dance floor. He’s not a particularly good dancer, but he shakes his ass like he means it. Gets up close with a guy, stares at Eddie the whole time. Keeping eye contact as the guy puts his hands on his hips. 

Look, he means to say. This could be you. You could lose your chance if you’re not careful. 

From the burning in Eddie’s eyes, he gets the message. 

The message is a bunch of bullshit. It’s been over four months, he’s in too deep to go fuck off with someone else now. Still, he enjoys the way Eddie’s hands flex on his thighs, like he had to stop himself from reaching out. 

The thing is, Steve’s not an asshole. He can take a hint. No means no, and all that jazz. If Eddie really didn’t want him, he’d fuck right off and find someone who did. He even started to.

Except Eddie pouted up a storm when he flirted with someone else. Got even clingier when Steve tried to back off. At this point, he’s accepted that Eddie does want to fuck him, and maybe even be more (no one flirts with someone as long as they’ve been doing without wanting something like a relationship out of it. At least, he hopes there’s something more on the horizon), but has some weird hang up about Steve being even a little bit buzzed when it happens. Even though they only ever see each other at this fucking bar.

The problem is Steve has no idea when Eddie will be at the bar. He’ll stay sober one night, hoping to see him, and then go home alone only for next time to be when he sees telltale curls and a wide smile. It’s driving him up the wall. 

Robin has been similarly affected.

“It’s been six months,” she growls as Steve looks eagerly around. “Six fucking months of you two dancing around in the worlds most annoying mating ritual. I’m going to kill both of you.”

“We’re not that bad,” he says absently. 

“You don’t even have his phone number. It’s pathetic. I swear to God, if you see him again and don’t get laid I’m reviving the scoops board. I will go out and buy a whiteboard to keep track of all the times you strike out with a man who used to walk on tables. He stepped on my lunch, Steve. Do I need to keep bringing up the fact he stepped on my delicious, nutritious PB&J? I can’t believe that’s the guy you decide to be obsessed with, that’s so fucking embarrassing for you.”

“Embarrassing? You mean like your crush on my ex girlfriend?”

She screeches wordlessly, pulling her keychain off her belt loop and attacking him with it. 

Naturally, that’s how Eddie finds them. 

“I swear you guys get weirder every time I see you.”

Steve grins guilelessly at him, holding a flailing Robin in a headlock. 

“Eddie! Hey! It’s been a minute.” He hasn’t been able to come in a month, and it’s been longer since he’s seen him. It’s honestly one of the deciding factors on whether it’s a passing fancy or a full blown crush. He still went to sleep every night thinking about Eddie. It didn’t even have to be about sex. 

Although maybe not sleeping with anyone else for half a year should have tipped him off sooner. 

“Sure has, big boy. I was starting to think you were getting sick of me.” It’s a joke, but Steve catches an undercurrent of insecurity. 

“That’d make my life easier,” Robin snorts. She finally wiggles her way out of his hold. “I saw Arty somewhere around here, I’m gonna see if I can crash at her place tonight.” She levels Eddie with a look. “He hasn’t had anything to drink. If you don’t put him out of his misery, I will. And it won’t be the good kind. It will be the bad kind. With bad screams. Lots of screaming, and someone will call the pigs, and I’ll be arrested and jailed for life. Do you want me to go to jail, Munson?”

Eddie shakes his head dumbly. 

“Good! Then do something about it.” She slaps Steve’s back, a mocking echo of his jock days. “Go get ‘em, slugger!” 

With that, she’s gone, disappearing into the crowd. 

“She is,” Steve remarks with amusement, “the worst wingman on planet Earth. Mars too, probably.”

“I dunno, I think it might be working.”

“I’m not doing anything without a condom,” he says, eyes narrowed like he’s waiting for an argument. 

“Me neither,” Steve agrees. “Robin has, like, this big fear of diseases. Totally got me with it. She pulled out the library books, those pictures were fucking disgusting. Shit showed up in my dreams, man. Neither of us do anything without protection.”

“I’m going to be totally honest with you, because I haven’t been and it’s starting to eat at me,” Eddie says, hovering above Steve. 

Steve wrinkles his nose. “What is it? Are you a spy or something? Are you Russian? Do you have superpowers? Is your name not actually Eddie?” He pauses. “Oh, God, you’re not even Eddie Munson, are you? I’m just some asshole who’s been calling you by my old classmates name and you were too embarrassed to correct me. Shit, we made so much fun of you for walking on tables too—“

“What?” Eddie covers his mouth, expression hovering between amused and baffled. “What the fuck, why would I go along with that? No, Jesus, I’m Eddie Munson. Moved to Hawkins when I was eleven, took senior year three times, walked on the fucking tables, could you let that go?” He moves the hand covering Steve’s mouth to play with his hair, looking annoyed for a minute before it smoothes to trepidation. “No, I, uh, I just felt like I needed to tell you that I used to have a hate-boner for you in high school. Like, I used to jack it to the thought of kicking your ass and making a mess outta you. In more ways than one.”

Steve stares. 

“Also, that’s kind of why I approached you in the bar in the first place,” Eddie blabbers on. “And then you said you were just there for a friend, and I was disappointed but it’s whatever, yanno? And then then you told me about your dad, and threw my expectations to the fucking wolves, and then you asked me to come up to your apartment except you were drunk and you probably didn’t mean it. But then the next time I saw you, you kept flirting with me, which you were not supposed to do, and I kept pretending that wasn’t the reason I even talked to you in the first place, and, uh, yeah.” He smiles nervously. “Surprise?”

“I mean, not really.”

“You’re such an asshole, fuck off. At least pretend to be shocked.”

“It’s not my fault you stare at my legs all the time,” Steve says, affronted. “I know I didn’t do too good in school, but I’m not dumb enough to miss that. Like, hello, my eyes are up here.”

Eddie lets his arms give out, flopping on top of Steve heavily. Steve wheezes. “Am I really that obvious?” He whines into his shoulder. 

“You got sad and pouty when I even looked at another guy.”

“You could’ve fucked him,” he mumbles. “The guy you were dancing with. It wasn’t any of my business. I’m a big boy, I can deal.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t want to fuck him,” Steve says. “I wanted to fuck you. Can we go back to that please?”

“Thought I was fucking you.”

“Someone’s getting fucked or Robin will kill both of us. I’d like to live tomorrow morning. And not have to deal with any more of her teasing for having no game.”

“You have unfortunate amounts of game,” Eddie sighs, tracing the side of Steve’s neck. It tickles. “It’s kind of embarrassing for me.”

“Yeah, yeah, are we using those condoms or not, Moodkiller?”

“Oh, I’m the mood killer?”

“Yes,” Steve says matter of factly, and pulls him in for a kiss before he can protest.

[messylustt]

what you remind them of. spiderverse

you reminded hobie brown of stickers. in a figurative sense, but also a literal. the way you could be placed anywhere and still be recognisable to him. some days he saw a pattern, etched into the way you smiled. other days he saw colours, reflected from the way you felt. blue, orange, pink, green. the changeable nature has him reeling and intrigued. he wants you to decorate his life, or at least his guitar. with your careful fingers, options of cartoon characters or skulls being plastered to one of his most prized possessions. he loved it. the way you’d change, matching his inconsistent attitude. and when the stickers would begin to ware and peel, he never once chose to remove them. because the reminder that you’d stay, his want for you to stay made his ringed fingers dance over the simple stuck cut outs.

you reminded miguel o’hara of sugar. sweet of course, but something his tastebuds had to get used to. he wasn’t a sweet tooth at first. finding your sugary tone and sweet sweet smile something hard to stomach. maybe deep down it was because he secretly craved something of that flavour, that taste. he tried to keep his diet free from you, ignoring his salivating mouth. but he had to give in, he just had to with the way he knew your skin would be exactly what he needs his tongue to feel. his life lacklustre, filled with bland foods and even blander friendliness. you were a breath of fresh air, something he knew he’d grow addicted to. his sweet tooth was now prominent, obsessed with you day after day.

you reminded lyla of tears. something she physically couldn’t compute. the way the water droplets would fall, staining your cheeks and creating a morning dew feel to your eyelashes. when she first saw them, her instinct was to reach out. her code told her she couldn’t wipe your eyes but her want told her she could. so pretty when you’d either cry from joy or sadness. though most of the time alone, lyla would be watching. tears…your tears were something she remembered. strangely it didn’t compare to others. some would wail, sniffle, exclaim. but you would sit, blinking, and letting the tears slowly make their descent down your face, coating your lips in a shimmer that made her want to lean in.

you reminded miles morales of shoelaces. specifically his shoelaces. the amount of times you’ve reminded him to tie them has been endless. your subtle gestures or raises of your brows, has earned him to glance down. sometimes he’d catch you, fingers out as you lean to do them yourself. but he’d never want you to do the work so he’d poke his finger against your head, moving you back. now you’d call him stupid, he’d call you a little neat freak, while stumbling over his untied laces. your smug smile would earn a flustered but still stubborn state from him. but just to annoy you a step further he’d always be tying your shoelaces, neglecting his own in a way of saying ‘your safety is more important than mine.’ which would result in a round about way of you pointing out the ‘safety’ of it while threatening to have them glued.

you reminded miles morales earth-42 of paint. the kind that’s messy and creates large artworks. your face might be stained with colour, your fingers most definitely so. with raised brows and a frown he’d point out your never ending strokes. you’d bring colour to his world, hellbent eventually, as he’d push off the idea for what feels like eternity. but slowly, gradually, would he find your paints staining his skin, matching graffitied art like a tattoo. surprisingly he wouldn���t wipe it away, tracing the mess with a prowler claw. you were a mess, all over the place, he made that clear to you. but what he doesn’t tell you is the way he’s kept your messy paintings for himself, subtly letting you paint and create at his home. he may not admit to it, but you’ve painted your heart, a pretty thing that he’s kept all for himself.

you reminded pavitr prabhakar of shells. the kind of seashore ones found at the beach. it’s a new scenery from what he’s used to. you seem to always have this saltwater scent, fresh and inviting. with smiles he’s spoken to you, listened to your voice like the shells that float out into the ocean, dragging him with you. he likes the feel of the sand between his toes. he also likes the pretty patterns that would imbed themselves into the ground. you were like a shell, pretty and something he always loves to find. he liked to treasure the shells he’d find, keep them safe. collections like the collections he’d want to keep of your words. tucked safe into his pockets. your intriguing secrets with the sound of ocean that you’d hear when you press your ear to a larger shell matched perfectly.

you reminded gwen stacy of neon lights. bright and colourful. you were something that made her eyes widen as she stared. like a club street light, you’d invite people in. even inside the club with the flashing lights, you’d keep people entertained. she always stood by you, soaking in your colourful rays. she may even gain inspiration for her hair, the tinges of pink that would stain your lips made her want to match. you were alive in the night, her favourite pastime just flying through the city with you as her guide. even if it would rain you seemed to shine, your smile only making her eyes reflect colour. you made her feel excited with your hooded gaze. you even met under a neon street sign, ready for a mission in the dark. a mission she’ll never forget.

you reminded peter b. parker of a pillow. comforting and something easy to rest his head on. you’d feel him doze off on your shoulder, maybe even your lap. small dribbles of drool would make you smile at just how easy it was to get him to sleep if you were in his reach. even your clothes reflected comfort, his hands gravitating towards you. he almost always kept you tucked to him like a carry on pillow. a pillow mayday seemed to enjoy too, as she’d crawl all over your shoulders, your secure hands making sure she didn’t fall. she may even think you bigger like a bed, as she’d jump excitedly in your arms. not to mention your soft skin, his fingers tracing over like a silk slip.

© messylustt.tumblr please don’t steal, copy or translate my work onto other platforms.

[willowbelle]

Hold Me. Down.

more sub!law is here per request! enjoy! ♡︎ (>ᴗ•) !

❤︎ trafalgar law x fem reader ❤︎

𖤐₊˚.༄ (nsfw, afab! reader, 18+ only) 𖤐₊˚.༄

cw: afab! reader, established relationship, very sub!law, softdom!reader, playful banter, teasing, bondage! (handcuffs), slight orgasm denial, edging, begging, pleasing, overstimulation, pet names (good boy), praise, oral (m recieving), oral (f recieving, face-riding), dick riding, unprotected sex, creampie, some aftercare

summary: reader is member of heart pirates, established relationship between reader and law, law is always dom, reader wants to switch things up in the bedroom, purchases seaprismstone handcuffs, law is submissive. yes, law is a whimperer! it's true!

word count: ~5,000 (oops)

Hold Me. Down.

Law was a predictable man. He liked things the way they were, and everyone aboard your submarine knew that, including you, his long-term girlfriend and crewmate. His lifestyle was monotonous, and your sex life filled the very same mold. Not that he was boring, oh no. He made your toes curl each and every time, and your moans and screams could constantly be heard ringing through the hallways of the Polar Tang as he rearranged your insides. Despite this, role reversal was quite infrequent, in fact, it was completely nonexistent. Law was a control freak, that was for damn sure, and each time the two of you engaged in intimacy, he always naturally fell into the role of the dominant. Understandably so, Law was hard-hearted in every sense of the word. He liked watching you come undone by each curl of his inked fingers and thrust of his strong hips. He found pleasure in watching your drooling mouth fall slack and your eyes roll back in your pretty skull as he railed you into the mattress.

You liked things the way they were, just like Law, but what had started as just a fleeting thought rattling around in your head, had slowly begun to make its way to the very front of your brain, burning into your skull, until you just couldn’t ignore it anymore. 

You wanted to know what it would be like to dominate Trafalgar Law; to tie him down in your shared bed, to make him whimper and whine and beg for your touch, to ride him and milk his cock until he was a shaking, stuttering mess. 

You knew deep down that this fantasy was nothing but that, an insatiable desire. But even still, you knew you’d regret it if you didn’t at least try.

Your crew had recently taken a quick stop at a nearby island to gather supplies for the submarine. Law stayed behind to catch up on work, per usual. You took this rare opportunity of alone time to make a few special stops. In fact, you took so much time trying to pick the perfect item, that you almost missed the last call to board the sub. 

When you finally arrived back, you were surprised to see that your boyfriend had finally emerged from his dark den of an office and was now standing atop the sub, holding the railing with one hand, the other cupping his mouth to call out your name. When his eyes finally met your face as you ran to the sea, he sighed, placing an inked hand on his forehead and shaking his head. After frantically making your way up the stairs, you stood before your tall, lanky captain for a brief moment before your hands quickly found their way to your knees, hunched over and panting as you struggled to catch your breath. 

“Jesus, woman,” his monotone voice began, “Where have you been? We were supposed to depart fifteen minutes ago.”

To you, and everyone else, fifteen minutes was nothing, but to this rigid, schedule-bound man, it was everything.

“I-I’m sorry,” you panted, finally rising from your hunched state to meet your boyfriend's gaze again, his eyes shooting daggers into your skin. 

You felt your stomach knotting with guilt, you knew how much being on schedule meant to Law. Until you remembered exactly what you bought. All the commotion had made you forget, but once the memory solidified in your brain again, you felt the corners of your lips twitch into a naughty smirk. 

Boldness suddenly struck you like a bat to your head; leaning forward, you grabbed the collar of Law’s shirt, pulling him down to meet your arrogant visage. 

“Are you really complaining, Law~?” you purred in his ear, causing his skin to ignite with goosebumps at the seductive tone of your voice, “But you don't even know what’s coming to you,” you smirked, shaking the shopping bag in his face. 

You felt heat growing within your core at your own tenacity, and at the way in which your boyfriend’ usually cold, stoic face now looked unbelievably hot and flustered. 

“W-What are y-” Law began, stuttering over his words, but before he could finish, you had already planted a kiss on his reddened cheek, giggling knowingly as skipped off to your shared bedroom. 

You sat on the bed, swinging your feet as they hung over the edge, patiently waiting for your boyfriend to burst through the door demanding to know what you had been on about earlier. You knew he’d come. Any second now. You had just finished setting everything up on the bed, silently apologizing to Law in your head. He made the bed perfectly every morning, with sheets crisply folded and pillows impeccably fluffed. He had a weird little rule about not messing up the bed during the day, until the two of you were ready to sleep, or have sex, of course, but with all your rustling around, the sheets were now a bit jumbled. You shook your head and silently laughed to yourself, you were dating quite the perfectionist. 

And just as you had suspected, a loud bang rang through the walls of your room as Law made his way through the door.

“Y/n,” he began, grey eyes glued to you sternly, “What the hell were you-” his voice trailed off, eyes darting from your face, focusing on the object that lay behind you on the bed. 

Satisfaction filled your veins as you noticed the blush that spread across Law’s once phlegmatic face, the redness making him look frazzled and bothered. You hummed in response, filling in the silence that Law had left hanging in the air when he cut himself off. 

“Law,” you began, your voice a sultry whisper, “Why don’t you take off that shirt and lay down for me~?”

You watched on as your boyfriend’s lanky form twitched in response, his eyes never leaving the familiar sight of the seastone handcuffs before him. 

Your boyfriend’s devil fruit ability was nothing short of spectacular, that was for damn sure. Law was an impeccibly intelligent, powerful man, with abilities unfathomable to any ordinary person. His smarts, coupled with his devil fruit, granted him the power to perform miracles. However, like all blessings in life, it came with both downsides and limitations. For example, he couldn’t swim, and anything pertaining to sea water was a no-go. Hence, your decision to purchase handcuffs made out of sea prism stone. Not only would Law be handcuffed, but the seastone would leave him completely powerless, at your mercy. 

Despite his flustered state rendering him essentially immobile, Law gripped the hem of his shirt within his inked fingers and pulled the article of clothing off over his head, revealing his toned abdomen and inked chest to you. You had seen him this way a million times, but his divine body never failed to impress you. You bit your lip at the sight as he shuffled his way over to the bed to sit beside you, just as he was told. His unwavering compliance instantly made the heat within your core begin to boil. 

Reaching forward, you placed a delicate hand on the back of your boyfriend’s head, pulling him in forcefully and pressing your desperate lips against his. He groaned into your mouth at the sudden action, immediately licking along your wet lips, begging for entry. Instead, you opted for biting his bottom lip and tugging on it playfully, not wanting to grant him what he desired. Tonight, you were in charge. 

“Y/n~” he groaned your name, his voice agonizingly desperate. 

The two of you continued to passionately kiss, chests heaving as you struggled to catch your breaths.

Law began to move a strong hand along your side, up to your breast, preparing to grip it tightly mold it between his fingers like he always did. 

This time would be different. You immediately grabbed his wrist and forced in down, now positioning it atop the tight tent growing in his jeans. 

"Oh, my," you purred teasingly, "You're this hard for me already?"

“Ughhh..” he groaned at the sensation of his aching erection finally being stimulated, sucking in a breath of air through his teeth. 

You continued to press down on his hand, forcing him to palm his own erection through his jeans. He continued to groan, opting to begin bucking his hips against his hand to increase the friction. 

In an instant, you moved your free hand down to grip his hip, halting his thrusts, making his breath hitch in his throat,

“N-Nghhh…” 

You pulled back, separating your lips, a string of connecting saliva falling from them as you moved apart,

“I don’t believe I gave you permission to do that, Law,” you purred, removing his hand from his crotch and forcing it above his head, pinning him down. 

You quickly followed in suit with his other wrist, now pinning them both above his head before moving atop him and straddling his waist. 

He blushed deeply at your boldness before throwing his head back and moaning at the sensation of your clothed cunt now pressing against the tent in his pants. 

Law was a strong man, and you were so much smaller than him. Both of you knew that he could easily overpower you if he wanted to, easily return to his comfortable, seasoned role of the dominant partner.

But he didn’t.

He stayed beneath you, letting you do whatever you wanted to him and his body. This realization gave you all the confidence you needed to continue pursuing your little plan.

“Y/n…” he whimpered, instinctively thrusting his hips upwards to reward his cock with more friction against your core. 

You clicked your tongue, staring down at your boyfriend’s red face beneath you, “You’re stubborn, aren’t you, Law?” you asked smugly, the corners of your lips tugging upwards into a tight smirk. 

You didn’t think his face could get any redder, but at this, you swore you saw his cheeks gain an even darker rouge as he whined beneath you. “M-Mhmm,” he whimpered, admitting defeat, “I’m stubborn, y/n.”

His blushing face and sweet noises were too damn much for you, and you almost lost your composure, just wanting to give in and give him what he ached for, but that was too easy, you wanted to press him harder. 

You leaned down, rewarding him with a wet kiss on his neck. You felt his back arch beneath you, his body shaking at the sensation. 

“F-Fuckk…” he groaned, leaning his head back to give you more access to his sensitive throat. Your soft tongue continued its dirty work, trailing down his neck, earning more delicious moans from his inked chest. You continued to grip his wrists tight, pressing them into the mattress. 

He squirmed beneath you as you continued licking and nibbling your way down, now at his collarbones. You felt him shake beneath you as you had finally reached his most sensitive sweet spot. You smirked at his reaction, continuing to glide your skillful tongue along the bones, “I know, baby,” you purred, “You’re quite sensitive there, aren't you~?” 

"M-mhm..." Law only whimpered in response, his body trembling, completely powerless to you and your wicked touch. 

You continued your pursuit, leaving love bites in your wake, marking him as yours. 

“You see that, sweetheart?” you inquired, voice ridden with lust and smugness, “You’re all mine, and everyone can see it.” 

You watched as Law bit his bottom lip, eyes darting back and forth between the fresh hickeys that now decorated his sculpted body, “G-Good,” he croaked, voice shaky, “I-I’m all y-yours, y/n.” 

You smirked down at him, satisfied with his submissive response, “Good boy, Law,” you purred. 

“Sh-Shit,” he cursed, groaning in response to the new title, rolling his hips upwards to meet your heat.

“Mmm,” you hummed, smiling up at him as you continued making your way down his body, finally rewarding him with a kiss on his clothed cock. 

“F-Fuck-!” he groaned, jutting his hips upward again, desperate for more. 

You instantly grabbed his hips and pushed them down, stalling his movements, “Stay still, Law, or I'll go even slower,” you challenged, your voice tinted with something he’d never heard from you before. 

He bit his lip and nodded feverishly, eyes wide and lust-blown, now understanding the severity of the threat. 

You planted a few more sloppy kisses to his bulge before starting to undo his pants, working agonizingly slow at the button and zipper, making Law whine in frustration, 

“Y/n,” he whined, “Fuck, please-” 

At this, you removed your hands from his crotch, now passing the time by fiddling with his happy trail, teasing him to the point of no return. 

Law withdrew his hands from the position they were in above his head, he was willing to comply, but not anymore, reaching down on his own to finally undo his zipper and free his aching cock. 

Before he could get far, you grabbed his wrists again, gripping them tightly together in your hands, “Did you really think that would work, sweetheart?” you taunted, “Seems like you’ve left me no choice, Law.” you tsked and shook your head mockingly, turning around to retrieve a pair of keys from your nightstand. 

Your boyfriend’s adam’s apple bobbed beneath the skin of his throat as he gulped, anxiously watching your every move. 

“Hold your arms above your head, Law,” you instructed, motioning for him to do as he was told. 

And he complies, a dark blush dusting his cheeks as he stares up at you and holds his wrists above his head again. 

Above him, you leaned forward to unlock the seastone handcuffs, grabbing his hands and placing a wrist in each one before snapping them shut, making your boyfriend gasp slightly at the new sensation. 

In an instant, he felt like a puddle of mush beneath you. The vitality that once coursed through his veins like a lively current dissipated as soon as the stone was shackled to his skin.

Mustering his strength, Law threw his head back and groaned, the severity of his predicament hitting him like a tidal wave,

“Y/N,” he groaned, his voice ridden with fatigue, “A-Are these r-really…?”

“Seastone?” you filled in the gap for him, smirking as you gazed down upon his situation: wrists shackled to the bedframe, sweat-coated tattooed chest and abs rising and falling with each labored breath, eyes lidded and weary. 

“Y-You devil,” he croaked, smirking.

Much to his surprise, you rewarded his struggles by quickly removing both his jeans and briefs with one strong tug, freeing his aching cock from its confinement.

His long member slapped against his abdomen as it sprung free, causing Law to throw his head back again and groan loudly, sucking in a labored breath through his teeth, hissing at the abrupt sensation.

“Fuck, woman,” he groaned, "L-Look what you've done to me."

You giggled softly and moved down, looking up at the shackled man as you satisfied his aching by licking a long stripe along the veiny underside of his throbbing cock. 

“O-Oh, fuck-!” he whined, squirming beneath you, unable to move much due to his confinement. 

“I-I don't know if it was just f-from all the teasing or the cuffs, but that felt t-ten times more intense than usual,” he croaked breathlessly. 

“Mmmm, I’m glad to hear that, Law,” you smirked, granting him another lick, this time all the way up to his tip, which was flushed an angry red-pink color and weeping with precum. 

“Sh-Shit,” Law cursed, tears pricking in the corners of his eyes as your tongue lapped at his overly sensitive head. 

“You always taste so good, baby~” you praised, opening your wet lips to take him fully into your mouth. 

Law threw his head back again, writhing with pleasure beneath you, the chains of the handcuffs clanking with his rapid movements. 

“A-Ahh, fuck-!” he cried, bucking his hips unintentionally, forcing his cock further into your mouth. 

Instead of scolding him, you decided to play nice and force yourself further down, until the blunt tip of his cock kissed the back of your throat and your nose met his pubic bone.

You moaned around his length, he was so big and he stuffed your throat so damn full. You gagged around him as you began to bob your head, drool spilling from your stuffed mouth and tears falling from your eyes as you took on his massive length. You wanted to tap out, nearly choking yourself to death on his cock, but the sounds leaving Law’s mouth were too fucking delectable. 

He whimpered and whined at your actions, louder than ever before. He shook beneath you each time you took him in, crying out your name at each pass.

“Y/n, y/n, y/n, y/n, y/n…!” he whined your name like a fucking prayer as you sucked the life out of him, eventually starting to thrust into your throat, desperately chasing his release, the chains of his confinements rattling as he did so. 

“M-Mmmm! Mm! Mmmm!” you whined around him in between each thrust, sending vibrations through his exhausted body as he fucked your throat. 

“F-Fuck-! I’m so close!” he cried, his thrusts now becoming frantic and sloppy. 

At this confession, you pulled off on him, his painfully hard cock popping from your mouth with a lewd noise. 

You had never edged him before, and the new sensation made Law writhe beneath you, tears spilling down his cheeks as he looked up at you, face red, sweaty, and desperate.

“Y/n…” he cried, “W-Why? O-Oh my god I was so close, y/n, why?” he pleaded with you, abandoning all of his remaining dignity, his eyes big and unapologetically needy. 

“Because,” you began, wiping the drool from your chin as you smirked down at him, “Now, it’s my turn.” 

Law’s deep grey eyes grew even larger at your reasoning, his face turning a deeper red as you made your way up to him, slowly removing your clothes, 

He bit his lip as he watched you remove your shirt and bra, the perfect, perky tits that he loved so much bouncing free to greet his gaze. You slowly removed your bottoms and underwear, throwing them aside, your pussy glistening with your wetness. 

You slowly inched forward and straddled Law’s face, looking down at him.

“You ready?” you questioned, blush decorating your cheeks.

You two had never done this before, but Law got the message loud and clear.

He nodded feverishly, desperate to taste your sweet, dripping pussy on his hot tongue. 

“Sit on my face, y/n.” 

And so, with his desperate request, you slowly began to sink down onto Law’s awaiting mouth, throwing your head back and gasping loudly when his hot, wet tongue finally met your slippery folds. 

“Fuck-!” you cried, your hands instantly finding their way into Law’s thick skull of dark, messy hair. You gripped the strands tightly between your fingertips as you began to move your hips, unapologetically riding his face with all of your might, letting out sweet, euphoric moans as his skillful tongue slid in and out of your folds, dancing along your clit with each rock of your hips.

You ground yourself against him, pressing his tongue harder into your cunt as you moved back and forth, humping his face, wettening his chin. 

“M-mmm, y/n…” he groaned into your pussy, “You taste so fucking good.” 

“O-Oh, Law!” you cried, your grip tightening on his hair as the rocking of your hips grew sloppy, just desperate for more and more friction from your captain’s hot tongue on your aching clit. Stars danced beneath your eyelids as you felt your orgasm threatening its approach.

The band within your stomach tightened, ready to snap, but you didn’t want to cum, not yet. You wanted to edge yourself just as you had edged Law. 

You removed yourself from his face, legs shaking from pleasure. You looked down at Law, and damn, it was a sight to behold; his face was glistening with your wetness, his tongue hanging from his mouth as he struggled to catch his breath, tattooed chest rising and falling frantically. You had nearly suffocated him as a result of your intense humping, but he didn’t care, he just wanted you, more of you.

Before he could catch his racing mind and frantic breath, you had already repositioned yourself atop him again, but this time, you were straddling his hips, his rock-hard, throbbing cock dangerously close to your dripping slit. 

“Are you ready for me, Law? Will you be good for me?” you inquired, your smug gaze never leaving his needy one. 

“Please, y/n,” he begged, voice ridden with desperation, “I’ll be such a good boy for you,” he blushed deeply at his own words, having never spoken like this before, “P-Please just let me fuck you.” 

This desperate plea was all you needed, fuck, it was more than you needed. When you started this, you had no idea Law would get to this level. You thought maybe, perhaps, he’d beg a little, let you hold him down, but this, what was happening now, even exceeded your wildest of fantasies.

You moaned softly as you took Law’s long, slender cock in your hand, rubbing his weeping tip back and forth against your soaking slit, teasing him one last time. 

“N-Nghhhh, f-fuck,” he groaned, eyebrows knitted together, eyes shut tightly as his strong body spasmed beneath you. 

“Please,” he cried. 

And with that, you plunged yourself down, forcing Law’s desperate cock into your pussy with one go, causing you both to throw your heads back and call out one another’s names. 

“L-Law-!” 

“Y/N-!” 

You sat still for a moment, waiting to adjust to the intense stretch, Law’s cock throbbing within you as your tight walls engulfed it fully. 

After taking a second to collect yourself, you began bouncing, your boyfriend’s chains rattling as you did so, fucking yourself so damn good with his cock. 

“M-mmm!” you moaned shakily, bouncing up and down, forcing him as deep as he could go, causing him to groan and cry beneath you. 

“Sh-Shit, y/n!" he cried, hips starting to thrust to meet yours. 

You placed your hands on his decorated chest, forcing yourself up and down even harder, the sounds of wet skin slapping together filling the room. 

“A-Ah, Law-!” you cried, “You’re doing so good for me, baby~!” you praised.

You looked down at him as you rode him roughly, wrists shakled above his head, chest rising and falling beneath your hands, hips sloppily thrusting into you from underneath, whimpering and groaning your name. 

“Y-You feel-n-nghh, so good, y/n!”, he groaned, stumbling on his words in between moans, “Y-You’re-f-fuck-you’re squeezing me so tight-!” he cried for you. 

You could feel Law’s big length reshaping your inner walls, throbbing within you as it stretched out your insides. 

With each thrust, his blunt tip kissed your cervix, causing you to shake and sob at the intense pleasure. And at the same time, each pass caused his pubic bone to brush against your swollen clit, irrevocably overstimulating your body.

You were lost in your own pleasure, hips still rocking back and forth as you bounced on your boyfriend’s cock, when his desperate voice broke you from your trance. 

“Y/n,” he began, shakily, still thrusting up into your tightness and warmth, “I-I’ve been trying to h-hold it, b-but I can’t -f-fuck- I can’t anymore,” he cried helplessly, “C-Can I cum, y/n?” tears spilled down his pretty face as he begged for your permission to orgasm. 

Your eyes widened as you continued to bounce and grind messily on his pulsating cock.

Trafalgar Law… begging to cum? Couldn’t be. 

“Please, y/n…” he groaned again, “I-I’m so close-mmnnngg- I-I can’t take it anymore-!” His head was thrown back, throat exposed, those beautiful grey eyes shut tightly as his mouth hung open, chains rattling around his wrists as you rode him.

“Cum for me, Law~” you leaned down, purring in his ear, still moving your hips rapidly, his throbbing cock destroying your inner walls.

“F-Fuck, Th-Thank you, y/n-! mm! th-thank you-!” he threw his head back again, thanking you for finally giving him the permission he so desperately needed to cum inside you. Law’s body shook as he orgasmed, chains rattling, he thrust into you needily and sloppily a few more times before spilling inside you, painting your insides white with his hot, thick ropes of cum. 

“A-Ahgg-Fuck-!” he groaned as he came, louder than he ever had before, nearly making the walls vibrate. 

You weren’t far behind, frantically grinding your hips on his cock, begging for more stimulation. His cum acted as lube and you fucked him through his own orgasm, overstimulating him as you chased your own. 

With one last harsh brush of his tip to your g-spot, you came undone, gushing intensely onto his exhausted cock.

“L-Law-!" you cried his name as you came, your desperate bouncing finally slowing then stalling before you collapsed onto his heaving chest. 

The two of you breathed as one, frantically trying to catch your breaths. 

“I-I…” Law’s deep voice began, shaky and riddled with pure and utter exhaustion, “I want to hold you but I…” he shook his tattooed arms, rattling his chains so you’d get the picture. 

“A-Ah, shit,” you giggled tiredly, hopping off of him to set him free. 

You frantically dug in the nightstand, “Fuck, Law, I can’t find the key-!” you turned to him, face decorated with mock concern. 

You watched as his face fell as he grew pale, clearly panicking. 

“A-Are you serious?” he exclaimed, not even trying to hide his distress. 

“Nah, I’ve got it right here,” you giggled, flashing him the shiny silver key between your fingertips. 

“You devil,” he parroted his statement from before, rolling his eyes and chuckling softly to himself.

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧 𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧 𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧

thank you so much for the request-! (>ᴗ•)

i had so much (too much) fun writing this! ˚ ༘♡ ⋆。˚

i adore the concept of such a hard-hearted man being submissive.

(˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)₊˚⊹♡

©this work belongs to willowhaze26.

do not repost, modify, plagiarize, translate, or share on other platforms. 

comments, likes, and reblogs appreciated!

[blushweddinggowns]

When Nancy’s mom pulled her aside one day to ask her a favor, she never thought that it would involve tutoring the Steve Harrington. The basketball starter that had nearly every girl in their high school wrapped around his finger. 

And sure, Mrs. Harrington was offering some really good pay, but that didn’t mean she wanted to do it. Because Steve was…a lot. He was cocky, he was weirdly aggressive when it came to his drug dealer best friend, and if his grades and lack of self-control were anything to go by, he was also dumb as hell. 

Just because he was the hottest guy in school didn’t mean she wanted anything to do with him. But her mom didn’t really give her a choice, not when she had been vying for Mrs. Harrington’s friendship for years.

And that’s how she found herself on the Harrington doorstep on a Sunday, dreading how tedious trying to make someone with no attention span learn was going to be. She rang the doorbell, impatient for the whole thing to just be done with already. 

She was surprised when it was Eddie Munson who answered the door, clad in nothing but boxers and a t-shirt that Nancy was pretty sure belonged to Steve, unless he had been a secret swimming champion in 1982. For a split second she thought she was at the wrong house, until she remembered that Eddie was supposed to be living in a trailer park. 

He ran a hand through his messy hair, not even the slightest bit embarrassed to be caught without pants on at someone else’s house, “Uh, can I help you?”

“I’m here for Steve? Um, I’m his tutor? Nancy Wheeler?” She wasn’t sure why she said her own name like it was a question, but the way Eddie was staring her down had her uncharastically nervous. 

But his eyes brightened at the word tutor. He stepped aside to let her in, “Oh yeah! He told me that was today, I guess we just lost track of time. Wait here. I’ll go get him. You want a muffin? I literally just made them, unless you're allergic to chocolate? But if you’re not they’re like, really good, my uncle’s recipe so you can trust it.”

He was talking a mile a minute as he led her into the house, happy in a way she never would have expected from him. In school he was so…defensive. Always willing to cut down anyone who made a comment about his weird sense of style. And there was also the little known fact that he sold freaking ketamine in the woods behind school with a small history of violence and theft. She kind of thought that the drug dealer whose wardrobe half consisted of skulls wouldn’t be the type of guy to bake muffins. 

But that didn’t mean she didn’t want one. 

“Um, sure?” She said, jumping a little when Eddie suddenly tossed one her way. 

Before she could even say thank you he was two-stepping his way up the stairs, whistling a tune that Nancy couldn’t help but smile at. If Eddie Munson could be so nice, then the odds of Steve turning out to not be a total dick were looking pretty good.

She could hear him slam a door open upstairs, voice loud and obnoxious, “Time to wake up sunshine! You got some learning to do!”

Nancy wandered over to the stairs as she ate, happily surprised at just how good it was. She couldn't hear much else, just a few groans and some shuffling, then something that sounded suspiciously like a giggle before the two of them made their way back downstairs. 

Steve was just as disheveled as Eddie was, hair a mess as he blearily blinked into the light, like it wasn’t already noon. He at least had the decency to put on pants though, something that Eddie had decided was superfluous. 

He waved at her as they came down, at least apologetic, “Hi, I’m Steve. Sorry about that. I was up late last night doing- I mean watching movies. Kind of let the day get away from me a little bit.”

He put out his hand for Nancy to shake and she couldn’t help but notice just how big they were. She took it, suddenly a little flustered as she spoke, “Nancy. And we’ve uh, actually met before. Believe it or not.”

Steve blinked at her, mind obviously racing to try and figure out when he’d seen her before, “Please don’t tell me we used to date.”

“No we didn’t but- wait. You don’t remember all the girls you’ve dated?” Nancy raised a brow at him, suddenly a lot less impressed. Just how big of a player was this guy?

But at least he had the good grace to look embarrassed, “I-well, it’s not like that. I-”

Eddie put a hand on his shoulder, stopping him in the midst of his stuttering sentence, “Stevie, stop while you're ahead. Now go get some food so your brain can actually function.”

Surprisingly, Steve obeyed, just like that. He just nodded and puttered into the kitchen, leaving Eddie and Nancy to follow him. 

Eddie leaned over, stage-whispering in her ear, “He’s usually a lot more charming after he’s been conscious for more than 5 minutes. I swear.”

They rounded the corner, just in time to see Steve eat half a muffin in one bite. He moaned at the taste of it, and Nancy was suddenly blushing for the second time in one day. 

He smiled at Eddie, hearts in his eyes, “How are you so good at everything?”

Nancy was starting to understand why her mom always said the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach. If she didn’t know any better she’d say that Steve was seconds away from asking Eddie to ride into the sunset together. 

Eddie shrugged, even though his face was positively pleased. Steve finished the rest of it with a dreamy sigh, eyes still locked on Eddie.

“God, I love-” Steve coughed mid sentence, and for a second Nancy was sincerely worried that he had managed to choke on a piece of muffin. But the next moment he was fine, glancing over at her before straightening, “Uh, when my parents are gone. You can eat anything you want. Thanks for making them dude.”

Eddie snorted, barely managing to keep his laughter inside, “No problem, dude. But now that you're functioning I’ll let you guys get to it. I’ll be in the living room if you need me.”

Nancy wasn’t sure just what they would need him for, but Steve nodded anyway. It was almost weird, just how comfortable Eddie was in his house. She had half expected him to leave after he dragged Steve downstairs, especially since it was a school night, but the way he sprawled himself out on the couch said otherwise. 

They set themselves up at the kitchen table, Nancy with their biology book in hand and Steve with a second muffin. She cracked her book open, internally preparing herself for an afternoon of frustration. So imagine her surprise when none came. 

Because Steve Harrington was nothing like she expected. He wasn’t some undiscovered genius or anything, but he was diligent. He didn’t try to make a move on her, which her friends had definitely warned her about when they first heard she was tutoring him. He never got mad when he didn’t understand something, or even impatient. If anything he was just apologetic, a constant barrage of I’m sorry coming out of his mouth whenever he got something wrong that she already explained.

It was endearing to say the least. He even offered to drive her home after. She hadn’t realized that the offer included Eddie poking at him from the back seat and complaining about the music the whole ride home, but still. It was a nice gesture. 

When her mom asked her how it went she didn’t even have to lie. It went great. Not even on the whole he wasn’t a dick side of things. He was making ground when it came to his schoolwork, he just needed a little bit of extra attention. 

She found herself laying in bed that night with a smile on her face, more than excited to see Steve again. Maybe they’d even manage to get a little alone time, just so she could get to know him a bit better.

For strictly tutoring reasons, of course. 

~

Part 1.5 Part 2 Part 3

From an unpublished chapter of this fic (But I'll probably add part two and the reveal here because it kind of works with tumblr formatting!)

[takami-takami]

Scent Kink!Keigo who's raptorial senses have been finely honed like a sharpened blade for as long as he can remember. For all his analytical prowess, he could never quite pinpoint the exact cause of his heightened senses. Perhaps it, like most things, is a combination of nature and nurture— avian DNA and brutal, militant training. The source matters little to him. Keigo has always been one for outcomes.

Scent Kink!Keigo who discovers pretty early on in your friendship that your scent is distinct. If he could put it into words, the first that would come to mind is warm. It smells warm when he sits next to you on the couch, bouncing his leg like a dog that smells something delectable right under its nose yet tries to behave and contain himself all the same. Your neck is perfectly bare. If he could just lean over and bury his nose in whatever crevice is most available, he'd die a happy man. 

Scent Kink!Keigo who is actually so normal about your scent, all these years later. Sure, he memorizes your smell, conjures up the scent in his mind's eye whenever he has trouble sleeping at night. The thought of it soothes him, aids in building his picturesque fantasies of you holding him from behind and shushing the bad dreams away. But he's very normal about it. Of course he's attached— you're his best friend.

Scent Kink!Keigo who can't remember the first time your scent began to cause his pants to grow tight. He thinks it was that night you arrived late for your usual meetup, panting and running before throwing your arms around him and apologizing, promising you ran just to make sure he didn't wait too long. He remembers his eyes widening while his pupils shrunk to dots, overwhelmed by the potency of you invading every sense. It made his cock throb. He made an excuse to hide in the bathroom within the hour.

Scent Kink!Keigo who does a remarkable job at containing the whine in his throat when you show him around your new apartment, quickly discovering you didn't bother to put away your laundry basket before he arrived. Why should you worry about your best friend seeing it? Keigo would never hold ill intentions. Keigo would never stuff a pair of your panties in his back pocket, Keigo wouldn't dream of fantasizing the second he secures it, flashes of the misbehavior he could get up to conjured quickly in his mind.

Scent Kink!Keigo who fidgets and avoids your eyes when you insist he stay so you can feed him takeout that night. The weight of his prize stings against his thigh; and as much as he loves your company, something else is calling to his attention right now. He quickly makes an excuse, faking a dispatch call by your window and waving once before he takes flight.

Scent Kink!Keigo who's brain glitches when he gets home and realizes he has to decide what to do first: take out his cock to touch himself and relieve the pressure straining in his pants, or pull your used panties out of his pocket. He picks the second option.

Scent Kink!Keigo who's whining in his bed moments later, your scent finally rubbed across his face with his hand fisting between his legs. It's like static when he twists his wrist with each stroke, imagining the smell of sex in the air as you ride his cock. Eyes rolled into the back of his skull, he swears the scent of your freshly used panties is enough. At least for tonight. At least until he needs a little refresher for his memory and has to snag another.

Scent Kink!Keigo who thinks he's a degenerate. He's a pervert. He's a sick freak who gets off on his crush's panties stuffing his mouth to muffle his moans, his saliva drenching the poor fabric; and he's even sicker for getting his dick wet to the thought of you catching him and repeating those insults in his ear while you sit on his face. He's sick, imagining himself inhaling it right from the source, spilling all over his abdomen to the thought of it.

Scent Kink!Keigo who is entirely, utterly fucked when you decide to move in together as roommates. Trouble isn't something he considered before. He's too excited by the idea of being around you to consider the repercussions on his mental health to be in such close proximity to you when night falls.

Scent Kink!Keigo who doesn't know whether it's a blessing or a curse that your room is directly adjacent to his. He knows exactly when you're touching yourself in the next room over.

Scent Kink!Keigo who throws his head back with a groan, hand ghosting down his happy trail and sliding beneath his waistband to grab his swelling cock again.

[rainba]

What's Rightfully Mine (Yan. Kairos! x GN! Reader)

A/N: OOuuuhh... I've read over this a billion times and I figure I may as well go ahead and upload it. ^^;;;;;;;;;;;; Matching artwork with the story...! Woohoo! (*´▽`*)

TWs: very graphic depictions of violence, disturbing yandere behaviors, mild gore, kidnapping, 18+ content....... Kairos being Kairos. Slight mention of virginity (but it's just Kairos' virginity) MDNI.

Wordcount: 2300~

((And thank you @x-v0id-x for reading over the fic for me before I posted it!!! ☆:.｡.o(≧▽≦)o.｡.:☆ ))

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

Kairos never meant for this to happen. 

He swears up and down that he never wanted to do it– he promises that he never intended to hurt anybody.

But he did anyway.

However… Can you blame him–?

You are Kairos’ one and only, his soulmate, his beloved, the reason he breathes, the reason he wakes up every morning, the reason why he’s still alive– you’re his everything! Was he supposed to just let you run off into the arms of another man without even attempting to fight back...?!

The way you looked at that filth– that disgusting, foul, no-good other man… It made Kairos sick to his stomach.

What even was that guy’s name...?

(####)? (######)? (######).

Yes, that’s his name, Kairos is sure of it.

It repeats itself in Kairos’ mind over and over again, piercing his skull like a blade that twists and twists until he’s left screaming for mercy at the top of his lungs.

“G-get out of my head! Get out! Get out get out get out! Leave me alone!”

Countless nights end in him violently waking up from the same nightmare– a nightmare where you and (######) run off together while he helplessly watches. And in the nightmare, you smile so brightly, but you’re only smiling at that bastard. It’s like Kairos is invisible as he desperately crawls towards you. He’s sobbing and begging for you not to leave him, but it’s as if you can’t hear him.

However, (######) can.

(######) spits on him, jeers at him, then laughs as he carries you far, far away.

In Kairos’ nightmares, the other man stomps on his neck as he spits out callous remarks.

“Nobody could ever love you.” He sneers.

“You’re nothing but a disgusting freak.”

Kairos knows he’s heard these things before– but he can’t remember who once told him that.

He feels so powerless when imagines you with (######) as he sleeps, and he can’t stop himself from thinking about it when he’s awake– it’s a never-ending tragedy that haunts every second of every day. The bags under his eyes have grown horrifyingly darker. Kairos had to make this stop.

He was desperate.

Kairos didn’t have a choice as he broke into that man’s house, sneaking in through the first-floor window and trudging down the darkened halls.

Kairos didn’t have a choice as he crept into the shadowy bedroom with a silver blade placed firmly in his hands, his back pocket harboring a rag soaked in chloroform.

The two of you were sleeping together so peacefully– you and that disgusting bastard.

That man looked so carefree; his chest rising and falling at a perfectly even pace. His arms were wrapped so warmly around you, holding you close in a tender embrace. The blankets covered your lower halves, and the man’s face was buried in the back of your neck.

The scene was so peaceful. Way too peaceful…

With tear-stricken eyes, Kairos couldn’t help but wonder: “why can’t that be me?”

Why does this man get to live a happy and carefree life, but not him? Why does this man get to hold you tightly in his arms, and not him? Why… Why… 

Why does Kairos never get what he wants? 

This feeling– this god awful feeling that Kairos is constantly haunted by: envy.

Envy… The one emotion he’s all-too familiar with. He doesn’t want to feel this way anymore– for once in his life, he wants to have something, and not just yearn for it.

In this moment, he knows that the only way to obtain happiness… 

Is simply to take it by force.

Kairos had to be fast– because if the man woke up before he could stun him, then he’d be quickly overpowered.

Before he focused on taking him out, Kairos tiptoed over to your side, his gaze softening for just a moment. He pulled out the rag from his back pocket and placed it gently under your nose, covering all your airways. He knew he had to wait a few minutes– he had to make sure that you won’t wake up any time soon. So, while he stood there, he lovingly petted your hair and left little kisses on your forehead. When he was certain that the chloroform settled in, his heart started to tighten in his chest.

Adrenaline struck him like lightning as he snuck around the side of the bed, his purple eyes locked in on his target. For the first time in his life, Kairos was no longer the victim.

Nervous sweat dribbled down the sides of his face as he held the blade up high, positioning the pointed end towards the man’s exposed throat. Kairos could have turned back– he could have easily put the knife away and let you both go free. But he loved you too badly. He needed you too badly.

This was it.

He jabbed the knife deep into the man’s neck, hoping that would prevent any screams.

And it worked.

(######) jolted awake in horror as his mind raced to figure out what was happening. He threw his hands onto the wound and tried so desperately to stop the bleeding, but it was futile. It was so, so futile. Gurgled sounds bounced off the walls as a bloody rampage ensued right beside you.

Seeing the red gushing out flipped a switch in Kairos’ mind. He doesn’t know why he lost control– he doesn’t know how it happened– but it did.

Kairos’ vision went black as he fully jumped on top of the bed, plunging the knife into (######)’s body over and over and over again.

Slash, slash, slash.

A horrifying symphony: the sound of flesh being sliced apart.

The man’s muffled cries were like music to Kairos’ ears.

He choked and he gagged, whimpered and wailed, but coherent words of pleas were unable to escape his mouth. Every time he tried to kick Kairos off, Kairos would stab him in his legs. Every time the man tried to push him off, Kairos would slash the palm of his hands. Kairos thought for sure that he’d be overpowered, but the adrenaline in his veins gave him strength that he never knew he had.

And there was blood.

Blood everywhere.

“M-mine, mine, mine… They’re mine...!” Kairos mumbled manically under his breath, his focus flipping back and forth between you and his victim. But– it wasn’t just Kairos that looked over at you. Your partner did as well.

His shimmering eyes stared at you longingly– so lovingly... Too lovingly.

It made Kairos’ blood boil.

Through gritted teeth, he spat out, “n-no, you don’t get to look at them...! Don’t look at them ever again!”

Then… Slash.

The silver knife plunged deep into his eyes– thick blood spewing out from the wound.

Kairos can barely remember what happened after that. All he knew was that, eventually, the man ceased to struggle.

His black hoodie was now soaked in blood- his quivering hands completely red. It dripped from his cheeks and onto the corpse beneath him– the entire world was spinning dizzyingly fast.

(######)’s body was painted in deep lacerations, and his face was disfigured to the point of him being unrecognizable. Something about it was so… So…

Exciting.

 It was done now. It was over.

There was nobody in this world who could take you away from him.

And the thought of that made him smile.

Kairos laughed– he laughed so joyously, laughed so carefree.

Kairos’ mind was an incoherent mess. A horrible, horrible mess.

And he doesn’t know why it happened– he doesn’t know how it happened– in one moment, he was attacking that man, but in the next…

“M-mine… Mine… You’re f-finally mine!”

His pale hands were shaking as they savagely tore away your thin clothing. Kairos pushed your ex-lover’s corpse onto the floor as he kissed your lips with the intensity of a starved animal.

Your lips were so much softer than he imagined– so much sweeter, too. He couldn’t contain his excitement anymore– after all, this night marks the beginnings of a new and wonderful life!! 

And now, he also just gave you his first kiss! 

The silver light of the moon was glowing on his face, illuminating the dark red blood that stained his skin. He was a monster– a selfish freak that craved your love more than anything else.

There really was no rhyme or reason to anything Kairos was doing. At that moment, he just wanted to feel good; he needed to feel your warmth.

In one second, he was desperately humping your leg while holding your hips in place. In the next, he was kissing your stomach and fervently licking your chest. He knows that you can’t feel it, but that’s beside the point– he uses this time as practice, so that when you are awake, you’ll be feeling nothing but bliss! And besides… You just taste so good; he can’t help himself.

Kairos kisses and bites at your neck and collarbone, leaving behind a faint trail of needy marks. Without thinking, he pulls out his cock and begins to jerk himself off. He parts his mouth and rambles to himself.

“I’ll… I’ll m-make sure nobody finds you! Nobody!”

Kairos sticks out his tongue and licks over your left nipple; he does it a few more times before fully sucking on it. The lewd act sends a shiver down his spine.

It’s so hot, so naughty, and ultimately entirely new to him. He’s never been so turned on before.

“W-we’ll live happily together, alone in my apartment! And you’ll be s-so happy!”

He speaks as if you can hear him– and deep down, he almost wishes that you could. Kairos crawls up further onto the bed and digs his knees into your shoulders, the shadow of his cock looming over your perfect face. It’s so close to you– so, so close– god, he still wishes you were awake right now. But he knows you’d fight him off if you knew what was going on.

“I’ll f-feed you every day, and– And I’ll learn how to cook for you! I– I can watch videos online… I promise I’ll learn… J-just for you!”

He strokes himself even faster, soft wet sounds echoing off the bloodied walls. Kairos lifts the chloroform rag away from your mouth but keeps it over your nose. He presses his tip against your lips as he keeps going, his precum slowly dribbling down your chin.

“W-we can make love every single night...! I’ll… I’ll make you feel so, so good… I…” A shiver runs up and down his spine as a whiney moan escapes him.

“M-my virginity… It’s… It’s all yours...! Ahh…” 

His eyes squeeze shut as a hot sting of pleasure surges through him.

“D-doesn’t that sound wonderful!? I’m all yours, my love!”

Kairos pushes his cock a little closer to your lips– but he does it a bit too aggressively, the tip of it scraping against your teeth. God, he would give anything for you to suck on it– even if only for a fraction of a second.

“Th-then we can have a family one day!! I’ll– I’ll get my job going, I… I’ll m-make more money! Lots of money! W-we can adopt… We can…”

With his one free hand, Kairos reaches down and begins to stroke your hair, leaving blood stains all throughout it. 

“J-just us two, only u-us two… Nobody… Else!” 

The pace of his hand quickens as his head starts to tilt backwards, his breathing growing out of control. His chest heaves as he erratically chases his high, yearning so badly to feel it hit him all at once.

He can’t help but imagine how wonderful the future will be– your all's future together. Then he imagines the way you’ll be all tied up in his bed, completely naked and vulnerable for him…

Just like you are now.

“F-fuck..!”

It’s all too much– Kairos’ cock twitches as he cums all over your face, some of it pouring into your mouth and on your cheeks. He squeezes as much of it out as he possibly can, craving to see you drenched in it. Throughout it all, you still sleep so peacefully… All thanks to the chloroform.

He can’t help but think that you look so cute when you’re knocked out and covered in his cum.

Ah… if only he could draw you in this state.

Even though he so badly wants to collapse by your side and cuddle you, he knows that he has to move. There is quite literally a dead body in the room and blood on his hands– he has to clean up.

And he also has to find a way to sneak your body to his broken-down car outside.

Very reluctantly, he kisses you on your forehead, smiling sweetly. “I’ll… I’ll be back, my love!”

After a while of stumbling, he finds himself entering the bathroom.

When he looks in the mirror, his eyes widen partially in horror. Kairos knew this side of himself existed deep within him… He knew there was a disgusting monster that laid dormant in his chest, but he had never before seen it come out so fiercely.

His pupils were small, his purple eyes hauntingly beautiful. And on top of that, he was grinning.

It was the first time he had genuinely smiled in weeks– maybe even months.

Kairos turned on the sink to wash off his face, but he only seemed to be making more of a mess. Blood streamed down the sides of the sink and pooled in the drain. Despite how macabre it all was, he just couldn’t stop smiling– because now he has everything he could ever want: you.

All to himself… Forever.

Until death do you part.

[veliseraptor]

re: that post i just reblogged about 'cozy horror'...i know better than to expect anything approaching decent commentary from the mary sue these days but this article really is just. sending me this morning. (thank you for sharing, @bereft-of-frogs! this was a good diversion from being angry about work stuff to being angry about something else.) starting off strong with:

local writer has been introduced to novel concept of broader horror genre!

ah yeah that instantly makes sense to me particularly as a segue after mentioning midsommar and the witch, two movies that i would definitely describe as "cozy"

the cozy horror novels of t. kingfisher, like the one with the description of an animated deer skull hovering outside a window at night that still freaks me out to remember? those ones?

my favorite part though might be the author's confident assertion that this is all about gender really:

because boys like icky bad horror that's difficult and intense and girls like nice cozy horror with happy endings and low stakes. ah yes. feminism!

if this becomes a thing i am going to perish. isn't taking over the sff environment with cozy feel good fluff enough, must the world take this from me too, it's hard enough to find horror i like already

[loko4koko]

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ Miya Atsumu x fem!Reader ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

>fanart_credit: GREEN_U_U_ (via_twitter)

MDNI 18+

>word_count: 7384

>contents: alcohol mentions (major plot point), implied drunk sex/hookup, kinda implied sex with a stranger, implied and explicit rough sex, drunk marriage proposal/wedding, atsumu being super rich for plot purposes, slight pda, slight dry humping/grinding, explicit p in v, oral sex (f!receiving), fingering (f!receiving), atsumu talking filthy, atsumu ripping reader’s panties off, multiple orgasms (f!receiving), cervix/womb fucking (very brief), mating press, multiple positions, creampie, atsumu being the world’s best husband *~*

skull pounding. head aching. brain melting.

those are the only ways you could describe waking up right now. face contorting and stretching as you blink bleary eyes, you close them just as quickly with a pained moan when the light of day shining through the windows hits you. you know you fucked up, know you got far too wasted last night because you never feel this hungover- not unless you down an excessive amount of shots in a not nearly spaced out enough timeframe. you rub at your face with the hand not curled under your pillow and something feels…strange. there’s something cold, hard, metallic that almost scratches you and your brow furrows, forcing your eyes open despite the brightness to look at your palm.

“what the fuck..?” you whisper, voice still strained with exhaustion and you’re staring in confusion as you turn your hand around to look at the back side. okay, you were right on first glance, that’s a fucking ring sitting on your finger. a decent sized rock, princess cut set on a silver band, one that you have to doubt it’s realness for the simple fact that you’ve never seen it before and, if it were a true diamond, would cost an amount of money that you could only call exorbitant. you stare at the ring for a moment before realizing that the backdrop of your current view is..not where you’d expected to go to sleep last night (this morning? you aren’t quite sure to be honest.) the hotel room is far more opulent than the one you’d dropped your bags into. this room is at least double, maybe even 3 times as big with floor to ceiling windows and a view too high and holy shit, this is basically a penthouse. you are in someone’s room- no, someone’s suite with what is potentially a diamond ring on your finger and now you’re worrying that you got so goddamn drunk that you managed to break into someone’s insanely costly hotel and decorated yourself with their insanely costly jewelry. your eyes could rival a full moon as you realize that you’d been freaking out so much about the room and the ring that you didn’t even notice you weren’t alone.

“oh..my god,” you cry out to yourself quietly, eyes now focused solely on the muscular arm that’s draped over your middle. you notice, only then, that you are bare under the sheets and your heart is racing so fast you’re concerned about the possibility of a heart attack. oh yeah, you really, absolutely, assuredly fucked up last night.

the person that the arm is attached to groans, said limb wrapping tighter around you and dragging you back against an equally sinewy chest. you want to turn over, get a good look at just who it is you ended up going home with, whose bed you’re in, who you ended up ass-naked with, but you’re too scared. shallowly, you think you might have to run away forever if you ended up here with someone…not to your taste. you hope and pray that hammered you had good standards, even if she made extraordinarily poor decisions. you settle back in, staring straight ahead with fretful eyes as you try to think- try to use the few brain cells you haven’t killed to remember just what shook down last night. the last thing you fully remember is getting to the second club you arrived at, your best friend still in tow as you got to the bar, ordered tequila shooters and “blowjob” shots. you must’ve wrapped your lips around too many because you sure don’t remember leaving there, don’t remember meeting any guys you’d want to go home with. you try your best but you just..can’t. can’t picture it, can’t picture the face of the man behind you, wrapped around you like it’s where he belongs.

you sit there, stewing in the fact that your memory is well and truly fucked, for about 15 minutes before the mystery man groans again, but this time you know he’s awake, know he’s becoming aware of the situation when you hear an “oh, fuck” from behind you. you think it just might be time to bite the bullet so you start the turnover, bracing yourself for the impact that you might’ve gone home with some sweaty creep with a face only a mother could love. you meet his eyes with your own and you find that you’re…quite pleasantly surprised. it’s obvious that you’re both scanning each other, seeing just how bad your choices might’ve been and he hasn’t cringed or jumped away in disgust so maybe he has the same reaction that you do.

it takes you a moment to realize, but you do actually recognize him, however, not from last night. no, you recognize him from your television screen. the shock in your eyes has to be apparent as you come to realize that the man before you- the faux-blonde with eyes just as confused as yours- is the star setter of the Japan national team. a man you’d seen on television because he competed in the goddamn olympics.

Miya Atsumu.

you have no control over the way your mouth falls open and a dumbfounded “holy shit” escapes. admittedly, you knew your taste could be rather questionable at times but there’s a little bit of pride in you that you’d at least ended up in bed with a very accomplished and very hot athlete. your eyes travel down his face, starting from those thick eyebrows, down to those big, brown eyes, down the slope of his nose and to lips that you’re sure you kissed an immeasurable amount of times, if the lipstick that’s still smeared on them has anything to do with you. yeah, that’s definitely him.

“uh, don’t-don’t take this the wrong way but..d’ya remember anything from last night?” he questions you nervously, probably afraid of offending you and you’re a little bit glad to know you aren’t the only one having this thought right now. you frown, lip between your teeth as you shake your head. “no..i actually was gonna ask you the same thing. this,” you say, lifting your hand and showing him the ring on your finger, “is not mine. it wasn’t on my finger when i first went out, so we should probably check the news and see if we robbed a jewelry store or something.” he laughs softly, nodding in agreement before reaching to pull the lush blanket from his body. he has no shame about being nude, not that he should, not with a body like that. he’s taller than he seemed on the tv screens- broad, sculpted shoulders that taper down into a waist you wouldn’t mind digging your fingers into. he’s got his back to you and even his butt is nice, well toned from what you can assume is vigorous volleyball training. you’re caught gawking when he turns around to face you, still naked as the day he was born, clearing his throat with a wink in your direction and a little smirk playing at his lips.

“didn’t mean to interrupt, sweet thing. jus’ wanted to get yer name. ‘m atsumu, miya atsumu.” the burn in your cheeks feels like hellfire and you look away, stuttering as you tell him who you are. you try not to stare again, not that it seems he’d mind, but from the little glimpse you do catch, you can see why there’s a dull ache between your hips.

about 45 minutes and 2 baths in the (very lavish) ofuro later, you’re both decent enough to sit and try to combine your brainpower into remembering what happened over the previous 10 or so hours. you wish to god you could remember how the night went, at least the part when you’d ended up in bed with a man like atsumu, but you think you had a good time if the dark marks spread across your neck, chest, and thighs are any indication.

atsumu is kind, much kinder than you expected a pro athlete to be, if you’re truthful. he hands you a menu and tells you you can have anything you want from it, and you’re shocked when you realize just how expensive all of the items on it are. even a glass of the “organic, freshly hand-squeezed orange juice” costs more than what you’d spend on 2 whole cartons back home and you realize just how out of your element you are here.

“um, i’ll just have a latte and some fruit..” you say sheepishly, handing atsumu the menu back and he frowns, nudging the pamphlet back into your hands. “ah, sweet thing, ya gotta eat more than that. need’ta soak up all the alcohol, yeah? i think i remember champagne being brought out at some point. c’mon, whatever ya like, really.” he gives you a smile, doing a little “go on” motion with his large hands and you bite your lip, nodding as you look over the menu again. you end up deciding on the american breakfast, offering waffles and sausage and the fruit you’d originally asked for, along with the coffee you so desperately need. atsumu, however, with the appetite of an athlete goes for a full japanese spread and when you remember the price from the menu and your estimations of how much the room you’re in could’ve costed, you take a glance at the ring on your finger again. there’s a small part of you that’s starting to doubt your original thoughts of it being a fake stone, what with the obviously enormous amount of money atsumu must have at his disposal. no, there’s no way you two could’ve gotten that drunk..right?

atsumu pulls you from your thoughts as the room service breakfast arrives, the server placing the platters in front of you at the table you sit at. atsumu thanks her, gives her what looks to be a generous tip and she’s off again. you quietly dig into your breakfast as you delve back in to the little memory you have of the night, and the more you eat, the more bits and pieces come back to you. you remember the champagne that the blonde mentioned earlier and you vaguely see yourselves downing glass after glass of the bubbly substance, flashes of you and atsumu making out somewhere that wasn’t the club popping into your head, but it’s spotty again after that. you sip at the smooth latte in front of you, feeling like your brain is going to turn to goo and slide out of your ears if you keep trying to push for the memories, so you give it a rest for now.

soon after breakfast is finished and a few phone calls are made on atsumu’s end, you learn just how you met- thanks to someone you know as his national’s teammate, bokuto, who happened to be with him when this all started. you’d met at what is apparently the third club you’d hopped to, when he approached you at the bar and offered to buy you a drink in exchange for a dance. you can’t blame yourself for accepting the proposition, one of the rare times when a man who is actually good looking makes an advance towards you while you’re out partying. bokuto tells atsumu on speakerphone how he saw you two dancing for only a short while before the borderline public indecency of your raunchy kissing and grinding started, and the next time he’d turned back to look for his friend, you both were gone. you’re grateful for the lead, at least able to put together the beginning of the night you’d spent with the setter. you wonder just where the two of you’d gotten off to after that, though, and how it went from there to you waking up in his hotel room with a ring on your finger. you turn away from the incredible city view that the room offers to pace around for a bit, to see if it’ll activate your brain into giving you some more useful information. you’re walking along the trail that your clothes made when you’d first gotten up, from the door to the bed, when you notice a piece of paper lying on the ground. you pick it up, scanning it over quickly and you just might have to pick your jaw up off of the floor when you finish. there’s a blank look in your eyes as you walk over and hand it to atsumu, who scans it equally as fast and almost chokes on his orange juice.

“700,000 yen at a jewelers?! what the hell did i…oh..” his brain fully registers the situation when you slide the ring off of your finger, placing it on the table in front of him. you can’t even begin to fathom how you’d gotten so drunk together that the man went and bought you a ring worth that much at 3:45 in the morning. you both stare at the guilty piece of jewelry for a moment before atsumu sighs, picking it up and analyzing it up close.

“there’s no way i picked this out. ya got good taste, i’ll tell ya that.” you huff out a laugh, shaking your head. “well, i went home with you, didn’t i?” atsumu cracks up at that, gently placing the ring back down on the table. “oh, yer quite the charmer, sweet thing. can see why i bought ya a 700,000 yen ring, if ya were flirtin’ with me like that last night.” there’s blood rushing to your cheeks and you smile, biting your lip as you look away from him for a moment to think before you speak again.

“atsumu, do you..do you think we..got married last night? i mean the ring..the champagne..it can’t be just a coincidence, can it?” the blonde man raises a thick brow, face twisted up like it wasn’t something he’d considered before now and it’s obvious he’s deep in his thoughts.

“guess it’s possible, right? what else can ya think? i still can’t remember all of it but champagne makes it sound like we were celebrating somethin’, and bokuto said he didn’t remember seein’ us with any at the club, so it must’ve happened sometime after the ring.” you sigh, completely and utterly stumped. you feel a pang of guilt that you’d gotten a guy like atsumu wrapped up in something as crazy as this with you, but you know there’s blame to be had on both sides. it’s annoyingly flattering, though, that he’d met you only hours before he seemingly proposed to you. you must’ve had some crazy good game if you’d gotten this gorgeous (and incredibly wealthy) man to seek you out, out of all the women at the club, and was so entranced by you even in his drunken state that he paid hundreds of thousands for a piece of jewelry for you. you had to give yourself some props for that.

a few hours pass before you end up with another piece of the puzzle, arguably the most important one of all. atsumu decided that if you had nothing better to do than rack your brains for memories, then you could at least enjoy the amenities of the high-class hotel you were staying in while you chat and get to know each other better. he takes you down to the in-house spa, to relax in the hot tub and maybe get a massage, where someone gives you a very substantiating piece of evidence, so to speak. you’re in line for check in to the spa when the worker sees you approaching, big smile on his face when the two of you finally reach his desk.

“ah, mr. miya! and the now mrs. miya! are you two here for your newlyweds package?” the man is practically beaming as he congratulates you and shakes atsumu’s hand, commending him on securing a woman as beautiful as yourself and it has you in shock, blushing and trying hard not to look like you never expected him to say that. atsumu is careful with his words, not wanting to burst the clearly excited man’s little bubble of joy.

“ah, uh- yeah, right, thanks! how-how’d ya know about that exactly?” the man laughs and you’re not sure how good of a sign that is.

“well, you came in here last night practically shouting it from the rooftops! said how happy you were to be married to the most gorgeous woman you’d ever seen in your life. said some other things, too, but i, uh- i won’t repeat those.” he sends a wink to the two of you and the feeling in your face is so hot you’re sure they could heat the rocks they use in the spa on you. atsumu handles it well, though, nodding and smiling right along like he always knew about this. he sets up the check-in quickly after that, leading you away towards the changing rooms. he sends you in to get changed with promises to convene about the new information when he meets you on the other side.

your hands are shaking as you change out of the shirt atsumu had given you, one you realize has his name on the back and that sure doesn’t make you feel any less like his wife now. you can’t believe it’s true, you’d actually gotten drunk and married a man. not just a man, actually, but the miya atsumu. you thought this type of thing only happened in the movies but clearly not because you’re living it right now, right this very minute. you finish undressing down to your underwear as you were woefully unprepared for this situation, so you have no swimsuit to wear. you wrap a towel around yourself and slip into your complimentary slippers before heading out of the changing room and into the hot tub area. you’re removing your towel and placing your belongings on an empty set of chairs and a table when there’s a whistle behind you and when you look up, your husband atsumu is there, drinking you in with his eyes, same way he drank in the multitude of drinks that got you into this situation. that is to say, in large gulps.

“well, would ya look at my pretty little wife! i gotta be the luckiest guy in here, huh?” you roll your eyes with a coy smile, playfully blowing him a kiss as he drops his own stuff beside yours. he approaches you, impressive stature towering over you as his warm hand cups your jaw, eyes trailing down from your lips to the marks strewn across your body, like a roadmap of his desire, before they come back up to meet your gaze. “that guy sure was right, think ya gotta be the most beautiful woman i’ve ever seen. no wonder i had to get ya a ring as soon as possible.” you blink in surprise, sheepishly grinning at the man that stands before you.

“and you call me a charmer..go take a look in a mirror and we’ll see which one of us is the lucky one here, husband.” he laughs boisterously, thumb sweeping over your bottom lip and he pats your cheek. “ya give as good as ya get. like that about ya.” his words come out soft as cotton, and is it wrong that you want to kiss him right now? if this is how he’d be as a husband, you aren’t sure you even want to fix this situation. you like the way he looks at you, like he truly believes you’re the most beautiful person in the world and you kinda want him to look at you like that for years to come. god, you can’t believe yourself, falling in love in 5 minutes with a man you’d only met the night before. he just makes it so fucking easy.

you’re left standing there for a moment as he winks at you before slipping in to the hot tub, and it’s hard to explain to yourself how you feel, so you decide not to for the time being. you still have questions that need to be solved, now knowing how you met and that you are, in fact, married to atsumu, so you climb into the hot tub with him to relax your brain and see what else you can try to piece together. a moan leaves you as you sink in to the hot water, closing your eyes as you lean back against the tub and atsumu watches you, arms splayed out against the lip of the tub and a part of him wonders why you’re sitting so far away. you are his wife, after all, and that part of him thinks you should be pressed up against him so that the warmth he’s feeling isn’t just from the water. there’s a long while of relaxation, at least 20 minutes of steamy hot bliss before one of you breaks the silence again.

“so, husband, what’s the plan? should we find out where we got married next, or are we on to planning the honeymoon?” you don’t open your eyes when you speak so you can’t see the way atsumu looks at you, like he actually is ready to take you on a trip and consummate his marriage again. he almost doesn’t even care how the two of you’d gotten into this situation anymore, just happy that he’s in it with you. he can picture you, on the sidelines at his games, wearing his jersey and cheering him on and when he wins for you, he rushes over and kisses your breath away. he sees you in his kitchen when he comes home from a long trip and he drops his bags and his jaw at the sight of you, tiny t-shirt and tinier panties as you dance around, baking some confectionery that isn’t nearly as sweet as he thinks you are. he’d never given a lot of thought to marriage but now he is, now he wants it, but only if it’s with you, with your pretty face as the background of his phone, with your smile greeting him when he comes home, with your moans all gasping and breathy in his ear as his cock hits deep inside of your most sensitive parts every night.

���atsumu? you still there?” your voice shakes him out of his head and you’re eyeing him with a curious look, lip between your teeth and it’s truly taking everything in him not to drag you back up to his suite and have you crying his name as you leak all over his dick.

“ah, yeah, sweet thing, ‘m sorry, i was jus’ thinkin’.” his lips are upturned into a smirk and it has you sliding a few inches closer to him, sweet smile on your lips and oh, how he wants to rail that look right off of your face. “‘bout what? c’mon, you can tell me anything, i mean, we are married, right?” you chuckle. he thinks for a moment before he makes a decision, strong hands pulling you in to straddle his lap and you squeal in surprise, huffing out a laugh as you place your arms around his neck to stabilize yourself.

“jus’..thinkin how much of a shame it is that i can’t remember how good yer pussy was, how loud i made ya moan fer me last night, how sweet i bet ya tasted on my tongue.” atsumu wishes he could take a picture of the look on your face as you take in his filth, as you feel his cock stiffening under your ass. your wide eyes dart away from his and there’s a shy little “oh” that leaves you. you hadn’t expected something so..lewd- so downright vulgar- to leave his mouth but you can’t lie and say it’s not something you’ve thought about, too. for as much of your thoughts have been sweet- images of him holding you close while you watch films, sipping sake and feeding each other sweets on your anniversary, they’ve been indecent, as well. wondering what positions he’d put you into last night, wondering how pretty his brown eyes look when they stare at you from between your thighs, mouth too busy on your slippery cunt to make his teasing little quips. you let your eyes meet his again and you decide on boldness as your response, leaning in so close your lips almost brush his when you speak.

“wanna find out?”

atsumu couldn’t have stopped himself if he tried, pressing that quarter inch closer to surge your lips together, and it’s so obscene how he kisses you, so utterly salacious, all tongue in your mouth and teeth on the swell of your bottom lip. his hand comes up to hold your cheek and the other finds the curve of your ass under the water, groping and squeezing as much flesh as he can fit in his palm. he’s such a nasty man- large hand slowly guiding you back and forth on his lap, the grind of your pussy against him, against the length of his cock, only separated by thin layers of fabric. even through your underwear and his shorts you can feel the ridges and veins of his hard on, feel how long he is, how thick, and a moan gets swallowed up into the kiss, but neither of you are sure who it came from. the swap of spit goes on for a bit, teeth clinking in your shared hunger for one another before he separates you, thin string of someone’s saliva serving as a connection between you two, what you’d been up to in the hotel hot tub.

“ya gonna let me take ya upstairs, baby? need’ta make my wife’s hot little pussy cream all over me, need’ta feel ya.” there’s a haze in your eyes as you nod, real thoughts no longer occupying your brain, only atsumu now- atsumu’s cock, atsumu’s mouth, atsumu’s cum. you share one last sloppy kiss before you’re climbing off of his lap, stumbling your way out of the hot tub and hurrying to collect your things from the table. he’s not far behind you, slapping your ass as you bend over to grab your borrowed shirt and sandals. the two of you dry off quickly and wrap your towels tightly around yourselves, exchanging heated gazes as you bypass the changing rooms altogether and head straight for the elevators. you thank whatever god may be listening as you see you’re alone on the trip up to atsumu’s suite and he must’ve been too because he’s back on you the second the doors close. he’s got you pressed against the wall, your thigh hiked up to his hip and calloused fingers around your throat in a gentle squeeze, tongue in your mouth again and you’ve never been more grateful to be on a floor so high. you see now exactly how you ended up as his wife. how could you not be when he kisses you like you’re holding the last oxygen in the world, grinding his hips into yours like he needs the friction to keep warm? his mouth, hot and demanding in its claim on you, traces a line down from your lips to your throat, this time the opposite side of where he’d imprinted on you last night and it has breathy moans and gasps escaping you, fingers gripping those strong shoulders as he sucks and bites more marks into your flesh.

“f-fuck, ‘tsumu, want you so bad..” you sigh, hips moving in accord with his own, and you wonder if he can feel the dampness seeping through the thin layer of your panties. your neck is craned so far back you’re sure it’ll ache later, but you can’t be worried about that now, not when atsumu’s lips are at your ear, kissing the shell of it, tugging the lobe between his teeth.

“don’t worry, baby, yer gonna have me real soon. gonna fuck my sweet little wife so good, fuck, ‘m dyin’ to get my cock inside ya again.” and it’s not long before he’s making good on his promise. as soon as the elevator dings he’s lifting your other leg, long fingers digging into your thighs as he carries you down the halls to his suite, and god, he’s so strong- so secure in his hold on you, you just know he could do it with one hand if he wanted. he gets you in his room and kicks the door shut with his foot, dropping you onto the bed before dropping himself to his knees before you.

you’re perched up onto your elbows as you watch him and you gasp out a laugh when his impatience has him ripping your panties instead of pulling them off, kissing on your quivering inner thighs with promises to buy you new ones. he’ll buy you as many pairs as you want. hell, he’d buy you anything you want, he thinks, because the moment he gets a taste of your drooling cunt he knows he’ll never be satisfied with another flavor again. you’re sweeter on his tongue than he could’ve ever guessed and fuck, if you tasted this good last night he knows he made the right choice with his drunken proposal. your head falls back between your shoulders as he eats away- licking, slurping, sucking on your clit, on your pretty little pussy lips. the way you cry out for him has him never wanting to stop, wanting to stay glued between your legs forever as long as he gets to hear the way your moans get so whiny when his tongue flicks at your clit just right.

“ohmygod, ‘tsumu, just like that, right-right there, please,” you whimper, leaning your head back up to look at him and wow, is he pretty like this. his eyes are closed, lost in you- your taste, your smell, your essence. atsumu thinks there’s no better drug than this, than the way your slick little hole flutters on his tongue when he dips the muscle inside of you. your fingers are carding through his soft blonde locks, giving his roots a sharp tug when his teeth lightly catch your clit.

“oh! oh, f-fuck, i’m so close, gonna cum,” you whimper, legs shaking on their perch of his shoulders and you didn’t think he could suck on your clit harder but god, he does. your chest is heaving and your free hand scrambles for purchase in the expensive sheets and you’re there, falling over the edge, eyes squeezed shut and thighs clamping down around his head. he tongue-fucks you through it, thumb coming up to stimulate your sticky clit and it’s almost too much, too good. he’s moaning into you almost as loud as you’re moaning for him, savoring every little morsel of you that he can get like a man starved. when your eyes finally open again they fall on his face and he’s staring up at you, lips shiny and chin damp with your release and your skin feels so, so hot to be in.

“there she is,” atsumu grins boyishly, lips pressing against the crease of your thigh and hip, “fuck, ya taste so good. my pretty wife, so perfect and sweet.” he gently pulls your legs from his shoulders and rises from his knees, coming to lean over you on the bed. he kisses you slow, tongue forcing it’s way into your mouth to give you no choice but to taste yourself and you can’t help the whine that he swallows right up. he slides you further back on the bed, nimble hands slipping down to drop his shorts and oh, you can feel the hot mushroom head of his cock, damp and sticky with precum, nudge against your clit when he climbs between your thighs.

“ya ready for me, sweet thing? ‘m gonna fill ya up, need ya to take it all f’me,” he says against your lips and you nod desperately, knowing you’d take anything he was willing to give you. he presses one last gentle kiss to your lips before he’s leaning back, one hand on your waist and the other on the base of his cock, guiding his length to your dripping hole. he breaches you with the tip and fuck, does it feel good already, but then he’s sheathing inch after inch inside of you and your lips form a perfect ‘o’.

“my god,” he groans, “yer so fuckin’ tight. perfect little pussy on my perfect little wife. ya feel that? ya feel how deep i am?” your eyes are fluttering but you try hard to keep them open, meeting his own and you can’t even speak, just another nod in response because opening your mouth only has a gasping moan leaving you. he gives you a brief second to adjust, but really it’s for him too, your walls so warm and slick that he has to take a moment to breathe through it so he doesn’t blow his load immediately. but once that second is over, he’s dragging his cock back out of you, enough so that only the tip resides inside of you and when he fucks back into you, it punches your breath from your lungs. he starts a pace one could only call determined- determined to hit that spongy little spot inside of you, determined to have you creaming all over his cock, determined to make nothing but his name fall from your lips.

“ohhmyygodddd, ‘tsumu!! you’re s-so big, feel you s’deep ins-side me,” you cry, hands on his forearms as your nails dig deep into the flesh. atsumu doesn’t mind it, though- too wrapped up in how your hot cunt around him makes this wet, squishy sound when he slides in and out of you.

“yeah, baby? ‘m i fuckin’ ya good? ‘m i f-fuckin’ this sweet little pussy the way ya like?” his voice is heavy with lust and unconstrained need, hips smacksmacksmacking against yours with vigor. your answer to him comes out slurred, high-pitched and so fucked out already. “yesss, nngh, s-so good, so fucking good!”

his hands grip under your knees, pushing your thighs back against your chest in a mating press and fuck, if you thought he was deep before, you hadn’t seen anything yet. his cock is hitting places inside of you that you’d previously thought impossible, salty little drops forming in your lash line and when you blink your eyes open, you think you see heaven. it’s atsumu- blonde hairs sticking to his forehead, chest glistening with little droplets of sweat, face contorted in a blend of pleasure and concentration as he carves his cock through your insides. there’s no air in your lungs, no thoughts in your head, nothing in your eyes but want. he catches your gaze on him and a grin splits his lips and oh yeah, you’re so over. you have no choice but to be in love with him, with your husband.

“mmh, what a pretty little thing, lookin’ a’me like that. bet ya look even prettier cummin’ on my cock, huh?” his thrusts slow but they don’t lose intensity, only growing harder in place of speed. the hands on your thighs leave to find your own hands, lacing your fingers together as he presses you deep into the mattress. his face comes down to yours, lips practically meshed as he fills your ears with more deliciously pornographic words.

“‘m not lettin ya go, baby. n-no, ‘m gonna keep ya as my lovely little wife, fuck ya like this every goddamn day. y’feel so good- fuck, so wet and tight for me. can’t let ya go, can’t let anyone else have ya. give ya anything, give ya the whole w-world long as ya keep givin’ me this slutty. little. pussy. oh, yer squeezin’ me, baby, y’like the sound of that, huh? gettin’ fucked nice ‘n deep ‘n full every day, bein’ my good girl, my wife?”

your lecherous moans and hiccups of his name in his ear have him driving his hips into you with more and more force, and you can’t even tell him how hard you’re about to cum. he knows though- knows when your back arches up, when your tits press against his chest, when your squelching little cunt grips him so tight he can barely move. he knows you’re cumming for him when a scream of his name tears from your throat and your fingernails leave crescents on the back of his hands. and atsumu is so giving, keeps on grinding his hips into you to get you through it, keeps spilling his erotic promises against your lips.

“oh, fuck- yeah, that’s it- that’s my good girl.. gonna make ya cum like this til ya can’t, til yer pretty voice is gone and ya can’t scream for me anymore.” there’s nothing but truth in his words, his athlete’s stamina keeping his thrusts into you just as ruthless as when he started. the folded-up position he’s got you in, in combination with an orgasm so powerful, has you seeing stars, the man on top of you practically fucking into your womb with his depth. you feel him on your neck, his pink tongue out to chase a rogue droplet of sweat and good god, is he so filthy. there’s no denying it for you, though, just how much you like it. there’s no denying it for him, either, with how your cushy walls clamp down around him as you moan so wantonly.

never in your wildest dreams did you think you’d be here, tears swimming in your eyes as you watch atsumu bring a leg up over his shoulder, pressing kisses to the soft skin of your calf while his hips continue their swivel. he fucks you like he can see inside of you- like he can see just where that delicate little point inside of you resides with a target on it, thick tip of his cock driving against it over and over and over again. you’ve cum around him 3 times now, or maybe it was 4. your brain was so fogged with lust that it was hard to keep track. but atsumu had patience, he had the strength to hold himself off from filling you up with his cum until you were crying for it, begging for it. but he felt so good inside of you that you didn’t want it to end yet- desperate to feel the same ache in your hips that you’d felt last night.

atsumu’s kiss was miles away from the way he fucked you, lips on yours so gently and lovingly that if you couldn’t see your other halves, you’d have no idea that he was fucking into your searing hot core so roughly- so brutally. he gave your kiss-swollen bottom lip a tug before he parted from you, hissing as he pulls his cock out of you. you watch him as you catch your breath, allowing yourself to be jostled around when he comes to lay on his side beside you, wrapping one of those strong arms around you to drag you up against his chest. he lifts your thigh and mutters in your ear an instruction for you to hold it up and his hand comes down, guiding his dick back inside of you and it has your head falling back against him, mewls leaving your lips and groans leaving his.

“never gonna get tired of this pussy, baby. y’get so wet for me, fuck- swear i could drown in it. ‘m gettin’ so close, gonna give ya all my cum, ‘n ya gotta take it, okay? gotta keep it all in this hot little pussy of yers. ya gonna do that? y’gonna be a good girl for me and keep it all in?” the demands he murmurs into your ear make your cunt clutch onto him all the more tighter, breathing harsh and ragged as you nod.

“yeah, baby, ‘m gonna keep it all in- ah! please, please, need it- need you to give it to me. want your cum so bad, ‘tsumu..i-i’m so close, don’t stop, please.” there’s a burn in your hamstring from the way your thigh is hiked up into the air but you don’t care, atsumu is gonna give you his cum and that’s all that matters to you. his slender, calloused fingers caress your body, moving from your waist, to the swell of your tits that bounce from the force of his thrusts, all the way down to your puffy little clit. he plays with you expertly and you cry out that he’s got you close, gonna make you cum again and he didn’t need you to tell him that, can feel your cunt spasming around his cock and fuck, he’s close, too.

“hold it f’me, pretty, just a second, f-fuck, wanna cum together, need’ta feel ya squeezin’ the cum outta my cock,” he sighs. it’s so hard, so hard to hold out but you do it and it’s worth it in the end. when those lips on your ear say “cum for me, angel” and his hips lose their rhythm, cock inside you twitching away as he spills rope after rope of milky white into you, it’s worth it. you throat is raw at this point, has been for some time, and yet a hoarse scream still makes it’s way out of you, cunt convulsing as you milk him for everything he’s got.

a few minutes pass, though someone could’ve told you it was an hour and you’d believe them, and the two of you still lie there, sticky and sweaty and so fucking gratified. atsumu keeps you close to him, keeps his lips pressed to your throat and you finally feel yourself coming back to reality.

“y’good, baby? ‘s it alright if i leave ya for a second? gonna get ya some water and get a bath ready, won’t take long, okay?” you still can’t speak, fighting an internal battle with yourself to even keep your eyes open so you just nod, and atsumu leaves a kiss on your shoulder before he eases his softened cock out of you with a whine on your part, sweetly shushing you as he climbs out of bed. you don’t even realize that you fell asleep until he comes back, and you realize with a start that you’re being lifted from the bed. you get your eyes back in focus to see atsumu looking down at you, ever-present smile on his face as he carries you off to the bathroom to clean you. the two of you sit in the tub, your back against a much sturdier chest, warmth of the water soothing your aching muscles and abused cunt.

atsumu is as good a husband as he is a lover, lifting a glass of water he’d already prepared to your lips and he’s gentle with his hands when he rubs you down with a soapy cloth. he whispers about how good you were for him- how he wasn’t lying or just saying it to say it, how he really wants to try to make this work with you. you have no objection to it, you figure if you’d want to marry anyone in the world, it might as well be a man so sweet- so kind and giving, so passionate about everything he touches, including you.

your bath is cold soon after the two of you are clean and he brings you back to bed, dries you off and helps to dress you in another one of his shirts that you swim in. he does something else, too. he sits beside you, cups your face with a strong hand and kisses you softly, before he reaches for your left hand, smiling serenely at you as he slides the ring you’d taken off earlier back onto your finger. you grin at his display, squeezing his hand in yours as you find his lips again, no lust or overwhelming desire in it, just the feeling of something like love blossoming between you two- the newlyweds, mr. and mrs. miya atsumu.

>authors_note: i have no idea how this ended up at 7k+ but husband!atsumu just does that to me 😅 hope y’all enjoy!! kinda have ideas for a part 2 so if you’re interested in that lmk!

>thank you for reading ♡

>masterlist.exe

>requests are now LIVE!

© loko4koko 2023

[abibliophobiaa]

Summary: The year is 1988. After the loss of a beloved family member, you find yourself inheriting an old coffee shop. The quiet bartender at the Hideout across the street just so happens to catch your eye.

(8k+ words; eddie munson x afab!reader; sunshine!reader x grumpy!eddie vibes)

Warnings: Vignette style (sorta); Eddie’s post S4 trauma; panic attacks; nightmares; family member loss; grief; alcohol use; mild smut in later chapters so 18+; additional warnings to be added.

(AO3 Link) || Master List || NEXT CHAPTER ||

*

Winter, 1987

*

Everyone tells you it’s crazy.

They say to take the money and sell the property your grandfather left you in his will.

They say to take it and run.

They say don’t move to that town, the shop’s a lost cause, the place is cursed.

They tell you they’ve got murderers and the literal gates of hell were open there for a time.

‘Satanic worship,’ some say.

‘Cultists.’

‘Don’t want to mess with their kind; might rub off on you, make you evil.’

‘One of them Freaks.’

‘And whatever you do, don’t ever go to that trailer park,’ is the gravest of warnings you’re given. Apparently some girl was sacrificed there, and that’s when it all started.

Eyes ripped clean from her skull, body broken, just like two others around the same time.

Mangled beyond repair.

The work of pure evil.

‘They’ll tell you everything’s okay now,’ people warn you, ‘but it’s not.’

It’s all lies.

Meant to try and preserve that place.

To try and bring life to a town many believe should have been erased from the map.

But you’ve never been one for rumor or superstition.

So you pack some bags with your things and get in your car.

Hawkins it is.

*

All in all, Hawkins is…quaint.

A small town with a modest population. People turn and look as you pull into the shop parking lot with bags spilling out of your trunk and piled high in the backseat.

It’s the kind of town where they wave as you get out, curious gazes trying to get a glimpse of the new girl.

Only you’re not new. A stranger, maybe, but this town made up your formative years.

Memories of walking in the streets, getting ice cream with your grandfather, enjoying a day in the park, riding your bike in the neighborhood flit in your mind. They bring a smile to your face as you climb out of your car and take in the front of Sunshine Coffee.

It’s…different than you remember. Darker, somehow. But what’s darkness against a little love and light, you think, as you brush your fingers along the front door and push the key inside the lock.

A bell chimes above you and suddenly you’re a kid again, running inside to snatch a cookie freshly out of the back oven.

You brush your hands along your face to wipe your tears away at the memory as you step further into the building, taking in the place.

It seems like your grandfather had kept up with the place up until his death, or had at the very least hired someone to maintain it.

Sure, it needs a little love and updating, but it’s still got that homey feeling. The sort of place that immediately makes you feel at peace when you enter.

It’s so funny to think this is the same town.

This town people back home said is bestowed with a curse. It’s a little more rundown than you remember. Buildings here and there with wooden planks in windows, or burn scars, regrowing grass.

But it looks like it’s healing.

Like everything they’ve gone through is becoming more and more a thing of the past.

People seem joyous now, your heart swelling when you later see your new neighbors, an elderly couple that owns the local flower shop, and they offer to help you unpack.

You only thank them, telling them you’re more than okay, but that you appreciate the offer.

And they wish you well on your ways, saying they are proud to see your grandfather’s shop open up again.

You spend the afternoon walking back and forth from your car to the building, unpacking your things, making yourself at home.

Home.

This is home now.

What a funny thing?

Just wanna make you proud.

*

It takes a few weeks of deep cleaning and reorganizing, but Sunshine Coffee gets back to its normal splendor, with a few new personal touches thrown in.

You’ve updated the place, replaced the darker hues your grandfather preferred with paler shades.

Creams, tans, whites.

You’ve removed the drapery against the windows and swapped them for billowing curtains, delicate laces, whimsical accents.

The windows are full of fresh poinsettias and other red and green offerings. Whatever blooms are in season at the time, given to you as donations from your new neighbors—the sweet older couple who own the flower shop next door.

There’s also a new bar you don’t recognize from the last time you came to visit nearby.

The Hideout, the scrawling font declares.

It glows through your bedroom window at night.

The little upstairs apartment your grandfather had built is small, but suitable for your needs. It’s no more than a kitchen, bathroom, living area, and bedroom that you can access from the back entrance of the coffee shop. You have little other than some necessities at this point, but figure you’ll take a trip to the thrift store in the upcoming months once you have cash to spare to spruce things up to your liking.

At night, you can hear music filtering in through your windows—a different genre each night.

Most nights, it lulls you to sleep.

And it’s not long before the coffee shop is ready for opening, and a ‘NOW HIRING’ sign stands erect in the window.

Now we wait, you think, pride blooming in your chest.

Because it’s not much.

But it’s all yours.

A legacy upheld in a town that maybe needs a little bit of hope.

*

Max and El are life saviors that blow in a few days after you hang your sign up in the window alerting the whole town you’re here to stay and looking for help.

Opening day is set for a week from now, and you still need to train the potential staff on how to make the treats on your menu, and the coffees and teas you intend to offer.

And there they are, a flash of red and brown hair as they pull up one day in front of the cafe and knock on the front window. You can’t help but think they’re solicitors at first. You’ve really not ventured far from your shop and apartment yet, still getting used to the new town you’d only visited over the summers throughout your childhood.

You interview them both at the same time, finding them more than capable, and offer them to start training that afternoon if they’re available. Your grandfather had left enough in his will to ensure you have a little money to last you for a bit, and until you have a steady stream of customers you intend to use it to pay them.

Training goes smoothly.

The girls are naturals, it seems, understanding within a few hours how to make most of your drink offerings and work the register.

The three of you spend the afternoon in your new work aprons—black in color with Sunshine Coffee written across in pretty white detailing with little daisies underneath—and suddenly it starts to feel real.

Even if it’s a failure, even if you have to pack up and go home, it’s real and it’s yours and you’re doing this.

*

Spring, 1988

*

It starts as a…well, it starts as nothing.

In the beginning, there’s this nothingness.

Held together only by a mutual love for coffee.

Or rather, his need for coffee to get him through his shifts. You’re the supplier, really. But that’s where it starts. Humble beginnings, fleeting glances, soft exchanges. In those breathless seconds, where neither of you speaks, but silence screams.

He’s the boy with eloquent sadness, a way about him unfamiliar and curious, and you’re the girl who wants nothing more than to break down his walls.

To find out who Eddie Munson is at his core.

And maybe, just maybe, it’s best this way for things to start.

It gives things a chance to start, to grow, to thrive.

To begin…

*

The first weeks of the coffee shop opening are better than anything you could ever imagine. It seems like the town has been in need of a place to get away, to enjoy the company of friends and community. And it doesn’t take long before you’re adding chairs and tables both inside and out to make more room for those wishing to buy a drink or a treat and stay around.

El and Max mill about behind the register. El tending to money exchanges and Max perfecting the foam on her cappuccino for the table of boys sitting near the front of the building who just so happen to be their boyfriends. They’re trying to be subtle about it, probably to keep their interest a secret from you (their boss) but you find it endearing, seeing them glance over every so often to look fondly at them.

“Girls,” you call over to them. Two heads whip your way. “You’ve both stayed late the past two days, I’ll close up shop. Go to the movies, have fun, be teenagers. I’ve got things here.”

“Really?” El asks, looking over your shoulder to the longer haired boy to give him a shy little wave.

“Yes,” you say, tying your apron around your hips and slipping behind the counter. “Go—both of you, or else you’re both fired.”

Max snorts at that, untying her own apron from her hips and blowing a red strand of hair away from her face. Her blue eyes clash with your own as she hooks the apron on the racks you have hanging against the back wall.

“You’re sure?” she asks.

“Yes,” you tell them. “Although it looks like we’ll be needing more help sooner than I expected. If either of you know anyone looking for work, let me know. Now shoo!”

The group of teenagers rushes out the door with no further protesting, leaving you alone with the hustle and bustle of your shop.

And soon, the morning rush slows into the afternoon lull.

It’s during this time of day, you’ve noticed, the building quiets and you have time to clean up a bit around the place.

Patrons sit around in hushed conversation, writing in notebooks, or reading their books as you maneuver about the tables with a rag, wiping down surfaces until they sparkle in the setting sunlight.

It’s then that the door jingles and in walks your next customer.

He’s a vision in all black. Dark pants, dark jacket, dark Metallica shirt underneath. His hair is pulled back behind his head, strands coming to fall in curls around his face, forehead full of raven colored bangs. But it’s his face that’s striking. He’s all hard lines and sinewy bone, pale skin that accentuates the small dimple in his cheek as he regards the room upon entering. The shadow of his eyes reach yours as you rush behind the counter to serve him, and his head only tilts up just enough where you can see a scar crawling up the side of his face, and another on his neck. But it does nothing to detract from the fact he’s striking.

Beautiful, in a way you’ve not seen before.

At your gentle perusal, he tilts his head a bit, angling himself in a way where it’s hidden from view once more.

“What can I g—”

“A black coffee, two sugars. Please.”

Short.

Clipped.

No nonsense.

Your head dips swiftly and you rush over to pour him a cup from the freshest pot, fingers trembling a bit as you rip two sugar packets and pour them within, before stirring the drink with a wooden stick.

You walk back over to the counter, grin sliding across your features as you announce, “I don’t think I’ve seen you around yet. First coffee for a new customer is always free.”

He grasps the cup in his hand as you offer it to him.

There’s a brief tick in his cheek.

Not quite a smile, but not a grimace either. “Thank you…”

You tell him your name, pausing at the end to leave him room to say his.

He doesn’t, though.

His head only dips and he leaves, the door jingling on his way out.

Well, nice to meet you, too, stranger.

*

The man in all black comes back every day after that.

Every day at four in the afternoon.

He orders the same black coffee with two sugars and never says much more than a few words.

Good afternoon.

I’m fine.

Thank you.

Every day he seems in a rush, everyday he seems caught up in his thoughts, every day he makes you wonder what it is about him that makes him so distant from the rest of Hawkins.

You’re mid sweeping one afternoon when you decide to ask Max if she knows anything about the man who says little and regards you even less.

“You mean Eddie,” she states, wiping down a countertop.

“What’s his story?” You ask.

“It’s not really for me to say,” she admits, pausing in her cleaning. “What I can say is…two years ago some stuff happened and he was kind of…in the middle of it all. Why?”

“He’s a customer,” you tell her, resuming your sweeping. “Just trying to get to know everyone. New girl in town and all, you know?”

*

Over the next few weeks, you make it your mission to try to get to know your elusive customer.

You start with writing silly facts on his cups; you figure it’s lighthearted and pleasant, a great conversation starter even.

Or at least that’s your hope.

You set his cup aside a little while before he comes in, whatever fun fact is in the newspaper for the day already ready on the outside of his cup. He doesn’t react at first, and even when he starts to, you can almost tell what kind of day he’s having by his reactions.

A crocodile cannot stick its tongue out.

A twitch in his dimple.

He’s really not looking to stick around, probably has to be somewhere.

Almonds are a member of the peach family.

A soft uptick of his lip.

He spares you a few extra words that day.

Tells you to have a nice afternoon before slipping out the front door.

A dime has 118 ridges around the edge.

He finally tells you his name, even though Max told you weeks ago now.

It’s nice to hear it from him, though.

“Eddie…Eddie Munson.”

He says it slowly, as if he’s expecting some sort of response out of you.

Except it never comes.

You only smile, and that seems to calm him a bit, his shoulders slouching comfortably.

He glances down at the factoid on his cup and lets out a laugh.

The sound catches you off guard, just as his voice does most days.

It’s beautiful and your heart twists in your chest, knowing you’ve brought it out of him.

“You really think someone sat around and counted?” He asks.

“Obviously,” you tease, handing him his change. “It’s in the newspaper. Doesn’t that mean it has to be true?”

He lets out another laugh and tosses his change into your tip jar, shaking his head as he slips away and out of view.

*

You don’t mean to find out where he works the way you do. You’ve been steadily slipping factoids on his cups for the better part of eight weeks when you close up shop for the night and decide to go on a little walk around the neighborhood.

Spring is finally getting warmer, your thin sweater more than enough to block out the chill of the night as you slip out the front door and step out beneath one of the street lamps.

You can hear the familiar thumping coming from the Hideout, but what isn’t familiar to you is the sight of Eddie leaning against the front of the building with his leather jacket unzipped, threadbare navy tee in place, and a cigarette between his lips. You spot the flash of silver in the dangling earring in his ear, the curls that dance about his shoulders freely today.

He looks like a phantom in the night, all shadows and pale features bathed in moonlight.

“Streets aren’t safe at night,” he calls from across the short distance.

“I think I can handle my own,” you shout back, stepping further along the parking lot. “You know, those are terrible for you. My grandpa needed a quadruple bypass after all the years he smoked.”

He lets out a low whistle. “I’ll give ‘em up one day.”

“Just not today?”

“Not today,” he admits, glancing over your way. “Heading home for the night?”

“I…actually live in the shop. I have an apartment upstairs,” you tell him, crossing your hands behind your back and clasping them there.

You sway lightly on the balls of your feet, a little nervous to be standing before the man who spares you a few words on a good day.

“You got a lock?” he asks, snubbing out his cigarette on the concrete below with a dark boot.

“A chain one for now. The deadbolt doesn’t work well.”

“You need a new deadbolt then,” he tells you, not quite making eye contact. “These drunken idiots get up to who knows what when they leave here.”

You bite at your bottom lip, trying to hide your grin. He arches a brow in question, pushing up off the wall to step nearer to you. “Eddie Munson, are we becoming friends?”

“There are no other good coffee shops in town,” he says with a shrug, and if anything it makes you grin wider. “I’ll install it on the weekend if you’re around. Before my shift.”

You ask, “Here?”

He nods. “I bartend, yeah.”

“Saturday is good.”

He dips his head once, feet moving him backwards a bit toward the bar. “I have to head back. I’ll see you.” He pauses at the door and adds over his shoulder, “Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” you echo.

He doesn’t smile.

Not yet.

But he waves, and something hopeful flickers in your belly.

*

True to his word, Eddie Munson shows up at three in the afternoon on Saturday.

El and Max wave as he enters, and you wonder if they know him more than they let on, with the way he lets them come forward to press themselves into the crook of either of his arms and they lead him toward your shoddy apartment entrance.

You tend to the front counter as Eddie works out back, showing your newest hire, Will Byers, how to perfect foam on a latte. He’s El’s step-brother, you learn very early on, and a son to Joyce who happens to be a regular. Her husband, Hopper, also comes in from time to time.

And though you were hesitant at first in hiring siblings to work together, you learn pretty quickly that Will is the quietest of the bunch, whereas it’s El and Max who tend to get a little rowdier.

“Was that good?” Will asks gently, holding the lid to the cup a few inches above the drink, closing it as you nod.

“Perfect!”

You clap excitedly, earning a smile from the boy just as Eddie comes stalking back in with the girls at his heels.

He glances at you as you approach from around the counter, the skirt about your ankles shifting as you move, his eyes dark as you hold out a coffee cup in hand.

He takes a sip and hums, the toolbag he brought with him over one shoulder shifting as he moves closer to you. “Thanks.”

“How much do I owe you for this?” You ask, not wanting to be a bother.

He was the one to offer in the first place, and yet you feel like you owe him something.

“This is fine,” he says, holding the cup up for emphasis.

“Eddie,” you start to argue softly, chewing at your lip.

The girls look on with equal expressions of interest from over his shoulders.

“This is payment enough,” he promises, tipping his head up at Will over your shoulder. “Hiring all the kids, huh?”

“They don’t seem to mind,” you say, smirking slightly to the girls. “Plus, I think I’m a fun boss.”

The girls nod in agreement, and over your shoulder Will echoes the sentiment. Eddie snorts, hooking his bag higher over his shoulder. He glances about the room one last time before he cups El over the top of her head and ruffles Max’s double braids.

“Gotta start my shift,” he announces, turning about the heel and heading to the door. He stops to turn and look at you, the shop mostly empty by now. “Thanks for the coffee.”

“Thank you for fixing my door.”

And he’s gone, out the door and crossing the parking lot to the bar across the way.

El is the first one to burst into a fit of giggles, and soon Max follows. Will urges the girls to keep their composure, but you suddenly have three teens laughing at you—or at least you assume they’re laughing at you, because their dark haired friend is long gone now.

You whirl on them all, feeling heat bloom beneath your skin. “What?”

Your response is their giggling, each kid one by one resuming their job tasks.

Will to his lattes, El to the register, and Max back to cleaning the shop.

You never find out what’s so hilarious.

*

You decide to switch things up in the weeks that follow, as the month of May starts to bleed into June.

The weather starts to rise and the people of Hawkins start to wear less layers.

Except for Eddie.

Eddie’s always wearing his leather jacket.

Always.

On those days, when Eddie’s storm cloud over his head seems a little extra heavy, you swap his cup with a grinning factoid on it with one that has a corny joke written across instead.

What do you call a pig that does karate? A pork chop.

He’s…well, he’s not impressed with that one. Only offers you a pitying hum before he marches off and heads to the Hideout.

Why did the golfer bring two pairs of pants? In case he got a hole in one.

You think you catch the slightest curl of his lips.

Maybe you imagine it, but it makes you feel warm and giddy inside long after he’s gone, humming a Beatles song as you wipe down tables.

What did the policeman say to his belly button? You’re under a vest.

That one makes him glower.

Actually glower.

But you know it’s only half-hearted, because he says, “This one was ridiculous and even you know it.”

“I’m trying!” you whine the words and he chuckles, humming as he slips out the front door, chime dangling as he goes.

Why do seagulls fly over the sea? If they flew over the bay, they would be bagels.

He’s not happy with that one. But you can also tell he’s not happy in general.

A group of people around a table had looked at him as he entered that afternoon, whispering amongst themselves.

In the months you’ve been at Hawkins, you can tell there’s an affinity for gossip here.

But Eddie?

He’s always to himself, never says much more than he needs to, makes himself seem smaller whenever possible.

You can’t imagine what anyone might have to say about him.

But you hand him his coffee all the same and don’t miss the way he tucks his hair over the scars along his neck and face as he walks back out.

Why are there gates around cemeteries? Because people are dying to get in.

Something happens that day.

It takes your breath away.

Eddie laughs, a genuine, joyous laugh.

And what’s even better? It’s paired with a smile.

The first you’ve seen on his face, and it’s absolutely beautiful.

*

Lightning slashes across the sky and you know it’s only a matter of time before you hear the resounding boom that fills the air.

It sends you shooting up in bed, heart hammering away in your still unfamiliar apartment, moving across your bed to try and flick your bedside lamp on.

Only nothing changes, and you’re still left in darkness.

Power outage.

Your heart kicks up at the dread curling in your chest as you try and navigate about the room. Thankfully you can see light seeping in through your bedroom window. The familiar glow from the Hideout sign catches your eye.

You open your blinds enough to let some of the light in and move about the room to pull on a pair of jeans and some shoes, and then rush over to grab your backpack and raincoat hanging from your closet.

The distance between your shop and the Hideout seems daunting with it downpouring as it is, feet barreling beneath you as you rush across the parking lot and shove the door open.

Hawkins is a small town, you know this, but you realize just how small when everyone in the room whirls around and you recognize them as regulars of the shop.

And just as you recognize them, they recognize you.

You figure very quickly you have three options: rush to the bar and seat near the currently busy Eddie who is making a drink for an eager patron; try to sit with some of your regulars and mingle for a bit; or pick the furthest corner of the bar to hang out in and keep to yourself.

Keeping to yourself rules out, your sleep deprived state carrying you over to the furthest seat, which happens to be a little booth in a corner, away from prying eyes.

You intend to read.

Really, you do.

Pull out the book from your backpack and everything, open to the page where you left off, but the hum of the music from the jukebox in the corner has your eyes fluttering. The mingling of customers as they talk about their weeks, the shuffle of feet against hardwood floors, the tinkling of glasses as groups toast to life has you propping your head up with your hand. You glance over to Eddie and catch his gaze briefly, his hair moving about his face as he works, talking with one of his customers, all stoic and hard like stone.

You remember his smile and you smile.

Your eyes scan the words on your current page but they start to blur. The room dissolves around you. And finally, with the sound of thunder faraway in your mind, you drift off into sleep.

*

“We close at three in the morning,” a voice says.

“What time is it?” You groan against your book, face pressing into the cover, eyes bleary.

He's walking toward you when you rouse, slow movements and long limbs. Light on his feet in a way that seems otherworldly, but makes sense for him.

“Three ten? Fifteen?”

Even in your sleepy state you know who it is right away.

Dark hair, pale skin, chocolate brown eyes.

Eddie.

His body slides into the vinyl booth across from you, a towel strewn over his shoulder, hair pulled back in another one of his signature ponytails.

You blink twice, wondering if he’s about to disappear, but his image only solidifies further the more you come to. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I’m sorry—seriously. You can kick me out. I'm sure you want to get out of here and I’ve kept you late. I…my power went out and I saw your lights were still on over here so I walked over and I—”

You sound tired and it’s a little pitiful on your ears. The new girl who can’t even sleep in her own apartment because of a little storm. You curse under your breath, hoarseness lingering as you utter another ‘sorry’ under your breath.

“Breathe,” he says, sliding a glass of water across the table. “Drink. Slow sips; don’t want you choking on me.”

You lift the glass and take a slow sip. That sandpaper feeling gnawing in the back of your throat lessens. “Sorry…again.”

“It’s fine,” he says, and the silence between you lingers.

You’re not used to this. This quiet that breathes and settles into the atmosphere around you. And yet, you’re not sure how to fill those spaces.

Eddie only leans back in the seat, one ankle hooked over his knee, a forearm across the table.

“I…uh, don’t like storms,” you admit softly, sliding your cup around the table in a circle, settling on trying to get something out of him beyond your normal short responses you’re used to. “The dark either. Not really. So when my power went out, I just didn’t want to, uh, be alone.”

He’s silent again for a while. Reaches across the table to thumb at the condensation on your glass. It feels familiar, and yet it’s not. You’re still mostly strangers. Two people who live in the same vicinity as one another, and yet you’re not friends.

Not yet.

You can see the twitch in his fingers, the tapping of them along the surface, rings on his fingers glinting in the light.

You’ve noticed them before, sure, but never like this.

Never so close.

He swallows and you catch the bob of his throat. The shift of his silver chains around his neck. “I don’t like the dark either.”

His voice is so soft, eyes focusing on a rivulet dripping from your glass. He’s not looking at you, and that’s okay, because you’re still shaken by the sudden vulnerability of the admission.

I don’t like the dark, either.

You can’t quite mask your disbelief. Him of all people, afraid of the dark, catches you off guard. “Really?” Your voice wavers at the end.

He finally looks up at you, and his eyes are softer than you’ve ever seen them. “Yeah. Haven’t for—well, for a while now,” he says quietly, slowly. He drags a hand along the back of his neck, rubbing lightly. “Kind of why I work here. By the time I get home there’s only a couple hours till sunrise.”

You sense his hesitance at sharing that. The way he shifts ever so subtly against the vinyl, glancing back away from your gaze. You soften, heart warming at the fact he chose this moment to open up, even if only slightly. Your thumb grazes the side of your glass, eyes intent on a droplet that cascades down the side, and you force a sly grin across your lips.

“It’s why you’re a secret coffee fiend too.”

He huffs out a laugh at that, sides shaking from the effort. “I don’t really think it’s a secret.”

You swallow, throat a little dry as you softly ask, “Hey, Eddie?”

It’s a gamble and you fear you might push him too far too soon, but the question rests in your mind all the same. Has been for some weeks now. This wonder as to where Eddie goes when all of Hawkins goes to sleep at night. Why you’ve never seen him elsewhere, except for the four walls of your shop and now this bar.

“Hmm?”

Your fingers toy with your napkin sitting beneath your glass of water. A corner rips away and you ball it up between your fingers, letting it soak in the slickness of the table from your melted ice. “Where is…home? I never really see you around town, except for when you stop by the shop.”

“It’s in the next town over. I like the…privacy.” He sounds faraway, even though he’s sitting right across from you.

You understand what he means. Since moving in, you feel like you’ve been thrust into a world where you’re constantly under a microscope. People want to know at all times what the ‘new girl’ is up to. You’re used to all the gossip. The hush of whispers on the streets, the questions of what you’ve been up to, if you’re seeing anyone, what a young girl is doing moving into a town like theirs. And while most people are accepting and kind, you can’t help but to feel like they’re simultaneously picking you apart or waiting for you to fail.

“Hawkins is small, so I understand that. I unwillingly know everyone’s drama.”

You notice he’s started to fidget with his hands. Pale fingers curl around those silver rings adoring his knuckles and begin to twist, metal jangling against metal. “Everyone?”

There’s an innate urge to reach across the table and soothe him. To brush your fingers against the back of his hand, remind him that you’re there to talk and nothing more. To be a friend to him, in whatever capacity he allows.

It’s clear that there’s trepidation there over your words. Fear, unbidden.

You shake your head rapidly, wishing to urge away his worries. “Not yours, if that’s what you’re worried about. Believe it or not, you’re a tough one to crack.” You let out an uneasy chuckle, and add, “but I think I’m starting to.”

“Think so?” His brows perk up at that, body shifting to lean forward on his elbows. From this angle you can see every detail of his face, the span of his lashes, the way his bangs tickle his forehead and those shorter curls brush the highest point of his cheeks.

“Yeah,” you say, leaning forward onto your elbows. You drop your voice into a whisper, like you’re about to share the deepest of secrets and mutter, “you prefer corny jokes to facts, for one. You laugh more at them.”

He’s, well, he’s magnetic like this. You’re not sure he even sees it. This quality of curiosity that brims when he’s near, to know, to learn about him. “That’s because they’re so awful I have to. I don’t want to hurt your feelings, you know?”

Mirth bubbles in your gut at his words. “You actually love the kids that work for me.”

“They’re…they’re good kids.” He says it looking off into the distance a little.

You imagine he’s thinking of El, Will and Max. You drift off all the same, thinking of them with their glowing kindness and effervescent personalities. Each one a bright spot in your life and valuable both to your business and personally as the children that brighten your days.

“You like black coffee with two sugars. Fitting. Tells me a lot about you.” It’s said brightly, practically giddy as your elbows press further into the tabletop.

“Yeah? Like what?”

“You like a little sweetness in your life.”

He guffaws. Head drops back as he shakes with it. You pout as he meets your gaze, his voice light as he opens his mouth to speak. “That was about as bad as your corny jokes,” he tells you. “Plus I gave you that one for free. Doesn’t count.”

“That's all I’ve got so far from you.” You slide the glass closer to your form, fingers circling around the base. “but I’m patient.”

He’s suddenly very interested in the clock resting over your shoulder. You know it’s there when you follow the line of his sight and see it there, his dark eyes flickering between that and you, and then the bar on the far side of the room. His fingers drift up to the towel over his shoulder, curling around the edge as he slides it down and holds it within his palm.

“I…should really close up the place. I’ll drive you home. Just give me a few, okay?” He’s already standing. Long limbs slide out of the side of the booth, his earring glinting in the moonlight drifting in from the open windows.

You immediately feel a burning in your gut at the thought of inconveniencing someone you barely know, hands coming up in front of you as you urge, “You don’t have to. It’s a short walk.”

His response is a hard stare and a monotone, “It’s pouring.”

“Okay, if you insist.” You force an uncertain smile onto your face, pushing your glass away from your form to let it rest in the center of the table.

He’s already walking behind the bar when he says, “I insist.”

You sit in silence as he works. He’s diligent and swift about it, moving in and out of tables and chairs, making sure every inch of the building is spick and span. You remain with your head in your hand, elbow on the table, simply watching him. You try to remain inconspicuous about it, not wanting to linger too long on his features. And yet there’s the part of you that cannot look away from him. That magnetic quality sparking something unfamiliar in your gut; this pull to figure out his secrets, crack the code to what makes him him.

You notice he hums as he works, a tune you vaguely recognize spilling through pursed lips, his lithe arms shifting as he does.

He watches you, too, you notice after a while.

Dark eyes haunting and imploring, drifting to your frame every so often.

You wonder what he’s thinking.

You wonder how he sees you—if he looks at you with as much curiosity as you do him.

And then he’s reaching for his wallet and keys from a lock box kept in a secret space behind the bar, fingers jingling as he holds the silver metal aloft before him.

You rush over to him when he waves you over, moving to go stand at his side as the two of you slip from the building doors and he locks up behind you. He leads you to a van in silence and opens the passenger side door as you walk around the vehicle. There’s a brief moment of touch as he extends a hand to you and you climb inside, trying to move quickly to avoid being soaked to the bone once more. Eddie drapes a hand over his head and rushes around the other side, clambering in with a loud huff and slamming the door shut beside him.

His head shakes as he enters, the audible jingle of metal in his ear echoing in the space as water droplets flick from the moist ends of his hair. You toy with the edge of your sweatshirt awkwardly, uncertain of where to look. Where to focus as he turns the radio on and metal music blares out. Catching your sudden jolt, his fingers move to lower the knob, eyes meeting yours in the dark of the moonlight. The music settles into a quiet hum, lyrics swirling around in your mind as he regards you carefully.

There’s a beat of silence, and then he says, “You know, you can come to the Hideout after your shop closes. I might not be able to talk much, but…well, it’s there.”

It’s an invitation.

An opening.

A welcome to his world.

You don’t miss that; you don’t miss the clear implication of his words. The fact he doesn’t mind you being in his space, being near him, spending time within his company.

But you can sense his nervousness. The way he shifts in his seat and curls his palm around the steering wheel, hands a little shaky as he lets out a slow exhale. Trying to ease the tension, you turn in your seat and glance up at him through your lashes, passing him your kindest of smiles.

“Across the parking lot from me,” you say, a little uneasily, a little nervousness brimming at the surface.

You’re only feet away from one another on a good day.

A thirty second walk, if you were to time it.

“Yup,” he says, turning his eyes onto the building in front of him as he puts the key into the ignition and starts the car.

It’s a short drive.

The shortest really.

He turns around in a giant circle and ends up in front of your building, car jerking lightly as he puts it into park and pulls the key from the ignition. Your hands slide across the fabric against your thighs, throat burning as you look across the space between the two of you and see him regarding you carefully like he expects you to flit away into the wind. Like he expects to blink and your appearance will disappear from his mind, there one moment and gone the next like an apparition.

You gather your things in your hand and reach for the door handle.

“Well, thank you for keeping me company tonight and for driving me home,” you say, opening the side door.

“Not a problem at all.” His voice is quiet.

But he gives you one of those smiles, and that brings an unthinkable joy to your heart.

“Goodnight, Eddie.”

“Goodnight.”

*

It really starts with trips after work.

They’re quiet and tentative.

Nothing more than glances over the top of your glass of wine or whatever you choose for the night as you sit near the bar.

Eddie hadn’t lied when he said he might not be able to talk much. He’s typically occupied for a majority of his shift, and when he’s not he’s cleaning or trying to maintain the place.

Even when you can catch up to talk, it’s brief conversation there and there about the day to day.

His remarks about whatever fact or joke you put on his cup that day, talks about the weather, how your day was.

But you find you enjoy it, and soon enough routine takes place: everyday you open up for your shift, stay till close and help the kids clean up, and then rush across the parking lot to share space with your work neighbor.

So yes, it starts as strangers, but it’s grown into this.

Into this something.

You find that you like it.

*

“So what’s your story?” It’s Chance Muller who asks you.

Chance with his dark hair and brown eyes.

Chance with his muscular stature, honed by years of sports in school and maintenance thereafter.

He’s pretty, in this almost too perfect kind of way.

And he likes you; that much is obvious very early on, simply because he’s been coming every time he has the early shift at work just to see you before getting in his cop car.

He’s nice and he makes you smile.

But he’s not Eddie.

It’s an acceptance that came crashing earlier that morning, just days after your encounter with him at the Hideout.

Your curiosity for the dark haired metalhead has become an undeniable attraction.

A crush.

Something that feels so silly as an adult, and yet it’s your reality all the same.

“What do you mean?”

You snap yourself from your thoughts, remembering that Chance is there in his tan uniform, hands on his hips as you walk about the mostly empty coffee shop.

It’s still early.

Barely minutes after opening your doors for the day. Most people don’t come until the morning rush that starts around seven in the morning.

It’s five now.

He steps closer to you, his cup of coffee against the table he’s set it on.

Broad shoulders fill the empty spaces in the room, the outline of his arms visible even in the long sleeves of his uniform.

He’s broader and bigger than Eddie, you think.

Eddie, who is all lithe and less hardened. He reminds you of the way elves are described in his favorite books he’s recently lent you to read.

“You’re the new girl in town. From what I’ve heard, everyone loves you. But you’re still single—what gives?” He leans his elbows against the countertop, dark eyes swooping up to meet yours.

You don’t feel the gentle kick up of your heart, nor the rustle of butterflies in your belly.

“Chance…” Your chest burns at his insinuation, shifting awkwardly on the balls of your feet.

“I’m serious.”

“I don’t know,” you shrug, whirling back around to face him. “I guess I just haven’t met the right one.”

It’s been a while since your last relationship, and even then it hadn’t been anything serious.

You’ve always been moving, always on the go, trying new things and never lingering in one place for long enough to try.

You know what he’s about to ask you even before he gets a chance to say it.

And yet your stomach tumbles as he says, “I was thinking…if you’re up for it, we could grab dinner then?”

You let out a nervous laugh. “Chance.”

“Come on now.”

“I have my employees and my business to look after. It’s still so new, I don’t really think I can take time off.”

It’s not a lie, but you know it’s not the best excuse, either.

You haven’t really taken any time for yourself, no; with the business, you’re constantly working on trying new things, making sure your money is on track, payroll is upkept.

And then there’s the cost of supplies and the repairs here and there that you’ve needed done.

“Would you at least think about it?” His eyes are soft and your resolve dissolves a bit, recognizing that it is only one date.

It doesn’t automatically mean there will be more.

It’s an opportunity to try, however.

“You’re my customer.”

His fingers trail along the petals of the flowers you’ve set up in front of the cash register. Pretty, in a bright arrangement of purples, pinks and greens. “Pretty sure everyone in Hawkins is one of your customers.”

“Fine, I'll think about it.” You offer him an easy smile.

He begins walking backwards toward the door, keys in his palm jangling as he grins at you widely and says, “Just two adults out for dinner. Doesn’t have to be anything crazy, just us getting to know each other. Everyone in town knows of you, but I get the feeling that no one really knows you knows you. Was thinking we could change that.”

“I bet you use that one on all the ladies. I told you I’ll think about it,” you reply. “Don't you have to get to work? Writing traffic tickets and all that fun stuff.”

His hand is around the door when he tips his head up and raises a hand to wave. “I’ll see you around, okay?”

“Bye, Chance.”

*

Eddie’s head perks up as you come barreling in the front door to the Hideout. It’s a quieter night, as Mondays always are, and he barely has a moment to blink before you’re hopping up onto one of the barstools across from him and tapping your fingers along the tin you cradle close to your body.

He eyes it wearily, tucking some bills away in a cash register.

“I need your opinion,” you say, sliding the tin closer to him.

“What’s up?” He crosses the distance between you two, ringed fingers tapping along the counter.

He’s wearing red today beneath his jacket and you’re pretty sure it’s your favorite color you’ve seen on him yet.

“Try these,” you tell him, not failing to catch the slight wince he makes, “don’t make that face, they’re not poisoned.”

He moves to lift one of the foil corners, glancing in hesitantly with his head tilted back a bit. It’s as if he expects something to jump out at him. “What’s wrong with them then?”

“I can’t make you cookies and expect you to eat them?”

“I don’t want pity cookies.” He shoves them back your way, though there’s no malice in the smile that adorns his lips.

“They are not pity cookies. They’re ‘I'm-trying-a-new-recipe-for-my-shop-and-need-an-unbiased-opinion-cookies.’” You push them closer to him once more. “You’ll tell me they’re crap if they’re crap.”

“How do you know?”

You fix him with a blank stare. “You laugh at my jokes because you hate them, not because they’re funny. Need I say more?”

He doesn’t, because despite his bumbling, there’s one thing you’ve learned about Eddie in these past months: the way to his heart is through his stomach.

The man loves sugar.

You figured as much with his coffee order, and have brought him extra treats from the shop here and there whenever you can.

So it comes as no shock to you when he takes a bite of the cookie and turns away from you to hide the way his dimples immediately pop as a smile blooms across his cheeks. “Oh…oh.”

“Good?”

“Mm.” It’s a hum around a mouthful of food as he puts the rest of the cookie in his mouth.

Yet he’s still not given his answer. Nervousness wells and bubbles.

“Eddie, if they’re garbage tell me they’re garbage. I won’t cry.”

“You cried last week at The Hobbit,” he points out.

“That’s because you didn’t warn me that everyone dies. I walked in blind. Blind.”

“Yeah, but you loved it. You asked me to keep my copy after you finished.”

You had.

And he’s right, because you did love it. You loved even more he’d felt comfortable enough to share something so special to him with you.

“I’m still upset you said no.”

“I’ve had that thing for ages. I’ll never give it away. Just admit you loved it. It’s okay to be wrong about things sometimes.” He’s enjoying himself. You want to wipe the smug look clean from his face.

“All I said was I like books that have love in them.”

“I’d say The Hobbit has love. Maybe not romantic love, but there’s love there.”

“True. Although I’m stuck on Tom Bombadil in The Fellowship of the Ring.”

“I thought you’d enjoy him, seeing as you’re Miss Sunshine around town. It’s what everyone says, at least.”

“And what about you?” you ask. “What do you say?”

“I’m not sure yet.”

“You’ve known me for almost three months now. Here I thought we were friends.”

“Are we?” He tips his head to the side.

“Yeah, I think so.”

“I don’t have many of those these days.” He winces at that.

“Well, I have one of those these days.”

His eyes narrow, disbelieving. “That’s bull.”

“Everyone knows me in town, sure, but they don’t know me.”

“Sometimes that’s best,” he admits quietly. “Sometimes that’s safer.”

“Is that how it is for you?”

Him keeping people at arm's length at all times.

Him only going out in the later hours of the day, staying up late into the night.

Him never opening up beyond a certain point, cards always close to his chest.

He goes quiet at your words, and you worry you’ve offended him.

“The cookies are great,” he finally says.

Conversation over.

“I’ll make you more tomorrow.”

“I’d like that.”

There’s another pause.

You can’t hide the fear of his upset, your mouth curling downward.

His eyes slide across your face, and he reaches over to grab another cookie.

A peace offering.

“And for the record, I think we can be friends,” he says.

It really begins as friends.

*