#5+1

[rei-is-hiding]

5 times Mai wanted to give a forehead kiss to Ty Lee and 1 time she did ~

@maileeweek day 1: 5+1

#well ty lee is perfectly 4head kiss sized so #it wasn't a want it was a NEED #i'm not the best with chibis or comic style i hope it's not too messy ~ #mailee #mailee week 2023 #ty lee #atla mai #mai x ty lee #atla #avatar the last airbender #avatar #atla fanart #atla comic #5+1 #ship comic #fluff comic #art commissions #drawing commissions

[fluentmoviequoter]

They See Deacon Loves You (5+1)

Requested Here (such an amazing request & a fun question)!🤍

Pairing: David 'Deacon' Kay x fem!SWAT!reader

Summary: 5 times someone realizes Deacon loves you, and the 1 time he realizes for himself.

Warnings: fluff, more fluff, some slight angst, reader is injured and goes to hospital (#3). Irina Zemanova (#2) is from 1x19, which is my favorite episode (thus far at least)!

Word Count: 3.5k+ words

Picture from Pinterest

1. Hondo sees that Deacon loves you by how he looks at you.

Every member of 20-David is exhausted. The entire week has been spent working on a complicated case with numerous raids, two hostage situations, and no casualties. When the case is considered solved and is closed by the head detective, you all take a deep breath and prepare to leave.

“Hey, guys, I know we’re tired, but is anyone interested in celebrating?” Hondo asks, raising his wallet. “It’s on me this time.”

“Suddenly, I’m wide awake,” Street jokes.

“I’m in,” Tan answers with a shrug.

Deacon looks at you, and you purse your lips as you shrug. “Sure,” Deacon answers for both of you.

Of your team members, you’re the closest to Deacon. You’ve grown close over the years, and you can talk without speaking, communicate without listening, and naturally gravitate toward each other no matter where you are.

On nights like these, you and Deacon tend to sit together, but Chris drags you to one end of the table as Hondo stops Deacon to talk at the other. Hondo asks a question, and when Deacon doesn’t answer, he checks his face for signs that something is bothering his friend. Deacon’s eyes are trained on something across the room, his facial expressions changing from smiling to furrowing his brows as he watches… you, Hondo realizes as he turns.

You’re deep in a conversation with Chris, leaning forward across the table as you laugh and make small gestures. Deacon’s watching you closely, his expressions mirroring yours as a different emotion appears in his eyes.

Hondo learned years ago that Deacon talks with his eyes. Everyone on the team describes Deacon as ‘strong and silent,’ but he’s only silent until you learn to read his eyes. Hondo sits back in his chair, crossing his arms as he watches Deacon’s eyes. Deacon glances away, so Hondo looks over to see what happened. You look up when the waiter approaches to ask if anyone wants refills, and Deacon turns the other way before you can catch him staring. Hondo laughs to himself, but Deacon’s attention is back on you. Deacon leans toward you, likely unconsciously.

Hondo shakes his head as he answers for Deacon, getting refills for the whole table. He knows Deacon and you separately and as a team, but now he sees another way to know you. You and Deacon don’t know it yet; Hondo is sure of that, but he hopes he can get to know you together soon. Hondo realizes what that look in Deacon’s eyes was: love. Deacon Kay is wildly in love with you, and his eyes say it.

2. Irina Zemanova sees that Deacon loves you by how he protects you.

Irina trusts you more than Hondo. Though you’re unsure why, you’re happy to stay with her if it makes her safe and comfortable. She convinces you to go to the outdoor café with her, and you radio to Hondo as you walk out with Irina.

“My source says to go to the table with a bagel and coffee,” Irina tells you, looking up from her phone.

“It’s there,” you say, pointing to the table.

She sits, but you stay to the side, looking around for any threats or her unknown source. Irina is looking at something, and when you clock the man dressed in black removing a gun from his waistband, you yell for Irina to get down.

Hondo beats you to it, tackling Irina to the ground as you train your weapon on the gunman. He smirks at you before you hear more gunfire behind you. Someone pulls you to the ground, cradling your head to protect you from the concrete. You see Deacon hovering over you, his eyes glancing down your body to ensure you’re okay before he pulls you up.

Deacon moves to kneel behind a seat as you do the same, back-to-back as you protect the civilians around you. Hondo calls it in as the gunman gets away in a stolen Jeep. As he turns to yell at Irina, she finds a more interesting subject to focus on.

Behind Hondo, Deacon pulls you to your feet, laying his hands on your shoulders as he ducks his head and looks you over. You grab his wrist, getting his attention before you smile and shake your head.

“I’m okay. Thank you, Deac,” you say, assuming Irina is reading your lips correctly.

Deacon’s shoulders fall as his hands raise to cup your face, his thumbs brushing over the apples of your cheeks. He leans in slightly, his eyes roaming your face, catching on your lips momentarily before he pulls his hands away.

“This is all on you,” Hondo accuses, pointing at Irina. “And you will explain back at S.W.A.T. headquarters. You just made yourself a witness to a crime, so now I decide where you go.”

Irina tries to control her anger, choosing another subject. She asks, “Who are they?”

Hondo glances over his shoulder and tells her your last names. “And you nearly got them killed,” he adds.

✯✯✯✯✯

As Irina prepares to leave Los Angeles, she stops to talk to Hondo once more. 

“Too bad you’re not coming with me,” she says.

“Oh, I would, but… duty calls,” Hondo replies, placing his hands in his pockets as he shrugs.

“We could be like them.” Irina points to you and Deacon with her chin.

“If they ever realize,” Hondo responds.

The rest of his comment dies on his tongue as Irina pulls him into a kiss. She steps back and makes a comment about why she did it; Hondo can’t exactly think straight after the unexpected affection. Irina walks away, slowing as she passes beside you, standing alone after Deacon left.

“You’ll be very happy together,” she says.

Your brows furrow as she leaves, unsure what, or who, she means. Irina returns to her home with the knowledge you don’t have yet: that Deacon Kay loves you, and because of that love, he protects you.

3. Commander Hicks sees that Deacon loves you by how he cares for you.

Hicks enters S.W.A.T. headquarters searching for a few volunteers for an upcoming police charity event. You and Deacon are two of only four officers present, so Hicks calls your names, summoning you out of the boxing ring and into his office.

“I know it’s late notice, but we need a few more volunteers,” Hicks explains once you’re in his office.

Deacon glances over at you and nods, so you answer, “We’d be happy to help.”

“What would we be doing?” Deacon asks.

Your head swims slightly, and you blink against the lights above you as Hicks answers.

“You would be working with the kids, I believe, showing them- hey, are you okay?” Hicks interrupts himself when you close your eyes and tilt forward slightly.

“Yeah, I…” you begin before tensing your facial muscles.

You don’t feel or hear anything after Deacon says your name. You tip back after losing consciousness, and Deacon rushes to wrap his arms around your waist, lowering you gently onto the couch beside you as Hicks calls for help.

“Paramedics will be here in less than five minutes,” Hicks tells Deacon, moving to stand beside him. “Do you need anything?”

“No, I’m just keeping her head up. Her pulse seems okay,” Deacon answers quietly.

Hicks watches Deacon’s jaw work, a storm in his eyes as he fights to stay calm. Deacon has always been open in showing that he cares for his team, but Hicks wonders if he would be this concerned if it were Hondo or Luca instead of you.

The paramedics enter the office, and Deacon reluctantly moves back, allowing them to work. Hicks lays a hand on his shoulder, not sure what to say to comfort Deacon.

“She’s strong, Deac. Whatever happened, she’ll recover,” he promises, hoping he’s right.

“I’m going with her,” Deacon says as the paramedics move you to a gurney.

“Of course. I’ll fill Hondo in and be by later,” Hicks answers.

He watches Deacon take your hand as the gurney is wheeled out. Deacon’s actions toward you are more than caring for a teammate; Hicks has work to do before he can evaluate your relationship with Deacon.

✯✯✯✯✯

Hicks knocks on the open hospital room door before he steps inside. Deacon looks the same as he did earlier, though Hicks knew he wouldn’t have left your side and won’t until he is forced to. Hicks smiles to himself when he sees Deacon sitting beside your bed, leaning toward you as you talk. Deacon interrupts to ask if you need anything, and your smile grows as you shake your head.

Hicks thinks you mouth, “Just you,” but Deacon’s head turns toward the door when Hicks enters.

"How are you feeling?" he asks as he sets a small bag by your leg. “That’s from Molly.”

“Tell her I said thank you,” you reply. “And I’m feeling okay. Thanks you for getting me help so quickly.”

“That was mostly Deacon. Do they know what happened yet?”

Deacon looks at you with raised brows. “Yeah, what happened?” he asks, sarcasm bleeding through under his continued concern.

You sigh as you turn toward Hicks. “I didn’t know it was that bad.”

Hick’s brows raise, just as Deacon’s had, before he asks for more information.

“Last week, I got hit by something during a raid. I thought it was fine, just a bruise, but apparently it was deeper than I thought. My kidney was bruised and there was some slight internal bleeding,” you answer quietly, picking at the hospital blanket.

“Why didn’t our guys catch that?” Hicks asks.

You remain silent, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth, so Deacon answers, “She didn’t tell anyone.”

Hicks laughs and shakes his head. He pats your shoulder and tells you not to do that again.

“I won’t. Sorry for worrying everyone,” you say, smiling up at Hicks.

“Feel better. Deacon will be here if you need anything, I suppose.”

Deacon nods, and you turn your attention to him as Hicks leaves. It’s just a glance, but Hicks sees that Deacon’s hand is under the cover, your hand gripped tightly in his. Even though they know what happened, Deacon can’t turn off the worry and the care because it’s ingrained in who he is.

4. Annie sees that Deacon loves you by how he touches and holds you.

Annie’s bed feels empty and cold. Since the divorce was finalized, she has slowly realized that the divorce was a mistake. Leaving Deacon was the biggest mistake of her life. If she had been more understanding or willing to talk to him, maybe they could be starting a family or working through their issues. Several months of being single have made Annie understand just how special what she had was. She needs Deacon back, she decides, and will do anything to get him.

Despite being divorced from Deacon, the officer at the front desk waves Annie through and hands her a badge. On the drive to S.W.A.T. HQ, Annie practiced what she would say. She needs to talk to him, and she’s not above begging him to give her another chance. Annie had Deacon once but made the terrible mistake of letting him go. With another chance, she won’t make the same mistake twice.

Annie stops when she sees Deacon and ducks behind a pillar as she listens and watches.

“So, your back hand will come around as you step out,” Deacon explains, his chest pressed against your back as he holds your wrists up.

“Front foot and back hand?” you clarify, glancing over your shoulder at Deacon.

“Yep.” He taps his foot against yours, signaling you to step out as his hand leads yours into the first move of a spinning hook. “From here, spin on the ball of your foot like a roundhouse and keep the hook pulled tight.”

“One more time?” you request, moving with Deacon as he moves through the steps, pulling you with him.

The movement pulls you closer to Deacon, and Annie sees he doesn’t mind. Not at all.

“Try one by yourself?” Deacon asks, stepping back.

Deacon’s hands drop slowly, his fingertips dragging down your arms until he backs away. He watches with a smile as you go through the steps slowly before taking a deep breath and doing it at full speed. The move feels identical to Deacon’s demonstration, but you look at him for confirmation.

“You did it! That was perfect!” Deacon cheers, his smile wide as he looks at you.

Deacon never looked at Annie like he is looking at you, but that’s not what catches her attention. Rather, it’s how he touches you.

You jump into Deacon’s arms, wrapping your arms over his shoulders as his circle your waist. Deacon spins you around before setting you down. His hand raises to your face, brushing over your cheek as he pushes a stray piece of hair back. Deacon’s touch is gentle and caring and so full of love. A kind of love that Annie didn’t experience. Deacon was never hers, Annie realizes, she just got lucky to have him for a while. His heart has been waiting for you, and she is no longer in his way.

5. Luca sees that Deacon loves you by how he serves you.

Luca’s grand opening of his food truck has come to the LAPD. He’s working, wanting to meet everyone and get a feel for how to best run the business. What better way to test operations and efficiency than feeding hungry law enforcement officers?

As he’s handing someone a plate of food, Luca notices you and Deacon standing side-by-side in line. The sunglasses on your face look suspiciously like Deacon’s, and his lack of sunglasses proves Luca’s suspicion. You turn your head and look up at Deacon, the sunglasses slipping as Deacon laughs at you, causing your smile to grow.

“Hey, man,” Deacon greets when he reaches the truck. “Busy day?”

“You’ve got no idea,” Luca answers. “What can I get ya?”

“Whatever you suggest.”

Luca looks at you, and you nod as you say, “Same for me.”

“Two suggestions comin’ up,” Luca replies before turning around.

You reach for your wallet, but Deacon grabs your hand. He shakes his head and hands Luca cash when he returns.

“Keep the change,” Deacon says with a smile.

“That’s against my morals,” Luca jokes.

“Then consider it a tip for the excellent suggestion,” you call as you step back. “And for keeping me alive.”

Luca laughs and waves before you turn around. Rocker steps forward to order, but Luca raises a finger to ask him to wait. Deacon’s hand is on your lower back, and Luca is invested in the affection and smiles you share with Deacon today.

“What are you looking at?” Rocker asks. He turns to follow Luca’s line of sight. “Oh. They finally together?”

“Not that I know of. Wait ‘finally’?”

“You don’t see it?” Rocker asks incredulously.

“They’re best friends,” Luca argues, furrowing his brow.

“Watch,” Rocker says with a laugh.

Deacon takes your food while you sit, then passes it to you before sitting beside you. He passes you napkins and a few packs of condiments and spices. You lean toward him to say something, then turn to eat.

“What are we missing?” Luca asks before taking Rocker’s order.

“You’ll see. Hopefully they will too,” Rocker answers, sighing.

✯✯✯✯✯

Luca’s eyes find you again just as Deacon stands. He raises his hand to you as he gathers your empty plate with his. Returning from the trash can, Deacon takes your hand to help you up. You jump to your feet, jostling your Deacon’s sunglasses with the movement. Deacon straightens the glasses against your face, smiling as you beam up at him. Your eyes are hidden behind the glasses, but Luca guesses you look similarly lovesick. Deacon has always been willing to serve people, but how he looks after you and provides for you is different.

“Told you,” Rocker says as he walks by, returning to work.

+1. Deacon realizes that he loves you by how you honor him and yourself.

Los Angeles is being hit by “the storm of the century,” according to the weather forecasters. The LAPD has opened several storm shelters, including S.W.A.T. headquarters. 20-David volunteered to help, and you were quickly separated from Deacon when you jumped to action.

Deacon finishes his assigned task and moves to a corner to look around. He wants to find something else to do, to help the people who need it, but he sees you and gets distracted. You’re rushing around, smiling kindly, as you help people. Giving out small care packages, finding blankets, giving people directions, everything you do is done with a smile, respect, and honor for yourself, your station, and your city. You care for the people around you, even though they were strangers before the storm.

Deacon watches you kneel in front of a small boy. His face is hidden, pressed against his knees as he curls into himself. You place a hand in front of you, palm up, as you say something. He raises his head just enough to look at you. Whatever you say works because he places one of his hands in yours.

Deacon feels something he hasn’t felt before. His heart feels like it’s being squeezed, and he’d be concerned if you weren’t around, but you’ve always caused unique feelings in him. This is different, though.

You pull the boy into your arms, standing as he hides your face in the crook of your neck. Slowing down, you look around before your eyes find Deacon. Smiling at each other, you walk to the quiet corner where Deacon has been waiting. 

“Tommy,” you whisper, rubbing the boy's back as you approach Deacon.

It’s only been a few minutes, but Deacon missed your voice and presence beside him more than he thought possible.

“This is Sergeant Kay,” you tell Tommy. “He’s like a superhero. He saves people, but he gets scared, too.”

Deacon smiles as Tommy turns his head against your shoulder to look at the supposed superhero. Deacon’s heart rate increases with your comment and how gentle you are with Tommy.

“Nice to meet you, Tommy,” Deacon says.

“You, too. Do you really get scared when you’re saving people?” he asks quietly.

“All the time. Lots of things can be scary. But, you know what helps me?”

“What?”

“Remembering that I’m brave and strong. Like now, that thunder is super loud and scary right?” Tommy nods, and Deacon adds, “But you’re so much stronger than that noise! I bet you could yell or clap just as loud.”

“I could,” Tommy affirms, nodding against your neck as he smiles.

“One other thing that helps is having other strong people around you. Like the beautiful lady holding you?” You laugh quietly, and Deacon fights to stay focused. “She is brave and being around her makes me brave. Who do you have here that is brave?”

“My mom.”

“Well, then you can stay with her and make each other braver.”

Tommy nods and looks up when his mother walks toward you. You set him down and watch with a smile as he runs into her arms. He nods excitedly, and his mother picks him up and walks toward you.

“Thank you,” she whispers to you.

“Thank Sergeant Kay, he did all the heavy lifting,” you tell her.

“Thank you, sir,” she adds before turning away.

You release a sigh before turning back to Deacon. His eyes are fixed on you, silently staring at you. Furrowing your brows, you frown, and Deacon feels another heart squeeze.

“What’s wrong?” you ask quietly, raising a hand to rest on Deacon’s bicep.

“Nothing, nothing. I just noticed something,” Deacon replies.

“What?”

“That I want to do this.”

You want to ask what ‘this’ is, but Deacon grabs your waist and pulls you against his chest before you can. His lips capture yours, and you gasp into his mouth. Clutching his shirt, you push yourself closer as you move with Deacon. You’ve always been close and in sync, but this feels like the moment where everything you are and have shared intersects. This is the beginning of where your relationship was leading you all along. Deacon pulls back, looking at you with a smile while you stay close, your eyes closed.

“I,” you begin, pausing as you open your eyes to see Deacon. “I just realized something too.”

Deacon’s eyebrows raise, and his lips part, nervous as he waits to hear what you’ve realized.

“I want to do that forever,” you say, pulling him down for another kiss.

The way you treat yourself, the way you treat Deacon, the way you treat total strangers: that’s what Deacon thinks about as he realizes that he loves you. That he’s always loved you.

“We’re at work, guys,” Hondo scolds as he walks to Deacon’s side. You pull back and see Hondo’s smile before he yells, “20-David, they did it!”

Luca, Tan, Chris, and Street cheer, soon joined by a room full of strangers. You hide your face in Deacon’s chest as he walks out of the room, pulling you into a hallway to kiss you again. After all, forever is a long time, and he’s lost enough already.

#david deacon kay x reader #david kay x reader #deacon kay x reader #deacon kay fluff #david deacon kay #deacon kay #swat cbs #requests #5+1 #5 + 1 fic #fem!reader

[mrsjellymunson]

S.A.N.T.A. BABY

[A.KA. Stupid And Nasty Tinsel-Related Activities]

A Festive 5+1 Eddie Munson Fic

Summary: 5+1. Five times reader embarrasses herself in front of Eddie, and one time she doesn’t.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem!reader

WC: ~10.5k (oops)

CW: 🔞 18+ MDNI!, SMUT, NSFW. Strangers to sort-of-enemies to lovers. Drinking, smoking, Eddie and reader call each other nicknames, loads of embarrassing situations, swearing, suggestive language, implied birth control, description of and discussion about a sex toy, flagrant and unnecessary use of the number 69, reader has a tattoo but it’s not essential to the story so you can ignore it if you want, bondage fantasy involving fairy lights, lap riding/dry humping, Eddie has tattoos and intimate piercings, fingering, unprotected p-in-v (always wrap it irl!), aftercare, fluff, the Upside Down hasn’t happened. I imagine reader & Eddie to be mid-late 20s and it might be the 90s, but hopefully I left it ambiguous enough that you can choose. I tried to keep reader’s appearance neutral, though I’m still new at this and I may have missed things - let me know if you spot anything (likewise typos or missed tags, etc). The elf outfit in the pic is for costume illustration only and does not indicate reader’s ethnicity or appearance.

A/N: Written for @bettyfrommars’ & @allthingsjoeq’s festive prompt party (thank you, guys!); I decided to smoosh five prompts 6, 8, 12, 14 & 15 together to create… whateverthehellthismutantthingis 😆 It’s my first 5+1, and my first festive fic, please let me know how I did! 🎄 I’ve taken artistic license with the format - if I’ve understood it, it’s way too long for a standard 5+1, and I don’t think they usually have 4+k of unnecessary smut at the end (‘What do you mean, Kittie? Smut is always necessary!’). I couldn’t bring myself to cut it because I’m a deviant and to paraphrase the song, it’s my fic and I’ll add what I want to 😂 Enjoy! 🥂🍷🎁

Christmas was never your favourite time of year. You suppose that your early Christmasses were probably happy, but once your parents split and family politics came into play, the season just became less enjoyable all round. These days your mom and stepdad tended to use the extended break to visit your brother in California, and this year will be the third in a row that you’ve been left to your own devices. Not that you couldn’t go with them, but you just felt a little out of place and in the way, him with his scrapbook-perfect family and kids, you with your alternative interests and a dress sense that your stepdad once described as, “Far too much black for a family dinner. We’re not the Addams Family, you know”.

This year, though, you were optimistic. It’s your first year away at college in Indianapolis, and your roommate, Robin, who you get on outrageously well with, has invited you to spend the holidays not too far away in her home town, Hawkins.

Plus, Robin has taken it upon herself to, in her words, ‘“Christmas Carol the shit out of you”, after you’d told her about your disdain for the holiday season and that Santa stood for ‘Stupid And Nasty Tinsel-related Activities’. She’d declared that this year you’d have the “Best. Christmas. EVERRR!”, and she’s making good on it, despite the promise being made months ago when you were both soaked in tequila at the end of orientation week.

It’s going fairly well so far. You’ve met a couple of Robin’s friends, a nice girl called Nancy and Robin’s ex Vickie, and together you’ve had a shopping trip, a lunch out and a girls’ night in. You’re optimistic that the rest of her friends will be just as friendly and welcoming. Next on the ‘Best Christmas Ever’ agenda? Seeing a local band at a local bar…

“Honestly, they’re, like, really, really good!”

“Really, Robs? This band that your friends started in high school are so good that they’re still playing dive bars in their home town?”

The bar is dingy and grubby, but it’s packed, Robin insisting it’s because the band is great, but you suspect it has more to do with the cheap beer prices.

You’re not averse to live entertainment, you just prefer places with a bit more space. More ambience, less… sweat? Ambiguous stickiness??

Half a beer in, you make the excuse that you need some air, not admitting you’re actually hoping to find someone to bum a cigarette off outside, feeling your most recent attempt at quitting is already on seriously shaky ground.

There’s already a couple of guys around the side of the building when you exit the front door, one in a torn flannel and another, his back to you, in a heavier-looking jacket.

You recognise Flannel as the bartender, a lanky, but not unattractive, somewhat worried-looking guy with a grungy haircut and ripped Clash t-shirt, who’s just finishing his cigarette and flicking it to the floor. As he leaves to go back inside he offers a cheery half-salute to his smoking partner and a, “See you inside, dude.” You assume the other guy must be a regular, and from the subtle glimpses you get as he flicks his ash, he’s about halfway through his cigarette.

Whilst he’s not looking you sneakily take in the view (your excuse being that you are a tourist here, after all). He’s tall, dressed all in black, with broad shoulders draped in worn-in black leather, long dark curls falling about them. You can’t determine the exact colour in the poor lighting of the bar’s neon sign, but they look shiny and well cared for, rather than lank and grimy like so many of your college buddies seem to think is the fashionable way to do it these days (ugh).

Trailing your eyes down his back, you see the hem of his jacket half-obscures a black leather belt that’s just visible sitting on his slim hips. It’s studded with silver rivets and adorned with a variety of draping silver chains that jingle at the slightest movement.

Well-fitting, dark black jeans cover his legs, and a scruffy pair of heavy black combat boots complete the look. They're unlaced at the top and casually flare out, his jeans crumpling, effortlessly stylishly, in the tops.

The belt chains catch your attention again as he shifts from one foot to the other, making them swing, drawing your eyes to the seat of his jeans and showcasing a cute, tight, rounded pair of butto-oh! He’s turning around! Shit, shit, okay, be cool, and definitely don’t look like you were just checking out his ass…

He looks at you with surprise, he obviously hadn’t heard you come out. He’s taken slightly aback, but manages to greet you with a quick, “Hey.”

You reply, eloquently, “Hey.”

Smooth.

Leather Jacket gets out his lighter.

“You, uh, smokin’?”

“I was kinda hoping to bum one, actually. I’m supposed to be quitting, but you know how it is when you get around bars and booze.”

You shrug a little, suddenly feeling sheepish, and more than a little selfish when you realise your presumption.

“Oh yeah, I sure do. Think I’ve tried quitting about, what, five times now?”

He chuckles a little, shaking a stick out of the packet he retrieves from inside his jacket, offering it to you.

“You need a light?”

“Oh, uh, yeah, thanks.”

He leans in to spark his lighter, and you’re briefly engulfed by the scent of him. Old leather, hints of a musky, spicy cologne, whiskey, clean sweat, and, of course, cigarette smoke. It feels like a warm hug, but something else too, something more primal, enticing.

You notice his hands as he holds his lighter close to your face. They’re big, strong-looking and veined, his fingers adorned with chunky silver rings that glint and twinkle in the faint neon glow.

It all catches you off guard. You pull back quickly once your cigarette is lit, not ready to explore that kind of sensation right now.

He’s turned sideways to you again, leaning his back against the side wall of the bar. He smirks in your direction, a dimple popping in the cheek nearest to you, and you feel a little heat rise up your neck.

His gaze flows over your form, taking you in from top to bottom. Is he checking you out?

“I, uh, I like your boots.” He nods down towards your feet, flicking a little ash from his cigarette off to the side furthest from you.

You automatically glance down, like some kind of idiot who didn’t dress themselves less than an hour ago.

Sheesh, way to make an impression on the locals…

“Oh, thanks!”

You smile, genuinely pleased. You’re wearing your favourite pair, laced and buckled black leather New Rocks with a chunky, steel-coloured metal heel. You know the style doesn’t have universal appeal, which is of course part of the reason you love them, but it’s nice to have your taste appreciated by someone as cu- erm, as friendly as he is.

“I haven’t seen you around here before. You new in town or sumthin’?”

“Yeah, kinda passing through, I guess. I’m just here for the holidays, hookin’ up with a friend.”

He nods in acknowledgment, curls bouncing softly around his face.

You continue, “Apparently I’ve been promised the ‘best Christmas ever’, and they think they’re going to achieve that by bringing me to this divey bar to see some schoolfriend in a lame-ass metal cover band. I mean, god, no offence, but this town is hardly Seattle. I can’t imagine they’re gonna be Nirvana-quality, right?”

The guy snorts through his nose and then genuinely laughs. “Yeah, they probably are shit. Towns like this are full of wannabe rockstars straight outta high school, y’know?” You don’t notice how his lips purse as he suppresses a grin, as he continues, “Singers are the worst, always such assholes. Second only to guitarists, of course.”

You answer with an enthusiastic, “I know, right?!”, thinking back to the musicians you’ve dated since high school and how they were all convinced they were destined to be the next Eddie Van Halen or Steven Tyler. Thinking of a couple of guys in particular as you take a drag of your cigarette, as you exhale you mutter, “Christ, guitarists really are the pits.”

He snorts, smiling again, then drops his finished cigarette to the ground, crushing it out with the sole of his heavy boot. “At least with all their equipment and shit it makes them easy to spot.”

You gift him a smile and a small nod. “Yeah, I guess it does.”

“I’m heading back inside. Maybe I’ll see you later?” He quirks an eyebrow at his last comment.

“Yeah, maybe.” As he moves to open the door you add, ”Hey, thanks for the smoke!”

He turns back to you, his distractingly broad grin now fully on display, half-shouting back as he moves through the doorway into the bustling interior, “No problem, all you have to do is ask. I’ll see you later, Boots!”

You finish your smoke and get inside just in time to get to your seat, a tall stool opposite Robin around a high table, your back to the stage, as the band start up.

There’s a few complicated beats from the drums as the guy behind them warms up, and the bass and rhythm guitars thrum a few notes, garnering whistles and cheers from the crowd.

You wait for the cliché of the singer coming up to the mic and introducing the band, but what you actually hear is a low, self-assured, somewhat recognisable voice, that’s both commanding and sultry, that drawls, “You know who we are.”

Suddenly there’s a burst of impressive guitar work and drums, and the crowd erupts as the room is saturated with the opening chords to Black Sabbath’s ‘War Pigs’.

You’re impressed, and intrigued. This isn’t the ‘dodgy 80’s covers schoolkid band’ you were expecting. These guys sound… accomplished.

You turn on your stool, and notice a subtly familiar form at the mic. Less bulky as he’s no longer wearing the leather jacket, a ripped band tee now showing off his pale arms and clavicles, and black ink that you can’t make out adorning solid biceps and veined forearms. Guitar in hand, confident, brash, cute. Chains dangling from a studded belt, silver rings glinting, hair flying as he flicks his head, commanding the stage, readying himself to sing the first lines…

Oh shit…

The band’s cover of ‘War Pigs’ is faster than the original, and they give it their own twist, making it heavier and grittier. After the (irritatingly brilliant) guitar solo Leather Jacket Band Guy even throws in a few lines from Deck The Halls, the audience going wild, and joining in enthusiastically when the ‘Oh Lord yeah’ is replaced with a ‘Fa-la-la’.

The rest of their set is a mix of covers and originals, all in a similar, heavy style, and as they finish to a rapturous throng you realise, flustered, that you couldn’t tear your eyes from the stage the whole time. Robin totally notices. You even let her get in a cheery, “Told ya so!”, as you reluctantly admit they weren’t completely terrible.

You spot the frontman (singer and guitarist, cue internal facepalm) jump down off the low stage, and you feel a little uneasy as you see him start heading in your direction.

You’re at peak embarrassment and can’t bear the thought of having to face him after what you said outside. You hadn’t even heard them play and you dissed the fuck out of them, him specifically. What makes it worse is that they were actually really good. The last thing you need is to have that thrown back in your face, in front of Robin, by their cocky lead guy.

Suddenly you want Spontaneous Human Combustion to be a real thing, turn you to ash so your only presence would be scuffed up on those heavy, unlaced combat boots, going unnoticed and carried out on everyone’s soles into the chilly night. But science and physics are apparently not willing to defy themselves for you this evening. Bastards.

Quickly, you get off your stool, mumbling something about needing the bathroom, and head off in a random direction, in your haste to escape not even asking where it is.

You chance a glance over one shoulder. Oh god, he’s heading straight for you…

As you stumble about in the crowd, you notice a free seat next to a guy at the bar. You hardly register that his coiffed hair and polo shirt don’t quite fit the vibe of the place, so desperate are you to build an alternative narrative that doesn’t involve the guy whose band you just dissed coming to talk to you. You’d said you were visiting a friend, he’s not to know it wasn’t a boyfriend, right? If he sees you with someone he’ll back off and leave you alone, right?? Surely he wouldn’t confront you with a potential Defending Your Honour™️ fight on the table. Right???

So, that’s the plan.

A really good, foolproof one? Um, no. But Band Guy is moving through the crowd, and you’ve gotta do something, fast.

You reach the bar.

“Hey, could you do me a favour real quick? A creepy guy’s been hitting on me, and I need to give him the message that I’m not interested. If I buy you a drink, will you act like you’re my boyfriend for, like, the next 30 seconds?”

He turns to you, and you notice his features. Golden skin, chiselled jaw, stunning hazel eyes, hair to rival the hottest supermodels’, a scattering of moles that look like constellations. Goddamn, he’s pretty. What is it with this bar? Is everyone inside it cute? Why have you never been to Hawkins before??

You give him a pleading look, and tentatively hold out one hand towards where his is resting on his thigh, hoping he’ll take it.

“Well, for a sweet thing like you, how could I say no to that tempting double offer?”

He smiles then, full and beaming, and you almost slip off your stool. A warm palm comes to cup over yours, and you manage to blurt out an order to the barman, saying, “Two of whatever he’s having.”

Just then, Band Guy reaches you. You do your best to swoon at Polo Shirt as your drinks get delivered, lifting yours and clinking it against his with a, “Hey, sweetheart, thanks for bringing me here”.

“Oh, I didn’t realise you were here with someone tonight.”

“Yeah, this is the friend I was telling you about. We’re spending the holidays together. Isn’t that right, sweets?”

Band Guy purses his lips, you hope in consternation, but it’s whatever, you just want him to leave you alone to stew in your mortification.

He backs up half a step, saying, “Well, I guess I’ll leave you to it then.”

Success!

Just as you think your devious plan has worked, Band Guy turns to Polo Shirt, slaps his open palm against his shoulder a couple of times, and saunters off, with a, “Nice to see you, Steve-o. Just checkin’ you're wanting a lift back in the van with the guys, like usual?”

Oh. Oh god. They know each other?!

He turns away, smirking back briefly in your direction to fling a casual, “I’ll see you around, Boots”, before continuing his path to the other end of the bar. You see him greet Flannel with a high five followed by a bro handshake, the latter making exaggerated air guitar movements and clearly congratulating him on a great performance.

If cringing caused bodily trauma you’d be in the ER by now, most likely on life support. What are the chances of embarrassing yourself all to hell in front of a cute guy you’ve only just met, twice in one night?

Also, wait, you totally didn’t just admit that you find him cute. Nope. No siree. Nah. Niet. Definitely not.

Stupid Robin convinced you to take this stupid job in the stupid mall and now you’re stuck here smiling this stupid smile at all the stupid local kids in this stupid elf costume.

Stupid striped tights, stupid short skirt, stupid tight green tunic, stupid fluffy collar.

And yeah, okay, stupid self-induced hangover from stupid drinks last night thanks to stupid Robin’s stupid friends. Actually, they were all really nice, especially ‘Steve-o’ and the barman, Jonathon, neither of whom mentioned your embarrassing faux pas with Band Guy, which makes them total heroes in your book. Plus, Band Guy mercifully gave you a wide berth for the rest of the night by doing Band Stuff™️, so that was a win too.

At least the dress code for this gig stated ‘black footwear’, so you could wear your own boots. You’d never admit it out loud, but you think the combination of the red and white striped tights with your chunky, alternative boots actually looks kinda cute. It’s just as well, because you’d packed light (you and Robin joking that so long as you had your ”Pills and panties” you were good to go), and hadn’t brought any alternatives.

You’ve been at this for a couple of days already, beaming artificially at the kids as you try to corral them into some semblance of an organised line, and handing out stickers and treat bags for the ones who’ve seen Santa, putting your best singsong voice on as you ask for what feels like the millionth time, “So, what did you ask Santa for?”, and, “Have you been good this year?”

Your face has begun to ache with the effort of all the smiling, although the cheery mall Santa (a big, friendly guy called John? Jack?) takes up most of the slack, with a voice deep and gravelly enough to control even the worst-behaved little shits. You hope his day job uses it, it would be a shame for a voice like that to go to waste. He should probably be in sports, or acting, or law enforcement or something.

You can’t deny the money is coming in handy though. It’s reliably supporting your holiday booze habit, and you’ve even treated yourself to a couple of Christmas treats, some silver skull jewellery from a surprisingly well-stocked accessory shop, and something more, um, personal from the ‘specialist interest’ shop you’d found hidden away at the back of the mall’s upper level. The nice lady who worked there, Karen, even kindly offered to drop off your purchase at your staff locker later today.

You’re on the later shift, so Santa’s already here, and as you make your way out to the grotto area (which is essentially just a few old stage props surrounded by a few giant polystyrene candy canes; you surmise this might be one of the first years they’ve done this) you’re greeted by a predictable, “Ho ho ho!”. But today it’s a different voice than usual. Still deep, still booming, but not the one you’re used to.

As you round the glittery candy cane on the corner, the deep baritone gives way to a much higher, cheekier pitch.

“Ho, ho- hoooooly shiiit, I’d recognise those boots anywhere!”

Oh no… It can’t be…

“Heeey, Boots! I didn’t know you’d be one of my little helpers today!”

Even behind the fake beard you can see the smugness spread across his face.

You stop in your tracks, hands coming up to your face in a vain attempt to shield your embarrassed self from the impending, and, you’ll admit, completely justified, teasing.

Realising you can’t hide from it, you huff out a breath and amble over to him. He looks way too comfortable sitting on that ornate throne, like he’s used to such a position, somehow…

As you move closer you see that even beneath the tacky acrylic costuming, he still looks cute (damn him). He’s foregone the white wig and opted to display his own locks, chestnut curls cascading over his shoulders, and the white faux fur of his hat and beard create a subtle frame around his eyes. You observe their colour properly for the first time, and even in the harsh fluorescent lights of the mall they look like swirling pools of liquid cacao, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen anything quite like them before. They’re fixed on you as you walk to him.

You plonk down on a fabric-covered hay bale next to the throne. There’s no line of kids waiting as yet, and you’re relieved you can get this next part done without too much of an audience. Deep breath, pull off the bandaid, or whatever that stupid phrase is.

“Listen, about last night. I’m really sorry. I not only stole your smokes but also dissed your band before I’d even heard you, and that wasn’t cool. And that thing with Steve at the bar? God, you must think I’m such a loser. And, I know you probably couldn’t give two pebbly shits about what I think right now, but you guys are actually really good.”

He turns to you, looking down his nose and through his lashes at you.

“Hey, don’t sweat it, sweets. I did kinda bait you into that first part. And at the bar? That was… creative. I actually thought it was pretty funny.” Smirking, nodding and turning his face to the front again, he continues, “And for the record, we do play other places, not just this so-not-Seattle town.”

You risk a glance at him. The Santa suit is obviously too big for him, the collar wide enough to show off his pale throat for a moment before he turns back to you and the comically-fluffy beard obscures it again. You can see the outline of his taut, muscular thighs under the loose faux velvet of his pants, and his boots (those boots) are worn just like they were last night, unlaced at the top, casually stylish, the red fabric pooling around the calf and ankle. And to finish it off, there’s what appears to be a large throw cushion stuffed down his front.

It turns out he’s covering for (Jim!) Hopper, who’s apparently the local police chief (nailed it) and has been called out to check on some weird occurrences at an old research facility on the other side of town.

Band Guy Santa continues, sarcastically, “Pfft. Providing the town of Hawkins with security and safety instead of performing the frankly, essential, public service of dicking about in a Santa suit. Inconsiderate, right?”

“Yeah, totally”, you giggle.

“The organisers heard from Hop that I was somewhat… theatrical, so they asked me to fill in.”

You remember how theatrical he looked whilst on stage, and you feel your throat heat up, hoping he won’t notice you subtly pulling at your collar with a finger, or see the perspiration appearing on your décolletage.

“So, you may wreak your revenge now, sweetheart. I’m not exactly in a position to defend my sartorial choices right now, am I?”, he says as he gestures to himself, sweeping a palm up and down his garb. “Gimme your worst.”

You’d feel pretty bad if you laid into him now, not only considering your own current garb but especially with what you’d said last night outside the bar. However, he is giving you an opportunity to even the score for his manipulation, and it would be a shame not to take it. You decide upon a combination of cheekiness and diplomacy. (And not flirty. Definitely not flirty.)

“I dunno, that beard covers most of your face, which obviously does you some favours. But don’t do yourself down, you look… good in red.”

He swallows as you stand to move away from him, and you hardly realise that you’ve rendered him speechless, as you joke, poking at the obvious cushion by his middle,

“Although, I’m totally not buying this padding, you know,”

Suddenly a party of schoolchildren appears from nowhere, and before they get between you and you get too far away to hear, he stammers out, “Uh, I’m Eddie, by the way.”

You half-yell your own name back, adding with a smile,

“It’s nice to meet you. Have fun today, Santa.”

It’s late afternoon and Santa Eddie is on his regulation break. You’re doing your best to herd the over-sugared, post-school crowd into some kind of order, when Mrs Santa (a lovely lady called Claudia) calls your name and says you can go on your break now too, if you want, and to please tell Santa that he needs to get back here and start doling out Christmas wishes.

You jump at the chance for even just a few minutes away from the diminutive hoards (though you could listen to Erica, one kid you do like, diss commercialism and the ethics of lying to kids en masse all afternoon), and make your way to the locker room.

Eddie’s still there, sitting on the central bench, beard pulled down under his chin, and he appears to be holding a package in his hands, though from the look on his face you don’t think it was one he was expecting. As you move closer and peer into the box, you spy the contents, and a bright red, glittery shape becomes visible.

Oh god, no. No-no-noooo…

It’s the order you placed from the shop at the back of the mall, but Karen’s obviously dropped it off next to the wrong locker - Eddie’s is number 69 and yours is 96.

It’s a dildo (of course it is). A Christmas-themed, flexible, long, thick, glittery, red dildo, with a gold lamé ribbon tied artfully around the base.

Eddie’s face is a picture of surprise as he turns to look up at you, eyes and mouth wide and eyebrows practically disappearing into his hairline. He’s holding the packaging, your name visible on the wrapping, nixing any hope you’d had of feigning innocence and pretending you knew nothing about it.

“Uh, I think this is yours. I’m so sorry. I-it was left by my locker and I opened it assuming it was for me, and then I saw your name on it, but by then it was too late…”

He sees you slump down into the bench a few feet away from him, face in your hands. You don’t know him well, but you decide to let him get whatever he wants to say out of his system rather than potentially make everything worse by trying to get him to shut the hell up.

His tone is mocking, but not exactly mean, as he continues,

“It’s a pretty one, really. Y’know, festive. I admire your choice of aesthetics and commitment to the season.

But you know, Boots, if you wanted to feel special inside this Christmas, all you had to do was ask.

Wait, do you also have an Easter-themed one? Is it a rabbit?”

He’s turned to face you now, far too pleased with himself for that final quip. Arrogant bastard.

The tears come in a wave, and you fold in on yourself, trying to hide your face even more. The heat in your cheeks feels about the same temperature as the colour of that fucking dildo.

“Hey, hey. I was only kidding.” He scootches closer to you on the bench. ”Look, there’s nothing wrong with it. Everyone deserves pleasure, it’s healthy. And I get it, Boots, it can be hard for girls to find a guy who actually knows what the fuck they’re doing. And, maybe you don’t even want or need a guy, you just want some special time by yourself, right?”

There’s a short pause, like he could be considering his next choice of words.

“And anyway, I actually think it’s kinda hot…”

This surprises you. You’ve never met any guy who didn’t take the presence of your toy collection as a personal insult.

You risk a glance in his direction, hoping your wet and stinging eyes don’t look as red as they feel. “You really think so?”

“Oh yeah”, he responds, crossing his legs as subtly as he can, shielding his lap. “The one you chose? It’s… sophisticated. The glitter gives it a real nice touch. And,” he drops his voice a little, continuing in an almost-whisper, “I’d love to see what you do with it.” He clears his throat and looks away, finding a convenient patch of plain wall to focus his gaze upon.

Confused, upset, and unable to fathom exactly what’s going on (is this just banter? Or is he flirting? Wait, does he like you??) you grab the box from him and move to stuff it in your locker. Trying to hide the crack in your voice, you call over your shoulder, “Claudia says your break’s over and to get your jolly ass back out there, pronto.”

Oh shit… shitshitSHIT…

Stupid collar, stupid faux fur, stupid cheap zips! Goddammit!

You’re at your locker - the one that should’ve secretly contained your special Xmas gift to yourself - trying to get out of your stupid elf costume, but the zip won’t budge. The top of it is enmeshed amongst the stupid faux fur of your collar, and your frustrated, unsighted and fumbling ministrations appear to be making it worse.

You need help. An empathic soul to come to your aid and diligently untangle you from this costuming hell. But there’s only one other person here, and, even though your last encounter ended better than it could have, he’s still the last person you want to see right now.

Why tonight? Of all nights? How could this happen on the one night where the literal only person left in the entire fucking building is him??

You can only assume you’re on the real Santa’s shit list. Were you really that naughty this year?

Your brain rewards you with a brief, but telling, synopsis of your year so far: smoking blunts behind the library with Robin during study breaks, skinny dipping in a freezing lake on a dare, all that tequila, that brief foray in the back of a Camaro with that guy (Bobby? Billy?). Okay, you were no saint, but this? Come on…

Dejectedly, you drop your chin to your chest and let out a frustrated huff.

Looking miserable, and literally dragging your heels, you shuffle back out to the grotto, steeling yourself for whatever mocking banter Eddie will subject you to this time.

He’s leisurely rearranging the grotto area, and fiddling with the fairy lights behind.

“Hey, Boots. What’re you still doing here?”

Still not looking up, and flicking your eyes everywhere but in his direction, you mumble,

“I, uh, I need your help.”

“What is it? C’mon, you can tell me. We’re quite intimately acquainted now, wouldn’t you say?“

You can hear the smirk in his voice and you want to slap it right off his face. Your response comes out in a rush.

“MyzipisstuckandIcan’tgetoutofthisfuckingcostume, okay?”

“Well, honestly, if you want me to undress you, all you have to do is ask…”

There’s annoyance in your voice as you spit out, “For fuck’s sake Eddie, are you gonna help me or not?”

“Of course, Boots, I’m just messin’ with ya.” His voice drops to an almost-rumble as he instructs, “Turn around for me, yeah?”

His voice is commanding, yet soft and velvety. Parts of your brain turn to marshmallow, and you consider that you’d do almost anything he asked, if he asked you like that.

You do as he requests, your back facing him. You tilt your head down slightly, allowing him better access to the top of the zip, inadvertently also exposing the back of your neck.

He exhales (is it a bit shaky?), and you feel the heat of his breath on your nape, the sensation raising goosebumps along your spine and worrying your legs a little. It’s all you can do to not drop to your knees right there and then. You let out a tiny gasp and try to cover it with a deep swallow.

Eddie works gently on the collar of your garment, fiddling with the fur and disentangling what he can. As he works you continue to feel his breath on your neck, and you wonder if he has any idea what it’s doing to you.

Seemingly satisfied he won’t make it any worse than it already is, Eddie grasps the tag with his fingertips and places the palm of his other hand on your shoulder blade, the heat of it radiating through you so intensely that you have to scrunch your eyes closed and try to ground yourself.

With a quiet, “You ready?”, Eddie begins to slowly lower the zip.

It dislodges under his delicate touch, and although the zip is now completely free-moving he continues to pull it downwards ever so slowly. You feel another frisson of excitement, and even though you could at this stage probably quite easily take over and get out of the garment yourself, you don’t move away.

As the opening reaches your shoulder blades, you feel something else. It’s featherlight, barely there, but you think you can feel the knuckle of one of Eddie’s bent fingers brushing the skin of your back as he pulls the zipper slowly downwards.

Part of you thinks you should be freaked, after all an almost-complete stranger is touching you without your consent, but somehow it doesn’t feel weird. It feels… nice. Safe. Right.

The lower the zip goes the more of Eddie’s breath you feel on your back, and as the sides separate the edges of the colourful tattoo on your shoulder blade become visible.

Eddie's breath stutters at the sight, and as his knuckle passes over your bra strap and connects again with your lower spine you abruptly shake yourself out of your reverie.

Clutching the front of your tunic to your body, you move quickly away from him, stumbling back towards the locker room and mumbling, “I’ll take it from here. Thanks Eddie, you’re a lifesaver.”

Plonking yourself down on the bench in front of your open locker, you take a few deep breaths, trying to centre yourself before you get changed and wondering how on earth you’re going to be able to face him again tomorrow, the (yes, you’ll admit it now) hottest Santa you’ve ever seen...

Back in your own clothes (black, wide-gauge fishnets, an old tee from a punk band that no longer exists, and a flared black skirt - much better) you’re about to scurry out with your head down when you hear muffled grunts and groans from the main floor. What on earth is going on out there?

You amble back out to the grotto area, trying to appear nonchalant and like this is your usual route out of the building.

You see Eddie’s combat boots sticking out from behind a pile of fake snowballs. They seem to be twitching.

You move closer until you can see his entire form. He’s lying on his back, immobile, completely tangled in fairy lights. You can’t help but start to giggle, not least because for the first time since meeting him it’s he who’s the one in a compromising position.

He’s struggling, likely making it worse, and he starts as he sees you, barking out, “Oh god, Boots, you scared me! Well, laugh it up, fuzzball, I guess it’s your turn to rag on me now.”

“What on earth happened? Are you hurt?”

“I said I’d help rearrange these lights, so I was up that ladder, moving them around, when the rung gave way. The lights were the only thing I could grab for when I span, fell, and, well, here we are!”

He gives you a broad but sarcastic grin, realising the absurdity of his predicament, trying to spread out his palms in a jazz hands kind of illustration but only managing to do it with one, the other trapped at his belt line by a string of dazzling pink lights.

“Um, you need a hand?”

“Uh, yes please.”

You take a moment to appraise the situation. You see the broken ladder, the tangled piles of lights, scuffed-up fake grass and unruly piles of snowballs.

As for Eddie, he seems unharmed, if a little bruised in the ego (and, perhaps, the elbows). He’s still wearing the Santa suit. Well, most of it. He still has on the hat for some reason, and the trousers, but he’s discarded the beard and jacket, presumably for reasons of temperature regulation or ease of movement, and his ‘belly’ cushion is nowhere to be seen.

And his top half? Well, his top half is now adorned only in a tight, white tank top.

You swallow as you take in his torso. He looked good on stage that night at the bar, but you never really got to see him this close up. Or this well lit.

His skin is almost as pale as the fake snow that litters the area, but there’s a creaminess to it that just makes him look, well, edible is the only word you can think of. Apart from ’lickable’. Yep, that would work too…

He’s solid, well defined, but he’s not stocky. You imagine that years of carrying amps and band equipment around has toned his muscles rather than bulked them.

And the tattoos… Oh. God.

You’ve always had a thing for people with alternative tastes, but this guy takes the cake. Swirling black ink in a variety of designs and styles covers his pecs and biceps, with smaller but no less elaborate designs adorning his forearms.

You notice a subtle glint under the colourful strings of lights that enwrap him, and spot that one of his nipples is pierced, the ring of metal just barely visible through the taut fabric.

Your eyes drift to his hands (those same hands that entranced you that first night), and although there’s no rings tonight (you guess ‘Badass Santa’ wasn’t the version on the mall’s wish list) his hands are no less attractive, still strong-looking and veiny, and you spot a number of small finger tats that you hadn’t been aware of before.

His position and the fact that he’s still struggling mean his abs are tensed, with his forearms are in front of him, making them, and his shoulders, really pop.

Jeezus.

Your thighs clench and you feel a heat bloom in your core.

He notices you staring, and for a moment seems to revel in it, but eventually breaks you out of your trance, asking, “You gonna help me get out of this, or what?”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course, um, lemme just…”

You decide to start at his feet, reasoning that’s where the tangles are the least bad, and at least if his feet are free he’ll be able to sit up.

That decision has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that you’d like to see him sitting, bound, tied up for you, naked…

Shit. Fuck. Concentrate…

Eventually you free him from the majority of his confines, your fingertips and the backs of your hands brushing his skin and the fabric of his clothes occasionally. As he’s able to sit up, his hair tickles you as you work, his scent invades you all over again, and the two of you share glances and timid little chuckles as you move around him, both aware that you’re closer than you’ve been before.

Eventually he’s completely freed, and as he stands and steps out of the final loop of lights he flops exhaustedly backwards into his golden throne, eyeing the pile of entangled lights and running a hand over his face, mumbling, “Shit, there’s no hope for them tonight. I’ll deal with it all in the morning.”

You stand to the side of the throne, wanting to check he’s ok, and in a bold move that you weren’t expecting he lifts one arm and takes the tips of your first two fingers in his, gently raising your hand in a silent instruction to come closer.

Mirroring your earlier comment, he says, “Thanks, Boots. You’re a real lifesaver”, adding, with a hand against his forehead, “I would’ve been here all night, could’ve starved to death. They'd've found my mummified remains in the morning.”

You find yourself stepping towards him, and with your free hand try to give his pec a playful slap, murmuring, “You’re so dramatic. No, wait, theatrical!”

The slap fails though, as he rapidly brings his other hand up to the back of yours, trapping your palm against his chest. You can feel the heat of his skin, the slight sheen of sweat just noticeable as your fingertips breach the low neckline of his top, the heavy thud of his heartbeat.

You don’t realise how close you’ve become, and you gasp as your knees touch the side of his. He gently grabs the hand that’s on his chest and pulls it to his side, and to stop yourself from toppling forwards you have to step around him, ending up standing astride his legs.

Your eyes lock, and something changes. For a long moment neither of you move, and you feel your breathing rate speed up.

Not breaking eye contact, Eddie slowly moves your arm up to his shoulder, and you find yourself climbing onto the throne with him, straddling his thighs.

He breaks out that low, rumbling voice again, as he murmurs,

“That’s it, Boots, come sit on Santa’s lap.”

As you lower down onto him, you feel the heat of his thighs through your thin tights, and then the contrast of the chill of your metal-coated heels against the backs of yours.

You also feel something bloom in the pit of your stomach. And further down. A warmth, heat, need.

Eddie moves one hand to hold the back of your waist, pulling you gently, moving you further up his lap towards him.

You feel the unmistakable bulge of his arousal between your thighs, and as he moves you closer you gasp as you feel it nudge your mound.

You look at each other for another long moment, aware that this is very new territory. His eyes flick between your eyes and your lips, as he asks, quietly, “Is- is this okay?”

It’s all too much and simultaneously not enough. You definitely weren’t expecting any of this, but at the same time you find yourself desperately nodding, needing more of him, of Eddie.

You answer by slowly rolling your hips lightly against him, your lips parting slightly.

The few layers of fabric between you aren’t enough to dull the sensation of his cock pushing against your centre, and you feel it gradually pressing between your folds, your growing slick making the movements easier.

Suddenly, his bulge nudges your sensitive bud.

You gasp again at the sensation, making Eddie exhale a long low, warm breath over your torso, before he speaks again.

“Boots, can I kiss you?”

You take a breath, considering how this could all go. You could walk away now (albeit with shaky legs and damp thighs) and leave any possible awkwardness or complicated entanglement in favour of a simple, uncomplicated holiday with your friend.

But then you look into his eyes again, as his hips gently buck and nudge you once more, and your decision is made.

Breathing out, you reply,

“Fuck yeah, Santa.”

Wearing a soft, sly smile, he gently brings one hand to the back of your head, bringing you to him as he moves forwards, chocolate eyes roaming your face, scanning your eyes and lips.

Noses bumping and lips millimetres apart, he pauses for a moment before closing the gap, pressing his soft, plush lips to yours. They feel divine, soft and velvety, and this close you can smell everything him now, with the subtle addition of something faintly minty.

You kiss him back, and then you both press forward harder, parting your lips at the same moment, the tips of your tongues touching and dancing before sliding past each other and deepening the kiss, your teeth bumping gently and hot breaths mingling.

It’s wet, hot and needy, your hands grasping his shoulders, and his arms pulling you closer to him.

The rolling of your hips gradually becomes stronger and more forceful, and he bucks harder up into you. You need more. Breaking the kiss for air, you take a couple of lungfuls, toying with the drawstring on his red pants before asking, bold and more than a little cheeky,

“How are you feeling? Still entangled? Do you need a hand getting out of these, too?”

“Yeah, fuck, I’m feeling very… entrapped, kinda claustrophobic. Might be in shock from such a traumatic experience. I might need to loosen my clothing a bit, y’know, for medical reasons.”

You give him a smirk, and untie the cords. Raising up on your knees slightly, you slide your thumbs hands into the waistband of those and his fitted, black boxers (fuck, is there anything about this guy that isn’t sexy?). He quickly takes the hint, lifting his hips off of the throne and allowing you to move his garments down to his thighs.

As you work his member gets caught on the elastic of his boxers, and as it releases from the fabric it springs back onto his abdomen with an audible slap. You can’t help but look, and you’re not disappointed. It’s pleasantly, but not overly, big, thick and veiny, curved slightly and with a large flared head. The tip is shiny and pinky-red, and as you stare it twitches away from his body and a tiny bead of precum leaks from the tip. You’re surprised, but also delighted, to spot a shining pair of steel balls decorating a frenum piercing, and that there’s a few pretty dot and line work tattoos near the base.

It’s beautiful. You want to tell him so, but he grabs you and pulls you in for another deep, passionate kiss, his length trapped between your bodies, hot and pulsing.

You melt into the kiss, tongues slipping and sliding, lips rubbing, noses smooshed against each other and enjoying it for as long as you can both do without air.

Needing another deep inhale, and also wanting to get your hands on his delightful cock, you sit up again, slipping one hand between you and grasping at his length. Eddie hisses, then moans,

“Oh, Boots, you’re gonna fucking kill me.”

You enjoy the feeling of him in your hand for a few moments, relishing the heat and hardness, before you position the palm of your hand behind his cock and push your centre towards him again, trapping his length between your hand and belly.

More thrusts of his hips moves him between you, your slightly adjusted position now pressing him firmly between your clothed folds, his cock dragging the fabric across your clit. You can’t help but let out a high whine, and you feel his cock twitch again.

“Too much fabric. Wanna feel you.”

His voice is gruff, desperate, wanting.

You lean back a little, resting one hand on the arm of the throne, keeping your other hand wrapped around his cock. You’re not sure you ever want to let it go.

His hands move from your ass to your thighs, running over them and squeezing. When he reaches the part exposed by your lifted skirt he growls, feeling the skin of your hips and belly through the mesh of your tights.

Suddenly, his chin dips and he gives you an almost evil grin. His eyes remain connected with yours as the tip of his tongue peeks out of the corner of his mouth as he pushes some of his fingertips through the holes, grabs tightly and pulls.

You freeze as the sound of snapping fabric echoes around the grotto, cool air now gracing your belly and inner thighs. You gasp, not only at his actions but because you packed light and don’t have any other tights with you. But as Eddie’s thumbs trace up to the crease of your thighs, dangerously close to your heated core, all thoughts of packing and capsule wardrobes are erased. You want, no, need him to touch you.

With a smirk, you say, “Please touch me, Santa. I promise I’ve been such a good girl this year.”

His jaw goes slack and he looks at you in awe. You notice how black his eyes have become, the beautiful chocolate hues all but obscured.

He flicks his gaze to your core, black satin panties with lace edging fully on display. He runs one thumb pad up your very centre, feeling the smooth, silky fabric, your heat, the dampness that’s already apparent.

“Christ, baby, is this all for me?”

“All for you, Santa. I’m pretty sure you’ve been a bad boy this year, but you deserve a treat anyway.”

His eyes flick to yours again briefly, his lips curling into a lascivious smirk, before returning to the beautiful display between your legs. He hooks his thumb around one lace edge and, much more gently than he handled your tights, moves the soaked satin to one side.

With a tenderness and reverence that you’ve never experienced before, Eddie parts your folds with his thumb and runs it delicately from your wet lips all the way up to your clit. His eyes are fixed there, jaw slack, and you genuinely think he might drool.

As he connects with your sensitive bud you keen above him, eyes closing and head rolling back.

“That’s the spot, huh?”

You come back to look at him, and manage to breathe out, with a lilting giggle, “Fuck, yes.”

He moves his thumb in a small circle, and your mouth falls open in an O, your brows furrowing slightly.

“You want me to keep going, Boots? All you have to do is ask…”

You’re lost, gone, away in space, and you don’t have the capacity to chide him for his cheek. All you can manage is a breathy, “Please Eddie, please keep going.”

His thumb speeds up slightly and he gradually and gently increases the pressure, and you can feel the coil in your belly tightening already. Fuck, he’s good at this.

Your hand remains clamped around his dick, squeezing it occasionally, his hips rutting up into your fist at a leisurely pace as he watches you fall apart on his lap.

He moves his other hand from where it’s been resting on your hip, and, widening his thighs slightly to create space beneath you, brings the tips of his index and middle fingers to your hole. You’re sopping wet and swollen, lips almost sucking him in just from the slightest touch.

He looks to your face again as he asks, “Is this okay?”

You manage a rapid, shallow head nod and a, “M-hm”, and he slowly plunges two fingers into you, scissoring them and generating a low groan from you, which in turn causes a harsher snap from his hips.

“Jeezus, Boots, you make the most delicious sounds, wish I could record them, listen to them on a loop. Fucking hell.”

“Maybe you can, you’re a musician after a-all…”

That’s the last thing you can say for a while, the combination of Eddie’s smirk, his talented fingers pumping in and out of you, his glorious thumb movements, the feel of his cock in your hand and his hips bucking beneath you all conspire to bring you to your peak.

You grip the arm of the throne hard, nails denting the pile on the velvety fabric. Your eyes close and your vision goes black before becoming a thousand tiny fairy lights, a firework igniting in your core and spreading throughout your body in the most delicious waves as you spasm around Eddie’s fingers.

You don’t notice you’ve been groaning until your senses return, and you feel a slight roughness in your throat. Eddie continues his movements, though slower, and helps you ride out your aftershocks as you pant on his lap.

Only when you start to twitch in discomfort does he remove his thumb from your clit. He slowly pulls his fingers from inside you, and to your surprise brings them up to his lips, pushing them fully inside his mouth and sucking greedily, closing his eyes and humming at your taste. Popping them out with a wet smack, he says,

“My god, Boots. You taste better than sugar cookies and cotton candy combined.”

Your arms feel suddenly weak, and you flop forwards, forehead on Eddie’s collarbone. You feel his warm, broad palm on your back, rubbing gently, soothing you.

“Y’okay there, sweetheart?”

You manage a little squeak, and mumble a tiny, “Mmph, yeaaah…”, as he chuckles lightly.

After a few moments you sit up a little, gazing into Eddie’s blown chocolate eyes through an endorphin haze, and you notice your cheeks are tense, in what must be, given Eddie’s somewhat lovesick expression, a goofy smile.

You realise you’re still holding on to his dick, and give it an experimental squeeze, to test whether your muscles are responding to signals from your brain (yeah, that’s definitely the only reason…). Eddie’s hips buck up, and you sneak a look down to see more precum leaking from the tip. You gather some with your thumb, circling it gently over his slit.

Eddie inhales with a hiss. His strong arm around your back goes to pull you in for another kiss, as his other hand reaches up to the hat atop his head, pulling it off and discarding it amongst the tangled fairy lights.

You move towards him for a deep kiss, releasing the grip on his member and running your hands around his (surprisingly muscular and delicious) neck and into the hair at the base of his skull, tangling your fingers into the curls and tugging gently, earning you another moan.

Shifting your hips along his thighs, you press your soaking folds against Eddie’s turgid cock, and the combination of sensations causes Eddie to break the kiss and emit a loud, low groan. His arms tighten around your torso and he moves his warm mouth down your jaw and neck with wet kisses, then lightly bites the top of your shoulder.

You sigh, knowing what you want.

“You ever fuck an elf, Santa?”

Eddies still mouthing at your collarbone as he mutters into your warm skin,

“Goddammit, you’re incredible.”

You move backwards slightly and Eddie takes the opportunity to reach behind him, grabbing the back of his tank top and dragging it off, dropping it carelessly to the side of the throne to join the lights and his hat.

Fuck, his chest is glorious too.

Bringing a little of your lower lip between your teeth, you run your palms down his solid torso. You want the opportunity to play with that nipple ring and examine each and every one of his tattoos, but right now there are more pressing desires on your mind.

He lets out a shaky breath as you brush his abs with your fingertips, shift your position and line up his swollen head with your eagerly awaiting hole.

“You sure about this, Boots?”

You look up at him, at his blown dark eyes and pink, kiss-bitten, shiny lips, and quirk an eyebrow as you run your fingers into his hair and murmur, “Oh yeah, Eddie. I want you to make me feel… special inside.”

He gasps as you angle your hips and sink down, pushing the head of his cock inside of you, gradually taking his thick length.

He kisses your lips once more, humming, as you acclimatise to his girth, then grins lasciviously as he thrusts his hips upwards, filling you completely. You’re close enough that the moans you let out mingle together and your breaths become shared, eyes locked and mouths agape.

You roll your hips, sliding Eddie’s length in and out of you at a gentle pace. You can feel every ridge and vein as he enters and pulls out, and you’re sure you can feel his frenum piercing dragging against your walls.

You can tell he’s holding back, consciously stilling his own hips and allowing you to set the pace. But this doesn’t last long.

Voice gravelly and ragged with lust, Eddie mumbles,

“Shit, baby, I gotta move. I wanna fuck you so bad, Boots. You gonna let me fuck you?”

Mouth close to his ear, you breathe out a small, “Please”.

It’s all he needs.

Grabbing your ass and squeezing hard but not harshly, Eddie pulls you down onto him as he thrusts up from below. His pace is ruthless as he lifts and drops you, matching his rhythm as he grunts and mumbles incoherent curses. You can’t make out much, but you do hear,

“Fuck, baby, you feel so divine, taking me so well, Jeezus Christ.”

Fuck, he feels amazing.

You remember his cock tattoos, and imagine how they might look, shiny and covered with your slick, disappearing in and out of your glossy lips.

This image, combined with a particularly hard snap of Eddie’s hips causing him to angle slightly differently and start to nudge that special place inside of you, causes you to let out a loud gasp, and your mouth drops open as you try to form a sentence.

“Oh fuck Eddie, I’m- I’m…”

“You gonna cum all over Santa, pretty girl?”

He continues thrusting at that delicious angle and you feel your legs start to tremble.

“Fuck! Y-yes, ye-ess!”

Heat building in your core, you just about hear Eddie mumbling,

“Shit, you’re squeezin’ me so tight, I’m not gonna last much longer. Where do you want…?”

Before he can even finish you’re blurting out,

“Inside me Eddie, please.”

You bounce on Eddie’s lap as his thrusts become deeper, faster, and then harsher and less rhythmic. You grind down onto his pelvis, your clit rubbing against his pubic bone and his thick, dark pubic hair, as his cock continues to bully your most sensitive spot.

Suddenly your muscles tense, thighs clamping around him, your forehead pressing hard into his, as his hips slam up into you. You let out a low whine as you peak again, vision blackening, all your muscles tensing as your walls clench around him.

Eddie follows almost immediately, thrusting harshly upwards and pulling your hips down onto him, and you feel rushes of warmth as he groans and empties himself inside your fluttering cunt.

There’s quiet for a moment, and all you can hear is your panting breaths and the sound of your own heartbeat in your ears.

You sit in silence for a few minutes, foreheads feasting against each other, heartbeats slowing and breathing becoming more regular.

Breathlessly, and without full clarity, you sit up slightly and mumble “Fuck, Eddie, that was…”

Eddie chews a little on the inside of his lower lip, and with the widest, sexiest smile you’ve ever seen, replies softly,

“Merry Christmas, Boots.”

After a few moments spent pecking kisses on various parts of your face, making you giggle, Eddie eventually helps you to lift off his slowly softening cock. He leans over to retrieve his discarded tank top and uses it to help clean the mess you both made between your legs.

You unpeel yourselves from the golden throne, feeling sure the heels of your boots have left marks in your ass, and he aids your passage back to the locker room on wobbly legs, helping you wash and making sure you’re ok.

As you gather your things he changes into his street clothes. They’re not dissimilar to last night, though he’s foregone the chain belt and has chosen a somewhat more fully intact shirt, and he watches you as he slings on his leather jacket.

Almost ready, you look down forlornly at your gaping tights, the hole barely covered by the hem of your skirt. Eddie chuckles, and tries to lighten your hosiery-related mood.

“Perhaps I could buy you a new pair? Maybe at lunch tomorrow we could go visit your favourite shop, and you could pick out something nice?”

The image of Santa and one of his elves nonchalantly browsing the displays in a sex shop amuses you greatly, and you tell him so, but he insists he would totally do it, if you wanted to.

There’s a pause as you retrieve your coat and go to put it on, and as you do he adds,

“Well, I’d call it a Christmas gift, but… I’d actually prefer to get you something a little nicer. If you’re around. And you’d let me, of course.”

You’re surprised by Eddie’s unexpected tenderness, and the implication that he might want to continue… whateverthisis. You don’t want to presume anything, but there’s certainly a little tingle in your belly at the thought.

You reply, sardonically, “Sure, I guess. So long as it’s not red and glittery, I think I've had enough things like that to last me for a little while.”

You both snort-laugh at this.

As you start to walk together to the staff exit at the back of the mall, Eddie offers to take your bag so you can fasten your coat and put on your hat and gloves.

Trying to sound casual, he asks, “Sooo, how’re you gettin’ back to Robin’s?”

“I was gonna take the bus, like usual.”

Eddie looks at you sideways, slightly bashful.

“Could I, maybe, give you a ride? We can stop at Benny’s on the way, if you’re hungry. It's a diner”, he clarifies, remembering that you’re not from around here.

Your tummy flips, and not just from the thought of a milkshake and fries.

“Yeah, sure, I’d like that.”

Eddie smiles that wide smile again, and you see his cheeks turn a little pink. It’s odd, him being all shy and self-conscious after what you two have just done, but somehow it’s also incredibly endearing.

As he walks you through the parking lot, still carrying your bag and toying with a stray piece of tinsel that he found in his pocket, he says,

“Y’know, I’d still really like to see what you do with that Christmas dildo.”

Thinking back to how he looked all tangled up, you smirk back at him as you think of how you’d quite like a redo of him tied up for you.

As you reach his van, you lean against the passenger door and coyly look at him.

“Well, maybe I could show you. Could we, maybe, do something after work tomorrow?”

With the sweetest dimpled smile you think you’ve ever seen, Eddie cocks his head to one side and lifts a hand to run the tip of one forefinger along your jawline, as he replies in that low rumble,

“Oh, Boots, you should know by now. All you have to do is ask.”

🎄You may not yet be completely sold on the whole idea of The Holidays™️, but you’ll have to admit to Robin that this might well be the start of your Best. Christmas. Ever.🎄

Thanks so much for reading! ILY 🥰

Please support your content creators by not only liking but also commenting and reblogging - it’s so important. If you liked this there’s a good chance others will too, and comments and reblogs are the only way posts get seen. Consider it a Christmas gift to your writers and followers 😍🎅🏼 Thank you, and Happy Holidays, however you celebrate!

Resources: Proof that Deck The Halls can be sung to the tune of War Pigs (and vice versa), plus the ‘Fa la la’ 😊🎄

#prompt party #Santa!eddie munson #come sit on Santa’s lap #festive fic #promptparty #festive smut #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson smut #5+1 #5+1 fic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #Christmas fiction #best christmas ever #Eddie munson fan fiction #Eddie munson fanfic #Christmas smut #rockstar!eddie #strangers to lovers #steve harrington #robin buckley #S.A.N.T.A. BABY #boots #joseph quinn

[love-me-a-good-prompt]

5+1 IDEAS

Here are some ideas for the 5+1 trope! (I've included prompts for 2 characters and prompts for 1 character)

2 characters:

5 times Person A was Person B's hero + 1 time Person A needed saving

5 times Person A pranked Person B + 1 time Person B got revenge

5 times Person A wanted to tell Person B they love them + the 1 time they finally did

5 times Person A cheered Person B up + 1 time they couldn't

5 times Person A embarrassed themselves + 1 time Person B did it for them

5 times Person A thought Person B had a crush on them + 1 time they knew

5 ideas Person A and Person B had for matching tattoos + the 1 they ended up getting

5 times Person A called Person B beautiful + 1 time Person B called Person A beautiful

5 places Person A and Person B have kissed + 1 where they did more than that

5 times Person A saw Person B cry + 1 time they saw Person B laugh

1 character:

5 times Person A thought the world was ending + 1 time it actually was

5 times Person A pretended to be fine + 1 time they didn't

5 times Person A was afraid + 1 time they faced their fear

5 times Person A almost lost their cool + 1 time they did

5 times Person A knew exactly what to say + 1 time they didn't

5 times Person A felt alone + 1 time they knew they weren't

5 decisions Person A regrets making + 1 they don't

5 secrets Person A will never tell + 1 they couldn't keep

5 times Person A almost gave up + 1 time they did

5 people Person A thought they were in love with + 1 person they actually were

#5+1 #5+1 things #5+1 times #5+1 prompts #5+1 trope #prompt #prompts #writing prompts #writing prompt #writing #prompt list #prompts list #romantic #platonic #angst #character prompt #character prompts #idea #ideas #creative writing

[chronically-ghosted]

i wanna do bad things with you

This is my submission for PedroStories 1K Celebration @pedrostories! Using “do you trust me?” and the 5+1 trope.

rating: E for explicit! 18+

pairing: max phillips x f!reader

summary: you ask him to bite you, but he has some reservations. you agree to work up to it and test his limits.

warnings: blood play, biting, fingering, handjobs, oral, piv sex, anal sex, themes of BDSM, heavy heavy smut with some feelings peppered in bc im a softie, playing so fast and loose with vampire lore it might end up pregnant, will tag specific chapters with specific warnings

a/n: This is for all you monsterfuckers out there. May we know them. May we be them. May we raise them.

🤍 Masterlist 🤍 Get notified when I post new works!

first base. second base. third base. home plate. home run. +1 (the one where he doesn't bite you)

#pedrostories1k #max phillips #5+1 #max phillips x you #max phillips smut #max phillips fanfiction #max phillips x reader #max phillips x f!reader

[kalee60]

Here we go again! Here's my latest offering to the stucky goddess's ❤️

Title: you can't touch this

Author: kalee60

Rating: E

Word count: 7591

Tags: Alternate universe - canon divergence, friends to lovers, mutual pining, cheeky Bucky, America's ass, not actually unrequited love, first time, sexually explicit content, Steve's POV, bottom Bucky, top Steve, implied switch, oblivious idiots, well - oblivious Steve, 5+1

Summary:

Bucky had always been tactile, always shown his affection through touch and a closeness that generally drove Steve crazy. And it would have been totally fine - if Steve wasn’t head over heels in love with him. But he was - and Steve wasn’t sure what to do about it.

Or the five times over the years Bucky touched Steve's ass and the one time Steve touched Bucky's.

~*~*~

Click here to read!

This also fills another @stuckybingo square : N5 - America's Ass 🍑

#stucky #my writing #friends to lovers #oblivious Steve #America ass #stucky bingo fill #5+1 #I'm back... slowly lol

[somefanficrecomendations]

i'm feeling devious (you're looking glamorous)

Author: fivecenturiesverse Fandom: Stranger Things

Summary: Steve Harrington is secretly a nerd. He's also, in Eddie's opinion, a massive dick. (Or: five times nobody but Eddie believes that Steve is a giant nerd, and one time he tells everyone else.)

Readers Notes: This fic is light, fluffy, and touchingly real. Amazing writing with great characterization, what’s not to love? The author captures Eddie’s frustration and astonishment beautifully, managing to balance the humor of the situation with a plot that’s lightweight enough to feel approachable and is easily digestible. While this fic isn’t a steddie must read, its definitely a should read.

Rating: Teen   Warning:  N/A   Words: 3,127        Relationships: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson Additional tags: POV Eddie Munson, 5+1 Things, Steve Harrington is a Little Shit, Steve Harrington is Bad at Flirting, Steve Harrington is a Nerd, Platonically Married Robin Buckley and Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson Has a Crush on Steve Harrington, Mentions of Death, Humor, Fluff

Additional Info:

  Podfic Available by renna_jenkins

#stranger things fic rec #steddie fic rec #steddie #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #eddie munson x steve harrington #fanfiction #robin buckley #pov eddie munson #5+1 #nerd steve harrington #fluff #mentions of character death #complete #words: 0-5k #fic #podfic available

[writingbyshiloh]

Part 6

Parts 1-5

CW: Reader gets injured on the job!,(TBH it could be either hand as long as you have a weird handshake),Making out in a closet. Flashbacks to when Ressler walked in on R and Red having sex (part 2) and Liz and the earring (part 3)

WC: 2.3 (!!!!)

AN: Reader did work with a mob team, Flashback to when Ressler slept with Samar in season 4. I’ve never broken a bone so I tried to google as best as I could :) It ends a but abrutly, but I tried for an hour to work out a better ending and nada

Thank you to everyone who read the series, esp those who provided kind comments/feedback/let me bounce ideas off of them!! Whether you read just half of a chapter or all 6 I truly appreciate it. 7 months later we are done!!! 

“And how is the happy couple doing?” Reddington asks, sliding up next to you at the bar. 

“Oh, you know. Hopefully going to get into a huge argument in 10 minutes,” you reply. 

The task force was undercover at a cocktail party, to which a known member of the Blacklist was invited. Red and Liz are paired up, same with you and Ressler, while Samar and Aram are in the van, monitoring everyone. 

The first part of the plan was for Reddington and you to point out the mob member - Sonny Someone or other. Raymond knew them through business, while you knew him from trying to take him down while on a mob squad. 

Part two was you and your “husband” of the evening get into a fight, giving a reasonable excuse to not be mingling with others hoping to let Ressler bond with some of the other criminals. 

Currently, it's part three. You’re slinking around the halls of the event while not being outed as an FBI agent. Your bigger task is making sure you and Reddington are safe from any mob-connected individuals who may want him dead.

You’re both out of sight, being tucked into a storage room with your back uncomfortable against a shelf with a first aid kit next to you, while his hands gently squeeze your hips.

“We shouldn’t. Everyone here is suspicious!” you hiss, weakly protesting his advances, knowing you’re going to give in. He looks too good and you haven’t spent any time with him in the past two weeks outside of work.  

“Personally, I’ve always found the threat of death an aphrodisiac. Don’t you?” 

You rest your forehead on his shoulder, trying to hide your smile. What do you possibly say to that? You let out a small snort of laughter.

His lips dropped to your neck, kissing any exposed skin. You sigh, not daring to make a louder noise. Your arms, however, pulled him closer. 

Dipping your head, you tried to catch his lips with your own. He understands and brings his lips to yours, gently tugging your bottom lip with his teeth as a suggestion of you opening your mouth.

The squeaking of hurried dress shoes caused you to break apart, both leaning closer to the door to hear what's happening. 

You can hear Ressler's voice, strained as if he is jogging, saying, “They said they’re going down this hall, I just don’t see them!” 

On instinct, you flinch back, knocking the first aid kit off the shelf. You wince hearing the dull smack of the kit hitting the floor, then wince harder at the steps before the door. 

You barely hear the end of Donald's phone call, the opening of the door distracting you. Raymond positions his body in front of you, in case of the possibility that it's not Ressler on the other side of the door, but an attacker. 

“What the fuck.” is the only thing Donald can manage. 

You understand how bad the situation looks, Raymond Reddington looking flushed, and you standing behind. You see emotions flit across his face, not quite sure what to say. You squeeze past Reddington to go closer to Ressler. 

Your motion spurs Ressler into action. 

“Are you out of your mind? He's a criminal!” Ressler hisses at you, trying to keep his voice down. 

Reddington wants to correct him, pointing out that he is one of the most wanted criminals but the look you shoot at him makes him close his mouth. 

“It's not that bad!” you protest trying to save face. 

“It is!” 

“It's not!” 

“Does Cooper know?” Ressler lets out a small huff of a laugh “Does Liz know?”

“NO! You’re the first to know. But you can’t tell anyone. Please.” you beg.

“What's stopping me?” 

“I never told a soul about you sleeping with a subordinate! I planned to take that shit to the grave!” 

“A subordinate? I never knew you had it in you, Donald.” Reddington chimes in from behind.

A new voice around the corner makes you all freeze. You’re certain it's Sonny from listening to his voice through surveillance plans. 

Ressler’s comments and discovery have your nerves set ablaze but you still have enough sense to get your work weapon out and ready. You see Ressler do the same. 

Catching Reddington's eye, you jerk your head to the side, trying to get him to go behind you and Donald. He returns with a bewildered look as if you thought he’d willingly place you in danger. 

All three of you are pressed against the wall, trying to figure out what to do next. Ressler is in front of you, Reddington close behind. 

The voice is nearer, talking but no one is answering. Ressler uses his free hand to make the sign of a phone using his thumb and pinky. You nod in agreement. 

Your stress-addled brain tells you this is the best time to get your man. 

Rounding the l-shaped corner you smack into Sonny, trying to come across as a distracted and drunk partygoer, not an FBI agent on the verge of losing their job. 

“I’m sorry! I should watch where I’m going.” You apologize, trying to buy some time for Ressler and Reddington to understand your plan. 

“It is okay. Sonny.” He introduces himself. His hand is extended for a handshake but you would know him without the introduction. You spent months trying to get a lead on the racketeering he's done. 

You take his hand without thinking, glad he doesn’t recognize you. His left hand is on your right, patting your hand. You want to pull your arm away but can’t, wanting to stay in partygoer character. 

It's too fast for you to react until your index and middle fingers are bent back and you're gasping out in pain. 

Your surprise shouting alerts the two men behind you. With your half-baked plan ruined, they round the corner to come and find you and Sonny. 

With the mob member gone, you hold your hand in shock, telling Ressler to go after the mob guy. Instead of following your order, Ressler communicates with Samar and Aram in the van, telling them that Sonny ran towards the exit. 

The combined adrenaline of undercover, being found out, and having at least one finger broken is what keeps you from crying. Or at least what you tell yourself. 

 ----

Hospitals are never your favourite place, but it's exceptionally awkward now. Reddington is off doing something (he sent someone from his team to pay the leftover medical bills) to save some face. You have two broken fingers and want nothing more than to go home. 

Ressler is keeping you company (you suspect he's also the reason a nurse has checked in on you twice in the past 15 minutes). He only left briefly for Cooper to call you to say you’re not fired, but one out of the three weeks off (suggested by the doctor) was a suspension. Inappropriate relationship with a CI. But with the black site, nothing will stay on your file. 

Outside the room, you hear the voices from your team, most of them hushed, one angry. 

Aram being on the verge of tears is not what you expected to see when. You expected anger, or arguing, but not this level of upset from your close friend. Knowing Aram’s tendency to talk when nervous you’re sure he's going to tell you what's going on. 

“Why would you cheat on Dembe with Mr. Reddington?” The hurt in his voice is obvious. 

You can't control the way your jaw drops in shock or the way that your eyes widen. The doctor only gave you regular painkillers, but now you’re wondering if they’re making you loopy. You make eye contact with Ressler, who slowly shakes his head, not wanting to be part of this. 

“Cheat? On Dembe! What does Dembe have to do with this?” you can only hope that no one else can hear the conversation. 

“Dembe! Your boyfriend?” Aram fills you in.

“My who?”

“You’re dating Dembe. The evidence adds up.” Samar chips in. 

“What evidence do you even have?” 

“What about the earrings you left at the safe house? You and Dembe kept looking at each other and the earrings.” Liz supplies.

“Who remembers things like that?” Fucking profilers apparently. 

“What about how you light up when Dembe comes into the post office?” 

Okay. Maybe you’re not as subtle as you think you are. In your defence, however, that would be because he walks in with Raymond. 

“It's even more messed up that it’s with his boss!” 

You suppose it is a good thing your coworkers are so sharp, trying to tease information from your personal life to fit into their theory. 

“What if I told you I’m not actually dating Dembe. So your theory sucks.” 

Maybe you are getting a bit worked up. You watch the wheels spin in their head, trying to figure out. 

Aram is the first to put the pieces together “Mr. Reddington? He's like 60!” 

“That's why you dropped your coffee when Aram asked how things are with Mr. Right! You heard Mr. R and jumped to the conclusion. ” Liz supplies. It takes everything in you not to ask if this is the hospital where her ex-fiancé works. 

You meet Samar’s eye and she frowns in a way that says not too bad. You make a mental note to ask her what the fuck that means. 

“Does Cooper know?” 

“Do I know what?” The man himself asks, entering your hospital room, a bottle of juice from the vending machine for you tucked under his arm. 

If it didn't make you want to crawl into a hole, his timing would be comedic. His appearance still makes you pleased, he can't be that mad if he is visiting you, and bringing you a gift.

“Yes! Can we stop talking about it now?” you plead. 

Your idea is shot down to a chorus of “no!”s. 

“Hand me my drink, I will answer one question each. Choose wisely.” You say. Might as well get something out of this situation. 

---

“If you clench your jaw any harder we'll have to turn back.” you joke to Ressler, his knuckles white with how hard he is gripping the steering wheel. It was nice of him to drive you home, but his anger for you is coming and going in waves.

“You know, it's a shame how you never managed to catch Reddington before the task force started.” you notice his back stiffen at the mention of the FBI most wanted. You pretend to study your splint before continuing. “And do you remember when you wanted to drop off the files at my apartment? At literally the worst possible time?” 

For the first time since being in the car, he looks at you. 

“I bet you're the first FBI agent to walk in on the most wanted having s-” 

“Stop talking.”

---

It's a rarity to see Reddington unsure of himself. Even when you’re alone with him, he carries himself with confidence. Now he looks torn between making sure you’re okay and leaving you alone. 

“You can ask, you know,” you say, putting down your phone. The news about your fingers has spread to non-FBI friends, but typing with one hand is getting exhausting. 

“How did it go?” He’s sitting next to you, as close as he dared reading his newspaper. 

“Better than expected. No more broken limbs, everyone still talking to me, I’m still employed.” 

You shift the bag of frozen strawberries on your hand to get more of the cold. 

“Cooper called me on the way to the hospital, I was slapped with inappropriate relationships with a CI, much better than with a wanted criminal.” You smile, trying to lighten the mood. “Cooper also said he wouldn’t tell the team if he didn't want me to.” 

“But you did. Liz called, and let's just say your friends care about you.” 

Your chest feels warm at the idea of your friends fighting on your behalf. 

“I didn’t, they figured it out. I think all Ressler told them was he found us in a closet. It's whatever. I don’t think I could figure out another reason why it's so funny when he offs to beat up the mystery man.” 

“Yes, he always is a real go-getter, isn't he?” Raymond agrees. 

You press your lips together to hide your guilty expression. Reddington notices and his hand creeps up to the back of your neck, trying to be reassuring. You lean your body weight into him trying to get comfortable. 

“The next time you see Ressler one-on-one” at least you hope he respects you enough to not talk about your sex life with everyone “he's going to have some choice words.” 

You twist your head to look at Reddington's face, eyebrows raised slightly, tongue between his teeth as he tries to understand what you’re going to say. 

“I may have brought up how he, um, interrupted us one time,” you say. Now is not the time to bring up what other sexy details you shared with the team while he was unnamed. 

“Is that why he ran as soon as your door opened?” 

“Yeah, I think I traumatized him in the car.” 

 “He’s a strong man, he’ll live.” 

#raymond reddington x reader #raymond reddington fan fic #raymond reddington x you #the blacklist x reader #the blacklist fanfic #5+1

[kindlingkeen]

Summary:

Five times Jason shows up for the Grey Ghosts, and one time they show up for him.

Chapters: 1/6 Fandom: Batman - All Media Types, Batman (Comics), Batman: Under the Red Hood (2010) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Jason Todd & Original Character(s), Batfamily Members & Jason Todd Characters: Jason Todd, Original Characters, Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Gang Violence, Violence against Children, Blood and Injury, Minor Character Death, Competent Jason Todd, Smart Jason Todd, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Other Additional Tags to Be Added Series: Part 4 of Asymmetrical Warfare

Image source: Batman: Under the Red Hood, by Judd Winick

#my fics #new fic! #harm reduction #5+1 #asymmetrical warfare #jason todd #red hood #grey ghosts #bruce wayne #batman #dick grayson #nightwing #batfam #fanfiction #ao3

[jojameswinter]

It kinda feels like that now, staring down at the freefall, wondering if he can leap and make it out in one piece. He couldn’t do it then, but in those rare and hopeful moments he’d think someday. Someday she’d mean it, someday he’d say it back. Someday felt so far away. Someday feels a lot like now. 

---

Read chapter 7 here on Ao3!

#jiara #jiara fanfic #jiara fic #jiarafic #obx #obxfic #obx fanfic #jj x kiara #jj x kie #kiara x jj #jj maybank #kiara carrera #5+1 #forehead kisses #through the storm #jiarabingo #jiara bingo #jiarasource

[cookies-over-yonder]

i don't know how to say this, 'cause you're really my dearest friend

Five times Taylor and Link almost kissed, and one time they finally did.

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | +1 | ao3

[title from Jenny (I Wanna Ruin Our Friendship) by Studio Killers]

1. The first time was after a fall.

☆

Taylor Swift is no stranger to coordination issues.

He manages to work his way around them with extra practice of wielding weapons, but sometimes it sneaks up on him.

Like right now.

Seemingly having tripped over nothing, Taylor falls forward and braces himself for impact.

The floor of Link's house is wooden, so Taylor can't even console himself by the idea of falling onto carpet. How did he slip? He doesn't know. It just happens. Sometimes no amount of training and practicing can prevent the air from sabotaging him.

And he knows it will hurt, because the floor is hard and it always hurts. It always hurts, but he recovers. But before he recovers, he's going to faceplant. He scrunches his face up, ready to hit the ground.

But then he stays suspended in the air.

"Are you okay?"

Taylor opens his eyes. Link is holding him by the arms and scanning his face with wide eyes.

Wide eyes… that are so close to his face.

Taylor feels a rush of heat coursing through him as he runs his gaze down Link's worried face, stopping at his lips.

They're pressed tightly together in concern, and then they're open, and saying something…

And Link is breathing, and Taylor can feel it on his face.

And Link says his name, and with the way the syllables sound on his tongue, Taylor feels like he's been put under a spell. 

Hypnotized.

Enchanted.

And he says it again, and it's just as mesmerizing as before.

They're so close together. Only a sliver of space prevents them from making contact.

There's one thought plaguing Taylor's mind and making him feel like he could melt.

What it would feel like to close that gap…

Taylor finds his body moving without his permission, chasing the pull of Link's lips like a magnet.

"Taylor!" Link shouts, and Taylor's shoulders are shaking. Link is shaking them.

"Hu—uh… yeah?" Taylor asks, dazed. The gap is wider now—Link must have made him stand upright.

"I asked if you were okay and you didn't respond," Link's lips move fast. "You looked like you were about to pass out."

Taylor's face burns.

"I—uh, I'm fine—" he winces at the way his voice cracks. "Sorry. Thanks."

"You should sit down," Link says, guiding him to the couch, hands still on his shoulders. "I'll get you some water."

"Mm, yeah," Taylor says, only half-processing Link's words because his hands are still on his shoulders…

Once Link sits Taylor down and leaves his side to get water, Taylor buries his face in his hands. God, he really is burning.

"Here," Link says, sitting next to him. Taylor lifts his head and sees a glass of water being held out to him. He takes a sip.

"Thanks. Sorry, didn't mean to freak you out."

"It's fine, I just wanna make sure you're okay."

"I'm okay. I have coordination problems sometimes. That's why I tripped. I'm not gonna faint or anything."

Probably not, he thinks. With the way Link is looking at him, nothing is off the table.

"Okay. Just… drink some water," Link says, and Taylor takes a sip. "You look really red."

Taylor chokes.

"Slowly," Link adds, patting Taylor's back as he coughs up water.

"Yep," Taylor says between coughs. "Got it."

Oh, god.

☆

#dndads #swiftli #fic #5+1 #taylor swift dndads #lincoln li-wilson #yes im giving taylor all of my disabilities including my motor skills disorder LMFAOOO #cuteness of them #this chapter is p short #i'm really excited about this fic though #shout out to happi for helping me brainstorm :) #^_^♡☆~! #cookies writes and cookies wrongs

[hippolotamus]

Shall I write it in a letter?

5 times Buck writes a note to Christopher + 1 time Chris wrote back

[Image Description: 6 images. 5 images are handwritten notes from Buck to Christopher. Image 6 is a cell phone with a text conversation between Chris and Buck.

Image 1: Blue background with T-rex watermark and handwritten text that reads ‘Hey Buddy, Have an awesome first day! Can’t wait to hear all about it! Buck p.s. what’s fast, loud and crunchy?’ To the right is a hand drawn arrow pointing right.

Image 2: Light gray background with moon phases print at the top. Handwritten text reads ‘Chris, Things probably seem pretty rough right now. It's never easy when your best friend moves away. I know this doesn’t make it better, but I'll bet Sarah misses you, too. I wish I could snap my fingers so you could skip the hard part. Hope you're having a Not Bad day. See you tonight Buck’. To the right of Buck is a hand drawn black heart.

Image 3: Pale yellow and green background in a sun formation. Handwritten text that reads ‘Dear Mr. FIRST PLACE, I knew you would crush it at the science fair. Plus, now we have a super cool plant for the house. Who knew they could grow like that? I know we've already said it, but your dad and I are SO proud of you. Can’t wait to celebrate this weekend. Love, Buck’

Image 4: Pale yellow background with handwritten text that reads ‘Chris, You have your driver's license now. Who let that happen? Oh, wait... :) I know you're probably too cool for school now, but be safe. Let me or your dad know if you'll be late or if the car gives you ANY trouble. WE love you, Buck + Dad’ Driver’s and License are both underlined for emphasis. Before ‘WE’ is a scribbled out ‘I’. ‘+ Dad’ is written in different handwriting.

Image 5: Light gray background with image of a rocket ship in the lower right corner. Handwritten text that reads ‘To my Favorite Diaz, It's hard to believe today is your last day of high school. Weren’t you just 7? Now look at you - valedictorian and ready for college. Kinda feels like we blinked and you were all grown up. Hope you know I'll never get tired of telling you how proud I am of you. Can't wait to see what you do next. I love you, buddy. Buck’

Image 6: A cell phone with ‘Favorite Diaz’ as the contact. There is an image of a young Christopher Diaz for the contact. There are 3 texts from Buck to Chris that read ‘You’re sure you don’t need anything? Plenty of snacks? Fridge is working fine? Ok your dad just told me to relax and let you settle in. Love you buddy.’ There is a return text from Chris that reads ‘Everything’s great, Buck. You’re gonna be OK. I love you too.’ There is an accompanying photo of Buck’s original note indicating Chris has held onto it.

/end ID]

#the answer to note one is rocket chip #i 1000% HC that buck puts notes in christopher’s lunches #just had some really big feelings about buck and chris #this is my first time with alt text #accept my apologies if i screwed something up #i am open to suggestions #5+1 times #5+1 #911 #911edit #evan buckley #evan buck buckley #christopher diaz #hippo writes #💙🦛

[pluralprompts]

Prompt #1,231

Write a 5+1 story featuring at least five different headmates.

#plural system #pluralgang #plurality #pluralprompt #prompt #prompt blog #5+1 #any tone

[rwrbficrecs]

5+1 Things Recs Part 1

I want you, I need you (oh baby oh baby) by @rmd-writes

From the first time Henry saw Alex leaning against their dorm, he's thought that he's one of the most beautiful men he's ever seen.

This is five times Henry was interested in Alex, and one time he actually did something about it.

Some Element of Mystery by @xthelastknownsurvivorx

Alex has to face it. He has proof. The evidence is irrefutable. His very attractive roommate is a stripper. Not that there's anything wrong with that, but it means that sleeping in the same room as him just got that much harder (ha). ... What he knows is this: 1. Henry works a night job, usually smells like alcohol when he comes home, and is weirdly cagey about what he does. 2. Henry is a highly-skilled pole dancer. 3. Pez let it spill while drunk that Henry knows how to give a lap dance. Henry, red to his ears, confirmed it. 4. Alex accidentally saw Henry's very extensive collection of sexy underwear on laundry day. 5. Henry always pays Alex back in wrinkled small bills from his job, apparently on account of how customers "handle" them.

Or, five times that Alex thought Henry was a stripper, plus one time Henry corrected him.

self-awareness (and lack thereof) by aftgray

Alex is not as observant as he’d like to be. His crush on Henry goes unnoticed to no one but himself—and perhaps Henry, who is too busy suppressing feelings for his apparently straight roommate. Pining ensues.

or

5 times Alex liked Henry and had no clue, +1 time he knew.

or

David is quite literally the whole reason Alex and Henry meet and eventually stop being idiots and realize they’re in love

take me out, and take me home by weather_stained

They’ve only been living together for two months, since Alex moved to the city for law school. Henry's Brooklyn apartment was a short commute to NYU, and the price was unbeatable, so he agreed to move in without even meeting the man in person. He was nervous, at first, to share close quarters with a stranger, but it’s worked out shockingly well; Henry is kind and considerate, and they mostly leave each other alone.

He’s also quite obviously gorgeous, and Alex doesn’t know why there isn’t a string of men coming and going from Henry’s room at all times, or perhaps one steady man. Inexplicably, Henry seems to have been single since Alex moved in in August. 

AKA:5 times Alex doesn't realize Henry's in love with him, and 1 time he gets a clue.

sex ed in 6 steps by @coffeecatsme

“Please tell me you used a condom, Fox,” Alex drawls out, leaning against the wall, and Henry chokes on his next breath.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re gonna tell me all about this tomorrow, but for the love of God, tell me you used a condom and we won’t have mini Henrys on campus anytime soon.”

Or, 5 times Alex thinks Henry's straight and 1 time he finds out the truth.

Or, 5 times Alex jokes about Henry's sex life and 1 time he gets to be a part of it.

Shards of Glass by Sebastian (taydrawrs)

Alex fights the frustration welling up in his stomach, gritting his teeth so hard his jaw hurts.  The thing is, this isn’t the first time he’s lost out on a date because they’ve been threatened by what he shares with Henry.  He doesn’t know what it is about their relationship that seems to scare people off, or make them think they’re not welcome around the duo.  He feels more emotionally connected to Henry than to anyone else, but swears he doesn’t treat Henry any differently to how he would treat any other friend.

Except for the cuddles on the couch.

And the pet names.

And maybe he’s a little touchier with Henry than he is with Nora or his lacrosse teammates.

And okay, maybe he openly flirts with Henry more than necessary, but it’s so fun seeing Henry blush and seeing his cool façade crumble to dust in front of him, and it’s even more fun when Henry is feeling a little silly and flirts back.

…oh.

or

5 times Alex and Henry get mistaken for a couple, and one time it’s not a mistake.

#5+1 #5+1 things #rwrbficrecs #red white and royal blue #first prince #firstprinceficrecs #fic rec list #alex claremont diaz #henry fox mountchristen windsor

[bobsfic]

jiara week day 6 - 5+1

Summary: Five times Kiara and JJ danced together, and one time they didn't.

Word Count: 23,910

------

“What the hell are you doing?”

“It’s called dancing in the rain, Kie,” JJ says, so light and easy it’s like he’s suddenly a different person. He holds her hand firmly and smirks, eyebrows raised at her in challenge. “I think many inspirational sayings have been written about it.”

She grits her teeth in frustration, feeling a kind of emotional whiplash. “Are you kidding me right now?”

“Oh come on, you got what you wanted,” he says, tilting his head at her. And damn him if it isn’t endearing. “Now you gotta dance with me.”

------

Read more on ao3!!!

#jiaraweek2023 #jiaraweek23 #jiara #jiara fic #my fic #my writing #outer banks #obx #outer banks fanfiction #outer banks fic #obx fanfic #obx fic #jiara fanfic #jj x kiara #jj x kie #jiarasource #day 6 #5+1 #alternate universe

[boxboxlewis]

Something warm and comforting with maxiel?

Five career options Daniel considered and turned down after leaving F1, and one he didn't.

Adult entertainer

“My decanter sold out, right,” Daniel says. He’s sprawled on the sofa, staring up at the ceiling, high out of his mind: one of the few consolations of being out of F1. The vape is hot in his hand and he doesn’t want to get any higher right now, so he should probably just turn it off; it’s top-of-the-line, Blake’s baby, and he’ll be upset if it overheats and fries itself. But Daniel is so comfortable he doesn’t want to move, body heavy and syrupy, perfectly in tune with the sofa cushions.

“Yeah, mate. Well done on that,” Blake says loyally. “What, you want me to approach the vineyard about doing another partnership?”

“Nah,” Daniel says, “I was thinking more like. What if I did one of those things where I make a cast of my dick, and we could sell, like, branded DR3 dildos, but in the shape of my actual cock.”

There’s a pause, long enough that Daniel finally rolls his head so he can see Blake, who’s staring at him with an expression of ferocious concentration. “Mate,” Blake says, “you’re too high. Give me the vape.”

“I just think—people would love it,” Daniel protests. “I’ve got a nice dick. I mean, I’m pretty sure. Max—people have said. Five out of five stars on ratemydick.com.”

“Ohhh-kay, yeah. Yep. Give me the vape, Mr Adult Entertainer.” Blake wrests it from Daniel’s unresisting hand.

2. Crypto spokesmodel (again)

“...and that’s why we think you’d be the perfect brand ambassador for Gainz Crypto Exchange,” the smiling American guy finishes.

Daniel’s leg is jiggling underneath the board table. “Yeah,” he says, “thanks, but—”

Blake interrupts. “Do we want to like, talk this over privately before we make a decision?”

Daniel loves Blake, but man that “we” grates at him. He smiles, to paper over an awkward moment, and says, “Nah, I think we’re good.” He turns back to the American guy. “Look, I’ve done more some reading about crypto”—he’s watched a couple of Youtube videos and listened to half a podcast episode; close enough—“and it’s really not where I want to put my focus right now.” Because it’s a massive Ponzi scheme preying on unsophisticated investors, he doesn’t add. “Thanks, though. Good luck with the Gainz.”

3. Yoga teacher

“Breathe in, and create awareness to your chest,” the instructor says. She’s pretty cute. Very relaxing voice, too. Daniel breathes in, and thinks about his chest, as instructed: it’s definitely there. Chesting. Doing whatever chests do. Digesting air and shit. “As we reach for the heavens, imagine pure energy flowing down from the sky into your body.” Daniel obediently imagines a waterfall of Red Bull pouring onto his head, and he’s not an expert, obviously, but he’s pretty sure he could come up with some better soothing imagery than that.

After the class, he calls his sister. “Do I have a relaxing voice?”

“What?”

“My voice. Is it soothing.”

“What? No,” she says. “You sound like a millennial Australian guy who’s spent a lot of time abroad.”

“Ah, that’s too bad,” he says, disappointed. “You don’t think I should teach yoga, then?”

“Daniel, what the fuck goes on in your head, I swear to god." Michelle sounds affectionate but also is clearly laughing at him. "I mean, if you want to, I guess? I feel like the voice isn’t really the most important yoga teacher qualification though?”

This is a very good point. “Yeah, you’re probably right,” he says. “Thanks, Michelle."

4. Children’s book author

“What if I wrote a children’s book,” Daniel says. “Daniel and the Really Fast Car, or some shit. I bet kids would love that. They love cars, right?”

Kristen and Dax exchange a look, and then Kristen says tactfully, “Children’s books are actually, like, surprisingly hard to do well.”

“Yeah,” Dax says. “A lot of them are shit.”

“Dax!”

“Honey, relax! I’m not saying Daniel and the Really Fast Car would be shit. And you would like, hire a professional to help, obviously. Just… it’s probably not as easy as it looks, that’s all.” There’s a haunted look in his eyes. “I’ve seen scansion like you wouldn’t believe.”

Daniel doesn’t actually know what “scansion” means, so, maybe children’s book writing is a no-go. “Ok,” he says equably. “I trust you guys."

5. Memoir writer

Daniel watches as the ghostwriter his publisher hired thunks her head rhythmically into the tabletop. “Uh,” he says.

She stops thunking. “Sorry! I never get like this with clients!” She sits up, and looks at him. “Daniel! You are so charming and lovely, but has it occurred to you that maybe you don’t actually want to write a book about your life?”

“I mean… I do, though?” They already have a title: Daniel Ricciardo: Pushing to the Limits. He’s excited about it.

The ghostwriter says, “Daniel, I have spent the past two hours trying to get you to tell me literally anything about your childhood or early life, and you have given me.” She consults her notes. “An extended rant about Skittles. Your views on which candies have the most international appeal. A run-down of your favourite places to buy snacks in twelve different countries. A comprehensive explanation, with partial demonstration, of which UFC moves you think you would most rock. And an overview of your favourite bands.”

“Uh.” 

“When I asked you to give me a memory from your school days, you said, “Oh, man, you have to hear this new single,” and then got distracted by your own Spotify.”

Daniel considers this. “Ok, so… ah, fuck it,” he says. “Maybe you’re right.” 

“Yes!” the ghostwriter exclaims, relief in her voice. “And you know, this doesn’t mean you’ll never write a memoir! Just maybe that now’s not the right time.” She starts to gather her things together. “Daniel, thank you so much, I really do mean this—it’s been a pleasure.”

+ 6. WAG

“Daniel, I still do not understand why you’re so upset about not having a job,” Max complains. “You have plenty of money. And it does not mean, if you take some time out you can never work again.”

Daniel considers this, and tries to explain. “It just feels like—ok, how many years have I spent hashtag keep pushing? Fist emoji, fist emoji? And now I’m just, like, sitting around like a lump, doing nothing.” 

Max says, completely deadpan, “Well, we can talk about fisting later, but right now I think we should not be distracted,” and Daniel lightly chokes, but Max is still going. “You are not a lump, Daniel. You are a man who has worked very hard for a very long time, and now you are having a rest, that’s all.” He moves over so he’s leaning against Daniel, and wriggles his shoulder until Daniel lifts his arm and wraps it around him. “You aren’t that old yet. You still have time to do things. It is ok to just sit, for a while.”

Daniel sits, with his arm around Max, and thinks about what it would mean not to push, not to try, not to hunt to find the next thing. “I would basically be your WAG, you mean,” he says, and laughs. 

Max twists to look up at him, and he’s not laughing. “Yes,” he says simply. “I think that would be lovely, if you would not mind it. Just for a little while.”

Daniel pulls Max in tight against him, and kisses the side of his head. His heart feels all wobbly and uncertain, like one of those videos of newborn giraffes or whatever trying to stand up for the first time. “Do you really,” he begins, and then stops himself. Max never says things he doesn’t mean. “Ok,” he says, instead. Ok.

#maxiel #my fic #for our agonies #dr3 #mv33 #asks #5+1