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ker0senebunny · 2 years

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you've always had me✫*ﾟ･ﾟ(walking on a string ii)

steve harrington x fem!cheerleader!reader

part one

summary: steve misses reader a whole lot (dustin smacked some sense into him). now, how does he win her back? (angst, fluff, smut)

warnings: afab!fem!reader, language, angst, fluff, smut (18+), UNPROTECTED SEX (pls remember to practice safe sex!!), kinda soft!dom steve? but no use of sir or daddy etc, apology sex, loss of virginity, PRAISE so much praise, oral (f!recieving), fingering, p in v sex, use of pet names, size kink (for like one second), dirty talk, no use of y/n, a little bit of roughness at the end (but not degredation or anything like that!! cheerleader!reader likes to be called pretty and good while she's getting railed), all characters are 18+, discussion of insecurities, soft tummy steve rights, NOT BETA'D (seriously if anybody wants to, pls shoot me a private message!)

word count: 6,187 (wowza! was not expecting that)

notes: THANK YOU FOR 200 FOLLOWERS WTF!! when i published walking on a string, i had about 30 followers so thank you so so much for keeping up with my silly little writings. i'll do a little celebration party later - i’m thinking something along the lines of blurbs from a prompt list, so send in asks! without further ado, here's the second part! seriously, thank you all for all the love you've been giving me. it really keeps me motivated to write! i hope you all enjoy this part before i start my taylor swift trilogy and ballerina!reader oneshot!

p.s. i also got a couple of asks that have perhaps inspired a part three (!!!) in the adventures of steve and his cheerleader, so thank you to the anons who sent those in! lmk if you guys would be interested in that xoxo

the things you said are hanging in the middle of my mind, tonight.

i can’t turn them off.

you hadn’t been to family video in three weeks and steve desperately missed you.

winter had arrived in hawkins, bringing with it shorter days and longer restless nights. a tangy cold ran through the air, slipping under the door of the video store and creating a stupid fucking draft. steve watched the door anxiously as the stale air burned his nose. robin snorted. “dude, she’s not coming in,” she said. he huffed out a quiet “shut it, buckley” in response, keeping his eyes trained on the door. she rolled her eyes. “it’s your funeral, dingus.”

now that he thought about it, he hadn’t seen you around town either. he never saw your sweet face at the grocery store. or in the park where sometimes, he'd catch you lying on a blanket, enjoying the pre-winter breeze and blasting duran duran on your walkman's tinny headphones. hell, he even went to the library to seek you out. but it seemed that you had just plain disappeared from his life.

only his life.

steve asked anybody who came into family video if they knew where you were; they always made some offhanded comment about seeing you at a party or at your favorite boutique. the one you always got your little low cut blouses from, where trina denman had made you cry once and so he chewed her out the next time she came in to rent a movie -- pretty in pink. your movie.

"steve, you are a dipshit."

steve rolled his eyes and turned his gaze away from the door to see dustin standing in front of the family video counter.

"tell me something i don't know, henderson."

dustin rolled his eyes right back before hopping over the counter to get into steve's personal space.

"hey! man, what the hell are you-"

"apologize to her."

steve was startled at dustin's sudden seriousness. he'd only ever seen the kid get serious about upside down stuff or d&d. or, when he talked about you. he knew that you two really got along when he introduced you to all of the kids, but your bond with dustin ran deeper. you both often met at the old creek to go look at the wildlife there. you taught him about the flowers and the moss that surrounded you both, palming crisp bark and teaching him to appreciate the world around him, inadvertently worming your way into steve's heart even more as dustin regaled him of these tales.

"dustin, she doesn't want anything to do with me."

"because you haven't apologized yet. jesus christ, steve. it's like talking to a toddler. i swear." robin let out a sharp cackle from where she was eavesdropping. steve flipped her off.

dustin sighed. he just wanted to see you and steve happy. he snapped his fingers in front of steve's face to get his attention.

"i'm not a fucking dog."

"i'd argue against that." dustin chose his next words carefully: "whatever you do next has to matter more to her than anything you’ve ever done before."

i'm in a twisted web,

and i can't pull my head from it.

that first day when you came in was one of the best days of steve's life. he couldn’t believe that you, the golden girl, were speaking to him with such softness. but then, the thoughts he tried to cram away constantly invaded his mind, clouding whatever emerging feelings he felt for you. steve decided for himself that you were playing a game - making him the fool. and so he decided on revenge - playing you right back. poking out his tongue whenever he looked you up and down (which was quite a common occurrence). letting you cuddle into him whenever the two of you were seated even remotely close to one another (this was definitely not for his benefit as well). posing for pictures that you’d take with your polaroid camera that was “so annoying” to him (he’d never tell you that the picture robin took of the two of you, your back to his chest as he wrapped his arms around your waist, lives in his wallet - next to the first of your little notes).

steve liked to take his time with things and he knew you needed space, but three weeks was a long time, right? it was too long of a time for you to have not pranced into family video, excited to show steve your newest purchase. too long of a time for him to go without smelling your peach shampoo on his sweater after you’ve fallen asleep during one of your many viewings of pretty in pink. he missed the sting of your manicured nails on his forearm when you were so excited to tell him about a new trick that you landed, that you physically glimmered. he realized with a start that he missed your silly notes and the mirth in your eyes as you laughed at a dumb pun he made. he missed how you would light up even more than usual whenever one of the kids said hi to you outside of one of their hangouts that they'd taken to inviting you to. he missed you.

and he fucking hated himself for it. he felt stupid, used, and above all -- guilty. why would he feel guilty if he saved himself from whatever heartache you could bring him? your teary face flashed in his mind.

oh.

because you hadn't been trying to use him -- you actually liked him. a lot.

and he definitely was a little bit (a lot) in love with you.

and he only just figured it out.

robin watched her best friend as his face changed. she snapped her gum in her mouth before plunking down on the stool next to him. "i smell wood burning," she said, "what are you thinking about?"

steve turned to her.

"i fucked up."

i hang my head

and feel the oxygen drain.

agonizing hours passed as he thought about what to say to you. he almost missed the tinkle of the bell above the door, letting him know that there was a new customer in the store. from where he sat, all he could see where white sneakers. his eyes snapped to the top of the doorway, and he shrank in disappointment. walking through the door was chrissy cunningham, not you. she was holding pretty in pink, no doubt to bring it to you to cheer you up.

so, it seemed that you were just hellbent on avoiding him.

chrissy gave him a polite smile as she brought it to the counter. steve cleared his throat. she nodded at him in greeting. robin stood a little further back, entranced by everything in front of her (did she sort of want her best friend to get punched by chrissy cunningham? …yes).

steve handed chrissy her change and just as she left, he jolted to his feet.

“wait!” he said, as if the words couldn’t wait inside his mouth any longer. she hesitated, already knowing what he was going to ask.

“how is she?” he said, eyes honest as he searched chrissy for an answer.

she set her mouth in a grim line as she shook her head at him.

“steve, i’m not going to lie to you. she’s really hurt.” steve felt his mouth dry up instantly.

“would she even want to see me?”

chrissy sighed exasperatedly and gave him a shrug before looking at his wounded face. for however much he was hurting, she knew you were hurting way worse. she slammed her hands on the family video countertop, mustering up as much of a threatening tone as she could, pushing herself to the tips of her toes to look steve directly in the eye.

“i have never known someone as kind or genuine as her,” the tiny girl said very seriously, “so you better fucking fix this harrington, because even though you’re a dickhead for what you did, i know you care about her. and for some reason, she cares about you too. probably too much.” steve opened his mouth to reply but chrissy jammed her pointer finger into his chest. “fucking. fix. it,” she said through gritted teeth before waving to robin and swaying out the door.

you're never running out of ways

to worm your way back in.

the past few weeks have been hellish for you, to say the least. getting not only rejected but belittled by steve harrington, the boy you…love? yeah, love would be the best way to put it. you'd pined after that idiot since freshman year, your feelings only intensifying with time and your prolonged visits to family video. those same visits evolved into impromptu sleepovers due to your absent parents, nights out when the local carnival was in town, watching out for the kids on halloween.

you pretended to be fine in front of your friends, a group made up of jocks and the cheer team. you knew that lucas sinclair, one of the new basketball players, was friends with steve. so you avoided him as much as possible, but that didn’t help. everywhere you went, you felt like steve was following you. seeing the people he loved (because he obviously didn’t love you) caused the rift within you, one searing with pain and self-loathing, to deepen.

there was less of a pep in your step. your gentle attitude remained, but you were more melancholic than anyone had ever seen you. sure, you were always willing to lend a hand or a listening ear, but as soon as you were left with your own thoughts, it seemed like a shade had passed over your demeanor.

you hadn’t let anybody into your room since the pep rally, sinking into a cocoon made of your duvet and throw pillows for hours on end. your walkman was always pumped up on full volume. crumpled tissues blanketed virtually every surface - a palpable reminder of his words to you that continued to hang in your mind. you tried to block them out - to block him out - but steve had become so engrained within your daily routine without you even noticing.

his yellow sweatshirt lay on your desk chair, directly in your line of sight, which didn’t help with your attempts to wallow and just get it over with.

you didn’t even let chrissy in to talk to you - she had to resort to seeing you in public or talking over the phone. your room was your safe space: your zone away from anything (or anyone) else but you.

which made steve’s raucous entrance at 2 am all the more unwelcome.

anyone who knows what love is will understand;

you’ve always had me,

walking on a string.

you’d finally been pulled under into what could almost be described as sleep when you heard a thump and a quiet “fuck me!” you were alone in your parents’ large house (something about visiting your dad’s old boss — you couldn’t care less), which made the nighttime extra unnerving to you as a young woman, alone in the middle of fucking nowhere. that was something steve had known about, before he broke your heart.

you shot up immediately, rolling out of your bed and grabbing one of your sneakers to hold up as a makeshift weapon. your eyes were wide with fear and your voice shook as you spoke, “don’t come near me, perv!” you launched the shoe at the tall, dark figure, striking them in the shoulder. whoever it was taken aback and made a noise of pain. you were reaching for your other shoe when you heard your name. “it’s just me, sweetheart.” you lowered your arm as you took in his outline in the dark. you didn’t need light to know what he looked like; you’d spent long enough memorizing every freckle on his face. the slight gap in his left eyebrow from when he got cut in a fight and it scarred. how the right corner of his mouth used to be permanently curled in a smirk around you.

you squinted still.

“stevie? did you sneak through my fucking window?”

you couldn’t help but use his nickname. three weeks of the cold shoulder doesn’t exactly undo months (nay, years) of pining.

“you could’ve used the front door, you know. my parents aren’t home.”

he hadn’t said anything to you yet, allowing you to fill the silence with your half-awake rambling. he gave you a sheepish smile as you moved to stand in front of him, looking up at him with your arms crossed over your chest in worry.

“why are you here?”

you hated how your voice cracked.

he looked down at the floor and then back at you, meeting your eyes. you hated how you immediately got sucked back into the warm umber of his gaze. he sucked in a breath through his teeth, shaking hands in his pockets.

“i need to tell you something,” he said with as much sincerity as he could pour into his words. you rolled your eyes, turning to get back into bed. “i think i’ve heard everything i need to hear, harrington.” he said your name pleadingly, reaching out to envelop your fingers in his.

you hated how you let steve's warm fingerpads trace the inside of your wrist.

you especially hated that it made you feel better.

“please let me say this and then i’ll be out of your life forever.”

you nodded.

“i didn’t think that you’d want anything to do with me.”

your heart ruptured.

he continued: “you’re this stunning, whip-smart, sweet girl who everyone loves. and i’m just this washed-up guy who chauffeurs for six children and works in a video store.”

steve paused to look at you, not quite understanding the emotion pressed into the creases of your face.

“i thought that your friends put you up to this - to me. i thought you were just using me to get a laugh, so i thought i would use you right back.”

tears bubbled up along your lower lashline. your lower lip wobbled as he poured out the deepest, darkest crevices of his mind to you in your moonlight bedroom. your eyes adjusted to see him

“but then i got to know you. like really know you. and i realized that you were one of my favorite people ever. and then i felt like i’d fallen into your trap. and so i lashed out and i was a fucking dumbass and ruined whatever i could’ve had with the girl i love. what i’m trying to say is - i was an idiot and i really don’t want this to end before we even had the chance to start it, sweetheart.”

you let the tears fall unknowingly, but unlike the gym, steve cradled your face gently in his hands, swiping away the beads of saline that ran down the apples of your cheeks. you sucked in a breath, but it felt like the oxygen cascaded out of you instead; you brought your face closer to his.

“you’re so fucking stupid, harrington.”

and then you were kissing him.

it felt completely natural to you both - no hesitating, no waiting. he moved his mouth over yours, pressing your scantily-clad pajama-covered body into him. you felt the softness of his stomach and the hardness of his chest against you as you tried to get yourself impossibly closer. from where his shirt was slightly unbuttoned, you saw some of his chest hair. a path of warmth made its way down to the root of your core. he pulled away and you whined, chasing his mouth with yours.

he breathed out your name like it was a poem.

your smile was just as bright as it usually was, even through all of the salty wetness sliding down your face.

“i love you, stevie."

he looked at you like he wanted to bring the stars closer, just so you could get a better look.

"say it again," he teased gently as he nosed at your throat, prompting you to lift your chin and expose your neck. he started to pepper open mouthed kisses on your neck.

"i-i love you."

he sucked harshly on one spot, making you softly cry out. you pulled back and watched his pretty face form a pout.

"but you’re gonna have to make it up to me.”

he looked down at you with a boyish smirk, before dipping down to meet your lips with his once again.

“i can think of at least one thing that might help.”

he kissed you with a ferocity, a deep-seeded wanting. you sighed into the kiss and whimpered when you felt his tongue nudge against the seam of your mouth. you opened your lips in a surprised moan and he slipped his warm tongue in, licking the roof of your mouth. you let out another whimper, and he groaned. “those sweet little noises are gonna fucking kill me, baby.” his words were strained, his voice raspy, lips slick with a mixture of yours and his spit. you felt your face warm to match the heat emanating from your sex. he dove in to kiss you again, gently leading you toward your bed.

your back hit your cornflower-dotted duvet as steve caged you within his arms. your hands had made their way into his hair, mussing it far past anything that a few puffs of farrah fawcett hair spray could ever remedy. you felt the ache between your thighs grow and in your steve-induced haze, your hips jolted up to meet his. you were surrounded by him: the feel of his warm, wet mouth on yours. his smell -- lemongrass shampoo and pine cologne and something that just made him steve. steve tasted like promises and the cherry slushee he'd gotten with robin after work. his rough fingertips soothed over the spot at your waist where your flimsy tank top had risen. you maneuvered your hips over his groin again. the tiny bit of friction that his rough, tented jeans provided against your throbbing clit made you whine out his name.

“stevie,” you pleaded.

he moved his lips down your neck, lapping at your pulse and leaving a trail of bruises in his wake. the stimulation only made you move your hips more in desperation. you were already surprisingly close — not even nights alone in your room with your hands shoved down your cotton panties, imagining this very moment, were you ever close this quickly. one of his hands came down to squeeze your hip — not harshly, but as a reminder that he was in charge. he pulled away when he felt you move your hips again. he sighed. “pretty girl, i want to take my time with you. be patient.”

you looked at him through your heavy lashes, pouting a little as you grabbed for him to come back closer to you. “but i wanna feel you!” you exclaimed, pulling him down toward you to latch on to his neck and grind up toward his bulge. he hissed as you found his sweet spot, right between where his collarbone meets his neck. he panted out your name as the hand gripping your hip got tighter; you could see the hand near your face clench into a fist and he breathed shakily. “i want to feel you too, but i have to get you ready first, sweetheart. is that okay?”

your heart swelled so much you thought it might beat its way through your chest. you nodded bashfully as his hands finally slipped under your tiny pajama tank top. steve kissed you as his fingers danced over your ribcage. you shivered at their warmth and giggled when he intentionally tickled you. you felt him smile into the kiss (which did almost make your heart explode). but all thoughts of just how much you loved him went out the window when you felt his hand rub over one of the stiff peaks of your covered breasts. you arched upwards, pushing your chest into his hand. he chuckled at your eagerness and detached himself from your wanton mouth to remove your tiny top. your breasts met the air and steve looked at you in wonder, as if you deserved to be immortalized in the louvre. “god, you’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured.

you suddenly felt shy, his words bringing you back into the present. here you were, topless with steve harrington giving you hickies. you grabbed his bicep gently with nerves puddling in your still lust-blown eyes.

“stevie, wait.”

he immediately gave you space, asking you oh so kindly, “is everything okay, baby?” you nodded. “more than okay. i just…” your voice faltered and you looked at your hands. he put his hands on the sides of your face, letting you sink into their warmth and weight. “it’s okay, pretty girl. you can tell me anything.” you bit your already kiss-bruised bottom lip.

“it’s just that i’ve never…this is the furthest i’ve ever been with anyone,” you rushed out. you desperately hoped that you hadn’t ruined things with him again. he sponged a kiss to the tip of your nose before saying, “i won’t do anything you don’t want me to do.” your eyes widened and you placed your hands over his on your face. “no no! i just wanted to let you know before we did anything else. i want it to be you, stevie. i love you.”

he smiled at that. “i love you too, sweetheart. god, i can't stop saying it.”

it was a miracle that your heart had still remained lodged in your chest at this point.

“kiss me, please,” you cooed, and he happily obliged, removing your thin pajama shorts in the process.

he left soft, wet kisses along the column of your throat, biting down gently on the top of your left nipple when he arrived at your tits. “perfect tits” as he called them. you squeaked and he laughed, the vibrations around your puckered bud heading straight to your pussy. you half-believed that your panties would be sheer from how wet you were.

he kneaded and pinched at your right nipple as he laved his tongue all over your left, giving you little nips that made you squeal and kisses that made you melt under him. he alternated between breasts and when your tits were sufficiently marked with imprints of his teeth, he placed his hand over your searing cunt. he watched your face change, your eyes rolling back, from the lightest of touches. you were equally as whipped for him as he was for you. steve groaned as he felt your thighs trap his hand, pushing the wet part of your panties into him. his eyes rolled back at the sight before him, your tits marked with his teeth, your eyes darkened for him, your pussy rutting into his hand, all covered in white cotton panties with a little pink bow. you whimpered when he took his hand away, searching for relief as your clit pulsed.

“what did i say, pretty girl?”

“that i have to be patient,” you answered shyly. he hummed.

“good girl.”

you burned from head to toe at his words.

he peeled your panties off of you, inhaling sharply as a string of your arousal connected you to the sopping cotton, only snapping once he had your panties partway down your thighs. “all for me, sweetheart?” you nodded shyly and pressed your thighs together, but he caught you and spread them again. “i wanna see you, baby,” he said before lowering himself to face your drooling cunt.

he licked a fat stripe up your slit, making you jump a little and let out a breathy gasp. steve grinned before spreading your folds with his hands and prodding at your quivering hole with his tongue. he moaned at your taste — tart and heady and you. you moaned as he sponged wet kisses to your folds, before moving up your thigh toward your needy clit. he looked you in the eye as he devilishly licked around the bud before latching his mouth onto you. steve sucked your clit into his mouth, gently brushing his teeth across your sensitive bud. you rushed your hips to meet his face and your hands flew to his head again. he gave a little laugh at your want. he kept his mouth attached to your clit as he gathered dipped his index finger into your folds, gathering your slick before pushing into your poor little hole. he muttered a curse under his breath.

“shit, sweet girl. you’re so fucking tight.” you contracted around his fingers at his voice, about to reply before he put his mouth back on your clit, sucking harsher than he had before. you felt yourself get impossibly wetter as steve began to pump his finger in and out of your entrance. you tried to move yourself on his hand, pleading for “more, stevie, more!” his middle finger slid in to join his index and you hissed at the stretch. he stopped to let you adjust and you marveled at how full you felt just because of two thick fingers. he eased the two of them in and out of you slowly, spreading you open for him. you were so lost in the pleasure that he was doling out that you almost missed his calls of your name.

“baby, can you take another one? d’you think you can?” his face had moved to hover over yours now; you could see your juices on his chin. you nodded frantically, shifting back and forth on his already dripping fingers. “please stevie — need it. need you.” he kissed you heatedly as he inserted his ring finger, swallowing your gasp with fervid swirls of his tongue. you keened as you felt the girth of three fingers inside of you; your fingers and imagination couldn’t do steve’s hands justice. he gave an experimental thrust, keeping up with his assault on your clit, with the heel of his hand. he kept kissing you, switching between gentle presses of his mouth to yours and hot, frantic swipes of his tongue. he noticed your cunt start to pulse, steadily getting tighter as you mewled. his fingers squelched as he slid them in and out of your sopping cunt. “steve, stevie, m’gonna-” you could barely get the words out before you let another loud moan. “gonna cum for me, sweetheart?” he teased, speeding up his ministrations. your voice was but a shred in the back of your throat at this point; the only response you were able to give him was a high-pitched sob. your mouth fell open and your head tilted back, renewing him access to your neck and chest. you felt yourself tighten even more as his lips brushed across the tender bruises he’d already made. the combination of his lips on yours, on your skin — his hand between your thighs — you were completely surrounded by him. he was knuckle deep by now, allowing your gummy walls to suck him in. your nails cut into his biceps as you breathed rapidly. “cum for me, baby,” he said through gritted teeth. at his permission, you let the taught string in your body snap. your walls tightened like a vice around his fingers, so tight that steve swore it could’ve cut off his circulation. your cunt fluttered around the fingers seated deep inside of you. your back arched off the bed and your gut tightened as the intensity of your orgasm washed over you in waves. your vision blurred as your body went limp, twitching with aftershocks. you said his name like a prayer through it all, finally blinking to clear your vision. you were met with his smug face as he gave you one last push with his fingers. you squeaked at the contact and he smiled at you, giving you a doting kiss on your swollen, bitten lips.

“all good, baby? you were so good for me. my good girl.”

you nodded, thoroughly exhausted, but also craving him. “stevie, i wanna feel you inside of me,” you said, giving him your best puppydog eyes. he gave you an easy smile, before searching the pockets of his jeans for a condom. “oh shit,” he said, exasperatedly. you sat up with a frown as he rooted through his belongings. “stevie, honey, what’s the matter?” he looked at you apologetically. “i don’t have a condom,” he said dejectedly. you reached out to kiss the corner of his mouth, to push the frown off of his face. you gave him a small smile and said, “s’okay! ‘m on the pill.” his pupils dilated, darkening his eyes so that only a sliver of hazel showed. “and i’m clean, because, yanno…”

“fuck,” he rasped out, “you can’t say shit like that to me, baby. i’ll cum in my pants like a fuckin’ dope.” you laughed your real laugh, his favorite laugh, and in that moment, he felt overwhelmed with love for you. so overwhelmed that as he pulled his cock out, he told you again. he called your name softly to get your attention.

“i love you so goddamn much,” he said, pouring every drop of earnestness he could into his words. now that he knew that his words actually did matter to you.

“i love you too, steve harrington,” you said as you leaned up to plant a sweet kiss on his cheek. he chased your mouth with his to lay a series of quick kisses to your lips, muffling the giggles that tumbled from your throat. he rose to his knees above you and shucked off his jeans and his boxers.

now, you’d never seen a cock before in your life, but fuck, were they all as pretty as steve’s? his cock was just, so pretty: a red tip that gave way to a flesh-toned shaft, thick with a vein on the underside of his length. his head was leaking in frustration. your eyes widened as you took him in, wondering if his massive shaft would be able to fit inside of you.

he teased his ruddy tip through the wet mess between your thighs, stroking himself with your cum from earlier. he placed one of his hands on your hip, interlacing the fingers of his other hand with yours, letting your entwined hands rest by your head.

“are you ready, sweetheart?”

you gave a soft “yes” in reply and gulped down a breath. he noticed how you tensed up and squeezed your hip gently. “we don’t have to if-” “no!” you exclaimed, “i want to it’s just…what if i’m not good?” his heart almost shattered as he looked at the worry written across your sweet face. he brought his lips to the crease between your brows, pecking you there to tell you to relax your face. “you’re perfect to me already, baby,” he said, oh so honestly. and you believed him, because it was your stevie looking at you like you were the only real thing in his life. “okay, i’m ready,” you said, relaxing into your bed a little more.

steve guided his tip to your quivering entrance and kissed you as he slid the fat head of his cock in. you gasped as he breached your walls, arms winding around his neck. your jaw fell open, slack against where your chin rested on his shoulder, almost impossibly close to him. the fullness of his fingers was one thing, but this was totally different. the stretch was addictive as he slid into you inch by inch. he worked you open gently, and you wanted him to stay inside you forever. he noticed that you’d gone quiet and brought a hand up to comb through his hair in order to see you better. “everything okay?” you nodded fervently, wriggling your hips and mewling out, “stevie more, more.” at your words, he bottomed out, heavy balls slapping against your ass and you made a strangled noise into the air as he moaned into your neck. “fucking- holy shit, you feel so good.” your walls contracted around him and steve had an idea. he started slowly thrusting into you, allowing you to get adjusted to the feeling of his heavy cock inside of you. all the while, dripping praise into your waiting ears.

"you're doing so well f'me," he said, still thrusting into you slowly -- wanting to make this about you, not him.

but something inside him snapped when you said, “stevie, fuck me.” he started pounding into you, jackhammering his hips against yours, making your eyes roll back so far in your head that all you could see was black. his chest hair brushed against your nipples, meaty thighs brushing against you with coarse hair during every thrust. you choked out a loud moan at the sensation, clapping a hand over your mouth at the volume. he noticed that your sounds had become muffled and whispered into the air between you two: “c’mon pretty girl. i wanna hear those sweet sounds you make.” his balls slapped against your ass as he rolled his hips into yours; the sounds of flesh against flesh ricocheted off the toile wallpaper in your bedroom. the wetness between your thighs kept spreading, creating a lewd slap as he plunged into you over and over again.

his spongy tip pushed against your g-spot and you clenched around him desperately. he moaned at the sensation, muttering a curse under his breath and something about how tight you were. you bit his shoulder after a particularly hard thrust, causing him to hiss and shudder. your walls started to spasm around his cock as that big vein of his pummeled into your sticky cunt. your whimpers became faster and higher as you chased your orgasm, steve right there with you. “stevie!” you yelped as he continued his brutal pace. “’m right there with you, baby. let go,” he whispered, his lips covering yours. you did just as he asked, a borderline pornographic whine slipping its way out of your throat and plastering itself across his mouth. you clenched impossibly tightly around him, stuttering out, “want it inside, please stevie,” as you were pushed over the edge. your pussy pulsed and your body shook, muscles tense as he milked your puffy cunt for all of your juices. you sobbed while you came; it was the hardest you’ve ever cum, your intense love for steve amplifying every shockwave. your legs were wrapped around him, heels digging into his back as he gave you one lasting thrust, his hips stuttering. you felt a warmth extend through your weeping cunt as he painted your sweet walls. the feeling of his hot ropes of cum filling you caused you to tighten around him once again, riding out the last waves of your orgasm.

neither of you moved for a while as steve remained inside of you, both of you at a loss for words. he raked a hand through his sweaty brunette mop and gave you a kiss, pushing all of his feeling into it as he eased out of you. you whimpered at the resulting emptiness, reaching your arms out to keep him in bed with you. he smiled, dropping a smattering of kisses to your face. you giggled and held his head in your hands to catch his lips. he pulled away with one final peck to your lips, pulling on his boxers. you sat up with a melancholy look in your eyes, but he squeezed your ankle in reassurance, telling you that he was “just gonna go ‘n get a washcloth for you, sweetheart.”

he returned moments later from your ensuite with a damp cloth, kissing up your leg as he wiped down the apex of your thighs. he wiped himself off and grabbed his shirt for you, gently telling you to raise your arms as he slipped it over your head. he lay down and opened his arms for you, as you giddily landed on his chest. you reached over him to turn on your bedside lamp and he quirked an eyebrow up at you.

“just wanna look at you s’all,” you said delicately, as you let your fingers play with the curls at the nape of his neck. his heart stumbled at your words and he squeezed you tighter.

“i’m sorry,” steve said again, “i love you so, so much.”

you yawned and snuggled into him, throwing your other arm across his body, murmuring into the air shared between you two: “you’re the only one for me ever, stevie.”

he looked at you in the buttery light of your bedside lamp, half-asleep on him, drowsily babbling about everything you loved about him (his jokes, his freckles, his loyalty), nose squished into his neck as far as possible.

and he realized, in that moment, that he’d always walk on whatever string you led him on.

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discokicks · 9 months

Text

BAD IDEAS (ON THE SAME PAGE) — JAMIE TARTT

a fic inspired by bad idea right by olivia rodrigo!

masterlist! song inspo! AO3!

pairing: jamie tartt x fem!reader (no use of y/n!)

summary: football star jamie tartt is an asshole. he’s the one ex of yours that your friends always hated, one that you now all joke about, and one you haven’t spoken to in four years. however, after a chance encounter, the two of you reconnect, and he leaves you with his new number and a hundred questions about his reformed personality. but seeing him tonight would be a bad idea, right?

word count & rating: 11k (wowza), M! (18+! minors get away or i’ll narc on you to your guardians)

warnings: SMUUUUUUT, porn with plot, lots of suggestive language, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, sprinkling of a handjob, unprotected p in v (wrap it up kids), angst, mentions of alcohol, probable secondhand embarrassment, exes reuniting (it needs a warning sometimes), jamie tartt was an asshole and is now just a prick (in the best way possible), reader is a physio, major fluff, and swearing. also reader is american (bc the author is too. sorry </3)

authors note: well. i wrote it. olivia wrote this song for teenage girls in their twenties (me) only and i immediately thought of this fic the second i heard it. i'm calling this an exercise in smut writing before i embark on my aces (my roy kent series for my new friends) eventual-smut-adventure, so this evolved into something i wasn’t expecting but i had so much fucking fun writing it. god, i love jamie tartt. also! this is my first smut fic at this type of level, so go easy on me. hope you all enjoy. love you all tons! -mags

There are two universal truths in life.

The first is that the coffee shop you frequent on your way to work will and will always have the best cold brew you’ve ever tasted. The second is that Jamie Tartt will and will always be a massive fucking prick, and you’ll never see him again for as long as you live.

These are two things you live by, and while they may seem rather mundane or petty in the grand scheme of things, they are the only truths you can count on these days. Especially when everything else is so up in the air.

However, the universe doesn’t seem to believe in these things as blindly as you do, and this becomes evident the moment that you step into the shop on a gloomy Wednesday morning. Because these two truths (well, they’re fucking bald-faced lies now aren’t they, huh?) are broken within approximately two minutes of each other with seven words.

It began when you greeted Natalia, the barista who was here every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday before your shift at the clinic with a wide smile. As soon as she saw your face, her expression turned apologetic, albeit a bit dazed.

“You’re gonna hate me,” she says, putting her hands on either side of the register. Your brows shot up at her words. “We just ran out of cold brew.”

Your face falls. “You’re kidding.”

“We were low on it this morning,” she starts to explain, “our stupid night-shifters didn’t prep enough last night. And it’s been selling like crazy today.”

“Seriously?” you nearly whine. “I might cry.”

“I’m sorry, Doc,” she apologizes, but she doesn’t sound too apologetic. Natalia’s eyes keep shifting to your left, the dazed look in her eye never faltering. Then, she says the fated seven words. “But he took the last of it.”

You turn your head in the direction she’s been looking, and your blood runs completely cold. You think you could drop dead and go to hell at this very moment, and it’d be a better existence than what awaits you in the next five minutes. And while this all may sound dramatic, you don’t care.

You don’t care because Jamie fucking Tartt is standing across from you, newly long hair peeking out from beneath his hood. He’s engrossed in whatever’s on his phone, fingers flying back and forth like he’s texting.

You think you could run. You’re pretty sure you could successfully make a break for it and leave Natalia high and dry without him seeing you. It’d be an easy exit, and you’d never have to see him again.

But then, as if he can feel your eyes on him, he looks up. And the second he meets your gaze, his face falls in what you can imagine was a similar fashion to yours.

Fuck.

Luckily, Natalia is none the wiser. She barely notices your expression, and with Jamie by the pick-up area, she can’t see the way he’s looking at you. So, instead of questioning you, she straight-up giggles.

“I know,” she practically squeals. “I was totally going to save you the last of it, but he asked for it. And I mean, c’mon. It’s Jamie Tartt. I couldn’t possibly say no to him.”

You tragically know that feeling all too well. Knowing you probably would have had a snappier, more cutting response to that if you weren’t in the most debilitating phase of shock, you settle for a quiet, “It’s okay.” You nod at her, brushing it off in an attempt to be casual. “I can settle for an espresso today.”

Natalia nods, tapping it into her register. “Same size as usual?”

“Yeah,” you say, not completely sure what you’re agreeing to. You glance over again at Jamie and find that he’s still standing there, staring at you, and you immediately blink away. “That’s fine.”

The rest of the transaction feels as though it takes a millennium and three seconds all at once. You’re still caught off guard by the time Natalia gives you your receipt with a dazed look in your eye that now matches hers.

However, yours isn’t because you just saw your favorite Richmond player or your favorite reality show villain. It’s because you’ve just seen your ex-boyfriend and you’re about to walk over and stand next to him for a prolonged period of time.

Nothing about this scenario feels real. You hadn’t seen him in four years. Not since things ended as ugly as they had, with him leaving you sobbing outside of a club at three in the morning, letting you know that things were over between you two. And he hadn’t even given you a reason. It was just that he wasn’t ‘feeling’ it anymore.

You saw in a tabloid about three months later that he was now seeing Keeley Jones (yeah, having to compete with that did not sit well with you at all) and had drawn your assumptions from there. Whether or not he’d been seeing her behind your back or had broken up with you to be with her, you didn’t know. You didn’t care. You were in your anger stage of the break-up and only knew one thing.

Jamie Tartt was a massive fucking prick, and you’d sooner walk on a bed of nails before you saw him again.

But now here he was. And there were no nails to be found.

You avoid eye contact as you pass him to wait for your coffee. There’s a piece of you that wants to say hi and play it cool, just to put on a show for him about how unaffected you were by everything that had happened. The other piece of you hopes that not a word is said for your entire time here.

Unfortunately, neither of those happen.

Jamie slides over to be near you, awkwardly rocking back and forth on his heels. His hands are stuffed in his sweatshirt pocket, and you wait for him to say something. Anything. But he doesn’t.

Instead, you can feel the ‘play it cool’ part of you rise up to the surface. You could do this. You could feign indifference. Fuck him, you could be cool.

You glance over at him and see that he’s pressing his lips together, eyes shifting around the coffee shop. It’s crazy how familiar you still are with his tells to know he’s desperately looking for a way to say something.

You say it for him. “Hi,” you say simply. Cool and unaffected.

It’s as if the one word alone makes him flinch. He clearly wasn’t expecting you to say anything. “Hi—” He clears his throat after his greeting comes out cracked, and he stuffs his hands further in his pockets. “Hey.”

The awkwardness of this moment is killing you, and it’s taking everything in you to pretend like it's not. As you search for something else to say, you land on, “You took my cold brew.”

You can see his brows shoot up out of the corner of your eye. “Oh, fuck, did I?”

You nod slowly. “Yeah,” you tell him. “I come in here every morning. Friends with the barista. Said she was going to save me the last of it, but…” You trail off and finally look at him. “She couldn’t say no to Jamie Tartt, apparently.”

You want to jump up and down about how well you’re doing right now. Maybe you are over him. Maybe you’ve finally moved past this shit, and seeing him once more is all you needed to solidify that. Maybe—

The second he chuckles softly with an apologetic smile, your confidence in those things shoots down. “I’m sorry,” he says.

“Since when do you drink cold brew, anyway?” you ask, frustrated with the fact that he’s fucking laughing in front of you. “You were always a like, caramel macchiato or frappuccino asshole.”

The names make him laugh harder, shaking his head. “Don’t like those anymore,” he responds. “Sugar hurts me teeth. Tryin’ somethin’ new.”

“Yeah,” you mutter. “My fucking coffee.”

That chuckle continues with a shrug. “I’m sorry.” he says again. Then he pauses. “But it’s not like your name was on it, or anythin’.”

Your face draws blank, and immediately, Jamie can tell he’s made a misstep. And it’s not that you’re angry about the joke, it’s just the… everything. Him. The situation. Everything you can remember that you wonder if he bothers to remember too.

Before you can walk away, you feel his hand on your arm. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he repeats for a third time, turning you so that you’ll look at him. Your pissed-off expression meets his easy smile and it only fuels your anger more. “I was jokin’. I’m sorry I took your coffee. We can get ‘em to put your name on it if you want.”

“Whatever,” you mutter. It’s not the most mature thing you could have said, but frankly, you don’t care. You just want to get your consolation espresso and get the hell out of here. “What are you even doing over here anyway?”

You’re not sure why you ask it. You don’t know why you keep the conversation going. Jamie looks just as surprised as you are. “I moved over here a couple weeks ago,” he answers. “Got sick of the old place.”

“Can’t imagine why,” you reply. By the way that Jamie snorts, you know he recalls just how much you hated his apartment when you knew him. It screamed twenty-two-year-old AFC-money shithead and you would tease him about it constantly. “Was the empty beer bottle sculpture finally giving you mold poisoning?”

He chuckles again. “That came down shortly after we stopped talking.”

“Oh, so I was just lucky enough to see it in its final days?”

“Oi,” he says, pointing at you. “That thing was fuckin’ impressive and you know it.”

“Impressive in a dorm,” you shoot back. “Not a seven million pound flat.”

He bows his head in a guilty manner. “You remember that, huh?”

“Hard not to,” you answer. “You never stopped talking about it.”

He at least has the decency to wince at that one. “I know,” he says earnestly. It makes you look at him. He shrugs once more. “I wanted to impress ya.”

He did impress you. But not with things like that. He’d impress you when you watched him play, he’d impress you when he made you laugh, and he’d impress you on the rare occasion that he’d just be himself in front of you. Not some asshole footballer. Just him.

But you don’t say that. You say, “That wasn’t the way.”

“Yeah,” he chuckles mirthlessly. “Got that now.” He rocks back on his heels again, like he’s not sure if he should say whatever he wants to. “I was a proper fucking dick to you, wasn’t I?”

That almost makes you fall over. Did he just say that? Did he actually just admit that? Out loud, here, for everyone to hear? Accountability? Unprompted? From Jamie Tartt?

You want to glance around to see if Rod Sterling’s going to emerge from the bathroom to narrate the next couple of minutes of your life, but are too shocked to do so.

Your surprise must show in your eyes, because Jamie laughs to himself. “Yeah. Wild, innit?” He shakes his head. “On a bit of an apology tour this year. Trying to build back some bridges, or whatever.”

The nod you give him is slow, still reeling from all of this. “Right,” you say lamely. “Building bridges.”

“I’m serious,” he tells you and for a brief moment, you think he may just mean it. The sincerity in his eyes is clear. “I was terrible to you. And I’m sorry.”

Whatever you were expecting when you stepped into this coffee shop on this rainy Wednesday, it certainly wasn’t this. And you certainly weren’t expecting your first time reuniting with him to go this way— with him apologizing to you. The actual words ‘I’m sorry’ just left his mouth.

You genuinely don’t know who this is. Because it’s certainly not the Jamie you knew.

You saw flashes of this guy. Quiet moments during your short-lived relationship, typically when it was just the two of you. It’s the type of guy you always knew he could be if he tried. The type of guy you pushed him to be.

(Your friends always taunted you about having the ever-horrendous I-can-fix-him gene, and they never quite let go of it. But it’s not like it wasn’t true.)

Those flashes are why you held out for as long as you did. If it were anyone else, any other asshole who treated you the way he did, you would have dropped them in a second. But he wasn’t like that. Not always, at least.

It was terrible to think like that. You’d been in a low spot when you’d met him and had taken even lower when he left you. You’d recovered tenfold from that and now knew your worth.

But as he stands in front of you, apologizing, genuinely apologizing, and looking at you like that, you start to question it.

No! the logical part of your brain practically screams. Don’t you fucking dare.

You’re keen to listen to that for the time being. It hardens you. And all you can do is nod at him again. “Well, uh—” Your voice comes out hoarse. You cough awkwardly. “Yeah. You were. Terrible to me. And, uh… thank you. For saying that.”

So much for playing it cool. You want to slam your head up against the wall but hold yourself back from doing so.

He nods at you, opening his mouth to say something else before he’s interrupted by one of the baristas calling your name. His cold brew’s sitting on the counter too, something the two of you clearly missed in the middle of your conversation.

When you reach for your drink, he grabs his too. He’s still staring at you, biting the inside of his cheek like he wants to say something. When you go to move around him, he stops you.

“Look, I just—” You look up at him expectantly, and his shoulders deflate. “I know you probably want nothin' to do with me. But, I just… I want to talk to you.”

Your espresso is hot in your hands. “Well, that sounds like a you problem.”

That’s when he says your name. Your actual name. Not the nickname that everyone calls you, not a pet name that he used to use, he says your name. And it makes you stop in your tracks.

It’s so stupid. It’s so fucking dumb that your fucking name can send you back to the day you first met him and were completely taken with him. You hate it. And you hate the way it makes your walls come crumbling down.

“Please,” he begs. “Can we… Can I at least give you my number? It’s a new one, but I-I think I’ve still got yours. You don’t have to use it if you don’t want to. But just so you can… I don’t know? Think about it?”

You wouldn’t know if he still had your number. You blocked him ages ago. But you doubt it.

However, the more you think about it, the more you consider it. It’s the product of your resolve falling and well, everything else about him now. You think about it.

If you allowed him to give you his number, the ball would be in your court. You could do what you wanted with it. You could text him, you could tell him to fuck off, you could ignore him. It was up to you.

And you don’t know if that’s worse or better.

You decide on better. The second you sigh, Jamie knows he’s got you. A wide grin breaks out on his face as you hand him your phone. “I’ll think about it,” you mutter.

That’s good enough for him. He gives your phone back to you, new number inserted and new contact created. You’re glad he didn’t search for his old one. That one just says ASSHOLE in big capital letters with about a million gun emojis.

(That was done by your previous roommates in an effort to get you to move on from him. You thought it was a bit overdramatic. You were never one for emojis.)

He’s smiling when he holds his coffee out for you. You stare at him blankly, thinking he’s attempting to cheers you. Instead, he shakes his head and says, “Take it.”

You blink at him. “What?”

“Trade with me,” he clarifies and your expression turns to one of shock. “C’mon. You said it’s yours anyway, right?” When you don’t move he rolls his eyes. “Offer’s only good for another second. Me arm’s getting tired.”

At that, you sigh rather dramatically and grumble to yourself, trying not to act pleased by the gesture. You hand him your coffee and he gives you his. “Thanks,” you say. It was kind of him.

His grin returns and he nods at you. “Alright,” he says. After a slightly awkward beat, he steps back from you. “It was good to see you, Doc. Really.” You’re taken back by how genuine his voice sounds and say nothing in return. “I’ll talk to you later?”

He says it as a question, hopeful and well-meaning. “Yeah,” you tell him noncommittally. “Maybe.”

That too, is good enough for him. Because he sends you one more smile, then walks out of the coffee shop with your espresso in hand.

You’re still reeling from the interaction when you glance down at his your cold brew and see Natalia’s handwriting. She’s made it just as you like it, down to the milk and everything.

But below it is a small drawing. It’s a tiny shark fin with a #9 written inside, with little lettering circling around it.

Doo-doo-do-doo-do-do-doo.

You’re fucked.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” is the question that your best friend and former roommate Leah screams at you over drinks at a busy rooftop bar. So busy, in fact, that barely anyone looks over at the two of you.

You’d made the mistake of telling Leah that not only had you run into Jamie on Wednesday, but you’d let him give you his number.

And you’d texted him after hours of deliberation.

It was something innocent, something you’d thought way too much about, but innocent still. You weren’t sure if you were ready to actually talk to him, but there was something about texting him that wasn’t so scary. Your guard was clearly still up, evident by how dry you were in your messages, and you were keeping your distance. You never texted back too quickly, didn’t ask many questions, and often left him on read.

(Yeah, you’d turned your read receipts on for him. What about it?)

Your first text was a simple enough question, something that you’d been genuinely wondering about since you saw him. It was open enough for a conversation but not too forward. how’d you know my coffee order?

His response came in minutes later. Is that yours? Good taste. It was shortly followed up with, That espresso you drink was fucking disgusting though.

And that was that. That was how you started texting your ex again. That’s how you reconnected yourself with Jamie Tartt. That’s how you knew it was over for you.

And that’s how you’re pretty sure you’re about to kill your best friend.

Leah’s eyes were wild, somehow angry yet still disbelieving yet intrigued. But the intrigue was very minimal. Very minimal. It was hidden well by how pissed off she was at you.

She had every right to be pissed at you. She was the one who always warned you about him. She’d straight-up nursed you back to health when you broke up. She was the one who had to hear about him 24 hours a day until you were finally over him.

Leah had had a year of peace. And now you were killing her for good.

“You’re kidding, right?” she follows up with. Her grip on your arm is tight. “Please tell me your kidding.”

“Leah…” Your voice is weak.

It tells her everything she needs to know. “Oh, my God! Oh, my. God.” She puts her face in her hands. “You’re insane. You’re fucking losing it and we need to have you checked out right now.”

“I’m completely sentient and in control of my own body.”

“Are you sure?”

You sip at your cocktail. “I reset a knee today. I’m pretty sure.”

“I think you might need to reconsider,” she says. “Because you just told me that not only are you talking to Jamie Tartt again, but you were the one who instigated it!”

You deserve this verbal beatdown and you know it. But all you can do is shrug. “Technically, he gave me his number. He’s the one who instigated it.”

“I’m gonna throw my fucking drink in your face,” Leah threatens, gripping her glass in warning.

You roll your eyes at her. “Nothing’s gonna happen,” you say, even though you know you’re probably lying. Leah knows this too. “We’ve just been texting a little. It’s nothing serious.”

“Yeah, sure,” she deadpans. “Right. And even if I did believe you, what happens if it does? What happens if you get back in your weird, scary Jamie phase and he kills you again? I can’t deal with that.”

“That’s not going to happen,” you assure her, and this time it’s more confident. Because you know you won’t. Not this time. Not if anything happens.

You’d met Jamie when you were twenty-two. You were in your first year of your Masters program, slightly lost as in your move to London to finish your journey to become a physical therapist. Or a physio, as they called it here. Whatever. You couldn’t keep up with the names.

You were shadowing a physio at the clinic you now worked at, assisting him as a part of your internship at one of the football tournaments the clinic worked at. It was a ton of big-wig footballers, some names you recognized, others you didn’t. But it didn’t matter. They were precious fucking cargo and you were so paranoid about screwing up that you barely registered who they were when you worked on them.

That was, until a twenty-two-year-old Jamie Tartt sprained his ankle and plopped himself down on your doctor’s bench. He looked at you, you assisted him, and you were wrapped up in what you were doing that you didn’t even notice he was flirting with you.

You didn’t realize until he asked you out. And the rest was history, for better or for worse.

You were surprised he went for you. You knew who Jamie was, what type of girls he liked to be seen with. They were singers and models and actresses. They weren’t you.

(Perhaps that’s one of the reasons you liked him so much. Because he chose you. You didn’t like to think about that phase of your life.)

But after six months of seeing him, he ended things out of nowhere. Right when you’d settled on the idea that despite it all, you might be in love with him. And that was that.

You hadn’t seen him since. Not until this week.

“Not gonna happen my ass,” Leah scoffs, bringing you back into the conversation at hand.

A sigh of frustration leaves your lips. “Listen, I know it’s a bad idea;” you tell her. “I know it is. But, I don’t know. There was something different about him, Leah. He was just… like not someone I recognized.”

“Maybe because his hair is fucking long and stupid now.” She brings her glass to her lips. “His highlights look horrendous.”

“I actually like his hair like this,” you admit, earning yet another eye roll. “Listen. I’m not saying he’s changed. He probably hasn’t. But I…” You trail off with a shrug. “I don’t know. What if he has?”

Leah’s looking at you like you’re the dumbest person she’s ever met in her life. “Are you hearing yourself right now?” she asks incredulously. “Babe, he was a prick to you. Like, category-five, prestige-level twat. Like, worst boyfriend you’ve ever had.”

“I know,” you repeat. “And I said nothing’s going to happen. But if it does, and it goes south, I give you full permission to say I-told-you-so for the rest of my life, alright?”

Leah bites the inside of her cheek, shaking her head. “Whatever,” she says. After a moment, she glances over at you. “I’m just looking out for you, y’know. I don’t want to see you hurt again. And I definitely don’t want him to be the reason for that hurt again.”

You grab her hand. “I know,” you say once more. “And I love you for it. But if I’m gonna be stupid, I’m fully aware of when I’m gonna do it. And it’s gonna be my own fault.”

There’s a moment of silence between the two of you before Leah nods. “Okay,” she finally says. “Okay. Fine. Your fucking funeral.”

“I’ll let you give the eulogy and allow you to call me a dumb bitch for ten minutes straight.”

“Sold,” Leah says, pointing at you. That slight intrigue you previously saw in her eye returns. “Okay, now that I’ve yelled at you, you need to tell me everything.”

And so you do. You tell her how he took your coffee, how you nearly threw up the second you saw him, how you played it cool until you didn’t. How he apologized to you. Joked around with you. Apologized some more. And then he gave you his coffee.

You despise how excited you sound about it. Again, you’re trying to play it cool, but the people that know you the best can always see right through you. You’re excited about it. Excited about him.

It’s a bad idea to be excited about him.

It’s a bad idea to look down at your phone after you and Leah order another drink. Your heart stops when you see he’s texted you.

It’s a bad idea to open the message when Leah excuses herself to go to the bathroom. What are you up to tonight?

It’s past midnight on a Saturday and he’s texting you. It’s still preseason for him, so he might be drunk, he may not be. You’re three drinks deep and aren’t sure if you are.

It’s a bad idea to respond to him. getting drinks with a friend. You keep it dry.

It’s a bad idea to not look down at your phone until you finish the drinks you ordered. Because now, you’re definitely drunk and looking at it all with new eyes.

Would you want to hang out tonight? No pressure.

It’s a bad idea to consider it.

But it’s a worse idea to agree.

text me your new address. i can be there by 1:30.

Before you know what you’re doing, you’re knocking on Jamie’s door, intertwining your fingers together when you realize you’re shaking.

The second you do it, you regret it. You’re no longer feeling the effects of your drinks. It wore off on the Uber ride over here. And everything seems like a terrible idea now.

God, what were you doing? He treated you like that and the second you see him again, you go running back? He was an asshole. He’d made you question everything about yourself, he’d made you cry, he’d made you experience every fucking emotion in the book and all it took is one text for you to be back on his doorstep?

Your roommate was right. This was a horrendous idea and you were an idiot.

However, none of that matters. It doesn’t matter because Jamie Tartt’s opening his door and he’s got a stupid fucking smile on his face. And the second you see it, you know there’s no turning back.

“Hey,” he says as he opens the door. “You alright, love?”

You clench your jaw at the name, at his smile, about how casual he’s being, about everything. “Hey,” you say, avoiding his eyes to look around his flat.

It’s a complete 180 from what he had when he first joined Richmond and what he had when you knew him. It’s a bit less mojo-dojo-casa-house-looking and something more mature. While you can still tell that a twenty-something guy definitely lives here, it’s decorated well, it’s put together, and it’s clean. No beer bottle sculptures in sight. He’s even got a fucking candle burning on his counter. Who the fuck is this and what did he do with the guy you knew?

Jamie follows you as you enter, wiping his hands on his sweatpants. “You find the place okay?”

His question snaps you out of your flat-induced haze. “Yeah,” you reply. You clear your throat. “This is nice.”

That same, stupid smile returns, but it looks a bit nervous. “Yeah. I told you it was a bit different, huh?” he chuckles. He walks toward his island, rounding it as he speaks. “Needed a fresh start or whatever. The old one was gettin’... old.” He watches you as you nod, continuing to look around. “You still in the same place with the same people?”

“Uh, no. Different place. No people,” you answer. You’ve stayed on your side of the counter, actively keeping your distance. “Willa moved to New York last year and Leah moved with her boyfriend. We live in the same building, though, which is nice.”

The small talk is fucking killing you. You’re not even sure if he cared to remember your previous roommates' names, so this all could be pointless. You can’t believe you’re here. You can’t believe you’re actually standing here, talking to him about the past.

But as you finish speaking, he nods like he’s listening. Maybe he is listening. Maybe he does remember.

“I’ll have to see that sometime,” he ends up saying, and the implication of it makes your head spin. He wants to see you again. Or he just learned small talk common courtesy. Whatever it is, it’s driving you insane. You have so many questions for him, so many things to say, and as he wipes his hands on his pants again and nods over to his kitchen, he asks, “Can I get you something to drink? I’ve got—”

“Why did you invite me here, Jamie?” The question comes spilling out of you, rushed as if it were waiting on the tip of your tongue and simply couldn’t stand to stay in any longer. Jamie stops in his tracks to blink at you. The look on his face encourages you to go on. “I mean, I know I texted you first. But why… why did you text me tonight? Why’d you—” You grimace, trying to find the right words. “Why’d you give me your number?”

He’s silent for a moment. Thinking. Evaluating. But his eyes haven’t left you. “Because I wanted you here,” he finally says. You cross your arms over your chest as he takes a step toward you. “Because I haven’t stopped thinking about you since I saw you.”

You want to say that you’ve been driven crazy all week because you feel same, but decide against it. Instead, you look away from him and scoff. “Right.”

“I’m serious,” he tells you, and your heart stops with every step he takes. “I felt like I was goin’ insane. I didn’t…” For a flash of a second, he looks shy. “I didn’t think I’d see you again. And I didn’t think you’d actually text me. I mean, I hoped you would, but…”

He’s right in front of you, but you still refuse to look at him. Your gaze has shifted to the floor. “I shouldn’t have,” you mutter.

The asshole has the nerve to chuckle, but it’s nervous. Your stomach churns. You’re not sure if you’ve ever heard him nervous. “No, you probably shouldn’t have,” he agrees. “I don’t deserve it.” He pauses and your throat starts to tighten. “I didn’t deserve you.”

That makes you look at him. Either he’s actually apologetic about everything, or he’s gotten really good at knowing everything you want to hear. “No. You didn’t.”

His fingers tentatively brush your arm and you allow him to take your hand. “I know,” he says. “I was a fucking prick. I get that now. I should never have… done that shit to ya.” You’re close enough to him now that if you moved an inch, his forehead would be up against yours. He brings your hand up to his mouth, pressing a feather-light kiss to the back of it. The action makes your throat tighten. “And I can’t fix it. But I…” He trails off again and looks you dead in the eye once he has the words. “I want to make it up to you.”

Your resolve is getting weaker and you hate yourself for it. You lean back against the counter, like that will put space between you two. “Jamie…”

“Please,” he whispers. His forehead finally meets yours. You can feel his breath on your lips. You don’t pull away. “Let me make it up to you.”

The last front you have standing weakly presents itself. “If you think,” you begin, breath shuddering as his hand meets your neck, “that one 2 AM hookup is going to make up for what you did, I—”

“I know it won’t,” he says, and it sounds like he does know. “But I want it to be a start.” The fingers on your neck are now tracing your jaw. And they tighten when he says, “Let me show you just how sorry I am, yeah? Let me make it fucking good for you.”

Jesus fucking Christ. That last front dissolves the second he says that, and your logic flips on itself. You came over here for a reason. You knew what this was. At least you got an overdue apology. Whether or not he meant it, is still up in the air, but if he’s promising things like that, then you might as well get something out of it.

You struggle to get a word out, so you nod against his hand. “O-Okay,” you finally stammer out. The way he’s looking at you gives you enough confidence to say, “Fine. Make it up to me.”

Jamie’s lips curl into a smirk and say, “As you wish,” before they’re on yours.

He’s softer than you remember. His lips aren’t chapped, he isn’t as aggressive with it, and he isn’t as rushed. Everything about him feels more mature and you struggle to understand how fast he could have changed in four years. But you’re not complaining. Not when he’s kissing you like this, with more practice and passion than you can ever recall.

His hand unlocks from yours to slide it up your sweatshirt, and it’s surprisingly warm against your back. Still, you shiver from the contact and you can feel him smirk once more against your lips.

The action alone prompts you to fork a hand in his hair and tug at it slightly, reveling in the soft sound that escapes him. Everything about him comes back to you at once, and you’ve never been happier to know that the same things still get him. If he wants to play it like that, you can keep up.

His hands drop to grab your thighs and lift you onto the counter, breaking the kiss momentarily. Your chest is heaving up and down, lips swollen and wet. Jamie appears to be in the same boat. “Fuck,” he whispers, sounding even more out of breath than you. He dips his head to press a kiss to your neck, nose rubbing against it as he makes his way down. “You look fucking gorgeous, by the way. Meant to tell you that at the shop.”

You’re too caught up in it all to play it cool, especially as he works at that one spot on your neck. “You look— fuck, you look good too. The long hair suits you.”

You feel him grin against your neck. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you agree breathily. “Looked like a prick with the old cut.”

You feel his teeth dig into your skin at that one, and you hiss. “You liked that prick,” he reminds you.

You were in love with that prick, but you ignore that thought. “I liked a lot of things about him,” you respond. While it’s honest, the accidental double meaning of it isn’t lost on you.

It’s certainly not lost on Jamie. “Yeah?” he asks again. He lifts his head to look at you, hand creeping up your leg. “What’d you like?” You grip his arm as it rises beneath your sweatshirt once more. “C’mon love. Tell me what you want.”

You hate the way your breath hitches the second his fingers meet your back. You know what you want. You want to see what he’s learned since you last had him. What he’s like four years later. What’s changed, what’s stayed the same. But you’re too embarrassed and much too proud to ask.

Instead, you decide to say, much too shyly for your liking, “You know what I want.”

He hums in agreement, other hand creeping dangerously close to the inside of your thigh. “I do, don’t I?” he murmurs. “Bet I know everything ya want. But I wanna hear you say it.”

“Oh my, God,” you say under your breath, frustration creeping into your voice. The asshole fucking laughs at you. “I want you to make good on your promise. This seems far from it.”

“Right, right, I’m sorry,” he tells you. He doesn’t sound sorry at all. “Just making sure we’re still, y’know. On the same page.” He glances at you. “Right?”

You blink at him. You’re not sure you could have been clearer about what page you’re on. But that’s not what surprises you. What surprises you is the seriousness in his eyes. How he’s searching for assurance in yours. And you know that if, for whatever godly reason, you wanted to stop, he’d pull away immediately, despite how worked up he clearly is.

It's the bare fucking minimum, but it's more than you’re used to getting.

So, you nod. “Yeah,” you say. “Definitely on the same page.”

The grin he breaks out to is nothing short of breathtaking. “Good.”

“But—” you suddenly say, stopping him from leaning in once more. He freezes beneath your touch, brows furrowing. “This is… This is a one-time thing. You’re…” You trail off to find the word. “You’re apologizing to me. That’s all this is.”

His smile falters, dropping momentarily before returning with a bit less radiance. It’s his turn to nod. “Okay,” he says, fingers now toying with the edge of your sweatshirt. “Gotta make it count, then.”

And with that, Jamie presses his lips back to yours, grabbing you securely and pulling you off the counter. Your legs wrap around his waist, grabbing the sides of his face, like that’ll stable you against him.

This time, it’s more desperate. It’s more tongues and teeth, more force and intention behind each movement. He’s setting the pace, but you’re keeping up tenfold. While it’d been four years, you’re not sure if he’d ever kissed you like this. He’s passionate instead of aggressive. While he knows what he wants, he’s definitely not just going to take it. He may be leading but he’s listening to you. And that stirs something inside you that you haven’t felt in a long time.

That much is clear, because you unconsciously let out a quiet sound against his lips. You can feel him smiling once more as he walks you slowly to wherever the hell his bedroom is. You’re caught up in him. And by the way he’s gripping you, you can tell he’s just as caught up in you.

So much so, that he completely loses track of where he’s going and accidentally slams you into his doorframe. You yelp, more because of shock than pain, and pull away to glare at him.

Jamie’s already apologizing. “Sorry, sorry,” he says. “Still gettin’ used to this place.”

“Well, figure out how to navigate better,” you respond, verging on a pout as you rub the back of your head.

“I’m sorry!” he repeats. He’s still got you against the doorframe. “It’s hard to see with your big head in me face. And I can’t kiss ya with, like, my eyes open. It’d be freaky.”

“I’ll give you a pass for that one,” you reply dryly. “Be weird instead of giving me a concussion.”

He’s walking you toward the bed when he mutters, “I’ll give you something, alright.”

Your back meets the mattress and you try to ignore the way he held his hand behind your head when he laid you down. You have under a second to adjust before he’s on top of you. The desperation returns and it almost takes your breath away.

He’s essentially straddling you, tugging at the waist of your leggings before he leaves one last kiss on your lips. He finally gets to pull your sweatshirt off, something he’d clearly been dying to rid you of since he first kissed you. You lift your arms up to help him, finding that you quickly start to do the same to him. You hear him chuckle as you attempt to get it up his back.

“I got it, love, hold on,” he says softly, tossing your hoodie to the side to take off his own. Your eyes immediately go to his chest and stomach and you refrain from reaching out to touch him. When you look up at him, you expect him to be smirking. However, he’s doing the exact opposite.

Jamie’s looking down at you like he can’t fucking believe you’re real. It’s jarring, seeing him like this, but you figure he’s in the same headspace as you and is still struggling to process that this is happening. It doesn’t matter, because before you can question it, he’s moving to press a kiss to your collarbone.

Your hand falls into his hair as he works his way down, mouthing the area of your chest. He pauses before he gets to the bra you’re wearing. His eyes flick up to yours. “Can I—”

You’re nodding before he can even get the words out, shifting to make it easier for him. He discards it to the floor with the rest. When he looks back at you, he releases a shaky breath and just stares.

He stares so intently that you begin to get self-conscious. “What?” you ask.

The question takes Jamie out of his trance. He shakes his head. “Nothing,” he says. “I just— I… Fuck. I forgot how beautiful you were.”

That spreads a warmth through you, one that pulls at your core. As you feel your face heat, you realize you have nothing to say to that. Luckily, he’s already moving on.

Jamie’s different. Really different. And you don’t realize how different he is until you start looking at him like you are right now. You were trying to convince yourself when you told Leah that he’d changed, you’ll admit that. But right now, you think you may have been telling the truth.

He grabs the waist of your leggings once more, lifting your legs to pull them off. You can’t help the laugh that leaves your lips as he struggles to do so. He shakes his head with a soft smile. “Missed that.”

“What?” you ask again.

“Your laugh,” he replies. “Missed that more than you know.”

The sweet words hit you like a bullet. The vulnerability in his voice is what gets you. Goddammit, when did he get so fucking nice? It drives you insane. But it also makes you quietly admit, “I think I’ve got an idea.”

With your leggings now gone, Jamie’s smile turns fonder. Gentler. He presses a kiss to your leg but says nothing in response. He simply places your legs down, eyes flicking down. He lifts his hand to trace down your stomach, stopping at the edge of your panties. The feeling makes you flinch.

He hooks a finger in the band, and your hips buck up to encourage him. His other hand spreads across your hip in a poor effort to keep you still. “Easy,” he murmurs.

You huff out a breath. “You can—” Your breath hitches as two of his fingers push into your underwear. “Fuck, you can take them off.”

His lips quirk up. “Well, thank you for the permission,” he says. “But not yet. I wanna take it slow with ya.”

Your mouth parts. “Why?”

“Because it’s been years since I’ve seen you,” he answers, moving up to kiss you softly. He speaks against your lips as he says, “And I’ve apparently only got one shot to do this right. So I’m gonna make this last.”

You roll your eyes at his terribly disguised jab. “You’re a dick,” you mutter against him.

“And you’re—” He cuts himself off and a gasp escapes your lips as he cups your core and rubs his palm against it. “Fuck, love. You’re really fucking wet.” He’s positioned on you so that you can feel him getting harder against you thigh. “This all for me, yeah?”

His voice is cocky, while still sounding awestruck. The remaining dignity you have left makes you roll your eyes, albeit a bit embarrassed. “It’s for whoever doesn’t take their fucking time to give me what I want,” you bite.

Jamie draws back from you with a full smirk on his face. “That so?” he asks. The hand against you starts creeping up to the band of your panties. “And what is it that you want? You still haven’t told me.”

You scoff. “I told you.”

He pulls your underwear down your legs and the air around you suddenly makes you realize just how exposed you are. You told yourself you’d never give him the satisfaction of seeing you like this again. But here you were.

His fingers brush against the inside of your thigh, and you shiver once more. “No,” he tells you gently. “You didn’t. You just said you wanted me to keep my promise. You didn’t tell me what you wanted.”

He’s moving closer and closer to the place you want him and you don’t know if you can take it anymore. You shift uncomfortably, as if that will cease the ache. But you know only one thing will.

So, you give him the answer he’s been waiting for this entire time. “You.” His gaze meets yours. “I want you, Jamie. Please.”

That breathtaking grin returns. “Just because you asked so nicely.”

And then he puts his mouth on you without warning.

You spasm at the contact, crying out as he uses both arms to hold you still. The second you calm down, one hand leaves your thigh and you feel him work two fingers into you. Fuck. He didn’t know that before.

And it’s not like he was ever bad in bed when you two were together. You’re not sure you would have stayed with him if that were the case. It’s just… he’s better now. He’s hitting everything nearly perfectly, not stumbling like he used to. He’s more confident. More assured. He knows what he’s doing.

And it’s fucking hot.

The sounds that fill his room are downright obscene. He’s gripping one side of you to keep you in place, splitting you open on his knuckles with the other. His mouth zeroes in on your clit, alternating between licking and sucking in a way that honestly has you close already.

“F-fuck,” you breathe. “Fuck, Jamie. Don’t st— shit. Don’t stop. Please.”

Of course, the fucking shit he is, stops. He grins up at you, but continues to slowly pump his fingers in and out. “You sound so fucking pretty begging like that,” he tells you. He’s just as out of breath as you are. He feels you clench around his fingers at the praise and it only eggs him on further. “Look so pretty too. Fucking gorgeous.”

“Jamie,” you whine again. He’s going too slow. Teasing. It’s not fucking fair. He’s supposed to be the one apologizing to you. “I need— Ngh. I need—”

“What do you need?” he asks. “Tell me.”

You think you’d kill him if you weren’t completely incapacitated. “More,” you manage to get out, wincing as he continues at his slow pace. You’re close. Embarrassingly close. “Just fucking more. Please. I’m—” You interrupt yourself with a moan as he shoves his fingers deeper into you.

“I know,” he nearly coos. “I’ve got you.”

And got you he does. Because not only does he pick up the pace, he stretches you with a third finger. The sting of it is momentary, and it subsides as soon as he bends down and swipes your clit with his tongue.

Your back arches. “Jesus fucking— Jamie. Oh, my God.”

He’s good. Of course, he’s fucking good. He’s Jamie Tartt. You’re not sure he’s ever been bad at anything physical in his life. Emotionally was another story. But that story didn’t matter right now. Not when he’s got you like this, and you’re teetering over the edge.

He pulls away from you, breath tickling your core as he speaks. “C’mon,” he chides. “I can feel it. You’re right there, aren’t you, love?” He takes your breathy silence as confirmation and nods to himself. “Yeah. You just need—”

He removes one finger and crooks the rest a certain way, deeper than before. Your heart may stop beating. He’s done something he did to you time and time again, something that he was actually really fucking good at, something he knew you liked years ago. When he looks up at you, he searches your eyes. And by the way they roll back, he knows he’s struck gold.

The smirk returns and he continues to work his fingers into you, smirk growing each time he hears you say his name. “Yeah,” he whispers. “That’s it. That’s still it.”

You could finish at any moment. The telltale heat is rising in your stomach, and you’re just waiting for the cord to snap. And then, as if your muscle memory takes over, you reach out for his arm.

But instead of letting you do it like before, he does something completely different. He intertwines his free hand with the back of yours and guides it to your stomach. And then he presses on your hand.

The pressure builds. You’re barely able to make any noise. And then—

“C’mon,” Jamie repeats. “Come for me, angel. I wanna see it.”

The cord snaps, and you do as you’re told. You come. Hard.

Jamie talks you through it, fingers still moving to coax your climax out of you. You’re sure you look pathetic, crying out and thrashing around in his bed, but you don’t care. You can barely fucking see right now.

It’s been a while for you. Or at least been a while since you’ve had anything that good. And it completely strips away any sort of attitude or frustration you had before.

When you finally come back down, you laugh softly, shaking your head and throwing your arm over your face. “Fuck,” you say through a chuckle.

You feel him shift, moving up the bed to hover over you once more. When he removes your arm from your eyes, you see that he’s smiling. “Nobody’s ever laughed after I’ve done that,” he tells you, a faux pout pulling at his lips. He bends down to press them to yours and you can taste yourself. “It better be a good fuckin’ sign.”

You laugh again, reaching up to cup his cheek and pull him into another kiss. “Very good sign,” you assure him. It’s muffled against him, but you think he gets the point.

It’s then that you catch him by surprise and flip the two of you over, straddling him in a way that makes him release a breathy sound that you’d missed dearly. But, something feels off.

Your glance down at him, expecting to feel or see fabric once you reach his leg. But there’s not much. Only what feels like boxer shorts. It catches you off guard. When did he take off his—

It doesn’t matter. It’s easier for you now. Especially as your fingers move across his abdomen, biting back a grin at the way he shudders. He looks up at you from his pillow.

“What are you doing?” he asks leadingly.

You shrug innocently, fingers toying with the band hanging low on his hips. “Returning the favor,” you reply.

Jamie makes a noise of disapproval, placing a hand on your thigh like that’ll stop you. “I’m supposed to be the one making it up to you,” he states, but his voice gets less firm as you cup him through the fabric. “Fuck. Y-You don’t owe me anythin’. No favors.”

You shake your head, pulling at his boxers so that he springs free from inside. Your eyes travel back to his as you reach out and gently grab his cock, staring down at him with a smirk dancing on your lips. “You sure?”

He looks pained. You don’t know why. You’re offering a way to take him out of his misery. But still, he shakes his head and moves his arm from your leg to your back.

He takes his turn to flip you over next. He swears under his breath as he does so, shaking his head when you land on your back.

“I told you,” he says, taking his boxers all the way off now. “It’s about you. Not me.” He shakes his head again, but this time it’s a bit more frustrated. When he speaks, it’s mostly to himself. “Can’t believe I just fuckin’ said no to that.”

A snort escapes you. “You’re a changed man, Jamie Tartt,” you joke.

He shrugs before placing his arms on either side of you. His voice teeters on teasing and earnest. “I’ve been trying to tell ya that.”

You’re not sure if it’s him, or the situation, or the sex, but you think you believe him. It makes your chest heavy. But you can’t admit that. You won’t let yourself. So, you keep that feeling tucked away, way in the back of your mind for safekeeping. You know it’s better like that. For your emotional sake, at least.

You allow yourself to prop yourself up on your elbow and kiss him instead of responding to that, bringing him in closer. You can feel the length of him press against your stomach, and his groan vibrates against your lips.

He pulls away, grinding into you. The heat of your body is making him go wild. “Can I—”

You know what he wants. And you want it too. “Please,” you say.

He nods, moving to angle himself against you. You glance down to watch him, heat flooding your face as he strokes himself before glancing up at you. You nod in return, giving him the confirmation he needs. Jamie grins.

He slides in you slowly. The stretch is mild but grows as he hovers over you once more. It’s easy to adjust, having been warmed up moments before. But for Jamie, it’s not as easy.

He bottoms out almost immediately, tensing over you. His head bows, chin falling to his chest. “Fuck,” he curses. It’s quiet but straight-up sinful. “God, fucking— you’re so—” You grip onto his bicep as he steadies himself. “I’m sorry. It’s just— i-it’s been a minute. And you’re f-fucking tight. Jesus.”

You don’t mind. He feels good like this, despite the fact he’s not moving. Your hand travels from his arm to his hair, tucking a piece of it behind his ear before settling on his jaw. “It’s alright,” you tell him. “We’ve got time.”

Jamie’s eyes snap open at that, but he’s not looking at you like you thought he would. You were expecting a cheeky sort of smile, a smirk, something in that realm. But he’s not. He’s looking at you like…

It’s something you can’t define. Something you’ve never seen before. It churns your stomach yet makes your heart race. Neither of you says a word.

He just dips down to kiss you again and slowly begins to move inside you. Your lips part in a gasp, and he slides his tongue in your mouth. Your back arches into him.

Before you know it, he's breaking from you and is breathing heavy against your neck. “Shit,” he groans. “You’re just— fuck. You…” He trails off, mouth hovering over your collarbone. “You drive me f-fucking mad. God, everything about you. Y-you don’t even know, do you?”

The pace picks up. He’s thrusting into you harder now and your nails dig into his back. You hear him hiss at the contact, but neither of you seem to care. “Fuck.” It’s all you can say. “Fuck, Jamie.”

He’s clearly not done talking. “How’d I-I fuck this up? Huh?” You can’t tell if he’s talking to you or himself. His mouth is on your chest now and the feeling runs through you like fire. “Fucking idiot. Didn’t know what I had. Can’t believe I let you go.”

You clench around him and it throws him off kilter. You watch his jaw clench, hand beside you gripping the pillow you’re on. “You w-were an idiot.” Your agreement is much less effective when it’s closed out by a high-pitched moan.

“I know. Fuck, I know,” he says. “I’m sorry. Deserved better.” He continues to slam into you. “I wanna gi—” A strangled sound erupts from his lips. “Give you better. You’re so—” When he shakes his head, he looks wrecked. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

Something about that sends a shock to your system. It makes you cry out and you can feel it. Your legs tremble around him. You’re close again. You’re really fucking close.

He kisses you once more, deeper than before. It’s more frantic. Everything about him is more erratic. You can tell he’s getting there too. “Couldn’t stop,” he manages to get out, hot against your lips. “Couldn’t s-stop thinking about you. I missed you.”

You clench around him again, the admission inching you closer. “Shit,” you say. “Fuck, Jamie, keep going.”

And keep going he does. His hand moves down your stomach, fingers finding your clit. He rubs circles into it and that sends you into a fucking tailspin. He swallows the sound you make.

“Missed you,” he says again, but it’s more helpless. Jamie fucking whimpers. “God, I f-fucking missed you, angel. Missed you so fucking much, I—”

You don’t hear the rest of what he says because you come the second he makes that sound. It’s white-hot. Blinding. Your legs twitch around him and you claw at him as he continues to rub your clit. You’re loud, but you don’t give a shit. It seems to spur him on.

He’s not far behind you. He spills into you with a groan, stomach flexing as he heaves over you, twitching inside of you. You’re still recovering from your own high as you open your eyes to watch him. You catch his expression for a moment before he’s collapsing into you.

You release a soft ‘oof’ at the sudden weight of him. He doesn’t say anything for a moment and neither do you. You just breathe together. But after a moment you allow yourself to put a hand in his hair.

“You’re fucking heavy,” you tell him, but there’s not much bite in it.

You feel him chuckle. “Give me second,” he says. “Not as fuckin’ agile as I used to be. Took a lot out of me, alright?”

You roll your eyes but continue to run your fingers through his hair. “You’re twenty-six and like, the face of the AFC,” you tell him. “Richmond might have to shorten your contract if you’re dying after that.”

He presses a kiss to your shoulder. “Take that up with me Chairwoman then.”

You can’t help but laugh as you push him off of you, wincing as you feel him slip out. He lands with the same noise you did. “If she heard you complaining like that, she’d be on my side.”

Jamie grins at you, joining in on your laughter. He shifts toward you, grabbing your hand to play with your fingers. “You’re probably right. Shouldn’t be complainin’,” he says. He lifts your hand to his lips. “Not when you’re here.”

They’re sweet words. The casualty of them makes your heart swell. But that anxiety about him returns. One time thing, you tell yourself. Apology. One time. That’s all.

You pull your hand back softly and he glances over at you. There’s a hint of worry in his eyes, like that one movement set off alarm bells in his head. You give him an uneasy smile.

Before you can move to get up or say anything or do something, he’s talking. And you have to refrain from wincing.

“I know…” He looks away from you. Shy. “I know you said one time,” he says, as if he can read your fucking mind. “And that’s… That’s okay. I get that, yeah? But I—” Jamie wipes a hand down his face, staring at the ceiling. “I meant what I said. I missed ya. Really.”

You missed him too. But your walls have been rising back up since he started talking again. “I don’t know what you want me to do with that,” you tell him, only partially lying.

You feel like an asshole when he winces. Maybe you were being an asshole. Maybe it was finally your turn to do so.

“Just…” He finally looks at you. “If you ever… don’t want this to be just a one-time thing.” He waves it off in an attempt to look casual. You know he’s anything but. “You’ve got my number. Or whatever.”

The timidness in his voice makes your resolve soften. Even if you don’t see him again, you suppose you can let him down easy. He’s been kind enough tonight to deserve that. You nod at him as you sit up. “Okay,” you say. “I’ll let you know.”

It’s only slightly awkward as you get out of his bed and search for your clothes. He asks if he can call you an Uber home and you reject it, letting him know that you’ve got one on the way.

You can feel his eyes on you as you dress, ignoring the way they burn into you. You can tell he’s searching for something to say, or something to talk to you about but doesn’t know what.

You’re half-dressed before he can shoot himself in the foot and say something stupid. “Hey,” he finally says. You glance over your shoulder at him after you slip your sweatshirt on. “I’m really glad you texted me.”

The nice streak you’re riding on continues and you offer a small but genuine smile in return. “Me too,” you admit, ignoring the way that his own soft smile pulls at your heartstrings.

Before you leave his room, you offer one more admission. You stop in the doorframe he hit you against, lips curling further upward. “It was really good to see you, Jamie.”

He props himself up on his elbow, smile growing. “Good,” he says, nodding. Then, like a prick, he winks at you. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

You physically cannot stop yourself from rolling your eyes and you hear him laugh to himself as you walkdown his hall. “Goodbye, asshole.”

He shouts a tired-sounding ‘bye!’ when you slip your shoes on, shaking your head as you look around his apartment once more. The candle on his counter is still burning, smelling of amber moss and palo santo.

You blow it out before you leave, knowing he’ll forget.

And as you do so, you feel yourself regress. Or grow. You’re not quite sure which one.

But it makes you curse under your breath and leave his flat immediately.

There is one more universal truth you forgot to mention.

And that’s that the second you think you’re over Jamie Tartt, he comes back into your life and flips everything on its head. And it’s the only truth that’s been confirmed to you all week.

Because the second you arrive home and see that you have a text waiting for you, your heart picks up. You hate the way you get excited to see it.

I had a really good time tonight.

And the second he comes back into your life, you’re reminded that you’re not over him. Not even in the slightest. And it’s fucking debilitating.

me too.

And you know your friends are going to kill you the second you follow up with.

i’m free friday if you want to grab a drink.

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt #jamie tartt x you #ted lasso #ted lasso fanfic #jamie tartt fanfiction #bad ideas #the one who's not a loser but THEE loser #discowrites

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sapphic-gardn · 8 months

Text

Willow | joel miller x f!reader | pt. 2

part 1

Summary: Patrol with Joel is proving to be more difficult than you originally anticipated. Joel says some things he regrets.

(no use of y/n)

Warnings (18+ mdni): mentions of loss/grief, weapons/violence, swearing, age gap (reader is 23, Joel is in his 50s), angst, one-sided pining, no physical description of reader, will specify with each chapter

Word Count: 2.9k

a/n: hiiii! this is the second part to my joel miller fic and wowza i am so excited to share!!! all the love on part one is surreal. i can’t believe people are enjoying my writing—it’s insane to me. i love you ALL so much. i also love all my moots who have welcomed me with open arms into this lil community. happy reading! let me know your thoughts!!!! 💓

credit to @cafekitsune for the cutie divider <3

During the first week of patrol with Joel, you found yourself questioning why you harbored a crush for the man in the first place. He barely spoke, and when he did, it was to scrutinize you. It was an exhausting game of who could hurt the other one more.

When the second week of patrol rolled around, you were determined to evade conflict. The morning played out as usual—a short greeting at the stables and mumbled groans from Joel. The ride out was wordless yet tranquil. Until…

You came to a halt at an abandoned cabin, one you both had passed on patrols before, because something caught your eye. You dismounted your horse and tied her to a tree nearby. Joel got wind of your sudden detour and scoffed.

“What’re you doin’?” Joel’s voice cut through the silence and you quickly signaled to him to stay quiet with a finger to your lips. He reluctantly followed suit and sauntered behind you after securing his horse.

What had captured your attention was the door to the cabin. In passing on every patrol, you noted that the little wooden building and its worn door had been closed—the door was always closed. However, today the door was open. Wide open. A portal to another realm it seemed. Ominous as the darkness beyond it taunted you.

Come and get me.

A challenge presented to you in the form of danger. The windows were boarded up, the only light inside of the cabin coming from the spaces between the wood. You moved swiftly around the perimeter, peeking in the slits before wandering beyond the threshold. With your gun and flashlight at the ready, you skulked through the first room on your right. Clear. As you made your way to the second room, you misjudged your step and tripped on a splintered floorboard. You caught yourself before you could fall but regained your footing with a loud thud.

Click. Click. Click. Click.

Your body froze in place. Instantaneously, a blood curdling screech emerged from right behind you. Before you could think, you spun around and fired two bullets into the clicker’s skull. Shit. You scolded yourself. Your mind was going a hundred miles a minute and you couldn’t decipher your surroundings. You lowered your trembling hand that held the gun and looked down at the thing that once was a person. Blood was pooling under your feet and you concluded that the infected man must have been bitten recently. He must’ve broken into the cabin to isolate and wait for his demise. Your stomach sank as you imagined what the man’s life might have looked like before he was bitten. Another casualty amid a monstrous war.

Joel quickly emerged in the doorway, interrupting your spiraling thoughts. Sheer panic washed over his face. “Coulda gotten yourself killed! Gonna get us both killed with the sound’a that goddamn gun!”

With that, Joel hastily made his way to you, grabbed your upper arm, and guided you out of the cabin to the tree where your horses were stationed. You broke free from his firm grip and mounted your horse promptly, still feeling the burn of his touch under your sleeve in the minutes that followed.

Once you both retreated to a safe distance you decided to swallow your pride and apologize, “I-I’m sorry. I should’ve grabbed my knife. I-I should’ve—I was—“

“Damn right you should’ve. Meant what I said when I called you a little girl. That’s exactly what you are. Never thinkin’ before doin’. Think you’re so tough goin’ into that cabin by yourself? Not tellin’ me what the fuck you were up to?” Joel’s voice rumbled with a deep anger that made you shiver. He was fuming, but his tone held a note of worry. Was he scared? Was Joel Miller afraid of losing you? It didn’t matter. His words were a stark contrast to the sentiment.

“Fuck. You.” Those were the only words you could conjure up because…he was right. Of course he was right, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of succumbing to his cruelty. You squeezed the sides of your horse and sped up ahead of Joel from your place beside him. With your back facing Joel, tears rimmed your waterline and flowed freely down your cheeks. The salty taste of tears bleeding onto your lips brought you back to the moment Maria found you, vulnerable and tremulous.

Growing up during an apocalypse rendered the gift of resilience. The way you saw it, words were nothing but sound waves mingling with air as they escaped a bodily vessel. Harsh words deflected off of you like a bullet to fiberglass. But Joel knew exactly how to penetrate that protective shield you so carefully curated.

Before life in Jackson, you had always felt inferior. Viewed as a damsel in distress by the men in your life. But you were so far from it, gathering the courage to leave the Seattle QZ at sixteen to find your parents who disappeared on a smuggling job. Surviving on your own for two years and teaching yourself how to be self-sufficient. You quickly picked up on how to use weapons as well as raid buildings without getting caught (not your best moments). Independence came easily to you and you would be damned if you let some old grump tell you otherwise. Clearly, all he saw in you was a naive little girl.

You return to the stables before Joel. He makes his way in just as you turn to leave. In passing, you glare into Joel’s eyes and hastily shove him with your shoulder on your way out. You’re pretty sure he notices the redness around your eyes from crying. You can see a glint in his eyes that exhibits a look of sorrow. Even if he is sorry, he can’t take it back. He can’t take back the feeling of sheer humiliation that is seeping into your bones. He can’t take it back.

You traipse through the town center, in no rush to get home and sit alone with the voice of doubt in your ear. The smell of pine invades your olfactory senses and the string lights twinkle above you like stars in the night sky. It reminds you of Christmas, before the world ended, sitting criss cross in front of a fireplace with a steaming cup of hot cocoa. And your parents are there. They would buy every toy on your Christmas list just to see you beam up at them and wiggle with glee. You miss them, you never got closure when they vanished. You didn’t find them, you have no knowledge of how they died—or if they even died. You can’t help but wonder if they left you on purpose. You caused trouble in the QZ—always trying to prove a point to someone in authority. Getting kicked out of FEDRA school was the last straw for them, they barely acknowledged your existence after that. But of course you still loved them, they were your parents. You still love them, they are your parents. They were good people before it all, before they became desperate.

The sound of your own sniffle pulls you back to the present. You find yourself on a bench, staring mindlessly at a family of three.

“Hey, you alright?”

A brown haired girl emerges in front of you. She has a look of sympathy painted on her features, yet she speaks so casually. She follows your eye-line to the family in the distance. You recognize her. She is the young girl who is attached at the hip with Joel. Apparently she isn’t his daughter, but technically she is, given what they’ve been through together…Tommy made it all too confusing when he explained it to you.

“I’m okay, yeah, I’m alright. Thanks.” You dismiss the loaded question with a wave of your hand. When your eyes meet hers, your features soften and you see a tinge of something behind her brown eyes. Maybe it’s hurt, or fear, she seems guarded, similar to yourself at that age.

“I’m Ellie,” She eagerly extends her hand and you take it in a firm handshake. You introduce yourself and make room on the bench beside you. She reluctantly takes the spot and sighs, the shape of her breath visible against the contrasting cold air. The first few minutes are silent, neither one of you are keen on breaking the calm air that surrounds you.

“So,” Ellie finally breaks the silence, “rough day, huh?”

You snort, a small smile emerging on your lips, “I guess you could say that. What about you? Aren’t kids your age usually running around the commune finding trouble?” You look at her out of the corner of your eye when she giggles.

“Not much to do around this boring ass place. Plus, my best friend is hanging out with some dude I fucking hate. Count me out on that third wheeling bullshit.” Her vulgarity takes you by surprise, but you find it quite funny.

After awhile, you two fall into easy conversation. She asks you so many questions…so many. It almost feels like an interrogation but you know she’s just curious. It’s endearing, the way she perks up when you answer her questions about life before the apocalypse. You were young, so you barely remember anything, every memory is coated in black and white hues, lacking details, nonetheless, she holds onto every word.

The sun is mostly gone from the sky, which is your cue to start walking home. You and Ellie decide to make the trek back to your neighboring houses together, still entwined in your storytelling the whole way there.

You arrive at your gate and bid your farewells to Ellie with a small wave and a promise to her that she can come over whenever she feels like it.

“He talks about you, you know…Joel. He asks Tommy way too many fucking questions about you too.” Ellie’s words bounce around in your brain and leave you short-circuited. That’s the second time today you’ve been rendered speechless. First by Joel and then by his (kinda) daughter. Ellie reads the dumbfounded expression on your face and sighs, “I just—I know he’s a fucking pain in the ass, but I think he cares about you. Sure as hell doesn’t ask questions about anyone else in this fuckin’ place,” she stares at the ground before she speaks up again, “Uh…look…I-I didn’t mean to trip you up or anything…uh…I’m gonna head home now. I’ll come by tomorrow? Yeah. See you then.” With that, Ellie’s ramble ends and she swiftly makes her escape to her home. The home she shares with Joel. Joel, the man who cares about you? The thought actually makes you laugh out loud.

Joel’s best trait is hurting people. He reads you like a book, he pinpoints every insecurity you harbor, and uses it to push, push, push your buttons. The stone cold exterior you display is merely translucent to someone like Joel. He’s seen it before, every time he looks in the damn mirror. He feels drawn to you, a moth to a flame. If he gets too close, he might get burned. What happens when you set his heart aflame? Maybe you already have.

The front door opens and closes and Joel hears Ellie padding her way to the kitchen where he sits at the table, nursing a tumbler of whiskey. Ellie plops down on the chair across from him.

“What’s got you in such a bad mood today, old man?” Ellie leans over the table and playfully nudges Joel with her fist.

“Not right now, kid. Don’t feel like jokin’ around,” Joel’s eyes flicker to Ellie’s for a moment before refocusing on the amber liquid in his glass.

Ellie throws her hands up in surrender, “Alright dude, just don’t drink yourself to death—that shit would be far more embarrassing than a clicker getting your ass.” She lightheartedly laughs and leaves the kitchen with a pat on Joel’s shoulder, exiting through the back door to her makeshift bungalow in the yard.

Joel figured that a few whiskeys in, the tight feeling in his chest might loosen up. But he’s five glasses in and he can’t stop picturing you. The inconsolable expression on your face as you left the stables haunts him every time he closes his eyes.

His mind takes him to the moment he met you. You were crouching over a patch of vegetables—carrots, maybe? Your bottom lip was caught between your teeth and your brows were furrowed in concentration. When Tommy called your name and you looked up, Joel felt the wind get knocked out of his lungs. You were…angelic. Smeared dirt covered your forehead, and beads of sweat gathered at your hairline. Even in your unkempt state, your allure was ever so present. Joel couldn’t bring himself to look at you, even as you reached a hand out to introduce yourself. Then, your witty remark. Something inside of him shifted in that moment and he knew he had to leave. A young, bright woman like you wouldn’t want anything to do with an old, damaged man like Joel. So he did what he does best, he pushed you away, created a distance so you would learn to hate him.

Joel’s outburst on patrol earlier today took it too far. He knows that—but he was terrified that something might’ve happened to you. When he saw you, standing in that abandoned cabin, shock dripping from your expression, with a lifeless clicker on the floor below you, he became angry. Angry that you would be so careless. Angry that you didn’t ask for help. Angry that he cared about you so damn much even when he tried his hardest not to.

On his sixth whiskey, Joel curses to himself as he meanders to his front door. His brain is devoid of all thoughts that don’t include you. Your smile, he wants to make you smile. He wants to be reason you smile, not the reason you cry. He twists the doorknob and forces himself out onto the front porch. Your lights are on. It’s late, why are you still awake? Thank god you’re still awake.

His steps are calculated when he saunters up your walkway. He hesitates, his fist is hovering over your front door. He lightly knocks on the thick wood, but regrets it immediately and turns on his heel to leave. With his back facing away, he hears the click of a lock unlatch and a sliver of light emanating from your open door casts a warm glow on the porch.

“Joel? What are you doing here? Do you need something?” Your voice is barely above a whisper. With the sweet sound of his name spilling from your lips, he turns to face you. The door is now fully open and you are leaning against the door frame. The light coming from inside the house outlines your figure like an angel descending from heaven.

He clears his throat, “‘M sorry, darlin’, is nothing. Get some rest.” Despite his words, he makes no move to leave. You step out from the threshold and lessen the distance between the two of you. Joel searches your eyes, looking for a hint of something, anything that isn’t pure hatred. All he finds is affliction.

You scoff, “C’mon, just spit it out already. I ain’t waitin’ all damn day,” you echo his words from the morning of your first patrol together. Joel notices and he chuckles before regaining his composure.

“‘M sorry. I wanted to come over here and tell ya that. I was fuckin’ scared shitless. I didn’t mean a word I said back there. I trust that y’can hold your own.” Joel’s words catch you off guard. You stutter, all coherent words evade you and your bottom lip starts to tremble. You quickly avert your gaze to hide the imminent tears pooling at your waterline.

You sniffle, “Thanks, Joel. That was probably hard for you, apologizing and all. You can go home now, I forgive you. Just forget it ever happened, m’kay?” You sound defeated and it fractures something within Joel.

He takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger, “Hey. Look at me,” you meet his gaze and simply melt. The tears fall freely down your cheeks and a small gasp escapes you, “I’m sorry. You don’t gotta let me off the hook, I jus’ gotta tell you ‘m sorry.”

Suddenly, you become hyper-aware of the situation. Mere inches separate you and Joel. He is studying your face, so close you can smell the whiskey on his breath. A mixture of lust and hate stirs somewhere within your lower belly.

“Okay,” is the only word you can conjure up. It’s a whisper, barely audible. Joel’s hand cradles your cheek and he swipes a tear away with his thumb. His eyes flicker between your lips and your bewildered gaze. His breath hitches, seeing your beauty up close is otherworldly. He feels himself leaning in, closer, closer, closer. He is a hairbreadth away from grazing your lips when you turn your head. Your buttery voice dances through the air, “Please, Joel. Just go home. I can’t do this right now.”

You turn on your heel and slink back into your house, before closing the door, you breathe a weak, “Goodnight, Joel.”

You don’t know if he says it back.

a/n: ty for reading. ilysm <3 i hope this part lives up to the last one :,) i am so nervy to post this EEEEEK!!

taglist: @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @alejaa-a @cool-iguana @littleshadow17 @planet-marz1 @alyhull @joeldjarin @lizzyervs @casa-boiardi @loveisacowboyyy @thegrlwholivedd @ashleymsnodgrass @ilovepedro @dilfspitdrinker @bastardmandennis @breakfastatjoels @gracieheartspedro @chaotic-mystery

#joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x female reader #joel miller the last of us #joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller apologist #jenispunk

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pasta-in-the-pudding · 5 months

Note

Hello!

I have a new idea for a jeff the killer x reader.

What do you think of a jeff the killer x Nymph!Reader?

AAAA IM GOING TO MARRY YOU I LOVE NYMPHS THEYRE MY FAVORITE PART OF GREEK MYTHOLOGY <333 NEURODIVERGENT HYPERFIXATION MOMENT

You have no idea how excited i am to write this!

Also, side note: im going to be using the more traditional representation of nymphs, so my descriptions will be more feminine. If you guys would like a more masc presenting nymph or gender neutral nymph, just lmk!

Thank you so much for requesting!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jeff the killer x nymph!reader

Wowza with your beauty, grace and downright ethereal energy, it's no suprise Jeff fell for you!

Your flowy long hair and beautiful dresses hypnotize him

Depending on what kind of nymph you are, that effects what you two spend your time together doing

If you are any sort of water nymph, you will spend most of your time swimming!

You will occasionally flick or splash each other with water, spook each other by dragging each other down underwater, etc

If you are any sort of plant nymph, there will be a wider array of options

You will lay in fields of flowers together (at least, you will. Jeff hates pollen), you will have picnics on grassy hillsides, you will take walks in the forest, etc

If you are any sort of landscape nymph (such as mountains, hills, etc) you will mostly just ramble about your favorite landscapes while jeff listens lovingly

He loves to watch you dance

He knows that dancing is a sacred thing to most nymphs, so that makes the experience even better for him

The fact that you trust him enough to preform such a sacred activity in front of him makes his heart flutter

He looooves to play in your hair

You will both be sitting outside, your eyes closed and the sun shining on your (pink, blue, green, white or brown) skin while jeff brushes your hair with the utmost care

Once he is satisfied with brushing it, he will begin to twirl it between his fingers and burry his face in it from time to time

Then, he will add flowers to your hair, commenting on how pretty you are the whole time

When hes done, he kisses your pointy ears, then moves to lay in your lap, allowing you to now play with his hair

Most of your time together is spent outdoors since the very culmination of your being is linked to the outdoors

Its not like you cant be inside, you just get really ansty and anxious

So slender had a special sleeping quarters made just for you

A moderately sized building tucked away in a private area of the manor's ginormous back yard (back yard doesnt do its size justice)

The building is built using ancient greek architecture designs, and is overgrown with vines and flowers

Inside, there is your bed, a small clothing rack, and a kitchen area and a room with a toilet and sink

And of course, whatever other decorations you add

You shower is around the back of the house, and allows you to shower outside with the butterflies

There is a curtain installed for privacy, but if you desire you can just leave it open

Showering with the flowers and butterflies truly is a magical experience

So yeah, Jeff and you hang out most of the time in your mini house

You'll have to stop him from swatting at your insect friends

And scaring your animal companions

And angering the forest spirits

Other than that, he's chill

#creepypasta #slender mansion #creepypasta x y/n #creepypasta x you #creepypasta x female reader #jeff the killer #jeff the killer x reader #jeffery woods #jeff the killer x y/n #jeff the killer x you

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shallowseeker · 4 months

Text

Pamela is not just a complex stand-in for Dean's desires in 14x10, she sometimes speaks for him. AS HIM.

When Sam & Cas get into the Michael illusions, Dean immediately handles the, uh. IPA beer.

Ahem.

He looks strangely shy here, busying his hands, having something to do, eyes downcast. He flicks his eyes up lightning-quick towards Cas, but only for a second.

///

He's acting a little...weird. Fidgety. Looking away-ey. Keeping busy-ey.

Enter Pamela, animated, coming right up to them.

At the beginning of the episode perhaps she represented the stand-in for Dean's not!partner, but now she's a stand-in for Dean's words and his emotions:

PAMELA: "Cas! Sam!"

TO SAM: I'm glad you're back safe. S'startin' to worry. (snap) Don't tell Dean.

TURNING, more flirtatiously towards Cas and with the SAME Dean-air of weird bashfulness:

PAMELA (becoming more breathless, more bashful and strange): He'll...(odd pause, steps closer)...(shakes her head weird) use it against me (giggling, touching Cas's left shoulder).

Dean is oddly unanimated in the BG, 'cause Pamela is moving in his stead.

What's she saying though? What's the coded message?

"Don't TELL (HIM). HE'LL USE IT AGAINST ME."

This is Dean, trying desperately to keep a wall of what he loves away from Michael. Dean's mind is steely, locked down, but he's fighting hard to keep his true feelings as locked down and he can make them.

(Perhaps he's even been successful hiding some of his feelings from Michael?)

NOTE: Pamela and Dean both have dishrags. Pamela: animated, Dean: unanimated. They're one-to-one here.

DEAN: Hey, what're you guys waitin' for?

Now that Pamela's "gone more neutral," Dean's the one who's animated. (And they'll trade back and forth for the rest of the scene.)

SAM: (frustrated) None of this is real. This bar, Pamela-- PAMELA: Scuse me? You've never met someone more real than me, Sam Winchester.

Dean going silent, pointing at her like it's her cue to talk.

CAS: You're just a complex manifestation of Dan's memories designed to distract him.

Pamela turns to DEAN, not reacting to Cas, but ...almost like she's...waiting on words. And Dean almost like he's...thinking of words to say for both of them.

The whole thing is easily interpreted as Dean simply considering Cas's words. But a more fun interpretation? Pamela talking FOR Dean.

His eyebrows do the jumpy thing they do when he thinks of something flirty and "wowza" to say, he opens his mouth and--

PAMELA (looking Cas up and down): You really know how to talk to a lady, dontcha? Cas seems a little taken aback.

///

Why Pamela? There's been so much made of Pamela.

Dean picks Pamela for his illusion because she's a psychic; that's comfortable to him

She's tied up with his first meeting of Cas and angels

Also: He's literally being possessed and suffering the effects of angelic possession. He's probably feeling guilty about Castiel's part in the whole system of possession and angel kills, making his brain reassess everything he know about Castiel.

Communicating with Pamela:

He doesn't have to tell her things.

She can read his mind and talk for him. She's a lampshade; she's even visualized near lampshades.

Her dialogue is contrived and odd because they're often Dean's words and emotions and worries, cloaked in the manner and style he remembers of Pamela.

Not only is Pamela safe/psychic/all-knowing, her manner of speaking is outlandish and "free," allowing Dean to direct that energy at...Cas.

///

And there are some other oddities in the scene I really like, too.

When they kill the vampires, Pamela is shooting the "drunk one" in the heart, where Dean had just been standing.

Then Dean beheads "raincoat vampire (name per script)," splattering both Sam's and Cas's necks with blood, as if they've been beheaded, too.

There's some hidden aggression here, I think, especially when paired with Michael's taunts, because although negative feelings don't paint a full picture, they're fleeting...and often a little bit true.

Sam is a burden, as children are, and they leave you. Cas is obligation and he does make mistakes, as spouses are and do.

Dean's understandably a little bitter about it all. He takes the bad with the good, sure. We all do. But AU Michael paints in black-and-white without nuance or 3D shape.

Pamela shooting the drunk vampire in the heart is a nod to that sometimes Dean's feelings go unverbalized as he sacrifices on behalf of others.

That's partially, I think, why his happy place isn't the kitchen or a library or whatever. It's not family or home-grown labor. (He loves laboring for his family, it’s a love language of his fire sure, but this isn't about that. It's about escape.)

This is a small business that he owns and runs; he's sitting at a desk with paperwork!

He's a caretaker finally getting their own thing, even if it's floundering.

///

Pamela turns flirty again, behind the counter with Dean. "You guys got real messy on that ghoul hunt, huh?" And Cas tries to set the records straight. It's not from a hunt. It's from the illustory loop.

Pamela and Dean get silly and ignore Cas and Sam.

SAM: Man, we were there together when she was blinded!

(angel noises)

#meta weirdness #cause i can't sleeeep #spn 14x10 #spn nihilism #nihilism #pamela

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theeio · 7 months

Note

What got you into livio? Was it fic, art, another friend, or did you just see him and go: “wowza.”

HI IM BLOWING A KISS TO U CHRIS

there are…. SEVERAL factors to why i fixated on livio so here it is. ive written this elsewhere before but HERE IT IS AND HERE IT GOES:

Livio was a pivotal character in my absolute favourite episodes in Tristamp. Episodes 5-7 is one of the most breathtaking things I’ve seen in anime in a while. It’s not often you see such *strong* visual storytelling and show not tell in an anime, the BEAUTIFUL score and sound design, and seeing the tragedy of the blessing children, with the wonderfully done 2d animation, having one of the best action sequences in the season (Vash vs Livio), and how meaningful every moment was and how it aids in seeing the character’s motivations (especially Wolfwood). I could go on.

The found family between Livio and Wolfwood got to me. YES I KNOW. IM PREDICTABLE. Their moments, both in their backstory and when Wolfwood wakes him up...was so warm and tender it was unbelievable. How gentle they were as children, vs how the Eye of Michael made them to be now. Man that hurt. Also the bit in their childhood friendship montage including bonding by trying to smoke worm legs was INCREDIBLY FUNNY

And on that note. I think part of why love Livio is also because episode 7 was one of the FUNNIEST viewing experiences of anything in my LIFE. So story time I was watching this show for the first time with my older sister and mom, and when Vash was telling Wolfwood that in order to save Livio he needed to Make him remember (“There has to be something he cant forget") I joked offhandedly "lol wolfwood revives livio with weed" and then??? half a minute later THEY ACTUALLY WENT THERE?2?1?1?1?11?1?11?? WOLFWOOD ACTUALLY LEGITIMATELY REVIVED LIVIO WITH THE POWER OF FRIENDSHIP AND WEED AND WE WERE LOSING OUR SHITS AND SCREAMINGGGG and then right after that Livio [REDACTED]s and then we were like

4. DVDJDBDJDJDKDJDKDFHKDDK but anyway yeah like, conceptually the episodes Livio in was RIDICULOUS but bro. I am UTTERLYYY OBSESSED with how they Made made it work???? So well??? Somehow those were the moments hit hardest emotionally for me. It was so, SO good.

5. Also Tristamp Livio relatable to me on an insanely specific level….like can’t move on from the best friend you made before you were 12 who had to leave from life circumstances, whose name also starts with “Nico” specific? Yeah me too Livio

6. And finally just. Knowing that Livio has SO MUCH MORE going for him in the source material? I haven’t read the manga yet but I’m so unbelievably excited to see more of this character, be it in Trimax or the next season of Tristamp. I love him and Razlo’s design and he intrigues me greatly from what I’ve seen and heard from manga readers. I’m vibrating at the idea of seeing him rigged up and animated in his full buff cowboy glory

OKAY IM DONE HDDJJDDJDJDK THIS GOT TOO LONG AND SILLY DHSKSHSKS have a livio scribble as a thanks🥰BYE

#LMFAO TY FOR READING AND TY FOR THIS ASK YOU JUST GET IT #post #text #😭😭😭😭#tristamp livio #trigun stampede #livio #hope youve been well!!#draws #doodles #trigun

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eddieexcellence · 2 years

Text

SOUR CANDY

part iv: dungeon master

E. munson x fem!reader

Synopsis: back in Hawkins for spring break, the reader is back from college. She gets sucked into the madness again for the fourth time with her best friend and younger friends. Plus an unexpected and unwelcome face.

Type: fixit fic, angst/comfort, enemies to lovers trope

Warnings: cursing as always, reader always in a pickle, insecure/jealous reader, clumsy reader, brief mention of blood, backstory backstory backstory, mention of a razor (teenage shaving mishaps), Eddie growing up headcanons, silly litte mentions of sour patch kids, angst.

Words: 4k (wowza)

Authors note: i think it’s the moment everyone has been waiting for? Reader x Eddie in the flesh??? I had fun with this one. I just like imagining the backstory to Eddie since we didn’t get too many details in the series. This chapter follows the plot loosely of s4 ch5: the Nina project but with the twist of the reader in it. If I missed any warnings let me know!! Hope you enjoy!! :) I’d like to also talk about the gif used and how precious he is

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You really didn’t know how you were going to get into Eddie’s trailer. You had parked by the playground, and you were just staring at the trailer with ‘53’ by the front door. There was no more crime scene and caution tape blocking it off, but Eddie’s uncle, Wayne, was home. If you broke in, he’d hear you with trailer was only so big. You also couldn’t just assume he’d let you in if you asked. He was for sure being hounded and scrutinized by reporters and police right now.

You drummed your fingers on your knees, thinking. Then you had an idea as you stared at the D&D guideline books in your passenger seat. You grabbed your bookbag from the back next to the paper grocery bag, and dumped the contents in your passenger side so you could fit everything you needed for Eddie. Not quite sure how full proof this would be, but it was worth the shot as you got out of your car. You walked up to the front door and tapped on the front door lightly taking a step back waiting for an answer composing your jitters shaking your hands slightly.

The door opened to reveal Wayne Munson, and you beamed at him as if you were putting on an act.

“Can I help you?” He asked suspiciously, confused as to why a young woman was on his doorstep. Hoping it wasn’t another reporter.

“Hi, Mr. Munson, I’m the local babysitter, Y/n Y/l/n. How’re you doing today sir?” You asked politely the smile never leaving your face.

He gave you an incredulous scowl, “have you seen the news?”

He took a good look at you, you looked familiar. Not only being able to place where he has met you and your name before, he didn’t think you looked like the typical babysitter especially for Hawkins in the casual attire you had on.

You mentally facepalmed yourself for asking a stupid question, but you didn’t let that deter you. “I’m sorry sir, how insensitive of me. It must be frustrating that your nephew’s wrongfully accused of murder.”

“You believe Eddie’s innocent?” He was in disbelief, that’s all the town was talking about, and his boys name chastised everywhere he went as of late. It was eating at Mr. Munson that nobody believed him. The police tried to be neutral, but the critical gazes told him otherwise when they interviewed him,

“One hundred percent! Eddie is an oddball, not a murderer.” You reassured him. “ Actually the reason I’m here is because a couple of his younger members of the hellfire club that I babysit let Eddie borrow a couple of things for the game. I was just wondering if I could collect them?” You gave him some puppy dog eyes.

“I also apologize for the ill timing, y’know how kids can be though.” You quickly added for extra measure.

He pointed his finger at you all of sudden, “I know who you are!”

You gulped, your smile faltered, thinking you're in trouble. “Y-you do?”

“Yes, you’re one of Eddie’s friends!” He had open the door wider. “You could’ve just said that. Come on in.” He stepped aside, and you smiled weakly stepping by him into the small trailer.

The trailer was decorated in trucker hats and mugs a yellow stain seemed to envelop everything as you glanced around. Only being in here once before. It was the first time Eddie taught you to play D&D. To your dismay there was no fairy or mermaid option for race, you went for an Elf Druid instead. Towards the middle of him teaching you, Eddie and you just ended up going through his music collection, and you watched him play his acoustic guitar he had got a few months prior. Everything looked just about fine and you almost couldn’t tell Chrissy Cunningham had been killed here almost a week ago. The only evidence was a crack in the ceiling.

“I don’t know why it took me a while to figure out, maybe you had just grown so much since a couple years ago. Eddie doesn’t tell me much about his friends anymore. Then again I’m not home much either.” Wayne looked down at his feet sounding upset. “But I do remember him being sweet on you.”

You stilled as you felt your heart pick up its pace. That swarm of butterflies seemed to flutter back into your stomach again like it did earlier. “He was?”

“Boy was he. Now, I probably shouldn’t be telling you all this. That should be his job.” He chuckled, you chuckled nervously too. “His room is down the hall on the left. Make it quick girl. I have to be at work soon.” With a blank stare and a nod to this information, you tripped over your feet, almost forgetting to walk as you went to his room feeling more uneasy.

When you walked in you closed the door so it was only open slightly ajared, preventing Wayne from seeing what you were doing. The room was almost exactly how you imagined it: piles of clothes in the corner, a couple beer and water bottles on his nightstand, band posters, posters of half naked women, and the smell of weed and his cheap cologne lingered in the air. Things you did not imagine his room to have: his bed somewhat messily made wafting a smell of fresh detergent, his desk area, music collection, and D&D shelf all meticulously organized and dusted. Seemed like he was trying to impress someone. That made you frown, maybe he was trying to impress a certain cheerleader? Chrissy Cunningham was there to buy drugs from him. You knew even Eddie ‘the freak’ Munson would like her. She was pretty, sweet and actually really funny, she never solemnly judged anybody either: only if they liked Coke or Pepsi. She was the IT girl of Hawkins High, and despite being a year older than her; it didn’t exclude you from feeling a slight green feeling in your stomach. You could’ve been over thinking, maybe he invited other clients over and tried to clean up for them too? An envious feeling washed over you, it had left a sour taste in your mouth.

You let it dull as you heard someone knock on the front door that caused you to jump out of your daze.

“Can I help you?” You heard Mr. Munson ask.

“We need to take a look around.” A woman’s voice. Footsteps creaked into the living room. A ringing, high electricity buzzing started.

You gulped, and made pace. Quietly started to search for clothes for him, and dug through his drawers throwing whatever he may have needed in your bag.

“Yeah, I think it’s some kind of leak.” Wayne said. “Hadn’t had a chance to fix it with everything going on.”

You quickly dug through the top drawer, keeping an eye on the door until fingers hit something small and hard wrapped in a bandanna at the bottom of his drawer. Did you want to know? Cautiously you pulled it out, one eye closed because you could never know. Your eyes glowed in bewilderment as you unwrapped the object. It had been something you thought you’d never see in a million years. A litle poorly lumpy gnome looking trinket. You wanted to laugh, but didn’t have time to observe the object thoroughly as the door opened. You quickly wrapped it back up and threw it in the bag, turned around to be met by Wayne.

“Girl what the hell are you doing? Are you with them?” He was furious at the coincidence of you showing up on his door steps and minutes later a government agent. He noticed your bag full of Eddie’s things poking out, his brows knitted in an angry confusion visibly softened. He grabbed your arm gently with one hand bringing you in, as his other shut the door. “Do you know where Eddie is?” His voice only above a whisper.

Frozen, unsure what to say, you started to open your mouth before quickly closing it, eyes wide, and almost scared with any answer you tried to give him.

His eyes started to get glossy, “I just want to know he’s safe.” He tried to hold it together as a few tears ran down his face.

You grabbed a hold of the hand on his arm, squeezing gently. “Trust me Mr. Munson, he’s okay. I don’t know who you’re talking about, but I’m trying to clear his name.” You whispered frantic. “My friends and I are going to clear his name.” You quickly adjusted the sentence. This was a team effort not a you effort.

He nodded, taking a deep breath as footsteps approached Eddie’s bedroom. “You need to get out of here, take this.” He took out his wallet and handed a $20 bill to you.

“I can’t take this,” you insisted, trying to give it back.

“It’s for Eddie, now go.” He closed your hand around the crumpled bill. You just nodded backing up to the window, and with shaky hands you opened it sliding the screen up. You threw your bag out first, before hoisting yourself up and through the window. You weren’t ever the most poised and graced girl so you managed dropping face first to the ground. Your body ached and burned knowing there was going to be cuts and bruises later.

Adrenaline pumped through your veins as you quickly got up dusting off the scrapes and cuts, grabbing the bookbag. You crawled around staying close to the siding of the trailer, sneaking around so you could run to the car discreetly. Noticing an unmarked vehicle was parked in front of the trailer as you made sure the coast was clear. In your last couple years at Hawkins you had gotten very familiar with a car like that knowing it could mean one thing, the government, even more specifically the Department of Energy. That would explain the whirring and buzzing.

You dashed over to the playground where you had parked. Unlocking the door and hurriedly putting the keys in the ignition, engine coming to life. You grabbed the walkie talkie from the survival box from the backseat. Peeling out of the trailer park you clicked the walkie on.

“Munson, do you copy?” You asked out of breath.

“Did you get the stuff?” He quickly responded.

You mentally checked off the list in your head: food, beer, shirt, pants, socks—

“Shit! I forgot the hairbrush!” You still had your walkie clicked on causing Eddie to hear that.

“Y/l/n, you're truly implorable to think Hawkins Most Wanted needs a brush in a moment like this.” You could hear him laugh at you.

“Oh shove off, Eddie!” You told him. “I’ll be there in less than 15.”

“Copy, Princess.” You didn’t need to see his face to know he had a smirk on his face.

Your eyebrows furrowed at the road as you clicked the walkie on one last time, “stop calling me that!”

You parked down the road from Reefer Rick’s place in a tucked away turn around spot by Lover’s Lake. Overstuffing your bookbag with the food and beers for Eddie, putting the rest of your belongings in your trunk and locked the car up. It wasn’t too far away, but far enough to make you haul ass. Cutting through the brush that was behind Reefer Ricks house then to the abandoned boat house avoiding any possible attention. Pushing your stamina as much as you could. You got to the door and quietly knocked before opening the door and closing it behind you as you slipped in.

Eddie sat on an empty trash can throwing pebbles into an empty paint can, looking bored. He looked up at you and he looked dumbfounded.

“Holy shit Y/l/n!” You were still mildly out of breath from the most physical activity you’ve had in quite a few months, holding your hands on your knees throwing the book bag to him. You didn’t even bother looking at him yet, just taking deep breaths.

“I’m never,” a deep breath, “doing anything,” another deep breath, “that involves running,” one last deep breath, “again!” You collapsed to your already bruised and scraped knees tired.

“You’ve seen better days haven’t you?” You could hear the man across from already munching on the honeycombs you got him.

You had your eyes closed still regaining yourself, “always for the flattery aren’t we Munson?” He cracked open a can of beer as you scoffed at the sound.

“Oh do you want me to tell you that you look fresher than a daisy while you have blood running down your forehead?” He retorted. “Christ Sake Y/n how’d you even get that? Got into a fight with the gas station clerk for the six pack?”

You flipped him off, putting your fingers to your forehead and felt a small wet cut on your temple. It wasn’t too bad, but still enough to stain your fingers red you noted when you opened your eyes. You set you eight on the tall unruly man, glaring at him. You eyes making contact with him for the first time since you came into the boathouse. You had only saw him in passing while dropping off Max at her trailer when you were home for winter break a few months ago.

He looked more mature, hair longer, but still wearing his typical outfit: his hellfire t-shirt, tight jeans, leather jacket with the hellfire vest on top, scuffed up Nikes, and an ungodly amount of accessories. His guitar pick necklace hangs on his chest, his wallet chain popping out his pocket, a chain bracelet on his left wrist where he only had on ring on that hand, while his right hand was clad in an obnoxious amount of silver rings in various shapes on his long slender fingers, and his timex watch on the right wrist. His big brown doe eyes glimmered mischievously into yours.

You had to fight the blush from forming hoping that if one did appear you could chalk it out to all the vigorous running. Call Eddie a freak, an idiot, or a loser, but he wasn’t unattractive.

You cleared your throat, averting your eyes to the six pack beside him. “If you’d like to know, I had to practically throw myself out of your bedroom window to flee. Now hand one over.” You made a grabby hand for a can of beer.

“Ooh, the goody two shoes breaking and entering and drinking a beer with a runaway madman?” He rolled a can over to you anyway. “That’s scandalous.”

You opened the beer, taking a thirsty gulp trying to soothe your dry throat. You didn’t care that he chastised you for having a beer, you were parched. “I didn’t break and enter, more like break and exit.” You had corrected after finishing the gulp.

“My uncle let you in?” Eddie sounded surprised.

“H-he recognized me and I made a bullshit excuse I needed to grab something for Dustin,” you stated avoiding the detail of the DOC at his front door. “He wanted to know if you were safe, Eddie.” Not knowing how he’d take the news, you anxiously took another sip of beer.

Eddie was silent, glancing down staring in front of his feet. It was silent for a minute as you two just stayed still. He sniffed, wiping his nose, was he about to cry? You braced yourself just in case he was about to. Comforting the kids came east even Nancy or Steve. But Eddie? Not so much. You didn’t really know if you could say or do anything to help.

“D-does he think I did it?” He asked, his voice shaky.

You shook your head. “No, of course not.” He visibly relaxed at the statement. You bit your lip, seeing how distraught he was. You could go on all day making snide remarks and insults at him, but you felt bad. Genuinely. “Munson, you may be many things, but you aren’t a bad person .” The tone of your voice is sincere and thoughtful as you look down coyly. This was the best effort of you comforting him.

Eddie thought you short circuited being nice all of a sudden. He studied you carefully, scrapes and bruises littered your skin, your mascara from the day before smudged, did he dare want to admit to himself that you still looked pretty? The oversized Slayer shirt hanging off your shoulders, ripped mom jeans, and combat boots that you could squash anyone in. You did not look like the girl you once were in high school not even a year ago. That girl still hid her band tees tucked into skirts under dainty sweaters and paired with Keds or Converse with frilly socks that followed Steve around like a lost puppy. You had grown within the several months since he last saw you, but reminded him more of the personality of the young girl he first met. The you he had envisioned you becoming in high school had him in awe. That didn’t happen though, instead you were corrupted by the popular kids and jocks.

“You’re not going soft on me, are you Y/l/n?” Eddie questioned mockingly as he continued to rummage through the book bag of stuff you got him.

“What, I can't feel an ounce of sympathy?” You bit back.

“I don’t need your pity!” He snapped getting mad. “If this is all you’re trying to prove, you can leave. You did your supply drop, good work soldier. Now leave.” He didn’t need your martyrdom.

You rolled your eyes, “always ruining a moment and any decent conversation Munson.” Maybe you did extend your stay in the boathouse, you were only so he could have some food and clean clothes.

Eddie still pulled things out of the bag, “if I remember correctly that’s always been you.” He pulled a crushed box of sour patch kids from it, his black and white bandana messily folded over an item flying out as he did so. Oh no.

“You’re not going soft on me, are you Munson?” You mimicked him from moments ago as your eyes fell on the bandana too.

“I-I forgot I still had that.” He tried to say. You raised an eyebrow, not believing him.

“In your underwear drawer, that I would hope you go into everyday?” That caused the man across from you to blush lightly as he unraveled the bandana from around the trinket.

“I’m surprised you didn’t smash it.” You said.

“It’s not his fault the person that made it became a brainwashed idiot.” He rolled it around his fingers.

It was chipped, seen better days, but he still knew what it was supposed to be. It was a poorly constructed dungeon master you made for art class in the 8th grade. You were great at art, pottery not so much. You made it as a token of your friendship in your free time. You were so excited when you gave it to him.

It was towards the end of the school year, so you didn’t have much to do in classes as everyone wrapped up missing and late assignments. Steve asked you to hangout that weekend, but the new Judas Priest album was coming out. You wanted to snag a vinyl or cassette for it, so you asked Eddie to come along to the music shop.

As you two waited in the small line, he chatted excitedly about what he heard about the album so far. You listened as you rummaged through your purple canvas bookbag looking for the little clay piece you made in art class for him. It was comical seeing a young girl in the crowd of mainly men clad in their metal t-shirts and flannels in the rising mid day spring heat of Hawkins. You had a pale pink sleeveless romper on with a chunky belt, a geometric printed matching baby blue and lavender windbreaker wrapped around your waist, your signature lacy white socks pulled as high as they could go to hide the razor nicks on your ankles from shaving, and scuffed white keds on. Let’s not forget the clumped on mascara coating your eyelashes, overly glittery lip gloss, and the big band on your chin. When Eddie asked about it, you said you were clumsy and cut your chin, secretly it hid the mountain of a pimple that appeared overnight.

Whereas Eddie had his Hellfire Club shirt on, some cargo shorts, his wallet chain hanging, his newfound guitar pick necklace, some mismatched socks, and black vans with scribbles on the soles. He had tried to grow out a mustache and beard, but it was mainly a sparse area of dark straggly peach fuzz above his upper lip, and ingrown hairs dotted his cheeks. You two were a sight for sore eyes as you were just awkward pubescent teenagers. Not aware of the events that would forebode within the month to come.

“Aha!” You pulled the trinket out, a bright proud smile adorned your features.

“Y/n what is that?” The teenage boy asked you. He couldn’t tell what exactly it was, it looked like a mini garden gnome at first glance.

“It’s for you!” You handed it to him. “It’s supposed to be a dungeon master, see it even has a diabolical sorcerer hat on!” As you explained more he got what you were going for. The hat with lumpy flower pieces had gold stars painted over them. It was a disproportionately large almost just as big as the dungeon master itself. Though poorly made, the details of the paint job were really good; primarily red, black, and gold accents. You had made the trinket look like it was holding a red bat shaped electric guitar, like the one he got at the beginning of the school year that his uncle helped get him for making it to sophomore year. The face is just a peach colored blob with a scowl on the face. Eddie wouldn’t be happy if he had to lug around a hat on his head three times his size too.

“I was going for if Gandalf was in a metal band.” You continued. You were so nervous, knowing it wasn’t your best work, but you still thought it was cute. “D’you like it?” You batted your lashes.

Eddie smiled, it was the worst thing he ever saw. It was the best thing he had ever received though, because you made it just for him. “It’s actually great,” he chuckled. He held his hand out for a high five. “Thanks Y/n/n!” You high fives excitedly back.

He brought it to every Hellfire Club meeting until the day you stopped being friends. It was retired on his D&D shelf until one particularly bad day between you two where you were at each other’s throats in Spanish class. It got to the point where you had to be sent to the library to do your work for the rest of the period, and he got detention. Eddie went home that afternoon ready to smash it, but the more he stared at it the more he couldn’t bring himself to do it. It had been through many great campaigns with him just sitting by his folder scowling at the other members in the club so he just carefully wrapped it in one of his many bandanas and tucked it away. He always unraveled it when his uncle would force him to clean up his room and fold his laundry getting distracted by going through his things instead.

You finally stood up, dusting your pants off grabbing your keys from your pocket turning around to leave. “Well this brainwashed idiot did her job so I’ll just go.” After the much gentle reality check Steve gave you the night before, now Eddie basically paraphrased what he had said the night prior, you couldn’t help it to be bitter as a pang filled your chest. Were you really brainwashed and desperate to fit in?

“Thanks for the trip down memory lane, sweetheart.” The malice that laced sweetheart when Eddie said it was enough to turn the hurt and confusion into anger.

You whipped around to say something, the sound of a tired screeched to stop made you both freeze. “Get down!” Eddie instructed, and he sneaked a glance through the window. You crouched down not knowing what was happening listening to him anyway.

“Shit. Shit!” He exclaimed quietly as he ducked back down, grabbing the walkie talkie beside him.

“What’s going on?” Your eyes widened as he clicked the walkie on.

“Hey Dustin. It’s Eddie, you remember me right?” He spoke through the machine. “Well the babysitters here too. If anyone’s there, we may be in a bit of trouble here.” He started to freak out. “Okay? Wheeler? Harrington?!” He smacked the walkie in frustration, “anyone?!”

You crawled over to the window he was near to see what he was so freaked out over. You bumped his shoulder as you went to peer up through the window, but he quickly grabbed you, pulling you back down before you could see.

“I believe my angry mob has arrived.” He whispered darkly.

taglist: @sunfairyy @eddiemunson4ever @babygirlwilly @creme-delacreme @ultracolorfulnerdcollection @flicksturz @thicc101q

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson smut #eddie munson headcanons #stranger things imagine #eddie munson fanfic #joseph quinn x reader #eddie munson fic #sour candy series #sour candy fic

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