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sometimesanalice · 1 year

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What’s In a Name?

Summary: Bradley really loves the way you say his name. At the grocery store. At the bar. In his bed.

Warnings: fuff, and so much smut. Minors DNI

Length: 9K

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw X Female Reader

(This is a one-shot for my ‘Like I Can’ series. You don’t need to read it first, but you might want to. It’s pretty cute! You can check it out here!)

Bradley loved hearing you say his name.

He’d gone almost two years without hearing it. Back when he was ‘Rooster’ or ‘Bradshaw’ to you. Back when you weren’t sure how you would fit into the life he had built in San Diego when you had moved there for a promotion. Now he made it a priority to show you just how seamlessly your lives fit together, to remind you just how right you were for each other.

There were times when he still couldn’t believe that he was able to have you so entirely. You went from being just his closest childhood friend to being his everything. And now that he had you there was nothing he liked more than the sound of his name coming from your lips.

He loved hearing it every chance he could.

He’d never come so hard has he had the first time he’d heard you chanting his name over and over again as he’d fucked you in his bed. Your hair had been a riot on his pillow, your lips swollen from the attention he’d given them with his own. He’d just barely gotten you over the edge before he’d followed, so overwhelmed by your sweet voice so needy and breathy in his ear.

BradleyBradleyBradley

He had even changed his contact information in your phone from ‘Rooster’ to ‘Bradley’ one lazy Sunday afternoon when you had been dozing on his chest, adding a little sparkly heart next to it for good measure. In general, he wasn’t much of an emoji user, but he thought you might find it cute when you discovered it. He was very pleased with himself months later when he realized you’d never changed it back, pink sparkly heart and all.

He loved hearing you say his name at the grocery store.

He had gone off to find his favorite brand of protein powder, the store had recently rearranged their health food section and he could never remember where it was stocked. He didn’t want to drag you around on the scavenger hunt, especially when he knew you’d rather be doing anything else than grocery shopping.

Once he had it, he’d tried a few different aisles before finding you standing near the baking things and spices, he would have recognized your curves in those jeans anywhere.

You were chatting away with an elderly woman like you were a pair of old friends. It didn’t surprise him, since you’d always been the type that strangers had gravitated towards, your warm energy apparent to who crossed paths with you.

Walking up to you, he put the powder in the cart with the items you had accumulated while he had been wandering the same three aisles over and over again before he found what he was looking for near the bottom shelf.

“Bradley!” you greeted turning towards him beaming, your smile pure sunshine, before cheerily spinning back to the older woman, “See, I knew he’d find us eventually.”

“And he’s just as handsome as you said,” your new friend replied, giving him the once over.

“Yes, he is. Very handsome and very tall,” you told her with a teasing lilt in your tone, glancing back over your shoulder to send him a wink.

He’d happily be objectified by anyone you wanted, including elderly women wearing fuzzy purple sweaters, just as long as it meant you were bragging about him to them. That they knew he was yours, and you were his.

“How can me and my six-foot-two-inch self be of assistance to you ladies?” he asked, putting on his most winning smile. It couldn’t be said that he wouldn’t commit to a bit when the opportunity was presented.

“Can you reach Ruth a couple of those containers of Hungarian paprika, please?” you asked him while pointing to the red and green tins on the top shelf.

He was glad you had waited for him. They were so pushed back that there’s no way you would have been able to reach them on your own without climbing on the bottom shelf for a boost.

Safety first and all that, but also, he wouldn’t have wanted anyone to see the way your shirt would have ridden up your back. The dimples at the base of your spine were for his eyes only.

“Of course, I am at your service,” he pressed a quick kiss to your temple before stepping around the cart to grab the spice for the older woman.

“Oh, and then maybe one for us too, Bradley. I’ve never tried making Hungarian Goulash before. You’ve made it sound so good, that now I think I have to.”

“If you want to make it, mine is the number one reviewed recipe for the dish on AllRecipes,” Ruth boasted, there was no hiding the pride in her voice.

He hands Ruth the tins he had grabbed, and passes the other one to you to add to the collection in the shopping cart.

“But what I left out is that I always use this specific brand of paprika, and that I make mine with half pork and half beef. I save that tidbit for friends and family, I couldn’t just give all of my secrets away to the internet people.”

That had you laughing, “So sneaky, I love it! Thank you for sharing your secrets with us. Sounds like we know what we’re having for dinner tonight.”

You were already opening pulling the recipe up on your phone for later.

“I’m looking forward to it, especially since we know the tricks of the trade now.”

His eyes catch on the overflowing hand basket resting near the older woman’s worn Birkenstock mules. It looked heavy, almost like she didn’t originally plan on getting as many things as she ended up with.

“Can I carry that for you? Or if you have more shopping to do, I would be happy to go and get a cart for you,” he asks, gesturing to her overloaded basket.

“Oh no, those were the last things on my list,” Ruth replies, waving off his offer, “My youngest daughter is having her 50th birthday and the whole family is having a get together. I thought doubling my recipe would be fine, but I decided last minute to triple it.”

She bends down to reach for it, but he beats her to it. His mom raised him right.

“No, ma’am, I insist.” He’s pretty sure he catches you checking out his ass when he stands back up, “I’ll be right back, sweet girl. Stay out of trouble.”

He holds out his other arm for Ruth to take so he can escort her to the front of the store to pay.

“I don’t find trouble, it always seems to find me,” you joked.

“I believe that,” chimes Ruth.

He turns back to get a look at you, and sees you bringing your hand up to your forehead to mimic a full swoon.

He just smiles and shakes his head at you and your antics. Such a brat.

He helps Ruth at the check-out unloading the basket onto the conveyer belt, and then carries her packed grocery bags to her car getting them settled in her trunk.

Once they’ve parted ways, he heads back inside to find you.

You’re standing in front of the cooler with all the dips and fresh salsas, your head cocked to the side as you deliberate your choices.

What he also notices as he makes his way to you is that you’ve caught the attention of another man, one who should be paying more attention to his bagged lettuce instead of eyeing his girlfriend.

Sneaking up behind you, he wraps his arms around your middle lifting you up off the ground.

“Bradley! Oh my god, seriously?” He can’t help but laugh at how startled you are, he’s pretty sure if you were wearing pearls you’d be clutching them right now.

“Here I thought you were a gentleman, helping sweet Ruth with her groceries. It’s rude to sneak up on innocent and unsuspecting women,” you protest trying to twist out of his arms once he has set you back down.

“Ah, don’t be like that,” he settles his hands on your hips pulling you back to his chest, letting his fingers slide through your belt loops, before lowering his voice, “Unsuspecting, maybe. But innocent? There wasn’t anything innocent the blowjob you gave me in the Bronco outside the Hard Deck last night.”

He knows the shiver that goes through your body isn’t from the cold case you are both standing in front of.

Looking over to his left, he sees the man who was checking you out putting down the bag of spinach in his hands. And he is hit with a feeling of smug satisfaction watching as the guy quickly wheels his empty cart out of the section completely.

“No getting handsy by the hummus, Bradley,” you tut, still set on giving him the cold shoulder, but the way you lean back against him gives you away, “Should we get that lemon beet kind again?”

“Whatever you want, kid,” he murmured against your neck. “Plus, the word on the street is that you think I’m handsome, so that’s got to count for something.”

When you pull away from him this time, he lets you go. Getting a glimpse of the skin above the top of your jeans as you reach up to grab the square container of hummus.

You set it in the cart looking back at him as you toss your hair over your shoulder, before primly stating, “Oh, and Bradley, if you’re going to quote me I do believe I said you were very handsome.”

And with that final word, you push off with the cart meandering to towards the fruit section, the sensual sway of your hips he knows is just for him.

He especially loved the way your voice sounded when you’d just woken up, when his name was one of the first words out of your mouth to start a new day.

There was nothing Bradley liked better than the nights you spent together in the same bed. It didn’t matter if it was his place or yours, just as long as he was able to wake up to find you warm and tucked away under his arm.

“G’morning Bradley,” you’d whisper, voice soft and sleepy, a little raspy from disuse, as you turned to nestle closer burrowing your face in his neck. He knew you liked a gentle wake up, and he was more than happy to trail his fingers along your back until you woke up a bit more.

He was always up before you, his internal alarm clock permanently altered from his time in the Navy. For as much as you claimed to be a morning person, you were always the one snoozing yours in favor for spending a few more minutes in bed. It wasn’t something he’d ever expected to learn about you, and he liked being the one who got to share those intimately domestic moments with you.

The only surefire way to get you out of bed and moving on those mornings was the suggestion of hot coffee-- that or the promise of his mouth.

He loved the way you said his name when you were surprised.

When he’d gone to that furniture store you liked, his only plans were to find a new larger dresser for his bedroom. He had claimed he needed more space for his stuff, but really, he wanted there to be more room for you to keep your things at his place.

The home stylist at the store not only helped him pick out a new dresser he thought you’d approve of, but also convinced him to also purchase the matching king-sized canopy bed frame and set of nightstands.

He was told the mood was “cozy mid-century chic”, whatever that meant.

Bradley knows he runs hot, you’ve told him enough times that he’s like a furnace. So when the stylist showed him the cloudlike and breathable comforter along with the 800-thread count white cotton sheets, he had them add that to his collection too.

You still wouldn’t move in with him, but he was working on it. He knew he’d reel you in soon enough. And if it took a payment plan, so be it.

Although, he could only blame himself for the new lamps and giant rug he also purchased. He’d gotten a little swept up in the salesperson’s enthusiasm.

Hopefully that guy got commission, he deserved every dollar.

It had hurt a bit when he swiped his credit card, but it was worth it to hear the way you said his name when you saw it all for the first time after it had been delivered and assembled.

“Oh my god, Bradley!” you laughed, “I thought you said you were just getting a new dresser. Did you buy the whole store?”

“What can I say? The salesperson was very good at his job, sweet girl,” he was trying to not let his leg bounce as he waited for you to say more. A little nervous now that he’d gone overboard and missed the mark, “Do you like it?”

“It’s absolutely perfect, Bradley,” you gushed as you slowly made your way around the room taking it all in. “It’s warm, it’s classic, it’s cozy. It feels like you. You’re going to have a hard time getting me to leave now, I love it in here.”

That was all he wanted.

He felt all the tension leave his body, grinning as he watched you sit down on the bed running your hand over the soft deep green duvet. It had become his favorite color the second he’d seen you in that green dress the night at the seaside restaurant when he’d told you how he felt about you.

“So, do you want to help me break it in?” he asked, pushing off from where he had been leaning against the doorframe and sauntered towards you.

The way you slowly reclined back on the bed, your lips turned up in a mischievous smile was an answer in itself.

He loved the sound of you saying his name at the Hard Deck.

Your voice was so familiar to him that he could pick it out anywhere. He was so attuned to the way you said his name that he could be in a conversation with someone in the noisy bar, but his ears would perk up if you said his name in a passing comment.

It was like he was hearing his friends talk with one ear, while the other was always listening for you.

He could be with Mav catching up and chatting about the new plane he was working on, until:

“Yeah, I could use another one, let me see if Bradley needs one really quick and then I’ll go up with you.”

And then he would find himself standing next to you at the bar.

He could be playing around of nine-ball with Hangman, until:

“No, you’re kidding me! There’s no way you caught Coyote doing that, has Bradley heard this one before? Oh my god, you have to tell him.”

And then he would find himself abandoning his cue on the pool table.

“What the fuck, Bradshaw? You can’t just quit because I’m kicking your ass,” Jake would shout at him as he made his way towards you.

After all, you’d said his name and now he was curious.

He could be at the jukebox trying to find something better to put on than whatever terrible song Fanboy had picked, until:

“Oh! Bradley knows how to play that one, let’s see if we can bribe him to go perform it. I doubt we’ll have to try very hard, he’s such a little show off.”

And then he would find himself seated at the piano.

To everyone else he was ‘Rooster’, ‘Bradshaw’, ‘Lieutenant’, and soon to be ‘Lieutenant Commander’.

To you he was Bradley.

Seeing Bradley seated at the piano was a normal sight for you.

Since being permanently stationed in San Diego, he’d had all of the things from his storage locker shipped over, including his Dad’s old upright. He liked to play in the evening to decompress after his day and you liked to watch.

There was something about the way his large fingers moved over the keys so gracefully that was always so mesmerizing to you.

You still remembered how embarrassed he would get all those times when your moms would beg him to put on an impromptu piano recital. Usually fueled by a couple too many glasses of Cabernet Sauvignon, you realized later on.

Your mom and Carole had definitely been the “Wine Moms” at the baseball and tennis games they’d sat through in support of you and Bradley.

He would get a little sulky in the way that all self-conscious teens got, but he could never hold out for very long before pulling out the wooden piano bench. Bradley wasn’t one to purposefully disappoint his mom, their relationship special in the way that only a single parent and an only child could understand.

Once he realized it was a good way to get noticed by the girls in high school, he’d been quick to change his tune. And now it was clear he reveled the attention it got him when he sat down and started tapping out a carefree riff before launching into a song, all preening posturing and smug smiles.

You were usually right next to Bradley when he put on a show, an arm wrapped around his shoulder, always one to want a front row seat to see him in action.

Tonight the bar was a bit more packed than usual. It took a little longer to move around, and a little longer for Penny to make your drink since you had opted for something slightly more complicated than a beer.

Slowly, but surely, you wove your way through the crowd. Careful to avoid any stray elbows to avoid jostling your full drink as you made your way back to your friends where they were gathered around the ancient upright. You were nearly there when a burly man stepped around you, giving you a clear view of Bradley playing.

And you were stopped short by the picture in front of you.

The performance he was currently putting on at the Hard Deck was different than anything he did at his own home. His leg bouncing in tempo as he shimmied perched on the piano bench, like it’s a struggle for him to be contained to one spot.

He was captivating in the way that he commanded the room.

Maybe it was the way the way the muscles of his forearms were flexing as his fingers were precisely flying over the discolored keys.

Maybe it was the way the light sheen of sweat was collecting in the hollow of his collarbone.

Or maybe it was the way the veins were standing out against his neck, the way the thick tendon that ran along his throat had you transfixed as he threw his head back to sing at the top of his lungs.

His sunglasses were sliding down his nose as his head bobbed between glancing down at his hands and scanning the room. He smiled when his eyes found yours over the top of his aviators. Your hand tightened around the glass in your hand, the condensation dripping down your wrist as you stood there and watched.

You weren’t sure if it was your imagination or the tequila you’d been sipping on all night, but it seemed like he was working the keys of the piano a little harder, a little faster as he held your gaze.

And then his tongue was slipping out. Just a bit, and just for you.

Thankfully no one could hear the way your breath hitched in your throat over the sound of everyone in the bar singing along. You’d be embarrassed if you weren’t so turned on.

The intensity of Bradley’s heated gaze, the way his body was moving, the way you wanted to crawl in his lap and lick the taut line of his neck and taste the salt of his skin right there in front of everyone.

You probably looked as desperate as you were feeling, because his easygoing smile turned more knowing every second your eyes stayed locked.

“I’ll be right back,” you said to no one in particular as you abandoned your spicy margarita on the nearest surface to make your escape.

You felt like you were about to vibrate out of your skin.

It was easier to slipping away to the bathroom than had been trying to reach Bradley in front of the stage, needing a moment to yourself out of his heady orbit.

Locking the door behind you, you lean against the worn wood that was littered with stickers that had been collected and brought back from around the world. You try breathing in and out a few times, the way you’ve learned to do at your expensive yoga classes, in an attempt to slow down the rapid pounding in your chest. Actively trying to not think about the way he looked at you.

There was no question in your mind that you suffered from an incurable Bradley kink. Now that you could let yourself revel in all sorts of unfriendly thoughts about him, everything he did was a turn on for you.

You had a sneaking suspicion that he might have one too. His eyes always a got a bit more heated, and his hands would grip you a little tighter when you said it.

You knew that if you were to slip your fingers past the waistband of the dainty lace underwear you had just bought that you would find yourself wet.

And for a moment, you’re tempted to do just that. To let your fingers skim up your thigh, along the scalloped edge of the panties you’d bought specifically with Bradley in mind, to think of him as you slide your fingers inside of yourself.

You’re feeling so high-strung that you know it wouldn’t take long to come. It wouldn’t be the first time you would have used the bathroom at the Hard Deck to get off.

Your hand is halfway under your sundress, when you hear the chanting:

Roo-ster! Roo-ster! Roo-ster!

In your mind’s eye, you can picture him standing behind the piano doing his version of a touchdown dance.

You’ve teased him about it before, calling him a “slutty little songbird”, which he didn’t deny. He thrives off the attention, and you can’t say you mind watching him do that sexy little shimmy he is so fond of.

You also don’t mind helping him find other ways to work off the post-performance high.

Knowing that he will probably be looking for you now that he’s done, you smooth down the skirt of your dress with shaky hands and make your way to the sink.

Standing in front of the dingy mirror, you can see just how much a wreck your appearance actually is. Your cheeks look warm, your lips are slightly swollen from Penny’s special spicy margarita mix, and your eyes have that certain wild gleam in them that only Bradley brings out in you.

You turn the cold tap on, and stick your wrists under the running water. Hoping the cool water on your pulse points will help ease the heat that is spreading under your skin.

While the chanting has stopped now, you can still hear the lively sounds of the packed bar. Figuring it’s alright to leave the safe confines of the tiny bathroom, you turn off the water and dry your hands, determined to not let anyone see just how riled up you were.

You’re barely five steps outside of the bathroom, when a strong arm wraps around your waist.

“Hey, kid.”

And just like that your heart is racing out of control again. His woodsy smell paired with the faint hit of sweat has your brain going fuzzy.

“You doin’ ok?” he rasps against the shell of your ear. He has you pulled against his warm, broad chest and you can feel the echoes of his question reverberate throughout your whole body.

You pull out of his grasp to turn and face him, taking a small step backwards towards the wall.

“Uh-huh, yeah. Everything is fine,” you ramble, nodding your head as you try to avoid looking in his honey brown eyes.

“You sure about that?” he asks taking a step towards you, which has you retreating another one back. “Thought I should check on you since you disappeared there for a bit.”

“Just you know,” you trail off briefly glancing at him and gesturing pathetically towards the bathroom like that explains your clearly unusual behavior.

“Mm-hmm, sure,” he allows, his head tilting to the side as he observes you.

You know the exact moment when he realizes what’s going on by the way his cheek twitches as he tries to control the wolfish smile he is fighting back. And you’re suddenly feeling very much like his prey when he presses forward again. This time when you step back you feel the wall against your back as he crowds into your space.

“We should probably go back,” you stutter out when he cages you in with one hand above your head.

“Maybe,” he muses, tracing his thumb along your lower lip, “You sure you don’t want to tell me what’s got you so ruffled?”

The way he is looking at you, the way he feels against you, it’s all too much.

“Bradley.”

You don’t know what you were trying to sound like when you said his name, but there’s no missing the neediness in your voice.

“Yeah, I thought so,” he murmurs, his voice rough and low. He takes your hand in his, guiding you to his zipper, letting you feel him through his jeans. “You got me all worked up too, sweet girl.”

The sound you make is lands somewhere between a wheeze and a whimper.

“C’mon, let’s get out of here.”

He doesn’t wait for a response before he has you leading the way up to the bar, using your body to hide his hard on as he pays. Not even bothering to wave goodbye to your group of friends as he hustles you to the Bronco.

He definitely broke the speed limit and a couple minor traffic laws on the drive back trying to get you home to his place.

You had looked so flushed when he had been pounding away at the keys of the upright at the Hard Deck, and you had dashed away abandoning your freshly made drink. He might have sped up the tempo to wrap it up faster so that he could check on you, worried for a moment that you might have caught a bug or food poisoning or something.

That was until he caught you outside of the bathroom, and saw just how flustered you’d been and he knew.

It took everything in him not to push you back into the tiny bathroom and have his way with you right then and there. He was hit with an image bending you over the sink, and showing you just how good you looked coming around his cock.

However, a hot and dirty quickie at the Hard Deck wouldn’t have been enough for him.

He knew exactly how he wanted you: flustered, flushed, and thoroughly fucked.

So yeah, he floored the gas pedal needing to feel your body under his as soon as possible. And it didn’t hurt that it probably cleared out some of the engine build up in the Bronco along the way either.

He pressed you against the door the second you’d gotten inside, letting you rock your hips against his thigh as he sucked along the curve of your collarbone. Your hands coming up to tug at the curls at the top of his head.

“U-upstairs,” you gasp when he grazes his teeth along the swell of your breast.

You didn’t need to tell him twice.

He lifts you up, and your legs wrap around him immediately. It had taken all of his will power not to slip his hands up your frilly dress at the Hard Deck. He loved any chance to he got to get his hands on your ass.

He almost misses the first step going up the stairs when you drag your hot mouth along his neck.

“Wait, wait,” you pant in his ear, “Put me down.”

“It’s fine, I got you,” he promises as he tightens his grip on you.

You pull away and shake your head at him, “I don’t want either of us to end up in the Emergency Room for a sex related accident. Could you imagine? Jake would never let us live it down, and Nat would be worse.”

“It’d be worth it though,” he winks at you.

“You say that now, until you’re stuck in a neck brace unable to fly or have sex,” you admonish jokingly, stroking the side of his throat with the scars he earned from that night at Jason Cameron’s homecoming party.

“Yeah, but you could still ride me. The way I see it, it’s a win-win either way,” he chuckles at the exasperated way you roll your eyes.

“You’re handsome, but I don’t think even you could pull off the color of those hospital gowns,” you quip with a quick peck to his lips, “Now, hands off the goods.”

Giving your ass one more squeeze, he lets you slide down his body. He may not have his hands on you anymore, but it doesn’t stop him from admiring your figure as you bound up the stairs in front of him.

He stops short at the threshold of his bedroom at the sight of you pulling your dress over your head. Of all your soft skin on display for him.

There were times he still couldn’t believe he got to have you like this.

How did he think it could have ever just been a friendship with you?

He liked how comfortable you were in this space with him, liked how perfectly your things fit in with his.

He liked knowing that one of the pillows on the bed smelled like you.

He liked knowing that if he went in the bathroom he would find your expensive shampoo and conditioner in there next to his.

He liked knowing that if he opened the drawer on one of the nightstands that he would find your lip balm, your lavender lotion, a vibrator from your place that had found a home here, and a notebook and pen in case you needed to remember to do something because you didn’t like having your phone in bed.

What he currently liked most about his bedroom was the way your dress was decorating the floor, and the way you were kneeling on his bed like a vision.

You were wearing a matching pale pink lace set he’d never seen before. Your skin was peeking through the floral embroidery of the sheer mesh in an all too enticing way.

You were his sweet girl.

“Come here,” you beckon, inching closer to the edge of the wooden canopy bed.

He’s not one to deny you, he’d willingly go wherever you wanted. He saunters in towards you slowly, putting on a bit of a show for you as he comes to stand before you.

“I like this, it’s pretty,” he hums as he runs his knuckles slowly over the edge of the embroidered cups, enjoying the way you lean further into him.

Cupping your jaw, he pulls you forward for a lingering kiss. Being this close to you, the smell of your musky floral perfume is intensifying thumping of his pulse.

Your hands slide under his Hawaiian print shirt, helping to ease it off his body and then tossing it somewhere near your dress. You ruck the tank he has underneath up his chest and he reaches down to pull it over his head as your hands run over the ridges of his abs.

His body has been humming for yours since the bar. The hurried encounter at the door barely managed to take any of the edge off, and he was still just as starved for you as he had been when he saw you holding that drink looking at him like he was something to be devoured.

His left hand moves from where it’s been settled on the flare of your hip and up your back to the clasp of your pretty bra.

He’s been letting you take the lead, but you’re not nearly naked enough for him.

“Hands to yourself,” you mutter as you work to get his belt undone, “I’m trying to get you naked you here.”

Part of him wants to take his time with you, to take you apart slowly and see what new sounds he can uncover. The other part of him wants to have you holding onto that rich espresso colored headboard while he shows you just how much he appreciates you wearing this little set just for him.

“You like my hands,” he murmurs against your neck. He is quick to unhook the clasp of your bra with one hand, easing it down your arms and flinging it behind him.

Yet another offering to his bedroom floor.

And then he is trailing his fingers down your soft stomach, dipping them under the band of your matching panties.

He groans when he discovers you’re already wet for him. He finds your clit, and teases you there making gentle figure-eights with his finger, “Got yourself so worked up you couldn’t even stick around for the end of the damn song, huh?”

You’re quick to abandon your crusade against his favorite pair of jeans, leaving him unbuckled and half unzipped, as you circle your arms around his neck to pull him closer to you.

“God, your fingers feel so much better than mine,” you sigh against his mouth as he licks his lips before bringing them back to yours.

Your full lips soften under his demanding ones, the sensual slide of your lips against his has him desperate for more.

He slips his tongue in your mouth taking advantage of your gasp as his circles against you turn from teasing to purposeful. The kiss turning messy with need. With want.

“I know another part of my body that you like just as much,” he murmurs, as he palms your ass.

Your hand starts moving down his chest, down his stomach.

“Nuh-uh,” he tsks, catching your tricky hand before it has a chance to reach his cock, bringing it back up to rest on his shoulder.

“I want to touch you,” you whisper against the spot below his ear that you know drives him wild.

“I’m getting you off right now,” he says firmly as he speeds up his motions against your clit.

It doesn’t take long before he has you panting against his mouth, your hips rocking against his fingers.

“That’s it,” he coaxes, “Let me give you what you want.”

He knows from the sweet whimpers you’re making that you’re close, he breaks away from your kiss to hold your half-lidded gaze as you come for him.

He will never get tired of watching you fall apart.

He will never get tired of seeing you satisfied and spread across his bed.

Giving you a moment to catch your breath, he shucks off his jeans and his briefs, releasing a small groan as his cock springs free. He’s been hard for you since he cornered you by the bathroom at the bar. Sending you a lazy-half smile at the way your eyes take him in standing there above you as he slowly pumps himself.

He knows he looks good, it’s literally his job to keep his body in peak condition.

But you make him feel good.

No one knows him better than you, makes him laugh harder than you, makes him feel as important as you do. Your appreciative gaze of his body is just another bonus to the many ways you make him feel good about himself.

He climbs on the bed, settling between the cradle of your open thighs.

“You gonna tell me what got you so keyed up, sweet girl?” he asks in-between scattering kisses across your cheeks.

“That’s classified,” you retort breathlessly as you wrap your legs around him.

“Is it now?” he grinned, kissing along the delicate line of your jaw. He’ll let you keep your secret for now, he had other more pressing questions he wanted answers to, “Did you touch yourself when you ran off to the bathroom?”

“No,” you whine, as he pulls your nipple into his mouth, laving it with his tongue.

“Did you think about it? Think about me?”

He wanted to know. He needed to know that he drove you just as crazy as you did him.

“Yes,” you gasped out in confession when he moves to your other breast, giving it the same attention, “I’m always thinking about you.”

Good.

“Already know how you feel about my fingers,” he rasps as he kisses down your stomach, making sure to place one on the little tattoo near your hipbone. “Should I let you have my mouth too, sweet girl?”

“Yes,” you breathe working your hands into the curls at the top of his head, “Please.”

“Yeah, I think so too,” he agrees mouthing at the last little bit of lace still on your body.

He pulls off your pretty pink panties and throws them somewhere behind him, probably landing on that overpriced dresser he bought for you.

He loved that he was the one who got to see you like this. Your hair was a mess from his hands, you pupils were blown wide, and your flushed chest rising and falling with rapid shallow breaths.

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he says reverently before licking a firm stripe parting you open.

It’s not long before his mouth is meticulously working between your thighs, his tongue gliding over your clit, one of your legs thrown over his shoulder.

He’s sliding his finger into you and then another, making room in your body, determined to pull a second orgasm from you.

You’re so wet for him, so soft for him, so sweet for him.

He knows what you like. He’s studied your body just as thoroughly he did the aircraft manuals he was given, if not more so.

“More,” you moan, your hips rolling from the stimulation, “I need more.”

Pulling away from you with one more broad lick of his tongue, he leans his head against the thigh that’s thrown over his shoulder, watching your face as he pushes another finger into you. The way you’re pressing your heel into the muscles of his back has him fighting the urge to grind himself into the bed.

“You look so good like this,” he praises, taking in the way you writhe against the three fingers he has buried deep in you, as he squeezes you hip with his other hand.

He’s seen a lot of unforgettable sights from the cockpit of his plane, but nothing will ever compete with the way you look as you chase your release. Your eyes fighting to say open as you watch him watching you.

“Oh my god,” you exhale when he hits that spot inside of you, your leg starting to tremble with the need, “Please, I’m so close.”

Using his fingers and mouth in tandem, he works you with same pressure, the same pace. He feels you clenching around his fingers a few moments later, your back arching in pleasure as you fly apart for him.

Teasing his lips and mustache along the sensitive skin at the crease of your thigh, as you come down from your high, before kissing his way back up your body. Your greedy hands reaching out for him, pulling him to your mouth. He feeds you his tongue, letting you taste yourself on him.

The way you’re whimpering beneath him is making him feel out of control.

“I want you inside me.”

Wrapping his large hand around his cock, he drags it through your folds few times before he finally lines himself up at your center.

And then he’s finally pushing into you, savoring the way you cling to him as he gives you a moment to adjust to his size.

“Rooster,” you say with a sigh against his lips.

He starts to move when your hips start to shift seeking more friction. And then he’s rocking into you with the smooth, deep strokes that never fail to make your toes curl. Once, twice, three times.

“What’d you say?” he asks, as he slows the pace down.

Your hands are in his hair, and you tug on the strands when he pulls away to look at you. Your lips are swollen, but he knows that look in your eye. He can already can guess what you’re going to respond with before your lips have even formed the word.

“R-ooster.”

The word comes out a stutter, as he roughly thrusts into you again.

He doesn’t know why he’s bothered asking, he should have known that you were going to make him work for the one thing he wants to hear.

“Say my name.”

He was so gone for you, he wants you riled up and feeling the same way as him. He wants his neighbors to hear you saying his name. Wants them to know that he’s the one making you feel so good.

“Lieutenant,” you taunt, not bother trying to hide the self-satisfied on your face.

If he wasn’t going to get what he wanted then neither were you.

He pulls out of you completely, flipping you over on the forest green duvet. His hand coming down on your ass, a quick sharp slap.

The sting of it has you gasping into your forearms pillowed underneath your head, and your cunt fluttering around nothing.

Leaning forward, he kisses down the length of your spine admiring the way the goosebumps pebble on your skin now.

“Say my name,” he coaxes again.

He tugs your hips up and licks deeply into you once before pulling away. Watching smugly on his knees at the way your hips tilt up after him, your legs spreading further apart as you offer more of yourself to him.

“Bradshaw,” you counter.

Closer, but still not what he wants to hear.

His open hand connects on the other side of your perfect ass, earning him a sweet moan from you.

Grasping his cock to slide it through your wetness, he stops just short of where he knows you want to feel it the most.

He wants you dazed. He wants you desperate for him.

You’ve always been the type to take a mile when you’re given an inch. And he intends to only let you have exactly eight inches tonight.

“You want this cock?” he rasps.

He knows he’s got you where he wants you when you don’t reply with another bratty remark, only desperately nodding ‘yes’ into the mattress.

“Look at me,” he demands.

You’re slow to lift your head up to look back at him, your eyes are a little glazed over as you take him in. You look as wrecked as he feels. He can only imagine what he looks like through your eyes. He can feel the sweat collecting at his temples, can feel the flush that’s working its way down his neck to his chest.

“You know what I wanna hear, kid.”

That makes you whine.

“Oh, you wanna be my sweet girl now, huh?” he asks, squeezing your hips.

He wants to taste that lower lip, the one that’s pouting prettily at him as you nod for him again. Even now as you writhe against him you’re still trying to get your own way, still trying to get him to break first.

“Well, you know what to do,” he feels like barely hanging on now, “Say. My. Name.”

He punctuates each word with the rock of his hips, his cock just grazing your clit. Enough to keep you on edge, but not enough to give you the stimulation that you want.

“Bradley!” you cry out.

He’s inside of you before you’ve even gotten the second syllable out.

Groaning your name, he throws his head back at the sensation of finally being surrounded by you again.

“Good girl. That wasn’t so hard, was it?” he tries to ask teasingly, but it comes out more a rumble than anything else. “My sweet girl.”

Your pussy squeezes him harder at the praise as you roll your hips up more to better accept his body in yours. He loved the view he had, loved seeing how wet you were for him, loved seeing just how well he filled you, loved seeing you stretched around him.

He leaned forward a bit, brushing back your hair off your face to see you better. The change in angle making you gasp as you fisted the material beneath you.

“Say it again,” he prompts, smoothing a hand down your back, “I wanna hear you say it again.”

His name.

The only thing he wanted running through your mind.

His name.

The only thing he wants coming from your mouth, other than the sweet whimpers and moans he is pulling from you.

“Bradley,” you indulge, his name sounding something between a plead and a purr.

Without disrupting the pace he’s set, he nudges your knees further apart. Wrapping an arm around your middle to pull you up against his chest, needing to be closer to you.

“Go on, let them hear who is making you feel this good,” he grunts roughly in your ear.

“Brad-ley,” the staccato of his name punctuated by his steady thrusts against you. Your hand digging into his hip.

Interlocking his fingers with yours, he lifts your arm to hook it around the back of his neck, holding you to him there. Turning your head, you greedily mouth at the column of his throat, frenzied and wet.

You were it for him, there was no question about it. And he would happily prove to you in all the ways he could think of that he was it for you too. There’s nothing he wants more than to make you feel good. To please you. To give you the best you’ve ever had.

His other hand slides up from where he had been squeezing your waist to get his hand on your breast. He loves how perfectly you fit in his hand.

He meets you for a kiss, sloppy and perfect, messy and deep.

He can’t control the sounds of satisfaction escaping him as you move together, feeding off of your sighs and moans. Your hands are grabbing onto whatever part of him is in reach: his hair, his thigh, his arm.

Enjoying the drag of his cock as he moves in you, he lets himself get lost in the sensation of being connected with you like this. The room filled with the sounds of labored breathing, of your bodies coming together, of you saying his name over and over again.

You’re starting to tremble in his arms, he’s pretty sure your legs would have given out by now if it were for the way he was holding you against him. Your nails biting into the back of his neck, as he slowly drags a hand down your body to where you’re connected.

“I love this,” you murmur into the base of this throat.

He doesn’t know if you realized you said it out loud, doesn’t know if you meant to say it out loud, but he loves hearing it all the same.

“God, you feel so good,” he can feel the sensation building at the base of his spine, “You’re perfect. So fucking perfect.”

The way his circles his fingers against your clit has you gasping into his waiting mouth.

“Bradley, please.”

He’d give you anything. He’d give you everything.

“C’mon then,” he insisted hoarsely, pressing his forehead against the side of your temple, “Say it for me one more time, sweet girl.”

He speeds up his fingers, set on ending you. Working your body with the precision that he handles his sixty-five million dollar aircraft. Determined to give you what you’re so sweetly asking for.

And it’s his name you gasp as you come undone.

Your is head thrown back against his shoulder as you spasm around his cock, your hips rolling as you are lost to the pleasure of your orgasm. He kisses your neck and lightens the pressure of his fingers on your clit, wanting to extend it out for you as much as possible, enjoying the tiny pulsing aftershocks he is drawing from you.

It’s only when he feels you go boneless that he starts to lose his own composure. His breathing going completely ragged and hips snapping erratically against you as he chases his own climax.

A few more powerful strokes later he follows you coming hard with a groan, burying his face in your neck as he spills in you.

Somehow, he manages to get you both sprawled out horizontal on the bed without him completely crushing you.

“Holy shit,” he curses flinging an arm over his eyes, his other reaching out to touch whatever part of you he can find. There’s nothing but the sound of the blood rushing in his ears as he tries to catch his breath.

Time gets away from him as he runs his hand up and down your back. It could have been a few minutes or an hour when he feels the bed move, and you slipping out of his grasp as you get up to use the bathroom.

“No, stay,” he attempts to pull you back to him, feeling the need to have you close again as he tries to settle back into his body. You’re seemingly recovering much quicker than he is at the moment.

“I won’t even be gone two minutes, you can time me.” He can hear the soft affection in your voice.

“Don’t think I won’t,” he grouses halfheartedly lifting up the arm with his watch on. He manages to raise his head up in time to get a glimpse of your naked figure as you close the door behind you.

True to your word, you are back one minute and forty-seven seconds later. He opens his arms to you as you climb back on his bed and drape yourself half over him.

Much better.

He feels you shift yourself up a few moments later to press a kiss to the scar on his shoulder.

“I just want to try something,” you murmur before making your way along the bend of his collarbone.

Up the side of his neck.

He feels his pulse start to kick up again as you work your way up the line of his jaw. He tilts his head away to give you more access to his skin there, basking in the feel of your lips on his body.

“Bradley,” you whisper lightly against the shell of his ear.

The guttural groan that rips through him surprises him. He feels his cock twitch against his thigh, a visceral reaction to you.

And then you’re giggling.

“I knew it,” you get out between fits of laughter, “You’ve got a name kink.”

Your face pure joy at your discovery. He’ll happily let you tease him for the rest of his life as long as you keep looking at him like that.

“Nah, I got a you kink,” he says as he hauls you on top of him.

“I’m already planning on letting you have your way with me again tonight, Bradley,” you proudly declare, propping yourself up on his chest, smiling down at him. “You don’t have to try so hard, I’m a sure thing.”

If he wasn’t already gone for you, the cheeky wink you sent him would have sealed the deal.

He feels himself already starting to get hard again, one of the perks of being a part of the 1%.

“Sweet girl, you’re gonna be the end of me,” he chuckles, running his hands up your back, “And I remember someone once telling me that they give as good as they get, so I won’t be dialing it in anytime soon.”

And then he is pulling you down for a kiss.

Later that night when you’re riding him so good, you get him chanting your name.

Over, and over, and over again.

A couple hours later, he watches you slip away into slumber, satisfied and spent beneath the fluffy comforter on the bed.

His bed. Your bed. Their bed.

It was just as much yours as it was his, regardless of whether you were officially living together yet or not. He bought it for you, after all.

Even on the occasional nights you spent apart, you were still everywhere.

He liked the plants you had picked to fill out the empty spaces in the room. He liked that the right side of the bed was your side of the bed. That those were your books on the nightstand, the bookmarks peeking out waiting for you to pick up where you left off.

There was a trinket tray for your jewelry on top of the dresser right next to the to the leather watch display box that you had gotten him for his birthday. And the drawers of that well-made, but overpriced wooden dresser were filling up with more and more of your things, just like he had hoped for when he got it.

He smiled to himself as he gently stroked your hair. The last time he was at your place, he had accidentally seen the letter from your apartment’s leasing office confirming your decision to not renew your rental agreement and your move out date. He hadn’t told you he knew, he’d rather hear it from you anyways.

You would always be worth the wait.

The packages that were delivered to the door?

His, for now, until you moved in a couple months from now.

The name signed on the lease for the condo?

His, for now, until you were ready to ink yours down on a deed for a new home with him.

The little velvet box tucked away in the back corner of his nightstand?

His, for now, but always meant to be yours.

You can thank @mak-32 and her photo set of Rooster at the piano for this fic!

Also, many many thanks to @gretagerwigsmuse for being my go-to gal! I wouldn’t have been brave enough to post the smut if she hadn’t given me the all-caps go ahead!

Here’s Bradley’s bedroom, if you’re curious!

You can check my other fics out here!

Taglist:

@sehnsuchts-trunken @top-hhun-main @itscheybaby @prettylittlelauraa @startrekfangirl2233 @marantha @callsign-viper @teacupsandtopgun @itsizzythebell @shanimallina87 @angelbabyange @boltgirl426 @oneelleandaneye @mizzzpink @cornishkat @torres-espana @uzumegui @dont-talk-me-down @fandomunite2107 @alana4610 @20th-centu-fairy-girl @pariahsparadise @pono-pura-vida @donttouchmycarrots @nina-sj @eg-dr3amer3 @whaledots-blog @a-beaverhausen @misty-inferno @angellwingsss @hangmanscoming @mandolin22 @theweekndhistorybook @lilpeekabooze @high-bi-imgonnacry @ahintofkiwistrawberry @mrsdaamneron @ruewrote @spiderman-stilinski @jayniebop @melllinaa @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @mandolin22 @imaginecrushes @soleilgrec @keyrani @finelytaylored @phantomxoxo @viridianphtalo @chicomonks @starryeyedstories

#bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x female reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x you #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfiction #rooster x reader #rooster x female reader #bradley bradshaw fic

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freelancearsonist · 2 months

Text

Parts and Labor

➔ Eddie Munson x fem!Reader - 5k

➔ Eddie’s van is practically falling apart, but he doesn’t have the heart to replace it. Luckily for him, you’re willing to put in the effort to fix it—as long as he helps.

➔ Rated MA for unprotected p in v sex (don’t do this irl pls), oral (f receiving), heavy petting, creampie, fingering, cumplay, Eddie has scars and lies about where he got them, reader has female anatomy and uses fem pronouns, reader is a mechanic [please let me know if i missed anything at all :)]

“SHIT, FUCK!”

Eddie slams down the hood of his van, kicks the front tire as hard as he can, then winces–both at the sudden pain in his foot and at the overreaction.

“Come on baby, please,” he pleads futilely to the unresponsive engine. “I’ll give you anything, just start.”

The engine, apparently, won’t be seduced.

Eddie digs through the pocket of his low-slung jeans, finds a dime somewhere in the pile of gum wrappers and old receipts, and runs to stick the coin into the nearest payphone booth.

The garage answers on the last ring, and Eddie doesn’t even have to identify himself. They’re almost as familiar with his junker van as he is himself. They’ve wrung more money out of him for repairs than the damned thing is worth, and Eddie knows it. He knows the vehicle is on its deathbed–repeatedly resuscitated at this point–and that he should just replace it. But he can’t. Beyond fear of hurting its feelings, he’s become attached to it. He’s made memories in that stupid van. To him, replacing his ride would be like wading a huge portion of his life up and throwing it in the trash. He just won’t do it.

The garage is merciful enough to give him a ride there along with towing his poor, lifeless van. He’s not eager to spend a day in the waiting room sipping lukewarm black coffee, but he needs to be there for her. His lady is dying–waiting for news from her doctors is the least he can do.

He forgets all about his lady when you walk through the door.

You’re the Porche 944 of women. He’s never seen anything or anyone quite as breathtaking as you–with the small grease smudge on your cheek, your hair pulled back so sloppily that half of it is already fallen down, and your denim overalls unclipped on one side to show off the faded Iron Maiden t-shirt you wear underneath. You’re wiping your hands on a grease rag as you approach him and Eddie just stands in dumbfounded silence. Who are you and where have you been his entire life?

“Munson,” you greet with a slight smile.

He almost chokes. You know his name? He knows he’s never seen you before in his life–you’re the kind of girl he could never forget. Especially with how much time he’s had to spend here.

“Having trouble getting her to start?” you continue without missing a beat. Eddie doesn’t miss the way you refer to his van, and it makes him impossibly more hooked. “Seems to be a bad ignition coil. Easy enough to fix, except your crankshaft is rusted to shit and I’m honestly surprised the whole engine hasn’t fallen apart when you hit a bump or something. Seriously, it’s dangerous to drive at this point.”

Eddie hears you, but he doesn’t comprehend a single word you’re saying. He’s hyper-fixated on the way your lips form around your words, on how you’re speaking mechanics and you actually understand what you’re saying. He’s never met anyone like you.

“But you can fix her, right?”

You smile, and he feels his heart skip a beat. “Honestly? My professional advice is to just sell it for scrap and buy a new car.”

It’s like a smack to the face. He has to blink the shock out of his eyes while you stand there so simply, like you didn’t just tell him to kill his darling.

”What’s your unprofessional advice?”

You bite your lip, busy your hands with a grease cloth. “I could fix it. But it’ll take some time, and it’ll be expensive as hell. It would honestly be cheaper to buy new.”

”I’ll pay for the fix,” he says firmly before he can consider what he’s really agreeing to. “I can’t just replace her.”

Your smile is softer when you look back up at him. “I really admire that.”

Those words shouldn’t have as much of an effect on him as they do.

”I can do the job, but not here. There’s no way my boss would let me take up a lift for as long as I need to actually do a good job, and I don’t believe in doing mediocre work. But I’ve got enough equipment at my place if you trust me?”

You’re not only saving his lady, you’re promising not to screw him like so many people have before. He’s thinking about proposing, but he keeps his cool long enough to say, “yeah. Yeah, I trust you.”

”How much do you know about cars?”

He notices a strand of hair that’s fallen down into your face, and it takes all his restraint to keep himself from pushing it behind your ear for you.

”I know enough,” he says with a modest shrug.

Your eyes shine with something that he can’t identify as you gaze up at him. “Well, if you wanna help me, I’ll only charge you for parts.”

Eddie doesn’t even need to consider. A chance to spend more time with you, and a discount on repairs? “Yeah. Yeah, that sounds great.”

The first night he comes over, it’s the sticky hot of a midsummer Indiana evening. He’s in low-slung faded jeans and a baggy white tank top that shows more of his chest than should be legal. There’s so much lightly tanned skin on display that you can’t decide where to focus—much less consider the engine you’re supposed to be working on. You can’t help asking about each little spot of ink you see on his skin, curious to learn even the smallest nuisances of his personality.

He’s the most interesting person you’ve met in this podunk town since your move to Hawkins from Indianapolis. He’s goofy and aloof, charming yet awkward. He’s so gentle and sweet you can practically smell the saccharine of his words as he speaks. He’s an animated speaker—so passionate about everything he does that he puts his whole body into it. There’s a refreshing energy to him that recharges your social battery as he goes, rather than draining it like everyone else does.

By the second night of working on Eddie’s van with him, you’re close enough to call him a friend. You know what seems like every small detail about him—his favorite color, the story behind the small scar on his left knee.

By the third night, you’re fighting every instinct in your brain to keep from throwing him inside said van and having your way with him.

Especially when you deliver to him a cold glass of iced tea and he drinks it in the sluttiest possible way he can—big gulps that send the condensation on the outside of the glass spilling down his chin to leave little paths of wetness down his neck and chest. It’s like full-on torture.

On the fourth night, you’ve had the engine block completely disassembled and ready for the new crankshaft for a couple days. It’s hard for Eddie to see his baby gutted and torn apart this way, but he knows you’ve got the most capable hands of any mechanic he’s ever known. There’s a delicacy and attention to detail in your craft that he’s never seen before, and he’s enraptured with watching you work. He’s even more enraptured by the sticky glistening of your skin in the red-orange light of sunset every night.

There’s really no reason for him to keep meeting you every single evening—all you’re doing at this point is busywork cleaning various parts because the real work can’t be done until the new parts arrive. Both of you know it, too—but neither of you will admit it. You’ve both come to look forward to these few hours together, comfortable even though you’re both sweaty, sticky, and greasy. Suspending them at this point would be a crime.

There’s just the faintest peek of reddish light left over the horizon when the conversation lulls, but Eddie’s not ready to go quite yet. “You hear Megadeth’s touring in Indy this fall?”

”No shit?”

”No shit. Tickets are probably going fast.”

”We should get some,” you say with a cautious glance over at him. This is it—this is as grand of an invitation as you can work up the courage to make. If he can’t take the bait here, you’ll be forever casting lingering glances and praying he’ll make a more substantial move than just eyeing you up and down like you’re the finest, purest water in a parched desert.

Eddie’s heart rate skyrockets even as he’s willing himself not to read too far into your words. ”Yeah? You’d… wanna go with me?”

”Might be nice. To hang out and do something other than pretend to work on your car.”

”All you had to do was ask, sweetheart,” he says with a look that’s far too smug for his own good on his face.

Even though it’s a little ridiculous, his cockiness flusters you. ”Wasn’t sure you’d want to.”

”How could I not? I’ve got the girl of my dreams five feet away from me, I’d be crazy to not want to spend every second I can get with her.”

”Oh, is there someone else here?” You try to giggle and make it sound like a lighthearted joke, but it comes out far more flustered than you mean for it to.

”No. Just you.” It’s only three words, yet you’ve never heard anything more fraught with tension in your life. It’s in his dark eyes, in the set of his jaw, in the way his hands clench into fists at his side to keep from reaching for you.

All your eyes can manage to do is trace up the prominent veins in his forearms from his white-knuckled fists. If you meet his eyes, you know your resolve will disappear faster than a delicate snowflake on warm skin.

But he takes a step closer to you, and it’s too late before you can even consider stopping yourself.

His dark eyes are swirling with lust. There’s no mistaking it, no other label for it. It looks animalistic, almost dangerous. He looks like he wants to devour you whole, and you want nothing more than to find out if he will.

”You, umm… need a refill?” You gesture with your eyes to the now empty glass in his hand, then nod toward the house. It’s all the invitation he needs.

The second the door clicks shut behind you, Eddie’s hands are on you. They start on your waist, effectively pinning you against the closed door and using you as an anchor to press himself as close to you as he can.

It’s eager and rushed, even a little sloppy. He kisses wet, he kisses deep. It’s like he’s trying to suck the air straight from your lungs, and you let him. Nothing has ever felt so good before.

“Christ,” he mumbles as his hot lips work their way down your neck. “Been wanting to do this for days.”

There’s a slight tremble in your hands as your fingers work their way into his curls, already nearly overwhelmed with the sensation of his mouth on your overheated skin. “Why didn’t you?”

”Didn’t wanna scare you off,” he confesses. It’s so endearing it pulls a moan from your lips.

“There’s not a lot you could do to scare me off, Eddie.” You mean it; you try to prove it by tugging him closer and slotting him between your legs. You can feel his pent up desire, hard and thick, as it presses against your core through his jeans. The feeling alone makes you ache with desire. It’s like a wave sweeps through you, cascading from head to toe and making everything in its wake prickle with unbearable want. You are molten flame, and he is the only thing that can douse your heat.

No one’s ever had such an astronomical effect on you from doing so little.

Eddie isn’t faring much better. He walks in a fog, blinded by clouding desire—especially so when your leg hitches up and around his hip to tug him harder against you. It’s like his cruise control is set, speed regulating with every incline or downward tilt—adjusting every little movement and touch to draw more breathless moans and whimpers from your parted lips.

A slight tug to his hair snaps him back into his own body, drawing a sudden clarity on the situation. He’s no longer an outsider looking in, as if an astral projection watching and criticizing his every move. Eddie is fully present and hyper-focused on one thing: making sure no other person can ever properly satisfy you again.

”You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs over and over into your skin as he traces kisses over your exposed neck and shoulders. His fingers hook into the strap of your tank top and slide it out of place, making way for a series of open-mouthed kisses as he ensures that not an inch of your skin is neglected.

You keen at his praise and reward him with a gentle tug to his messy curls. “So are you.”

He prickles with affection at your compliment, his cheeks warming in a way that feels completely foreign to him. No one’s ever called him beautiful before—he’s really never thought it could even be applicable to him—but he feels like he could get used to it.

He asks so nicely to take your top off and you give him permission without hesitation. You can see the flash of want in his eyes as he takes in your mostly naked torso, gaze skirting around the boundary of your bra as if he’s too shy to ask again for permission to remove a garment.

You decide to put on a little show as you give him what he wants; you unhook your bra and slide the straps down your arms so achingly slowly he thinks he might combust. And then finally, gloriously, you let the fabric fall to the floor and Eddie gets his first look at your bare chest.

He gapes, open-mouthed, for longer than is frankly comfortable—to the point you’re almost about to cover yourself up again.

And then he says, “Permission to do something highly inappropriate and maybe even a little degrading?”

”Uhh… sure?”

In a flash he’s buried face first in your sternum, hands coming to cup your breasts and dramatically smother himself in your cleavage. He lets out a pleasured groan as you giggle, deft fingers lightly tugging and pinching the sensitive peaks of your nipples. He prickles with pride at the breathy gasp you emit when his mouth starts working—he turns his head to suck one hard mound between his lips and keeps up the pressure with his fingers on the other.

”Sh-shit…” you sigh and slump into his attention, arms hanging like limp ribbons by your sides. “Eddie…”

”Love the way you say my name,” he practically purrs. “So fucking pretty.”

He switches sides now, firmly dragging the flat of his tongue over your nipple before sealing his lips around it and sucking. The pure pressure of it makes you cry out, fingers tugging harshly at his curls.

”Jesus, that feels amazing,” you whine. It’s so good, but it’s not nearly enough at the same time. And it’s like he can sense it—like he’s got some kind of a psychic connection with your body. He adapts immediately to what you need, dropping to his knees to unbutton your jean shorts and deftly slip them down and off your legs. He smooths his palms against your bare thighs and lets you feel the cold kiss of his metal rings against the burning flesh there, all the while looking up at you with dark eyes that you can’t quite identify. There’s lust, sure, but something else in those chocolate orbs. Something akin to adoration—like he’s on his knees preparing to worship you.

”Can I?” Those long, thick fingers hook into the waistband of your underwear and you’re nodding before he’s even finished asking.

You wish you could put the sound he lets out once he finally has you bare on vinyl to repeat over and over again. It’s somewhere between a growl and a whimper, completely heady with desire and want; need, even. The fact that he needs you like this is so overwhelming and flattering that you can barely process it. You don’t have time to, because in a moment his lips are wrapping themselves around your clit and sucking. He goes straight past gentle and into pure pressure just like he did with your nipples; as above, so below. And it’s bliss—thigh-quaking, breath-hitching, earth-shattering bliss.

All you can manage to do is scrabble for purchase against the wall his hands have you pinned to. You have to sound absolutely pathetic, but you can’t be bothered to care because you’re precariously close to coming and it’s only been a matter of minutes.

He moans, like he’s tasting the finest, most expensive and decadent cuisine he’s ever had. The sound vibrates against your pussy and travels up your spine all the way to your brain—it nests there and makes it’s home, drives you into a fuzzy state of ecstasy. And all the while that luxurious tongue is hard at work, alternating between lapping thirstily at your entrance and fluttering against your clit in a way that causes every muscle in your abdomen to contract.

Nothing should be able to feel this good—it’s so desperately close to overwhelming. Simultaneously, you would rather die than lose this feeling is it crescendos to a fever pitch.

”Let go,” he murmurs against you, and you know he’s not talking about your grip on his hair. “It’s okay. I gotcha, let go f’me.”

You’ve never fancied yourself to be the obedient type per se, but apparently your body is feeling particularly traitorous today. It takes all of three more seconds before you’re doing exactly what he said—legs trembling with the burden of your weight as you crash and burn on his tongue. You whine and beg and plead, all of it meaningless babble as he works you over and through your pleasure with that wonderful, amazing, perfect mouth of his.

You don’t even process you’re collapsing, but thankfully Eddie does and catches you with ease. There’s a cocky chuckle in his throat as he lays you down on the floor, and you would smack him for it if he hadn’t earned it. Instead, you grab him by the collar of his shirt a little rougher than mean to and drag him to your mouth, relishing in the high-pitched whine he admits at your light manhandling.

You moan at the taste of yourself on his lips, and Eddie can’t help grinding himself hard against your thigh in an attempt to relieve the pressure of his untouched arousal. This kiss is nasty—wet, gnashing, desperate. There’s no control to it on either end.

”That good, huh?” He mutters into your mouth. His voice is barely more than a whisper—you can’t expect much more when you’re kissing him the way you are, grinding your thigh against his aching cock all the while. And even still, despite his obvious desperation, he manages to be cocky about how hard he made you come.

If you weren’t head over heels for this man before, you certainly are now.

You start tugging at his belt and he chuckles, only growing more sure of himself by the second.

”Wait, baby, lemme take you to bed,” he huffs over the feeling of your hand finally sliding into his jeans where he needs you most.

It makes you gasp when you finally have him in the palm of your hand. As big as he felt through his jeans, nothing could’ve prepared you for this. He’s heavy, achingly thick, and you can feel the way he positively throbs in your grip.

And just as you’re about to agree and show him to your bedroom, you shake your head firmly; because as uncomfortable as this floor is going to feel and as much as your back is going to hate you for it later, you need him now. There’s no time for relocating; if he doesn’t give it to you right now, here in the middle of your living room floor, you think you might perish.

”Right here?” He hums as if he’s not affected at all while he slots himself between your legs. “On the floor? Can’t even wait thirty seconds to let me have you the right way? Dirty girl.”

It’s such a shift in dynamic; not an unwelcome one at all, certainly. But he’s been so shy and timid up until this point—always following your lead, blushing when his hand brushes against yours. You wonder if he’s like this with everyone—if he feels some pressure to perform an act or role, to hide his true personality.

The thought makes your chest ache a little bit, but you don’t have time to dwell on it because he’s breaking you in half. He’s so slow about it, too; barely pressing his tip into you, giving you time to adjust to every millimeter he gives you. Even still it punches the breath out of your lungs and makes your eyelids flutter at the intrusion.

”Shit.” It’s not spoken so much as whined, and suddenly you’re starkly aware of just how much you’re affecting him. You bite your lip to steady yourself so you can look up at him, and the sight alone is almost enough to unravel you. Unruly curls spill down over his shoulder and dangle in the air over you. His mouth hangs open—fast, shallow breaths make his bottom lip quiver. His pupils are so blown with desire you can barely see the warm chocolatey color of his irises.

You’re suddenly aware that in your desperation, you forgot a very important step. He’s still fully clothed—your legs rub against his t-shirt as his hands hook under your knees to spread you wider for him. You almost feel bad about it; in your haze of arousal his attention to your body has brought on, you’ve forgotten to be attentive to his. It pulls a whine from your lips as your hands unconsciously come to tug at the fabric.

He chuckles but acquiesces—not before you see a flicker of hesitation pass over his face.

It takes a moment to process what you’re looking at as he tugs his shirt over his head and tosses it to the side… and then your jaw drops. ”Shit, Eddie!”

He’s quick to quiet your exclamation with a heated kiss, unintentionally shoving himself that little bit deeper into your cunt. It distracts you, but only for a moment. Then you’re pushing yourself up onto your elbows, trying to wrap your mind around the myriad of deep, whitish-pink scars that litter his torso.

“Eddie, what—“

“Car accident,” he lies before he can think better of it. It’s a story he’s told so many times that he’s almost starting to believe it himself. “Couple years back.”

“Jesus,” you whisper as your fingers trace over the poorly healed lines.

“I know. They’re not pretty.”

That one sentence tells you everything you need to know. “It’s not that,” he assure him. “Just… a miracle you survived something that bad.”

“Yeah,” he hums. “I got lucky.”

He’s deflating a little bit, and the last thing you want him to do is lose that confidence he’s been exuding. You wrap your arms around your neck and pulls him flush against you, feeling every warm inch of his torso against yours as your tongue tangles with his.

“You’re beautiful,” you tell him again. And you mean it.

He draws a gasp from your lips when he presses even closer, every inch of his body covering yours and his length shoved all the way into your needy cunt. It’s almost too much for him—the combination of your tight, wet heat around him; the adoration in your eyes as you look up at him like he’s some kind of god; your hands pulling him closer like you might evaporate if you can’t feel every inch of his body at all times. It’s a heady feeling he’s never experienced before, being wanted this badly. It nearly unravels him—especially when you start bucking your hips up to him in search of the friction you so desperately need.

He sees your need, and it pulls him back into his dutiful role. “I’ve got you, baby.”

He starts with deep, slow thrusts that nearly make you drool—you feel the drag of every single inch against your walls, every vein and ridge and contour. It’s like you’re memorizing the shape of him from the inside out.

One ringed hand slides down your hip and along the length of your thigh to hook beneath your knee, hitching your leg up as high as he comfortably can to spread you wide open for the taking.

You get barely a moment's notice as he draws himself almost all the way out. And then he slams himself back into place—deep, hard, unrelenting. He revels in the sound it draws from you, something between a cry and a plea for more; he silently vows to himself that those little pleasures sounds are going to be all you’re capable of making by the time he’s done with you.

It’s borderline violent, the way he fucks you. His thrusts are relentless and expert in a way you didn’t expect him to be. His lips hardly leave your skin, muffling his moans into hickies and bruises on your neck and chest. His hands grip hard to your body, marks blossoming beneath his fingertips.

You’ve never fallen apart so easily.

“That’s it,” he purrs into your ear as he feels your walls fluttering around him. “Don’t hold back, lemme have it. Please, baby.”

And really, it would be rude to deny him after he’s asked so nicely.

Your orgasm comes like shattered glass. The sound is the first thing you process—your moans drowning out his steady grunts. And then it’s sharp. It drives its shards into your and makes you flinch away from the sensation, so pleasurable it’s almost painful.

You’ve never come just from being fucked before. Sweet, wonderful Eddie carries on working towards his own release like he doesn’t deserve a goddamned award.

“Can I…”

But you’re already nodding, wrapping your legs around his waist and coaxing him deeper—urging him to make a home in the deepest part of you.

He’s not a man who needs to be told twice. He rocks his hips as deep as he can and then presses even closer, the head of him bruising your cervix as he falls apart. And maybe it shouldn’t feel as good as it does, the sensation of him painting your walls with rope after rope or warm, sticky release; but you’re not in the mind to psychoanalyze yourself right now. Instead you do your best to help him through it, lightly ghosting the tips of your fingers in soothing patterns on his back as he pants and shudders.

“Holy…”

“Yeah,” you giggle.

It takes him a few minutes to summon the courage he needs to pull his softening length from your warmth, and he bites down on his lip nearly hard enough to draw blood when he sees the absolute mess that slides down the curve of your ass.

”Jesus H. Christ,” he murmurs. His fingers come to swipe up some of the combined cum before he can stop himself, pushing it back into where he’d spilled it to begin with and relishing in the moan you afford him at the feeling of his thick fingers pressing into your over-sensitive entrance.

He’s so thoroughly enraptured with the sight before him. Your cunt squeezing so tightly around his fingers, cum dripping, desperate to reject due to the overstimulation. And yet you take it without flinching, chest heaving, head falling back against the hardwood floor.

He swipes his thumb over your clit so lightly and yet it still makes you squeeze like a vice around him, and so he does it again. He curls his fingers in search of that spot that made you fall apart so prettily on his cock, and once he finds it he doesn’t relent. That, combined with the light pressure on your clit, is more than enough.

Your thighs tremble, caught indecisively between spreading further open for him and clamping shut on his cum-slicked hand. He watches in awe as your lips part in a silent scream, ass arching up off the floor; and then, as you come down, you have to push him away because it’s finally too much.

”Fuck,” you whimper—he coos so reassuringly as he leans down to gently kiss your lips, errant curls brushing and tickling against your cheeks.

”I know, baby,” he whispers. “God, you’re incredible. Did so good f’me.”

You have to stay still for a moment—let his sweet, gentle kisses bring you back down from the clouds. And then you’re aware of the ache in your back and the absolute puddle forming under your ass, and you push yourself up with a weak groan.

”M’sorry,” he winces in sympathy. “Bed next time, I promise.”

And really, the promise of there being a next time shouldn’t make your heart skip a beat the way it does.

You’re worried things’ll be awkward now, but that’s the furthest thing from the truth. Working with him now is so much more effortless. The tension isn’t as palpable—it’s a fluid thing that you move through confidently now that your feelings and his are known. He isn’t afraid to watch you anymore, awe and adoration in his eyes as you show him how to reassemble the engine block. He observes your skilled fingers at work, and he’s not afraid to tell you how fucking sexy it is to him. He’s not afraid to rest a hand on the small of your back as he stands beside you, even occasionally getting brave enough to let it slip down and cup your ass. He’s not afraid to be his goofy, adorable, manic self—it’s the best metamorphosis you’ve ever seen.

You finish working on his van finally, and he almost tears up at how well she runs now—although he definitely doesn’t let you see that.

And as worried as you were that finishing this job would feel like the end of whatever this is with Eddie, it doesn’t. You feel secure, somehow, that he’ll keep coming back—for more than just parts and labor.

THE END

➔ A/N: thank you as always to @shakespeareanwannabe for putting up with my incessant questions and beta requests 🥹 ily lots

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mrsjellymunson · 6 months

Text

The Biology Tutor

📕 Lesson 1: Female Anatomy

Continue studying: Lesson 2: Male Anatomy | Lesson 3: Human Reproduction | Extra Credit 01: Communication Skills

Pairing: Virgin!Eddie Munson x fem!tutor!reader

Summary: Eddie’s failing class, so you decide to offer two different styles of biology tuition, textbook-based and *ahem* practical.

W/C: something around 4k (I didn’t do a word count after editing, sorry)

CW: 🔞 18+ MDNI!, NSFW, PWP, smut with a story. Exhibitionism (f), mutual masturbation (m+f), swearing, innuendo, pet names, slight sub/dom dynamic, subtle size kink? Both Reader & Eddie are overage. No y/n. Reader’s appearance is not described, it can be whatever you like.

A/N: A cute little bit of biology lesson-based smut. I’m a sucker for virgin!Eddie and wanted to see if I could write him. Let me know how I did! 😄

My masterlist

You’ve had a crush on the guy in your Biology class since the beginning of the year when you first saw him ranting on a table in the cafeteria. There’s something about him that’s so different from the guys you’d usually go for. You run in completely different social circles, you with the academically-gifted ‘Brainy Bunch’ (an eye-rollingly terrible moniker coined by the we-think-we’re-so-clever jocks), and him with his nerdy friends. Despite this you find him unusual and intriguing, not to mention hot as all hell. You guess the ‘freak metalhead’ look doesn’t work for everyone, but his long hair and rebellious dark ink are certainly doing it for you. You really want to discover what’s underneath those layers of denim, leather and torn shirts, your imagination only able to go so far as you ponder his form late at night in your bed.

However, girls talk, and you’ve never heard of him being with any of them, or even speaking to all that many. For all his bravado and apparent confidence, you’re reasonably certain that Eddie Munson is still a virgin.

And for some reason this draws you to him even more.

You’re pretty sure you’ve caught Eddie checking out your ass as it’s perched on a high stool while he sits behind you in the biology lab. On days when you’re in this class you’ve started to wear your tightest jeans, and your shortest skirts (though if anyone asked you’d insist it was a coincidence).

Somehow you’ve become inexplicably clumsy (but only in this class, how odd…), often dropping your pencil and having to bend over to pick it up, occasionally chewing on the end in contemplation when you know he’s watching, much to the chagrin of your teacher.

“Never put anything in your mouth in the lab, you should all know better by now.”

You smirk at the innuendo in Eddie’s direction and he quickly looks away, ears exposed by his lab-regulation tied-back hair a little pink at the tips.

You also often ‘forget’ or ‘lose’ equipment, asking him if he’s got a spare, or could he please get you a replacement from the cupboards, which he’s always more than willing to do (giving you ample opportunities to observe his denim-clad ass as he does so).

“Damn, I seem to be one test tube short. Eddie, would you be a doll and get me one from the cupboard?”, crossing your legs and subtly ensuring the hem of your skirt rides up just a little more.

Eddie looks you up and down (result!) and agrees.

“Thanks, you really are my knight in shiny, um, leather?” You wince slightly at your clumsy comment, but he takes it in his stride, continuing the bit by replying,

“Here you go, your majesty”, bowing theatrically and presenting the glassware to you atop his forearm, making you grin.

In another lesson: “Shit, I tore my filter. Eddie, do you have a spare?”

“Anything for the Princess of Biology.”

He gives you a little smirk, and you feel your cheeks heat slightly. You can’t help gazing at his strong, ring-clad hands as he hands you the little circle of absorbent paper.

It becomes somewhat of a game, you playing the Princess and he the rescuing knight.

But for all your teasing you genuinely do actually want to help him pass the class. You don’t want him to have to repeat the year - you’ve seen him play at The Hideout and you know he’s meant for greater things.

It’s just biology, it can’t be any harder than what little you’ve picked up about that complicated game he plays, which seems to be all numbers, convoluted plots and organising “campaigns”, whatever they are. You’re sure he could pass if he’d just apply himself.

Or, perhaps, he just needs the right tutor…?

You’d broached it with your science teacher, offering to help ‘any students who were behind’ for extra credits. After he’d agreed you’d approached Eddie that same day, offering to come to his home and help him with his overdue assignments.

He was confused and skeptical at first, thinking this could all be some elaborate prank, but you were gentle and persuasive, and he’d agreed to pick you up later that day.

You’re sitting on his worn-out sofa, draped with a well loved but soft blanket. You’ve spent the last hour trying to get Eddie to understand cellular respiration (“Isn’t it just, like, breathing in and out?” “No, Eddie, this is cell biochemistry, it’s a bit more complicated than that”), but nothing you attempt seems to be working.

He’s despondent, won’t look at you, and seems resigned to his fate of never passing this particular subject, interjecting with statements like,

“Look, it’s just not going in.”

“I don’t know how to make it stick.”

“I don’t think I’ll get it, Princess, even if you beat it into me.”

The innuendo (accidental or not) is driving you crazy. As is Eddie’s lack of self belief.

You’d even tried explaining it by using D&D analogies.

“Think of the chemical reactions like individual characters interacting in groups. Like, if this particular troupe disband and some make allegiances with another, the group has different skills and attributes now, right?” But after a promising start even that doesn’t seem to hold his attention.

In fact, the more animated you get and closer you sit, the more distracted and fidgety he becomes, unwilling to engage fully with you and shifting uncomfortably.

You move further towards him on the sofa, determined to give it one last shot, and force him to make eye contact with you.

Their colour and depth surprises you as you look into them properly for the first time, noticing their rich, swirling chocolate and whiskey hues.

Your eyes briefly drop to his lips, the soft pink, plump, velvety pillows looking mightily enticing. God, they’re perfect.

Goosebumps rise on your arm as you feel his surprisingly soft curls tickle your shoulder.

Okay, you knew he was cute, but up close? Fucking hell…

You lean across your notes and over to the text book that’s on his other side. Your thighs are touching, and as you twist the side of your breast makes contact with his arm. If he looked slightly down and towards you he’d be able to see right down the neck of your tank top. You kind of hope he does.

Huffing, you prod at the book with your hand, hoping that the diagram on the page might make everything clearer. The movement makes your boobs jiggle a little.

You hadn’t noticed he’d stopped breathing and he suddenly lets out a huff of breath, covering it with a badly faked cough. His cheeks have flushed a light shade of pink.

So, you definitely weren’t imagining all that stuff in class.

Fuck it. You consider this might be the only opportunity you might get to do this, so decide to grab it. After all, academic tutelage was only part of your motivation to get him alone, and something you’ve been thinking about for a long time, one of the fantasies that keeps you up at night, pops into your head. One that would definitely get his attention. And if you can’t help his confidence academically, perhaps you can help with it somewhere else. Call it interpersonal tutelage…?

With as much nonchalance as you can muster, you say, “Um, maybe we should take a break. Y’know, relax a little?”

You scootch away to the end of the sofa, putting your back against the armrest and bringing your feet up onto the cushion in front of you. You grab a couple of throw cushions and slot them behind you, getting comfortable.

Eddie seems to relax a little too once you’ve moved away, but still looks uneasy.

God, are you really going to do this? What if he screams and runs away, or worse, tells his friends, or your classmates..? No, you’ve been thinking about this for far too long. Oh, fuck it x 2…

Feigning a stretch, you arch your back and place your hands at the back of your waist, pushing your chest, and breasts, upwards. Then you move them to the sides of your ribs, glancing over the sides of your boobs, seemingly-innocently pushing them together. You move a hand underneath one of your breasts, cupping it gently in the crook of your thumb and forefinger.

Eddie is still sitting tensely on the front edge of the sofa cushions, stealing sideways glances at you through the curtain of his hair.

“C’mon, Eddie, get comfy with me. It’ll help, I promise.”

Self-consciously, Eddie shifts himself and sits facing you, cross-legged, at the other end of the sofa. You give him a soft smile, which he returns with a slightly bashful one of his own, afterwards rolling his lips inwards between his teeth.

Okay, it’s now or never. Are you gonna be able to concentrate on this, Eddie?

You hum quietly, and almost closing your eyes you run a palm down your chest and over your belly. You drop one knee slightly out to the side, and run your hand down the inside of your thigh and back up it, eventually pushing your fingers between your thighs and cupping your mound with your palm.

You see Eddie’s eyes widen and hear a stifled choke.

Your hand moves to fully cup your breast, and you lightly trace your thumb over your hardening nipple whilst the hand between your legs begins to apply gentle pressure, making you inhale deeply.

Eddie watches you, agape, bringing his hands together and clasping one hand over the other in front of him, you surmise to disguise his burgeoning bulge.

You open your eyes a little, keeping them soft and half lidded, and gently smile in Eddie’s direction, ensuring he’s still watching you.

Using both hands to pop the button and lower the zipper on your jeans, you tease yourself by running the pretty elastic trim of your your panties between your fingertips, pulling it slightly away from you and letting it snap back onto your abdomen.

“Uh…”, he swallows hard, and you internally groan at the sight of his Adam’s apple bobbing in that delicious neck, “What’re you doing..?”

“What does it look like I’m doing, Eddie? I’m… relaxing…”

Sighing out the last word, you choose this moment to slip your hand down the front of your underwear, sliding over your mound and dipping just the tip of one finger between your folds, feeling the wetness that’s already pooled there. Your forehead furrows a little and you let out a quiet, contented hum.

Eddie’s eyes widen further and his eyebrows disappear completely under his bangs, and he sounds a little like he’s suffocating.

He tries to move further away from you along the sofa, unsuccessfully however as he’s wedged against the other armrest.

“Uh, I can, y’know, leave, or you could use my room, or, I can take you home, or, or-”

He’s babbling, and looking everywhere but at you. That’s not what you want at all, and you’re also concerned that he looks so uncomfortable.

“I can stop, if you want…”

He rushes out a reply, almost shouting the first syllable.

“N-NO! Um, no, it’s okay, really.”

“Okay, Eddie, stay right there. Keep your eyes on me, I wanna give you a show.”

He looks even more shocked, jaw dropping open, and you think he might bolt. But after a moment it’s clear that despite being full of anxiety, fear and self-consciousness, his curiosity, hormones and horniness are winning out, and he fixes his gaze on you.

He manages to squeak out, “Ok-aay…”

You lift your hips, using both hands to push your jeans and underwear down your legs until they reach your ankles. You slowly splay your knees, finally exposing yourself fully to Eddie’s gaze. One hand comes back to your breast, and you pinch your fabric-covered nipple between your thumb and forefinger.

He takes in the sight before him, the soft fur around your core, your wet folds glistening in the dim light of his living room, your sultry gaze, the peaks of your hardened nipples now visible through the thin fabric of your top.

He lets out a stuttering breath as his hips involuntarily shift underneath him, trying to find some friction.

“Jeezus fuck, Princess, are you tryin’a kill me?”

You try to think of something that might help relax him.

“If it helps you can imagine that we’re still studying. How about a quick lesson in female anatomy..?”

You move your hand down and with featherlight touches trace your fingertips around your pussy.

“Now, this whole area is my vulva.”

Eddie gulps.

Making a vertical line you trace your fingers over your wet lips.

“These are my labia.”

Eddie’s lips press together and he lets out a stammering hum, closing his eyes momentarily before snapping them back open so he doesn’t miss a thing.

“Are you paying attention, Eddie? This part is really important. This-,” you inhale sharply as you trail your wet fingers upwards and make contact, “This is where you’ll find my clit- fuck-”

It feels so delicious you almost don’t manage to finish your sentence, and you let out a long, low hum. Part of you doesn’t want to stop, but you’ve got more planned. Moving your fingers down again, you say,

“And this, here? This is my vagina…”

With a smile, you watch him stare as you dip a fingertip into your sopping hole, letting out a low moan as you gradually slip it inside of you.

“You know what the g-spot is, Eddie? I can show you where to find it, if you want me to…?”

You slide your finger in further, curling it towards your front wall, almost managing to tickle that certain spot within and letting out a loud groan.

At the other end of the sofa Eddie gasps an inhale, whimpering slightly, and you see him press the heel of his hand into his crotch. The combination of his sounds and actions is making you impossibly wetter - the boys you’ve been with before didn’t do much of either, and you didn’t know how much it turned you on.

You watch his face as he stares intently at your weeping centre as you slowly, so slowly move your finger in and out a few times.

“D’you think you’ll remember that, Eddie?”

“I promise I’ll fuckin’ try, Jesus Christ…”

He swallows again, exhaling heavily.

Deciding it’s time for the main event, you bring the hand that was squeezing your breast down your body, moving your fingertips to your clit and applying gentle pressure.

“I want you to see how wet you make me, Eddie. I want you to know how much I enjoy you watching my ass in biology class, how often I’ve thought about it when I’m alone. How much I like checking yours out in those oh-so tight jean- oh!”

A particularly exquisite circle followed by a firm press on your clit makes you moan out loud. The combination of both your hands has you close, closer than you imagined you’d be at this stage. It takes much longer when you’re by yourself, and you’re surprised and excited by just how much you’re enjoying having Eddie watch you.

Eddie’s fully gripping himself through his jeans now and is breathing heavily through his nose. He looks big, and you salivate at the thought.

You really want to see what he’s been hiding inside that tight denim.

“Show me, Eddie, I wanna see you.”

Hesitantly, never having experienced anything even close to this before, Eddie mumbles,

“You, uh…?”

“I wanna see you. Take out your cock. Let me see all of you, please.”

He’s rubbing himself, and you can see how strained his jeans are, a wet stain now visible in the dark fabric.

Slowly, eyes never leaving your face and looking for any tiny indication that you’re uncomfortable or have changed your mind, he slowly undoes his button and pulls down his zipper.

His languid pace is killing you, but in a good way; you realise he most likely has no idea what this is doing to you.

He rearranges the front of his jeans, opening the fly wide and leaving nothing but a thin layer of checkered cotton covering his member. The tent it’s creating is impressive.

He watches you stare and run your wet tongue over your bottom lip.

Letting out a nervous breath between pursed lips, he pushes one hand beneath the waistband of his boxers, using his thumb and two fingers to hold his cock at the base. Using his other hand he slowly, agonisingly slowly, pulls the fabric out and downwards, gradually exposing his full member to the lights of the room and to you.

You pause your own movements and spend a moment taking it in. It’s long, with an impressive girth - you briefly wonder whether he knows what he’s packing - and it’s the prettiest shade of pink you’ve ever seen. Lengthy, veined, slightly curved, and thick, so thick.

Eddie watches your expression for a moment. Satisfied that you’re not freaked or about to run away screaming, he brings the rest of his fingers to join the others, wrapping himself fully in his fist and squeezing gently, causing a little bead of precum to collect on the tip.

You take in the sight before you for a few moments, then utter, completely honestly, “Eddie, in case no one’s ever told you this, you have a really beautiful dick.”

His face and neck turn the second-prettiest shade of pink you’ve ever seen.

“No one’s ever told me that before, Princess.” Adding, almost in a whisper, “In fact, no one’s ever seen it.”

He chuckles lightly through that last sentence, embarrassed at what he’s just admitted. The ego boost of your comments has clearly given him some confidence though, as he adds with a slight smirk, a little breathy as he runs the pad of his thumb unhurriedly over his tip, “You, uh, really think so?”

Oh, so he likes me watching him too?

You can’t take your eyes off of it.

“I really do, Eddie. It’s so pretty.”

As if to confirm your statement you resume your hand movements, adding another finger and resuming circling your clit with the other. You notice that Eddie’s started moving too, his hand moving over himself in a deft gripping and twisting motion, his hips bucking up every now and again.

For a few moments neither of you say anything, the only sounds in the room your combined panting breaths and the lewd movements of wet skin.

Your clit is swollen and supremely sensitive, and, pushing in a little further, your fingers just tickle that exquisite spot within you.

You moan as you imagine it’s Eddie’s pretty cock inside you. That he’s leaning over you, thrusting into you, hitting that spot effortlessly. Maybe even talking to you, telling you how good your pussy feels, how well you’re taking him…

Suddenly your eyes roll back in your head and your mouth hangs open, a gutteral moan emerging from your chest as you get closer and closer.

Bringing your attention back to him you mumble, hurriedly,

“Jeezus Eddie, I’m gonna cum, you wanna see me cum?”

“Fuck, sweetheart, I’ve never wanted anything more in my entire fucking life.”

Eddie’s words come out in a spluttering rush and on his last word your breathing halts, your muscles lock and you cum, hard, clenching around your fingers and letting out an involuntary strangled scream.

Somewhere in the back of your fuzzy mind you think you hear Eddie let out a loud, “Holy shhhiiiit!”

You come down a little, opening your eyes and locking them with Eddie’s. You ride out your aftershocks, humming as you feel your fingers inside of you and your juices running down them. You eventually remove your fingers from your cunt, leaving its puffy wetness fully on display, and trace them around your lips and clit.

“F-fuck, Princess, that’s the hottest goddamn thing I’ve ever fuckin’ seen…”

Eddie’s red-faced and panting, his cock still very much standing to attention in his now vice-like grip, the tip an angry red and leaking copious amounts of precum. His eyes are blown dark, the chocolate rims almost completely obscured. His face and neck are flushed and he’s covered in a sheen of sweat, and he’s clenching his jaw, looking like he’s trying desperately not to bust.

“Are you ok over there, Eddie?”

“Shit, yeah, yes, I mean, fuck.”

Breathily, you ask him,

“Do you wanna cum?”

“Fuck yes, I just, I didn’t know whether you wanted me to.”

“Oh I do Eddie, I really do. It’s your turn now. You gonna cum for me? Please, let me see you lose it, show me everything you’ve got.”

He breathes out a loud sigh in what seems like relief. You like how good he’s being for you, learning yet more about yourself that you didn’t know before.

His fist speeds up as his other hand comes to hold his balls, deftly stroking and rolling the flesh. His brow furrows deeply and his lips clamp shut around a low moan. He’s staring intently at you, eyes flicking between your face and your still-dripping cunt.

Suddenly his expression turns to one resembling surprise, as his eyebrows lift and his mouth opens, a string of expletives leaving those perfect, plump lips,

“Fuck, fuck, Jeezus, motherf-, oh my-, fuckfuckfuuuck!”

His jaw drops as his abdomen contracts, and his eyes fix on your cunt as he jets hot ropes of white cum into the air and over his fist and t-shirt. There’s so much, and it seems never ending.

The sight is even better than you’d imagined it might be and your hips buck up into your hand, making you press your fingers into your clit again triggering another aftershock, and you find yourself moaning along with him.

For a few moments there’s more silence, aside from your panting and heavy breathing.

Eventually Eddie chuckles a little, and you huff a breath out through your nose with a smile on your face.

You’re both a sweaty, sticky mess, but neither of you care.

“Fuck, Eddie, that was…” You’re lost for words.

“Amazing? Incredible?” Seeing the grin plastered across Eddie’s face is easily as gratifying as all the other stuff you’ve done tonight.

You both giggle as Eddie says, “Fuck me, Princess, you’re definitely the best tutor I’ve ever had.”

Neither of you really want to move, but some cleanup is definitely necessary. Eddie takes the blanket from the sofa and throws it in the washer, cleaning up quickly in the bathroom, letting you know when it’s free and returning in a change of clothes, throwing the others in with the blanket.

As you both process what’s just transpired you share timid glances and half smiles.

You both sit on the sofa again as you start to pack up your notes and books. In another unforeseen realisation, you’re surprised at how much you’ve enjoyed Eddie’s company, and the warm feeling you get inside every time he looks at you is entirely unexpected.

You realise you’re gonna have to be the one to say something, and give Eddie a smirk.

“So, how about next time we do some practical revision on, maybe, male anatomy?”

He looks a little surprised, but certainly not unhappy at the suggestion that there might actually be a ‘next time’.

“You really wanna, uh, tutor me again?”

Nodding in the affirmative, you reply, “Oh yeah, I think we’ve both learned a lot this afternoon.”

Holding his gaze, you suggest,

“Same time next week..?”

Continue studying with Lesson 2: Male anatomy

A/N 2: I’ve been having thoughts about making this a miniseries, so please let me know if you’d like to see a second “lesson” 😉

Thanks so much for reading!

Likes are great, but please also consider supporting writers with comments and reblogs - they help fics get seen, and it genuinely means the world! 🌍 ❤️

Taglist is open!

My masterlist

#virgin!eddie munson #virgin!eddie munson x tutor!reader #eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #Eddie Munson x you #biology smut #the biology tutor #female anatomy lesson #Eddie munson x fem!tutor!reader #stranger things fanfic #Eddie munson fanfic #Eddie munson smutty fanfic #smutty fanfic

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kokoa-la · 10 months

Text

Prompt from @help-i-need-a-cool-username

Jason has once again snuck into Gotham University. Now, before any assumptions are made onto why the crime lord would break into a college, the reason is because he likes the library. That's it. The public library is trashed and small, barely taken care of, but Gotham U's? It's beautiful. Multiple floors, organized and in sections, taken care of, alphabetical order, it's magnificent. The chairs were a reason alone to sneak in, but the students here added an extra charm.

He had gone to the very back of the library on the second floor. This area was pretty well hidden and enclosed. He would come here to read without anyone questioning him, even hiding the books he wasn’t finished with yet to continue on later. Jason wasn’t expecting someone to be so close to his spot though. A few tables across stood a student, thin, tall, with pitch black hair, baggy cargo jeans, and a white t-shirt. The other hadn’t noticed him yet, so he remained quiet and just watched. He was in front of a large white board on wheels, seemingly taken from the rooms he saw down the hall.

“That doesn’t work, goddammit.”

On the white board was lines upon lines of equations- at least he thought they were equations, with most of them being letters and symbols rather than numbers. It made the vigilante’s brain hurt. The student - assumed STEM major - just kept mumbling to himself.

“Stupid physics, won’t allow interdimensional travel”

What? Jason may have been out of school since 15, but he knew no courses were asking for the answer to traveling between dimensions. It seemed the student had a habit of talking to himself when worked up or focused, possibly why he isolated himself from the rest of the library.

“If your parents could do it, why can’t you? Think Danny, think!”

That sentence wasn’t concerning at all, but at least Jason learned the boy’s name. Danny seemed to have a strange background, what did he mean by ‘if your parents could do it’? Had his parents managed to travel between dimensions? The other was chewing on the cap of the white board marker, his other hand resting on his hip as he swayed back and forth.

“Oh! Oh! Oh! That! The thing! That thingy!”

Jason could practically see the lightbulb go on above Danny’s head. Just then the other erased a solid portion of the whiteboard and dropped to his knees, ouch. He started frantically scribbling, fast and messy, barely cohesive. Though, Jason was sure that if it was Tim sitting where he was instead, the boy could probably understand everything on that board. He’d stick to English literature, thank you very much.

“That’s it! Oh my ancients! I got it!”

Danny practically jumped in the air, punching the air in triumph. Jason almost felt proud of him, this complete stranger he’s been watching, wow he was being creepy, huh? Danny shot both of his arms straight up, the marker gripped tightly in his right hand fist.

“I did it!”

He looked so happy, so excited. He began to buzz, even spinning, before stopping mid loop and turning around slowly. Shit, Jason had been caught. To be fair, Danny hadn’t exactly turned around the whole time, meaning Jason was just watching his back the whole time as he worked through his… problem? It’s such a shame, Jason was thoroughly entertained by this random kid.

“Uhhh, hi? How long have you been there?”

Oh shit, Jason had to talk now, didn’t he?

“Not very long, but long enough to know you were trying to solve interdimensional travel before apparently succeeding.”

The color drained from Danny’s face. Whoops?

“Uhm, no I didn’t.”

Now that he got a closer look, the student looked like someone Bruce would adopt. Black hair, clear blue eyes, tan skin, sharp features, the whole nine yards. He was actually fairly attractive, maybe even cute.

“Really? I could have sworn that you said ‘stupid physics won’t allow interdimensional travel’”

“I have no clue what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah sure, and I’m a student here.”

“Wait, you’re not a student here?”

“That’d only be true if you were lying.”

“Well I’m not so-”

“Uh huh, sure you’re not.”

“Look dude-”

“Jason.”

“Look Jason, there’s no way that I could solve interdimensional travel, the multiverse doesn’t exist.”

“Look Danny-”

“How do you know my name?”

“I won’t tell a single soul if you explain how you did it to me”

Curiosity won his gambit. Would he regret what he was about to say? Perhaps.

“Maybe over a coffee?”

He knew it was worth it when the marker hit the floor and Danny moved his hand to cover his red face. Well, it wasn’t the first time he’s done something he regrets, maybe this time it’d be a cute STEM major who knows the secrets to the multiverse.

#dc x dp #dp x dc #jason todd #red hood #danny fenton #danny phantom #danny fenton is a huge nerd #figuring out interdimensional travel instead of finishing his 5 page english paper due 'like yesterday'#jason has done many things he regrets #breaking into a college isnt one #neither is asking out the cute nerd with eccentric capabilities #if only jason knew what he was getting into #boo #jason todd x danny fenton #dead on main #college au #gotham university

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ratridingaskateboard · 2 months

Text

Tear You Apart

Eddie Munson x Fem! Reader!

TW: 18+, wet dream, p in v, cursing, bdsm, sexual acts, sexual fantasies, etc.

A/N: The trigger warnings would be too long if I mentioned every sexual act ever done in this story. We would be here all day!!

Synopsis: Eddie has had a crush on Y/n since the day she stepped foot into Hawkins High School. After constantly fantasizing about her, will fantasy finally become a reality?

The second Y/n waltzed her way into the main hall of Hawkins High, Eddie was awe-struck. She was clad in a bleached jean jacket capped in patches and pins of metal and rock bands. Many of them Eddie hadn’t even heard of. The Black Sabbath t-shirt she wore had been ripped to shreds, showing only a tanktop underneath. Her plaid red skirt swayed as she walked and had boys and girls anticipating for a gush of wind to reveal what was hidden under that scanty piece of clothing. To no one’s surprise, within minutes of walking in she was quickly pulled into the principal’s office for dress code violations.

The hall had erupted into gossip over who this mystery girl was. No one at Hawkins had a single clue who she was or why she chose their school to be graced with her presence. Eddie had never seen anyone like her in Hawkins, if he had he would’ve known. Just seeing what she was wearing made the blood rush to his cheeks but the second he saw her patched covered jacket he was practically on his knees.

This was his chance to finally get with a girl who he shared similar interests with. Don’t get him wrong, Eddie loved getting laid no matter what type of girl it was. But most girls had little to no interest in Eddie, they just wanted to see what it was like to fuck the school freak. They didn’t complain but they didn’t speak about it either. He was, to put it simply, a conquest. Now he had the ability to be around someone who, he hoped, wouldn’t shun him away like the others.

Eddie’s friends gathered around him at his locker, passing comments about the new girl and her clothing.

“God- I hope they don’t give her a pair of pants to wear.” Gareth hissed under his breath.

“I think I saw her bra underneath her shirt” Jeff added.

“The second you guys see a girl you are like dogs! I am surrounded by barbarians!” Dustin was quick to be the voice of reason. It was hard for teenage boys to view any girl as a person much less a girl who showed a little skin.

“You’re right Dustin. Did you see her jacket? It was covered in Metal patches. She seems cool.” Eddie finally added.

“Sorry Eddie- I was a little busy looking at other pieces of clothing she was wearing.” Gareth said.

Eddie rolled his eyes. One of the things Wayne had taught Eddie once he had reached puberty was to be a gentleman. Apparently, Gareth was not given this pep talk. Obviously, Eddie was attracted to her but he had to push down the want to tear her clothes off in order to form a relationship with her.

Hours had passed and she was still no where to be seen. Eddie assumed the principal must have sent her home with the list of violations she had achieved on the first 15 minutes she was inside the school.

Lunch was no different than usual except for the extra chatter of the mysterious new girl and her fondness for revealing clothing. Eddie pushed the food around on his lunch tray, disgusted by the unknown meat with the rancid smell.

“Hey-“ A gentle hand pressed against Eddie’s shoulder. The smell of cigarettes and vanilla filled his nostrils. Eddie looked up to see his friends wide eyed, staring at this unknown figure behind him.

“I like your Dio patch. That’s my favorite album by them.”

Eddie moved his neck to look at her but he found himself too embarrassed to look her in the eyes. Instead, his eyes focused on the jacket she wore, naming each band in his head- trying to get his mind off the absolute fool he was making of himself.

Shit, her hand was still on his shoulder. His face turned to a shade of red he didn’t believe was possible to achieve unless in scorching hot weather.

“Don’t mean to be an asshole but your sewing isn’t the best.” She traced a line with her finger against the trim of the patch. Eddie could still feel the softness of her fingertips even through the denim of jacket and cotton of his shift. Suddenly, Eddie felt the warmth of her breath against his ear.

“If you ever need someone to teach you, I would love to.”

Her hand moved back to his shoulder and lightly squeezed it, sending spikes of electricity through his spine. Then, she was gone.

Eddie’s face remained just as red as before. His fellow Hellfire members tried to help him regain consciousness but Eddie remained silent. He was stunned. He had never felt so weak. She toyed with him and he didn’t even fight back. He had never felt so powerless. In most situations he had had with girls, he was the one who approached and the one who lead. But, she… she was different.

“Eddie, dude, you should probably go to the bathroom.” Jeff patted Eddie’s shoulder, finally getting his attention.

Eddie looked down to find his dick as stiff as a board in his pants. Jesus Christ, he needed to get his shit together. This girl was messing with his fucking head.

After a moment in the bathroom, Eddie was able to go about his day as normally as he could. He still stumbled whenever he thought of the softness of her hand or the smell of her perfume. But as long as he didn’t see her he was fine. Right?

After Hellfire, Eddie returned to the trailer he shared with his Uncle and plopped himself on his bed. God- was he exhausted. Didn’t know being teased by a girl would make him so tired. His eyes fluttered closed and he gave in.

“E-Eddie please,” Y/n wimpered, looking up at him with big doe eyes, her hands restrained behind her back.

“Please what?” Eddie persisted, his leg pushing in between her thighs, feeling the warmth of her.

“P-Please fuck me!” She huffed, grinding her hips against his thigh. She seemed so helpless now. Her dominance was subdued by him and she had become a mess of herself.

“How much do you want it?” Eddie whispered in her ear, her perfume smelled even stronger when he was this close to her neck.

“I-I want it so bad, Eddie! Please I’m begging you!” She wailed.

He loved seeing her like this. Fuck, it made him feel like he was gonna cum in his pants. He couldn’t make her wait any longer and neither could he.

He started to reach his hand under her shirt when-

He woke up. It was a dream. It was a fucking dream. And one thing he knew about dreams like these, they always end the same.

Eddie lifted his comforter to find his boxers covered with jizz as well as the sheets underneath him. Eddie’s face crumpled into a frown. He had to get her back for this.

A/N: Dont worry there will be a part two coming soon!!! Hope u enjoyed

#eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x reader #stranger things #Spotify

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cupid-styles · 5 months

Note

Can we pls get a period or sick blurb? Maybe for grumpy h? I miss them

yes!!!! (I have a sugar daddy h sick blurb too but I literally can't find it for the LIFE OF ME.........but it exists somewhere hahahahah)

word count: 900

content warnings: none! just period/blood mentions

read the original grumpy h series here

main masterlist | talk to me

. . .

Y/N seriously can't believe this is happening right now.

On top of finals, grading an influx of drafts and papers for Professor Donnolly's class, and generally trying to survive the end of the semester, she excused herself from her TA lecture when she felt a slight cramping in her lower stomach. She wasn't due to get her period for another few days, but apparently, her body decided now was the right time for it to happen — so now she's panicking, sitting on a toilet in the single-use bathroom stall, cramping and bleeding.

She left her bag back in the lecture hall so she doesn't have a pad or tampon on hand, but that's not even the worst part — when she looks down at her underwear, there's a substantial blood stain that leaked through the seam of her jeans, too.

With her heart thumping in her chest, she feels tears begin to prickle at the back of her eyes. She's being silly, she knows that; she's had her period for years, but with the position she's found herself in, she can't go back to her job, and her boyfriend is sitting back in the classroom, probably wondering why she's been gone for so long.

She sniffles and grabs her phone from her pocket, quickly pulling up her text thread with Harry. It's embarrassing to have to explain the situation, but he's obviously the only person she trusts to go to.

To: H🌷

hey I got my period and I dont have any pads or anything w me rn would u hate me if I asked u to bring me one from my bag?

Glancing at the time, there's still an hour left of the lecture, so she's not sure if her request will even come to fruition. (When Donnolly has students do individual or group work, they're always swarming around Harry and asking him for help, but that's an entirely different situation.) Her leg is shaking nervously as she contemplates stuffing some of the single-ply toilet paper into her underwear, serving as a makeshift pad just until she can escape back to the bathroom with a tampon. She's just about to do it when she hears a knock at the door, followed by a hushed call of her name. Immediately, she recognizes it as Harry's voice.

"H?" she whispers. She hears a chuckle and her eyebrows furrow, confused by his lighthearted tone.

"There's no one else in here, silly girl," he says, and she swears she can hear the smirk in his voice, "I brought you a pad and a tampon. I saw you had both in your bag."

"Oh. Okay, thank you, you can just slide them under the door."

Harry snorts. "You can open the door, baby. I'm not scared of your period."

"Yeah, but it's gross. And I'm sitting on the toilet."

"Didn't anyone tell you that having a period is natural?"

She shrugs, contemplating. "No. I guess not."

"Open the door so I can give these to you, pretty girl."

She huffs and leans forward to undo the latch. Harry laughs at the scowl on her face and shakes his head, handing both the pad and tampon to her.

"I'll wait until you're done."

She nods, secretly grateful as how casual he's being, and locks the door again. She's quick to clean herself up as best as she can before putting a tampon in. After she gets rid of the trash, she walks out of the stall and washes her hands.

"Y'okay?"

She glances at him through the bathroom mirror, where he's standing behind her with his arms crossed over his chest. He looks protective, as if he's ready to defend her from anything, even if it's her own anatomy.

"I just have really bad cramps right now," she replies quietly, drying her hands with a paper towel. "I think I bled a little through my jeans too."

His face forms a pout, striding towards her to wrap her form in his arms. "Poor baby."

He presses a kiss to the top of her head as she buries her face into his chest, reveling in the warmth of his body. Their hug is over far too soon for his taste and he chuckles lightly at the sulky look on her face.

"This should be big enough to cover your cute little bum," he murmurs, pulling his sweatshirt up and over his torso. Her cheeks redden and he smirks as he helps tug it over her own form. "You need anything else? You can head back to mine if you wanna nap in my bed."

She shakes her head quickly, "No. I can't miss any more of the lecture."

"Baby, I'm sure it's fine. I'll tell Donnolly you're not feeling well."

"I'm on my period, it's not the flu."

Harry snickers and intertwines their fingers together, giving her hand a squeeze. "When did you get so sassy? Remember when you were my sweet, quiet girl?"

She rolls her eyes, "I still am."

"Sure you are," he smirks, "Seriously, though, will you please just go rest at my place? It's not a big deal and I know you like to nap when you're on your period."

She does, and she can't deny the fact that laying in Harry's cozy bed sounds pretty incredible right now. Reluctantly, she agrees, and he grins as he hands her his house key.

"I'll come meet you when class is over, alright? I'll bring your bag and everything."

She wonders how she got so lucky with Harry.

#bestie asks #writing #grumpy h #harry styles imagine #harry styles blurb #harry styles fan fic #harry styles fic #harry styles fluff

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clockwayswrites · 8 months

Text

A Broken Sort of Normal Part 11

WC 1326, Masterpost CW: anxiety

“Hey, kid,” Flash the older said as he raced up beside Danny.

“Still not a kid, old man,” Danny replied. It was already a well worn argument by this point after several dinners or weekend meals over at the Flash’s household. Sure it was used before that, but once Danny had started seeing Barry out of the mask, he’d only been worse about it. Danny guessed it was their thing now. It was weird to have ‘things’ again with people, but a good sort of weird.

“Still not an old man, kid. I’m not even a grandpa yet!”

Danny almost dropped the tablet he was working on. Barry didn’t have any kids, not aside from Wally who might as well count. Did that mean…?

“I’d tell you to watch your sass in your new position,” Barry continued, unaware or uncaring of Danny’s sudden crisis about the idea of children, “but one, I’d be a hypocrite and two, it’s a solid third of the reason I recommended you.”

“Well, that’s good because the sass isn’t going awa— wait, what new position?”

Barry grinned under his mask in a way that just felt dangerous. Not, like, dangerous in general, but dangerous for Danny who was the focus of that smile. “You’ll see. Flash Two will pick you up Monday at nine am. Don’t worry, you’re cleared off work already.”

“Fla— and he’s gone. That’s great. What the fuck,” Danny said to himself. It was a struggle to focus on finishing up the post event check in and then his reports and then going over his team’s report and then some more paperwork, but Danny managed. As soon as he got home he was immediately was texting Wally.

After the Reveal, Danny had gotten Wally’s civilian number too, but there were strict rules for using that number. Danny understood the caution. Apparently the first number he had been given was encrypted by Batman’s crew, which was crazy to think about, even when he was dating a Flash, so there were less rules other than no civilian names. Just for the ease of it, Danny mostly stuck to the old number unless they were planning a purely civilian date. Or if Danny wanted to say things that he knew would make Wally blush. Things Danny would very much never want anyone else to read. They may have mostly kept to kissing in person, but teasing Wally was just too much fun.

Danny: Why is Big!Flash having you pick me up on Monday??? What did he mean about a ‘new position’?????? I like my job! FLASH!

Quick Boy: You’ve got to give me a second to answer, dude!

Danny: You’re supposed to be fast. 😑

Quick Boy: Who’s always telling me electrical signals can only move so fast?

Danny: FLASH 🤬

Quick Boy: Sorry, babe, I’m not allowed to tell! But you’ll love it! Promise!

Danny: 🥺

Quick Boy: Don’t make those eyes at me! Trust me, babe, just wait until Monday.

Danny: Fine. But know I’m pouting.

Quick Boy: 😭

Danny behaved. He didn’t bother for updates. He sent more cats dressed as Justice League members and finished off the last Percy Jackson book, sending Wally updates along the way. But the whole weekend the fact that he apparently had a new job he knew nothing about and would be taken to Monday churned in the back of his mind.

It made him anxious in a way that he hadn’t been since he left Amity Park for Central city.

He didn’t much like it.

“Please at least tell me that I’m dressed fine for this new job?” Danny asked when he opened the door to Wally’s knock.

He didn’t really have many other options if Wally said no, he already had on his best dark jeans, cleanest boots, and his new cross body bag. He might have a button up shirt he could change into instead of the long sleeve one he was in, but that was as good as it was going to get. He just didn’t have business casual clothes with the jobs he had.

“You look fine,” Wally said.

“Not exactly a supersuit,” Danny said with a sigh, taking in Wally’s uniform.

Wally pressed a quick kiss to Danny’s cheek. “Not the kind of hero you are.”

That was something Wally had been doing, insisting that Danny was a hero. Whenever he protested, it only seemed to make Wally more insistent so Danny mostly let it be. Plus, the cute smile Wally got for ‘winning’ was nice to see.

It was gracing Wally’s lips now as Danny stepped out of his apartment, locked the door, and shoved the keys securely in his bag. One lost set of keys due to super speed was enough to make sure they were safely clipped in from then on.

“Okay. Right, let’s get this over with.”

“It’s a good thing,” Wally insisted as he squatted down for Danny to climb onto his back, “not your execution or anything.”

“I just don’t like not knowing,” Danny said.

“You love surprises.”

“Little surprises like picnics and presents, not life changing ones.”

“You’ll love it,” Wally insisted and then they were off.

“I’ll love an abandoned warehouse?”

“Apparently abandoned warehouse,” Wally stressed with a wave of his hands, like he was a two-bit magician.

“Convincing appearance. Once again, Flash, it’s a good thing you’re a hero because this as serial killer vibes.”

The windows were blacked out. There was a heavy layer of dust on most surfaces. The stairs to the foreman office were long rusted away. It was a mess.

But there was that feeling of being watched that crawled up Danny’s spine. None of the dust actually moved as they crossed the floor over to Barry. And the doors were either welded shut or solidly reinforced.

“Ready kids?” Barry asked.

“Still not kids,” Danny replied almost absently.

“Still don’t care!” Barry pressed one of the bricks on the wall and the whole thing shuddered and pulled back like some massive pocket door to reveal a… a portal behind the wall.

“Ta-da!” Wally said, complete with jazz hands.

Danny couldn’t tear his eyes away from the portal to look at him.

Did they know? Was this…?

“Danny?”

“What?” Danny started, forcing himself to look over at Wally who was beside him again.

“You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Danny winced. He just couldn’t hold back the twitch of his body at that word. “Sorry. Um, so what is that?”

“A Zeta tube, it’s how we travel to the Justice League. It’s like a transporter,” Barry explained.

Okay, right, not a portal to the Ghost Zone. No one knew. He was safe. Danny closed his eyes. It was just a transporter that looked a lot like a portal.

Wally rested his hand on Danny’s arm and Danny almost jumped from the light touch. “Babe?”

“Um, remember how I told you there was an accident in my parent’s lab when I was a kid? Yeah, um, sorta similar look, is all. It just freaked me out for a moment.”

"Oh, shit, I’m sorry,” Wally said. He squeezed Danny’s arm gently.

“No way you could have known. Who has a phobia over portals, right?” Danny said as he summoned his best attempt at a smile for Wally.

“Are you okay to…” Wally glanced from Danny to the portal nervously.

“I, yes? Can you just explain to me how it will go?” Danny asked. He pressed himself close to Wally, doing what he could to scrape together his frayed nerves. It wasn’t like he hadn’t gone through the actual portal that had killed him all the time. It was just that now all that felt like a lifetime ago, a lifetime no one remembered but him.

“Of course, babe,” Wally said, twining their arms together before he launched into a passionate explanation of the Zeta tubes.

It would be alright.

He could do this.

He had Wally.

-----

AN: Wally and Barry: We have something so cool to show you! Danny: *has portal based ptsd* ._.

I no longer tag people, but you can subscribe to the masterpost!

#dp x dc #quick death #danny fenton/wally west #abson

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immajustvibehere · 5 months

Text

Amidst a Crashing World (2/5)

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x fem!Reader

Summary: Arthur stops by at your cabin again and you serve him a home-cooked meal.

tags for this series: fluff, little bit of angst, no-tb-Arthur, literally your love redemption, maybe smut (but probably not), slow burn (but I mean how slow can a story really burn in five chapters?)

! d/n stands for dog's name. So go ahead and pick a female dog name of your choice!

This is still a little bit of exposition, but I promise...way more fluff in the chapter to come ;)

Link to my masterlist

previous chapter

4700 words

Two weeks after Arthur had initially stopped by at your cabin for the first time, he decided to go again. But when he arrived in the early afternoon, he found the cabin empty. It wasn’t abandoned, he assessed, as he peeked through the window. There was a dirty cup on the table and a big pot on the stove looked as if its contents were cooking, as the lid sometimes wobbled a little. Arthur noticed an addition to your wall. In between your drawings that you had nailed to the wooden wall, you had pinned your own bounty poster. It was the same that Arthur had shown you the last time, though he was sure he used his to light a fire later that week.

He wondered why you had put it up there, since you had complained about the sketch not doing you any favour. Arthur agreed by the way, not that the sketch made you look ugly, it simply didn't look like you.

The horse tracks in front of your house were fresh and Arthur figured you had left only a few hours prior, probably for a grocery run. So, he waited.

He leaned on your fence and sketched your cabin. Then he sketched the nature surrounding it. When that was done, he explored the forest behind the house, mentally mapping the berry bushes and animal tracks he found. When he came back to your cabin, you were still nowhere in sight, so he plucked another tomato from your plant and then decided he'd head to the pond that's only a five minutes’ walk away. Apparently, he’d have enough time for a wash, and it was right to say that he needed one anyways.

It was an unusual hot and humid day, especially for so far in the North and close to the mountains. Arthur suspected he had taken the sticky air from the swamps with him. The sky was clear, though it smelt like rain. Arthur went into the pond stark naked, the water didn't even reach his chest, but he still started to scrub away with a little piece of soap that he kept on his travels. The path that led to your house wasn’t frequently used, he could tell by how far the grass had overtaken the earth that was occasionally trampled by horses or people. He didn’t particularly worry that people would sneak up on him or that anyone would walk past for that matter.

Arthur was busy with washing his hair, scrubbing days' worth of sweat and dirt out of it, so he didn't hear your horse approach. You had been quick to recognize the man in the pond and your grin grew with the shrinking distance between you. Arthur's head plunged under water about every other second to get the soap out of his hair. He didn't hear your first "Hey!", but when you whistled, loud and shrill, the man looked up surprised.

At first, Arthur’s attention was drawn to a Labrador Retriever standing at the pond’s edge, its tail wagging as though it anticipated this strange man to toss him a stick. Slowly, Arthur’s eyes went up and so he found you, leaning forward in your saddle with a cheerful grin on your face. You looked...different to when he last saw you. Your clothes were well cared for, even your jeans were cleaner than any he had seen in a while. A revolver was casually tucked into the waistband of your jeans. Arthur had probably been right about the grocery run, because your horse bore the burden of loaded bags.

It took only moments before Arthur’s face turned red. The poor man found himself taken aback, and before he could do as much as utter a word, you yelled: "Don't go killin’ all of my fish with that stink you’re carrying!" And then you rode on, the dog faithfully trailing behind. Arthur remained still in the water, feeling a mix of embarrassment, confusion and a hint of amusement…if only it hadn’t come at his expense.

Fifteen minutes later, he was dry and dressed and walked back to your cabin. The door stood wide open, and he saw you stirring the big pot. It smelt deliciously like stew.

Though the door was open, Arthur knocked gently, so he wouldn't startle you by entering. You gave him a quick smile before you turned to the pot again.

"I, uh...I hadn't expected-...", Arthur had thought it a good idea to apologize, but he wasn't sure why, so he halted. Then he noticed that you had prepared the table for two.

"Oh, I didn't know you were expecting someone", he commented, slightly surprised.

"Oh yeah", you turned around with a playful expression. "Don't know if ya've seen him. Naked fella in my pond. I thought he might stay for dinner", you said cheekily. You really hoped he would stay. It was a far reach, but you were curious as to why he had returned.

Arthur took a moment to process your words. He stood still until he had pieced a meaning them together. A smile appeared in the corner of his mouth, mixed with some confusion about your hospitality. Last time you held him at gun point to make him leave...but now, it was like you had hoped he'd be back.

"Just...you might want to take the saddle off your horse. Half an hour, and it will be raining", you said, taking the bowls and filling them with stew.

"Rain?", Arthur walked to the door and looked into the sky. It was as cloudless as he remembered it to be. Though the air held a sticky humidity, and a decent wind swept through the trees behind your house, there wasn’t a single cloud in sight.

"Trust me. I've lived here for a year. The clouds are still behind the mountains, it's deceptive", you grinned, placing the bowls on the table. Arthur's eyes fell on the stew, and he felt his mouth water. This smelled and looked better than anything he has had recently, and he’d prefer to dig in right away. Unsaddling his horse would take a while and...as if you could read his thoughts, you interrupted them: "Can't eat it yet anyway unless you fancy getting your tongue burned off."

"If it ain't raining in an hour, I might take ya in for that 15 dollar bounty", Arthur threatened playfully. You only crossed your arms and mumbled a "Try me."

Arthur had all his stuff in the house in record time and the stew was still steaming when he sat down opposite of you. You had added two slices of bread next to his bowl and a bottle of beer. It was the bread that he took first, and he looked at you surprised.

"'s still warm", he commented.

"Yeah", you smiled, "Client of mine baked it fresh today. It was the last job before I headed back, so it's still warm."

"Client?", Arthur asked, but his full attention was now directed towards the stew. He dipped the bread to soak up some of the savoury juices and had to suppress the urge to sigh contentedly as he took a bite. It was undeniebaly delicious. Indeed, better than anything he had tasted recently.

"You think I make my money robbing and stealing people?", you asked with raised eyebrow.

"Mhm", Arthur nodded, not bothering to offer a verbal response as he was occupied with the food before him.

"I'm...a barber of sorts", you said, "You remember, don't you?"

Yes. He did, now that you mentioned it. You were quite talented with scissor and razor and frequently did the girls’ hair. At one point, even Dutch had trusted his hair to you for some minor trims. It was also useful to pickpocket people, he recalled Miss Grimshaw justifying your worth for a mission once.

"Only I stopped robbing people while doing their hair. It's mostly elders or women from Annesburg. Their husbands work in the mine, and they are in a bad state as it is. I'm cheap, but I do my work well and I have plenty of clients."

"Turned yer life around, then", Arthur mumbled, genuinely feeling a sense of happiness for you.

"Yes. So I hope you don't mind me asking why you've decided to march back into it", though you spoke kindly, there was a sharp edge to your voice.

"Wanted to tell ya that Dutch...I told him yer trail was cold and I couldn't find ya", Arthur explained. A hint of embarrassment crossed his features, prompting him to sit up straight as he noticed he had been slouching over his plate. He cleared his throat, "I think he believed me."

"Thank you, truly", you answered. A huge weight lifting from your heart. So, he did protect you, you wondered.

Arthur asked for a second serving of food, when a thunder rumbled so loud, that the dog jumped up in protest. "Told ya", you mumbled. A few seconds later, the rain began to pour down.

Neither of you said anything until Arthur had nearly finished his second serving. A little small talk followed about the dog, which was calmly lying close to the stove. You had an agreement with the farmer nearby, that you switch taking the dog. Sometimes he needed him for protecting the herd, at other times, you borrowed him for hunting. For the next week or so, he’d live with you.

After this had been discussed, silence ensued again. Then, out of nowhere, Arthur said: "I'm sorry for back then. When ya came to me and told me about yer feelings and I- ehrm."

"You don't have to be sorry for not feeling the same way."

"That ain't it. I was…having a rough day and I…my answer wasn't what yer deserved", Arthur said gloomily, his spoon scratching over the plate to gather the rest of the stew.

Then, he continued: "I really try being an honest man but that night…hell…ya can't even call me half a man the way I let ya down." Arthur chuckled sadly, as if he was remembering the moment.

"What're you saying?", you sighed.

"I'm sorry. 's all. I know I hurt ya a great deal and this wasn't what I wanted."

You nodded in acknowledgement.

"That night, I sat with Hosea and Reverend and we was talking ‘bout Mary…that's why I was a bitter…stupid boy when you approached me."

"Oh. How is she?", you asked drily.

"Mary? I saw her in Valentine a while ago. Needed my help for her brother or something. Not sure how that turned out because I walked away. I was just an errand boy for her."

Arthur was more often the errand boy than he realised. For example, getting you back to join the gang was an errand and had Arthur spent even a minute thinking about it, he probably wouldn't have done it. You exhaled: "Why are you telling me this?"

"I think you deserve to know."

You wanted to let your head drop into the stew. How grateful you were for the little piece of bread dough that you had been rolling and kneading with your fingers for distracting purpose. Otherwise you might have peeled chunks out of your table, because of how tumultuous you felt. Suddenly, the silence was deafening. All you heard was the rain pouring down on your little shack. It violently dripped through the roof in one corner and into the bucket that you had provided there.

Both of you had finished your meals. With a swift motion, Arthur took out a pack of cigarettes.

"D'ya mind?", he asked, already placing a cigarette between his lips.

"Only if you don't share", you said softly. Arthur offered you the pack and you picked out a cigarette. The man struck a match and held it over the table, patiently waiting until your cigarette was lit, not bothering at all that he nearly burnt his finger when he got to lightening his own.

Arthur stood up and walked to the window, a waft of smoke trailing behind him.

"Jesus...", he mumbled as he looked observed the torrential rain. Darkness settled in and visibility worsened with the downpour.

"It won't let up until later tonight", you said, shaking your head knowingly. Observing Arthur lost in thought, he pondered for a while longer in front of the window. Eventually, his gaze shifted to the wall and your heart fluttered as he seemed to thoroughly analyse your sketches.

"You've taken up drawing?", he inquired.

"Days can be long and lonely", you replied.

"Not with her around, they ain't", he added. You were confused at first, but smiled when Arthur knelt down to pet d/n. She happily acknowledged him, her tail wagging energetically.

“What is it with the bounty poster?”, Arthur asked. His hands were busy with navigating through the dog’s fur. You saw how much d/n enjoyed it, as she leaned into the pets. You had collected on of your bounty posters shortly after Arthur had visited you. Why? It was just a terribly corny way of remembering Arthur. The moment he had walked up to your door, you knew that months of trying to forget or get over him had gone down the drain. You might as well acknowledge that you love and want to remember him. But you couldn’t admit that, of course.

“Just to remind me what I’m worth”, you smiled bitterly, “15 dollars.”

“I’m sure you’ve done stuff that deserves a higher bounty”, Arthur cheered.

“Oh yea. I just don’t bother leaving clues behind”, you answered. Arthur didn’t say anything, again. His thoughts seemed to wander, until he pushed himself up on his knees and stated: "I suppose I should get going then..."

"What? You take baths twice a day now?", you teased. The idea that you would send anyone away in this weather was ridiculous. Arthur looked at you puzzled as if he hadn't understood that you were inviting him to stay.

"It's alright if you stay tonight. I won't have you ride to town in a storm", you explained. Sometimes, plain words are the way to go, you figured. Especially with Arthur. Even though the last time you spoke plainly, it hadn't worked out for you.

"And ya won't try'n kill me in my sleep?", Arthur chuckled and nervously scratched his neck. He was still unsure about staying, despite the premise of getting soaked to skin wasn't nearly as inviting as staying in your cabin, which was still filled with the smell of the stew. Arthur wouldn’t be able to take one more bite, but it smelled homely and comfortable, nevertheless.

Arthur continued: "Last time you threatened to shoot my kneecaps off so-"

"Well, last time, you were an intruder, not a guest. And the news you brought today pleased me way more than the one you gave me two weeks ago."

So, it was decided then. Both of you quickly assessed the sleeping situation. Arthur would spread his bedroll, which had stayed dry - thanks to your warning - at the opposite side of the room from your bed. It was a dry corner and close to the fireplace. You only had one extra blanket to offer, which Arthur accepted gratefully. As it grew darker outside as well as in the cabin, you lit a candle which remained on the table and two lanterns. One of them you put on your bedside table, the other one was taken by Arthur and he simply put in on the floor next to him.

It wasn't that late yet, but you had been on your feet all day. You were exhausted and the steady rhythm of the rain was lulling you right to sleep.

There was no "Good Night" or "Thank you for letting me stay". Neither of you said anything if it wasn't necessary to discuss for logistics reason.

"Want me to blow out the candle before I go to sleep?", Arthur had asked and you had said it would be fine, it was small anyways and would only last a few more hours. The table in the middle of the room pretty much hid the sight of one another, but you still saw that Arthur was scribbling away in his journal, before sleep took over.

You awoke at some point in the night. The rain was still as violent as before, but the candle on the table had gone out. Arthur was asleep, you figured, since he had turned off his lantern. Sometimes, you imagined you heard a snore, but it was really impossible to say with the noise of the weather.

For some reason, you were wide awake. You felt the desire to say something, you wanted to whisper Arthur's name and have him wake up to tell him something. What exactly, you weren't entirely sure. You wanted to thank him for the earlier apology. Strangely, you realised as you stared into the darkness, it had provided comfort you had desperately yearned for. But you knew it was ridiculous to wake him for such a thing, so you simply turned around, facing the wall rather than the direction in which Arthur was sleeping, and forced yourself back to sleep.

Arthur only stirred the next morning when a beam of sunlight pierced through the window. The lingering smell of coffee was something he noticed, even before he had decided it was time to open the eyes and face another day. Given his lifestyle of frequently changing his sleeping place, he sometimes woke up confused. Normally it'd take a few moments for him to remember where exactly it had been that he had fallen asleep. This time, however, his sight fell on your bounty poster on the wall, and he remembered where he was.

Standing up with a grunt, he noticed that you weren't in the house. He also noticed that the early morning had gone, and the sun was already on its way to its zenith. You had gone outside, leaving the door open. In contrast to yesterday, the air had cooled down significantly and Arthur even felt a slight chill as his body adjusted to waking up.

There was a can of coffee on the table and two mugs, one dirty and one clean. Arthur figured that you have had your share of the brown liquid and the rest was meant for him. He thought for a second but decided to put the coffee into the dirty cup, though you apparently had used it this morning, Arthur figured that it'd save time doing the dishes. There was also a pan of milk porridge on the stove and since it also looked like half was missing, he figured that the rest was for him. But he'd rather make sure.

Cup in hand, Arthur walked out of the door. The sun was blinding, the grass wet but green. He saw you immediately, as you were in front of the house, brushing the wetness out of his horse's coat. Your horse stood next to you, looking a offended that you chose to care for Arthur's first.

"G'd morning", Arthur said.

The raspy voice made you smile and look up. Good Lord, the man looked…heavenly. His hair tousled, his shirt all over the place and sleep still lingering in his expression. Yet, with every passing moment, the sun worked its magic, gradually rousing him from his slumber. You hated how much loved his appearance. You even despised yourself for hoping this wouldn’t be the last time you saw him like this.

"Morning to you, too. Saw the porridge?", you asked, barely spending time on checking the man out but rather focusing on his horse.

"Wasn't sure if it's meant for me", Arthur admitted and lead the cup to his lips. The coffee wasn't boiling hot anymore, but it had a fine temperature to enjoy and still gain some warmth from.

"Oh, I wanted to finish all of it but got sick of it pretty quickly. That's why I collected some berries, uhm", you pointed towards something, and Arthur followed your finger, finding another mug that was filled with some berries, "You can have the rest. I already ate some."

"Thank you", Arthur said, picking up the small mug and shaking it to have a proper look at the blueberries. His thank you sounded generous and kind, you thought.

Arthur walked back inside. He didn't remember the last time he had eaten breakfast. Like, proper breakfast. Not only coffee or a dry piece of bread. He loved the porridge you had made and enjoyed it even more with the berries. It didn't matter how much stew he had eaten the day before, shortly, coffee, blueberries and porridge had been devoured.

"Y/n", Arthur walked out. His hair had flattened a little and he seemingly had found time to arrange his shirt, "I'd fix that roof of yers, if ya let me."

You looked up surprised from your horse, which now enjoyed the same treatment Arthur’s had.

"You don't have to...I don't want to keep you...", you said, almost mumbling the second part. It wasn't true, because you did want to keep him around. Hell, for the first time in a year, you hadn't felt lonely tonight. Making breakfast felt like it had a meaning, if there was someone around to share it with. The last couple of months, you had barely bothered for trivialities like that.

"I want to", Arthur affirmed.

"Then I won't stop you", you smiled. Arthur turned away to walk to the little shed next to your house, but you added a question before his attention was fully on your roof, "Do you mind if I braid your horse’s mane?"

Arthur saw your big grin, and hell he couldn't deny you anything. If you had asked to keep his horse for good, he might have said yes.

"Won't stop ya", he replied.

The day was filled with chores. After you had tended to both horses, Arthur's now adorned with braids in its mane, you got around to cleaning the aftermath Arthur's roof fixing had inside the cabin. Then you said you were off to fish, taking d/n with you. It took you almost an hour to catch two decently sized fish and when you returned, you found Arthur working on your bedframe. It had been askew as long as you remember and you had gotten used to it, but God, your stomach fluttered when you saw him, expertly working the little saw that had rusted away in your shed.

"Not content with me furniture, are you?", you snorted as you laid the fish on the table.

"Sorry, I jus' thought...", Arthur stuttered and looked up.

"It's fine", you laughed, "Thank you for attempting to fix it."

"I'm not good at those things...or a little out of practice at least", Arthur admitted, stood up to have a look at his handiwork. The bedframe looked even, at least.

"Looks better than before", you smiled kindly. And if the bedframe was to break in two when you first sit on it, it wouldn't matter much. Arthur had cared enough to try and fix it.

His eyes now fell on the two big fish. He looked outside, to find the sun has wandered further than he would have expected, suggesting it was early afternoon.

"I should get going...", Arthur mentioned, more to himself than to you.

"You are telling me this after I caught TWO fish?!", you turned around, arms crossed. It had caught you a little bit off guard. Fishing had allowed some time to daydream and in that hour you had already prepared all the questions you wanted to ask him when you served him lunch. So that came like a punch in the stomach.

"Not because I don't want to stay", Arthur uttered, and you found his expression rather gloomy, "I told everyone I''d be back today...we're gonna hit a big score in two days’ time and I expect they want to go over the plan with me..."

"Oh..."

For a moment you thought about telling him that you'd help with the score, no matter what it was. Honestly, any excuse to be with him, be with other people. But you knew it probably meant running right back into Dutch's trap.

You watched sadly how Arthur gathered his belongings. His hat had found a place on the wardrobe and his jacket was neatly sprawled across the chair. In the span of one single night, everything had found its place like he had meant to stay for longer. But you knew that this was merely wishful thinking. Besides, even though you found your feelings for the man come back, you had to remind yourself that he hadn't reciprocated those feelings before and probably never was going to. Yet, he was a friend and a companion, and that, you reasoned, was enough.

You helped to saddle his horse, Arthur inspected the little braids you had worked into his horse's mane.

"Looks real fine", he mumbled.

"Thank you", you grinned, "I'll do your hair next time if ya ask kindly."

"What? With braids?", Arthur responded, looking at you with a comical expression.

"Sure", you grinned, watching as Arthur completed the final adjustments to secure the saddle and his belongings on his horse. He chuckled warmly at the proposition, as if the idea seemed somewhat absurd, yet there was a chance to convince him otherwise.

"Over my dead body, darl-", Arthur swallowed the last word as if he remembered it wasn't a good idea, "I'll stop by again."

"If you do, send word to Annesburg first and I'll have a meal ready", you said with a smile.

"Sure”, Arthur’s eyes fell on d/n as she excitedly circled him. She wasn’t sure if she was meant to say good-bye or if the saddling of a horse meant that she was to go hunting, but she was happy when pet her again.

“Good girl”, he scratched the dog behind the ears, “Take care of her, will ya? I don’t trust her being able to defend herself when a boar comes to steal some tomatoes off her precious plant.”

Despite it being your dog that he addressed so affectionately, you couldn’t help but blush. However, as you glanced to your tomato plants, you noticed a significant number of fruits missing. Yet, you forced a smile on your face and whispered a “son of a bitch” under your breath.

Arthur sighed happily and mounted his horse.

"Good luck...with the score", you said.

"Thank you. It's Hosea's plan so I don't think we'll need much luck. But I'll take it", Arthur tipped his head and steered his horse away from your little cabin, not without a feeling in his chest that he'd rather stay.

When he had left you far behind, he began to undo the little braids. It wasn't exactly his style, though he couldn’t deny that they were beautiful. Before unravelling each one, he'd take it between his fingers and let it run through them, as if this was an excuse or a way to satisfy the urge to do the same with the fingers that had woven them. When Arthur realised this, he felt like a fool.

"You’re a moron...", he mumbled under his breath. He wasn't sure if he wanted to stay at your place because he envied the way you lived. That you had managed to escape from Dutch's crazy plans which became crazier every week. Or that your cabin was in a secluded and picturesque spot. He could see himself living there by himself. Or with you.

And yet, he had to open the braids because if anyone from the gang saw them, they might recognize your handiwork or realise that Arthur hadn't gone for stealing some pocket money out of idiots’ pocket. By lying to Dutch, he had prevented you to come back and take part in whatever insane score would be next. Arthur was proud of having you kept save, he knew it was the right thing to do. After robbing the bank in Saint Denis, the gang would have more than enough money to make an escape…maybe then he would be able to come back to you.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Next chapter: here

taglist: @photo1030

taglist for this series: @pinkiemme @loveheartarthur @twola @shiokitsune @missredemption @kakashiislut @thewalkingdead1463 @yyiikes @renwai @walk-in-sunshine @rdrlady @ivybeeloved @trinswhimsys @reddedmiller @chiefqueefsosa @sauvignon-velvet @mrsarthurmorgan7

Thanks and kisses to @little-honeypie because we've been cooking this shit up together <3

#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan fanfiction #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #red dead redemption community #rdr fanfiction #rdr #rdr2 #arthur morgan x female reader #rdr2 fanfiction #arthur morgan x fem!reader

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rustedhearts · 3 months

Text

the old house (boxer!steve harrington x librarian fem!reader)

summary: steve's world is shaken when his father unexpectedly dies.

uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

✶ the king of the ring (1995) ✶ record store

✶ the library

tags: death; mention of childhood abuse/trauma; daddy issues; manhandling; grumpy (for good reason) steve; ansgst; hurt/comfort; not edited so ignore any mistakes.

“i would rather not go back to the old house. there’s too many bad memories.”

— back to the old house, the smiths

california, september 1995

LOCAL ATTORNEY FOUND DECEASED IN OFFICE

Sept. 12, 1995

HAWKINS, INIDANA — Local attorney Richard “Rich” Harrington was found dead in his office Thursday evening.

Police dispatched to the office on Main St when his assistant called with concern for his well-being after the phone went unanswered for over 12 hours. When the door to the office was unlocked on arrival, his assistant, Ms. Betty Nesbourne, knew something was wrong.

Emergency services found Mr. Harrington at his desk. Police have confirmed the cause of death was a heart attack.

A well-respected attorney, Richard Harrington had a practice on Main St for 20 years before his death, and won countless cases for those in need in Hawkins. Friends and family recall him as a “kind and loving man.”

Mr. Harrington is survived by his wife, Catherine Harrington and son Steve.

Steve dropped the newspaper on the kitchen table with a sharp slap. His hand came to his eyes to soothe the ache that gathered there, knee bouncing against his chair. His fist rattled where it sat on the placemat next to a vitamin you set out for him. You handed him The Hawkin’s Post—still folded and in its sleeve from delivery—with a kiss on his cheek and a beautiful grin.

He never expected to find this when he opened it.

“Honey, have you seen my Nike hat? I don’t want the sun in my face today,” you called from the top of the stairs, readying yourself for the day.

Steve lifted his head, inhaling sharply. He cleared his throat and pushed his fist against his knee to stop it from jostling.

“Uh…closet probably, baby.”

Your feet scampered away to search, and Steve sighed. His eyes glazed over the letters that made up his father’s name on the inked paper before him. He knew nobody was eternal, that death was inevitable.

For some reason, he never prepared himself for this. For his useless father’s death.

And right now, he wasn’t sure how he felt about it.

He wanted to be angry. Hell, he should have been angry. He had every right after they had the balls to call someone like Richard Harrington “kind and loving.” Anyone that ever came into contact with him knew he was nothing of the sort.

Angry, too, that Steve never had the chance to tell his father how he truly felt about him. That he never had the opportunity to dole out his own form of punishment; the punishment Steve had to endure growing up. Because he was bigger, stronger, grown. He could’ve put his father on his ass in five minutes flat.

But every time he drove past his childhood house, all Steve wanted to do was get sick.

“Honey?”

Steve’s head snapped over toward you peeking around the doorway, donning his favorite jeans that sat a little low on the hips and a tight half shirt You found your Nike hat, and it now sat atop your head. Even how gorgeous you looked couldn’t quell Steve’s sudden confusions.

“Yeah.” Steve cleared his throat again, folding the newspaper again.

“You ready to go? We’re gonna be late if you still wanna stop for smoothies.”

“Comin’,” Steve mumbled, standing from the table.

He took the newspaper with him, staggering toward the bedroom with apparent soreness from a healing bruise. You glanced at the vitamin next to his coffee and rolled your eyes.

Upstairs, Steve shoved the newspaper into one of his shirt drawers and slammed it closed.

✶ ✶

"Everything okay?"

You smoothed your hand over the back of Steve's hair in the Cadillac, top down to let in the beating sun. The wind ruffled his long locks, tickling at his eyes covered with a pair of Ray Bans. He had one hand on the wheel and the other dangling over the door—normally, one parked itself in your lap to roam and massage. It wasn't like him to opt out of touching, even on event days.

"Yeah," Steve replied shortly, pumping the gas to send the car jolting through a barely-green light.

You let your hand rest on his back, skin hot through a thin t-shirt. "Okay...you sure?"

"Yep."

You took your hand away, diamond ring catching a glint of sun on its journey to your lap. You fingered the stone absentmindedly, your next "okay" small and quiet.

The low hum of tires over the road and the occasional click of the turn signal filled what was otherwise an empty car. Sirens, car horns, the whoosh of a gentle, morning breeze.

A convertible of women driving alongside in the opposite lane recognized Steve, and passed him a carful of ecstatic waves. He didn't even acknowledge them. You offered them a smile, but it wouldn't soothe the sting. You knew that disappointment all too well.

Steve zoomed the car up to the curb of your local smoothie bar, slamming the door hard when he got out. He yanked your door open and stepped aside, winding an arm around your shoulders as you stepped onto the street—but it all felt mechanical. You peered up at his expression, and it was entirely vacant. He was pressed up right against you, but he felt lightyears away.

Something was wrong—why didn't he just say so?

He ordered your smoothies and leaned back against an empty table near the wall. You tucked your hands into your back pockets, eyes on the tops of your white tennis shoes. The urge to ask once more what was wrong gnawed at you with need, but you were fearful of his eyes cutting down too hard again. You hadn't been afraid of Steve and his moods in quite a while.

Not since he put this ring on your finger last year.

Attention directed downwards, you were oblivious to the bustling crowds strolling in after morning workouts and vigorous runs—until an elbow swung a little too close to your face, a body knocked backwards by an unsuspecting and friendly shove.

A young boy, no more than eighteen, spun around with pink cheeks and a sheepish grin. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry."

You all but looked away, soaked in shame from what you knew was coming next. Steve pushed off the table behind you, a heavy paw shoved against the younger boy's chest. He teetered off balance, eyes wide on his attacker and the glare marking him victim.

Keeping a sharp eye on the boy, Steve grabbed at you by the bicep and tugged you into him. More mechanical pushes and pulls, more hardwired roughness he worked hard to outgrow. But whatever grieved him, whatever he sat and stewed on, sent him spiraling back into a troubled boy.

Worse than the roughness was the absence of words that accompanied it. The lack of commands or reassurances. Just silent glares and hard-set jaws that said all they needed to say.

Strawberry-banana smoothie freezing cold in your hand, you trailed after Steve with a lump in your throat.

At the arena, he plowed past Big bidding him good morning and stomped straight for the dressing room. The coach's eyes slid over to you, throwing up his hands.

"What crawled up his ass?"

You gave a tiny shrug. "Been like this all morning."

Big huffed, returning to his task of wiping down the ring for morning training. Steve had until two o'clock, then would return home to rest until the fight at eight. You hoped at some point he'd calm down.

"Better get it out of his system before tonight," Big grumbled, shaking his head.

Your silence was agreement, and you hurried to the dressing room to tell Steve just that. When you pushed the door open, you found him seated on the leather bench with his back to the door, staring at his poster on the wall.

Clamping the door closed, you tossed your smoothie into the trash bin and huffed. “What the hell is your problem today?”

He shed his shirt sometime before you came, and the bare muscles of his broad back constricted and flexed as he wound a roll of black tape slowly around his fist. His eyes were steadily fixed on the wall, boring into his own face printed in red. More mechanical movements. More empty thoughts.

“Steve.”

He stopped rolling, a ribbon of unfurled tape dangling over his thigh. In the attached bathroom, an echoed water drip plopped. People were arriving outside, filing in and out of the hall. Conversation hummed through the door.

“Dad died.”

When you drop on a roller coaster, all the adrenaline in your body festers in one spot. It all squirms and sizzles behind your navel, bringing the rest of your body to a cold chill. That very feeling overwhelmed your body now.

“W-what?”

Steve tore his eyes away from the wall and placed them on his hand. “Thursday. Heart attack...found 'im in his office."

Your feet moved on their own accord, taking you to Steve where you knew you needed to be. Your arms collapsed around him, face buried in his neck with a hiccuped sigh. His hands remained limply in his lap, eyes casting a ghostly glance upon the tops of his shoes.

"Oh, Steve," you whispered, mouth squished against his shoulder.

Steve had one photograph of his family in the house. Hidden in a photo album behind a page of high school memories: his father in a grey suit, his mother in a turquoise dress with shoulder pads, fourteen year old Steve wearing a sweater to hide the bruises on his arms. It was his father's birthday, and the only time, Steve said, he pretended to love Steve.

But still, scrawled in a fourteen year old boy's chicken scratch across the back:

Mom, Dad + Me

For a moment, you stood there breathing into him. Feeling the size of his own inhales and exhales expand your arms and close them in. Lips pressed to his warm flesh through crisp cotton, thinned a little with sweat. Feeling him pause every few moments, as though to check that he were still, in fact, breathing.

"Saw it..." Steve paused again, and then deflated with a humorless scoff. "...in the newspaper this morning."

You lifted your mouth from his shoulder, chin pressing down in its place. Your adjusted your arms to tighten around him, cheek leaning into his. He was so warm, so suddenly small.

It suddenly occurred to both of you in this moment that his mother had no way to contact him. Even if she wanted to call, she hadn't had his phone number since he turned eighteen.

He scribbled it on a torn piece of paper the day he moved out and tucked it in her drawer. For months, he waited for her call. It never came.

"Isn't that fuckin' ridiculous?" Steve shook his head, a sigh shot through his nose.

You rubbed you hand over his chest, eyes sinking shut. "Jesus, Steve."

Are you okay? was the obvious next line of questioning, but it seemed silly in this moment. Of course he wasn’t. Steve might not have loved his father, might not have known the person he’d become (or stayed) the past ten years, but that didn’t make this any less painful. In fact, it likely made it more painful. To have your father die without truly knowing the man.

"Should I talk to Mikey? See if they can push—"

"What? No," Steve huffed, head craning closer to yours. "M' gonna fight."

You recoiled enough to meet his eye, brows furrowed at the determination in his gaze. "Are you sure?”

Steve clasped a big, warm hand over your own. A gentle pat, a barely-pressed squeeze. His eyes turned away, and he stood to his feet.

“Gonna head out. Stay close, ‘kay?”

He staggered toward the door, and you whirled around. “Wait, Steve—“

The door clamped shut, and the buzz of florescent light was all that filled the quiet.

✶ ✶

He fought, just like he said he would. You sat erectly in your front row position, every breath inhaled held too long in your chest. Your nails pierced divots into your palm from tightly clenched fists. Your legs hadn’t stopped bouncing against the seat.

Every bloody blow had you wincing, each narrowly-dodged swing pulling a gasp. By the fourth round, Steve was staggering to his corner and spitting an alarming amount of blood into his bucket. His left brow split open again. It took the gentlest of taps to rip the skin that never healed correctly. He’d probably need stitches, like he always did.

Under Big’s words screaming at him and a cloth firmly pressed into his wound, Steve’s eyes were empty. Glazed over, mouth lolled open, shoulders slumped forward. It wasn’t his usual huffing, brutish, bull-like performance. It was instinctual, but free of thought.

Right now, you knew Steve wasn’t there. He was in his head, far away in a mess of thoughts. The blinding lights, the frenzied crowd, your own worried face watching him—none of it even registered to him.

The bell dinged, and back in he went. His punches held half the weight, half the power and drive. His dodges and sweeping side steps were stuttered and skipped. It was a dangerous game to play, and sickening to watch. You had every urge to run in front of his opponent and block the next swing, knowing Steve would let it hit him where it hurt.

But you sat where you were, nibbling on the skin around your nails, stamping your heel vigorously on the arena floor. It felt like waiting a lifetime just for that victory bell to ring.

It came out narrowly in Steve's favor. Sculpted arm a limp, weak thing in the referee's hold, drooling blood down his chest. His eyes found a spot on the floor and never left it.

Not until he trudged his way to the dressing room, and he found you seated on the bench. His eyes lifted from the ground and peered into you: blown-wide and still bleary, but alarmed in a harrowing way. A breath shuddered through his cheeks, escaping him with bloodied spittle that rolled down his chin.

They hadn't stitched him up yet. Boils of blood beaded along his cheek and temple, splattered across his chest. His gloves were looped together and strung around his neck. They were the first thing you removed when you stepped forward.

"Hey," you greeted softly. Steve followed your movements silently, blinks slow and staggered. "You did good, baby."

He swallowed, and it came with winced difficulty. A little wheezed, a little struggled where his nose bent from crushing force. He'd need it set again. It sat in a bulging, crimson aggravation in the center of his face. Everything about him was puffed up, bleeding, and pulsing with pain.

But he was the smallest he'd ever been.

"You gotta get stitched up, baby," you whispered, manicured thumb wiping through a smudge of blood on his cheek.

His hands smoothed over your hips, tongue darting out to lick over the split in his lip. "In a minute," he mumbled.

His steps forward sent you backward, guided blindly toward the bench again. You sat instantly, hands braced on his arms still buzzing with heat and adrenaline. You had only a moment to glaze over the state of him before his head fell forward against your chest.

"Oh," you gasped, warmed immediately by the damp heat of his head and the weight of him pressing into you. "Oh, hey, baby, it's okay."

Arms looped around his shoulders, you let your cheek fall atop his head, pushing past the salty, musky scent wafting from the heat of him. Comforting him was the only thing that mattered right now.

Steve's fists pressed into the bench, bookended on either side of your body. His cheek squished against the cotton of your dress, staining the fabric with the blood weeping from his severed flesh.

On the other side of the door, shoes squeaked over polished floors in a bustle to get somewhere. There was an order of things after a fight, necessities and niceties that needed to be carried out. Right now, as you smoothed your fingers through his dripping hair and massaged the knots in his back, you knew Steve wouldn't be doing any of them.

"He'll never know me," Steve mumbled into your skin.

You sighed, eyes sinking closed. The ache that festered in your chest, you knew, was no match for his.

"He didn't deserve to."

On the other side of the door, cameras waited to click Steve's photograph. Fans waited for autographs, his coach waited for a celebration, his manager waited to plead for another endorsement. It was a money-hungry, vain soulless scheme.

In this room, pressed against your familiar frame, Steve knew the only real thing in this world was right here under him.

#rolly!#boxer!steve harrington #steve harrington #steve harrington angst #steve harrington hurt/comfort #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington au #king steve #steve stranger things #steve harrington x y/n fluff #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington series #steve the hair harrington

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hotvintagepoll · 2 months

Text

Propaganda

Hermione Baddeley (Brighton Rock, Passport to Pimlico, Mary Poppins)— An absolute mainstay of British films from this period. She’s an icon who never takes shit from anyone in any of her movies, dresses for the occasion, and has the best line delivery! Also she started out in silent movies, and was a close friend of Noel Coward. In a desperate attempt to appeal to a large tumblr fandom, I will also point out that her first husband and one of her children were both called David Tennant. You like that name, don’t you tumblr??

Glynis Johns (Mary Poppins, The Court Jester)—LISTEN, I'd let that woman's voice with all its gravely hoarseness (positive) wash over me all goddamn day, but if that's not enough she managed to play the straight woman to Danny Kaye's jester, all with her cleavage so plunging it might as well have been catapulted into the ocean right after Basil Rathbone

This is round 1 of the bracket. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Glynis Johns propaganda:

She walks the line between sexy and cute. Her best role for me is in "The Court Jester as Maid Jean. She's fantastic as the soft but tough captain of the outlaw band and she looks stunning in every gown she wears throughout the film. And of course we can't forget her iconic turn as the suffragette mother, Mrs. Banks, in Mary Poppins! Also shoutout to her distinctive and beautiful voice, kind of smoky and husky. Extremely hot and set her apart from many of her peers."

"Listen, listen. I was raised on Mary Poppins and "Votes for women! (step in time)" single-handedly taught me how to be a feminist. Also The Court Jester is one of my favourite movies of all time and she is UNBELIEVABLY gorgeous, charismatic, funny, and clever in it. She knocks several men out. Absolute icon."

"Like Bette Davis she has eyes to die for. Unlike Bette Davis you felt comforted by them, even when she was batting her eyelashes at you. Would glady go to Downing Street with her and throw things at the Prime minister"

"She had this wonderful wit and charm to her no matter the role and the most distinctive, striking voice!"

"She was amazing in Mary Poppins (the Suffragette song is severely underrated) and apparently she was Welsh? National pride! And she advocated for arts funding in Wales, which is very cool. Also, she died recently (RIP) making her one of the last survivors of the Golden Age of Hollywood, according to Wikipedia. Also also, she just has a cheeky energy I like? And her eyes are beautiful!"

"I mean, incredibly beautiful and talented, can do drama can do comedy. And she was a mermaid."

"I love Glynis Johns. Most of the reason is The Court Jester where she's a sensible and capable foil to whatever what going on with Danny Kaye at the time. She was also the first star I based an OC on. An OC that I still have to this day! Anyway here have some YouTube links love u bye"

Mermaid clip: https://www.youtube.com/shorts/1jUEA03mYTk

Court Jester (sharing a bed trope): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5d_qG9i054U

Court Jester (seducing the king): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C-GuqFYElKg

"VOTES FOR WOMEN! Well, votes for this woman. Please."

Hermione Baddeley propaganda:

Propaganda for both Hermione and Glynis:

youtube

#glynis johns #hermione baddely #mary poppins #hotvintagepoll #ladies 1 #fuck that old woman #Youtube

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jeansplaytoy · 9 months

Text

Complaining - Ony. 2

<<part one part three>>

you and ony broke up two weeks ago because he cheated on you.

language, ymir bein a lil lesbian stud :), sexual references, mentions of cheating.

“y/n? oh, cheated on her.”

“ony? that nigga a lame.”

that’s the way you talked about each other. did you mean it? kind of… sometimes. but other times you just wanted to know why he did what he did, like what other bitch could be any better than you?

and him on the other hand, deep down, he wished you would get with another nigga. you can flirt, talk, do anything you wanted, but he knew the minute you got into a relationship, it was gonna be over by the end of the week.

or that’s what normally happened.

you’d end things right then and there with ony and he’d end up back with you two seconds later. you don’t know if it was because he was manipulating or gaslighting you, or if it was just because you were too dumb to realize that the same things were gonna keep happening, and there was no way you were gonna just end it like that.

but apparently, he had a new girlfriend. and you had no one.

that wasn’t a bad thing though, not in your mind. because at the end of the day, he wouldn’t find anyone else better than you.

“look at they miserable asses. acting like they the power couple of the century.” you mumbled while sitting beside mikasa with your feet hanging in the pool. mikasa pulled her shades up and raised her eyebrows. “girl they look so fucking stupid.” she whispered and looked at you. “you really think he hitting that poor shit every night?” she frowned.

“i don’t know but her shit ain’t wetter than mines.” you grinned a little at your own joke. mikasa laughed. “he really got with the girl he cheated on you with. what dumbass boy does that shit?” she shook her head.

“one named ony. i bet she think she got one up on me the way she be giving me stares and shit.” you said, looking back into the pool where everyone splashed and swam.

“oh yeah she definitely don’t like yo ass.” mikasa said, softly kicking her feel in the blue, glowing water. “but at the same time, who the fuck cares?” she laughed with you.

it was obvious ony talked about you to her, the way she would post on her instagram stories about how ‘i’m better than his last😘’ and ‘feel bad for who he dated before me, this mf really fun.’ not to mention the way she talked about you when you went through those messages two weeks ago. you should’ve found her ass at that exact moment.

but with some help from ya home girl, ymir, you found her insta real quick. turns out she was already following you, you just ain’t follow her back.

you stood up, tapping mikasas shoulder. “i wanna smoke some weed.” you said. mikasa nodded and followed you inside the house. “where is this woman?” you squinted while trying to make your way through everyone. you went over to the second living room of the house and saw ymir, slouched on the couch, with a freshly rolled joint in her hand.

you smiled, grabbing mikasas hand and leading her over. “there go yo man.” you smiled while pointing at jean. mikasa rolled her eyes and walked over to the couch across from the one you were gonna sit at, to sit beside jean.

“heyyy ymir.” you nudged ymir’s head a little before sitting on her lap. she wore a black shirt with grey sweatpants, eyes traveling down your body before she looked back up at you.

“y/n, i just rolled this shit.” she said. you held your index and thumb finger up, waiting for her to pass the blunt to you. and she did. “and why you always sitting on me?” she frowned, sitting up a little. “cus you gay as hell, and i am too.” you joked, taking a hit of her blunt and exhaling.

you and ymir didn’t completely have feelings for each other, not literally. but you’d flirt with her from time to time just as she did with you. it was really a normal thing for you to be all up on her anywhere you went, unless you were in a relationship, she’d have to keep her hands off of you because she didn’t wanna have to beat a boys ass just because she was touchy with you. it was just a fun little thing you did.

but she put her hand around your waist, moving you off of her lap and beside her instead, keeping her hand where it was.

“you and ony talkin again?” she asked, waiting for you to pass her back what she rolled up. “hell no, cus he got a girlfriend.” you said. “say on god.” connie said from behind you with a towel hanging off his shoulder. “i don’t put things on god connie. you his bestfriend, i thought you knew.” you said, giving ymir her blunt back.

“he ain’t tell me shit.” connie shook his head, drinking from a cup he had. “bro why y’all gotta be so gay all the time?” jean squinted at you and ymir. “it ain’t like we actually like each other jean. we just be playing.” you mumbled, adjusting your bikini a little.

“we gon move on from the fact that he got wit’ another girl right after y’all broke up?” ymir said while staring at her phone that was practically in your lap, because her arm was still around you.

“naw, it’s good. he can keep that girl.” you laughed a little while shaking your head. “what girl?” eren frowned, walking up to the group. to your surprise, ony wasn’t too far behind him. when eren looked at you, he glanced back at them before making an ‘o’ with his lips. “ohhh.” he whispered before sitting down.

“hey.” onys girlfriend waved at everyone. almost everyone stared at her except for connie and jean who thought it would at least be polite.

“you his girlfriend?” connie frowned and tilted his head a little. “onys? yeah.” she smiled and nodded. connie hummed and nodded. “that’s cool, thats cool.” he mumbled, clearing his throat before looking at jean.

you could tell jean wanted to laugh, which made you, mikasa, and ymir wanna laugh. but you being you, slipped up a little, letting out a soft chuckle.

the girl looked at you with raised eyebrows and resting eyes. “hm?” she hummed in question. you looked at her. “what? oh, nothing.” you said before looking at ony who stared at you. you could tell he was pissed off at the way you were acting already, but he faintly laughed before sitting his girlfriend down.

“i’ll be back, left sum upstairs earlier.”

you knew he was lying like a bitch. that’s why you waited about three minutes after he left to act like you had to pee.

you made your way upstairs, glancing back to gain an odd stare from his girlfriend. you stared back before walking through the second floor, finding where he went.

opening every unlocked door, regretting some of them before you finally found him, with another girl. “damn, and you got a whole female downstairs that she don’t even know about.” you said while standing by the doorway. he pushed the girl off of his lap and led her towards the door.

“hold up.” he mumbled to her before dragging you in the room. you stopped and looked back at him with a frown.

“what the fuck is wrong wit’cho ass?” he squinted while closing the door. “what’s wrong wit me, nigga what’s wrong wit you? yo ass brought this random bitch around the group and don’t nobody like her.” you pointed towards the door to signal that you were talking exactly about his new girl.

“nah, ain’t nobody got a problem with nothing but you.” ony frowned at you.

“maybe if you kept yo eyes off of me so much, you’d see the way the rest of the group was looking at her. now ion know what you thought you did when you went to her and cheated on me, but nigga you downgraded. hella bad.” you said before pushing past him and making your way out the door.

ony stared at you as you left, eyes forcing themselves down your body. holding his stare on the way your thighs and ass moved when you walked, he rolled his eyes, dragging his hands down his face.

“fuckkk.” he whispered.

this was so lame 🙄🙄🙄 anyways i hope u liked it, posted it early just for u!

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laviefantasie · 4 months

Text

It Kinda Makes Sense

Pairings: Alive!Luke Patterson x Alive!Reader

Summary: Los Feliz High School, the best school for future actors, singers, or any kind of artists. Home to the top couple formed by Luke Patterson, the perfect boy soon-to-be rockstar, and Y/N Y/L/N, troubled goth girl with the voice of an angel. A match make in heaven... or hell.

{ BASED ON VICTORIOUS’ JADE AND BECK }

| MASTERLIST |

If you asked Julie Molina what had been her first thought once she had stepped foot on Los Feliz she would say it had been... confusing.

The school was beautiful, with bright blue lockers decorated in unbelievable ways to adolescents dressed as bright blue bobcats. It was truly a sight.

The other thing that was a sight was the group of students that captured most of the other teenagers’ attention. Especially two teens who happened to be having what appeared to be a screaming battle. Screaming battle that ended once ice e/c eyes found Julie’s across the hallway.

“Lost something, shorty?” The unknown girl snaps, “MIND YOUR BUSINESS!”

Her words had caused the boy she had previously been fighting with to sigh in shame before looking her way.

Julie’s breath got stuck in her throat.

The boy was beautiful. Scratch that, he was handsome. Untaimed brown hair with wild hazel —maybe green— eyes, the boy could be anyone’s dream boy.

“Y/N, could you not?”

Julie’s brown eyes move to the girl glaring daggers at her only to have her heart skip a beat. The girl —Y/N apparently— was breathtakingly beautiful. She had wavy h/c hair with some dark blue streaks that matched her skin color perfectly and powerful e/c eyes.

Said girl rolls her eyes before glaring at Julie once more before focusing once again on the pretty boy besides her.

“Fine. I won’t. But this conversation is over”

“We haven’t even had the conversation!” The boy argues back.

“And it’s over!”

The dark-dressed girl stomps off leaving the boy groaning in frustration. Julie taking that opportunity to check out the rest of the group.

With her back pressed to a locker decorated with different colorful fabrics stood a light brown haired girl —could be dark blonde— with brown eyes dressed in a beautiful pink dress and black heels to match. She seemed to be debating whether to follow her friend or staying still.

Besides her was a dark-haired boy with sky blue eyes standing out thanks to his pale skin. He was wearing a leather jacket on top of a white shirt, with a red flannel tied on his waist, and black jeans. His eyes glued to the floor.

Lastly, there was the blond boy with a pink hoodie and blue —sometimes green— eyes. He seemed to be pretty used to what had just happened.

The blond one is the one who noticed her still staring at them, offering a sweet smile before walking towards her and stretching his hand.

“Hi, I’m Alex. I’ve never seen you before”

She grabs his hand with a small smile, “Julie. I’m new”

Her name seems to snap the leather jacket boy from his trance, his bright blue eyes soon finding hers with a big smile adorning his features.

“You’re the girl that sang for Flynn on the school’s talent show! I’m Reggie”

Julie blushes as soon as he speaks, everyone’s eyes staring at her with realization and a little of awe.

“Flynn is my best friend, I just wanted to help her out”

“Well, it worked for you. You got a scholarship” pretty boy adds, “I’m Luke”

Julie cannot help the way her smile grows as soon as he smirks at her. He seriously had to be the most gorgeous boy she had ever seen.

The pretty light brown haired girl with the pink dress joins her friends in greeting her, Julie blushing under the vibrant smile she gives her.

“Hi! I’m Carrie”

Julie goes to grab her hand but the girl —Carrie— pulls her in for a hug. The gesture has Julie’s shoulders tensing, she hadn’t willingly hug anyone after her mother’s death a few months ago, but she soon forced herself to relax.

This was a new start. No pity stares or whispers directed at her.

“It’s nice to meet you guys”

After that meeting the curly-haired girl became a part of their weird group of friends. Soon learning that the beauty ice queen dressed in all black was Y/N Y/L/N, Los Feliz High School’s prodigy and Luke’s girlfriend.

It was no secret that the girl was talented, but she was as talented as scary. Julie hadn’t listened too much of everyone’s warnings, she was sure it was all because of how she dressed and acted and not at all for the kind of person she truly was.

Boy, was she wrong.

She learned that the hard way after getting a role on a play Y/N wanted. A role that played Luke’s romantic interest.

She had ended up one rehearsal with hot coffee thrown at her and icy e/c eyes glaring daggers at her with a sweet —fake— smile. Luke’s apologies were not enough to calm the humiliation Julie felt.

And even if the brown-haired latina wasn’t fond of vengeance, she couldn’t stop herself. And if she kissed Luke longer than necessary after sending a wink the goth girl’s way, it was a mere coincidence.

A coincidence that resulted in her having to watch her back every time she stepped on school’s property.

But things did get better with time and Julie and Y/N became kinda friends. At least enough for Y/N to tolerate Julie and for Julie to not be afraid to sit close to the scissors fanatic.

They were okay. As okay as someone could be with the girl who kissed the other’s boyfriend. But okay nevertheless.

But the more time she spent at the school and the closer she got to all of them, the more she doubted the health of Luke’s and Y/N’s relationship. Today being one of those days.

“What are you saying?!”

“I’m just saying, what kind of friend sends you eight messages in a lapse of five minutes?!”

As soon as the words leave the screaming girl’s mouth, Luke’s phone rings signaling the arrival of another text message making Y/N’s glare darken.

“Nine” she growls.

“You don’t even know if it’s from her!”

Y/N glares at him in disbelief, “Okay! Then prove me wrong!”

With a scoff, Luke gets his phone out before checking the recipient of the message only to let out a sigh that proves his girlfriend right.

“Nine?”

He nods in defeat, “Nine. B-but this is ridiculous! She is my FRIEND”

“How naive are you?!”

The couple fights for a couple more minutes before Luke’s gaze finds Julie in front of her butterfly and music doodles decorated locker. The rockstar grabbing his girl’s hand before tugging her towards the latina.

“Julie!”

Her brown eyes find the couple, widening when they see the coldness in Y/N’s eyes before trying to make a run for it.

She doesn’t make it far as Luke’s hand grabs a hold of her wrist keeping her in place.

“We need your help”

“No, we don’t” Y/N argues back.

“YES, we do”

Julie looks at her surroundings looking for a way to get out of there but finding nothing. Where was Alex when she needed him?

“Guys, I really don’t want to be in the middle of whatever this is”

She tries to leave but once again Luke pulls her back, “Too late. If you were my girlfriend—”

“HA! What a perfect way to start”

Luke glares at his girlfriend for the interruption before turning towards Julie once again, failing to notice how uncomfortable the situation was making the latina.

Somehow she was once again in between them, although this time it wasn’t her fault.

“If you were my girlfriend” he starts again, “Would it bother you if I was friends with Kayla?”

“Who cares what she thinks?” / “Honestly, it would”

Both girls speak simultaneously. Y/N’ eyes widening as soon as the Latina’s words register, grabbing a hold of the girl’s shoulders to keep her in place.

“I care what she says” Y/N smiles.

“I want to leave” Julie adds before trying to move only for Y/N’s hold to tighten.

“You stay” she barks.

The argument wasn’t unlike many others, Y/N’s temper wasn’t the best and that meant she sometimes got too jealous. It didn’t help that Luke Patterson didn’t know when to say no nor know the difference between friendly and flirty.

It was just another Luke and Y/N argument, nothing to worry about. Except it was different. Julie realized that as soon as Y/N let go of her and started walking away.

“We’re DONE”

The words had everyone in the hallway quiet down and stare at the ‘it’ couple. Eyes settled on Luke’s surprised reaction and Y/N’s tensed body.

“Come on” Luke voices “You’re being ridiculous”

“What do you care?!” She screams back before starting to leave, “You’re not my boyfriend anymore”

Word around the school traveled fast and soon girls were following Luke around begging for his attention, much to his annoyance.

On the other hand, every time a guy tried to get near Y/N she would turn her icy glare at them and have them running away in seconds.

It was a weird and new situation. Especially at lunch. It was weird seeing the former couple sitting on opposite sides of the table instead of at the side of the other with Luke’s arm resting on Y/N’s shoulders.

It was new territory to have Luke inevitably —as a habit— reach for Y/N only to have her snap at him to not touch her, just as she did to everyone else.

But that was what they had to deal with for two weeks.

Two weeks is how long it took for Y/N to ask Luke to take her back only to have him reject her. Two weeks that made Y/N go crying to Julie’s house, the only one of her friends —not really her friend— whose opinion mattered much less than the others.

“What are you doing in my house?” Is the first thing that Julie says as she sees the other girl.

Y/N gets into the house without waiting for an invitation before starting to sob, Julie standing there in panic as she sees the cold hearted teenager break down.

The latina tries to go for a hug only to be pushed back.

“I need your help”

A long talk later, Y/N convinced the Molina girl to help her get Luke back. Somehow, Julie had the fantastic idea that she had to change.

Y/N Y/L/N was a time bomb. Always ready to explode without a care on who she takes down. That had to change.

Julie realized then that the girl was truly in love with Luke. Y/N was letting her —Julie Molina— see her cry her eyes out just to ask for help to get him back. She was letting Julie give her a makeover just to get him back.

She was truly in love.

The next day at school everyone stared wide-eyed at the beauty that was Y/N Y/L/N in a colorful outfit and a wide smile —though it was a fake one—.

Everyone except Luke. The brunette boy stared at his former girlfriend with furrowed eyebrows not liking the change, his expression not changing even when Alex and Reggie complimented her.

He also couldn’t help the glares he sent any boy who came to flirt with her, his glares darkening every time she flirted back. This was not his girl and he knew whose fault it was.

His now dark green eyes find Julie’s proud smile across the hall and soon he stomps towards her, grabbing her by the arm before taking her to the janitor’s closet.

“What did you do to Y/N?”

Julie furrows her eyebrows in confusion as she sees the angry look the guitarist is giving her, but soon smirks as she confuses it with jealousy.

“What? Jealous of the attention she is receiving?”

“Actually, I’m mad that she is receiving the attention for dressing like a Barbie” he argues back, “That is not her, that is not the girl I love”

Julie’s eyes widen after the boy’s words before he storms off, leaving her with an unexpected knowledge.

The latina goes to look for Y/N as soon as she snaps out of her trance only to find said girl in the bathroom back in her black clothes while doing her dark eyeshadow.

“Wha—ho—I’m confused”

“Being nice sucks” she answers as she finishes her makeup, “Thanks for the help but, if I can be honest, I was better without it”

“Bu— and Luke?”

“If he ever wants to get back together it has to be with me, the real me. Not a version of me dressed in awfully ridiculous clothes”

“Those were my clothes”

“Exactly my point”

With that Y/N walks out of the bathroom ignoring the looks that followed her figure, leaving Julie once again at loss of words.

A week after, Luke and Y/N were back together and closer than ever. But the honeymoon phase faded and the fights started once again. But Julie learned to see the beauty in their arguments.

Every argument got Luke out of his perfectly peaceful demeanor and got him to voice his thoughts out more, it helped him stand up more for himself. And every argument showed the depth of Y/N’s feelings for the guitarist, it showed how much she cared.

It’s just that sometimes they didn’t know when to stop arguing.

Of course now Julie wasn’t blind to their little moments. The way Y/N always stopped when Luke asked her to or how Luke always kissed the girl’s temple sweetly.

Or how when Bobby —Sunset Curve’s (which was the boys’ band) rhythm guitarist (who she hadn’t met)— left the boys, it was Y/N who approached the curly-haired girl thinking she was the perfect fit for the remake of the band.

It was Y/N, who barely tolerated her, who adviced them to change the band’s name as they changed their sound slightly. Julie and the Phantoms, had been her idea after the boys ghosted the girls on the group chat.

Julie knew the only reason why Y/N had done that was because she knew how much the band meant to Luke.

She wasn’t blind to how Luke would only ever snap when it was to protect Y/N, even if he knew she was perfectly capable of doing it herself. Or how he always bought a hot chocolate with his coffee for her.

With time, Julie realized it kinda made sense why they were together even when she couldn’t quite completely understand it.

But soon the fights started again, this time worst than ever. It was different because instead of bickering until one gave in, neither seemed interested enough in fighting.

It worried all of them because their fights —as annoying as they sometimes were— showed how much each cared. Now it seemed they didn’t.

To be completely fair, Julie understood if anyone outside their group saw the relationship as toxic. She had seen it as toxic once. But it just made sense in a weird way. It just made sense for the kind of people they were, they complemented one another.

But this time the fights were just too much. That’s why when the traditional friend group game night happen, Y/N and Luke weren’t invited.

Carrie —Y/N’s undoubted best friend— was sick of fainting every time she got stuck in the middle, the innocent and kind girl couldn’t take the stress.

Reggie, the boyish teenager with the purest heart ever, didn’t want to cry anymore. He couldn’t handle the screaming and that’s all the couple did.

Alex, on the other hand, was tired of having to grab his asthma medicine every time they appeared. The fights making him get too anxious which always caused him a panic attack which led to his inability to breathe which led to an asthma attack.

No one could take it anymore.

So they decided to have an evening free of them, one well deserved. But it didn’t work as planned as the couple stormed into Julie’s home half an hour after everyone started playing Monopoly.

“See! Told you they’d be here”

Y/N rolls her eyes, “So? What does it matter if they’re at dumbass’ house?”

Julie rolls her eyes at the insult but nevertheless listens closely to the couple, all her friends groaning in annoyance at the interruption.

“It matters because our friends, our best friends, don’t want to be near us anymore!” He argues “Doesn’t this bother you?”

“Not really” she shrugs, “Should it? Wait... does it bother you?”

“It does! They’re our best friends and they can’t stand us”

Y/N crosses her arms across her chest before turning to glare at their friends, Carrie hiding under the table with a shriek as soon as she sees her best friend gaze at her.

Seeing the icy glare that the girl throws at them, Reggie shakily takes a deep breath before standing up and looking at them with annoyance.

“Yes! We can’t stand either of you!” He shouts, “We wanted a day free of you both because all you ever do is fight! And, somehow, you always seem to drag us to the middle of it. We’re tired!”

As soon as Reggie finishes, the dark-haired boy sits down with a huff. His shoulders feeling less tense as he let out his emotions.

The couple watched their best friends with mixed feelings, neither expecting the outburst and much less from Reggie. Reggie who had always been one to avoid conflict.

“I cannot believe this” Luke sighs “Reggie snapped at us. REGGIE”

“This is you fault!” She accuses “How hard is it to just agree with me?!”

“BUT I DON’T AGREE WITH YOU”

“BECAUSE YOU ARE WRONG”

The four friends sighed in defeat as they listened to the couple bicker once more with one another, how had a fun night turned to a nightmare all of a sudden?

They silently decided to just stay in their seats waiting for the couple to stop the nonsense as they always did.

“WHAT BOTHERS YOU SO MUCH?!”

“THAT I AM NOT HAPPY WITH OUR RELATIONSHIP!”

The words cut through Y/N’s strong façade in a second, the glare faltering as Luke’s eyes widen after realizing what he had said.

No one dared move nor say anything. Everyone had their eyes on the couple that seemed to be coming to terms with how bad the situation had become.

“Fine” she sighs in defeat “You have a choice. I’m walking out that door and counting to ten, if you’re not out before I finish we are DONE”

Luke sighs frustrated as he watches her leave, the door closing with a thud behind her.

“One”

He stays still on his place with his fists clenching as he fights the urge to run to her and scream at her what was the reason for this ultimatum.

“Two”

Luke knows he needs to calm down. He has to. He had to if he wanted to be able to go after her without fighting as soon as he saw her.

“Three”

Y/N counted behind the door, staring at it with nerves as she asks herself how he could take so long to come after her. What was taking him so long to decide that she was worth going after?

“Four”

The four friends behind Luke stare with wide eyes as they try to figure out what is it that the brunette is going to do.

They want him to go after her. Carrie, Reggie, and Alex more than Julie. The three best friends had been there throughout all the relationship. They had seen Luke be the only one brave enough to pursue the cruel beauty. They had seen Y/N being the only one that cared more about Luke’s heart than his looks.

They knew how much this relationship was worth. Even with all the fights, they knew the love the two had for one another was deeper than any outsider could understand at first sight.

He had to go after her.

“Five”

Luke sighs looking towards his friends once before deciding what he wants to do. He can’t lose her, no matter how much they fight.

No one understood him like she did. No one cared enough to tell him when he was wrong or to fight with him until he fought for what he wanted.

“Six”

Y/N feels her eyes widen as she realizes how much time he is taking. It should’ve been easy, he shouldn’t have even let her count to three.

He should’ve opened the door the second she closed it.

“Seven”

Sighing, Luke starts slowly making his way towards the door. His best friends sighing in relief as they see him do it.

Julie, though, watches closely as the boy’s shoulders tense the closer he gets.

“Eight”

Carrie furrows her eyebrows once she sees Luke starting to halt in his steps. She knew Y/N better than anyone, Y/N had been the only one willing to take the ‘obnoxious naive superstar’s daughter’ under her wing and be completely honest with her.

She knows better than anyone that if Luke lets her walk away just like her father let her mother walk away with her, that’ll break her.

“Nine”

Luke grabs a hold of the handle but for some reason he can’t bring himself to turn it and open the door.

Something feels wrong about opening it, almost as wrong as it feels to not open it.

He is scared of what it means if he opens it, or how easily he gives in. Something had to change. Maybe he needed to let her walk away, Y/N always came back. She would go to his house in the middle of the night and they would fix everything.

It would be okay, they would be okay. They always were. This was no difference, they just needed some time to think, to breathe.

So he doesn’t turn the knob.

“Ten”

Y/N feels her heart stop the moment she screams the last number. She feels her heart sink to her stomach as a feeling of abandonment settles in her.

She feels her skin pale and soon reaches for the knob, but she doesn’t allow herself to touch it. He made his choice.

So with every ounce of strength she could find within her, Y/N turns around and makes her way to her car knowing that he could catch a ride with Alex. The tears started accumulating in her e/c eyes but she didn’t let them fall.

Y/N Y/L/N didn’t cry. She wasn’t about to start... at least not in a place where someone could see her.

Inside the Molina’s household, the best friends stare at Luke in disbelief, neither knowing what to say or do now. The Patterson boy makes the decision for them.

“Let’s play some Monopoly”

The statement has everyone else following his movements in silence, knowing better than to act against him.

Carrie, though, is the one that finally breaks the silence as she lets out a quiet sob. She was angry, mainly at herself for not being able to go after her best friend. But she knew better. Y/N was a person who protected her feelings more than anything else, she was in pain and she wouldn’t let it out if someone was watching her. So Carrie had to stay on her seat even if she wanted to run after her.

“You hurt her” whispered the sweet teenager, “I trusted you, she trusted you, with her heart and you hurt it”

It was at that moment, with Carrie’s pretty brown eyes filled with tears as she glared at him with all her willpower, that Luke realized how wrong he had been. He thought it would be okay but Carrie’s reaction proved him wrong.

Carrie showed him that this time was different from the others. If the sweet girl willingly glared at him with so much betrayal than it meant that Y/N wasn’t gonna go to his house at midnight.

It meant he had lost her.

Still, as Luke realized that, he stayed on his seat staring intently at the fake money in his hands. He couldn’t change what he had done.

“Let’s start”

The following weeks were a pain for the group of friends. The group had to divide their time between the former couple and it was exhausting.

But things got better and after a couple of months Y/N and Luke started sitting at the same table with their friends once again. It brought some relief to the group.

The hurt from the breakup still pained them though. Y/N was not used to watching so many girls flirt with Luke and watching him flirt back, and Luke was not used to Y/N moving away from his touch while also enjoying the way some guys’ eyes linger on her figure.

Things had changed and it pained them both, but they were finally okay. As okay as they could be at least.

They still loved each other, but they became good at pretending. Soon three months became five and five became seven. And things were okay, they were friends again without any awkwardness surrounding the group.

Still, Julie was sure she wasn’t the only one who noticed the love they still had for the other. It was the little things. The way their eyes lingered on the other when they thought no one was looking, the smiles they faked to play the part; all signs of how much they still loved the other. Even after everything.

So it did come as a surprised when Y/N announced she had a date.

Apparently some senior that participated on the play with her had the balls to ask her out. And she said yes.

While everyone congratulated the mean girl, Luke made some excuse to leave the table while everyone tried to stop themselves from asking the questions that they new neither of the former couple wanted to answer.

‘Are you okay?’ ‘Do you still love her/him?’

Neither wanted to be asked that because the answers broke them. They weren’t okay. They still were in love with one another.

They were afraid they would never stop being in love with the other.

But neither had to say it. All their friends knew it, because they knew them. That’s why no one was surprised when Julie and the Phantoms was saved by Y/N on their concert at a cafe the night of her date.

The girl had screamed at them for keeping the presentation a secret, the band excusing themselves with the thought of not wanting her to miss her date —although they didn’t want to give her the opportunity to bring her date with her to their concert since that would break Luke.

Either way, they boys’ amps had stopped working and in a panic Julie had texted Carrie. Carrie had been helping Y/N get ready and said girl had grabbed her amps and drove them both to the small cafe.

Date completely forgotten without a care.

“You didn’t have to miss your date for this” Luke tells her softly.

She looks at him as if he had lost his mind, “This is your band, Patterson”

Luke’s heart feels heavy in his chest as he realizes the depth behind her words. This was his band and that meant it meant something to her. It meant as much to her as it did to him because it was his.

The brunette boy feels a smile overtake his features along with a small blush, wanting nothing more than to kiss her right there.

But he didn’t. Instead he kissed her cheek.

Y/N’s eyes widened in surprise and soon her perfect skin started acquiring a deep scarlet, which she hid by hurrying Carrie to go find some seats.

If that night Luke sang looking at her too often, then damn him. Who could blame him? Y/N had just giving him more reasons to love her.

After that neither tried to date again. They were silently pining after one another, too afraid to make a move considering the way things ended between them.

But Julie grew tired of it and soon started bugging them to date other people if they weren’t going to date one another.

That’s why when Luke was rejecting Kayla’s date, Julie intervened.

“Sorry, Kayla” he apologizes, “I have rehearsal with the band”

“No, we don’t” Julie smiles “Actually, why don’t you guys come to the concert the school is holding together?”

Luke glared at the talented singer before fake smiling towards the Hawaiian beauty who agreed instantly.

Though once Kayla is out sight, Luke grabs Julie’s arm and pulls her towards the janitor’s closet where he glares at her with dark green eyes.

“What are you doing?”

“You need to date! Get out there, mingle a little”

He shakes his head, “When Y/N finds out about this she’ll despise me”

Julie frowns with confusion, “No, she won’t. She has moved on, you should too”

Luke shakes his head in disbelief making Julie scoff before getting her phone out.

“What are you doing?”

She shushes him before putting her phone on speaker, making Luke’s eyes widen once he sees the called ID being the one of his ex.

He would never voice out loud the way his heart skipped a beat.

“I’m blocking you”, came her cold voice as soon as the call is picked up.

“Wait—Y/N! Don’t hang up!”

A groan is heard making Luke involuntarily smile.

“You have five seconds to tell me what the heck you want before I block you”

“Okay, look, I’m here with Beck—“

“Julie, don’t”

“He’s going with Kayla to the school’s concert, as a date” Julie continues “Just wanted to make sure that’s okay with you”

There’s a ten seconds silence through the line. Ten seconds in which Julie realizes that maybe she was wrong, that maybe she should’ve minded her own business. For so long she had found annoyance in the ways she always ended up in the middle of their problems and here she was, butting in herself.

Ten seconds in which Luke panics. Realizing that he is also awaiting the answer anxiously. There are two ways this could go: Y/N could snap, voicing loudly how she didn’t give a damn, or she could scream asking for answers to questions she shouldn’t have and bad-mouthing Kayla. Both were common in their past. It was a way to showed she cared, that she was jealous and that she wasn’t ready to let him go yet. Both answers would give him the last drop of hope he needed to do something about what he felt towards her.

But when the ten seconds came to an end, neither got an answer they expected from the impulsive ice queen.

“We’re not dating” she reminded them in a voice too soft to be recognized as hers, “We haven’t been for a long time. You don’t have to make sure if it’s okay with me”

“What?”, Luke asks softly, “Y/N, I…”

“I’m being serious right now, Luke”, she continues, “I do appreciate your concern but it’s none of my business who you date”

Silence. Neither Julie nor Luke know what to say or do next. Neither expected the mature response from the H/C haired beauty. Neither knew if they liked it.

“Well, if that was all, don’t call me again”

And she hung up.

Julie stared at her phone in disbelief, but what did she expect? Was she secretly hoping that Y/N would finally snap and this agonizing secret mutual pining they were all forced to endure would finally end? What exactly had she expected to achieve from this?

Definitely not the way Luke was looking right now.

The guitarist looked completely heartbroken and hopeless. The fire that normally resided in his eyes had ceased to exist. And as he looked at one of his best friends while holding tightly onto his backpack’s strap, all that could shine through his eyes was a deep feeling of betrayal.

“I…”

“You should’ve stayed out of it”, he voiced numbly “She doesn’t despise me. It’s worst, she doesn’t care at all”

“Luke…”

“I’ll go on that stupid date, just bug out, will you?”

The days before the concert were painful for every single one of them on their friend group. It was definitely a weird sight to see Luke look so out of it and Y/N so unbothered by it. It was the first time since their break up that their friends doubted the possibility of them ever finding their way back to each other.

When they finally had the courage to ask Luke what was going on, the guitarist told them he had a date with his eyes glued to Y/N body. He was waiting for a reaction, no matter how small it was. Anything really.

But she gave nothing away.

All she did to answer their friends’ curious and astonished gazes was shrug her shoulders and voice she was just trying to finish her song for the school’s concert.

The unbothered air that surrounded her was heartbreaking for everyone around her. It was as if she was truly okay either letting go of Luke and their history. As if she had already given up on them. They couldn’t blame her, it had been a long time since they last were together, but that didn’t change the fact that they all truly believed they were meant to be together and that it was unsettling to see it come to a real end.

Especially by the look on Luke’s eyes. His face may have remained neutral and unfaltering but his eyes could never deceive from his true feelings. He was hurt.

And being hurt but not wanting to show it meant he tried to keep himself as busy as he could until the school’s concert, avoiding all his friends and Y/N especially. And when the time to meet up with Kayla came, Luke had to pretend to be invested in everything she told him; even if most things were just compliments to suck up to him, agreeing to every little thing he said. He didn’t even know if anything that she actually told him was her actual real opinion or if she was just trying that hard to agree with everything he said to be reciprocated.

He didn’t even know anything about who she was and they had been talking for the hour that concert had already been going on.

Favorite song? She would ask his first before saying how much she also loved it. Methods of acting that they found more suitable? She would giggle and twirl her hair waiting for him to answer before giving what she would fake is her own opinion.

It was tiring.

Where was her own fire? Why didn’t she fight back when he disagreed with something she said? Why didn’t she try to show him why she was passionate about it instead of just nodding and giving in?

Why was she making it so easy?

He didn’t like it. He was hating it actually. So he took the first chance he could, excusing himself by saying he needed to refill his drink, to run for it.

That’s how Julie found him after helping the boys set up the instruments for Y/N’s set, which was up next.

“Ooohh, hello, loverboy” she teased him, “Where is your lovely lady of the night?”

“Don’t know. Don’t care”

Julie blinks, surprised by his answer, before grabbing a cup and filling it with the first soda she saw.

“Date not going well?”

“It’s a disaster” he scoffs, “She’s just agreeing with everything I say”

Julie nods, “Isn’t that a good thing, though? Means you have things in common”

“Not really. Not if I don’t know if that is truly what she thinks” he shakes his head “Feels like she’s just trying to agree to everything I say”

“Well, it’s the first date, you know” she sighs, “She probably doesn’t want to fight you on it. Next one will be better”

He shakes his head, “There won’t be a next one”

“WHAT?!”

Luke drinks from his cup while Julie starts stumbling upon her words after what he said. She couldn’t believe it. He wasn’t even gonna give it a chance? The date wasn’t even over yet.

“I think I learned something about myself”

Julie scoffs, “That you’re ungrateful to your friend who tried to help you by fixing you up with a cute girl?!”

“No, I just…” he sighs “I think I kind of like to date a girl who, you know… fights back”

Julie looks at him dumbfounded, not understanding his point.

“I mean a girl who has strong opinions” he continues, “you know? A big mouth”

“Why?”

He shrugs his shoulders, “Cause it’s not easy. Easy is boring”

Julie stares for a good minute before sighing. It kinda made sense. At the end of the day, love was all about growth. Growth didn’t exist without different opinions and dialogues that fought each ideal. It was all about pushing each other to become your very best. How could you do that without bumps along the way?

“Okay…” she sighs, taking a sip of her drink, “Then, who’s not boring?”

Their conversation is cut short by Reggie’s voice on the stage, he had been assigned as the concert’s host and had been doing a magnificent job all night.

“Okay, people! Let’s hear things up with F/N L/N! Let’s go!”

Reggie soon goes to grab the bass as Alex appears behind the drums. Other two students grabbing the guitar and keyboard left.

Luke and Julie take a step closer, that way they have a better view of the stage.

The guitar starts playing the intro as Y/N walks into stage in a cute short black goth dress with fisher nets and combat boots, her hair’s normal blue streaks a dark purple this night. Shortly after she makes her way to the microphone stand the drums join the melody.

And soon her melodious and angelic raspy voice sounds through the place.

“You think you know me

But you don't know me

You think you own me

But you can't control me”

As if it was destined to be, the lyrics bring light to the situation at hand.

There was a reason why Luke and Y/N always ended up gravitating towards one another despite all the horrible fights they endured with each other.

“You look at me and there's just one thing that you see

So listen to me

Listen to me”

Julie feels like smacking herself across the face. The truth was so obvious that she feels dumb to have been so oblivious to it.

“You push me back

I push you back

Harder, harder

You scream at me

I scream at you

Louder, L-L-L-L-Louder”

Luke Patterson was probably one of the most carefree and easy going people she had ever met. He was always carrying this certain peaceful atmosphere around him. He needed someone or something to push him to thrive, to become better than he already was. To fight for his ideals and his dreams. It wasn’t enough to just want them to happen, he had to make them happen and his calm self usually hid from conflict.

F/N L/N was probably the most loud and impulsive person Julie had ever met. Never once had she silenced her opinions, always speaking the truth no matter how cruel it could be. She wasn’t someone who hid from a fight and whenever she wanted something she never stopped until she got it. She needed someone who could stop her when she was going to far, someone to calm the fire that never cease to light up inside of her.

“I'm dangerous so I'm warning you

But you're not afraid of me

And I can't convince you

You don't know me”

There was not one person in the whole world that was meant to be with the other but themselves. They pushed each other, for better and worst. They had the possibility of being the best and the worst thing that could happen to the other.

And as the song keeps going, the truth becomes blinding.

“And the longer that you stay, the ice is melting

And the pain feels okay, it feels okay (hey)”

Luke’s eyes never once stray away from the powerful force that is Y/N as she sings. Her voice loud and powerful as raspy and angelic. His heart beats to the song’s rhythm, unveiling a silent truth that he had been trying so hard to push to the bottom of his being, to afraid of what it truly meant. To afraid of it being to late to mean it.

“You push me back

I push you back

You scream at me

I scream at you

Louder”

Her e/c cold gaze meets his green eyes and suddenly it seems all the iciness in it melts away. As if only his gaze could have that power over her. As if only he was allowed to see the true kind soul hidden behind the cold walls she had taken so long to build around herself.

“You push me back

I push you back

Harder harder

You scream at me

I scream at you

Louder, L-L-L-L-Louder”

And he knows right there and then, as does Julie and his friends, that it is her. It has always been her. It will always be her.

It is Y/N who pushes him until he finally snaps. It is Y/N who fights for him whenever he doesn’t find the will to do so. It is Y/N who loves him so much that she fights to control her impulses whenever he asks her to.

It had always been her and he had been a fool to ever let her walk away without giving a fight. Especially when she had never stopped fighting.

“I'm dangerous so I'm warning you

But you're not afraid of me

And I can't convince you

And I don't have to I think you know me”

Their relationship was flawed. Maybe even toxic. But it was magical. It was powerful and passionate. And it was real.

Never had they ever been afraid to voice their opinions to the other, even fighting back when they disagreed; yet never settling. Never had they ever been afraid to be vulnerable by showing each other how much they truly cared for one another. Never had they ever stopped loving each other.

The applause make Luke blink out of his daze and realize all this time he had been staring right at Y/N. And she had been staring back.

She offers him a soft smile that to anyone else would look like her usual smirk, but he knew better. He had always known better. And that’s how he knows she is fighting, one last time, for him. She has ignited the flame and it is leaving it to him to turn it off once and for all or help it grow as fierce and wild as it can.

Julie smiles softly, “So, Luke… who’s not boring?”

And he smiles.

Step by step he gets closer to the stage where Y/N is still on, nodding at the standing ovation that is applauding her. Only taking her eyes her eyes off the public once he makes it right at her side.

Everyone’s eyes are on them. Silence.

They stand there for a minute just staring at each other. Y/N with her hand folded in front of her and Luke with both his hands buried in his jean’s pockets.

“I’ve missed you” he finally voices.

She shrugs, acting indifferent, “So what are you gonna do about it?”

Two seconds of silence follow in which Luke pauses to admire her challenging e/c gaze, before taking enough steps to be face-to-face with her. His hand leave the safety of his pockets and find their way to the warm of her cheeks before pulling her towards him, lips meeting anxiously.

And it was like a weight was lifted of their chests, letting them finally breathe without struggle.

No matter the fights, the misunderstandings, disagreements or the toxicity. They would always find their way back to each other because of the truth and purity of their love, which was real. Love was never meant to be perfect but it is meant to keep the other grounded, to push the other to grow.

And that’s what always brought Luke and Y/N back. It’s what always would bring them back.

#sunset curve #julie and the phantoms #luke patterson x oc #luke patterson #luke patterson x reader #luke patterson x y/n #jatp #luke jatp #charlie gillespie #Spotify

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