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undiscovered-horizon · 10 months

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Who am I to complain? - Nikolai Lantsov x Reader

[emotional and verbal abuse, unhealthy parent-child relationships]

SUMMARY: When your parents come to visit, Nikolai finally understands why you've never been keen to talk about them. Being the King and your husband, he isn't afraid to defy them.

WORDCOUNT: ~ 4.5k

>>Grishaverse-inspired playlist<<

"Have you listened to anything I've just said?"

Nikolai shakes you awake from being lost in thought. You look away from the insanely interesting skirting board you had been staring at for the past ten minutes. He’s watching you with raised eyebrows, awaiting an answer.

"I…” you hang your voice. At first, you wanted to just apologize and ask him to repeat himself but then a sense of dread sprouts in your abdomen - one you can’t quite put a finger on but it takes over your entire mind. “I'm sorry, Kolya. Please, don’t be mad at me, I’m sorry,” you plead, gradually speaking faster.

“I’m not angry,” he states firmly. “But I am growing concerned for you, love. What’s going on?”

“I just keep thinking about my parents' visit,” you confess while rubbing your forehead. “Ever since the letter arrived, I can hardly think about anything else."

"Yes, I've noticed you have been a bit absent for the past few days. I assumed you were going to talk to me when you're ready. Are you?"

"They're not bad people," you begin in a strange tone that makes Nikolai doubt your words right away, "and they've only done their best to give me a good life. Despite that, they have a tendency to bring out the parts of me I've grown to dislike."

“Isn’t that what every family does?” he jokes in hopes of easing your visible discomfort. But his good humour is gone the moment you look away with a sombre expression stuck to your features.

Nikolai always considered himself exceptional at self-control but something about your sadness makes him gradually abandon reason. As you forlornly stare into the darkness of your shared bedroom, he’s ready to stick feathers to his clothes and pretend to be a peacock just to make you laugh.

“Love,” he calls out softly. His hand rests between your shoulder blades. “You’re the queen. If you want, we can call their visit off right away.”

“That would be a little rude, no?” you ask in a meek voice.

“It’s a lot more crude to make you cry.”

“I will be alright, really,” you reassure him. That miserable look on your face is slowly creeping away. “It’s just three days. Maybe they’ve changed or they’re a lot better than I remember. I’ll be okay.”

Nikolai is unsure whether you’re trying to convince yourself or him but he doesn’t push. Despite not believing your clumsy words of reassurance, he trusts you - he’ll step in only when things really get out of hand.

Nervousness and excitement often feel the same and one might even fool themselves into believing that the mortifying tension in their muscles is actually an impatient thrill. Today, however, you don’t even try playing a little trick on yourself. The more you think about your feelings, the more you’re convinced that it’s not even nervousness but fear. Still, you don’t quite understand why exactly your parents’ visit elicits such awful emotions from you.

The door to the throne room opens and a man in a white and gold livery steps inside. He quickly walks halfway to the dais with the throne.

The servant bows as deep as he can and clears his throat before loudly announcing: “Presenting her most royal Highness’s, the Queen’s, mother and father.”

Only then do your parents emerge from the hall, walking hesitantly through the spacious throne room. Two guards are following them and your father spares them a confused glance every few steps. But the armed men only usher him to keep walking and not turn his back to the king until allowed to do so.

Feeling fear exploding in your chest, you grip Nikolai’s shoulder even tighter. Sitting on the throne, he has to look up to meet your eyes.

“Calm down, it’s going to be alright,” he says quietly. A reassuring smile curves his lips. “You said it yourself.”

As though he is a Heartrender himself, his words make you relax. You take a deep breath and let go of his shoulder. At that moment, Nikolai stands up to greet your parents as their son-in-law first and only then the king of Ravka.

Right then, your mother quickly runs up the few steps leading to the dais. Her face is red and a deep crease now separates her eyebrows.

“I have to wait to be announced to see my own daughter?” She’s barely containing her outrage. “Nonsense!”

“I’m royalty now, mother,” you explain calmly. Your voice almost doesn’t shake.

“And I’m still your mother, the one that gave birth to you. Do I not get any benefits from that?”

Maybe some people don’t actually change.

“I’m afraid you don’t.”

“Is this gold?!” your father exclaims in shock as his hand reaches for your heavy necklace. “So because of you most of Ravka is starving?”

Too occupied with the jewellery, your parents don’t notice the palace guards stepping forward to arrest them for such an accusation aimed at the queen. Nikolai spares them a meaningful look, waving them off. In his heart, he agrees with them.

“Actually, this is a gift from a businessman in Kerch,” you say quietly. Suddenly, you remember why you’ve never visited them since your wedding.

“Still, don’t you think this is a little distasteful?”

Your mother places her hand on your father’s shoulder. “She’s always been vain, darling,” she reminds him.

You’re not a queen anymore - at least you don’t feel like it. All of the gold, silk and jewels are gone and you’re back to being a scared, little girl with hay stuck in her hair. Tears sting your eyes.

Whatever you do is wrong. All of your efforts are underwhelming. Maybe they’d be happier if you weren’t there.

"You're crying?” your father asks with a hint of disgust in his voice. “Oh, don't be so sensitive, you know we’re only joking!” He’s still holding your necklace in his fingers, admiring the glistening crystals. Standing so close to you, he lowers his voice significantly to appear inconspicuous but Nikolai manages to pick up his calloused words. “Pull yourself together, this is embarrassing.”

As she usually does, your mother brings the attention back to herself. “She can be a bit much at times, so I hope you’re a patient one!”

The guards exchange questioning looks, silently asking one another if they should intervene this time. Most of the time they follow Tolya and Tamar’s steps but they’re left to their own devices on this day as Nikolai ordered the twins to take a day off. Perhaps it’s for the best - they’d surely escalate this already uncomfortable situation but it’s only because they care.

“I’d say it’s quite the opposite,” Nikolai answers, unaffected. Despite his speaking to your mother, he’s looking into your eyes. “I can never get enough of her.”

“For most of her life, I thought she’d never get married!” your mother continues. She’s gripping your arm with much more strength than her appearance suggests. “Men don’t like them independent, stubborn and opinionated.”

Nikolai’s polite smile doesn’t falter. “Three qualities of an excellent Queen.”

Your mother laughs obnoxiously. “Just wait a few years, dear.” She pats his shoulder. The guards look between themselves again. “You’ll be quick to send her off just like we were!”

Both of your parents laugh wholeheartedly while you and Nikolai exchange knowing looks. Now he understands why you have been so uneasy lately. This is going to be the longest three days of his life.

The perplexity continues as your mother suddenly places her hands around your waist, examining your torso in great detail. A sour expression forms on her face.

“Oh, honey, you’ve let yourself go,” she says in a worried tone. Her eyes trail the curve of your physique up until she looks at your face. With a serious glint in her eye, she advises you under her breath: “You can’t get fat and slobby if you want to keep the king.”

The man who announced your parents appears again but this time he walks all the way to the stairs leading up to the throne, although doesn’t dare climb them. His facial expression borders on emotionless and serious as though he’s more of a marble statue rather than a servant.

“Your most royal Highness.” The man bows deeply. “The room is prepared.”

“Excellent.” Nikolai uses the opportunity to cut the awkward conversation short in a diplomatic way. “Escort our guests to their chamber.”

“Right away, мой царь.”

When the butler disappears around the corner with your parents apprehensively following him, Nikolai looks at you with a grim expression.

“Are they usually like this?” he asks, disapproval hiding between his words.

“They’re worse at home,” you answer with a shrug. A lot of terrible feelings and thoughts you were convinced you had left behind are coming back and you’re unsure how to handle that.

“You’ve put up with this kind of disrespect for your whole life?”

“It’s not disrespect, just…” you hang your voice looking for the right expression, “tough love. They don’t mean any harm.”

“Don’t mean any harm?” he repeats in disbelief. “They’ve been here for fifteen minutes and they are yet to say something nice to you. Neither of them even asked whether you’re doing alright.”

A short, troubled sigh leaves your lips. Your fingers trail the golden embroidery decorating his kaftan. “I’m married to a dashing, handsome king and live in a palace. I think they know I’m doing well.”

His hand gently grabs yours, keeping it against his chest. “As much I like flattery, especially coming from you, you can’t pull wool over my eyes, love. It’s not a matter of knowing but principle. Remember our wedding? The guests kept asking how you’re doing so much, you kept saying you’re perfectly fine before they even got a chance to ask.”

The memory elicits a chuckle from you. Yes, everyone seemed to be preoccupied with making sure you were happy and satisfied. It came to such a point, you yelled at Nikolai’s cousin ‘Yes, I’m fine!’ before she gave you a weird look and asked if you wanted some vodka mixed with your champagne. Truly, the only royal thing about Marina is her ungodly fortune but maybe that’s why you’ve grown to like her a lot - she’s down to earth and easy-going.

Nikolai squeezes your hand in a gentle, reassuring manner. “Just say the word and I will personally throw them out.”

“Kolya!” You gasp at his offer but it quickly turns into laughter. “They’re my parents and your in-laws!”

“They also refuse to show care and respect towards my beloved Queen.”

That mellow, loving look in his eyes nullifies any annoyance you might feel at his stubbornness. You pull your hand out of his grasp and place it on the side of his face. Consciously or not, he slightly leans into your touch. “I appreciate your concern.” Not minding the guards in the room, you’ve grown used to their constant presence, you peck his lips shortly. “But they have just arrived. You’ll warm up to them.”

Nikolai doesn’t answer at first. He only reconnects your lips, kissing you deeper, more desperately. When you feel his hands coming up to your waist, you lean away from him. For a moment, you swear you can see a grimace of dissatisfaction on his face.

“Be decent,” you reprimand him but the wide smile you wear so well rids your words of all seriousness.

“You started this.”

“And I will finish if you play nice.”

Nikolai takes a rather long step back, away from you, just to make a point. He’s standing with his hands behind his back, an excited grin on his face. “You make an exquisite diplomat, you know that?”

“I learned from the best.”

The time for dinner came faster than you wanted it to. Anxiety bubbled inside your chest again. Still, you continued trying to soap up your eyes with thoughts that maybe when they sit across the table from a king, they’re going to withdraw their little jabs at you. As they say: Hope is the mother of all fools. And you’re about to learn that.

Nikolai raises his cup with wine. “A toast to our beloved Queen,” he announces in an official tone. Out of the corner of his eye, he spares you an adoring look. “Without her, I’d be a lonely, perplexed king. May we not know the world without her.”

To your horror, your father decides to join him. “May she get a grip and come to her senses.”

The dry wine tastes even more bitter as you take what’s supposed to be a celebratory sip. What if he’s right about you? It’s only the beginning of the evening and you already wish you can miraculously vanish or, worst case scenario, just run away.

You’re about to take a bite of the roasted pheasant on your plate when your mother looks at you with raised eyebrows. She points her fork between you and the plate. “Should you really be eating all of this?”

You don’t answer her. Whatever you say will only egg her on. Get a grip, you scold yourself and clench your fist to push fingernails into the sensitive skin of your palm. The pain is distracting, grounding.

"You know, sweetheart, you're not getting any younger,” your mother continues. She always does that - throwing poignancies one after another and seeing what sticks. Now, when she’s literally the mother of the queen, she’s even bolder than before.

“Mother-”

“Don’t interrupt me.” She points her knife at you. “All I’m saying is as a wife, especially the queen, you have only one duty and you shouldn’t wait with it. Things will only get more difficult as you age.”

Nikolai gives your mother a bright smile. “Have no worries,” he cuts in. “We’re not waiting.”

You almost drop your fork. Flustering people is definitely one of his strategies but must he really involve your sex life in his word games? Although mortified at his bluntness, you must admit it works - your mother’s face is about the same shade as the roasted tomatoes on her plate. She casts her eyes downwards, poking at the food in front of her.

The air is filled with awkward tension but Nikolai doesn’t seem to mind in. In fact, he looks quite proud of himself. You, on the other hand, aren’t as good at putting up a believable front.

“So,” you begin in hopes of easing the atmosphere”, how are things back in…” You hang your voice. You were about to say ‘home’, only to realize that it would be an honest lie. The little town where you grew up hasn’t been home in years. “...Tamboyevka?”

“Oh, you know,” your mother says as she makes a dismissive wave with her hand. “Same old, same old. Cattle and field, nothing interesting to someone of your sort, I presume! There’s never been much use of you anyway.”

Listening to your mother’s condescending words, you push your fingernails further into the skin of your hand to distract yourself from the feeling of shame that continues to grow inside your stomach and pull you down with it. Maybe the marble floor will swallow you whole in the next few minutes and all of this will be over.

Then you feel Nikolai’s warm hand sneak between your palms, breaking up your painful distraction. He leans towards you ever so slightly and whispers:

“I’d much rather you pinch and scratch my hand than hurt yourself.”

You look at his concerned face. Words of reassurance, ‘Don’t worry, I’m alright’, nearly push past your lips when your father chimes in, continuing the conversation.

“But your brother, he bought some land down south,” he announces with excitement.

“More land?” you ask. “Ha barely manages with what he already has.”

The memory of your brother’s tired, grey face flashes before your eyes. Every time you see him, he looks even sicker than before as though he never sleeps or eats, only works in the field. He even collapsed on one July day and your parents kept saying that this is a sign of an honest, hard-working man but you weren’t as quick to call a man throwing up everything he eats ‘healthy’.

“You know how he is, always helping others.” Your mother is beaming with pride as if she’s the one doing the farming. “His crops feed two villages and it’s not nearly enough for him! Said he wanted tomatoes and citruses.”

Then it hits you. It’s not a revelation in any way but rather something you don’t think about too often - most of Ravka doesn’t get fruits in winter, especially the ones growing in warmer climates near the Shu Han border. And you not only can easily get it even when snow covers the grassy fields but you’re essentially fed it. Like that one time, you shared a tangerine with Nikolai while sitting in front of a fire, talking about unimportant things.

Despite your mother sitting right in front of you, her voice echoed in your head as though she’s a phantom haunting your thoughts and not a real person: Selfish. Spoiled. Entitled. Ungrateful. People starve because of you.

You focus on Nikolai’s warm, rough hand that’s still holding your own. The pleasant sensation is gradually grounding you, pulling you out of your head and into the present moment.

“What for?” you ask as casually as you can, not giving in to the spiralling thoughts. It still feels like you’re underwater, desperately gasping for air as your lungs burn. Squeezing Nikolai’s hand, you break the surface of the vicious tides trying to drown you in panic and shame.

Your mother, on the other hand, appears completely oblivious to your plight. “Some child told him they’d like oranges and he couldn’t say no. He’s wonderful, truly. A living Saint! What a blessing to call him my son. You should take a serious cue from him, young lady.” She waves the tip of her knife in your direction again. “But enough about your brother. What do you do when you’re not wasting time? Lay around and smell nice?”

“Well,” you swallow nervously, already knowing that she won’t be satisfied with your answer, “I meet a lot of people, take correspondence, travel across the country or read if I find the time.”

Nikolai must notice the telling crease of disappointment between your mother’s eyebrows. He joins the conversation under a skilful facade of a proud, boasting husband. “Don’t sell yourself short, love. Our Queen,” he puts strange stress on the title, “has started a scholarship for disadvantaged children, takes the time to teach young girls sewing, foreign languages and arithmetic.”

“That’s quite useless, isn’t it?” your mother looks between you and your father, not acknowledging Nikolai’s presence. She keeps stabbing the roasted pheasant on her plate with a fork as though there’s still life inside the poor poultry. “Shouldn’t you try harder?” she hisses at you. “If you continue being this lazy, the whole kingdom will fall apart! What will our neighbours say then?”

Nikolai suddenly gets up. He’s still holding your hand but you can’t be sure whether he’s doing that on purpose or if it’s just an unconscious reflex. The candlelight from the crystal chandelier cascades off his face, pronouncing the clenched muscles of his jaw - he’s angry and barely holding it in.

“Our meeting at this table is adjourned,” he announces in a firm voice. “This is beyond unacceptable. I have overlooked your transgressions simply because of your affinity to my wife. Still, I am disheartened and disappointed with the way you address your queen in her own home. The guards will escort you back to your chambers.”

You hear your mother and father trying to argue and protest, saying something about you being ‘too proud’ and ‘forgetting your place’ but you’re so dumbfounded you can’t make out the details. The guards lead them out of the dining room through one of the tall pairs of doors. When they close behind them, everything goes silent - the brick walls muffle any turmoil your parents might be causing.

Suddenly, your throat constricts. It’s hard to take a breath. Has it always been so hot in here? The tips of your fingers tingle, blood never reaching them.

He threw them out and you didn’t say anything. If they didn’t hate you before, they surely do now. You’re a disappointment, not their child. They haven’t done anything wrong, after all. You’re no good, useless, ungrateful, dramatic.

Suffocating with panic, you run out of the room through a different pair of doors, across the dining hall from the ones behind which your parents had recently disappeared. You hear Nikolai’s footsteps behind you but they are muffled by the noise of bloodflow ringing in your ears.

“Hey, talk to me,” he calls out in a soft voice. You turn around to look at him. His hand is almost at the height of your shoulder but it momentarily drops as though he just backed out from touching you. “What’s going on?”

For a man as smart as him, that’s a really stupid question.

“Why did you do that, Nikolai?” you snap at him.

His eyebrows furrow slightly. A gasp of disbelief brushes past his lips - he clearly thought the two of you were on the same page. “They were insulting you over and over again. I couldn’t just sit and listen to that.”

Truly, you should have expected that. He’s been adamant about standing up to your parents from the very beginning. Still, you’re angry that he just had to be stubborn and do the one thing you explicitly asked him not to do.

“What happened to laugh at insults? Isn’t that your own advice?”

“It is.” Nikolai finally finds it in himself to place his hands on your shoulders. “But I found myself unable to remain collected when the bitter words were aimed at you.” His palms brush against your dress and the skin of your neck until they’re cradling your face.

“I can,” you state firmly. “You should have let me handle this, I’m used to this.”

You escape his loving grasp and he lets you. Walking forward away from him, you’re not quite sure where exactly you’re heading. ‘Away’ would be a lovely direction but quite impossible when you’re confined to those four walls of marble and gold.

“You shouldn’t be,” Nikolai calls out after you.

Suddenly, you halt. You look at him around your shoulder. “What?”

“You shouldn’t be used to being treated like this,” he says in a defeated tone while walking towards you again. “They just keep putting you down, humiliating you. You’re not even slightly upset about that?”

“Of course, I am but…” you hang your voice, finally questioning your own feelings towards your parents. “It’s unfair for me to be angry with them. Ungrateful. I never went hungry or cold. They gave me medication when I was sick and made sure I went to school. Every year they’d give me something for my birthday. Neither of them has ever raised their hand against me. They’ve done all they could to give me a good life. Who am I to complain?”

“You’re the Queen,” he drones the word. His hand holds the side of your face again, thumb lovingly brushing your cheek. “People say your name in the same breath as the names of all the Saints. When I don’t know what to do or what decision to make, I always ask myself what you would do. And I’ve never once regretted that. There are important people who have agreed to my invitation only after hearing that you’ll be there too. You change everything. So you get to be angry when someone refuses to see that. I know you can take a few mean words but I don’t want you to.”

For a moment, the two of you stand in comfortable, intimate silence. Your absent gaze is stuck to the floor as you’re pondering his words. Whenever you’re about to accept that maybe, just maybe, you’re doing something good and important, the voice of your mother echoes inside your head: ‘Vain’. But Nikolai wouldn’t lie to you, would he? At least not in those circumstances.

“Can you keep a secret?” he speaks up quietly, bringing your attention back to him.

“Don’t tell me you put a wild racoon in my parent’s bedroom,” you joke, surprising yourself at your newly-found humour.

He scrunches his nose. “Alright, can you keep two secrets?” The echo of the empty halls carries your bright laughter. “To be honest, I wanted to marry you the moment you argued with me about stealing that merchant frigate in Kerch.”

“I could tell,” you answer with a slow nod. “You had a really stupid look on your face, all dazed and absent. In fact, you wore the same one on our wedding day.”

Nikolai’s lips turn into a playful smile and he’s about to say something definitely smart and smooth but a servant interrupts him:

“Your most royal highness,” she says nervously as she curtsies, “your mother wishes to see you. She seems thoroughly upset, if I may say so.” Judging by her fearful, wide-open eyes, she must have gotten a taste of your parents' hurt ego.

Anxiety once again floods your mind. Maybe you should go, apologize and pray they won’t go on a tirade about ‘raising you differently’. But then you hear Nikolai inconspicuously but meaningfully clear his throat.

‘You’re the queen’, his voice echoes in your head. A queen doesn’t cower and bow her head, does she?

“Tell her I don’t take visitations tonight,” you order the servant.

“Right away, моя царица.” She can’t hide the waver in her voice. Judging by her already fearful demeanour, she can guess quite well what will happen the moment she relays the information.

Yes, you will have to warn your parents that they actually can’t hurl insults at your servants. It’s going to be challenging, yes, but this newfound confidence is a ferocious beast, driving you to own up to the title of the queen - not in the way your mother and father want you to but in a way that you need to.

“Oh, one more thing.” The girl immediately stops and turns around at the sound of your voice. “Make sure they don’t leave their wing until either of us says so. I don’t want them wandering around my home.”

“Of course, my Queen.”

The servant bows again and leaves the two of you in a rushed step. Nikolai waits until she disappears around the corner to let his hand drop to the small of your back. He leans in close, indecently so. “I love it when you get all commanding,” he whispers against your neck.

An airy laugh leaves your lips as he pecks the soft skin behind your ear.

____

мой царь [mo-ee tzar] -> my tsar/king

моя царица [mo-ya tsa-ree-tsa] -> my tsaritsa/queen

#nikolai lantsov imagine #nikolai lantsov fanfic #nikolai lantsov fanfiction #nikolai lantsov #nikolai x reader #nikolai lantsov x reader #shadow and bone #shadow and bone fanfic #shadow and bone fanfiction #shadow and bone imagine #shadow and bone x reader #shadow and bones x you

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lovebugism · 1 year

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i am so sorry but reader talking about robin right before making out with eddie is like absolutely the best thing i’ve ever read i’m obsessed i genuinely can’t wait for anything else in that universe that you do

THE CUSTOMER'S ALWAYS RIGHT | god help the girl

summary: in which you come to terms with the fact that you're hopelessly in love with eddie munson. pairing: virgin!eddie munson x reader word count: 13k warning: phone sex, more discussions of shitty boyfriends, j*son c*rver name drop, talks of unhealthy eating practices, smut 18+ mdni! a/n: this ask has been sitting in my inbox for ages now, but i wanted to save it until robin made an appearance in the series! thank you, anon, for being so sweet! and for the few of you who've been waiting on me to finally post <3 hope you enjoy! xoxo

( PREVIOUSLY ) | ( SERIES MASTERLIST ) | ( NEXT )

They only met once, but it changed their lives forever.

That’s what the movie cover reads at least, but the words have long blurred into a jumbled mess at your tunnel vision. John Bender stares you in the face, but all you see is Eddie — boyish and brazen and scowling because he thinks it makes him look intimidating, but nowhere near as cruel as he seems.

He’s certainly got the hair for it, much longer and curls far wilder than Judd Nelson’s measly set of brushed-back locks. He’s got the terribly animated personality down pat, too; the one that either makes you laugh uncontrollably or squirm in discomfort when it’s pointed your way. And the style’s a pretty fine match also, though you’d argue that no one sports a leather jacket quite like Eddie Munson does.

Wallowing in your boredom at the empty Family Video store on Main Street — where your best friends slave over mundane work with aching backs and a lingering sense of gratefulness that no customer has been in in well over an hour — you find yourself analyzing each character pictured on the front cover of The Breakfast Club.

Robin would surely be Allison, you conclude rather quickly, because their deadpanned glowers are eerily identical. They’ve also got this sort of atypical aura to them, too, like a dark storm cloud or the promise of a long night. But strangely it sparkles — strikes of lightning or a sky full of stars. It draws everyone’s attention to them; even when they’re desperately trying to hide in the very back of a room.

And Steve would be Andrew, not particularly because of his affections for this Allison-Reynolds-Robin-Buckley hybrid you’ve concocted, but because "popular guy with daddy issues" is a trope that fits him far too well. He’s way more likely to get detention for trying to look cool in front of his assholes friends than for anything actually malicious of heart. But that would’ve been years ago now. He’s not that kind of guy anymore.

He’s soft and sweet — a Brian Johnson sort of soft and sweet, if you will. If Brian wasn’t the brains, but the sweetest dumbass anyone’s ever met.

You realize then, that Jim Hopper would make a mean Richard Vernon. He’s impatient to a fault, almost too stern at times, but never enough to make you genuinely fearful of him. You’ve found that it’s virtually impossible for you to take him seriously when he’s so cartoonishly angry. It’s a match made in heaven, you find, though Jim might take offense to the comparison.

And if Eddie is Bender, then that’d make you the Claire Standish of the bunch.

She’s dreadfully stylish, a bit stuck-up at times, and perhaps a little bit more spoiled than the average person; but it’s not like she ever claimed to be perfect. And you wouldn’t either.

You’ll take more pride in your wardrobe filled with pretty pleated skirts and flouncy dresses than your somewhat glacial disposition. And you might not be drowning in daddy’s money, but you’re certainly spoiled in other ways — if only in the employee discount at Enzo’s that got you wine for cheap and your connections at Family Video that meant free movie nights whenever you wanted.

The bad boy and the princess was a tale as old as time itself. It’s a fairytale you wouldn’t mind living in if it ended how it did in the movies — with a kiss on the cheek and an exchanged diamond earring in the calloused palm of another. A soft pink smile and a celebratory fist in the air.

But you’ve met your fair share of John Bender’s and none of them had been particularly kind to you, let alone had fallen in love with you.

Maybe that’s because you were no Claire Standish. Never pretty enough, never mousy enough, never pure enough. You try and dissect why you’ve never been successfully loved, and all the signs point to you, you, you.

You hope Eddie’s different. You need Eddie to be different.

“Something’s wrong with me,” you blurt out of nowhere.

Well, it’s not totally out of the blue for you. You’d been stewing over that thought since you got there — since you left the woods with damp underwear and the scent of you on Eddie’s fingers.

But to Steve and Robin, who’d stayed relatively silent and locked eyes only once after they noticed how abnormally hushed you’d gone, it catches them quite off guard.

Steve lifts his heavy head from where he mans the counter. His tired eyes leave the computerized catalog for the first time in forty minutes, and he has to rub at them with the bottom of his palms to see you properly. Meanwhile, Robin crouches at your side, taking returned tapes from the bin sitting next to her and placing them back upon the shelf you lean against.

She blinks up at you, deep ocean eyes swimming with apprehension, like she can sense the spiral you’ve just about twisted yourself into.

“What do you mean?” she wonders, ever the supportive best friend, as she plucks Heather’s, Pretty in Pink, and Weird Science from the bin and sets them onto their assigned rows in the Teen Drama section.

“Eddie won’t fuck me.”

Neither of them is particularly stunned by the unabashed nature of your admission.

Not only have they both fucked you at one point or another, but they’re your best friends — no one’s ever going to know you quite the way they do. It leaves little left unsaid between the three of you, with secrets you’ve all sworn to take to your graves. Steve once stuck a finger in his ass to see if he liked it (he did) and Robin sometimes gets off on her childhood teddy bear (rather ironically named Mr. Snuggles).

So this? This was nothing. Especially in comparison to all the other shit you’ve confessed to them because god knows the whore of Hawkins has a plethora of stories to tell.

Steve is more shocked by the name that leaves your mouth than anything else. “Eddie Munson?” he repeats with furrowed brows, like he had to have heard you wrong.

You bring your chin to your right shoulder to look at him, then nod.

“Eddie… The Freak… Munson?”

You nod again, slower for him this time.

“You wanna fuck… Eddie Munson?” Steve reiterates once more, as though the idea was too appalling to be true. “Eddie Munson — The Freak?”

“Yes, Steve,” you huff in irritation.

His face contorts into a puppy-like confusion. A frown settles between his bushy brows and he cocks his head to the side, nose scrunching and his lip quirking slightly. He couldn’t look more disgusted if he tried.

“…Why?”

You groan and tilt your head back dramatically. “That’s not what’s important here, Steve. The better question is why won’t he fuck me?”

The boy’s lack of any actual assistance doesn’t surprise Robin in the slightest — his dumbfounded gaze and innate confusion are actually pretty on brand. It just puts all the burden on her, to help you wriggle out of the mess you’d tangled yourself into.

It’s not like she isn’t used to it, though, nor does she mind doing it for you. She walks you through your emotions like a professional, squashing out all the burning orange embers for you before they have the chance to burst into flames.

“Well, what do you mean he won’t fuck you? Like… did he actually say that or does he just wanna, you know, take things slow?”

The latter would’ve been way too easy. Eddie’s always been nice enough to you. It’d make sense for him to want to stay unhurried and gentle with you, but those words weren’t exactly in your vocabulary.

The first time you were alone with him, you were getting yourself off on his thigh after making him come in his jeans. The next time you saw him, after four days of him clinging to your consciousness, there wasn’t as much small talk so much as there were two of his fingers stuffed knuckle-deep inside of you.

You don’t know Eddie’s birthday, but you know how he likes to be touched — squeezed and not rubbed. You don’t know his middle name or how he likes his eggs in the morning or what his relationship with his mother is like, but he’s already made you come. Twice.

You are completely, utterly, and totally incapable of taking things slow. So it wasn’t that. It couldn’t be. So it had to be the other thing. The very scary, terrifying, boogeyman of a thing.

“I mean, I offered to give him a blowjob and he completely turned me down,” you lament in reply.

Robin and Steve wince. Like, physically wince. Their faces scrunch and their heads flinch from something invisible. Audible ooh’s fall from their mouths without them even realizing it, because you don’t get rejected. Ever. Especially not after offering to pleasure someone without much of anything in return.

They don’t mean to react the way they do. The visible shock that coats their features is involuntary more than it is anything, and it only adds to your fears.

“Exactly!” you exclaim.

“I hate to say it, but I think hell might be freezing over as we speak,” Steve half-jokes.

“Well, he was working, right?” Robin asks with raised brows. “Maybe he was just busy.”

“Sorry, Rob, but no guy’s too busy for a blowjob.”

“Real charming, Stevie.”

“Maybe he just has a small dick,” the boy concludes with a shrug.

“I felt his dick,” you shake your head almost immediately. The feeling of Eddie’s hard cock through his denim jeans, all rough and warm against your palm, hasn’t yet left you. “It’s not small.”

“Well, maybe he can’t get it up—”

“Yeah, that’s not a problem either.”

Eddie was rock hard when you left him, throbbing and aching and obviously needing some kind of relief. That’s partly why you’d been so ardent to return the favor, though the other half of it was purely selfish — you haven’t seen a more beautiful sight than Eddie Munson getting off. To deprive yourself of that masterpiece made you feel like you were starving.

You have a hard time imagining the raging hard-on just… dissipating after you’d left him. That means he probably jerked off in the back of his van and you missed it. And if he came, right after he promised everything was okay, that means he just didn’t want you to do it… right?

Steve seems to be caught in the same inner turmoil you’re currently stuck in; and for good reason. In all the years he’s known you, he can count on one hand how many times he’s had to turn you down. And every time, it was because he’d gotten back together with Nancy. It was never because of you. Not once. And sometimes he felt like it hurt him as much as it did you.

As far as Steve’s concerned, you’re so out of Eddie Munson’s league that you’re not even in his fucking orbit — so the freak show, turning you down, doesn’t make whole lot of sense to him.

“Huh…”

“It’s me. It’s definitely me,” you conclude with the shake of your head. A bitter, almost hysterical laugh spills from your lips. “He thinks I’m fucking ugly or disgusting or something. It’s totally fucking me—”

Robin completely abandons her basket of tapes then. She rises to stand in front of you, looking timid as she does so. Her raised brows form wrinkles on her freckled forehead and her blue eyes widen to reveal more of the whites of them. She looks like she’s approaching a wild animal. A bomb that’s about to explode.

“Okay… You’re starting to spiral, alright? So let’s just try and take a few deep breaths—”

You don’t listen to her.

Actually, you do quite the opposite, as you begin to blurt every fleeting thought that crosses your mind.

“I’ve made out with nearly everyone in this stupid town— I’m pretty sure I’ve fucked almost half— and you’d think Eddie would wanna take advantage of that, the way everyone makes him out to be some sort of freak, right? But he hasn’t and at this rate, he won’t, and I just don’t understand why,” you ramble without taking in a single breath. “Usually being a slut is a huge turn-on for guys, you know? But what if Eddie thinks it’s gross? I mean, it is gross— I’m gross—”

You only stop for air when Robin takes your shoulders in both hands. She looks less apprehensive and more stern, as she forces you to look at her.

“Look. I love you, but you need to get a hold of yourself, alright? I know you’re not used to being told no, and I know how much it sucks, but shit happens. I’m willing to bet all the money I’ve ever seen that whatever is going on with Eddie has nothing to do with you, okay? And if it’s making you this upset, maybe you should just talk to him.”

“But I don’t wanna seem like I’m too eager, that’s gross—”

“Then find someone else to fuck,” she offers with her signature Robin Buckley half-smile. “I’m sure it would take you less than five minutes to find a willing participant.”

“Yeah, right here,” Steve jokes from the counter with the pathetic wave of his hand and a dumb grin on his lips.

You don’t hear him over the voices in your head — half calling you crazy for letting a boy drive you this mad over nothing, and the other half bitterly affirming each of your deep-rooted insecurities.

Your face screws up, like the thought of being with anyone other than Eddie upsets you — it does upset you.

“I don’t want anyone else.”

“Then what do you want?” Robin yells in your face, shaking you by your shoulders.

“I want Eddie!” you shout back without thinking. The words seem to spill out of nowhere. It takes you of all people by surprise. No one in this rat trap town would ever expect the whore of Hawkins to want to settle down, least of all the harlot herself. It’s strange; it’s riveting; it’s really fucking scary. “…Fuck.”

The brunette smirks, proud of herself. “Well. There’s your answer.”

“I hate when you’re right,” you mumble to yourself, pouting as she crouches back down again.

“I know.”

It was a terrifying thought, to know that you were head over heels for someone else. You try to come to terms with what that means.

Sometimes you think you fall in love with a new person every day. A cute guy holds the door open for you, a pretty girl compliments your outfit — they never think about you again, but they’re on your mind for days. It was so easy to develop such meaningless infatuations, especially when you were bored.

But Eddie was different.

He was a nice guy. A nice guy that was sweet to you just for the sake of being sweet to you; not because he secretly wanted something in return. That made you fall for him at first, but then you just… kept on falling. Eddie Munson was an infinite void you couldn’t crawl your way out of even if you wanted to, even if you tried.

And that’s what frightened you the most.

Because if you really thought about it, you’ve only truly been in love a handful of times. And, sure, it didn’t work out — that was normal — but some of them fucking ruined you.

You’re still trying to figure out who you are without all of the people that have broken your heart. You’re still fighting like hell every day to recognize the person you see in the mirror, while Billy Hargrove fucks off with a new girl every other week like he didn’t totally destroy you.

But, even still, Eddie was completely different. No one’s ever made you feel the way he makes you feel. And it’s more than the stupid heavy petting — it’s more than anything. It’s never been like this before; not even with the blonde mulleted asshole who ripped your heart to shreds.

And you’re scared that if you get hurt again, you’ll never be able to come back from it.

“Steve, do you have another copy of Fast Times in the back?” you suddenly ask the boy, tossing him a look over your shoulder.

It’s your last ditch effort to rid yourself of the ponderous, gray doom and gloom surrounding you like some storm cloud. Your comfort movie solves all of your problems — or, at the very least, Phoebe Cates does — but it seems everyone else in town has developed a similar fondness for minute fifty-three of the film and got all the tapes off the shelf before you could get your hands on one.

“You know I keep on in stock for you,” he answers quietly.

He reaches below the counter to pull out a spare copy for you, and your heart swells with the rays of a thousand rising suns and the songs of every morning bird.

Steve told you some time ago that he could change. And back then, all it did was piss you off, because he didn’t want to change for the town slut — for the girl he put through the goddamn ringer. He wanted to change for Nancy. The princess bruised his brittle ego a little, and then he realized what an asshole he’d been to everyone, to you.

But as angry as it made you, you never believed him. “Once the King of Hawkins High, always the King of Hawkins High,” you remarked bitterly.

You wouldn’t say it to his face, for the sake of keeping his ego from inflating all over again, but you could tell he was really changing.

He was kinder, he was softer. He stopped caring about what everyone thought about him, about what not caring would do to his reputation, and started giving a fuck about the people worth giving a fuck about.

Apparently, you were one of them.

“…Really?”

He nods with a subtle shrug. Like it was no big deal. Like it wasn’t one of the sweetest things he’d ever done for you — keeping your favorite movie on hand so you’ll always have a spare, knowing that it’s the only thing that gets you out of a deep, dark funk sometimes.

“Stevie… You’re gonna make me blush,” you lilt with a grin as you saunter over to him, hands innocently laced behind your back. “You need to be careful, Harrington. I’m gonna start to think you actually like me.”

He scoffs. “I do like you.”

“Yeah, when it’s convenient.”

It’s obvious your joke hits him where it hurts. It serves as a bitter reminder of the asshole he used to be, the douchebag he’s trying like hell to grow out of. He looks up at you with a sheepish, honey-tinted gaze before ducking away again.

A year or more ago it would’ve made you feel good, to know that you hurt him just a fraction of the way he hurt you. But you know that that isn’t the same man standing in front of you now, that he’d rather die than make hurt your feelings, and it makes you feel like shit for saying it in the first place.

“Sorry,” you apologize with a scrunched nose. The palms of your hands dig into the edges of the counter as you lean against it. Your shrug. “It just kinda came out…”

The barcode scanner in his hand beeps as he passes the thing over the back of the tape — never charging you, just getting the movie out of the database.

“So, uh…” he starts before clearing his throat. He focuses his gaze on the computer and types on the bulky keyboard with the tip of his pointer finger. “You really like this Eddie guy, huh?”

“Maybe. I think so.”

“And he’s not, like… a total freak or anything?”

You can’t tell if he’s trying to look out for you or if he just wants intel on what it’s like trying (and failing) to bang the local weirdo. Either way, it makes a smile tug slow at your lips as you joke: “Not in the way everyone thinks.”

“Jesus,” he winces at the obscenity of your words.

“Sorry,” you apologize again, though the laugh that bubbles from your lips after cancels out any hint of actual sincerity. “You don’t need to give me the talk or anything, Steve. I can take care of myself.”

“…Can you?” he half-jokes.

It makes you falter. “Well… With you and Robin and Hopper constantly on my ass, then yeah.”

“Just don’t want you to get hurt,” Steve finally admits, soft and suddenly shy as he hands the VHS over to you.

“That’s rich coming from you—”

He jerks back the tape before you can take it from him, leaving your hand reaching for thin air. His cinnamon eyes glimmer with a foreign seriousness, not completely unkind, but lacking their usual blithe. “That’s why I’m saying it. I just… I want you to be okay.”

Steve is one of the rare ones, you conclude right then in there — in the liminal emptiness of Family Video, beneath fluorescent lights that cast sharp shadows upon his already chiseled features. He was a mythical creature of a man, one who breaks your heart and does everything in his power to mend it again.

He hasn’t forgotten about what he did to you, not like Billy did, and he won’t. Not ever. He saw what he did to you and he never moved on from it, just matured enough to make sure it never happened again. And he won’t let another unworthy douchebag hurt you like he did. Not if he can help it, at least.

And he did try to warn you about Hargrove, to be fair. You were just the dumbass that didn’t listen.

“Well, me and my Phoebe Cates wet dream are golden, Pony Boy,” you promise. He hands you the tape again and lets you snatch it from his grip this time. “Don’t worry your pretty little head, Stevie.”

Steve Harrington was right.

The fleeting thought flashes across your mind for half a second, and you quickly realize that those words have never been uttered in the same sentence before now. But he wasn’t wrong in what he’d said about you, just before you left — you were completely, totally, absolutely, and implicitly unable to take care of yourself.

You nearly passed out in the bathroom after taking the hottest shower of your life, feeling too woozy to slap on anything other than moisturizer because you failed to remember to actually eat something that day. It wasn’t totally your fault, though; if anything, it was because of Eddie and all the butterflies he’d given you that made food the very last thing on your mind.

You half-heartedly dry yourself off, keeping your hair in a towel, while you slip on a cotton set of underwear you’ve had for way longer than what's likely acceptable. Damp and half-naked, you prance into the kitchen to fix Bowie her bowl of dinner before you feed yourself.

You fork a can of wet food onto a flower-shaped plate and let her eat on the counter — because you’re an adult now, and you can do that sort of thing.

The calico purrs while she feasts, but your stomach thunders with negligence. You peek into your mostly bare refrigerator and make a mental note to go grocery shopping when you get paid next week.

With a lack of food and an even lesser will to cook something, you settle for the half-eaten chocolate bar you keep stashed in the very back of the fridge; kept only for the most special of occasions — when you’re reveling in your loneliness and trying to convince yourself that you can make it on your own.

It was practically the size of your forearm when you first bought the thing at some too expensive candy store in the city. Now it’s no bigger than your hand.

You eat the thing in bed, even though you know you’ll get crumbs everywhere and that it’ll make sleep agonizing for you — if you get any, that is. You’re bound to feel like a total zombie by the time the sun rises and the late-night sweet will likely make its appearance on your skin by then, in a red and raging blemish of a consequence.

You’ll feel empty and starved and surly, a snapping grouch instead of an actual person, until you get some actual food in your system.

And you’re more than aware of all of these things, but you don’t do a single damn thing about them.

You’re nothing but a sulking lump upon an unmade bed, lying in a pitch-black darkness that’s evaded only by the static-y television across your room, trying your best to pretend like you aren’t waiting for Eddie’s phone call. It’s hard to remember to forget him, though, when the movie you’re watching is practically a feature film of him and all the ways he makes you feel.

Spicoli and his terribly inebriated friends slur as they chorus “No shoes, no shirt, no diiiice” and you swear you can feel Eddie’s shoulder bump softly against yours as he laughs, hear every sound of his melodic chuckle in your ear that made you giggle right along with him. The low bass of Moving in Stereo plays in the otherwise empty silence of your bedroom, and every beat feels like the rhythm of your thrusts against his thigh.

Eddie Munson is all-consuming.

Even the thought of him feels physical.

Phoebe Cates all but undresses herself in front of you, but you’re stuck thinking about some guy who lives in a trailer park across town, deals drugs for a living, and can’t graduate high school. You’re a total fucking goner.

Your eyes flutter shut, and instead of the backs of your eyelids, you see Eddie’s trailer. Your lips start to tingle as they kiss his for the first time — hungry, yearning, needing. His thigh is pressed snugly into your cunt, denim jeans rough against your soft cotton panties, and you have to bite back a moan when he tenses every time you squeeze his hard, covered cock.

You can feel it, all of him, like he were here with you now.

You wish that he were.

His fingers would feel far better, leave far more sparks of electricity in your belly, than the ones as you sneak through the hem of your underwear.

You try and take things slow with yourself, to be as gentle as he had been with you earlier in the woods, but it feels strange to treat yourself with so much tenderness. To touch your pussy like it’s the first time it’s ever been touched. Like it’s a beautiful thing you need to be sweet to.

Maybe you find it so foreign to be careful with yourself because no one has ever been careful with you.

No one, except for Eddie.

Your touch doesn’t rival his. It doesn’t even come close.

No matter how tightly you squeeze your eyes shut or how hard you try to pretend that they’re his fingers inside of you, you can’t make yourself feel as good as he did.

Your fingers aren’t as rough as his guitar-string-scarred ones and they don’t caress your clit with the same methodical care. They don’t fill you quite the same either, nowhere near as satisfying as his much thicker ones.

And you’re no stranger to masturbation, not by any means. Sometimes it’s the only way you can guarantee an orgasm for yourself when you’ve got a partner who cares so little about your own pleasure. But Eddie was different. Eddie cared — so much so, that he’s gotten more orgasms out of you than you’ve gotten from him, which is something you’ve never said about anyone else you’ve been with.

It’s rare and unfamiliar, a bouquet of all things refreshing and terrifying and strange, tied together with a pretty little ribbon.

You know that you can make yourself come. It’ll just take way too long to actually be worthwhile and won’t be nearly as mind-blowing as you need it to be. You won’t be left with trembling thighs and nearly numb legs — just a pitiful excuse for an orgasm that you could get from any one of your exes with half as much work.

What you need is Eddie.

And you hate that. You hate how much you need him and you’re terrified of what that means.

As far as precedent goes, right when you start needing someone is usually when they start to leave. It’s like fucking clockwork most of the time — like everyone knows that you’re a ticking time bomb and eventually it gets too risky to stand too close to you.

You’ll just have to keep Eddie at arm's distance. So he won’t see the grenade that you are.

You pull your fingers out of your wanting cunt, still slick and throbbing with a need that you can’t give it, when the phone rings.

The high-pitched shrill in the quiet makes you tense like it’s the first time you’ve ever heard the damn thing. Your breath catches in your throat, first out of fright and then at the inclination of who waits for you on the other line.

Suddenly, you’re scrambling to collect yourself. As though there was any possibility that Eddie might be able to see you through the phone line.

You wipe your wet fingers haphazardly on the cotton of your underwear and sit up straighter from your ungracefully lazed position. Then you count to five — one mississippi… two mississippi… three — so Eddie won’t think you’re some kind of crazy person who doesn’t have anything better to do than wait for his call.

So he won’t know that’s exactly what you are.

You lift the ruby red rotary from its hook at your bedside table and stretch the corkscrew cord to press it to your ear. “…Hello?”

“Yeah, hi. I’d like to order a pizza. Half pepperoni, half hawaiian.”

You roll your eyes at his dumb joke, even though the familiarity of his voice makes you smile. It warms you like a home-cooked meal, like you were high-pitched and starving before and now you’re on the soothing comedown of finally being satiated.

“Yeah, sorry, we’re closed.”

“Then why’d you pick up the phone, huh?” he teases back. You swear you can hear the grin in his voice. You didn’t know a smile could be so audible. It makes you wonder if he can hear yours — if you’re doing a real shit job at pretending. You anxiously twirl the cord with the pointer finger of your free hand.

“Because I’ve been waiting for you to call me all night, dummy.”

Your answer is more honest than either of you were expecting.

Eddie’s sigh crackles through the shoddy reception. “Yeah. Sorry ‘bout that, sweetheart. I’ve been working all night. I only got home, like, five minutes ago.”

You can hear the heavy exhaustion in his voice. “Rough day?”

“Kinda,” he answers with a shrug. You can hear the grating squeak of his mattress as he plops down onto his bed. “I dealt to one of Jason’s goons today… They always give me a hard time.”

“I’m sorry,” is all you can think to answer.

Eddie’s been the brunt of every joke since seventh grade — people made fun of too big clothes, his too wild hair, his too loud music. But he took it all in stride, laughing with everyone else before volleying a harsher joke back in response. You almost started to think that he liked it. That, somewhere deep down, he was fond of all the attention he got from people who supposedly couldn’t stand him.

But it hurts to know that it hurts him.

“Don’t apologize. It’s not like you did anything,” he assures with a soft laugh. He makes the bold decision to be honest then, too. “You, uh… You made my day a whole lot better, actually.”

You don’t know if he’s talking about the brief fling in the woods or the phone call you’re sharing now or if you particularly care either way. Your heart flutters like it’s been kissed by the wings of a butterfly.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I mean… I don’t know— I couldn’t stop thinking about you, you know. And, knowing that I was gonna get to talk to you again kinda got me through the day, I guess… And, yes, I am fully aware of how lame that sounds, but—”

You don’t get to hear the rest of his excuse, of why what he just told you totally isn’t lame, because you’re covering the receiver with your palm and turning to squeal into your pillow. A far more pathetic sight, in your humble opinion.

There hasn’t been a more fulfilling feeling than this one, to know that he’s been feeling the same way you’ve been feeling about him this whole time. It’s better than all the orgasms he could give you combined, to be loved so wholly.

“…You okay?” you hear his muffled voice ask after you’ve gone suddenly AWOL.

You press the phone back to your ear and nod like he can see you. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good. The phone… fell— you said you just got home?”

“Uh, yeah. I met with Hellfire for a bit at school. We’re almost at the end of the Cult of Vecna, so they’re kinda on my ass about it. The little shits are obsessed.”

“Well, they should be. It’s a really good campaign, Eds.”

“Thanks to you,” he mutters. You can almost picture the glimmer in his button eyes and the shaky half-smirk he always looks at you with when he gets all shy.

“That was all you, Eddie Spaghetti,” you retort. “I still have no idea how you did it.”

“Did what?” he wonders, chuckling a bit at the nickname.

“Make something so beautiful out of thin air.”

Lying in the depths of his bedroom, blanketed by the darkness and bathing in streams of moonlight, Eddie feels his breath catch in his throat.

For the first time in his life, he doesn’t have a joke to spew out on the spot. He’s speechless, just for a moment, a quick blink of a second, with nothing to say. Because, if he really thinks about it, that’s sort of what happened with you.

You were just his customer and he was just your dealer.

You were a loyal client and then a girl way out of his league that he developed a too big a crush on. Then you made him come in his underwear and washed the sticky stains out of the denim for him. Now you’re on the phone with him. You let him tell you all about his shitty day and apologize like you weren’t the only good thing about it — like you aren’t the only good thing, period.

It’s not the most cliche love story, nor is it the most beautiful, but it has his cynical little heart beating like the wings of a hummingbird.

Then, when all the mushy mess fades like fog, he finally thinks of something to say.

“It’s the witchcraft, sweetheart,” he shrugs to himself. “Didn’t you hear? I’m a devil-worshipping freak.”

“You know that’s not it, Eds,” you retort with the roll of your eyes.

You know that it’s hard, to be a metalhead from the wrong side of the tracks in the eighties — at the height of the Satanic Panic and all the delusional craze. That shit’s followed him since freshman year. Even still, it nips at his ankles like rabid dogs.

Maybe you were never naive or bored enough to believe all the rumors, but Eddie Munson was always more than that to you.

“No?”

“You can blame it on being a freak show all you want, but I know it’s because you’re one of the funniest, smartest, most creative guys I’ve ever met—”

“You must not know a ton of guys then, sweetheart,” he interjects playfully, like he couldn’t stand to hear you compliment him any longer. You’d give anything to see his blushing cheeks just now.

“…You’re kidding right?” you giggle in response.

“Sorry— that’s— I didn’t mean it like— It was— I was joking,” he stammers, frightened that he might’ve offended you in some way.

It only makes you laugh harder. Both of you know you lost count of all the guys you ‘know’ a long, long time ago. You do imagine it’s somewhere near ‘a ton’, though.

“I know, Eds,” you assure with a contented sigh. “I was just teasing.”

“Oh.”

“The slut and the freak… Who would’ve thought?” you wonder all dreamily, like it’s a fairytale as old as time itself. That’s what it feels like, sometimes.

Eddie isn’t sure what you mean — who would’ve thought you’d be friends? Two people caught in that in-between stage of platonic and romance that’s complete agony and total, total bliss? A couple of kids falling in love—

“It’s sort of kismet, huh?” he answers.

“I think so.”

“So, uh… What are you up to?” Eddie wonders then, equal parts curious and eager to keep the discussion going. He’s frightened any lapse in conversation is going to lead to saying goodbye.

He wants to stay on for hours, until both of you are fighting to stay awake, and then listen to the sound of your heavy breathing when you inevitably lose — like that isn’t the creepiest thing anyone’s ever wanted. He’ll fight Wayne about the bill if it comes to that, he doesn’t care, he just never wants to stop being this close to you.

“Do you want the real answer or the fake one?”

“Uh… Both?”

“Well, I’d say I was doing something super productive with my night, you know, catching up on all the boring adult shit, but then I’d be lying. And I don’t wanna lie to you, Eds,” you tell him with a teasing lilt playing at the edge of your voice.

Eddie swallows thickly, fearing he’d somehow been caught in his own lie — or rather, his half-truth. He moves on quickly, though not exactly full of grace. “Right. Yeah. Totally.”

“Honest answer is, that the only productive thing I’ve done tonight is shower, and now I’m in bed watching Fast Times and eating all the chocolate in my house, because I can’t cook for shit and I have nothing else better to do with my night,” you admit to him, picking at the thread of your comforter.

“Oh, don’t tell me I missed the ‘Moving in Stereo’ bit,” he agonizes.

“Just.”

“Well, correct me if I’m wrong, sweetheart, but it sounds like you’re having loads of fun tonight.”

“I’m having a lot more fun now,” you assure him.

“Glad I can be around to make you laugh,” he retorts like he’s not all too happy to do it.

“You’re a total comedian, Eddie Spaghetti.”

“If I’m the jester, you’re the queen, sweetheart,” he promises, a grin evident in his voice.

Your breath catches in your throat something fierce; you’re almost worried that he’s heard it. His words pierce your heart, a stroke of lightning or a blade of steel. He’s joking, but it’s so strangely profound, the kindest thing anyone’s ever said to you and it’s dripping in sarcasm.

It’s sort of Eddie’s love language, you’ve come to understand, to say something so sweet but coated in venom to make it sour again. It makes you feel special, loved, almost.

A fire builds behind your rib cage, sharp and distant and all-consuming.

“Are you alone, Eds?” you ask him suddenly.

The sudden curve ball in the conversation takes him by surprise. “Uh, yeah, Wayne’s at work right now… Why?”

“Because I want you to talk to me…”

“Oh?” is all he can say because isn’t that what he’s been doing this whole time?

“And I want you to say things that… maybe other people shouldn’t hear,” you explain slowly to him.

“…Oh.”

He’s heard about this only once before, the whole phone sex thing.

It was from Andy in the back of Ms. O’Donnell’s class a year or more ago, though Eddie never called him by that name. Andy, in all actuality, was Jason Carver’s right-hand man, and he meant that in every sense of the phrase. Eddie was more than convinced that the guy was so obsessed with the blonde haired, blue eyed douchebag that he was giving him handjobs on the regular.

But it seemed the dick brigade couldn’t function properly without their leader and Eddie had the misfortune of hearing all the mindless bullshit they were spewing behind him — basketball, parties, girls; in true white bread fashion.

His friends gathered around him like he was telling some sort of secret, though it was loud enough for anyone in a three foot radius to hear. Eddie, caught directly in the line of fire, heard all about Chrissy’s older sister, Wendy, who was two years older and off at college.

He’d gotten her number from some party he’d crashed. At least that’s how he told it, right before telling everyone that she swore like a sailor when she came and that she told him all the dirty things she wanted to do to him while she did.

“It was like her hand was on my dick, dude, I’m serious. That shit was crazy, bro,” he’d laughed after retelling the whole conversation in excruciating detail.

Eddie rolled his eyes to himself then, inwardly jealous that he’d never get to meet Wendy — or any other girl that would be willing to have phone sex with him, for that matter. His phone only ever rang for telemarketers or a rogue Dustin Henderson calling to annoy him.

But, here you are now, the most wanted girl in Hawkins, offering it to him on a silver platter. He wonders if you’ve done this before, surely you have — oh god, he thinks to himself, what if you’ve done this with Andy?

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” you assure him after his unusually long silence. “I know you’re probably busy and tired and everything—”

“No! No, yeah, I— I want to. I totally want to.”

“Okay,” you nod. Petals of a flower begin to bloom in your chest as you lie back in bed, settling further into the mattress. The movie, already long forgotten, serves only as light and background noise. “So… What are you wearing, Eds?”

“I feel like I should be asking you that,” he laughs.

On the other side of Hawkins, in a trailer in the middle of nowhere, Eddie rises from where he’d originally flopped back onto his bed with the notion that it was going to be a semi-normal night. He props himself against his headboard. His fingers twitch at his thigh.

“Beat ya to it, Munson.”

“Well, I’ll have you know that it is very sexy, sweetheart. I’m wearing the same Hellfire shirt you saw me in, I don’t know, five hours ago — except now it’s got a rip in it because I totally ate ass on the way back to the van.”

He tells you this to make you laugh — it works — but he prays you don’t ask any questions. Because he got it while hurrying back to his van mere minutes after you’d left him, so hard he thought he was going to burst, with no more than seven minutes until his next client arrived.

Thankfully, he only needed three.

“I love that shirt,” you respond in place of saying what you really want to — ‘I love how that shirt looks on you’ — how it clings to his lean torso and reveals his midriff whenever he stretches his arms over his head.

“She’s a lit-tle worse for wear now, sweetheart,” he lilts.

“I’ll stitch it up for you.”

“And I’ve got on a pair of boxers that are so old they’re practically see through because I’m pretty sure they used to be Wayne’s back in… I don’t know… the eighteen-hundreds.”

Eddie was right. It was sexy, though, for the exact reason they weren’t supposed to be.

There was something so domestic about it all. You can picture him lying in his bed, in the most comfortable clothes he owns, in the one place he can feel at peace. Like a renaissance painting, something familiar and comforting and beautiful — fuck, you’d give anything to be next to him.

“…I think that means it’s your turn now, sweetheart,” he teases.

“Is it?” you mock in return.

“C’mon. Don’t leave me hangin’ over here.”

“It’s nothing, special,” you assure. Your eye flits down to peer at your own body — nothing special, indeed, you think to yourself. The lilac cotton set came from the grocery store downtown on the clearance rack you so often frequent. “I just have my underwear on. It’s very boring, I’m afraid.”

It’s not boring. Not to Eddie — the boy who prides himself on his insanely active imagination. He might not be able to pass english with his brain, but he can certainly create worlds with it, and it’s too easy for him to picture you. He imagines you, freshly showered, and smelling of the warm lavender-vanilla scent you always smell like, mostly bare and lazing upon a fluffy comforter.

He swallows thickly. “Oh, that’s— that’s really, uh— that’s really sexy.”

His thankful that you don’t seem to mind his poor excuse for dirty talk.

“It’s only because I was too lazy to get into actual pajamas.”

“I’m glad you didn’t.”

“Yeah?” you press, smiling to yourself and caging your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Yeah.”

“Can I tell you a secret, Eds?” you wonder, made brave enough by his own admission.

“‘Course you can.”

“Before you called…”

“…Uh-huh?” he eggs on, intrigued at the way you trailed off, sounding suddenly shy.

“I was…” The thought of telling him what you were doing mere seconds before he called makes you nervous. It wasn’t like you were ashamed of touching yourself or anything, nor is the art of dirty talking lost on you, but something about Eddie makes you timid.

“You were… what, sweetheart?” he wonders gently, with a too audible grin.

“I was touching myself.”

That’s all you tell him. The words linger and hang in the air of your separate bedrooms and you cling to the silence — almost mortified and anticipating his reply. Eddie, meanwhile, feels like his tongue has swelled in his mouth and all the air has been punched out of his lungs.

“Oh...” he tries to respond without the breath to accurately do so. “…Yeah?”

“You know what Phoebe Cates does to me,” you try to joke.

His laughter crackles through the receiver. “Yeah. I kinda have her to thank for the other night, don’t I?”

“Give yourself some credit, Eds. The hottest guy in Hawkins was sitting right next to me, what was I supposed to do?”

“No way you think I’m the hottest guy in town,” he scoffs. “Everyone knows you’ve got a thing for pretty boys.”

“Pretty boys?” you echo with a giggle.

“Uh-huh. The Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington type, you know?”

“Well, I think you’re a hundred times prettier than he is.”

“Really?” he scoffs cynically, obviously not believing you.

“He wasn’t the one I was thinking about with my hand shoved down my panties,” you admit, immediately quelling his self-doubt. “That’s gotta count for something, right?”

Eddie clears his throat and then stammers, “I— I guess so— yeah.”

“Are you hard, Eds?” you ask in a breathy whisper.

And he just nods to himself at first, too stupid to answer audibly. He can feel himself stiffening in his boxers, only halfway hard now, but getting firmer by the second. Soon, he’ll be aching.

“Yeah…”

“Can you touch yourself for me?”

Eddie would rather take a bullet to the chest than say no to you — at least, he figures that’d probably hurt less — so he slips his fidgeting fingers through the band of his boxers and takes his warm, stiffening cock in his hand. He squeezes himself just enough to make his stomach tighten.

“Want you to touch yourself, too,” he admits, neither asking or demanding it, just telling you.

“Yeah?” you tease.

“Well, I think it’s only fair, sweetheart.”

You can’t help but notice how breathy he’s gotten — how it shakes on the inhale and hitches on the out. He’s got his hand shoved down his underwear and you’re jealous of the fingers that get to wrap themselves around his cock. You wish they were yours. Both of you will have to settle, it seems.

“Whatever you want, Eds,” you answer playfully.

You obediently slide your hand back into the warmth of your panties. Your fingers slot between your lips and collect the slick that had gathered there since before you’d even answered the phone. You bring it up to your clit, circling the pads of your fingers there until you twitch, then dragging them down to press into your opening. They slip in with ease.

Both of you have turned into lovesick idiots, separated by so many miles, and missing the other most ardently. Lying in the depths of your bedrooms, basking in a velvet loneliness, building with a mutual pleasure with nothing but yearning hands and longing sighs.

Eddie’s eyes flutter shut at the sounds of your low moans and fragile whimpers that crackle through the static — beautiful still, but certainly no match to the ones you were breathing in his ear just hours ago.

His lashes dance across his cheeks as he tries to remember how you’d felt against his fingers, soft like velvet and delicate like silk, weeping and pulsating with need.

He drags his hand from his boxers and lets the band snap against his pelvis. He spits into his palm and wets his cock with it, sighing as he tugs at himself without much friction.

“Are you wet, sweetheart?” he asks, though the words threaten to get stuck in his throat.

“Yeah,” you whisper back like it’s some kind of secret.

You work yourself open with your middle finger and slip your pointer in next to it without much trouble. Your walls flutter around them while you fight to find the spot the makes you keen. You’re only able to tease it, fingers not quite long enough to caress it completely. Your thumb keeps working at your clit, though, to make up for the lost pleasure.

“I’ve been wet since I left you,” you admit through labored breaths. “Haven’t been able to… to stop thinking about you, Eds.”

“Glad I’m not the only one whipped over here, sweetheart,” he manages a laugh.

“No one’s ever made me come that hard before. Not just with their fingers,” you tell him mindlessly, dumb on pleasure, as you feel yourself climbing that peak.

“Really?”

“Never,” you promise, then whine. “Doesn’t even feel as good now… Can’t get as deep as you can—”

Eddie hangs on your every word as he works his palm up and down his stiff cock, squeezing at the base and swiping his thumb over the head with an expert hand. His face scrunches as his stomach starts to tighten, he’s close to coming — too close for his liking. He doesn’t want this to be over so quickly.

“You’ve ruined every other guy for me, Eddie Munson,” you confess, more than pleased to hear how it makes him whine. It sounds like it comes from the depths of his chest, the way it crackles low and needy through the receiver.

“Good,” he grumbles through his pants after he’s gathered himself all over again. “Don’t want anyone else to have you, sweetheart.”

This time you’re the one letting out the most pathetic of whines. It makes a smile flicker at the corners of his lips.

“You like that?”

It sounds so dirty, but you can tell by the sincerity of his tone that it’s genuine. So you answer with a longing truthfulness, a delicate “yes”entwined with a yearning moan.

“You just wanna belong to me, don’t ya?”

Now, this is dirty talk. The teasing lilt of his tone — it’s almost degrading — and makes you clench around your fingers. “Yes, please,” you whine, all but pleading for him now.

Eddie’s close, so dreadfully close, with a pleasure so tangible he could taste it. Your words make his cock twitch in his hold as the fire builds in his belly.

Through your whole-hearted promises and wanting moans, he can hear the sound of your slick through the receiver. The static reception doesn’t do it justice, but the wet click of your fingers working you open was unmistakable.

A moan grumbles in his throat as he digs the crown of his head back into his pillow. “Holy fuck— I can hear you, baby.”

“I’m so wet for you, Eds,” you tell him through fragile slurs, like it wasn’t inherently obvious.

You were wrong before, about wanting to hide from him. You couldn’t conceal your need for Eddie if you tried. The honey you drip, all sweet and just for him, wouldn’t let you keep it a secret.

“I know, baby, I know,” he nearly coos. “Are you— fuck, please tell me you’re close?”

“Yes,” you promise in a whine. Your thumb presses harder into your clit. It makes your thighs tense until they’re shaking.

“You rubbing your clit for me, sweetheart?” he asks like he knows. “I know that’s what you like.”

You whimper, working at the spongy spot within you as your hips buck off the bed. “Yeah.”

“Keep rubbing yourself like that for me, okay? Want you to keep going until you come for me.”

If he keeps talking to you like that, it’ll come a lot quicker than he’s prepared for.

It’s too soft to be much of a demand, but you listen obediently anyway, rubbing at yourself though your sensitivity keeps building. It grows like a morning tide, rising and flowing like white waves on an ocean, stirring something fierce in the depths of your stomach.

“Eddie,” you sigh out his name, broken through staggered pants.

You hear his stuttering breaths, too. “Y—Yeah?”

“I’m about to come,” you promise through a whine when the familiar crescendo sends a shock through your body.

“O… Okay,” he responds, pathetically, then whines, even more so.

“Want you to come with me… Please…”

“Fuck— okay. Shit, sweetheart, I’m almost there.”

“What are you thinking about?” you ask him.

“Your pussy,” he answers without thinking — he’s not doing a whole lot of that anymore. “Wish I’d gotten to taste you earlier. Wanna feel you… fuck… Wanna feel you come on my tongue.”

“Holy shit, Eds,” you moan at his words, at the vivid picture they paint in your head.

“And you get so… God, you get so fucking wet. Just want you to drench me, baby.”

It feels good, to be complimented for something boys used to make fun of you for, to realize for the first time that’s it’s sexy — that you’re sexy — and that Eddie is more than happy to drown in you. The feeling almost rivals the impending orgasm that’s bound to hit you like a tidal wave.

“I’m thinking about how I coulda took you on that bench… Just, fucking, get on my knees for you. Shove my head between your legs. Hold your— shit, baby— hold your thighs open, keep you exactly where I want you,” he rambles but then cuts himself off to moan at his own words. “Goddamn, sweetheart. Wanna taste you so fucking bad.”

The moan you let out is pitiful. It leaves your mouth in the most delicate cry.

No picture has ever been clearer than the one of Eddie between your thighs, your hands knotted in his hair to move him to exactly where you need him most and forcing him there. You can feel his fingers digging into your hips, his rings pressed against your burning skin, and the way your legs tremble on either side of his head.

“Yeah. Keep— Keep doing that. Keep moaning for me,” Eddie tells you. “I’m about to… holy fuck, I’m about to come.”

“Wanna feel your tongue in me so bad, Eds,” you whimper, egged on by the moan he lets out. “Want your cock even more.”

That’s what does him in, the assurance — the promise — that you want him just as bad as he wants you.

He tightens his fist around his cock, achingly hard and raging a crimson at the tip, trying to imitate the way you’d feel around him. It’s not all that close, not nearly as wet as the honey you’d be dripping for him, but his imagination does the rest of the work for him.

All at once, you’re on top of him, riding him for all he’s worth, your pussy threatening to swallow him whole. You’ve drenched him, just like he’d begged for, and that wet schlick noise still echoing from the receiver is the evidence of each of your assured thrusts over top of him.

You’re still pleading for him anyway — for more, for his tongue, for his cock — and he wants so desperately to give everything to you.

“Oh god, baby—” he sputters. He grips the phone in a white-knuckled, fist trembling. “Oh, fuck, I’m coming, baby.”

“Please, Eddie. Please come for me,” you plead over the low sounds of the forgotten film playing across the room and all the dirty wet sounds your pussy makes against your fingers. You sound like you need it, like you want his orgasm more than your own.

“Want you to come with me… Can you— Can you do that for me, sweetheart? Please?” It’s not dirty talk anymore. He’s actually fucking begging you and doesn’t feel the least bit ashamed to do so.

He wants to hear all the pretty noises you make when you come — that initial cry that stems from the depths of your soul, the high-pitched whimpers that come when the sensitivity builds, and the whines that leave you when it ebbs.

He wants to hear it over and over and over again, like a worn cassette, and play it until the tape spins out.

“Yes…” you promise through a set of stuttering breaths.

There’s no talking when either of you come. Eddie’s long forgotten to talk you through it, but you would barely hear him if he had. The phone slips out of your hand when your grip slackens and it falls to the pillow beside your head.

You chase your orgasm full throttle, working through the crescendo and the strikes of lightning, focusing only on his muffled moaning and the pretty sounds he makes as he comes.

The breath of your name whimpered through a tight throat is what does it for you. Your body has hardly any time to warn you before you’re gushing all over your fingers, twitching every time the pad of your thumb rubs over clit.

That cry, the one you always let out as you come — all wet and full of need — makes Eddie orgasm right alongside you.

He swipes his thumb over his head again, collecting the pearls of precum gathering there and sliding them down the base to squeeze himself there like he’d been doing this whole time. He clutches harder this time, imagines it's your cunt locking him in a vice-like grip, and whines in his throat when he comes.

Several loads of it spill onto his cotton boxers, most of it gathering along the side of his hand and dripping down his knuckles. His breath staggers as he works himself through his high, praising you through the phone like you’re the one who brought him to it.

“Fuck, baby… You’re so good… So fucking good.”

You’ve long settled from your own orgasm, still tingly and numb in some places, but not as gone as you had been just moments before. You still float on a cloud, getting lost as you stare through your window at the half-hidden stars sprinkling the night sky and feeling as though you could reach out and touch them.

You can feel the satin moonlight bathing you, and the jittery static of the neon of the television screen. You can feel everything and somehow nothing at all.

“I don’t know how you do it, Eds,” you confess, hardly thinking about the words spilling from your mouth when you lazily bring the phone to your ear again.

“Do what, sweetheart?”

“I don’t know… You always make me feel good. Even when you’re not here… Even when we’re not getting each other off.”

“I feel the same way,” he promises you, all mushy, even though he feels like a slob for wiping his hand off on his discarded jeans on his bed. “Just… wish you were here.”

“I wish I was there, too… Wish I could clean you up.”

Eddie’s eyes shut tight as his head tilts back to his pillow at the thought. “Fuck… You’re gonna make me hard again, sweetheart.”

You perk up suddenly as an idea sprouts like a flower in your head. A smile blooms on your lips, and you rise up onto your elbows, glowing with an unanticipated excitement. “How long would it take you to get ready?”

“…Get ready?” he echoes.

“Yeah,” is all you say.

“I mean, I— I don’t know. I figure if I put on some new underwear and a fresh pair of pants, I’ll be good as new... Why?”

“You wanna do something?”

“Yeah. Sure. Anything,” he answers clumsily in place of saying, ‘Anything to not have to be without you.’

“I wanna go to Skull Rock.”

“Skull Rock?” he repeats.

Legend has it, you and Steve made that place a local landmark. People have always said that Hopper caught the both of you one too many times up at Lover’s Lake and the Quarry, that you needed a more hidden place to fuck. So you’d stumbled around in the middle of the woods until you found a place the chief wouldn’t think to look for you.

You’d certainly found it. Then every other horny high schooler did too.

It’s the place you go to fuck, the most private place in all of Hawkins — hell, maybe even Indiana entirely for teenagers who can’t get the house to themselves. And as appealing as it sounds, to take you beneath a sky of twinkling stars, Eddie doesn’t want his first time with you to be on dirt or in the middle of the woods. That’s how all the horror movies start, don’t they?

So, needless to say, your answer takes him by surprise.

“Yeah! You can see all the stars really good from there. It’s too hard to see them so close to town.”

Eddie’s heart swells all at once at how sweet you are, like sugar poured directly onto his tongue. You’re not eager to be without him either, it seems, and that thought is as gratifying as it is thrilling.

You’re an adventure he’s about to go on, without a map or a way out, a journey he’s happy to go into blind as long as you’re holding his hand the entire way through it.

It breaks his heart to hang up the phone. He practically begs you to do it for him, and it makes you laugh — a kind giggle entwined with a tease ‘you’re such a baby.’ It rings in his ears long after the receiver clicks.

Most of all, he hates all the stoplights that separate your place from his. He hadn’t known where you lived before now, not until you uttered it over the phone. He makes a mental note to figure out a quicker way, somewhere through the winding back roads that his old van can speed through to make the distance less daunting.

He pulls into your apartment complex, a quaint two-story thing on the quieter side of town, where the woods are plentiful and the street lamps far fewer. He turns his radio down out of respect for all your neighbors that he’s sure he’ll never meet and spies you through the neon orange porch lights. You shut and lock your door in quick succession, then scurry across the way to meet him.

Eddie leans over to unlock the passenger side door for you, already beaming, and finds you’re smiling too when you climb in next to him. The grin you shoot his way outshines the night sky and makes a bright yellow sun of the girl sitting in his passenger seat.

“Hi,” you’d greeted him, all shy like you didn’t just make him come all over his hand thirty minutes ago.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he volleys back like he always does, with that big ol’ smirk and teasing lilt as he cock his head to the side — using his playfulness to cover up the bashful mess you so easily reduce him too.

Neither of you had gotten particularly dressed up to see each other. All he did was put on fresh under and pajama pants. You succumbed to a smilier laziness it seems, haphazardly brushing through your half-damp hair, throwing on a too big t-shirt, and calling it a day.

The cotton hangs low at your chest, stretched out and obviously well-loved. It falls well past your thigh, though you spend much of the drive anxiously tugging it down.

It makes him wonder what you’re wearing beneath it. If you’ve tugged on a pair of shorts or if you’re in the bra and (undoubtedly wet) underwear you’d told him you were wearing over the phone.

Eddie winds himself up all over again while you sift through the flimsy case of endless cassettes he keeps tucked in the glove compartment that never quite shuts all the way.

“How do you now have any ABBA tapes?” you wonder like it’s baffling, with an Iron Maiden tape in one hand and Cinderella in the other. Metallica plays lowly, nearly inaudibly, from the stereo.

Eddie laughs and darts his eyes from the darkened back roads to look at you, all smiley and bathed in moonlight, before turning back to the road again. “Uh, because I’m not a thirty-year-old woman. That’s the shit moms listen to.”

“Moms and hot girls,” you retort jokingly.

“Right, moms and hot girls listen to ABBA — of which, I am neither, sweetheart. Sorry to be the one to break it to you… Besides, it’s not like you walk around listening to, fucking, I don’t know— Van Halen or whatever.”

“Hey. I listen to Van Halen,” you shoot back.

He scoffs. “Yeah, right.”

“It’s got what it takes!” you sing suddenly, not quite catching the rhythm of the song, but smiling anyway as you reach for his forearm resting on the center console. “So tell me why can’t this be love!”

“Oh, my god— that’s literally their worst song,” Eddie chuckles through the widest grin you’ve ever seen from him.

It makes you smile big too, looking like an idiot who’s totally head over heels for the boy next to her. And of that, you’re happily guilty of.

“Not true,” you shake your head defiantly. “I love that song.”

“So that means it has to be good, right?” he retorts playfully, shooting you a teasing look, though his beam is more than sincere.

“Obviously,” you answer with a scoff that makes Eddie roll his eyes.

He knows he’s going to start to love it, though, if only because it’s the only Van Halen song you halfway know.

He’s going to hear that song on the radio and he’s going to want to turn it, but he’s going to remember this moment now — the one with you reaching for him while you sing the lyrics to a song he can’t stand, sitting pretty in his passenger seat, while the moonlight blanches your smile and the bare skin of your thighs.

Eddie Munson is going to love that goddamn song for the rest of his life.

He parks as close as he can to Skull Rock, knowing his van can’t work its way that far into the woods. The two of you are forced to walk the rest of the way, not exactly minding it, though Eddie’s incessantly worried you’re going to get cold.

He’s already forced his jacket upon you, which you took with little fight. It warmed you almost immediately — with his cozy heat and musky cologne.

You make mindless conversation the entire way there, about music and then about his band and then what animal you’d want to be in your band if that were the least bit possible. Eddie chooses a sheep without any hesitation, though you’re confident that a penguin would be far cooler.

You keep a careful distance between you, at first, like both of you are too scared to initiate the first move. That is, until you trip over a raised branch and nearly eat ass on the forest floor. Then Eddie’s holding your hand the entire way, keeping you close.

“If you wanted me to hold your hand, you coulda just said so, you know?” he jokes. “Didn’t have to go through all the dramatics, sweetheart.”

You try and yank your hand out of his grip in protest then, but he doesn’t let you. In fact, he pulls you closer and twirls you into a bear hug that you happily relax into.

He feels your sigh fan against his collarbone as you rest your head at the nape of his neck, his arms wrap around your shoulders as yours settle at his waist. He rocks you back in forth, in a moment that’s too almost sweet to make fun of.

Eddie finds a way, of course, “See?” he singsongs. “I’ll hug you like this all the time, if you want. You don’t have to almost kill yourself to get my attention, babe.”

“All I did was trip,” you laugh at his theatrics.

“Death by tree root… What a gnarly way to go.”

He holds your hand the entire way to Skull Rock.

He doesn’t let you go once, not until you’re ascending the large boulders to plant yourselves at the very peak of them. He’s grabbing you again once you settle, though, and the two of you just sit there, for several long moments, just gaping at the stars that dance with life above you. They sprinkle an infinite void with enough light that manages to touch you, trillions of miles away.

There’s a subtle beauty in that Eddie never would’ve appreciated before now.

“Shit, babe,” he breathes through a whimsical existential dread. “You were right. The stars are really fucking pretty out here.”

You love how much he loves this, to come to Skull Rock with you and count the stars. Any other guy would’ve had their tongue down your throat by now, stuffing your hand down their unbuttoned jeans.

But not Eddie.

He just holds your hand because he likes the feeling of his fingers entwined with yours, grasping tightly onto you while he gazes at an infinite universe — like you might float off right along with it.

His neck is stretched to gape at the night sky. You catch his adam’s apple bobbing every time he swallows. You want so desperately to kiss his milky white skin and sprinkle blotchy red bruises there.

His curly locks fall over his shoulders. He shakes his head to get his bangs out of his eyes while the chocolate buttons of them dart around the endless void.

He’s more beautiful than every star in the sky combined. You can’t be sure of how many that is, of course, but it’s a whole bunch if you had to guess. It makes sense, though, for the prettiest boy in the whole damn galaxy.

“Told ya,” you answer with a smile, leaning over to nudge his shoulder with yours. “You come out here often?”

You’re asking if he takes girls here and he knows it, but it’s not like you’re being inconspicuous about the whole thing. Eddie gauges it almost immediately, the subtle jealousy hinting at your tone — something no one else would’ve caught — and he squeezes your hand in reassurance.

He shakes his head. “No… Never.”

“Never?” you press with raised brows, like his answer shocks you.

“Ever. It’s not really my scene, I guess… But what about you, sweetheart? Never seen you around these parts before.”

You knock his shoulder again, harder this time. “Shut up. You already know the answer to that.”

“Yeah…” he nods to himself, eyes darting back and forth as he reminisces on something. “You and Harrington, you and Hargrove. Hell, I think I heard about you and Jason one time—”

“That was a long time ago,” you argue. “Before I even knew you, okay?”

“I’m just saying,” he shrugs in defense. “You totally have a thing for pretty boys, sweetheart.”

“I never said I didn’t, Eds. Just that you were pretty, too.”

“Whatever,” he scoffs and rolls his eyes like he isn’t glowing red beneath the moonlight.

“You’re better than all three of them, Eds,” you confess with a sudden softness that catches his attention almost immediately. He turns his attention from the sky to look at you properly again. His breath catches at you sad you look — all beautiful and coated in shades of blue.

“…Yeah?”

You nod and drag his hand into your lap to fidget with his fingers. You trace the skeleton heart on his middle finger, subverting all your attention there because it’s easier than having to look at him now. “Better than all of them combined— not even just them, you know? Out of everyone. No one’s ever been this nice to be before.”

“Me neither, sweetheart,” he confesses with a morose grin. “The freak of Hawkins High attracts a lot of assholes, believe it or not.”

“Is it bad?” you wonder cautiously, like you’re scared to hear the answer. In some ways, you are.

You hadn’t known him in high school, not really. For obvious reasons, you ran in very different circles. You never even had classes together. There was never any excuse to be close to each other before now, never a reason to become friends. So you didn’t.

You grew to know him as a freak, and he knew you as the town slut. Then somewhere down the line, he became your dealer and now… here you were.

But you’ve graduated now and he’s still army crawling towards a diploma. You couldn’t save him from the hell of Hawkins High even if you wanted to.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” he shrugs. “Jason and the dick brigade just wanna make my life hell, that’s all.”

“I hope they aren’t,” you respond shyly.

Eddie scoffs then shoots you a smile. “Oh, of course not. Look at me. I’m at Skull Rock with the most wanted girl in Hawkins. I’m living the dream, sweetheart.”

“So you don’t care?” you wonder, peering at him through your lashes, as you twist the silver cross around his finger.

“Care about what?”

“That I’m a slut,” you laugh like it’s obvious.

Eddie doesn’t think it’s all that funny. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s not like it isn’t true, Eds,” you retort with a trembling smile. “I mean, that’s literally what people call me — most people don’t even care to call me by my real name anymore.”

“I don’t care,” Eddie shakes his head. “I don’t care about that. I don’t give a shit about what people say about you. If everyone cared about what everyone said about everyone, neither of us would be here right now… Because you’d think I was some devil-worshipping freak and I’d think you were too busy getting it on with Chief Hopper.”

You screw your face up immediately at the thought. The mere idea was repulsive. The asshole was practically your father these days. Jim Hopper was in that small bunch of available people you would never fuck, and happily so.

“I’d never stoop that low,” you joke.

“I like you, how you are, right now,” Eddie promises. “Don’t want you to change a damn thing.”

His brown eyes twinkle with a sincerity that rivals the stars above you. All of a sudden, you don’t care about a bunch of heavenly bodies light years away from you — you care about this man, the one sitting beside you now, holding your hand even though your palms have gone all sweaty.

It’s too good to be true — the way you looks at you, the way he talks to you, the way he treats you. You’re scared that it’s a dream, that you’ll wake up and find that none of this was ever real. Or worse, that he was, and that he just didn’t care about you the way you cared about him.

It’s almost irrational. Almost.

But it’s happened before.

And it’s left you a scarred and mangled mess.

You shake your head to yourself and scrunch your face as you turn to look him. “Have you ever done this before, Eddie?”

“Don’t what?” he wonders with furrowed brows.

“I don’t know…” you shrug. “Any of this? With anyone else?”

He’s grateful he doesn’t have to lie. Or tell some clumsy half-truth for the sake of saving his own skin. He realizes tonight is perhaps the most honest he’s ever been with you, baring his pale soul beneath a silver moonlight.

“Never,” he answers, unwavering, with a firm shake of his head.

“Really?”

“Really,” he nods, then swallows thickly at a gut-wrenching realization. “I’ve never felt his way about anyone else before.’

“Me neither,” you promise.

It’s a tad more meaningful coming from you than from a boy who’s never had someone to love and to love him back.

You’re experienced, you’ve found what you like and what you don’t like. You’ve been with guys who have given you the world and guys that have ended yours altogether. And out of all of them — all of the assholes in Hawkins you could’ve picked — you’ve chosen the freak.

You want him.

You want Eddie.

The revelation makes him grin. “Promise?”

“Cross my heart, Eddie Spaghetti.”

#published by bug #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagine #eddie munson imagine #virgin!eddie munson x reader #virgin!eddie munson

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starryblueeyesandstarryblueskies · 6 days

Text

The Princess and The Pogue | J. M.

Pairing: JJ Maybank x reader

Summary: Your daughter comes home from school telling you about a local OBX fairytale. It turns out it’s about you and your husband.

Listen to But Daddy I Love Him for full experience

Requested by @idontevenknowbsblog

A/N: This turned out way longer and more angsty than I had anticipated but I’m a sucker for the angst. I just can’t help it. I’m sorry this took me a million years to finish!

As I am an adult, all characters I write for are written as adults. Any minor characters will be aged up to the general range of their actor’s age.

Warnings: allusions to domestic abuse, controlling parents, forced engagement, so much fucking angst, only kinda proofread

Word Count: 3.5k

Your daughter’s tiny feet press against the back of your seat as you head home after picking her up from school.

“Mia, stop kicking,” You laugh, “Mommy’s trying to drive.”

“Sorry, Mommy.” Your daughter giggles. “I’m just so happy today!”

“I’m so glad you're happy, Baby.” You smile at the five year old in the rearview mirror. “What did you do at school today?”

“We got to draw all our shapes today and we sang the alphabet song a bunch of times!”

“Ooh sounds like a fun day.”

She claps excitedly. “Oh and Kylie’s older sister told us a fairytale at recess!”

“A fairytale? Very cool. What was it about?”

“Did you know a princess used to live here? A long time ago. She ran away with a pogue because her evil king father wouldn’t let them be together.”

Your eyes widen at her words, a small smile forming on your face as she tells the story that takes you back to what seems like a lifetime ago.

“Mom, I’m headed out,” you yelled through the foyer.

“Ok, hun.” Your mom poked her head over the stairwell. “Just don’t stay out too late. We have that business lunch with the Cameron’s tomorrow and it’s very important that you be there.”

“I’ll be back in a few hours,” you promise, “besides I’m just going to hang out with Sarah.”

“We just love that you and Ward Cameron’s daughter are friends. It looks so good for your father’s business for the families to be close. Especially with you set to inherit the company someday.”

With Ward Cameron being the biggest real estate developer in the Outer Banks and your dad owning the biggest construction company, the two men worked closely on most of their deals. They were also the closest thing to friends that either of the men had. The two richest men in the island made for a powerful team.

“Glad I can help you keep up appearances,” you muttered under your breath.

“What was that, hun?”

“Always happy to help the family.” You gave your mother a forced smile and made your escape, slipping outside and into Sarah’s waiting car.

“Ready to go see your man?” She grins at you and you return the gesture.

“God, yes.“

You hadn’t expected to fall in love with JJ Maybank. Considering the very different lives the two of you led it was surprising the two of you ever even crossed paths, but that was one of the perks of being Sarah’s friend. When she fell in love with John B and got involved with the pogues she dragged you along with her.

It wasn’t like you had anything against the pogues. In fact, you had admired them from afar your whole life. Their freedom and adventures were something you envied, forever stuck in your kook bubble. You didn’t have a choice but to follow the plan your parents had created for you.

JJ, on the other hand, hated kooks with a passion. He had a hard enough time with Sarah joining the group and when she brought you in, arguably the even bigger kook princess with the even bigger kook king of a father, he vowed to himself he would never accept you. After all, you represented everything he hated, the life he always dreamed of but would never attain.

He would sneer and call you “princess”, his voice dripping with disdain, doing everything in his power to piss you off, but you didn’t mind. You loved his passion and the way he would do anything to protect the people he cared about. You ignored his insults, treating him just as well as you would anyone else.

Before he knew it, your soft words and beaming smile had softened JJ. He began to actually look forward to your presence in the group, feeling sad when you couldn’t get away from your parents to spend time with them. Then, one day the two of you were the only ones to show up to a pogue hang out. You ended up spending hours just talking and getting to know each other. The rest was history and you had been together from that day forward.

Unfortunately, you knew that your parents would never let you spend time around a pogue, let alone be in a relationship with one. So, like Sarah and John B, you and JJ had to keep your relationship hidden. Thanks to the help of the pogues, the two of you had been successfully seeing each other behind your parents’ backs for over a year.

“I’ll be back to pick you up at 8:00,” Sarah reminds you. She pulls up to the little cove where you and JJ liked to meet. “We only have a couple of hours tonight because of that lunch tomorrow. Don’t want our families to get suspicious.”

You nod. “Got it. I’ll see you then.” You slip out of her car. “Tell John B I said hi.”

“Will do.”

She pulls away as you make your way around the rocks hiding the entrance to your spot.

“Hi, princess.” Your boyfriend grins at you in the orange light of the sunset, pulling you into a hug.

“JJ,” You breathe him in, soaking up the comfort he gives you. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too, baby. Four days without you is four days too much.” JJ leads you over to the blanket on the sand, sitting back so you can settle between his legs.

“I know. I’m sorry, I just couldn’t get away much this week. My parents are going crazy about this lunch tomorrow.”

“Aren’t they always crazy?” JJ jokes, poking your side. You squirm a little bit, trying to escape his prodding.

“I mean, yeah. They’re just extra crazy this week.” You settle further into his chest, JJ giving up his attack in exchange for wrapping his arms securely around you. He nuzzles his head into the side of your neck. “But, it’s okay because at least we have right now.”

“How long do we have until Sarah comes back to pick you up?”

You let out a sigh. “Two hours.”

“That’s it? Damn.”

“I’m sorry, J.” You look back apologetically, but he just shakes his head.

“Hey, don’t apologize. We just have to make the most of the time we have, like usual. It won’t be like this forever.”

“Right.” You give him a small smile, turning back to face the sunset before he can see the doubt in your eyes. You hoped JJ was right, but you had no idea how things would ever change.

As expected, your time together flew by too quickly and before you knew it Sarah was back to take you home.

JJ was reluctant to let you out of his embrace. “We’re still on for tomorrow night, right? After you finish up with all your kook business?”

“Of course, baby. I wouldn’t miss it.” You give him one last goodbye kiss, distracting him long enough to slip out from his arms. He pouts, but lets you go, knowing if it was your choice you would never leave.

You stare numbly at the wall, unable to will yourself to move from your position balled up on the bed. You aren’t sure how long you've been laying there looking at nothing. You didn’t feel anything, having cried out all your tears hours ago. A buzzing sounds from the other side of the room, your phone going off once again, but you don’t pick it up. It’s probably Sarah calling again to see if you’re okay after what happened at lunch. You’re not.

Having sat in silence for so long, you jump when you hear a rattling at your window. It takes you a minute to clamber over to the window with the lights out in your room. You hadn’t realized how dark it had become outside.

You peek out warily, trying to determine the source of the noise. “Shit.” You mumble under your breath as you realize JJ is perched in the tree closest to your room.

You unlatch the door so he can climb inside, turning away from him quickly. You’re thankful for the darkness in that moment as you scramble to make yourself look presentable, flattening your hair and wiping at your face. You pull down the sleeves of the massive sweatshirt you’re wearing, one you stole from JJ months ago, making sure you are completely covered.

“JJ, what are you doing here,” you whisper, “What if someone sees you?”

“I was worried about you. You were supposed to meet me hours ago, remember?” He sounds frustrated.

“Shit. I’m sorry. I totally forgot.” You run your hand down your face stressed. “I didn’t mean to stand you up.”

“You forgot? Y/N, I’ve been calling and texting for hours.” JJ moves closer, but you step back. “I thought something bad had happened.”

He takes another step back. Again you back away, trying to keep him from seeing your face. Brows furrowed, JJ moves towards you again. This time you can’t move away fast enough, bumping your dresser as you try to get away.

“Woah, wait.” JJ takes your face in gentle hands. “Have you been crying?”

“It’s nothing. I’m fine.” You try to pull away, but he doesn’t let you off that easily.

“Baby, what’s going on? Is it something I did?” The worry in his eyes brings a fresh wave of tears to your eyes. You shake your head, willing them not to fall.

“No, no. You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Something with Sarah?” You shake your head again.

“Your parents?” That stills you. “It is your parents. What is it? Did something happen at lunch?”

You don’t answer.

“Talk to me, baby. I can’t make it better if I don’t know what’s wrong.” JJ’s voice is so sincere and his touch so soft. He really thinks he’ll be able to fix whatever the problem is.

You gather your strength and gently pull away from him, not wanting to see the look in his eyes when you tell him.

“My father and Ward Cameron have decided that it is in the best interest of their respective businesses for our families to be officially joined.”

“What on earth does that mean?”

You feel like you're going to be sick, but you force the words out anyway. “I am set to be married to Rafe Cameron.” You keep your eyes on the floor, waiting for JJ’s response. He stays silent.

“I had no idea they had this planned until my parent’s announced it at lunch.”

“What do you mean you’re marrying Rafe Cameron?” He tries to keep his voice calm. But you can hear the venom behind his words anyway. “You can’t just marry Rafe.”

“I don’t have a choice, JJ. They practically signed my ownership papers over to Rafe right there.”

JJ is pacing your room now, hands constantly running through his hair. “He can’t just do that. You’re an adult, Y/N. Tell him no.”

“I can’t tell him no JJ.” He stops in front of you, the look on his face half shock half anger.

“What are you talking about? You can’t just tell me that your father is marrying you off to Rafe and not even try to fight him on it.” You turn from his intense gaze, unable to handle it any longer.

‘Y/N-” JJ reaches for your arm to turn you around and you flinch back hissing in pain. Your sleeve rides up, revealing a number of dark bruises.

“I tried talking him out of it, JJ. He made it clear saying no wasn’t an option.”

JJ seethes, body tense with anger. “He hurt you.” It’s not a question which is just as well because you have no response.

“I’m gonna kill him.” He growls.

You lay your palms flat against his chest. “No, you’re not. We can’t make this situation any worse than it already is.”

“He can’t just get away with this!” JJ’s voice rises with his anger and you shush him quickly, looking back at your door.

“Please, Y/N.” His voice cracks on your name. “Things can’t just end like this.”

The pain in his words breaks your heart. You let the tears fall freely, unable to hold back the emotion any longer.

“I’m so sorry, JJ.” He cradles your face in his hands like he did at the beginning of the night. “There’s nothing either of us can do to change this.” JJ brushes his thumbs against your cheeks, brushing at the tears. “You should go.”

“No, Y/N.” He has tears running down his face too. “I can’t leave you like this.”

“Please, JJ. You have to go before something wakes him up. I don’t know what he’ll do if he finds you here.”

JJ’s eyes flit down to your wrists, taking in the bruises once more before he nods slowly. He won’t be the reason your father hurts you again. You lips press against his slowly, both of you pouring all the love you have for each other into the kiss.

“I love you,” you whisper against his lips.

“I love you, too. Always.”

With those last words, he slips back out your window, closing it quietly behind him. You watch as he climbs back down the tree and crosses the property. As he finally fades out of blue, you sink down to your floor, your knees unable to hold the weight of your body as it’s wracked with sobs.

You don’t leave your room for days. All you can do is lay in your bed and cry, mourning the loss of the man you love and the life you had planned.

If it was up to you, you would never leave that room. Unfortunately, your parents have other plans. They parade you and Rafe all over town, making sure everyone on the island knows the two of you are “madly in love” and engaged to be married in the spring. The whole pageantry of it makes you sick.

The cherry on top of the whole ordeal is the engagement party that you parents planned for the weekend. They rented out the whole club and invited every kook on the island. You’re pretty sure it’s your own personal hell.

Sarah pins one last curl to your head. “Done. You look beautiful.”

You give her a small smile that didn’t reach your eyes. “Thanks, Sarah.” You were dressed in a white sundress that your mother had bought for the party and Sarah had done your hair and makeup to perfection. The whole look was stunning, but you just feel like a trophy being shown off.

Sarah gives you a sympathetic look. “You ready for this?”

“No. But I have to be.”

It takes everything in you to keep a smile pasted on your face as Rafe takes your hand and leads you out to the throng of people. Everyone smiles and hugs you, offering their congratulations. You do your best to seem gracious and excited, but all you feel is emptiness and the faces move before you in a blur.

You make it two hours into the party before you can’t take it any longer. The panic that has been creeping up your throat all night takes hold and you have to break away. You excuse yourself from Rafe, claiming a need to run to the bathroom. He gives you a harsh look and makes you promise to hurry back, but ultimately lets you go.

You hurry away from prying eyes, not letting yourself break until you get inside. Chest heaving, you gulp down air like you’ve just run a marathon. One of your hands is pressed against your chest, the other braced against the walls to hold you up as you stumble towards the bathroom.

Before you can make it more than a few feet an arm catches you around the waist, pulling you into an alcove you had never noticed. You stumble back, trying to pull yourself together, not wanting whoever grabbed you to see your harried state.

“Hey, hey. It’s just me.”

Familiar hands rub up and down your arms, grounding you. You look up to see the blue eyes that you love so much.

“JJ,” you whisper, breaths still coming fast and hard.

“It’s okay, baby. Just breathe.”

JJ holds you close as you will your body to calm, feeling safe for the first time all night.

“What are you doing here?”

“I had to see you, talk to you.”

You sigh, looking at him with sad eyes. “As happy as I am that you’re here, you have to go. If anyone sees you. My father, or Rafe-”

“What if you didn’t have to worry about them anymore?”

“JJ, we’ve been over this. I can’t break this engageme-”

“What if we just left? You and me. Right now.” His eyes bore into yours, willing you to see the possibility.

You can’t act like you haven’t had the same thought yourself, but you just didn’t see how it would be possible. “How would that work, JJ? My father controls my whole life. My money, my future, everything.”

“You don’t need anything he has to give you, Y/N.” His voice is pleading.

“JJ…”

“We can figure it out. You have a degree, I have experience. We’ll get jobs. We’ll make it work.” He reaches a hand into his pocket. “I know I can’t give you a life like this-”

“I don’t want a life like this.”

“-but I will do everything in my power to give you a good life, to make you happy.” He holds up a simple, beautiful band of silver. “Will you marry me?”

You stare up at him with wide eyes. “Are you serious?”

“I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life. Say you’ll marry me. We can leave right now. I have a plan to get us off the island. Your parents won’t know until it’s too late. Just say yes, please.”

“Yes, yes.” You nod vigorously. “I’ll marry you.”

You rip off the gaudy ring currently on your hand and JJ replaces it with the silver band. He kisses you so deeply you think you see stars.

“I love you, JJ Maybank,” you whisper when you part.

“I love you too, Y/N Y/L/N, so much.”

You could stay in that moment forever, but you both know you don’t have time to waste. JJ begins to pull you to a side exit, but you stop him. There’s one last thing you have to do before you leave.

You find a piece of paper, scribbling out a few quick words and titling to your father.

Have fun explaining to the Cameron’s that your daughter ran off with a pogue

Y/N Y/L/N

You set the folded paper on the center table, placing Rafe’s ring next to it.

“Ready to get off this island?”

You grab JJ’s hand. “God, yes.”

JJ was right, the two of you figured it out. You both found jobs on the mainland and created a happy life for yourselves. You and JJ got married a few months after you ran off and Mia came along a few years later.

You had kept in touch with the pogues of course and they let you know when your father and Ward Cameron’s businesses had come crashing down, forcing the two men off the island. They had no power anymore, so eight years later you decided to move back to your home. People had gossiped at first, but they moved on to the next big thing when they realized that neither you nor JJ cared what they had to say. You wanted to be in the place where you grew up and fell in love, and you wanted Mia to be surrounded by the friends that you called your family.

Mia was just about bouncing in her seat by the time you got home. You hurried to get her out of her carseat so she could rush inside and see her dad. Friday’s were always her favorite because JJ got off work early and was already home by the time you brought her back from school.

She pulled you along by the hand as she continued on about her fairytale. “The evil king disappeared and they lived happily ever after.”

JJ scooped Mia up as the two of you entered the house, making the little girl squeal in delight.

“Daddy!”

“Who lived happily ever after, Mia-mine?” She giggled as he burrowed his face in her little belly.

“The princess and the pogue!”

JJ’s eyes met yours over Mia, giving you an intrigued look.

“Kylie’s older sister told her a fairytale at lunch about a couple that used to live on the island.” You tell him with a knowing grin.

“A fairytale? That’s awesome, baby.” JJ lowers Mia back down to her feet. “Hey, why don’t you go wash up and Mommy and I will make you a snack.”

“Okay, Daddy!” The little girl runs off happily.

You make your way to the kitchen, JJ coming up behind you and snaking his arms around your waist. “So the princess and the pogue, huh?” He smirks as you turn to face him.

“Who knew we’d become an OBX fairytale?” You reply.

“It makes sense. It doesn’t get much more ‘happily ever after’ than this. Right, princess?”

You give him a gentle kiss. “Right, pogue.”

Writing Masterlist

#jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank fic #jj maybank angst #jj maybank fluff #jj maybank fanfiction #jj maybank x y/n #obx x reader #obx fic #obx fanfiction #obx #outer banks #outer banks x reader #outer banks fanfiction #outer banks fic #stars writes #starryblueeyesandstarryblueskies

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btsqualityy · 7 months

Text

BTS Dating Series #16: Nicknames

Members x Reader

Genre/Rate: 18+, fluff

Summary: Nicknames are an endearing sign of growing affection.

Warnings:n Some suggestive making out in Yoongi's part and just general suggestiveness in Jimin, Taehyung, and Jungkook's parts.

Kim Seokjin

The two of you were at Jin's apartment, moving around each other in the kitchen as you worked on preparing dinner.

"Hey Jinnie?" You called out to him. "How much gochujang am I supposed to put in here?"

"Hmm," Jin muttered as he stepped over to you, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind and hooking his chin over your shoulder. "I'm not entirely sure, jagi. This is Yoongi-yah's recipe and I doubt he'll answer the phone if I call because he's had his head stuck so far up his girlfriend's ass these days."

"First off, don't make fun of him," you huffed. "He really likes her and you need to be a supportive hung."

"Of course," Jin nodded dutifully.

"And secondly," you murmured as you turned around in his arms to face him. "Jagi? Why'd you call me that?"

"Well, it just felt natural," he shrugged. "Besides, you are my sweetheart. Do you not like it?"

"No," you smiled as you felt your cheeks warm up a little. "It's fine." You turned around without another word then and Jin smiled knowingly to himself, tightening his arms around you before pressing a kiss to your head.

Min Yoongi

"Fuck, I missed you so much," you murmured against Yoongi's lips as the two of you made out messily. After not being able to spend much time together over the last week, the two of you were eager to make up for lost time.

"I missed you more baby," Young replied huskily. "My pretty girl."

"Don't make me feel all lovey-dovey," you giggled. "It takes the lust away from this."

"Why not have both?" He suggested with a smirk, kissing you again before you even got a chance to respond. It didn't take long for your hands to start wondering and Yoongi's resolve broke when you reached down into his boxers.

"Fuck, come here Min," he huffed, quickly clutching your waist and changing your positions so that you were on your back on his bed, underneath him.

"Wait, what did you just call me?" You questioned breathlessly. "Min?"

"Shit, I didn't mean to say that aloud," Yoongi sighed.

"So you didn't mean it?"

"No, I did but I don't wanna freak you out."

"Why'd you call me that?" You pressed.

"It just...you feel like family to me already," he admitted with a sheepish shrug. "Like, like you're mines."

"Oh baby," you whispered, reaching up and cupping his cheek with your hand. "I am."

"Yeah?" Yoongi whispered as he lowered himself so that his face was near yours. "Say it again."

"I'm yours," you mumbled before kissing him firmly.

Kim Namjoon

"Oh my gosh," you giggled loudly from your place sitting across from Namjoon, instantly covering up your mouth so that you didn't disturb the other people who were dining around you. "You're too much. Why would you tell me about Jin eating that hot Chile in front of all these people?"

"Because I knew it'd make you laugh and I love seeing your smile," Namjoon admitted, making your cheeks warm up. "I feel like I haven't seen much of your smile these days."

"We've both been working," you shrugged, reaching out and picking up your wine glass. "I've missed you but I kind of like that we each have our own things going on, you know?"

"Trust me, I get it," he nodded in agreement. "And I missed you too." Just as you went to respond, you heard a buzzing noise and you realized that it was Namjoon's phone once he reached into his pocket. After looking at the screen, Namjoon looked back up at you with a sorry expression.

"If it's work, go ahead and answer it if you have to," you gave him permission. "I don't mind."

"You sure?"

"Positive," you smiled as you took a sip of your red wine. Namjoon answered the phone then, speaking in hushed tones since the two of you were in the middle of a restaurant.

"I'll look over the song as soon as I'm able to, Hob-ah but I can't now because I'm out with my girl," Namjoon murmured. "I'll call you later, ok? Ok." He hung up the phone then, smiling at you. "You ok?"

"More than ok," you nodded, your mind repeating the words 'My Girl' over and over again.

Jung Hoseok

"Hey baby, where are you?" You called out as you walked into Hobi's apartment, fresh from your workout and ready to see your boyfriend.

"In here!" He shouted from the living room and you walked that way, laughing when you saw Hobi's body strewn over the couch.

"And just how long have you been in this position?" You wondered as you walked over to him, sitting down next to his feet.

"About 10 hours and it's been amazing," he sighed dreamily. "How was work? And your workout?"

"Both good, productive," you shrugged.

"Enough to put you in a good mood?"

"I guess so," you shrugged.

"So much so that you called me baby," Hobi smirked, wiggling his eyebrows at you.

"Is that weird?"

"Yes, coming from you," Hobi nodded. "Anything that you wanna talk to me about?"

"No," you shook your head. "I just, you always call me cute nicknames so I wanted to do the same for you."

"Well, I appreciate the gesture baby but I don't need a nickname to know how much you love me," Hobi reassured you.

"Alright, regular old Hobi it is then," you joked, making Hobi roll his eyes as you leaned over to press a kiss to his lips.

Park Jimin

"Jimin-ssi!" You shouted over the loud music that Jimin had blaring throughout your apartment, which was quickly becoming his as well these days. "What do you want for lunch?"

"What?!" He shouted back.

"Turn the music down and maybe you'll be able to hear!" You giggled and Jimin followed your suggestion, turning the Bangtan song down before walking into the kitchen and wrapping his arms around your waist.

"Sorry baby," he murmured. "Repeat yourself for me?"

"I said, Jimin-ssi, what do you want for lunch?"

"Anything you make is fine, I'm not picky as long as you're cooking it," he shrugged. "Let me ask you a question though."

"What's up?"

"Why do you still call me Jimin-ssi?" He wondered. "I mean, we're long past strangers now, right?"

"Right but it just became a habit and honestly, I kind of like it," you smiled, glancing at him over your shoulder. "It's like our own little thing, you know?"

"I do know," Jimin nodded. "I like having us having a little thing."

"Oh, no you don't," you shook your head when Jimin began leaving open mouthed kisses on your neck. "I'm hungry!"

"So am I," he shrugged, making you laugh out loud as he continued to kiss you.

Kim Taehyung

"Mmm," Taehyung moaned deeply as he pressed a firm kiss to your lips. "I love you."

"I love you too," you murmured back against his lips, receiving two quick presses of his lips to yours before he pulled away and moved his body so that he was now laying next to you instead of on top of you the way he had been. Needless to say, the two of you had enjoyed a slow morning and Taehyung had decided to give you an amazing wake up call.

"My gorgeous girl," he whispered as he intertwined one of your hands with his, leaning over and continuing to press open mouthed kisses over any piece of your skin that he could reach. "My love, my joy."

"Your joy?" You echoed, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

"Yeah," he nodded. "You make me so happy, happier than I ever thought I could be with another person. Even if we're upset with each other, it still makes me happy to see you or talk to you. That's why it feels right to call you that."

"Tae," you huffed, closing your eyes once you felt the tears welling up in them.

"Aww baby," Taehyung chuckled fondly, opening his arms and allowing you to burrow into his side before he pressed a soft kiss to your head.

Jeon Jungkook

You rushed over to your front door once you heard the knocking, a wide smile on your face as you unlocked it and yanked it open.

"Hi baby," Jungkook grinned.

"Kook!" You squealed, rushing forward and literally jumping onto him. He caught you with a huff, laughing afterwards as you hugged him tightly. "I missed you so much!"

"I've only been gone for a week," he pointed out and you looked down at him.

"If you didn't miss me, just say that," you rolled your eyes.

"Of course I did," he smirked, making you suck your teeth before you kissed him passionately. Once the two of you had properly greeted each other, he set you down and you pulled him into your apartment before you shut the door behind him. "Hey, did you call me Kook when you opened the door?"

"Uh, yeah?" You shrugged with a laugh. "Is that not a nickname of yours?"

"It is, you've just never used it before," Jungkook replied. "I like how it sounds coming from you."

"Yeah? Well, if you want, I'll say it over and over again," you purred. "That is, if you can make me."

"That week I was gone must've dulled your memory when it comes to what I can do to you," he smirked. "Go get on the bed."

"Yes Sir," you winked, yelping when Jungkook reached down and smacked your ass.

................................................................

Tag List: @addictedtohobi @brittneymccray @cursedcursives @arata18nanami @leftieaquarius @devilsbooksworld @starmyy @werewolfbanshee-love @li-moonchild-il @kpop-servant @cheysjimin

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ningningsdream · 17 days

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[4:28AM] "i still love you, y/n. it was dumb of me to let you go.", ex! jeno pleaded as he stood on your doorstep at an ungodly hour in the night, "everything i see reminds me of you. i've tried to move on but i can't help myself comparing everyone with you. i miss you even when i'm in a room full of people to distract me.", jeno rambled, his rosy cheeks hinting that he was probably a little tipsy.

today would've been your fifth-year anniversary if you stayed together.

"i thought of you every single day for almost a whole year after we broke up.", you said, looking at him.

"me-"

"let me finish.", you interrupted him, holding your index up, "i tried so hard not to, but it felt like the more i was trying to not think of you, the more i did. you were the first and last person i talked to every single day. some mornings, when i was still in a sleepy haze, i found myself looking at my phone to see if you had texted me and when reality hit me, it was another kind of pain. you were part of my everyday, you became a habit. it's hard getting rid of habits. i had to get used to say that i didn't have a boyfriend when asked about relationships, and i couldn't use 'my boyfriend and i already planned something' when i wanted to get out of things. i was wondering if i was the only one that had to hold myself back from sending you a text. i was wondering if you too, struggled with not having me in your life anymore."

"i did. i do. so much, y/n. you don't know how much i want to go back to slap some sense into myself and not break up with you. i was so overwhelmed with graduation, work and keeping up with family and friends that i thought i needed to get rid of something."

"so you got rid of me..."

"and i regret it so fucking much. the minute i saw the tears in your eyes i regretted it. i thought it was for the better, i was so busy i couldn't even be a proper boyfriend to you, and you deserved better than that. i thought letting you go was the best for the both of us."

"the best? i cried every single night for three months straight. not only because i missed you, but because as you said i deserved better. i knew that... i knew it but i also knew that if you showed up like this at my door back then i would've taken you back in a heartbeat. and it made me hate myself, because i loved you more than i loved myself."

"i'm so sorry, y/n. i really am-"

"babe! where are you?", you heard bf!renjun screaming from your room, with his sleepy and worried voice.

"i'll be right back, junnie.", you answered with a little smile on your face, imagining your boyfriend with his eyes closed and a pout on his face as his arm was lying on your empty side of the bed. you turned back to face jeno, whose face seemed like he saw a ghost, "jeno, i appreciate the apology... but you're a little too late. i've stopped waiting for you a long time ago.", you gave him a small apologetic smile.

jeno looked at you and realized how much he fucked up. you've rightfully moved on and he was the only one being stuck in something he created. when you replied to your boyfriend, that was when he noticed the smile on your face, the same smile that used to be directed to him, and that was the only time he saw you express happiness since he appeared on your doorstep.

"fuck, you're really here.", a familiar voice said right after you heard the elevator doors open.

"i really wished i was wrong.", another familiar voice said.

you turned your head and saw two people, you thought you wouldn't see again, walking towards your apartment.

"time to go home, samoyed."

"haechan. jaemin.", you greeted your ex's bestfriends.

"sorry for the disruption.", ex's bestfriend!haechan told you before grabbing jeno's arm and putting it around his shoulders, helping his friend walk away from your apartment and your life.

"how have you been ?", your old childhood bestfriend!jaemin said, letting jeno and haechan walk away first.

"great...you?"

"same."

the feeling of awkwardness and nostalgia could be sensed in the air. you looked at each other a few more seconds as all the memories of your friendship, from when you met in kindergarten to when he stayed by jeno's side when you two broke up, flashed through your eyes.

"baaaabeee!!", your boyfriend whined from far away, "come baaaack!"

"well, it's late. we're going to let you go back to your night. sorry about that.", jaemin nodded towards your ex, "and everything else...", hinting at his own mistakes.

you nodded, acknowledging his apology, "bye, jaem.", you gave him one last smile. it had been a while since he heard his nickname coming out of your mouth.

"bye, y/n.", jaemin returned your smile.

you watched him walk away with his two other friends, knowing that your byes stood as an official farewell to your friendship and his presence in your life.

#nct dream scenarios #nct dream imagines #nct dream fluff #nct dream angst #nct scenarios #nct imagines #nct fluff #nct angst #lee jeno scenarios #lee jeno imagines #lee jeno timestamps #lee jeno fluff #lee jeno angst #jeno scenarios #jeno imagines #jeno timestamps #jeno fluff #jeno angst

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softstarlite · 3 months

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Se nos rompió el amor

CHAPTER 1

Summary: You thought your love was strong and could conquer everything, I guess you were wrong...

Warnings: Physical violence, talk of doctors, talk of pregnancy, toxicity from romantic partner, implied age gap. (Not proof read)

Rating: +18

Word Count: 1.6K

Sneak peek / Chapter 2 / Masterlist

Divider by @saradika

A/N: yes sorry guys, I've done it, I've started another series when I feel stuck on my first one, The Casualty of Love. I promise that'll I try to update that one as soon as I can.

You fidget with your hands on your lap like you always do when you're nervous, before you can continue to let your anxiety eat you, you hear your last name called. You look up from your lap to the nurse looking around the waiting room and then you stand up.

“Soy yo (it's me)” you inform her and when she signals for you to follow her, you do.

Minutes later after a full check up, when you hear the confirmation of what you feared from the doctor's mouth, you feel your entire body going cold, you and him hadn't even talked before about this possibility, which now that you think about it was incredibly irresponsible.

Your walk home is something that you don't even remember by the time you´re already there. How were you supposed to tell Javi? You guys have been having your worst moment in your relationship lately, always irritated answers to questions, the rolling eyes or the groaning after a complaint and let's not get started on the countless arguments.

You knew that his job was frustrating, stressful and many more things that can mess up with somebody but you are not at fault for any of those things and yet you were paying for them. You fear this would only make the entire situation worse and you would lose the only family you have left.

It's not after 2 am that Javier arrives to your shared apartment, in the almost two years you and him have been together he had always tried not to arrive home this late, so on the nights that he had succeeded you would wait awake for him and on the nights he would have no other option but to arrive this late you would have fell asleep waiting for him on the couch, but today it was a surprise because there you were at this ungodly hour on the couch but not asleep, instead with a lime blossom infusion in hand.

“Where were you today? I came home for a few hours to have lunch together but you weren't here” that's the first thing he says to you while putting on the coffee table his keys, his satellite phone, his gun, his badge and his sunglasses, not even a hello, or a, what are you doing awake?

“I was running a few errands” you lie, not sure if you could share with him what the doctor had confirmed just yet.

You hear him scoff and when you look at him, he is pouring some whiskey on a glass. “What?” you ask him with confusion painting your face.

“Oh nothing” he answers with a shrug and a lace of sarcasm in his tone “just curious about what those errands are querida (dear)”

You put the cold cup on the coffee table beside his sunglasses and then put your legs on the couch under you, your arms hugging themselves “well umm…” but before you can come up with a fake errand that you´ve been doing earlier on the day, he cuts you off.

“umm… umm…” he mocks your doubt “can think of a lie that fast querida?” he spats at you with slight anger.

You don't know if you´re more confused about how he could have found out or about why he would be so angry at you for it. Sure like you said earlier, it was unplanned and you two had never talked about it before, but you would have expected another reaction from the man you knew and loved. You stand up from the couch quickly with your hands reaching for him.

“Javi, I'm sorry for not telling you before but…” again before you can finish, he cuts you off and takes a step back so you can't reach him.

“¡Claro! (Of course!) Because telling me earlier would make your cheating better, that's exactly why I'm mad!” he say stepping away from your reaching hands and turning around, running a hand through his hair he curses under his breath “Por el amor de Dios… (for fuck´s sake)”

You're taken back by his accusation “Wh-what?” what was he even talking about? Cheating?

“Don't you even dare to try to play the innocent card; the whole sudden glowing thing that even Steve keeps complimenting you about, the weird whispering phone calls on the evenings, the sudden errands that you can't even explain today” he runs a hand over his face with a frustrated groan “is your little “friend” from work isn´t it? Carlos is his name i think”

Still in some kind of shock from this out of the blue accusation, you stare at his angry face for a few seconds before answering “Carlos? Javi even if i was cheating, which i'm not, it would definitely not be with him, he's…” you sigh “he's not into women…”

“Well if not him then with who, i deserve to at least know that” he demands.

“No one, Javi, I'm not cheating on you, I know those things you said can be seen like I am but I promise I'm not” you try to reach for him again but he grabs your wrist before you can.

“Oh so since the innocent card didn't work, now you´re trying to play the “you´re imagining things” one?” he scoffs and his grip on your wrist tightens.

“Javi you're drunk” you have been able to smell the alcohol in him since he came through the door “and lately you´ve been too stressed because of work, let's relax, lets go to sleep and talk about this on the morning, please” you look into his eyes “por favor Javi…(please Javi…)”

He shakes his head “No, you´re not putting this on me, ni te atrevas (don't even dare), i'm not letting you have all night to come up with all the lies you can so you can trick me in the morning” he pulls you towards him by the wrist he has on his hold, then he grips your jaw with his free hand making you look at him “just fucking confess already” you put a hand on his chest to try to push him back.

“Javier you're hurting me…” you try to reason with him to let go of you.

“Cariño, i can assure you, you've hurt me more with your lies” you can see his eyes turn a dark color.

“I-I'll tell you” you try to let your words out with his hand constricting your jaw and cheeks “I'll tell you where i´ve been today” he almost seems surprised by it.

He finally lets go of your face to let you say what he thinks will be a confession of adultery “I was at the gynecologist”

He scoff and shakes his head “i said no more fucking lies!!” he raises his voice a little.

“You can call the office as soon as they open if you don't believe me” you say with a shaky voice, feeling fear for the first time in the presence of Javier “she'll tell you all about the pregnancy” you finally say with a hint of venom in your words.

Immediately, you can feel his hand and grip leave you; he takes a step back, leaving your personal space, you can see a million thoughts passing through his eyes, like he is connecting all of the dots.

“P…pregnancy?” he talks out loud but you see that it's not towards you but to the thick air, then his eyes connect with you again, an expression of confusion, fear, regret and sadness mixing in his face “you're pregnant?” his voice comes out as a breathy whisper.

You can only nod while you finally let your tears fall from your eyes. Javi can feel his heart ripping apart, sobering up in a second, the truth sinking in him.

Now that his grip on you is not longer, you rub at the wrist he had gripped so hard that now it was red. You see him still standing there in shock, you take that opportunity to make a beeline to your purse, taking it to the bedroom where you put in it a few clothing items and some underwear, then you quickly put on some shoes.

When you walk out into the living room, he's still there, looking at the wall behind the couch, you walk in front of him towards the front door; your passing in front of his eyes makes him snap out of his trance, his eyes following you now.

“Baby…” his voice now soft, apologetic “I…I…I´m so sorry” he apologizes looking at his hands like they don't belong to his body “I don't…I shouldn't have…” he tries to step towards you and reach for you but you instinctively step back, a hand finding home on your lower stomach and your eyes closing hard.

He feels like a monster, like the worst human being to walk this earth, for a moment he even thinks more highly of Escobar than himself. He feels shame and guilt eat him from the inside.

“Please baby lets just talk, I'm really sorry, please…” you can see for the first time, since you guys met, tears in his eyes.

“Please don't…I can't” you shake your head again and again while tears fall from your eyes and snot leaves your nose,

He watches you turn and leave the apartment, he falls to his knees, looking at his hands again while he lets the tears finally fall from his eyes, his heart breakin in a million pieces, and anger for himself building on his chest.

Next chapter

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stevesjockstrap · 4 months

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Odds Are

Based on this post or Eddie gets his hand stuck in the Family Video return slot… and Steve finds him.

read on ao3 • rated T • cw: mention of injuries

Slamming his van door, he hurried through the parking lot towards Family Video. He knew they were probably closed but he needed to return his rental. Eddie was very high, but not as high as his late fees.

Getting to the front, he yanked hard on the obviously locked door.

“Fuck!” He looked around, remembering Wayne saying something about an after hours returns slot.

Finally locating it on the side of the building, he peered at it, crouching down to see how it worked. It was just a metal flap that opened into the building. He frowned. Was there a soft landing for the tapes? A pillow? What if the tape got damaged and they charged him for it even if it wasn’t his fault since he was just using their shoddily designed returns slot? He couldn’t afford to replace this tape. He was here because he couldn’t afford another dollar late fee.

Stomping around the parking lot, he couldn’t decide what to do.

He pulled his trusty D20 from his vest. Crouching down again by the wall, he rolled. A three. Well. That wasn’t hopeful.

Deciding he could hold the tape and try to get it as close to the floor as possible, to lessen the chances of breaking the case or tape, he rolled again. Fourteen. Good enough for him. He wrapped his hand around the tape and slid his hand through the slot, leaning in with his shoulder so most of his arm was through, and he finally let go when he couldn’t push inward anymore.

Grinning when he heard a soft sound from the other side, he pulled his arm back. But then winced when it didn’t come out.

“Fuck!” His rings were caught on the other side.

Wiggling his fingers and yanking his arm back did nothing but send sharp pains through this hand. Clenching his jaw, he decided he had to stop. He couldn’t lose his fingers. He needed them to play his guitar and D&D and there’s no way he could jerk off left handed now, it would be miserable.

Settling back on his heels, he craned his neck and looked around. Every other building he could see was dark. There were no cars in any of their lots and of course no one else was out at this time of night. Wayne was at work. He wouldn’t miss him until tomorrow.

He felt his chest clench with panic as he realized he was stuck here forever.

Or at least until someone came to Family Video.

“Am I going to be stuck here until morning?” He whispered to the D20. He closed his eyes and rolled.

Cracking one eye open, he checked. A fifteen.

“Fuck!”

Managing to get into a somewhat comfortable position with his legs under him but not yanking on his fingers, he leaned against the side of the building with a sigh. At least it wasn’t raining. His eyes widened and he looked up at the sky suspiciously.

“Is it going to rain?” A four. He sighed again in relief.

Scouring his pockets one handed for things to entertain himself, he somehow managed to not die of boredom over the next few hours.

Something jolted him awake, and air pushed out of the return slot at him. Someone must have unlocked the front door. Before he could decide what to do, he heard a ‘holy shit’ from inside.

“Woah man, uh, are you okay?” Steve fucking Harrington was suddenly standing beside him. Could this day get any worse?

“Yeah, just um, returning my rental. Making sure it got here safely. Your death trap here is a little much, don’t you think?”

Steve blinked, eyebrows coming together for a second before he smiled and held back a laugh. Eddie bristled. “Usually people don’t stick their entire arm into it. Oh! Let me go, uh, get you out. Sorry, I just saw a hand and freaked out. Stay there!”

“As if I could run away, asshole,” he grumbled.

There was an odd sensation of pressure on his hand yet everything was numb.

“Don’t go anywhere, come inside and let me make sure you're okay.” Steve was talking to him through the open metal door, after releasing his hand.

He slipped his arm out and may have let out a very manly scream when he saw his hand. It was nearly blue and his fingers were swollen.

Finding himself in the back room of Family Video with Steve Harrington fussing over him hadn’t even been a blip on his radar of how this day could’ve turned out.

“Keep it below your heart, so the blood flow can get back to it, you know, easier. I think it’ll be okay. Once it’s not blue we can do an ice pack for the swelling.”

Eddie peered up at him. “They giving out medical degrees at Family Video now?”

Steve anxiously grabbed the back of his neck and looked around, “No, but I’ve, uh, gotten myself injured a lot recently. So-“

“I’ve got a lot of personal experience being a human punching bag, myself, actually,” he snorted. He’d heard about the Byers thing, and the fight with Billy.

Steve groaned but he got to watch the blush rise on his cheeks, bringing out his freckles. Oh.

He decided to try to hurry this along, shaking his hand around and flexing his fingers to try to get feeling to them. However, the feeling that came back first was pain.

“Ow, oh fuck,” he hissed.

“Time for ice, then,” Steve suggested.

He watched him open a small refrigerator in the corner and pull out a soft sided ice pack, wrap it in a towel and bring it to him. He looked embarrassed for some reason, and shrugged a shoulder when he helped settle the bundle in his open hand.

“I get migraines. Since- well, for a bit. So. The ice pack helps sometimes. If I catch them right.”

Eddie watched him closely as he rambled. “You’re a lot different than I thought you’d be.” The words tumbled out as they usually did, without much thought.

“Oh yeah?” His eyebrows shot up adorably.

He was really enjoying this attention from this new and improved Harrington. He sunk back further into the couch, easing his sore hand back. “Yeah. Why are you being so nice to me? This isn’t very King Steve of you.”

Steve winced and he instantly wanted to take it back. But he shrugged, throwing his entire body into it. “Im not him anymore. I’m trying, really trying, to do better. Robin helped a lot.”

Eddie frowned. The only Robin he knew was, “Robin Buckley?”

Steve’s demeanor changed completely, excited and almost bouncing on his toes to explain, “Yeah. She’s awesome. We’re best friends. She got me this job basically. After the whole Starcourt thing,” Eddie watched his face close off at that, “we, uh, we’re really close.”

He felt like his entire world shifted on its axis. Sure, he’d seen them at the mall at Scoops and he knew they both worked here, but… best friends? He was also pretty sure Robin Buckley was gay. Did he know? Was he okay with that? Would he be okay if he knew he-

“Holy shit,” he covered his face with his other hand and the ice pack dropped to the ground. This was too much.

“Are you okay? Are you gunna hurl? Eddie?”

“I’m okay, I’m just…” He shook his head again, rubbing across his face. When he looked back at Steve, he found him crouched in front of him, inches away really, holding out the ice pack for him. “Thanks,” he breathed. He wanted to trace his finger over the freckles and moles and scars across his cheeks and down his neck.

“Anytime.”

After Steve deemed his fingers safe from danger, he unfortunately really had to leave. Steve held the front door open for him, a cute little smile on his face.

Throwing his van door open, he stopped and looked back into the video store. Steve was standing behind the counter now, and raised his hand to wave at him. He waved back, dazed.

Patting his pockets, he found his D20.

“Do I have even a microscopic chance?”

He cupped his hands around the die and shook it, letting it drop into the seat. A nat fucking twenty. He blinked. He had to get to school. But he was hours late already.

Leaving the door hanging open, he ran back inside.

“Hey, uh, Harrington, you ever been to The Hideout?”

@spdrgwen @eddiethehunted @callmeloverr

#eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie #stranger things fic #mine #Steve/eddie #pre relationship steddie #steddie fic

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multifixwritings · 1 month

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Some Things Are Meant to Be

Fandom: Twilight Pairing: Jasper Hale x GN!Reader x Alice Cullen Summary: It was the way Alice and Jasper found eternal happiness, against the odds, in a way no one expected. Words: 1515 (oneshot) Note: Oh, to be in a relationship with these two! You didn't specify, and I am such a sucker for the human x vampire pairing, so that's what I went with here. I hope I did okay and you're not too disappointed!

Vampiric culture differed in many ways from those of humans. Transitioning from mortal to immortal meant changing your entire way of life—nothing would be the same. Diet, socialization, and routines all shifted to accommodate the transformation. Some settled well into the new arrangement while others found it more difficult even with time to adjust.

How relationships developed and worked was something most didn’t think about until it hit them. Vampires could “date around” like any human, but no romantic relationship could compare to finding your singer or mate. The chemistry bound you deeper than any soulmate humans claimed to have found.

What most didn’t realize was there could be more than one.

The rustic smell of fresh blood pumping through the elk had venom filling their mouths. It would never compare to the agonizing burn inspired by humans, but it would be more than enough to satisfy the ache. Alice and Jasper stalked through the trees with the grace of a lion hiding in the tall grass. The game of predator and prey never failed in nature.

Oh, to be the once helpless prey turned into the ruthless predator.

The couple waited for the right moment before pouncing. Sharp enamel ripped into soft flesh, rich blood sliding down their throats to ease the ever-present pang of thirst. Alice allowed herself a shred of vulnerability and closed her eyes to savor her meal—only for them to snap back open.

Jasper noted his mate's shift in emotion and was at her side in an instant, leaving his elk half-drained but mercifully unaware of its quick death. "Alice? What do you see?"

Her petite hands dropped the animal to the forest floor as her eyes stared ahead blankly. She vaguely recognized Jasper's hands grasping her arms, felt his body close to hers as he waited for her to share. His worry faded into mere curiosity as he registered her emotional state—confusion to surprise to happiness.

"It's..." Alice grinned. "They're beautiful."

You turned, your eyes falling on the couple a few feet behind you. Your brow furrowed slightly before a small smile graced them. You lifted your hand in a gentle wave before turning back around to face the front.

Jasper frowned. "Who?"

The way your laugh crinkled your eyes nearly made her inert heart start beating once more—like when she first saw Jasper in her mind's eye. You shook your head before bending down to pick up the fallen paper from the floor.

"I am so sorry! I swear, I'd lose my head if it weren't attached to my body." You stood back up and stuck out your hand. "I'm (Y/N). I just moved here."

Alice repeated your name softly as she blinked away the vision. She liked the way it sounded on her tongue. The pixie-like vampire squealed and turned to Jasper.

"Jazz! They're coming!"

Her excitement infected him. Jasper chuckled and cradled her face in his hands to ground her. "Who's coming, darling?"

"Our mate! Oh!" She threw her arms around his waist. "Oh, they're perfect, Jazz!"

Neither vampire had heard of multiple mates before. Carlisle shared his experience in witnessing such a phenomenon when the confused yet anxious couple brought the vision to him. He had only seen it a couple of times in his immortal years.

Alice shared a glance with Jasper before revealing their new mate was human—and a whole new bout of anxiety swept throughout the Olympic Coven. They had nearly lost their entire family because their brother had fallen in love with a human. Bella was a treasured member of their coven—none of them would trade her or their beloved Renesmee for anything—but her presence in their lives had caused more trouble than any of them had predicted.

Jasper, Rosalie, and Edward had more reservations than the others. While Jasper had come miles in controlling his thirst, he remembered how difficult it had been for Edward to control his thirst around Bella and was terrified it might be the same. Rosalie and Edward were concerned about the possibility of the Volturi getting involved if yet another human discovered their secret. They would not be as forgiving as they had been with Bella after all the confrontations.

Your arrival had the coven on edge. They prepared themselves for whatever would happen but hoped for the best possible outcome.

Alice grabbed Jasper's hand. "There's (Y/N)."

Time stopped when you walked into the lecture. The couple sucked in a breath they both knew they didn't need. They watched in varying emotions—Alice vibrated with energy and Jasper swallowed warily—as the professor greeted you. You took the empty seat a couple rows in front of them.

Transferring to another university was not easy for you, but you were determined to make the best of it. It would only take another couple of credits for you to get your degree. You were just thankful it wasn't like high school where the teachers treated a new student as some sort of event and made you introduce yourself to the class.

Your pencil bounced in your hand. Jasper noted your anxiety and focused on sending a wave of calm to settle over you. The effect was instantaneous as you inhaled deeply and relaxed in your seat. You glanced around to see the lecture hall seemed scarce—less people meant less opportunity for embarrassment.

"How are you feeling?" Alice's words were silent to any nearby human ears.

Jasper shifted—a habit long since instilled in him to appear normal. "All right," he muttered. "It's... They don't affect me. Not... like that."

Your hand paused its notations on your paper. You turned around slightly after a moment before your gaze fell upon the couple. It had been their eyes you'd felt on the back of your head. Your forehead crinkled faintly.

Alice grinned at you. Jasper acknowledged you with a friendly nod of his head. Your frown lifted into a small smile but the confusion had written itself over your face. You slowly waved your fingers before shifting back to the front.

The couple remained on your mind the rest of the lecture. They seemed nice enough, but you couldn't shake the way your chest fluttered when they'd smiled at you. It was a strange tightening—not entirely unpleasant but definitely uncommon.

You gathered your belongings at the end of the lecture and stretched once you stood. Your muscles had trouble sitting still for so long.

"I don't think we've met."

"Oh!" You brought a hand to your chest, the paper fluttering to the ground at your feet.

Jasper muttered Alice's name fondly as her sudden voice startled you. He couldn't help the small smirk gracing his lips at the sharp increase of your heartbeat. Your wide eyes landed on the couple who seemed to appear beside you.

A sigh escaped you before you laughed quietly, shaking your head at your own reaction. You bent down to pick up the paper before it could get crumpled.

"I am so sorry! I swear, I'd lose my head if it weren't attached to my body." You didn't exactly know why you apologized, but you felt it was the right thing to do once a swift calmness wiped out any embarrassment. "I'm (Y/N). I just moved here."

Your grin seemed to light up your face as you held your hand out to your fellow students. Alice eagerly placed her hand in yours—her skin felt like ice.

"I'm Alice and this is Jasper! I just know we're going to be the best of friends."

If only you had known how misdirected those words were when she'd said them. Alice and Jasper did become your best friends, but the connection was so much more intimate than that. They became your greatest inspiration to finish school, your biggest motivation for chasing your dreams, and your first chance at genuine love.

It was the way they spent hours with you, how they listened to you rant and rave, how they comforted you when you were down, the way they somehow always knew exactly what you needed to go about your day. It was the small tokens of affection, the coffee they would bring you in the mornings, the small touches here and there, the terms of endearment.

It was the way they planned nights with you, the stay-in movie dates, the meals you would cook together despite them never eating, the tender kisses and gentle caresses. It was how they sat you down and let you in on their biggest secret, how they trusted you not to tell anyone, how they went against everything they had learned to let you into their life because they loved you that much.

It was the way they discussed the future with you, how they let you know it was your choice, how they only wanted the best for you. It was how they held you as fire spread throughout your entire body, how they took turns staying with you until the transition was complete, how they embraced you in your rebirth, how they happily introduced you officially into your new family.

It was the way they completed you.

It was the way you were meant to be.

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luveline · 10 months

Note

Hey Jade! Could I request some more kisses before dinner au? Steve and reader both have a bad day (Reader with her pregnancy and steve is just overwhelmed with looking after everone?) and they have a fight in the evening before, during or after dinner. The girls get a little upset and make a plan to get the two talking again and to make up and the night ends with a big cuddle. Thank you, love you and your work, you're actually so beautiful! Xx

HI!! thank you so much angel, I hope this is OK!! ♥ dad!steve x pregnant!reader, 3k.

You said we could do this.

Steve thinks about that line most of all. Your argument blurred into one big glob of anger, wanting to be right and silly grievances, fatigue. The only thing that stuck out was your upset face as you'd sniffled and murmured, "You said we could do this," like Steve had let you down.

Steve regrets arguing with you, but what he hates most is having lost his cool in front of the girls. He resents himself for it as much as he does you, and he's finding it difficult to let any of it go.

It's Avery who's claimed his lap, while Bethie and Dove lean on either side of you, Dove's face against the bump of your stomach like a pillow. Steve strokes hair out of his eldest daughter's face one silky strand at a time. He knows the girls aren't used to fighting, Steve grew up seeing it, and he didn't want his kids to see it because he knows it creates a strange and sometimes suffocating anxiety, so you and he have always argued in private when you could.

You're very pregnant (exhausted, hormonal, going through huge changes) and Steve is trying to do a lot more to account for that (similarly exhausted, and wondering if perhaps he has sympathy hormones). The baby bump means you can't and shouldn't be doing as much. You've worked your entire pregnancy, through two trimesters of intense morning sickness, and the third and last trimester offered a reprieve from that and nothing else.

As your uterus moves and your bump drops to make room for the last hurdle of the baby's growth, you can hardly breathe. You're always aching. Steve insists you take it easy and even if he didn't insist it's not exactly a conscious decision either of you van make. Being kind to yourself is being kind to the baby, and you're the best mom in the world —you're slowing down whether anyone likes it or not.

Worse, your Braxton Hicks have started. They come at irregular times and never last long, but each time prompts the am I going into labour early? panic. It's not fair, Steve wishes he could take it from you, and he doesn't want you to do more than you can, but he needs a little more room to breathe, and some forgiveness.

Because Steve did assure you that you could do this. You wouldn't have agreed to another baby if you didn't think it yourself, neither of you being that irresponsible. Lots of things come before wanting. Steve wants a big family, he could cry every time he looks at you lately and the unignorable evidence of another family member to love and cherish that is your distended stomach, but he loves the one he has now. Before you even thought about trying for your fourth, you had to know it wouldn't hurt your first three, or each other.

Steve knows you can do this. He can do it. Today was just a bad day, and he needs your faith in him, or this is never going to work.

Steve wants to say that to you, now he's had time to think. I'm sorry I let you down, but I need you to forgive me, and I need you to trust me that we can do it. He also wants to say Thanks for being a dick about Beth's doctor's appointment, obviously I forgot to take her on purpose, I just don't like her. He decides he hasn't calmed down enough to talk to you yet. He's mad at you but he fucking loves you, he doesn't want to hurt your feelings anymore than he already has.

Avery kisses Steve's cheek unexpectedly, snapping him from a reverie of racing thoughts. He meets her gaze to ask what she wants, but she's swift to slide down the lengths of his legs and onto the floor.

"Bethie," she says, meandering to where her sister sits, hands catching on Bethie's bare knees, "do you want to come and colour in with me?"

"Why don't you bring your colours down here?" you ask.

"I don't want to carry the table," Avery says, referring to the green and purple picnic bench she has in her room. She can't carry it, even though it's only small. She's smaller.

"I can grab it for you, Ave," Steve says.

"That's okay, daddy, you're tired. Please, Bethie? I need your help staying in the lines."

Bethie raises her eyebrows. Reluctant, she climbs off of the sofa and Avery takes her hands. Steve can hear them whispering as they reach the stairs, their creaking steps covering words but not sounds.

Steve usually puts his life into perspective quite easily. He doesn't often get angry, having had the privilege to choose pretty much every aspect that's worth agonising over. He was lucky enough to love you, and to have you love him back. He was lucky enough to have a say when you got pregnant accidentally the first time, and beyond privileged to be able to ask again, and to have you yes, to want to say yes to the second, the third, the fourth.

He doesn't get angry at you much. When you're mean, of course, when you fall for the same weaknesses he might. A short temper, a mistimed snark. He was really mad at you a few years ago when you burned your arm on a pan he told you multiple times was hot. He was so mad he couldn't speak not that long ago when you assured him you could clean the hot sauce off of his first Hellfire shirt with a lemon and ended up bleaching the black sleeve a mottled brown. But you were cleaning his shirt because you loved him. You burnt yourself trying to help him clean your shared kitchen. All these things he's angry about, they're mistakes, or they're moments of weakness in a long receipt of kindness, and sweetness. Plus, you're the prettiest woman he's ever met, you're prettier every day. That deserves something, he thinks. Reverence, patience, anything you need if it means he gets to keep being with you, gets to keep having these stupid fights.

And there it is. The anger wears away. Steve remembers how much he loves you (which hadn't been in doubt, the love part, but the volume —when he's mad, he loves you astronomically, and when he isn't, he loves you so much they haven't made a word for it). He wants to say sorry and have you say it back. You'll kiss him and let him hold you, his hand over your tummy, and hopefully you'll admit to understanding where he's coming from. If he's really lucky, you'll let him massage your shoulders, or hold the bump up to take the weight off.

"Dove!" Bethie shouts from the top of the stairs. "Dove, come and help, please? We need another hand for the drawing!"

Dove perks up by your side. She slides off of the couch with little convincing, your fingers twisting a curl of her hair as she goes.

"Have to help me," Dove says. Bethie sighs and begins down the stairs to fight the baby gate.

Steve opens his mouth about the second they're both out of earshot again and you still beat him to it.

"Baby brain made me act like a bitch. Sorry."

"I knew it was baby brain and I still took the bait, so…"

"You think I was baiting you?" you ask.

"Not on purpose?" Steve rests his cheek across the top of the couch, fake leather cool on his skin. "You had a real reason to be mad at me. I said you didn't have to take her and then I let you down."

"You didn't let me down," you say.

"And you're not a bitch," he says,

"I feel really embarrassed after we argue. Maybe you make me feel that way," you say, looking down at your hands, "but I don't think so. I wish you wouldn't get so mad with me."

"I wish I didn't, either."

"Not that we don't both get angry."

"I know what you meant." The conversation is stilted and jagged and frankly painful to manoeuvre. "Do I really make you feel embarrassed?" he asks.

"No," you say. "I'm sorry, I don't know what I'm trying to say. This part never gets any easier."

"But we'll keep doing it?"

You put both hands over your bump and give him a long, serious look. "Yeah."

Steve shuffles closer to you on the couch and tries to land you both on the same page. "What did you mean by that? That I make you feel embarrassed after we fight? I'm not mad, I just don't get it."

You offer your hand as though you're afraid he'll reject it, pinky finger bumping his where it rests on his thigh. Steve takes it gently.

"Stevie, sometimes, you get really mad when we fight and I– I don't blame you because I know why you get mad like that, and you've never been cruel to me for the sake of it, you aren't cruel. You've never hurt me just being angry. You've said stuff to me that hurt my feelings–"

"I've never hurt you for no reason," he says, worried, hoping you'll agree.

"Of course not. Steve, you've barely hurt me. But I… I think I feel embarrassed after we fight 'cos I can't stand thinking you had that much disdain for me." You squeeze his fingers. "Even for a minute. Which isn't your fault, that's how being angry works. You get so annoyed at someone that you lose it."

"I don't hate you, though," he murmurs. "You really think I have disdain for you? 'Cos I don't, honey. Not for a millisecond. That's not what it'd be about." He can't believe he's loved you this long and this is the first he's hearing about this feeling in particular. "When we were fighting earlier, I wasn't thinking about how awful you are or anything like that."

"What were you thinking?" you ask hesitantly.

"That I wish you'd see my side." It comes out in a rush, a sigh, his hand sliding up your wrist. "I just wanted you to see my fucking side for once."

"Are you kidding?" you say.

He backtracks. "Sorry, not for once. That wasn't fair. It's what I was thinking, though"

Much less insulted by his thoughts at the time of a blow up argument than the notion that he thought you were refusing to see his side after you literally asked him to tell you his side a second before, you relax. Or, you sag, and your brows pull together in pain, free hand moving to your chest.

Steve sidles in as close to your side as he can get and covers your hand with his. "You okay?' he asks softly.

"I'm fine. Tell me your side."

"I'm sorry for upsetting you," he says honestly. "But I need you to cut me some slack. I know you're having a really hard time right now, and I know you know I'm trying to make it work just as much as you are. Is that okay?"

You take his hand from your chest and put it over your baby bump. He could weep with relief.

"That's okay. I really am sorry, Steve, I know I took it too far."

"Well, I got angry twice. I wish you'd told me how you felt about it, you know? I would've told you a long time ago that I– I love you even when you're pissing me off. You don't have to feel embarrassed thinking you've lost my respect or something."

"I know it doesn't make sense," you say.

"But if that's how you feel," he says. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I just want us to be okay again.

"We're okay again," you say, staring at him for a few long, slow seconds. "I love you."

"That's the best one, right? After we fight? I love you, too," he says, hand slipping under your shirt. He'd do it if you weren't pregnant, but now you are he does it for a different reason, feeling along your ballooned tummy for something in particular. "Has she been kicking today?"

"Only every time you talk," you say, beaming, knowing how special that is. You move his hand to the very top of your bump. "Feels like she's inside my lungs. Would you…"

Steve grins and leans down. You pull the hair from his eyes, holding him to your chest. "Listen, lovely girl. You gotta give your mom a break, go back to sitting on her bladder for a bit. The only person who should be making her breathless is me."

"Corny," you say, scratching his hair.

Steve puts his ear to your stomach. She won't talk back, and he can't hear much, but he tricks himself into thinking your weird stomach gurgling is the baby speaking.

"No," Avery says, much closer than Steve thought she was, the troupe of them having made their way downstairs while Steve was busy laying on your stomach. "This will work, Beth."

"I don't want them to be angry," Bethie says.

"They won't be angry with us. Mom doesn't get mad, she gets disappointed, and dad only shouts when I den-danger my safety."

You snort and Steve tries uselessly to cover your mouth. "It's a make up plan," you whisper.

"Oh. We have to still be fighting, then," Steve says. He springs up, gives you a very tender if he says so himself kiss to your cheek, and crawls back to his empty seat.

"Let's go," Dove insists, prancing through the open door.

You and Steve try to look dreadfully morose.

"Daddy," Avery says, "Mommy, we made you something to say thanks for being the best dad and mom's ever made."

"You did?" you ask.

"And to stop worrying," Bethie says, drifting toward Steve on automatic.

"My loves," you begin. Steve knows what you'll say —We're sorry.

"Just listen!" Avery insists. "You're the bestest ever, and we have the new baby coming and we'll have to take new photos but we can't because she's still getting bigger, so we drew one."

"Baby photos always make you happy," Beth says.

It's a family portrait on a jagged edged, five feet long piece of paper from one of their paper rolls. You're all very tall and there have been efforts to make each person individual. Steve stands out as the only one with shorts and no eyelashes. Your baby bump has been drawn like you're carrying Pluto around in your abdomen, and Dove is quite small in comparison. Avery has drawn herself to Steve's left, and Bethie stands to hers. It's the most impressive thing Steve has ever seen.

"Oh, wow," he says.

"Woah," you agree.

"This is me," Dove says, pointing at herself.

"That's me," Bethie says, almost dropping her corner of the portrait.

"And there's me and dad and mom and baby," Avery says, pointing at each figure, her arm blocking the crayon hair. "We're the biggest family ever."

"And the best," Bethie says.

"Best," Dove agrees.

If things hadn't been okay between you and Steve before, they are now. In an instant. The girls have presented you with evidence of his very greatest achievements.

"How much do you think it would cost to get that framed?" he asks you.

Your laugh jumps from you as though it had a mind of its own, loving and exhausted, fond. Unsurprised.

"Couple hundred bucks," you say, hand cupping the bottom of your stomach.

"We have that, right? To spare?"

You absolutely don't. Steve says it to make you laugh again, only half joking, and is rewarded by your happy smile. You shuffle down the couch into his arms and he wraps you up without closing his arms, hands extended to the girls where they hesitate.

"Come on," he says, waving his hand toward your back, "this mom sandwich is missing at least three pieces of bread."

Avery cheers and sprints into his reach. Beth and Dove aren't far behind.

—

kisses before dinner au

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weirdly-specific-but-ok · 3 months

Text

i explain india but i'm drunk.

Hello maggots of mine you're all such babygirls and bastards just like Aziraphale and Crowley. I'm so proud of you all for existing. Yes i'm a wholesome drunk you now know this about me. The wine tastes like rotten grapes and smells of battery acid and cost 245 rupees INR. Speaking of INR, thanks to a maggot's ask, I'm here to explain India. I've never set foot outside of this country. But I'm also very very shit at general knowledge.

To any non-Indians reading this, this is a totally legit 1000% everything covered all-inclusive summary. To any Indians reading this, I'm so so fucking sorry.

India, explained.

So there's south india and there's north india and there's north east india. north india is very racist about south india and they're both very racist about north east india. Most of these people are also probably racist either to other countries or they have internalised racism. It's a wild trip.

There are. A lot of languages here. And a LOT of scripts. I can read two scripts, understand four Indian languages and speak in two of them (badly), and those two are not my native tongues. I cannot speak in my native tongues. It's basically English at this point. These aren't dialects, those are separate. Picture like, Europe, but more, in terms of how many languages.

Everyone hates each other which is valid for the entire planet honestly.

In south india we have a lot of coconuts. Like a lot. There are so many coconuts you have no fucking idea guys you cannot escape the coconuts. I was nearly killed by a shower of coconuts when I was 5 I escaped by one second.

There are also cows. People will tell you that you are being racist when you say India has cows everywhere. But it's true. Two weeks ago I had the pleasure to be stuck in a traffic jam. Next to the street barrier thing (what divides a street im too drunk for this) I saw a huge bull fucking HUMPING a cow. The vehicles just had to move around them. They were having sex right there.

If you're a middle class Indian kid, your career options are: doctor, engineer, scientist, CA, lawyer, government official or family disappointment.

Needless to say, I was going to be doctor and am now instead family disappointment. I'm babygirling so hard it's insane. The prodigal son.

It's very ace-friendly and heterophobic in the sense that you are not supposed to be exhibiting any sexuality whatever in a respectable household. Just shut up and give virgin birth already. But be married. That's crucial.

Oh yeah gay marriage isn't legal trans people are constantly othered by society and/or given no respect whatsover and we're just all vibing here this is totally not why I'm finishing a small bottle of cheap wine on a thursday past midnight alone in my room.

Foreigners are like a zoo species you see them you're instantly concerned like what are they doing outside the TV screens and then either people are normal (rarely), they run up and take photos or try to slip into conversation (more often than you'd think, even I've been guilty of the conversation thing as a kid) OR they start talking about how 'this western culture is ruining our culture'. Which is fair but honestly both the 'cultures' these people are talking about usually involve incredible amounts of bigotry and are more similar than they think.

I think the lesson here is that humans just suck as a species. Except for you maggots. I love you all and I will defend you with my life.

THE CHAAT. THE CHAAT IS INSANELY AMAZING. YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND THE CHAAT. I HAVE NO SPICE TOLERANCE SO I HAVE TO BEG ON MY KNEES FOR THE SPICES TO BE REDUCED BUT STILL. THE CHAAT. THE CHAAT, YOU GUYS. YOU NEED IT.

Sorry yes I'm normal. ALSO THE STREET DOGS. THE INDIES. THEY'RE SO LOVELY AND SWEET AND CHAOTIC AND I KEEP TALKING TO THEM. Once when I was crying I made the dog distress while and like five dogs that I didn't know came running to me and comforted me and licked me.

INDIAN DANCE MUSIC. I FUCKING LOVE IT IT'S INSANE. My family were elitist as fuck so I never got to listen to Bollywood music as a kid but it's AMAZING I'm so glad it exists. Bhangra too.

Beaches very very pretty hills very very pretty honestly the nature is fucking beautiful if you can just quickly pretend humans don't exist, which again is true of this entire planet. Yeah. Okay I'm so fucking drunk.

Yeah lots of diversity which is very nice when the humans aren't screaming at each other about it but the rest of the time it's very nice

The garbage and sewer stories? yeah they're all true im sorry

Traffic rules more like traffic suggestions amirite

Well, we still have far better healthcare access than america. so. there is that.

If you speak English well you'll be mocked and isolated. If you speak English poorly you'll be mocked and isolated. Honestly, just be rich. That'll fix it all.

All the conservatives hate each other and don't realise they're the exact same but in like different flavours.

Oh yeah we have auto rickshaws. Look them up. They're so much better than cars I don't get motion sick as easily in them. But the drivers all hate you and never want to take you anywhere.

Eyyyyyyyyyy it's so fucking fun here *drinsk more alcohol* I am so fucking not looking forward to college.

Please someone crowdfund me out of here let's all go chill in Alpha Centauri I've heard it's nice this time of the year.

I will, however, miss the casual live cow pornos. A true highlight.

[I got this peer-reviewed by my friend in India's top law school, just in case, because I'm too drunk and generally dumb. They say I will not be killed. And they've been on Twitter so.]

Irrefutable legal proof y'all. I don't mean to offend anyone except bigots. Fuck you, bigots, if you're not offended then I've disappointed my community.

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iamasaddie · 5 months

Text

webcam for beginners

paring: Dave York x f!Reader rating: explicit (18+ minors DNI) word count: 3,7k~ warnings: power imbalance (boss/employee); age gap (reader mid to late 20s, Dave 45); mutual pining; f and m masturbation; a hint of voyeurism; dirty talk; not proof/beta read sorry; no use of y/n. let me know if I missed anything a/n: a very special thank you to @noxturnalpascal for helping fellow sulking writers get out of the writing slump with this prompt/excersise! It definitely helped because i was stuck for more than two weeks unable to put out anything but a couple of fruitless ideas, but this I banged out in a day and now i feel so much motivation to continue writing it's insane! thank you hottie ily and you're honestly the purest gem of a human being <3

PROMPT: Pick a Pedge Daddy character - Joel Miller, Frankie Morales, Dave York, etc. (it can be Canon or Non-Canon/AU/No Outbreak). PPCU Daddy is surprised - and excited - to learn that the grad/postgrad student he hires to watch his child sometimes also works as a: stripper/dancer/cam-girl/onlyfans-model/dating-or-escort-service (or straight-up SW)

*1000 word Minimum - 2000 word Maximum (yeh that one went splendid)

MY MAIN MASTERLIST

“Would you mind if I get a side job, Mr. York?”

You had been meaning to start this conversation earlier, like a month ago and definitely not when your employer and the father of two adorable baby girls David York was running late after dealing with burnt toast and spilled coffee courtesy of his eldest daughter. You stopped him right as he was about to leave his house, his hand frozen halfway to the keys laying on the shelf.

“Why? Don’t I pay you enough?”

“No, no of course not.” You shook your head. The last thing you wanted was to appear greedy when he already was paying you more than any family on the upper-middle class filled street would. "It’s not about that. It’s just…” You tried to gather your thoughts together, every line that you rehearsed in front of the mirror abandoning your head. “You know, I wasn’t going to make babysitting my whole profession, and since this is the last summer before I graduate, I’d love to have something remote so I could save up and take care of myself further on… I understand if that’s not something you… I just, it’s not even a job right now, I’d just take courses to get into the job and I can take those when the kids are asleep so it won’t affect them at all! You know I wouldn’t let anything affect them.”

“Jesus, dear, relax.” Dave listened to you patiently, finally placing both of his big hands on your shoulders, grounding you. He laughed merrily, and you felt a wave of embarrassment, hiding your eyes from his prying browns. “I can’t even get a word in. And I’d really like to because the word is yes, of course. You’ve been nothing but helpful these past months, and I am very appreciative of the fact that you warn me beforehand. Not that I thought you’d stay our babysitter forever, however pleasant the prospect is.”

Your eyes widened, surprise and happiness fighting for a place in the depth of them. "Really? You don’t mind?” You never thought Mr. York would full on refuse or fire you, but the fact that he let you do this freely without cutting your salary or suggesting you find a different time for this made your heart swell with joy. This man was a treasure, and he reminded you about that once again.

“No, I don’t. As long as girls get the same amount of your attention, you have the green light from me.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you Mr. York!” You didn’t even try to stop the urge to throw your arms around that man, jumping a little and almost squealing how grateful you were, chills erupting under your skin when you felt him return the innocent gesture and engulf your body with his arms and fresh smell.

He came back early that day, knowing that the girls were probably having their daytime nap, but excited at the prospect of spending his first evening in weeks with them together, as a family. Maybe he could even persuade you to stay for dinner. He scratched his chin, thinking if you’d be more inclined to stay if he ordered Chinese or Mexican, when he stumbled over one of the toys girls must have dropped. In an attempt to not fall, Dave spread his arms, grabbing the coat rack and steadying himself, but letting the rucksack that was hanging from it fall. He cursed under his breath, hoping that the noise didn’t wake his daughters, and crouched down to gather all the things that spilled from obviously your bag. He recognized the familiar items from your bag and held up a lipstick, smiling at the memory of Alice begging you to put it on her. You agreed, and he went to work with a tiny lipstick stain his baby girl left on his cheek when she said goodbye. He shoved most of the things inside, still reminiscing, when a bright book cover caught his attention. The title on the book cover read “Webcam for Beginners: A Step-by-Step Guide” . Confused about why you might have bought a book about webcams, Dave felt a pang of unease. Before he could go any further with his assumptions, he decided to open a seemingly boring guide book. Your rucksack fell back to the floor when he saw the contents of the thing. Right in front of his eyes there were dozens of tips, graphs with specific angles, various body parts all to make this the best guide book for future cam girls.

Fuck.

His back was covered with sticky sweat as he put the book on the key shelf, the one that was too high for his girls to try and play with his keys. His steps were slow, as Dave was still thinking what he was supposed to do with it, if he was supposed to do anything at all. After all, you were a free woman with her body autonomy, and he was just a single dad with a shady job and an ex-wife who spent all her waking hours trying to ruin his life.

On autopilot, he walked up the stairs, opening his daughters’ bedroom without making any noise. They were sleeping peacefully, trading two separate beds to sleep hugging each other in one, Alice’s. Dave smiled, softly, his heart soaring with love for his girls, when he heard loud breathing. He wasn’t dumb, so he didn’t even wonder what those noises were or where they were coming from. He strode to the end of the hall to where the guest room was located. The door was just slightly ajar and he shook his head, disapproving both you and himself but for very different reasons.

Damn, you were beautiful. He shouldn’t be doing this. It was wrong, but once he got a first look at the beautiful expanse of your back, at the curve of your ass that he saw you tried to twist awkwardly this way and that so it looked better on the old laptop screen, he couldn’t be bothered with guilt.

Your attention was fully on the picture of yourself on the screen, and he couldn’t blame you, he wasn’t able to take his eyes off of you either. Dave felt his pants become tighter, his blue shirt most likely sported a big damp stain on his back both from the august heat and the unbearable strain of his arousal. He saw you lean back from the camera, opening your naked thighs and trying to lift them up to see if it looked better that way, but that meant that the mic would barely pick your beautiful breathy moans that you tried to keep on the quieter side for the sake of the girls, Dave figured. Your left hand supported your weight as your right were busy between your thighs.

“You should move your camera closer if you want them to hear and see what you sell.”

The speed with which you covered your bare body was so fast that Dave thought he glitched for a moment.

“Mr. York!” Your eyes were as wide as they could physically be, horror written all over your face. “What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”

Dave let out a chuckle, striding into the room confidently and closing the door behind. “Aren’t you supposed to study for your new work?”

“I… Well, I,” you had nothing to tell him, no quick reply that could at least soften the blow. Nothing. And you were still very aware of your nakedness, even though you covered your front as much as you could, your back that faced the wall was still visible. Your old laptop created steady brown noise as the hard drive fought for its life with the editing and video recording app still going.

“You already were, weren’t you?” Dave slowly approached and sat down on a comfortable chair right in front of the bed. His dick was painfully hard for the last ten minutes since he had found that stupid book and imagined what you did with it.

“I’m sorry, I know how it looks, but I’m…”

He interrupted you with a hand gesture, “I don’t care what you choose to do with your body, dear. It’s yours for a reason, and I have no say. I’m no one to you.”

You felt both a relief and a sense of disappointment washing over you. Mr. York was right, he was no one to you, just a man with two adorable little daughters who paid you to look after them. He didn’t have to take the responsibility for your little crush on him. You smiled still, a warm happiness spreading all over your insides because you were right, and he wasn’t one of those conservative bastards. He respected your choice and he… Wait, why was he still in the room, his eyes not leaving your body, lips wet with a fresh coat of saliva from his tongue.

“Mr. York…”

“I’d like it very much if you called me Dave.”

You nodded, and started over.

“Dave, why are you still…” you finished your sentence by pointing your finger around the room.

“I thought I could help you,” he stated nonchalantly, manspreading his legs wide and letting you see the stiff outline of his cock even through the material. “I saw your little book,—”

"You what?”

“- on accident. Thought I might help you, since you did nothing but help me all these past weeks. I do know how a good cam girl can sell herself, from a buyer’s point of view.”

You felt another wave of heat washing over your body, but this time it was of a different origin. This man - this gorgeous, smart man - suggested you to help with… what exactly? You didn’t let yourself ponder about it too much, just agreeing to whatever he wanted to give you. Anything, even just a hungry gaze from him spiked your arousal harder than any porn you’d ever watched. Dave’s face twisted in a cocky smile, the one he gave you instead of saying ‘I told you so’, whenever he was right and you were wrong. The one that made you wanna kiss it off his face.

“How are you going to… help?” Embarrassment wasn’t a feeling you’ve experienced a lot, otherwise the choice of what you were about to do would’ve been the wrongest one ever, but somehow with him you felt like a virgin schoolgirl, despite being ten years older than one, and a dozen dicks more experienced.

“Well, for starters, I guess you’ll need to drop that blanket.”

Your throat bobbed, a thick glob of saliva barely passing down with how tense you were. There was nothing to be ashamed of, or shy about, but Dave… Goddamnit, it would be so much easier if you didn’t have a crush on him.

As if reading your hesitation right from your face, he put his wide palm on his crotch, pressing down a little.

“Would it be easier for you to show me yours if I showed you mine?”

You choked on air from his proposition, you wanted to see that man naked for as long as you can remember, sizing him up in his tight slacks and crisp shirts every time he went away for work. Going as far as coming thirty minutes earlier in hopes to see that man leaving the shower in a towel. God, you were such a creep, you cringed at yourself. Dave interpreted your face differently, his own coming from a hungry excitement to confusion and embarrassment?

“We don’t have to…” He placed both his hands on the arms of the chair preparing to stand up and leave, but you didn’t let him, dropping the material that covered your body and exposing yourself to him.

“No, no, no! I want to.” You hurried to give him the most pleading face you could manage, “I really want to. I wanted for a while, actually.”

The smirk returned in his face as quickly as it went away, and he was back in the role of the leader, someone with control. “Really?”

Instead of replying, you spread your legs, showing off your bare glistening pussy, that was now more wet than after you played with it.

“Oh, fuck. Well, that’s a good start, baby.”

You almost moaned as you heard him calling you baby. You’d had dreams in which he would pound into your pussy with abandon and call you baby, his baby. Your hand traveled from the column of your neck to the valley between your breasts, sliding left and pinching the hard bud of your nipple.

Dave didn’t go down on his promise, making a quick work of his pants and reaching out to pull his cock through the slit on his boxers.

Oh, how fucking gorgeous his cock was. You felt your mouth competing with your pussy over who would produce more wetness at the sight of his beautiful thick shaft topped with a fat tip that was just a little grittier than the rest of him. The red color of the head as well as the precum pooling in his slit told you that he’d been hard for a while now, and you felt proud for making him this aroused. Dave took his cock between the tips of his thumb and two fingers, bobbing it up and down and watching your eyes follow the movement, hypnotized by it. Emboldened by his openness, you felt every bit of hesitation drain from you. In that moment you were nobody but two beautiful bodies that desired pleasure, there was no room for shame.

“So what would sell me for you, Dave?”

His gaze darkened, brown of his eyes matching the wet stain of arousal that you left on the simple sheets. Dave licked his lips, his tongue slowing down on the plush lower one, and tightened the gip on his cock, not yet moving.

“Make sure that the camera catches how wet your pretty cunt is, and don’t be shy. At least, not too shy.”

“Doesn’t innocence sell?”

“Innocence in your voice and looks, not your actions, baby.” While the words settled in your brain, you tried to keep your hands away from your cunt, your entrance pulsing around emptiness, trying to suck anything in to fill you up. “Move the laptop, after all we’re learning the tricks of the trade here.”

You moved your old Lenovo from the edge of the bed to sit between your spread legs. You saw the reflection of your glistening folds on the screen, but made sure that you weren’t obscuring the view for Dave.

“Now touch her,” Dave’s command was barely audible, his voice hoarse and a bit strained. “Tell me how good she feels. I need to practically feel her on my fingers.”

“You can,” you whispered, transfixed on the image of your fingers trying to spread the slick lips of your pussy.

You didn’t see him nod, telling you that he understood your implication, “I can, but they can’t.”

Fuck, your head snapped up to look at Dave’s face, but stopped at his dick, his head almost purple with how violently he was choking it. You returned your gaze to the screen, thinking that you could come just from the image of Dave getting himself off.

“My pussy,” you started hesitantly, closing your eyes for a moment and letting yourself just feel through your fingertips. “She feels really, really good. So soft and,” your index and middle fingers started tracing the outer lips, sometimes slipping inside, teasing you, “and so wet.” Your fingers slipped on your wetness proving your words, and slid lower, where you felt desperately empty. “So wet my fingers just want to slip inside.”

You heard a distinct spitting sound, and lifted your eyes once again just in time to see Dave’s palm, wet with his saliva, close around the throbbing shaft of his cock. You bit your lip hard, like you were the one feeling Dave’s relief. The sting of the bite piercing your lip helped you return to reality, which was in no way worse than a dream. Your fingers slowly caressed your pussy, thumb circling your clit in long-learned movements that sent jolts of pleasure up your spine. The lewd sounds of you spreading your slick all around your lips and Dave’s hand stroking up and down his cock combined together, as your rapid breaths tried to tie up with them in a unique symphony.

Dave’s eyes never left your pussy. The angle wasn’t perfect, but he could see your dripping core illuminated by the light of the computer screen like it was the star of the show. No, it was the star of the show. Your beautiful, shining lips puffy and swollen with your teasing, your fingers slippery and your clit throbbing, begging. Dave’s eyes went dry and he forced himself to blink.

“Come on, baby, fuck yourself on those little fingers. I need to know how good she feels inside.”

You simply nodded, surprised to realize that this was exactly what you were waiting for, for him to tell you. Your fingers eagerly slipped inside, two at the same time, and your whimpers made you sound pathetic but pleased.

“Good girl,” Dave all but growled, his hand tightening around his head to stave off the embedding orgasm. He wasn’t romantic enough to calculate for you to come together, but he wanted you to come first at least. “Is she tight, baby? Is that pretty cunt hungry? I see her just sucking your fingers in like it’s nothing.”

You felt your body cover with a sheen of sweat like it was your second skin. You should’ve chosen a different position, or at least lean on the bedpost, but now there was no way you’d move so you had to keep your body up with one hand while letting the other one fuck into your pussy, with your legs spread as wide as the fucking horizon. Dave was right, your pussy welcomed your fingers with ease, it wasn’t the first time you filled her today, but you felt the disappointing lack of girth mentally comparing your slender digits with Dave’s meatier ones. Your brows knitted in frustration as you continued fucking your fingers into your squelching entrance.

“She’s so hot, and wet,” your words were interrupted by your own carefully quiet moans but you didn’t stop speaking. “So tight, but she would be tighter around yours.”

“Good job, baby,” David nodded, resuming the stroking of his cock, gentler this time. “Tell them, make them want to be there with you.”

“Fuck them, oh” you tried to push your fingers deeper and deeper, touch that exquisite spot, something you just knew Dave would do easily, but your fingers were not fit for that, “I’m talking about your fingers, Dave. They would feel so good inside me.” You almost cried, sweat from extortion and a single tear mixing together on your cheeks.

You saw York’s jaw clench as if he was physically in pain, “do you think you can handle these fat fingers, little thing?”

As soon as he said it, your eyes were glued to two of his fingers - index and middle - that he put up, holding them next to his lips and then giving them a slow wet suck.

Your body shuddered in a pre-orgasmic convulsion and you squeezed your eyes shut the image of him imprinted on your eyelids. “Yes, yes, I can, she can. She’d be so tight and wet for you, you’d spread her so wide with your fat fingers.”

“Show me,” he ordered, and you didn’t even think before falling on your back and squeezing two fingers of your other hand inside your pussy, spreading it apart and showing him the most hidden, and intimate part of yourself shamelessly. The air hit your heated core with cruel coldness, but you just accepted the wild contrast, making it excite your burning skin even more.

“Oh God, you perfect little thing, fuck yourself,” he prompted, his voice hurried and feverish, just like his movements, “fuck your wet little pussy with your fingers, come on.”

You would never be tired of obeying him, you thought, keeping just two of your fingers inside and letting the other hand caress your abandoned clit. Your movements became synchronized, no way to know who adjusted to who, but creating an illusion of something both of you silently wanted for some time now. You forced your eyes to open, moving your head so you could see Dave in the armchair looking back at you. All the words have been forgotten in the desperate chase for pleasure. Your eyes roamed each other dripping like raindrops from the disheveled hair, to furrowed in concentration brows, from wet lips to the dip in beneath the column of the neck, filling up with sweat; low low low to the moving hands, jealous of each other’s limbs and digits, internally begging to be their replacements. You wanted your whole body to become a vessel of Dave’s pleasure; he wanted to dive inside your cunt and suffocate in its wetness and warmth.

“Come on, baby,” he gritted through his teeth, “come for me, give it to me, come on.”

Both your hands sped up in an attempt to finally reach that peak, and no matter how unromantic David thought himself to be, your orgasms spilled out of you with less than a second of difference.

Your body convulsed with after-shocks while Dave hissed, letting go of his cock and closing his eyes for the first time this evening.

“The book was more helpful, but it was more fun with you.” You quipped joyfully, and Dave lifted his head that felt like it weighed at least a thousand pounds from the back of the chair, looking at you.

The smile that you directed at the ceiling was radiant, and he couldn’t contain one of his. Dave looked at your wasted body, and suddenly it was his turn to feel hesitant and shy. Still, he gathered the leftover composure and stood up, moving towards the bed where you still laid with your eyes closed and lips stretched with joy.

“Maybe we could put some of the tips to use, to see if they work?”

You opened your eyes, immediately finding his.

“I wouldn’t say no to that.”

please leave a comment if you liked what you read

#Dave York x reader #dave york x female reader #dave york x you #Dave York x y/n #pedro pascal fanfiction #dave york fanfiction #iamasaddie fic

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 months

Text

Silver Lining 5

Warnings: non/dubcon, speech impediment, bullying and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: silverfox!Bucky Barnes

Summary: You have an unpleasant encounter with an older man.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

Your phone buzzes as your niece bounces dangerously close to the tree. Your sister's in town with her two kids, but neither her or her husband seem to care much about watching them. Somehow, you're tasked with that and unsure what to do about their endless energy. You envy them truly so you just kind of let them go.

You hear your mother and sister chattering in the kitchen, her husband is in the garage with your stepdad, and as always, you're the odd one out. You slide your phone out and check the ID. It's Bucky, technically your new boss. You notice you've missed a few texts from him. Great. Not a good start. You were supposed to tell everyone at dinner about your new gig.

You answer, watching the kids without much thought, play tug of war over a string of tinsel. You should stop them but it'll just snap anyhow. You clear your throat and put your hand to your cheek, feeling the nervousness warm your skin.

"Hello, Mr. B-Barnes," you eke out.

"Bucky, it's fine," he sounds slightly irritated but you don't think you've heard a different tone from him so far, "you're busy?"

"Well, uh, n-not exactly," you shrug, "j-just family s-stuff."

"Family... so you won't be able to go over the script? I just got your edits."

"U-uh, y-yeah, if you want to, I c-can grab my l-laptop," you offer and turn your back to the room.

"I'd prefer it if we could meet. I'm more of a face-to-face person."

"O-old-fashioned," you comment. You regret that he exhales deeply on the other end. "S-sorry, I o-only meant--"

"You're right. I'm old-fashioned. Not a bad thing," he insists, "so, is it too late? Should we find another time?"

"T-tomorrow?"

"I'm going out of town for the weekend," he huffs, "I really want to have this ready to record when I get back."

"R-right," you chew your thumb, a sudden bawling tears through the air as you spin around and find your nephew stuck under the tree. Oh no! "Oh, sh-shoot."

You cover the microphone as you lower the phone. Your sister rushes in, your mother at her heels as they squeal. You watch helpless as she fishes Casey from under the fir branches, "you were supposed to be watching them," she accuses.

"I-I was?"

"Oh, come on, you know, I barely get a minute to myself and you can't just keep an eye on two kids? Ugh, no job and you can't be bothered just to look," she snarls.

They're not your kids. You flutter your lashes as you fight back tears and that smart remark.

"I actually h-have a c-call from m-my new job," you hold out your phone and wiggle it at her, "I d-don't b-babysit f-for free."

She scoffs and your mom tuts as she shakes her head. They don't even care. No congratulations but they can constantly throw your unemployment in your face. You take a breath and roll your eyes.

"S-sorry, I g-got to go," you turn and drag your feet out of the room.

"Well, she didn't say she had a job," your mother mutters as your sister grumbles back, "about time."

You ignore them as you head upstairs. It's better you let your sister bask in her spotlight. You weren't looking forward to dinner anyhow. Not for anything more than the hunger groaning in your stomach. You put the phone back to your ear.

"A-are you there? S-sorry, I g-got distracted."

"Really, if you're busy--"

"N-no, I n-need to get a-away," you say.

You're silent at the confession. You didn't mean to sound so pathetic. You go down the hall to your room and find a sweater.

"Well, uh, how about we meet at the cafe? Middle ground. You like that place?"

"Up t-to you," you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper.

"You need a ride?" He asks, to your surprise.

You pause as you grip the bright pink wool in your hand, "N-no, I'll f-find my way." You swallow and lay the sweater on your bed, "uh, b-bye."

You hang up before he can respond. You're embarrassed. He probably heard all of that and more. And now you've gone and betrayed your stupid self to him. Of all people. He doesn't need to know you're a complete failure. You hate to accept it but you have to; you need him more than he needs you. So maybe you'll just change the damn thesis after all.

🩶

You get to the coffee shop with snow caked on your hat and in the collar of your coat. You shake it off just outside and enter, your cheeks and nose kissed with the cold. As much as you love the winter, it's a bit much. You let out a brrr as you pull of your mitts and tuck them inside your hat. You hear your name and glance over. It's him, he's beat you there.

You tramp over to him as the snow melts off your boots and you wave, setting your bag in the chair as you unbutton your coat.

"Didn't m-mean t-to take too l-long," you say.

"Hot chocolate shouldn't be that cold," he assures you. You wince and look at the table. Sure enough, there's a second cup.

"O-oh, you d-didn't have t-to--"

"It's fine, not a big deal," he shakes his head.

You nod and hang your coat over the back of the chair and tuck away your mittens and hat in the sleeve. You sit and bring your bag into your lap. You flip up the flap and pull out your laptop, chilly from the walk there. You sense him watching you. You leave your computer shut as you lay it out and reach for the hot chocolate. You give it a taste and hum, thanking him.

"Sounds like a rough day," he comments.

"Y-yeah, b-but you d-don't have to w-worry about it," you assure him, glancing around evasively. When is he going to start being mean?

"You got kids?" He asks.

You have to hold in your laughter. "Sister's k-kids," you explain, "n-not for m-me."

"Ah," he accepts and reaches for his coffee, "right. Makes sense."

You keep your eyes down. You don't want to get too personal. Feels like he's just being polite, likely because he feels bad for you, not about his previous behavior.

"Don't got any either," he leans forward, his thick fingers hugging his cup, "so, your new draft was... great."

"R-really?" You lift your gaze meekly.

"Yeah, yeah, I just have a few notes," he sits back to bend down to the bag at his feet, "thanks for coming so last minute.”

You open your laptop, trying not to show any emotion. It's kind of him but you just don't believe it's anything other than pity.

#bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #drabbles #series #silver lining #silverfox #au #mcu #marvel #winter soldier #avengers

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jo-harrington · 3 months

Text

Developmental Achievement (A Store Manager Verse Story - Steve Harrington/Reader)

Previous Part: Incremental Planning

Pairing: Steve Harrington x HawkTheaterManager!Reader

Summary: Steve messed up and now he needs to fix things if he wants to win you back, hopefully for good.

Warnings/Themes: AU where the Upside Down doesn't terrorize Hawkins. November through January 1986, Steve and Robin work at Scoops (OR DO THEY?), Reader works at The Hawk Theater (formerly at Dippin' Dots AND Wicks and Sticks; you job hop...it's a thing), Relationship Break, Hopeless [Romantic] Steve, Tie in with the Store Manager Verse

Note: So this is the end of our Steve saga of the SMVerse, kind of wrapped up in a neat little bow. Is it the best? Probably not, but it's silly and corny and cheesy and I needed all of those things yesterday and instead of RELEGATING IT TO MY FIRST FAVE...I'll inflict it upon Stevie. Tagging @dr-aculaaa and @loveshotzz because COME AND GET HIM. (@deathbecomesthem ...and a possible Easter Egg?)

You can find my masterlist here for more fics featuring pretty much exclusively Eddie Munson content but also a little Steve.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

---

Steve Harrington fucked up.

Ok. Ok. That’s not right.

Steve Harrington really fucked up.

If he was being honest, he always seemed to fuck up when it came to you, his...well...he could really only call you his ex now, couldn't he?

From rivals in ice cream where he missed every sign that you might like him, to sickeningly-sweet dates around Hawkins because he was being too boring of a boyfriend, and finally to Thanksgiving Dinner with his parents where he absolutely stuck his foot in his mouth.

He thought making a joke about your job-hopping was funny--from Dippin' Dots to Wicks and Sticks to KB Toys, it's lucky you decided he was worth sticking around for--but it only put you under his parents' scrutiny.

He got an earful as he walked you to your car after dinner was over. You stayed a few steps ahead of him until you got to the driver's door and turned to him with tears in your eyes.

"That was embarrassing, Steve," you said through clenched teeth.

"I'm sorry, I..." he was at a loss for words, especially making you cry. As strong as you were, you never seemed to be flustered at all; what was happening? "I thought it was a joke. We always laugh about it. I’m gonna work at scoops forever and you’re gonna work everywhere else."

"But it’s meeting your family, you shouldn't joke about...about what a huge flake I am that you're lucky I don't jump from boyfriend to boyfriend just like I go from job to job. They're never gonna look at me the same way again. You only get one first impression."

"You shouldn't worry about what they think about you. I've stopped caring about what they think about me too."

It went back and forth before you threw your hands up and got in the car.

You didn't even kiss him goodnight.

Then sometime during Black Friday weekend, you stopped by Scoops before your shift and broke up with him.

"It was nice, Steve," you said, barely able to look at him. "But uh...I don't know. I need to know I'm with someone who doesn't think I'm some kind of joke."

He chased after you, even with his manager screaming that if he left he'd be fired, and begged you to reconsider.

You didn't.

He watched you ride up the escalator to head to your shift.

And when he got back to Scoops, he was actually fired.

What a great day.

---

Of course, Robin quit as soon as Steve was fired.

"Can't stick it out without you dingus," Robin announced as she approached him in the parking lot shortly after, tossing her hat at him. "And you can't have Scoops without...Stoops. Get it? Because you're stupid. Scoops? Stoops? Stupid. Why aren't you laughing?"

It was pretty funny.

But Steve was heartbroken.

Unemployed and heartbroken.

Robin insisted that she could land them both jobs at Family Video--

"Keith hates me. Pretty sure he calls me Sleeze Harrington."

“Well he loves me. I can vouch for you, come on."

--but Steve was sure that he would have a better chance at winning you back if he kept working at StarCourt.

What an epic bust that was.

Not the job part.

Well, that too.

Most of the stores near the toy store were done hiring seasonal help, and the best that he could land was a temp job as a Mall Santa.

On the upside, it meant that he could walk around the mall on break in his Santa suit and watch you with you none the wiser until he could beg you to take him back.

"It sounds creepy," was the unfortunate response from Steve's newest friend and personal relationship expert, the Claire's Store Manager.

He stopped by before his shift to pick up some of his lucky strawberry lipgloss to make sure he was very pouty and puckery for the moment you realized you'd made a mistake...and after effectively getting it all over his fake beard, the Manager decided to take pity on him and listen to his woes while helping him clean up.

"I'm gonna need to start charging you for advice," she laughed and wiped him off with tissues from the ear piercing station. "You seriously need it if that's the idea you came up with."

"You're a real Lucy Van Pelt," Steve deadpanned. "I'll buy you cookies one day just...please...help me."

"Have you tried just talking?" she questioned. "Wasn't that your problem in the first place? Way back when? You didn't communicate."

"But they're mad at me, they don't want to talk. And I need to fix it."

"Then give them some space, and try again, ok? Give it a week or two. They probably just need time to cool down, sounds like you really hurt their feelings."

"And if they can't forgive me?"

"Then you move on," she sighed. "Sometimes things just don't work out and even though it doesn't make you feel ok, you have to be ok with it."

So he waited a week.

A week was long enough, right? His own personal Lucy said so.

He chose a day he wasn't scheduled at Santa's workshop and waited for you in the food court where he knew you'd seek refuge during your lunch break, just like the two of you had taken your breaks together. He wore his best polo, made sure his hair was perfect, applied some of his lucky lip gloss and waited.

And waited.

But you never showed up.

Not during your usual break. Not an hour later. Not even at the supposed end of your shift.

Maybe you were working a double?

So as much as he told himself he wouldn't follow you because it was creepy, he ran up the escalator two steps at a time to KB Toys where you would surely be.

Or not.

"They don't work here anymore kid," your former manager sighed after he asked about you. "I'm sorry."

"W-well where did they go?" he asked frantically, pathetically.

"Didn't say, not really my business to ask. Put in their notice...right after Black Friday, actually. Right before the Christmas rush too."

If he was heartbroken before...his heart was just gone now. Obliterated. Non-existent.

Along with any hope of trying to win you back.

---

Steve stuck through the rest of the holiday season at the mall; you could call him many things but a quitter wasn't one of them. However, come the new year, he needed a new job again, and he took up Robin's offer to butter Keith up and get in at Family Video.

He was offered an opening key shift, a decent employee discount, a better paycheck than both Scoops and Santa's workshop combined, and unlimited access to choose the movie playing overhead whenever he was in charge.

"You're lucky the other person I was about to hire bailed," Keith said after his first week. "Got a job at the Hawk or something. Can't blame 'em. Free popcorn and all that."

The distraction helped the heartache.

Surprisingly, he got a few phone numbers. Nothing ever came of them, nursing a broken heart the way he was, but it was nice. He'd been tempted to call you, several times in fact, but in the end he just decided fate knew better. Still, he denied himself the role of Hawkins' resident heartthrob.

"Are you hearing yourself right now?" Robin scoffed at him as he scrubbed off yet another phone number that had been written onto the palm of his hand by one customer or another. "Resident Heartthrob. Seriously? Ok Cassanova."

"What else do you wanna call it?" he asked, holding his arms out helplessly. "They can't resist the Harrington Charm, even when I don't want to use it."

"It's because you keep putting on sappy romance movies when you're here. Girls like that shit, a guy in touch with his feelings."

"First Nancy and then..." he trailed off, thinking about you sadly. He had to let you go.

"Are you kidding me?" Robin hit him upside the head and shoved him out of the way so she could start processing returns. "You can't even say their name? You need to get over it."

"It's hard."

"Were they your soulmate or something?"

"Robin, all men must...have someone who will never take advantage of a love bright as the sun."

"Love?"

"Someone to stand beside them."

"You're quoting the Monkees now."

"They were the one," Steve lamented. "And now they're--"

He trailed off as his eye landed on something outside the window.

"They're what? On the Last Train to Clarksville?" She made a buzzer noise. "Try again."

"No they're walking in right now, act casual," Steve announced and started typing away at the keyboard of the computer.

The doorbell chimed as you set foot inside Family Video and Steve glanced up to get a look at you for the first time in weeks.

Ok, so maybe he was being a little pathetic with this heartache.

Maybe it wasn't that bad for him.

It was pretty bad.

But when your eyes met, Steve could just tell...it had to have been just as bad for you too.

Because he knew you by now. How many months had you been dating? Dates and lunches and breaks spent together. Was it love? Maybe. Probably. Even if it wasn't, it was damn near close to it. So he knew the way your eyes lost their sparkle a little bit when they landed on him, knew the way your shoulders sagged, knew the words that refused to escape your lips when you saw him.

Stevie Stew. Pookie Bear. Dumb dumb. All the pet names he missed too.

Robin greeted you with an exaggerated lengthening of your name and a pointed glare shot directly at Steve.

"Hey Rob," you cleared your throat and offered a strained grin. "How are you? Didn't know you were working here."

Your eyes shifted to Steve and then back to Robin.

"Either of you."

"I've been here since before Christmas," Robin leaned against the counter as you approached and thumbed over her shoulder at Steve. "And of course dingus over here just couldn't stay away."

"You're the dream team, of course," you nodded. "Scoops Troop. But, uh, not anymore I guess."

"We're workshopping a new name."

The two of you laughed and then you excused yourself to peruse the shelves for a new movie. Robin even offered to show you some new tapes with a low pull it together hissed at Steve as she rounded the counter to show you a new display.

Steve willed himself to say something, Do something. Anything. Say hello, walk over and suggest a new movie, say that it was good to see you, that he missed you.

Communicate, god damn it.

But he was frozen.

Even more when you and Robin returned a few minutes later debating which John Hughes flick you should get: Sixteen Candles or Weird Science.

"You could always get both," Steve suggested, the words rocketing out of his mouth violently as you reached the register.

"Uh, yeah, actually..." you nodded. "That's a good idea, I think I will."

Steve typed in all the information and got your rentals rung out, and as he asked if you wanted candy or popcorn, you laughed.

"You know what, I'm actually all candy and popcorn'd out," your smile faltered when your eyes met again. "I'm...uh...you know."

"Know what?" Steve asked dumbly.

"I'm over at the Hawk," you nodded. "New shift manager and everything. I was...I was actually supposed to work here when Mr. Phillips offered me a dollar more at the theater. And the popcorn didn't hurt."

"I didn't know that," Steve shook his head.

"Oh."

"Yeah."

You and Steve stared at each other for another long, drawn out minute.

You opened your mouth to say something--

"Can we ta--"

--before Steve, idiot that he was, pushed your tapes across the counter at you and practically shouted at you.

"Your rental's due back on Friday by 2pm, enjoy."

Robin gave him the silent treatment for the rest of his shift.

---

"Do I show up with flowers?"

"Flowers?"

"What's that voice, you don't like flowers?"

"Not really."

There he was, back at Claire's the following day, sitting in the chair at the Ear Piercing Station as the manager restocked the jewelry wall. A bag of fresh chocolate chip cookies from the food court sat on top of the station and the two of them periodically reached in for a treat as Steve regaled her with his tale.

"I know they miss me, I just know it."

"Then why did you freeze up?"

"Because I'm an idiot. Help. Please."

So far, the manager hadn't really been able to offer him much advice outside of a shoulder to cry on and a listening ear. Especially now as he planned a way to win you back.

"Everyone likes flowers," Steve argued skeptically. "You're telling me Munson hasn't gotten you roses or something?"

The shop bell rang, a chain rattled, and leather squeaked, and instead of the manager answering with a gentle tone and an eye roll like she'd been doing all day, Eddie Munson himself chimed in.

"If I was a jealous man," he started with an exaggerated glare at Steve. "I would say you're here flirting with my girlfriend."

Eddie "The Freak" Munson was somehow the Dad to Steve's reluctant Mom when it came to the ragtag gang of Freshman that they shared role-model-ship of, and because of that their previous animosity had been turned into some kind of...agreement.

Could Steve say Eddie was a bad guy? No. Was he still wondering why the kids liked him so much? Yes. Could the two of them get along? Up for debate.

Which was why Steve wasn't so concerned when the metalhead was feigning some kind of intimidation tactic; they had an agreement that went from unspoken to shaken on come the new year: No fighting in front of the kids, no making fun of each other's hair, no stealing Eddie's girlfriend.

"What are you doing here?" the manager laughed at the two boys antics and crossed her arms over her chest. "Don't you have school?"

"I came to ask you a very important question," Eddie smiled a lovesick smile at her, Steve momentarily ignored. "But imagine my surprise when someone else is sitting in my spot."

"It's not your spot. And I'm giving him advice."

"Again?"

"He's hopeless, apparently."

"I'm right here," Steve exclaimed and got to his feet, ready to leave. "I didn't come here to be made fun of. I actually need help."

He didn't like the way Eddie clapped him on the shoulder, or steered him out of the store, or gave him a patronizing smile.

"Listen," Eddie started once they were out of the store. "I know you're having some issues but seriously, you need to get your act together."

"And how should I do that Munson? I've thought of everything and your girlfriend keeps telling me that my ideas are stupid."

"I'm sure they are stupid," Eddie nodded. "I trust her judgment."

"What would you do to win her back? If you fucked up?"

"I wouldn't fuck it up, Number one," Eddie smirked. "Even at the risk of jinxing myself there. Rule Number One in the Munson Relationship Doctrine, don't fuck it up."

"Well that page is missing from the Harrington Relationship Doctrine, because I clearly went and did that."

"Rule Number Two," Eddie continued, ignoring Steve. "Is by making a grand and personal gesture. Didn't you ask Nancy Wheeler to Junior Prom by having the cheer squad perform a routine just for her a few years ago."

"Yeah that took a lot of begging," Steve nodded eagerly, already formulating a plan. "But I could do it again if I--"

"I heard she hated it," Eddie shot a sour expression. "So no, not that."

"Then I'm out of ideas," Steve admitted.

Eddie threw his head back and groaned, and Steve was sure he heard him say something along the lines of and Buckley called him Hawkins Heartthrob.

"Listen," Eddie recovered, tightened his grip on Steve's shoulder with one hand, and jabbed him in the chest with the other hand. "Don't ever say that I didn't do anything for you ok? Where does your friend work? The Hawk?"

"How do you know that?"

"News travels fast when you're friends with 5 freshmen and Robin Bigmouth Buckley ok?" Eddie shook his head. "Now listen to me. Your friend works at the theater? Showing movies right? And what are movies made of?"

"Film?"

"Sure. And the kids...Dustin...what club is he part of at school?"

"Uh...Hellfire Club. Chess Club..."

"AV Club," Eddie insisted with an exaggerated nod. "And where do you work?"

"Family Video."

"And what is in a vid--you know what?" Eddie groaned. "I don't have time for this. How are you not putting two and two together Harrington?"

"I don't know what I'm supposed to be putting together."

"What they all have in common?"

Steve took a second as Eddie leaned closer expectantly, as though trying to transmit his idea through osmosis because Steve was just not getting it.

Until the osmosis was successful and Steve had his lightbulb moment.

"Oh!"

"There you go!" Eddie's face stretched with a feral grin. "I see the wheels turning. Ladies and Gentleman, I believe a plan is underway."

---

It took a little more than a week, the combined efforts of the AV Club and Hellfire Club, and a good chunk out of Steve's paycheck for supplies and to bribe them all and the projectionist at the Hawk.

But the plan was in place.

Steve found out your schedule, bought tickets for a 5pm show of Hey there, It's Yogi Bear.

There couldn't have been a worse movie to choose, but it was the only one he could buy out the theater for.

He showed up to the Hawk promptly at 4:30, got his soda and popcorn, and hung around the lobby impatiently. He was pretty sure he'd ruined his hair from the number of times he'd run his hand through it.

Slowly his friends started to filter in: The Sinclair kids and Max, Mike Wheeler and Will Byers with Nancy and Jonathan in tow--that wouldn't be nerve-wracking or embarrassing at all if the plan didn't work out. At some point, Eddie's van pulled up in front of the Theater and Dustin, Jeff, Gareth, and Dave all walked in bickering about nachos and sour worms, before Eddie and the Claire's Store Manager followed suit, Eddie telling his friends to shut up.

Steve was beginning to sweat at 4:55 when Robin ran in, hand in hand with a new girlfriend that he'd seen waiting for Rob when he dropped her off at school in the morning.

That he'd been maybe a little too in his own head about you to hear Robin rave about for the past few months. He really did feel bad about that.

"Thought you were gonna be late," he accused Robin.

"Me? Late?" she beamed. "Never. Do we have time to grab candy?"

"Just go," he waved them off, then shot Robin a secret thumbs up as she pointed to her crush excitedly, then got nervous when he spotted you across the lobby, talking to one of the ushers.

You faltered when you locked eyes with him, waved back when he sent you a little hello, and then you scurried into the box office.

He allowed himself one more moment of heartache. Then at 5 on the dot, Steve entered the theater and sat in the back row, as close to the projection window as he could get.

The previews started, and for a moment, Steve looked at all his...well, they were all his friends now, weren't they? Here to support him on this hare-brained endeavor. He suddenly felt loved in a way that he didn't think he'd ever felt before, not like this.

The only thing missing was you.

Suddenly the projection started skipping, and he could hear his accomplice in the projection booth shuffle around, then a door opened and closed.

"And so it begins," Eddie said dramatically a few rows ahead.

"Shut up, you're gonna give it away!" Dustin shouted at him.

Everyone started chattering until Steve sent them all a shhhhh when he heard the projection booth door open and shut again and your voice, clearly irritated, started speaking.

"What do you mean it isn't working? Did you try...I don't know...unplugging it and plugging it back in? Re-roll the film and try it again...here let me see..."

Steve felt himself shake with anticipation as the projector started up again, but the images on the screen were decidedly not Yogi Bear and Boo Boo.

"What the hell?" you exclaimed.

On the screen were pictures of you and Steve, all the polaroids and film strips from the little Photo Booth at Starcourt that you'd taken together over the months of your relationship. The ticket from the aquarium that he'd saved. The note you'd pinned to his back one morning when you hugged him before his shift that said "Steve Harrington is a loser."

He heard your snort as the scene panned up to a shot of himself sitting at the desk in his room writing a letter, shot on the Wheeler family's camcorder. The Steve on the screen looked up into the camera and startled.

"Oh," he laughed. "Didn't see you there. It's been a long time, hasn't it? I uh...I really wanted to talk to you and figured there wasn't a better way than writing a letter."

"Nerd," you called through the projection window, garnering laughs from his friends.

The scene faded to Movie Steve in a turtleneck skipping rocks at Lover's Lake in a very artistic shot that Director Dustin was apparently "proud of."

"But a picture is worth a thousand words so I'm pretty sure a video is worth a million." Movie Steve said your name sadly and looked deep into the camera. "I messed up, I was an idiot and a jerk and only took my own feelings into consideration when I made that joke to my parents. I don't care how they felt about you because I'm past the point of caring how they feel about me. My screw ups.

"And unfortunately I made the biggest screw-up of my life that night. I might not care what they think about me...but I care what you think about me."

The scene changed once again, Movie Steve leaning over the counter at Family Video filling out a form on a clipboard.

"There are a million better movies out there than this one you're watching right now Honey, but none of them are able to show just how truly sorry I am, and how much I miss you. I know that we still need to talk things out in person but I hope this shows how much I'm willing to put in the work so you'll forgive me."

A few rows ahead, he could hear Eddie speak along with Movie Steve, he leaned into his girlfriend and said "I wrote that line. Pretty good, right?"

"Uh huh," she pushed his head away from her. "Sap."

Eddie turned back to look at Steve and shot him a thumbs-up.

The scene changed one last time to a panning shot of Steve walking out of StarCourt mall towards his car.

"This is your chance to decide now. I wouldn't blame you if you chose never to talk to me again. I'll wait outside once your shift is over, but I'll respect your choice either way. I miss you Honey, and I love you."

Movie Steve got in the car and drove away into the sunset, only for the camera to pan over to Corroded Coffin playing a sweet ballad that Steve knew was your favorite.

The screen faded to black and the audience erupted into applause before the real previews resumed and the eventual movie.

Steve listened intently for some sign of life from the projection booth, but aside from a few footsteps and the door opening and closing again, there was nothing.

After the movie was over and all of his friends went their respective ways, Steve sat by his car until the end of your shift. When the last lights of The Hawk marquee finally turned off and the employees all started filing out, he knew he was holding his breath.

The last person out of the building was you, and as you turned around and spotted him, you stopped in your tracks.

Just like the other day at Family Video, it was a standoff between you and Steve, and although Steve wished that you would just come running into his arms to kiss him, insisting your forgiveness, he knew things were never that easy.

"That, uh...was something," you finally broke the silence.

"It was, wasn't it," he agreed.

"Was that your idea?" you asked. "Pretty sure those were all your friends in there."

"Yeah I bought out the whole theater."

"You bought...seriously?"

"I wanted to make sure you weren't embarrassed...in case anyone else saw."

"And I wouldn't be embarrassed by your friends?" you scoffed.

"Well they all helped me make it so I think I was more embarrassed asking them all for help than you." You let out a long sigh and put your face in your hands and Steve started talking rapid-fire. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I know that sucks when...when I already did. But I promise I'll do better. I'll be better. I'll be anything you need me to be, I just...I need you back."

You said something but it was muffled by your hands.

"What?"

"I said," you pulled them away and looked up at him with watery eyes, and he felt his heart drop again. "Do you really love me? You said so...at the end of that...whatever that was."

"I mean...yeah I guess I do."

"You guess?" you laughed.

"I do!" Steve said with more confidence this time. "I do love you. I'm...sorry I didn't say anything sooner."

"I'm sorry you didn't either," you muttered. You closed the distance and grabbed the lapels of Steve's jacket in your hands, as though you were about to shake him. "Do you know...the real reason I was upset?"

"There's...a real reason?" he asked.

"Why I broke up with you."

"Oh. Uh...no."

"I mean," you took a great breath of confidence. "Yeah I was mad because you made me seem like a joke to your parents on Thanksgiving, and I know...I know their opinion doesn't mean that much to you. But after I left it got me thinking...what if you made a joke like that...because I was a joke. And maybe thats why nothing was ever coming of our relationship because it was just...you didn't care about me. You didn't...love me, the same way I loved you."

Steve felt the invisible hand clench around his heart; it was like Nancy all over again.

"Loved?" he whispered weakly, the sense of deja-vu undeniable. "Honey..."

"So I had to end it. To protect myself. And I took a long hard look at myself when I got to work. The what? Third job I had since I started at StarCourt? I realized that maybe...I was a joke. Maybe you were right, that I was...this job-hopping, unreliable...thing and that's why I quit. And I started looking...for a management position somewhere so I could be better."

"But you were already great," Steve assured. "Can we get back to that...loved thing?"

"Steven..."

"Sorry."

"Let me finish."

"Ok."

"And you know what I found out since I've been here?" you asked. "I...kind of hate working at a movie theater. And I need to leave again. I'm...I'm a free spirit. I can't be tied down to one kind of job. I saw an ad in the paper for an arts and crafts instructor at the Park District and I sort of wanna quit before applying, I would be great at that."

"You would," Steve laughed, still unsure of where this was going.

It was always a bit of a rollercoaster with you though, and it was another thing about you that he loved.

"So...tonight seeing all of that," you waved an arm behind you at the theater. "Seeing you...realizing that you loved me all along...I don't know. I don't need your love to keep being who it is that I am, it's just nice to know that you love me, the same way I love you."

"Love me?" he asked hopefully.

"Yeah."

He whispered your name desperately and then cupped your face in his hands.

"I love you Honey."

"I love you too, Steve Harrington."

You pulled him into you and smashed your lips to his. The heartbreak faded away from both of you, and in its place, undeniable love and affection for each other.

Steve Harrington might have been many things, he might have fucked up.

But he was happy to say he was someone who could fix it.

With love.

#Steve harrington x reader #Steve harrington fic #Steve harrington fluff #store manager verse #stranger things fic #Steve harrington stranger things

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