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rafescurtainbangz · 3 months

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Professor Cameron #2 - Rafe Cameron One Shot + 18

Minor DNI

Part 1: Link

Rafe × female reader (No use of Y/N)

Warnings: smut, language, swearing, drinking and smoking

Fingering, oral (female receiving), oral (male receiving), unprotected p in v, pet names, squirting, overstimulation, praise kink, ownership kink, older Rafe, possessive rafe, jealous rafe, obsessed rafe, choking, spanking, degradation, name-calling, pussy slapping, mating press, reader calls rafe daddy

Lightly edited

4.1K

Don't let the beginning fool it’s a lot of smut lmao 😂 thank you for all the love on part 1! 💕💕💕

Taglist @imyourdaninow @gri959 @redhead1180 @romaescapes

Enjoy! ❤️✨

Tanneyhill...

Later that night

"Holy shit," you whisper, eyes following Rafe's house all the way to the top. The grandeur of it all begs the question, does a professor really live here? I mean, I'm sure the university pays him well, but not this well. This is old money.

Tracking the brick walk, you make your way to the front door, smoothing out a very different ensemble than you wore this afternoon. You breathe a sigh of relief, thankful at this moment that you decided to dress up. Your pink satin mini-dress blows lightly with the cool night breeze, an open back cinched tight, showing off your curves.

Truthfully, I didn't think that would happen. Just teasing between friends until that fictional tale came true. I never thought he would actually cross the line.

Rafe was right... The boys at school weren't cutting it. They were selfish, inexperienced, and immature. That was only an hour? What could Rafe do with a whole night? On a bed instead of a desk? He said he had a 'real big house,' which is the understatement of the century. I can make as much noise as I'd like. He's going to take care of me... Me.

I've never felt pleasure like that in my life. The part that excited me the most was that I was holding back, not wanting to get caught. What would happen if I let myself go? The part that scares me, however, is the fact that I'm already in too deep.

What if Rafe's thought about it since? Not in the way I'm hoping he would, the way that would stop him from doing it again. A moment of clarity where Rafe realizes that he may have made a mistake. I'm his student... He's my professor.

What if he's doing this with other people? What if I'm not the only student in Professor Cameron's class getting "extra credit"? Am I just another one of his girls?

I can't think about that.

I'm feeling things. And, I can't stop.

KNOCK. KNOCK.

You can hear shuffling behind the door, watching as the knob turns. The door fans open; Rafe meets your gaze with a smile. "You... Wow. You look stunning," he hails, bearing the door as you pass through.

Fuck, he looks good. You feel yourself get a little frazzled as you take Rafe in. A slim black button-down and slacks, coupled with yet another pair of designer dress shoes. He smells delicious; that same cologne reapplied, already burned into your brain. "You alright?" He smiles, looking down at you.

"More than alright, Rafe. Just a little nervous."

"About what?" He puffs, cocking his head to the side as he shuts the door. "Told ya I didn't bite. Not unless you want me to," Rafe chuckles warmly, turning you under his finger as he checks out your little dress again. "Goddamn. You're flawless."

"Thank you," you whisper as your cheeks blush. Rafe keeps his hand in yours, guiding you deeper into his house, letting you take it all in.

"So, what are you so nervous about?" Rafe presses a little further, not wanting to let it go until he figures it out.

"I don't know... I didn't expect to be here. I'm just - I hope you aren't having second thoughts."

"Me?" He chuckles; twisting his face slightly as a crooked smile spreads on his lips. "Never. No second thoughts."

"Okay... And, am I the only one-"

"Who's gettin' extra credit?" He snickers, reading your mind entirely. "You are the only one."

"Ever?" You ask, your voice just above a hush, kicking yourself for asking it in the first place to a grown-ass man. Rafe turns you toward him, lacing his fingers in yours; his lips meet your forehead, kissing you softly.

"If you're askin' if I've ever had sex in an office, and I said 'no,' I'd be lyin'," he chuckles weakly. His palms come up, resting gently on your cheeks, guiding your watch to his. "But, if you're askin' me if I've ever done that with a student... never. I've never done that."

You give him a soft smile. "I'm so happy I'm here with you."

"Me too," he hums. "Now, let's go relax. Yeah?" You nod as Rafe leans in, meeting your lips; kissing you deeply. Heat spreads across your body; the contact sets you ablaze, your entire being craving more of him.

Rafe walks you to his study, the mahogany countertop, adorned with six elegant bouquets. "Do you like flowers, princess?" He smiles; his hand resting on the small of your back.

"Of course," you respond dreamily, bending in to smell each. "Six? Rafe, this-"

"I didn't know what your favorite was..." He interjects, "Pink roses?" Rafe guesses, based solely on your reaction.

"Yeah, pink roses," you giggle. "Thank you."

He steers you to his leather couch, taking a seat. Before you can sink down, his hands are on you, guiding you to straddle his lap. You rest your hands lightly on his muscular chest as Rafe eyes you in his arms. His rough hands graze your back, landing on your bum; kneading your curves slowly.

"M'so glad you're here," he soughs, his lust-laced eyes locked on your lips. His crystal blues lift slowly to yours, sending chills down your spine. "You're still nervous sweetheart? Aren't you?"

You shake your head 'no' as you lean in close, kissing him tenderly. His hands drift down your bare thighs, slipping under the hem of your dress. "I'm not... I swear," you whisper as you widen your thighs, pressing your pussy against his rock-hard bulge as you start to grind slowly. Your lips hover close, Rafe, matching your steady breathing. Tension builds as you wait for the other to break.

Rafe kisses you deeply, a passionate exchange, pushing your hips to ride him clothed. "Need to taste you again. Fuck, you tasted so sweet," he mumbles between kisses. Rafe wraps you in his arms, lifting you off the couch. "Just a little bit now. I need it. Don't let me go any farther. Alright? Not yet."

He rests you back down on the couch, pulling you where he wants you, your body desperate for his lips. Rafe drops himself down to his knees for you, taking control as he spreads your thighs, eyeing your glistening cunt with a hungry groan. "No panties?" He chuckles darkly, his dangerous gaze flickering to yours. Rafe brushes your folds, gathering your essence all over his fingers, before sucking them clean as your eyes roll back. "M'so fuckin' hard, princess. Can't wait for you to suck my cock; make me cum again. Get that pretty little mouth of yours around my dick," he sighs. His strong arms loop around your thighs, pulling you closer than before, slumping you on the couch.

Rafe's eyes stay locked on yours as his lips do the same to your clit, sucking and brushing his tongue from side to side. He moans against your pussy, as his fingers toy with your entrance, teasing your pearl with the chilled ridges of his gold ring. Your thighs tremble, tightening around him.

"C'mon, baby," he taunts, spreading you wider, sucking and finger-fucking you with a little more force. You sink your teeth into your bottom lip, holding back your cries of pleasure.

"Hey... Woah. Woah... Wait a minute, baby girl," he chides. "Need to hear you. Alright?"

"Yes, daddy..."

"Well, shit..." Rafe rasps as he grabs your legs, slinging them over his shoulders. "I could get used to that."

Everything increases; your heart rate, the pressure, the depth of his tongue in your soaked hole. "You taste like heaven," he pants, bumping his nose against your clit, making your thighs quake. Rafe laps at your pussy, devouring you completely. He breathes deeply, taking in your scent; the vibration of his low moan felt against your heat.

Rafe takes your clit into his mouth, sucking harshly, making you cry out; heels digging into his black dress shirt as you buck your hips; voice echoing through the large house. "There ya go... Atta girl."

Your back arches, lips crying out for him. "Fuck, Rafe. M'right there," you blubber. You reach for your satin straps, tugging down the top of your dress, letting your breasts spill free. Your hands instantly draw up to your tits, squeezing and pressing them together for him. Rafe bites down on your swollen clit; making you throw your head back. A choked sob spills from your lips.

Your hands drop down, weaving into his hair, giving it a rough tug. You grind your pussy on his face, feeling yourself teetering on the edge of ecstasy. "Rafe, s-shit." Your eyes screw shut as you cum on his face, pleasure coursing through your system as your pussy clamps down around his thick fingers. Rafe works you through your orgasm, waiting until you're fully unwound to release you with a panting breath.

"Need it - Fuck. I need your cock in my mouth," you gasp; eyes still shut as you do your best to recover.

"Baby, c'mon..." He chuckles breathily as his lips find yours. You can taste yourself on his lips, making your mind fuzzy. "I wanna share a drink. Take you on a tour... You were supposed to hold me back. You can wait. Right?" You can hear the taunting in his tone, a devilish smirk playing on his kiss-bitten lips.

"Yes, daddy."

Rafe cups your breasts in his hands. Pinching and rolling your pebbled blush between his fingers. He sucks down, trailing wet kisses before biting your sensitive skin, causing you to moan again. "You're mine," he whispers, nuzzling himself into your chest. "I don't want anyone else to have you but me. Understand?"

"What - Wait..." You ask breathlessly. "I mean. Are you sure, Rafe? You barely know me. What if I didn't come into your office today-"

"You would have... eventually. I just got lucky. I always get what I want, princess. I don't wanna see you come into class with anyone else. Don't wanna overhear some douchebag talkin' about some absolutely stunning girl he took home from the bar. You're mine. My pussy," he breathes, making your breath hitch as he slaps your sensitive cunt, soothing it with his cupped palm. "My tits," he mumbles, licking a line through your cleavage as he palms them together. "My lips," he whispers as he kisses you again. "My fuckin' girl. Mine."

"M'yours, Rafe."

**********

"So, you're a professor? Just a professor?" You ask through a flirty grin as you swirl your champagne.

"Yeah... Got bored. Decided to go to college, then grad school; got my doctorate for fun," he rasps before taking a sip.

"So..." You look around, letting your silence speak for itself.

"I made some smart business decisions when I was young. Set myself up nicely."

"Mob boss?" You quip, making him cock his brow and laugh.

"If I told you, princess. I'd have to kill you." Rafe plays along, shooting you a mischievous look. "So, you're pretty far from home. You plannin' on going back for Spring Break, or are you gonna hang around here?"

You laugh nervously, wrinkling your brow, confused yet intrigued, charmed that he went out of his way to find out more about you. "How do you know where I'm from?"

He clears his throat, regretting his words slightly, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt on his thick forearms as he shifts anxiously. "Uh... Um," he puffs, draining some more liquor into his champagne flute. "Your student account," he mumbles sheepishly.

"Professor Cameron!" You gasp, flirtingly, as you lean in a little closer.

"S'bad. Alright. I know. I know! I couldn't help myself. I had to be proactive. Alright? High stakes. I gotta be real careful who I associate myself with."

"And you can associate yourself with me, Rafe?"

"Yeah. I have a good intuition, princess. Questionin' yours a little," he bullies. "That neighborhood you live in is shit, by the way. It's not safe, baby."

Your eyes double in surprise. The more he exposes, the more it should worry me, I know, but he's pulling me deeper. He's possessive, calculated, obsessed even. But, I fuckin' love it. How much more does he know about me?

I need to know.

"You look handsome," you laud; just a slight bite of your lip as you lean into the armrest, hair tumbling to the side. You cross your legs, letting your little dress ride up your thigh.

His eyebrows raise, running his palm against his wide smile, attempting to play it cool as he stares at the valley of your thigh. "Just tryin' to keep up with you, baby. You look stunning. Did you wear that-"

"On New Year's Eve..." You finish his sentence as a smirk pulls on your lips, Rafe taking the bait effortlessly. "Do you follow me on Instagram?"

"No... Just stalk you," he admits, not an ounce of shame in his voice. He can see that you clearly enjoy his attention. "Like I said... Gotta be careful who I keep around. Not to mention, I had to keep an eye on who else was watchin' you. I don't share." He smirks before tossing back the rest of his champagne. Oh...

"That's all you did, Rafe? Just look at my pictures; make sure I was safe?"

He gives you an open-mouth smile as a blush creeps across his cheeks. "You really wanna know?"

"I really wanna know..."

"That red swimsuit you wore in Cabo might be my favorite thing, princess."

You roll your eyes, expelling a dizzy laugh. "So... Again, Professor Cameron, is that all you did? Just look at my pictures; make sure I was safe?"You bully before taking a sip.

His gaze darkens on yours, the look in his eyes telling you more than enough. "Absolutely not."

Rafe adjusts himself in his chair, spreading his thighs a little wider as he pinches a fresh cigar between his lips. He reaches over to the coffee table, snagging the Perrier-Joute, drinking from the bottle. You can see that he's getting more comfortable as time passes by, as well. Laughing a little more, a few more buttons on his shirt undone, drinking straight from the source.

"So, Rafey," you ask in an unholy tone as you stroll from your chair to his, dropping down to your knees to slink the rest of the way. "Is there anything I can do for you? I really need that A."

He quickly forgets his cigar, resting it in the ashtray without a second thought. Rafe extends the bottle to you, pouring it carefully, some still dribbling from your glossed lips down your chin. He leans down, pinching your cheeks in one hand, licking the mess to your lips. "I got a few things you can do for me, princess."

"Tell me," you whisper, fingering the buttons of his Dior button-down before pulling it open fully. Your fingers trace down his tanned chest, passing through the deep indentations of his abs to his black leather belt.

You can already see his long, thick cock; trapped in Italian wool, making your mouth water. "Since you're on your knees," Rafe smiles as he pinches the button of his pants, opening that, then the zipper. "Why don't you choke on daddy's cock. Hmm?" You can feel the wetness between your thighs, the soft sweetness of his voice contrasting his domineering words, making your head spin. You draw the material over his hips, releasing his aching dick.

You glide your fingers through your pussy; gathering your slick on your digits, taking hold of the base of Rafe's cock. He shakes his head and smiles as his teeth tug on his bottom lip. You work him slowly, watching as the little bead of precum grows larger.

Rafe's hand toils through your hair, brushing it away so he can get a better view of your face. "So pretty on your knees, baby-" Rafe's words get lost in a moan as your warm tongue traces along his prominent vein, catching his cum as it drips down the side.

You lick a few fat stripes up his shaft, kissing his ruddy tip wetly as his dick twitches in your palm. "Fuck, honey," he groans deeply, tossing his head back on the leather chair. "Might not ever let you leave." His hold on your strands tightens as your warm, wet mouth wraps around his swollen tip. A deep moan follows as you suckle on Rafe's head, flicking your tongue along his slit. You caress his balls, taking him to the back of your throat.

Rafe pushes you a little farther, releasing a needy moan as you deepthroat cock. Tears roll heavily down your cheeks as you take as much of him as you can get, gliding off slowly; swirling to the tip, making Rafe's eyes roll back. "Jesus Christ, angel, where's that gag reflex? Huh?" He laughs airly. "So good at sucking cock." Rafe pitches his hips, ramming you deep, making you gag. "Mmm... Shit. There she is," he groans.

Rafe slumps a little lower as he lifts the bottle to his lips, taking a pull. "Gonna bust my load already... Damn, you look good," he praises through a panting breath, making his stomach muscles flex. His thick thighs tremble as you start to stroke him with your mouth, rolling his heavy balls in your tiny hand. You release his cock with a pop, causing him to let out a desperate plea for more.

"M'so wet, Rafe," you whine, feeling your wetness drip from your pussy, gliding down your inner thigh. You take two fingers, skimming them through the mess. Rafe's already set, snatching your wrist; guiding your dainty fingers to his mouth.

He savors the taste, only releasing them when you tighten your lips around his dick again. Twisting your hand at the base, you bob up and down. Rafe follows your strokes, pressing you down here and there as he mumbles praise. "Lips look so good around my cock, sweetheart. Look at you, take it, baby. Such a good little slut f'me. Gag on it. Fuckin' gag on me. Mine... This mouth is fucking mine."

You hollow your cheeks, milking his cock with your mouth, making him whimper and shift in his chair as his eyes slam shut. "I'm right fuckin' there. I - I'm... Fuckkk," he moans, hazy eyes widening as you sink your pussy down on his dick instead.

"Bounce on my cock. Tits in your face," you whisper against his lips, repeating his words from his office as you lower the top of your dress as well.

"You're a fantasy, baby. Fuck." Rafe slaps your ass cheek roughly, then the other side, hissing out a breath as your pussy tightens around him. Rafe pants and groans, his muscles wound tight as he tries to hold steady, watching you as you ride and bounce on top. He's speechless, eyes moving from your face to your breasts; losing control when he glances down, watching the place where you connect; his thick cock glistening with you.

"Fuck me," he grunts in blissful defeat, taking a harsh grip on your hips, pounding deep. Rafe moans your name as he cums hard, continuing to fuck upward, gritting his teeth in overstimulation. No part of him wants to stop now that he has you like this. Rafe pulls you into his lips, kissing you slowly as you grind through his sticky spent.

"Should I stop?" You whisper, feeling Rafe's smile spread against your lips.

"No, princess. Don't fuckin' stop."

********

Your garter belt wraps around your thighs, lingerie hugging the fullness of your breasts; something new, something bought by Rafe just for you. It's a gorgeous set; cups made of two large satin ribbons tied at the center; your crotchless panties, a delicate red lace.

"C'mon, princess. Stop makin' me wait," he croons.

"This is too much, Rafe... I don't need all of this. Truly," you sigh as you round the corner, relaxing against the doorframe.

Rafe licks his lip, savoring each glimpse of bare skin. "Nah... This one's for me." He pushes off the bed, moving toward you, pulling you close before kissing you deeply, breaking away from time to time, solely to take you in. "Better than I imagined..."

"You thought about this?" You hum.

"More than I should, princess," Rafe breathes, lifting you into his arms. You wrap your legs around his waist as you bend your arms a little tighter around his neck, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.

Rafe walks you over to the bed slowly, taking his time as you press your chest against his, hearts picking up pace together. He sets you down on the mattress, mounting you a moment later.

Rafe's absolutely beautiful like this: dark blonde hair a mess, flushed cheeked, skin dewy. He cages you in, admiring you for a moment before starting again. He grinds his dick against you, trailing pre cum on your skin as he works his body against yours. Rafe continues to tease the both of you, his cock, painfully hard as you wait for him to ease your ache.

He swirls his dick through your arousal, nudging your entrance with his swollen head. Rafe gives you one last look before dropping his focus low. "Shittt," he groans as your walls pull him in. He fights the urge to throw his hips into you, working slow enough to let you feel every curve and ridge until he's filled you to the brim. You don't even realize you're holding your breath until he rests his heavy head on your shoulder.

"Fuck, Rafe."

"Squeezin' me so tight," he breathes. Rafe completely bottoms you out, balls resting against your ass. He grips your hips, forcing himself even deeper, pressing his cock into you with his full weight making you squirm away slightly.

"Where are you goin', Princess?" He mumbles against your warm skin, the safeword you joked about during dessert right on the tip of your tongue, but the pleasure outweighs the pain.

"Nowhere, daddy," you pant as you wrap your legs around his waist, urging him to stay.

"My girl," Rafe growls, lips latching onto your neck, sucking harshly. He marks you with his lips, branding you with what will surely leave behind a dark purple hickey. His teeth sink into your skin, causing you to whimper.

Rafe starts to rock his cock into you, nailing your sweet spot each time. You wrap your arms around him, marking him in your own way as your manicured nails drive into his skin. Rafe moans your name, getting off on the ache.

His body drags away from yours, tugging at the bow between your breasts, letting the satin fall to your sides as he changes positions. Rafe starts to stroke as hands move from your hips to your breasts, gripping them tight, pinching and rolling your nipples before settling on your neck.

You wait impatiently for his grasp as Rafe studies his skin on yours. He smirks wickedly, watching the way his rings glint in the low lighting, his hand wrapped like a necklace around your pretty little throat.

Rafe tightens his grip, making your eyes roll back as he pumps into slow and deep, snapping his hips each time. You can feel yourself a little more breathless than before; your pulse felt under his heavy hand. You let out a choked cry as his other hand finds your clit, rubbing circles on top.

"Faster," you beg, your voice cock-drunk and hoarse.

"Mmm... Bet my little slut wants it harder too. Yeah?"

"Yes - Fuck," you squeal. Your breasts bounce with each clap of his hips, his fat tip kissing your g-spot with each thrust. Rafe gives it to you harder and faster as you feel your pleasure about to boil over.

He's just as pussy-drunk, eyes glossed, pupils blown. Your eyes flutter closed, drool seeping out of the corner of your plump lips. You feel Rafe's breath on your skin, his soft tongue cleaning you off just as he did with the champagne, spitting it back into your open mouth this time.

His tongue tangles with yours, sloppy and breathless, as you swallow each other's sounds. "M'gonna cum," you gasp, feeling tears of pleasure well in your eyes.

"Me too, baby. You gonna make a mess? Let me clean it up for you," he pants.

"Yeah-ahh," you answer shakily. Warm liquid squirts from your sex, soaking Rafe's thick cock and his expensive sheets. "Fuck, Rafe," you whimper. I can't believe I just did that... I've only seen that in porn. Rafe quickly snuffs out your embarrassment as he coaxes you further.

"Fuck, baby. Just like that. I think my girls got more in her. Don't you?" He grunts, not letting up, applying more pressure to your clit. You feel it again; a second release, Rafe fucking you through the spurts of your climax.

Rafe was right. He always gets what he wants.

"Gonna cum... Gonna fill you so full, Princess. Fuck," he moans.

"Cum in my pussy, daddy."

Rafe's eyes roll back at the sounds of your voice, his release following close behind, muscles tightening as he floods you with his finish. He throws his head back, breathing deeply as he comes down from his high.

"Co'mere..." You whisper. Rafe gives you a satisfied smile, burying himself in your neck; holding you close for a moment before rolling you on top.

You rest your head on his chest, listening as his heart starts to slow with his breathing. Rafe's rough fingertips skim your spine as he releases a deep breath. "Mmm... Baby?" He mumbles sleepily, wrapping you tightly in his arms.

"Yes," you whisper, blissed out and breathless as you meet his beautiful eyes.

"You're never leaving."

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jayswhorex · 1 month

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guns & roses 🥀

ak!jason todd x f!reader

here's part 2

his skin slapped against yours, giving you rough thrusts every second. Your nails digged into his shirt while your legs were hooked around his waist. you held on tightly as the red hood fucked you up against the wall of one of his safe houses. "can't believe you're taking my cock like this, even after you've cum, how many times is it now?" you weren't sure how you ended up in this position but you weren't complaining especially when his cock felt so good. your bra was practically falling off and you had no clue where your underwear was. his pants were at his ankles and his holsters were on the floor. you couldn't deny sex with him was messy but it was so worth it. "oh fuck you, just shut up and keep fucking me, that's your job isn't it?"

you felt his thrusts pick a sloppy and desperate rhythm, one you'd felt many times. "you want me to shut up or you wanna get fucked like a slut? you only get one" his groans became louder and he looked up at you, practically locking eyes with you. if his helmet hadn't been on, you'd probably find this intimate but this was nothing like that. this was his way of reminding you, that you were his whore, nothing more. just fuckbuddies, for each other mutual release. work had taken a big toll on you and the red hood would never tell you was bothering him but you always saw the effect of it when he fucked you.

your moans became a mixture of begging for him to stop but also begging for more. "red can't take no more- oh fuck! harder harder harder! please red" he was big, if you didn't already know, and he barely fit in you the first few times. but once you started to take him more & more often, he made sure that he'd bottom out in you every time. if you could take all of him, why wouldn't he take advantage of it?

he let a couple of frustrated groans, swearing at you constantly but you loved it. you knew he was stressed and frustrated and had so much pent up inside him, you were goddamn release. so he'd fuck you any way he liked, as long he to make of you. out of everything, you were the one thing the red hood could control in his life and he needed that. "just fucking shut up and take it, baby, we play this little game every week and it always ends with you begging for more" his hands move towards your ass, gripping it tightly, pulling you even closer to him, so he could fuck you just the way you wanted. "ohhhh god! i'm gonna cum red, m'gonna make a mess" you slurred, being drunk on just his cock.

"good girl, cum f'me like my little whore, then i can paint your thighs for you," he said while pounding you into the wall. your face was stained with tears, you could barely catch your break and everything felt so good and bad at the same time. you weren't sure if it was his words or the way he grabbed his face and forced you to look at him but you practically came on the spot and the red hood followed as he quickly pulled out of you.

you whined at the empty feeling of a lack of warmth, while he spilled his poad onto your thighs, painting your thighs with his load. the red hood wasn't going to be risky with you especially when you didn't know him that well.

except you did. but he didn't want to remember those times.

he got you a towel to clean yourself up and you placed your hands on his shoulders trying to steady yourself. the red hood made a grunting sound in annoyance and that quickly made you let go of him. he pulled up his black jeans and grabbed his holsters along with them.

the grunt had snapped you back into reality. you quickly began to grab your clothing that had been flung around while also putting it back on. you searched everywhere for your underwear but couldn't manage to find it and accepted defeat. this wasn't the first time you'd lose clothing because of this man and you hated it. the two of you hated each other, whatever you had was just for sex, well it was supposed to be just for sex. you don't even know the man's identity or what he looked like, but that doesn't stop your desire for him.

the red hood made himself comfy on what seemed to be his bed. he took off his holster and removed the gun, unloading it before placing it in a locked drawer. you watched him contemplate taking off his helmet in from you but he quickly redacted his hands from his head. he needed you to pray soon, not just cause he wanted to take off his helmet but also because he didn't need you snooping around this place. you'd find a lot of things you weren't ready for. your eyes focused on the bed, something about how messy it was caught your eye. it was messy enough that maybe two people had been in it…

you knew you couldn't possibly be the only one he's fucking. but it didn't bother you any less, you'd think he'd have the decency to clean up when he invites you over but he doesn't. another annoyed grunt leaves his lips, as he looks up, with his helmet still on. "you plan on staring for the rest of the night or what?" his voice was deep and strained like it was trained to talk that way. he knew you had been staring at the bed, and he knew why but there was no point in teasing you now.

"don't be a fucking ass, i'm just about to and you were the one who dragged me here dickhead"

"yeah, for a fuck" he said followed by a laugh, "i think it's time for you to go home"

"next time how about you call one of your other whores, i've got an actual life unlike you who goes around this city playing pretend" you knew the moment those words left your mouth, that you were fucked and not in a good way. you planned to quickly get out the door but you weren't quick enough. he slammed the door shut and locked it, trapping you in the middle.

"you think what i do doll, is for fun? that's it's a game?" he asks grabbing your face and forcing you to face him again. once again he was in control of you, putting this barrier between the two of you by wearing his helmet yet forcing you to face him. he chuckled and for a moment you caught a small glimpse of who might be behind the mask but that was quickly shut down when he asked you another question "you think that i just bring home every girl on the street huh? that there are 'other whores'?"

"yeah i do, you're more than a whore than i am- "

"if you value your life i’d choose those next words carefully y/n"

your name came out of his lips like it was a sin. he wasn't supposed to know that, he wasn't supposed to know you at all.

"you don't know a fucking thing about me, you're just some faceless vigilante who has a thing for every girl he manages to pick on the street"

"i know more about you than you could possibly imagine," he says grabbing your wrist and pulling you away from the door. the way he held your wrist wasn't even tight like he wasn't dragging you like he usually would. in other words, he gave you the opportunity to run away but you didn't because this relationship you had with him was addicting and you kind of wanted to see how you'd be punished. "you want to do it on the bed right?"

he's pushing you onto the bed and you know you're in trouble cause how tf did he know? he wasn't a mind reader because if he was he would've let you go home by now. you weren't even shocked that he suggested but more that he knew that that's what you wanted. the two of you rarely even spoke casually and even when you did you didn't expect to listen or pay attention but he did and on his own accord too. the red hood knew just what you wanted from him, but he had to hear it from you if you were going to get it. "but you gotta say it doll"

"say what red?"

"that you're a jealous doll and if you do, i might just fuck you in the bed if it's that special to you" he knew what he wanted from you and you wanted from him. you may hate each other but deep down there was always going to be something else mixed in with those feelings. and one day he'd have to tell you why but that day is very far away. you didn't want to answer him but he called you sweetheart and promised to fuck you in his bed, how could you say no to such a rare offer?

"…m jealous," you said quietly, but loud enough for him to hear. the red hood didn't know why you were jealous and he didn't really care why yet it still excited him. and before you knew it, he's fucking you into the bed. the bed creaked as he pushed your body deeper in the bed, holding onto your hips as if his life depended on it. he had you on your tummy, fucking you from behind like his personal fuck today. you don't even remember him taking off your clothes again or if he'd even let you go home tonight but that didn't matter because this was the routine.

fuck. fight. fuck again harder.

this relationship you had with the red hood was wrong on so many levels and it was toxic, you knew that but you were going to stay. yes, you hated how much he reminded you of him. because he was gone and he was never going to come back and you had finally come to terms with that only for the red hood to reopen that wound. as much as you hated the red hood and as toxic as this relationship was, you wanted to be special to him because of the past and maybe that's why you wouldn't leave and he wouldn't even let you if you wanted to.

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schrodingerscougar · 1 month

Text

Hold it together (Simon Riley x reader)

Note: This takes place seven years after the second part. Warning: death.

It had only been three weeks since the funeral. The girls were still closed up like clams, shutting Simon out completely despite their young age. Lucy was seven, Nora was five, and he couldn't believe that they had to experience the death of their mother this soon. He was lost as well, having no idea how to deal with losing you.

While at the beginning he pushed you away, believing he didn't deserve the love you were trying to give him, later you became his other half, his partner in crime, the most caring and nicest lover he ever had. He would have never imagined he would once have someone like you in his life. And now? You were gone for good because of that goddamn accident.

Johnny loved the girls and whenever he was around, he had offered to look out for them while the two of you went out on a date. Now he was trying to lighten the mood, coming up with ideas for fun activities, but Simon saw it in his daughters that they weren't excited about them.

While he was waiting for his broken ribs to heal, the sergeant stayed with them to make life easier. One night Simon tucked in the girls and his heart ached when he saw the youngest getting ready to sleep with a photo of you on the edge of her bed.

“You miss mommy?” he asked as he swept a strand of hair out of her beautiful little face.

Nora was sniffling quietly as she nodded.

He loved both his daughters equally, but the balance was perfect. Lucy was a lot like him, a real tomboy who had been wanting to try martial arts ever since they watched the original The Karate Kid movie. She had been handling your death surprisingly well, maybe that's because her personality was a lot like his.

But this young lady was your carbon copy in and out. Seeing her missing you so much proved your strong connection, the one he would never be able to build with her. He had never seen anything like it, and this made it hard for him to console her if she was upset. She had always ran to you for support, but now she was sad because you were gone.

Simon pulled the girl against his chest, his eyes falling on his other daughter who was watching them from her own bed. He could see her eyes shining from the tears, but she held herself together. “It's okay, babygirl,” he whispered to Nora as he rubbed her back. “I miss her too, you know. And I'm sure Lucy misses her as well. But we're strong, aren't we?”

She mumbled something in agreement then pulled away to bury herself under the thick blanket. “Goodnight, Daddy.”

“Goodnight, sweetheart.” He kissed her forehead then stood up and went over to Lucy, leaning down to give her a goodnight kiss too. “Sleep well, big girl.”

When he turned to the door, Johnny was already waiting for him, leaning against the doorframe with his arms folded over his chest. There was a look of understanding in his blue eyes, and he put a hand on Simon's shoulder when they reached the bottom of the stairs.

“They're kids, they'll adapt and move on. Maybe not soon, but eventually they will,” he tried to assure him. “I'm not so sure about you, though. I woke up to you coming down the stairs last night. I swear you're moving around this place like a real ghost.”

With a sigh, Simon walked around the Scotsman and threw himself on the couch. “Her parents want custody,” he told him, finally giving him an insight into what was truly bothering him. “They're willing to drag me to court. I'm not suitable to be a single parent because of my job, they say.”

Johnny sat on the armchair next to him and rested his elbows on his thighs as he leaned closer. “Bullshit. Price would help you get an early retirement if you asked,” he said, looking way more upset than Simon.

“Who knows, maybe staying with them would be better for the girls.”

“Don’t say this. You need to fight for them. They need their father,” Johnny added.

This broke Simon. He couldn't hold back the tears anymore, the tears he had been fighting ever since that night. His friend being by his side helped him keep it together, but they never talked about what exactly he went through because he always said he couldn't remember.

But he remembered lying in the ambulance, asking about you, begging for crumbs to find out what happened to you, if you were also on your way to the hospital, but they didn't tell him anything. “I’m sorry, we don't know,” one of them said.

“Talk to me, Simon,” Johnny quietly said once he sat down next to him on the other side of the couch. “You need to get this out of your system or you'll go crazy.”

Still fighting his tears, the lieutenant took a deep breath and finally began to talk. “She was unconscious. I–I remember looking over at her in the wreck but she wasn't moving, wasn't responding to my questions. They later said I had a concussion so probably that's why some time fell out of my memory. I don't remember how I ended up in the ambulance.

They didn't tell me anything. In the hospital I got out of the bed and went to look for someone who could finally tell me what the fuck happened, but I bumped into a doctor who was talking to a police officer. That's when I found out she was dead by the time help arrived,” he finished with a shaking voice.

Johnny leaned back and looked up at the ceiling. “Did you have the chance to say goodbye?”

“I might have threatened someone to be allowed to go to the morgue. Her body was bruised, scarred, and bloody. Not how I want to remember her. But yes, I could say goodbye.”

“You need to fight, Simon. For her. She wouldn't want her parents to take the girls away from you,” the sergeant told him firmly as he reassuringly put a hand on his shoulder.

Just when he was about to answer, tell him he felt like it was a battle he was sure to lose, they heard light footsteps coming from the door. It was Lucy who walked over to them, sitting next to his father and resting her head on his arm.

“Do Grandma and Grandpa really want to take us away?” she asked hesitantly as she glanced up at her father. Simon nodded. “I don't want to go. I want to stay with you, Dad,” Lucy said, already sobbing.

Simon let out a sigh before wrapping an arm around her small body and placing a soft kiss on the crown of her head. “I don't want you to leave either, trust me. I'll do everything I can to stop them, okay?”

“Pinky promise?”

“Pinky promise.”

#ghost #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #modern warfare #mw2 #mw3 #call of duty #john mactavish #john soap mactavish #soap

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strangersteddierthings · 3 months

Text

Rockstar Life

It might have all been forgiven, if Eddie had called. If Eddie had called and begged forgiveness immediately.

Steve could believe- would be willing to look past one drunken mistake.

But Eddie doesn't call.

Eddie doesn't call. Not in the morning after. Or the following day. Or the next.

Steve doesn't reach out either, because how can be he expected to? Paparazzi caught Eddie shoving a mysterious man against the wall in a dark alley, captured their heated kisses and how they barely separated for long enough to get into the back of an uber, and Steve knows as soon as he sees the pictures that he won't be reaching out.

He's not the one that's done anything wrong.

It takes three days for Steve to hear from Eddie. It's a shock, a genuine surprise, because it's face to face. Steve hears the front door close, and he thinks it's Robin, come to check on him again so he doesn't even turn around from where he's making a quesadilla directly on the stovetop.

He does freeze completely when it's not Robin's voice he hears.

"Steve, I am so sorry. So fucking sorry. I can't even begin to explain how sorry."

Three days ago, Steve might have forgiven him.

Today, he's not feeling so generous. He turns the burner off and scoots the half-cooked quesadilla to the cooler side of the stovetop before turning around.

Eddie looks wrecked. Dark bags under his eyes, made even darker by his paler than normal skin, hair a type of messy Steve hasn't seen since the spring break Eddie was in hiding and unable to take a proper shower. He looks heartbroken, distraught and upset. All things Steve felt up until this exact moment. Now that he's face to face with the love of his life, he feels nothing.

"Am I moving out, or are you?"

The noise Eddie makes is heart wrenching. Steve's not so numb and hateful to not recognize that. "Babe, please-"

"Do not call me that," Steve interrupts, "not when you were probably whispering that to someone else just days ago."

"Ba-Steve. Steve, please. I swear it was a mistake. It- I was way too drunk and high to be thinking clearly-"

"I don't want your excuses, Eddie. I want to know if I'm packing my things, or if you are."

"Steve, can't we talk about this?"

That makes Steve's blood boil. "Talk about it? Talk about it? Now you want to talk about it? You should have wanted to talk about it the second you slunk from that guy's bed. Or did you have to kick him from yours? Or, worse, has it taken three goddman days to hear from you because you were still in bed!?"

"No!" Eddie cries, "no, it didn't- it was just-"

"Stop!" Steve shouts, "I don't want to hear any details! I don't care if that uber only made it a block before you came to your senses and bailed. That doesn't- those pictures- you pinned him to the wall, Eddie!"

Eddie is silent, shrinking in on himself in a way Steve's never seen. Steve pushes down the urge to comfort him.

Steve is the one in need of comfort. He's the hurt party here.

"If I were sober, it never would have happened," is all the reply Eddie finally gives. It's not good enough.

"I can't trust that!" Steve turns away, pressing his hands against his eyes hard enough to see light that isn't there. "How am I supposed to believe you? You didn't even- you didn't even call. It was like- like you didn't even know that I knew. But you must have found out. That's why you're here." Steve drops his hand and turns around. "Who told you I knew?"

Eddie swallows. "Max."

Steve nods because of course it was Max. She was the one who handed him the tabloid with the picture in it, three days ago. "So, if you didn't know I knew, you would have, what, never told me?"

"NO, no, I just- I didn't know what to say. How to say it. But then Max called yesterday and-" Eddie says Max's name with too much bite, like it's a curse. Like Max tattled on Eddie instead of exposed his betrayal.

"Shut. Up," Steve growls, "you don't get to be mad at Max for your fucking mistake! I've know you're a goddamn cheater for three days, and it's not until Max let you know that I knew, that you decided to fix it? Well, it can't be fixed, Eddie!"

"Steve, please," Eddie is crying, and Steve's seen him cry a handful of times before but this one hurts deepest. Steve's the reason for the tears, and because you don't just stop loving someone overnight, that hurts.

"No. No! I can't trust you! How many other times has this happened?-"

"Never, never I swear-"

"- Would you have ever said anything if you hadn't been fucking caught on camera?!"

"Yes, of course I would have!"

"How am I ever going to believe that?" Steve cries, "I had to learn that the love of my life cheated on me at the same time the rest of the goddamn world did! Jesus Christ, Eddie, when you said you wanted that rockstar life, I thought you meant like, big fancy house, grammy's and an invite to the met gala. Not goddamn sex, drugs and rock n' roll!"

For the first time since Steve's known him, Eddie Munson stands before him with nothing to say.

@i-less-than-three-you @nburkhardt @skepsiss @afewproblems

#steddie #my fic #hurt/no comfort #cw cheating #its a modern au but steve doesnt use social media #just a lil ficlet #i have no plans to continue as of now

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byechristopher · 4 months

Note

soooo it’s ur biggest fan here 🤣! so idea. chris is a hockey boy. i need something angsty or something

also a fluff idea reader is a dancer and chris is hockey player and reader has a competition the same place chris has a tournament. and it’s just them supporting each other

although just do what ever you want but hockey chris>>> i feel like you’d do him justice

Jealous guy.

– CHRIS STURNIOLO ANGST & FLUFF.

Author's note: I worked hard on this because it's for my biggest fan. You know I love my angsty shit, so I took your idea and combined it with mine. I hope y'all like it. 🤍 Do not copy/steal my work. :)

Ps. I'm the kind of bitch that gets all giddy and shit when Chris says "my girl" in my OWN FIC. Okay.

Warnings: not really a warning but mentions of fighting and a lil bloody lip. Mwuah. Didn't proofread, sorry!

[ YOU ]

"Okay, and what the hell do you want me to do about it?" I almost scream, turning around to look at Chris.

He was fuming, to say the least. His hair was messy, he didn't have a shirt on but wore his usual gray sweatpants. His glare was deadly.

"Uhm, I don't know, tell him to not send fucking flowers to OUR apartment?!" he shouts, throwing his phone on the couch. The irony in his voice is more than evident.

I couldn't believe it when I saw it either Honestly, I never expected him to go to such lengths. Despite being just a co-worker, he's become a relentless presence in my life. Whether it's showing up everywhere at work, bringing me coffee, or bombarding me with emails – it's relentless. The boundary crossed when he managed to find my address; literally searching for my goddamn address and sending me flowers? That is wild. Of course I told Chris about it, but he acts as if it is my fault this psycho found our address.

"I don't even know his phone number, Chris! How would I ever know that he'd search for the address and send me flowers?" I sigh, still very angry.

"I'll beat the shit out of him, I swear.. the game starts in less than an hour, fucking hell.." he says, checking his watch, "how the fuck am I ever going to play when I'm like this?"

I don't reply to him – he really makes it sound like it's my fault and despite my initial enthusiasm for the game, it's waned due to his blame game. Still, I don't want to come off as a heartless bitch, especially on the eve of his crucial match. So, I grab my phone, wallet, and keys before heading over to him.

"I really hope you win." I whisper, placing a soft peck on his cheek before exiting the bedroom and shortly after, leaving the apartment.

[ CHRIS ]

She left. Fucking hell. I always do bullshit like this – I can't keep my big mouth shut and now she's not even coming to the game. I really needed her in this one. But that is my own fault.

In the quiet solitude of our apartment, I try to prepare for the upcoming game; amidst the dim glow of our living room, I meticulously don my team jersey, each movement an attempt to shift my focus. Taking a moment, I inhale deeply, trying to be as calm as possible before the game.

With a determined resolve, I grab my gear, the familiar scent of the hockey bag triggering a surge of adrenaline. As I step outside, the crisp evening air hits me, momentarily clearing my mind. The journey to the rink is a silent contemplation, the distant echoes of the city fading as I immerse myself in mental preparation.

Arriving at the arena, I feel the familiar anticipation. The ambient sounds of the crowd and distant echoes of skates on the ice envelop me, grounding me in the moment. I exchange nods and greetings with teammates. The locker room door creaks open, revealing the sanctum where emotions are set aside, and the game becomes paramount. Amidst the hum of chatter and the clatter of equipment, I sigh; I really want her to come. I still have hope, although I doubt it. The tension lingers as I tighten my skate laces, and Jake, my teammate and friend, notices my distraction.

"You seem off, Chris. Everything okay?" Jake asks.

"Yeah.." I look up at him, and he seems like he already knows, "..just had a big fight with my girl before I left. Can't shake it off," I confess.

Jake pats me on the shoulder. "I understand, man. I wish I could say something but you gotta leave it behind for now. We've got a game to win. Sort things out later."

On the ice, rival players almost immediately target me, seeming to be aware of my vulnerable state; it must be that fucking expression of mine. I can't hide it. During the first period, a smirking opponent skates by, taunting, "trouble at home, Chrissy? Should focus on that instead of the game." he smiles.

Enraged, I retaliate with a forceful check, earning myself a penalty, "keep your temper in check, Chris!" warns the referee.

In the penalty box, I mutter under my breath, "I can't fucking believe this."

As the match progresses, rival players intensify their attempts to provoke me; we've played with those fuckers before, and if anyone has seen me in a game, they know very well the only thing that can affect the way I play is her. Undeterred, I channel my anger into my plays, determined to win this goodamn game while internally wondering if she came to see me after all.

In a breakaway, I find myself one-on-one with the opposing goalie. With a swift deke, I send the puck into the net, equalizing the score. The crowd erupts, and my teammates cheer.

Rival players persist in their attempts to get under my skin. During a tense moment, an opposing forward sneers, "look, your girlfriend's probably enjoying the show. Make sure to not embarass her again."

After that, I almost lose it, and in a heated moment, a rival defenseman delivers a high stick to my face, splitting my lip. Blood drips onto the ice as I stumble backward. The referee signals a penalty, but the damage is done.

Undeterred by the bleeding, I clench my fists, "you think that's going to stop me? You fucking coward!" I almost scream to make sure that fucking asshole hears me.

The game continues, and during a power play, I push through the pain. I charge towards the net, ignoring the throbbing pain in my lip – the only thing on my mind is her and making her proud.

Fueled by a surge of anger and determination, I respond with a spectacular goal that secures the lead for my team. I skate past the jeering opponent, acknowledging the crowd's cheers.

As the final buzzer sounds, signaling our victory, I finally spot my girlfriend in the stands. My heart beats faster. A mix of emotions plays across her face, and I realize the significance of my performance. It's like no one else is around, just us and that is the only thing that matters. I keep eye contact with her, even when my teammates are cheering for me and I smile, even with that bloody lip – she smiles back and I want to kiss her so bad.

[ YOU ]

When I saw Chris' bloody lip, I almost lost it – the restraint within me, resisting the urge to jump in and shove my fingernails into that asshole's eye sockets, is beyond words. I was well aware they were deliberately provoking Chris; his simmering anger was very evident. The recklessness in his gameplay during the initial stages of the game made it even more obvious that he was more focused on what they said than the actual game.

I kept yelling his name at the top of my lungs, unsure if he could hear, but I desperately wished for his victory, especially after that intense fight. Witnessing him wince from the pain now and then, I felt an overwhelming urge to cry.

As he scored the decisive goal and secured the victory, I couldn't contain my excitement, jumping up and down. It brought back memories of our younger days when I always cheered him on during his games.

When all of this was over and I just stood there, I could see him looking at me. His gaze finally finds me in the midst of the crowd, and my heart feels like it might leap out of my chest. Everything else fades away, leaving only him in my line of sight.

I notice all of the team leaving, probably going to the locker rooms and I quickly head to the exit door.

In the dimly lit corridor outside of where the locker rooms are, he finally comes outside and spots me waiting there, my expression a mix of anticipation and apprehension.

"Hey," he calls out, his voice carrying a hint of both excitement and apology.

I look up, meeting his eyes, "hey," a subtle smile playing on my lips, "you played amazing out there."

Still trying to catch his breath, he wraps his arms around me in a tight hug, keeping me close for a while. We are not saying anything, I just hold him close, my fingers buried in his sweaty hair.

"Thank you so much for coming." he whispers.

"I would never lose any of your games. Even when you're being an asshole." I smile, which I am sure he can hear when I'm speaking.

"I am so sorry. I didn't mean to put the blame on you. I just.. I am fucking jealous. I don't want any other guy near you." he keeps his voice as low as possible.

"Shhh, I know. Let's take care of that lip first and then you can apologise to me all you want." I pull away but he doesn't let go of course – I cup his cheek and take out some tissue that I keep in my bag for emergency with my free hand. I gently pat the skin, trying to clean the blood as much as I can without hurting him.

His eyes soften, "seriously, baby. Thanks for coming. I always play better when you're cheering for me."

I look up at him, my gaze softening as well as I cup both of his cheeks now, "I know. I am so, so proud of you. You were amazing, as always." I whisper, leaning in to play the softest kiss on his little wound.

"God, I love you." he whispers, wrapping his arms around my waist, hugging me close to him.

"I love you too."

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verysium · 5 months

Note

PLEASE DO BLUE LOCK ICKS IM BEGGING🙏😭🌹

😏 coming right up anon. gonna channel my inner critic and not hold back on any of these.

RIN

brother complex. not much else to say except that he needs to get a life. not everything is about metaphorically crushing your older brother's dreams and brooding in the dark hate of retribution.

competitive but only because he is a desperate whore for external validation. ignores everyone but craves the attention of a sole person named sae itoshi. was defeated by isagi once and has never let go of it since. has a one-track mind that is impossible to derail. stubborn when he wants to be.

probably a virgin and will continue to be one until his late 30s.

has not known a single day of peace ever since sae ditched him for the popular girlies. as a result, he has developed a very concerning case of social awkwardness. his idea of a conversation involves a brick wall and thirty minutes of you staring at his resting bitch face. constantly looks like that one grumpy cat meme. judges you for your poor decisions but then gets aggressively defensive when you point out his own mistakes.

reeks of so much teen angst that even metallica can't save him. the problem is that he has nothing to back up his emo persona. his insults lack creativity and, unfortunately for him, phrases like "lukewarm" and "half-baked" and "hell" do not make his words carry more weight. uses the f-word but in the most embarrassing context that it makes you facepalm and internally cringe.

SAE

zero social awareness. this boy's head is empty. the lights are not on up there. there are no picture frames or furniture. the curtains are drawn, and there is not a sliver of clouds or sunshine. cannot read body language and does not know what a filter is.

the source of all of rin's stress. he is the original trauma projector, creator of generational cycles. not even subtle about it. "turns out i was wrong. i thought japan was incapable of ever giving birth to decent forwards." sir....with the way you worded that, you knew exactly what you were doing when you gave rin false hope.

swears but it's even worse than his brother. literally called his elders a "fatso and bob cut duo" and "insect turd." i mean....there is a line between what is considered a legitimate burn and what is a first grader making up insults in his coloring book.

has a horrible haircut and no fashion taste. i already talked about this previously, but it was so bad it deserved a second mention.

a freak but tries to justify it rationally. like what do you mean you can tell a person's athletic ability from their buttock size? just admit you have a kinky fetish already.

somewhat of a coward but i'm gonna give him some leniency due to his tragic child genius backstory. tbh he's just an eighteen-year-old boy who needs a goddamn break.

KAISER

alexa please play clown music. this man sets himself for failure and then wallows in self-pity when he actually fails. like what did you expect? you knew what was going to happen the moment you challenged isagi like that. it was most definitely your fault you got violently humbled.

has a borderline god complex (currently calls himself an emperor but has not evolved into a deity yet.) unfortunately, he does not stand on business. cue the dramatic meltdowns when he realizes there is an actual gap between his ability and his reputation. if you're going to lie, at least make it believable.

insecure and mentally unstable. he probably cuts and re-dyes his hair every single time shit happens. no wonder his locks get shorter every time.

lazy when it comes to anything that is not football and expects others to do it for him. demands princess treatment wherever he goes. unfortunately, not all of us have servants with no self-respect like ness.

"it is not enough that i should succeed, others should fail" type of person.

does not wear shoes and even if he does, it's sandals. put them grippers away.

NAGI

a literal sloth who has so much potential but uses none of it. has no intrinsic motivation of his own, so if he's going to do anything, it has to be you behind the wheel, making sure he gets put to work.

does not have a close relationship with his parents, and so he has no sense of community, holidays, or traditions. no fun at all if you want him to do things like christmas shopping or birthday celebrations.

rots in bed all day and then has to nerve to ask you to carry him around. your back better be strong because his 190 cm body is not going to be light.

not loyal (need i say more.)

REO

second male lead syndrome. also known as that one popular guy who's always picked last.

acts like a victim but then when you realistically tell him to how to change his situation he refuses to do so. you cannot ask for advice and then take none of it to heart. no wonder you're still not over your ex.

"i can fix him" mentality. no, you can't. you are a seventeen-year-old child, not a licensed therapist and nagi isn't even all that.

NESS

touch-starved to the point he will stay in a toxic and abusive relationship in order to gain some scrap of affection. just because you were the black sheep of your family does not mean you can lose all sense of personal dignity.

probably stalks all the people he hates. has a burn book like regina george from mean girls. cuts out and glues little pictures of kaiser all over his bedroom. doodles hearts all over it with glittery gel pen. isagi's face and name are scratched out of every team photo.

delusional and prone to mood swings. medicated but at this point, he is beyond saving.

ISAGI

a home wrecker. has ruined more relationships than he can count on ten fingers yet still manages to smile like he's some angelic saint.

solves jigsaw puzzles for a living (not very cool if you ask me.)

has some unresolved anger management issues. probably repressed all his negative feelings when he was younger, so it all comes out when he's on the field. unfortunately, his twilight-sparkle-friendship-is-magic agenda is not going to work if he keeps cussing out his teammates like that. but then again, he is the main character, so i guess his plot armor makes up for his pitfalls.

says that he's a good guy but then holds personal vendettas against rivals he doesn't like. boy was so ready to throw hands when #kaisagi was trending on the internet. but when you actually think about, he's similar to kaiser in more ways than he'd like to admit.

BAROU

has the worst case of high and mighty "holier-than-thou" attitude. isagi put his ego in check, but it still peeks out from time to time.

he was the ugliest baby when he was born. i am not going to hold back on the child barou slander because it is true. no, he was not a cute and lovable bundle of joy. he looked like a demonic gremlin.

he needs to take more risks in life and try cross-dressing. simply imagining him in a maid uniform will not suffice. it needs to be made into a reality.

with how nit-picky he is, i doubt people can realistically stay within a 1-meter radius around him. unless you are a clean freak yourself, his constant complaints will start to get annoying after a time. even if he does have good intentions, he needs to let people have a little breathing room sometimes. a messy room is not going to kill you.

BACHIRA

this boy's brain is smooth. no folds. no gray matter. no intelligence either. his pencil and eraser have been left untouched since day one. if he wasn't crazily good at football, he would be unemployed and homeless in the future. not even a mcdonald's wants him.

one of those people who will do the literal opposite of whatever you say. you want him to stop talking? well, now he's never going to shut up. you tell him not to step on a pile of dog shit? well, now he's going to walk right into it. you want him to quit running around and act normal? well, now it's his life's mission to make you as annoyed as possible. please pray for your hair follicles because at the end of the day, you're not going to have many left with how much he makes you want to tear your hair out.

has the cerebral capacity of a toddler. if he thinks monsters are real, he's going to think anything is real. super gullible when it comes to any form of scam, ploy, or trickery. the only way he would not be fooled is if he's also played the same prank before.

SHIDOU

a brazen pervert. says the most out-of-pocket things and refuses to apologize for them. sometimes it comes out a little too sleazy for your liking.

"to me a goal is fertilization! a shot is the seed and the goal is the egg!! and the birth of that joy i call an explosion!! my genes are gonna knock you up!" let us give ourselves a moment of silence to digest this quote. only shidou ryusei would come up with a sperm and egg metaphor to describe football. (i guess protection means nothing to him.)

has no empathy. if you dislike him or cannot keep up with him, you're a literal nobody in his books. no sportsmanship. no compassion. no self-awareness.

you cannot say "balls" to him in a serious tone without him misinterpreting it as something dirty. that alone should tell you enough. stay the hell away from him.

where do men get the audacity? right here. from this little bastard. he invented the term "shameless slut." boy was getting off during the u-20 arc and on live TV too. no wonder sae said he was disgusting.

and finally, he comes from a long line of cockroaches. he's even got the antennae to prove it.

i think this might have been a little excessive, but i have no regrets about it. you're welcome anon ♡

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roosterforme · 7 months

Text

The Younger Kind Part 31 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley knows there's only one way to contend with what Carl did, and he will gladly do it for you. All he wants is his house, his kid and his girl. You on the other hand don't know quite how to deal with anything that's going on, because it all seems out of your control.

Warnings: Angst, swearing, fluff, fighting, blood, and age gap (18+)

Length: 3500 words

Pairing: Single dad!Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x babysitter!female reader

Check out my masterlist for more! The Younger Kind masterlist.

You were so anxious for your first day of work, you actually woke up way too early and spilled blazing hot coffee all over your scrubs, forcing you to make a detour back to the bedroom to get changed. All you seemed to be able to think about was that video. That goddamn video. You wished you never looked in that box in the attic.

Once again, you were on the verge of tears as you pulled on a clean top and went to wake Noah up for the day. Everything felt like too much right now unless he was with you. The fact that you were as dependent on Noah as he was on you was probably nothing to brag about, but he really lit up every time you read to him or made him food. And you felt much better inside when he was snuggled up with you or holding your hand.

You felt like his mom. You felt like you belonged here with him. He trusted you to take care of him, and you always would. But your confidence where Bradley was concerned felt stunted now, and you couldn't even talk to him about it. If you were even strong enough to bring it up at all.

Noah climbed out of bed and went right to you for a hug, never questioning if he was welcome with you. "Morning, sweet Noah," you whispered against his soft hair. "Did you have happy dreams?"

He yawned and said, "Yeah. I was a pink dinosaur, and all of the other dinosaurs were afraid of me. So I got to eat all the Skittles."

"Wow," you said with a laugh as you carried him into the kitchen for breakfast. "That's the best dream I've ever heard of."

"Yeah, I know."

He ate some eggs while you successfully drank your coffee and vanilla creamer without spilling it this time. And when you dropped him off at daycare, the same girl was working at the front desk.

"Hi, Noah," she said sweetly before handing you the clipboard to sign with a bland expression. You kissed Noah on the cheek and watched him walk in with the other kids before you signed your name. "And will you be picking him up again today, or should we be expecting another babysitter?"

You froze, and a startled laugh escaped your lips. "I'll be picking him up. And I'm the only babysitter." She appraised you again, so you added, "Only the best for Lieutenant Bradshaw and his son," before you spun on your heel and strolled out to the parking lot.

You were driving the Bronco. You were in charge of Noah. Bradley was acting like some sort of sugar daddy boyfriend with the credit card you had tucked in your wallet. You shouldn't have been feeling insecure at all. You tried not to think about anything except getting to work on time for your first day.

And being out of the house did help. You met all of the doctors and other nurses, and some of them were your age. Dr. Kelly treated you to lunch, and you got to chat with her a bit. You learned you'd get to assist with a few special needs kids later in the week. It was exciting. You had your own tiny workspace. Being there occupied your mind.

But when you were asked to fill out a small stack of new hire paperwork in the afternoon, your pen stopped on the page multiple times. You hesitated twice before you eventually wrote Bradley's address as your own. You wrote his name and phone number down as your emergency contact, but you felt ridiculous writing 'boyfriend' where it asked for your relationship to him. After a brief debate, you wrote it anyway and moved on. And a beneficiary for your life insurance? Well, you didn't really have anyone else, so you put Noah.

And then when you handed everything back in, you felt kind of like you were pretending to be an adult.

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

Bradley waited on his bunk for Carl to return. It was getting late, and he wondered where the fuck he was. Without completely dismantling the tiny room, Bradley had searched through as much of Carl's shit as he could. And that was after confirming that he was only missing the one polaroid that you sent with him.

His ears were ringing. Fingers twitching. He was absolutely repulsed by the thought of anyone else looking at that picture. But especially Carl. That was a line you just didn't cross with a bunkmate. Bradley had seen some wild shit in his days, walked in on some things he wished he could unsee. But you simply did not mess with personal items. And you certainly didn't take anything under any circumstances without permission. And if it was anything pertaining to a wife, girlfriend or significant other, it was absolutely forbidden.

And if you broke any of these unwritten rules, well... you should know what you were in for.

When Bradley heard a key in the door close to midnight, his hands automatically curled into fists. Your pretty face popped into his mind, smiling up at him, a teasing smirk on your lips. Even though you weren't here, you deserved to be defended right now. He'd protect you and Noah until he used up his dying breath. And that just meant things weren't looking too hot for Carl at the moment.

The other man strolled in wearing his gym clothes, and it struck Bradley that Carl was probably a little older than he was. He was in good shape, too, but that wouldn't stop Bradley from beating the absolute shit out of him if necessary.

"What's up, Carl?" he asked, remaining seated with his fists planted on either side of him on the bed. When Carl seemed barely able to meet his eyes, Bradley knew for sure.

"Hey," he replied awkwardly. "Just wanted to hit the gym when it was empty."

Bradley just watched him for a few seconds, silently demanding eye contact. When Carl finally stopped bumbling around and met his eyes, Bradley slowly stood. "Where is it?"

Carl's eyes flashed with panic as Bradley rolled his shoulders and took a step closer in the already limited space. "What? What are you talking about?" He tried to back away, but there was really nowhere to go.

"If you make me ask again, it's going to be a lot worse for you, man."

"I... I..." Carl's eyes followed Bradley's left hand as he loosened his fist. And then Bradley slammed him back against the door.

"You know better," Bradley growled. "This isn't your first deployment. You know the rules. And it belongs to me. Where. Is. It?"

"The photo?" Carl whispered as Bradley pressed the heel of his hand against his sternum with even more pressure.

Bradley raised his voice. "Where the hell is it? It better have never left this fucking room."

"I have it!" Carl swore, and Bradley released him.

"Get it," Bradley said as calmly as he could, but his voice was shaking. He watched Carl dig around in his bedding, procuring the photo of you and your perfect tits and your barely concealed pussy. Bradley had a flashback to Noah's birthday party when Jake kissed you. Then he pictured you at the fraternity house, drunk and helpless. Carl was about to pay a pretty large price.

"Here," he grunted, extending the polaroid out to Bradley. Once he set it down on top of his dresser, making sure the photo was still perfect, he turned back to Carl and sucker punched him right on the nose.

Blood was gushing onto his gym shirt as Bradley said, "That's fucked up, Carl. You had my photo in your bed."

He was holding his nose, looking at Bradley with guilty eyes. "Sorry," he mumbled.

"That's my girl, you piece of shit." Bradley was seething as he rammed Carl back up against the door.

"She's your girl?" he asked, trying to stop the bleeding with both hands now. "She looks barely legal. How old is she?"

Bradley released him and took a step back before he did more damage than he intended to. "Do you really think it's a good idea to ask me that, Carl? You probably jerked it to my girlfriend after you stole my photo, and now you're asking me how old she is?" He was panting, letting the rage flow through him, and then both hands curled into fists again.

"Shit, I didn't- I wasn't-"

"You're not very bright, are you?" Bradley asked, cutting him off. "I'll let you walk out of this room with your face mostly intact as long as you guarantee that you'll wear your bruises around this carrier without even so much as looking in my direction. And don't you dare visit the infirmary. Your indiscretion doesn't blow back on me. You got it?"

Carl looked resigned as he lowered his hands from his face and nodded. "Yeah. I got it."

Then Bradley landed one more punch, hard as hell, and Carl staggered around the room for a few seconds before he managed to take himself out into the hallway and toward the bathroom. Bradley carefully picked up his polaroid, and his heart ached. He was yours, and he'd have done anything to see your beautiful face in person right now.

And if Carl didn't so much as speak to him or look at him again for the rest of the deployment, it would be just fine with Bradley.

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

You always felt like you were rushing around. When you got out of work an hour early one Wednesday, you decided to use the time to go grocery shopping before you picked up Noah. It was easier to get just the necessities this way. The downside was that you were definitely getting lost in your own thoughts as you stood in the produce area selecting apples.

It was almost a relief that Bradley hadn't contacted you yet. If you had to look him in the eye right now, you weren't sure you could do it without crying. That USB drive was currently on top of the refrigerator where you couldn't see it, but it was still enough to upset you when you thought about it. But at the same time, you missed your boyfriend and wanted him to come home, and you knew Noah would benefit from talking to him.

You wasted so much time looking at fucking apples that you were going to be late if you didn't get going. You winced as you used the purple princess credit card to pay for the food, and then you organized everything in the back of the Bronco. You loved driving it and briefly wondered if he'd still let you after he got home.

You pulled into the gas station that was just a few blocks from Noah's daycare, once again using Bradley's credit card. You sighed as you inserted the card for payment and then started to fill the tank. And then you looked up toward the next row of pumps, and you were sure you knew that BMW. A second later, you met Meredith's gaze, and a chill went through your body.

You were afraid your voice was going to shake, but you called out, "You're not supposed to come near me."

She laughed maliciously. "This is a gas station, and I was here first. So maybe you should stay away from me."

"With pleasure," you snarled. You had to close your eyes against the sick feeling that rose inside you. Naked. You could picture her naked. Bradley used to love her.

"You already ruined my life," Meredith snapped. "So your little restraining order stunt really doesn't matter to me." Then she was climbing into her car, and you watched her peel out of the parking lot and into traffic, heading in the opposite direction from Noah's daycare.

Your hands were unsteady as you finished up at the gas pump. She was right; she had been at the gas station first. She was with Bradley first. She was Noah's mom before you ever came into the picture as his babysitter. She was everywhere, and she wouldn't go away.

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

Bradley emailed you days ago to let you know he would be able to FaceTime with you and Noah tonight, but you'd only written back, "Sounds good." You didn't give him any updates. You didn't call him Daddy. You didn't say anything else.

Sounds good.

He grunted as he worked out in the gym. The sooner he could get this deployment completed and get home, the better. Carl's face was starting to look better now, but Bradley smiled every time he saw the bruises. He had no idea what excuse the other man had given for looking like a raccoon with two black eyes and a bent nose, and he didn't really fucking care. If anyone assumed he was the one who caused the bruising, they probably also assumed it was warranted.

Those polaroids were wrapped up and put away now. But Bradley wanted the real thing. Your body and your voice. He'd been thinking about how insufficient it felt to call you his girlfriend. Just the same way you'd always felt like more than Noah's babysitter to them. But now with your lack of a real response, Bradley felt a little foolish for thinking about proposing to you.

When it was time to make the call home, he sighed deeply. And when you answered your phone on the living room couch, your expression was hesitant.

"Princess," he rasped, holding the iPad with both hands. "Baby. I miss you."

It felt like an eternity before you responded. "We miss you, too."

He had so much he wanted to say and talk about, but your voice was just a little too soft, and your eyes were just a little too sad. "What's wrong?" he asked, but you were already shaking your head.

"Here. Talk to Noah." And then you were out of the frame, and Noah was there. Bradley laughed as he talked about daycare and making something called peanut butter snails and going for hikes. He held up some of the coloring sheets he had worked on, and Bradley noted that you had dated all of them. You always did little things like that. Now he'd be able to see which days his son worked on the coloring sheets when he got home.

"I miss you so much, bub."

"Will you come home soon?" Noah asked, and Bradley's heart absolutely melted.

"Really soon. And we can go to the beach and maybe take a little vacation, okay? Now can you sit with Princess so I can talk to her, too?"

And then you were immediately back in the frame and scooping Noah onto your lap. So you must have been standing right there the whole time.

"That's better," Bradley sighed. His house, his kid, his girl. "You have no idea how much I wish I was on that couch with you."

You smiled softly. "Do you know when you'll be back?"

"I'm not sure, Baby. Not soon enough. Tell me about work."

So you indulged him in a few stories, and it sounded like you fit in there. You liked your coworkers, especially Dr. Kelly. You loved all the kids you got to talk to and care for all day. But you still seemed a little distant.

"Are you sleeping okay?" he asked. "Any issues?"

You pressed a kiss to Noah's cheek and said, "We just miss you. That's all."

"We want you to come home," Noah whined.

"Please?" you added softly.

"So soon," he reiterated, wishing he could give you both a kiss. "Watch for my emails?"

"I will," you promised.

"I love you. Both of you."

Then you and Noah said in unison, "I love you, too." And then he had to end the call.

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

Well it was done now. You were on your way to get the last few things from your place with Noah before you turned your key over to your landlord. Or former landlord. You were done paying rent here, and now you could start helping Bradley pay his mortgage. In fact, he would be home in a few days, and you'd talk to him about it then. There were actually a lot of things you wanted to have a conversation about.

"Do you remember when you came here for dinner? And I made you spaghetti in my little kitchen?"

"That was a long time ago," Noah insisted, and you held his hand as you walked up the sidewalk. "You live at my house now."

"Yep," you replied softly as you let go of his hand and dug around in your bag for the key you hardly ever used now. "Let's just hope that makes your Daddy happy and not annoyed since I never really gave him a verbal answer," you mumbled, finally locating the key.

As you shoved it into the lock, Noah knelt down and picked something up from the porch. "What's this?" he asked, reaching his hand up to you.

Your eyes went wide. "Drop it," you said right away, and he let the piece of broken glass fall back to the porch. But there was more. Both of you were standing in it, and when you reached to turn the knob, there must have been a shard there.

"Shit," you gasped as your right palm started bleeding. Your heart was pounding in your ears as you kicked the door fully open. One of the panes of glass in the door had been smashed, and there was more of the mess on the floor inside. "Don't touch anything," you hissed, and Noah started crying.

You kept him close enough to take a few pictures as soon as you were able to fumble with your phone. You took seven photos of all the glass plus the item that had been left. For you. It was just a dollar store coloring book, but there was a note on top of it written in crayon. Have fun playing house.

It had to have been from Meredith. Who else could have done it? She was already claiming you ruined her life. And ever since you saw her at the gas station, you were nervous that wasn't the last of her.

Blood was starting to pool a little bit in your upturned palm, and there wasn't much you could do at the moment except for ruin your shirt. "Let's get out of here," you whispered, and the two of you walked back across the porch, the glass crunching beneath your feet.

You were able to buckle Noah with one hand, but even when you got back to Bradley's house, you were still bleeding. And the glass needed to be removed. So you finally caved and called Natasha.

"I kind of need your help," you told her vaguely over the phone.

She laughed in response. "I kind of need a lot of things. What can I do for you?"

"Can you come by and help me remove a piece of glass from my dominant hand?"

"Fuck. Of course. I'm on my way," she replied, all tones of joking gone.

She was there in less than fifteen minutes, and she washed her hands right away. Then she used the sterilized tweezers that you handed to her to carefully remove the glass. "Just the one piece?" she asked, meeting your eyes.

"I think so. I already checked Noah really thoroughly."

Nat's expression darkened. "Why don't you tell me what happened?"

You were pressing some gauze against your palm now. You might need stitches. You would probably benefit from getting stitches. But you couldn't do them yourself with your left hand, and you didn't want to leave Noah right now. Not even with Nat. He was watching a Mickey Mouse cartoon on the couch, and you didn't want him further away from you than that.

"It was just some broken glass," you replied.

"Here?" she asked, looking around the kitchen.

"No. At my old place. It's fine. I just need to tell my landlord about it, and I'll replace it." You were amazed how easily you were able to keep your voice steady.

"Right," Nat replied with an unamused look. "Bradley will be home in a couple days? Do you want me to stay here until he's back?"

"Of course not. We're fine," you insisted, averting your gaze.

She stood to leave and sighed deeply. "Please call me back if you need anything, okay? And do us both a favor and don't lie to Bradley when you pick him up."

You pressed your lips together and nodded. "I won't," you said softly. And after she left, you took Noah into bed with you and snuggled him tight.

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

I hate Carl. I hate Meredith. I want Daddy to come home. Hope you enjoy your fic, @beyondthesefourwalls And thank you @mak-32 !

PART 32

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luveline · 2 years

Note

could you maybe write struggling single dad!eddie? ily!!! 😘

love you! hope this is okay :D I did girl dad!eddie because ♡ fem!reader

Juggling car keys, a brown paper bag of groceries and a toddler that refuses to be put down today is not easy. And she's not always like this, Roan's usually a sweet (if quiet) girl who makes Eddie's life as easy as she can. A blessing, he thanks God or whoever for her everyday, but lately she's been clingy as climbing ivy.

"Babe," he says, stress seeping into the pet name and making it more chiding than he means, "could you relax?"

She glares at him. She's a mirror.

"You're being so mean to daddy today, you know that?"

She ignores him, small hands in the collar of his last nice work shirt and pulling. He can't stop her from stretching it out, doesn't have a hand free to pull her away and the shitty cruiser he swapped his beloved van for is still locked up tight.

"Baby, stop!" he scolds.

She looks like she might have a tantrum if she could. Roan pulls her hands away but starts to grizzle, a sniffle that turns loud that turns to full blown tears. He can't tell if they're crocodile tears or not. He feels awful anyhow.

Roan brings a hand up to slap his shoulder. Her fingers get caught in the fabric of his collar and she tugs to get free, jabbing herself in the eye with the back of her hand.

Her resulting cry is awful. Real, heart-hurting, Eddie forgets to be mad and starts shushing her gently. He presses his back sweaty with exertion against the cold window of the back seat door and pulls her in as close as he can.

"It's okay, sweetheart," he says softly.

She shrieks and hits the grocery bag. It topples. The groceries go everywhere. An orange rolls into the parking lot.

"Roan," he complains, defeated.

Patience, he thinks to himself desperately. Patience. She doesn't mean to.

He can't afford stuff like this. The time it takes to do simple things like get groceries feels expensive enough — he could be pressing Roan's clothes right now, or swapping out that cracked neck on the black Gibson so he can finally get paid for it, or fuck, he could be smoking a goddamn cigarette.

He sets her down. She screams bloody murder but he doesn't have a choice. He has to chase down the dispersed groceries desperately, cheeks pink with embarrassment.

Being a parent has made him hyper aware of other people's judgmental looks. He can feel eyes now on the top of his head and Eddie knows it's that cruel looking blonde woman from the cold cuts aisle who'd tried to lecture him on processed ham.

He picks his head up, words already rehearsed in his head. Lady, if you don't leave me alone I swear to fuck I'm gonna feed her nothing but TV dinners for the rest of her life. She's gonna be a junk food baby and you'll have no one to blame but yourself.

Only It's not the lady. It's a girl.

You wither under his fierce scowl and offer the two oranges in your hand to him unsurely.

"Sorry," you say, shifting forward a half step. "They rolled my way."

He accepts the oranges without talking, which is rude, so rude, but his heads already decided the order of things before his mouth can catch up. Shove the groceries in the bag. Put the bag on the floor. Pick up his kid. Help her calm down.

He hikes Roan onto his hip, rubs her back, and says, "God, I'm sorry. I thought you were someone else."

You visibly relax. Eddie's surprised you didn't turn tail and run.

"Yeah? Do I have a doppelganger?" you ask. You smile in this way that's totally your own, Eddie's never seen someone grin like that before. Maybe a little shy and the shyness is making you awkward, teeth peeking out, you're pretty.

He's shocked at the thought. She's pretty.

Years of womanising (with varying success) kicks in.

"No, God no. She wasn't nearly as pretty as you are, sweetheart."

Roan seems to realise that she's not the object of his whole affection and pulls on his hair. Eddie let's his head yank to the side with a hiss and then a rueful smile. The world skews. You follow his head movement with your own.

"Is that so? I guess you'd know all about pretty," you say, head dipped to your shoulder.

Eddie gets super excited thinking he's actually managed to pull this one off (a fucking impossibility).

You hold your hand out hesitantly and wave. He realises you had not been talking about him.

"You- Oh, yeah. She's lovely, isn't she?"

You beam. "'Lovely,'" you quote. "That's a nice word." Your attention slides to Roan. She basks in it. "Hey, baby. You're just something else, aren't you? You know! You know how pretty you are, don't go shy on me."

Roan goes smiley. Chubby cheeks full of colour, she grins and pulls her dark curls in front of her face. Like father, like daughter.

"What's her name?" you ask.

"Roan. I'm Eddie."

You introduce yourself, bent just slightly to talk directly to Roan. You offer your hand.

When Roan takes it, you shake her tiny hand gently and then rub your thumb over her fingers. "Nice to meet you, princess."

"Hi," she says slowly.

You give her hand a small squeeze and then take a step back, arms moving behind you. "God, she's a pretty baby. And she looks so much like you."

"Yeah?" he asks warmly.

You realise what you've said with a look like you've been struck. After a second, you blink and laugh self-consciously. "Well. It's true."

He's out of the game. He's miles away from the game. But if he doesn't ask you for coffee that's gotta be self sabotage, right? Eddie's trying to find the words when you take a strange breath.

"Listen, I've seen you around and- I know this is weird. Sorry, but you really are- God. Sorry, but do you wanna get coffee? Sometime?" you ask, clunky and awkward.

Eddie's enamoured. He forgets to answer because he can't believe his luck and you take it for something different, adding, "Or not coffee? What does the little lady like?"

He must smile wide enough to split his lip. "Chocolate, mostly."

"Like cake and stuff?"

"Loves it."

You nibble at the inside of your lip as you pull your bag around to your thigh and search inside for a pen. You pull out a leaflet, a Save The Children Pamphlet they pass around outside of the mall and wince as you tear a corner.

He watches you write down your number on the hood of his car. You do it quick, pass it to him quicker.

"You can just call me, let me know when you're free."

"I'm free when you are," he says like a loser. It's not even remotely true. Eddie's never free, but for you he's gonna make it happen.

"How about Thursday?"

Eddie nods. Roan slips down his side and looks between you both like she's watching a tennis match.

"Yeah, Thursday is perfect."

You smile. Eddie takes it all in, everything, your smile and your hair and your clothes and the way your fingers pull at one another. He can't believe you're the nervous one right now. His heart spins like a top in his chest.

"I'm sorry to ask you out and jet, but there's somewhere I gotta be," you say. You sound genuinely apologetic.

"No, of course-"

"But I'll see you on Thrusday. Outside of, um, Morgan's Desserts?"

"Sure, but-"

"Yeah?" you ask.

"I can bring Roan?" he asks.

Your expression softens. "Please. If you don't I'm gonna stand you up."

He laughs abruptly, a shock of it like a firecracker in his chest.

You move like you might leave but then pick up his grocery bag and pass it back it to him. "Bye, princess," you pause to say, looking melted by his daughter's puppy dog eyes, if he does say so himself.

"Bye," she says sweetly.

You nod at him. He nods back.

"Thursday," he calls at your retreating figure. You know, to make sure.

You shoot him a smile over your shoulder.

Roan turns in his hold to stare at his face.

"What?" he asks her.

"Chocolate?" she questions.

"Heard that, did you?" he mutters.

more eddie and roan

#eddie munson x reader fluff #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson #eddie munson x fem!reader #fem!reader #eddie munson x reader blurb #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #dad!eddie munson #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #stranger things #eddie and roan

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emotionallyunstableduck · 7 months

Text

Safe space

Pairings: gojo x reader

Warnings: smidge of crying, gojo's a silly little attention seeker

a/n: I miss him so muchhhh. every week is torturous. My baby needs some comforting ASAP.

the last thing you were expecting to see was your ex-boyfriend Gojo Satoru standing in your doorway with a bruised eye and a busted lip.

"I almost died today" he said, almost not believing his own words, all the while you watched him in horror. "Satoru" he looks like a wet puppy you can't even bring yourself to be harsh "what the fuck happened to you". "I got beat up" he chuckled lowly "part of the job description i suppose". You pull him in seating him on your couch as your hands instinctively went to his face examining it as you gently touched the bruised areas "how did it get this bad" you said sort of wondering out loud "the simplest way to put it is that I got jumped" he tries to lighten the mood "jumped? how do you expect me to believe that satoru? how am i to believe that you of all people could take this much damage just by being jumped?". Why were you angry?

"i did not see them coming, I swear" he says, all giddy at your outburst. As usual, he loves to get a reaction out of you. "Can i stay the night?" his question popped out of nowhere "I- sure. Sure, stay the night. I'll get the guest room ready. " You give in, knowing full well you could never say no to him, not when he's like this. As you try to make past him, he pulls you back onto the couch, clutching onto your tee desperately. "Please stay." Those goddamn eyes. Everytime. It's almost like he knows the kind of effect they have on you.

"I'm only going to get your bed ready satoru" you try to free yourself but to no avail "I just want you right now. just wanna be close" i pulls you closer. All you could do was freeze up in his arms. The familiarity was piercing your heart.

Moments later you felt hot wet tears on you arm which instantly alarmed you. "Satoru" "I'm sorry I'm so sorry" he sobbed into you holding you close by your torso "I thought I was better off alone. I was wrong. So wrong. So so wrong. i'm sorry". His sobs were erratic and you ran your fingers through his hair in order to comfort him. "You were and will be the only best thing in my life. I want you to constitute my every waking second. It's the only way i can breath" his hands made their way up your tee grabbing and squeezing your waist. "Satoru you can't just show up and proclaim shit out of the blue" his only response was the chaste kiss he placed on your tummy before looking up at you with flushed face and those wet lashes and glossy lips. God why does he have to be this enamouring? Your face instantly heated up (the way I'll die from from a nosebleed if I ever see him like so).

"Y/N. Sweets. Please" that's all it took to break your resolve as you hug him back. He took it as a sing to pull you onto his lap. One of his large hands caressing your lower waist while the other cups your cheek as he look at you like you were something so divine for that is how he felt.

He slowly brought your face closer as he connected your lips encompassing your senses and numbing the surroundings. A little while later he pulled back leaving you dazed "god you make me crazy" he went right back in rougher, needier, sloppier. The raw emotion was spinning your head as you melted and gave up trying to decipher what's goin on. His hands all over your bare skin inching towards your chest as you struggled to catch up. Your little moans fuelled him as he pulled you even closer if that was even possible, sliding his tongue into your mouth sucking on yours. The only breaks were to take a sharp breath and to chant out little 'i love yous'.

You struggled to pull yourself together "Satoru your wounds" you say worried "oh these silly things" he snickered healing them with his reverse cursed energy. You just sat there in his lap dumbfounded as to who how you ever even trusted HIM.

"GOJO SATORU" you grabbed his collar "owwww so rough sweets. could have just asked me to remove my shirt" he said with his infamous shiteating grin "get outttt" "no wayyyy" he pulled you into his chest pepperring your neck with little kisses "I just got you back".

masterlist

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jjk gojo #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #gojo fluff #jjk x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n

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sant-riley · 1 year

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[Ghost with OFC!Reader who has a toxic family] [p1 of ?]

A/N: straight up this is self indulgent/me projecting (like all my work is) bc it's comforting for me to imagine that I have someone to protect me from life bc wow this shit sucks. Not tagging anyone due to this potentially being triggering.

CW: toxic family dynamics, swearing, mental illness, simping, age gaps, definitely not professional, Ghost punches someone (let me know if there's anything else)

Now I don't even have to say that Simon is extremely sensitive when it comes to family, especially since he himself grew up in a toxic environment. He knows the signs because they're the signs he saw in his day to day life.

He knew something was up when you never want to go home when breaks come, any young Rookie is usually bouncing off the walls to go see their loved ones but you? You almost look depressed at the thought. Ghost may tell people he has a cold heart, but not when it comes to you. You wormed your way into his chest next to that said cold heart and now he can't help but worry. You're too young to have probably been in a place on your own, so no choice but to go back to the family home. He was in your shoes once, he too had joined the military to find a way out.

Ghost doesn't speak to people off duty, never has but things have changed. You, Soap, Gaz, Price? You all are the closest thing he will ever have to a family again, so against his better and usual judgment, he asks you if you'd like to stay with him at one of his safe houses.

"Runt, do you....for fucks sake, do you want to come back with me? Stay with me until our next mission."

"Oh! No, I'm fine Ghost, I'm alright to go home."

A smile on your lips but it doesn't reach your eyes. He feels his own turn down into a grimace.

"Teds, stop the shit for a second, yeah? I see that look on your face, you don't want to go back there."

He rests a skeleton glove covered hand on your shoulder, caressing the skin there with a thumb graze.

"I don't want to be a bother.'"

"You're never a bother sweetheart, c'mon then."

Staying with Ghost is, different to say the least. He takes you to his home in Manchester and goddamn the place is barely lived in, the only place that look used is his kitchen. He really lets you have free reign of the place, the only room not allowed is his bedroom. Not because he doesn't trust you rather it's just a personal thing.

Overtime the place filled with little traces of you, your hair ties liter the counters and tables, your laughter in the other room while you scroll on your phone. Hearing your footsteps run to area of the house so you can show him said video, the groceries you buy once you learn Ghost solely lives off of take out.

"Are you serious?"

"I work out to balance it."

"Ghost-"

It warms his chest to see you show so much concern over him, a man 6'4 who could easily snap your neck. He rustles your hair with a deep chuckle.

You try and not encroach on his space but he finds that he likes it. He likes seeing your shoes next to his at the doorway, he likes seeing you cook in his kitchen, he likes seeing you wake up groggy with crust in your eyes. He loves it all. Though he'd never admit it.

You make his house, now his home feel so much warmer and brighter. You insist on catching him up to the newest movies and shows, forcing him to sit down next to you to watch the newest Marvel movie while he pretends he hates it. He makes jokes in between that he could do better than that and that if he were there, he'd just put a bullet between the enemies eyes.

Seeing you fall asleep on his shoulder brings a peace to him, his arm around your shoulders as you nuzzle in closer. He doesn't deserve this, he doesn't deserve you. But he's gonna pretend he does, just for a little while longer.

Imagine his surprise when he meets your family for the first time. You had wanted to go home and get some things to bring back to his place so he came with you on a flight since he knows you don't care for air travel by yourself.

Ghost was used to his presence scaring people and warding people off. He knows how to keep people in line, its been his job for as long as he could care to remember. So he wasn't expecting them to treat you so horribly in front of him. Really, what'd they expect to happen. First mistake.

It's such a stark contrast you are in this place, from base, the field, to the woman in front of him. You curl into yourself, hands cracking in your hoodie pockets as you sit there and just take it, waiting for a break so you can speak. You're not looking at him or even making an attempt to talk back.

Ghost knows you're grown, he knows it's not his place but he feels his blood pressure get higher and higher as they scream and belittle you for things out of your control, your looks, your weight, telling to come back home, to leave the military, anything and everything under the sun. Second mistake. He can feel his knuckles turn a stark white under his gloves and it isn't until your sibling gets up in your face with a hand raised that he springs into action. Third mistake. Ghost is a big man, but he moves fast and unexpectedly.

Before he registered it, your sibling is on the floor clutching their stomach after being gut punched. He hears them heaving while trying to curse him out, looking up with him with hatred. Simon wants to take his heavy steel toed boot and kick the fuckers face. Hell, he wants to beat the ever living shit out of every single person in this fucking house. To think they can treat you like this? Over his dead body.

He hears your parents screaming about how dare he and that he's fucking insane but when he turns to look around at you, he sees you staring up at him with tear filled eyes and a whisper of thank you. In that moment he knows, he knows he'd do just about anything for you. He shoots a withering glare at your parents

"We're taking her shit and leaving." He barks out, his eyes burning a hole in their heads while they shakily nod and avoid looking at either of you.

Ghost grabs your hand and leads you towards your bedroom where he grabs anything he can bag and helps you stuff all your belongings into it, making sure you have everything until the room is completely cleared out.

Shuffling the bags on his arms, he holds your hand again and intertwines your fingers, gently pulling you out the house and towards the rental truck. Not taking one glance at the so called family watching you two.

"You're staying with me from now on, got it runt?"

The smile on your face is so bright when you say "Of course, L.T."

If you'd like to be tagged in future works, please comment under my rules that are pinned to my blog!

#ghost <3 #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #call of duty #call of duty x reader #cod x reader #tw toxic family #tw toxicity #kayla writes <3 #fem reader

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belokhvostikova · 6 months

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𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐆𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐁𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 | What was supposed to be a summer vacation to your boyfriend's hometown, turned into God's greatest test of morality against you. In other words, you basically fuck your boyfriend's best friend, Eddie Munson.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | Swearing, mention of alcohol, drug use, jealousy, possessiveness, small violence, a threat of murder (little yandere, but not really-ish, I don't know, to be honest), slightly dark (I think, right? Maybe?) cheating, and explicit sexual content: fondling, spitting, dom/sub dynamic, name calling, degradation/praise kink, finger sucking, nipple play, face slapping, pussy slapping, masturbation (male, but of female), fingering, handjob, cum eating, squirting, and unprotected vaginal sex.

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 | I... don't know what this is. Just take, goddamn it, there, take me for all I'm worth! Do I condone cheating? No. But did this idea make me really horny? Yes. And he's a little mean, so be warned.

𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬, 𝐃𝐨 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭.

Sometimes… you wished he’d never spoken those words.

When two weeks into his summer vacation in Hawkins, Indiana was enough time spent away from the debilitating semesters of university to have his newfound room—proffered by the closest of a distant family member, because two months with the folks would just be too much—smelling of the fresh cologne of clean air and washed linen; the smell that warmed you with the loving memories of ten months of sweet kisses and heavenly whispers.

When his navy blue comforter wrinkled under the weight of tussling bodies, because in those mere two weeks—his half in Hawkins, yours in Indianapolis—both hearts ached for the touch of one another, and he refused to deprive himself from the physical contact of his love, you. Crushing kisses, trailing hands, and connecting bodies to commemorate the rising sun, because a town miles away from the bustling city of beeping traffic and screaming pedestrians left room for the morning songs of the Northern Cardinal.

When the exhaustion of a two hour journey through cornfields and even smaller towns guided you to the place where he relished you in the memories of his boyhood; swing sets on the playground, the arcade after homework, Tuesday performances at the Hideout. Such memories came to life for you when the aluminum stock sign welcomed you into Hawkins. Sore from stiffness, your limbs crashed into the embrace of your lover, where your first night in the cursed town consisted of fucking the Friday night darkness away, until bodies glowed under the welcoming sun of the Saturday morning, where dewy grass freshened the air in contrast to the concrete slabs of cracked busy sidewalks you grew up on.

But then… he spoke those words.

When a stroking thumb against the hairs of your brow elicited the tired whine from your mouth, as you nuzzled your face into his naked chest to shield you from the burning sunshine pouring from the basement window. Your eyes woke to his dozy lips, chapped with pinched corners to show off the crookedness of his teeth that brought such beautiful character to his soul. Puffs of morning breath warmed your somnolent face with his morning greeting.

“I know I’ve told you this like a million times,” he croaked, “but I really am so happy that you’re here. With me.” His heavy hand landed on the apple of cheek to encourage your growing smile. “Can’t wait to show you around, can’t wait for you to meet my friends- the guys.”

Now, a new cologne of ashy darkwood and burning spices tarnished the content bubble of ten months of sweet kisses and heavenly whispers with groping handfuls and filthy intimacy. An anxious pit of guilty dread now eats you alive when the musk of his igniting cigarettes invades your being, but how can you think of such worrisome, when it’s the same scent that has your face torching with flames of desire and heart fluttering with anticipation for a new love- a different kind of love?

Other times… you are happy that he spoke those words.

Because it led you to Eddie Munson.

Her diamond scintillated, shoved in your face by her persistent eagerness to show off the glowing ring that beamed under strobe lights of greens and reds that twirled from the tiny disco ball. Eric Marcher, who couldn’t give you anything more than a nod of acknowledgement when introduced—despite his intimate hand clasp and hug combo with your boyfriend, had been detailed to you as the man needed when small town goers were itching for party favors. Now, in the cul-de-sac of Mirkwood, a lively get-together of strangers, like Cheryl “soon-to-be-Levison” Daniels, bombarded you with the overwhelming hospitality of detailing their personal life to the woman who snagged Braun Peterson.

A large smile matched that of her ring, beaming with a boastfulness of pride for fulfilling that suburban wife “dream” role, but you couldn’t blame her. A fat rock rested upon her finger to symbolize her everlasting love with her partner? Hell, you’d shove it in other people’s faces, as well. “It belonged to Nana Leslie before Oliver got it with her blessing. See, my daddy was never able to give it to my momma, because well, Nana never liked her,” you met her seven minutes ago, “but, anyways, it’s been in the family for two generations, and now it’s mine!”

“Oh, wow.” You liked her and her family drama. Your hands maneuvered to twist her finger, watching how beautifully the jewelry captured the light.

“I mean, it was kinda rash, ya’know, with the war and whatnot.” Her Midwestern accent sang. “Oliver wanted to tie the knot before his deployment, but I was not about to do it in City Hall. Though, he did promise me a big wedding when he comes back from Iraq.” She longingly sighed, as you nodded along. “Ya’know, something that doesn’t involve a smelly courthouse. “What about you?”

You chuckled. “What about me?”

“Have you and Braun discussed when you’d be getting married?”

You nearly choked on your drink despite not even having one. “Oh.” Quite the response to offer. “We’re, um, not exactly there yet. I mean, we haven’t even been dating for a year.” You awkwardly laughed.

“Well, you don’t wanna wait too long!” Cheryl huffed out an airy laugh. “It’s like, when ya’know you know, ya’know?” Her attempt to philosophize the concept of love left your head nodding along to move the conversation, but Cheryl “soon-to-be-Levison” Daniels surely had to knack to keep talking. “And don’t you know?”

Do you know? “Um-”

“Would you quit harassing my girlfriend?” A familiar hand squeezed your shoulder, before the presence of Braun Peterson came from behind the couch, where he bent down to smile at you.

“I am not harassing your girlfriend.” Cheryl scoffed. “And come on, I’ve been your best friend since we were babies! I know you! And I know you always talked about getting married!” She sternly punctuated. “I mean, it’s literally what made you cuter than the rest of the boys on the playground.”

Braun derided. “Okay, first of all, we were never best friends, I just had to endure being in the same grade as you.” You both chuckled, as Cheryl dramatically gasped. “And secondly, in case it wasn’t obvious, I’m not a seven-year-old that’s desperate to propose to any girl who was willing to push me on the swingset.”

“Oh!” You piqued his interest. “I happen to be a great companion on the swingset, I’d love to join you.” You sweetly beamed, an endearing feature that had him devastatingly blushing with love.

“Yeah?” He whispered in your face, where you met his question with a nod, reeling him in for a kiss.

“Ugh, see!” Cheryl’s voice had you separating with a hot face. “Marriage material! At least a proposal by the first year mark.” Her brows teased, forcing him to laugh in disbelief.

But Braun Peterson smiled, nonetheless, and your throat had constricted. While the idea of marrying your first serious boyfriend wasn’t the most unsettling notion, the reality of it coming faster than anticipated from the opinions of those closest to him, who unfortunately were raised in the small town mindset of a white picket fence before the age of twenty-five, had your tummy swirling with queasiness. Freshly out of university, the last thing you needed was a ring waying you down by a man whose loud chewing you were still trying to adjust to. A proposal in two months was not in schedule.

Because dinner was on Saturday. Meeting the parents was next Wednesday. Niece’s birthday party in two weeks. At least three years of dating before moving in. The fourth year, an engagement. The fifth, a wedding. Children? Somewhere long after.

Strict? Maybe. But perfect in your mind of precision? Absolutely.

“Um, could you get me something to drink?” You interrupted the possibility of any more talks of the future. “I just have to, uh, run to the bathroom real quick.”

His hand rubbed down your back so perfectly, calming the nerves that festered in your stomach. “Absolutely.” He assured you, as always. “I’ll find us something to eat, too, baby.”

So perfect, so perfect.

Your legs had guided you away from the living room before you could muster a brief goodbye. Maneuvering around shifting bodies, you found yourself counting the steps of the staircase, feeling the utter disappointment when the last steps came out in odd numbers, but the bathroom was two doors down, and the last thing you needed was to obtain tunnel vision from the minor details that didn’t fit your standards of life.

A knock to the wooden door with a silent response lifted the weight off your shoulders, permitting you to open the door and finally receive some peace. But the breath that nested in your throat lost its chance to be of relief, when a presence carried over from behind you, shoving you into the bathroom, with a determined slam to the door.

A rough hand muffled any of your attempts to yell out, but your stiffened body had luckily learned to vaguely relax when the man behind you turned you against the bathroom counter, and you came face-to-face with someone who familiarly made your body shudder under his stare.

His hands moved to grip the porcelain of the sink on either sides of you. “Eddie…” You gulped, as your chest heaved. “God, y-you scared, um, I- is s-something wrong?”

“You’re making quite the impression out there, aren’t ya?” His lip barely curled into a smile, as he stared down at you. “Everyone just fucking loves you, don’t they?”

You refused to meet his eye, trying to move from the caging of his arms, but his persistence left you trapped. “Um,” you sighed, “y-yeah, all your friends are nice-”

“Oh, no, sweetheart, they aren’t my friends.” He spoke so dauntingly. “They’re your boyfriend’s friends, remember? Your boyfriend?”

“Yeah,” you cleared your throat, “um, I should go, Eddie. I need to leave.”

“No, you fucking don’t.” He deeply chuckled, finding amusement in the panicked look of your face. “You just got here.”

“Look, Eddie, I don’t know what you’re trying to do-”

“Me?” He scoffed. “I’m not tryna do anything, you’re the one that fucking started it.” His forehead forcefully pressed against yours, shoving your head back so you’d finally look him in the eye. “Remember?” He tauntingly cooed at you, getting in your face. “Remember you being a slut, and startin’ it? Because I sure fucking do.” He spat. “So don’t ask me what the fuck I’m doing, when you started it.”

Your breath heavied, as his nose ran against yours, and you squeezed your eyes shut to wield the strength to compose your anger, a hatred solely targeted to yourself. You were certain Eddie was feeding off of the visceral pounding of your heartbeat, getting off on the sheer panic of your being.

And you hated yourself for loving it.

“N-Not here.” You thickly swallowed. “Please.” Such a desperate plea, and it had him laughing in your face.

“‘Not here?’” He mocked. “I think I can have you wherever I want, no? It’s sure as hell not like you’re gonna stop me, pretty girl.” A soft kiss planted on your cheek had your eyes opening. “God, you really are so pretty, y’know that, baby? Do you know just how pretty you are?”

“Eddie…” His eyes bored into yours, piercing your desire with a burning itch that had you intoxicated on his strong scent. You watched a smirk etch onto his face, as he watched you follow the outline of his plump lips. Do it. Do it. Do it. You were screaming at yourself to just give in. Thighs clenching, heart racing, mouth salivating for the man that enticed you like no other. Your breath shuddered, as your shaky fingers delicately placed themselves against his shaven face.

Just a taste. Just a little.

You reached onto your tippy toes to feel the soft skin of his lips gently brush against yours. You were dictating this. He was letting you dictate this. Because when it all crashed, you started it, you’d be to blame. All it took was the shy kiss fueled by your hesitancy for Eddie Munson to consume what he wanted, and his tongue shoved past your teeth to ravage your taste. He had you gasping against his lips, nothing touching you but his mouth, but it felt like he was pinning you against your will.

Eddie’s knuckles blurred white from the tightening grip you had him enduring, because frustration coursed through his body, as he fought the restraints keeping him from just giving in and fucking you against the bathroom sink. A guttural growl lurched from his chest, “What are you doin’?” He smashed his lips against you. “I didn’t ask you to kiss me.” He sneered.

His comment forced a lump to be caught in your throat, urging you to push away from his chasing lips. “N-No…” Another breathless kiss smeared against you. “Stop, Eddie, we can’t-”

“Shut your fucking mouth.” He interrupted with his tongue injected into your mouth. “Remember you wanted this.”

You were awful. “No!” You whined, unwilling to face the reality of your cruelness.

“Oh, but, yes, baby.” He humiliated you with his mocking tone. “Yes, remember?” He whispered into your make out. “It was you, you fucking looked at me.” Eddie scorned. “How fucking stupid are you to think I wouldn’t do somethin’ about you lookin’ at me, huh? You remember lookin’ at me?” His kisses were becoming more aggressive. “You fucking looked at me, sweetheart!” You felt the air in your lungs burn from his resistance to letting you breathe. “What the fuck do you expect me to do when you were fucking lookin’ at me like that, huh?!”

And you had been looking at him…

Three days ago, the Hideout had been an unfamiliar experience to you on the night of May 30th. It became evident as such when Mary Jane platform pumps rather distastefully met the abhorrent crunch of breaking asphalt from the gravel parking lot, where beat up cars and pick-up trucks haphazardly parked themselves with no formation, clearly lacking the etiquette for what was promised to you as a “nice” establishment. A wave of regret had drowned you in despair as you walked out of your car, immediately being met with the obscene noises coming from a drunken man nearly hacking a lung out, only to shoot his spit and mucus onto the dead bushes that once decorated the place wonderfully in the 60s. You begrudgingly passed the neglected entrance; its doors open for the sleazy, middle-aged men of Hawkins, Indiana to make themselves right at home, as they littered themselves amongst the breadth of the property, sparsely filling up tables and stools with cold beers to accompany them. A gasp of disgust had petered out of your lips, when each step you took sticky film residing on the weathered wood of the floor clung to the outsoles of your beloved heels, coating them with decades of syrupy beer that had found solace within the bar from the happy accidents that tailored the feng shui of the Hideout.

You were appalled.

It was beyond the definitions of obvious that you had overly dressed yourself for the occasion. It was at this moment, you were mentally curing Braun Peterson for providing the wrong impression, completely overselling the bar he once played in, and disregarding the lack of formality that came with the building and its loyal customers.

“Babe, it’s got a decked out bar, you can order whatever you like, trust me, my boy Johnny will whip it up, and it’s got plenty of tables for you to sit your pretty self down and enjoy the show. Not to mention, the nicest stage where you can watch me perform. It’s gonna be great, I promise!”

With a rush of worriment devouring you, you insecurely hugged your bare arms over yourself in an attempt to shield yourself from the preying eyes of unabashed stares coming from bulky men, old enough to be your father, who proclaimed themselves as regulars and patently peering to you as new meat.

Endeavoring the will to appear not so lost and clueless, you walked with your head held high, a fabricated facade of confidence, and you took refuge onto the high top table that accommodated two uncomfortable stools that shared the same layer of dust as the plastic faux wood of the table.

Yeah, you were definitely going to have it out with Braun Peterson.

Your body felt rigid, guarding yourself from potentially coming in contact with anything biohazardous, while also feeling so small from the persistent scary stares that you felt so strongly were examining your body as if you had no autonomy. And maybe you were being a bit pretentious at this moment, but given the overflow of staggering malaise that was consuming your being and clearly placing you into an uncomfortable environment, there was an absolute negative chance of actually enjoying the night, especially after you were going to dish one out to Braun.

Speaking of which, you caught sight of the slick-back, blond hair that was pursuing your way from a slim hallway that catered to the southend of the building, which presumably led backstage. “Hey, you made it!” Incompetent to your unease, Braun had merely stepped up and shoved you into a tight hug, a kiss swiftly placed onto your lips with a smacking mwah.

While he spoke so highly, clearly excited for his performance, you couldn’t fathom reciprocating his energy, immediately stating your concerns with a whine into his embrace. “What is literally wrong with you?”

Judging by your tone, anyone could have discerned the genuine disturbance from being in such situation, but ever the comedian, Braun merely chuckled. “That could be an hour long discussion, babe.” Your eyes flashed with disbelief at his choice to dismiss your evident worries.

You sighed, resisting the urge to not scream in public to cater to his comfort. “No, Braun, I’m serious. Why didn’t you tell me what kind of bar this was?” You pleaded, hoping he’d acknowledge your troubles rather than brushing them off. That was one thing you had quickly discovered from the months of making it official with Braun Peterson; he had quite the sense of humor, which wasn’t at all particularly harmful, but this “sense of humor” had a funny way of not knowing when to draw the line. The line always seemingly crossing your boundaries. But god forbid you spoke out. Last time you did, his roommate Josh asked you to quit being uptight on Braun’s behalf. “I look like I’m dining at a Michelin Star restaurant, not grabbing drinks at some middle-of-nowhere bar. Why didn’t you specify?”

You really didn’t want to cause such a confrontation on his first night back performing at the place in which he claimed was “the start of everything” for him but, my god, you were seething with irritation.

“Shit,” he huffed, understanding your worries once he took a glimpse of the perverted looks the attendees were more than glad to show off. “Look, babe, I seriously didn’t mean for this to happen-”

“You said this place was nice, Braun.”

“I know, I- I just knew you wouldn’t be into these kinda bars, but I really wanted you to come see me tonight.” He sighed. “I swear, baby,” he secured your shoulders into his hand, “I just wanted you to be here with me, b-but I screwed up. I shouldn’t have lied to you.”

You heaved in defeat, seeing the genuine remorse in his eyes. He hadn’t been far off with his assumption; twenty-three years of a city setting in the upper east side, where renovated brownstones of contemporary decor were more of your liking rather than the casualness of a lonesome bar.

Your lips jutted with a mumbled “it’s okay” to pass the tension. But Braun’s hands had worked their way to the fullness of your cheeks, where his thumbs delicately swept under your eyes. “Thank you for doing this.” He poured his eyes into yours. “I know it’s not your scene, but I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this, baby.” Braun leaned in to press his lips to yours, and that loving comfort was enough to ease your body into relaxation against his hold. His hands released for the brief seconds it took to take off his leather jacket and hang it over your shoulders. “Keep this on, and if anyone bothers you or-or does something, please just tell me.” He implored. “I’ll be right on stage, only a couple feet away, I’ll see you, okay?”

Huffing a sigh, you simply nodded, choosing to come to a consensus of trying to enjoy the night. It had been close to reaching a year that you agreed to be Braun’s girlfriend, and from then, he’d been dying to show you everything about himself. Following the end of the school year from university, Braun had made plans to spend the summer back in his hometown of Hawkins, Indiana, where he had adamantly informed you about the band, the one in which he partook throughout his high school career, Corroded Coffin. And there was no denying it, the bubbling feelings of a blossoming relationship, one where your boyfriend had an actual desire to share the intimate parts of his life with, like seeing where he grew up, made you burst with excitement.

Because even with his flaws, Braun Peterson had a gentle touch that filled your heart with a promising future of blissful contentment.

“I won’t leave you out here,” his hand found its way to your thigh, “afterwards, I’ll have drinks brought backstage, where me, you, and the guys can just relax in peace. Away from these creeps.” He gripped with loving reassurance. “And- and, I promise you some of the most incredible food, okay?”

You snickered through your nose with a bit of suspicion. “From here?”

Braun laughed at your wariness. “From Benny’s Burger, got the best diner food for your pretty belly.” You arched your brow, pushing it until he gave in. “Okay, okay, Enzo’s. Seconds, thirds, all on me, baby, whatever you want.”

“Deal.” He sealed your agreement with a playful handshake.

He smiled at you, bringing a comforting hand to your neck. “Thank you, again, pretty.” His thumb caressed. “Just wanna share this experience with you. Wanna let you know how cool I was back in high school.” He teased, as you giggled. “Here, gimme kiss.”

Braun pulled you in for a sweet kiss, letting your worries wash away with his reassurement, because he always had you. “You’re gonna do great, I’m sure of it.” You smiled against him.

“Only ‘cause I have you here cheering me on.” Braun finished you off with one more kiss. “Remember, I’m only a couple feet away, I’ll come grab you once we’re done.”

With that, Braun Peterson left you to your own accord, securing the warm leather of his jacket around you, as you watched him disappear into the back. Disagreements and solutions. Compromises and sacrifices. This is what it meant for the man who cherished your time, and publicly showed it like no other. Everything was okay. Until the minutes passed of tugging on your lip with anticipation, and the staged lights dimmed.

Everything was okay.

But the center spotlight had rained against a figure, and you hadn’t even internalized the fact that a stranger physically made your body react with a gasp, as you merely took in the sight of him.

Him, who caressed his warlock, fingers teasing the strings, and lips kissing the mic with heavy pants of excitement. “Nice to see some familiar faces!” He grinned, scanning the all too familiar bar that let his amateur band of misfits play every Tuesday night; the regular bar goers seemingly flooding him with memories of his youth years. But then, his eyes landed on you. Front and center. “Even better to see some… new faces.” His lips curled into a menacing smirk, drinking up your stunning face.

Your heartbeat pummeled out of your chest, heat chewing at your cheeks, as his daunting figure had you shying away with a flush state, like you were a school girl receiving her first valentine, forcing you to wrap Braun’s jacket tighter around you.

Shit, Braun!

Quickly, your eyes diverted to the man you should have been gawking at, tuning his guitar before peering up with a smile that held all the good in the world, one he solely dedicated to you on a daily basis. You mustered a shy smile back, attempting to swallow the guilt. And this is where it should have ended. It’d be quite ignorant to dismiss the reality that attractive people come and go everyday during relationships, so this is all it was. You saw something pretty, you admired it, you left it. That’s what you promised. That’s what you committed. So you blinked yourself straight, and gave small claps of encouragement to your boyfriend.

But the eerie feedback from the mic had your head snapping to the front man, and as expected, his gaze hadn’t left your body once; a smirk devouring his face when your eyes caught his. That night, an alluring spark ignited within Eddie Munson, and he was determined to indulge in it.

“We’re gonna perform a couple songs for old times’ sake, bring some life back into you old fucks.” He jabbed comments eliciting some laughter from the crowd that watched these antsy boys torment their ears years before. “So just like back then, as always, I’m Eddie and we’re fucking Corroded Coffin!”

The thrash to his guitar introduced the blaring cords of a song, reminiscent to one Braun typically played for the background noise of when your naked bodies dreamily slapped together. The frontman’s stage performance flooded your senses as you became mesmerized by the fluid movement of his fingers abusing the delicate strings, and his husky voice yelling the lyrics to the abrasive song. He was encapsulating the beauty of metal with such ease and grace, playing his heart out for a dingy bar filled with good-for-nothing men. It felt so utterly undeserving. He was meant for a real stage.

Eddie.

That’s what it was. That’s all it fucking was. It had to be. You weren’t a bad person. You couldn’t be. The familiar tunes matching that of how Braun Peterson would rut his hips into yours was the sole reason for the tantalizing heat that was creeping within your body, not because of the man with the long hair who punctured his hungry glare against you, as he belted the grotesque lyrics of whatever song it was that you never cared to officially learn the title to. But how could you have ever found the will to learn, when Braun would consume your thoughts with the drilling of his cock to the beat of the song? Why couldn’t that be enough? Why had your hips subconsciously rolled to find some needed friction against your seat to the thought of Eddie burying his face between the warmth of your body?

Why did it feel like he was burning you alive?

The disgusting reality of your endeavor to get off on a dirty stool to another man had hit you like a ton of bricks, rightfully slapping you in the face with utter shame for who you were, and you didn’t dare to spare Eddie another glance; eyes fluttering around embarrassingly to look at anything other than Eddie.

Braun. Braun. Braun.

He was right there. He always had been.

The night dragged on for an unbearable hour, filled with the ongoing cycle of desiring something that wasn’t yours and the self-loathing hatred to follow. The burn of Eddie gaze had your body crippling with anxiety, and you engaged yourself to only peer at the man who’d brought you pure happiness for the last ten months of your life. But he was there; torturing you with his eyes that felt laser-cutting from a mile away, despite how adamant you forced yourself to refuse his attention.

You hadn’t even verbalized a word to him yet. And it was devastatingly pathetic how submissive he had you.

The last cord of the night strung out with the fellow patrons commemorating their boys for the nice trip down memory lane. You adjusted yourself to gently cheer along, feeling awful when Braun’s brightful smile had never once dropped because of your presence in the crowd. Just focus on him. It was all you had to do. As the men walked off with their equipment, Braun’s sweaty figure jumped from the stage, heading straight for you.

You immediately jumped from your seat, forgoing the complaints of him being sweaty to hold him in your arms with such fervency. “You did so great!” His hands held your back, delicate kisses pressing into the crook of your neck.

“Yeah?” He searched for your validation, only ever caring for your words, as he mumbled into your neck, inhaling your sweet smell that comforted the adrenaline high he was experiencing. “You, uh, you liked the first song I picked out?” His brows teased.

“Of course!” You cupped his face to bring him into a smearing kiss that he gladly reciprocated. You pulled away, staring into his soft eyes that held all innocence, and you cursed yourself for ever thinking of another man when such beauty was held in the palm of your hand. Your thumbs gently swept on the underside of his eyes, as he smiled down at you. “You were amazing, Braun.” You sincerely spoke. Overcompensating? Completely. But you needed him to be okay, and his happiness was worth it. “You always are so amazing, Braun.”

He brought you in for another embrace, and sealed it with a loving kiss that had you melting in his arms. “You’re pretty fucking amazing, too, Y/N.” He spoke. “C’mon, baby, let's go on back.”

“W-wait!” You steadied yourself within your position, holding his hand tightly. “Um, w-we can just stay out here, I’m sorry for getting mad earlier.”

His head dropped, lips jutting at you before he landed a quick kiss to your forehead. “Don’t apologize where you don’t need to apologize, baby.” He urged. “Don’t gotta make yourself uncomfortable for me- in fact, I won’t allow it. Not after dragging you here in the first place.”

“No, really it’s fine-”

“It’s not, baby, I don’t want you out here.” Braun persisted. “Plus, I’ve been talkin’ the guys’ ears off about you, I’m sure they’d love to put your pretty face to your name. Promise they’re not as scary as you think.”

What a fucking lie.

A journey to the back hallway led you to the chipped door, where Braun relinquished a double courtesy knock before entering the room, where a waft of sweat and cologne welcomed you to the small dressing room that held the members of Corroded Coffin. Shifting behind your boyfriend, your eyes landed around the burgundy painted walls, littered with posters of the previous self-made artist who first established themselves at the Hideout. Where they were now? More than likely not Hollywood, given the cheesy names teenagers thought were cool at the time.

“Hey, uh, guys, gained a new fan today, Y/N, this is Gareth, Jeff, and…” A polite smile to both identified men waving back to greet you was easy enough. “Where’s Ed?” Thank god.

Braun directed you to the couch, leather and torn, with its yellow foam of cushion peering from the tears after years of being broken in by body weight. “Talkin’ to Nicky out back by the stage.” Gareth had answered, as a hand towel harshly rubbed against his head to ease the dripping sweat from his frizzy curls.

“Nicky’s the bar owner.” Braun intimately informed you, graciously bringing you into the loop.

“You enjoy the show?” Jeff, with a genuine attempt at conversation, had gestured for you to engage in. Perhaps it was the blatant stiffness of your body from the wariness of sitting on the couch that surely soaked copious amounts of bodily fluids than you’d like to imagine, that got him to ask for your honest opinion. Or, the other obvious, that you clearly dress far from the usual scene that was typical for a Corroded Coffin performance at the Hideout.

Trying to atone your ignorance to the metal scene, and whatever the hell tension that was between you and the frontman, your head awkwardly nodded in response. “Yeah, um, yeah, I did.” Braun’s reassuring hand landed on your knee. “I’m still getting used to our difference in music taste,” luckily that was receptive to a couple chuckles, “but it was great seeing him, a-and you guys out there, as well.”

Heavy footsteps from the stage announced themselves as they entered the dressing room, and your body hardened at the mere sight of his shining chest, coated in his perspiration, drenching the line of hairs of his abdomen to seep into the low hanging waistline of his pants. Your eyes snapped to the wooden floors, as Braun jumped to give a brief greeting to his friend who ultimately settled against the water dispenser right in front of you.

“Ah, now that you’re all here, babe, this is Eddie; Ed, this is girlfriend, Y/N.” Already accustomed to your presence, Gareth and Jeff felt no need to weigh in another hello, which resulted in an unfortunate silence, after Eddie, himself, decided staring at you was the only formal approach.

But it wasn’t until his intentionally loud, “huh,” that pierced the silent, did your stomach drop with fear. “This is your girlfriend?” Your eyes stung at the inevitable occurrence of your boyfriend’s friend outing you in front of everyone as the girl who just couldn’t keep her eyes to herself.

Braun’s brows cinched at his question, huffing in confusion. “Why’re you sayin’ it like that?”

Eddie had quickly dismissed him with a nonchalant shake to his head. “I dunno, what’ve pictured you with a girl like Mindy, ‘s all.” What an asshole.

You knew it’d be hypocritical to suddenly interrogate your boyfriend on whoever it was Eddie was referring to, especially when it showed Eddie’s intentions were not the purest of them all with the mention of a certain ex. “The fuck, dude, no, that was nearly two years ago.” Braun quickly shut down, evidently not amused with whatever game his buddy was trying to pull.

“Relax.” He chuckled, plucking a small toothpick from the table of plattered junk food into his mouth. “Only teasin’, man, y’know me. Plus, it’s good, shows good progress on your part; movin’ from small town pretty to big city pretty.” Eddie pointed a ringed finger at you.

Braun merely rolled his eyes at the arrogant attitude he’d learned to adjust to throughout his years in high school, but when he turned to you, and saw the tight-lipped smile you gave, he leaned in to comfort you. “Don’t give him a second thought.” He whispered against your hair. “Eddie’s just… out there.”

Patting your thigh, Braun walked to join his friend at the water dispenser, leaving you to heave the tightening breaths of your chest from the sudden suffocation you felt from guilt and anxiety. “C’mon, man, lay off the comments, alright?” Braun quietly spoke to Eddie. “I don’t need you chasin’ her away when I actually love her.”

“‘Love?’” Eddie playfully whistled. “Hm, you must actually care for this girl, huh?”

Braun confirmed with his lovesick smile that made Eddie want to hurl. Soon, Braun was leaning in close to bump his friend in the chest. “So what d'ya think?”

Eddie’s daunting eyes looked past Braun’s shoulder, connecting with your fretful ones, and a sickeningly smile creased his face. He tsked, watching your ostentatious manner refusing to touch the furniture he and his buddies called home. “Seems a little… anal-retentive.” He smirked at Braun. “But, hey, she’s cute, and y’know what, if you like, I like her.” If only Braun Peterson knew of the extent of the underlying meaning his closest friend was alluding to. “You good to her? Treat her well?” Eddie questioned.

“Of course.” Your boyfriend was quick to answer.

“That’s good, that’s good.” Eddie casually nodded along, chewing on the wooden stick between his teeth. “Aye, because y’know pretty girls like her will be quick to look for another man to satisfy her. Gotta treat ‘em well, so they keep their fucking legs closed.” The toothpick snapped at the sudden clenching of his teeth, before Eddie sighed a heavy breath to calm himself. “But I think you gotta good girl on your hands, Brauny, nothin’ to worry about.” Eddie dragged out, before calling to you. “Hey, that seat comfortable for you sweetheart? Need a stool or somethin’?”

A wave of nausea slapped you, as you watched his sinister smile.

Eddie Munson totally saw trying to get off at the sight of him.

His minacious laugh puffed in your face, as he loved watching your eyes crumble in self-reproach from your actions. “Yeah, you fuckin’ remember, baby?” He cooed, as your head dropped with guilt as to what you had just done. But his abrasive hand was quick to forcefully grab your face, cheeks squishing under his tight grip. “Don’t feel bad, princess, it’s okay to share a little.” Eddie smiled, as your eyes frantically looked into his. “Quit the fucking innocent act.” He advised you. “You and I both know how much of a slut you are.”

“I-I,” your thoughts had been racing with the screams of wanting him off of you, but your body was falling limp in his arms, ready to let him take what you so desperately wanted him to take. The words died on your tongue, when suddenly harshing pounding came from the door.

“Yo, anyone in there?!” A drunken voice called out.

“I’ll be out a second!” You managed to rip through your shaky voice, while Eddie breathily chuckled, his hand refusing to let go of your face.

Hearing the partygoer’s footsteps decline in the distance, your heart eased for the slightest moment, and suddenly your nervous system was wailing for you to leave while you could. But before you knew it, unexpectedly, the softest kiss was placed upon your scrunched lips from the man who nearly devoured your mouth so aggressively two seconds ago; you had no choice but to be receptive. “So sweet.” He gently moved his lips against you, it had your tummy erupting with the sensations of a new touch. “So fucking perfect, y’know that? Just how perfect you are?”

Every time he briefly left your lips, you whined for more attention, quickly bringing your lips back to him with a sigh of his name, “Eddie.”

“Mm,” he moaned against your mouth. “I can see why Brauny never shuts the fuck up about you.” The mention of his name had you stiffening. “Tell me, baby, do you suck his cock as good as you kiss him?”

Stunned and repulsed by the jerk you let kiss you, you shoved Eddie’s chest back, finally getting him off of you, and before you mind could process, your hand connected to his cheek with a stinging slap. Your burning hand had trembled, as it slowly clasped it over your mouth in disbelief. Eddie slowly turned to you with a sly grin, but before he could make any movements, your feet finally found the courage to sweep you out of the bathroom with a harsh slam to the door.

On autopilot, you quickly descended down the stairs into the lively living room that did little to ease the bloodcurdling thud of your beating heart that felt as if it was going to rip out of you. It wasn’t until a hand latched itself to the bicep of your arm, reeling you back against a body.

“Hey, hey, you okay, hon?” Braun’s voice echoed into your ear.

“U-Um-”

“Baby, look, if this is about what Cheryl said, please don’t pay any mind to it.” He stroked your arm with concern. “She- everybody here just has a traditional way of thinking, but it’s not what I think. I promise, I’m not looking to shove a proposal down your throat when you’re not ready.” Braun had a fascinating way of calming your worries that drastically differed from the rush Eddie had just forced you through. “Hell, I’m not even ready.” He chuckled, which was able to elicit a small smile from you, at least. “I wanna take my time with you, cherish my moments with you, baby.”

God, you were an awful human being.

Peering behind his shoulder, you watched Eddie saunter his way down the stairs with a lingering stare that quickly found yours. “C-Can we go?” You hastily rushed out. “I’m just a little overwhelmed m-meeting all these new people.”

“Okay, yeah, yeah.” He’s quick to drop off the beers to the living room side tables that were supposed to be your drinks. “C’mon, baby, let’s just take a breather.”

If you knew the guilt Braun Peterson felt for the sole reason of throwing you into a crowd of overwhelming people when you’d literally just kissed his closest friend, you would have pathetically begged on your knees for his forgiveness in front of everyone, and detailed the million ways he was so incredible. But this would stay quiet; suppurating within you, because the peace on his face was more important than wrecking his life. As he guided you to the front door, you looked back to meet the eyes of the man who sparked a match inside you, his arm hanging around a blonde, when you wanted to be the one held under it. Eddie Munson winked at you, cruelly changing the course of your life.

For the days to come, Braun saw an immense amount of affection coming from your part. But who was he to complain, when someone as pretty and sweet as you willingly showed the world how much you loved him? Welcoming the morning sun with your tongue prodded at the slit of his tip, before ferociously waking him with the ride of his life, as your ass pummeled against his thighs, only for the cherry on top to come when breakfast was served like you suddenly became a housewife to your boyfriend. But you’d do whatever if it meant getting the image of his best friend out of your head, despite it leading to the best orgasm you’ve ever had when you pictured it was his cock you were riding, only to realize your lip had been sputtering with blood, because you refused your mouth the need to call out his name, Eddie!

But Friday night came, and it seemed your thoughts satiated under the cuddle of your boyfriend, who agreed to a movie night that entailed buying an obscene amount of candy from the Family Video store, where Labyrinth was purchased alongside the sweets. Wrapped under his embrace, a thick woven blanket swallowed you against the rugged couch of the basement, where you felt yourself sinking deeper and deeper.

For once, peace had come, tranquilizing the tumultuous feelings that consumed you alive. That was until the basement door impetuously flung open before echoing with a slam, that had yours and Braun’s head snapping to the stairs that creaked under the incoming weight. “Mason?” He called out for his cousin.

But it wasn’t the familiar face of his family member who lent you both the basement of his house, and your stomach twisted with fear. “Nope.” He popped the enunciation, as his hair bounced with every step until he reached the bottom step. “But he let me in.”

Braun sat up with a curious look, too occupied with the arrival of his friend to notice the rash way you curled into his side. “Hey, you alright? What’s up?” His eyes followed, as Eddie dramatically plopped himself on the singular recliner next to the couch.

“Ah, nothing.” He made himself at home, clearly lacking the regard of his intrusion to your night. “Just hangin’ around, thought I’d stop by.” His eyes glued to the television screen.

“Not that we don’t appreciate you, man,” Braun began, “but, uh, this is kinda just a movie night… for us.”

Eddie watched the oddity of the movie for a split second, before his head twisted to the both of you, eyeing the closeness with a piqued brow. “Which one of you freaks picked this movie? Was it you, sweetheart?” He smiled, as he watched you shift uncomfortably.

“Alright, c’mon, Ed, seriously.” Braun interjected.

“I’m kidding.” Eddie scoffed. “C’mon, Brauny, it’s been months since I’ve seen you, the least you two could do is spare the couple minutes of whatever touching is going on under that blanket, and let me relax here for a minute.” He argued, sinking into his chair. You watched Braun sigh, for whatever reason suddenly becoming a lap dog to the friend he long admired throughout high school, merely bringing you closer as means to make up for it.

“By the way, driving all the way here seems to be the last resort to relaxing.” Braun poked.

“Aw, c’mon did you actually think I was thinkin’ of you, Brauny?” He wooed, his eyes briefly connecting with you, as Braun rolled his. “Was seein’ Cynthia down the street.” Eddie answered.

“Dude, Ed, doesn’t she have a kid?” Braun grimaced, recalling the moments in which his cousin’s neighbor—three doors down with a minivan and white shutters—threw him an occasional hello with a stroller evident on her walk around the neighborhood.

“So fuckin’ what?” He laughed, causing your stomach to churn with disgust. “That kid made her have massive tits, it’s not like I’m looking to be the stepfather.” Eddie smiled looking back at you, your eyes refusing to meet his. “Just a simple exchange of goods for services.” He proudly announced. “Speakin’ of which, I happen to give Cynthia my last couple’a joints, you got any to smoke here?”

“No.” Braun sighed, scruffing his hair with his hand. “Haven’t gotten the chance to speak to Rick to get some, miss it, though.”

“Then go get some.”

Fuck, you knew what he was doing.

“Me? This is my place you barged into, you go.” Braun retaliated to his friend’s taunting.

“Can’t,” Eddie tsked, “kinda fucked around with the blonde Rick had his eye on a couple nights ago at Eric’s.” He laughed. “But in my defense, she never clarified, and was fairly easy, so, I mean…”

“Can you ever learn to just keep it in your pants?” Braun jabbed, forcing his friend to chuckle at the joke.

“Priorities, Brauny, Priorities.” Eddie winked, before reaching into his back pocket, retrieving the loose dollar bills from his tattered wallet to slap against the center coffee table. “Look, it’s on me, we can wait for you here, right, sweetheart?”

No, no, no. Your knees clutched to your chest, as you tried to steady the breaths that were already becoming uneasy from his presence alone. Braun peered down at you. “You can come if you want. Just gotta wait in the car, don’t want you meetin’ someone like him.”

Your eyes flickered to the man who was sickeningly grinning, somehow having the power to pull a pulsating sensation from your pussy that had you swallowing thickly. “I-It’s okay.” It wasn’t. “I can just wait here.” You spoke so meekly, as though you’d been the victim in this situation, when Braun’s pure smile beamed down at you.

“Thirty minutes top, baby.” A quick kiss landed against you, before he stood from the couch. “Don’t let him burn the house down, please.” Braun joked, slamming his hand against the table to pocket the money Eddie provided.

“Gotta good girl’s influence hanging over me,” Eddie smiled, “nothing to worry about, Brauny.”

Your boyfriend chuckled, running a soft hand against the top of your head to wish you goodbye. “Love you, baby, be right back.”

“I love you.” You shared the sentiment, watching him jog upstairs, where the basement door closed behind him with a deafening silence that shot through you. You watched the door for far longer than needed, a pressuring sting coming from your nail digging into your cuticle to get rid of the apprehension that festered in your belly.

Eddie laughed. “What a fucking liar.” Your head snapped, ready to scream at him that your words held truth; the deep admiration for the man who did nothing wro- “That I am.” Eddie added, pulling out a zippo lighter from his pocket followed by a joint. He lavished in the twitching of your eyes, flashing from anger to anxiousness under the action of him shedding his jacket to light what was brought to his lips.

A puff of cloud escaped his mouth before he spoke. “Take a hit, baby, you’re so goddamn tense I can practically feel the stick up your ass.” He stood from his place to sit next to you, immediately rolling his eyes as he found you shifting away from him, until your back hit the far end of arm rest, feet digging into the cushion as your knees stayed glued to your chest. “Relax, alright-”

“Eddie, we can’t-”

“I’m only tryin’ to get you to relax, shut up for two seconds and take a fucking hit.” He scolded, and your eyes widened under his intimidation. His body scooted until your painted toes were trapped beneath the heavy weight of his denim-clad thick thighs, allowing him to bring the joint to your face. “Don’t wanna have to get mean, just put it in your mouth.” You wondered where the anger from your assault to his face was lingering, surely the hit had to have pissed him off to some degree. His fingertips pressed against your lips, as your mouth enveloped the end of the joint, welcoming the burn to your throat. “Look so cute with that shit in your mouth, so good, princess.”

You pushed his hand away when it became too much, trying to control your coughing from the large intake. “T-Too much.”

“Mhm, I know, baby.” He whispered, watching your lips pout, as his hand caressed your leg. Bringing the joint to his lips and hearing it sizzle, Eddie moaned against it. “Fuck, I can taste your mouth on it.”

You pushed your knee away to get his hand to fall back into his lap, where his fingers only moved to hover over the bulge of his pants, as he took more hits. Soon, his sole hand was undoing the buckle of his belt, and your brows arched against his movement, yet your mouth stayed quiet from any protest.

Your lips parted in awe watching his cock spring against his belly, pants coming to hang around his thighs. His finger came to gently tease the head, before his hand wrapped to smear the precum that oozed from the tip. So casually, Eddie Munson began fucking his hand so casually, as if you weren’t sitting next to him. He acted as though he was in the comfort of his own bedroom, and you wondered whether the bit of anger that mixed in with the arousal that pressed against your belly was from the fact that he could get off without even sparing a glance at you.

He smoked and jerked his cock, letting you bask in the glory of his heavy member, where his hand tugged the loose skin of his big balls to smack against his hairy thighs. As casual as he was, Eddie was itching to turn his head and watch your legs clench with need, something his peripheral could only get a glance at, but Eddie Munson wasn’t giving in. He felt your toes curl under his thigh, your body speaking for itself to be touched.

“Fuck, that’s so good.” He twisted his palm against the slick head of his cock, before he squeezed down to his base for more tugs that had him wondering if your pussy felt anywhere near as good as his hand. You watched his fingers pull up his shirt, until his teeth bit down to hold the fabric up, and his toned toros was cramping from the sensation he was bringing himself. “Mmm!” He moaned, wetting his shirt with his mouth, as his hand became relentless against the thumping veins of his cock.

No longer a thought of need, his fingers abandoned the lit joint to the ashtray that stayed stationed on the table with a few cigarettes, and his free fingers traveled to toy with his nipples, pulling the pebbled nubs to spark up his impending orgasm. “Ugh, mm!” His hips were gyrating upward, chasing the fleshlight that was his hand, as his speed increased, and your hands grasped onto the old couch for the needed restraint to not throw yourself onto him.

With an aggressive jerk to his cock, and a stinging pinch to his nipple, the angry red head of his dick sputtered out his creamy cum, dribbling against his belly before the pool collected against his unruly pubic hair.

His shirt slowly slipped from his teeth, as Eddie caught his breath with heavy grunts. “Fuck me, shit.” Taking his fingers, he dragged it around the breadth of his belly to gather the seeping cum, where he finally turned to you with dark eyes, and used his cum tainted fingers to motion you closer.

You body mindlessly complied until those same fingers were pressing into your mouth, letting his salty spent invade your taste buds, before your throat began getting fucked. “Wanna fucking slap me and walk away, huh?” His free hand wrapped behind your neck to keep you gagging at his mercy. “Wanna get mad at me for you being a filthy slut? ‘N drivin’ me fuckin’ crazy?” You whined, holding his wrist in an attempt to ease the thrashing of his fingers down your throat. “God, so fucking pretty.”

His fingers ripped from your tongue, but before your lungs could get a breath of fresh air, his mouth was on you, replacing his fingers with his tongue, as he kissed you with such ferocity, it nearly felt like a punishment. Teeth clashing and biting, you mewled in protest. “Eddie!” You gasped pushing away, but his hands kept your face close.

“What, you don’t want me to?” He mocked, before laughing. “Y’know I don’t give a fuck.” Pushing you back against the couch, Eddie climbed over you where his mouth continued his assault against your lips, and your hands wavered into his sweaty curls.

In the briefest moment your lips disconnected, “W-We need to-” You moaned, feeling his plump lip suction against yours. “Stop, Eddie, we should- ugh!” Eddie pulled away and watched your body crave more, but your eyes stung with its glassy coating of tears that were threatening to spill. “Braun…”

“Aw, he’s gonna come back soon, ‘n you don’t wanna get caught.” He whispered, as his forehead fell against yours.

“He’s your friend.” Your voice cracked with guilt.

Eddie huffed. “You better listen clearly.” His hand wrapped around your jaw to force your eyes to his. “Brauny’s a big boy. Yeah, he may be my friend, but Brauny’s got this pretty, little thing that I need to play with, so being frank with you, baby, I don’t care.” His nose flared with anger, as his words stung. “And I’m gonna need you to cut this bullshit sorry act, because it’s really pissin’ me off, and I don’t wanna have to get angry with you.” He hissed. “Okay, baby?”

You stared into his dark eyes, mouth gulping to reply. “Okay.” And once again, your lips grazed his, letting him groan into your mouth.

“Mm, you really are so pretty, angel, such a good girl listenin’ to me.” He murmured. “Looking like this, how could your boyfriend ever expect me to keep my hands off of you?” He kissed. “You gonna let me touch you- touch that needy fuckin’ clit. I’ve never touched one before, you gonna let me touch yours?” He tormented with the brushing of his fingers against your pajama shorts.

You pouted your lips at him, brows cinching at his words. “I feel like you’re lying to me.”

And Eddie Munson snuck that signature laugh in your laugh that you didn’t appreciate, but your pussy surely did. “What does it matter if I’m lyin’ to you, you’re gonna let me touch you, anyway.” His fingers curled around the scrunchy waistband, before pulling them from your legs to expose your sopping cunt to the cold air of the basement. “Fuck, look at that.”

You didn’t know what came over you, but with a hand over his where he parted your legs, you chin tucked in to delicately ask him a question. “Did you really have sex with those girls?”

Eddie smiled, tongue lapping at his lip as he looked at you. “Does it hurt your feelings if I did?” You shrugged, not really sure why you asked, though clearly agitated by the knowing answer. “Do I gotta tell you pretty things, so you don’t get hurt?”

His hand combed through your patch of pubes, tickling your abdomen in a way that had your body seeking for more. “Please, Eddie.”

“Mm, what is it, baby?” His nails raked down the side of your pussy lips, deliberately avoiding your slit to tease the nerves of your mound. “Need your little pussy touched? It’s so fucking gorgeous.” You nodded, scratching his forearm down to his wrist to urge his movements further. “Gimme another kiss first, princess.”

You pulled him in, letting your kiss spark up the butterflies that loved to erupt in your tummy whenever you saw him. Not so harshly as before, your kiss passionately swallowed you both, with the sweet connection of saliva that strung between your moving lips. But you had an appetite for more, grossly moving the kiss into a heated direction that had him moaning on your teeth. Denying yourself from him was punishment enough, the care no longer festered, you were getting what you deserved.

“Uh, calm yourself, baby.” He spoke between kisses with a teasing chuckle. “Look at you so desperate, shh, calm down. Be slow with me for a second, sweetheart.” You obeyed, slowing your movements into a languid interaction, before your lips latched onto his tongue, pulling it out from his mouth to suck on, as if it was his cock, because you never got the chance to fully taste his musk.

Eddie mewled, cock twitching against your thigh, as your action had him melting with a burning desire. Finally, the squelching noise of your dripping arousal echoed into the room, as his fingers dove into the folds of your pussy. “Is that your fucking clit, baby? Listen to how wet your pussy is for me.”

“Mm, Eddie.” You sucked in a breath, as your fat bud was being toyed with.

“Moaning for me, princess, you’re moaning.” He whispered into your ear. “‘Cause you're mine right now, I’m making you moan, not him, hm. Not your little Brauny. You only moan for me, at least for right now, because you have a boyfriend.” You absentmindedly nodded along to whatever words he was feeding you, too caught up with your pussy being played with to care. “We’ll see about that.” He laughed, before nipping at your earlobe.

“Wanna touch you, too, baby.” You whined, reaching for his hung cock, letting your hands twirl around the heated length that was circulating with enough blood to fuck you for multiple rounds.

Eddie hissed. “Sss, what are you doin’? Grabbin’ my fucking cock?” He smiled, as you stroked him, allowing him to plunge his fingers into your tightening cunt, as both your movements fell in sync with one another. “Grab it, yes, baby, fuckin’ grab that cock!”

“Fuck, that feels so good, Eddie!” His fingers pulled out to rub your clit, before suddenly your pelvis jolted with the burning sensation of his hand coming down to your pussy. “Eddie!”

“Lemme slap that clit, lemme slap that fucking clit, baby.” Your wetness splashed against your inner thighs with each spanking of his hand. “God, you don’t know what you do to me, sweetheart. Such a pretty girl, I’m fucking losin’ my control over you. Got you strokin’ my cock, while my fingers fuck your pussy, and I love it, baby, I love it so fucking much.” He babbled, teeth biting down to keep the worse words in. Your brows furrowed, as his fingers blasted within you, hooking inside to scratch that throbbing g-spot that had you wailing with want. “Smile for me, baby, smile ‘cause I’m making my baby feel so good.”

And you did, letting your head crash back with your mouth hanging open with an inebriated smile tugging at your lips, as you played with each other. His lips crashed down for another smearing kiss that had your tongues desperately pirouetting around each other.

Your thighs began shaking under his control, pistoling his fingers in a way that was bringing you closer to your release. While looking down at your thrusting hips, he simultaneously pulled away from your kiss, leaving you to whine for his return. “No! More!”

He looked back up into those pathetic round eyes and scrunched brows with your bitten lips that nearly had him collapsing with another orgasm, as your hands pulled at the head of his cock and squeezed his balls. “Don’t you fuckin’ look at me like that.” He warned, not ready to release his load if it wasn’t going to be inside of you, but you couldn’t take your eyes off of his sweaty face, beads of perspiration invading his hairline, as his face flushed with a blushing rose that surely made him feel embarrassed with how vulnerable he looked. “Don’t fuckin’- don’t you- ugh- no, no, no, no!”

His large hand slapped your cheek, forcing your face away, leaving you gasping in disbelief. “I’ll fuckin’ slap you.” He spat, watching you merely turn your head back with a sparking revelation in your eyes that made you look even more beautiful. “I’ll slap your stupid fucking face-” Another stinging crash to you cheek that had you crying in pain, but you kept looking for more. “You like that shit?”

You hurriedly nodded, letting your tears pool from the growing pain that tightened your pussy around his fingers. “Yes, more!”

A harsh smack landed on your cheek once more, agitating your poor skin. “Mhm, like that, me fucking slapping that stupid, little fucking face.” His hand felt the wetness of your tears drenching your cheeks with every slap. “Bruisin’ that pretty fucking face, fuck! C’mere, c’mere!”

His tongue lavished against your burning skin, bringing tingles to your body when his spit-covered tongue ran against your hot cheek to lick up your salty tears. “Get your fuckin’ hands off my cock, I’m shovin’ it inside your desperate cunt.” Eddie declared, slapping his tip to your pussy, to let your wetness pour on his dick.

A harsh stab to your pussy lunged his thick cock into your pulsating walls, urging a screaming moan from your lungs. “Fuck! You’re so fucking tight!” His hands clamped around the front of your thighs to fold you in half.

“Ugh, fuck! Slow, p-please, baby, slow!” You wailed.

“Yeah?” He cooed, driving his thrust down to one punctuated one every second. “You want this cock slowly, can’t fucking handle this tight, little pussy getting fucked hard?”

Your trembling hands cupped his face, letting you bring him down for a consuming kiss. “J-Just wanna feel all of you.”

“You are, baby, you are.” Eddie pierced himself into your g-spot. “Feel it deep inside, baby, feel my fucking cock all the way inside! Just for you! You- you fucking dirty, filthy whore!” The muscles of his ass tightly clenched to pound you thoroughly with each stroke. “Gonna let me do it faster? Huh? Fuck you into this fucking couch until your some braindead slut? Look at you taking my cock!” His hips began slapping faster. “Gonna be fucking good for me?”

“Uh-huh! Always, fuck!”

“You will?” He taunted. “You fucking will? You’ll take this cock whenever I want you to? Whenever I want this pussy of mine? In front of your boyfriend? Tie him to a fuckin’ chair, and force him to watch me fuck his pretty girlfriend’s little cunt!”

“Yes! Yes! Fuck me better than him!” Your hips moved to meet his slapping thighs, as you clenched around his cock to milk him with the cum you wanted in your cunt. “Want him to watch me take your fat cock!”

An animalistic growl forced its way out of chest, as the image of his best friend crying over the despair of betrayal elicited him to rut his hips into you fervently. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!” His head dropped against your chest, reveling in the commotion of your bouncing tits that were urging to be freed. His hands pulled at your shirt, exposing your boobs that were quickly squished together under his hands, as his tongue lapped around your nipple.

“Ugh, yes, you’re gonna make me cum!” You heaved, finding your hand had landed on his thigh at a weak attempt to slow his crashing movements into your pussy.

“Beautiful fucking tits!” He nibbled on your pointy nipples, forcing those whines that drove him crazy to come out. “So fuckin’ delicious! And just for me!”

“Just for you! Only you!”

“Yeah?” He pouted at you. “Fuck, fucking lick my hand, lick my fucking hand, you bitch.” His palm landed on your mouth, where you dumbly stuck your tongue out to taste the sweatiness of his hand, before that same hand came crashing down on your cheek for the umpteenth time. “Stick that filthy fuckin’ tongue out when I slap you in the fuckin’ face!”

You obliged, letting the wet muscle hang out as another slap landed on your face, forcing your head to the side. But turning your face back with the expectation of one more slap fell short, when instead, a glob of warm spit hit your tongue, one after another.

“Fuckin’ clean that asshole from you fucking holes!” More spit. “‘Cause you’re mine! Not his! With my spit in your mouth and my cum in your pussy, you’ll be fuckin mine, right?!”

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, as the rope in your belly was hanging on by a mere thread ready to snap. “Yes! Yes! Just yours!” You cried out. “Cleanse me! Cleanse me with your cum and make me yours!”

Eddie’s hand pressed down against your pelvis harshly, prompting a gushing stream of your hot squirt to wet yourself and his thighs, as you screamed from the highs of orgasmic ecstasy. “Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck! I’m cumming! I’m- FUCK!”

Nothing but heavy breaths could be heard in the basement that reeked of sex and bodily fluids. Your hands fell limp around his neck, whereas he sagged the entirety of his dead weight against your chest. His teeth grinded from the continuation of your pussy clenching around him, as your body tried to settle at the unfamiliar size that inculcated itself brutality into your cunt.

It was quiet. It was peace.

Until the ringing in your ears subsided, and slowly began picking up on the maniacal laugh that was coming from the man who slowly picked up his head from your chest to greet your un-whitening vision with a sinister smile, and suddenly you felt the pit in your stomach sink.

“Oh, sweetheart, you’ve just made a big fuckin’ mistake.” He chuckled, harshly pressing his forehead into yours, causing the seat cushion to dent beneath you. “Y’know why?” He tantalized, watching your eyes grow big with fear. “Because if your little boyfriend touches you after you just said you were mine,” he placed a delicate kiss to your lips that you couldn’t muster to reciprocate, too scared to do so, “I’m gonna fucking kill him.” He laughed.

A minute and eight seconds.

Braun Peterson had leaned the weight of his body against the counter, letting the low hum of the buzzing microwave lull his mind to ease, as the fingers of his hand shoved against his eye to wake from the tiredness of the morning day. It hadn’t been until the slap of a heavy hand against his bare shoulder jolted his eyes open to see his cousin slugging his socked feet against the linoleum tiles, before scratching the floor with the chair legs to have a seat at the kitchen table.

Mason had yawned, stretching his jaw from the bitter soreness of having to deal with a restless night of grinding his teeth. “Where’s the missus?” His nails scratched over his stubble. “Sleepin’ in?” Given your gratitude for a place to stay, Mason had spent the few days of your presence waking up to a full breakfast of all the fixins, differing greatly to the two-minute microwave food the young welder had to succumb to for his poor skills behind the stove.

The morning had changed with the sight of Braun in front of the buzzing appliance. “Out, actually.”

“Already?”

“Yeah, couple days ago,” Braun cleared his dry throat, “she met Cheryl- you remember Cheryl?” Not exactly someone from Mason's graduating class, but given Hawkins’ small breadth of streets, a distant young face of hormonal acne and blue eyeshadow was all that could be pulled from his string of memories, as Cheryl Daniels still sported that purity ring that had long gone been switched out for an engagement ring to her military fiance, whom she could relish his fat benefits with. So, Mason simply nodded to get the story along. “Anyway, yeah, Y/N met her, and, well, you know how women are; one giddy introduction, next thing y’know they’re doing 9:00 a.m pilates and leavin’ me behind to eat some shit food for breakfast.”

Mason peered at the counter to see the empty box of his frozen food. “You asshole, ‘s that my last Hot Pocket?” His mundane voice spoke, too tired to hold any real malice behind it.

“I’ll head to the store and buy you a whole new pack, relax.”

Braun Peterson steadily watched the last couple of seconds tick down. “If anything, man, I deserve that one after you and Y/N kept me up last night.” Mason breathily chuckled.

“Ah, sorry,” Braun stretched his arms, “Y’know Eddie came over, we watched a movie, didn’t realize it was so loud- which if you want any advice, don’t watch Labyrinth high, unless you wanna have a total freak out.”

“Not talking about that.” Mason shook his head with a laugh. “But, aye, next time you bring Munson around and make my basement reek of weed, the least you could do is save me some.”

But Braun’s eyebrows had stayed scrunched with concern to ever consider his cousin’s future word of advice. “The hell are you talking about then?” He curiously poked.

“You and Y/N.” Mason emphasized with a sly smirk to tease. “I mean, you guys are usually pretty considerate, but I guess the weed really got to y’all or somthing, man, you two were fucking loud last night- and I mean that literally.” He laughed. “Would’ve taken her as a quiet girl.”

Braun Peterson blinked. You had went straight to bed last night after the movie. In fact, you heavily implored him to do the same, after swifty prompting Eddie out of the door when the credit scenes rolled. “Y/N and I- we didn’t… no, we didn’t-”

The microwave beeped.

#stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x female character #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson blurb #mean!eddie munson #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fic

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presleyanswrites · 10 days

Note

Hey I got a request for jj

That jj is a single dad to a baby girl and he is to scared to hold because he will think he will drop her and John b everyday will try and get jj to hold her then one day jj was holding her on his chest then he takes her everywhere With him hope that make sense

Koala Care

dad!jj x fem!reader x daughter

a/n ahh this is so cutie! thank you for the request anon, love you bunches!

desc JJ holds his baby girl for the first time

wc 1.2k

warnings cursing, grammar, fluff

"Peaches?" JJ comes in through the back door of the chateau, carefully shutting it behind him as he walks through the kitchen to set down a box full of baby supplies.

The usual. Diapers, baby food, her favorite yogurt melts, more of his old band & surf t-shirts to wrap her up in.

He notices Aria crying her eyes out behind him in between the white rails of her bed. he must have forgotten to change her when he left. He also noticed it was pissing off John B who was trying to work on something probably useless and he caught the hint that he's been listening to her cry for at least an hour.

"Shit," he mutters, messing with his backwards hat as he turns his attention away from Aria for a split second to glance at John B. Turns out he was fixing a cooler for the boat.

"Bro." he goes over to him, kicking him in the leg slightly, "You seen Y/n? I really need her help knowing what measurements of tit milk I'm supposed to feed mini me."

John B rolls his eyes to the ceiling as he screws in the side of the cooler handle.

"First of all," he says through a gritted tone from a bolt in between his teeth.

"You gotta stop with the teenage boy, language wording shit."

He spits out the bolt and screws another nail into the bottom.

"You're like a dad now. Its your dick and your daughter, buddy. You really want your kid to go around saying, tit milk?"

JJ tuts. "Bro she cant even talk yet. Plus, I don't remember half the shit i said as a fucking baby. Maybe thats cause my dad probably beat the shit out of me where I like- lost half my cells, but i ain't changing. Plus, daddy will raise her to be the best hooker of man kind. Shes a Pogue, shes not gonna be a goody two shoes if my life depends on it."

John B turns his head around and gives him a look.

"Jesus Christ JJ, did anything click when your girlfriend popped a living thing out of her ass?" He purses his lips.

JJ points his lips downwards and shrugs.

"Or are you always gonna be known as the dad who raised a stripper?" John B rolls his eyes again, taking a weird clear plate out of his box, "Y/n is a doctor for fucks sake, she's the only hope for raising her I swear to God."

John B shakes his head, "I've told you everyday now. You haven't even held her yet."

JJ grips his hat, "Thats because im gonna drop the kid!"

John b slaps his forehead.

"You're litterally her DAD, JJ! Y/n popped a baby out of her kitty sack and you seriously didnt even touch her the day she was born." John B raises his eyebrows. "Do you remember that? Y/n cried in Kie's room FOR AN HOUR thinking you didnt want the kid!"

JJ opens his mouth to respond then stops.

"Whatever. Go back to fixing your cold box and shit," He turns his back to walk away.

John B changes the tip on his screwdriver, "You're gonna have to hold your own ass daughter eventually, dude."

"I hope you screw a nail in your dick!" JJ calls out and tuts again, mumbling under his breath, "teaching me how to handle my own kid..."

"im the one fixing this goddamn cooler so you can drink your shit ass blue moon chilled!" John b yells back, JJ opening the door and slamming it shut to try and find you again.

"y/nnnn," he groans, calling out your name, finding you sitting on the steps outside.

He kneels down and wraps his big arms around you, kissing the side of your head gently.

"Hi baby," he mutters, "How was work?"

you felt your head pulsating before forcing yourself to give a response.

"Hmmm fine. it was busy."

"Yeah?" he strokes your head, "Real quick."

You sigh slightly, "Hmm?"

"how much ti-" He stops, and clears his throat.

"How much milk do I need to feed Ari?" He says in a soft voice, knowing you had a blaring headache from your shift.

You exhale, leaning your arms on your knees.

"theres about 7 oz in the fridge."

He nods, "thank you sweets," he kisses your hair one last time before leaving you in peace to rest your mind.

He goes back inside the chateau, opening the fridge and taking out the bottle, reaching over Aria's crib and putting the tip to her mouth.

"there we are, sweet girl.." he holds the back of her head while she drinks gently, her cries settling down.

After Aria is finished, he stares at her for a moment.

Why was it so hard for him to hold his own daughter? He feels a wave of guilt floods over his spine.

He reaches his hands out, then stops.

"God damnit," He sighs.

"Okay." He stares at Aria one more time. "3, 2.."

"Fuck this."

He picks Aria up gently in his arms, his heart jumping as he does so.

"Holy shit," he breathes. "Oh my God."

He holds her to his chest, making sure to support her back, something he learned in a parenting book he found online as he feels his soul melt in his stomach.

"There we go," he coos softly, rocking her up and down gently.

"Hi love." he holds her up to look in her eyes with the biggest grin on his face.

"You have your mommas eyes, don't you?"

It's like he fell in love with you all over again. Just this time, it was a baby. And it was his baby.

He holds her to him again, hearing you opening the screen door to come back inside the chateau as he looks at you with the stupidest smile on his face.

"JJ.." you breathe, a grin full of your white perfect teeth filling the room as you jog over to him.

You rub his arm gently as you stare at Aria in JJ's arms.

"im so glad." You said, tears slightly filling the bottom of your eyes as your breath catches in your throat.

"She has your eyes," He repeats the observation he made earlier.

You nod with a sniffle, chuckling slightly.

"She has your lips."

JJ presses another soft kiss into the side of your neck.

A few days later, you noticed that JJ dorkily bought one of those baby carrier things to attach to your chest, and you had to admit it was pretty cute seeing Aria giggle with him, taking her everywhere he went.

John B was relieved her finally built up the balls to hold his kid, and if you were honest, you were relieved too.

Kiara bullied him everyday for taking Aria with him everywhere because the baby holder he chose was literally hot pink. Really hot pink.

He was so happy everyday. To be the dad that he never had. The one he had prayed and wished for everyday as a kid.

JJ was such a tough guy, tough face, tough love, tough soul.

but I guess not when it came to you and Aria. You and her were his new world and there was nothing in the entire universe that could take that away from him.

☆ divider & gif credits to @viixcyre @baby-bearie

my navigation ♡

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roses-for-rosalyn · 8 months

Note

Hey sweetheart, I have this idea about cop!Ellie and cop!reader I've never shared bc I'm so shy to ask, but if you are open to write about it here it is.(sorry if something doesn't make sense inglish is not my first lenguage)

Well Ellie and reader are work partners and they don't really like each other because Ellie is kinda mean?(she is the director btw) but there's a tension between them anyways. So they have a night shift together and on the way in the car the reader begins to flirt, like touching ellie's thigh, and she stops in a field and fucks the reader brains out<33

-💌

This took forever but I hope I did your idea justice!

a/n: sorry I haven’t written anything in so long, life is crazy

Ellie x reader

Wc: 3k (roughly)

Minors dni 🔞 (I will jump through your screen and poke you in the eyes I stg)

CWs: police officer! Ellie and reader, play girl Ellie, fem reader, cop stuff idk, enemies to lovers (ish?), thigh riding, overstim, oral (r! receiving), fingering (r! receiving), multiple orgasms

—

As a small town cop things rarely became dangerous, so on the rare occasion things did go awry no one was really prepared. You got a call about a car speeding through town at about 90 miles an hour. It quickly becomes a chase with Williams at the wheel. Before she even starts catching up to the car you both begin bickering on what roads to take to catch up and who can read the license plate better. The world becomes a blur as the car picks up speed, the roaring of the engine and the sound of the sirens make it hard to hear anything.

You attempt to shout over the noise, “Williams we might be able to catch them if we take-”

“Shutthefuckup I know what I’m doing!” She yells back even louder, more irritated because you dared tell her what to do. She didn’t even let you finish and she missed the turn that would have taken you ahead of the car to block their path.

“Williams we’re gonna lose ‘em.” You couldn’t convince her, you’re not sure anyone could have. The car takes a sudden turn and she misses it, she quickly reverses and turns down the dirt road only for the car to disappear from sight. She tries to make a few turns but it’s useless, these roads went in every direction with thick woods surrounding them. Even townies got lost in there.

She slows the car down eventually coming to a stop in the middle of the road and quietly mutters “Fuck.” under her breath.

“Maybe you should have listened to the directional advice from someone who was fucking born here instead of trying to do everything yourself.” You can’t help but notice you scolded her like a primary school teacher, but she makes it so hard when she acts like this.

“Please I don’t need a fucking ‘I told you so’ talk right now.” She huffs.

“I hope you know this is completely your fault, I can’t fucking believe-”

“I swear to god if you keep talking I’m going to kick you out of this goddamn car.” She turns and looks at you straight in the eye, challenging you. Her tone is eerily calm. You narrow your gaze but say nothing, turning to look straight ahead. And with that she drives you both back to the station, defeated with only half of the criminal's license plate.

- -

Patrol partners are supposed to be friends- Or at least friend-ly. That’s what anyone would assume, you have to spend every day together, not getting along would just result in various inconvenient miscommunications and misunderstandings.

Yeah, well you weren’t that lucky. Your patrol partner is Ellie Williams aka “Williams” according to her various male coworkers. Her female coworkers tended to lean more towards nicknames like “whore” or “slut” considering she hooked up with a couple of them and then acted like she barely knew them at work the next day and did it all over again. She had to start finding hookups outside the station last month because all her go-tos had refused her unless she wanted something serious. On top of that the few that she got with turned the rest of the girls against her, all she had left was you and all the guys at the station- and you didn’t really count since you were forced to be with her. This meant recently she was particularly irritable considering she couldn’t find a lot- if any- women to relieve any of her tension, so patrolling with her for the past 30 days has been hell.

On a more positive note it made gossiping with your coworkers over coffee the best part of your day. They would talk about their hookups which would inevitably lead back to shit talking Williams- which you would enthusiastically participate in considering how she treated you on the job. However they all agreed that they tolerated it for as long as they did because the sex was good. And you believed them because they had to put up with some crazy bullshit from her. A tiny part of you yearned for them to explain just how good it was, but you’d never ever give in to that curiosity.

Williams- on the rare occasion she would say anything- was mean, she would make snide comments all the time no matter what task you were taking on. She had some sort of superiority complex because she was- admittedly- very good at her job. She had transferred from some big city to your small town station and she had much more experience. She was incredibly skilled at taking people down when she needed to. However, compared to her old job, barely anything happens here. When something did happen she would insist on taking over the task almost every single time, the only thing she couldn’t trump you in was de-escalation. She was terrible at communication and that was most of the job. Calls would mostly be noise complaints or welfare checks, so you took the lead for those and it drove her crazy. She couldn’t stand being inferior to anyone, especially on the job. So you were squabbling constantly.

And for some reason tonight she was in a particularly bad mood. You’re stationed on the side of the road, keeping watch for anyone disobeying any road safety laws and Williams is silent. Not particularly unusual, but her body language was odd, she was weirdly tense. She sat fidgeting with her hands, picking at her cuticles, occasionally glancing up if she heard a car. Nothing in you wanted to show you cared at all for her, because you didn’t, but at this point you were so bored you didn’t care if you started one of your usual squabbles.

“Something wrong Williams?” You tentatively ask.

“ ‘m fine, just tired.” she says, still not glancing up.

“You seem offly tense for a tired person.” You try to push her a bit.

She finally looks up at you, her expression remaining neutral “Considering your observations, you really think now’s a good time to test me sweetheart?” God you hated when she called you that, she refused to refer to you by your last name, always resorting to some condescending nickname.

You roll your eyes, just as you were about to respond a staticky voice interrupts, asking for anyone available for a call about a noise complaint about two minutes away. Ellie picks up the walkie and calls in saying she could take it and starts the car.

You drive there in silence and to no one’s surprise it’s Mrs. Taylor. She frequently calls at night whenever she hears her teenage neighbors so much as talk loud enough for her to hear. And every time she would make you both walk over to them and ask them to quiet down.

This time though when you got out of the car you could hear muffled music coming from the neighbor’s all the way from Mrs. Taylor’s lawn. You walk up to her door, Williams following silently, and knock gently a couple of times. You hear soft shuffling, a lock clicking and then the door opens revealing the grumpy old woman’s tired face. She’s wearing a long dusty pink robe, striped pajama pants and ratty slippers, clearly she had been recently woken up by the noise.

“Hello Mrs. Taylor.” You smile politely.

“Hello dear.” She smiles back at you, but falters for a moment when she spots your partner, refusing to acknowledge her presence. She used to babysit all the kids in the neighborhood, you were always her favorite. She treated everyone else like they were some sort of pest, especially outsiders.

“Neighbors bothering you again?” You already knew the answer, but you felt the need to be polite.

“I can’t sleep with all that ruckus, rotten children they are. Too bad too, they used to be the sweetest when they were little.” She shook her head.

“Alright we’ll get it all sorted out, you can go back to bed.” You nod your head.

The old woman smiles before reaching forward and pinching your cheek while saying “You’re so good to me dear. Come over for dinner some time so I can make it up to you.”

“Just doing my job ma'am.” You reassure her.

“Well, goodnight. Call me tomorrow morning and we’ll sort something out.” She begins shuffling backwards, and grabs the door handle.

“Good night Mrs. Taylor.” You wave at her and she closes the door.

“God you’re unbelievable.” Ellie scoffs from behind you.

“What?” you turn around to face her.

“Would it kill you to be nice to me like that once in a while?” For the life of you you could not figure out where this was coming from.

“You have to earn it.” You retort, while beginning to walk to the neighbors house. Ellie just huffs and jogs a bit to catch up to you, god forbid you get ahead of her in any way.

You make your way to the house, the bass rattling your teeth by the time you're on the front stoop. Ellie takes her usual spot behind you and you knock loudly, bashing your fist against the door. Hopefully someone hears so you don’t have to make a scene, they weren’t bad kids. Sure enough the music turns off and the door opens slowly revealing a set of scared, round eyes.

“Hey Kelly.” You knew her well from the past complaints, she was pretty polite especially for a teenager. The poor girl was practically shaking. “You probably know why we’re here.” She nods slowly. “Ok, so just do us a favor and turn your music down so we don’t get another call from Mrs. Taylor alright?” you say gently, knowing when you’re in uniform everything about you was intimidating enough without you having to yell.

“Th-that’s it?” She asks, her whole body shaking with adrenaline at this point.

“Yup, just make sure this doesn’t happen again. Shouldn’t have the volume that high anyway, it’s bad for your hearing.” You smile, “Probably don’t want to go deaf by the time you’re 20.”

Kelly just nods again “O-ok thank you. We’ll keep it down, promise.”

“Alright have a good night, stay out of trouble.” You turn away and Ellie does the same.

The walk back to the car is silent except for the steady hum of cicadas. You’re about to put your seatbelt on when Ellie says “So what do I have to do?”

You pause your movements, “What?”

“What do I have to do to earn it?” When you still look confused she elaborates “You being nice to me. What do I have to do to earn that?”

“I don’t know. With the way you treat me it’s almost like you enjoy me being mean to you.” You let out a dry laugh.

She slowly leans towards you, “Oh, I do.” She says, her tone changing completely, her voice becomes raspy and deep, almost like a whisper and a smirk tugs at her lips. “I love making you mad, but something tells me you’re even more delightful when you’re all sweet like that.”

“Williams what-” She leans even closer, inches away from your face and suddenly you forgot everything that wasn’t Ellie. You couldn’t utter a word if you tried.

“Tell me.” Her eyes flicker from yours to your lips. “What.” Her lips are so close you can almost feel her words. “To do.” You let out a sigh and give in, abandoning all logic you press your lips against hers. She stiffens but then her hands automatically move to cup your jaw so she can deepen the kiss. Her tongue swipes across your lips, inviting them to open. You can’t really move, unable to completely process what’s happening. She’s so warm and soft and everything you didn’t expect.

She starts making her way down to your neck, exploring your reactions as she kisses and sucks at the sensitive skin. A small whimper escapes from your lips, and Ellie is sure she’s never heard something more intoxicating.

“Williams-” She finds a particular spot behind your ear that causes you to let out a quiet moan, making you forget how to speak for a moment.

“W-we can’t do this here, you know that.” She stops and moves her head to meet your gaze.

“You’re right, we should probably find someplace where we don’t run the risk of teenagers or Mrs. Taylor finding us.” That wasn’t what you meant but it was probably the first time she had ever agreed with you the entire time you’ve been partners.

She pulls off the road into a field and as soon as she parks she immediately starts where she left off. Somehow she knew exactly how to reduce you to a whimpering mess in mere moments. In between kisses she whispers “Take off your belt.” Her tone was so sure and dominant it sent a wave of arousal straight to your center. You do as she says, you forgot you had put on your utility belt for the call, but she clearly took note. You try not to move too much as she continues marking up your skin. She stops again, “Now get in the back.” She doesn’t wait for your response before taking her own utility belt off, leaving it in the front seat and opening her door. It was a little more work in a patrol car considering there were bars separating the front and backseat, but at this point neither of you cared much.

Ellie is first to sit down in the back and shut the door behind her, you do the same and crawl over to straddle her lap. “You feelin a little eager, sweetheart?” She looks at you with that obnoxious smirk on her face, but this time it didn’t annoy you as much as it usually did. You kiss the grin off her face before moving to her neck, listening to her little sighs and moans as you press your lips to her soft skin. The noises she’s making send arousal straight to your aching center and you begin to grind down on her lap, desperate for some kind of relief. She starts taking off your belt with trembling, eager fingers and throws it off to the side. You reach for hers as she untucks your shirt and begins unbuttoning it as quickly as she could, leaving you in your tank top. Your lips meet hers and the kisses grow hungrier by the second, each of you becoming more and more eager to undress the other.

As you begin to unfasten Ellie’s shirt she sighs in frustration, “Jesus christ all these fucking layers are driving me crazy.”

You laugh and say in between kisses, “Gotta make you work for it Williams.” With that she rips off your tank top, and immediately begins groping your breasts over your bra. You moan into her mouth and begin to grind down onto her even harder. Ellie notices and spreads her legs a bit, moving your leg in between hers so you were straddling her thigh. Relief rushes through you as you lower down onto her muscular thigh and begin moving your hips back and forth. She reaches behind you to unclasp your bra leaving your top half bare for her. She can’t resist breaking the kiss to move her focus to your chest, taking your nipple in her mouth with a satisfied hum. A soft whine escapes your lips as her warm tongue circles your sensitive nipples. Her hands have a steady hold on your hips, encouraging you to move against her thigh, harder and faster. Yours have found a home in her hair, tugging harder and harder as your pleasure builds on itself causing Ellie to groan as arousal begins to pool in her boxers.

“Get up.” Ellie commands in a hoarse whisper that sends butterflies straight to your cunt. You climb off her and lean against the car door. The sight of you in the dim moonlight, topless with spread legs and unzipped pants, a fucked out expression on your face almost has Ellie coming right then and there. She unties your shoes and gently removes them, before grabbing the hem of your pants and tugging them down in one swift motion. She crawls between your legs and wraps her arms around each of your thighs, gently kissing a path to your dripping cunt. A wet spot had formed on your panties causing your face to become hot from embarrassment, but Ellie seemed to have a different reaction “God you’re so beautiful, it’s driving me crazy.” She begins teasing you over the fabric of your underwear, running her fingers up and down your slit. A whimper escapes your lips as a silent plea for more, but she continues teasing. She finally pulls the fabric of your underwear to the side and takes a moment before gently blowing on your soaked folds.

“Please-” you manage to whimper as the cool air from Ellie’s lips hits your warm center sending a pleasurable shock through you. You would expect for her to make you beg for it, but she immediately obliged, licking a line from your dripping entrance to your clit. You gasp and grip on to her hair, searching for anything to hold on to as pleasure overwhelms every one of your senses. Ellie groans at the feeling as she begins gently licking at your clit, teasing you. The sound sends vibrations through your lower body and you moan at the feeling, now losing any control you had over the volume of your voice. She begins moving her tongue in circles over your sensitive bud as she teases your entrance with a slender finger. You let out the loudest moan yet, encouraging Ellie to plunge her finger further inside you. It slides in easily, arousal practically coating your thighs at this point. Suddenly she hits the spot causing a desperate whiny “Oh fuck,” To escape from your swollen lips as you clench lightly around her finger. She adds a second, the feeling of her two fingers causes a satisfying amount of pressure to fill your cunt. She hits a spot that you swear sends white light through your closed eyes and keeps hitting it with every rough, slow thrust of her fingers. Your hips begin to move, trying to get her to fuck you harder but she only pins your down by your waist with her free hand forcing you to endure her painful pace. “Ellie,” you whine, “please- I-“ you cut yourself off with a moan.

“What do you need sweetheart?” She pauses briefly to look at your fucked out expression and your arousal has dropped all the down her chin. The very sight almost does you in.

“Please,” you beg her in hopes she’ll spare you the humiliation of asking her.

“Mm mm,” she lightly shakes her head “words baby.” That was a much better nickname, the way she said baby made your cunt flutter around her fingers

“P-please-” you sigh before finishing “-fuck me harder pleasee.” You think that’s probably the most pathetic you’ll ever sound but Ellie obeys. She sucks your puffy clit into her mouth, swirling her tongue around the hypersensitive nub before moving her fingers faster. She picks up speed until you can’t think about anything but Ellie’s mouth and fingers. The pace was practically inhuman, you tilt your head back as a silent scream rips it’s way through you before you moan “fffuuckk,” in a high pitched tone. She continues moving her hands rapidly in and out of you curling them at just the right angle. You begin to flutter around her fingers and she knew you were close.

“Almost there baby?” All you can do in response in moan, she has you practically incapacitated. She giggled a little “Good, come for me.” As her words reached your ears your pleasure finally hit it’s peak. You begin writing against Ellie’s fingers as you roughly clench down on them. Your pleasure rips through you in overwhelming waves, moans uncontrollably leaving your lips as Ellie’s fingers continue their brutal pace. She doesn’t let up though, she keeps going as your clit grows more and more sensitive. You tug at her hair but she doesn’t move, she continues as your hips begin bucking against her arm that was pinning you down.

“Ellie it’s too much I can’t-”

“You can take one more can’t you sweetheart?” She asks sweetly as she fucks your sensitive hole with no mercy. You just nod and she continues sucking and licking at your clit, occasionally moaning which only enhanced the overwhelming pleasure. This time you were more tightly wound up and faster. It didn’t take long before you approached the edge again, the feeling twice as intense. You almost worry as it begins to build and build, just as you thought you had reached your peak it kept going. You finally topple over the edge as Ellie’s teeth lightly graze your clit, the feeling sending you into overdrive. You tugs Ellie’s hair harder than you ever had before as you make a mess all over the seats and Ellie’s mouth and fingers. She laps it all up contently, actually backing down when you pushed her away this time. She leans back into her knees and tries to catch her breath.

A smirk grows on your face as you begin leaning towards her, “it’s your turn.”

—

Idrk how I feel about this but at least I finished it 😀👍

Reblogs and notes are always appreciated and encouraged 💕‼️

Hopefully I will start updating more but I can’t really promise anything lmao

#ellie williams #the last of us 2 #ellie tlou #ellie x reader #ellie x you #ellie x fem reader #ellie smut #ellie williams smut #ellie williams x reader #ellie x y/n #cop! Ellie Williams

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powderblueblood · 4 months

Text

HELLFIRE & ICE — eddie munson x f!oc as enemies to star-crossed lovers

CHAPTER SEVEN — WELCOME to the REAL WORLD, JACKASS

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summary: christmastime in hawkins brings a bunch of cherry bombs in the boy's bathroom, a trip down memory lane via seven minutes in heaven avenue, and the least likely trio this town has ever seen. content warnings: MINORS DNI i'm going to fuck you up and santa isn't real so we've got, smut including references to and descriptions of male and female masturbation, smoking, swearing, a pregnancy scare, era-typical misogyny and ANGST in the form of a flashback!!! word count: 12.5k. merry christmas babies

Dear reader, it takes you less than five weeks to become incapable of imagining your life without Eddie Munson.

Which, given his propensity for being an absolute neanderthal, is concerning.

Eddie Munson talks with his mouth full and plays his music too loud. He never closes a cabinet all the way. He walks through anywhere, literally anywhere, be it a store or the library or Ronnie’s trailer–leaving a trail of destruction in his wake. He talks during movies and puts his feet up on the seats at the Hawk. He makes fun of the books you read, but always grabs them away from you to stare at the blurb on the back. He never finishes a cigarette all the way before lighting another one, which is just wasteful. He pretends to be good at holding his liquor, but he’s not.

He stands too close to you in places where he’s got plenty of room to move. He makes you laugh, even when you don’t want to. He holds the door for you in school, at the bookstore, getting out of the van, even though you’re more than capable of doing that yourself. He takes advantage of you when you’re in a good mood, like making you scratch his head as if he were a cat.

Sometimes he calls you ‘baby’, as if you don’t have a nickname already. As if you two are…

You lean toward the only mirror in the girls’ room with decent light, reapplying the red lip stain you’d taken to wearing– it was coming on Christmas, for god’s sake, and despite everything, you’re feeling festive. Quick. Lighter on your feet than you have been in a long time.

“Hey girl, could I borrow that?” an out-of-tune simper rings right next to your ear and you almost jump out of your skin, lipstick clattering into the sink.

“Jesus!” you say, and Eddie Munson cackles. You knock him back with a one-handed shove, face setting into that funny little grimace you’ve taken to wearing when he acts up– and he’s always acting up. You’re gonna get wrinkles if he doesn’t cut it out. “What the hell are you doing in here? Hair in your eyes make you miss the sign that says girl’s room?”

You know that’s not true, because you were the one that just about tied him to a chair in Ronnie Ecker’s trailer so you could trim his bangs last week.

This is a fuckin’ violation of my human rights, Lacy!

Every time I’m seen with you, people think I’m out walking a goddamn Briard. Hold still!

“So, hot off the press, newspaper girl,” Eddie says, leaning against the yellow porcelain, “One, I am literate, much to everyone’s shock and awe. And two, someone threw a bunch of cherry bombs down the john in the boy’s bathroom and the place is fucking Hiroshima, but wet and kinda shitty smelling. So we all got told to use this…” He gestures around at the clean-ish tile. “...salon of iniquity.”

“Was it you?” you ask, plucking a cigarette from the soft pack he’s offering you.

“Huh?” He scrunches his brows, leaning with a lighter ready. He’s taken to doing that; cigarette at the ready, lighter at the ready, low-grade explosives at the ready, probably.

“The cherry bombs, was it you?” you say through a reel of blue smoke.

“For once, no,” Eddie sighs, head slumping forward like a Peanuts character, “Some other gorgeous, anarchistic genius got the jump on me.”

“Oh, god,” a frown sets in; you pick up your dropped lipstick and in its wake, ash into the sink, “There’s no other bathrooms on campus you animals could use?”

“Nuh-uh. Unisexuality, baby, it’s the way of the future,” Eddie tells you, fanning out his hands like P.T. Barnum.

A beat. You think. This bathroom, the unofficially allocated senior bathroom, the one you and the rest of the Hawkins in-crowd had been using since sophomore year, got crowded at the best of times. The fumes of Aquanet were a definite health risk, but that’s an occupational hazard when it comes to being a girl. You add boys into the mix, nay, couples into the mix–

Damn.

“We’re about to witness the conception of so many toilet babies.”

Realization dawns on Eddie, his brown eyes flaring. “Oh shiiiit. I never thought of that.”

“The band geeks alone, Eddie,” you whisper, head tilting toward him all scandalized-like, “We’re gonna show up at our fifteen year reunion and every single one of these suckers is gonna have their own little freshman clones.”

“Spare a thought for Heather Holloway.” Eddie’s face, a mask of mock concern, makes you roll your eyes.

“Why?” you scoff, not a fan, “She doesn’t inspire many.”

“Objection. Her implants do.”

You turn to face him fully. “J’excuse?”

“Swear to god,” and his palms are up, “Just saw her in Chemistry.”

“Good? Bad?”

“Conical. Jayne Mansfield.” Aaand his hands are gesturing, animatedly. Crassly. Pervily. “Take your goddamn eye out.”

“Wow. Christmas came early.”

“Christmas ain’t the only thing that’s gonna be coming early…”

“Ew.”

Eddie smirks and flicks his cigarette into the sink, hitting the faucet to wash it away– there were at least three good drags left in that, you think.

“Heather H, first one to get knocked up in the Great Bathroom Insemination Project of 1984. Mark my words.”

“And you think you’re in with a shot?” Your tone is dripping in sneer.

Eddie regards you for a moment, so you know something deeply annoying is about to happen. His voice goes all serious, barely above a whisper, as he closes space between you like he’s trying to beat a draft.

“This is a once in a lifetime opportunity, Lacy baby.” His hands brace either side of the sink you’re standing at, trapping you against him. See? No respect for boundaries. But– Hm. Not… that annoying. “Oversexed teenagers sharing the same bathroom– at Christmas, with all that mistletoe around and shit.” His eyes, searching you with a glint that’s s’posed to be provocative. You, elbow propped up by your folded arm, puff a plume of smoke into his face. He doesn’t even blink. Smirk pursing his lips up. The two of you have established a rhythm. “Anything could happen.”

“Ew, what the hell are you doing in here? This is the girl’s room.” Enter some upstart underclassman, and Eddie’s peeling away from you.

“You didn’t see the biblical flood on the second floor, Pippi Longstocking?” His voice is big and booming and bouncing off the tile, making the underclassman cringe. “Forcible takeover. This is my house now.”

“God, shut up, freak.” She shuffles by the two of you to a vacant stall with a look you recognize– she’s so telling her friends about those two trailer park abnormos just about copulating in the bathroom later.

“Great choice!” Eddie exclaims, door of the stall slamming, “I warmed the seat for ya!”

—

“Watch where you’re going, you almost milled down that stroller!”

“I wouldn’t need to go so fast if you two, freakin’ Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Priss Ass, didn’t insist on getting to this place before it closed!”

“We wouldn’t need to rush if you hadn’t spent all freakin’ afternoon at goddamn Lipton landing getting all– all–”

“All?”

“--toked up and shit!”

“Market research, Ecker! And, I’m gonna remember you said that! Later! When you want to get all toked up and shit– woah!”

Listening to Ronnie Ecker and Eddie Munson bicker in the front seat while you balance on a drum stool in the back of his van, clutching onto Ronnie’s passenger seat for dear life– no better way to get into the spirit of the season. You’d be joining in the milieu if you weren’t currently suffering from major motion sickness.

Eddie takes a harsh pull into a parking spot outside of Family Video and–“Go, go, go!”--you three load out like soldiers, locked on the target. He takes the lead, swinging the door open for the two of you ladies, but a voice calls out from the counter before Ronnie can even get a toe over the threshold.

“Oh, no– no way, no way!” Steve Harrington’s yelling from the helm of the ship, waving his hands. “We are– fifteen goddamn minutes away from close, I can’t do this tonight!”

“Highly unwise of you to turn away paying customers, Harrington!” Eddie gasps, Ronnie ducking under his arm.

“You guys come in here and spend honest-to-god hours talking shit in the aisles and– and you never even rent anything!”

“Well, your luck’s about to change!” Ronnie says, and Steve regards her with a mask of total confusion because, well, it’s likely he’s never heard her speak directly to anyone other than Eddie before.

That’s when you roll in the door under Eddie’s arm-arch, color rising in your cheeks that’s not from the cold.

“I am deeply reconsidering my association with you guys.”

“Tough shit.” “Find another trailer park.” “You love it. You love us. You’re obsessed.”

You pinch both of your hands towards them, the universal action to encourage zipping it, and cast a glance towards Steve. His shoulders relax. His vest is green and garish and a terrible color on him and… he’s wearing elf ears. And he’s Steve Harrington. And your stomach clenches, though it’s more muscle memory than anything else.

“Hey, Steve,” you smile, soft and small and not really all that there.

“Lacy. Hi.” He does smile at you, after a beat. “You responsible for these assholes?”

You hadn’t seen him since the night of his party, that grand inferno that had landed you here, standing between Eddie and Ronnie and feeling not entirely awful about it. Well, you hadn’t exactly seen him then either, except for a flash when Eddie was dragging you out of his house.

So, y’know, the blush is entirely justified.

“She’s bankrolling us,” Eddie says, closing the door to keep the heat in and speaking just to break the tension. True, too– you’d scored a part time gig at The Bookstore after a confrontation with the eagle-eyed Ivana regarding certain missing copies of Little Women, The Woman Destroyed and Fear and Trembling. You assumed you were working off the thievery, which you never directly admitted to and she never directly accused you of– but then, she paid you.

Ivana, it turns out, is incredibly pro-workers rights and even more incredibly anti-Hawkins gossip mill. Which works out a treat for you. The bookstore’s become more of a haven than it had been before.

“Can you scatter already?” you direct two thirds of your threesome towards the stacks. “Let’s make this breezy, I feel a wave of mortification rising.”

“No. I was promised in-store bickering,” Eddie says, rooting himself to the spot. You catch a weird flash of– something in his eyes. Ronnie, with her unlikely band geek strength, groans and yanks him toward the horror section. “It’s my favorite part! It’s like the pre-show!”

You take to the counter, gingerly, shyly. Why are you shy? Why, all of a sudden, after showing your ass in such a spectacular bruise-garnering fashion, are you shy to speak to Steve Harrington? Is it because Nancy’s dropped a tidbit here and there that he’s not exactly great boyfriend material? Is it because you sometimes secretly think, good, I hope you two are having a terrible time, even if you and Wheeler are making baby steps towards a friendship?

Is it because you never forget the first person that called you Lacy?

Fuck knows. Some of that.

“So you’re… what, hanging out now?” Steve asks, gesturing to the twin dipshits. There’s a bite in his voice from a former incarnation of Steve Harrington, one with (somehow) bigger hair and an unchecked ego. It doesn’t all shed at once, you figure. He’s sloughing it off and there’s still some left over, judging by the way he’s staring at Ronnie and Eddie.

You look over your shoulder to them. It would be so easy to deride it, right– only due to my unfortunate proximity to them, yes or girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do for a ride these days or it’s community service, I swear.

But you don’t. You turn back to him with a pinchy little smile. “I’m this close to getting them to let me play tambourine in their band. Can you even deal?”

Steve, after a beat and a brow furrow, sort of half nods. “Think I kind of… get that.”

You’re about to answer when another body comes barrelling in through the back.

“Just wanted to let you know, dingus, that I just got off the phone with Keith–you remember Keith, right, our manager who is currently in a war of words with our boss trying to keep this place open–and your little stock-take fuckup has cost us, like, weeks of manhours in work and–” Robin Buckley, complete with a light-up Santa hat, stops dead. Counts every person in the room. Shakes her head like she’s in a dream. “What is…”

“H–hi Robin!” Ronnie calls, her voice all squeaky– due to the scuffling headlock that Eddie has somehow managed to put her in without you and Steve even noticing. “Don’t worry, we– we’ll be out of your hair in a second!”

And Robin– wait, is Robin kind of… blushing? She backs down immediately, putting her Family Video branded binder flat on the counter. “Yeah, no… that’s totally okay, take your time!”

You look at Steve. Steve looks at you. You quirk an eyebrow like– is that, is she… And Steve shrugs like, don’t ask me, sister. Pleading the fifth. Saving Robin’s dignity.

But you’re still you and you’ve been bugging Ronnie about her situation for weeks so you hold up a finger.

“What are you two idiots arguing about?”

“Black Christmas–” “Silent Night, Bloody– ow, Ronnie, don’t pull hair, you girl!”

A swivel back to Robin, who is totally pink-cheeked. “We need a professional to settle this.”

Her mind seems to stutter like a badly wound tape. Oh, she’s suckered. “Uh– uh, Black Christmas, for sure. Not exactly the coziest thing to watch, but–”

“We’re not cozy people!” Eddie yells, Ronnie coming at him with arms like weed whackers.

“--but Margot Kidder, right?” you poke, goddamn Jimmy Page and John Bonham for the Midwest set slamming into the counter on either side of you.

“Olivia Hussey,” Ronnie says breathlessly. Eddie seems to have winded her somehow. “That’s– she’s cool–I heard she was in this–”

“Exactly!” Robin lights up, excited, “She– she played Juliet in Romeo and Juliet–”

“Wait, don’t you see her boobs in that movie?” Eddie jerks in.

“Yes,” Robin and Steve chime in unison. And glance at each other. Telling.

Ol’ Munson there snaps his fingers. “Sold.”

“But not in Black Christmas,” you say, almost gently, so as not to… let him down?

Eddie rolls his eyes and tilts his head toward your shoulder. “I’m a man with an imagination, ain’t I?” he rasps. You pretend-shudder.

“Okay, let’s do Black Christmas and– you got a copy of The Thin Man?”

Blink-blink goes Robin, like a cartoon. It’s nearly audible. “... like, the William Powell, Myrna Loy Thin Man?”

Your turn to roll your eyes. God, you guys love to roll your eyes, huh? “Is there any other?”

“Like the black and white movie. You’re sure? I just didn’t think it’d be your–”

But Eddie cuts right through that assumption that’s making an ass out of you and Robin, because he knows. He knows because you’ve made him sit through Double Indemnity at the Hawk, scolding him for putting his feet up (god forbid, right!) and you’ve even threatened to drag him to some Buster Keaton retrospective that’s playing there after the holidays. He keeps thinking, man, if Wayne Munson ever comes across this girl, he’s a goner, and then he remembers why that won’t be happening any time soon.

“She’s a freak.”

You regard him with a tight smile. Kind of a thanks, kind of a fuck you. Kind of your thing.

“I’ll watch it when these bozos pass out.”

—

Something’s gotten into Eddie.

You three are absolutely basking in the glory of your one night of freedom– see, Granny Ecker’s away on a weekend hotel stay in Indianapolis with one of her special friends from the Hawkins Senior Center. Which, on the one hand, gross, Eddie never ever wants to think about Granny Ecker getting lucky no matter how happy for her he is. But on the other, in the words of her beloved granddaughter–

“God bless the Indiana Sweepstakes!”

Eddie has stolen Granny’s usual spot, the kick-out recliner that seems to sag more with every movement. You and Ronnie are bunched onto the little two-seater together, with Ronnie shyly suggesting that you paint her nails (black, how totally hardcore)– now, Eddie knows this move. This is so she can distract herself from the bonafide creepiness of Black Christmas because while she tries to put on a brave face, Ronnie’s eyes for horror movies are way bigger than her stomach. She’s all nerves. It’s why she’s such a good drummer.

As you’d predicted, by the time the movie ends and you all clear the six pack that Eddie had procured, Ronnie’s nodding off– but Eddie is determined to stay wide awake. You make a move off the couch and she grumbles, having narrowly avoided propping her head on your shoulder. You move to arrange her in such a way that she’s sleeping Nosferatu style, crossing her arms over her chest. “Because I spent an awful lot of time on that polish and I won’t see it ruined, not on your account,” you chide, real quiet. Ronnie’s not listening, she’s pretend honk-shooing. Eddie, on the other hand, is.

He likes you like this. You’re sweet to Ronnie, in your prickly little way– making her flustered with your misdirected flirting, bonding with her about things so far out of the realm of his male understanding. Being a girl with her. It’s occurred to him that Ronnie, in her testosterone-soaked world of current comrades, might actually need that. Like, she’s friendly enough with Jeannie and that Vickie girl from band, but they’re not people she’d go out of her way to make a case for so’s that Granny Ecker will let them stay for dinner.

Which she’s done for you. Once or twice now. Which you’ve nervously accepted and even ruined your manicure for, by insisting on washing up the dishes. Eddie dried, because of course he did, because the Ecker trailer is the only place close to home that the two of you can hang out.

You’re, like– friends.

Which is horrible.

Eddie tosses you a cold can of soda from the fridge. You catch it, hands basketing above your head.

“Power forward.”

“Cheerleader.”

You lean over to the TV to swap the tapes out, insistent on watching your dumb little black and white movie. As you do it, your skirt lifts a little bit and–

Eddie’s gotta break eye contact. Stare at the floor for a second. Cock jumping like the fucking mole from whack-a-mole.

He almost hits it.

You bitch, are you wearing thigh highs?

“You need to pull trig, Munson?” he hears you from the kitchenette, clicking the video player’s play button. “You only had two beers.”

God, maybe. Was the room spinning? “Smoked a lotta weed today.”

“Right. Lipton landing,” you smirk. Ronnie’s derisive little nickname for Reefer Rick’s place. “Are you gonna get over here and snore through my movie or not?”

I do not snore, or some muttering of a similar fashion comes out but he’s doing exactly what you tell him to do. He can’t help it. Brain function gone all freaky from that flash of flesh squeezed out the top of your– yeah.

Eddie lands on the floor next to you with a little groan. Your eyes flick between him and the now-empty recliner.

“What are you doing down here?”

Oh. Busted. “I’m a gentleman, Lacy. Take the damn seat.”

Your face screws up in that silly way it does whenever he talks sense to you but you don’t wanna hear it. Brat. “No. I like to sit right up near when it’s something I really want to watch.”

A shrug of your little shoulder as you wrap your arms around your knees like a kid. Face illuminated by the greyscale on the television. Skirt rucking back against the carpet. Fuck.

Eddie lets out an unsteady breath, crawling forward to lie on his tummy. Closer to you. “You’re gonna get square eyes if you keep doin’ that, dorko.”

“Who died and made you my optometrist…” but you say it in this half-hearted, distracted way, eyes on the screen.

“Y’know, if you–” Eddie starts, eyes on the lace top of your–yes indeedy–stockings.

“Shut up,” and you tap him on the shoulder. “I love this part.”

Your hand stays there as some fancily dressed chick totally eats shit in the bar of some hotel or something. Christmas presents flying everywhere as she falls.

Women and children first, boys.

Say, what is the score anyway?

Oh, so it’s you he was after.

Hello, sugar.

Your hand stays there as you’re totally mouthing every single word, you true-blue nerd. Eddie, completely at a loss of how to react to this other than gaze, gaze, gaze at you, snaps his teeth at your hand.

You, so completely embroiled in Nick and Nora’s white hot banter, gasp at the near-bite and swipe at his head. Eddie dodges the blow by rolling onto his back, hair fanning out on the Eckers’ rug. He grins up at you, and all of a sudden the rise and fall of his chest in that worn-out Alice Cooper shirt is very distracting.

Pretty girl.

Yeah, she’s a very nice type.

You got types?

Only you, darling–

“--lanky brunettes with wicked jaws,” you say, beat-for-beat with William Powell.

“Talkin’ about me?” Eddie says, lips peeling back, eyebrows quirking.

“Not in your wettest, wildest dreams, Eddie Munson.”

“Oh, you don’t wanna know what happens in those dreams. It’s filthy.”

“Uh-huh.”

“It’s twisted. It’s disgusting.”

“I bet.”

His hand is absent-mindedly stroking his chest, shifting the hem of that t-shirt up a little bit. Brushstrokes. You remember that? Eddie Munson has a happy trail like–

“You’re so nice to me. It’s so fffffucking hot.”

“How wildly out-of-character,” you scoff, and he laughs, and you shift in your spot the teensiest bit. Eyes back on the screen, back to safety.

From here, where he’s lying, Eddie has a fully illustrated view of the flash of skin up your skirt. Now that you’re not looking at him, he’s looking at it. Swallowing back saliva. Ignoring Nick and Nora.

It’d be simple as pie to walk his fingertips along the rug and brush up against you there–oops–by accident or design. Feel how soft that skin is. Feel that heat radiating from your–

“It’s alright,” he hums, eyes flicking to the ceiling. Otherwise, all the blood’s gonna drain away from his head and he’s going to fucking die. “I know I’m not your type anyway.”

Your head lolls to your other shoulder, exposing a flash of your neck. It’s sorely missing a tongue running along it, he thinks, breath shuddering a touch.

“You wouldn’t know my type if it hit you with an eighteen wheeler.”

“Can Steve Harrington drive an eighteen wheeler?”

Lolling your head back in the most exaggerated form of exasperation, you groan. “God. The way you talk about Harrington, I’m willing to put money on the fact that you have a crush on him.”

Eddie shrugs, hand resting on his sternum. You had your hand there once, you recall.

“I got prescribed one on the first day of freshman year, just like everybody else. But it wore off.”

“Sure about that?” Your eyes narrow.

“Sure as I am that I saw you makin’ googly eyes at him at the Family Video tonight.” Eddie crosses his own peepers for effect. Your attention darts back to the screen.

“I was not–”

“You can just say it, Lace.” His face is a twisty little smirk, if you’d care to look. “Regardless of how utterly pedestrian it might be.” That was a dig at you, by the way. That was an almost eerie impression of you.

“The things I felt in seventh grade don’t really have a lot of gravitational pull on me anymore,” you shrug, not giving. Because, when you think about it, you don’t have to give. It was a baseless kind of thrill, seeing Harrington tonight. One hit wonder. “He’s a cute boy. Reminded me I have a pulse. Nothing wrong with that.”

Eddie’s quiet for a few seconds, flicks his eyes up to watch the TV from upside down. Nick places an ice pack on a drunken Nora’s head.

Hmm… what hit me?

The last martini.

He smiles as you smile, and he wonders if you’re thinking of the same thing he’s thinking of.

“Alright, well– we can forget this ever happened. Resume being assholes to each other on Monday. Don’t, like, die in the meantime.”

“You say resume like we ever stopped being assholes to each other.”

“Funny you mention seventh grade…” Eddie trails off, tugging at the rug underneath him.

“Funny ha-ha or funny peculiar?” Your voice is distant again.

“Little bit of both.”

“Why?”

Well, he thought you might be fucking with him, but– “... God, you really don’t remember, do you?”

“Remember what?” He sees your brow pinch, he’s getting to ya.

“Not a fucking clue.” No give, no glory, eyes on the peeling ceiling.

“Remember what?” You’ve snapped your neck and are looking down at him now, thirsty for him to fucking spill it already.

“Total–” he blows a raspberry, “--blackout before freshman year, right?”

“Eddie.”

His name makes him sit up. Pavlovian, sure, and he’s trying to deny the fact that he’ll do just about anything you say when you call him Eddie in that slightly-tinged sour way and not Munson like you’re writing him off. He’s trying to deny that. He swears.

“Nancy Wheeler’s thirteenth birthday party.”

You two are shoulder to shoulder, him facing the couch, you facing the screen, his breath warming the bare skin of your off-the-shoulder top which is an insane thing to be wearing in the dead of fucking winter, but praise Jesus hallelujah you’re wearing it. Your expression is unimpressed.

“... yeah?”

“We played Seven Minutes in Heaven.” He lays that out a little too plain for your liking. Playing Seven Minutes in Heaven at a thirteen year old’s birthday party is like the non-denominational Hora for pseudo-white bread Christian teenagers, at least in Hawkins. Everybody does that shit. But hold on.

“... you were there?”

“Fucking obviously, dimwit, that’s the setup to the whole story.” He sighs in a puff, and he’s very close to you. Chin almost on your shoulder like that night at the Quarry. “Tommy Hagan ripped into me for like, fifteen full minutes because my spin of the bottle landed on you.”

Confusion is a disease and you’re terminal. “That was… not you.”

Insistence is a disease and Eddie’s fatal. “Yes. It so was.”

“That was John Hudson-Wasserman.”

“That was not–,” Eddie full on splutters, like slapstick splutters, reeling his head away from you, “you’re gonna get me confused with John Hudson-Wasserman? The guy who was like, pathologically obsessed with the Kennedy assassination? The guy who moved to Des Moines like, two weeks after that party?”

Then you’re spluttering back all of a sudden. Everything you two are doing is contagious. “His parents named him after John F., can you blame him? –actually, I can totally blame him, that was bizarre.”

“Lacy.” Well, the way he says that straightens your spine. “Use that pretty little brain to think for a second, huh? There’s one unmistakeable detail I bet I can get to jog your memory.”

But you’re already there. Activated. Like a sleeper cell.

“Your hair was all buzzed off. You had that bandage on your head.”

“I did. And you asked me what was under it, and I said–”

A hole. They cut out a part of my brain so I’d be– The Wheeler’s linen closet was tiny and you were breathing in lavender detergent from all angles.

The boy in front of you, scrawny and angry, had an aura around him like a firework. You knew it was dangerous, but you wanted to look closer.

–less of a freak? you finished. Such was the accusation du jour for this kid.

Less of a danger to society, he said, chest puffed. They let me keep it in a jar. Just in case shit gets really real and I need to shove it back in.

You don’t quite know what to do with that. Like. He is so weird, and his hair is unevenly shaved and he’s got little cuts and scratches and scabs all over him. Like he’s been running through brambles. He looks like a kid someone found in the wild.

Did you name it? you ask, finger drawing circles on a nearby towel. Your jar brain.

Eddie Junior, he told you, crossing his arms.

Aren’t you already Junior? Shouldn’t it be Junior Junior?

His jaw hardened. No. I’m Eddie.

You nudged forward on your toes to get a better look at the bandage– he was taller than you. It lumped out of his head, unmissable. Nothing to be done about it.

He seemed to cringe away from you.

Don’t try anything, skank.

You bounce back onto your heels.

I wasn’t, asshole. We don’t have to do anything– just… like… did it hurt?

He paused for a full ten seconds (you counted) and swallowed real hard. Eyes wide as hubcaps, and dark, and frightened. He craned his neck toward you a little.

Then the door swung open, Tina Burton standing there hand-in-hand with an irritated-looking Steve Harrington. Time’s up, losers!

Al hadn’t asked if it hurt, when he beat the crap out of him for doing something so stupid. Wayne hadn’t even asked if it hurt, when Eddie came back from the hospital like a dog with its tail between its legs.

You were the first, and you were the last, and it was before everything. Before you were even Lacy.

“What happened, anyway?” you ask. Soft. Like that last time.

Now, in retrospect, Eddie sees the error of his ways.

“I lit all my hair on fire with a butane torch.”

“You what?!”

“It’s not– entirely my fault! I think I saw someone with hair on fire in an X-Men comic and I thought, y’know, that’s an achievable look.” That’s a severe understatement. It was Johnny Storm from The Fantastic Four and Eddie believed that he could be like Johnny Storm only more badass and maybe with like a sick motorbike. What, you’re telling me you didn’t go through a pre-teen-to-mid-teen phase where you were secretly convinced you had superpowers? Smarten up.

“And how high–”

“Yeah, okay, I was also hitting a Reddi-Wip can like crazy.” The nitrous oxide did not help these delusions.

“Why the big bandage?”

“Eh, I got some, like, bitsy little burn. Total overreaction.”

“Do you have a scar?” Before he can answer, you’re parting his hair, right near the place you remember that bandage being. Eddie freezes, your frigid fingertips searching his scalp. You are… very close.

“Uh– no, I don’t.” He gulps, avoiding looking at you directly in your bright, curious little face. “Can I tell you something truly fucking dumb?”

“Wouldn’t be out-of-character for you, that’s for sure.”

Deep, deep breath. Fucking shit fucking goddammit fuck. Balls. “I regret it.”

“The hair thing? Yeah, you’d think–”

“No. Not kissing you.”

“Oh.” Your hands drop from his skull but don’t exactly leave his hair. Just kind of wound in there, hovering, the way you feel like you’re hovering now.

“You asked me if it hurt, and then I was gonna– but then, fucking Tina–” Eddie says, eyes dashing to you in these minute little glances. Away, back, away, back.

“Fuckin’ Tina,” you breathe.

“--and Harrington.”

“Ah.” You shut your eyes. He didn’t notice you were wearing green eyeshadow until right now. “The square root of the problem.”

“Huh?” Barely heard it. Too busy looking at the glitter on your eyelids. The way your eyeballs shift around underneath.

“You’re totally lemon sour bitter with Harrington because you think he made you blow your shot with me.” You open your eyes with a squint.

“That is so not–” Break a spell, why dontcha! But then, Eddie takes a bite. “Actually, if you pop-psychology that, there might be somethin’ there, but… I regret it because I didn’t just–”

You cut in. “Go for it.”

“Shoot.” He confirms.

“Power. Forward.” You emphasize, lips curling.

“Cheer. Leader.” Eddie says, gravel in his voice.

Do you know that your hand is still in his hair? Like, are you physically aware of it? (Answer: no.)

Nick. Nicky?

What.

You asleep?

Yes.

Good. I wanna talk to you.

Your head swivels back from the screen. He watched you look away, dart your tongue out onto your lip, look back at him.

“Eddie.” There’s fizz in your voice.

“Yes, Lacy.” He wonders what flavor.

“I think…” and you finally extract your hand to lay it in your lap. Withdrawing, willing to be shot down, but you’re you and you know that you won’t be. “We could make a case for making up for lost time.”

Eddie’s mouth has become very dry. “... meaning that…”

“Eddie, I think that you should kiss me like a seventh grader– eighth grader? So weird, why did Wheeler have eight graders at her bir–”

“Lacy. Back on track, please,” which is another horrendously pin point perfect impression of you. And he needs to be sure that you just said what you just said and that isn’t the ghosts of Lipton landing talking.

“We should try it out. An honest-to-god, never-been-done-before Seven Minutes in Heaven kiss. I happen to think it’d fix something in you.”

“Oh, come on,” he scoffs.

“No, I’m serious!” And it is kind of fizzing out of you, and you might not be entirely just talking about him for this next part, “I think you’re holding onto a lot of pent up energy that may have just gotten even more pent since we became, y’know–”

“Zoo animals with parallel enclosures?” Eddie says with an arching eyebrow.

“Wow,” you swallow a breath. “That really sounded like me.”

“I’m afflicted with a Lacyism from time to time.”

“Is that like astigmatism? Because you should get that looked at.”

“Who died and made you my optometrist?”

“Eddie.” Your voice, coming from your face, which is all dappled in the unserene technicolor glow of the Eckers’ Christmas lights, highlighted by the blaze of the black and white on TV. You make it look like stained glass. He would walk into oncoming traffic– “You trust me, right?” He would go and play on the freeway if you asked him to.

Eddie, Christ, he’s got to gather himself. Like the sweat gathering on his palms, he thinks, great work ethic, I need some of that. He gets a bright idea, brighter than those twinkling lights. “I think I need full authenticity in order to make this experience worth it.”

“What?”

“We need to find a closet.”

It’s pretty much a hard no on whether or not the Eckers have a linen closet (you’re a long way from Maple Lane now, babe), so it’s agreed that you’ll give Granny Ecker’s wardrobe a shot. You follow Eddie in there with tentative steps, like you can almost feel her watching all the way from the Best Western in Indianapolis she’s no doubt staying in. Trespassing is bad, yadda yadda, but it’s also exciting.

It’s exciting, being in here with him.

He glances back at you, eyes a glimmer in the darkened bedroom. “After you,” and he flourishes a hand toward the open closet.

You two are so not seventh graders anymore– heads bang against hangers, you’re kind of melting into a lot of denim and fleece and you… you don’t have much breathing room. No lavender detergent, just the beer-and-old-weed-sweet smell of Eddie Munson pushed close to flush against your chest. The scent of that shampoo you both use caught somewhere in the middle.

Your breathing is so shallow, you feel like you might be having an asthma attack. You don’t have asthma.

“Tight,” he says, and knits his brows, “I mean–”

“Cozy,” you correct, unsure of where to put your hands.

“We’re not cozy people.”

“So let’s do this,” you attempt to smooth your face into something resembling nonchalance, “Kiss me like a seventh-or-eighth grader, Eddie Munson.”

He clears his throat, shaking his head. A smile keeps flicking and dying on his lips. Heart about to burst out of his chest because of how weird this is, because of how weird you are, because of how– how–

Eddie knits his fingers behind his back in an imitation of you, your girlish pose, and leans forward. About ninety percent, just in case you decide this was a stupid idea, or you don’t like the look of his face up close, or– or–

You close that perfect ten. Your lips feel like flower petals. Light. Baby-soft. Crushable.

It’s so chaste and it’s so innocent. It’s so the diametric opposite of the two of you, brash and harsh in your diverging, abstracting ways– waving only to meet in the middle. It’s pretty, like you are, and Thumper-from-Bambi-thumping-his-foot nervous like he gets around you.

You pull away a fraction, and Eddie swallows a sound. To save face, he is about to say something– I give it a six or that’s what I’ve been missing out on this whole time or you flap that mouth an awful lot for someone who doesn’t know how to use it, something equally goading. Something that would make this… normal.

Until you take his bottom lip between yours. And it’s wet there. And it’s warm. And your lips are so, so crushable–

Eddie’s fingers unweave and find your arms, find your waist. Slow, slow, he takes it slow because he could scare you and he doesn’t want to scare you. You’re curving into him, lips slicking against his, and then his tongue licking it’s way into your mouth which you just fucking open for him and it’s so good–

–and he tastes like salt and smoke and he holds you like he’s anchoring himself against you. Your hands wind on up, up, up his chest, catching on his t-shirt where his chest is (duh duh duh you fucking idiot), where his heart is thrumming under that smatter of a tattoo you got caught staring at that night in his trailer. It’s all you’ve got in you not to tug it up and off him, but Christ, no, because you need to keep kissing him. It’s so nice, it feels so nice, kissing him, when was the last time something felt as nice, that’s all you can think with sensation seeping through your body like a sugar rush. Hands move to either side of his neck and he makes a noise.

Your fingers, fishing hooks in his hair, pulling him closer and closer to you.

The heat. Of his body. Matched only by the heat gathering in the cherry pit that lives in your stomach.

And he needs, god, Eddie needs it fucking bad. It is a lot of things. It includes your tongue so far inside his mouth that you can taste the Tab on his uvula this time. It includes more of your tits pressed against him, so he can feel if your nipples have hardened under his touch. It includes this moment, just this moment, just kissing you as your body winds around him–

But then you pull back. Before he can whisper the little, “No…” that’s coming like a reflex, you cover his mouth with your hand. The mouth that’s all slick from kissing– you.

Jesus Christ. You had really done that. The stupid, idiot both of you.

“Guys?”

Eddie, dizzy and down-the-rabbit-hole tipsy Eddie, gets the impulse to lick your hand, to take your fingers in his mouth and just start sucking, but he doesn’t do it. Because he has now snapped to the fact that that’s Ronnie Ecker calling out for you.

The two of you, twisted around each other like snakes in her grandmother’s closet.

“Go,” you hiss– no, you breathe. He was just expecting you to hiss. But you’re breathy and unsure about the command you’re giving. Still, you jerk your head.

Well, Eddie’s pretty hard up about telling you this, but, “Can’t. Need a sec–” Like, can’t you feel that?

Eddie’s standing more than half to attention, pressing in between the both of you.

You let out a jagged breath that sounds like oh, fuck, and it’s not the kind of oh, fuck he was hoping to hear and his heartbeat stutters.

And then you’re gone.

Eddie stands there, hands held aloft around the ghost of you that was there, that was right there and kissing him. Like you meant it, like it wasn’t an experiment or a joke or a dare or anything other than what you wanted. You wanted him. You wanted him. “Oh, Jesus Christ,” he breathes into his hands, dragging them down his face, his lips, the smell of you still lingering around him. “Oh… I am so fucked.”

Kentucky fried fucked.

You make your way back to the living room on trembly legs, reaching for every steadying surface, attempting to destroy the evidence of a swollen mouth and Munson-finger ruffled hair. You find Ronnie sitting upright on the couch. Nick and Nora have nearly solved the case. You don’t give yourself enough time to make a mask of your face that could easily lie to her.

“Munson had to pull trig,” you say, and it’s not steady enough for Ronnie to not call bullshit.

But she doesn’t. Not outright anyway.

“He okay?” she asks, nearly wary.

“I don’t know. Could be comin’ out of both ends, I don’t know,” you start scrambling around for your bag and your shoes and your coat and not your right mind because you left that back in the closet, somewhere between Eddie’s teeth and tongue. “Look, I hate to ditch on you, but my mom–”

“She’ll be on your ass,” Ronnie says, measured like a cup. “Sure. Go on. I’ll think about calling 911 if he chokes.”

Breathing out some piss-poor rendition of a thanks, you dip out of Ronnie’s and past his van and all the way back the lot towards home.

It’s freezing. You’re not. For once.

When Eddie finally reappears from the closet, Ronnie is sitting in the exact same position. Except this time she looks somewhat judgier– maybe because it’s easier to be judgier toward Eddie than it is toward you. Some kind of girl politico he doesn’t understand.

“You feel better?”

“Huh?” Eddie says. Wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

“Do you feel better. Lacy told me you had to barf.”

“I… I guess.” Eddie has already cashed in his once-in-a-lifetime lie convincingly to Ronnie Ecker voucher.

“She also told me you maybe shit yourself?”

Alright, well, that was unnecessary. “Alright, well, that was unnecessary.”

“I guess I was just hoping that…” she sighs, crossing her arms, “... that you weren’t puking and shitting yourself…” she sits back against the couch, “... when you were making out with her. In my… bathroom?”

He really does consider leaving out this detail. “Granny’s closet.”

“Oh, you’re fuckin’ kidding me.”

“She’ll know. She’ll kill me.”

“Oh, she’ll kill ya,” Ronnie mutters, “And then I’ll go to work on ya.”

—

You two have got to stop fucking each other over like this.

Fucking each other over, conceptually, actually, is interesting. Because Eddie’s done a whole lot of fucking you over in his mind since that closet. Sliding your panties aside and fucking you with his tongue, polyester lace of your stockings creating static against his hair, sparks snapping off your inner thighs as you rub against his nose.

Following you back to your trailer and fucking you with his fingers against the cold, metal exterior, your nails digging into his neck and your voice stabbing his name into his eardrums.

Pulling you into his lap in the driver’s seat and tearing through the cotton of your underwear with sheer animalistic fervor, making you lean back against the steering wheel as he sucks your tightened nipples, cock safe and warm in the slick, deep wet of you.

Somethin’ like that. He didn’t sleep much this weekend.

Mind stuck on the one track, your lips smacking against his. Now in fabulous 3D!

In every single one of these fantasies, too, his idiot sap ass is whining your name fifty billion times more than you’re whining his– so much so that it breaks the fantasy barrier and he’s crying, “Fuck, Lacy-yy–,” into his limp pancake of a pillow, cum careening down a fist that should have nerve damage by now.

He is exhausted. And to make it worse, he hasn’t seen you.

He hasn’t even been avoiding you this time. So that’s all on you, you bitch.

“You bitch…” he mumbles, head resting against the cold brick of the newly-unisex senior bathroom, which has become a hellhole in no time. First period on a Monday is usually an okay time to get a bit of peace and fucking quiet, though, because everyone else is at least making an attempt at starting the week off on the right foot.

But not Eddie. Not worn out, prick-tired Eddie.

And not whoever is doing a horrible job of hyperventilating in the stall next to him.

“Excuse me?” a breathless voice says. He thinks he kinda recognizes it but–

Then, ew! Some gagging, some violent coughing, a little ugh, Jesus, please not again–

Eddie slides out of his stall and knocks on the next door– and it swings open with ease.

She’s crouched over the cistern–gross, fucking gross–and tears are streaming down her peachy cheeks, catching on her pointed chin.

“Christ, Wheeler. S’matter, you pregnant?”

Nancy Wheeler’s eyes flash in a flare of rage, a choked scoff spitting out of her. She’s about to fucking cuss Eddie out, it looks like, which he kind of wants to see, but then whatever straw that’s holding that together snaps and she lets out this wild sob of total incredulity.

Ohhh, as much as he would love to bolt out the door like it’s not his problem, Eddie realizes that this has now, somehow, somewhat become kind of his problem.

—

“I gotta talk to you.”

Ronnie Ecker appears like a lightning flash, knocking you clean out of your reverie of slowly crawling fingers and lips and teeth and guilt that had been plaguing you all weekend.

You had spent most of the last forty eight hours staring into the middle distance, ready to glue upright nails into your shoes and walk on them for penance. You fucking stupid slut. Kiss me like a seventh-eighth grader, Eddie Munson. You unbelievable fucking cowshit. See, because, okay, do you know what you’ve done?

You’ve taken the first real friendship you’ve possibly ever had in your life (save for Phoebe, God rest her soul that moved to Saskatoon) and completely entirely fucked it sideways, and sure, you’ve also spent a lot of the weekend thinking about other things getting fucked sideways, like you since you’re now cursed with the knowledge of the vague suggestion of the outline of Eddie Munson’s dick but moreso, foremostly and mainly you want to fucking take a swandive off the edge of Sattler’s Quarry.

Addendum– there’s too many quarries in this fucking county.

A ping-ponging of guilt-to-orgasm-to-guilt-to-orgasm-to-guilt-to-orgasm-to-guilt-to-slinking your way to first period the long way that’s only now broken by Ronnie Ecker coming down on you like an Acme anvil.

Meep meep.

She knows. Of course she knows.

“Ronnie,” you whisper, eyes following her as she lands herself into the aforementioned Munson’s seat behind you, “I can explain…”

“Don’t!” There is this vigor, this knife’s edge in Ronnie’s voice that is terrifying and kind of thrilling but mostly scary and having been in the presence of Granny Ecker even those few times, you knew she always had it in her.

You recoil. A little.

“If Eddie wants to be a fucking moron about you, please can we just let him, and not–” Ronnie’s mouth clamps closed like a Muppet’s might. Like she’s physically trying to calm herself down. “Look. I really like being your friend.”

Oh, Christ, your heart. “I r– I–”

“You’re dogshit with the emotional stuff, I get that, but I’ve been friends with that asshole so long that wearing my heart on my sleeve is like, second fucking nature so I’m not and I’m pissed off, frankly, that there’s a chance of him coming between, like… us.”

You and Ronnie. You, and your friend Ronnie. “Oh, it’s–”

“Because technically, by absolute technicality, I was your friend first, okay? We were lab partners first and I thought we had a vibe goin’ in Biology and I was the first person you wanted to talk to at the Hellfire table even if it was a thinly veiled ploy but you’re so good at ploys and you’re such a piece of work and you’re so funny and I wouldn’t know what Ponds cold cream actually does if it wasn’t for you. Fuck.”

“Granny’s a soap and water girl.” There’s a fluttering in your chest and a thickening in your throat. You swallow big, and you think you might actually start– “This doesn’t mean I’m gonna try fencing, Ron.”

“But it’s fucking cool, even if we do it with sticks.”

You take her in, baseball cap shoved over her coiled hair, darned-all-to-hell sweater sagging out under her overalls and you really feel like something is about to bust out of your chest. Your honest-to-god friend, Ronnie Ecker.

“Miss Ecker, last time I checked, that’s not your assigned seat.” God, Kaminsky’s such a relentless dickwad.

“I’m having a conversation,” Ronnie says, with the kind of as-yet-unheard volume from her that makes the rest of the class go ooooh!

Jesus fucking Christ, have you turned Ronnie Ecker into a bad girl?

“I don’t give a shit!” rumpled Kaminsky says, slapping that dusty chalkboard duster full of dust, “Have it in detention.”

“Hey! That’s–”

But if you can do one thing for Ronnie. “No can doozy, Mr K, Miss Ecker has a prior commitment.”

“Oh, Jesus Christ, not you again,” he mumbles not-quite-under his breath. “And what is that? Lacy?”

Before you can even say the words peer tutoring, none other than Eddie Munson is barrelling through the door. He stops comically short at the top of the classroom, gesturing to Ronnie in his seat like what the fuck?

“Lacy!” he eventually says, and he’s breathless and flustered and just like you imagined him in–

“Munson, what in the name of the goddamn Father Almighty–”

“Weekly Streak–” and guy is just snapping his fingers, blinking wildly at you, “–thing!”

You stare on in a state of confusion until you spy Nancy Wheeler right in your eyeline, right through the open classroom door. Her little face streaked with tears, and god, she looks like shit, and she’s beckoning to you with a flutter and a fury.

“No, of course!” a little murmuring, uh, shit, and you hurry to the top of the classroom, slamming the homework that Kaminsky’s obviously going to ask for on his desk with a rattle.

“Kaminsk, my man, the future of print media is forever in your debt!” Eddie calls, ushering you out the door and into the echoey hallway.

“What is going on?”

Both Eddie and Nancy shuffle you down the hallway, avoiding the monitors (rat finks!), dipping under the east stairwell. A great stairwell. So much illicit shit has happened in this stairwell and you have an itemized list of it all, somewhere in your brain. The kind of person people tell things to.

Nancy’s just full tilt gulping like a fish out of water, and Eddie’s all, “Wait, shit, are you gonna barf again?” and you’re all, “Answers, please, tout suite!”

“I’m late.” Nancy’s voice doesn’t even tremble. She’s that scared.

“Fuck.”

“Very?”

“Extremely.”

“You’re sure?” you press, and suddenly you’re the kind of person that grabs Nancy Wheeler’s shoulders.

Her lip trembles. “I mean, I haven’t–”

“Well, we gotta. Right now.” And it occurs to you that Eddie is just standing there, a polite enough distance away that he’s involved but kind of not involved, but respecting the space that you two need. How does he know how to do that? How does he always know the right… “Eddie.”

He snaps to attention, mouth all serious and eyes all eager. You want to kiss him again, but this shit is not about you.

“We need a ride to the drugstore.”

The three of you pile into Eddie’s van, him insisting on doing the honors of opening the passenger door for you again, and Nancy quietly requesting that you share the passenger seat with her. You two are squished together, her spindly thighs overlapping yours. Denim versus dark suede. There is a very tense silence in place the entire van ride there, Nancy digging her nails into her palm and Eddie nervously thrumming against the steering wheel. The tape deck plays resumes mid-play– Metallica’s Ride the Lightning.

For your part, you experience a harsh zoom-out moment– Nancy, who you’ve learned is almost as strong-headed as you, just on a better moral track (lawful good versus chaotic neutral, you think Eddie once framed it), is stranded. She’s the eldest sibling to that little shitstain Michael and Holly, who’s a baby so to you has no discernible personality, and her mother is kind of an airhead and her father… you don’t know shit about, but it’s Hawkins, so dads. The responsibility of everything seems to fall on her all the time, and you can only be so resourceful as a teenage girl in a town like this. Especially when the other teenage girls seem to, at best, keep you at arm’s length, or at worst, ostracize you.

And Nancy had lost Barbara Holland. Who, when she mentions her, is talked about with such a glow that’s followed by such a wave of sadness that it nearly takes you under too.

She misses her so much. She misses her best friend so much.

Barb should be the one dealing with this. Not you. Which sounds like you’re shirking responsibility. But really, it’s because you don’t know if you fully deserve the privilege of helping Nancy.

Truth is, Nancy would probably be okay, handling this on her own. Sure, it’d be another inch of depth added to the chasm of loneliness building in that poor girl’s psyche, but she’d do it, because she’s Nancy and she handles things.

Just like you’re Lacy and you handle things.

But however Eddie Munson ended up as part of this situation… he brought her to you. Because he knew you’d know what to do. So she wouldn’t have to do it alone.

Because Eddie doesn’t want people to do things alone.

You only really have that impulse if you know how terrible it feels.

And if you don’t see kindness as a weakness.

Which Nancy doesn’t. And Eddie doesn’t. And you… don’t want to, anymore.

You reach and peel Nancy’s fingernails from the grooves they’re digging into her flesh. You don’t even look at the half-moon marks they’ve made. You just glue her palm to your palm and web your fingers. And over the frizz of Nancy’s perm–the nice kind, salon kind, the kind that doesn’t stink of egg–you look at Eddie, just as he glances at you.

He smiles, small and unsure and wavering. You bite your lips between your teeth and try the same.

“Shit, I don’t think I can go in here.”

The van has skidded into an inconspicuous (but not entirely, because have you seen that fucking vehicle) place near the drugstore.

“Why?”

“People– the pharmacist knows my mom and everything,” Nancy shudders, “There’s no way that people won’t have something to– fucking say.”

Eddie’s eyes widen and you give him a look like, welcome to the Nancy Wheeler Actually Swears Club. Care for a canape?

And y’know, you could argue so what. So what if people have something to say. You’re young, mistakes happen, the world keeps turning. But one skip in a perfect twelve-inch record of reputation like Nancy’s can make her life a living hell. You know that.

Shit, she knows that– you weren’t not aware of that stroke of creative genius vandalism that went up on the Hawk marquee that one time.

And it would shatter Nancy’s mom’s heart. And while you don’t have the same time of day for her, Nancy really loves her mom.

Once you’ve ruined your reputation, you can live quite freely.

That moveable feast motherfucker was onto something.

Click, and Eddie’s glovebox pops open in a clatter of tapes and a one-hitter and other ephemera. You reach in, retrieving sunglasses you’d left in here a little bit ago.

“So let’s give ‘em something to talk about,” you say, sliding on the shades.

Nancy clutches your arm, eyes wide and searching. “Lacy.”

You shrug, like it’s nothing. Except nerves have started nibbling at you. “Spot me a ten. What am I, a goddamn Rockefeller?”

“Not anymore,” Eddie Munson grins at you. Sun breaking through the bleak midwinter. The nerves cease their nibbling.

—

The tension doesn’t exactly ease when you make a beeline for the drugstore (particularly because you’ve just accepted a goddamn miniature hero’s quest and he’s a little… well, he’s not not watching your ass as you walk away, let’s put it that way).

Eddie and Nancy Wheeler are still absolutely enormous universes apart. Not even the same species. He doesn’t mind keeping it that way. This right here is just, like… the right thing to do.

He moves to turn the radio down, figuring that the thrum of Fade to Black might be a little much for her right now. “Sorry. Didn’t mean for–”

“No, it’s okay.” Wheeler smiles that flat, priss smile reserved for the barest of polite gestures.

Eddie nods, propping his elbow against the window, cupping his face in his hand. He keeps kind of sneaking sidelong glances toward Wheeler, because– well, had you told her anything? About… Seven Minutes in Heaven? Does she even remember that, from her birthday party all that time ago? He knew that you two weren’t exactly tight, but were well on your way to getting tight, but not as tight as you are with Ronnie and certainly not as tight as you are–or were–with him and Jesus Christ almighty, he’s got to find a synonym for the word tight.

“You… play Dungeons and Dragons, right?” Wheeler asks all of a sudden.

Eddie glances down– he is in fact wearing his Hellfire shirt. She’s a sharp one, that Nancy.

“I dabble,” he says, a derisive little chuckle that’s not all-the-way mean spirited.

Wheeler bobs her head. “My brother, Mike,” she says, and he sees now that it’s an effort to keep her nerves steady, “he loves it. Like, he’s totally obsessed. Him, and his friends, they’ve got their own little party going. Majorly long campaigns, very involved.”

“Campaigns, parties. Using terminology like that, I’d say you’re something of a dabbler, Wheeler.”

Nancy chuckles. “I– may have dressed up as an elf for one. Or two. When I was way, way younger, though.”

“Well, your brother– Mike?” Eddie checks and Nancy nods, “Once he gets to high school, why dontcha tell him to look up Hellfire. Could be the best-worst decision he’ll make for the next four years of his life.”

“Right, because you’ll be passing the torch,” she says, grinning.

“And possibly to a Wheeler. Oh my stars and garters,” Eddie gasps, clutching his chest in mock-shock.

Wheeler laughs and, okay, maybe she’s not so bad.

“Shoot, we have movement.” And out you come, holding the Advance pregnancy test over your head, gleaming and victorious– but Eddie and Nancy flap their hands, willing you to put that fucking thing away! We’re being subtle!

Climbing back in the van, you announce, “Alright, so the good news– no doctoral interference, obviously. The wonders of modern medicine, everybody give thanks to Johnson and Johnson, et cetera. The bad news– who knows of somewhere we can steal–” you glance back at the box, “--thirty glorious uninterrupted minutes of time?”

“Lacy, I can just–” Nancy starts, but you stop her short with a tap to the head.

“And have you sitting in class all day with your guts churning because you don’t know what’s up or down that spout? I think the fuck not. We’re doing this now.” This is out of the goodness of your heart, you swear it is.

But there might be a fraction, just a generous sliver, that still loves the drama.

Like Steve Harrington, it’s not an immediate shed of the ego. It’s a slough.

“Well, my place is a no-go,” Nancy tells you, shrugging into herself. “My mom will definitely be home.”

“Ditto,” and your mother is the only person you know that loves gossip more than you do. Besides Eddie, of course.

After a beat or two of wondering silence, Eddie raises a hand. “I may… have someplace… we can go.”

—

How many cherry bombs does it take to make a boy’s bathroom look like the bombing of Dresden?

“So fuuun fact, turned out that some nerd swiped a hunk of sodium from the Chemistry lab and just blew this mother to shit,” Eddie brightly informs you and Nancy as the two of you pour over the instructions for the pregnancy test kit.

“While everyone was distracted by Heather Holloway’s implants, you mean?” you murmur, scanning over the small-sheet size booklet.

“Streets are saying she was an accomplice.”

Holy fuck, these instructions were involved. Nancy stands clutching the little rectangular tray that her pee is supposed to go in, nailing Eddie with a look beyond normal categorical nerves. “You’re sure no one’s gonna come in here?”

He shakes his head. There might as well be police tape all over the door of this bathroom, that’s how off limits it is. “It’s cold, it’s broken, it smells gross. Maybe some people are using this place to huff paint, but I can guarantee, Wheeler–” and he bends a little to meet her earnest eyes, “--I will bark like a fucking rabid dog to clear ‘em away if I need to.”

Nancy nods shortly. Jerk, jerk. She disappears into the least dilapidated stall with her pee rectangle.

“God, she is so scared,” Eddie murmurs to you, crossing his arms.

You’re still studying the instructions. This shit has droppers and test tubes and color changing strips, oh my. “Pissing shouldn’t be a problem, then.”

Wrong.

“Guys.”

“Yes?” “Yeah, Wheeler?”

“I’m a little, ahem–” Bladder shy. Perfect. Awesome. Not that you guys aren’t going to be shacked up here for thirty minutes anyway, but that’s only after Nancy Wheeler goes number one and you, like, mix up the pregnancy oracle potion.

Shit. “We’ve gotta do something to like, make her chill out–” Eddie half-mouths at you.

“Yeah, but she’s so high strung, that’s like–” a spark hits you. “Wait, have you got anything on you?”

“Fresh out. Waiting on a shipment from Lipton landing.”

You smack him, not even thinking, and he winces. “And all that shit you were smoking the other day, that was–” “That was market research, babe, and I told you that–”

Nancy clears her throat from inside the stall. “Please, don’t quit bickering on my account. I’m only trying to figure out whether or not I need to start rehearsing lullabies.”

Damn Nancy, Eddie mouths and you almost laugh. Wait.

“Nance, what’s your favorite song?”

“Huh?”

You shake your hands. “Like, the song you absolutely cannot go without hearing? The one that makes you feel, just–”

“Ticklish?” Eddie suggests, the paragon of knowledge, the pinnacle of your annoyance. You thump him again. “I need a safe word.”

“Um– uh…”

“C’mon, Wheeler, the song that makes you feel just… awesome and chill and on top of the fucking world, c’mon!” Eddie encourages, kicking detritus around the bathroom floor.

Nancy eventually, eventually mumbles something.

You pivoting around on your heel by the sink. “Louder, Wheeler, I wasn’t born with sonar.”

“It’s– it’s ‘Just What I Needed’.”

What? Eddie mouths to you, arms binding across his chest.

“What, like– The Cars, ‘Just What I Needed’?”

A pause from Nancy’s end. “... yeah.”

You know this song. You know that song, right, it’s like duh-duh-duh-duh-duh-DEW-duh-duh-duh-duh-duh-DEW… Shaking yourself out, you brace up like a boxer heading into the ring.

“Gimme a lead in, Nancy.” Holy fucking shit, you’re really doing this. Nancy hesitates, probably because she can’t believe any of you are really doing this.

A mumble… “I don’t mind you comin’ here…”

“--and wastin’ all my time!” you jump in, “”cause when you’re standin’ oh so near, I kinda lose my mind…”

Visions of a plush lilac bedroom, yours, and a mountain of clothes and makeup and drained wine cooler bottles on the floor. You, standing on your bed in your socks and shorts, vamping– Tina and Carol singing hairbrush backup, Nicole on air guitar and Cass smoking out the window. There were flashes of this, you know, when it wasn’t all boiling vitriol and subtle shivving and one-up-manship. When you and those girls that you wished you weren’t near but knew you needed actually felt like friends.

A memory like that makes you feel empty.

“It’s not the perfume that you wear,” oh my god, “It’s not the ribbons–in–your–hair,” is he really, “And I don’t mind you comin’ here– and wastin’ all my time!”

Why the fuck does Eddie Munson know this song?! Your jaw drops open, your eyes go wide and your feet stamp against the tile like a goddamn kid. Yes! Yes! Amazing! You’re both so fucking out of tune, like there is absolutely a reason he does not sing a single note in Corroded Coffin but by god alive, you’re giving it everything you got in that fucked up boy’s bathroom.

Eddie’s so much better at it than you are, pouring every bit of obnoxious showmanship into it that he possibly can– complete with pulling you in for a fully nonsensical dance number. You spin into him, crashing into his chest with a clumsiness you never thought possible, laughing so hysterically that you can barely get the words out. He’s holding the reins, and holding that falsetto so badly you think the mirrors will shatter.

Your skin is buzzing, your heart is hammering and Eddie is pressed against your back and you are both scream-singing to the door of Nancy’s cubicle– “I guess you’re just what I needed! Just what I needed! I needed someone to feed– I guess you’re just what I needed! Just what I needed I needed someone to–”

“Pee! Pee, you guys, I’m peeing!” Nancy’s voice, bright and high from actually laughing, rings from the busted toilet.

You and Eddie erupt into a triumphant yell, him shaking you like a rag doll against him. The laughter peels away and then it’s just kind of him, looking at you from over your shoulder. His arms wrapped tight around your waist. His lips, a little cracked. Breath a little labored. Lashes still so long. You nearly–

The door flings open and he jumps away from you first. Nancy heads toward the sink and you resume the position, helping her figure out the Chemistry play set that holds the answer to how the rest of her life pans out. Thirty whole minutes, they’ve got to wait.

Nancy notes the time on her watch.

She even suggests that you guys can go at one point, but Eddie reminds her that a) he’s keeping an eye out for paint huffers and b) “... y’know, maybe it’s not so great to…” “Do this on your own,” you finish for him. Nancy nods, silent and grateful and so fucking nervous.

At about the seventeen minute mark, when you and Eddie have smoked four cigarettes each and Nancy has tried a puff of one (“Nope,” she hacks, “still totally vile…”), Eddie tosses this stink bomb between you two. Nancy has excused herself to stand with her head against the cubicle door. Something about calming her nerves. Coming up with a plan. Something to tell Steve, no doubt.

So it’s just you and Eddie, you sitting on the edge of the sink and Eddie rhythmically kicking the wall.

“You ever wanna be a mom?”

“Jesus, what a time to land that one on me.” You almost make a joke like you haven’t even stuck it in me yet, but that’s in bad taste. And implies a yet.

Eddie smiles over his shoulder, fluttering his eyelashes. Stupid. Stupid eyelashes. “Grounds of relevance.”

You pinch your lips between your teeth. “... fine. But, I fully reserve the right to change my answer given the fact that we are eight-shitting-teen years old.”

He points to the cubicle and mutters, “Well, she’s seventeen.”

You, wide-eyed at his dumbassery, mouth I know!

“Okay. Sorry. Go.”

“Fuuuuuck no. No babies pour moi, merci, c’est bon, au revoir!”

Eddie turns to lean against the wall, propping one leg up. God, but he does lean great.

“Why?”

“Genetic fate.”

“Huh?”

A sigh flutters out of you, shoulders slumping forward. “A certain… how do you say, thread of assholery runs through my family, I don’t know if you’ve noticed.”

Eddie nods sagely and you kind of want to punch him for it. “Daddy issues. Right.”

“Uh!” A hand flies up in your defense. “Let who among us here without them cast the first stone.”

From the cubicle, Nancy calls, “Not me.”

Surrendering, Eddie grumbles, “Yeah, not me either.”

“Glad we agree.”

There’s another tick and tock of silence, and you get the distinct feeling of something being pried open in the atmosphere.

“... whatever happened with your dad, anyway?”

Ah. The million dollar question. Whatever happened with your dad, so-called upstanding member of the Hawkins community, poor little poor boy done rich, scaling his way up the ladder of property management in this delightful little Midwestern enclave?

“Not a big fan of the news, are we, Munson?”

He seems to grimace at you tugging on his surname. “Print’s too small.”

“Taking offense to that,” Nancy chimes.

“It was the big ‘E’,” you say, kind of not into bantering about it.

“‘E’... ‘E’... ‘E’...” Eddie kicks the wall on each utterance. Possibly forgetting that he could also be the big ‘E’, if he wanted. You wonder if, just in terms of size…

“Embezzlement, Eddie,” you cut that thought off cold.

His eyes widen, eyebrows shooting under his shaggy bangs. “Shooooot.”

“Score.”

“What all did he, like… embezzle?”

The raising of the hackles is not entirely intentional. “Y’know who’d be able to answer that question, Eddie?”

But he sees it. He calms it. In unison, you both shrug, “Al Munson.”

Boom! Cubicle door flies open again. You’re starting to think that Nancy might just love making an entrance. Lot of flourishing happening here. Not entirely unlike Eddie in that way.

“It’s time.”

Each and every one of you beeline to where the test is set up on one of the sinks. Nancy gingerly plucks the offending strip from the test tube and Eddie, a man with money on his mind, asks another million dollar question. “So how do you know…”

You grab the instruction leaflet that you’d been tearing corners off of, making it look nearly moth-bitten. “Wait, it’s white, right?”

“It’s white,” Nancy whispers.

“It’s not, like… off blue, or…”

“No, that is white,” she’s trembling. “Is white– is that good, or– I can’t remember.”

“Nancy Wheeler…” you breathe, peeking over the paper, “Congratulations. You are nobody’s mother!”

She emits a shriek like nothing you’ve ever heard and barrels straight into you, near knocking you off your feet with a strength you didn’t know this little waif was capable of possessing. Her arms wrap boa constrictor tight around you, her words bubbling over like a shook up can of pop. “Jesus Christ, I’m so relieved, I just– I–!”

“You’re relieved?!” Eddie yells, ringed hands tearing down his face, “I’m way too young to be an uncle! Fuck! Thank god!”

Nancy chokes out a laugh through her tears, tears of relief, thank god and– and you don’t know if it’s selfish and you don’t know if it’s possible but you hope… you hope that’s helped close the chasm. Just a little bit. That she didn’t have to do this all alone in a shithouse bathroom that smells like sulfur and piss.

Breaking away from you (damn, you wish you knew how to hug), Nancy straightens herself up. Not that she needs to. She’s a pretty crier, that bitch.

“Just one more thing, you guys.”

“Anything,” you say before you even know you’ve said it.

“This is… between us, okay?” her eyes dart from you to Eddie, and you both take a step closer to her. Ceremoniously, Nancy holds out her two pinkie fingers. You link. Eddie links. His finger looks comically large compared to hers– and yours, when he reaches and hooks it around your unsuspecting baby finger.

“No one can know. No one needs to know.” There’s that headstrong Wheeler reserve you’d been missing.

“Cross my heart,” you proclaim.

“Hope to d– well, I don’t hope to die, that’s a little dramatic–”

“Eddie!” you both bark, varying degrees of amusement. Yours is on the lower end. “Swear on something real,” you push.

He hesitates a moment, then gives Nancy a look. “Alright. Swear on Hellfire.”

“Swear on Hellfire,” Nancy grins all tight, and kisses her right hand, hooked into Eddie’s finger. “Lacy?”

“Swear on Hellfire…” You mumble, rolling your eyes and kissing your Nancy’d hand. You need to swallow, first, before you tug your hand that’s hooked into Eddie’s toward your mouth.

And he does the worst thing. He leans down to meet your gaze, suckering you right in as his lips pout. They’re hungry. You’ve met those lips. “Swea-aar,” he sing-songs.

“--on Hellfire, okay,” you scoff, half-laughing into the little kiss.

“Ha!” Eddie barks, so fucking loud that it jumps off the walls. “Trick! You just made a deal with the devil, ladies, so I hope you enjoy eternal damnation at the hands of yours truly!”

Dumb as he is, Eddie might be right. If the way you’re looking at him is anything to go by.

author's notes: MERRY CHRISTMAS MOTHERFUCKERS. WE GOT IT WE DID IT WE MADE THEM KISS WE MADE THEM REALIZE SOMETHINGS NOT ALL THE THINGS SURELY BUT IT'S. IT'S SOMETHING. IT'S A START! on to the fun bits, like the jokes in the christmas crackers - absolutely obsessed with the mental image of eddie munson's bangs grown too long and he looking like this - cherry bombs down the john is a reference to the classic prank but mostly to american graffiti my beloved. later in the chapter, eddie says that some kid just threw some sodium down there which is something i read about on this reddit thread when researching cherry bombs. domestic terrorism at hawkins high! - p.t. barnum is that mfer that the greatest showman is based on. horrible man! not a fan! - heather holloway's jayne mansfield titties got me thinking about the jayne mansfield-sophia loren photo which has its own wikipedia page??? anyway, lacy coded! - black christmas is a stunning christmas horror film from 1974, which is loosely in part based on a bunch of murders that happened in the westmount neighborhood in montreal, quebec. fun fact, i just moved back from mtl after living there for a year. anyway black christmas kicks ASS - lipton landing is 100% a juno reference. big up my king elliot page - the thin man is one in a series of fantastic lil films from the 1930s all about nick and nora charles, a married couple that get drunk and SOLVE CRIMES. i'm not doing it justice by describing it that way but myrna loy and william powell are the royals of married banter and i model everything i write after their rhythm, more or less. - you're trying to tell me eddie munson didn't do whippets as a kid fucking wise up - one of my personal precious favourite recurring jokes in this series is 'who died and made you my x' and baby. i love a recurring joke - ronnie saying "oh she'll kill ya. then i'll go to work on ya," is a special reference because a) it's from my favourite film of all time, ocean's eleven and b) ayo edebiri, who i've fancast as ronnie ecker, has an ocean's eleven tattoo. we are sisters and also wives! - meep meep! - all i could think about when writing about how guilty lacy was - another metallica needle drop!!!! - pregnancy tests in the 80s really were that insane and involved! there's a great scene in glow (rest in fucking PEACE! gone but never forgotten) of alison brie's character using one, and here's more of the history - maybe the best needle drop of this whole series imo - finally peeped into those daddy issues. look forward to more of that and with that my hellcats, i wish you the merriest of holiday seasons wherever you find yourself and whatever you're doing. i will be back after the christmas break because i have to fully wreck my bank account and see every single person i have ever known and drink every espresso martini on dry land. sorry if there's typos in this, i have been labouring over it for... ever. reblogs, comments, likes and asks are always appreciated and i love you so much it's bordering on criminal! thank you!!!!

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fic #stranger things fic #e. munson by powder #in progress #hellfire & ice #published by powder

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