#enjoy this imaginary conversation

[siesporamor]

What the s3 Violetta love triangle is supposed to be: León vs. Clement/Alex

What the s3 Violetta love triangle actually is: Violetta vs. Violetta with a wig

#i flip wildly between enjoying the unhinged fun of this storyline and being creeped out #the way vilu literally stalks león and everyone seems fine w/ it IS disturbing #especially w/ how many of their conversations (even when vilu is roxy) have this power imbalance bc vilu knows something león doesn't #but i can often put that aside for the sake of my mental health and watch shit go down while eating imaginary pop corn #anyway. can we talk about how clement and gery are literally so irrelevant #they sometimes stir some drama but 90% of their screen time is vilu and león ignoring them bc they're thinking about each other #they get friendzoned so many times and it's hilarious #violetta castillo #león vargas #leonetta #violetta

[eddiernunson]

I Can Do It With A Broken Heart | Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader | 18+

Summary: You and Eddie have both had crap luck on dates lately, nothing that can't be fixed with a strawberry milkshake. However, he gets asked out on a date and it goes well...until it turns your life on its head and he forgets how to pick up the phone. You don't even care that he's dating someone else you just want your best friend back.

Warnings: idiots in love, best friends to lovers, ANGST, brief EddiexChrissy, ooc Chrissy, attempted SA, bestfriend!Steve, and needy, desperate smut that makes it all worth it.

Thanks to @forget-you-morelike-fuck-you for editing bestie

I’m astounded at the response to the preview I posted last week. Thank you so much for the love, I hope you enjoy all 40k (20k wtf did my brain go)

-

As you pull up to the little house at the end of the street, you look over to the sweet boy with blonde hair and green eyes nervously, curtaining a strand of hair behind one ear. He shoots you a smirk, white pearly teeth peeking from behind pretty pink lips. The date has gone phenomenally well, the conversation over dinner was easy and your date even easier on the eyes. You smooth your hands over the dress you’re wearing, picking at imaginary lint as you’re entirely unsure of what to say next.

Daniel, your date, leans onto the center console, the scent of his minty breath roping you in. “So, dinner was like, forty dollars.”

Your brows pinch together, the topic of conversation coming from left field.

“And the flowers were about twenty.” He says, his voice hinting at a subtext lost on you.

You think back to the flowers, a cascade of spring colours that drenched you in their floral scent. They sit on your dresser in a vase, waiting eagerly for you to come home.

“Okay…?” You ask, unsure of what he’s getting at.

Daniel sighs, suddenly the frustration you didn’t see before is clear on his face. “Well, I think I deserve some compensation for the princess treatment, don’t you think?”

He’s raising his brow suggestively, and the atmosphere in the car turns thick as you realize what he’s referring to. You feel so stupid. Suddenly the smirk on his face isn’t sweet, it’s sleazy. The cologne he’s wearing isn’t earthy, it’s gross. He’s not a good guy, and you feel foolish for thinking otherwise.

You think fast, lowering your eyelashes in a feigned blush. “Actually, I think it deserves just a little more than that. Be right back, I’m going to grab a condom.” You wink as you get out, the cherry on top.

Daniel lights right up, apparently not expecting his ridiculous method to work. The sound of him undoing his belt makes you nearly gag as you run in the front door.

Your dad, the sweetheart of a single father he is, welcomes you with a kind smile until he sees your crestfallen face. “You okay?”

“No,” you choke back, tears threatening to fall down your cheeks. “He’s demanding I repay him for dinner.”

“Repay?” You tilt your head, inferring what it means. “Oh. Fucking twerp. You need me to–”

“Can I have 60 bucks?” You interrupt him, avoiding his angry eyes.

He melts. “Sure.”

You walk back out the door, head held high right to the little corvette that sits at the end with the cheeky asshole sitting contently, waiting for his treat. The window is still open from earlier in the night, which works right in your favor.

“Here,” you toss the bills at him, allowing a small smile to grace your face at his confusion. “Since you’re so worried about being paid.”

As soon as he understands what you’re telling him, his face curves into a scowl, embarrassed, but too proud to say so. “Like I wanted to do it with Eddie Munson’s slut anyway!”

Halfway back up to the house, you turn back to the car as the engine growls into the night. How does that make sense? you wonder. Why am I being called a slut when I refused to put out?

The front door to your house slams shut again, and your dad receives the message that you would not like to talk about it. “Ed called just now, by the way,” he mentions as you reach the top of the stairs. Your pause in gait tells him you heard him, but you don’t respond because you can hear the smirk he wears, as much as you repeatedly tell him that Eddie is just a friend.

The flowers you thought so fondly of now have a looming presence in your room, like a dark shadow menacingly waiting in the corner. You ignore them as you lift the pastel phone to your ear, dialing the number you know by heart.

He picks up on the first ring. “Hi, sweetheart.” Relief washes over you, instant and comforting.

“Hey, Eds. How was your date?” You and he had the same plans tonight, you just hope it turned out better for him.

“It sucked,” he sighs, sounding like he’s rummaging through his messy chest of drawers. “She didn’t want a date, I guess.”

“Well what did she want?” You ask, going through your own drawers for something comfier to wear.

“Uh, to be shown a good time,” he answers dryly, the sound of rummaging coming to a sudden stop. “Heard the rumors of Munson’s magic fingers and apparently only wanted that.”

Yikes, you think. Eddie’s had many hook ups in the back of his van, but as of late he’s finding himself defeated when they don’t want him, just what he can do for them. Your heart hurt for him last week when he admitted they rarely, if ever, reciprocated.

You didn’t think it’d be an appropriate moment to tell him you would happily reciprocate for him.

“That’s extremely shitty. Guess it’s not all that different from my date though, who expected payback from spending a lousy sixty bucks.”

“Payback?”

“Asked me to suck his dick and pointed to it,” you say, a million times more bluntly than you could to your dad.

“I knew that Daniel guy was an asshole,” he mutters, mostly to himself. “I think our shitty dates deserve each other.”

You laugh, holding the PJs you plan on wearing as you sit cross legged on your bed. “To be honest, I don’t think Daniel would’ve been all that great in bed anyway.”

“I could’ve told you that. He looks like he would call thirty seconds a long time,” Eddie laughs. “Sit tight, princess, I think we’ve earned pancake night at Benny’s.”

“C’mon, I was just about to get comfy!” You whine.

“Nah, wear the pretty dress. It deserves to see a strawberry milkshake, don’t you agree?”

Honestly, a milkshake night with your best friend is exactly what you need. “Sure. See you in twenty?”

“Eh, ten.”

You throw out the flowers, tossing the vase full of water into the kitchen sink, shrugging when your dad gives you an apologetic look. You certainly are already over it, just another asshole in Hawkins, who would’ve thought? When the loud music from Eddie’s stereo pulls up, your dad nods in understanding, telling you to have fun as you leave through the front door.

The date night dress you wear is a summer dress that sits just above your knees, held together by spaghetti straps decorated with pretty blue florals. It's a dress you go to for formal events, and even saw a dance or two back in high school. Of course, you had to dust it off for the cute boy in your Psych class who ended up being a complete dickwad.

The fabric of Eddie’s beat up van is familiar. So familiar that you could argue his passenger seat has a permanent indent from your ass. Eddie has, in fact, pointed it out from one night stoned in the back with him, giggling as you vehemently denied it. At your sudden quiet shut down stature, he patted your ass gently, claiming that he didn’t want any other person’s ass planted on his seat except yours.

That conversation, as hazy as it was, stayed in your mind for days after the fact.

Eddie’s dressed in his own version of a date night outfit, tight jeans exposing his knees with jagged rips under a leather jacket and plain black t-shirt. He’s gorgeous, tauntingly so. It’s not much different from an ordinary outfit, but the faint smell of fresh laundry detergent and his best cologne is the best evidence he’s all dressed up.

The loud music speaks for him, loudly, pulling off before your seatbelt is even clicked into place.

The path from your house to Benny’s is well trekked by you and Eddie on late nights when you should’ve been doing homework but ended up goofing off instead. Martha, a waitress that’s been working there well over twenty years, smiles with smeared red lipstick and too much blue eyeshadow.

You walk in stride with each other, straight to the corner booth as the husk of 20 years of chain smoking barks over the gentle music, “Hey, you two! Eddie, are you finally taking this girl of yours on a date?”

Shut up, you silently beg her, avoiding either of their eyes as you stare at your lap, seemingly fixated on a loose thread at the hem of your dress.

“Oh, I’m not that lucky,” Eddie winks, throwing his arm behind you on the back of the booth. “We’re just recovering after shitty dates.”

“One day, you two,” she muses, tapping her pen rhythmically on her little notepad. It’s never been the same notepad twice, always decorated with a little cartoon sticker on the front. You’re tempted to run to the dollar store and grab her a larger one, but a part of you thinks she thrives on her many little notepads. “Alright, a large strawberry milkshake with two straws, pancakes with extra strawberry sauce and fresh strawberries on top, and waffles loaded with whipped cream and sprinkles. Correct?”

You nod in unison, both aware that she insists you will collectively rot the teeth out from your gums if you insist on overdosing with sugar every damn time you waltz in late at night. She’s given up offering other menu items, having ordered extra strawberries just to make up for your love of the fruit.

Less than five minutes later, following the blissful sound of a blender, the milkshake is wordlessly dropped off at the table, closer to you as even Martha knows you will be drinking 75% of it. The sweet, pinky taste flows easily down your throat, humming softly as you dip into the whipped cream with a finger. “Best milkshake in town,” You assert.

“I wouldn’t know,” Eddie answers, smirking, “you never let us get a milkshake from anywhere else!”

You giggle, licking some of the whipped cream that found a home in the corner of your mouth. “I could never! It would be like cheating! This milkshake would just know,” you drop your voice to a whisper, “it would smell the other milkshakes on me!”

“We couldn’t have that,” Eddie grins, grabbing the large glass to take a sip. “Sorry your date was such a jerk.”

You shrug, already having gotten over it. You’ll just need to sit on the other side of the lecture hall from now on. “He seemed so nice.”

“No offense, sweetheart, but I could’ve told you that Daniel Moore was a shitty person,” Eddie finishes another sip of the milkshake, making a large dip in the glass as the pink slush is pulled up the straw. “He likes to instigate.”

You rest your chin on your elbow, sad the milkshake is already nearly gone. “I had just hoped he would’ve matured by now…”

“In seven months?” Eddie asks you incredulously, raising his brows past his curly bangs. His expression quickly turns curious, tilting his head at you.

“What?”

“So, you’re willing to bet that Daniel Moore has improved just based on personal speculation alone but you’re not willing to believe me when I say Steve Harrington is no longer a douche?”

You roll your eyes. God, you should’ve seen this one coming. “That’s different! I only heard about Daniel. Steve Harrington actually sat back and laughed when Tommy asked–”

“You out as a joke, yeah, I know, I’ve heard it before,” Eddie mumbles, grinning at your shocked expression. “Well, that was like what, three years ago?”

“I still can’t believe you’re friends with Steve Harrington now, of all people! Listen, I know he’s also Dustin’s friend, but I find it hard to believe that you guys even have something in common,” You shrug.

“I still can’t believe you refuse to give him another chance!” Eddie playfully retorts, licking some of the whipped cream that still sits on the rim of the glass. “He’s in your Sociology class, isn’t he?”

Yeah, and he seems to insist on forcing his friendship on you, too, no matter how much you resist it. If you found friendship in Eddie, it seems reasonable to find friendship with Steve, too. Yet, there’s a little part that remembers the cruel laughter, his carelessness with others’ lives, and it ripples down your spine in a violent shudder.

You haven’t gotten rid of the notion of being his friend completely, but it’s just not the right time for you, yet.

You shrug. The topic has too much nuance for a nice dinner with your best friend. Just in time, Martha wordlessly drops off the two plates, the smile that spreads across your face is effortless. Zachary, the night chef must’ve heard about the shitty night and added extra for you, because the mountain of strawberries on the table is huge, even for your standards.

Eddie smirks, reading your mind. “You gonna finish all those?”

“Absolutely!”

-

Eddie sits on one side of the open courtyard, flicking off ashes from his cigarette as he waits for you to get out of class. He mentally reflects on his crazy afternoon, taking another long, much needed drag. The car with the million symptoms was one thing, but the proposition he got right before, he couldn’t wrap his head around it.

It’s been 13 days since Daniel, four awkward classes of avoiding his glare, and you’ve decided to give up on boys completely. The one you want doesn’t want you, and the dates you’re going on don’t seem to do well no matter who you say yes to. The two offers you’ve gotten in the last week were therefore denied, realizing that even if they are cute, you don’t want to lead anyone on when your heart belongs to someone else.

Before the aforementioned date, you were practically begging for someone to ask you out, but for some inexplicable reason, now you’re getting offers left and right. Somehow people just know when you’re playing hard to get.

At least Eddie’s dates seem to be going terribly for him, as well. That’s one thing you can thankfully count on.

The puff of smoke that leaves his lips as you approach him should not be as gorgeous as it is. It’s practically unfair. “Hey, Eds.”

He flicks the filter, killing it on the cement table he sits at as he blows out one more puff. “Hey, sweetheart.”

Just from that particular look in his eye, you can tell something is on his mind. “You okay, there, Munson?”

He smirks, effortlessly standing up. “I suppose. I’m not sure how to react. Or how you’ll react.”

Your brows meet your hairline, watching his mind move at a million miles per hour. “Ok, Eddie, this better be about a new class of creatures in DnD, or something, because you’re scaring me.”

He smiles, nodding his head over to the halls that lead toward the front door of the campus. “Someone asked me out on a date, earlier, today.”

Your brows furrow, biting back the jealousy that eats at your chest. Every little part of you holds back the monster that threatens to claw its way out, to snarl and hiss at every girl that even so much as looks at him wrong. It’s hard to bite it back, to choke on it purposely, but if you must, you will.

It tastes like venom as you swallow it back down. “Oh, who?”

A faint pink spreads across Eddie’s cheeks, much to your dismay. Not once, in your fuck, what, seven, eight years, of friendship have you ever managed to see Eddie blush. (Just once but it was when you nearly walked in on him jerking himself off a few short years ago.) “Who?”

“Um Chrissy. Chrissy Cunningham?”

Your jaw drops, but your gut falls through the floor. You swear you hear it smash through the tiled floors and fall into the depths of hell.

“She asked you out?”

“Hey! Don’t act so surprised! A cheerleader could like me!”

That was the last thing on your mind. Of course a cheerleader could like Eddie, they’d be stupid not to. No. Every other girl that Eddie has either slept with, or gone on a date with brought no worry to your head, competition, per se. But a girl like Chrissy, one with pretty blonde curls, adorable smile and a sweet disposition, it’s like your worst nightmare come true.

Thanks to living in such a small town, you can recall 99% of the names that Eddie had told you, whether they be hookups or a date. Most of them didn’t intimidate you, only because, selfishly, you could nitpick at things you think wouldn’t work out with Eddie. Whether they were too vapid, too shallow, had none of the same interests as him, only shallowly liked him for his looks, or was a bully…you had something to give great comfort to you to prevent that little jealousy monster from clawing its way out.

This time, your brain wracked itself for some sort of answer. Some sort of flaw in the Queen of Hawkins High that could settle this uneasiness that has taken over your mind. Nothing. Nothing.

“I’m not surprised a cheerleader could like you, I’m surprised that Chrissy Cunningham asked you out,” you answer candidly, walking in step with him to where you supposed was his van. “I’m guessing you said yes?”

“I’d be crazy not to!” Eddie answered sheepishly, tugging at the sleeves of his leather jacket. “I’m taking her out on Friday night.”

“Ah, you’ll tell Steve to take Creeper off hold for us, then?” You try to keep your tone nonchalant, but bitter jealousy coats your tongue.

Eddie stops mid stride, faltering, his brows pinched as he gives you those big brown eyes. “Shit. It totally slipped my mind.”

This is also new. Even as his dates would happen, any previously made plans with him were always a priority. You just hope this doesn’t become a new habit of his.

“We’ll do it on Saturday, yeah?”

You nod, giving him the comfort you suddenly find yourself craving. From the pep in his step, the rosiness of his cheeks, the warm glint in his eyes, you can tell that he’s truly excited. As a best friend, you try to be happy for him, however hard it is to make the smile on your face even remotely convincing.

Eddie curls his arm around your shoulder, tugging you along with him for what will probably be another afternoon in his room, clouded by a haze of weed.

You smoke more than usual, if anything to allow his excitement and plans for his big date in two days to buzz into the background, the bong hit rippling through your lungs as a punishment for yourself.

-

A weight on your bed suddenly dips down and you sit up quickly to face Eddie sitting on the corner of your mattress with a small smile on his face. Your headphones, still playing the obnoxiously loud music that drowned out his knocks, fall off your head as you sit up. You press the STOP button, clicking loudly in the silence as you stare at your best friend.

The anxiety of his date has eaten you all night long, the only thing strong enough to distract it being music loud enough to hurt your eardrums. You always feel some sort of anxiety, but tonight was even worse, eating at your brain in fear of how painful it might be to be third wheeling with him after being his #1 for so long.

For once, you can’t tell how it went. A slimy, selfish part of you is hoping he shares bad news. His smile breaks. Into a bigger, much brighter beam. Damn.

“How did it go?” You ask, already knowing the answer.

Eddie slams himself onto the bed next to you, hiding his eyes with his hands with his dimples deep, his pearly whites exposed. “Fuck, it was the best date I’ve ever had.”

Your heart shatters. “That good?”

“God, she’s– much better than I thought she could’ve been,” Eddie answers, peeking out from behind his hands. “It’s fucking crazy.”

Of course Chrissy Cunningham, a known sweetheart, is everything he’s ever dreamed of. Of course she lived up to his expectations. Just your luck. “I’m just jealous of your remarkable turn in luck, I guess.”

Eddie chuckles, turning onto his stomach to face you as he kicks his feet. “You’ll have your turn, baby.”

The pet name stings in the worst way. Instead, you raise your brow at him. “Look at you lookin’ like a schoolgirl with a crush. Pretty boy doesn’t even need makeup with all that blush.”

He rolls his eyes, pinching you on the shin. “You’re such a shithead.”

“Yeah, well you still choose to hang out with me anyway, so, that’s on you.” It takes everything in you to ask the following question, “So, tell me about your date, will ya?”

He does. He rattles on and on about how pretty she is, how easy the conversation was, how much she surprised him, how the night ended with a kiss that had Eddie giggling. He lays next to you, leather jacket put aside on the corner chair and boots next to your bunny slippers at the end of your bed. Your small twin mattress has you close in proximity, your side in direct contact with him as he rests his head on his hands.

“She’s such a cool girl, you know?”

You’re half asleep by now, allowing the exhaustion to overwhelm the slight ache in your chest. It zaps through your heart, overwhelms your senses and makes you dizzy. Your eyes flutter shut, but Eddie keeps talking softly next to you.

“Why were you blasting your 8-track, anyway?”

The question harshly yanks you out of the haze, failing to think of something that doesn’t seem completely false. You wish you were a better liar. “Just stressed out about your date.”

He gives you a strange look, eyebrows tilted. “Hmm?”

“We both haven’t had a very good track record, lately, and if things won’t turn around for me, then at least they should do one of us a favor.” Not, not the truth, but definitely an over exaggerated version of it.

“You’re so good to me, you know?” Eddie asks, intertwining his hand with yours. “Wasting your anxiety on me.”

The rings are harsh against your skin, squeezing your fingers tightly. The physical hurt is almost comforting in direct contrast to your emotional hurt.

His scent is comforting, as it lures you like the pied piper into the land of sleep. It’s about another twenty minutes until he realizes there are soft snores coming from you. He doesn’t care to drive all the way home, despite it only being a five minute drive away.

He falls asleep to your comforting breaths, allowing your hand to remain engulfed in his.

-

The loud ringing of your phone jerks you awake, quickly crawling to the side of your bed as you grab it from the dock housed on the floor.

“Hello?” Sleep sits deep in your voice, spelling out clearly to your caller that you just woke up.

It just occurs to you that you could’ve just allowed your dad to answer it.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Eddie’s voice is chipper, alarmingly so since you’re not even awake yet.

“You sound way too awake for someone that didn’t believe in waking up before 1pm,” you quip, rubbing your eyes sleepily.

“Ha,” he deadpans, yet it's clear he’s smiling. “Chris wants to meet you. I mean, I know you’ve already met her, but you know, as my girlfriend?”

Ugh. It’s been a harrowing three weeks. “Yeah, sure. What did you want to do with her?”

“I thought we could introduce her to pancake night,” Eddie sheepishly answers, like he knows you would be hesitant to invite someone into your holy ritual.

Yeah. You don’t want to invite her. But…you asked for patience last month and it seemed that the universe has answered with a lovesick Eddie Munson.

“I don’t see why not,” you lie, finding it rolls off the tongue much easier than it used to.

“You’re the best! I’ll see after you study in the library, yeah?” He knows your schedule. On Thursdays after the morning Sociology class, you opt to crawl up into a small corner and hermit yourself with snacks and a pile of books to get the work that needs to be done finished.

In high school, you could get away with doing minimum work and passing, but with your dad paying and barely able to afford it even with his second job, it sent the need to do your work to the best of your ability for once. You owed him at least that much from all the calls of missed classes for four years straight.

“Sure.”

As you stretch while hanging up the phone, you glance over to the alarm clock to see the time and it lurches you forward in bed to scramble for clothes, textbooks, and scattered papers as your lecture starts in less than twenty minutes. You’re usually already sitting in the seat by then.

On your way out the door, your dad is surprised you’re still home, offering to drive you. You don’t want to burden him even more than you already have, so you insist you can ride your bike and still get there on time. Well, at least you hope you can.

The bike rack is nearly full when you get to the college, six or seven locks messily put around the poles, most bikes already fallen over. You jam your bike in between two of them, hurriedly wrangling the annoying coil of sturdy cable between what you’re sure is entangled in someone else’s lock, too. Whatever, they should’ve been more organized.

The clock on the wall tells you class started three minutes ago and your heart falls to your stomach, knowing the professor is a stickler for punctuality. His words falter as soon as you enter the hall, the heavy door echoing its creak against the walls. He graciously allows you to sit and get situated before he continues. He makes examples of every late student, and you figured you would never be in his laser eyed focus. Well, before your alarm decided not to go off.

The last chair available is the corner chair in the front row, the one spot in class you love to avoid. It’s too close for comfort, a place he often chooses for students to answer his questions even if they don’t raise their hand.

That, and it’s right beside Steve Harrington.

His fingers raise from the desk as a greeting, sharing a sweet smile as you start to collect your textbook and notes. You awkwardly smile back at him, your attention snapped back to the professor as he pointedly talks right at your desk in his lecture. Fuck, this’ll be annoying.

By the time the three hour lecture ends, your hand hurts from the amount of notes you wrote down, one side covered in graphite from smudging the paper. Your stomach grumbles, asking loudly for lunch after neglecting to eat breakfast as usual.

Unbeknownst to you, Steve follows a step behind. “That lecture was brutal,” You hear from behind you. You toss your head over your shoulder to glance back at him before turning back around.

“I guess.” You say awkwardly. Here we go again.

“Out of curiosity, how are Eddie and his new girlfriend doing? Chrissy Cunningham, huh? I cannot say I saw that coming.”

Neither did you. “They’re doing great, from what I hear. Haven’t really met her, yet,” you answer, heading straight to the small cafe that has a home in the heart of the campus. “Listen, Steve, I really don’t want to talk about this right now.”

“Why not? You don’t think he’s happy with her, or something?”

You stop midstep, turning to face him. “It’s not that. I just don’t have the capacity for it, ok?”

“You like him,” Steve accuses, his brows meeting his hairline.

Your jaw drops, stuttering through an empty sentence. “I do not like him!”

“Really?” Steve laughs, crossing his arms as he watches you build a brick wall around yourself. “So you not wanting to talk about his new girlfriend has nothing to do with the way your face fell when I asked about it?”

How the hell did Steve Harrington pick up on it so fast, of all people?

“Even if I did, why the hell would I want to talk about it with someone I don’t even know?” You sigh, looking wistfully over to the cafe. “Besides, I’m not even caffeinated yet.”

Steve rolls his eyes, nodding towards the said cafe. “Here, if I treat you to some coffee will you talk to me about it?”

“If you add a wrap to the deal, then I’ll think about it,” You say dryly, pulling a laugh from him.

The barista, a student who you’ve gotten to know is somehow managing to do pre-law and work part time smiles nicely.

“I’ll get a vanilla latte with nonfat milk and an extra pump of vanilla, please.”

Steve raises his brow at you before making his own order, “I’ll get a medium black coffee with room for creamer, please, and whatever this lady wants from the menu.”

You scan until you reach the egg omelet wrap with mushroom, bell peppers, and tomatoes. “The loaded omelet wrap.”

After Steve pays he meets you on the handout counter. “Why nonfat milk and the extra pump of vanilla?”

“If I get nonfat then I can replace the sugar with the extra vanilla.”

“Pretty sure that’s not how that works.”

You pick up the cup as it lands on the counter, wincing at the temperature on your tongue. “It works.”

Steve grabs his, shaking his head as he makes his way over to pour some creamer in.

The wrap is soon presented as well, steaming in its cardboard sleeve as the scent alone pools on your tongue with saliva. The only thing that got you through that lecture was just the thought of lunch.

Steve meets you at a two-top by the window, setting his own bag down as he sits right across from you.

The omelet, much too hot to eat, sits waiting for you on the chestnut brown table as you sip on the latte. The latte is much too hot as well, but you’ve never had enough patience to wait for that caffeine kick. If you weren’t so afraid of your professor’s wrath you would’ve shown up another ten minutes late with a coffee cup in hand.

Steve allows you and himself a few minutes of quiet before he speaks. “So, why don’t you tell him?”

You cough mid sip, mentally apologizing to your lungs for allowing non-oxygen to make its way in. “I’m sorry?”

“Stop pretending. Eddie was dead on when he said you were a bad liar,” Steve says, grinning with stupid smirk on his face.

“Why have you and Eddie talked about me?” You ask, narrowing your glance towards him.

“Are you kidding? You’re all he talks about,” Steve shrugs, so nonchalant that you have no choice but to believe him. “Kind of annoying, actually.”

“Why?”

“I have to hear about how great of a friend this girl is but also how she can’t stand me.”

You huff in laughter at how distraught he genuinely seems by it, his face contorted into someone who definitely isn’t used to rejection. You cock an eyebrow at him. “Can you exactly blame me?”

“Yes! I can! Everybody loves me!” Steve rolls his eyes playfully, and damn it if you can’t help but find it mildly amusing.

“Hate to break it to you, there, sweetheart, but the people who were picked on by you don’t exactly crave to be around your oh-so-wonderful presence.”

He squints, crossing his arms as he leans forward. “Picked on? I mean that’s a little harsh, considering–”

“Fine, yes, you didn’t exactly jeer, or outright bully even, but you watched and laughed along and sometimes that feels even worse,” you admit, feeling suddenly small under his gaze. “Tommy and Carol said shit, that’s just what they did… But sitting back and watching sometimes is just as bad. You were nice, sometimes, I guess. But the fact that you had that capacity for kindness and chose against it just spoke volumes.”

“I met them in seventh grade. They weren’t as bad back then, mostly just somewhat belligerent. They got worse over time, but we all had terrible home lives, it was like we were the only ones that got what that was like…and somewhere along the way, I forgot that just because we had an excuse didn’t mean they had the right.”

“I guess that makes sense,” you answer, glancing at the omelet, debating taking your first steaming bite. “I mean, I’m not condoning it, but sometimes loyalty can be blinding.”

“I’m not that douche, anymore. I got that knocked out of me when I was seventeen. Literally. Now I spend most of my free time with a high school junior,” he laughs, taking another large sip of his coffee.

“Aah, Dustin,” you hum, thinking of the many instances where he had tried to convince you of what Steve had just told you. What made you so insistent on denying believing in either of your friends seems to dissipate, however, just in the friendliness that Steve radiates alone. Damn his charisma. “Would you believe me if I said he vouched for you many times?”

“The kid loves me, what can I say?” He shrugs, not hiding his laughter. “Now. Back to you. Why not tell him?”

No use in hiding it. If Steve can bare his soul in the middle of the day at a damn cafe just to get you to trust him, you suppose you owed him the same. “‘Cause he doesn’t feel the same,” you answer, starting to peel open the snack from the hunger pang. “Why make it weird when there’s nothing that could come from it?” You shrug, looking down sheepishly as the weight of your words sink into your heart like a stone.

“Doesn’t like you. Are you sure about that?” Steve asks, licking his lips.

You hesitate. “Is this a trick question?”

“Nope. I just wonder if you truly believe it, or if you’re too scared to let yourself have something you’ve wanted for so long.”

“Where do you get off on acting like you’re some sort of expert on this?” You ask, folding your arms across your chest. The question rings out from the mere fact that he is dead on the nose. He couldn’t be any more right. The very idea that Eddie had even an inkling of what you had for him scares you to death. You would rather keep him as a friend and lie in wait than lose him from a great love and not have him at all.

“I’m more observant than most people give me credit for,” he admits, twirling his almost empty coffee cup. “I’ve heard countless hours of Eddie talking about you, yet I haven’t heard him speak once about Chrissy. That says a lot, don’t you think?”

“Well, me neither, and I’m his best friend. Don’t get down on your luck.”

“You are both idiots. Just tell him. Seriously. I’m sick of you both acting like a pair of love sick fools.”

“You seem to be very convinced of something that is not real,” you tell him, garbled from the bite of omelet you’re in the middle of swallowing. “If you keep this energy up when you’re studying, you would probably do pretty well for yourself.”

“Fine. Remain in denial. I don’t care. You can destroy yourself from the inside. Who cares? Just, let me in. I need someone to help me with these assignments. They are mind numbingly dull.” He throws his hands up like he’s admitting defeat.

“You need a study buddy?” You laugh, hiding the food that sits in between bites. “I suppose that could be arranged.”

“Sweet. Now are you gonna treat me to a coffee every now and then, or?”

“I have a single father, not an unlimited credit card from Daddy’s big business, Steve Harrington.” You say matter-of-factly, jabbing your finger towards him accusingly.

“Oh, so I have to provide the newly released movies and buy the coffee, I see how it is.”

“Privilege breeds responsibility, Stevie. I don’t make the rules.” You give him a half smirk. As you look at him, you’re finally seeing the person you thought could see all those years ago behind the mask of his terrible friends. Steve’s ambush would be the best thing to come out of the next few weeks.

Because it turned into hell.

-

As your hair runs wild behind you, there’s a grand attempt to allow yourself to let the wind distract you from the sinking feeling in your gut. It grows bigger and bigger, until it becomes unbearable as you reach the gravel lining the trailer park. You allow your bike to fall heavily on the trailer, taking a moment to collect your courage before knocking on Eddie’s front door.

It feels weird knocking. You can’t even recall the last time you did. But, you refuse to overstep any boundaries that might not be communicated yet. Being on Chrissy’s good side will make your life a lot easier.

Eddie answers the door, out of breath and sweating with wild eyes and even crazier hair. “Hey!”

“Hey,” you greet, stepping in right behind him. You blink, taking in the pristine surroundings. It’s like stepping into an alternate dimension, one where Eddie and Wayne regularly cleaned their trailer and preferred the smell of lavender over stale beer and greasy pizza boxes. The kitchen is spotless, the living room has a lit candle sitting on the coffee table, and the shelves containing the million mugs were dusted. “Who are you and what the hell did you do with my best friend?” You laugh.

He chuckles sheepishly, crossing his arms in front of his chest as protection. “Uh, is it too much?”

“Better warn her now so she doesn’t get used to cleanliness,” you answer, watching as the surfaces around you sparkle and shine.

“Ha, ha. I have to get dressed. I have some snacks on the kitchen counter. You mind starting the popcorn?” Eddie doesn’t bother waiting for you to answer, already walking to his room.

You get a glimpse of his bedroom as he shuts the door behind him, smirking at the clothes still scattered on his floor. At least one part of this little haven of yours remains normal.

The popcorn shakes in your hold as you continually stir it on the stove to prevent it from sticking to the bottom of the thin aluminum bottom and burning. Just as the first batch of kernels reach their limit, a knock from the front door hits, each one feeling like a crack in any normalcy you’ve ever had.

Things will never feel the same ever again. Not after tonight. On your way to open the door you try to tell yourself that it can be a good thing.

Right?

The door opens to the once head cheerleader of Hawkins High, wearing a pink dress that fits her tiny frame nicely with blonde curls and bangs that beautifully frame her face. Her hands are folded behind her back, standing meekly in white sneakers and long lashes and blue eyeshadow. It’s hard not to be envious of how pretty she is.

It’s clear she’s not expecting you to open the door. “Hey! Sorry, Eddie’s just in his room. He should be out any minute.”

“Oh. Ok,” she enters as you back up, wringing her hands together, probably out of anxiety. “What movie did he rent?”

“You know, I was so busy making fun of him for cleaning up for once I didn’t bother to ask,” you admit, hoping to make the atmosphere just a little bit lighter.

She looks around the place, seemingly taking it in. “Hmm,” she hums, walking over to the couch. “It’s cute when they try so hard.”

“Sure,” you answer, walking back to the kitchen, hoping the popcorn isn’t irredeemably burnt. “Do you want butter on the popcorn?”

“Yes please!”

You’re in the middle of mentally begging Eddie to come out already while the butter melts in the microwave, the hum of the microwave loud in the silence.

“Okay! I’m ready!” Eddie announces, opening the bedroom door with a flourish. “Sorry for the wait!”

As he gets to the couch behind Chrissy, he wraps her in a big hug and plants kisses all over her neck. “How you doin’, sweetheart?”

You hold back the nausea as you pour the hot butter all over the popcorn in the large plastic bowl. You find it ironic that this is the same bowl you’ve held back Eddie’s hair over as he hurled into it. You just hope Wayne thoroughly cleaned it.

“Popcorn is ready, can y’all help me bring the chips and candy?” You ask, shaking the bowl to coat the butter over each kernel.

“We can do that,” Eddie answers, grabbing Chrissy’s hand as they walk to the kitchen.

“How can I help?” Chrissy asks, arms open as she looks around a kitchen she has no familiarity with.

“Um there’s some soda in the fridge, grab me and Ed a Coke, and you can grab yourself whatever you want,” you answer, pointing to the twenty year old fridge in the corner.

“Hand me some,” you command, holding a single hand for one of the many bags of snacks Eddie juggles.

The popcorn and a couple dozen little bags land on the coffee table in front of a blank tv screen. Chrissy sits with a soft grunt in between the two of you, cradling the cans of coke and sprite in her tiny arms.

She distributes the cans, handing them over to you and him. Eddie squats in front of the TV, pressing play on the tape which he apparently already prepared to watch. His plaid boxers peek out of his jeans, sitting above the studded belt as he adjusts volume and picture.

You share a smile with the blonde, opening your can and wincing at the loud hiss. You keep thinking about the days you and Chrissy will look back on how awkward this was. How the first days of this trio were so weird, and off putting, and how she thought you were a bitch when she met you.

Where she’s a friend.

You have to try.

“What are we watching?”

Eddie turns around slowly, that over exaggerated smile on his face that tells you he’s up to nothing but trouble. “Oh just a little somethin’”

“Oh god,” you wince, knowing that look on his face. You lean into her, whispering, “Hope you like horror.”

Chrissy turns to you with wide eyes and a queasy smile. “Not really.”

“Oh, this one is a classic,” Eddie promises, animatedly using his hands as he crouch-walks back next to her. “If any movie can turn someone into a horror fan, it’s this one.”

As soon as the music starts playing you recognize it. It’s a tune you’ve heard many times in his living room, subjected to it too many times if you had anything to say about it. Of course, you’ll watch it with him every time, regardless.

“Halloween? Seriously? The serial killer stalking the babysitter? You couldn’t think of anything else?” You roll your eyes. He could probably do a whole reenactment of the movie word for word if he tried.

“It’s a classic for a reason, sweetheart,” Eddie tells you, grabbing the bowl straight away. Of course, he will rip through the popcorn, he always does.

You feel Chrissy tense up, not that you can blame her. You suppose a talk about proper pet names will be necessary.

Each bag of snacks is eventually opened because you can’t stick to one bag long enough to finish it even if you tried. You get bored of the same taste too often. You have your favorite few, fuzzy peaches, M&Ms, Reese's Pieces, Swedish fish, and last and most controversially, at least where Eddie’s concerned, salt and vinegar chips.

He always has his own snacks at his disposal from nights of having the munchies, always on a dollar store run for said snacks. At each movie night he restocks, both yours and his alike, and suddenly you realize you will need to remember Chrissy’s too, if you’re going to be cordial.

With each bloody death that splatters the walls on screen, Chrissy grows closer and closer to Eddie. There’s a part of you that has considered using scary movies to cuddle up to him, but you’re just not genuinely scared of them enough to consider it. The ruse would’ve faded eventually. You try not to let the jealousy eat you up from the inside, no matter how much it burns your skin.

His arm wraps around her, petting her shoulder gently as she whimpers at the slash of his knife. “It’s corn syrup. Totally fake. You can tell by the color, it’s way too bright.”

Towards the end, the loud, chirpy, nauseating sound of kissing fills your ears. Your eyes can’t help it, they move towards the noise and immediately regret it. Oh god, they’re kissing. If you can even call that kissing. He’s practically engulfed her mouth.

Surely, with the company they have, they’ll stop, right? Their heads will remember and sheepishly get the fuck off each other? Right?

Two scenes and what feels like forever, later, you realize how wrong you are. “I’m glad you two are crazy for each other, really I am, but can we please wait until I’m gone?” You give an awkward laugh to try to stifle the discomfort coursing through your veins.

Eddie makes a surprised sound, almost like he completely forgot you were there. “Shit–sorry.”

Chrissy doesn’t make any apologies, in fact, you miss the way she rolls her eyes against his chest. She wanted to keep going, hoping you would take her hint to get lost.

Before long, the end of the movie finally arrives, the end credits rolling with that famous piano tune. Chrissy has practically stitched herself to Eddie’s side, her arms wrapped around his waist. The popcorn bowl is nearly full. All that work on it for nothing.

You sigh, about to claim that it’s your cue to leave when–

“I’m thinking we should show Chrissy one of our pancake nights, don’t ya think?”

No. You don’t want that. From the way Chrissy completely tenses up, neither does she. But for his sake, you both reluctantly agree.

Hawkins looks a lot different from Eddie’s backseat.

As the ring of the bell against the glass door announces your arrival, Martha’s head snapping up from the magazine she’s buried her nose in. “Hey you two, I was wondering when I would see you again!”

You and Eddie walk directly to the corner booth, as per usual, Chrissy trailing a half step behind him with her left hand intertwined with his right. Before Martha walks up to the booth, she starts the blender, the sound oddly comforting for how uneasy you feel.

“Well, looks like we got ourselves a little straggler! What’s your name darlin’?” She asks, the notebook she now holds a dark purple instead of the red she had last time.

Chrissy stares blankly at her, curling back into him. You don’t remember her being this shy in High School.

“This is Chrissy,” Eddie introduces her, giving her a fond look. “She’s my girlfriend.”

Martha’s penciled brows raise straight to her ruby red hair, the chewing gum loud in her silence. Her surprise only lasts two seconds, shifting into hospitality for the new member. “Welcome to these two’s many, many nights spent here at Benny’s. In fact, could you make them come a little less often. We’re starting to get annoyed at them.” She jokes, throwing a wink at you.

You laugh with Eddie, taking note of the fact that Chrissy is still silent.

“Alright, well I already know what these two want, did you need a second to look over the menu?”

She nods.

“Alright, well, I’ll be right back with your milkshake.”

“Can you make it one medium, one large with two straws?” You ask Martha, sure it would get more awkward if she brought one for you and Eddie to share.

“Oh, sure,” she answers, her voice unusually soft.

Less than five minutes later she returns with two milkshakes and a menu.

“Oh,” Chrissy comments, looking curiously at the pink ice cream drink in front of her. “I don’t really like strawberry. Can I get vanilla instead?”

Your forehead meets the table, punishing yourself. “Shit. I’m so sorry! I didn’t even think to ask.” Eddie apologizes.

“It’s fine.” Chrissy smiles sweetly at him.

“Oh, you gotta eat breakfast, it’s tradition,” Eddie mutters, switching her page to the all day breakfast menu.

“Hmm,” she responds, pointing to one of the menu options. “I think I’ll get the poached egg with the avocado toast.”

“Alright. Should be out quickly,” Martha answers, grabbing the milkshake from them.

“How often do you guys come here?” Chrissy asks, turning her face to Eddie.

He shrugs nonchalantly. “Probably more often than we should. Like when shit goes sideways, or we need a hit of sugar, or when we just feel like bugging Miss Martha, over there.”

“When did you start coming?”

“My junior year,” you answer, smiling at the memory, “his second attempt at senior year, we both didn’t want to go to the stupid school dance, so we decided to get dressed up and come here, instead.”

“Why didn’t you want to go?”

Eddie shrugs, petting her shoulder with his thumb. “We thought it was dumb. Then, we ened up coming back when both of us failed this one really important bio test. Then, by the third time she remembered our orders and had the blender going by the time we sat down.”

Eddie asks how your day was, so you inform him you managed to have a civilized conversation with Steve Harrington. You have an audience for the conversation, one member animatedly interested, the other politely listening.

Polite is definitely the way to describe it, no spark in her eye. At least, not the one she wears when she listens to her boyfriend speak. In fact, you can practically see them glaze over.

Just as you nearly avoid explaining the main topic of the awkward conversation, Martha comes back over with two plates, one for you, one for Chrissy. It’s only half a moment until she’s back with the new milkshake and third plate.

The mountain of strawberries is bigger than average this time, this larger size becoming something you might get used to if the staff continues to spoil you like this. You take another flick of whipped cream from the top of the milkshake, suddenly realizing you’ve barely taken a sip the entire time. Damn, it’s usually half gone by the time you get your food.

“Do you guys order the same thing everytime?” Chrissy asks, looking at both of your plates.

“Yup!” You exclaim, spreading the strawberry sauce around your plate.

Her blonde brows furrow. “Maybe it’s not good to eat this much sugar every time you guys come here,” she comments, cutting at her squishy green toast. It doesn’t look appetizing to you in the least.

“It’s not like we come here every night,” Eddie laughs, spreading his sprinkled whip around the fluffy waffle. “It’s fine to indulge every now and then, you know?”

“Maybe you guys should try something a little healthier?” Chrissy asks, her voice having what you think is a little bit of a bite in it.

“People don’t exactly come here to eat healthy, Chrissy,” you laugh, thinking of the menu item called Heart Attack Jack, which is a burger doused in American Cheese with layers of bacon and a bucket of grease. It’s not going to be a soccer mom’s number one choice for health.

“You don’t have to bite my head off, it was just a suggestion,” Chrissy mutters, curling into herself.

“I-I didn’t,” you reply, very surprised at her knee jerk reaction. “I’m just saying, if we wanted to go somewhere to eat healthy, we probably wouldn’t pick a greasy diner in a small town in the middle of nowhere. Honestly, I’m not sure anywhere in Hawkins really has the healthiest choice.”

“Chris, what she’s trying to say is that eating a crap load of sugar is just tradition at this point,” Eddie says, intertwining her hand with his. “It’s a part of our ritual. You don’t have to eat like us if you don’t want to, we just thought you’d want to be included.”

“It’s just a lot of sugar, is all.” She’s barely taken a chunk out of her food, resembling a bunny in the very small, very tiny bites she continues to take. “Maybe I won’t join you guys next time. I don’t really understand the point.” She says sheepishly.

In the depths of your soul, you feel at that moment you would probably never get along with her, have given up hope on her completely. It wouldn’t be for a handful of weeks until you acknowledge that you had sound reasoning.

The bill is paid, money hitting the table on your and Eddie’s parts, the vanilla milkshake just barely touched. If you knew she wasn’t gonna drink it you would’ve doubled down on the strawberry, Eddie hates vanilla.

As you walk out to the van, trailing behind them as he wraps his arm around her shoulders, you find yourself at an impasse. “Eddie, can you give me a ride home?” Chrissy asks. She moves on her tiptoes to whisper in his ear, “Maybe I can ride you before you drop me off?”

The pancakes you wolfed down churn back up your throat, threatening to make their second appearance for the night.

Eddie’s cheeks flush, his eyes wide as he tugs her in. Guess that answers that question. “Um, do you need a ride?” He asks you, almost avoiding your eyes.

Chrissy’s death stare is plain as day, silently warning you not to take it. Fine, you didn’t want to sit in the van with these two, anyway.

“No, it’s fine. I can grab my bike from the back.”

Chrissy beams, her curls bouncing as she jogs to the passenger seat. You hope your ass imprint is uncomfortable for her.

Eddie returns with the bike, putting it gently down in front of you. “Hey, Ed?”

“Hmm?”

“Might want to teach your girlfriend how to whisper,” you tell him, grabbing the handles from him. “It’s not considered a whisper when everyone in a ten foot radius can hear!” It comes out harsher than you intend it, but with how horribly tonight has gone, you can’t bring yourself to want to apologize.

“Oh, fuck,” Eddie swears, the pink in his cheeks now from embarrassment. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t mention it,” you insist, dismissing it. You had a feeling she said it loud enough for you to hear on purpose, anyway. “Just use protection, ok? We don’t need any more Munsons in this world running around, creating chaos.”

If you got Chrissy pregnant I would actually be sick, is what you mean.

“Shut up,” Eddie laughs, wrapping you in a hug over the bike. “See you next time, slugger.”

That was when you changed from sweetheart to slugger.

-

There’s no whiplash like discovering your best friend is a completely different person when he’s in a relationship. On one hand, phone calls with him are as ordinary as always, teasing and jeering and flush with the familiarity of a best friend.

On the other hand, when you meet with him and his girlfriend, he seems to dampen his wild personality and slice it into ribbons for her sake. It kills you.

Reruns play on the small tv, old cartoons Wayne recorded for a rambunctious little kid in his mix. You’ve watched them enough to know some of them by heart, especially your favorite gags.

Eddie sits in the corner of the couch, curled up with Chrissy on his lap as they talk quietly. They’re low enough you can barely make out what they’re saying, but from the giggles alone, you have no interest in the nausea it would give you.

She was already in his lap when you got there, a sarcastic comment choked back having something to do with maybe getting off, opting to sit on the other end.

“Oh, Ed, the movie is next Friday,” you remind him, taking another sip of the ice cold coke in front of you.

“Remind me what that was?” Eddie asks you, peering his chin over Chrissy’s head.

You narrow your eyes, scoffing in incredulousness. “Uh, hello? I did not wait in line for hours for the Princess Bride just for you to forget!”

“OH, fuck I didn’t realize that was coming up so quickly!” Eddie exclaims, a wild look in his eyes. “Well, shit I’ll make sure to free my oh-so-busy schedule!”

“Sweet.”

“Oh, I totally wanted to see that movie!” Chrissy chirps, sitting up in Eddie’s lap. “Are there any more tickets for the night you guys are going for?”

“It’s been sold out for weeks,” you shrug, chomping on a potato chip. “I stood in line for like six hours that morning.”

“Oh,” she mutters, curling into him.

You wish you could say it doesn’t give you great pleasure to know she won’t be able to crash your movie night.

“You think, uh,” she starts, turning around to face you. “You think I could have your ticket and Eddie could take me?”

You scoff, bewildered that this even crossed her mind. “I beg your pardon?”

“I mean, I really wanted to see it and it doesn’t really make sense for you two to go out for a date, now that he’s dating me…”

“I think you forgot the part where I stood in line for six hours to get these tickets,” you reply, trying to catch Eddie’s eyes. He’s avoiding you.

“And I’m sure we’ll all go next time!” She offers as an almost smug smile plays at her lips.

She can’t be serious. After watching her face, you realize she is fully expecting you to give up your ticket so she can go with him. Guess that Iron Maiden concert coming up this summer is off the table, too, you think, rubbing your eyes tiredly.

You look at him, waiting for him to say something to indicate how ridiculous his girlfriend is being, to stand up for you.

Oh. He’s not going to.

“I really don’t see the big deal.” Chrissy scoffs.

Of course you don’t. “I’m sorry, but I’m not giving you my damn ticket!” you snap. “If you really don’t want Eddie to come with me that badly then I can get Steve to take me.”

Which is ridiculous, Eddie was the one who wanted to see this movie in the first place. It looked like it was about adventure, something Eddie loves in movies. You decided then sure, since his birthday is right after the movie comes out, you’ll stand in line for the tickets then treat him to a fun movie night.

If Chrissy is uncomfortable with that, then that’s her prerogative, but she can choose something else to do with her boyfriend since she wants to so badly. You won’t let her walk all over you.

Chrissy doesn’t answer, but she’s clearly upset by yours. “It’s alright, babe,” Eddie hums, tugging her up against his chest so she curls into him. “I can wait until it comes out. We’ll just rent it, yeah?”

You’re not sure which makes you more nauseous, the fact that he just made a plan with her that won’t come to fruition for six months, or that he had nothing to say in the conversation.

You’ve never felt so unwelcome on his couch. “I’m gonna head home. I’ll see you later.”

Whatever comes out of Eddie’s mouth then falls on deaf ears as you fight the tears that irrationally threaten to spill over your water line. They’re stupid, your emotions are stupid, the movie is stupid.

-

Steve sits on the other side of the light brown table in the library, hunched over some notes as you explain the concept to him once more.

“Ugh, this is ridiculous, I’m going to forget this as soon as we learn it,” Steve whines, rubbing his eyes.

“Well you’re only taking Sociology because you haven’t claimed a major yet and sociology is required in most degrees.”

“That’s true,” he smirks, stretching his arms. “This still is all starting to look like gibberish. I get it, we live in a society in which the rules are not in our favor, why does that have to be studied to this intent?”

You shrug. “It’s fascinating.”

“To who?”

You roll your eyes, wondering how he grew on you like a weed. “Alright, we’ll take a break, then.”

“Any plans upcoming for next Wednesday?”

“Uh, no, at least not that I’m aware of,” you answer, putting your highlighter down. “We were supposed to see the movie for it, but, well you know how that turned out.”

“I’m sure there’s something he’s planning,” Steve assures, tapping his pencil rhythmically. “It’s not like him to not make a spectacle of his birthday.”

That, you agree with.

“Dustin said he hasn’t heard anything about it, either. He almost planned a surprise party for him. You think he’s just taking it easy this year?”

You doubt it, he’s turning 21, after all. Not like hasn’t been going to bars since he was fifteen, but now at least he’d be able to go into a major city with his real ID without getting flagged. Last year he prattled on about plans for this one, how he was gonna have a big rager at Steve’s and drop a whole paycheck on kegs.

You’re sure if he was going to do anything in those next two days, then he would’ve told you by now.

That Wednesday morning, you rise early to the sound of your alarm.

The kitchen counter is already filled with the ingredients you need, preparing for a labor of love. You hook your Walkman to your jeans, listening to the music blaring in your ears as you add one ingredient at a time, watching the batter slowly come to shape.

It’s familiar, your mom’s famous homemade recipe for cake batter. After missing her many cakes and the familiarity of her food, you finally searched for the cards containing her neat print, clearly and concisely telling the reader what her recipes needed.

It became your favorite thing to do when you missed her.

As you pour the batter into each divet in the tray, you recall the first time you thought to make a birthday cupcake for Eddie.

Neither of you cared much for first period, so it was easy to catch him before he woke up. That day you presented a vanilla cupcake with a swirl of black and blue frosting. You learned that morning he hates vanilla.

Every other instance of making him a cupcake has been a litany of flavors, but never vanilla.

As they bake, you whip up the frosting with a hand mixer, hoping the low hum doesn’t wake your father. He works so hard already. Red food coloring turns it from white, the process all too satisfying.

A plastic sandwich bag with the corner cut off is always just enough for you to pipe frosting on, the skilled hand you’ve trained after trial and error working fast.

Your dad always knows on February 19th he will wake up to 11 cupcakes on a big plate.

The pastry sits in a comically large container as you borrow your dads truck, the sun just barely peeking over the horizon as you climb the stairs to the Munson’s front door.

You balance the cupcake in your hand as you head straight down the hall towards Eddie’s room. The sounds filling the trailer take a moment to register, for some reason not realizing how quiet it should be on an early weekday morning. The only sounds should be that of an early bird or newspaper hitting the front door.

Dread finds home in your stomach, as if on a very instinctual level you realize what you’re hearing. Though for some crazy, masochistic reason, those instincts wanted to be sure.

His door, wide open, reveals him hunched over Chrissy with the blanket barely covering his broad shoulders as he’s rocking. He’s rocking…and oh, you can hear her, too.

She’s moaning, whining, clawing her nails up his back like a leech, or worse, a tick, digging itself in and refusing to give up the tight hold they have on their victim.

Your mind goes empty, numb, until you hear her faintly wish him a happy birthday. You blink yourself out of the trance, blindly stumbling back into the fresh air of the living room. The cupcake lands on the kitchen counter on your way out the door, not caring as it slams behind you, definitely alerting Eddie and Chrissy of the third unknown presence in the trailer.

You couldn’t find it in yourself to even care about it, the queasiness deep rooted in your stomach threatening to make itself known on the outside plants.

You have a class in less than an hour, something you need to continue into the second year of your Communications degree, but not something that requires brain power.

The simple question of how you managed to ride your bike all the way to the campus, take notes in your class and blindly walk over to the library will always escape you. You somehow watch yourself go through the motions until you meet Steve at the cafe.

The moment he sees you, he knows something is wrong just by the deadened stare that’s taken over your face.

When you break down into tears, he brings you to his house, letting you finally admit to him what you’ve been afraid to admit to yourself.

You’re in love with your best friend. And while you’re doing your best to be happy for him, your poor heart can’t handle it.

-

The cupcake isn’t mentioned until you call him two days later, still heartbroken, but missing his voice. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, despite the great ache that makes each and every day fuzzy.

Usually, more than half the cupcakes get eaten by him, which is why a dozen are made each year. There’s still more than half left, the very sight of the cupcakes depleting your appetite as his continued absence carves a bigger and bigger hole in you.

He answers on the fifth ring, sounding as if he’s in the middle of rummaging through items in some way, slightly out of breath. “Hey, Chris, sorry I can’t find–”

You swallow the pain. Maybe the lump of pain swallowed in your stomach will finally evict itself like the contents of stomachs should. Yet, the more you throw it up, the more it seems to gather. How does that work? “It’s me.” You say dryly, tiredly.

“Shit,” he breathes, the background noise coming to a sudden halt. “Hey, you.”

“Hey. How was the cupcake?”

“The mysterious appearing pastry was delicious as always, slugger.” Slugger. “What-what time did you drop it off?”

You know that he knows that you heard something. He doesn’t know how much you heard, but he knows the slam of his front door was you.

“I didn’t hear much. Just enough to know you had already received your birthday present for the year,” the attempt at humor doesn’t hit you very well. You’re not sure how it’s received, but Eddie laughs regardless.

“Sorry about that, she slept over the night before unplanned. I should’ve remembered your yearly morning cupcake.”

“Should’ve remembered you have a girlfriend,” you answer, wishing you had that better judgment. “Did you do anything for your birthday?”

“Chris took me out for dinner with her parents.” Honestly, that sounds like it was for her more than it was for him.

“Sounds fun,” you deadpan, earning earnest chuckles from him.

“They’re an acquired taste,” Eddie offers, allowing your slight criticism of his birthday party.

“You sure you still don’t want to go to Indianapolis and bar hop?” You can’t help but ask. It’s like you can hear his reluctance to accept the celebration he got.

“Nah. Besides, we can’t risk your fake ID, after all.” He pauses, an understated sigh passing through his breath. “How has school been?”

Small talk is not often something that passes through a conversation between you two. You’re aware of it, he’s aware of it, and it turns the conversation into something almost jilted.

“I miss you,” you admit, lying back on your bed.

“I miss you,” he parrots, soft and sweet.

“Can we do something? Just you and me?”

He chuckles, low and under his breath. “Sure. Pancake night. Just you, me, and Martha’s perfume.”

…that never happened.

-

The less you see Eddie, the more you end up hanging out with Steve. He seems to want to introduce you to his own best friend, but your admission of not wanting to be a third wheel again gets him to drop it. You can’t help but notice the only times you speak to Eddie are when you call him. He hasn’t called you since asking for Chrissy to join pancake night.

That alone wouldn’t entirely convince you to not call him anymore. The jilted conversations always ending with promises of time with one another never coming to fruition. It’s the equivalent of being skinned alive, one strip at a time.

Steve has watched the circles under your eyes darken, the enthusiasm in class deplete, and the lust for life dissolve before his very eyes. To say he’s pissed at his friend is to understate it, he’s ready to tell you to give up on him and forget he exists.

Yet, Steve knows how unlike Eddie it all is. Dustin has complained he hasn’t been called back for a long time, Gareth reached out to you asking if you’d heard from Eddie lately as they haven’t rehearsed for a while. He garners more concern than anger at times.

Steve’s living room has become a new choice of hang out space, but the unnatural cleanliness of the house, the lack of cologne that both Eddie and Wayne use, the familiarity of eight years of friendship, it gives this unrelenting feeling of emptiness. It’s worth trying to fill it with edibles and weed.

It doesn’t seem to work, but you’ve become more open, more free willing with him as a direct result. He doesn’t favor horror movies like you and Eddie, but you find common ground in action and slapstick comedy, instead. Anything but romcoms, you implore. Anything even close to resembling romance is rejected.

Steve spills the latest he heard from Hawkins’ elite country club group, a bunch of ladies with nothing better to do with their afternoons than spread rumors about the population as a whole and judge them for it. Steve knows for a fact which members of the country club have side women, bringing them in hours after walking in with their own wives.

It’s so nice to be concerned with the lives of others and to not care about yours falling apart at the seams. Well, really it's being ripped apart by Chrissy Cunningham’s greedy little claws.

Ironically enough, you get paired up with Steve for a major assignment in Soc class, one required to analyze social constructs that have been deep dived in class. Another little gift of irony is you were given Social Stratification, which is the hierarchical arrangement of individuals or groups within a society based on various factors such as wealth, power, and prestige.

Being from two very different classes, you and Steve find yourself uniquely qualified to discuss the topic.

It provides opportunities to hang out together, distracted by the collective want to not work at all, but driven by an looming due date. Your mind wanders to Eddie non stop, wondering how he is, if he’s ok, if work is still giving him a hard time, did he finally get the belt he was needing, if Wayne was taking it easier.

Your fingers itch for the phone to call and ask, always haunted by the memory of each phone call, the polite conversation and empty promises. You crave to remember what it was like before.

Steve seems to act as your voice of reason, disencouraging you every time you mention wanting to call him. He sympathizes, of course, but he recalls the last time you called him and the aftermath following it.

When the assignment is finally in the last stages, making final edits to clear up any loss in conciseness, the final second guesses if the point has been made clear, you sit on the floor of Steve’s room cross legged, going cross eyed as you reread it, again.

“I can’t wait for this thing to be handed in,” you groan, throwing your pen at him.

“I think we earned a celebration,” he sighs, throwing the pen back to you. “On Friday, after we finally hand over this paper to this asshole, I am throwing a big ass party in your honor.”

“A party will not make me feel better,” you reprimand, glancing at him under your brows.

“No, but a good excuse to drink the pain away, might,” he grins, leaning forward on his stomach and kicking his legs animatedly. He looks so innocent, as if he doesn’t have his own agenda. You’ve come to know him well enough that he really doesn’t. “C’mon. Let loose with me just for one night!”

You reluctantly agree to it after he pulls out his dumb puppy eyes.

News of Steve’s party spreads fast across campus, and you find yourself curiously excited for it when you usually dread dancing with complete strangers. The strangers at this point make it better, not needing to concern yourself with anything other than how the alcohol burns.

Your dad drives you to the party, the rain heavy on the pavement making it hard to bike in such weather. He’s noticed the way you’ve shut down a little bit as of lately, more than happy to bring you to a party if it means putting some life back into the eyes of his one and only daughter.

When you enter the door with slightly damp hair just from the walk from the truck, the party is already in full swing, music overtly loud, bodies bumping and dancing, empty cups already scattered on dusty surfaces.

As soon as you see Steve, he waves you over, talking to Robin, who he’s introduced you to. She became your friend the same way he became your did; ambush. Turns out, Robin is really cool. She hands you a beer, winking as you tilt your eyebrow out of skepticism.

“Beer, really?” You ask over the music, turning the bottle around in your hand.

“You’re drinking to forget, right?” She asks, an air of wisdom in her scratchy voice. “Then what does it matter what it tastes like?”

Well, you guess she’s right. You grab another from the fridge while you’re at it before they lead you to a couch. It’s surrounded by a crowd of people you mostly have never met before, more than happy to laugh with them at the particularly stupid topics of conversation.

You’re already pretty buzzed less than an hour spent at the party, having asked Steve to get you a third bottle. “Might wanna slow down, sweets.”

“I’m drinking to forget, remember?” You ask him, winking cheekily.

Time starts to meld together as the bottle gets emptier and emptier. Robin grabs you by the hand to dance with her and Steve in a circle, top 40 pop acting as a soundtrack while you forget any goddamn trouble that might have plagued you.

You’re chatting about some mindless gossip when something tells you to turn your head towards the door. The door opens to Eddie and Chrissy, holding hands as they look around the party that got even rowdier since your arrival.

Eddie’s eyes meet yours, frozen in place as the emptiness his absence has left consumes you.

“Oh shit,” Robin mutters right next to you, but you don’t answer it as you stumble your way into the kitchen.

The internal debate on whether you need to drink water or more alcohol is roaring, so you drown it with more alcohol. Maybe you can shut it up. It’s too fucking loud. The ajar door opens and closes, a presence in the kitchen you don’t bother acknowledging. You don’t smell Eddie’s cologne, the momentary disappointment flooding your senses that he saw you and didn’t even bother talking to you.

Another sip. Another gulp. Make it go away.

“I was wondering when I would run into you,” it’s not Eddie, or Steve. Confusion takes over you as you wonder which male voice in your life you’re forgetting, turning to face the culprit.

Daniel.

“Here I am, I guess,” you mutter, taking another swig. “What exactly do you want?”

“Retribution.”

“Huh?”

He laughs, cruel and blunt. “I’m here for what I’m owed, sweetheart. I don’t get told no. Girls don’t say no to me. So, I think I’m owed some payback for the humiliation you put me through.”

What the fuck?

The laughter that leaves your throat is loud and abrupt, clearly not what he’s expecting. “Oh my fucking god, you’re just delusional. Girls don’t owe you shit for buying them dinner! You ask us out for a date, that’s on you, bud!”

“I don’t fucking think so,” he growls, slinking in closer. You can smell his breath, he’s clearly been drinking. “I will get what I want, I always do.”

Panic floods your brain, suddenly realizing he’s being dead serious. “Wait–” you protest as he leans in, the wall and your back colliding harshly. “Wait, no–”

“All you had to do was blow me, baby,” he chides, as if he’s reprimanding a small child. His hand harshly wraps around your waist, preventing you from weaving from between him and the wall. “Now look what you made me do.”

You try to push him off, panic continuing to push up your throat as he proves himself much stronger than you. Oh god, am I about to get raped in Steve’s kitchen?

His hand feels slimy as it pushes past your shirt, sending a jolt of shivers down your body. You’re shaking from fear, one cheek against the wall as you continue to resist him. “Stop– Daniel, please stop–” Your voice is frantic, eyes wide in terror as you try to push his hands away.

The harsh laughter directed at your pleas are cut off, an incredibly familiar voice slicing the air with malice. “She said stop.”

The heat you were surrounded by is thrown off, leaving the cold air behind Daniel to overwhelm you as he’s thrown onto the floor.

Blows of fists on flesh fill the room, watching in horror as Eddie has him pinned, delivering blow after blow to his face. You only see a portion of Eddie, his dark jeans and leather jacket as he hunches over his victim and blindingly delivers one punch after the other. Daniel has stopped fighting back, just a limp set of limbs as it jumps from each hit.

When Eddie has shown no signs of letting up you’re forced to jump into action, stumbling as you run into his line of eyesight. “Eddie, stop! You’re going to kill him!” You plead.

The sounds of brutal fists on soft flesh die immediately, Eddie huffing as he rises to his feet. “You okay?”

You blink as his hands frame your cheeks, petting them softly with his hands. A tear falls, splashing his hand. His concern is comforting, but the direct juxtaposition of his concern from the silence he’s fed you the last few weeks washes over you, confusing every emotion that has been hurting.

Despite the sweet shine in his eyes as they watch you, you back from his hold in a jerk reaction. “Didn’t know you still cared about me.”

He wears the hurt from this statement on his sleeve. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You wander back over to the fridge, grabbing a beer from the second six pack you’re working through. You pop it open from the mounted bottle opener, taking a handful of sips. “You’re kidding me, right? You haven’t called me in weeks. Weeks.”

He stands there, blankly watching.

“I might be more forgiving if it weren’t for Dustin and Gareth and hell, Steve also saying the same thing. None of them have heard from you. You went from calling at least once a week to radio silence! I wanted to get along with Chrissy. I really did. I started all the conversations, offering snacks, asking questions about her, letting her set her boundaries, but she had something to say about everything we did together!”

Eddie stutters, blinking as he watches you talk. He doesn’t try to talk, doesn’t try to defend himself. You don’t give him the chance.

“She clearly doesn’t respect you, otherwise you would still be my best friend and I would remember the last time we had a normal fucking conversation. I get wanting boundaries, but at this point, I don’t think she even wants you to have friends! Is that what you want? A girl who makes you make yourself smaller for her sake and isolate completely? Really? Because that’s what you have. No horror movies? No more junk food? No heavy metal music? She’s making you shrink yourself so she deems you desirable! Fucking– I can’t watch it anymore.”

“Wait, what do you mean–” he’s interrupted by the door closing, a yelp filling the room as Chrissy runs to him.

“What happened to your fists?” You glance down to them, seeing bruises lining his knuckles.

“Nothing, it’s fine. I’m fine,” he assures her, putting his hands on her shoulders.

“Alright. Well. I meant exactly what I said. I can’t do this one sided friendship thing with you anymore,” you take another swig, wondering how the bottle was already so light. “I can’t. Call me when you find my best friend, because I haven’t seen him in three months.”

You leave the room, ignoring the calls from his mouth that suffocate you. As you stumble into the living room, you catch Steve’s eye right away, chin trembling. The hot tears that trail down your face have already drenched your cheeks by the time you realize it’s even happening, choking on the emotion that drowns you.

Steve guides you into the guest bathroom, closing the door as he watches you attempt to stop the sobs long enough to tell him what happened.

“I think–” you hiccup, sniffling loudly, “I think I just lost my best friend–” tears rattle through you once again, just saying it out loud feels like lightning in its startling ability to shatter you once more.

By the time the sobs diminish again, you’re sat on the floor by the tub, head sitting in his lap as he pets your hair. You sit up suddenly, mid hiccup as you give Steve an odd look.

He almost asks if you’re okay when you spill over his lap, whimpering between gasps as you know what you’re doing, the toilet only a foot away, but it continues to explode from your stomach.

“I’m so sorry,” you explain, tears falling again, as he sits in shock.

He grins sadly, undoing his belt. “It’s fine, sweetheart.”

He finds someone, Robin, to grab him a second pair of pants, ditching the ruined pair in the bathtub.

The dry heaving seems to stop the tears, now staring blankly with a wet face and lashes that stick together. Steve brings you upstairs, wrapping his arm around your waist as he brings you to his bedroom.

As your head hits his pillow your eyes fall closed, mumbling something about fucking up, about three months ago.

Steve locks his door from any stragglers, walking down each step to find a particular metal head to give him a piece of his mind.

From how your sobs shook your body, he might give him the whole thing.

-

The light cascading through the blinds hurts, like a dagger through your brain as you take in your surroundings. You don’t know how you got into Steve’s room under his blanket.

As soon as you sit up, the pain stabs you, pushing you back down. Ow. You don’t even attempt to get up again until the urge to pee hits you, when it’s too much to ignore. You rub your eye, tip toeing to try to get back under the dark blue comforter decorating Steve’s bed.

On the corner of the bed Steve sits, one foot resting on the other knee as he holds a jade green drink. “How badly does your head hurt?”

You wince at the volume of his voice, placing your hands over your eyes. “Not great.”

He winces sympathetically, offering the smoothie. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

Blurry images flash through your mind, the kitchen, Daniel, half of the second case gone. You attempt to remember past that point but it comes up blank. “I remember running into Daniel.”

As you sip on the surprisingly delicious hangover smoothie, Steve watches you, wearing a clear expression of concern.

“Anything after that?”

You can tell he’s egging you on, digging for something with an unprecedented seriousness in his tone. But there’s no memory after that. You gingerly shake your head, which sends more needles of pain through your skull.

“Why?” You ask weakly. Steve pauses, ruffling a hand through his hair as he releases a long sigh.

“You really don’t, huh?” Steve asks, one last attempt. “Maybe it’s good you drank as much as you did, then.”

“Steve, you’re scaring me.” Images of worst case scenarios course through your mind. What did you do?

Steve pats the spot on the bed next to you, double checking you don’t feel the urge to throw up. You don’t.

“Daniel tried to force himself on you.” He’s gentle, compassionate in his admission as he watches your reaction.

Huh. “How far did he–” you stutter, breath hitching as you bite back the sobs that suddenly threaten to rake through your body.

“He was interrupted before he even got that far,” he comforts you, wrapping his arm around your shoulder as he caresses it. “Eddie sort of bashed his face in.”

Now that you think about it, the memory of Eddie hunched over Daniel as he delivered blow after blow to his nose, his cheekbone, his eyebrow. You didn’t see the final result of Eddie’s defense, but the bruised knuckles you vaguely recall spell out how brutal the retaliation was.

Eddie.

“What–” you pause, stuttering through your breaths, “what happened after that?”

“You yelled at Eddie. Berated him. I think you even told him you didn’t want to be his friend anymore. At least, that’s what I gathered from what you told me,” he admits.

Your blood grows cold. From the weeks of silence, the jilted conversations, the slow resentment that bloomed through your stomach for him. The ache already hurt just from the absence of your best friend, but it was good for you. Fuck, this hurt.

“Is that all?”

He laughs, pulling your head into his neck. “Just that you can’t hold back your liquor.”

That’s why your breath tastes like vomit.

From the extra strength tylenol he gives you, the rest of the morning is spent helping Steve tidy up the trash around his house. Only after spending twenty minutes in the kitchen on his hands and knees scrubbing up the red stains does he allow you to help him. You only catch a glimpse of the paper towel soaked in dried blood and bleach when throwing out red solo cups, a small hint of the mess Eddie made of Daniel.

The thought of his name is a self betrayal, and you work faster once it crosses your mind.

Once the place is clean, you allow Steve to drive you home at his insistence, repeatedly asking when he pulls up to your house that you’re sure you’re okay.

Your dad is at work, not there to ask any questions you wanted to avoid from the previous night, namely why your eyes are swollen from tears. The blinds in your room fall with a trill resembling a xylophone, blocking the sun from your intense migraine.

For the first time in weeks, you’re stirred awake from sleep from the ringing of the phone on the floor that has been pushed under the bed. You let it ring.

Just as sleep pulls you back in, you’re abruptly startled as the phone alerts you again. You roll over, ignoring it as you wrap your head in your hands, curling into the pillow. No one has to get a hold of you that badly.

This person does, it seems, as they call you again. You groan, crawling over the edge as you grab the phone from your receiver. “Hello?”

You refuse the want to chew them out, to take your emotions and friendship breakup out on the person who has interrupted your sleep.

“It’s me.”

You lurch forward in your bed, still tethered to the receiver by the tightly coiled wire as it forces the receiver to scuff against the hardwood floor. Eddie.

-

Eddie’s sat on his couch, limply resting his head on the couch arm as the shrill voice of the main character complains over a problem that could be solved if she had just told someone. His hand rests on his eyes, shielding himself from the light to prevent the headache he can feel coming on. He’s given up on suggesting other movies by now, but she somehow seems to only play the movies that get on every last nerve.

He would probably be more willing to watch the romcoms in question if they weren’t the bottom of the pack. Last time Eddie even suggested a romcom he actually doesn’t completely hate he had to hear about it for an agonizing twenty minutes. Fine. She could watch her movie, he can practice on his guitar, right?

You would think.

So he dissociates and focuses on the gentle petting of his calf as he rests his leg on her lap. His mind floats to his best friend, how much he misses the smell of your shampoo, or when you make fun of the cheesier horror movies he loves to watch. If Chrissy wouldn’t make a near temper tantrum every time your name is mentioned in conversation, he would’ve called you weeks ago. He missed your voice.

Chrissy continues to insist that you like him, that you’re trying to steal him from her. It turned into many fights where Eddie felt like he was losing his mind, insisting he just wanted to see his best friend. There is a stubborn, immovable force still holding hope that something will just click one day and realize just how wrong she is. There’s a little nagging part of him, eating at his brain, warning that it probably won’t ever come true.

The possibility is almost too much for him to mentally handle, because when it blows up in his face and you decide not to forgive his radio silence, he doesn’t think he will be able to handle the absence in his life. So he procrastinates the detonation.

“I’m surprised you’re not going to Steve’s party,” Chrissy chirps, interrupting Eddie’s disarray.

Eddie blinks, trying to recall any mention of a party that might’ve slipped his mind. That might’ve been the reason for his ignorance if he could remember the last time he even spoke to Steve. He’s sure Chrissy knows that.

“I didn’t even know he was having one.”

She grabs at the extra material of his jeans, pulling his attention. “Did you want to go?”

He mentally rattles through the mechanics of going to Steve’s stupidly large house, knowing damn well his distance has managed to drive you straight into the arms of someone new, even if it’s only platonic. You’ll be there, the chance much more likely than not.

He wants to see your face, even if it’s in passing. He wonders if Chrissy sees you there if she’ll decide to leave early or just avoid you altogether. But it’s just the chance that drives him to agree.

By the time he gets there, vehicles have already littered the streets surrounding his house, some even audaciously blocking his neighbor’s driveways. Chrissy’s hand is in his as he walks in, anxiously looking around the party for you.

He peers into the living room, to the couch containing members of some of Steve’s closer acquaintances and it wasn’t long until he saw you, sitting right next to Robin holding the bottleneck of a beer bottle.

Your eyes are already on his, wide and still as you stare at him. You’re even prettier than he remembered, any polaroid he’s ever had of you does absolutely no justice to your radiant smile or vibrant eyes.

Fine, you’re staring at him like you would rather be anywhere else for the moment, panic flooding your features, but it’s a breath of fresh air for him compared to his last few suffocating weeks. As you stumble to your feet, Eddie tricks himself into believing that you’ve gotten up to talk to him until you pass the front entrance straight into the kitchen.

He supposes he deserves that, fading as Chrissy tugs him to the dance floor. His hands find her hips, allowing himself to get lost in the relentlessly catchy pop tune. He can’t help but allow his eyes to float back over to the couch every now and then, something in him carnally needing making sure that you’re safe.

Alarm bells go off, goosebumps trailing over his skin as something in him screams that you’re in danger. You could very much just be avoiding him, which he wouldn’t blame you for, not for one moment, but he wouldn’t forgive himself if he found out his worry had any footing.

“Babe, I’m gonna grab a drink,” he mutters, blankly kissing her sweet scented blonde hair before his long legs take him to the kitchen.

His stomach drops as your voice fills the kitchen, asking the asshole with wandering hands to stop as he forces himself on you.

The next thing he knows, Daniel is under him, his back slammed on the floor with a face scrunched up in pain as Eddie’s fists are flying. His fists, his jeans, the floor, the whining little shit’s face, it all gets painted with blood.

Eddie doesn’t realize when the pair of arms stop trying to push him off, or when the green eyes no longer stare at him in horror, shut from the trauma of one blunt hit after the other. He just continually bashes his face in for even daring to attempt to force himself on the woman he loves.

Fuck this guy. Fuck him.

Eddie’s blind with rage, but he’s also blind with his own regret.

Your voice cuts through the anger, a warning that seeps in his brain like a sponge. If he keeps hitting him like this he will end up taking his life.

He stands up, facing your trembling form as you seem to be in shock. You melt in his hold, tears spilling over his hands as he caresses you, doing his very best to take care of you. He knows the answer when he asks, but he has to hear it from you.

Finally, the words seem to sober you from wanting his comfort to the hurt that you’ve felt from his silence. You lurch yourself from him, staggering blindly to the fridge as you grab another beer. The scent was harsh on your breath, the sight of you glugging back as much as you can sends jolts through his system.

Then you tell him everything. And he deserves it. He wants so badly to tell you how badly he wanted to call you, but the excuses sound lame even in his own mind.

When you tell him you’re done is when he finally snaps out of his own trance. He knows what you mean, but surely, you don’t really mean it? Before he can ask, Chrissy comes into the picture, doting over his bruised knuckles, ignoring you completely as she asks what happened. He’s fine. He’s not, but he’ll say anything to get back to what you were just saying.

Choked back sobs escape as you tell him with absolute finality that you are done, tripping over your own feet when you leave through the kitchen door.

No, this has gone too far. Eddie hasn’t had a single drop of alcohol but feels as if he’s wasted from stumbling after you, blocked by his girlfriend.

That conversation goes as well as can be expected.

In the hours following, he doesn’t seem to find you anywhere. But without Chrissy trailing after him, he finds himself free to converse with friends he’d missed, meeting their snide remarks of coming back to the land of the living with grace. Eddie stays for hours, half heartedly partaking in any conversation he finds himself witness to just in case you make another appearance.

Steve walks down the stairs after what feels like forever, wearing a grim look on his face. Eddie approaches him. “Hey have you seen–”

“She’s upstairs,” Steve answers, sighing. “Passed out. She’ll wake up tomorrow morning.”

“Is she okay?”

“Didn’t choke on her own vomit, at least,” Steve quips, his voice harsh. “Physically, she’s okay.”

Steve moves to walk around Eddie, seemingly done with the conversation.

“Physically?”

Steve sighs, angry, frustrated. “She just sobbed on the bathroom floor for an hour and a half, Ed. I literally watched her heart break! Safe to say, I don’t think she’s doing so well emotionally.”

“Fuck,” Eddie mutters, feeling hopeless, like he should’ve been there to take care of you instead of being the cause of your suffering. “Steve, I–”

“Listen, Eddie. I just heard a bunch of shit from her that I’m not even sure she knows that she said. Other than her I guess telling you to fuck off, what else happened?”

Eddie gulps, not exactly wrapping his own mind around it, yet. “I found Daniel Moore trying to force himself on her.”

“Jesus,” Steve mutters, passing Eddie straight into the kitchen.

“Steve–” Eddie tries to stop him, or warn him at least, wondering how no one else has seen him, yet. There is almost no reason for most to make their way into the kitchen as the drinks station is in the living room, but usually a straggler or two, especially couples would make their own way in. He’s definitely not up and partying from the blood that seeped through the shirt he was wearing…

Should Eddie have called the ambulance?

“What the fuck–” Steve barks, taking in the crumpled form before him. “Jesus, Eddie, what happened?”

“You listen to your best friend beg someone to stop assaulting them and not beat the shit out of him?” Eddie retaliates, watching as Steve double checks to make sure he’s still breathing.

“Well, now I gotta get him out of here before someone has you fucking arrested,” Steve mutters, wracking his brain through old morally questionable friends of his that would help with no questions asked. Fuck. He has a few favors to call in. “Where’s Chrissy gone?”

“How the fuck should I know?” Eddie spits.

“Considering she has control over who you’re allowed to spend time with, probably somewhere nearby with binoculars,” Steve mutters, a fragment of seriousness in the joke.

“Well, not anymore,” Eddie shrugs, feeling surprisingly pragmatic about it.

“Oh.” Took you long enough, Steve thinks. “I’m gonna get him out of here, but I suggest you do the same.”

“Can I stay? I wanna be here when she wakes up.” His eyes pleading to Steve.

Steve’s brows raise. “Respectfully Eddie, I don’t think she really wants to see you.”

“I haven’t been able to tell her anything for weeks, I’m staying!” he insists, crossing his arms like a petulant child.

Steve shakes his head, leaning on the counter. God, he wished he hadn’t invited a few dozen people to come to his house for the night. “God, you’re an idiot.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re an idiot. You’re both idiots, but, man I think you’re the bigger one.” Steve walks around the kitchen island, getting unreasonably close to him. “I don’t know if you’re blind, or just selectively ignorant. She loves you, dude! She was willing to support you getting a girlfriend, but then you just shut her out. It’s gonna take more than an apology to be back in her good graces. When she wakes up with a killer hangover, I think the last person she’ll want to see is you. God, if one of you just made the jump years ago this never would’ve happened!”

Eddie’s heart drops at Steve’s angry words, refusing to believe any of his feelings for his best friend are reciprocated. “Sure, because three months of friendship tell you everything you need to know about a person.”

Steve chuckles, walking over the snoring asshole as he steps out to the living room. “I would have to be blind not to see it. She talked about you one time about this stupid fucking movie she watched with you and I could tell. Rather than telling your girlfriend that you have a best friend and she has to get over it, you shut her out. For weeks. And left someone else to pick up the pieces.”

“Steve, I know. I know I was being an ass–”

“Then why didn’t you stop? Why didn’t you give her a call? You had to know she wasn’t going to forgive you so easily–”

“Of course I fucking knew that, Steve! Why do you think I put off letting it explode in my face?”

“Because you’re an idiot! She loved you. She loves you! If you can’t see that then I really don’t know what to tell you. Listen, if you call her tomorrow, I’m not all that sure what would happen. It’s gonna be a while before she’s ready to forgive, bud. For now. Maybe you should go.”

-

“Oh,” you sigh, hugging your knees into your chest, feeling small. A war rages in your mind. You were hurt enough by him to break your friendship off with him, but you don’t even remember it. The other side of you just wants to be close to him again, willing to sink into the apologies that he owes you and happily accept them.

But you shouldn’t. And you know you shouldn’t.

“Do you wanna come over for a movie?”

You want to come over and watch a movie so badly, it wraps around you and constricts your airflow. “Will she be there?”

“No. Just me and you. I promise,” Eddie swears, voice low enough that it resembles a whisper. “She won’t be, uh, crashing our movie nights anymore.”

You diminish the pulse of hope that threatens to bloom. “What do you mean?”

Eddie sighs. “I was hoping to tell you in person, but we broke up last night…come over, I’ll tell you more. I just need my best friend…and a horror movie…and junk food, god, I miss junk food.”

You miss him so much it hurts. “I’ll be there in an hour.”

The bike ride sends pulses through your head, worsening the ache of the hangover. If the pain isn’t gone by tomorrow, you might just ask someone to shoot an arrow through your head to put you out of your misery.

It’s been more than long enough since the last time you were on his front door step, nervous as you hesitate to knock. Eddie’s footsteps are rapid and loud as soon as your knuckles hit the door, the opening to him, wide eyes, graphic t-shirt and pair of sweatpants. He appears unlike himself, almost tired. You wonder if you noticed it last night.

Before either one of you says a word, he tugs you in, wrapping his arms around you in an embrace in his scent. Overwhelming emotion takes over, his shirt absorbing the tears that fall. He feels like home, every part of him. His scent, the muscles flexing under your grasp, his steady breaths.

“I missed you,” he mutters, his voice low, choked, even.

Then why didn’t you call me? “Me too–” you whimper, squeezing onto him even tighter. You sniffle, curling your head into his neck.

The hug lasts forever, or at least long enough for your arms to become numb.

Your butt lands on the couch, the spot that was once permanently marked by you now weirdly lumpy from the lack of use. Did Chrissy know she was allowed to sit in her own seat on the odd occasion? On the coffee table, Eddie has already prepared the popcorn and your favorite snacks, only your favorite snacks. Three movies are laid out, all awaiting their turn in the VCR.

“What’s this?” You ask, rubbing your nose from the snot.

“Uh, three movies. Pick one.”

You read the titles, Back to the Future, Friday the 13th, and Labyrinth. “What happened to wanting to watch horror movies?”

“I have a lot of sucking up to do before I get to be picky with our movie night,” Eddie answers, his voice gentle and careful. “Pick one.”

If he says so, then you’ll have to pick your favorite, rather than his favorite. “Alright, then, Labyrinth it is. David Bowie in leather pants, here I come!”

As the movie plays, a teenage girl desperate to find her brother, you sink into the comfort of the ratty old couch. Through Eddie, you found out that the rattiest couches are actually the most comfy. The more tears and rips, the better. Eddie stands up, running to the kitchen to grab fresh cans of soda from the fridge.

He sits back down, handing you a Diet Coke while popping open his own. Two things you notice when he sits. One, he’s remarkably close, his ass nearly planted in between the cushions. Two–

“Since when did you start drinking diet coke?” You ask him, wincing at the aftertaste.

“Since Chrissy was such a stickler for sugar,” he answers casually, grabbing a bite of the popcorn.

His simple tone, emotionless and understated, squeezes your heart. “What happened with her, anyway?”

Chrissy blocked him, staring at him with wide eyes as she held his shoulders. “What–what is going on?”

“I need a minute,” he stuttered, attempting to walk around her.

“Did you do that?” Chrissy asked, pointing to the lifeless piece of shit on the floor.

“Chris, it’s really not a good time, right now. I will tell you later, I promise. I’ll be right back.” Eddie promised.

She blocked him again, hands pushing on his broad shoulders. “You’re not seriously thinking of going after her, are you?”

“Chrissy, she’s my best friend! That creep just tried– I have to go check up on her, make sure she’s okay!”

“You mean the girl who is pathetically in love with you?” Chrissy asked, belligerent and full of sass. “Sure, go and give her more false hope! She was practically all over you at the diner, mooning over you, desperate to take you out on a date, I mean, don’t give her fucking hope!”

Eddie sighed, rubbing his face angrily. “I don’t know how many times I need to fucking tell you, Chris. She is just my friend. She was being nice, trying to include you. I’m so fucking tired of this conversation!”

“So am I!” Chrissy crossed her arms, popping her hip out. It was times like these Eddie was absolutely sure of why Chrissy and Jason dated for so long. “You know what? Fine. Me or her.”

“What?” Eddie was unsure if she was being serious.

“Pick! Me or her? Because when you pick me maybe then she’ll get the fucking hint!”

It was the easiest decision he’s ever made in his life. “Her.”

Eddie finishes explaining it, mostly nixxing the parts where she berated you or talked shit. You just needed to know the part where she practically had a temper tantrum.

“Wow,” you mutter, remembering how you called Chrissy sweet when they first started dating. “And…you, you picked me?”

“Of course I did.” Eddie pops a kernel into his mouth, leaning back into the couch. His body heat is warm, his scent intoxicating. “You’re my best friend.”

“You haven’t called in weeks, Eddie.” It comes out quietly, the hurt overflowing in your body and pouring out your mouth. “I thought you had a new best girl.”

Eddie sighs, grabbing your hand. “If I could take back the last three months, I would. I-I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

“I missed you so fucking badly,” you admit, focusing on how your hand feels intertwined with his.

“I missed you. I know– I fucked up, but believe me when I say, I missed you so fucking much.”

On one hand, it’s hard to believe him. It seemed like it was so easy for him to cut you off. On the other, the glint in his eyes, his thumb caressing the back of your hand, gentle and unequivocally vulnerable.

Eddie leans forward, connecting his forehead to yours. “I will make it up to you, I promise.”

“You have a lot of making up to do, mister,” you inform him, pulling away from him to lightly nudge his hair.

“And a million strawberry mountains covered in strawberry sauce,” he answers, kissing your forehead softly.

“You really had me worried,” you admit, taking a good look at his face. “I believe you when you say that you missed me, but Eds, you hurt me. I want to trust you, but–”

His movement is swift as he grabs your face with his hands, pulling you in close. “I know, baby, I know.” The pet name takes your breath away, music to your unsuspecting ears. The name wraps itself around your like a warm hug, melting all those months of worry and panic away. “I’m so fucking sorry, if I could just–”

Maybe it wasn’t the right timing, months of silence, unanswered questions, hurt, but all that just conveniently disappears the moment his lips touch yours. You startle, jerking backwards as you look at him curiously, looking for something that’ll tell you he’s not kissing you out of pity, or obligation.

You’re met with the exact way that he always looks at you, but this time, it’s radiant. How did you miss it this whole time? You smile, wrapping your hand behind his neck as you tug him in, entangling his lips with yours and chasing that emotion that ran through you the first time.

Eddie meets your kiss with enthusiasm, grinning madly as he pulls you in closer, your body flush against his as he pulls you down with him.

It’s maddeningly enchanting, the way you can taste his minty breath and his hums against your lips, buzzing and tickling. His tongue sweeps along your bottom lip, pulling a gasp as you happily meet his with yours. Your skin feels electric as his hand sneaks under your shirt, as if he’s just getting the feel of you.

You sigh, curling your arm around his neck to pull him impossibly closer. His kisses trail along your jawline, down your neck, pressing sweet kisses down your jugular. “You taste like strawberries,” he mutters, audibly smiling. “I should’ve known, all those damn strawberries you eat.”

“Before we go any further,” you gasp, clutching at his t-shirt, “and believe me, I want to, you owe me a proper date.”

“Taking you out for a date, baby?” He places more rapid kisses on your neck, letting himself absorb your laughter. “God, I’m lucky.”

-

You’ve learned one thing for absolute certainty, Eddie Munson knows how to grovel. Between the many kisses you’ve shared that night you tell Eddie with surety that just because he knows how to kiss doesn’t mean he’s suddenly forgiven. Eddie relishes in that, grinning just because you’re kissing him.

The previous night he was losing his mind at his ex-girlfriend’s terrible movie choices, and you, his best friend, the person who has always known him best, you’re finally here kissing him. You could ask him to write a 1000-page apology letter entirely in rhymes or haikus and he would do it heartbeat, but all he’s required to do is prove it?

He’s more than willing.

When the date is proposed, he swears he would love to take you anywhere. He provides a list, with all of the restaurants you know he can’t afford. When you ask him and inquire about such, he shrugs casually. There’s a silent question there, wondering if Chrissy had even considered his wallet size before their date nights.

Instead, you answer with, “Our first date should be the diner, no?”

You’ve never been so nervous before, looking through your small arsenal of date night dresses. He’s seen all of them, whether from a school dance or the aftermath of a date gone sour. One dress catches your attention, at the very back of your closet covered in plastic, just waiting for the right time.

White, with blue flowers hand embroidered on the bodice, a sweetheart neckline and bubble gum pink ribbons tied together as the straps. Periwinkle blue that bleeds into mint green leaves along the hemline, fanned out into a hoopskirt. You’ve stared at this dress when it sat in your mom’s closet, asking when it might be your turn to finally wear it.

The dress fits you like a glove, looking remarkably close to the photo on the easel downstairs, a first date 25 years ago that ended up being one of your favorite bedtime stories.

As you finally make your way down the stairs, hair half up in curls in a ribbon matching the ones on the dress, your dad looks at you with pride and glossy eyes. Whispered words of the resemblance as he hugs you, eyes too tired for a man in his forties from loss and stress, a whiff of gratitude hits you.

It’s a warm spring evening, no need for a coat as the van pulls up with the usual melodies of heavy metal and drumming. You make your way down the sidewalk to his passenger side, butterflies erupting as you open the door.

The volume is turned down to a background noise, the heavy metal feeling oddly out of place at such a low volume. “Hi, sunshine.”

You grab his hand, petting at his calloused skin. “Hi.”

You feel his eyes on you, taking in the dress that is on its first night out in decades. “I don’t know how you show up looking this good and expect me to act normal.”

You grin, pressing a kiss to his shoulder and sniffing at the leather. He can’t say shit like that and expect you to go on like normal. “C’mon. I haven’t had a strawberry milkshake in ages.”

You open the window just a crack, appreciating the scent of fresh grass in the spring. New beginnings, fresh starts, rebirth. It seems oddly poetic.

He pulls up to the diner, bright neon lights against an evening sunset. It looks as if it’s painted, yellow into orange into blue. A lonely diner isolated sitting against a watercolor sky, but one of your favorite places in the world.

The bell ringing feels like an old song you haven’t heard in years, bringing some bittersweet nostalgia.

Martha perks up, the diner even deader than normal with only a lone man sitting on a bar chair holding a milkshake like a beer. The comparison sends a gag reflex through your body, never wanting to even smell another beer in your lifetime. As you sit next to Eddie, in such close proximity that the other side of the booth is useless, Martha appears with a cheeky smile on her face.

“If you two aren’t on a date, I’ll eat my notebook,” she sighs, hands on her hips as if she’s chastising two kids.

You and Eddie glance to one another, debating on fucking with her. It’s all the approval she needs.

“Finally! If you came in my diner again with those puppy dog eyes of yours I would’ve about had it with you two. Now, are you getting your regulars again?”

Eddie’s arm curls around your shoulders, his thumb petting the bare skin of your shoulder. “I’m disappointed you haven’t already brought the milkshake, Martha.”

“Smartasses. The both of you!” She walks off, a brand new pep in her step.

His thumb turns under your chin, pulling your face towards his. “C’mere. I need to make up for the times I just wanted to kiss those pretty lips in this booth of ours.”

“Why didn’t you?” You ask him, breathless as you stare at his eyes.

“I didn’t think the prettiest girl I know would want to kiss a goofball like me,” he chuckles, self deprecating and vulnerable.

You shake your head sadly, sighing happily. “You are so wrong.”

His chuckles are interrupted by your kiss, clutching onto the cotton t-shirt clinging onto his chest. It’s like you to forget how to breathe, taking the moment to take a deep breath before kissing him deeper, harder.

Your tongues meet, wrapping together with his and leaning forward to be as close to him as possible. His hand lands on your thigh, petting it roughly as he teases you. You hated yourself, hated how you told him you wanted to wait, because it’s becoming too much. The need for him sits deep in your stomach and begs you for any resolve from his teasing hands.

His kisses keep you only so satiated, whimpering by the time your make out sessions are done and ready to beg him to touch you already.

The glass of pinky sweetness hits the table, interrupting his electric lips on yours. “If you two do it, at least have the decency to take it to the bathroom like every other patron.”

You yelp, avoiding Martha’s eyes as Eddie tugs you in against his chest, kissing your temple. “Yes ma’am,” Eddie obeys, saluting with two fingers. Two, very distracting fingers.

You take a sip, humming. After weeks, you will proudly proclaim that this is still the best milkshake in town.

Eddie kisses your cheek, pulling you even closer. “If you lick that whipped cream off your finger, so help me god.”

It’s a habit of yours, one you’ve done at least once a visit just to get a taste of it before it sinks into the milkshake. The numerous times you’ve done it sinks in, unknowingly teasing him. “Something wrong with tasting whipped cream, Eds?”

“When you do it with that tongue of yours, yes,” he mutters, nipping on your jawline.

“Why don’t you have a taste,” you hum, taking a scoop with your pinky, licking it up.

Eddie pulls you in, humming as his tongue reaches out for yours to grab a taste of the cream melting fast in your mouth. He pulls back all too soon, eyes fluttering shut as he tuts his tongue. “Mmm. Yum. Thanks, baby.”

The milkshake is nearly gone by the time Martha rolls around again, pancakes and waffles in hand, interrupting soft conversation and sweet nothings.

He finally tries a taste of your pancakes, eating from the fork you offer him. His face winces, screwing up as he chews on it. “That strawberry sauce is sweet, ain’t it?”

“A little sour, I guess, but it’s my favorite. The fresh strawberries are a nice little addition.” You tell him, cutting up the pancakes.

“I’ll stick to my sprinkles,” Eddie mutters, dipping a piece of the big fluffy waffle in the whip. “They are the best.”

“I have a question,” you mutter, relishing in the taste of the sweet strawberry sauce. “How-how long have you liked me? Was it more recent, or have you liked me for years?”

Eddie smirks, placing a stand of hair over your shoulder. “Years.” He chokes back the correction of the word like, cause it’s so much more. “The first time I saw you, you were giving one of the football dicks hell for picking on one of the scrawny little freshmen. And I mean, berating him. You’re shy, baby, but not when it comes to others.” He pauses, chewing thoughtfully. “I knew from that moment.”

Oh. It was a handful of months before you found yourself sitting by the hellfire table, shaking your head at their antics. Plus, Gareth was just plain wrong in his opinion, you shook your head disapprovingly as you dug your nose in the book. Eddie caught on to it, demanding you join their group and inform him of how wrong he was. You did. You didn’t realize how charming Eddie was, how welcoming and genuinely kind.

It took your breath away, especially how gorgeous he was. The crush was kindled from then on, only being nurtured as you continued to debate him and his friends on their nerd culture.

Eddie followed up with the same question, asking how long ago for you, too. You tell him that very story, of how he enamored you just from being around him.

“You know, by then I was already head over heels for you,” he admits casually, sipping the last of the milkshake. “Something about sticking it to the man just does that to a guy.”

“Those dimples of yours are a weapon.” You admit in kind, and he laughs. You drop your jaw incredulously. “They’re a weapon! You think your hands are the only things those girls call magic?”

Eddie leans in, hot breath on your ear sending ripples down your neck. “And have you thought about these magic hands of mine, sweetheart?”

You gulp, licking your lips as your heart races in your chest. “Maybe...” You say softly.

He hums, tentatively kissing your skin. He really shouldn’t be doing this in a public space, you think, attempting not to wiggle at the uncomfortable feeling of arousal pooling in your panties. “I can’t wait to show you just how magic they are.”

You hold back a whimper, choking on it as your eyes flutter shut at his tentative kisses.

“Let’s get out of here, shall we?” You nod, watching as he places the right amount of bills with a decent tip for Martha.

On your way out the door, Martha shouts her goodbyes, happily yelling out her congratulations as the glass door slams behind you. Eddie’s lips find a home on the back of your hand, holding it as he kisses loudly, tickling the skin.

The trailer sits alone in the park, all lights off as he pulls up. With the turn of a key, his arm wraps around your waist as you walk in sync. It’s familiar as you help him turn on the lights, domestic, even. His jacket is off, tossed on the couch as he tugs you by the hand towards his room.

You’ve thought about it so many times, whisking away into his room with him to devour him completely. Usually it occurs when you’re mad stoned, happy and horny, but too blizted to make a move.

Your hands curtain the back of his neck, thumbs petting the nape of his neck and tangling themselves in his curls, rubbing in small circles. His lips connect to yours, stumbling over dirty laundry as he guides you to his bed. “Hmm, strawberries.”

He yelps as lands on his back, laughing as you collide with an oof. The playful moment is quickly replaced with intensity, staring down into his brown eyes, darkened by desire. Across the years of being his friend, he’s darkened his eyes in many moments, right before he decides to pin you down and tickle you senseless or when you talk down on yourself.

There were moments when his intense gaze took you aback, mostly when you innocently used too much enthusiasm in eating ice cream or put your hair up in a ponytail.

Or when you wore a sundress that sat a bit too high on your thigh.

All these moments suddenly make sense, filling you with a gust of emotion as you grab at him, tugging him harshly for a kiss much more powerful than you knew you had in you. He gasps into it, deep and desperate against your lips as you pull him closer. One of his hands travels downward, hiking under your skirt and grabbing at your thigh, your knee pulled up against his stomach.

Eddie turns you over on your back, hands grabbing at the skin harshly, his rings pressing at your skin hard enough to create an indent. Your leg wrapped around his waist tugs him down, his chest landing on yours.

“Question, my love,” Eddie mutters, words intertwined with his kisses. “Why the hell haven’t I seen this dress until now, it’s…oh my god.”

You grin against his lips, pushing your hands past his cotton shirt. “Waiting for a special occasion.”

“You telling me I could’ve seen this ages ago, baby?” He gasps, wrapping your tongue against his, delicate but enough to make you mewl into his mouth.

“Probably.”

He nips your lip, a punishment for your cheekiness. “It’ll look better on the floor.”

Your hips grind up, meeting the bulge in his pants just right. “You can’t say stuff like that–” you gasp, arms wrapping around his neck to hold on to him pathetically.

“You have no idea the things I’ve wanted to say to you.” His hand travels further up, passing the waistline of your panties and spreading on the skin of your tummy. “All the things I’ve held back…”

The admission is thrilling and terrifying, giving you almost everything you’ve ever wanted.

Now if you could get that bike you wanted for Christmas when you were twelve…

“Can you tell me now?” you ask, smiling up at his pretty, bewildered face.

“Hmm, patience,” he tuts, using his hand to explore. “Right now I just really want to touch your pussy, please, baby, please.”

It’s your turn for bewilderment. He’s acting like touching you is this great honor, instead of a means to an end like anyone else you’ve slept with. “Uh, yeah, I want that. I really, really want that.”

Eddie sighs, using his traveling hand and dipping it under the waistband of your panties. As his best friend, you’ve gotten so comfortable around him, arguably too much. Late nights in his room with a t-shirt and panties as his room fills with smoke. Eddie is only human, appreciating them too much as as you sat cross legged with the strip just a tad too thin for what it was supposed to cover.

This particular pair is decorated in lace up the front, a sheer lace for the bum, a light blue to match the flowers. His fingers latch to your pussy, delicately moving them up and down the folds.

“Oh my god,” he sighs, playing with the slick and spreading it. “You’re so wet, all this…all this for me?”

He adds more pressure, rubbing small circles and watching you throw your head back and melt in the heat that spreads across your thighs and takes form in a tremble, in a shake. “F-feels good.”

“Yeah?” he asks, placing his thumb on your clit and rotating it in tiny circles. “You like the way I play with your pussy, baby?”

You frantically nod, grinding up against him. “Need..need more. Please? More?”

“What does more mean?” He leans in, decorating your neck with sucks and bites and licks. “You want me to lick it, baby? You need my fingers, you already beggin’ for my cock? C’mon my girl, use your words.”

You might just beg for his cock, but you don’t want it to be over so quickly. “Want–want your fingers, Eds.”

He giggles, planting a nice wet kiss on your lips. “That’s my girl.” He doesn’t wait a second, curling one finger past your entrance and pumping it slowly, building a slow momentum that pulls at your stomach. He sighs, husky and deep, “Fuck, it’s so tight.”

He removes his finger without warning, not commenting on the moan in disappointment that escapes your mouth. He sits up, grabbing at the waistline as he tugs them down your legs, slowly, carefully, savoring in the moment. He lifts up the skirt, exposing the landing strip that sits waiting for his eyes.

“Did you decorate your pussy just for me? It looks so pretty… Thank you, baby girl,” Eddie is borderline emotional in his gratitude, showering you with praises.

Your legs attempt to close back together in embarrassment from his intense stare. He notices it, pushing your legs back down. “Do me a favor, won’t you? Keep these legs open while I eat your pussy.”

You drench your thighs, turned on even from the mere idea of being with him. “Mmkay.”

“You–” he gasps, delicately licking at the mound. “You taste so good. Wanted to bury my face in this little cunt for so long.”

His hands lift your thighs up and over his shoulder. His mouth tells you he knows exactly what he’s doing, listening to the cues you give him through your quivers and whines. The dress is completely covering his face, hiding the man that is eating you out, slowly and carefully, as if wanting to taste every drop of arousal you feed him.

Before long, your legs start shaking in his hold from the pleasure that has your hands tangled in your hair, eyes squeezed tight as he pulls whine after whine from you. One finger slides right back in, facing no resistance, sucking on your clit simultaneously. That arches your back and curls your toes, gasping from his build up, his words, god just from the years of mental torture.

You cum against his lips without warning, for him or yourself, twitching around his fingers and crying out his name.

He coaxes you through it, kissing your pretty pussy lips gently until your legs stop convulsing. Sweat beads on your forehead, spreading on your back and neck and making the thick fabric of the dress too hot. You untie each ribbon, desperately grabbing at the neckline to pull it up and off.

He kisses up your torso, laughing as you get stuck with the dress half off. One heel digs in his back in retaliation, whining as you gesture to him to help you. “I’m sorry, you’re just so cute.” Eddie giggles.

You whine, kicking your legs for him to hurry up. Your hair is stuck in your dress. It lifts over your head, a light bra covering your tits acting as a tease for him. The dress lands on the floor, nice and splayed out as it’s done its purpose.

You roll your eyes, tugging him in for a desperate kiss by the neck, wandering hands moving south to tug at his t-shirt. “Wanna see you, too,” you confess, helping him rid of his shirt. “Show me those tattoos.”

“You like the tatties?” You nod enthusiastically although you know he’s just teasing you. “Oh, I bet ya do. Probably ogled them while I wasn’t lookin’ huh?”

With a chest like his, you don’t imagine he could blame you. You let your eyes speak for you, raking over his covered chest and openly staring. “Wanna suck your cock.” You look up at him with big doe eyes, silently begging.

Eddie’s eyes widen at your admission, groaning as you start to undo his jeans. “Fuck, I don’t know if I’ll last that long…I need to be buried in you, wanna feel that pussy around my cock.”

You gulp, wrapping your legs around his torso so his jeans meet your pussy, probably drenching a wet spot on the front. “Me too…but I remember you said you didn’t really get reciprocated very much.” You inhale, gathering courage. “I remember thinking how I’d love to spend hours with your cock down my throat.”

Eddie keels over you, curling his face in your neck as he whimpers. “You were holding that back from me?” He punches the mattress right next to your head, a mild temper tantrum. “What other depraved thoughts have you been hiding from me?”

“You want me to tell you, or show you?” You’re not sure where this surge of confidence is coming from, but you’re running with it, especially if it means you can hear him make that sound again.

“Sh-show me- want you to show–” he nods, whimpering into your neck and shuddering.

“Mmkay,” you muse, smirking at just how easily the shoe falls on the other foot. “Get on your back.”

He complies promptly, wrapping his arm around the small of your back and turning the two of you over. You straddle him, grabbing at his chest carefully as you plant kisses all the way down his lean torso. You bring teeth into the mix, sucking and biting and marking your territory.

You’ve been itching to do so since he showed up one morning with bruises decorating his neck, claiming his hookup got a little too eager.

I'll show you eager, you begrudgingly think, wishing that all the boys were teasing him from bruises you gave him, instead. God, there was one planted on his collarbone that was excessively large, annoyingly so.

You mark your way down his chest, his stomach, lapping greedily at his treasure trail as he whimpers at your enthusiasm. This is power, you think to yourself, wondering what other noises you could conjure from him. As your mouth moves, so do your hands, undoing his belt slowly, taking your time as you unzip his fly.

The evidence of his arousal is strikingly clear, his boxers bulging out of the open fly and begging for your attention. While your subtle glances downward gave you an inkling of his size, his hardened cock presenting itself to you, even disguised in its plaid wrapping, had you letting out a gasp in unbridled lust.

You wrap your hand around it, gleaming as he hisses, a hushed swear passing through his lips. You watch his face, observing him as you place your lips on the covered shaft, just letting him feel the heat of your breath on it. “Oh, fuck–” Eddie chokes, letting out harsh shudders.

The sight of his face is borderline angelic, all of his walls down as he focuses on you. You can’t help but smile at that, at how you desperately wished for nights like these, only paying attention to one another. You poke your tongue out, drenching the cotton fabric with your spit, working your way down the length.

At his little whines, you finally curl his fingers under his waistband, drooling at the taut cock that pops out, giving you a friendly hello, swaying from the spring. You smile ear to ear, delicately wrapping your hand around the base.

You kiss the tip, lapping at the pearl of precum that gives the clear indication of his arousal, as if his hard on wasn’t enough. “Mmm,” you hum at the salty taste, leaning in to suck every last drop from his flushed tip.

You let the saliva that has pooled on the surface of your tongue drool onto his cock, spreading it down the shaft, absorbing the moan he rewards you with. “Shit, that feels–oh my god.”

You smile with pride, finally taking him into your mouth, enthusiastically bobbing up and down on his length. Your eyes remain on his, watching him as his face melts, committing it to memory.

“Oh, Jesus,” he swears, hips rutting up, clawing further into your mouth. You take him in further, gagging on it as you wrap your tongue around it experimentally, choking loudly and purposely. “Ch-choke on it, yeah, ch-ohmy god, just like that–”

Your hand moves in rhythm with your mouth, slobbery sounds of spit on flesh, his and yours, deliciously wet. He tenses up beneath you, whines growing more desperate, moans huskier, deeper. It’s a marvelous melody, one no composer could make even if they tried their hardest.

“St-st-stop,” he stutters, curling over himself, writhing under you. “Stop–I-I’m gonna cum.”

Reluctantly you listen, lifting your head off him with a pop and cheekily smiling at his heaving chest. You crawl upward, yelping as he wraps his arm around the small of your back and tugs you in for a kiss, more powerful, wrapped in an unnamed emotion you couldn’t possibly let yourself be delusional enough to define as. The one hand crawled up your back undoes the clasp of your bra, tugging it off your arms and flinging it across the room.

“Gimme those tits,” Eddie sighs, kneading them in his hands and toying with the flesh and nips. “Oh, they’re so pretty, baby. I love them, I‘ve wanted to play with them for so long.”

Eddie’s legs move under you, kicking off his jeans while holding you close to his chest. You sit up, tugging him up with you as you hover just over him.

His skin directly on yours, close and toe curling as you straddle his lap, arms wrapped around his neck as you stare into his eyes. There’s a glow in them, eyebrows relaxed as he holds your hips, staring up at you with such enamour. “Want your cock,” it’s only a whisper, but loud in the intimacy between you two. “I want you.”

His brows furrow, only a moment. The thought passes through him quick as a flash, but you see it.

“What was that?”

He smiles, relieved and tender. “I’ve wanted you for so long.” He leans in, pressing kisses on your clavicle, your neck, your shoulder, the swell of your breast. “Not-not just like this. I mean, fuck, I wanted it, so, so bad. But…I’ve wanted you, wanted your late nights and early mornings, to help you when you need to study, wash the dishes…sorry, I’m rambling.”

You pet his cheek, shaking your head. “No. Keep going.”

“I mean, we’ve always sort of had that, you know? It was just torture, not kissing you stupid whenever I wanted…because I wanted to. I wanted to, so much, baby. I love you. So much. You’re my best friend, my person, and I just love you so fucking much.”

A breath of a laugh passes through your lips, attempting to absorb what he had just told you. “Really?”

You smile, holding him tightly as you kiss him, sighing happily as he confirms, nodding frantically. The head brushes against your entrance, pulling a whine from you. “Eds, I-I love you, too.” The kisses get more fierce, Eddie clinging onto you harder and nearly attacking your lips. “But…if you don’t fuck me soon I might actually lose my mind,” You giggle.

He laughs, combing his fingers through your hair, away from your face, from the sweat. He slaps his cock against your clit, teasing you with his head. “Of course, baby, you wanna ride me, hmm? Hop up and down on my big fat cock?”

You nod, biting your bottom lip, hissing when he pushes his head in, watching as your jaw drops. “Oh, look at you, I knew you could take it like a good girl.”

You choke back a whine, swallowing hard as his words have such a strong effect on you. ‘Fuck, f-feels so good.” You stop, mewling as the burn of his girth becomes too much.

“Don’t rush yourself, baby, it’s okay.” He puts his hands on your hips, digging into the soft flesh. “So nice and tight, fuck.” His eyes practically roll to the back of his head.

You sink further, taking him deeper as the burn bleeds into bliss and back to burning again. “Jesus, s’good.”

“Mm, almost there, baby.”

“Move, please. Eds. Need-need you to move.”

Eddie chuckles, large hands holding your back. He lifts his hips, slowly filling you to the hilt and bringing it back out, one hand landing by his side to use it for leverage. You chirp out his name, mewling as he slowly rocks his hips. “Love the way you say my name,” he gasps.

You start rocking, slowly lifting your hips as you assist him. “You gonna make me scream it?”

“If that’s a challenge, then I will happily accept,” Eddie growls, gripping onto your hips harder and pulling you down so the union of where your bodies meet hurts in the best way. “Wonder when those legs will give up, hm?”

“I’ve thought about riding you on the couch too many times to give up easily,” you admit, giggling at his wicked grin.

“Oh, have you now? Been wearing those little panties just so I’d snap and ravish you, hmm?” He asks, hair wild as he watches you bounce on him.

“Maybe,” you admit, though that was mostly just out of comfort and trust of your best friend. “You have stronger will power than I thought you would.”

“Hmm, you think too much of me, baby,” Eddie mutters, framing your face with his hand and pulling you in for a kiss.

Admittedly, your legs are growing tired, but you soldier on, connecting your forehead with his desperately and watching his eyes glaze over. Your head already feels hazy, heat building in your stomach as you rapidly climb towards your climax. “You getting close? About to cum on my cock?”

You nod, startling in your movement as he starts to move you quicker with just the tightening of his grip on your hips. “Eds,” You whimper as he rubs his thumb on your clit, rapid movements as he hurdles you towards your orgasm, your cunt tightening around him as your eyes roll back.

“Lemme feel you squeeze my cock, baby, wanna feel you cum all over it.” Almost as he demands it into existence, you finish with a start, twisting your toes together and hunching over his shoulder while he rolls his hips, gasping and whining and mewling. “Oh, that’s my girl. Here, bet those legs’re gettin’ tired, hmm?”

You nod, giddily giggling as he maneuvers you on your back. “God, I love you. I really really do. I don’t–I don’t know what the fuck I’ve been thinking–”

You slap your hand on his mouth, giggling at his wide eyes. “Sorry, but…shut up. Rail me. Destroy me. We have time for all that later, now quit getting all emotional on me.” You take your hand off his mouth and pat his cheek. “Be a good boy and make me scream your name, won’t you?”

He chuckles deeply, his jaw dropping as he nips on the palm of your hand. “‘Be a good boy,’ hmm? Yes, ma’am.”

Okay, this turns you on too much not to eventually dissect it, but Eddie’s hips start moving, harsh and raw and brutal, just as you asked for. With each collision of his hips comes a whimper from the force, each one louder than the last.

His head curls down into your neck, sinking his teeth into your skin as he sucks and bites and laps his tongue over the pain. “Look at your neck, all marked up. All mine,” He rasps.

“All yours,” you whisper, choking on the emotion that fills your throat.

“My good girl who loves to get fucked hard, hmm?” He chuckles, curling his arms tightly around you. “Oh, listen to those pretty little noises you’re making, so pathetic for me, oh fuck.”

“Ed-keep-oh-oh–” you gasp, whining higher and higher.

“Yeah, just like that. Pathetic little princess.”

Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him in close, skin to skin, all sticky and sweaty as the smell of sex fills the air.

“You’re moaning like a desperate little slut but you’re not screaming my name, yet. Can’t wait for it. Hmm? Why you makin’ me wait?”

“Maybe you’re not hitting hard enough,” you gasp, a smile spreading across your face.

Eddie’s eyes widen, lifting his body off yours quickly. “Oh yeah? Hands n’ knees. Turn around.” He sends a jolt of fear through you, eyes widening as move into a crawl position. “That’s a girl.”

His hands tighten on your hips, lining himself up and pushing in all within the span of 3 seconds. He’s relentless with it, lurching forward as he grabs a fistful of your hair. “C’mon, I can’t hear you.” He taunts you, pulling deliciously at your scalp.

He starts moving faster and harder, clumsily planting his lips on your back, messily trying to take any claim he can on you. One hand slaps your ass, Eddie hums, appreciating the print of his hand on your skin. Moans pass through your lips, the loud ones that Eddie was asking of you. HIs name is added into the mix, cross eyed and desperate as he somehow increases his force.

“There we are. Where do ya want me to cum, baby, I’m so fuckin’ close.”

“Cum–cum in me, Eds. Fill me up.”

“Fuck-you, y’sure?”

“Fill. Me up.” You say again, getting your point across.

“Oh fuck–” he stutters, jaggedly rutting into you as he bends over you, filling you up with sticky white ropes. “You feel that, baby? Fuck. You feel all full?”

Eddie releases the hold on your hair as you fall forward, breathing heavily as you collect yourself. He pulls himself out, collapsing right next to you. His arms easily wrap around your back, pulling you in against his chest. You curl into him, sighing happily as you listen to his racing heart.

You lay like that for a while, listening to his breathing even out as he pets your hair gently. He plants a kiss on your forehead, humming. “Why did that take us so long to do?” You ask, still trying to regain control over your breathing.

“Hmm?” He pulls away, processing your question. “Oh, I don’t know. We’re idiots.”

You tug him back in, feeling sleepy as you smile against his chest. “Yeah. Big, big idiots. I love you, idiot.”

He hums, pulling you in tighter. “Love you too, ya idiot.”

It’s strange. You thought it would change everything if he were to finally be yours. It doesn’t change anything, banter traded as always, only with a caressing hand that tugs you in for a kiss when he teases you. Hormones go wild, finding resolve in one another as movies are no longer watched, just a nice background noise.

-

Thank you so much for reading, remember replies and reblogs are the best way to support fic writers on tumblr

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#eddie munson #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x reader smut

[dual1pa]

"you're gonna make me fall in love with you"

steve harrington x reader using she/her pronouns

A/N: ahh the sweet smell of a best friends to lovers fic <3

WARNINGS: 18+ ONLY PLEASE !! language, swimming in underwear (both reader & steve) kissing w/ tongue, boob grabbage, missionary position but no smut occurs

(doesn't follow plot of Stranger Things)

She placed her Converse-covered feet on the leather seat of her best friend, Steve Harrington's beat-up Chevy. He received the "piece of shit car," as he would say, from his parents as a graduation present years ago. It was originally his father's work truck, but he no longer needed it.

"At least you have a car, son," he told him.

All her attention was outside of the car as Steve drove them to their favorite spot at the lake. It seemed as if no one knew it existed since there was never a soul in sight, which was great for the two of them to get away from the hustle and bustle of their small town of Hawkins, Indiana.

The scenery of the drive there was something else - especially at sundown after a warm summer day when the sky was filled with yellow, orange, pink, and purple.

As her hair blew from the open window, she hummed along to Tiffany's 'I Think We're Alone Now' as Steve tapped his hands to the beat of the song on the steering wheel.

Steve pulled into a rocky area where he normally parks the car, went to grab a blanket out of the trunk, and led her to their favorite spot.

Normally, they didn't swim in the water, just lay on the fuzzy blanket, listened to the water and their favorite tunes from Steve’s portable radio, and stared up at the stars.

She and Seve have been friends since middle school, yes, even though his King Steve era where he thought he was better than everyone.

The two of them rarely had fights, and when they did, they quickly made up and went out to get ice cream or head to their favorite spot on the lake.

They found their spot on accident after participating in an extra credit assignment for Ms. Taylor's science class - since the both of them were failing at the time.

Now, a year later, they considered the spot theirs.

Just like usual, empty.

Steve tried his best to lay the teal blanket down flat, but the grass made it difficult.

She laid down first, then Steve. He watched her figure out her next thought as she stared up into the cloudless sky.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked, resting his body on his arm.

She turned her head to lock eyes with him and smiled, "I kinda wanna go swimming."

"I didn't bring a swimsuit," Steve sighed.

She chuckled, "Neither did I," quickly getting up and stripping off her T-shirt and jean shorts, leaving her in a bra and underwear.

Steve had seen her change a dozen times and she could care less as she had no shame about her body.

Without waiting for her friend, she ran into the cold but refreshing water. She dove under the small waves and resurfaced to find steve shoving his pants off, leaving him in plaid boxers.

Once he caught up to her, they enjoyed the water for a while longer then went to air dry on the blanket.

Steve reached for the radio to find a station playing a song they both liked. as if it was fate, one of their favorites played softly through the speaker.

He got up and started dancing and singing the lyrics, urging her to come join him on the imaginary dance floor.

She grabbed his hand to help her off the cozy blanket, grabbed her waist and started swaying back and forth. If she was honest with herself, she could picture a life with Steve.

She could imagine traveling with Steve, purchasing a home with him in the suburbs.

She pictured buying a cute little 3 bedroom home in the Indiana suburbs - definitely away from Hawkins. She pictured the bright green grass and being surrounded by nice neighbors and even getting a pet.

She pictured starting a family with him, though, she would never tell him that, unless the time was right.

Back in the moment, she couldn’t stop laughing at Steve’s horrible singing.

“stop it,” she leaned her head back and let out a loud laugh

“stop what? singing?” he didn’t listen and kept singing along.

“you’re gonna make me fall in love with you if you keep singing like that,” she smiled.

Steve blushed, “we’re literally slow dancing in our underwear, i hope you know that i’m already in love with you.”

That’s all she ever wanted to hear from her best friend, “i’m in love with you.”

He wasted no time to press his lips to hers. they were just how she imagined he would taste: a mix of mint toothpaste and the coffee he drinks daily.

she reached her hands up to comb through his damp brunette hair and moaned into his mouth, urging him to shove his tongue in her mouth.

he gripped her waist, then her butt, then her thighs to feel every inch of her, what he wanted to do for years.

the two laid back down on the blanket and continued their assault on each other. he fit right between her legs, but knew that she didn’t want their first time to be on the muddy ground.

to take a breath from their make out session, he rested his forehead on hers and smiled.

“can i call you mine? all mine?” he asked, placing a piece of hair behind her ear.

“that’s all i’ve wanted, steve harrington.”

he reached up to grab at her breast but she stopped before she got too turned on.

“as much as i want to, take me back to your place and take me in your bed?” she said, kissing his neck and down to his chest.

she’s never seen him pack up so quickly.

#stranger things #my writings #my writing #stranger things 4 #steve harrington #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fluff #friends to lovers #steve harrington smut #joe keery

[munsonluhvr]

HOW TO FAKE IT (MINI SERIES) (PART 1)

contents: steve harrington x reader. best friends/fake dating to lovers. sfw! In an attempt to cover up a lie and make his ex-gf jealous, Steve enlists you, his best friend, to fake date him // slowwww burn. word count - 3.7k

notes: welcome to 1/4 of 'how to fake it,' my first mini series for Steve Harrington. I hope you enjoy; part 2 coming soon!

installments: part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

“Steve, as much as I care for you, I can’t take this anymore,” you say, leaning on the counter of Scoops Ahoy. “You have to stop; It’s been months and she’s not changing her mind.” 

Steve sighs, shaking his head. His scoops ahoy hat slips down on his head, nearly falling off. “Don���t say that, yes she will. I’m Steve Harrington, she has to take me back.” 

For the hundredth time, you were listening to your best friend Steve complain about his ex-girlfriend Tina – who broke up with him several months ago, and despite Steve’s beliefs, was not taking him back any time soon. Although Steve was torn up about the breakup, you were relieved for him. Tina was a bitch, and you knew Steve could do a lot better. 

“There’s a million girls in Hawkins, you can find somebody else.” You hum, starting to roll your eyes at Steve’s demeanor. “It’s not healthy to be dwelling on someone who obviously doesn’t care about you.” 

Steve fumbles with an ice cream scoop, sighing as he fiddles with the utensil. “She’s going to come back, just wait.” 

Behind you, the door bell jingles, signaling that a customer is entering the ice cream shop. Steve’s head jerks up: “Welcome to Scoops-“ Steve says, his voice trailing off towards the end of his mandatory phrase. You watch as Steve’s face drops, his mouth gaping at the sight behind you. You turn around, seeing exactly what Steve was looking at. 

As if she had been in the room seconds earlier, waiting for Steve to say the magic words that she’d come back, Tina, and a male dressed in a Hawkins sports team jacket, walk through the ice cream shops door. When Tina realizes it’s you and Steve at the counter, you can tell she wants to turn on her heel and walk out. You can’t help but roll your eyes and shake your head. 

“Oh,” Tina says, her eyes catching yours briefly. “I didn’t think you’d still be working here.” 

You lean back against the counter, crossing your arms over your chest. Tina always hated you due to the way you and Steve were so close. You and Steve had inside jokes and regularly scheduled hang outs; all of which Tina despised. To Tina, you were a constant competition.

“It’s my job, Tina, why would I have quit?” Steve says, flushing at the sight of his ex-girlfriend. 

Tina shrugs, tossing her blonde hair over her shoulder. Even from a few feet away you can smell her sickeningly sweet perfume. “I don’t know, it’s just what I figured,” Tina hums, clasping her hands in front of her. The boy next to her, someone you didn’t recognize, stood next to Tina silently.

Steve, ignoring the fact that Tina had a male with her, was upfront. “I’ve called you a bunch of times and you’ve never called back.” 

You let your eyes close out of discomfirt and awkwardness. You can’t bear to watch your best friend gravel with the devil. 

“Yeah, I know Steve. We broke up, there’s not much else to say. I mean I’ve moved on already.” Tina says, gesturing towards the boy next to her. The boy had no facial expression whatsoever, his eyes trained on the rows of ice cream, standing there as if he was a rock. “You’re not seeing anyone?” 

Steve shifts behind you on the other side of the counter, obviously thinking of some excuse. “No, I am.”  You frown, looking over your shoulder at Steve. You give him a look, wondering how he was going to maneuver out of this conversation. 

“Who?” Tina asks. “Do I know her?” 

Steve shrugs, trying to avoid naming an imaginary girl. “Can I get you anything? We have a bunch of new flavors this week.” 

Tina sniffs and shakes her head, obviously unsatisfied at the lack of answer Steve gives her. You’re sure she’s going to go home and phone her friends to see if Steve is dating one of her perky, blonde friends. Even though she's trying to be nonchalant, you have no doubt Tina brought her new boyfriend to Scoops Ahoy, knowing that Steve would be working - just to make him jealous.  “Chrissy Cunningham and Jason Carver are having a party at Jason’s house tomorrow; you should bring your girlfriend. I’d love to meet her.” Tina says with a painfully fake smile.  “I’m glad we’ve both moved on.” 

Steve smiles, standing up straighter. “We’ll be there.” With a single nod, Tina turns on her heel and walks out of the store.  Once Tina is out of the store, you turn sharply towards Steve. “What the hell was that?”

Steve covers his face with his hands, bending across the counter to lean on the platform. “I know, I know, I screwed up. I didn’t know what to say.” 

“Well, good luck with that. Getting a girlfriend by tomorrow should be interesting.” 

Steve groans, “I’m so screwed.” 

You lean back on your bed, a book resting on the top of your thighs. You're dressed in your favorite pajama set, fuzzy socks adorning your feet. After you visited Steve, his lack of a girlfriend unresolved, you headed home, nestling into your bed early. Throughout the rest of the evening, your mind circled back to the Steve and Tina situation, each time you thought about it you couldn’t help but laugh to yourself.

You are engrossed in your book, about to flip a page, when you hear a soft knock on your window. You pause, thinking it could be the wind and choose to ignore the sound. The knock happens a second time and you get up from your bed, moving to look out your window. You hold back a scream when you see Steve on the other side, sitting on your roof. 

“Steve,” you say, lifting up the window. “It’s like you want my parents to catch you and ground me for sneaking you into my room.” 

Steve maneuvers into your room through the open window. “Your parents love me, they wouldn’t mind.” 

You scoff, lowering your voice. “If they love you then why didn’t you use the front door?” 

Steve waves his hand, sitting on the edge of your bed. “Let’s not focus on that, let’s focus on why I’m here.” 

You sit on the chair that’s tucked into your desk, sitting across from Steve. “Go on.” 

“So I was thinking - I want you to be my fake girlfriend.” Steve says, glancing at you. “You’re the person who knows me best and we get along great; you’d play a perfect girlfriend.” 

“Are you crazy?” You look at Steve as if he has ten heads, shaking your head. “No, I won’t.” 

“Why not? It would totally piss off Tina, no offense but she hates you. It can just be for tomorrow and then we can break up.” 

You scoff again, looking away at the other side of your room. “I don’t want to be known as one of the notches in your belt. Plus, that’s just weird, everyone knows we’re best friends.”  

Steve pouts, wringing his hands together. “Y/n, please. Just for tomorrow, I need Tina to be jealous and see what she’s missing out on.”

You surprise yourself when you catch yourself considering Steve's proposition. It's insane to fake date Steve; you're sure nobody would believe it but Steve looks so pathetic sitting at the edge of the bed, his big, brown eyes wide with hope that you'll agree. Steve is your best friend, and you truly would do anything to help him, potentially even fake date him for an evening. Steve has always been there for you, taking you to go see 'girly' movies, sneaking you your favorite flavor of ice cream after he finishes work at Scoops Ahoy. What will everyone think? What will everyone say? You push the unanswerable questions out of your mind, sighing as you realize what you’re about to say.

“Fine, I’ll do it.”

“If we leave now we could probably make the last viewing at Hawkins Theater,” you say while glancing out Steve’s passenger window, Jason Carver’s home staring back at you. You sit in his car, your trendiest dress on with converse sneakers – and Steve’s old varsity basketball jacket on (a prop in which he insisted on you wearing to make your relationship believable). The jacket dwarfs your body, the sleeves are entirely too big for your arms; and it smells of mothballs, signaling that Steve had pulled the article of clothing out just for this occasion. 

“We’ll just stay for a little while, until Tina notices us.” Steve says, pushing his sunglasses onto his face even though it’s 9 o’clock and dark out. From previous experience, staying ‘a little while’ at a party meant staying until it was over, and people were heading home. 

Steve pops his driver’s door open, coming around the front of the car to open the passenger door. “Ready to do this?” Steve asks, slinging his arm over your shoulder. He brings you in close to his body, his grip tight on you. You can feel his nervousness through his touch. 

You weren’t entirely sure if you were ready, you hadn’t even fully processed the arrangement you and Steve had come up with. After you agreed to fake dating Steve, you both shook on the fact that the arrangement wouldn’t last longer then tonight. You never dated before, Steve dated enough for the both of you, and you weren’t sure how to act as a girlfriend. You decided to take cues from the movies you watched, picking up pointers from the characters. 

You are also, of course, nervous about how other’s would perceive you as Steve’s girlfriend. You are meek, your personality only coming out for Steve and your other friends, and you preferred to stay home and read rather than partying with Tina. Everyone knew you as Steve’s best friend but how would they receive you as Steve’s girlfriend? 

“Ready,” you say despite your lack of confidence. Within a few strides you’re at Jason Carvers front door. Even from outside you can hear the chatter, music, and laughter that’s unfolding inside. Steve reaches out, grasping the doorknob. Before twisting it to unlatch the door, he hesitates beside you. 

The door creaks open, revealing the cramped hallways and rooms of the Carver household. Dozens of people in chic 80s clothing flitter around the house, red solo cups in their hands. Off to your right is the living room, people standing against the wall in groups or sitting on the two sofa that faced each other. To your left is the dining room, a long table covered in bottles of alcohol and cheap party snacks. Straight ahead was the kitchen, a girl being encouraged to drink from the keg. 

“Steve!” A voice calls from the crowd. Your eyes follow the sound, revealing Jason who pushes his way through the crowd. “So glad you made it, we can’t have a party without our king of the keg. And you brought y/n; of course, you did, you guys are a pair.” Though Jason’s eyes linger on Steve’s arm around your shoulders. 

Steve laughs, looking off into the crowd, no doubt trying to spy Tina. “Y/n is actually my date to the party, she’s my girlfriend.” 

Jason’s eyebrows raise as he rocks back onto his heels. “Wow; I wish I could say I’m surprised but I guess I always thought you guys would be good for each other.” 

Now you frown, realizing Jason actually could see you and Steve as a couple. You wish you could tell Jason that he was wrong, that you and Steve would never date. 

“Does Tina know?” Jason asks before Steve or you could answer. 

“Now she does,” Steve says, nodding his head in the direction of the living room. Tina stood in the middle of the room; a red solo cup placed tightly within her grip. You could tell she was fuming. Jason recognized Tina’s distraught look and glances at you and Steve. “I should probably bring up another keg from the basement, enjoy the party.” Jason says, slipping away quickly. 

Tina approaches you and Steve within a few steps, but she keeps her distance from where you both stand. “What do we have here?” Tina says, crossing her arms over her chest. A drop of beer sloshes over the rim of the cup. “Did I really just hear you tell Carver that you two are a couple; that y/n is your girlfriend?” 

Steve didn’t say anything, and you offer a thin-lipped smile. 

“Why didn’t you tell me yesterday that you two were dating?” Tina asks, as you watch her jaw clench. Steve shrugs, “you left before I could say anything.” 

Tina’s eyes narrow, her eyes analyzing you and Steve intensely. “How long have you been together?” 

At the same time, you say, “two months” and Steve says, “three months.” You both glance at each other. “Two and a half months, to be precise.” You say, offering another small smile. 

Tina hums, continuing to investigate you and Steve. Beside you, Steve shifts uncomfortable, feeling yours and his charade start to crack. “Babe, do you want something to drink? Let’s go see what they have.” Steve says, glancing down at you. His arm drops from around your shoulder to your hand, letting his fingers interlace with yours. You feel your palms begin to moisten. You nod, letting Steve guide you away from Tina. 

“Holy shit, Tina’s really pissed.” Steve says to you once your away from his ex. Steve weaves through the crowd, tugging you along with him. “Did you see her face when she saw us talking to Jason? I wish somebody had got a picture of her so I could frame it.” 

Steve rambles and you hum trying to fill your half of the conversation. You, however, are too caught up in your thoughts, feeling the eyes of the party guests boring into your skin. All around you people turn to look over their shoulder, noticing how Steve guides you through the crowd lovingly, or the way his fingers caresses your back as he shepherds you around the party. When you got to the drink table, people watch as curious onlookers as Steve pours you a drink, swiping a piece of your hair that had fallen in your face. To the outside world, you’re sure it all looks so natural, so real. 

You’re sure Steve notices it too. “Let’s sit,” Steve says, bending down to whisper to you. Again, he guides you through the party, steering you to the open seat on one of the couches. Steve sits down promptly, beside another couple that are in their own world, lips only millimeters from each other. You stand awkwardly at the end of the couch, feeling people watch you closely; there’s no place for you to sit. 

“Sit on my lap,” Steve says through closed teeth, noticing your lack of fluidity. You hesitate, not knowing you feel about putting your bottom so close to Steve’s groin. You push out your uncomfortableness and gently, and gracefully, sit on Steve’s lap. 

You face in one direction, maintaining a perfect view of the lip-locking couple, and you lean against Steve and the end of the couch. “This is weird,” you mutter, feeling your tenseness. 

“Act natural,” Steve says, placing an arm around your waist. His fingertips grip your hip. 

You loop an arm around his neck. “There’s nothing natural about this,” you say. From any angle, you know you look stiff and uncomfortable – certainly not like a girlfriend of ‘two and a half months.’

“Y/n, please?” Steve pleads, leaning back in the cushions of the couch, furthering pushing your bodies together. You sigh, mimicking all the other couples around the party. You nestle into Steve’s arms, remembering how you’d do anything for this girl-crazy best friend of yours. 

Steve lets his hands wander down your thigh, the tips of his fingers tickling your bare skin. You feel your cheeks and neck flush with heat, the foreign feeling igniting something within you. You had never been touched by a boy before. 

Again, your mind flashes back to the millions of scenes in movies that you’ve watched before where boyfriends and girlfriend interact with each other. You know they kiss, though you can’t bring yourself to kiss Steve, they hug and fondle each other. Physical touch seems to be the love language of choice in the movies you’ve seen. 

In the corner of the living room, you see Tina standing with one of her friends, you’ve forgotten her same – Sophia or Sydney or something like that, looking in yours and Steve’s direction. You realize it’s game time. 

With utmost confidence, you let your fingers wander into Steve’s luscious hair, your fingers interlacing between his brown locks. Steve looks in your direction, an eyebrow raised. “Tina’s looking,” you say, turning your nonchalant gaze into a gaze of affection. Your fingers comb Steve’s hair and you feel how soft and silky it is. You let your thumb brush across his temple, letting the tips of your fingers trace his cheekbones and then jawline. You don’t think about what you’re doing, it’s as if your fingers are in autopilot.  

Without moving, Steve keeps his big brown eyes trained on you, his fingers gripping your thigh. You assume he’s playing his part nicely, making it seem as if this is what you and he do every night – caress each other’s skin and gaze into each other’s eyes, but little do you know, Steve’s mind is blank, his body in a trance under your touch. 

Your fingers pause where they get to Steve’s lips, the pad of your thumb itches to brush across his plump bottom lip – you’ve always admired Steve’s lips, but you stop yourself; that’s just a bridge too far. 

You lean back at last, looking back out at the rest of the party, away from Steve’s face. Steve exhales, learning he had been holding his breath the entire time. Steve realizes it’s his turn to play the game; as you lean against him, his arm unlatches from around you to allow his hand to travel freely to your neckline where he sweeps your hair away from neck. Leaning forward, Steve places a small kiss on your shoulder blade where his varsity jacket had slipped off your shoulders. 

You glance back at Steve, a smile lingering on your lips. “This is crazy, Steve.” 

“I know but it’s kind of fun; making Tina mad, I mean.” Steve says, his eyes flickering to where Tina stands with her friend. 

You aren’t sure if you agree but you know you’re tired of thinking about your every move, knowing a crowd is watching you perform. “Can we leave yet?” you ask, expressing displeasure across your face. 

Steve bounces his knees, making your jolt on his lap. Your hair falls back into place, covering the burning spot where Steve had just kissed. “Pretend to be having a good time, just for a little longer.” 

You sigh, leaning back into Steve’s chest. You smell his cologne that clings to his clothes. You wish you could be in Steve’s room, laying out on his plush bed, his cassette player on and listening to him complain about girls or his coworker Robin. 

You’re almost in the fetal position on Steve’s lap, his arms wrapped around your body tightly. Steve dips down to your ear, “Pretend I’m saying something funny and laugh.” 

You put your week of theater summer camp that your mom sent you to when you were eight to good use and laugh softly, as feminine as possible. You glance up at him from your position. “You owe me big time, Steve Harrington.”

This time Steve laughs, but it’s genuine and not fake at all. 

Eventually the party begins to die down and you convince Steve to take you home. For the last hour, you and Steve worked together to make this relationship believable, whispering into each other’s ears and letting Steve’s hand slide up and down your thigh. By the end of the night, your head aches. 

“You were amazing,” Steve says, “You know, you should consider becoming an actress.” Steve puts his arm around your waist, pulling you into his side, as you walk out of the party. 

“No, it’s just what I do for my best friend. I meant it when I said you owe me.” 

Steve laughs, taking his sunglasses off. He swings them in a loop, by holding one of the arms of the glasses, before he places them on top of your head. You pull them down over your eyes. “How can I repay you, Miss Harrington?” 

You scoff at the new nickname. “Pretty in Pink is at the theaters; you, me, bucket of popcorn, this weekend.” 

Steve groans – he isn’t a fan of Molly Ringwald. “Fine,” Steve says. 

You smile satisfied. You reach Steve car that’s parked right in front of the sidewalk. As Steve opens the passenger door, someone yelling his name causes you both to turn around. It’s Tina. 

“Steve!” Tina yells across the Carver’s lawn. Beside you, Steve tenses. Jogging, Tina approaches you quickly. 

“What’s up Tina?” Steve says. 

Tina’s slightly out of breath, as she begins to speak. “This weekend Chrissy and I, our boys, and some friends were planning on going to Chrissy’s family cabin – She and I were talking, and we think you and y/n should join us – since you’re a couple and all.” 

Steve shakes his head. “We have plans this weekend, we’re going to the movies.”

Tina rolls her eyes. “Hawkins theater will still be in town when we all get back, you can go next weekend. Really, Steve, I insist – we should be able to hang out around each other without it being weird or awkward.” 

Steve sighs, glancing at you. You glance back at him, an unspoken agreeance unfolding between you. You have to keep the charade going for a few more days. “Okay,” Steve says, turning his glance to Tina and taking your hand into his. “We can’t wait.” 

Tina clasps her hands, her eyes sending daggers your way. You have no idea what you’re in for. “Can’t wait,” you mumble, squeezing Steve’s hand as hard as you can.

#stranger things fanfiction #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington stranger things #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fan fiction #Steve Harrington x y/n #steve harrington #stranger things fic

[subwaysurf45]

Team Bucky

Summary: your secret relationship with Bucky slips out. Everyone else in the compound is happy for you both but your brother - or really your grandfather - is not pleased at all, all you can do is try and live normally with Bucky and attempt to fix things with Steve. 

Words: 6k

warnings: SMUT: passionate sex, unprotected, very loving, aftercare. arguing, yelling, swearing, protective Bucky. 

a/n: heyyy, yeah I’ve been away for a while, this semester as been kicking my ass. anyways, I’m on winter break and have finally gotten my spark for writing back, I’ve been writing a lot of essays so writing for fun was not fun for a while. I hope you enjoy and I will try to post as often as I can!

There had always been a secret one-upping game going on between Steve and Bucky, it was something everyone had exempted and went along with. There would be countless times when they’d add more and more weight to their bars in order to prove their dominance to each other, or spar with one another until someone gets hurt.

At galas, Steve would be walking around with a trail of women behind him, showing off his skills with the ladies. That didn’t mean anything to Bucky, he would love to get laid more often or get a girlfriend but the ability to make women think they are into you and then drop them like a dead weight isn't appealing.

There were probably things Bucky did to get on Steve’s nerves that Steve didn’t care for. They didn’t do it all the time, just friendly competition. They had been friends for years and years, someone’s weight being a little higher couldn’t even cause a crack in their friendship.

But what Bucky was doing recently would.

There you were, sitting alone in the office as you filled out a debrief of your last mission. The computers were high tech but that didn’t mean they were super fast, most of the time you sat there waiting for anything to load, and seeing the logo in the top corner was a miracle.

“How’s that arm?” Bucky asked as he walked in, acting like he hadn’t been standing outside the door practicing what he was going to say.

“Hard to type with-aw, Bucky…” you pouted and saw the two steaming mugs in his hand, “stop, that’s so sweet!” you reached forward and picked up your favourite mug, looking at Bucky with wide eyes as he pulled out the chair beside you and sat down. “This is going to take forever, Bucky, you don’t-”

“I’m good,” Bucky sighed as he brought his mug right against his bottom lip to blow, “nowhere else I’d rather be.”

“You’re all soft” you giggled and turned back to your computer, “I do need to focus though, no distractions.”

“You have my word,” Bucky smiled and leaned back in his chair, “I’m just here for moral support.”

You just nodded, he loved the face you made when you tried to fight back being flustered. Your bottom lip was clenched tightly between your teeth to fight back a smile while you tried to cover your face and block Bucky from seeing your slight change in colour. The warmth that spread all throughout your body caused you to curl into yourself, he noticed that whenever he complimented you at all you wouldn't know how to react, telling Bucky you weren’t being complimented enough.

That’s how it started, casual compliments and conversation between you two. Trying to get to know you because there was this imaginary wall up for many reasons, you didn’t like to let people into your life because of how much you had lost and something more pressing…

You were Steve’s granddaughter, factually. But you two acted like siblings because you were a little younger than Steve’s age from when he was frozen. Nonetheless, you were related.

Which also meant off-limits.

Bucky really tried to cut himself off but you were his drug, he couldn’t get enough of you. It didn’t help that you were very honest early on about being into him. When Bucky initiated conversations and would give you little touches here and there you were quick to give them back. The first time you played with his hair gave him shivers running up and down his spine but also caused his brain to go fuzzy.

You were alone in the movie room, you always watched some film every Thursday night to keep a schedule. He had come back from a mission hours ago and still managed to make his way down just to sit beside you, and he did but he realized he was too tired to do anything.

He wanted you to cuddle into him and he’d rub your back or whisper little things to just you, but his eyes couldn’t stay open.

“You’re so tired, Bucky-bear,” you whispered and threw your arm around him and to the other side of his head, gently pushing him to place his head on your shoulder, “you can go to sleep if you want,” you whispered.

His body was on his last reserve, not thinking straight at all. “Can I put my head on your chest, your shoulder is too boney,” he’d kick himself for that one in the morning. When you giggled and moved he seemed to sink into you more, wrapping both arms around you and nuzzling into your chest. Everything was so comfy he barely registered that his face was deep between your boobs, you didn’t move or say anything until… “you’re so pillowy,” he muttered.

“But my shoulder is boney?” you shook your head, “you can just say you like my boobs, most people do.”

“They’re great,” he nodded.

Your hand moved from his back and went up his scalp from his neck, earning a groan when you started to fluff around his hair and scratch somewhat intensely on his scalp. He was out before the beginning credits ended, snoring before the middle of the movie. Part of you felt this overwhelming feeling of something you couldn’t describe, Bucky Barnes, a man riddled with nightmares and trauma, constantly on high alert was asleep on your chest. The big man could dwindle down into a guy who has never once felt the touch of love from a significant other. The fact that he trusted you with the power made you proud, it made you like him just a little more.

“How much longer,” he sighed from his starfish position on the floor, being overly dramatic to try to get you to look away. You giggled and finally looked over your shoulder, scoffing at his dramatics.

“Go to bed, I’ll sneak in later.” You shook your head, “and one page left.”

Bucky sighed and sat up, staying on the ground and watching you work. It took a while but soon you were finished, reading it over before submitting it. Bucky helped you pack all your stuff away, holding your bag for you, he did that a lot, never wanting you to do any heavy lifting. Your eyes were barely open as you left the room with Bucky leading you out, you both headed down the hall and to the elevator.

“You still want to sleep with me?” Bucky asked when the door was completely closed, you were too tired to say anything, keeping your head resting against his arm and nodded slightly. “Alright, I think there is still a sweater you left in the room.”

You groaned and looked up, “your clothes please,” Bucky giggled after you whispered. The door opened and you both walked out, him wrapping an arm around you to keep you steady. “I also want to be little spoon please.”

Out of nowhere, a voice came from behind them, “watch your hands, Barnes,” it was Steve.

Bucky turned around but kept his hand where it was, “guess where I just found her?” Steve looked at your tired state, “little miss just finished her report is only going to bed now, I was walking her to her room to make sure she doesn’t pass out on her floor.”

Steve smiled a proud smile. He caught up to them and also helped you walk, subconsciously you leaned more towards Bucky at this moment, thinking of how you’d be cuddling with him soon. Bucky played along and brought you into your room, Steve was very adamant they both left before you got into your pajamas. Bucky couldn’t say no even though he had seen you naked, he had to play along.

Bucky went into his room and waited with the door unlocked, after five minutes you slipped in and found him in the bathroom. Both of you brushed your teeth beside one another, he had one arm around you while you looked at each other through the mirror.

In your opinion, his bed was much more comfortable, choosing to sleep there more often than your own bed. Both of you cuddled in close, you were practically laying on top of him with your head tucked into his neck.

“I love you, Bucky-Bear,” you mumbled, snuggling closer to him.

“I love you too, baby,” he whispered into your hair, leaving a few kisses after. “You make me so happy, I can’t explain it,” you both giggled as he tickled you.

The secret life with Bucky was great and terrible at the same time. There was a different side to Bucky that he didn’t show the team, he was much softer and more extroverted. When you’d sneak out for dates he’d always be the ordering and making conversation with the waiter because he felt safer at that moment. But at the same time, you still had to go on dates by sneaking out. Steve would kill you if he found out the two of you were seeing each other even though it had been going on for a while you both knew it wasn’t a joke. Your heart would still fall when Bucky had to drop your hand when someone else walked in a room, and both of you would grow envious of the couples openly displaying affection at galas.

The idea of telling Steve grew larger by the day because you knew it was bound to happen, part of you wanted to tell him before getting caught so it didn’t look like Bucky was just a hook-up to you. Yes, Steve would kill you but he would also tear Bucky apart because there were rules, apparently. Any type of family member was off-limits, even if Steve found a distant cousin of Bucky’s they would still be a no-go; but you knew that rule was just for you because you were all Steve had left when it came to family.

********

Steve and Bucky were sparring in the ring as you and a couple of other agents went to various machines during your workout. You couldn’t help but look over at them as they fought extremely hard against one another, there was no reason to give each other a broken nose but they did it anyway.

“Can I work in?” Sammy asked you, he had graduated from the academy the same year as you. You wouldn’t consider yourselves friends but you’d smile at each other in the hall and keep up with families.

“Of course,” you stood up from just sitting on the seat as you took your break, leaning down and picking up your water bottle. Absentmindedly you looked over to see the both of them fighting, Sammy must have noticed.

“I don’t get the game between the two of them,” he grunted, “I get it from a male perspective as in you constantly want to impress your friends but sometimes it gets bad, like what are they even doing right now?” he referenced both of them limping around the ring as they circled one another.

“Boys!” you shouted and they both looked at you, “quit putting on a show for us and just act like normal people for once in your life!” you cupped both hands around your mouth.

Bucky looked shocked, “we’re just playing around, relax!” he sassed you back, it was clear on your face you didn’t enjoy what he said, “oh come on, you always get like this, give us a break!”

“Watch it!” Steve snapped, “you better watch how you talk to my sister.” Steve looked back at you, “and you!” he pointed in your direction, “let the grown men handle their things, please.”

Bucky scoffed, “you better watch how you talk to my girlfriend.”

At that moment the world stopped. Steve whipped his head around to Bucky and just stared at him while Sammy dropped the handhelds for the machine, letting out a loud clunk. Bucky’s eye shifted towards you in what felt like slow motion as an apologetic look grew on his face, your metal water bottle slipped from your fingers and fell on your foot.

“Fuck!” the feeling of a throbbing big toe pulled you from your trance, all you heard was more commotion in front of you but you were looking down.

“You’re fucking my sister?!” Steve yelled and caused all the agents to run out of the gym, including Sammy who quickly patted your shoulder before bolting out. Bucky tried to run over to you to help with the toe injury but was stopped after Steve’s fist collided with Bucky’s throat. “You don’t get to even look at her anymore, I’ll take your fucking eyes out you pervert!”

“Steve!” you hobbled over and ran up to the ring, slipped under and grabbed Bucky’s head that was unmoving on the boxing ring floor, “you knocked him unconscious, Steve,” you gasped and pulled Bucky’s head to your thighs as you sat back on your heels, “you could have damaged his windpipe.”

“He won’t need one after he wakes up and I fully-”

“It’s not like he forced me, Steve,” You looked up at your brother, “we’ve been dating for a long time and it’s not just sex, it’s an actual romantic connection that both of our consent to, it’s actual dating!” you gently tapped Bucky’s cheek to wake him up, “don’t frame him or me to be a slut because all we do are normal dating things,” Steve’s face was red as he saw you carding through Bucky’s hair, he was starting to groan and stir.

“Both of you are dead to me,” Steve spat, “he broke the only rule I set up to protect you.”

“I don’t need to be protected from Bucky, and you know that.” you harshly whipped your head around again, “and I know you’re hurt and exaggerating, just walk away.” That was the last time you looked up at Steve, all your focus was on Bucky starting to wake up in your lap. As he groaned and slowly brought his fingers up to his nose your eyes began to water, this was exactly your worst-case scenario.

Bucky’s eyes cracked open and immediately closed again, “baby,” he mumbled, “don’t cry, please, don’t cry,” he reached up to swipe away your tears but completely missed your face, most likely seeing double. “I slipped up,” now Bucky was starting to cry, “my fault.”

You gently pulled him up in a hug and Bucky accepted it, continuously apologizing for what he had just done. Every time you’d quiet him or try to shift his train of thought but he’d make his way back there every time. After a while you got him on his feet and took him to med bay, many people came up to you and asked if everything was alright, you just nodded and kept walking.

“What happened!” Natasha was in med bay when you arrived, filling out discharge paperwork for herself, “Bucky, that looks really broken,” her fingers ghosted over his nose which caused him to wince backwards, “sorry.”

“Yeah,” you sighed and sat him on the cot, calling over a nurse who began examining, “just…going too hard with the sparring.”

Natasha shook her head, “but no one goes that hard, we all pull our punches except when it’s Steve and- oh my god…” she trailed off and looked at Bucky who was preparing to get his nose snapped back in place, “did Steve find out?”

“My fault,” Bucky cried, holding the sheet as he waited for the nurse to fix his nose.

“It’s not your fault, it was a mistake and yeah this is shitty but it will figure itself out.” you looked over your shoulder and immediately gave Bucky your hand, seeing his white knuckles gripping his sheets.

******

It had been a week and Steve refused to speak to either of you unless it was in a professional setting, even then, he’d be snarky whenever he would talk to you. He meant what he said, you really were dead to him. Part of you thought he’d just be mad at Bucky and get overprotective of you but that never happened, he viewed you like dirt; like how he looks at Bucky.

Bucky could see how it took a toll on you, it broke his heart to see you staring off into space after Steve passed by without looking at you. All Bucky could do was hold you closer, but deep down he blamed himself for letting it slip. Every tear, every longing glance, every hope he’d come around was all his fault.

He found you today curled up in bed, Bucky slipped in behind you and wrapped his arm around you, pulling you into his chest. “Everything will simmer sooner or later,” he whispered into your ear.

“I just-...” you sighed and buried your head into your pillow further, “he’s my only family, when he wanted to reconnect with me he was so adamant on making sure I came back to the tower with him, so he could have a sister,” Bucky rolled you over so you were facing him, “and now…I do something for me that makes me happy, you make me so happy, and I’m punished for it.”

Bucky planted a gentle kiss on your forehead, pulling you into another hug and letting you feel his warmth and comfort. “I will personally fix all of this, I will find a way, don’t worry, alright?” Bucky pulled back so he could see you nod, “alright?”

You nodded and Bucky kissed you again, crawling out of bed when you fell asleep. He knew where Steve was, and even though his nose had held quickly doesn’t mean he won’t get another broken nose from what he was about to do. Steve was always in the computer room, just like you. There was always something to be done when it came to paperwork and Steve had the energy for it.

Bucky stayed close to the wall and pressed his back against it, leaning over the corner to see Steve typing away at the computer near the back. Bucky pulled back and fully leaned against the wall, taking a deep breath.

Nat: We’re taking y/n out for a girl’s night, just want to let you know!

Bucky: keep me updated, and don’t let her get too drunk, please

Nat: don’t worry!

After shutting off his phone he slipped it into his pocket and took another deep breath. After mustering enough courage Bucky fully turned the corner and walked up to “Steve,” Bucky stood before him, “we need to talk.”

Steve gave nothing, he almost looked up at Bucky but it was just a flinch.

“Silent treatment?” Bucky scoffed, “that works for me to explain my side of the story without you verbally- or who knows - physically breaking me.” Steve huffed, Bucky looked at the chair but decided to stand. “I’ve been dating your sister for about a year and she’s made me the happiest man in the world,” Bucky fiddled with his fingers, “and I know we made rules and all that but this isn’t about that, we can discuss that later.” Bucky saw Steve was no longer typing but simply staring at his screen. “Steve, your sister misses you so much, she’s been curled up in bed crying about losing you, feeling punished for letting herself love someone, she’s kicking herself for something that was all my fault; I slipped up and y/n should be the last one to pay for it.” Bucky gave in and pulled up a chair, making Steve look at him, “I don’t care if we never talk again but my girlfriend is hurting and that’s what’s been killing me the most, so just talk to her, please?”

Bucky sat there, looking at his vacant face. After a sigh, Bucky rubbed his face and stood up, tucking in the chair. He ran his fingers through his hair, “y/n’s out for drinks with a couple of the girls,” Bucky said, “so she’s not here if you were thinking of talking to her.” Bucky left after that, knowing Steve wasn’t going to say anything.

When you stumbled back inside Bucky was quick to catch you, “what did I say about not letting her get stupid drunk?” Natasha just giggled and Bucky couldn’t help but smirk at all the ladies making their way to the kitchen. “How’s my baby?” Bucky whispered into your ear which caused you to get coy and curl into him, “are you a little cuddly, huh?” his finger made its way under your chin which caused you to giggle. You jumped on him to wrap your legs around his hips.

“I love you, Bucky-Bear,” you hugged him tightly, “we can run away together and never worry about anything ever again, do you want to run away with me?” you kissed Bucky’s neck as he walked into the kitchen to see them all eating chips and cookies.

“Sure we can,” he moved his head so you’d detach your lips from his neck and just cuddle into him.

Bucky stood with the group and held you like you were nothing, laughing and talking while the girls did their debrief at the kitchen island, talking about the songs and the dancing. Bucky kept you in his arms but placed you down so you were sitting on the island, letting your legs and arms wrap around him. You weren’t talking that much, Bucky looked over after five minutes of nothing to see you sleeping with your face on his shoulder.

“She did start to cry,” Natasha said sadly, “she had a lot of pent-up emotion and our uber cancelled on us twice so she was just really frustrated, but we all know she wasn’t crying about the uber.”

“Yeah,” Bucky sighed and rubbed your back, “I talked to Steve and told him to stop hurting her, you know?” Bucky looked at Nat and she nodded, “like he can be mad at me for as long as he likes, but stop doing this to your own sister, I can’t stand to see her like this, it’s awful.”

“I know,” Nat was the only one invested in the conversation, everyone else would forget this in the morning. “I feel like it’s borderline…I don’t want to say slut shaming but I can’t understand why he would be mad at her, I feel like he’d blame it all on you and only take it out on you- I know you didn’t do this but I thought he was going to pull the ‘you coerced my sister into dating you’ card… I really don’t understand his silent treatment,” Nat sighed and took a swig from her water bottle.

“I guess,” Bucky sighed and picked you up, having to hold you tightly because you were asleep and unable to squeeze your legs around his waist. “I’m going to get her ready for bed,” Bucky tried his best to smile, “I really appreciate you, Nat, she needed this.”

“She did,” Nat ran her fingers over your hair, “as much as she’s going to hate the hangover I think she really drained her emotions out and just let go for a moment,” Nat smiled at Bucky, “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Bucky left the kitchen, the moment he turned he turned the corner he saw Steve. He was trying to slip away after eavesdropping but Bucky caught him, all Bucky could do was keep walking; he’s said his piece.

“Is she ok?” Steve finally spoke as Bucky passed him with his chin up.

“From being shunned by her brother or her night out?” Bucky snapped, not even looking at Steve and heading to his room down the hall.

After making it to his room he got you ready for bed, cuddling up next to you and holding you close. He had already gotten the water and painkillers ready for tomorrow morning. All he could do now is hold you, making you as comfortable as possible.

As Bucky lay there with your head on his chest, hearing your drunk snores, he thought about Steve. Bucky reminisced all the days together, growing up and finding one another again. Part of him questioned if all of their history went away the moment he found out, was this really the breaking point for Steve? All he wanted was for you to be happy with your brother but selfishly, he wanted his friend back.

“I can, like, hear your brain,” you mumbled and hugged him tighter, “we’ll figure this out in the morning, just forget it happened and hold me normally, please.”

Bucky couldn’t help but smile, he rolled you both on your sides and kept you wrapped up. Getting into the familiar position his eyes started to feel heavy, and soon sleep took over.

********

Bucky stood in the kitchen by himself, sipping his coffee and watching the eggs and bacon cook. It has been two days since you had gotten drunk and Bucky talked to Steve, nothing had come out of Bucky’s attempt to get Steve to talk to you.

He could tell you were becoming depressed from losing your brother, the two of you were inseparable so it hurt a lot to have him cleanly break away from you. But all Bucky could do was continue to support you, and he did that by making you breakfast.

He flipped both eggs and poked at the bacon, trying not to have the grease spit back out at him, you were currently at the gym but he’d already be back in the room before you were done.

All at once, Sam ran into the kitchen, covered in sweat. “Barnes!” he yelled, “your girl is screaming at Steve in the gym-”

“Shit!” Bucky dropped everything and ran, quickly turning around and moving everything off the element while turning the stove top off. Bucky followed Sam all the way to the gym and busted through the door, immediately hearing your raging voice. “Everyone out!” he yelled at the agents standing and watching.

“Bucky, I can do this on my own!” you snapped at him, caught up in the anger towards your brother.

“I’m well aware,” Bucky put both of his hands out, “I’m just giving you two privacy, that’s all, love.” Bucky nodded when he saw you relax your shoulders, “I’m going to be right outside when you’re done, alright?”

Steve turned to Bucky, “you really love her?” he asked.

Bucky slowly tilted his head to the side, “I’ve been dating her for a year, crushing on her for two, and being fully hypnotized by her for three the moment she showed up to this place.” He looked at you, “can I keep going, or do you want this to still be you?”

“See,” you looked at Steve, “he cares about me, on a personal level that no one ever has,” you threw your arms in the air, “you need to accept this or I will have no problem sticking with Bucky.”

“You’d turn your back on your family?” Steve laughed to himself, “you’d seriously stay with him rather than your own brother-”

“You’re not even really my fucking brother, Steve!” the anger was making you jump in your spot, “when you found out I was related to you, you chose to keep me in your life, it was quick because you knew how much family meant to you,” you walked over to Bucky, taking his hand in yours, “well he’s my family now, and when shit got rough Bucky was not the one to run away, Steve…” you looked up at Bucky who couldn’t take his eyes off of Steve, “we can go now,” you whispered to him.

Bucky walked with you to your room, completely forgetting the breakfast he had made to lighten your day. The entire time you were talking about how much lighter you felt, having the ability to scream at him even though no solution was reached. As he listened to you his heart broke, you tried so hard to make it seem like it wasn’t a big deal when in reality it was, you just weren’t letting yourself fully feel it yet.

Right as the door to your shared room closed you spun and pushed Bucky up against the wall, “I love you,” you breathed before kissing him harshly, it took Bucky three seconds before pulling away and trying to ask if you were alright, “I want passionate sex right now, I want you to fuck me, baby.”

“Woah,” Bucky whispered, “you’re not…honey, you’re not in the right mindset right now, this is not-”

“Please, Bucky,” you whined and dropped down to your knees, running your hand up and down his thighs, “I really want this.”

“Are you sure?” Bucky asked, shamefully getting hard. When you nodded he picked you up and threw you on the bed, “you tell me if you want to stop, alright?”

“I never want to stop,” you whispered into his ear before sucking on his ear lobe, moving down to kiss his neck.

“Do you want me to go down on you-”

“I’m already wet, just go,” you moaned, blindly reaching down and beginning to work on his pants.

The moment Bucky entered you, you pulled him close, letting his entire body weight crush you in a soothing sort of way. At first, his face was right before yours, kissing you every so often but really just wanting to look at you.

“Pretty girl,” he groaned and tucked his face in your neck, “fuck, I love you, it’s always been you, it’ll always be you, honey- holy fuck!” his hands were moving around, feeling you and touching you all over. “You’re fucking perfect, made for me, I got you,” he sucked harshly on your neck, “I’ll always protect you, and love you, and just-I’m gonna cum, honey.”

“Me too!” you threw your head back, “I love you, Bucky,” your fingers were splayed across his back, “all I want is to run away with you, just you.” your words of love quickly shifted in moans, all you could do was let yourself get lost in the moment.

Bucky had a strong aura, it was one that made you feel protected but also reminded you that he was your rock. Passionate sex with Bucky was something else, he could get you to your peak faster than anyone just because of how much love you feel as he whispers in your ear.

The moment you both let go was a moment of pure bliss, all you could do was dig your nails further into Bucky’s back as he rode out his own high. He stilled after finishing and just stayed there, keeping his head in your neck. While he whispered praises to you, part of you filled with love, an overwhelming amount.

“I love you, Bucky,” you tried to sound put together but the moment the words left your lips Bucky looked up at you, seeing tears stream down your face, “I’m not crying because I didn’t want it, it’s just…” you could see him freaking out, “it’s not you, it’s left over emotion from that fight.”

Bucky nodded and stayed where he was until you began to shift, he wiped you down and got beside you in bed after a while. He made sure you had enough water in your cup beside you and you were warm enough under those sheets. There were a few more sniffles, you’d wipe your face in the shirt Bucky put on because he was cold.

“I just want things to work out,” you cried, “why can’t he see I’m happy and just be happy for me?” your arms hugged Bucky tightly, feeling him hug you back just as tight.

“We’ll figure it out,” his lips brushed against your ear, “everything will work out, you just need to sleep, alright?”

It didn’t take much to knock you out.

********

Bucky’s mission was taking longer than expected but he wasn’t in any danger, his communications back to the compound were perfect with his updates. You weren’t allowed to know where he was or what he was doing but you were allowed time-frame updates, all because you held the title of ‘family’ for his file.

You stood at the stove with an apron on, it had caught three splashes which you were grateful for. The pasta sauce was bubbling so it was close to being done, you had gotten an update saying he was coming home in the middle of the night. If you or Bucky had a mission that ended late the other person would leave a meal in the fridge for when they got home, something easy to throw in the microwave.

“Hey,” you knew that voice from anywhere.

“Hi, Steve,” you said with your back to him. Nothing had changed since then and it had been over two months, Steve was slowly starting to adapt to you and Bucky showing affection in public but he still didn’t talk to you more than he needed to.

“What are you making?” you heard him pull out a bar standing at the island.

You were past trying to reconcile with him, he was the one acting like a child. “Pasta sauce, for Bucky,” you quickly added.

“Oh yeah, I heard he’s coming home tonight,” you could hear how uneasy Steve was, the way his voice slightly shook as he spoke to you.

You could feel his eyes burning holes in your back but you paid no mind, continuing to stir the pot and dodge the few bubbles. “Yep, late.”

“Yep…” Steve sighed but didn’t move, you could hear him just sit there.

Trying to meet him halfway was exhausting, it seemed there was nothing you could do to make him feel better except break up with Bucky. That wasn’t going to happen, it also helped that Bucky was very mature during this, always communicating with you about how he felt and if you needed anything. It further proved how immature Steve was, seeing that a man the same age was able to deal with their emotions perfectly.

FRIDAY came through on the speakers, “Sargent James’ jet is landing now.”

You spun around with a gasp, “he was supposed to be here at three in the morning,” you completely blew past Steve and ran to the land spot, laughing to yourself as you pictured hugging him.

The moment you opened the doors Bucky was already running to you, “there’s my girl!” he yelled and wrapped his arms around you the moment he could reach you, “no injuries for me, how was the month?” he whispered.

“Same as always,” you sighed, “but I’m so happy you’re home,” you nuzzled into his chest.

“He followed you outside, what’s that about?” you didn’t look over your shoulder, trusting Bucky was right. After pulling out of a hug Bucky called, “what are you doing out here?” towards Steve.

“I wanted to talk to you,” he was talking to Bucky, “I need to go for a walk with you.”

“Whatever you need to say can be said in front of y/n as well, bud,” Bucky wrapped his arm around you, “seeing as the situation involves her.”

“Look,” Steve walked up and rubbed the back of his neck, “I don’t fully approve of this but I do like the way you’re treating her, Buck, so…” he was awkward, not knowing how to word this because it seemed like a heat of the moment speech. “Yeah, I’m warming up to it.”

“Alright,” Bucky looked down at you, “I mean, that’s great but it doesn’t change anything about us, like,” Bucky laughed through the tension, “we’ve moved on like adults, I can honestly say we don’t care about what you think.”

“That’s a little intense,” you quickly added, “but I think what Bucky is trying to say is that we don’t need updates like this that you’re warming up to us dating because we are still going to date the same, your comfort is not a factor in our relationship.” you nodded and saw Steve’s face go red, “I hope one day we can be friends again and be buddies like before but right now, it’s team Bucky.”

Steve didn’t say anything else, he just watched you walk inside.

“Team Bucky?” he giggled in your ear, “I like it.”

You looked up at Bucky, “I have pasta sauce cooking, we can have it for dinner together.”

“Sounds good,” he kissed the crown of your head with his arm still wrapped around your waist, “can I make you a jersey that says team Bucky because I honestly love that?”

You laughed and fell into his side, “go for it,” he kissed you, “because it’s true.”

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[morallyinept]

Candles - A Joel Miller Birthday One Shot

Summary: It's your birthday and you're convinced that Joel has forgotten. Or worse, that he's hiding something from you.

Pairing: Post-Outbreak Joel Miller x F!Reader (No name or physical description of reader. It’s you, bub.)

Word Count: 4.8k

Scoville Smut Rating:🌶️🌶️ “It's the emergence, of.”

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here.

Smutty - Established relationship/unprotected PIV (wrap up, folks!) Angst & Joel being a miserable bastard on your birthday.

NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ. ☝🏻Don’t come at me; you’ve been plenty warned.

Author’s Note: Written for my birthday. Completely self-indulgent; Joel's the best gift, right? For anyone else celebrating their birthday today, I'm sending you the biggest smooch. 💋🖤

Check out my other birthday story, featuring Frankie Morales, called Birthday Cake.

MASTERLIST | JOEL MILLER MASTERLIST

Enjoy! 🖤

Joel doesn't like birthdays.

His birthday, September twenty-sixth, was the day the whole world went to shit. Outbreak day.

He lost Sarah on his birthday. His watch stopped when he was shot at, so he can't be sure if it was still his birthday or not, but that day and the events are ingrained in his mind, carved into the blood smeared bone in the back of his skull.

The root of all of his resentment at how he failed to stick a bullet in himself and hold his sweet Sarah again in the afterlife.

Even before the world fell, birthdays were just another day. Another brick in the wall. But they matter to you; bending his ear constantly about imaginary scenarios and the types of things you’d do if you still could celebrate it.

He wants to tell you to quit harpin' on 'bout it, but he's not cruel, despite that reputation preceding him.

Ordinarily, your excitement at such a trivial thing of adding rings to your tree trunk would give him some morsel of joy, but not when it serves a harshly confronting reminder of everything he's lost.

He remains stoic and focused, unreadable. Life and constant, crushing hardship has turned Joel into a shell of the man he once was. He knows no peace, alienated from calm.

The ink is running off the pages in his book that you thought you could read so well in the early days. The chirpy rambling from your mouth soon dips and you withdraw, keeping schtum about it further when you see the hackles of his shoulders rise.

Your birthday has been on the approach for some time now, layers of carbonic dread forming under the skin as the days move closer and closer towards it, and it's evident that Joel doesn't share your enthusiasm.

And Joel, although resolute in his usual steeliness, seems more distracted as of late too.

The lights are on, but there’s no-one home when he looks at you anymore. Conversation has been reduced to annoyed grunts and the three-sixty roll of his eyeballs clacking around in his sockets more so than usual.

And it’s all reduced to ash as the uninvited thoughts begin to infect and plague you about the possible root cause.

You ask him, one gloomy afternoon as the rain pelts against the grubby pane in your shared apartment in the QZ. Joel invited you into his home in the embryonic stage of your courting. Cleared some space through the little that he has to accommodate you and slot you into his life this past year. Made room for you in his bed.

You struggle sometimes to remember what life was like without him, as cliché as it sounds. Almost a full, singular rotation around the sun and yet Joel feels ingrained in your blood, kindred.

So why do you feel so sick to your gut right now?

He’s pulling on his boots, a low grumble heard when he leans forward and he feels his back crack with the strain. You’re getting ready mentally for him to depart from you for a few days on a scouting run, and it gets harder each time he leaves.

“Joel, is everything okay?” You ask him, looking at him through the reflection in the glass from behind you, with eyes that tell you he knows that you know something is up with him.

More so than his usual grouchy self that you find endearing despite the fluctuating temperance. That a part of him isn’t functioning properly like it used to, and the thought of that - that you can see that so plainly when he tries his damndest to hide it from you - is disconcerting to say the very least.

What else are you hiding from me, Joel?

“What d’ya mean?” He asks, his eyes and thick fingers focused on battling with small knots that aren’t made for giant hands.

“Us.” You say tentatively like it's a foreign word in your mouth.

Taboo to announce it out loud; you've both never confirmed it wholly. It's always been assumed that you're his and he's yours.

You look at the bleak, grey of the outside world. A gated world that’s incredibly small, and getting smaller as the intrepid seconds wear on.

Questions, thoughts and images; all blinking through you trying to piece it all together whilst you move stagnantly through a heavy swamp of confusion. The exact truth is staring you in the face, but try as you might to refute it; it’s plainly obvious and it begins to terrify you in new ways.

He’s pulling away from you, has been for some time now.

You can feel it in your bones as they twist and contort under your skin mercilessly. Invading your dreams and depriving you of any sleep. Nightmarish images invade tenfold of a face you know, yet don’t at the same time.

Renegade tears make themselves acknowledged, at the most inconvenient of times, and there’s only so long you can convince Joel that it’s nothing or that of a pre-menstrual crisis starting, so he’d immediately back off.

He never pushes, never probes. And it's as equally welcome as it is frustrating at times.

Emotionally you’re a wreck and you need it to stop, or for certain realisation to bear its face to Joel. It’s been a lengthy waiting game. Teetering on the edge to realisation, although part of you already knows.

He just doesn't know how to tell you. How to break your heart. And it’s worse somehow, because he’s forcing you to do it instead.

“Ya bein’ stupid.” He says, finished with the tirade of mumbles and grunts directed at the laces, and stands.

You don’t say anything to him when he asks you to explain your odd behaviour in not so many words. Instead, you stand there, forehead propped against the mottled window, steaming up from your breath, and not facing him, sulking like a prepubescent teenager being scolded for staying out too late by an overbearing father.

You can see he’s growing testy and this irks you further. Should you finally go there, omit the truth and deal with the chips wherever they may fall? Would that even be possible?

You have to tell him what's swirling a cyclone in your mind, whether it's absurd or not, right?

His broad frame in the window reflects back at you. Stepped forward and closer now so he’s looming almost. You begin to inadvertently cower into yourself a little, arms encapsulating for warmth and reassurance, and you’re sure he’s noticed because he seems to grow in height, feeding off your inward distress. His eyes are piercing and his mouth is that thin, hard line again.

He tells you you're being stupid, but it does little to cease the heavy gnawing.

Sighing, he gathers his jacket and pack. The rifle resting on the table from cleaning it most of the early hours of the morning - and not spent in bed with you - is swept up in his hands.

He hasn't touched me in so long…

He must have observed your realisations no doubt, surely the man cannot be so blind to the plight and tension you feel when you're under his nose?

And if he took pleasure in seeing your mind switch back and forth from an aurora of amplified emotions, he certainly hid it fucking well from you.

Joel turns to you before he disappears outside the door. You cling onto a desperate hope for a moment that he’ll leave something soft to accompany you; give you some affirmative reassurance and confirm that your stupidity, is in fact, that.

But he doesn’t.

He simply shuts the door behind him and leaves you floundering. Your eyes prickle, but the tears don’t fall.

You’ve cried enough now over Joel Miller.

Your birthday arrives, the dawn spent waking up in the bed alone without Joel’s warmth suffocating you; his tan skin sticking you to him.

You can't remember the last time he was inside you. A part of you.

Despite wanting to indulge in dysania, to sink into a despair that's been riding shotgun with you for a while, you will yourself up to continue with the monotony.

The day is spent as though meandering through a blur, your body robotically doing the things you’re supposed to, but your mind not being fully coherent.

Get up, eat a little something bland, exist… and so on. It's just another day. You don't even know why you expected anything different. You're foolish for even thinking it.

Your brain ticks continuously whilst your limbs belong to those of the infected that try to ravage you any chance they get beyond the walls of the QZ.

But what about those unanswered questions and coincidences floating around the apartment and jabbing you in the temple?

Joel’s disappearing acts and seeing him weary and more dishevelled when he did eventually reappear again? It's difficult to accept that you're replaceable. That the space you once fit in has been filled by something else.

Someone else, perhaps?

Your stomach lurches and you barely make it to the bathroom before you bring up all your fears and watch in numb disgust as they flush away. Piecing it all together to make any sense is a doom filled thought.

You're tired. You've had enough. You only succeed in confusing yourself further and are rewarded with a brewing migraine. And as you throw yourself onto the bed to get some rest to quell the ache behind your eyelids, you conclude that you now utterly despise birthdays.

Confronting him has to be the only option, but bravery’s lost to you; hidden away under the dank comforter, pulled up tight over its head, refusing to surface.

You're in the shower later that evening, washing away the day, when Joel returns from the scouting run.

You hear the sounds of the door rattle and his heavy sighs, even over the water flooding your ears.

But as you come out, hair dripping down your shoulders, he’s already left abruptly again, sealing you in with once more the claws of your festive loneliness.

You make you both some supper. A few cans he’d left on the table with peeling stickers and some without. The smell turns your stomach as you stare down at two plates of uneaten food that had long since gone cold and wonder how the fuck you've got here.

It's late when he comes back, startled somewhat to find you still sitting at the table. Glancing down at the food, his eyes soften and then they find yours, vacuous and empty.

You're not even pissed at him anymore.

Before he acknowledges you, you freeze momentarily and can’t abnegate yourself from looking at him, as much as you want to avoid it. But each time you falter, his hatchet eyes are staring right back at you, sending prickles all down your back.

The comprehension is a difficult task itself, but you're fruitless in your attempt to disentangle it all, even if you aren't going to be the victor in this battle that you're bound to lose.

You're going to lose him.

Perhaps you already have. You want to remember his face, so you take it all in as he hovers by the door; a large hand twisting and groping at the knob unconsciously as it squeaks around the crush of it, a nervous tick.

He’s anxious, worried. He wants this to be quick and painless. As do you.

Even if Joel has completely no idea what's been happening, surely he had to know how this situation cuts you open, how you're bleeding onto the floor.

How can he not see it?

You feel no animosity towards him at this precise moment, which confuses you further, but more of a sense of intrusion. You aren't ready for this now that he's actually here.

Joel's reaction is unguarded and you can see him looking at you, somewhat askance, around the crinkled edges of his eyes. You soften a little and let him have a final smile from you.

Something for him to remember you by.

“I have somethin’ I wanna show ya.” He says, quietly to you.

You look at him carefully as you baulk.

“What is it?” You question, suspiciously.

“Just… c'mon.” He holds out his hand, an olive branch, and you stand.

You don't take it as you follow him out into the scabby hall where the wallpaper peels and the carpet still has that burnt umber stain of blood from decades ago.

He leads you towards the stairway, heading up them and you follow, still confused.

Once you reach the top floor of the building, and the door that leads out onto the roof, Joel slightly out of breath as he rests for a second, he instructs you to close your eyes.

“Keep ‘em closed.” He murmurs to you and you feel his hand inside yours now.

Skin on skin. It makes you audibly gasp at the warmth of his touch and you remember how he feels as it tugs the remaining strangled beats out of your heart.

Joel’s hands are always warm, even if he wields death about so freely with them. You feel his grip tighten in yours, guiding you down the stone steps out onto the roof where the cool air of the dark autumnal night pierces through your thin, moth-eaten sweater.

“You’re not planning on pushing me off the roof, are you?” You snicker. But it would be a kindness, considering.

You have your other arm out in front, feeling your way, blindly.

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.” Joel mutters. There’s a smile inside of his words; you can hear it, although his tone is hard like granite. You miss that smile.

Your feet are clumsy as you step and you wobble.

“I got ya.” He steadies you, his other hand on your hip and the feel of it makes your skin burn up in a corona. It strips you of your breath.

He stops and lets go of you completely after a few more steps.

“Y’can open ‘em now.” Joel whispers to you. You can feel his breath against your ear and it leaves you feeling warm despite the nip in their air at the new altitude on the roof.

Despite the fact that you're slowly dying.

You take a breath. A slow breath to steady your nerves. You're not sure you're ready for it. Perhaps if you can keep them closed, it will never happen.

You won't have to watch him walk away.

You can’t believe what you’re seeing when you finally open them, mentally preparing yourself for the worst.

But it's anything but. It stuns you.

The roof is lit with candles; hundreds of them, maybe even a thousand there's so many. All various sizes, thicknesses, colours and in different states of burn, casting eerie, yet brilliant shadows across the brick walls.

They trail all the way across the rooftop towards you. Flickering in the gentle night’s breeze, it invokes an immediate tranquil state within you, and the warmth emanating from this gloaming wonder is enough to stop the prickles on your skin almost instantly.

"Joel..." you murmer, perplexed.

It must have taken him ages to set this up, and you’re momentarily lost for words in the confusion that makes itself known at the back of your throat in dumb astonishment.

Joel watches as you walk amongst them, slowly taking it all in and holding your palms out to feel their warmth kissing at your fingertips.

The surprise and wonder spreads out on your face as you turn back to him in wordless disbelief.

“Made it with a few seconds to spare.” He glances at his watch, then realises it’s still broken, still a constant, crushing reminder strapped to his wrist, and then beholds you with a crooked smile melting away.

You look back at him, with a frown starting to topple your awe.

“Ya thought I forgot,” Joel confirms.

You shake your head. “No. Just thought you didn’t care about it, is all.”

He steps forward to you, the flames flickering all around you both. “I care 'bout you.”

You feel your heart stop beating for a second. “You didn’t have to do this...”

“I wanted to. I know m'a grouch and-”

“Joel. Stop talking.” The low timbre of his voice jars you. It's gentle in its gruffness. And it’s too much as your eyes well up without your control, without your say so.

“Hey,” he turns your head to him, to face him head on. His thumbs smoothing across your cheeks as you grip onto his thick wrists.

“I thought-”

“I know what ya thought. S’not gonna happen, okay?” He says earnestly and for the first time in what feels like a long time, Joel pulls those inane fears out of you and stamps on them until they’re all dead.

You nod, sniffing the tears back with all your might, but they fall in your stringent relief anyway.

“C’mere,” he crushes you into his stacked chest, the soft ebb of his heartbeat the only sound you can hear as it clears out the dusty crevices of your mind.

You pull away to marvel and feel the balminess from the candles all over your body.

“See, it’s things like this that make me believe you’re human after all,” you whisper in complete awe.

He frowns. “Ya wrong ‘bout that.”

You scoff. “Are you kidding me? Look at this, Joel. At what you did, for me. It’s... amazing. Are you seriously going to tell me that a monster would do that for someone, because I don’t believe that?”

He can see the reflection of a thousand or so candles in your eyes, twinkling back at him like glitter.

After being lost in them momentarily, he rubs up and down your arms with his hands.

“Y'don’t believe in monsters, do ya? Even when the world's full of 'em?” He questions carefully.

“Not in the slightest. People are just people.” You reply. Although some of them admittedly more fucked up than others.

“What 'bout people who do bad things?”

You look at him sincerely. And it makes more sense now. There's still a wall there. “They’re still people.”

Joel absorbs your answer, the answer you always give him when he gets like this. When he needs you to convince him there's still good in the world, because you're good.

When he feels unworthy.

“D’you believe that a man can ever be changed of his ways?” Joel asks.

“People can always change, if they really want to. Why?”

“Hypothetical question.” He replies, quickly.

“Do you really believe that you’re a monster, Joel?” You ask him carefully.

You watch as he kicks up a piece of grit on the ground repeatedly, unsure of whether he'd heard you at first.

“Y’don’t," he begins and makes his way back after losing it for a second. "Y'don't make me feel like one.” He mutters with rust in his throat.

You take his hands, those giant, calloused paws inside your own and squeeze them until he can’t feel them anymore.

He looks at you, and it bothers him more than it should do - more than he would have liked it to - the thought of you at home alone, especially on your birthday, thinking that he was going to leave you as he was filling his pack full of all the candles he could scavenge in and around the QZ.

Months of planning and keeping this from you, and you thought he was going to say goodbye. Surely that's monstrous, for him to have allowed it to get so bad.

He failed you. He made you feel unworthy. And that doesn't sit right with Joel Miller.

He watches as you stare a while at the candles, flickering in the night’s air with the inviting sound of silence to accompany you both.

No thrashing heartbeat, no thudding of blood pulsing in your ears. No static.

Just a strange peace, which has seemingly gorged on all the confusion, all the angst and fears that had been mounting within you for so long.

He goes to speak, clears his throat of the block, and then chokes on his words as he tries to assimilate them together into something coherent, something meaningful.

You turn to him sensing his unease and it equally fascinates and infuriates him that you can do that; that you can put him at ease to get them out without sounding like a bumbling fool.

You sense that what he wants to say will be relevant and would give you what you need, but you never expect him to say, in all your remotest dreams or fears:

“I love ya.”

He’s known it for a while. Felt that this was more than just two people surviving and fucking together through the dark nights to feel anything more than just pain and existing.

Joel had poked his head in the bathroom one evening, watching as you’d showered after a rough day and a close call; your body mottled with dirt and bruises and he’d felt it then.

That overpowering need to protect you. To keep the bad things at bay, even if that meant he had to do some bad things in exchange. His soul was a fair price to trade to keep you by his side. And what's love, if it's not protection?

Helping you out with a towel ready for you, bubbles splodged all up your back and glistening at him, he realised that perhaps he was falling in love with you.

He didn't want to be in love with you though. He wanted to keep you at bay, to not let you in under the layers of his skin. Not let you unravel what was left of him; a small thread wound so close to the spool.

Love would make protecting you that much more difficult.

He was never confident in negotiating all the social interactions that came with dating, especially in this world now. It was foolish to bear your heart because at any point it could be ripped away and eaten.

But with you? His heart was always on his sleeve, soaking it damp in his blood. Whatever this was between you, it felt easy somehow, like breathing.

Joel could finally breathe.

There was no choice in falling for you. And Joel never wanted to make another choice ever again.

You reach up on your tiptoes and place a gentle kiss on his mouth; revelling in the feel of his mustache and greying scruff tickling soft at your face.

A feeling that if you never got to experience again, the way it leaves lightning streaking through your blood, would kill you.

You slip your tongue into his mouth and he welcomes you in, squeezing you closer to him and groaning around your taught gums. You lick gently across his bottom lip before taking it in your teeth and pulling deep growls from him.

“M’trying to be a gentleman here, darlin’. But if y’keep doing that, I’m fuckin’ ya up against the wall.”

His breath trips up in his throat and your body soars at his warning as it rolls acrid and sharp off his tongue into your mouth, forcing you to taste his cavities. To taste his promises.

He still wants you, he’ll always want you despite your stupid neuroses.

You bite and suck his lip again deliberately, and he growls.

"Ya leavin' me very little recourse."

“I love you, Joel.” You gasp as your hands grapple and devour him just as hungrily. Breathing out like a balloon losing its helium, you pant and moan for more air; for more of him.

He’s quick, like steam; power marching you backwards and your back hits the brickwork, knocking the breath out of your lungs.

The shadows of the night dance over his hard facial features and he glows ethereal at you from the candlelight illuminating his left side. A constant ying-yang of who he is and you want both sides of him, forever.

You want the distant and the present. You want the soft and the rough. You just want him.

"Say it again" he hisses.

"I love you-"

He silences you with a swamping kiss. Joel’s wilder now; like a rabid dog drooling all over you. His hands are clawing, groping and squeezing.

Quick, desperate fingers stripping you of your jeans and unbuttoning his own at the same time; a messy blur of his hands as you stay glued to his lips and taste the notes of his tongue.

He massages the soft fat of your buttocks, malleable warm flesh in his giant hands as he kneads gently with thumbs that’ll bruise. You can feel his cock pushing hard and swollen against your slit as he moves your ass back and forth, pulling you closer to his body.

Closer to the broken fragments of his soul.

"Joel…" you whine into his mouth with pathetic need, fingers curling into the hair at his nape.

"Tell me what ya want, darlin'." He sucks on your lip and lets it go with a little squelchy pop. Lips and tongue trailing across your jaw and feasting on the skin at your throat.

"You. Always you.” You mewl mesmerised as his cock slides up against your clit; your body flinches like it’s been electrocuted. You’re crashing, falling into him and surrendering. "Need you."

"Want me inside?" He groans as you nod, lost to the heated desire that burns through your body and drips down your thighs.

"Deep. Hard." You plead. You crave his chaos, it's been so long since you tasted it. "I need you."

"I want ya." He groans.

"Have me, fuck me. Joel, just fuck me, please!"

Hungry brown eyes are pulling yours into them as his swollen head delves into your soaked lips. His stretch burns, opening you up for him again. Sliding with ease into the hilt of you, where he ultimately belongs.

"Hear that? Hear how wet ya are for me? God damn..." He teases, pulling you closer by your ass cheeks as his fat cock pushes up inside the tight channel of your cunt.

You hiss as he pulls up your leg, wrapping it around his waist as he hoists you fully up against the wall. The brickwork is rough against your skin, despite the protective layer of your sweater that grazes against it as he starts to pummel.

He loses all control with you. Can never keep his shit together as you unravel him from that spool completely.

"Fuck," you groan, biting down on your lip as he fills you. His breath leaves him in a wheeze and floods your face as he thrusts in and out; marvels at how well you always take him until he’s completely obliterated.

You can feel yourself soaring, higher into the sky as it holds its arms out for you ready to pull you in. Only he knows how to take you to this height, to this place. A place where, for a moment, only you exist, the two of you, on this bleak rooftop, surrounded by decades of carnage.

But it’s all stripped away in his groans and your pants as you feed each other your imbibed love in a world where everything dies.

In a world where physical gifts are pointless and sparse tokens of fleeting affection, he does the next best thing. Joel gives you something that he knows you’ll always want.

He gifts himself to you.

“Ain’t ever leaving ya, y’hear?” He sounds off in your ear through reckless pants and groans that suffocate on the floor below you. “M’here, always here. Fuck!” He spits. "Gonna be inside ya always, darlin'."

You grip onto him, meeting him with every shunt of his hips into yours, feeling him continuously bottom out as the light from the candles start to blind you over his shoulder.

Feeling your mind grow and body start to pull apart. Feeling the wall scuffing and blistering against your flesh and revelling in the delicious masochism it evokes as he fucks you hard agasint it.

Fucks you like he’s never letting you go.

He laments it over and over. And you believe the sincerity.

“Harder.” You beg, your fingers digging into his shoulders; your nails leaving crescent moons indented in his neck.

"Joel, fuck me harder, please. I want it all."

“That’s some big smack talk for a little lady.” He pants with a smirk.

“Joel!” You whine as he speeds up, giving you what you want so wholly and irrevocably. "Fuck! Yes!"

Your howls of insistence are stripped of any sanity or verbosity as you let go fully and gush around his cock, right to the root.

Pumping himself harder into you and hearing you scream, feeling you buck with the pleasure of it all on the end of his cock as you shake and give him the best of yourself. The parts of you that are only for him to keep.

The part where you're completely stripped back and bare, and he can see you. And you're so fucking beautiful.

And it's right there, he can see it, that love you have back for him as your eyes come unstuck from the back of your head and stare into him as you can see all of him; bruised and fleshed with vulnerability.

Watery with relief, with the fading ebbs of your pleasure. The acceptance of this piece of him he's plucked from his chest and plopped in your hands.

And it's his complete undoing.

Joel grunts out your name as he releases, giving you the final pieces of him as he fills you full of his warm, thick spend.

“Fuck…” He drones, your arms tight around the back of his neck as you slip down the wall onto jellied feet.

His hands stay on your hips, cock slippery and poking you in the belly. Sweaty forehead pressed to yours as he tells you he loves you again on a barely there whisper.

You steal another glance round at the candles, their light blinding your retinas and searing this moment into your mind forever.

You kiss him and he kisses back harder, deeper; a man ravaged of affection, yet he still has small, bloodied parts of him left to share with you. Even if it fucking terrifies him.

“Happy birthday, darlin’,” Joel whispers.

You don’t need to blow out the candles and make a wish.

You’ve already got everything you want, right here, in your arms.

Thank you so much for reading this lil' birthday fic of mine! 🎉 Re-blogs & comments are always appreciated & fuel me. 🖤

MASTERLIST | JOEL MILLER MASTERLIST

#jett's birthday #joel miller #joel miller tlou #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us #the last of us fic #pedro pascal joel miller #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #jett's pedro boys

[writingforatwistedworld]

oooo ok ok ok

so what bout a platonic deuce, epel, and lilia with a gn reader that kinda talks out loud to themselves when they play?

like they say how much they want to be this character's brother, or how they bet this character would be a good parental figure, etc. or even when another character says/does something they don't like they kinda just, voice their opinion on it?

just their reaction to reader talking out loud/voicing their thoughts lmao srry if this doesn't make sense

Self-aware au

I do not take any responsibility for you reading this no matter which age group you are from!

WARNINGS: Yandere themes, violence, description of violence, obsessive themes, religion, war (if you squint)

Deuce Spade/Epel Felmier/Lilia Vanrouge-Player voicing their thoughts whilst playing (PLATONIC!)

Deuce is a calm guy, they said. Deuce is a chill guy, they said

Well whoever they are haven't seen him when you are around, behind the screen or not

This guy is just happy that you confide in him enough that you voice your thoughts to him

Don't mention that you are just on venting-you-thoughts mode when you play… Like seriously, don't.

He is always more than happy to listen whenever you are talking.

Could be about how much you like his newest card design but could also be about what you want for dinner. Idk? I would recommend something light like banana muffins with blueberries. It's very tasty. Trust me.

If you could see through the coding he would be like “Oh really.” and “You don't say.” or “What? Really?”

What I am trying to say is that he is probably more engaged in this “conversation than most would be

If some poor NPC “interrupts” (aka not heating what he is hearing and starting to talk) he will show them how fragile the ordinary human nose is. In other words, fist meet face. Nose make crack. NPC is screaming.

But on another note, should you voice wishing to be a family member of his, say for example his sibling, he would be over the moon

He is in lalaland, imagining how he and his younger siblings would enjoy their free time together. Heck, probably taking care of some chicks

Oh, and what if you were his older sibling? Like, wow, you would be such a cool role model! You probably wouldn't be a thug like him so that makes you even… cooler (?) in his eyes

Dude over here is having such a great time imagining being your sibling he is low-key looking like he ascended

But then he starts to imagine the darker sides of life

Like how his younger sibling could be bullied in school whilst he is stuck on this island

Or even worse if you are the older one of you two, you might start dating!

I don't know if it is funny or sad that he is feeling a sensation of loss over a sibling he never had

Like bro, chill. Don't beat up that student that looks similar to the imaginary partner you just made up in your mind. They can't be held accountable for your min-OH NO DON… Didn't he want to stop with this?

Epel is literally frothing at his mouth when he hears your innermost thoughts

Now now, I know this is creepy (like wtf get yourself together man) but I promise he is totally normal (who am I kidding he looks like he has rabies) and is also a totally chill guy (is it obvious that I am lying?)

Religious indoctrination or whatnot

Imagine, you are already isolated in a village filled with religious zealots, always hearing how great that person (you) is

And then they spill everything on their mind to you

Give him a day or two and he will be back to normal… if we ignore that poor student in the corner

Like man, you noted one single time how much you liked this NPCs design and the next thing he knows he is seeing red

It's kinda like seeing your favorite family member favoring that one annoying cousin who is related to you over five corners

Has a notebook and writes everything he deems important down… which is a lot to be fair (but let the guy have his weird hobby, ok?)

But then you mention how you wish you were a family member of his and oh my god I think he is this close to breaking the fourth wall for real this time

This hits home to him

Remember how I told you about his village's eight lines higher than this one? Yeah.

There had been others his age but they were little to none and his village is in the middle of nowhere so…

But we also know how much he loves his grandma so it is a given that he would cherish you as well

Also, his god saying that they would want to be related to him. Ugh. He is honored so much that it is disgusting

But I could see this isolation and certain closeness you only get with a sibling also being not so good for you

What if you like the other villagers your age more than him? What if his girly appearance drives you away from him? (Bro u probably more dangerous with those looks than without them bc no one expects you to be able to throw hands but go on)

This leads to more and more self-doubts until he more or less bursts and just turns into someone no one wants to be around because of how aggressive he is

Thank god for the fourth wall or else you wouldn't see him like his old, not-so-destructive self anymore

Lilia is… something

His interest in you isn't purely romantic. It started out as something more like him holding onto something so he wouldn't go mad during “those days” *add fire noises and screaming in the background*

So it's more of a “I BETTER BELIEVE IN SOMETHING OR ELSE I MIGHT LOOSE MY MIND” than “Omg I am such a good follower te-he” situation

Little to no one has had access to the Overseer's thoughts and he is just randomly hearing them whilst thinking about what to make for dinner

Like Epel, he is pretty intense when it comes to you. Difference is that Epels “interest” in you stems from a place of… let's say religious views and Lilias from “those days” *fire noises and screaming in the background intensifies*

But unlike the guy who more or less shares his height and is a cotton candy version of himself concerning their hair he doesn't write down your thoughts

Oh no

This guy listens to it like he is hearing the world's greatest opera singer perform live in front of him

Thank goodness no one other than the other Diasomnia students mention your ramblings or else there would be heads flying

What? Can't a guy hope to have some special link to his deity? God, you all are so cold. Can't you even try to see his perspective? (I am joking please don't do what he does your reaction is totally valid)

But then you once mentioned how much you want to be part of his little family and whoops- there went his sanity

What if he had adopted you and Silver at the same time?

Wouldn't that be the cutest?

Sebek is almost screaming when he suddenly hears *ahem* LILIA-SAMA cooing at nothing out of nowhere

You two would be so cute growing up together and he would be the one honored to be this close to some kind of reincarnation of his God

But- but what if he was the only one knowing who you truly were? The other Faes (Malleus and Sebek being the exceptions) can't hear you so what if… what if you were also seen as some sort of weird outsider like Silver?

Don't get him wrong, the Faes have never shown hostility to his son but there was always that certain distance, Sebek and his family being one of the few accepting the young silver-haired knight as he was

Suddenly Lilia feels a certain kind of rage bubbling up to the surface like he hadn't felt in a long time

Silver… uh… you better hide that meatclea- *coughcough* I mean, legendary sword from your father

#yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere twst x reader #self aware au #platonic #twst #yandere deuce x reader #yandere deuce spade #yandere deuce #deuce x reader #twst deuce #twisted wonderland deuce #yandere epel #yandere epel x reader #twst epel x reader #yandere epel felmier #epel x reader #twst epel #twisted wonderland epel #twst lilia x reader #yandere lilia x reader #yandere lilia vanrouge #lilia vanrouge x reader #yandere lilia #twst lilia #twisted wonderland lilia #tw: yandere #tw: violence #tw: obsessive behavior

[pandoraslxna]

Sweet like Cherry – Chapter 2

Miles Quaritch x female human reader

Words: 6.5k

Summary: Miles has a secret admirer and apparently, she has a thing for photography.

Warnings: explicit smut, voyeurism, exhibitionism, bullying, teasing, sexual tension, virginity, fingering, masturbation, dirty talk, dom/sub dynamics, nudes, corruption kink, slight praise and degradation / humiliation, daddy issues, age difference, authority kink, alcohol consumption, edging

Notes: I wrote this during the worst writers block ever, so I feel like there’s still so much left unsaid in this chapter, ugh. Whatever. I still hope you guys enjoy it! Also, please don’t get confused but I’ve decided to switch the pov between Miles and Cherry every other chapter so the story can be seen through the eyes of both of them.

The first time you could remember being called a nerd it had been as an insult. Of course.

The term exactly used was ‘stupid nerd’ after you had refused to give the answers to a biology test to the rest of the class in highschool. You could handle being called names, it wasn't that much of a big deal. In fact, you were a nerd. There was no way around it. No matter how many times you insisted you had been to any party’s on the weekends instead of studying all night long or that you had made out with that definitely-not-imaginary-boyfriend after school, you were and you would always be a massive nerd.

Nothing to be ashamed of, honestly. It’s what had gotten you this job, after all.

Driven to succeed starting from a young age, you had excelled academically, earning top grades and winning numerous awards. You‘ve always been particularly interested in science and botanic, and even pursued a degree at a prestigious university.

After graduation, you set your sights on this rare opportunity to work at a highly coveted research lab, one that only a handful of people in the world had ever been invited to join. Over the years, you worked tirelessly, taking on increasingly complex projects and earning the respect of colleagues and superiors.

Spending long hours studying, researching and practicing your skills was the reason why you ended up being one of the candidates that were considered for this job. And when the time came to apply, you submitted a flawless application that showcased your brilliance and dedication.

Yes, you were a nerd. But in the end, you had beat out hundreds of other highly qualified applicants for the chance to be send to Pandora, working for the RDA‘s botanical scientific team.

So, it wasn't like you didn't like the word. The only issue was, that it brought back some unpleasant memories you thought that a twenty-five year old adult should have already been over.

But the first time someone on Pandora had called you a nerd, you didn't come back to that memory. No, your mind was entirely too focused on taking in the sight and presence in front of you to even have time to go back to that place, back to the time in school when people thought intelligence was a reason to bully.

The main cafeteria was as cramped as usual, soldiers as well as scientists taking in their meals in the spacious hall. It was well-lit and ventilated, with long tables and benches filling the room that almost reminded you of the cafeteria at your old university back on earth.

The food options are diverse, thankfully. Ranging from traditional earth cuisine to exotic dishes from Pandora. The atmosphere was bustling, with conversations and debates taking place between colleagues, while others sat in silence, lost in thought. Despite their differences, everyone seemed to be united in their shared mission on Pandora, which was something you realized right after your arrival on this planet a couple of months ago. It made you feel like you finally belonged somewhere.

Poking around in what looked like pasta, but was actually some green-yellowish-vegetable, you absently listened to your coworkers wild discussion about a topic that seemed pretty much endless to you.

Maggie‘s latest success of exchanging phone numbers with Phil from floor 3.G. A computer engineer and now basically the talk of the town. The town being you and a couple of female coworkers your age that often shared lunch together, but otherwise barely interacted if it wasn’t work related.

Apparently, it was a rather big deal for Maggie to finally get into Phil’s pants, because, and I quote, "it’s been forever" and "I almost feel like I will revert into a virgin back again if I don’t get laid anytime soon" followed by cheerful laughter and agreement of the whole group.

It was weird, you thought, how people act as though not getting laid is the worst thing that could possibly happen to a person. You, honest to god, could not care less whether or not you will have sex in the next century, much less the next couple of years.

Deciding that you’ve heard enough nonsense for the day, you packed up your lunch and excused yourself with a polite smile.

Lost in thought, your feet tapped on the floor as you waited for the elevator doors to open, so you could travel up to the main lab and continue your work in peace.

Sure, the other scientists were nice and under other circumstances you would maybe even consider them as more than just coworkers, you think to yourself. But you weren’t here to make friends.

The doors then slide open with a ding, cutting off your train of thoughts before your eyes fall on the wall of blue muscles and green cargo pants that were about to exit the elevator, stopping yourself just in time before you ran into them.

These must be the recombinant soldiers all of bridgehead city was talking about lately, you thought. They looked like Na‘vi, almost identical like the ones you’ve studied in books and seen on photos, when the head of security advised you and the others on your very first day on Pandora. You knew Na‘vi were inhumanly tall, but these guys were god damn trees! You had to crane your neck all the way up to even look at their faces.

Your eyes fell on the soldier standing more in the front than the others, spine straight and chest puffed out like a leader. His skins was a midnight blue, with faint, bioluminescence dots all over his body, barely visible in the bright daylight. His eyes immediately landed on you as well, bright like stars and boring through your very soul, like you were an insect that landed on his windshield.

You were so lost in your admiration of the foreign view in front of you, that your feet decided to grow roots underneath your soles, instead of showing proper etiquette and stepping aside.

"Move it, nerd", the recom suddenly said, his voice low and thick and more like a deep, annoyed grumble than anything else. The soldiers behind him begin to chuckle as you quickly scrambled to the side so they could finally pass. Even though he was quite tall, he seemed to move lithe and with grace. Silent, even with heavy combat boots and packed full of military gear. His tail gently swaying behind his back and ears laying flat against his head, he reminded you of a cat.

A big, blue cat.

"At least these damn science pukes never change", you heard the same blue soldier say to his companions before the elevator doors closed right in front of your face, leaving you alone with the reflection of your dumbstruck expression in the silvery reflection.

Colonel Miles Quaritch was the one you’ve crossed paths with on this day. The one who’d called you a nerd, followed by the extremely creative term 'science puke'. Of course you had heard about him, heard his stories, told by soldiers and scientists like he was some kind of myth or legend. And maybe he was.

Until this day, you still don’t know what exactly it was, that made him so incredibly fascinating to you. At first you thought, that maybe you were just mesmerized by the first Na‘vi-like humanoid you had seen in person. They were pretty, no doubt. Exotic. But then again, you weren’t really interested in any of the other recoms.

It was just him.

Cold logic told you that the most sensible thing to do right now was forget about him.

Miles Quaritch was a man of authority. He wasn’t just a guy, like Phil from floor 3.G was just a guy. Not just any man on this moon, not just any man in his mid twenties that you should consider more appropriate and fitting for a woman like you.

So maybe it was the fact that he was older. Old enough that if you would dare to say it out loud, the thought that you think of him as attractive, people would throw concerning looks at you and maybe even scrunch their noses in disgust. Old enough, it would send your mother into a coma.

There had to be some rule against woman finding men around their fathers age hot. Men whose authority made them ten times more attractive. Men that were exotic and alien and blue and tall and— There had to be some law that– that could protect you from the dangerous man that Quaritch was. There had to be something in the books about dealing with this.

This being the pounding in your chest whenever you thought about the Miles Quaritch being the one to pop your cherry. A thought that had never crossed your mind before, not in all of your twenty five years of living, and not with any other man you’ve met before.

Since that day, you kept seeing him and his squad almost daily. Usually, it was just the two of you walking past each other in the hallway, him entering the cafeteria just as you left or watching him get on a samson helicopter from the giant floor-to-ceiling window of the upper laboratory. He definitely was a busy man, never lowering his gaze enough to acknowledge you or literally any other human.

You might laugh if you weren’t feeling so…conflicted, right now. Honestly, how the fuck are you supposed to keep going about your business as usual after this? Making you feel the way he does and then having the nerve, the audacity, to pretend like he hadn’t just thrown your whole world for a loop?

And that’s the painful realization that finally hit you on this tuesday night, after a hot bath with a side of one or two glasses of wine. Okay, maybe three.

To him, you were just one of the many unimportant nerds on this stupid moon, blending into the background like you were part of the interior design.

The third— no, actually it was the fourth glass of wine that you emptied with a final, big gulp. It had a sharp flavor that made you grimace when you were still at your first glass and burned your nasal passages in a similar way to horseradish. But now it was bearable. It’s not like you had any other choice than to drink this overly expensive pandorian wine, made from grapes that were sown and reaped on the soil that was soon to be the new home of mankind. Definitely not worth the price of thirty bucks for a bottle, though.

Turning around in your bed, you sat the glass down on your nightstand. Glancing around, your eyes fell upon the polaroid camera, your camera, perched on the chair by the small wooden desk. Memories come flooding back as you looked at it, reminding you of home and the countless moments captured by the instant camera.

You could almost hear the sound of the shutter and the whirring of the film as it developed. A sense of nostalgia washes over you as you remember the familiar faces and places immortalized by it. For a brief moment, you feel as though you had transported back to your childhood home, surrounded by the warmth and comfort of your family. It was a gift, the old thing. Meant to capture photos of the new world, friends and moments with a loved one. Someone your family, and maybe deep down even yourself, were hoping you would finally find here.

With a sigh, you shook your head as if that would shake off those thoughts. But the harm’s already been done and your interest has already been piqued.

The only guy in this city, on this damn moon, that you were maybe just a teeny-tiny bit interested in, would most definitely never notice that you even exist. You were certain that even if he magically decided to do so, he wouldn’t even find you attractive, let alone interesting enough that you would truly capture his attention for more than two minutes. Your confidence was further undermined by your tendency to overthink and second-guess yourself, making you feel even more inadequate.

If only there was a way for him to acknowledge your existence, to know that there was someone who’s interested in him, without the further embarrassment and humiliation of him knowing who exactly you are and having to stand in front of this giant blue man, and possibly his whole squad too, and confess whatever feelings you harbored for him. Feelings you couldn’t really put a name on just yet.

May it be through the fifth glass of wine and the fact that drinking always lead you to things that never turned out good -the main reason why you thought you had quit drinking at all- or call it faith, but somehow your gaze lands on the little polaroid camera once again. God, it must’ve really been the fucking alcohol screwing with your brain, because there was no way you, of all people, was actually thinking about this.

A man like Colonel Miles Quaritch must’ve been hard to impress. He wasn’t a man of many words, so anonymous love letters wouldn’t do. But he was still a man after all, and if there was one thing you’ve learned in these past couple of weeks (thank you, Maggie), then it was the fact that men were obsessed with the female body and seeing them pop up on their screens at 3am.

But that would require you getting your hands on either his phone number, which you doubted even exists, or his work email, that was probably supervised by someone. A man like Quaritch that was so important to the whole of Bridgehead city really wasn’t an easy target when it came to anonymous messages, let alone nudes that were meant for his eyes only. Which left you with one choice only.

It had to be the old fashioned way.

Being reckless surely didn’t get you into this career path. Actually, it was the complete opposite.

Usually, you were rather cautious and thoughtful in your actions and decisions. You take the time to weigh the risks and benefits of a situation before making a choice, prioritize safety and responsibility over immediate gratification.

Planning ahead and taking steps to mitigate potential risks, rather than rushing headlong into a situation without considering the consequences was more like you.

While you may have not always been the most spontaneous or adventurous type of person, your friends- okay scratch that, your coworkers respected you for your level-headedness and reliability, your sense of conscientiousness and a desire to act in a responsible and considered way.

You didn’t spend half your life being teased as prudent, too careful and deliberate, just to now act like a brainless, horny teenager. Yet here you where, at exactly four-thirty in the morning, sliding a set of carefully chosen polaroids under the gap of Quaritch‘s door.

By now, you knew his daily routines, knew his busy schedule by heart. When he was gone to workout with the rest his squad, knew when he was at the cafeteria and when he was away for a mission. Still, you couldn’t help but glance both ways, making sure the hallway was empty, before you slid them under his door and made a run for it like a school girl placing chocolate on her crush’s desk on Valentine’s Day.

You blamed it on the adrenaline pumping through your veins that day, and also the days after that, but you found yourself laying in bed with a hand buried between your thighs quite more often than usual. Not that you would actually call yourself a voyeur, but there was just something about knowing Quaritch had now officially seen you naked that did something to you.

Miles Quaritch didn't– wouldn't ever touch you, you knew that, was well aware of that even if it pained you. But then again, nobody ever said you couldn't take a deep, shaky breath, slip a hand beneath the waistband of your pyjama pants, and shut your eyes as you touched yourself, imagining it was him touching you, instead. There was no harm in that, really. And you even came to the conclusion that you would be perfectly fine to continue living like that.

In those rare moments you’ve been seeing him during lunch break or the split seconds of passing each other in the hallway, you didn’t note a significant change in his mannerisms. Not towards you or literally anyone else. However, the tension in his shoulders seemed to have loosened up the past couple of days. Not by much, but enough for someone like you to notice. Which could mean two things. One, he still hadn’t figured out that the woman on these anonymous, but very explicit, polaroid photos was you. And two, he didn’t mind receiving them.

This theory was surprisingly proven right just a couple of weeks later.

Unfortunately, in this moment, you weren't as excited about those news as you thought you would be. If anything, you felt like a child getting caught with a hand stuck in the cookie jar, while balancing on a chair that only stood on one leg to reach the top of the fridge.

"Well, well. Look what we have here. If that ain’t my sweet little cherry…"

With trembling fingers, you entered the pass code to your room, the door unlocking with a familiar click to reveal a dimly lit bedroom.

You absently cursed yourself for not making the bed before you had left, too busy rushing out and get to the Colonels room for your daily delivery, hoping he wasn’t back from his mission yet. Luck definitely wasn’t on your side today.

After a long moment of standing motionless in the doorway, you suddenly felt a large palm on your lower back, gentle, yet firmly pushing you further into the room. Your shoulders begin to tense up at the thought of who was standing right behind you, crouching to even fit through the door.

The floor under his heavy combat boots creaked as the Colonel followed you, otherwise silent as a cat. You dared to glance over your shoulder just once, looking back to find him scanning your room like he was entering dangerous territory. His golden eyes almost seemed to glow in the dark, and it send goosebumps prickling over your skin when they landed on you.

Your room wasn’t particularly big, so it only took three or four steps for you to reach the center of it, coming to an halt right in front of your bed before you slowly turned around to face him. You clenched and unclenched your hands into fists at your sides, feeling your fingernails dig into sweaty palms.

Your heart was still racing as Quaritch eyed you up and down. With a sinking feeling in your chest, you mentally prepared yourself for the consequences that awaited you, expecting that you would inevitably face a scolding for your actions.

Your lips parted to speak, yet his voice was quicker to slice through the thick tension in the air.

"Show me", was all he said, arms crossing over his board chest, like a teacher expecting to hear a step by step explanation on how you came up with the answer to a question that was way out of your brand of knowledge.

"W-What?"

The Colonel tsks, but he doesn’t sound all too angry. If anything, he sounds amused. Like this was a game to him, and it made you feel so much smaller next to him than you already were. "How you do it", he chuckled lowly, "Show me how you took these photos, cherry."

His words left you speechless. You could physically feel how your cheeks flushed with embarrassment, and words failed to find their way past the knot in your throat. In all honesty, you expected thing to take a different turn here.

The prompting raise of his eyebrows was all that it took for you to plop down onto the edge of your bed.

There was this strange, pulsing sensation in your underwear, hot and insistent— almost an ache, as you stared up at Quaritch with wide eyes.

"Where do you usually put the camera?", he asks ever so nonchalantly, looking around briefly before his eyes bore into yours again and you force yourself to swallow around the lump in your throat.

"There", you point to a chair next to the table in front of your bed. "It has an automatic shutter. Goes off every couple of minutes so I don’t… h-have to get up every time."

The Colonel nods attentively, and then he moves to where you point, one long stride before he sits down right there on the chair. It’s comically small underneath him, his thick thighs spread wide as he leans back and the seat creaks underneath his weight.

"Go on", he urges, his hand gesturing in the air before it comes to rest at this thigh. "Take off your clothes."

A minute passes, and this is too strange for you to be comfortable with. He couldn’t except you to strip down right here, right in front of him. Not with him just sitting there, watching.

You glanced down at yourself with a frown, subconsciously biting your bottom lip in thought.

You never used to think much about how you looked to others. It’s not that you didn’t care about your own body. You cared about hygiene, about a well-groomed appearance. But you had little to no concept of your own attractiveness.

Seeing that you hadn’t moved to obey his command, the Colonel shook his head with another tsk.

"C‘mere", he then said with a sigh, reaching out with his free hand and then grabbed your wrist as soon as you got up from your position, jerking you closer. You swallowed nervously, stumbling and lifting your other hand, bracing yourself against his chest. You blushed the moment you realized the sudden closeness and dropped your hand, trying to step away, but a firm hand on the backside of your thigh wouldn't let you.

"Humor me, cherry", he said, his hands running up and down your thighs, big enough to almost close entirely around them. "I didn’t recall you as being so shy when I’ve got all these photos from you. That was you, right?"

His hands moved up higher, his palms gliding over the soft swell of your ass, reaching for the zipper of your pencil skirt. All hair on your body stood up straight at the sound of your zipper being pulled down.

"Yes, sir", you breathed softly. The Colonel hooks his thumbs underneath the waistband of your skirt, slowly pulling the black fabric down and over your legs. He hums softly as his eyes catch sight of your lace panties, his thumb gently running over the fabric. For a second, your breath hitches and you think he would pull them down next, but then his hands move further up, apparently saving this part for the grand finale. Although they’re big and you expect his fingers to work rather clumsily with the extremely small buttons of your blouse, he opens them swiftly and with dexterity.

The slide down of your sleeves over your shoulders and arms is slow, almost sensually. You shiver once the cold air of the room hits your bare skin. You don’t even know when and how he had opened the clasp of your bra, and it’s only when he makes you lift your arms a little to get it off, that you realize you’re almost completely bare before him now.

The urge to cover your chest overcomes you suddenly, but his hands move faster, snatching your wrists to keep them at your sides. With a warning squeeze, he lets go of them then, in order to let them roam over your body, to admire what was hidden from his sight. Unblemished skin, perky nipples, the rapid rise and fall of your chest synced to your breathing, each one precious, finite. Quaritch’s hand is warm when it runs up your stomach to cup a breast, giving an experimental squeeze that makes you bite down on the inside of your cheek, hard, to stifle a whimper. You should feel shame, you think, as you arch against the warmth of his palm. His thumb brushes over a nipple and your breathing stutters, a mischievous grin spreading over his lips at that.

"This your first time, ain’t it?"

You swallow hard at the question, heart skittering in your chest, as you try to decide whether to put your focus on the feeling of his hand sliding down your waist or figuring out the answer to his questions.

With his other hand, the Colonel traces the outline of your tattoo, his gaze so intense and focused on the fine, red lines, that your breathing soon turns into shallow pants of air. You felt hot. Too hot, as you slowly become aware of the situation you were in.

His hand slides further down your side, along your hips, down to the backside of your thighs, squeezing the soft flesh. This time, you couldn’t hold back the whimper from escaping. Immediately, your hand comes up to cover your mouth. Quaritch smiles at that, wickedly amused. "You're not very good at hiding it. So twitchy and scared. Bit off a bit more than you could chew, hm?"

There came no response from you, besides the shakily exhale of a breath you didn’t realize you were even holding and the red flush of your face.

Quaritch chuckles softly and you feel your heart pounding in your chest, feel it pulsating between your legs.

"Are you into that kind of stuff? Did it get you wet?", he asks with the tilt of his head, "Got all hot and bothered giving me these polaroids?"

The sight of his half lidded eyes staring at you sends a thrill crackling down your spine, wild and breathless. Heat pools in your stomach in a way that you’ve never let yourself get so close to before, the very height of arousal. So different from all the times you had touched yourself.

"Let’s see…", Quaritch murmurs with a sharp grin, not even waiting for an answer as he adverts his gaze further down. And then, you feel his hands on your waist again, pulling at the soft fabric of your lace panties– down, down, down, until they pool at your ankles.

You can’t bring yourself to look at him, don’t want to see his face as he stares right at your most private parts. Too embarrassed, you just glance down on yourself, too.

"Oh, it did! Look at that", the Colonel exclaimed with a chuckle, and your eyes follow his, to where a wet patch had formed on your underwear. "You really are something, aren’t you? Got myself a little exhibitionist, huh?"

Words were still caught up in your throat, so all you could manage to do in place of a verbal response, was look back at him with a flustered face. He clearly meant to tease you, maybe even humiliate you, so why did his words turn you on so much? Your thighs almost automatically pressed together in desperate need for friction.

Quaritch’s hands are large and rough, fingers long and thick. Perfect and so incredibly warm against the skin of your lower abdomen as he slides a single digit between your thighs. His knuckle brushes against your clit, forcing a breathy moan through your lips as he drags his finger back and forth between your folds. His other hand goes tight around your hip, fingertips digging into your inked flesh in an effort to keep you right there, sensing how your knees begin to buckle just from a simple touch like this.

"You’re dripping", he coos, pulling his finger back up for you to see. "Look, that cute little pussy‘s getting wet so easily."

Nervously biting the inside of your cheek, you lock your eyes on his digits, glistening in arousal, and the sight makes more wetness pool between your thighs.

"Now show me", Quaritch all but orders, "Show me how you made these photos. I want to see you touch yourself for me, cherry."

The given nickname he used on you made you blush. The first time you head him use it, earlier, you thought you might have misheard. But now you finally realize that he had really called you that. Cherry. Clearly an innuendo to your tattoo.

Nodding, you step back until your heels touch the edge of your bed and then settle to sit right there. It felt strange, being watched like that. Quaritch leaned back in his chair, making himself comfortable for the show that he was hoping you would soon put on for him.

With a shaking breath, you leaned back until you laid flat against the soft mattress. Angling your legs up, you can’t bring yourself to spread them right away. Instead, you close your eyes and imagine yourself alone in your room. It’s easier to get yourself in the mood without the thought of his eyes on your naked form, watching so intensely.

In your head, you try to remember what to do. It wasn’t like you haven’t already done this before, like you didn’t know how.

There was no denying that you liked to touch yourself, late at night when you were quite sure everyone was fast asleep. You‘ve always spent your days with your mind full to the brim with various theories, studies and seemingly endless responsibilities, so much so that you often found it difficult to empty your mind for sleep. Sometimes you would recite the na’vi names of plants to yourself in your head ("Panopyra, Pamtseowll, puríhsa..."), over and over, like counting sheep, trying to memorize their names. But some other times you simply preferred another method of relaxation.

So, it wasn’t like you didn’t know what to do. It was just, that this was the first time someone was there to watch you doing it, and it felt like your brain was close to a short circuit.

Swallowing down the nervousness as best as you could, you let your hands run down your curves, feeling the soft swell of your breasts, over your stomach and down between your legs.

As you part them, ever so slowly, you hear Quaritch groan in approval. Still, you try to ignore it, focusing on the warmth of your skin instead, feeling your own arousal as you glide two finger through your folds.

Instantly, there’s this sensation, hot and burning and you allow it to rise within your core — allow it, and welcome it.

The slick, wet feeling gives you a gratifying sense of accomplishment, fueling you to circle over your clit, gentle at first, but slowly adding more pressure over time. Your other hand clasps over your mouth, barely able to stifle a moan as the other finger that had been teasing your entrance slowly slips inside.

"Don’t you dare cover your mouth." The Colonels voice makes you clench, which causes you to inhale sharply. "I want to hear you."

It takes every ounce of confidence you had left in yourself, to finally pry your eyes open and look at him from your current position, while you slowly lowered the hand from your face.

Quaritch was still sitting there, on his seat across the bed, unmoving. His irises had turned into slits, reminding you of a cat when it’s hunting a mouse. A metaphor that couldn’t have been more fitting.

With his thighs spread and his hands lazily resting on top of them, you actually found it quite surprising that he wasn’t… touching himself, too. Deep down, you were probably hoping he would do so. Were even a tad disappointed that he didn’t.

You could clearly see the bulge under his tactical cargo pants, could only imagine the way his cock must throb underneath the restriction of the fabric, and your mouth begins to water as your minds eye provides you with vivid images of him in all his glory. You wondered what he might look like. Did the color match the rest of skin? Did he had stripes and freckles?

Breathlessly, you feel your head dip back further, as you recognize the heat slowly building, radiating from your core. Gyrating your hips, the feeling of wetness and pleasure builds within yourself, enough to make your hip buck up against your own hands.

"Wanna know what I’ve been wondering?", Quaritch asks and it takes you a second in the haze of your mind, to proceed what he had just said.

You nod, once.

"I‘ve been wondering what you were thinking about while taking all these dirty pictures for me."

You’ve never thought hearing someone’s voice would turn you on this much, but here you were, dipping your middle and ring fingers past your tight entrance, gently but firmly making their presence feel inside. They’re surrounded by that slick, growing warm feeling as you press them in further, just barely curling them up. It’s tight, too tight, you’re afraid you‘ll hurt yourself if you add another.

You hear him chuckle, low and deep, as you exhale shakily. Then his eyes travel lower, pointing to the space between your thighs, were two of your digits were now buried deep, "What were you thinking while you stuffed those pretty fingers into your cute little cunt, huh?"

It takes a few tries, the tension slips for a moment or two, but soon, you find the right angle to allow your slippery fingers to caress the spot you‘ve been seeking.

"You. I was…", you swallow thickly, "thinking about you."

"Bit more specific, cherry."

More pleasure begins to wash over you, not unlike waves washing ashore, as you build up the tension your body craves you to chase. His words clearly meant to tease, sent your heart a flutter, legs flexing and bending, hips pressing into the mattress, back arching as your head once again dips back and the ministrations of your fingers find a sensual rhythm.

You curl them up, dragging them along your soft, spongy walls and you moan, gasping and panting, "I was imagining what you would do with my photos. If– If you’d like them. Was thinking about you… jerking off to them, t-too."

"S‘that so?", the Colonel snickers. You hear the sound of fabric, rough hands running up and down muscular thighs, a chair creaking again, as if he repositioned himself. "Well, you’d be more than happy to hear that I did have a good time with these photos then."

Your toes curl tightly as you approach what might just be the state of bliss you‘ve been seeking. The verge of Nirvana, quite literally, at your fingertips. Inhaling sharply, you feel that pleasure intensify and spread throughout your entire body. Your toes curl tighter, though you’re only vaguely aware of it for a moment.

"F-Fuck", you gasp, fingers speeding up their pace, faint squelching sounds reaching your ears and distantly, you feel your own slick run down the curve of your ass, soaking the sheets below.

"Language", Quaritch hisses and your hips rise as if trying to chase the source of his voice.

"S-Sorry, sir", you all but moan, "It’s just- I‘m close, so close!"

"Yeah? You’re gonna make yourself come?"

You can only nod your head at that, face flushed and teeth biting into your lower lip to prevent yourself from moaning entirely too loud, embarrassing you further than you already were. God, you were a mess. You didn’t know if it was truly as humiliating as it felt, to be bought to the edge within minutes, just from touching yourself in his presence.

The sound of your whines and moans start to increase in volume the more pressure you put on your clit, moving a finger over that little bundle of pleasure in fast, tight circles.

You’re so close. So, so close. Almost there, just a little more. More. More. More. Right there—

But then the sound of a voice, a voice of sheer authority curses through your entire being, haltering your movements and slowing them down as if he had a firm grip on your wrist with his words alone.

"Didn’t recall giving you permission, though. Try again."

With a sound somewhere between a frustrated groan and a high pitched whine, you begin to chant pleas like they are prayers, "May I cum? May I please cum, sir? Please, please, please!"

You curve your finger a little more and pick up the pace again, thrusting them faster with every word, every plea, until tears begin to prick and the corner of your eyes and your back arches off the bed, twisting and trembling from holding it in. It was all heat and pleasure. All those sensations, thoughts and emotions. Everything so close, but you just couldn’t reach it. Not yet. You felt like a puppet on a string, waiting for him to pull the right thread and help you to your release.

You’re right on the edge, right there. Hell, you‘d been on edge for the last couple of months. The moment Miles Quaritch had entered your life, you had been on edge, and today might just be the day everything goes to hell.

"Good girl", Quaritch purrs, the sound coming from deep within his chest, so full of satisfaction as he finally granted you the permission to, "Go ahead then. Come for me, cherry."

The gasp hadn’t even fully left your throat and you were a little more than just a trembling, incoherent mess by the time you came, clamping down around your fingers and pushing them in as deep as they could physically reach.

The squelching sounds your orgasm coaxed out from between your thighs filled your own ears, growing louder by the second. It was only overturned by the sound of blood rushing to your head from holding your breath until the first wave of electricity shocked through every fibre of your being.

Then, the blissful sensations of sexual gratification engulfed you. You felt the pulse of your throbbing clit right underneath your fingertips, velvety-like walls tightening around your digits in pulsating waves, intensifying the sensation that dared to consume you whole.  

For a timeless moment, there was nothing but pure, unadulterated bliss, with stars dancing behind your eyelids and a sound close to the static white noise of an old tv in your ears, before all your sensibilities gradually returned to you like a balloon gently floating back down to earth. Your whole body was buzzing in the afterglow of your orgasm, so intense it surprised you that this was all done by yourself. The internal buzzing seemed to be loud enough for you to overhear the distant sound of a door, your door, closing shut.

You didn’t even notice how tightly you had squeezed your eyes shut, until you slowly opened them again.

As your shaky, thrilled body slowly rises and you prop yourself up on your elbows, it finally clicks within your mind that you’re alone. You blink a few times, glancing at the empty seat in front of your bed.

He’s gone.

He had left, the man that was just there, the man that had been staring at you, watching you this entire time, like you were a sample in a laboratory for him to analyse, an experiment that he wasn’t sure turned out quite right. But his eyes, his eyes that were looking at you so intensely, had been… there had been something. There was something in them, a spark that you surely didn’t just imagined. Sometimes you couldn’t quite put a name on just yet.

Miles Quaritch may be an asshole, but he didn’t just play with you for the fun of it, watched you come undone in your room, on your bed, your safe space, with your legs spread wide like you would do that for just anyone and then leave.

But he did.

#recom miles quaritch #miles quaritch smut #miles quaritch x reader #miles quaritch #colonel miles quaritch #colonel miles quaritch x female reader #miles quaritch x reader smut #avatar miles quaritch #colonel quaritch #quaritch x you #na'vi quaritch #recom quaritch #quaritch smut #colonel quaritch x reader smut #quaritch x reader #quaritch x y/n #atwow quaritch #avatar quaritch #Avatar #avatar smut #avatar the way of water #atwow #atwow fanfiction #Avatar 2

[strawhbrrries]

Cowgirl

pairing: dbf!southern!frank castle x afab!reader

summary: a trip to the store with your dad’s best friend ends in a lack of a swimsuit and the feeling of his beard scratching you forever engraved in your mind.

warnings: age gap (reader is 22, frank is 52), use of pet names, dirty dirty thoughts!!!, mention of a divorced dad?, fingering, no real sex, bearded frank <3, no mentions of y/n, no descriptions of reader, not proofread

word count: 2711 words

author’s note: the line “ride cowgirl” in pyramid by frank ocean inspired this whole fic, which i kinda wanna make into multiple fics?? a story if you will?? anyway, i think this is a huge step up from my last writing piece so please enjoy :)

read the sequel ride, cowgirl !

“I'm telling you to loosen up my buttons, babe.” You sang along to the song blaring from your dad’s speaker, you hijacked it when he went inside to get more beer for him and his friends, swinging your hips and slowly spinning in a circle. Your music was way better than his divorced dad rock music, which you secretly enjoyed, and if you were going to enjoy the get together he was throwing you were absolutely going to play your own music. 

“But you keep fronting.” Tiffany, your long time best friend, sang back into the imaginary microphone in her hand as she pranced around you in a circle. The two of you putting on a performance to the imaginary crowd in your backyard, or so you thought. Twenty feet away, sitting in perfect position across the fire to watch you swing your hips around, was your dad’s best friend Frank.

Frank was only half listening to the conversation between the men around him, he was more focused on the way you danced and how it was making him rethink every decision he ever made and was about to make, his knuckles going white from the grip he had on the bottle in his hand. Sure, he’d always known you were a gorgeous girl but something about tonight was different. The fire barely illuminating your skin softly had him wanting to slide behind you as your hips moved in time with the song, his lips dragging across the skin of your neck before moving to your ear where he whispered promises of what he’d do to you later. He took a sip of the lukewarm beer, watching you for a second more before turning back to whatever bullshit conversation that was going on. It paled in comparison to you. Currently, everything did. 

The summers in Texas were your favorite, the air was never too humid and warmed you up when the wind came through at night, the lightning bugs never failed to show up every night and lit up the trees if you paid enough attention. Truthfully you were biased, but the thing that made them truly the best was having no true responsibilities again and you would always enjoy that, especially when your beloved dad bought your alcohol for three months. One of your favorite perks was the swimming pool, you were either swimming with a few of your friends or tanning on the side but you were almost always found by it. The swimsuits you typically donned weren’t the slightest bit modest, and now wasn’t any different. You were barely covered in a green bikini, the top consisting of two triangles and a string, and the bottoms high cut and covered with a mesh skirt. 

“Castle, how’s work been man? Ain’t heard much bout it ‘n normally ya don’t shut up bout it.” Goddamnit is all Frank thought as your dad dragged him back into the conversation, ruining the imagery in his head. If looks could kill, the one he shot your dad would’ve murdered him beyond recognition. “‘s alright, busy. Always picks up in the summertime. Ready to have some more downtime, spend it with family.” More like with your daughter. 

“I hear ya. Promise ol’ girl over there we’d do some family shit this summer, if business keeps the way it is I ain’t too sure how well I can keep that promise.” Your dad responded, pointing you out to the guys as if Frank hadn’t been oogling you all night. You and Tiff had stopped dancing to the music and instead opted to sitting with your legs in the pool, gossiping about town drama and Tiff’s newest boy of the week. 

“Understandable, if ya’ll need anything just holler at me.” Frank responded, ready for the conversation to be done, ready to continue watching you like a creep from afar. He’d be a creep if it meant staring at you all night, he’d be a creep if it meant a chance to feel your hair wrapped around his hand while he-

“Dad, Tiff and I are going to get snacks from the gas station!” You called out happily, ripping Frank out of his delusion with the angelic smile of yours, walking over to the group of men surrounding the fire. 

“C’mere, I’ll give you my card so you can get some more drinks.” You happily grabbed the card from your dad, bending over to give him a small hug. Frank was no better than the next man, he scratched at his scruff as he admired the way the green of your bikini complimented the tan skin threatening to spill from the lack of support. 

“Frank, can you drive us? It’s dark and neither of us wanna drive.” It was like the perfect opportunity fell right into his lap and he’d be damned if he wasn’t taking it. The smile you were flashing him made him want to get down on his knees and beg, a god he wasn’t sure existed for, forgiveness for what he was about to do. 

“Course darlin’, let me get my wallet.” He looked at your dad who seemed to have no qualms about the situation before getting out of the chair, placing his mostly empty bottle of now warm beer on the ground and following you into the house. 

“I’m gonna go put a shirt on, give me a second.” Up until tonight, much like Frank with you, you hadn’t noticed how attractive he was. Older men had always excited you but this was different. Frank was big, strong, rough around the edges but had that southern hospitality you loved. You couldn’t help but think about how his scruff would feel rubbing against your skin, would it leave redness in its wake? would it help spur your orgasm as he fucked you with his fingers? 

You picked up some oversized t shirt that probably once belonged to your dad and put it on, shaking your head as if it would get rid of the thoughts. 

“Hey, I’m gonna head out. Horrible timing I know! But y’know, boy of the week is calling.” Tiff spoke, her expression clearly apologetic, giving you a hug and promising to make plans for later this week before grabbing her things and leaving.

“So for taking so long, got caught up in my thoughts.” Of you. You smiled softly, suddenly aware of how the sun had brought out freckles you didn’t know he had and how muscular he truly was.

“‘S alright, lets get goin’ ‘for your dad starts wonderin’.” He matched your smile, placing his hand on the small of your back as the two of you walked out of the house and to his truck. You were painfully aware of how big his hands felt, triggering your mind to think about his fingers. You rubbed your thighs together to relieve some of the tension aching at your core, it felt so taboo to lust after a man your dad’s age. Not just his age! His own best friend! 

The trip to the gas station was uneventful, unfortunately, the two of you exchanged conversation like the tension wasn’t thick enough to cut. Like Frank’s jeans were getting uncomfortably tight and your bikini bottoms uncomfortably wet. Like neither of you wanted to jump the bones of the other person.

“Hey, Frank?” You asked softly, trying to gain the courage to ask the question you wanted the answer to.

“Darlin’?” He put the car in park, looking over at you expecting you to call him every disgusting name under the sun for his thoughts about you tonight.

“Do you, uhm…”

“I’m not a mind reader, baby.” At first you thought you imagined the word, that he didn’t actually say it but it was your imagination fueling the growing fire you had for Frank Castle. But he did say it, and he did it on purpose. Testing the waters, seeing how far he could go without making you uncomfortable. 

“Have you ever been with someone younger?” Not the fucking question, idiot. You scolded yourself, you didn’t want to know the answer to this. What if his answer was yes and you were imagining his interest in you, that you weren’t special. 

“No, I uh haven’t. Not yet, anyway.” There he went again, saying things that made you think you were imagining it. Maybe you’d wake up any minute and none of it was real. He could see the wheels turning in your head, you were a smart girl and he knew that. 

You, timidly, leaned over the console of his truck and experimentally ran your fingers through his scruff. You’d never been with a man, much less a man with a beard, you’d only been with what your father classified as boys. Frank leaned into your touch, placing his hand on top of yours and dragging it to his lips. Placing kisses on your palm, keeping eye contact with you. You were having trouble breathing, he was going to kill you. The beautiful hunk of a man was going to be the cause of your death, you’d make sure Tiff had it written on your tombstone. “Death by Frank Castle.”

Frank let your hand drop into your lap, threading his own hand through your hair to grab the back of your head and pull you closer to him. He leaned forward to meet you halfway, eyes scanning your face just taking in your beauty. His lips were made to fit yours, you were convinced, moving in motion with yours. His beard scratching your skin deliciously, his fingers wrapping themselves in your hair, his scent. He was everywhere, he consumed you. 

“Need you, Frank please.” You breathed, pleading with him. “Need you so bad, need to feel you, your fingers.” You carried on, your voice sounding like you were on the verge of tears. 

“Baby, not here.” He spoke softly, committing the way you sounded to memory for him to reference later when he was alone, “I’ll get you off though. Make you cum, all over my seat.” 

His words eliciting a whimper, you’d take anything he was willing to give you. It didn’t matter that anyone could see into his truck at any moment, made the situation so much more intense. He tapped your thigh, signaling he wanted you to open your legs. 

Frank let his fingers dance over the exposed skin your lack of pants left, dragging them up your thighs slowly. Painfully slow. He left open mouth kisses down your neck, occasionally biting and soothing the bite with his tongue. What felt like a decade later his middle finger traced your clothed folds, chuckling into your neck at how wet you were. You bucked your hips at the stimulation, earning another chuckle from the man in the driver’s seat, you were dying to receive some more stimulation from him. At this point, you’d sell a kidney and probably your soul to just have a singular finger inside you. You’d probably sell his soul too.

He dipped a finger underneath your swimsuit, groaning at how wet you truly were and that he was the cause of it all. His dreams were, partially, coming true and he needed to thank the heavens and the stars. Your moans and whimpers were music to Frank’s ears and he’d do anything and everything to keep them coming, to keep those angelic noises from leaving your pretty mouth. The truck was silent except for your noises and the squelch of Frank playing with your pussy.

“‘S wet, pretty girl. All for me? Did I do this to you, baby?” He taunted you, sliding his finger through your folds and swirling your clit as he waited for an answer.

“All for you, promise.” You whined, leaning your head against him, sweat beading on your skin as the car started to heat up from the summer air and the actions being performed. 

Your pleas were answered when he finally plunged a finger inside of you, pulling it all the way out and admiring how it glistened in the light provided by the street light in the corner of a parking lot. He did this a few times, thrusting his finger in and pulling it all the way back out before plunging it back inside of you. His lips found your neck again, moving your head back to the original position it was in, kissing every spot of open skin he could reach. As if he read your mind, he inserted another finger alongside the one already inside. The stretch burned in a way that made you feel alive, made you feel on top of the world. All because Frank’s fingers were inside you. God, his fingers were big. So big it made you think about how right your dad had been to call everyone else a boy and not a man. So big all you could do was think about how big his cock must be, if his jeans were any indication you were in for a real treat. Not here though, stupid stupid gas station stupid truck. Your thoughts soon turned to mush.

His fingers curled right against the spongy spot inside of you, hitting it over and over again, he readjusted his hand to put his thumb on your clit.

“C’mon pretty girl, let go for me.” He spoke low, trailing kisses back up your neck and nipping at your earlobe. 

You could feel the warmth growing in your stomach, the knots forming into bigger knots and then even bigger knots. Could feel the heat spreading throughout your body, your orgasm so close you could taste it. It was right there, his fingers hitting all the right spots and his thumb working wonders on your clit, his scruff scratching your skin and his mouth kissing everywhere. He was suffocating you in all the best ways possible. All you could see, hear, smell and taste was Frank fucking Castle.

Stars. Your vision turned to stars as your orgasm washed over you, your body shaking in the passenger seat as he fucked you with his fingers. Those damn fingers. You couldn’t see anything but stars, for all you knew you had gone to heaven and it was thanks to the magical orgasm given to you at the hands of your new god. 

When you came down from your high, Frank was whispering how well you had done and how pretty you were. He was caressing your thigh and placing kisses to your head. 

“Did so good, gonna get me addicted.” He reached behind your seat and handed you a water bottle, opening it and holding the lid so you could drink it.

“Thank you.” You smiled up at him, that killer smile that got him here in the first place. He truly was going to get addicted to you and he had no complaints about it, could die a happy man tonight if fingering you in his passenger seat is all he gets to do to you. His phone ringing in his pocket brought him back to the situation at hand.

Shit. Both of you thought, remembering what you were supposed to be doing and how it was now an entire forty-five minutes later.

“Hey, ah yeah we’re good. Small fender bender, yeah….to make it all worse the gas station was closed when we got here.” Frank spoke to your dad on the phone, coming up with a lie like his life depended on it and he hadn’t just fingered you to the edge of your life. “Should be back soon, don’t worry man. I’m keepin’ her safe, precious cargo.”

You chuckled softly at his sentence, relaxing completely in the seat and taking a few sips of water, thinking about the future of your relationship with him. Or whatever it was, you made out and he had his fingers inside you but that didn’t mean shit. What if he regretted it and now didn’t want anything to do with you, what if he was too worried about his friendship with your dad?

“Quit thinkin’ too much. We’ll figure out whatever this is, all I know for sure is I need to see you again. And you to ride me, like a fuckin’ cowgirl. Ya hear?”

#maddies fics #dbf frank castle #frank castle #frank castle smut #frank castle x you #frank castle x reader #jon bernthal #dads best friend #dbf!frank castle #dads best friend frank castle #jon bernthal smut #the punisher #punisher smut #fic: cowgirl <3

[uneditedidiot]

i can see you - jamie tartt x reader

i can see you - jamie tartt x reader

jamie tartt x gn!reader

summary: Jamie can’t stop imagining you pressed up against the wall and his mouth on yours…will he act on it? Based off the song I Can See You by Taylor Swift from Speak Now Taylor’s Version.

word count: 1.4k

Warnings: COULD be considered NSFW so maybe MDNI (18+) just in case, implied smut, Jamie pining after you, language

A/N: I started this the day Speak Now TV came out, but I didn’t get the chance to finish it until now cause I was moving and didn’t have internet. This gets a LITTLE spicy, so enjoy. :) also THIS GIF 👀

’Cause I can see you waiting down the hall from me

And I could see you up against the wall with me

And what would you do? 

Baby, if you only knew

That I can see you

Well…Jamie was fucked.

You stood down the hall from him talking with Keeley about the big press conference coming up for the team, making sure you’d scheduled everything for the boys that you needed to.

Jamie couldn’t hear the conversation, just stood gazing at you with a soft expression by the water fountain. He’d told himself that staring probably wasn’t the best idea, as you had a rule that you didn’t date people on the team, but he couldn’t help himself. Everything you did, everything you said, even how you moved…he was hopelessly in love with you.

He had imagined this scenario at least a hundred times. You’d walk down the hall to him. He’d wrap his arms around you, one hand on the back of your neck, the other on the small of your back, and pull your lips to his. Then you’d slide your hands up over his shoulders, reciprocating the passionate kiss, and he’d walk you slowly backwards so that you were pressed against the wall at the mercy of his hands and mouth. And that’s where you would stay; bodies pressed together in a way that made you both want each other even more, ready to find an empty room at a moments’ notice. Then after you’d both spent at least an hour (if not more) drawing pleasurable experience out of pleasurable experience out from each other, you’d both confess your love for the other.

He shook himself out of this enchanting imaginary moment when he saw you laugh at something Keeley said, pat her shoulder, and start walking down the hall towards him.

“Fuck,” he hissed as he noticed you notice him staring. He spun quickly on his heel, pretending to fill up his already full water bottle.

He heard your footsteps approaching, then silence as you came to a halt in front of him.

“Uh, you realize your bottle is already full, right?” you teased.

He glanced up, stopping the spout from sending more filtered water cascading over his hands into the drain. He felt his cheeks grow warm.

“Erm, can’t ever be too hydrated,” he heard himself stutter. “Coach Lasso is always gettin’ on me to drink more water, so…here I am doing that.”

You wrinkled your eyebrows in a confused smile, which sent butterflies fluttering about in his stomach. You were just so cute…

“Ted wanted me to let you know that he’s going to call you up to talk about your assists this month,” you told him. “And Roy wants to talk to you in his office after the conference. Something about…” You checked your phone, frowning in puzzlement. “...Uncle’s Day?”

“Shit,” he cursed. He averted his eyes bashfully. “Yeah, I might’ve…intruded a little on Phoebe’s holiday with him.”

You rolled your eyes good naturedly. “Oh come on, you know Roy. He acts like he’s some untouchable, rough-and-tumble, aggressive bear, but on the inside, he’s like a cute, angry little duck.”

Jamie let out a huge laugh. He was afraid it might have sounded too eager or loud. The self-conscious, nagging voice in his brain told him that it was dumb to laugh like that at such a small joke.

But you clearly enjoyed that he found your joke amusing. Your face went slightly pink, looking almost a little embarrassed.

“Should I tell Roy you’ve just compared him to a duck?” he joked.

You feigned an attitude but your smile was evident. “Alright. Go ahead. What would he do? Yell at me? He does that anyways.”

“Yellin’ is that man’s love language, I swear.”

“What’s yours?”

His breath caught in his throat. “What?”

You held his gaze confidently, eyes darkening slightly as you asked yet again, “What’s your love language?”

Jamie’s heart was stuttering. His brain had needed a moment to catch up to what you were asking.

“I, erm…” he stammered. His eyes bounced around, not able to meet yours. “For meself, it’s probably…eh, physical touch and, uh, words of affirmation.”

He finally was able to make eye contact. You clearly were paying attention, nodding as he finished speaking.

Jamie decided to be just as bold. “I told you mine, so you tell me yours.”

You smiled back. “Physical touch and quality time.”

He smirked, flirting back. “I’ll make sure to keep that in mind.”

“I’d hope so,” you grinned, patting him lightly on the chest. Then without another word, you walked back down the hall, glancing back a few times to make sure he was watching. His chest tingled where you’d touched him.

Oh MAN…Jamie was really fucked now. Had you been thinking of the same things?

He questioned the interaction over and over again in his mind throughout the rest of that day. He knew he was distracted, especially during the press conference. Ted had to get his attention multiple times so he could answer questions that had just been asked of him.

But after the conference was over and the work day had ended, Jamie decided to act on things.

He stood by the water fountain, waiting for you to come down the stairs to go home. He tapped the top of the cooler anxiously.

You’d both been very professional with each other up until that conversation earlier. He’d never been tempted this much to act on his feelings. He knew that if he had acted on them before, you’d have become an addiction for him, which he couldn’t afford at this point. But, again, that was before the flirty exchange about love languages earlier.

Footsteps.

There you were.

He inhaled sharply, butterflies in his stomach fluttering like mad.

He saw you appear, bag in hand, staring down at your phone as you stepped down from the last stair.

He called your name. You whipped around, puzzled. Your face lit up when you saw him.

“Jamie,” you said, “what are you still doing here? It’s like seven. I thought all the players had gone home.”

He smiled lightly, coming closer to you as he spoke. “There’s not many of us left. I think Sam and Isaac might still be here, but…I have something else I need to do before I leave.”

Your confused expression only grew. “And what’s that?”

He stopped right in front of you, faces inches apart. You made no effort to move away from him, just stared back at him. Your eyes flickered to his lips.

“This,” he replied softly.

Jamie crushed his lips to yours. The reciprocation from you was instant. You dropped your bag to the floor.

His hands wound around your body, hands caressing as much of you as possible. Your arms went up to his neck, one hand on the back of his head, the other over his shoulders.

Your mouths moved hungrily against each other, trying to feel as much of each other as possible. It was like rain had finally come after a drought. You both realized how much you’d wanted each other.

Jamie was licking into your mouth. You slid your hands to tug on the collar of his sweatsuit jacket. His fingers were tracing the sliver of skin between your t-shirt and jeans. Your whole body was on fire.

Jamie wasn’t thinking straight. He backed you into the wall of the hallway, pressing your body against his. There was no space between you at all. His knee moved between your legs, pressing up. You whined against his mouth. He smirked into the kiss and groaned.

This was exactly what he had imagined so many times before.

His lips trailed off yours down your chin and neck. He licked and bit and kissed his way to your jugular. His left hand went up the back of your shirt to trace your spine in an agonizingly delicious manner.

Your breathing was heavy, trying to find some relief on his knee as you ground down. His mouth was relentless on your neck. It was everything you’d wanted for so long.

You fiddled with the zipper of his jacket, pulling slowly down. His mouth was immediately back on yours, but he unzipped the jack quickly and slung it off.

He was only in a tank top, leaving his arms bare. You dug your fingernails into his biceps as he kissed over your jaw to behind your ear. He felt fireworks under his skin where you traced.

You let out an involuntary moan. He pulled away, grinning widely, lips still inches from yours.

“Shhhh,” he whispered. “Can’t have you alerting everyone here what we’re doin’, love. Not a sound...”

You pulled his lips to yours again. 

In between kisses, you suggested hoarsely, “boot room?”

Jamie pulled back again. You could feel his breath against your chin. “Are you sure?”

You nodded, blushing, still giving him some of your signature sass. “Obviously. I wouldn’t be suggesting it if I wasn’t.”

He pecked your lips once more, grabbing your hands and immediately leading you away to the boot room to act the rest of his fantasy…and yours.

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt x gn!reader #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt #ted lasso fanfiction #ted lasso (show) #ted lasso imagine #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt x you #i can see you #speak now tv #i can see you imagine #uneditedidiot #ted lasso #jamie tartt fluff #jamie tartt fic

[rizsu]

please, be mines !! atsumu miya.

sum. love-struck atsu tries to court his new crush.

atsumu's confused. he finds himself sitting in his car practically devouring you with his gaze—no, none of you know each other but atsumu feels like he's in one of those romantic stories where the lovers reincarnate into the modern era.

am i a pervert, he fights with himself for an answer. by no means does he want to ever come off as a stalker but if you saw a silver coloured car with G5 tint parked parallel from your position... yeah he'd look like a creep. for another ten minutes atsumu sits there. he feels like those women in hallmark movies sitting at the table sighing lovingly as the blow their cup of coffee. “you know what,” atsumu talks to himself, unbuckling his seatbelt before finally making a move.

on your side, you're inside the café wiping the tables. you work here as a little side job—it's your friend's café to be exact, she begged you to work and you needed a part-time job to keep yourself occupied before summer. just seconds before you turn the ‘opened’ sign to closed, a rushed pair of arms slam against the glass door welcoming a lanky male.

you cannot be serious, your eyes twitch at the sight of two handprints on the very clean and very sparkly door. switching your mood into customer service mood, you welcome him, “hi! what would you like?”

an awkward silence introduces itself—atsumu's still trying to catch his breath from battling his luck versus the sign. sucking in a deep breath, atsumu gives a little grin before answering.

“'m new here. can you recommend something?”

“sure! how about an eclair with some frappucino to start?” gesturing him to one of the tables, you make a u-turn towards the counter.

atsumu follows and sits comfortably watching you do your job. he gets a little fidgety.. atsumu really isn't one for awkward silence. awkward in the sense that he's the only one here and you're the only worker here, probably on closing shift duties.

it takes him a few minutes and some playing with his fingers before he pulls out his phone to text someone (osamu).

“and here's your order...”

“it's atsumu.”

“atsumu! enjoy it.”

placing his order on the table, you give him your mastered customer service smile, walking away with thoughts about how pleasing he is to look at. meanwhile atsumu's malfunctioning—when your crush smiles at you (no matter the reason) it immediately stuns you. if there's anything that can describe what atsumu feels and thinks it'll be ‘!?!??!?!?!?!??!?!?!?’

forcing a cough to recollect himself, he finally digs into the meal, relishing in it's glorious flavour (he's exaggerating). wait fuck, atsumu thinks. he's a bite away from finishing his order and after that he'll have no reason to stay here any longer. trembling hands brings the last bit of the eclair to his mouth as imaginary tears race down his face. a heartbreaking story, really.

looking up from your phone, you notice his table's lacking the food you gave him, “are you finished? i'll come get it.”

“huh? oh, yeah, i'm done unfortunately,” whispering the last word, atsumu looks at you with an awkward smile; he doesn't know what to do, so he decides to start a conversation.

“so... uh, you work here?”

“well...”

“forget i asked that—what's your name?”

stifling a laugh, you take off your apron, folding it in half before resting it on the counter.

“i'm y/n.”

standing from his table, atsumu stretches a little, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he walks up to you.

“so, y/n, do you need a ride home?”

“it's a bit too early for that but i'll give you my number.”

atsumu's lips shape itself into an ‘O’. a pink dust works its up his neck as he rubs his nape, looking away with another awkward smile. right, we barely know each other.

writing your number onto a random piece of paper, your fold it before handing it to him, “text me!”

muttering a little ‘thanks’, he gladly accepts your number. i'm too good, he compliments himself—celebrating because he got your number.

grabbing your stuff, you look at atsumu, tilting your head at the door to suggest you're going to close up for the night.

“oh right,” he grabs his keys, shoving his phone into his pocket before he walks up to you, “but what about the pay?”

“it's only two items. don't worry about it.” walking out the door you lock up the café, matching steps with atsumu out to your car. “you drive!?” atsumu's shocked. why didn't i think about that, he questions himself. god, he feels like a dumbass.

smiling at him, you nod your head. he's kinda cute, you think. unlocking your car, you dump your stuff in the backseat, slamming the door before you open the driver's door. “g'night, atsumu. see you later!”

“g'night. i'll text ya.” waving you off, atsumu walks back to his car with the biggest smile. he's going to make it everyone's business that he got a potential girlfriend and maybe even a wife.

#+ rizsu: haikyuu. #haikyuu x reader #atsumu x reader #atsumu miya x reader #atsumu fluff #atsumu x you #haikyuu fluff #hq x you

[strawb3rryscorpio]

Saw your recent post saw a Dominic fike tag maybe dating headcannons?

𝐃𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐂 𝐅𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒:

most romantic mf on the planet. i mean weekly date nights, flowers and gifts at random times. he insists he does all that because he wants to make up for the time he spends in the studio and you really can’t complain with 2k hanging from your neck

pet names!!!!! and from the both of you. you will almost never call each other by your actual name. also it’s literally anything from babe, baby, love, sweetheart, honey.

backtracking to date nights. if it’s something more casual, you will catch a movie and then go out for dinner or you’ll walk around town and window shop. if it’s something formal though, you’ll get dressed up and eat out at a fancy restaurant and then explore the area afterwards talking about anything and everything.

he would get you to listen to his new music before anyone else would. and in all honesty he only really considers and trusts your opinion on what he should release.

you would be his number one supporter no matter what project he was working on. you’d attend as many shows as possible and watch from backstage or even in front of barricade, sometimes. you’d also go to visit him on set if he was filming something, which he’d really enjoy.

while on the topic of music, he is definitely the master of writing tacky songs and then playing then on the guitar you both know it’s cringey but deep down you absolutely love it.

like he’ll notice you being down one day and he’ll tell you to give him five minutes, and before you know it, he’s back and singing some lyrics about how beautiful you are and how he hates when you’re down.

dumb arguments about dumb things are a give. whether it’s about a missing sweater or who has to do the dishes. no matter what though, he will be the first to apologize. (he’s for that princess treatment)

he’s also pretty jealous but it’s like he’s execute it in a toxic or harmful way. he knows his limits and he knows he trusts you but sometimes he cannot help but start imaginary beef with any man that makes conversation with you.

you’d be the IT couple at every event with your matching outfits every time!!! anytime you attend an event together the pictures end up blowing up on social media.

you’d be everyone’s favourite/comfort couple. every time you post some dumb tiktok with him, it’ll end up going viral with tons of likes and comments.

he’s very clingy and i stand by that. your doing laundry? he’s following you around. at an event? he’s trailing behind you. even to the bathroom. you’re running errands? he’s up and ready to go.

you’d assume the clinginess would get annoying at times, but you absolutely love it.

enjoying the most mundane activities together. like folding laundry, cooking, and doing your skincare.

he’s is 100% the type to say that a moment is cute out loud and ruin the moment. it makes you laugh out loud every time he does it.

you’ll be sitting out on the balcony smoking a joint and he’ll say something around the lines of, ‘this is like out of a movie’. you’ll laugh but you agree. ‘dom, when you say it out loud, it ruins it!’

while on the topic of smoking, you guys spend every saturday night out on the balcony smoking a joint or hitting a bong and just talking about random shit and giggling the entire time.

posting each other all the time. he’s always posting cute pictures of you on his story and feed and you’ll post cute pictures of you two together.

his family would absolutely adore you. you’d spend girls day with his little sister quite often. you and his mom would call each other often and talk about anything.

he’s really sensitive even though he might not seem like it. you always watch him closely at events or even during nights out with friends to see if anything is bothering him or if someone’s pissing him off. to you, he’s very easy to read and you know exactly what to do.

you are also so open with each other about every little thing. you’re the definitely the couple that tells each other the tiniest little details about your day. you’ll get texts from each other like ‘just ate an apple’, ‘i put chia seeds in my smoothie’. and just cute things like that.

bomb. ass. sex. do i even need to elaborate??? it’s just so good and keeps you both happy and the relationship super healthy.

super touchy too!! throughout the day he has to have a hand on your boob, thigh, over your shoulder, or on your hip. literally anywhere at all times.

being the ushy gushiest couple ever !!!

—————————————————

h speaks🪽: i am obviously speaking from experience. i hope you enjoyed and be sure to request anything you’d like!!! appreciate anyone who reads my work it means a lot 💝

#dominic fike #imagine #dominic fike x reader #fanfiction #euphoria #headcanon #sunburn #dontstareatthesun #dominic #writer #euphoria x fem!reader #elliot #elliot x y/n #elliot euphoria #elliothbo

[pitchsidestories]

eras of us (2) II Ona Batlle x Reader

part 1 I masterlist I word count: 2662

a/n: the second and final part to eras of us with the promised happy ending, enjoy. <3

Barcelona had changed since Onas departure. Or at least it felt like it. She had been such an integral part of your daily life that you constantly found yourself longing for her presence in every situation. Every time you went to training, you were painfully reminded that you were without your best friend.

Time and time again, you tried to convince yourself that this was a decision that every football player would have to make at some point in their career. Still, you could not shake the weird mix of feelings that her transfer had created.

Of course, your team mates noticed that your mood had changed.

After a particular hard training in the Catalonian sun, Leila took you aside before you could disappear into the dressing room: “Ona… she misses you.“

You frowned at her, not sure where the conversation about Ona had come from. “Oh, sure. I think Ona seems very happy on the recent pictures she’s been posting.“, you replied and tried to push past Leila.

Mapi passed the two of you and gave you a wink: “Looks can be deceiving.“

“Listen to her. She’s got that tattooed.“, Leila grinned.

You rolled your eyes. As if anyone could miss the tattoo on Mapis throat.

“Yeah, I know what I’m talking about.“, Mapi laughed, stopping right next to you.

Shaking your head about your two team mates, you heaved a deep sigh: “But what am I supposed to do?“

A mischievous smirk appeared on Leilas face as she reached into the pocket of her warm-up jacket. She handed you a small envelope.

“No worries. Here is your ticket to Manchester and your return ticket to Barcelona.“

Speechless, you just stared at her and Mapi for a few seconds. How long had they planned that?

“You girls are insane!“, you finally exclaimed.

“No, we’re the best.“, Mapi corrected you.

“Thank you!“ You hugged both of them quickly, an inexplicable smile on your lips.

“Yeah, just remember to names us as team mates of the year.“, Leila joked.

You laughed: “I promise I will.“

“But now go before you miss your flight.“, Leila said, moving out of your way.

“Okay, got it. See you two soon!“, you called, hurrying into the dressing room to take a quick shower and race home to pack your suitcase.

“Good luck!“, Mapi shouted after you.

Smiling, Leila watched you disappear into the dressing room while wiping away an imaginary tear: “Our children grow up so fast.“

Alexia who had suddenly appeared next to Mapi, shook her head: “Leila, not all the gays in the team are your children.“

“It feels like they are.“

A few hours later you were at your best friend’s new home in England. Quickly you went up the stairs, feeling slightly breathless once you reached the right floor before you ringed the bell next to her surname plate.

Onas’s jaw dropped when she opened the door to her appartement in Manchester to see you standing there in flesh and bone:” Hello?”

“Oni, hi.”, you greeted her back, feeling your heart pound heavy against your chest at the familiar sight of her.

Still stunned she blinked: “You.”

“Yes, it’s me.”, you replied, running one hand through your hair, the other rested on the suitcase.

“What are you doing here?”, the defender furrowed her brows.

“I’m sorry how I reacted when you were saying you’d leave.”, you apologized, while looking guiltily down to your feet.

Hearing these words, Ona clenched her teeth:” It doesn’t matter.” But you could tell from her reaction that this was a lie.

“And Leila said you missed me.”, you added biting your lip as you spoke.

 “Maybe I did. You’re my best friend.”, she confessed. Lifting your head to face her again, you realized that the English weather made her look paler, but the freckles were still there.

Rather childish you responded: “Still? You seem pretty happy in Manchester now.”

Before answering your question, the United player showed you the old friendship bracelet you’ve made for her all those years ago and she was wearing even now although it did look old: “Still. And I’m happy here. The team and the coaches trust me.”

“That’s great. I’m glad they recognize your talent, you deserve it, Oni.”, you told her in an honest tone.

“Thank you. Uhm.. do you want to come in?”, Ona asked you, tousling shily through her bun.

“Sure.”, you nodded nervously while entering her appartement.

“Sorry, I wasn’t expecting a visitor.”, she blushed as you were taking in the view.

“It’s fine. Really.”, you reassured her. Glancing at the framed pictures which were not hanging up, yet you pointed to them:” Do you want to hang up the pictures?”

“Actually, yes.”

Meanwhile you were holding the first photo in your hands, you couldn’t help but to smile at the young girls which were pictured, celebrating a team win:” I love this one.”

“Oh, me too.”, the defender admitted.

“We all look so small on it, well Aitana still is.”, you commented grinning.

Seeming relaxed, Ona showed you another picture: “Yes, we do but this one is my favourite.”

You knew the photo well, it was taken after your first game for the Barcelona senior team and you spotted your best friend in the stands and went in to hug her, this moment forever being captured by the photographer on the pitch for which you were both grateful:” Mine too, you paused for a second before continuing seriously, we share a lot of memories together, hopefully to many more.”

2023

You could hardly explain to yourself how quickly the time had passed. One moment you spontaneously flew over to Manchester, the next you already found yourself in Australia at the tournament that you had anticipated for so long.

Playing in the World Cup was one thing, but you would never have dreamed of winning the trophy. It still felt surreal. You had just won the World Cup Final against England.You saw Ona walking towards you with a wide grin on her face.

“Ona, we won!“, you cheered.

She wrapped her arms around you: “We did.“

“I can’t believe it yet.“ You escaped her embrace and took in the atmosphere of the stadium and the celebration of your team mates.

Ona stood beside you. “It’s insane, right?“

“Definitely.“

The words hung between you for a few seconds as you watched on.

Ona shook her head suddenly, smiling to herself like she had just realized what had happened in the previous ninety minutes: “We’re World Champions.“

“Oh yes. Remember when…“, you started.

Aitana joined you, placing one arm around each of you and finished your sentence: “We pretended we won the World Cup? Yes.“ With smirk she added: “Do you still know the choreo?“

Onas face dropped: “You’re not going to do that at the actual World Cup!“

“Come on, Tana, we’ll do it.“, you said decisively, pulling the midfielder with you.

There was a small routine of dance moves that you had practiced when you had still played at La Masia together and the actual World Cup felt like millions of years away. Sometimes those dance moves would come out to celebrate a particularly special goal but mostly, they were reserved for exactly this moment.

“Coming!“, Aitana joined you while Ona just shook her head.

Olga elbowed the defender in the side, watching you and Aitana dance in synchrony: “Ona, what are they doing?“

“Being idiots.“, she laughed.

At the same time, Aitana managed to pull her phone from somewhere to capture the moment in a selfie.

“Come on, the photo isn’t complete without you!“, you called over to her.

Ona rolled her eyes with smile: “Ugh, fine. But only for one photo.“

“Perfect.“, Aitana commented as Ona appeared between the two of you.

“Did it turn out cute?“, Ona asked, leaning over to see her team mates phone screen.

“It did.“

The celebrations continued the whole night. There was the initial celebration at the pitch which was then moved to the dressing room and lastly to the hotel. You had no idea what time it was or how many drinks you had but you were clinking your glass with the other players and yelling over the sound of the music: “Cheers, everyone!“

“Cheers, children.“, Alexia laughed, taking her sip from her own drink. She seemed way too sober for your liking.

“Ale, others are the children now.“, you explained to her with the most seriousness you could muster.

Jenni took a shot, grimaced and then said: “You’re still our children.“

“Exactly, nothing will ever change that.“, Alexia said with a gently smile.

“That’s embarrassing.”, Onas’s cheeks turning redder than before.

You were sitting in her lap and hid your face in her chest:” Agreed.”

“What are you doing?”, your friend asked giggling.

“Hiding from embarrassment.”, you mumbled into her shirt.

“So cute.”, Jenni hummed, who didn’t stop looking at you two.

“Let us alone!”, Ona begged the older woman.

She shook her head decisively:” No.”

“Please.”, you tuned in.

Clearing her throat Alexia got up from her seat:” Jen, time to leave the young lovers alone.”

“Fine.”, Jenni responded with a groan but nonetheless listened to what the younger midfielder said.  

“Come on.”, the Barcelona player winked at the dark-haired woman.

For a moment you and your best friend watched them leaving, before you turned around to question her, wearing a mischievous smile on your lips:” What do we do now with them gone, Oni?”

“Celebrate?”, the defender replied grinning.

“Yes!”, you nodded excitedly.

“But you had enough to drink.”, she noted with a laugh.

“Rude!”, you protested.

“It’s true.”, Ona observed.

Smiling mildly at you Aitana came to help her argument:”It’s.”

“See?”

“You two are no fun.”, you grumbled.

“I mean it’s a once in a lifetime thing.”, Ona remarked as she watched you joining the rest of players who were still dancing despite the exhausting final.

Amused Aitana was taking a seat next to the defender:” How does y/n still have the energy to dance though.”

“It’s the alcohol.”, she replied with an eyeroll.

“Definitely. Wanna bet she’s sleepy in like ten minutes?”, the midfielder asked smiling.

“Oh definitely.”, Ona nodded. She couldn’t keep her eyes off you. The soon to be Barcelona player was astonished at how effortlessly and elegant your dance moves despite your tipsiness.

Aitana’s prediction turned out to be true. With a little bit of help from Ona you reached the hotel room you two were sharing. Your eyes were already closed when your head hit the pillow:” I’m not tired yet.”

“Oh sure, I can tell. Good night, y/n.”, she chuckled.

“You too, love you.”, you replied about to fall asleep.

Suddenly Onas’s heart felt pounding hard against her chest when the defender pressed a kiss on your forehead:” I love you too.” She often told you how much she loved you but this time the words hit differently. It dawned on the player that she didn’t want you like a best friend. No the woman felt the urge to be your lover.

2024

“Aitana, I fell in love with my best friend.”, Ona confessed to Aitana with a heavy air of meaning.

A small smile was forming on the midfielder’s lips: “I know.”

“What do you mean you know?”, she glanced at her confused.

“There were so many moments in the past.”, Aitana began.

Still shocked Ona interrupted her:” I only realized it during the world cup final.”       

“In that case you’re very late to the party.”, the friend answered, her face couldn’t hide her amusement.

Bewildered, Ona exclaimed: “Tana!“

The midfielder just shrugged casually: “It’s true.“

“Oh, is it?“, Ona raised an eyebrow at her.

“Ask Ale and Jenni… and Mapi… and Leila. You could literally ask anyone in the team.“, Aitana chuckled.

“It doesn’t matter anyway.“

Aitana eyed her team mate carefully: “It does matter.“

Ona shook her head with a deep sigh: “No, you don’t get it. She told Ale that she doesn’t fancy me and wouldn’t go for her best friend.“

“Wasn’t that forever ago?“, Aitana asked, seemingly unimpressed.

“It was after our training… I feel so stupid…“

“She didn’t have an easy time here when you were in Manchester, Ona.“

“It wasn’t easy for me either.“, the defender admitted.

Aitana looked at her thoughtfully: “Maybe it’s time to talk to each other.“

Ona was quite for a moment before she nodded: “You’re right. Y/n and I need to talk.“

“You should.“

She pulled her friend into a quick hug. “Goodbye, Tana.“

“Bye, Ona.“

Of course, you were paired with Ona to share a room at Barcelonas next away game. Something must have conspired against you. Or Alexia had a hand in this. Ona and you hadn’t exchanged a single word since Alexias intervention after training a few days ago.

Of course, the silence in the hotel room was obnoxious. But you had no interest in changing that.

Ona was the first one to give in, sitting on the bed on her side of the room: “Y/n, stop ignoring me, please.“

“Bold coming from the person who ran away.“, you retorted. You refused to even look at her and instead focused on putting away your clothes.

“I didn’t run away!“

Slowly, you turned to her: “Yes, you did. When Ale talked to me about us.“

You expected her to object but she just looked at you with pleading eyes: “Please, can you just listen to me?“

You sighed reluctantly: “Alright.“

“Thanks.“

“So?“, you prompted her impatiently as soon as she stopped talking.

“Y/n…“

“Yes?“

You could tell that Ona struggled to get the words out but the suspense was almost killing you.

“I like you.“, she finally said.

“More than a best friend?“, you asked, surprised by how hoarse your voice sounded.

“Yes.“, Ona nodded.

You shook your head. Your gaze directed towards the ground, you whispered: “I don’t want to ruin our friendship.“

Ona had gotten up from the bed and bridged the gap between you two. Her hand gently found your cheek, forcing you to meet her eyes. She was so close, you could count the freckles on her face.

“Can it really ruin our friendship if we both want it?“, she asked quietly.

You slowly shook your head: “No, probably not…“

“I think we should try it.“

For the first time, your brain was silent. There was no counterargument you could think of. There was just your heart hammering in your chest.

“Agreed.“, you breathed.

And before you knew it, your lips were on your best friends. Ona hummed into the kiss, pushing harder against you and parting your lips with her tongue.

It knocked you off balance. You landed on your bed, Ona on top of you. You both giggled but refused to remove your lips from each others.

“Oh. My. God. Finally!“, Mapis voice called out, startling you.

“Mapi!“, you yelled at the exact same time, looking at your team mate who had just stumbled into your room.

She flashed you an innocent grin: “Sorry.“

“What do you want anyway?“, Ona asked, a slight hint of annoyance in her voice.

“Uhm… I was about to tell you that we’re starting to have dinner?“ There was no sign of remorse on Mapis face, just pure amazement at what she had just walked into.

“We’ll be there soon.“, Ona replied politely.

“Just give us a few more seconds.“, you added.

Mapi smirked: “You two know that Ale will sense it immediately?“

Ona nodded: “We do.“

“That’s why we need time to prepare ourselves for it.“, you joked.

“Okay, See you later.“ She disappeared through the door with a wink.

The two of you were alone again.

Ona bit her lip to hide a smile: “We don’t need time to prepare ourselves, we need time to make out. That’s what you meant right?“

“Yeah, I did.“, you admitted with a laugh.

Dinner could wait. Kissing all of your girlfriends freckles could definitely not.

#ona batlle #ona batlle x reader #ona batlle imagine #woso x reader #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso one shot #woso community #woso #barca femeni #barca femeni x reader #espwnt #aitana bonmati #leila ouahabi #mapi leon #alexia putellas #jenni hermoso

[luvverslair]

Hi!

So, tumblr did a thing! I saw your post that said your requests are open, and the very next post on my dash was a list of prompts and one really stood out to me!

"Instead of fake dating, everyone is convinced that you aren’t actually dating."

May I request that with Soap/Ghost/Gaz (tho let's be real, it's perfectly believable that Gaz can pull anyone!)

Thank you! 😊

hi !! thank you for your request, i love this idea so much and i hope you enjoy!!

Ghost: When you and Ghost first started dating, you kept it to yourselves wanting to savor your relationship just for the two of you. However after a while, Ghost decided to tell his teammates about you, He started by talking about you to them saying things like “Yeah the missus dragged me out to this restaurant the other day.” and things like that, his fellow teammates would look at him like he was crazy, but would still indulge his conversation thinking he might just be lonely or trying to prove he can have a relationship. Ghost then started sharing pictures of you, whether it be pictures he took of you on dates or just funny ones around the house. This made the team even more confused about the whole situation as they like to call it, they wondered how he found so many pictures of someone online and why was he showing them off like you were actually with him, had he finally gone mad? One day Soap finally spoke up when he was again showing off pictures you had sent him while he was deployed, “L.T, we all know you’re not dating them. Who is that?” before Ghost had time to respond Gaz chimed in saying “Yeah Ghost, you started to freak us out.”Ghost let out a low chuckle before saying “I promise you they are actually with me, I’ll be the first to admit it’s shocking they out of all people chose me but they did.” Soap and Gaz brushed him off still not believing a word he said, that was until one day you came to the base because Ghost had left something he needed at your shared home. You walked into the room seeing Soap and Gaz shooting them a smile before saying “Hi, Have you guys seen Simon anywhere? Or I guess Ghost to you sorry.” They both stood there eyes wide and mouths agape, they pointed you in the direction of Ghost to which you thanked them and went to go find him, from that day forward they never said anything when Ghost would share things about you.

Soap: From the moment you both started dating, Soap immediately started telling everyone he knew about you, he loved showing you off. The only problem was you were gorgeous and seemed like a well-rounded person which didn’t seem like anyone Soap could pull, So when he started telling his teammates about you, they congratulated him and didn’t mind having conversations about you, and then he started showing pictures of you. That’s when the suspension started, nobody would ever believe someone like you would be with someone like him. One day Gaz had enough of listening to him ramble on about some random person that Soap claimed he was in a “relationship” with, “Jeez Soap stop rambling about your imaginary partner, everyone knows you lying about it.” Soap was stunned before saying “Imaginary? What in the bloody hell do you mean imaginary I’ve been with them for months for Christ's sake” He looked towards Ghost before adding “C'mon L.T. you don’t think I’m lying do ya?” Soap fully expected Ghost to call Gaz crazy and say Soap one hundred percent wasn’t lying but boy was he wrong “I do think it’s a little suspicious Johnny, from what you’ve shown me and told me, It’s hard to believe” Gaz smirked at Soap while he was in utter shock, “Just wait ya pricks, I’ll let you met them one day and when I do, it’ll shut you up real fucking fast.” Ghost and Gaz snickered while just saying “Whatever you say, Johnny”. About a month later, Johnny had the opportunity to bring you to the pub as your schedule was free. When you walked in heading over to Soap kissing him before sitting down, You introduced yourself to his fellow teammates shaking their hands while saying “Hi, I’m Y/n, I’m Johnny’s Partner nice to meet you all.” They all stood there in shock.

Gaz: Gaz and you had started dating a while back, he never really thought to mention you to his team, until one day Price was asking him about going out to the Pub on the incoming Friday with him and the rest of the squadron, Gaz quickly declined to say “Sorry Cap, I’ve got a date with the Missus that day.” Soap quickly laughed before saying “Yeah right more like you’ve got a date with your right hand, mate.” Everyone around him let out a laugh before Gaz interrupted them “Fuck off, For your information I do have a partner ya twats.” they all kept making fun of him and calling him a liar he sighed walking out of the room shaking his head, oh would he show them. The following week he had brought you to a restaurant for a date, it just so happened that his teammates were dining at the same place. You both walked in sitting down as he pulled out your chair for you, his task force immediately saw the both of you a couple of tables away, they were in utter shock, to say the least. After the both of you had finished your dinner and you were walking out, Gaz felt their eyes on the two of you so as he had his hand around your back he used his other to flip them off as you both left, before walking the both of you to his car, His teammates didn’t expect that, any of that.

well I hoped you enjoyed this !! it was a lot of fun to write and thank you again for your request and as always any feedback is appreciated !!

luv, luvver

#cod #cod x reader #cod modern warfare #cod mw2 #cod mw3 #cod mwii #luvverslair #call of duty #fanfic #gaz garrick #gaz x reader #gaz cod #kyle gaz x reader #kyle gaz garrick #john soap mctavish x reader #john soap #soap x reader #soap cod #john soap mactavish #soap mw2 #soap call of duty #soap x you #simon ghost x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #ghost #call of duty fanfic #simon riley x reader

[boxofbonesfic]

Title: E-Vite 4/20 [A New Hire interlude]

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Alpha!Mob!Ari Levinson x Naive!Omega!Reader

Word Count: 4,382

Summary: Ari’s mate finds herself invited to a brunch featuring more than just bottomless mimosas. 

Warnings: 18+ Only, Drugs, Recreational Drug Use,  Mob AU, Age Gap, A/B/O Dynamics, Alpha!Ari, Darkfic, Breeding, Smut, MINORS DNI, Dead dove: Do not eat

A/N: i’m so sorry this is so late! but (i hope) it’s worth it! takes place roughly a week or so before reader and Ari leave for Paris. a little character development i think you’ll all enjoy. divider by @firefly-graphics​. dedicated to @cocobutterqwueen​, who prompted this work ❤️

This work is entirely unbeta’d, and unedited. Though I don’t own any of Marvel’s characters, this work and the plot contained inside are entirely mine. I do not consent for this work to be posted anywhere else by anyone but me. Enjoy 😘

You purse your lips, your brows drawing together critically as you stare at yourself in the mirror. You heave a dissatisfied sigh, brushing imaginary dirt from the hem of your white tennis skirt. 

 “Too much?” You mutter, rocking back and forth on the heels of your matching ivory sneakers. “It’s too much, isn’t it?” The silver charms on your bracelet jingle softly as you begin wiggling out of your skirt, trying to undo the hook-eye closure on the back. You aren’t expecting to see your mate there, leaned in the doorway of the walk-in closet with an amused smile playing at the edges of his full lips. 

 “Third outfit in fifteen minutes, Sweetheart. You nervous?” There’s a teasing note in his voice that makes you pout, shaking your head even though it’s obvious he’s right.  

“No, I’m not nervous.” You continue fiddling with the zipper until Ari closes his hands around yours. It’s silly, to be this anxious about meeting a bunch of people you’ve already been talking to for weeks, but you are. Joining Moms of Riverside County had been a whim. At most, you had expected to find new dinner recipes, maybe a few fun things to do with Liam. Instead, you’d found… a community? 

 Some of the members were a little out there, but there were far more good apples than bad. People posted pictures, shared memes— not pronounced “may-mays” as Ari had pointed out, to your embarrassment. There was even a group-chat, which you had recently been invited to—✨🔥 Cool Moms of Riverside County🔥✨, which had given you a good laugh. You weren’t particularly active yet, but even so you had been tagged and invited to a private brunch being hosted by one of the members you actually talked to with some regularity. 

  Come if you can! We’d love to see you! Sabrina’s casual message outside of the group chat had left you scrambling to respond last night, typing out at least thirty messages and showing them to Ari before deciding on one. 

  Okay! Thanks for inviting me, I wold love to come!

 “I-it’s just a facebook group thing.” You mumble, and he chuckles, kissing your forehead. 

 “It’s okay to be a little nervous about meeting your internet friends for the first time.” He must feel it in the bond, the electric apprehension running through every one of your limbs and down to the tips of your fingers and toes. “Just be yourself, Sweetheart. Trust me, they’ll love you.” He turns to exit the closet, but pokes his head back in. “And I like the skirt.” 

 An hour later, you’re in the Jeep on your way across town, Sabrina’s address punched into your phone’s GPS. You’re trying to think of potential conversation topics in your head, drumming your fingers against the steering wheel. You’d already checked the list of people in attendance—only ten, including you. 

  Exclusive.

 Sabrina’s house is half an hour outside of the city, nestled in the rolling hills off the highway. The private drive is blocked off by a wrought iron gate that you have to pull up to an intercom to get open. You lean out of the window, jabbing your thumb into the button. 

  “Yes? Who is it? Shh, Adrian!”

 You lick your lips nervously. “Um, it’s uh, it’s—”

  “Oh wait, I know who you are! I can see you on the camera. Come on in, girl!” The intercom buzzes loudly and the fence slides smoothly out of the way. It takes a full three minutes to get from the gate to the house, and when you pull up, there’s a line of expensive looking cars parked along the side. You take up the rear, taking a deep breath before hopping out. Gravel crunches under your feet, and as you’re heading up the stairs the front door opens. 

 “OhmyGod Hi!” You recognize Adrian from his pictures, his long dark hair piled up in a bun on top of his head. “How are you? Come in, come in,” he motions you forward with a wide smile. In one hand is a half full glass of wine, and he hugs you with the other. Underneath his rather fruity cologne is a distinctly Alpha scent, and when you pull away, you spot half a ring of teeth marks on the skin beneath his collar. 

 “Good, thanks,” you sputter, stepping over the threshold. It’s a monster of a house, the ceiling looming far above you. The air is heavy with the scent of warm sugar and brown butter, like someone’s baking. You cast a look around the foyer, there are pictures of Sabrina with her children, her husband—who just so happens to be the headmaster of Liam’s school. You toe off your shoes in the entryway, and Adrian scoffs. 

 “Oh, you don’t need to do that. Sabrina doesn’t give a shit about mud on her carpets,” he laughs. 

 “Habit, I guess,” you say, your own nervous laughter ringing awkwardly in the air with his. “I, um, have-have you been in the group long?” The questions you practiced in the car tangle confusedly together on your tongue. 

 “Like three years, I think?” He waves his hand as he shrugs. “But it got a lot more fun when Sab starting modding. Way more jokes.” He fixes you with a sly smile.  “Let’s go  get you a drink!” You tail Adrian through the house, and the sound of voices gets louder and louder as you go. The long hallway opens up into a massive kitchen, and a gaggle of people surround the marble island in the center of it, only a few of whom you recognize. 

 “Ladies,” Adrian claps his palm against his khaki-clad thigh, holding his wine glass aloft as he raises his voice to get their attention. “And gentle man,” he giggles, placing his palm against his chest, “Our last guest has arrived.” You duck your head in embarrassment as a little cheer ripples through the rest of the attendees.

 “Sorry I’m late, I think the e-vite said 4:20—”

 “Girl please.” You recognize Keisha’s fiery orange locs from her profile picture. “I just got here ten minutes ago. Sabrina! Girl where are you? You know I don’t know where you keep the glasses in this maze.” By your count, there are about seven people here, eight, including you. “Are you sure she’s the last one, Adrian? I thought Barb and Hannah were coming, too?”

 “Kayla’s got chicken pox, they cancelled this morning,” Adrian replies. “They’re fine, though, said she’s holding up well. Marathonning every episode of Bluey, apparently.” As the two of you join everyone else at the counter, Sabrina appears in the opposite doorway. 

 “Sorry, I went to get a lighter. Glasses are above the sink—hi! I’m so glad you could make it!” Sabrina is tiny, strawberry blonde curls piled on top of her head and secured with the biggest, pinkest bow you’ve ever seen. She reminds you of a Malibu Barbie—mansion and all. Sabrina rushes over to you, quickly depositing the tray of what looks like cigarette papers and lighters on the counter before hugging you tightly. 

 “Thanks for coming!” Sabrina looks genuinely happy to see you. They make room for you around the island. “I just moved here like a year and a half ago and it is so hard to make friends.”

 You let out a relieved breath. “I know exactly what you mean.” You had been nervous about coming, about whether or not you were actually going to fit-in . It feels like there are huge holes where general knowledge should be about how to act, what to say. All the culturally relevant gossip you know hit it’s expiration date a decade ago—but surprisingly, you don’t feel as terrified of that as you had been before arriving. 

 The conversation flows easily, and you finish your first glass of wine with a comfortable, warm buzz. Adrian makes it his business to serve the cooled cookies, and when you take two, he laughs. 

 “Okay, girl, I see you!” You blush as you bite down, gooey chocolate coating your tongue. 

 “I didn’t eat before I came,” you admit, polishing off the first cookie and starting on the second. “These are so good,” you add, and Sabrina preens. 

 “Thank you! I baked them myself.” Sabrina ducks down beneath the island countertop, and you hear the sound of a drawer rolling open, and then shut again. “I will admit I found the recipe online, though.” As she stands, she tosses a plastic bag of—

  Oh my God.

  Your eyes widen as the baggie of weed lands on the table, and they dart worriedly to the faces of everyone else there. No one seems surprised or upset, in fact, Keisha claps excitedly. 

 “Good,” she chirps, plucking a single paper from one of the packs on the silver tray. “I’ll roll.” 

 You shift nervously on your feet, unsure of what to do. You’ve never smoked before—the most you’ve ever done is drink alcohol, and even that you don’t do with any regularity. Ari’s beers in the fridge at home remain mostly untouched by you, and the occasional glass of wine is the extent of what you generally allow yourself. Not that you mind, really—

 You tap jittery fingers against the granite, and Adrian clucks his tongue at you. 

 “What’s wrong, babes?” His eyebrows crease with concern. “Not a joint person?” 

 “N-no?” You force yourself to calm down—these are all adults, and it’s not like it’s… illegal here, per-say. “I um, I haven’t actually ever… smoked. Marijuana.” 

 “You haven’t?” Sabrina’s gaze moves worriedly from your face to the half-eaten tray of cookies and back again. “Are you… kidding?”

 You sigh, dragging an embarrassed hand down your face. “No. Ugh, my… my parents were um. Really strict. Sorry. I’m not a narc or anything, I just, um, never really—” Sabrina grabs your hand with a soft smile and the rambling word vomit screeches to a halt. 

 “You don’t have to explain yourself at all. I just, well, I kind of thought you knew, to be honest.”

 “Knew?”

 “Yeah, it’s said 4/20 brunch, on 4/20,” she looks at you with a leading expression, but whatever reference she’s trying to make flies entirely over your head. You raise an eyebrow. 

 “That wasn’t… the time?”

 “420 means weed girl!” Adrian yelps, doubling over with raucous laughter. He rests a hand on his hip as he gasps for air. “This was a weed brunch!” You pinch the bridge of your nose, groaning. “Oh my God the cookies! You ate two of them!” Cold realization crosses your face as you turn to face them in horror. 

 “There was weed in the cookies!?”

 —

 Ari is waiting for you in the kitchen when you call—he’d been expecting you home half an hour ago, and though he wasn’t worried, he was beginning to get antsy. The bond is open—wide open, in fact—and your hazy amusement permeate it like smoke. 

 “Hi, Sweetheart. You okay?” He asks, and you giggle. 

  “ I’m good. I’m so-oo-oo good, ” you sing, drawing out the syllables. There’s a loud splash, and Ari raises an eyebrow as you gasp loudly through the receiver. 

  “Don’t drop your phone!”

 “I’m not gonna dro-op it,��� you hiccough, and Ari can practically hear your pout. “She said I was going to drop my phone, but I’m not going to drop it—”

 “Kitten. What is—”

 “Can you come get me?” You say, cutting him off in a dreamy, small voice. “I don’t think I should drive. The floor is moving.” Ari pulls away from the phone, staring at it with confused, narrowed eyes.

 “The floor is… moving.” He repeats your babble, just to make sure he’s hearing it right. You heave a relieved sigh, as if he’s validated some previously held suspicion. 

 “Yes. And I really don’t think I should drive. I’m all wet.” 

 “Okay baby. Can you send me your friend’s address? I’m going to call Martine over in case Liam wakes up, and then I will come and get you.” 

 “Okay.” You hang up with no warning, leaving your confused and exasperated mate staring at his phone. It takes several minutes—and quite a few nonsensical strings of emojis—before the address comes through. 

  She’s drunk, he thinks to himself, shaking his head. A little wry smile plays at the edges of his mouth as he buckles himself into the Bentley. She has to be. He’s not upset as he turns out of the driveway, skirting generously around Martine’s car. He’s glad you’ve made friends—the tight fist your father had kept around your life has left a lasting impression, one Ari is eager to erase. 

 The traffic choking the highway eases as he circles around the city, the exit dumping him out into the rolling foothills on its outskirts. The address you’d sent him is one that takes him into familiar territory, and when he pulls up to the gate, it buzzes open before he has a chance to push the button on the intercom.

 Ari exits the vehicle, taking stock of each car lined up in the driveway—including yours. He pauses at the front steps, listening, before making his way around back instead. The sounds of music and laughter grow louder as he rounds the side of the house. Your scent is here too, cut with others and diluted by the smell of chlorine and charcoal smoke. The yard opens up before him, carefully manicured green surrounding the deeply set in-ground pool. 

 “I don’t remember inviting the mob.” An amused voice makes Ari turn, before he scoffs. 

 “You wouldn’t have to, Sabrina, you married it.” He replies, shaking his head before reaching down for a hug. “It’s been a while.” Sabrina tokes long and hard on the joint in her hand before she laughs. 

 “You’re telling me. What are you doing here?”

 “My mate is here.” Ari peers over Sabrina’s blonde head, squinting at the pool. “The one on the pizza floaty.” 

 You’re sprawled on the double-wide rubber float, chatting animatedly to a man sitting on the pool steps up to his waist. Sabrina claps her hands, loud, animated laughter escaping her grinning mouth. 

  “That’s your mate? Oh my God. I think—I think I’m gonna pee.” She doubles over, while Ari frowns down at her. “Sorry. Sorry. I just—Odd couple. In my defense, she is the sweetest person on earth, and you’re… you.” Ari purses his lips.

 “Yes, well, you’re related to me,” he says dryly. “I still don’t think you’ve forgiven me for putting worms in your hair.” 

 “I haven’t. It was disgusting.”

 “I was eight.” 

 Sabrina ignores him, flicking a honey-blonde lock over her shoulder before making her way over to the pool. She wades in, waving to get your attention. You look utterly relaxed, your limbs draped loosely across the floaty. Your fingers and toes trail in the water as a you drift. You sit up as Sabrina approaches, and for a moment, your wild hair is framed perfectly in the light of the setting sun.

  Little lioness.

 The words she speaks to you are snatched away by the wind as Ari approaches, squatting by the edge of the pool. You’re wearing a swimsuit you no doubt borrowed from Sabrina, a bikini he suspects is at least one size too small. Sliding off the edge of the pizza-shaped float, you wade over to him, a dopey smile on your face. 

 “Ari!” 

 “Hi, Kitten.” He leans down when you reach wet hands up to hug him. Ari doesn’t mind, drawing his fingers affectionately over your bare shoulders and back as he presses his face to the side of your throat. He can’t help but check. Underneath the heavy scent of the chlorine—and a light coating of weed-smoke—is your true scent. Just yours, like he’d known it would be. He kisses your forehead. You giggle. 

 “I did what you said,” you whisper loudly. “It worked! I just said, um, that I never smoked, but then I ate the cookie—two cookies, I think. Maybe more?” The story devolves into meaningless ramble that leaves Ari laughing. 

 “I’m glad you’re having a good time, Kitten.” 

 “So this is the mate.” A lanky Alpha with a joint in a rather fancy looking cigarette holder appraises Ari, his other hand resting on his hip. He offers it to shake. “Adrian. The pleasure is yours.” Ari shakes it. “We did try to keep her out of the pool but she made some very convincing arguments.” 

 “I see,” Ari replies, chuckling as you give a stout nod from the pool. “She does have a habit of getting her way.” The resulting pout that forms on your full lips is worth the half-truth. You make your way toward the pool ladder, slipping once before finding your footing. You’re sopping wet, water running in rivulets down your soft skin. Up close, the swimsuit you’re wearing is even smaller, the fabric straining to hold back the supple flesh of your breasts. 

 Ari clears his throat, and Adrian snickers. He shoots the other male an irritated look, but Adrian only grins. 

 “I packed you a to-go bag, chica. It’s in your purse. You crazy kids have a good night.” He winks, and you wave absently.

 “You too, Adrian!” You turn back to Ari. “He’s nice, right?”

 “Yeah,” he replies, dragging his eyes up from the curve of your hip where the tie is sinking sinfully into the soft skin there. “Nice. Where did you get this?” He fingers the spaghetti thin strap at your shoulder. Sabrina sidles up next to you with a knowing grin, looping her arm around your shoulders. 

 “Well, I couldn’t let her just jump in, Ari.” He levels an annoyed glare at her. “What kind of cousin would I be if I let your mate ruin her nice clothes?” You gasp exaggeratedly. 

  “Cousin?”

 “First or second, or something like that,” Ari grumbles. She laughs.

 “Remind me to tell you the worm story,” she replies conspiratorially, clapping you on the back. “You go get your clothes.” 

 “I’ll be right back,” You press a kiss to Ari’s cheek. He can’t help but watch you walk away, the damp fabric wedging itself neatly between the cheeks of your ass. God-fucking-dammit. 

 “It reeks out here,” he says, raising an eyebrow. “You’d better not be turning my mate into a pothead. I don’t want to have to get into weed distribution, you know how messy that is.” Sabrina waves a hand dismissively. 

 “Nonsense. Thad’s got a great thing going on with Rogers and Barnes on the east coast. He can cut you in if you want.” She winks. “I like her, you know. Genuinely had no idea she was, um. Yours.” Ari smiles, in spite of himself. 

 “It’s hard not to love her.” 

 Ari opts to wait out front, and he isn’t out there long before you stumble out clutching your purse. Your shirt is unbuttoned and untucked from your skirt, exposing the swimsuit you’re still wearing underneath. You look up at him apologetically through your lashes.

 “Thank you for coming, Ari, I’m sorry—”

 “Don’t be, Kitten,” he chuckles, helping you down the steps toward the car. “I’m glad you had a good time.” 

 You loose a high pitched giggle. “I had so-oo much fun. S-Sabrina’s so nice! She said she wants to hang out more. And—” You gasp, turning to him with a suspicious glare. “She said you put worms in her hair.” Ari laughs, shaking his head as he opens the passenger side door. “How could you do that?”

 “I’ll bet she didn’t tell you she dumped cat litter on my head the week before,” he replies, shutting the door before you can respond. He can see that you’re talking anyway, chirping brightly to yourself as Ari rounds the front of the car. He’s not quite sure why, but the sight of it makes his heart swell, even as he shakes his head. 

 “—gross!” You finish, looking at him definitively. 

 Ari slides into the drivers seat, nodding. “It was.” 

 “Will we come back for the Jeep?” You ask in a small, guilty voice. “I like the Jeep.” Ari nods, chuckling.

 “I promise.” The stoned, dopey smile you shoot him in response makes Ari wonder just how many “cookies” you’d eaten. You slump lazily in the passenger seat, stretching like a cat as he pulls out of the driveway. You sit there, blissfully unaware of the way that fucking bikini is eating away at his nerves. You drag a hand across your bare midsection, absently playing with the loose bikini strings.

 Of course you can’t see the way the edges of your dark, puffy nipples spill just over the edges of the triangular scraps of fabric. Sabrina’s attempt to help you maintain your modesty has done exactly the opposite, leaving you so indecently exposed that Ari finds himself wondering how the soft, plump lips of your cunt even fit in the bottoms. 

  God-fucking-dammit.

 Ari knows he should be focusing on the sparsely populated road, on the hour long drive it will take to get you home— not on the way he can see the pebbled outline of your perfect fucking nipples through that flimsy excuse for a bathing suit. Ari dares to glance in your direction again and groans quietly. You’re running your hands along your bare thighs, giggling and gasping at the sensation of your palms on your own skin. 

 “Ari, I didn’t know I was this soft,” you mumble, your eyes wide and pupils dilated. “Did you know that?” 

 He scrubs a hand down his face. 

 “Jesus, Kitten, you trying to kill me tonight?” He moans, dropping his head back against the seat. You lean over the middle console, an apology already on your trembling lips. 

 “I’m sorry.” It’s like you’re completely unaware of it, the thrall you have him in as you rest a warm little hand on his thigh. “How can I make it better?” 

  Martine’s fine at the house with Liam, right?

 —

  “Oh-oh God!” Your face is hidden, pressed against the hood of the car. Ari has your trembling legs spread as far apart as he can manage, his cock disappearing between the cheeks of your ass. “F-feels— oh— ” You’re even less articulate than usual, your sopping, needy cunt squeezing down around him like a vise. 

 Ari’s got your little white skirt rucked up around your waist, and the offending bikini pulled to the side so he can watch you take him. Seeing your pussy stretched open wide and straining around the veiny length of his cock is almost as good as feeling it. Ari doesn’t resist the urge to crack the palm of one hand against the cheek of your ass. You squeal, and God the way you fucking clench down is almost enough to make him bust right there—

 “Ari!” His name sounds like a desperate prayer on your lips. You’re practically writhing underneath him, your hands forming little fists on the hood of the Bentley. “G-God, feels—” He loves you like this, the words all gibberish on your loose tongue. “Fuck!”

 He especially likes it now that you’re high, hoarse curses falling from your lips as you raise yourself up onto your tip toes trying to meet his thrusts. It’s like some of your carefully crafted filter has come apart, allowing through the Kitten that isn’t afraid of judgment or reprisal. 

 “M’so full,” you whine pathetically, peering over your shoulder at him pleadingly. “More?” He isn’t expecting your breathy, perfect little plea, and the softly uttered request seems to go straight to his cock, and it throbs hard inside you. Ari groans, his head lolling back on his shoulders as he stares unseeingly at the night sky. “More, please.”

 The knot at the base of his cock is already starting to swell, and Ari clenches his teeth. Bracing one hand between your shoulders as he anchors the other to your hip. 

 “More, Kitten?” He asks, chuckling darkly. “Greedy girl. Can you even take more?” Ari draws back until the head of his cock pops out, and he slaps it wetly against your cunt. Slowly, he presses himself into the fucked-swollen mess of your pussy. He doesn’t stop when you begin straining against his knot, murmuring dark words of encouragement. 

 “You asked for this,” he reminds you, grinning when your forehead hits the hood with a thunk, and you let out a muffled cry. Ari joins you, a harsh growl tearing from his throat as his knot pops inside. “That enough, Kitten?” He asks through clenched teeth. “Your hungry fucking pussy finally full, Sweetheart?” 

 You push back against him, a lewd squelch filling both your ears. That’s enough of an answer for Ari. He growls, clamping down on the back of your neck with one hand as his fingers sink deep into the meat of your hip. His thrusts are shorter now, but fuller , and each one leaves you mewling and crying.   His whole world is condensing down to a single point. You’re all that matters, you, this moment, his cock buried in your slick, sweet core—

 “Oh f-fuck, God, Ari, c-cumming—” The nonsense that you manage to string together only barely precedes the way your cunt clamps deliciously around him like a hot wet fist. The pleasurable buzzing in the back of Ari’s skull becomes unbearable, traveling down his spine and shooting like electricity to the base of his cock. 

 Ari groans, bending over your back to sink his teeth into your shoulder, holding you still while he cums. He still doesn’t know how to explain how right it feels to press inside you and let go—like he’s supposed to. Fuck and the feel of you—Ari groans as you shift, your velvet walls shifting against his still hard cock. He leans back, releasing you so that he can stare appreciatively at your cunt.  Lips bulged out from the heavy girth of his knot, a mixture of both your fluids leaking out around it. 

 You peek over your shoulder at him, your hair sticking to your sweaty forehead. Your eyebrows are creased together, your glassy eyes shining with real worry. 

 “Ari?”

 “What’s the matter, Kitten?”

 “I think I left my phone.” 

  end

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[tlkfaerie]

Celebrations

༺☆༻ Pairing: Sihtric x reader ༺☆༻

Word Count: 4.1k

summary: a celebration in Uhtred's hall leads to a mutual confession in a river.

Author's note: heyyyyy. This is set in my imaginary peacetime lol. I would say end of S2 but also Sihtric's S3 hair because I love mullets.

MDNI! 18+ -͟͟͞☆ TW! : smut, loss of virginity, mentions of alcohol, slapping, crying, p in v, confessions of love etc

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　 　 . ✦　　　 　˚

You were Uhtred's ward, so naturally, you followed him wherever he went. He had reluctantly taken you in as an oath after Leofric could no longer look after you. Your ancestry was a shoddy thing - it seemed everyone you had ever met was unaware of your origins. And yet, you had fallen into the care of Leofric, who had begged Uhtred to care for you in his final, forceful moment in battle.

Though you had begun as a pain in his side, he grew to love you deeply. You revelled in the sibling-like bond that the two of you shared, though sometimes it was hard to listen to him when he told you to do certain things. You had become his arseling. You were often confined to your room when thins became heated, hiding with Gisela or forced behind Finan's side, never allowed to be at the forefront of anything important.

You didn't mind entirely, however, because Uhtred's natural urge to provide for you meant that you were safe. And on nights like tonight, you enjoyed yourself the most. Ale was being squandered throughout Coccham's infamous Pagan hall, thrown in goblets and beakers to any man whose eager hands were willing to receive.

Uhtred warned you not to have more than one glass, but as there was no danger, you knew he wouldn't bother to keep an eye on you. He smirked as he had left you, somehow knowing that you would not follow his commands. Gisela, even, did not adopt on the somewhat maternal role she often forced upon you. You loved her as a sister, but tonight you knew you could not bump into her in your state.

After what could only have been your tenth glass, you observed Osferth sitting alone, looking rather sheepish. As someone you considered your greatest confidant, you slumped next to him, entertaining him with slurred conversation that you imagined was perfectly clear. As the two of you laughed, you were unaware of the conversation that had been brewing slowly across the hall.

Finan draped himself across one of the benches as he watched Uhtred turn serious, sniggering slowly at the man's mildly drunken state. He turned to Sihtric, who had been quiet for most of the night. Though he was always somewhat subdued, today seemed to pique a particular silence within him. Uhtred did not fail to notice. He had been observing how Sihtric ogled you for some months now.

"Good men have begun asking about my ward," he begun, taking a great chug from his cup. He could not hide his smile, knowing exactly what he was doing. The Dane immediately turned his absent head towards his Lord, envy filling his chest at the news. Sihtric wasn't surprised, however. He saw how oblivious you were to the stares around you. Though your position with Uhtred was close enough to scare of some men, others had tried to court you.

Your beauty was known throughout the land, praised above even royalty. As a result of this, you caused Uhtred many problems in his dealing and bargaining with other men, though he would never tell you that. He never ceased to remind you that you behaved like a wild pup, and that no man would consider you for marriage with branches in your hair and mud in your hands. He was teasing, of course, but this had urged your sense of independence so much that you hadn't even considered suitors.

None, other than Sihtric. As he did his work for his Lord, fought for him alongside other men, you couldn't help but feel drawn to him. He was a wonder to speak to, incredibly soft yet opinionated and strong. He let you do things like weave flowers into his hair, play with his sword (albeit very, very reluctantly) and helped you with chores. He had been nothing but kind to you, but his conscious prevented him from making any sort of romantic move.

"She is wild, she will need a strong man. A good man," Uhtred continued, eyeing Finan, who quickly chimed in. He knew he spoke slightly too ill of you in this moment, but it was for a greater purpose, and so he allowed himself the indulgence.

"I could happily take on such a task, Lord," the Irishman raised his glass, staring at Sihtric from where he sat at the very edge of his seat, eyes downcast. He felt ridiculous. He was a warrior in every sense of the word, stoic and observant. Why could he not simply find the courage in him to ask for more than your platonic company. He burned for you. For you to be his wife. To claim you as his.

Finally, Sihtric cleared his throat. "Lord, I wish to be with Y/N. I wish for her to be mine." he seemed almost tortured as he said the words, making Finan burst out with laughter. The two were a close pair, but Finan's laughter did not infect Sihtric as it usually did.

"I'd be able to see that even if I was blind, Sihtric," he began, walking over to his good friend, "she is a fine runt, I like her, but she won't stay idle forever, not with that face." Sihtric grinned slightly, reminiscing on the night that Finan had bestowed you with the glorious nickname 'runt'. After you'd confessed that Leofric was only some distant uncle, and that your parents could have been anyone, he'd stuck ale in your hand and branded you the group's pretty runt.

Sihtric laughed, shoving Finan off of his shoulders, telling him to go and find his own woman for the night, "or have you had every woman not claimed here tonight already?"

Without waiting for Finan's reaction, Sihtric returned his gaze to Uhtred and the other men at the table. Uhtred smiled, tearing copious amounts of bread in his hands and shoving them down. Sihtric declared his Lord a pig for the moment, earning him a slap to the back.

"You and Y/N are suited, I would see that she marries for love, not for convenience. You will allow her to be who she needs to be. I trust you, Sihtric." And with that message, he was gone, up to find his woman, and to enjoy the rest of the night with her. In truth, Sihtric had forgotten what they were even celebrating, content to watch you with Osferth, talking in your endearing manner. He decided now that he would have to make his move.

Your cheeks were red at this point, and you had been mindlessly listening to Osferth tell one of his stories, when a tall silhouette, forming into the figure of Sihtric, came and placed his hands on Osferth's shoulders. Delighted to see him, you opened a space for him on the bench, but instead, Osferth stood and left, wishing you goodnight. You hadn't realised just how late it was, but you didn't care - not when one of your favourite people was sat in front of you.

"Y/N, I hope you haven't exceeded Uhtred's ale limit tonight," he spoke sarcastically, tilting his head to meet your somewhat dazed eyes. His gaze alone made you sober up instantly. You felt the urge to pull him closer, to be around him constantly - even if he did call you a pup, and ruffle your hair as if you were truly Uhtred's dog.

"I can see as clearly as a sorcerer with his runes," you declare triumphantly, but no sooner than you lift your arms to prove yourself do you find yourself utterly drenched in ale. Uhtred's ale, to be exact.

"Did you see that coming, lady?" Sihtric swipes your chin with his finger, licking the ale off of his finger. You want to cry as you look at him, knowing he finds this funny but unable to see much of the humour in it. You had wanted to look nice for him tonight.

"Uhtred. . .you bastard turd," you begin, spewing insults at him, not caring that he loved every minute of it. Truly, he had not intended to disturb you and Sihtric, he had just been curious to observe how one of his most trusted men claimed his woman.

"I would have Sihtric wash your mouth for those insults, but I fear he would enjoy it too much." Uhtred spills more ale, holding your neck between his arm and chest, allowing you to heave more insults at him. When he finally lets you go, you glance once more at Sihtric before storming out of the hall altogether.

Gisela tuts at Uhtred, crossing her arms, "I told you that interfering would do nothing. The poor girl is drenched in ale," she exclaims, Uhtred now no longer smiling, pining after his wife as she walked away from him. Ever the patient man, Sihtric simply smiles, undeterred. If anything, your wet hair made him want you even more.

For now, however, he was a little concerned. You had a tendency to believe that you were entirely invincible, which normally he found adorable, but you had walked out of the hall barefoot, and with no furs on. If he did not find you soon, someone less kind would.

After what proved to be a very short search, since you had left all manner of footprints and a trail of the sweetest smell, Sihtric found you. He chuckled to himself, but that quickly stopped when he saw your clothes on the floor, and you in the river, washing your naked body.

He was about to turn around to leave you, but you were quicker. You caught the back of him, calling his name boldly. Part of you didn’t realise what you had just done, seeing as you were fully exposed, your body hidden from Sihtric only thanks to the water. But you felt as though the moments before Uhtred had spoiled your night could be redeemed. You watched the man reluctantly walk over, unable to keep his eyes from your face. You were freezing cold, but welcomed the temperature. It made you feel alive, and encouraged you - although, that might have just been the ale.

“Y/N, you shouldn’t be out here alone. Not like this,” he seemed almost ashamed that he couldn’t look away. You had always noted his polite demeanour, always trailing behind everyone, making sure everything was well. Now, all you could notice was how handsome the man was. How big he was. His hand reached for yours, long fans being, attached to his enormous arms that were oh so unfortunately shielded by his furs. I want him to take those furs off, you thought.

Normally, a scolding from one of the men, Beocca or even Gisela would irk you. You were more than happy to do whatever you pleased on your own, you weren’t so delicate as to need protection wherever you went. But when Sihtric’s stern voice spoke to you, it made you weak at the knees. You quickly realised you’d listen to just about anything he said.

He was so lenient with you. . .so caring and, always there. You were a fool for not asking him about his feelings sooner. You needed to do it now.

“Y/N. . .”

“Sihtric. . .”

You both spoke at the same time, releasing breathy laughs as you stumbled over each other’s words. You wondered what he was going to say, swishing your hand in the water to keep yourself upright. He had kneeled down to your height by now, looking over you in a protective manner, as if shielding you from the real world.

“Y/N, this might be the wrong place to tell you, but I enjoy your company, more than I do anyone else’s,” he began, inhaling deeply before continuing, “and I would like you to be mine, if that is alright with you. I want you to be my lady, and only mine.” He looked you right in the eyes now, eyebrows tilted and mouth slightly open, off his guard entirely as he analysed your face.

You were beaming. The water no longer seemed quite as cold. Instead, you leapt from your position beneath him, leaning against the grass before kissing him. You were a mess, giving in entirely to him and his mouth. His hands instinctively went around your waist, calloused hands against soft flesh. The softest, he thought. He had become somewhat excited, his hands and lips moving faster. You could scarcely keep up as he took more and more from the deep kiss. Your torso was coming out of the water slowly, freezing cold air meeting your bare skin.

When he stopped for a moment, he realised your situation. He could not help his own smirk, realising his luck at the sight of your nakedness before him. Your hair clung to you, wet and dripping, as was the rest of your form (in more ways that one). But he soon snapped back into a sensible mode of thinking, removing his enormous black furs, letting them swamp your shivering body, holding you tightly to him.

“No other man shall see you the way I see you, if that is what you wish, of course,” he shook his head, realising how quickly he was moving. You revelled in the way his strength wrapped around you, taking the moment to watch his almost childish grin.

“I want only you, Sihtric,” you tilted your head back, sharing his happiness, unbothered by your current situation. Some men lingered, but were too drunk to notice the scene before them. “Please,” whispering into his ear now, you looked at him with adoration. Pure love. He reciprocated, scanning you with his eyes hand his hands, unable to shake the sense of pride that you were so small in his furs, and he, in his leathers, his chest burning for you. You just fitted against him so well.

“Come to my room, now,” he dragged you to his chambers, his hand swamping yours as he gripped tightly, walking faster than you had ever seen him walk. When you arrived in his home, you noted the flower crown you had weaved for him and all of the other men, sat on a nearby shelf. Uhtred had feigned disgust when he saw them, but he too kept his close to his chest when he fought. You had meant it as a silly gesture, but seeing that he had kept the fading flowers made your heart swell.

You soon realised your boldness may had landed you in trouble, as you had never been humped before, and by the looks of it - Sihtric knew exactly what he was doing. You had jokingly called Uhtred and Finan whores several times over the years, but never had you considered Sihtric would be right there beside them during their antics.

“Sihtric - I . . . I haven’t,” you started. Looking rather sheepish as the furs exposed your shoulders, falling down your frame. He came up to you, so close in fact that you felt his warmth, his breath fanning on your lips.

His eyes widened, not from shock, however, but more so from challenge. As if he found the whole thing amusing. “I know, Y/N. I will be gentle, if this is all truly what you want, lady.” The words stung with just a tinge of teasing, but you ignored it, as his eyes grazed over your lips and shoulders. His hands were under your chin, admiring you.

Just as quickly as you had decided, the furs were gone, and you stood entirely naked before him, his own form still fully clothed. The power imbalance felt strange, more apparent, but somehow incredibly arousing. He had full control of you, and you loved it.

“You are perfect, my lady.”

You blushed, feeling the best rising above your neck and into your very mind. Sihtric kissed you again, pulling you towards him. One hand travelled all across your body, landing firmly on your ass, and gripping tightly. You had never known someone so sweet to be so . . . commanding.

“Sihtric,” you moaned feeling his hand brush your inner thigh. It was so sensitive, and he hand evens done anything yet. Finally, his rough fingers padded against your clit, your legs spreading just slightly to accommodate him. He trailed his finger up and down slowly, curling ever so slightly, but stopping as your breath hitched in your throat. A quick kiss to your forehead and his fingers were inside, the distraction lasting no time at all. You felt so unbelievably full.

“Fuck,” he whispered, loving the feel of you. You were so warm, so irresistible. Another hand gripped your breast, his forehead resting against yours. Your eyes were screwed shut, unable to hide your small, constant whimpers. His thumb still remained outside, rubbing all of the right places. He was everywhere all at once.

“Fuck, on the bed,” he started, removing his fingers from you quickly, causing you to jolt. He was tender, but seemed altogether impatient. “Please, Y/N.”

You obeyed him, smiling to yourself as you laid on his sheets, touching your breasts, staring at his as the distance between you gave you the safety to tease. He removed his own clothing, admiring you, muttering things like ‘good’ and ‘beautiful’.

You shut your eyes for a moment, and when you reopened them, he was shirtless, his clothes strewn all over his wooden floor. He stalked towards you, a sweet smile mismatching his predatory gaze. You observed all of his scars, some fresh and some old, against his skin. You could truly think of nothing but him.

“Sihtric please, I need you.” You scrambled, wanting to put so many things into words but unable to, wriggling beneath him.

“There is no rush, Y/N. Relax, my pup.” There was the nickname again. You slapped his arm, knowing it would do absolutely nothing. He laughed, climbing to join you on the bed, intense gaze never wavering.

"Are you comfortable?" He asked, both hands on your hips, holding you like you were weightless. His bare chest was addictive, and you practically clawed to get a feel. All you could do in your desperation was nod.

"Tell me, love." this new term suited him well, causing you to whine louder than normal, not wanting to listen to him but doing so all the same. He was just so sweet. Biting his lip, he refused to do anything until you verbalised your thoughts, prolonging your teasing.

"Yes, Sihtric please, Gods," you moaned, begging for more, which he absolutely loved. He was willing to give you everything. Feeling a sense of enormous pride, he couldn't help the confidence that came over him - he was barely doing anything to you and you were a stuttering mess beneath him.

"No, love, the Gods are not here, it's just me," he stroked your throat, pinching your perky nipples, watching as your skin grew redder from the pressure, "you yield to me so sweetly. So well."

As he adjusted your placement underneath him, his arm muscles moved together, as though they were a flowing pattern, working with one another around him. He had been crafted with the most careful hand. You wanted him to devour you.

"I've wanted this for so long," you exclaim, which seems to catch him off guard, despite his role as a skilled warrior. He beams, his eyes shining as he takes another kiss from you, sloppy and rushed, but filled with passion that had been held back for so long. For years.

Before he speaks, he flips you over, onto your stomach, kneading the skin of your ass with one hand and bringing one of your arms behind your back with the other, restraining you somewhat.

"And I too, Y/N. Now that I have you, I will keep you forever. I truly love you," though he promised to be gentle, he slapped your ass, rubbing the soft flesh soon after, causing your frustration to rise.

"Sihtric, I love you too, but if you do not do something soon, I will have to ask another man to hump me," you groaned, knowing it would hit a nerve. You sensed that Sihtric always felt the need to be a good warrior, a great fighter. You wanted him to let loose entirely - to ravage you.

"Then you would have another man sent to an early grave," he came close to your face, pressed into the pillow. He gave you a quick peck to the chest, another slap to your ass, "perhaps filling you up will be the only way to remind you who you belong to."

And with that, he began to push himself inside of you. The pain was instant, his large cock practically tearing you apart, causing you to wince so hard you started to tear up. But this quickly turned into pleasure once he was fully inside, allowing you time to adjust as he stroked your hair a little.

Sihtric was mesmerised by how you took him. You were so unbelievably tight, clenching and squirming, ever the troublesome ward that he knew you as, though to see you give yourself to him in this moment impressed him. He was stripped from his own thoughts, however, when he heard you snivel, concern immediately telling him to check up on you.

"Y/N, my love, are you alright? Is the pain too much?" His concern made you smile, especially as he began stumbling over his own words, back to the Sihtric you knew. He clumsily leaned over to check your face, sighing as he recognised your smile. Though, he surprised himself a little at how much your wet checks turned him on. Your nose had grown red, drying hair all around your face in a tousled mess, your cheeks and eyes glossy. You looked a beautiful mess. Sihtric deemed you his wife then and there.

His aching cock throbbed inside of you, releasing a lengthy moan as he watched you nod and beg for him to start thrusting through the pain, hands barely fitting around his wrist as you grabbed for him.

"You are so needy," he mused unconsciously, beginning a slow rhythm which had you biting the sheets, "you fit so well underneath me. You were made just for me."

"yes, yes, please Sihtric, more." you yearned for his touch even while it was burning into your skin. He towered over you, feeling love and pleasure in excess as he quickened his pace, feeling you all around him, so tight and so eager. This was not how he thought his night would end, with you whimpering beneath him, begging for him and him alone.

You had not expected this either, to crave him so deeply. "More? Y/N, what has become of you?" He asked, taunting you with a chuckle and a pinch to the cheek. You joined him, but your laughter turned into moaning, as he continued with his words, "Anymore and I should have to lock you up, insatiable brat."

You smiled, the sheer size of him brushing up against you and your clit causing you to near the edge. He felt you clenching harder suddenly, basking in the tight muscle around him. You mumbled a pathetic please, and Sihtric almost retorted with something, but your further sniff reminded him to hold back for now. He would save that treatment for another time.

"Come for me, Y/N," was all he needed to say before you were coming for him, his free hand returning to your clit to guide you through the pleasure. You had truly felt nothing like it, understanding now why all those brutes out there cared so much for whoring and claiming their women. If it felt like this, you didn't know how anyone could leave their bedchambers.

Sihtric came not long after you, pumping you full of himself. You felt the liquid drip from out of you, falling down your thigh and onto his bed. He remained inside of you for some time, helping you breathe as the two of you looked at one another. You truly were grateful for Uhtred practically throwing his ale onto you now. Sihtric was too.

BONUS: ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

The next morning, Gisela and some of the servants brought out generous amounts of food for the burning heads of the men, smiling as she recalled how she had warned her husband not to take it too far. Osferth expected you any moment now, to sit beside him and ramble about something. When you came in, however, it was beside Sihtric, a slight, almost invisible limp to your walk.

Osferth felt a tinge of disappointment when your nonsense didn't attack his ears. Instead, Sihtric seated himself next to Finan, who smiled slyly at him when you placed yourself on Sihtric's lap. You slapped Finan when he proclaimed that Uhtred now owed him silver. And lots of it.

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