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syoddeye · 1 month

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useless, part three

Part three (and the finale!) of my submission to @glitterypirateduck's O, Captain! Challenge. As a reminder, I rolled a d100 to select three prompts. I finally used my third prompt.

42. The story spans over a period of 10 or more years

14. Opposites attract

66. Price or Reader is auctioned off for a date as part of a fundraiser

cw: one pregnancy mention (Reader does not get pregnant, has never been pregnant)

Read Part One, Part Two. Tag list: @v1x3n @kiranezra

~4.2k words, Price x f!Reader. This is the most self-indulgent shit I've written in awhile. Please enjoy.

It's past midnight when you limp through the front door of your flat, dropping belongings and articles of clothing alike, shedding both the weight of personhood and your eighteen-hour day. You set your keys down on the end of the counter, ignoring the thin folder for the umpteenth time. James will undoubtedly text about it in the morning, his patronizing messages more reliable than any alarm clock. A half-hour commute home, and you didn't even glance at your phone in fear of accidentally seeing another email from his lawyer. Solicitor. Whatever.

Hamhock slinks out from his lair beneath the bed, weaving between your ankles when you drag yourself into the bathroom.

"Hello Hammy," You whisper, eyeing the newer crop of gray hairs near your roots with a weary neutrality. Definitely the fundraiser's fault. Your hair started to change long before this year's planning began, but this is the longest period you've gone without dyeing it. One thing to thank James for. Not only did his departure give you a crystal clear focus, it freed you from his ridiculous expectations. He'd've commented the moment he spotted the wisps of silver, then casually worked something like anti-aging cream into the conversation.

The prick poisoned the well, and now the only man in the world for you currently lies at your feet. How it should've been from the start, really.

After checking the orange menace's automatic feeder, you slip into bed, allow him to assume his nocturnal throne—your armpit—and plug your phone in one-handed. Your eyes glaze over at the sight of notifications, thumb swiping by muscle memory, and set an alarm. With two weeks left until the big day and more than a hundred unsold tickets, you need every moment you can get. You sigh, counting the tasks of the day ahead instead of sheep.

You'll sign the divorce papers tomorrow.

Naomi practically forces the granola bar into your hands. The assistant stage manager and the props lead—the younger woman is the glue to your glue. A newer fixture at the Bramble Theatre, she was you to an extent, maybe a decade ago: fresh-faced, eager, and optimistic.

"I didn't like how you were looking at the wax fruit."

"We should swap the oranges for plums. Or pears."

"We've been through this. The oranges fit the palette, from the paintings to Dotty's–oh, quit pulling my leg."

You grin, then jut your chin at the stack of slips in her hand. "Are those the waivers? Did all the volunteers sign?"

"Yes, I can post headshots today on socials, so that should boost sales."

"Good. That's one fire extinguished," Rubbing your temple, you lean back in your chair. "I feel gross about it, though. I mean, we run shows that are hundreds of years old, but a date auction? Why don't we raise a guillotine out front and sacrifice effigies to raise money?"

Naomi blinks and whips out her phone. "...Okay, one, I'm noting the effigy idea for next year, but two, the auction won the vote, and everyone participating volunteered."

You grimace. "I know, it's just–"

The sudden opening of the door to your shoebox office interrupts. Theodore, business manager, director, and occasional movement coach, bursts in. Everybody's a multi-hyphenate.

"Terrible news!"

Wonderful. A new fire. You squint, chewing, and watch Naomi try to stifle a laugh valiantly. "Whatever could this be about?"

The older man slams his palms onto your desk, his layered pendants tinkling. "I've punched the numbers, including a best scenario, stars aligning–"

"Teddy. Out with it."

"–we're going to be £40,000 short. Even if we sell out, even if we raffle off the company like cattle, we are circling the drain!"

The tired amusement leaves your body, and in its wake sits a five-digit number and the distant idea to schedule a salon appointment.

The annual fundraiser for the theater, your hard-won home, is a dramatic, demanding, and near-disastrous event every year. The theater has continuously operated a hair above the red, but the laundry list of expenses from the last year cannot be ignored. The new light rig, the stage flooring replacement, the curtain repairs—they never stop. Sponsors and grants only go so far.

Originally, you took this job for its laughable but slightly higher pay and because running around like a madwoman between four gigs at a time wasn't as thrilling or charmingly bohemian as it was in your twenties. Your livelihood depends on the playhouse's success. And the economy. And the general public's attitude toward the arts. All wildly variable. It made you resourceful, and already, you were composing a mental list of people to politely bully for pledges promised in years past. You need time and a phone charger.

"Teddy," you set the half-eaten granola bar down. "Go get ready for afternoon rehearsal. Naomi, cover for me today?"

"'Course."

Theodore swipes his spindly fingers over his brow, nodding fervently at your resolve. "If anyone can pull it off, it's you. Do tell if there is anything yours truly can do." With a flourish, the director departs your office, but Naomi lingers.

"You know if it's donations we need…"

You shake your head, immediately knowing what she intends to suggest. "Out of the question."

"But think of her–"

"I'd rather debase myself and resort to dinner theatre."

"I'm just saying–"

"Naomi," You stress. "I am not calling my mother."

She frowns. "Desperate times call for desperate measures. Are you really so proud you wouldn't leverage your family's connections to save the Bramble?"

It makes you pause. As usual, she's right. Irritatingly so. You could take another salary cut, but you'd need to find a flatshare, a humiliating idea. Hammy wouldn't survive it, the sensitive thing. You sigh and dismiss her with a wave.

"Fine I won't rule it out. But I'm going to shake down half the city first."

An hour later, you've managed to secure a percentage. Not too shabby, but far from the goal. You take a break to read James's team's latest, vaguely threatening missives and entertain the idea of withholding your signature until he makes a donation. What's a little extortion in the name of art?

You know it's wrong to delay this ugly process. How close relief is should you simply sign the papers. But it's another failure, another black spot in your life's ledger. Another dream crushed beneath the boot of reality. With a wave of bitterness, you type out a curt reply, ensuring you will sign the papers and ask them to arrange for a courier tomorrow.

Naomi's suggestion takes advantage of your mind's lethargy, testing the strength of your will and stubbornness. The last time you phoned your mother was months ago, on the anniversary of dad's death. The old man took his last bow five years back, and it destroyed the last bridge between you and your formidable mother. In retirement, she still holds court with major political players stateside…and across the pond.

Before you let your loathing catch up, you pull up her contact card and dial. It's after noon in D.C., the middle of the week. You might get lucky and reach her voice–

"Is everything alright? You're not in the hospital, are you?" Her donnish, sharp voice hurtles you through time and space to your teenage years.

"No," You answer with gritted teeth. A headache waits in the wings. "No, I'm fine, mom."

"Then why are you calling?"

This is why dad handled conversations. You stand, swiftly shutting the door to your office and locking it. "Can't I just call my mom?"

"Of course. Historically, you do not," There's a low murmur of chatter in the background. She's at a luncheon or at the club. "So I assume there is a reason."

Having an ex-ambassador for a mother is a joke. All that practised charm for everyone else in the world, none of it reserved for you. "Okay, yes, there is a reason."

"Thought so. Well, darling, what is it? Is it James? Don't tell me you're pregnant."

You return to your desk and eye the bottle of bourbon on the corner. "No. James and I are divorcing, remember? This is about my work."

There is no acknowledgement of the separation. Instead, your mother pulls the phone away from her mouth, excuses herself from wherever she is, and the background noise dissipates.

"Your work."

"Yes, the Bramble? Look, we're two weeks out from our big annual fundraiser, and–"

"Oh, you need me to write a check." The clicking of her heels halts abruptly, and if you didn't know any better, she wilts. "Fine. How much do you want?"

Your face heats with a mixture of frustration and embarrassment. "I am not asking for money. If you would stop interrupting me…Ugh, mom, I need help contacting some of your old friends here. If there's anyone you know looking for tax deductions or a pet project to brag about, the Bramble is in a bad spot financially."

In the past, whenever the theatre and, by extension, your chosen profession came up, your mother took the opportunity to lecture. She reminded you of the wasted opportunities she afforded you. She brought up your old schoolmates and their current positions. And most insulting of all, she always, always compared you to a certain soldier. Bracing yourself for her monologuing, you reached for the bottle.

"Why didn't you open with that, darling?"

Your fingers close around empty air, and you nearly pitch out of your seat in surprise. "What?"

"Send me the information. I've been meaning to reconnect with some old friends. When is the fundraiser?"

"In two weeks," You repeat, scrambling to pull up your email on the ancient desktop. "Tickets are–"

"Email it. I'll book my flights today and let you know when I'm getting in."

Your hands hover over the keyboard, and your neck protests the angle it bends to keep your phone lodged between ear and shoulder. "Oh, no, mom, you don't need to come."

"Nonsense. I'll, of course, make my own donation, and as a donor, I ought to see where my money is going."

Christ. For the Bramble, you remind yourself and exhale. "Okay. You do that. Listen, I have to get going…but mom?" It kills you to say it. "Thank you."

"You are very welcome. Oh, this will be so much fun. I haven't visited since before your father. You know, on the topic of reconnecting, I happened get an email from the Prices the other day, and John–"

There it is. You kick into fourth gear, rattling off your exit. "I've really got to run. Thanks again mom, send me your flight info. Love you. Bye!"

You feel like you've run a marathon and dodged a bullet. And yet, as you send the email and file the waivers, your mind snags on your mother's words. On a name. His name. It's not the first time your unhelpful brain's waylaid you with a trip down memory lane. Admittedly, it's happened more since James asked for the divorce. Most nights, if it isn't life's stresses hounding you, it's an endless parade of what-ifs behind your eyelids.

What if you studied economics instead? What if you stayed in America? What if you hadn't gone to that stupid New Year's party? What if you hadn't kissed John? If you didn't get on the train?

The people in your circle frequently speak about living life without regrets. It's a romantic notion and a highly unrealistic one.

Your phone buzzes—Naomi. You're needed. Pushing the past where it belongs, back on a dark shelf, and head out to put out another fire.

Three days before the fundraiser, your mother lands in London and hosts you at her hotel for dinner. Playing catch-up is a professional sport with a whirlwind of names you barely remember and memories you remember very differently.

You pick at dessert, listening to another story.

"–and he was so insistent that that school of yours was a breeding ground for monsters, and I told him, isn't that what's needed in today's society? People need thick skin in politics and business. You'll be happy to know, though, he bought four tickets to the fundraiser."

You don't remember who you're talking about but smile and nod. It's a tough pill to swallow, your mother's success at rallying old friends with deep pockets. Teddy's practically in love with her despite having never met her, popping his bald head into your office to sing her praises whenever another pledge arrives.

Your response is rote. "That's wonderful, mom. Thank you."

She prattles on for another half hour before you decide it's time to return home to Hamhock and burn the midnight oil on the fundraiser's date auction. You asked the company for fifty-word bios and actors, bless them, struggle to contain their self-praises. When she finally pauses to take a sip of wine, you rise. "I should head home, lots to do–"

Ignoring you outright, her head turns, and she grins. "There you are!"

Following her gaze, your brow lowers in confusion until you clap eyes on a trio headed in your direction in the company of a server. Very briefly, you consider the melodramatics of matricide. You've been set up.

Mr. and Mrs. Price look well for their age, puttering toward your mother. They are greyer and a little shorter, but the warmth is there.

John, however…

The universe is intent on humbling you.

The hair is the first thing you notice. Short, kempt, and annoyingly a dark shade of brown. It's crept southward onto his face in a beard of a choice style. There is comfort in the finer details that clarify as he nears. He hasn't escaped time's passing with a face marked by crow's feet, frown lines, and forehead furrows. Beneath his shirt, there's a slight suggestion of a belly, though, with his thick arms and the narrowing of his waist, he's clearly a wall of muscle.

The worst part is how infuriatingly kind his smile looks. It's the beard. Softens him. Once an arrogant prick, always an arrogant prick.

John rumbles your name in a whisper, reeling you in for a polite peck on the cheek. "You're a sight for sore eyes."

You're years beyond fifteen and twenty-five, but how swiftly the impulse to snark resurfaces is alarming. Maturity tempers you. "You look good, too."

After a few minutes of greetings, the two of you are tasked with heading to the bar to fetch drinks. Wholly unnecessary what with a server, but it's a clear command to let the 'adults' talk for a spell. Nevermind being shy of forty. John's quick to try conversation when the order's in.

"You haven't changed a bit," He observes, leaning against the bar beside you.

"Now there's something a woman wants to hear after a decade." You huff, casting your eyes across the restaurant, finding it difficult to look at him. The dark blue of his sweater makes his eyes pop.

"Fourteen years, actually," He corrects. "Drinking martinis, actin'…"

You snort. "You're half right. The Martini half."

His elbow gently knocks into yours atop the bar. "Apologies. My mother told me you'd been in My Fair Lady last summer."

That draws your attention. "No. The theater put it on, but I'm the stage manager. I haven't been on stage in ages." Your eyes flicker to the table, then back to him. Heat crawls up your collar. What other information has your mother passed along? Glancing down at your bare ring finger, you turn the conversation. "Not so different from a Captain, I reckon. How's that going?"

John squints a little, and his mouth pulls into a familiar smirk, tugging at old strings in your stomach. "Can't complain."

"Riveting stuff," He chuckles at that, a deep rasping sound, and you find yourself grinning. "Don't suppose that bit of clandestine, secret agent-type shit your mom's talked about?"

"Secret agent?"

"Yeah. Mentioned it in a Christmas card maybe three years ago?" You smile triumphantly into your glass. Seems both your mothers have a penchant for dressing up the truth.

His jaw works a tick, and something heavy passes behind his eyes. "Well, 'm not. Not exactly."

"Let me guess. If you told me, you'd have to kill me?"

He refocuses some, and a short laugh leaves him. "Something like that."

It's all painfully familiar, but it feels different with a little more life under your belt. His mere presence keeps you on your toes, yet you haven't felt this comfortable in months. For all the history and tension, talking to him is easy. A silence passes, the drinks arrive, and you ferry them to the table.

The night passes better than you expected when you first saw the Prices. They express belated condolences over your father, you chat about the fundraiser, and John politely navigates questions about his work. It frightens you when he briefly mentions Piccadilly to know he'd been there in the carnage. Part and parcel of military life, you guess.

"John, be a gentleman and walk her to the station," His mother chides as the five of you congregate in the hotel lobby.

"He doesn't need to do that," You hastily say. Not again.

"'Course."

There is something dreadfully giddy to how your parents wish you both goodnight.

At least you do not need to take his arm this time. Still, there is no way John isn't thinking about that night. Not when that look of quiet desperation he wore is seared within your memory. It's silly, but you peeked at his hands earlier, and like yours, they're naked.

You break the silence to fish. "How long are you on leave?"

"A week. Got in yesterday."

"Do you normally visit your parents?"

"Often."

Doesn't mean there isn't a woman in his life. 'Often' is not 'always'.

"Visit anyone else? Friends?"

He chuckles. "Sometimes."

You roll your eyes. "You know, you haven't changed much either. Aside from the beard and smoker's lung. Still a stunning conversationalist."

John smirks down at you. "Picked it up in the army."

Oh, yes. He remembers.

The conversation lulls, and the walk is short. You figure John's keen on a repeat when he wordlessly escorts you to the platform. But today's not a holiday, and the station is reasonably busy. He watches like a hawk, nonetheless, when you check the time.

"Brings back memories," He quietly comments.

Nodding, your thumb rubs where your wedding band used to rest. "Sure does." You respond and meet his gaze.

You studied theater, moved back to London, went to the party, and kissed John. You didn't regret those choices—only one.

The invitation flies out of you as your train emerges from the tunnel.

"Do you want to meet Hamhock?"

"He's…certainly orange."

"Don't rush to spend all your compliments at once," You glare, arms full of Ham, then coo at the cat. "John's jealous because he's going grey in the beard."

"I am not."

"Saw them on the Tube. Can't those from me," You tease and set the cat down, giving your kitchen a quick glance. A silver lining of work eating up your schedule is that you last cleaned two weeks ago, and it's held.

"What're those on your head then?" He gestures with a finger and toes off his shoes.

"Details of a person ageing gracefully." You play it confidently, but part of you holds a breath.

He hums and sidesteps Hamhock. "Suits you. It's pretty."

Maybe inviting him over is a mistake. The bolt that runs through you from the compliment pokes at something you thought buried. "What a gentleman," You try to inject as much sarcasm as possible, but your voice quivers. "I'll be right back. Sit tight?"

You leave John in the kitchen to retreat to the bathroom to regroup. Come on, you scold yourself over the basin for getting worked up. It's just John.

And yet, what remains of your confidence perches on a cliffside at the sight of John pointedly staring at the folder of your copies of the divorce papers on the counter. Fantastic.

His small smile is genuinely sympathetic. It's enraging.

"Y'know, I knew you were married…When I didn't see a ring at the hotel, though, I wondered."

Your chest tightens, and you shove the folder into a bookshelf. "Yep. Finalized the divorce two-ish weeks ago."

You're not in the mood to be reminded of your failures.

"Sorry it didn't work out," John murmurs.

"That's life. That's how it works sometimes," You exhale, then force a smile. "Want a drink? Bourbon? Wine?"

He lets you change the subject, and you let him have a glass of whiskey.

You sit on opposite ends of your short couch, Hamhock acting as a gentlemanly barrier. The conversation rekindles itself after a few fingers of liquor, and eventually, John migrates to the floor, idly playing with the cat. You confide in him about your worries about the event and whether the funds raised will be enough, and he listens. There is no condescension, no bulldozing. Not a trace of smugness at all when he makes suggestions. You don't realize how you've slipped into an old, practically ancient formation until he peers back, eyes creasing from laughter. You're fifteen again, and it is useless to deny it – you are regrettably in love with John Price.

"Can I confess something?" He suddenly asks as your cat waddles off with a catnip toy in his mouth.

Your heart lurches. "If it's a crime, I'm a terrible conspirator."

"No. Nothin' like that, but I lied earlier." He chuckles, craning his neck to look over his shoulder. "My mother didn't tell me about My Fair Lady."

"What do you mean?"

John turns sheepish. "I came an' saw it when I was on leave last summer. Thought I'd surprise you, but I got to the theater and lost my nerve."

Instantly, you pick through scraps of memories from the production. There is no way you would have known he was in attendance, not with how hellishly busy you are.

"You, Captain John Price, lost your nerve?"

Color blooms high on his cheeks, and he turns on the floor, rubbing his neck. "I knew you're not acting but I didn't know how to mention it without soundin' like a prick." His eyes look soft. Different from how they looked that night in his parent's garden. Steady, unwavering, but soft. "I know I'm not good with words. I seem to have a talent for making you angry. But I really am happy to see you. Didn't think I'd get another chance after how I bungled it all those years ago at the train–"

At your grown ages, the angle of the kiss is inadvisable. The two of you fix it without parting, and his hands cup your face when you're finally standing toe-to-toe.

He touches your foreheads together when breathing becomes necessary. "Change anything?"

You don't answer. You lead him to your bedroom and exile the cat.

The fundraiser goes off with a predictable amount of hitches. The caterer is an hour late and forgets half the hors d'oeuvres. The bar runs out of red wine early. Two actors from the children's company slap-fight on stage. Nothing you, Naomi, and Teddy can't fix with elbow grease and stage magic. The caterers re-course. Naomi calls in a favor from her bartender girlfriend. And the children forget their quarrel when they're called upon to defeat Captain Hook.

What you are not prepared for is one of the actors calling out sick, leaving you one date short for the auction. You waste an hour trying to convince one of your fellow techies to step in.

Naomi corners you when you stress-eat a comically tiny piece of toast swiped from a tray.

"You know, if one person is all we need…"

"Your girlfriend won't be mad?"

"Ha-ha, don't get cheeky. C'mon, isn't it time you got back out there?"

You suppress a smug smile. Naomi has no idea. Nobody does. You've gotten back out there and then some.

"Did I not tell you I was grossed out by the auction?"

She's relentless. "Are you really so proud you wouldn't debase yourself a little for the Bramble?"

"Absolutely not."

You'd said it with such conviction, so it's a puzzle when you find yourself waiting in the stage wing, makeup hurriedly refreshed. It takes all your courage and grace not to stumble to Teddy's side when he calls your name. He improvises an introduction on the fly, and you nearly laugh when you realize this is the first time you've been on the stage, under a spotlight, in years.

The bidding opens, and you hold your breath, letting it go when a few unfamiliar voices call out numbers. A humbling embarrassment clutches you by the throat. But then a paddle raises more confidently in the front row. The light is bright, but you know whose hand hoists it high.

He collects you at the end of the night as you lock up.

"There's my prize."

You can't stop the grin that splits your face. "It's just a date, John."

"Yeah, doin' things a bit out of order, aren't we?" A glimmer of his younger, puffed-up self shines through, and his hand envelops yours.

As you walk, your elbow digs into his ribs, "What will our mothers say?"

"That a big deal to you?"

"To some people."

"Well, love, you're not 'some people'."

#ocaptainchallenge #john price #john price x reader #john price x f!reader #price x reader #price x f!reader #lieutenant john price #cw alcohol #i love love #i love corny shit #i needed to write something soft okay?#lightly edited bc i don't think i'll have time to write tomorrow and the deadline is tomorrow!

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hollyhomburg · 5 months

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Before I Leave You (Pt.64)

(Sneek Peek)(Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

Summary: “Take your time, it’s not like I’m dying over here or anything.” “Shut up Jimin you are not going to die.”

Tags: Angst, Blood, Gore, Maiming, violent acts described perpetrated by loved ones, near death experiences, near death experiences, No one dies, Jimin does not die, Hurt with just a little comfort.

W/c: 7.0k

A/N: I'm sorry that this chapter will be a little shorter than usual after such a long weight but i literally could not finish the second half of it in time. i've been going through a rough patch™ which is why recently the updates have been 3 weeks apart instead of just 2 like usual. idk when that will change, this might just be the new reality for me 😭 when i tell you the end of this chapter has a fucking twist to it that i love, you're not prepared!

Previous part - Masterlist - First part

~-~

Chapter 64 Sneak Peak: Pawn and King

The fog covers everything like a balmy damp shadow, the snow going straight to sublimation. Pockets of old streetlamp lights punctuate the darkness. But through it there are husks of metal rising like soldiers. The sky orange behind them from the distant lights of the city,

Jin’s car is there. Hobi spots it. Its blue paint stands out through the overlap of grey brush as his headlights roll over it. And then further in the darkness maybe 50 feet away, Jimin's car. Shiny and black like the husk of an insect.

You're about a mile away from where they must be doing demolition. A singular crane and floodlights shine, casting everything, the river, and this building into a grey-slanted light.

You pull around in the yard in front of the largest and most intact building. You leave the keys in it. Tumbling out the second it glides to a stop.

“Stay here.” You say, but Hobi gets out anyway. He hasn’t noticed the gun tucked into your waistband until now. It makes his pulse tick higher when you take it out. He stares at it.

"Hobi," he looks up at your face, and you flick the safety off. "Sink or swim?"

His hand finds yours. "Swim."

You shake your head like you're angry with yourself, not him. squeezing it once then letting it go. You don’t waste another second arguing. "Stay behind me."

You head off following the disturbed dust, Hobi trailing behind. Ducking from pocket of light to pocket of light.

He always wondered what happened to the gun you’d pointed at him that night you’d run away. That train ticket that still burns a hole in his pocket, a distraction maybe. He's spent the last few months fixating on it- and you of course too. Too fixated to notice the small things that he sees plainly right now. There are facts here that Hobi has not noticed.

The way you hold the gun is not practiced; and why should it be the only one who knows how to handle guns in the pack is Jimin? But the way you walk; completely silent as you transfer your weight from one foot to the other, is heartbreakingly familiar. Hobi knows how and why you've learned to move quietly.

It's almost a dance; the way you glide across the floor. The gun is an extension of your arms, like a dancer's ballet fingers. Spreading and flaying like a wing. Pinky to trigger and index finger along the barrel.

Hobi had always assumed that it belonged to Jimin. Hobi had almost forgotten about it. It was almost 6 months ago now, wasn’t it? there are some things that you never forget, and trauma makes his bones quiet. He's not as good at walking silently as you are- but if the crunch of his red Converse against the gravel bothers you, you do not have a tell.

Hobi feels like he should have asked more questions about it at the time, but now he just bites his lip and stays quiet. You'd promised. You'll tell him in time. Hobi trusts you.

That's the worst thing, isn't it? That Hobi trusts you. You've known he shouldn't since you picked up Jin's call.

Jimin is easy to find if only because he’s sitting in one of those puddles of light, leaning up against one of the containers on the ground floor. Alone. You let out a quiet whimper when you see him. You and Hobi pause in the doorway and Your hand on the gun goes slack

“Minnie!” you forget the gun and run to him, tucking it back into your waistband and falling to your knees at his side. Fingers finding water-dark fabric. Not water- blood.

Hobi stays there, his pulse thudding through his ears, an odd sort of peace to him as he takes in the details. The blood that pools dark on the dusty floor, bubbling. Jimin’s half covered with dust himself. Something wooden and red in his lap. The little bit of blood that’s dripped down his shoulder gathering there. There is a dragged-through patch of dirt a few feet away, more blood, a puddle of it. Jin is nowhere to be found.

Minnie’s eyelashes flutter. “Alpha-” you say. Almost sobbing in relief that he's alive. Alive you can handle. Alive you can work with. You bend down, getting your hand on his cheek.

“Hey pup” he murmurs, he laughs a little, half delirious with pain. He flinches like making the sound hurts him. “You came to the party" he coughs, "did you bring Tae?”

You pull back to look at him. “Tae?”

Jimin grins, eyes fluttering closed, pretty face tipped up against the light. His lips have blood on him- and it looks like a disturbing imitation of Tae’s lipstick. The shadows she leaves on your mouth, on his.

“Yeah- wanna tell her I love her. Wanna tell her that I’m sorry. Could you-" jimin's coughs overtake him, and fresh blood drips down the tips of his fingers, finding home in the soil below.

"Could you tell her for me?”

Coming Saturday December 9th at 5pm EST (Time Zone Adjustments Below)

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rosepascal · 2 months

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💌friends to lovers with marcus pike, please?? he's the best and deserves the world

I've been in a Marcus pike mood lately so I'm very excited to write this <3

summary: You want to ask Marcus out but you can't bring yourself to do it.

Having a crush on your coworker is one of the worst ideas you've ever had. Though it's not like you had a choice in crushing on one Marcus Pike. When you heard about the new guy transferring from Texas you thought nothing of it.

Until he walked through the door. He wasn't your typical cocky FBI agent. He was sweet and kind but he held a sadness in his eyes. He disappeared quick as he was assigned to an undercover op soon into his transfer but after he came back you realized his office was right next to yours.

He often came over to ask questions, feeling sheepish about bothering you so much. You didn't mind though. He respected you and your advice which you appreciated. Your friendship blossomed when he started coming to your office for lunch. Often bringing you something from the cafeteria when you were too busy to eat.

You learned he was engaged before he came here and it didn't end well and that after half a year he's ready to get back out there. Well maybe you're his chance to do that. You hope.

In your hands you have two tickets to the after hours event at the National Gallery of Art, the one Marcus mentioned two weeks ago. they were incredibly hard to get but you got them. Now you just had to ask Marcus.

Why is it so nerve-wracking? All you had to do was go next door and ask him. But all you could think about was the things that could go poorly. What if he says no? What if he already has a date and is going? What if he tells you he actually hates you and never wants to speak to you again?

Okay that last one was a bit dramatic but still. You really liked Marcus. Like really liked him and you don't know if you could handle it if he rejected you. But it's been eating you alive so at this point you just have to rip off the band aid.

Getting out of your chair you hold the tickets and walk to his office. Eyes glued to the ground as you practice in your head what you want to say.

Marcus do you want to go out with me?

Marcus-

You run into a very firm chest and hot coffee. You drop the tickets and the coffee falls onto the chest of the man you ran into. Looking up you see Marcus with a worried look on his face, coffee dripping down his shirt.

"Are you okay?" He takes your hands and checks for burns. You barely got any coffee on you but he needs to be sure.

"Marcus are you okay? You have coffee all over your shirt." He waves you off.

"Don't worry I have a second layer under this." Once he's sure you aren't hurt he relaxes. He bends down to pick up what you dropped. Suddenly you feel a panic wash over you.

"Wait don't-"

"The National Gallery..." He reads the tickets and you sigh. Fuck it.

"I got them, for us." His face lights up with that boyish smile

"Really?"

"As a date." You reveal. You can barely look at his face as you finally ask him.

"Do you want to go. On a date. With me?" You wait for the worst possible outcome, but it never comes. His face breaks out into a big smile.

"Well," He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out two identical tickets. Your face breaks out into a smile as Marcus pulls you closer to him.

"Looks like you beat me to it."

#pedro pascal #marcus pike #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike fanfic #send a valentine

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20nugs · 6 months

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hi love !! idk if ur taking requests rn but would u be open to writing a chris x reader imagine ?? my idea is that he sees her walk past when she's with her friends and he's with his brothers, but runs back to talk to her / get her number. i hope ur doing good !! <3

Unknown Number (Chris Sturniolo x fem!reader)

summary: request

a/n: HEY I am SO so sorry for having you wait for this for 6 million years😭 highschool is so heavy and I'm so busy on the weekends that i hardly have time to do this! BUT i hope you like this, this was really fun to write since it's in Chris's pov so anywho enjoy !!

warnings: cussing 😍

Chris's POV

I smile as little kids run past, blowing bubbles and holding cotton candy. Bright colorful lights flash around my brothers and I in the dark of the night at the carnival.

Nick, Matt, and I haven't been to a carnival in so long, and it was open tonight for only a few tickets per ride.

"We should go on the zipper," Matt suggests, pointing up at the tall coaster.

"Uh, sure," I say, scratching my neck with a nervous laugh, never having trusted the quickly put together carnival rides.

We all go to stand in the line, and I look around, a little bored of the long line. I glance over at a crowd of girls, and that's when I see her.

The neon pink lights shine on her hair, lighting it up beautifully. Her features are so perfectly proportioned. My breath is practically torn from my lungs at the sight if her, and I know I need to meet her.

I begin walking towards her without warning, almost in a daze. All of a sudden, I get yanked back by the hood of my sweatshirt. "Where the fuck are you going?" Matt asks me, turning me towards him.

"Get off of me dude," I say, shrugging out of his grip. I frantically turn back, searching for the girl in the crowd. "What the fuck," I groan, catching no sight of her. I whirl around, my eyes straining to find her.

"What the hell?" Matt says, lifting an eyebrow. "What's gotten into you?"

I ignore him as I head back into the crowd, searching for the girl that caught my eye. I turn a few corners, and finally see her again. She's facing away from me, looking up at the huge ferris wheel.

I feel a sudden spike of nervousness at the thought of approaching her, then remember that if I don't ask for her number now, I'll never see her again.

I walk up to her.

I stand behind her for a few moments, then realize that I look like a fucking creep. Deciding that having her weirded out by me is worse than being turned down, I gently tap her arm once.

"Hey- uh, I mean, excuse me," I say, sheepishly smiling. The girl turns, still smiling. I notice her pupils dilate when she looks at me, making my breath hitch as butterflies swarm my stomach. I realize I've been staring for a moment, and snap out of my daze. "Um, I noticed you from far away, and uh, I was wondering if maybe I could have your number?" I ask nervously.

She grins, and I almost fall to my knees. "Oh, I saw you earlier too! I was hoping you'd ask," she says as she gets out her phone. "What's your name?"

"Um, Chris," I reply, smiling. "What's yours?"

"Y/n," she answers.

"A pretty name for a pretty girl," I say without even fucking thinking. Why am I so fucking corny? I curse myself. To my relief, she laughs, and gets out her phone.

"Here, type in your number, Chris." My hands shake as I type in my phone number. I hand her back her phone, and she types for a few moments before I feel a buzz in my pocket. I open my phone and see a notification from an unsaved number, reading: 'Hey Chris!'.

I look back to her and smile. "D-Do you want to go on a date?" I ask stupidly. "I mean, sometime this week? Are you free on Friday?"

She nods. "Yeah, I'm free. Is five in the evening good for you? You can pick the place."

I swallow thickly. "Yeah, I'll pick you up then." I gaze at her for a moment before her friends call her name. She turns to look at them, then turns back to me.

"I'll see you later, yeah?" She says with a kind grin.

"Yeah," I say, and she walks back to her friends. I stand there for a moment before heading back to where I left Matt and Nick.

I find the Zipper to see them getting off of the ride. "Hey, where the hell did you go?" Nick asks.

"And what's got you cheesin' so hard?" Matt asks, laughing. I didn't even realize I was grinning until now.

"Shut the fuck up," I say, rolling my eyes.

"That's a lot of attitude coming from someone who's face looks like a tomato right now. Seriously, what happened while we were on the ride?" Nick says, laughing as well.

"I'll tell you later," I say, pulling out my phone after I feel it buzz. My screen is lit up with a text message.

Unknown Number

I can't wait to see you on Friday!

a/n: did I eated😍

#chris sturniolo #nick sturniolo #matt sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo x reader #anon!#christopher sturniolo #fluff #anon ask #Christopher sturniolo x reader #20nugs

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loquaciousquark · 3 months

Text

Having one of those days where you can feel the dozen invisible hands behind you, keeping you upright and on your feet, and I just have to sing some praises for our admin staff semi-publicly.

We've had a fairly important VIP speaker trying to get on the schedule to meet the students. After a ton of back and forth with the venue, flight arrangements, catering order - basically everything going wrong that could - we finally land on today lunch, with the main student body in the 2nd floor classroom and any overflow in the 3rd floor classroom via Zoom.

I've already had to offload a lot of duties that would normally be mine, including a building tour, because I had practicals this morning that absolutely could not be moved. The whole time I was grading, though, I was thinking about how I needed to race out after the practical, set up the Zoom on 2, run up to the 3rd floor, start that Zoom there and join my own meeting, check the sound because it constantly picks the wrong devices, race back down, check the food order, find the battery for the lapel mic because the Monday AM lecturer always runs it dead and never puts in a new one, make sure there's a basket for the raffle tickets, and then somewhere in there actually meet this speaker I'm supposed to be introducing and apologize for the scheduling confusion and thank his organization for their support of our program.

My student's practical ends at 11:53. I have seven minutes to set this all up, so I race across the hall to find:

It's all been done. He's already in the classroom with his notes and the lapel mic, set up on Zoom with his slides ready to go. The third floor classroom is already in the Zoom call, video running with the sound tested and everything. The raffle tickets are in a basket and are being handed out as I approach. As I walk up I get an email from our alum director with the speaker's bio I'll be using to introduce him. He's got a water bottle and he's schmoozing with the students & faculty and literally all I have to do is walk in, read his bio, and sit down. They even have a lunch set aside for me.

It was just...incredible. Not only did they help me without a word of complaint, they anticipated every need and solved it before I even had to ask. I had been dreading that ten minute timespan for over a week, and I walked in to find every possible problem had already been discussed and completely addressed. It was so wonderful I very nearly started crying.

They're not direct reports to me, so I can't influence their annual reviews or anything, but I'll be writing thank-you notes to each of them and will send an email to their manager. Good admin support can be so hard to find, and this was another reminder of how preciously golden our current team is.

#whew!#optometry /#quark rambles #i honestly didn't sleep last night worrying about this meeting #and they did everything so beautifully #ahhhh

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tteokdoroki · 2 years

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Okay, so no doubt you probably saw my spam of likes there on the hockey au lineup. but its just so amazing and just the most beautiful work of art i've ever read. i'll probably come back with a bunch of ideas, but i don't want to be overbearing or seem commanding. but imagine with hockey au midoriya where you have a figure skating competition and he brings the team. and theres just this group in the stands that clearly stands out

omg no worries abt the spam!! i love hearing ideas so you’re welcome any time but !! can you imagine :((

like it’s the first time in your relationship that hockey au!midoriya has come to support you at a figure skating competition because their season is over and aizawa eased up on practices so he’s super excited to see you in your element since you’re always coming to his games. deku will like pack up early after a session and the boys ask him where he’s headed :(

hockey au!midoriya getting all shy when he tells the team he’s out of town for the weekend to support you at your regionals and they all beg him to let them come along because you always take care of the team, bring them snacks and waters and teach them stretches/exercises to keep all their joints and muscles healthy. deku has to call you to at midnight the night before the first round to ask you to grab some spare tickets :(!!

now just imagine these big burly boys showing up to a rink full of pretty girls who are flexible beyond belief— sequins glistening and nearly blinding half the team, bakugou complaining that he can’t fucking see, kirishima desperate to get some snacks for the occasion and a good seat to cheer you on, kaminari and shindou are probably sniffing out numbers they can get from girls and shouto just wants some warm merch to wear.

hockey au midoriya who spots your coaches helping you to stretch, fluttering around you to make sure your costume with his jersey number embroidered into its skirt is in place. “i would tell you break a leg but i don’t think that’s considered good luck in this sport.” he breathes, freckles rising on his cheeks as he smiles down at you now in his arms— as charming as the day you first met.

“i don’t think so either,” you hum and stand on the tip of blade on your skate so you can brush your lips over his. and then deku kisses you, large hand on the small of your back, guiding you into the warmth of his chest— a good luck kiss. the team lets out a rather loud series of cheers which earn them glares from the 12 year olds in the junior section, those of which are rather intimidating.

when you skate out for your programme you immediately see your boys amongst your coaches and family, your smile for the show even brighter than before— gliding across the ice as you hear their cheers above the rest and even the music. for some reason; shouto knows all the names to your moves, the triple axel, the lutz, your sweeping camel spin.

hockey au midoriya’s eyes fill with tears, proud ones at the emotions you’re able to pour into figure skating because he never knew something on the ice could be so intricate and beautiful :( and the team have to stop him from running out into the rink when your programme comes to an end and you wave up to the boys with a proud smile.

#hockey au #deku x reader #deku imagine #deku fluff #midoriya x reader #midoriya fluff #tteokdoroki #📧. user anonymous #💌. you’ve got mail

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monstersandmaw · 10 months

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I am unreasonably excited for this stardew fic im hearing about 👀 (also seb, my love- i always end up romancing him)

Thank you! In all my playthroughs (maybe five before this one, lol) I've never romanced anyone. This one (which inspired this story) I decided to romance and marry Seb :).

The story is gonna feature a lot of the game and setting as inspiration, but I'm going to edit the mechanics a bit so it's less contrived, and there are gonna be more supernatural elements and folks at play... :). And an affectionate, fwb situation with Elliott before the end-game Sebastian romance, just a heads up.

Since you were kind enough to reach out about it, here's a 1400 word WIP sneak peek of Rowan, my gruff, buff werewoof farmer:

(CW: standoffish, loner character with scars on his neck from a werewolf bite, passing mention of a werewolf attack at night that nearly killed him)

This run-down, wild farm, with its endless tangle of fairytale brambles arcing around the roots of maple and oak trees, and its overgrown ponds full of frogs and flowering water weeds, was beyond perfect.

Of course, Rowan knew next to nothing about organic vegetable farming, but that was a problem for another day.

Mayor Lewis dithered on the top step a moment longer before taking his leave with Robin and heading back up the rutted path towards the town. Apparently Rowan had been taciturn enough to drive the chatty old man away, and something about him had evidently unnerved Robin a little. Maybe it was the mess of scars on his throat. He didn’t much care. If it meant they left him alone, so much the better. He wasn’t sure that anyone but Robin in her off-road pickup could make it comfortably along the winding drive to the farm anyway, and it was a miracle that the old man hadn’t toppled into a pothole or a ditch on his way over.

Rowan watched them leave together, deliberately ignoring their nattering gossip about him, which carried easily enough on the spring air to his sharp ears, and he felt something new prickle down his spine. It wasn’t even close to the full moon — he’d made damned sure of that before booking his one-way ticket to the sleepy little valley — but something about this place set the wolf in him prowling. He realised with a jolt that his wolf liked this new territory, with its fresh air and cacophonous birdsong. Where he’d been fractious and aggressive in the city, prone to lashing out when he felt the least bit cornered or trapped, now his wolf was practically bounding on the spot to explore his new territory and claim it as his own, and Rowan recoiled from the idea.

“I am not an animal,” he snarled at himself.

He thought that after bearing the curse for a year, he should have been far more accustomed to the feeling of there being a whole new part of himself inside his own head, or in his heart. And yet, noticing that the way he was feeling was largely because of the wolf, and not his human side, still freaked him the fuck out.

He turned back to the front door of the tumbledown cabin where his grandfather had lived until he’d had to go into care five years earlier, and immediately put his boot through the rotten boards of the veranda with a curse and another snarl. A small family of mice skittered away beneath the house, their pungent smell rising through the new hole to his sensitive nose, and he sighed. “Still not alone, even out here.”

Although the moon was only halfway to full, and against his better judgement, Rowan did let the shift sweep over him a few nights later, and as he sloughed off the complex trappings of his human life and sank his claws delightfully into the velvet-soft dirt, he patrolled the perimeter of the farm where his human self had spent his first week in Stardew Valley clearing weeds and setting up his first organic vegetable beds.

His wolf didn’t think about the uppity shopkeeper in the general store or the awkward blacksmith who’d smelled of a nauseous cocktail of discomfort, anxiety and axle grease, or the harried-looking man in a tweed jacket who’d smelled of coffee and antiseptic. His wolf lowered its head to the ground and inhaled the scents of rabbit and squirrel. It couldn’t decide if it was relieved or saddened to find no trace of wolves — shifter or otherwise — in the area, but seemed to settle for relieved as he slunk like a deeper shred of shadow from the porch of the farmhouse and bounded off into the dark to explore the place with the new, golden eyes of a wolf in place of the slightly blurry, hazel eyes of a human.

A rockfall in the cliffs behind the wreckage of the greenhouse had exposed a damp cave some years ago, though it smelled of bat guano and little else to interest a wolf. He let it be. Trotting eagerly on, the wolf relished the decadent flex and stretch of its powerful muscles, and the bliss of being able to shift whenever the fancy took him was enough to make him tilt his head to the sky and howl his ecstasy at the silent stars.

Rowan knew that being bitten and turned, and dumped unknowingly into the secret world of the supernatural, had taken its toll on him.

His sanity had been right on the ragged edge when he’d come across that forgotten letter from his grandfather in a desk drawer. After a year of trying to hold the remnants of his miserable life in the city together, of slinking down into an old storm drain on the edge of an abandoned industrial estate every full moon, to cage and contain his frustrated, furious wolf, Rowan had known he had to get out of the city. Permanently. It was messing with his wolf and he was losing more of his awareness to it with each passing full moon. He’d also started zoning out at his desk at work and coming-to with claws out and the wolf prowling right beneath his yellow-eyed facade of calm, even halfway through the cycle. The constant clacking of keyboards, the shrill, metallic ringing of office telephones, and the stink of leftover lunches from the cubicle next door to his was going to make him snap. Violently.

Part problem and part gift, his wolf existed purely in the ‘now’. There was no painful past; no human lying abandoned and bleeding and irrevocably changed on the rain-soaked tarmac of a grotty bus station; no human who’d drifted out of touch with his one surviving family member; no bills overdue and no landlord to keep happy. There was only the scent of moss and emerging spring grass and last year’s fallen pine cones, and the echo of a fox’s passing trail across the land which was now his territory.

Rowan’s wolf followed its nose down to the lower pond and lapped luxuriantly at the rich, cool water. His ears drew back and another thrill of delight ran down the length of his body as the sweet, wholesome taste of the water exploded across his tongue; he could detect none of the pollution and chemicals of the city water, just fresh spring that bubbled up from the depths of the earth, carrying with it the minerals and magic of the place.

Yes, this place had magic in abundance.

His grandfather had married a witch, so magic had been in Rowan’s blood already before he’d been mutilated by a lone werewolf at three in the morning in a filthy, city bus station. Perhaps that had been why a bite that messy had taken when it would have killed most people. He prayed he never met his monstrous sire, because he knew he’d rip his fucking head off for ruining his life and turning him into a slathering, near-mindless monster once a month. It was probably only by sheer, dumb luck that he hadn’t been killed by hunters, or killed someone himself by accident, and it had only been by the grace and patience of a blue-haired witch named Mercury that he’d even known what was happening to him in the first place. He shuddered to think where he’d have been without her.

A figure moved in the darkness at the edge of the trees on the southern-most reaches of his property and his lips drew back into a snarl.

“Easy, Rowan,” came a resonant, bass voice, and he froze, tilting his head, ears pricked. He recognised that voice, but couldn’t place it. For answer, he just growled a warning. “Easy,” came the voice a second time. “Rowan MacTavish, I am not here to hurt you. It is I, Rasmodius.”

At the sound of his full name on the still night air, Rowan’s whole body shivered, but the wolf let go of his mind a little. Thought came to him just a little easier. Rasmodius. That was the name of the wizard in the tower. Rowan blinked his golden eyes and sat back on his haunches.

“May I approach?”

He whined and ended the sound in a soft sneeze. Close enough to a petulant ‘fine’, he supposed.

___

(more soon, hopefully, if there's interest :3)

#werewolf farmer #stardew valley farmer #stardew valley fic #rowan the werewolf #farmer rowan #ask me anything #wip

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foreverdolly · 2 years

Text

cherry bomb (pt 1) | fan!eddie munson x famous!reader

summary: eddie is devastated when he hears the news that his favorite guitarist quit her band with no explanation. he doesn't find out the exact reason until he runs into her. runs into you. temporarily moving in with your mother was never part of the plan, and staying in hawkins for any extended period of time is a nightmare, but she needs help taking care of her bar and tying up loose ends after the sudden death of your stepfather. "the hideout" is a dive on the outskirts of the small midwestern town- and it was your stepfather's pride and joy , and you intend on helping your mom upkeep it. your band gives you six months to change your mind about quitting. any later than that and they're going to be forced to replace you. that seemed like plenty of time to take a break from the fast paced life of a rock star. . . that is until you meet your biggest fan. that complicates things.

pairing: fan!eddie munson x famous!fem reader

word count: 6,135

warnings/notes: eddie is severely touch starved in this fic, and it's fuckin' adorable. i've seen a lot of fics where eddie is the famous musician, and i'm all about role reversals. basically you're a bad ass and eddie worships the ground you walk on.

“Well someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.” Gareth narrowed his eyes as he roughly swiped his drumsticks off of his father’s workbench. Summer was in full swing with fall right around the corner, so the garage was still stiflingly hot. Despite the fact that he had opened up the doors before the boys even showed up for band practice, it didn’t help cool it down any. He would have plugged in the big fan they had, but his mother complained about their amps possibly blowing out her circuitbox. It had happened one time two years ago, and she still talked about it every week. Gareth didn’t think that it was the heat that had Eddie’s panties in a twist though. He rarely complained about things like heat, especially since his uncle Wayne hadn’t purchased an A.C unit for their trailer until the year before last, and it was only because Eddie had gotten a summer job working at the record store in the Star Court mall. What the long haired boy hadn’t spent on a new amp, concert tickets, and a new spark plug for the van, he saved and squirreled away for Wayne to use as he saw fit.

“You didn’t hear?” Jeff’s eyebrows pinched together as he slid the strap of his rhythm guitar over his shoulder. Gareth froze, his eyes widening as he realized that something big must have happened. The drummer was Eddie’s best friend. . . or, at least, Eddie was his best friend. He prided himself in the fact that he knew just about everything there was to know about the older male. “Did his dad break outta jail or something?” He lowered his voice, leaning in close to Jeff so that Andy wouldn’t overhear them. Jeff quickly shook his head. “No- Oh god, no. I’m pretty sure he would be halfway to Nebraska by now if that happened. You haven’t heard about the news? About Social Misconduct?” Now Gareth was beyond confused. Eddie was moving in what appeared to be slow motion, unlatching his guitar case, his eyes solemn. It looked like he hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep the night before. His hair was an absolute wreck, he had dark circles under his eyes, and he was wearing his old Social Misconduct shirt that Wayne had accidentally shrunk in the wash a few months back. “. . . No? Wait- don’t tell me one of them died, man. Social is one of my favorite bands and-” “Y/n left the band.” The second that Eddie heard his favorite guitarist's name, he let out a loud sniffle, his bottom lip quivering.

Damn him and his sensitive nature. He’d been crying all night, having gotten a call from the venue up in Indianapolis where he had tickets to see their upcoming show. He was told that he would be mailed a refund, but none of that mattered. “You’re kidding. We were supposed to see them in November!” It was Gareth’s turn to let out a wail, his drumsticks falling out of his hands as he began pacing the expanse of the garage. “She was the heart of the band! I mean. . .” Eddie quickly joined in, standing up from the ground so that he could throw his own hands up in frustration. “She’s the entire reason why most people listened to them in the first place! I-I mean. . . She was a female thrash metal guitarist. She shreds. Is she going to join another band? What if she drops off the face of the planet and we never see her again. . . she’s a musical genius. I feel like my heart has been carved out of my chest.” He was rambling, tapping his fingers against his temples as he spoke. He felt like he was going to lose his mind. Social Misconduct had gotten him through some of the hardest years of his life. To say that he admired the guitarist was an understatement. She was his absolute hero. Females, especially in the metal and hard rock genre, were a commodity. Not only that but they were seen as the underdogs solely based on the fact that they were women. Y/n had managed to take that unfair stigma and smash it to pieces. Most metalheads worshipped her like a god, Eddie included. The “SM” shirt was absolutely tiny on him all thanks to his uncle- god bless his soul- so it fit him more like a baby tee than a regular shirt. It brushed against the top of his black jeans, and as he raised his arms, the hem of the shirt moved up his stomach, showing off the small patch of hair that grew beneath his naval and disappeared beneath his belt.

Andy licked his lips, looking between the two fretting males, and decides that instead of comforting them, he’ll try to do the next best thing. Criticize them. “Don’t you think that the two of you are being a little bit. . . I don’t know. . . dramatic? The member’s probably got into a fight or something. We broke up for a month back when Gareth was a sophomore, remember?” Eddie’s jaw dropped, his brown eyes widening to the size of saucers. Gareth let out a deep groan, lowering his head into his hands. “Oh, you did not just say that.” The Munson boy mumbled quickly, shaking his head in disbelief. “They’re rock stars, Andrew. Professional rock stars. They just got done doing a world tour with Kiss. They wouldn’t just announce that Y/n’s leaving only for her to pop back up a week later.” Andy nodded his head, not noticing how stupid the point that he was trying to make was until the words had finally left his mouth. He bit his lip, throwing his hands up in surrender. “Yeah, you’ve got a point.” Jeff plugged his guitar into the amp, leaning down to fiddle with the volume. “Well let’s just get through today's practice, alright? It’s too late to cancel tonight’s show, and the last thing we want to do is make Miss Marie’s life even harder right now.” Eddie and Gareth sucked in a small breath, sharing a look before nodding in agreement. “No, no. . . you’re right.” Andy quickly held his hand out, gesturing towards the two boys. Both Eddie and Gareth were easy to motivate, so he was quick to raise an eyebrow at them. “What would Y\n do?” Gareth was quick to reach down, picking his drum sticks up off of the floor. “She’d probably get drunk and-” “No, no. . . what’s the other thing she’d do?” Eddie was quick to slide the guitar strap over his shoulder, clenching his jaw. “She’d play the show, no matter how upset she was.” Andy smiled, gesturing towards Jeff who gave him a thumbs up, letting him know that they were all set up. That had worked like a charm. “Well let’s do it then.”

The Hideout was more of a dive bar than a restaurant. Sure, they had great food, but people went there for the booze, pool tables, and pinball machines. Some of the high school kids would stop by on the weekends to grab a greasy burger and play the machines until their pockets were devoid of all quarters, but the people that really kept the place afloat were the local drunks. The building wasn’t run down by any means, but most of the preppier Hawkins inhabitants liked to label the place as “unsavory”. They saw the motorcycles and muscle cars parked outside and turned their cheeks. It was situated quite a ways outside of town, far enough down the main road that it was within spitting distance to the interstate. A lot of truckers liked to frequent the place, and Miss Marie and her husband Stuart were nice enough to let them sleep in their trucks in the empty lot behind the bar. Speaking of Mr Stuart. . .

“Are you guys going to the funeral?” Eddie asked, lifting up in his seat a little so that he could look at his friends in the rearview mirror. Jeff was quick to pop a cheese doodle into his mouth before handing the bag back off to Andy. “Of course I’m going. What about you?” Gareth let out a small sigh, stretching his legs from his spot in the passenger side seat until he heard his back pop. Eddie grimaced at the noise, giving the other male’s side a quick slap. “Gross, man. Keep your rickety joints to yourself.” Gareth was quick to flip him the bird as a response before turning to face Jeff. “I’m still trying to talk my mom into it. She never met Mr Stuart, so she thinks it’s weird that I want to go to his funeral.” Eddie knew that Gar’s mom could be a bit overbearing, and as aggravating as he thought that it was, a part of him was always a bit jealous. Sure, there were things that Wayne didn’t let him do before he finally turned twenty-one, but he never hovered. Eddie didn’t have a loving mother breathing down his back at all hours of the day, or a father that showed up to all of his baseball games as a kid. None of that is to say that he didn’t appreciate what he already had though. Wayne loved him when nobody else did, and that was enough for him. However, if he had hovered a bit more, last spring break might have never happened. At least. . . not with him so involved, at least. He gripped a little harder onto the steering wheel, fighting off the memories the best he could. He could feel the phantom pain from his many scars, rudely reminding him that they were still there and just as gnarly. “Mr Stuart is the only reason why we started playing live shows in the first place. Your mom should get that, man.” Andy folded the bag of chips up as he spoke, shoving them underneath the seat where Eddie was sure to find them weeks later, stale and full of ants. The chocolate eyed boy made a mental note to remember to throw it away once he got home, but he was positive that he would forget the second he got back into his car after the gig. “Let me talk to your mom. She loves me.” Jeff grinned at Gareth, who was quick to agree. “She loves you more than she loves me. Probably because you’re mister ‘full ride’.” Eddie smiled over his shoulder at Jeff, a silent ‘congratulations’ before facing the road again.

Jeff had been waiting anxiously for the acceptance letters for what seemed like months, and made it the entire Hellfire Club’s problem. His GPA was great, his SAT scores were off the charts, and he was a dedicated young man that came from a working middle class family. None of the boys were surprised when the letter finally came back, stating that he had been accepted on a scholarship to the local university. The recent trauma had pushed Jeff in a direction that no one saw coming. Even Henderson had been stunned into silence when Jeff finally got the boys together and told them that he wanted to be a lawyer. Watching one of his best friend’s name get slandered had made him take a big step back, really honing in on what he wanted to do with his life. Anyone with half a brain would be able to see that the Munson boy was no murderer- it wasn’t in his nature. Jeff wanted to make sure that nothing happened like that again.

Knowing that Eddie would eventually have to find a replacement for one of the beloved members of his band was a tough pill to swallow, but after a few days of wallowing in self pity, he learned to embrace the change. He’d been hanging posters up all over town, but no fishies had bitten the bait yet. Jeff was shipping off in two months, which meant he could kiss his dreams goodbye if he couldn’t find anyone soon. He was already twenty-two, and he certainly wasn’t getting any younger. He had wasted precious years repeating his senior year three times, and the possibility of getting signed to a label is higher when you’re young. Hell, Kirk Hammett had started the band Exodus when he was only sixteen, and joined Metallica when he was twenty-one. The talented guitarist’s golden years were ticking by.

He might have been able to fight off demon bats, but time? There was no stopping that.

Eddie parked right in front of the bar, turning his body so that he could face the boys all at once. “This is our first time seeing her since he died, so let’s stay on our best behavior.” Which meant that Eddie would not be buying Gareth and Andy beers, no matter how much they begged. The last thing he needed was for the two eighteen year olds to get wasted, stumbling around the bar like idiots. With the sweet middle aged woman in mind, the boys all piled out of the car, dragging their equipment right along with them.

Forty-nine was too young. You didn’t understand how someone could be perfectly healthy one second, and then on their deathbed the next. It didn’t make sense to you. You hoped that being with your mother might bring you some closure, but all it did was make you feel worse somehow. Grief hits everyone in different ways. You found that it came in waves; the tide was either high or low. It struck you at random points of the day. You’d catch a whiff of a scent that reminded you of your step father, or stare too long at an old family photo that he had hanging up on the wall. Right now you were busy staring at the hole in a leather seat, your right knee propped up against the old booth so that you could wipe off the table tops. Your parents- the very same ones that had loved and raised you- had been busy trying to make ends meet, all while you were jetting off all over the world. You bought whatever you wanted, fucked whoever you wanted, and got paid to strut around onstage in leather outfits, doing what you loved. Your bottom lip quivered as you ran your finger over the tear in the upholstery, moving to shuffle back over towards the bar so that you could speak with your mother. “Why didn’t you tell me about how old the furniture was? I would have gotten you new seats made.” You rested your elbows against the varnished wooden bar, staring at her intently.

She was setting up glasses behind the bar to get everything ready for the night. In about thirty minutes, once rush hour hit and people were off of work, the place would be packed. She waved you off with a flick of her risk, scoffing to herself. “You don’t need to spend any money on this old place. I’m doing just fine with the old furniture. People don’t care about what they’re sitting on. As long as I have good quality beer on tap, they’ll never stop coming.” That wasn’t the point and she knew it. Your mother had always been so against you helping them out financially. It drove her crazy thinking about you supporting her in any way. You were supposed to be her baby, not the other way around. You wanted your mother to feel proud of what her and your step father had built together. You wanted her to own a nice place. The Hideout was Stuart’s legacy, so you refused to turn a blind eye to all of the things that were going wrong in the place. “Mom. . . I have more money than I know what to do with. Honestly, it would make me happy if you let me fix some things around here. Just to give the place a little facelift- nothing major.” You assured, flashing her your most convincing smile.

You never could understand why your parents had moved all the way to Indiana and bought an old building on the outskirts of a tiny town. You had already moved out by the time that they packed up themselves and left home. You had visited a couple of times over the last few years, but you never stayed long. Hawkins was small enough to where you felt claustrophobic after spending just a few days there. You regretted not staying longer while you still had that chance though. Now that your step father was gone, all you had left was a sinking feeling of regret. The least you could do was temporarily move in with your mother so that you could help her iron things out. You being there was the only thing keeping her together, and you could tell. She hadn’t fallen apart yet, but you’d be there for her when it finally did happen. At some point the levee has to break.

The news of you leaving the band had already hit mainstream media. You were too scared to call up any of your old bandmates to check in on them, not wanting to know whether or not they forgave you for making such a brash decision. You knew that there would be offers to join new bands the second you got back into the swing of things- hell, Ozzy had already reached out to you. Ever since the death of Randy Rhoads, he’d been floundering to get back on his feet and find a good guitarist. You had half the mind to take him up on it. The boys had taken the news pretty well when you initially told them that you were quitting. Your father had died, and that was a good enough reason for you to take a break from the band. They had made it clear that they would leave the door open for you. As long as you gave them a call within six months, they’d be more than happy to take you back. Any later than that, they’d be forced to find a replacement. You had exactly six months to make sure that your mom was healthy and happy.

“I just. . . I feel rotten about letting you spend your own money on me. I’m the parent. I’m supposed to be the one that helps you out, remember?” She gave your hand a soft pat, flashing you one of her famous smiles. It was painful, but you’d noticed that it didn’t quite reach her eyes anymore. You hadn’t said anything about it. “That’s the joy of getting old. It’s my turn to pay you back for all those years you took care of me. Being a single mom is hard, but you managed. Let me do something nice for you, ma.” You didn’t give her any time to object, rather you just turned on the heel of your boot so that you could make your way back into the kitchen to check on the cook. You wanted to make sure that he was fully prepped for tonight, and if not, you’d be more than willing to help.

Your mother busied herself yet again with setting up the bar to perfection. She liked to have things neat and tidy. It made her feel less overwhelmed later on, and she was positive that her heart couldn’t take much more. “You boys need any help?” Marie looked up from her spot behind the bar, watching as the group of boys dragged their heavy amps through the front doors. “Nah, nah. We got it. We do this every Tuesday.” Eddie told her with a smile. He was a lot less animated than he usually was, and she was quick to pick up on the fact that it must be for her sake. He wasn’t sure how to treat her after the recent tragedy. “My daughter is here. You know. . . the one that I've told you that you’d like?” She always thought that you and Eddie would get along like a house on fire. She had been eager for you two to meet for years. She just wished that it wasn’t under these circumstances. Eddie hung back from the group as they began walking their way back out to the van, ready to grab another load of equipment. “Yeah? Must be good to have her home.” Eddie sauntered up to the bar, tapping his ringed fingers against the wood. He looked over his shoulder at the young couple that were seated in the opposite corner of the stage. They were deep in conversation, sharing a basket of curly fries. They were in for a rude awakening- Corroded Coffin played fast, hard and loud. “Where is she now?” There had never been any weird undertone in the way that Marie spoke to him about her daughter. You would have killed her if you caught wind of her trying to set you up with a blind date, and Eddie would have felt horribly embarrassed as well.

He wasn’t exactly. . . Mr Popular. Not by any means. Unless it was his friend Robin, he never talked to girls. He practically repelled them. “She’s in the back doing something. She’s been staying busy these last few days. She’s so used to constant chaos. . . I think she misses it already.” She joked, wrinkling her nose a bit. Marie had never gone into too much depth about you, so he had no clue who you were, where you lived, or what you did for a living. What he did know was that the two of you dressed similarly and had the same taste in music. He was intrigued to say the least. It wasn’t every day that someone get’s the opportunity to meet a girl that’s actually into thrash metal. You were also the only real reason that Marie and Stuart allowed Corroded Coffin to play once every week. They were desensitized to your fast paced, heavy music. If anything, they actually had come to really enjoy it. “Chaos? What kind of chaos are we talkin’ about here? Does she live in a city or something?” Your mother nodded, turning her attention to the lemon that she was currently slicing up for garnishes to be used later. “Los Angeles. She moved out there the second that she graduated from high school. The girl saw a chance and took it. She’s always been independent like that.” Eddie felt a pang of jealousy. Sure, it was nice to be able to finally financially help Wayne out after all those years of constant care, but he would have liked to be able to move out and be on his own. There was a large part of him that was too scared to leave Wayne though. The man worked the graveyard shift at the plant, so Eddie had been the one to do the grocery shopping, cooking, and tidying up (even though the trailer was often a wreck). How was he supposed to do all of that by himself while he worked as many hours as he did?

“In all the years that we’ve been coming here, I’ve never seen her. Is she that busy out in LA?” That came out a lot harsher than Eddie wanted it to, and he couldn’t help but flinch, snapping his mouth shut so hard that his teeth clattered together. He had never been good at socializing, and had a hard time picking up on social cues most of the time. His cheeks heated up with embarrassment, but Marie simply nodded her head. “She’s actually in a band. I mean. . . she was in a band. She’s going to be staying with me for a few months to help tie up loose ends now that Stuart is gone.” The long haired man could have punched himself. He had gone out of his way to lecture the boys earlier about not bringing up anything too heavy around Marie, and here he was, pointing out her only child’s absence and reminding her of her dead husband. All it took was a two minute conversation, and Eddie had already blown it. “A-A band? What kind of band?” He tried to change the subject, flashing her a smile in the hopes of lightening the mood. “It’s your kinda music. Maybe you two could get together some time and “jam” out,” He cracked another smile, a laugh shaking his broad shoulders. Marie smiled back, giving his arm a small smack. “Or whatever it is you kids say.” “Play. We can play together.” Marie mumbled a quick “yeah, yeah” at his correction. Eddie was a good kid, and reminded her a lot of you. Maybe that was why she loved him so damn much.

“Is she a good singer?” Marie gave him a look as if to say ‘are you crazy?’ “That girl can’t carry a tune to save her life. She plays-” “Electric guitar. Lead.” You called out to them as you walked through the double doors of the kitchen, tossing a dish rag over your shoulder. You hadn’t heard the entire conversation, just the tail end of it. Giving the boy a quick once over, you made a mental note that cute boys did live in Hawkins, before turning to face your mom. “You’ve gotta eighty-six the the onion rings. Jim ran out of panko, and the next shipment isn’t until tomorrow.” You turned to face your mom, slowly raising an eyebrow at her wide smile. It was practically splitting her cheeks at this point. “Y\n, this is the boy that I’ve been talking about the last couple of years.” Ah- right. She had told you about the town reject that she had taken under her wing. You were impressed to hear that he had started up his own metal band all the way back in middle school. From what you heard from her, he seemed to be a pretty talented guitarist himself. “Uh. . . Freddie, right?” Your rings caught the dim overhead lights, your sharp, black lined eyes locked on him.

He felt like he was going to piss himself. Or throw up- maybe both. Fainting was also on the table too. There was no way this was real. Eddie was probably still in his room, having a dream about you after crying himself to sleep due to the unfortunate news. He had conjured all of this up somehow. This was the most lucid dream that he’s ever had. “E-Eddie.” He squeaked out the correction, brown eyes wide as he stared at you. He wanted to have the opportunity to properly check you out. He’d stared at pictures of you for years- hell, he had a poster of you hanging up on his wall, right beside his bed for. . . well, obvious reasons. He couldn’t take his eyes off of your face though. Even in person, you were the most beautiful female he had ever seen. No questions asked. Girls like you didn’t exist. Couldn’t exist. He didn’t expect for you to be so tiny though, especially compared to him. He wasn’t the tallest guy around, but working with heavy equipment all day had caused him to build up a fair bit of body mass over the last year since graduation.

You didn’t seem intimidated by his form though. You were a female in a mainly male dominated genre. You were known for your snarky comebacks and quick witted humor. He would know. He’s seen every interview you’ve ever done. It was easy to spot a look of recognition in somebody's eyes. You expected him to at least know your band name, but the look on his face told you everything you needed to know. The kid was freaking out. That and the fact that he was wearing a shirt with your band's logo on it. You shot him a small smile, reaching out to give his chest a quick poke. “Like your shirt, man.” Your mother blinked, her eyes widening as if she was just now putting two and two together. “So you already know who she is then? Oh, wow. That’s great! Now that formalities are out of the way, you guys should be fast friends.” You weren’t the type of person to take advantage of your status. You knew a lot of guys in the music business that took advantage of fans. Sure, your band had plenty of groupies, and you’d be lying if you said that you hadn’t gone on at least one date with a fan. You weren’t about to tease Eddie for it though, especially not in front of your mother. So you merely nodded your head, offering him your hand to shake. “I’m here all night, so I’m excited to see you play.” He seemed to move in slow motion, reaching out for your hand. His plush lips parted, mahogany eyes blown out wide. He looked like he was having a heart attack. After what felt like minutes the boy finally clasped his hand with yours, giving it a firm shake. His hand felt nice in yours, and his calluses were no joke. The guy was a religious player, you could tell just by the feel of his hands and the shape of the calluses. “R-Right. We go on in just a few minutes.” He spoke dazedly, his eyes bouncing over your features. He was trying to commit them to memory. “Yeah. . . I know. . .” You shot him a playful smile before motioning back towards the kitchen. “I’ve gotta help our cook with a few more things, and then I’ll be back out.” And with that you took a few steps backward, giving him a small wave before disappearing in the back. Marie was about to turn and face Eddie again, but when she moved to face him, he was already gone, the front door swinging closed.

Gareth watched Eddie with wide eyes as the man collapsed to his knees on the side of the building, dry heaving loudly into the nearest bush. The drummer had only seen Eddie puke a handful of times, none of which had been because of stagefright. The long haired brunette could play the guitar in his sleep. Not to mention the fact that they weren’t planning on performing any of their newer material. Today's gig was routine. “Hey, are you alright, man?” Gareth approached slowly, not wanting his sneakers to get puked on. Eddie gave up after a few seconds, realizing that he was just nauseous due to shock and nerves, and that his lunch would remain in his stomach. “How do I look?” Eddie rushed to ask, stumbling to stand up so that he could brush his pants off. Gareth’s head reared back, his eyebrows drawn together in utter confusion. Eddie was acting weirder than usual, and that was really saying something. Maybe this was some sort of a test? Was Gareth supposed to go out of his way to compliment him or something? The mousy haired brunette had a girlfriend two years ago that would ask how she would look in the hopes of being fervently complimented. “You look great?” It sounded more like a question than a statement, and Eddie lurched forward, gripping the smaller boy by the shoulders so that he could give him a shake. “Seriously, dude. How do I look?” Gareth slowly looked down at Eddie’s black combat boots, trailing them up his ripped black jeans, to his favorite handcuff belt, and then to his shirt. Sure, the top had shrunk in the wash, but Eddie was in shape. He knew that some people might even see him wearing a tighter fitting shirt as androgynous and daring. He was wearing the same accessories that he always did. Same rings. Same chain bracelet, and the same guitar pick necklace was dangling from his neck.

“You look like you always do. Why? Did you get a haircut and I didn’t notice or something?” Eddie’s shoulders slumped, taking a step back from him so that he could take a few seconds to calm down. He was positive that he was dreaming up until the point that you shook his hand. You felt very warm and very real. He was a nerd that spent his free time playing the guitar, planning dungeon and dragons campaigns, and reading fantasy novels. The metalhead wasn’t afraid to admit that he was the type of person that daydreamed on a regular basis. This wasn’t how he had imagined this situation would go down. He met you while wearing your t-shirt. He looked like an absolute asshole. Eddie hadn’t deluded himself into thinking that he actually had any sort of shot with you, but he at least wanted you to think that he was cool. “This needs to be the best show we’ve ever played.” He quickly called out to the boys, grabbing the wires from the back of his van before slamming the door shut. “What the hell is going on, man? You’re acting weird.” Jeff told him, finally joining in on the conversation. The wavy haired man held his arm out so that he could motion towards the building, keeping his eyes locked on his friends. “Marie’s daughter? The one that we’ve never met before? It’s fucking Y/n.” Gareth let out a small laugh, kicking at a rough patch of gravel. A few rocks flung across the parking lot, clattering loudly. “Come on man, cut the bullshit.” Eddie blinked, moving his arm up and down more wildly. “I’m not fucking with you, man. That's the reason we’ve never met her. Think about it- she leaves the band suddenly with no explanation? Her dad just died.” Andy shook his head. “Maybe she just looks like her? Her and Marie don’t have the same last names.” Eddie’s arms fell to his sides. “Stuart wasn’t her real dad. He was her-” Jeff snapped, pointing at Eddie as he finally clued in. “Stepfather.” Eddie pointed right back at Jeff, nodding his head. “Exactly!” His excitement quickly waned though, the ugly truth tickling at the back of his brain.

He had made a horrible first impression.

He had just stood there, gaping at you like a mouth breather. He was sure that his palms were dripping with sweat too. Was it too late to turn back around and just go home? He loved performing, but playing his guitar in front of you? He wasn’t sure whether or not he could make it through a single song without messing up, let alone an entire setlist. Gareth was quick to march away from the boys, off in the direction of the front door. He wanted to see whether or not Eddie was just seeing things due to his grief. The taller male reached out to grab the small drummer by the back of the shirt, effortlessly yanking him back. “Hey! What are you doing?” He hissed out, his eyes wide. “Are you crazy?” His voice raised an octave in his panic. “I just want to see her? Besides. . . we all have to go back in at some point.” The long haired brunette slowly loosened his hold on Gareth’s black W.A.S.P shirt, mumbling out an apology. Eddie stalked past the group after sucking in a shaky breath, pushing his way through the front door. “Holy. Fucking. Shit.” Gareth’s voice is incredibly loud as he walks through the front doors, staring at you from across the bar. You had changed into a fresh shirt that didn’t smell like chili dogs and french fries, what with your mother living on the top floor above the bar. You had been busy talking to the middle aged cook, who had stepped outside of the kitchen to grab a drink. The second that you heard Gareth’s voice you looked up, your plush lips twitching up into a smile. You said something under your breath to the cook, giving his back a quick pat before walking over to them. “So this is your band?” You looked over to the stage, squinting your eyes so that you could read what had been painted onto the bass drum. “Corroded Coffin. Huh. . . Nice.” The youngest looking member of the group looked like he was going to explode, his cheeks a bright pink and his eyes wide. “Just pretend like I’m not here, guys.” Eddie ruffled the back of his hair, looking down at you nervously. “Yeah. Totally. We’re excited for you to hear us play.” More like they were dreading it. If you thought that they sucked, none of them would ever be able to live the embarrassment down. Suddenly Eddie felt like he was in the upside down all over again, performing like his life depended on it. . . because it really felt like it did.

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mjanelupinblack · 5 months

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I don’t understand but I luv u (minghao x reader) PT1 ✨

Summary:

Where you are eternally in love with Minghao but your friendship with Mingyu prevents you from doing anything to have him.

Where a deep hole pierces your heart and there’s no way to fill it except for the touch of another lonely soul.

Pairings: Minghao x Reader / Mingyu x Reader (for now, this will get messy)

"Was it so difficult to stay quiet?" Mingyu complains, having run out of paper balls to throw. He's annoyed because, if it weren't for Hansol's suggestion, they could have left school ten minutes ago.

Mingyu is right, at least for the rest of my classmates who yawn and stretch in their seats, their school supplies put away, eager to go home. For me, those ten lost minutes are a free ticket to dream without restraint. Mingyu realizes this when I nod absentmindedly in response to his comment, completely unaware of what he said, as I'm more focused on the pristine strands of Minghao's golden hair. In the sapphire streaks that peek out amidst his straight hair, like a cascade of freshly cut lupines, fresh and ready to be arranged into a bouquet.

Minghao fixes a mischievous strand of hair and sighs, reclining in his seat with crossed arms. He appears attentive to Hansol's contributions until a wet paper ball hits his neck, and my heart skips a beat as he touches the spot.

He turns to smile at Mingyu, who doesn't respond to his friendly gesture. From that moment on, the world never returns to its course.

Mingyu and Minghao are friends. Not as close as to laugh together until their stomachs hurt or as loyal as to offer to catch a bullet with their chests for each other, but they exchange a word or two when necessary. They met at the beginning of high school, long before I entered the school to disrupt the already established dynamics of that classroom. It's not necessary to look closely to realize that they are very different, like the front and back of a coin, designed with their own peculiarities and destined never to meet. The sun and the moon. Heat and coolness. Mingyu's skin is chocolaty and melts with the warmth of his temperament. I've never touched Minghao's skin, but I imagine it shares the color and qualities of porcelain, like grabbing a snowball in your hands and trying to melt it with your body heat, but the snow is colder and ends up freezing your skin. Perhaps that's why interacting with Mingyu flows so naturally, like water, while just the sight of Minghao makes my teeth chatter and sends me seeking refuge by the fire.

I like his ethereal aura, like a dragonfly impossible to catch because his soul is free, and the wind supports it. So, all that's left is to watch him fly. Watch him touch the sky. Watch when I leave the classroom to go to the bathroom and casually pass by the practice room. I see him stretch his body like a dancer from those fairy tales. He seems even more flexible than them. Because Minghao is not from this world, but the world could be his.

"Are you coming?" Mingyu asks while Hao engages in a heated conversation with Wonwoo about why Tottenham Hotspur doesn't need Harry Kane to win.

Mingyu knows the answer to his question.

"Are you still afraid to share space with Minghao?" he insists. "He's human. Flesh and bone. He doesn't bite, unless..."

He mocks me. He refuses to let go of my infatuation with Hao, so he makes jokes, falls silent when they're not funny, and eventually changes the subject to avoid poking at the wound. He teases me about the blush on my cheeks. It's intense, like two freshly picked apples from a tree. He also teases me about my racing heart and my limited ability to take it out of my chest and carry it like an accessory in my hand.

For him, using his heart on his sleeve is so easy.

III

Gyu shares a peach with me that had been waiting its turn in his backpack among all the fruits. Flavors burst in our stomachs, like two hungry fugitives who devour and can't do anything else. Both of us have juices running down the corners of our mouths; juices that we absorb with our tongues and wipe away with the back of our hands. We end up with sticky fingers. He cleans one hand on his pants and offers me his earbud with the other to start our Friday afternoon ritual. I don't particularly like the song he plays, but I refrain from making comments as I gaze at the vastness of the sky. Not a single cloud disturbs its majesty. Only the seagulls do, gliding far away from our bench.

My eyes are tired. And my mind even more so because, every time I close my eyes, they replay the stretched silhouette of Minghao, as if trying to touch the ceiling with the tips of his fingers. His form seems to be carved on my eyelids. Engraved in every nook and cranny, despite the darkness. This time, I don't close my eyes, but the image presents itself to me almost as involuntarily as when I replay it in my head. Maybe because he is there this time, in reality. And from his lips, my name slips out with a sweetness like that of the peach I just nibbled.

"Wonu told me we're neighbors," he spits out what I've been hiding so easily, as if counting on with his fingers. "I wanted to offer to walk you home. To make it safer."

"Ha! Safer?" Mingyu asks. "She's a black belt in Jiujitsu."

Minghao seems surprised. Behind the clear glass of his glasses, he opens his eyes wide, as if asking me if it's true. An admiration I always longed to receive and that hurts even more deeply when it comes from him.

How much more interesting would it be if that were true, if I had already achieved the black belt a long time ago. How much more interesting would it be if I soared through the air and stretched myself like a fairy made of plastic bones. If I did things faster, if I didn't mind taking my time. If his kind gaze didn't terrify me and if words flowed like a river when he stood in fronto of me like a mountain.

Yes, we're neighbors. Yes, I would love for you to accompany me, and no, I'm not a black belt in Jiujitsu, but I would like to be one in another, more interesting life.

"We'll walk together after class," Mingyu replies because I'm frozen. He peels a mandarin without paying more attention to the matter. He didn't expect a different outcome. "Thanks for the offer."

Hao says goodbye. My mouth closes in an empty smile, licks the air, loses all its meaning after Hao leaves, and Mingyu changes the song to a more melodious one.

He seems at peace. Mingyu is the solace of silence; someone who speaks for you when your tongue is tied. He is the sigh of relief after smelling a vanilla-scented candle when you thought your lungs couldn't stretch any further.

He feels comfortable.

And Minghao walks down the street without a drop of tranquility to ease my thirst.

We head to the arcade; a playground for kids, a step into the casino for young adults. There are machines that make noise, scream, and cry with something akin to fun. Fun and joy go hand in hand, but I'm not sure they're the same thing. As we enter, we find Wonu sitting in a flight simulator. He shoots innocent civilians who will respawn as soon as he drops the game and start playing Just Dance.

"Yah! We told you to wait for us at the entrance," Mingyu complains, grabbing the monstrous headphones surrounding Wonwoo's head and shouting right into his ears.

"Yah!" Wonu imitates him. He tries to save the game, but the civilians escape like cockroaches and a tank breaks one of his airplane’s wings. "I waited at the entrance for twenty minutes!"

Wonu tries to be aggressive, but his shouts don't even tickle Mingyu's ears.

"Well, we arrived five minutes late!"

A woman looks at them as a librarian would. She asks for silence with a furrowed brow, even though they're in the palace of teenage chaos. In fact, that's the bait. With her disdainful humor, she makes Gyu look her in the eyes, his eyes wandering on the curves of her mature body. I wonder if I look equally exposed, equally filled with lust when I watch Minghao's slender body stretch. Or maybe I put on the same long face as Wonu, humiliated and disappointed when Gyu leaves us to talk to the stranger.

"It's just you and me," I say, trying to cheer him up. "How about Just Dance?"

"She could literally kidnap him."

"Maybe Mario Kart?"

"How old do you think she is? Do you even think they let her in here?"

"We can play bowling, basketball..."

He condemns me with a murderous look. One that was originally created for Mingyu, the guy who breaks his heart in every chance he gets. Wonu notices his terrible way of confusing emotions; of always directing them to the wrong people, and his gaze softens.

"I feel like punching a wall."

"Well then, Street Fighter it is!"

We never talk about Wonwoo's feelings. Not because we don't try, but because every time we think about it, a strange phenomenon occurs; his face tenses up as if he can feel our thoughts like a cold breeze. When emotions are too strong, it's better to keep them locked up. To refuse to open the Pandora's box unless the other person approaches, pulling their demons by the tail. Otherwise, they often reject the help and mistake it for condescension.

Stubborn. That's a word that fits both of them like a glove.

We go from Street Fighter to Just Dance. I let Wonu be aggressive in the first one, winning without soul. After all, he'll be too distracted to beat me in Just Dance, and if the tiebreaker game is about physical skill, my body will be more activated than his, with adrenaline still coursing through my veins.

As expected, I win. Much to my chagrin, the third game is not about physical but mental skill. The claw machine stands before me like a monster.

"The first one to get a plushie wins."

"I don't have money to play this."

"I'll pay, are you scared?"

In fact, I'm scared. Not scared of losing per se; what I fear are the emotions that torment me after each failure. I know Wonu fears the same thing. Maybe that's why we can compete against each other. Because the loser limits himself to buy the ice cream and the rest of the ride proceeds in silence. No jokes. No teasing or stirring what doesn't need to be touched.

"You go first."

Wonwoo almost wins on his first try. I try and try, but the teddy bear, the caterpillar, and the penguin slip away from the claw. Half an hour goes by without either of us getting close to winning.

"I need to go to the restroom," Wonwoo announces.

"Don't cheat!" I shout as he leaves.

"How can I cheat from there?!"

I try to take a break. Then I realize how difficult it is to soothe a hungry spirit. I try to find logical combinations, intelligent ways to cheat, but nothing works. I end up leaning against the plushie machine, watching Gyu from a safe distance; the woman he spent the last hour with looks much younger under the new light. Different from the initial stupor. My friend is helping her redirect the bowling ball towards the pins, but there seems to be much more behind that innocent gesture.

I imagine myself being held the same way; firmly, embraced by strong and affectionate arms. I get lost in a daydream where my friend laughs in my ear, tickling my neck with his breath. I would never dare to flirt with Mingyu, but my chest begins to feel bland. I think Gyu has spent enough time with this girl whom he will never see again once he gets bored. Two hours earlier, he had his fingers in my mouth, feeding me tangerine slices as if I were a little bird in need of care. She will find something better. But what do I have?

"You should align the hook with that puppy's ear," a calm voice says.

"That's what I'm trying to do," I reply. "Do you mean this one?"

Minghao shakes his head. He approaches and taps the glass three times.

"This one here."

I'm still wearing my school uniform, sweating the same sweat I've been dripping for hours. In contrast, Minghao wears tight-fitting pants that cling to his skin. His scent is so strong that I hope the particles find their way into my body and imprint it forever.

I speak before thinking, and I realize that's the only thing that allowed my voice to remain steady.

Next step, Hao inserts a coin. His hair falls loose over his ears. He manipulates the claw machine and it obeys him as if he was God himself. The claw drops, rests on the puppy's hairy ear, and rises again. His once empty hands now hand me the plushie.

"Thank you," I manage to respond. I appreciate my upbringing's politeness.

"It's nothing. I saw you both struggling to get it."

"Yes... We were having a little competition, actually."

"For the plushie?"

I have a feeling that it finally happened. It happened, and I responded with the wrong thing because going to an arcade and having a competition to win a plushie from the claw machine is such a childish thing to do when you're seventeen. I reply with a yes; it was a competition for the plushie, and I hug the puppy as if Minghao were about to snatch it from my hands. As if it were a test, and I had failed.

"Then you won."

"No, he'll know you got it."

"I'll leave right away. And I won't say anything to him."

God sets the rules. He determines what's right and wrong, what should be said, and what should remain hidden. Now, he's playing the Devil's game, taking the same things he said were wrong and making them right.

"Were you expecting someone?" I ask, aware of the gradual but sure crumbling of my morality.

My question seems to be the equivalent of his statement. It bothers him because no one dares to ask questions to a God who doesn't have time to give answers.

"My partner."

"A man?"

Hao nods.

"Actually, it's just my date."

He glances at his watch and makes a gesture indicating it's time to go. Before his departure, I can already see him disappear; become transparent and revealing that everything was a projection of my most cherished desire until then: to have a conversation with him.

But the plushie remains heavy in my arms. And it looks at me with the vital gaze of a living creature.

When Wonwoo arrives, I hand him the puppy.

"I won," it hurts to say that. It's a lie, and I think my friend notices it.

#seventeen #seventeen x reader #minghao x reader #mingyu x reader #seventeen the8 #minghao fluff #highschool au #seventeen imagines

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merrybloomwrites · 10 months

Text

You Can Start a Family (Chapter 4)

Summary: Your weekend with Mitch and Sarah far exceeds all of your expectations.

This chapter is twice as long as all of the previous ones and is both sweet and spicy. Writing this while upping my hours at work and moving apartments was, a challenge to put it lightly. I've never written anything like this before so I hope I did it justice and you all enjoy!

TW: There's smut. It's not crazy (reader is v innocent) but there is in fact smut

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After slipping on your shoes and your jacket, you meet the couple back in the entrance hallway. You all walk out to the car, Mitch locking up behind him before sliding in the driver's seat. You climb in the back while Sarah plugs her phone in to play music. You make her put on Harry’s first album and spend the whole drive getting Mitch to tell stories about making it. You were fascinated by all the behind-the-scenes info you were learning, both about making the music, and the shenanigans the group got into.

You were about to ask your hundredth question when Mitch pulled into a parking lot, and you saw your destination. You had been so wrapped up in the conversation that you forgot how excited you were for the adventure park. You throw your seatbelt off and jump out of the car, impatiently waiting for the other two to join you.

“Calm down kid,” Mitch states. “The place is open for hours; we’ve got plenty of time to run around and do flips or whatever."

“Oh, come on, where’s your enthusiasm?” You reply.

“I’m a musician, not an athlete.”

“What, scared of making a fool of yourself?” You tease. “Let’s go!” You grab each of their hands and start to practically drag them to the door. You’re so focused you miss the look they share the moment you initiate contact. You didn’t realize that sliding your hand into theirs would give both of them butterflies.

Once inside, Sarah hands over the tickets she purchased ahead of time. You then place your things in a locker and walk into the main area where you can see all the different activities they have.

“So, what would you like to do first?” Sarah asks.

“Can we do rock climbing? I haven’t done that in so long. I used to love it!”

And with that, the three of you spend an afternoon trying out every single thing the park had to offer. Mitch did have one spectacular wipe out on a trampoline which left you and Sarah in tears from laughter, and you all had a wonderful time.

After getting back in the car, you say, “Thank you so much for bringing me here! I can’t remember the last time I had that much fun.”

“You’re welcome darling, we’re glad you enjoyed yourself,” Sarah replies.

You all lapse into a comfortable silence, and you stare out the window listening to the radio before the motion of the car lulls you to sleep.

A few minutes later, Sarah glances back to ask you a question and sees your current state.

“She’s asleep,” she whispers.

“Huh?” Mitch replies much louder.

“Shush! Y/N. She’s knocked out back there.”

Mitch catches a glance at you through the rear-view mirror and a fond smile spreads on his face, matching Sarah’s expression.

“It really is like having a kid sometimes,” Sarah states.

“What?” Mitch replies through a laugh.

“Think about it! The billion questions on the way here, her unmatched excitement and energy for slides and rock walls and foam pits, passing out on the way home.”

“Yea, I guess.” Mitch pauses for a moment before asking, “Do you ever think about our decision not to have children?”

“I do, occasionally. And I always realize that we made the right choice for us. But it would be nice to be able to take care of, and even spoil Y/N sometimes. I mean the look of joy when we got back in the car? We made that happen. It’s really nice being there for her. I feel like she needs us in a way. And it’s nice to feel needed.”

Mitch nods in reply, and they sit quietly, lost in thought for the last 10 minutes of the drive. After parking the car, they glance back at you, still deep asleep.

“If you open the door, I’ll carry her in. Hopefully she stays asleep, she’s probably exhausted between running around at the adventure park and from crying earlier,” Mitch states before handing Sarah the house keys.

He gets out, opens your door, and reaches to unbuckle your seatbelt. He leans in, planning to carry you bridal style but, sensing him close in your now half-asleep state, you reach out to wrap your arms around his shoulders. He gently lifts you out of the car and you instinctively wrap your legs around his waist before tucking your face into his neck. He carries you to the house, and the swaying motion as he walks puts you back to sleep. He stands for a moment just inside, wondering if he should lay you down in the living room or their bedroom.

“Put her on the couch,” Sarah says as if reading his mind. “She’s never seen the bedroom before. She might be disoriented if she wakes up there.”

Mitch nods, holding and rocking you for another couple of minutes before placing you on the couch and laying a blanket on top. He can’t help but lean down and place a kiss to the crown of your head before walking back to meet Sarah in the kitchen.

She’s placing two cups of tea on the counter and Mitch says, “You’re right.”

“About what exactly?”

“It really does feel nice to take care of her,” he clarifies before leaning in to kiss his wife. They pull back and lock eyes for a moment before he maneuvers them until Sarah is seated on the counter, legs open for Mitch to stand in between and be as close to her as possible. They get lost in the moment and lazily make out, hands running over each other’s arms and backs, fingers sliding through hair. Minutes pass this way before they’re interrupted by a number of text alerts on Mitch’s phone. He glances down and sees they’re from his father, and fearing something had happened to his mom, he immediately opens them.

He rolls his eyes and shows Sarah the screen, full of pictures of his parents and their friends out on the cabins deck, along with the food they’re grilling for dinner.

“Is it already dinner time?” Sarah asks, shocked to see it was later in the day than they’d realized. She hops down, takes a sip of her now lukewarm tea, and starts pulling out ingredients to make food.

Mitch and Sarah work together to make salad, roasted potatoes, and salmon. You wake up to the smell of spices, confused for a minute about your whereabouts. After a moment you remember where you are. You realize that you have no memory of getting from the car to the couch, meaning someone had to have carried you inside. The thought gives you a warm, fuzzy feeling.

You walk into the kitchen, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. You look up to see Sarah leaning against the counter and you go lean and snuggle against her, feeling extra cuddly as you wake up. Without hesitating, she wraps her arms around you, swaying you both side to side. “How was your nap, baby?” she asks.

“Fantastic,” you mutter in response. You hear the oven open and look over to see Mitch taking the potatoes out. He carries the tray into the dining room, and you slip away from Sarah to follow him. After he places it on the table, you step behind him and wind your arms around his middle. He places his hands on top of yours and you snuggle against him for a moment. You pull back, finally feeling more awake.

“Anything I can do to help?”

“Why don’t you grab us all some wine glasses from the kitchen?”

You walk back to the kitchen, Sarah passing you, bringing the final dish of food to the dining room. You look in the cabinets, not remembering exactly where they keep the wine glasses. You finally find them on a top shelf. Knowing you wouldn’t be able to reach them, you hop up to kneel on the countertop.

You’ve already gotten two glasses and set them on the counter, and are reaching for the third when Mitch walks in. He startles you and you jump a little. You don’t really lose your balance, but ever overprotective, he runs over to steady you, grabbing the glass you’re holding in one hand and placing his other on your hip. His fingers wrap firmly around your waist where your shirt had ridden up, sending a shock through your body at the rather intimate touch. You look back at him and notice just how close his face is to yours, and you practically breathe the same air. You’re frozen, tracking his eyes and they move down to glance at your lips before he helps you off the counter. You almost feel guilty about the interaction before you remember you had a similar one with Sarah earlier in the day. What was it with these two and looking at your lips? Did they even realize they did it? Did it actually happen or were you imagining it? Is it possible they felt the same way about you as you did about them?

“Red or white?”

“What?” You finally say, realizing Mitch asked you a question.

“I’ve got plenty of red and white wine. Which would you prefer?”

“Oh! White would be great, thank you.”

“Okay, you bring those in, and I’ll be out there in a second.”

Finally, you’re all seated at the table enjoying your meal together. You start off talking about the outing earlier, sharing what everyone’s favorite part was. You then move on to other lighthearted topics, getting to know more about each other, though most information was still quite surface level.

Once dinner is done you all carry the dirty plates into the kitchen to start cleaning the meal together. At this point you’re all a couple glasses of wine in, and you decide to dig a little deeper. “So,” you start as you take the dishes Sarah hands you to load into the dishwasher. “I opened up about my sad, tragic past during lunch today, it’s someone’s else’s turn to share a deep dark secret with the group.”

Mitch and Sarah glance at each other and you continue, “I mean, not dark. Preferably something happy or funny. Just tell me something I don’t know. A juicy bit of gossip even. I can’t be the only open and vulnerable one today.”

“That’s fair,” Sarah replies. “I know Mitch has some good gossip to share. Oh wait, that’s not under an NDA, is it?”

“I’m pretty sure I know what you’re referring to, and no, technically it’s not. But this story does not leave this room, understood?”

“Absolutely,” you say with a serious look, wildly curious what he’s about to tell you.

“So, when we were in the car talking about the trip to Jamaica to write Harry’s first album, I may have left out one story.” He pauses to take a sip of his wine before continuing. “The first couple days were really productive, so we decided to let loose a bit. We had some drinks, got a little tipsy- “

“A little tipsy?” Sarah interjects.

“Ok, we all got very drunk, whatever. Anyway, most of the group went inside to bed but Harry and I stayed up for one more drink. Next thing I knew he was in my lap, and we were making out. We woke up together the next morning thinking it was a one-time thing but it kind of kept happening, and most of the time alcohol wasn’t even involved. It kind of tapered off once we finished the trip and then I met Sarah and yea.”

“Woah. I honestly did not expect that. That’s so crazy! You’ve kissed Harry Styles! Wow, what was it like? Is he a good kisser? Oh, maybe I should ask him what he thought about your kissing skills!”

You mentally facepalm at letting that last part slip out.

“Do you really want to know?” Sarah asks.

“Oh, duh, I’m an idiot, guess you would be able to answer that,” you say laughing nervously but not denying your curiosity.

“Or you could find out for yourself,” she replies.

Suddenly the whole room is silent. You’re not even sure if anyone is breathing. You and Mitch stare at Sarah and her eyes dart back and forth between you two.

You look over to Mitch and he stares back before shrugging his shoulders and nodding at you.

“Are you two serious?” You question, shocked by the sudden change in atmosphere. You feel like you’re hallucinating, or having an out of body experience, and come to the conclusion that this is all a very vivid dream that you are having. Surely, it’s not real life.

“She’s completely serious,” Mitch replies, taking a minute step closer to you. “And for the record, I am too.” He takes another step, now mere inches away. You’re at a loss for words, simply staring at Mitch as he advances closer to you.

His hand slips up to cup your cheek. “Is this okay?” he asks. You just nod, still unable to remember a single word in the English language. Slowly, as though not to spook you, he leans down, pausing for a moment before softly pressing his lips against yours. It’s one small peck, followed by two more and he pulls away to press one more kiss to the tip of your nose. He slides his hand to rest on the side of your neck and you remain in that moment, fully absorbing what just happened. It’s been years since you’ve been kissed, since you’ve been shown any kind of affection. Earlier that day you thought their hugs had healing powers, but this? This was the most wonderful feeling in the world. You open your eyes to see Mitch smiling at you and you realize you’ve been sporting the widest grin that whole time.

“I have a question for you,” he says.

“Okay,” you timidly reply.

“Have you ever kissed a girl before?”

“Uhm, yea, there were a couple girls in high school.”

“Well, Sarah has never kissed a girl before. How would you like to be her first?”

You turn to look at her, Mitch’s hand falling away, and you see she’s moved closer as well. “If it’s alright with you,” Sarah says, “I would very much like to kiss you as well.”

You once again nod, then finally find words, saying, “I would like that too.”

Her fingertips lightly rest on your shoulders. She leans down and her lips brush against yours before she pulls back.

“It’s okay,” you reassure her.

This time, she firmly presses her lips against yours. It starts off similar to Mitch’s, a chaste peck, but then she takes it further. Her hands slide up, one resting on the side of your neck while the other moves to your cheek in order to tilt your head so she can slot her lips against yours. You place your hand on her hips, resisting the urge to pull her flush against you. She makes the decision for you, stepping closer until her body is pressed against yours. You sigh at the contact, and she uses that moment to slip her tongue between your parted lips to explore your mouth. Mitch watches silently, content to observe two of the women he cares about most enjoy this moment together. He knows what a big deal this is for both of you.

After another minute she pulls away, leaving you with one more peck.

“Was that alright?” she asks as you play with the bottom of her shirt before realizing you’re still holding onto it. You nod, smiling shyly up at her. Mitch places his hand on the small of your back and leans around you to kiss his wife.

“Uhm, what happens now?” You ask, unsure of what exactly this all meant.

“Well,” Mitch says leaning in close. “Now, we can do whatever you want. Or nothing at all. It’s up to you.”

You try to think for a minute, but they’re both still touching you, watching you, and your mind is a jumbled mess. You step out of the embrace and go to the sink to start scrubbing the tray the potatoes had been in. You know they’re both still looking at you, but the physical space allows you to organize your thoughts. Scrubbing the burnt bits off food is oddly soothing to you, and by the time it’s clean your mind is calm.

You turn around to face them again and grab each of their hands. You lean up to give Mitch a kiss before turning and doing the same to Sarah.

“How about we watch a movie?” Sarah suggests. You have a pretty good idea what a movie means. They were handsy enough the previous evening before they had crossed this line and while Mitch’s parents were in the room. You knew a movie now would mean more kissing, more hands on your body, maybe the opportunity to explore their bodies as well. You found yourself hoping that would happen. And terrified at the same time.

You nod and start to follow them out of the room to the rest of the house, until some insecurity seeps in.

“Wait,” you say.

“Is everything alright?” Sarah asks. “Nothing needs to happen if you don’t want to, love.”

“It’s not that, it’s just.” You pause for a second then push through your embarrassment to continue. “I’ve just, never really done anything more than kiss before. So, I don’t have any experience and don’t know what I’m doing and, yea. That’s all.” You keep your head down, not daring to look at them and see their reactions.

Mitch steps directly in front of you, placing his hands on your cheeks and forcing you to look up at him. “We told you earlier that we want to take care of you. And we mean that in every way. Whatever it is you want to do, we’ll teach you.”

“Plus,” Sarah adds. “I’ve never been with a girl before, so this is all new to me too. We’ll be learning together.” You smile at them, and you all make your way upstairs.

You realize you’ve never been in their room before, and walking through the door knowing what might happen has the nerves flooding back. Sarah goes to the TV to turn on a movie (which movie it is you have no idea, you’re so wrapped up in everything else) and Mitch pulls you to sit next to him on the bed. He puts his arms around you, and you lean in against him, feeling calmer in his embrace. Once the movie is playing Sarah turns off the light and climbs in next to you.

For a while, nothing happens. You all just sit cuddled together, hands occasionally traveling over each other’s arms and legs in a way that’s both teasing and comforting. You then feel Mitch move next to you and place a kiss to your head, then the side of your neck, and finally your lips. Your lips move with his, and it sends butterflies not just to your stomach, but your entire body.

At the first brush of his tongue against yours a whimper escapes your lips. You try to pull back, embarrassed at how needy you sound, but Mitch doesn’t let you get far. “Don’t hide, we want to hear you,” he says, voice lower than you’ve ever heard and another wave of desire runs through you. His hand goes to your leg, and he leads you to throw it over his lap, so that you’re straddling him. You hover slightly, too nervous to initiate that kind of contact. Mitch’s large hands wrap around your waist, and he pulls you until you’re fully seated on his lap.

You gasp as you feel his hard length rub against your center, and you tuck your face into his neck, overwhelmed by the new feeling. You feel Sarah run her fingers through your hair and you turn to her. She captures your lips with her own as Mitch encourages you to rock back and forth on his lap. More small noises spill from your mouth, and Mitch joins with a groan as you push down extra hard in reaction to Sarah pulling your bottom lip between your teeth.

Sarah’s hands move to the hem of your shirt. She pulls back to look at you, asking with her eyes if she can remove the article of clothing.

“Uhm, could you guys…. first?” You manage to force out, scared to be the first to bare any of your body, especially once you realize by the end of the night, they’ll likely see more of you than anyone ever has.

“Of course, love,” she answers. She and Mitch both move to toss off their shirts, and you take in the sight of all the bare skin in front of you. You place one hand on each of them, running them along their sides, reveling in the feeling beneath your palms. You then reach for Sarah’s hands and place them back on the bottom of your shirt, encouraging her to take it off of you since you wouldn’t have the nerve to do it yourself.

It's thrown on the ground with the other shirts and you feel Mitch’s lip on your collarbone. He maneuvers you until you’re laying on your back and continues to pepper kisses all over your neck and chest. Slowly, piece by piece, everyone’s clothes end up scattered on the floor and you take a moment to admire Mitch and Sarah without any barriers. Never in a million years did you think you would be in this position, and you take a breath to center yourself.

You feel a hand on the inside of each of your thighs, Mitch and Sarah working together to rile you up even more. They slide up further up, one finger brushing against your clit, and you arch into the touch. Mitch notices your reaction and brings his finger back to the same spot, rubbing gently. Sarah brings her hand up to your entrance, slipping one finger inside. You gasp and turn your head, searching for either of them. Mitch notices first and leans in to capture your lips in a messy kiss, helping ground you. They continue to work you up, Sarah angling her finger just right and Mitch rubbing in a way that has you seeing stars in minutes.

The feeling builds and then comes your release. Mitch swallows your whines, and they slow their hands to ease you through it gently.

Never before has anything felt that good, nor has it felt so right.

Sarah tilts your head, stealing you from Mitch before straddling your lap and capturing your lips with her own. You lazily make out for a minute before Mitch says, “Sarah lay down.”

She lays in between you and Mitch, pulling you onto your side next to her as she refuses to stop kissing you.

“Y/N, give me your hand,” Mitch continues, and you do so without hesitation. He moves your fingers to her entrance, and he says, “Start with one.” You again do as he says, sliding one finger inside her and you moan along with Sarah at the feeling. You move your finger back and forth before Mitch tells you to add another.

After you slide in a second finger, Mitch leans down to swipe his tongue against her clit. Now it’s your turn to work together with Mitch, and you do so until Sarah is falling apart, clenching around your finger. She pulls away after a few small pecks, and you pull out of her.

She catches her breath for a moment, then sits up, turning to Mitch. For the first time that evening, you fully focus on his hard length and your anxiety comes back. This is completely new territory to you, and curiosity mixes with the fear. You watch as Sarah wraps her hand around him.

She looks up and catches you watching intently. She holds your hand, pulling it close to him but not quite touching him giving you the option to pull away. But you don’t want to pull away. Instead, you hesitantly wrap your fingers around him, pumping your hand up and down a couple of times the way Sarah had. You’re surprised by the feeling, and validated by the deep groans Mitch lets out. You continue to move your hand, listening to Sarah when she instructs you to change pace, or twist your wrist. After a few minutes his breathing comes out in pants, and he grips your shoulder as he releases on your hand.

Sarah climbs out of bed for a moment and comes back with damp washcloths, cleaning everyone off. Mitch walks over to his dresser, grabbing 3 pairs of boxers and 2 t-shirts. You’re grateful, as you had started to feel a bit exposed. After getting dressed, Mitch and Sarah slide in bed on either side of you, turning so they can both look at you.

“How do you feel?” Sarah asks.

“Wonderful,” you reply immediately.

“No regrets?”

“Absolutely not.”

You kiss each of them before laying on your back, allowing them to curl around you. You fall asleep feeling content, sated, and truly cared for.

You wake up Sunday morning in an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar room, with a body on either side of you. There’s a brief moment of panic before the memories of the previous night rush back. You smile thinking of how wonderfully they treated you, how gentle they were, how amazing they made you feel.

Sarah and Mitch are both asleep, still wrapped around you, and you gently run your fingers along their arms. You cannot believe how incredibly lucky you feel in this moment. A month ago, you had practically no one, and now you’ve found two people who have taken you in, welcomed you not only to their family but their relationship as well. You don’t know if this is a one-time event or if it will continue, but you do know that Mitch and Sarah will always be there for you in some capacity.

Mitch wakes up next, Sarah following a few minutes later. You all spend time sharing lazy kisses, in no rush to get out of the cozy bed. Finally, you’re interrupted by the sound of a stomach grumbling. You glance at the clock and see it’s after 10 A.M.

“Let’s go out for breakfast,” Sarah suggests, and you all agree.

The diner you end up at is adorable, a quintessential small-town eatery. You are sat at a small round booth, and Mitch and Sarah make sure that you are seated in between them, allowing them to place their hands on either of your thighs. You feel like you’re going to explode any minute. Or simply die.

They keep the conversation light and casual, paying no attention to the fact that they’re driving you crazy simply by adjusting their hands every now and then. The waitress comes to take your order and breathe a sigh of relief when they are no longer touching you beneath the table. As lovely as the physical contact is, it’s starting to drive you wild and you need to keep your cool, especially in public.

After ordering the conversation once again turns to music.

“Have you guys been playing much since you’ve been here? I saw some guitars at the house but haven’t exactly seen any drums.”

“There’s a studio in town that we’ve been going to a couple times a week,” Sarah answers. “If you want, we can go there after this.”

“Seriously? Of course I want to! I’ve never seen you guys play up close. I was so far away at the concert I went to, Harry was just this glittery speck running around.”

“You know, I don’t think you ever told us which of Harry’s songs is your favorite.”

“Oh, probably because it’s impossible to choose one? But I mean, Fine Line is an absolute masterpiece. Like, I need to hear that live once in my life or I cannot die happy.”

“Wow, that’s quite a review,” Mitch replies.

The waitress returns with your food, and Mitch and Sarah turn the conversation to you, asking you a million question about yourself that you answer through bites of eggs and bacon.

After brunch, you go to the studio and once inside you immediately ask Sarah to play Satellite.

“Everyone always posts videos of Harry doing the ‘Satellite Stomps’ but never of you playing that part and I think the drum there is so cool.”

You watch Mitch and Sarah, eventually picking up a guitar and playing along once Mitch tells you what chords to do. You’re grateful for the time you spent looking up YouTube videos in middle school that gave you a basic understanding of the instrument.

“Would you like to learn one of the songs on drums?” Sarah asks.

“Of course I would! I’ve literally never touched drums before.”

“Okay, well let’s start with Woman. It’s got a pretty constant beat so it’s a good beginner song.” You watch Sarah play through the song once, mesmerized by the way she holds herself as she plays.

After she finishes, she gets up and hands you the drumsticks. You sit down, excited and nervous to learn something new. Sarah teaches you about all the different parts of the drum set, and how to get the clearest sounds. They play Woman in the background, and she leads your hands through the right movements as you play along. You’ve never had so much fun learning a new skill before. You spend a couple hours at the studio, learning from two absolute masters.

Afterwards you go back to the house and sit in the living room with tea courtesy of Sarah. You’re not sure exactly who initiates it, but you find yourself once again in between Mitch and Sarah, trading kisses with both as hands roam across each other’s bodies.

You all break apart when the door suddenly opens. Mitch’s parents walk into the living room a minute later carrying their bags and you guys great them as casually as you can. They sit down and talk about their weekend up at the cabin, and you fill them in on the adventure park and time spent at the studio.

When the conversation turns to dinner you realize how late in the day it is.

“I should probably be heading home soon,” you say standing from the couch.

“I’ll help you with your things,” Sarah replies. She and Mitch follow you upstairs, closing the bedroom door behind them.

“I only have one bag, I think I can manage,” you say with a laugh.

“I know,” Sarah replies, stepping closer to you. “I just thought it might be best to say good-bye up here.” She cups your face in her hand and leans in to kiss you. After she pulls back you feel Mitch step in front of you to do the same. “We should probably hang at your apartment in the future if we want privacy,” he says.

You smile, elated to hear that this wasn’t a one-time thing. You might not understand exactly what they see in you, or why they would bring you so fully into their relationship, but you’re so glad they have.

They walk you out to your car, each giving you a tight hug and a kiss to the forehead before allowing you to drive away.

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A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I would love to know what you think and if there are any requests for scenarios in this story!

Taglist:@akkatz @pandeebearstyles @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @theekyliepage @numafarawayglxy @booberry019-blog

#harry styles x reader #mitch rowland x reader #mitch rowland x sarah jones x reader #sarah jones x reader #mitch rowland x harry styles #sarah jones x mitch rowland x reader

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i-talk-too-much · 2 years

Text

A Misunderstanding (Part 1)

Dick Grayson x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3,945

Warnings: almost sexual assault, smut in later chapters, attempted robbery

A/N: this was requested! there will either be more than two parts, or just another part. only time will tell. hopefully y’all enjoy!

(Part 2)

Summary: You and Dick were childhood friends before you both drifted apart - him living with Bruce and you moving away. You are reunited after you move to Gotham and Nightwing saves you from a criminal.

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

16 Years Ago

You sat on the benches, jittering on the edge of your seat as you watched your friend, Dick, swing on the trapeze with the net set below him. You were always in awe when you watched him. The way he jumped and spun in the air made your eyes shimmer – his actions making him look free. The grin on his face expressed the joy and satisfaction he felt and you knew then that he belonged here, flying through the air. He was part of The Flying Graysons after all.

When Dick was finished practicing, he jumped off the ledge, landing atop the safety net. A giggle escaped his mouth when his body gently rocked up and down as the net settled. He always liked jumping into the net when he was done.

You bolted up and ran to him, wanting to help him out and praise him on the newest trick he learned. As he moved across the net, his hand found yours, holding onto it as he jumped down. Your hands remained intertwined as he stood next to you and you two began walking to the benches where Dick's water bottle and towel sat.

"Dickie, that was amazing!" You chattered excitedly. "The way you spun in the air was just…” Your sentence ended with a dreamy sigh, the hand holding his swinging energetically back and forth. He matched your energy and swung your hand with the same force.

"Thanks, I've been practicing that for weeks!" His face was almost animated – his cheeks a rosy pink and his eyes bright and lively. His smile was infectious – as it always was – and a smile quirked your lips involuntarily.

"I can't wait to see the show," you said, grinning. "I got tickets and everything! I'm going to come as early as I can to get the best seats." You remembered last year when you came late and had to sit in the back, too far to see Dick's face clearly. You pouted the entire time and he had to give you a hug after the show to cheer you up.

A laugh bubbled on his lips at your words.

"Yeah, you don't want to be stuck by the wall again, huh?" He dropped your hand once you reached the benches to pick up his bottle and took a big gulp, grateful for the cool liquid running down his throat.

You picked up the towel and wiped his face once he put down the bottle. He closed his eyes and let you do so, moving his head to give you better access to his neck. You spoke.

"Do you know what city you're going to next?" You weren't too curious, but you wanted to keep talking to fill the air. The acute awareness that he was leaving soon made your heart lurch.

He always visited your city every year and stayed at most for two weeks. You had met him two years ago when your family took you to watch Haley's circus act after your incessant pleading. When your family stayed after the show to meet The Flying Graysons, you and Dick hit it off immediately – with the two of you being the same age. You hung out every day after that before he had to leave for the next city. Now, you visited him each day when he was in your area, cherishing every moment you spent together.

"I think it's Gotham City," he replied, a light note in his voice. "I've never been there before so I'm excited."

The anticipation he felt was clear, his hands curled into fists from the excitement as he brought them up to pump the air. You smiled a little at his enthusiasm but the feeling of sadness dampened the intensity of it. Your face visibly fell as the feeling became stronger. It was a few days before he had to leave. The circus typically left soon after the show was over.

Dick's grin quickly vanished when he noticed your expression, his hands immediately lowering and unfurling at his sides.

"What's wrong?" He asked, the worry evident in his tone. You didn't meet his eyes, your arms wrapped around yourself.

"I don't want you to leave already." Your words were quiet. Heat rose to your cheeks at having exposed your innermost thoughts.

Dick surged forward and threw his arms around you, making you step back at the force of it. Your arms moved to circle around him, holding him tightly.

"I'll come back, Y/N. Don't worry," he said firmly. "I'll send you lots of postcards like I always do! I'll even add more pictures so you don't forget what I look like."

The last sentence made you giggle.

"I'll never forget what you look like, Dickie." You buried your face into his neck but pushed away from him when you felt his sweat touch your face. "Ewwww!"

Dick burst into laughter, doubling over when he saw the look of pure disgust on your features. You scrubbed at your face with your arms and huffed with embarrassment.

"Sorry, sorry," he laughed, wiping away tears, and reached out to hold your hand, a cheeky smile playing on his lips. "I’m really gonna miss you."

Your cheeks heated once more and your fingers tightened around his own.

"I'll miss you a lot, too," you breathed out. "Promise me that you'll be okay. I don't want you falling and breaking your head." You accompanied your words with a furrow of your brows, trying to appear as stern as a nine-year-old could.

"I promise," he drawled out, like a child listening to their parent repeat the same rule over and over again. At that, you grinned, satisfied with his response and tugged at his hand to follow you.

"Come on! I want to say bye to your parents before I go." You rushed to the back rooms with Dick in tow, him gaining speed and moving to pull you instead.

Shortly after bidding the three of them farewell, you ran off home before your family would scold you for staying out too long. That night, you dreamt of a large open field, running after Dick while the two of you laughed joyfully.

Three days later, you watched Dick and his parents swing from one side of the center stage to the other. Their graceful jumps and twirls were always a wonder to behold. The gasps and the amazement from the audience made your heart swell – pride filled all of your being. When the entire show was over, you ran to Dick and swept him in a tight hug. A bad feeling was rushing over you, but you chalked it up to him having to leave, and nothing more.

Had you known what was going to happen, you would’ve prolonged your time together – at least a little bit – and hugged his parents. They were always kind to you and gifted you candy when you visited their son. Instead, you left with little more than a goodbye and made your way home, already wishing the year passed quickly.

A few days after the circus crew packed up the tent and all their materials, Dick left your city, beginning his travel to Gotham. Not even a week had passed and your family unexpectedly told you the news that you will all move to another city in less than a week – where the pay was better.

You started tearing up. You didn’t want to leave the place where you grew up or any of your friends. Your family comforted you. They told you that you’d easily make new friends – you had a bright and kind personality that made you get along effortlessly with others.

It wasn’t until all your stuff was loaded into the car and you sat in the backseat, that you remembered Dick didn’t know you were moving. He had no way of knowing your new address and you couldn’t send him a letter – you didn’t know if they arrived at Gotham yet, or what address Haley’s Circus accepted letters from. You resigned yourself to the belief that Dick would one day visit your new city and the both of you would reunite.

Of course, that never happened.

Dick’s parents were caught in a brutal accident while performing in Gotham, leading to Bruce Wayne taking him in as his ward. You cried when you heard the news – memories of his kind and loving parents made your chest hurt. You could only imagine how painful it was for him – they were his parents, after all.

Two months after the horrific tragedy, you gathered the courage to send him a letter. In it, you wrote all about how much you wanted to hold him, help him get through this. That you wanted to be by his side and show him he’s not alone. You added your address so he could send a message back and you eagerly waited, hoping to get the chance to see him one day.

Only, he never replied.

——

Present Day

You rushed home from Gotham University, making sure to the best of your abilities that you weren’t being followed by anyone suspicious. It was already past 10 o’clock at night, so you were being careful – Gotham was infamous for its ‘lively’ nightlife, after all.

You had lost track of time in the library, studying for the final that was next week. If you passed this exam, you would be one step closer to receiving your graduate degree. You worked tirelessly for it. Having a part-time job to help pay for the tuition meant having less time for your classes, but you made do. At least the rent was cheap.

You decided to cut through an empty alleyway. Up ahead was your apartment building so you felt that the shortcut was worth it. The silent figure creeping up behind you, however, made you realize otherwise.

You felt the cold blade of the knife at your neck before the sound of the person’s harsh voice.

“Give me all your money, lady.”

Your breath hitched, cold sweat beginning to drip down your back. You swallowed, feeling the knife shift from the movement.

“Okay,” you said, your voice shaky. “My wallet’s in m-my bag, so give me a second.”

“Hurry up.”

At that, your fingers moved to dig into your bag, your panic making you fumble more than you would’ve liked. More than he liked.

“Fucking hell, hurry up!”

You flinched at the bellow of his voice, the shake of your body growing more intense. Finally, you found your wallet and quickly held it out to the side of you for him to take. He roughly snatched it out of your hands and the knife shifted off your neck. His hands moved to open the wallet to check the contents, giving you the chance to rush forward and escape.

“Hey!” He yelled out. He quickly caught up to you and yanked on your hand to pull you backwards – the force so strong that it sent you tumbling onto the ground, your bag’s contents littering across the concrete. You yelped at the pain that spread through your hands and bottom. “Since when did I say you were free to go?”

He stood above you now, his looming figure more terrifying now that you were facing him. The cruel coldness was almost radiating off his being. An apathetic expression on his face was faintly visible in the dimly lit alleyway.

“I-I gave you all my money! I don’t have anything else!”

His lips curled up as his tongue jutted out to wet them – a disgusting grin that expressed just what he wanted of you. “You sure? I know something else you could give me.”

Your eyes widened and your breaths came out unevenly. This couldn’t be happening. You couldn’t–

Tears pricked the corners of your eyes. A yell was almost bubbling in the back of your throat – you needed to scream out, get someone’s attention. Anyone’s attention.

But before you could, the man standing in front of you was slammed into the wall – a pained ‘oof’ leaving his throat. The force of the collision was strong enough to knock him out, as was evident from his body remaining motionless on the floor. You didn’t dare move.

A man in a black and blue spandex suit crouched above him, checking his pulse, before he turned to you. You noticed the blue symbol on his chest, faintly registering it to belong to one of the vigilantes that worked with Batman. You stayed quiet, wanting to see what he would do next.

“Are you alright?” His voice was gentle and firm – fitting of a hero. You let out the breath you were holding and allowed yourself to move.

“No,” you replied honestly, your voice barely above a whisper. You attempted to stand up, but your legs couldn’t hold your weight with how much they trembled. You lurched to the side and your savior rushed forward, holding you up so you didn’t collapse onto the floor. “Thanks.”

“It’s no problem.” He steadied you and let go once he was sure that you wouldn’t be meeting the ground anytime soon. His gaze dropped down and you followed, noticing all the stuff that splayed from your bag.

You shot back down to the floor, hurriedly trying to gather all your things so you could finally escape the narrow alleyway. He knelt by you as well, moving to assist you. His fingers landed on your wallet and the fallen ID next to it, picking it up and reading the printed name.

“Y/N L/N?”

Your eyes moved away from your bag and to his face. His eyes were already on you, seemingly searching your features. “Yes?”

“Oh, uh,” he faltered, looking away. “That’s a nice name.” His voice sounded tense.

Your brows furrowed. “Thank…you?”

With that, he placed your ID into your wallet and handed it to you, your fingers brushing ever-so-slightly.

“Let me walk you home.” His voice almost sounded eager, but that couldn’t be right. Maybe he offered that for every person he saved?

“No, it’s okay,” you politely declined, adjusting your bag then pointing. “My apartment is right over there.”

He glanced in that direction but refocused his attention on you. Something in the way his body rigidly stood made it seem like he didn’t want to leave you be. Yet, he resignedly moved to the side.

“Right. I’ll let you be on your way, then,” he said, his voice adopting a casual tone. You made to walk past but stopped before leaving, turning towards him.

“Oh, I almost forgot.” You looked up at him, a small smile forming on your lips. “Thank you for saving me. If it wasn’t for you, he would’ve…” Your voice trailed off, the implication obvious from the previous situation. “Just, thank you.”

“Of course.” The corners of his lips tugged upwards, dimples forming on his cheeks. You returned with a grateful nod of your head, turning away and walking the short distance to your building. All the while, feeling his stare simmer on your back.

Once inside your apartment, you dropped your bag onto the kitchen table, allowing the gravity of what almost transpired to wash over you.

You were almost sexually assaulted. If it wasn't for Nightwing swooping in and rendering the man unconscious, he would've forced you to do disgusting things. Your body shuddered at the thought.

The relief that accompanied the dread in your being made you aware of the pain that coursed through you. Your hands stung from harshly scraping against the concrete floor when you were knocked over. You checked them, seeing dried and fresh blood seeping out of your wounds. This wasn't going to be fun, you thought.

You were right – sitting at the table with your first aid kit and painfully cleaning the bloody mess made you curse outward, almost yelling everytime the hydrogen peroxide touched your skin. After countless minutes of painstaking cleaning, your hands were bandaged and free from any risk of an infection.

You yawned, glancing at the clock. 11:53 PM. Your day tomorrow was already shaping up to be hell.

——

For the next few days, you had the unsettling feeling that you were being watched.

After the incident with the mugger, you made sure to not stay out past sundown, but even so, you repeatedly felt eyes on you. Your gaze constantly darted to your surroundings, checking rooftops and alleyways. You were sure you looked insane, but with the resulting paranoia, you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

It was four days later that you saw Nightwing again. You were sitting on your couch, working on an assignment when a knock sounded through the living room. Your brows furrowed. It didn’t seem like it came from your front door.

The knock sounded again. This time, you realized it came from your window. Your body tensed, irrationally thinking it was that mugger from the other night. You slowly creeped your way to the window, pushing the curtains away and peering outside. You yelped and almost stumbled when you saw the face peering back.

Nightwing. What was he doing here? And how did he know which window was yours?

His lips were moving. Open the window, he mouthed. You scrambled to do so, lifting the window with great force.

“What are you doing here?” You couldn’t keep the bewilderment from your voice. The man was crouched on your fire escape, one hand resting on the railing.

He hesitated, seemingly at a loss for words. Finally, he cleared his throat and opened his mouth, remembering what it was he came here for.

“I came to check up on you, make sure you were okay.” His tone was even, no hint of his inner thoughts. Your face was still scrunched in confusion.

“Well,” you responded. “I’m doing perfectly fine. Besides my messed up hands, anyway.” He glanced when you displayed them, splaying your fingers to show the damage. “They’re not too bad now, though.”

You saw the twitch of his brow at the sight of your wounds.

"You didn't tell me you were injured," he said, voice low.

You shrugged. “Didn't realize 'til I got home."

His mouth tightened slightly, the movement almost imperceptible. You were shocked to realize you were staring at his lips so much to even notice.

“Can I take a look at your hands? To make sure that they’re healing okay.” His hand gestures conveyed that he wanted to do so inside your apartment, where the lighting was much better.

Analyzing his facial expression for a moment, you recognized the obvious signs of concern. You thought it over, thinking that if he wanted to hurt you he would’ve done so already. That idea sent you nodding before you even realized, opening your mouth to accept his request. “Okay.”

You stepped aside and he pushed open the window further, allowing himself to crawl through. His feet softly thudded against your wooden floors. He hummed appreciatively as he surveyed your apartment. “Nice place. Cozy.”

You snorted. “Thanks, I made sure to make it look nice. Just for you,” you joked, the sarcasm thick in your voice. “Do you want to sit on the couch?”

He moved to the couch instead of answering, taking a seat on one end and looking at you expectedly – so you did the same. When you settled into the spot next to him, he took your hand gently and lifted it palms up. His fingers deftly undid the bandage that wrapped around it and his eyes expertly analyzed the wound. While he was occupied, you took that moment to observe his features.

His hair was dark, nearly black. The wavy strands looked silky and you almost wanted to glide your other hand through them. From his hair, your eyes traveled to his face. The mask that adorned it left his nose and mouth free, allowing you to admire the shape of his lips. They didn’t look dry, a trait that made you quirk your head internally. You thought the cold air blowing on them constantly would’ve dried them out.

A gentle poke on your palm pulled your attention away from his face. His finger traced the edges of the wound, the sensation making you want to scratch at it. What was he doing?

Your question still wasn’t answered when he looked up, your eyes locking. He gazed at you silently and you continued your previous observation, this time with his face now towards you. His jawline was sharp, the shape attractively masculine.

You couldn’t put a finger on it, but there was something about him that made you feel like you knew him already. The way he carried himself, the way he spoke – it all felt familiar. Like it was on the tip of your tongue. Before you could voice your thoughts, he spoke.

“It looks good. No sign of an infection.” His tone was quiet, calm. He skillfully rewrapped your palm and you took your hand back, now feeling awkward in the silence that ensued. You wanted to ask him if you met him before, but every time you opened your mouth, you couldn’t figure out how to word it properly and ended up shutting your mouth. Finally, you decided to just ask him outright.

“Do I know you from somewhere?” Your words were accompanied by the quirk of your brow and tilting yourself closer to him. He shifted in his seat, slightly angling his body away from you, seemingly surprised by the question.

“What makes you say that?” He sounded casual, purposefully relaxing his body to portray an air of calm. It bothered you that you could read him so easily. You shouldn’t be able to read him so easily.

“I don’t know – there’s just something about you. It’s like I met you before.”

The corner of his mouth lifted, an almost cocky smile gracing his face. But it felt wrong. “Maybe you’ve just seen my face on the papers. I am a superhero, you know.”

You pursed your lips into a hard line, unimpressed by his pseudo arrogance.

“That. That right there.” You pointed your finger at him. “I can tell you’re faking that.” A snort left his lips and you scoffed, realizing where his mind went. “You know what I mean.”

He lifted his hands up in mock-resignation and stood up, pacing towards the window. “And I stand by what I said. Maybe you’ve just seen my face one too many times on the internet.” He turned towards you. “And now that you've seen me in person, it feels like you’ve met me before,” he said, shrugging.

You didn’t agree with his logic, but you didn’t want to keep discussing it if he was so eager to avoid the question. You got up from the couch and made your way over to the window, lifting it up for the man in front of you.

“If you say so,” you mumble. He climbed through and turned back around once he was fully on the fire escape.

“Goodnight, Y/N. Try not to stay out so late again, alright?” He didn’t wait for a response before he shot out his grappling hook and lept off, swinging into the city.

“Goodnight,” you whispered into the chilled air. You shut the window before going back to your discarded laptop. The assignment that was due this week seemed so miniscule when superheroes existed. You sunk back into the couch and resumed what you were doing before Nightwing arrived. Your head fell backwards when your mind couldn’t focus, only thoughts of him filling your brain. This was going to be a long night.

#dick grayson x reader #dick grayson x y/n #dick grayson x you #dick grayson #dick grayson fic #im still figuring out things to tag #what else is there #is this truly angst or fluff? I mean #not yet? idk man #A Misunderstanding

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eddiemunson-fanfic · 2 years

Text

Step brother adores you pt. 3

Eddie Munson x Plus Size!Reader

Warnings: mentions of drinking, oral (f recieving), p in v

Summary: After the one night stand you had with Eddie weeks ago, you could barely think about anything else. You thought about him when you went to work. You thought about him when you were making dinner. You thought about him when you were reading your books. You thought about him at any time possible, and craved him so bad. Your dad had other plans tho.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 4, Part 5(coming soon)

It's been weeks since you saw Eddie. It's been weeks since you had him laying in your bed. You missed him, and you hated yourself for it. You didn't feel like it was right of you to miss him like you did, but you couldn't help it. You did, and that was a fact you had to live with. You still didn't feel like it was right of you to crave him like you did either, but you did.

Your dad went on several dates with his mom, and you wished that every time your dad was going on a date, Eddie would show up and "babysit" you again, but he didn't. You really hoped that any time you were left alone at home, that Eddie would show up after they left, or show up with his mom as he did the first date your dad was going on.

But he never did walk in that door before or after they went. And you could feel yourself getting frustrated and angry at the thought. You craved this man like never before, and you could barely control your feelings towards him. You knew that if shit esculated towards your dad and his mom, that it would be wrong of you to date anyway. You needed to get over your crush, and quick.

It was a thursday afternoon, and you were at work, trying to find something a costumer asked you to find. You had told her up to several times that if it wasn't on the shelf, you didn't have anything left. But she didn't wanna listen. She insisted for you to go in the back and look for it. You knew you didn't have the item in anyways, because this was like the 5th person to come in that day asking for it.

You stood in the back, looking at your nails as you thought about Eddie for the 100th time that day. Oh, this man had corrupted your brain so bad. Not that you were complaining of course.

"Hey bitch!" the familiar voice of your bestfriend exclaimed, and you jumped to turn to where her voice came from. She came running into your arms, and you grinned from ear to ear.

You embraced her and squealed, jumping up and down in place with her. Oh, it's been long since you last saw eachother, since she is busy with her own job and life. You think it might have been like 2 months or so since you last saw her, and the thought made you cry. You didn't understand how much you've missed her until this moment.

"What are you doing here?" you asked, pulling her at arms length, and she grinned back at you. She laughs at you, and pulls out something from her pocket which looked like tickets of some sort. "I got a surpriiiise" she sing-songed, playfully shoving the tickets in your face.

You grabbed one and looked at it. Hm, a band you've never heard of is playing out of town on saturday, and you raised an eyebrow and looked at her.

"I got us tickets to this so-called amazing band, they're originally from here!" she smiled at you, and you looked down at the tickets again.

"And?" you asked, laughing at her excitment. "Sounds like a daft band to be honest, who calls themself Corroded Coffin?" you snorted at the name, and she huffed and rolled her eyes at you.

"Stop being so judgy! I've heard the band members are pretty sexy" she winked at you, and you snorted. "Oh, you and boys" you rolled your eyes at her, and she swatted at your arm playfully.

"Please, please say you'll go with me!" she practically begged, and you raised an eyebrow at her. Hm, you guess a concert would probably do you good. You needed the distraction, and since both you and your bestfriend is over 21, you can take a drink while you're at this down town bar.

"Fine, I'll go" you surrendered, and she squealed, jumping into your arms. "Yay!" she exclaimed, and you had to laugh again. You had missed this. You had missed her.

"Come to my place early saturday, and we'll get ready together" you smiled at her, and she nodded. "Can your dad drive us?" she asked with a grin, and you shook your head in laughter.

"I'll ask him" you said, and she squealed one last time, hugging you tight before she turned to leave.

"I'll be there around 2pm!"

"Eep, I can't wait!" she exclaimed before she clapped her hands and walked out of the back.

You chose to stand there for a bit, before walking back out to the costumer. She was fuming when you returned, and said it was the worst costumer service she's ever experienced, and that you took your sweet time to look for something that should be easy to find as if she knows how the back of the store looks like.

You rolled your eyes in annoyance, casually enough for her to not notice, and gave your best smile to her. "I'm sorry m'am, but as I said, we don't have that in just now, but if you come by.."

"Don't even think I'll ever return to this shitty as store again!" she said as she stormed off with her belongings, slamming up the door as she huffed and looked back at you, glaring at you and walked away.

You had to stiffle your laugh as she almost tripped in her own feet when she was able to get out of the store.

The rest of the day was rather uneventful, it was slow, and you had alot of bitchy costumers come by. You were so happy you were almost done with your work week, and could relax on saturday with your bestfriend.

You went home, and your dad was waiting for you to arrive so you could eat dinner together. You sat down on the opposite side of him, and ate the dinner he had cooked for you.

You mostly sat in silence, but spoke up in unison.

"I have a date with Haley on Saturday"

"I'm going with Becca to a concert on Saturday"

You looked at eachother in a bit of a shock, before you burst out laughing.

"You first" your dad says after he stops laughing, and you look at him, and nod.

"Becca invited me to a concert the next town over on saturday, and I wondered if you could drive us?" you asked, and gave him a sheepishly smile. He looked at you and blinked for a few seconds, and smiled suddenly.

"Of course I can drive you! Is it okay if Haley joins? We're meant to go out anyways" you shrugged your shoulders and nodded.

"I guess that was what you were gonna tell me?" you ask him, and he chuckles out a yes.

You laugh, and nod, diving into your food again.

You called Becca later that night to tell her that you had a ride to the concert, and that your dad offered to pick you up again, but you told her you said you would call him if you needed him to.

She got excited, and you started planning on what to wear to the concert. You've been to concerts before together, and every time you went together, you always liked to match eachother. That was the plan now too.

By friday afternoon you were excited to get home and just be you. Your dad had told you that he was gonna be out the entire evening, and you didn't have to worry if he didn't come home by midnight.

You locked the door, and went to go read some book, and maybe smoke some weed as you were now alone and could do what you pleased. You couldn't wait for tomorrow as you looked at the outfit you were gonna wear tomorrow.

You picked out a red and black striped mini skirt, with a red lace-almost like bra, with some fishnet as a top over the bra fishnet leggings under the skirt, and some thick 5 inch pumps with spikes on them. Becca chose just the same outfit, since you've worn it together at a concert before.

You patted yourself mentally on your shoulder, telling yourself you did a good job.

"This is gonna be sick" you said into the phone with Becca, and she chuckled. "Of course it's gonna be!" she exclaimed. '

You spoke for quite some time, and when you looked at the watch on the bedside table before you laid your head down on your pillow, it showed 1:54am.

You woke up in a haze, barely remembering that you fell asleep, looking around you in confusion. You looked at the clock on your bedside table, and huffed.

Only 6:30. You could still sleep a few hours, but you felt wide awake once you opened your eyes completely.

You tossed and turned a bit, and gave up after a while. You stood up from your bed when the time was 6:55, and dragged your ass to the bathroom across the hall from your bedroom.

You looked at yourself in the mirror as you leaned against the sink to brush your teeth. You looked awful, and you cursed yourself for falling asleep with makeup on.

You groaned as you reached in the cabinet for some makeup remover after you had finished brushing your teeth.

You started the shower as you removed your makeup, and undressed, stepping into the shower and shave your entire body and make yourself ready for the night.

After your shower, and you decided to just step into your pajamas, you walked down to your dad's bedroom, and knocked, wondering if he wanted a cup of coffee on the bed or something. You always did something like that for eachother if the other was still in bed when the other woke up. He made you breakfast or gave you a cup of coffee to wake you up, and you did the same for him.

You knocked, but no one answered.

Hm, this was strange. You knocked again, but still no answer.

"I'm coming in!" you announced before you opened the door, holding a hand in front of your eyes to give him some privacy if he was naked or whatever.

"You want some coffee?" you asked, but you couldn't hear any breathing or snoring from the bed, so you glimced slightly between your fingers, noticing his bed was still made, and it didn't seem like he had been in bed at all.

Your eyebrows knit together in confusion. Where could he be?

You walked out to the kitchen, and looked around. No sign after your dad at all. Did he even come home last night? You decided to walk to the phone in the livingroom who had a voicemail, and you noticed there was a message on it. You tapped the small button, and it came to life.

"Hey sweetie, I'm sorry if I scared you or whatever if you're already asleep when you get this, but I'm not coming home tonight, but I promise I will be there in time to drive you and Becca! Stay safe, and love you much!" your dad's voice said before he hung up.

Oh, okay, he never came home then. You shrugged it off, and walked into the kitchen again to brew yourself some coffee to wake up.

"My sweet nectar, I need you" you huffed as you pressed the button who made the coffee machine come to life as it brewed your coffee, the smell of freshly brewed coffee filling your nostrils.

When your coffee was done brewing, you filled a cup, and walked outside with your book and sat down in the chair on your porch, taking in the small sunlight that was beaming through a cloud as you sipped on your coffee.

Your cute neighbor was outside to pick up her morning paper. You returned the small smile she gave you, and nodded with your coffeecup.

"Good morning, Mrs. Alden!" you exclaimed to her, and she nodded your way.

"Beautiful morning to you, Y/L/N!" she smiled as she waved at you before she turned and walked back into her house.

You have no idea how long you sat on your porch, just reading your book and sipping coffee from time to time, smoking some cigarettes here and there too, but you noticed it's been some time when your dad pulled up into the driveway. You lift your head from your book, smiling at your dad as he stops the car and walks up the driveway towards you.

"Hey sweetie, sorry if I scared you or something, but I drank a bit too much last night, and.."

"Dad, I'm not your parent, you don't have to be scared that I'll scold you or something" you chuckle at him, and he grabs his neck in a nervous manner.

"Heh, I guess you're right, sorry" he says, as he walks up to you and places his cheek on yours to give you a soft hug before he sits down beside you on the other chair.

"You ready for later?" he asks you after some silence, and you look at him, and nod.

"Yeah, I'm excited, it's been a while since we went to a concert together!" you smile, and he smiles back at you.

"You deserve to have some fun, you work so much!" he smiles, and you nod. You definitely work more than you probably should, but when you're saving up for your own place, one do what one got to do to survive.

"What band are you seeing?" he asks, and you squint your eyes as to focus on what Becca told you last night about the show and what the ticket was saying.

"Uhm, a band I think was called Coffin, something" you say, as you scratch every braincell you got to remember the name of the band.

"Corroded Coffin!" you exclaim, and he nods, shaking his head. "Never heard of" he says, as he scratches his beard. "When will Becca be here?" he asks. "Around 2, we'll get ready together" you smile at him as he chuckles. "What?" you softly laugh at him, and he shrugs.

"Just like old times, huh?" he smiles, and you nod. "Just like old times" you grin at him, and he chuckles.

"Well, I'm hungry, and I need some coffee, you want more?" he asks as he points to your now empty cup.

"Oh, yes please!" you smile, as you hand him your cup.

You use almost all morning on the porch, sitting with your dad, talking about what he did last night, and you can see he's happy. Your heart melts watching how he speaks about Haley, and how much fun she is to be around. She brings out the best in him, and it warms your heart so much.

You turn your head when you hear Bella's car honking, and you grin from ear to ear. You jump up from your seat, and almost run her over when she parks her car and walks up to you.

"Hey bestiee!" she exclaimes as she laughs at you, holding you close. "Ready for tonight, huh?" she says as you pull away from the hug and smile at her.

"I've been ready all since the phonecall last night, babyy" you grin, and she laughs.

"Hi, Becca sweetie!" your dad calls from the porch, and Becca greets him back.

"Hi Mr. Y/L/N! It's good to see you!" she smiles, as she walks to the trunk of her car to get the bag with her clothes in.

"Can I borrow your shower? Been at work, and haven't had the opportunity to shower just yet" she groans as you chuckle.

"Of course, you know the way" you say as you motion for her to walk past you. You smack her ass a bit, as it was a thing you always did with eachother just because, and she squeals but scolds you with her finger before she grins.

After Becca had showered, you were sitting in your room, helping eachother do eachothers make up, talking about whatever was gonna happen that night.

"So, your dad gonna drive us, right?" you nod as you help her with eyeliner. She always liked how you did yours, and she wasn't that skilled, but you didn't mind, you loved helping her. So you did when she asked you.

"Mhm" you hummed, and she nodded. "Hey, don't move, or it'll be wonky!" you glare at her, and she gives you "I'm sorry"-smile. You huff, as you wipe away the line that got wonky, and tries again.

"Perfect" you say, as you put down the eyeliner, and admire the work you've done. She smiles at you, and jumps off the bed to look in the mirror on your wall. She admires the work, and hums. "Absolutely perfect" she turns towards you as she grins.

You walk over to the mirror to fix your own make up as she starts to put on her clothes for the night.

She flops down on your bed to reach for your cigarette pack, lighting one as she takes a drag and walks over to you. You open your mouth for her to put it between your lips. You take a drag as she pulls it out of your mouth again to take a drag herself.

"This is gonna be so damn cool!" she exclaims as she plops down on your bed, moving so she's looking directly at you where you bend over to get a closer look at your make up.

"Damn girl, that ass fat" she says as she wolf whistles at you.

You shake your head laughing as you walk over to your bed and kneels in front of her, and takes the cigarette she has in her hands.

"You're stupid" you laugh as you lay your head down on your bed, looking at her.

She lays her head down with you, and gives your nose a smooch, making you crinkle your nose.

"I love you" she smiles, and you give her a smile back. "I love you too"

"You ready girls?" your dad asks as he knocks on your door.

"Yeah, we'll be down in 3!" you say back to him, and you hear his footsteps walking down the stairs.

"Let's fucking goo!" Becca exclaims as she jumps up from your bed and runs down your stairs as you follow suit.

"You can stop at that gas station, and we'll walk the rest" you tell your dad as you almost arrive at the venue. You could see the venue from the gas station, and you needed to buy some more cigarettes anyway.

"You sure?" your dad asked as his car stopped in front of a pump, and you jumped out of the car. "Yes, absolutely" you said as you smiled at him. "If I need to get picked up, I'll call you from there" you say, as you point to a phonebooth, and he nods.

"Have fun darling!" he says, and drives off. You and Becca link arms as you walk into the gas station to buy a pack of cigarettes.

As you link arms against as you lean into eachother as you walk to the venue, you see a familiar van pull up to the venue. What was he doing here? You stopped dead in your tracks, and Becca got pulled back since you didn't follow suit with her anymore.

"What?" she asked you, and you motioned your eyes so she could look who was walking out of his van with a Corroded Coffin merch-tshirt.

"He's a fan, so what?" she asks, and you glare at her.

"It's Eddie" you say through gritted teeth, and she gapes. "NO SHIT?!" she exclaims as she takes another glance at him. "You told me he was handsome, but not that handsome!" she says as she pulls you towards her, as she pulls you with her, walking over to Eddie. "Becca, no!" you whisper to her, but she ignores you.

"Eddie!" Becca yells, getting his attention. You wanted the ground to swallow you whole. Fuck.

Eddie turned, looking at Becca in confusion before he saw you getting dragged with her. His eyes opened up with a huge grin.

"Y/N! You're here?" he asks, and walks closer to you as he closes his side door on his van as he picks up a guitar-case with probably a guitar in it. You gulp. You didn't know you've missed him this much. Your entire body ached to jump into his arms, but your conciousness told you to do better. You straightened your back, and pulled Becca into your side again, smiling at him.

"Hi Eddie, yeah, we're here for a concert with Corroded Coffin" you point to his t shirt. "A fan?" you ask, trying to keep it light. He chuckles as he looks down at his shirt. "Yeah, something like that" he winks at you.

He turns to Becca and bows. "I'm Eddie, and you are?" he says as he stands upright again, grinning at Becca. Becca turns to give you a "he hella cute"-look, and you send her a glare back telling her you know.

"I am Becca, Y/N's bestfriend" she gives him her most charming smile. He nods at her, before he turns his attention to you again.

"See you inside?" he winks at you, and you swear you could combust right there and then. Fuck, he made you so weak in your knees. If it wasn't for Becca's support, you'd probably faint.

"Ye-yeah" you concur to say, your voice betraying you as you spoke. He chuckles as he bows to you both before he walks away into the venue.

You squeal as you watch him walk away as Becca turns her head towards you, completely in shock too.

"He is your soon-to-be step brother if your dad keeps it up, and he's that good looking? Oh boy, you're in for a ride!" she laughs at your expense. You glare at her. "Shut it" you swat at her arm as she laughs.

You lirk out your pack of cigarette needing one badly after that encounter. What were you thinking? That Eddie Munson, the most metal guy you've ever known, would not show up to a metal concert next town over AND be a fan of the headliner? Stupid. Of course he'd show up.

When you were inside the venue, it was filled almost to the brim with sweaty disgusting drunks who meant they owned the place apparently. You walked close to Becca, never letting her hand go as you snaked your way towards the bar-area and got yourself some drinks before you headed to the front of the stage where the band were gonna perform.

You looked around for Eddie, but couldn't see him.

Strange, he should've been here.

You jump out of your skin when you suddenly hear a few girls scream behind you, and you turn around to look what caused the screams.

There he was. His curly brown hair and his laugh was not something you'd forget that easy.

"Easy girls, it's enough of me for all" he laughs at them, and then his eyes locks with yours as he looks around the small venue.

He winks at you, and mouths "i'm only yours", and if it wasn't for Becca holding onto you, you would've passed out right there.

You turned so you were facing Becca again, and the smile she had on her face was enough to make you relax. She was pumped for this, and so were you.

The venue went dark, people were shanting, screaming and squealing all at once, and you could hear some shuffling from behind the stage as someone spoke up in a mic.

"And here they are! The guys you've all been waiting for! Corroded Coffin!" someone announced as a guitar riff started, and they walked on the stage together, taking their places on stage.

Your heart stopped when you saw Eddie with the same kind of guitar he had tattoed, as he winked at you, playing along on his guitar as he walked across the stage and stood right in front of you.

The concert was a complete blur, you remember bits and pieces of Becca eyeing you when Eddie held his gaze on you a bit to long, and that Eddie leaned down towards you, keeping his eyes on you as the lead singer sang a song about sex or something, you didn't really pay full attention to the lyrics as your eyes was held with Eddie's.

They had walked off the stage after their show, and you and Becca walked back to the bar to get some new drinks as you overheard some girls talking shit.

"How can the guitarist like a fat lump like her?" they tried to whisper, but to no use, and Becca got mad straight away, barking at them.

"Excuse you? Who you calling fat?" she asked, sass clear in her voice as she scolded the girls with her eyes. If only they knew who they were up against, nothing stopped Becca if she was determined to crush someone about your looks. It had happened before, and you knew Becca had your back whenever.

She walked closer to them, and pointed a finger at them as they looked at her with fright.

"You shut up, or else I'm gonna make you eat your own hand" she growled, and the girls nodded anxiously, before they ran out of the venue.

"You know you didn't have to do that, right?" you said as Becca sat down beside you again.

"Do what?" someone said behind you, hugging you from behind.

Hi, Eddie. You smiled, as your head leaned against his shoulder, enjoying being in his arms again.

"Just some girls fatshaming her" Becca said to Eddie, and Eddie scoffed.

"Well, screw them, you are beautiful, and you should know you are" he said as he kissed your neck, making you squeal.

"Gareth likes you, by the way" Eddie said as someone sat beside Becca again, and his head hung straight away.

"Eddie! Why?" he said, as Eddie laughed, making Becca turn her head towards the curly shy guy as he looked up at Becca and gave her an awkward smile.

"Hi, I'm Gareth" he said, and Becca chuckled.

"You're cute, I'm Becca" she said, greeting him as he seemed to relax.

"What you drinking, sweetie?"

"Vodka and coke" you said as he waved down the bartender and ordered you another drink, as he ordered a beer for himself.

You sat there talking together with Gareth and Becca before they disappeared, and Becca told you to not wait for her as she dragged Gareth after her out the door.

You laughed as you leaned against Eddie, who's hand was at the small of your back.

"I've missed you" he whispered into your ear, and you bit your lip.

"I missed you too" you said, looking up at him.

He leaned in to kiss you, and you didn't stop him. Your lips melting together as one, as he wrestled with your tongue for passage to your mouth. You would normally care that you were in public, but right now? You've been craving him so bad, you didn't really care at all.

You moved to stand between his legs, as he grabbed your ass, squeezing lightly as he smiled against your lips.

"Oh, how I've missed you" he said, smirking against your lips. You playfully swat his chest as he chuckles, enveloping you in another heatful kiss.

You just stand there, exploring eachothers bodies as you kiss, and suddenly it hits you as you pull away from him.

He looks at you in confusion, as you huff slightly.

"We're in public" you whispered, and he just chuckled, smiling at you.

"No one knows who we are here anyway, look around" he said as he leaned in to kiss your neck, but you pushed him away.

He looked at you, and cocked his head to the side in confusion.

"You wanna go out to my van instead?" he asked, and you nodded.

"Let's just finish our drinks, and we'll head out of here?"

You smiled, pecking his lips before you leaned into his chest, taking in the scent of him.

"I've missed you" you mumble against his chest as his arm reach up to stroke soft circles on the small of your back.

"I missed you too" he mumbles against your head before he places a soft kiss to it.

He lead you out of the bar, and back to where he had parked his van as you leaned into him the entire way, holding on to him as if he would disappear on you if you let go.

He opened the door for you, and you climbed in, laying down on the floor where he had some blankets laid out, and it seemed like he had been living there for some time, making you look around in confusion.

"Me and mom had an argument, I didn't wanna go home, so I've been living here lately" he said, making you look at him as he climbed in with you, closing the door and laying down just beside you, motioning for you to lay in the crook of his arm as you climbed closer to him, snuggling closer.

"That's why you haven't seen me around lately, she got angry at me for leaving you the day your dad asked me to look out for you" he said as you looked up at him.

"I wanted to tell her that we were together all night, but instead of letting her know, I threw a fit over her being a bitch about it, and left" he shrugged, and you sent him a "I'm sorry"-look as he huffed.

"But now we're together again, and I wouldn't have it any other way" he said as he kissed your forehead, making you smile.

"Your mom has been with my dad non stop since the first date, and it has driven me almost crazy that you never came in the door with her whenever she came to visit"

Fuck, what would you guys do if your dad and Haley actually became a couple?

"I have a strange question" you started, and he looked down at you, smiling.

"What if they become a couple?" you asked, and he tensed a bit before he relaxed again.

"Fuck, I haven't even thought about that" he started "But I don't think it would stop me from wanting to fuck you or taste you on my tongue any time I looked at you" he stated, which made you chuckle.

"It doesn't creep you out that we could be step siblings?" you said as you leaned onto your elbow, looking up at him. He shook his head no.

"Not really, we would never be related at all" he smirked, and you giggled. Guess that was true.

"It would be very difficult to keep my hands off you whenever we would be together with out parents, but I think it could work" he stated, and you could feel the lump in your stomach disappear.

He would still want you if it became more than just some dates with your parents, and that made you smile. You never thought in your wildest imagination that he would still want you. You knew deep down it was wrong, but even if it was wrong in some way, your entire body screamed yes. You wanted him, and he wanted you.

You sat up, looking at him, smiling as he leaned his head up on some pillow he had beside him so he could look at you better.

You surprised him with straddling his lap, enveloping him in a passionate kiss as your hands roamed his body.

"I've been craving you so bad" you said in between kissing him. His hips bucked up into you, and you could feel he wanted you just as bad as you smiled against his lips.

His hands roamed your body just the same, before one came up to your hair, pulling lightly while the other grabbed onto your butt, squeezing it as he moaned into your mouth.

"Fuck, I want you so bad" he said as you grinded against him, making him moan even more from the friction.

"I'm yours, Eddie" you moaned against his lips.

He didn't even hesitate to switch places with you, so you laid down on your back, with him hovering over you. Even if you were a big girl, he managed to manhandle you for being such a skinny boy compared to you. It always surprised you how he could flip you over like you were air.

He were looking at you, taking in your outfit before he grabbed a tit and squeezed.

"You have to use this outfit more often, you look stunning" he said before he kissed you hungrily, grinding his crotch into your heated core, making you gasp from the friction.

"Eddie, please" you whimpered, and he stopped sucking your neck, to look you in the eyes.

"Please, what princess?" he teased, and you whined, thrusting your clothed pussy against him. He tensed up a bit from the friction, before he chuckled.

"Alright, alright" he hummed against your skin as he worked his way down your body with kisses before he stopped right above your clothed pussy, kissing your pelvis before he lifted up your skirt and smiled, seeing the panties he told you he loved so much.

"Were you expecting me?" he asks, and you chuckle, knowing that you in fact expected him to be there today just because he was a metal head himself. Little did you know he was the guitarist for the band that played.

"Oh how I've missed this" he says before he inhales the scent of your aroused pussy as he shoves your panties to the side, and dives in.

You gasp from the contact, before your hands snake into his hair, pulling lightly. He hums against your pussy, licking up all your juices before he chuckles.

"You taste so damn sweet" he cooes as he inserts a finger slowly, making you squirm from the contact, hips bucking up into his mouth as he hums.

"That's it baby" he cooes as he pumps it in and out of you. The sounds from your wet pussy and his finger pumping in and out of you is intoxicating, making you even wetter by the second listening to the power he has over your body.

You could feel the warmth from your lower belly rise, but tried to push it away. You didn't wanna cum just yet, you wanted to savour this. It's been so long.

"If you wanna cum, you can, I can just do it again" he says, as you moan his name loudly. His words sending you over the edge as you pulsate around his finger.

He lets you ride out your high, before he chuckles and hovers over you again, pulling his finger out of you, and pushing it into your mouth to lick it clean.

"Missed me that much, huh?" he smirks, before he kisses you hungrily.

"You taste so much better off your own lips sweetheart" he cooes you, as he grinds his erection against you.

"Please" you whimper in between kisses, and he hums as he pulls down his pants, his boxers following, releasing his erection as it slaps on your thigh before he plays with your folds, making you whimper even more.

His lips crash on yours as he inserts himself into you, and you both moan in unison.

"So... fucking.. tight.." he moans, as he gets used to the feeling of being inside you. Your nails dig into his back, and he whinces a bit from the pain before he hungrily sucks onto your neck, marking it as he slowly starts moving.

You both breathe heavily as he moves a bit faster, but deeper in you, your nails scratching at his back as he whinces, sucking onto your neck.

"Fuck, I've missed you" he says as he leans up to kiss you hungrily. You can feel yourself getting close, and whimpers.

"If you keep talking like that, I'm gonna cum" you warn him, and he stops his movements before he looks at you, deep in your eyes, trying to catch his breath.

"Cum with me? I'm close too" he asks, and you nods, motioning for him to continue when you buck your hips up to meet his.

He understands the mission you sent him on, and pounds into you hard and fast, moaning your name as his hand goes down to cup your tit, squeezing your nipple hard.

"Fuck baby, I'm cumming!" you moan, as his thrusts gets sloppier, and you pulse around him as he finds his own release, emptying himself inside you before he flops down on top of you, his dick still inside as you both try to catch your breath.

You just lay there for a while, catching your breath as he softens inside you.

He suddenly chuckles, and looks at you.

"You know I can feel you clenching, right? If you want another round, just say so princess" he smirks at you, and you can feel your cheeks heat up.

"Aw, are you suddenly shy now?" he cooes, pecking your lips. "Just say the word, and I'll fuck your brains out, sweetie" he winks, and you nod.

"And that means?"

Oh fuck, he really want you to tell him with words.

"Please, fuck me" you say after clearing your throat.

And Eddie does just that. The most intense orgasm you've had in weeks, is his work. He is the only person who's been able to make you cum that hard. You never wanna go back to knowing how it was without him again. Never.

When the morning comes, you wake up in his arms, his hair a mess, and so are yours. Your makeup all smeared and fucked up after getting facefucked by him, and your hair a mess after several rounds with him. Who knew sex in a van would be so breathtakingly awesome?

You look up at his sleeping face, and you could almost swear that he was smiling in his sleep. His face naked and sweaty after the antics from last night. He looked absolutely stunning laying there, all fucked and happy.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer" he says as he opens his eyes and smiles down at you.

"Good morning, beautiful" he cooes against your lips, as you kiss him eagerly back.

"Good morning, handsome" you say against his lips, as his hand reaches up into your hair to drag you closer to him.

"Wanna get some breakfast?" he asks after some time, pulling away from the kiss, as you look over him, smiling for yourself when you see that kissing you made him excited.

"You sure you don't want me to take care of that first?" you say as you point down to his erection. He scoffs, and smiles.

"I mean, if you want too" he says as you lean down, sitting up on your knees as you start cupping him.

His hips buck up into your hand, and you stop touching him. He whimpers slightly.

"I'm in charge now, pretty boy" you wink at him, and he huffs before his head falls down on the pillow.

You cup him again, and he groans.

You smile as you start to stroke him softly, making him buck up into your hand, making you stop again.

You tsk at him, and he whimpers.

You look at him, and he lays his head down again.

"Okay, I'll be good" he says, and you almost jump out of your skin when someone knocks on the window.

"If there's someone inside, you have to move your car" the person on the outside says, as you both rush to gather your clothes, and you can't find your top as you look around, while Eddie is quick to jump in the front, no t shirt on or anything besides his boxers as he rolls down the window to talk to the person on the outside.

"Sorry officer, I'll move" he says, as the officer says something back as Eddie ignites the van, and drives off.

"Uhm, Eds, I can't find my clothes" you say, and he looks at you from his rearview mirror.

"Take one of my shirts, the Iron Maiden one is big enough to fit, I'm sure" he reassures you as you look around and find the shirt he's talking about.

He was right. The shirt fit enough to hang a bit loose on you, and you can only imagine how small Eddie would look wearing it.

"Is the skirt you wore last night okay?" he asks, and you nod, climbing in the front with him as he looks at you, almost driving off the road as your butt is in his face.

"Hey, watch the road mister! How much I'd love to die beside you, today is not the day" you say as you let out a loud huff as you sit down beside him, and he chuckles.

One of his hands land on your thigh as he smiles, rubbing small circles on your soft skin as he steals small glances at you without driving off the road.

"You'd die beside me?" he smiles, and you look up at him, reaching up to brush away some lipstick on his cheek.

"I would" you say, as his hand squeeze your thigh, smiling at you.

"I'll drive you home, hopefully your dad isn't home" he says as he turns onto the highway on the way back to Hawkins.

You lean into his arm as he drives off.

You could get used to this. You could get used to being beside Eddie during anything. He made you feel so safe, and wanted at that too. No one has ever made you feel like just a regular girl despite the size you were. He looked at you like a kid looks at a whole isle of free candy, and you could never get enough of it or him for that matter.

He drove off onto your street, and you could see your house from where you were. Fuck. Both your dad's car and Haley's car were in the driveway. Eddie slowed down a bit as he saw his mom and your dad come outside, standing there, looking like they judged him.

They couldn't see you beside him because of the angle, but Haley knew that it was her son driving there by the way she stood glaring at the car.

He stopped right beside the sidewalk up to your house, and your dad saw you as you opened the door.

"Sweetie!" he said, running up to you to check on you.

"Are you okay? What happened to your clothes?" he asked, and you chuckled, holding him at arms lenght.

"I'm fine dad, I crashed with Eddie after the show last night, and he borrowed me this so I could sleep in"

A little white lie never hurt, right? He didn't have to know the whole truth, right?

"Edward Munson! What do you think you're doing?!" his mom started yelling at him, and you could see Eddie got worried straight away. "Do you think you can just disappear and show up like nothing happened, young boy!?" she yelled, and you walked over to Eddie, mouthing sorry to your dad as he nodded for you to just continue.

"Mrs. Munson, I'm sorry that Eddie showed up like this, but he drove me home and kept me safe after last night since he was at the same concert as me" you smiled, and Haley looked at you and huffed. Glaring at her son.

"This is not over" she said to Eddie as she smiled towards you.

"Now come inside and get some breakfast, the both of you!" she said, motioning for you all to join her inside.

Excuse you? Who the fuck do you think you are?

Eddie's hand landed at the small of your back as your dad walked in with Haley.

He leaned down and whispered in your ear.

"Thank you baby" he said, kissing your neck before he dragged you with him inside for breakfast.

Oh boy, it would be difficult to keep your hands off him, that's for sure.

~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist: @eddiemunsonfuxks, @grimmbunniee, @jadeylovesmarvelxo, @charleetheefictionalfucker, @anaisweird, @marsmunson86, @eddiethesexy, @readsalot73, @sherrylyn628, @sammararaven, @sllooney, @warmaidensrevenge, @unefemmeiconique, @salenorona23

#eddie munson fic #eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #my fic #eddie munson x fm reader #eddie munson fanfiction #smut #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie x y/n #eddie x you #eddie my love #eddie munson x plus size reader #eddie x plus size reader

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eddies-hid3out · 10 months

Text

I've been obsessively listening to Snuff by Slipknot since I saw it at Download and it's birthed an Eddie brainworm I can't get rid of and will once again never be able to write as a full fic. So here's some crumbs under the cut in the hopes it'll stop plaguing me!! Apologies for any errors, I'm dumping this and running.

Wannabe rockstar Eddie who leaves you in Hawkins to chase his dream of making it big with Corroded Coffin. He never tells you but he intends to come back for you once he's made it but CC never quite get there and Eddie ends up lonely, angry and sad, and cuts contact with you because he's ashamed of leaving. But you are also in your own band and you are the one who ends up getting discovered. By the time Eddie pulls his head out of his ass and returns to Hawkins ready to beg forgiveness you're gone.

You don't see each other again for years. Eddie is too embarrassed to reach out and pretends he isn't around when you call to catch up with Wayne, or your friends. Eddie keeps up with your career. He has your albums, he stays up to watch interviews etc. He's so proud of you but occasionally gets worried because he also keeps up with the rumours that you're enjoying the party lifestyle a bit too much.

It all comes to a head when Eddie is dragged to your sold out show by mutual friends (probably the other members of CC) in Indianapolis about 8 years later (10 years since Eddie left). It's your bands final tour before you take a hiatus as most members have families they want to start focusing on. He's right at the very front barrier in a crowd of about 50 away from the main audience because of course you set Gareth up with VIP for as many tickets as needed. The show is amazing, you shine on the stage and Eddie will never get over finally seeing it all up close. He starts to get excited at the thought of properly seeing you again when the guys get to go backstage, starts practicing what he wants to say in his head so he can try and apologise at the very least. Towards the end of your show though the atmosphere changes on stage. Whereas before you've been running back and forth or interacting with your band mates during songs, now you're front and centre with an acoustic guitar. You thank the crowd for being there and announce you're going to be performing a song you've never released (it's Snuff). You wrote it a few years prior when you were in a pretty heavy place and have kept it under lock and key but you're finally ready and in a good enough place to put it into the world. No one knows what to expect but they absolutely aren't prepared for the emotional avalanche you send their way. It's haunting and clearly difficult for you to get through. Eddie watches in awe but the further into the song you get the more he realises it's about him. It's all your hurt. Years of heartbreak and rage kept bottled up all aimed at him in devastating lyrics. The whole crowd is silent when you finish, only when you say a tired thankyou into the mic that everyone loses their shit. Eddie though, he's left feeling hollow. All these years he's took some comfort in believing that despite some rumours you're living your best life but now he's stuck with the cold hard knowledge that not only did him leaving ruin his own life but it ruined you too. And now he has to face you.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson angst #the man is on edge when you sing “i still press your letters to my lips”#and is ready to sob when he hears you wail “and I won't listen to your shame you ran away you're all the same”

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capriciouslyterminal · 1 year

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46 for the love prompts!

Thank you for the prompt! I kind of went off and wrote a whole thing so now it's on AO3 and here it is as well. I've become tempted to try and answer all of these.

Prompt: "You can go first."

Eddie had always assumed that when Wayne had first put his down-payment on his trailer (exactly ten miles from his childhood home) he hadn’t really investigated the bathroom before agreeing to cash up front. It’s the only logical solution for his uncle who can mount frames and change oil and caulk to accept a bathroom like theirs.

Sometimes he imagined a Wayne like Springsteen, born to run with the sleeves shorn off his flannels and hair that was tickling his neck, positively bursting at the seams for a place to call his own. Without his father and brother hooking him into their schemes, leaving their evidence under his bed because if anybody was likely to get off on morale alone it was Wayne. Community college drop out with his head on straight, nothing worse on his name than a parking ticket, looking out and seeing only horizons.

New job at the plant, new lumpy bed to call his own, and too delighted at Carol from the office calling him “Sir” to realize that the shower was practically a squat little spigot with lukewarm water no matter which way you turned the handle.

Just a jumping off point to get him through trade school at nights, a home to trade up for one day. And then that Hawkins mud got around his ankles, and there was no moving. And then there was Eddie with a backpack and a prayer.

Even on his first night (he wouldn’t have been crazy enough to say it) Eddie had wondered why Wayne had chosen to hitch his life, his mug-collection and MVP award from basketball and his old dog, to a one-post little box of a building with a shower that was only better than a hose because it had a bit more privacy.

Now though, now Eddie got it.

If you’d told him that all he had to pay to get out of Hawkins was to have to lower his head and limbo his body around a bit to get clean then he’d trade that easy.

But it was nice to learn, in Max Mayfield’s trailer, that apparently piece of shit showers were the unifying design feature of the park. The same way suburbia seemed to be playing fast and loose with the same brick floor plan, each trailer had a shower that was designed to foster scoliosis and wash either your hair or your body. At least Mrs. Mayfield had apparently splurged for a clover-green floor mat and a pale blue curtain that didn’t match the mat but did remind Eddie of her daughter’s eyes.

The mat was already soaked through, so the curtain wasn’t apparently very effective. Or maybe Nancy and Robin had just been too tired to care, too kind to want to take any more time than they had to leave Eddie and Steve dripping in lake water and muck in the kitchen with a litter of children who were starting to get a little too uppity about helping to save them.

The lake water had only just started to dry crusty while Eddie sat in the kitchen and he had been oddly grateful.

It wasn’t the weirdest thing about the so-called “Upside Down” (Eddie was sure that he would’ve found a more creative moniker for the place if he’d found it but he’s too tired to formulate anything good now) that they never dried all the way out from the dive. If you asked him for the weirdest thing Eddie wasn’t sure what he’d say, but he’d get you an alphabetized list once he had some sleep.

But Eddie was gonna feel the cup of wet denim around his legs, silt in his sleeves, in his nightmares if he’s not careful. And that was before the gunk and the blood and the mold and the fear-sweat made the feeling even heavier.

Needless to say it wasn’t the weirdest part of the Upside Down that made them all smell like a compost pit, a mosh pit, a pig carcass, and an old gym bag left in the rain had a nightmare baby. But it was currently the best reminder of a new chapter in the worst story Eddie thought he’d ever live through.

The kids, after the hugging and Henderson wiping a single relieved tear and Mayfield dumping the contents of her sparse cabinets out for them on her kitchen table as their legs all but collapsed back on ground that was finally the right-side up and Nancy Wheeler telling them how the world was going to end, eventually demanded they shower before considering rest or their next step.

Eddie, hoisted up on a kitchen counter as he jammed an entire pack of saltines in his mouth, was immediately drawn to walking across the way to use his own shampoo and Wayne’s Irish Spring before realizing that being naked down the hall from a tear in dimensions would probably be a bad idea.

Max hadn’t even looked put upon, just gestured down the hall and pulled exactly four towels of different faded colors out of a cabinet.

“Just don’t get gunk on the towels,” Max had said, head completely stationary beneath her headphones in a way that Eddie had never mastered. “My mom’s got a thing about the towels.” Instead of crawling down her spine, jangling in her elbows, it was like Eddie could almost see the music tethering her to the ground.

Apparently she was floating earlier. That was the end of a long list of things Eddie’s almost buzzing with questions about, almost shoving his hands into his mouth to stop. But did you feel it?

He also wondered what constituted as gunk, and where else it would go other than the towels or the shower drain. They’d each already tracked footprints all over Eddie’s living room. If there wasn’t already a huge hole in the ceiling he might be worried about how Wayne would react. Eddie saw Wayne sitting in his recliner in the way he does when Eddie has bad news, after the school’s called or a squad car’s dropped him back home, like a lighthouse in the dark when he was biking down an alternate version of a street. He’d felt like he’d crawl on his knees through broken glass just to have lived through everything to tell Wayne what had happened.

Granted, Eddie might have just put his head on Wayne’s thigh and cried like a little kid. All this time getting Wayne to see him as a man, to see that Eddie could handle it all, and once Eddie saw him again he knew he’d just bawl till he was empty.

Maybe that was how Mrs. Mayfield would react to seeing bat guts on her towels.

At this point Eddie was glad that the trailer was empty when they had burst in with a suddenly conscious Nancy Wheeler just because watching somebody’s mom blow a gasket about towels might have given him an aneurysm.

“Seriously, if you don’t shower soon we won’t live to see tomorrow,” Dustin had said, shoving Steve Harrington away from him but not so far that he would have been out of reach.

For a second nobody had moved from the kitchen, teens ravenously shoving anything they could find into their mouths and kids looking at them like if they blinked for too long they might flicker away, but of course it was Steve Harrington who got shit moving.

He was apparently one of those let’s hustle kind of guys, who probably woke up early on Saturdays to get shit done and started a light jog as soon as a crosswalk told him to use the crosswalk.

He’d distinctly, in fact, told Eddie to hustle when he was trying to extricate himself from an outcropping of Skull Rock that was laced with a spider-web of living roots. Like Eddie wasn’t clearly trying for stealth here, Steve.

“Ladies,” Steve had said almost imperiously around a spoonful of peanut butter that he was demolishing by the jar around bites of a not entirely ripe banana. Eddie supposed it was post-workout food, just another day in the life of a jock who had somehow been involved in saving the world three separate times before now.

The purple lash about his throat bobbed oddly as he swallowed, Eddie was trying not to watch it go. Trying not to think about Steve Harrington, shirtless and covered in hair that definitely wasn’t there in fourth grade P.E., and dripping soupy black blood from between his teeth.

“Oh, chivalry isn’t dead?” Robin Buckley from band’s leg was jogging beneath the table but she still had a sour twist to her lips around the sandwich she’d made with Harrington’s peanut butter and half a sticky jar of marshmallow fluff. “Steve, ladies first is not–.”

“A good way to show I respect girls I know, I know. Girls aren’t objects I remember. All I’m saying–,” Steve Harrington popped a fourth of the banana (all that remained of it) into his mouth and finished his thought around a mouthful of mush. “–iz tha’ id’ll take less time.”

He gestured at his own hair and then Eddie’s, which was beyond rank and drying crunchy at this point before sucking peanut-butter off the flat of his palm.

Eddie, in the middle of a genuine crisis, couldn’t help but stare. At this point he would take what he could get. On one hand, Robin Buckley looked like she wasn’t buying it, but on the other she also looked like her principles were quickly losing the fight to her physical discomfort.

But Eddie also had a feeling that what Steve wasn’t mentioning was the way Nancy Wheeler hadn’t stopped shaking since she’d come back, that she looked like it was February and she’d run out to get the mail in just a long sleeve and no shoes. That she’d been demolishing the remaining half of a bag of shredded sharp cheddar mechanically, far-away, but had perked up slightly at the prospect of a shower.

And so Nancy and Robin had gone off together, nobody choosing to go anywhere alone, and the familiar kick-thud of the shower running almost made Eddie want to lull to sleep while the sight of Steve Harrington putting away a whole pack of baloney by himself kept him awake.

They didn’t talk much other than Henderson, who proceeded to talk about any and everything because apparently it had been a while since he’d updated Erica on his cat.

Eddie learned in no uncertain terms that Dustin’s first cat had apparently been eaten by a multidimensional slug that had become quadrupedal and the size of a pretty big dog. He also got to hear a play by play about Steve Harrington protecting three of the gaggle before them in a junkyard from a pack of the things.

All Eddie could consider was the fact that he had seen Dustin Henderson every Friday for a whole semester, he’d called the kid Weird Al for a month straight to haze him after his fucking t-shirt, and before any of that he’d given a real monster that gap-toothed smile and named it after a musketeer.

When the girls had come back (Nancy in a robe of Mrs. Mayfield’s and Robin left in an oversized pajama shirt of Max’s that fit her like normal), they were more pink than they had been with hair that had been toweled to fluffiness and a warm mist practically hanging off their shoulders.

It had looked beyond nice, and proved that any kind of shitty shower was worth its weight in gold.

Eddie had followed Steve Harrington to the bathroom in some sort of trance, his life a swirl of exhaustion and strangeness, and that didn’t improve when he and Steve Harrington faced each other in the yellow of the bathroom. Eddie fully clothed, Steve’s chest still peeking out from between Eddie’s own vest and half of Nancy Wheeler’s shirt.

“Do you think this shit’s infected?” Steve asked poking his makeshift bandage like they were making small-talk that didn’t mean anything over the counter at Family Video.

“Probably,” Eddie said, and found himself turning away on instinct when Steve started peeling the makeshift bandage back. That’s when he took note of the clover mat and the blue curtain, suddenly feverish with the need to look away from Steve Harrington’s glorious bod and its slightly squelching wounds.

It’s fine, Eddie had told himself, thinking of skinned knees and fake blood pouring up from a guy blowing on a blood tube under Kevin Bacon’s bed and the time he’d gotten his head cracked open from falling on a bleacher and needed staples. You should be fine to look.

And yet he found he couldn’t turn around. There were two sets of shampoo and conditioner in a little shower caddy. A strawberry shampoo and a nondescript white bottle that boasted treatment for dry hair. A strawberry conditioner and a similarly slim white bottle of conditioner. One cake of lavender soap and a loofa. A hair-trap bound up with red curls like copper wire in the drain.

There were heavy chunks of…something in the hair trap like pebbles speckled along the bottom of a fish tank.

Eddie looked back at Steve before he could take stock of the qualities of the chunks, and found Steve Harrington looking at him in the mirror.

“You can go first,” Steve said with a hand in his hair that was clearly tugging at something that had only just stopped bleeding based off his face. The ruin of Steve’s hair would almost be a comedy if Eddie hadn’t almost died earlier today.

“Aw, Buckley was right about chivalry,” Eddie cooed around a smile that had suddenly appeared. “But shouldn’t you…deal with that?”

“It’ll take too long. Better I go last just in case, yeah?”

Eddie fanned seductive fingers against the curtain of his bog-weed hair. “With these curls? You’ll be lucky if the hot water’s not gone.”

“I’ve had worse,” Steve Harrington said in a way that was radiant for how strange and heroic it was. For how suddenly almost an action hero he looked. Guys who kept going and going because they had to. “What about you? Anything to deal with?”

“Few scrapes,” Eddie said with a catalogue of aches to his name. Scrapes and achey muscles and a few times he’d got honest to God gnawed on. But none of that stopped him from fluttering his eyelashes and smirking. “Why? You offering to help me with them?”

Again Eddie sees the movie-like picture of Nancy Wheeler’s field medicine over Steve’s heaving chest. He imagines himself, hands splayed across the planes of Steve’s body.

Steve Harrington huffed out a breath like finalizing a decision. “I would,” Steve said easy as anything, almost in a daze himself. Almost offended, like he was pissed Eddie wouldn’t assume that yeah he would help with the wounds in the way Eddie’s gut suddenly dropped at the thought. “I’ll be right outside. Say the word if you need…help.”

And then he went to stand outside, like a guard. Like a promise. Like Christmas Eve as you fall asleep, the lure of it just outside your bedroom door. And Eddie didn’t have to wonder about why Steve didn’t just leave. Why nobody wanted to be alone.

And as Eddie shucked off his pants, as he cringed at the strange bruising of his body and the thought that once he got out of the shower nothing would have changed, he tested the water with his hand and found it to be slightly warm.

It was only once Eddie tilted his head back, curled up like a pillbug with his arms close to his chest, to let the water sluice through his hair that Eddie considered Steve Harrington’s willingness to help in abstraction under a cottony layer of exhaustion from being a wanted man to leaving reality behind.

Under the relief and the wonder of warm-ish water that wasn’t from a lake there was a thought about sharing water for efficiency’s sake. Beneath the pool of pink strawberry shampoo in his palm there was the consideration of somebody else’s fingers rubbing it in. Lathering soap that stung on his scrapes, the idea that if he could only remember the words to one he would be singing Steve Harrington a song. In the chill of his face, suddenly devoid of warmth as he scrubbed at his shoulders, the wonder that it was Steve Harrington of all people who would come if he called.

Who would cram his body into this shower of his own free-will and gently wash Eddie’s wounds.

Who let Eddie shower first.

And it was Steve Harrington for whom Eddie made sure there was still hot water. Steve Harrington, for whom Eddie left his towel on the sopping floor because the mat was kind of useless.

It was Steve Harrington that Eddie bowed for, bid him enter the bathroom, and for whom Eddie planted his back against the wall just in case he needed help. Just in case he called for Eddie. Just in case he needed him.

(AO3 Link if you need it: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43846077)

#steddie fic #stranger things fic #my writing #stranger things #Eddie Munson #Steve Harrington #My brain: the kindest thing Steve Harrington ever did was let somebody else shower in front of him #writing fast and loose here and still had to Google like eight random things

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