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soleilnomoon · 2 years

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hi! I saw you reblog a post saying you wanted requests for a fanfic? I love your writing and I think it would be really cool if you wrote this 👉👈🥺💕 lol 💖💕 a fanfic I've always wanted to read would be a Trafalgar Law x Succubus!Reader, where the reader ate the succubus no mi but is a virgin and gets flustered easily and uses her aphrodisiac pheromones to basically order people about. but Law gets caught in it by accident during a fight and instead of listening to her orders (since he doesn't listen to people's orders, he is a Captain after all) he follows his lust and Rooms them out of the battlefield. thus causing them to both confess during the NSFW deed and ending with them both cuddling but reader is flustered and Law is embarrassed by the way he acted (but doesn't regret it lol). bonus part being the crew going "fucking finally, jfc...but couldn't they have picked a better time??" 🤣🤣

hiiiii thank u for being patient, this def was a a journey to write! i rewrote it so many times ૮₍˶ •. • ⑅₎ა but i like it! i hope you enjoy <3

4.8k words, fem reader, nsfw, 18+ mdni, a lil angst, a bit of fluff if you're a professional pretender; features cute things like oral (f receiving), fingering, other stuff, etc. law is obviously battling her devil fruit to see who's the bigger menace in her life.

a mantra that was instilled in you years and years ago — one that sits on your mind all day and night — is that your devil fruit power is a curse. your mother tells you as much when she sees how easily people are captivated by you; and while you don’t always mean to, you manage to compel others with ease. her envy knows no bounds, and you develop a complex and irreparable relationship with her. because the sea is a much more accepting and freeing place, you leave home sooner than necessary; despite the grief that marinates deep inside of your mother’s polarized emotions, a small part of her refuses to let you go. but, when she remembers the fury that accompanies her jealousy, she sends you off with a few flippant and melancholic words.

you don’t initially intend on engaging in a life of piracy, but it turns out that the sea is also a terrifying and selfish beast — traveling alone isn’t exactly the smartest idea, nor has it been easy, but you do eventually make it to an island that is well-known for its trading port. maybe you’ll find refuge there.

the main part of the town is vibrant, lively, and full of tourists. the townspeople are direct and loud, but also good-natured and amiable. the weather is tolerable, a little hot, but nothing you can’t handle. you love the way the sun warms your skin, and you’re sure that the onlookers gawking at you love it too. the townspeople aren’t exactly against pirates visiting — money is money, essentially — but given the proximity of the nearest naval base, most pirates know to avoid the island if they can.

law, unfortunately, is too stubborn to care about things like that; and since the polar tang is a submarine, he takes a few precautions to avoid detection. because of his notoriety, he opts to stay on board, sending bepo and a few others onto the island to gather supplies in his stead. it’s a relatively simple mission, one he knows they’ll execute without issue, but a sinking feeling swirls around his stomach. something will happen, he’s sure of it; he just hopes it’s not something life-threatening.

you’re in the middle of shopping, the owner of the boutique bringing you various outfits to try on; she’s enthralled, overly eager, and just a tad too obvious with her attraction — you didn’t even really try, your powers just get easier to use as time goes on. it’s only after you’ve succeeded in convincing the woman to let you have the clothes for free, that you walk out of the boutique with a sly smile on your face, a few strands of hair gliding against your cheek as the wind blows. you don’t normally try to compel others for petty things like that, but you really don’t have the money to buy anything right now.

the bags weigh heavily on your arms, but you refuse to let any residual guilt rob you of your indulgences. you spot a small group of pirates, talking amongst themselves, attracting more attention than they probably mean to. you figure they’re not anyone of importance, but something tells you to stay put; it’s then that you notice the familiar insignia, that you craft a plan. it’s dangerous for you to use your powers like that, but desperate times call for desperate measures, right? you know that infiltrating a pirate crew like theirs is the best way to survive in this sort of world.

letting out a soft sigh, you walk towards them and remind yourself to channel the sultry siren your mother painted you as; it’s not a confidence issue, it’s more that you’re usually afraid someone will see through your rouse, that they’ll know you’re not as experienced as they assume you are. it never bothered you until you grew older, but you’re definitely not equipped to deal with anyone who can withstand the impossibly irresistible pheromones you intentionally emit.

it’s bepo that falls victim first, the others soon after; he’s stuttering and blushing, and you can’t help but smile sweetly at that. you’re usually the one who can’t handle the straight-forward reactions of most, even though you hide it behind a well-crafted poker face, so it’s a nice change to see it in action.

“let me join your crew,” you say softly, voice melodic, the lilt thick like honey, drizzling over them repeatedly, until they’re so enamored all they can do is say yes simultaneously.

he anticipated a small margin of error, but not to this extent.

“walk me through this again,” he says through clenched teeth, fingers pinching the space between his eyes, his anger bubbling as he leans against the wall. he tries to keep his voice steady, doing his best to stop himself from fighting each one of them for their stupidity, but it gets increasingly difficult with each passing second. his dark aura shocks them into silence, so he fixes his eyes on bepo.

“w-well, captain, i’m not really sure how it happened.” which is the truth, he doesn’t; all he remembers is feeling very light and full at the same time; a fuzzy haze slowing his reactions, which is what gave you the perfect opening. in hindsight, you do feel a little bad; the crew seems decent, more or less, and you don’t intend on staying long, nor do you intend on using your powers on them like that. but, law doesn’t believe that. he thinks you’re much more manipulative than you want to admit; why else, despite his mumbled protests, he begrudgingly agrees to you joining them.

an 80 day probationary period is in effect for you, of course. if you violate any of the rules he’s established, he’ll kick you out without question — and that will be the lightest punishment you’ll receive on board the polar tang.

you have no choice but to follow through with his ridiculousness, hating that his hawkish gaze his absolutely unbearable, your face heating painfully as you try to avoid looking his way. he thinks the demureness you’re exhibiting is an act, so he stalks over towards you, his strides careful and measured. for some reason, your brain is stuck, so you don’t move; instead your mouth parts, your words sitting at the back of your throat, unable to come up any further.

“everyone,” he says loud enough for crew members that were still in the room, “out.” without needing to be told twice, they dissipate; you curse their cowardice, teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you try to convince yourself to keep it together. he’s just one person, you tell yourself, the words a fast-acting form of relief, until you remember that he’s also an incredibly strong, infamous pirate captain.

still there’s really no reason for you to cower in his presence, right?

it’s painfully obvious that you’re childish and that you’re not used to being told no; law can tell from the way you’re fluttering your lashes at him. it won’t work, it won’t work — it won’t work. it’s what he tells himself as his jaw clenches, what he keeps telling himself when he grabs your face, holding you still, forcing you to look at him. it’s not necessary, there’s no way to avoid him when he’s that close to you.

“they’re gullible idiots,” his voice is low, the words cutting into you sharply, “but i’m not. try that shit again, and you’ll live to regret it.” he lets you go quickly, as if his hand was burned from the contact — and maybe it was, since your body can’t seem to cool off. throat dry, you place your hands on your cheeks, pressing against them gently, as if you have to remind yourself that yes that just happened. if you think you’ll have an easy time being a member of his crew, you’re horribly mistaken.

law heads back to his office, fuming — slamming the metal door behind him, the noise ricocheting fiercely around the room. he’s blinded by a severe bout of irritation that stems from his inability to come to terms with the fact that he finds you attractive. he decides that the best way to deal with you, is to simply act as if you don’t affect him; he’s very good at suppressing his desires, has a talent for lying about the things he truly wants — this will be a piece of cake.

hopefully.

the first few weeks are tricky; you get used to the swing of things rather quickly, bonding with the other crew members, gaining a bit more control of your power — much to their amusement and horror — and using it against enemy pirates whenever possible. but you find that you’re finding less of a reason to stop commanding people each time. law notices this, of course, pulling you aside to remind you of what he told you when you first arrived.

you do your best to act aloof, but his presence always throws you off; every time you walk past one another or whenever he touches you like that — no matter how brief it is — you’re stuck in a confusing loop, thoughts muddled, self-preservation completely out of the window as a sickeningly sweet warmth creeps into your chest. and, because you don’t know how to deal with those complicated feelings, you spark an argument that distracts him from staring at you like that — like he’s very close to figuring you out, a lucrative goal for a man as insistent and inquisitive as him.

you don’t like that; don’t like the way he’s always stoic, rude, mean — but not necessarily in a way that causes actual distress — or the way he seems to active avoid being near you whenever possible. you almost ask if you’ve done something to offend him, but that would mean having a conversation with him alone — and you’re not sure how much longer you can keep sane, you might accidentally blurt out something weird or personal. not that it would be the first time. he always seems to bring that out in you; the compulsion to bare yourself to him, in more ways than one, grows with each interaction.

try as they might, your crew mates cannot find a way to bring you two together — it’s hilarious, wholly too obvious, that law likes you more than he can stomach. it’s why he always seems to be annoyed with you, why he has a habit of ordering you around more than he does the others, and why he absolutely cannot be in your presence for longer than a few minutes at a time. the urge to touch you, to see more of those bashful reactions — where you can’t seem to talk in complete sentences, fidget with your hands, drop things, trip over flat surfaces — they overwhelm him, so he keeps his distance.

which is harder than he originally thought. still, he perseveres, much to the chagrin of his crew; they’re tired of whatever game of cat and mouse the two of you are playing, at times wanting to lock the two of you into a room just so you can figure it out.

they never do, of course — they have a little more tact than that.

it doesn’t mean that they don’t make comments disguised as jokes whenever they can, which annoys you because you’re very certain that law isn’t into you the way you’re into him. if he was, then he wouldn’t cut you off whenever you have the upper hand in the numerous fights you have, he wouldn’t get in your face and throw you off, he wouldn’t look at you as if he was close to shoving you against a wall and—

you stop those thoughts before you get ahead of yourself like you tend to do these days, and instead focus on not fucking anything up.

but, as fate is rarely on your side when you need it to be, you make the one mistake that you promised you wouldn’t make. it’s in the middle of a battle with an enemy group that wasn’t necessarily strong, but they were persistent and outnumbered your crew. you fight as hard as you can, until you decide to put your devil fruit to work; that familiar sensation fills your body, where you feel time slow down, where you can possibly command a group of people within specific parameters. it’s meant to trip them up, to make them retreat and stop fighting altogether. you’ve been careful, but this time you overestimate, and you didn’t expect law to head in that direction, but he does.

it tickles, really, he almost doesn’t feel it; your voice rings loudly in his ears, forcing him to pause and ignore the battle. he gives you a sharp look, his eyes narrowing in suspicion, the shock on your face gives you away. a rookie mistake, you’ll realize later on.

“wait, law, i’m… fuck, i’m so sorry.” you can’t take it back, once a command is said, they’re to follow it through no matter what. you’re sure he’s ready to cut your head off, but he just keeps staring at you — with the same sort of look he gives you whenever you’re saying something you know will set him off. you don’t know if that means he’s thinking things over, or if he’s already decided your fate. not one for predictability when he’s rattled, law doesn’t actually know what possesses him, but before he knows it, he’s teleported both of you away from the battlefield. it’s irrational, whatever compelled him; and he’s pissed about it.

why are you always serving as the worst kind of distraction for him? he’s a captain of a pirate group, he doesn’t have time for distractions — and, really, he doesn’t have time for you either. yet here he is, with you in his room, on the mostly empty polar tang, completely ignoring the fact that he left his crew to fend for themselves.

he’s sure that if he doesn’t act now, he’ll fall apart at the seams; before you can ask him why, he kisses you. the question vanishes from your mouth, swallowed entirely by him as his tongue caresses yours, a feverish feeling taking hold of you as you grab onto the front of his shirt — almost as if it’s a lifeline and you’re desperate not to float away.

there are plenty of things he wants to tell you, but can’t at the moment; he’s much too invested in exploring your mouth thoroughly, in his hands roaming along your body, grabbing on your ass firmly — a move that leaves you breathless and panting. a fog hovers around you, making it nearly impossible to think rationally. you know you should slow down, probably talk things out with him. if he hadn’t come into your attack range, he wouldn’t be this affected right now.

you pull away from him, eyes widening, as you look at him half in a daze and half concerned.

“we should s-stop,” you manage to say, swallowing hard as you place your palms on his chest and give him a light push. he watches you, eyes darkening, churning with an unbridled lust that might actually take his life if he doesn’t find a way to take care of it soon. “you don’t really want me, it’s just my devil f—”

law sighs loudly, effectively cutting you off, which only makes you snap your mouth shut and glare at him. you’re so embarrassed; it’s bad enough that he only wants you because you’re devil fruit power is difficult to resist, but now he’s making it hard to talk and explain things. you feel your heart sit heavily in your chest, heartbeat loud enough to put you on edge.

“you’re mistaken, y/n,” he starts, voice low and husky, as he pushes you onto his bed roughly.

again, you’re at a loss for words; your brain attempts several times to get back on track, but law is climbing on top of the bed and hovering over you, making everything complicated and maddening. his body heat makes you want to press closer to him, but you refrain, and find the words to articulate yourself properly.

“what do you mean?”

he lets another sigh slip before chuckling darkly, a sly smile tugging on his lips as he brushes his thumb against your lip.

“your power doesn’t affect me.” his explanation is so simple, you almost don’t believe him. your face must reflect that sentiment, because he clarifies. “there’s no one who can tell me what the fuck to do without my say so.” which isn’t entirely true, but you don’t point that out, since law will only follow someone else’s command if it aligns with his own interests.

“so this whole time?” you’ve been worrying yourself to death, thinking he was in danger around you, when he was completely fine. he doesn’t answer you — and why should he? it’s not actually important. he also doesn’t want to talk, he’s pissed about a lot of things. for one, he was distracted while fighting and you’re the cause of that distraction; he took the opportunity because he knew his crew could handle themselves without issue. besides, this is a rare time where he’ll be able to have you to himself without interruption.

his mouth is on yours again, giving you a long, lingering kiss, one that sends a jolt of arousal that rapidly spreads a warmth through your body all the way down to your toes. you can’t believe it’s happening; you’ve dreamt of this moment, but you never expected it to actually come true. it’s a little less gentle and romantic than you’d like, but nonetheless you’re just as excited to be able to touch and kiss him like this.

law doesn’t bother with niceties, he yanks your clothes off impatiently and you do the same for him. limbs tangled with his, hands sifting through his hair, grabbing onto the short strands when law’s mouth makes a treacherous descent down your body. he trails kisses on various spots on your neck, your breasts, stomach — tongue licking, teeth biting, the marks a pleasant reminder of this moment that you’re sharing with him. your back arches as your soft whimpering turns into moaning once his lips ghost along the inner part of your thigh. he caresses the skin, running his tongue up higher until he reaches your pussy.

you open your mouth to tell him — that you’ve never done this before, that while you have a basic idea of the mechanics, you don’t actually know. perceptive as ever, law simply shoots you a knowing look before gliding his tongue against your slit. you shiver at his touch, stammering over your words as you softly call out his name, legs spreading to give him more room. as someone who relishes in having control over himself, situations, and the lives of others, he’s acting rather impulsively right now.

he busies himself by burying his face in between your thighs, tongue parting your moist folds, arousal trickling onto his chin. his cock stiffens and if he wasn’t so invested in eating your pussy, he’d probably be stroking himself. your hips buck up against his face, your moans getting louder when he slips his tongue inside of your tight entrance, desperately wanting to taste you even more. he doesn’t know if it’s because he’s been holding himself back for so long, or because he just wants you — or both, perhaps.

whichever it is, it’s the driving force behind him swapping his tongue for his finger; he slides one inside of you slowly, tongue flicking against your clit before circling around it slowly, his finger sliding in and out of you slowly. your plush walls squeeze around him, especially when he starts sucking on your clit; you beg him to give you more, wanting him to command your body in a way that only he can. you’re not even exactly sure of what that is, but you’re so tired of not knowing; law slips another finger inside of you, giving you a moment to adjust to the intrusion.

you roll your hips against his hand, a breathy moan flying out of your mouth when he picks up the pace, scissoring his fingers inside of your needy cunt, your wetness gliding down his fingers and palm. you don’t think you can feel hotter until his tongue bullies your clit again, merciless with each stroke, his wrist angling as his fingers fuck you faster. “oh…fuck, yes, please don’t stop…” you’ll beg if you have to, that’s how deep your depravity goes, apparently.

it’s when he sucks on your clit that your orgasm takes you by surprise; you cum hard, thighs and hips shaking, pussy dripping as law laps it all up. you almost want to push him away, but you know damn well that a man like law has an insatiable way about him.

and you’re right, he does.

he gives you a heated look, tongue gliding along his lips as his hand wraps around his hardened length. you look up at him through your thick lashes, breath uneven as you watch pre-cum spill out from his slit, the thick head of his cock a tempting, devilish thing that rubs against your pussy almost possessively. another shiver ripples through your body, nipples hard, a different unfamiliar ache passing between your legs.

“i don’t think you’re aware of just how much you affect me,” he says, another bout of irritation rising within him, although this one is tame and much more manageable.

you roll your eyes at him, squirm underneath his hold, but offer back a slick retort in response. “i thought you said i don’t affect you.” you wonder if he’s just been playing with you this whole time.

law nudges his tip inside of you, bit by bit, slow and tortuous, the pain barely noticeable as he plays with your nipples, his teeth tugging on them, mouth sucking forcefully — like he’d rather do nothing but taste every part of your body. “you’re not listening,” he says before thrusting into you fully, burying his length into your pussy without remorse, eyes softening briefly as he watches you. “i said that your power doesn’t affect me.”

there’s a distinction there.

you don’t know what to say, but you do feel foolish — for thinking he didn’t want you, for thinking that the only reason he could possibly want you is because you compelled him. he pulls his hips back and snaps them against yours roughly, and you moan his name over and over, until all you can think about is the way law’s thick cock fills you up, of the way your pussy fits so snugly around him — something that makes him want to fuck you until you’re both too tired to move.

“i…,” you lick your lips, voice soft, panting lightly as your hips move in tandem with his, legs wrapping around his waist, holding him closer to you, wanting him to go deeper. “i… like you. a lot.” probably more than a lot, but he doesn’t need to know that. he doesn’t know why you’re telling him that, it was obvious from the way you reacted to him kissing you that you felt the same way as he did. it might’ve taken him some time, but law’s like that — always wants to put in work to ensure that he comes to an appropriate conclusion before acting.

you rake your nails down his arms as his hips jerk against yours roughly, his pace picking up, his thrusts deeper and graceful. the way his balls slap against you, makes you burn all over again; you’re not sure if it’s out of shame because the sound is turning you on even more, or if it’s because you realize that you’ve been missing out on so much. still, you’re quite happy that it’s law you’re being intimate like this with; you’re not naive enough to believe the universe paired you together intentionally, but the idea is a comforting one.

he kisses you sloppily, groaning as he gives you open-mouthed kisses. before you know it, law pulls out and flips you onto your stomach. you’re in such a daze that you comply right away, he admires the shape of your ass, the width of your hips, the curves along the rest of your body; law drops a kiss onto the middle of your back. it’s much too intimate for his taste, but he couldn’t stop himself from doing it.

after letting out a very audible moan, his voice is harsh, full of lust, when he mutters, “fuck,” under his breath, sliding his cock inside your pussy and enjoying the sweet sensation all over again. if he had to choose between fighting alongside his crew against a weak, annoying pirate group, and fucking you — he’d choose you time and time again. it’s a troubling thought, but he won’t revisit it anytime soon. for now, he’s focused solely on making sure you cum again.

leaning closer, chest barely touching you as his hips bump against your ass, burrowing his cock deeply inside of you. your hips move on their own, meeting his hasty thrusts with vigor, wanting to him to fuck you hard enough that you’ll feel it for days — and if you had more time on your hands, he probably would. but that’ll have to wait for another day. law presses a kiss against your jaw, heart thudding, making him feel uneasy, but he swallows that down and focuses on the way you’re squeezing around his cock tight enough to incapacitate a weaker man.

he whispers filthy, impractical things, like “if you keep clenching around me like that, i won’t last much longer” and, “you’re taking me so well”, and also, “your pussy is so greedy, sucking me in like that.” the last one takes you by surprise, to the point that you’re too bashful to respond, which, for some unknowable reason, strikes him as adorable. and if he was in a better state of mind, he’d retract that statement; but it hangs around his head, taunting him with each thrust of his hips, reminding him that having feelings like that is dangerous and that someone like you could compromise everything he’s worked hard for.

but, he’s tired of that sort of paranoia dictating how his life should go; he ignores those pesky thoughts and presses a kiss on your shoulder. maybe it’s because your pussy finally tapped out, or maybe it’s because that gesture alone practically incapacitates you — your heart and head full of silly notions — but another orgasm finds you, leaving you a sweaty, panting mess, voice plenty hoarse from how loud you were.

his own orgasm is close by; law gives you short, frenzied thrusts, calling out your name tenderly, making your whole body flush with awareness, pussy clenching around him again when he teeters over the edge, cumming thickly inside you. because of the forcefulness of his thrusts, you’re bucking your hips against him again, body sensitive but craving more of him. you don’t know if it’s the devil fruit, or just him but you can’t get enough. and while law would love to indulge you, he knows that the rest of the crew will be back sometime soon — and he’d rather avoid the awkward conversation that will inevitably happen when they find out.

he collapses onto the bed next to you, arm wrapping around you lazily as you press closely to him. you can barely look at him — and you don’t know what to say, either; there are too many thoughts buzzing through you, but thankfully he won’t press you for details. a sense of clarity that tends to hit post-orgasm settles inside of him, clearing some of the fog from his head. it’s with great embarrassment that he realizes he actually abandoned the crew to come fuck you; highly impractical, unethical, and plain wrong. does he regret it? no, absolutely not. but, still, he’s been with his crew for so long, they deserve much better than that. he doesn’t get much time to stew, as there’s a loud banging on his door.

assuming the worst, law quickly puts his pants on and rushes to open the door. the crew is mostly gathered outside of the room, and it’s bepo who chastises law for being rash and for not coming back sooner.

“did you lose?”

bepo shakes his head quickly, mouth opening to offer a rebuttal, but law sucks his teeth, annoyance filling his head again as he slams the door in their faces. like he said previously, a bunch of idiots. you try not to laugh, but the situation is pretty fucking funny.

unbeknownst to the both of you, your crew mates took bets on how long it would take before the two of you finally hooked up, raucous cheering further pissing law off as he makes his way back to his bed, the reality of him having to deal with them and their insufferable comments later on just makes him groan loudly.

he really does have terrible timing.

#it's finally doneee #i feel like i say that a lot; i'm such a slow writer lmaooo #fic request #one piece imagine #one piece smut #one piece x reader #one piece x y/n #trafalgar law #trafalgar law x y/n #trafalgar law smut #trafalgar law x reader #law x reader #law x y/n #law smut #law is a mess...i know...it's just his thing™#ottersdeservelove

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gossamer-sky · 2 years

Text

what can I say // to make me exist

I've never written anything for Reddie before, but basically they've ruined my life lmao. I wrote this entire thing while listening to the Euphoria soundtrack so here you are 🙃 Anyone else still reading this pairing in 2022??

AnywaY I'm so nervous to post but I can't look at this anymore; little rushed as I'm just heading out but wanted this up today, so let me know if any formatting is off and I'll edit later (but like, please nicely bc i am v sensitive thank u bless)! 💖

Eddie x Richie

Disclaimer: Characters aren’t mine, just the fic!

Word count: ~ 6000

Warnings: Sexual content, 18+ (also filthy language bc of who the characters are as people)

Chapter one of two (second chap is written & in edits)

On AO3 here

The dog days of summer have been unbearable for as long as Eddie can remember.

Endless days stretching into restless nights, the burning sun a looming threat overhead. He hates how easily he overheats, damp air curling his hair at his ears, skin sticky and grimy no matter how often he showers. It’s insufferable and his temper simmers close to the surface, even more so than normal.

This year it seems even worse than usual; oppressive heat boiling hotter and hotter as the week drags on, and the air conditioning at Eddie’s office has been broken for nearly the entire time. With each passing day the temperature has been steadily increasing. There is a shimmering cloud of steam that seems to rise from the pavement itself, humidity so thick that it’s nearly tangible. Before Eddie even sits down at his desk in the morning he’s already shifting unhappily in his suit, sweat beading at his brow, chest tight from the muggy air.

The city is aching for a good rain, the kind that seems to wash everything clean and fresh. Weather reporters have been predicting a summer storm for days now, but instead the sun continues to beat down, relentless, and Eddie can’t fucking breathe. He’s jittery, on edge, trying to focus on the work in front of him but only succeeding in staring at a blank document. As the afternoon comes to a close, he just can’t take it anymore, and makes his way down the hall to the washroom to splash some cold water on his face. On his way back he overhears Sharon on the phone at the front desk, catching enough of the broken conversation to suss out that there won’t be anyone available to come in to fix the a/c until Monday.

It’s currently Wednesday.

Eddie doesn’t know if the heat really is getting to him and frying his brain cells, but there’s something building in him with every degree that the thermometer ticks up. A seething, smoldering sensation, setting his teeth on edge; he yanks at his tie in frustration. There’s an itch he can’t scratch, right under the surface - a niggling at the back of his brain. An infuriating little voice that tells him that he’s missing something. That there is something important just beyond his reach, and Eddie’s not sure if the misery of late summer is to blame or perhaps something else entirely, but he just feels -

Reckless.

Reckless enough that when Myra calls him to confirm their date for that night, he pauses. The words leave his mouth without conscious thought, calmly telling her that he’s feeling a bit sick and would they be able to reschedule? He can’t even bring himself to feel ashamed that it’s only their third outing and he’s already making up excuses; a sigh of relief escapes when she wishes him a speedy recovery and hangs up. It’s not fair to her to lie, but Eddie truly can’t stomach the thought of sitting across from her, making polite conversation for an entire evening. He runs his fingers through his hair in a nervous tic, annoyed with himself only moments later when he realizes that he’s messed up the carefully gelled back style.

God. It’s so fucking warm.

Since he’s wasted nearly the entire day on the cusp of a breakdown, he’s determined to finish a proposal before leaving for the night; there is no reason to rush home anymore, and Eddie has squandered nearly the entire day consumed by his own distraction. He’s attempting to swallow down the pathetic excuse for a salad he bought for supper when a knock on his door startles him.

His boss, Andrew, pokes his head in. “Still here, champ?”

Champ. Jesus, what a moron.

“Yeah,” Eddie attempts to paste a smile on his face but it’s bland and half-hearted at best. “Just finishing up.”

“Don’t work too hard. Edward! You’ll make the rest of us look bad!” He throws his head back with a grating laugh and a throbbing headache blooms right between Eddie’s temples.

The remainder of his coworkers trickle out slowly as the clock ticks on. By the time he’s finished with the proposal, nearly starting a fistfight with the copier in the process, it’s well into the evening; city lights growing brighter outside his window.

It isn’t until he steps onto the sidewalk outside that he realizes he still doesn’t want to go home just yet. The sky is tinted gray and dark clouds brew in the distance. It seems that the predicted storm is finally on the horizon, the smell of rain heavy in his nose when he inhales. The hair on the back of his neck nearly stands on end at an ominous rumble from above. Wind whips at his cheeks, still warm, without the impending chill. Eddie takes a shuddering breath in, the heat still weighing solid on his shoulders. Agitated, he strips off his blazer, carelessly slinging it over his arm. The tie follows, yanking it off with such force that he gets an odd look from a passing lady who appears old enough to be his grandmother.

Anxious energy still rattles through him, knocking incessantly behind his ribs, so he starts walking in an effort to burn it out of his system. He walks and walks, until the neighborhood becomes less familiar around him, searching for something but he doesn’t know what; doesn’t know why it feels impossible for him to turn around. It’s as though there is something out there calling for him tonight, a siren in the distance, whirling enticingly just beyond his reach. The heat still hasn’t broken even as low thunder rolls again, and Eddie hastily shoves up his sleeves to the elbow, that shaky tension returning tenfold. Storms always reminded him of childhood, though he couldn’t say why.

Doesn’t fucking remember anyway.

His shirt is nearly plastered to him and he hates the sensation. God fuck, it’s hot and he can feel that energy is close to breaking (thought he can’t quite tell if it’s from the coming storm or the troubling thoughts inside him). There’s apprehension wound tight in the air, lightning ready to strike at any minute, static current crackling above. He’s out of control, knows it, even as he continues down the street. He just wants something, is waiting for something; for the other shoe to drop, for anything. He just can’t fucking breathe in the suffocating heat, can’t get the oxygen deep enough into his lungs. At this point he would give nearly anything for the cool rain on his skin, to experience some crumb of relief, but the sky has yet to open up and Eddie is spiraling into a panic attack; the setting sun pings off a sign directly into his eye. He stops abruptly in the middle of the sidewalk.

There is a bar in front of him, run down but inviting.

He shouldn’t.

Eddie really wants a fucking drink though.

It doesn’t look like much inside, the door thudding heavily behind him. Eddie starts when it swings shut. Cool air hits him in a rush, overwhelming in it’s reprieve. He stands in the entrance for a moment, frozen while he inhales deep before slowly making his way further in. The lighting is dim, giving an almost otherworldly ambiance to the place. It’s clearly not a new establishment, decor not modern by any means, but Eddie likes it. Something about it rings of sincerity and it seems clean enough for his standards, inspecting the area intently before sitting down at the far corner of the bar. There's a moment when he goes to order that the words get caught in his throat. It’s been so long since he’s been out just on his own, not suckered into sipping a glass of red wine while enduring painful conversations with his coworkers or over a stilted dinner date. He doesn’t really remember what he used to drink in college, despite only being graduated for a handful of years.

Most of college is a blur actually, the years passing as if they belonged to someone else.

He settles on a rum and coke, the sudden burn staggering. Eddie likes that too, savouring the sting, and once he’s halfway done with the glass he finds the racing thoughts of what this could be doing to his liver fizzle out (the nagging voice at the back of his head that sounds an awful lot like his late mother, may she rest in fucking peace). The room isn’t full, unsurprising considering it’s a weekday; most of the booths are occupied by clusters of two to three people quietly talking amongst themselves. There’s a handful of single patrons seated along the bar, but no one glances Eddie’s way, even the bartender focused elsewhere. Music plays overhead, barely legible; it’s strangely comforting to be alone with so many other people.

He can’t say what draws his gaze, but when the front door thuds shut he turns with the noise. The sky is still steadily darkening outside, wind picking up from the looks of it, but that’s not what has Eddie staring. A man is framed in the doorway, silhouette highlighted by the shitty lighting, and Eddie’s stomach drops so hard that he has to grip the edge of the counter to ground himself. Broad shoulders stretched wide under the most revolting button-up he’s ever seen, legs a mile long. He’s far enough away that Eddie can’t quite see the details of his face, but his eyes catch on a sharp jaw, dark curls just long enough to brush the back of his collar. His whole body lights up immediately just from a glance , and a shivery breath slides out of his mouth.

Eddie’s throat is dry from the sight of him.

He hastily tears his gaze away, hoping he wasn’t looking for too long. Jesus. He swallows a large mouthful of his drink, coughing slightly when it scorches his throat on the way down.

He’s ordering another drink before he’s quite finished with the first.

Eddie refuses to look up again, staring hard down into his glass, cheeks burning for no reason at all. There's a steady thrum under his skin now, and Eddie doesn’t quite know if it’s from the alcohol or something else entirely. Shifting in his seat, trying hard not to think of anything, keeping everything blank. Just wants his mind fucking quiet for once.

His focus is so intent on not thinking that he doesn’t notice the presence beside him, until there is a brush of fabric at his elbow. Eddie glances over sharply; a stranger is seated one stool over from him, leaning across the counter to speak to the bartender. It’s the same man from before, and Eddie attempts to appear unaffected, but he can’t keep his goddamn eyes away, drawn in like a moth to a flame. The fabric of his shirt is even more of an affront to his vision up close.

Eddie tries and fails not to notice their proximity, caught by the stretch of those (big, so fucking big) shoulders, close enough to touch. He crosses his ankles, searing all over with the need to reach out before he mercilessly tamps down on the desire.

The stranger turns to him then, drink in hand and the light bounces off his glasses. Eddie is thrown for a moment, sudden memories of echoing laughter, pedals under his feet, light filtered through trees, gone as quickly as they fill his head.

“Hey,” he leans in a bit. “Don’t I know you?”

Eddie blinks.

“No.” Tone sharp, matter-of-fact. He almost winces at the sound of it. I’d remember you, he doesn’t say. God, would I remember you.

He doesn’t falter at Eddie’s clear dismissal, smile widening at the reply. “You sure? You seem familiar.” His body slides further toward Eddie, who tries his best not to do anything ridiculous like flinch back (or even worse, meet him halfway). The man squints. “You weren’t the guy that offered me a room to rent and then stole my favorite ashtray, right?

“What the fuck? No! What is wrong with you?” It comes out in a rush, Eddie flustered and riled up immediately.

“So much!” He replies cheerfully before extending a hand. “Richie Tozier.”

Eddie looks down at his hand with disdain, that same tickle at the very back of his brain. He looks back up at Richie’s glasses and clearly exits his body for a moment, because he reaches out to grasp Richie’s hand. “Eddie.”

Richie’s palm is wide and a little damp from the condensation of his glass. A spark runs from the very top of his skull right down to Eddie’s toes, and they stare at each other for just a moment too long.

“No last name? That’s fine, I’ll just have to make one up for you.”

“I’m not giving a stranger my last name, are you fucking kidding me? How do I know you aren’t a stalker? I’m not getting murdered by some freak in a hideous shirt, go fuck yourself.” His response is a stream of consciousness, the way he usually avoids talking at work, or with Myra, or around anyone actually, but he just can’t help himself.

Richie just throws his head back and laughs, and Eddie can’t stop gawking at the curve of his throat. “Okay Eddie Spaghetti, have it your way.” He gestures to the empty booth in the corner. “Drink with me, and then we won't be strangers anymore.” He wiggles his eyebrows as he talks, incredibly pleased with himself.

Eddie really shouldn’t, he is going to say no any minute now, but Richie says it like a dare, and instead, what comes out of his mouth is “You’re buying.” Eddie takes a step closer once he hops off the barstool, momentarily dizzy when he looks up to meet those blue eyes. Fuck, they’re so blue, so fucking blue it almost makes him angry, bright enough to stand out even in the dim light.

“And don’t fucking call me a pasta dish.”

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#i know this has nothing to do w my usual content #so if any of you do end up reading this just know that i am v grateful for your continued support!#reddie #reddie fic #during the 27 years #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #richie x eddie #it 2019 #my fic

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