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sarahowritesostucky · 3 months

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📖"Temporary Custody"

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Steve x ofc x Bucky; Steve x Bucky

Word Count: 3658

Tags: Dom/sub, bdsm au, dom Bucky, sub reader, hurt/comfort, enemies to lovers, gay sex'n'stuff, straight sex'n'stuff, Steve being a literal Golden Retriever, mental health issues, dub-con, forced submission, bakery au, m/f/m, gentle domination, total power exchange

Summary: The stigma and shame of being a submissive has kept Mary unfulfilled and in the closet her whole life, until an inciting incident leads to Bucky and Steve taking her in and giving her everything she was always too afraid to ask for.

Trigger warnings: This story contains background themes of eating disordered behavior, body image issues, self-harm, and alcohol abuse.

Wait! I haven't read an earlier chapter of this fic! Story Masterpost

3. Cream filled Sponge Cakes (with chemicals)

Bucky

They plan out what they’re going to do when they get to the hospital on the car ride over.

“I think it’s best if you wait outside at first,” Bucky says, glancing away from the road for a second to try and gauge Steve’s reaction to this. He looks neutral. “Just because she’s already pissed,” he adds. “And it’ll probably be overwhelming having one person telling her they’re taking custody, let alone two.”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees. “That makes sense.”

Bucky holds his hand out over the center console, waiting for Steve to take it. He does, and Bucky grips his hand tight. “I’ll get the initial stuff out of the way. I’m sure there’s gonna be a ton of paperwork.”

“What if she refuses?” Steve worries. “She can, right?”

Bucky sighs. “Yeah. I don’t have any legal hold on her. Yet. I’ll just have to try and talk sense into her, get her to see that we’re better than the alternative.”

Steve gives his hand a squeeze back. “You can do it.”

Bucky sighs. “I hope so. I really do.” Inside though, he’s already not so sure.

They get to the hospital about forty-five minutes after Bucky’d hung up from the phone call with the police officer. He spots a cruiser parked outside when they approach the emergency room, and it rankles his nerves to think of Mary being forcibly shoved into the back seat of said car.

He goes to the check in desk with Steve and asks for Officer Santiago. “I got a call about an involuntary hold. My submissive,” he says.

The woman at the desk does a double take at that, looking up and down Bucky where he stands like she’s just realized he’s a different species. “Oh,” she says. “You're one of those?”

Bucky ignores it, but he can sense Steve tensing up by his side, indignant on his behalf. “Yes,” he says. “I am.” He’s not going to waste time getting on his spiel about mental illness and stigmatization. They’ve got bigger problems right now. “I’m going to need her records,” he says, injecting authority into his tone. “And any paperwork for transfer of custody. The cops brought her in. Name’s Mary.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and tries to look self-assured while he waits, because he doesn’t know what he’ll do if the woman demands a last name.

It takes her several minutes to gather everything up for Bucky. She hands it all over to him and says, “That’s the paperwork for custody. The attending physician should be able to provide you with her medical workup.” She points to a set of double doors. “You go down that hallway and to the left. Bed number four.”

Bucky nods and thanks her, then turns to Steve.

“I know,” Steve says, putting on a brave smile. “I’ll wait here.”

“Baby.” Bucky steps close, pulling him into his arms. Steve’s physically just a little bigger than him, and Bucky has always liked the novelty of that. He kisses him gently and then rests their foreheads together for a moment, letting Steve feel their connection. “I love you,” he says quietly. “You’re the best thing I could ever hope for, you know that?”

Steve’s smile is more natural, now. “Yeah I know it.” He gives Bucky another kiss and stands back. “Hey, what about this?” He knocks on Bucky’s shoulder—the metal one. “She know about that?”

Bucky realizes that he’s not wearing his glove, and tries to remember if he’d had it on at the café. He frowns. “Oh well. I don’t think that’s going to be her main focus, not after I explain everything to her.”

“Yeah.” Steve gives him a light push. “I Love you. Now on and get the hard part over with. I’ll be here when you need me.”

Bucky nods. He knows he will. He goes back to the check in desk, one last question on his mind. “Is there a food court or something around here?”

Mary

Mary’s taken a break from saying pissy things to the cop who’s guarding her. She’s been so angry, she’s felt like her skin’s boiling. But now she’s starting to get tired, too. She hadn’t slept last night, just stayed up and gabbed on the phone to that crisis counselor.

She grits her teeth as she fumes about that, feeling betrayed all over again. That bitch had called the cops on her!

“You can tell me anything you want to. I’m here to listen, remember?”

Liar!

“I hope you know I don’t have insurance,” Mary snaps at the officer. He’s sitting in a chair in her little curtained off area. He regards her coolly, saying nothing, and she jerks her head to indicate the emergency room. “And I’m not paying a single red cent for any of this.” So far, they’ve taken her blood, her pulse, an EKG, and sent in nurses, a resident, and several shrinks. They’d tried to put an IV in her but she’d ripped it out as soon as nobody was looking. “I’m suing the hospital,” she adds. “And you. I’m suing the whole police department.”

“Okay,” Santiago says, annoyingly calm.

Mary growls, rattling her hand where it’s cuffed to the bed rail. “This is unconstitutional!”

There’s the sound of a throat clearing, and then the curtain to their area is being pulled aside. Mary’s eyes go wide when she sees who it is. “You?!”

Bucky smiles politely at her. “Me.” He steps into the curtained room, a little snack bag in his hand. He holds it up to show her, and she sees the Hostess logo. It’s a bag of little … sponge cake pastries. “Best I could do on such short notice. They’re for you, if you behave,” he says, talking to her like a pet being offered a treat.

Mary wrinkles her nose. “Pass. D’you even know all the chemicals they put in those things?”

Bucky shrugs and turns to offer them to officer Santiago, who more than happily accepts. Mary pouts as she watches him rip open the bag and stuff one in his mouth.

“How are you doing, Mary?”

She turns her attention to Bucky and scowls at the way he uses her name like he knows her. “Awful,” she says. She jerks her head at Santiago. “Officer Dickwad over here won’t let me have my phone.”

“Language,” Santiago says dispassionately, through a mouthful of cake.

“Shut up and eat your fucking donut, Rent’a’cop.”

Bucky

He puts his foot down once she starts flinging curses and insults at the officer. As a paramedic, Steve is always in and out of emergency rooms, often working in coordination with law enforcement to deal with uncooperative patients. So Bucky knows just how much drama and belligerence these guys have to deal with on the regular.

“Hey,” he says sternly. “Don’t disrespect him. He’s just doing his job.” He’s not mean about it, but it’s verging on what Steve likes to call his “Dom” voice, and Bucky can see how it affects Mary. She freezes up, all of her focus on him. For a few seconds, she even forgets to be angry. Bucky takes the opportunity to step close to the bed. He eyes where she’s cuffed to the rail. “Mary,” he says gently. “I know you don’t want to be here. I know you’re angry.”

“You’re damn right I am,” she growls. “They just showed up and threw me in a cop car! Didn’t even give me a choice!”

Bucky reaches out and places his hand atop her cuffed wrist. It’s his metal hand. Her eyes widen when she sees it, but she doesn’t pull away. “I know,” Bucky says. “And I’m sorry it happened that way. But do you understand why people were concerned for your safety?”

Her face tenses up as she tries to hold back some emotion (something tells Bucky it isn’t anger, this time). “They called the cops,” she pouts. “They lied to me.”

“They did,” Bucky agrees, wanting to placate her. “But you were hurting yourself, honey. And you were talking about doing worse, weren’t you?”

She can’t meet his eyes, instead staring at where he’s holding her wrist. “I … I talked about a lot of things,” she mumbles. “It was just talk. I don't even remember half of it. I didn’t … I wasn’t really gonna do anything.”

“Can you show me where you hurt yourself?” Bucky asks, careful to keep his voice gentle. “I want to see how bad it is.”

Mary shivers, shaking her head sadly. Her hair is loose and hanging messy around her face, so Bucky reaches up to tuck it behind her ear. He hears her give a quiet, shaky inhale. “Come on now,” he coaxes. “Let me see.”

For a long moment, it seems like she won’t obey, but then her shoulders sink down and she takes a deep breath and lets it out, whispering a tiny little. “... kay,” as her hands creep down to take hold of the tee shirt she’s wearing. It’s extra large, going all the way to her knees, and it’s all she’s wearing. Bucky doesn’t know if the police brought her in that way, or if it’s something the hospital gave her to put on after being examined, but either way, he schools his expression as she edges the tee shirt up her leg, higher and higher, until it becomes apparent that she is wearing underwear, and she’s bared her hip to him.

Cutting, then.

Bucky looks her over, not as upset by the fresh cuts so much as the old ones. They litter the skin of her upper thigh and hip—some so old they’re scars, some still in various stages of healing. Bucky forces himself not to touch, even though his brain is screaming at him to fix fix fix! There’s nothing here that can be fixed easily—certainly not with a bandaid. Bucky takes a moment to calm himself down before he asks, “How long have you been doing this, honey?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she whispers. She shoves the tee shirt back down and meets his eyes. “Why are you here?”

Moment of truth, Bucky thinks. “The police called me. They got my number from your phone. They wanted to call your Dom to come get you.”

She frowns, looking confused. “But … you’re not—”

“Officer Santiago,” Bucky says quickly, cutting her off. “Could you give us a moment alone please?”

“Sure.” Santiago gets up and takes his bag of cakes with him. “Just a couple’a minutes,” he warns, then steps outside the curtain and pulls it shut. Bucky can see as his shoes walk away.

“You told them you were my Dom?!” Mary hisses.

Bucky looks at her sternly. “No. They assumed I was. You had me in your phone.”

“I … I did?”

Bucky’s mouth quirks. “Yeah, you did.”

“Well that doesn’t mean anything,” she huffs. “I’m not even submissive.”

“I think you know that’s not true,” Bucky says. He reaches up and gathers her hair back in one fist and pulls—gently, just enough to put the barest of pressure on her scalp—forcing her to raise her chin. She visibly reacts to it, softening into his grip, eyes slipping closed and features going slack. “You like that,” Bucky says, making it a statement rather than a question, because it’s obvious she does.

Her eyes open slowly. “S’nothing. It doesn’t mean anything.”

He releases her hair, cupping the back of her neck instead. He grips her firmly in his hand, and this time she nearly moans, lips parting and the sound coming out before she can fully stifle it. Bucky’s mouth curls and he hums. “And that? Is that ‘nothing’ too?”

“Please.” She’s having a hard time maintaining eye contact, which is typical. There’s a little pinch between her eyebrows that’s so sweet and needy, Bucky wants to kiss it. It makes her look like she might cry, and that thrills him too. “Please,” she whispers. “I just wanna go home.”

“You’re not going home, Honey,” he tells her, keeping the grip on her neck steady and petting at her hair with his other hand. She’s going down a little, likely so easily because of the alcohol in her system, because of how deprived she’s been until now. She whines a little at his words and he shushes her. “They won’t let you. You’re either gonna have to let me take you, or else stay here in the hospital, in the psych ward.”

Mary whimpers. “No.”

“Shhh,” he soothes. “I know. I don’t want that for you either, but you have to make the choice. If you want to leave here, then you have to sign the paperwork that gives me custody of you.” He tilts her chin up. “Look at me now, Honey.” She’s sluggish, so it takes a second, but her eyes come up as she obeys. They’re a little glossy, pupils blown wide, and Bucky gives her neck an encouraging squeeze. “Good girl,” he praises.

She practically melts at hearing that. “Please …” she says again.

Bucky would bet money that she doesn’t know what she’s asking for. He does, though. He knows down to the marrow of his bones what a ‘please’ like that means. “Don’t worry, Doll. I’ll take care of you. I will.” He bends and pecks a kiss to her forehead, then steps away. She makes a weak noise of protest and he shushes her.

“I’m just gonna go get officer Santiago back. … And my husband, Steve.”

She blinks at the word ‘husband’. “Steve?” she repeats, shoulders shrinking as she pulls into herself. “But—”

“It’s okay,” Bucky promises. “He’s a very nice man. You’ll like him.”

Mary looks unsure. Bucky’s glad she’s down, otherwise he’s fairly certain she’d be arguing by now, maybe even pitching a fit and cursing. Instead, what comes out of her mouth is a hesitant little, “... He’s like you?”

“No. No he’s not designated. He’s—”

“Normal.” She says it so sadly, sounds so demoralized. Bucky has to fight the urge to correct her, to give her a speech about how, ‘just because they’re designated, it doesn’t make them abnormal’. He bites his tongue. What’s more important right now is that she’s making progress in accepting the reality that she’s almost certainly submissive.

“Yeah,” he says. “Steve’s not like us. But I wanted him to come in here and meet you. Do you think you can do that for me, Sweetie?” The pet names come naturally, are a part of his dynamic as a Dom, and Bucky can tell that she responds favorably to them. “Hm? Answer me, Mary.”

(And of course, the use of her name gets instant attention and obedience.)

“Okay,” she says. “Yes.”

He smiles and gives her a heartfelt, “Good girl,” wanting to show her that he’s pleased, that she’s doing well. “I’m gonna go get him, okay? I’ll be right back.”

Steve

Steve is equal parts excited and nervous to meet the woman Bucky has found, the woman they’re going to be taking care of. … Maybe more, if things work out.

He holds Bucky’s hand as he’s led back to where the emergency room beds are. Bucky draws back the curtain and Steve sees the cop sitting there, looking bored, … and her.

“Oh,” he breathes. “Hey.”

She’s pretty—which is saying a lot, because that’s Steve’s first thought, despite the state of her. She’s got goo gobs of dark eye makeup that it looks like she put on once she was already drunk, and by now it’s been smeared to kingdom come by tears and her own hands. Her hair sits messy and unbrushed around her shoulders, and her eyes are glazed and tired from a high that’s probably going to wear off soon and leave her looking even more exhausted than she already does.

“Hey,” Steve says, eyes flicking up and down her body where she’s sitting on the bed. She’s wearing nothing but a big tee shirt, and Steve allows himself one glance down at her shapely legs, then resolutely keeps his eyes trained upwards. She’s a disheveled mess, but even like that, Steve can see how she drew Bucky’s attention, that day in the café.

“Hi,” Mary says.

Steve smiles hopefully. By his side, Bucky squeezes his hand in encouragement, and offers, “Mary, this is Steve, my husband.”

Steve watches her face, curious to know what she thinks of Bucky being married. He’s expecting displeasure maybe, imagining that a submissive would feel jealous or upset, if their prospective Dom was already attached to someone else.

But she seems to stay calm, sitting there and taking Steve in with slow blinks, even looking a little bit shy herself. “... You’re big,” she eventually says. “I thought you’d be smaller than him.”

Steve grins and he hears Bucky’s scoffed, “Size has nothing to do with our dynamic.”

Steve knows he’s got half an inch on Bucky, more muscle mass too, but he’s never felt bigger than his husband. Bucky’s personality, his dominance, is larger than Steve.

Mary’s still staring at him, a thoughtful little pinch between her eyebrows. Steve waits in expectation of a question, but none comes. “What?” he asks. He pulls up the room’s extra plastic chair and sits close to the bed, offering her his hand. He’s surprised when she takes it. Steve stares thoughtfully at his hand as she drags her fingers over his fingers, his palm, still not saying anything. He looks over at Bucky, concerned. “Did they give her drugs?”

Thankfully, Bucky chuckles and shakes his head. “She’s down,” he explains.

Oh. Okay. That’d explain her calm affect. Steve had come in here halfway expecting a screaming hellcat. He hadn’t expected this. He turns back to Mary, giving her a friendly look. “Did you have questions you wanted to ask me?”

She bites her lip, clearly working something out in her head. “Bucky said you two have a ‘dynamic’.”

“He did.”

“But he said you’re normal.”

Steve’s lips thin once he figures out what she means. “We’re all normal,” he scolds. “But no, I don’t have ‘Dominant or Submissive Personality Disorder’, if that’s what you mean.” He puts sarcastic quotes around words to clearly convey his distaste for the classification. He wants her to know how ridiculous he finds it.

“Babe,” Bucky warns quietly from behind. “We’re not getting political right now, okay? Just focus on her, on what we have to do.”

“Right, sorry.” He knows that Bucky’s right, so he tries again, telling Mary, “I’m ‘normal’, but Bucky and I still have a very intimate relationship together. We’re husbands. So yeah, we’ve developed our own dynamic. When I’m with him I tend to follow his lead, so to speak.” He smiles and shrugs. “It works for us.”

Mary looks like she’s thinking this new information over. There’s a slowness to her, a dreaminess in her expressions and her reactions.Steve figures it’s a combination of her being down, and not being sober. In fact, he can smell the vodka leaking out of her pores. It’s actually pretty horrible. “So does that make sense?” he prods her gently. “Mary?”

“… Yeah, I think so.” She eyes him up and down, looking back and forth between him and Bucky. “What will you do?” she asks Steve. She blushes a little from asking the question, so he deduces that she’s asking what he’ll do with her; what their dynamic together will be, outside of her and Bucky.

“I’ll take care of you,” he says, because that’s all he knows for sure, and he wants her to feel safe. Steve knows that it’s absolutely crucial for this woman to feel safe right now, if they’re going to take her home with them. “Bucky and I both will.” He holds her hand—the one that isn’t cuffed to the bed—enveloping it between his. “It’ll be much better than staying here,” he promises. “You’ll be so safe. And much happier.”

Mary’s body draws in, seems to actually get smaller as she pulls back into herself. “I’m never happy,” she says mournfully. It hurts Steve’s heart to see it, so he knows it must be killing Bucky, given his overly protective instincts. Steve glances over at him. “Babe?”

Bucky has a clipboard full of papers, which Steve knows must be the custody orders. “Here, Honey,” he tells Mary, handing her the clipboard and the pen. “This is what you have to sign to be able to come home with us.”

It kind of bothers Steve that Bucky doesn’t encourage her to read through the documents more thoroughly, but he doesn’t say anything because he knows they have only the best intentions for her. She’ll be safe with them. He watches as she signs her signature in the places Bucky points out, trying to scan some of the fine print as she goes. Anxiety is written across her face and she starts to bite at the chapped skin on her bottom lip. “But, um … what if I’m not what you think?” she worried, not looking at either of them.

Bucky pets her hair and reassures her. “You are, sweetheart. Trust me. And we’re gonna take you to a therapist anyway, to get an official diagnosis.”

Normally Steve would be scoffing at the word “diagnosis,” but he’s too busy watching the two of them together. There’s a strange feeling in his gut, at seeing his husband touch Mary like that, at hearing him call her pet names and calmly take control of her. Steve’s never seen Bucky dom another person before, and he … he kind of doesn’t hate it. In fact, it’s actually making him feel all the more attracted to Bucky, and curious about Mary. Like he wants to help, wants to get to know her.

She signs the rest of the documents without making a fuss, so Steve figures he’ll be getting that chance.

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alien-magnolia · 2 years

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Just some casual dominance ✨ thoughts with my fave 🥰 Steve Harrington

- whenever you'd go in a store with him he would have his arm draped over your shoulders. And if some creepy guy would stare at you for too long, he’d pull you closer and lead you away from him. Steve just couldn’t have any other stranger looking at his sweet girl.

- He’d always make sure you drank water that day. One day you’d come back from class all tired and sleepy, he’d ask you if you ate or drank any water. “Sweetheart, it’s really no problem. Gotta make sure my girl eats today, I know you’re too busy to take care of yourself sometimes,” he’d say as he prepared some food for you! or got you some water.

- And he’d just love taking care of you!! Anytime your bag was too heavy he would always carry it, even if you insisted you could. “It’s okay baby. I don’t want you to hurt yourself, I’ll carry that for you,” he’d say and then lift the bag off your shoulders, giving you a little kiss on the forehead as he does so.

- He would NEVER let you walk home alone. He’d always walk you back, or drive you, especially if it was at night. Not like you were complaining. You loved walks home with him. He’d make you feel so safe as your little legs walked beside his to keep up, you’d usually hold his big hand in yours :)

- He’d always make sure your seatbelt was on before he started the car, and sometimes he would raise an eyebrow at you if you drank too much coffee.

“A third cup, sweet girl? Not too healthy for you baby.” He’d say and then hand you a decaf tea instead, you just smile and look up at him.

“Thanks Stevie.” You’d say, smiling shyly, you’d stand on your tippy-toes after and give him a kiss, because he was just so tall!!

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cosmicanemoia · 8 months

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Another Curse?

Regina Mills x Reader

SUMMARY

You wake up in the middle of the road, just a few feet across the borderline of storybrooke with no memory of the life you've had, the life you've led, and the life you've built.

The only thing you can remember is your name, basic information about yourself, about things, and about basic knowledge, enough to keep a person alive. You don't even remember your birthday, or if you have a family. You have to start anew.

You put your foot in front of the other, and you kept on going as if someone was pulling your strings, and when you get to the town centre, you halted in the middle of the road.

A yellow volkswagen beetle almost ran you over. Luckily, the car stopped before it you and sent you flying across town. Your breath hitched, and you're left there frozen, almost being ran over, scared the hell out of you.

The driver stepped out of the car, revealing a tall blonde woman. "Hey! What the hell are you doing just standing in the middle of the road?" She demanded to know, and you answered truthfully, "I don't know." The woman looked around and inquired once more, "What's your name? What are you doing here?" And you once again answered her truthfully, not seeing the point in lying, "I'm Y/N, and I don't know." "Seriously? Do you know anything else other than your name?" Her head is full of question, she signalled you to get in the car. You're still in shock, so you just followed her.

"I'm Emma Swan, sheriff of this town. Let's continue this conversation at the station."

The car ride was quiet and rather quick, you thought to yourself.

When you get to the station, she scans your fingerprints, and the technology is taking long to find a match. It's as if you don't belong in their world. She asked a lot of questions to which your answer is always "I don't know."

Emma dialled something on the telephone and called someone to inform them about this strange situation. "There's this new girl in town, and she doesn't know anything except her name. Come down to the station and help me figure this out. Please, and thank you."

After a few minutes. A brunette, rather attractive woman walks into the station. "Who's this new girl you're talking about, and where is she?" She asked, and you spin the chair around to meet the gaze of the brunette, "that would be me, miss."

You stand up and held your hand out for her to shake "I'm Y/N and I don't know anything else other than staying alive" she chuckled at your corny joke and just as she's about to reach for your hand, Emma stated bursting your bubbles, "you think this is another curse?" You burst out laughing which quickly turn into an awkward chuckle when you see the two woman with stoic faces, you gulped and cleared your throat "Sorry, 'curse' that seems like a funny thing for me but from the look in your faces, safe to say I was wrong."

"You think this is funny?" The brunette practically growled at you. And you apologised. "Sorry, miss. I don't remember shit about shits, so please forgive my ignorance." You slightly bowed your head in her direction. Emma smirked, seeing the brunette flustered by your actions to which you are oblivious of, "cut her some slack, Regina. She doesn't remember anything other than her name."

Emma told you everything. From how they were characters from story books and how a curse or two fell upon them. How both of them were evil once upon a time.

After a few quiet sighs and stolen glances, the woman who Emma said was Regina finally speaks, "What do you suggest we do with her then?"

"Let's look into granny's diner and see if there's a vacant room available." Emma declared, and Regina side eyed you and scoffed, seeing a genuine smile on your face, "why do I have to go? You can do this on your own. Besides, I have far more important things to do than find a stranger a place to stay." Regina whined, and Emma put her hands on her waist and said, "Really? Name one."

Regina looked around but never met your gaze. She muttered words that couldn't be understood, and she sighed loudly, admitting defeat. "Fine, let's just get this over with."

You all went outside. Emma told you to get in the car, but you just stood there contemplating. "Why are you just standing there? Get moving." Regina demanded.

You sighed and looked at her with a sheepish smile. "I don't feel so good about getting in that car anymore." You told them, and Regina rolled her eyes but also chuckled inside. "Oh, you'll get used to it, just get in and let's start moving," Regina stated, and you replied, "Can we just walk there? I'm not getting in the car that almost ran me over."

Regina's eyes widened and turned to look at Emma. "Seriously!?" Emma just shrugs and replied "come on, Madam Mayor, let's get those steps in."

When you got to the diner, the smell of deliciousness blessed your nose, and your stomach growled in turn. They both look at you and eye each other.

"Order anything you want, pretty woman. It's on me." The woman over the counter said, you look at Emma and Regina, thinking she meant one of them. You saw Regina roll her eyes, so you thought, maybe she meant Emma, but when your eyes return to meet the eyes of the woman, she claimed, "I meant you, cutie."

Regina scoffed way too loud than she should, so you turn to look at her and fake a pout "What? You don't think I'm pretty or at least cute? Well, I think you're stunning." Regina, a stuttering mess, "what-- I- what?" Before you can respond, the woman said, grabbing your attention, "I'm Ruby, and you are?" She held her hand out for you to shake, and you replied, "I'm Y/N." Before you can shake her hand, Regina speaks, "I'll just have a coffee." Ruby retracted her hand before you can shook it. She wrote down Regina's order and turns to look at you after waiting for your order as well.

"Give me your best and worst, I'll decide which is which" you held your hand out wanting to properly and formally be introduced "thanks for the treat" she shook your hand out and grinned widely.

After a few seconds, you smiled at her awkwardly and requested, "Can I have my hand back?" She chuckled awkwardly, "right."

Regina sneered seeing the interaction, and Emma grinned knowingly after seeing Regina's reaction to Ruby flirting with you.

When Regina first heard your voice and saw you eye to eye, she felt a pull and that something had shifted. She's immediately drawn to you, though she may not admit it to herself now, she will in time.

During the first week of your arrival, everyone was wary of your presence, but they eventually warms up to you. Except Regina, who keeps her distance from you.

On the second week, she had a broken sink, and your boss sent you to fix it. You rang her doorbell, and when she opened the door to reveal you, she was shocked to see you. "What are you doing here?" She asked, and you quickly replied, "To fix your broken heart," she was taken aback by your sentence. All she could say was, "What?" "You have a broken sink, and I'm here to fix it." You elaborated, you thought you had said 'sink' earlier, but she definitely heard you say 'heart' loud and clear. She just shrugged it off, thinking that you're just being playful.

She watched as you worked, and she could feel herself heat up seeing you so focused and sweaty. She cleared her throat, but you didn't look at her. She cleared it some more, but it still didn't get your attention, and with one last attempt, "Would you like something to drink?" She still failed. A few moments later, she attempted again, "Y/N dear." You stopped what you're doing and give her your undivided attention. "I'm all yours, what's up?" You stare at her as she stared at you, you furrowed your brows, "I thought you called my name," "I did" she nodded her head while still staring at you and how she wish you were truly all hers. You nodded your head back, "I'm done. Is there anything else I can help you with?" She wanted to say 'yeah, help me scratch an itch your giving' but what came out her mouth was "I can't think of anything at the moment but I'll be sure to call you if something came up." She kicks herself internally for being such a wimp whenever she's with you.

There was a party at Regina's House, to which you are invited to, in the third week. "Bored already? Dear." You flinched, you weren't expecting someone to you,"Reggie, you startled me." You look up into the sky and sigh, you look back to her, "can I help you with anything?" You asked and she opened her mouth to say something but nothing came out, she closed it again and just shakes her head "no" she was about to walk away but you grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her closer to you. "Wait," you said, and your breath was tickling her skin. It gave her goosebumps. Her heart is jumping out of her chest, and she chuckles nervously, "what?" She asked. Your hand that grabbed her is now resting on her waist, "Hold on," you replied and added, "Stay still, you have something on your hair." You went to remove it and tuck a few loose strands to her ear, then proceed to pat her head softly, "there, all good."

Her hands rested on your shoulders, and you stared at each other a little longer. When you felt her slowly pulling away, you pulled her into a hug. You felt her fight it, so you tightened your embrace. "Don't fight it." You said softly, and she slowly melts away at your embrace. She would love to get used to this.

Its been months now since you appeared in storybrooke. They still couldn't figure out what your deal is.

You help in town in any way you can. You try to pay back the kindness they showed you. Waitressing at granny's, doing construction work, plumbing, baby sitting, and delivering food.

One midnight, you delivered food to a big white house. You rang the doorbell, rang, and rang, just as you're about to ring it again, the owner burst it open. Regina is on her night gown, and there is irritation written on her face.

"What the hell? It's the middle of the night." She chided, and you just stood there confused where her irritation is coming from, then she added, "well dear, what can I help you with?" You look her right in the eye, "You ordered food, I'm just here to deliver," "I didn't order anything, it's late, and I'm about to sleep."

She starts to slam the door close, you put your free hand between, and the door slams. She's oblivious of the hand you stupidly put there. You screamed in shock, and it startled her. You bit your lips, wincing in pain, and you slowly put the delivery bag down. A tear started rolling down your cheeks. Your hand is throbbing with pain. She looked at you genuinely concerned and cursing herself inside for hurting you. "I'm sorry. I didn't know. I didn't mean to-" she reached for your hands, but you raised it up, pretending that it didn't hurt like hell, so she won't worry, "Don't worry. I'm sure it'll be fine in the morning." You gave her a reassuring smile. You cleared your throat, "It says here Regina Mills and it's address to you. Would it be okay if you receive it? But if you don't I can take it back." You requested, and she decided to receive the food that she knew for sure she didn't order. "Are you sure your hand is okay?" Regina asked, and your eyes fell to look on your reddened and swollen hand. You just shrug it off and say, "it definitely doesn't hurt as much now. Have a good night, Reggie." You wink at her and give her a sweet smile before departing. Regina just stood at her door, watching you walk away, when you're out of sight she realised she has been watching and she gulped and looked around, she closes the door as her head shakes side to side.

The next morning, your hand swelled. Regina dragged you to the hospital. "You should stay at my place until your hand heals." She suggested, and you said and winked at her, "sure baby, whatever helps you sleep at night." Regina takes care of you and follows you everywhere.

"What are you doing?" You asked Regina, "I'm trying to help you." You smirked at her, "I still have a functioning hand, I can feed myself. You're not my mommy." Regina laughed at the end of your sentence, and you smirked when you saw her reaction to your joke. "You know Reggie, there are other ways you could help me with." You declared in a seductive tone, but Regina didn't catch up on it, "Sure of course, anything you need, what is it?" She asked eagerly. You just chuckled and shrugged it off, "Never mind."

Months have passed, and its been more than a year since your arrival. As times passed, the townspeople grew fonder of you, especially the Mayor, Regina, who seemed to have fallen in love with you.

She would bring you apples. Invites you often at her house. Treat you to dinner. Walks with you, ever since you passed at her house alone in the night.

"Do you still not remember anything?" Regina asked, you answered, "No. Its as if I didn't have a life before here." "Maybe you don't." Regina quickly replied, and you chuckled at her, "but I feel like I did, I have, or had." "Maybe they didn't want you there." Regina added, and you nodded. "Maybe. But what if I have a wife?" You said, and the thought of you having a wife that is not her, saddened her, Regina felt her heart shrink. And you continue to speak your thought "Or a child? Euh-- I hope I don't have a child..." you shivered at the thought of having a child and said, "I probably shouldn't have said the last part out loud." Regina chuckled and claimed, "I didn't see a ring on that finger, so you probably don't have a wife." She chuckled nervously at the end of her sentence.

You're conflicted, you feel like your heart already belongs to someone but maybe not, so you just shrug it off and replied "probably," Regina let's out a breathe she didn't know she was holding and she felt relieved.

You and Regina hang out a lot. She loves spending time with you, except when you decide to hang at Granny's. There's a certain someone who 'basically throws herself at you,' she thought, and she didn't like it.

When Ruby flirts with you, you flirt back. Regina would think to herself, 'why does she always flirt back to Ruby and never to me?' The thing is you never thought Regina flirts with you, and you don't catch up on it. It's either, her flirting game is not good, or you're just so oblivious when it comes to her. Maybe it's vice versa.

"Why don't you just ask Ruby out on a date already?" She growled at you, and there's a tinge of hurt in her voice. You snapped your head up to look at her, "where did that come from?" You chuckled at her, she rolled her eyes at you in response, "oh, come on, she flirts with you, and you flirt back every time, and she flirts a lot." You burst out laughing, and you shook it off, "that's just how she is. It's nothing serious."

Regina scoffed, "whatever," and she crossed her arms. You shook your head in disagreement, "She's not my type. I'm more into older women." Regina remained silent. "Besides, I flirt with you more, basically all the time, but you never once flirt back." You claimed, and she sneered, "I flirt with you all the time, and you're the one who never flirts back."

You burst out laughing after hearing her remarks, and she's confused and a little bit annoyed, "of course you think this is funny." She said in a menacing tone.

"We're both such idiots." You shake your head, and she just looks at you as her confusion grows. You grabbed her face and kissed her passionately, hungrily, and desperately, and she just let you, returning the desperation, the hunger, and the passion. When you pull away for air, you can hear everyone at the diner whooping and cheering. Regina gulped completely shocked by your initiation. She wasn't expecting that, but she's not complaining and would like to do it again soon.

Emma, who popped out of nowhere, observed Regina, "You okay, Madam Mayor? Your face is as red as your apples." Regina gulped one more time and sighed, "Oh dear."

2 years had already passed since you first kissed her. You both felt safe and secured. Regina is thinking of asking you to marry her.

#regina mills x reader #regina mills x you #regina mills x original female character(s)#x reader #x you #regina mills #regina mills jealous #regina mills gets a hug #regina mills gets a pat in the head #idiots in love #wlw #sapphic #lesbian #once upon a time #emma swan #red riding hood #hurt/comfort if you squint?

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punk-in-docs · 2 years

Text

🕷Is It My Body🕷

Eddie Munson x Reader

6.9k words

Summary: Eddie Munson drives the way he looks like he would drive.

No finesse and all maniac speed. Seemingly more concerned with thumping the stereo to get it to work properly, than what’s ahead in the road.

You’re clamped into that passenger seat for your life with sloppy drunk hands. Nudged somewhere between half sober and half cut. Recognising the blurring drag of safe safe Hawkins outside your window.

Or;

The one where Eddie gives you a ride home after your friend ditched you at a terrible party.

! ! ! This follows on from my first Eddie one shot which you can read here ! ! !

Of all the ways you pictured the ending of this party, it had to be said, this right now? Oh, it would be so very, very low on your list.

Scraping the heel of it in fact.

You’d wanted to bail. Stalk off home by yourself and send Linda a pissy message by way of your absence.

Or maybe you’d get black out drunk. Sink to the bottom of a cup again and again. End up passing out on that shitty cracked plastic sun lounger in the garden.

Wake up in the morning still laid there, with a splitting head and cotton mouth. Crunched crushed solo cups and beer cans littered all over Kyle’s too green lawn.

You didn’t think it would be that you were being driven home, way before curfew, a lick too fast, in a tacky old van, with an interior that’s all stale weed and distant stench of spilled beer, emanating from the scratchy balding carpet in the back.

You’d never have guessed your night would be this. Eddie Munson and all the dreadful rumours about him that curled around his character, and his threatening reputation. And he’s plucking you out your misery to take you home.

He practically sprung down the street to the clunky old heap of a van. Swung open the passenger door- for you. His rings clack sharp on the door handle. Dumb grin lights up his entire maniacal face. Ladies first.

Who cares if this was your drunken stupidity blindsiding you at its finest… Anything was preferable to staying even within 20 yards near that house teeming with jocks, bedrooms, and hormones lost to drink.

“Your humble chariot.” He mock bows to you. Slipping his hand to yours and helping you climb on in.

Your stunned brain takes a second to realise his hand has yours. Holding yours. Electric skipping on your fingers. Your mouth gapes a little, and you swallow when you look down just to check.

Yes. That would be his fingers wrapped around yours. Warm gentle skin. Cold rings. Big manly sized palm. His chain bracelet sliding down his wrist.

You thank him. A tiny little peck of a word. Almost slurred from your lips.

His hands are way way softer than you thought they’d be- damn . No guitar calluses how is that even logically possible.

His touch withdraws and there’s that Cheshire Cat grin. Again . Locks eyes with you.

You turn away and move to shift a couple of tapes out the way of your ass before you sat on them. Iron Maiden’s Piece of Mind, and W.A.S.P’s Inside the Electric Circus. It wouldn’t do well to ingratiate yourself to Eddie by mangling the cassettes of some of his beloved bands.

“Belt up, pencils.” He encourages sweetly. Elbow slung off the door. Orange street lights drip and spill into the cold wrinkles of his leather jacket arms.

And you do. He stays round your side. It’s unnerving that he watches you fumble for the buckle with drink numbed fingers for a second.

“Geez. Take a picture. It’ll last longer.” You play around. Self awareness making your cheeks throb all warm. You flick hair off your hot forehead once more.

He doesn’t rise to the bait. He stands there until he’s satisfied.

You click the belt to the buckle with resounding success. The fucker has the nerve to loop a finger under and tug on it twice. Just to check.

You frown all bemused again. God, he thinks you’re so irresistible to look at when you do that.

“Precious cargo here. I don’t take risks.” He slams your door with a careful creaking thud and takes to his side.

Your brows shoot up. Disbelief stains your expression.

“I highly doubt that.” You gawk to yourself as his door creaks and slams and then he shifts into his seat.

Risk-less? He who wanders around your school with a metal lunchbox full of weed and roll your own papers.

He who was taking this random girl he’s only just really met, home from a shitty party. Not caring to abandon her to fester all on her own.

Rounding up those little lost sheepies, huh, Munson?

My specialty, babe.

He twists his hand on the hanging set of keys in the ignition, and the engine whines and then decides to be merciful and putter to life. Rock is suddenly shredding your ears from the radio.

Instant loud aggressive thrash guitar, drums that pound like thundering war, and a shrieking male singer starts to wail through the speakers.

‘I got pictures of naked ladies, lyin on their beds. I whiff that smell and sweet convulsion, starts a swellin inside my head.’

You don’t mean too - but your mouth curls into a smirk. The very overtly roaring sexual nature of the song. Nothing was subtle about it. The chorus screaming about animals and fucking like beasts.

He winces at the too loud volume and flicked those bambi bourbon eyes across at you to sharply turn the dial down.

It’s kinda endearing really-

He looks almost sheepish you heard it. Looking around as he pulls away and off into the road.

Made you smile and your stomach all slippery with heat inside, that he worried about the delicate state of your ears. Maybe it was the vodka still squirming in your stomach you can blame that on.

You had a feeling it was a pure habit. You could picture him in his state of bliss with music turned up to deafening. Head banging with that waved mane flying as he drove. Rings and fingers snapping where he tapped his hand flat on the wheel to the beat. Window down, hair tugged by the rioting wind. He’s loud, unapologetic and so messy with the unclear way he moves through life.

And Eddie drives the way he looks like he would drive. No finesse and all maniac speed. Seemingly more concerned with thumping the stereo to get it to work properly, than what’s ahead in the road.

You’re clamped into that passenger seat for your life with sloppy drunk hands. One clutching at the door. The other hooked to the ripped seat. Nudged somewhere between half sober and half cut.

The fuzzy twirl of your eyes and mind, the blurring drag of safe safe Hawkins outside your window, indicates the alcohol that still flushed in your system making your cheeks and neck warm.

Or maybe that’s just because of your proximity to him. You don’t let that possibly ruinous thought get any roots down. It was drink.

It was the drink doing all the thinking and talking. Right?

Too much vodka and the nice offer of a lift home- that’s all. Full stop. Period.

Death metal cassette tapes are strewn around your feet. You realise when one slides over your shoe. Album covers with skulls and glowing red eyes. Crimson red and matte black struck with blue lightning. Skull sneers. Skeletons and their yellow bones exposed with ripped flesh. Searing eyes in dark sockets.

The cassettes are clunking onto your feet when he turns a corner. He curses when more fall over your boots. “ Shit, sorry. I just sorta throw stuff on the seat.” Takes his eyes off the road for a split second to turn to you. Hair flicks at his cheek with the twist of his head.

“It’s ok.” You state softly. And it is. You’d put him out with him having to take you home. Not the other way around.

Leaning down a little, you scoot down to pick them up. Leaf through, but not enough to make him think you’re being nosy and poking around in his things casting judgement.

“Wasn’t exactly expecting to give anyone a ride home from a weed deal in the woods behind Kyles house.” Eddie explained with a wry grin.

“No? Shame. Your client seemed like such a great guy.” You snarked. You shared a smile as you remembered the rude jerk who’d spat abuse at you after stomping off with his purchase from Eddie.

You’re looking down at the tapes in your lap you’ve gathered up to safety from the floor. Looking at a few of the covers. Some you recognised. Some weren’t your scene, but they looked intimidatingly metal.

You hold up a Cramps cassette. “This one is good.”

Eddie jerks his head to you like you’ve suddenly sprouted devil horns and pansies out your hair. Cynicism rooted deep in those eyes.

“No way.” He says with quietly mounting confusion.

Your face falls. Trying to keep up with him is keeping you on your toes that’s for sure.

“No way, what?” You seek. Amusement tipping up your smile. His enthusiasm is infectious.

“You gotta be bullshitting me. There’s no way you know who the Cramps are, Pencils.”

“What you think I only listen to poppy shit like Madonna and Wham?” You ask him.

“I had my doubts.” He shrugs all teasing.

“Pirate boots seemed very Adam Ant. I misjudged you on that one.” He confessed. Once again with you, he’d drawn the wrong conclusion. Shot a blank.

You reached down and plucked at your belt. “Yeah, well.”

The bright plastic bangles. The earrings. The huge proofed up and waved hair. None of it was really you. You’re strewn with borrowed essences from Linda’s wardrobe. Not yours.

“The way I look tonight, I don’t exactly blame you for thinking that of me. I look like every other dime store airhead at school who thinks Tears for Fears are dreamy as hell.” You admit.

He goes quiet for a beat. Licks his bottom lip. Chews it a little with his teeth. “Still, you- uh.” Another pause.

“You look pretty good from where I’m sitting.” He says.

“With this hair?” You ask. Skating your hand up and feeling the wavy springy curls that await you. Layered in so much crispy Rave hairspray you seriously had to think twice about being near anyone lighting up tonight.

“It’s not the hair I’m lookin at, Pencils. It’s the girl attached to it.” He decided honestly. His gaze was on the road. But he turned his head towards you.

Caught your eye for just a second. His honest answer blew you clean away.

“You’re not high are you?” You ask carefully with implied mirth. Eyes flicking up and down his face to drink in that expression.

Because there’s no way on earth this cool guy is flirting with you. It’s just not possible. His type is probably some ultra goth rock chick in ripped fishnet tights and leathers on a Metallica poster. Or on the back of a roaring Harley.

He slaps a ring clad hand over his heart. Crinkled that already creased Hellfire t-shirt. “Scouts honour.”

“You? Scouts?“ You doubt.

“Goddamn it Pencils. Stop needling me, man. I can only take so many hits in one night.”

You turn to look out your window. Wet your lips and chuckle.

Your neck crawls with heat. Spine flushed with dizziness, cause my god, that was out of left field and so unexpectedly sweet. You can’t even think of a witty cut back of a response.

Got me there. Munson. Cat fully got my tongue.

“You gotta tell me how you’ve heard the Cramps now. C’mon. My mind is teeming with such vivid stories.” He piped up.

You chuckle. Again. Lay his teeming mind at rest.

“I work in the record store. The one over on Franklin.” You tell him.

Every shift when it’s your turn to click in a cassette to play, your boss, Sal, rolls his eyes back and grumbles with whatever you put on, be it some gritty paced punk, or some glam shock rock. Basically anything that interrupts his usual whining, hour long prog rock noises. Dirges of King Crimson and Genesis.

“You do?” He checks. “Well damn. In that case, It looks like I may have to consider growing some balls, and asking you for your number.”

Those words smack you straight in the gut. In a great way.

You find yourself nodding. “Ok. I may be a little drunk still, but I’ll give it to you, that was smooth.”

“I’m very good at admitting I have no balls.” He says seriously which makes you bark out laughter.

He rolled his hands in the air as he spoke. Wrists hanging off the wheel. “I wasn’t gonna bring it up at all actually...”

“Your balls?” You joke.

It earns an unguarded smile from him.

“Not on a first acquaintance.” He says in a stuffy put-upon voice, holds the steering wheel and flicks those dangerous eyes over at you.

“But y’ know? Timing wasn’t great back there. It didn’t seem like the cool moment to hit on you when you were all angry and looking like you wanted to put your whole fist through a wall.” He clenched one hand on the steering wheel.

“Mmm. No not my fist. Maybe my friends head though.” You grumped with an evil smirk.

“I really can’t read you right, can I?” He insists with mocking frustration. Bouncing his knee like he’s nervous.

You watch his profile when he grins. You cannot pin him down either. It would be like trying to herd sand.

“I’d say you’re doing pretty good, actually, Munson.” You tell him with a nod. Nervously picking at the plastic covering a very worn Metallica cassette.

There’s just something magnetic about him. You’re certain you’ll never discover what it is - you’ve been trying to decipher it ever since he leapt up onto that lounger next to you. Crazy and bounding. Spilling over with energy.

Perhaps it’s in the sheer unpredictability of his character, it’s as wild and chaotic as the rest of his rugged appearance. The way those whiskey-black eyes swallowed you in when you spoke. The crinkled dips that shaded either side of his bright eager smile. Something playful about that full smile. Almost boyish.

Maybe it’s the way he dresses like something spat straight out the glossy pages of Rolling Stone. Appearance shrined in pin badges and patches, and a poorly stitched denim vest.

Even in physique he would admit that he looks undesirable; like a cross between a shaggy wet dog and a newborn foal. The way he talks about himself makes it sound like cause he’s not straight out of a bullshit J-Crew beige catalogue like so many others, that no one could possibly find him hot.

He’s far more original than any of the athlete meat heads at your school. You like that about him. No one is like him that you’ve ever seen.

Despite the devilry and bad press you’ve heard of him, it was so unbelievably touching the way he shifted into being entirely nice and unassuming so as not to unnerve you even further tonight.

The way he dropped every ounce of attitude, in order to make you feel more comfortable. That was something.

There was definitely something in the way that he just took a minute and talked to you; the loser girl sat all alone in the dark. On the fringes. Toasting on her own and pointedly avoiding the rest of the party.

Alright, so you’d never decipher this guy, but something in you recognised something in him. Freaks always find their way to other freaks. Isn’t that the saying?

“So you’d be cool with me getting your number and maybe even, I dunno, ringing it at some point?” He checks.

“Well. You’re my knight in shining Dio vest. So I guess I do owe you.” You say all playful like you’re still thinking about it.

You’re well past thinking about it at this point. Fuck playing coy. You’d rip your own arm out the socket just to give him your number.

“And yeah. I would be very cool with you ringing it, also.” You added, and really just tried not to sound as geeky as you felt saying it aloud.

“Cool.” He smiled. You watch those dimples ripple in his cheeks. He wipes a sweaty palm on his jeans.

He made the turn onto your street. You scanned the houses. “Tell me when I’m getting warmer here, pencils.”

“At the end on the left.” You tell him. Scanning eyes along the sleepy street. Limned in cheap yellow street lights and dark slants of shadows bursting all over the houses.

Your street wasn’t exactly the classiest in all of Hawkins. A few shabby houses here and there. Your place was definitely not the picture postcard of shining grand suburbia.

Your neighbours had broken or wonky chain link fences separating their yards. And old clunkers sat rusting on your neighbours drive on the house to the right. Somewhere distantly gruff dog barks punctuated the night and it’s low buzzing hum of streetlights.

You didn’t live anywhere fancy but it’s not bad. Your home. A split level ranch house with a scruffy browning lawn and faded pea green paint on the wood panelling, framed by the four second floor windows.

There’s some huge sprawling trees in your otherwise bare yard, a yellow flowering vine honeysuckle climbing up the wooden terrace nailed to the side of the house. It was okay. Not exactly a palace. But not a dump either.

“How wicked pissed are your folks gonna be that I’m the one bringing you home?” Eddie asks as he brings the van to a shuddering stop alongside the curb.

He’s eyeing the dark front window like a strict parental hand is gonna flick the curtain aside any minute and glare out at the street. Eye at the pair of you in scathing disapproval.

“Well, my dad walked out on us when I was four. And my mom is currently somewhere near Bondi Beach.” You tell.

Eddie glances to you with a huge vulnerability falling open in his expression.

“You’re here all by yourself?” He asks or states. That thought weighs on him. You going home to a dark empty house. That doesn’t settle right. Sticks in his throat like a scraping rock.

“My sister works nights at the Diner just outside of Hawkins. And she stays with her boyfriend sometimes. Mom’s away for a few more days. Off where she usually is. Circling the globe.”

His face warrants you to explain. A gentle frown on those dark brows that just escape his unruly bangs.

“She’s a stewardess with an airline. Hence the travel. She’s home when she can be, and she sends postcards and always leaves a healthy amount of pizza and beer money pinned to fridge. So - I’m golden.” You click your tongue and make a thumbs up gesture as you shift Eddies precious tapes off your lap, back into the overflowing glove compartment.

Eddie nods and looks back to your dark house. He feels saddened by the way you’ve no one to go come home too. Opens a pit in his chest.

Sure, his predicament isn’t entirely foreign to yours. His uncle takes nights so he rarely sees him. Passing ships and all that. His mom couldn’t care less about anything that wasn’t binge drinking a hole in her gut and remarrying asshole after asshole. And his old man? Prison took him away years ago.

But Wayne was good to him. He had someone good. Shared his trailer and his only alright cooking skills with his nephew. He was gruff sure, made terrible coffee, and never talked too much. But he was level headed. Dead intent on keeping Eddie in school and out of trouble til he - finally - graduated.

Wayne was a sturdy salt of the earth man who knew what an honest day’s sweat and toil was. Eddie had sworn long ago he’d grow up to be more like him, and less like his dad, who wasn’t worth the muck on his shoes. He didn’t want to be lumped with the heavy tonne weight of the Munson family name.

Eddie knows with iron clad certainty that when he wakes up tomorrow half sprawled in his bed, that Wayne will have put some leftovers in the fridge for him, along with a fresh six pack. The smell of fresh cheap laundry detergent will be soaking through the trailer. New pack of reds on the kitchen counter. It was invisible care but it was there. Threaded through their trailer even if Wayne himself wasn’t.

You wouldn’t have that. Not here all on your own.

He doesn’t stop himself unbuckling and getting out his side to come straight around to yours. He opens the door for you - again.

You take his offered hand again and ease out the van to come and stand down in front of him. Your boots click on the tarmac drive.

He seems to stand next to you not quite knowing what to do. Or where to put his eyes. Awkwardly holding his hands on his hips at his belt. Floundering between looking at you, and looking at your house.

The silence seems suffocating for a moment. Only broken by the distant noises of cicadas and their hum and that damn dog still barking it’s head off down the street.

“Thank you. For taking the trouble to drop me home.” You say again gently. Layering on the gratitude. Because you are grateful not to have had to walk all the way here in the dark, drunk, alone. In pinching boots. Charlie would strangle the daylights out of you for doing that.

“Y’know. Civic duty really.” He clasps a hand over his chest. Shaking his head. Waving it off as nothing.

You slowly meander to the cracked weed strewn drive to your door. Eddie shoves his toes at crackling stones underfoot. Your shoes seem to echo so loud against the house. Little stabs of kitten heels.

“I uh, couldn’t live with myself knowing I left a Cramps fan all alone there listening to very inferior music.” He chuckles with a giddy grin.

“Don’t know how you would’ve slept soundly tonight.” You go along with his little joke.

Wobbling a little as you laugh. So unguarded you almost snort laughter. You smother your laugh with your hand to stop it.

You feel his hand on the white leather of your boxy jacket shoulder. Steadying you again. “Found your feet yet, pencils?” He grins.

You nod. Reassuring him. Your legs were still distantly related to the plights of your brain. But you’re whirling more and more into sobriety with each second. Too many solo cups and a beer starting to take their toll.

“These fucking boots. I tell ya. Lethal. Don’t know how Adam gets around in these.” You mumble. Trying to balance in the pointy things when drunk was a challenge you were ill-equipped to tackle

In truth they were starting to hurt. Stupid pointed toes. You’d throw these at Linda’s head when you saw her next.

“Well, he has the Ant’s support on stage.” Eddie guesses. Shoving his hands now in his jacket pocket, safely convinced you’ve remembered how to walk in a straight line without toppling.

You point a finger at him. Shaking it in emphasis. “Of course.”

You’re realising that at some point in your slow promenade down the drive, eventually you’re gonna have to stop when you hit porch or house.

You start patting your pockets trying to allocate the lump of your keys. Something bulky gets a pat in your right pocket. You halt dead.

Fuck-

“Oh shit.” You curse as your fingers stumble through a metal hoop and pull out a set of keys. You wrangle them out and hold them up.

Eddie’s looking at you for clarification as you curse. “Shit. Shit. Shiiittt.”

Linda’s car keys. You don’t remember how the fuck they ended up sneaking themselves into your pocket.

You catch his eye and then you’re both grinning like possessed maniacs. Eddie’s smile grows so wide and it makes your heart pound. You stand there under the dingy orange streetlights laughing your asses off with each other.

You have to playfully swing at his arm to get him to shut up. Or he’ll get Mrs Abernathy over the road twitching her net curtains, puckered old face of hers with her rollers in, peeking out and seeing what the noise is at this ungodly hour.

Like his shredding music didn’t wake everyone in a two mile radius when his van was prowling on down the street.

He lets you take a playful swing at his arm. Doesn’t budge an inch when you shove him. He’s stuck on watching you smile so giddy.

Karmas a bitch.

“I’d say that’s a fair form of payback.” Eddie grins like the devil he’s rumoured to be. More leering naughtiness in his face than on the scarlet demon on his t-shirt.

“Ohhh. She’s gonna be pissed. I will never hear the end of this coming out her big lipsticked mouth.” You tell him. Making a face.

“A trait I’m sure her lover boy appreciates.” Eddie jokes crassly with you. You only just manage not to snort again. Too much laughter bubbling at your stomach almost hurts, holding it back.

“Jesus.” You exclaim, as you find your keys and weigh them in your palm. Penny metal smeared across your sweaty hands.

You stand there and hold your keys. Cause whatever the hell this is, you don’t want it to be over just quite yet. Not yet.

Why don’t you want this part of the night over yet?

Oh yes. That’s right. Because Eddie Hellfire Freak Munson is stood behind you when you turn back and look at him. Like a rockers wet dream.

All stunning wild hair haloed in muddy orange streetlights. Eyes a shining pool of whiskey dark chocolate, and those pillowy pink lips, you just wanna spend hours mouthing at, and feel his groaned response. Fingers twisted in his hair. Feel him slide his tongue into the cup of your mouth and flash yours along his teeth.

You bet he could be a great kisser with those. And those hands, you wanted them on you in any capacity. Everywhere. Skid in your back jeans pocket. Cupping your ass. Warm skin and cold rings burning on your back. Cupping your neck. Tilting your jaw up as he mouthed and sucked over your kicking pulse. Biting your throat.

So apparently you’re a much hornier drunk than you ever cared to realise.

Especially when a long haired, unconventionally pretty boy, with a heart of pure melting liquid gold, crosses your path.

You uncurl your tongue from the roof of your foolish mouth and try and think back to those flirting tips Linda read you from that issues of Cosmo once. Sat on her bed in your plaid pyjamas eating cookie dough. She then pulled out a playboy mag and started to compare tips and tricks. And whether or not small tits were prettier than big ones.

But when your drunk brain shreds that not very useful memory to incoherent babbles, you struggle to locate any form of flirting or Cosmo tips on behaviour, so you’re left with an embarrassing plea sat on the tip of your tongue.

“So, what’s the best way to, well. Do you still want, I mean you can have my uhm. “ You’re gesticulating with your hands and getting precisely fucking nowhere. Your tongue tying itself in knots.

You just end up stammering. “Number. My. Um. Number.” And gesturing to yourself. You went to pieces.

You’d kick yourself for this display later on. You really would. Until your shins bleed.

Then he has to go and smile that imperfectly dazzling grin at you. Make you stammer like a moron.

“Hell yes.” Is his reply.

Before you can ask, he’s yanking a thick sharpie out his pocket like it’s nothing. He bites off the lid and rifles through his pockets for paper. He comes up empty-

So he pulls up his sleeve. And that’s where it gets very interesting-

He steps up very very closely to you. Talk about hairs breadth. He’s even more damning up close.

Those bambi eyes are even more stunning with distance halved between you. He’s all cool intimidating craziness and flirty eyes. Smelling like leather, tangy weed and some spice of plain soap. Taste of hops and red ash still swirl heavy on his breath.

He tugs up his leather sleeve. Bat tattoos fluttered across his forearm. He’s handing you the pen. Lid pushed on the end.

You look down and take it. Your hair almost brushed into his. Bangs touching. Eyes intent on yours. Close enough to touch but he doesn’t close the gap. Doesn’t touch. Just looks.

His smile curls up soft at the corners. You felt your reaction to it tug at your stomach. Gnawing.

You never thought it could be so sexy not to be touched.

The desire to kiss him has not gone away. Nor is it likely too. You’re pretty certain your spine will melt soon. Puddle away into nothing and pool sticky at your feet.

You swallow and take your grip around the pen to hold it with a tiny tremble in your fingers. It’s unnerving him being close yet at the same time, you ache inside for more. So much more.

More that wouldn’t be right considering how you’re still a little tipsy.

“You’re not worried it won’t rub off?” You ask him before you commit your number to his arm with some pretty hardcore permanence.

His smirk widens again. One day you hope you find out what that means. Contented that perhaps you never will.

“Isn’t that kinda the point now, Pencils.” He smiles. His eyes glow. You don’t know how, but they do. It’s nearly hypnotic.

You gently reach over and hold his wrist by his chain bracelet. Thumb over his pulse. Start scrawling letters blacker than bruises on that lily white arm that’s exposed to you. All bones and corded threads of sinew faded in half shadow, the other half drowned in light.

You notice he has other things scrawled on the back of his hand in wiggling blue biro. Times and dates. Because of course that’s where he writes down his weed dealings.

You finish and click the lid on the pen and pass it back. Fingertips brushing as he gently plucks the pen off you. He rolls his sleeve back down. Did always try to keep a pen on him. Never know when he might urgently be needing it.

He’s glad he didn’t forget it tonight.

Now he’s rocking one of the best semi-permanent tats he’s ever gotten. And it follows the beautiful unique shape of your phone number.

The bottom few digits peek out his sleeve and run along his wrist. Clasping the bottom of his palm.

“I’ll have to stop by that record store of yours sometime soon, too.” He adds. Looking nervous as he fiddled with his rings. Twirls it around and around his finger. The one with the skull on his left hand.

You’re so giddy your cheeks dully hurt from smiling.

“Absolutely. Come check it out. I apologise in advance for Sal. He just came out that way.” You shrug in a mysterious explanation.

“I’m on the edge of my seat.” He commented idly. “You work weekends?” He seeks. Building a pattern in his head.

“Thursday and Tuesday nights too.” You add. He nods. Makes a mental note.

“Maybe I’ll see you around school?” You hope sweetly.

“Man, I don’t know. I heard something about finals and exams earlier. Put me off. Doesn’t sound like my kinda scene.” He grins.

You definitely know what it means that time. 100% Flirt.

You smiled. “You should give it a try sometime, Munson.”

“I always happily take a pretty girls’ advice.” He says suggestively.

“Wise man.” You offer. He bows his head and his hair curls forwards over his shoulders.

He clasps his hands behind his back. Looks boyish all of sudden again. Kicks something across the tarmac with his shoe. A small stone skits away.

You turn towards your door to slot the key in the lock. He’ll never forgive himself for losing his opportunity. For once he seizes onto the little scrap of bravery life gifted him.

“Hey, uh.”

You turn back and your hair bounces when you look at him.

“Not to come off too strong or weird whatever, but… If you’re ever finding yourself home, alone, you know, mom and sister not around then, maybe we could hang out? Order pizza. Watch a really bad movie or two. Have a smoke-“ He offered.

Brows raising to see what you think. Fiddling with his rings on his fingers behind his back. Nervous tick. He looks like he’s expecting you to shut him down. He’s biting the inside of his lower lip waiting for your answer. He’s adorable.

“I’d love that.” You tell him with a nod.

“The smoke?” He counters. Checking that was cool with you. One brow of his crooks up. Maybe he was corrupting the goody-two shoes art student.

Your responding grin makes his belly completely flip over. Head over heels.

“Hell yes.” You echo back his genuine words.

“Only if you let me pick the movie though.” You bargain. Raising your smile to something cheeky. Defiantly winning. Twisting your hand in the lock. Hearing it give the other side.

“Nothing sappy.” He warns. In hope-

Poor misguided boy.

“Footloose is it. Gotcha.” You accept. Your grin is positively Machiavellian. He suspected there was a little spitfire spirit to you.

“American Werewolf in London.” He counter offers.

“Fine. In a double bill with The Fog. And maybe Carrie.” You add.

He tilts his chin down in an incline of a nod. “Deal.”

“With tootsie rolls. Butter popcorn, and Twizzlers.” You piped up.

He chuckles. “I see your demands and raise you a cold six pack and a joint.” He tilts his head looking crafty. “And Jolly ranchers.”

“Pleasure doing business with you.” You smile at him. Opening your front door and pausing on the front step with your hand on the doorhandle.

He stands there on your drive and you share another few seconds of that gaze that turns your bones to water. Electric bursting in your veins. Stunning you.

You definitely like him

“I may give that school thing you suggested a try. So I guess I’ll see you then.” He says in parting.

“You know. If you need directions there or anything just call me.” You dare. Unable to hold back a big grin.

He winced in taking a breath and an agonised face. “Ooo. Low blow but, fair.”

“Have a good rest of the night, Pencils.” He says in parting.

He hovers awkwardly before floundering with a weird wave that somehow turns into a two fingered salute flicking out from his temple, before he turns away and off back down the drive. Wallet chain hitting his leg as he moved.

You stand at the door and wet your lips. Your hand is so clammy on the cold door handle.

“Wait, Eddie?” You call across to him. You hop down the doorstep and onto the path.

He spins back. Hair flying as he hears the clack of your boots hitting tarmac again. You’re moving closer to him. Walking and trying to act like you aren’t half drunk and wobbling across your lawn to him with one very clear goal in mind.

He twists to face you and his eyes are all big and curious. Smile still warm on his lips.

“Yeah?” He answers. Biting his lower lip. Hands floundering not knowing what to do.

You walk right up to him and don’t waste a second. You lean in real close and kiss his cheek.

You pull back and he’s blinking at you with such a rosy blush creeping into his cheeks, that lets you know he wasn’t expecting that - at all.

He’s looking at you like he can’t quite believe you. And in the best way. Being the town pariah was hell when it came to attracting any sort of attention. From either gender.

Chicks glared at him like he was a leper. They went for the popular guys on route to college with good families and fucking picket fence futures. No one went for him. Never him. The metal head reject, with scruffy mad hair, with only his beloved warlock, a Judas Priest t-shirt, and a blunt to his name. A trailer park upbringing staining him as a hopeless cause for life. He could never scrub that stain away.

“Thanks. For the, tenth time, for seeing me home safe. A very metal move.” You say. Embarrassed with yourself. Blushing and stepping back.

Taking your hands off him and hoping you didn’t just read this wrong and fuck it all up.

You’re all wet lips and he can’t can’t stop looking at your mouth. You smell like cherry gloss and cigarette smoke and some faded fruity perfume that’s all peaches and rose petals lingering on your jacket.

And now he’s realising his inaction is making you ramble, and you’re stepping back and away-

Before he can fully know what’s got a hold of him, he’s drawing you back in.

His hand is under your chin, his rings are cold and they chill you to send shivers racing down your spine. Your hand finds itself sliding down his leather clad arm and holding on for dear life as he kisses you back.

His other hand tugs the corner of your jacket. Keeping you surrendered to him.

Holy shit. His lips are magic.

It’s dirty but somehow unbearably sweet. He tastes of beer and reds. Some long lost taste of mint too.

Unpractised. Maybe even a little sloppy. It’s graduated from something all rolled in sugar and very innocent to something far messier and dirtier.

He pushes his plush lips to yours. They’re wickedly soft and you simply curl into him. Brain blown completely away to heaven, blown away to wherever, away to god only knows- who cares.

You chase for one more second of his mouth when he pulls back. When you do break apart it’s a good thing you’re both holding each other up. Cause, fucking whoa.

Eddie swallows to speak. His thumb smears against your jawbone. You fight off a full body shiver. “I was not expecting that Pencils-“ He grins.

“Just wanted to show you my gratitude is all.” You say. Not moving your hand off his arm.

His other hand is still very much respectfully on your hip. He didn’t even dare try and move it from the side of your jeans.

“No other reason?” He asks softly. His lungs are burning, winded.

“None.” You shake your head. Meeting his eyes and smiling. You look criminally good with bruised lips and that little naughty hellfire glint living in your eyes.

“I think I’m really gonna have to find out where school is now.” He nods. Playing along to your joke with him. “Just got a whole lot more interesting. The fact I might see you around.”

“Might?” You nod. Sounds almost promising.

“Yeah that’s my way of saying I’ll absolutely be looking out for you. But I wanted to sound all cool, and casual about it.” He offers very openly. His fingers tap lightly against your hip. He’s all gestures and swinging his hands when he speaks.

You’ll be damned if this guy doesn’t wear his heart right there on his sleeve with all the zips and chains and metal patches.

“I don’t mind obvious.” You tell him. Stepping back cause you should really be going inside. Tame the way your heart is swooping around your chest like it has a mad mind of its own.

“Good. Good.” He says. A goofy little grin on.

Mourning the way his hands feel pulling off you. You stand close and he tucks his hands into his pockets otherwise he’s too tempted to reach for you again.

“Night, Munson.” You smile as you turn back and do make for your front door this time.

He softly calls across to you where you’re stepping in your door. Shaded in the silent hallway that awaits you. Streetlight orange down your white jacket back.

“Could you salvage my deadly reputation and try and forget that I’m not gonna seize any sort of dignity, and I will be calling you way too soon, Pencils.” He offers.

You laugh. Putting a finger to your lips. He was making that dog down your street bark even louder. Yapping its head off. You dread to see Mrs Abernathys curtains flick across the street. There’d be hell to pay tomorrow.

“I need an answer, here.” He answers Hollering louder. Stands there with his arms open wider. More dogs starting to bark and howl at the disturbance.

You’re laughing even harder. “Fine, yes. Now shut up!” You hiss, grinning at him across your lawn. You love how he didn’t give a shit if he woke up this whole block.

He waves at you all silly as you head inside.

You can’t resist peering out the window in your front door. Watching him practically twirl around in a circle in giddiness, manic energy and a hop in his step as he walks back across to his van. Leaping up to his door.

You chuckle to yourself and you swear to god your lips are still tingling from that completely out of the blue kiss.

Eddie’s shredding music is dull as it thuds and blares around inside his van. He starts the engine and pulls away.

He spies the Cramps cassette tape you left on the passenger seat. He taps his fingers against the wheel in tune to the drums of Black Sabbath.

His eyes flick down to the number scrawled on his wrist. Best tattoo ever.

He’s smirking all the way home.

🕷 Feast your eyes on the following bit? 🕷

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fantasyfictionfables · 18 days

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BG3 Tav Backstory Bash

This is a challenge to help people flesh out their Tav’s backstory by exploring their past. It is organized into four sections with seven prompts. You can treat this as a monthly challenge or a general project. You can write headcanons, fics, or share art based on the prompts! You can interpret the prompts however you want. If you want to share use the tag #bg3backstorybash

Thank you @elspethdekarios for tagging me!

I´ve seen most of my choices have already been tagged, so I´ll tag the remaining ones that come to mind.

@galesdevoteewife @necromosss @theletteraesc @gufu-vire

I have not worked through all of the prompts, so do not forget to take a look at @kelandrin's original post where all prompts can be found.

Athena Dekarios née Asteriadis

High Half-Elf • Paladin • Acolyte of Lathander • Neutral Good

Parents

Father: Amicus Asteriadis

Human artist and craftsman who was unpredictable in his violent tendencies and preference for sticking to himself. He moved to Baldur´s Gate as a young man once he found out his love - Athena´s mother - was planning on running away to the city.

Mother: Keylana Alastrarra

High-born Elf from the noble house of Alastrarra in Cormanthyr. She fell in love with Amicus, while he was performing in the city. Her parents disapproved, so she ran away to Baldur´s Gate in the hopes of a future with him. She became a merchant, but quickly let herself become corrupted. Knowing no responsibility, erratic behavior grew and she ended up taking lovers. Having grown up with money - which she no longer had - she was in the habit of spending too much; leading to terrible conflicts with her husband. (Who was a mere craftsman and very thrifty.)

Birth

Athena was the firstborn and came 8 years before her brother. Her birth was easy, unlike the pregnancy which had been heavy with nausea. She knew her mother had sung to her as a baby and toddler, even having gone so far as to invent her own lullaby for her, but later on their bond became severed and Athena was incapable of forming a bond with her mother. Her father was the one always there for her, despite his violent behavior and emotional abuse towards her. The abuse she had to suffer built the foundation for her strong personality later on, making it difficult for her to trust others.

First word

Plain old "Dada" followed by "bread".

When they first walked

Once Athena started walking at the age of 11 months, nothing was safe. She was particularly interested in books - but not necessarily in looking at them, but rather to use them as countertop for her baking experiments. She was scolded more than once for playing with flour on a green covered book, which she later found out was a book about plants and their different uses.

Tantrum

Athena would never forget that one tantrum she threw as a toddler, where she was on a flea market and saw a mountain lion plush toy. She wanted it so badly that she cried bitter tears, begged and threw herself to the ground. It was the same day she had been too trusting when faced with a big dog, who nearly bit her hand off. To her astonishment, she got the Mountain Lion plush toy. (And still feels bad for having acted out as a toddler.)

First sickness

Measles

Friends

Never really had friends, due to her mistrustful nature and difficulty in forming bonds. She was the awkward know-it-all who did her own thing. Later on Jaheira becomes her best friend.

Siblings

Has a younger brother - Evan - which she basically raised due to neglectful parents. They both know they are there for each other when necessary, but barely maintain contact. He owns a tavern in Waterdeep.

Getting into trouble

Despite her parents´ boasting about her to outsiders, she remains the black sheep of the family due to her reluctance in complying with her father´s demands and open hostility towards her mother´s behavior. She ran away often as a teen, once her parents had separated shortly after her brother´s birth.

Birthday Eleasis 13th

Learning something new

As a Priestess of Lathander she is on a constant journey of self-improvement, which includes learning. May it be combat, medicine or a new spell - she is always gaining new knowledge.

Trauma

One of her mother´s lovers sexually harassed her,

and a boy from the neighborhood tried to assault her. (It didn´t end well for him, but it made her even more cautious.)

First love

She fell in love with Jidam - a classmate who had longer brown hair and striking blue eyes - when she was thirteen years old. He mistreated her and made her the laughingstock of their year, but her devotion never faltered. A girl she thought her friend ended up getting involved with him.

Rebellion

Moved out as a teen and sought refuge in Lathander´s Temple in Waterdeep where she became an Acolyte.

Reckless behavior

Athena never was one for recklessness. Her difficult childhood and devotion to Lathander gifted her with wisdom beyond her years.

Peer pressure

Athena was known for her defiance of the masses and did not cave to peer pressure. The only time she fell for peer pressure she ended up stealing something from a big shop around the corner. Feeling bad afterwards, she donated everything stolen; keeping only four books which made her difficult younger years bearable.

Growing pains

Growing pains plagued her during her teens - usually at night. She could feel it in her bones but never complained.

Taking responsibility

All the responsibility seemed to be on her shoulders from an early age on. First the mediator between parents, then the bodyguard of her mother when lovers turned too unpleasant, afterwards a mother to her brother.

Serious relationships

She only had one partner before Gale and was engaged to him.

Stephanus was a very analytical and stoic man, who had difficulties showing affection, lusted after other women and was an egoistical lover. He was averse to building a family, and Lathander was not pleased to see his Chosen in a union with such a man, leading to a conversation between the god and Athena. She eventually broke up.

Work

She used to serve Lathander in the Spires of the Morning. Later on she became a Paladin of Lathander, serving as a member of the Order of Aster.

Once she returns to Waterdeep with Gale, she becomes a Priestess of Lathander - she also teaches and practices midwifery in that function.

Aging

Due to her nature as a half-elf and being blessed by Lathander, as well as married to the Chosen of Mystra, who could prolong life, she could technically live forever.

Starting a family

Athena and Gale end up being the parents of three children - two boys and a girl.

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sysig · 9 months

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He’s my little meow meow, my darling, my bbygirl (Patreon)

#Doodles #Commander Peepers #I'm soooooo normal about him you guys <3 So normal! <3 <3 #*Looking back over the other Little Guys I've collected* Hmmmmmmm Evil Xisuma and Spamton and Sableye and Rick Diggins #I think there might be a theme here #Just casually making Venn Diagrams in my head - Evil X has the red/black - Spamton is trans - Sableye has Gremlin energy - Rick is too tired #And those are just the ones I can think of lol - if you look I did the same stretchy pose with EX when I was still drawing him lol #The Stretch Pose is how you can tell if I like a character lol - they stretchin'? I am infatuated <3 #I mean I'm normal I'm totally normal lol #Also had to give him a bbygrl pose - I for the life of me cannot find it again but the reference is very strong in my mind's eye!#Not that I couldn't go for another one at some point lol ♪#Ugh the middle one lol - so that Word of God I mentioned in passing about female Watchdogs #I read it in passing as just a basic research of ''Oh here's what The Original Creator has to say alright neat''#Except that it Immediately made me itchy and I was like ''What. What brain this is not that big of a deal what are you doing''#And I was like ''No I'm being silly about this - just because I don't agree doesn't mean it's a big deal lol''#Except then I had stress dreams and woke up Weird the next day and the last time that happened I left a fandom #And the time before that I wrote 4 consecutive pages of 20-something panels in like 18 hours of consciousness - I have normal reactions lol #But I opted instead to vent to smol about it and she agreed with me so basically I'm just saying I'm correct lol /s #Personally Peepers doesn't strike me as misogynistic - he's very much an Equal Opportunity villain in my eyes!#And yeah I considered a lot of different angles around it but like - based on the text of WOY I just don't buy it #If it's not in the show it doesn't count! For all we know there might not even be any female Watchdogs! Lol #Would also lead to the equally-to-Spamton interesting question of How Does Trans Work in that kind of situation #I've definitely not already put a lot of thought into it don't look at me lol #Don't ask me to write an essay about both of those things I'll do it and where will that leave us lol #ANYway lol ♪ He's still the absolute funnest to draw in distress and discomfort <3 And kneeling! He makes me want to practice :D #I always feel like I can try again and do better! >:3c

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honeybear-yammy · 1 year

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Wild Girl

Warnings: cursing, smut, mentions of drinking, sexual themes, slight degrading kink, car sex, unprotected sex, public sex, being watched in the act

Pairings: Steve Harrington x Female Reader

Summary: In which Y/N goes to a party with her boyfriend, Steve which ends with car sex.

You gasped and moaned out as you bounced on Steve's cock. The two of you had just been at a wild party and things got steamy between you and Steve so you both had decided to come out here so both of you could be pleased. And now here you were, riding Steve like it was the last time you'd ever be able to.

"Oh fuck, good girl." He cooed as you bounced on his hardened cock. You held onto Steve's shoulder for support and you now began to grind against him instead of bounce. The feeling of his cock nestled deep inside of you was euphoric. You fucking loved it. Honestly, you could never get enough of it.

You continued to grind against him as both of you moaned out in ecstasy. You had been super excited to come to this party with Steve but, you were so glad that you both decided to leave the party to go do something even more fun. You bit your lip as you grinded against him more and your head fell back.

After a while of grinding against Steve, you went back to bouncing on his cock once again. As you were fucking yourself onto him, you saw Steve look out the car window. Confused, you decided to look out the car window as well as you continued to fuck him. Your eyes then widened when you saw a few of his close friends standing there watching you both fuck in the back of Steve's car.

You were about to stop but, Steve stopped you. You looked down at him confused but, he just had a devilish smirk on his face. "It's fine, babe. Just let them watch." Steve said with a smirk. Embarrassed, you continued to fuck yourself onto your boyfriend as his friends watched you both. "Fuck, I love it when you're my little slut." Steve said with a smirk. "Taking my cock so well while my friend are right there watching you. Fuck, you're one wild girl." He said.

He was right, you were a total slut for Steve. And honestly, the fact that his friends were watching the two of you fuck did really turn you on even more. You were also starting to like the idea of being watched by someone else while having sex with Steve. You felt that familiar knot building up in the bottom of your stomach and you knew that you were going to cum any second now.

You clenched around his hard cock, signaling to him that you were ready to cum. "You gonna cum for me, princess?" Steve asked as he moaned out. You nodded desperately and moaned out as you continued to fuck yourself onto him. "Fuck.." He growled. "Come on, cum, cum for me, babe." He groaned out. With that your eyes rolled back and your legs trembled as you gushed all over his cock. He came the same time you did, shooting his load deep inside of you.

You both began to catch your breath as your boyfriend Steve looked back out the car window again at his friends. He then rolled down the window with a smirk. "Enjoy the show, boys?" He asked with a devilish smirk. They all nodded and you felt your cheeks heat up. "Fuck man, your girlfriend is fucking hot. We didn't think she was that wild." One guy said with a smirk.

"Well, she likes being watched while I fuck her like the little whore she is, don't you babe?" Steve asked with a smirk. You nodded and bit your lip. "Well, the show is over now so go back to the party. I'll meet you all back there again soon." He said. The guys all took one last look at you before walking off. As they were walking out, Steve called out to them. "Oh, hey! and, there will be another showing later." He said with a smirk. Later? This was going to be one hell of a night.

Author's Note: tysm for reading!

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asimplearchivist · 5 months

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𝓒𝓗. 𝓥𝓘 — [𓎿𓇋𓇋𓏏] (‘𝓗𝓼𝔂𝓽’ | 𝓯𝓪𝓿𝓸𝓻𝓮𝓭)

𝐂𝐇. 𝐕𝐈 𝐨𝐟 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐒 𝐊𝐄𝐏𝐓.

[𝓪𝓼𝓲𝓶𝓹𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓿𝓲𝓼𝓽'𝓼 𝓶𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽] [ 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝐊𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓 ] AO3 | SPOTIFY | PINTEREST summary ☾ ⤏ khonshu indulges you. (only because you annoy him, of course—not for any other reason.) pairing ☽ khonshu/singlemom!avatar!reader word count ☾ 6.3k a/n ☽ [header credit] ⤏ this took far longer than it should have to churn this out, but writer’s block is a bitch and my muse is nothing if capricious. I swear I’m still working on this fic little by little, but it’s mostly in the later parts. hopefully the plot will start to progress a little faster now that we’re out of the first year. (I don’t know how this ended up being a christmas/new year’s chapter, but…here we are. it’s a little early but c’est la vie—happy holidays to those who celebrate!) ☽ MASTERPOST ☾ ☾ PREVIOUS CHAPTER ⤎ ☥ ⤏ NEXT CHAPTER [TBA] ☽

The holidays were in full swing as winter snuck into London like a thief. Seemingly overnight, decorations crept up like invasive vegetation to suffocate the city in green, red, and white decorations. Khonshu was bemused by the practice, if nothing else—but what about humanity didn’t perplex him?

True to your word, your schedule grew more complicated as the air grew colder. You were running more tired than ever before, and he did his best to direct you to wrongdoers who wouldn’t put up much of a challenge to your ever-improving skills and reflexes. You’d grown quite adept at defending yourself by then, relying more on instinct than memorization. The local police stations were abuzz with the new active vigilante roaming around at night, and the newspapers were referring to you as impossibly foolish names.

In what world did ‘The Mooner’ seem like an apt title?

You found it amusing, if nothing else, watching the evening news with Lizzie and casting Khonshu a smirk while he brooded in the corner whenever a small blurb would pop up about the latest criminals you’d apprehended—you’d remarked to him once that you wondered if the attention would get you an invitation to join the Avengers…or at least get an introduction.

“That Thor guy would probably get a kick out of you still hanging around, huh?” you’d teased. “Did you guys used to be drinking buddies back in the day?”

“The Asgardians are reveling warriors fattened on their successes,” he’d responded dryly. “You would appreciate their laxness as much as their debauchery.”

“Sounds like someone never got invited to the pantheon orgies. You’re just jealous of the Fabio hair, aren’t you? I bet he doesn’t even use any product, what with all his…divine genetics, or whatever.”

Khonshu was not jealous of another god, only of your attentions. He had to admit that to himself, now, because it was becoming unignorable.

He could scarcely stand to separate himself from you anymore, too addicted to your presence to stray very far, even in the daylight hours. It was difficult to maintain his vigil over the opposite side of the world when it was plunged into night, but he managed it. It wasn’t as if you could patrol the entire earth to apprehend every last wrongdoer, anyway—not with Ru becoming more active with every passing week.

The boy was nearing half a year old, and he was more vocal than ever. Khonshu was bemused by the litany of squealing and babbling that you treated as full conversations, speaking to him as if he understood completely. Khonshu had grown more accustomed to handling him, as well, even if the babe did everything in his limited power to shove the god’s fingers into his investigative mouth. He found it more amusing than annoying, although he did try to keep an eye on the boy while he exercised in ‘tummy time’ just to make sure he didn’t ingest something that would harm him.

Even though you hadn’t informed Khonshu of such, it seemed that the ‘Christmas spirit’ had infected you thoroughly. You’d been brimming with excitement, shopping in your off-time for decor, special groceries, and gifts in preparation for the momentous holiday. The television stayed on most of the day, playing those horrendous, formulaic romantic comedies that made him want to gag at their saccharine plot lines and mediocre acting, and in the evenings the radio crooned songs older than you (they were far more tolerable, much to his relief). You cooked and baked almost constantly, pleasant aromas saturating the rooms with sweet and hearty spices. The apartment was soon littered with festive memorabilia, and before he knew it there was a live tree set up in the corner of the living room.

“Come on, Big Bird—dealing with humans all these years hasn’t clued you into Christmas?”

Considering the contentious and hypocritical origins of the holiday, I haven’t given it too much consideration, he said wryly. There are so many different ones now that I don’t bother to keep up.

“You’re missing out,” you beamed up at him through the branches, glittering red garland wrapped around your arms as you wedged yourself between the boughs and the wall to reach the back of the tree. “There are so many good foods and family traditions and old memories that go with it!”

It is mass-marketed and materialistic, he responded, reaching out with the end of his staff to free you from entanglement.

“If you let it be just about presents, then it is,” you told him sternly, wiggling free and adjusting the strand to your satisfaction before repeating the process in a tapered spiral. “But it’s about connection, to me—friends and family being together and enjoying the festivities.”

Then why are you not with your family? Khonshu questioned before he could think it through.

You paused, expression pinching, but continued to futz with the arrangement. “…I couldn’t get everything together,” you replied quietly, “what with the shift schedules and all that. They’ll understand. We can try again next year.”

It was none of Khonshu’s business, he knew. Normally he wouldn’t rightly care about the inherent complexities of your interactions with your family—but only if he hadn’t known you for as long as he had, even if you were still unaware of it. He had witnessed your life change irreparably in the last year, had even lended a hand in it. A brief brush over your consciousness confirmed his suspicions—the shame of your self-perceived failures overpowered the guilt of not meeting their expectations. You hadn’t gone home since the divorce, and you had barely afforded them the occasional phone call to assure them that you (and Ru) were doing all right despite your circumstances. They had only seen Ru through a camera.

In some (somewhat selfish) ways, Khonshu was glad that you had remained fixed in London, remaining with Lizzie. It meant that he wouldn’t risk losing you as his Moon Knight prematurely. It meant that he didn’t have to share the pair of you with anyone other than your best friend and your coworkers. It meant that he could have you (mostly) to himself—and he was uncertain of what you would think of that.

Ru is still very young, he said finally, lowering his voice and glancing towards the child sprawled on the floor mat asleep.

“…Yeah, you’re right,” you agreed, expression easing slightly. “It wouldn’t really be good for him to fly right now, anyway. It’ll be easier when he’s a little older.”

Khonshu nodded, and you fastened the end of the garland near the tip of the tree. You can barely reach the top.

“Which is precisely why serving a nine-foot eldritch horror is so advantageous,” you remarked, stepping over to the couch and rummaging through the assortment of boxes you had pulled out of storage for this express purpose. You turned back to him brandishing a diaphanous, crystalline star cradled in your hands. You smiled sweetly. “Would you do the honors?”

You are insufferable, Khonshu grumbled, plucking the ornament out of your hands and extending his arm to place it on the uppermost point. There. Happy?

You squinted and tilted your head slightly. “It’s a little lopsided.” You waved your hand to one side. “Just a little to the left.”

Khonshu readjusted it.

“Better. Thank you!” you chirped, grabbing a bundle of lights that looked tangled worse than Apep’s tail used to after the barque’s guardians got through with him at the end of the night. “Can you help me with the lights, too?”

Ru stirred and grumbled at the most opportune moment.

Khonshu scooped him up from the floor and tucked him into the crook of his arm. He’s hungry.

You frowned at him. “How do you even know?”

His forehead wrinkled, Khonshu responded simply, moving over to the kitchen to fetch a bottle from the fridge.

“I’m trying to let him cry a little more,” you complained to the god’s back. “You’re not supposed to cater to them too much, you know.”

And you’re taking aspirin to combat the headaches it causes. Khonshu popped the nipple into the babe’s mouth before Ru even fully realized what was going on—but his body relaxing as his contented hums filled the relative silence of the apartment were confirmation enough. Khonshu didn’t feel he should tell you that he had felt Ru’s stomach pangs even before he’d awoken. Continue your decorating. I’ll tend to him.

“You’ve been doing that a lot more recently,” you pointed out, bemused. “Are you trying to weasel your way into being his favorite?”

Khonshu shook his head and sat on the narrow expanse of the couch that was not occupied by your collection of shiny bobbles. No need to ‘weasel’ my way in when I already am his favorite.

“Keep that up and I’ll have to kick you out, Granddaddy Long Beak—then what’ll you do?”

Enjoy the blissful peace and quiet.

You flung a chromatic red sphere at him. It bounced harmlessly off his arm and rolled onto the rug. “All the things I do for you and this is the thanks I get.”

I am keeping my end of our agreement, he reminded you, propping Ru up briefly to emphasize his point, so we are even.

“You’re turning my own son against me.”

I am doing no such thing.

“Look at him. He never looks that happy when I feed him.”

Perhaps he prefers my methods.

“God, you’d think you were his father,” you grumbled.

Khonshu stiffened, but you continued to gather ornaments to hang on the tree, completely oblivious to the fact that he had been perfectly capable of hearing you.

Read the rest of the chapter here! :)

#moon knight #fanfiction #khonshu #reader insert #khonshu/reader #khonshu x reader #khonshu x you #original character(s)#original male character(s)#original female character(s)#khonshu/you

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aredsunrise · 11 months

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You're Also The Priority

Notes : It is an Leon S Kennedy x original female character (Charlie Miller) fic. 22 y/o oc. I was bored and wanted to try something. It will probably be almost all about the RE4, so sorry. It is also my first fic and English is not my first language. Also sorry if there is any mistakes! (Part 2 is already on ao3 btw)

Summary : It all started when Ashley and her old friend, Charlie, returned from their school. Before they could understand what was happening, a tough man had kidnap them and took them to Spain. Separate from Ashley, when they arrived in an old, weird village, Charlie made it her mission to find her and get away as soon as possible. This is how an agent, who was supposedly there to rescue her and Ashley, found her.

CW : Angst? - Slow Burn - Canon-Typical Violence - Fluff? - Bad Writing - Mutual Pining - Flirting

Words : 634

Part one

Charlie couldn't remember how she got stuck into a dark chamber. The last memory she had was of her and her friend, Ashley, in a car. Now, all she could do was to freak out because of the lack of light and the room where she was. Charlie felt the old and perforated sheets under her body and the air be muffled by the dust she saw rising when she jumped up from the sofa she was resting on.

"Fuck..." was all she could whisper.

She glanced around, searching for her friend in the dark, using the light of small candles placed in a few places, but nothing. There were only the footsteps of mice that were breaking the silence. She stood up and walked towards the wall, her arms in front of her. When she touched it, she walked to the side of the room to find a door. Her whole body was shaking. A mixture of fear and chills. She was cold - It was cold. Charlie repeatedly bumped into wooden boxes and dusty furniture. Above, there were small candlesticks, papers and even books.

She finally found a door, after a few minutes, and frantically moved the handle. Lock.

"Fuck!" she whispers more loudly this time. She took a few steps towards one of the cabinets to find a key or anything, as long as she could open this stupid door when footsteps were heard from the other side. Charlie backed up until she found a vanity and hid under it. It was filled with cobwebs and covered with a long sheet when footsteps came in front the door. She hoped that whoever this is, they will think she is gone and let the door open. Her heart was pounding in her chest. She felt it ringing in her ears as she could see five people come in with the light on the other side of the room. The first who entered was a man with a long purple cape that was hidden a part of his face and some kind of black dress with a stick with some gross alive stuff on it. The rest seems to be four women with long brown or white or beige dresses and a bag that covered their heads, thanks to ropes rolled up and attached to their necks.

"What the fuck?"

"Don't be scared, my child, come out of your hiding place." Said the man in a tone that was meant to be reassuring.

Charlie didn't move. This man was certainly crazy. And because of that, he only waved his hand and the four others began to search the room.

"Shit."

When they finally found her, Charlie kicked one of the four in the face while another grabbed her legs and held them down. The young girl tried to get rid of the grip of one of them on her body.

"Do not resist my child. You will receive the gift of our lord and everything will be better."

Charlie tried to struggle even harder when she saw one of the women approach a seringue near her neck while another held her head to the side, pressing her cheek to the dirty floor. The needle pierced her skin, causing her pain. She could feel the liquid entering and nausea came to her. The four women's gripp grew weaker as the man's voice sounded for the last time:

"Now sleep, my child. Your task is not over."

Taking a sudden fatigue, her eyelids closed directly thereafter. Her body had risen up and back onto the couch. She realized she was going to have to muster up all her courage because the next time someone will visit, she was going to run away from this shit. She will find Ashley and get out of this crazy place.

#i'm bad at tagging #leon s kennedy x original female character #leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #tell me if I erase the x reader since it's not really the reader #leon re4 #resident evil 4 #leon kennedy imagine #AU resident evil 4 #leon kennedy x oc

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loveisnotovertae · 9 months

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Love is Not Over

Love Is Not Over

✏️Taehyung x OFC ✏️Friends to Lover AU 🛑 Rated 18+ 📖WC: 52201 ⚠️Mentally abusive and controlling ex, stalking, mention of anxiety cheating, COVID, drinking, drunk hookup, masturbation, oral, accidental marriage, accidental pregnancy⚠️

Summary:

Mae always wanted to go to South Korea and visit all the places her Aunt and Uncle used to tell her stories about. So after catching her fiancè cheating, she did just that. Her two month trip turned into a permanent stay thanks to covid lockdown. A friendly neighbor turned best friend, who just so happened to be part of the biggest music group in the world. A drunken night that changed her life forever.

Chapter Links (New chapters on Wednesdays and Saturday)

Full fic on AO3 and Wattpad

My Masterlist

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23

#Kim Taehyung | V #Mae #bangtan #Kim Taehyung | V/Original Female Character(s)#taehyung x oc #Taehyung fanfic #taehyung fic #Bts fanfic #BangtanWHQ #taehyung smut #taehyung fluff #Fluff #Fluff and Smut #Fluff and Humor #taehyung #bts

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sarahowritesostucky · 3 months

Text

📖"Temporary Custody"

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Steve x ofc x Bucky; Steve x Bucky

Word Count: 4042

Tags: Dom/sub, bdsm au, dom Bucky, sub reader, hurt/comfort, enemies to lovers, gay sex'n'stuff, straight sex'n'stuff, Steve being a literal Golden Retriever, mental health issues, dub-con, forced submission, referenced childhood abuse and resultant mental health issues, bakery au, m/f/m, gentle domination, total power exchange

Trigger warnings: This story contains themes of eating disordered behavior, body image issues, childhood abuse, self-harm, and alcohol abuse.

Wait! I haven't read an earlier chapter of this fic! Story Masterpost

5. Jiggly Soufflé Cake

Steve

“I should be in there,” Bucky says again, making Steve roll his eyes.

They’re sitting next to each other, out in the waiting room at the Center. It’s been over an hour, but Steve remembers how the intake worker had told them that Mary’s evaluation wouldn’t be short. Already, he’s read through half the crappy magazine selection. He lets the edge of an outdated issue of Dominant Monthly flop down to his lap. “Babe …”

“It’s taking too long. What if they’re harassing her or—”

“You know that’s not true. The people here are good. You’re just trying to control everything,” he reminds Bucky.

“If I was in there I could—”

“Get in the way. She needs to feel like she can express herself.”

“What if she’s not honest? What if Linda’s not asking her the right—”

“Buck, stop,” Steve says, injecting some command into his voice. Bucky might be the Dom, but Steve can put his foot down with his husband when needed. “The therapist knows what she’s doing. All the people here do. This is what they do.”

They’re at the Center for Designated Peoples, the place where people like Bucky go for … well, anything related to their dominance or submission needs. That’s all Steve really knows. He knows that Bucky has been in and out of CDPs since he was a kid. “It took almost a week to get her this appointment, alright? You want to mess that up?”

Bucky grumbles. “No.”

“Good. Cause they don’t need you in there, interfering in her assessment. So sit tight.”

Bucky shuts up after that, satisfying Steve that he’s made his point.

“Well, what do you think?” Bucky eventually says, when another ten minutes have passed and the door to the therapist’s office is still closed. “Of her?”

Steve glances over. “You mean in general?”

“Sure. Whatever.”

Steve can tell when Bucky’s being defensive. “You like her,” he says. “And not just cause of her lemon tarts.” He’d seen him looking at weighted blankets on Amazon, yesterday. “Admit it,” he prods, nudging Bucky’s shoe with his. “You can tell me how you feel. Why d’you need me to qualify it for you, first?

“Because I’m married to you, not her,” Bucky snaps. “Jesus, Rogers. Never met a man with less self-preservation instincts than you.”

“Mmhm. Aand?”

“... Okay I’m drawn to her,” Bucky says. “But I can’t tell how much of that is instinct and how much is normal people stuff.”

“‘Normal people stuff’,” Steve echoes, amused.

“I want to know what you think of her.” Bucky kicks his shoe back. “Tell me.”

“I like her too,” Steve concedes. “It’s not just you.” He can see as Bucky’s shoulders relaxing a little bit, knows that his opinion matters to his husband. “She’s different. Plain, but …” Steve searches for the right word. ‘Cute’ doesn’t seem right. She’s too prickly for that and too old besides. She’s a woman, not a girl, and he’s not just trying to describe her physical appearance. “I don’t know,” he says. “Editorial?”

“Editorial?” Bucky scowls. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“I dunno, just, not off the rack. Different.” Bucky snatches the magazine out of his lap and chucks it back to the coffee table. Steve rolls his eyes. “Wish she wasn’t so defensive, though. And I wish we could’ve met her … you know, like on a date or at the gym or something.”

Bucky snorts. “Yeah.”

“She grows on you,” Steve decides. Like an angry, stray cat. That’s dirty and scraggy a little.

“She’s pretty,” Bucky offers, but the words fall flat. They can both see that she’s attractive, that isn’t news. Bucky and Steve are attractive people themselves. They aren’t hurting for opportunities to be with attractive women (or men), if they want to. And it’s been a while since they invited another person into their bed. But …

“I haven’t been with a woman since my twenties,” Steve mumbles, thinking about it. He glances at Bucky. “You have.”

They both know Bucky was dating women casually when he met Steve, years ago. “Yeah,” he says simply.

“You ever miss ‘em? Women?” Steve kind of does sometimes. He likes how soft they are; the contrast. It had taken him a couple of dates and a few glasses of wine, back when they’d first gotten together, to admit to Bucky that he was bi. Steve had told him that, and then Bucky had disclosed his designation status. “We used to talk about the whole poly thing a lot more.”

“Hm, yeah I guess.” Bucky shrugs and reaches to take his hand. Steve gives it a squeeze. “I dunno babe. Kind of hard to think about anybody else when I’ve got you around.” He gives him a lecherous look that makes Steve glad they’re the only ones in the waiting room. “Your hot body’s been enough to keep my attention.” His eyes drag up and down Steve, mentally undressing him.

Steve feels heat creep up his neck and he chuckles, pushing Bucky’s hand away. “Stoppit. Jerk. I’m a person.”

“Punk,” Buck smirks. “You like it.”

“Shuddup. Not here. God, you’re such a creep.” They’re both grinning—probably like complete, horny letches—when the door to the therapist’s office opens.

The professionally dressed woman offers them a friendly smile. “Bucky, Steve.”

“Hey Linda,” Bucky greets.

“How’d it go, Doctor?” Steve asks, not on as informal terms with the CDP staff as his husband is. “Is she …”

“Mary is fine. Would you like to come in and talk with us?”

Bucky is immediately standing from his chair. “Yep.”

Steve has to refrain from rolling his eyes. He grabs Bucky’s wrist. “Hang on now, Buck. Maybe she doesn’t want us in there. We should try and give her choices where we can.”

Doctor Linda surprises him by saying, “Actually, Mary says she’s fine with discussing this all together.”

Bucky shoots him a smug look and tugs his wrist back. “See?”

This time Steve does roll his eyes, but he nods at Linda and gets up to follow her back into the office.

Bucky

Bucky can recall very clearly the first time he’d been told he had a mental illness. He’d been ten, had been sent to the school shrink for misbehavior. He remembers how his mom had come in, harried about being called off from work when her kid wasn’t even sick. Bucky had felt bad about that, had felt like he’d done something wrong (well, he had scrubbed Trixie Wallace’s face into a mud puddle at recess).

But still, even at ten years old he’d been smart enough to know that this meeting with his mom and the counselor was more serious than another simple admonition or in-school suspension.

Long story short, His mom wound up reacting with something like embarrassment, and Bucky had wound up internalizing that for a long time, feeling like his “condition” was something to be kept private and not discussed.

Now, he sits in Linda’s office and makes sure to exude an air of calm and acceptance. He doesn’t want Mary to be embarrassed about this like he was. It helps that times have changed a bit since Bucky was a kid, and he knows this particular Center very well. They do good work with the designated community. Bucky knows that no one here is going to announce to Mary that she’s a deviant.

Mary’s sitting in her own chair, separate from where Bucky and Steve share the couch. Even though Bucky’s instinct is to tell her to come sit with them, he holds back. He knows that the seating arrangement is likely purposeful on Linda’s part. He tries to remember Steve’s words about giving Mary choices where they can. Domination may be what she needs, but too much of a good thing, administered too fast, can still be harmful.

“High needs,” Steve is saying, echoing what Linda’s just told them. “... So, she’s like Bucky, but submissive?”

“Yes,” Linda confirms. “We did the assessment twice, and both times Mary tested at the far end of the spectrum.”

“Fantastic,” Mary mutters.

“We’ve been discussing what this might mean for her care plan, going forward. Mary has several other issues that I believe tie into her unfulfilled needs as a submissive.”

“I don’t understand how it went undiagnosed for so long,” Bucky says, feeling vaguely upset about it. “Doc?”

She shrugs. “Mary’s from a part of the country where mental health awareness isn’t so advanced. They didn’t test in the public school system where she grew up.” Mary makes a quiet noise of discontent and Linda adds, “So we’ve been talking about the physiology of it, the role of neurotransmitters and how important it is for her to be dropped regularly. And we’ve discussed what that might look like, different options she has.”

“Options?”

Here, Linda hesitates. “Well … Mary has expressed an interest in taking advantage of the Center’s social programs.”

“No,” Bucky says right away. “Absolutely not.”

“She said you do it,” Mary counters, and when Bucky looks over he finds her glaring at him. “Apparently, I don’t need you after all. I can just come here and hook up with any old body.”

“I’m your legal guardian right now,” Bucky reminds her. “And the clubs are for people who know what they’re doing. It’s too unstructured for you. You need more stability than that.”

Mary scoffs and crosses her arms, but Dr. Linda is already nodding in agreement. “I think Bucky’s right, Mary,” she says gently. “A reliable, dominant partner and regular drops in a safe space are what you need right now.”

“Why can’t you just write me a prescription or something?” Mary complains. “You said it was a brain chemistry thing, so why not?”

Linda looks uncomfortable as she explains, “Medication is usually only considered as a last ditch treatment option … and with your substance use disorder and other issues I'd rather not —”

“I am not an alcoholic!”

“No meds,” Bucky says, hating that idea. “Come on, Mary. You don’t want to be drugged up, do you?”

She glares at him. “You just want to control me.”

He fights very, very hard not to roll his eyes. “Yeah,” he quips. “That’s kind of the whole point.”

Mary groans and slumps back into the cushions of her chair, looking put out. “This sucks.”

“It’s manageable,” Linda reminds gently.

"I don't want to be this way," she mumbles. "'High needs'. It's embarrassing."

“It's no different than needing air, or food or sleep,” Steve supplies. “You guys just have this extra thing.”

Mary makes a face, probably at being lumped into the ‘you guys’ category with Bucky. “So, what’s the plan then?” she asks mulishly, crossing her arms. “We go back to your place and you break out the whips and chains?”

Bucky barks out a laugh before he can stop himself. “Oh, honey. I promise there aren’t any chains.” He winks at her. “I prefer leather.”

Mary

After the therapist, it gets a little easier to be around Steve and Bucky. Mary’s still quick to anger, thinking about the situation that she's managed to get herself into, but there are some ameliorating factors to the situation.

Having an official diagnosis—no matter how much she doesn’t want this diagnosis—is at least a starting point. Mary doesn’t have to keep exhausting herself, arguing with Bucky that she’s not a sub. She is. That’s that.

And when he takes it upon himself to speak with Mary’s boss about her situation (effectively getting him to unfire her for the multiple days of work she’s missed) some more of Mary’s contempt for Bucky slips away.

“Thank you,” she says quietly once they leave the café, her next shift already scheduled for that upcoming Monday. “ I … this job, it means a lot to me.”

“I know.” Bucky says simply, though Mary can see the self-satisfaction in his posture. He takes her hand as they walk together down the sidewalk, and to Mary it feels like some sort of test, like he’s waiting for her to pull away.

So she forces herself to curl her fingers around his and keep holding his hand.

Again, she can practically feel the reaction coming off of him. He’s pleased with her. Mary’s cheeks flush from the domineering squeeze he gives her hand from time to time as they walk, and she’s grateful that she can blame it on the day’s chilly air.

Doctor Linda had explained everything, of course, when Mary went in for the assessment. The testing hadn’t been what she was expecting, hadn’t been embarrassing or invasive. And, perhaps most disappointing of all, it hadn’t been predictable. Mary hadn’t felt like she knew which way to fake her responses, to get the test to declare her mentally fit. So she’d answered honestly.

And where had that gotten her? Lumped into the same group of deviants as James Bucky Barnes. “High needs”—God it sounds awful.

“It’s not necessarily sexual,” Linda tells her at her second appointment. “Or, well … it doesn’t have to be, at least. There are ways around it, if you really need an asexual dynamic.”

Mary nods along, but inside she thinks about the last time Bucky scolded her or praised her or held her hand on the sidewalk. She thinks about when he’d put his hand on her throat and applied pressure. Thinking about those things doesn’t make her feel asexual at all.

The first time Bucky doms her in a coordinated manner, she’s actually unaware of what he’s doing at first. It’s one of Mary’s three days off and she’s terribly bored, researching how to make grapefruit soda caviar and wondering if there’s a gym nearby that she could join. She hasn’t exercised in weeks, and honestly, if there’s even the slightest chance that she’s going to wind up being naked in front of Bucky or Steve (or, oh god, both of them), then she really feels like she needs to work out.

Scratching fingernails over the skin of her lower stomach, she googles nearby gyms, finds one that looks decent, and tells Steve that she’s headed out to go join. She’s tying one sneaker when Steve objects.

“Oh but wait,” he says. “Um, Bucky’s going to be home soon. And I think he uh, I think he had plans. … For us.”

Mary raises an eyebrow. She likes Steve—thinks he’s kind of a big, beefy sweetheart, actually—but sometimes his devotion to Bucky and what Bucky wants is annoying. “Fine, you stay here and tell him where I went. I’ve got to get out of this apartment.” And out from under you and your bossy husband’s constant supervision. “Got to … I dunno, burn off some steam.”

Bucky’s timing is impeccable. He comes through the door just as she’s bending over to lace up her other sneaker. His arms are full of plastic grocery bags, which he dumps onto the kitchen counter with fanfare. "Honey, I'm home."

“What happened to using the reusable bags?” Steve drawls, earning an eye roll from Bucky.

“Forgot 'em.”

“Mmhm.”

“Shut up.” Bucky’s grinning at his husband, until he catches sight of Mary crouched in her gym clothes. “Where do you think you’re going?” he asks her.

“None of your business,” she snips, standing back up and heading for the front door.

“Stop right there, Princess.”

Oh. Well that’s a new one. Mary turns back around with what she’s sure is an incredulous look. “‘Princess’?”

Bucky smiles warmly and drags her over to inspect the groceries that are in the bags. She’s quick to catalog: eggs, butter, flour, sugar, milk. “What?” she asks, looking up at him. “You think I’m going to cook for you?”

“Oh I know you’re going to cook for me,” he says calmly, taking dry goods out of one of the bags and arranging them in the pantry. “Bake, in fact.”

Mary might stare a little, maybe with her lips parted. She feels equal parts annoyed and intrigued by his audacity. Something vaguely squirmy and warm stirs in her. She's planning on throwing some haughty quip back at him, maybe casually threatening poisoning, but somehow what comes out of her mouth is a subservient, “Well … what do you want me to make?”

He turns back around with bright eyes. “Oh, I’m sure you can come up with something,” he practically purrs. He gets right up in her space and says, “Something … delectable.”

Mary has to avert her gaze and turn away. She says a quick prayer that he hadn’t been close enough to hear the little hitch in her breath, then tries to focus her attention on cataloging the ingredients the jerk has brought her. Eggs, butter, flour, sugar, milk …

Hadn’t she … hadn’t she been going out somewhere? Oh yeah, right. The gym.

She squeaks when Bucky claps a cheerful hand on her shoulder and gives her a squeeze. “Good girl,” he simpers, then walks over to the couch and flops down next to Steve, giving him a kiss hello. They proceed to chat with each other and chat about their days like Mary isn’t standing less than twenty feet away in the kitchen.

She suddenly feels like some 1950’s housewife. … One with damp panties, now that Bucky’s called her that right in her ear. Christ. Had Steve heard? She glances back over to them, but they’re not looking her way. Mary flushes and looks back down at the countertop. Eggs, butter, flour, sugar, milk. She tries to think if she has everything she might need for soufflé cakes.

“How can something so plain be so good?” Steve wonders at the dinner table, where he’s squinting closely at his third helping of dessert like he can glean answers from it. “And what is it?”

“Satisfying,” Bucky says sagely. “That’s the secret.”

“The secret is buttermilk. And it’s cake, Steve. Just eat it.”

“How’re those dishes coming, Doll?” Bucky calls back, shooting her a sly look from over his shoulder. Mary resists the urge to stick her tongue out at him and dunks her hands back into the soapy sink water.

Steve pokes the jiggly cake with his fork. “What are yooou?”

By the time they’re finished with dinner and dessert (and dishes), she’s figured it out. All the pet names, the casual touches and the confident demands? Bucky’s trying to dominate her. She thinks about calling him out on it, but promptly forgets to do that when they go into the living room to watch a movie and Bucky firmly suggests that she make herself comfortable on the floor instead of the couch. At his and Steve’s feet.

Forget about damp panties, she just hopes it doesn’t start to show through her leggings.

Asexual dynamic her ass.

Mary had only held onto the illusion that the guys were gay gay for about two whole days, before it became very apparent that they actually like women, too. Steve’s comments alone about Daenerys while watching Game of Thrones are enough to broadcast that he swings both ways.

So that takes it from regrettable to just plain insulting when, as time goes by, Bucky doesn’t initiate anything sexual with her. He keeps doing his whole Dom thing, aided and abetted by Steve, and almost always in ways that take Mary off guard. He’s never mean, never does any of the intimidating things she’d imagined a dom would do to a submissive.

And Mary won’t admit it, but she’s starting to look forward to when Bucky gets home from work at the end of the day. She spends more time than she’ll ever admit planning out something new to make for dessert, all the while anticipating the beginning of Bucky’s early evening commands and how they elicit those first tendrils of effervescent, pink fizz giddiness.

It’s the later commands—the ones that come after dinner and during tv time, that tend to bring on the warm, sunken bathwater feelings. Marys pretty sure that Steve is a bit of a voyeur, because he seems fascinated by it all, watching every night as Bucky bosses her around, sometimes even joining in his own small ways, by petting her hair or telling her she’s sweet, or something like that.

Every evening, they play this strange game. And every evening Bucky and Steve each give her a kiss on the cheek and send her dazed little self off to bed, the two of them retiring to their own room. In the beginning, being left alone to go to bed is nice. She ignores the arousal between her legs in favor of floating in her syrupy sea of sweet feelings. Going to bed in subspace gives her the most solid sleep she’s ever had in her life. But after another week of it, and then another, the arousal starts to linger a little more at bedtime. She starts to fantasize about what it would be like to keep things going, to take Steve’s hand at the end of the night and let him guide her into his and Bucky’s bedroom, rather than her own; be held between their two big bodies while they whisper more sweet things to her and touch her in new places …

Maybe Steve and Bucky really do just want this to be platonic, she thinks, as another week of the same goes by and her dreams are getting dirtier by the minute. She’d surreptitiously stuffed her vibrator into a bag when they’d gone back to her apartment to retrieve her belongings, but she’s been too afraid to use it when Steve and Bucky are right across the hallway in their room, mortified to think that they might hear the buzzing and know what she’s doing.

Best not to add fuel to the fire, she thinks, when she ignores how increasingly horny she’s becoming and forces herself to lie still and count sheep and not fantasize about the two insanely hot, not-gay-gay men in the next room. They’re still a happily married couple, she tells herself. They’ve got no interest in her as of yet, and she’ll just be making herself into a homewrecker if she pushes for more.

… Or maybe they’re just not attracted to her that way, she eventually starts to think. Steve and Bucky are both in amazing shape, and they’re very good looking. They probably see her as like … maybe a solid five—with makeup and a blowout.

She gets a little down in the dumps about it, realizing that all the heavy drinking and crap diet of this past year and a half has taken its toll on her, and she’s just not physically their type. She convinces Bucky to start adding salmon to the grocery list, she researches the pros and cons of lip filler, and starts whitening her teeth with one of those nasty little gel kits.

She stands in front of her bathroom mirror each night and scrutinizes her naked body, dragging her nails absentmindedly against the skin of her lower stomach and cataloging everything that’s not as good as it could be. She considers the scars on her hip that have no new slices added to the roster, wonders if Bucky ever wound up telling Steve about how … how awful they are …

“Night, Mary!” Steve chirps from across the hall, making her inhale and flinch in surprise.

“N-night!” she calls back through the wall, feeling the pleasant effects of that night’s drop fading away faster than she’d like.

Maybe she should just be happy that she’s getting at least this much attention from them, that things have improved a little and she at least isn’t drinking herself into a stupor each night anymore. That’s a positive, even if she is still left pining after them like a fool every night. Steve and Bucky are okay guys, but they probably just don’t want anything more than this from her. They’re helping her because she shares this mental illness with Bucky, and that’s super nice of them, but it doesn’t mean they have to be attracted to her, too. Mary’s not entitled to anything.

She joins a 24 hour gym and takes to binge exercising in the middle of the night to push away the uncertainty.

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alien-magnolia · 2 years

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Thoughts on Casual Dominance! with Steve Harrington🤍✨ part 2 🌸🍂🍁

Oct. 16. 1988. You and Steve decided that today you’d take a little trip to the city out from Hawkins. It was only a half an hour drive anyways. You wanted to drive but Steve insisted, and handled the maps too. He said he’d hate it if he got the two of you lost.

He wore a sweater and his red puffer vest (which you loved on him) but made sure you wore extra layers. “Honey, if you freeze out here and then later on catch a cold, who’s fault will it be?! It’s better for you to stay healthy, sweet girl,” he softly demanded of you, as the two of you drove there, one of his hands gripping the wheel, and the other strongly gripping your thigh :)

Steve would open the door for you as soon as the two of you got there, helping you out of the car. He held your small hand tightly in his as the two of you would make your way out of the dark parking lot and onto the street. God, and you’d love his big, strong, hands. They’d always keep you warm and safe.

He’d always have his arm around your shoulders as the two of you walked, and he kept you close to the sidewalk too!! “Stevie, I’m fine!!,” you’d retort to him, not like anyone was going to try and approach you with him around. Steve wasn’t exactly the smallest guy. His tall, broad shouldered frame was enough to make sure no other men on the street would catcall you. If they looked at you, he’d look back through his Ray-Bans.

He’d order for you at a restaurant!! (You were very shy…)

You were glad that you never had to order anything by yourself, with Stevie around! ✨

You both decided on pizza today, but your pizza slice came without pepperoni :/ and you DID tell Steve it was fine, and that you didn’t want to bother the workers! But he wouldn’t take that for an answer. “Hey!” He came up to the counter, and tossed the plate onto it. “She asked for pepperoni on this,” he sternly said. A few minutes later, he came back with a new slice of pizza for you.

You were so grateful, that you almost slid into his lap right then and there. But! Since you were in public, you just brought him in for a gentle kiss!! “Always tell me if something’s wrong, okay, sweetheart?,” he’d remind you after that. You’d nod and smile up at him.

You wore your black heels today, skittering next to him on the pavement. You liked the heels, and so did Steve! You loved to dress up all pretty, just for him. There was a little crack in the asphalt that both of you didn’t see, and your heel nicked onto it! You tripped, but your sweet Stevie caught you, so only one of your knees hit the ground. “Shit, baby. Are you okay?! What happened?!,” he shouted, a bit loudly. “Stevie, it’s fine. I must have tripped. I do have a little bruise on my knee,” you replied to him.

He helped you up easily, and then went on a little rant about how dangerous it was for you to wear heels when there were so many leaves and things on the ground! He ended it by raising his eyebrow at you, seeing if you agreed. And of course you did. Anything for King Steve, your protector 🤍✨

If you liked this post, please help out a writer and reblog 🫶🏻✨🎃🍂

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cosmicanemoia · 9 months

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Alone Together

Cipher (Charlize Theron) x reader

SUMMARY

You met a woman. She met you.

First meet. (The Fate of the Furious)

You were hiking, enjoying your time alone, away from everyone. Suddenly, a blonde woman who came from the sky falls right in front of you. You were shocked as hell. You smile at her and scoffed and shake your head sideways, which pique her interest, she removes her parachute, she then ask you "what the hell are you smiling at" as you walk pass her, she grabs you and puts a knife to your throat. You both breathe heavily, you look her in the eye and smile more as you hold your eye contact. You move closer to her face, making the knife cut your skin.

"Is this supposed to scare me? Cause this kind of shit just turns me on. This is the stuff of my fantasy. Tall, gorgeous woman with spacey eyes holding a knife to my throat, heh. If this is a dream, I don't wanna wake up yet. But if you wanna kill me, do it then," you stare in to each other's eyes, you said "I didn't think so," she decided to put the knife down and took a step away from you, she let's her eyes to wander the vastness of the woods, you walk past her and after a couple of steps you look back at her and said "well, aren't you coming?" She looks at you and you nod signaling her to come with you when she finally catches up with you, you said "Not that I'm complaining, you just made one of my dream came true. if you needed help, you could have asked for it." You smiled at her

"What are you doing alone in the middle of nowhere?" She questioned. "What everyone who would go alone in the middle of nowhere do. Be away and alone." You answered and questioned her in turn."What were you doing falling from the sky?" She didn't answer. She just kept trailing behind you as if she didn't hear you say anything, "I see. You don't have to tell me anything." She scoffed and chuckled.

You were actually on your way back to the cabin when she fell in front of you. As you came nearer and nearer to your cabin, she asked, "You're not one of those serial killers or psychopaths are you?" You grinned at her amused by her query. "What? Good one, even if I am, I'm sure you could handle yourself. Everyone's a psychopath, and most just play along with the system," "That is not a no." She commented, and you're just looking towards your destination and continue walking.

"We're here. Make yourself at home." You welcomed her, and she is hesitant but eventually decided to go in the cabin with you. She thought that you were right. She could definitely protect herself from anyone.

You went in and paid her no mind. You just went on your daily routine as if she had been there for a long time. You didn't offer her anything, and you didn't treat her like a guess. You said she could sleep wherever she wants, and she just nods at you, sitting near the fireplace.

Later at night, you make your way to bed and you saw her lying comfortably there, reading something, you said "that's my bed" and she said "you said I could sleep wherever" you look back on your words earlier and you agreed and said "fine" you slip on the little space on the bed and nudge her to move a little to give you more space. "Hey!" she said, "what? You can sleep wherever and I can't? This is a king-sized bed, stay in your corner, and I'll stay in mine." She rolled her eyes at your remarks, gave you some space, put her book down, and went to sleep.

Morning came along and she didn't see you beside her, you already got up, so she gets up and went to look for you, she sees you eating your breakfast outside the cabin just right in front of it. You turn your head and see her. "Sleep well?" You asked, she think about it for a couple of second and she did in fact slept well, the best she had in a long time, but she didn't admit it and simply said "yes"

"I'm going back to reality. You can stay here as long as you want but don't tell anyone about this place. You and I are the only people who know about this place. It will be our precious secret. "

"Wait--" she said. "Oh-- right. There's a motorbike at the back and extra gas, enough to get you to a small town. You'll manage." You informed her. "That's no-- That's - I, uh- thanks," she mumbled and thanked you. "See you when I see you, miss gorgeously strange badass. I hope" you winked at her then walk away.

You gave her your name but she didn't return the favour. Now she thought she should have.

You are hiking to the nearest motel and take your car from there. You have always left it there before you went to the cabin, and then you drive home.

She spent a month at the cabin enjoying the solitude, but after some time, she got bored and got a little creep out by the silence and the old-fashioned place. She needed her techs.

Next meet. (F9)

After a year, you came back to your cabin. You open the door, and as you step a foot inside, someone grabs you and pins you to the wall while holding a knife to your throat.

"We gotta stop meeting like this," she said with heavy breaths, and you could see her smirk.

"Agree to disagree. I hope We don't." You smirk back.

You both stay in position for a hot couple of minutes just staring into each other's eyes, exchanging heavy breaths. As she let you off and pulled away, she scoffed, and you frustratedly scoffed, too.

"Have you left, or have you been here since?"

"Course, I left. What would I do in this dump for a year? I just came back, I've only been here for a month."

She was waiting on you to come back, she figured you come back to the cabin once a year, so she came back a month earlier, after a year of meeting you there, hoping to see you again.

"You've been staying at this dump for a month. Huh." You said, and she replied, "What? It's so old fashioned, there's no Internet and I have to bring my own techs here" you look at her with disappointment written on your face "that's the whole point of all of this" you shake your head unimpressed.

"Is this all of it?" You said as you look at the coffee table with all the technology too advanced for you to understand. She confirmed and you move and took it all and lock all of it in a treasure chest, and throwing the keys amongst the other keys on the drawer near the chest, she couldn't even protest, too baffled by the sight. "What was that for?" She finally spoke. "You'll get them when I leave," you said as you raised your eyebrows up and down at her. "And when is that gonna be?" She asked frustratedly. You look at her with a stoic face, and she gulped, caused by the view in front of her, giving her goosebumps. She's never felt like this before.

You smile a few seconds later and phrase in a seductive voice, "I just got here, and you already want me gone. That's not how you treat your lover who just got home, my love, you know better than that" "That's not what I mean-- I'm not--" she defended but you quickly cut her off "Let's get some fresh air. The air in here is a bit thin. " she rolled her eyes as you walked out.

She searches for the key in the drawer. With no luck she didn't find it, there are a lot of other keys in the drawer. Sighing in defeat, she followed you out and saw you sitting at the front porch. You were looking as far as your eyes would allow you into the woods, she walks over and sat next to you.

There was silence for an awkward moment until you decided to break it, "Do you want to be cuddled?" Her eyes widened, and she scoffed in shock, "What?" She laughs nervously and you repeat yourself "I want to cuddle you, it's so cold here, and I don't wanna go in yet" "then let's make a fire" she offered and you refuse "that would take a lot of work, come here" you stretch your arms out and welcome her in to your embrace but she complains and whined "why do I have to be cuddled when you're the one who's cold, I should be the one cuddling you" she kept protesting.

You stand up, and she looks up at you. You stand behind her and sit down, your arms and legs wrapped around her. "What are you doing?" She asked,"keeping both of us warm, " you answered.

She shakes her body, "get off me," she commanded. Your embrace loosens, and she misses the contact. "Okay," you started to get off of her, but she muttered "fine" You embrace her tightly as the cold air brushes your cheeks.

She could just throw you down if she really wanted to, but there's something about your embrace. It's warmth - that stops her from doing so and instead keeps her wanting more.

Three days you live together, almost like an old married couple, endless bickering, madly flirting (on your part). The domesticity of it all made both of you forget the worlds you live in are burning. But all good things come to an end rather quickly than bad things.

You made a pack for your hike at the nearest motel and got ready to leave after you've eaten breakfast.

"Bye again for now, Ms. GSB" You bid adieu, "I have a name, you know, " She said in response, "No. I don't know." You told her, and she mumbles, "Wha-- That's not what I---" you cut her off, "So. Tell me." "My name is Cipher" she thought you'd ask more question like 'who is named cipher, just cipher' but you pulled her out of her train of thoughts and hugged her tightly "Hi. Cipher, It's been great spending time with you." You pulled out of the hug, but she aches for more, but she knows better than that or so she thought.

As she watches you leave, a wave of longing comes crashing on her already, she went inside and sat down, she sees the treasure box still locked, she'd forgotten about her beloved techs, she smiled to herself. Her mind brought her to look back on the conversation she had with you.

"What are you grinning at?" She asked as she looked at you, already looking at her with a wide grin plastered on your face "Sorry I just can't help it. I think you look like a coconut husk.-- A beautiful and brilliant coconut husk, " you said as you winked at her at the end of your sentence. She slightly blushed. "You're so cheesy." She said and shrugs, trying to brush the blush off.

After a few seconds of admiring her beauty and getting lost in her eyes, you asked her, "You okay? You seem pretty mad or something, but pretty nonetheless" you raises eyebrows up and down at her, trying to lift her spirits up " I swear I will just smack you out of nowhere one of these days" she said sarcastically and literally. "Looking forward to it," you replied with the same tone she just had. She looks at you with disbelief and amusement. Your face turns into a frown when she looks away from you.

"Seriously. How are you?" You requested to know, and she just said,"I'm fine. " "Sure you are. But, are you okay?" You insisted in knowing how she is, she took a deep breath and looks at you affectionately, after a few seconds of staring at you she said "I am now" she smiles at you genuinely. "Fine. Don't tell me." You let it go and you chuckled "I see what you did there, that's good" you complimented her, "learned from the best" she responded, and you both let out a loud and boisterous laugh.

Her flashback ended, and she's smiling ear to ear like a silly teenager. She sighed and said, "I want to be alone with you." Out loud, the person who she wants to heart it, already gone.

Third meet (Fast X)

You came back to your cabin hoping to be welcomed by a gorgeous woman, but there's nobody there when you arrived. You just shrug it off and think 'she has a life of her own', you exhale and find your keys.

After a couple of days of settling in, you're accompanied by hot chocolate and a book in your hand, and then someone knocks at your door rapidly. You rolled your eyes and groaned, frustrated by the disturbance of your peace.

When you open the door, worry washes away your frustration. You would say you're glad to see the badass in front of you, which you are, but she's seriously beaten up. You invite her inside and she drinks your hot chocolate, not asking for permission, not that she needed it, she just always do it, Eating out of your plates, drinking out of your cups, wearing your clothes, and you just let her all the time.

After she's settled in and got some rest. You break the silence, "Did you run into a car, or did a car run you over?" You asked, trying to lighten her mood. "I met the devil himself." She said loud and clear, you thought she was joking and that she wants you to leave it alone, so you burst out laughing, you see her at the corner of your eye not laughing with you, your laughter dies down, and realisation hits.

"Oh. You're not joking." You said after you cleared your throat."I wish I was." She replied, exhaustion in her voice is now more evident, "Tell me about it, " you requested.

She tells you the story.

After hearing the end of the story, you think to yourself for a moment, and you said, "So. You have no friends." She smiles at your response to the story she told. "That's what you get from all that?" She questioned, and you took her hand, "I'm just kidding, babe. From what you describe, that doesn't sound like the devil. Trust me. I know, cause I've met them." You nod and try to take your hand back and let hers go, but she tightens the grip, not wanting to be deprived of your touch.

"What do you mean you've met them?" She asked, but you just ignored her. "He just sounds like a total scum who didn't have a mother that loved him." You added to your last statement, and she asks again, "How did you meet the devil?" But you just keep ignoring her."Your guy just needed to be taught a lesson or two, " you added again to your last statement.

"Stop ignoring me!" She shouted, frustrated of you who kept ignoring her, "Okay... chill.-- Damn!" You chuckled nervously, a little scared for your life, but also somehow turned on. "What do you wanna know?" You inquired, and she said,"Everything. Tell me everything." Her eyes fixated on you. You look up at the ceiling, contemplating. "Okay, but there's a catch. I tell you everything, you do the same. No lies. No holding back certain truths to manipulate the story." You commanded, and she took a breath and huffs. The cabin is filled with silence until you both speak at the same time.

You said, "I didn't think so," she said. "Okay, fine. Deal"

Your eyes widen by what she said and ask her to repeat her sentence just so you could be sure you heard it right

"I said, fine. I'm willing to tell you everything if you tell me everything"

You told her who you really are. You put it plainly, not sugarcoating anything, wishing she'd look at you the same after everything.

You're a serial killer. A Stalker. You hunt your prey with the help of your job. A journalist. You were once an investigator, but they black listed you, saying your emotions get the better of you, and they concluded you're not fit for that job. You stalk them, investigate them, and with enough concrete evidence, you know that won't hold up in court. You took matters into your own hands by punishing them yourself. Torturing and killing them if they don't go to prison. Your prey are usually rapist. Physical abuser. And pedophiles.

She tells you her story and everything. How she wants to destroy or rule the world or something entirely different. She told you. She wishes the same thing as you are, for nothing to change, yet everything is.

"I guess we actually do, have a lot in common. We're both killers. We both think we're making the world a better place, but really, we're just making ourselves feel better. --Two silly and lonely humans playing god," You said, and you sighed, and she sighed in return, "Yeah. I guess so, too."

There was complete silence for quite some time.

She looks at you endearingly and smirks, "I was right. You were a serial killer." You both chuckled at the same moment. "Yep," you replied and looked back at her. "So, did you do a background check on me?" She asked curiously, wanting to hear your affirmative, but you didn't give her the satisfaction."No. I always thought you were just a hallucination." "What?" She asked and you continue to speak "but then I think, my mind could have not made up something as badass and intelligent as you" "and, there it is.--" They both burst out laughing, a tear escaping their eye from the joy of it all.

You're now cuddled up in bed. Her head resting on your stomach while you play with her hair. "I hope you still like me after all that" She said out of the blue "I hope you still like me after all that too" You said in response wanting to let her know you feel the same way she do.

"we're insane," she stated, and you agreed, "indeed we are"

She moves up, and her face now hovers on top of yours. She placed a gentle kiss on your lips, and your hand rested on her waist. You're now looking eye to eye, you move your head up and kiss her back, but not as gently, more desperately, missing her tongue on yours for a year, and thinking she wouldn't be back again. Here she is, as desperate and as hungry for you as you are for her.

In the morning, you're now the one resting your head on her body. You look up hoping to watch her sleep, but she's already looking at you. "How long have you been staring at the back of my head?" You asked lethargically, "Not long enough, " she answered, and she planted a kiss on your forehead, and you hummed by the contact.

During lunch, you couldn't keep your eyes off of her. Her stunning features just simply capture you, and then you speak your mind, "Now that looks more you. Miss gorgeously strange badass." You complimented her new look. "I already told you my name. Don't tell me you've forgotten." She said, still fazed by your constantly out of the blue flirting, "How could I forget such a cool name. Cipher, " you said her name in a seducing tone. She shakes her head and turns to look away cause she knows she blushed by the way you said her name, "Whatever." That's all she could say.

After having lunch and constantly teasing her, you rested. You took her hand and led her to a lake. You told her to take her clothes off, and she didn't move, "Is this the part where you kill me?" You didn't answer her and just look at her with a smirk on your face. You walk closer to her and start to slowly take your clothes off teasing her. She gulped, and you moved closer to her with no clothes on, all in your nakedness, you hover your face on hers, and you brushed your lips to her, then you ran towards the water.

She stood there dumbfounded, all worked up, and turned the hell on. She quickly took her clothes off and followed you. She wants you to finish what you started.

#cipher x reader #cipher x femreader #cipher x original female character (s)#cipher x you #charlize theron #the fate of the furious #f9 #fast x #fast and furious #fast and furious saga #wlw #wlw imagine #sapphic #lesbian #cipher gets a hug #cottagecore

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punk-in-docs · 2 years

Text

🕷Your web,I’m caught🕷

Eddie Munson x Pencils (OC) slow burn series, Part I

7.6k words

Summary: Snorting laughter at the disappearing Jocks back. Marlboro red clamped between his lips. Smoke slithering out his smile. Between the cracks of his straight teeth.

When you saw who it belonged too. The laugh. The cigarette smoke.You weren’t even suprised.

Who else could it be-Who else would be doing a drug deal on the outskirts of a high school party, in the woods, at almost eleven at night, but Eddie “the freak” Munson.

Authors note; So, I wrote this because I probably have Eddie Munson brain rot, and because I just love this funky lil freak ok? It’s kinda long. No smut (yet) I might do more parts. We shall see. ~ (any feedback or comments are very much welcome folks)

It was through Hawkins like wildfire on bone dry kindling. One spark of friction and the whole thing soared to churning flames in a hot second.

No survivors.

Kyle Rothman’s parents were going to visit family in Elwood for some big fancy party.

Anniversary, you’d heard. Funeral, someone else had bemoaned.

Eight o’clock Friday night. Kyle’s House on 1280 Abalone Drive. Bring your own beer.

This is how you found yourself bundled unwillingly into the plump passenger seat of your friend Linda’s station wagon come Friday night.

Bouncing along on the safe suburbia streets to a godawful party, peppered with the usual dumb jocks and poisonous cheerleaders. The freaks and nerds tended to stay in their own lanes. Keep well away.

Lucky fucks.

Two six pack of Coor’s sat rattling at your feet. She’d spent half an hour teasing your kinked hair all big, and persuading you to slick on some blue eyeliner and glitter. You drew the line when she approached you with this tube of waxy fuschia lipstick.

You batted her hand away with contempt and let her slip huge plastic blue earrings in your ears instead. It goes with your top. She’d chirped.

Technically, her top. It was a loaner.

Really, you’d tried so goddamned hard to weasel out of it.

You considered pulling an all nighter as an excuse. A painting you’d forgotten to do for art class. A Chem lab final. The fact you didn’t take Chem non-withstanding. Or a sudden very fast acting sick spell to dodge the draft.

Mom’s away. It’s me and Charlie. And she’s on nights now. I can’t leave the house, Linda.

Your door has locks, now doesn’t it? Don’t be square. We’re seniors. One little party to take the edge off.

I’m good with my edges the way they are, thanks.

She wore down your stubbornness with the sugary sweet relentless attitude. Harder than grainy sandpaper against your onerous mood. She won. Softened you into submission. Ground you down and drowned the fight out of you with her strong army of ‘pretty pretty pleases’.

With a heap of maraschino cherries dumped on top for good measure, she wrapped you round her little finger like a silk ribbon with promises of movie nights and lots of beer. Pizza too. And her eternal love and devotion. She promised to buy you some weed. Give you her Soul. Her first born.

She really really wanted you to go with her to this fucking party. God knows why. She’ll spend the night with her jock. Not you.

She sat next to you in the drivers seat. In her hot pink tiered skirt and skinny white high heels. Blond curls all frizzy and piled half up on her head with a pink scrunchie.

Her little lilac purse with a long strap sat perched on your hip. Containing four condoms, gloss, and a pack of lifesavers zipped securely inside.

Told you right away what kinda night she was expecting to have.

She’s brimming with energy cause her meathead is going tonight too. On the basketball team and practically a clone to High School royalty, Jason Carver. And her new squeeze is persona-non-grata with her strict parents for bringing her home once past curfew, and half cut. So this is one of the only chances they get to make out and do hand stuff in the guest bedroom.

Atleast someone’s excited for tonight. And thank god it’s her. You want to stay festering in the land of piss and vinegar with a scowl slapped on your face. Razor slashes of your glaring eyes landing on all those preppy idiots.

Because you liked to sit at an easel, armed with your mad array of bold paints and a brush. And you actually liked and were good at it. That instantly afforded you some hatred from the athlete crowd.

Linda reaches over and nudges you with a bony elbow. Knocking you out your self imposed funk. You side eye her for being a pest. She sing-songs cheery cooing words at you over husky Joan Jett on the radio. Words all prim and sickly like butter wouldn’t even melt.

“C’mmooon. There’ll be drink. I heard that Jason is bringing some of his dads liquor.” She trills away like tweetie pie.

“There’ll be a lot of jocks too. Lot of jocks on a lot of drink. They won’t know the difference between a viable mate and a wet hole in the ground.” You pointed out. Scuffing the door with the tip of your shoe. Black. Faux leather kitten heel boots.

She’d shoved those at you too. The boots. You wore the same size. Annoyingly. Instead of clinging to the comfort of your usual paint spattered reeboks. She wrinkled her nose up and tore your sneakers away from your grip. Turned away to dust more neon pink blush on her cheekbones.

“You’re gross.” She grimaced at you as she turns a corner. The bracelets on her arms slap and click together as she shuffled the wheel.

“Gross but right.” You poured back. Flicking hair out your eyes. It felt stiff and dry with all the stuff she rubbed and sprayed on it. The noxious chemical stink of too much hairspray and her candy-like Revlon perfume choked the interior of her car. You usually kept your hair back with a scrunchie. Possibly with a pencil or a paintbrush tucked into the bun.

“Just try and not be a catty bitch. Get a drink. Have a dance. Take that iron rod out your ass for once.”

“Its good for my posture.” You sniped at her as she smacked her glossy lips together in the rear view - not checking the car behind her or anything important like that.

“Pretty bad for your sex life though. Yours is particularly tragic right now.” She shot back dryly. Dry as sand and that dig was below the belt.

“Volume series tragedy is what I was actually aiming for.” You grinned at her. Layering the charm on thick.

Not letting her blows have anywhere to land. You scooped up her words and threw them back at her before the typical Linda shrapnel got it’s chance to pierce your skin.

It had been a while, sure. But that didn’t mean you were going to a kegger, to get blackout wasted, and end up dry humping the nearest small dicked athlete in a letterman two tone jacket. You liked to think you had taste. And a little modicum of class.

“You know I don’t get to see Jonny very often. Not since he made the team. I’d look like a loser turning up tonight all by myself.” She whines. Bitching. Stomping her foot on the gas pedal like a brat.

“Next thing I’ll have to start having to sit with the freaks at lunch. Christ, can you imagine?” She scoffs. “Me at the losers table with freak Munson and the rest of his social rejects.”

You gave her a look for that. Blasted her your chilly side eye for her small mindedness.

They were nerds, sure. Into D&D, metal music or band.

They weren’t lepers.

God forbid you ever said this aloud. But, you actually admired the way that some people didn’t conform to the mind numbing rules of popular or preppy. You liked that they cared enough to be themselves. Fuck what others say or think. The punk attitude clinging deep in you found it ballsy and brave.

Maybe they were all braver than you were- hiding yourself away in art class or the Library day after day instead of having to decide what table you’d be sorted onto. Or welcomed at. Chained too.

You weren’t entirely sure Linda would save you a space at the table with the royalty. You didn’t belong there. Your clothes weren’t preppy and cute. You didn’t wear bubblegum neon colours. Or trade gossip. You knew who Siouxsie and the Banshees were. That most likely tipped you into nerd territory. Loser crowd recruit.

You’re sure there’d be a place carved out, so where, for one the arty type, like you. Eternally graphite smudged hands, or flecks of paint dried gummy in your hair. Leafing through your sketchbook and scribbling away. Eyes down, plugged into your Walkman and latest Talking Heads or Smiths cassette.

“Could you be more of a stuck up snob?” You asked with rising hilarity in your voice.

“Yeah.” She preened. Slowing down to make the dreaded turn onto Kyles. Bounces the huge clunky thing onto the nearly busy, paved driveway.

“I am dating a jock now, you know.” She hums. Pleased with herself.

Your eye roll was almost audible.

“Don’t forget to wash your hands after and check for crabs.“ You bat your mascara thick lashes all sickly as you coo the words at her.

You grab the beers and grumpily make your feet leave the car. It’s a trudge but you manage it. You slam the car door because you needed to direct your still seething annoyance somewhere.

She bumps her door shut with her hip and properly wiggles her feet into her heels. Long tanned legs of hers bare and peeping out her pink skirt. A gauzy white top and swingy pink earrings stood neon out her bouffant blonde perm. You weren’t flashing nearly as much.

You wore your white leather jacket with the squeezing black and gold belt she nipped around your middle. Made your tits look awesome, and bigger, her words not yours. Her bright blue top that hangs off one shoulder. Soft black jeans and her back heeled pirate boots which click as you walk. She’d been obsessed with Adam Ant for a while.

Onto your wrists she’d threaded yet more bright jewellery. And the plastic hoops dangling from your ears, you kept on having to untangle it from your hair every four seconds. Your wavy fringe kept on flicking in your eyes.

You stand with the beer and look up at the split ranch style house in front of you. Cicadas humming already. The lawn is green and fuzzy short and the street lights cast a dozy orange thrown into pools everywhere. The house is set back and stood alone. Well spaced out from the neighbours. It backed into the tall dark woods. No risk of noise complaints.

Brown wood and overhanging eaves. It’s a big place. Each window lit up a drowsy yellow. And crowds of voices roils. The tell tale whump-whump of whatever lame ass pop music is blasting along and pulsing at the walls and shaking the windows from the inside.

You step towards the front door. Linda actually scurries along in her heels. Jason’s jeep parked right upfront means the cavemen had already descended. She fluffs her hair and grips the door handle. Slowly jerking it open. It was too loud to hear knocks anyway. The party was in full swing already.

The first thing you do when you come inside? Wince.

Club Tropicana is bellowing loudly through the house on what is very clearly very deafening speakers. The drum beats drown your ears. The thrum of the base plucks the air. You feel the thud of it through the thick squashing carpet.

Someone’s made a vain attempt to party up the place. Twinkle lights glimmer in the living room where many bodies are dancing and throwing hands in the air. Fierce chilli red. Neon green. Sapphire sea blue, spots of light dotted and swimming around the dark ceiling where the lights were poorly tacked. Last minute attempt you’re guessing.

Red cups sloshing drink everywhere. Half drunk beer cans and bottles stood on every flat surface. Some toppled over and leaking dark dribbled spots into the carpet. The dank smell of cigarettes and some musty weed clouds the air.

High schoolers are strewn across the couch. Some making out. Two seconds from dry humping right in the open. Some were chatting. Laughing at their own drunkness. Crowding the narrow hallways.

Linda scans around the crowds. Flirtily shimmying her fingers in a wave when she sees her Jock. She almost bounces on the spot. Giddy smile splitting her lipstick.

Her boyfriend lumbers across and you’re quickly forgotten on the doormat. She takes her purse off you. And one of the six packs.

“Bye?” You state to her with a frown as she preened and laughed as they joined hands.

“Find you later.” She breezed. Her smile was so wide. Cheeks full of blush. Fake and real.

“Wrap it before you tap it.�� You growl at her. Narrowing your eyes to pin slits. She flips you the bird when she totters off after her gorilla in basketball threads.

Not four seconds later they’re wrapped around each other like leeches. Tongues down throats. Waxy glossy lipstick all over their chins. He whispers something in her ear when they break apart and they wind through crowds headed for the stairs. Beer forgotten. She’s giggling he’s got a shit eating grin on.

That had taken all of eight seconds past your feet crossing the doormat before your abandonment.

When Four Tops starts blasting. You’ve decided; you must seek out some liquor. You can’t be forced to suffer this indignity of a night in any kind of sobriety.

You growl to yourself. Your mood just plummeted so way far down it could be in the South Pole by now. A pit of acid and spiky nails and broken glass was your stomach. Mood went from foul to fouler.

Armed with one six pack, you heft your way to the kitchen. Pushing past dancers and athletes that line the doorways. Elbow past a couple very loudly making out. They don’t even notice your shouldering byYour reward for basically commando busting your way through crowds is the sight of the kitchen. For some reason the lights are off and purple lights are drowning the room. The colour of Lilac and moody nightshade bruises. A huge bowl of ruby red punch half gone sits on the island. Spiked no doubt. Fine by you.

Liquor bottles stand with tops ripped off, cheap whiskey and vodka. Beer kegs on rosy towels on the floor in the far corner. Red solo cups are scattered everywhere. Crushed, used and not. Chips are half eaten in a messy bowl. Popcorn too. Spilled all over the place. You didn’t envy the cleanup.

You grab a clean one and dunk it into the punch. It spills down your fingers and you suck the drips away. Sip some. The terrific cheap sugar of something that tasted like it was trying to be fruity, combined with the bitchy bite of vodka. Perfect.

You lean against the counter and nurse a cup. You dive back for another. The first slipped down way too easily. Cherry red staining your tongue. Vodka seeping into your legs and arms with its lazy sluggish heat.

You wrap one arm around yourself and stand leaning against the counter. The granite dug into the back of your hips painfully.

Some Basketball jocks who barely lift their eyes to regard you as a form of life, bustle rudely past and knock into you. Sloshing your cup to spill down your top. Drink rolls in drips off your chin.

“Watch it loser.” One of them drunkenly snickers at you. Tossed the words carelessly over his shoulder as they go to draw more shitty beer from the keg. His friend laughed at his crass remark to you.

Fuckin meatheads.

You scoff under your breath. Mood sour you slam your hand down on a can of beer and take your still somewhat full cup out the back door you can see left wide open the other side of the island.

You mumble a curse word at them loud enough to hear as you slip past. “Pricks.” You catch one of their hands with their cups so they drop it by surprise.

“Bite me, babe.” One slurs. Leaning over and holding the handle. Opening his arms at you like some twisted invitation. His gruff words didn’t threaten you.

You turn your head and spit words at them. Eyes narrow under your frizzy fringe. The drink helping get your tongue bold.

“Go find some balls to play with. Idiots” you snipe as you feel the delightful sensation of stepping out the house and into the dark back yard.

You brandish the V’s at them with your fingers and your chipped blue nail polish as you slip out the door and into the mild night. Shoes clicking down the steps. You hear their sneers as you leave.

“Stupid bitch.”

You walk around the perimeter of the pool. You don’t want to know why there’s floating beer cans and a bikini top strewn at the bottom.

You keep walking. Your feet only just unsteady. Out towards the very far back of the yard. The dark border of the trees seemed threatening. Huge towering trunks and dark leafy tips barely grazed by the starlight. Silent sentinels of night. No light snuck back here. Barely any orange light from the street or the rooms of Kyles house reaches all the way out here.

There’s ratty lawn chairs and a couple of empty cans rattling around on the lawn. Evidence that some people were partying here before you. But went back inside to dance or drink. Or went into the huge woods looming just behind you for some clandestine privacy. Or to try and scope out a bedroom.

You take your jacket off and spread it beneath you before you settle down on the end of a blue lounger. The plastic creaks with your weight. Sinks just a bit into the spongy grass. You sit yourself down and take your first deep breath.

You look at that busy house down the slope of the garden. The trash floating in the blue square sear of the pool. The windows limned in yellow. Crowds jump and burst within. Many voices and thudding party pop carry out to you. It’s a Madonna song now. Drifting up the grass that freckled, speckled with slithers of ochre light from the street. The other half carved in dark linear shadows.

You were drunk. Slightly. Not wanting to be here. Definitely. On the peripheral like a distant planet in orbit. Trying to find the place you could belong too. You didn’t know if you ever would. For some people it seemed damn easy. The need to fit. To be.

You had your art. Your drawings. Your craving for your Walkman and the solace of your music and what that bought you. Your job at the record store which you live love loved. Even though your boss, Sal, who was mercurial and was all cynical-moody as anything. But underneath that crusty exterior he was good to you. You still loved it.

You had a sad set of dreams pushed back, way back, nesting under your skin.

One day maybe if you were very lucky, you’d be far outta this town living them dreams. You sure as shit hoped so.

It wasn’t so bad. When all was said and done, at the very least, you didn’t just melt into an easy personality to please other people. Slap on a fake persona to get others to like you. Paste it on every morning. Beam a smile and wear things falsely. You couldn’t bear being that shallow just to have girlfriends to chit chat with at lunch. You couldn’t live that way.

When you tip your head back. You find yourself all of a sudden laying back. Body dizzy. Mind swirling. That punch was strong. You suspect it wasn’t just vodka. Maybe some tequila thrown in there too. You drank it too quick to decipher.

You don’t fight the movement. Spreading back. You can see stars. The majesty of the heavens. All those endless scattered white pearls that wink and shimmer in the endless blue between spots of murky smeared cloud.

After a long minute, you sit up to keep on knocking back your drinks.

You toss back more red vodka punch and don’t stop until the cup is empty. Red dregs. The wonderful snap of vodka makes you hiss through the sting as you finish it.

Nothing is stopping you tonight. One down, then you’re cracking open the cold beer. The satisfying hiss and the hoppy cheap mist spurts over your fingers.

“Here’s to edges.” You toast your beer up to no one. “Mine in particular.”

Your head felt fuzzy. Your tongue loose. You welcomed the sensation. Let it bleed through you and unwind the taut bowstring of your tension. You could really use a smoke right about now. You have to hide them at home. Charlie wouldn’t approve.

You swig the beer. It’ll have to do. It’s definitely cheap and tasted like it. But it’s cold and you just need to unwind your tightening steel wire spool of anger.

Fucking Linda. Fucking Jocks. Dragging you here only to ditch you in favour of sucking face and now probably busy right now sucking other body parts with her gorilla of a boyfriend.

You kick one of the crumpled cans on the lawn with your pirate booted foot. The resounding crunch and rattle comes off far far louder than you’d thought. Knocking off into the trees. Bouncing back like a slap, off the house.

It’s then you hear that maybe you didn’t have as much privacy as you had previously thought.

An odd sort of whispered hissing starts growing louder. The steady crunch of a twig being broken underfoot. Rustling of brittle paper leaves under a sneakered foot. The distant tang of Marlboro smoke curling around the trees.

Someone. Or more than one someone, was in the woods behind you.

The voice comes again. Deep enough to be a guys. Pitchy enough to still be a whisper. “The fuck was that?”

Another voice answers. Louder. Confident. Whispers not tamping down his volume. His tone is mocking.

“Look man, I don’t have all night. Quit wasting my time. 25 for a half ounce. Or I walk away right now and take the sweet stuff with me.”

Your drunk head strains to hear more. You lean further back. Like that will make one scrap of difference. You slosh down more beer and listen through the breeze ruffling the imposing wall of trees.

You hear some more rustling. The unsteady shuffling of feet. A sighed huff. The slap of something into an open palm.

“Pleasure doing business with you.” The sarrcy confidence voice answers. There’s a soft rustling of a plastic baggie.

“Whatever, freak.” Comes the grumble.

“My, my, Such manners. You kiss your mommy with that mouth.” Sneers back the voice. Lilt of humour and sarcasm composing his words.

You turn your head back to see someone break out the shadow swallow of the tree line. A guy in a letter man jacket breaks away and stalks drunkenly through the garden on wobbling legs. Shoving something like a crinkly plastic bag down deep into his pocket. Green and white baseball cap backwards on his head.

He doesn’t seem to notice you sat in your spot. When you raise your beer to take another sip your movement catches his eye. He almost trips over his own feet. Frowns at you.

“What you staring at, loser?” He barks grumpily at you. Bit his teeth around the insult.

You don’t offer a response. You swallow your retort down.

Something about pot making you lose brain cells, him not being so stupid as to take the risk. Needs all the help he can get.

You kinda hate yourself for staying silent But you let it go. You chug more beer. And just try and sit here and not feel.

He turns back and lumbers his stupid way back towards the house. Feet stomping over empty beer cans. You swallow down more beer and watch the party continue on without you.

Apparently, so was someone else.

A sudden flick coming from behind you makes you startle. Twisting back. A lighter being struck to life as this amazingly noiseless person behind you finally came out the tree line.

“That was one hell of a charming duuude.” Mocked the voice. Snorting laughter at the disappearing Jocks back. Marlboro red clamped between his lips. Smoke slithering out his smile. Between the cracks of his straight teeth.

When you saw who it belonged too. You weren’t even suprised. Who else could it be-

Who else would be doing a drug deal on the outskirts of a high school party, in the woods, at almost eleven at night, but Eddie “the freak” Munson.

The undisputed ruler of the geeks table in the cafeteria. Adored by his crowd of younger freshmen. His followers. His little band of devoted lost sheep. Recruited to the dark side to play his sadistic D&D campaigns. This older senior who was always gilded in chunky metal rings, chain bracelets, and rock and roll.

Something about him from afar shrieked messy danger; whether it was the careless swagger he walked with, or the unpredictability of when he’d burst into something crazy or unstable.

Climb on tables, throw food, shout at the top of his lungs with his hands cupped beside his mouth. Antagonise Jason and his pack of Jocks every chance he got. Spray paint ‘Hail Satan’ in glaring neon red across Principal Higgins door like he did last semester.

That last one was technically a rumour that it was him who did it, but you still kinda believed it to be dead true. It seemed his style.

He saw how you’d sprang around to look at him. Heart kicking in your chest as he made you jump.

“Sorry. Shit. Didn’t mean to startle you there.” He held his hands up. Skull bandana in his back pocket flapping against his ripped jeans. Orange tip of the cigarette burned bright like an evil eye in the dark. Lighting up his face and his pillowy lips.

His earlier cocky confidence seemed to have been flipped away, perhaps as a sign of how genuinely he meant his words.

You watch him slowly saunter across to where you’re sat. Nimble footsteps on the soft grass in his sneakers. The only noise coming from how the chain on his jeans swung into his legs. The zips and some of the metal badges on his jacket shining dully in the night air.

The deep tar pit of those black eyes tugged you in. The frizzy rockstar mane curling down to his shoulders. Sticky Ink black, echoing the shade of his eyes. The messy cut of his Jean jacket draped over leather. That blood red demon blazoned on his white raglan Hellfire Club t-shirt - you’d never seen him wear anything else.

“You’re the least scary thing I’ve come across tonight. Trust me.” You tell him. Sipping more beer. Hearing it slick around against the sides of the can.

You weren’t sure why but him being here had you on edge. You didn’t get nervous walking through a whole house of preppy morons. But here, now, you notice nervousness crunching down on your stomach.

Why nervous?

Not because you were scared of him. You felt safer alone with him out here than any of those knuckle-heads inside.

You think in some warped kinda way you wanted to impress him-

Ok, where in the cursed fucking pits of hell had that proclivity bloomed from?

He stops a decent distance away from you. You couldn’t quite read the expression on his face. He was looking at you warily.

You stared at the grass below your borrowed pointy leather shoes and the half empty warm beer in your hands.

“Are you, uhm. Alright?” He seeks. Gone was the earlier plucky confidence. His voice is fully tender.

“Oh I’m just peachy, thanks.” You smite nicely at him. Voice dripping dark sarcasm.

Those wild black eyes narrow with more concern.

“Sure about that?” He checks. Voice tipping up. Smoke exhaling from his mouth.

You summon the courage to look over at him. Bewildered.

He explains by tapping his finger twice under his eye. Still looking intrigued.

You shrink in self consciously. Folding in. Wipe under your eyes. When you bring back your hand, mascara sits weepy and smeared on your finger. Probably running under your eyes a little in your annoyed frustration. You hadn’t realised.

You sniff and wipe your eyes. Who cares anyway. No one was looking at your makeup. They weren’t bothered with you. That stung. But it was true.

Eddie was the first person to actually acknowledge you as a fully fleshed human being. To actually speak to you.

“It’s nothing. Really.” You assure him. Smiling mildly. Unable to believe the guy who had the words loser and freak tossed at him like bullets every damn day is asking you if you’re okay.

“Don’t worry I’m not so wasted that I’m out here sobbing by myself. You don’t have to deal with an emotional girl.” You consider your mood. “Maybe a pissed off one though-“ You added softly.

You loosened your grip on your beer. Flicking your fringe out your eyes again.

“Hey-“ He starts. And it’s so sweetly tender it makes your lungs skip. His voice seems to deepen a little from that anarchistic shriek and shout you often hear from him.

You peer over under your kinked fringe. He thinks how freakin adorable it looks on you. Hits him like a freakin clap of lightning.

Your hair all wild and teased, back combed to hell, and then those eyes. Doe, bambi, sparkling eyes shining in the dark. Side of your face caught all caramel smooth in the peachy-orange light from the street. Despite the smudged eye makeup blacking under your eyes, actually, he kinda likes that dark smouldering look.

You’re fucking pretty.

Fancy that. Eddie Freak Munson talking to a real pretty girl at a High School party. What’s becoming of him?

“You’re out here drinking alone, sweetheart. I just put two and two together is all. My mistake.” He admits sheepishly. Meshing his fingers together as he spoke. Animated. You watched the way his rings glinted in the darkness. Cig wobbling on his lips as he spoke.

“Well. It’s coming out four. Munson.” You admitted gently.

Your very girlish instincts did a little elated hop with the way he called you sweetheart. Those idiots inside had called you a bitch and loser. He had called you sweetheart-

“You know my name.” He grinned all boyish. Hands on his hips, clasping onto a belt that had a handcuff buckle.

“Colour me impressed.” He flits a wink at you. “I didn’t know we were on a surname basis.”

“You’re the local troublemaker and weed dealer. Of course I know your name.” You answer. You didn’t live under a rock.

“Mommy and Daddy have my picture pinned on the dart board at home, huh sweetie?” He tilts his head again and grins all wide and playful. Framing his face with his thumbs and hands like a mock photograph. Smoking cig trickling lazily up to the sky.

He walks a slow circle around you on the lounger. He can’t keep still evidently. Kicking beer cans out the way. Kicks one down the slope of the lawn. Comes back around you like he’s assessing you coolly. Casually. Grey smoke trails in his wake.

Something tells you he’s almost proud of the accomplishment of being considered near infamous. Anything but the poisonous fucking trap of being considered ‘normal.’

“Yeah. They show me a picture of you every morning. Your face slapped over wanted posters serve as a warning to parents all over Hawkins county.” You joked with fake gravity. “I might be indoctrinated into your dangerous devil D&D cult if I don’t watch out.”

“I relish the chance to corrupt more innocent souls. Especially pretty ones.” He says in a mock gravelly devil voice. Sticking his tongue out at you. Widening his eyes to look scary. It makes you almost spit out a mouthful of beer for laughing.

He’s a goof under all that threatening metal persona. You suspect a soft warm heart of gold lurks under that denim and leather chest too.

You offer out the can of beer to him. “Sorry. It’s a little warm but-“

He smiles and stands for a moment. Assessing you. Eyes growing almost warm.

“Poisoned, Snow White?” He jokes.

“I don’t need that on my conscience. Not to mention the stoners in school would flay me alive for taking you out.” You comment. Waving the can out at him between two fingers.

“Sold.” He says.

He drifts in just close enough to take it from you. His rings clack against the thin metal. Crosses and skulls and all things bad bad bad and demonic adorn his hands.

“Sharing beer and we’re not even on a first name basis.” He says as he takes it and pulls back a swig.

You absolutely kick yourself for the way you watch his neck elongate from tipping his head back to drink. Hair down his back. Wavy over his shoulders.

You give him your name. First and last. It tumbled out your mouth before you could stop it. Your drunkenness sliding you right on into trouble.

He raised the can at you in a salute. Repeated your surname at you. Rolled it around his mouth. As if he was tasting it like he was the beer.

“Pleasure to meet you.” He smirked as he did a mock bow and dipped his head at you. Swigging the beer once more.

You bite your lip and wipe your clammy hands on your soft jeans as you turn away and force yourself to look at something much less- distracting. Dangerous?

You settle on looking at the house. Music still bouncing out the place. Voices spilling out boisterous. You watched a guy stumble out the back door to puke into the bushes by the kitchen window. Maybe a newbie.

Eddie saw it but ignored it. Kept his dark gaze stuck on you instead.

“How’s it you ended up out here?” He asked. Passing the can back to into your hand. You take it and cold silver rings brush your hand. Sparks skip over your skin.

“Well. Firstly the music-” You grimaced.

He chuckled archly.

“Fuckkkk I know right? This party could totally use some Motörhead.” He proclaimed.

“Or some Talking Heads.” You agreed.

His eyes lit up. “Stop making sense.” He said approvingly. You smiled at the inside joke.

“I did actually come with someone. But they ditched me before we were even in the front door. They’re upstairs right now, and probably having sex on the pile of coats in the guest room.” You estimate.

You watched Eddie’s brows raise up a little. Ballsy.

“That’s real shitty.” He states without hesitation. But that smile is creeping back.

“Tell me to get lost if it is none of my business. Sweetie. But uh, did you come here with a… boy. A boy who is maybe a friend. A boyfriend?” He seeks slowly. His head tilting. Rolling his hands as he talked. Manic sprinkled on manic.

Leaning to one side as he asked. That floppy hair leaning over his shoulder. Coming closer and making an unsure grimace as he slowly chewed over that last word. Cig at his side between two fingers.

You shake your head for no. His eyes glint a little.

No boyfriend. Knows who Talking Heads are. Goddamn it, he may have to start turning up the dial to flirt with you some point soon.

His smile turns up at the corners. How have you never noticed that under that manic rock n roll energy it’s actually such a great smile.

He takes another drag and spun away for a second to toss away his cig before it burned out. You hear the way the chains on his arms hit the leather jacket across his chest.

You clarify as to why you were here. How you were dragged along here by your teeth.

“My party friend, Linda, dragged me here. Blonde perm. No braincells, lots of leg and hormones. Idiot Jock strap for a boyfriend.” You explain.

“Alright for some.” Eddie grins at you. His eyes look sharp as black ice in the dark.

“I guess.” You smile. Stretching your feet out. “Maybe not for her though.” You snark in dirty insinuation. It makes him smile across at you.

You both laugh at your joke and it softens him a little to see it.

He spins away and suddenly hops up onto the lawn chair near to you. Flurry of energy. Standing on it and trying to keep his balance. You looked up at him where he stood. Dirty sneakers balancing on the plastic slats.

“I swear I do know you from some place.” He says. A calculative look on his face. He repeats your surname again. Tasting it in his mouth. Arms now crossed over his chest. He leans towards you so slightly. Bending down.

“Uh, School?” You state obviously.

He clicks his tongue. Looks mischievous. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

That figures, actually.

“Big building. Students. Teachers. Classrooms. Finals.” You explain.

He’s walking up the lounger. Testing precarious steps on the cracking plastic. “It’s vaguely familiar to me.” The chain on his leg swings again with his steps.

“We had a history together in middle school. Mrs Grey’s class.” You offer. Though he’d looked different then, his mannerisms weren’t dissimilar to now.

Just now he had the demon tats and rocker hair to back it up.

“We did?” He questions. Or states. He’s unsure. Or testing the waters. You can’t tell. His mystery is his charm. Unreadable expression.

You remember some of his antics. You doubt he’d ever turned his eyes toward the classroom board even once the whole semester.

On the days he deigned to turn up, he usually spent more time scribbling his own little lyrics or campaign ideas over the assignment paper he’d been given on his desk. Or drawing devils, monsters and skulls with leering forked tongues, in a thick stubby sharpie. He took tormenting your teacher as a personal mission.

Any time he was called on, he answered with bite, with wit and a - deeply buried disguised - degree of intelligence that meant he could walk this class - if he really, really wanted too. You found it almost admirable. It was almost enough to make you develop a crush on him.

His dislike for conformity and following the establishment rules had him cemented as this jagged little pill of a troubled guy who couldn’t care less about school. Or grades. People looked at him and saw no more than trailer trash trouble. The rebel Munson kid who lives in the trailer park off Kerley.

“I’m memorable from all the way back then?” He asks. Doubting he was even worth remembering from last week. Let alone going back years.

“Yeah. You made me laugh.” You tell him bravely.

Whether it was the way he snuck in late, or asked to borrow a pencil. Threw balled up pieces of paper at the popular crowd to antagonise. Made stupid distorted faces behind Mrs Grey’s back. Contradicted her til she was red in the face.

“I sat behind you, didn’t I?” He remembered. Then he snaps his fingers. His chain leather bracelet jangles. “Pencil girl.”

You nod. “Nice nickname.”

He drops suddenly in a jump to the ground. Burst of energy. Sits himself facing you on the end of the lounger. Knees spread. Holds out a flat hand to you to shake.

“Nice to properly meet you again. Pencil girl.” He grins at you.

You blush. You actually feel your blush crawl it’s molten way up your cheeks. Eddie Munson is offering his ring clad hand out for you to shake.

You meet his eyes as you look over and take it. Slip you palm into his warm one. Clutch of metal surrounding your fingers as you shake. The brackets on your arms clack together as you jerk your arm.

“Nice to properly meet you too, Eddie.” You grin.

His eyes look warm as he beams at you. Those dark eyes all melting and dark liquid chocolate in their gaze. Your knees almost brush his ripped jean kneecaps where you’re leant over to shake his hand.

He seems awfully unconcerned about letting go of your hand any time soon.

Because he’s come closer to you, you can smell the beer on his breath and the the sharp acrid of cigarettes woven into his clothes. Along with some faintly tangy scent of weed, powdery laundry detergent.

Up close he’s even more terrifying. Those wild eyes bordered in shade by that even wilder tangle of hair.

“How come I rarely see you around. Pencil girl.” He asks genuinely. Sliding his hand out of yours at last. When you break away to look at his hand sliding off yours, you only realise then you’d been staring.

“Well I do actually go to my classes.” You tease.

He clutched over his heart like he’d been pierced with a mortal wound. Choked, Gasped your name.

“Mean.” He grins. Those melting eyes turn all puppyish. Holding the space over his heart like it hurt.

“I guess I mostly live in the Art classroom at school. Or the library. That’s where I am most days. Most lunches and my free periods.” You tell him.

He smirks. You can’t tell what that means.

“You’re telling me you’re secretly one of us.” He lowers his voice to a whisper.

You frown. Oh it’s a good look on you. It bunches up little wrinkles between your brows.

“One of us?”

“A freak.” Eddie grins. His grin slowly grows.

“Is that an official diagnosis? Dungeon master?” You ask him.

Twisting to fully face him where you sit on the lounger. You feel Linda’s top slide down your shoulder. Your bra strap is showing. Eddies eyes flick to it for the barest second.

“Totally. I hereby brand thee. Fellow freak. Pencil girl. Welcome to the club.” He puts his hands over his hair, mimes placing a crown on your head. Arms outstretched around your head. Surrounding your puffed up hair.

You smile. The scent of warm old leather and cigarettes smacks you in the nose. He waved his fingers either sides of your temples. Your stomach squirms. Butterflies kicked to life.

He’s a freak. And a goof. And so are you.

And, oh christ, you think you might like him-

“Great. So when’s my swearing in ceremony. What do we do? Sacrifice virgins or goats, what?” You play around.

“Friday nights. I’m afraid the sacrificing of virgins is messy. But necessary.” He waggles his brows. Trying to look serious. You doubt he ever looked serious in his life.

You snort. You can’t help it. You cover your mouth. He shakes with laughter too. Chest bouncing with it.

Your head is swimming drunk and you can only just believe you’re sat out here shooting the shit with Eddie Munson of all people.

And for once in your life, you’re enjoying one of these terrible shitty parties.

The new music dancing across the lawn catches Eddies ears. The mellow base and chirpy singing.

He rolls his eyes over to the house in disgust. ‘Just the two of us’ is crooning across the lawn. Tacky. Saxaphone riff, and Bill Withers smooth whiskey-dulcet voice.

“I’m gonna be puking in the bushes soon if they carry on with that shit.” He nudged his head across to the open door. The golden rectangle of the kitchen door that glowed in the night. Spilling light up the slanted yard.

“I think, my friend isn’t going to be surfacing any time soon.” You wince at the thoughts and all that could possibly entail. Whether or not she’d bother to come find you. Skirt twisted around her waist. Lipstick all smeared around her puffy mouth. Hair mushed. Cheeks glowing.

You should go and find her. But- you really don’t want too. Nothing could move you from this lounger.

“I should go back inside.” You say out loud. You stay stock still.

Eddie shoots you a look. Disbelieving.

“Listen. Anyone who sits on the outskirts of this fuckin idiotic makeout party and listens to Talking Heads is plenty alright with me. You’re better off.” He points a thumb into his Hellfire clad chest when he says ‘me’.

Where his t-shirt was disturbed, you see a dark triangle of a guitar pick on a necklace around his neck. Some ink on his skin. You want to see just exactly where those tats end and begin.

Your gaze is drawn to the house as a gang of jocks come out to the back yard. Some to stand and chat with their friends. Some to smoke. They seem to have clocked you both. Eddies mood changes.

“Let me give you a ride home, pencils.” Eddie says suddenly out of nowhere. His voice took on a deeper tone. Duller.

You aren’t sure you heard him right. What?

You turn back and see a very sincere look stained across that anarchistic expression. His eyes almost deepen.

“Are you serious?” You ask him.

“Not often. But just then? Yeah. I wouldn’t feel right walking away, leaving a pretty girl like you alone and vulnerable out here. Not with that crowd of assholes circling.” Eddie says as he scans along the row of them with, clearly, no love lost in his tone.

“Uhm.” You churn over your thoughts. Fragments of choppy sense returning to your tipsy head. “Yeah ok, Sure. Thanks.”

Eddie smiles. That palm of his is offered to you once again. And you take it.

You wobble on your feet on the soft grass.

He smiles. Steadies your elbows with his hands. Both hands clutching on for your safety. He draws you close. Just a little. His dark eyes dart with slight starlight.

“Us freaks gotta stick together. Man.” And then comes that rock n roll mischief smirk. Your belly melts.

You think you like being a freak after all.

🕷 Fancy a sneak at the next part? 🕷

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