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arieslost · 2 months

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falling for you | op81

oscar piastri x fem!reader

summary: you and oscar should be more than just friends, but neither of you realize it until you’re on vacation… and his girlfriend is there, too.

word count: 2,956

warnings: angsty moments

masterlist — join my tag list here!

PART TWO

shoutout to my dream journal- i got this idea from a dream i had in 2021. also disclaimer, i love lily, she’s so sweet. we’re pretending that oscar is dating someone else here ok thanks <33

For the first time in your life, you were regretting taking a vacation, and it was all Oscar Piastri’s fault.

Your family and the Piastris had been going on vacation together for as long as you could remember, and you’ve been best friends with Oscar for just as long. He was in the background of every defining moment of your life. He could say the same about you— best friends forever.

And then, like the idiot you are, you went and fell in love with him. You couldn’t exactly pinpoint how, or why, or when; all you knew was that you woke up on the second day of your vacation, walked into the kitchen, saw him pouring himself a bowl of cereal, and it hit you like a damn truck.

“Good morning, sweetie,” your mom says, barely noticing your slightly panicked expression as you realized that you were very much in love with your best friend.

“Morning,” you mumble back, unable to tear your eyes away from Oscar.

He notices you staring at him, your eyes as wide as saucers, and frowns. “You okay? There’s still some of this in the box, I saved it for you.”

Great. Of course he has to be so thoughtful all the time.

“Yeah, ‘m fine. Thanks, Osc.” You squeeze his arm as you pass by. He smiles at you, like he always does when you do that, and you want to die a little.

Especially when his girlfriend enters the room.

It’s the first time either of you have a significant other during your annual vacation time, and while you had aggressively lobbied against it (Oscar obviously had no clue), your parents and his parents had agreed to let her come. You were furious about it for weeks and couldn’t figure out why.

Well, now you know.

You can’t even enjoy your cereal, especially not when she kisses Oscar for everyone to see and then makes direct eye contact with you and smirks when he’s not looking. So, you decide to spend the entire day completely Oscar-less, as much as you wish you could just have him all to yourself like you always do when you’re here.

The thing is, you’ve never liked his girlfriend, obvious reasons aside. Even before Oscar started dating her, you’d never gotten along with her. It was like she had a personal vendetta against you, and always tried her hardest to be touchy with Oscar whenever she saw that you were in her line of sight. The most infuriating part is that literally no one else ever notices her behavior except you. Not even Oscar, your so-called best friend. Normally, you’d go to him to vent about something like this, because he’s always understood you in ways that no one else ever will. Now he’s the last person you can go to.

It sucks. You’re angry at your parents, his parents, and especially him for asking if he could bring her along in the first place.

You end up spending your entire morning and most of the afternoon at the beach. You don’t put on enough sunscreen because there’s no one there to make sure you use the proper amount. You hate getting sunburn, but you’d take that over seeing Oscar with his girlfriend. By the time you get back to the rental, everyone is off doing their own thing. Your parents are putting together a puzzle in the living room. Oscar’s parents have the door to their room shut, and you can hear the TV playing. You don’t have the courage to go looking for Oscar himself– once you see that he’s not in your shared room, you know that he’s either out or in his girlfriend’s room. Either way, you don’t want to know.

That was another thing that makes you wish this vacation never happened: Oscar had been allowed to bring his girlfriend, but the only condition was that the two of them had to sleep in separate rooms. That meant the two of you shared a room like always, but that didn’t mean he didn’t take every possible chance he could to go to hers, meaning you’re alone most of the time.

You might as well just pack up and walk home to save yourself the struggle of five more days.

It doesn’t seem like anyone is around to hear, so you let out a loud, frustrated groan as you flop back onto your bed. You look to your right, past Oscar’s bed, at the flowy curtains hanging in front of the doors that lead to the deck outside. One of the doors is ajar, and the slight breeze makes the curtains flap gently.

“You okay, sweetie?” Of course your mom heard you from all the way down the hall.

“Yeah,” you reply in a way that makes it very obvious that you’re not okay.

“Ah, I know that tone.” Your mom says, crossing the room to sit at the foot of your bed. “You need a boyfriend. You wouldn’t be this mopey if you had someone here with you, too.”

Like Oscar does. “You’re telling me,” you scoff bitterly. “I guess I’ll try a little harder for next year.”

“Well, are there any boys you’re interested in?” She asks, rubbing your leg comfortingly.

“I don’t know,” you mumble, turning your head away from her so she can’t get a perfect view of your face heating up as you think about your best friend.

She hums. “Yeah, I knew it.”

“Knew what?”

“It’s Oscar, isn’t it?”

You cover your face with your hands. “Ugh! Leave now, and we can pretend this conversation never happened.”

“Nice try.” Your mom pries your hands away and gives you a look. “I just don’t think it’s the best idea that you like Oscar. He doesn’t exactly have the most stable lifestyle.”

“He doesn’t need stability, he’s rich.” You shoot back. “I don’t even care about that, Mom. I’m not exactly interested in him because of his lifestyle.” You consider not saying it, but you’ll feel better getting it off your chest. “And his girlfriend is a bitch.”

“You’re right,” your mom says, and you can’t believe what you’re hearing. “I hate his girlfriend. I’ve always thought that you’re much better suited for him.”

“No kidding. Known him his whole life, everyone thought we were dating growing up, we’ve gone through just about everything together. I guess that simply doesn’t compare to the girl he’s known for five whole months.” You’re being snarky now, and you can’t find it in you to care. It should be you dating Oscar.

Everyone else seems to think so except him.

Your mom laughs, but in a way that you know that she agrees with you, as childish as you’re being. She continues to rub your leg, and the comforting motion has your eyes drooping. The stress of your newfound feelings and the warmth of the sun on your skin is more than enough to tire you out.

“Nap time?” She asks eventually, and you nod slowly.

“Mhmm.”

“I’ll come wake you up before dinner.” She kisses the top of your head, gets up, and then says something that has you wide awake. “Hey, Oscar. She’s sleeping.”

“Ah, okay. I’ll be quiet.” You hate the calming effect his voice has on you, even though now just looking at him has sent your heart racing.

One of them shuts the door, and shortly after you can feel the bed dipping under Oscar’s weight as he lays down next to you.

“Hey,” he whispers. “Missed you.”

I missed you more. Jerk.

“I know you’re awake,” he continues. “But you don’t have to talk to me.”

Good.

“I guess I deserve the silent treatment.”

Your resolve cracks a little, because he sounds genuinely upset. As much as you want to, you don’t open your eyes, but you do turn around to face him and move closer in the process. You can smell the faint traces of his cologne, and you have to fight a sigh of contentment. Damn him for always making you feel so safe. Besides, you’re a little cold now thanks to the air conditioning.

Your eyes nearly fly open in shock when he wastes no time in pulling you closer so you’re properly cuddled into his side and puts his arm around you. He lets out a breath, like he’s relieved, before he moves around a little and leans his head against yours.

The logical side of you is screaming to quit the sleeping facade and confront him right here and now about this rather intimate behavior, but the side of you that just discovered the strong feelings you harbor for your best friend tells you to just play along and enjoy whatever alone time you have with him. It’s not hard to pick which side to listen to.

The two of you stay this way for so long you start falling asleep again, and it only gets worse when he starts rubbing your back. It starts out very subtle; at first, his fingertips just move up and down along the fabric of your shirt. He stops for a moment, like he’s considering the outcomes of his actions, and then flattens his palm against your back and continues the up and down motion. You bury your head in his chest, mostly to hide the fact that you’re turning red but also because you just want to be closer to him. He hums a little when you do it, and you have to stop yourself from weighing the logistics of whether or not you could get away with kissing him right here and now.

You have to fight the urge to sleep, wanting to soak in every moment of his strange but welcome actions. Maybe this is all just an elaborate dream– either way, you’re not going to sleep through it.

The sound of him sighing again catches your attention, but you’re entirely brought back to reality when he starts moving.

You fully give up. You don’t want him to go, so you say his name quietly and look up at him.

He sits up a little to look back at you, and you reach up to smooth away the crease between his eyebrows with your thumb. “We’re on vacation. You’re supposed to be having fun.”

“So are you.” He points out.

Of course he’s picked up on it.

“It’s complicated.”

“Talk to me,” he encourages, shifting so he can keep you close. His little polite cat smile nearly has you spilling your guts to him about how much you wish you were the one he was kissing in front of everyone.

You press your lips together. “I… I can’t, Osc.”

You always hate his crestfallen expression, but you hate it more when you’re the cause of it.

“You can talk to me about anything, you know that right?”

“I know,” you reassure him. “Just… not this. Anything but this.”

He hums again, but not in the happy way that he did before when you were practically trying to crawl into his skin. This is more like a hum of concentration.

You have a moment of hope, thinking that maybe he’ll just let it go, but you know your best friend better than that. It doesn’t change your shock when he speaks again.

“Okay. I think I know what this is about.”

“I seriously doubt you do.” You can’t help but laugh a little. How could he possibly know about something that you yourself only just discovered?

He gives you a specific look then, a look that you have always despised being on the receiving end of. It’s a look that tells you he’s expecting you to explain yourself and see if he’s right. He usually is right, which only makes it worse.

“No.” You shake your head, starting to try and find a way to get up. “No, Oscar, don’t make me say it.”

He isn’t having it though: his arm stays snug around you, and he puts one of his legs between both of yours, hooking his ankle around yours so you can’t escape.

“Oscar,” you whine. “No fair, with your stupid reflexes.”

He whines your name back in the same exact tone. “Shouldn’t try to get away from me, then.”

You let out a groan of frustration. “I’m not telling you anything.”

Someone walks out into the hallway, and the sound of the footsteps coming towards your room makes the both of you freeze. The two of you are in a rather precarious position, with your limbs tangled and Oscar practically on top of you. Not that you necessarily mind, but if anyone walked in right now, eyebrows would be raised.

Oscar seems to be thinking along the same lines as you, meeting your wide-eyed stare with his own but not making any effort to move away. It clicks in your head at that exact moment, just as it did in the morning when you walked into the kitchen.

He does know.

“How?” You whisper, too wrapped up in your disbelief to even be embarrassed.

“I know you better than anyone,” he whispers back, head whipping towards the closed door when you hear a creak, like someone’s weight is shifting on the floor.

The footsteps recede. You both let out a breath, turning to face each other again. You’re close. Too close. Close enough that you could count his eyelashes if you wanted to.

You remember the last time you were this close to him— you were both 14, playing hide and seek at midnight at a friend’s birthday party. He’d accidentally chosen the same hiding place as you, a desk with a rolling chair in front of it, and you’d been forced to squish together underneath the desk in order to conceal yourselves well enough. You were mad that he chose the same spot as you because it raised the likelihood of being found, and he’d just giggled at you every time you glared at him. You remember how much you loved his giggle, and how you’d wondered what it would be like to kiss his smile.

Well. You really have been in love with him this whole time.

You want nothing more than to crawl under the bed and stay there for the rest of the vacation so you don’t have to look him in the eye. You never want to speak to him again. You want to tell him everything. You want to push him away. You want to hold him closer.

“Tell me I didn’t ruin our friendship.” Is all you can think to say, and Oscar reacts immediately, brushing your hair out of your face and hugging you tightly.

“Honey, you could never ruin this.” He presses his nose into your hair, brushes his lips against your head. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re not the one who should be sorry,” you grumble into his chest.

He doesn’t answer, instead choosing to alternate between playing with the ends of your hair and drawing shapes on your shoulder with his fingers. He’s always been affectionate with you, but this is a whole new level, and your overthinking has you worried that you’ll lose it entirely as soon as the two of you have to leave this room and face the reality of the situation. You close your eyes, trying your hardest to soak up every little detail of this moment in the event that you never get another like it.

You know Oscar thinks you’re asleep when, much to your dismay (and maybe his, too), he gets up and gently lays you back against your pillow.

“I really shouldn’t be doing this,” you hear him say, and then you feel his lips press firmly against your temple, his hand leaving the most featherlight touch on your cheek. “I’m sorry, baby.”

The soft material of a blanket covers your body, and the door opens and shuts. Your tears waste no time in soaking into the pillowcase.

You’re regretting this vacation, but it isn’t Oscar’s fault.

He’s not the one who fell in love with the one person he can’t have.

Things change, but not at all in the way you expect. Oscar still throws an arm around you for every picture and hoists you onto his back without hesitation for the obligatory piggyback photo that has been a vacation tradition since forever. His girlfriend still looks at you like you’re the pebble she can’t get out of her shoe, but for every dirty look and intentional display of affection, Oscar is there to make up for it. He goes to the beach with you and makes sure that you apply enough sunscreen, he goes to the amusement park with you even though he hates most of the rides, he takes you to breakfast at the risk of his girlfriend throwing a fit when you get back. She does, but he doesn’t care. He does it every year, and he tells you that he’d be damned if he didn’t keep up with it.

Maybe he pities you. It doesn’t matter. You can live with never even having a chance with the boy you think you’ve always wanted something more with, so long as you can continue to call him your best friend.

He leaves for his next race on the last day of vacation, and his girlfriend goes with him. You support him from home. He calls you every single day.

Oscar has never been able to go more than 24 hours without hearing your voice. He’s never been able to fully express just how much he needs you, and now he has to face the obstacle of breaking up with his girlfriend before he can even try.

note: this fic was low key my personal everest and i changed the ending at the last second because i hate angst. if anyone is interested in a part two, let me know because i’d be happy to write it at some point!

requests are OPEN, and my inbox is always open for comments, criticism, and conversation! feel free to pop in!

reblogs are always appreciated <33

beautiful dividers by @/saradika !

tags: @venusacrossthestars @67-angelofthelordme-67 @emails-i-can-send @nelly187 @littlemiss-arabella @notturlover @verstappensrealwife @oliveisunstable @hauntedphotographybookstaco @maddie-bell @hood-jabi @jupiter-je-taime @uzisplanet @akiraquote @average-f1-enjoyer @xo-mya1 @beth-712 @bingewatche @alex15marie @ana2delusional @tomhollandfics @cixrosie @simpluvrs @meko-mt

#full fic #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri x you #formula one x reader #formula one imagine #op81 x reader #op81 imagine #op81 fluff #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #oscar piastri angst #op81 angst

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planetbkg · 8 months

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Nanami Kento does not FaceTime. Well, not until he meets you.

“Why do you need to see me?” he asks. “When we’re on the phone, I’m just doing random household chores or paperwork.”

“Thats exactly why! You look so handsome when you’re washing dishes and folding laundry,” you insist.

He scoffs at your statement, but it’s genuine; he always looks so handsome. It’s not enough to convince him though.

“You don’t wanna see my pretty face while we talk?” you pout.

There it is.

“Fine,” he sighs.

You two begin to FaceTime regularly. His phone propped up on the paperweight on his desk or on the paper towel holder while he cooks. You always get a great view of him. Him of you…not so much. You have a tendency to set your phone down or turn the camera to show him something then forget to turn it back.

“You’re not holding up your end of the bargain,” he says, not looking up from the cucumber he’s cutting.

“Huh?”

“I can’t see your face,” he says.

“You’re cutting a cucumber!” you protest, “All your attention needs to be on the knife in your hand.”

He sets his knife and cutting board to the side, and does that thing where he looks at you over his glasses.

“I’m washing it right now,” you say.

“And?”

Ugh. You grab your phone with sudsy hands and position it in the medicine cabinet so he can get a nice side view of your soap-covered face.

“Better?” you ask, not looking away from the mirror.

“Much,” he says.

You can hear the smug smile in his voice.

During one of your evening FaceTime calls, you’re away for work. You show him the hotel your company put you in. With your back camera, you give him a walk through.

“And look!” you say, walking into the bathroom. “This shower is so nice and the water pressure is amazing. And there’s a tv in here!!”

The adoration in his eyes is not meant for the marble bathroom tile you’re currently showing him, but for you. He takes great pleasure in your excitement.

“Very nice, sweetheart,” he speaks softly and smiles at you. “Anything else you want to show me?”

Your enthusiastic “yes!” makes him chuckle. You walk out onto the balcony. A picturesque view of a beach fills his screen.

“Isn’t it amazing?” you awe.

“Mhmm,” he agrees. “But not as pretty as you.”

You flip your camera not so he can see your pretty face, but rather the apathetic look casted on it by his cheesiness.

“Corny,” you say.

“I know,” he concedes. “But I got to look at you, so no real loss for me.”

You roll your eyes, but when you look out to the water again your annoyance is quelled.

“Seriously, Kento,” you say. “We should come here on vacation sometime. It’s beautiful.”

The camera is on you, but you’re looking at the water, mesmerized. You look so serene, so content. The afternoon sun bathing you in gold. Cheesy as it may be, you really are more beautiful than any beach.

“What’s the name of the hotel?” he asks.

He writes it down so he can research after you two hang up.

He’s washing dishes. He’s washing dishes and you’re riled up. Shameful. But not really because any human with eyes would be if they could see how your boyfriend looks. Dish towel thrown over his shoulder, sleeves rolled up, tie lazily draped around his neck, blond hair messy, belt…well it’s buckled, but if you were there it wouldn’t be.

You’re staring at him, but your mind is somewhere else.

“Hello? Earth to, ____?” he pulls you out of your trance.

“Huh? I’m sorry,” you say.

“Everything okay?” he asks.

“Yeah.” you almost leave it at that, but last minute decide to tack on, “Just thinking about all the things I wanna do to you when I see you.”

“Oh?” He raises an eyebrow. “Tell me more.”

“Well it’s still coming to me, but something something blindfolding you with your tie something something tying your hands above your head,” you pause. “I think ice cubes were in there somewhere.”

Your boldness never ceases to amaze him, but he’s gotten better at hiding it.

“Is this something you’d be interested in realizing in the near future?” he asks, ever the wordsmith even when he’s horny.

“Mhmm,”

“Why don’t you come over tonight?” he suggests. “I just washed all my ties.”

“Mmm…no,” you shrug. “I’m getting drinks with some friends tonight.”

His laugh translates into “you’re such a tease.”

“Plus, I need more time to make my plan of attack,” you say. "You'll appreciate me being well prepared."

"I'm sure I will," he says.

"I gotta go get dressed now," you say when you see the time. "Talk to you soon."

"Love you," he says.

"Love you too."

#nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader #my writing #c.nanami #fun fact: the last part inspired this whole thing but then i started writing and we got two more scenes #nanami kento love of my life

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pedgito · 2 years

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𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐛𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐭 pt. i ✧ ˚ · . 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary: something that is desired all the more because it is not allowed—you find yourself torn between the idea that even though eddie is in a position of authority as your professor, he’s still what you crave the most.

cw: 18+ (minors, dni) teacher/student relationship, age gap (21 & 29), corruption!kink (eddie is well aware of what he’s doing), background ronance, max is readers bestfriend, eddie likes to wear his hair up for class and hates being formal, bratty!reader (sorta), angsty touches, a smutty cliffhanger, ect & lots more to come (pun intended)

word count: 11.6k - part two, part three, part four

The campus was huge and crowded and everything you hated all wrapped into one—but you couldn’t beat the view, the pleasant Indians weather, and all the amazing classes the college had to offer. And normally, first days would be terrifying, crippling your anxiety, but there was nothing but excitement; for now, at least.

Most of your morning was spent combing through syllabuses and trying to find your classes, which is mostly your own fault, deciding on a major so vastly different from your main course work—by the time afternoon rolls around, you’re forced to walk clear across campus, nearly ten minutes late to your class and faced with a surprisingly unirritated gentleman, who’s three seconds away from shutting the door closed indefinitely.

The man steals a glance at his watch, arm twitching slightly to force his sleeve back. His eyes glance up to you for a moment and back down, “Not a great way to start off your first day,” He comments cooly, face void of any emotion, “is this gonna be a habit?”

“No—god, no,” You respond, slightly out of breath, hand clutching the strap of your book bag, “I’m just getting used to where everything’s at—I didn’t get a chance to visit the campus earlier, I have no idea where anything is or—“

“It’s fine,” He assures, beckoning you into the classroom, surprisingly full, forcing you to the front row, positioned almost directly in front of his desk—this was the beginning of your nightmare, “let’s just be mindful of time, yeah?”

Not that Eddie has ever been punctual a day in his life. But, he’s learned that being a hard-ass is more effective than not giving a shit at all, especially when it comes to his students.

“Yeah—yes, I promise.” You swear, forcing a thin smile before making an immediate line for your desk, hoping that the further you sink, the more unnoticed you’ll be. Unfortunately for you, that wasn’t the case.

The loud slide of the chalk against the chalkboard as he writes his name across the green slab is defeating, most of the class watching in fearful silence—like there was some impending doom about to descend upon them.

“Uh, sir—“ You can see him visibly tense at the word, “are we going to be learning how to play any instruments in this class?” The voice comes from a boy who seems naturally quiet and more reserved, mortified by the fact that he even found the courage to raise his hand and ask a question.

There’s a small roar of laughter from the others, but you look along stoically, watching his face upturn slightly.

“Don’t call me, sir—please,” He laughs lightly, “it makes me feel old.”

“Professor Munson,” He corrects himself, “sorry.”

“You’re fine,” He assures, “and look—this isn’t an intro to music, it’s intro to musical therapy. We’re not just studying instruments and music, we’re also studying behaviors, the mind, how all of this stuff connects and affects people’s thought process and aiding certain struggles they may have.”

His way of talking is animated and refreshing, a stark change from the usual monotone professors you’ve run into all morning.

“So, if you’re just expecting to learn how to play the piano or something, this class probably isn’t for you,” He explains, eyeing down about a quarter of the class that makes a collective groan, “hey—I’m just being honest.”

And you knew you wouldn’t see half of those people in a week, jumping at the first chance to transfer, but you couldn’t help being intrigued. It wasn’t necessarily your first choice for a major, but it took you by surprise; your love for psychology and mind studies mixed with your love of music, it seemed like the perfect storm. Plus, your professor wasn’t the worst person in the world—yet.

He easily snaps open the cuff links to his sleeves, rolling them halfway up his arm, revealing a rather striking depiction of bats, swarming around the expanse of his forearm.

He definitely seemed like a tattoo guy, but it was still odd to see so openly—his feet tap together as he takes a seat on the end of his desk, scanning the room. You can’t help but notice his lopsided tie, wanting so desperately to fix it—it was bound to drive you nuts.

“It’s probably best to get most of your question out of the way today,” He says, “so, shoot them at me while you have the opportunity.”

A few hands fly up, he points off to your right, a couple rows behind you.

“So—are you a therapist?”

He snorts a soft laugh, shaking his head, “No—I don’t have all the proper certifications, but I assist therapist a lot when they’re looking into doing stuff related to musical therapy. I know enough to get by.”

The smile he flashes leads you to believe that he’s trying to be humble.

“Do you play any instruments?” Another student asks freely, the heads of the rest of the class snapping in their direction.

“A few,” He answers, hand waving about in a noncommittal manner, “mostly just guitar.”

He adjusts his tie again, even more lopsided now and you can’t help but stare it down, focused on nothing but the black, shiny material of it—Eddie clears his throat softly, catching your attention.

He’s staring right at you, caught red-handed—quick, think of something—

“Who do you usually work with?” You ask suddenly, “In your line of work, I mean.”

Outside of being a professor, obviously.

Another laugh, more subdued. “Veterans, mostly, and a lot of children.”

Eddie claps his hands together very suddenly, startling most of the class, including yourself. “Anyways, let’s go over the syllabus so there’s no confusion—I don’t need you guys bugging me outside of my office hours, as much as I love to teach.”

You sense another jab coming, but it doesn’t.

The syllabus review is a breeze, setting you up for what most of the semester entails, including when he was available—again, making it very clear that he wasn’t available outside of office hours.

And then he’s adjusting the damn tie again, almost like it’s wringing his neck to death. By the time class ends, he dismisses everyone with a simple wave, a few students lingering around their desks, debating on whether they should drop the class or not.

The voice that trails from the front of the classroom as you take a step down catches your attention, pulling your head up to look at the culprit. “Staying or dropping?” He asks.

Professor Munson. It felt weird and unnatural as it rolled around in your mind, still not falling from your tongue.

“Staying,” You answer surely, “I knew what this class was before I signed up—I’m not about playing roulette with taking a college class.”

“Fair enough.” He’s leaning against his desk again, hands shoved into his slack pockets, shiny, gold watch resting on his wrist, and you can’t take it anymore, the frustration boiling from your chest

“Your tie,” You say abruptly, pointing at the material, “It’s crooked.”

Really fucking crooked.

He takes a glance down, finger slipping in the space between his tie and neck, pulling at the offense piece of clothing, loosening it until it’s snapping away.

He balls up the tie and tosses it behind me, landing messily on his desk. “I never wear those after the first day—hate them. They’re so stupid.”

“Or, you just don’t know how to tie a tie.” You point on, mouth speaking before your brain can catch up—realizing much too late that this was your professor, not a friend.

Eddie scoffs mockingly, “And I’m sure you do.” He counters, watching your face drop slightly.

You did, actually—but that wasn’t the point.

“No one ever taught me.” He tells you, “So I’m wingin’ it.”

You nod thoughtfully, surprised at how quickly you managed to embarrass yourself. “Oh.” You say simply, it’s all you can manage.

You save yourself for further humiliation by offering a wave of goodbye, breaking the uncomfortable tension that had grown between you both, excusing yourself immediately.

And if that was horrible enough, your night would be even worse.

☆.｡.:*

“The Hideout?” You ask curiously, twisting the flyer in your hand, “That place is still open?

Max snatches the paper from your hand, shoving it into the pocket of her jacket, protecting her from the biting cold of wind—the beginnings of Hawkins autumn weather creeping up on you.

It didn’t help that you were barely covered from the waist down, skirt leaving little to imagine as the slit ran high up your thigh, thankfully the long sleeve top you wore was enough to save your upper extremities.

“Nancy and Robin swear by that place—plus, they’ll be pissed if you don’t go.” Max explains in her usual ‘could care less’ tone.

The only reason she was going was because of Lucas—a boy she’d met during her first class that day, who she also invited out, despite barely knowing. You couldn’t blame her, though. Max could handle herself well enough, that was for sure.

The drive is long, further out of town than you expect—hidden on some rundown road on an empty corner, bare except for the small bar, yet the place was packed with cars.

“Okay, maybe this place isn’t as rundown as I remember,” You take note of, “or everyone really wanted to get drunk tonight.”

Either way, you were definitely heading toward the latter option, following closely after Max. It doesn’t take long for Max to be pulled away though, quickly distracted by the only reason she came here, abandoning you.

“Have fun,” You remind her, “seriously.”

You could take care of yourself, settling up at one of the empty tables before the stage, perched on the uncomfortably tall seat, ordering yourself a quick drink as a server passes you.

“Hey!” A perked up voice yells out from behind you, arms wrapping around in a gentle hug—no one had the nerve besides Robin, who quickly caught you in a fuller hug as you turned to face her. “How have you been? Where’s Max?”

“She’s busy,” You laugh, giving her a pointed look, which she catches on quickly. “Where’s Nance?”

“Right here,” Her delicate voice peaks out from behind Robin, watching as her hand sneaks into Nancy’s, squeezing firmly.

You smile to yourself, but Robin sees it, shoving you an annoyed look.

At least those two finally figured it out—almost ten years later.

“So, you two know who’s playing tonight?” You ask curiously, sipping on the beer that the server passes to you on their way through the crowd.

“Yeah, he’s an old friend—we haven’t seen him in a while, though.” They both frown at the mention of it, sharing a quiet glance. “We should’ve invited Steve, Nance.”

“He never wants to leave the house, you know that.” Nancy adds, “His kids keep him busy enough.”

And it seemed like Steve got the life he always wanted, for the most part—but it’s still somber to think about, wishing just as badly that you could’ve seen him once more.

“Maybe next time.” You offer, and both of them smile.

“I’ll have to remind him to invite you to his littlest’s party in a couple months,” Nancy says, “he misses you.”

The feedback startled all of you, pulling you from the conversation and toward the stage, light dimly over the center. The lights around the bar dimmed in contrast, adjusting everyone toward the men gathering in their places on stage.

You squinted carefully, watching the guitarist adjust the microphone, pulling it up to his height. His hair was long, unruly, and obscuring his face as he leaned forward, speaking into the microphone.

“How’s everyone doing tonight?” He asks with a decent amount of enthusiasm, receiving a hearty applause in return. “We’re Corroded Coffin.”

The name blanks in your mind, not ringing any immediate bells.

It was definitely a crowd full of fans—or family, at least. They excitement was palpable, everyone leaning on the edge of their seats.

“This is our first show in a couple years, so go easy on us.” He laughs, head flicking up to move the hair out of his face—again, he spots you almost instantly.

The intake of breath is involuntarily, getting caught in your throat. The blush that creeps up your cheeks is hot and burning, noticeable from a mile away.

Eddie fucking Munson, your college professor—of all the chances and fate in the world this is how your night was going to go?

Eddie clears his throat, immediately averting his gaze. “We’re just doing cover songs tonight—so if you’ve got a request, send it through Gareth.” He instructs, jerking his head over his shoulder.

And despite how mortifying this all feels, Eddie plays his heart out; you’ve never seen anything like it. He’s a person who expresses himself through his body and his music, clearly—thrashing wildly and putting every movement he can into his playing, bouncing on his feet. He can’t be bothered to stay still, which is a complete difference from his classroom demeanor.

From what you’ve seen, at least.

“You good?” Robin asks, nothing the ghostly look on your face.

“Yeahyeah, uh—“ You reply distantly, “The lead looked familiar, but I think it’s a coincidence.”

One hell of a fucking coincidence.

“Eddie?” They both ask simultaneously, “There’s no way.”

Eddie Munson. Again, your professor—but also, a friend of a friend, and a complete fucking stranger otherwise. You must’ve pissed someone off well enough down the line to end up in this position; the biggest dose of karma you’ve ever felt.

“Like I said—it’s probably a coincidence.” You assure them, eyes still locked on him.

“Yeah—I don’t think we started hanging out with him until after you moved schools.” Nancy supplies, further attempting to assure you.

Eddie catches another glance at you and you can’t help but down the bottle of beer in one go, immediately leaving your seat to ask for another, leaving your friends to congregate at the table.

The song ends abruptly, falling off of a long guitar solo, and you can’t even dare to look in that direction, faced shoved into the drink you gripped in your hand.

“Come here, come here,” You hear Robin call from behind you, but you know it’s not for you, another rumbling voice slipping through the many others, a weak protest, “Stop being like that.”

There really was no arguing with Robin and Eddie was smart to keep quiet, following her obediently to the bar. The hand that clasps your shoulder is light and gentle and Nancy shoots you an apologetic look as you look behind you.

“Ringin’ any bells now?” Robin asks playfully, holding her hand up under his face, like he was on display. Eddie makes a face, side eyeing her affectionately.

“No, sorry,” You lie easily, shrugging him off. Eddie seems to relax at that, half-expecting you to out both him and yourself—not that there was anything wrong, it was just another freaky coincidence, “What’s his name again?”

And really, it’s just to poke fun, the slight buzz creeping into your system.

“Eddie Munson,” Nancy replies, glancing between the both of you, “Edward, if that helps.”

Eddie rolls his eyes at that, hand held up in desperation as he called out for a drink over your shoulder, reaching around you to grab the bottle. You visibly tense at the proximity and he notices, still, he doesn’t try to move away.

This was too weird.

“Nope, still nothing.” You tell them, sticking to your story.

Robin shrugs, “Well, I should probably explain—Nancy used to babysit her when she was younger, her and Max and all those crazy little kids that we always told you about—“

It made you wince; babysitter, Nancy, kids. It was the worst sequence of words that could’ve been spoken in history, to your professor, in the middle of a bar, that he was also playing at.

“Robin,” You warn, “I’m sure he doesn’t care.”

“Nah,” Eddie shrugs, leaned beside you against the bar, metal chain clinking against the counter-top, lifting the beer to his lips leisurely, “It’s nice to meet you.”

And the smile seems forced, but his voice is steady, easy—you almost believe him.

But, then Nancy and Robin are pulled off in a different direction, catching up with another small group of friends and Eddie is staring at you.

And not secretly—very, very openly.

“I swear I didn’t—“ You start.

“I don’t usually,” He interrupts.

You both take a hard stop, looking each other down.

“You first,” He instructs, bring the drink to his lips once more, “then I’ll go.”

“I swear I didn’t know you were going to be here tonight,” You explain, “otherwise I would’ve skipped out.”

He wants to ask why, but the answer seems obvious—no one wants to see their teacher outside of school.

“I don’t usually make a habit of letting my students see me like this.” He motions to his get-up, hair loose and clothes even looser, aside from the obviously homemade jacket he wore, patches hand stitched and worn at the seams, but the weirdest part of it all—the ripped jeans. It felt out of place for someone nearing their thirties. He catches your gaze, the judgement evident. “My point exactly.”

“So, that’s why you don’t know how to tie a tie.” You challenge, taking a long sip of beer, eyebrow quirked in amusement as you swallow, cheeks puffed out by the liquid.

He scoffs softly, amused at your comeback. “We shouldn’t even be talking right now, you know that?” He points out, yet he hasn’t moved an inch, still close enough that if you decided to separate your thighs, he’d fit perfectly.

You hum quietly, “Yet, you’re still here.” Another beer down, another slipped into your hand like clockwork, throwing it back easily. “So, who’s fault is that?”

Him being the responsible adult and all, not that it really mattered here. This would be a level playing field outside of any other circumstance.

“Wait—can I ask a personal question?” And maybe it was the alcohol talking.

“No—“ He answers quickly, but your brain bypasses it.

“How old are you?” You ask curiously, “You look too young to be a professor.”

Eddie looks stunned, affected by your forwardness, but he takes it in stride. “I’m gonna take that as a compliment—I’m twenty nine, a couple years older than Nancy and Robin.”

You don’t press on the additional information, but nod thoughtfully, taking another quick sip of your beer.

“Sorry—it was bugging me. I have a bad problem with filtering my thoughts.” You admit sheepishly, cheeks flushed from the alcohol, fiddling with the flimsy zipper on your skirt.

“Clearly,” Eddie laughs, bringing the bottle to his lips slowly, stopping just as his lips pressed the rim, “Are you even old enough to be drinking?”

“Are you going to kick me out if I’m not?” You challenge playfully, Eddie doesn’t bite, looking you down accusingly.

It was as if he suddenly shifted back into teacher mode, judging your choices and feeling the need to scold you.

“I’m twenty one,” You tell him, “don’t have a fucking stroke over it.”

You don’t know why Eddie’s eyes shift, scanning full body, like he’s trying to take all of you in—both of your contrasting styles outside of school are a welcomed surprise; he doesn’t really expect it from you. But, you could say the same for him.

“Wasn’t gonna,” He assures you, nursing the beer near his mouth, forearms leaned against the bar now as he looks toward you, eyes catching the way your fingers fiddled with the label on the bottle, “you cold?”

Your leg crosses over the other, goosebumps riddling your skin—it’s like he’s a mind reader, the entrance door of the bar swinging open, a cold blast of air spreading throughout. “Not really.” You lie, gripping the end of your skirt to shift it down.

You could’ve been more practical, shown up in jeans and some worn out band shirt, but you wanted to look nice—feel cute and dressed up for once, was that a crime?

“Hey, there you are,” Max calls from behind you, scattering toward you with a wide-eyed Lucas in tow, “so you met Eddie?”

You turn in your seat, staring the fiery redhead down, a smile plastered on her freckle covered face.

“You too?” You ask incredulously, glancing toward Eddie, who seemed rather unfazed by it all now. “What the hell?”

“He used to live across from me, back in high school,” Max explains, which makes sense.

You moved after middle school, leaving most of Hawkins in your rear view, aside from the occasional letters to Max—both of you swore that despite the distance, college was your nonnegotiable; both of you applied, both of you got accepted, it was some sort of divine miracle, but neither of you questioned it.

“Small world,” Eddie shrugs from beside you, finishing off the last sip of his beer, “you staying out of trouble, Red?”

“Probably not,” She replies honestly, before turning to you sheepishly, “—do you think Robin will give you a ride home?”

“Max,” You groan, her look switching from hesitant to pleading, “fine—whatever, I’ll talk to Robin.”

“I love you,” She says endearingly, wrapping you into a quick forceful hug, nearly knocking you from your chair, “I owe you one.”

“Uh huh,” You reply sarcastically, waving her away, “See you tomorrow.”

When you turn, Eddie is slapping a fresh bill on the counter-top, returning his chained wallet back to his pocket.

“I guess I’ll be seeing you Monday.”

Saying it makes it even weirder.

“I won’t tell anyone.” You assure him, seeing the way his eyes catch yours, almost thankful. He doesn’t have to say it—he didn’t take you for the type to brag, but still, it’s a comforting confession. “I promise.”

The last part feels like too much, but Eddie smiles regardless, adjusting his jacket over his shoulders, preparing for the crisp, cold air that awaits him.

Robin, find Robin. Your brain scrambled, searching around for your friend—or Nancy, but neither of them are anywhere inside of the bar.

You’ve got to be fucking kidding.

“Everything okay?” Eddie asks softly, pulling the hair caught under the lapel of his jacket.

“I think they left,” You frown slightly, preparing yourself to walk several blocks until the nearest bus station, feet already sore and achy from the uncomfortable heels you wore, “Robin and Nance.”

And Eddie has the internal battle with himself for at least half a minute, weighing the odds of how uncomfortable this could be, or how creepy it may come off, but he wasn’t going to leave you high and dry—he wasn’t raised that way.

“Where am I taking you?” He asks suddenly, swinging his keys into his palm.

“Huh?” There was no way you were taking a ride from your teacher, of all people. “—I’m fine, really. I just need to walk far enough to the bus stop.”

“In those?” Eddie asks pointedly, staring down at the heels that hugged your feet like a vice grip, already sore from only a couple hours of use. “It’s not a big deal—are you going back to campus?”

You nod hesitantly.

Eddie motions toward the door and you follow obediently—your feet could thank you later. You knew there was no harm in a ride home, either, Eddie was far from the normal sketchy men around Hawkins, but it didn’t feel right. It felt like keeping a secret from your parents and doing something that had persistently told you not to, or how often the school system looked down on relations with staff outside of school, no matter the level or severity. It seemed that Eddie was hoping you’d keep this to yourself—he was counting on it.

☆.｡.:*

“Did you enjoy the music at least?” Eddie asks halfway through the drive, one hand gripping the steering wheel while the other fishes for his pack of cigarettes; a bad habit he’d yet to break.

“I mean—they were cover songs,” You shrugged, “Metallica is alright, but I prefer Bon Jovi and Quiet Riot—“

“Are you shitting on Metallica, right now?” Eddie asks, shocked by the admission. He manages to wiggle a cigarette out with one hand, tossing the box toward the middle console, “Do you mind?”

Part of you wants to say yes, just to be difficult, but you shake your head. He flicks his lighter opening, lighting the end of the cigarette until it burns a bright amber, ashes falling from the tip.

“You dress like you’re stuck in the eighties, dude.” Eddie seems offended by the comment, but takes it in stride.

“Says the lady who still listens to Bon Jovi.” Eddie sharks, pulling the cigarette from his lips, smoke billowing from his nose as he breathes, “

You hate how nice it is to watch, his soft lips pursing into a tight line. One more hit at him and he’d probably fail you out of spite, but you do it anyway.

“Says the guy still singing eighties cover songs.” Eddie winces at the jab, flicking away the ash from the cigarette, held out in the air as he searches for his retort.

“So you hated it?” Is all his brain can muster at a time like this, brain hazy from the amount of beers he consumed—you could say the same for yourself, the alcohol buzz is still ever apparent—you wouldn’t have ended up in a situation like this while stone cold sober, that’s for sure.

“No,” You reply honestly. The music was good, the performance was even better, but still—it seemed he was searching for your approval, like it would make all the difference, “but it’s the mid nineties, you need to get with the times.”

Eddie scoffs offensively, a few more puffs before he’s rubbing the cigarette to its untimely demise, pulling into the quiet campus.

“I’m gonna pretend you didn’t say that,” He says, coming to a stop, “—I hope this is close enough, the last thing I need is someone catching me dropping you off.”

Then he shouldn’t have offered a ride, which was his first mistake of many.

It’s offensive how handsome he looks under the dim lights radiating from the inside of his van—an odd choice for a teacher of his salary, but it still makes sense, somehow.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, sir.” You retort, throwing the last bit in for fun—he tenses again, visibly. He doesn’t correct you, though, which is even more difficult to understand.

He offers a simple wave, friendly and polite, then he’s gone and halfway across the campus before you can even process what happened.

It also doesn’t help that the first thing you see in your dreams that night is his face—ungodly in the way he worshiped your body, from head to toe; it was definitely the alcohol talking.

☆.｡.:*

Monday drags more than you expect, having nursed your hangover during the weekend, it felt like an aftershock was trying to overtake you, your focus lacking. It wasn’t unlike you.

You replay the conversation with Eddie in your head a few times that weekend, realizing that even through your drunken haze, Eddie was not attempting to be teacherly toward you—he was friendly, a natural conversationalist, it felt wrong.

It felt even worse when you fell asleep, his head stuck between your thighs as you dreamed that night, “She’s so pretty,” His voice is faded, muffled—like he’s stuck in a tunnel and too far away, “fucking soaking wet, too.”

And it feels too real as he licks a broad stripe up your cunt, moaning obscenely as his face is coated in your wetness, the tip of his nose bumping against your clit—it’s too much for you to process.

“Good afternoon,” Eddie’s voice carries through the door to his classroom, satchel and coffee in hand, looking just as worse for wear. His hair is tied back in a loose bun, no tie today, and his slacks look like they’re been worn for a week straight, wrinkles and all, “nice to see the class has downsized.”

It has, nearly half of the original class is gone—which really, it was better for you. You couldn’t focus in large classes and it felt less personal, more disconnected than you liked.

Eddie tries desperately to keep his energy up during the duration of the lesson, but he’s lacking on all fronts—maybe he had a rough weekend?

When he hands out the first assignment near the end of class, he stops by your desk, leaning on the railing to speak to the entirety of the class, “And don’t freak out—this is just a basis to see where you heads are at in terms of what music you like, how it makes you feel, it’s just a soft introduction into some of the stuff we’ll be covering over the semester.”

It’s a list of various songs, bands, genres—a mix of things dating back to the early fifties, up until more recently. “Go out, rent some of this if you’ve never heard of it, and write what you feel—that’s it. Easy enough?”

Eddie doesn’t acknowledge you most of the class, which is expected, but disappointing. He seems preoccupied, distracted, clearly bothered by something. But, it wasn’t your problem—the only focus you had now was your course work, which was the first thing you started on that night; a very giddy Max rummaging through your dorm room as background noise, so disorganized it could drive you insane.

“He drove you here?” She asks.

“Yes—but you can’t say anything, Max. I’m serious.”

You didn’t have anything to worry about, you knew that.

“I didn’t even know he taught here—or that he was even a professor. I mean, I know he finally graduated but—“

“Finally?” You ask curiously, swiveling in your chair to face her fully, interest fully piqued.

“He had a rough time in high school—he didn’t graduate until he was twenty, I think.” She explains, busy hands now stopped in their tracks. “He’s been through a lot.”

Your eyebrows raise in question, hoping Max would spill everything she knew—you couldn’t help but be curious about him, even if he was your professor.

“He probably doesn’t even know I go here,” She laughs slightly, “His mom and dad were never in the picture, though—at least I never saw them, it’s always been him and his uncle. He hung out with Nancy, Steve, and Robin a lot—closer to when he was graduating, they’ve stayed good friends, I guess.”

You nod slowly, absorbing the information.

“Is he mean?” Max asks randomly and you almost laugh, “My professors are the worst.”

“He’s fine,” You shrug, “It’s kinda nice that he’s not such a dick, you know?”

“What does he teach again?”

“Musical therapy?” You respond, wondering if that would surface any other tidbits of information.

“Oh—that kinda makes sense. He was always listening to music, then he just disappeared after graduation, but his uncle always talked about how he was helping people, doing something he really liked—I just never bothered him about it.”

There’s a long silence before Max can’t help herself, perching herself on the surface closest to you, pens scrambling to the floor as she takes a seat on the edge of your shared desk.

“What did you guys talk about?”

“The weather,” You say flatly, not receiving any type of reaction from her, “—-just music, that’s it.”

“But, babe, you love music.” Max reminds, like it wasn’t painfully obvious.

“And—he’s my professor, it’s fucking weird.” You explain, but even Max doesn’t believe you. “What—why are you looking at me like that?”

“You two are so similar,” She laughs, “It’s freaky.”

“Maxine—what are you trying to imply?”

“Nothing,” She shrugs, hoping from the desk, “—remember that I’ll be your maid of honor at the wedding, though. We pinky swore.”

“He’s my professor, Max.” You stress again, Max smiles wide, annoying you further.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, right?” Max asks, realizing that you’d used the same playful jab at him the night before.

“What?” The coincidence was uncanny.

“Eddie used to tell me that whenever I tried to justify doing something I wasn’t supposed to—I’ve grown, obviously,” That’s not entirely believable, but you keep your mouth shut, “the saying stuck with me—it’s kinda fun to use.”

“Whatever—did you get the music I asked about?” You ask, impatiently switching the topic to something less scandalous.

“Everything was spoken for,” Max explains, trying to let you down gently, “I really tried—but I guess everyone in that class had the same idea on where to go, unless you want to take a trip to the store and buy them—“

And it dawns on you, Eddie must have some sort of music collection, “Wait—what time is it?”

Max takes a quick glimpse at the alarm clock on her nightstand, “A quarter past five, why?”

Still open for office hours—you prayed silently, despite your lack of religion, hoping that he was still in his classroom.

“Give me a ride.”

Max doesn’t question it, being the best friend she is.

☆.｡.:*

“I’m busy,” He says before you can even knock on the door, your loud ascending footsteps giving you away, “come back in the morning.”

You peek through the window of the door anyways, seeing a perfectly relaxed Eddie reclined at his desk, feet propped up as he jotted something down in a book, tongue poked out in focus.

“Uh Professor…Munson,” It felt foreign and weird, “I just had a question.”

His demeanor changes on a dime at the sight of you, unbusying himself completely. It’s a little hysterical, but endearing nonetheless. It makes your stomach flutter at the sight, scrambling to button his shirt higher, seem more professional, not that you hadn’t already seen him outside of work.

The door creaks open, his head popping through as you back away, “What’s going on?” He asks, surprised that anyone would dare to bother him outside of normal class hours. It doesn’t take you long to realize that he only mentioned the office hours out of courtesy, he didn’t actually expect anyone to bother him.

“I was trying to work on your assignment—“ His eyes softened, and it made you flinch, feeling exposed, “I don’t really have the money to buy any of the music and everything was already rented out—-so I wasn’t sure what to do.”

“Oh,” He wasn’t sure what to expect but he finds himself opening the door wider, welcoming you inside, “Yeah—a few students raided my shelf before class was over but I’m sure there’s some left.”

“Thanks,” You reply shyly, squeezing beside him, watching as he lingered by the door still, hands shoved into fists in his pockets, “I didn’t mean to interrupt you, sir—“

“You can call me Eddie—here, at least.” And that definitely doesn’t feel appropriate, but if he’s insisting, well…

“Sorry, it just feels…strange, I guess.” It’s not how you wanted to describe it, but it’s the only word that comes to mind. “I can’t imagine how weird it is running into your students outside of class.”

“Probably as weird as it feels running into your teacher,” He adds playfully, lightening the mood. It’s nice that he’s not so bothered by all of it, “Oh—I’ve got some Elvis in there, a lot of classic rock. I’m not sure about the newer stuff, though.”

“Max has some of it.” You comment without thinking, sifting through the box of music, picking and choosing as you went.

“Max?”

“She’s—she’s my roommate here.” You answer quietly, unable to meet his eyes as he walks closer, leisurely making his way around his desk.

“I guess I should’ve put that together,” He says, taking a moment to examine the sweater you’d shoved on, “You two share a closet?”

“Among other things.” You smile, grasping the stack of Cd's in your hand, “How did you know?”

You share a glance down at the faded sweater, reading off the name of some random skate shop back in rural Hawkins, a place you’ve never stepped foot inside of.

“I got that for Red on her sixteenth birthday, before I left.”

Eddie’s frowning now, nearly unnoticeable, but you see the way his mouth creases, eyes turned down. “It’s her favorite,” You say, in an attempt to make the mood less dark, “but I always steal it from her—she’s let me take residency over it at this point.”

“It looks nice,” Eddie says suddenly, feeling the slip up as it slides off his tongue, rambling even further as he says, “on you—I mean, it’s a nice sweater—that’s why I bought it.”

You laugh softly, bottom lip jutting out as your mouth curls into a smile. “Thanks, Eddie.”

He scratched at his temple, ringed finger shining against the light refracting from the lamp on his desk. You’ve never noticed it before—or them, since his hand was adorned with three, that you could see.

“Hey, those are cool—“ You point out, finger pressed in the direction of his upheld hand. He stops, views his hand, almost like he’s forgotten he was wearing them, “I’ve noticed them before.”

“I try not to wear them during class hours, the administration thinks it’s unprofessional.” The nature of the rings, not the fact that he wore them—if he had a wedding ring it wouldn’t matter, but the thought of marriage made Eddie want to vomit.

“Fuck ‘em.” You say crudely, shoulder shrugged In indifference.

Eddie’s mouth hangs open slightly at the sudden outburst, amusement flooding his face, “I’m still your professor—probably should keep that type of language to a minimum.”

You snort at his indication that he had any type of hold over what you do—he couldn’t be further from the point.

“Or what?” You say challengingly, “This isn’t high school—it’s not like you can give me detention or tell my parents.”

“I am the one handling your grades.” He counters, hip leaned against the edge of his desk. Your free hand travels to your waist, slipping underneath the sweater to rest against the skin.

“You don’t intimidate me—I hope you know that.” You remind him carefully, eyes narrowing in his direction. “The other’s are terrified of you, but that shit doesn’t work on me.”

And he should know better—you shouldn’t even be here and he definitely should be flirting with a student, if you could call it that. Was this flirting? Was this crossing the line? He’s studied body language for a long time, through the process of his treatment of people, and he can’t help but notice how relaxed you seem, almost enjoying the back and forth.

“You should go,” He says quickly, avoiding any further lines being blurred or crossed or misconstrued; you were his student and it was unprofessional, “my office hours are closing soon.”

“Uh huh.” You nod slowly, adjusting the stack of music under your arm, watching the way Eddie’s fingers drum against the desk impatiently, like he can’t wait to get you out of there.

If he was really that bothered, he could’ve said something.

“Thanks again, professor.” You say with grandeur, motioning to the stack of Cd's, “It’s greatly appreciated.”

Eddie tries to ignore the small sliver of skin that shows underneath your slightly raised top that was no longer obscured by your hand, almost like you’re doing it on purpose.

Which, yes, you absolutely were.

You slip by him silently, avoiding the way his eyes follow you. It felt predatorial, but not uncomfortable—and that’s what you hated about it.

He didn’t look at you as a student—he looked at you like something else; you couldn’t put your finger on it.

Eddie turns on the heels of his shoes, “I expect those back tomorrow,” He warns, but there’s no sense of actual ramifications behind it.

You don’t answer fully, a small nod that Eddie doesn’t quite notice. He grabs the sleeve of your sweater gently, his fingertips pressing against your covered arm. “I mean it.”

You look at the hand that gripped your arm for far too long, Eddie still holding on just as hard. “I know.” You appease him, “And if I don’t—you know where to find me.”

The glance to your desk is silent, but done in unison.

“Wanna let go now, sir?”

Eddie hates the way his dick twitches under the material of his corduroy slacks, releasing the bunch of material from his grip. You half-expect him to scold you for the remark, but he’s speechless, for once in his life.

“Sorry,” He apologizes, feeling like he’s made things uncomfortable, but it’s so far from that—he has no idea, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“On time, hopefully.”

It’s just another playful comment, but it has Eddie gripping his thigh from the inside of his pocket, muscles tensed in frustration.

You leave with a wordless smile that’s burned into Eddie’s mind for the rest of mankind—and it’s definitely not the first thing he thinks about when he slips his boxers down his thighs that night, cock still half-hard from earlier in the evening.

☆.｡.:*

He becomes a permanent fixture in your dreams as the weeks grow on, unbeknownst to him—not that he can say much for himself either, annoyed by the finite nerve you have to walk into his classroom, skirt pulled halfway up your waist, ass barely peeking out of the bottom of the pleated material.

He knows it’s wrong and going against all of the rules set it place for this very reason, but he can’t help himself. So, he suffers in silence—not that it was anything new to him, he’s done it his entire life; under different circumstances and situations perhaps, but the basics of it still remained.

“Fuck—spread your legs,” His voice is hushed, quiet against the skin of your leg as he sucks a deep purple mark into the skin, jerking at the touch of cold metal, the outside of his rings grazing your thighs, “wanna taste you.”

It feels too real—you toss and turn in your sleep restlessly most nights, dreaming about your professor with his hands around your thighs and his mouth buried deep into your cunt.

And with little to no interaction during class, aside from the occasional glance in your direction, he kept his distance—which wasn’t a surprise, he had no idea.

He had no idea that his student was practically pining after him. It doesn’t help that you’ve seen him outside of the classroom, dress downed and free of an inhibitions or rules; it was a special kind of torture.

It’s late October when Eddie speaks to you directly, alone—he’s got most of the class set up on various different instruments of their choosing, allowing them to feel them out and play freely, and somehow—by some fucked up fate, you get stuck with a six string and not a clue how to play.

Fake playing wasn’t working, Eddie could spot it from a mile away. You don’t chance the glance up at him, but the squeak of his shoes is enough warning, bracing for whatever remark was going to be sent your way.

“Have you ever played before?” He says instead and your eyes immediately shoot up to him, all previous restraint thrown out the window.

“No, not really.” You say truthfully, watching as Eddie pulled up a chair in front of you, facing the back of it in your direction, thigh swinging over the side—his jeans tightening with the action, along with your thighs. You really needed to get your shit together.

“Here,” His hands come out to rest over yours, adjusting your left hand over the base of the guitar, your right hand around the neck, “This is A,” He presses your finger over the cord, instructing your other hand to strum.

It’s slightly out of tune, but the guitar seems old—probably provided by the college rather than Eddie himself, “That’s good,” He praises calmly, “Now try playing an A sharp,” He guides your hand further down the neck, the warm, rough skin of his hand covering your own. He feels tough and worn and you notice the small cuts around his fingertips at this proximity, breath catching as his hand grasps around the wrist that was actively strumming the guitar, “it’s really complicated at first, there’s a lot to learn.”

“Clearly,” You say, forcing down the smile that threatened to break through, “how long have you played?”

He seems surprised that you cared or even tried to ask.

“Since I was about twelve, probably.” He answers honestly, “More than half my life.”

Eddie still hasn’t moved his hands, either—he can’t be bothered. It doesn’t look as incriminating as you thought, but still, you knew. He helps you play through a few more notes until he’s gotten you to the point of playing a small, five second tone—but it’s all you can really manage.

“It takes a while.” He assures you, not that you wanted to pick up a guitar again after this.

“Why don’t you play?” You ask sweetly, smiling flashing with nothing but devious intent, handing the guitar over toward your professor.

“Nono—I’m really not—“ He protests, setting the guitar back on its stand beside you.

“Not what? That good?” You ask curiously, he was worse at lying to himself than he was to you.

“Are we forgetting how I saw you play that night?” You ask quietly, nothing how his gaze lingered with yours, “Because if that wasn’t you then—“

He gives you a muted look of warning, wanting you to drop the topic of conversation, but you can’t be bothered. He wasn’t in charge of you, not really.

“You can play a Dio song blindfolded, I bet,” You point out, still keeping enough of a hushed town that only Eddie can hear, “Your eyes were closed that entire set.”

“It was my first time back home in a while,” He defends lamely, “It helps with the nerves.”

“I thought it was really good.”

Eddie’s eyes light up in a way you can’t ignore, bordering on shock and adoration, it’s the first real smile you’ve seen from him.

The end of class comes quicker than you want it to, forced to pack your belongings back into your bag in a rush, everyone’s already managed to file out before you can even think of zipping your bag up.

“Hey,” Eddie calls out, every other student already long gone, “here, take this.”

It’s a flyer, similar to the one Max shoved into your hands a few weeks prior.

A different bar, same band; one night only.

“I’m probably breaking a thousand rules by giving you that,” He explains carefully, “but maybe you and Max could come out and watch us play—tell her I’ll even throw in some free Kate Bush.”

Your smile is warm, folding the flyer and stuffing it into your pocket. “I told you—I’m not the type to blab, Eddie.”

You hate how easy it feels to say his name in such a setting, still dressed up in his ridiculous attempt at seeming studious and professional. You knew he hated it, he knew it too.

“I can ask her—if not, I’ll still show.” You tell him.

He was only inviting Max to be courteous, but that wasn’t up for him to decide whether or not you actually brought her along. Either way, he was appreciative. He knew that a lot of the support he received back home was mostly done out of obligation and sympathy, but with—it felt real. He didn’t know you, he didn’t have anything to prove to you, and more importantly, you were genuine and honest; he hated that you took up this class. Hated it.

“It’s not a big deal if you can’t.” He offers as an out.

There was no way you were going to miss it, not with how Eddie was looking at you now; despite the circumstance, it was so blatantly obvious to you how badly you wanted him.

“Eddie, I’ll be there.” You assure him once more.

And if the smile that spreads over his face isn’t something worth worshiping, you’d surely find something else.

☆.｡.:*

The bar is small, on the complete opposite side of town—but Max still offers to drive you, but it’s definitely not for your own benefit. She hasn’t shut up about Eddie since you’d told her the situation, the weird looks he gives you, and the horrible filthy dreams you’ve been having; sans the super embarrassing details. She gets it—it’s incredibly amusing to her, but she gets it.

“You sure you don’t want to stay?” You asks, fingers tapping nervously against the ripped denim of your jeans, frayed material pulled between your fingertips. “He did invite you.”

“Babe, I’m doing you a favor.” Max interjects, halfhearted smirk on her face.

“He’s my teacher—for the last time,” You begin, beyond desperation, the words falling from your tongue weren’t even believable to your own ears, “I’m not trying to fuck him, Max.”

“I did not say anything about fucking him,” She laughs amusingly, turning into the parking lot of the bar, “—it’s just not as weird as you’re making it out to be. I’ve known Eddie for a long time.”

“You’re really missing the point.” You say, rubbing the frustration on your face away with your hands, eyebrows furrowing in annoyance.

“Oh whatever, don’t tell me you suddenly have some strict moral compass,” Max replies flippantly, “you want to screw him and you know it.”

The suspense is enough of an answer. There was no lying to Max, she knew just about every deepest, darkest secret you carried.

She pulls to a stop outside the entrance, turning toward you carefully, “Also—I can’t pick you up so you’re gonna have to ask him for a ride. I love you.” She rambled it off in one breath, barely giving you time to process. “See you tomorrow?”

It’s the one fight you decide not to pick with her, because for some reason, you know it’s for your own good.

“Hey—you made it!” The familiar voice calls from behind you—Eddie, guitar case in hand, the rest of his band mates in tow. “Red.” He acknowledges, offering her a nod. “There’s parking in the back.”

“Oh—I’m not staying,” She shouts from the driver’s side, “take care of her or I’ll murder you, Munson.”

Max is pulling off before you have any last fleeting chance to run, leaving both you and Eddie at a loss for words.

“Pulled a fast one, didn’t she?” Eddie asks after a moment, gathering by your side, following you into the bar. “She’s sneaky as hell, I’ll give her that.”

“Yeah, you could say that.” You huff softly, watching your step as you crossed the threshold, hit in the face with the smell of cigarette smoke and cheap beer.

“A beaut, isn’t she?” Eddie asks sarcastically, but despite that, the bar still garnered a decent amount of attention, packed to the brim with older gentlemen—nothing like bars near campus.

“I think I found your target audience,” You joke lightly, catching the smirk that crosses Eddie’s face as you glance over your shoulder. “I’ll fit right in.”

Eddie slaps a twenty into your hand, “Here, drinks on me—since I forced you here,” You look at him reluctantly, “I don’t want to hear it.”

“I didn’t plan on drinking tonight.” You insist, forcing the bill back into his hand, “I’ll be okay.”

“You sure?” He asks, eyeing you carefully, like he’s trying to find a hint or tell, something to figure out what exactly your mind was fighting against—which right now, it was the fact that Eddie looked ridiculous with eyeliner, yet, still criminally attractive.

It’s exactly why you shouldn’t have come tonight, because whatever could happen—you weren’t sure if you had it in you to shut down.

You nod with finality. Eddie takes the money back reluctantly, stuffing it into his front pocket. He feels terrible that you have to sit there, alone—all to watch a shitty cover band play a few songs.

But to you, it was worth it.

You sit and wait, forcing away the bartender a few times until he finally gets the message, leaving you be. It’s quiet, aside from the hum of laughter and idle conversation, Eddie and his group setting up silently onstage—that impending feeling in your gut expanding further as you watch him move around, guitar strap swung over his neck, watching shamelessly as he adjusts the instrument against his body.

He catches your eyes then, sending you a cheeky smile that has you face burning on the spot—at this point, you care less about your professional relationship, if it could even be considered that.

Eddie plays with all the gusto you expect, belting out lyric after lyric on his performance high; it’s unlike anything you’ve ever witnessed. It’s hard not to compare him to his classroom demeanor, more restrained and relaxed—it was forced, that was easy to tell. But this—this was Eddie, unafraid and free to behave how he pleased, it was unfair how attractive he was, both in looks and personality. It felt like you’d know him longer than just a few weeks; months maybe? Years?

It was like hanging out with an old friend, discovering new and old things about one another; you’d spill your heart to him at a moment’s notice if he asked—and that’s why this felt so dangerous.

☆.｡.:*

“How was it?” Eddie asks as he rounds the corner, still slightly out of breath and face covered in a sheen of sweat. You hand him a napkin in silence and he laughs, but accepts the offer.

“Good,” You smile honestly, “I really enjoyed the gradual crescendo from Holy Diver into Living After Midnight—“

Eddie could kiss you on the spot, which is such a startling thought that it stops all thinking completely—you were absolutely too good to be true, it was a constant reminder every time you spoke, making him fight with this taboo feeling more and more every day.

“Do you still need a ride home?” He asks suddenly, interrupting your waterfall of compliments, “I was going to head out already.”

“Well, considering Max left me stranded,” You say with an empty bitterness, knowing that her attentions were mostly good, “yes, I do.”

Eddie nods a silent direction—and just like the first night, you follow without question.

☆.｡.:*

The foot that isn’t pressed on the gas pedal is shaking insistently, leg bouncing against the leather of Eddie’s seat, hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. He can hear you humming, mumbling the song on the radio to yourself, another classic—one of Eddie’s favorites, and he really can’t help himself anymore.

It was just a small, innocent indulgence. Who could it really hurt? You were both consenting, capable adults—and the worst thing you could do was turn him down, which Eddie really hoped wasn’t the case, but he was beyond caring about norms and rules, driven by the pure fact that he just wanted—wanted you, in any sense of the word.

“What are you doing?” You ask curiously, watching as Eddie searched idly through his stack of music, somehow still managing his focus on the road.

“Changing the song,” He comments simply, pushing the disc into the player—the soft synth of the song pushing through the speakers of his van, “do you know it?”

“Corey Hart, right?” You ask, taking a wild guess. You’d only heard the song once, but it was still catchy enough that it stuck around in your brain, “I didn’t picture you as the type.”

“You’d be surprised.” He comments oddly, turning the volume up slightly.

He notices the humming again, the small head bop along to the beat. “You like it.”

It’s more of a statement, rather than a question. You catch the side of his face, the small glint in his eye as he focuses back on the road.

“That's presumptuous of you,” You retort, hands twisting in your lap, “it’s alright, I guess.”

“Mind if I do a little study?” He asks hesitantly, breath catching in your throat for half a second.

“Of me?” You ask with a laugh, “I mean—if you want?”

“Your heart is racing, for one,” Eddie points out slyly, watching the rapid rise and fall of your chest as the beat picked up, chorus running through the silence that filled the air, “and you’re squeezing your hands.”

“Okay, genius,” You remark, “You’ve got eyes, good for you.”

He’s not really using his degree in this situation, it’s more of an innocent observation of the already underlying tension that Eddie couldn’t help but notice—the obvious body language giving you away. The song was just a secret favorite of his, but you didn’t need to know that, not yet.

“Mind I make one?” You ask, “An observation, I mean.”

What was the harm in it anyways? Eddie nods for you to continue.

“You’ve been shaking your leg since we left.” You point out, the bouncing coming to an abrupt stop, “and I’ve never seen you do that—ever.”

“It’s the after performance buzz.” He replies cooly, but you can’t be bothered to believe it. “It’s not that unusual.”

“Eddie—you’re making that up,” You tell him, eyeing burning into the side of his face, “what’s your deal?”

“My deal?”

“Yeah—why are you lying?” It’s a bold question to ask, heart fluttering in your chest. But, the way he looks at you has your legs crossing in frustration, squeezing together to relieve that ache growing between your legs.

“So, you want to pretend I didn’t notice that either?” He asks, eyeing the full expanse of your body before stopping on your legs, still firmly crossed in the seat, hands white knuckling each other under the long sleeves of your shirt. “Uncross your legs.”

“What? No.” You scoff, offended by his forwardness for a brief moment.

Eddie slips his hand under your knee wordlessly, prying your legs apart. You can’t help but look at him as if he’s lost his fucking mind—that doesn’t stop your legs from following his order. It made the ache that much worse.

“Don’t,” He warns hesitantly, the small shift in your leg giving you away, “it’s not gonna help.”

“Help what?” You reply dumbly, “I can’t cross my legs? Is that a crime?”

Eddie’s gaze lingers for far too long, noticing the flush of your chest and the way it creeps up your cheeks—they felt like they were on fire. In the midst of all the back and forth, it’s hard to keep focus on the main fact at play—teacher, student, your mind screaming, wrong.

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

“I can help.” He makes a subtle nod toward you.

It didn’t take a genius to know what he was talking about. You were very well aware of the issue. You want to weigh your options, come up with some stupid reason to wiggle out if the situation—but nothing comes to mind. The way Eddie’s fingers tighten around the steering wheel has you digging your nails into your own thigh—you’re going to cave, you can feel it.

“Eddie.” You warn, watching as his hands lingers toward the gear shift, resting against the cracked and worn down plastic covering.

“Our secret, right?” He teases, like this whole situation wasn’t built on secrecy. You nod willingly, legs spreading a few inches wider. His fingers trail the seam of your jeans, stopping on the button, popping it open with deft fingers. “Move this way—yeah, there.”

And when his fingers breach the seam of your underwear, your mind sings a soft praise of release, watching as his hand forces its way into the tight space, leaving him no other option but to cup your cunt with his full palm.

There was no turning back now.

His middle finger drags through your folds testingly, matching the slow undulating beat of the song, like this was a game to him. You have no idea how to handle your hovering hands, too afraid to touch him, so they wrap around the headrest behind your head, fingers gripped tightly together.

Your legs spread wider, giving him better access—you were rutting into his hand at the shift of position, feeling that familiar tingle of pleasure as it shot through your body, mixed with the feeling of a bite of forbidden fruit, avoiding Eddie’s heated gaze as he shifted between you and the road.

It feels reckless and stupid, but you can’t find the courage to stop.

The first dip of his finger is like heaven, feeling unfamiliar after so long, despite how often you touched yourself, you couldn’t remember the last time there had ever been anyone else but you—not since the first summer after you graduated; freshly eighteen and naive, letting a much older man have you how he wanted—it’s uncanny, the situation your in now. But this, it doesn’t feel like that.

“Fuck—“ Your voice catches, stomach clenching at the curl of his middle finger as it slipped inside of you and back out, pace so insufferably slow, “—need more.”

“There she is,” He smiles to himself, confidence oozing in his tone, “—shit, you’re such a liar.”

It takes you a minute to realize that he’s not talking to you at all—which sends you down a different wave of emotions, pussy clenching around his lone finger, gasping at the way he curls it against the soft walls of your cunt, searching desperately for something out of reach.

“How long has it been like this?” He asks curiously.

Since the moment you met him, is what you want to say.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You reply breathlessly, back arching away from the seat, cunt pressing further against his hand as he slips a second finger inside.

At the lie, Eddie stops without warning, and it gives you a headache, that slow build of pleasure deflating immediately.

“The truth,” He says, though, it’s more of a demand, “tell me.”

And fuck, if you weren’t putty in this man’s rough, calloused hands.

“Since earlier,” You reply, rewarded with the soft brush of a fingertip over your clit, you quickly unzip your jeans to allow for more room, “when I saw you onstage.”

Eddie’s groan in response tells you everything you need to hear. He slows to a stop at a red light and it’s the first real glance you share with him the entire evening, both of you seeing straight through each other, bodies overran with pleasure.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” He says, and it seems a little late for a realization like that, you can’t help but laugh, “what—you think it’s funny?”

“You’re the one with your hand down my pants, sir.” You retort, earning a disciplined squeeze as he shoves his two middle most fingers back into your cunt, molding around him like glue.

“Sorry—I know you hate that word,” You say playfully, “But do you mind if I use it? Or, do you prefer professor?”

It was your turn to play into the guilt he was feeling, though it didn’t seem to be concerning if he still had his hands shoved down your pants so willingly.

“Shut up,” He forces out, swerving slightly at the way you cunt clenched around his fingers, insides fluttering as he curves his fingers wildly, grazing that sweet spot deep inside of you, “don’t call me that.”

His hands were larger than yours, making up for all the work you missed out on.

“Too far?” You ask teasingly, knowing that was the least of your worries; all moral lines crossed, blurred, forgotten about entirely. Eddie’s fingers pull back to graze over the sensitive nub, rubbing in small, leisurely circles, “Fuck that—that feels—“

Your moan is so unashamed that it surprises you, hips bucking up into his hands as you nearly leapt out of the seat.

Eddie can’t take the suffering much longer, pulling off onto the winding side road, tucked into a nest of trees. He unbuckles his seatbelt, allowing fuller access as he turns toward you, switching his hands with practiced ease—you couldn’t even open your eyes, face drawn up in pleasure. You knew the moment you looked at him you were done for.

“Look at me,” His voice echoes alongside the melodic tune of the song, his fingers matching the catchy beat—the damn music aficionado he was, toying with you, fingers strumming against your swollen clit like the strings of his guitar, “—I said, look at me.”

Your body works for you, eyes opening on instinct—his voice was rough, authoritative, leaving no room for argument.

“Good girl—It’s what you wanted, right?” He asks with a semblance of a smirk on his face, “It’s why you came tonight?”

You laugh weakly at his words, double entendre, unable to go unnoticed, “As far as I’m concerned, no one’s came tonight.”

His eyes darken, shifting toward your cunt, covered by your clothes, his wrist poking out above the thin material of your underwear.

“You can stop—stop acting like this is my fault,” You hiccup, gasping as he applies heavy pressure to your clit, rubbing steadily, hating how shameful it feels as your cunt clenches around nothing, wishing his fingers were still buried inside you. “Please—fuck, I just—“

All self restraint forgotten, you hand searches for his face, finding its way into his curls, pulling gently at the root, the softest hint of a grunt falling from his lips—the first noticeable sign all evening that he was even slightly affected by this—by you.

And maybe you’ve gone too far, the idea of touching him is where things go wrong, but you can’t be bothered to hold yourself together anymore.

“It’s okay,” He assures you, leaning over the middle console, hand working quickly against your cunt, moaning loudly into the confines of the car, ashamed at how wrecked you sound, “I like it.”

He must’ve noticed your expression, lingering on his face—you could do anything and he’d fall to his knees.

“It hurts—“ You plead, begging for release, “—please?”

It sounds too pretty coming from you, deciding that putting you out of your misery was easier than watching you suffer, on the verge of a mind-blowing orgasm, Eddie’s hands feeling so much better than your own, or anyone that’s touched you before.

Your mouth hangs open on a wordless gasp, eyes squeezing shut at the force at which your high hits you, his fingers gently coaxing you through the descending pulse of your orgasm, near the point of over stimulation.

“Okayokay—“ You ramble, fingers wrapping around the length of his wrist as you pulled him away, heart skipping in your chest at the sight of his fingers flexing against your stomach as he pulls away, fingers covered in your wetness as a result of what just happened.

Your head rests against the back of the seat, chest heaving rapidly as you try to catch your breath. “Not that I’m complaining—“ Eddie’s voice pulls you out of your hypnosis, “but you might wanna let go.”

“Shit—I’m sorry,” You apologize softly, letting go of his hair, looking at him sheepishly, hands returning to your lap to fix your pants.

The song had ended long ago, the gentle rumble of the engine filling the quiet like an ambiance, realization settling between you both.

Who speaks first?

He’s quiet, wiping his hands on a black handkerchief that he seemed to have pulled out of nowhere, before stuffing it into his back pocket—where it must’ve been all along.

“I’m—“

“Should I—“

The stare you hold is long and tense, brimming with even more sexual tension than before, searching for some way to cope with whatever just happened.

He glanced down at the hard bulge of his jeans, noticing the way your gaze catches. He shifts, pulling at the front of his jeans to adjust himself. “It’s fine.” He lies, not ready to allow this to go any further than it should have.

“I don’t mind,” You reply slowly, voice hesitant as you lean forward, “I want to.”

He feels himself flex at the thought, the idea of your mouth—or even your hand, wrapped around, he was ruined. But, he’s insistent.

“I need to get you back to campus, right?” He asks, though the answer is obvious. It was a grasping at straw attempt to change the subject. “Red’s probably worried about you.”

Not a fucking chance.

“Yeah—you’re right.” You answer, trying to hide dejection, wanting nothing more than to touch him, as intimately as he had you. “We should go.”

It’s like he’s turning on his classroom demeanor before your eyes—and frankly, it’s ridiculous. He’s regretting every choice he just made and you know it, watching as he flips the gear into place, back on the road with one swift twist of the steering wheel.

And it could’ve been the heat of the moment or the copious amount of drinks that Eddie had been offered that night, obscuring his rational thinking—but he didn’t reek of alcohol, not a single drop on his breath. So, if anything, it was regret, obvious and plastered over his entire face.

But to Eddie, it's shame.

Shame at the idea of breaking so many rules, risking his job at the hands of some young women—who he couldn’t help but be lured by, entranced at how much of an enigma you were. He couldn’t describe it, couldn’t even put it into words.

And even after he drops you off that night, he comes in his hand, against the soft expanse of his stomach, the image of your face in his mind as you come apart by the work of his own hand.

He knew there was no going back, allowing himself to fully succumb to the idea that if you were willing to let him have you like that, you’d let him do just about anything.

It was exactly what you wanted.

author's note: and an extra special thank you to @hellfirehoe for dealing with my nonstop horny thoughts about this and helping me proofread.

#eddie munson smut #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fic #my writing #1kfic #5kfic

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ghost-proofbaby · 8 months

Text

twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

→ tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn

→ warnings: strong language, smut (oral, f receiving), overload of cheesiness, upside down does not exist, minors dni

→ wc: 11.8k+

→ a/n: this might be the cheesiest, fluffiest thing i've ever written, and i can't even be bothered to care. it might be unrealistic. it might be too much. i do not care. this has been a long time coming and i think we all deserve all the cheese after this story.

i don't even know what to say besides thank you. thank you to everyone who followed along from the beginning, to those of you joined the journey along the way, to those of you who are reading as we finish it up. thank you for all the support and love you guys have shown this fic. i will always, always, appreciate it more than i know how to say. i love these idiots, and i love you all.

if you would like to see this story continued through small blurbs, my ask box is officially open to requests from this universe. i will also probably be posting some "beyond the hours" content over the next few weeks.

thank you. i love you.

without further ado...

masterlist.

spotify playlist.

EPILOGUE: A BET

TWO MONTHS LATER

“Why are there so many fuckin’ options?”

Eddie stares at the line up of smartphones before him, all different models and different physical sizes, different colors and different memory amounts.

“There’s not that many,” you murmur, wrapping your arms around him from behind as you rest your chin on his shoulder. It’s a bit of a stretch, making you lean up onto your tippy toes, “Besides, isn’t having options a good thing?”

He scoffs as he brings a hand up subconsciously to where your arms overlap on his torso, grip gentle as he runs a thumb over your skin and gives a squeeze, “Sure, options are great. But there’s at least twenty different iPhones on display here, sweetheart.”

The last few months had been interesting, to say the least. A new and exciting journey initially, but also a fairly stressful ordeal given all the hoops you two had been jumping through. You’re both busy people, having to suddenly figure out how to carve out a specific space for each other amongst bustling lives. It wasn’t the same as making time for friends or a weekly night out; it was figuring out times for dates, times for lazy afternoons, times for just you and just Eddie.

And, occasionally, time to take Eddie shopping for a new phone. Finally.

“Well, better pick one fast,” your fingers dig into his side playful, and he blows out an annoyed breath as he side-eyes you. You only retaliate in a fast peck to his cheek before whispering in his ear, “We’re gonna be late if you keep taking all day.”

It was Argyle’s birthday party tonight. His actual birthday wasn’t for another week, but he’d be venturing back home to California for that. And so the group elected to throw him a preemptive party at one of the group’s favorite bars.

Which — fine. Awesome. You were excited, you really were: you loved Argyle, you loved your friends, you even found yourself warming back up to parties.

But your friends didn’t know.

Two whole months, and neither you nor Eddie had told a single soul of what had become between you two. Not even Steve. Not even Nancy.

At first the excuse was to give this time to grow, to find your footing before you brought your lovable yet rambunctious group of friends into the equation. But then you two had found your footing, and you’d worried what they would say. Eddie had nearly made himself sick with anxiety over Nancy finding out he’d kept this relationship from her. They’d support you two — that wasn’t a worry. They’d proven that since the first time the entire group had hung out after the bet.

“So,” Robin started, narrowing her eyes at you and Eddie sitting on opposite ends of her and Steve’s couch. Neither of you had said a word to each other yet (Plenty had already been said that morning as you’d snuck him out of your dorm), “You two really aren’t together?”

“Why is everyone so adamant that the bet has to end with us getting together?” you jeered.

Eddie didn’t help the cause when he was quick to take your side, “Exactly! The bet’s over. We lasted twenty four hours. We’re friends now — isn’t that what you guys wanted?”

“I actually wanted to help you dudes plan a winter wedding,” Argyle chimed from the kitchen where he was retrieving a coke, “So I’m gonna side with Birdie on this one.”

“Of course you are,” you muttered beneath your breath.

Everything in you ached to be sitting next to Eddie rather than so far. You ached for his arm around you, his lips pressed to your temple. Just to share body heat, even — innocent thighs brushing with layers of denim between would have been enough.

“It’ll happen eventually,” Nancy mused from her seat on the kitchen counter, Jonathan beside her and matching her confident energy with a sly grin, “Just give them time.”

What they hadn’t realized is that it already did happen. The moment Eddie showed up to your dorm and the two of you said to Hell with space, it was inevitable.

Now, it was just the challenge of letting your friends in on the secret.

“What about the red one?” Eddie asks you as you finally unravel from him.

“Of course you’re choosing the red one.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he scowls, no malice behind it as you step up to occupy the space next to him, brushing shoulders for only a moment before his hand is grabbing yours, intertwining fingers like second nature.

You recall that moment on his balcony, where he had once been so nervous and hesitant to hold your hand.

“Nothing,” you shake your head, smiling to yourself as you look at the specific model he was talking about, “You’re just getting a little bit predictable, Munson.”

He opens his mouth to argue, to nip back at what you always offer him, when one of the salesmen approach you two.

“Hi folks! Can I help you with anything today?”

Eddie squeezes your hand, no doubt in an effort to withhold his laughter at the man’s overly chirpy tone. You squeeze back, if for nothing more than to let him know you felt him.

Despite Eddie’s previous claim to a decision, he still chooses to entertain the man. Asking questions about different models, inquiring for recommendations as if they’d change his mind. They go back and forth, both polite enough, but the conversation easily bores you. In five seconds flat, your mind has officially wandered off.

You two hadn’t really discussed the specific details of the night to come. Whether you’d ride with Eddie there, how you’d navigate Eddie’s natural born clinginess once he got a few drinks in him, if tonight might be the night to finally tell your friends.

The last one felt a bit obvious. It was Argyle’s night — you didn’t want to snatch the attention from him for even a second.

But there were layers to your anxiety. Because it was more than just how to navigate how you two would display yourselves to your friends on nights out.

It had been two months, and you still hadn’t said those three little words back to Eddie.

He didn’t pressure you. He never once brought it back up, never once pressured you. But just because he wasn’t constantly reminding you vocally that he loved you didn’t mean you didn’t feel it. You’d felt it, impossible to miss, when all those lazy morning fantasies became reality. You felt it during movie marathons and you felt it every time he’d worship your body. It was there — in the late nights, in the early mornings, in the dull afternoons. A wild thing unleashed in your gardens, all those vines you’d worked so hard to see flourish threatened to be torn up by impatient claws at the feeling growing rapidly in your chest every time you looked at him.

And slowly, surely, you knew that there was only so much longer that like could suffice in describing your feelings for Eddie.

You were falling, whether he was aware or not. You just needed to figure out the right moment for those three little words to unstick, to go from hot honey on your tongue to easy breaths between you two. He’s given you time, he’d filled the months you’d awarded him with making up for every previously bitter exchange, and yet you still couldn’t give him this. And you’re starting to believe maybe that’s why you couldn’t imagine telling your friends yet.

You sort of hated yourself for it.

You’re pulled back to reality once the salesman departs, no doubt into the back to grab Eddie’s choice of phone. You don’t even have to ask; you know he got the red one.

“Hey,” Eddie fully turns to you, bringing your knuckles to his lips in chaste kisses. Your stomach still kicks with flutters, your heart still warms at the gesture. Eddie’s affection has yet to lose novelty, “Where’d you go?”

“What do you mean?” you twist your face, “I was here the entire tim-“

“Not where’d you physically go,” he clarifies, letting your conjoined hands drop back to the sliver of space between your bodies, “Mentally. Where’d your mind just go?”

You hadn’t thought he’d notice your drifting.

“Nowhere,” you shrug off.

“Nowhere? So you’re really just that interested in the newest iPhone model?”

He pointedly looks up at the widescreen display you don’t doubt you’d been blankly staring at the entirety of his conversation with the man who had yet to return.

“Oh, absolutely. You know me so well.”

All bark, no bite. These days, all the previous venom that had infected exchanges with Eddie prior to the bet had finally been sucked clean from the wound, long gone to make room for all the genuine affection to seep into its place. You still argued — or perhaps bantered was a better word for it — but you didn’t fight. You both still grated on one another’s nerves and managed to slither beneath the other’s skin, but not in an unwelcome way.

It was a nice change.

It made you hate yourself even more for not saying those three little words.

Eddie seemingly reads your mind, “Are you nervous for tonight?”

“I-“ you consider lying to him and saying it hadn’t even crossed your mind, but the look he gives you warns against it, “We just haven’t… discussed it.”

“What’s there to discuss?”

You hold up your interlocked hands for emphasis, raising your eyebrows at Eddie.

His mouth falls open softly, eyes widening, “Oh. Are you- Are you wanting to tell them tonight?”

No, your gut screams, absolutely not tonight.

“Is Argyle’s birthday party really the best time to explode their minds?”

You try to keep your tone teasing as you sense Eddie’s own nerves creeping up. Sometimes it was fun, standing in a room with everyone and pretending to be more akin to strangers than lovers. But sometimes, it was just plain painful. Sometimes, the entire group would be laughing at something, and you craved nothing more than to be pressed into Eddie’s side and feel the vibrations of his shared joy rather than just having to listen to it from across the room.

It’s not that you wanted to tell your friends and cause a scene — you just didn’t want to have to hide anymore. And maybe you wouldn’t have to, if you’d just tell him how you felt.

“Probably not,” Eddie murmurs, “I mean, it’s his night. We can always tell them the next time we all get together.”

The issue is that’s what the two of you always say. You always brush it off for the next time.

You can only sigh in defeat as you see the salesman finally bounding back out from the back room, a small box holding Eddie’s purchase in his grip, “Yeah. Next time.”

You can’t even be mad at next time. It’s the same thing you tell yourself every time you felt those words on the tip of your tongue, so close yet so far from revealing the most terrifying truth you’d discovered yet to Eddie.

You let go of his hand long enough for him to check out, hardly overhearing when he questions how they can transfer all the data from his current flip phone. When he seems particularly worried about pictures transferring, you don’t think anything of it.

—

STEVE-O: do i need to pick you up tonight?

You don’t see the text. You’re a bit busy with something when it comes through.

Something is currently still between your legs, curls threaded between your fingers as your back arches off his mattress and his name starts to come out as a desperate whimper rather than a chant.

STEVE-O: ???

The initial buzz of your phone on his nightstand doesn’t phase either of you. Eddie’s tongue still works you eagerly, circling your clit as you tug particularly harshly at his roots. Each flick sends white hot pleasure through your bones, nearly making you see stars.

“Fuck,” you gasp out when he brings his fingers into the mix. You can feel his smile against you as he curls his fingers inside of you, mimicking a come hither motion and relishing in your little pants as your thighs tighten around his shoulders, “Oh, fuck. Right there, Eddie. I- Eddie.”

The way you’re moaning his name only encourages him as he slips in a second finger, stretching you further. You feel cool metal bumping your entrance, sending shocks up your spine as his lips suction against you and he sucks hard.

He hadn’t even taken the time to remove his rings when the two of you had gotten home. He had been too eager, dragging you to his bedroom with his lips attached to your neck from the moment he’d shut the front door behind the two of you until he’d thrown you down on his bed.

“That’s right, baby,” his voice vibrates against your clit, “Say my name. Tell everyone who’s making you feel this goo-“

STEVE-O: helllooooo????

“Okay, who the fuck keeps texting you?” Eddie finally pulls back when he realizes you’re slipping out of that bubble he’d created, your head having turned towards the nightstand in curiosity, “Let me guess, it’s your other boyfriend?”

Your head is still spinning and your chest continues to heave from that lingering pleasure he’d been offering so generously to you. He sounds annoyed, but you can guarantee you’re even more irked.

“I don’t have another boyfriend,” you blandly reply, not taking his bait.

It only makes him wrap his hands around your thighs on his shoulder, giving a playful squeeze as you reach out for your phone.

“You sure?”

You squint at the notifications, but don’t properly read them, only rolling your eyes at both the fact that Steve’s the one interrupting this precious moment and at Eddie’s valiant teasing.

You slam the phone back down, eyes trailing down to his, “I am, but I can certainly find another boyfriend if you don’t get your mouth back on me in the next three seconds-“

He doesn’t need a second warning. In an instant, the warmth of his tongue is back on you, lapping at all the spots he’s come to memorize as of recently. That pleasure comes back into reach, edging your vision with feathery black as your eyes flutter shut and the coil in your stomach tightens.

You throw your head back into one of his pillows, one that has started to smell like your shampoo now rather than his, and let a drawn out whine escape your lips.

“You were saying?” he teases, grinning wickedly. He takes that brief moment to come up for air, turning and sinking his teeth into the soft flesh of your thigh beside his cheek. Not hard enough to draw blood, and probably not hard enough to leave indents. But it is enough to have you preening once more as your heels dig into his bare back and you try to lift your hips, desperate for his mouth again.

He was edging you. Without even meaning to, he was repeatedly bringing you to the edge only to leave you teetering.

With your focus back on him, you can admire how pretty he looks. Mouth slick with you, pupils blown out, hair an absolute mess. You like him best this way, you think, when he looks so absolutely devoted to you. When he’s looking at you with a hunger you almost can’t place. It makes you want to scream from the rooftops about how you’ve fallen for him. How you feel so much more than like for your boy.

STEVE-O: seriously. if you don’t respond, you can just walk. you have five minutes.

At the buzz of the phone, your hands leave Eddie’s hair to form fists, pounding them into the mattress at your side in a brief tantrum. He ceases all actions, pulling his lips away from you again, and it only makes you pout more.

“Baby,” he coos, fingers trailing up the sides of your thighs before he reaches out to hold your fists down, “Maybe you should answer him. Tell him to fuck off-“

Eddie’s interrupted as your phone fully bursts to life with your ringtone.

You were going to kill Steve Harrington.

“On second thought, let me answer it,” Eddie groans as you reach out and grab it once more, “Give the fucker a piece of my mind.”

“Shut up,” you hiss as you realize it’s Robin calling. You turn the screen so he can see, and his eyebrows lift in surprise.

He makes no move to remove himself from between your legs, though. He stays face to face with your aching core.

“Hello?” you snap after swiping to answer.

“Finally! My God, Steve’s been texting you-“

“I didn’t see the texts.”

“Do you need a ride?”

“Nope.”

You’ve never been so short with your friends.

But that pleasure is slipping from you, the flames of your impending orgasm dying down to nothing more than embers. It’s enough to piss anyone off.

“Are you sure?” Robin asks, sounding genuinely concerned, “It’s kind of a far walk-“

“I’m running late,” you sigh, realizing that you were going to have to come up with a lie to get off the hook. Another thing you hated about the hiding — it led to your friendships being littered with dishonesty. Always a new excuse as to why you weren’t available, always feigning reasons as to why you didn’t reply to texts as timely as you used to. “With getting ready. I could- I don’t know, do you think Eddie might pick me up? Isn’t my dorm along the way to the bar from his place?”

At the mention of his name, he perks up. His cheek settles against the exact spot he had bit just moments before, nearly nuzzling into you as your free hand comes down to gently push back his bangs. On instinct, you find yourself soothingly pressing your fingertips in slow circles against his scalp. You’re nearly melting beneath his soft gaze, those big and wide eyes locked on you with bated breath.

“You want Eddie to pick you up?” you suddenly hear Steve exclaim in the background.

Your face scrunches up, a wrinkle forming across the bridge of your nose and between your brows. It’s so damn cute to Eddie that he can’t help but press a quick kiss to the skin he continues to lay into, beginning to smile as your absent-minded head massage continues.

So much more than like.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t know I was on speaker.”

“Why do you want Munson to pick you up?” Steve ignores your sarcasm, voice sounding closer to the phone now, “He drives a motorcycle, you know. That’s dangerous.”

Eddie must be able to catch some of Steve’s shrill exclamation, his eyebrows raising ever so slightly. You feel his curious hum against your skin and you don’t hesitate putting your own pesky friends on speaker.

“Motorcycles are not that dangerous,” you retort, and it makes Eddie have to hide a slight scoff into your thigh in an effort to stay silent. It was ironic that they cared about how safe it would be for you to ride with Eddie on his bike now, after that allegedly dangerous vehicle had been your main source of transportation for nearly two months now, “He has a helmet, right?”

“Isn’t your dorm the opposite direction of the bar from his place?” Robin questions, “I mean, I’m all for you asking lover boy if he’ll give you a ride but-”

Steve interrupts her flatly, “It’s making him go out of his way. Besides, he might have already left for the bar by now.”

You don’t know what to silently laugh at first. The assumption they were making that couldn’t be further from the truth, or Robin’s new nickname for Eddie.

Lover boy is fitting for him in this current position. He’s still latching onto your leg, cuddling you in every way he could from where he laid, staring at you and hanging onto your every last word. The poster boy for pathetically in love, he gives your leg another kiss, starting a fiery trail with his lips until he reaches your knee. It pangs in your chest, wondering if he can see your feelings also painted so obviously across your face.

“Steve,” you murmur, breath catching in your throat as Eddie’s lips linger in the ditch of your knee. It takes a second to remember you’re on the phone, “No offense, but Eddie hasn’t been on time to a single get together the entire time I’ve known him.”

Eddie reacts in real time to your insult, forcing an over-exaggerated offended look before he bites you again. This time, his teeth do leave an imprint from his nip, and it makes you slap a hand over your mouth to avoid yelping.

Don’t bite me, you mouth at him.

Don’t be mean, he answers right back, silent as ever.

“Technically we’re all already late,” Steve points out. It makes you sit up quickly, startling Eddie in the process. You squint at the clock across the room and- fuck. Steve was right, “Nancy just texted me that she and Jon are there, Argyle’s on his way. She said she tried texting Eddie but didn’t get any response,” there’s a long pause as you motion wildly for Eddie to get up with you, the boy watching as you fling yourself off his mattress and carry the phone with you to his dresser, “Have… you heard from him recently?”

“Why are you saying it like that?” you jab, throwing open one of the drawers Eddie had cleared out for you to keep some clothes here in his apartment. At this point, a good chunk of the tuition you paid was going to waste considering the fact you rarely spent the night at your dorm. You were already half moved into Eddie’s space.

You try not to think too hard about it, because just last week, you’d had a panic attack at the revelation.

You were afraid of smothering him, even if he was the one always insisting you could leave more of your things here. He was always the one conning you into spending another night, promising soft murmurs of giving you a ride to class the next morning if you did. You rarely ever had much of the choice in the matter; once he’d wrap his arms around your waist, curl his body flush against yours, it was always game over.

Practically living together, and you still hadn’t said those words back to him.

“I’m not saying it like anything!” Steve defends himself, “I’m just asking an innocent question!” Eddie’s snort this time is audible, and you freeze as Steve clearly mistakes it for your laughter, “Shut up. It’s a reasonable question. You guys are friends now, remember?”

Friends. Of course, because all your friends jumped at the chance to bury their mouths against your cunt and make you cum repeatedly until you had tears streaming down your cheeks. Because you let all your friends sleep in the same bed as you, and wake you up by burying deep within you as they bite your shoulder with a moan. You and Eddie were friends.

“Trust me,” you glance over your shoulder in your haste, looking at Eddie as he stretches out on his side and props himself up on his elbow, “I remember.”

He gives you a knowing smile, squinting his eyes at you in entertainment.

“Babe, it really would just be easier for you to ride with us,” Robin’s voice sounds again as you tug a shirt out of the drawer, something casual and comfortable that you could style for the night, “Unless you’re just hellbent on having alone time with Eddie for some reason-”

“I’m not hellbent on being alone with him, Robs.”

Another lie. I definitely am. But not in the context you think.

“You just sound like you are.”

“Well, I’m not,” you yank a pair of black jeans free from the drawer and slam it shut, standing and turning to Eddie.

He hardly has time to react before you’re tossing your phone down on the mattress in front of him, the small device bouncing and hitting his chest. He winces and throws himself back dramatically, letting out a small oof that you pray neither Robin or Steve pick up on.

As you dress, throwing on the random t-shirt and shimmying on your jeans, Robins laughs, “Denial isn’t a good look on you.”

Eddie watches you, never moving to get ready himself. All he does is stare as you button up the pants.

When you give him an expectant look, he merely mouths, bra?

You shake your head. You don’t know where Eddie had flung your undergarment, and you’re not in the mood to frantically search for it. You’ve gone without a bra before – you can survive one night out without one.

Eddie’s entire face and chest immediately flushes pink. Cute.

“Now you guys are just being assholes,” you scowl despite the fact that only Eddie can see it, waving your hands to motion for him to get up and also get dressed, “I’m texting Eddie. If he has already left, I’ll just walk. Fuck you guys.”

“Tell lover boy I said hi,” Robin teases.

“Even if he’s already parked at the fucking bar at this point, we both know he’d jump right back on his bike and come pick you up,” Steve’s voice grumbles over the line.

It almost makes you smile. “Someone sounds jealous.”

“Not jealous, just annoyed,” Steve corrects as Eddie finally stands from the bed, “When are you two going to get your shit together?”

“What do you mean?” you play dumb.

You’ve had this conversation with your friends multiple times. They were truly going to have your head once they realized what you’d been keeping from them for months now.

“Don’t you have a 4.0 GPA?” Robin inserts herself back into the conversation, “You can’t possibly be this stupid.”

Eddie pauses in his fumbling with pulling his jeans from the pile he’d left his clothes in at the end of the beg, face scrunching in silent laughter. You almost walk over and smack his bare back angled towards you.

“First of all, no. I don’t have a 4.0 GPA. Thanks for the reminder,” you grab your phone back off of the bed and decide to leave Eddie behind in the room, heading into the bathroom to finish getting ready. You hate to admit it, but if you have to keep watching him giggle so cutely to himself, you’ll also probably break. And you aren’t in the mood for any further interrogation from Robin and Steve, “Second of all, I’m hanging up now. I’m going to call Eddie. At least he won’t be such a dick to me.”

“Oh, you must see the irony there-”

You cut Steve off, “Bye! See you in… like, ten minutes.”

Once you’ve hung up, you put your phone down on the bathroom counter and look up into the mirror. Your hair is a mess, wild and tangled from all the writhing you had been doing before being so rudely interrupted. You give it your best effort, trying to tame it a little bit to look more presentable, but it’s a lost cause at this point. Fuck it.

Eddie appears in the doorway behind you, fully dressed and his hair pulled back into a bun, leaning into the door frame with his arms crossed and an impish grin on display, “Oh, you’re going to call me now, sweetheart?”

You glare at him in a jocosely manner through the reflection, “Don’t look so proud of yourself.”

He pushes off the frame and comes up behind you, still locking his eyes only through the reflection as he leans his chin over your shoulder, “And what if I don’t want to give you a ride? You have been awfully mean – insulting my punctuality, throwing your phone at me, teasing me by going without a bra. The list goes on and on.”

Something deep within you stirs, those embers that still ache to burst into a forest fire. You hate that you could easily spend the entire night here with him, letting him take you every which way between his sheets. And even without sinful actions involved, you would be plenty content with just his presence tonight. As a matter of fact, you might be more content with that outcome rather than heading out to see your friends.

Sorry Argyle, you think guiltily.

“I’m teasing you?” you question just as his hands land on your hips, moving so that he was pressed firmly against the curve of your ass. Making sure you could feel how hard he was against the seam of his jeans’ zipper, “You didn’t even make me cum.”

“Seems like we’ll both be spending the night frustrated, then,” he smiles, almost gleefully, almost devilishly, “Besides, that was technically Harrington’s fault, not mine. We both know I usually have no problems making you cum on my tongue – without interruptions, of course.”

He rolls his hips ever so slightly into you, and your mouth falls open, eyes going glossy as you continue to stare him down through the mirror. The stirring in your abdomen is persistent now as your heart hammers against your ribs, mind melting and completely forgetting the obligation at hand.

And Eddie knows this. He’s well aware of the effect he’s having on you, and it’s deliberate.

Suddenly, his body completely pulls away from yours, “I’ll meet you downstairs. Don’t want to keep them waiting any longer, do we, sweetheart?”

Damn him. Damn him, and damn his dimples, and damn how good his legs look in those jeans as he’s walking away from me right now.

You linger in the apartment, alone, for a few extra minutes to compose yourself. Trying to quelch the heat between your hips that had slowly spread across your entire body, threatening to consume you. You even go as far as to splash cool water across your cheeks, giving yourself a few smacks for good measure as you try to prepare yourself to go into public and put on the usual act. And beneath it all, you also hush the animal in your chest, the one that claws at you to tell him. The one that wails everytime you simply tell him you like him, the one that roars when you let another moment slip you by. It has to quiet, just as your flames need to settle, all for the sake of the act.

You deserve a goddamn Oscar at this point.

After deciding that touching up your makeup would take up far too many precious seconds, you’re darting out of Eddie’s apartment, locking up behind yourself before you head down to where he’s waiting. He’s already straddling his parked bike, the engine roaring to life like the animal inside you as you exit the main doors of the building and his hands extend his only helmet. You don’t fight him on who’s going to wear it – that’s a battle, you’ve learned, you will always lose.

We really need to just buy a second helmet.

The thought makes you smile as you hold the clunky thing. Buying a second helmet. Something Eddie had never done before, because he had never had a regular passenger before. He had never had someone glued to his side as you had become, not even Nancy. It sounds terribly domestic; perusing aisles with him, debating which helmet fits your style best. He’d probably make a joke about your head being big. He’d probably tease you for looking at the ridiculously expensive ones and tell you to opt for a cheaper one. You’d probably end up with a pricier one in the cart regardless, and Eddie would probably refuse to let you pay for it.

Domesticity. The image of it doesn’t ache like it had that night all those months ago. This isn’t something you yearn for hopelessly, smoke and mirrors that dissipate when you dare to reach out for it. It’s something finally in your grasp. Something tangible and something bound to happen, all you’d have to do is say the word and Eddie would comply eagerly.

Anything to keep my girl safe, as he would tell you any time you pointed out how dangerous it was for him to go without a helmet. He’d gotten creative in saying his own version of those three little words.

“M’lady,” he hums, nodding for you to put the helmet on before sweeping a hand over the empty space in the seat behind him, “Your chariot awaits.”

You don’t have a snarky quip to throw back at him, only grinning at the ground as you flip the helmet around a few times to prepare to put it on. All those embers aren’t just desire for him – there’s a warmth there that always exists. A candle on the windowsill of the home you had finally found.

You raise the clunky thing and tilt your head when Eddie suddenly says, “Oh, and babe?”

Immediately, you lower it, eyes wide in curiosity, “What?”

“That’s my shirt.”

“What?”

He motions to the t-shirt tucked carefully into your jeans, “That fine shirt you are currently wearing is mine.”

You look down, and he’s right. It’s too late to go back inside to change, and you know he’s aware of this when you catch his amused smirk. He probably noticed the moment you had put it on, and had deliberately waited until it was too late for you to do anything about it to inform you.

Bastard.

“I-” you pinch the fabric between your fingers, looking between it and Eddie wildly for a second before your shoulders slumped in defeat, “It’s fine. I doubt they’ll even notice.”

—

You were wrong. They do notice.

Everyone is already waiting inside for the two of you, nestled around a table in the bar in a similar arrangement to the very first night you’d been introduced to the group. There’s only two empty seats left conveniently, right next to each other. You don’t miss that mischievous look of success on Robin’s face as she looks overly proud of herself.

They’d set it up so we’d sit next to each other.

You’re grateful for your friends’ antics until you go to take the empty seat next to Steve.

“Is that Eddie’s shirt?”

Robin is leaning around Steve eagerly as she says it, ridiculing the shirt intensely.

“What?” you laugh nervously, looking down and tugging at the fabric.

Lie. Make up a lie. Make it good.

“That is Eddie’s shirt,” Nancy looks surprised across the table, looking up at the two of you questioningly.

“What?” you repeat yourself. Eddie has already taken his seat, and is avoiding the stares of everyone, “No, it’s not.”

“He has one just like it,” Jonathan adds fuel to the fire, “He literally wore it - what? Two days ago?”

In a pathetic attempt of an excuse, you plop down in your seat and force an offended look, “People can own the same shirt. He’s not the gatekeeper of-” you look down, and nearly erupt in embarrassment when you see what the shirt is. “Deftones.”

Ah, fuck.

It’s not just the embarrassment of being on the verge of getting caught in your lie – it’s the memories that flood back. You, on Eddie’s lap. Your mouth and his becoming one. Steve calling, and you sucking so innocently on Eddie’s neck.

Fuck.

You really wish Steve and Robin hadn’t interrupted earlier.

“It’s not like I got it at a show,” Eddie shrugs, and you wonder for a moment if he’s lying, “They’ve gotten more popular lately. I’ve seen their shit in Target.”

“Exactly!” you exclaim a little too loudly, a little too quick to defend yourself, “Exactly. I just thought it looked cool at Target. Besides, tonight is about Argyle.”

You smile at the birthday boy, and he returns the joy as he waves a little at you. The reminder is all it takes for everyone’s attention to return to the focus of the night – everyone’s attention but Nancy’s.

You can feel her eyes on you as conversation sparks up and debates of ordering shots begin. Everyone is busy asking Argyle what his plans for next weekend are – which are mostly composed of normal family gatherings, probably a homemade cake, etc. – but Nancy is watching you and Eddie like a hawk. In the peripheral of your eye, you watch the way she leans back so casually into Jonathan's around her shoulder, looking like she knows. You’re probably just being paranoid. You’re definitely just being paranoid.

You try to ignore it, and instead let yourself just enjoy the moment. All your friends gathered, a group in which you finally feel like you belong to, jokes being made and laughter being exchanged that has you feeling a bit giddy. It’s nice. Even between the smoke of the room and the flickering lights overhead, murmuring chatter of nearby patrons mingling right in with your group’s noise, it’s homely. The smell of drunken cigars and fruity cocktails should be overwhelming, but you just let it wrap you up instead.

And when you turn your head, inhaling deeply the smell of cinnamon and musk rather than all those other foreign anomalies, you find Eddie already looking at you. Soft eyes, bitten grin, a few loose curls framing his cheeks as his bangs curl up into his forehead. Even in the shoddy lighting, he takes your breath away.

He’s looking at you. Just like that first night. Dozens of other people in this room at this moment, and he only has eyes for one – he only has eyes for you.

“So!” Argyle announces, “I think, my dudes, instead of doing what Birdie had so… excitedly suggested,” and oh, he was being generous and calling Robin suggesting he took twenty three shots for his twenty third birthday just her being excited rather than foolish, “We should just take the twenty three shots and split them up amongst the group.”

Steve and Jonathan immediately groan, protesting how they’re driving, and Eddie only shakes his head with a chuckle. So far, he’d only ordered and been nursing on a plain coke, no whiskey.

Somehow, sitting beside him with the group is worse than keeping distance.

When he’d taken off his jacket, you’d silently begged for him to rest an arm across the back of your chair just as Jonathan was doing to Nancy. And he had, almost too naturally before he’d caught himself. It would have been easier to play off cooly, probably would have gone unnoticed, but your boy had practically jumped out of his bones as he’d flinched and tucked his arm back into himself suddenly. He’d even bumped his elbow against his own seat in his haste.

And Nancy had noticed.

“That’s only three shots per person!” Argyle defends, “Four for me, since you know – birthday boy.”

While Eddie may be avoiding alcohol tonight, you aren’t. Not unusual, but it had been odd when Eddie had told the waitress your order of an amaretto sour rather than you telling her yourself.

Another strike. Another thing Nancy had noticed with her watchful eye.

“I’m down,” you shrug, “Hell, I’ll even take an extra shot if those two dumbasses won’t.”

“Is that a good idea?”

You wish Eddie had been drinking to excuse his idiocracy. Because all it takes is him saying that, not with malice but with concern, and the look on Nancy’s face told you she was officially catching on.

He hadn’t said it with the concern of a friend prepared to warn against drinking yourself sick. He’d said it with the concern of someone who would be taking care of you by the end of the night, of someone who would be dealing with the aftermath of that many shots.

You two were bombing this whole secrecy, to put it lightly.

You try to save the moment but laughing it off, turning to him slightly and teasing, “What, are you my keeper now?”

Despite your best efforts, the statement doesn’t come across as friendly banter. It’s not quite fighting either. It’s a dare, you dangling something in Eddie’s face that no one else at this table quite sees. A stupid, idiotic continuation of your flirtatious game of cat and mouse from earlier in the apartment, when he’d deliberately gotten you hot and bothered. When he’d deliberately let you leave in his shirt. His palm is warm when he shifts ever so slightly, placing it on your thigh beneath the table. Out of sight from everyone else. Fueling and fanning all your growing flames.

You two were toeing a very dangerous line tonight.

His eyes darken a bit, and you pray no one else notices in the dim bar lighting, “I don’t know, am I?”

Everyone is distracted enough with your idea. Steve and Jonathan were agreeing, saying they could take one shot and then others in the group could shoulder the extras. Robin was quick to also say she’ll take an extra one. But Nancy is silent, watching your quiet exchange with Eddie.

“I don’t think you are, Munson.”

Except he is. Without a single doubt in your bones, you know that he is.

Your playful smile betrays you. It tugs up the corners of your mouth and it’s clear to any outsider this wasn’t a brewing argument. The game was obvious if anyone was watching close enough. And Nancy, ever the smart one, was watching close enough.

She’s playing her cards right, you realize, when she waits until the group has ordered the round of shots to say anything.

“So, Eddie,” she begins, drawing the entire group’s attention to her best friend, “Do anything fun today?”

He nearly chokes on his coke subtly. “I- Um-”

“You just didn’t answer any of my texts today,” she continues on, “Must have been busy, yeah?”

Eddie retracts his hand from your thigh, far more elusive in this action than he had been about removing his arm from your chair, before he fiddles with his hands in his lap. “Yeah – no, yeah. Sorry about that, Nance.”

He pulls his phone from his pocket for no apparent reason. The shiny new smartphone, having not even bought a case or screen protector yet. You’d already yelled at him for that, claiming out of everyone, you trust him the least to not break the phone on the first day. He’d only laughed and shut you up with a kiss.

His new phone is placed face down on the table, cherry red glinting, “I just had to go to the mall and-”

“Is that a new phone?” Argyle interrupts him, catching sight of the movement and the glinting, “Oh, holy shit, my dude! That’s a new phone! That is an iPhone if I’ve ever seen one!”

Everyone – Robin, Steve, Jonathan – are rapidly leaning to catch sight of it as if they can’t believe it. Eddie continues to shrink at being the center of attention suddenly.

“It is,” Steve laughs in disbelief, “Never thought I’d see the day, Munson.”

Robin scrunches her face, “Does this mean we have to add him to the group chat?”

You let out a giggle at that, lips pressed to try and contain some of that smile breaking through as you look at him and wiggle your brows. He immediately rolls his eyes, but picks up the phone regardless to give everyone a better look.

“Yes, yes. I’ve finally joined the dark side,” he teases everyone just as the waitress returns with the tray of shots. Jonathan is the only one with enough sense to look away from Eddie’s spectacle, thanking her kindly, “Feast your eyes, my friends, for this is where my five hundred dollars went-”

“Holy shit.”

Nancy’s sudden whisper of an exclamation has everyone freezing. Eddie stops spinning and flipping the phone to show it off, staring at her with nothing but concerned, “What? What happen-”

Nancy shares a look with Robin as they both grin.

Oh no.

“Eddie,” Nancy says slowly, turning her head back his way slowly.

“What?” Eddie frowns, eyes flitting back and forth between Nancy and Robin.

Robin is the one to ask the question rather than Nancy, “What exactly is your lockscreen?”

Eddie goes pale. You’re confused, looking at the phone he’s currently cradling with the screen against his palm.

Did he even change it? Wouldn’t it just be one of the default ones?

“Guys,” you decide to come to his rescue, still impossibly confused, “It’s probably just some default screen, don’t tease him.”

“That was not a default screen,” Nancy laughs out.

Argyle looks around at everyone. Nancy and Robin, both with mischievous glints in their eyes. Eddie, still ghostly white as if he’s been caught red-handed. Steve and Jonathan, both just shrugging at each other. “Uh…. Why do I feel like I’m missing something here?”

“Show the class your lock screen, Eds.”

“Fuck off, Nancy.”

“Oh my God,” Robin coos, leaning across Steve and pressing you back gently to catch sight of Eddie, who’s dipping his face down, “He’s blushing!”

“Guys, leave him alone,” Steve insists, sharing a look with you now. But you have no clue what’s going on.

You have no clue what his lockscreen is.

“Edward Munson, show us that lockscreen right now, or I’m Venmo-requesting five hundred dollars from you,” Robin continues to threaten.

You look away from Steve and at Eddie immediately, leaning in closer to his space. He looks at you, clearly focusing on your presence more than everyone else’s, and smiles like a child trying to get out of trouble.

“Eddie,” you say quietly, almost impossible for your friends to hear, “What the fuck is your lockscreen?”

He slowly and carefully turns the screen towards you, making sure only your eyes can see it, and- oh.

It’s a low quality photo. Clearly taken on his flip phone. Details just a little fuzzy, and the darkness of the photo wasn’t helping. But you can see it clearly. You can make out exactly what it was that had Nancy and Robin losing their minds.

It’s a picture of you and Eddie, with your head on Eddie’s chest.

For a moment, everyone else at the table doesn’t exist. You hadn’t been insane that night – he had taken a photo. A snapshot of the moment where everything had changed. The moment in which you had given up the fight and completely succumbed to just how much Eddie meant to you, how badly you pined for him and how deeply you liked him.

“I was going to make it the one of you at Betty’s,” he whispers, “But, I just- I really liked this photo.”

He’s still tense, as if he expects you to be upset with him.

You’re the farthest thing from upset at him.

“You made me your lockscreen?” you breathe out, a slow-growing smile beginning to stretch your lips.

You’re not upset at him. As a matter of fact, you’re in love with him. You want to scream it from every rooftop, shout it to every stranger on the street – you are in love with Eddie Munson.

And you have been for a while. You just hadn’t found a way to tell him yet.

“Yeah,” he loosens up a little when he realizes you’re happy, enamored with the fact, “Yeah, of course I did. Who else am I going to make it besides my favorite…. Enemy?”

He says it loud enough for everyone to hear clearly. All of Nancy’s teasing has come to a halt, Robin has settled back into her chair, and Steve is finally looking too curious for his own good.

“As birthday boy,” Argyle breaks the moment, shatters away the bubble you and Eddie always seemed to end up in, “I am demanding I get to see this lockscreen.”

Eddie doesn’t make any move to show the screen to any other person, only watching you for approval.

Well, so much for next time.

You give him a little nod.

Eddie makes a dramatic show of it, sighing heavily before he very slowly turns his lockscreen to face everyone else. But even in his dramatics, you can see that weight lifting off his chest.

This, as a matter of fact, changes everything.

No more hiding, no more lying. One simple flash of his phone screen, of a photo he had taken on a night that no one has even been gifted the details of yet, and all your friends suddenly know.

The reactions all vary.

Argyle leans forward and squints before his face breaks out into pure joy for the two of you, “Oh, fuck yes! Best birthday gift ever. Pay up, my dudes!”

Jonathan leans backward, digging out his wallet as he murmurs, “Son of a bitch.”

Steve only smiles and shakes his head, also digging for his wallet as he seemingly chastizes himself, “I should have fucking known.”

“Hold on,” you look between everyone as Jonathan digs out a couple twenties, “Wait, did you guys fucking bet on this?”

“We did,” Robin answers you, holding up a hand to make Jonathan and Steve pause their retrieval of cash, “What do you take us for? Idiots? Now, gentlemen, before either of you payout, we’ve gotta ask the most important question,” she shoves a palm against Steve’s chest so that he’s out of line of sight, gaze set on you and Eddie, “When did this happen?”

You don’t have any time to be mad at your friends. Because when Robin asks you this, suddenly you’re back to two months ago. You’re outside your dorm with Eddie, kissing him as if tomorrow would never be promised, and you’re home.

You pulled back from Eddie finally, both of you gasping for breath as he held you steady. Your exchange from moments before still hung heavy in the air.

You liked him, you liked him, you liked him.

And the feeling was mutual.

You’d already known, but it was nice to hear. It was nice to be reminded that this, what had happened between you two, was so very real.

“I don’t wanna start over,” the words tumbled from your tongue before you could consider them, upheaving from your chest, desperate for Eddie to heard them, “I- I don’t need to start over. I like our story, okay? You had been right – it wasn’t all bad, and… and I don’t want to start over. I never want you to be a stranger again, and I know that sounds stupid-”

“It’s not stupid,” he interrupted you, forehead meeting yours, “So very not stupid.”

“I don’t care if you were a dick,” you continued on, carefully, “I was, too. We were both… shitty. I forgive you. I’ll forgive you a thousand times over, as long as you keep trying to make it up to me.”

“Make it up to you?” he grinned playfully, “And just how do you suggest I start making it up to you?”

“Ask me out,” his eyebrows raised in surprise, and you knew you must have looked like a wild idiot to everyone else, but you didn’t care, “To dinner, to a movie, to just hang around your apartment with you for another twenty four hours – I don’t care. Just… Just please, Munson, ask me out.”

And so he had. A first date, a second date, a third. You two had gone through the entire ordeal of every cliche relationship despite the unconventional beginning. You’d gone to dinner, you’d gone to a movie, and you had done plenty of hanging out around his apartment and more.

“The night of the bet,” Eddie answers as he finally brings an arm up around your shoulders, just as he had wanted to earlier.

Immediately, both Robin and Argyle let out their own curses, pulling out their wallets just as Steve and Jonathan had.

You look between them, all the annoyance you should feel just being run over with adoration for these idiots. Your eyes land on Nancy, and when you realize she’s the only one at the table not coughing up any cash, you ask her, “I’m assuming you guessed correctly?”

“I did,” she nods, looking proud of herself.

“How’d you know?”

Nancy raises a threatening finger, before suddenly pointing it right in Eddie’s direction, “That idiot has always been down bad for you-”

“Okay, okay,” Eddie stops her, “I’ve already told her the nitty gritty details. No need to embarrass me.”

“No need to embarrass you?” Nancy asks in disbelief, “Good God, just how many times did I have to sit and listen to you pine for her? No, no – I have earned this, Munson.”

You look at Eddie, a glint in your eye, “You only told me about the first time.”

“I only remembered the first time,” he counters, blushing under yellow and faded lights, “I was usually dru-”

“Don’t lie,” Nancy stops him, “There were plenty of rants where you were dead sober.”

Everyone only smiles at Eddie, a few teasing comments made his way, but none of them matter as you lean into his side, your shoulder bumping his to the best of your ability with his arm still around you.

“Aw, babe,” you coo, warm all over for the man beside you, “You had a crush on me? That’s cute.”

His chin lowers, eyes boring into yours with unlimited affection. For a moment, it’s just you and Eddie. The guise of you two having your own bubble of a moment.

His head tilts further, his ears brushing your ear as he whispers for just you to hear, “So did you, if I’m not mistaken.”

“Not mistaken,” you whisper back. Money is now being exchanged, tossed across the table with grumbles that hold no heat.

Yeah, you did have a crush on Eddie. You still do. You don’t think you’ll ever stop having a crush on him, even as he’s surrendered himself as yours. Especially not when his thumb is stroking your shoulder as it is now.

Just like that very first night. The smoky bar fades to nothingness, your tunnel vision focused on Eddie. You know jokes are being made about the two of you by your friends, but it’s all white noise when he’s looking at you like this. Like you’re everything to him, like he’s just returned home after a long week.

You’d really like to be his home to return to after every long week, for the rest of your lives, but there’ll be time to ponder on that later. For now, you two have time.

The voice inside your head suddenly comes to life as it recognizes that this is your moment. You can tell him. Now that you’ve told everyone else, you can tell him those three words. Finally get them off your chest. Make it real.

“Hey, Munson,” you say, still quiet enough for the words to only reach his ears. He perks up, eager to drink your next words. You have all his attention. You always have all his attention, “I-” and then you choke. He stares curiously for a few seconds, and the words just won’t come out. You want to scream – you wonder if it would work if you screeched the three words at the top of your lungs. Probably not, “I’m just really glad you didn’t really hate me,” a pathetic excuse at a coverup, “And… I’m really glad they made that first bet.”

He smiles so softly, it strikes you right in the center of your chest. Right amongst your garden that not only had you tended for him, but that he had also had a hand in watering these last few months.

You should have told him. You love him, and you should have told him.

“I’m really glad I didn’t hate you, too,” he remarks, squeezing your shoulder a little tighter, “Actually, I’m glad you don’t hate me. Not anymore, at least.”

“I never really did.”

“You definitely sort of did. You tried to take me out with a glass, remember?”

You burst into secluded laughter, hearing your friends beginning to pass around the shots but paying them no mind.

Eddie can’t help it. He pulls you in close, placing an impulsive kiss to your temple and letting his lips linger there. Just pressed against you, breathing in the scent of you.

That kiss sends shivers down your spine, warmth through the center of your bones. You love him.

You love him, you love him, you love him.

So why can’t you just tell him that?

“Aw!” Robin pulls the two out of your bubble, “Aren’t they just adorable?”

“Yes, yes,” Steve passes two shot glasses down to your end of the table, “Absolutely adorable. It’s nauseating. Also, I’d like to go on record – I totally knew the entire time. I was just giving them the benefit of the doubt.”

“Playing the Devil’s advocate?” Argyle asks, lining up his multiple shots, “I dig it. Even though you’re totally lying right now.”

“You’re so lucky it’s your birthday, dude,” Steve rolls his eyes, clearly holding back an insult.

Eddie’s arm stays heavy on you, a welcome weight as you sit up straighter to take your own several shots.

These were your friends. Somewhere you belonged, filled with people you loved and a boy you could come home to after all your long weeks. A certain happiness that is rare, and impossible to place, and can nearly bring you to tears overwhelms you as you grab that first shot.

“Also-” Steve turns to you and Eddie, “I knew that was Munson’s shirt. The day he got it, all he did was brag about what a rare find it was. Fuck off with your Target bullshit.”

Eddie’s hand leaves your shoulder long enough to reach out and thump Steve, laughter booming and vibrating against you, “Sure you did, Stevie.”

“Target has some nice things,” Nancy offers with a shrug, now holding her own shot glass.

The seven of you all hold up the first of what will probably be too many shots tonight, the beginning of a night that will probably be remembered through killer hangovers tomorrow and possibly even captured on camera by the likes of Jonathan, Steve, and Eddie.

“To Argyle,” you take the lead on the cheers, jittery and anxious as all the love you continue to withhold buzzes in your chest, lifting your small glass in his direction, “The most lovable twenty three year old I know.”

Everyone moves to drink, but Argyle immediately shakes his head, “Nah, fuck that. It’s not even my birthday yet – I demand a new toast.”

He lifts his brows, staring you down and silently adding, you know what to do.

And yeah, you did know what to do.

“Fine,” you sigh dramatically, leaning further forward, Eddie’s arm following. You relish in the tense silence as everyone waits for what you’re about to say instead. Even Eddie is waiting with bated breath, watching your every move, a contrasting yet easy smile on his face, “To bets.”

A booming applause from your group. Glasses tapping against the wooden table before shots are downed. Groans of disgust as the tequila hits everyones’ tongues.

Eddie hardly waits before you’ve both swallowed to remove his arm and grab your face, turning your cheek so that his lips can capture yours. Everyone only cheers louder, Steve letting out an obnoxious whistle as Argyle claps. You’re surely going to get kicked out of the bar at this rate. But you really don’t care as you kiss your boy back.

Next time. You have to tell him next time.

—

The night ends in more of a whisper than a bang, surprisingly.

Everyone has suddenly become a happy drunk, probably from all the love and good news passed around throughout the night. It’s all warm feelings and warm hugs, tequila on the breath and love on the mind.

You don’t even get kicked out of the bar. Your waitress only smiles at your rowdy table from time to time, and you figure that all the good vibes must be rubbing off on her.

Steve is the first to call it quits. Robin has drank enough to give herself the hiccups, and he says that after that, she almost always gets viciously nauseous. He wants to get in the car and home before she gets to the point, for the sake of his car’s interior not getting covered in puke.

It’s a domino effect from there.

Argyle quickly agrees, Jonathan offers a guiding arm to Nancy, and Eddie’s arm only tightens around you. The group closes out the tab, putting off worries of everyone paying Jonathan back until tomorrow. Quick, simple, painless.

Until you all get outside. And goodbyes are exchanged – that’s not the part that gets to you – with promises of seeing each other throughout the week. Everyone congratulates you and Eddie one more time for good measure, Nancy and Steve looking the most proud of you two as Argyle and Robin giggle like children about it. And it’s fine – you laugh along and it’s all good. You let them get in all their I told you so’s and know it’s all in good fun.

It’s all fine. Until you two branch off from the group, Eddie’s bike across the lot from everyone else’s cars.

The moment you two are alone, you can’t tell if it’s the alcohol or if it’s the levity of suddenly having a moment that only belongs to you. Your mind wastes no time of reminding you of your pathetic cop out: I’m just really glad you didn’t really hate me. None of those words even sound akin to the real ones you should have said.

I love you.

It’s not because your friends have found out. You know it’s not that, because just last week, right after your breakdown about whether you were smothering Eddie by half-living in his apartment, you’d had a breakdown because you realized you wanted to fully live in his apartment. You’d had a breakdown because you hadn’t grown tired of him yet, hadn’t satisfied the need to see his face every morning when you first wake up yet. You hadn’t gotten bored with all his lingering affectionate touches. You hadn’t gotten used to the way he’d kiss you in the middle of sentences. He was still taking your breath away, two months later, and you had a breakdown because you realized it wasn’t novelty or a pathetic crush making you feel this way.

You had a breakdown because you love Eddie.

You love him, ardently so, and you still can’t find the right moment to say those words to him. He deserves to know – the entire foundation of this relationship was honesty.

It’s all you can think about as his hand finds yours and he’s walking up to his bike, practically dragging you up to his bike as your legs forget how to work amongst nerves.

“So, I was thinking,” he carries on conversation so casually, “You want to spend the night at my place? I know you said you don’t have any class-“

Now. Not later, not next time. Now.

“Hey, Eddie?” you interrupt him, stopping the two of you a few paces away from his bike.

His face is impossibly concerned as he looks down at you, clearly reading the worry on your face, “What’s up, babe?”

Here goes nothing – be brave.

“I-”

Why is this so hard?

It shouldn’t be this hard, because loving Eddie is easy.

It’s easy when he’s looking at you like this, like he always does. It’s easy when he wakes up after you, and he comes into the kitchen to just wrap himself around you as you make him coffee, no matter what time of day it might be. It’s easy when he catches your eye from across the room during outings, sometimes winking once he knows you’ve found his gaze, just to see you laugh. It’s easy when he tries to distract you from homework when you’ve been spending far too many hours hunched over your laptop on his couch, coming and bugging you, laying his head on your lap and insisting his girl needs a break. It’s easy when he kisses you and everything just feels right.

It’s easy. He loves you – you love him. It isn’t hard. You’re making this hard, when it never was.

“I love you,” you admit quietly, voice shaking as the words leave you easily.

Loving Eddie is easy.

“I love you,” you say more surely, voice raising in volume as you find the willpower to look into his eyes, “I love you so fucking much, Eddie.”

Each time you say it, you gain confidence in it. It’s true – you love him. You love him so much, it encompasses every inch of your being. It entirely consumes you. You love him.

His face falls slowly, mouth agape and eyes boring into yours.

You don’t wait for his response. You already have it – in the way he’s still holding your hand, in the way he holds you at the end of each night, in the way he knows both your orders at bars and coffee shops. In the way he will always put himself between you and the street when walking down the sidewalk, in the way when he roughly stops his bike at stop lights that his hand always flies back to hold onto you. In every soft touch and every expression of devotion he has offered you for not just two months, but for over a year.

“You love me?” he softly asks, finally beginning to come back to life.

You nod without hesitation, “I love you, Eddie.”

Now that you’ve started saying it, you can’t stop it. And each time, it’s still heavy and sweet like honey, even as the confession comes as easy as breathing. It’s pouring from every crevice, filling up the night air around you.

He takes you off guard with a harsh kiss. His teeth colliding with yours, his breath stealing yours, his entire being molded with yours.

“Say it again,” he begs in a murmur as he pulls you in even closer, desperate as you break into a smile, “God, please say it again, sweetheart.”

“I love you,” your cheeks begin to ache, the kiss no longer even to be a considered a kiss as you two are just mindlessly pressing your smiles together, “I love you, I love you, I love you,” with each repeat of the sentiment, Eddie drinks it in, “I’m so fucking in love with you, Eddie Munson. You and your stupid lockscreen and-”

“You do not think my lockscreen is stupid,” he pulls away, raising his eyebrows as his palms squish your cheeks, “I saw the way you looked at me. You were eating that shit up.”

You bite your lip, trying to pull further away from him, but he won’t let you, “I was not-”

“You were,” he cheekily teases, eyes bright as he looks at you, “You were, and it was the best thing ever. Totally worth stealing Argyle’s spotlight.”

“We didn’t steal Argyle’s spotlight,” you try to defend yourself.

“We so did.”

You shake your head to the best of your abilities, face still between his hands, “We… Okay, we sort of did.”

He grins like a young boy, all his youth and all his love on show for you as he leans down, pausing right before pressing another kiss to your lips, “We definitely did. And it’s fair, because they fucking bet on us.”

“They did,” you agree, not even feeling guilty anymore, too consumed by the love for the man right in front of you, “They tend to do that a lot, don’t they?”

“They do.”

He finally surges forward, lips sealing against yours one last time. It’s less messy this time, more meaningful. A bit more patient as he takes the time to fit his lips into yours, just as they should be.

You have an audience. You’re completely oblivious until you hear the cheering from across the parking lot, snapping apart to both glance at where Argyle and Robin are jumping up and down, screaming their heads off.

“Hell yeah, my dudes!” Argyle’s voice booms as Robin only produces incoherent coos to echo.

Nancy, Steve, and Jonathan are all just watching silently, shaking their heads, but you can also see their grins. Almost as radiant as you felt.

Steve finally cups his hands around his mouth, sending his voice to you over Argyle’s continuing whooping, “Get a room!��

Perfectly in sync, you and Eddie both throw up a hand with your middle fingers raised in their direction, still half tangled in each other.

Your eyes find Nancy. She’s looking at you two with overwhelming pride, a certain satisfaction that breathes out the relief of finally. This may be a weight off not only your chest but Eddie’s as well, yet you can’t help but imagine just how she feels. How many nights she had stomached Eddie’s rambles about you leading up to this very moment. The pay off must be unimaginable.

Finally.

“Congrats on finally getting the girl, Munson!” she calls out, but her eyes are on you, winking.

You see it now. Why they’re best friends. How all her best parts and Eddie’s best parts overlap and compliment one another perfectly.

Jonathan is the final one to yell across the parking lot at you two, one arm slung around Nancy as the other moves to unlock his car, even his usually grumpy face showing signs of elation in that timid smile, “Now take your girl, home, dude. Spare the rest of us the gory details.”

Eddie’s laugh reverberates against you physically from how he holds you, also making its way to burrow deep within your chest where all that liquid bliss belongs, as he throws his entire head back and makes you finally focus on just him again. Home. Not just his apartment, but him. You realize now that it’s simply wherever he goes. Where he leads, you’ll follow. It could be a shitty dorm room with a mattress that leaves your back aching, it could be a comforting apartment that holds you ‘hostage’ for twenty four hours straight – it doesn’t really matter. Wherever he is, home is. He’s your home; you love him, he knows you love him, and he’s your home.

When his laughter finally fades, and he’s looking at you again, his dimples are prominent as ever through his whisper, “Just in case you’ve forgotten – I’m very much in love with you, too, sweetheart.”

His lips meet yours for good measure.

It’s been the longest week of your life, the longest year, but you’re finally home.

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#twenty four hours #eddie munson #my writing #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fic #i cannot believe it's over holy shit #holy fucking shit #told y'all the photo would make a reappearance!#im resisting the urge to be so so sappy jesus christ

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corrodedcorpses · 1 year

Text

Milkshakes

Eddie x reader

Summary: You're being a brat and Eddie puts you in your place in a nice way

Warnings: this is not smut but there are some sexual themes so still 18+!!, reader is a brat, Eddie is a cute dom, light choking, they don't exactly talk about boundaries fully, reader has trouble eating sometimes

Word count: 1.5K

a/n: Idk where this came from but it's completely self indulgent and I've been in a weird mood recently and would love my own personal Eddie to take care of me like this! Hoping this gets me out of my writing slump

Eddie runs his fingers through his messy hair, an exasperated sigh leaving his lips as you stalk past him to the bedroom, slamming the door as you go. You have been in a foul mood since you came over to his trailer. Yesterday you seemed fine, excited even to spend the afternoon with him even, but since you showed up today, just after lunch time, it’s like every little thing he does annoys you.

You were weird when he hugged you hello, like you couldn’t think of anything worse than his touch, then you complained that he hadn’t been cuddling you enough while you were on the couch together just before. Then he was talking too much about his latest campaign even though you asked about it and then he wasn’t talking enough and it was like he was ignoring you.

Whatever he did it just got under your skin, he couldn’t win.

You’ve gotten into these moods before, usually when you want something from him. These moods usually end with you collapsed on the bed, sore and glistening with sweat. Throat and pussy swollen from taking Eddie so well. But he knows this mood is different.

He leans his forehead against the door you just slammed. Wracking his brain for what to do to get back on your good side. Thinking of all the things you usually like, a lot of them would involve you letting him into the room first… but he does think of one thing, you love going out for milkshakes with him.

That’s it, he thinks. He’ll take you to your favourite diner and share some milkshakes, maybe even get some food, you could also be cranky if you were hungry and Eddie knows you struggle to eat sometimes.

Eddie bursts through the door suddenly, excited by his ingenious idea, startling you on the bed momentarily before you plaster the scour back on your face.

All of Eddie’s excitement seems to vanish as he sees the look on your face, still he pushes through, determined to still have a good afternoon with you.

“Get your stuff, we’re going,” Eddie says, almost cheerily.

“What?” you question, unamused.

“We’re going out,” he reiterates flatly, “get your stuff.”

“No,” you respond, crossing your arms with a huff. “I’m obviously not in the mood, I’m not going.”

The action made you look like a spoiled kid. Jesus you could be a brat.

“Come on, I know you’re not in the mood but can you just trust me?” he was getting frustrated at this point, all afternoon he’d be trying everything just to make you smile, to make you happy and you couldn’t just do this one thing? This one thing he knows would make you at least a little bit happier?

“No, why would I? Your idea is stupid how is going out supposed to make me feel better? You obviously don’t know me at all.” You snap back.

He shakes his head at you, a mix of a sigh and a laugh leaving his throat. There's no humour behind it.

“I know you better than you think, princess.” He spits the last word like an insult, it has you seeing red.

“You don’t know shit Munson. You’ve done nothing but piss me off all day, can you just fuck off?”

Eddie’s not sure what came over him, he was fed up with your attitude, your words reminding him of how much of a brat you would be in other situations, although those were a lot more playful. Still he takes his chances, striding over to you.

He kneels in front of where you’re sitting, crowding into your space placing his hand gently against your throat. You move away automatically, lying back on the bed as Eddie follows until you’re trapped under him, his fingers giving your throat a light squeeze. You stare into his eyes, usually warm dark orbs now black and hard.

You’ve seen this look on his face before, just never in this kind of situation.

“I said,” he tried a again through gritted teeth, “get your stuff.”

When he’s met with silence he studies your expression. Your mouth is slightly open, your eyes softened and slightly glazed over. You don’t seem alarmed so he continues. He applies more pressure before continuing in a firm tone.

“I’m getting really sick of this bratty little attitude you’ve had all day and I feel like a milkshake,” he says nonchalantly, “so get your stuff. Now.”

He keeps his hand on your throat, his eyes darting back and forwarth between yours. You seem to be enjoying this, although you do seem a little surprised. For his peace of mind he has to check, has to make sure he hasn’t crossed a line by taking the dominance he has sometimes used into a more casual setting.

“Colour?” He asks softly, domineering act faltering slightly.

“Green,” you breathe in response. Sounding much smaller and submissive than you had wanted. Fully intending to keep up the annoyance that had settled over you all day.

“Good,” Eddie responds simply, before suddenly standing up again. You feel the loss of his body heat immediately and scurry to grab your things, fulfilling his request before your brain can even comprehend your movements.

Eddie watches you with a smirk as you slightly stumble around, mind slightly hazy as you gather your things. Once you have your bag slung over your shoulder, you stand up straight in front of him, smoothing out your bottoms as if you’re trying to look presentable for him.

He grabs his keys and walks outside silently, revelling in the way you follow, hot on his heels. You mentally curse your body for giving in to him so easily.

Eddie hops in his van as you try to not feel so hurt by him not opening the door for you like he usually does.

The drive to the diner is quiet, one of Eddie’s tapes playing softly is the only thing cutting through the silence.

When you arrive you both find a quiet booth, not many people in the diner at this time of the afternoon, the lunch rush having already passed.

The waitress passes both of you menus but Eddie takes yours from you before you can even spare it a glance. You look at him with a mix of anger, confusion and sadness on your face but he doesn't meet your eyes, he just continues to study his own menu.

When the waitress comes back over to take your order you’re pleasantly surprised when Eddie proceeds to order most of your favourites from the menu as well as two large milkshakes.

You continue to sit in silence, Eddie doodling on a napkin while you try to ignore the nagging pain in your stomach. You hadn’t realised just how hungry you were until you knew there was food on the way. You do this sometimes, it’s not like you mean to not eat, sometimes it was just hard to remember to. And you don’t realise how sad and cranky it makes you.

Your stomach also twists with regret, you feel bad for the way you’ve acted all afternoon, taking all of your weird emotions out on Eddie. And now here he was, taking you to get all of your favourites just to try and make you happy.

You thankfully don’t have to wallow in self pity for too long before the food arrives. You both thank the waitress before trying your best to not inhale everything in front of you, knowing you'll hurt your stomach if you eat as fast as you want to.

You’re both about halfway finished when you speak up, guilt and silence becoming unbearable.

“Eds?” You mumble quietly.

He looks up at you, finally, with an unreadable expression on his face as he pops another fry into his mouth.

“I’m sorry,” you say sincerely.

He sighs, a small smile creeping onto his face. “S’okay sweetheart, you feeling better?” He asks in a tiny teasing tone.

You nod, blushing.

You take another bite before asking “hey, how did you know I was hungry? I didn’t say anything.”

“Well, you were a brat, acting cranky all fucking afternoon,” he says matter of factly “and you only do that when you’re hungry… or when you wanna fuck.” He adds the last part with a wicked smirk.

You roll your eyes at him with a smile on your face, but you know he’s right.

“Next time though, just tell me yeah? You know I love taking care of my girl.”

You lean forward across the table, looking up at him through your lashes.

“Oh yeah, well I can think of a couple other ways you can take care of your girl.”

Eddie leans towards you too, “hmmm you’re pushing your luck a bit there babe.” But his tone isn’t serious.

You continue to stare at him with a smirk on your face, you know you have him.

“Tell ya what,” he continues, leaning back, “be a good girl and finish all of this and I’ll think about fucking you silly in the back of my van, hmm?”

You quickly pop a couple of fries in your mouth, earning a chuckle from Eddie. “Okay, master,” you say through a mouthful of food and a cheeky smile on your face.

Tagging a couple mutuals: @andvys @wroteclassicaly @pxrxcxa @usedtobecooler @eddiemunsonfuxks @parkermunson @translatemunson @hammity-hammer @littledemondani @prettyboyeddiemunson

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x you #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction

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spnexploration · 3 months

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Happy birthday Dean Winchester! Here's a quick one-shot I whipped up to celebrate.

This also fulfils the 'Plus Size' square of my @spnaubingo 2023 bingo card, even though it's 2024... I'm late, I know, but I still want to do some more of it!

Pairing: Dean Winchester x plus sized!reader

Words: 1.6k

Warnings: Couple of crap comments from a random, some not-great self-esteem and a drunk character, but nothing particularly bad.

Synopsis: A man you're interviewing makes some crap comments about your body, and Dean doesn't help. Can he make it up to you?

Supernatural writing masterlist

“Which one’s the father?” The sleazy guy joked. My stomach dropped.

“Excuse me?!”

“Oh, it’s alright love, I know the real father’s probably suffering somewhere alone while you’re off gallivanting with your workmates. I’m surprised he lets you out, really.”

The urge to punch the witness we were interviewing was overwhelming. Rather than ruin the case, I turned on my heel and marched out.

Fuck that guy. I’m not pregnant and I’m not screwing either of the Winchesters.

I heard Dean’s FBI agent tone of voice as he started speaking behind me. Great to see they were all just moving on with their lives, I thought sarcastically.

---

📱 Where are you? We’re going to the next witness’s house

A text came in from Dean. I read it but didn’t reply.

📱 You ok?

I sighed. Finally, he asks.

📱 Fine. I’ll catch up with you later

I replied. He sent me a thumbs up, I rolled my eyes.

I kicked at the ground and started the walk back into town. Sam and Dean would probably try and make me feel better, but I knew that wasn’t happening. I looked down at my soft, flabby belly that I’d tried multiple times to lose.

I walked.

---

I felt a bit absurd, getting tipsy this early. It wasn’t that I felt like I had to drink to get over the comment. It was just that I’d gotten back to the motel room and was feeling a bit morose, and there was nothing to do. I’d tapped out of the case and I was bored. I went for another wander and this stupid town had nothing in it but a pub, and so somehow I’d ended up here, starting drinking a lot earlier than normal.

And now I looked like I was drinking my feelings, when I wasn’t.

Not that there was anyone looking at me anyway.

Well, except in disgust. Who knew how many more people in here thought I was pregnant too. Probably thought I was harming an unborn baby, right now.

Fuck them.

---

“You know there’s still a monster on the loose?” Dean said gruffly, a frown on his face. I guess it’d been easy to find me given how few things there were in this town.

“You struggling without me?” I didn’t think I was slurring too much, but his expression did not improve when I started talking.

“How you going to fight one off like this?” he gestured to me.

“You think a few drinks are why I’m fat?” I said sarcastically.

“I’m not calling you fat, I’m calling you drunk.”

“Right,” I said with an eyeroll.

“Come on, get in the car,” he said, trying to tug my arm.

“Fuck off Dean! I can drink if I want to. There’s nothing else to do in this shithole, anyway.”

He dropped my arm and stomped off to the bar.

I turned back to my drink. Sam came and sat opposite me. You can’t escape the bloody Winchesters.

“Hey, you ok?” he asked with his puppy dog eyes.

“I’m fine. I had a free afternoon, I came to get a drink. Is that fucking crime now?”

“I meant about what happened with the guy. You seemed pretty upset.”

“Surprised you could see that, you were both so busy being silent.”

“Didn’t you hear Dean?”

“How could I hear Dean when he wasn’t saying anything?”

“No, he laid right into the guy.”

“You don’t have to lie to make me feel better. I heard Dean get right back into his FBI voice as I walked off.”

“Yeah, he was still in character at first, told the guy that he needed to speak respectfully to Agents. And then when the guy was still a douche he got a bit more Dean and threatened to punch his lights out if he didn’t shut up about you.”

I laughed into my drink. I was sure Sam was embellishing, there was just no way Dean would care that much about someone being mean to me.

Speak of the devil, Dean appeared again, tumbler of whiskey in one hand and a glass of water in the other. He put the water in front of me.

“Thanks, but I don’t accept drinks from strangers,” I said sarcastically.

“I’m not having you hung over tomorrow and being a liability to the case, drink the water.”

“I don’t remember electing you.”

“Jesus, you’re even more belligerent when drunk. Just drink the water and stop moping.”

“I’m not moping!”

“The guy was an asshole, no one thinks you look pregnant. But you can’t just drink yourself blotto and get yourself killed every time someone says something mean to you.”

I stood up, grabbed the glass of water and upended it all over Dean’s face. Then I marched out the door.

The effect was a little ruined by my drunken stagger, though.

---

Sam caught my arm as I got outside. “Come on, I’ll drive you home.”

“I walked myself here, I can walk myself home!”

“I’m pretty sure you were walking in a straight line when you got here though. Come on.”

I let him tug me to the Impala. He must’ve grabbed the keys off Dean before chasing after me.

“He’s just worried about you,” he said gently as we were exiting the carpark. “Doesn’t want you getting hurt.”

“That does not give him a free pass to behave like that.”

---

Dean stood over me, a glass of water and a couple of painkillers in his hands. “Morning, sunshine. Need some relief?”

I gratefully reached out. Man, I did not normally drink that much.

“What time is it?”

“Time to work the case.”

I groaned, “Can’t you do it without me?”

“No, come on, back on the horse.”

“It’s not the horse that’s the problem, it’s the dog that bit me.”

“I did tell you to drink water,” he said smugly.

“Fuck off!” I threw my pillow at him. He easily deflected but wisely left me alone after that.

I groaned and got off the couch I’d been sleeping on, slumping to the bathroom. The boys were sitting around the tiny table, already dressed and looking at their laptops.

Sam was gone when I came out, freshly showered, dressed and feeling slightly more human. I looked at Dean with a clear question on my face.

“He’s gone for coffee, thought you could use some.”

“Thanks.”

“I, uh,” Dean continued, more hesitantly, “I owe you an apology.”

I crossed my arms across my chest. An apology from Dean was a rare thing, but I was wary it was going to end up being a backhanded insult instead. I often felt like I needed to protect my heart from being hurt by him.

“I was worried about you getting hurt when I saw you were drunk. But I just tried to solve the problem, I didn’t actually talk to you, and I,” he paused, biting his lip, “I shouldn’t do that.”

“Nice to see I’m just a problem,” I replied sarcastically. I wasn’t sure why he was riling me so much, but I still felt so hurt and angry.

He stood up and came over to me. “You’re not a problem,” he said quietly, trying to look into my eyes. I ducked my head away from the intensity of his look. “And I am sorry that asshat upset you.”

“I didn’t get drunk just because some guy called me pregnant, you know.” I could hear how defensive I sounded, despite my best efforts not to.

“It’s a shitty thing he did anyway. You’re beautiful.”

I laughed mirthlessly.

“Don’t do that,” he said quietly. “Don’t put yourself down all the time.”

“Dean, your idea of beautiful is tall, thin, busty and great hair.”

“That’s not true.”

“Well, they’re all thin at least.”

“Who are ‘they’?”

“The women you sleep with, the women you hit on.”

“I can think of many women I’ve hit on who aren’t ‘thin’, it doesn’t matter to me.”

“Suuuure,” I said with an eye roll.

“But I haven’t hit on many women lately, been distracted by one in particular.”

“Let me guess, beautiful?”

“Absolutely.”

“My point exactly. It’s ok Dean, you don’t have to ma-” Dean’s fingers found my chin, nudging it up so I would like at him.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, looking deep into my eyes. “I’m sorry I haven’t made you feel it.”

I stared at him, mouth agape. Absolutely stunned into silence.

“And I’m sorry again that I was a bit of a dick yesterday.”

His face came even closer, watching my reactions.

“You’re my weak spot,” he whispered.

“No, I’m not.” I put my hands on his chest, “Dean, this isn’t funny, don’t tease me.”

He dropped his hand from my chin, looking hesitant. “Sweetheart, I’m putting my heart on the line here, I’m not teasing.”

My hands slackened.

He edged a tiny bit forward.

His tongue darted out and back in. I couldn’t stop staring at his lips.

Was this even real?

How was this happening?

His hand came up to cup my cheek.

I leant forward.

The world suddenly sped up again. Dean moved in, closing the gap between us and bringing his lips to mine. I lost myself in the tenderness of his touch, the softness of his lips, the exploration of his tongue and mine.

A sudden noise made us pull apart. Sam was standing in the doorway, cardboard holder with coffees in one hand and the other on his hip.

“I’m happy for you guys and all, but we still have a case to work. You can pick this up later.”

Dean Winchester taglist

@mrsjenniferwinchester

@lyarr24

@waynes-multiverse

@deans-spinster-witch

@zepskies

Everything Supernatural taglist

@leigh70

@malindacath

@ellie-andthemachine

@iprobablyshipit91

@123passwort

@kazsrm67

@nerdymuffinbonkcloud

@magssteenkamp

#my writing #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x plus size reader #dean winchester x plus size!reader #dean winchester angst #dean winchester birthday #happy birthday dean #deansbirthdaybash #plus size reader #chubby reader #dean winchester x chubby reader #dean x reader #dean x plus size reader #spnaubingo #drunk character #mistaken for pregnant #i write terrible synopses #but it's better than it sounds

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wandasgf · 8 months

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Omg please write something about this

reader Is still very much a sub just extremely bratty. And the video doesn’t have to be vanilla at all it could be Wanda and her friends fucking reader, saying all kinds of nasty stuff to her.

TANTRUM. mdni, 18+.

pairings ; stepmom ! wanda maximoff + f ! reader

summary ; why won't wanda pay attention to you? does she want you to throw a tantrum?

warnings ; mommy kink, brat ! reader, dom ! wanda, sub ! reader, hair pulling, teeeeeny hint of manipulation, implied smut, blackmail

wc ; 801

a/n ; i hope this is what you were looking for !! i know it's a bit short, but i'm very open to writing more for this universe ! p.s. i didn't proofread

“Sweetheart, Mommy is very busy with work right now. Can you wait a few minutes?” Wanda says after she mutes her microphone, flashing a smile and holding up a finger to signal to her colleagues on the video conference that she’d been interrupted.

Their voices are muffled for you because you’re not really paying them any attention, only zeroing in on the fact that Wanda had told you to wait. Why would she ever make you wait? Weren’t you more important than her work?

“I don’t want to wait.” You huff, crossing your arms over your chest and furrowing your eyebrows in annoyance. You were a little offended that she would choose some boring video conference over you, you were even wearing her favorite mini-skirt and top.

During the day on weekdays while your father was at work was the only time you two really had together, otherwise Wanda was stuck playing house with your stupid father, so her rejection only upsets you that much more.

Wanda sighs, she can see you getting worked up, you’re almost glaring at her for Christ’s sake. “I know you don’t, honey, but I’m working so you’re going to have to. Alright?” She knows she’s chosen the wrong approach when she sees your bottom lip start to wobble and that familiar fire in your eyes.

“But I. Don’t. Want. To!” You stomp your foot, raising your voice slightly. And if looks could kill, Wanda would be 6-feet under. “I want you to pay attention to me now! Do you not love me anymore? You said you loved me! If you loved me, you wouldn’t tell me to wait!”

Wanda was fine to let you throw your little tantrum, stomp your feet and whine at her, but she was not fine with letting you raise your voice at her. She was well aware of the video you held over her head, the one where she’s fucking into you from behind and talking about how good it feels to be in her stepdaughter’s cunt, but she will not tolerate this.

She gives you a tight lipped smile before turning back towards her computer and unmuting herself. She sighs, “I hate to cut this short, I know we’re coming up on an important deadline, but it seems there’s some kind of family emergency. Poor Y/N is so upset she can't even tell me what it is. Does rescheduling for Thursday afternoon sound good to everyone?”

She receives a few sympathetic smiles and responses to confirm that Thursday is good before she apologizes again and leaves the call. She stands from the chair at her desk and begins walking towards you, “Sweetheart, I don’t care how upset you are, you do not raise your voice at Mommy.”

You only roll your eyes in response, huffing and looking away from her, still upset that she was going to make you wait for anything even as simple as a smile from her.

“I don’t appreciate the implication that I don’t love you, either.” Wanda grips your chin and forces you to look at her, “What’s gotten into you today? I thought you were going to be a good girl.”

“I am being a good girl.” You grumble, trying not to let Wanda’s voice affect you, “You’re the one being a bitch. I thought today was our day.” You huff, trying to break free of Wanda’s grip on your chin.

There’s a pause, and you can’t figure out what’s going on in Wanda’s head as she stares blankly at you, until she smiles and moves her hand from your chin to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. At least, that’s what you thought she was doing.

She grabs your hair and pulls.

“Despite what you have come to think lately, you are not the one in charge here and you are not to speak to Mommy like that ever again.” She’s calm as she speaks, the only indication of her anger being the tight grip in your hair. She tugs a little harder and you whimper, tears stinging at your eyes. “Do you understand?”

“That hurts…” You whine, pouting up at her. You had gotten so used to being able to get away with anything since you took that video, you had forgotten just how rough Wanda could get. She mocks your pout, “Aw, it hurts, does it?” And you think she might loosen her grip just a little until her features betray her anger and she’s glaring down at you, “I asked you a question, sweetheart, and I expect an answer.”

“Mhm, I understand.”

“I think it’s about time you’re reminded of who’s in charge, huh? Mommy has been very understanding of your behavior lately and I think you have taken advantage of that a little too much.”

#💌 anons #alice's fics !#wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maxmoff x y/n #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda maximoff smut #wanda maximoff x reader #scarlet witch x reader #scarlet witch smut

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milla-frenchy · 6 months

Text

The agreement (Blackmail part 2)

4k3 | Javier Peña x fem reader x Joel Miller (post OB) Chapt summary: you can't get Javi out of your head. You and Joel go back for more Warnings: 18+ mdni. sharing, oral (f/m receiving), unprotected piv, spitting, cum eating, anal play, threesome, double vag penetration, double creampie, degradation. a/n: @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog thank you so much for correcting me again 💕💕💕🫶🫶 And helping me with the title 😭 Playlist | ao3 | series masterlist | masterlist

Part 1

“Look at me, sweetheart.”

You opened your eyes and looked at Joel, whose cock was buried deep in your pussy. He stopped and looked at you thoughtfully. He gently stroked your hair.

“Are you with me, darlin’?”

“Yeah, sure. I'm here, baby.” You put your hands on his hips and pushed your pelvis towards him, so he could continue fucking you.

Joel began to fuck you slowly again, scrutinizing you with his eyes. He slipped his hand down to your pussy and rubbed your clit under his thumb, gently, the way he knew how to do so well.

“Come for me,” he murmured.

In a few seconds you were cuming, followed by Joel pulling out just before jerking off, and shooting his cum all over your lower stomach. He grabbed a towel from the nightstand and wiped you off.

He lay down next to you, his elbow bent and his hand holding his head up, facing you.

"Tell me what’s happening."

“I’m fine, Joel. Just tired."

You had returned from Bill and Frank’s the day before, after your supply trip.

“You’re thinking about him, aren’t ya?”

You lowered your gaze feeling the guilt.

“I’m…I’m sorry.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, and Joel wiped them away with his thumbs when they started to fall.

“Sweetheart… It’s ok. We went to his apartment after a mutual agreement. I know that what happened was unexpected. For both of us. But… I liked it too.” He was trying to meet your gaze.

“I shouldn’t have reacted like that. I should have… stayed detached.”

“Baby… it’s not like we can block our emotions. This is the principle of emotions. And isn't it better this way? Rather than fuckin’ a guy who would have disgusted you. I'd rather have seen you enjoying it."

You hugged him and said “I love you, Joel.”

“I love you, baby.”

You hadn’t talked about that night before this moment. Joel showed no resentment. But you were disturbed and had trouble getting the images of the evening out of your head. When you were making love to Joel, Javi's face would sometimes appear in your thoughts.

And you felt guilty.

You went out to do the planned tasks. You sorted the clothes collected by the patrols, and Joel cleaned the sewers. His task was arduous but it paid the best in ration cards.

You were walking towards your apartment late in the afternoon when you ran into Javi who was obviously going to take his night shift. You hadn’t seen him since that night.

“Hi, hermosa. Miller.”

“Peña”, Joel replied.

“Hello”, you whispered.

“Glad to see you returned safely from your outing.”

Joel grumbled “thanks.”

You tried to regain your composure and said “have a nice day” to Javi. He was looking at you, smiling. You blushed and said “let’s go, Joel.”

You continued on your way, Joel placing his hand against the small of your back and Javi watching you leave.

Joel and Javi crossed paths the next day.

“Did your outing go well?” Javi asked.

“We’re not friends, Peña.”

"Of course. We're doing business, that's all. You still seem a little tense. More than usual, I mean. Well, you're not exactly the most relaxed man I know,” Javi said with his usual insolence.

"Fuck off." Joel left without looking back.

The next week, you were finishing your work when you heard “Hi, Hermosa” behind you.

You froze before turning around and saying “Hi, Javi.”

“How are you, Hermosa?”

“Javi… you can’t call me that. It was business, that’s all.”

“Really?” he smiled kindly.

You looked at him annoyed but his soft teasing smile disconcerted you.

“I am available if you need to do business together again.”

And he left. You were stuck in place, feeling your panties getting soaked and said “Fuck!”

When you got back to the apartment, you lay down on the couch and quickly slipped your hands into your panties. You slipped your middle finger into your pussy to recover some wetness before sliding it over your clit and rolling it under your fingers. You put your other middle finger in your pussy and came quickly, feeling the spasms contracting it.

You said “Fuck…fuck!” again.

Joel returned shortly after. He hugged you and asked how you were.

“I saw Javi today. When I was leaving work. We just said hello.”

“You don’t need to justify yourself, sweetheart. It’s ok.”

You had been hugging for a few moments, then he said “you want to see him again, don’t you? Like the other night”

You pulled away and looked at him with wide eyes.

“Joel I… No… No. I don’t want to see him again.”

Joel took your hands and said “I understand why you do baby. Really. The way he behaved towards you… I understand.”

You looked at him questioningly. You couldn’t believe he was saying that to you. Joel had always been a gentle lover, attentive to your desires, but possessive. And there he was, proposing you to see Javi again, with the possible risks that this could entail for your relationship.

He hugged you again holding you close, and said “I love you, sweetheart. I'm not worried about our relationship. We are the survivors of a damn apocalypse, in a QZ where our life is reduced to picking up shit. What if we allow ourselves more? And if we can do it through him, then I'm ok with it."

“I don’t understand why you don’t wait for this desire to pass, baby...”

“Because I don’t want the temptation to consume you and be more difficult to manage. I prefer to anticipate it.”

You hugged him tighter and said “I love you, Joel. But are you sure?”

“100% baby. I loved it too, you know.”

The next day, Joel went to meet Javi.

“Miller?”

“I’ll be quick. She liked the evening at your place. She liked you, and she’s everything to me. I told her that if she wanted we could do it again. No need to ask if you agree with this idea, I think?”

"Course not. Are you ok with that?”

“I told you, she’s everything to me. So yeah. But no chair for me this time.”

Javi smiled and said “You impress me Miller. I don’t know if I'd be able to do it.”

“You would be.”

Javi smiled. "Tomorrow evening?"

Joel nodded and they went their separate ways.

The next evening, you arrived at Javi’s place. His apartment was as clean as the last time.

“Good evening, Hermosa. Joel.”

You noticed that it was the first time he called him by his first name.

“Good evening, Javi,” you replied.

“Javier,” Joel greeted him back.

“Come in for a drink.”

He suggested that you sit on the couch while you had a drink. You downed your drinks, enjoying them more than last time, even if you and Joel were slightly uncomfortable.

“Pe… huh… Javier. The conditions are the same as last time, okay?” He turned to you and added “you’re in charge.”

You nodded and Javi added “of course.”

Joel and Javi looked at each other and nodded. They stood up and took off their tops: brown shirt for Javi, denim shirt for Joel. They kept their jeans on.

You wondered where Javi had found such a dated shirt. Oddly enough, it suited him very well.

You looked at them, standing in front of you.

Two men with dark hair, Javi's darker.

Of equivalent size.

Javi was slightly more slender than Joel. His body was more agile, while Joel's was all strength.

Joel, a little older than Javi, stood more hunched.

His face was serious, marked by hardship, while Javi's was mischievous with a sparkle in his eyes.

Both were stunning, breathtakingly beautiful.

And both were just waiting for you.

Javi offered you his hand, and you took it getting up from the couch. You barely dared to look him in the eye.

Javi leaned down to kiss your cheek, and said “there’s no reason to be embarrassed, Hermosa. The three of us are here because we want to, because the other evening went well. We want to have fun again. Joel and I, as well as you. Ok?

You looked at him, then Joel, who told you “he’s right sweetheart.”

You nodded and smiled, and said “ok.”

You held out your hand for Joel to come closer, and you kissed Javi on the lips.

Joel kept your hand in his as he moved closer to you. He came up against your back and kissed your neck. You moaned. Having these two men against you gave you butterflies in your stomach. You turned to Joel to kiss him while Javi was now against your back with his hands on your hips. He ran his hands up along your breasts and then down to your hips, breathing in your hair and neck.

Joel took off your shirt and Javi unhooked your bra before taking it off. Joel took the opportunity to take your breasts in his hands and caressed them gently. Javi placed kisses on your cheek, then up to your earlobe, his nose brushing against your skin. He moved down to your neck, his hands still on your hips, before sliding them down to your stomach and unzipping your jeans. He slid them down to your feet, kissing your body as he knelt down. You lifted your feet to remove each leg of your pants, as you kissed Joel. Javi stood up and ran his hand over your soaked panties, saying “mmm Hermosa” softly in your ear.

Joel took you by the hand and said “follow me, sweetheart” and led you to the dining room table where he leaned you against it, butt against the edge while Javi took off his jeans.

Joel pulled you closer to him, pressing his crotch against you. He was hard. He kissed you, hands on your hips, before leaning down to your breasts and taking one in his mouth while he caressed the other. He sucked on your nipple and swirled his tongue over it, before moving on to the other.

You looked at Javi then at Joel, waiting for his approval. He looked up at you and nodded.

You said “Come here, Javi”. Javi approached, his cock erect and hard. You kissed him and took his cock in your hand, running your thumb over the tip and spreading the precum. He growled into your mouth. Joel stepped aside and removed his jeans and boxers, while Javi faced you. He placed his lips on yours and slipped his tongue into your mouth, mingling it with yours as you jerked him off.

Joel moved closer to you and you got on your knees. You looked at them in turn, before taking Javi in your mouth and jerking Joel off. You looked at them again. Joel's gaze was intense. You moved away from Javi before taking Joel in your mouth and jerking Javi off.

“Damn Hermosa… you’re fucking hot.”

“Get up, baby” Joel said before grabbing you to help you. “Sit on the table.”

You leaned against the table and Joel lifted you to sit on it. He spread your legs with his large hands before kneeling between them. “Lay down, baby” he said.

As you lay down, Javi moved closer, jerking himself gently. He said “fuck… Hermosa you’re so beautiful.”

Joel ran his tongue over your pussy and you moaned under his tongue. He spread the folds with his fingers and ran his tongue more gently before coming to tickle your clit.

“Will you suck my dick Hermosa?” asked Javi.

“Yeah, come here, Javi”, you replied.

You turned your head towards him, he was holding his cock at the base. You ran your tongue over it before placing your lips around his tip and caressing it with your tongue.

You felt Joel’s fingers dig into your pussy, while he focused on your clit with his tongue. You moaned, making Javi groan in turn as you sucked his cock further and further, depending on the rhythm of his hips.

Joel sat up and stood up, and said “make her cum Javier.”

They switched places, Joel bringing his cock to your mouth. “Wanna suck your cock, baby”, you said.

“Take it sweetheart. Suck my dick. Make me feel good in your mouth” you nodded and took him in your mouth, before feeling Javi’s breath on your pussy. He ran his tongue, his saliva mixing with Joel’s in your pussy.

“Doesn’t she taste good Javier?”

“Yeah… You taste so good Hermosa. Joel, you're a lucky bastard.”

Joel smiled at Javi for the first time, and looked back at you “You’re doing well, sweetheart. So good for us.”

You looked at him, before lowering your gaze to his cock which was sliding into your mouth.

Javi stuck his tongue into your pussy and was fucking you with it, while his nose rubbed against your clit. He held your legs apart with his hands. You placed your hand on his head, moaning more and more.

“You’re gonna cum baby, right? Come in his mouth baby. Soak his tongue.”

You stopped sucking him as your pleasure mounted, keeping him in your mouth until you came in Javi's mouth. He held his hands tight around you to keep your legs from moving too much and keep you within his reach, continuing to lick you until the spasms stopped. Joel pulled out of your mouth as Javi stood up, and bended over to twirl his tongue over your pussy again. You jumped at his touch on your overly sensitive clit, before caressing his head with your hands.

While Joel helped you get up, Javi went to sit on the couch and said “Come sit in my lap, Hermosa. Facing him."

You walked over to him before sitting on his thighs. He slid his hand up to your pussy, avoiding your overly sensitive clit for the moment, but sliding his middle finger into your hole.

“Come get sucked Joel,” Javi told him.

Joel came closer to you and said “open sweetheart. Stick out your tongue.” You did as he told you, waiting for him with your tongue out. He placed his cock on your tongue, grabbing your chin with his hand to lift it up, and dripped his saliva onto his cock, watching it slide down to your tongue. And he slid his cock into your mouth. Your eyes were fixed on him. Javi grabbed one of your breasts with his other hand, continuing to gently slide his middle finger into your pussy.

You didn't move, letting Joel handle the movements. He pushed himself deeper and deeper into your throat, his hand resting on your head, the other falling down his body.

Javi said “give me a second Joel” and Joel withdrew. Javi grabbed his cock in his hand and lifted you up, pushing his cock into your pussy and you impaled yourself on it “oh god… Fuck, Javi…”

“Missed my cock Hermosa?”

You looked at Joel before answering, who nodded.

“Answer him baby. Tell him.”

“Yeah fuck… yeah I missed it.”

“I missed you too, Hermosa. You have quite an effect.”

Javi lifted you with his hands, and moved his hips to start fucking you. His movements were slow, and allowed Joel to come back into your mouth. You let him resume his pace, your lips wrapping around his shaft.

“Are you still too sensitive, baby?” asked Joel.

“No… I don't think so Joel. It’s ok.”

Joel knelt down and watched as Javi’s cock slid into your pussy. Your wetness slid down to his balls. He came closer and licked your clit with the tip of his tongue.

“Oh god, Joel!” The sensations were indescribable. Javi’s cock was buried in your pussy, your legs raised. Javi held them apart. Joel sucking on your clit.

“Fuckin hell hermosa… you’re so hot. So good for us.”

You placed your hands on either side of Joel’s face and leaned against Javi’s chest, letting him lead the pace. You heard Joel grunting against your clit.

“Fuck… I’m gonna cum again. Fuck…”

“Come on, baby. Come on his tongue and on my cock. I wanna feel you squeeze me again and soak me. Couldn’t stop thinking about it since the other night.”

You came, throwing your head back and squeezing Joel’s head so hard he groaned.

Joel pulled away to look at where your two bodies met and said “fuck baby… such a fuckin’ slut. Let’s go to the bedroom now.”

As you were about to get up, leaning forward to support yourself on your feet, Javi held you, hands on your hips and fucked you at a fast pace “fuckin’ soaked hole...” before letting you get up.

Once in the room, you lay down on the bed and said “come fuck me Joel.”

Joel lay on top of you and thrust into you, making you moan.

Your gaze was fixed on him but you were lost in your emotions. You loved everything about this evening. The way they fucked you, the way they shared you.

You stared at Joel. Intensely.

“What do you want, sweetheart?”

“I want you to…” You bit your lip.

“Tell me,” he said, thrusting hard.

You cried out in surprise, and said "I want you to talk to me. Dirty. Joel, please…"

“Fuck… you want me to tell you what a slut you are? Wanna hear it out loud?”

“Yes Joel…fuck…yes, please.”

"I can't believe you were reluctant to come back here, when your slutty holes just wanted to be filled by both of our cocks."

He grabbed your chin in his hand and added "That's what you wanted? To be filled by two cocks? Mine isn't enough for you, you need two big, fat cocks?"

He brought his hand down and squeezed your throat. His gaze was black. He held you so tightly that you could just nod your head.

“We’ll give you what you want.”

He released his grip on your throat, continuing to thrust into you.

“Javi, I want you in my mouth.”

Javi knelt on the bed, holding his cock in his hand. You looked at him, and stuck out your tongue.

“Fuckin christ, woman,” Joel said, fucking you harder.

Javi placed his cock on your tongue, just the tip. He jerked himself off while watching you, then Joel fucking you. And he slid his cock into your mouth, you rounded your lips to welcome him. He placed his hand on your cheek, and felt his cock through your skin.

Joel buried his head in your neck, kissing it, then came to bite your earlobe. His head brushing against Javi’s hand, before pulling out of you.

“Come fuck her Javi.”

Javi smiled, before saying “you like being shared by our two cocks, huh?” You nodded, looking at Joel.

Javi came and lay down between your legs and slid his cock inside you.

Joel was standing next to the bed, jerking off gently. “You take both of our cocks so well darlin. You’re doing so well for us.”

He walked over and fondled one of your breasts, still jerking off. He leaned towards you and said “open up baby”. As you opened your mouth, he spat in it and clamped your jaw shut with his hand.

“Fill her up javi. Then I’ll fill her cunt too.”

You groaned at his words.

“Look at me hermosa. You're going to get filled by two cocks, like a little slut. Is that what you want?"

“Yes! Yes Javi, that’s what I want.”

“Yeah? Want your pussy filled with both our cum? Wanna feel them running down your thighs?”

You nodded.

"Ok baby. I'll give you what you want.” He picked up the pace and put his arms under your shoulders to fuck you harder. Joel was still jerking off next to the bed.

“Fuck…I’m gonna cum hermosa. Gonna fill this tight cunt.”

He thrusted in two more times before spreading his cum deep inside your pussy. Once his balls were empty, he withdrew, and Joel took his place instantly. He looked down at your folds to see Javi's cum starting to leak out. He ran his fingers around picking some up and stuffing them into your pussy.

“You want both of us, right? Can't miss a drop baby.”

He lay down between your thighs and bottomed out in one go. He put his fingers covered with Javi's cum in your mouth for you to lick them.

“Fuck. Such a slut. With your pussy dripping with the cum from another man. You’re so fucking soaked of his cum and so wet, I'm sure you could take both of our cocks in your pussy."

He growled against your ear, and his words hurried your orgasm.

“You’re such a whore, you know that?”

“Yes Joel…yeah.”

“Tell me what you are.”

“I’m a whore. I’m a fucking whore.”

Javi sat in the chair watching the whole scene.

Joel picked up the pace, unable to stop talking. “Can’t believe it, I thought you were a nice girl who wanted only my cock. But one cock isn’t enough for you anymore, is it?”

You couldn't answer anymore. He smacked your cheek. Not too hard. “Fuckin answer me.”

“Fuck. I want two cocks Joel. I want your two cocks. So bad.”

“Shit… I’m gonna fill you too.”

He grunted before thrusting deep inside you and shooting his load. Your orgasm rushed over you.

“Oh god Joel…”

He collapsed on top of you, trying to catch his breath.

He finally got up while you were still lying down, and said “come see this Javi.”

The two men were standing at the foot of the bed, looking at your sore pussy, with their cum leaking out.

You heard the curfew sirens and Joel looked worriedly at Javi, who replied “stay here tonight. It's too late for you to go back. The bed is big enough, we’ll squeeze in.” The two men came to join you, each from one side.

You fell asleep.

You woke up a few hours later, Joel and Javi’s bodies pressed against you. You felt some of their cum still leaking from your pussy but you didn't have the courage to go to the bathroom. Javi was against your back, his cock resting against your ass.

You stretched your ass towards him, at the same time as you took Joel’s cock in your hands, jerking him gently. You felt them wake up at the same time.

Javi’s hand came to squeeze your breast, before moving down to your thigh. He lifted your knee to give himself access to your pussy, and you felt the tip of his already hard cock directly slide into your hole.

Looking at Joel, you saw that his gaze was on you.

“Looks like you don’t need any preparation to take his cock baby? Still full of our cum huh?”

You bit your lip and just nodded, while Javi was pounding in you.

“Don’t stop jerking me off,” said Joel. You resumed your movement, stopped when Javi entered you.

“How is her pussy, Javi?”

“Ruined. I slide in so easily.”

“Mmmm” Joel muttered. Lie on your back Javi.”

Javi withdrew before settling in as Joel asked.

“And you sweetheart, come ride him.”

You moved on top of Javi, before grabbing his cock in your hand and pushing it inside you.

“Is the lube still in the top drawer?”

“Yeah.”

Joel went to get it and coated his cock with it, before putting the bottle down.

"You’re gonna prepare my ass, Joel?”

“It’s not your ass I’m gonna fuck."

“Wait what? I never…”

“There’s always a first time, baby.”

You looked at Javi with a panicked look, but he just said “come on Hermosa. You’re fuckin’ soaked and still dripping our cum from last night. You’ll take us easily.”

Joel kneeled behind you and spread your ass cheeks.

“Fuck… you’re gonna be so full….”

He leaned against Javi's cock, which had stopped his movements. Joel started to thrust and told you to lean on Javi’s chest.

You leaned forward and felt Joel’s cock sink into you.

“Fuck…Fuck! Joel, wait. It's too much. I don’t think I can -”

“Yes, you fuckin’ can.”

He didn't stop. He felt the walls of your pussy adjust to the two of them. He continued to thrust until his balls were against Javi's.

Looking up, you saw the look in Javi’s eyes, who nodded at Joel. And they both moved.

“Oh fuck… Cant’ believe… God. Cant’ believe I’m getting fucked by two cocks."

Javi smiled and kissed you, before telling you “you’re really doing well Hermosa, you’re so good for us.”

“You can do better, darlin’.“

“What? What do you mean, Joel?”

Joel put his thumb in his mouth and spat on your ass. He caught the saliva with his thumb before applying it to your asshole.

“Shit Joel…”

“Stop whining. I know you like it” and he pushed his knuckle into your ass.

“Fuck..Yeah. Yes I do.”

Joel smiled as he looked at Javi.

You felt full. Two cocks in your pussy, Joel's thumb in your ass.

Joel told you “I’m sure if there were three cocks here, you’d take one in your mouth.”

“Fuck yeah…I bet she would”, added Javi.

They continued for a few minutes, and you heard Javi breathing harder.

“You’re gonna cum Javi? You’re gonna cum in my pussy?”

“Yeah Hermosa…I’m gonna fill you again.”

“Go ahead Javi. Cum in her pussy, and don't pull out until I fill her too. Not gonna be long.”

Your clit had been rubbing against Javi’s crotch for several minutes, and you felt like you were going to cum soon too.

“Fuck… yeah… ‘m gonna fill you Hermosa. Oh… oh god….”

Javi's cock twitched as he came, his cock crushed against Joel's.

“Fuck. I’m gonna fill you too baby.”

Joel growled louder and louder, and you felt Javi’s cum starting to leak out of your pussy.

Joel stiffened and shot his cum into you.

He collapsed on top of you, still straddling Javi and you came for the last time that night, full of their cum.

Before pulling out, Joel said, “You’re gonna have to help me find more after pills, Javi.”

Part 3

**********************

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pinguwrites · 12 days

Text

𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔' 𝑺𝒚𝒏𝒅𝒓𝒐𝒎𝒆 ⸻ Chapter One

series masterlist. next chapter

𝒑𝙖𝒊𝙧𝒊𝙣𝒈 | francis mosses x reader

𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 | 1.5k

Warnings: none

A/N: I promise it'll get more exciting later lol

The elevator dinged, and your heart raced. It was dark out, and so the lobby was dimmed — that blue hue that came right before the sun’s rising. After peeking a small look to the side, you quickly went back to the newspaper you were reading, as if you hadn’t noticed the sound at all. Though you didn’t need to hear or see to know who it was. No one else in Sama Place got up this early, except perhaps for you. It was you and Francis Mosses, every day alone at five in the morning. Perfect, wasn’t it?

“Mornin’,” he said, tipping his hat slightly. It was white, with the words “MILKMAN” etched onto the front. If anything, that added detail made him look even more handsome — uniformed, well-put-together, with just a hint of authority. Everything you liked.

“Good morning, Francis,” you greeted, resting your elbows on the desk in front of you. Placing the newspaper aside, you focused your attention on him, but when he approached you, he took it between his fingers and flipped to the page you were at.

“Crossword? It’s a bit early for that,” he mused, eyeing all the columns and rows you filled in. It was a hard one, but nothing you couldn’t handle. Besides, what else were you supposed to do, stare at the wall waiting to say ‘hi’ to the next person who came by?

“I like puzzles, they get me thinking . . . you know, you should do something like this, too.” Francis furrowed his eyebrows, just slightly. “Not puzzles, necessarily. But a hobby.”

It just occurred to you at this very moment that he probably did have a hobby, but as someone who was just a doorwoman, you weren't privy to that information.

“I’m sure you do,” you added with a chuckle. “It’s only that I never see you doing anything but work. You’re so tired all the time. How much effort does being a milkman really require?”

He bit his lower lip. “More than you think. I used to get up at one.”

The idea that whatever company he was working for forced him to do this made you upset. Francis deserved nothing but freedom and long vacations and waking up to brunch, not whatever coffee he drank in the morning to get himself going.

“One?” you repeated, absolutely stunned. “Well, I’m glad you managed to change your shift. Most bosses I know aren’t flexible with that sort of stuff.”

“I was actually doing fine with my original hours. I just changed them because . . .”

“Because what?”

He thought for a moment, his cheeks dusted pink. “Wanted to enjoy the world a little. Can’t very well do that if you have to sleep at seven in the afternoon.” He paused. “I have to go, I’ll see you later tonight, ma’am.”

“Alright. Have a nice day, sir.”

You watched as he left, a longing gaze. In your mind, you imagined spending time with him, whether it be to see a movie or just walk around the city. You found that highly unlikely, though. Mostly because you could never bring yourself to ask him, and never thought he would ever ask you.

+++

“Really?” you said, a little disappointed. “I’d hate to see you go.”

Dr. William Afton shrugged, a grin across his lips. “I mean, it’s quite the modern idea, don’t you think? I think there ought to be more family restaurants out there. And with my engineering background, I think I’m just the right man to create something fun for children.”

“Your idea sounds like a science fiction novel,” you admitted, “but I like it. What does Mia think?”

“Oh, I had to convince her a little, but in the end, she’ll do as I say. Besides, we’re not moving very far. Just closer to the suburbs.”

You nodded. “I’ll miss you. Make sure to stop by again when you can.”

He agreed and went on his way to finish moving the rest of his belongings to his car. It was silly to want him to stay, but that was how it felt here. Everyone knew everyone, it was like a family. You’d made more friends here than you ever did before. Change wasn’t something you enjoyed.

+++

The day had passed by quickly. You took your lunch break and then went straight back to work. You made a few calls to make sure things were in order. If anything was wrong with the plumbing or if the wallpaper had chipped — things like that — it was your responsibility to fix it. Taking calls for potential renters, being in general a polite and pleasant person, it all came with your job.

It was unusual for a woman to hold this kind of position. Women barely worked at all. Most were housewives or teachers or secretaries. The fact that you even got this job at all was a miracle. And the fact that the people in this building were so pleasant was a blessing.

After your father died you thought everything was over. He left you a house, a small, one-story building with a nice lawn and a small backyard. It was closed off from the rest of the street, the way he liked it. Away from others, with his own peace. You supposed that trait passed down to you. Other than a simple conversation, you preferred to be by yourself rather than out with a large group of friends, partying at risqué clubs. Besides, even if you liked that kind of stuff, your father would never have approved.

You were dependent on him, right till the very end. Though you graduated from college, you didn’t know how to get a loan from a bank, drive a car, or even do your taxes. The easiest thing to do was to find a husband, but it was just so difficult. When you saw that sign outside of Sama saying ‘HIRING NOW’ you knew that was where you had to go. A new start. New opportunity. For the first time, you could make your own money, support yourself, and live the life you want.

You sighed, thinking about everything as you leaned back in your chair. The weather was hot today, so you set the fan beside your desk on. It was blowing through your hair, the coolness brushing against your skin with relief. It made your skirt rumple at the ends, but whenever it did that you just straightened it out, pulling it over your knees once more.

“Hey,” a voice said behind you.

Startled, you sat up straight, only to realize it was just Anastacha, the girl from the second floor. She lived with her mom, who was a cook at a restaurant, but apparently trying to make it as a chef. She had pigtails in her hair like always and was wearing a simple plaid dress.

“You scared me,” you said, tone both playful and scolding. “Don’t do that again.”

“Sorry,” she apologized, but she didn’t seem very sorry. “I need help with my homework. Mom says you had a good education, and that if I ever needed help I could just come to you.”

You smiled warmly. “Sure. Pull up that chair over there, and I’ll see what I can do.”

You looked through the folder. It was just basic algebra, nothing too difficult. You remembered doing this in middle school. For the next ten minutes, you both read through each problem and solved it together. She had a lot of questions — annoying ones — but it was fine. She was just a kid, and you were happy to help.

Just as you were explaining the last part to her, the front door opened.

It was Francis.

Distracted, you glanced up and down his body. Was it odd that you found him the most beautiful man ever? His long, Roman nose, and his smooth, pale skin. The way the veins in his hands flexed every time he moved them, the light blue dress shirt that hugged his slim, muscled arms, and that dark, tousled hair, widow’s peak dipped in the middle of his forehead.

He passed by you with a short nod. It almost hurt that he didn’t bother to stay longer, but you could see the bags under his eyes and his sluggish movements. He was tired. And to be fair, so were you.

When the elevator door closed, Anastacha exclaimed, “Oh, he likes you!”

“Shh!” You didn’t need people hearing that. “He does not. Do you want to finish this or not?”

“He does,” she insisted with a giggle. “You saw the way he looked at you?”

“You can’t determine things based on a single look.”

“Yes, I can. Mr. Mosses is nice, but he kind of just ignores everyone. He doesn’t do that with you.”

The thought that Francis may like you was an intoxicating one. He was just a man, one that you never exchanged many words with, yet he managed to make you feel all sorts of ways. Was it possible that Anastacha was right? That he really did like you?

“I bet you like him, too.”

You glared at her. You did not need Anastacha spreading rumors about how you were in love with the milkman, however true that may be.

“No, I don’t. Focus.” You pointed the pencil back at her homework. “Now, in order to find x, you have to subtract . . . . . .”

Taglist: @Meetmeatyourworst @hanawrites404 @Emimurphy2008

#francis mosses #francis mosses x reader #francis mosses x you #francis mosses x y/n #pinguwrites #that's not my neighbor #fanfiction #lovers' syndrome

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idkfitememate · 4 months

Note

I NEED A CONTINUATION OF GOLDEN WEASEL!

As you sat wrapped around The Old Man’s neck, you watched as the scenery of Liyue passed you both by.

No one stared, looked, or even glanced at him, you guess it was noticeably pissing you off, because he began to gently scratch under your chin. You leaned into the gentle touch, making him chuckle.

The hand he wasn’t using to pet you was gripped around a cane, a basket hanging off his arm as well. Compared to rest of Liyue, he was dressed in extremely traditional clothing, his hair was tied into a traditional top knot with a beautiful guan. He also had a nice little beard. With his looks, you honestly wondered how old the man was, because on top of his… well his beauty, his home - despite it being a house boat - was also decked out in traditional furnishings and decor.

The only accessory you had was an earring made of mora with a dragon modeled after Morax attached to the bottom - it was a hanging earring. When you found out your old man had spent ONE HUNDRED MORA ON IT, you scolded him for an hour. Him kneeling as you stood on your hind legs loudly chittering at him.

The only reasons you wore it was because:

A. He bought it as a thank you for staying by his side, even in old age.

And

B. The damn thing cost a hundred mora why the fuck wouldn’t you

And finally

C. It helped differentiate you from other weasel thieves.

As you continued down the lanes, his little basket began to fill up, though its weight never seemed to bother him. You’d often chirp at him to see if you could carry it - you were strong for a weasel - but he’d just shake off your concerns with another chuckle.

And as you continued, you began to feel sleep with the gently sway of his body slowly walking along the paths, and probably would’ve too, if it weren’t for the fact that he stopped to speak with someone. Wait no that’s red and black bird.

… wait a minute.

“Mountain Shaper, my friend. Why do you walk among the mortals this fine day? To what do we owe the pleasure?” Did you mention The Old Man spoke super fucking eloquently? Because he does.

“Nothing but a stroll. And why are you here, old friend?” Wait Old Man knew an Adeptus? Old friend? What the hell-

“Ah, simply retrieving some items from the merchants. Nothing more. And as much as I’d adore to stay and chat, I must be off, so as to make me and my little friend here’s daily afternoon tea time, hehe!” You noticed that the Adeptus’s eyes were now on you, but only with a hint of curiosity.

“I see… well don’t let me take up more of your time.” The bird mused.

“Well actually… I believe we may have space for one more, if you’d care to join.” You looked around to see if anyone else was seeing this shit, but it seemed like no one else was around.

“Well if you’d allow me…” And with that, you were now walking with an Adeptus towards The Old Man’s houseboat. Feeling a bit bold, you stuck a paw out in the direction of the bird. All he did was glance at you, before chuckling. You smacked your lips before settling down on Old Man’s neck.

Your mind drifted as you thought of what tea he would make today… maybe Mountain Shaper would have something new in mind… perhaps a story awaited you as well… you yawned and closed your eyes, pressing your face into into the crook of your neck.

“You feel it as well, don’t you my friend.” Mountain Shaper asked.

“I do.” The Old Man responded.

“Will you ever tell them-“

“Only when the time is right.” The Old Man interrupted. “Now, they just want to live, and I will allow them that freedom. I have no right to strip that from them.”

“You sound like the God of Freedom.” The bird chuckled, making the Man sigh.

“Be quiet before I tie your beak shut.”

“*GASP* You wouldn’t dare!”

“I may not be as nimble as I was back then, but you and I both know you’d have no chance, especially if I actually tried.~”

“WHY YOU-“

Uh oh, Old Man had a secret, what ever will it be?~ Anyway, Weasel really just wants to live life. And since we’re doing some past stuff now, I imagine they were a petty thief in their past life, which is why they became a little thieving guy in Genshin ໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა!

#anon <3 #asks <3 #Golden Weasel!Creator

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targaryenluvs · 9 months

Text

- NOT YOURS

pairing: prowler!miles morales x reader, miles morales x reader

summary - miles seemingly can’t let you go, but you know your miles needs to get home. maybe if you play along you’ll be able to get back home. PART TWO!!! part 1 here

word count: 1,305 words

warnings - not much really, profanity, lil bit of violence and non-con touchy touch

notes - well i didnt expect to do a part two lmao but holy shit you lot r crazy thank u for the love - sorry if this isn’t at anyone’s standards but yeaaahh here you go 🤍

TAGLIST: @pifuyue @afternoon-evening @myspacewhore1comz @ashleebooksblog @sophiaj650 @colossaltitannnn @the-rogue-robin @zaddyskye69 @loonalockley

he’s not moving.

you’d been trying to shake your miles awake ever since the other miles left the room but to no avail.

“miles please, i don’t know how long we have. you have to work with me here.” you whispered as you shook his shoulders again. he was icy to the touch, the hard floor did not help.

you didn’t know where he was but you prayed he wouldn’t come back any time soon, as unlikely it was for him not to return.

he was crazy, indefinitely.

how the hell can someone be so delusional to think that their girlfriend who passed away, infront of them, whom they buried in the ground over a year ago, is back and with them in the flesh? you had no clue, but all you cared about right now was getting miles up and awake.

you’d managed to get rid of the chains after what felt like an eternal tug of war and you were sure he’d wake with countless bruises.

“fuck it.” you sighed as you raised your fist as it is collided with his chest. you couldn’t hit his face, he was to pretty for that.

miles was struggling.

he was dreaming. he knew that.

but for some reason he felt much more comfortable with staying in his dream then facing whatever was happening around his body at the time. maybe he was already dead. this other miles killed him, took his girlfriend, his y/n.

the one who he had loved since they were kids and he was too stubborn to get off the swings since he thought he should have extra time after being away visiting relatives.

the one who was also as stubborn as he was and decided that getting a plastic shovel from the sandpit and digging it into his sides was a more effective way of getting him off rather than asking politely or asking a teacher for aid.

the one who helped him up afterwards and apologised before running to the swings and hopping on.

the one who he saw everyday afterwards, the one who sat in his spot and made friends with his. the one who he knew he should’ve been mad at but he couldn’t help but admire.

her cute pigtails, her cute dresses and smile.

the one he grew up with, his first true friend, his first crush, his first kiss, his first girlfriend.

the one who helped him through his uncles passing and to come to terms with his new abilities. the one who always gave him the strength to get back up and fight.

he couldn’t stay here.

his father was waiting for his help whether he knew it or not and his other half was waiting for him to get back up.

get up.

Get Up.

GET UP

“get up! oh my god is one punch not enough idiot?” y/n whisper-yelled in his face as his eyes shot open.

you’d never felt more relieved at seeing miles’s wide eyes. “shit are you okay? i didn’t punch you too hard right?” you interrogated him as you looked over his face with concern.

“no, no i’m okay. are you? shit i should’ve gotten up earlier i’m so sorry. he didn’t hurt you did he? i’m so sorry, so sorry i-“ you cut off his rambling with a kiss.

as you pulled back you couldn’t help but smile, he was quite literally knocked out cold and the first thing he asked was if you were okay. “i’m fine miles. i’m okay, just breathe okay? you need to have your head on straight if we’re to get the fuck outta here okay?” you murmured as you nestled your face in his neck.

“come on up, we need to get out of here before that psycho comes b-“ you were cut off as you felt something buzz in your jacket.

you saw miles’s bewildered expression as you slowly reached for it, “i swear to god if this is a bomb.” miles whispered as you groaned, “seriously?”

as your hand grazed the object your eyes lit up as you recognised it. you pulled out one of the watches you’d managed to acquire through violent methods at HQ.

“yes! oh my god you are incredible you know that?” miles grinned as he asked for it. “i totally forgot i had it, god thank you!” you joked as you clasped your hands together whilst looking upwards.

“earth 1610, i know that much.” you smiled as he worked through it.

the two of you were so engrossed within the find of the watch you forgot to focus on the door behind you two as it slowly opened. miles’s head shot up as his senses went off. he shoved the watch into your jacket as the two of you turned around.

“see you got out of the chains.” miles spoke as he walked in slowly. miles stood infront of you swiftly, fighting stance slowly crawling through as his fists balled.

“and what about it? you needa move aside. no one has to get hurt.” miles threatened as he slowly walked backwards.

other miles looked at you before smirking. “i ain’t goin nowhere. neither is she.” he pointed your way as you couldn’t help but frown.

why couldn’t he let you go?

why wouldn’t he let you go?

“i’m not staying here miles. i’m going home, you need to let her go. i’m not her.” you spoke up as you lowered miles’s extended arm in-front of you to talk to him clearly.

“i can’t let you leave ma, ion want to, and ion have to. he ain’t gonna stop me.” miles grinned as his mask came forwards to cover his face, his claws on too as he rushed forwards at miles.

“run!”

and you were off.

you couldn’t think about anything else. you couldn’t look backwards it would slow you down. you decided to run upwards, hoping that your miles would fight the prowler off long enough to make it up to you on the roof.

you pulled out the watch and jammed numbers in as you continued upwards.

how many fucking levels were there?

you saw the door come into view just as you pressed enter. you slammed through the door to see the portal open.

your chance was here.

you looked back to the door, willing him to come.

you saw a flash of black and red and the door slammed in-front of you just as you moved forwards to try and find him. and it scared the shit out of you and resulted in something slipping from your pocket.

miles hugged you straight away. “you okay mi vida?” you hugged him tightly and kissed him. “yes, yes i’m okay, you? he didn’t hurt you did he?” miles shook his head as he looked towards the portal home.

“come on let’s go before he decides he wants a round two.” you said as you grabbed his hand and jogged towards the portal just as he barrelled through.

the two of you flew through as the portal closed on miles.

“shit! fuck!” he yelled as he stood in-front of where you’d left just seconds ago. he was too slow. too fucking slow again. he let you slip through his hands once and vowed it would never happen again the second he saw you and you were taken from him again.

after spending so long working, training to be the best version of himself to keep the person and people he loved safe.

as he sat down his eye was caught by something glimmering in the moonlight. as he picked it up he couldn’t believe it.

a watch. the one he saw you shove into your jacket. the one which most likely controlled the portal. the one which had the multiverse contained within.

the luminescent letters spelling out,

EARTH 1610

#prowler miles #yandere miles morales #miles molares #prowler miles morales x reader #miles morales x reader #earth 42 miles x reader #atsv miles

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euphoricimagination · 1 year

Text

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒚𝒐𝒖

Feat. Kuroo & Kenma

Summary: Kuroo's mom dislike you; Kenma's assistant tries to ruin things :)

Kuroo

You were getting ready in the bathroom while Kuroo was waiting for you in the bedroom while getting ready himself.

He had been wanting to introduce you to his family for quite some time now, and he finally set a date so you two can have dinner with them. Well, technically you had already met half of his family; since he had started dating you in his first year of university you had already met his dad and grandma and have gone to his house multiple time, you even knew Kenma and got along with him perfectly fine.

But you hadn’t met his mother yet.

Since he didn’t grew up seeing her a lot, he wasn’t particularly close to her, but she still was part of his life; so he did want you to meet her. Although he was kind of scared of her reaction.

You were in the passenger seat of the car, headed to his parents home, an uncharacteristically silence between you two. You were clearly nervous, he could tell, so as soon as he park at the front of his dad’s house he grab your hand and squeeze it.

“You’re nervous” he says

“I am” you answer, if there was something he loved about you was how straightforward you were “what if she doesn’t like me?”

“She will baby, I promise. You're amazing and talented and beautiful, you literally are so nice; there’s no way she won't love you!” he caress your cheek sweetly, every single one of his words meaning everything. You smile at him a little more relaxed, kissing his cheek before opening your door to get out “Oi, I should be opening your door!”

“Too late” you grin walking to his side, him receiving you with a slight pout as he takes your hand walking towards the door

“Ah, Tetsurou! Yn! It’s so nice to see you here!” his father says as he open the door, pulling both of you into a hug “How was the ride?”

“Everything was good” Kuroo answers, making you agree with him instantly

he“I’m glad, come on in, the food should be ready soon” he says moving to the side to let you enter. You said hello to his grandma first before heading to the living room; there you found his mother, a young looking woman with short hair who immediately comes to Kuroo, grabbing his face to give him a kiss

“Ahh, Tetsurou, my love. It’s nice to see you again” she says with a smile, which quickly dropped when her eyes landed on you “who are you?”

You exchange a quick glance with Kuroo, who smiled warmly at you “Hi, I’m Yl Yn, Tetsurou’s girlfriend”

“Oh, so you are his girlfriend” she looks at you with an uncertain expression before giving a tight smile to Kuroo

“Anyways…let’s go to the table, shall we?” Kuroo’s dad add feeling the tension on the air. Throughout the whole dinner things were tense, no matter how much you tried to talked to her she either ignored you or answered you coldly.

“Excuse me, I’m going to the bathroom” you say, at some point after the dinner you couldn’t really handle it properly, so you went to the bathroom to try to get some air

“Tetsurou, you really have the worst taste in friends, first that antisocial boy Kenma and now her; you could do so much bet-”

“Shut up” Kuroo spits the words with venom “This afternoon was supposed to be amazing, she was so nervous to meet you only for you to be a pain in the ass!”

“Kuroo-”

“Not now dad. Yn is a wonderful person, she takes care of me and loves me like no other person can, so don’t you dare to treat her like that. And that applies to Kenma too. After all, both of them have been there for me more than you ever had” he blurts out annoyed. You arrived just by the end of his rant, him noticing you immediately and going to take your hand “We’re leaving, love. Sorry dad, sorry grandma, we’ll come back another day”

“It’s okay, darling, I understand” his grandma answers, giving a death glare to Kuroo’s mom “take care you two”

“What happened?” you asked once you were in the car, making him look at you softly

“Don’t think about it” he takes you faces in his hands, closing the gap with a kiss “I love you lots, okay?”

“Love you too” you answer a little confused, happy nonetheless that he cares about you so much

Kenma

You were heading towards Bouncing Ball to give Kenma his lunch; since he barely has to actually go to the company, he tends to forget about it.

You had known Kenma for a long time now. You two met back in high school, you were part of the Fukurodani volleyball team, and since you were friends with Bokuto and Akaashi, you had met Kenma and Kuroo in one of their many practices. Since you were a good mix of Bokuto’s and Akaashi’s personality -not too quiet but definitely not as extroverted- it was easy for both of them to get along with you, however Kenma felt particularly comfortable with you when you asked him about a game that you were playing after noticing how passionate he was about the topic.

After that day he willingly started to join the practices with the Fukurodani duo, much to the amusement of Kuroo, who had already notice how uncharacteristically excited he seemed when talking to you. And being the annoying friend that he is, with the help of Akaashi and Bokuto, he tried to helped you two get together. A successful attempt if he may add.

You were always supporting him, not only you nag him lovingly so he could stop playing and take care of his health, but you also were his first subscriber, his first viewer in twitch, the person that basically built the company from the ground with him.

He couldn’t be more grateful to have you.

So after 5 years of being together, he asked you to move in with him; he wanted to asked you sooner, but he wanted to make absolutely sure that you two shared the same feelings. And right now you were walking towards his company to give him the food that he had forgotten.

Once you arrived there you enter without any problems, almost everyone in the company knew who you were by now. That was until you arrived outside of Kenma’s office, where you found the new assistant outside

“Hi, what can I help you with?” She asked you with a small disdain in her voice, barely even noticeable

“Yeah, I came to see Kenma” you say

“I’m sorry, Mr. Kozume explicitly told me to not let anyone enter”

“I’m his girlfriend, he told me to come?” you said confused, while he does ask to not be bother, you were always the exception to that

“Sure you are, darling, sure. Please leave before I call security” she look at you with an annoying smile. It was clear that she didn’t believe you, and that she most likely liked your boyfriend

“I…what?”

“I told you already, if you actually were his girlfriend I would kn-”

“Why is there so much noise?” Kenma opens the door with a frown, which deepens when he sees you standing there “What’s happening?”

“Mr. Kozume! Nothing much, just this…girl claiming she’s your girlfriend. But that’s not possible…”

“She is my girlfriend, and I was talking to her” he looks at the assistant almost annoyed as you walk towards him. You could feel the piercing eyes of the assistant in the back of your head

“Mr. Kozume, I will be careful if I was you! It’s clear that she doesn’t love you! She’s just using you for your money!” she adds quite desperately, which makes you chuckle as you lock eyes with Kenma

“Yeah, sure, that’s why we started dating in our high school days, because I had soo much money back then” he drops sarcastically while rolling his eyes. You see the assistant face go all red as her eyes goes between both of you “Anyways, come here babe. Next time let her in no matter what, got it? She’s the exception to every rule”

You went to his side and started walking towards his office while he mutters how annoying people was, even at his own company; you turn around to see the girl looking at you with anger, which made you smile at her before kissing Kenma cheek “Thanks for defending me, hun”

“Of course, I’ll always protect you”

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outsideratheart · 10 months

Text

The Bet (Alexia Putellas x reader)

A/N: Based off this request

“Chicas!” You shout just before the team return to the pitch for the second half “here’s a little incentive for you in case lifting that trophy isn’t enough. If we win this then I will get a tattoo to celebrate”

The look of disbelief on every player’s face would have been funny under any other circumstance but you wanted them to know that you were very serious. Your body was a blank canvas and getting a tattoo never interested you even when some of your closest friends begged you to get one. Ink wasn’t really your thing, hair dye on the other hand well that was how you expressed yourself. You had tried every colour under the sun and then repeated it.

Alexia on the other hand loved to use her body as art and every single tattoo on her skin told a story. Her hair up until her injury had been brunette. When you told her that her tearing her ACL is like a bad break up, she has to learn to move on so he decided to do the typical thing after any break up, she died her hair and you loved the blonde more than the previous colour.

Knowing that you and Alexia have a competitive relationship they all looked at their captain to see if she would rise to your bet.

“You know what! If we go out there and pull off one of the greatest comebacks in Champions League history I will die my hair”

The team couldn’t believe what they are hearing.

Your word was your bond and you never went back on your word. Alexia was a woman who when made a promise, always kept it. It made you both incredibly trustworthy but as the final whistle is blown you cannot help but think your good word had gotten you in trouble.

“We won” Alexia pulled you close as you walked over to where your families were.

“Baby, we’re fucked! We can’t go back on this” Inside you were panicking. Alexia’s promise could be temporary but yours was permanent.

“Don’t be such a wuss. How about this? You can pick my hair colour if I get it pick your tattoo”

You loved half of this plan. You already had a colour in mind but whilst you did trust Alexia with your life, you couldn’t guarantee that her choosing what is going to be on your body for the rest of your life is a good idea.

“Trust me, you’ll like what I have planned”

“Fine but you’re dying your hair pink”

Alexia’s eyes widen at your choice of colour but having been the person to suggest the idea, she couldn’t exactly go back on it now.

After playing Panama, the national team was given three days off before having to report back to camp. Alexia had told you that she had designed your tattoo with the help of Mapi and she had booked an appointment for you at the studio where her and the rest of the girls go for their tattoos. You had also made a call to your hair stylist and asked them if they could squeeze Alexia in the morning before you would get your tattoo in the afternoon.

“And this woman knows what she’s doing” on the outside Alexia was cool as a cucumber but as you walk down the streets of Barcelona she is holding onto your hand for dear life.

“She has been doing my hair for years Alexia. You are in safe hands”

You walked into the salon and greeted everyone as if they were family. Alexia stayed close behind you as you guide her to the chair in the fair back corner.

“So what are we doing doing?” Your hair stylist ran her fingers through Alexia’s hair as your girlfriend looked at you through the mirror.

“Pink but a light pink”

“What! No! If I’m doing this then I’m doing it. I want it like Y/N’s after her first appointment post COVID”

“Ale, that was really pink”

“I know, I loved it”

The hair stylist did as she was told and a couple of hours later Alexia was walking out the salon almost unrecognisable.

Now it was your turn and you felt sick as you walked in the studio which was tucked down one of the side street in Sants.

“Does it hurt? It’s got to hurt, there is a needle piercing your skin at 100 miles an hour and it’s injecting ink. Oh God! Why did I even agree to do this, I can’t do this”

“Y/N take a breath” Alexia’s hands rested on your shoulders. She took a deep breath in, one which you copied almost immediately “I think you will really like my design and if you don’t then we will tell the team that I made you get it on your bum which they will believe because—“

“You are obsessed with my bum” you finished your girlfriend’s sentence.

“I am so they will believe me but please take a look at the design”

“Ok”

The artist, who you had learnt was also the owner, sat you down on the sofa as she showed you the design and at different sizes. You had no control over the smile on your face as you saw what Alexia had come up with.

“It’s like yours”

“It is. I thought why not kill two birds with one stone. The tattoo would commemorate the final and it would be a matching one to mine”

The tattoo was perfect. It was an outline of a basic flower within a square. The pattern was seen all around Barcelona as it was a tile that covered the pavement. Alexia has the same one on her back with ‘made in’ above it. Yours wouldn’t have the text and instead of the ink being black it would be blue and red, Blaugrana the colours of FC Barcelona.

Once laid on the bench Alexia offered to hold your hand in case the pain is too much.

“Is it really going to hurt that much?” You ask the tattoo artist who reassured you that the pain would be nothing compared to some of the tackles you have been on the receiving end of over the years.

“Ale!” You smack her with your free hand.

“Sorry. It’s just that i’m used to seeing you as this tough cookie”

“I’m never a tough cookie around you, you make me soft”

Alexia kisses you softly, the two of you forgetting your surroundings until the artist clears her throat.

“Soft cookie or tough cookie, I do need to to sit still or this won’t end well”

“Don’t say that” Don’t tell her that” you and Alexia say at the same time.

When the two of your arrived back to Los Rojas two days later the entire team was in shock and fascinated to see Alexia’s pink hair but only the barcelona players knew about your side of the bet. You removed your hoodie to show them the tattoo which you had decided to get on your arm, just about your elbow.

#alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas one shot #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso one shot #barcelona femeni x reader #barcelona femeni one shot #barcelona femeni imagine #espwnt x reader #espwnt one shot #espwnt imagine

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avoxrising · 4 months

Text

The Feral One • Ch 15

Finnick x Y/N

Series Masterlist Link

The plot thickens…

Content Warnings - Boggs kills the mood

“Do you really want me to?” he purrs, stepping closer to you. You were sitting on the edge of his bed, looking up at him mischievously.

“Well that depends,” you hum. “Do you love me?”

His lips are on yours before you know it. Despite being in love for years, this was the first time you’d had physical contact of this sort, and damn, you should have done this sooner. Why hadn’t you done this sooner?

He finally pulls away after a few moments, pressing his forehead to yours.

“Always,” he replied.

“Do you love me?” he asks, kissing along your neck.

“Yes idiot!” you exclaim. “Are you that oblivious?”

“You’ve been spending too much time around Johanna,” he laughs, giddy at your confession.

“Shut up,” you state, pulling his lips back onto yours.

His hands roam your waist as yours toy with the buttons on his jumpsuit. The moment heats up and you can tell where this is headed, but his watch buzzes, killing the mood.

“We’ll have to finish this later,” he sighs, checking his watch. “I’m needed in command before dinner and you are needed back in your room.”

“Ugh, fine,” you reply. “But we will be finishing this later.”

And finish it you did, spending the next afternoon making out on Finnick’s bed. He seemed hesitant, however, to take it any further with you.

“Why don’t you want to have sex with me?” you ask him as he pulls away again. He’s a bit shocked by your question.

“I just think it’s not something to rush into,” he explains. “And I didn’t think you wanted to because of what happened before.” You see him wince at the mention of this previous event which only confuses you more.

“What happened before?” you ask, sitting up.

“Your victory tour…” he replies. “The night in the capital.”

“We never had sex in the capital,” you tell him, still confused as to what he’s talking about.

“No we did not,” he confirms. “Do you seriously not remember?”

“I cannot think of anything you could be referring to,” you respond. You had no clue what he was talking about.

“Forget it then,” he says, trying to drop the subject. “I just don’t think we’re at that point yet.”

“Fine,” you pout. “What were you referring to though?”

“It’s nothing,” he says, shaking his head as he avoids eye contact. “It’s probably best not to remind you.”

He was jealous that you could forget the worst night of your life, while he had to constantly relive all of his.

“Finnick and I had the best idea!” you announce as you waltz into command, Finnick following behind you. The two of you had come to a sort of compromise last night that may fix your living situation.

“And what might that be?” Plutarch asks.

“So you won’t let us live together because we aren’t married, right?” you state. Coin mutters a quick “yes” before you continue. “And you guys need more stuff for your propos…”

The two adults just stare at you, unsure of what’s going to be suggested.

“So… we thought of a compromise,” you explain. “We will let you film a fake wedding of us here in 13 if you let us live together. It will not be legally binding but it can appear real enough on camera so people who see it outside of this bunker believe it.”

“What do you think?” Plutarch asks Coin.

“You two still wouldn’t be able to live together as you are not legally married in 13,” she states.

“Oh my god it’s not like we’re going to make any babies!” you exclaim, causing Finnick to cringe. “We literally just want to be roommates, like we have been for nearly 6 years.”

“I like the idea,” Plutarch shrugs, looking over at Coin. “It would definitely be good footage.”

“Fine but I have some caveats to the arrangement,” Coin relents. “Firstly, Miss Y/L/N must still attend regular checkups with our doctors as well as follow an assigned daily schedule like the rest of the district. Mr. Odair must actually follow his schedule and will commence combat training with the other victors.”

“Deal,” you smile.

The district is a buzz with the news of a wedding. You receive congratulations from many people, most of whom you’ve never met, and confused faces from the victors. They knew you two liked each other but what changed?

“You’re engaged?” Johanna asks, nearly choking on her water.

“Fake engaged,” you clarify. “We made a deal with Plutarch that he can film our fake wedding for a propo if Coin lets us be roommates.”

“I see,” Johanna sighs.

“Why don’t you guys just actually get married?” she asks. “It’s gonna happen with you two eventually.”

“Finnick doesn’t want to,” you reply. “He says marriage is something you do because you love someone, not because you want to be roommates.”

“Ugh men,” she groans. “You mean to tell me he doesn’t realize that the two of you are in love?”

“No we’ve established that already,” you explain. “He just doesn’t want to rush into anything.”

“What do you want?” she asks.

“Him,” you respond. “He’s being weird though. The other day I asked him why he didn’t want to do anything past making out with me and he said it’s cause of my victory tour but literally nothing out of the ordinary happened on my victory tour so I’m super confused and he wouldn’t explain it to me and told me to drop the subject.”

Johanna looks at you in shock and you can’t help but get the feeling that everyone knows something you don’t.

“Do you have any idea what he’s talking about?” you ask her.

“Uh if you don’t remember then I don’t think I should remind you,” she responds. Before you can ask her what the hell everyone was hiding from you she suddenly turns serious.

“What did they do to you in the capital?” she asks. “Like what did your treatment include?”

You are a bit taken aback by her change in subject but respond anyways.

“They, um, would take me to a room down the hall and make me sit down in a chair while they gave me some medications,” you respond. “They said they had been recently approved by the capital to treat ptsd and other illnesses I was suffering from. The medicine would make me super sleepy but outside of that I felt fine. I can’t exactly pinpoint when it started working but I know that once it did I felt so much better that I had ever have before.”

“Did they tell you what was in the medicine?” Johanna asks, concerned. “Or what it was called?”

“Nope,” you shrug. “I questioned it at first but after a few dosages I stopped questioning what I was taking because it made me feel better.”

“I think you should tell your doctor about the medicine and treatment,” Johanna tells you. “Something doesn’t feel right.”

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marvelfanfn2187a113 · 1 month

Text

Never Again

Beau Arlen & daughter!reader

Requested by anonymous

Synopsis: Beau never wanted his life as a cop to affect your safety, but he doesn’t always get what he wants.

“That wasn’t the agreement, Beau, it was—“

“I know what the ‘agreement’ was, if you could call it that, but things have changed!” Beau didn’t often get too heated with his ex wife—he let her do the belittling and he didn’t say much against it. But this was different. This was about you.

“Seriously? What, you get a little overprotective and we just throw out what we agreed on?”

Beau ground his teeth, trying to calm down.

“That’s not what I’m saying. I’m just saying that she’s be safer at my place until all of this blows over.”

“Safer? What, with you out all day and—“

“Don’t pretend you’re home anymore than I am,” Beau cut in. “And if need be, she can come to the office with me.”

Silence filled the phone for several agonizing seconds.

“This is really serious, isn’t it?” She said finally.

“I wouldn’t have called you if it wasn’t.”

“And you’re not going to back down?”

“You know I won’t. Not when it comes to her safety.”

“Fine then. She can stay with you, but just until this all goes away.”

Beau sighed. He hated how against his ex was with him having custody, and he knew that soon enough there would probably need to be some sort of custody battle if he wanted more time with you, which he did. But for now, he’d settle with having you safe at his place for a few days.

“Thank you. I’ll pick her up from school this afternoon.”

“Fine.”

Beau was almost surprised that his ex hung up without a crack about you being disappointed when he showed up instead of her. There’d been plenty of those lately. Although Beau supposed she was getting tired of it, especially since they both knew it wasn’t true; you’d always been your dad’s daughter.

…

Beau arrived at your school at exactly three, eager to get you to his place quickly. He waited in his car, looking around for your familiar green backpack. Five minutes went by. Then ten.

It was nearing four o’clock when Beau finally decided to head inside. At first he’d just figured that you were held up by friends, but this was too long.

Beau made his way through the halls, scanning for you through the hoards of teenagers loitering near lockers as he went. He didn’t see you the whole way to the office, and when he went inside he inquired with the first person he saw—a young woman seated behind a computer.

“Y/N Arlen…” she repeated in a mumble, her brow drawn in concentration as she typed on her desktop. “Yes, here it is. Her uncle brought in a note to get her out of classes early. She left during lunch, about four hours ago.”

Beau’s heart sank to his toes, and in its absence his chest constricted. All the breath left his body as though he’d been thrown to the floor, and for a long, agonizing moment he forgot how to breathe.

“Sir?”

The voice of the woman snapped him back to attention.

“You just let some random man take my daughter?”

She looked taken aback.

“He—he had an ID, and his note had your signature on it. That is, if you’re the father—Beau Arlen?” The woman produced the note from her desk, and Beau snatched it up. It was his signature alright—and the forger was an expert. Beau knew deep down that he couldn’t blame the woman in front of him, but he couldn’t quite get that message to his panicked adrenaline.

“And you didn’t think to call me?” Before she could respond, Beau continued. “What did he look like? Where did they go?”

“I-uhh…” the woman faltered for a second before regaining composure. “We have security footage in the building as well as parts of the parking lot. We’ll be able to see him, if maybe not his vehicle.”

“Show me.”

The woman faltered again.

“We’re not really supposed to—“

A quick flash of his badge shut her up.

…

You woke up to the ground rattling beneath you. You tried to push yourself up, but your hands wouldn’t move right. There was a coarse…something, inhibiting your movement. You blinked your eyes open slowly, groaning at the pounding in your head.

You struggled to recall where you were or what was going on. Last you remember, you were at school…

You were called into the office…

You hadn’t been feeling very good this morning, so when the woman in the office told you you were being picked up, you didn’t stick around to hear the rest. You’d gone straight to the parking long, expecting to see either your mom, dad, or Avery; your mom’s new husband. Secretly, you were hoping for your dad.

Instead, a black SUV swerved in front of you. Before you could berate the driver for almost running you over, the side door swung open, and a man with dark hair and psycho-wide eyes grabbed you around the middle and dragged you inside. A foul-smelling cloth was pressed to your nose, and despite struggling for a couple of minutes, the chloroform took over and you were knocked out.

…

Beau got lucky—the security cameras had a good shot of both the kidnapper and his car.

He recognized the man immediately—the leader of a local cartel that Beau had been working for months to put away. It was pretty much the worst case scenario.

Halfway through watching the footage, Beau called up the department.

“Sheriff’s Department, how can I help you?”

“Poppernick, I need you to pull up traffic cameras of every road leading out of the county from the last four hours.

“Beau? What’s going—“

“Now! I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

…

Once realization set in, so did panic. You’d been kidnapped, straight out of school! Not to mention the kidnapper hadn’t bothered to put on a mask. That took a pretty gutsy criminal.

The motive wasn’t hard to figure out—with a cop got a dad and a lawyer for a mom, your family was pretty well acquainted with criminals. Besides, last time you’d visited your dad, he’d acted…off. He’d even hinted at you coming to stay with him for a bit. He must’ve been worried about a criminal case.

But the motive wasn’t your big problem.

“Hey, she’s awake.” A gruff voice invaded your ears as you felt yourself being twisted into sitting up. “Wakey wakey,” the voice taunted, his rough hand slapping your face, making your eyes snap open. “There we go.”

It was the man who’d dragged you into the car. He had short dark hair and a twisted smirk that accentuated the scar running from under his eye to his chin.

You glanced around the interior of the car to see just one other person—the driver. Apparently he was more skittish, because he was sporting a ski mask.

You opened your mouth to speak, only to discover that a thick cloth was stuffed in your mouth, and no sound escaped.

Scar Man’s grin twisted wider at your struggles.

“If you scream, I’ll slit your throat,” he threatened before lowering the gag.

“What do you want?” You demanded after taking in a gulp of air.

“What’d you take the gag off for?” Ski Mask asked after hearing your voice.

“Gotta make sure her dad gets a good look at his little brat.” The kidnapper chuckled. “You think she looks banged up enough?”

The driver spared a glance back before shrugging.

“You could rough her up a bit. But don’t go nuts, we gotta give her old man a chance to do what we say before we really mess her up.”

…

Beau was halfway to the department when it hit him. He would have to call his ex.

“Not until I’ve got more to go on,” he muttered to himself. He knew that wasn’t the real reason; he couldn’t bare to call the mother of his child and tell her that he had let you be taken. He couldn’t admit that to anyone, much less to the woman that broke his heart. It would make it too real.

…

Your body felt like a pulsing mass of pain. If Scar Man had taken it easy on you, you didn’t want to know what him taking it seriously was. Every square inch of you felt bruised, but you noticed that he took particular care to mark up your face and arms—the most visible places. You were now tied to a hard metal chair, the ropes around your wrists far too tight. Moving your arms even slightly sent pain shooting up your wrists from where the rope rubbed your skin raw.

“That should just about do it,” the dark haired man said with a grin. “Now for the finishing touch…”

You tried to move away from him when he pulled out a large knife, but it was futile. You whimpered as he dragged a long cut across your cheek, and you vaguely registered that it seemed to match his own.

“Perfect,” he said with a chuckle. “Now to show it off to dear old dad.”

…

“I’ve got the footage, what am I looking for?” Poppernick wasted no time when Beau entered the department, which he appreciated.

“Black SUV, Honda civic. License plate 23J OV3.”

During the silence while Poppernick went to work, Beau felt his phone buzz in his back pocket. He pulled it out reluctantly, assuming it was his ex wife checking to see if he’d picked you up.

Once he saw the image, he wished it had been her.

Beau staggered back, his feet no longer able to hold him up. Thankfully, the back of his knees collided with a chair, and he fell back into it.

“Sheriff?” Poppernick looked away from his computer, and jumped to his feet when he saw the paper-white tone and utter terror in his boss’s face. “Beau!”

Beau’s hand went limp, and Poppernick grabbed the phone before it could fall to the ground. He took one look at the image and his face turned a slightly greenish tint.

“Oh gosh.”

“What’s going on?” Jenny Hoyt asked immediately after stepping inside, noticing the palpable panic and disgust.

“They…” Poppernick couldn’t even speak, he just showed Jenny the photo. She swallowed, trying hard to keep her composure.

“Quentin, right?” She asked through gritted teeth, referring to the cartel leader that Beau had been after. The very name seemed to snap Beau back into focus. He sat up ramrod-straight in his chair and turned to Poppernick.

“Finish the trace. Now!”

Poppernick didn’t argue, and after a moment longer…

“I got something.”

…

“See, that wasn’t so hard,” Scar Man taunted as he put the camera down. “Soon enough you’ll be back with your daddy, and I’ll have him off my back for good.”

You tried to ignore him, too busy trying to breathe through the pain. But his last statement caught your attention.

“You’re…you’re gonna let me go?”

A harsh grip on her chin had her wishing she hadn’t spoken, but the man just tilted her head up and grinned down at her.

“If our dear sheriff cooperates, and you’re incredibly lucky, then yes.” He dropped his hand and turned to leave without another word.

You wanted to believe him, to hope, but the crazed look in his eyes contrasted his words.

…

Hoyt, Beau, and Poppernick were gathered around Pop’s computer screen, tracking the black SUV, when Beau’s phone rang. He answered the unknown number immediately.

“Beau Arlen,” he said instinctively, then waited with bated breath for a response. While Pop had been working, Hoyt had set up a tap on Beau’s cell phone, and he was prepared to keep the kidnapper on the line as long as possible to get the trace.

“Nice to finally speak to you, Sheriff,” said a voice that chilled Beau Arlen to his core. “I’ve got a sweet little thing that belongs to you who would just love to see you again.”

Beau but back a thousand threats that wanted to escape his lips, and instead went for a smarter question.

“What do you want?”

“Nice and direct, I like that.”

Beau inwardly cursed himself for not stalling—maybe he should’ve went with a threat—but he also didn’t want to make the kidnapper angry.

“What I want—“ the kidnapper continued, “is for you to back off the investigation long enough for me to disappear. It’s reasonable—more reasonable than you should expect in your position. My cartel is out of your little town, your kid gets home safe, and I get my freedom.”

“Yeah, to go terrorize someone else’s town,” Beau spit out.

“Well they’re not you’re concern, sheriff. This is.”

There was silence on the other end for a few seconds, and then—

“Dad?”

Beau’s heart lodged in his throat.

“Baby?”

“Dad, don’t—“

“And there’s your proof of life.” Your voice was cut off, replaced by the kidnapper. “Now do we have a deal?”

“I don’t negotiate with kidnappers.”

A chilling laugh echoed across the line. “Well then I hope you got a good last look at your daughter.”

…

“Dad, don’t—“ Ski Mask covered your mouth as Scar Man pulled back the phone to continue talking. Once you stilled, he let you go. Your gaze never left the phone in the dark haired man’s hand, desperate to hear your father’s voice.

You needed him more than you ever had, and you knew even just a few words from his voice would help calm you. You’d been trying hard not to panic, but knowing that your father was just barely out of your reach had tears pricking your eyes and despair stealing your breath.

You don’t know what your father said to the man, but his eyes were suddenly on you as a terrifying laugh shook his frame.

“Well then I hope you got a good last look at your daughter.”

A knife was suddenly in his hands, and you didn’t know where it had come from.

“No, please,” you whimpered as he advanced on you, lifting the knife above you.

…

“Wait, wait!” Beau demanded as he heard your panicked pleas on the other end.

“Yes?” The kidnapper said.

“I want to talk to her.”

“Don’t stall, sheriff. I know you’re trying to trace the line. I need a yes or a no, and I need it now unless you want me to start carving into this little girl.”

“I…” Beau glanced helplessly at his people, who were waiting for his response. “Ok. It’s a deal.”

“Good. You’ll get the address to where she’s being held as soon as I’m out of the country.”

The line went dead.

“You’re not really gonna let them go, are you,” Hoyt asked.

“Pop, what do you got?” Beau ignored Jenny’s question and focused on Pop’s computer.

“Nothing on the trace, there wasn’t enough time. But I’m still following the route that the SUV took, so far it’s still in sight of traffic cams.”

“So you were just stalling for time?” Jenny tried to clarify.

“We can’t let them go,” Beau said.

“Are you sure?” Jenny said hesitantly. “We don’t want to put Y/N in—“

“You don’t get it.” Beau shook his head. “This guy’s MO, his track record…he’s lying. He’s not gonna let her live. We need to find them.”

…

The kidnappers ignored you for a while after the phone call, busying themselves with packing the meager belongings they had into the back of a truck.

“What about her?” Ski Mask asked, nodding his head at you. “We gonna leave her here for her dad?”

“Let her live?” Scar Man chuckled. “What’s the fun in that?”

…

“I’ve got it!”

Beau jumped out of his seat at Pop’s outburst.

“Where are they?” He demanded, leaning over Pop’s chair to look at his screen.

“Well, I don’t have an exact location, but they turned down this road.” Pop ran his finger along the map open on one side of his screen, while the other side showed the black SUV turning down a dirt road. “And that’s where the cameras stop, they don’t go down side roads.”

“What’s over there?”

“Not much.” Pop shrugged. “A couple of warehouses.”

“Perfect, let’s go. Hoyt, you’re with me.”

…

Knowing that someone plans to kill you is an odd thing. You watch every move they make, no matter how innocent, waiting to see if he’s going to strike. Is he reaching for a knife, or his phone? Is he grabbing his bag, or the gun next to it? You never knew which breath would be your last, which thought would be the last one you’d ever think.

You wondered if your dad would ever find you. You weren’t sure if you wanted him to or not. Seeing your body would kill him, but never getting closure could, too.

You shook the thought away. You definitely didn’t want that to be your last. You’d never thought about it before; what you wanted to be thinking about when you died.

“I think that’s it.”

You were snapped out of your reverie when Ski Mask spoke.

“Great. Now for the fun part.” Scar Man picked up a curved knife from a metal table as he spoke.

You started to struggle against your ropes despite the pain of your raw, bleeding wrists.

“No.” You began to cry as though you were already dead, and you were mourning yourself. “Please, please don’t do this.” Perhaps you were crying because you knew it was futile; there was no sympathy or mercy in this man, you could see it in his eyes. You couldn’t bring yourself to continue to beg, too afraid to even speak.

You’d never thought about what you wanted your last thought to be. Even so, the memory came to you instantly; the perfect one.

You were little, maybe six or seven. Your parents were together and in love, and your father hadn’t been broken by grief. The three of you were painting your room, because you’d finally chosen a favorite color to paint over the white that had been there since you were a baby.

You tried to help, but your parents just ended up painting over the mess you made. Your mom was working on painting one wall, while your dad was making his own version of an enchanted forest on another. He’d already done several mushrooms, and now he was working on a fairy.

“What is that, a flying toad?” Your mom asked with a laugh.

“It’s the fairy princess!” Beau said, staring at her open-mouthed in mock offense.

“It looks like a toad.”

You giggled at your mother’s words, and Beau snatched you into his arms.

“Oh, you think that’s funny?” You squealed and squirmed in his arms as he started to tickle you. “You think it’s funny?”

“Stohop!” You giggled, and after a moment Beau stopped, but he kept you in his arms.

“What do you think, huh?”

“I like the fairy princess,” you insisted.

“See?” Beau grinned.

“That doesn’t count,” your mother countered. “She likes you better.”

“And she understands a masterpiece when she sees it,” Beau said. “Isn’t that right, Y/N?

“Y/N?

“Y/N!”

Your daydream vanished as the very voice you’d been thinking about echoed across the warehouse.

“Dad!” You were still crying, now from relief. Your father was running across the room, gun in hand.

“Get away from her!” Beau aimed the gun at Scar Man, who had the knife clutched in his fist. “Drop the knife!”

Scar Man, psycho eyes wide and enraged, lunged for you, the knife raised.

Two shots rang out, and Scar Man staggered back before slumping to the ground.

Ski Mask lifted his hands in surrender, and Hoyt went over to arrest him.

Beau wasted no time in putting his gun away and running to you.

“Dad.”

“I’ve got you.” Beau offered you a strained smile as he got to work on the ropes binding you. You didn’t realize how much you were leaning against the restraints until they were gone, and you all but fell out of your chair.

Beau held you up, letting you fall against him and bury your face against his shoulder.

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you,” he repeated again and again. “You’re safe, I’m here.”

You cling to him despite the way his jacket scratched at the raw part of your wrists. Your body shook with sobs, and Beau held you tightly, rubbing your back and letting you cry against him.

“Hey,” his grip slackened as he pulled back enough to look at you. His hands framed your face, and the cool texture of his hands eased the pain of your bruises. His thumb brushed feather-light against the cut on your cheek, so gentle that you didn’t even flinch. “C’mon, let’s get you out of here.”

Beau kept a hand on you the whole way to the car, unwilling to let you go for even a second.

“Can we go home?” You asked, clinging to your dad’s arm.

“We’ve gotta go to the hospital first,” Beau sighed.

“I’m fine,” you insisted. “I wanna go home.”

Beau stared at you for a long moment. Proper procedure told him to take you to the hospital, then the station for some questions.

But his fatherly instincts were telling him to take his baby girl home and do whatever she needed to feel safe.

The latter won out.

…

By the time Beau reached his place, his phone had been blowing up with texts and calls, probably from Hoyt and Pop, but he ignored them other than a quick text to both telling them he was ok and headed home.

The texts continued after that, but Beau turned his phone off.

“Do you want to go to your mom?” He asked gently, not quite sure what you’d meant by “home”.

You didn’t hesitate.

“No. Your place.”

He got you to his trailer in record time, and he led you inside and to the couch. Your eyes never left him as he went to get your favorite blanket and drape it around your shoulders.

“I’m gonna get you some ice for those bruises, ok?” Beau didn’t give you a chance to respond as he went to get the ice. He returned a moment later, and you put the ice pack up against one of the worse bruises on your face. “Do you want me to make you some food?” He asked.

You shook your head, reaching your free hand out to him without speaking.

Beau got the message. He sat down next to you on the couch and wrapped you into his arms, the soft fluff of the blanket around you brushing against his arms, and your hair tickling his chin as he tucked your head under it.

“I’ve got you,” he promised. “No one’s ever gonna hurt you again.”

“Don’t go,” you pleaded.

“Hey, I’m not going anywhere.” Beau lifted a hand to the back of your head. He found himself rocking you back and forth slowly, and the ghost of a smile lifted his lips when he heard your gentle, relaxed breathing for the first time since you’d been taken.

Time stopped when he was like this, with you. He might’ve been holding you for five minutes or five hours, it didn’t matter to him. He was pretty sure you fell asleep at some point, but he didn’t move, determined to never let you go again.

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