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dropitpunk · 10 months

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luca and carmen berzatto both being into you

carmen berzatto x gn!reader x luca

warnings: suggestive content, they want you badly.

there's a pt.2!

it was well known by all the chefs that luca and carmen were in a constant ego competition in the kitchen.

you didn't have given it much thought until that competition extended to you.

luca was a good friend outside of work. he was warm and attentive to you when you needed support, always offering a shoulder to rest or kind words of encouragement if you felt like giving up. luca would tighten up your apron before starting your shift and rub your back in a comforting manner, making sure you had no worries about yourself.

you liked him a lot. and that still didn't change when you met carmen berzatto.

carmen was much more quiet and reserved, always focused on his work or having his face buried in a cooking book. his eyebrows were furrowed every time you would greet him, but you didn't take it to heart, carmen just seemed like an anxious person.

you didn't talk much, but he always helped you carry heavy ingredients and sharpen your knife along with his so you didn't have to do more work. carmen would tell you to be careful with the heat every once in a while, not wanting the chocolate cake in the oven to burn. he was very polite to you, and that was one of the reasons you couldn't understand why luca didn't like him.

"he's always trying to fuck me over. mess with me. try to get me to fail." luca would tell you all the time in the changing room, visibly distressed. you just didn't see it, keeping a good imagine of carmen in your head. your hands would find luca's shoulders, rubbing slowly while resting your chin on the top of his head. try to get me to fail in front of you, he wanted to say.

"maybe you just don't know him enough and he gave you the wrong impression." you carefully chose your words to not upset luca, missing the way his jaw clenched.

"and you do? you know him enough?" he spat, suddenly taking your hands off him and getting up, face close to yours. his breath was quick in your cheeks, eyes glowing in annoyance. you gulped, shaking your head in negative.

sighing, you looked at his lips and back to his eyes. chest full of worry and care for the man in front of you. "just try not to let it get to you, luc."

the next morning you came earlier to the restaurant to clear your head and focus on your new recipe, finding carmen already there.

it was just the two of you, and he caught you by surprise as he asked you if you already had breakfast.

"i made some pancakes for me, but i can put something together real fast if you don't like it." carmen said shyly and pointed to the plate with beautifully plated pancakes, dripping with the perfect amount of syrup and butter.

you smiled and his heart fluttered, you two ate in silence saved by your hums of delight and hushed praises.

luca and carmen were even more harsh to each other that day, arguing like children over pointless things in the kitchen.

"can you try this?" luca came to you with a spoon full of dessert and held it to your mouth, smiling when you nodded and welcomed it in your tongue.

your eyes widened, "this is really good, chef. great job."

luca was euphoric, going back to his station with your pleased expression in his mind. he didn't notice carmen watching him with a different look in eyes.

you were struggling with a jam jar, trying to get it open for minutes to finish your dish. too embarrassed to ask for help, you were grateful when you locked eyes with a familiar blue plair.

"here, let me help you." carmen dried his hands on his apron and took the jar out of your hands with an amused tiny smile, opening the lid with ease.

you couldn't help but look at his muscles straining against his pristine white shirt, tattoos on full display. his curls were falling in his eyes, and you suppressed the urge to reach out and brush it.

"thank you, carmy." you beamed and he nodded, looking around your station to see if there was anything else he could do to make his stay a bit longer.

after your shift ended, there was only you, carmen and luca left.

you three were cleaning the kitchen in a dreadful silence, air thick with tension.

"can someone bring me a broom?" you asked quietly. you could swear it was right by your side and now it was gone. both luca and carmen turned to you, getting up at the same time.

"i can get it." luca said through gritted teeth, making carmen roll his eyes.

"i'm faster than you, i'm getting it." carmen refuted and you sighed tiredly, getting up yourself.

i'm just gonna go get it." you left carmen and luca as they looked at you astonished, bickering and following you to the small broom closet after sharing a knowing smirk.

you entered it, luca and carmen mirroring it so they could help you in a childish competition to see who was faster.

"wait, just be careful not to..." you paused when you heard the click of the door closing. it was broken for ages and the chefs joked that one day someone was going to end up locked in there as it wouldn't open from the inside. you found it funny, but now you couldn't find your laugh.

"dumb fuckhead," carmen cursed and luca looked offended over your shoulder, absently pressing up against your back so he could point a finger at carmen.

"you pushed me and now you're pretending to be innocent!" luca exclaimed agitated and carmen came closer to you, chest glued to the front of your body so he could lower luca's finger himself.

luca reached over you to flick carmen's ear, his groin now rubbing against your ass. carmen held your waist to avoid it, the other hand trying to slap luca.

you were perfectly situated between the two, your face red and skin starting to sweat.

"guys, can we please try to get out of here?" that seemed to bring their attention, as they immediately looked at you. you stilled, looking at carmen's attentive eyes and feeling luca's hand on the other side of your waist.

"i'm sorry, it's just so cramped in here," luca said against your ear and you blinked quickly, missing the look he shared with carmen.

a finger was now finding the way under your shirt, slow and teasing.

"we will have to wait until someone finds us."

you didn't notice that right behind carmen was the same broom you thought mysteriously disappeared and made you three come to the closet, and you certainly didn't notice that over the past days luca and carmen had finally found something they both wanted, you.

a/n: i can continue this if you guys get any interested!

#the bear #carmen berzatto #luca the bear #luca x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x you #the bear imagine #carmy berzatto #carmy berzatto x reader #will poulter x reader #will poulter #jeremy allen white

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luveline · 1 year

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extremely random thought for shy friday: r works up the courage and bakes steve some kind of baked good. little do they know it’s with the one ingredient steve absolutely HATES (idk man like grapes or something) and he feels bad so he doesn’t tell them and eats it until dustin or someone walks in and is like 🤨🤨🤨 ur eating that???

thank you for your request! steve x shy!reader

Steve knows that while you may not seem nervous on the surface, you're a shy girl. You're always overthinking things, always watching people out of the corner of your eye so you can respond to their behaviour. You minimise yourself.

It's why he can't tell you he doesn't like raisins. You've made him something, expressed your creativity, your passion, and your feelings (he thinks) through baked goods. Steve's sure your German apple strudel would be delicious if he could stand raisins. He does a great approximation of a smile as he eats one.

"You like it?" you ask hopefully.

"Who doesn't?" he asks, clumsily avoiding the question. "Everybody likes strudel. Thanks, Germany."

Your smile cleaves him open. It's a mixture of incredible sweetness in line with your proferred treats, a hint of bashfulness he adores, and your usual go-to grin. It's familiar and new at once, and Steve wants to take a photo.

"I promised some to your friend," you say, closing the lid of the tuppperware you'd brought with you, "but what he doesn't take you can have. I kind of made them for you, anyways."

Steve melts. He's cool and sophisticated, obviously, but his stomach goes molten at the idea that someone would care about him enough to make him food from scratch without his having to ask, and that someone being you makes it all the more warming. He feels like jelly.

He's slow on the upkeep, and doesn't know who you mean until Dustin and co. are peddling up to the bench you're sitting at full pelt. Steve curses under his breath as they come to a slow, and Dustin's eyes hone in on your box.

"You have the goods?" he asks, like this is some box office drug deal, and not like he's interrupting your almost-date.

You shake your box gently. Lucas and Will share an enthusiastic, "Nice!"

Mike, less prone to distractions that aren't his girlfriend, nods at Steve's hand. He's frowning. "What are you doing?"

Four sets of eyes move between Mike's stare and Steve's hand like spectators at a tennis match. Steve can't tell him to cut it out while you're looking, so he polishes off the apple strudel, feels sick at the wrinkly, gelatinous texture of the raisins as they go down, and glares at the kids full force. "What, you're so greedy you need them all?"

"You don't like raisins," Mike says.

Dustin blinks at him. "You actually ate one of those?" He shifts on his bike, foot on the ground so he doesn't fall. "You said raisins are the evil cousin of a chocolate chip."

Steve doesn't know what's worse, the embarrassment of being caught red-handed or your tiny pout.

"Sorry," he says to you quickly, uncool, so uncool, "I mean. No, I don't like raisins. But they were still good!"

You're expressionless despite his insistence. "It's okay," you say, and there, a twitch to your brow he actually understands for once. You're amused.

You dole sweet treats out to the boys and they bike off calling thank yous and giggling like idiots at the mess they've made, no doubt. You smile down into your almost empty box, one remaining strudel with nowhere to go.

"Steve," you murmur, sounding pleased, "why didn't you say something?"

He hooks his elbow over the back of the bench. "And tell you to your face I don't like what you made for me? I know I fell off the wagon, but I'm not hopeless. You don't do that to girls."

"Well. Next time, you should. Is there anything else you don't, uh, don't like?" Steve can't hide his surprise. You drop your gaze to your lap. "You know, so I can make you something else?"

"You want to?"

You rub your thumb against the opposite index finger. You can't meet his eyes, but Steve knows you're alright.

"Yeah, I'd love to make you something you'll actually enjoy. Was kinda the whole point."

Steve places his hands between yours where they worry in your lap, dipping his head to the side hoping it'll encourage you to look up. You do, and he can practically see the heat emanating from your face, even if there's no evidence of blush.

"Anything you make I'll like."

"So long as it doesn't have raisins," you say.

He squeezes your hand gently. "Exactly. And maybe not too much cinnamon. It makes me think about my great grandma's house. Which wouldn't matter, but she totally died choking on a snickerdoodle."

You laugh, and you clamp your free hand over your mouth.

"That's terrible," you say between your fingers.

He elbows you gently. "You laughed. Makes you the terrible one." He thinks about your offer, and how sweet you are, and how horribly he fucked it up by pretending to like something he didn't. "Thank you. For the thought."

You take your hand from your cheek and place it over his. It's practically aflame it's so hot, and your lips are worse when you dot forward to kiss him. You were likely aiming for his cheek, but he turned a little and it ended up a centimetre from his closed mouth.

You sit back sharply.

"You're welcome," you say, eyes widened.

"Thanks," he says again. He clears his throat.

He pretends not to notice how flustered you are from your almost kiss. Maybe he should poke a little fun at you, call you forward or eager or in a rush, but he doesn't.

He'd be a hypocrite to make fun of you, because Steve's flustered too. Your lips are the sweetest treat you could give.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrignton drabble #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington scenario #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #stranger things #shy friday

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clawshi · 9 months

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this clip has me on a chokehold oh my fucking god

𖤐 nsfw under the cut! gn reader, context: they were talking about luca’s ass LMAOOO

shu has you perched up on his lap, his hand caressing your thigh every now and then, completely ignoring the fact that he’s buried inside you.

your eyes are half-lidded and your mind is hazy. you paw at shu’s chest, burying your head on his neck, careful pleas and whimpers of his name leaving your mouth.

although you were sure you were in an embarrassingly fucked-out state, you could still pick up what he and luca were talking about.

“yo, once you get your 3d, people will finally find out,” since you were resting your head against shu’s neck, you could hear a bit of the audio on his end. “yeah, i’m gonna come out and then-” luca starts, but gets cut off.

shu’s hands grab at your waist, “yeah, and you’ll just hear like-” you were too distracted to process what was going on, and then he starts bouncing you up and down on his dick to imitate ‘clapping’ sounds. thankfully, your hand was fast enough to make its way to your mouth, trying your hardest to muffle and hold back any sounds that threatened to slip out of it.

the two laugh at, what seemed like, shu’s innocent joke. in reality, you were there, trying your hardest to keep quiet. ‘please,’ you mouth, shu only caresses your sides and grins down at you, “patience, baby.”

shu later says his goodbyes and leaves vc because he has to take care of some important matters <3

#absolute brainrot i am going to hell #posts and runs #KMS #shu yamino x reader #shu yamino smut #luxiem smut #nijisanji smut #luxiem x reader #nijisanji x reader

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crappymixtape · 2 months

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because of you • part three

PART I • PART II • PART IV • PART V // REQUEST -> @sattlersquarry ❝ an enemies to lovers fic with Steve? 💙 maybe they have to put aside their differences to fight upside down stuff and realize they actually have a lot in common 👀 • 18+ | ( 3.1k – little bit of king!steve, mostly angst with a dash of fluff, enemies to idiots in love, steve x reader )

B E C A U S E O F Y O U • P A R T T H R E E 🎶 thick skull ( re: julien baker ), paramore ft. julien baker

❝ GOOD GIRLS DON’T CRY & GOOD GIRLS DON’T LIE & GOOD GIRLS JUSTIFY BUT I DON’T ❞

“Think she’s okay?”

“Shh!”

“What? No way she can hear us back here.”

“Dustin, ‘back here’ is literally a seat behind her.”

Sat quietly at a table seat in the Winnebago, Eddie looking on worriedly across from you, you were still grappling with the fact that you were alive. That you didn’t die. That you were breathing fresh air and free from the dark and free from Him.

For now.

And as the RV bumped down the road out of Hawkins you said nothing. Felt Steve’s eyes on you constantly as he glanced at you in the rearview. Eddie’s hand still holding tight to yours after he helped you up, afraid to lose you again. Dustin and Lucas and Max all talking in not-so-hushed voices behind you about what it all meant and if El could get back in time and was this all gonna be enough?

Voice thick and choked by the sobs that had felt endless, you’d managed to tell everyone what Vecna had showed you. Told them about Hawkins, about the monsters, about your family, about them. Eddie, Robin, Nancy Steve. And no one had said anything at first. The sounds of your cries filling up the RV. Stark against the silence and heavy with the weight of your words and they knew before you’d even opened your mouth that it was going to be bad.

Of course they knew.

But now that Vecna had revealed his master plan, the efforts you were all making just felt hopeless. The munitions stuffed under the bench seats and closets and cabinets, all puny and worthless against Vecna and his army of nightmares.

A big bump in the road brought you out of your thoughts and when you glanced up your eyes met Steve’s as he snuck another look in the rear view. And instead of glaring, instead of flipping him the bird, you looked right back. Held his gaze for moment longer and he didn’t shy away until he came up on a turn-off.

“Alright, shitheads. We’re here.”

“Here?” Lucas asked, more than confused at the thick forest Steve was now driving you all through.

“Yeah, this is it.”

And as the trees slowly thinned out, thick grass and wildflower blooms took their place. Creeping out ahead of you to reveal a meadow, wide and green and lush. A haven that felt so very far away, felt safe, and as Steve parked and the engine quieted you let out the breath you’d been holding.

❝ MAYBE IF YOU JUST GOT SOME GUTS WE’D KILL ‘EM WITH A THOUSAND CUTS AND SAY WE DID IT OUT OF LOVE ❞

Everyone piled out of the RV and got after their tasks. Pretended like preparing for the end of the world was totally normal and routine. Nancy and Robin sawing off the end of a shotgun. Lucas and Erica attempting to make spears from tactical knives and broom handles. Eddie and Dustin shoving each other around in the grass with their garbage can lids full of nails at their feet and none of it instilled you with confidence, but Dustin screaming No wedgies! did manage to pull a little smile out of you.

And for a split second it felt okay.

Laughter, the sound of birds, the feeling of the wind on your bare skin and all the green around you – so unlike the cracked and bitter feeling in the Upside Down and then your smile fell.

You wished He hadn’t shown you.

Wished Vecna had just left you alone. Wished for just a moment that you hadn’t gone to Max’s trailer and put yourself in the middle of all this, but then Eddie grabbed Dustin in a big bear hug and your chest squeezed.

Your best friend.

The reason why you had gone to Max’s trailer.

The reason why you weren’t going to run.

The reason this was all worth it.

“Ah, shit.”

Sat next to you, Steve sucked in a breath through gritted teeth. The funnel in your hands slipping as you lost focus and liquid trickled down your hands and wrists.

“Hold it still,” Steve quickly tipped back his can of kerosene and set it down to grab a piece of ripped towel.

A string of curses were muttered under your breath, so much for homemade molotov cocktails.

Cheeks burning with embarrassment you went to wipe your hands on your sweater, but when you looked back up at Steve he was looking too. Eyes searching yours, unsure and tentative. Moles dotting along his cheeks and jaw like tiny constellations. Skin gold like it held summer and when you blinked away the haze of him, you realized he was reaching out to you.

“Here, get that off so it doesn’t burn,” he said a little softer. Cloth in one hand, he took yours in the other and wiped at the kerosene.

Oh, fell from your lips. Surprised. Unsure. Your skin buzzing where he touched you and you swallowed thick as you felt your pulse flutter against your neck.

“Uh–here, you can get the rest,” Steve said quickly, like he’d felt it too and hastily passed the cloth off to you, dropping your hand to wipe his on his jeans.

“Thanks,” you mumbled back.

It was quiet for a moment as he cleared his throat and picked up his can of kerosene again. You followed suit and grabbed your empty vodka bottle and funnel. Wordlessly he leaned over to hold your hand in his and once it was steady began pouring again, eyes flicking over to look at you.

“I’m an asshole,” he suddenly admitted, breaking the silence, and you had to focus really hard to not fumble the bottle again.

“I didn’t say it,” you started and he chuckled under his breath. A low, warm thing that made the air around you fizzle and crack like bonfires down at the quarry.

“Didn’t say you did,” he gently pushed back, lips still tugged up into a small, wry smile, but it faded the longer he looked at you. “Listen. I know we aren’t…well, I know I don’t have a great track record,” he said and the change in his tone surprised you. Told you he was serious and you had to look away to try to gather yourself back up again.

"No, really?" you said, all sarcasm, and he huffed another laugh.

“Hah hah,” he joked, weakly at first, and then his expression shifted more serious. “I just wanted to say that…well, that you have every right to be here it’s just–” the boy hummed around his words. Dropped his gaze down to where your hands met on the kerosene filled vodka bottle and put the can on the ground.

Talking to you like this, showing weakness and vulnerability, made him feel so exposed. Uncomfortable. Unable to find the right words and his tongue jammed into his cheek as he tried to decide just how honest he wanted to be.

With you.

“It’s just–everything about the Upside Down wants to kill you and it’s like–” he sighed heavy and carded a hand through his already messy hair. “I dunno. How many more people have to die? You know?” and then he was looking at you again. Really looking, really asking, and for a second it made you doubt everything you felt about him.

Jock. Asshole. King Steve.

No second chances, remember?

“Can I ask you something?” you heard yourself say and you could feel the muddled mixture of nerves and frustration and anticipation buzzing under your skin. Everything you’d been holding onto all this time pent up and pushing against the wall you’d built around it. Waiting waiting waiting for you to set it loose.

“Oh–sure, yeah.”

“Why are you really here?”

Steve’s eyes grew wide and he sat back on his milk crate, hands squeezing at the tops of his thighs.

“Why am I here?”

“Yeah. Do you really care about Eddie?”

Steve’s eyes darted back over to where Eddie and Dustin were hammering more nails into their garbage can lids and maybe you were impatient or maybe Steve was stalling, but you didn’t want to wait.

“Cos you didn’t care about him before.”

“B-before? I don’t–what d'you mean–”

Steve was stumbling over himself now, struggling to own the words you put on him and frustration grew warm in your chest, but you tried hard to swallow it down. Tried hard to let him prove Eddie’s theory of change.

“High school, Harrington,” you started, trying to keep your tone even and calm. “Yelled at us in the quad? Tossed people’s books in the hallway? Threw fries at us in the cafeteria.” You paused, debated whether or not you wanted to tack more on, and then you thought of Tommy and it came out all on its own, “Let your friends say really shitty things to me.”

Steve’s gaze dropped down to his feet and he didn’t say anything at first, not a word, and you kicked yourself for even bothering to think he’d be able to handle it. Of course he couldn’t.

“You know what–nevermind,” you mumbled, capping your bottle and moving to stand, but his hand grabbed yours and pulled you back down onto your milk crate.

“Wait. Please?”

And the way he was looking at you was pained, the pinch between his brows deep, and it made you pause. Was Eddie right? The way Steve cared for these kids, for your best friend, showed clearly something had shifted in him, but was it enough?

“Wait for what, Harrington? So you can show me things are different now?” your voice was softer, but hurt, “Because Eddie swears you’ve changed, but you still sound just like Tommy.”

The mention of his ex-best friend felt like getting the wind knocked out of him. He knew Tommy was wrong now. Hell, he knew it back then too. Knew how fucked up it'd been in the parking lot at the school, but he hadn’t had the guts to say anything. Couldn’t stand up to him or tell him off because he ‘had a reputation to uphold’ and what would everyone else say if he went ‘soft on a freak’?

“I–I know. I fucked up. I get it and I don’t know how I can prove it to you, but–” he started truthfully, hand still holding yours, thumb shifting softly against your palm, “–but I am. Really sorry.”

Really sorry.

Finally. After all those years. After everything he’d said and done, but sorry didn’t fix it. Or take any of it back. Was it too late?

Reluctantly you pulled your hand away from Steve’s, his fingers flexing as they fell away from yours, wanting to hold on just a little bit longer but you weren’t ready.

“You know that doesn’t fix it, right?” you said quietly, glancing up at Steve through the long sweep of your lashes and guilt settled heavy over him.

He knew it didn’t fix it. Knew all too well that words didn’t mean shit, but he would be the first to admit he was a slow learner. Crawl before you walk. Hit your head and maybe something will suddenly make sense and when it came to you? Vecna had been like a sucker punch.

You were strong-willed. Didn’t take shit lying down. Were fiercely loyal to your best friend and just wanted to try to help and it had taken Steve a minute to realize – in your eyes he was still bullshit, but he didn’t want to be. It wasn’t going to be easy, not in the least, but just like you he wanted to try.

“I know it doesn’t fix it.”

His eyes squeezed shut so he didn’t have to look at you. Tried to make it easier on himself as he pushed through the discomfort of taking responsibility for his actions. Tongue running along his bottom lip, just like it always did when his brain was working overtime, he finally looked back up at you.

“I’m not asking you for forgiveness or–or to be my friend or anything. I just want you know I really am sorry. For all of it. Okay?”

Sitting there so close to him, your hands inches away from touching, holding each other’s gaze as you listened to the words falling from his lips in sincerity – it was almost too much. The wall you’d built around yourself cracking and straining against this new feeling that had settled in your chest, but the words wouldn’t come to you as your lips parted and you tried and pull yourself together but–

“Dammit, Eddie, no wedgies!”

Dustin’s voice cut through the silence that had settled and Steve reflexively sat up. Pushed himself away from whatever it was you’d waded into together. Away from sorry and the feeling of your hands pressed together and the look you gave him through the long sweep of your lashes and the way you made his heart race. Turned away from you and played it off.

“Hey! Less dicking around, more putting shit together!” he yelled at Dustin and Eddie flipped him off without looking.

“Like you’re doing anything important, big boy!” Eddie hollered back and the way it made Steve’s cheeks grow pink made your lips twitch with a smile you had to work hard to hold back.

“Shut up,” Steve muttered at Eddie, but mostly to himself, and stood from his milk crate to put your filled vodka bottle into the box with the rest.

You watched quietly as he placed the last bottle in and folded the cardboard shut. Muscles tensing and pulling taut as he worked, moving against the fabric of his shirt and you quickly looked away for fear of being caught.

Then your eye caught his nail covered bat tipped against side of the Winnebago and the threat of the Upside Down and all its nasties wrapped around you tight like a vice.

Oh.

Right.

The end of the world.

Just a few yards away Nancy pulled the trigger on her shotgun, the sound making you flinch, and it hit you like a ton of bricks – you had absolutely no clue how to defend yourself against this. Against Him. Against an army from hell. You knew how to throw a punch and knee someone in the crotch and you’d always had an arm on you from playing volleyball, but none of that had anything to do with monsters. Or guns. Or nail covered bats.

“Uhm–” came out mumbled, more sound than word, and it pulled Steve’s attention up from the box.

“What’s that?”

“Can you–er–would you maybe show me how to swing that?” you asked and it made him turn to face you, giving you his full attention.

“What?”

Your cheeks grew hot.

“That bat,” you said shifting uncomfortably on your crate, “I don’t think–I can't shoot a gun.”

Steve’s expression softened as he remembered what it'd felt like the first time he saw a demogorgon. The first time he swung that very bat into the side of a demodog. The first time this world had been exposed to him and he knew how overwhelming and absolutely crazy it all felt.

Grabbing the bat in his hand he gave you a small smile and took the few steps back over to you.

“Sure. It’s not too hard. You know, just aim and swing.”

“Just aim and swing?” your tone was flat, all skeptics, a defensive move against his kindness and it made him chuckle.

“Well, there’s probably more to it than that, but those stupid bats are thick enough when they swarm it’d be hard for anyone to miss.”

Your eyes grew wide at the thought of swarming bats and it made him laugh again, a half-grimace pulling at his features.

“Shit, sorry. Uh–here,” readjusting his grip he bent his knees a bit and dug his heel into the ground. “Just make sure you get a wide stance, yeah? Like, hip width apart? And don’t be afraid to choke up on your hold. It’ll make your swings hit harder.”

He swung the bat and the sound it made as it cut through the air made your breath catch in your throat.

“Wanna try?” the boy held the crude weapon out to you and you swallowed thick. Stood up from your own milk crate and tentatively took it from him.

It was heavy in your hands, heavier than you thought it’d be, but smooth. You did as he said and slid your hands up a little further on the handle and tried a swing, but threw yourself off balance and stumbled forward.

“Ah, that’s okay. Here, uh–” Steve stepped in behind you and placed his hands over yours on the bat, “–try again, but follow through with your hip. Your grip’s good, just don’t throw your full weight forward.”

The warmth of his chest on your back made your cheeks burn again. Made your heart race. Hammering against your ribcage as he slowly took you through the motion again.

“Then when you get to the end of the swing, follow with your hip," his voice was much quieter over your shoulder, words falling into your ear and making you dizzy as he tried so damn hard to keep his focus. Placed a hand on your waist to guide it and toed your foot forward with his shoe as he took a step. “See?”

“Yeah,” was all you could manage, the feeling of his breath on your neck trailing goosebumps across your skin and you couldn’t help it. Couldn’t help the way the closeness of him pulled your gaze and when you looked up he was looking too.

“Does that–uh–did that make sense?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper and you nodded. A small thing that barely registered and he was so close now. Close enough his nose nearly brushed your cheek, getting closer by the second and–

“Harrington! Where are those bottles? I gotta get ‘em loaded up!” Eddie yelled from the other side of the RV and the space between you shattered. Both of you stepping away as though you’d touched a hot stove and you pressed the bat into Steve’s hands.

“Should probably get ready,” you muttered and he nodded, cleared his throat and took two big steps back to set the bat down.

“Coming!” Steve called back as he scooped up the box of molotov cocktails, bottles clinking against each other as he walked away and disappeared around the corner of the RV.

King Steve turned Steve Harrington.

Steve Harrington turned something else.

Something more.

Something you thought you’d written off.

Something that held you so tightly now it made you want to run, but at the back of your mind, somewhere soft and warm, you couldn’t help wondering what might happen if you didn’t.

[ NOTE: THIS IS PART THREE OF A – POSSIBLY – FIVE PART SERIES, PART FOUR AND FIVE TO COME SOON ]

crappymixtape™ • steve harrington masterlist // stranger things masterlist♥️ reblogs and comments keep me going, friends! ily! ♥️

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chronicrabbit · 1 year

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Ok, but

Imagine Gareth getting ABSOLUTELY FED UP with watching Eddie and Steve moon over each other, convinced that it’s hopeless and completely oblivious that their feelings are, in fact, 100% mutual.

So he hatches a plan to, let’s say, hurry things along.

It’s a Hellfire Night. All are in attendance in the Wheeler’s basement, including- of course- Steve Harrington himself.

The ex-jock had finally quit pretending he’d rather be elsewhere, allowing himself to watch the session unfold with obvious interest.

It was hard not to be interested in Eddie’s narratives.

They were playing a one shot as Eddie’s larger campaign was still in the works.

Their party had just stopped off to rest in a tavern and stock up on supplies, the perfect place for Gareth to put his plan into action.

“I’d like to look for some company for the night,” he stated, fixing Eddie with a smirk.

As expected, Eddie didn’t so much as blink as the rest of the party burst into giggles, leaning over the table with a smirk of his own.

“Very well. Roll perception for me.”

Gareth does, proudly calling out a 17.

Eddie nods.

“You glance toward the mostly empty bar where the barkeep is pouring a glass of fine wine for a fair elven maiden. Her hair seems to glow a pale golden hue, and-“

“Tell me about the barkeep. What does he look like?”

Eddie’s eyebrows quirk, the first sign that he’s maybe catching on to Gareth’s intentions.

Still, he continues on.

“He’s… a half elf with dark hair and eyes, and a pale scar bisecting his face.”

“Is he handsome?” Gareth presses, earning a further raised brow from Eddie.

“He’s a half elf,” the DM replies dryly.

Gareth grins.

“I approach the barkeep with a charming smile, leaning on the bar and tossing down a couple gold pieces from the pouch on my belt.

“A flagon of mead, if you please.”

Gareth attempts to school his expression into something flirtatious.

Eddie snorts but pulls himself together fast, falling into character with the ease and practice of a master.

“That’s a rather bold display of wealth, hero. You should be cautious lest someone try to take that from you,” he says in a smooth tone.

Steve straightens in his seat, his interest very clearly piqued.

It’s almost too easy.

“Is that a threat?” Gareth says in a low voice, his smirk widening.

Eddie presses a hand to his heart, feigning very mild offense tinged with amusement.

“Not at all. Simply advice. This is a dangerous town after all.”

“Pity,” Gareth shrugs, leaning his elbow against the table and meeting Eddie’s gaze dead on.

“I wouldn’t have minded a threat from one as fair as you.”

“Roll charisma,” Eddie orders, eyes twinkling with mirth as Gareth snatches up his d20 and shakes it in his fist.

He can see Steve from the corner of his eye, doing his utmost to look unaffected, but Gareth could tell he was some sort of flustered if the way he was shifting restlessly in his seat was anything to go by.

Delightful.

Gareth takes in a breath before he looks down at his die.

“Nat 20, baby,” he announces much to the wild amusement of the party.

Eddie raises his hands to cease the excited chatter, leaning in on both elbows to meet Gareth’s gaze with a positively sultry look of his own, large eyes half lidded, bottom lip caught between his teeth.

“Would you not?” he questions with a mockingly innocent tone, tilting his head so his dark curls fall down over one shoulder.

“Threats are not typically well looked upon unless you have a- heh- preference toward punishment.”

As Mike and Lucas snicker, Gareth watches Steve.

His cheeks are tinged a noticeable pink, his eyes glued to the carpet beneath his shoes as if it’s suddenly the most interesting thing in the world.

Can’t have that.

Gareth decides to up the ante.

“And what if I do? What advice have you for that, fair one?”

Eddie eyes him up and down in character, leaning in even closer until he’s inches from Gareth’s face.

“The barkeep looks you up and down consideringly. He seems to like what he sees as he slams down your flagon of mead and pushes it and your gold over toward you.

“I would advise you finish your drink and head up to your room for the night,” Eddie finishes with a sly and salacious smirk, taking hold of Gareth’s chin with his calloused fingers.

“I’ll find you when I want you.”

And there it was.

Steve Harrington’s breaking point.

Steve stands quietly from his spot in the couch, muttering a quick excuse before rushing up the steps and out of the basement.

No one else seems to notice but Gareth.

It’s not long after Steve’s hasty retreat that Eddie calls for a break, everyone dispersing to seek out snacks and bladder relief.

Gareth makes his way upstairs after relieving himself, intent on rewarding his hard work with a slice of Mrs. Wheeler’s chocolate cake when a sound from outside catches his attention.

He approaches the window overlooking the backyard, slowly pulling the curtain aside to see…

Steve Harrington pinned against the side of the house with an armful of Eddie, their mouths connected in the most aggressive kiss Gareth has ever seen.

It looks like they’re trying their damnedest to eat each other, Eddie’s hands tangled in Steve’s hair, Steve’s shoved up the back of Eddie’s shirt.

Gareth holds back a snort at the loud thump that sounds as Eddie shoves his thigh between Steve’s legs, the ex-jock’s head smacking against the side of the house as he lets out a low groan.

With a self-satisfied grin, Gareth pulls the curtains closed once more, slices himself a nice big piece of cake, and trots back down the stairs to the rest of the party, pre-preparing an explanation for what exactly was keeping their DM.

The End 🖤

~Rabbit 🐇

#steddie ficlet #steddie fic #Steddie #steveddie #steve harrington/eddie munson #gareth emerson #my love #my sweet baby #I love that little metal man #he has t boy swag and you can’t tell me different

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steddieasitgoes · 4 months

Text

@steddiemas Day 15 Prompt: Spread Holiday Cheer

Tags: Established Relationship, Future Fic, Christmas Fluff, Sending Holiday Cards, Eddie Munson Loves Steve Harrington

wc: 1554 | Rating: G

Read on ao3 | ao3 collection

Eddie’s perched on the kitchen counter, two fingers deep in a jar of peanut butter when the front door creaks open and shut. Barefoot patter across the reclaimed wood floor until Steve appears in the doorway. He has a stack of mail tucked under his arm. An open card clutched between his hands.

“Did Dustin tell us Suzie was pregnant again?” Steve asks. He swats Eddie off the counter as he walks to the corner they’ve designated for unopened mail. Dropping the mail on the stack of overflowing flyers and magazines they’ve yet to get through, he squints at the card in his hands.

“I talked to him yesterday and he didn’t mention anything,” Eddie mumbles, mouth full of peanut butter. “Why?”

“She definitely looks pregnant.”

“Sweetheart,” Eddie chastises as he winds the lid of the peanut butter back on the jar. “You can’t assume she’s pregnant just because she looks a little…”

The words fizzle out as he rests his head on Steve’s shoulder. His eyes take in the Christmas card in his hands. Henderson’s are always his favorite. The boy’s always had a thing for dramatics, something that hasn’t waned with age. Or the growing brood of kids he’s acquiring.

This year's card is Star Wars-themed. Dustin dressed as Han and Suzie in Leia’s white costume. Their oldest son is Luke, lightsaber held high. The twins in homemade R2D2 and C-3Po costumes.

The youngest has been painted green, channeling Yoda if Eddie had to guess. And of course, their dog rounds out the eccentric bunch in a homemade Chewbacca costume.

One glance at Suzie’s growing belly, stretching the fabric of Leia’s dress is all it takes for Eddie to confirm Steve’s suspicions. The message at the bottom of the card also helps.

“You really should read these with your glasses on,” Eddie teases, fingers reaching over Steve to tap at the message printed at the bottom. “Says here their “galaxy” is growing in spring.”

“Christ,” Steve says, shaking his head. “He’s building a damn sports team over there.”

Eddie snorts. “More like a D&D group. They’re going to be the Von Trapps of the Dungeons and Dragons world one day.”

With a snort of his own, Steve shakes Eddie off of him and crosses the room to their fridge. It’s not uncommon for the yellowing white door to be flooded with messages and cards, but it’s ten times worse during December. Eddie can barely get into the freezer without a card or two falling, taking their magnets with them.

Still, Steve doesn’t let the cluttered fridge stop him from hanging Dustin’s card up there amongst the rest. Eddie watches as he takes a step back, hands coming to rest on his hips as he admires the holiday spread in front of him.

Dustin’s card sits towards the top, sandwiched between one from the Sinclairs — a back shot of Lucas, Max, and their daughter Ellie hand in hand on a beach in California — and one from the Byers-Hoppers — Hop and Joyce sat in their matching rocking chairs on their porch with dopey smiles on their faces as they look out on their hoard of grandkids.

There’s a card from the Wheeler-Byers, too — a caricature of their family, the boys, and their army of dogs no doubt drawn by Will himself. It sits beside the one from El and Erica, a joint holiday postcard from Italy where they’re studying abroad.

Nancy and Jonathan are the most professional of the bunch — no surprise given Jonathan’s photography skills and Nancy’s perfectionism. The one of Jeff’s kids is one of Eddie’s favorites, the trio screaming on Santa’s lap while Jeff and his wife smile at the camera. A close second is Gareth and Freaks who decided to hit up the local JcPennys for awkward family portraits with their girlfriends.

Robin and Chrissy’s is front and center, the two of them kissing under the mistletoe while their daughter rolls her eyes in the background. Beside it is one from Wayne and Scott, a grainy shot that Steve took himself the last time they visited Hawkins. There’s one from Eden and Argyle from Missouri, which was news to everyone when it arrived.

A handful from Steve’s past students tacked up over each other along with ones from their coworkers. Fleeting faces in their lives, along with permanent fixtures.

In the center of it all is their card from this year. They took it back in July when prices were cheaper and Steve could order them in bulk without breaking the bank. They’re smiling at the camera on the couch in their living room, a silly Santa plush sits between them. Both in godawful ugly sweaters with Santa hats perched on their heads despite the sweltering summer sun peaking in from the bay window.

Maybe he’s biased, but he thinks theirs is his favorite.

Eddie’s pretty sure it’s the best one they’ve ever taken which is why he feels the wind knocked out of him when he spots Steve frowning at it.

“Everything okay, Stevie?”

Steve hums, prying his eyes away from the fridge to look at Eddie. He offers him a soft smile and a curt nod before excusing himself. Eddie’s pretty sure he hears him mumble something about needing to start this week's lesson plan.

Eddie knows it’s a lie — it’s the final week before winter break and Steve never teaches during it — but he doesn’t call him out on it. Instead, he lets his boyfriend slink out of the room. When he’s gone Eddie shifts his attention back to the fridge, eyes squinted as he tries to puzzle out what has Steve so bum hum bug all of a sudden.

He doesn’t get it at first. There’s nothing different about this year's cards than the hoards they’ve received in the past. Everyone who should be up there is up there, smiling wide at what this year has given them. Happy parents and smiling kids, wild pets, and even wilder adventures.

His eyes are making a third pass over the cards when it clicks. Eddie knows Steve’s not disappointed with the way their life has turned out, but it's clear from the cards littering their fridge that something is missing.

Every card screams family, except theirs.

Well, Eddie thinks, that simply won’t do.

💌 💌 💌💌 💌 💌💌 💌 💌💌 💌 💌💌 💌 💌💌 💌 💌💌 💌 💌💌 💌 💌

It takes three days for Eddie to pull everything together. The minute Steve leaves for work on the fourth day, he gets to work setting everything up. In a matter of hours, their living room gets transformed from a moderate Christmas room to one that belongs in those cheesy movies Steve always has on.

He’s relocated the tree to the middle of the room, decked everything out with garland and twinkling light, and hand-painted the Santa’s workshop sign he stayed up late making last night. After an hour-long call with Jonathan, he manages to get the camera and tripod set up.

Getting their pets dressed takes the longest, but after chasing everyone around and bribing them with a shit ton of treats he gets all 3 dogs, 4 cats, Parrot, snake, and bunny in their respective holiday attire. He’s putting the finishing touches on his own look when he hears the familiar creak of the front door.

“Eds?” Steve calls, voice tinged with curiosity. “What’s going on?”

“We’re taking our Christmas card picture,” Eddie says, appearing around the corner in a red Santa suit.

Steve blinks before slowly looking around the room. The dogs and cats all match in elf costumes. Pierce the Bunny and Ozzy the Parrot are somehow keeping elf hats on their head and Sizzle the Snake has a ribbon wrapped loosely around her body like the world's most delicate Christmas present.

Eddie watches as Steve takes everything in, lips parted in that cute confused look he always gets. Fish out of water, he likes to tease.

“Don’t worry, I have your costume here too,” Eddie says, holding up a matching red Santa suit.

“I’m confused, we already sent our cards out for the year.”

Eddie hums. “We did, but we forgot to include some very important members of our family in the card. Don’t you think our friends deserve to have all our beautiful faces on their fridges?”

“I mean, I guess? It’s going to cost a fortune though this late in the game.”

“Our family is worth it.”

💌 💌 💌💌 💌 💌💌 💌 💌💌 💌 💌💌 💌 💌💌 💌 💌💌 💌 💌💌 💌 💌💌 💌

It costs them an arm and a leg to get the cards printed and sent out in time, but it's worth it to see the smile permanently etched on Steve’s face as he tacks it up on the fridge, replacing their original card.

This time when he steps away there’s nothing but pure happiness on his face.

“I know it’s not the big family you dreamed of,” Eddie says, wrapping his arms around him as he admires the display. “But it’s still pretty great, right?”

“It’s perfect, Eds.”

💌 💌 💌💌 💌 💌💌 💌 💌💌 💌 💌💌 💌 💌💌 💌 💌💌 💌 💌💌 💌 💌

The following year, Dustin’s isn’t the only card with a new face on it. Steve, Eddie, and their army of pets are joined by a pair of timid smiles. A brother-sister duo whom they’ve been fostering since February. If all goes as planned, they’ll be permanent fixtures on the Munson-Harrington card for decades to come.

#steddiemas #steddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #steddie fluff #steve harrington #steve harrington fic #steve harrington ficlet #eddie munson #eddie munson fic #eddie munson ficlet #steve harrington x eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things fic #dani writes

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bruisedboys · 1 year

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clingy eddie? it’s not an established relationship and you just spent the whole day together when eddie blurts out "spend the night with me"

or or maybe a flirtatious and confident eddie like "i know you want me as much as i want you"

summer lovin’ — eddie munson

hi anon! I went with the second one and got totally invested, and it ended up being way longer than I expected lolzies … anyway tysm for the ask ily <3

summary: eddie munson is a menace to your heart — a pool party at steve’s brings all the feelings to the surface.

fluff, mutual pining, flirty eddie. gn!reader, 2k words

gif by @kwistowee

You’d barely made it up Steve’s driveway before the kids were piling out of the car, shoving each other like a pack of animals to get out first.

“Alright, calm down, you lot.” Every single one of them ignored you, doors slamming and flip-flops hitting the pavement as they all clambered out, chatting loudly. You sighed. “Not even a ‘thanks for the ride, Y/N?’”

Your efforts went unnoticed as they all traipsed up to Steve’s door and disappeared inside. You were left alone with Eddie in the passenger seat, chuckling at your wasted attempts.

“I don’t think they can hear you, Y/N,” he said unhelpfully.

“You’re no better,” you told him, irritated.

Rolling your eyes, you got out of the car without a word. The sun seemed set out to get you today, its heat like fire on your skin. You’d barely made it two steps up the driveway before Eddie was on your heels.

“Sweetheart, don’t be mad,” he drawled, his voice sticky like the sweat clinging to both your bodies. “I’m sorry.”

His hand landed on your elbow and your skin felt hotter than it already was.

You ignored him for the sake of your dignity. If you looked at him right now, he’d be giving you that tantalising look that was quickly becoming your weakness. Bright eyes with the lids lowered, plush lips pushed into a subtle pout. Plus, he was wearing his t-shirt with the sleeves cut off, the one you hated because of how it made him look. You’d be a melting puddle in seconds.

Eddie was your friend. The fact that you’d kiss him if he asked was beyond the point.

“Whatever, Eds,” you said, pushing past him and through the Harrington’s front door.

Eddie was close on your tail as you crossed through the kitchen and to the back ranch-slider, emerging into Steve’s promised pool party. It was in full swing — Tears For Fears was blasting from somewhere and Dustin was already being playfully pushed into the pool by a giggling Max.

“Y/N!” This was Steve, reclined on one of the deck chairs with a Coca Cola can in hand. “Was wondering when you were coming in. None of these shitheads even said hi to me.”

You smiled. Aware of Eddie right behind you, you crossed the deck to Steve, bent at the waist and kissed his freckled cheek.

“Wouldn’t miss it, Steve,” you told him happily. “Even if it’s only us and a bunch of twelve-year-olds.”

“Fourteen!” Lucas and Max yelled in unison, equally annoyed.

You giggled and took the seat next to Steve’s. Meanwhile Eddie was glaring bullets at the both of you. Why did Steve get a kiss on the cheek? My hair is cooler than his, Eddie thought.

Eddie made a noise somewhere between a scoff and a grunt — it went unnoticed by everyone but you. Your head whipped around but he was already walking away from you.

You couldn’t tear your eyes away as Eddie strolled over to the cooler, dug his hand in and pulled a soda can from the ice. His rings were sparkling with condensation as he popped the can open, raised it to his lips and took a sip. His bicep glistened with sweat and you could see the veins on his wrist from here. You watched his Adams Apple bob up and down three times before he dropped his arm with a satisfied sigh.

Much too late, you looked away. Your face was burning. You pretended you didn’t see Eddie walking closer out of the corner of your eye.

His voice met your ears, smooth and velvety. “Did you want some, sweetheart?”

You chanced a look at Eddie, stomach backflipping. Eddie’s smirk widened because you looked so guilty, your eyes like a puppy’s and your cheeks flushed something awful. He was holding his drink out to you, condensation from the can dripping over his fingers.

“No thanks,” you said as nonchalantly as you could.

You shut up after that, afraid if you opened your mouth again you’d confess all your well-hidden secrets. Maybe ‘well-hidden’ wasn’t the right term, not when Eddie was smirking at you like he knew exactly what he was doing.

Eddie shrugged, downed the rest of the Coke in one and strolled to the edge of the pool, sitting down so his legs dangled in the water. You rolled your eyes though he couldn’t see you, falling back into your chair with a sigh.

“Hey, you okay?” Steve was looking at you weird under his sunglasses. “Are you and Munson arguing or something?”

You shook your head too fast and then hoped Steve hadn’t noticed. “No, no. I mean— yes, I’m fine. He’s just … “ You shrugged. “Well, you know us, always on each other’s backs.”

Steve hummed thoughtfully and gave you a look you didn’t quite understand. A moment later both of you were distracted by water sprinkling over your legs and a loud yell from Eddie.

“Oh, come on, Henderson!”

You looked up. Dustin, chest-deep in the pool, was holding an empty bucket and laughing hysterically, while Eddie was soaking wet and fuming. The mass of water had hit him full blast, only catching you and Steve on the legs.

“What was that for, man?” Eddie yelled.

You watched in amusement as Eddie stood up, still yelling profanities at Dustin, his clothes sopping wet. Your amusement quickly turned into horror when Eddie grabbed the bottom of his shirt and yanked it off with one pull. Your position left you with a perfect view of his tattooed back, wet hair falling over his shoulder and back muscles, his skin pale beneath the dark ink that decorated his torso and arms. The butterflies in your stomach at the mere sight of him were antagonising.

“Bastard,” Eddie said, and he dived into the pool towards a chortling Dustin.

You wanted to throw up. For a second you actually thought you would. Desperate for an escape, you mumbled a hasty, “Bathroom,” to Steve and took off in the general direction of anywhere but here.

In the quiet of Steve’s guest bathroom, you could hear the thrumming of your heart in your ears, butterflies swarming your stomach. Get a grip, you told yourself, it’s just Eddie. But then … it was always just Eddie. Eddie telling you how good you looked in his jacket. Eddie’s hand on the small of your back at the 4th of July Carnival. Eddie calling you by pet names far too intimate for someone who lost their cool at a mere touch.

You liked him, and unless you were terrible at picking up on signals, you were pretty sure Eddie liked you, too. It was a dizzying feeling, liking someone this much. Especially when that someone was Eddie.

You spent longer than you intended in the bathroom, splashing your face with cold water a million times until you could barely feel your skin, drying your hands until they felt raw. When you were finally satisfied, your heart halfway back to its normal pace, you braved your way out to the kitchen.

You efforts were in vain. The moment you stepped into the kitchen you walked right into something tall and Eddie-shaped.

“Woah!” Eddie grabbed your elbows, keeping you from stumbling backwards. He was still shirtless, bare chest inches from your face, his curly hair damp. “Hey, you’re just the person I was looking for! Are you okay?”

The heat returned to your skin tenfold. “Yeah, I’m … I’m okay.”

Eddie’s grip tightened around your arms as he dipped his head a little to get a better look at you. His eyes were set with genuine worry, making them darker than usual. “Are you sure? Steve said you came in here, like, ten minutes ago. Thought I’d come check on you.”

You swallowed, nodded, looked anywhere but his inked-up skin or his kind, pretty face. “I’m fine, Eds. Just got a little hot, s’all.”

You were a horrible liar. You knew it, Eddie knew it.

“Oh,” he said. You waited for him to say, if you were so hot why didn’t you just get in the pool? But surprisingly, he kept quiet.

Neither of you moved. You were hyper aware of Eddie’s hands on your elbows and his chest tattoos on full display. You told yourself you should probably stop standing so close to him, so close that you could smell chlorine and faded cologne on him, but you couldn’t bring yourself to move.

Eddie finally let go of your arms. You followed his hands with your gaze — bad idea. He shoved them in the pockets of his denim shorts, the waistband hanging low on his hips and the fabric ripped enough to belong in a rockstar’s wardrobe. His exposed skin taunted you.

“We better get back out there, then,” Eddie said jovially, rocking on his heels.

“Right,” you said in the same tone, though yours was totally fake. You wished you could die on the spot.

Again, neither of you moved an inch. You couldn’t move an inch, not when Eddie was so close you were breathing each other’s air.

“Hey, sweetheart?”

Eddie’s voice had changed, there was something smug in it, though it was mostly thoughtful. You looked up grudgingly, guessing exactly what his face would look like before you’d looked. He was smirking.

You would’ve burnt him with your eyes if he wasn’t so pretty. “Yeah?”

“I think I might know what this is about,” he said knowingly. He took a step forward, his hands moving to hover just shy of your hips.

Oh, heavens. You prayed Steve’s kitchen tiles would open up and swallow you whole.

“What?” You challenged, though there was no real fire in your tone. You were putty under his gaze.

For your sake, Eddie lost the smirk. He took another step closer, his hands resting ever so gently on your hips. His thumbs ghosted over the exposed skin between your shorts and your top. You could feel your heart in your throat, punching around your airways like it wanted to suffocate you.

Eddie’s face turned serious, almost soft. He was so close now that you could count his freckles. Three, plus two on his neck.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked.

All you could get out was a sort of anguished whisper. “Please.”

When he kissed you it was with all the confidence in the world. You were melting into the kiss in seconds, his lips pressing into yours in a way that somehow made up for the eternity of lingering touches and longing glances.

Your hands hung limply at your sides — you didn’t stop to think as you moved them to touch his arms, his shoulders. You’d always wondered what he felt like under all that leather and denim. Eddie sighed into your mouth, one hand sliding around to the small of your back. He tasted like an awful combination of chlorine and Coca Cola. You should’ve found it grosser than you did.

You pulled away just when you thought you might pass out from lack of oxygen.

“Well,” Eddie said, all breathless and charming and flirty. You couldn’t help but notice his heaving chest, his swollen lips, his wild eyes. You felt a little sheepish that you’d made him look like that. “That was—”

“Ha!” There was a great shout of laughter from the window. “I knew it!”

You and Eddie jumped apart, heads whirling to the source of the noise. Not surprisingly, it was Dustin, ogling at you through the glass, surrounded by Max, Lucas and Mike. Steve towered over them at the back, trying and failing to look like he wasn’t totally invested.

Eddie, always the charmer, flipped them all off, earning him a chorus of childish ‘boo’s and groans.

“Charming,” you told him, smiling all over. “Remind me again why I like you?”

Eddie dropped his hand, his face morphing into mock surprise, dark eyes blown wide. “You like me? Really? I’d never guess.”

You rolled your eyes, face hot. “Would another kiss shut you up?”

#★ mal writes!#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x gn!reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddiesmixtape!

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russellsppttemplates · 4 months

Note

could i request the scenario where pregnant reader gets injured quite badly and one of the drivers is really worried and protective over her! like she badly burns herself at a christmas party trying to help one of another drivers kids or she trips over really badly? just some hurt/comfort !! 🪼☀️

Note: since I've already done the one where she trips, I went with the other one! Also, I'm not sure how it works in other countries, but when my mum had something similar happen to her, the lady at the pharmacy was enough to take care of it!

Cw: reader accidentally burns herself, pharmacy visit, medications

The McLaren Christmas party was in full swing as you felt someone tug on your dress, looking down to see who you could only pinpoint to Oscar Piastri's carbon copy, "hey Lucas! You look very handsome today!", you complimented the little boy, seeing him immediately blush. Like his father, little Lucas Piastri was also a shy boy, but in the buzz of the whole team, he managed to befriend you when he went up to see the races when his parents weren't around, "I want to bring some tea for mummy. She's at the table with my little brother and daddy is talking to a man who won't stop talking", he snickered, directing his eyes. Truthful to his word, Lily was holding her youngest son on her arms while Oscar spoke to one of the sponsorship representatives, so the conversation naturally grew long.

"Of course, darling. I'll carry the pot for you, it's very hot and you might burn yourself", you said, praising his request for help as you grabbed the pot with boiling water from the table. Because not everyone likes the hot drink, the catering team opted to have people get the teapots themselves if they wanted the drink.

You weren't sure how it happened as you had been steadily walking to the table while keeping and eye on Lucas, maybe a little tap from someone and your newly found need to adapt your center of gravity almost daily made you trip slightly, the pot losing its lid and leaving the scalding hot liquid to fall on your arm. While you were able to protect Lucas from being affected, your arm and wrist stung as two older men came to your help, "here, here!", one of them pulled the tray away from your hand as the other checked your arm, pulling you to sit on his chair.

"What happened?", you heard your husband's voice, worry etched in his voice as he looked at the reddening skin in your arm, "tea, she was carrying it for me", Lucas pouted, sitting next to you, "I'm sorry, auntie Y/N, I didn't mean for that to happen", he apoligised.

"It's not your fault buddy" you sighed, squinting as someone held bottle of cool water on either side of your arm, "but I think i need to get this checked out, make sure the skin isn't too burnt and needs something else", you looked at Lando, sending him a quiet signal to get Lucas to his parents and take you somewhere.

Leaving the dinner abruptly, you kept touching your skin, hissing when you hit a particularly hurt spot, "baby, don't do that, you might hurt yourself more", Lando said as he drove to the nearest open pharmacy.

When you got there, your husband was a mother hen, asking the lady who was taking care of your skin, applying a cooling cream and then doing a loose bandage, "until you get home, keep it bandaged up so it feels secure, but then you should air it out so it heals properly. It's not a deep burn, but you were wise to come and get it treated", she tranquilized, "there's no need to worry about mummy or baby, you'll be just fine", she stated, taking off her gloves and taking care of the creams and medications you needed to take home.

When you arrived home, Lando helped you take off your dress, careful with the tender skin as he placed kisses everywhere he could, "Oscar just texted me a drawing from Lucas wishing me a speedy recovery, look! It's a Formula One car by the word speedy, at least I think it is", you said, noticing a frown on your husband's face, "I'm sorry this happened", you attempted, hoping it would cease the crease on his forehead.

"It's nor your fault, and it's not Lucas' either", he explained, "I don't like seeing you hurt. You were being brave for him, but I saw the tears when the lady put the cold water bottles, and how you hiss everytime you move your arm. I don't like seeing you hurt, and little one doesn't either, she's been kicking non stop", Lando pouted, caressing your bump as he helped you put on your pyjamas pants, "if it's any consolation, I'm going to need you to be glued to me so I can do some daily things", you teased as if he hadn't been glued to your side since he heard the baby's heartbeat for the first time.

"How bad does it feel?", he asked, looking for your honesty, "it's okay. The local anesthetic cream is helping, but I could do with some cuddles", you said, allowing yourself to be sorry about the situation for a little bit, "cuddles it is, then".

(Thank you for you submission ✨️)

#lando norris blurb #inês writes blurbs #f1 blurb #f1 x reader

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upsidedownwithsteve · 2 years

Text

Steve Harrington x fem!reader [1.7k] prompt: "Are you trying to turn me on or are you really just that oblivious?”

Steve watched, slack jawed and distracted, as you stretched yourself out on one of his parents loungers, eyes closed and chin tilted to the sun.

It was a brutal summer day in Hawkins, the Indiana heat scorching the sidewalks, the blue skies cloudless and the residents lethargic. It’s why, when the kids asked Steve to take them to the arcade - the darkest, stuffiest place in town - he said ‘not a chance.’

It’s why you were all littered around his parents pool, kids and teens alike in various states of undress, limbs dipped in the cool, blue water and noses slathered in sunscreen.

Nancy and Robin were knee deep in the shallows talking quietly to Max who was sitting on the edge, feet in the pool and shorts still on, brow furrowed as she stared at Lucas.

Ignorant to the girl’s wrath, Lucas and Dustin were throwing themselves into the deep end, voices loud as they yelled at Eddie, asking the older boy relentless questions about the next campaign as he tried to nap, face down in the shade.

The yard smelled like fresh lemonade, cut grass and chlorine and your skin was still sticky with sunscreen, your fingers drawing lazy circles over your stomach, the way Steve did when you were sleepy and curled against him.

You had unbuttoned your denim cut offs, exposing the expanse of your lower abdomen, the edge of your cherry red underwear ever so slightly on show. Your shirt was rucked up, cotton crumpled in order to expose as much of your bare skin to the breeze that swam through the yard every half hour.

You felt lazy, warm and languid and the splashes and yells from your friends became faded noise, the sounds fuzzy and distant like they were underwater. You kept up the slow touches on your skin, fingertips swooping and swirling across your tummy, the feel of it making you sigh and sink into the lounger a little more.

Sleep had almost stolen you, just as you were thumbing the cotton edge of your underwear, your wrist pressed into the open denim. There was nothing sexual about it, not to you, it just felt nice. But a shadow fell across your, a small reprieve from the relentless sun and you opened your eyes, grinning sleepy as you saw your boyfriend hovering above you.

“Hey handsome,” you whispered happily, expecting him to lean down and into you, pressing his lips to your own for a kiss.

But it didn’t come and you frowned, turning your head more in order to see him properly, his head and body backlit in the sun, halos of light and bursts of colour painting the air around him. You could smell his sunscreen, the cocoa butter scented lotion that you’d readily rubbed over his back and shoulders earlier.

Steve was kneeling by your side, his arms crossed and leaning on the lounger, the muscles in his forearms tense and pressed against your ribs, warm and hard. He was looking at you through messy hair, any product he’d put in it that morning long gone with the rising temperatures and his eyes were dark, lids hooded.

You watched him lick his lips, letting his gaze roam over your stretched out form, his stare greedy and hot. His eyes lingered on your hands, still playing with the tiny lace edges of your underwear, entranced by the way the band lifted and snapped back against your skin.

A hand snuck out from where he’d tucked them under his crossed arms, bigger and rougher than your own and when Steve moved it over your lower stomach, it covered your own easily. You swallowed hard, looking at your boyfriend before stealing a glance at your friends who were only a few feet away.

No one was paying you both any attention and you wanted to squeeze your eyes shut as Steve fingered the edge of your open shorts, this thumb flicking at the button that sat useless. He twisted his lips, hiding a smirk or a smile, you weren’t sure. But when he finally spoke, his lips dripped honey, his words liquid smoke, sex and sarcasm.

“Are you trying to turn me on or are you really just that oblivious?”

Your lips parted in a scoff, a gasp and Steve shook his head at you, the smile he’d been hiding finally breaking free. You slid your hand from underneath his, a little desperate to feel his touch on your skin, rough palms and calloused fingers and you set him with a stare.

“What’re you talking about?” You asked, truly puzzled by his words. “Don’t act like you haven’t seen some skin before, Harrington, your high school reputation precedes you.”

Steve ignored you for the most part, poking a finger into the dip of your hips for your cheek, making a laugh bubble from your lips. But his smile was still there, his eyes still hot and he was leaning down, lips descending on your own before moving, letting you catch the stubble on his jaw before he was nudging his nose into your neck.

He exhaled, a huff of warm air pressed into your jaw, lips following as he pushed quick, hot, open mouthed kisses along your skin. You felt him grin as goosebumps shivered across your skin, his hands smoothing over the ones that prickled at your stomach and he loved it, loved knowing he had the same effect on you, as you did him.

But then his fingers found the edge of your underwear, flirting with the top of it, fingertips dipping under the hem, taunting and teasing as he pulled back to look at you. You felt the air from your lungs stop and stutter in your chest, your heart burning as he moved his touch back and forth, so close to where you were suddenly aching for him but still so far.

The sound of Dustin yelling snapped you back to reality, your cheeks hot and your eyes wide as water from the pool splashed your toes. You shuffled, bending your knees and planting your feet behind your ass in order to block what your boyfriend was doing with his hand.

“Steve,” you tried to hiss but it came out a little more whiny than you intended.

Your body was buzzing, static and electricity rolling off of the boy in waves and he brushed the feeling across your skin with his hands, grin wide, eyes heavy.

“What’s wrong sweetheart?” He asked, voice soft and a little taunting. The same tone he used in bed to shower you with praise, to edge you on, to tell you when you did something he loved. “You didn’t mind doing this to yourself.”

You swore, chest flushed and cheeks hot as you glared at him. You held you breath as he leant back into you, crowding over you in the best way and you were wrecked, pouting and wishing he’d kiss you.

Steve would’ve been lying if he said he didn’t know what you wanted, his eyes raking over you greedily, the flush of your skin, your glassy eyes, shining bright as you preened up at him, lips parted and back almost arching off of the sunlounger.

“You’re so pretty,” he told you, whispering it over your lips, an almost kiss. “Didn’t you know I was watchin’?”

His fingers left your skin, just for a second and you hummed when they returned, his hand flat and stroking over you. Another hiss left your lips when he splayed his fingers, wide and searching, his pinky slipping further below the band of your underwear than before. You wondered if he knew what he was doing to you, if he knew how you were dying to rub your thighs together, to take his wrist in your grasp and push his hand further down.

You shook your head and bit down on your bottom lip before you did something stupid, like rock your hips into his touch.

Shit.

Your boyfriend tutted, sounding extraordinarily calm given the public situation he’d put you both in but when you let out a soft, quiet noise - a huff of breath that escaped your lips - you watched as he moved closer to the lounger, pressing his hips into the side of it to gain some relief.

“Oh sweetheart, you should know by now I can hardly ever take my eyes off you.”

You huffed you a laugh, eyes rolling affectionately at his sweet words. You brought a hand to cup at his chin, your thumb pressed to his bottom lip, smiling with he nipped at it softly.

“Now you’re just trying to get in my pants, Harrington,” you teased, still warm all over for him.

“I thought I already was,” Steve grinned, brows raised as he let his fingers sweep across you again, finally swallowing your rushed whispers of protest with his lips, kissing you sweet and soft, tongue sliding over your own.

You only parted when cold water splashed across the both of you, Steve’s back drenched and your legs dripping as Eddie stood at the lounger Steve had originally occupied, garden hose in hand. You yelped, Steve’s hand slipping from the edge of your underwear as he pushed himself backwards, his shirt sticking to him and his hair wet against his forehead.

You both scowled, skin glittering with droplets of water and you stared at the other boy, face smug and eyes knowing.

Eddie glanced between the pair of you, gesturing at you both threateningly with the hose.

“Now, now,” he sang, “there’s kids around, none of that.”

Flushing furiously, you stood up, your soaked shirt stuttering down your rib cage until it covered your open shorts and you made a break from the back door, desperate for a glass of cold water and some of Steve’s clothes.

You heard Steve swear at your friend, somewhat lighthearted as he followed you across the patio, eyes burning into the back of you as he wondered if he could convince you to spend the afternoon in his bed with him, kids be damned.

As if Eddie could read his thoughts, another sharp jet of water hit at your feet, the cold spray bouncing off the floor and soaking your legs. You squeaked again, jumping out of the puddle and into the safety of Steve’s kitchen, just within earshot to hear Eddie call out, “hands where we can see them, Harrington!”

#steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington smut #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington imagine #stranger things #stranger things fic

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slvt4lanadelrey · 11 months

Text

Flirty Stranger | Wednesday Addams

Warnings: swearing, Tyler

Wednesday x Galpin!fem

"That'll be 3.99 please, sir." You smiled polity at the taller man infront of you, he sniffled a smile; slamming a five dollar bill into your hand. You gritted your teeth, Lucas was always an ass.

You pressed down on the till, it slamming open; the coins and loss change jiggling when it did. You received his change, handing it to him with a smile.

"Have a nice day." It was a rule at the coffee store: be polite, smile and just be an averagely good person.

Lucas smiled back, placing the money onto the edge of the tip jar.

"Do you want my chaple change, Galpin?" Your nose flared, fingers wrapping around the counter of the table. This was a repeating game with the boy; he had some sick pleasure from you begging for his money. Today though, you honesly couldn't care if he got you fired. You'd burnt the tip of your finger in boiling water, an absolute fiend demanded that you got their order wrong, four times. Your older brother, Tyler, had stormed into the store late for his shift which somehow led to your dad shouting at you for not waking your brother up in time. Fair to say your day was horrible, and all you wanted to was dive head first into a book.

"I don't want, nor do I need your spare money, Lucas." His smiled dropped, eyes casting into a dark gaze.

"I think you miss spoke? Did you mean, Yes sir?" You could have sworn by the amount of times you'd gritted your teeth you wouldn't have any by the end of the shift.

"No. I did not miss speak."

He coughed, the coins teasing the tip jar.

"You know that job is a privilege, not a right." Another person entered the coffee shop, walking into the line that only consisted of Lucas.

"Are you being rude again?" The women asked, pressing her cold finger into Lucas' back. Lucas shrugged the finger off, face drifting into fear at the sight of the girl infront of him.

"No. No Wednesday, we- she was only.." he stuttered out, his fingers finally releasing the money into the jaw. He collected his coffee, sprinting out of the store without a second look.

"Evening. May I have a coffee?" You stared at the girl, her eyes cold and hooded when they looked at you. She was dressed in Nevermore uniform, which meant she had some sort of power.

"Obviously, this is a cafe?" You retorted, eyes tired. Your shoulders were sagged, aching from your bad posture, your eyes were dry and begging for a finger to run into the wisk lids.

"Black. No sugar, no cream."

You hummed, pouring the rich beads of bean's into the crusher. Within moments the coffee was done, steaming in the air. You cupped the lid, pressing it down onto the cup. You slid it onto the counter, telling the girl infont of you the price. She handed you the money, precisely.

"Here." She slipped a hundred dollor bill into the cup, nodding solemnly. You groaned, rolling your eyes. Your fingers dipped into the cup, pressing the bill into her chest.

"I'm not a charity case." She frowned deeper, hand holding the bill.

"I did not imply such a thing. I am measly complamenting your abilities of making an admirable coffee. Is that a crime?" The girl infront of you asked, speaking in such a formality you almost cringed.

"Look, it's nice and all but I'd rather you go on with your day. Makes my life easier." The girl carried on to frown, placing the bill once again into the jaw. The same action played out; you pulled the bill out, she placed it back in.

"Why are you so stubborn?"

"Why are you so stuborn?" You mocked, rolling your eyes.

"This surely isn't allowed as a worker, your being deliciously rude." The girl commented, standing slightly less tall; almost like you had drained the energy out of her.

Your eyes drooped, sighing out in frustration.

"I'm a barista, I'm literally serving coffee to pay my phone bill. I don't owe you anything, I'm not a slave, I shouldn't have to beg you to give me a tip- I don't want a tip. You've payed your bill, so leave."

Wednesday shifted on her feet, her tongue rolling over her teeth.

"Fine." You sighed out, thankful that she finally gave you the space. Then, her fingers wrapped around your belt loop; tugging you forward. She slid the note into your pant pocket, turning around before you could object.

You stared at the open space she once took up. Another customer taking up the empty space within momemts.

"Hi, Ma'am, how may I help you?"

---

Days went by, Lucas didn't harass you. Atleast not at work, at school was a different topic. You eventually learnt the ravens name; Wednesday Addams.

The door bell rang, in walking someone dressed all in black. Instead of coming straight to the till they went to table three. The smaller girl slid into open row, placing her hands on the table and locking them together.

You sigh, Wednesday sitting tall on the chair. You picked up your note book, walking towards the argumentative girl.

"What can I get you today?" You asked, smile plastered on your face. Your pen etched into the paper below it, awaiting the girls answer.

"Mm. My usual." She tucked herself further into the seat, glaring up at you.

You groaned, placing the book down on the table, resting your hand on it.

"Do you really think I can remember that?" Wednesday looked at you, fantom smile dancing on her lips.

"I bet you've remembered every detail of my face." She stated proudly, daring you with a smirk.

"Is that so?" You leaned down, your body tumbling over hers. She nodded, her finger tracking up your arm.

"I've remembered yours."

You hum into the air, smiling like you just won the lottery. You pulled back, your frame casting a shadow over Wednesday's small one.

"What's your name again?"

The question knocked the air out of Wednesday, sucking all of her confidence out.

"Uh. Wednesday Addams."

Your tongue rolled over your top teeth, then sucked your bottom lip into your mouth. Humming to fill the deafening silence.

"Wednesday? That's new. Do you still want that black coffee?" Wednesday clenched her jaw, moving her wandering hand away from you.

"Maybe your number would suffice." She muttered, her eyes still undressing you. You nodded, writing something down on your notepad.

You slid it over, not missing the way her eyes sparked and she almost groaned when the piece of paper was in her hands.

Nice try :) I'm not that easy <3

"That coffee will do, I guess." She groaned, staring at the paper in defeat. Her posture deflated, falling into a soulless sight.

"Fantastic"

Your shift dragged like always, your day seemingly never ending. The Raven haired girl that sent a nerve down your spine stayed, all day.

"Miss Addams, this cafe is closing." You mumbled out from under the counter, your hands cleaning up the beans you spilled earlier that day. Wednesday shuffled towards you, feet stopping when they came face to face with yours.

"May I walk you home?" She asked, standing taller with the suggestion. You was on your knees infront of her, staring through messy hair.

"Why?" You stood back up, placing the beans into the trash, wiping your hands free of the dust that built up on your open palm.

"Its dark, we never know what monster that lurkers outside the door." She said it in such a way that made you guess for what creep would be waiting for you. You nibbled on your bottom lip, staring at the girl who was similar height.

"I think that if any creep tried to have me they'd have to put up a fight. Plus, your the stranger." You noted, walking through the store with a cloth in your hand; wiping down the tables.

Wednesday followed closely after, following you like a lap dog.

"I don't have to be. If only you'd tell me your number. I've been told that I am a gracious date planner." She nodded, proud of her words; rethinking her previous conversations with someone.

"You've been on a date?" You laughed, mocking the implication. She shuffled on her feet, her fringe slightly frazzled at the tiresome day.

"Well no. But- but I assume I would be, I'm a bit of a perfectionist." You stared blankly at her, knowing she was eventually going to tire you down.

"No."

She blinked, her fist clenching around her skirt hem.

"And why not?" She all but whined, sounding like a toddler who wasn't allowed ice-cream, she may have well stomped her feet and screamed.

"Because I don't have time." You mumbled, pushing your lose hair out of your face. You brushed past her, not missing the way her fingers touched yours in a hope to grab your attention; when it didn't work she groaned.

"You can't possibly be that busy? Granted, you have school, maybe an after school activity? Then homework, coming here for- well awhile, then your free to spend your day." Wednesday thought, labeling your whole day.

You hummed, leaning over the counter. It was just like the first time you met, her standing infront of the counter, staring at you through dark eyes.

"I wake up at six, get dressed, plan my outfit and leave for school, I end school at three. I have rugby practise after school for two hours, then I have to come here. I leave her at eight, sometimes nine. After work I have to clean my whole house, cook for my dad and older brother, by then it's about eleven. Sometimes I can fit in my homework, other times i just do it in my breaks. After eleven, I have my shower, then I sleep and repeat my day." Wednesday placed her hand onto the counter, her face riddled with thought.

"Well. Give me your homework, so your break will be free and I can take you on a date, sound adequate?" You laughed, smiling at the girl who was dead serious.

"Why are you laughing? I did not state a joke." Wednesday muttered, pressing herself more into the counter. Your faces were inches away from each other, a daring smile still on yours.

"Uh huh. Your cute, Wednesday." Your finger brushed her fringe, making sure it was in the right place. You hummed seeing the same face that you saw a week previously.

"I'm not a cheat thought, nice try." You leaned forward, kissing her cheek before pulling away. She was left stuck, lost in the mist of your fruitfully perfume and flawless actions of physical touch.

"Care to leave now? I really need to get home before my dad does." You slipped out of the apron, pushing all of your lose hair out of your face; dragging the back of your wrist across your forehead, wiping away the steamed sweat.

"I'll be back." You didnt doubt her in anyway, automatically assuming Wednesday hadn't been told no often in her life. She stormed out of the store. Finally after a while you was left to breath, sighing into the dead silent cafe. The bell rang, Tyler barging through the door.

"Was that Wednesday Addams?"

#jenna ortega #jennaortega #lgbt #tara carpenter #wlw #wednesday addams x fem #wednesday addams x female reader #wednesday addmas x fem #wednesday addams #vada cavell #Lorraine day #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega x fem #jenna ortega x fem!reader

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trashmouth-richie · 11 months

Text

prequel to Honey I’m Home

master list

summary: a peek into the lives of our love birds back in 1985

w/c: 4k

tw: no minors, underage drinking, drug use, party behavior. hinted at: rape

Engine roaring hot with the early dog days of summer, Eddie’s van skids to a stop sliding against black asphalt of Piney Wood Lane.

“Eddie! What the fuck?!” A church mouse voice that resembled nails on a chalkboard shrieks when the van halts to a stop. Peach colored lipstick is smeared in a wavy line across her pale skin, Chrissy glares icy blue daggers into the curly haired metal head.

Stoned and nearly asleep, Eddie forced his tired lips into a grin, pearly whites gleaming against the backdrop of the setting sun through the dirty windshield. “Oh babe you’re so pretty, here let me help.” Grabbing the tube of lipstick Eddie draws a matching line across her other cheek, “all better,” he yawns as she snatches the lipstick tube back and shoves the lid back on slamming it into her purse. Using a dirty t-shirt by her feet that she knew was used to wipe Eddie’s cum off her stomach some time last week after one of his shows, she rotates it to a cleanish spot and works the black cloth gently across her face, muttering to herself.

“Where are these little shits anyway?” She grumbles as she avoids Eddie’s lips on her neck, shoving him away with the heel of her hand.

“Fuck Chris, relax,” Eddie says, arms up in a surrender and lowering slightly to light a cigarette and blowing the smoke into the open warm air through his window, “little Tooty said they have to sneak out of the basement window.”

It had been a full year since Eyeball had left town and graduated without Eddie. His best friend was always smarter than he was, never having to repeat senior year, he left Eddie’s trailer park ass in the dust— never to be heard from again.

A scoff breaks from Chrissy’s pastel pink lips as she swipes more powder blue eyeshadow on her lids in the mirror. “I don’t know what my brother sees in her.”

The high encompassing Eddie falters for a split second. Chad Cunningham? What the fuck would Tooty want to do with him?

“Damn, tell me how you really feel,” Eddie says, rolling his eyes and inhaling from his cigarette, “don’t hold back.”

Chrissy flips the visor up with a thud and crosses her arms, her lips twisted in a sneer, she opens her mouth to speak but Eddie shushes her when five moving figures run across the neatly mowed lawn of the Wheeler’s.

Opening the sliding door is a pimple-faced Mike Wheeler, accompanied by Dustin Henderson, Lucas Sinclair, Max Mayfield, and you.

“Whoa whoa whoa,” Eddie says holding his hands up in protest, “watch the carpet yeah? Won’t be a shaggin’ wagon if the carpet is stomped all to hell you little gremlins.”

“Fuck dude,” Dustin speaks, sliding next to Mike on the floor, “you gonna give us upholstery lessons or are we going to this party?”

Mike and Lucas laugh as Eddie takes off before the door is even shut. Screaming into the night like a bat out of hell. Passing out cigarettes from a crumbled pack you kept in the breast pocket of the same ratty flannel you wore almost daily, everyone leans forward to catch the flame at the same time. Inhaling deep and choking back smoke against baby pink lungs.

Eddie wasn’t your favorite person but if he was one thing: it was reliable. He’d show up in his van, rolling up on the last remnants of weed whenever you called him. Day or night, rain or shine wherever you were— he’d drop whatever he was doing to pick you up.

Like the time Mike had left you at Benny’s after falling asleep in the red cracked booth following a late night movie premiere of Cujo. A quick dial to the Munson trailer, with a worried Benny behind you, after a couple of monotonous dial tones an out of breath Eddie answered grumpily reassuring you he’d be there soon.

Ten minutes later the blaring tunes of DIO were heard faintly as his van roared down the street, foregoing stop signs and swerving all over the place.

Benny raised an eyebrow and gave Eddie a pointed finger grunting: get her home safe.

Eddie greeted you with a stupid smile and deep dimples, threatening Mike’s life and his Hellfire spot for leaving you behind.

“Don’t make this a habit,” he scolded lightly, eyes red and higher than a kite, his boots were untied and his hair was sticking out in every direction, “Eyeball will skin me alive.”

You roll your eyes and put your feet on the dash, “Kev doesn’t even know I’m gone.”

Tapping the brakes Eddie laughs deep when you lunge forward, millimeters from almost smacking your head on your knees. “You know my rule, feet down little T.”

The night was young and you were filled with a naivety that coursed through your veins. With Eyeball at college your parents were rarely home, and you spent every waking minute you could with the boys, Max and El. A group of unruly teens, knobby knees and bad haircuts. The summer was barely at its peak, and you couldn’t wait to live it.

“Alright you little brats,” Eddie joked, pulling into Rick’s driveway, “no humping, no grinding, don’t take anything if you aren’t sure of what it is, and you all owe me $5 for the ride here and supplying you little degenerates with the best weed and warm beer in all of Hawkins.” He goads with a warm smile and jumps out of the van, leaving Chrissy to readjust her hair and makeup for the tenth time in the fifteen minute drive to get out to Lover’s Lake.

Filing out of the van one at a time, everyone slaps an Abe Lincoln into Eddie’s upturned palm. When it’s your turn he quickly closes his hand and you give him an annoyed look.

A look of concern colors his brow as he peers into your face, “Are you seriously dating Chrissy’s brother?”

Turning your lip up in defense, you scowl at the accusation, “so what if I was?” You gonna run and tell Kev about it?”

Eddie didn’t want to be on the receiving end of Eyeball’s fury, having seen for himself how Eyeball could fight the biggest of assholes at the Hideout, and he damn sure as hell didn’t want to see you on that end either. “Nah,” he chides, pocketing the bills into his chain wallet and standing with his hands on his hips, chest out, “what the hell do you think I am some shithead narc? I just didn’t think that you’re old enough to date.”

Snarling a grin and pushing his shoulder you answer sarcastically, “Are you my mother? Stop smoking Munson, you’re turning into a softie.” Traipsing past him you quickly run inside to find your friends, feet crunching on the gravel.

What the hell got into him?

—

The party is buzzing and so are you, two drinks in and a hit from Jonathan’s blunt and you’re dancing with Max, El and Will around the living room.

Tears flood Will’s eyes but he won’t say what’s wrong. Lately when he drank, he always seemed to get a little gloomy and dark. Whatever was bothering you he’d never tell, just going on about how it’s not fair. Only for the next day to claim he didn’t remember.

In a blurring spin from El’s outstretched hand, you can make out Steve Harrington. His tongue was wrapped around some blonde girl’s throat. Hands cupping her ass like she might float away. He wore his sunglasses in the house pretending like he really was fit to be “King”.

King Douche of Hairspray Island

Nancy and Jonathan are whispering close together slow dancing to a song no one can hear but them. Her stylish hair and clothes always fit her like she was straight from a Gap catalog.

Eyeing you, she waves and blows you a kiss. One you pocket and blow back. You’ve come to know Nancy quite well this last school year. Being one of your best friend's older sister’s she was cool and grown up.

Showing Max, El and yourself the proper way to wear makeup without looking like a cheap tramp.

“I don’t care if it is popular, blue is not a shade for anyone’s eyes.” Her makeup lessons earned an eye roll from Max, but you and El took special interest in it.

Collapsing onto the couch after Girls Just Wanna Have Fun ended; Will, Max and El all fall into a fit of giggles, you are breathless and your legs feel like freeze pops before they’re frozen. Being drunk and spinning around wasn’t the best of combinations but it was a blast.

A wayward glance towards the makeshift poker table in the small kitchen has Will wiping his eyes, rushing to the bathroom, excusing himself with a rushed “gotta pee.”

Finishing the last swallows of a lone beer sitting atop the barely standing coffee table, Max tosses the empty can behind her and leans forward, turning her head towards your direction, her eyes squinting into a serious glare, “you really gonna date that weasel dick Chad Cunningham?”

El’s face lights with devilish delight and you roll your eyes. Chad Cunningham was in your grade, and more popular than anyone you hung out with. Exceptionally good at sports and school, he was a dreamboat for any girl to set sail with. A future of wealth and riches lying at your feet. And he had been laying on his advances thick.

Plucking a cigarette from the crumbled pack in your shirt pocket, you offer the redhead a drag after taking a long inhale.

“Jesus,” you breathe through a cloud of smoke, “I swear I’m gonna kill Lucas.”

Max only laughs, poking your ribs with a slight jab of her unpainted fingernail, red from a picked stubborn hangnail, “Lucas couldn’t keep a secret if someone paid him too.”

Lucas and Chad played on the same baseball team, and it was he who said he would put in a good word to you for Chad. Apparently they were talking about more than just batting averages at practice.

Stealing the cigarette from your mouth, Max slots it between her own chapped lips, inhaling and blowing the smoke upwards as she falls back into the couch.

Lighting another cigarette, you listen to Max’s scoffing noises as Eddie runs through the living room, shirt off wearing cutoff denim shorts and boots, a screaming Chrissy over his shoulder as he trots towards the dock. Her high pitched whines are faint as there are two splashes into the lake, one after another.

“We’ve talked on the phone once, maybe twice,” you offer the small information as a gift, waiting for your two best friends to pull the pink satin bow and open it revealing the secret surprise. “Just lucky my mom didn’t get to the phone before I did.”

“No shit,” El hums around a can of Pabst, a wicked smile evident on her lips, “so what did he say?!”

The three of you dive into a giggly drunk conversation about boys, laughing at how awkward they were, how dumb they could be, ending the conversation still unsure whether or not you would give in to Chad’s charm. He was cute after all.

He wasn’t like you, while your family wasn’t poor, Chad’s family was extremely wealthy. They were all matching outfits for family pictures and lately your parents were gone more than they were home. Hushed whispers and teary eyes from your mother.

You didn’t know what was going on, maybe they would be getting a divorce? Maybe you’d be like Max and live in the trailer park after whichever parent decided to stay in Hawkins. Between the choice of living with your mom or dad, you’d rather sleep in a dog kennel.

Of all the girls in the school, Chad had chosen you. The sleepless nights on the phone were nothing but sweet talk. Telling you how pretty you were, calling you honey bun, how he couldn’t get you out of his head. Teasing him and telling him he was crazy, his flirting only deepened. Creating a pocket of desire and questions of what if? burrowed deep into your skin. Warming your heart with each peel of his words cozying inside of it.

He even left flowers on your window sill in the middle of the night so you could wake up to the smell of wildflowers drying in the growing sun of the dewy morning.

He was a charmer. And he’d charmed you right to a fit of heated cheeks and butterfly stomach aches.

When you saw Chrissy’s blonde hair in Eddie’s van you almost expected to see him in the back. Stomach sinking when he wasn’t stuffed into the grungy van.

Last night he made you promise to call when you were done hanging out with your friends. A promise you weren’t sure if you would keep or not.

El slinked from the couch and joined Mike and the rest of the boys playing their drunken hands at poker. Losing every cent of allowance and weeks worth of mowing yards in Hawkins to Steve and a piss drunk Tommy.

Max and Lucas were wrestling on the floor now, his deep skin turning a violent shade of purple only seen on plums from Max having him in a headlock, making him swear to stop calling her Pippy due to her choice of hairstyle.

The scent of murky lake water infused with green algae and harsh whiskey fogged your brain, tiny droplets of water slid down your cheeks, making you question how many beers you actually had. Putting your head on the cushion and looking back revealed Eddie, standing behind you in all his stupidity and brainless head banging to Heaven and Hell. One hand clutched around a bottle of Jack Daniels by the neck, his rings clacking loudly around the glass, the other pinched a fat joint. One wet boot on the back of the couch.

“Trailer Park run out of water again?” you spit, making a show of wiping your face with the back of your hand and sitting farther away from the metal head menace. Kev’s friend or not, Eddie was a special kind of jackass. Loud, ruthless, a real mother fucker, but come hell or high water, he was loyal to his friends. But shit, even an old porch dog is.

Eddie made a voice and chuckled deep, taking a large inhale from the joint, the paper crinkling against the orange burnt end. Blowing big O’s around your face, he merely grins, “you’re too kind to me little T,” he gathers his hair and wrings it out over your head, leaping over the back of the couch landing next to you with a sopping squelch sound of wet denim slapping against polyester, “better ease up on that sweetness or someone might think you’re not made of piss and vinegar.”

Kicking him away from you he only laughs harder ow stop you’re hurting me ow, he breaks out through choked laughs at your attempt to throw him off the couch.

When you have him pinned against the arm rest, your dirty white converse pressed into the slab of graffitied alabaster that makes up his back, he gently grabs your ankle and tosses your feet off of him in a swift throw.

Crossing your arms in a stubborn fashion you deliver one more kick into his side before retreating your legs in a pretzel beneath you, taking the joint from his outstretched hand as a peace offering. Hard to deliver kicks when your feet felt like they were stuck in brownie batter thick mud.

After a few hits, droopy eyes, and Eddie’s dripping curls down his back and onto the woven beige fabric of Rick’s couch, Eddie lets out a loud sigh, taking a pull from the whiskey bottle he still was nursing.

“Thought Eyeball was supposed to come home this summer?”

The question is more of a statement from Eddie as you lazily shrug your shoulders and find intense concentration on the frayed edges of your shorts. Fingers rolling the edges until the fabric is warm and sweaty.

“Dunno, precious Kev hasn’t said much since he went out East, nobody has.”

“Ohh c’mon,” Eddies velvet voice hums deep through his high, eyes barely open, “your rents aren’t that bad.”

Blowing hot breath through your lips you mimic a balloon, giggling at the way your lips feel with each wiggly vibration against your them. “Next. I’m not talking about my feelings with you when you’re higher than Willie fuckin’ Nelson.”

“Rocky Mountain High,” Eddie grins, tipping the neck or the Jack Daniel’s bottle to his lips.

Heckling him you correct, “That’s… John Denver …dumbass— ,” a yawn escapes your mouth, brain functioning on low as the high creeps into your brain, an unannounced nap knocking on your eyelids.

The couch dips with Eddie’s weight as he reaches for a blanket and tosses it to you, “Kid, I don’t know how you and Eyeball are related,” he presses, laughing at the way your eyes heavily blink back at him, “you can’t hang.”

The slowest fuck you rolls of your tongue, the living room fading in your vision you can almost taste the insult rolling around your mouth.

His idle smile falls into a frown, eyebrows pulled inward, eyes looking over your head you train your eyes to follow his gaze.

The noise of Chrissy’s bubbly giggle as she emerges from Rick’s bedroom, catches your attention. She’s wearing a pair of his boxers and a worn heather gray shirt, faded kelly green writing reading, Hawkins Athletic Dept 1980. Her eyes are twinkling with each murmur from Rick’s slack mouth, bent low to her ear, neither of them seeing Eddie sitting on the couch.

Stepping into the low hanging lights in the living room, Rick quickly gestures to Chrissy’s nose and she hastily wipes at it with the back of her hand.

You knew very little of Chrissy other than her family lived on the golf course in a lavish house with a perfectly manicured yard. One boy, one girl, perfect cookie cutter JC Penney catalog assholes.

Last year, you, Dustin and Mike threw three dozen perfectly shaped, white eggs at their front door on Halloween. While Will and Lucas rang the doorbell and Max lit the brown papered sack filled to the brim of Forest Hills Trailer Park’s finest dog shit.

There were wanted ads in the Hawkins Post for weeks about any known whereabouts of the “hoodlums” who defaced private property.

And Joyce Byers stood her ground on not knowing anything when Chief Hopper begrudgingly stomped his way from his police cruiser to the lonely woman’s door. Nevermind her receipt from Bradley’s Big Buys that was identical to what was used in the Halloween crimes of 1984.

It truly was a mystery.

Chrissy didn’t talk to you or any of your friends when you all hung out with Eddie and that was perfectly fine with you, she seemed on edge and would scowl anytime Eddie wasn’t paying her attention or waiting on her hand and foot. At the very least she looked to be in desperate need to fucking relax.

Her wide pupils scan the living room and stop on Eddie. The innocence of Bambi struck the blues in her eyes.

The couch shifts as Eddie stands on firm boots and makes his way to Rick and Chrissy. And before you can crane your neck to hear the conversation, Dustin throws himself down beside you, grabbing the blanket in a yank.

“Pretty sure I’ve figured out the physics of the beer bong,” he says as he flips your legs on his lap.

Before long your eyelids have taken the shape of sandbags and you’re fast asleep. Left on the couch after Dustin’s lengthy explanation of the correct number of breaths taken before the beer bong rendered you to a peaceful dream state.

When you wake by being lightly shaken by a sober-looking Eddie, his warm dark eyes swim with anger and look too wet, and his smile doesn’t match his eyes, “let’s go, kid,” he looks around wildly, on edge, “you’re drunker than a skunk— it’s time to go.”

You’re incoherent as you try to stand, a dizzy spell capturing you in a wave and you feel like you're underwater. Looking around you don’t recognize anyone but Eddie. Rick’s is packed with faces you don’t know.

Not wanting to be there for another second, Eddie grabs your wrist, squats low in front of you and throws your arms around his neck. He wraps the smooth crook of his elbows into the back of your knees, wearing you like a drunk backpack.

A piggy back ride that left your face in the curly, tangled tufts of his drying hair, the tang of weed and lake water stinging your nose as you bury your chin into his shoulder.

A cool blanket is on you when you open your eyes and become a little more alert. You’re in the passenger seat of Eddie’s van, a cigarette hangs limply from his lips as he’s muttering something to himself. It’s dark, and no music is playing. An odd thing for him.

A quick glance around and you see that no one else is with you. A street lamp shines through the windows and you can see Eddie’s knuckles are painted with a deepened glossy red substance.

“Eddie?”

He doesn’t hear you immediately so you repeat his name. His head turns sharp towards you and the blazed look of rage emits from his face. If it were a look from anyone else you’d be terrified. He quickly softens his eyes.

“Everyone’s at Steve’s,” he says quickly, “the kids, Nancy, Jonathan.. we’re heading there—that cool?”

Confused but unable to concentrate a single thought on why the fuck Eddie would be taking you to Steve mop head Harrington’s house, you nod in agreeance. Fighting sleep but losing.

“.. okay okay okay! Explain to me again what the hell happened, I was helping Lucas get Max in my car when it went down.”

“Ouch! Jesus Chr—“

“Sorry!”

“.. they were eyeing her man, all of them! — it was— fuck!”

*glass breaks against a wall*

“Who Chrissy?”

“No, Tooty!”

“Oh my God.. Munson. Who were they?!”

“I don’t know man, I’ve— I’ve never seen them before… fuck this I’m going back there— gonna snap their fucking necks!”

“Stop, this needs to get cleaned or it’ll get infected!”

“Henderson, weren't you sitting by her? Where the hell were you?!.”

“I was Steve! fuck— I just had take a piss, I was gone for like 2 minutes and then I heard the yelling…”

“Christ! Did they touch her?!”

“No,” a tearful voice warbles, “Eddie knocked out that big fucker and the rest of them backed off.”

“I fucking swear to God— Harrington, I will slit their throats if I see them again!”

“I know dude I know, me too.”

“She’s asleep. Max and El are staying with her in the guest room upstairs, I think we should all get some sleep it’s fucking 3 in the morning.”

“Nope, all due respect Wheeler— I can’t.”

“Ed—”

“Fuck! I won’t go back there, alright? But I can’t just lay down and go to bed— not after this..”

The weary eyed stubborn watchdog waits til dawn, aching back from the wall he’s propped up against and bruised knuckles sting with tightness. Flipping the steel end of an old pocket knife open and closed.

Steve stayed up with him for a while, a bat with nails protruding from every which way in a death grip in his fist.

Eddie didn’t think he actually was all that bad, underneath all that hairspray he could tell he’s a genuine person— lost on the surface of money, name brand clothes and expensive cologne.

The two of them made a pact that night that the kids would be protected at all costs, two guardians in the halls for them in high school in the fall. The jock dickheads who crashed Rick’s party amongst them, but the threat behind Eddie’s fist evident in the broken jaw of the football captain behemoth. No longer able to to take the Tigers to a state championship or try to have his way with a younger drunk girl at a party.

Both Eddie and Steve decide that in the morning if you didn’t remember what happened— it would die there, a protective secret amongst new friends.

🧡

see you in volume xi

#honey im home #eddie munson #eddie x fem!reader #eddie x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #stranger things fanfiction

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cloveroctobers · 7 months

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OCTOBER PROMPTS 🎃 — 1. Luca

PROMPTS from here + here and I’m using: “I really appreciate that you’re getting into the Halloween spirit, but it’s ten in the morning, please turn off the slasher films so I can eat my breakfast in peace.” + “Pumpkin spiced latte, please.”

A/N: so glad Luca was voted for the most on the poll lol because he’s the only one out of the options I started writing for in the drafts! let’s see if I can keep up with making these short this year 🤭! This is nothing but fluff and a smidge of annoyance — reader on Luca’s nerves just a bit really. Mentions of a classic horror film, that I actually need to go back and watch! I think I watched it once before since I won’t lie I usually watch the more updated versions when it comes to that franchise more so,, although I’m not the biggest fan of the series anyways like dear Luca…don’t drag us too much ⚔️!!!

WARNINGS: Reader being a bum for the day? Luca just wants to eat without background noise? + slight language, oh and pumpkin slander!

*GIF BELONGS TO: @wiha-jun !

⛧°。 ⋆༺♱༻⋆。 °⛧ ⛧°。 ⋆༺♱༻⋆。 °⛧ ⛧°。

Luca prefers his mornings to be soothing, not filled with screams that can make anyone’s ear drums bleed or have the neighbors in the cul- de-sac sending the coppers right over. He had just gotten back from his morning run around the city, finding you sleeping down on the couch now compared to your shared bed. Which was humorous that you had the energy to climb out of the bed wrapped in mountains of blankets that you kept stored in a woven basket tucked away in the living space; during his absence just to continue your rest on the pale gray sofa.

You barely budged when he announced he was heading out into the damp morning and also repeated the same motion when he’s back, gently bending down to press a kiss to your edges before disappearing upstairs to shower. You’re awake with lidded eyes once he’s arrived downstairs, smelling of fresh mint soap and Olibanum as you’re messing around with the flatscreen on the entertainment center.

“Are you truly awake for the day darling or is it going to be another two to three business days?” Luca jokes on his way by, not expecting what you were going to set the television on.

You’re mocking him, voice still full of sleep, leaving the taller man to chuckle to himself as he heads into the kitchen, searching the fridge around the corner to ponder over what he can whip up. There’s plenty of possibilities as Luca’s eyes scan over what’s stocked in the fridge, finding that’s something he had to do now that you both shared a home together.

He could do cold smoked salmon…putting the protein to good use along with the radish and watercress…yet you were out of cream cheese. He could always ask his favorite critic, brace yourselves, it’s not Luca himself but rather you, what you were feeling like for breakfast but he knew regardless what he prepared you’d probably eat.

Thinking to himself, fingers tapping against the handle of the open fridge, he decides to go for something simple and more festive if you will. So he decides on homemade maple pancakes, without the walnuts since you were allergic and picks the pecans that your grandfather brought over from his pecan tree back in Georgia earlier this year. He’ll fry up some danish bacon with thyme searing the pan—hoping to bring flavor to the pork—or really to basically get rid of it, although it was a kind gesture from a neighbor who learned Luca was in the culinary field—the both of you were not the biggest fans of Denmark’s bacon.

No disrespect of course.

“Hey, want some of this Risalamande?” Luca calls out as you began to get engaged into the film, that’s probably been on for about twenty minutes since Luca takes more time debating on what to eat at home than when he’s out in the city.

Immediately your nose scrunches up as Luca is diving into the colorful rice pudding, leaning against the doorway that leads to the living room and front of the detached home, “Texture, Luca. Come on!”

Luca snorts with a slight roll of his eyes, “Ah, I see I’m getting picky you this morning, yeah?”

A wag of your finger as if it were a wand goes shooting into the air while you respond, “Sssh!”

“Rude.”

Luca spins back into the kitchen with a shake of his head, downing what most would consider a Christmas dessert but he doesn’t care one bit. He’s a man that enjoys eating and Christmas was more of his holiday anyway.

That holds him over long enough and he’s got the comfort of him whisking the dry ingredients together, focus steady on getting just the right mixture before moving onto the wet ingredients. It’s easy work really, which means Luca doesn’t mind making breakfast more than any other meal. It was similar to his own work, yet pastries were more his speed and he often challenged himself to try out new techniques majority of the time, so it wouldn’t always be easy but it was the pleasure in knowing that this is the starting point of your day, which beats a protein bar any way.

Luca uses his hands everyday and yeah it so happened to surprisingly be his weekend off, he didn’t mind keeping his hands busy when it came to breakfast and serving to the person he truly adores.

He’s at the stove, with minutes passing by at ease, his arched brows raising so often when the tempo of the movie begins to picks up. “What are you watching?”

He can’t help but to ask.

“…The Evil Dead, 1981.” He’s shocked he even gets a response from you since you tend to zone out when it comes to media.

Sometimes it was certainly a bad habit. You were an environmental documentary editor so it wasn’t unusual for you to get wrapped up in screens. Yet Luca couldn’t really blame you for that since he got lost in his craft as well; the both of you were working to get better with turning those habits off when together.

…if you don’t count right now that is! There was nothing wrong with being passionate about your interests but it was also always important to prioritize your partner, especially when work was a good chunk of your lives, yet it wasn’t the only thing that mattered. The both of you understood that.

He hums, finding possession films and gory themes weren’t really his thing. He actually has a weak system when it came to those type of horror films or rather blood (passing out from the mere sight fake or not or simply the stench of it is not something Luca was proud to admit) and let’s just say he was glad to not be in the room with you now. Horror really wasn’t your lane either, you were more into sci-fi films whereas Luca loved a good action film or documentary.

You were both each others test subjects, you with his food and him with your edits on your hybrid schedule.

“Come eat,” Luca says after while, the food steaming and filling the house with a sweet, salty and slightly earthy aroma.

He’s wiping his hands off with a rag, which he steps to the center of the kitchen, balling up the used rag to toss with a swift flick of the wrist into the laundry room up ahead. The rag plunks right on the washer and Luca smirks to himself before heading back to the dining table tucked in the corner by the oven. He always sits with his back to the oven because in a sense it’s brings him placidness. It didn’t make much sense to you since you originally thought Luca just wanted the view of the screened in conservatory all to himself but he flirted that you were enough of a view for him. Nonetheless he didn’t really need to explain it to you, if that’s the spot Luca wanted then so be it. You rarely argued about it simply because you could eat out there if you really wanted. He could keep the meaning of sitting with his back to the oven to himself. Perhaps it was his way of putting it behind him for awhile when engaged with you? Who truly knows but you did think about it a bit once you settled into the shared home.

Luca’s pulling himself up to the table, picking up a fork to start plating and clenched his eyes as more screams fill the home.

“I really appreciate that you’re getting into the Halloween spirit, but it’s ten in the morning, please turn off the slasher film so I can eat my breakfast in peace.” Luca calls out to you, after picking up that you were in a lazy mood and not ready to join him at the table.

The film actually gets lower as Luca shoves the pancake into his mouth, beginning to chew the meal as you say back, “pumpkin spiced latte, please.”

Luca questions with his mouth full, “what was that?”

“I’ll join you if there’s a pumpkin spiced latte waiting for me.”

Luca sits back in his chair and swallows, “you don’t even enjoy pumpkin so what are you on about?”

“But it’s fall, Luca.”

Luca pinches the space in between his skinny brows, “…for fucks sake, you’re quite spoiled you know that?”

“I love you.” You sing out while Luca scoffs.

He comments, “You better.”

So now he’s up on his feet again, messing with the olive espresso machine that you still won’t tell him how much you paid for last Christmas, he’ll use the last bit of maple syrup that he had leftover from the pancakes, there’s no pumpkin spice in the flat since he isn’t a big fan of pumpkin flavor either so he uses: 2 teaspoons cinnamon, 1/8 teaspoon nutmeg, 1/8 teaspoon ginger, and 1/8 teaspoon of ground cloves, yet he brought home some pumpkin purée that one of his fall-loving co-workers gave to him; homemade from her mini pumpkin patch in her backyard, he steams the oat milk, mixes the espresso, puree, syrup, spices, and vanilla all together before combining it with the milk. From there he frothed it just for a few seconds to get some foam and finally tops it off with whipped cream and more cinnamon.

Sitting back down, he slides the drink over to your side of the table and before he can call out to you to inform it’s ready, he’s hearing the shuffle of your feet in those ridiculous hot pink fluffy slippers. Luca glances at you and finds you rather cute still in your cozy pj’s and hair a complete mess.

“Your royalty,” Luca bows towards your drink, making you gasp playfully as you approach him, placing a hand on his shoulder to get his attention, “it’s still hot,” he warns as you reach over for the handle of the mug at the same time but you pick it up with ease.

You peek at the latte and then back at him saying, “Shoo,” you wave your hand making Luca frown up at you.

You and these damn hand movements, you should be a conductor like your older sibling instead.

He soon picks up on what else you want, making yourself comfortable right in his lap, making Luca shake his head at you, tangling around you now so he can finish the breakfast but with you in his lap.

You on the other hand werent much of a breakfast person, although you loved a good brunch moment with your mates! but you hardly turned down much of what Luca prepared. He knew you’d get around to the pancakes if you didn’t start picking at his own plate soon.

“How is it?”

You nod, running your tongue over the top of your lip to get rid of the whipped cream, “hmm, now I kinda see what those pumpkin bitches go crazy over.”

Luca chuckles, “do I get to sample?”

“It’s the least I can do,” you tease as you blow on the steam before tipping the mug towards Luca’s lips.

He ends up blowing on it more before sipping and it’s your turn to watch his own opinion before he says it. You can always tell what direction this may go based on the way his eyebrows and eyes move.

“Not half bad if I do say so myself but a smoked butterscotch latte from Café bønne is actually better. I frankly don’t see the hype with this latte.” Luca shrugged with a pinch of his lips in thought before turning his hand back to the bacon.

You groan, “we haven’t been there in ages! We should go there today.”

“Nope, storms coming in this afternoon actually with a chance of power outages which is why you should eat those pancakes sooner than later, love.” Luca explains before adding, “should have gone running with me this morning. I passed by that route today too.” Luca tells you while you take another sip of the latte.

You weren’t aware of any storm coming in but you had to admit that you fell asleep on the news last night after the show you stayed up to watch with Luca went off. It really amazes you how he can stay up late and get up to function the next day. You on the other hand? Had to follow a routine or else you’ll be no good at work, hybrid schedule or not.

“Fine, I guess the shitty pumpkin makes up for it.”

Luca peeks at you mid chew, “Are you insulting my beverage when you asked for it?”

“Never! This definitely gets a 8.5 across the board. So I’ll shut my spoiled self up, babes.”

“Now that’s the spirit.”

A shove to his shoulder makes Luca wink and grin over at you, poking his lips out for a peck, making you aware that he was only teasing you.

Sighing you lean forward to press your lips against his in a chaste kiss, “thanks for breakfast.”

With his free tatted hand, he runs the pad of his thumb against the childhood scar on your kneecap stating with a smile, “anytime, darling.” He says as he peers at you from underneath his eyelashes before tossing in, “Even when you’re being a picky pain in my arse.”

“Welp! Moment’s ruined.” You hopped off Luca’s lap while he tried to latch onto you with a laugh but you swung your hips out of his reach, however not without plunking up his last pancake to take with you.

See!

Luca huffs, sticking his tongue into the side of his cheek before taking your plate with him to follow you into the living room. You’re seated back on the couch and he sits on the opposite end of it, tangling his limbs with yours as you cover each other with the blankets.

“This pancake is delicious.”

“So are yours,” Luca is smug as he eats from your plate now before glancing at the horror film on screen with disgust, then softening his expression as he sets his eyes back on you.

Which leads to the both of you taking turns eating pancakes and sharing the pumpkin latte, making the feel of autumn in the atmosphere sink in with the warmth of each other.

Hours later…you’re laying cuddled up to Luca’s chest on the couch, the rhythm of his chest rising and falling along with his hands clasped together against the small of your back is enough to almost put you to sleep. The wind has picked up now, whistling through the cloudy skies of Copenhagen followed by a harsh patter of rain that can be heard from the ceiling of the living room.

Which is just enough remedy for the both of you while you rest until you suddenly ask, “what did you think of the evil dead?”

Luca almost grimaces before he states, “…I prefer midsommar.”

“I want to debunk that with you but I also want to go back to sleep.”

Luca laughs before nuzzling his cheek against your head, “Fine by me, we have time to get into it later.”

“Over pancakes?”

“Breakfast for dinner? As long as you promise to actually sit at the table with me?”

“There’s no place I’d rather be…and I also want to hear your thoughts on that film. A true Mukbang starring us two, can’t get any better than that, no?”

A smile curls onto Luca’s lips at your excitement, then he speaks, “who’s the audience then?”

“The entities that maybe lurking around this house.”

Luca pops a eye open, “I really don’t like how you just said that. Especially after you had me watching that horrid fucking film.”

“Hey! A lot of horror lovers will definitely drag you for that but don’t worry, I’ll fight anything and anyone that dares to step to my man and that’s on what?”

Luca shakes his head while pretending to think about it, “period? Or whatever it is you say. You’re still a brat for saying that though. I don’t know if you notice but Halloween isn’t until the end of the month.”

“I’m sorry,” you coo squeezing his shoulder, “but Halloween starts as soon as September hits and don’t you forget it you big baby.” You curl your hand from around Luca’s shoulder to squeeze his cheeks together.

“You’re the…baby.” Luca mimics, his cheeks now appearing like a gapping fish due to your actions, “Taking thirty naps a day and being a massive pain in my bum.”

“NAURR,” you exaggerate making Luca lift his brows in annoyance before you continue, “I’m your favorite headache.”

Luca let’s out a sigh, “you’re not wrong.”

“I never am,” you sass before the room goes quiet a bit more—besides the weather outside until you voice your thoughts out loud, “Midsommar though? Really? I wouldn’t put that and Evil Dead in the same category.”

Now it was Luca’s turn to shush you.

⛧°。 ⋆༺♱༻⋆。 °⛧ ⛧°。 ⋆༺♱༻⋆。 °⛧ ⛧°

Continue along with my October anthology prompts here.

#the bear #the bear season 2 #the bear s2 #the bear hulu #the bear fx #luca the bear #will poulter #october prompts #Luca the bear x reader #will poulter x reader #queued #Spotify

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silverstonesainz-archive · 2 years

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the winner takes it all

The winner takes it all, the loser's standing small Beside the victory, that's her destiny

summary: your first win might just be your greatest loss pairing: charles leclerc x alpine fem!reader (nicknamed fleur) word count: 4.2k warnings: cussing, google translate french, gets a little physical (nothing abusive or concerning), selfish and mean charles, just very angsty and straight up sad. note: no the plot has nothing to do with the abba song, just thought the title and lyrics above fit. this was requested, so i hope i did it some justice! anyways i hope you enjoy this one. ily all.

❃゜・。. ・°゜✼ ゜°・ . 。・゜❃

“Final lap. Gap between you and Carlos is only 1.3. Keep pushing Fleur.”

The world around you ceases to exist. You forget about the crowds of people watching you, edge of their seats and biting their nails as they wait to see if you can really pull it off. You forget about the other drivers behind you. In this moment, it’s just you behind the wheel, and the streets you grew up on.

She’s gonna do it! For the first time in her career, in her first year in Formula one. L'être aimé, the beloved! There she goes in the Alpine! Y/N Y/LN wins the Monaco Grand Prix!

“That’s P1 Fleur! P1!”

You shriek, tears glossing over your eyes, and your fist flying in the air. Your radio floods with congratulatory remarks, your team expressing how proud they are of you. You did it, you finally fucking won.

You slowly pull in behind the number one. Nothing felt real. Your hands shake as you try pull your steering wheel out of the car, bile from the nerves nearly threatening to come up. The cheers are deafening, the lights blinding. You hop off your car, sprinting towards the sea of blue. You jump into the sea of people, hands patting you back. There are choruses of bravo and bon travail flooding your ears, and you begin to cry. Your engineer, Lucas, gently lowers you to your feet and helps you pull off your helmet.

“You did amazing Fleur. Fucking phenomenal drive!” He cups your cheeks, kissing the top of your head before handing you your helmet and waving you off to enjoy your win.

You turn on your heel, a line of drivers making their way towards you to congratulating. You are tugged left and right into hugs and affectionate pats on the back from your male counterparts, and while you were thankful you can’t help but look for a certain man in red. You fail to find him, even after your interview.

The cool down room is quiet as you wait for Carlos and Max to enter. The race highlights replay on the screen, and you watch as you sip your water. Charles’s red Ferrari flashes on the screen, and you cringe as the replay shows you overtaking him, and then aches as he fails to climb back up for a podium.

“Congratulations pollito,” Carlos greets as he walks into the room, extending his arm to give you a hug.

“Thank you!”

Max walks in shortly after, grinning widely and bidding you a congratulations, ruffling your hair just to annoy you. The boys quickly dive into conversation about the race, and you tune them out. Soon, they are calling you to make your way up to the podiums. The nerves fire up again, hands shaking once more as you walk out and wave to anyone and everyone. Your eyes scan the crowd, looking for your boyfriend once more but failing to spot him. The Monaco anthem blares through the speaker, and your eyes fall shut.

Memories of your karting days flash behind your closed lid. Every turn, scrape, DNF, tear, and smile led you right here. You savor the feeling of standing on the tallest podium, above everyone else. The cool splash of champagne takes you out of your daydream. You laugh loudly, spraying Carlos and Max back before walking to the edge of the stage to spray your team. Charles is no where to be found, and you feel your heart sink. The ceremony doesn’t last much longer, and he never shows his face. You chuck it to interviews and briefings, betting him on seeing him before leaving the paddock tonight. You take one swing from the large bottle before waving goodbye and walking off the stage. Post race interviews and your final meetings of the day go by in a blur. It is almost robotic, how your mouth and body lead you throughout the final parts of the day, your mind far from the track.

You bid goodbye to your team in the lobby of your hotel, promising to see them later in the night at the team party. When the elevator doors shut, you finally go on your phone to answer the multitude of texts and return the tens of missed calls. And when all is said and done, there was still no sign of the Monegasque.

Where are you?

It stung a lot, not hearing from Charles. Your first win, in a city that you both call home and yet all you got from him was radio silence. Every other race, you were always quick to be there for him. Whether it was to celebrate or console, you were always at Charles’s beck and call.

Dating your opponent has always put you in a tough spot, both on an off the track. But you like to believe that’s it’s different with Charles, because being opponents is what brought you two together in the first place. You remember the first time your godfather brought you to the karting track. Your brother’s old suit loosely hung on your shoulders, and your hair was tightly braided out of your face. You remember the way your hands shook, a nervous tick, as you scanned your crowd of competitors. Not a single girl was dressed like you were, not a single one lugging a hand-me-down kart around. You nearly turned around to beg your godfather to take you home, but Charles and his father greeted you. You remember the snoopy brown hair, toothy grin as he held his hand out and said “hi, I’m Charles!” They were the first to acknowledge you and treat just like any other driver. Every race after that, from karting through each formula series, you and Charles remained stuck at the hip. There wasn’t a win you celebrated without each other, or a loss you mourned together.

It was your second year together in Formula 2 where your friendship had begun to blossom into something more. Charles watched you from the second step, standing up with your first ever P1 trophy in the series. His eyes were bright, admiring the glow you emitted in that moment. It was the first time he every saw you as something other than his best friend and rival. He saw the twinkle in your eyes, and how rosy your cheeks got when you smile. He admired how pink your lips are, and the way your race suit seemed to hug you in all the right places. For the first time, he saw you and all the beauty you hold.

And the same could be said for you. You noticed the difference in the way Charles looked at you. You noticed the lingering touches, the flirting, and the excessive time spent together. It wasn’t long until you both confessed that you were smitten, and had begun dating shortly thereafter. And yeah, sometimes things would be difficult between the two of you. You both still disagreed at times, both still manage to blame each other for a wide turn or pushing boundaries. Your love didn’t taint the fiery spirit you both had for the sport. And while the world expected your relationship to crash and burn, the intense passion did the exact opposite.

Talking to engineers. Text you later.

You frown at Charles’s response. It’s unlike him to not acknowledge you like this, to not even say congratulations. You know that this race, his loss, would hit harder than any other one. He had a mission, a goal to achieve. Monaco was a race he had yet to conquer, and today he still managed to fall flat. But still, you would think he would still try to be proud of you. You would do the same for him, if roles were reversed.

Oh. Okay.Team is hosting a party for me at the bar in my hotel. Will you come?

I don’t know. I don’t think so.

Tears sting at your eyes as you toss your phone to the side. Guilt creeps from the back of your mind, and your heart cracks ever so slightly. You try not to let it consume you as you get ready to meet with people who intend to celebrate you. You try to push his stupid green eyes as far back in your mind as you possibly can.

You slip on a white, silk, midi dress. The slit rides high, elongating your legs much more. You fiddle with the flower pendant on your neck, smiling at the memory of Charles’s father gifting it to you when you won your first ever kart race. You’ve had to replace the chain multiple times, but the pretty white peony charm still remains resilient against your skin. There are no texts from Charles when you finally look at your phone and you sigh.

I’m really sorry about today. Don’t worry about coming tonight.Je t’aime, bebe.

Lucas waits for you outside of the bar. He escorts you in, and your heart plummets further into your chest. It should be Charles walking you in. Charles should be here.

You find it hard to celebrate, even with all your other friends showering you in praise and rounds of shot. You decline most of them, chucking it to an early morning the next day. Alcohol doesn’t sound appealing, even with your friends enticing you with expensive liquor and claims that you just have to black out (Daniel’s words). You try to dance, to socialize, but even in the midst of a party celebrating you, your mind was still miles away. Your attention flickers from your phone to the front door, just hoping that Charles would do just about anything. But alas, the night ends and you still receive nothing from your boyfriend.

You bid everyone goodnight, letting Lucas know that you will be driving to Ferrari’s hotel to drop a fairly drunk Carlos and to go see Charles. The drive there is calm, Carlos’s drunk ramblings filling the space. He goes on and on about how proud of you he is, and that he knew your win was coming. You follow him all the way to his door, where you wish him goodnight and then make your way to Charles’s room. You tap his door twice with your knuckles. There is very little movement on the other side, and soon the door handle jiggles as he yanks the door open to reveal a very tired Monegasque boy. His eyes are puffy, surrounded by darkness. The usual vibrant green is dulled out with sadness. He frowns at you.

“Why are you here?”

It’s your turn to frown, “I wanted to see you.”

He lets out a sigh, stepping aside to let you in. Each step you take feels heavier and heavier. It’s almost as if you are dragging cinderblocks behind you. Charles shuts the door as you sit on his bed, slowly undoing the straps of your heels. Your boyfriend kneels before you, moving your hand gently so that he can continue undoing the straps and taking off your shoes. His soft movements make you feel hopeful, reassures you for just a moment. But then he looks up at you, and you watch as the life leaves his eyes. He almost looks resentful, but he gets up and walks to his luggage before you can analyze him further.

“I don’t want to talk tonight, Fleur. Let’s just sleep.”

You nod, watching as he hands you a shirt for you to change into. You retreat to the bathroom, and as soon as you lock the door your eyes flood with tears. Your hand clamps over your mouth as you try to muffle your sobs, knees buckling to touch the floor. You aren’t sure how long you sit there on his bathroom floor, heart breaking piece by piece as your win eats away at you. The way he looks at you, dismisses you even after his affectionate gesture makes you feel small. You finally muster the strength to stand, your disheveled reflection taunting you. Your make up is smeared and streaky, face blotchy. You looked so sad. Slowly, you slide the white silk off your body and replace it with the grey t-shirt that falls to your mid thigh. There you stand, draped in Charles once more.

When you walk out of the bathroom, the lights are already off and Charles is snoring softly. You look at him sleeping peacefully, one arm outstretched waiting for your warmth. The warm bathroom light illuminates the room, falls over his pale skin delicately. He looks peaceful. You flick the switch off, darkness engulfing the space. You find your place in his arms, and like clockwork, he wraps them around you and holds you close.

You don’t sleep that night. The slow cadence of Charles’s breathing doesn’t lull you to sleep like it normally does. Your mind torments you, your sadness turning to anger as the room slowly begins to glow orange. The sun rises, and soon it is pouring harshly into the hotel room. Charles’s alarm goes off, and the boy is quick to turn over and turn it off. You turn over to lay on your back as your boyfriend slips off the bed and going to grab a glass of water.

“I’m gonna go.” You mutter, pushing yourself off the bed and going to gather your stuff. You don’t notice the perplexed look on Charles’s face as he watches you get ready to leave.

“Oh… but it’s so early.” You hum in agreement, refusing to look at him in fear that you might start crying again.

“Yeah. Bye Charles.”

You nearly escape, but your boyfriend is quick to grab you. He cups your cheek, forcing you to look at him. His green eyes dart left to right, up and down, trying to read you. He can sense your sadness, the tinge of disappointment as you look up at him. Charles doesn’t say anything, just looking at you with a furrowed brow and wide eyes in hopes that it would be enough for you to stay. Tears begin to brim at your eyes, and you pry away from his calloused hands.

“What the actual fuck is your problem?!” Your stuff falls in disarray around you, long forgotten as your vision turns red. “Why do you look at me like that? Like I owe you something?”

Charles’s is taken aback by your sudden outburst. “What do you mean?”

You scoff, “You so badly want to forget about yesterday, you fail to acknowledge me and my accomplishments. Fail to acknowledge me and my win.” You watch as his face falls, the way he is quick to shake his head and turn away from you. “What now Charles?”

“Maybe you should go. I don’t want to argue right now.” Charles mumbles, picking through his luggage.

“Why won’t you say it?” Your voice is soft, meek, small. “Why can’t you be happy for me?”

Charles goes rigid, shoulders tense as he hears your sad voice bounce off the walls. “What do you want me to say Fleur?”

“That you’re proud of me? That you’re happy for me?” You take long strides, tiny hands gripping his bicep to turn him around. “I want you to look at me and at least fucking say ‘congratulations Fleur.’” He yanks his arm from your grip and walks around you. “Why can’t you fucking say it Charles? Why can’t you fucking say anything?!”

“Because then I’d be lying!” He turns around to scream his harsh words to your face. He’s panting, face beet red. You’ve never seen him look so angry, you would be afraid if you weren’t equally as furious in that moment. “Because I’m not happy for you. I can’t fucking say congratulations and that I’m happy for you without wanting to throw up!”

Hot tears stream down your face as you stare at the man you love, “You’re a prick.” The boy’s nostrils flare up, but he stays quiet. “How can you be so selfish?”

“This was my home race, if there was a year for me to do it, it should’ve been this year. It should’ve been yesterday.”

“Well it’s my home race too, Charles. I grew up on these streets, went to school not too far from here, lived just up the road. Monaco is my home too.”

“It’s different.”

“Different?!” You say loudly, “Why? Because you’re a championship contender and I’m not? Because you’re some hot shot in a Ferrari?”

“Shut up Fleur.” He says under his breath. You close the distance between you two and you crane your neck to meet his eyes.

“Why is it different Charles? Why is my win not worth a damn thing to you?”

“Because it’s not mine! It’s not important, it doesn’t affect it me! It’s small, minuscule, and is even furthermore one of the reasons I lost.”

Your body reacts before your brain can, and your hand flies across to slap him in the face. “Do not blame me for your poor results yesterday.” You point your index finger, “And do not chuck one of my biggest accomplishments on your list of excuses for your team’s crap execution.”

“I look at you and see my loss, my fucking failure. I see one of the worst moments of my life.” Charles turns away from you once more, going for the front door and effectively slamming it in your face.

You’ve never been so angry with him. After nearly two decades of racing against each other you never thought you would find yourself in this position. He’s normally happy for you, excited for you, the first one to sweep you off your feet to say just how proud he is of you. And though he might have more victories under his belt than you, the wins never got in the way of your relationship the way that it has today.

You locked yourself in your apartment after leaving Charles’s hotel room, letting your team know that you’d like some space for your little break. You ignored all the phone calls, every text, and stayed bundled up on your couch. When the anger subsided after your conversation with Charles, you were a mess of tears. How you managed to sneak out of the hotel, to your car, and back to yours unseen is a miracle. But you were thankful.

And so now you sit alone, in the confines of your home with only The Great British Baking Show playing in the background. You felt like a zombie. The sadness and anger you felt was all too consuming, too much for you. His harsh words play in your head, over and over again. I see one of the worst moments of your life. It sends a shiver down your spine when you think of the resentment in his green eyes, or the anger laced in his tone. For the briefest of moments, he had become someone unfamiliar to you. He was no longer the man you love.

Your phone chimes, and you recognize it to be Charles’s ring tone. You’re ashamed of how quickly you scoop your phone into your hands to see what he says.

Can we talk?I can come over to yours if you don’t want to walk over to mine.

You nibble your lip in contemplation, weighing your options and wondering if a day and a half of space is enough for you to think clearly. Is it enough time for you to know that you’ll be able to stand you ground? That you won’t melt into his arms and let him string you along with his excuses?

Okay. Just let yourself in.

You do your best to tidy the space, and isn’t long until you hear the doorknob jiggle and the front door open. You sit yourself at the dining table, looking out the window and over your city. You can hear the soft pit pat of Charles’s feet as he pads over to you, pulling out the chair across you to take a seat. It’s quiet, and you don’t look at him in fear that you might start crying again.

“Fleur…” Your eyes fall shut at his voice. It is quiet, thick with nerves. “I’m so sorry.”

You finally open your eyes, turning to look at him. “For what?”

“For the words I said, for not being there for your first ever win in Formula 1. I’m sorry for everything mon amour.”

Mon amour. My love. The words pick at the pieces of your heart. You feel sick to your stomach.

“You hurt me,” You say, voice barely above a whisper.

“I know. And I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you. You didn’t deserve the way I treated you.” Charles reaches across the table to take your hands, squeezing them softly in his own. “Please let me make it up to you.”

He’s genuine. He means the words he says. You can see it in his eyes, they’re the most telling part of him. He looks at you like the world is about to crumble beneath him, and still you can’t find it in you to let him in. No part of you wants to melt into him, to allow him to kiss it better and make you forget. Because you know deep down you never will.

That’s the worst part about all of this, you realize. There is no apology that could ever make you forget about the cruel things he said to you. No amount of sorries or flowers or kisses could ever ice the burn of his harsh words. You know that no matter what, when you look at Charles, you would remember that for a moment he loathed you.

“Charles… I think we need to break up.”

There is ringing in your ears when the words tumble out of your mouth. You don’t notice the way his face falls, how quickly he drops your hands, or the way he stands from his seat to kneel in front of you. You barely hear his pleas, his promises that it will never happen again. It isn’t until you feel his hot tears, falling onto your lap, does the world begin to move quickly.

“Fleur, please. I’m so so sorry. It won’t happen again just please, please don’t let this end.”

“Charles, you don’t know that.” You cup his cheeks, forcing him to look up at you. They are red, filled with tears, sad because you have just ripped his heart out of his chest.

“Yes, I do.”

“Charles no you don’t.”

“Mon amour please… I love you.” His voice breaks as he says those three words. Tears stream down his face quickly, his grip on your hands tight. “I’m so sorry.”

“I know.” You whisper, choking back your tears, “I know and I forgive you. But Charles, I will never forget those words. I will never forget that for just a moment in time you looked at me as someone who contributed to your failure. For the first time, I wasn’t your safe space.” He shakes his head, but you nod. Tears sting your eyes, and you swallow the knot in your throat as you continue. “I love you Charles. You have to believe that I do.”

“Then why are you doing this?”

“Because it’s what’s best for us. Because I don’t want this competition to be the reason we learn to resent each other.” You swipe his tears away with the pad of your thumb, “Charles, I don’t want to lose you forever. I don’t want to the nearly twenty years of love and friendship, to be tainted by our hunger in this sport.”

“It won’t be. Fleur, you have to believe that it won’t.”

“But it already has.”

You can’t hold back the cries any more. The two of you stay like that for a moment, mourning the loss of the greatest thing you both have experienced. You mourn the loss of a love no longer pure, but ruined by passion and drive. You mourn the loss of innocence, of pure and utter bliss. For a moment, you mourn the loss of one another.

“I need to go.” Charles finally says. “I need… I need to be away.”

You nod. “Okay.”

He stands up, gathering his things. Charles looks down at his keys, and with shakes fingers, removes your house key from his set. He places the gold thing in your hands, and you look at each other one last time.

“Peut-être un jour. Peut-être qu'un jour nous serons à nouveau bons l'un pour l’autre.” Maybe one day. Maybe one day we will be good for each other again.

You smile sadly, nodding. “Peut-être.” Maybe.

Without a thought, you wrap your arms around him one more time. His arms snake around your waist, holding you close. It is safe, warm. In time, it will all be alright. You believe that it will be.

Several days later, there is a knock on your door. And when you open there is a vase of white peonies sitting on your doorstep, with a note neatly tucked in the bouquet. You carry it into your home, setting it down and plucking at the cream envelope to read it.

𝙼𝚢 𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝙵𝚕𝚎𝚞𝚛,

𝙵𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍’𝚟𝚎 𝚐𝚘𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚗 𝚍𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚊𝚐𝚘. 𝙲𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚘𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚜𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚞𝚕𝚊 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚗.

𝙸 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚢 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎, 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚝 𝚞𝚙 𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞.

𝙰𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜, 𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚎𝚜.

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