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javarium · 5 months

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“how i wonder” | r. sukuna

it’s been ages since he’s celebrated any sort of birthday or holiday. but here he is, with the girl that’s best friends with his little brother, at her apartment with Chinese takeout and watching a Halloween movie on Christmas. and it’s nice, until the power goes out and he’s left with his own thoughts.

part one | part two | part three

w — modern! au, fluff, age gap, older man/younger woman, Sukuna is 36 & Reader is 22/23, slowburn, pining (on Sukuna’s end), Sukuna thinks too damn much in this one but he’s so intrigued by reader he can’t help it haha, celebrating Christmas solely to feel happy and not lonely (sorta; on both ends), this was originally named “snow sparrow” but then was unhappy with it lmao, and many other tags I may have forgotten lmao

[ divider credit @/inklore ]

A man as wealthy as him shouldn’t be seen outside of the fancy home and set of cars he owns. His bank account is big, too big to be standing in the elevator of a simple apartment complex. Although the place is nice, he thinks. It’s not older than him and dilapidated and run down like some awful things he’s seen, nor was it built fresh and fancy and made to be super expensive. It was simple, and a despite liking the finer things in life, he found the simplicity rather… nice for a change.

This was only half-scheduled: meeting you at your place for the holiday. You’d been with Yuuji for a final essay assignment before the school break. Nothing major, just helping him edit grammatical errors and fix his repetitive word usage. That was two weeks ago; two weeks have passed since you made an offhand comment about “two bored people being bored together” for the the holiday.

Sukuna would never deny he wouldn’t outright admit it either that his little brother living with him brought something great into his life: a woman that he enjoyed challenging him, bringing him a new sense of vigor for life beyond the seven sins he was accustomed to.

His hands seem to be sweaty, though he’d like to think it was because of the several bags of Chinese takeout in his large hand. His left? Probably from having his phone in his hand too much. Yeah, that sounded right. He has no reason to be nervous. Why should he be? No need to dwell on it any further.

He passes by only maybe four or five people on his way up to your apartment that’s on the top floor. The few people he does encounter don’t meet his gaze; instead either intimidated or dumbstruck by his monstrous height and imposing aura and can only make a quick glance at him, probably wondering what such a person like him, especially as big as him, was doing in such a simplistic, plain apartment complex.

Sukuna eyeballs the door numbers, even on the left and odd on the right. Yours is four doors down on the right, 407 if he remembers correctly.

No, he remembers perfectly. Why wouldn’t he?

Sukuna knocks twice and readjusts the bags of warm food in his other hand. He catches himself shifting his feet underneath him like a nervous schoolgirl and almost cusses at himself, had it not been for the tiny metallic click of a lock.

You seem surprised, bewildered slightly that he’s really standing in front of your apartment door. Like you hadn’t actually expected him to take you up on the half-joking offer of spending the holidays together as two “lonely people.” You’re essentially a deer in headlights.

But a beautiful deer in headlights.

He can smell the subtle scent of lavender from you, a smell he hadn’t expected, but was certainty… entranced by it, and with a hint of something fruity mixed in there as well. The soft, navy blue sweater leans slightly more off of your left shoulder, revealing the black bra strap underneath. The black leggings you’re wearing make images go through his head that he’s tried to keep in behind the doors of his office and bedroom. You don’t even have to wear makeup, even try in the slightest to look as beautiful as you do. You’re natural, and you’re not afraid of it. You’re already confident in your own skin, even at your younger age. And heavens, does he love it.

“I didn’t think you’d actually come.” Just like he thought. “But come on in. That’s smells good.”

Sukuna doesn’t get to see the cartoon cow slippers you’re wearing until he’s taking off his own shoes at your front door. His mouth quirks up in a small grin.

Adorable.

“Food can go on the table,” you say, gesturing to the low, long and flat coffee table in front of the couch. “I’ll get drinks. Sorry if you don’t like tea, but that’s all I got.”

“That’s fine.” His voice sounds almost foreign to himself as he stands in an unfamiliar place. But at the same time, he thinks it fits. Like he belongs here in this simplistic but nice apartment of yours, here with you having dinner and spending- You know what, he can stop thinking for a moment and focus on the present.

He’s in deep thought as he takes in the expanse and decor of your home further. It’s nice, definitely nicer than what he expected. His eyes take it all in, but finishes when his eyes land on the cute little Christmas tree tucked away in the corner beside the door to the patio, with tiny, glittery ornaments twinkling as the interwoven, multicolored lights shine against them.

God, you’re almost too cute.

But he couldn’t help but wonder for a small moment how you were faring expenses for this place, alongside groceries and going to school most of the time.

“You must manage your finances well to live here,” he hums.

“I’m not as dirt poor as I used to be, I’ll say that,” you reply. “But even then, being stingy will always be ingrained into my DNA.”

“Even if you have the world at your feet?”

You point to him with the index finger wrapped around your cup of tea, smiling. “Keyword: always~ World or not, the bare necessities are fine for me.”

He swallows down what your words do to him and tries to keep a straight face. He doesn’t like it, doesn’t like the way you inadvertently say you’ll always feel like you’ll never have anything to desire or genuinely want outside of pure necessity. Sukuna doesn’t like how natural it sounds, how uncaring you are towards wanting more than what you have now. He knew you were like this somewhat, but not to this extent. It makes him… a little angry.

So, now he knows the diamond necklace he bought you won’t be received like he wants it to be.

Guess I’ll have to save it for another time, he notes tactfully, watching you settle the food on the table and hop onto the couch and get comfortable.

The ambience of your home is a change of pace Sukuna didn’t know he needed. Until now.

He’s a giant, giant man, so he takes up most of the couch, even with it being relatively large in itself. You don’t seem to mind however, with the way your feet are barely a centimeter away from touching his leg.

“Any movie or show preferences?”

“Anything but Yellowstone.”

You snort. “What do you have against Yellowstone?”

“Dialogue’s too goddamn fake.”

You toss your head back and let out a boisterous laugh, giggling like a madwoman.

“So, the Powerpuff Girls then?”

“You’re not five.”

“Everyone has an inner child.”

Sukuna grumbles. “Just put it on fuckin’ Yellowstone.”

You throw your hands up in mock surrender, right hand only a few fingers lifted from holding the remote. “How about… Squid Game?”

“For a Christmas show? You’re weird as hell.”

“The Nightmare Before Christmas?”

Sukuna chuckles and shakes his head. “I’ll let you decide.”

The spooky movie is ultimately what you choose, and Sukuna finds it nothing short of amusing. He’s not fully interested in the movie, mostly interested in you and the quirkiness that made you choose such a movie on a day like this. His eyes flicker between you and the movie, watching you munch down on the lo mein.

It’s been ages since Sukuna has allowed himself to indulge in relaxation, allowed his mind to think of absolutely nothing but the childish movie in front of him that was picked out for him.

One would think a man like him would let his attorneys and the supervisors directly underneath him do all of the thinking for him while he bathed in his own riches. Sukuna did, yes; he used to. But he knows that one step too far into indulgence could mean the end of everything he put all of his blood and sweat into. And that was why he was so involved in his business, rather than let someone else handle it.

But here he was: indulging himself. (But it wasn’t the same as being on a yacht with women somewhere in the Caribbean.) Perhaps the difference was it wasn’t indulgence of sin, but rather the indulgence of peace and quiet; the desire for more than the company of a one-night stand.

You certainly deserved better than any sort of degrading, essentially whore-like treatment the women he used to be around were given and treated themselves as. You were nothing like them, not even slightly; you would never willingly to jeopardize your morals and dignity, not even for a chance to be with someone like him, as wealthy as him. That kind of interest was on the back-burner. As much as he hated it, he respected it just as much.

Sukuna half-watches the movie as he eats the takeout, not having seen it since one of his first girlfriends as a teenager introduced him to it. It was never important, never intriguing enough for him — nothing but a waste. But now, since you chose it, now it was enough for him to watch it. He finds he enjoys Jack Skellington, amused by his desire to take over Christmas Town. He also feels some sort of similar between him and Jack, regarding Jack’s interest in Sally and him… with you.

“You want a refill?” you ask suddenly, drawing the man from his thoughts. Sukuna looks down, seeing that he was almost out of the tea. Had he been so deep in his own thoughts he didn’t know he’d been sipping away at the drink? He almost scoffs in disbelief.

“If you don’t mind,” he replies. But he figures he’s going to need to use the restroom soon.

“Bathroom’s first door on the left,” you say, getting up after pausing the movie. He’s dumbstruck for a moment. Were you a mind reader?

Sukuna watches you in the reflection of the television. Even just refilling the drinks, you manage to enamor him. You seem so poised, yet so uncaring that someone of his status was sitting in your living room, watching a corny Halloween movie for Christmas. Perhaps being so uncaring went hand-in-hand with how poised and calm you were? There shouldn’t be any other explanation than that.

But why? He wondered what made you unlike the other women, even ones at your age that were nothing but a flustered mess at the mere sight of him. Why weren’t you the same?

He excuses himself to the bathroom and makes it quick. He sees the bottle of lavender body wash, then notices the shampoo, conditioner — the fruity smell he inhaled earlier. With a quick glance, Sukuna sees no perfume either, which perplexes him.

There’s no way she could possibly… Sukuna ponders, but doesn’t finish the thought. And all of a sudden, the lights flicker, hard. It’s something that’s been happening for the last hour or so, but it’s been something he’s ignored until now.

Sukuna ambles back into the living room, seeing the lights dim just as hard as a few seconds ago. Your still in the kitchen, but narrow your eyes slightly at the darkened lights.

“I didn’t see this place as having bad electricity,” he hums, sitting to face the TV, continuing to watch you in the reflection.

“It doesn’t,” you reply. “I suspect the snowstorm’s fixing to get bad enough to knock the power out soon. Now would probably be a good time to leave. I can still see a few snow plows out.”

“I’ll pass,” he replies coolly. “Besides, two cold and lonely souls are better than one.”

He doesn’t know why you let out a tiny snort and giggle, but you do. (A little flower of pride wants to bloom in his chest.)

You lift the lid to the slow cooker and stir. The smell of chocolate reaches his nose after you seal it.

“It’s almost done,” you suddenly speak, “if you’re done watching my reflection in the TV, would you like some hot chocolate?”

Busted. Sukuna knows that he’s now the deer in headlights; his heart thumps harder in embarrassment like a schoolgirl’s would.

“How sweet is it?”

“I’ve no idea. I fucked around with the recipe, so we’ll just have to find out.”

A sudden click is heard, and all the lights fade instantly. It’s completely dark, pitch black almost that neither you nor Sukuna can see in front of yourselves. He moves to stand, but you interject. “Sit, please. I don’t need your big ass knocking my shit over. Nor you getting a concussion.”

Sukuna laughs. “You have it covered then?”

“Could walk this place if I was blind,” you joke with a small snicker.

He watches you find four different candles to light up your apartment, one each for the kitchen and bathroom, and two for the living room. You disappear into your bedroom down the hall for a few moments, then you come back with a surprising, heaping mess of blankets hiding your form from nearly head-to-toe.

“Help me, please? Don’t let it fall on the food.”

Sukuna stands and his big arms wrap around the bundle of blankets, lifting them from you with ease. You pluck one from his grasp and quickly put it over the couch for extra warmth. You’re not about to freeze your ass off with him here.

You get under the blankets fairly quick. It takes nearly two king-sized ones you’ve had tucked away to cover the colossal man that is Ryomen Sukuna.

“Think the food is still warm?”

“Barely.”

“Are you gonna finish the lo mein then?” you ask.

“You can have it.” He half wishes he hadn’t eaten before he came so he didn’t seem so… uninterested in the food.

You have absolutely no shame devouring the remaining food as much as you possibly can in front of him. You eat as much as you can, but there’s still enough of the food left for him if he wants it. It just a matter of it getting cold, you think.

The temperature drops faster than you anticipate though. When you chuck the empty box of noodles into the trash from the living room (you made it, huh, that’s weird) a gust of wind rattles the patio doors, seemingly almost shaking the foundation of the complex. You hear a hum of surprise from the older man next to you as you huddle under the covers more. You shudder from the onslaught of the cold.

Sukuna sighs heavily. He pulls his arm from the blankets “Come ‘ere.”

He almost laughs at the blanched expression on your face. But after a few moments, you cave, scooting yourself closer to him until you two were practically touching thighs.

You squeak as he lifts one of the blankets with one hand and you with the other, trapping you under the second layer.

You shake your head and snort. “God, you’re shameless.”

Sukuna belts out a boisterous laugh. “Shame has never come easy for me.”

You scoff playfully. “I’m sure it hasn’t.”

“Nor does it for you,” he retorts.

And then you admit something that’s going to be on his mind for the rest of his time here. And perhaps for days after this, too: “Mine is more of a learned habit.”

Another gust of bitter cold shakes the patio doors again. You shiver. “Jesus, I didn’t expect it to get this cold.”

“Or for the power to go out.” He huffs. Like second nature, for both of you, he pulls you closer, and you lean into his massive body, taking in the heat his body.

Goodness, you think, closing your eyes, he’s a furnace…

Today certainly hadn’t gone as he expected. The last thing he was anticipating was a snowstorm blowing out the electrical system for several cities, snow falling several good feet and keeping him in the apartment of the woman he’s fallen for.

But you’re what is consuming his mind.

You’re on his lap, eyes closed and resting your head on his chest. You’re so small. Regardless of height, virtually anyone would be smaller than him; he’s a behemoth of a man, yes he knows it.

You, compared to him, are simply tiny, like a bird in the hands of a giant. So delicate, so small and cute. But as delicate as you are, you’re not glass. You’re small like a sparrow, but at the same time you desire freedom, using your wings to fly wherever and do whatever, regardless of how hard life would make your wings have to flap. Your soul isn’t easy to chain down… It’s beautiful.

“Does your brain always run a billion miles a minute this late?”

He grumbles. “Sleep, would you?”

“Your brain has no depth, does it?” you say. Then you ask, “Are you even okay with me sleeping on you?”

“If I wasn’t, we wouldn’t be in this position, would we?”

You yawn in reply, nestling your head comfortably on his torso. A small “okay” leaves your lips, and you seemingly have no problem steadying your breath and falling asleep against his chest. It’s nice, being that way for a good few minutes. Well, until you prove you’re not asleep like he thought.

“Wanna talk about it?”

Sukuna almost jumps and cusses, “Goddamn it.” You seem to know that you’ve startled him and laugh in return.

You keep conversation easy; although the two of you talk anything but what is on his mind. That’s not something he’s ready for. He’s still sorting out his own feelings, seeing if they’re beyond just being enthralled with you and your personality. Seeing if what he’s feeling is just high intrigue for you as a person, or whether what he’s feeling is going to lead to something more, beyond intrigue and fascination.

Because he knows that you won’t be able to stay forever. He knows that you, your soul, isn’t going to be easily bound by just anyone. He knows that you want to be unbound, he sees it in your eyes and hears it in your voice; he sees the desire to live freely in the way you carry yourself, the way you act and behave. But holy shit; does he want to be the one to change that.

You carry conversation easy, but eventually you fall asleep on him. The hot chocolate in the slow cooker is forgotten, but he’s sure it’ll be just as good in morning.

Sukuna, as he closes his eyes, wonders about the things you want. Where you’d want to go and the things you want to do. That kind of talk, however, is reserved for a time where there’s a deeper connection between the two of you. It’s reserved for a time where your walls are down and you’re no longer on guard, no longer having your walls built higher than heaven and deeper than hell.

For now, you two are two lonely souls celebrating Christmas, cuddled up to one another for the sake of warmth and nothing more during a sudden blackout.

It would be ludicrous to wonder if you’ve ever wanted to be loved and cherished, married to someone that would cradle your head and tilt it back to kiss you with the utmost devotion a human heart could give.

Now wouldn’t it?

a/n: I know that this is slowburn and everything, but it feels… superbly subpar? pls let me know if you guys think otherwise. this went about 85% of the original plot I had in mind so that’s a plus haha. I have full intent of picking up a bit on the romance aspect (of reader beginning to develop feelings) of this series in the next chapter, which briefly takes place after this one (I promise there’ll be at least one kiss)

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taglist: (basically everyone that rb’d and commented on the first [for those that tagging worked on] ;; closed)

#sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #sukuna fluff #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna jjk #sukuna ryomen #sukuna drabble #sukuna fic #jjk sukuna #modern! sukuna #modern au #jjk drabble #jjk fluff

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seresinhangmanjake · 2 months

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Not Your Type: Part 2

Jake Seresin x goth girl!reader

Summary: Jake Seresin doesn’t usually have to try hard to get women, but the only woman to catch his attention in a long time doesn’t want anything to do with him.

Written in the form of sharing milestones of their relationship as it develops. For example - Day 1: the day they meet; Day 3x: the day they (...); Day 5xx: the day they (...); and so on.

Notes/Warnings: Jake being annoying but also desperate. Cursing.

Words: 2990

Full Masterlist

Day 14:

“What do we want for this round, girls?” Gemma asks. She stands, albeit a tad unsteadily, at the edge of your booth with her hands on her hips, ready to take your order as if the Hard Deck provides her with biweekly paychecks.

She’s been in California all of three days; she and Lola—friends from your hometown who were in desperate need of a change of scenery and accepted the offer of your extra bedrooms. And as usual, Gemma effortlessly embraced her new environment within the first twenty-four hours of her arrival. To onlookers, you imagine that of the three of you, she would be the assumed local.

“More of this fruity stuff, whatever it is,” Lola says around the thin straw clenched between her teeth as she nurses the current ‘fruity stuff’ in her glass.

Gemma looks to you with a raised brow, but you shake your head, tapping your nail against your soda cup. “I’m good.”

“Party pooper,” she playfully sighs, flipping a section of deep purple hair over her shoulder and turning in the direction of the bar.

Getting the drinks was meant to be your job—a welcoming treat after their exhausting move—but Gemma got a peek at the bartender, and by exercising the magical abilities that come with her smile, has spent half the night providing the three of you with free alcohol and fountain sodas.

“I’m the DD!” you call after her, but as is the case on most Friday nights at the Hard Deck, the volume of the room devours your voice before it can reach her.

“She’s gonna go after that bartender the second his shift is over,” Lola tells you. “Poor guy has no idea who he’s dealing with.”

“No,” you agree, chuckling and rapidly recalling the string of heartbroken men who would reach out to you or Lola in the hopes of getting ahold of Gemma after she’d ghosted them. “But they never do, and unfortunately, they never learn.”

“You know, I’ve been told I’m a phenomenal learner,” you hear, but it’s a much deeper sound than the curly-haired woman at your side is able to produce. The unexpected addition makes the sip of soda in your mouth travel down the wrong pipe, throwing you into a coughing fit.

“Oh, shit,” the voice rushes out, snatching a napkin from the next booth and thrusting it in your face. You take it to muffle the sharp choking noises fighting their way out of your windpipe. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You scold yourself for not realizing he was here before he made himself known. It was almost two hours ago that you began feeling that same burning sensation from a couple of weeks ago, but you thought little of it, having scanned the room for him when you first arrived at the bar. You even opted to sit facing the front door, figuring you wouldn’t miss it if he entered, but he still managed to sneak in. He still found you. He still affects you.

As you recover your breathing, he extends his hand past you toward Lola. “I’m Jake.”

“Lola,” she replies, shaking his hand as she glances at you.

You let out a final cough, dabbing a napkin at the corner of your mouth then wiping it just under your waterline to pick up your tears. “Fuck,” you mumble.

“Name a time and a place, sweetheart, and I’m all yours.”

Lola snorts with her lips around her straw. Her following giggle makes air bubbles burst from her shallow glass. Stray droplets splash onto the table, a few soaking into the sleeve of your top.

You have no time to decide who is more deserving of your glare—Traitor Friend or Ken Doll—before Gemma’s return. As she slides into the seat opposite yours, she’s so focused on keeping liquids from sloshing over rims that she doesn’t notice the intruder.

“Fruity thing for Lo,” she pushes the glass to Lola who eagerly accepts a fresh drink, “spicy thing for me, and, tragically, nothing for the DD.”

When she finally senses the vibe at the table—greatly altered from what she left behind a few minutes prior—she turns her head. The surprise in her expression settles into subtle excitement as she rakes her eyes up Jake’s body to his face. With that wicked smile of hers, she plants her elbow on the wooden surface and rests her chin atop the back of her hand.

“And what would you like?” she teases in a low, seductive tone.

“Just a chance to talk with your verbally vicious friend,” he says, jutting his chin in your direction.

“This is Jake,” Lola informs her.

“Jake?” Gemma questions you, cocking her head in genuine curiosity. “You’ve never mentioned a Jake.”

“He isn’t worth mentioning.”

Jake smirks through the jab. “You know, you don’t have to repeatedly stab me in the chest.”

“You’re the one who keeps standing in front of my knife,” you shoot back, crossing your arms.

There’s not a single uttering from the group of four as Lola and Gemma stare at you and Jake staring at each other. Neither of you is willing to break eye contact, and the tension becomes heavy, like rich honey—thick enough to drag your finger through.

“Can we talk privately?” Jake then asks, that smirk still in place. He looks away from you only to address your friends. “You ladies don’t mind if I borrow her, do you?”

“Not at all,” Gemma answers, each word out of her mouth a little less crisp than the last. “As long as you borrow me next.”

“Gemma!” you snap. “Not this one.”

“But he’s so hot,” she whines.

“I’ll cut you off.”

She gasps. Then her bottom lip protrudes in a pout, and her hands cradle her glass as she pulls it closer to her chest protectively.

“That’s a very flattering offer, if we can call it that,” Jake says. “However, that guy over there, the one with the outdated mustache,” he steps aside and points to the friend you recognize from the other night. The brunet’s cheeks redden and he quickly jerks his head in the opposite direction of Gemma’s prying gaze. “He’s been having a hell of a time trying to keep his eyes off you tonight. Just can’t help himself.”

Jake shakes his head, clicks his tongue, and faces your table again. “Honestly, I know the feeling,” he says. His eyes connect with yours, puzzle pieces locking together until the burn starts to sear too deep and you have to look away. “It’s a tough spot to be in,” he continues. “And I can’t in good conscience move in on the girl whose laugh has made another man blush three times within the last hour.”

Just like that, Gemma is over Jake. Other than the pang of relief you feel, you don’t think anything of her swift attention shift until five seconds, then ten, then fifteen pass without her ceasing her careful examination of Jake’s friend.

“Will you come with me?” Jake asks you. “I promise I won’t keep you long.”

You chew on your lip, trying to ignore his pull.

“Lola, you think she should come with me, right?” he says.

Lola doesn’t glance his way as she runs her finger along the rim of her glass to collect the leftover grains of sugar. “Secondary locations are very suspicious, Jake,” she says before pressing her fingertip onto her tongue.

“We won't go far.”

Lola raises a brow at you and you sigh. “He's annoying but I'm pretty sure he's safe,” you tell her.

Jake smiles; another thing you don’t have to see to know it’s there. You feel that grin just from its power alone.

Standing, you straighten out your skirt, your fingers running down the dark material that flares from mid-waist to mid-thighs. Your belt is purely decorative, with consecutive overlapping chains that wrap around the band of your skirt and a tiny, crescent moon charm that dangles a bit lower than the rest. As you adjust the belt so the charm rests where it is supposed to at your hip, you catch Jake’s fixed stare on your movements.

You don’t know what he’s thinking. You remind yourself that you don’t care.

“I'll be back in a minute, Lo,” you promise. “Gem, do you intend to blink any time soon?”

Gemma doesn’t turn. Jake’s friend has found a bit of boldness and no longer avoids her eyes. “No,” she says, waving you off. “Have fun.”

Jake tucks his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I was thinking the deck since it's on the beach.”

Ignoring his suggestion, you begin to walk in the direction of the front door. He follows into the chill of Evening’s breeze and you suck in a refreshing breath. Was it always so suffocating in there?

“Ok, what do you want?” you ask once you’ve walked far enough to avoid blocking the entrance.

Jake remains a good six feet from you. His hands haven’t left his pockets. “To apologize, for starters,” he says.

“For?”

“Bothering you the other night.”

“So you decided to bother me again tonight?”

Jake’s lips part to respond, but he pauses, mouth snapping shut. Glancing down at the gravel by your boots, his brow pinches as his actions sink in. “Ok, ‘bother’ wasn't really what I was going for a second time around, but in hindsight–”

“If that was just your starter, what’s the rest?”

He looks at you with a tick of false innocence that rapidly dies under the weight of mischievousness, and you prepare yourself for what he’s about to deliver. “Maybe I shouldn’t say,” he teases, smile budding, teeth showing. “Maybe I should prolong the suspense.”

You fold your arms over your chest. “Do you remember what I said about wasting my time?”

“Something about my ego suffering the consequences,” he replies. “Even though you’ve had my ego in a choke-hold since you threw around that whole ‘I’ve noticed you but you’ve never noticed me’ thing.”

That, you didn’t expect. You didn’t expect him to remember everything you’d said, or care. But neither did you expect him to approach you after that night, so you suppose he’s full of surprises. You're just not sure if you like them.

“Oh?”

He nods. “Yea, that one…that one was a thinker, for sure. Haven’t been able to stop thinking about it, actually.”

“Why?”

He sighs and drops eye contact. Like it’s too hard to maintain. Like he’s ashamed or confused or contemplating, or all three. Then he wets his bottom lip with a dart of his tongue; he draws that lip between his teeth, biting down; he barely shakes his head before he rejoins your gazes.

“Because I look at you now, and I don’t understand how it was possible,” he admits.

Your breath hitches. Your heartbeat trips, tumbling over itself, and you will it to find its proper pace before you dare open your mouth.

“Anyway,” Jake says to fill the gap that was meant for your response, “I also wanted to ask you out. On a date.”

You blink hard. Long beats snail along as you process the lunacy of that statement. “Has anything I've said to you indicated that I would ever agree to a date?”

He shrugs. “No, but it was either try once more and see if I have a chance with you, or don't try at all.”

For a man you’ve witnessed succeed in his every attempt at wooing women until you, you won’t deny that what he’s doing is gutsy and, you suppose, unworthy of being shamed. He’s resilient, determined, and you have great respect for perseverance, but in this case, it's not sufficient to rearrange your perception of him.

“Do you even know my name?” you ask. “I never told you.”

He smiles; not broadly, not boastfully, but gently, sweetly, as if reliving a memory. “I asked Penny after you left that night,” he tells you. “It’s beautiful. Suits you.”

Your woven arms tighten, pointed nails digging into your bicep. Don’t shiver, you command your body. Don’t show the tingling chill he just shot up your spine and through your limbs. You try swallowing through the ghost-like grip he suddenly has on your throat. The light grasp of wispy fingers that don’t aim to choke, but simply rest around the column. Possessive but not controlling. Also not really there. And you don’t appreciate the growing strength of his power to touch you without you being within reaching distance.

The problem is, men don’t compliment you. Well, they do, but not like this. They compliment tits and ass and legs and face. They compliment clothes that they imagine ripping off, and makeup they hope they can ruin by the end of the night. Your name doesn’t often come to mind, and the ones who do ask for it, don’t ever use it again. That’s part of why you didn’t give it to Jake when he had asked.

And then he went over your head. Fuck this guy.

“Before you say anything else—I’m willing to earn it.”

Your brows raise halfway up your forehead. “You're willing to earn it,” you repeat. “Why? You don't know me, and I have a feeling you understand that using me to prove some kind of point to yourself or your friends will only get you castrated.”

“I wouldn't have guessed castration, specifically, but that does seem in character,” he says.

He steps closer. His arm moves toward you, hand prepared to plant itself on your forearm, but at the last second, he thinks better of it and drops that limb back to his side. His fingers ball into a fist that tightens and loosens and tightens and loosens. He doesn’t know that you see him doing it, and then it stops. “Look, when you said that you're not my type, you were right. You were right. You're not right anymore. You only weren't my type because I'd never seen you before.” He takes a breath. “But I know I could swear that up and down, right here, right now, and you wouldn't believe me; not really; maybe not at all. So I have to prove it, don't I? I have to earn it.”

He seems to have forgotten that you know, and have known, who he is for months. Observation reveals more about a person than getting to know them firsthand. The Observed can’t pick and choose what they share with you to aid their desires and goals. In their cluelessness, they lose all defenses, all illusions, and Jake is no exception.

You’ve watched him pursue and flirt and conquer. You’ve watched him in the aftermath of the pursuing and flirting and conquering. You’ve watched his strategy of radiating cockiness to draw them in. There are the laughs, the winks, the tamed touches that bring out blushes, all of which join together until it’s the woman—and all of the near carbon copies of that woman—who takes the lead, pulling him into the bathroom or onto the back deck or out the front door. He’s tricky like that, but you’re not easily tricked.

“Have you considered that maybe you are not my type?” you ask.

“I have, actually. It was a very troubling thirty seconds.”

“Thirty seconds of consideration?” Your head tilts. “Is that all?”

Jake acknowledges the offense you’ve taken. He doesn’t apologize but the disappointment in himself is palpable enough to satisfy you. But then he says, “Would you have come out here if you weren't attracted to me?”

And now you’re disappointed in yourself, because, no, you wouldn’t have come with him if you weren’t attracted to him. Attraction and curiosity convinced you more than his words, and therein lies the problem. One problem. One of many.

“I shouldn't have.”

“But you did,” he says. His tone is low but it packs the punch of an exclamation point. You’re going to be hearing it for days. “Doesn’t that count for something?”

You sigh and let your arms unweave, falling at your sides. “I…” you begin, but you shake your head. You need to say this right. “Attraction is basic. It’s human. It’s all up in our personal space at all times. If that counted for anything, I’d be dating half of the usuals in the bar.”

You know the same goes for him. He finds a new woman to be attracted to whenever he walks into the Hard Deck and you’d be hard-pressed to believe that doesn’t extend to every room he enters. So you leave it at that and twist on your heel to head back inside.

You hear a crunch of gravel as he takes a step after you. “Will you at least think about it? Please.”

Not stopping to answer, you reach for the handle of the door. “Have a good night, Jake,” you toss over your shoulder.

Being inside the bar does not stop your heart from thumping or your mind from racing through a jumble of thoughts that are no easier untangled than the voices around you, and it’s too much. So to avoid exhausting yourself, you shove those thoughts aside in favor of directing your attention to more important things, like one-third of your trio missing from the booth.

“Where’s Gem?”

Lola nods her head and you follow.

Across the bar, Gemma has Jake’s dark-haired friend leaning against the wall, her palms braced on his chest. One of his hands rests at her waist and the other is at the side of her neck just under her jaw, his fingers hidden by the curtain of her hair. There’s an oddness to their kissing. It is very non-Gemma kissing. They kiss freely like no one is around, but it’s not an attack of teeth and lip tugging or sloppy tongues; it’s slow, sensual. It clashes with the room.

“I was gone for five minutes,” you say.

Lola shrugs. “She only needed four.”

---

tags: @kmc1989 @wkndwlff @dempy @sagittarius-flowerchild @oliviah-25 @rosiahills22 @xoxabs88xox @matisse556 @hardballoonlove @lynnevanss @pono-pura-vida @tgmreader @amgluvsbooks @ravenhood2792 @djs8891 @shakespeareanwannabe @penguin876 @tgmavericklover @athenabarnes @emilyoflanternhill @wretchedmo @shanimallina87 @crowsreadsarahjmaas @mamachasesmayhem @sky2nd @jessicab1991 @averyhotchner @rosedurin @horseshoegirl @roosteraloha @b-bradshaw @ssa-sadboi @buckysteveloki-me @whatislovevavy @dreamlandcreations @memoriesat30 @harrysgothicbitch @yvonneeeee @gg-trini

#jake seresin x reader #jake seresin #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin #top gun maverick #jake seresin fic #top gun #jake hangman seresin fic #top gun hangman #jake hangman seresin x y/n #jake seresin x goth girl!reader #jake seresin fanfic #jake seresin fanfiction #tgm #tgm fic

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obxsprincess · 2 months

Text

imagining mattheo and bratty, girly kitty reader because she deserves a tiara

🎀₊˚ʚ ᗢ🐈‍⬛₊˚✧ ﾟ.

your the slytherin princess, all prissy meow, no claw. every single one of the slytherin boys would do really anything for you really, your dark whiskery lashes, and sweet purry voice — they always make sure your safe n sound. though they’ll always do the same for pansy, your bestfriend, they treated you like overbearing older brothers, cus your all of theirs little sweet spot. which is all nice n all until mattheo recruits all of his “brothers” (they five jokingly call eachother) to watch you like eagles if he leaves to get you one of those fruity drinks you love sipping on, dumbly unaware mattheos been giving you sheryl temples the whole party. they all just pray you keep your mean little complaints to your boyfriend, who technically told them to watch you — even they are scared of your bratty ferocious switch. (which even just convinced youve been drinking can trigger, frighteningly)

but whilst all of them protect you, its mattheos whos name you would wear on a pink collar. instead you settled with a fluttery eye roll, for the shiny gold necklace with his full name printed on the little shiny heart! — always sitting between your pushed up breasts. the curly haired brunette does keep the collar as a mental note though. future reference — and also to make you happy. he really does hate admitting but your too cute to say no too — trying not to make it too obvious its because he loves you. which you definitely does, admits it every single time you give him that candy rotting tail-swinging smile.

your his fake eyelashed kitty, and he throws it in every guys face wherever you two go — whether its grabbing your waist arrogantly while you walk ditsily down the halls, cheekily unaware of all the thirsty stares stuck on your plushy hips. or you wiggling in your seat, pussy all sticky, pouting because the throbbings so much its practically purring — doing it just so your all over him, whining and mewling, in front of whoever he pleases. he loves showing you off, but mattheo definitely could do without your bullshit excuse of fashion — or merely the lack of. cus you were not shy showing off your body. you loved making things prettier ! the ‘stylized’ slytherin skirt proudly showing half your heart shaped ass, you just loved the freedom it gave you to pounce around. most of the time, mattheo had to block the view of your frilly underwear flashing when you bend down, all oblivious to the nice pantied cunt eye full he gets. “m’flexible see matty!” huffing with a frustrated breath, “yea yea, guess so kitty — y’stay stretched like that for a good few minutes… s’good for your back or something like that” he unashamedly always takes a peak n your usually to obvious to even notice, too busy giving him your triumphant scrunch.

it’s a complete understantment to say you bounce on him like a cat to a mouse — so teary eyed and cotton panties soaked if you get a glimpse of his biceps or even just his raspy morning voice has something pretty achy n purring, your ghost whiskers twitching. (his back is always covered in your pink french nailed claw marks </3) he fucking hates but does with your whiny fits. trying to satisy his need to taste you between your sqeezing thighs and all you do is moan for his cock. only after cumming three times on mattheos greedy muscle do you shut up — not like he’ll ever complain, he’d never stop fucking into your pretty soppy heat if he had the choice. now when your being too needy, or bugging him as if he can bend you over right there in class, he has no problem sending you off what a swat to the ass n a growl to meet him on his bed, he deals with your neediness. n your always eager to oblige — all fours n pussy up. how else does he take out his anger but in you, on you?

being the girly princess you are I feel like you’d be a cheerleader too! mattheo the star seeker and you his excitedly cheering (kitty) bimbo — hes only ok with your cute tail like swinging ass showing when your squealing his name for the whole school to hear. telling you your his lucky charm, sparkly eyeshadow forever messy when he pulls you into the locker room with him. “you know it’s real hard being a seeker when I cant take my eyes off you, damn look at you baby girl — I’ve already found everything I ever need princess,” mattheos no doubt a slut for cheesy romance before rearranging your guts.

mattheos also your personal purse. except with a lot less frilly pink designs — and you also don’t wanna jump and ride a normal purse into complete bliss. but still! his hands are always full, either with your glossy lipgloss to reapply every five minutes to your puffy lips, pink coverups/sweaters that you toss of abruptly cus they get too hot, or in his perverted needs, offering to hold ‘his girls’ with a mischievous smirk — cus if only takes a little convincing to your pretty head to have you compliant to his shameless, pussy whipped, self, and sometimes they do hurt real bad. mattheos such a good boyfriend ! leaning you back mewling so he can take care them off your hands.

overall you can tell him off whenever needs be. (only you, n you only can tell the son of voldemort to knock it off n not get hurt dcbgyhyf) mattheo even sometimes tries to be extra teasing, which is mean in your glaring lashed kitty eyes — ogling when you bare your verbal fangs n hiss he gets instantly hard at the sight. mattheo still arrogantly remembers the time you beat of an overly flirty raven claw girl, his sweetheart, cat clawing a overstepping bitch — he had to stop himself from cumming right then and there. coyly letting you to kitty lick it right off <3 mattys just as much yours as your his.

. 🎀₊˚ʚ ᗢ🐈‍⬛₊˚✧ ﾟ.

#kitty!reader #mattheo riddle prompt #mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle smut #mattheo riddle scenarios #mattheo riddle x you #matteo riddle x reader #matteo riddle x you #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle imagine #matteo riddle #slytherin boys #slytherin boy prompt #mattheo riddle x y/n

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pedgito · 1 year

Note

Thinking of an modern! Eddie fic idea where the fruity for and the reader are all hanging out (doesn’t matter where) and the reader is flirting with a guy over text, she decides to go to the restroom and take some nudes but instead of sending them to the guy shes talking to she sends them to her best friend Eddie Munson who is sitting across from her. Eventual smut.

author's note: i took some liberties here and excluded the fruity four scenario, it just wouldn't fit the way this idea came to me so i hope you don't mind!

cw: 18+ (minors dni), modern!eddie, slightly inexperienced!eddie, confident!reader, established friendship, mentions of reader having lots of casual sex/partners, a little bit on pining/unrequited crushes, handjobs, if i missed anything lmk!

word count: 3.4k

You can’t help but feel a little regretful when your phone dings for the millionth time that night, screen light illuminating the darkness of the room, the only other light source being the television position in front of you both.

Eddie was, hands down, your closest friend. He was the person you came to for everything, even slow nights like this when you just wanted to be around each other. And it could, from an outside perspective, look too codependent. But, if either of you were ever feeling sad or upset you always seeked out the other without hesitation.

Eddie felt ridiculous, practically on his hands and knees after school in an effort to have you come over tonight—it’s mostly for show, hoping to make you laugh, but you can see how desperately he needed it.

Still, the notifications on your phone aren’t immune to Eddie’s senses, his eyes dragging toward the phone set atop the coffee table that his feet are resting on, a quick succession of messages in one go.

He clears his throat softly, angling himself away slightly as you reach for the phone, looking back at him apologetically.

You weren’t always this inconsiderate, but Eddie never seemed to mind, not initially anyways.

It was pointless too, some bland conversation with a boy who was much too desperate to get in your pants—but you couldn’t lie to yourself, you were being just as promiscuous as you wanted to be, so the flirting ensues.

It’s not bad either, but it starts to blend together, things you’ve seen time and time again. And Eddie looks like he’s on the brink of passing out, head slumped in his hand and his lip pouting out slightly.

“You don’t have to stay,” He says quietly, his free hand tucked under his shirt, pressing against the warmth of his skin, “I get it.”

Did he, though? Or was he just trying to be nice?

Either way, you couldn’t bring yourself to leave him high and dry on a night that he really needed you. And usually you both would be cuddled up against each other, but that wasn’t how tonight was going. You couldn’t tell if he was annoyed or exhausted, maybe a mix of both.

“I’m not leaving,” You respond, half offended that he would even suggest it, “I just—I’m gonna deal with this so they’ll stop bothering me.”

Whatever that would entail.

“Okay,” He relents, his voice soft, “I’ll pause it if you want.”

The movie, pausing the movie—you glance at the screen and back at Eddie, shaking your head.

“I’ll be quick.” You assure him before fleeing down the hall to the tiny bathroom, unlocking your phone.

And while you don’t necessarily condone sending nude photos of yourself to people you barely knew, you weren’t exactly a stickler for following the rules. Plus, you were good about keeping any identifying marks out of the pictures, namely your face.

You can hear Eddie move around in the other room, his walls dangerously thin. The old couch creaks as he moves and then the front door is squeaking open and slamming shut a few seconds later.

Smoke break.

Well, that or he was giving you some privacy.

You get a text from Eddie a moment later confirming your suspicions.

‘Out front for a smoke if you want to join.’

Followed by another.

‘When you’re done.’

You sigh heavily, switching over to your camera and dealing with the pressing task at hand, lifting your shirt up just above your breasts, a thin and see-through material that gave the subtlest view of your nipples, the curve of your breasts pushed together deliciously—you had to give yourself some credit, they were absolutely picture-worthy.

You snap the picture quickly, fleeting before you overthink it.

But, it doesn’t feel like enough.

You reach your hands around to cup your tits, pulling them out of the material with ease so they sit perfectly on your chest, still slightly supported by the fabric bunched up underneath them.

Was it deserved? Maybe not. But, you couldn’t be bothered to second guess yourself, snapping the second picture and readjusting your clothes, phone scattering into the bowl of the sink as you set it down.

You did want to join Eddie, so you sent the pictures without checking, not realizing how detrimental of a mistake you made. The phone is shoved into your back pocket and you meet Eddie outside a few moments later, his back turned toward you as he puffed on the cigarette, nearly down to a stub.

You reach around him effortlessly, plucking it from his fingers and pressing it to your own mouth.

“You could’ve asked for your own,” He laughs lowly, a deep chuckle that makes you feel warm all over, “I was trying to finish that.”

“Too late,” You smile, pressing the cigarette to your lips and puffing it dead, “I never finish mine and you know it.”

Eddie smiles knowingly, twisting you gently to urge you inside.

“Quick, before we freeze.” He tells you, opening the door to lead you back inside, the butt of the cigarette falling from your fingers as Eddie snuffs it out with his boot.

“I really am sorry,” You apologize timidly, “I know this is supposed to be our time and—“

“Hey, it’s fine,” Eddie shrugs, poking at the frown line in your cheek as you look over at him, “you’re here, at least.”

Eddie grabs a few snacks and drinks to finish out the movie, letting you settle into the space between his legs on the floor, pillow pressed against his lap for you to lean against. He’s playing with your hair absently, your eyes drawn to the screen as he checks his phone, the insistent buzzing of an unchecked notification driving him crazy.

He could only guess it was Dustin bugging him about something only he and Eddie would understand, but it’s not.

It’s not that at all.

It’s your contact name: two pictures attached.

Eddie’s fingers freeze against your hair, but it’s lost on you.

He’s not an idiot, he knows. God, he fucking knows.

And because he loves nothing more than to torture himself, he braves the fear that riddles his body and unlocks his phone, faced with the last thing he could ever expect.

“Oh fuck.” He says quietly, mostly to himself.

“Hmm?” You inquire, not bothering to look back at him.

Eddie stammers, phone almost slipping from his hand.

It’s not the first pair of tits he’s been blessed to see in his lifetime, but it’s not like he’s being bombarded with them on a regular basis. He’s had sex once, seen a girl naked once, in person, not counting the porn he watches on a regular basis—and he’s still new to all of this. But, this feels invasive.

Yet, he couldn’t pull his eyes away.

The silence is digging at you and you turn slowly, hand pressed like a fire-hot brand against his knee that makes him jump, his eyes pulling up toward you.

They’re wide—shocked, lost, and the words that he wants to say are dead on his tongue.

“Eddie, is everything okay?” You ask, concerning flooding you at his state of emotion, “Is it Wayne?”

He could keep it to himself, never tell a soul and live with the fact that he’s a total creep, bound to jerk off to the pictures of you at some point—he’s never outwardly admitted his attraction toward you, but he doesn’t hide it either.

Eddie hasn’t tried to ruin the one good thing he has going on in his life because his dick is telling him so, it’s the one thing he prides himself over.

But, that’s quickly flying out the window.

“Hello,” You call out again, “earth to Eddie? You’re starting to freak me out now.”

Eddie rubs at his brow in exhaustion, forehead creasing as he flips his phone around, “I uh, don’t think these were meant for me.”

You look at him, confused, tearing the phone from his hands and suddenly your mouth is falling open, not a word to be spoken.

“I mean, I’m flattered but—I think it’s safe to assume I wasn’t supposed to see those,” Eddie rambles, “not that like, I wouldn’t want to, but I figured it’s probably better to tell you rather than you finding out later and thinking that I didn’t tell you for some other reason, not that there is…a reason.”

You smile widely at his dramatic rambling. He only ever did it when he was nervous, which was inherently clear now.

This was going…great, clearly.

“That’s–” You laugh uncomfortably, softly, “I’m so sorry, Eddie.”

“No, no—don’t be,” Eddie interjects, “I’m not like I’m bothered or anything—“

“God, I’m so stupid,” You reprimand yourself, tossing the phone back into his lap, his hand tensed tightly into the fabric of the pillow when you move, a small thing you wouldn’t have noticed without the cause of current situation, but you ignore it for now, “you text me—and I didn’t even think to switch it back to the other conversation and I just sent it, like an idiot.”

“I’ll delete it,” Eddie says, reaching for the phone, “I’m going to delete it right now.”

“You already saw it, I don’t think it really matters.”

And it’s the first inkling Eddie gets that maybe you don’t mind—it was a genuine mistake, but you’re more panicking for the sake of Eddie, rather than yourself. Seeing your friend naked wasn’t exactly an ideal situation, but it wasn’t one Eddie had a problem with, not with him harboring such a deep crush on you.

“It feels wrong,” Eddie says, trying to laugh off how awkward things felt, “I mean, not that they’re bad photos—I think I should delete them.”

He shifts slightly, sitting up further as you turn to face him fully, knelt on the carpet at his feet—and that stupid, fucking pillow.

It’s covering the painful hard-on pressing against his jeans. Eddie hasn’t dealt with a situation like this since…well, ever.

Your eyes connect their briefly, the skin around his rings going white from his forcefully he’s gripping it, almost like he’s trying to rut into it secretly, relieving that silent ache.

“Should? Because you want to, right?” You check in with him, his fingers hovering over the delete button, staring intensely back at you.

“Yeah, of course.” He nods jerkily, “Friends don’t–don’t keep pictures like that, do they?”

He’s never been in such an unorthodox situation, learning the rules as he went. He never cuddled with friends or played with their hair, spent nights sleeping next to them in bed because the other was too tired to drive home–it’s a line you both have been walking on for a while, all that unspoken about tension collapsing in on itself.

“Only if they want to,” You tell, “You can–if you want to.”

“They weren’t meant for me.”

There’s a long beat of silence that has his heart racing in his chest, his face heating up.

“They can be.”

“But, what about–”

You shrug lightly, the light from the television shadowing around your face in a way that has Eddie mesmerized, caught up in the way you’re staring straight through him, your hand creeping toward his own, pulling gently at the fingers gripping the pillow.

“They were boring,” You tell him honestly, “and this is...a lot less.”

Eddie resists the pull for a moment, embarrassed by how easily he’s given himself over. It’s far from where he expected the night to go, and his internal monologue is screaming for him to say:

No. This won’t work. This can’t work.

“Eddie.” You say his name once, the tone in your voice telling him everything he needs to know.

Regardless of if this was a one time thing, you wanted it. And if all of this happened purely by chance, he’s thankful for the best goddamn divine intervention he’s ever experienced.

Eddie’s still speechless when you climb into his lap, thighs spread out over his own and his hands reaching around to squeeze at the wedge behind your knee, settling you more comfortably.

This was normal, no different than any other time that you’ve sat in his lap, but your hands are hovering, pillow tossed to the side. You can see how painfully hard his dick is from where it’s pressed up against the thick fabric of his jeans.

“I’m really trying not to make shit weird,” Eddie admits with a clipped laugh, “my body just kinda reacted.”

You shrug again, nonchalant. “I’ll take it as a compliment.”

Eddie glances down briefly, his hands rising up your thighs slightly, soft skin against rough denim. They squeeze at your hips, his gaze tilting back up toward you.

“What are we doing?”

It’s a question with a million and one answers, but you settle for something simple. Something Eddie can grasp and figure out himself.

“Whatever feels good,” You smile softly, pushing his long tresses behind his ears, the skin stained a deep red, “or we can go back to watching the movie and act like this didn’t happen.”

Eddie grips you a little tighter, like he might lose you.

“I can…help you out,” You suggest, glancing down with a mischievous grin, hands dragging toward the waistband of his jeans and tugging at the belt, “no stipulations or anything, unless you think it’ll go away on its own.”

“Probably–probably not.” Eddie admits. His morning wood wasn’t nearly as bad as this, but it always ended in him tensed up against the shower wall, fucking messily into the tight grip of his hand until he can finally find some relief.

You eye him wordlessly–he can see it in the way you light up.

A silent ‘Then?’ hanging between you both.

Eddie makes the first movie, surprisingly. His hands reach for his belt, unbuckling it with anxious fingers and sweaty hands, fumbling with the zipper until he can finally get it far enough down that he can wiggle his jeans down a bit. You lift yourself slightly to allow the action before settling back down, hands smoothed out over your own thighs. The aggressive tent in his boxers is lingering still–

“I’ve never done this before,” Eddie admits, “Like, without all the other stuff.”

And kissing didn’t feel right, too intimate for the situation despite how badly you wanted to touch him.

“You jerk off, right?” You ask, knowing the question is a little redundant. Of course he does.

He nods.

“So, I’ll just help,” You tell him, “or just watch, whatever you’re comfortable with.”

“Uh, no—I want,” Eddie nods slowly, looking up at you timidly, “I want you to help.”

There was no sense in him being shy, not with you. But, you get it—it’s uncharted territory, nothing either of you prepared for, but neither of you were turning down the opportunity. So, facing it head on seemed like the best.

“Okay,” You reply easily, dipping your hand between both of you to stretch under the material of his boxers, gripping him firmly. He’s hard, but everything about him is soft. You don’t dare a look, not yet, his eyes connecting with you briefly at the touch, his lips parting. It’s a soundless gasp, eyes pleasing silently, “is that fine?”

Eddie nods again, nose scrunching as you squeezed lightly, fingers rubbing over the fat head of his cock, the heaviness of him resting wonderfully in your hands.

“Might—might be easier if you take it out.” Eddie suggests, lifting his hips slightly to do just that, freeing himself to allow more room for you to move, bare skin pressed against denim.

You peek a glance down in the poorly lit room, flushed pink head disappearing under your grip as you fist him tightly, his hips rocking every now and then to meet your movements, his hands squeezing tighter and tighter against your hips, subconsciously rocking them in time with his. There’s no friction for you, but you don’t need it—this was about Eddie.

For now, at least.

“God, that’s so good,” He whines softly, head dipping back against the cushion as his eyes squeeze shut, “yeah—like that.”

Your bottom lip pulls between your teeth, rubbing testingly over the tip for a prolonged amount of time, precum drenching your hand until it’s sticky with slick, making a horrendously hot sound as your hand sinks down to the base and squeezes.

Eddie breathes uneven, a mix of a sigh and groan wrapped into one, voice cracking in the middle.

“Fuck, what are we doing?” He rambled, a sudden moment of revelation. “This is so—fuck—“

“Feels good?” You tease, “I’m having fun, Eddie—and I think it’s safe to say you are too.”

If the sounds he was making were any indication.

“You had other plans—didn’t you?” Eddie asks curiously, pausing in between words when things get too intense, his fingers digging into your back. It’s not painful, but you can definitely feel it.

“Maybe,” You shrug, “but you’re my best friend, Eddie—I’d do anything for you.”

“Yeah?” He asks, his voice sounding higher than usual.

“Mhm,” You nod, leaning over him slightly until your arm is pressed flush against both of your chests, the ridge of his cock rubbing against the front of your jeans at this angle—he’s so close to where he desperately craved to be, but still far enough away that it hurts. “Anything.”

“Fuck, I’m almost there.” He warns, feeling ashamed at how easy it was to work himself up. “Don’t wanna make a mess.”

You’re quick, using your free hand to lift your shirt over your head, hand leaving him for a brief second—he almost pouts, the feeling flagging slightly as his orgasm approached, but then he’s got your breasts in full view, pressed tightly against the intricate lace of your bra.

He really can’t take it, his hand cupping over your own as you return your grip around his cock, just as furious and tight as before, guiding you down as he likes, bringing himself closer and closer.

“Can’t believe you,” He says aloud, not for any reason in particular, “—doing this on purpose, aren’t you?”

You laugh softly, hand sifting into his long curls and gripping at the root gently, he moans softly, eyes boring into your own.

“Depends,” You start menacingly, “how much are you enjoying it?”

He snorts softly, “Too much.”

His eyes linger toward your breasts, follow the slow rise and fall of your chest, the thin gold chain that dips between your cleavage and holds a similar guitar pick to the one he wore, a gift for you after a year of friendship.

It wasn’t because he wanted to see you dawning a piece of himself, it wasn’t that at all. But, you wore it proudly.

You smirk knowingly, guiding him toward your chest encouragingly until his mouth latches into your skin, his hands sprawling out against your back.

It was the push he needed, confidence surging through him as he mouthed at the swell of your breasts, fingers dipping around the cups to stretch the material down, revealing the softened bud of your nipples as they harden in real time, the breeze hitting them immediately.

Eddie comes with his face buried against your chest, panting into your skin hotly as he stifles the lengthy groan that escapes him, rocking into your joined hands with the aftershocks as his come hits your stomach.

He lets out a weak noise, somewhere between surprise and disbelief, sprinkled with an astute feeling of real exhaustion.

“Fuck me,” He groans, reaching blindly for the shirt you hand him, wiping away the mess he’s made without question. He can only assume you don’t mind, given that you so freely handed it to him, “that was…intense.”

You chuckle, climbing off of his lap slowly, adjusting your breasts back into the confines of your bra.

“Still want to finish the movie?” You say jokingly, but he almost seemed pleased that you asked.

“If you don’t mind—“ Eddie laughs slightly, adjusting himself back into his pants, leaving his jeans undone, “I didn’t get on my hands and knees earlier for nothing, you know.”

“Fine, but—“ You point at his wrinkled shirt, yanking at the fabric gently, “I’m gonna need something to wear, since, well—“

“Yeah, yeah,” Eddie waves you off slightly, a grin splitting over his features, “or?”

It’s a challenge, a brave question to propose in a situation like this.

“I’m not sure you can handle me, Munson.”

“Try me.”

It’s no surprise, Eddie knows you better than anyone. If there was anyone to take you on, it was him.

Please consider a reblog if you enjoyed this fic! It’s makes a huge difference. ♡

#eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #joseph quinn x you #joseph quinn x reader #my writing

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steddiealltheway · 1 year

Text

The fruity four all live together in a four bedroom apartment that’s on the smaller side but easily affordable since all four of them pay rent.

At first, the idea came from Steve and Robin who thought it made sense to live together considering they work at the same place and are always hanging out.

Eddie would joke about how his Uncle Wayne probably wants him to move out soon, now that Eddie’s graduated high school, and Wayne has a new “lady friend.” Eddie actually really likes her which gives him more reason to move out and give his uncle his own space, even though he always insists he’s more than welcome to live with him forever if he’d like to.

Nancy complains that she doesn’t want to find a roommate or housemate that isn’t experienced with the Upside Down because she’ll need to store her multiple guns around the house, and she doubts someone random would be okay with them. Plus, her night terrors are often hard to explain.

Steve and Robin joke that Nancy and Eddie should get a place with them, and eventually the joke is no longer a joke.

They move in together, and find that, for the most part, they’re perfect housemates.

Eddie has to use Wayne’s trailer to practice at 2am - it was a group consensus after Eddie startled everyone awake the first time.

Nancy makes a chore chart which Robin actively complains about until she realizes that she gets to make fun of Steve when it’s his turn to do the dishes.

Steve has to give everyone at least twenty-four hour notice before he has a girl over because the walls are very very thin.

They develop a nice dynamic, but things shift only a few weeks in when Nancy has her first night terror since moving into the apartment.

Eddie’s out practicing, and Steve’s bedroom is the furthest away from Nancy’s so he doesn’t hear. Robin wakes up to the sound of sobs on the other side of her wall and immediately goes to the source.

When Robin gets to Nancy’s room, she lightly knocks before opening the door. “Hey,” Robin whispers, causing Nancy to snap her head up, tears glistening on her face.

Robin makes her way to the bed and tentatively sits on it. She puts her arms around Nancy who latches on and pulls her in. Robin whispers, “It’s okay. I got you,” over and over again until Nancy’s sobs quiet down. Robin strokes her hair and whispers to her a random story about work from earlier that day, causing Nancy to chuckle and smile slightly. When Robin’s story ends, Nancy whispers out, “Thank you.” Robin squeezes her and finds Nancy dozing off in her arms. She eventually falls asleep, too.

Eddie comes back a little bit after that, quietly sneaking in and finding Nancy’s bedroom door open. He rushes to it, afraid something has happened because Nancy never leaves it open. Instead, he finds Nancy and Robin curled up in each other’s arms.

A door creaks open behind him, and Eddie whips his head around, finding Steve half asleep, rubbing at his eyes.

When Steve notices him, he gives him a look as if to say what are you doing outside of Nancy’s room?

Eddie gestures for Steve to come over and puts a finger to his lips. Steve glances over and finds the pair in Nancy’s bed. His eyebrows furrow, confused, but then he smiles and shrugs at Eddie. He slowly closes the door, willing it not to creak and awake the two girls.

When it closes, Eddie nods at Steve and dramatically tip toes to his room.

Steve silently laughs and shakes his head, making his way to the bathroom.

When everyone wakes up the next day, Steve and Eddie don’t say anything as Robin stumbles out of Nancy’s room, bright red. But as soon as Robin is in her room, Steve and Eddie begin giggling.

Nancy looks equally as flustered as she makes her way to the bathroom, smiling tightly at Eddie and Steve.

Robin makes her way out of her room the same time Nancy comes out of the bathroom. They both look at each other and then at Steve and Eddie. Steve continues flipping pancakes while Eddie pretends to be very interested in his guitar pick necklace.

When they’re all sitting at their dining room table, Eddie and Steve kick at each other’s feet when Robin and Nancy blush and stutter after Steve asks how everyone slept.

Steve and Eddie make eye contact and smile. They’re going to have fun with this new development.

#oh gosh #this is going to be a series #it was just one idea #but then I wrote too much backstory #welp #steddie #ronance #eddie munson #steve harrington #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #fruity four #the fruity four

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love-toxin · 1 year

Note

.......

I think your stuckage fruity four fic awoke something in me.

please....

WRITE MORE STUCKAGE, THERE'S NO STRANGER THINGS STUCKAGE FIC ON A03 AND IT'S DRIVING ME CRAZY!!!!

Omg ELLIE! You drive me nuts with this stuff!!!!

oho? stuck in a wall? my pleasure >:)

(cws: fruity four, mostly robin and eddie, bi/pan!f!angelface, post-vol 4, stuckage, jealousy, best friends to lovers, seemingly unrequited love, teasing, flirting, mentions of group sex + alcohol, squirting, oral (f/f and f/m), face riding, loud sex, praise + degradation, throat bulges, cum drinking, mentions of anal sex, fingering (a+v), mild spanking, references to virginity loss, references to steve fucking eddie, love confessions, a little angst around hookup culture, fluff and smut.)

This is just ridiculous. Eddie had laughed unbelievably hard when you'd had that initial moment of panic, that tug to try and get out only to be met with unbroken resistance. That alone was enough for you to huff and kick at him, and throw a mediocre punch in the direction of his crotch when he had come around the other side to check your situation there--no attempts to get you out though, just laughter and teasing touches of your hair before he went back around.

You'd just wanted to help him and his roommates with renovations--they wanted to knock down a wall between two bedrooms to make one larger one, for whatever reason, it struck you as a little weird considering there were four people living in one house. And Harrington's house might be big, but not four singles with their own bedrooms big....at least, you don't think so, but what do you know? That one hole just ruined it, though. You'd tried to be funny, ran at it with your hammer outstretched to joust through the first chunk of drywall--and then you went straight through both sides, your lower half still in the room you started in while everything above the waist is hanging out in the next. Fucking dingus.

You were just trying to be funny. Well, no, you were just trying to ease the tension. Eddie's been your best friend since freshman year, you've been through thick and thin together and you swore to always stay friends no matter what. But then all that stuff with earthquake happened last year, and the bounty hunt for his head, and you were suddenly the only person in Hawkins who didn't want him dead--and you were the only one to mourn him when you thought he was, aside from Wayne, of course. Only for him to come back with a new friend group, a new attitude, new scars, and.....you felt left behind, honestly. Hellfire and the band didn't feel the same after that, and when he moved in here with all his new friends, you just felt so abandoned that you did something stupid.

You got really, really drunk one night, called him up, and told him you loved him. Not friend love, either, not something you could brush off--you spilled your guts out to him, told him you always wanted to kiss him and how you dreamed about touring the world with him, how you wanted to marry him, and you think you told him you wanted his babies, but that part is where it gets fuzzy. And he said nothing, the line had been so silent that you mumbled an apology for calling the wrong number and hung up. You knew what you had done in the morning, though, when Eddie was throwing pebbles at your window and trying to get you to talk to him, which you declined, thinking through tears that it was time for you to finally just let him move on like he obviously wanted to. But the week after that--last week, exactly six days ago--you had been invited to this very house for a smoke and a drink, a celebratory one to warm the house even though they moved in like two months ago. And you went, because fuck it, what else did you have to lose?

As a woman scorned with unrequited love and slowly dwindling friendship, you had obviously taken the opportunity to get fucking wasted as soon as you possibly could. The others had followed your lead too, they were surprisingly fun people despite their reputations, so it wasn't long before you were laughing and chattering away like there wasn't a shred of awkwardness between you all--like you didn't hold any resentment towards him or his new friends for taking him away from you. You kinda lost all that when you started drunkenly making out with his friend Robin, so faded from the world that you didn't even register the fact that none of them were jeering or wolf whistling at you kissing another girl. You knew even then that, even though you were in the midst of convincing yourself that this was just spite and you were doing it to piss Eddie off, you really liked it--and that hadn't been a surprise, you knew you liked women and Eddie knew that too.

But it escalated when you started pulling at her clothes, and when you started kissing Steve, and then when you moved on to sit in Nancy's lap--and before you knew it, you were in the middle of the most hazy group sex of your life, nothing but pure ecstasy running through your body the whole night until you passed out. Waking up next to Eddie the next morning had been a moment of temporary bliss, but you remembered it all pretty quick, and grabbed your shit before practically running out of the house and not bothering to ask questions. Though you'd sat in your car for at least ten minutes with your head in your hands, recalling every second of what you had felt.....how Eddie had whispered such sweet things to you as you made love, how his touch had burned wherever he grazed you, how he kissed you like he was just as in love with you as you are with him......but also how his friends had touched you; how sweet they had been, how unusually tender they were with your body, how they stroked your hair and cuddled you after they had finished making you scream each individual name into the ceiling. It wasn't.....normal. It wasn't how you were used to being treated, it wasn't how your average hookups went--where they would fuck you, get their rocks off, and leave you when they finished if they made you finish at all. Or worse, when you'd find a girl you really liked, you'd have sex, and then she'd bounce right back to whatever boyfriend she had lined up so she could say she did it with a chick. Those were the worst.

Being stuck in the wall of the house where you fucked your best friend's friends, though? That's pretty bad, too.

"Goddamn it, Eddie, just break the wall around me! It's not hard, a fucking monkey could do it by now." You hiss, face burning with embarrassment at humiliating yourself for the umpteenth time.

"Nah. Enjoying the view too much, plus, you did this to yourself....hey, are these new?"

You're not too sure what he's referring to--until his fingertips graze your lower back, and he hooks his thumb into the strap of your thong that's peeking out. It's black, and soft....it's what Eddie likes, so it stings even harder when he snaps it back against your skin after pulling it taut.

"Stop fucking teasing me, Eddie. You're being a huge dick."

"And why am I being a dick?" He asks from the other side of the wall. You can huff as much as you like, but you're not getting out of this anytime soon, so you have no choice but to be honest.

"It's a dick move to lead a girl on. Especially when you're just....just dangling it over my head." You sigh in defeat, slumping over the wall and letting your arms hang limply. "And don't ask what. You know what."

"....You mean sex, right? You wanna have sex with me?"

God, you could just groan at his bluntness--not just because he's oblivious, but because it's making you fucking wet as it always does.

"Obviously."

"Eddie! Not fucking now, you idiot! Your roommates-" He spanks you again, rings leaving a pleasurable sting that lasts long after, and makes you bite your lip to keep from squealing and giving him the satisfaction. You just stomp your feet instead, heels raised off the floor that's still covered in a sheet of plastic to catch the debris.

There's a bit of shuffling behind you, an unusual silence from Eddie that you're not used to. You swear you can feel him brush by your ass, but you must be imagining it.....until you're not.

"Oh, that's good news....real good news, sweetheart." He mutters almost too quietly for you to hear, before his hand comes down hard on your ass and you suck in a gasp, arching up immediately with your hands grasping at the wall beneath you.

"My roommates are my partners, and they think you're a fucking sex goddess."

"Shut up--ah! E-Eddie!" You shake your head, hair flicking all about, but it isn't stopping Eddie from reaching around and unzipping your pants for you--and when he gets them down your legs, he moans out loud at the sight that he's rewarded with.

"Fucking Christ....listen, they like you, and I've been in love with you since I was, like, fourteen--shit! S-Since we lost our virginities to each other.." You do remember that time, tenth grade--you were fifteen, but you're not gonna correct him right now--when you were such good friends you made a pact to take each other's virginity. That was when you were such good friends that it felt like nothing else mattered, and now.....now, years later, you're finally turning into something else.

He doesn't even bother playing around with the thin piece of fabric stretched over your cunt, he's too eager to just pull it down your hips with those rough fingers. You can tell he's on his knees by the breath on your thigh, and the almost tender way he spreads you out with his thumbs to look--he obviously didn't get enough out of the last time you hooked up, and it's a good enough thought that you find it in you to chuckle about it. You relax a little bit, finally, and he must be able to see it if his "fuck, baby" is any tell.

"You fuck like a virgin, Eddie." A smirk flickers across your face, confidence filling you back up now that your best friend's attention is on you again. "Desperate and clingy. And...cute. So damn cute."

"I am desperate. Anyone who sees a pussy like this'd get fucking desperate." He presses a gentle kiss to your inner thigh, slowly trailing them up your skin with his hands ghosting over your thighs to hold each one. You only twinge a bit in pain when he bites a mouthful of your flesh, sucking on it til it aches before he lets it go with a pop. He seems to stop there for a while, but he's close, that pretty mouth poised so near to your bare pussy that you have to force down the urge to beg--but just when you seriously consider doing so, Eddie gives you an experimental lick, and you jerk so hard you swear a new crack forms in the wall. Then another, and another.....each one slow, and maddeningly soft, barely testing the waters and just getting a taste, yet it's making you drool and you can't stop yourself from pulsing down there. Eddie noses your clit and pays it a few special kisses, but then he's done and you're muffling your own whines with both hands clamped over your mouth. You know from last week that he's fucking good at eating pussy, and he knows it, which is exactly why he won't let you have it like you did last time. Too fucking cocky for his own good, and it's so goddamn sexy.

"Listen, I...I just gotta let you know," He mutters as he stands and unbuckles his belt, the frantic clicking only mildly distracting you from what he's trying to say. "I didn't pull away for no reason, I--I was trying to protect you, cause I-"

"Oh, Eddie, for god's sake, just fuck me!" You call over your shoulder, frustrated and horny and....fuck it, you're desperate, desperate for your most treasured friend in the world to screw your damn brains out. And he just chuckles, cock finally freed for him to tap it against your asscheek.

"Alright...alright, it can wait. I had a reason, that's all you need to know. Now, no more fucking around. You're mine." As he says it, he angles himself down to massage your lips with the tip, dragging it up and down through your slick before slowly feeding it into you. He's trying to be nice, but you're just too wet, and Eddie hiccups and chokes on his own gasp when your hips move and you swallow him in like you're just desperate for him to get on with it.

"Like that, huh?" He slaps the side of your ass, eyes trained on the way it jiggles around him and ears perked to hear your whining. Eddie doesn't have to try to get deeper, doesn't have to strain to be rougher--he's just perfect as he is, cock curving up to put pressure on that weak spot that's making you shake. "Better than fucking some jock, right?"

It is. Eddie's better than any guy you've ever hooked up with; more attentive, more creative, more....sizeable. You might have had bigger on some occasions but never so skilled to match, never someone who you'd be begging to move inside you like you are right now. And because Eddie's a nice, attentive, reliable guy, he obeys that plea--and he doesn't start slow, he rears back and fucking plows you like he's trying to push you right through the wall, and he might. His hips bash yours so hard on the down thrust you can feel parts of the broken plaster crumbling around you, but it doesn't make it any looser for you to wiggle through, and thank god it doesn't. This is what you wanted, and you have no shame in screaming that for the world to hear, for everyone to know that you're taking Eddie Munson's dick and you love it more than life itself.

"I love how fucking loud you are. Make the neighbors jealous, honey." You can feel that smug grin from across the wall, one hand possessively squeezing your ass while the other's hooked around your bent waist to keep you steady against him. The constant thwap thwap thwap of his hips meeting your ass and his balls kissing your underside is so echoey, you aren't even paying attention to the door opening on your side and don't notice the person standing there until she sucks in a gasp.

Your head swiveling to look, you lock eyes with Robin--that adorable girl that made love like summer rain--and see that she's empty-handed, hand hovering over her mouth while her face explodes into a rosy-red blush. Curious, you think, and your ditzy smile gives her an idea of exactly what kind of mood you're in as you beckon her over, to which she complies quite hastily. You raise two fingers to your mouth and spread them in a 'v', the gesture earning you a pair of lust-blown eyes and a soft smile crossing her features as she moves to unbutton her pants in front of you, obviously having missed your touch from last week. As she should, you liked her so much from the first meeting that you'd been determined to make her see stars when you were done.

"That all you got, big boy? Or are you just a huge dick and nothing else?" You call over your shoulder, shooting her a wink while you reach your hands up to help her out of those bothersome clothes. The confidence is staggering you a little bit, the feeling of Eddie stirring up your guts a familiar one, and it's homey, almost--but it kicks up when you feel him stroke a place you weren't sure he'd be into touching, at least not before that last encounter when you'd woken up in his bed the morning after.

"Eddie! Eddie, fuck, that--f-fuck, that's sensitive-!" He spits on your asshole and rubs it in with his thumb, pressing it in just hard enough until it pops right in and sends your eyes rolling to the back of your head--right when Robin's got her panties down too, and you grab her by the hips to move her towards you, tongue stuck out to meet her clit in a near-feral swirl. Robin's knees buckle almost instantly, and she has to brace her hands on your head out of instinct just to keep herself upright, although it also means she accidentally shoves you down to lick her up even deeper.

"Yeah? Still sensitive after Harrington fucked it raw? Kept touchin' yourself when you watched him fuck me, ass already full of his cum....you know how fucking dirty you get when you're sloshed?" You remember that too, now--shamelessly palming your tits as Nancy nursed on your clit, your eyes zeroed in on Steve driving his cock in and out of your best friend for you to enjoy. He'd been too happy to do the same to you, and fill your head with dirty admissions of what he'd do to you if he had all the time in the world, but it was a different experience to watch him bend Eddie over and take him from behind. You felt filthy for watching it all the way through, and even filthier for letting Eddie eat Steve's cum out of you with Nancy when he was done.

You break off for a moment from your partner's body, breaths heaving. "You like it." Before diving right back in, moaning into a mouthful of Robin's pussy.

"I love it," His incessant bucking grows harder, the hand once being used to steady you now occupied with stroking your clit in messy circles. "Love watching you get all stupid and slutty when you've got a drink in you....you and Buckley were so cute..." Eddie moans, and you hum into Robin's clit in a knowing way that has her fingering her way through your hair, clearly trying to be gentle but so lost in pleasure that she's keeping your head static between her legs. Huffing soft breaths and whimpers that Eddie wouldn't be able to hear, grinding forward against the flat of your tongue to get that coveted ecstasy lapped into her clit.

"Always fucking wished I was one of those guys, knockin' on your trailer after dark....came in so many damn socks listening to you get fucked..." That's a new one, you've never heard about that. But it makes sense, now--the way he always seemed to avert his gaze the morning after one of your hookups, when you'd waltz into his trailer to have breakfast together with a pleasant glow and a satisfied smile. Thinking about Eddie rubbing himself raw with the window open as he listened to you getting your guts pumped....oh, if your face wasn't buried in between Robin's legs, you'd have the biggest smirk right then and there.

"An' now you're balls deep," You pant, pulling off of her one more time just to get an adorable whine out of her. "Made me so wet when you got that pout on your face, when you were jealous."

That almost immediately earns you a smack, not on the ass, but on the clit--and the aching, burning sting makes your pussy clamp down on him in a vice grip, your hair sticking to your face with a fresh wave of sweat as he keeps brutalizing your most sensitive spot with the palm of his hand....and it's so fucking good you could just melt right there.

"Yeah? Hear how wet you are now, angelface? Soaking wet for the freak?" He's right--for once, you can hear the sloshing and shucking of your own cunt gushing for him, your body responding to his treatment with no aid from your own hand or an active imagination. With your thumbs spreading Robin's sticky cunt apart, you look up to watch her whimper into her hand as the cool air hits her sensitive areas, before choking on her own moan as you shove your face back between her legs with your tongue outstretched. Your hands come up to grab at her ass, poor cheeks dug into with little crescent-shaped nail marks as you trap her against your lips to suck her clit into your mouth, her hips jostling you as she chases the pleasure with both hands firmly grasping the back of your head.

"Drenching my fucking balls, lucky there's plastic down....you gonna squirt for me again, huh?" He spanks you again, and maybe he can hear how muffled your squeals are from having a mouthful of his girlfriend-roommate's pussy, but you don't fucking care. Even less so when Eddie makes a noisy show of sucking his middle finger into his mouth, before he presses it right up against that empty hole he was teasing and working it all the way inside, his spit making short work of any resistance your body might have had. Your hips jerk at the filthiness of it, as well as the ache he stirs back up that you remember from the last time--god, you swear you can still feel his roommate's monster of a cock splitting your asshole open, and when Eddie spits again to lube you up more, you're left completely at the mercy of his assault on all three sides as you feel that familiar rush of heat churn in the very deepest pit of your stomach. "Make a fucking mess for me, sweetheart. Then I'll come around and let you lick my balls clean." He moans, and with his cock bruising your inner walls as they cling to him on every thrust, and Robin riding your face to kingdom come as her cunt starts spasming with an orgasm she can't hold back, you just let go completely and mumble out a myriad of frantic cries as your brain muddles into a whited-out void of pleasure--and as you do, Eddie's finger hooks inside your ass to bring you all the way down to the base as you feel that release of fluid burst out and spray indiscriminately all over his lap.

"Shit! Damn, fuckin' gushing for me, you're so fucking gorgeous--ohh, that's a big one, isn't it angel?" His tone has a twinge of mockery to it, shakily pulling out but keeping both hands where they still work, so he can no doubt stand back and watch your pussy continue to weep and gush out that clear fluid all over the plastic-protected floor. His other hand moves clear to see the stream properly but he keeps it on your clit, arm curved around the underside of your belly to keep rubbing more out of you even when there's black edges to your vision and you can't even keep up with Robin's orgasm--you just let her yank your head by the hair and hump your face, unable to keep down her gasps as she spasms and clenches around nothing but rides out that endless pleasure on your flexing tongue.

When she finally manages to stumble back, and breaks that constant assault on her nethers that she definitely thought might melt her brain to mush, you're left panting and starry-eyed with a sticky face, your hair matted down with sweat and slick as you try to let yourself come back down to earth. Your ears barely register Eddie coming around to the other room, but when he appears there in all his half-naked glory, all three sets of eyes widen when he gets a look at the sight waiting for him.

"Buckley?"

Meek and shy now that she's not having her pussy eaten, she just waves, still breathing heavy and hunched over to brace her hands on her knees. But annoyance is not the emotion etched into his face, especially not when he clicks his tongue and moves over to where you're still stuck, a hand soon fisting itself in your hair to yank your sagging head up and get a look at the state of you.

"Ohh, I see....angel here was helping herself, huh? Eating up like a fucking dog?" Robin nods, letting out a soft laugh like she can't actually believe she just did what she did. Maybe it's remorseful, and that stings a little bit....but the feeling isn't dwelled on too long, when Eddie guides his achingly stiff, dripping wet cock towards your mouth, and smirks from above you as he taps it against your lower lip. "There's your bone, pup."

In one long stroke, he splits your lips apart and tests the boundaries of your throat as he squeezes himself all the way to the back of it, the instinctual clench down around him giving him the go-ahead to start moving. He's slow at first, attentive, wanting to warm you up, but you're not that inexperienced and you show him exactly how ready you are by sucking him off so hard he flinches, and snaps his hips forward so suddenly he breaches an even deeper spot that he didn't even think was possible. Eddie keeps thrusting harder, chasing his own pleasure with only a casual interest in your comfort--it's exactly how you like it, head pinned to his hips and throat bulging like you're in Alien.

But then, like a fairy breezing by your skin in the middle of a quiet wood, Robin's fingers brush a few errant strands of hair from your face, and she kneels by the wall you're still a prisoner of to start kissing up and down your jaw to the shell of your ear. Whispering sweet words that drown out the shucking of Eddie resizing your throat to fit his girth, showering you with much-deserved praise that has you spilling and leaking down your legs all over again, like you didn't just squirt so hard you probably soaked the whole floor of the other room.

"Look at you, pretty girl, taking Eddie so well." She croons, grazing her touches over the bulge of your throat as it sinks and stretches, inadvertently causing Eddie to groan as he's stroked off in an even more intense way. "I've never cum that hard in my life, all thanks to this gorgeous mouth. You make love like an angel, baby."

Her voice feels so smooth in your ear, presses down any of those ugly thoughts you might have been keeping in, and makes your mind go so fuzzy again that it doesn't even hurt--the ache in your jaw just kind of simmers down, and the serene relaxation you feel opens up an even deeper path for Eddie to blaze down that has him humping your mouth more erratically than ever, crying out that he's gonna cum, he's gonna cum for you, fuck, he's cumming baby he can't hold back-

"Th-That's it--take it all, swallow, don't think too much about it....just drink it, kay? S'good for you." He moans down at you as he slows to a crawling stop, hips jolting once or twice with an especially good shot of cum, but otherwise he spills into your throat at a feverish pace that matches how good he fucked you from behind. Robin sucks a bruise into your neck, shaking from reciting those dirty words she had memorized to say to you, and gingerly strokes that poor skin of yours to ease the flow of Eddie's cum down into your belly. Warm. Everything's so warm, and while you feel an overwhelming urge to pass out as soon as Eddie unhinges himself from your mouth, a smack of your lips together reignites that bitter taste of cum that instantly has you alert and squirming again for more affection. You don't want it to end yet--please, don't end too soon again.

"Forget the big bedroom--we should leave the glory hole, make it a permanent fixture." He smirks, and squats down to look you in those glazed, hazy eyes. He can see it, see that neediness in you again, made only stronger with Robin sweetly stroking your hair as she fixes her clothes back to normal. The thud of a car door slamming shut has his head swiveling to glance over his shoulder towards the window, curls bouncing back and forth again when he turns his attention back to you. "Now, I need a piss, and a smoke. You wanna come out, or you wanna wait for the others to find you? I heard their car pull up just now."

Now you can hear the distant sounds of the front door opening and closing, shoes being kicked off, Nancy's voice reminding Steve to leave his dirty sneakers on the mat. The heat stirs up again as you remember the last time you saw them....

"Steve's gonna want to have a turn, so's Nancy. Think you can handle all that?" Though you've gotten your release and gotten it good, it still feels like there's something churning up inside you, like there's a pressure in your groin that you need to relieve and it's burning the longer you go without stimulation. You want it bad, so bad, and a whine has Eddie getting to his feet with his hands braced on his knees for balance. "Ah, forgot. Can't relax unless you cum hard enough to pass out, can you?"

You hum in agreement and it induces a chuckle out of your best friend, who while rosy-cheeked and has a look of satisfaction about his glowing skin, seems like he doesn't yet want to leave you even though he needs a bit of time to cool off. "Alright, I'll be back. I love you." He ruffles your hair and kisses the top of your head, before readjusting himself and heading out the door as Robin finally gets back up herself. Even the thought of being alone right now has you wriggling where you're still stuck, but the thumping footsteps climbing the staircase draw that desire back up into your throat.

"Sweet. I, uh....I love you, baby. See you soon."

"You need anything, sweetness?" You shake your head, looking up at Robin with pure, glimmery eyes that don't betray how eager you are to get used as a cumdump for the second time. "Okay. I promise Nancy and Steve'll get you out when you're done, so don't worry. Come sleep in my bed after, okay?"

She's so nice. So sweet. She's your partner now, huh? That's what Eddie said he wanted, and what they wanted, and he wasn't all that clear about it but Eddie's never really that transparent when it comes to his feelings....at least when they're about you. Or maybe you're just not used to his directness being so honest and from the heart, so you don't know whether to take it all as truth or not. But Robin really looks like she's feeling the same as she fixes herself up, nervously fluffs her hair before she fidgets with her belt and swings around to head towards the door. Maybe you could get her to stay....but Steve and Nancy are almost here, and you can bet she needs a little break after you blew her mind. Heh. You really did, didn't you? You really made her feel so good she wants to stay, and that's just....well, it's a first. A really, really, really nice first.

#fruity four #fruity four x reader #eddie munson #eddie's angelface #eddie munson x reader #robin buckley #robin buckley x reader #nancy wheeler #steve harrington #nancy wheeler x reader #steve harrington x reader #spicy writing #st 4 #stranger things #ellie writes #anons

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saquesha13 · 1 month

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Good Googly Moogly that Thang is Juicy

Steve wasn’t sure how it had happened. It was a typical sleepover, the entire Party bunkered down in the Wheelers basement like they do every Friday night post Vecna. Of course their newest Party member had been joining them, Eddie Munson. It was like he really just fit right in. All the kids slept on the floor dog piled together. Nancy and Jonathan take the pull out bed, Robin and himself share a blow up mattress and Eddie seemed set on sleeping on the recliner. Everyone was sound asleep when it happened, Steve was the only one who heard Eddie’s quick breaths. Maybe he wasn’t fully awake, or just wasn’t thinking, but Steve didn’t even think about it when he detangled himself from Robin and crawled up on the itty-bitty space of the recliner behind Eddie and holding him in his arms until Eddie had calmed down, it was too easy to fall back asleep after that.

In the morning, the first thing Steve noticed as he started to stir was how warm his left ass cheek was before realizing his whole front half of his body was warm too. He heard a clicking sound, and saw a bright light through his closed eyelids snapping them open to see Jonathan fucking Byers with a camera angled right at him. Steve realized why when he saw he was sleeping pretty much on top of Eddie Munson, and that warm thing on his ass was Eddie’s hand.

It happened again not even a week later at Robins house when the fruity four decided to have a movie night. Eddie apparently was too sleep deprived at the Wheelers & didn’t remember anything but Steve being next to him in the morning, not even noticing where his hand was. So Steve had dropped the matter (after hunting Jonathan down and snatching the polaroid, ready to burn the damn picture but for some reason he kept it on his nightstand) Eddie and Steve had sat on the loveseat together, with Robin and Nancy sitting on the floor painting each others nails as the movie played. Steve doesn’t know if he fell asleep first or Eddie, but it happened again. When Steve woke up in the morning he had his arms around Eddie Munson, and in return Eddie had a hand gripping onto his asscheek. It’s not fair that this is the best sleep Steve has had in months. To make matters worse Eddie seemed so unfazed by the entire thing, acting as if he didn’t have his hand holding Steve’s ass in their sleep and Steve for some reason believed it.

Even after the next two get togethers, the weekly sleepover and hanging out at Eddie’s trailer for a smoke, they both ended the same way, sound asleep with a hand on his ass and his arms tangled around Eddie’s frame. Steve decided to not make a big deal about it since Eddie wasn’t. But then he went to pick the teenagers up from their DnD session, wearing his jeans waiting for almost a whole hour in his bmw, it usually never takes this damn long. So Steve turned the car off and stomped his way through the rain up to the front doors of the high school just in time fore Eddie to swing the door open, a pleasant grin on his lips at the sight of Steve, with the kids behind him. “Uh oh, Harrington’s hair got fucked up in the rain, someone is in trouble.” Eddie huffed out a low laugh, sliding his ringed covered hand in the back pocket of Steve’s fucking levi’s and leaving his hand there making any snarky remark leave Steve’s brain entirely. Blush pink cheeks and all he made a bold move to look at Eddie and saw it all over his stupidly hot face that the damn guy had been doing this on purpose the entire time! And then the hand in his pocket squeezed and Steve’s pink face turned red. “Okay, time to go! I’ve been waiting a whole damn hour.” Steve’s voice was higher then he’d ever admit as he shoved all the kids out in the rain in the direction of his car. “As for you, Munson, I’ll see you tonight. Don’t forget the weed.” He pointed a finger in Eddie’s direction, seeing the moment Eddie had looked up as if he was looking down at his - jesus christ.

Around nine thirty he had a knock on his door and the second Steve had opened it he didn’t even let Eddie speak before his lips were crashing against Eddie’s. Those damn hands started in his hair, but quickly worked their way down to the grey sweatpants Steve had changed into groping his ass so hard Steve may or may not have moaned against Eddie’s now smirking lips.

Let’s just say they didn’t even make it to the bed. Clothes flown hazardly around the living room leading up to the couch where they both lay naked, one ringed covered hand lazily stroking Steve’s lower back while the other cups Steve’s right buttcheek. They had finally lit up a blunt - originally the plan for tonight - passing it back and forth to one another as Steve laid flat on Eddie’s tattooed chest, his free hand playing with the ends of Eddie’s hair. “You were doing it on purpose, grabbing my ass.”

“Not at first, actually.” Eddie hummed, taking a long hit and letting the smoke escape his lips upwards towards the ceiling. “But once I got a taste of this ass, I couldn’t fucking keep my hands off of you, sweetheart.” Steve hated the way Eddie fucking Munson knew just what to do to make him blush. “Walking around in the tightest jeans known to man. And God, don’t even get me started on the basketball shorts.”

#stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve and eddie #steve x eddie #the party #fruity four #steddie drabble #steve the hair harrington #king steve #eddie the freak munson #steve has a big ass #but that’s already canon #good googly moogly

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discokicks · 3 months

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THE KIDS AIN'T FINE, FINE - ROY KENT.

PART THREE of ACES AT THE WATER'S EDGE.

(series masterlist!) (AO3!) (series playlist!)

pairing: roy kent x fem!reader (no use of y/n!)

summary: in 2012, roy’s summer olympic training camp is going (surprisingly) well. the same can’t be said for your new and current arrangement at richmond. and while you two think you’re doing a good job at keeping your bickering discreet, certain people are starting to notice that something’s up. and some are handling it better than others.

word count & rating: 11.8k (holy shit), R (typical roy kent fruity language)

chapter warnings: swearing, minor allusions to sexual assault and harassment, a sprinkling of sexual tension (we'll get there y'all), talk of alcohol and alcohol use, ploooot, lots of football/soccer/coaching talk, major angst, typical bickering, slight fluff.

author's note: i’m baaaaaaack and we're in it now, folks! we're covering A LOT of ground in this part. whole lotta relationship building and exposition. we're getting to the fun stuff soon, promise. and for the sake of my plot/pacing, we're pretending there was a week of time between last chapter and this one, despite them both taking place within the 3x02 timeframe. thank you for the love on the last chapter, i'm truly having so much fun writing this, so it's so exciting to see that people are enjoying it. ok, shutting up now, love u all tons, let's goooo! - mags

PRESENT DAY. (MID-AUGUST, 2023)

There are two days until Richmond’s first game of the season and you think you’ve slept approximately four and a half hours this entire week.

Despite the fact that your days weren’t too intense (pre-season practices were typically a little more involved and could stretch longer, and your Coaches' meetings never kept you past an unreasonable hour), your nights were rather rough. They seemed to be endless while also never offering quite enough time.

This was all self-inflicted, though. From the second you returned home from Nelson Road, you dove back into work, studying game film and your new players, attempting to figure out exactly what made this team tick. You thought about potential plays and formations in the shower, nearly slipping and cracking your head open each time you raced out to draw something up. You rehearsed things you wanted to say during practices, making sure each line was insightful and understandable, without overstepping any sort of boundaries.

Boundaries were key, here. You were hyper-aware of those now.

However, it wasn’t like you were saying the majority of these things. For the first time in almost a decade, you’d found yourself biting your tongue more often than not. You were friendly and encouraging like any good coach was, but you were agreeable. Quiet. Hesitant.

Those were issues and you knew that. That’s not what a coach was supposed to be, especially the coach of an AFC team. But that stupid fucking anxiety that you couldn’t shake had muzzled you. The fear made you weak. And while you hated it, you couldn’t rid yourself of it. That only made you feel more pathetic.

And it wasn’t like the Richmond team hadn’t done everything in their power to make you feel welcome. The ‘primary school-level art’ Roy had spoken of on your first day had been a large ‘Welcome to Richmond’ banner held by the team in the locker room, each of the players greeting you with a wide smile on their faces. While, yes, it did look like it’d been put together by a couple of third-graders (with the exception of a wildly intricate sunflower in the corner done by Dani Rojas), the thought behind it nearly made you cry.

All of the players had personally introduced themselves to you throughout the week, some keeping it short and sweet like Jaan Maas, others, such as Sam, approaching with lists of questions; not just about your professional life, but personal life, too.

They each were respectful and kind, listening to the few things you did work up the courage to say and seemed to take them to heart. They listened to you. They wanted to hear from you. They wanted to get to know you.

And you couldn’t fucking allow yourself to do it.

Your distant and rather closed-off behavior hadn’t gone unnoticed. While you thought you were keeping it cool and polite, certain players and people (AKA your entire coaching staff and boss) couldn’t help but see through what you’re doing.

This becomes evident early one morning, approximately five days after you begin. You’re the first one at the Richmond facilities, having stayed up for so long that night that you figured you might as well just stay awake for training. You’re only the slightest bit delirious and are trying not to vibrate due to the three cups of coffee that are currently coursing through your system.

You’re about to take a sip of your fourth when you hear a knock on your office door. The sound makes you pause— nobody’s supposed to be here until eight, at least.

The voice behind the knock reveals the identity immediately. “You’re here early, Coach.”

Unconsciously, your body goes rigid. You thought you’d be alone. You’ve only been here for a couple days, but nobody seemed to come in this early. Especially not Jamie Tartt.

What was he doing here? Why was he here so early? Was it just him? Or were there others with him? Anxiety floods through your veins at the idea of being alone in your office with this team’s star player. It creeps along your spine and into your mind and taunts you with ‘what ifs’, It’s stupid and it makes no sense and you hate yourself for it, but you can’t find a way to stop it.

And it’s not even his fault. It has nothing to do with him. But you can’t seem to convince yourself of that.

Without turning around, you greet him. “C-Could say the same for you, Jamie.”

Jamie Tartt chuckles from your doorframe. “Having trouble sleepin’ lately,” he tells you, sounding slightly confused by your refusal to face him. “Thought I’d show up early.”

You force yourself to turn, crossing your arms over your chest. You ignore how clammy your palms are as your hands ball to fists. “Is that… typical for you?” you ask. “To show up at this time?”

“Not at all,” he replies with a shake of his head. The smile on his face is easy. Polite. Comfortable. “Just got a lot on me mind lately. Makes me sleep shitty.”

“Sorry to hear that.” You attempt the same politeness but your words come out clipped. You can’t tell if he notices.

Jamie nods. “Oh, it’s whatever. I’ll get over it.”

The dead air you’re met with is almost painful. You know you should be better at this. You know you should be engaging in this type of small talk, trying to get to know your team. You’re their coach, for fuck’s sake. You know what you need to do.

But as you stare at Jamie, you can’t get anything to come out. You don’t want to say the wrong thing. You don’t want to overstep your boundaries or his. You don’t want to screw this up too. One wrong move and it could be over for you.

The hesitation clearly reads on your face and this time, you can tell Jamie notices. However, what you notice is the way he lingers at your door.

Finally, you muster up the courage to ask, “Is there something I can help you with?”

That seems to be what he was looking for. His shoulders sag as he nods, glancing behind him to see if there’s anyone around. “I was just…” He enters your office, plopping himself down into Roy’s desk chair with a lazy spin, and the action makes your throat tighten. “Is, uh… Is Zava really coming to Richmond?”

You don’t know what you were expecting from him, but it certainly wasn’t that. The question catches you off guard. “Oh,” you say. You shrug, arms uncrossing. “Uh, I mean… it’s being talked about. I’m still kind of new, but it seems like every team’s kinda trying to get him. I know West Ham was trying hard for sure, so… not sure if we’ll win him over.”

Jamie nods. “But it’s on the table?”

His tone doesn’t match the question. Everyone else— each player, coach, fan, everyone has the same type of excitement when talking about the prospect of Zava. And you get it.

But Jamie doesn’t seem to be in the same boat. And immediately, you get that too.

The realization makes you part your lips, something like sympathy rising up inside you. Jamie’s the star. The Ace. He’s Richmond’s playmaker and he thinks he’s going to be sidelined because of it. And honestly, he may just be right.

“Yeah,” you reply. “It’s still on the table.” He nods once more, like he’s confirming a reality he didn’t want to face. In an attempt to reassure him, you awkwardly try, “But there’s still a lot of ‘what-ifs’ that have to happen before that does. The probability of it happening is like, super low.” Jamie looks at you. “So, I wouldn’t worry about it until it does.”

That makes Jamie shake his head. “I’m not worried about it,” he nearly scoffs. You can’t help the way you look at him, eyebrows raised and calling him out on his bullshit. “I’m not!”

“Good,” you say, backing off from this type of conversation before it can start. The idea of getting into any type of argument makes you tense. “You don’t have to be.”

That seems to satisfy him. Momentarily. Because then he asks, “But if he does…” As he trails off, he meets your expectant eyes. “Could we… Could you help me out?”

The question gives you pause. “In what way? Giving you updates on where we are with Zava?”

“No,” he chuckles. “I mean, like… training me. One on one? Or even just giving me more notes in practice?”

The second he says training, your entire body freezes. He wanted to do one-on-one training sessions with you? Just the two of you? Alone? The last time someone you’d coached had asked you that…

Jamie’s expression contorts in confusion as he sees the look on your face. “I just thought that, like, we played the same position? And y’know, I’ve seen your film and I know what you do and… I think you’d be able to help me.”

You try to answer him but the words don’t come out. Your throat’s dry, jaw tight. However, luckily, before Jamie has time to fully panic about his questions, you crush them. “Uh, I’m—” Your voice cracks. “I’m not sure I’d be comfortable with that just yet.”

Your answer seems to surprise him, but you’re surprised by how quickly he backs off. He physically takes a step back, throwing his hands up. “Oh, yeah. Of course,” he says. “You just got here. Don’t really know us yet. Totally get it.”

You hadn’t expected that. The last time, you’d been fought. Begged. Coerced. You’re the only one who seems to get me, Coach. You just know how to teach me. C’mon.

But Jamie doesn’t do that. And you’re not sure what to do with that.

“I-I’m sorry,” you manage to get out. “Nothing against you, but I’m just—” You interrupt yourself with a new offer. “Maybe ask Roy?”

That Jamie actually scoffs at. “Right.”

“I’m serious,” you tell him. “He’s actually a pretty good trainer.”

“No, he’s uh…” Jamie swipes at his mouth as he laughs. “He’s not my biggest fan.”

His admission makes you laugh and relax for a moment. “Well, at least we’ve got that in common, Tartt.”

Jamie’s gaze snaps to yours at that, but his oncoming question is interrupted by a voice from the hallway. “The fuck are you two doing here so early?”

Speak of the devil and he shall appear. Roy’s voice is a welcome one for the first time in eight years. Your eyes flash to him as he stands outside your shared office, glancing between the two of you in confusion.

“We both had trouble sleeping,” you respond. “Felt like being early for once.”

Jamie nods in agreement. “Was shootin’ a bit outside. Saw the light was on and wanted to say hi to Coach.”

Roy nods but says nothing to that. He just continues to stare at Jamie in that vaguely intimidating, wildly annoying way. Jamie’s brows raise before Roy says, “You’re in my fucking chair.”

Jamie rolls his eyes. “Yeah. Because you weren’t here. I was gonna get out when you got in.”

“Well, I’m in now,” Roy says. “So get out of my fucking chair.”

Jamie glances at you with a cheeky smile. “Grandad doesn’t like people in his chair.”

The corners of your lips twitch up. “Grandad doesn’t like a lot of things,” you reply, a strange sense of pride rising within you as Jamie’s grin widens.

“Grandad’s about to go out back out into the car park and drive through the facility if my chair’s not empty in three fucking seconds,” Roy grits.

You bite back a smile at the empty threat, watching as Jamie shakes his head and stands. “Easy there, geezer. I’m out. Going back to the pitch,” he tells you two, making his way out of the office. Before he leaves, he glances back at you. “And Coach? Don’t worry about what I said.”

You can feel Roy’s eyes on the side of your face as you give Jamie a small, grateful smile. But when he exits, it drops and you fail to hold back a heavy, shaky sigh. God, why the fuck can’t you do your fucking job? Why does this have to be so hard?

Less than a second of silence passes between you and Roy before he asks, “What did he say?”

You shake your head. “Nothing. Nothing important.”

Roy doesn’t take the hint. He’s never been good at that. “What did he say?” he repeats.

“He—” You slump into your desk chair, running a hand down your face. You know avoiding this is no use. He’ll ask until he gets it out of you, so you might as well get it over with. “He asked me for extra training.”

Roy’s brows shoot up. “You?”

You glare at him from behind your fingers. “I’m a fantastic coach.”

“I know you are. But there’s no way he could have known.”

Your glare only gets more intense as you drop your hands. The implication of his statement isn’t lost on you. No one knows anything about you because of how little you’ve spoken. You get that. But he doesn’t need to be a dick about it.

“It doesn’t matter,” you say with a roll of your eyes. “I said no, so.”

“You said no?” He sounds incredulous. “Since when do you say no?”

“Since—” The words get caught in your throat again, and it tightens horribly. Since West Ham. Since you said no more times than you could count and it went ignored.

You shake your head like it’ll clear your thoughts. “I’m just not comfortable with it.”

Roy’s suspicious. In your experience, a suspicious Roy Kent is just about as bad as a deceitful Roy Kent. Every fucking move you make for the next week will be under scrutiny until he can pinpoint whatever he thinks is happening. The idea makes you want to take him up on his offer to drive through the facility.

His eyes stay on you, calculating stare never breaking. “Why?” he asks, as if he’s expecting a simple answer.

But it’s not simple. It’s so unbelievably, wildly, completely the opposite of simple.

But you give him a simple answer in return. It’s a bullshit answer, but it’s simple. “Boundaries,” you say. You’re out of your chair before he can respond to that. “I’m going to get more coffee.”

He says nothing as you exit, but you can feel his eyes on you.

LONDON OLYMPICS. (LATE JULY, 2012)

As it turns out, Roy Kent’s Olympic Boot Camp is wildly more effective and insanely more fun than you thought it ever could be.

The two of you had met up twice since the night of the Opening Ceremony, at the same field, typically at the late-night same time. Roy had continued to send Roger the Driver for you, something you’d taken gladly advantage of, especially with your limited knowledge of the London area. You’d actually grown to love Roger despite his rather talkative nature, and he’d clearly taken a liking to you.

(“Be kind to this one, Roy!” he’d yelled from the window as you’d exited his car. “The States need her much more than England needs you!”

“Fuck off, you old twat!”)

However, while these trainings had been way better than you’d expected, it’s also way fucking harder than you anticipated.

You knew Roy was good. He was an AFC star. A Chelsea legend in the making. He was as well known as he was for a reason, and it wasn’t just because he frequented a tabloid cover. Roy was good.

But you think you may have underestimated just how good he was.

And it wasn’t like you weren’t keeping up with him. You could go shot for shot with him, run the same length and duration, and score on him with the same type of precision. Of course, he had his things that he was better at than you were (as a midfielder, he was a smart, fucking brick wall of a defender and wasn’t afraid to push you around) and you had your strengths over him (you were quicker than he was and your striker nature made you better at anticipating him). But there were certain things he’d do in the midst of a 1v1 drill that you would have never thought of, or he’d stop a play to give you a direction that had never occurred to you.

(Or, it would have occurred to you, but just not as quickly.)

That, coupled with the fact that he liked to run these practices until your lungs gave out, made for an intensely more challenging but rewarding experience.

But you didn’t think of them as rewarding until they were over. Case in point, your current and third meeting with him. It was 1:30 in the morning at Mabley Green on the 2nd of August and here you were, growing more and more frustrated with the fact that you couldn’t get around Roy despite the aggressive amount of fakes and footwork you were throwing around. He’d been in your ear the entire time, somehow encouraging you while still being a shit, and when you thought you had him, he stuck out a leg to stop the ball, effectively tripping you in the process.

You hit the ground with an ‘oof,’ taking advantage of your new horizontal position to lie for a minute and catch your breath. Your chest heaved up and down and you stared up at the huge lights illuminating the field. You could hear Roy walking toward you as you threw your arm over your eyes in exhaustion.

“You’re a dick,” you told him. “That fucking hurt.”

Roy’s scoff was loud. “That was a fucking dive.”

“You tripped me!”

“Bit dramatic.”

An affronted sound left your lips and you put your other hand up in a way that resembled a phone. “I’ve got the kettle on the line right now if you’d like to tell it it’s black.”

You were surprised to hear him chuckle at this. “No idea what you’re talking about.”

Your eyes roll from behind your arm. “I’m serious,” you say. “All you boys act like you were shot the second someone marks you. It’s pathetic.”

“Refs miss shit. You gotta put on a show.”

“Is that show The O.C? Because I’m always expecting an auto-tuned ‘mmm, whatcha say’ to sound off each time one of you losers hits the ground.”

Roy’s standing above you now, looking down with a half-amused expression. “I don’t know what the fuck that means.” He’s talking again before you can explain. “Get up. We’re not finished yet.”

A loud, ugly groan escapes you. You still haven’t completely caught your breath. “I think I’m dying.”

“You’re fine. Get up.”

“I’m serious,” you say again. You finally remove your arm from over your eyes, squinting up at him. He’s as unamused as ever. “I think I’m dying and you killed me. I think if you tried to get me up right now, I’d collapse and stroke out or something.”

“And it would be a fucking loss for us all,” he replies dryly, earning a scowl from you. “I’ve got you for another thirty. We’re wasting time.”

You release another groan and squeeze your eyes shut once more. “Can I please just have, like, five minutes?” you plead. “Not all of us have this military-regimented training style that you seem to. I haven’t been this dialed in since college. Still trying to adjust here.”

(You’ve also never trained like this with someone as good as him before, but you keep that one to yourself. He doesn’t need the ego boost.)

You don’t hear anything in response for a moment. Confused, you open your eyes, expecting to find him still staring down at you with a frown, but he’s not there. Before you can rise to find him, a plastic water bottle lands right next to your head. You flinch in surprise, shooting up to glare at him.

Roy sits down across from you before you can complain. “Five minutes,” he agrees.

“Oh, thank God,” you mutter, opening up your water to take a long gulp. You glance at him. “Are all of your Boot Camps as intense as this?”

Roy rolls his eyes at your question. “I’m sure you’ve been to worse.”

“I have. But in like, high school. This shit’s got nothing on my two-week sleep-away soccer camp in Western Massachusetts.” You pause for a moment. “Or the one in North Carolina. That one sucked.”

He looks over at you. “Yeah?”

“Oh, yeah. Six A.M. early training sessions into all-day drills and tournament game play? Followed by a lovely nine P.M. late-night training?” You shake your head. “Insane. And that early and late-night stuff? Totally optional.”

“But you still chose to do it,” he states, brows raised.

“I still chose to do it,” you repeat. “That, and my psycho coach would keep tabs on me to make sure I was going.” You chuckle despite yourself and shrug. “But I did it. Without complaint.”

“I see you picked up the complaining later in life.”

You make a face at the way he smirks. “I’d be a masochist if I didn’t complain about this,” you tell him, biting back a smile. “I assume you were born with that trait?”

“Just fucking about,” he mutters. At your inquisitive look, he shrugs. “Sunderland scouted me when I was nine. Training was pretty fucking rough until I went into the AFC.”

“I forgot you guys could start that stuff that young over here,” you say, taking another sip of your water. “Was that tough?”

“I kept up,” he answers. “They were hard on us but—”

“No,” you interrupt. “I meant like, doing that shit at nine. Being away from your family. Being on your own that young. Was that hard?”

With every reason you listed, you could see him stiffening. His expression became harder and you figured if he could push a button to put a wall between you two, he would. Your stomach sank as you tried to figure out if you’d said the wrong thing or pushed too far. Maybe that was a boundary he wasn’t willing to cross. Despite the amount you’d spoken these past three sessions, maybe you weren’t yet friendly enough to ask about his upbringing.

But then again, he barely talked about himself in any capacity, so maybe it wasn’t just that. Maybe it was everything.

He was quiet for a moment before he shook his head. “No,” he finally said, though the one word alone let you know the answer was the opposite. He glanced down at his watch. “Five minutes are up.”

And that conversation is over. Got it. No questions about his childhood. Understood.

Still, the dismissal catches you slightly off guard. “O-Oh,” you stammer. “Right. Okay.”

Roy said nothing else as he stood, making his way back to the end of the pitch. You suppose you should have expected that from someone like him. While he’d gotten better as a conversationalist as the days had passed, you still led the majority of the talking. And you were fine with that. You were a pretty open book yourself and often forgot that most people weren’t the same way. Maybe that was on you.

You sit for a moment, allowing him some distance before you stand. You throw your water bottle to the sideline and follow behind him, feeling a bit like a dog that just got scolded. But you quickly shake that feeling away as he stops where he left the ball and turns to you, kicking it in your direction.

You put your foot on it as you receive it and look at him expectantly. “I’m setting a timer for thirty seconds,” he tells you, starting to fiddle with his watch. “We’re staying in the box. If you don’t score on me within that time, you run a lap.”

Well, that just sounds like your own personal hell. You frown. “And if I do score?”

“You won’t,” Roy replies quickly, and you don’t know if you’ve ever heard him sound more sure.

“No, but when I do score?” you repeat, emphasizing the word to see him roll his eyes. “What happens? We subtract a lap?”

Roy shrugs. “Sure. But—”

“No,” you say, eyes lighting up. “You have to run.”

“I’m not the one being trained here.”

“Yeah, but I’ve got a match tomorrow. And if my legs like, give out on the field I’m totally blaming you.” You roll the ball against your cleat. “‘I’m sure that ‘Roy Kent being the reason America loses’ isn’t exactly the headline your PR team’s gonna want.”

“I don’t give a fuck about PR,” he replies.

Images of rather negative tabloid covers and online gossip articles starring the man before you start flashing through your head. “Clearly.”

“I just don’t want anyone knowing I’m fraternizing with a fucking Yank,” he finishes, a smirk tugging at his lips.

An overly fake and affronted gasp leaves your lips. “Fraternizing?” you parrot. “Is that what we’re doing?”

“Guess not,” he says. The smug expression intensifies. “Suppose I could tell them we’re training. Because the girl who’s supposed to be America’s fucking Ace needs it.”

That sparks a fire in you that you haven’t felt in a while. You can’t remember the last time someone challenged you like this. Sure, the women you played against would talk a fair amount of shit to you on and off the field, especially during a tight game when tensions were running high. But this was different. It was different hearing it from someone like him.

You’d never liked having to prove yourself. You knew it came with the territory of your chosen career path. You’d been doing it all your life. For every team you joined, every game you played, and every interview you gave, you’d been given an opportunity to prove yourself. And each time, you did. You were good at showing people up. But that didn’t mean you liked it.

You figured at some point people would just get the message. But unfortunately, that had never been the case.

So, as you look at Roy (who, by this point, knew he’d hit a nerve and had gotten the exact response he’d wanted), you know exactly what you’re going to do. You’re going to prove yourself and show him up like the rest.

With that settled, you nod at him. “Start the clock,” you say.

And as soon as he does, you’re on.

You attack without caution this time around. You’d never held back when practicing with Roy (mainly because he’d reprimand you if he felt you weren’t trying hard enough), but you also rarely had an edge to you like this. It’s new and aggressive and just a bit exciting.

Roy’s fucking ecstatic to see it. His chest meets your back as you attempt to pass him and you can feel him chuckling against it. “That’s it,” he says lowly. “Get around me. I fucking dare you.”

“Shut up,” you mutter, attempting a fake before moving to go the other way.

Said attempt ends up being less than successful as Roy fails to fall for it and kicks the ball out from beneath your foot. You swear under your breath, watching as it sails out of the box.

You’re close enough to him to still feel his chest moving up and down against your back, and his breath tickles your neck when he asks, “Is that seriously the best you’ve got?”

Your jaw clenches, but you refuse to look at him. “I’m gonna fucking destroy you.”

The certainty in your voice makes Roy grin, something you don’t see as you jog to retrieve the ball. The remnants of the smile stick around as you whip around to face him, commanding that he start the clock once more. The moment he does as he’s told, you’re coming at him again, nothing but determination to be seen in your expression.

This time, you’re quick. You anticipate his classic defensive stance, knowing that he’ll block your first shot. As soon as the ball bounces off his foot, you’re there for the rebound. You stop short, pulling back the moment he makes yet another move to take it from you, and he slips.

You easily score on him not a second later.

After watching the ball fly into the net, you glance over at Roy. While he doesn’t look thrilled to have been bested, he doesn’t look sad either. Again, it’s like there are remnants of a smile left to be seen.

“So,” you say. “Are we at zeroes for laps? Or one for one?”

Roy shakes his head. “One for one. Let’s keep fucking going.”

PRESENT DAY. (MID AUGUST, 2023)

It isn’t until the end of practice that you can feel it. How much Roy wants to fight with you.

It sounds stupid to phrase it like that, but it’s the only way. He’s pent up, a week into your ‘no fighting’ deal, and ready to burst. And while it’s worked (only because you two strictly talk about work and nothing else), now that he’s got something more personal to say, it’s like you’re waiting for an active volcano.

To be fair, your deal has worked in terms of not making a scene and not raising most people’s suspicions. But every other level, it’s been torturous. And right now? Roy’s ready to kill you.

He can’t, for the life of him, understand why you’re acting like this.

He knows you. You’re warm. You’re friendly. You have this innate ability to make everyone around you comfortable in your presence, an ability to talk to anyone and everyone and actually get through. All of these things, coupled with the fact that he could never shut you up, made you who you were; a great teammate and an even better coach.

(They were also all qualities Roy wished he had himself, which is why he was so fucking drawn to you in the first place, but that’s neither here nor there.)

He doesn’t know who this is. But he knows for a fact that these changes aren’t just because of time.

Roy’s breaking point, however, occurs toward the end of your Thursday practice. It’d been a good day, the boys showing more promise than ever. End-of-pre-season jitters (as Ted called them) were in full force and it was clear that the team couldn’t be more excited to get started with the season.

In your return back into the facility, Sam Obisanya trails back to fall into step with you with a wide smile on his face. He doesn’t miss the look of surprise you give him as he says, “I really liked what you said about passing around the box. I’ve been thinking that for all of pre-season, but did not know how to get it through to everyone.”

The point he’s referring to was one of the only things you’d said all afternoon. It was a quiet direction on your part, told more as a recommendation than an instruction. But Sam, Jamie, Colin, and Dani had taken it in stride, and it worked. Cleanly, too. You straight-up almost cried out of relief.

“Oh,” you say to him lamely, offering a small smile. “Thank you. You guys did great with it.”

Sam’s grin gets wider. “We all are going to eat after we’re done here,” he tells you. “You should join us.”

You can feel your stomach drop at the offer. You don’t want to turn him down. Poor Sam was trying so hard to make an effort with you and you feel completely awful giving him nothing in return.

But you just… can’t. Boundaries. Boundaries.

Sam gets his answer from the way your smile turns apologetic. “I wish I could,” you say, knowing that it’s the truth. “But, I, uh— I’ve actually got plans tonight.”

“You could just come for a drink?” he offers. “I’m only going for a little while myself. I have some things at the restaurant I need to do.”

Your heart clenches. “I really wish I could.”

Thankfully, Sam takes the hint. He nods at you, still smiling. You don’t think he’s ever stopped. “That’s alright,” he says. “Another time.”

You nod back. “Yeah. Another time.”

With that, Sam goes to catch up with his teammates and leaves you with an overwhelming amount of guilt on your shoulders.

He’s trying, you tell yourself. They all are. It’s different than West Ham. They’re not the same. Nobody on this team is like him—

You can feel yourself getting nauseous at the mere thought of him. It completely takes you out of the moment and your hands begin to shake back and forth as you attempt to continue walking, clenching your teeth as if that’ll rid your mind of him.

How strange it is to be haunted by someone who’s still living.

You’re already disoriented enough when you feel a hand grab your arm and yank you to the side. Your world spins for a moment and when it stabilizes, you realize you’re in the Boot Room staring at Roy Kent.

He slams the door shut and whirls around on you. “What the fuck are you doing?”

You do a full, cartoon-like double-blink at him. “What am I doing?” you ask him incredulously. “What are you doing? Why the hell did you pull me in here like that?”

“You don’t have plans tonight,” is what he replies with, like that’s a reasonable answer to your question.

“And how would you know that?” you question.

He gives you a look. “Because you fucking don’t.”

“I do,” you say, crossing your arms. Your mind scrambles to find some excuse that’s suitable. For whatever reason, you decide on, “I have a date.”

Roy’s brows rocket up. “Do you?”

You know he can see right through you, so you don’t even bother trying. “No,” you admit, watching him roll his eyes. “But I could have. You don’t know my schedule.”

Roy doesn’t seem to want to linger on this. “That’s the third fucking time one of them has invited you out since you got here,” he tells you, ignoring the way your eyes widen. “Why do you keep turning them down?”

“Why are you keeping track of that?” you shoot back.

“Because you’re being a fucking hermit.” As if he knows exactly what you’re going to say next, he holds out a hand. “And that’s my fucking job. That’s not who you are.”

His words make you deflate, and your arms get tighter over your chest. “I’m not being a hermit,” you mutter, looking away from him. “I’m just not trying to take work home with me. I don’t see anything wrong with keeping the two separate.”

Roy isn’t having it. “No, you’re not,” he says. “You’re not keeping the two separate. You’re shutting out every fucking person around you when you’re at work too.”

“That’s not true—”

“Did you or did you not refuse to train Jamie yesterday morning?” he snaps. Your silence answers his question for him. “It is fucking true. And even if it weren’t, unfortunately, that whole keeping-work-separate fucking bullshit doesn’t work here. Trust me. I tried.”

You scoff. “Well, that sounds like an HR issue.”

“Well, when Ted stops leaving fucking flowers for the HR women every week, I’m sure they’ll start to take your complaints seriously,” he tells you, and you sigh. Heavy. “Now, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

This question earns him a glare. “There’s nothing wrong with me,” you bite. “And if there were, it surely wouldn’t concern you.”

“Yes, it fucking does. You know why?” he asks. You stare at him expectantly. “Because last week, I remember someone telling me that if this was going to work, we have to tell each other things.”

Your own words come back to bite you in the ass and it makes your chest tighten. You scoff in an attempt to play it off, but that panic starts rising inside of you and throws everything off course. You know that it’s stupid, and you know that it’s Roy, and that despite it all, deep down, nothing bad would come from telling him… it’s still scary.

You didn’t want to talk about it and he didn’t deserve to know. Not yet, at least.

“Not this,” you say after a beat. Your voice sounds meek and it makes Roy’s brow scrunch. “I’ll talk to you about anything else you want, but not…” You interrupt yourself with a breath. “Not this.” Then, you utter a word you haven't said in eight years. "Foxtrot."

It’s then that Roy’s expression turns from confused to shocked. His lips part in surprise, like he can’t believe that just left your mouth. And then he looks at you. Like, really looks at you. It almost intimidates you in a way, and it would intimidate you more if you didn’t know this look of his. Not only is he evaluating you, you can tell he’s holding something back.

You’d said the word. Pulled that thing out of the trenches and threw it in his face. But he's still staring at you, determined to figure out exactly how to approach this situation. Attempting to figure out if he should say something.

Because, unfortunately, as well as you know Roy, he knows you better. And he knows how to get through to you.

(And it’s fucking irritating.)

He, in fact, does choose to say something. And it’s not what you’re expecting. Because before he says in, he reaches into his pocket for his wallet, filing through it.

Your mouth parts in question. “Are you trying to bribe me into—”

“Shut up,” he mutters, and you do so until he seems to find what he’s looking for. He holds out a slip of paper-- something that appears to be a newspaper clipping from ages ago. “Here.”

You blink at it. “What is that?”

“Just fucking—” Roy sighs, adjusting his grip on the page. “Read it.”

Hesitantly, you reach out to grab it. Your fingers brush his when you take it, and the action alone makes the two of you glance at each other. You look away as you unfold the paper, quickly scanning it.

Newcomer Roy Kent is an over-hyped, so-called prodigy whose unbridled rage and mediocre talent rendered his Premier League debut a profound disappointment.

Your gaze shifts up at him knowingly. Roy can’t help but notice that most of the anger has slipped from your face. “Crimm?”

Roy nods once. “Crimm.”

“Was this your first game?” you ask, and when he nods again, things start to make a little more sense. You sigh, shoulders slumping. “You were seventeen.”

“I was seventeen,” he repeats, reaching out to take the clipping back from you. He only seems marginally surprised that you remembered that. “I was fucking seventeen years old and fucking debilitated by how nervous I was. I didn’t sleep for days before the game and then I went out there, I fucking survived it, and then read that shit. Didn’t sleep for days after it.” He shakes his head. “And then that prick fucking waltzes in here with his notepad and his stupid fucking hair like he didn’t fucking destroy me and wants to write a book about my team? Not a fucking chance.”

The outburst makes you stare at Roy in shock. He’d never mentioned anything like this to you. By the way he spoke of his earlier AFC days at Sunderland, you’d always assumed that it was smooth sailing. That while his career didn’t really take off until he joined Chelsea, he didn’t hold any resentment for anything that had happened. And while this may have seemed insignificant in the grand scheme of things, especially looking back at his career and other things people had said about him, this was Roy. Of course, he’d hold on to something like this.

“So, yeah,” he says, shifting uncomfortably under your gaze. “That’s why I won’t talk to Crimm. I don’t give a shit if you don’t get it, but that’s why.” He motions to you. “I showed you mine, so you show me yours, or whatever the fuck. That's how the counter-Foxtrot works, right?”

You do get it. You understand it better than anyone. But more importantly, you understand why he’d hold on to that. Roy, who could hold a grudge almost as well as you could. Roy, who hated the media and press and the world knowing shit about him more than anyone you knew. Roy, who felt and internalized things so deeply that he didn’t even realize he was doing it.

It’s the first thing he’s clued you in on in years. Even if it was vague and minimal, he told you. And you know how much he didn’t want to. That’s good enough for you to allow yourself to clue him in too.

(God, he really does know how to get through, huh?)

You blink away from him, gaze focused on the door. “I just…” You clear your throat, throwing a hand up pathetically. “I don’t get why they want to get to know me so bad.”

“Because they’re good fucking lads,” he responds.

“I know. And it’s pissing me off,” you mutter. Your arms are still crossed and right now, that feels like the only thing that’s protecting you. The weight is comforting. “I know it sounds ungrateful and dumb and it doesn’t make sense, but I just wish they’d…”

“...Fuck off?”

“Yeah,” you huff. “That.”

Roy’s head tilts. “Why?”

You don’t want to tell him. You know how stupid he’ll think it is, you know you’ll get told you’re an idiot. But he’s already told you something. In your world of deals, that means something. And your words return again to taunt you.

If this is gonna work, you have to tell me things, okay?

Your eyes shut and a shaky breath escapes your lips. It all comes out at once, like you’re trying to exterminate them. “Because the last time I got to know the team, I got fired,” you tell him, and his entire demeanor shifts. “And I can’t do that again. That can’t happen again. So, if that means I have to be distant and a bit unfriendly, then so be it.”

The inquisitive look he wore vanished entirely, replaced with something harder and much more serious. “What do you mean?”

You can feel your skin start to crawl. Your shirt suddenly doesn’t feel right on your body. It’s too hot in this small Boot Room and it’s all suddenly too much. “N-Nothing,” you say, chest tightening. “It doesn’t matter. You asked for the reason, and I gave it to you. That’s why I’m being weird.”

Roy’s not buying it. He’s seen all your signs and he knows there’s more to this than you’re letting on. You can tell he’s battling whether or not to press forward, and if so, how to do so. Your eyes are pleading for him to drop it.

“It wasn’t leadership differences,” he decides to land on. He says it like he’s always known. Like it may be confirming another suspicion. But it’s vague enough that you’re okay with it.

You chuckle, but there’s no humor in it. “No,” you say. “Not exactly.”

Roy nods, silence filling the room. He’s still staring at you and you’re starting to think he won’t ever stop. You notice the sliver of anger in his eyes but see it’s more subdued than usual. It’s not directed at you. It’s like he’s filing it away for later.

He speaks a moment later. “Whatever happened there,” he begins, voice low. “It won’t happen here. It would never happen here.”

You swallow the lump in your throat. “I’m starting to get that,” you answer honestly. “But it’s still hard.”

“I know.” Roy says, and the way he nods tells you that he does know. His mouth opens, wanting to say more, but it doesn’t come out immediately. “Just…” His eyes cast up to the ceiling. “If anything, just fucking… speak up in practice more. You’re their coach now. If you don’t want to get fucking personal with them, at least get to know them on the field.”

“I know them on the field,” you reply, because you do. You know your new players inside and out. You’ve studied them. You know their strengths, their weaknesses, what makes them tick. You know what works. “I do.”

“I know that,” is Roy’s immediate response, just like this morning. He points to the door. “But they fucking don’t. And they won’t know it until you fucking show them.”

This time, you look away from him because you know he’s right. A decade ago, Roy was just about fifty-fifty when it came to right and wrong, but now? He was consistently on target. You’re not sure which switch flipped in him or when, but goddamn, was it maddening.

You ask him such as you huff in annoyance. “Since when are you right all the fucking time?”

Roy’s clearly not expecting that, and it’s evident by the way he barks out a laugh. But, he figures, if you’re going to be nice, he supposes he will too.

“You were gone,” he replies with a chuckle. “Figured I had to pick up the slack.”

Involuntarily, your eyes go soft at his words. They’re kind and truthful and genuinely civil. It’s only for a moment, but Roy picks up on it in an instant. It makes the tiny, less resentful piece of him want to make it happen again, but he tells that piece of him to shut the fuck up.

He watches you as you sigh, shutting your eyes as if you’re readjusting. “Okay,” you finally say. “I’ll be better. I’ll… actually do my job, I guess.”

“About fucking time,” Roy mutters, though it’s slightly encouraging.

“But,” you continue, “I can’t… I can’t train Jamie. I can’t do one-on-one. That’s my non-negotiable.”

Roy wants to ask why. He wants to understand. He knows he’d be shit at helping you through it, but he just wants to get it. However, the look on your face keeps him from saying what he wants to. So, instead, he simply nods. “Okay.”

The relief you feel is written across your face. “Okay,” you agree. Then, you add, “I, uh, did tell him to ask you, though.”

Roy’s expression goes blanker than usual. “You fucking what?”

“You’re a good one-on-one trainer,” you offer, voice going up an octave. “I’m, like, your top reference.”

“Yeah, but you’re you,” Roy responds. “I can work with you. Not Jamie Tartt.”

You shrug. “What’s the difference?”

“Jamie Tartt is a fucking prick,” he states, as if it’s obvious. “You’re infuriating. And annoying. And a fucking headache. But he’s all those things on top of being a fucking prick.”

Your lips part at this, squinting at Roy. “I’m sorry, and you wanted me to train him?”

Roy doesn’t acknowledge your comment. “I’m not fucking training him.”

“I’m not saying you have to,” you respond, raising your hands in surrender. “I’m just letting you know that I passed him off to you.”

“Appreciate it. I’ll tell him to fuck off.”

“Glad you have a game plan.” While those words were lilted with annoyance, your next are a bit softer. “He… seemed a bit worried about Zava.”

Roy’s brow draws slightly. “Zava?”

“He tried to play it off,” you explain, “but he wasn’t subtle. Jamie’s obviously used to being the best on the team. I’m not sure he’s loving the competition.”

“The twat will get over it,” Roy says. “Sometimes you’re the best on the field, sometimes you’re not. That’s fucking life.”

You shoot him a look. “I don’t think he shakes things off like that. He’s not like you and me where we either don’t care or immediately use that type of shit for motivation.” Your eyes cast up to the ceiling as you speak, spilling out every thought you’ve had since Jamie came to you. “Guys like him, they need that reassurance. That ego needs to be healed when it’s been shot down, and then they’re finally ready to get motivated…” You trail off as soon as you see the way Roy’s looking at you. Head-tilted and slightly satisfied. “What?”

“Nothing,” he replies with a shrug. There’s a ghost of a smile on his face. “It’s just nice to get to see you finally fucking coaching.”

Warmth rises up your neck. It’s a mixture of embarrassment, being called out, and something else. The feeling makes you itch and in an attempt to shake it off, you shrug. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever.”

There’s a brief moment of silence and for a second, you think he’s going to make you sit in this air. However, he seems to take pity on you. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

It’s a soft agreement, one that you weren’t sure you were going to get. But it takes a bit of the weight off nonetheless. “Thank you.”

“He’s still a prick,” he adds, like he can’t help himself.

You nod in faux assurance. “Sure, Grandad.”

Roy casts his eyes to the ceiling. “Fuck’s sake, not you too.”

You can’t help it. You laugh. For the first time in eight years, Roy sees you laugh. It’s quiet. Light, even. But it’s lovely. It’s sweet. Roy can’t believe he’d allowed himself to go so long without hearing it.

Yet another silence passes between you two. Maybe it’s to savor the moment. Maybe it’s to remember. Perhaps it’s both. Perhaps it’s neither.

Whatever it is, it suddenly feels way too comfortable. There’s a split second where you’re back in 2015, just before everything went to shit. And that can’t happen. You can’t allow that to happen.

However, before you can move past that, Roy just has to catch you off guard. “So, you’ll start fucking coaching and I’ll… consider training with him.” He says the words like they take effort. And then, he looks at you and completely throws you off. “Should we shake on it?”

The words are hesitant and you know why. You have to refrain from taking a step back from him simply because of the weight that they carry. All you can do is stare at his outstretched hand. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say his hands were shaking.

But, you snap yourself out of it, and when you meet him in the middle, you’re certain yours are.

He holds eye contact with you as you make the agreement, hands grasped around each others with the intention of a promise. It’s too real. Too familiar. Too… much.

So, before you can freak out in front of him, you cut it short with a nod and remove your hand from his. You glance out the window of the Boot Room door to see the team pass by, all packed up and ready for their outing. One you know you should be joining, but just aren’t there yet.

When you turn back to him, the small smile on your face is tight. But you’re truthful when you say, “Thank you.”

Roy doesn’t need to ask what for. He knows. Of course he does.

But luckily for you, he seems to be on the same page, blinking at you like he’s pulling himself out of some self-induced trance. “Right.” He awkwardly returns your nod, avoiding eye contact as he heads for the door. “Don’t make me say any of that shit again.”

And, as soon as the door shuts behind him, you’re finally left with more answers than questions about your place at Richmond for the first time all week.

(The same can’t be said for your questions about Roy. But, you figure, what else is new?)

PRESENT DAY. (MID-BOOT ROOM FIGHT WITH ROY KENT, 2023)

If you hadn’t been so consumed by your conversation with one of your fellow coaches, you would have noticed the other two watching you from the window. And as for questions, they had many.

The first is asked by Ted, approximately one minute after he and Beard had stationed themselves outside of the door. “Should we break it up?”

Beard shook his head slowly. “They’ve been tiptoeing around this one since she started,” he replied. “We break this up now, you might lose an arm.”

Ted shifted back on his heels. “You don’t think we can get them to hug it out, do you?”

“That’d be the reason you lose the arm, pal.”

“Yeah, Roy’s not much of a hugger, is he?” The silence that passed between them spoke as an agreement. The two watched as you crossed your arms over your chest, rolling your eyes as Roy seemed to reprimand you. “Do you think this thing between them goes deeper than he let on?”

Beard’s response was immediate. “Oh, yeah. Way deeper.”

“Did we sign ourselves up for something crazy? Something we can’t handle?”

“Oh, yeah,” Beard repeated. Then, he shook his head. “But nothing we can’t handle.”

“Well, then, what do we do?” Ted asked. “Because we can’t have them ‘fine, fine’-ing each other like they’re Sam and Diane all season. The kids ain’t fine, fine, Coach.”

Ted turned to his friend, who’d gone quiet. He followed his sightline to the corner of the Boot Room where Will was hiding, looking as though he were praying to any God who would listen that the two of you wouldn’t notice him.

Pity overtook both of their expressions. “I…” Beard drew out, brow furrowing as he watches Roy pull out his wallet. “...may have an idea.”

When Beard did look over at Ted, there was an excited look in his eye and a wide smile threatening to break out. “I know that voice,” he said. “Am I thinkin’ what you’re thinking?”

“Parent Trap ‘em?” he asked.

Ted grinned. “We really should go on The Newlywed Game.”

“It wouldn’t be fair. We’d sweep.”

LONDON OLYMPICS. (LATE JULY, 2012)

It’s nearly three in the morning when Roy tells you that your next rally will be your last for the night.

To say you’re thankful would be an understatement. Your lungs are screaming at you and have been for the last fifteen minutes. You can feel the early signs of shin splints with every move you make, and you already know you’re going to wake up tomorrow morning with a ridiculous amount of pain in your hamstrings.

But you didn’t care. That didn’t matter. What mattered was getting your newfound training companion to shut the fuck up. And the only way to do that was to beat him in this little game he created to a pulp.

It was tragically ironic to find that Roy Kent, a man who was typically of so few words, couldn’t seem to keep quiet when he was playing against you. He had a special sort of talent for getting under your skin, somehow saying the exact thing that would press a specific button that you didn’t even know you had. He was frustrating. Infuriating, even. And there was no shot in hell you were losing to this jackass, especially when you’d managed to tie the score.

(But you’d be lying if you said that you weren’t having at least a little bit of fun.)

However, the relief on your face at his declaration is palpable, and your expression makes Roy raise his brows. “Don’t tell me you’re fucking tired,” he says. “We’ve still got laps to run.”

You throw your head back with an exaggerated groan. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. I know,” you say. “Can we just go so I can beat you and leave?”

Roy’s head tilts. “You’re confident for someone who looks like she’s gonna drop fucking dead.”

“Like you look any better,” you shoot back, eying the grass and dirt that had stained his legs.

To be fair, you hadn’t lied. Roy didn’t look any better than you did. He was just as roughed up, if not more. There was a sense of pride in that, knowing that he’d had to try as hard to beat you as you did for him. You felt equal. This game had never been equal before.

He seems to know this too. “Well, fucking get on with it then.”

The ball’s at your feet, and you stare down at it as you try to plan how you’re going to attack. What haven’t you done yet? What won’t he be expecting? How can you ensure that--

“Don’t fucking think about it,” you hear him say. When you look up at him in annoyance, he shakes his head. “Just fucking do it.”

But you can’t not think about it. Thinking is what you do. It’s how you stay ahead, it’s how you’ve beaten him in this little game before, it’s how you’re going to beat him now.

But now you’re frustrated. You wanted to get this over with and prove him wrong and show him up. You’re so sick of hearing him say that and you kick the ball out in front of you to shut him up. And suddenly, you’re playing.

He’s guarding you before you know it. You cut the ball to your left, kicking it through his legs as he tries to meet you. You push your elbow against his chest as you chase down the ball, gritting your teeth when you feel him whip around to recover from his misstep. His chest presses against your shoulder, repeatedly bumping into you each time he works to get the ball from you.

“Come on, Fourteen,” he chides in your ear. “Finish me off like you said you would.”

You shove your shoulder into him again. It’s more forceful this time and the soft sound he makes in response feels like a victory. He drops back to follow you to the goal, which gives you the space you need to maneuver your body into a more comfortable position.

You’re just outside the box, but you know that whatever move you make next, he’s going to be there to block it. You know his tricks. You’re on track to figuring out how his mind works on the field. Maybe you can outsmart him. Rely on your footwork to psych him out and—

Roy then seems to see you thinking. And he chooses that time to attack. So, footwork it is.

As he nears you, you roll the ball in the opposite direction, keeping an eye on him in your peripheral. Your foot pulls the ball back in a V, then you move it forward to creep into the box.

He’s still in front of you. While you were quicker, Roy was never one to give up. It was what made him so great on the pitch and so annoying to play against. An idea then sparks: if you can get him to bite, get him close enough to you, you can chop the ball to get him off balance, then spin to get a better angle on the goal.

So, you do exactly that. Or, at least try to.

You swear he can see in your head. That he can read your mind and every thought that crosses it. Because while you do catch him slightly off guard, he recovers the second you try to spin. He’s behind you and before you know it, you’re the one caught off balance. He kicks the ball away from you and out of the box, leaving you to fall on your ass and stain the backs of your thighs.

Fuck. Fuck.

You’re on your back again for the second time today, eyes screwed shut in frustration and disappointment. How had he done it? You swore that was going to work. It’d worked millions of times before, how could it possibly have gone wrong now?

There’s a piece of you that wants to cry. That frustration, that exhaustion, that need to prove yourself had all come crashing down onto your chest, and here you were, in the same place you were before the drill had started.

You don’t even want to look at him. You’re almost too embarrassed to do so. You know that it’s all a part of your deal, that you’re supposed to fail and get better with him, but it’s still a kick in the teeth to end a session like this with a loss.

You’re able to feel Roy’s presence before you hear him. “Get up,” he tells you.

A loud, shaky sigh escapes you. “I need a second before you run me into the ground, Coach.”

If he notices how your voice wavers, he doesn’t say anything. “Not your coach,” he replies, though he’s speaking softer. “But I’m not running you either.”

You crack an eye open. “Really?”

“C’mon,” he says, holding his hand out for you to take. “Up.”

You stare at his hand for a moment, then cast your eyes up to the starless sky with another heavy sigh. Then, you begrudgingly take his hand, allowing him to yank you up with a strength you’re not expecting.

His hand lingers in yours as you get your bearings. It’s rough and just a bit clammy, but you can’t imagine yours are any better. You’re not looking at him when you remove your hand from his, but find his eyes when he taps your shoulder.

“C’mon,” Roy repeats. He nods over to the track around the field. “Let’s go.”

“I thought we weren’t running,” you mutter.

He glances at you from over his shoulder. “We’re not fucking running,” he responds. “But you need a cool down. Stop your fucking whining and walk with me.”

A scowl appears on your lips at his words, but you relent and follow him. “Fine.”

It’s quiet between you two, giving you a moment to catch your breath and think about what just happened. While you’re thankful that you don’t have to do your laps, so still can’t believe you lost. Yes, it’s just practice, and yes, it doesn’t mean anything, but it’s still… it’s the principal of it. You’ve never been a good loser. You’ve never—

“We need to work on your footwork,” Roy says abruptly, interrupting your train of thought. You glance over at him. “It’s your biggest weakness besides your overthinking.”

A frown pulls at your lips. “My footwork is fine.”

“Yeah. Exactly. It’s fine,” he agrees. “And that’s the fucking problem. Nobody out there can fucking catch you, so you’ve never had to worry about it. But the second you get tighter and more concise…” He shakes his head. “Pair all that with your unpredictability and fucking annoying defense, you’ll blow them all out of the fucking water.”

Pride bubbles in your stomach and rises to your chest. You know that you’re good. And you know that he thinks you’re good. He wouldn’t have taken a chance on you if he hadn’t. But it’s still validating to hear. Especially from him.

But still, you can’t help yourself; “I’m not annoying.”

Roy scoffs, but you can tell he’s biting back a smile. “You are. You’re like a fucking gnat.”

“I am not a gnat,” you gasp.

“You are. Fucking buzzing in my ear and shit.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being aggressive. You’d know something about that, hypocrite.” When Roy huffs a laugh and shakes his head, you bat him on the arm. “I’m serious. When I crossed you up and hit that corner goal toward the end?” You blow an exaggerated breath and raise your brows at him. “I haven’t seen you that mad since that Arsenal game in like, 2007.”

His response to your jab isn’t what you expected. While you’d anticipated a classic eye roll, a reaction of his that you’d become very familiar with, you get a look of intrigue. “You watched that game?”

“Of course I did,” you respond. Your lips tug into a smile. “I’m a huge Arsenal fan.”

Then you get the eye roll. “You must have been fucking distraught to see your team lose.”

“It was heartbreaking,” you say. “It was fun to see you get thrown out, though.”

“That was a fucking bullshit call,” he scoffs.

“You almost broke Lewis Fox’s leg. And then tried to fight him from the ground.”

“Exactly. Fucking bullshit,” he says. “It shouldn’t count when he’s a prick.”

You allow for a beat of reflection before you respond. “Yeah, he really is a prick, isn’t he?”

That gets you something you haven’t seen from him yet. A smile. A real one, where you can see teeth and all. It’s jarring. And suddenly the pride you felt from his compliments is nothing compared to the feeling you get from this.

It grows as Roy carries on. “The fucking King of them.”

“Prince,” you say in disagreement. “He’s too much of a jackass to honor with a King title. Prince Prick. Duke of Prickland. Court Jester. Whatever.”

“Court Jester?”

“Absolutely,” you reply. “He’d look good in the stupid little hat, too. Would hide the fact that he’s balding.”

Roy barks out a laugh. “He’s going fucking mental over that.”

“I can imagine.” Teasingly, you add, “I guess that’s the one thing you’ve got over him.”

“My hair?”

“Yeah. You’ve got enough to share with him.”

Roy shakes his head again, smile refusing to fade. “Well, thank fucking God it’s something important.”

“Hey, football skills are forever. Hair starts to fade when you hit twenty-five.” You shrug and return his grin. “I’d say you’re winning this one, Kent.”

A labored sigh leaves Roy, like he can’t believe he’s having this type of conversation with you. Frankly, you can’t believe you’re talking like this with him. You’re talking like… friends. It’s strange. Especially after he completely shut you down when talking before.

That thought sinks deep into your mind and you know it won’t go away until you address it. Huh. Maybe he’s right. Maybe you do overthink.

Before you can question that further, you’re speaking. “Hey. I—” You awkwardly cut yourself off as his gaze returns to you. “I just… I wanted to say that I’m sorry if I like, overstepped a boundary back there.” He continues to look at you in response, cueing you to elaborate. “Asking about Sunderland. Leaving your family. That.”

The second you say ‘Sunderland,’ he looks away from you. You grit your teeth as you refrain from cringing, hoping you didn’t ruin what was almost a normal, nice, and friendly moment. That anxiety makes you talk more.

“You don’t owe me any answers, or anything. We can keep this professional and talk about soccer and how much we both hate Lewis Fox only.” Roy still hasn’t looked at you. “You don’t have to talk to me at all, if you don’t want to. I’m just… pretty open. And I forget that other people aren’t the same way. So…” You trail off, fiddling with your fingers. “I’m sorry.”

He’s quiet for approximately ten seconds. Each feels like agony as you rot in the awkwardness of the silence. Then, he says, “Don’t… fucking apologize for trying to get to know me.”

Well, that’s not what you were expecting at all. “O-Oh.”

“I’m fucking obviously going to talk to you,” he continues, in a way that makes it sound like he’s choosing his words carefully. “But there’s just certain things that I… really fucking hate talking about. And that was one of them.”

You’re nodding before he’ss finished speaking. “Completely understandable.”

Roy looks over at you cautiously. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you agree. “Like I said, I’m not entitled to anything. You just let me know when I’ve crossed a line or something.” Your eyes light up in a way that Roy refuses to find endearing. “We can have a codeword or something.”

“A codeword?” he asks wearily.

“Yes, Roy. A codeword.” You stop him in the middle of the track. “Okay, Kent Rule number one. If either of us—”

“What the fuck is a Kent Rule?”

“If either of us,” you repeat, “don’t want to talk about something, we say…” Your eyes scan the field. “Goalpost.”

Roy blinks at you. “That’s a stupid fucking codeword.”

“Okay, you don’t get to shit on my idea and then shit on my codeword, dick,” you say, ignoring the tiny smile that’s growing on his face. “Let me hear yours.”

His eyes scan you up and down. “Gnat.”

“Oh, look who’s fucking annoying now.”

“I think that’s a great one.”

“I think I’m back on Lewis Fox’s side now,” you mutter. Before Roy can roll his eyes, you point at him in excitement. “Fox! That’s our codeword.” Then, you interrupt yourself, by throwing both your hands out. “Wait. Foxtrot. That sounds so much more legit.”

Roy’s had only gotten blanker as you spoke. “I think you should be institutionalized.”

“Kent Rule number one,” you say, ignoring him. “If you don’t want to talk about something, say Foxtrot. We move on, no questions asked.”

“Great.”

“But,” you continue, “you only get one Foxtrot a day.”

“Only fucking one?” he asks.

“Why are you saying it like that?”

“Because you ask a lot of fucking questions.”

You huff. “Fine. No one-a-day rule. But use them sparingly.”

“Can I Foxtrot this conversation?” Roy questions.

You don’t give him the reaction he clearly desires. “Look at you, you’re getting the hang of it!” you cheer, clapping him on the shoulder. “So, does Kent agree to the Kent Rule?”

You receive yet another exasperated shake of the head. “Fucking fine. Yeah. I agree.”

“Wonderful,” you reply, sticking your hand out to him. When he looks down at it, you wiggle your fingers. “We have to shake on it.”

“What?”

“Because it’s not a real agreement if we don’t shake on it,” you answer, as if it’s obvious. “Duh.”

Roy stares at your hand, then at you, and then back at your hand. After a ridiculous amount of time, his shoulders slump in defeat. His hand meets yours and when it does, you beam.

“Institutionalized,” he tells you as you two shake. “I’m fucking serious.”

“And risk your life being way less exciting without me in it?” You put a hand over your heart. “You’d miss me too much.”

And when you grin at him, there’s a piece of Roy that already knows that there might just be a sliver of truth in that.

(mini!) TAGLIST: @tegan8314, @csigeoblue, @confessionsofatotaldramaslut, @thatonedogwithablog, @hawkeyeharrington

#roy kent #roy kent x reader #roy kent x you #roy kent fanfiction #ted lasso #ted lasso fanfic #ted lasso fanfiction #aatwe #aces #the one who can't walk up stairs

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kabie-whump · 3 months

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♡ Febuwhump Day 12: Semi-Conscious ♡

@febuwhump

I already had the first 11 days of Febuwhump finished and queued by the time I got around to watching Hazbin Hotel but now (2/6) it’s all I can think about! Enjoy :)

Content: Alcohol, references to Angel-typical sexual abuse, references to snuff films, Huskerdust

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Angel Dust is slumped against Husk’s bar.

That’s where he always tends to end up, especially after a hard day in the studio like this one must have been considering the bruises on his neck and peeking out from under his clothes.

Angel doesn’t have to tell Husk his order anymore. It’s always one of two things: something fruity with more sugar than alcohol, or something just bordering on straight liquor. Tonight looks like a night for the second.

“Drink up, legs.”

Angel picks his head up with effort, taking Husk in with half-lidded eyes. His movements are slow and uncoordinated. He starts to reach for his drink, and Husk snatches it away.

“Hey!”

His voice is slurred.

“You’re already wasted,” Husk accuses.

“Gimme.”

Husk knocks back Angel’s drink. He’s not one to waste perfectly good booze.

Angel gives a weak middle finger before he lets his head thump onto the bar’s surface again with a groan.

“That bad, huh?”

Angel shrugs. “I don’t think it even counts as kinky anymore. At this rate the next one’s gonna be snuff.”

Husk tries to hide the way that idea makes his skin crawl. He knows it won’t happen. Valentino would never kill his biggest star. It would be a waste of resources, and there’s no one else out there like Angel Dust.

“One drink? Please?”

“Fine. Just one.”

It turns out, one drink was exactly how much Angel needed to end up near-comatose.

“Come on, legs,” Husk grunts as he tries to corral Angel’s many long limbs into his arms. The spider is light enough for him to carry, but he’s so unwieldy when his legs are almost as long as Husk’s whole body and his four arms hang limp when Husk tries to get him to hold on. “Work with me here.”

Angel giggles into Husk’s fur. He tries to wrap his arms around Husk’s shoulders but only succeeds at slapping him in the face.

It’s slow going, but Husk eventually manages to drag Angel upstairs and into his bedroom. He passes out the second his face hits the mattress, and Fat Nuggets doesn’t hesitate before curling up under his armpit.

Husk stares down at Angel with a deep sigh. This dumbass is going to be the death of him he’s sure.

He definitely doesn’t draw the covers carefully over Angel’s limp form and brush his hair out of his face before he leaves. That’s something people do when they care, and Husk doesn’t care.

Not even a little.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

#hazbin fanfic #hazbin hotel #angel dust whump #angel dust #huskerdust #angel dust and husk #whump #whump tropes #whump writing #whump community #whumpblr #whump scenario #nonhuman whumpee #whump fic #whump fanfiction #febuwhump #febuwhump2024 #febuwhumpday12 #febuwhump day 12

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steviesbicrisis · 1 year

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✨The Wizardly Fruity Four ✨

Gryffindor Steve: 7th year | Quidditch team captain | prefect | favorite subject: defense against the dark arts | least favorite: divination

Facts:

Steve’s parents are the kind to care about the purity of wizard blood, kinda disappointed he isn’t a Slytherin;

Steve plays as Beater, and constantly gets hurt during matches, his specialty being taking hits for his teammates;

When he's chosen as Prefect, he's surprised and often complains about his duty. Truth is, he's always around to help and guide people, never skips a patrol and he's always fussing over a certain group of third-year kids;

Hufflepuff Robin: 6th year | part of the Hogwarts band | member of Wizard’s chess club | favorite: charms | least favorite: potions

Facts:

Robin hasn’t gotten anything less than Exceeded Expectations since Fly class in her first year;

She used to have a crush on Tammy Thompson in her 4th year, the Gryffindor prefect alongside Steve;

Robin is half-blood and she bonds with Eddie over this. Her father is a muggle, her mother a witch;

Facts:

Despite knowing she wants to be a journalist, she takes as many classes and joins as many clubs as possible. She wants a full resume by the time she graduates;

Nancy is often close to burnout, Robin has to keep an eye on her and make sure she doesn’t end up in the infirmary, again;

Nancy is very competitive and often challenges Steve at quidditch or Robin at Wizard's Chess (she draws the line at D&D with Eddie);

Slytherin Eddie: 7th year (for the second time) | runs the hellfire club | has a muggle rock band | favorite: Potions | least favorite: Herbology

Facts:

Eddie is a muggle-born and most Slytherins make his life a living hell for it;

Eddie runs the club for the magical version of D&D (kinda like wizard’s chess), an extremely unpopular game. There’s a rumor that the game is related to dark magic, so Eddie is forced to have club meetings in the dungeons;

Eddie gets into trouble for wearing the hellfire club t-shirt instead of his uniform;

Random Fruity Four Facts:

Their friend group formed during their 4th (Robin and Nancy), 5th (Steve) and 6th (Eddie) year;

They always sit together even if they’re supposed to be with their respective houses. Their friendship confuses the hell out of people;

Robin and Steve got detention in their 4th/5th year and while cleaning the potion supply closet they tested some potions, got to the veritaserum and confessed every little secret they had to each other. They've been besties ever since;

Eddie and Steve bicker all the time but Eddie never misses a quidditch match (despite hating the sport) and Steve is often seen going around the dungeons whenever a D&D session is taking place;

Nancy and Steve went on a couple of dates but decided they’re better off as friends;

Nancy matches her patrols with Steve's so she can vent about her crush on Robin;

Robin and Nancy always study together. They rarely let Steve and Eddie join because they get distracted too easily, and because they enjoy some alone time;

If Eddie and Steve pass their NEWTs, it will be only because of Robin and Nancy;

People gossip about them, especially because of Nancy (Head Girl) and Steve (Quidditch Captain);

At one point is rumored that Steve is dating Nancy and cheating on her with Robin, who’s dating Eddie, who’s in love with Nancy;

Steve spends Christmas at school until he becomes friends with Robin, who invites him over. Since Eddie's uncle lives close to her, they force Nancy to make the trip so that they can all be together for the holidays;

Nancy bonds first with Eddie. She was having some trouble with Potion (getting Es instead of Os) so she finds out through the Potion professor, that Eddie Munson is one of the greatest students he had ever had. Nancy forces him to tutor her and they become friends;

Nancy and Robin get their shit together first, after Nancy runs out her plan on how to ask Robin out with Steve at least 10 times;

Eddie and Steve go on dates without realizing it. It takes Steve turning down someone because of Eddie to make him understand that something is going on;

That is it for now, but I kinda want to write some scenes with no chronological order about this universe in the future.

The kids were first years when Steve becomes prefect, now they're in their third year but I don’t know where to put them regarding the houses, let me know what you think!

Edit: if you wanna be tagged when I post stuff from this universe just let me know ❤️

#the fruity four #fruity four hogwarts au #hogwarts au #harry potter au #stranger things harry potter au #the wizardly fruity four #gryffindor steve harrington #hufflepuff robin buckley #ravenclaw nancy wheeler #slytherin eddie munson #steddie #ronance #platonic stobin #steve and eddie #robin and nancy #steve x eddie #robin x nancy #sbc writes #my edits

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munsonfamilyband · 1 year

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I’m having random thoughts again so here are some thoughts on the Fruity Four

Despite her squeamishness after the Russians Ordeal, Robin is an avid fan of unsolved mysteries/true crime. This includes but is not limited to: cryptids, serial killers, unsolved murders, haunted houses. Her and Nancy get close because Nancy loves a good mystery, and they start a book club where it’s just them and they only read Agatha Christie.

People assume that when the Fruity Four are together Robin and Eddie are the chaotic ones, and that is sometimes true but only on days where Steve has a headache or is in some other pain. If Steve is feeling okay then it’s either he and Eddie being chaos children or all three of them and Nancy acts like a disappointed parent while also encouraging Robin to make the boys do crazier things.

Eddie fully corrupts Nancy, even if she doesn’t dress like it. He gets her into Metal and on Stobin Sleepover nights they go out and commit crimes and usually get picked up by Hopper who lets them off with a warning. On the rare occasions that he doesn’t find them, they end up having to call Joyce to come get them because they know that Steve and Robin have been drinking since 2 in the afternoon and physically cannot drive.

Eddie has ADHD and so weighted blankets are his favorite thing, but even better than a blanket is Steve. Steve is touch starved and loves feeling needed. This combines into them laying on the couch during movie nights with Steve fully on top of Eddie.

When the four of them, or six if they can get Jonathan and Argyle to join, all hang out they always end up in a big cuddle pile. The only sleeping position that never changes is Robin spooned up behind Steve. In the future, when she learns that it’s called Jetpacking when a smaller person is the big spoon she gets way too excited about it.

Robin nearly collapses the first time Nancy comes to one of Eddie’s shows actually dressed for the event. She had lost a bet with Steve and she had to let Eddie give her a full make over. Think Sandy’s pants from the end of Grease with one of Eddie’s old shirts cut to all hell and a denim jacket.

Steve and Robin, at their sleepovers, get unbelievably drunk. Depending on the week they had it varies but the go to is wine - Steve hadn’t had wine before Robin that he liked and it makes him giggly, he’d had liquor for a long time but he associates it with his parties from school. If they had a really shitty week they break out tequila and Robin makes margaritas. They each pick a movie that they think will make the other person laugh (half the time Robin picks a stoner comedy and it never fails). By the time they’ve finished the movies they’re very drunk and then the oversharing begins. Steve tells her all about his sex life, Robin tells him all about hers, they share fantasies and plan out how to make them happen together.

Robin gave Steve a music education after Starcourt and Eddie hates it because her education included more pop music, he will credit her for her knowledge of so many female artists though. Before Robin Steve listened to Pat Benetar, Springsteen, maybe some Bon Jovi. After Robin he listened to them too, but he mixed in Blondie, Heart, ABBA, and some Joan Jett. Eddie complains about it, but he still learns how to play Steve’s favorites on guitar and he manages to get the guys to do a metal cover of some of them.

Dustin was so excited when he found out about them dating, most of the kids were (except for Mike because he thinks he’s been cursed to have Steve date people in his life). Dustin is especially excited because he likes to take credit for getting them together, which Robin very vocally disagrees with because she put in a lot of work. The children are soon very not happy about it because they’re disgustingly in love and they have learned too much about their sex life (Robin always laughs when they say this and offers to clarify things because they really know nothing).

When everyone eventually leaves Hawkins the four of them get an apartment together wherever they go. Probably Boston so Nancy can go to Emerson, Robin gets into another Boston college, Steve starts off working at a coffee shop but eventually gets a job at a daycare, and Eddie works at a game store while working on making a name for the band. The job at the daycare is what leads Steve to go back to school, after one of the other teachers comments on how good he is and asks if he had ever considered being a teacher. He starts at a community college and then gets into a full time college after that to get his teaching certificate.

When living together they have strict weekend schedules. Saturdays are bar hopping, usually among the gay bars. Fridays are movie nights where they cuddle up on the couch and get take out and usually get drunk and/or high and just enjoy being together

Eddie and Nancy complain about how they can’t keep any parts of their relationships secret because Robin and Steve have no secrets from each other. (For example, Steve found out that Eddie got a Prince Albert piercing before he could even show him because Robin found out and told him, Nancy tried to surprise Robin with some lingerie and a fancy date night but Steve found out and spoiled it)((secretly they love sharing the SteveRobin megabeing but sometimes it can be annoying having partners that share a brain)

#stranger things #steve harrington #steddie #eddie munson #platonic stobin #ronance #fruity four #posting drafts at 2am ayo #obsessed with criminal duo eddie and nancy while robin and steve day drink like the real housewives

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collectivecloseness · 9 months

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Nancy Wheeler x reader

(18+. F!reader, sub!reader. Mommy kink. Mostly Nancy but you and fruity four are in a poly relationship)

“How I loooove having my baby all alone.”

Nancy was crooning as she smiled at you. She’s somehow managed to get you all to herself, quietly in her room. And at a time she wasn’t working, and had reminded Robin and Eddie that they’d promised to help Steve fix the shower. They needed someone to check the boiler, the plumbing, as well as taking the thing apart. Which meant Nancy got to steal you away.

“I can’t believe you’re all mine right now. What am I going to do with you? Huh?” Nancy trailed her finger up and down the centre of your lovely summer dress she’d bought for you, just for you to try on. Her freshly cut nails bobbing down the curveature of your chest, and down the fabric buttons holding together your dress.

She’s gotten you up here asking you to try on some things she bought for you yesterday. Oh how she loved dressing you and her partners up. Nancy really adored it, it was like playing dolly, and she got to buy her partners gifts. But you were the one who let Nancy dress you up and move you around the most. Even if it was just to entertain her for one try of it.

But when she led you upstairs and looked back at you with a sweet raise of her shoulders and a “Good girl!” You knew what plans your girlfriend had in mind.

But honestly, Nancy made it so easy to slip into sub space with her. She made you feel so safe every time. Obviously, all of your lovers did, but Nancy really liked having a sweet sub on her hands.

“What do you want, huh baby?” Nancy’s tongue slides onto her bottom teeth a little with her open mouth smile. One of her small hands sweetly moving up your neck to cup your cheek, her thumb sweeping softly under your eye, her own doting and absolutely adoring on yours. Her other hand was gently carding up your thigh. “Can have anything you want! Just tell me baby.” Nancy kisses you sweetly, pulling back with a happy expression. Both her hands lovingly circling.

You just felt so warm, your chest rising more obviously, but you were just so happy being here. “Mommy, I just want you.”

That answer made Nancy very happy.

Your hands reached out for her, softly grasping her face with a hum, and Nancy gave a breathless laugh as her head fell down to your chin, coming back up to lovingly kiss all over your face. She’d called herself that pet name, ‘mommy’, earlier when talking to you, so you knew that was what was going on this session. And you were more than happy to sink into the dynamic, especially with the way Nancy was doting on you.

Nancy kisses over your neck only lovingly, accentuating her pink lip presses with kissing sounds every time. Looking up at you between each kiss, and her eyes gleaming before she goes to peck to spot on your neck she knows is sensitive. Pulling back only to crawl her fingers up your torso like a spider, and tickle your side in that way, laughing as you only half tried to fight her hand away, while you giggled in flow with her.

It especially made Nancy happy because your legs ended up squirming until they were at the back of hers. And while you tried to move her hand away, too slow though, up there, your legs curled around the back of hers down below, and pulled her closer on top of you. Nancy easily got her bearings, but she was pleased she was even closer to you now. “Well, mommy can at least give her good girl a kiss.”

Nancy’s eyes batted down to your lips. And when you pursed them asking for her, she laughed right up until she was at your mouth. Devouring your lips with a solid hum, and then sliding her tongue over yours so she could taste you.

God... you were so sweet. Nancy’s tongue moulded against yours easily, Nancy could never even begin to forget how to kiss you, and her hands were gentle enough to make sure they weren’t pulling at your hair, while she laid them down at the sides of your face. Holding you gently as Nancy relished in the feeling of your tongue exploring hers back. Your lips swiping against hers as you hum happy and needy, and she kept kissing you back for being such a good girl for her. Her good girl.

When Nancy pulled away, only after giving you another deserved peck, she sighed happily. The backs of her soft fingers stroking against your cheek, while her knees moved up, so she could trail your sweet dress that bit higher, so it was becoming more immodest. “My sweet y/n. I think my baby deserves a treat. You want all of mommy’s attention?”

Nancy’s heart spiked, because she was desperate for your pleased reaction.

“Yes mommy! Please? I’ve been so good. Just want you so badly.” You started writhing smally under her. Not quite bucking, but excited for whatever Nancy had in mind, she was always so smart, well planned. “Will do anything, promise I’ll be good mommy.” You let her hear that last word even though it dissolved into a whine.

And Nancy chuckled lightly as she heard you, her thumb swiping over your lips as she held your jaw. “I know you are baby. You’ve been my good baby all this time haven’t you. No need to prove yourself today. Just want to love on my sweet, sweet baby.” And it was all Nancy did want to do. Her hands left, and she went to unbutton each individual clip on her shirt. Throwing it to the side, and even taking your hand and guding you to touch over her bra, just letting you feel, and ogle glossy eyed from below. All before she quickly got rid of that too. Then she shimmied away only slightly to kick off her pants as well. Now Nancy was only in her panties, but she thought she might be able to use them to play with you later.

“Now baby, can I help you get undressed my love?” Nancy asked, already stealing her hands under your dress to paw at your thighs. You nodded gleefully, and Nancy didn’t even make you speak, she just chuckled back and gave you another sweet kiss, staying with you as she helped you pull down the thin straps of your summer dress.

And by help, Nancy wanted to do it all herself. Letting you kiss at the inside of her arms and whine out loving phrases at her as she eagerly let you watch her helping you out. Taking care of everything for you. Like she wanted to!

She’d gotten to treat you so much in the fifteen minutes she’d had with you upstairs. Gotten to show you her new gifts, able to sweet talk you, shower you with hugs and kisses and soft and flirtatious touches. And now here she was, fingers pulling at the hem of your underwear, even though she knew she was going to keep control and take your dress off first, able to just watch you looking up at her with nothing but love in your eyes, and be able to give you that look back too.

Until Eddie opened the door.

“Hey guys Steve said I had to check all the- oh! Well hello.” Eddie looked a bit surprised in the doorway, but began smirking almost immediately. Taking an extra step inside the room, to lean against Nancy’s dresser, leaving the door wide open. “What are we up to?”

Meanwhile you squeaked and hid slightly behind Nancy’s arm, blushing and smiling over a bit at Eddie. Although you loved your boyfriend and he had definitely seen you like this before, you were so used to just having Nancy with you right now, being the one to take care of you.

But Nancy was frowning, nearly pouting, and moved her hands further up over your head. “There’s no we. Get out of here Eddie.”

Even though you were the sub today, Nancy was the one being quite clingy.

Nancy’s hands scrunched up the bedsheets, and she didn’t move from up above you. Seeing how Eddie was looking at you both with the same suggestive, but more new to the thrill, glint in his eyes that she had. “Noooo don’t do this she’s mine right now!”

Even Eddie seemed surprised, amused though, and he flickered his eyes playfully between you and her. “Nancy Wheeler are we not sharing!” He gasped, astonished at her.

Nancy was merely caught between a pout and a scowl.

“I thought you were better than this. Let me get some of the love. I’ve got tons of love to give!” Eddie opened his arms wide. Declaring it, but keeping his voice at a normal volume.

Nancy still kept her eyes on him.

“C’mon, we don’t have to tell the others Wheeler. What do you think baby?” Eddie directs the last question to you. And boy do you love his sweet brown eyes.

And wow... did he look so genuinely gleeful to see you. Mixed with the way his body was leaning which you knew meant he was happy to play. Eddie’s warmth, even from halfway in the room, was astonishing and enchanting.

But also, you were so enamoured with Nancy right now, and how much she’d just wanted you.

“She’s being my dolly go away!” Nancy clung on to you protectively. Holding the back of your head and neck, as she kept on all fours above you.

But while she stared off with Eddie, who was still deciding if he could get lucky, wanted to kept teasing, or would be good and leave you be, Nancy was paying close attention to him when his eyes started scoping down. And that’s when she felt warmth, your warmth, wet and around her breast.

Nancy looked back down, to see you sucking on her tit, with your hand holding her other.

They were just right above you. There. You’d been hypnotised.

Nancy kept looking down at you and saw you with just the prettiest eyes, just on her, showing you want her, you’re trying to make her feel better, that you need her, and your mouth bobbing dotingly around her nipple.

Nancy cradled the back of your neck, a soft gasp leaving her, and you both heard the muffled slap of Eddie’s hands against his legs as he seemingly gave in. Looking over only enough for you to see a smile on his face, as he quietly shut the door closed.

Your focus was completely on each other though. Nancy holding you in a less protective ‘back off she’s my baby’ way from before, and a more ‘oh, oh my god, I love you baby’ way.

Focusing more now Eddie had left, Nancy strokes your hair away from your sweet bobbing cheeks, sighing out with a “There’s a good girl.” Readjusting a bit so she could lay next to you, so you’re not having to crane your poor neck up as much.

Nancy moves so her arm is splayed near the side of your head, repositioning to lay down. But gives an “Oh...” as her tit slips out your mouth, and you whine with your eyes up on her immediately. But just as quickly Nancy’s guiding your head back towards it. And you sigh happily when she’s back in your mouth. Cradling the side of her chest, as Nancy lays down right next to you, on the soft bed while she sweetly strokes your cheek. “Therrre you go. My sweet y/n. You want me only don’t you baby?”

Nancy’s voice gets you to nod your head. Moving with a small huff of air as you latch yourself on to her other breast, swirling your tongue lavishly around her nipple, as you suck and pull contently.

“That’s it, I’ve got you. Mommy’s here. You’re being so good for me honey.” Nancy smiles, feeling a burst of pride swell in her chest. So happy you chose her, happy to watch you on her, to see you safe, and happy yourself, just being with her. And feeling so so good in your mouth. Just wanting to take care of you, her girlfriend, and she’s even more happy that not only do you let her, but she’s doing a good job at it. “I love you.”

You give a firm suck on Nancy before you pull back, a small trail of spit making her shiver, forcing herself not to close her eyes, even with your hot breath still on her exposed breast. But she’s so glad she doesn’t as you stroke over her chest, and your big eyes wobble up at her as you chime back “I love you too Nancy.”

She could die. Just collapse onto this bed, right on top of you, in a gooey puddle of mushiness at how you make her feel. But instead Nancy presses lots of kisses to your face. Her jaw hurting from how hard she’s smiling, including as she hears happy whines coming from you, as your hands shuffle to hold and lightly stroke at her face. She presses her kisses down until she’s laying them rewardingly at the top of your breasts, before looking up at you. One hand grasped around your thigh, the other on the buttons just below your cleavage, that’s bursting in the right sized, pretty dress, Nancy picked out for you.

“I’m gonna help you out now, okay baby?” Nancy looks up from fiddling with the buttons on your dress to your eyes, waiting until you nod.

And when you do, Nancy smiles, laughing through her teeth, lightly scraping them over the top of your breasts, she can’t hurt her baby, before helping you undo those buttons beneath your cleave and above your middle section. It was really only to tease you, since all she needed to do was pull your dress off.

Which is exactly what she does. Shuffling backwards and flying the bottom of your dress up, it landing on her fluffy hair as she keeps her head under your dress. Dying inside at your cute squeals as she places herself under there. Letting her fingers tease up your thighs and stomach, and laughing as she settles your legs down, placing them flat on the bed with her guiding and commanding hands, as she brushes her facial features, her nose, her lips, her chin, up your thighs, and letting her hair tickle you, which she knows it will.

It drives you wild. You’re sqeualing as you try and roll around, but to no avail with Nancy’s gentle positioning you back. Your hands fly out but Nancy’s deep under your flowy dress, and you end up only softly touching the outline of her head. “Naaancy.” You giggle, only squeaking as she playfully goes down to gnaw at your stomach, laughing under the material. “It’s mommy, baby.” She only laughs, and you buck your hips, feeling them lightly connect to some part of Nancy’s face, and you whine playfully at her. “Mommyyy, come on. Please?”

Nancy hums, unable to hide her still laughing sounds though, kissing at your soft tummy over and over. Leaving small trails of spit behind as she knows it’ll be more sensitive for you.

So you decide to keep going, and truth is, you melt into however Nancy wants to play, because she’s just so good at it. “I need your help to take off my dress please mommy?”

For just a second, you are without Nancy’s kisses. “Please mommy? It’s so hard. Want you to do it for me?”

Hot slick pools into the bottom of Nancy’s underwear.

“Fuckkkk...”

There was nothing else for a second or two from her, until you felt Nancy’s head gently falling against your thigh. And you smiled excitedly to yourself, as you knew you had your girlfriend wrapped around your finger.

Nancy threw the bottom of your dress back on top of you, so she was now visible. You saw how red her face was, her smile awed, and all you wanted to do was reach your hands out for her. “Mommy you’re so pretty.”

Nancy slid over, putting her full weight on top of you as she kissed wetly and moaning into your neck. “Fuck baby... My baby. You’re my prettiest girl.” Nancy grabbed your hands to hold in her own. Sighing, as she let her lower lip slide against your skin as she moved up to your ear, loving on your earlobe with her lips and teeth. “You’re so perfect for me.”

Nancy moved up, her eyes unmistakably hungry on you now, and still loopy with affection. You keep your hands reaching up for her as soon as she let go, grabbing where you can and beaming about it.

Nancy scrunches the bottom of your dress between her fists, and she licks at the tragus of your ear, before talking into it. “I’m going to eat you up baby.”

Nancy pulls your dress up above you. Of course she’d convinced you this was a braless dress, so she’d gotten to see some of her lover before when she was dolling you up.

And now Nancy couldn’t help but fall right on top of you as she got the dress past your head. Pressing her chest into yours and she bit her lips, keeping her lit up eyes right on yours as she finished rolling the dress up past your arms. Bucking her top half on top of you and gleaming when watching you roll beneath her in tandem.

“Mmmm... Such a good girl for me. How come I have the sweetest babygirl in the whole world?” Nancy lets her nipples brush against yours, and she kisses your lips when you squeal with delight. “Gonna take off your clothes down there too. Then I can really worship you.” Nancy slides her hand between both your stomachs, and pulls at the hem of your underwear. Making sure the bottom of the material was sliding nicely between your folds. “My sweet dolly. Being so good for me.”

You gasp, and Nancy keeps moving it further. “You want mommy to undress you baby? Or you think you can do it all on your own?” Nancy waits sweetly for your answer. Still pulling.

“Mmmm! You m-mommy! Please. Can you do it all for me?” Your eyes sparkle, your clit aching as Nancy toys with it, your soaked underwear moving with her spry fingers, and you can only buck more up into your top’s chest.

“Of course I can! Such a good dolly. Mommy can do everything for you, you’re being my good girl y/n for asking.” Nancy nuzzles her nose into the corner of your mouth dotingly. “I’ll take care of everything for you. You just wanna be mine and you’re gonna so be good? I know you are my sweet lovely girl.”

Nancy presses lots of kisses quick all over your lips, her fingers dawdling at your chin as she keeps your attention apt on her, right where she wants it. Her smile holding your eyes while she goes down, and slides your panties past your legs, kissing your knees and your calves as she goes, until she can throw them to the other side of the room. “There we go. Beautiful. Now I can see all of my baby.”

Your hand goes for Nancy’s hair, and she leans her head into your embrace with a warm huff of air. You try to bring her closer, but at the same time, your toes reach up and gently brush against the hem of her own underwear.

You hum your question. Nancy giggling as she looks down, hand brushing over your ankle. “Yeah sweetheart. Gonna get just like you too. So polite for asking mommy.” She nuzzles into your hand, and you feel your heartbeat quicken as she breathes in by your wrist, like she’s drinking you in. “My good girl y/n.”

Nancy removes her hands from your legs to kneel up and shimmy out of the last piece of clothing she had remaining, chucking it near your own, before crawling back over you. Not lying on top of you yet, but sighing over you. Watching you. Getting you to buck and plead “Mommy? Please, now?” As she just watches you with adoration and glee. Flicking her soft fingers against the hairs caught on your perfect lips.

“Have either of you seen the- oh woah.” Robin gripped the now open door to Nancy’s bedroom in slight surprise.

Meanwhile Nancy nearly growled over you. Her head sinking down. And you just bit your lip, quickly looking over at Robins still widening eyes, taking both her girlfriends in, before you brushed your fingers up against Nancy’s wrists. Trying to get her to look at you, to not give up on her first time playing alone with you in ages. And it worked, as at your touch, you brought a smile on your face for Nancy, and when she saw it, her whole expression relaxed too, smiling back only at you.

A smile was quickly finding its way onto the third girl’s features. A soft pink on her cheeks joining Robin’s raised pink lips. “Are we having a party?” Robin asks, that slight rasp coming into her voice, and tone optimistic.

“Robin, I love you. But piss off.” Nancy stonehardedly looks at her. Still right above you, just as it seems like she was moments earlier when she was interrupted. And now all she could hope was the other two wouldn’t go ratting to Steve as well. This was supposed to be her special time with you. She hardly got that! She just wanted one moment to relax and be with you, was that so difficult for everyone else?

“Yeowch.” Robin raised her eyebrows, before looking to you. Slightly amused, but that lust was clear in her eyes when you fell on them. With how raspy Robin’s voice was being right now as well, it was almost like you could feel her pull. Robin had been slightly more dominant this morning when kissing you. And now, with Robin surveying both you and her other girlfriends body language up and down, her face smoothed delightfully temptingly as she realised exactly what sort of situation she’d walked in to. And what exactly Nancy was doing with you. “Is mommy being mean to you baby?”

There was that pull again. Her voice was magnetic, and you were getting to such a good space with Nancy, that Robin reading what you two were up to so quickly, and playing along, was really causing a pleasant throb below your belly.

And when your blonde girlfriend stretched out her ringed fingers as if she was going to take you away and make sure she treated you so good, your eyes widened and your brain felt like it wanted to turn all fuzzy, as you started to reciprocate in moving your hand out to hold hers back.

“No! I’m being very good! I mean, I’m being nice!” Nancy grabbed your hand and gently, but quickly, pulled it back to your body.

You looked up at her like you were coming out of a trance. Suddenly you felt a little bad, as she placed your hand back on top of your chest, before letting go so she could balance again. You did want your special time with Nancy. You just got a little distracted, especially when Robin understood the game so quickly. With a small whine, you raised your hand up again to stroke at Nancy’s face. And when she looked down at you she seemed to feel better.

You do tilt your head over to Robin though. And Nancy follows your look, pleading eyes at Robin.

“It’s okay Robbie. I think we’re just having some special one on one time.” You nodded encouragingly at your girlfriend. Moving your head back to look into the big blue eyes of your other one, grasping the warmth of her face with your fingertips so lovingly. “She’s being really nice to me.”

You couldn’t help but smile. Your feet jostling a little, underneath her. Nancy was being so sweet on you.

Robin’s face relaxes a little, but she does keep smiling. “Ohhh I see. Well can I at least get a kiss?” She looks between you two, with one more shot, keeping her suave body language up the entire time.

But Nancy wasn’t falling for it. In fact now she was cold, horny, and extra just wanting you. “Uhhhm Eddie didn’t get one so that wouldn’t be fair.” Nancy stopped her in her tracks. Tilting her head in that pointed way that sometimes scared you truthfully. But her hands were stroking your hair the entire time, so you only felt comforted being under her right now. Protecting you from Robin’s watchful eye, although you hardly needed defending from that.

Robin bounces up, still in her act, and she slaps on the door faux excitedly. “I could go get Eddie right now!”

That’s when Nancy finally has enough, standing up and off the bed, marching over to Robin, while you roll to your side to watch her.

“Hey babe-“ Robin smiles, managing to at least stroke Nancy’s bare arms, even though she was entirely naked, but her words are quieter to you because Nancy slams the door on her last syllable. And then she locks it.

Nancy turns right back around to you, blowing hair by her face up with her exasperated sigh, shaking her head as she smiles at you, running and bouncing back on the bed, to which you try and help catch her. Excited to see her so happy.

“Okay! Sorry about that baby. No more distractions.” Nancy apologises, brushing her fingers over your nose. Positively having to bundle up her glee at watching you blink and shake your head so cutely at the motion.

You were both just glad to be back with each other.

You reach your hands out, feeling that need for Nancy once again, tugging at your heartstrings. “C’mere.” You ask, making slight grabby hands to get her attention. You really hoped there were no more unfair diversions.

“Ooh I’m sorry babygirl. Mommy’s here.” While Nancy is serious in wanting to fill you back up with her attention, she does still slightly giggle at her words. But she keep shuffling closer, and lets you hold her wherever you need. “I’m back, and for good this time.” Nancy kisses your lips. “No one’s stealing me from you again.”

Nancy presses your shoulders into the bed so you’re laying flat on your back again. And you watch her leg very purposefully swing over yours, clearly wanting you to notice it, even as she keeps her eyes deep on you the entire time.

“And definitely no one is stealing you from me.”

Nancy slots her lips between yours. Slowly at first, but moving her body up and down, as you finally settle your hands on her bare rib cage. Kissing her back with soft movements, letting her take control of the kiss, while you just keep trying to taste her longer.

When Nancy moves her hands to cup your breasts, you moan into her mouth. Arching appreciatively into her touch, especially since her bottom half is finally right on top of you, since she had to keep herself up. Nancy smiles into your kiss, eating up your sounds as she gently squeezes beneath your breasts, her tongue gliding over yours, as she effortlessly moves with your writhing hips. Humming as she finally releases her lips from yours, with one hand coming to sweetly grasp at your lovely face instead.

“Good girl.”

You whine, bucking hard up into your girlfriend, and Nancy only chuckles. Shushing you so nicely, as she brushes her finger over your needy lips. “Now you want to put that sweet mouth to use and get to play with mommy’s clit for a good long while?”

Your hands scramble to grab a hold of Nancy, anywhere, and you try to move to exactly where she can have you.

And Nancy laves deep wet kisses into your neck, adoringly humming into your skin, as you go. Because she knows that her offer of her lulling words is one of her girlfriends favourite things to do.

Of course Nancy had to give whatever was wanted to her baby, you were just so good. She loves you.

#Nancy Wheeler/reader #Fruity Four #Citrussy #Nancy Wheeler #Eddie Munson #Robin Buckley #Nancy Wheeler fluff #Nancy Wheeler x reader #stranger things #Nancy Wheeler fic #my fics #4.8k

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