#but the dude wanted to be a villain at the start of the show | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bangarangdarling · 1 year

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blame the “hitting on your mom as a punishment” tiktok i just saw that literally blew my brain up. established because they’re disgustingly in love and because i say so

Eddie would normally consider himself pretty immune to the roar of arguing teenagers. Chaos surrounds their little Party. They’re not a quiet bunch when all together. It’s all shoving and yelling, giggling and roughhousing. Carpet-burned battle scars from the floor of Steve’s living room.

Lord knows Eddie himself wasn’t an inside-voice kind of person. He was certainly wont to standing on coffee tables and screeching demands for the remote when it was unjustly stolen away by villainous hands.

Eddie loved these people to death, and they were a lot of fucking fun to hang out with, it’s just this...this was an unreal level of noise. A normal sleepover night turned a little too rowdy, the adolescents celebrating the start of Summer with a bang.

Steve had already asked them to keep it down four times this evening. Nothing seemed to calm them. Not requests. Not threats of being sent home. Usually their Dungeon Master threatening their characters’ souls did the trick, but no go.

Getting teenagers to listen? A feat more impossible than defeating creatures from an alternate universe.

Dustin and Erica were in a bitching match about the best D&D class. Lucas and Mike had been fighting over movie choices for the last half hour. Eddie’s money was on the VHS player breaking before that, the constant mishandling and shoving of tapes had the poor thing practically smoking.

Will, ever the diplomat, was trying to be an impartial party when asked his movie opinions. Which, of course, caused more yelling.

Max and El had been the only ones being semi-quiet, but that quickly ended when they followed through on their surprise attack pillow fight, pummeling the boys senseless and causing the already unbearable volume to kick into overdrive. Eddie could practically feel Steve’s migraine building, even from where the dude had retreated to the kitchen. Dinner had been pizza. Quick. Easy. Clean. Or, it would have been if it hadn’t had been for the food fight. Steve was still in there scrubbing cheese out of his parents’ tiled backsplash. Dishes clattered in the distance when the cacophony hit its crescendo.

It was the proverbial straw.

“Alright, that’s it! Hey. Come on, guys. Knock it off,”

Nothing.

“HEY!”

He maybe overdid it that time, but the absolute ear-splitting boom of a yell he let out stopped the ruckus dead.

Silence rang for a beat.

Huh. Maybe Eddie should try out incorporating that into his music. He honestly hadn’t known he could get to that range.

The teenagers in the room stared at him, not cowed in the slightest, but curious enough to know what the hell Eddie’s problem was. Max was the first one to quirk an eyebrow at him. “Geez, need attention much?”

Eddie folded his arms to show he meant business. “Steve has asked you guys to tone it down. You’re waking the fucking dead. Why don’t you guys, like, actually go be good human beings and help him clean up your mess you all made in the kitchen, huh?”

Lucas snorted. “Yeah, okay, mom. Why don’t you go help him, you guys will probably just make out in there, anyway.”

It was a teasing comment. Meant to jokingly rib before getting back to doing whatever the hell they wanted to do.

But, see. That just gave him an idea.

Never let it be said Eddie couldn’t be creative with his punishments. He was a DM after all.

“Alllllllright. New plan. Listen up or suffer, ankle biters,”

He really didn’t appreciate the snickers that brought about when he was trying to be intimidating. Rude.

“You going to send us to our room or something? I’m real scared,” Erica’s scathing, dry wit was unparalleled, truly.

“Nope. Better. It’s a new rule: You little shitheads give me attitude and don’t listen, I hit on your babysitter.”

It was silent for a minute, brains audibly computing that statement and coming up ERROR. Will hesitantly spoke up.

“Uh, Eddie, I really don’t think that’s--”

“Yeah, what the fuck?” Mike interrupted. “Why would you beating up Steve hurt us? I mean, like, I guess it would emotionally, but that’s fucked up, man.”

Eddie rolled his eyes, still smirking wickedly as his plan solidified. “Oh, I don’t mean that kind of hitting, young Wheeler. Though, it may yet get physical--Hey, Steve?” He called out. The sink in the kitchen shut off after a second.

“Yeah?”

“Can you come here?”

The kids shuffled around on the floor warily as the other man walked into the living room. The energy had obviously shifted, it was probably an odd vibe to walk in to, but Eddie cut Steve off before he could ask any questions.

“You tired?”

“Uh, no. I’m fine--”

“It’s just you just keep on runnin’ through my mind constantly. I figured you’d be exhausted, sweetheart,” Eddie purred, the words cloyingly sweet and full of exaggerated charm.

There was a countdown, three, two, one...

A collective groan let out. A few uncomfortable laughs. “Dude, what the hell?”

“You guys agreed not to be gross in front of us!”

“Oh, my god, can I actually get sick from how cheesy that was?”

Eddie had to work at keeping in character when his very first line had pulled the intended reaction. He was already reaching forward to curl an arm around Steve, pulling him in in a slow, sultry attempt at being smooth.

“What? Can’t I be sweet on my guy? You all will understand when you’re in love one day. Right, sugar?”

Fake gags and retching sounds, too dramatic to be real protests, but still indignant and annoyed. Eddie was pretty sure Dustin slapped a hand over his eyes.

“Uh...yes?” Steve, who had previously looked like a car accident had happened directly in front of him, was catching on to the play. He eyed the disgruntled floor-children with a growing grin and let Eddie snuggle up to him.

God, his baby was so clever. He always knew what Eddie was thinking.

Too busy having a non-verbal conversation with Steve on how to best annoy the kids, Eddie didn’t see Mike turning his attention back to the tv. He did, however, hear him telling the others to “Just ignore them, they’ll get all gushy and leave us alone.”

Oh, Michael, Michael. Wrong move.

“How you doing, babygirl?” Steve flushed, deep and red and--huh. Okay. Revisiting that one in the future. “You good? You need anything? Your head hurting, sweet thing? I can kiss it better,” Eddie ducked forward to kiss Steve’s cheek. It was chaste, a sweet little thing...that Eddie made infinitely worse by the smacking, obnoxious kissy sounds he emulated there. The chorus of groans and protests started up again. He didn’t even pull his face away to call over to them.

“I’m sorry, is that attitude? Am I hearing more attitude?”

“Dude, Eddie, noooo!”

“Jesus, it’s like watching your parents make out, oh my god.”

“You guys, let’s just go already,”

“Yeah, I’ll take washing dishes over this,”

The grossed out teenagers whooshed past them. Grumbling and glaring--except Eleven, who smiled up at them sweetly--leaving Steve and Eddie standing in the living room, still wrapped up together.

It was too tempting then, with the kids safely out of range, for Eddie to resist the temptation to drop his kisses a little lower down Steve’s neck. To let them get a little less chaste. Just a little.

What can he say? He’s a weak man.

“That was evil,” Steve hummed. His shoulders dropped, though, relaxing into Eddie’s hold, the closest thing they’ve had to quiet all night settling in.

“Hey, I accomplished two things. Got them to chill out and I get the perk of feeling you up in the middle of sleepover night. It’s a win-win.”

A crash and a muffled argument broke out in the kitchen before Steve could respond to that.

The audible scuffling was cut off by Eddie calling out “Your ass looks great in these jeans tonight, Harrington!”

The fierce whispers and shushing were enough to get both of the older boys cackling loudly.

#Listen this is cheesy and poorly written but i HAD to #go find that tik tok because it was hilarious but also radiated love and healthy parenting #they called it 'gentle parenting with malicious intent' looooool #steddie #the party #my brain vomit

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saerotonins · 5 months

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actor!yuuji & actor!sukuna headcanons

ft. itadori yuuji and ryomen sukuna

content warnings: fluff, itadori twins au, overall cuteness, implied x reader (separated), jjk manga spoilers, characters are aged up to 20+

wc: 2.3k (jesus christ lol)

note: i miss my little actors so much lol. also, i think this is a bit too long, my bad 😭

jjk actor au masterlist

as twin actors:

believe it or not, jjk is like one of the roles that had them cast together

both of them usually like to play different roles in different shows because they just don't want to be known as each other's twins

love that for them, they're so real for that

but when they were cast, they accepted it since the script and plot were interesting

yuuji is a sweetheart inside out and sukuna is the quieter one between the two, sukuna is soft for his brother though so don't get fooled by his tough persona

yes, he is the older twin LOL and always holds it against yuuji just to be petty

"dude can you get me that can of soda?""why are you ordering your older brother around? have some shame"

yuuji just rolls his eyes but before he gets up and get it himself, sukuna will wordlessly stands up and does it anyway

checks on yuuji whenever he does intense fight scenes

both of them do the stunt themselves since they ate both so physically active

education wise, yuuji graduated as a marketing major and sukuna has a degree in physical therapy

which explains why him and his brother always practice fight scenes together and he helps yuuji with his stance and warm ups!

it's adorable really and he's so tsundere about it too

"no not like that, put your legs this way dumbass" like that typa stuff

sukuna started off as a model but was later on casted because casting agencies thought he has that great villain face

yuuji started off as a side character and really likes acting (he is the theatre kid between the two and sukuna is the quiz bee kid, their mom is BOOKED and busy) and later on recognized because he's just THAT good

yuuji is usually a romance lead or 2nd lead and a slice-of-life guy so when fans found out he will be in an action show, they are excited!

sukuna on the other hand has been casted as a tsundere in romance shows, sometimes a bully and an antagonist in action shows, but a villain that is literally so powerful??? that is so new so his fans are anticipating

both of them usually arrive on the set together (sukuna is the one driving btw and yuuji just sleeps during the trip)

yuuji prepares both of their bento boxes btw

sukuna loves it

he can cook, but that's it LMAO

he won't admit it but yuuji is the better cook

lowkey a picky eater so yeah

ACTOR!SUKUNA HEADCANONS:

sukuna is the intimidating one (obv) so when him and the other casts first met + the first few readings, it was sooo awkward

turns out he's lowkey a goofy guy

has fun with his costars and helps them with fight scenes too, gotta put that physical therapy degree into good use

both him and nanami have this silent bond because whenever they're together they just don't talk and bask in the silence as they sit, they just peace amidst their crazy schedule

also an avid toji fan so when this guy found out he's in the same show with his idol he's almost shitting bricks

let out a really loud cheer when he found out and only yuuji knew about it LOL

has a deep-rooted respect towards him and it's sooo obvious whenever toji is around

he is such a fucking fangirl

he just thinks he's so badass and feels so honored to be casted in the same show as him

feels bad that he has to beat up almost everyone 😭 he is also a sweetheart deep inside

deep inside, he's such a caring and protective brother for yuuji because even though he doesn't have any scenes to be filmed, he still joins him on set whenever time allows him

he may not show it but he's sometimes lowkey terrified about fans tearing him up into shreds whenever he kills their favorite character

imagine sukuna dripping big sweats by the time THAT episode with [redacted] aired oh my GOD he was so fucking nervous considering their fanbase is so big

yuuji has never seen his brother THIS nervous before and he's enjoying it

luckily though, not much hate happened and most of the time it's just memes and playful banter

his ass is barely on social media LOL

in the years of his instagram existing he only has like 90+ posts or even below 😭 usually it's just promotion, being an ambassador, magazine shoots— very lowkey

doesn't have much digital footprint and i love that for him

whenever he posts, his fans are EATING IT UP since it happens every once in a blue moon lmfao

ACTOR!SUKUNA AS YOUR PARTNER:

as tough as he looks, he actually can be quite clingy, just behind closed doors though

lowkey feels bad when he has to beat up children (LMAO) and his co-actors and asks for cuddles from you for comfort

it's actually kind of adorable

sometimes if his schedule doesn't allow him to have time to visit you, you'll get messages like "babe i just beat up megumi :("

since he's not active on social media, he knows some stuff online through you or yuuji

kind of a sad reason why he doesn't go online as much is because as tough as he looks, he's just a guy scared of the hate he's going to have just because he plays a villain or antagonist most of the time

he knows it's not his fault, he just knows that some people just don't know how to separate reality from acting

especially when that scene where he had to off a certain jujutsu sorcerer actor with a huge fanbase

oh boy was he so fucking scared and ran into your arms for comfort :(

he's a softie deep inside ok

when they have to go out of town or even overseas to film, he gets incredibly homesick and misses you so much

expect a lot of "i miss you" messages, including selfies and candid pictures that he took around the set to

practicing his lines with you is close to impossible, this guy gets all blushy and shit because you're in front of him

and since most of his lines are mean as hell, he just doesn't want to be mean to you

he wants to impress you so bad but when you're around he just becomes a little high school boy with a big crush LMAO

he's such a sweetheart deep inside oh my god

when he decides he wants to post a new photo in his ig, you're the first and only person he'll ask for opinions

so this just means that most, if not all of his posts were handpicked by you

wears your matching stuff like accessories on set and gets sad when he has to take it off while filming

when he learned that his character would have face tattoos, the first thing he did was come home to you with his face makeup on (he had to ask his makeup artist to let it stay) and imitate it on your face

i have this headcanon that sukuna knows how to draw (and is very good at it) so it takes almost no effort to draw the tattoos on your face

you two then have a mini photoshoot (aka just taking a lot of selfies) with the both of you with sukuna marks on the face

it looks so cute that he made it his lock screen

he's lowkey such a sap don't let the character he's playing fool you

ACTOR!YUUJI HEADCANONS:

THE MAN THE MYTH THE BABY

he is literally a sunshine in or out of acting

so polite and so kind it's hard to hate him (not that he is even worth hating on)

so naturally, everyone on set loves to work with him!

unlike his brother, before acting, he doesn't really know a lot of fighting stance (he's a marketing major ffs lol) BUT ever since he was casted, he doubled up on his working out routine with the help of sukuna

even invested his time learning boxing which later on paid soooo much

can literally make everyone on set "aww" whenever his script requires him so cry or even witness a gruesome death scene *cough* nanami and nobara *cough*

during breaks, him and nobara do tiktok challenges and even those kpop challenges all the time and the crew enjoys watching them do it and the fans like it too

he does it too with choso and todo

this guy literally has 3 older brothers who are protective of him it's so cute

this man is so talented, he can cook, sing, dance, act, and is pretty smart too during his university days, it's so hard not to be in love with him

the greenest of the green flags (just like nanamin!) the girls the guys the folks LOVE him so much, literally the standard

just like sukuna, he was fangirling so hard when he found out he's going to be in the same drama with THE nanami kento

he's such a big big BIG fan

has a fan account of him on twitter that is pretty popular but you didn't hear that from me

it's so cute when they're together because they're literally THE father and son duo EVER

has the time of his life whenever he visits nanami and his wife's house and just chill there, sometimes brings his first-year trio besties too (both nanami and his wife don't mind at all)

aside from sukuna, he sometimes practices fight scenes with nanami too!

he is so active on social media 😭 interacts with as many fans as he can and posts all the time on ig and twitter

has a lot of cute interactions with fans too

by extension, his account is sukuna's behind the scene account LOL

since his brother doesn't post a lot, sukuna's fans tune in to his posts and stories of sukuna behind the scenes or even just some pictures of him that he doesn't post

some of it are just pics of the brothers chilling or going out

yuuji is literally the sukuna fan's saint because of the amount of sukuna content he's giving them LOL

ok but don't get fooled by yuuji's sunshine personality, because he knows how to bite too

whenever he saw hate tweets his brother is getting for playing a villain, he is quick to respond and defend his brother

lowkey a nightmare for the PR team but they know where he's coming from

and despite sukuna telling him to just ignore it, he appreciates his little brother more than anything

ACTOR!YUUJI AS YOUR PARTNER:

one word: ANGEL

he's literally so lover coded oh my goodness

leaves you some post-it notes on the fridge every single day before he leaves to film

if the trip goes on for days he will leave at least three long love letters for you to read when you miss him and he's busy

creates personal vlogs JUST FOR YOU so if the both of you can't facetime, you'll still know what he is up to

when he was contacted to be the main character of the show, he confided in you whether or not he should accept the offer

don't get him wrong, he is beyond grateful the people think he's capable enough to be the main lead but it makes him nervous

this is his first main character role and the pressure of it all is heavy on his shoulders

he asked for his brother's opinion too but he trusts you enough to talk about his feelings regarding this

of course, when you said that you'll be there with him in every step and support him all the time and do everything to keep the communication between the two of you going despite his soon-to-be hectic schedule, his heart is finally set on accepting the role

you are so proud of him! your baby finally getting the recognition he deserves? hell yeah

his busy schedule was never a barrier between the two of you, yuuji never forgets to update and call you whenever his time permits and he always appreciates every cheer you have given him

type of actor boyfie to show you off his social media platform!

he posts your dates and even hangouts with each other

his fans find it quite adorable and is in love with your whole relationship

likes to do those couple tiktok challenges with you and post them online, you guys even have shippers lol

of course, if you're the lowkey type, yuuji would respect that and will only include you in his online shenanigans when you feel like it or allow him to post it

practicing lines with you is always exciting but never productive LOL

you both just end up giggling and laughing

in the end you just both opt to cuddle instead (or even make our LMFAO)

yuuji just feels so lucky to have his ever-supporting partner along the way

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eddiemunsonw · 2 months

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Snow Storm

Steve Harrington x Fem!reader

Summary: You're on a 'date'. Sort of. You're really not feeling it, especially when you realize that the guy has been lying. Steve, witnessing it all during his shift at Family Video, is more than happy to meddle a little.

CW/Disclaimer: Hmmmm things start to get a little heated and sexy but nothing too dramatic. So... idk. Mention of porn?

Author's note: I have a tendency to post fics out of their season, it seems

Words: 3435

Steve’s POV

He watched as your eyes followed the section of horror movies slowly, scanning each title to try and remember if you had seen them before. Next to you, a guy stood impatiently as he eyed the curtain that separated the adult section. Steve watched with interest, as it was all that was currently happening in the store apart from a regular who looked into the slapstick classics on the other side.

“Come on, I just wanna see.”

The guy sighed, nudged you with his arm. You were having none of it and Steve couldn’t help but wear an amused smile. Eventually, when you had picked out two movies, you followed him towards the curtain. Steve, feeling particularly menacing today, quickly left the counter and approached the curtain just in time.

“Hello there! ID’s please.”

He held his hand open and you took it out immediately, showing that you were 23, a year younger than he was. When the guy handed it over with some reluctance, his curiosity piqued.

“Oof, sorry dude, can’t let you in. It’s 21+”

“What? Since when?” the guy responded, but Steve clocked something much more interesting.

“Clark… You said you were 24. Jesus this is why I never wanna say my age first,” you groaned and rolled your eyes. Steve bit down on his lip to stop himself from smiling, but it was too hard not to.

“Damn, why’d you have to lie to the lady? That’s not cool,” Steve added on.

Your POV

“You weren’t supposed to know. Now come on,” Clark mumbled and attempted to pass the curtain but Steve quickly moved in between, the smooth glide of his body grabbing your attention.

“Still a no, Bud.”

You were already tired of his pushy behavior earlier, so while Steve had him occupied, you entered the adult section. You didn’t even want to go in there, but it was better than staying.

“Grab some deepthroating! And some lesbian porn?”

Steve’s POV

Steve shook his head at him as he leaned against the wall right next to the curtain.

“Jesus, dude. Are you trying to make her run away from you even harder?”

“Shut up,” Clark grumbled, side eyeing him with annoyance.

“Hm, no,” Steve said, a small smile on his face. “Not for a pipsqueak like you.”

“Oh fuck off, says the failed jock whose daddy no longer funds him so he has to do a shitty job like this one, the highlight of his day being to be a total asshole to a guy trying to have sex with a girl.”

Steve stared ahead of him, taking a deep inhale before replying.

“Yeah. Sure. That’s a neat description of you and me both. Emphasis on the trying.”

“The day’s not over yet.”

“Oh but it is, pipsqueak. Cause you’re gonna turn around and leave now.”

They looked at each other, eyes dark and challenging. Steve wasn’t sure what came over him. He just knew that he needed to do you the favor of getting rid of him.

“The hell I am,” Clark bristled.

Steve chuckled darkly. Woah, when did he become this super villain huh? Hmm. Interesting.

“Oh you are. She wants you gone and so do I.”

“You don’t know shit about what she wants.”

“Let me go ask,” Steve said as his hand lazily slid the curtain aside. “What’s her name again?” he asked, pretending like he hadn’t checked your name on your ID. He didn’t wait for his answer and walked behind the curtain despite his protests. This, however, made him miss out on the emergency alert on the radio.

“We interrupt your favorite tunes for an important message. The blizzard is getting worse. If you haven’t yet, go home. Chances are you won’t be able to if you wait much longer.”

Clark, however, did. Besides, he wasn’t that much of an idiot. He knew he had lost his chances with you the moment he tried to get you to grab his favorite porn videos. Whatever.

Your POV

“So… see anything you like?”

His voice startled you, but at the same time it was met with relief from your end that it wasn’t Clark. Steve slowly walked closer and quickly noticed you didn’t seem interested in any of it in the slightest and chuckled.

“Or are you just planning to stay here forever until he leaves?”

You shrugged.

“Something like that. Also, you don’t just ask a lady about her favorite porn, Harrington.”

Delighted by your response, he cocked his hip against the wall as he crossed his arms with a grin.

“I mean… we both already know Clark’s…” Steve said jokingly, earning a smile from you.

“All men are the same,” you sighed. Steve pouted and scanned the titles for something interesting.

“You say that now but… wait until you find out that my favorite is actually… Granny getting a— nope, nope, forget I started that sentence,” Steve said quickly as he put back the tape he just had in his hands.

“All the grannies over the world are crying right now,” you said sadly, a smile on your lips.

“Too bad, I’ve set my eye on girls who actually are the age they say they are.”

“I’ll admit that’s the most interesting belated opening line I’ve ever heard,” you said dryly.

“As long as it catches your intrigue, I’m satisfied,” Steve said with a playful, cocky grin.

You grabbed a tape and smirked, holding it out for him.

“So I’m guessing you don’t need yourself a… Satisfyer 2.0, then?” You asked, holding up the tape which had sensual “instructions” for a vibrator.

Steve laughed and shook his head.

“These satisfy just fine,” Steve said, holding up his hands. Your mind drifted off to what he could do with those big hands. Not just to himself but to—

“… left?”

Steve had apparently just asked you a question.

“Huh?”

He smirked and nodded towards the curtain.

“I think he left. Just heard the bell above the door.”

“Maybe someone came in though…” you wondered out loud.

“Maybe. I’ll go check.” He spun on his heel and approached the curtain when—

“Wait—” It was out before you knew it. Steve halted, turned back around and looked at you patiently.

“Yeah?”

“If he is in fact not gone, can you… get rid of him somehow? I normally wouldn’t ask but he’s just such a—”

“Dick.”

“Yeah…” You smiled a small smile and watched as he approached you again. His eyes were on you, taking in even the smallest changes in your expression.

“So is he like… your boyfriend?” Steve asked softly. “Or uh, was?”

You chuckled and shook your head.

“Nah, this was the second date which I had reluctantly agreed to.”

“Why’d you say yes?” Steve asked curiously. He followed your movement as you skimmed some more tapes and smiled at the playfully quipped corner of your mouth. “I mean, it didn’t look like you wanted to be here.”

“I didn’t. I just… I kind of never said yes but he just showed up on my doorstep and then I felt too bad to not go with him, so… yeah. Didn’t know he had plans to rent some porn and spend the second date in his bedroom or whatever.”

Steve crossed his arms and nodded thoughtfully.

“Hmmh… yeah that sucks. Well, I’ll make sure there won’t be a next time,” he said as he shortly winked at you and once again turned on his heel, this time actually continuing his walk through the curtain. He was out there for a few minutes when he turned back with a frown.

“Uh… Y/N? We’ve got a little… hiccup.”

You approached him with a frown of your own and followed him to the front, unsure what to expect. What you certainly didn’t expect, was to see a snow storm going on outside.

“Apparently there’s a code red. Just heard a repeat of it on the radio but it keeps breaking up. They urge everyone to stay inside until it’s over.”

Steve stuffed his hands into his pockets and stared ahead. It was the worst storm he had ever witnessed and the fact that nothing had seemed to be going on apart from some gentle snowfall surprised him.

“Stay… here?” you asked eventually.

“I mean, yeah? You can’t drive in this weather, it’s too dangerous. So is walking. So…”

“But I can’t just…”

“Hey, I don’t bite,” Steve said softly, nudging your arm with his own. “Besides, Clark seems to have left after all. Maybe he heard the warning and decided to bolt? If so, very nice to let us know as well but I will say that I wasn’t nice to him, so…”

You smirked.

“What did you say to him?”

“Nothing, nothing. I mean, genuinely, I didn’t say much. Just that he had to fuck off, using different wording. He didn’t seem all that ready to leave when I went to look for you though.”

“Oh well, good riddance.”

“Agreed.”

Steve walked forward and locked the door, putting the closed sign up front just in case.

“Let’s go to the back, it’s warmer there. And there’s a coffee machine.”

And so your “Stuck at Family Video with heartthrob Steve Harrington” began.

Once you were settled around the table in the break room, Steve gave you an odd glance. It was hard to figure out what he meant by it, although his frown disappeared the moment he got up from his chair.

“Coffee? Tea? I think we even got a few of those instant hot choc packages,” he offered, his back already turned to you as he searched the cabinets.

“Oh, hot chocolate sounds nice actually. Is it just me or is it… still kinda cold, even here?” you asked hesitantly. Steve nodded ruefully and grabbed two mugs from the cabinet he was currently facing.

“Ah, yeah… it looks like the heating is struggling again. I could kick it to see if it helps but… chances are it’ll get worse.”

“How could it get worse?”

Steve shrugged.

“Beats me, but I’m speaking from experience. Sometimes it does the trick and other times it really, really doesn’t.”

“Let’s not risk it then. At least we have a warm drink, right?”

Steve nodded and grabbed the kettle. You watched him busy himself with putting it on, emptying the hot chocolate powder and grabbing two spoons. He was humming along softly to whichever song he seemed to have stuck in his head and shot you a smile when he caught you looking.

“So what do you usually—”

Suddenly, the room turned pitch dark. You heard Steve swear softly when he shuffled back towards the table and bumped into a chair.

“Uh… okay. That’s… kind of a problem,” he mumbled as he managed to sit back down. “No hot choc I guess, sorry. No… heating either. Maybe we should check how the weather’s doing?” he opted.

“Yeah, sure.”

There was a small strip of light seeping in from the doorway, slowly turning brighter as you adjusted to your surroundings again. Warm fingers teased your arm before your wrist was grabbed and Steve helped you up. As he opened the door, the brightness of the snow outside was almost blinding. The thin windows made it a lot colder at the front, making you shiver as you watched the outside. It wasn’t just snow anymore, as heavy hail rained down, large enough to leave dents into cars. Steve groaned and let go of your wrist.

“Let me check if I can get the power back on,” he mumbled, more to himself than to you. He grabbed a flashlight from below the counter and went to the back again. After a few minutes, he returned, looking apologetic.

“Sorry, nothing. I guess it’s my fault you’re stuck here, huh?” he sighed. “If I hadn’t bothered Clark as much you’d be on your way already. Or if I just… I don’t know. Sorry, I guess.”

“It’s not your fault the weather decided to fuck us over, Steve,” you said with a soft smile which he returned with some hesitance. “What do you usually do for fun around here?”

Steve gave you a wry smile.

“Watch movies?”

“Ah, yeah.”

There was a short silence until Steve clapped in his hands and rubbed them together. “I’ve got this huge blanket in the back, brought it here once because Rob, Robin, my colleague, gets very cold easily so sometimes we’d just huddle under the blanket during breaks and stuff. I think we might as well sit out here, at least it’s light… for now.”

You nodded, smiling as you thought of Robin Buckley. You knew her of course. Not super well, but well enough to know she was nice.

“Yeah, it’s already getting dark, huh? A blanket sounds good though.”

Steve nodded and once again disappeared for a short moment, until he returned with a bright blue blanket, which he partially draped on the floor in front of the counter before he motioned for you to sit down and wrapped it around your shoulders. He joined you after grabbing you both some water and put the other end around his shoulders once he settled down.

“How’s this?”

You were really trying not to let it get to you that you were cozying up to Steve right now. Heat was radiating off of him and it made you wonder if he was actually cold, or if he was basically doing the whole “it’s better to stick together for body warmth” kind of thing. With the addition of clothes, of course.

“It’s nice. Better than without for sure,” you told him softly. Steve’s shoulder brushed yours and soon enough you felt the pressure build up until he was actually resting against you. Not in an uncomfortable way at all. It was really… nice, actually.

“Your parents? Do you think they’ll worry?”

“Ah, no. My mom’s visiting my grandma in another state actually and my dad’s no longer around, so. Doubt he can worry,” you joked lightly. “What about yours?”

Steve snorted, then realized it probably wasn’t all that funny and shrugged.

“Dunno, they’re somewhere in Europe now, I think? So no.”

Another silence. It was by that point that you remembered how little you actually knew about Steve Harrington. Sure, he had been popular in school for some time, and then he wasn’t, and then he graduated. But you had never really talked to him other than giving him a pen or two in English class. You were from different social ladders, really. Although, right now you felt quite equal to him, somehow. Which felt weird, considering he looked like a freshly cut out of a painting model and you were… you. Mr handsome decided to steal you away from your brain, which honestly, was a good thing.

“Hey, wanna play a game?” he asked, peering into your eyes as he leaned forward a little. You watched him with newfound curiosity.

“What kind of game?”

“I spy with my little eye.”

“Isn’t that just called “I spy”?” you wondered aloud.

“Dunno. So. Yes?”

“What else is there, right?”

Steve grinned and rested his head against the counter.

“That’s right. Okay. I spy with my little eye… something green.”

“That tape,” you said as you pointed. Steve leaned into your space, following your hand.

“Which one?”

“The green one.”

“There are maaaany green ones.”

“The green one with… Fuck I can’t read,” you sighed as you tried to squint. Steve laughed warmly, which you could feel the tremble of against your shoulder. “Okay so. The sci-fi shelf, yes? Fifth on the second row.”

“Aaaah, I see it now. Nope!”

“You knew that wasn’t it from the start.”

“I had to make sure.”

“Mhm, sure.”

Steve grinned and nudged you with his shoulder before tapping your thigh with his hand.

“Your turn, your turn!”

He left his hand on your thigh. Oh shit. Yeah, you were totally normal about that. You could still think. You could definitely still find some kind of object that you could use—

“Wait, I didn’t even guess it, how is it my turn?!” you questioned. Steve, who had been looking at… somewhere that wasn’t your eyes, quickly lifted his eyes to meet yours and grinned.

“Right. Guess!” “Your vest?”

“You are absolutely right. See? Your turn.”

“It wasn’t— okay. Hm… I spy with my little eye… something red.”

“Your cheeks.”

“Shut up, my cheeks aren’t red.”

“They are a little.”

“If you keep talking about it, yes, they will turn red.”

“Oh? Is that so?”

Once again Steve leaned forward to look you straight in the eye, this time lifting a hand to cup your cheek gently. “Hm, they’re a little pink at the very least.”

You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks and took his hand off your cheek as you looked away. Steve chuckled softly and turned his hand around so he could grab yours.

“Fine, then… the bike outside?”

“Nope.”

“Damn, I thought that was it for sure. That red blob of paint that Keith never managed to get off the ceiling?”

“That’s it!”

Steve grinned at you and gave your hand a squeeze. For a moment you had forgotten about his hand, too drunk on his animated face. Fuck.

“I spy with my little eye…” Steve turned his head to look at you and smiled. “Something pretty.”

“What?”

“Purple! Purple.”

“My shirt.”

“So clever.”

It was getting darker rapidly and soon enough, even your little game became harder to play. You did some other ones, word games, guessing games, whatever you could think of. The blanket was wrapped closer around you both now, as the store became colder without the heating. You sat hip to hip, your arms a little awkward sometimes although neither of you really minded.

“Would you have stayed here if I hadn’t been around?” you asked softly.

“Hmm, nah, I don’t think so.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t really care if— I mean, I’d only be risking myself in that case.”

“That’s a bad reason. You’re just as important.”

“Am I?” Steve asked, and for some reason you felt like he needed an honest answer.

“Yeah, you are, Steve.”

“Hm…” A beat of silence. “I spy with my little eye… someone pretty.”

“You can’t even see.”

“I’ve memorized her by now.”

“Is it the blonde babe cardboard cutout?”

Steve, not expecting that answer at all, burst out laughing.

“Fuck, no,” a giggle, “it wasn’t.”

“Oh… hm. What about that girl from the ring? Samara?”

“Shush.”

“Or the woman from that movie where—” “Ssshh.”

You felt his hand cup your cheek and it was as if your heart was gonna jump out of your chest at any moment now. His breath tickled your cheek, warm and comfortable against your cold nose. Your lips parted on their own, eyes closing even though there was only an outline of his face to see.

“You sure it’s not the blond babe?” you murmured teasingly.

Steve giggled softly and shook his head, causing the stray strands of his hair to tickle you a little.

“Positive.”

A faint sound of lips being licked, and then his lips brushed against yours. Soft and pliable, eager to taste yours. He hummed softly, pleased, as he pulled you closer. You were easily pulled into his lap as his tongue teased your bottom lip for access. Hands smoothed up and down your waist, the blanket forgotten as your kiss provided enough heat between the two of you. It was silent, save from the gasps and soft, pleasant hums leaving you both. He gently moved his hips while simultaneously guiding yours, a gentle moan leaving him as he found a rhythm. His lips found your neck and your hand made its way into his hair to have something to grasp onto. One hand found the hem of your shirt and he was about to lift it up when—

Brightness. Light. The electricity was back on. Meaning… everyone outside could see you. If there had been anyone, that is. Still, it broke the moment instantly as Steve dropped his hand to your thigh and looked up at you.

“Shit,” he murmured, a lopsided grin on his face. “They really know how to spoil the fun today, huh?”

You smiled down at him and turned around to look outside, one hand resting on his chest for balance.

“Hm… I don’t know. It seems safe to go back home.”

Steve dug his fingers into your hips with eagerness before leaving a soft kiss on your lips.

“Your place or mine?”

end.

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buryustogether · 1 year

Text

lilac - chapter 2

miguel o’hara x f!reader

summary: a pre-work visit to the bank goes horribly wrong.

wc: 4.7k

tags/warnings: unhappy relationship, gun violence, bank robbery, blood, scars, stripping, pole dancing, sexual fantasy, semi-public sex, praise

author’s note: yeah he got me fucked up

They called him Spiderman.

He appeared seemingly from thin air overnight - specifically, the night you’d stayed late at the school to watch Gabriella O’Hara until her father could pick her up. They were hailing him a vigilante, a hero, an aggressor. No one could quite seem to agree on just what he was other than supernatural. Like the multiple self-titled supervillains who had taken over your city without someone to stop them, he possessed abilities no regular human was capable of. Shooting webs from his wrists, climbing walls, moving and propelling himself at unimaginable speeds. He was something unimaginable.

People theorized, over the week since his city-wide premier on shaky cellphone footage and breaking news coverings that interrupted regular shows, that he had escaped from a cage in Alchemax. How else could they explain his powers? They couldn’t. Others said he was an alien. Some said he was a fake, said that the clips that captured him beating the absolute shit out of car thieves and back alley thugs and would-be kidnappers, were all photoshopped with a fancy computer and an advanced program.

Either way, no matter where he’d come from or what he was, whether he was a do-gooder or another villain searching for glory, no one could deny that what he did was incredible.

It was too bad some people were out to get him despite what he was doing for your city.

“He’s a menace!” shouted the anchor of the news show playing in the bank’s lobby. J. Jonah Jameson’s voice brought a migraine to the front of your head, one that wouldn’t go away with just simple ibuprofen. You tried to block him out as you waited in line for a teller, attempting to focus instead on the story your boyfriend was barking in your ear on your phone. Your attempt was unsuccessful. “He’s just another villain trying to have his five minutes of glory in the sun. He’ll burn out just like all the others; Doc Ock, Kraven, the Vulture… Please, people! Wake up and take a deep breath of reality! He’s not helping the citizens of New York - he’s getting in the way of our police!” He fixed the camera with a hard, stony stare that made you look away when you saw one of his eyes twitch. What in fuck did that dude put in his cereal every morning? “Spiderman is just another villain. Give him another week, and see where he ends up.”

You felt your lips tug down as you turned away from the television and moved up in line. What a sad, pathetic city you lived in, where someone attempted to use whatever powers they had to do good and got blasted for it instead of praise. God knew New York needed all the help it could get. With the highest crime rate in the country, who would turn their nose up at what little help was offered to them?

Dickwipes, that was who.

“Hello?” shouted the voice on the other end of the phone you held up to your face. You jumped slightly and pulled it from your ear, earning yourself a few strange looks from the other people in line. “Are you even listening to me?”

“Sorry, babe,” you exhaled into the speaker. Blocking out the television and the rest of the distractions in the bank, you upped the volume on your phone. “Just kind of busy at the moment. I’m in line at the bank, and then I’ve got to catch a taxi in this fucking traffic and haul ass to work before class starts, and -”

From his end, Ferris released one of those breathy sighs that he did when he wanted you to stop speaking so that he could talk what was on his mind. You knew the sound well - well enough to shut your mouth and swallow thick. “Could’ve just said it was a bad time,” he grunted, then made the noises of switching his phone to his other ear. You recognized the sounds of his deft fingers fiddling with his guitar strings. God, it seemed like he never put that fucking thing down. A part of you suspected that if your apartment was on fire, he would run to save his instrument before you. “Listen, I’ve got practice here in a while. I’ll let you get back to whatever’s so important.”

Ignoring the pang that resounded like a thunderclap through your ribcage, you nodded your head despite knowing he couldn’t see you. “Uhm, okay.” You hesitated, then added, “Oh, before you go to practice -” you heard him sniff - “could you put away the dishes in the sink? I started the cycle this morning before I left, so it should be -”

“Yeah,” he said quickly. “Bye.”

“Oh, okay, bye. Lo-” Before you could finish, you heard the familiar click of the other line being hung up. You stood still for a moment, feeling a little numb at your fingers, before slowly pulling your phone from your face and pressing that bright red button to hang up your end. Trying to keep your expression neutral, you stepped forward in line as it moved.

Maybe once upon a time, you and Ferris had been happy together. Maybe… satisfied was the right word. Settled. There to fill the void when you needed someone. Saying ‘I love you’ was never a column to lean upon in your relationship; it was only mumbled under breaths during sex and rare moments when both of you were in the mood to not be so completely alone. But that wasn’t often. He was too busy with his band, spending whatever money from his gigs that he received at whatever bars he trolled when he claimed he was cleaning up after shows. You were too busy teaching your kids during the day and teasing and smiling desperate souls at night, putting lousy paychecks and crumpled tips toward keeping your rent paid and food in the pantry.

The girls at The Menagerie asked you why you didn’t leave him, kick him out of your apartment and change the locks. You couldn’t ever come up with a good reason. Maybe it was because if you did, six months of your life would be down the drain. Maybe it was because if you did, you’d be more alone than you ever had in your life.

You didn’t have anyone besides Ferris. Your parents, shit - they were a lost cause. The girls at the club all had separate lives. And your kids at the school - you had to let them go every afternoon, walk out that door without a glance back.

If you let Ferris go, you would have no one.

Stuffing your phone back into your purse, you held your head high, refusing to let anyone else here see just how deep the cracks in your foundations were. At last, you were called up to the next available teller.

Your heels clicked and clacked along the polished tile floor, the bright yellow dress that you’d bought for yourself for a school spirit day swishing about your ankles. You felt like a sore thumb in this dull, brown-and-white building that was just aching to be updated. Old, vintage chandeliers hung from the high-arched ceilings, illuminating the golden bars the tellers sat behind. Benches with creaky leather occupied the center of the lobby, accented by matching chairs and little desks that bankers in starched collars met with clients at. It was all black and white, neutrals and dark tones.

Greeting the teller behind the gate with as bright a smile as you could muster, you opened your mouth to say hello. Yet just when you began to push the syllables past your lips, your world shattered like porcelain meeting concrete.

Sunlight like a torch in a dark tunnel flooded the bank as a small line of figures crowded into the bank. At first, no one paid them any mind. Then shots like the deafening cracks of fireworks right beside your ear sounded from sleek black rifles into the ceiling, and screams filled the echoey chambers of the building. You immediately dropped and covered your head, breath leaving your lungs like the air had been slammed from your chest by a sledgehammer. People cowered behind the cushions and desks, scrambling for cover as another round went through the roof.

“Everyone put your hands on your heads and take a seat on the ground,” came a booming voice from the figure at the head of the group. There were four of them, a small team who wore identical kabuki masks and black tactical gear fit to be seen on military personnel. “This is a robbery. Not a killing spree, not a kidnapping - a robbery. We ain’t looking to hurt anyone today, unless someone tries to be a hero. No sudden moves. You all follow directions, and you’ll be home in time for lunch.”

Unable to pull in a new breath, you slid to the ground and placed your hands on top of your head. You watched, eyes wide and fingers trembling slightly as the men began to make their rounds to the tellers, plopping wide, fat bags on the counters and demanding money from beneath the desks be placed inside. One took up a stance just beside you, forcefully shoving his bag to the man behind the bars and commanding him to pull out the stacked bills. The teller at once complied, dropping thousands of dollars as sweat began to bead at his temples.

Holy goddamn fucking shit. Holy fuck. You knew this city was dangerous - hell, you’d sit back night after night at home and watch on the news as cars were jacked and people were taken hostage. You’d just never thought it would happen to you; of all the millions of people in this city, you’d never thought it would be you. And yet here you were, hunkered down against a countertop as your bank was robbed with you at the throbbing heart of it all.

And you were all alone.

The man in the mask beside you took a glance down when your trembling brushed up against his leg, his head tilting slightly in a demented way that made his mask look haunted. You were suddenly reminded of your own mask that you wore for work, of the ones the other girls wore, and you were struck with the realization that, perhaps, you and he were not so different. You both wore masks to hide your faces, holding out your hands and moving to a particular kind of dance in order to snatch money right out of pockets without batting a damn eye.

Then again, when you danced, you didn’t hold an automatic rifle strapped to your shoulder.

“Give it to me,” said the man above you. You were barely able to understand his words through his mask.

Your heart skipped yet another few beats as you tried to register what he was saying. Give it to him? Give him what? “What?” you managed to say over the lead in your throat.

He nodded his head to the space beside you, and you whipped around. Your purse lay on its side next to your thigh. He wanted your purse; your wallet. Your money. Everything you had - which still wasn’t much. But you couldn’t give it up.

You looked back up at him while he switched his gaze between you and the teller, who was still busy filling the bag with cash. “No,” you said, and when he snapped his gaze to yours, you added, “please. I don’t have much, I don’t have anything compared to this place.”

The man in the mask turned away from the teller to grip his rifle tighter, tilting it slightly so that it was level with your leg curled up against your chest. “I’m not going to ask again, lady.”

Just as your hand began to scrabble for the purse laying beside you, knocking around a few papers and loose change that had fallen out, the man was struck in the face with a mass of white substance that clung to his mask. He cried out and dropped his rifle, hands flying up in an attempt to pull the stuff from his eye holes. You watched, frozen in place, as another masked man across the lobby was stuck to a countertop by his hand with another mass that appeared from seemingly nowhere.

Before anyone else could react, a dark, sinewy figure dropped from the arched ceilings overhead and kneeled on the tile just a few feet from where you huddled. When they stood up straight, your breath hitched in your throat. It was a man, donned head to toe in a blue and red suit that popped with color here in this bleak interior - like your yellow dress. His face was covered with a mask, the only indication of an expression beneath that surface retractable eye lenses that narrowed as he took a glance around the ceiling.

Spiderman exhaled a nearly inaudible huff. “Some things never change.”

From that moment, the bank was painted into a picture of chaos. The masked vigilante expelled a pair of webs from his wrist to slingshot himself across the lobby, landing a jaw-cracking blow to one of the robbers who tried to raise his rifle. The fourth, the last one still able to move, cracked off a number of shots that sent people scrambling and wailing out. The blue and red suit shot off tiny sparks as lead collided with its bulletproof material, nothing but pebbles against a mountain.

Spiderman huffed again, a breathy little chuckle this time. “Cute.”

In the next second, that fourth gunman was sent flying into a marble wall, sliding down onto his face to reveal the large crack his spine had put in its surface. The last two men were taken down quicker than you could have blinked. The second, his hand still stuck to the countertop, didn’t stand much of a chance when webs ripped his own rifle from his grasp and struck him across the forehead with a sickening crack. And the man who had demanded your purse - he’d only just gotten the white mass of sticky stuff off his mask before the vigilante slung across the room, grabbed him by his vest, and raised a gloved hand capped with three-inch long claws. “It’s impolite to threaten pretty ladies,” he growled in a voice that, for some reason, despite the situation, made your stomach churn a jolt of pleasure straight to your core. He swung the robber toward you where you sat on the ground, that clawed hand gripping his jaw to force him to keep your eyes. “Apologize - like a gentleman. And maybe I’ll think about letting you keep your trigger finger in one piece.”

By now, with the gunmen either unconscious or being held against their will, almost everyone else in the bank had gotten to their feet and bolted out the front doors. In the distance, sirens wailed and tires screeched. And yet you remained where you were, staring up at Spiderman as he tightened his grip on the man’s jaw. His claws drew tiny dots of blood along his skin. “We’re waiting,” he said in a breathy murmur.

The gunman inhaled a high-pitched, shaky breath and turned his eyes to you from behind his mask. “M’sorry,” he stuttered over his own terror.

The vigilante leaned closer, his eye lenses narrowing. “Sorry for what?”

“M’sorry for threatening you,” came the pathetic cry in response that almost made you pity him. Almost. “It - it won’t happen again, I swear.”

For a short moment, the two men stared at you. One was praying that you accepted the apology, prayed you were going to call off your savior in spandex. The other was waiting for your decision, waiting to see if you accepted such a sorry excuse for a ‘sorry.’ Swallowing the large lump in your throat, you wordlessly bobbed your head in a nod.

Spiderman hummed and turned his head so that his mouth would be close to the robber’s ear. “Seems the lady’s feeling generous today. Consider yourself lucky.”

He spun the man around with those claws of his, and the robber’s gloved hand reached out in a blind panic and grabbed onto the vigilante’s suit just where his neck met his broad shoulders. He dragged the spandex down accidentally as his head was slammed against the marble countertops, giving you perhaps a one second-long glimpse of dark, tan skin and a small scar across his collarbone. Then the man’s grip relaxed as he dropped to the floor and he released the material of the suit, allowing it to snap back into place.

You jumped slightly as the would-be robber collapsed in a heap of limbs and tactical gear beside you, your dress riding up on your thighs slightly from how you sat with your knees huddled to your chest. Before you could think to do much else in this mind-boggling moment, Spiderman was standing before you and offering a hand to help you to your feet. His claws had shrunk back into his glove - or, perhaps his own nails - and his upturned palm suddenly looked oh so inviting. It floored you in the most alluring, gut-clenching way how those very hands had just brought four men within an inch of their life, and yet now they were softer than empty promises just for you.

“You alright?” he asked as you took his hand and stood. “Sorry you had to get caught up in all this.”

He talked to you in such a casual way, like the pair of you had met before, that you could do nothing but stare and clutch your hands to your stomach as he scooped up the fallen items from your purse, dropped them back in, and handed your bag to you. Numbly, you accepted it.

“You’re safe to walk outside now,” he assured, towering over you like a damn stone column. Fuck, his voice was sexy. Low and tipped with a rolling accent. You wondered, in that moment, why it sounded so familiar. “The police should be arriving any time. They’ll just ask you a few questions and send you on your way.” As if he understood that you were frozen in place, he touched your back, turned you around, and urged you toward the front doors that were now flooded with red and blue lights from the squad cars outside. “Take care of yourself, alright?”

You had just barely mumbled a barely-audible ‘okay’ before he was gently guiding you out the doors, and then suddenly you were alone, facing down three dozen cops and a truckload of SWAT soldiers.

They asked you exactly what happened in that bank. They asked what you were doing there, what time the incident occurred, who in the hell could single handedly take down four aggressors with automatic rifles and bulletproof vests? They knew the answer, and so did you. But you told them anyway.

“It was Spiderman.”

And no matter how fucking hard you tried, how much you urged yourself to forget about them and focus on the here and now, you were unable to get that masked vigilante out of your head. You thought about him on the rest of the way to the school, because god knew there were far too few teachers in this city and you couldn’t have gotten a substitute even if you tried. You thought about him while your coworkers, the other teachers, all gathered around you in the breakroom and demanded answers and stories from your little incident that morning. You thought about him while you planned out your day with numb fingers and toes, and while you stood out front and welcomed kids in, and even when Miguel O’Hara appeared to drop off Gabriella safely at your side.

It took a few words out of his mouth, past those gorgeous full lips of his, a quirk of one of those thick brows, to finally bring you out of your stupor. “I’m sorry?” you said when you realized he had asked you a question. You felt your cheeks warm and your palms become sweaty as you begged his pardon.

To your relief, Miguel only smiled slightly and placed a hand on his jutted hip like he did. God, why did he have to do that? Draw attention to the perfect ratio of his body, a beautiful slope from his wide shoulders to his trimmed waist? “Just asking if you were alright,” he repeated himself, and you could have sworn his eyes flitted over you while he spoke. “Heard you were caught up in that robbery down on Fifth.”

“Oh… right.” You cleared your throat and watched as Gabriella spotted a few friends and dashed into the school to meet them, her backpack wagging behind her. “Yeah, I’m alright. Now that it’s over, I realize it didn’t even last that long. Maybe five minutes or so before… before Spiderman showed up.”

“Yeah?” He reached up his other hand to scratch at the underside of his chin, where the delicate skin of his throat was. Your eyes followed his movements like they were a magnet and you had no choice but to watch. Even if you did have a choice, you would have watched, anyway.

You nodded your head once, clasping your clipboard with your kids’ names on it to your thighs over your dress. A breeze blew over Washington Elementary, letting the yellow fabric dance and blow up to your knees. They were scuffed from kneeling on the hard tile floor this morning. “Mmm-hmm. He’s… not like I imagined him,” you admitted, then realized just what you were doing; talking to Miguel O’Hara, the main star in every single one of your late-night fantasies, about the man who had quite literally swooped in and saved your ass. “But, anyhow… No one got hurt. That’s what matters.”

The corners of Miguel’s lips quirked upward ever so slightly, showing off a tiny flash of his white teeth. It then occurred to you that you’d never seen him smile fully - only with a closed mouth. “Well,” he said, and lifted his hand an inch or two, almost like he was going to touch your arm, then stopped himself and lowered it back down. “I’m glad you’re safe.” There came a fraction of a second of tense, charged silence between the pair of you before he added, “Don’t know what we would do if something happened to Bri’s favorite teacher.”

Bri - you’d never heard him call her that before. It was always a full ‘Gabriella.’

Behind you, in the school, the bell rang, signaling the final five minutes before class started. You glanced over your shoulder, feeling your heart sink slightly at the realization that you would have to leave the conversation. “I’d better -” You allowed your sentence to fall away as a number of squad cars came rounding the corner across from the school, sirens wailing and tires squealing on the tarmac. Other vehicles on the road pulled over to let them pass as they blew through a red light; whatever was happening, it must have been serious. But wasn’t it always.

“Heh,” you chuckled gently as you began to turn back to Miguel. “Always something happening, ri-”

He was gone. Vanished, seemingly, into nothingness. No car to watch pull out of the lot, because he walked his daughter to school, and no trace of his hulking, towering form down the sidewalk outside the wrought iron gates that surrounded the building. He’d completely and totally disappeared.

Damn, you thought as you blinked a few times, gripping your clipboard, and entered the school. What an enigma he was.

That night at work, as you spun yourself around and around on the pole center stage in various twisted shapes and contortments, you found yourself divulging in yet another one of your little fantasies. You shut your eyes as you tensed your leg and gripped the pole to send yourself around in a tight, flashing circle that made the train - that your boss had specifically instructed you to wear while you were in the spotlight - flutter and whip like golden water pulled across a current.

You pictured Miguel seated in the leather chair closest to the stage, his chin propped on his forearms where they rested across the edge of your runway. You imagined the neon lights playing tricks and dirty, filthy, irresistable illusions in the gleam of his eyes, following your movements around and around because no matter how many times you did the same cheap trick, he would still watch it as if it were his first time seeing it. You thought of kneeling down in front of him even though it was against the rules to get too friendly with customers if they weren’t going to pay to see you up close, and of gently taking the point of his chin in between your fingers so that he was tilting his head up to look at you.

Fuck, you thought of him taking you on that fucking stage after the place was closed, hovering over you with your legs locked around his hips and your hands gripping the wrists pinned beside your head so tight your knuckles paled. You swore that, even in your little scenario, you could feel his breath fanning across your face as he leaned down to murmur in your ear through his huffs and lustful, breathy sighs.

“Such a good girl, takin’ it all f’me. Pretty girl, pretty baby. All mine. All mine.”

You opened your eyes and forced yourself to return to reality when you felt yourself being watched. Of course you were being watched - there were dozens upon dozens of eyes surrounding your stage, watching from behind the porcelain gaps in their animalistic masks. But there was another sensation of being stared at that didn’t quite fit in with the rest of them, one that sent a certain kind of shiver down your spine. Keeping in time with your routine and the music thrumming through the floorboards of the club, you peered deep into the wide atrium in search of whoever was fixing you with such a gaze.

You found it.

He was standing nearly in the shadows where the lights couldn’t reach him, arms crossed tight over his chest and stance firm so that everyone who looked at him knew to never even think of invading the space he’d claimed for himself. The man was tall and sinewy with muscle, but you had to squint to see his frame clearly through the dark and the dress jacket he wore. Over his face, the edges obscured by the slicked-back mess of dark hair atop his head, he wore the club’s one and only spider mask.

It was a specialty disguise, one that only the top rollers and highest bidders of the evening bribed their way to at the front room. It usually signified that whoever was behind the porcelain wanted attention, wanted drinks to come nonstop to their side tables, wanted every girl in the damn house on their lap and at their feet. And yet, this evening’s spider was nothing like that. He clung to the shadows, to the perimeter of the room, like he didn’t want anyone to know he was there. He took up no more space than necessary. He was practically a no one, despite the delicate, fractured-looking design he wore over his features.

And he was watching you dance like he was mesmerized, like if the doors were chained shut and the place was burning down around him, he’d be content to stay where he was and keep his eyes focused on your body.

When the man realized you had spotted him, that you were staring right back at him through the gaps of your monarch mask, he moved. You nearly wanted to cry out, to tell him to wait, that you weren’t done. But you couldn’t.

So instead you continued to dance, continued to watch him as he flowed through the other patrons toward the exit. Yet when he turned in just a particular way to avoid bumping into a server, you saw it; through the unbuttoned top pair of buttons of his dress shirt, you spotted it, you were able to catch a glimpse of a pale, raised scar running along his collarbone.

The very same you’d seen on Spiderman.

tags: @mooomeadows @twentysomethingwereyote @screamforyani @fangirlreice7 @axdjelx @ornamentalnecromancy @faust-pda @ilikethemoon28 @mrm-pachypoda @wadafrick

(strike through means your blog could not be tagged.)

#miguel o'hara smut #miguel o’hara x y/n #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara x you #miguel o'hara x reader #atsv miguel o’hara #miguel o’hara #into the spider verse #across the spiderverse #atsv x reader #atsv miguel #spiderman atsv #atsv

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n3ptoonz · 5 months

Note

Part 2 of MK1 men pushing the reader to a wall while kissing them, please? 😊

i mean i GUESS i can do that 🤭 since you asked so nicely! part one here

how liu kang, reiko, sub-zero, havik, johnny cage, scorpion, and geras go about pushing reader to the wall while kissing them

just know it may not show the long pauses i took while writing this but know IT HAPPENED!! THE THINGS I DO FOR YALL🫵🏾don't say i never did none😫

havik's regeneration mentioned. i've also been told havik looks like that on purpose so like, let's act like he can make his face go back to where it was for the sake of shits, giggles, and pandering XD

tags: @luna18night20 @momopad

warnings: suggestive, fluff elements, sphinx tried her best, there will not be a part 3 im sorry y'all 💔

Liu Kang

Liu Kang was rarely ever rough with you. In fact, the only way he'd do it is if you either verbally say it's fine, or if he knows you're poking the bear just to get a reaction. And when you get a reaction...there's no going back. You've kissed with your back to the wall several times, and every time was gentle and loving and laced with care. However, if you've presented that you were that desperate for him to give you the attention you deserve, he will gladly be a little rougher in pushing you back with his lips on yours. Just be prepared for him to leave some handprints on your waist.

Reiko

Reiko is a warrior. Hardened by battle and discipline, so the way he kisses you usually starts off that way. He can't help it. Not only is it the way he was raised and what he was told a man is "supposed to be", but it also came with how his partners were to be treated. When it came to you his sense of duty and protection spiked every single time. So here you were, well within his unintentional bear hug as your back was against the wall. His kisses always started off like he was going away to war/fight (because he usually was) but he would eventually melt and become smoother because you're by his side.

Sub-Zero

Bi-Han, a truly complex character. I believe that whoever captures his heart will be the main obsession in his life. In this case, it is you. He constantly needs to be on you, around you, see you, hear you, you name it. He can't get enough of your lips and this is especially apparent the way he's almost always pushing you to the wall while kissing you. Can we blame him? He's a tall hunk of touch-starved and the only thing that will satiate that hunger is roughly making out with you every chance he gets all while still knowing how to treat you like a porcelain antique.

Havik

Havik...this guy. Even though I'm pretty sure it's not canon I still feel like he'd regenerate and degenerate for fun and for different purposes/occasions. For the sake of my sanity I can say I found him fine as hell before his face got fucked up, and so did you. But you don't mind him either way because you love his crazy ass. Allow me to set the scene: You say something snappy to get his attention and boom...he regenerates his facial wounds just to back you against the wall and shut you up with pure smugness and arrogance behind his kiss. But, this is what you wanted, nonetheless. And you'd do it again!

Johnny Cage

Who's to say Johnny Cage wouldn't try to get you in one of his films just so he could keep getting takes of him backing you to a wall and kissing you? For Elder God's sakes, he's the one who wrote the script! And of course it's something dramatic like him being a villain that captures the hero and tries to convince them to ditch their position to be with him. Dude would totally think he's Loki (did i say that bc i think it would be hot if Loki did that to me? ..don't worry about it!) He's for sure fucking up his takes on purpose and you know this, but you only pretend to be irritated and maybe even fuck up a few yourself.

Scorpion

Kuai Liang, the romantic this man is. Like Liu Kang, he's never rough with you. Except it would take a little more convincing to let him know it's fine for him to act on his feelings when he wants to. With him, his kisses are slow and gentle. They will always start off like that even if he has a hard day. All he wants is to hold you, but it's like whenever your back hits the wall a gear starts turning in his brain. The idea of you having nowhere to go and enjoying it? Not even an Elder God is pulling him from your embrace. He gets handsy and a lot more affectionate around this time; he's kissing your face, neck, and shoulders too, because why the hell not?

Geras

Geras is a special case. He's an immortal who has never experienced romantic love before. So naturally you will have to teach him some things and even point out things he has observed that can be taken as romantic love. But he's still a man who has seen a lot, so this guy knows what kissing is and how to kiss. Surely you didn't think this giant fine ass immortal being didn't know how to treat his partner? Crazy talk! Understand that when you introduce the classic wall kiss by showing him what to do, he's leaning in to kiss you as he lifts you in his arms with no effort to be found and there won't be kissing going on much longer!

a/n: thanks for reading and i hope you enjoyed! collapses onto the ground

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princessbrunette · 6 days

Text

as ironic as it sounds, being shy was not for the weak.

sure, there was the obvious things like finding it difficult to make friends, feeling like you might pass out any time you have to order your own food, feeling deathly embarrassed for just doing simple things like wearing a new item of clothing or using an umbrella. all of those things accumulated from an amalgamation of anxiety ridden experiences that kept you awake at night — but the worst thing you found about being incredibly shy, was being unable to stick up for yourself.

it’s not like you didn’t have things to say, lord knows if you weren’t shy you would have torn these girls to shreds. however, any time you wanted to say anything, it was like you were frozen. like an evil villain from a storybook had stolen your voice box and left you defenceless against a huddle of evil stepsisters. you were convinced the girls in your ballet class were born evil. never taught right from wrong whilst you were forced into the corner of each session hot in the face and trying your hardest to concentrate whilst they loudly comment on you like you weren’t there.

“you know pope heyward pays for her dance tuition because she’s a pogue.”

“seriously? i’d be too embarrassed to even show my face if someone else had to pay my tuition for me. it’s not even that expensive.”

“right? imagine being poor, can’t relate. my friend said she saw her stealing from sephora last week, it’s like people don’t have shame anymore.”

“no offence but she shouldn’t even be in here with us.”

the catty laughter that followed only added insult to injury, and it continued on this way for the rest of the two hour session you were stuck with them for. by the end, you were ready to just leave that place and never return. perhaps you could simply find a way to pay pope off and go back to whatever it was you were doing before you joined the dance school.

a flood of relief washes over you when you finally return to popes student apartment, using the key he’d offered you to let yourself in— body slumped from exhaustion and sore from carrying your bags. you could see on the forecast there was a fifty percent chance of going non verbal tonight, just to recover from the day you’d had.

for a second the negative thoughts slip away when the door opens and one third of your trio is stood there bouncing a football off the wall. jj maybank, one of your two lovers turns his head and beams at you — and you don’t realise you’re crumpling into a sob until you recognise the crease in his brow and the way his smile slides off his face as quickly as it arrived.

“hey? woah, uh— let’s close this door yeah sugar? lemme get these bags. why’re you crying? c’mon tell papa j.” he’s doing everything at once — closing the door behind you whilst catching your trembling body and removing your bags from your grip.

“can’t do it. can’t do it anymore.” you wail into his chest as he pats your back in disorientation. jj was never the best at this kind of thing, but he was learning. at the commotion, pope comes strutting into the hallway in his rich-boy cardigan and slacks and you can’t even look at him. he’s everything you’re not.

“jj, please don’t tell me you made her cry two steps into this damn apartment.” pope deadpans and jj’s eyes widen at the accusation.

“wh— dude it wasn’t me! she just… walked in and started crying.” his voice softens and he cradles the back of your head, watching the way popes demeanour falters and he furrows his eyebrows, stepping closer.

“hey… did something happen? we need to know.” pope tries to get through to you, but you wrap your arms around jjs neck, hiding yourself from the world. the academic boy sighs, before nodding his head to jj to gesture to bring you into the living room. “i’m… gonna make you some tea. okay?” you feel the gentle touch of his hand on your back before he departs, leaving jj to lovingly wrangle you to the couch.

before long, you’re nestled between the two with your knees to your chin, allowing yourself to be coddled by your boyfriends.

“and — and then they said i’m poor and they saw me stealing… said i shouldn’t even be in the same room as them.” you tremble, staring ahead as pope mops up your tears.

“those little prissy bit—”

“jj.” pope warns before turning to you. “look, please don’t listen to them pretty girl. you belong there just as much as anyone else. more— even.” he shakes his head with wide eyes.

“no they’re right. i feel like a fraud even existing in the same space as them.”

“you got the whole shoplifting thing under control anyway so what’s their deal?” jj stands up, restless as he rips his hat off, running a hand through his hair before beginning to spin his cap around his fingers.

“i should have been more careful.” you squeak and jj sighs, coming back to you to stroke a hand lovingly over your head.

“forget these stuck up kook assholes, okay? no offence pope.”

“none taken.”

he cups your jaw, forcing you to look up at him. “you’re our little ballerina — and like, the best one i’ve ever seen. trust me, they’re mad ‘cus they’re jealous. i know that for a fact.”

“exactly. total case of jealousy.” pope chimes in, a hand resting on your lower back.

“so you’re not quittin’. you’re gonna go back to that studio tomorrow, with your head held high, and if you don’t tell them all to fuck off — i’ll come n’do it for you.” jj announces, loud and proud. you let a sniffly giggle slip, which relieves the two of them.

“jayj y’can’t do that.”

“okay — so i can’t come n’ tell them to fuck off but…” he leans in closer, suddenly dead serious. “i find out any of these chicks have brothers or boyfriends? they’re gonna have to answer to my glock. that should shake ‘em up.”

“yeah that’s smart. get kicked off campus.” pope sarks, the two of you knowing he would never actually do something like that — purely speaking out of emotion.

“for our girl? anything, dude.”

“okay well. more productively,” pope pats his thighs decisively before leaning forward to the coffee table and grabbing your mug of tea, placing it in your hands. “you’re gonna drink this, and then me and this thug are gonna make you feel all better. okay?” whilst you take a sip, pope presses a kiss to your forehead.

“feel better how?” you pout once you’d swallowed, holding your tea a little firmer as you feel jj drop carelessly into the seat beside you.

“i’m gonna massage out any aches and pains you may be experiencing from your dance class, and trust me i am well versed in the human body so i can really get in there.” pope explains, wrapping an arm around your waist and bringing you closer.

“mhm…” you encourage him to continue, already melting into the relaxation.

“and then, me and jj are gonna make you cum. a lot. many many times.” he states matter-of-factly, shooting a tingle through your body like he did each and every time he made a filthy promise like that. although you’re not looking at jj, you feel his hand raise in the air as he leans back on the couch.

“now that i can get behind.”

maybe you’d be okay after all.

#mouse!reader #kook!pope #jj x reader x pope

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ghost-proofbaby · 1 year

Text

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

HOUR EIGHT

in which graves are dug up, walls are built, and nobody knows what happened in the bathroom that night.

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

→ warnings: strong language, eventual smut, upside down does not exist, minors dni

→ wc: 4.6k+

masterlist.

spotify playlist.

◁ previous part, next part▷

8:00 ────ㅇ────────────── 24:00

DINGUS: hey, do you guys remember the first night they met?

BIRDIE: you mean when we took her to the bar to meet everyone and they very clearly fell in love at first sight? no, doesn’t ring a bell.

DINGUS: stop being such a fucking smart ass

NANCE: @DINGUS What about it?

DINGUS: she just called me asking me about it. said eddie was nice until you guys went to the bathroom. apparently he acted differently when you guys came back, but i can’t remember anything about what was said?? did eddie actually start acting differently???

BIRDIE: i remember that! thought it was weird or eddie just started overthinking? i dunno. i was in the bathroom obviously.

ARGYLE 😎: oh i remember that night very clearly brochacho

ARGYLE 😎: kind of surprised you don’t, dude

JOHNNY: Oh God yeah @DINGUS you’re living up to your namesake dude

NANCE: You really don’t remember, do you?

DINGUS: @NANCE and how the fuck do YOU remember? you weren’t even there, nance. you were in the bathroom as robs put it.

NANCE: Best friend privileges. You really might want to remember, Dingus.

BIRDIE: @NANCE message me real quick?

DINGUS: hey! no fucking whispering! that’s not fucking helpful! @JOHNNY @ARGYLE 😎 what did i say?

NANCE: @BIRDIE I will. Let me call Eddie first.

—

HOUR EIGHT - 11:00 PM

You weren’t trying to eavesdrop - you were trying to sleep. If anyone asked you, you could have honestly defended yourself. The couch was uncomfortable, your back aching as you repeatedly twisted back and forth to just try and find a minute of rest. Your mind was reeling, still replaying all of your moments with Eddie leading up to this night. Suddenly, you were overthinking it all. You couldn’t differentiate between things that really happened, or things that you’d simply blown out of proportion due to your innate need to spin the narrative of Eddie being the villain.

“Yeah, I… I think she’s sleeping.”

You hadn’t even heard Eddie opening his door finally, your back facing the hallway as you stayed curled up tightly. His footsteps are heavy as he gets closer to you.

“She’s… uh, she’s on the couch.”

Immediately, you can hear a shrill voice shouting over the line. It’s hard to miss. You can imagine the way he’s wincing, holding the phone out from his ear in an attempt to not let her scolding damage his ear drums.

“I didn’t think she went to bed!” he hisses, trying to stay quiet, under the impression you’re still asleep, “I- Jesus H. Christ, Nance! Calm down, calm do-” he’s cut off as the anger over the line still leaks into the calm air of the room, “No. No, I wasn’t- I was going to let- Nance. Please, can I get a fucking word in?”

You hold your breath during his pause, and the clear scolding, Nancy’s scolding, finally ceases.

“I wasn’t going to let her sleep on the couch,” he says slowly. You almost turn over, almost face him and show him you’re very much awake and not sleeping. “I didn’t think she’d go to bed while I was in there. I thought… I thought- Jesus, I thought at worst, she’d snoop through my shit. Maybe go for a walk or something. I didn’t- I just… Fuck, I needed space. It’s just been a long night.”

Nancy’s voice is no longer audible, but it’s clear he’s listening to what she has to say. You’re nearly overcome with guilt; you’ve done plenty of things wrong, but to eavesdrop on a private conversation? It might be your worst crime against Eddie yet.

Suddenly, he says, “It’s just been a lot.”

Something in his tone has changed. It’s gone soft, whispering from his lips in sudden muted blue. It’s a type of sadness you can’t quite place – it’s the kind of mourning you’d seen in his eyes in the photo.

Nancy must say something, because he hums in response. It’s obviously not good enough of an answer for Nancy over the phone, because her voice grows back to audible levels, less shrill, more stern.

Eddie answers with words this time. “I… I think I do.”

He thinks he does what?

“I do. I really fuckin’ do.”

He’s more sure in his answer the second time around to the unknown question. The guilt grows. Inflating, turbulating, ready to crack your ribs. The vines are no longer there to hold you together.

You’re put out of your misery when Eddie murmurs out a bye, Nance and you can hear his phone snap shut. If it were just a mere few hours ago, one hour ago, you would have made a comment about it - you would have joked again about what year it was, how maybe the two of you should get to sleep so first thing in the morning, you could drag him down to the Apple store to get a normal phone like the rest of you. But you’re not a time traveler, and Eddie is still an ocean away from you.

And you’re not a strong swimmer. The water’s were rocky, were vicious, and if you dared to try and backstroke to his side of the water, you’d surely drown. He had to come to you.

You’re praying he comes to you. Eyes tightly screwed shut, still resembling a ball on his old couch.

Please reach out for me, your mind screams, please wake me up. Please tell me to come back to bed with you. Please tell me we can forget all the words said in the kitchen. Please, please, please.

You don’t know where the pleading comes from. But whatever gods and goddesses may exist, whatever higher power in the Universe that would normally ignore you, hears out your silent pleas.

His hand is warm when he first grabs your shoulder.

It’s not rough, surprisingly gentle as fingertips press into your clothed skin and the first shake comes. It’s hardly enough to rouse a truly sleeping person. And Eddie realizes this as the second shake is a bit more firm, moving you a little more with a soft whisper of, “Hey, wake up.”

The command isn’t as harsh as you’re used to from him. It’s crushed velvet, smoothing over your skin like the blanket you’d previously pondered for, making the guilt begin to deflate. A slow release of air and the accompanying feelings of dishonesty and disloyalty leaves your chest weathered when his next whisper comes not only louder, but closer.

“C’mon, you’ve gotta get up,” he insists, but all you care about is his cologne. He never changed it from that first night. Always something warm, always something spiced. And you hate it, because it’s still the feeling of coming home from a long week, “You’re not sleeping on the couch. I’ll carry you if I have to.”

That makes your sleeping facade crack. Your lips betray you - one twitch, and Eddie knows you’re awake, pressing you to roll onto your back.

“I know you’re awake now. Let’s go,” you can hear the dimples in his tone. You can picture the lazy smile, the shining eyes. With your eyes closed, you can pretend you never had to meet mean Eddie. When you’re not looking at him, it’s almost as if the man you initially met still exists, to have and to hold, to make inside jokes with as you let the scenery around the two of you fade to black.

You crack your eyes back open to find him looking down at you just as you’d expected, but not nearly with as much mischief or mirth as you had craved.

The Eddie you first met is gone. He’s not coming back, and you can’t live with your eyes closed. Hell, maybe he had drowned in that ocean between you two as well.

Maybe if you took the leap, just attempted to take on the waves, you’d meet him somewhere at the bottom of it all.

“I thought you said you’d carry me?” you tease.

His hand. His hand is still on your shoulder, and his palm is still searing you. You couldn’t pull away from its burn if you tried.

“I’d carry you if I had to,” he corrects, “You’re awake, therefore, I don’t have to.”

“I don’t know. I think my legs may be broken.”

Eddie says your name firmly. It takes you off guard, momentarily distracts you from the way he squeezes your shoulder, “Let’s go before I change my mind and leave you out here.”

You decide against putting up any further fight. You’re just happy he’s talking to you again. How odd and peculiar that feeling is.

You rise from the couch and take him in. He’s no longer in his jeans, having traded out his earlier day clothes for something more comfortable. A pair of comfortable grey sweatpants, one or two sizes too big with the drawn string pulled to its limit and tied into a knot. He’s wearing a faded band shirt, loved in every way possible: it’s been cut along the bottom to shorten it in length, several holes torn along the torso and in the neck hole, the once black fabric now a stormy shade of grey far darker than the sweatpants. There’s a logo across the chest, peeling away at the edges.

“Deftones?” you ask, squinting to make out the words written amongst the logo, “What is that? A band?”

He chuckles, almost in disbelief, before he realizes you’re serious, “Wait, you’ve really never heard of them?”

You shake your head, “No, are they any good?”

You’re still making no move to stand, Eddie towering over you as you tilt back to meet his gaze. The disbelief is morphing, ever changing, pulling in and out of his features like the sea against sand. Like the waves of his self-imposed ocean that taunts you. You only dig your toes into the sand, you only stand at a far enough distance to not get your feet wet yet. You’re not ready to dive in. You’re not brave enough yet.

His chuckle this time isn’t in disbelief.

“Yeah, yeah. They’re great. I can show you them later, if you just come to bed.”

The game of teasing and begging is over, and you refuse to push your luck. He’s talking to you. Normally. You finally stand and shrug off that hand on your shoulder, finally trying to get your wits and not glance down at the waistband of his boxers.

“Okay, lead the way,” you gesture before spinning your upper body around with your feet planted in place, a soft crack coming from your back.

There’s no words exchanged in that brief walk to the bedroom; there’s nothing else to really say. The fight happened, Eddie locked you out, you’re both having to start from square one. The ocean still calls to you, and there’s nothing you can change about it.

His room is the same as it was hours ago, when you’d locked yourself into it. A little messy, a little boyish, but comforting all the same.

“A couple ground rules,” he finally breaks the silence. Oh, this oughta be good. “One, no more looking through my shit for…. Uh, magazines.”

“Trust me,” you hold up a hand in defeat, “Learned my lesson the first time. You can keep your gross Playboys.”

His brows wrinkle in minute irritation, “Gross? They’re not gro- You know what? Whatever. Yeah. Stay away from my gross playboys. Second rule, I have enough pillows we can make a… wall, I guess?”

You have to bite back your amusement, you have to remind yourself of the roar of an ocean. Maybe if you taste the salt on your lips again, you’ll remember that this is all temporary.

“Sounds good to me,” you agree.

“Obviously that means staying on your side of the bed. And it’s not a big bed, obviously, so-”

“What side of the bed do you prefer?”

“Excuse me?”

He’s dumbfounded despite the question not being a hard one. “The bed – which side do you prefer?”

“I, uh, I-” he brings a hand up to the back of his neck, a nervous habit as he rubs his curls that are matted at the nape, “The left, I guess? Or I mean, if we’re looking down at it, it’d be the right, but…” he waves his hand in the general direction of the side he’s referring to, the one closest to the wall, “You know.”

A nervous Eddie is a sight to behold. The fidgeting, the flush of his neck and cheeks, the stuttering sentences. He’s nervous about sharing a bed with you.

“Perfect,” you offer a smile, although you don’t think it does much for him considering he’s looking down at the ground in bashfulness, “I prefer the right side. I just refer to them by left or right when you’re laying down, by the way.”

You don’t have to add that tidbit – you don’t need to reassure him that your mind works in the same way as his in the slightest. But you do, and the red of his cheeks lightens.

“Cool,” he murmurs.

“Cool,” you echo.

The awkwardness can be afforded as the two of you straighten out the comforter, not needing to focus on shaking hands or fluttering chests as Eddie climbs in first and begins to rearrange his spare pillows as a barrier. His sweatpants slip down a bit lower as he does this, and you catch sight of the band of his boxers.

The band of his boxers pressing into the jut of his hips. The streak of alabaster, soft and unmarked unlike his arms, and the coarse patch of hair that interrupts the center of it all.

“Have you ever considered getting hip tattoos?” you blurt out, and immediately, you both freeze.

You really need to learn to think before you speak.

“Uh… what?” Eddie chuckles nervously, presenting an opportunity to redeem yourself.

He didn’t even have to catch you staring. You’d outed yourself.

And yet, you choose to double down, to take the embarrassment in stride as if it doesn’t phase you, “Hip tattoos. Have you ever thought about getting some? I think they’d be pretty sick.”

Your self-destruction pays off when Eddie smiles up genuinely at you. Sugar coated sweetness, a bit of authentic amusement.

“You’re right. They would be pretty sick.”

He should have mocked you for staring at his hips. He should have taken the opportunity to embarrass you and run, but the tides are shifting between you two, and you keep taking two steps closer to his ocean. The sand only grows colder and colder the closer you get to the edge, and it has your mind reaming with the possibility of what it would feel like to recklessly dive in.

“I’m sorry, I’m going to need you to say that again, this time into the microphone,” you make a fist, an invisible microphone in your grasp as you thrust it out towards Eddie.

He laughs. He laughs, and its reverb travels through the caverns of your chest. Suddenly, you’re sipping a watered down Amaretto Sour and his breath smells of Jack & Coke, and the lowlights of the room have become treacherous bar lighting as you lean into his shoulder, sitting side by side on bar stools.

The echoes still carry as he swats away your hand, eyes squinted with the mirth you’d be seeking out since he ‘woke’ you up, “Jesus Christ, you’re an idiot.”

“Yeah, a funny idiot.”

“Oh, now you’re just pushing it too far.”

“Too far? I don’t think I’ve gone far enough.”

Why don’t we ever hang out? Why don’t we ever banter like this when out with the others?

It’s so easy, easy to continue to giggle as you turn out the bedroom light before crawling into bed with him, feeling his warmth radiating even through the pillows between the two of you. Pillows, oceans – they all have started to feel the same.

Once the two of you have settled, you on your side and Eddie on his back, a nicer sort of silence blankets you. It’s almost as soft as his voice when he woke you, almost the same type of crushed velvet if you don’t reach out to it. But if you were to touch it, brush your fingertips over the material with intention and inhibition, you’d find the roughness. Roughness that mimics sand amongst an ocean’s waves, a roughness that says there’s more to be spoken about.

“The bed’s nicer than the couch,” you speak out loud rhetorically, not necessarily to him, but to the coarseness. To the sand and to the fake velvet, “More comfortable.”

“I know,” he answers to fill the space. I know, meaning he’s slept on his couch.

It makes sense. It’s his couch. But your mind runs rampant with the scenarios. Did he discover this through afternoon naps after hard shifts? Or maybe after one too many night outs that ended in collapsing face first into the cushions because he was too drunk to make it to his bedroom?

You jump when he sits up suddenly, “Fuck.”

“What’s your problem?” you twist from your position of your back facing him, squinting into the darkness.

“The photo.”

“What photo?”

“Photo evidence, you idiot! We have to send a photo to those fuckers.”

You had nearly forgotten that this is what this is; your friends and a bet are the pushing force behind this all. It’s not fate, it’s not the moon bringing two tides together. You didn’t happen upon his beach because you two decided to give this, whatever this was, a fighting chance.

You sit up next to him, crinkling your nose, “My phone’s in the living room, I think.”

“I can go get it.”

An offer of chivalry you didn’t even have to ask for.

Same as him sharing the bed. Same as him paying for your meal when you forget your wallet, or catching you when you trip up steps outside a bar. You really wish the list would stop growing.

He’s shuffling out of the bed, down the line of pillows and off the end of it, before you can even protest. You didn’t even tell him where the godforsaken phone might be besides that it’s in the living room. That doesn’t stop him.

It feels like an eternity, but is probably no more than a full minute, before he’s returning back to the room. He’s looking down at the phone, your screen lit up and basking his face in the only light in the room.

“What is it?” you can only assume the chat is messaging for a photo, by the scrunch of his brows and the small part of his lips.

“Nothing.”

That was the first thing that made your stomach drop.

The second comes when he returns to the bed, fighting his way up into his original position, handing the phone over to you as you glance at the notifications.

A notification from Steve. A private message, not sent in the groupchat.

STEVE-O: i’m sorry, i really don’t know what happened that night. the others won’t tell me either so they’re kind of useless. whatever it was, i don’t think it was you, though, honey.

Honey. Mother fucking Steve Harrington, and his need to use nicknames.

“All good?” Eddie asks, as if he didn’t just have access to this message, as if he doesn’t know what Steve’s said. You don’t know why the thought of Eddie seeing Steve’s careless nickname throws you over the edge. You just assume he’ll take it out of context, that he’ll spin it as a weapon against you.

“Fine,” you curtly reply, opening your phone and ignoring the message, going straight to the group chat and opening your camera. Your heart is still racing in terrible inconvenience as you glance over your shoulder at him, “How do we wanna take it this time?”

“I don’t know about you, but I personally just love to take it laying down-”

“Are you trying to make a sexual innuendo right now? Because if so, stop. It’s terrible.”

More giggles, more chuckles, more taunting waves of a daunting ocean that is scaring you less and less. Maybe the jump is worth it. Maybe the initial chill will break and show you warmth. Maybe it would never be cold to begin with.

At least he’s teasing you, which is a good sign. You lay down in the same position as earlier, this time Eddie propping himself up to peek over the wall of pillows so his face is in the picture.

It’s too dark to really see your faces very clearly. You can still make them out, to be fair, but it’s hard. You have to strain your eyes quite a bit to make out the mess of your hair and the indents of Eddie’s dimples.

Eddie’s dimples. His dimples. Oh God, he’s smiling.

“Turn on the flash,” he reaches over, invades your space with boy and spice and nostalgia to tap on the screen himself and do as he had just requested.

“What was the point of telling me to do it, if you were just going to do it yourself,” you grumble, trying to yank the phone out of his reach. He only leans further, pressing into the boundary of pillows, his collarbone knocking against the back of your shoulder.

Warmth. So, so much warmth. It occurs to you that it’s not just the smell of his cologne that feels like a long week’s homecoming; his touch and presence can manage to do the same, when he’s not being a pest of course.

“Shut up and take the photo,” he bickers before giving up and settling back into his pose. He even adds to it, throwing up a peace sign with the hand not holding him up.

You can’t help but tease him for it, mimicking the motion with your own hand and failing at holding back your tittering. When you tap the button to take the photo, the screen flashes white and you both immediately groan before rubbing your eyes.

“Fuck.”

“Wow, bright idea.”

“Was that a pun?” Eddie stops mid eye rub, side-eyeing you, “Fuck off. That was a terrible pun.”

“I never said my puns were good!” you try to defend yourself, blinking to bring relief to your scorned irises and focus on the photo of the two of you, “I said my jokes were good.”

“Puns are jokes.”

You completely ignore him, and instead sigh deeply when you see the photo, “We need to retake it. No flash, this time. They can adjust brightness on their own time.”

The photo is terrible, truly. The photo captures the moment somewhere between your enjoyment of copying Eddie and the pain the two of you had brought upon yourselves. Squinty eyes, coiled lips. Two peace signs of two drastically differently sized hands.

Don’t you dare, you scorn your mind at that trail of thought, don’t even start that comparison.

“Why?” Eddie protests, once again beginning to lean over and take a closer look at your phone, chest brushing your shoulder again, “Oh, c’mon, it’s fine – just send it so we can sleep before they bother us again.”

You just shake your head, already reopening the camera app and being sure to adjust the settings. No blinding this photo.

“Say cheese, pretty boy.”

It’s not until you’ve tapped to take the photo that you both realize what you’ve said.

Pretty boy.

Eddie is leaning in still, just as he is in the photo you’ve taken, and both of you look far too happy to be sharing a bed. The words – the nickname, the compliment – are still formed on your lips in it. If the flash was on again, you’d see the blush of his reaction.

Neither comment on it. You won’t lean into your embarrassment for a second time tonight, and Eddie isn’t in the business of teasing you cruelly anymore, it seems.

You can hear him swallow hard before he asks, “Is that one good?”

“Fine,” you squeak before clearing your throat, “Um, yeah, it’s good. I sent it.”

“Okay, good.”

“Good.”

The awkwardness is stifling. Heavy and drowning and goddamn stifling.

You toss your phone far too quickly onto his nightstand, wishing the bed would swallow you whole.

If you two were friends, it would have been mindless teasing. The same as when Steve calls you honey, or Robin rambles about how hot you look on a night out. But you two aren’t friends.

You two aren’t friends because of some mysterious change that occurred in Eddie while you went to the bathroom. You haven’t forgotten the burning question, and the longer you two lay there, the more you let it consume you rather than regret.

“Hey, Eddie? Can I ask you a question?”

He’s laying flat on his back as he answers you, hands nervously wringing on his stomach, “You just did, but sure.”

It should be a good thing. He’s still teasing you, it’s still a good thing. But all your questions die in your throat.

What happened when I went into the bathroom that first night?

Why did you turn so cold towards me?

Was it my fault?

Why aren’t we friends?

The last one doesn’t go down without a fight. It reverberates and battles you, it tries to pull you into the ocean head first.

Why aren’t we friends?

“Do you still drive a motorcycle?”

That sure was a funny way of asking what you needed to.

He’s quiet for a moment, clearly puzzled by your random question, but nevertheless he says, “Yeah. Why?”

“No reason.”

You’re picturing him stalking away from you again, without so much as a goodbye, straddling the bike and tucking his head away into the motorcycle. The last glimpse you’d ever had of everything he could have been to you. It’s enough to make your eyes water, your bones shake, your toes curl into coarse sand until they bleed.

The next time you hear his voice, he’s whispering your name. You don’t respond, and so he tries it again, saying it a bit louder this time.

“I know you’re not asleep. No one can fall asleep that quickly.”

“I can,” you snap, still choking on his waves and personal mourning, a yearning you need to find the grave of once more to bury – for good this time.

“Clearly, you can’t,” he shuffles, but you don’t check to see if he’s sitting up. (He’s not, he feels like his back is glued to the bed). His voice is back to crushed velvet and kindness, vulnerability and softness, a sort of home you can never return to, “I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”

That piques your interest. You turn, laying on your back and looking at the same ceiling as him in that moment, “For what? Earlier in the kitchen? Or at the bar?” you feel his flinch, and are quick to add, “Because consider it water under the bridge, okay? You’re forgive-”

“I mean for everything. I’m sorry for… everything.”

Everything. Ten letters, four syllables. It means a whole lot more than it should be capable of.

“Everything?” your voice is hardly audible as you turn to look at him. He’s half hidden by the wall put between the two of you. But if you squint, if you adjusted the brightness, you wonder if you’d see his eyes shining with the same remorse yours burn with. You wonder if you’d see the dirt caked under his nails from also digging up graves he shouldn’t have tonight.

“Everything.”

Ten letters, four syllables, one leap of faith. The ocean isn’t as cold as you’d thought it would be.

—

BIRDIE is typing…

DINGUS: i swear to god rob. if you’re not about to tell me what the fuck i did that night, you better lock your phone and just go to bed.

BIRDIE stops typing.

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#twenty four hours #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #i gotta stop with the metaphors lol #i know it would notify them that robin stops typing but i think it'd be so funny to watch her lil bubble of dots disappear #robin was ready to scream about them sharing a bed

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sipsteainanxiety · 2 years

Text

your voice tended to get lost in groups sometimes.

your friends were quite... loud, at times. rambunctious. it was difficult to be heard whenever you wanted to say something. you didn't blame them, not really. they were so energetic all the time that it was only inevitable that someone like you—soft-spoken and significantly quieter than them—would get drowned out in the face of their fast-paced enthusiasm.

to their credit, they didn't exclude you intentionally. they did remember your presence and they often did their best to get you to contribute to conversations. but, well, they didn't always.

not that you were particularly incensed about it. you were new to the group anyways, it was only natural that they would forget you were there from time to time.

overall, though, you thought yourself lucky to be able to settle in so easily with their friend group. they were very accommodating and nice—you couldn't recall a single moment where they made you feel like an imposter. they'd adopted you into their lives like you were a stray cat on the streets and you couldn't find it in yourself to be ungrateful.

currently, you were sitting in the apartment of ashido mina, having been invited to one of her get togethers for some of her classmates from her high school days. you were familiar with most—if not all—of them by now and had been warmly welcomed into her home to catch up with their exciting lives.

you sat quietly on the fuzzy pink ottoman ashido had and sipped at a drink she'd made for you that bubbled down your throat. around you, multiple conversations were occurring as people had sectioned off into little circles for the time being. you were partially included in one of the circles closest to you and listened on as kaminari denki chatted with a few others about one of the more recent missions he'd done.

"yeah, i didn't realize the villain had smashed my shooter until it was too late!" he sighed dramatically and shook his head. "i'd fully brought it up to nail him in the face, too! imagine my surprise when it didn't shoot out any of my disks! i was almost outta charge at that point, i was so desperate..."

"bummer, man." sero hanta grinned in that familiar way of his. "aren't you supposed to be a pro? how you get caught slacking like that, dude?"

"i don't know!!" kaminari almost wailed. "i almost got squashed by his quirk but lucky for me, ei was there—"

"i'd always take a hit for you, man!" kirishima eijirou said as he clapped his friend on the shoulder with a smile. "did you send your shooter to hatsume?"

"yeah, i dropped by her shop yesterday." kaminari then pouted slightly. "she almost beat me up for it. i told her i was sorry a million times!"

"oh!" you perked up slightly and opened your mouth to add in your own story. "that reminds me of when i—" but your voice got drowned out when kaminari started talking loudly about hatsume always messing with him, and you found yourself clamping your lips shut to avoid talking over him or getting overpowered.

you instead resigned yourself to taking another sip of your drink. and that was when you suddenly heard a low grunt to your right.

lounging on the loveseat ashido owned was bakugou katsuki, glass in hand as he stared at some random point to his left. he looked like he didn't want to be here—like he didn't care—but you knew it was all just for show. he tended, like you, to sit to the side and simply watch to the people around him. it sometimes gave you an odd sense of camaraderie with the man, even if you'd never had a proper conversation with him before.

his ruby eyes swiveled in your direction when you looked at him and he raised a singular pale eyebrow at you. "you were sayin'?" he said in a rough voice. "m'listenin'."

you stared at him like you were a goldfish—eyes wide and mouth agape—then smiled lightly and scooted closer so you could continue your story.

and you learned that bakugou katsuki paid attention to those around him. he paid attention, and he listened.

because he cared.

he picked up on little things that most people wouldn't, his sharp eyes quick to analyze and assess. he wasn't particularly fond of being the focus of a conversation and rarely put himself in that position. he did add his two cents when people expected him to—when they looked at him for his input on a certain thing or when they teased him to get him to say something, anything. but he much preferred to be on the outside looking in. after all, it was quiet there.

he was tuned—even if it didn't seem like it—to his friends' emotions. he was the foundation that they could stand on, the glue that kept them together. he wasn't good with words, but he was good at sitting and listening. and contrary to what others believed, he didn't mind it, either.

he occasionally gave solid advice, too. advice you never knew you needed to hear.

"don't be afraid t'speak up," he grunted at you one day when it was just the two of you. "your words matter." you matter, went unsaid.

you used to think he would get annoyed easily at having to listen to people ramble all the time. but he didn't—not when it was someone he trusted, someone he was close to. it was just another thing you hadn't expected from loud, explosive bakugou katsuki. another thing you kept note of and stored away in a little box to keep.

and as you chatted with him happily, watching him listen to you attentively as though every word you said was important, you couldn't help but to smile at him warmly.

#this one's for all my quiet shawties out there #i hear u<3 #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #katsuki x reader #bakugou x you #bakugou drabble #this is so SHIT but take it anyways gn

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