#followed by Probably something like 'jesus fucking christ?'
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Day 8 - Will, 647 words
Roy looks at him and looks at him and looks at him.
Jamie's just sitting there on his nice leather couch, trying to make some of the words he's rehearsed for this whole thing come out of his mouth. His leg bounces up and down, all nervous energy. Unable to be still.
He even gave himself a whole pep talk on the drive to Roy's place, but sitting here under the force of Roy's stony stare makes this harder than he thought it would be.
"Jamie," Roy finally says, and to his credit, he only sounds a little exasperated. "You said you wanted to talk, so fucking talk."
"I know! I know. Fuck." Jamie drags his hands through his hair. "Had this whole speech rehearsed in the mirror this morning, but now it's like. Fuck. I look at you, and it's all flown out of my head."
Roy's eyebrows furrow. "The fuck does that mean? Why are you so nervous?"
"Its. It's just kind of a big deal, I guess."
"You decided you want to leave," Roy says, and it's not a question.
Jamie rolls his eyes. "Why are you so fucking stuck on that? I told you this ain't a Coach Kent thing. It's not about football for once. This is about...me and you."
"What about us?"
Just say it. Just fucking say it, Tartt. He berates himself in his head. Opens his mouth. Says nothing. Takes a deep breath. Tries to will the words to come out.
"Had a dream about you, the other night," he manages, just leaping right in. "It was. Dead fucking hot, actually. You had me in your lap, and your fingers were..." Jamie trails off, blushing darkly. He gestures down his body, not making eye contact. "Then I woke up, and I thought—there's this way you look at me sometimes—"
"Fuck." Roy curses with more force than usual, and Jamie's eyes snap up to his face. His cheeks are pink all the way to the tips of his ears, and he's staring at Jamie like he either wants to eat him or murder him.
"Sorry," Jamie says immediately. "I know that's weird. I know. But I just..."
"How do I look at you?" Roy demands.
"What?"
"How do I fucking look at you, Jamie?"
He swallows hard. "Like. Like maybe you want me? Like maybe I mean more to you than just being your project or whatever." It comes out almost meek, not like the confidant, bright Jamie Tartt he usually is. But Roy Kent just fucking does something to him. Makes him feel like he's a teenager again, staring up at that poster in his bedroom, desperate to be worth his time.
Roy's face does the thundercloud thing, and it's unreadable in the moment. Jamie doesn't know if he's pissed or uncomfortable or disgusted or what. Now he's doubting himself, doubting every little moment between them over the last year or so that has lead to this. Maybe it was all in his head. Maybe Roy just thinks of him the same way he does any of the other lads on the team.
"Jamie." Roy's voice cuts into Jamie's internal monologue, sharp and commanding.
"Sorry," Jamie says again. "Probably just wishful thinking, yeah? I can go—"
"Shut up. Come here."
He's getting up before he even registers the instruction properly, his body just used to following Roy's orders by now. It's still impossible to tell what he's thinking, even as Jamie comes to stand in front of him.
"Why are you so fucking nervous?" Roy asks again, and his voice is softer now.
"I—I don't want to fuck this up, yeah? You're a dead good coach, and my best fucking friend, and I just don't want to ruin that because I went and started dreaming about you making me come so hard I can't see straight."
"Jesus fucking Christ, Jamie."
"I—"
Roy holds up a hand and scowls, cutting him off. "Stop fucking apologizing. Just." He growls under his breath and then yanks Jamie towards him, mashing their mouths together.
#royjamie#jamie tartt#roy kent#transmasc jamie tartt#noah plays with words#microficmay2024#they finally used their words!!#the next couple of updates are just pure smut so get ready for that i guess#also jesus i should rename this endeavor 'noah abuses the em dash'
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im gonna start a fight; and, at the same time, i need you to take this in the most good-faith way possible, but:
videos that involve body-checking and intentionally (and uncritically) show a mealplan of an unhealthy number of calories are just a revamped version of pro-ana food diaries.
and yeah, i know there's arguments. i address some of them under the cut. but at the end of the day, we're just coming back to romanticizing mental illness; we've just found a better platform for it.
this is already something we've done. we knew it was wrong and tried to stop it. and tbh. it just wasn't enough.
there are people who argue "well, what if you have an eating disorder, you can't help it if you don't eat!" except that as someone with an ED; we are not infants. we know what we're doing. part of having an ED is that you are like, maybe too self-aware. even if we can't help our own food choices, we don't need to fucking romanticize the disorder - something we've been warning you about since 2013. there are hours of setup, filming, and editing that go into these videos. they do not happen to fall into place randomly. there is a reason they are pieced together to be beautiful, bright, inspiring.
there's this woman who pretty much only posts daily plans under a normal amount of calories, and everyone defends her saying but it's better than nothing! and i'm like. except she opens those with images of her showing off her body and provides no context in the video or caption that suggests that she believes what she's doing is unhealthy. she has hundreds of thousands of followers on a platform designed for young kids and teens. i refuse to believe that by accident her content just happens to be cheery advice on "healthy" versions of starving.
for any other symptom of mental illness, we would be incredibly enraged by this kind of placid acceptance of a "tips and tricks" fast-start guide. imagine if people posted pink & pretty videos saying "best places to cut yourself" as if it was a fucking storytime. we, as a society, are so fucking fatphobic that we would rather accept blatantly harmful displays of self harm than admit that we are obsessed with a hyper-thin body type.
i am not suggesting someone never talks about their disorder. i talk about mine. actually, it's a plot point in my book.
here's the difference: i recognize it's a fucking mental illness. i am very careful to never mention a specific weight, eating pattern, or calorie plan. i always make sure to position it as something that ruined my fucking life. i do not put cheery music in the background and hearts and sparkles over my worst moments. i do not film it in bright light. i do not start each passage with an image of a thin body followed by "here's how to look like her."
eating disorders should not be framed as aspirational. and the problem is that society worships the "after" image, so long as you don't get too sick. there is a reason so many people who quit being "influencers" will later admit - i wasn't eating well that whole time; an obsession with food was completely destroying my life.
we let any uncredited, uncertified person write the most backwards, fucked up shit about how to get the body you desire! because the underlying, secret belief is: well, at least they're thin! and the real thing that fucking gets me each time - they make fucking money off of it. their irresponsibility and societal harm literally pays off for them.
"why do you care so much." "don't like it don't look." "so what if people experiment with new ways of thinking of food?"
thank you for asking. we're about to get extremely personal. it's because when i was 18 i discovered "thinspiration"/"thinspo." and it absolutely influenced, shaped, and codified my pre-existing eating disorder. i went from having some troubling habits and traits to being incredibly unwell within what felt like a matter of days. there were actual pages designed to train me on how to have an ED correctly. it was all so suddenly easy. i was sick; and the nature of the illness meant - i wanted to be sicker.
it takes an average of 7 years for a person to fully recover. i know this personally - even now, 10 years from the worst of it, i still fucking struggle. i am so much happier now and i eat what i want and i literally don't think about food at all (19 year old me would shudder) and yet - i still fucking know the calories of plain toast with butter.
an eating disorder is one of the deadliest types of mental illness. over 1 in 4 people with an ED will attempt suicide.
and i'm sorry. i just do not see the exchange rate of "high rate of engagement" versus "the value of a human life."
#and there's something else in there about like ....#tbh once i got over something like 1k followers#i stopped being specific about my ED for a REASON.#yes on ur personal locked blog that u use like a diary go ahead etc#but we are OBVIOUSLY not talking about that. we're talking about the sheer NUMBER of people i could be talking about#in that one paragraph. that you and i probably were thinking about 2 different influencers#bc they get to say that they're just posting FITNESS and if it's FITNESS it's OKAY and im like#jesus christ lord almighty#every person in recovery from an ED: this is incredibly dangerous holy shit do you know how much this would have triggered me#each of these ppl: how dare you!!!!!!!!! i am only harming those who WANT to engage with my content!!!!!#their followers: leave them alone !!! they can't help that they make an hours-long choice to frame their disorder as if it was#fucking cottagecore !!!!#like girlie this person needs THERAPY#again! i didn't even have that large of a following before i IMMEDIATELY deleted any specific mention of calories food etc#bc i recognize responsibility and i didnt EVER want to even ACCIDENTALLY encourage this#and im not even GETTING PAID FOR THIS!!!#aND THEY ARE!!!#something something something they know this content makes them money#they don't give a SHIT about u babe
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hmmmmmm.................vent post under tags...... feel free to give advice or dont¯\_(ツ)_/¯
#i think this is an autism related thing#but i genuinely feel like i wasnt made right for the world we live in#like something is just missing from me that ive never seen ppl talk about#and i know this is going to sound entitled and privileged and i KNOW i know i promise and im so lucky i can even be thinking about this but#it feels weird to have the privilege to be scared#this is specifically in regards to working#like having a job. like going to work#i feel like im missing an extremely important part of my brain or my BEING that is capable ot going through the motions of participating#in society. i never felt that switch of wanting to get a job in high school to make money for myself and get that experience#i feel like there's something i MISSED where everyone took a class on how to apply and go to interviews and write resumes and not be scared#like i NEED to be walked through every SINGLE step because i dont know HOW#and i see my peers and the literal entire world around me participating in this atmosphere and i dont know where to start#im fucking twenty three years old and ive only ever been an intern and an assistant#not even a full year of working#i cant drive and i probably wont ever because thats a whole other can of worms#and that means i have to rely on other people to even get to wherever it was i needed to go#i feel like a fucking child because im missing this knowledge that everyone else seems to have#ive tried i really have but none of it seems simple and its all so much and there arent steps to follow#i mean there ARE but its like 1) look up job 2) apply 3) interview 4) yay you're employed#and im talking about each micro step inbetween#what am i missing#and then theres the fucking demand avoidance that slaps me across the face whenever my mom brings it up to me like i KNOW youre being#supportive and encouraging and its not your fault my brain turns off and decides im full of shame bc i cant CONFRONT ANYTHING#jesus christ#manf i know u can see this maybe dont bring it up to mom i can do that on my own maybe#i WANT to help i just want to help at my own pace but unfortunately the world isnt built around individual paces and nothing revolves#around me. i know this#i want to help my mom i want her to never be stressed about money and to retire and never work or help me pay my student loans but i#genuinely feel like theres a switch that never turned on in my head and im being left behind and i genuinely dont know how to. like be alive
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Since I'm back after a little unplanned hiatus, time to blab about another dumb idea I had for an AU that I'll never write! So! For some reason, a while back, I decided I really wanted to come up with a trashy reality show AU for Max Squared, where MJF decides to exploit Caster's immediate, intense love for him by starting up a little showmance. Max wants to manipulate the editing of the show as well as the game itself to make sure that he wins and/or becomes the breakout star of the season. So when Caster falls head over heels for him on Day One, he's presented with the perfect opportunity.
Initially, I was thinking the show would be a Survivor type deal, a bunch of people on a desert island or something, voting each other off, so Max's game is stringing Caster along so that he won't ever vote against him and he always has an ally help him vote out whoever he considers his biggest competition. But then I started to think it might be funnier if it was an American Idol style singing competition. It kinda fits, right? Both MJF and Caster are musically inclined, after all. And it changes the logic behind Max's plan - he wants to manipulate the editing of the show, make himself seem like a nice, endearing guy so the public will vote to keep him in the show, and ensure he gets a lot more screen time than the the other contestants. And what better way to do than pretending to be falling in love with this weirdo who's obsessed with you? A heart-warming queer romance on a show where only one of them can win? That's some good trash TV there, right?
MJF insists to Caster that it's all an act on his part. He's only pretending to be in love with him for the show, to tug on the heartstrings of all the stupid fans out there who think this shit is anything close to real. A ploy to make himself seem like the perfect charming, irresistible hero he needs to be in order to win this damn thing. And Caster's just like ''Whatever you say, sweetie,'' because he knows before Max does.
Maybe after a certain point, Max figures, hey, there's no harm in sleeping with the guy. It doesn't mean anything - Caster's so willing, so he may as well get laid. Of course, Caster thinks this is a sign that he really does have feelings for him, no matter how many times MJF tells him that it's not because he's actually attracted to him. No, it's just a ''power thing''.
He's only pretending, right? Caster's a fucking loser, a pawn in Max's grand master plan to emerge victorious. There's no way he could end up actually developing feelings for him over the course of the show, right? It's all for the show, it's fake, it's not real! There's simply no way he could...
Also, I'd want there to be a point where one night, Caster straight-up begs Max to let him eat his ass. And MJF's like ''Ugh, no way! That's disgusting! You're insane! You're a fucking weirdo! You're gross! You're...you'd do that for me?'' and of course, Caster tells him he'd do anything for him. And Max finds he can't resist anymore. So he lets Caster do it and he makes sure he doesn't regret it. Max's probably so loud during it that it pisses off the other contestants and the crew members who can hear it through the walls because Max simply cannot keep quiet like he usually can.
#What is wrong with you Sam you should not be allowed to write#Y'all were free from me subjecting you to my terrible ideas for a few days but I'm back bitches!!#And worse than ever!#This is definitely one of those ideas that it's a good thing I'll never write#Been rattling around in my head for a while but I won't ever make it happen and that's for the best#I don't think I have it in me to write something trashy enough for this idea#Because it would need to be trashy like a reality show but I'd probably hold back too much#But the goofiness of the situation would have been fun to play around with#I feel like there's a lot of comedic potential to this AU at least#Also whoops got very H-word at the end there my sincerest apologies#But in my defence...trashy reality show AU and it's Max Squared what did you expect?#Does anyone still care about Max Squared besides me? It feels like everyone else has migrated over to AdaMJF#Gone where I cannot follow#Jesus fucking Christ Sam why are you still making tags SHUT UP ALREADY!#This is what happens when I have to go three whole days without internet this bitch has lost their damn mind#OK I promise I'll shut up now sorry
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#gonna vent here bc it#is the only platform where ppl from real life don’t follow me#but if one more friend of mine cancels our plans last minute#bc they need to spend time with or take care of their BOYFRIEND#I’m going to set something on fucking fire I’m literally seething#it comes off so disrespectful and demeaning when this fucking happens I’m sick of it#and it makes me feel so unimportant and lonely like Jesus Christ#ok rant over I should probably go eat something
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If you think the CC boys aren't looking for Eddie, you're wrong
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Steve opened his trunk and placed the groceries inside, Eddie’s special requests next to his usual staples and the excessive number of snacks he had grabbed for this week’s check in at Hopper’s cabin. Eddie was probably just being cute, requesting the same thing they had brought him in the boathouse, but Steve figured it would be just as cute to refill the request anyway. Anything to make Eddie smile and call him a sap in that overly sweet way he had.
He closed the trunk, pulling his keys out of his pocket. Already excited to get home to that amused smile and twinkling eyes.
“Where the fuck is Eddie?”
Steve jumped about a foot in the air, spinning on the spot, fumbling his keys in an embarrassing 3-part scramble that still ended with them clanking to the ground. He’s effectively trapped against his car, three boys glaring at him from a few feet away. How the hell did they sneak up on him in tandem like that?
They stood in a V-formation, arms crossed and eyes angry. The one in front, a black boy with braces and close-cropped hair who was doing his best to stare down at Steve despite their roughly even height, spoke again. “We don’t know what is going on, what happened, but you and Henderson are definitely involved.”
“I… I don’t…” Steve looked around quickly, hoping something would appear and save him from this conversation. Nothing did, the parking lot was empty except for them. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Bullshit, man!” the smallest of the three exclaimed, pointing angrily in Steve’s face. “Whatever the fuck happened involved your stupid basketball team and our freshman members and god KNOWS what else but there’s no way Eddie would ever-”
“He didn’t do anything to that girl,” the first boy interrupted, Jeff, Steve’s brain slowly supplied, based on stories he’d heard from both Dustin and Eddie. This must be the rest of Corroded Coffin. Jeff, Gareth, and… shit what was the third kids name? Doesn’t matter, he needed to come up with an exit strategy fast.
Steve raised his hands, painfully aware that his keys were still on the ground. “Look, guys, I don’t- I don’t know what you want from me. Yeah, I don’t believe Eddie did anything to Chrissy. Henderson is at home, I haven’t even seen him in days. I don’t know where Eddie would’ve gone after the earthquake, you’d know better than-”
“You’ve got his battle jacket in your back seat.” Unnamed member cut in, voice hard.
“You just bought honeycombs, yoo-hoos, and camel cigarettes.” Gareth, the little one, chimed in.
Jeff took a step forward, making sure Steve was looking at him before he slowly reached forward and carefully pulled on the chain around Steve’s neck, drawing the guitar pick out from where it had rested under his shirt. The younger boy just raised his eyebrows, emphasizing the implication.
Steve sagged against his car, and Jeff let the necklace slip from his fingers as it was pulled back with his movement. It fell against the outside of his shirt, the red and black guitar pick stark and damning against the light blue of today’s polo.
Steve rubbed at his face, refusing to meet the trio of accusing glares. These were Eddie’s friends. His brothers according to the metalhead in question. There was no reason for Steve to be wearing that necklace other than what it was: a claim. They would know that, better than anyone. There was no getting out of this.
“Jesus H. Christ, okay. Okay. He’s… at my place. Just, follow me, I guess.”
#steddie#ficlet#established relationship#friendship#Eddie has FRIENDS damnit#he's popular in his own way#friendship is important they wouldn't let it go#the CC boys would burn shit down to find him
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part two to this little thing 'cause i saw these tags on the last part from @stevesjester and actually kicked my feet and giggled about it
After Pretty Boy kissed him, Eddie walked back to the staff break room in a daze.
His slow lumbering gait still managed to scare some folks, though, so that’s a plus.
He opens the door, slowly turns to close it softly, and leans back against it once it is.
“Eddie? You okay?” Comes a voice he’d know anywhere. “Wait, that is you, right? You’re supposed to be Piggy Man tonight?”
Eddie pulls the rubber mask off, making his stomach flip thinking about the last time it was pulled up. You know, ‘cause he’s a sap.
Chrissy takes in his shocked, sweaty face, “Oh my god, you okay? What happened?”
He looks up at his roommate (best friend, sister) in her bloody cheerleader costume, an ironic holdout from their time in high school, and breathes a laugh, “I fell in love.”
“OMG OMG tell me everything right now!!” Chrissy bounces over to him excitedly and pulls him down to the bench of their one (1) break table, a sagging plastic picnic table.
He looks up at her bright happy face and barks out a half hysterical laugh, “I can’t believe you’re this excited about me potentially falling in love with someone I’m literally being paid to scare.”
“Oooh, so they were a runner??”
“Yeah, literally in this case.”
“Start talking, Munson, or I’m going to throw all your guitar picks down the garbage disposal.”
“Okay, okay, Jesus Christ.. Okay, so I did my usual creepy husky voice at him, called him all the usual things,”
“Let me guess, you started with ‘pretty boy’?”
“Yeah. ‘Cause he’s pretty. Duh. Damn was he pretty…”
“Uh huh. And you fell in love with him ‘cause he was pretty?”
“No, no of course not, listen to this:” Eddie sits up straighter in preparation for the story. “I had him backed into a corner, right? The fake gate over in section 2B,”
“Ah yes, of course.”
“Yeah! And when I lunged at him, he caught my arm, and spun me around.”
“Shut. Up.”
“No, never. SO he’s got me backed against the fence, and he–I swear to fucking Jesus H. Christ–lifts my mask up and kisses me.”
Chrissy starts to squeal incoherently. “Eeeeee!!! Shutupshutupshutup!! Holy shit there’s no way this happened!!”
“Look, 100% serious right now; he kissed me stupid, and spun around and booked it again.”
“Pretty Boy distracted you with a kiss to escape!?! I cannot believe this, c’mon..” Crissy grabs ahold of his arm again and pulls him out of the breakroom with her insane unchecked leftover cheer squad strength.
“Whoa, what? Where’re we going?? He’s probably gone by now! I was standing over in 2B like an idiot for a while after he left!!”
“Not that, we gotta go see Argyle.”
“Argyle why—ohhh shit. Oh my god, you think they caught it on camera?” Eddie’s actively following her now.
The two burst into the warehouses’ security office, where they’re met with the backs of two ‘zombie’ guards (and the leftover smell of weed).
“Argyle, Jonathan, you need to look at something for us,”
“Is it the footage of Eddie’s makeout sesh in 2B? ‘Cause we’re waaayy ahead of you pompom.”
“Ah!! Holy shit he was telling the truth?!” Chrissy bodies between the two, sending Argyle rolling away on his chair, and Jonathan staggering back a step.
“Dude, that’s so cool of your boyfriend to come to the haunt, keepin’ us in business.” Argyle directs at Eddie, though still spinning slowly in his chair.
“He’s not my–you thought he was my boyfriend?”
“Yeah man, why else would you look at him like that.” Jonathan points down at the screen.
Chrissy re-winds it again and Eddie watches himself charge forward at Pretty Boy (damn, he’s still pretty though this grainy footage too, how the fuck is that possible??), get spun and–oh shit, they’re right.
“Oh Jesus Christ.” he hangs his head into his hands, falling down into Jonathan’s previously abandoned chair.
“Sooo…he’s not your boyfriend..?”
Chrissy re-winds the footage again. Squeals happily.
“Nope. Just met him tonight.”
“Wow dude, that’s like, love at first sight if I ever saw it.”
She re-winds it again, squeals.
“Yeah I know, it’s embarrassing as shit, alright?” Eddie’s still talking into his palms.
Chrissy snorts at that, “Not for you! Well..kinda..but him too, did you not see that pause?”
“...What pause?”
His question goes unanswered as Jon and Argyle move back in over Chrissy’s shoulders and after a few seconds both “Ohh…” in sync.
“The fuck’re you talking about?”
“Look,” She re-winds the tape once again and points, “Watch after he lifts your mask.”
So he does, and..okay, there was a pause.
“...So?”
“He totally fell in love with you at the same time you did him. Fell with him. With each other?”
“You both fell in love at the same time.” Chrissy says what Jonathan was trying to. “We have GOT to find this guy somehow.”
Chrissy records the footage on the screen with her phone, intending to post it online to find the guy, but Argyle’s positive he’s gonna show back up tonight.
“Give him a chance, pompom, he’s totally in love too, remember?”
“Fine, but if he doesn’t come back today, I’m posting this. Maybe it’ll get us some more business too.”
“Do I get a say in this?” Eddie asks, already knowing the answer.
“No.” Yep, there it is.
So, he rolls his eyes, puts his mask back on, and finishes out the night like everything is normal and he didn’t just fall head over fuckin’ heels for a random (hot) stranger earlier.
He’s done for the night before Chrissy since she’s got a lot of that fake blood to try and wash off, so he grabs up his stuff and heads out the front, intending to wave bye to Gareth at the front counter before braving the frigid late fall wind to warm up his car (and move it closer to the entrance so Chrissy doesn't have to walk in the cold).
“See ya Ed,” Gareth calls, and he waves over his shoulder at him as he passes, his attention pulled to a blonde with a choppy bob looking in through the glass of the door, partially silhouetted by the bright ass headlights of a shiny Tesla parked behind her.
He can see the shadow of someone in the driver seat too, as he gets closer and opens the door for her, their face only partially lit up through the tinted glass by the glow of a phone screen.
She starts rambling off immediately after the door is open. “Oh my god, I thought we were too late and you were closed and I completely didn’t even realize I’d left something here when we were here earlier an–”
“Nope, no worries, ma’am, just go talk to Gareth at the front counter and he can tell you if someone turned in…whatever it is you left here.”
She says her thanks and scoots past him, and he spins quickly towards the side lot where his old Neon is parked.
He glances back when he hears the bell chime over the door, a bit delayed (probably the wind holding it open), and sees that the Tesla’s stopped beaming their headlights into the front door, that’s nice of them.
He unlocks his car and gets in, turning the engine over and cranking the heat as high as it’ll go. Once the engine stops it’s signature ‘I’m cold as fuck rn, don’t even try to move me’ rattle, he drives to the front door to wait for Chrissy, pulling in next to the burgundy Tesla.
He scrolls down TikTok for a couple minutes before a banner pops up on his screen
Chris C.: oh my holy fucking shit eddie, get your ass back inside!
Panicking, he races back in through the door, not even bothering to shut off his engine (or close his car door for that matter), thinking shiny Telsa duo is like, robbing the place or something, but as soon as he gets back in, he’s stopped dead in his tracks.
His heart’s still beating a mile a minute, but now with nerves.
Because standing infront of the counter are Chrissy (who’s actually vibrating with excitement), choppy blonde, and…
Oh fuck.
No way.
“H–hi, hi. I’m Steve, you’re Eddie right?”
He can’t help the grin that splits across his face. “Hey, pretty boy.”
thanks to @henderdads for rightfully pointing out that modern day rich boy steve would probably have a tesla <3
tagging everyone i saw in the tags of the last post that seemed interested in more/wanted to see the aftermath lmao: @bangarangdarling, @tartarusknight, @kas-eddie-munson, @wormdebut (AMAZING url btw), @vecnuthy, @perseus-notjackson, @homosexual-having-tea, @matchingbatbites, @scarcrossdlvrs, @anzelsilver, @auroraplume, @kkpwnall, @wildwildsoul, @bennys-burgers, @steveharringtonssluttywaist
#steddie#st#steve harrington#eddie munson#steve harrington x eddie munson#st ficlet#steddie ficlet#platonic hellcheer#chrissy cunningham#jonathan byers#argyle#gareth emerson#modern au#noelle writes
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Dating Co-Worker Hiromi Higuruma HCs
(A follow up to these headcanons. Your co-worker Hiromi Higuruma has been pining for you, and has been kind of a pervert about it. That's definitely still the case now that you're actually dating.)
Hiromi Higuruma who feels guilty about the whole thing because you can’t be dating co-workers… like you literally can’t. It’s against company policy and Jesus fucking Christ neither of you need the stress of this and if you got caught he would feel like it was his fault forever.
Hiromi Higuruma who, when you decide to see each other, reiterates (despite not needing to) that you can’t risk doing anything at work that might indicate you’re dating.
Hiromi Higuruma who seems to forget that constantly when you’re sitting next to each other in meetings and he takes chances to brush his fingers against yours under the table.
Hiromi Higuruma who is very bad at stopping himself from giving you that “sappy sleepy Sunday morning I’m in love” smile over lunch with the rest of your co-workers.
Hiromi Higuruma who basically forgets to not look at you like you’re the only two people in the room about ten times a day. When you speak he looks at you like you’re only talking to him, when you make a joke he laughs like you’re on a date. And… it’s really only slightly more obvious than when you hadn’t been dating, to be honest. You warn him about it in private but it would probably be more odd to your co-workers if he suddenly stopped acting like this.
NSFW/18+ ONLY UNDER THE CUT
Hiromi Higuruma who still can’t handle how much he wants you during the work day even though he literally just has to wait until after work hours when you’re behind closed doors. He doesn’t even care how pathetic he sounds in his texts begging you to “please please please send me a pic of your panties” his heart will be racing when he sees you going to the bathroom and whatever he’s doing is paused while he waits to hopefully get a text from you of you partially undressed.
Hiromi Higuruma who can’t see you at the copier without thinking of how much he’d love to fill your panties with his cum in the middle of the day.
Hiromi Higuruma who randomly texts you the filthiest string of consciousness about how bad he wants to cum down your throat or wants to fuck you until you can’t remember your name or have you choking him with both of your pretty hands while he fucks up into you. You’ll glance at him across the office and he honest to god looks fucking stressed about how bad he wants to fuck you.
Hiromi Higuruma who, after litigation goes to absolute shit in a case he’s been stressing over for ages, takes you into the bathroom on the creepy abandoned floor that's closed for refurbishments due to damp and fucks you til you have to make an excuse for disappearing in middle of the day. There’s no way you’ll be able to make yourself look presentable within a reasonable timeframe and it becomes clear you’ll be the one having to hold firm on the “no fooling around in the office” rule after that. He just gets a little too rowdy once he has his hands on you.
Hiromi Higuruma who, after a week of no pics during the work day, no responses to his dirty texts, and not even a quick kiss in the stairwell, pulls you into the supply closet and actually gets on his hands and knees begging for you to please suck his cock. (You're beginning to think there's something about fooling around in the office that makes him even more depraved than usual).
Hiromi Higuruma who, when you tell him absolutely fucking not because he’ll leave you looking a complete mess, when switches to begging you to let him go down on you instead. He’s smart, and saw the look in your eyes when he’d first gotten down on his knees for you, and opts to stay that way while he makes you cum with his mouth. You can’t even be mad when he starts stroking himself fast and rough while he does it, the cum all over his trousers and shirt is his problem, not yours.
Hiromi Higuruma who, despite the added stress of getting caught, actually seems way more happy and productive at work because he’s comparatively released a lot of the previous stressors he had. He no longer has to feel so bad about jerking off to innocent pictures of you, cumming even harder when he unloads all over your face on the screen. He no longer has to feel bad over the time he stole your (clean) panties to spend a week using to jerk off until you returned from vacation. He no longer has to feel bad over the time he came over to yours to get some work done and excused himself to go to the bathroom and steal your (dirty) panties out of your hamper and pocketed them. And he definitely no longer has to feel bad over the second time you let him house sit and he spent days in your bed masturbating, sucking on your sex toys, feeling elated with what he thought would be the closest he got to doing all the filthy things he couldn’t stop thinking of doing with you. It was all okay because you did actually like him in the end, right?
#my writing#hiromi x reader#higuruma x reader#higuruma hiromi x reader#hiromi higuruma x reader#jjk headcanons#jjk smut#jjk hcs#higuruma hiromi#higuruma#minors blocked on sight
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hey, quick question but what if Eddie hadn’t just said “make him pay” at the end? what if he’d actually done it, screwed up his face and his single scrap of courage and kissed Steve hard, one desperate press of lips before he stepped back out of Steve’s space? Only…
Only Steve’s not gay. He’s not. Not that there’s anything wrong with it if Eddie is, but he isn’t. Steve likes girls, is kind of hung up on one girl in particular, actually, and she’s standing right behind him watching this go down, and oh, God is this awkward now.
He squares his shoulders, gives Eddie a nod that he hopes conveys something like “sorry” and “it’s okay” and “I’m not gonna punch you when this is over, man, I’m really not,” but Eddie’s eyes cut away and he clears his throat and then Nancy’s saying, “Steve? Steve, we need to go.”
So Steve goes.
Steve goes, trudges through the woods with Nancy radiating uncomfortable energy all down his side, and Steve’s got a pit in his stomach and a scorch mark on his mouth where Eddie’s lips left a fucking brand, the kiss repeating on a loop in his mind. He starts thinking about how he’s probably about to die, how he’s gonna die feeling all upside down in the Upside Down and it’s a really stupid joke but it gets him mulling over the fucked up weird life he has now versus the one he always kinda thought he wanted. He tells Nancy about it: the crawling backwards, the thump on the head, how she’s always his co-captain in his Winnebago dreams.
She looks at him with soft, sad eyes — God, her eyes are always so sad, have been ever since the day Barb disappeared — and she rests a delicate hand on his forearm and asks, “Do you think… do you think maybe it’s always me in your dream because I’m the only person your mind thinks it’s allowed to put there?”
“What do you mean?”
“Steve.” Her eyes aren’t so soft now. They’re shining with that hard glint they get when she’s lost patience with Steve’s bullshit. It’s a look Steve knows well, and his hand comes up to touch his lips.
“But I- I’m not…”
“Just go,” she says, her jaw set, all that unbreakable resolve on display. “Robin and I can handle this. Go.”
Robin turns back to look at him over her shoulder, gives him an encouraging nod, and Steve takes off running, sprinting through the trees, following the sound of screeching bats.
When he bursts through the treeline, panting and sweating and clutching at his torn-up sides, Eddie’s in the middle of a maelstrom, his makeshift shield held in a shaking grip as an army of bats encircle him.
“Eddie!” Steve shouts, lungs burning as he begs his feet to move faster, to run fucking run because one of the bats dives at Eddie’s head and another takes a bite out of his leather sleeve; a third one whips a tail around Eddie’s ankle and then Eddie’s going down, pulled to the cracked, filthy earth by gnashing teeth and bloodied claws, and they’re eating him, getting at all those squishy vital bits around his middle when Steve finally hacks his way through the horde to get to Eddie’s side. Armed with an ax and Eddie’s spear, Steve strikes and slashes blindly at the wall of shrieking monsters as they start circling tighter, caging them in, and he’s dead they’re both dead they’re so fucking screwed—
The bats drop. All at once and with no reason Steve can discern, their screams fall silent and their bodies squelch all around them as they slap the hard ground like dead fish on a dock.
Steve drops to his knees beside Eddie, and Jesus Christ, there’s- there’s so much blood oh God oh fuck.
“Bad, huh?” Eddie asks, and how is he still smirking when there’s blood spilling out of his mouth? When there’s a chunk missing out of his jaw?
“Jesus Christ, Jesus Christ, Jesus Christ,” Steve mumbles frantically, not sure if he’s praying or panicking or both. He gets his shirt off, rips at the remaining scraps of Eddie’s, too; starts using them to make bandages. “Shit, Eddie, just- just hold on, okay? Stay with me.”
He wriggles a scrap of fabric under Eddie’s brutalized torso, and Eddie screams when Steve pulls it tight around his sides, ties it off and presses down, trying to slow the bleeding. There’s so much fucking blood. His knees slip in it as he ties a tourniquet just above Eddie’s elbow, hoping it’ll save Eddie’s mangled arm, and he bunches the last of the fabric up and presses it to the shredded edges of the wound on Eddie’s face.
Eddie smiles up at him with tears in his eyes, with blood on his lips. “Pretty- pretty grand gesture for a guy you don’t want to kiss.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Steve says, and he’s crying, too. “I don’t- I just…”
“Steve,” Eddie chokes, his breath whistling out with a sickening wheeze, and Steve doesn’t know how the fuck he’s going to get him through the gate and back to safety without making him bleed out. “Steve, it’s… s’okay. M’sorry I kissed you, man.” His eyes are glazing over, and no, please, please, don’t—
Eddie looks up at him, brow furrowed, like it’s taking a lot of effort. His eyes are still so pretty, even now, as Steve hovers helplessly and watches the light slowly leave them. “Actually, I- I guess m’not,” Eddie slurs. “Had to do it at least once b-before I- before I—”
“EDDIE!!!!” a furious, cracking voice echoes through the empty park. Eddie’s trailer door bangs open, falling off its hinges, and a limping Dustin Henderson comes storming across the lot.
“Dustin!!” Steve hollers back, relief flooding his veins like maple syrup straight from the tap, and incredibly (hysterically, he’s probably in shock), he’s laughing when he looks back down at Eddie. Eddie, who’s half dead in his lap, whose blood is all over Steve’s pants. Who Steve might be able to save now.
He shakes Eddie’s shoulders and says, “You can kiss me all you want when we make it out of here, man,” his voice all high-pitched and full of phlegm and trapped somewhere between a laugh and a sob, and Eddie’s eyes go wide at the promise in Steve’s words.
“Dustin!” Steve yells again, pleading, “Dustin, come on, come help me move him!”
It’s slow going, but they get Eddie through the gate, get him taped up so he’s more bandage than boy by the time the ambulance arrives. A medic claps Steve on the shoulder and says ‘You did good, kid,’ and Steve cries at that and then spends an annoying amount of time crying over the next few days, curled up in a rickety chair at Eddie’s bedside in the hospital.
More tears when Eddie finally wakes up. Happy ones this time, and there’s a parade of people coming in to hug Eddie and give him flowers and even Hopper gives him a grudging hair ruffle and an attaboy, and then Steve’s driving Eddie home in the Beemer; gets all the way to the driveway before Eddie brings it up.
“Did you mean it?” he asks, his voice timid and barely audible over the hum of the car.
Steve cuts the engine. “Hmm?”
“Did you, um- the thing, that you…” Eddie spins a ring around on his finger, lets out a frustrated huff. “I mean, I didn’t die, right? I made it out of there, so…?”
You can kiss me all you want when we make it out of here.
Steve’s ears burn at the memory, his mouth going dry, and he must take too long to answer because Eddie starts trying to backpedal. “Sorry. Sorry, you said you’re not— I just thought, maybe— shit, uh, f-forget I said-”
“No! No, um.” Steve scratches the back of his neck. “Turns out I kind of am. Or, like. Well, I mean, Robin said liking both is its own thing, it’s not a mix of the two, but…”
“…But both?” Eddie finishes, and his eyes are sparkling.
“Yeah. Both,” Steve shrugs. It’s getting easier to say. “…Mostly just you, though.”
“Oh, just mostly, huh?” Eddie teases, unbuckling his seatbelt so he can lean into Steve’s space.
Steve’s face feels too warm. His neck is probably all splotchy. “Whatever. Are you gonna shut up and kiss me already or what?”
“Uh huh,” Eddie grins and runs his tongue over his teeth. “Many times as I want, right?” He brushes Steve’s hair behind his ear, his calloused fingers so gentle against Steve’s jaw as he lines their faces up.
“How many times is that?” Steve whispers.
“Mm….” Eddie’s mouth brushes against his. “Start counting and let’s find out.”
#‘hey quick question’ she says and then writes 1400#lmao whoops#steddie#steddie fic#steddie drabble#my writing#steve harrington#eddie munson#nancy wheeler#robin buckley#dustin henderson#happy sunday i know i promised more yogi steve he’s COMIN but in the meantime have whatever this is
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Memories & Delusions
PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE
SYNOPSIS: Jason Todd is dead, you have to remember that; even if the newest villain in town is both incredibly sexy and reminds you of the boy you used to love.
FANDOM: DC
PAIRING(S): Jason Todd x Fem!Reader
RATING: PG
CHARACTERS MENTIONED: Bruce, Alfred, Dick, Tim
GENRE/AU: fluff, different timeline AU (not mentioned in detail but the timeline is different than canon), canon divergence, reader is kind of like Stephanie so NOT Bruce’s kids but she does live in the manor.
WORD COUNT: 3.9k
WARNINGS: Swearing, mentions of blood and injuries.
A/N: I could fs do a part two to this ;)
DEDICATIONS: Myself for having this idea for more than two years and finally getting it out in writing in some way
CREDITS: N/A
“Jesus Christ! Who the fuck is this guy, Batman?” You exclaim, panting hard through your mask; whoever this Red Hood guy is… he really knows your team's weaknesses. It’s disconcerting.
Weirdly enough, he’s left you mostly alone.
Bruce shrugs from across the room. “That’s what we’re trying to figure out.”
It’s a blur of movement as Red Hood tries to attack mostly Bruce, only attacking Dick or you if you get in the way.
He’s said almost nothing since this fight started.
After a few minutes, Bruce sends a signal and jumps out of the half destroyed building; Dick follows and jumps out shortly after.
Leaving just you and Gothams latest criminal.
You’re about to turn to jump again, when suddenly your wrist is caught in Red Hood’s hand.
The familiarity of it makes you gasp and freeze.
He stares down at you, intimidating and silent through his red helmet.
Returning his stare, with as much fiery energy as you can muster, you try to pull your wrist away; His grip is like iron and you can’t.
“Don’t get in my way, Y/n.” He says, making your heart drop with the use of your civilian name. “I won’t choose between you and my goal.”
Your back is rigid and you’re breathing has stopped… if he knows your name, that means he probably knows everyone else’s too.
Fuck.
He finally lets go, brushing past your stiff body.
You’re too shocked to follow him.
….
“He knew my name, Bruce!” You say, feeling panicked. “Do you know what that means?”
Bruce nods curtly. “It means you aren’t suiting up until we’ve taken him down.” You try to protest but Bruce holds a hand up to cut you off. “It’s not up for discussion.”
You fidget with the small red pendant hanging around your neck, something you do whenever you’re feeling too many emotions.
It reminds you of Jason, the first boy you’ve ever been in love with and also the last; Jason was also Bruce’s second adopted son.
Jason Todd died five years ago.
But when he was alive… There was something special about him. He was always so eager to help Bruce by being robin.
That was back before you had your own suit; really, you’d only gotten a superhero identity so you could hunt down the joker and get revenge for Jason, but Bruce had managed to convince you not to do that in the last five years.
Probably for the best, even if seventeen is too young for someone to die; even if having a strong bond ripped away from you before it could become anything still hurt so badly.
You follow Bruce down into the batcave. “What do we know about Red Hood? Do we have any idea how he originated? It seems like he just popped out of nowhere.”
Bruce contemplates his answer as he unlocks the bat computer. “All we know is that he would have had to fly under our radar for months in order to take over the whole underground drug ring.”
You over hover his shoulder, trying to see what’s on the screen below him. “I don’t understand how we wouldn’t hear anything about him? With that many people who work for him, you’d think one of them would mention something.”
He hums in response. “They must be terrified of him.”
Alfred inserts himself into the conversation and ushers you back into the main part of the manor. “Alright, Miss. Y/n, You’re officially off duty indefinitely.” He pauses. “Like Master Bruce said, it is safer if you disconnect yourself from your hero identity.”
You frown. “If he knows my real name, he probably knows where I live.”
“He also told you, quote ‘don’t get in my way’ end quote.” Alfred tuts. “He clearly has no intention of hurting you as a civilian.”
You huff and head up to your bedroom, feeling like you really need to be out there but not really knowing why.
You suppose you don’t know what to do with your time anymore, now that you’ve been superhero-ing for so long.
When was the last time you read a book? Or watched a movie, just because you wanted to? It’s been too long…
Your bookshelves mostly carry decorative encyclopedias and other books that would bore you to sleep, so you leave your room and head just down the hallway.
The door creaks as you push open and clicks when you push it shut; then, you’re left in the silence of Jason Todd’s bedroom. Unchanged and untouched from the last moment he was in here.
It’s a little messy but nothing out of the ordinary for a teenage boy; the bed was never made, and his clothes were ever put in his drawers despite them being washed.
There’s books pulled out and just scattered in places, schoolbooks, comic books, novels… finally you spot what you wanted to find.
It’s a very old and very worn copy of Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice, something the two of you used to read together when you’d sneak onto the roof of the manor at nighttime.
You’d watch the stars and one of you would read the book out loud, until eventually you both would pass out and give Bruce a heart attack the next morning.
Maybe it was time to revisit that tradition, even if you were only reading to yourself.
Bruce and Alfred are in the Cave so you find your way into the roof and lay back. The shingles are definitely more uncomfortable without Jason to lay on, but it’s still a nice feeling nonetheless.
Just the act of laying under the stars with that book in your hands, makes you feel a kind of warmth that you haven’t felt in years.
You close your eyes and take a long, deep breath of night air; It’s fresh and ever so slightly damp, but in a way that makes you feel nice. The cold nips at your body in all the right ways.
Unfortunately, all bliss is momentary, and someone clearing their throat makes you jump a couple centimeters upwards.
You’re met with the bright red helmet of Red Hood.
“Pride and Prejudice, huh?” He says casually, though you're pretty sure he has a voice changer on, which makes his voice sound more irritated than it probably is.
You back up a few inches. “Bru-” Red Hood slaps a hand over your mouth before you can finish yelling for help.
You squirm in his grip, but he just maneuvers you so that your back is to his chest and you can barely move which makes your body lock up again— you can’t help the feeling of familiarity that settles in your stomach, or the way your body reacts to his.
Worst of all, he smells just like… no, it must just be where you are.
Jason Todd is dead.
And yet.
“Relax, Y/n, I’m not here to hurt you.” Something about him makes you listen and you relax your body. He kind of half-scoffs in response. “Are you done?”
You nod as best you can. He releases you.
“Who— why are you here?” You say, trying to ignore the fact that everything about this masked man reminds you of Jason.
Your chest rises and falls irregularly as he stares at you.
His head snaps away randomly. “Why should I tell you that?”
“Don’t answer my question with a question.”
“Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to.”
There’s a look of defiance shared between the two of you, or, at least, on your end. You can’t actually see his face so you’re really just assuming.
You spin away and blow out a labored breath. “God, I must be going insane…” Even the way he talks with you sounds like Jason.
“You’re so short, you look like a bunny who lost its carrot.” He says with a laugh.
“I do not!” You exclaim angrily, your mouth dropping open. “Okay, that’s it, I’m calling Bruce.” Your hand slips into your pocket to pull out your phone, and just as it's out of your pocket, Red Hood grabs your wrist; he traps it in one spot and yanks the phone from your hand.
He gently sets it on the ground. “Tell that fucker whatever you want, but wait until I’m gone.” The tone in his voice sends a chill down your spine. He seems so angry…
With that, he leaves, taken the same way that you took off the roof.
You stand there until you hear the roar of his motorbike, and then you finally retreat from the roof with the book clutched tightly to your chest.
…..
“I’m going with you, Bruce. You can’t stop me.” You say, already moving to try to grab your suit.
“No, you’re not.” He says sternly, blocking your path. “You need to stay out of this fight.”
You raise your eyebrows in challenge. “I’m going whether you let me wear that suit or not.” Bruce apparently doesn’t like this because he frowns even harder than before. You continue, “You can’t go alone. Dick is out of town and Tim is at school. Let me come.”
“You forget I did this by myself for quite a while before I adopted Dick.” He says firmly, leaving no room for argument.
Bruce doesn’t need your help, you know that; helping him isn’t your real goal.
Ever since the rooftop incident with Red Hood you’d gone into some sort of obsessive spiral over his similarities to Jason.
You feel like you need to talk to him again, touch him again… just to see why he’s so familiar; you feel insane.
The deepest parts of your brain scream at you that it’s not just similarities, that he really is Jason but… he can’t be; you watched them bury Jason’s body.
“There’s something else going on with you.” Bruce says, basically sizing you up.
You stiffen, which unfortunately gives away your next lie. “There’s nothing going on with me.” No excuse comes to mind so you don’t say anything more.
Bruce pauses for a beat.
“This has nothing to do with Red Hood.”
“Okay? Why would that matter?” You say dismissively, but also way too fast. “I don’t think keeping me locked up at home helps anyone.”
He sighs and finally caves. “Fine, you can come.”
…..
You aren’t sure how this situation devolved so quickly, but your communications got cut off a while ago and you haven’t been able to find Bruce or navigate very well through the rubble.
You’re bleeding heavily from a few different cuts and you’re pretty sure you sprained your ankle.
The faint cackle of the Joker makes you dive under a fallen piece of concrete, because if he comes this way he’ll surely kill you.
But the laugh recedes so you crawl out and sit against it instead.
You’re just about to start sobbing from the pain when you hear footsteps again; you go silent and try to move but you don't allow that.
You see a flash of red, and then Red Hood turns a corner into your line of sight.
“Christ’s sake, Y/n.” He mumbles. “What happened?” He approaches and drops down so he’s sitting on his feet, he stares for a moment, and you assume he’s assessing your injuries.
“You can’t call me that— here.” You hiss when he presses a finger against your ankle.
He stands up and takes both your hands, completely ignoring what you said. “Up. But don’t stand on your bad ankle.”
You grip his hands and stand up, holding your bad ankle in the air; Red Hood scoops you up bridal style not a moment later.
You squeal. “What are you doing?”
He stops walking and turns the face of his helmet directly toward you. “I’m taking you back to my base so I can help you get fixed up.” He interrupts you before you can speak, answering the question you were going to ask. “Batman isn’t here anymore, he went to follow after the Joker.”
It’s a rough walk to his bike, and it lasts for about ten minutes; ten awkward minutes of you being carried by Red Hood.
Red Hood who’s supposed to be a criminal and your enemy. Red Hood who brings you more comfort than he should just because of who he reminds you of.
He settles you onto the bike, pulling out an extra helmet before he speeds off.
…..
“Jesus, you sprained your ankle really badly.” He curses, performing whatever medical procedures as you hiss and whine at the pain.
He’s already stitched and/or dressed any of the open wounds you had and he saved the worst for last.
“Okay,” he says absent-mindedly. “I can’t do this properly with this thing.”
He reaches for his helmet but you stop him. “You’re taking your helmet off?”
He hesitates, then nods slowly. “I have to. If you don’t want to see, then shut your eyes until I’m done.”
You nod and squeeze your eyes shut.
He sighs softly and gets back to working on your ankle.
…..
“I swear to god, Bruce, it’s him. Red Hood is Jason.” You say, purposfully making your voice flat and void of emotion. “He has to be.”
Bruce just stares.
And stares.
Sympathetically, softly. But he stares.
“Jason has been dead for a long time, Y/n, and you know that.”
“No— I know, but he can’t be— that has to be him.” You back up into one of the chairs in the batcave, trying to calm your racing heart; you still try to keep a calm outward facade.
“What makes you think he’s Jason?” Bruce asks.
You weakly gesture at nothing with your hand. “Just look at him. He’s— everything about him is the same.”
Tim snorts from the computer. “The running drug rings and murders?”
“Not appropriate, Tim.” Dick says flatly and Tim’s face falls quickly.
You don’t blame him, you probably would have made a joke like that too.
Shaking your head, you stare at the floor past Bruce. “They sound the same, they talk the same way, they look similar— hell, they even smell the same.”
Bruce’s brows furrow. “How do you know what he smells like?”
“Uh…” you stall. “You know, close combat.”
Apparently, he drops it even though he clearly doesn’t believe you, because he asks another question. “We’ve never seen Red Hood unmasked, how do you know they look similar?”
You shrug. “They just do. There’s just something about him. I haven’t been able to shake the feeling for a while.”
It’s silent again for several long moments.
Then Bruce shakes his head absentmindedly.
“Jason is dead, Y/n. No matter how much we miss him, he can’t come back.”
But he’s wrong, he has to be.
Because no one is that similar to someone. You’re sure of it.
……
Your cheeks are wet and your eyes are starting to become raw from you rubbing at them.
Sobbing pathetically on the rooftop of the manor because you had to be reminded about a death that happened a long time ago is not the highlight of your day.
It’s stupid, going from sure of yourself, to telling yourself you’re so stupid for ever thinking it could be true in the first place.
There’s footsteps beside you, but you don’t look up. You don’t care enough to see who it is.
You fidget with the necklace around your neck as you sniffle into your knees.
Something clicks and then hisses as if air pressure is being released before you hear a tiny thud, and then someone pulls you into them.
You know who it is now.
“What’s wrong?” He asks quietly. You know you could look up and confirm your suspicions at any moment but you just can’t bring yourself to do it.
It’s not true, after all, because it can’t be. It’s not possible.
You shrug against him. “I’m reopening old wounds for no reason.” You pause. “Why do you trust me?”
He’s silent, contemplative for a while. “You’re you.”
You laugh dryly. “That doesn’t explain anything.”
“You haven’t even bothered to look have you?” His hand strokes lines in your hair. “You could. I don’t think I’d mind.”
“I don’t want to know.” You say, wrapping your arms around his waist. “I’m not ready for that.”
He nods, you can feel the movement through his body, even though it’s subtle.
You sit, wrapped up in his arms for a long while before he clears his throat softly and asks, “what old wounds have you been reopening?”
Your eyes well again, but you choke back the tears. “An old… friend, I guess. He died.” You start to pull back but you don’t look at his face.
Instead, you bury your face in your hands again. He lets you pull back. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
You shrug. “It was a long time ago, he just meant a lot to me— and it’s really hard because you remind me so much of him.”
He makes a sort of strangled sound and then clears his throat again but more rough this time. “Why do you say that?”
His voice sounds even more similar without the helmet and voice changer. This man is going to be the death of you. Maybe literally. “I don’t… I don’t know. It’s just everything.” You shake your head and laugh sardonically. “It’s driving me insane.”
“How did he die?” His voice is darker than before, and there’s a sort of undertone you can’t place.
“Brutally.” You stop, take a deep breath, and offer only a bit more context. “The Joker.”
He hums. “The Joker‘s alive and ruling this dumb city.” He pauses. “How do you think your friend would feel about that?”
“Probably about the same as I do. Sick.” You run a hand through your hair, purposefully trying to avoid seeing his face. “That’s why I became a hero, you know. I wanted to kill the joker because he killed Ja- um, my friend.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“People stopped me before I did something I couldn’t come back from.” You say, wrapping your arms around your legs. “I hope the joker suffers a terrible death, but I don’t think it should be by my hands. He wins if I spend the rest of my existence regretting it.”
Red Hood picks up his helmet and clicks it back on. “Right.” He stands and stares down at you. “I have to leave now.”
You shudder at his sudden coldness, and stand abruptly. “Okay, I— um, goodbye…?” You want to smack yourself at how unsure you sound. “Did I say something wrong?”
He shakes his head. “I just don’t know why you would ever regret ridding the world of someone like The Joker, that’s all.”
Stiffly, you nod and wipe your hands on your pants.
“Sorry about your friend.” He finishes, before leaving you alone on the roof again. “Too bad I didn’t know him.”
Basically, crushing any hopes you might’ve had that he was Jason.
……
This is an atrociously stupid idea, you know; driving directly into the den of Gotham's biggest drug lord is the smartest thing to do.
But Gotham's biggest drug lord is Red Hood, and you’re fairly sure he won’t hurt you. Mostly.
His lackeys though, don’t seem so forgiving.
“Who the hell are you?” The man who barks the question at you, is raggedy looking and has the worst, most distasteful tattoos you’ve seen in your life.
“I’m here to see Red Hood.” You amend quickly, “I’m a friend of his.”
“Yeah, right.” The other guard says, a bulky looking woman who is also insanely beautiful… unsettlingly so. “A fragile little thing like you, friends with our boss… please.”
You scoff. “Trust me, I’m not fragile.” Stopping, you contemplate whether it’s a good idea to start something, considering your ankle is still healing. “Just call him.”
She rolls her eyes. “Fine, whatever.”
An old phone hangs on the wall and she picks up the receiver and quickly dials a number. “Hey, I have a woman here who says she’s the bosses friend— her name? I have no clue— Oi, what’s your name?” The woman barks at you.
“Y/n.”
“Her name’s Y/n.” She’s silent for a minute while we all wait, then she hangs up the phone aggressively and yanks your arm into her grip. “Lucky. Let’s go.”
The corridors are a bit confusing to navigate, but you’re mostly just following the woman, who seems very familiar with them.
After ten minutes you reach a door, it matches almost every other door, but it has ‘boss’ written crudely on it in spray paint.
“You’re on your own from here.” She says gruffly before stomping away.
You take a moment to collect yourself before you knock, and the door swings open before you can even finish knocking.
“Why are you here?” Red Hood sounds breathless behind his mask, as if something winded him. “How did you remember how to get here?”
“I’m… actually not sure.” You chuckle quietly to yourself as Red Hood pulls you inside.
He sits down at a desk after pulling a chair out for you to sit in. “Again, why are you here?”
Your heart seizes for a moment as if the reason why you’re here hit you all over again. “I want you to show me who you are.”
“Are you sure?” Red Hood questions slowly, his body locking up. “You’re not going to like it.”
You nod curtly. “Yes, I need to know.”
He takes a deep breath and stands up, coming right up close to you. Far enough that you could see his face clearly but close enough to have your knees buckling.
He reaches up and presses a button you can’t see. The helmet hisses and opens, he pulls it off.
And your jaw drops.
Standing there, in grown up glory, black hair, green eyes that used to kill you, is Jason Fucking Todd.
“You’re— You’re not— dead.” You stammer, almost reaching out to touch him before you yank your hand back.
You’re so irrationally angry and also relieved and devastated all at the same time.
Jason sets the helmet down. You can’t decide whether to hug him and never let go or slap him for waiting so long to tell you. “That’s a… complicated story.” He pauses. “I promise I’ll tell you that story but I just— can’t get into that right now.”
You nod slowly. “Okay… that means I can get fucking pissed now.”
You’ve clearly confused him when you wrap your hands around his waist and squeeze tightly while also cursing him out. “I can’t believe you waited this long to show me.”
You can see the smart-ass comment on the tip of his tongue but he bites it back. “I knew you’d find out eventually.” His eyes caress your body and there’s a look of longing lingering in his eyes; he seems to be contemplating something. “Fuck it, I’ve been waiting too long to do this.”
You barely have time to react as Jason lowers his face down to yours and kisses you; As soon as you realize what he’s doing, you kiss back.
His hands go to rest on your hips, as you slowly get pushed back into his desk behind you. When you hit the ledge of if, Jason lifts you onto its surface, and pulls back.
“I’ve wanted to do that since we were kids.” He says quietly.
You gently touch your lips, almost in disbelief. “I’ve been wanting you to do that since we were kids.”
All content belongs to @beingsuneone , do not repost, copy or post on other platforms without my permission.
#dc#dc x reader#jason todd#jason todd x reader#jason todd x you#jason todd x y/n#batfam x reader#batfam x y/n#batfam x you#red hood#red hood x reader#redhood x reader#redhood#dc universe
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dancing with our hands tied part II — s.h
you can find part I here
pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader
warnings: 18+ ONLY, minors dni!!, ANGST, making out, swearing, drinking, alcohol mention, JEALOUSY!!! eddie's a bit of an asshole i am sorry, but so is steve sometimes!! and so is reader? idk!
summary: in which steve is in love with his best friend's ex. (wc: 8k+)
a/n: this is part 2 of this fic here !! pls make sure to read it before this!! anddd, im sorry for how confusing the first part was, BUT HERE'S THE HIDEOUT INCIDENT!! and i didn't use POVs this time and i kinda gave up on dates ugrhh. also i have a little bonus content at the end even tho its so a lil silly!!! also did not proof-read this, pls ignore any mistakes or ill scream n d*e
Friday, February 7, 1986 || The Hideout.
Steve stole a glance in your direction, and immediately realized the mistake he had made.
Jesus fucking Christ.
Why did you have to be so fucking perfect? Why did you have to have the most contagious laugh that immediately brought a warm smile to his lips?
Steve leaned against the bar as he watched you further, reveling at the way your eyes crinkled at the corners when you gave Robin a giggle, nose scrunching as you mimicked whatever story you were telling, drawing him in without even having a clue on the effect you had on him.
Your eyes met his for a brief moment, his heart pounded inside of his ribcage when you looked at him like that, as if your eyes were smiling at him. He held your gaze, giving you a subtle nod.
God, if Steve didn’t tell you how he felt about you soon, he was sure he was going to explode.
He turned back to the bar, head filled with the idea of opening up to you, he had to do it soon or else—
“Harrington!” Eddie beamed, interrupting his thoughts as he grabbed onto Steve’s shoulders, “You mind helpin’ me out?” He grinned, causing Steve’s brows to furrow.
“Can you put in a good word for me?” Eddie muttered, hand pointing toward the booth, “What are you talking about?” Steve muttered, his eyes following him.
“Y/N.” Steve hoped to God that Eddie didn’t notice the shock in his eyes, blinking quickly as he tried to control the jealousy building within him.
“I swear I’ve had the biggest crush on her,” Eddie exclaimed. Steve couldn’t help the way his face fell; he wondered if Eddie could notice it, but by the way he grinned at you, Eddie probably had no fucking clue about his feelings for you.
“Since when?” Steve sounded bitter, chewing at the inside of his mouth to stop himself, “Uh, since forever, dude,” Eddie said, chuckling.
“Put in a little good word for me, yea? I know you guys are close and shit,” Eddie gushed as he squeezed Steve’s shoulders again, and Steve was tense now, his entire body almost burning with rage and resentment.
Maybe it was wrong for Steve to be petty about this; maybe it wasn’t fair to you that he spent the rest of the night ignoring you; maybe it wasn’t right for him to act this way, but Steve had been on this rodeo before.
He was always the second choice, and he knew that he was never going to be someone’s priority. Because of that, his reaction was warranted; at least that’s what he believed. Ignoring you completely while he bitterly watched Eddie make moves on you was the only way he could cope with it.
And it was driving him crazy, knowing that Eddie was getting under your skin with the advice he got from Steve and learning everything about you from him.
At first, it was all just some passive aggressiveness, until it turned into something bigger, until you finally couldn’t take it anymore.
Because there stood Steve, across from the gang’s booth, leaning over the wall as he whispered something into Tammy’s ear—Steve’s ex.
With her shiny blonde hair and her big eyes, she threw him a hearty giggle, sticking to his side, while Steve barely blinked, allowing her to drool all over him.
You had no right to be jealous, not when Steve had no clue about your feelings, not when Steve didn’t owe you a thing, but you couldn’t help the frown on your face as he ignored you all night and was fine with stupid Tammy Thompson being all over him.
Your throat burned with the number of shots you took, you could never handle your tequila, but the numbness was exactly what you needed. Your mind was getting dizzier with Steve being pushed back into your thoughts.
You could feel yourself getting lighter and lighter with each sip, gaze barely holding over Steve’s direction anymore when Eddie had been keeping you company the whole night.
To think Steve was supposed to be your close friend felt like a joke now. The more he was with the blondie, the more you felt your stomach churning, gaze drifting toward Eddie to keep yourself from looking in his direction.
You felt desperate.
Steve probably saw you as the girl who was wrapped around his finger, the girl who followed him around like a puppy. Maybe that’s why he was ignoring you, trying to keep you from clinging to him.
You fidgeted in your seat; not being able to get up and tear her off of him was killing you, and your head was pounding because of the amount alcohol in your system.
It was getting harder to ignore the jealousy that gnawed at your insides.
Eddie didn’t seem to notice anything, but Steve did.
With each shot you took, with each step you took closer to Eddie, Steve couldn’t help the sharp pain he felt in his chest, the same rage of jealousy gnawing at him as well. He knew he couldn’t do anything about it, too, so he buried it deeper and deeper until he could make sure those feelings for you were impossible to reach.
You were going to be dating Eddie, and Steve needed to get over you as fast as he could.
Maybe that’s why he didn’t mind the attention coming from his ex.
By the time Steve arrived back at the booth, Nancy and Jonathan were already gone, you were in the bathroom—possibly puking your guts out, and Robin was getting ready to leave.
“What the fuck happened here?” He asked, concern washing over his face. “She drank a bit too much,” Robin mumbled, knowing how much Steve cared about you.
“You should maybe check on her, yea?” She gave Steve an all-knowing look, causing him to shrug.
“I can’t—” Robin interrupted him with a death glare.
“I would, but I have to go or my mom will actually kill me this time,” She groaned, saying her goodbyes before leaving in a hurry.
“Dude, I gotta bail too,” Eddie puffed his cheeks as he put on his leather jacket. “What?” Steve asked, baffled.
“She’s wasted!” He exclaimed, his eyebrows shooting up quickly, causing Eddie to shrug, “She’s probably puking her guts out right now, she needs you.” Steve’s eyes narrowed; he couldn’t believe that Eddie would even think about leaving you alone in a condition like this.
“Gross, dude,” Eddie said, making a face as he cringed, causing Steve to roll his eyes.
“Real fuckin’ mature, Munson.”
“You drop her home, man, I’m too fuckin’ hammered for all of this.” He gave Steve’s shoulder another tight squeeze; this time Steve was sure his blood was boiling, his eyes darkening with each word Eddie spoke.
This asshole had the audacity to use him to try to date you, and he couldn’t even fucking treat you, right? Steve shook off his thoughts before he could do something he knew he would regret.
Eddie was his best friend, and he could never let his feelings for you get in the way of you actually being happy.
“Are you going to get a cab?” Steve asked, “Yeah,” Eddie muttered mindlessly.
“Then give me your jacket.” Steve’s tone was now cold, almost demanding, and his demeanor changing within seconds was throwing Eddie off,
“No fuckin’ way,” Eddie chuckled mockingly, he didn’t notice the serious gaze Steve holds.
“Dude, your house is five minutes away, you’ll be fine, just give me your jacket,” He demanded again.
“Why the fuck would I do that?” Eddie spat.
“Because you asshole, it’s the middle of February and Y/N is wearing a fucking dress, it’s the least you could do for leaving her like that.”
“Why don’t you give her yours?” Steve didn’t know how to control the rage coursing through his veins.
“Do you see me wearing a fucking jacket?” Eddie was sure he had never seen Steve like this, with those veins in his forehead visible as he could feel his fists clench. Eddie’s eyes widened, clearly taken aback by Steve’s bizarre behavior.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Eddie mumbled before taking off the jacket with a few huffs escaping from his lips.
“There, you happy, man?” Eddie hissed, almost tossing the jacket toward Steve, “Fucking ecstatic,” Steve replied with an angry smirk.
Steve sighed before he made his way to the bathroom. Not knowing what was waiting for him inside, he knocked on the door hesitantly and asked, “Y–you okay?” The shakiness in his voice was exposing him.
A faint ‘Yeah’ was all he heard before you unlocked the door.
And there you laid on the dirty bathroom tiles, your hair disheveled, make-up smudged, and you could barely get your head up from the toilet seat.
Steve’s heart sank, guilt settling in his insides again like an old friend. He knew he couldn’t always take care of you, and he knew that you’d be with Eddie soon, but he couldn’t help but feel the crushing weight of guilt when all of this could’ve been avoided if he was just there for you.
And his mind was still reeling about the fact that Eddie dared to leave you like this.
Would the fucker even be able to treat you right?
“Want me to help you?” He asked, hands itching to reach out and hold you, but you dismissed him like it was nothing, like he didn’t mean anything to you anymore, and it had only been an hour since Steve had learned that Eddie was into you.
“No,” Even when you were this messed up, you held onto your grudge, shutting out any feelings of understanding or empathy toward Steve, even though he was only trying to help you out.
“I can help, to, you know—hold your hair and stuff,” He stuttered, he had never been this nervous around you.
You flushed the toilet as you attempted to get up, “I’m not—I didn’t throw up,” Your words were slurred.
“If you… if you feel like throwing up, I can—”
“No!” You exclaimed a bit too loudly, throwing him a cold stare. “I’m just trying to help you, Y/N.” His tone sounded disappointed, but you could care less when he had acted like a jerk most of the night.
“I don’t need your help,” You snapped while flushing the toilet, trying to stand still, your head growing dizzier each time you moved.
Steve breathed a heavy sigh and said, “Here.” He ignored your protests as he helped you up, warm hands were tight around your waist. If you weren’t this embarrassingly drunk and a huge mess, you would’ve started getting your hopes up.
But not after today, not after he ignored you to be with Tammy Thompson all fucking night.
“I got it!” You spat, trying to free yourself from his hold. “Let me help, please.” This was the most genuine he had been tonight, his voice almost pleading as he threw you that pitiful look, and you hated it.
You hated being the one Steve pitied and not the one he pined after, but you swallowed your pride when you realized you couldn’t even walk properly.
You barely questioned everyone’s absence when your mind was filled with Steve.
And once he dragged you out of the bar, you couldn’t help the petty words that escaped your lips; you couldn’t stop them even if you wanted to.
“You can get back to your girlfriend now,” You muttered bitterly, your voice clear. There was venom in your tone, and your grudge was poison with the way it seeped into your words.
“What the hell are you talking about?” Steve sighed, and you lightly pushed him off of you as you stood still on your own.
“Does the name Tammy Thompson ring a bell?” You narrowed your eyes. You wish you could tape your mouth right now and stop yourself from spilling so much of your feelings to Steve.
“What does that have to do with anything, Y/N?” His tone remained cold now; your heart was in his hands, and he was squeezing it each time he distanced himself from you.
“You’re such a fucking hypocrite,” Each time you dismissed him, you unknowingly tore open the old wound in his heart, keeping it fresh.
“If—if you wanted to take care of me so badly, then why did you ignore me all fuckin’ night?” Your face heated with anger, and your tone was tinged with frustration.
“Should go back to fuckin’ blondie over there,” You muttered under your breath, avoiding eye contact with him, unable to conceal the bitterness you were holding onto.
“Oh my god,” The realization dawned on Steve at a crawl.
You were jealous of him.
“You are jealous,” Steve couldn’t help the annoying smile on his lips, much to your dismay. You were jealous of him, and as selfish as it was, it was amusing to him.
“What?” You snapped, eyes narrowing, “I’m not jealous—” The look Steve threw at you was enough to break you. “Jerk,” You mumbled under your breath. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Oh, it dooooeees,” He said, dragging his words out to annoy you further, as he took a step closer to you, almost closing the distance that he had been keen on protecting the entire night.
He was frustrating, so fucking frustrating, spinning your head faster than all the booze in your system. You couldn’t help the way your eyes grew mellow when he looked at you like that, you wanted to take all of him in.
This entire day was beginning to grow tiring, from Eddie’s sudden interest in you to Steve’s emotional whiplash, and now, since you couldn’t keep your mouth shut for one goddamn second, he was aware of your unnecessary jealousy.
“I’m not doin’ this with you,” You slurred again, hands wrapping around yourself almost as an attempt to conceal yourself from him, he could see right through you, and it was making you feel things you were not ready for.
“W—where is Eddie?” Those were the worst three words that could come out of your mouth. Just when Steve was basking in the glory and the hope that you were jealous of him, you decided to bring up Eddie, and with just his name rolling off your lips, you were re-opening his wounds.
Why not him?
Why was it never Steve?
Steve gulped; physically, he wasn’t sure what step to take would be better, to put a distance between you and him or to put a distance between him and Eddie.
And even though he knew he would regret doing this like there’s no tomorrow, even though Eddie doesn’t fucking deserve this decency, or you, Steve decided that he can’t do this to his friend.
“At least he’ll take me home!” You exclaimed so confidently that Steve couldn’t help the dry chuckle that escaped his lips.
“Yeah, I’m sure he would.” Steve quipped, grinning. He was mocking you again, unaware of your growing frustrations.
“What the hell is your problem?” You narrowed your eyes. “Unlike you, he didn’t ignore me all night to be with his ex, and he gave me his jacket.” Steve chuckled at that, again, frustrating you more and more, each time he opened his mouth.
With an irritated frown, you shot a sharp glance at him and asked, “Is everything a fucking joke to you?”
“Do you enjoy making me upset?” You crossed your arms against your chest, “You don’t give a fuck about anyone but yourself!” You snapped, not even knowing know why you uttered those words, you knew better than anyone that Steve wasn’t selfish; he never once put himself in front of his friends, but you were aiming to hurt him, and he was ready to bite back now.
“You are so fucking ridiculous, I—I can’t do this with you,” You murmured dejectedly, not being able to help it when your voice cracked; he was so embedded in your brain that you couldn’t form coherent words with the space he took up in your mind.
“You have no idea what you’re even talking about,” He whispered, shaking his head. If only you knew.
“Did you actually stop to think about how shitty it makes me feel when you give me these stupid emotional whiplashes?” You asked, and if you dared to get closer to him, you might’ve lost the purpose of the argument, your gaze drooping down to his lips every few seconds.
Steve stared at you blankly; you were unable to make anything out of his expressions, he looked at you as if you never existed to him, on a fucking whim.
Your lips tremble, a telltale sign that you would break soon.
His no response spoke volumes to you, “Of course you didn't.” You gave him a dry chuckle, filled with bitterness, and turned on your heel to walk away from him.
The slight breeze of February air hit you harder than Steve’s words.
He sighed a heavy breath when he heard you gasp at the coldness, hand reaching out to your arm before he spun you to meet his gaze again,
“Watch it, Y/N.” The words slipped past his lips forcefully, his chest puffing down with each breath he took. He was so fucking close that one move from you would change everything.
The tension was palpable; unspoken words and emotions hung in the space between the two of you.
And there it was.
There were his emotions again, filling his gaze quicker than you realized. If you weren’t this shitfaced, you could possibly do something about the ever so slightly distance between you, your foreheads almost touching. But your mind was spinning with endless possibilities. “Or what?” You teased; maybe it wasn’t the right time to do so, but you wanted to push him, make him break, the same way he did to you.
How far was he willing to take it?
His grip on your arm tightened; it wasn’t harsh, but tight enough to send shivers down your spine. And you couldn’t determine a single thing he was thinking again, eyes locked with each other without a single word being spoken.
You could sense his mind wandering off to find you a proper answer, trying to pick his words carefully, but you didn’t want that.
You wanted to know what he was thinking—what was going through his mind when he looked at you like you meant something to him, like he was ready to risk it all.
It was momentarily, but you could see it all—the sudden flint of confidence that didn’t waver enough to be convincing.
It wasn’t long until he returned to the cold demeanor he had been reserving just for you. “No, you’re not fucking worth it,” He muttered, taking a step back before he bit the inside of his cheek—hard. The metallic taste of blood flooded his senses, but he could care less; if he hadn’t done it, he would’ve poured his heart out.
He would’ve risked it all just to see those sparks in your eyes, but with five words, he had managed to kill it, slitting all the possibilities with the sharpest knife he could find.
“W–what?” Your voice cracked, and you fucking hated it. You hated being this weak in front of him, with tears ready to spill every time you had an argument, even over the smallest things.
“Just–Fuck! Look at you,” He didn’t want to say it; he didn’t want to burn this bridge with you, but he knew he had to for his own sake and for you to be happy with Eddie.
“You—you’re all over the place, always relying on others to take care of you, just one fucking night I didn’t baby you…” He shook his head. “And you act like I’m fuckin’ insane for doing that!” His voice was calm and collected, and that was what was throwing you off. How could he relay your insecurities in front of you, crush your heart to pieces, and pretend as if what he was saying was okay?
You couldn’t help it when tears flooded your vision. You tried not to let them get to you, but the alcohol in your system was far too dizzying and hormonal to stop your emotions from flowing. You didn’t know why he decided to utter those words, but it hurt.
Each of the gazes you shared and each word that transpired, deepened the wound in your insides that you didn’t even know existed, your feelings were at the surface, and you were vulnerable at his expense.
But Steve didn’t care.
“I—I can’t believe you’d say that,” You whispered, blinking the tears away when you took a step back, the hurt subsiding when it transformed into rage. “Fuck you,” You spat, your words weren’t slurred this time, but your vision was blurry again, barely taking another look at him when you started to walk away.
And he didn’t call out after you; he didn’t even flinch.
You were all alone.
You let your emotions overtake you as you started sobbing, sniffling every once in a while as you tried to comfort yourself.
Eddie could drop you home, you tried to reassure yourself, you knew there was a payphone close to The Hideout, if you could just walk a few more minutes, you could just call him—but holy fuck, did your feet hurt. You cursed yourself for not listening to Nancy when she told you to wear more comfortable shoes.
You were wobbly now, tears pouring down your cheeks, your smudged mascara distorting your view further, and it was dark out, so fucking dark that it started to scare you.
Your mind reeled more and more, and your chest felt trapped with each shallow breath you took. Eddie would’ve never uttered those words to you, your angry mind decided, Eddie wouldn’t flirt with girls—his exes—in front of you.
Eddie would never give you this sort of emotional whiplash.
And most importantly, Eddie would never leave you like this.
You felt so tired, just wanting to sleep, but you knew you couldn’t turn back now. Your feet were aching, but you’d rather they blistered than see Steve again.
You sat on the ground, relief washing over you when you got rid of your shoes, and the dirty, cold concrete ground felt so comforting that you nuzzled into the leather jacket, arms wrapped around yourself to provide more warmth as you sniffled into it.
You’re not sure if you can ever be with Steve anymore.
Sure, you could still be friends because you did have many big, stupid fights—granted, none of them were like this; this was different.
This was the first big fight you had with him since you realized your feelings for him, and it hurt.
Steve was not who you thought he was.
He was never going to love you.
He only saw you as his friend, and right now, even that was questionable.
And there you were, pathetically pining after him while he was drooling all over other girls, chasing him down and making a mess of yourself just for him to leave you like this.
You sniffled again; Eddie would never, and he actually was interested in you.
God, how you wished he could find you now, take you home, and whisper sweet nothings into your ear as he tried to mend what Steve broke.
You knew it was selfish, but it was the only way.
Maybe if Eddie could make you forget him completely, he could remind you that you weren’t a mess and that you were perfect.
Your vision blurred again, hot tears were stinging your eyes, but the ground was so comfortable.
Steve was right, you were a mess, you were a huge fucking mess, and you were pathetic, but you didn’t care as you hugged yourself further, head falling into your lap as you let yourself fall more and more into the deep pit of despair.
And that’s the last thing you remembered.
You didn’t remember Steve running after you as he realized how much he fucked up; you don’t remember Steve seeing you curled up into a ball, almost falling asleep.
You don’t remember Steve lifting you up and carrying you before anything bad happened to you.
You don’t remember the apologies Steve muttered into your ear on the ride home, how he checked every few seconds to make sure you were okay, his hands never leaving yours as he wanted to punch himself for even putting you in a position like this.
You don’t remember Steve whispering sweet nothings into your ear when he tucks you in, and you don’t remember him almost staying till the morning to make sure you were okay and didn’t get sick.
The last thing you remember was the fight.
You woke up the next morning with a groan, and you were sure no painkiller was going to help the pounding in your head.
You couldn’t help but cringe when you looked in the mirror, your hair was an absolute mess, the top that adorned your neck was covered with alcohol stains, your make-up was smudged, and you only had one earring.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” You sighed, taking off the dirty clothes as you put on a comfy shirt, your room was as messy as you were, bag on the floor while its contents spilled out, and… a leather jacket?
Slowly but surely, last night’s events came to you in a blur. The last thing you remembered was the fight you had with Steve.
Both of you spewed some hurtful things at one another, and that’s the clearest you could remember it.
You examined the leather jacket sprawled over the floor, and your brows knitted together, Steve didn’t even have a jacket on last night; you remembered because Robin made fun of him for not bringing a jacket in February when Steve whined about being cold.
You read the tagline; E.M.
Oh god.
Was it… Eddie? Did he drop you off when you were embarrassingly drunk?
Was Eddie the one who took care of you the whole night while Steve threw you away like a piece of paper?
You remembered the hurtful things he said to you; your mind was too jumbled up to even recall the nice things he said to you afterward.
You knew you have to talk to him, mend your friendship, but all you could think about now was Eddie, how he took care of you, and how he was there for you.
That day you called him, and he told you in detail how wasted you were and how he had to carry you home. You made up with Steve afterward too, both of you muttering apologies to each other as you promised not to let stupid things get out of hand.
And that day, Eddie took you on your first date with him.
NOW
“Buckley, you mind ringing these up for me?” You beamed, throwing her an innocent smile, your eyes wandering off to Steve’s absence next to her.
You gave her the ‘Evil Dead II’ and ‘Dirty Dancing’ VHS tapes nonchalantly, waiting to ask her about Steve.
Robin’s eyebrows shot up, “What kind of a double-feature is this supposed to be, huh?”
“A very fun one,” You said with a slight smirk, handing her a couple of bills.
You scanned the store, he was nowhere to be seen, of fucking course. “Harrington running from me again?” You almost cursed yourself for saying that out loud, but you couldn’t help it, something snarky would’ve slipped out eventually.
You saw Robin almost freeze, her mouth hanging open as her brain short-circuited to find a quick answer.
“I—It’s fine,” You mumbled. “Just tell him I would really like to talk to him. Once his weird tantrum is over?” You commented; it was snarky again, but he deserved it.
Five days had passed since the party, and Steve had been avoiding you like the plague, not returning your phone calls, and sneaking out the back each time you visited Family Video, and it was driving you crazy.
Determined to talk to him, you spent the last few days re-evaluating everything. You wanted to ask him what the fuck he meant—was everything that led to you dating Eddie a lie?
And did Steve never think to tell you this, even once the two of you broke up? His audacity was pissing you off, more than ever now that he was avoiding you.
Then small things started coming back to you in a flash, like the drunken confession you made to him last week.
But you were still clueless about The Hideout. You racked your brain away, but you couldn’t remember it for the life of you. Even the fight with Steve was so vaguely burned into the back of your brain, you simply didn’t want to remember it, or the hurtful words he uttered to you that night.
You had decided to forgive and forget, had no intention of going back to that head space, until recently, when Steve decided to blurt out that he was the one in Hideout, leaving without explaining anything further.
You tried to fish it out of Robin, but she acted clueless, and you tried everything you could do to reach out to Steve, but it was useless.
So that only left you with one thing.
Eddie.
Eddie had told you the day after The Hideout incident that it was he who took you home, detailing everything that happened that night.
You were basically breathless by the time you made it to Eddie’s trailer, knocking on the door, until it hit you.
What the fuck were you doing? Knocking on Eddie’s door when he had no fucking clue what was happening, when he had no idea you and Steve had kissed.
When he had no idea that you knew.
You shook your head in embarrassment as you turned around, about to leave, coincidentally and to your dumb luck, that’s when Eddie had decided to open the door.
He stood speechless when he saw you, his eyes almost bulging out of his head. “Y/N?” He asked, tone barely audible.
“Hi.” You muttered, accepting Eddie’s invitation as he stood aside for you to enter, and you squeezed by him with a quick ‘thank you’
“Look, I know you’re wondering why the fuck your ex showed up at your door but—”
“Oh, don’t worry.” He interrupted
“I do have an idea,” He smirked slightly, causing you to throw him a confused look, you were about to open your mouth, ask a million questions, but he didn’t let you.
“I know everything,” He muttered, and you couldn’t decide his facial expressions. “Steve told me about all of it.”
“And I already told him there was no bad blood between me and you and that it was fine that you guys kissed—”
What. The. Actual. Fuck.
“What?!?” You exclaimed, not expecting Steve to babble about it to Eddie when he had been avoiding you.
“Look, honey, Steve was all blabbering and shit when he came to see me, tellin’ me all this shit about how much he liked you and how sorry he was,” Eddie said with a concerned look.
“And I told him it was all fine, Christ—when did we even date, like 2 years ago?” You didn’t answer him and he sighed.
“I always knew the two of you had something for each other, I mean, why’d you think I got so jealous anytime you guys hung out together alone? He was definitely—“” He rambled for what felt like minutes, and you were quick to interrupt it, eyes blinking rapidly as you tried to process what the fuck was going on.
“Stop!” You exclaimed, “That’s… uhm– good to know, but not what I came in here for,” You muttered, eyes wandering to the ground.
He threw you a quizzed look, brows knitted up together, “I–I wanted to ask you about something,” You gulped.
“Well, spill it out, sweetheart, you’re makin’ me all nervous and shit.” He gave you a dry chuckle.
“What–what exactly happened that day?” You knew he was going to ask what the fuck you were talking about, so you cut him off before he got a chance to speak.
“At The Hideout… Two years ago.” You could see Eddie almost panic visibly, he didn’t expect it, and did it really matter now, after everything?
“Shit… why won’t you ask Steve about all this?” He scratched his head, it was all awkward, you coming here, asking him something that was two years ago, Steve telling Eddie about the kiss while refusing to acknowledge you…
It was embarrassing, really, and with each passing minute, a rage fueled inside of you. Sick of the hiding, and the lies. You just wanted the truth, and for Steve to not run at the first inconvenience.
“I would, if he didn’t avoid me like a fucking child,” You spat under your breath, causing Eddie to chuckle. He shook his head again.
“Right, so… I’m assuming since it was two years ago, you won’t be mad at me, right?” He asked, an innocent look spreading over his face, almost fearing as he saw how angry you were at Steve.
You almost rolled your eyes, these two idiots were making your blood boil. “Just want the truth, Munson, then I’ll be gone, I promise.”
“Right!” He chuckled nervously before telling you everything that happened that night.
You called Eddie right after you found his jacket, blabbering like an idiot as you thanked him a million times. While Eddie had no fuckin’ clue what had happened, he was still trying to get over his own hangover, but he wasn’t going to completely shut you down, not when he wanted you this badly, not when you were in the grasp of his hands.
As soon as you hung up, promising him a date, he called Steve, and he didn’t even have to beg him to play along; Steve was just... okay with it.
Steve knew the moment Eddie told him about his little crush that the two of you had no chance and that Steve would only be a little thought in the back of your mind, while Eddie would be the first choice, because why wouldn’t he?
Why would you choose him over Eddie?
And with all the sudden information flooding your mind, you weren’t sure how to react, how to vent all these emotions running through your veins, so you did it the only way you knew how; anger.
You checked the clock; 10.08
Steve’s shift should’ve ended long ago by now, you barely mumbled a goodbye to Eddie when you left, mind focused on one thing.
Steve.
You arrived at his door with your lips tightening and your jaw clenching, you weren’t going to give up now; you were going to talk to him. Now or never.
You knocked on the door so hard that you were sure your knuckles were bruising, and Steve was baffled when he opened the door, mouth almost agape as he looked at the sight in front of him.
“You know what you are? A fucking coward,” You mumbled, not giving him a second to process anything as you shook your head.
“You are a selfish fucking coward! Do you think you can make decisions for other people? You think you can just take their choices away and pretend like everything is fucking fine!” Steve didn’t utter a word when you let it all out, your words meshing with each other, and you could feel your blood boiling each time you spoke, but it was… weirdly relieving.
All that pent up anger was finally coming out.
“And you told Eddie?!? You fucking talked to him but didn’t have the guts to even face me! Five days, five fucking days, I followed you around, you fucking jerk!” You spat, your eyes flashed with anger as your face came closer to him, he didn’t even flinch, eyeing you curiously, those deep honey glazed eyes were warming the more he looked at you.
And Oh God, was his gaze inviting, so warm, but you couldn’t soften up… not when you still had so much to say.
“Do you know how embarrassing it is for me? No—no… Fuck that! I don’t even give a fuck if it's embarrassing, I’ve been–I’ve been living a lie and you–it’s your fault…” You mumbled the last part, chest heaving, when your fiery gaze met his, he was itching to talk, and you could tell.
“That—that’s a bit dramatic don’t you think?” He muttered, causing your eyes to narrow, “Look why don’t we just go inside and have an adult conversation? No need for these tantrums—” And that hit a nerve.
“Don’t,” You muttered, closing your eyes, the rage bubbling up to the surface again, gnawing at your skin, waiting to welcome you.
“Don’t you fucking dare to tell me to have an ‘adult conversation’ when you’ve been avoiding me like the plague!” You exclaimed angrily, face heating with anger, Steve nodded, understandingly. He didn’t mean to sound like a jerk, he just wanted to talk to you. He had been debating what to do these last five days, and shutting you out during that was obviously stupid, but that’s how he handled everything, wallowing it all until he chewed his emotions, keeping them hidden.
“What was I supposed to do?” He asked, almost defeated, and it made you want to chuckle, he was sending you over the edge.
“Are you kidding me?” It wasn’t a question; it was stupid for Steve to even attempt to open his mouth.
“You could have talked to me!” You took a deep breath; your anger wasn’t going to help, and if you didn’t talk to Steve as soon as possible, your head might have exploded.
You sighed as Steve stood aside, leading you to the living room, and your anger subsided with each step you took. The familiarity of the house was engulfing you, and you wanted to scream.
What if Steve had told you this would change nothing?
What if this was it for the two of you?
Your head was swirling, and it hurt, both physically and emotionally. It was taking a toll on you and Steve could sense it.
“What—what really happened… that day?” You asked, voice barely audible as you avoided his gaze.
Steve sighed as he took a seat next to you on the couch, hand itching to lay on your thigh, squeeze it to make you feel comfortable, just so you would look at him, but he resisted it, hand flexing as he placed it between the two of you.
“You–you remember our fight?” He mumbled, causing you to nod. “We both said some stupid shit to each other—”
“Well, you started it—” You gazed up at him, and this time he threw you a look, causing you to close your mouth as if to signal him to continue.
“And—and you left… and the second you did, I just felt this horrible fucking pit in my stomach, I could never—I could never leave you like that,” His voice was shaking, hands flexing again as he inched closer to you.
“I found you on the street, Y/N, almost passed out, and I lost my goddamn mind for leaving you alone—even for a second, I ca—I can’t fucking imagine what I would even do if anything happened to one–one fucking strand of your hair—just the thought makes me sick to my stomach—Jesus.” He muttered, face still toward you as you could trace it now, the worried lines etched onto his forehead, a frown taking upon his usual plump lips, voice cracking as you could sense it, the utter worry and desperation in his voice.
You couldn’t open your mouth, words failing you as you opted out to hold his hand instead, a small gesture, but one that made Steve’s entire stiffness disappear. One touch from you warming him up immediately.
“I took you home as fast as I could—I tucked you in, made sure you didn’t get sick, and then I left.”
“Why?” You asked, meekly.
“Why did you let me believe it was him? Why did you ignore me that night?”
“It–it doesn’t matter now,” He mumbled, and your brows furrowed again, fury still locked up inside of you.
“It fucking does!” You snarled, insides burning with anticipation and anger.
“Stop being a fucking coward,” You yelled, you didn’t want to scream at his face, but he left you with no choice. If you wanted to talk to him, you had to get some things out of him, no matter how much it angered you.
“Just tell me, Steve, full transparency, I want it all out.”
Steve’s silence caused a groan out of you, “If you don’t, I’m gonna leave… for good,” You whispered.
You were bluffing; you weren’t going to go anywhere without getting some closure, but Steve didn’t know that, and he had never seen you this riled up, so he sighed when you got up.
“I didn’t want to lose you!” He got up after you, staring at your back for a full minute until you turned around to meet him, a quizzed look overtaking your features.
“What?”
“God! I wanted to—Shit. I wanted to tell you about how I felt, but then Eddie came and he told me all about how he had feelings for you, and, uh, I just panicked— so fucking hard. I knew you would have chosen him, and I had that rejection one too many fuckin’ times, and I—I knew I couldn’t handle it from you!” He exclaimed, breath ragged as his brown orbs looked at you with such sympathy that you wanted to drop everything and kiss him, tell him that he would always be your first choice.
“I knew you would choose him and—”
“I didn’t want to be a second choice again, Y/N, I was so fucking scared—” You shook your head.
“Steve you—god, you have no fucking clue about anything,” You chuckled dryly, interrupting him.
“When you ignored me for Tammy that night, when you told me that I wasn’t ‘worth it’ that’s when I decided to contain my feelings for you, I knew you didn’t like me for anything more than friends—I always thought we had a ‘will they won’t they’ kind of relationship but that night, confirmed it for me,” You looked away, almost ashamed, face burning up.
“I felt so fucking desperate—like you wanted to push me away like I was an idiot girl who was clinging onto you, and now everything is just so confusing that I don’t even know what is going on.” Your hands ran through your hair.
“But you were and will always be my first choice,” You didn’t mean to smile, but it just appeared, anger washing away. “I wish you could see yourself the way I see you,” You muttered, and Steve’s entire demeanor changed, his body relaxing as he realized how much of an idiot he had been.
“What?” He asked, baffled, a small smile overtaking his lips before you could say another word.
“Yeah,” You murmured, taking a step closer to him,
“So… we’re both idiots, huh?” He asked, basking in the way you looked up at him, batting your eyelashes as your warm aura engulfed him.
“Hmmm… I’d say it’s more you than me,” You mumbled, scrunching your nose, as Steve huffed playfully, inching closer and closer to you. You didn’t know where this took the two of you, but your mind was so busy when he was standing this close to you.
One strand of his hair fell onto his forehead, and all you wanted to do was run your fingers through them, kiss every inch of his face, run your lips along his soft ones, feel his calloused hands on your curves, grabbing desperately, meek grunts leaving his lips, both of you breathless.
And that’s exactly what you did—without a care, you closed the distance between the two of you with an annoyed huff, fingers running through his shiny hair.
His hands were quick to land on your hips, grabbing them like he was afraid of you slipping away, once again. And it all felt so easy and familiar that you could feel your head spinning.
His lips brushed against yours softly. You didn’t want this moment to be over, wanting to cling to him forever. Everything he did made you feel foolish and insane, and you understood why being in love felt like losing your mind, again.
Steve groaned into your lips, kissing you harder, once, twice, his lips never fully letting go of you, and you didn’t know if it would ever be enough for you, utterly craving nothing but him.
Your mind was jelly at this point, everything was tangled together while the question of ‘What’s going to happen now?’ lingered in your mind. Did he still want you? Did he still want to be together? Why didn’t he just come to you after talking to Eddie?
You tried to shake them off, tried to focus on the way Steve’s hands stuck to your body, like they belonged there, and the way his lips moved along yours, like it had always been this way.
You wanted to continue, wanted so badly to not let this moment go, but the bickering voices in your head were too much, and you pulled away slowly. Steve almost groaned when he felt the absence of your lips. He blinked once, twice.
“Oh, fuck. Do that again.” He unintentionally let out, gaze filled with lust as his pupils were blown wide, and a small giggle left your lips. “You are an idiot,” You whispered, your gaze settling on him.
Was everything going to be okay?
How were you even going to manage to make this work?
And with that, your expression soured, “Steve,” You said seriously, causing him to look up at you with concern all over his face. “I don’t want to get hurt again.” You murmured, forehead touching his.
“I won’t hurt you, ever.” His gaze was intense, and it made you feel giddy, worries washing away in seconds. You don’t know how he fucking did it, but it worked.
And you trusted him like no one else.
You couldn’t help it when your lips twitched into a smile. “You promise?” You gushed.
“With all my heart, honey.” He whispered, taking a deep breath.
“You have no fuckin’ idea how long I’ve been waiting for this, dreaming about this...”
“I would never, ever do anything to hurt you.” He muttered, his hands tucking the strand of hair that was blocking him from placing messy kisses all over your face.
“I couldn’t handle losing you, not again,” He murmured before leaning in to press more kisses all over your soft lips.
ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-
bonus scene: just for shits n giggles idk
“What movies did you get today?” He asked with a childish grin on his lips.
“If you weren’t avoiding me, you would’ve known, pretty boy.” You exclaimed dramatically, crossing your arms against your chest.
Pretty boy.
The only thing that stuck in Steve’s brain was that he was your pretty boy.
And this giddy feeling inside of him was never going to go away, he decided.
He huffed playfully before he grabbed your bag, causing you to gasp. “Let’s see…” He murmured as he tried to find the VHS tapes.
“Aha!” He exclaimed as he grabbed the two of them, turning the cover to see what movies you rented.
“Oh my god,” He murmured. “A double-feature? For us?” He couldn’t help the way his lips twitched into a smile, so warm that you wanted to bathe in the glory of making him this happy.
“Mhmm… First, Evil Dead II for me, and once Stevie gets scared, we’ll put on Dirty Dancing.” You give him a wink.
“Oh, Jesus Christ,” He groaned. “You are so fucking perfect, I’m gonna lose my mind.” He placed a kiss on your forehead.
another a/n: so this is a bit messy bc i had too many ideas and this is the best i could do to fit them all in, i hope this doesn't feel that disconnected from the first!! work has been kicking my ass lately so my mind is all mushed lmao!! feel free to leave ur feedback and pls comment, like or reblog to support me ily <33
#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington x you#steve harrington fanfic#steve harrington oneshot#steve harrington angst#steve harrington x y/n#steddie x reader#eddie munson imagine#eddie munson x reader#steve harrington fic#steve harrington fluff#stranger things imagines#stranger things fic#steve harrington#ex!eddie munson
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6.5k | sub!joel miller x f!reader
gif credit: @jdmorganz
rating: 18+ MDNI
warning: NO OUTBREAK. established relationship, no age gap – up to you for joel's age but he has creaky knees so..., sub!joel, bratty!joel??, mommy kink, rope kink, dom/sub dirty talk, joel whimperin' n whinin', gagging, choking, slapping, spitting, edging (m receiving), oral (f receiving - face riding), piv (unprotected), praise kink (good boy, etc.), pet names (pet, baby boy, honey, etc.), a touch of humiliation/degradation kink (spoiler: a moment of cock shaming – every body is a lovely body!), size kink (he still got that thang tho), we walk by breeding ave., sickly sweet aftercare, lingerie. dude if i missed it - it's probably in here! no use of y/n
A/N: thank u to the sweet anon (u know who u are) who requested this almost a month ago. i hope it was worth the wait! love youuuuu!!! ♡
Joel liked having his way. Shocking.
This concept drew you to him, not only because you enjoyed being told what to do (every now and then), but even more that you wanted to challenge why he needed things to be his way in the first place.
You’ve been with Joel long enough now to know the mix of events that made him who he was. Nights and days where he felt insecure for exposing all there was to him, but he was willing to fish it out of him to you.
Only to you.
Tonight wasn’t unlike a handful of nights the two of you shared since being together and unraveling Joel’s vulnerability. It was beautiful, and in moments of softness, it was easy to reflect on how far he’d come. But, right now? You’re a little preoccupied.
---
It started earlier tonight. Joel refused to wear contacts for the fourth time in a week, and forgot his glasses just as much.
And guess who had to remind him? You! Of course! Every. Single. Time.
To wear his glasses, or put his contacts in. But the week was busy at work – Tommy gone off again. Or at least, this was his excuse. More and more excuses poured throughout the week until it was a mere grunt at your suggestion.
Your knuckles blanching until you just gave up entirely.
“Ah, fuck,” you hear from the kitchen, the view of Joel rubbing his eyes not long after the sound.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Joel,” words are sharp and you clench your teeth. It catches Joel off guard at first, his head shooting up to meet your cold stare. And before he can make an attempt to straighten you out, you stand up – rushing to the kitchen. “I tell you this at least twice a fucking week. ‘Joel, wear your glasses. Joel, have you put your contacts in today?’ you know why your eyes hurt so fucking much? Because you don’t listen to me, and I’m sick of it.”
“You know it’s been a rough week,” Joel’s tyrannical now, his jaw setting – ticking forward.
“Oh, I’m sorry – did I give you permission to speak?” you raise an eyebrow waiting for a reaction, but instead you witness the shift of his hips and the drop of his gaze.
He feels the energetic shift as much as you do, and seems into it. The hitch in his breath gave him away.
“No, ma’am.”
“Bedroom. Now. Swear to god, if you make me repeat myself.”
So he goes and you follow. And you bring a dining chair with you.
Placing it down, you go to the closet to grab some clothes before turning your heel to face a man whose cock shouldn’t be so fucking hard from getting your last nerve.
“I’m going to change, and you are going to sit on this chair. Naked. Do I need to repeat myself?”
Joel beseeches you silently with his dark stare and a steadfast shake of his head, “No, ma’am.”
You don’t respond because you don’t have to and usher yourself to the bathroom – door shuts behind you and you slip into something more dominating.
---
“Darlin’, it’s a little tight,” Joel rattles now, his strength to hold back waning. The rope that curled around the strong arches of his wrists tug harshly as it found tautness from behind the chair.
His wrists and ankles tied with knots that Joel taught you how to tie long ago.
The chair at the foot of the bed.
Feet planted firmly on the ground, you peer over him, changed into laced lingerie with leather accents. Red. Cinched at the waist, your tits bloom out from the cups — daring to spill but never do. You feel sexy, and you feel in control. And fuck, you look so good. Joel knows it, the way he sops you up just by his eyes.
He’s shorter than you like this, but his body still takes up so much space, and it’s intoxicating to observe Joel in such a submissive position in his sturdy frame.
“Is Darlin’ my name?” voice flat, you prop yourself up on the edge of the chair – tilting your head to scan over his body. You take your time with each part of him. Because his wrists are tied, yes, but you look down at the rest of him, completely stripped for you. His hips jolt involuntarily, pathetically really, all from your words and you really watch between his legs. The head of his cock pulsing with blush, weeping against his stomach and thigh as it arches. And he twitches at your gaze.
“Oh, he likes that,” you remark condescendingly, and on any other day you’d be eager to wrap your lips around him. To suck him until his toes curled and your name slipped through the air from his rough, but blissed out voice. But tonight was about taking the lead, teaching a lesson. Taking him how you wanted because you could. And maybe because you loved him and wanted him to experience – to just experience without the expectation of being in command.
“Now, tell me,” you start, teasing the tops of your fingernails grazing the length of his thigh slowly – humming in approval, his body shuddering, his grunts fill the air, “what’s my name, Joel?”
“M-mommy,” the word scorches his cheeks, causing him to bite into his bottom lip and his eyes squeeze shut, precum beading to the tip. His head hangs in unbearable arousal, chin lifting to catch your eyes. The soft brown of his eyes, full of desire and willingness to do anything for you. Anything… except doing what he’s told when he’s stubborn. Your core aches when you squeeze your thighs together for relief, but you don’t falter.
“Mommy!” a fake gasp, you lean over to pat him on the cheek before smacking the skin ten percent harder, “That’s right! Good boy!”
And that wrecks him, sends his hips flying off the seat as much as he can, but you’re quick to shove them down. “Ah, ah, ah. Not so fast, Mommy’s not done with you yet,” your fingers curl under his chin, coaxing him to look at you.
“How can you make me feel good, pet? Let’s use our words,” you lean down enough for him to see your tits pushed together like this and the look on his face– god, you’d bottle it. His brows wilted upwards, lips parting, and they’re so wet, so inviting, you want to kiss them for hours. The right toy for you to use in pursuit of getting yourself off.
“I—I c’n use my mouth. I wanna. Wanna be good t’ya, mama,” and he’s almost begging. He’s so close, you can tell he’s trying. It’s just that, he’s distracted– wants to devour you whole without having to ask, not like this. He’s still not used to saying the things you so easily offer him on any other day.
“You wanna be good to me,” you repeat mockingly, tongue darting to one side of your cheek, “That’s too bad. We’re not doing that yet, you still need to learn your lesson. Gotta make sure you know who’s in charge, don’t we, darlin’?”
You don’t let him answer before you sit back at the edge of the bed, your legs spread as they relax against the mattress. You watch Joel, how his head won’t look at you directly – not even if he wants to. He feels too shy, too ashamed for not listening to you, and honestly you’re sick of it because you look fucking hot.
So you clap your hand at his chin lightly, “Miller. Right here.”
Joel’s jaw clenches, and those deep eyes take their precious time to rake their gaze over you.
“Is that how you act when a gorgeous lady’s in front of you?”
Joel lifts his brows first, then his eyes, “No, baby– I’m sorr–”
“Not my name.”
You see Joel’s mandible flutter again in frustration now because yes, you’re grinding his gears, but the vulnerability makes him uncomfortable, and he grits out, “No, mommy. I’m. Sorry.”
“You’re on thin fucking ice Joel,” your arms cross over your chest, leaning forward to make eye contact, and though it makes your tits raise, your body language says it all: last chance.
That seems to make him reroute his stubbornnesses because he’s back to open expressions and spread thighs – thick as his cock that weeps pitifully against his abdomen and thigh.
“Yes, ma’am.”
If you were to admit it to yourself, you’re distracted. His cock looks so good, throbbing like that – bobbing with each twitch as his balls tighten along with it and he’s so perfectly thick your mouth waters, but it is not about making his ego feel good tonight. Not yet, anyway. He must understand this behaviour is unacceptable. Just when you think about caving, you’re reminded of how fucking obstinate he’s been and you get annoyed – dominant, all over again.
“Here’s how tonight's gonna go. I’m gonna touch myself, use your mouth, and if you’re good, I’ll ride your pathetic excuse of a cock. Sound good?” you flash a sardonic grin cutting him off when his mouth opens, “Good! Now shut the fuck up.”
It shouldn’t make him hard and it shouldn’t make slick gather between your legs, but of course it does because you’re both insatiable when it comes to each other. Fueling a fire that can’t be tamed anyway, you unfurl in front of him – one palm against the lush duvet while the other trails in front of you, through the lace of your panties. You squeeze your thighs together again, spreading your mess and there’s a wicked grin on your face because you know he knows just how it feels to have those thighs squeezing around his head. To make that messy pussy of yours glide over his features. And the damp fabric emits subtle sloshes from just how turned on you are by this. You love the opportunity to have the upperhand.
Joel, he looks rabid, eyes unable to move from your core while the sweetest sounds fall out of your mouth. Like a hypnotising trick from the circling of your clothed folds – a magician’s secret. His stare is so animalistic you almost want to egg him on like a dog: this what you want, boy? But you’ve got him right where you want him, and you don’t want to take him anywhere else.
“It feels good, Joel,” you confirm with no pornographic moans. Rather a solid melody to your tone. Grounded in your power. You want Joel to know you can make yourself feel good without him, despite it being very much because of him. “Better than you can make me feel.”
And Joel can’t take it anymore – he can’t stand it when you lie to him. He’s seen you with him. How you blossom under his touch until your thighs are shaking all on their own. Seen drool spill from the corners of your mouth as you take and take and take from him, slurred praises floating from your needy throat.
“That ain’t fuckin’ true,” he growls like a caged animal, hips squirming into the chair, and you stop pleasing yourself – wrist frozen as the pressure on your clit becomes lighter, eyes narrow.
“Did I let you fucking speak?” Question rhetorical, you slip your scanty panties off and wad them up before prying his mouth open and shoving them, crotch-side first, inside to mute any more rebukes. The taste of your sex coats his tongue and his moans are muffled, eyes roll back for a fleeting moment – as if he forgot what he was even saying to begin with. His wrists slightly turning colour from the resistance against the rope. Hog heaven, you can hear the southern phrase drawl from his lips without the words.
“And what? You think you can make me feel better than I can? You really think that?” Joel finally smartens up when he realises you’re naked from the waist down and can see the slick against the seams of your thighs while your legs are apart – how turned on you are by keeping him on a line, and god the air is thick. His eyelids droop to the sound of your voice, the scent and taste of you overcoming him as a piteous nod is given to you. Poor baby.
It should irk you, the fact that he believes he knows your body better than you do, but it rakes the coals instead. It’s in that he’s so eager to show you how he can get you there – makes you curious, your pussy tingles in anticipation, pulse rises.
“If I let you go, are you going to be compliant? Because if you think you’re in control, you’re wrong and I need to know you’ll be a good boy for me. Will you be a good boy for mommy if I tell you what to do?”
The strained pleas from the fabric and emphatic nods give you reason to follow through with your promise. And he looks like he means it, like you’ve worn him down to submit to you fully without restraint. You can tell he’s in pain from how hard he is. Like he’s being edged without even touching him. His hands must be numb, his body could tremble at the slightest touch.
It’s enough for you to waltz behind him. You loosen the rope, ghosting your hands over the other typically warm set and despite them being tingly – he can still feel you. His breath hitches, the slopes of his shoulders are so gorgeous from behind. The muscles of his back taut as they flex, their silent entreat for relief. “It’s okay,” you whisper, now that you can’t see him, you feel more inclined to be forgiving.
The arousal is a constant build between the two of you. When you let his wrists loose, he doesn’t move. Just rolls his knuckles into fists, bringing blood and oxygen back to the extremities. He’s good on his word, and makes that known when you untie his ankles. He’s giving it up to you – totally conceding, and moreover adores this side of you. He knows he’s the only one you could ever be this assertive with because the relationship you have creates room for it. Both of you feel safe. His teeth tighten around your panties when you come back around to him, and you cup your small hand, comparatively, to the side of Joel’s neck.
“You good little thing. Got mama so proud,” pushing his curls back, you pull the spit-soaked garment from between his teeth and he’s beaming, nudging his cheek against your touch hungrily. “Go lie on the bed, honey.”
His joints creak from age when he does, having sat there for what felt like an eternity but he does exactly as you say: nothing more, nothing less. Hums softly to himself at the feeling of being able to lie flat on his back because it feels so good, and in the brief moment it’s there without a role – your adoration for him, the gentle quirks that make him so delectable. He deserves to sit back like this, to let his brain just take rather than supply.
However impatient he may be in the process of submission.
“You are doing so well, Joel. I know you have a pristine mouth too, don’t you? Are you gonna show me your tongue?” Getting onto the bed, you walk on your knees as this newly obedient Joel sticks out his tongue flat for you to float over. Your throat dries at that, how perfect he can be for you like this. A smirk comes over your features, “Much better with your tongue out than running it all the time,” and you swear you see Joel’s teeth creep up in a similar smile, but you’re busy straddling his waist with your ass facing his chest to notice.
His strong nose bumps against your clit when you bracket his head. Sipping the air abrasively, your body seizes at the sensation. Clearly more sensitive than your confident words let on, but that’s just the thing – you are confident and extremely horny and you can admit it. So you give in, purring deliciously when you lower over his mouth until you’re sitting completely on his face.
“Love using this mouth for my cunt,” fingers tangle through the strands of his hair and you use it to roll your hips frantically, yet methodically, against the heat of his wet mouth. His tongue hits your folds succinctly, on purpose, and even though you haven’t allowed him to touch you, his movements are so precise it’s as if he’s rolling your hips for you.
“Fuck, you’re swimming in it now,” you groan, neck thrown back before leaning your neck over to the side to watch his eyes flutter shut – the slight shake of his achy jaw, the sweat at the top of his hairline. He’s putting in the work to take it, even when he feels like giving up.
The squelching of your juices has you in your own trance, and though you would wait for his cock to give into the prickling at the pit of your belly, you decide to go give in to what you want in the moment – to orgasm right here, right now. All over Joel’s face.
Pulling the top of your pubic bone, your clit exposes to the plush of lips beneath you. “Suck.” The instruction is simple compared to the stir of fireworks that he sets off inside you. Because he does what you say, and how you say it, instantly. Joel’s eyes roll back alongside his muffled, but satisfied moans that vibrate against the bundle of nerves he’s taking his time to satisfy. Wet suction sounds fill the room when the air breaks off, his tongue swirling right underneath the hood of you and you break out in a sweat from how impossibly good he is at this.
“Y-you’re so good for mommy,” you sound wrecked, Joel looks up at you when he catches just how gone you are. Loving to see you take what you want from him, using his mouth to pleasure yourself. You rock deeply, your hands knead over your lace-covered tits and when you look down at him again, he can’t keep his eyes off of you. Eating you like he worships you, and you’re certain he does.
But using him meant not warning him when you were close.
So it comes as no surprise, the influx of low, masculine, ached groans from beneath you when your body responds to its pleasure. Your fingernails dig into your fists as you shudder and moan above him, the lightning rising from your core to your limbs in a matter of seconds – and in waves. You lean forward, catching yourself at the headboard and let out a slight chuckle at the comedown. The two of you surfacing in between this power dynamic. “Shit.”
That’s short lived under your ruling, however, and you slide off of him – getting your bearings. Joel stays still, his mouth vivid pink to match his cheeks, beard and lips sheened with your slick. The look in his eye shows his constraint, his need for something and when you pluck your gaze down his body. His beautiful cock straining against his abdomen, a pool of precum greets you.
“This?” You raise both eyebrows, pointing between his legs, “This needs touchin’?”
“Please,” fuck, he sounds ruined – consumed with lust and need for anything you can give him. He’s really begging now, not the bullshit he tried to deliver you in the beginning.
“Okay, baby,” you coo, “You’re so good for me, gonna make you feel so good.” When you finally, finally acknowledge his cock, his abdomen jolts though you barely touch his sides. You laugh through your nose briefly, “That bad, darlin’?” His head sways ‘yes’ against the pillow before saying it, and you waste no more time in your pursuit to obliterate him now.
So you straddle him. Right at his waist, angling above where his twitching cock lies. You can feel the heat radiate off the both of you. Your core pulsing from your orgasm, wet from slick and spit. You have some wits about you now that you came, and it aids you in authorising the next step – the step that has every nerve at the edge of its seat for Joel.
Joel’s body. The taut skin, the hair down his arms and across the landscape of his chest down his middle. Your own body fills with anticipation when you anchor your hips further down until your folds are greeted by the underside of his length and it’s unhurried when you both shudder in response.
“Sh-shit, shit, darlin’–mama,” he inhales sharply, those words transitioning to whimpers when you glide your hips over his cock back and forth with intention – applying more pressure with each pass.
“Yeah, you like that?”
Joel’s tongue skates over his bottom lip as he nods frantically, and you still yourself.
“Nuh uh. Words, tell me. Need to hear you say it, Joel.”
“F-feels so good, honey. Feels like my kinda paradise.”
Or at least that’s what you are pretty sure you hear. It’s rushed from his feverish breaths, but he’s doing his best. Wants to make an impression that he is committed to giving in. It’s when his eyes slip shut do you lean your body over him, tilting his chin, you wrap one hand around his throat though it doesn’t quite reach around to completion.
“You beautiful man. Keep your eyes on me, yeah?”
Joel blinks them open to see your hooded eyes above him, unable to hide just how in awe he is.
“Y’look gorgeous, mama,” and shit– you feel your cunt clench around the absence of him at that. At how candid and altruistic his words are in the moment.
“You’re one to talk,” you run the tops of your fingers against his beard, hips languid. “Stay right here. My good boy. M’gonna take this big fucking cock. That’s right, isn’t it? Make you know for certain who it belongs to.”
And he loves hearing you talk about him like this. Looks so serene as you sit upright, peeling the rest of your layers off until you’re both naked and he looks like he desperately wants to touch you, but you give him a stern look – not yet. Not until I take you myself.
Reaching behind, you press the head of his cock at your entrance and hiss at the instant stretch. Not working yourself up with his fingers shows when you envelop him like this, and you can feel him digging his heels into the bed from just how you feel around the head of him.
“M-Mommy!”
The sound of him whining is symphonic to your ears.
“Shhhh, you can take it.” The role reversal makes you shiver, your wet sex moving down a little more before you pull up, popping off of him completely and his hips stammer trying to follow you, but he soon realises the edge you’re bringing him to.
He’s greeted with your sinister smile.
“What, honey?” You lean over him, forcing his chin up, you deliver a slap to his cheek before sliding down his cock again – working him up and down, then off again.
His bottom lip trembles and puffs. He’s losing his cool, hands ghosting your hips because he knows better than to touch you like this. Not when he’s so close to getting what he wants. The heat, the fucking heat from them – you shake.
“P-p, mama, mmngh,” his whimpers put you in a daze. How he feels so good he can’t even form a proper sentence. Your free hand claws at his chest while the other at your front edges him – rocking against the underside of him again. Minutes feel like hours when you rile him up like this, and you know you look a mess too. Fucked out, nipples peaked and you catch his gaze on them – his hunger for you extends through the room leaving heat on your skin as it radiates, the energy bouncing off from this tantric experience. The eye contact is insane: Joel’s pupils dilated, eager against the constant spasm of his cock against your messy folds.
All humidity, sweat, and sex make their presence irrevocably known.
You’re slipping.
But you muster one last discipline, leaning down so your tits graze against his chest. You brush your nose against his, insisting his precum spreads against your entrance. He grunts, teeth together, hips grinding as best as he can without breeding you into your submission. And fuck, you’d almost allow it.
Almost.
“Should’ve worn your fucking glasses.” You whisper against his lips, your clit brushing against the coarse hairs of his lower abdomen, and it’s exactly then does he spill over his breaking point.
“I’ll wear them, I’ll wear them!” And, fuck, Joel sounds pained – he sounds sorry, and he sounds desperate. “Please! Please just let me come, mama. I wanna paint ya up so good, honey. P-please, mama! I’ll get fuckin’ lasik – please, just lemme in that perfect pussy!”
That’s the green light.
Placing him back inside, your hips grind on him shallowly. Both hands tighten around his throat, albeit a bit looser than the one fist he’d have around your neck – but it seems to do the trick and you buzz in satisfaction before a choked moan fills your lungs: the sound he’s been craving. Your body giving in, doing what it does. It’s nature, after all, giving into these feelings. “Fucking take this cunt. Fill mommy up, yeah? You wanna make me a real mama, baby? C’mon, let go for me. You can let go, you can move.”
It’s a lightswitch. It’s flipping a breaker, giving Joel such permission.
You yelp when he tosses you off of him. Onto your back, he’s on his knees within a blink – gripping your thighs, he pries you apart before his cock spears inside you with little remorse, and “Oh-my god – your cock!” you scream. It’s exactly what you need now. You nod through knitted brows, praises fill the space between you. You take his chin between your thumb and pointer, one arm around his shoulders you pry his lips apart to transfer spit right inside his mouth. Your tongue glides over his and he drinks straight from the source. You can feel his Adam's apple wobble as it swallows what you’re giving him underneath the pad of your thumb. “That’s it, that’s a good boy,” you mutter sloppily from the rutting of his deviant hips.
Gravity’s against you when you spit in his mouth again, getting some of it on your chin and nose, but fuck, you don’t care. You want it filthy like this with your head half off the bed, his fingers plucking your nipples as it ripples pleasure down your center. “I’m doin’ okay, mama? This whatcha need?” This sly fucker. “S-s’perfect!” The requirement of reassurance fastens you in the leadership role you assumed in the beginning, and you’re so fucking thrilled Joel’s your partner. How he can deliver you mindblowing thrusts, yet still look at you through his lashes like he’s the softest motherfucker on the planet. A gleam of pride in his eyes and at the corner of his lips when he hears your juices be tapped in a fast tempo by his heavy balls. Like giving you pleasure is the pearl he longs to hold for dear life itself in his capable hands.
Of course, he circles your clit for good measure. Of course he would. Little shit. It works like a charm.
He knows your body, said it himself. How it operates, how to take you there. And you’re panting, hips lift to be greeted by his thrusts all the way to the base of your stomach – achieving the spongy spot only Joel can reach.
You feel it happen like a coiling, a buildup of thin air and then all at once: immense pleasure. It snaps, your body convulsing around his cock, core fluttering as your moans get higher, and you think he’d slow down, but it makes him work harder. You try to keep your eyes on him, but it’s just no use, he’s too good at his job. “F-fuckin’, mmngh,” you can’t get out much else, but you’re soaking his cock – what else could possibly be said? Your tits bounce to his thrusts and you can tell this is it for him. He’s been so proficient at keeping it together all this time. Your eyes pop open then, lips wet, you tug for him to come closer. You don’t fucking care that his sweat sticks to your shoulder when he buries his forehead against your neck.
Joel keeps his whimpers close to your ear. His moans of your name, his passion for this feeling – all of it, right against you. Like a secret, like a prayer and you’re the divine goddess in every moment of reverence.
“Can’t last,” he drawls, a coherent sentence flows through him for a moment and you nod, mouth brushing against the red of his neck. “Give it to me, Joel.” Lips dance at his pulsepoint as the contact bounces from his thrusts, and you can hear his heart thud from outside his body. It floods you, the sawing of his cock inside, the swelling sensation against your walls. Tugging his hair, you pull him back just enough to see his faded eyes, “Give me every drop, baby boy. Come for mommy.”
His lips attempt to make contact with yours, but really all he can do is breathe heavily into your mouth and it’s dizzying, being each other’s oxygen. “S-s… so p-perf–,” he tries, he really tries in making the words connect, but even his core feels shaky from his forearms on either side of your head. You snake your hands around his throat once more, and that’s fucking it.
Joel’s sounds are a mix of the low grunts you know, tailending with particular whimpers that leave you moaning back to him like a call to each other. Holy fuck, you’ve never heard him make that sound before. And he’s good on his promise – coating your inside sticky with his substance, your own vibrational tone is low in your throat as you hum in approval. Until he rides it out. Until his pleasure turns sensitive and his hips come to an end.
“Oh, baby,” you praise, delicate hands leaving his throat, you pet his back – warm and masculine and rippled with muscles that he attained from his work. He’s out of breath, and you both laugh at it, pressing tender kisses to his nose and lips.
“Might fuckin’ die at this rate.”
“Well, at least we had a good run.”
It feels empty when Joel pulls out of you, his lanky body shakes the bed when he gracefully thwacks onto the mattress beside you.
“Mmmng.”
A flawless response. Mmmng, indeed.
You stretch your arms overhead, facilitating a yawn in the process.
And you don’t ignore the way it feels to have his cum spill out of you. Hot and sticky and where it’s meant to be.
“Stay there,” you whisper, rolling onto your side, “You did so good. I’m so proud of you, baby.” You even speak differently now – tender and light, peppering kisses all over his tired face in satisfaction. Slipping up to your feet, you go to the adjoined bathroom and run the bath. Putting a couple of drops of your favourite essential oil to make the sensual experience last in the afterglow. You peek your head out from the bathroom door when it’s ready and give him a gentle look of compassion. “It’s ready.”
Joel grunts when he propels all of his upper body strength to sit up in one go. You can’t get enough of him. The way he looks – sleepy and fucked, arms thick and shoulders broad. You have both earned this bath, even if it’s crowded. He sinks in, and you get in front of him, and honestly you both close your eyes for a long while. Exhausted, used. He wraps his arms around the front of your shoulders, and it’s regulatory to your nervous system.
“I really am sorry,” he finally gruffs, wide palms cater to your shoulders as you melt and sink into the bathwater with him. “This week’s been… it don’t matter. You tell me ‘bout my eyes all the time, and I never listen. I will, I promise. I didn’t mean t’make your life harder.”
You frown at the last bit, turning in the water so your chest is against his. Drops spill out the tub when you do.
“You never make my life harder, Joel.”
“Seems like it,” and you can tell he’s not saying it to play the victim. He’s vulnerable and feels safe enough to share this shame with you. “Seems like I end up fuckin’ somethin’ up.”
No. You won’t be having any of that.
Taking his cheeks between your hands, you shake your head in tandem with your words. “Not even close, do you understand?” Sternly, you keep his eyes poured into yours. “You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I mean it. You make everyday brighter. Even when you’re a royal pain in my ass.”
You both join in with laughter before you rest your warmed cheek to the hairs on his chest. “I swear.”
Joel’s throat vibrates to the tune of your last words, and fingers comb through your hair, leaving you both to flutter your eyes shut in the all-too-small bathtub.
“Okay, I believe you. But only ‘cuz I’m a pain in your ass.”
You take in his warmth, so much as sniffing at his words, and it feels good to be connected like this after those moments of taking matters into your own hands. It feels good for both of you to be unarmed to each other without consequence.
When it's time for you to get out, you dry off before holding out a towel to wrap around him and you lean up, pressing your lips to his – both naked and comfortable. Basking in the aftermath – the scene you two created in the bedroom you transition into. Your eyes scan over the bed: the unkept version of sheets, pillows haphazardly thrown together and you individually slip your clothes on. It feels nice to have a soft fabric cloak over your skin, his t-shirt fitting easily from the worn material. Joel takes your hand in one of his, the dining chair in the other. You look back at the room before flipping the light off. At least for a moment, you’re both pretty tired and will work around the mess soon.
Then there's the kitchen. Where it started. But you don’t feel the same aggravation creep up as it did before. Instead, Joel wraps his arms protectively around you when you rise to your tiptoes to grab a couple of mugs from the cupboard. It feels like slipping into a warm pool, and you never want to leave. He is more enchanting than the tub could ever be.
“Hot liquid for my man?”
“Y’could just say tea, I ain’t gonna gag, you know?”
You snicker, turning the kettle on and closing your eyes as his chin tucks at the crease of your neck, not so sure he means it. Coffee? Yes. A blend of chamomile and lavender? You weren’t so sure. But he doesn't turn his nose up when you press the teabag to him, so you sneak a kiss and you plop one bag in each cup.
“I dunno, you might gag,” a knowing smirk grows at the side of your cheek that Joel’s at and you mercifully knock temples, as if your brain waves could send each other the memories you have from tonight. Everything primal and raw, all for the both of you.
“No more gaggin’ tonight,” there’s a laugh in Joel’s words and you scratch his beard idly as you pour your hot drinks when it’s time. “That’s alright, baby boy. Mama can handle a little bit of gagging if it means you’re taking.”
“You better watch it,” smile behind his voice, his nose nudges the edge of your jaw and a shudder draws out a small purr from deep in your chest – especially because you know there’s not an ounce of a menacing tone behind the threat.
“I’m not doing anything,” the grin transfers to your face and you turn to face him, arms wrapping around his shoulders because you can and he pulls you up until your feet leave the ground. It’s a stretch that feels good, your heart’s content.
“Yeah, you’re just so good. You’ve forgotten what it’s like to be bad unlike us common folk.”
And that makes your cheeks rush with blood because you know it’s only a matter of time before the tables turn. Before you’re caught doing something Joel has told you thousands of times to do or don’t, and he has you in some precarious position to drive you back to the version of your best self.
Still, it’s funny, and you nose against the column of his neck – all sweat still mixed with the bathwater and something so innately, masculinely, Joel Miller. “Not too good, just clever. I get away with a lot more than you think, old man.”
“Easy.” His tone shifts all too easily into a warning, his hips pinning you to the edge of the countertop. Your eyes widen before you press your index finger to his lips, shushing him.
“Relax,” you pet his shoulders, before leaning up to kiss his eyelids, “I like that you’re an old, senile man I can swindle.”
“Goddamn, you’re at record time in attempting to prove just how misbehaved y’really are.”
Finishing the tea, you hand his mug off with a nonchalant shrug.
“I learn from the best, I guess.”
You wait a beat.
“So… lasik, huh?”
Joel practically chokes on his beverage. “Uhhh…,”
“Great! I’ll book the appointment tomorrow!”
You won’t (probably), but the look on his face is priceless.
“Yeah, yeah.” That makes Joel smile eventually, his rough hand cupping the side of your face before planting a dichotomously tender kiss to your forehead, and you are steadfast to reciprocate the affection.
The only thing that matters, anyway.
No matter all the hardships, the restless nights. It’s this. It’s delivering Joel to his knees as he worships you, then securing him with a warm cup of liquids in the form of tea, bath, the undulating nature of your arms in their energetic vibrations when they find his frame.
You would take care of him. You would catch him.
Like how rivers bend and rush to oceans:
Everything leads back to him.
taglist: @cool-iguana @livingdeadmaria @sinfulrock @jasminedragoon @alloftheboysivelovedbefore @nobodycanseeinsidemysoul @scarletthefierce @pedritoferg - comment to be added, and please let me know if i missed you!
#bee's requests#joel miller#joel miller smut#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller fic#sub!joel#sub!joel miller#joel miller x you#joel miller x reader#joel miller x f!reader#tlou fic#tlou#tlou smut#tlou fanfiction#bratty!joel#bratty!joel miller#by bee#joel the last of us#the last of us smut#the last of us fanfiction#joel miller the last of us
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Punching Bag (Bucky Angst)
Summary: As much as Bucky can't stand Y/N, he's tired of her taking all the blows on the field. They have to come up with a plan.
Word Count: N/A
“Get your hands off me.”
She shoved him away, as best she could given her state.
“I can do it myself.”
She took the med kit from his hands, in her drunken stupor she stumbled to the dining table, fumbling with the latches on the case.
Bucky was tired. All he wanted to do was sleep after a long—god awful---day and put the mission behind him.
He dropped his mission bag at the doorway.
“All you’re going to do is make it worse. I don’t need you waking up tomorrow complaining about your drunken hack job.”
She glared at him, pulling out supplies.
“Sober or not, I can stitch myself up fine. Just because I’m not an army vet doesn’t mean I don’t know basic field medics.”
She mumbled something more under her breath; probably dick or asshole, some of her common artillery when insulting him.
He didn’t need this. He really didn’t need this right now. Today had been hard, and for Bucky that was saying something. Whether it was being back in Russia, during its coldest and iciest period of the season; or being stuck with the person he loathed the most, he wasn’t sure what had triggered him.
But he was on edge and exhausted, and he wanted this night to end.
Then she had to go and get stabbed of all things, and now this dark hour was dragging on and on and on...
It was then Bucky realized that this sad excuse of a safe house would not give him enough space from her. It was a bachelor style apartment, something small enough that would never catch the eye of enemies, tucked away in an complex that was filled with much more shady individuals that them. There was a kitchenette, a dining table with two chairs, and a couch that pulled out. There was also a rickety old rocking chair, which looked far from comfortable.
This night wouldn't get any shorter.
“Ow.”
She stabbed her self softly with the needle, swaying slightly as she tried to stablize herself.
“Jesus Christ," Bucky said, "did you even wash your hands?”
“Fuck you.” She retorted.
His jaw tensed as he stopped himself from raising his hands, he wanted to tear his hair out strand by strand.
Why was she always so fucking argumentative?
“Would you stop saying that?”
He strode across the room, kneeling in front of her chair and grabbed her arm.
She attempted to pull away from him, which was stupid to do with a needle in hand.
“Let go.” She demanded.
She pulled back, hard, and Bucky gripped her forearm.
“Will you just—enough.” His voice stern and commanding.
She halted, slightly hazey and swaying. But she stopped.
Bucky let out a frustrated sigh.
“For once, can you just shut up and listen? For five seconds, can you do that?”
She blinked slowly at him, pursing her lips.
He recognized that look in her eye; it was always followed by a sly grin, a tilt of her head that said “what are you gonna do about it, Sergeant?”
This time, she slumped back into her chair. She relaxed her arm and used the other to shove the kit towards him.
“Fine. Do your worst. I don’t give a shit if you leave a scar.”
He waited a moment, to see if she’d say something more or change her mind, maybe smack his hand away one more time.
But she didn’t.
So Bucky picked up the needle and went to work.
She didn’t look at him while he stitched her up, remaining in her dead stare as she looked straight at the wall.
She winced a few times but said nothing.
After a few minutes, the quiet made Bucky’s skin itch.
“Why did you jump at her, anyways? I had it covered.”
Y/N closed her eyes, inhaling through gritted teeth.
Responding wasn’t worth the effort, so she shrugged.
“Really? You’re not going to say anything?” He asked.
She groaned. “Does it matter? Not like I can do anything about it now.”
He shook his head, continuing as if he hadn’t heard her. “--And downing a bottle of tequila won’t make you feel better.”
She bit the palm of her hand as he worked his way along her side.
Her breaths stuttered as she inhaled.
“Hurts less.” She mumbled.
He paused a moment.
He remembered what that felt like. How much these kind of things could hurt you. He could imagine the pain she was going through, he could see it in her face. But he tried to ignore it. He was still mad at her.
“I don’t get you. You do this every time, you’re not invincible you know—”
She slammed her hand on the table.
“I know that! Jesus, you tell me every time—AH!”
She pulled away from him, hurting herself as he had tightened a stitch.
He looked up as his hands steadied her, and his voice softened.
“Y/N, sit still...”
Her head was turned away from him, but he could still see the corner of her eye and the downturn of her lip.
He hadn’t realized she’d been crying.
He tilted his head down, biting on the inside of his cheek. Best to just get this over with.
“Just… sit still. I’m almost done.”
They fell into silence again. The winter snow was building up on the safe house windows, the wind pounding against the panes.
He tried to shut it out. But it was either listen to the howling storm or rehash the scenario in his brain.
Her voice came over his ear piece, she told him to watch his six; that agents were entering through the south wing of the building. He ignored her, he had it covered.
She must’ve taken his silence the wrong way; she figured he was in danger. She was like that, she’d assume the worst and abandon her post to cover. Fuck, why did she have to do that…
“Did you get a hold of Sam?”
Surprised by her question, Bucky looked up from his hands. She still wouldn’t turn to face him.
“Called him while I was walking back. Said he can get a jet in a 4 am. With the storm it’s hard to get here—”
She winced again. He groaned.
“Stop moving.”
She awed at the ceiling and clenched her hand into a fist.
“My god, would it kill you to have some sympathy?”
He tied off the suture and snipped the thread.
“I don’t have sympathy for idiocy.”
She scoffed, “Fuck you.”
Which she had said for the umpteenth time today.
He decided to ignore it. But he was still fuming, still angry at her… why, why would she do that?
He should’ve watched his six, he knew he should’ve.
They came up behind him, 4 out of the 6 agents had decided to cover his wing.
He was holding his own, but the one was smart. Patient. Waiting while the others hammered Bucky with brute force to deliver a fatal blow. She had been aiming for his right side, probably trying to stab between his right ribs or his into his spine…
“You know, normal people say thank you.” He nodded to her left side, where 10 stitches sat neatly in line.
“I could say the same thing to you.” Her words were icy, she nearly spat them at him.
Bucky scoffed. “Why should I thank you? I had it covered, you jumped in and now I have to patch your drunk-ass up—”
“I did it because it’s instinct. I saw my partner outnumbered and I saved your ass. Sorry it’s an inconvenience to you because I’m not a goddamn super soldier.”
The slam of his hand on the table made her jump, and her eyes went wide at the thought that he might actually make her shut up for once.
"You can't throw yourself in a fight where you'll get more hurt than I will."
His eyes faltered when he looked at her, "We... we talked about this Y/N--"
Silence fell between them again.
She fumbled with the bottle cap on the table, and Bucky stood still at her side.
He didn't know what more to say, and she didn't know how to respond.
Because he was right, they had talked about this before many times.
There were never tender moments between the two, but the closest they'd ever gotten to something like that was usually Y/N's recovery. They were paired together more often than not; aside from them loathing one another, they were extremely compatible.
But each time they teamed up, something like this happened.
Y/N would get stabbed, she'd get shot, she'd break a bone or two, she'd pick a fight that was out of her depths.
He'd get mad and so would she, then a day or two would pass and he'd watch her struggle with something. Whether it was taking the stairs, or doing her physio, or getting back into training...
Somehow they'd end up alone and they fell back into this same conversation.
You can't always put yourself at risk for me, I know you're skilled but there's situations where you need to be more careful.
She'd sit with it, and usually come back with the same response.
I know you're capable of taking more than most people, but it doesn't mean you get to be a punching bag. If my partner is in trouble, I'm going to step in.
There was never a solution made, because he was the immovable object and she was the unstoppable force.
In short, they were both too stubborn and too proud.
Normally, she wouldn't bring it up. But feeling brave, or drunk enough to be brave, she did.
"We're going around in circles, Barnes."
She didn't look up from the table, but he continued to stare.
"We can't fight about this every single time we go on a mission. We've requested to be separated, and that's not happening. So tell me what the fuck you want me to do, because I'm not just gonna take a seat every time it gets ugly."
He sighed, "What I'd like you to do is not be an idiot out there--"
"Hm," She took another drink, "And I'd like you to stop being an asshole."
His jaw clenched again. Every time with this girl...
"Do you not see where I'm coming from?" He gestured to her ribs, "Look at you, Y/N. How many scars is that now? From our missions alone?"
She shook her head, fiddling with the cap.
"I don't know Barnes, that's not the point."
She did know, it was nine now.
"The point is I'm not going to change my mind and neither are you. So figure it out with me instead of fighting me every chance you get. Pick a different fucking solution."
It seemed Bucky couldn't stop sighing, he wanted to walk away from this night and be done with it. But he knew they'd be back in this position a month from now, and a month after that, and so on.
So, begrudgingly, Bucky sat down at the table.
"Fine. If you won't stop being reckless--"
"--And you won't stop being a dick--"
He pointed at her, "Okay first. Stop doing that. I get you're frustrated but you swear at me a lot. I hate it. It feels like you try to pick a fight."
She went to speak, but all she could think of were insults involving curse words. He'd proven his point.
Her lip curled in a scowl, "Fine."
He nodded. "Okay."
She shifted to sit with her arms crossed on the table, eyes flicking up to him.
"Stop telling me I'm an idiot. And stop saying I'm reckless. You think it's reckless 'cause I'm not Steve or Thor, or whoever else was enhnaced on the team... just because I'm not like you guys doesn't mean I'm being stupid when I'm out there."
God, he wanted to fight her on that.
Different capabilities meant different actions in certain situations, at least in his eyes.
But he kept it to himself, at least they were starting to work on something.
"Okay..." He drew out the word, subtly saying he wasn't okay with it, but Y/N didn't care.
He could think what he wanted, but he didn't get to throw it in her face every time he wanted.
"I can't control what you do on the field." Bucky started, "You make your own calls and you... you know what you're doing out there."
Y/N smirked at the look of pain on Bucky's face, she know he hated to admit it. But she was damn good at her job.
"--but if there's a situation that I think you need to stay out of, respect me when I ask."
"What if I think I can handle it?" She questioned.
He lifted his hand off the table slightly, halting her to let him finish.
"If I need you, I'll tell you."
She rolled her eyes, "So I'm supposed to wait until my coach puts me in?"
His fists balled in frustration. "No, I'm saying be there but..."
He leaned back in his chair, looking up to the ceiling.
"I don't know, maybe we have a call sign when we both need each other."
He said that to appease her, he didn't think there would ever be a time he'd need her, but maybe she would need him. And at least it would keep her from jumping in and getting sliced to bits.
She snorted, "What, like a safe word?"
He huffed slightly, "I guess so, yeah."
That seemed to be enough conversation for her, as she stumbled out of her chair and clambered over to the musty pull out couch in the corner. She was still nursing that damn bottle in the crook of her arm.
Bucky sat, somewhat surprised that that was the end of it.
"I'm tired." She mumbled as she slipped onto the mattress, kicking her go-bag onto the ground.
I guess I'll take the floor, Bucky thought.
He raised his hands in an exaggerated shrug, his words laced with contempt. "Any thoughts on the safe word?"
Y/N pinched the bridge of her nose, already feeling the early effects of a hang over.
"Yeah," she muttered, "Punching bag."
Bucky waited for more from her, but after a few moments of silence, her snoring began and he accepted that as the end of their conversation.
It wasn't much, but it was a start.
He accepted his place in the awful rocking chair, but not before picking the bottle of tequila out from beneath her.
He took one final look at his patch up of her ribs, before settling into his seat, eagerly waiting for Sam's arrival.
~
They didn't speak more of their truce after that night, but there had been an unspoken agreement on both ends to keep their promise.
They'd be less hostile towards one another; and they'd work their roles independently during missions unless someone asked for help.
And, oddly enough, their "safe word" popped up more and more with each mission. It was easier than saying the words "I need your help", because both were so stuck in their pride to ever admit that. But "punching bag" worked just fine.
In fact, they had gotten so comfortable using it during their duo missions, that it became an oddity to the rest of the Avengers in team missions.
"Barnes, what's your location?"
"Intersection of Francis Street and Main."
"I'm west of Francis by one block. Alice Street. Punching bag."
Within less than a minute, he was there.
It was rare for Bucky to use it, but every so often he had.
One time, it had been used because Bucky's metal arm had adhered to the FOD magnetic sweepers of their combatant's tank.
Y/N had laughed when she arrived, but never brought it up afterwards.
That was another thing, an interesting development so to speak. In its month's of usage, "Punching bag" somehow became "come, no questions asked."
Sam, Joaquin and Sharon had all taken notice of this new addition to their lingo; but decided not to press it. Ever since it had been implemented, the two were actually getting along. Sam would argue they were somewhat friendly with one another.
It was a peaceful three months since their Russia mission, and the team was going to ride it out as long as they could.
~
Bucky felt numb. Which was bad, because usually that led to an anger spiral or a drawn out dissociation episode. Neither were good options for him.
It was a bad day. A really fucking bad day.
He had called his therapist, but at the fourth call with no answer, he had assumed she was asleep.
Of course she was, it was 2 in the morning.
Bucky tried to remember what she had taught him; their so-called "game plan" when things went south.
He didn't want to listen to music, he had tried going for a walk, he had tried using that dumb journal she recommened he'd buy but he couldn't write anything down.
Call someone, she had said, your line of work has a select few that understand what you're going through. And those select few happen to be your friends, you can lean on them . That's what they're there for.
He had hovered over Sam's contact for—about—15 minutes. But he didn't want to.
Some nagging feeling in the forefront of his mind pulled him back, to lean towards someone else.
He scrolled down, clicked the contact, and sent a quick message.
Punching bag.
And then he waited.
-
Bucky had left his location on in their group comms chat, and Y/N was surprised to see that he was in his own apartment.
Her mind jumped to an intruder holding Bucky hostage in his own home; or him being kidnapped, leaving his phone behind and it was the last message he had been able to send before being taken away.
She got paranoid like that. She was working it out in therapy, or whatever.
Bucky rarely used their safe word, which she resented him for, but when he did she knew it was serious.
She was there in 10 minutes.
Bucky heard shuffling outside his door; as stealthy as she was, he had the fortune of super-soldier hearing.
Then she gave their call sign, an additional one that was in early development. One knock, a pause, then four knocks.
You're, one syllable, an id-i-ot, four syllables
He'd respond back with two hard knocks to signal it was clear; two syllables for "fuck you".
Apparently their old habits died hard.
He had left the door unlocked, and she entered slowly.
With a quick scan of the room, she deemed the coast was clear. Even more surprising considering the text she had received less than 15 minutes ago.
She looked at him with question, "Our safe word is usually for emergencies, y'know."
He nodded, but said nothing.
She pursed her lips, more confused but coming in regardless.
"...Alright."
She slipped off her coat and kicked off her boots. She found it odd to see him on the floor, then noticing the pillow and blankets laid out on the hardwood, she realized that's how Bucky slept.
Late at night, she put two and two together; he'd tried to sleep and couldn't.
She folded her coat and sat down across from him.
She stayed silent, patiently waiting for him.
He continued to say nothing.
She waited for a few minutes longer, prompting him to give some sort of explanation for his text.
But again, nothing.
She clapped her hands once on her knees, and stood up. Bucky panicked, fearing she would leave---
"You got back at 10, right?" She asked.
Bucky was taken aback by her knowledge of his returning home, but nodded after his pause.
She hummed, "Okay. Have you eaten?"
"Uh--" Bucky thought for a moment, realizing he hadn't. "--No."
She nodded. It was a start.
"Okay. Then uh---I'm gonna get you some food."
After digging through the cabinets whilst Bucky sat on the floor, she mustered her supplies; butter, cheese, and bread.
Grilled cheese wasn't the fanciest of meals but considering the situation, it would have to do. Besides, she didn't know how to cook anything else.
5 minutes later, a plate plopped down in front of him, and she sat cross-legged as she started on her sandwich.
He watched her for a moment, before she looked up at him with a mouthful.
"Don't let good eatings go to waste Barnes," she wiped crumbs from her lips, "I put my blood, sweat and tears into this meal."
Shockingly, even to himself, Bucky laughed. And then he ate.
"I would've added onion," She said, "But you don't seem to have... many ingredients in your fridge, Buck."
He was surprised at her wanting to use onion, and even more surprised at her usage of his first name. But he let the latter slide.
"Onion?" He questioned.
She sent an odd look back at him, "What? You've never had onion in your grilled cheese?"
When he shook his head no, she went into a ramble.
"My god, you're missing out. I'll tell you this; one time, my Pops went into this diner, you see--"
Bucky felt himself smile as she went on, telling a story of her grandpa recommending the restaurant make it a special of the day, "grilled cheese with onion", and how it had been such a hit with the locals, that they gave her grandpa a free grilled cheese every day from that day on. Which was how she knew how to make it.
She told more stories about her grandpa, then about her family, and Bucky realized he'd never heard more about her in one sitting. In fact, he realized he had known nothing about her personal life the entire time they had been working alongside eachother.
He sat happily listening, grilled cheese in hand, and even took her up on seconds as she continued to talk.
Y/N figured that, sometimes, that's what someone needs. To fill the silence, to feel the normal, especially on days that were less than good.
And eventually, the other person would start talking too.
People need distraction. Sometimes they need to talk, they need advice, or they need help and action. But when someone needs you, and they can't find the words, talking of nothingness can be the best thing.
Y/N could be good at that, something Bucky never knew about her. And, something Bucky never knew he liked.
A silence fell over them, but not like before. Not the tense words-unsaid sort. But comfortable. She washed dishes and he sat on the floor.
She flicked her hands at the sink before drying them, Bucky wondered if she did that all the time.
"So," She said, "do you want to talk about it?"
The question might have been jarring to others, but to him it wasn't. Bucky just shrugged.
"I don't think so."
He didn't need to, he thought. This was enough.
She nodded. "Okay. Do you want me to go?"
He was shaking his head before he knew it, and she smirked.
Not the spiteful one she used to adorn with him, but more of a cheeky one. One a friend might give to another.
"Alright. Do you want me to stay?"
He picked at his ratty blanket he had tucked beside him.
"Kinda." He thought before adding, "If you don't mind."
She checked her watch, "I've got nowhere to be."
She said something about a deck of cards, and went to search his house, which for some reason he didn't mind.
She found a deck, Bucky hadn't known he owned one.
"So, I'm gonna teach you how to play King's Corners, kick your ass at King's corners, and then we're gonna talk about this bed situation which is unacceptable..." she trailed off in her teasing, and Bucky found himself laughing more.
She did teach him how to play, and he ended up kicking her ass, which she claimed was beginner’s luck.
She stayed all night.
More nights like that began to happen, sometimes Bucky spoke and sometimes he didn't.
Sometimes they fought, most times they didn't.
The fights happened less and less. The all-nighters happened more and more.
And Bucky noticed more things he liked. More than her grilled cheese, more than her comfortable ramblings, and soon he found there were more things he liked than not.
She trusted Bucky to hold his own on the field, and he tried not to be as protective of her, letting her choose her own actions. They found out that was what he was afterall, and she realized she had been too.
She had been staying longer and longer. The next thing they knew, she wasn't leaving at all.
~
@dontputyourfckingdrinkonmytable
@dumb-ass-3
@cuddlycalcifer @babyblue-07 @babybluereads @lonewolf471 @agni-l @niiight-dreamerrrr @julipmoon @fandomsfallnomore @elliee1497 @godspeedlover @sexwithhiddlesbatch @annestine @shower-me-with-roses @yougottalovefandoms @rebekahdawkins @gentlybarnes @emmabarnes
#bucky barnes x reader#bucky fanfic#bucky headcanon#bucky barnes fanfic#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky barnes au#bucky barnes#bucky barnes x you#bucky barnes angst#bucky barns imagine
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Hotel Hell - Part Two
Rhea Ripley x Fem!Reader
Part One Pinterest
WARNINGS: SMUT, 18+, Fighting, Shoving, Oral Sex, Vaginal Fingering, MAKEUP SEX
WORD COUNT: 3,812
A/N: omg i am sorry this took me years to finish, life has been busy but it should calm down soon. i got such a good request the other day and i haven't gotten it off my mind so i will start that tmrw if i have time. also i proofread this at 2am so please ignore any mistakes lol
“The Brutalization Chamber? You want to know what The Brutalization Chamber is?” The Irish man laughed out, his eyebrows raising once you turned your gaze towards him.
An expression of curiosity displayed on your face as you repeated the name of the supposed ‘chamber’. It was obvious to the man that you wanted to know more.
The man began making his way down the stairs, “No offense sweetheart…but I don’t really think this is the place for a girl li-” He tried to speak before being cut off.
What the hell is that supposed to mean?
“I don’t really care what you think sir, I want you to show me what's down there.” You chirped out, following the male down the flight of stairs, your hand hovering over your aching ribs.
“Well shit, if you insist,” The guy chuckled out, “Feisty, she’ll like you.” He muttered under his breath as he opened the door.
She’ll like you…was he talking about the same ‘she’ you had spent your night with? The same woman who just got done unleashing pure cruelty onto you? The same woman who disappeared into this exact building moments ago?
“Name’s Finn by the way,” He mentioned, “It’s just us, the big boss is probably around here somewhere as well.” Finn spoke as you scanned the room looking for ‘the big boss’.
Grimy was the only way to portray the room. Rope lights scattered across the ceiling, some were dim while others flickered. There were freezing concrete walls with cracks littered all over. A red neon sign displaying the letters ‘TBC’. A blood stained ring sat taking up a quarter of the room. Various pieces of gym equipment and punching bags were compressed into a room off to the side.
“So…just a gym?” You questioned the man, there was no sign of Rhea.
“Nah, it’s a little more than just a gym love…think of it as a fight club. A fight club with a fuck ton of money involved.” Finn stated leading into a room the size of a walk-in closet, the room seemingly being a pathetic excuse of a nurses office.
You leaned against the door frame while Finn babbled on as he started unpacking his bag, “People come to us in desperate need for money. They’re entered into our roster, put in the ring and bet on. If they win their match they get fifty percent of all bets placed. Bunch of sick wealthy men love wasting their fortune on this shit.”
“Don’t you think this is just a tad bit illegal?” You chuckled, sending a small wave of pain to your ribs.
“Eh I don’t worry about that too often,” Finn shrugged, digging around his duffle. “Rhea’s not too worried about the legalities when there's this much money involved, she can pay her way out of damn near anything.”
Rhea.
Despite your pain you perked up at the mention of Rhea’s name although you stayed silent.
“Rhea would like you, you’re quiet but there's just something about you, like there’s a fire inside you.” Finn mentioned, pointing at you. “I would introduce you to her but earlier this afternoon one of her top guys lost her like seven thousand. She stormed off to god knows where. Another one of her main guys has a big match in about half an hour. Going up against some new kid we’ve never seen so I’m sure she’s busy worrying her ass off.”
You heard a scoff echo from the main room as footsteps approached. “Jesus fucking christ Finn! Do you ever shut your goddamn mouth?” You heard Rhea sarcastically laugh trying to cover her anger.
You slowly turned to face Rhea, examining her tensed jaw and narrowed eyes. Reality had finally washed over you. The weight of Rhea’s actions flooded into your brain. You couldn’t figure out if you felt more betrayal or anger in the moment.
“Ah! Rhea mate!” Finn exclaimed, trying to divert from Rhea’s critiques. “I was just telling this young lady how much you’d like her…I never caught her name though.”
Your face turned to the ground as you tried to mutter out your name. “We’ve met.” Rhea butted in, her voice was fully flat-devoid of any sign of emotion. That’s when the regret hit you.
You shouldn't have come here.
“I should leave…it seems you guys have a busy night.” You muttered quietly. Rhea took a firm grasp on your forearm, “That can wait, let’s go have a chat.” Rhea said as her head motioned towards what you assumed to be her office.
“No, I-I can come back another time, I really don’t want to be a bother.” You barely managed to stutter out while Rhea’s middle and pointer finger of her opposite hand guided your chin up, forcing you to look at her. “I said let’s go have a chat.” Rhea commanded, her grip on your arm tightening.
You reluctantly followed the woman as she dragged you in the direction of her office. You knew you were in for it big time.
“You are a fucking insane bitch! What could have possibly made you think it was okay to fucking show up to this place?!” Rhea lashed out at you the moment the latches of her door clicked together. She dropped your arm before shoving you towards the other side of the room. You had been lucky enough to catch your balance as you were just inches away from barreling into the concrete walls.
“I just wanted to learn more! I wanted to figure you out Rhea! Can you blame me for wanting to figure out why you’re so angry and cruel every time I see you?” You said loudly, your voice filled with hurt.
“That doesn't give you the goddamn right to follow me to where I work! You don’t fucking get it, these people I work with are dangerous and I don’t want you getting caught up in this bullshit!” Rhea retorted out as her breaths began picking up speed.
“What makes you think I’m so incompetent that I’m incapable of being around danger?! You put me in danger nearly every fucking time I see you! ” Your hands flew around as you yelled at the woman, tears accumulating in your eyes.
Rhea began inching towards you, a look of irritation covering her face. “I don’t fucking put you in danger!”
“Yes you fucking do! You have no idea how many bruises you’ve left me with. The other month you choked me till I passed out, yet you didn’t stop fucking me to check if I was okay! For fucks sake Rhea, an hour ago you left me bleeding and collapsed to the floor!!” All hell had broken loose between the two of you as your tears started escaping from you.
“You told me you could take it! I don’t get why you’re bitching and moaning all of the sudden.” Rhea continued arguing.
Your fist crashed down onto Rhea’s nearby desk, “I can take it rough, but you can’t keep disappearing after being borderline torturous! You’re so damn immature!!” Your screaming matched showed no signs of stopping anytime soon.
“I’m immature? You’re the one that followed me to my job and is throwing a tantrum right now!” Rhea’s voice thundered around the room.
“You don’t get it Rhea! I’m a fucking person and you dont give a shit about me! Why don’t you fucking care?!” You yelled through broken sobs as you started unleashing your sadness and anger onto Rhea, pushing and beating on her chest.
Rhea made no attempt to stop you. She made no moves, just allowing you to inflict your pain onto her.
Once your hands had dropped to your sides in exhaustion and your breaths became heavier as you tried calming yourself down Rhea quietly mumbled, “I do care…”
“But you don’t…” You looked up at her with wide eyes, lifting your shirt. You exposed your aching torso displaying your cut up skin, dried blood pooled around your laceration and the letters of Rhea’s name carved into your skin. “Someone who cares doesn't do this and run away.” You quietly said, your voice strained from the screaming match.
The regret in her eyes was apparent as she darted her eyes away from you. The realization she had gone too far had hit her hard, feeling as if she was being crashed into by an eighteen-wheeler.
Her vulnerability was short lived, Rhea quickly repressed her display of emotion, replacing it with her regular cold and emotionless stare. She had to put on her tough guy attitude. It was her only safety blanket. Emotions are for the weak, Rhea could never be weak.
“You get worse every time I see you, something has to change Rhea…” You breathed out, trying to articulate your speech as you lowered your shirt back down. “If you can’t fix this behavior I’m done.”
“You know you don’t mean that.” Rhea sighed as she ran her hand through her black hair. She didn’t want to lose you but she could never admit that. “I need to think about…everything. Just give me a some t-”
Rhea was cut off by a deep voice from outside the door. “Ten minutes till the bell Rhea.” Rhea rolled her eyes and made her way to the door, “Just give me some fucking time Damian! And go get a roll of gauze from Finn. Quickly.” Rhea demanded after opening the door just a sliver.
You clenched your jaw as you sensed Rhea’s levels of anger were once again rising. The last thing you wanted was to end up back at square one with her. You couldn’t handle another argument with her. Not tonight at least.
The pair of you stood in silence as you waited for the man to return. Once he had arrived he opened the door, handing Rhea the roll of fabric. His eyes curiously examining you through the crack in the door.
“I’ll be out in a minute…” Rhea aggressively muttered before closing the door. She mumbled your name under her breath before walking to her desk.
“You’re lucky Finn showed up early, only God knows what could have happened to you if one of the other guys showed up before him.” Rhea grunted as she unlocked a drawer and began rummaging through the mess inside.
What is it about her?
“Why such a dark line of work? What made you choose this of all things?” You questioned, you were terrified to set her off but on the other hand you wanted to push for answers from her. It was the only way to get your foot into the door of her life.
Rhea stumbled her way towards you avoiding eye contact, a tube of antibacterial gel in her hand as she shrugged. “Not something you choose. You’re born into it and can’t escape it, you just have to accept it and make the best out of it.” She mumbled while she lifted your shirt up.
Rhea applied a small glob of the antibacterial gel to her finger while she lowered herself to her knees, becoming face to face with your shredded skin. The woman began dabbing the gel onto your skin causing you to let out a small hiss from the pain.
Once she finished applying all of the gel she wiped the residue from her fingers onto her pant leg and grabbed the roll of gauze. Rhea cleared her throat before speaking up, “Just stay in here for a while, I can take you home after this match.”
“I’m perfectly capable of walking home by myself, Rhea.” You stated, watching Rhea carefully wrap the gauze around your waist.
“I’m walking you home and that’s final.” Rhea stood her ground, “Seriously though, just stay in here. I’ll be back.”
You weren’t planning on fighting about this with her, deciding to keep your mouth shut you let her take the win. “Fine, whatever.” You gave in as Rhea tied a knot in the gauze to hold it in place.
“Shouldn’t be more than twenty minutes.” Was all Rhea had said as she stood up. Nothing else left her lips as she exited the room.
No apology?
You groaned as you sat down in Rhea’s large chair. You blankly stared at the wall for several minutes before your mind started to wander. Exploring anything that popped into your head. Places, things, people, Rhea.
If you were being honest with yourself you were doubting the woman's ability to change her ways. You assumed she would most likely be this way her whole life, although you prayed she had it in herself to change. She had the potential to be great if she would put her pride aside.
It wasn't long until the cheers of the crowd on the opposite side of the door had started drowning out your thoughts.
You wanted to catch a glimpse of the madness. You stood up from the large chair, your feet scuffing the ground as you strolled to the door
You cracked the door open, taking a peek of the ring surrounded by a flock of rowdy men that were yelling. The large man you made eye contact with earlier was in the ring brutalizing a much smaller guy who couldn’t even be older than twenty-five. He was putting on one hell of a fight but it was clear he stood no chance.
Rhea was the only woman there, she was stood right against the ring watching intensely. She had caught your image in the corner of her eyes. Her face turned in your direction, she tilted her head as if she was asking you what the hell you were doing.
You mouthed the word sorry to her before quickly closing the door.
Fifteen excruciatingly boring minutes had passed, the cheers had dispersed into muffled conversations. Rhea had finally arrived back in her office. She seemed content which you enjoyed.
“You ready to go?” Rhea asked, you answered with a simple nod.
As the two of you made your way out of the building Rhea exchanged goodbyes with some of the strange men.
The entire walk was silent, the both of you reflecting on the weird night you had been through together. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, it was almost peaceful. Having Rhea in your presence when she was somewhat calm was pleasant. You wanted to hold onto this peacefulness for the rest of your life.
It took you by surprise when Rhea insisted on taking you directly to your door instead of just dropping you off in the front of the large building and ditching.
“You didn’t need to take me all the way up here.” You quietly mumbled as you unlocked the door to your apartment. “Lot’s of bad people around this time of night.” Rhea muttered as your door swung open.
You turned around to face the woman, her eyes peering over your head, scanning the entry of your apartment. “There’s bad people around all times of the day. I’m used to it.” You said quietly, her eyes returning to you.
An awkward silence filled the air as the both of you gazed upon each other. Rhea began rubbing her neck, “Uh…I should go. I’m gonna go.” She feebly stated before turning away from you, quickly walking down the hall. She had stormed off before you could even speak up.
Still no apology?
—
Multiple days had passed. Rhea had made no contact yet. You spent a concerning amount of time just staring at Rhea’s contact in your phone, debating if you should press the call button. Yet you couldn’t bring yourself to do it.
She’d call if she cared enough.
It felt as if life had paused, your days seemed empty. The busy streets of New York City felt devoid of any livelihood. The live music that took place at work sounded muffled. The flavor of your favorite foods had been stripped away. Once colorful flowers sold down at the street market now sat dull.
Days just painfully repeated.
Tonight you had the night off, your only plans were to stare out the window of your bedroom and pray for a text from Rhea.
You sat criss-cross at the edge of your bed twiddling your thumbs, your mind seemingly empty as you stared into the windows of the skyscraper across the street when the sound of a knock echoed down your short hall.
Groaning in annoyance as you got up you began making your way to the door, chewing the inside of your cheek as your feet shuffled below you.
You weren't sure who you were expecting to be in the hall but it completely caught you by surprise when you swung the door open to see the dark haired woman waiting for you.
Without a word Rhea launched herself onto your lips, the force causing you to be pushed back a few inches.
Jesus Christ.
This felt like more than just a kiss, it had an intense amount of passion intertwined into it. Rhea’s hands gripped onto your waist as you backed into the apartment, her foot kicking the door behind her closed.
She had never kissed you in this way before. Before tonight you had only received measly pecks while the two of you had sex. It was never emotional.
Rhea slowly pulled away from your lips, both of your breaths were heavy as she finally spoke, “Fuck, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Finally.
“God, I’ve treated you like shit and I have been such a dick. It’s been the only thing on my mind. You don’t deserve that, It’s not okay.” Rhea began rambling as you stared into each other's eyes. “I get it if you never want to see me again but please just give me a chance, I’ll do whatever it takes. I’ll get my temperament under control, I’ll go to therapy, whatever you say I will do it.”
“Rhea-” You whispered, trying to calm her down but she continued her rant.
“I want to know you, more than just your body. I wanna know everything, The good, the bad, the boring…I wanna know what pisses you off and what makes you cry. I don’t know why I kept you a stranger for so long and I’m sorry for that.”
You led Rhea into your small living room as you listened to her rambling. You took a seat in your chaiser lounge and ushered her to sit in front of you as her speech continued on. “I don’t know why I ran away…I think it's cause I didn't want to hurt you. But I did hurt you, so badly. I don’t want to run away anymore, I had no right to ever hurt you the way I did, just for me to leave you alone right after. It’s the worst thing I’ve ever done and I’ll never forgive myself for it. It’s just that I-”
“Rhea!” You slightly raised your voice causing Rhea to finally close her mouth. You leaned closer to her, placing a quick and gentle kiss on her lips. “You’re okay, don’t worry.” You comforted the woman, softly chuckling.
“I didn’t interrupt your night did I?” Rhea asked, slightly nervous as she scootched up closer to you. You shook your head no as a smile creeped on your face.
It didn’t take long for the two of you to end up in a heated makeout session, your hands roaming over one another's clothing. Rhea groaned your name against your lips before pulling back just a few centimeters.
“Please let me show you how sorry I am.” She practically pleaded, her eyes full of desperation, “Yes please” you quietly giggled, your eyes adoring the woman's face. The second Rhea heard the word yes echo from your mouth her lips went straight for your neck, causing a whimper to escape from you.
Rhea took her time as she kissed upon your neck, carefully leaving soft love bites every so often, marking the skin a flushed pink shade. Her lips only leaving your skin as she pulled off your sweater before she began peckering kisses against your collarbones.
Her hands crept behind your back, unclasping your bra and pulling it from your chest. Your fingers grazed upon Rhea’s tense shoulders as she left a path of kisses down your torso.
As Rhea’s face reached the base of your stomach, her eyes fixated on your face as if she was asking for your blessing. You gave her a nod before lifting your hips into the air, allowing her to slide your sweatpants off your legs.
“Rhea, please,” You whined out while Rhea’s fingers toyed with the seam of your panties. Rhea grinned to herself as she slowly shed the final layer of clothing off your body.
The woman wasted no time connecting her mouth to your heat, causing you to let out a breathy moan. “So fucking beautiful…” Rhea praised against your skin.
Truthfully, her tongue felt like heaven as it worked its way around your wetness. Rhea didn't want to rush you. This wasn't for her, she just wanted to make sure you knew she had the ability in her to change for the better.
Your breaths picked up their pace as Rhea’s hand inched its way closer to your core. Her ring and middle finger traced a circle around the perimeter of your entrance before slowly being pushed into you.
“Shit,” You whined out, your back arching as both Rhea’s tongue and digits worked their magic on you. Although you enjoyed roughhousing with the woman, you undoubtedly appreciated the amount of care Rhea was putting into you.
You were a whimpering mess under Rhea’s touch, and she loved every small sound that escaped from your mouth.
“More! Please, I can take it!” You begged for more of her. Rhea obliged, sliding her pointer finger into your tightness causing you to roll your eyes back as her fingers filled your insides.
“That’s it baby,” Rhea preached quietly when your hips began to rock against her fingers, your moans filling the room. “Such a good girl for me.” She added on before her tongue got back to sailing over your clit, her fingers picking up their pace.
Your legs tightened around Rhea’s head as your orgasm quickly approached. “C’mon sweet girl, let go.” Rhea’s encouraging words were muffled, your walls clenched around her curling fingers.
“Fuck Rhea!” You squealed out as the knot that filled your stomach released onto Rhea’s fingers. Your hips twitched into the air as the fingers inside of you helped you ride out your climax.
Rhea was grinning ear-to-ear as she slowly pulled her fingers out of your hole. She groaned in pleasure, licking her fingers clean.
She soon brought her face to meet yours, her plumped lips giving your jaw a kiss before whispering in your ear.
“How’s that for an apology, hm?”
Chapter Taglist: @babybatlover @whiteleoqueen @luvvleah @lovingperson1
#rhea ripley fanfic#rhea ripley angst#rhea ripley smut#rhea ripley x reader#rhea ripley x you#wwe smut#rhea ripley fanfiction
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Help currently stuck thinking abt having Steve over at your family’s home for the holidays and you’ve both been good, polite, discreet, minimal PDA, and he truly is a beloved son in law and so wonderful ❤️ but he’s a menace when you’re finally alone and he puts his hands on you
Like you’re laying on your front, Steve against your back, sloooooowly rutting into you, putting his hand over your mouth, shushing you when you whine too loud, helping you breathe through your moans, teasing you for how slick you are, lightly pinching your skin to annoy you just a tad more. Just being an absolute tease ❤️
sweet revenge
help! me! jesus fucking christ anon i think u gave me brain worms with this ask
the first fic for this is here but u don’t need to read it to read this <3 1.5k words, fem & afab!reader, stevie’s a massive tease, MDNI this work and entire blog is 18+!
Revenge comes not a day later.
Really, you should’ve predicted this after what you had pulled poolside, your hand working Steve’s cock just right until he’d spilled right into your hand, barely able to keep his whimpers quiet—then you had cajoled him immediately into lunch with your parents.
One wandering hand on his thighs, brushing the wet spot had Steve’s cheeks flushing scarlet in an instant. You had to smother a giggle when your mother made a comment about Steve being out in the sun too long and he had nearly choked on his food. Stammered out his agreement and sent you a withering glare.
So, his revenge is expected, to say the least.
But even that knowledge can’t prepare you for what it’s like the moment he gets you alone.
Insatiable. It’s the only word to describe him — messily mouthing at your neck, hands rough and desperate with how they roam your body, tugging at your clothes. He’s burning hot, his body pressing yours down into the scratchiness of your bed sheets. His cock is hard where it presses against your thigh and you can feel your core aching eagerly in response— teasing him had taken a toll on you too.
“Steve,” you gasp, between your breaths. His fingers tug at your jeans, swiftly popping the button and tugging them down an inch. His plush lips scrape down your neck, kisses that melt into something wetter, something hotter.
“Shhh,” Steve whispers, hands creeping under your shirt and clutching at your waist. He rocks his hips against your core, providing glorious friction that licks a flame of heat up your spine. You whine and arch into him, only to be softly shushed again. “Shhh, honey. S’gotta be quiet.”
He pulls back to work your jeans down and off your ankles. He’s breathing heavily, toned arms reaching up to pull his shirt off, quickly casting it aside— the sight of the soft planes of his tummy and definition in his arms only fuels your lust. You prop up for a moment to pull off your own shirt.
He’s back upon you in a moment, blazing hot kisses pressing down your neck, along the top of your breasts. His tongue burns hot where it draws a line up your sternum, at the same time his fingers curl into the edge of your panties to shimmy them down. Another gaspy breath escapes you.
His palms slide down your thighs, warm against your skin as he drags the sticky fabric down, out of his way. Really, you should probably have a few more reservations about him fucking you here and now, in your old bedroom. Especially with other people just a wall away; but those thoughts are all spun away at the feel of his barely restrained lustful hunger that radiates from him.
His hands dip under your back to unclip your bra, pulling it free from your body, his kisses following feverishly— sending streaks of heat to the coil in your gut. It takes only a moment for him to manhandle you onto your front. Your nipples peak at the rough material, scraping when Steve lines himself up and buries himself in your cunt, devastatingly slow.
You gasp again loudly and it gets swallowed into the sheets, consumed by the feeling of him pushing into you, throbbing and full. Steve makes a throaty noise, a groan that he barely manages to muffle— the hair of his chest brushes your shoulder blades as he leans against your back. One hand stays on your hip, the other pressing into the duvet beside you.
A pitiful noise slips from your throat as your slick gushes around his cock, the stretch feeling so fucking delicious and you whimper. Steve makes a noise of disapproval, “Sh, sh, sh,” he tuts, “Said we gotta be quiet.”
He bottoms out fully as he speaks lowly in your ear, well aware there’s no way to control the squeak you make— you squirm, hands twisting in the sheets as you fight the mounting pleasure and urge to whine again. He draws back, hips torturously slow as he fucks back into your hot, wet cunt.
“Y’can be quiet, can’t you?” He taunts, his free hand reaching up to brush some hair back from your face. He dots a kiss on your temple. It’s contradictory levels of sweetness compared to the feel of his fat cock leaking inside you as he rolls his hips into you. He’s still so slow with it, not even a slap of skin in the room. You moan lowly and try to hide it in the duvet.
“Aw,” Steve murmurs. “C’mon now, I’ll help you out, yeah?”
His hand beside you moves up again, smoothing over your hair again before it skims across your cheek and settles on your mouth. He picks up a pace a bit, just to feel your moan vibrate against his fingers and the coil in your tummy tightens impossibly more. You’re burning up in his arms, falling apart on his cock — it really is the sweetest revenge.
His fingers shift, adjusting their grip and you wrap your lips around his thumb and suck without a second thought— your cunt throbbing happily when Steve curses. His hips stutter in their movement, his fingers curling tighter around your hipbone. “Fuck,” he mutters. “F-Fuck, you feel-“
He cuts himself off with a growl, beginning to fuck into you harder, hips snapping into your ass at a feverish pace. You melt under him, desire flaming higher and higher in your chest. You feel yourself flutter around him and try to choke down your moans, drooling over his fingers just a bit.
“Don’t even need to shush you, hm,” He huffs. “This pretty pussy s’gonna give us away— christ, she’s so wet. You love this, don’t you?”
You don’t want to give him the satisfaction that he’s getting you back in a more than equal way but it’s impossible not to — not with the way you’re trembling beneath him, all pent up and ready to cream on his cock - all with people only a wall away. Another pathetic high noise gets muffled behind Steve’s fingers and you give a soft nod.
“Aw, honey,” Steve purrs, slowing his pace til it’s nearly lazy how he pushes into you. Slick wells at your entrance, spilling down your thighs. Somehow, it all makes it worse, his slowness driving the burning under your skin to scorching levels and you twitch, feeling your hips starting to drive backward — to fuck yourself on him desperately.
You get all but two seconds of relief before his hand on your waist shifts, pushing down on your lower back to pin your hips to the bed. You wiggle, another fruitless whine slipping past your fingers but Steve tuts disapprovingly. He stills, cock pressed deep inside you and holding you down.
“Sweetheart,” he warns, lips ghosting along your shoulder. He presses a kiss to your skin as his cock twitches inside you, warm and feeling fucking good. “If y’wanna cum, you’re gonna have to stay quiet.”
You nod rapidly eyes screwing shut to hold in your moan when he finally starts up again — this time with a renewed fervor, his strokes deep and gaining in speed. You pant, gripping the sheets as he fucks you, barely restraining your noises when his hand snakes around to play with your clit. You shake in his arms, orgasm burning up close in your tummy when- when— Steve’s fingers pinch at your side.
You yelp aloud at the unexpected feeling— the noise far louder than you intend. A whine follows when Steve slows his pace again, making your release fade, You don’t even get a moment to ask before Steve is speaking again.
“What did I just say, huh?” He murmurs, breath warm on your ear. He’s still thrusting, just enough to keep your cunt fluttering wildly around him, to have you keening in his arms — back arching as you push your chest further into the bed. “I know, I know, she’s just crying on my cock, honey, all slick and wet f’me, I know. But if you wanna cum…”
His hand slides back down, fingers rubbing over your bundle of nerves perfectly as his cock fucks in faster and faster. He presses another kiss into your shoulder and you can feel his smirk on your skin, as he asks, “You gotta be quiet f’me— think you can do both?"
Heat pools in your stomach, winding up faster than last time due to all his goddamn teasing. Another whimper slips through and you suck in a breath, like trying to rein the noise back in. You want to cum, you want- you want—
"Think y'can keep all those pretty little noises down when you cum on my cock?" Steve coos, his hips still rolling into you, fucking fast enough to hear the sound of your slick again. "C’mon, honey, I wanna see you try.”
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drop a dime
[Read on Ao3]
The first time Hopper busts Eddie goes a little something like this:
It happens at a party. One of Steve Harrington’s infamous ragers. He knows there will be loud music. He knows there will be underage drinking. And, of course, he knows there will be party favors. (Would it really be a party without?)
Hopper’s heard the rumors — knows that Munson’s name gets whispered in the streets when someone’s looking to buy. He’s never actually seen Munson in action until tonight, though.
The cruiser pulls to a quiet stop at the curb, and Powell and Callahan exit the vehicle. Hopper parks his truck right behind and climbs out too. They’re marching their way up the front lawn, gearing up to knock on those big red doors and break this party up when Hopper sees it. The tiniest flicker of movement in the shadows, just beneath the big oak tree.
He stops in his tracks and squints towards the tree and — yep. There he is. Eddie Munson rocking back on his heels as he passes something over to his client. He looks twitchy, keeps throwing furtive glances around, like he’s afraid of getting caught.
Hopper chuckles lowly to himself and starts to close in on him.
He makes it halfway to the tree when Munson’s shifty eyes spot him. They freeze on Hopper, then go big as a deer’s. The other kid asks Munson a question, and when he doesn’t answer, his eyes follow Munson’s.
“Shit,” the kid hisses and he bolts without a second’s hesitation, leaving Munson in the dust.
Hopper pays him no mind, though.
Munson stays frozen for a split second longer, long enough for Hopper to nearly reach him, before he turns tail and runs into the trees.
Hopper curses, loudly, and starts to chase after him.
Munson’s quick, and he’s a conniving little shit, twisting around trees and taking sharp turns to try and throw Hopper off his trail. But Hopper is determined. His knees aren’t what they used to be, and his chest starts to feel tighter, breathes turning more into wheezes the longer he goes, but god dammit, he’s gonna catch this kid if it’s the last thing he does.
It’s seren-fuckin-dipity, what happens next.
Munson, in all his gangly glory — and shit, maybe he is part deer — trips over a rock or a stick or something, that sends him flying. He tumbles forward, sprawling face first into the underbrush.
It gives Hopper just enough time to catch up. He’s out of breath by the time he makes it to the clearing, but Munson is still on the ground, scrambling to free his shoe from whatever it must’ve gotten caught in.
He finally does, and he jumps to his feet, and jesus christ, not again. Hoppe can’t do this a-fucking-gain.
“Christ kid, would you quit fuckin’ running?” He barks, though it doesn’t come out nearly as authoritative as he’d like in between the panting as he catches his breath.
It works, though.
Munson does stop, thank god — probably thinks that Hopper’s got him surrounded or something. He backs himself up against a tree trunk twice his size and stares at Hopper with his big saucer eyes. His whole body is tensed, like he’s ready to spring at any second, but his shoulders are hunched in on himself, like he’s trying to make himself smaller too.
He looks scared shitless as Hopper approaches, and Hopper is sure the kid thinks he’s about to get Busted Busted. His eyes flicker down to the pair of cuffs hooked to Hopper’s belt, and he swallows visibly.
Hopper doesn’t reach for the cuffs, though. He doesn’t pull out his baton or go for his gun, or even bring out that special little booklet they gave him for writing up fines and tickets.
He just sticks his hands on his hips and levels Munson with a stern look before asking, “You sellin’?”
Munson, terrified as he is, stiffens up his upper lip and juts his chin out definitely. “Who’s asking?” He challenges.
Hopper’s gotta give him credit. His voice doesn’t waver at all. It’s kind of amusing, the way he still very much looks like a kid trying to be tough, but Hopper can respect that. Munson’s not gonna take shit from anybody — that’s a good trait to have, ‘specially ‘round these parts.
Still, Hopper’s got an image to keep. He rolls his eyes and presses his lips together. “Me,” he responds, unimpressed.
Munson just narrows his eyes at Hopper, keeps them bouncing between Hopper’s eyes, like he’s searching him out.
Hopper entertains it for a couple of seconds before he finally sighs and asks, “Got any pre-rolled?”
And Munson — he blinks, taken aback by the question. But just as quickly, that stony mask rolls back into place. This time, though, that lingering fear is gone, no sign of that scared little boy.
Munson steps away from the tree trunk and folds his arms over his chest, tucking his hands into his armpits. He chews on the inside of his cheek as he assesses Hopper further. He must see something in Hopper, something that tells him that he isn’t really a threat. That’s the only explanation Hopper has for the brassy confidence that’s suddenly oozing out of Munson.
“You know,” Munson starts, voice cocksure and smooth, “entrapment isn’t legal, old man.”
Hopper can’t help himself as he snorts. Jesus christ, this kid. “That’s why I ain’t doin’ it, kid.”
Munson doesn’t speak again. Doesn’t reach for his stash, either. He’s still sizing Hopper up, very nearly circling him like a lion with its prey.
And, well, two can play at this game.
Hopper stands to his full height and fixes his eyes right back on Munson, giving as good as he gets.
It becomes a sort of show down, between the two of them. Staring at each other in the dark, wondering who’s gonna crack first.
Much to his chagrin, it’s Hopper that does.
It’s already late and getting later, and he doesn’t have all night. There’s a six pack of beer and a home cooked lasagna, courtesy of Flo, waiting for him in his refrigerator at home. The VCR was set to record tonight’s game, and the best spot on the couch has his name written all over it. Hopper would like to be able to enjoy all of those things before the clock turns.
So he reaches for his wallet. Pulls it out of his pocket and fishes through it for a couple of crumpled bills — way more than Munson charges, but Munson doesn’t know that Hopper knows that. He shakes them out as best he can and waves them through the air at Munson.
“You gonna collect or what?” He asks.
It must be enough to convince Munson, because he doesn’t waste a second, reaching out and snatching up the bills before Hopper can squirrel them away again. He counts them quick and pockets them quicker, and finally opens up his jacket and plucks a couple of pre-rolled joints from the inside pocket.
He casts a brief glance around the clearing — habit, probably — before holding them out for Hopper to take.
Hopper accepts the joints, pinching them between his fingers and giving them a once over. He only just refrains from whistling at the sight. A clean roll, and no skimping on the bud — it’s no wonder Munson’s managed to drum himself up the kind of business he has. These are quality.
Hopper tucks them away into his own jacket pocket, and stuffs his wallet back where it came from too.
Across from him, Munson pulls his jacket shut and starts to zip it up, looking, for all intents and purposes, like he’s getting ready to scoot.
Just as Hopper suspected, the second that zip is all the way up, Munson turns on his heel.
“Hey,” Hopper calls after him, firm and authoritative. It stops Munson in his tracks. Hopper jerks his head towards the direction they came from. “Back to my car. Let’s go, come on.”
Confusion blooms across Munson’s face and he immediately starts to protest. “Woah, woah, woah, you said this wasn’t entrapment. You can’t— you can’t take me into the station for this. I’m not— I’m not going. I won’t— you can’t— I—”
“Christ, Munson, I’m taking you home,” Hopper interrupts. “Let’s go.” His tone leaves no room for questions, and he doesn’t wait for Munson to wrap his head around the fact that he’s not getting arrested before he starts back towards his truck.
The only reason Hopper knows Munson falls into line is because he can hear the soft crunch of leaves under foot behind him.
The trek back to Loch Nora is a quiet one, and the drive to Forest Hills is even quieter.
Munson fidgets the whole way there, though, tapping his fingers against his thigh, drumming his knuckles against the window, tugging his jacket zipper back and forth, crossing his ankles then uncrossing them then crossing them once again. He tries to pull his leg up to his chest once, hesitating before the sole of his shoe touches the leather seat. He shoots a glance towards Hopper, like he’s expecting to see him looking, ready to yell at him to stop or something.
Hopper stays silent, though. These seats have seen worse.
The truck has barely rolled to a complete stop in front of the Munson trailer before the passenger door goes jerking open and Munson spills out. He doesn’t wait for Hopper to exit, just marches his way up the front steps and reaches for the door.
It swings open before he can even close his fist around the handle.
“Where the hell you been, boy?” Wayne Munson asks, and though the question sounds rough, the delivery isn’t. It’s concerned more than anything. “You said you’d be home half an hour ago, Ed.”
“Didn’t mean to scare you, Wayne,” Eddie says, apologetic in his tone. “S’not my fault though. I got held up,” he says jauntily and jerks a thumb over his shoulder.
“Evening, Wayne,” Hopper greets, tipping his hat.
“Jim,” Wayne says, giving a nod of his own in response.
“That’s my cue,” Eddie mumbles under his breath and he slinks behind Wayne so he can slip into the trailer. It would have been pretty damn stealthy, had the door not rattled against the frame as it slammed behind him.
“There a reason he hitched a ride home with you?” Wayne asks, crossing his arms over his chest, not unlike the way Eddie had earlier this evening.
It’s funny, Hopper muses to himself, how obvious it is that Eddie really is Wayne’s boy. All it takes is one simple gesture like that.
“You know about the dealing?” Hopper asks, not bothering to beat around the bush. He’s pretty sure he knows the answer anyway.
Wayne lets out a sigh. Scrubs a weathered hand over his face. “I’m aware,” he says. “I keep tellin’ him to quit it. He won’t listen though. Says he needs the money.” He shakes his head. Looks up at Hopper. “You bust him tonight?”
“You could say that,” Hopper replies.
Wayne sighs again. “How much is the fine?” He asks. “I assume that’s all it is, anyway, since I wasn’t called into the station, and he ain’t here in cuffs.”
Hopper shakes his head, holds up a palm. “Nah, no fine, Wayne.” He slips his hand into his pocket and pulls out his purchase, giving it a little wave in Wayne’s sight before hiding it away again. “Everything’s all taken care of,” he says.
Wayne’s brow furrows. “Look Jim, I know Ed ain’t exactly followin’ the law here, but he’s just tryin’ to make a little extra cash. He’s careful with it. He’s not hurtin’ no one. Is it really necessary to be stealin’ from him like that?”
Hopper can’t stop the hearty laugh from rumbling out. “Relax,” he says, drawing the word out. “I’m not stealing nothing from nobody, Wayne. I paid your boy, don’t worry.”
Surprise briefly writes itself across Wayne’s face, but just as quickly it settles into something else. Something a little more… curious.
“You plannin’ on bein’ a repeat customer?” Wayne questions, raising an eyebrow.
It’s Hopper’s turn to get curious, wondering just what Wayne’s getting at here. “You gonna turn me in, Munson?” He asks.
Wayne chuckles. Rolls his eyes. “I ain’t a snitch,” he says, and the corner of his mouth quirks up in the ghost of a smile. It’s fleeting, though, and quickly overtaken by something more serious. Wayne straightens up, meets Hopper’s eyes dead on. “I only ask ‘cause if you are, I need you to do me a favor.”
“What’s that?” Hopper asks, taking his hat from his head and holding it between his hands.
“Keep an eye on him for me, would ya?” Wayne says. “I don’t like him doin’ that, but that ain’t gonna stop him. Harpin’ on him’s just gonna make him stop talkin’. So just— do me a favor. Make sure no one’s givin’ him a hard time, okay? Make sure he’s not gettin’ himself into any real trouble.”
It’s Wayne Munson asking him to keep his boy safe. It’s Wayne Munson asking him to make sure he comes home at the end of every night. It’s Wayne Munson asking him to protect —not the way an officer of the law would, but the way of a father.
“‘Course I can do that, Wayne,” Hopper affirms, and it’s like something snaps into place in his chest with the words. He gives a resolute nod, and repeats, “Of course I can.”
Wayne searches Hopper’s face for a moment before nodding firmly, resolutely. “Thank you kindly, Chief,” he says, and starts to reach for the door. “You have a good night now.”
“You have a good night too,” Hopper returns the sentiment.
As Wayne disappears back inside, Hopper takes the steps two at a time until he’s back on the dirt path and making his way towards his truck again.
He slides into the driver’s seat, and tosses his hat into the passenger’s. His keys slide home into the ignition, and the engine rumbles to life beneath him. His foot finds the gas and he pumps a little life into the car, moves towards the exit.
At the stop sign, he pauses. A left turn takes him home. A right turn takes him back towards Loch Nora. Back towards the Harrington house.
Hopper can feel the joints, burning a hole in his pocket. His fingers itch to pull them out, to feel around for the lighter in his glovebox, to maybe start a little early — he’s only a few minutes from home, after all.
But, sitting there he thinks of the promise he just made to Wayne.
Thinks of the first time he answered a noise complaint for a house party in the middle of the week.
Thinks of the promise he made to himself that day, when he found Steve Harrington, three sheets to the wind and sitting all by himself on the front porch. Not even enjoying his own party. Fingering a ring of bruises that circled his wrist and mumbling something incoherent about parents.
Hopper thinks of the party he’d broken up tonight — another, in the long string he’s had to break up there lately.
He thinks of Steve Harrington. He thinks of Eddie Munson. He thinks that, maybe, they’re not so different.
Maybe they both could use someone looking out for them.
The joints can wait, Hopper decides.
He takes a right.
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