#gonna make another one with other pairings sometime in the future
Text
KPTS fics under 10k that changed my brain chemistry
PART 1: KimChay
Inspired by @the-cookie-of-doom making a fic rec list, cause i was like hey! i like fics too! so here's a bunch of <10k word fics that altered the course of my life. i'm gonna do a few parts, so this first one is just kimchay. i tried to tag all the authors on tumblr but there was a couple i was unsure of so please lmk if they have an account for me to tag! (or if i fucked up any of the links cause you know tumblr was fighting me) <3 without further ado, and in no particular order:
Your last lie by saturnscoded @saturnscode (8182 words)
Not Rated. Creator chose not to use archive warnings. Summary:
In which Porchay's boyfriend cheats on him with Kimhan and he decides to take revenge.
Or
Things get out of control and Chay doesn't know how to stop.
fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu- this fic oh my god i love this fic. GO READ THIS FIC RIGHT NOW. yknow when people are like "would you rather have a fic with amazing plot or amazing writing" GUESS WHAT BESTIE THIS ONES BOTH. GO READ IT.
Ringing Endorsements by bisexualbard @bisexualbard-writes (2556 words)
Rated G. No Archive Warnings. Summary:
Kim is not impulsive. Kim is a planner, a plotter, a researcher, and generally considers all angles of an action before he makes a move.
Chay has always been the exception to his rules though, which is why he’s not even surprised at himself when he walks out of the jewelry shop with an engagement ring barely a month after they’ve reconciled.
The only problem is, he doesn't stop at just one.
i have shed so many tears to this fic. it hits the sappy romantic in me right in the fkn feels GOD it just hurts so good ITS NOT EVEN SAD it's just so good it makes me cry 😭😭😭
podfic available by AirgiPodSLV (AirgiodSLV) @airgiodslv!!! welcome to tumblr fdjsjd
heaven is a place (here, on your floor) by booksnchocolate @booksnchocolate (7020 words)
Rated E. No Archive Warnings. Summary:
They're going to have sex. Eventually. They're going to take their clothes off and Chay is going to explore all of Kim's glorious, glorious body with his hands and mouth and – whew, he's going to need a cold shower.
There's just one problem.
It’s not a big deal, at first.
oh boy. what do i even say about this fic. i think about this fic a lot. like a LOT. it's so incredibly moving and emotional and ugh. just. perfect. no notes. i've cried at this and if i read it again right now i would cry again
Kim's Magic Pussy by imdeadlily @imdeadlily (8096 words)
Rated E. No Archive Warnings. Summary:
Kim wakes up and finds his dick is gone. MIA. Vanished. Displaced.
Chay has no issues with this.
i'm a die-hard imdeadlily fan. i highly highly recommend everything they've written and this fic, THIS FIC. ITS SOOOO. just. go read it. you have to experience it yourself.
rainbow hanging over your head by IsleofSolitude @emberfaye (4174 words)
Rated T. No Archive Warnings. Summary:
Chay is crushing hard on Kim.
That's the only reason it takes him awhile to realize kim's brothers are being weird.
this fic is the warm and fuzzy feeling you get when it's winter and you take a big blanket that like 10 times your size and you cuddle with your dog. that's this fic. i love this fic more than at least 90% of all things.
Pillow Talk by Atlas (xx_atlas_xx) @xxatlasxx (1427 words)
Rated E. No Archive Warnings. Summary:
Kim finds some time to himself while on tour as Wik, but gets interrupted by a phone call.
FOLLOWING THE TRANS KIM THEME WITH THIS MASTERPIECE. ive screamed all up in atlas' dms ab this fic and there is a REASON it was my most re-read fic of last year. sweet little trans!kim smut that i adore
drape myself with floral light by fern_tdvuh @fern-tdvuh (2080 words)
Rated T. No Archive Warnings. Summary:
"Kim feels like a sunflower – he can't resist basking in Chay's light."
How Kim and Chay recognize their love for each other via tattoos, and then share it with the world.
this fiiiIIIIIIIIIIIC GODDDDDDDD. i swoon. i SWOOOOOON over this fic. i simply do not even have the words. this fic hurts my bones, hurts down to my soul. so fucking good. 10/10
Do You Believe in Magic? by disast3rtransp0rt @disast3rtransp0rt (3407 words)
Rated T. No Archive Warnings. Summary:
Deadpool continues to breeze past the entire situation, as he usually does when he’s in ‘trouble’. In fact, ‘Pool starts flirting even earlier into their banter than usual. “Did you hear the part where we’re soulmates, Spidey?”
“I actively ignored that bit, actually,” Chay outright lies. Like a lying liar whose spandex is on fire. One hand is still on his hip, and he uses the other to gesture between the two of them. “What if we’re platonic soulmates?”
“That’s not how the spell works,” Sabrina the Pain in Chay’s Ass speaks up. “We were hoping to summon Death, but–”
THIS FIC EEEEEEEE oh my god this was just so cute my heart simply could not take it. i read this after like, just, such an awful terrible day and it made me smile and god i love it. very special place in my heart for this fic.
i see rain but maybe they're all tears for you by OdeToFics @thestrangeillusion (5459 words)
Rated E. Creator chose not to use archive warnings. Summary:
Chay slumps back down onto the couch, picking up his controller where he'd abandoned it when there was a knock at his door.
"Take your clothes off and then come here," he commands with a steady voice without even looking in Kim's direction.
When his words are only greeted with silence from where Kim is still standing next to the door he'd just locked, Chay turns around to look at him and raises a challenging eyebrow at him.
"W-what?" Kim stutters out and Chay feels a rush of satisfaction in making the always cool and collected Kim Theerapanyakun finally lose his resolve for once. "You said 'anything', did you not?" Chay asks coldly.
~~
Or: Chay wants Kim to be as vulnerable with him as he had always made himself for Kim. He wants to have some control over Kim. He realises too late that he's in way over his head.
OOF this fic hurts so good. post canon kim having emotions, goodness gracious it HITS DIFFERENT. SAD ANGST PORN MY BELOVED. SMANGST IF YOU WILL
The Art of Persuasion by Zoiseaunoir (9226 words)
Rated E. No Archive Warnings. Summary:
Porchay really wants to top.
Kim needs a little persuasion.
... or does he?
!!!!!! some top tier kimchay communication porn. i read this fic like seven times in the week i first discovered it AND YOU SHOULD TOO
Take Your Time (I Promise Not to Run) by WildelyDawn @wildelydawn (3637 words)
Rated E. Rape/Non-con. Summary:
“Somnophilia,” Kim reads out loud. “A sexual interest in engaging in sexual activity with a sleeping person.”
Chay hadn’t said no to any of his desires so far. But this is different. This is taking without asking.
It’s wrong.
(Or: Kim discovers somnophilia and struggles to keep his desires to himself. Chay's there to guide him through it.)
fOOkin hell this fic, this whole series actually, actually actually everything by dawn but i digress. just like, jaw-dropping plot, beautifully written, and smutty on top of it?? just 10/10 fic overall, absolutely outstanding
podfic available by Princess_Moonlight!!!
paying the price by IsleofSolitude @emberfaye (4133 words, ongoing)
Rated M. Creator chose not to use archive warnings. Summary:
Secure with the knowledge that Kim won’t leave him again, Chay unblocked Kim and pressed the call button.
(Alternatively, Chay fucks around and finds out. All magic comes with a price.)
:*) bro. this fic took my emotions and put them in a blender. the first chapter was jaw dropping and had me hooked, and the second chapter picked my jaw off the ground and stapled it back on with no novocain. my heart huuuuurts thinking about this fic /pos
I'd Rather Feel Pain Than Nothing At All by Sweet_William @sweet-william-writes (3108 words)
Rated E. Graphic Violence, Rape/Non-con. Summary:
Chay starts having graphic dreams where Kim attacks him. When he is faced with a real-life volatile Kim killing men in Hum Bar to protect him, he realises they were never nightmares.
They were wet dreams.
And now he's going to make those dreams a reality, whether Kim wants it or not.
yOWza bonowza this fic is a doozy /pos. author's note says "Because we need more awful kimchay fics <3" and sir you delivered!!!!!! spectacular and gasp-worthy, i couldn't stop thinking about it for like four days after reading it
Technicality by TheCookieOfDoom @the-cookie-of-doom (9136 words, ongoing)
Rated E. No Archive Warnings. Summary:
Kim is an OnlyFans model. Despite taking (literal) monster dildos up his ass on the regular, he is still, technically, a virgin.
now this one is just technically (ha) less than 10k, its 9k and ongoing but goddamnit im counting it because loooOORDD. this has almost all of my favorite tropes wrapped up in 9k of excellent writing and GOD it makes me feral like actually fr feral
K's Puppy Boy by Maenecoon @maenecoon (9944 words, ongoing)
Rated E. No Archive Warnings. Summary:
To be in K’s position, to garner the attention of people who'd pay to see him do more and go further into the depths of depravity. To feel wanted and needed and pleasured all while earning a bit of pocket money.
It sounds like a dream.
And so Chay's here now, attempting a stream of his own.
ー
Or, Chay stumbles upon the prettiest camboy. Things go downhill from there.
OK THIS ONES ALSO JUST BARELY 10K BUT LISTEN. holy F LISTEN TO ME. go read this right now. this shit has me blushing and kicking my feet and chewing my arm off and SCREAMING OUT LOUD IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT god GOD ITS SO. ok yeah go read it.
#gonna make another one with other pairings sometime in the future#i already have a list of ones to include#pls send me all your <10k fic recs 🛐#kimchay#kinnporsche the series#kinnporsche the series fic#fanfiction#fic recs
87 notes
·
View notes
Text
Always
Pairing: Mattheo Riddle x y/n
Warnings: slow burn, fluff, smut-adjacent? I guess
Summary: You & Theo have been best friends since year 1. Mattheo has been crushing on you since around the same time; everyone things you and Theo are going to end up together but both you and Theo have others in your sights.
You had met Theo your first ever day at Hogwarts. Really you had met him on the train; you had been so nervous that you were going to miss the train you made your mum get you there extra early. You had found a compartment to yourself in the back, making tiny paper birds with notebook paper and flicking your wand up and down to make them dance. It was a simple spell, a children’s spell really that your mum had taught you. It helped calm you down.
You heard more students arriving on the train the closer it got to 9:00. You weren’t bothered that no one has joined you yet, it was almost more peaceful that way. At 8:59, your compartment door flew open and a mess of brown curls was standing with his back to you, shouting down the car pathway, “Down here, Teddy, c’mon!” The curly haired boy plopped down across from you and almost jumped out of his skin, “Merlin! Sorry, I didn’t notice you there. I’m Mattheo.” You gave a weak smile, but didn’t say anything as another boy came rushing in - more like stumbling- and sat right next to you. He had sandy brown hair and was as skinny as a bean pole. You made a mental note to watch out for his inevitable clumsy-ness in the future.
“I’m Theo, thanks for letting us sit with you. We almost missed the bloody train,” he gave you a crooked smile that reached his eyes. “Teddy and I are first years, I’m assuming you’re the same by your robes,” Mattheo spoke again, tearing open a chocolate frog and shoving half in his mouth. You nodded your head, pulling a knee to your chest. “I told you, it’s Theo now, we’re going to school, it’s Theo not Teddy.” Mattheo rolled his eyes, “Not happenin’, Mate.”
“What’s your name?” Theo turned back to you, smile plastered on his face again. “Y/n,” you spoke barely above a whisper, but Theo nodded, repeating your name to himself over and over again like he was committing it to memory. “She must like you better than me, Teddy, she didn’t speak to me at all when I first walked in,” Mattheo mumbled through mouthfuls of chocolate. The tips of Theo’s earns burned the slightest shade of pink, you found it endearing. “You’re gonna have to get used to me sometime, Princess, we’re all gonna be best friends now.” You turned back to Mattheo, confusion clearly written on your face.
He rolled his eyes again, “It’s like an unwritten rule, duh. The people you sit with on the train your first time to Hogwarts end up being your best friends for life.” You took a deep breath, “Well if I’m stuck with you guys for life, I have a few rules.” Both boys sat up a little straighter, listening intently. “You need to learn to eat with your mouth shut,” you gave your want a small flick in Mattheo’s direction, shutting his mouth immediately. Theo threw his head back in laughter, wiping his eyes, “Okay, you’re definitely going to have to teach me that one.”
“And you,” you turned to Theo, “have to let me call you Teddy.” Theo smiled widely, “If you teach me that mouth sealing spell you can call me whatever you want.” You flicked your wrist again, releasing Mattheo from the spell. He gasped for air dramatically like he had been gagged, “I don’t know when, but I’ll get you back for that one, Mouse. I don’t know when, but expect it.” You tilted your head, “Mouse?” Mattheo smiled proudly to himself, “Yeah, ‘cause when I first came in you were as quiet as a mouse.” You felt your face get hot, your stomach fluttering with butterflies.
You were the last of the three of you to get sorted. The sigh of relief you let out was massive when the sorting hat placed you in Slytherin with your new friends. Theo’s long arm was waving like crazy, beckoning you over to him and Mattheo. The next several years consisted of you three growing closer and closer. You and Mattheo would always argue back and forth. But overall you felt closest to Theo. He was like your brother. You cared for each other at parties, fell asleep on each other in the common room, wore his extra quidditch jersey to games.
People asked you both all the time why you didn’t date. So when Pansy asked you again at the beginning of sixth year you had to roll your eyes. “Me and Teddy? No way, yuck!” You gagged, “he’s like my brother. That’s incest Pans, gross. Never ever no.” She laughed at your response, but still seemed a bit nervous. You raised your eyebrows, “Wait why…do you…OH MERL-” Pansy slapped her hand over your mouth, “Shut it, y/n! Do you want to wake up the rest of the girls? Yes, okay. I’m crushing on Theo.” She covered her face with her hands, groaning and presumably hiding your cheeks that were most definitely bright red.
“Oh this is great, truly,” you smiled. “Honestly, you don’t know how happy this makes me, Pans.” The girl across from you lifted her head, “Why does this make you so happy, Y/n.” Pansy was definitely suspicious at your tone of voice and just your eagerness in general. “Because…” you grinned, “a certain gangly limbed, brown haired boy told me he had a crush on a bombshell black haired girl this summer.” Pansy sat there, blank look on her face. You groaned, “Merlin’s beard…Pansy, Teddy told me he’s had a crush on you for the last year.”
Pansy squealed with excitement but quickly covered her mouth, glancing over at the other girls in the room making sure they where still sleeping. “You know what this means, right?” She sat up on her knees, practically bouncing as she spoke to you. You nodded, in full understanding, “It means we have to make sure you look hot as shit for the welcome party tomorrow.” Pansy nodded, “We both need to look hot as shit.” “Wait why we? Who do I have to look hot for?” You questioned. Pansy tucked herself into her duvet, “That’s for me to know…and you to find out tomorrow.”
——————————
As sixth years you were in charge of party planning. You and Pansy had designated yourselves as lead party planners making sure everything was perfect. You had gotten ready together, making sure each other looked “extra hot” as Pansy stated. You were still clueless as to who you were looking hot for, but you still went along with it. You both let the party get started before you made an entrance. As the pair of you made it across the room you found your group of boys. By the second week of your first year, the group had expanded from just you, Theo and Mattheo to include not only Pansy but also Draco, Blaise and Lorenzo.
Theo’s eyes were glued to Pansy the moment he clocked you guys across the room. You smiled, thanking Merlin that Theo would likely finally get a girlfriend and put the stupid dating rumors for you two to rest. He spoke up immediately, “You look amazing Pansy.” She blushed slightly, “Thank you, Theo. You look pretty good yourself.” The tops of Theo’s earn turned the slightest of pink as his smile grew, still crooked as always. He stood up, taking her hand and leading her to the dance floor.
“You looking fucking sexy, too, Y/n-” Enzo started his sentence but was quickly cut off with a flick of Mattheo’s wand, sealing his mouth shut with the charm you had taught the young boy so many years ago causing the rest of the group to burst out laughing. “Can I, erm, talk to you, Mouse? Alone?” Mattheo stood from his seat. You crossed your arms, “Not until you release, Enzo.” He rolled his eyes, flicking his wand again. Enzo opened his jaw wide, moving it around and making chomping movements with his mouth, “You can rightfully piss off for that one.”
Mattheo just gave him the finger before grabbing your hand. You couldn’t help the way your heart raced when his skin made contact with yours. It didn’t always used to be like this. Sure, you had a slight crush when you were eleven, but he was adorable, all the girls had a crush. It had died down a little when he started hooking up with Astoria Greengrass in year three. But last year, when Mattheo started keeping to himself more, not even hooking up with random girls your crush had time to blossom again.
You did your best to keep it to yourself. You two were still close, not as close as you and Theo, but that’s only because doing things like falling asleep on Theo’s shoulder was nothing. If you were to do that on Mattheo, you’d probably fail every test the next day over analyzing every move and breath he took. Mattheo stopped walking when you two made it to the hallway leading to the boys dorms. The silencing charm cut off right before the halls, making it much quieter and easier to talk there than inside the party.
“What’s going on Mattheo, why did want need to talk out here? And why were you mean to Enzo, he was just telling me how nice I looked, he’s allowed-”
“No,” Mattheo started through gritted teeth, “he’s not allowed, and he was being inappropriate to you.” You scoffed, crossing your arms, “Excuse me?” Mattheo turned away from you, yanking down on his curls. “Mattheo Marvelo, look at me this instant!” He whipped around, slamming a hand on the wall next to your head. You jumped slightly, letting out a small yelp. “He is not allowed to say those things to you, Mouse,” Mattheo spoke softly, his jaw was clenched and he kept his eyes shut, clearly trying to keep himself calm.
You reached up, placing a hand on his cheek, “Why?” The boy relaxed into your touch as he took a deep breath. He opened his eyes, meeting yours as you stared back at him. He held eye contact with you; you had always loved Mattheo’s eyes. Theo would tease him and tell him they were “so brown because he was full of shit”. But you were always quick to defend him. Mattheo’s eyes reminded you of mahogany in the middle. He had the richest shade of brown along the rim of his iris, when the sun caught his face on the train that first day you knew you’d be done for long term.
“Talk to me, teo, what’s wrong?” The corner of his mouth turned up slightly at the nickname. You noticed his eyes flick from your own, down to your lips and back. Your heart rate picked up, not quite believing what he might be thinking. When his eyes flicked down again, you got a surge of confidence moving your hand from his cheek to the back of his neck. You pulled him closer, hearing his breath hitch as your lips met.
Your fingers tangled into his dark curls, his hand that wasn’t holding his weight on the wall found your waist. He took a step closer to you, essentially trapping you against the wall, the front of his body now flush to yours. You mind was tangled, you placed your hands on Matteo’s chest, pushing him back slightly. “What’s wrong?” He asked, “Was it bad did I mess up?” You shook your head, smiling, “No, it was, gosh it was amazing, I just don’t understand how, or why, it’s happening.”
Mattheo rested his forehead against yours, “I’ve always loved you, Mouse. It’s always been you. Ever since that first day on the train, when you charmed my mouth shut with that little attitude of yours.” You smiled at the memory as he continued, “Merlin, no one had ever done anything like that to me before. I didn’t understand it at first but I felt love for you in that moment. When everyone started saying you and Theo should date, I got so jealous. I wanted it to be me. But you were always so much closer with him. I tried to date other girls, to chase that feeling I felt that first time we met but they never did it for me. Not like you, Y/n.”
Your heart felt like it was beating out of your chest. The boy you had been pining after for years just basically told you he loved you since he met you, that his feelings were the same as yours. He opened his mouth to speak again, but instead you tilted your head slightly capturing his mouth with yours. He pulled you closer, seemingly not being able to get enough of you in that moment.
In what felt like entirely too soon he pulled away, “We should get back to everyone else, yeah?” You smiled, nodding your head, “Yeah, s’pose so.” He laced his fingers with yours, leading you back to the couch your friends were sitting. Pansy and Theo now sitting down, Pansy’s legs thrown casually over Theo’s. As the two of you got closer, Pansy’s eyes panned down to your hands. She slapped Theo’s chest, pointing toward you and Mattheo. “Oh thank MERLIN,” Theo exclaimed, causing everyone’s eyes to follow, smiles forming on everyone’s faces. Enzo sat up, “Merlin, finally! We were so tired of hearing Mattheo drown on and on about you, Y/n, year after yea-” in an instant his mouth was charmed shut. Everyone turned to look at Mattheo who put his arms up in defense. You slid your want back in your holder on your leg, shrugging your shoulders, “He talks too much sometimes.”
#mattheo riddle x reader#theodore nott x reader#mattheo riddle#mattheoxreader#harry potter#golden era#mattheo x you
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
PUPPY; aitana bonmatí x fem!reader x ona batlle
Warnings: fluff.
Note: English is not my first language.
not my gif.
Aitana's jaw clenched immediately when she noticed who was laying on the ground. She ran quickly to her, pushing the rival away.
"¿Te has hecho daño?" Aitana asks, worry present in her voice. She knelt down, watching the pained expression on her face.
"My knee." Y/N mumbled, hissing when she tried to stand up, letting out a pain squeal.
Aitana grabs her hand and squeezes it, looking briefly at the player who did this. Her eyes transform daggers. And like what she wants to do to that player, someone else pushed her, exclaiming bad words. A tiny smile painted on Aitana's lips.
"They are coming." Alexia's voice broke her visual from the pair and Lucy separating her teammate from the rival.
Aitana saw how the medics came quickly, Alexia making room for them and looking to her friend laying there while sharing the worry that Aitana felt for Y/N.
"Ona, enough!" Lucy's thick accent was heard next to them, taking away the young defender.
Ona scowled when Lucy pushed her to another part and when her gaze saw the girl laying, her eyes softened.
"Is she okay?" Ona asked the medics, crouching down. Her hands move to take away Y/N's hands from her face, wiping her cheek when saw it dirty.
"She will, but she needs to be sub." One of them said, turning to the bench and doing a gesture with their hands.
"I'm going to kill her." Aitana growled.
"You are staying away from her." Alexia state firm, walking to where Irene and Keira are discussing with the referee.
Frido crouched down and moved some lock of hair away from her face, whispering reassuring things. Y/N whispered something too, something that neither Aitana or Ona could hear, seeing only how the Swedish nodded.
With a promise from the pair, Y/N was subbed off. Ona patted Aitana's back, talking with a look what they are gonna do.
But the plan came quickly to an end when Frido came towards them and threatened them with a surprisingly serious tone.
When the whistle indicated the final, Ona and Aitana ran in, not caring at that moment about anything more than Y/N.
The freckled girl saw her girlfriend sitting on her cubby apparently with nothing serious, she sat down on her lap and hid her face on her neck, depositing a kiss there.
"I can play the next game. They took me away for precautions." Y/N explained, hugging Ona.
Aitana walked towards them and stood in front, a hand on her hip. "You are forbidden to move today." She indicated, making her laugh and the brunette frown. "I'm saying it seriously."
Y/N snorted. "Believe me, I know." Aitana rolled her eyes and leaned down to kiss her forehead.
Ona, who is more permissive in that way, sometimes she ally with Y/N to lure her other girlfriend, that gave in after a while. So she knew later that day, she needs to intervene in the future discussion between Y/N and Aitana. But she missed so much that she didn't care.
"You two!" Once again, Alexia interrupted the atmosphere without knowing it. Ona moves out quickly, sitting to Y/N's left side. The midfielder walked in. "Do you think I don't notice your behaviour? And disappear when the match ends?" She stood up in front of them, crossing her arms with an authority face, but softening her features when saw Y/N. "Are you okay?" She asks softly.
Y/N nodding with a smile.
"We are worried." Ona said, shrugging while grabbing a bottle of water.
Alexia fixed her gaze towards her, raising an eyebrow to her answer. Her firmness is coming back to her face.
"Yeah... frequently it's been that way." The captain hummed.
Before Ona could answer, the chatter between Keira and Patri interrupted the interrogation.
"Whoa. Who is the guilt?" Patri teases when saw her captain position, walking next to her.
Y/N hides a smirk, watching the interaction.
"My choice is Anita." Keira joked too, throwing her right arm around Aitana's shoulder.
The mentioned rolled her eyes, while the other laughed.
"Well, mine is Y/N." Patri said. She notices lately the pair glued to her. The player raised her eyebrows, surprised while pointing to herself. "Yes, you. These two need to resolve their crush on you." The Balear smugly said, oblivious to the real situation.
Aitana blushed profusely while Ona spit the water she was drinking. Y/N patted her back a few times.
"Cállate." Ona muttered, throwing at her a knowing look. Lately Patri got to Ona to confess her love to Y/N, not knowing that she already did it.
Patri giggled and after checking on Y/N, she went to her cubby. Y/N and Keira engaged in a conversation, giving the opportunity to Alexia to bring with herself Aitana and Ona to another part of the changing room.
"Well?" Alexia asked after a few seconds, raising an eyebrow and crossing her arms, the captain armband showing up.
The pair gave a look to each other, speaking with her eyes. Alexia sighed when neither of them said a word. "I don't know what is going on with you two following Y/N. It's okay if you two have a crush on her, but please, stop ac-,"
"Y/N is our girlfriend." Aitana said in a small voice, copying her captain and crossing her arms, her eyes looking at the floor.
Ona tried to hold a laugh when saw the older one open and close her mouth a few times, clearly not expecting this new information.
"Uhh?" Alexia hummed, very confused.
"We are in a relationship with her." Ona explained carefully, pointing with a finger herself and Aitana. "Weird?" She asks, calmly.
Alexia scratched the back of her head, nervous. "No... I don't listen to that frequently... that's all." She stammer.
"Then, do you understand why we worry about her, right?" Aitana said, raising her eyes to her friend.
The older snort. "Aitana, you are like a chihuahua with your teammates. You double it with her, also with Ona I still don't see it..." she joked, seeing the offending expression from the brunette and Ona laughing hard.
Ona's laugh called the attention from the others. Alexia chuckles discreetly while Aitana starts to protest. Y/N raised from her spot carefully and with the help of Keira and both of them walked towards them, Patri following behind.
"What is it?" Y/N stood next to Alexia, seeing Ona leaning on Aitana who was very offended and blushing, not caring about Ona at that moment.
"Alexia c-called your girlf-friend chihuahua!" Ona explained between laughs.
A lot of exclamations were heard. Some surprise noise escaped from Y/N's mouth, taking her with the guard off. Patri slapped her shoulder, a big smirk taking occupying her face.
"Your girlfriend?" Keira murmured next to her, copying Patri's smirk.
Y/N cover with a hand on her face, embarrassed.
"You two together? Shit Y/N, you mess up the bet." Patri said, remembering the bet some of them have on the three pairs.
Y/N frowned, putting down her hand and looking at Patri confused. This one received a nudge from the captain.
Ona stopped laughing, cleaning her cheeks from the crying. "What bet?" She said, frowning. Aitana stopped protesting too.
Patri looked like a puppy at that moment. Her gaze alternate between Alexia and Keira, avoiding the three involved one.
Alexia sighed deeply, thinking that of course, Patri is the one who could talk too much. Even if she isn't involved in the bet, she is aware about it.
"The one...," Patri started, undecided and swallowing. "We make a bet about who Y/N will start dating between you two..." she said in a small voice, guilty.
Y/N rolls her eyes. Of course her teammates would make a bet about them. She isn't mad with them.
"Are you three mad?" Keira asked, nervous.
Y/N shakes her head, making Patri and Keira sigh relieved.
"What about us?" Aitana scowled, indignant.
"Well, the main one we are scared of was Y/N. We can deal with you two." Patri said, an innocent smile painting on her lips.
"We can be scary too." Ona says trying to be intimidating.
Keira snort. "What?" Aitana said, starting to feel angry.
"Don't get mad, but you two are like two angry puppies. Y/N rarely gets angry and when it happens, everyone runs." Keira said, shrugging while smiling.
"She has a point..." Ona mumbled only at Aitana, coming to her head the times her girlfriend got angry with them.
The midfielder rolled her eyes, but remained quiet, agreeing silently with Ona. Y/N walked towards Aitana and wrapped her arms around her neck, the Catalan immediately wrapped hers around Y/N's waist protectively.
"You two look hot." Patri smirked, crossing her arms.
"I know..." Aitana said proudly, kissing Y/N's cheek.
"I want a kiss too." Ona complained, not caring about the other two who still don't know anything.
Before the pair could make a comment, Y/N unwrap an arm and wrap it on Ona's, smashing her lips on hers.
"WHAT!?" Keira exclaimed more loud than she pretended, muffling the squeal surprise Patri let out.
Y/N smiled on Ona's mouth, pecking it a few times. The young Catalan let out an enamoured sigh. When she turned to look at her friend, she saw how Patri and Keira had the same expression, making her laugh.
"Who won then?" Ona asked smugly.
"That's why they are always together..." Patri muttered to herself and looked at Alexia.
"Excuse me? I'm more interested in why you call me a chihuahua." Aitana said after a while, making them look at her silently. But soon they exploded into a loud laugh. Alexia rolled her eyes with a smile.
"I love you chihuahua." Y/N muttered on her lips to remove the piss from her face and was replaced by a small smile.
"Don't start to call me like that, please." She begged in a whisper, ignoring the laugh and tease from Keira and Patri.
"We will think about that." Y/N said, giving her a chaste kiss.
#woso x reader#woso#woso imagine#aitana bonmati imagine#aitana bonmati#ona batlle imagine#ona batlle x reader#ona batlle#aitana bonmati x reader
681 notes
·
View notes
Text
Hold My Hand and Never Let Go
word count: 3360
Pairing: Jake Sully x Female! Omatikaya! Reader
Tags/Warnings: adults only, smut, sex, mating, bonding
Summary: Older sister of Neytiri, younger to Sylwanin. After Jake successfully becomes one of the people, you take him to visit the Tree of Voices. All the while battling your feelings for him.
Author's note: The scene in Chainsaw Man where Makima and Denji lewdly hold hands inspired me to write this. Was originally gonna be reader and Lo'ak but I wanted to make it lewd, so Jake it is! This is not proof read so apologies for any mistakes! I'll fix em up later~
When Neytiri first brought Jake Sully before the clan, like everyone else you were shocked beyond belief. You offered to cut him down where he stood, had she forgotten the sins of Demons and the Sky People? What they did to Sylwanin?
But by Eywa’s Will he is granted sanctuary amongst the clan. And much to your dismay, your mother, the Tsahik, puts you in charge of training this would be warrior.
Many moon cycles you spend together. It became excruciatingly clear how difficult the path ahead would be. But you persevered, powered by sheer determination and spite; Tsu’tey’s constant dismissal and antagonizing being the driving force.
Though he was future Olo'eyktan, and you future Tsahik, the two of you were not to be a mated pair. It was an unusual situation, but not entirely unheard of. Your parents knew all too well how much the two of you butted heads, always getting on each other’s nerves one way or another.
A compromise then; he would be mated to your younger sister Neytiri. She accepted, noting that he was a great warrior and a promising future leader; Sylwanin always spoke so highly of him.
You put him to the back of your mind, your only focus being Jake and his lessons. Slow at first, especially with the language, he eventually finds his rhythm.
And when he passed his Iknimaya, you were overjoyed beyond words. It filled you with such pride watching him fly his ikran as though he was a natural born Na’vi. Eywa must have truly blessed this man. The two of you giggled like fools as you flew side by side, teasing each other with fake collisions.
Neytiri laughed at your antics, while Tsu’tey merely rolled his eyes, deeming you two a bunch of children.
You couldn’t stop smiling as you painted him in white intricate swirls. And when father declared him one of the people, you smiled brighter than you thought possible. Watching everyone gather around to join hands upon hands, excepting him, you weren’t ashamed of the tears in your eyes. Your gaze briefly met Graces’, the two of you letting out soft laughs noticing each other’s tears.
The day was filled with merriment and celebration. Every artisan of the clan wanted his attention now, showing him their workings, honed by years of trade. Then day bled to evening, filled with feast, song and drink. And when evening bled into night, you stealthily pulled Jake away from the clan, wanting some alone time.
---
Hurriedly you pull him along, your footsteps leaving light trails in the earth. This was your most favourite time, the night, when Eywa was at her most beautiful. Even when the sun eclipsed, She never left her people in the dark; lighting the world in a brilliance of colour.
You giggle when you feel Jake playfully tug on your tail as you arrive at your destination; the Tree of Voices. The grove is awash in soft violet and pink hues, almost romantic in a way.
“This is a place for prayers to be heard, and sometimes answered.” You explain as you grab some of the tree. You connect your kuru and smile softly.
“We call these trees, Utral Aymokriyä, The Tree of Voices. The voices of our ancestors.” You watch as Jake connects to the tree, his pupils dilating for a brief moment.
“I can hear them…” He looks shocked, almost like a babe connecting to Eywa for the first time. You suppose that perhaps that was true in his case.
“When our energy is returned, we live on within Eywa.” He nods and disconnects himself. You touch your hands to his broad chest.
“You are Omatikaya now. You may make your bow from the wood of Hometree…” You hesitate for but a moment, turning from him you hold your hand out to an atokirina.
“…And you may choose a woman. Or man.” You smirk over your shoulder at him. You giggled at the disgruntled face he makes.
“Woman. Definitely woman…You’re unmated too, right? Can I ask, how come you never chose anyone? You must’ve completed your iknimaya long before I came around…”
He is of course right. There is a pang in your chest as you think on it. Once upon a time you would have been mated to Tsu’tey; but your clashing personalities made such a pairing disastrous. So by your own hand, you sabotaged your own future.
You could have chosen another man, but the fallout with Tsu’tey left you with such a strong impression, you couldn’t bare the thought of Eywa rejecting another union; least of all if it were to be your fault.
You curse yourself then, for the feelings burning inside you. As you stare into Jake’s golden eyes, you know with utter certainty, that you desire him. Your heart yearns for him, aches for his touch. He makes you feel comfortable, safe. Like you can express yourself in ways you wouldn’t to others, and he wouldn’t judge you for it.
You explain to him then, the falling out you had with Tsu’tey, and how it made you feel thereafter. Your heart beats fast in your chest, anxiously you search his gaze for anything close to disgust, almost waiting for an upturned sneer.
But it never comes. He simply smiles down at you, something akin to adoration in those eyes. It fills you with renewed confidence.
“And now…I think I am ready to choose a mate once again…But, he must also choose me.” You grab a hold of his hand, holding it to your face as you stare up at him once more. You watch as realisation slowly takes over, his eyes widening in shock.
“Me?”
You nod, leaning into his hand with closed eyes.
“Yes you…” You whisper into his palm. When you open your eyes once more, you don’t expect to see his face drenched in conflict.
“Jake…?”
“[Y/N]…Of course I choose you, but…”
Oh Eywa no, here comes the rejection. You curse yourself once more, you should have known better, should have kept quiet.
But he doesn’t say anything more. You notice he is looking at his own hands, once pinching the palm of the other. He’s grimacing, lost in his own thoughts.
“The people accepted me, and I’m grateful, really I mean that, I couldn’t be happier…But a part of me still feels, because of my demon blood, can I really be true Na’vi? And, what if something happens to this body? Or, or what if something happens to the link bed I’m lying in? Are you sure you wanna risk being with someone who could drop dead at any second?”
You heart breaks. You had no idea he had been harbouring such thoughts, such insecurities. You grab his face in both your hands, pulling him to meet your eyes once more.
“You are more Na’vi than you give yourself credit for. Eywa saved you in that forest from my sister, and it is by Her Will, that you stand before me. Do not ever doubt yourself like this, you hear me? The man I see before me is not his past, but the future he needs only to reach out and grab with both hands.”
Jake’s lips quiver slightly, but he swallows his would be tears and instead smiles down at you. It feels like the sun kissing your skin. He hands move to grab your face in turn. He says nothing, but slowly leans forward. You tilt your head as you lean closer to him. He stops just shy of touching you, as if to give you one last chance to back away.
Not a fucking chance.
You close the gap without a moment of hesitation.
When your lips meet, you can’t help but inhale sharply. The feeling of his soft lips on yours, it is as though something burst inside you; flooding you with a calming warmth. It seeps into your very bones, bringing an unexpected relief, and a sense of Home.
Tentatively, he moves his mouth against yours. Each move slow and meaningful. His thumbs gently caressing your cheekbones. You press yourself harder, deepening the kiss. He moans into your mouth when you do, and he feels you smirk against him.
Cheeky.
He licks your bottom lip, and when you squeak in surprise, he wastes no time invading you with his long thick wet tongue. Your legs feel weak as he explores every part of your mouth, from the tips of your fangs, to the slick of your own tongue. The two of you tangle in each other, tasting, lapping up each other, until the need to breath becomes too much.
Slowly you pull away, laboured breath mixing with one another. He rests his forehead against you, his eyes search yours, though you know not for what. You kiss him lightly on the nose, giving him the reassurance he so desperately seeks.
You take a step back, grabbing his hand in yours as you lower yourself to the ground. When the two of you are knelt before one another, you hold his hand up to yours.
“When Na’vi mate…It is a life long bond. We connect our kuru, our queues together. Through it, you will feel what I feel, and I you…Na’vi are taught from a very young age, how sacred this bond is. It is the most spiritual way you will connect with someone, other than Eywa herself. So it cannot happen, until you find your one true mate…It is also, very, very erotic…Or so I’m told,” you can’t help the blush that adorns your face.
You notice though, that Jake doesn’t seem to be shy at all. He looks at you with such reverence. But there is also something behind his gaze, you dare say, almost predatory. As you he would devour you given the chance. The thought alone excites you, a spark igniting a warmth deep within your loins.
“So you tellin’ me young Na’vi teenagers don’t fool around?” You let out a short laugh at his question.
“Some do. But not always. The urges of the body can take over, but tsaheylu will always be sacred. And for some, they would rather share their first time with their mate.” He nods at your explanation.
“So have you ever…?” You shake your head in response.
“Have…you?”
“…In my Sky People body, yeah…” You nod in understanding; the revelation doesn’t surprise you. His people had different cultures from yours, and you mostly chose to remain untouched due to your own fear of rejection.
“Are you nervous?” He asks and you nod.
“But…It’s something I’ve thought about for a very long time…” Your fingers graze his palm, before you slide your fingers between his and gently hold his hand.
“I believe, mating, having sex, the better you understand the other person, the better it feels…I often wondered what my mate would look like…How long, would his fingers be?” Up and down your lithe fingers stroke the space between his own.
“Would his palm be warm, or cold?” You gently grasp his hand, bringing it to cup your face.
“How would it feel, to have him caress my ears?” You press his fingers around the tip of your ear. You bring his other hand to your mouth, gently taking his thumb between your teeth.
“How would it feel, to have him in my mouth? Taste him on my tongue?” Slowly, you let your tongue glide over his digit, sucking him into your mouth. Jake audibly gasps as you, you hear his tail swish behind him excitedly.
You remove his thumb slowly, pressing a kiss to the tip before you move his hand back down. He gulps audibly.
“You, sure you haven’t done this before?” His voice is anxious, and you revel in that fact.
“I am sure…Now, come. Let us mate before Eywa, ma Jake.” You move your queue to the space between you to, and he mirrors your actions.
You watch with baited breath as the pink tendrils seek each other, slowly entwining in brilliant white.
The feeling that floods you is near indescribable; a euphoria done little to know justice from words alone. It is as though you have lived your life as but a portion of a whole being, suddenly made whole through the bond. You feel his heart beating fast in his own chest, but also reverence he holds for you; as though you were the one to paint the stars in the sky, or hold moonlight in your hands.
He pulls you to him, burying his face into the crook of your neck. He bites and licks at the sensitive flesh, eliciting soft moans from you. The unexpected pleasure he feels through the bond pulls a low moan from the back of his throat.
His hands are on you, exploring you, every inch of skin set alight as his fingers glide over you. His mouth trails kisses down to your chest. He gives your nipple a teasing lick, before taking the bud into his mouth. He sucks and licks until it perks, then moves to do the same to the other. Your fingers thread through his hair as he does, short gasps leaving you as he does.
The pleasure travels down into your loins, the warmth slicking your walls.
Once he’s satisfied, he sits up to press his mouth to yours in a bruising kiss. He is far less gentle this time, mouth dominating your own for control, tongue lapping and invading your mouth without warning.
His hand travels down to your sex, gently cupping you through your loin cloth. You moan shamelessly into his mouth as you feel him gently stroke you.
The pleasure is soft and gentle, with a promise of something grand in the distance. But this friction is not enough. You whine when he grazes your clothed clit, and it’s all the indication he needs. He tugs at the hem and you hurriedly undo the seams.
His hand his on you again, fingers gently prying into your aching core. When he feels the wetness of you, he moans and breaks the kiss.
“This all for me baby? You’re so wet already and I’ve barely touched you,” he nips at your lip. You gasp as he coats himself in your juices, then gently start stroking your clit.
“J-Jake…” His name feels like a prayer from your lips.
Slowly he moves into you, pressing one finger into your throbbing pussy. He moves his thumb to rub your clit, all the while he pumps that singular long digit in and out of you.
Your cunt sings with a pleasure you never thought possible, your walls becoming wetter with each deft stroke. The pleasure spreads to every inch of you, ecstasy dancing on every nerve. The pleasure only grows when he inserts a second finger. The coil inside you tightening, the promise of orgasm growing ever closer.
Your hands wrap around his shoulders, pulling him as close to you as possible. You can’t help but grind yourself against his hand, your body demanding more friction.
“Yes, yes, yes ma Jake!” Your voice sings his praises and he quickens his pace.
“That’s is baby, you’re so close I can feel it. Cum on your mate’s fingers,” He moves his mouth to your ear and bites down gently. With one final pump of his fingers you cry out loud as your orgasm hits you. Your walls clentch tightly to his fingers, all the while his thumb gently strokes you as you ride out your pleasure.
When the sensation becomes overwhelming, you whine and tap in on the shoulder. Thankfully he relents, and slowly removes himself from your core.
But the night’s not over yet, and you feel as though that was but a taste of the whole meal.
You can feel his hardened cock aching through the bond.
Instinctively you lay on your back, pulling him with you. You spread your legs as wide as you can, and he nestles between. He removes himself from the constraints of his clothes.
Slowly he rubs his member up and down your slit, lubricating himself as he pumps his hand up and down.
His eyes find yours. Your hand rests beside your face, and he threads his fingers with yours. He squeezes and you squeeze back, nodding your head.
Slowly he starts pushing himself inside you. The feeling is strange and unfamiliar, perhaps even a little uncomfortable. He takes his time though, and you feel the strain of his willpower to move at such a pace. Once he is buried to the hilt, he lets out a shaky breath, resting his head beside you. His laboured breath tickles your ear.
He’s waiting for you to get used to the feeling, giving your body a moment to adjust to the stretch. The uncomfortable feeling from before doesn’t take long to subside, and is instead replaced with a soft pleasant feeling.
You kiss his check, and gently grind yourself against him, encouraging him to move. He groans into your ear, the deep guttural sound of his voice tickling your stomach.
He slowly removes himself, just before the tip, before slamming right back into you. The pleasure that hits you is so sudden you can’t help the loud moan it rips from your throat. He doesn’t wait this time.
With reckless abandon he’s pounding into you, his cock moulding itself into your throbbing walls of your needy pussy. Each thrust makes the most lewd squelch of wetness and flesh you have ever heard. It arouses you even more.
Faster he fucks you, the coil of pleasure tightening once again, threatening to snap at a moments notice. His moans are low and breathless, curse words sprinkled in between as he rides his pleasure within your centre.
Your legs wrap around his waist, allowing his dick to hit a place even deeper than before. Your eyes shut tight as the pleasure nearly overwhelms you. You feel his other hand cup your face, the other still holding your hand tight.
“Open your eyes, [Y/N], please. I wanna see you when you cum.”
With some effort, you open your eyes to lock your gaze with his. The feeling in your heart explodes a million times over as you feel his love for you through the bond, and the joining of your sex. It brings tears to your eyes.
“I love you Jake—my mate—my Jake—forever! I’m so close! Please! Don’t stop!”
He presses a kiss to your forehead.
“I love you too [Y/N]…Cum for me again baby, let me feel you one more time.”
The cord snaps and your orgasm hits you hard. The moan from your lips burgeoning on a scream. Your cunt squeezes his cock for all it’s worth. The pleasure burns pleasantly from your clit to the tip of your kuru.
Jake continues his brutal pace while you ride out your orgasm. The sensations that flood him through the bond are enough to bring him to his own release.
“[Y/N]!” With your name on his lips, it only takes a few more thrusts before his burying himself as deep as he can, your pelvis bone aching, as he paints your walls with his seed.
He gives you a few more hard thrusts as he rides out his orgasm.
Finally he collapses on top of you, both of you well spent.
He rolls himself onto his back, pulling you with him. He doesn’t remove himself from you, nor does the bond release.
You lay on top of him then, head reasting on his chest. You listen to the rapid beating of his heart; it fills you again with the feeling of home.
Your hand idly traces the glowing stars on his chest. You are both warm and sweaty. Sticky from your exertions. The air is thick with the scent of mating. But neither of you mind.
One arm wraps around you, securing you to him. He brings his other hand to yours, entwining your fingers in a tight embrace.
“I love you, [Y/N]…”
“I love you too, ma Jake. Hold my hand, and never let go.”
You squeeze his hand, and he squeezes back.
#jake sully x reader#jake sully x omaticaya!reader#avatar smut#jake sully#avatar fanfiction#jake sully x you#female reader#omatikaya reader#jake sully smut#bonding#mating#Spotify
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
sweet calamity | ch 1
Wednesday Addams x Reader
Series Summary: It was something people described as the sweetest pain, the feeling of when the soul that's destined to find yours is closer to you. Wednesday saw it as a curse, promised herself she would hate whoever was chosen for her; but it's easier said than done.
A/N: And so the soulmate au begins (I'm a sucker for those and we all know it), anyways, I know this first part is small, but think of it as a prologue of sorts. I also can't promise that updates are gonna be super fast, because I'm kinda figuring things out as I go :') so please, let me know what you think, and especially let me know if there's anything in particular that you'd like to see happening in this series.
Masterlist
There were bumps in the road; small holes and cracks on the tree-surrounded path that lead to Nevermore. It became a familiar one, given the number of times Wednesday has already passed through it.
Today was the first day of the new semester, the return of boring normalcy after Crackstone's defeat.
Wednesday's dark eyes looked out the window, counting the trees as they went by, shadowed by the cloudy day. Her thumb was pressing over the inside of her right wrist, sometimes scratching the skin there in disdain for the faint birthmark she was cursed with.
Many people — most of them — saw the existence of soulmates as something good, the world's compensation for its cruelty with humanity; they see it as a reason to look forward to the next day, a reason to believe in a happier future.
Wednesday had a clearer vision. She knew, from the moment her parents broke the news to her that there was someone out there who had a soul that complemented hers perfectly, that it was just another devious move of this universe. A trojan horse that presented itself as salvation only to torture you — for some people to the point of insanity. Because the world doesn't give you anything on a silver platter and this was no different.
The thing about soulmates, is that each one of the pair is born with an identical mark on their skin; a mark that aches the closer you get to your soulmate, resembling the burn of a lighter on a bare finger. However, once you touch the other person for the first time, that ache is gone, never to happen again.
You could be on a train, walking a busy street, or watching a concert in the middle of a raging crowd and simply bump into the one who bears the other half of you; only to never cross paths with each other again.
So really, if anything, Wednesday respected the boldness of the universe, to come up with something so enticing, so desirable yet so out of reach.
She heard stories of people who felt the burning ache, ever present as they chased it more and more, and then suddenly… nothingness. The realization slowly sinking in as they looked frantically from one side to another and watched the people walk by, along with their chance at a happy ending.
Over time, the number of people who found their soulmate started slowly decreasing. If you did, you could be considered one of the lucky ones.
Wednesday considered herself lucky that she hasn't ever felt what others described as the sweetest pain.
The Addams girl stepped out of her car, backpack in one hand and a small suitcase in the other as Lurch unloaded the rest of her belongings. Nevermore stood in front of her in all its glory; the grey stone walls high and partly covered by climbing plants as the trees around it changed their leaves to vivid yellows and oranges.
Many students were arriving and walking through the gates, chatting animatedly and making Wednesday scrunch her nose at the unsettling noise. She spared her peers no glances, unwilling to indulge them in pleasantries and gossip about the time spent away.
It was strange how some of them still glanced at Wednesday from the corner of their eyes, whispering in each other's ears as she walked right past them, as if she wouldn't notice. She sometimes caught on to some of the words;
She's that girl who killed the evil pilgrim. That's Wednesday Addams, she saved the school last year.
The attention was not something Wednesday enjoyed, it only gave people more opportunities to disturb her peace.
As she walked through the main doors of the entrance hall, she heard it; excited steps approaching without abandon until her body was engulfed in a sea of blonde and pink.
"Enid," Wednesday said her name as a warning, though if you squint, you could say she half returned the hug.
The werewolf pulled back with a smile that Wednesday could only describe as bruising. "Hi roomie," Enid greeted, her joy dripping from her words, "it's been so long I even started missing your gloominess."
"It's barely been six months, Enid." Wednesday raised a pointed eyebrow, her features impassive as she held her roommate's gaze — until she relented; "but I did notice the absence of your obnoxious music and incessant texting."
It got Enid grinning, and with a skip on her step, she followed suit by Wednesday's side as they both walked up the stairs that led to the quad, "felt like six years to me, I didn't think I would but I actually missed school, staying home with my brothers could be considered torture."
"You can always torture them back, the possibilities are endless," Wednesday suggested.
Most students were gathering on the quad in order to hear principal Weems' speech for the beginning of the semester, including the newcomers. All tables were already filled with outcasts, some of them even sat on the ground due to the lack of space.
Wednesday huffed as she looked around, annoyed with the commotion she was forced upon; she spotted Xavier, sitting against a stone pillar with his head buried in his sketchbook; Bianca, who sat cross-legged on top of one of the tables, chatting with the other sirens; and Eugene, who was slowly walking on the opposite side of the quad, he gestured animatedly as he talked with a girl Wednesday had never seen here before, most likely giving her the Nevermore welcoming tour.
"There are even more people than before," Wednesday commented.
"I heard that a few new students transferred this year," Enid spoke after following Wednesday's gaze, "Nevermore has become quite popular…"
But the werewolf's voice faded slowly, becoming background noise to Wednesday's ears. Her dark eyes, usually sharp and attentive, lost their focus. Her burgundy-painted lips parted with breaths that came too shallow; because all of a sudden, Wednesday could only focus on one thing.
It felt like touching the tip of a lit candle with your finger, barely there, so faint that someone less aware could miss it. But Wednesday would never. Right on the pulse point of her wrist, on top of the mark she was always trying to scratch out; it burned.
The hand Wednesday had around the leather strap of her backpack tightened its hold until her knuckles turned white. She hasn't blinked since Enid started talking and she could feel the back of her eyes stinging, but her body was stuck in time. Stuck in a moment that shouldn't exist.
Only when the feeling faded, did Wednesday let out the puff of air she'd been holding. She didn't turn her head, but her gaze skimmed over the quad against her own volition, finding Xavier and Bianca and… Eugene was gone but who cares, Wednesday's so-called other half had just been close enough for her to feel them.
For a second she could feel strings pulling at her heart, willing it to match someone else's beat; her skin got littered with goosebumps and she hated every second of it. Hated whoever it was that was inciting it upon her.
It was sadistically ironic, really, that the only person who loathes the idea of having a soulmate, will most likely be studying with them.
⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ
Read ch 2 here
Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keeps me motivated to continue posting here, so I'd appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment if you want. <3
Wednesday’s taglist: @milkiane @bookfrog242 @heelaechan @imagine-reblog @gayestfeels26 @sakurarukas @bluetreecloud20 @the-night-owl-blr @imlike-so-gaydude @user284747 @dreifhraniquo29 @emeraldevan @witchyhs-blog @tobylikesfire @simp4nat @boobabietch @impossibleliv1031 @deadpool-in-a-snood @rainbow-love4ever @maria-403 @pompompuri @halleest @wandaromanova
#wednesday addams x reader#wednesday addams imagine#wednesday addams x fem!reader#wednesday addams#wednesday#wednesday addams x you#wednesdayedit#imagine#fanfic#fluff#angst#wednesday addams fanfic#jenna ortega#wednesday x reader#my story
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
I Will Wait
a soulmate!fakemarriage!au with rockstar!eddie and personalassistant!reader (also featuring ronance)
cowritten by @abibliophobiaa, @blue-mossbird, @breddiemunson, @myosotisa, and @fracturedarkness
18+ only for mature themes and eventual sexual content. fem!reader, alcohol consumption
three (15.3k) | next | masterlist | AO3 | 🎵 shmackin' tunes
in this universe, there is no upside down, the year is 1995, and corroded coffin = nine inch nails. enjoy! 🐝
The next few months are an absolute whirlwind. Corroded Coffin was in the last legs of producing their new album when you were hired, meaning the period of time when they were gearing up for the debut was just getting started. Photoshoots, interviews, preparing press releases, scheduling future appearances, and a million other things all seemed to be happening at once.
In addition to being the middleman between Eddie and the powers that be, which mostly consisted of Steve sending you constant emails of new appointments, you also were quick to learn some of the other expectations that comes along with being a PA for a celebrity. Mainly: house work.
At first you had thought they were fucking with you when Eddie mentioned that he needed you to come to his brownstone in the morning to do his laundry. As it turns out, he was both completely serious and incredibly amused with your ignorance of all the things you had technically signed up to do for him by taking this position. So you found yourself letting yourself into the Munson brownstone in Greenwich Village a few times a week to do menial tasks for your client.
Today, you’d walked in around 10am, much to Eddie’s displeasure, and were greeted with a bag full of laundry thrown at your feet. “Good morning to you too, Eddie,” you offer, albeit a bit dryly as you place your pocketbook on one of the stools at the kitchen island. “Did the maid I hired not get around to laundry this week?”
“Fired her.” Eddie sounds way too chipper for this time of day, and you can only guess it’s because of his smug smile as he forces you into doing things you’ve tried to work around. “Kept looking at my underwear weird; thought she was gonna sell it or something.”
Not believing it for a second, you still give him a tight smile. “I’m sure. I’ll work on finding another maid to clean the brownstone. Again.”
“You do that!” He calls over his shoulder as he walks further into the bright and airy kitchen. In his black sweatpants and bleach-stained tank top, he looks completely at odds with his own home. It sometimes makes you wonder if his wife, Robin, picked everything out or if they had just gotten a designer to come in and make it like a show home. The first floor is beautifully decorated but stale, like no one actually lives there. It gets a bit more personal as you ascend but it still seems strange to have a home feel so disconnected. “Oh—” he looks back over as you lift the bag of laundry into your arms with a huff, “I have a pair of silk boxers in there that need to be hand washed, so don’t even think about putting them in the machine. And, uh… don’t worry about the stains.”
Oh, how you wish you could smack the cheeky grin off his face sometimes. You mumble an acknowledgement as you carry the bag through the first floor and past the kitchen, passing through an open door frame that leads into the laundry/mud room. Sorting lights and darks, despite the very intense lack of white articles that need to be cleaned, you start shoving black fabric after black fabric into the top load washing machine. When the tips of your fingers brush silk, your teeth clench tight together as you clutch it in your fist and throw it towards the deep sink a few feet away.
Once the machine is started, you walk back over to where the bundle of black silk now rests at the bottom of the plastic basin. Upon first examination, there are no suspicious ‘stains’ to be seen, but you still don’t trust it. Pinching one of the hems between your fingernails, you lift it up to eye level to inspect further, wanting to know exactly what you’re getting into before you get started.
The french door behind you pulls open with a stream of sunlight and a brush of floral perfumed air. Still holding the offending garment between your fingertips, you spin toward where Robin has just entered the mud room, a pair of sunglasses perched on her nose and a book in her hand. “Uh…” Her hand slowly drops from the door handle, a smile stretching across her face as her eyebrows raise. “Whatcha doin’?”
Embarrassment wells up to warm your face, which you assume was Eddie’s goal all along, while you give Robin a tense smile. “Eddie fired the maid again. Said his silk underwear needed to be ‘hand-washed’.”
Robin’s sigh is one of long-suffering acceptance as she crosses over to you, grabs the boxers, and throws them into the running washing machine. “He’s fucking with you; you know how he is.” The sunglasses are pushed up into her hair so she can fix you with her blue-eyed stare. “You can just… push back a little. Don’t let him walk all over you.”
“It’s my job to—”
“Your job is not to just do whatever the fuck he tells you to do. Like, hiring the maid was a good move. He probably would’ve had you over here everyday dusting his little trophies if you hadn’t outsmarted him.” Her smile is warm, almost like she’s proud. “Your job is to make sure he can do his job. That’s all.”
Since meeting Robin 3 months ago, she has been nothing but sweet and kind to you. Despite being your client’s wife, she very often put herself in your corner, facing off against some of Eddie’s more unreasonable requests. While you don’t necessarily need her intervention, it still is nice to have sometimes. Her reassurance has your tension easing, a deep breath expanding your lungs in slight relief. “Thank you, Robin.”
“No prob,” she taps the cover of her paperback against your bicep as she moves past you and out into the kitchen. “Eddie!”
You follow her through the entry just in time to see Eddie spinning toward her shout, an open gallon of milk in his hand and a white stain on his upper lip. “Hey Rob, what’s the move?”
“God, Munson, you’re so fucking gross.” She pushes his shoulder out of her way to reach into the fridge and pull out a decanter of orange juice. “Remind me to never drink the milk in this house again.”
He sets the jug on the kitchen island and leans on his elbow to keep himself in her sideview, a cheeky grin lighting up his face. “And you married me anyway.”
“Don’t remind me,” she groans, although it betrays a certain level of amusement with her husband as she places her palm on his forehead and pushes him away again. Watching the easy interaction of their back and forth, always acting more like best friends than a more formal married couple, has a pang twisting in your chest. You can only hope for such an easy and comfortable relationship with your soulmate one day.
Two days later, you’re once again standing in the Munson brownstone in the early hours of the morning. Or, Eddie’s version of early, which happens to be anytime before noon. You hadn’t had time to find another cleaning service yet so you were elbows deep in the sink in their kitchen, bright yellow silicon gloves protecting your hands from the hot, soapy water as you washed bowls and coffee cups.
Eddie appears at the bottom of the stairs, yawning loudly as he stretches his arms skyward, shirt lifting to show a peek at the ink beneath. You pay him no mind as you continue your methodical cleaning of ceramics, keeping your eyes down even when he walks right up beside you and leans on the counter. Fully content to ignore him until your task is done, you can’t help but startle away when his fingertips ghost against your temple, pushing the hair back.
“What are you doing?” You finally glance over at him, your voice pitching up a bit in surprise. His smile is mischievous, eyes shining in the light, leaning over further to rest his chin on his fist.
“Oh, I was just fixing it for you. Your hands are wet and soapy.”
Exhaling through your nose, you go back to focusing on scrubbing the burnt eggs from the bottom of a frying pan. Over the last month or so, Eddie has gone from barely tolerating your existence and trying to make your life miserable, to being very pleased with your existence so he can continue to push the envelope on making your life miserable. It has become more and more like a game for him – testing the boundaries on what you will tolerate. Both what you will do for him and how much he can flirt with you until you get terse.
After a moment of awkward silence, at least on your end, you move to break the tension. “We should go over your schedule for today.”
He gives an exaggerated sigh, turning to lean both arms back on the counter beside you. “If we have to.”
“Your stylist asked you to be on site by 10am so they would have time to get you ready before the photographers arrived.” You’re barely halfway through your sentence before Eddie is groaning, sinking a bit lower onto his elbows. Mustering a flat look, you turn your head in his direction. “Why are you pouting?”
“I forgot the fucking photoshoot was today.” A ringless hand comes up to rub at the side of his face, still a bit swollen from sleep. “The only thing worse is those stupid press interviews.”
You turn back to the soap filled bowl in your gloved hands to hide your smile. “Good thing that’s not today. The interview is later this week.” Eddie’s reaction is instantaneous and dramatic – he moans in outrage as he slides all the way down to the floor beside you, leaning over to lightly hit his forehead against the side of your outer thigh over and over.
“I swear, it’s like you hate me,” his voice is muffled from below, face directed down. “You hate me when I have been nothing but nice to you.”
An amused snort leaves you against your will at the idea. His head whips back to look up at you in surprise and you barely manage to school your expression in time. “It’s not personal, Eddie. I’m just doing my job.”
“Speaking of your job,” he picks himself up off the floor in a less-than-graceful fashion, his sweatpants running much lower as he rises. You keep your eyes in the sink as you wipe down the last coffee mug left and pretend you aren’t seeing him adjust the fabric around his groin. “I need you to walk my lizard today.”
Halfway through removing the stopper from the sink to drain the used water, you freeze with your forearm still in the slowly lowering water. “Excuse me?”
He’s leaning on his elbow again, a smug smile on his face as he watches your reactions. “My lizard. You know, the one upstairs?” You make a noise of acknowledgement that you know what lizard he’s referring to. “He needs to be walked once a week. Specifically on sunny days. Normally around noon when the sun is highest, so he gets the most of the heat, y’know?”
You feel your eyebrows drawing together in confusion, trying to think back to what you know about lizards. Which, admittedly, is not much. Still, needing to walk a lizard sounds incorrect. You’ve never seen someone walking around with their lizard on a leash. You’re about to start to question him more when you catch sight of his expression. He has his lips drawn in between his teeth, his eyes pinched tight as he tries not to laugh. “... You’re fucking with me.”
The laugh escapes as a bark, his palm slapping down on the counter beside you as it echoes out into the high ceilings of the brownstone. “You almost fell for it too!”
Bristling in annoyance and just a little bit of embarrassment, you take a deep breath and hang the damp gloves over the edge of the now-empty sink to dry. “I think it’s time for you to get ready to leave.”
His mirth dies down fast, his head rolling back to sigh at the ceiling. “But, and here’s the thing right, I really don’t want to go.” You make another noncommittal noise, not looking to encourage his antics right now. Neck rolling toward you, that cheeky grin that you’ve come to loathe is back. “Beg me and I’ll do it.”
Another exhale out of your nose to remain calm, you weigh your options. If you beg, you are playing into his games and encouraging antics like this. But, you also get the result you want faster. If you refuse, you are technically standing your ground, but could end up with a bigger fight to try to get him ready and out the door in time. Deciding to play his game, you give him the flattest expression you’re capable of. “Will you please get ready to leave for your photoshoot?”
This time the sigh he lets out is satisfied, his shoulders falling and eyes closing in what looks like relief. When his eyes meet yours again, they’re accompanied by a lazy smile. “Love when you say please.” He taps the tip of your nose, shocking you still, as he turns back toward the stairs. “I’ll be ready in no time!”
He is not ready in no time.
You’re standing at the bottom of the stairs at 10:10am and have still not seen head nor tail of Eddie since he traipsed back up. The car outside has already honked twice, letting you know it’s waiting, but you wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. “Eddie, we’re already late!” Your voice echoes through the multi-floor space, definitely loud enough for him to hear, but you get no response. Patience running thin, you raise your voice again. “Eddie!”
You finally hear him reply, voice far off. “I got stuck in my pants, maybe you should come up and help me!”
Pressing your fingertips to your brow bone hard enough to pull the skin of your eyelid, you call back, “If you’re struggling to put your own pants on, I should probably call a medical professional.”
The soles of now-familiar boots appear at the top of the tall staircase, your eyes trailing up their occupant as he begins to slowly lumber his way down the stairs. He’s in his usual attire. Scuffed Doc Martens, a pair of black jeans stretched tight over his endless thighs, leather jacket fitted against his frame, those chunky rings adorning his fingers. Around his neck he wears multiple silver chains of varying sizes, dipping low into the collar of his shirt. “Y’know you could stand to be a little more fun.”
You remain firm, arms crossed as you wait for him to hit the final step. “I don’t think I understand your version of fun.” He blows a raspberry in your direction as he crosses the foyer to start shoving things into the already-tight pockets of his jeans. “We’re already late, and that means we are just delaying further when we can get to your preferred portion of the day at the studio.”
He meets your eyes through the mirror before him. Both of you showing an attempt at nonchalance. “I swear, sometimes when you talk it’s like a fly buzzing around my head and I just,” he swats once, “can’t,” twice, “get it,” three times, “to stop.”
“Maybe you should get better aim,” you offer coolly as you cross behind him to hold open the front door, hoping to get him to finally walk through it. “Or, better yet, you should consider actually listening to me instead of letting it go in one ear and out the other.”
“But it's like a buzzing little bee in my ear. Gets so annoying whenever you’re droning on and on about responsibilities and my to do list and shit.” He walks past you as he continues his rant, bouncing down the small set of stairs leading to street level. You’ve just turned back from locking the door when he whirls on you. “Maybe if you wore something a little more easy on the eyes, I’d be able to focus more on what comes out of your mouth.”
When you grit your teeth, his grin only grows, backing up towards the black sedan waiting for you both. Your voice is a thinly veiled warning when you start to say, “Eddie –”
“Careful, little Bee,” he opens the door, lifting a boot to rest on the frame. “If you get too aggressive, you’ll lose your stinger for good.” Then he falls into the darkened car, leaving the door open and sliding across so you can get in next to him. With no other option, you stomp down your frustration and climb in after him.
You’re not sure what to expect as the car pulls up in front of an abandoned warehouse out on Long Island. At first glance, it’s a dilapidated looking hole in the wall. From where you’re sitting, you can see the rusted metal roofing, the smashed in windows, exposed beams standing erect to hold up the exterior of the building. You knew the team intended for a grungier, broken down scene to represent the lyrics of the band’s latest album portraying a man’s downfall; however, you hardly anticipated something such as this in the seemingly middle of nowhere.
Eddie’s knee spreads further right from where he sits next to you, jean-clad thigh brushing yours ever so softly. Your head shifts to take him in, gaze trailing instantaneously to where you’re connected, stamping down the feeling that wells up and lingers behind your ribs with every fleeting moment such as this. His amber eyes are shrouded behind a pair of sunglasses today, tattooed hand nearest to you sprawled over his bent kneecap. There’s a thought burgeoning in his gaze, ever present before he ever even opens his mouth to speak out his reluctant drawl of, “Guess it’s now or never.”
The two of you slide out the car in unison on opposite sides of the respective vehicle, winding around the exterior and meeting to join in the center of the uneven, grassy ground. His lip quirks upward as he takes in the sight of you like a newborn doe on heels that insist on sinking into the ground, head tipping your way in the only acknowledgement of your presence you’ll likely receive. Inside, you’re immediately greeted by rusted over conveyor belts in the center of the room. There are steel beam stairs leading to an upper deck overlooking the central portion of the interior. To your left is the wall least eaten away by rust throughout the years, silver metal spanning from floor to ceiling, with endless lights positioned around the edges of the parameters to illuminate the set.
Your head tips to Eddie, standing there disinterested as ever, head tipping up to the sky, visible through the broken up ceiling. Like this, you can see every dark wave of hair that dances along the leather of his jacket, the ridges on the column of his pale throat, the tattoos that creep up high along the neckline of his collar, hinting at intricate detailing beneath. And then that left hand settles over the bridge of his sunglasses and pushes them upward, the glint of his wedding ring catching in your field of view, and you set your gaze on the glowing set before you as you edge closer to your destination.
The room itself is bustling. People shift and mill about the warehouse, carrying various pallets and crates in hand and positioning them strategically around the room in order to create impactful angles for the intended photos. Workers chat amongst themselves with cameras draped around their necks, clipboards in hand as they mark down a list of tasks you’re not privy to. Once nearer to the group, a woman comes barreling over in a flurry of movement. She’s gorgeous. Deep russet skin, dark hair styled to perfection, a tape measure over her shoulder, and a pair of leather pants curled over a forearm. You catch the glint of her artful gold hoops in either of her ears and the bright makeup covering her eyelids. You admire the rips in her jeans and the fabric of her oversized hoodie as she tuts audibly and glares Eddie’s way. You assume this isn’t the first time Eddie’s run behind schedule, try as you might to get him there as close to on time as possible.
“You’re late!” She admonishes, hand dropping to a popped out hip. For the first time since you’ve been working for Eddie, you catch the slight drop in his steely facade. It’s barely noticeable, just the slightest downturn of his lips, but you capture it all the same, knowing this woman intimidates him in a way no one else seems capable of doing so. She turns to you then, flashing you a megawatt smile. “Erica. Erica Sinclair. I’m Corroded Coffin’s stylist. I’m sure you tried your very best to get him here on time, but you see Edward wouldn’t be Edward if he wasn’t late to everything.”
“Fashionably late, Sinclair.” She glances him up and down, clearly unimpressed by his excuse, and curls a hand around his shoulder.
“Says the man who would wear the same ugly ass Hellfire shirt to every fitting when I first started working with you all. It’s a miracle by my own doing that you know how to dress yourself now. Come on, the team is already paying for your lateness,” she says, and without another word your way, she ushers him to a trailer standing just outside of the warehouse, where you anticipate the rest of the band to be readying for their photoshoot within.
You’re left to stand in the back of the warehouse, trying to keep out of the way of those working around you. With a low sigh, you wander over to the furthest wall covered in sheet metal and broken in windows, looking out into the grassy landscape. A bird flits on by, drawing your attention, just as a voice sounds from behind you. Jolting, you whirl on the heel and spot none other than Steve himself, and beside him, a man you’ve yet to meet before.
The man’s bearded face is twisted in a scowl as he shouts into his brick of a cell phone. He’s gesticulating wildly, dark curls bouncing with every angry movement. You can only catch snippets of his impassioned rant, but you’ve gathered enough to know that he does not suffer fools gladly.
Steve stands awkwardly beside the man, wincing on occasion at his booming voice. The scene is not entirely inviting, but you have no choice but to approach when Steve’s gaze catches yours. His face lights up in recognition, and he waves his hand to beckon you near. As you approach, Steve steps forward and briefly pats your upper back in greeting.
“Glad to see you made it! I want to introduce you to our band manager, Murray Bauman.” Steve motions you over with a warm smile until another shrill taunt from the man in question has him flinching away. “But let’s just give him a minute, shall we?” You agree politely and turn with Steve to observe Murray closing out his phone conversation.
“I don’t care how busy you are, get it done TODAY!” Murray’s barking demand echoes throughout the warehouse, and you stare as he rips the phone from his ear and takes out his frustrations by repeatedly smashing the end call button. He lets out an annoyed breath before pushing his wireframe glasses back up the bridge of his nose.
“Fair warning, he can be… bold.” Steve whispers this warning for your ears only. Just another hothead for the collection, you snort to yourself. You deal with Eddie Munson on a daily basis. How much worse could Murray Bauman be? Steve walks ahead of you to serve as the bridge during introductions. Before Steve can offer an explanation, Murray’s annoyed face takes in your approach with suspicion.
“Who are you? Harrington, why are you bringing this person to bother me?” Murray interrogates you immediately. He regards you skeptically, assessing whether you are worth his time or attention.
“Murray, this is the assistant I was telling you about,” Steve explains, offering your name as he beckons you forward. “You know, the one who is currently working with Eddie.”
“You mean the one you forced me to hire?”
Steve casts a furtive glance your way before his gaze whips back to Murray, the stare holding weight as he replies, “She’s lasted four months, Murray.”
Murray looks back flatly as Steve tries to impress some knowledge upon him with a combination of wide hazel eyes and bushy brows. Behind his wireframe glasses, Murray squints. “Four months?” He replies skeptically, and Steve nods slowly.
“Four months,” he enunciates slowly, and you watch the men communicate through shifting facial expressions: Steve’s eyes implore Murray to be civil, while Murray appears exasperated by the prospect of niceties. Eventually, Murray lets out a groan before forcing his face into a perfunctory smile.
“It’s so nice to meet you,” Murray offers, insincerity lacing his every word. His dark eyes cut to Steve as if to ask - happy now? All at once, his mask crumbles and he returns to his brash self. “Do me a favor, yeah? Keep Munson in line. I’d prefer to not clean up any more of his messes.”
“I’ll do my best, sir,” you reply. “It’s very nice to mee–”
“What the hell are you wearing?” Murray sounds appalled, disgust written all over his face. His question makes you stutter to a stop. You look down at your outfit and see nothing untoward - white blouse, black cardigan, plaid pleated skirt, dark tights, and chunky heels. It’s simple and professional. It’s safe. Or so you thought. Confused, you look back up to see that Murray isn’t making eye contact with you. Instead, he’s glaring at something or someone behind you. That’s when you register the sound of heavy boots thudding your way. You turn to see who has inspired such a visceral reaction from Murray, but instinctively you know who you’ll find.
Eddie.
He strides toward you with Erica by his side. She looks proud of her work, and you can’t blame her. Eddie looks… well, he looks hot. To put it bluntly. Erica has given Eddie a monochrome look that’s enhanced by different textures and accessories. His black suit is striking with its satin lapels and tailored fit. The suit jacket is unbuttoned, revealing the pièce de résistance - a mesh top that leaves little to the imagination.
“You look ridiculous! Where’s the rest of your shirt?” Murray’s question is directed at Eddie, but his scowl is aimed straight at Erica. Any other person would have withered under the intensity of his glower, but Erica seems emboldened by it.
“Where’s the rest of your hair?!” Erica counters without a moment's hesitation, arms crossed in defiance. “Leave the dressing to the experts. Seriously, Murray. You look like a sad, middle-aged hack going through a divorce.”
“Oh, spare me, Sinclair.”
Erica and Murray’s jibes muddle with Steve’s pleas to stop, eventually fading into background noise as you observe the man standing before you.
You have to hand it to Erica - it’s a daring look. The mesh hugs Eddie’s torso in a way that flatters his lithe frame and provides just enough of a glimpse of his tattoos to captivate any onlooker. His pale skin is heavily decorated in ink, and you can’t help but try deciphering what you’re seeing through the mesh. Eddie’s collection of tattoos seems to pay homage to his love of music and fantasy. On his left side, you spy an unusual string instrument with the word bard etched underneath. Just below that, you see artwork of a dagger with a blade made of uniquely shaped dice. By his right ribcage, Eddie has a tattoo of a mighty dragon with wings poised for flight. The dragon’s claws seemingly tear into the supple skin of Eddie’s toned abdomen. You follow the dragon’s scales down, down, down until its tail disappears beneath Eddie’s suit trousers - along with a little patch of sparse hair below his navel.
I wonder where that tattoo ends. The thought jolts you back to reality. This is your client— your very married client— whose wife has been nothing but kind to you. The guilt and shame overwhelm you.
You become very aware that you’re still ogling Eddie’s body, and your eyes race upwards to find a more appropriate location to settle. Unfortunately, your retreat to safety is foiled by the glimmer of metal you spot by Eddie’s nipples. You feel flustered by the sudden warmth blossoming within you. Eddie Munson has his nipples pierced. You had been too distracted by his tapestry of tattoos to notice them at first, but now you’ll never be able to forget that the piercings exist. Great going, you think to yourself, you try to avoid staring at your client's happy trail only to stare at his nipple piercings instead. Well done, very professional.
To your horror, Eddie has caught you staring. He sports a look of faux disappointment with his plump lips pushed into a pout. His tattooed hand points to his face, and he teases, “Tsk, tsk, little Bee. My eyes are up here.”
Your mind races to find a suitable excuse for your staring, or better yet, a way to deny it happened in the first place. Eddie is looking at you like he’s a spider that has caught you in his web, and you break eye contact to save some face. It ends up being the wrong decision because your mortification only deepens when you realize that Murray and Steve have witnessed Eddie’s accusation. Erica has long since departed after her verbal sparring match with Murray. Without her there to act as the target for his irritation, Murray is now laser-focused on you and Eddie. “Hmm… that’s interesting,” he observes, his head tilting to the side in curiosity.
“What’s interesting?” Steve asks.
“Keep up, Harrington,” Murray offers no explanation and instead dodges Steve’s question with a dismissive wave of his hand. Steve places his hands on his hips looking utterly bewildered. He goes to speak again, but Murray beats him to the punch. “So, Munson… I hear that your assistant has lasted four months working with you. Is that right?”
Murray’s inquiry has an instant effect on Eddie’s body language. His playful pouting has dissipated, and his stance now appears guarded. He crosses his arms over his chest— over the distracting nipple piercings, thank god— as he eyes his band manager cautiously. “... why do you ask?”
“Oh, no reason at all. Just curious,” Murray replies nonchalantly. “You must be getting along.” You don’t know Murray well at all. However, you do know Eddie well enough to take his weariness as a signal that things could soon become uncomfortable.
“I haven’t scared her off, yet. If that’s what you mean,” Eddie scoffs. “But don’t worry, I’m still working on it.” It’s a classic Eddie move - making a joke of something to avoid showing any hint of being rattled. He throws a coquettish grin in your direction, which does not go unnoticed by Murray. Steve looks uneasy, as if this conversation will upset whatever balance you’ve struck with Eddie.
“I sure hope she isn’t stroking your ego too much.” Murray’s tone is blasé, but his implication is clear. “And you better not be giving her a mouthful.” Steve can no longer stand idly by now that he has finally caught onto what Murray found so intriguing. He swoops in to intervene by physically placing himself between Eddie and Murray.
“Well this has been fantastic,” Steve forces a laugh out and runs a shaky hand through his brown locks. “Murray, let’s continue that chat about merch, yeah?” He is practically vibrating with nervous energy as he tries encouraging Murray to move.
Allowing himself to be led away, Murray offers a farewell over his shoulder, “Good luck, kid. If you need anything, anything at all, do not contact me. Bother Harrington instead.” At the mention of his name, Steve turns briefly to mouth I’m sorry as the pair exit.
Mind spinning off kilter from everything that occurred in the last few minutes, you turn yourself back toward Eddie for a sense of stability. Since when is Eddie something constant in your life? You find a very tense-looking man. The muscles in his jaw are pulled tight as he glares at the spot once occupied by Murray. The moment ends quickly as if he can feel your eyes on him. Eddie annoyingly seems to have gained a sixth sense for knowing when you’re staring. His crossed arms fall along with the seriousness of his expression, hands tucking into his front pockets. The action only causes his pants to inch lower and, for a split second, your eyes are instinctively drawn to the patch of skin now on show.
My eyes are up here.
The echo in your brain rings out and has your glance jumping back up in horror. Eddie watches every movement and his lips pull between his teeth again, the same face he made this morning when he was trying not to laugh. All you can offer in defense is rolling your shoulders back to look taller and making your gaze sharper, daring him to say something. He lifts his hands in surrender, his lips popping out into a self-satisfied smile as he turns on his heel and saunters back toward the set, whistling all the while. You begrudgingly follow after him.
Eddie’s pace is unhurried as he drags his feet in a clear display of apathy. You spot the rest of the band gathered around a petite woman speaking animatedly and pointing to various spots on the set. She’s captivating with her high cheekbones, loose brunette waves, and eyes like the ocean. Those eyes narrow upon seeing Eddie’s dawdling.
“Look who finally decided to grace us with his presence,” she chides. “We’ve been waiting on you. Hurry it up.”
“Hello to you, too, Wheeler. I didn’t realize you were so excited to see me. I’d hate to disappoint a fan,” Eddie teases with a roguish grin wide across his face. Much to your surprise, he picks up his pace and joins the others in listening to Nancy— whose first name you learn indirectly, thanks to Eddie’s habit of calling everyone by their last names— detail the aim of today’s photoshoot. She explains that the media team will be experimenting with several looks in order to use the photos for both album promotion and touring purposes.
Eddie turns to you as Nancy begins guiding the others to their spots on set. “Enjoy the show. You sure seemed to earlier.” He winks and turns on his heel to join the others.
Deny! Deflect! Do something!
“I was only admiring Erica’s work! It had nothing to do with you.” You can see Eddie’s shoulders shaking with laughter, and you know he’s not convinced. To be fair, you haven’t convinced yourself either. It sounds weak even to your ears, like a last-ditch effort to save your dignity. Feeling defeated, you slump over to the chairs lining the wall where you can watch the photoshoot concealed behind the photography equipment.
Two hours pass and the band is still preoccupied with taking pictures. You watch as they’re pushed and pulled into different poses and settings. The process feels overall repetitive, but Nancy does her best to keep energy levels high. She directs the photographers to get solo shots, which leads to hilarious chaos as the band hypes each other up behind the camera. “Yeah, Harry! Rock out with your Cox out!”
Despite the momentary amusement, you find yourself mostly bored watching from the sidelines. You’re both surprised and grateful when you see a familiar face enter the set. Robin peers around at the flurry of activity before making her way over to you.
“Finally some good company,” you breathe out in relief. Robin is delightful to be around, and you mean it when you share your appreciation for her presence. She gives you a sympathetic look before taking a seat beside you.
“These things can take forever,” she commiserates. “But Nancy will keep them on track. Don’t worry. They’re lucky to have her. She’s brilliant.” Her husky voice sounds especially warm with adoration.
Just as Robin said, Nancy is brilliant in her precise and methodical approach. She directs the crew in adjusting the lights and backdrops with ease. Her critical eye allows her to observe each shot and offer valuable posing guidance. It’s impressive to watch someone be so in her element.
You and Robin sit together and make small talk until there’s a break for a set and wardrobe change. Robin excuses herself and makes her way over to Nancy. You notice Nancy’s focused demeanor melt into one of warmth upon Robin's approach, and the sight of their friendly affection for one another brings a smile to your face. Quite honestly, it makes you miss your friends; you’ve been so busy since starting this job that you haven’t found much time to see them.
Eddie walks past the pair on his way to meet Erica, briefling nodding at his wife in acknowledgement. He stops abruptly and looks around at the crowded set before swiveling back to face them.
“Hey Wheeler, did Robin tell you she’s getting new headshots done for her upcoming play?” he asks. “Do you mind giving her some pointers while we break?”
Nancy brightens at the suggestion, “That’s a great idea. I’d be happy to help!”
“Why don’t you two go somewhere private? I don’t want all these people leering at my sexy wife when she’s posing.” Eddie winks at Robin, who whispers a quiet ‘thank you’ before leaving with Nancy. You’re touched by what you’ve just witnessed. Eddie is actually a supportive and loving husband. The longing hits you unexpectedly. When will it be my turn? Soulmate, where are you?
It’s exhausting to pine for someone you haven’t met yet. You have all of this love to give without a person to receive it and reciprocate. It feels aimless, like being adrift in the dark ocean with no light to guide you home. You’re too lost in your yearning to notice that Eddie has returned and is standing beside your chair.
“Everything okay, Bee?” The question physically jolts you from surprise. You wait for the inevitable teasing from Eddie about catching you off guard. Instead, you look up to find Eddie eyeing you closely. Whatever he sees in you in that moment must cause him concern. His brow is furrowed, and there’s an unexpected tenderness in his gaze.
“Uh, yeah. Sorry, I got distracted by my thoughts.”
“Well, that’s no good. What did I tell you this morning about having more fun?” Eddie hold his hand out for you to take, and he gently coaxes you to stand. His calloused hands feel rough against your gentleness, but you find it comforting. Once upright, he drops your hand and offers out his arm out as a replacement. “Come on, I’ve got just the idea to break you out of your shell.”
The two of you walk side by side comfortably, and Eddie guides you to where the band and Nancy have reconvened. The guys are looking up at one of the warehouse walls in deep observation. You squint your eyes, searching for something on the wall that might be drawing their attention. Having no success, you look back to the band and realize they’re each holding something. Are those spray paint cans? Your ears perk up at the sound of rattling as Gareth shakes the can he’s holding. Yeah, definitely spray paint. You send a quizzical look Eddie’s way.
“Murray thought we needed some more edgy photos. He suggested we graffiti the wall for the next set,” he explains. “Wheeler was all worried about it, but… Murray knows best.” He mutters the last part bitterly, shaking his head with distaste. “He might actually be right about this, though.” Eddie steps forward, breaking your linked arms, and snags two spray paint cans from the ground. He holds one out to you, his face alight with mischief.
You look around self consciously, noting that Steve and Murray are both within view. You fidget nervously and contemplate whether you can let your hair down while on the job. No one else appears to be partaking; only the band members have been given spray paint. “Are you sure about this? I think it’s just meant for you all.”
Eddie throws his head back with an exaggerated groan. “Come on! Live a little.” He snaps out of his dramatics when he hears the sound of hissing fill the air from the spray paint cans in use. Gareth, Jeff, and Harry have already begun doodling on the wall without him. “See?! We’re missing out on the fun because you’re overthinking.”
He extends the can out to you once more, gently nudging you to partake. He grins widely when you take the simple black paint from him reluctantly. You can do this. Show him you’re not always so uptight.
You slowly approach the wall and think about what to paint. You need to show him that you can have fun and keep up with his jokes. The idea comes to you easily, and you get to work on your masterpiece. It’s a simple piece that only takes a few minutes for you to prepare. .
Eddie is intently focused on drawing a large, crimson devil’s face, and you need to wave to get his attention. When his eyes meet yours, you point to your painting and await his reaction. Previously blank, the wall now sports the image of a humble bumblebee. The bee has two basic stripes, fluttering wings, and most importantly - a stinger. Eddie’s warning from this morning is fresh on your mind. If you get too aggressive, you’ll lose your stinger for good.
Your artistic choice has the intended effect, and Eddie lets out a hearty laugh. He smiles at you, and those brown eyes crinkle at the corners with joy. He looks proud, and it stirs something unexpected inside of you. You find that you like pleasing him.
“Atta girl.”
You suppress a shiver that the hum of his voice conjures despite the flippancy of his words.
That photoshoot, though chaotic in and of itself, somehow ended up becoming the calm before the storm for you. A demarcation point beyond which your days became filled with the relentless pursuit of planning a multi-month tour for a moderately famous industrial metal band. Days that had previously been spent ushering Eddie around to meetings with some semblance of timeliness and bringing him snacks when he gets cranky are now consumed by filling a thickening manilla envelope with neat documents, each marked with your precise handwriting as you plan and record each aspect of the trip logistics: contacting venues as per Steve’s direction, managing their hospitality riders, tracking expenses and budgeting for food and accommodations, as well as other minutiae that, frankly, has begun to make that vein throbbing in your neck a near constant companion by the end of the workday. The hours feel long, longer than they do when you’re trying to wrangle Eddie; though the days aren’t physically taxing as you spend them holed up at a desk fitted snugly into the closet you’d reorganized, they are mentally exhausting as those dates, dollar amounts, and contact names begin to tangle up in your head. You spill them out onto your trusty desk calendar, collecting them there as you stretch the strands and detangle them in order to begin weaving together Corroded Coffin’s first tour. It’s a feat you take no small measure of pride in.
Thankfully, during the weeks you spent taming this beast of a task, Eddie and the guys had been occupied almost entirely with rendering the final mix of their album. They’d worked closely with Argyle in refining the balance and levels of instruments and ambient sounds that would create the dirty industrial feel they were seeking with this upcoming release. You’d popped out of your stuffy little closet occasionally to check on them, though they didn’t seem to need much beyond being fed. Eddie, in particular, seemed quite consumed by a desire to see the vision brought to life, and was as serious and engaged as you’d ever seen him with a chair pulled up next to Argyle. That’s where you’d almost always see him when you emerged— long fingers idly twisting chunky rings, his eyes closed and his brow furrowed while he listened carefully and assisted in tweaking such small changes that you hardly could tell the difference with your unpracticed ear. He had a beeper to page you, but through your months of working with him, you’d begun to anticipate what he needs to sustain him daily in this routine— a hot to-go cup of black coffee first thing in the morning; at least half a box of cigarettes in the pocket of his leather jacket, on call for a smoke break; a salty snack around his lull time of four in the afternoon, which you rotate to keep him from getting bored; and next-to-no interruptions except a quick meeting of your gazes a few times a day in case it reminds him to ask you for something.
And now, finally, as late August adorns the New York streets with haze rising from the asphalt and paints sidewalks with the frantic bustle of summer tourists, your strands of dates and locations and prices and contact names have now been woven together to form a complete tapestry: Accommodations for Corroded Coffin’s ‘95-’96 Album Tour. All the knotted muscles in your shoulders, the bloodshot eyes, the late nights and early mornings had been worth it to get to this point— the point at which the final picture of what exactly that tour would entail has been tied off into neat and tidy knots of thorough efficiency. You stretch your arms above your head and your spine pops with relief; despite the fatigue you feel fuzzing between your eyebrows, you push back your chair almost cheerily and pull the headphones from your ears, prepared pop from the closet and join the men whose tour you’ve just planned.
When you emerge, you expect to see them all in some approximation of the same position as usual— Argyle and Eddie sat in front of the mixing board, Harry hovering close behind, and Gareth and Jeff either mucking about in the studio or sprawled on the couches in the corner where they call out their contributions. Instead, you’re surprised by the presence of an unexpected figure, who acts as the nexus point around which the rest of the band hovers. He’s got his hands stuffed under his armpits and his hip jutted out, one loafer tapping against the floor, though behind his wire-rimmed spectacles he looks less irritated than the last time you’d seen him. I suppose having the tour booked and the album finished would put any band manager in a decent mood, you think, eager to join the throng of smiling men who gather around him.
“What’s on the menu? Anything good? ” Gareth is asking as you walk up.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Is free food not good enough for you? You eat Smarties in Yoohoo as breakfast cereal. Get a grip,” Murray snipes, and laughter rumbles through the group.
“Oh!” All eyes turn to you at your little sound of surprise. “What promo event are you discussing? Did Steve plan something? I don’t remember seeing it on my weekly agenda notes from him.”
There is a beat of uncharacteristic silence from everyone before Jeff speaks— not quite tripping over himself, but with an extra edge of enthusiasm you don’t typically hear in his voice. “No, no,” he assures you quickly. “You didn’t miss anything. It’s a celebration for finishing the album, not a promo event. Just a get together Murray planned for us tomorrow.” He lifts his brows, eyes warm and sincere, if not a little too wide. “You gonna be there?”
That familiar feeling in your chest— that subtle deflating that sinks into your stomach, reminding you of cafeteria tables lacking in saved space and friends reminiscing over shared experiences you hadn’t even been aware of— weighs you down inside as you look into Jeff’s kind face. It stings, the knowledge that you hadn’t quite been forgotten or excluded, but only just— only because you’d emerged from your makeshift office and wandered into the conversation at just the right moment. Had you not, you would have been none the wiser, and it makes Jeff’s question— ‘You gonna be there?’ — feel awkwardly like you’ve invited yourself.
Still, you choose to save face. “Oh, gotcha!” you say, turning to Murray. “Where is it?”
The neutrality in Murray’s expression in place of his typical sardonic scowl almost makes you feel worse. “My place. You been to the Upper West Side?” You nod. “You can show up anytime after seven. I’ll have Harrington shoot you the address, kid.”
You brace yourself against this second blow— being called ‘kid’ as if you really are just Eddie’s babysitter, as if you hadn’t just single-handedly coordinated an entire tour’s-worth of hotels and restaurants and activities— and smile. “Thank you,” you say, avoiding the dark brown eyes of one curly-haired menace.
Because if there’s pity there, too— pity like the kind you felt in Jeff’s too-wide smile or Murray’s soft nod— you think you might just burst into hot, utterly humiliating tears.
On Friday night, it takes some time for you to dress and even longer for you to resolve to actually attend the celebration party. That last-minute invite has rocked your sense of self, manifesting most clearly in the lack of clarity regarding your outfit. Clothes are strewn across your typically-orderly room like a cyclone of indecision has torn through it, and what you’ve chosen feels barely adequate: silver jewelry, simple mary janes, and a black silk blouse that flows like water against your skin, tucked loosely into the waistband of your bootcut blue jeans. You’d settled on the blouse chiefly because of the color, as if with some subconscious desire to blend in with the men you work with so that maybe next time they won’t forget about you.
After a good nights rest unencumbered by that looming task still hanging over your head— since you’d finally completed it, to your relief— and some consideration, you’d reasoned that the reason for your late invitation was probably not malicious. And when you’d checked your email to see that, not even twenty minutes after your conversation with Murray had Steve emailed and sent you details and the address, it essentially confirmed it. Sure, it certainly still stung knowing that you hadn’t been thought of from the get-go, but you chalked it up to your newness and the fact that you’d been cloistered in your ‘office’ so often lately.
You’d concluded the mistake was likely innocent, and as you stand outside the front door to Murray’s apartment hesitating to knock, you find yourself desperately hoping you’re right, and that you haven’t made a mistake by coming after all. This job is already so different from any you’d had before— nowhere else had you spent so much time intimately intertwined with the details of your employer’s life outside of a professional context. Spending time at Eddie’s apartment to wash his dishes, coordinate his meals, take him to his appointments, fetch him the things he needs… look after him… it all feels more domestic than professional, though in this role, really, those things are one in the same. It blurs the lines and leaves you strangely yearning for inclusion, leaves you feeling more vulnerable, as you finally press your index to the doorbell, than you’d honestly prefer.
A flash of panic hits you as you hear the approach of footsteps beyond the door. You prepare yourself for the sight of Murray’s face half-twitched into a reluctantly-polite smile as the rest of the men stare at you from their seats, drinks dangling from their hands as their eyes turn quickly from you and back to one another.
But when the door swings open, you’re instead greeted with the sight of Gareth’s poofy brown bangs and pink cheeks as he smiles so widely at the sight of you you’re sure his face must ache from it. “She made it!” he exclaims into your face, breath puffing loose and acrid with alcohol as he hooks an arm around your shoulder to pull you inside amidst a rousing chorus of elongated ‘ay’s from the rest of the band.
Your apprehension dissolves like seafoam as he pulls you eagerly inside.
The interior of Murray’s apartment feels as though you’ve walked into a time capsule. You aren’t sure whether the mid-century modern theme is because Murray is partial to the style or because he hasn’t bothered updating the furnishings since the seventies, but judging by his half-unbuttoned ‘party’ shirt striped with deep brown and cream— displaying no little amount of bushy chest hair within which a gold chain is nestled— you figure it’s probably the latter. You look around with interest at the furnishings, intrigued by the design’s ability to feel both high end and also warm, quite a contrast from the modern crispness many favor nowadays. Gareth doesn’t give you much time to sight-see as he leads you towards the party’s epicenter in the living room, though you do notice that the walls are a bold burnt orange, accented by geometric wallpaper and bookshelves filled with vintage books and knick-knacks likely gathered on Murray’s travels. As you pad over the shag carpet in your mary janes, your gaze is drawn to the men crowded on the low-slung sofa around a sleek, glass-top coffee table. The air is hazy with smoke, which wafts from a cigar resting in a crystal ashtray near Murray’s elbow, and the record-player in the corner is crackling with jazz— Miles Davis, if your memory serves you correctly.
All-in-all, it’s nothing what you expected Corroded Coffin’s album-completion party to look like, down to the way they all perk as Gareth leaves you to hover near the side of the couch while he plops back down in his spot on the floor. It’s all the familiar faces you would expect, and no one else. Murray, Steve and Argyle sit on low-profile armchairs pulled up beside the coffee table where cards and poker chips clearly indicate they’re in the middle of a game; Jeff and Gareth are seated together on the floor, and they lift their drink glasses to you when your eyes pass over them; and finally, Harry and Eddie are on the couch, knees spread wide and comfortable as they slouch, though they straighten at your approach. The mens’ greetings become a cacophony of friendly voices you can’t possibly discern as they overlap happily, and you accept them with somewhat shy nods but a pleased smile. Harry immediately shifts over towards the couch’s arm, and when he notices, Eddie does the same, narrowing his knees and shuffling over to the opposite side to make room for you.
It’s a clear invitation, one that makes warmth bloom in your chest as you step carefully over Harry’s shoes to sink onto the low velvet couch between them.
“Did you find the place okay?” Steve asks, and you meet his hazel eyes as you reply,
“Yes, thanks. Actually, my aunt lives—” You find a cup suddenly thrust into your fingers, and you close them hastily around textured glass, glancing down at the amber liquid inside. “What is this?”
“Whiskey, my dude,” Argyle replies, settling back into his chair with a lopsided grin. “Bottoms up.”
You stare at it for a moment skeptically, already balking from the burn in your throat. But, like sharks in the water, they sense your hesitation; as if with one mind, the guys lean forward to goad you with some light ribbing, flashing brows, and wide grins. All except Murray, that is, who seems more impatient to get back to the poker game as he grouses and sighs impatiently.
In the end, it’s Eddie’s elbow in your side and his brown eyes catching yours that do it— his gestures are loose with alcohol, and yet more gentle than you typically see him. “C’mon, little Bee.” He smiles, and something catches in your throat as it brightens his flushed face. “Time to get buzzed.”
Your head tosses back of its own accord as you laugh, tickled by the pun; when you look at him again, Eddie looks inordinately pleased with himself. “All right,” you concede; the guys cheer as Murray shakes his head. And though it burns just as much as you knew it would, when you clink that glass down against the coffee table, coughing slightly as Harry claps you jovially on the back, all you feel is warm. Warmth in your belly, warmth against your sides where Harry and Eddie sit beside you, warmth in your cheeks as you settle back against the cushions and look around at the friendly faces that surround you.
Now that you’ve been christened with your first drink, the group turns back to the game of poker your arrival had interrupted. You watch with interest as they take up their hands again, hiding your giggle behind your hand as Gareth dramatically flops backward in a sprawl on the floor when he loses to Jeff, who rakes the pile of chips in the center gleefully and dramatically into his corner of the table. “I put thirty dollars on that hand; come on, man,” Gareth whines, but Jeff pays him no mind nor offers any mercy.
“D’you know how to play?” Eddie asks you, and you shake your head.
“We can teach you,” Harry offers.
“Oh, I’m fine watching—” You begin to protest but it’s cut off almost as quickly with a sharp movement from Eddie, who snatches a handful of chips from his pile into his broad fist, heedless of the way some bounce to the shaggy carpet below. You’d felt warm in your belly, at your sides, and in your cheeks, but more than anything else, you feel that warmth in your heart as Eddie presses some of his poker chips into your open palm.
“Doesn’t matter if you don’t know how to play,” he says matter-of-factly. “Just have some fun.”
You smile at him, a gentle curve of your lips to match the way he pats your wrist before lurching forward to pick up his fallen chips and receive his next hand.
Throughout the games of poker you play, you find yourself both having the fun Eddie had instructed you to and simultaneously watching him, marveling at the way the haze and jazz and laughs and velvet couch have… softened him, almost. He's clearly drunk— more than a little glassy-eyed, with flushed cheeks and loose, heedless swinging of his wild curls and his limbs as he celebrates victories and laments losses— but it’s accompanied by more easy smiles and cackling laughs than you’ve heard from him in the last few months combined. He’s full of life tonight, but without as much biting edge. And you can’t help but think that to see him like this, so relaxed, so happy…
It’s nice. Nice in a way that makes that feeling bloom again— the one you’d been feeling more often since the photoshoot. You shake it quickly away.
His joy fuels the others, you notice. You suppose it makes sense; Eddie’s boisterousness and overwhelming energy tends to dictate the tides despite others’ attempts to direct situations otherwise. And as the night wares on, that easy looseness eventually devolves to become a bit more wild. Of course, it doesn’t take much for some of the others to follow suit.
Somewhere between the umpteenth hand of poker and your third round of drinks, Argyle wanders into Murray’s kitchen and helps himself to the bottle of champagne chilling in an icebucket, most likely prepared by Steve— you can’t see Murray bothering with that. Steve perks up when he comes back over, rubbing his hands on his trousers and rising as he reaches to take it from Argyle.
“Thanks, Arg,” he says, but his gratitude ends up being a little hasty. Because rather than passing the bottle into his waiting hand, Argyle instead begins to shake it with a jerky flail of his arm, forcing Steve to retract his fingers, who huffs affrontedly. “I was gonna say something,” he protests, and while the exasperation is easy to read there, it’s overshadowed as Eddie leaps suddenly off the couch, crouching slightly, face alight with mischief as he circles Argyle on the rug. Once Eddie’s up, everyone follows suit— Jeff and Gareth scramble to join him, and you and Harry follow close behind, your hands clasping your elbows as you eye the proceedings with cautious amusement.
“Yeah, yeah, Steve, we all know what you’re gonna say,” Eddie drawls, but the wide smile on his face takes the edge off the sarcasm. “‘What an incredible accomplishment, we’ve worked so hard, the culmination of many months of effort—’ blah, blah, fuckin’ blah.” Eddie cackles as he flings his arm out to smack Steve companionably in the stomach, making his PR manager stumble slightly due to the accidental force behind the gesture. “Allow me.”
Eddie flourishes and bows dramatically, his wild curls splaying around his shoulders as he jerks his head up to address the group— his face is flushed, pink rather than pale, with a vein popping on his forehead, and you can’t help but shake your head in reluctant, wry amusement as he declares, “Fuck bitches, get money, make metal, and raise fucking hell, boys!”
And with that— without any forewarning, really, besides a slanted smirk— Argyle pops the cork from the champagne bottle, spraying Eddie directly in the face with it.
You don’t know why you wouldn’t have expected it, but you stiffen with a little jerk as Murray roars, “Fuckin’— dammit, Argyle, not on the goddamn rug—!”
His ire is quickly overtaken by joy that fills the room as Jeff and Gareth jump towards the spray, mouths open wide in wait; ever obliging, Argyle coats their faces, too, directing most of the alcohol into their mouths but playfully directing it toward you and Harry too. You squeal and giggle as fizzy drops coat you lightly, turning into Harry’s broad shoulder for protection as the spray gradually weakens until it’s nothing but a dribble dropping to the shag.
In the ensuing silence, Steve looks at Murray sympathetically. “I’ll bill him for the carpet cleaning,” he promises, wringing his hands until Murray’s face calms from apoplectic to merely deeply aggravated.
You’re briefly worried he may pop an aneurysm until Argyle— the only one of you still bone dry— distracts everyone by pulling something casually from his pocket. “Oh, brochachos. Almost forgot. I got this advance copy of the album finished last night.”
The boys explode in a flurry of potent outrage and glee. “Why the fuck didn’t you tell us sooner?!” Jeff shouts, and you’re taken aback to see the most even-keeled member of Corroded Coffin shake his producer by the shoulders.
“Relax, dude,” Argyle drawls. “S’not fully mastered yet, but it’s close enough.”
And when the needle scratches to a halt on the record player, replacing smooth, dulcet jazz with the rhythmic drum beat of what you know is the boys’ favorite song on the album: ‘Closer.’
It also happens to be one of the best tracks to dance to, and the boys take advantage of that, though their movements— mostly just flailing limbs as they jump and headbang— are really just some crude approximation of dancing. Yet that doesn’t detract from the glee of the moment as, at some point you get pulled in, too, finding yourself in the middle of it all— laughing and swinging your head and shouting along with them. “I wanna fuck you like an animal!” you scream, chest effusive with bubbling joy as Eddie doubles over in wild, joyful laughter at the crudeness of the lyrics shouted in your alcohol-hoarsened voice. You find yourself swung by hands, twirled under arms, spinning and sing-shouting until your throat goes scratchy and your head a little fuzzy from all the activity.
As the song ends, Eddie steadies you with a hand on your shoulder, and you smile up at him appreciatively but are surprised when he doesn’t remove his hand. Instead, he tips his head, jerking it toward the kitchen. “Come on,” he says, and you see his lips move but barely hear his words underneath the booming of the next track, which echoes so loudly it nearly rattles the knick-knacks on Murray’s shelves.
You trail after your employer as he leads you to the kitchen, sloppily filling an empty glass with water from the sink and handing it to you without any explanation. The intuitiveness of the gesture surprises you, as does the way he hovers nearby while you take tiny sips to soothe your parched throat.
Eddie leans a hip against the counter, stuffing his hands in the back pockets of his dark jeans and looking you over appraisingly. It’s the first time you’ve really gazed at him all night, and as he appraises you, you don’t feel that instinctual need to hide, the impulse dulled by the warmth buzzing in your veins. Instead, you just appraise him back, eyes trailing over the silver of his handcuff belt buckle, the chain at his hip, the soft, faded black of his band t-shirt, your eyes lingering where he’s clearly torn the sleeves off, evident by dangling threads that tickle the alabaster of his pale biceps. His curls are frizzier than before, still damp and sticking to his neck from the champagne, and his plush lips are pinker than they typically are— shiny and wet as he licks across them with a swipe of his tongue.
You feel a distinct stirring deep in your belly and wrench your gaze from his mouth to his eyes, face heating as you anticipate a smirk and a crude remark, or perhaps a pointed comment about your wandering gaze. Yet Eddie’s face is calm, almost a little hesitant as he opens his mouth to speak— seemingly entirely consumed by what he wants to say. “So, you know we’re going on tour,” he says matter-of-factly, and you can’t help but snort at the ridiculousness of it.
“I think I’ve gathered that. I mean, I’ve only been working out your accommodations for said tour for the past few weeks now,” you retort with a little smirk, and his lips curl in a lopsided grin at your sass. You anticipate a rebuttal, but Eddie continues without comment.
“Well, I know it might come as a shock that I’d be admitting this, but, ah…” He scratches the corner of his lips with one dark-painted fingernail, mouth stretched wide before he continues abruptly, “things have been running a little smoother since you came around. ‘Specially once you got the hang of washing my silky drawers right.”
Your growing pleasure at the praise flattens along with your expression at that final comment, though it eases when he smiles at you, crooked but wide, as eager as you’ve ever seen his smile be. “So,” he says with an air of dramatic finality, “how’s about you take that laundry service on the road?”
In what is almost more to goad him than in genuine disgust, you wrinkle your nose, and your chest warms again when he chuckles huskily, knocking you with his elbow lightly again. "What I'm try’na say is... you wanna come on tour with us?"
When you think back to the way this party began for you— with a split second of awkward silence and a hastily extended invitation, clearly late-to-come— you hadn’t anticipated the way it would end up. In that moment at the studio, you couldn’t imagine being welcomed in so readily, sprayed with champagne, twirled underneath their arms, and cared for with poker chips and glasses of water. You hadn’t thought you’d be here, standing with Eddie Munson in his manager’s kitchen, being invited by him personally to go on tour with the band.
It’s confirmation that you do have a place amongst them, and it’s also exactly why you took this job in the first place— the opportunity to explore beyond the limits of your current world.
"Yes,” you reply, and you can’t help it when your voice comes out honey sweet. “I'd really like that."
"Well, good,” Eddie huffs good-humoredly, “‘cause you kinda have to whether you like it or not. But I'm glad I don't have to twist your arm after all."
You nod, and something small— small and tenuous, trickling like briny water— flows between you and Eddie as you gaze at one another. "Well... thank you," you say, your voice soft and almost shy as you look up at him.
Eddie blinks, looking a little taken aback by the gratefulness in your expression. Quickly, his eyes jump from yours to track around the room as he says distractedly, "Sure, little Bee— Hey, Murray!” His hoarse voice rises in a shout as he skirts around you, trailing out of the kitchen as he calls wolfishy, “Where's your top shelf shit? I wanna get fuckin' blasted tonight."
You watch him lope off toward the living room again without sparing you another glance. Quickly, you drain your water glass, leaving it in the sink and wandering back into the fray until you find yourself elbow to elbow with Steve.
“So—�� Your eyes find hazel as Steve regards you with a friendly, knowing smile. “You ready for that travel I promised you?”
Another wild cackle— one that, after tonight, threatens to haunt you in your sleep— draws both of your gazes. For a moment, you and Steve watch as Eddie sneaks up behind an unsuspecting Gareth, grappling him around the neck and tugging him into a headlock as the other man sputters and kicks at him. All at once, they seem to you much younger than their years, and it makes you consider the question.
Are you ready for the travel Steve promised you— travel where wrangling these unruly rockstars, and one in particular, is about to become even more of your daily existence?
You find, as Eddie shoves Gareth into Jeff and licks across his bottom teeth with a manic grin when the two recover and face him, readying themselves to retaliate, that you have no damn idea whether you’re ready or not.
Dear Soulmate…
The early morning of the first day on tour, your feet carry you around the familiar walls of your apartment, taking in the comforting sights you’ve woken up to for the past year. Angela watches from the kitchen island, eyes full of unshed tears, an unspoken awareness settling over the room. Your life has changed since becoming Eddie’s assistant. It’s a reality you’ve accepted for some weeks now, but it feels real now—more than it ever has before. Because now you’ll be traveling on tour with the band, with him, moving across state lines you’ve never roamed. It’s a world of endless opportunity ahead, new sights to see, places to explore. It dawns on you that your home in New York City will be a far and distant memory for the next months you’ll be following Corroded Coffin around the country.
I’m leaving on tour with Eddie and the band today. Isn’t that crazy? I’ve never been this far from home – traveling was just never something I had time to do. I was always so focused on school, on trying to make my parents proud, on trying to be perfect. And now, I’ll be traveling with a metal band across the country! I never thought this is where I’d end up, but I’m trying to learn to embrace the unexpected (it’s so scary though!). I definitely didn’t expect Eddie to be the one inviting me. Although, he acted like he really had no choice in the matter, it’s still strange.
Angela helps roll your multiple suitcases out into the main living area, mouth a wobbly line as you push them over onto their side and make sure you have everything you need one final time. Heels and other shoes, boots and sneakers in one duffel bag, each one a proper pair, freshly wiped down for any imperfection or defects. Another bag holds all your toiletries, makeup products, and hair tools should you ever need them. You unzip your suitcases next, peering in at various tights, dark skirts, dark colored sweaters, dark wash jeans for your off days.
Eddie is… well, we’re still working on our relationship. I think most of the time he feels like I’m annoying him on purpose, but I’m really just trying to do my job. He’s not used to being on a schedule, which is a little wild to me because that’s all I’ve ever known. And maybe that’s what makes him push me away so much. His wife says I need to push back a bit, but I’m worried about keeping my job… I think I’ve grown to like working for him.
Angela walks you down to the street, helping roll one of your bags down and onto the pavement. Cars and taxis speed by in a kaleidoscope of color, but your eyes latch solely on the rolled down window of the car sitting on the curb’s edge.
Eddie’s thre with a cigarette held loosely between his fingers, those dark sunglasses of his shrouding his eyes, tattooed arm on display in the bright sun of the morning. An inky tapestry of intricate detail, etched with countless stories and meanings he’ll never divulge. In the front is Hopper, his usual bored demeanor in place as he opens the driver's side door and walks around to join you and your roommate. The back trunk of the vehicle pops open with a small beep, your heart hammering away as the heftier man helps hoist your things into the back and latches the car back into place.
“Ready?” Eddie calls from the car.
You’re on the clock, sure, but you still remind yourself to quench the desire to raise your middle finger in a vulgar gesture, annoyance writhing in your gut. Instead, you focus your tangle of nerves on the girl standing before you on the street, with her shiny blonde hair and mournful expression on her face. She takes a slow step forward, arms coming to curl around your shoulders. There’s a suddenness of the realization you won’t see her until you return to New York for the holiday season. For the last year you’ve woken to the comfort of the four walls of your bedroom, the warmth of your apartment, and your friendship with Angela.
“Go crush it,” she says, smoothing a palm up and down your spine, head close to your ear. “Take all the pictures. Try and enjoy yourself. New York will be here when you get back. I’ll be expecting as many phone calls as possible, and postcards of all the places you travel to! I want to hear about it all.”
He’s challenging, and yeah he calls me Bee (which I am STILL certain is short for Bitch despite his reassurances otherwise) but the work genuinely feels rewarding. Also, I am really enjoying getting to know the other guys in the band. They’re not friends, no, but they’re kind enough. And who knows? Maybe Eddie will come around. We don’t need to be friends, but I would like it if one day we could become colleagues, at the very least.
Eddie regards you with little interest, still unchanging in his distaste for any time before 12pm, as you clamber into the back of the car with him. He does not shift whatsoever to accommodate your presence, only haphazardly flicks his cigarette onto the concrete below and dips his head at Angela. The blushing blonde raises her hand in a nervous wave, an uneasy smile crawling across her features as he glances along her frame, telling her to have a nice rest of her day. It’s almost comical, though no laughter bubbles up from you, the easy kindness he shows her way; meanwhile, he regards you most days as though you’re no more than a pest when he’s not relentlessly flirting with you. Hot and cold, dependent on his mood on any given day. A bee to be swatted away. You suppose it’s understandable—knowing your mere presence is a reminder of the mistakes he’s made in the public eye. Huffing audibly in your mild upset, your fingers lift to wiggle in the air to wave goodbye to her as Hopper slides the tinted windows up to keep the air conditioned temperature within the vehicle, obscuring her from view.
I wonder about what you’re doing a lot these days. It’s summertime, the season of endless possibilities. Are you traveling? Maybe you’re on a beach somewhere tropical. Maybe you’re celebrating some good news. Or, maybe you’ve taken up a new hobby. Angela and I tried hot yoga last week (never again), so I suggest you stay away from that one. To be honest, and maybe it sounds silly, I just think about you a lot. With everything changing, it seems like knowing you’re out there is one thing I can rely on. Even if I haven’t met you yet.
Your fingers drop and curl around your notebook tucked within your pocketbook for safekeeping, trailing along the pages littered with words meant for the one person in the universe who will understand you better than anyone. It brings you comfort as Hopper peels away from the road and into the bustle of New York City traffic.
Outside, taxis speed in and out of lanes, regardless of bodies surging forward in intersections, heedless in pursuit of their destinations. The car jerks and thumps over numerous manholes and metal grates around street corners, Hopper’s fingers reaching across the center console to raise the volume on the radio.
One of Corroded Coffin’s songs is playing through the elaborate speaker system. There’s a spark of pride that springs to life within you. It’s not one of the newer, to be released singles—no; but there’s a sense of excitement for them, knowing how hard they’ve worked to get where they are, especially because you’ve witnessed the effort they put into their craft first hand.
Eddie seems unphased by his own voice on the radio — as if it’s a normal occurrence for him, and you suppose it is. While you’re still adjusting to your new life following alongside a public figure, he’s had some time to become acclimated. He’s experienced sold out concerts, screaming fans singing along to his songs, crowds surging forward to try and get closer to Corroded Coffin. He’s been on the receiving end of good and bad press that paints him in a caricature of himself; one that’s larger than life and not entirely accurate.
And you’re once again reminded you’re here with him because you’re his assistant when his thigh accidentally brushes yours as the car jolts over a particularly large bump, skin burning at the point of contact, seated beside him in the quiet space around you, watching as the city blurs behind your eyes.
“Remind me of what you have planned for the day,” he drawls, and you’re grateful his stare is presently focused on looking out his window and not on your face. He doesn’t capture the deep inhale, nor does he catch the slight gathering of tears on your lashes that you swat away with the pads of your fingers, brought upon by the suddenness of your change in scenery and leaving Angela.
It's as easy as breathing after that. With his cold, quiet words a distraction from the sadness swirling in your gut, you swiftly breeze through the mental list you woke with. You remind him you’ll arrive on schedule at six, where you’ll get on the tour bus around seven after having a meeting and breakfast with Murray and the rest of the band. After that it’s a two and a half hour drive into Philly. It gives you all enough time to get situated once in the city and for the band to relax a bit to get into the proper headspace before getting ready for their soundcheck in preparation for the first concert scheduled later in the evening.
You tamper down and try to hide the thrill of excitement that buzzes in your veins at the prospect of seeing the guys all perform together. It’s been one thing watching them in the studio for the months they’ve been working on the album, and another all together to see the culmination of all their hard work come to fruition. However, it also brings up a new bout of anxieties over what exactly will be required of you while on the road. Thus far you’ve run errands and kept Eddie on schedule for meetings, interviews, photoshoots and other appearances. Following him across state lines and watching him on the stage, however, seems like a new, daunting task you’re hoping to tackle head on.
“Ever been to the exotic Philadelphia?” Your head jerks as the words break through the silence, those dark eyebrows of his furrowing in confusion when your mouth opens and closes, no words falling freely from your lips. “I’ll take that as a no.”
You swallow thickly, pushing aside the indignation that burns and builds at his words. His inked fingers reach up to grasp the sunglasses perched on his nose, sliding them down slowly to fold them away beside his thigh. You’re no stranger to Eddie’s features at this point. Those amber eyes of his, emotive and magnetic, immediately capture your attention. You regard him carefully, just as he is you, his gaze trailing your features in a slow perusal. When you finally speak, it’s a soft utterance of, “I haven’t really ventured too far out of New York.”
He chuckles gleefully, mouth drawn upward enough where your eyes catch on the dimple in his cheek. He’d be prettier, you think, if he scowled less. Like this he’s vibrant and bright, and appears much younger than his twenty nine years. For a moment you wonder what he was like before all the fame, before the party lifestyle, before the allure of the industry sunk its greedy teeth into him and spat him right back out. His head shifts toward the streets, and your eyes drop down to your lap, fingers toying with a frayed edge on your pocketbook. You hear him then, voice a husk of, “Looks like it’s time for my little worker bee to finally leave the hive.”
My first stop is Philadelphia. I’ll definitely be sure to take a bunch of pictures to share with you someday! I’d like to try and draw a bit too while I'm gone, but who knows. I haven’t really had much time for that lately with the new job. If I create anything worth keeping, I’ll definitely save it so I can show it to you.
You offer him an easy smile, returning your gaze to the world outside the vehicle, exhaling deeply when Hopper pulls up into a parking garage. He mutters briefly that he needs to go check on the tour bus and leaves the two of you to your own devices. You can hear the echoes of voices closer to the tour bus, whoops and calls from the other band members reach your ears through the softly parted window as they catch sight of Eddie’s vehicle. Vaguely, you even catch the utterance of your name in the midst, teasing in nature, urging the two of you outside.
Before you can even say a word, Eddie’s opening his passenger side door and getting out of the car, leaving you behind with your things. Exhaling deeply, you move to open your own side and nearly fall out when the man in question tugs the door open and extends a hand in your direction. There’s a brief clash of stares while your eyes drift from his to his palm, uncertain as to what he’s doing.
Unamused, Eddie huffs out, reluctantly explaining, “So you don’t bust your ass like you did your first day working for me.” His eyes drop to your largely inconvenient heels. You’d only worn them because you weren’t sure what one would wear before heading off on a concert tour. Noting your apprehension, he continues, “Bee, I’m not going to pull my hand away at the last second. I can be a gentleman, you know?”
You snort, wrinkling your nose. “I didn’t doubt it.” It’s not the fullness of truth, but you suppose for your client, it’s better to abstain from telling him that most days he is quite determinately, or at least it seems that way, driving you to the brink of hysteria. It’s probably also best to not remind him how not very long ago, before you hired him another maid you insisted he keep this time, he would make you clean his brownstone top to bottom. A task that also included tending to his clothing and highly suspect underwear on more than one occasion.
Deciding to appease him, you envelop his palm within your own and allow him to help you down onto the concrete below. Your feet wobble a bit from the drop, but he’s there with a gentle hand at your bicep to steady you, before the moment fizzles and he pulls away all together. You walk side by side, though not together, to join the rest of the band where they stand in an excited huddle around the tour bus.
Even the vehicle itself is larger than you anticipated. It looms above you, imposing and impressive, signifying the success the group has seen in the time they’ve been in the media spotlight. You have little opportunity to think about it, however, because the boys greet you with warm welcomes and hellos, trading their normal handshakes they’ve given you for hugs. A recent development, brought about merely by spending as much time with them over the months as you have. Jeff in particular lingers a little longer just as Murray calls the band into a circle for a meeting, muttering a “Happy you’re here,” before rejoining with the rest of his band mates.
You’re not left alone long in that parking garage, luckily enough. Steve’s there to urge you off to the side when he pulls up in his car. He’s a little worse for wear, acknowledging his lateness with a wave to the guys and a pleading look shot your way. He requests you follow him, putting yourself out of earshot from the rest of the men. For a brief moment, you worry you’ve done something to muddle your position. Stomach dropping at the thought you might have unintentionally said the wrong thing to Eddie, a vendor — maybe even Robin, but that fear is quelled immediately when Steve clears his throat, his hand coming to cup around the back of his neck, kneading the muscle beneath his fingertips.
“Look, you’re doing great. I’ve told you more times than I can count on two hands how grateful I am you’re here and everything, but I need you to know that the Eddie you’ve seen thus far is nothing like Eddie on tour. He’s — ”
Your mouth opens briefly to ask what his meaning is behind the clear warning, just as Eddie appears out of the blue and claps Steve on the shoulder, chuckling brightly as he asks, “Ready to go, Bee?” He looks to you imploringly, and you haltingly meet his stare before shifting back to Steve’s kind features. He tips his head, dismissing you, and you join at Eddie’s side, following him in the direction of the vehicle. Murray shoots Eddie a stern look as the two of you walk along by, your eyes darting to the Corroded Coffin logo stretched across the entirety of the exterior. “Here is your home for the next few months.”
You’re uncertain as to what you might expect. You’ve never been on a tour bus before. The closest thing you can attribute it to is a coach bus for a school field trip back in your early education days. What greets you as Eddie turns back to extend a hand once more and assist you in climbing up onto the first step is greater than anything your mind might have conjured.
He’s not kidding by his assessment that the bus will quite literally be your home for the duration of the tour. At the head of the impressive vehicle belies Hopper’s station, full of buttons and displays you’ve never seen before, and a dashboard with a hanging Corroded Coffin logo dangling from his rear view mirror. The burly man raises his hand in a wave as you and Eddie pass, heading into the lounge area that follows immediately. Your eyes are drawn to dark red couches, like that of a red wine, with black pillows strewn about. Nestled in front of the couch is a table pressed against the corner wall, new magazines displaying photos of the band and a headline that details the upcoming tour.
Deeper into the vehicle is the adjoining kitchen, all in the same color scheme of dark black furniture, with red and silver accented bits. Eddie shows you around the space, opening the fridge for emphasis, showing you how to use the different amenities, before moving on down to point out the bathroom. Lastly, you’re brought into the bedrooms. Or rather, one spacious room lined with bunk beds on either side of the bus.
“Normally I like being on top, but when it comes to sleeping I prefer the bottom." Eddie says suggestively, gesturing to the bed on his right. Your head shifts his way, taking in the little alcove he’ll be sleeping in for the night. He waves his hand to your left, smirking. “That’ll be yours. In case of an emergency.”
“In case of an emergency,” you repeat slowly, placing your pocketbook down on your assigned bed as you settle down beside it, positioned specifically across from Eddie’s in the event he requires you for anything. You quickly reach inside and jot down a few sentences in the unfinished letter, affixing a bright floral sticker to one of the corners.
I have to go. We’re about to leave, but I just wanted to let you know what I’m up to. I’ll talk to you soon. Wouldn’t it be fun if we met in Philly?
As you shut your notebook, you realize you never heard the rest of Steve’s harrowing warning. I need you to know that the Eddie you’ve seen thus far is nothing like Eddie on tour. Your eyes narrow in piqued curiosity as you take in Eddie, that now familiar lanky form of his flopping down against his own mattress. He nods his head in your direction and you wave back numbly.
You hear it then. That soft howling in the distance, a creeping sense of something looming with no name to place on it.
You offer him a soft smile, and he throws a pillow over his head, settling down to nap.
Steve’s warning is suddenly very far away from your mind.
#blueywrites#i will wait#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson x you#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson#eddie munson fic#eddie munson x f!reader#eddie munson x fem!reader fluff#eddie munson x fem!reader smut#eddie munson x reader fluff#eddie munson x fem!reader#eddie munson x reader smut#eddie munson angst#eddie munson smut#eddie munson fluff#eddie munson soulmate au#soulmate au#rockstar eddie munson#rockstar!eddie munson#eddie munson rockstar au#eddie stranger things#stranger things fic#stranger things fanfiction
779 notes
·
View notes
Text
A Sunny Outlook
Pairing: Tattoo Artist!Andy Barber x Female Reader
Summary: After everything Andy has been through, his outlook on life is a bit jaded. Until you show up.
Word Count: Almost 1.3k
Warnings: Defending Jacob spoilers/Mix of canon and canon divergent (talk of divorce, child death), slight angst, opposites attract, future smut and feels (it's me), Andy Barber (he's a warning, okay?).
A/N: Tenth and final day of my Naughty & Nice Nonsense belongs to new couple, Grumpy and Sunny! Set in the same AU as Hottie and Sugar, I mixed up my list a bit and plan to share Thorn and Rose at a later date. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Banner and moodboard by yours truly. Andy edit by the beautiful @randomagnes0210. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!
If you would’ve told Andy Barber years ago that he’d be living his life today as a tattoo artist, he wouldn’t have believed you. He had his path carved out. Life didn’t care what people wanted though, no matter how hard they worked to get it.
“Um, Mr. Barber?” Jake called out to him from the desk.
"How many times have I told you to call me 'Andy'? For fuck's sake," Andy snapped.
"Sorry, Mr. Bar- Andy!"
Andy took a deep breath in and slowly exhaled. He didn't mean to snap at Jake. He was a good guy. One of the nicest around. It wasn't his fault he was in a bad mood.
Which was his mood most days.
"No, I'm sorry," he said.
He wasn’t always a jaded man. Though his dad had been in jail his entire life, he thankfully had a good childhood overall. It helped set him on his path to become a lawyer, as he wanted to help others. He also made a promise to himself to be a good father if that day would ever come. He thought he had that chance to make that dream a reality with his college sweetheart, Laurie.
As a lawyer, he enjoyed his work. It challenged him and helped him grow. It was also stressful depending on the case. Long hours and seeing some people at their worst didn’t always leave him in the best headspace. But he had his wife and they had their son, Jacob.
Life was good.
Until his world got a little darker.
“This isn’t working, Laurie.”
“No, it isn’t."
Andy couldn’t put his finger on why and he wasn’t sure if it was good or bad that Laurie was on the same page. Love took a lot of work and sometimes it wasn’t enough to make a marriage last. Not that they didn’t give it a try. They met with a counselor. Neither of them stepped out on each other. They wanted desperately to make it work for their kid.
But the loss of their son solidified the end of their marriage.
“Andy, I know you blame me.”
The thing is Andy didn’t put that on her. It was the bad weather that caused her to spin out of control. But she carried guilt for fighting with their son before the crash. It was something she couldn’t let go of.
The divorce was as ammicable as it could be, but it didn’t stop him from feeling like a failure. Work couldn’t distract him either. How was he expected to help people, some who were not even innocent, when he couldn’t help himself?
Tears filled his eyes as he sat in his empty house, trying to figure out what the hell was he supposed to do with his life. He didn’t want to go back into the office. He also didn’t want to drink himself to death. In a drunken stupor he called an old friend of his.
Steve Rogers.
One of the most honorable men Andy had the pleasure of knowing. While he went off to law school, Steve joined the army. The last he heard, he became a tattoo artist with another friend and army buddy, Bucky Barnes. He felt like an ass calling when he hadn’t reached out in so long, but the inebriated part of his brain didn’t process that.
“I don’t know what to do,” was all he said on the voicemail.
He woke up the next morning with a text message from Steve: “You any good at drawing?”
It was the beginning of his new chapter.
"You are never gonna get laid if you keep snapping at everyone," Hal winked as he walked by his chair.
"Get fucked," he said with only a hint of malice as Hal chuckled.
"I'm tryin'!"
"Give him a break," Steve said from his station, but he was smiling, too.
Like Jake, it was hard to get mad at a guy like Hal. A charming piercer who drifted from place to place before he met up with Steve and Bucky, he did some of the best work in the city. He was sure some came into the new shop just to hit on him.
"What is it, Jake?" he asked as he stood up and stretched.
"Your consultation is here about the sun tattoo," he explained, pushing his glasses further up on his nose. "Said she saw some of your work online."
Andy took another breath. He prided himself on the portfolio he built. It took him time to build and he didn't have as much clientele as Steve and Bucky, but he was slowly catching up. He was proud of the work he accomplished.
"Yeah, send her over," he said. He had a few minutes before his next appointment. "Thanks."
Jake rushed off before he could say another word, likely afraid he'd snap again. He'd have to apologize again later. He should've been happy. The opening of the shop went well. He liked his place in the city.
What the hell was his problem?
"Hi!"
Andy blinked when you stood in front of him. He wasn't used to seeing such a cheerful smile on someone’s face. Not directed at him, at least. He would've thought it was fake if not for the kindness in your eyes.
Ironic that you wanted a sun tattoo since he saw the world as much darker a long time ago.
Would the sun still shine in your eyes if I had you spread out under me?
Where the fuck did that thought come from?
He didn't lust after potential clients. He hadn't even done one night stand after Laurie. Why did seeing your happy, beautiful face make him want to change his mind?
Why did your smile get to him?
"Um, I can come back another time," you offered, as if you inconvenienced him by walking over.
The mere presence of you rendered Andy speechless until he remembered he had to speak.
"No, it's okay. Please, have a seat," he stood up to pull a chair over. "I'm Andy."
Your smile was back on your face as you gave him your name.
Beautiful, just like you.
"I just want to say real quick that I love your work,” you said as you took out your phone. “I can’t believe I was lucky enough to get in so quickly.”
"I appreciate that,” he said. The compliment meant a lot. “It’s a sun tattoo you want, right?"
“Yeah. My friends call me Sunny because I’m what they call a ‘big ball of sunshine’,” you explained.
“I can’t imagine why,” he deadpanned. You looked like you were trying to hold in a laugh as you set your phone down. “Something funny?”
“Do people tell you that you’re grumpy?” you asked curiously. "Or is it a requirement that at least half of the staff here have to look intimidating?"
His eyebrows shot up in surprise, but he wasn’t the least bit offended. “People tell me almost every day."
“I can’t imagine why,” you echoed with a smile.
"And if only half of us look intimidating, then we aren't doing our job."
“Don't worry. I won't tell," you mock whispered.
He actually smiled back at you before he frowned and cleared his throat. He refused to let you consume his thoughts, even if your bright aura began to chip away at his tough exterior. “Then why don’t you tell me more about your tattoo.”
He listened intently as you explained the kind of sun design you wanted and where. He had a feeling by the time he finished your consultation, he'd be in a much better mood. Even if he didn’t want to be. And your tattoo would be his best work yet.
Andy's world may be a bit brighter thanks to you. ❤️ Love and thanks for reading! ❤️
Masterlist ⚓ Andy Barber Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi
#navybrat writes#navy's naughty & nice nonsense#andy barber x reader#andy barber x female reader#andy barber x you#andy barber x y/n#tattoo artist!andy barber x reader#andy barber#tattoo artist!andy barber#grumpy and sunny#andy barber fanfiction#andy barber imagine#andy barber au#chris evans x reader#chris evans x female reader#chris evans x you#chris evans
806 notes
·
View notes
Text
A quiet moment – John Price
Pairing : John Price x f!reader.
Summary: Marriage, Baby and life. Fluff and domestic feels.
This is part of the “Mini” MacTavish universe, but the reader isn’t “ Mini”.
Continuation of Little secret and Learning to let go.
“masterlist” for prequel to this Mini MacTavish expanded verse.
Price knocked on the door gently, but there was no response. Slowly he opens the door to the infirmary, finding you sleeping , curling up in the chair, head in a bizarre angle , in front of the desk. Piles of unfinished paperworks scattered on the side, laptop screen showing you were halfway through typing your report before you dozed off to sleep. The coffee he brought you this morning, untouched.
Price is worried about you. You seem to be a bit off lately. Getting tired more easily, not sleeping well at all. Your appetite also changed. You were a big eater before, sometimes you can eat more than him. Now you tend to nibble on crackers and trail mixes, skipping main meals.
He notices you tend to overwork yourself, no matter how much he nag you not to overexert. Your sense of duty and focus always overcomes your common sense of looking after yourself.
You startled awake when Price touches your shoulder.
“John?”
“ Love, you're gonna strain your neck if you sleep like that. .. and you are drooling.”
Wiping your mouth, embarrassed, “ I am not… and what are you doing here?”
“ Wondering why my wife isn’t in bed with me.”
The two of you got married a few months ago after a long courtship. Both of you are pretty low key type of people, and none of you wanted a lavish wedding.: I have cut ties with my family, you said to him once, and he doesn’t have any close family around anymore. So at the end, with your friends Doc and Ghost by the side as witnesses, Price and you got married in the registry office. The only other people who knew about the marriage was the HR team.
“You are overworking yourself too much lately, are you sure you are Ok?”
“.... Never been better.” he can sense you are lying, hiding something from him. But he doesn’t press on.
Until one day after he came back from a mission he couldn’t find you. Not in your shareroom, not in the infirmary, or anywhere on site.
“Captain.” Doc called out to him as they spotted Price storming down the corridor. He takes a deep breath before turning around, trying not to show the panic that is slowly building up in his stomach.
Doc looked left and right, making sure there were no other people in close proximity before they whispered, “She’s in hospital. Got sent there two days ago.” Price threw a few words of gratitude over his shoulder as he turned around and rushed towards the address Doc provided.
“Oh hey darling, you are back.” You greet him lightly as you look up from your tablet, sitting in the hospital bed.
How can you be so calm still while on a drip and looking so pale? Just as he was ready to launch another lecture, you seemed to be able to read his mind and interjected before he opened his mouth.
“ Before you tell me off…” you reach over to the side table, grabbing a little print out and handing it over to him.
It’s a picture of an ultrasound.
“... John?”
No reply. He pulled a chair in and sat down. Stunned.
“Are you going to say something?” Voice wavered as your face crumbled a bit.
He’s going to be a father. Something that he never thought of. Hell, he never expected to be married or even to be in a relationship with anyone years ago. And here he is,having the first glance of his future child. A soft smile grew on his face. He reached out and grabbed your hand.
“Did you know?”
“... I had an inkling for a while.”
“ Why didn’t you tell me?”
“... I wanted to be sure first.” You look down at your finger, fidgeting away.” Plus, things have been so busy at work I… “
He sighed. “ You need to take better care of yourself. Not just for yourself,” He leans over and places his hand on your abdomen,” For the bub, and for me too. Please.”
You nodded your head.
After getting discharged from the hospital, you found out that you will no longer be staying on site at the base. John has signed a lease for a house nearby, more suitable for a growing family.
What surprised you even more was, everything was moved and new furniture was already in place, even the nursery. Full of toys.
“.... I might have gone a bit overboard.” Price admitted sheepishly.
“We don’t even know if it's a boy or girl yet.” You chuckled.
“ Hence why I bought both….” you rolled your eyes as he commented.” Plus it doesn’t matter. They can play with whatever they want.” He pulled you in from behind and rested his hand on your slightly growing stomach.
“ Thought of the name for the bub yet?” You lean your head back into his neck.
“ I was thinking of Grace for a girl… or Kyle if it’s a boy.” he kisses your head.
“ I like that.”
“ Well, little one, mummy and daddy can’t wait to meet you in a few months' time.”
“Sergeant Kyle Garrick reporting for duty, everyone calls me Gaz….. Something wrong Captain?”“No.. Nothing is wrong. You got a great name.”
“?????”
#call of duty#captain john price#john price x you#john price x reader#john price imagine#john price#john price x y/n#captain price x reader#captain price#captain price x y/n#captain john price x reader#captain john price x you#captain john price x female reader
341 notes
·
View notes
Text
Count on Me
Pairing: Soap x military gf!reader
Summary: soap gets in trouble defending you
Word Count: 1.6k
Warnings: fluff, angst, mild violence, strong language, brief mention of death, unwanted touching, sexual harassment(just to be safe)
A/n: another fic for one of our favorite 141 boys! Because of the warnings I highly suggest if any of this makes you uncomfortable please don't read it! That being said I hope whoever does read it enjoys it! As always reblogs, comments, and likes are appreciated! :)
Soap never really thought about the future anymore. When you work a job like he does, it's counterproductive and sometimes even dangerous to think of a future. When Soap was a younger lad he always thought he'd have a lass and a bairn or two of his own but ever since joining the military he pushed it to the back of his mind. That was until he met you. Price and Laswell recruited you to help with a mission and you ended up earning a spot alongside the rest of the 141.
Soap had always been quite flirtatious by nature but you were different. While yes he did still flirt with you, he caught himself doing the one thing he tried so hard to avoid. He caught himself seeking you out during meals or wanting to spar with you during training. He caught himself staring at you during meetings or rec time. He caught himself thinking about a future with you; little lads(or lasses) running around getting under your feet. He caught himself falling in love. At first it terrified him realizing he loved you; loving people in his line of work put a target on their back. But seeing how badass you were but also one of the kindest people he knew, he couldn't help himself.
He found out you felt the same when you two were stuck in a safe house in no where Siberia. You were given dodgy intel and it ended with you being shot. Soap had never felt his heart sink so fast; he felt like it dropped to his feet. "Soap in case I don't make it out... I have to tell you something," you said, struggling to get the words out. You could feel the life leaving with every pump of blood; it was a strange sensation to feel yourself dying.
"Dinnae talk like tha' lass," he said, holding a cloth to the hole in your stomach. "You can tell me when we make it out of here,". Your hand grasped his and made him look at you. "I love you Soap," you said. "I tried really hard not too; I tried keeping it professional but...I love you," the words were harder to speak with each passing minute. For a moment Soap's heart felt like it was gonna burst but he still had to get you out alive. Soap had managed to stop the bleeding and a heli had come for exfil courtesy of Price. You ended up making a full recovery in the medical wing.
Ever since then you and Soap had agreed to keep your relationship a secret from the rest of the team. Midnight rendezvous in your rooms, sneaking glances and featherlight touches made Soap feel like a schoolboy again messing around with the popular girl. Of course Price had his suspicions right away; he always kept a close watch over his team and saw how you two treated each other after the mission in Siberia. He didn't say anything though because it didn't affect your performance. Ghost found out after Price when you and Soap were a little drunk after a night out and were a little too loud in the shower. After that you both agreed to be more careful.
It was because of this that men still hit on you. It was nothing new to be hit on especially in the military; you usually just brushed them off politely and then laugh when you saw Soap staring daggers at the poor man who hit on you. It usually ended with you not being able to walk; not that you minded in the slightest. But this time was different.
Because of Price's reluctant agreement a team had been brought in to assist with an extraction. During the whole mission the squad's lieutenant, Yates, had been making sexual comments about you; you were able to brush them off like you always do because this was nothing you hadn't heard before. Being a woman in the military you weren't a stranger to inappropriate comments from men. But you could tell it was bothering Soap.
The mission was a success; you were able to get your target out without it being a disaster. You were hanging around base with Soap, Gaz, and Ghost after you all got back. Price had retreated back to his office to work on paperwork and the squad that was brought in was with you three in the rec room. "So y/l/n what about you?" Yates asked. They had been talking about their weekend escapades with beautiful women while being especially crude. "Who here would you let do you?" He asked, a smirk on his face. "Excuse me?" You asked, hoping you heard him wrong.
You could feel Soap tense beside you, gripping the neck of his beer bottle so tightly you were surprised it didn't shatter. Ghost laid a hand on Soap's shoulder trying to keep him from doing anything stupid. "Who would you let do you?" The lieutenant repeated himself. "Or maybe you already let them," he said still with a nasty smirk. You finished the last of your beer before standing up. "I think I'm going to go finish my own paperwork," You said, bidding goodbye to your teammates. "Oh come on don't be a bitch just answer the question," He said standing up and blocking your path. "Move. Now." You said, flatly.
"Come on it's just a simple question," he said, stepping closer. "Do you let them take turns?" He asked. "Just tell me who leaves you the most sore afterward?" He grabbed your ass and pulled you against his chest. Before you could break his hand for touching you, Soap pushed between you two and punched the lieutenant across the face. "You son of a bitch!" Soap shouted. The two tumbled and fell with Soap on top. The rec hall erupted in shouts some from Gaz and Ghost and some from the other squad. Soap was able to get a few more punches in before Gaz and Ghost could pull him off "Johnny what the fuck?!" Ghost shouted.
Yates lied on the ground, holding his face. Blood poured from his broken nose and busted mouth. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" Yates groaned. You stood there stunned and looked over at Soap who Ghost was still trying to calm down. "Go take a fucking walk Johnny," Ghost growled. Soap looked over at you and turned on his heel stalking off. "You're finished Sergeant you hear me? You're fucking finished!" Yates screamed at Soap's retreating back. "Shut the fuck up Yates," Ghost said, his voice a low growl as he looked at the injured lieutenant. The lieutenant got up and left, probably to find Price's office. You didn't know what to say so you turned to leave when Ghost grabbed your wrist. "He just risked his entire career to defend you. Give him some time to cool off but you need to talk to him," Ghost said, his voice the usual grumble. You nodded, glanced briefly at the blood on the floor, and left for your room.
Soap knocked on Price's door waiting for Price to tell him to come in. The door opened and Yates stepped out. His face purple and bruised, his nose still crooked with cotton stuffed in his nostrils to stop the bleeding. His mouth was swollen with dried blood caked on it. Soap felt a sick sort of satisfaction knowing he did that. Ghost followed Yates and gave him a reassuring nod. Yates just glared at him when Price called him in. "Take a seat," Price said from behind his desk.
Soap closed the door and made his way to one of the chairs facing Price's desk. "His captain is calling for your discharge," Price said. "He's not happy that his lieutenant has a busted face," he added. "You didn't hear what he said about her," Soap said, his fists clenching at the memory. "I know exactly what he said. Ghost told me," said Price. "The fact is you assaulted a superior officer. You're lucky you're not being court martialed," Price said, looking at Soap.
"Yates is a womanizing bastard. I'd do it again discharge or not," Soap said. "I know you would," Price couldn't help but chuckle. "Fortunately for you that won't be a problem. His captain is as much of a cunt as he is but we worked it out. You'll be suspended for six weeks," Price said. "And for what it's worth I would've done the same to the bloody bastard," Price added, before he dismissed Soap.
You figured Soap would've had enough time to have his talk with Price so you headed towards his room. You passed by the rec room to see Yates mopping his blood off the floor; you could already hear Price telling him to "clean his bloody floor". You made it to Soap's room and rapped on the door. "It's open," Soap said. You walked in and saw Soap lounging on his bed wearing one of those tight muscle shirts that drove you crazy.
"So? How bad is it?" You said, wetting a washcloth and coming to sit next to him. You grabbed his hands and started dabbing the warm cloth over his knuckles. "Six week suspension," he said, focusing on the feeling of you cleaning off his hands. "Really?" You asked surprised. "How'd you manage that?" You said, getting up to rinse of the washcloth. "Price vouched for me. Without him I could've gotten into some real trouble," he replied, looking at you clean off his other hand.
"You know I appreciate you doing that but you shouldn't have," you said, tossing the cloth into his hamper. "I couldn't let him say those things about you Bonnie," he said, looking at you. "It wasn't right," Soap added. "You could've lost your job Johnny. I would never want you to do that for me," you shook your head. Soap grabbed your hand and stroked the back of it with his thumb. "I love you hen and I'll always defend you," he said. "I love you too Johnny," You said, giving him a kiss. Soap wanted to make sure you knew you could always count on him.

#soap mactavish x female reader#soap mactavish x reader#john soap mctavish x reader#john soap mactavish#soap mactavish fluff#john mactavish x reader#john mactavish#soap mactavish#modern warfare#modern warfare x reader#modern warfare ii
527 notes
·
View notes
Text
A Childhood Innocence-[S.H.]
Pairing: childhood!best friend!Steve Harrington x female!reader
Prompt: I saw this post and all I could think of was my babygirl Steve Harrington.
Summary: Steve Harrington was your best friend once upon a time but years apart makes you see him in a new light. Takes place during season 2.
Word Count: 4.4k
Content Warnings: Mentions of blood, Cursing, Toxic Masculinity/"Man Up" Allusions (Mr Harrington is the worst and I want to roast him on a spit)
A/N: This is my first time writing for Steve Harrington and it was certainly fun. In the future, fics with him will be much more fluffy <3
also, only your father's last name is Stokes
(Y/N/N)=Your Nickname
Hawkins, Indiana is where you grew up, but not where you called home. It's where you were born, it's where your parents met, it's where you lived until you were ten.
In the Summer of '77, your family relocated to New York. Your father was the second half of Harrington&Stokes and the company opened a branch in Albany. The Harringtons were much more attached to Hawkins society so that meant "The Stokes" had to leave.
Your parents told you at Sunday dinner. Mr Harrington made a toast to your father and to the company's growth.
"Albany won't know what hit it!"
You remember feeling like the world had tilted on its axis. You gripped your chair tightly worried you might fall off. Your mother noticed your expression and tried to gently explain the change that was happening. Her words fell on deaf ears as you could only focus on the boy across the table.
Stevie Harrington. Your best friend and partner in crime. Born in the same year and attached at the hip. Your moms were best friends and they wanted that for their children as well. So you guys did everything together.
Sometimes he could get on your nerves but you had built a sort of alliance through the years. You both were often shown off as trophies by your parents at their company soirees. Perfect little children, both gifted. One with brains and the other with brawn. It was nice to have someone your age in that stuffy office. Someone who gets it.
You remember your last sleepover. Your room was barren: all furniture and trinkets gone, save a small lamp plugged into an outlet in the wall. Stevie sat next to you in his sleeping bag with a glum look on his face. You're sure yours didn't look much different.
"Are you gonna forget about me?" His eyes were glassy with tears he refused to let fall.
"No, of course not. Besides my parents say we're gonna visit for holidays and stuff, so I'm not gone forever." You weren't sure who you were trying to comfort.
Stevie just sniffled, nodding his head.
The next morning you left and the Harringtons waved your family off in the Uhaul. Both your father and Mr Harrington teased all the "girls" for getting emotional.
Your mothers hugged and cried and promised to call while you and Stevie sat in the back of the open truck, swinging your feet. He held your hand as you cried. He had to keep his composure in front of his father lest he face a lecture.
After your goodbyes, the Harrington family stood on the side of the road looking similar to the picture above their mantle. Only Stevie didn't even bother plastering on a fake smile. Your father climbed in first while your mother held the door for you. You looked back at Stevie and tried to give him your most convincing smile before you scaled your way up to the seat.
"Wait!" You turned to see Stevie tear away from his father's grasp.
He ran straight to you, tackling you in a hug. You felt his tears fall on your shoulder and squeezed him tighter. Eventually, his father called out to him and he let go. He looked back at his father's stern expression and took an unsteady step towards him.
"Here take this." In his hand was his woven red, yellow, and blue bracelet.
You took it from him and risked another quick hug before turning and finally climbing in the truck.
That was almost 7 years ago. You had visited for the first two years, but then slowly Hawkins became distant memories. You saw Stevie's parents when business called for it but between your nice private school, new friends, and ballet classes Stevie took a back seat in your mind.
Returning to Hawkins felt like a dream. It was almost unsettling driving through Mainstreet, like opening a diary you had long since forgotten. Your new house was much bigger than the one you had left behind. It's a unique experience, returning to a place so familiar yet foreign.
The Harringtons were waiting for your family as you pulled into the driveway. The lived just down the street. Apparently, the Harrington family had moved, not long after you, into the "nicer" part of town. Cheers and Shouts rang through the air as your parents spilled out of the Uhaul to greet each other while you and Stevie just stared at each other. Two strangers who used to be friends.
He helped you unpack and set up your furniture all while trying to make awkward small talk. You told him about your life in New York and he tried to catch you up on his. He promised to help you adjust, to be your friend. He kept his word.
Steve had changed a lot in 5 years. You had too, you guess. Like now he goes by Steve.
"Just Steve, not Stevie or anything else."
He's a lot less shy, cocky even. You were surprised to see he's popular, nicknamed "King Steve". He was once a bit of a playboy but now he has a girlfriend, Nancy Wheeler, who seems really nice. He doesn't seem to care about grades anymore.
But he was also the same in a lot of ways. He still played sports, both swimming and basketball. He still had the same sense of humour. He still loved watching movies and listening to music. He was still sweet (although he tried to hide that).
What surprised you most though was how he had somehow become a babysitter. He wouldn't tell you much about how this came about. He did fill you in on the "Byer's Incident" though. You thought the tale was a little tall but everyone said the same thing, so you never questioned it.
School was pretty okay. You assimilated with Steve's group of friends. Your classes were easy because of your previous schooling. You joined the cheer squad. All in all, Hawkins wasn't so bad.
That was until October. Hawkins gained another "New Kid" who seemed to have it out for you and Steve. Steve because Billy wanted to be top dog and you because you called him a creep when he hit on you.
Then Nancy broke Steve's heart at a Halloween party. He was reasonably upset and confided in you. You hung out after the party, talking it over. The day after she shattered it, unable to tell Steve she loved him. He was then further disgraced when he found out Nacy had run off with Jonathan.
Steve got it in his head that he should apologise, for what you weren't sure. No matter how many times you laid out the facts to him he wouldn't listen. He told you he had to get her back and left. That was Saturday afternoon. He left and you haven’t seen him since. You were starting to worry.
You figured, at first, that his plan was successful and he was just preoccupied. You waited around all Sunday to hear from him. Your parents were all out of town in Tulsa and you were instructed to look out for each other. You waited out at his house for hours and nothing.
When the sun started to set you decided you would track him down. You riffled through the phonebook and found the number to the Wheeler's house. A sweet woman answered the phone but told you that Steve was never there.
"Nancy's spending the weekend at Ally's, if he came to see her we would have told him the same." She must have sensed your defeat because she offered up some other information.
"You know what? Dustin stopped by. Nance told me that Steve sometimes babysits him. He may know, let me give you the number."
You thanked her and hung up to call the Hendersons. Unfortunately, Ms Henderson didn't know where Steve or Dustin were either. She told you to call the Sinclairs, who told you to call the Byers. You called a few times and there was no answer. A dead end.
You paced Steve’s empty house. Where was he? Did he even come home last night? He was a good driver but sometimes he was stupid, impulsive. What if he crashed his stupid BMW? No, no, someone would have called you. Surely his parents or yours would have told you if they got a call.
After an hour of imagining the worst, you called Mrs Wheeler again and asked for the Byers' address. She warned you about driving up there in the dark and you didn’t have the heart to tell her you would be walking. You locked up the Harrington house and left a note for Steve if he did come back. You didn’t know how long the walk would be but you didn’t care.
You reached the mouth of the Byers’ driveway exhausted but suddenly relieved. There you could see a car you recognised as Steve’s. He was here. You had found him. But then you noticed the obnoxious blue Camaro. What the hell was Billy Hardgrove doing here? That’s when you heard screaming.
“Stop!” “Stop it!” “You’re gonna kill him!”
You started running up the gravel path. The screaming stopped before you reached the door. There’s nothing that could have prepared you for what was on the other side. Hargrove was laying on the floor with a bloody nose, a gaggle of tweens were standing in the living room, one holding up a pair of keys, and Steve was bloodied on the floor.
The kids all stopped and stared at you and you at them. No one moved as your collective brains tried to figure out what was going on. Then you heard a small groan and remembered why you were here.
“Steve!”
You fell to the floor beside him cradling his face. He blinked a few times before you saw a glint of recognition in his eyes.
“Hiiiiiiiiii” You wanted to strangle him for trying to be cute right now.
“Arthur. Steven. Harrington. I am going to kick your ass." He smiled and the blood on his lips leaked onto his teeth.
“Billy beat you to it.” And with that, his head lulled to the side and he passed out.
“Shit, shit, Stevie? Steven!” You looked back at the kids still staring at you.
“I need a damp wash rag and a first aid kit.” They stayed frozen, just looking at each other as if having a silent conversation. “NOW!”
That got them to scramble. They returned with a warm washcloth and a handful of colourful bandaids. You looked at the kid you assumed was Dustin with a raised brow.
“It’s all they had.” You huffed, accepting them and trying your best to clean up his face.
The kids fell back into the kitchen as you cleaned him up. When you were done you did your best to move Steve onto the couch.You walk in interrupting whatever important meeting they were holding in hushed whispers.
“I want answers. Now. What happened?” They looked at each other instead of answering. You were getting real sick of that.
“Hey! Over here! Why the fuck is Stevie knocked out on the couch right now?” They must not have appreciated your tone, because only the small brunette spoke up.
“Who the hell are you?” You watched as they all looked you over.
“I’m his friend, your turn.” The kids did another silent group convo before Dustin shrugged.
“Billy came over looking for Max and Steve went to send him away because Max said he would kill us. Then he saw us in the window and next thing we know the psychopath is throwing open the door and pinning Lucas against a cabinet, making threats. Lucas kneed him the dick to get away and then he was all like ‘You’re dead Sinclair. Dead!’ and then Steve was all like ‘No, you are.’ Then he punched him right in the face. Then he got a few more punches in, it really looked like he was gonna win for a second. But then Billy smashed a plate over his head and Steve fell over on the carpet there. And Billy was on top of him, cackling like a maniac while he punched Steve over and over. We thought he was gonna die, but then Max drugged him and then…well, you’re here now.”
You blinked dumbly for a moment before cursing under your breath.
“We don’t have time for this! We have to go, they need us!” You look at the brunette confused.
“Go? Go where? Who needs you? Who’s we?”
“That’s need-to-know information-” The kid in war paint and a bandana says.
“Yeah, party only. And Steve. And Max too.” Dustin tells you.
You look at them in disbelief. “Stevie isn’t going anywhere right now, and I assume he’s supposed to be babysitting you. You can’t just leave.”
“People are gonna die if we don’t leave, right now!” The brunette's face was red now.
As you looked around you saw nothing but desperation on the faces of the children surrounding you. You were inclined to believe them, as crazy as it seemed. All of your paranoia turned out to be justified, maybe theirs were too.
And that’s how you found yourself driving down the back roads of Hawkins in Billy Hargroves’ car with a bunch of kids you didn’t know and your best friend unconscious in the back seat. Not at all how you thought your night was gonna go. You were on a long stretch of road and the car was very quiet. Was very quiet.
“Can I ask you a question?” You glanced in the rearview mirror at Dustin.
“How about you each get one question and you have to tell me your names? Then I return the favour.” You saw some nods from the backseat passengers.
“I’m Lucas,” said your navigator. “How long have you known Steve?”
“We were childhood best friends until I moved to New York when we were ten. But now I’m back.”
“I’m Max, Why do you call him Stevie? Are you dating?” You scoffed.
“No, no, that’s just what we used to call him when he was a kid.”
“Dustin here, and you guys are asking the wrong questions. Is Steve’s full name Arthur Steven Harrington?”
“Yeah, he’s named after his dad.” Dustin let out a laugh.
“Oh my god, King Steve has the dorkiest name ever! Wait, his name is Arthur. He’s King Arthur! That’s kinda cool, actually. Why doesn’t he go by that?”
You huffed, “Dunno and I said one question.”
Dustin’s face fell into a grimace. You glazed back at the brunette who sat silently staring out the window. He seemed especially stressed. You felt you had done a good job of calming down the kids, even if it was at Steve’s expense.
“And what’s your name?” He remained silent until Dustin reached over to smack his arm. Dustin gave him a look of raised brows and that seemed to do the trick.
“I’m Mike.” His answer was short and clipped.
“Nice to meet you, Mike.” Your attempt at warmth did nothing to soften him up.
“Right, my turn then. I’m (Y/N). Now Lucas, where are we going? Like more than directions and more than some farm.” He seemed to hesitate before answering.
“Look, this is all really dangerous. It’s better not to get involved. The less you know the better.” You were confused by his sombre tone. What did a twelve-year-old know about life and death?
“Well, I hate to tell you but I am involved. I’m driving you all to this dangerous location, so maybe you could give me an idea of what I’m getting myself into?” He let out a sigh before explaining you were going underground to set fire to a hive mind running through all of Hawkins.
“Right, of course. That’s uh…okay, sure. Max, What’s connected to this hive mind underneath Hawkins?”
“We’re not sure. We know there’s demidogs and whatever’s inside Will right now. I don’t really get it myself, I just joined this circus today.” Jesus, every layer of this just added more confusion.
“Wait, Will? As in Will Byers, Jonathan’s little brother? There’s something inside him?” Dustin scoffed.
“What happened to one question?” You let out a small laugh.
“Alright, alright. Dustin, What’s inside of Will?” It blows your mind how longwinded this kid is. But you remember Steve saying something about that. He gave the whole rundown. About how Will was kidnapped by an interdimensional creature and taken to the “upsidedown” and how he’s been seeing the “Mind Flayer” and how it got to him.
“Wow, okay. Mike, What’s the plan?” He glared at you from the rearview window.
“You don’t believe us.” You felt the venom he spit at you and you weren’t sure what to do with it.
“Mike it’s not that I don’t believe you, it’s just this is a lot. Imagine you’re me for a second. You go out looking for your friend and then before you know it a bunch of twelve-year-old kids are telling you the most boring town in the world is actually the epicentre of some evil dimension.” You hoped he would understand and maybe stop being so angsty towards you.
“We're not kids! And we’re not twelve, we’re thirteen!” You apologised for the assumption while Mike continued to stare you down. You thought that was all you were gonna hear from him, but he must have decided you were genuine.
“Our friends are trying to close the portal right now. The demidogs are gonna be swarming them, trying to protect it. The plan is to get to the centre of the hive mind and draw them away, clear a path for them.” You huffed out a sigh, soaking in his words.
“So, we’re the bait. Got it.”
The car fell into silence once again, the roar of the speeding engine filling the cab. You ask Lucas to give you directions again. Not because you need them, you’ve been to Merrill’s Pumpkin Patch plenty of times, but just to hear something. You needed a distraction from your spiralling mind and the nerves you felt eating at the lining of your stomach.
“What’s going on?”
For a second you forget that you’re driving dangerously fast in a car you don’t know well without a license, and you whip your head around to look at Steve, relieved that he finally woke up. He sees your face and begins to panic and that makes you panic too. More so than you were before. You only turn back around when you hear Lucas yell at you to look out. You swerve narrowly avoiding a mailbox. Everyone starts screaming at each other and you snap.
“Everybody shut the hell up!” Your head is starting to hurt, your brain being stretched to its thinnest in the last six hours.
“Oh, wait,” Lucas says catching your attention. “That’s Mount Sinai. Make a left. Make a Left!”
You pull hard on the steering wheel, coming off the road a bit before correcting yourself. Steve has not stopped yelling at you to both slow down and stop the car. You do neither as you continue to focus on Lucas’s voice.
It’s not long until you’re crashing through the familiar “Merrill’s Farm” sign. You park the car and everyone starts spilling out. You take a deep breath as you hear Steve start to try to wrangle the kids. You hear Dustin trying to talk him down and decide to help.
“Now, I know you promised Nance that you would keep us safe. So, keep us safe.” Steve begrudgingly takes the bag that Dustin hands him and Dustin makes his way to the hole.
Only as he’s walking away does Steve notice you rummaging through the trunk for your own gear. He puts his hand out in front of you to stop you.
“Woah, Woah, Woah, you’re not going down there.” You push his hand away from you and grab your bag.
“Uh, yes, I am.” He stands up straighter now, squaring up to you.
“Like hell you are! You don’t even know what’s going on here, okay? This is fucking dangerous and I don’t want you anywhere near it.” You fix him a steeled gaze he hasn’t seen since you were kids.
“Listen to me, Steven. They filled me in on the way here. As confident as they are that we’ll survive, both of us know there’s a really good chance none of us make it out. Someone needs to watch over those kids and only one of us here isn’t suffering from a possible concussion.” You move to grab the Axe you brought.
“(Y/n)-”
“Look, you made a promise right? To keep them safe? Well, I did too, and I’m not about to let you walk through a hell dimension without me there to keep you safe.” You push past him, putting on your chemistry goggles and tying the T-shirt you found around your nose and mouth.
“Hey, (Y/n), wait.” Steve goes to grab the bridge of his nose before wincing. “Let me go first so I can spot you.”
That night he drove you home. The car ride was quiet. He pulled into his driveway and neither of you moved to get out. Both of you were thinking about everything that happened.
“(Y/N/N), are you okay?” You blinked a few times before answering.
“Yeah, I think so.” You looked over to Steve and you were reminded of the many years you spent apart. He’s so grown up now, no longer little Stevie. You didn’t realize you were staring until Steve looked away.
“I’m so sorry.” He was looking straight ahead; his hands were gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white. “You never should have gotten caught up in all of this.”
“Steve it’s okay-”
“No, Don’t. Don’t you dare say it’s okay. None of this fucking okay. You risked your life today. We could have died. You…you were looking for me and that’s my fault. And now your life will never be the same.” You rolled his words around in your mind, polishing them like a pearl.
“It was my choice. I could have left several times, but I didn’t.” He scoffed at your words but you cut him off before he could retaliate.
“If it were the other way around, what would you have done?” Steve’s mouth opened and closed but nothing came out.
“Don’t blame yourself, okay?” He shook his head back and forth as if trying to shake your reassurances out of his ears. You pulled on you your jacket sleeve and placed your wrist in front of his face.
“Do you see this?” His gaze fell onto a band of braided thread, the colours muted after the years.
“You’re stuck with me. I’m not going anywhere. And that’s my choice.” His grip on the steering wheel loosened. One hand fell to his lap while the other reached out to touch the bracelet in disbelief.
“You still have this thing?” You just nodded your head as his fingers traced the skin of your wrist.
In the glint of the streetlights, you saw his eyes get glassy just like all those years ago in your childhood bedroom. You reached across the console and did your best to wrap him in your arms. It took a moment for him to respond but when he did he held you tight. This hug lasted much longer than the one you received before disappearing behind the horizon in a Uhaul.
When he pulled away he didn’t go far. His arms stayed wrapped around your waist and yours stayed around his neck. The expression on his face wasn’t one you recognised. His eyes were swirling with something, the chocolate brown of his irises deeply saturated.
You never really looked at Steve before now. His face had matured a lot since you last saw him. His features are soft yet distinct. The moon cradles his face and you think he looks almost holy, a guardian angel damned only to protect but never protected. He has freckles of different sizes on his cheeks that trail down the side of his neck, the only flaws you can find. Even when beaten up he was beautiful.
Steve was having a revelation of his own, several really. He knew you pretty, that wasn’t new. He also knew that he loved you. But now he can’t help but think of his conversation with Dustin earlier that day. Electricity was singing in the space between you. Had it always been there?
That day behind the school gym he had called Jonathan Nance’s “other boyfriend”. She just as quickly called you his “other girlfriend” and told him he was just as guilty. He brushed it off at the time thinking it was nothing more than deflection, but now he wasn’t sure. He told himself that you guys were only so close because of your history, because he promised to be there. But these past few months he’s been relearning you. Your favourite snacks, songs, shoes, all of those things had changed and he loved getting to know you again. Now he sat in his car with you a breath away and he had never wanted to kiss you more.
You had both been staring at each other for a while now, too close for too long for it to be acceptable between friends. You felt his hand move from your waist to hold your face and for a second you forgot to breathe. Your brain was doing pirouettes and grande jetés in your brittle skull. You watch his caramel eyes drift from yours to your lips. His thumb is tracing small circles on your cheek and you feel something akin to fire; pulsing flames dancing between you. He starts to lean in and you panic.
“Stevie are you sure?” He looks at you with furrowed brows.
“Do you not want this?” Your emotions were fogging your brain, this was your last shred of sense he was prodding at.
“That’s not what I asked.” Your voice was smaller than he had every heard. He paused, thinking through his answer.
“No, I’m not but I think we should try.” And that was enough for you.
Tag List: @Defrosting-strawberries, @fanfics-intead-of-depression, @heejinw0rld, @jedisstark, @Qualitybeliverflower, @rudy-the-winged-wolf, @scorpiolystoned, @wannapizzamymindposts, @whoreforklitz,
#rancid writes#stranger things fic#steve harrington#steve harrington x fem!reader#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington fanfic#fluff#hurt/comfort#steve harrington x you#steve the hair harrington#steve harrington friends to lovers#stranger things fanfic#stranger things imagines#stranger things#steve x reader#steve harrington x y/n#stranger things hc#stranger things 2#steve harrington x female reader smut#steve harrington fluff#steve harrington angst#friends to lovers#steve#harrington#steve x yn#steve harrington x yn#steve fic#steve harrington fic#steve imagine
504 notes
·
View notes
Note
May i request headcanons of lovesick tecchou? :)
yes you can!
Lovesick Tecchou Headcanons
♡ pairing: Tecchou Suehiro x gn!Reader
♡ synopsis: ...read the title bestie
♡ cw: Kinda obsessive and toxic behaviour. Being lovesick is fine but don't hurt anybody!
note: This kind of borders on yandere Tecchou. Sorry if that's not what you wanted T-T and apologies for errors, hope you enjoy x
Tecchou loves very strongly though he may not seem like the type. He can come off as obsessive at times but that's just because he loves you so much <3
He's so extremely protective of you. He wants to be near you whenever he's able to and so most of the time
He gets jealous rather easily whenever you spend time with anybody he considers to be a romantic rival, but he always feels bad about it. He wants to trust that you'll choose him but he can't help his self-doubt.
He makes up any excuse to either have you stay the night at his place, or he stays at yours. Tecchou feels like it's the only way he can keep you safe at all times, and plus he feels lucky to be around you in your most vulnerable state.
He tends to zone out and daydream about your hypothetical future lives together. Jouno can tell when he does this and he's so tired of it.
Tecchou likes to provide subtle but kind acts of service for you. Sharing his food with you, holding open doors, putting a blanket over you when you fall asleep...things like that. He loves the feeling he has when you thank him for that kind of stuff.
While he's working, there are times when he just wants to leave so he can spend time with you. But you're also one of his main motivations as a Hunting Dog, because he knows that in the end he's not only helping the country, but you as well.
His absolute favourite thing in the world is when you two are cuddling one another and he gets to lay his head on your chest while you play with his hair. It makes him feel safe too, and while doing so he likes to pretend that you feel the exact same about him as he does for you.
You're one of the main things Tecchou talks to the other Hunting Dogs about. Jouno listened at first but he's very much started tuning it out by now, as have the rest of the members. You're his biggest distraction.
He's always there for you whenever you're experiencing any troubles, and he'll do everything in his power to fix them for you.
When it comes to your romantic issues though, he can get a little jealous. He'll still listen and console you, but if there's anyone specifically bothering you he is gonna have a word with them.
When I say word, I really do mean word. He might be jealous but he is an honourable and sensible person. If need be he might make a threat or two though, because he just can't help himself. He loves you so much and nobody who would hurt you deserves to be yours.
Tecchou is more than willing to let you borrow his clothes, and in fact he sometimes subtly encourages it. Maybe he left his shirt on your couch or maybe he convinced you not to bring a jacket when the two of you go out, knowing you'll end up needing one and he'll be able to give you his. He thinks you look adorable in his clothes.
He has so many drafted love confessions to you in his Notes app, he's got several playlists dedicated to you, you're his Wi-Fi password. He'll find a way to incorporate you into far too many aspects of his life.
He also memorises almost everything about you. If you tell him something random about yourself, like your favourite food or a bone you've broken before, he'll remember it all. He might also mention it later so you know that he's always listening to you.
Tecchou loves you so much, more than anything. Why don't you love him back?
Taglist~ ♡
@gettinshiggywithit, @fedyushka, @flower-of-darkness, @bejeweledgirl
#bsd#bungo stray dogs#bungou stray dogs#fanfic#fanfiction#bsd fanfic#bsd headcanons#headcanons#bsd hcs#tecchou hcs#tecchou suehiro#tecchou#bsd tecchou#bsd tecchou suehiro#tecchou x reader#tecchou suehiro x reader#x reader#bsd x reader#x gn reader#soft yandere#lovesick headcanons#lovesick
236 notes
·
View notes
Text
♡ MAKING HIM A BRACELET - ERWIN SMITH
gn!reader, fluff
WORD COUNT: 595
AUGUST DRABBLES
you’re wearing a frown on your face as you’re paying all your attention to the pearls you are currently putting on a small string. it is to be given to your boyfriend some time in the future, you still haven’t decided when but possibly as a gift after a new mission.
he is often away to do paperwork, talk to some higher ups or away for a dangerous mission. luckily he’s only talking to the higher ups today, so there is no need to worry for the commander of the survey corps. he’s at least one hour late but that isn’t unusual. you’ve already made dinner and put it in the fridge for the two of you to eat when he finally comes home.
you keep trying to make the bracelet look as well made as possible. throughout the years, you’ve learned how big his wrist is due to some other bracelets you’ve made for him, so this shouldn’t be as difficult as it feels. you want it to be perfect for him even if it’s just a simple accessory.
the bracelet is taking up all of your attention, so much that you don’t even notice the sound of the front door opening and closing. erwin smith has finally come home.
he hangs up his coat on one of the hangers and puts his shoes together with the many pairs you own before making his way into the living room where you’re sitting on the floor. a smile spreads over his lips when seeing that you’ve taken out a little box with different pearls and strings, immediately knowing what you’re up to.
“i’m home darling,” he finally announces and you stop in your tracks, looking up towards him before looking back down at the now finished bracelet in your hands. this was supposed to be a surprise, but he might have already understood that you’re making it for him.
erwin keeps flashing you a sweet smile before he sits down next to you and kisses your cheek. “is it for me?” he questions while one of his hands goes to brush through the soft strands of your hair. you sigh and lean into his touch before speaking. “it was gonna be a surprise after your next mission,” you mumble and he tilts his head to the side, wanting you to face him.
“i’m sorry for ruining the surprise,” he says as you look back at him. “it’s pretty, you haven’t given me a blue bracelet before.”
you finally reflect his smile. “it’s supposed to match your eyes,” he kisses your forehead lightly before putting his arm out for you to put the bracelet on his wrist. he’s already wearing some of those that you’ve given him earlier during the relationship, he never seems to take them off.
“thank you, darling,” he pulls you into a hug and helps you get onto his lap so the two of you can be closer to one another. “i’m very thankful for everything you do for me, whether it’s making bracelets or helping me out with paperwork.”
you nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck as you can feel him relaxing against your touch. he’s finally home and will be able to stay at least for the night which is something to be thankful for, sometimes he doesn’t even get to do that. “i’ve made dinner,” you whisper and erwin cups your cheeks before he can lean in to press a sweet kiss to your cheeks. “i love you, thank your for doing all that for me.”
#attack on titan#attack on titan x reader#attack on titan fluff#erwin smith#erwin smith x reader#erwin smith fluff#aot erwin#aot x gn!reader#aot x you#aot x reader#aot fluff#august drabbles
107 notes
·
View notes
Text
Dress up Montage
Pairing: Benny Miller x (Insecure) fem!reader
Characters: Benny MIller, (Insecure) fem!reader, William “Ironhead” Miller, Santiago “Pope” Garcia, Francisco “Catfish” Morales, Maria Valencia-Morales (OC from One Shot)
Warnings: Cursing, reader being insecure at times, Benny being cute and adorable, Benny comforting his girl, Will being the best non-official brother-in-law, the boys caring for reader, Santiago getting threatened by Will, cute future in law moment between Will and reader, mentions of marriage
Word Count: 2,331
*Idea came from @princessmermaid1289
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Why do I need to dress up so nice?” You ask, removing what feels like the millionth dress. ‘Why can’t any of these just look nice?’ You think to yourself, looking away from the bathroom mirror as you reach for your t-shirt.
“Benny has a surprise for you after the fight,” says Will.
You stick your head out of the bathroom door, staring at him with a raised brow.
He shrugs, “I don’t know.”
“I’ve got drinks,” Santiago lifts up the flavored water (that he likes more than the others), turning to see where the older Miller is looking. “Hey. You look great.”
You blink once, “I only put on lipstick.”
“And it is a beautiful color. What dress are you gonna wear?”
You close the door, “I don’t know.” You throw your shirt back on.
“What about the one you wore for Frankie and Maria’s third year anniversary?” Santiago suggests.
“No.”
“What about-”
“None of them are what I’m looking for. Just- you two should go, it’s almost time for Benny to leave and I know you two need to help him.”
They catch each other’s eye, Santiago shrugs. “We can-”
“No, Will, you need to go and support your brother. I’ll be there before it’s time for him to fight, okay?”
“I don’t like the thought of you being here alone,” Will tells you, leaning against the door.
“I’m a big girl, Will. I’ll be there before you guys know it.” You grab a few of the dresses you tried on.
He sighs, “you have your Christmas gift?”
“Yes, I have my taser and pepper spray along with the skills of a boxer. Bye.” You sigh, setting the dresses back onto the toilet seat so you can lean against the sink counter with your head hung low.
Their footsteps retreading gives you all you need, and the flood of emotions spills out of you.
Your bottom lip wobbles, you raise your hand to your mouth, hiding the cries that escape you since the boys are a few feet away down the hall.
-
Will gestures for Santiago to go out to the car where Frankie is, waiting for them.
The latter nods and heads out to the car.
-
Will walks into the garage, closing the door leaving it opened a crack (the door sometimes sticks, and it locks from the outside so, whoever is in the garage can’t get out.
It’s on Benny’s to do list but the part he needs won’t come in for another two weeks).
“I don’t think your plans gonna work.”
“Why not?” The younger Miller asks, tinkering away on the car, needing something to do with his hands while he goes over everything that needs to be done, in order to make sure that this night goes as planned.
“She can’t find a dress and wants to stay behind while we’re “at your fight”. You’ve got to come up with something better.”
“Did you even try helping?”
Will shoves his brother’s shoulder. “You’re on your own.”
Benny chuckles, resting his hand against the car, “oh, come on. You know I didn’t mean it.”
“Sure. We’ve got a couple of things to do. Make sure you’re there by six.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He wipes his hands on his grease-stained jeans.
“I mean it, Benny.”
“Uh huh.”
The older Miller shakes his head, exiting the garage. ‘He’s not gonna be there at six.’
-
“So?” asks Santiago, who leans forward, resting his arms on the back of the seats.
“We’re finishing up and those two will be late.”
“You told him to be there by six?”
“Yeah, I told him to be there by six.”
“Alright, alright,” he raises his hands, leaning back as Frankie starts the car. “Someone’s a little testy.”
“I will leave you two near the highway if you two don’t shut up,” Frankie chimes in.
“Why is everyone so aggressive?” Santiago doesn’t look into the front window because he can feel Will’s side eye.
“Maybe because you had to find the one thing that would make this whole plan fall apart.”
“How was I supposed to know they wouldn’t have the right tablecloth?”
“You didn’t order it!”
“Because I thought we chose to do a different color pallet!”
The car stops at a red light, the two quiet down looking around.
“Do not kick us out,” Will tells the (“former”) pilot.
“We’ll stop. I swear,” Santiago adds.
Frankie shakes his head, praying that their fighting isn’t going to ruin the night.
-
Benny’s put a lot of effort and roped them all into making sure everything goes well and the man with a pilot license is going to make sure that damn well happens.
Benny stops in the kitchen, washing his hands before he heads towards your shared room. He stands there, listening to your sniffles. He sighs, sad to hear you feeling so down.
This is supposed to be a fun and special night that neither of you will ever forever.
He knocks on the bathroom door.
You jump, a quiet gasp escaping you as you turn to face the door. “I told you guys to leave and go without me.”
“It’s me.”
“What- what- what are you doing here, Benny?” You take a step closer to the door, resting your hand on the door handle.
“Don’t you have a fight you should be getting ready for?”
“There’s no fight tonight.”
Your head flinches back, not comprehending what he just said. “What? Then what am I getting ready for?”
He avoids staring at the door, knowing that you're standing right there, staring at him. “I lied, there was never a big fight going on tonight.”
“Why did you lie?”
“I- uh- I planned something special.”
“If you planned something special you could have told me.”
“It’s a surprise.”
“You know I don’t like surprises.”
“Which is why I didn’t tell you about this one and wanted things to go the way I planned,” he tells you with a cocky tone.
You close your eyes and rest your head on the door. “I don’t have anything to wear,” you weakly tell him.
“Yeah, you do.”
You can see his shadow coming from underneath the door. “No.”
“If you open the door, I can help you pick out the “perfect” dress.”
You open the door, sticking your head out, “you just want me to strip down so you can try and seduce me before you force me out of the house for your supposedly “special night plans”. Don’t you try to pretend that you’re going to help me… horn dog.”
Benny holds his hands up. “Hey, hey. I’ve got plans for us and we have to be there by six.”
“Will?”
He nods. “Okay,” he steps forward. “Let me in.”
“As long as you promise not to seduce me.”
“Promise.”
You open the bathroom door wider, giving him room to enter before you lean against the wall with the hands being a divider between your back and the wall.
“Except for this.”
You try to ask him what he’s talking about, except you can’t. You reach for him, hands slipping up his chest and resting on the back of his neck as your fingers play with his slightly overgrown hair.��
He pulls back, neither of you open your eyes for a few minutes. Benny reaches for one of your hands and slides it down, resting it over his heart. He pulls you closer, laying your head on his chest so he can rest his head on top of yours.
“You better hope you didn’t ruin my make-up.”
A smile stretches the corners of his lips high up on his cheeks. “It’ll make for good pictures.”
“Horn dog.”
“Your horn dog,” he pecks the top of his head. “Now, let’s find you that dress.”
“You just to see me half naked.”
“Nah,” he shakes his head. “That’s a plus.” He glances up in the mirror and catches your stare. “Yeah, yeah. I know, horn dog.”
“But you’re my horn dog.”
“Exactly.”
-
“Okay, now that you’re dressed-”
“It doesn’t look good.” He immediately drops the dresses onto the bed and runs back into the bathroom, hands on your hips as he pushes you back against the sink, lifting you on top of it. He cups your cheeks, forcing you to look at him. “You look amazing. No, no,” he stops you before you could argue with him. “You look so beautiful right now and I don’t want to hear you say anything else but that.”
“But I-” He shakes his head, “say it.”
You pout with furrowed brows.
“Say it.”
“I look good.”
“Not quite what I was going for, but it works. Again.”
“I look beautiful.” You close your eyes and take a deep breath.
“Yeah, you do. I’m gonna take a shower, get dressed and we’re going to the surprise I have for you.”
You nod, not ready to say anything.
He pecks your lips, “I love you, okay?” He steps back, kicking off his shoes. “It’s your choice to stay here to kindly observe and ogle me.”
You scoff, “I have other things to worry about than your greasy hands.”
-
You quickly wipe the corner of your eyes and reach for your makeup, needing to touch up a few things.
“Hey, babe?”
“Yeah?”
“Can you get the outfit I have hanging in the closet?”
“Lazy,” you mutter.
The shower door slides open, he sticks his head out with shampoo still in his hair. “I heard that.”
You turn to him and chuckle. “I hope you did. Wash that out before you get shampoo in your eye.”
He closes the door. “Too late.”
You groan, “don’t cry about it to me.”
“It hurts.”
“That sounds like crying.”
“It is!”
You shake your head, a smile never leaving your face as you search for his clothes.
-
“Okay. Let’s go.” He grabs your hand; you jerk your hand causing him to stop. “What is it?”
“Where are we going?”
He sighs, “I told you I’m not telling you.”
“Please,” you clutch his arm, squishing your cheek against his shoulder.
He shakes his head, “no. It’s almost time for us to leave and if we’re late, Will is gonna kill me.”
“Fine.” It’s your turn to drag him outside. “I’m driving,” you try to grab the keys from your boyfriend, only for him to raise his arm and keep the keys out of your reach.
“I don’t think so.”
“Why not?”
“Do you know where you’re going?” He chuckles watching as your dejected body walks towards the car.
-
“I need you to close your eyes.”
“What?” Your head snaps over to his, “no.”
“Oh, come on. Please. Do you hear that? I’m asking nicely, manners and all.”
You can’t argue with him as he gets out of the car, walking around towards your side. You bite your lip and unbuckle your seatbelt before launching yourself over towards the other side of the car.
Your plan doesn’t go as planned and you’re yanked out before you could even touch the lock button. “Really?”
“I just realized I forgot to put on perfume, it’s gonna ruin the whole surprise.”
“You look and smell incredible, stop making excuses.” He places his hands on your waist and gently spins you around. “It’s all gonna be worth it. I promise.”
You gulp as you stare into his eyes. “I look beautiful.”
He blinks once and cracks a smile when he realizes that you’re telling him you’re on board. “You look beautiful.”
“And I’m going to let you drag me off to whatever it is you have planned because you worked hard to make this happen and even though I’m having an off day, we’re going to get through it.”
“Together?”
“Don’t push it.”
Even though the other three were fighting about the display, they managed to make it look absolutely amazing (and with no major fights… Santiago complains about a “mysterious” bruise three days after this).
You and Benny have a wonderfully prepared and delicious dinner, prepared by the Morales’ or else it would have been take-out (Santiago can’t cook for shit and burns everything he makes… even toast.)
“Okay, now that we’ve finished dinner. What’s next on the agenda?”
“Desert?”
You furrow your brows, “is that a question or an answer?”
“Yes.” He blocks your view of the dessert, mumbling to himself.
“Ben?”
“Yeah?”
“You lookin’ for something?”
His shoulder tense up. “… no.”
“You sure?”
He spins around to face you. “Did you find it?”
“I want to lie so I don’t ruin the surprise but, yes.” You lift the black ring box up for him. You sniff, “I didn’t open it though. I swear.”
He covers your hand and the box with his, kneeling in front of you.
Your heartbeat increases at the sight.
He pecks his hand and takes the box out of your grasp. “I think we both know what’s about to happen here.”
You nod, unable to give him a proper response.
He takes a deep breath. “Will you-”
You squeal, “yes! Yes!” And wrap your arms around his neck, he wraps his arms around your before either of you could fall.
“I take it that’s a yes.”
You smack his shoulder, “don’t be a smartass.”
He shrugs, “can’t do that.” He opens the box and slips the ring onto your finger.
“Wait… is this why you kept saying we would remember today forever?”
“Yeah, and he wouldn’t shut up about it.”
You suck in your bottom lip as you smile. “That seems like something he would do.”
“Great now I’ve got my fiancée and my brother teaming up against me.”
“Ah, you hear that,” Santiago wraps an arm around you. “He called you, his fiancée.”
Frankie pulls Benny up, showing him the pictures, he took.
Will takes a seat beside you after shoving Santiago away. “You feeling better?”
“I feel fan-fucking-tastic… future brother-in-law.”
That manages to get a man to crack a smile, something that doesn’t always come easily.
#Triple Frontier#triple frontier imagine#triple frontier imagines#Benny Miller#benny miller x reader#benny miller imagine#benny miller imagines#benny miller x you#benny miller x female reader#benny miller x fem!reader#benny miller x fem reader#benny miller x insecure reader#benny miller x insecure!reader#benny miller x insecure!fem!reader#benny miller x insecure fem reader#benny miller x female!reader#crazyk-imagine
297 notes
·
View notes
Text
hey there, pretty boy
synopsis: where eddie is always looking out for his favorite cheerleader, but doesn’t know that shes doing the same.
pairing: eddie munson x cheerleader reader
warnings: general swearing, perv!eddie for ONE SECOND I SWEAR, sappy mutual pining
word count: 1223
out of the hundreds of hawkins high students, you were the only one who actively smiled at eddie. he didn’t believe it was real life. in what world would the sweetest cheerleader at hawkins repeatedly smile at eddie “the freak” munson.
the first time he swore it was because someone was behind him. the second he just thought it was a coincidence. but the third time, it was proof you smiled at him on your own accord. it was months ago, only the two of you in the hall. you were on your way to the bathroom and he was wandering aimlessly through the building. the sweet “hey, eddie!” that left your lips made him freeze in his spot. the smile that followed made his heart melt just a little.
today was no different. he received the same smile in second period from across the room. and when you walked past him on your way to your lunch table, you sent him another one of your sickly sweet smiles. he watched you walk away, eyes lingering on that tiny thing you call a cheer uniform.
he sat down in his seat with a sigh and a light smile on his face while gareth look up at you. gareth watched as you turned your head to look back at eddie and saw your face warm up a bit. gareth shook his head a took a sip of his dr. pepper.
eddie sat silently, with a smile, in a daze. until mikes voice pulled him out of it. “hey, eddie! are we still on for tonight? hellfire club?” he questioned.
“dont ask stupid questions,” eddie mutters under his breath, “of course we are, dipshit.” he says, flicking a pea from his lunch tray at his face with a chuckle.
his eyes scanned the room over before landing on yours. you smiled at him again and he stuttered for a moment, before looking back down at his tray. who knew the big, bad, cult leader eddie munson couldn’t even hold eye contact with the kindest cheerleader in the school. the effect you had on him made him feel weird; he was to be intimidating, not intimidated.
he leaned back into his chair and closed his eyes, trying to shake any thoughts of you out of his head. but it didn’t work, he couldn’t help but wonder if you wanted to hang out sometime, or even maybe go out together. maybe you’d like to-
“future girlfriend, nine o’clock,” gareth says, kicking eddie’s foot. instead of listening to gareth’s words, eddie kicks back.
“keep your feet to yourself, emerson. i paid good money for these damn shoes.” eddie grumbles. leaning back into his chair.
“hey there, pretty boy,” he hears a familiar voice speak behind him. he closes his eyes, recognizing your voice in an instant. you can’t possibly be talking to him.. or can you? he peeks over his shoulder but cant see through his hair, heart racing.
“how come you always look away when i smile at you?” you question, coming around to the front of his seat. you lift yourself onto the table and make a seat for yourself, crossing your legs in the process.
eddie is frozen, he doesn’t know whether he’s frozen in fear, shock, or both. “i don’t- i don’t think i know what your talking about, princess.” he answers, opening his eyes to look at you.
there you sat, cheeky smile on your face and you sit on the edge of the lunch table; leaning back on your hands as you cock your head to the side. sweet little uniform on display. he looked down at your white sneakers and the frilly socks peaking out the ankle. you were truly sweet like candy.
the boys around the table stare at each other in shock. dustin and mike’s eyes widen, not completely believing that the sweetest cheerleader was talking to eddie “the freak” munson.
“i think you do, it happens every time!” he giggle and watch him look away for a second. “see you did it again!” you laugh a little harder.
“i- should you be here? isn’t jason gonna drag you away in like two minutes then yell at me for talking to you?” he says half-joking.
“who cares? he’s not my dad.” you retort looking down at him. “am i ruining your ‘cool cult member image’? i can leave-” you start going to stand up. but his hand lands on your thigh quickly.
“no.” he speaks lowly, “stay.” he holds his hand on your thigh for a couple of seconds before letting it fall down. “if you want to, of course.”
“i can’t keep batting my eyes forever eddie, i wanted to talk to you.” you say in the sweetest voice, and it makes his heart melt, like everything else you do.
“good girl’s joining the dark side,” he quips, getting comfortable in his chair, legs spreading slightly.
“what can i say? i don’t think you’re all that bad.” you reply, swinging your legs a little.
he goes to speak but is cut off by the bell. he groans instead, rolling his eyes as the rest of his table starts to separate. “the day is too long,” he mumbles standing up and adjusting his jacket, he holds his hand out for you and you take it, hopping off the table.
“walk me to class?” you offer, smoothing out your skirt and looking up at him. “maybe it’ll make up for your bad day..” you say in a sing songy voice.
“sure,” he answers, “don’t you need your bag?” he mentions and you gasp, running over to your abandoned chair across the room and back to him once you’ve retrieved your items.
“okay, now we can go,” you laugh slightly and follow him out of the cafeteria.
“what made you want to talk to me?” he asks, looking down at you timidly. a face you only see when you catch him staring at you.
“theres something..” you begin, fiddling with your fingers, “interesting about you.”
“am i the bad boy you’ve always dreamed of?” he jokes wiggling his brows at you.
“i think you’ll fit in quite nicely into my dreams, yes,” you giggle, nudging him lightly. the two of you chat, and the more you talk the more he realizes that it was in fact not a coincidence that first time you smiled at him.
when you finally stop in front of ms. odonell’s class you sigh, a little upset that the walk was so fast.
“guess this is goodbye,” eddie says, eyes glaring into the floor.
“what’s it going to take to get you to ask me on a date?” you say quickly, not completely thinking about what you said.
“wow, uh-” eddie mutter eyes shooting up to yours and reading your face. “oh you’re serious, i-” he stutters and you giggle lightly, the sound making his chest tighten.
“i’ll see you later, munson!” you say opening the pocket on his denim vest and stuffing something inside. you open the door to your class and leave him standing there.
once he finally regains consciousness, he turns to lean on the near by lockers and dig into his pocket. it was a piece of paper. he opened the note and smiled.
“call me sometime, wont you?
688-7531
-y/n ♡”
#eddie#eddie munson#eddie munson x reader#eddie stranger things#eddie munson fluff#eddie munson imagine#eddie munson x cheerleader!reader#stranger things#eddie munson smut#perv!eddie#eddie munson st4#st4 eddie#stranger things x reader#stranger things imagine#stranger things 4#st4
814 notes
·
View notes
Note
BABE!
re: foelu prompts
i would looovveeee to see some spice with cody, obi-wan, and rex sometime after kai 🥺 kind of waxer and boil-esque (you know that scene of the three of them when obi is pregnant lives rent-free in my head) or whatever you come up with <3 you know i am eating it up
just a uh. big fan of those three 🤭
Your wish is my command, beloved 😘😘
Be advised I have not beta’d this at All, lmao.
[Requests for Foelu missing scenes, future snippets, and extra vignettes are STILL OPEN. Please submit any requests you might have to my ask box. They will all eventually be cross posted on AO3 as well 🥰🥰]
~~~
Date nights often include everybody—in the interest of fairness and because Obi-Wan does very much enjoy spending time with all of his partners at once—but of course that isn’t always the case. Sometimes not everyone can make it, and sometimes it’s nice to go as a smaller group or even one-on-one; and of course they take turns enjoying Obi-Wans’ more focused attention.
Tonight was Rex and Cody’s turn. The three of them had decided to go out dancing—Rex had been a few times with Ahsoka and thought it might be a good way to get all of their minds off of their six-month-old and other responsibilities, and was correct—and Obi-Wan is enjoying a very pleasant buzz between the one glass of booze he’s had and the general atmosphere rubbing off on him in the Force, particularly from his partners.
He’s currently laughing against Rex’s mouth as the former troopers attempt to hustle him off of the dance floor and—presumably—to somewhere more private, not bothering to assist with the navigation in the slightest when he could concern himself with kissing instead. Besides, he trusts them to get them where they need to go. Unquestionably so.
He hears a door shut behind them at some point and finds himself in a dark room but really could not care less where, especially with Cody pressing up against his back now and starting to trail kisses along the side of his throat—hands already seeking the waistband of the civilian trousers he’d chosen to wear.
“This is gonna have to be quick,” Cody pants against his skin, the hot air making him shiver.
“And dirty, I presume,” Obi-Wan grins, and is summarily nipped in the earlobe by a former captain for his cheek. He lets out another breathy laugh and helps his partners to divest them all of their clothes—only the bottoms, unfortunately, as they are more or less still in public—and lets himself take a moment to mourn that the lighting is too low to really see them. The two of them are both quite fetching in their outfits for tonight; Rex in a rather tight pair of jeans and an even tighter black t-shirt with his blond hair starting to grow out of the buzzcut he’d kept in the war and Cody in a nice pair of slacks and a metallic gold halter top that made his shoulders look impossibly broader—and rocking his new mustache, which he insists that he’s only ‘trying’ but Obi-Wan suspects is here to stay if for no other reason than that most of his brothers hate it.
Obi-Wan knows the exact moment that Cody has found the plug that’s been nestled securely in Obi-Wan’s ass since his shower that evening, his posture going still as his fingers brush against the gem decorating the base of it when he goes to grab a handful of Obi-Wan’s ass.
“You alright, Codes?” Rex asks between stealing kisses, noticing the pause, and at first the only response is a strangled sound but then Cody is tugging Obi-Wan’s pants the rest of the way down and off with renewed vigor and nudging his legs further apart.
“Someone,” Cody growls, “apparently planned for this tonight.”
“Aren’t you the one always saying that it’s better to be over-prepared than under—“ Obi-Wan cuts off with an undignified yelp as Rex suddenly spins him around and pushes him up against Cody’s chest, fingers trailing down to check for themselves—
“Kriff,” Rex swears roughly. “Did you want one of us to fuck your ass tonight, sweetheart?”
It’s Obi-Wan’s turn to swear, this time, as Rex starts toying with the plug. “Well, I had rather hoped to make use of both holes, seeing as there are two of you.”
“And how’s your pretty cunt, cyare?” Cody croons, reaching down to run fingers through the lips of his pussy and grinning when he moans and grabs onto Cody’s biceps for support under the dual assault. “Hmm, well, you’re definitely getting there,” he says, “but I think we can do better.”
Obi-Wan chokes on a gasp as two fingers abruptly slide in and immediately start pumping, aided by the slick that’s already started leaking out of him. Behind him, Rex keeps playing with the plug, always threatening to pull it free but never quite doing so as he starts licking and nipping across Obi-Wan’s shoulders.
“Hey, didn’t Helix say Obi-Wan was going to have to pump and dump if he wanted to drink tonight?”
“Yeah?”
“I have a better idea.” Without further ado, Rex finally, mercifully releases the plug—only to take hold of both sides of Obi-Wan’s wrap top and pull them apart until his breasts spill out into the cool air.
Only for one of them to be suddenly engulfed in the searing we heat of Cody’s mouth before Obi-Wan fully has a chance to process what’s happening, one of Rex’s hands shifting up to cover his mouth to muffle the cries as Cody starts suckling, taking long pulls and moaning.
“Bet that pussy is nice and ready for him now, sweetheart,” Rex grins, as though they cannot both hear the squelching of Cody’s fingers fucking into him, “but I think we should let Cody have his fill first, don’t you?” Obi-Wan nods almost on autopilot, and Rex drags a kiss across his shoulder in reward. “There you go.”
It could be thirty seconds or thirty minutes later when Cody finally releases his other tit from his mouth with a wet pop, but then the former commander is stooping down to grab Obi-Wan around the thighs and lifting him up—
Ohhhhhh, Obi-Wan doesn’t think he’ll ever get over the way it feels when his partners first slide into his cunt.
Cody mercifully gives him a few moments to adjust, licking across his bottom lip before letting himself in to explore his mouth—still tasting of Obi-Wan’s milk, fuck—but then Obi-Wan realizes that it’s all a ploy to distract him and Rex is carefully pulling the plug out, not playing this time, and Cody is guiding Obi-Wan to wrap his legs around his waist and Rex’s cock is at his hole—
“Breathe, sweetheart,” Rex murmurs, taking the tender skin of Obi-Wan’s throat into his mouth and sucking a bruise there, and he draws in a deep inhale from Cody’s lungs and then Rex is pushing in—
Fuck, fuck, fuck, Obi-Wan is not going to last.
They must exchange some sort of signal over Obi-Wan’s shoulder because both of them pick up an easy rhythm at the same time, in tandem rather than in sync, and it is all Obi-Wan can do just to hold on. Force, but he forgot how good it felt to be split open like this, mounted on two of his partners’ cocks at the same time.
They seem to agree, if the way both of them are panting harshly is any indication. He’s not sure what he and Cody are doing now could really be construed as kissing so much as breathing and moaning into each other’s mouths, but it lights his blood on fire just the same.
“So tight, Obi-Wan, fuck,” Rex hisses, bringing both hands up to rub and squeeze at Obi-Wan’s breath as though he needs more stimulation. He’s telling Obi-Wan, Force, he swears he can feel them in his fucking throat. Perhaps he should have used another finger when he was working himself open earlier, but he has no regrets.
Over and over and over both of them keep thrusting, one withdrawing just as the other pushes in so that Obi-Wan cannot even chase the rhythm, just has to let them hold him up and take it. Cody suddenly picks up the pace, then, like he’s getting close himself, and Rex follows, and it only takes minutes more until Obi-Wan gives it up with a silent scream that is echoed by shivery grunts as they both finish inside him.
37 notes
·
View notes
Text
Delusional | Lex Luthor x Fem!OC [1-Shot]
Pairing: Lex Luthor x Rose Holloway
Song Inspo: Delusional by Simon Curtis
Word Count: 2,433
Summary: desperate to get out under her tyrannic mother's corporative thumb, executive secretary Rose Holloway submits an application for an opening at LexCorp. Much to her surprise, she is asked to interview the next week. The pay is pretty good, and this Lex guy couldn't be as awful as her mother. What could go wrong?
Warnings: mild mentions of parental abuse
Masterlist: see fandoms (pc-friendly)
Last thing I remember from my dream was having to tell my angry mother the news about my job. That was enough to get me awake. I scrambled around in my covers and opened my eyes, squirting as the light from the curtains hit my face. At first, I just closed my eyes to block them from the sunlight. But then I realized it was morning, and I forgot to set my alarm last night! I was going to be late on the first day!
I pushed my covers off my body and climbed out of bed, ignoring my slippers that awaited my feet. I looked at my alarm clock, and, as if taunting me, it read 12:21 PM. I grabbed my already ready work attire and took a quick shower. I put on my clothes, did my hair, applied some makeup (not too much, because I don't wanna look as desperate as I was), and brushed my teeth. Into my mall closet I went, searching for some shoes to go with my outfit.
I did my best to fix myself a nutritious breakfast. Nutty bars seemed like the way to go, but they get stuck in my teeth. The last thing I wanted was to be humiliated on my first day - I hadn't felt like that since high school. I managed to make due with a glass of orange juice; just when I put the cold glass to my mouth, a car honked outside. I groaned to myself, knowing who it was, "Mom."
Rushing out the house, I barely remembered to lock the door. I hadn't told my mom about my application for LexCorp, so I knew she was gonna drive to her building instead. That meant I had to somehow sneak past her and make it to LexCorp in time. It's not that far... I hope.
I swung my business bag around my shoulder and got to the car. Only it wasn't my mom's car. It was... nicer and more modern. The windows were tented so I had no idea who was inside. I didn't know what to do, so I sorta stepped back. The window suddenly rolled down, revealing a face I had known for my whole life.
"Mary!" I squealed with delight, and relief.
"Get in." She ordered. "Or you're gonna be late." I had told her about my application. Well, I told her not to tell our mom about the application. "I can't thank you enough, Mare Bear." I said as I hopped into the nice vehicle. Mary looked at me as she took the wheel.
"You can start by not calling me Mare Bear, Nose." I had to smile at that. She and I call each other cute names sometimes. She calls me nose because, apart from my lips, my nose is my most dominant feature.
"Hang on, little sister." She said, pulling out of my driveway. "LexCorp, here we come."
(Time Skip - At LexCorp Parking)
Butterflies fluttered in my thin stomach as we approached my future workplace. It was so weird; seeing it on the computer was one thing, but being there was another. The building looked so full of purity, energy, and technology. I started to wonder if I could really help improve it. I mean, I wasn't anything more than a secretary of a fashion magazine editor. Also, I had no idea if they'd even accept me. I knew that my mom would hire me because she knew me, but this Lex Luthor probably didn't even know I existed until last week.
"Well, here we are. LexCorp Industries." Mary gave an introduction. I released the sigh I'd been holding in since we pulled up. "Aren't you going in, or...?"
"What if I'm not good enough, Mary?" I blurted out my worry. Mary gave me an eye roll and held my shoulder. "Look. These guys may have worked here longer than you but that doesn't make them better. For all you know, by this time tomorrow you could be doing all their jobs. Besides, any treatment you get is better than mom's." She had such a good point. It was either this or back to being paid to be yelled at by your mom.
"Okay," I finally said, "I'll-I'll do it." She gave me a nod, and I nodded in returned. We leaned in for a hug, and she wished me luck one last time. I bet was gonna need it. I can't focus when I'm nervous, and when I can't focus I screw things up. But there was no way I was spending another day at that fashion hell. So I picked my bag up and got out of the car.
Mary waved at me as she drove off. I waited until she was out of sight, and slowly spun around to face the building again. It looked so massive and complex. This may sound weird, but it kind of terrified me. I shook if out though, and marched toward it with a high head.
Inside was not much different than the outside. People were scattered everywhere, and they all looked worthy of being there. One lady walked past me wearing all black with the coolest haircut. I touched my rough, brown hair to find it a plain straight. I never thought I'd say this but I wish I had a rubber band right about now. The place wasn't crowded, but it was far from being empty.
I looked around for any clue to where Lex's office was. I had an interview with him in ten minutes and I couldn't even find him. I decided to ask one of the employees. I walked further into the work hall until I saw something out of the ordinary. There, in the middle of the room, about six men were playing basketball. I tried to process an excuse for what I was seeing. 'Maybe they're testing their body maneuvers for a video game?' was all I could think of.
Basketball or not, they didn't look as intimidating as everyone else. So I walked up to the court and tapped on the shoulder of closest one, who appeared to be in the middle of shooting.
I cleared my throat.
"Excuse me." He turned and smiled at me. He had strawberry-blonde locks that curled by his jawline. His eyes were blue and playful, and reminded me of two blue balls. He was shorter than me, but only by about an inch. "Sorry to interrupt your game, but I was wondering if you knew where Lex Luthor's office is." He gave me and odd smile.
"Hm. You must my new secretary. How are you? Lex Luthor. Welcome to my little LexCorp." The man held out his hand to me. I looked at it, and, ever so hesitantly, shook it.
Raising an eyebrow, I asked. "You're Lex Luthor?" He odd smile turned into a cheeky one as he giggled.
"Indeed I am. Alexander Luthor Jr., in your presence." He said, slight bowing his head. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't confused. He looked so young, way too young to be running a business. "I'm sorry, I'm confused. You look so..."
"Young? Well..." he turned away for a second to throw the through the hoop. "Age is just a number, correct? And there are infinite numbers to compare to mine, so there's no use in trying to be any other."
I just looked from him to the net and swallowed. "I guess that sounds right."
"Great! Hm. Yes, yes. You are here for the job." He said, eyes darting down in remembrance. "Executive secretary if I recall." Before I knew it he had his hand on my shoulder blade, and we began walking down the hall to I-have-no-idea-where. But I simply nodded and played along.
"Um, yeah. I used to work as one at my old job."
"Old job, mm? Might I ask where?" I didn't bother looking at him to answer, I just kept my head forward. And judging by my sight, we were headed for an escalator. "Nowhere special. Just a stupid fashion magazine corporation." I scratched my forehead as we boarded the escalator. I let Lex go first, being as though I had no idea where to go beyond the escalator. The rising staircase made my body feel like it was lifting by itself.
"I see," Lex said. "That explains your chose of clothing décor. Anyway, tell me- Wait! Silly me. I forgot to request your name." He addressed, stepping off his step and placing his foot on the smooth, white tile floor. I copied his movement and we returned to our original pace.
The hallway was all white, and filled with white doors. Any one of those could be mine. All I had to do was get an interview with Lex. First, we had to get to his office.
"My name's Rose. Rose Lee Holloway." I offered a kind smile, one which was returned.
"Rose. Hm." His eyes darted up in thought. "The Latin origin of rose, a flower name from Rosa." He looked back at me. "Did you know the Normans brought Latin to Britain in the 11th century?"
I shook my head. Lex just put his hands in his pockets and stared ahead. "Are you interested in alien studies and research?"
"Um, no. Only what I read on the news about Superman. But do find the fact that one is living here funny."
This made Lex chuckle. "How do you mean?"
"I mean, an alien protecting a species that's not his own just makes us look inferior. Why should we rely on a humanoid destructor rather than weapons of defense? It just sounds dumb."
Lex snapped his finger and pointed at me. "Exactly, Rosie. May I call you Rosie?" 'If I get this job he can call me anything he wants.' I thought.
But I simply replied, "If you want."
We reached the end of the hallway, where, to our right, sat a giant silver door.
"Follow me." Lex led us down the pathway and opened the giant door for me. "In you go." I slipped past him and almost tripped when I saw Lex's office. That place was like two master bedrooms in one giant space. There were chairs in there I've never seen in my life! And that's saying something since my mom used redecorated our living room almost every year.
I was so in shock that I didn't even notice Lex walk past me to his desk chair. I strolled to the front of his desk and sat in small chair, where Lex was seated on the table. He grinned at me, making me even more nervous. We both knew what was about to happen.
"Humor me. What got you interested in this position?"
"I've had previous experience with executive assistance, such as memoing, filing, answering phone calls, and prepping schedules. I also dabble in digital art, so if you need any promo or posters, well, I'm your gal." I chuckled nervously, and he just stroked his chin. "Ahem. I admire what this company has done for the ecosystem repair in other countries. Between partnering with other green companies and philanthropy fundraisers, it- you have really great work." Then it got quiet. "...yeah."
Lex leaned forward, knuckling his silvery desk's edge, and looked into my soul. He studied every inch of my face, my eyes... my soul. It was like he was trying to read my mind. When he got his answer, he exhaled.
"Hm." His lips twitched. "Hm-mm, yes. You have the gaze of a woman on the run." Lex said softly, almost sorrowful, like a therapist. "A lioness, mm, trying to strike out of the pride, make it on her own. Tell me, dear Rosie, who-oh-who are you running from?"
My head drew back and I nearly gulped. Was this man actually telepathic? Either way, he seemed to have me figured out. There was no use in denying it further. If honesty got me a job, then honesty it'll be. I just wish it wasn't such a sore subject.
"My mother." My tongue suddenly tasted foul and acidic. "She's not a very nice mother. Or boss."
"Mommy issues," Lex gestured to me, "meet daddy issues," he gestured to himself, making us both chuckle weakly. I supposed it made sense, hurt child meets hurt child. I wondered to what extend his father hurt him, but put off the question as taboo for an interview.
"Anyhow," he leaned back and continued, "mind if I ask you some professional questions?" He asked, making a yuck face as the word 'professional'.
"Yes, go ahead." I straightened my posture.
"Alrighty. How did you like the building so far?" That was not the question I expected him to ask first, but it was his company. 'Get hired, Rose, get hired.' I cheered myself on.
"Ummm... It's very detailed and finely organized, Mr. Luthor. It's techy but also really chill. Just feels like a good environment people-wise." If my resume didn't cut it maybe sucking up to him would. But he just waved it off.
"Please, call me Lex. It's only fair since I'm calling you Rosie." He had a point. "But does it look like the kind of place you want to work at?"
I looked around the spacious, flawless, white room and sighed. Such a long way from that undersized, secretary desk my mom forced me in.
My pitiful eyes found Lex again. "Very much."
Out of nowhere, Lex suddenly clapped near my face. "Fantastic! Then congratulations, Ms. Rosie. You're hired!" I had to clear my ears to make sure I heard him right.
"Wait, what? I'm hired?" He just nodded like an excited child. "But what about the interview?" I asked, still not understanding his reasons behind hiring me. He bent from his spot on the table to open up a drawer beside his legs.
"That was the interview, my dear Rosie. It began from I first introduced myself." He then pulled something out of the drawer; a red cylinder candy, and offered it to me. "Jolly Rancher?" I gave a clearly puzzled look, raising my eyebrow. "It's cherry." He offered again.
With nothing to lose except my job there, I accepted.
"Okay." I smiled tightly.
But instead of handing it to me, Lex leaned in to put it in my mouth himself. For a second, I felt his cold, steel fingers brush on the tip of my lips before departing. Then he licked those fingers and smiled from ear to ear like nothing happened.
Being the kind person I am, I gave the smile back. He might have been a bit odd, but I had a feeling Lex was gonna grow on me.
#lex luthor#dc#bvs#imagine#imagines#DC imagines#dc imagine#lex luthor imagine#lex luthor x reader#lex x reader#lex imagine#bvs imagine#batman vs superman#reader insert#reader#xreader#fandom#multifandom#request
#lex luthor#lex luthor x reader#lex luthor x fem!reader#lex luthor x oc#lex luthor x fem!oc#jesse eisenberg#jesse eisenberg lex luthor#bvs#one shot#bvs one shot#batman v superman#lex luthor jesse eisenberg#lex luthor imagine#lex luthor one shot#dceu#dc imagines#lex x reader#fandom#multifandom#request#personal fave
35 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
midwinter-whump
I need to put more effort into this
delusionaldonutsimp
proud pastry smoocher
wolfuzumaki
The world vs. Akatsuki
warm-poetry
It lies in everything.