#he doesn't need to fall His nephew
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"You Should Date My Nephew"
"433-6296". Wayne mouthes to himself. He visualizes the little slip of lined paper that's taped to the wall above their phone at home. 433-6296. He could call. But he wont.
Wayne grunts as he lowers himself to sit on the curb outside the plant. He got off work --he pushes up the sleeve of his jacket to check his watch-- 36 minutes ago. It's 3:36 am and god dammit Eddie how many times did he remind the kid to set his alarm. How many times did Wayne remind Eddie that his truck was in the shop and that he'd need a ride home in the morning. And every single time he'd mention it, Eddie responded "I got it old man! I'll set an alarm" with an exasperated eye roll and would go back to whatever he was doing. Wayne has tried calling the trailer a dozen times already and damn that boy for being such a heavy sleeper.
433-6296. Wayne could probably solve his problem with a single call, but that would be completely inconsiderate and borderline inappropriate, so he wont. A gust of cold November wind hits Wayne unforgivingly in the face and makes his eyes water. He pulls a pack of camels from his chest pocket and with stiff, shaky hands, lights one. 433-6296. He could call or he could walk home. The walk wasn't easy in ideal weather when Wayne was fully rested. Right now it was freezing, Wayne didn't have his good jacket, and he just finished an eight hour shift. 433-6296. Fuck it.
Wayne stands up and hurries toward the phone before he can talk himself out of this. It's insane, and he knows the poor kid barely sleeps as it is. Knows from Eddie that he'll pick up the phone anytime Eddie has a nightmare and drive over to talk him out of the bad dream, keep him company, or fall asleep on the floor of Eddie's bedroom so his nephew doesn't have to go back to sleep alone in a haunted home. 433-6296 Wayne dials and waits with baited breath.
The phone rings a handful of times before a quiet voice greets him on the other side of the line.
"H'llo? Eds?"
"Uh hi Steve. It's Wayne?" Wayne says quietly into the phone. Steve seems to sober immediately.
"Mr. Munson? Is everything okay? Is Eddie okay?"
"Yeah no everythin's fine. I'm sure Eddie's safe and sound at home. Look, I'm real sorry to wake you, kid, and I'm sorry to even be askin' you in the first place. I know it's mighty unfair of me to call at this time but uh- My trucks in the shop and Eddie was supposed to pick me up from work forty minutes ago but I think he mighta slept through his alarm. And it's too far for an old man like me to walk. Was wondering if I might owe you a helluva favor if you could pick me up tonight, son." For a few moments there is silence. Wayne worries he has crossed a line, for a brief moment he fears he might have burnt the most important bridge in Eddie's life. He's immediately regretting waking Steve up for this.
But then he hears the distinct rustling and thump of someone putting on shoes.
"Of course Mr. Munson, I'm leaving now. I'll be there as soon as I can." And Wayne is once again floored by this kid's kindness.
"Steve, thank you. I owe you son. Whatever you need."
"It's no problem! I'll see you soon."
"See you." Wayne mutters in disbelief and hangs up the phone.
And to think... Wayne used to hate Steve. The thing about Steve Harrington is that his name is haunted, in a way. And the thing about Wayne Munson is that he's a stubborn son of a bitch who will hold grudges on Eddie's behalf longer than the kid himself will. There were countless days in high school when instead of shooting through the front door of the trailer after school with a devilish grin and music blasting from his headphones, Eddie would turn the knob slowly and he'd drag himself into the house, giving Wayne a small nod before disappearing into his room quietly. Wayne felt like crying or punching something when Eddie came home in low spirits. He knew how evil the kids at school could be, and he knew the names of all the bad ones. Wayne always gave Eddie 10 minutes of quiet before he'd knock on his door and gently ask if he wanted to talk. It was a routine they had. He'd ask and Eddie would say no. But then like clockwork, Eddie would open up about his day later in the evening usually while they ate dinner and before Wayne left for work. He'd complain about all the kids that made him feel bad: Hagan, Harrington, Perkins, Hargrove, Carver, and so many more.
So imagine Wayne's surprise on March 27, 1986 when he briefly left Eddie's hospital room to get coffee and returned to Steve Harrington, the bully son of Richard and Nicole, sitting next to his nephew's hospital bed. It had been a long week of worrying on Wayne's part, and an emotional 48 hours spent at Eddie's bedside, so Wayne had very little patience for whatever was happening in front of him. In retrospect, Steve Harrington was looking at Eddie... sweet and tenderly, even back then. But in the moment all he could think about was Eddie returning from school with hunched shoulders and his head hung low.
"The hell are you doing here?" Wayne asked using his gruffest and most intimidating voice, arms crossed, standing in the doorway. The way that Steve startled was like nothing like Wayne had ever seen. He jumped a foot into the air and folded into himself.
"Oh! Mr. Munson. I'm sorry I didn't know you were around. Just, uh, didn't want him to be alone in case he woke up." Steve had said rising from his seat. When Wayne didn't budge from the doorway or respond, Steve nervously fiddled with the zipper of his jacket.
"How do you know Eddie?" Wayne asked trying to keep his firm tone.
"From high school sir. But also through a mutual friend. Dustin Henderson? They play DND together. Dustin and I brought him in after we found him like this..." Steve lifted his head again gauging Wayne's still stern expression and sighed. "Look, I'm sorry sir I didn't mean to interrupt anything I'll get out of your hair."
And Wayne wanted to be skeptical of Steve, wanted to accuse him of doing this to Eddie, but the truth is that Steve sounded painfully earnest. And there's no human explanation for the tiny bite marks all over Eddie's body. Wayne stepped out of the doorway and let Steve take a few steps down the hallway before calling out to him.
"Hey, Harrington?" Steve turned around quickly, looking back with a startled expression, maybe surprised that Wayne knew his name at all. "D'ja see what happened? I mean d'ya know anythin about what hurt him?" Wayne asked more softly. Steve looked around the crowded hallway, with nurses buzzing from door to door. Steve shook his head slightly, apologized, and continued down the hallway.
But Steve didn't stay out of his hair for long. The kid was exasperatingly persistent in being around for Eddie. And while Wayne kept a watchful eye on him, he was starting to get the idea that Steve Harrington was not who Wayne thought he was. He cooked for, cleaned after, and tended to Eddie, asking for nothing in return. Often refusing to stay for dinner when Wayne was home, even if he was the one who cooked it, because he didn't want to interrupt family time. If he brought food from out he always brought something for Wayne, and never took the money Wayne tried to push into his hands for it.
"Here, Mr. Munson. I wasn't sure what you wanted from the diner, but Eddie said you're not picky so I brought you a burger and fries." Steve had said that first time, holding out a bag in front of him.
"You brought me food?" Wayne asked perplexed.
"Well yeah, of course. I wouldn't have shown up with dinner for just me and Eddie." Steve set Wayne's bag on the counter when he made no move to take it.
By now Steve knew Wayne and Eddie's order at pretty much every food place in Hawkins and Wayne and Eddie were getting real creative at finding ways to slip money into Steve's wallet.
On top of that, almost every other day, Wayne gets home from work to find a maroon bmw parked outside his place while Steve helps Eddie through bad dreams. So what could Wayne be, besides grateful, for Steve Harrington's slightly confusing devotion to his kid?
He's snapped out of his thoughts when said maroon bmw pulls up in front of him. Steve is wearing a pair of wired glasses and his hair is all ruffled from sleep. Wayne opens the passenger door.
"You were waiting for forty minutes in the cold? Why didn't you call sooner?" Steve asked pushing up his glasses as Wayne closes the door quickly. And well... Wayne doesn't know how to respond to that.
"I- I shouldn'ta had to call you in the first place, Steve. I'm real sorry" Wayne says as Steve pulls the car out of park and starts driving back towards the trailer park. Wayne glances over at Steve waiting for the kid to say something. They sit in heavy silence until Steve breaks it by clearing his throat.
"Just... I know you're probably mad at Eddie but- but don't yell at him. He's barely sleeping so he really just needs the rest. It's not his fault." Steve ends on a whisper.
A tidal wave of different emotions rip through Wayne. Affection for Steve's caring nature, immense gratitude that Eddie has someone like Steve in his life, disbelief that Steve would say something like that after being woken at nearly 4 in the morning. Wayne was sitting and staring at the most selfless kid he'd ever met. Steve fucking Harrington.
"You should date my nephew."
Steves eyes widen and the car swerves.
"Uh- s-sorry- what?" Steve stammers.
"If I could choose someone for him, the best option out there, I'd choose you." Wayne says honestly, and he didn't even know he'd been thinking it until this moment. But it's so true. After so many heartbreaks over truly terrible men that Wayne could never see the appeal of, Eddie deserves someone like Steve. Steve face softens before checking to make sure Wayne was being sincere. Steve cracks a smile and chuckles to himself.
"What, you think I'm jokin'?" Wayne asks defensively.
"No sir! Not at all. It's just Eddie and I have been dating for months already. BUT- but- thank you for saying that! It means so much to me and truly Eddie's the best thing-"
"You- what?" Suddenly Wayne is embarrassed. Blushing. How'd he... how'd he miss that? And well, he did have a few moments where he thought the two of them were awfully close for a pair of young men, at least one of which who was openly queer, but they'd been through a lot together.
"Why did no one tell me?" Wayne asks turning his face away from Steve who is desperately fighting a huge grin and losing.
"We thought you knew. We sleep in the same bed every night."
"You do what now? Thought you were sleepin' on the floor" Wayne knows he sounds like the protective dad of a teenage girl and not the uncle to an adult man, but his world was just turned sideways. Steve laughs at that and adjusts his glasses before stopping at the red traffic light which almost immediately turns green because no one is out at this hour.
"Oh well. Good, I'm glad then." Wayne says after his mind has stopped spinning. "And call me Wayne already, you basically live at my house." He punches Steve lightly in the shoulder.
"Okay." Steve agrees quietly. He pulls into Forest Hills and stops the car in front of the Munson's place. "Mind if I just check to make sure he's okay before I leave? For peace of mind?" Wayne opens the door and steps out.
"Oh so now you're playing coy about sharing a bed? Just sleep here, kid" Wayne closes the door and heads towards the house. Steve jogs a little to catch up. When they open the door, the sound of an obnoxious alarm comes pouring out from the back of the house which concerns both of them. But when Steve hurries to Eddie's room he sees that the idiot had fallen asleep with music blasting in his headphones. Wayne stops the alarm as Steve gently tries to remove the headphones from his ears pausing the tape inside.
Eddie suddenly stirs and blinks up at Wayne and Steve looking down at him.
"'S going on?" He croaks, rubbing his eyes. Wayne and Steve share a look before Wayne chuckles and pats Steve on the back once before thanking him and wishing him a good night on the way out. After the door closes behind Wayne, Eddie looks back up at Steve. "What's going on baby? What happened?"
Steve slips into the bed and scoffs, fondly. He curls around Eddie and pulls him into his chest. Once they've settled, Steve pushes his fingers through Eddie's until they're all intertwined.
"Did you forget something, Bambi? Was there someone you had to pick up from work at 3 in the morning?" Steve whispers into his neck. Suddenly Eddie shoots up and dislodges Steve where he was leaning against him. Steve groans.
"Shit! Shit shit shit shit shit"
"Eddie it's okay c'mere. He's home now, it's all good babe." But Eddie just stares at the wall and pulls a hand through his hair. "No one is mad, just come back here. Let's sleep." And Eddie hesitantly lies back down.
"Did Uncle Wayne have to call you? I'm so fucking sorry Stevie." Eddie asks, sounding embarrassed.
"We had a nice conversation on the way home so it all worked out. You're okay. Sleeeeep."
And right before they both fall asleep, Eddie whispers, "Thanks Stevie, love you."
#steddie ficlet#steve harrington#steve x eddie#steddie#eddie munson#wayne munson#Wayne Munson POV#steve/eddie
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price who has held babies before - whether it has been nieces, nephews or the children of various friends, he has experience with kids.
but, it's also price who gets scared when he's finally able to hold his newborn. the pillow rests on his lap while the nurse carefully takes the baby from your arms, heading over to pass the baby to price. once resting on the pillow, his hands gently hovering incase he decides to move. the nurse quietly letting you know to just press the button if you need anything while she heads out to give you two alone time with the newborn.
"john?" your voice quieter than normal, the screaming and crying from earlier during the labor had worn you out.
he doesn't move or make a sound, it's as if his chest has stopped rising and falling with his breaths. his eyes completely focused on the baby placed on the pillow on his lap. it takes him a few moments to register you saying his name, but when it clicks in his head he is glancing over at you in the hospital bed.
"yeah?" he whispers, scared his voice is going to alert the resting newborn. or would the baby recognize his voice from when he was inside your stomach? all the times he had you put the phone near your bump when he was away so he could "talk" to the baby. or when he was home and would take every chance he got press his lips against the bump and tell the baby growing inside how much he loved them.
"are you okay?"
the man who begged to have a baby. the man who would hold your face to look at him every time he promised he would give you a baby followed by three more. the man who proudly told everyone he was going to be a father once you hit the second trimester.
the man who did all these things was now speechless with the product of his words (and actions).
"yeah." was all he could manage again, eyes now back on the newborn. his hand gently resting his palm on the top of the baby's head, thumb gently caressing the forehead. stirring slightly, the baby shifted; tiny hands forming weak fists but only the smallest yawn releasing.
john's other hand resting by the legs, gently holding the baby in place while he shifted to make sure he wouldn't roll or anything. he was so scared of dropping him, even while he just rested on his lap on a pillow.
"john," your voice broke his attention to look over at you again. "you can hold him. it's okay."
the reassuring words had him look back at the baby once more. but this time, carefully and slowly he adjusted his arms to hold the baby. the large man cradling the tiny human he was so scared would break if he made one wrong move.
once secured in his arms, john stood up. feet walking him around the hospital room as he looked down at the baby he held close to him, making sure he was holding him securely but not too tightly. his feet finally stopping him next to your hospital bed.
"it's nice to finally meet you." price's voice was a whisper again, still scared his normal octave would alert the baby. but you watched as he spoke to the baby, his own ramblings making you smile. and you heard how price got comfortable returning to his normal tone, a smile appearing on his face as the baby stirred once more; but, not in an alarming way, but hands trying to grab for something. for price. so, he held the baby securely in one arm now. his other hand moving to reach for the tiny ones; one of the baby's hands clasping around price's finger.
and it was quiet for a moment, until it was price's words that pulled your attention now.
"thank you." your eyes met and you noticed the tears forming in his. he didn't need to thank you. you'd choose him every time to be the father of your kids. so, you shook your head, tears forming in your eyes now but a smile accompanying them.
#john price#john price fluff#john price x reader#john price cod#captain john price x reader#captain john price#gw sfw price#nic talks price#dad!price
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Could you do the brothers + Dia with a mc who has young nieces/nephew that view them as another parent and mc views them as their own kids at times and acts as such to them?
Take care!!
aww hi!! yes of course this is so cute
enjoy!
Mc with nieces/nephews that treats them like their kids
Lucifer
sorry, they're not your niece anymore, his now
he gives off such dad energy so he's fit for the role of uncle
he's already seen you act like a tired parent to his brothers, but seeing you around an actual child and the tenderness you treat them with makes him feel warm and fuzzy
for someone who’s so busy, he suspiciously always has time to play family with you and your niece
Mammon
your nephew is obsessed with him and thinks he's so cool
he would never admit it, but he would die for your nephew and he seems you in him <3
this kid gets everything he wants from him
the parental side of you only makes him fall more for you <33
Levi
at first, he's freaked out
he knows nothing about kids and his limited knowledge comes from anime, which he knows isn't helpful
eventually, once he gets to know your niece, and sees the close relationship the two of you has, he tries his best to warm up
after all, he needs the approval of your favorite person to remain by your side
Satan
is so relieved your nephew is of the age to read and respect books
he’s actually so excited since children are usually afraid of him, but not your nephew! he was quick to hug him once you introduced them to each other
he’s absolutely obsessed with going out in public with the two of you and acting as a family
he secretly wants someone to mistake you as a family just so he can have the privilege of playing father and husband, if only for a while
Asmo
takes lots and lots of pictures of you guys but posts almost none
those are treasures for him and him alone, and because he doesn't want to post your nieces' face online <3
he loves to play dress up with the two of you! he knows your niece is enjoying it too since he's the king of fashion and never misses
whenever you and her are over, he finds an excuse to bring you both of a cute themed cafe that he knows she's going to find amazing
Beel
100% your nephew looks up to him like he looks up to you
at first your nephew was a little intimidated, but beel’s welcoming nature and kindness drew him in just like it did you
despite being young, your nephew wants to follow him and accompany him everywhere when he can
he even wanted to lift weights like beel so you got some foam ones and it became a fun family activity
Belphie
tbh at first, they both think the other is boring
belphie mostly sleeps and toddlers hate naps, and your niece does kid things obviously which he thinks is awfully boring
however, they have one common love: you
eventually once they both realize this, he takes your niece under his wing and is training her to be just like him
Diavolo
he's absolutely enchanted with you and your parent vibes
the relationship you have with your nephew is something he could only dream of having and he wants to be hands on so bad
the two of you are this kid's parents now sorry i dont make the rules
your nephew thinks he's so cool and is always asking for the three of you to spend time together
#obey me#obey me!#obey me x reader#obey me satan#obey me asmo#obey me lucifer#obey me mammon#obey me beel#obey me levi#obey me belphie#obey me diavolo#obey me shall we date#obey me! shall we date#omswd
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No masters or kings (Aemond Targaryen x Reader)
Summary: Aemond has issues around sex. The thought of being married to you, an angel, it's not helping.
Warnings: Angst (w/happy ending) Religious guilt, repression around sex. Kissing. Thoughts of sex, but no actual smut. Just angst and fluff.
Requested: Yup! Modern reader falls into Sept x Aemond
For as long as he could remember, Aemond had been alone. He had been an outsider to his siblings and nephews, all with a dragon. He had been an outsider to other noble children, marked apart by his distinctive features. He had been an outsider to his father's family, Rhaenyra and her children.
The loss of his eye had only exacerbated that. The girls at court were frightened by the sight of him, and he often worried about how he could secure a match. No longer activities he had found solace in, like studying and swordplay, came easily. Everything, from reading to being able to walk down the stairs without tripping, had to be relearned.
His faith in the Seven had permeated all of his childhood. His mother was the only person to pay attention to him, even if it was sometimes in a way Aemond could not appreciate. When he thought of her, his mind's eye always conjured her with a seven pointed star hanging from her neck.
Aemond had tried his best to keep her happy. She was all he had. So instead of running from his lessons and incurring on indecent behavior, Aemond had closely listened to the Septons that educated them. He had prayed daily. He had read the Seven Pointed Star and annotated its passages, committing them to memory.
Paradoxically, the time when he felt closer to the Gods was after the loss of his eye. It had been then he had truly understood what it felt like to be favored by the Seven. His faith demanded sacrifices, but always rewarded them. An eye for a dragon. The biggest dragon in Westeros.
Sacrifice will bring good things. It was a very simple lesson, but one he committed to memory regardless.
As a child, Aemond had not prayed for a dragon. Nor had he prayed to the Warrior to make him strong and able to defeat his enemies. When Aemond was a child, he had often prayed for a friend. Asking for the Maiden to send him someone kind. An angel. He had never spoken it out loud, afraid of appearing weak. Children were such cruel creatures, after all. But Aemond never forgot to ask the Maiden for it.
Aemond prayed. And suffered. And prayed, and suffered, and thought that at least this life he was leading, of loneliness and desperation and so much fear, would finally account for something. For the Gods favored those who suffered and sacrificed, and if his reward didn't come in this life, it would come in the next one.
His prayers were always the same. Each morning, before anyone else could rise except for the lowliest of servants, Aemond went to the Sept. He spent equal time in front of each of the Seven's effigy and lit a candle for them. He prayed in silence, asking of them simple things. Aemond knew he already led a privileged life, so he did not dare ask for more.
His prayers were so ingrained, he recited them with little thought. Yet, when he came to the Maiden, Aemond always fumbled. With the other Gods, he knew exactly what to ask for. But with Her, he only felt unease. So he rapidly mumbled his childhood prayer, and moved on. It had become a tradition, even if he was no longer the appropriate age to pray for friends.
Aemond knew it was the wrong thing to do. When you were praying, you were supposed to be present. To think of all the aspects of the Seven with the devotion they deserved. But when you are taught as a child to pray, it turns into instinct.
Just as someone who has trained enough with the sword barely thinks about his next move, someone who prays enough doesn't need to think about what they will ask next. It's too ingrained.
At this hour, the Sept is quiet. Aemond enjoys praying here instead of in the one inside the Red Keep. There are no court ladies around to bother him, nor an Aegon making mocking noises while he tries to pray. Despite wanting to join his mother in prayer sometimes, he just couldn't take the royal sept. It lacked the peace septs were supposed to make you feel.
He leaned down, lighting a candle before each effigy, and muttering his usual prayer.
“Warrior, give me strength.” Aemond whispered. He lit the candle and moved on. “Mother, protect my sister and my mother. Father, bring your justice upon my enemies. Maiden, bring me someone kind. An angel.” And as he kneeled to light her candle, something hit him from above.
The weight of the thing was too great for him to remain upright. Aemond was sent sprawling to the floor. His head slammed on the stone floor of the Sept, making him grunt. A woman screamed. Probably, one of the commoners visiting the Sept. They were few at this hour, most having already begun their labors. Her scream was echoed by one of another woman, and soon, hurried footsteps were nearing him.
Aemond tried to sit up, reaching a hand out to move the weight aside. What he gripped, made him fall back down.
Cloth. Cloth covering something soft, something that yielded under his hands. An arm. You. The Gods had answered his call. There was a woman right on top of him, eyes closed and expression smooth, as if in peaceful sleep. The Maiden had sent him an angel, after years of solitude and sacrifice. You were his reward.
Aemond lifted you and set you aside, on one of the benches of the Sept. A couple of the commoners hurried forward, to gape at you, but Ser Criston stopped them.
“A miracle! A miracle!” Someone was screaming, and you twitched. More and more commoners started to pour through the entrance of the Sept, all gawking and murmuring about the woman who had appeared out of thin air.
The people were bright-eyed, frenzied by the demonstration of the Seven's power. They started pushing at Ser Criston, and trying to touch Aemond and you.
Cole and Aemond exchanged looks. If no one controlled the crowd, they might very well end up being torn to shreds by them, in their frantic attempts of touching the holy being they were guarding.
Aemond unsheathed his dagger.
“I think… We need a Septon.”
You were being carried somewhere. You could tell because your head swayed with the movement, unsupported. It was giving you terrible neck pain.
“If she has fallen out of the sky, and there is no hole….”
“A miracle! A miracle! The Seven have…” Fuck, your head hurt, and the woman screaming was not helping things. You flinched, trying to curl into yourself. This felt like the worst hangover ever, and you had no leverage to avoid the noises, since you were hanging in midair.
“The Prince must be held in high regard, for clearly the Gods favor him. Thousands of people pray here daily, yet the Maiden herself answered his plea.” The man from before continued speaking.
Someone else scoffed.
“Surely, this is a bit much. The Prince is hardly…”
“Shut up, Cole.” The person who was carrying you barked. The movement his chest made when he was talking made you fearful of falling down. Despite the strength in his grip, you weighted more than a few sacks of flour or a gallon of milk. People were not supposed to carry other people for long, unless they were frat boys attempting to impress girls or some sort of soldier.
You tried to sit up, the movement making all your body ache. Where were you? Why were you being carried? The last thing you remembered was going into an occult museum with a friend.
Everyone has that one friend. The slightly witchy one who believes in ghosts and crystals and whose favorite month of the year is October. The one who likes terror movies, and scary podcasts and dragging you to haunted houses and escape rooms.
It will be fun, they said. It's an occult museum, what could possibly go wrong?
Where the fuck were they? You were so going to strangle them for getting you… Wherever you were.
“My Lady.” The man holding you said. You looked up and met a pale blue eye and an eye patch. You startled. He looked straight out of a low-budget pirate movie, all in leather. “Are you alright?”
“What happened?” You lifted your head, noticing everyone was cosplaying as medieval priests and knights. There was a sinking feeling in your stomach. The man holding you looked an awful lot like Aemond Targaryen. You would recognize that ensemble anywhere. You had read enough fanfics for it. “Is this a renaissance fair? A comic con?”
It was worth the shot. Perhaps something happened to you and you had stumbled into a comic con? But was it so easy to stumble into one? You thought the tickets for those were expensive, they surely wouldn't just let you in.
Something had happened to you and these kind cosplayers who were… Doing something decided to help you? That seemed more likely.
“No, my lady. This is Westeros. The earthly one.” The man dressed in the more expensive costume of a priest was speaking. He had an elaborate head accessory, billowing robes and some strange pentagram with way more points than usual. His voice was the one which had been muttering about a Prince, and being favored.
“What is a renaissance fair?” The man had the oddest combination of a white cloak and armor. You looked at the man and froze. He was… Oh, what was his name again? Oranges guy!
“Something they must have in the Seven Heavens.” The expensive priest answered, in a matter of fact tone. “Clearly. The Prince asked for an angel. Angels reside there.”
Your mouth was hanging open. They thought you were an angel. Holy shit. You looked down, at your scuffed sneakers and clothes. You didn't feel very angelic, but like hell if you were going to miss the opportunity of receiving royal treatment in Westeros. If you truly were here, you would rather not learn how the lower class lived.
Another priest turned to you. He was dressed as expensively as the first one, but he lacked the head accessory.
“Tell us, young lady. Were you an attendant for the Maiden? What are the Seven Heavens like?”
You panicked. Perhaps pretending to be an angel from a religion you had no clue about was not a good idea. These questions would continue, you knew it.
“Don't be ridiculous, Eustace. Everyone knows that angels can't divulge that sort of thing. It's basic theology. They come to fulfill their purpose, not to entertain fools.” The man with the head accessory spoke, as if talking to a child.
You did your best to sit up. Aemond held you more firmly, and raised his arm on your back, encouraging your head to loll towards his shoulder. You were moving inside a prehistoric looking building, corridors made from stone and decorated with tapestries. The Red Keep, perhaps.
“And what do you believe the being’s purpose to be?” Eustace asked. You did not like being referred to in such a manner, and you fought Aemond's grip a bit harsher. He merely settled you against him and kept walking, this time going up a stairwell. You squirmed.
“The Prince's wife. He prayed for a companion. That must be it.” The expensive priest, Septons they were called, now that you remembered, seemed to have become an expert on all things you. Wisely, you kept your mouth shut.
“Is that why her attire is so immodest?” The oranges guy spoke, reaching for you. He clearly noticed his Prince was struggling and hoped to relieve him of the burden. You clung to Aemond more tightly. You were honest enough with yourself to know you had many impure thoughts about him, and were not going to lose your chance.
Aemond grunted. Encouraging him to keep carrying you beyond his capabilities might not have been your best move.
“You can put me down. I can walk.” You spoke softly, trying to sound your most angelic.
“We are nearly there.” His voice sounded agitated from the physical exertion, but his tone screamed danger. It would wound his pride putting you down now, you realized. He wanted to look strong. “There is no need.”
“The Gods see all, and angels are pure beings. They do not know of such earthly concerns, for they have not been exposed to the sins of the flesh.”
“What the fuck.” You whispered to yourself, sure that you were dreaming. This was turning crazier by the second.
“That is a crass word here, my lady.” Aemond whispered to you. “You shall not repeat it.”
Safe to say, you were learning your lesson. When an occult museum artifact has a sign that says, “Do not touch” you DO NOT TOUCH.
Marrying an angel was not a part of Aemond's plans. Begrudgingly, he admitted he may have to reconsider his more violent revenge plots. Aemond had to prove himself worthy of you, and for once, worthiness did not mean prowess with a sword or riding a dragon. It meant piety.
Piety. Kindness. All the virtues that the Faith enforced and that you were made of. All the virtues Aemond felt he lacked, sometimes.
Taking his nephew's eye would not be kind. You had explained so, as if you could read his mind. You also said that Aemond should not attempt to force him to pay his debt. It had been an alarming show of clairvoyance.
That you were privy to his most secret inner thoughts should not have surprised him so. It was only further proof of your angelic nature.
Your arrival had the Kingdoms in an uproar. The Citadel had wanted to record the circumstances around your appearance, the Faith had made you pose for a portrait. Some even dared utter that perhaps Aemond was better suited to be King, since the Gods clearly favored him.
The King was displeased, but your miraculous arrival had been witnessed by too many to deny it. Aemond had been authorized to marry you, only out of sheer pressure from the High Septon. You were a hero to the man. Families who had been worshiping the Old Gods for generations now rushed to convert. Only House Targaryen remained stagnant.
Even after your marriage, Aemond struggled to catch a minute alone with you. Anywhere you went, people were currying for your attention. If it wasn't his other asking you to join her in prayer, it was some Septon asking you questions, or near mobs awaiting outside the Red Keep for you to appear on a balcony. People thought your touch was magical, that you could heal the sick and bless the innocents. Aemond had to fight to keep their hands off you.
As the wife to a Prince favored by the Seven, all thoughts of going back were stomped on. You had mentioned it once or twice, before he had married you. Going back home, you had said. Aemond understood that the earthly world was much different than where you had been from, and the homesickness that came with it, but he hoped you forgot such silly ideas. There was no way for you to go home, and if there was, he would not allow it.
In hopes of distracting you, his mother had suggested expediting the wedding. Aemond had agreed, but he had soon realized that it was not enough. While sweet and kind to him, and clearly loving, your mind still drifted to thoughts of your life before. Something stronger was needed. And there was only one stronger bond than marriage. He had to put a babe in you.
Such thing, unfortunately, was much harder than expected. To produce a child, a couple needed to lay together in ways Aemond and you had not. You were loving, pressing kisses to his lips and cheeks every chance you had, but it was a pure kind of affection. You had been told that you were his wife, and what that entailed, innocent being that you were. It didn't mean anything. You were only trying to do what you thought was needed.
Aemond didn't dare touch you. It was his right to do so, but he was unsure if it was the moral thing to do. You probably weren’t too sure of the connotations of the act and all that it entailed. Besides, was it really his right? You were no ordinary woman. You were an otherworldly being, an angel, a perfect woman carved out by the Maiden herself and sent to him to love and cherish. You were not meant to be hurt or tainted in any way.
Intercourse was dirty. It hurt maidens, and it was a sin when practiced outside the marriage bed. Despite always pleasurable to him, and sometimes to his companions, Aemond was not too sure he should submit you to it.
You were heavenly. Asking you to have intercourse with him would be asking you to roll around in the mud while wearing a white dress. It would make you earthly, change you. And you were perfect just the way you were.
Yet Aemond could not contain these… Urges. When you kissed the corner of his lips, all he could think about was grabbing you and deepening the kiss until he got to know every inch of your mouth. When you hugged him close, letting him curl around you at night and hide his face on your neck, Aemond thought of kissing and bitting and sucking the supple skin until you were writhing in pleasure. When your hand innocently grazed against his thigh, he thought of his hands squeezing your own thighs, pulling them apart to reveal your core.
It was a sinful way of thinking. He knew it was wrong of him, but he could not stop. He could not control it. If only his waking thoughts were sinful, things would be different. Waking thoughts could be controlled. Dreams could not.
Every night, without fail, Aemond woke up drenched in sweat, breeches uncomfortably tight. He saw you in his dreams, in all sorts of lurid positions. Your pretty lips parted, your thighs fluttering open and closed like the wings of a butterfly. You on your knees, back, your bosom spilling from your bodice, your pretty breasts, nipples puffy. His mouth, his hands, his cock, on you, in you.
The dreams were pleasurable while they lasted, but as soon as Aemond woke up and saw you sleeping peacefully next to him, the guilt returned. You let out the tiniest puffs of air when you breathed, and always chased his warmth on cold nights. Adorable being that you were, you curled into him, unaware of the turmoil you caused.
Aemond could no longer take it. At first, he tried looking for answers to his dilemma inside of books. He soon found out his studies of philosophy and history had not prepared him for the monster that was theology.
So he asked for advice. To the only person who had to be an expert on the topic. The High Septon.
By the end of the day, a panel with four Maesters and ten Septons had been formed to discuss the issue.
“She is a pure being. The Queen and a Septa have confirmed that she has female anatomy, but having it does not mean she should be defiled.” One of the Maesters spoke, frowning. Aemond nodded along. It had been like he thought.
“It's hardly defiling if the Maiden gifted her to the Prince. She blessed the union.” The High Septon argued, sitting straighter in his chair. He clearly was uncomfortable at the thought of Maesters, of all people, interfering in these matters. What Aemond could not figure out was why the man had invited them if they clearly ruffled his feathers.
“The Maiden is a maiden. That's the whole point.” Another Maester rolled his eyes. It was a sound logic. Aemond felt even guiltier after hearing that. Thinking about you in such a manner was impure. You were a representative of the Maiden herself, here on Westeros. Even thinking of such dirty things near you was disrespectful. It was as if he were thinking them about the Maiden herself.
“Well, yes, but if you ask for a wife, is it not implied?” Septon Eustace chimed in. Aemond had never particularly enjoyed the royal Septon, but he was proving to be very useful. “I do not presume to know how the Prince words his prayers, nor do I think I can know his intentions, but…”
A companion. Someone kind. The prayer had started innocent enough, a child asking for a friend. Aemond had kept it worded exactly as it had been back then, when he was eight years old and dragonless. But he had grown, and so had his intentions. When he spoke of a companion, did he still think of a friend? Or rather, a wife?
The word companion indicated someone that assisted, that served to cater to a necessity. Not quite a friend, but someone to ward off loneliness. A somewhat inferior being, even. It was a term used to refer to pets, after all.
Women were precious beings. Images of the mother, to be treasured and protected, but never equals. Wives were, after all, lower than husbands. It was why they must be obedient to them, why they should mind the children and the home. They were not made to stand on their own. Women were made to stand next to a man.
Besides, wasn't it interesting? The Gods could have sent him a man. A boy. A dog. But instead, they had sent him a woman near his age, with pretty eyes and a tempting mouth.
“Hardly.” A Septon interfered. “There has been precedent of marriages that…”
“Marriages declared null.” The High Septon snapped. His mood was a reflection of the room. The conversation was starting to turn more and more heated, murmurs breaking out among the gathered. It brought uncomfortable memories of the day Aemond had met you and had to fight a frenzied mob. He had the feeling this was going to turn into that quickly.
Perhaps sensing the same, another Maester spoke.
“Why don't we ask her? She must know the Seven's will in the matter.”
Neither of the fourteen other men in the room had thought of that.
When Aemond asked you, timidly, if you wished to consummate the marriage, you could have danced from joy.
You had decided early on that if going back was not an option, you were going to make the most of your stay here. You missed your family and friends, but your life here was so pampered that you didn't feel so bad. Any quirks of behavior that you had were excused as part of your angelic nature, and you had the biggest crush on the man who had married you.
If only Aemond didn't refuse to even touch you. So far, you have tried everything. You have kissed him. Stroked him. Cuddled far too close to him, so you are nearly on top of him. Groped his thigh, almost his cock. Your behavior has bordered on indecent even by modern standards, yet Aemond dismisses it all as innocent. He is either the most oblivious man on the planet or he doesn't want you.
That suspicion had given you pause. If Aemond did not want you, you weren't about to force him to do so. You had stopped with your insistent touching, and went back to light kisses on the cheek. Instead, you had made the mistake of looking around.
You are so horny it's driving you mad. Being married in Westeros is not what you thought it would be. You expected much more sex. Besides, everyone here was insanely good-looking, especially the man sleeping next to you and waking up every morning with a raging erection. Anyone with a sliver of a libido would be frothing at the mouth and clawing at walls from horniness.
In your other life, you had watched HOTD and understood the message clearly. Despite being a common occurrence, cheating was not a good idea. There were no reliable contraception methods and no way of preventing STDS.
Even if you were not aware of all the possibles consequences of cheating from your knowledge about the show, you now knew Aemond. He was terrifying, devout, and hated his bastard nephews. You did not want to see what he would do if he caught you cheating.
So here you were. Into forced chastity and perpetually horny, with your husband asking you if you thought it was a good idea to consummate the marriage.
You could have jumped from the bed in your haste to show him exactly what you thought. But you had to maintain your air of an otherworldly being. Which you technically were, since this was not your world.
“Whichever you think best, my Prince.” You answered, voice soft and patient. Just as you had always spoken in his presence. It had done wonders to make Aemond seek your company. He found you soothing, or so he said.
Aemond reached forward. His hand cupped your cheek, very gently. You looked up at him with your most innocent eyes.
He lowered his hand, shoulders slumping in defeat. You tried not to let it show how much it hurt you to have all you wanted dangled in front of you and then taken away.
“I cannot touch you. Nor should I lust after you. You are…” Aemond’s eyebrows pinched together. His face showed an inner conflict that made your own heart soften. Perhaps he had grown to care for you, in the ways you wished he did. He just didn't think it appropriate.
You stepped closer. This time, it was your hands that cupped his face. Aemond's eye closed, briefly. He seemed to be enjoying the touch, committing it to memory.
“Kiss me.” You whispered, pulling him close. Aemond went into the hug, nuzzling your hair. Despite the sweetness with which he responded, his frame was tense. “Please. I beg it of you.”
“I can't. I can't defile you.” He sounded truly strained. You rubbed his back, gently. “ A perfect being, such as yourself, does not deserve this.”
“It won't hurt. I know how to do it.” You explained, softly. Perhaps he worried about hurting you, you thought. You were no blushing virgin, but Aemond did not know that.
“Of course. You are an enlightened being. But it does not mean you have to put that into practice. You must know of the mysteries of death, yet you have not hurt anybody.”
“Because killing is wrong.” And truly, it was a ridiculous comparison. Sex had not killed anyone, at least that you knew of. It was not meant to hurt.
“Sex is, too. It's only for making heirs, and I am a second son. I don't need heirs.”
And by the look of his face, Aemond really believed what he was saying. The thought of him suffering, of being so deeply repressed, hurt you. You understood well how damaging thinking about sex in that way could be.
It hurts you more to think it might have been exacerbated by you. The thought of you being this perfect soul, someone so pure and easily hurt, and then the thought of tainting you. It said a lot about his mental health.
You vowed then you would aid you in any way you could.
“It's not wrong.” You whispered, and moved slightly back from his embrace. “Let me show you.” And you were kissing him, and Aemond was kissing back. His lips were soft, and he held you as if you were the most delicate glass vase he had ever held. You understood him now. And one day, Aemond would understand this too.
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Virgin!Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader
strangers to friends to lovers
★Teasers ★Locations ★My Masterlist
Summary: Eddie embarks on a new chapter after finally graduating. He expects to face a variety of hurdles that come with a change of scenery, but what he doesn't anticipate is falling head over heels for you.
Author's Note: Holy shit, I can't believe this is finally finished after 11 months. It’s the first time I've written smut in well over a year and I'm pleased with how it turned out (I couldn't have done it without the support of my beloved @eddiethefreakkmunson)
Location photos are linked above and in the fic at their first mentions. AU with no Upside Down, no use of Y/N, focuses on Eddie's POV, fluff and mild angst with a happy ending *wink wink*
Word count: 17.3k
Warnings: MDNI 18+! alcohol consumption/drunken behavior, subtly pervy moments, masturbation, fondling, dry humping, protected p in v, oral (f receiving), a little bit of praise & possessiveness, includes swearing.
Eddie was determined to leave Hawkins for good as soon as he tossed his graduation cap to the sky. He didn’t expect how expensive a venture like that would be, so he devised a plan. For a couple of months, he would stick around to save up a financial cushion.
To pocket every penny possible, Eddie took up odd jobs around town like mowing lawns and painting fences. With every task completed, he army crawled his way toward living life on his terms. He didn’t expect it to take him well over a year to save up enough cash.
On this sweltering afternoon, the atmosphere is charged with the promise of new beginnings. The summer sun peeks out from behind the dense clouds and casts irregular shadows on the dirt road of Forest Hills.
His van is packed to the brim with boxes of his belongings. After mentally checking everything twice over, uncertainty twists Eddie’s stomach into knots. What if I have car trouble? What if I get lost? What if it’s not everything I hoped it would be?
Wayne descends the concrete steps and joins Eddie. He lets out a belly-deep sigh that speaks volumes. You’ll figure it out. You’re gonna find your way. Your best days are ahead of you.
There’s a hint of sadness in seeing his boy take this significant step toward independence. But beneath that sorrow, profound pride prevails within Wayne. Eddie’s dreams reach far beyond the boundaries of Hawkins. Sticking around here won’t do him any good.
Eddie looks at the man who’s been his rock; the one who used to rise before dawn to plate crispy bacon and fluffy pancakes, meeting Eddie’s needs before his own. The memories are vivid as he reflects on the milestones his uncle guided him through. Without a doubt, Eddie wouldn’t be half the man he is today if it weren’t for Wayne.
His beloved van sits atop the very spot where he once wiped out while learning to ride a bike without training wheels. “It’s time to be a big boy,” Wayne said, urging Eddie to muster some faith in himself.
Reluctantly, Eddie mounted his small bicycle and clutched the rubber handles. With a push to set him off, he experienced the fleeting thrill of accomplishment as he pedaled forward. He only made it a few feet before his balance wavered.
The bike wobbled, sending Eddie tumbling to the gravel. His knees and palms bore the brunt of the fall, and the sharp pebbles embedded themselves into his scraped skin.
Wayne isn’t exactly a ‘rub some dirt on it’ kind of guy, but he isn’t the coddling type either. He cleaned Eddie’s wounds, slapped on some bandages, and told him to give it another shot. Faced with his nephew’s tearful protests, Wayne emphasized that just because failure stings, it shouldn't deter him from trying again.
“I guess this is it then.” Eddie wipes beads of sweat from his brow using the back of his hand.
“Yep, looks that way. It sure will be quiet without y’here. I got so used to living with all that racket of yours.”
“It’s called good music. You should take it for a spin sometime, it’s way better than that honky-tonk shit you made me listen to growing up.”
“I like my honky-tonk shit just fine, thank you,” They share a laugh.
Wayne will undoubtedly miss their banter, but it’s their Sundays together that weighs the most on his heart. Occasionally, the summer graces them with a few perfect days—pleasantly sunny with a stirring breeze. That weather maintained an unspoken tradition.
When little Eddie moved in, he was struggling to find his footing and hadn’t spoken much. Wayne took him to a serene lakeside spot where the water gently lapped against the shore.
He cast his line into the water in pursuit of a crappie dinner, and six-year-old Eddie gleefully played with the live bait. Over the years, their dynamic remained largely unchanged. Wayne watched his bobber from the swaying dock while Eddie kicked back in a folding lawn chair. It was simple father-son time that didn’t cost more than an afternoon or two. As of now, those days are over.
“You sure you’re gonna be alright without me, old man?”
Wayne shrugs and shoves his hands into his front pockets. “I suppose I’ll manage one way or another.”
“Take care of yourself,” Eddie says firmly.
“Will do. Oof-” Wayne chuckles when he’s abruptly hugged. He smooths over the back of Eddie’s head with his calloused palm.
The men hold onto one another, their unspoken sentiments conveyed in the silent embrace. They exchange a pat on the back before parting.
Wayne’s eyes follow his nephew as he closes the rear doors and makes his way toward the front of the van. “Eddie, one last thing. Remember to take your chances while ya got 'em and strike while the iron’s hot. Don’t let nothin’ pass ya by.”
Offering a firm salute, Eddie hops up and settles into the driver’s seat.
With Hawkins in the rearview mirror, Eddie sets off. Chicago may not be the sprawling metropolises of New York or Los Angeles, but it’s a world apart from his hometown.
It’s far enough away to provide a much-needed change of scenery, yet close enough that he can move back home if things go to shit.
The drive goes smoothly overall with a couple of instances of getting turned around. By the time Eddie is finished with the long hours on the road, he’s bone-weary.
His new place may not be the epitome of luxury, but it’s a roof over his head and that’s all that matters. After lugging his things to the fourth floor, Eddie can finally consider himself moved in. His apartment lacks furniture and decor, but it’s a space he can call his own.
The throbbing of an unbearable intensity plagues his thighs, a fiery reminder of the multiple flights of stairs conquered. He collapses onto his twin mattress and emits a low groan. The sound bounces off the bare walls and echoes through the studio apartment.
Eddie starts noticing the difference in sounds around him. Gone are the barking dogs and tires rolling over gravel. His fridge hums like the one in the trailer, which is nice, but it’s not remotely loud enough to drown out the argument happening in the unit above his.
When the noise finally subsides, he hopes to catch up on some much-needed sleep. But just a few minutes later, the ruckus rekindles. In a bid for tranquility, Eddie clutches his pillow to his ears to block out the animalistic makeup sex seeping through his ceiling.
He’s praying that the man is a two-pump chump because this is a lot for a first night. Hell, it’s too much for any night.
In a matter of days, Eddie has already encountered a series of issues. Whenever he tries to use hot water, his shower head screeches like a banshee. And the upstairs neighbors? They wear bricks for shoes and have a hoedown at 2 a.m. on a nightly basis; that is, if they’re not at each other’s throats.
Job hunting has been fruitless. The gas stations, car washes, and tobacco shops turned him down for the same reason: no documented experience. This means that he’s going to be stuck with the makeshift bed frame he came with for a while, which is just wooden planks zip-tied together. He’s not sure how long it’ll be able to withstand his tossing and turning.
There’s good news, though. Eddie refused to succumb to defeat. Today, he strolled past a tattoo parlor and impulsively checked it out. When he approached the counter, Eddie was met by an imposing man with a rather unwelcoming demeanor. In spite of feeling a bit intimidated, he greeted the man warmly.
As expected, the shop owner Cliff, did not reciprocate. When Eddie inquired about job openings, Cliff promptly replied with a curt “no.” Eddie’s tone grew desperate and he nearly pleaded. Cliff became irritated and offered a non-existent custodial position just to get Eddie to shut up and leave.
Currently sprawled on the rickety mattress, Eddie holds Mr. Pickles in the air and looks up at him. His trusty plushie is a bit worse for wear, having had his seams sutured with crimson battle vest thread.
“We’re doing it, buddy. We’re finally doing it.”
Shortly after moving in with his uncle, he had trouble falling asleep in the unfamiliar trailer. Wayne, hoping to provide comfort, gifted Eddie the stuffed bunny. It swiftly became a treasured part of his life, symbolizing safety and support—two things he hadn’t received much of up to that point.
The floppy-eared companion got its name from Wayne’s favorite snack. Whenever his uncle would pop the lid on a fresh jar of pickles, young Eddie would erupt into a fit of laughter. He insisted that Wayne was going to transform into a pickle due to how fast he blows through a jar.
In his twenties now, Eddie still cuddles with Mr. Pickles every night. If his pal could talk, he’d tell him how proud he is. Eddie rolls onto his side and nuzzles the bunny’s worn fur. That smile lingers on his face while he drifts off to sleep, now with a sense of hope for the days ahead.
The time has come. Eddie has worn through his entire wardrobe and needs to make a trip to the laundromat. Having a washer in the trailer was something he didn’t fully appreciate until now.
Taking a quick look around his apartment, Eddie spots a cardboard box that’ll suffice in lieu of a laundry basket. He fills the box with the scattered clothes from the floor, slips on his sneakers, and makes his way out onto the street.
Nestled in the heart of his neighborhood, Eddie arrives at his destination. The air carries an overwhelming fresh scent of detergent. It’s not bustling by any means; there are only a handful of people here.
Compared to those who are well-versed in their routine, Eddie feels out of place. He chooses an available machine and plops his box of dirty clothes on the counter behind him. He inspects the front-loading washer, not versed in its functions and operation. Eddie goes to open the machine’s door but it refuses to yield.
His patience wanes with each futile tug. Just as frustration peaks, a sudden realization dawns on him, prompting a blush to sweep across his cheeks. There’s a lock hidden on the flip side of the handle.
With the press of his thumb, the lock disengages and the door screeches open. Hot under the collar, Eddie hastily scoops up his clothes and stuffs them into the damp drum. He slams the door shut with a mechanical click, the sound signaling the lock relatching.
This place lacks helpful signage, to say the least. The only one here displays the cost of running a cycle, but there’s nothing to guide newcomers through the process.
Eddie pulls out his wallet to retrieve a few quarters. After inserting them, he figures out the detergent tray without much trouble. But as Eddie presses the START button repeatedly, increasing his force with each press, the machine stubbornly refuses to respond.
“You have to choose a setting.”
Eddie jumps at the sound of your voice, his brows arched and mouth hanging open. “Huh?”
You walk over from the adjacent wall of driers a few feet away. “It won’t start unless you select a wash setting first.”
He looks at you like a deer-in-the-headlights, so you step in and set the machine to delicate for him. The washer springs to life and water begins to fill the drum.
“Ah, that makes sense,” Eddie says while rubbing the back of his neck. “These are so different from the one I had back home.”
“Where’s home?” You ask, resuming your task of folding your clean laundry on the nearby counter.
Eddie is visibly taken aback by your continued engagement. “A town in Indiana that you’ve definitely never heard of,” He starts to fidget with the detergent jug’s cap, though it’s already sealed.
Suddenly, Eddie feels self-conscious about his appearance. Talking to a cute girl wasn’t on the agenda today, he didn’t dress for this. He regrets choosing function over fashion; his denim shorts are an old pair of Wayne’s jeans that he cropped to wear while mowing lawns. The raw hems are messily frayed and the light blue is darkened with grass stains.
“Indiana, huh? You’re a ways from home then. What brings you to The Windy City?”
Eddie’s attention lands on your pile of clothes, subtly assessing your wardrobe choices. “Uh- just needed a change of pace, I guess.”
“Chasing the dream, right? Figured Chicago had more to offer?” You peek at him, catching his stare fixed on a pair of underwear at the top of the pile—a standard white cotton panty, nothing worth ogling.
“Yeah,” Eddie agrees, his posture stiffening when you make eye contact. He swallows hard, averts his gaze, and shifts his weight between the balls of his feet. “Something like that.”
“Did you bring your band with you?” You take the undergarment in question and fold it, seemingly unfazed.
As you move the folded pile into your laundry basket, his clothes start thumping inside the machine, causing suds to splash against the glass window.
Eddie’s brows knit together. “How’d you know I have a band?”
“You’ve got the look,” You remark as your eyes travel over him.
He leans back against the counter and crosses his arms. “Is that so? Do enlighten me, what’s the dead giveaway?”
“Your hair,” You suggest charmingly.
Eddie swishes his brunette curls like a lady in a shampoo commercial. “Too predictable?”
“I’d say it’s on brand. Let me guess, Slayer? Maybe a little Dio or Megadeth?”
Eddie narrows his eyes at you before looking down at his shoes. “Jesus Christ, you’re reading me like a goddamn book.”
You cock your head to the side, playfulness tugging at your lips. “And if I were to look for this book in a store, what name might I find it under?”
“Eddie,” He lets his arms fall to his sides. When you tell him your name, it bounces around in his head. How pretty, he thinks.
After lifting your full laundry basket, you step away from the counter. “Good luck with the dryers. Oh, and just a heads up, those doors lock too. Don’t go yankin’ the handle off unless you’re looking to take home a souvenir,” You giggle to yourself as you walk out of the laundromat.
Eddie’s mouth hangs open while he watches you leave. Once you’re gone, his attention drifts to the nearby bulletin board. Among the various flyers, one advertises an open mic night. He decides that he’ll check it out sometime this week.
At Double Barrel Bar, Eddie is swallowed by a sea of mainstream nonconformity. The bar-goers are dressed similarly to him, and while the crowd is mostly younger people, they’re still a touch older than him.
A symphony of clinking glasses and animated chatter collides with the thunderous live metal music. The dense haze of tobacco smoke and the distant clatter of pool balls only enrich the ambiance. The walls are adorned with framed music memorabilia and band posters, a mix of global icons and local talents.
Eddie is enveloped with nostalgia. This place reminds him of the gigs he used to play with Corroded Coffin, although they never played for an audience this size. Staring at the stage, he questions whether he could engage such a crowd and persuade them that he’s worth listening to.
Between two other men at the bar, Eddie takes a seat.
Lee, the bartender, greets him. “What can I get ya?”
Eddie shrugs and hooks his sneakers beneath the rung of the stool. “I'll take a cold one, whatever's cheapest.”
“You got it. Bottle or tap?” Lee wipes his hands on the white rag draped over his shoulder.
“Bottle is fine.”
Lee retrieves a bottle of beer and deftly pops the cap before sliding it over to Eddie.
His fingers curl around the icy glass, the condensation cool to the touch. Eddie’s plump lips wrap around the bottle’s rim and he takes his first sip. The crisp liquid trickles down his throat, offering a short-lived remedy for the stuffiness of the room.
As Lee tends to another patron, Eddie fidgets in his seat, causing the flier in his back pocket to crinkle. “So, you host an open mic?”
“Yeah, Thursday through Sunday. Are you any good?” Lee asks.
Eddie flips his guitar pick necklace between his fingers. “I like to think so. I guess you’d have to ask the ants in my kitchen, they’re the closest thing I've had to an audience lately.”
Lee snorts. “I've got a good feeling about you, I’m gonna reserve a spot.”
“Oh, uh- you don't have to do that.”
Lee waves his hand in dismissal and gathers the abandoned glassware from the now-empty seat beside Eddie. “No pressure, just swing by on Thursday if you’re interested.”
The opportunity intrigues Eddie, but performing alone is uncharted territory. Contemplating the offer, Eddie grapples with a cloud of self-doubt looming over his decision.
It’s been two months, and his routine is now established. Each day brings progress and a sense of reward, even though there have been occasional hiccups along the way.
Surviving the sweltering summer with a broken AC was sheer hell. He found himself spending ample time nude in his apartment or standing in front of the open freezer compartment of the refrigerator; sometimes simultaneously. Fortunately, September has arrived, and the temperature has begun to wind down.
Managing expenses requires a frugal approach, given the modest pay from his custodial job. Eddie resorts to taking power showers and using candles to keep his utility bill low.
Sometimes he forgoes meals to keep an extra couple of bucks on hand. But when he does eat, he opts for saltine crackers slathered in butter, bologna sandwiches, canned soups, and plain noodles. Occasionally he treats himself to store-bought pasta sauce, though it’s still the saddest spaghetti known to man.
Eddie faces skepticism from the seasoned artists at the tattoo shop, all military veterans who view him as an arrogant kid. Their perception fuels his determination to prove himself. To earn their respect, he’s dedicated to cleaning more thoroughly than he ever has in his life.
He’s become keenly observant, absorbing every detail of the professional tattooing process, despite never being included in those conversations. Within the circle of artists—Ace, Lunchbox, and Dozer—Eddie gravitates toward Ace, who becomes a mentor. Seeing Eddie’s genuine enthusiasm, Ace asks about his drawing abilities.
Although Eddie’s sketchbook is brimming with fantastical creatures, Ace can recognize a young man’s raw ambition and desire for direction and purpose. He takes Eddie under his wing, allowing him to learn the medium while on the clock.
After taking Lee up on his offer, Eddie found himself on stage every Thursday night. His performances were rusty, as he hadn’t played in front of anyone since before he was working his ass off to get here.
As he strummed through the jitters, Eddie rediscovered the sanctuary that music had always offered. It felt like a part of him had resurrected, reviving the passion he sorely missed.
Playing Thursday nights may not rake in tips like the weekends would, but he’ll take what he can get. Eddie’s been saving up for some pre-owned furniture, and he’s happy to snag any extra cash he can for it.
Life is good right now. The worry about moving back home has lessened, and he’s genuinely amazed at how smoothly things are going. Just when Eddie thought things couldn’t get any better, a Saturday night slot opened up at the bar.
It would be twice as busy, packed from wall to wall with people who could bare witness to him fucking up. Doubt crept its way in, but when Lee mentioned that Eddie could pocket thirty-five bucks or more by the night’s end, it was a no-brainer.
Tonight marks his debut Saturday gig. Stepping through the red brick archway and out onto the stage, the creak of the rustic boards beneath his feet sends a ripple up his legs. Eddie hasn’t even made it to the mic and he’s already forgotten what foot he’s supposed to be stepping with next.
Beneath his t-shirt, his back grows slick. A lump lodges itself in Eddie’s throat, causing his voice to crack when he introduces himself to the room. Amidst the overlapping conversations and the flushing from the nearby restroom, the amassed noise seems muffled. The strong winds in his head distort the sounds, whirling like a twister.
Eddie hooks his guitar up to the amp and forces himself to take a deep breath. As he tunes his instrument, the upheaval begins to settle. Gradually, Eddie finds unity with his guitar and concentrates on perfecting the tone.
Throughout the performance, there’s a persistent undertow of nerves refusing to fully subside. In spite of his efforts to lose himself in the music, his fingers occasionally falter as they dance on the strings.
At the end of his set, Lee can be heard whooping and hollering over the sparse clapping. With a sense of relief, Eddie packs up and makes a beeline for the bar, eager to ease the adrenaline coursing through his veins. Normally, the rush is akin to a high, but this time around it’s so intense that he’s dying to dial it back a notch.
He splurges and orders something a bit fancier than his usual bland beer. Why not celebrate a little? Eddie claims a recently vacated table in the bustling crowd, seating himself on the leather stool adorned with studs. His eyes roam the room while he takes a swig of his drink, savoring the superior crisp taste.
His attention zeroes in on a figure just feet away, a quick recognition igniting in his mind. Eddie recognizes you instantly, due to the scarcity of memorable encounters he’s had.
Eddie observes from afar, observing your mannerisms as you execute your waitressing duties. You must only work weekends, which would explain why your paths haven’t crossed again until now. When your eyes meet his, a shock shoots through his body.
He sits in rapt anticipation as you make your way over. Time seems to stretch unbearably from your previous spot until you finally stand opposite of him, separated only by the circular wooden table.
A courteous smile graces your face—a skill that waitresses must master if they want to pay rent. “Ready for another?”
Eddie stares back at you. His eyes drift down to the almost full beer bottle in his hand. The cogs in his skull are scraping, unable to put the words you’ve said to him in a comprehensive order. He nods without making a peep.
You pivot to leave, but then turn back to him and lift a brow at his unaltered dumbstruck expression. “Are you sure? ‘Cause you don’t look it.”
He remains silent and shakes his head sheepishly, feeling foolish for agreeing to another beer and then changing his mind just because you asked again. Is there more dignity in being indecisive than a bumbling mess?
“You were just singing up there for nearly an hour,” you call him out, folding your arms and tucking your serving tray against your side. “I know you can talk.”
Eddie clears his throat, but he ends up making an odd sound. “Uh, my throat’s a bit sore, that’s all.”
“Did you forget to do your vocal warm-ups or what?”
“It probably sounded like I did,” Eddie laughs, the self-deprecation evident.
“Not at all, I thought you were great.”
“You did?” Eddie’s lips curl at your compliment. Heat blooms on his cheeks, amplifying the full-body perspiration. He takes a casual sip from his beer, a guise to moisten his dry mouth and escape your intimidating gaze.
“Totally, you really come alive when you’re up there,” you rest your forearms on the table’s edge. “Is it just Eddie, or do you go by a stage name?”
No way. There’s no fucking way that you remember him, his face is so forgettable it’s not even funny. Lee had to have said something about who was filling the Saturday night spot. Eddie is inwardly thrilled to hear his name roll off of your tongue, but he tries to maintain his composure. “I suppose not, I guess I never thought about it.”
“You could pull it off, it suits the whole ‘one-man show’ thing you’ve got going on,” You say while giving him a once-over. The intrigue on your face is unwavering as you walk away.
He’s drunk, he has to be. Or maybe his drink was spiked somehow. The room is spinning and he feels nauseous as all hell, despite only having taken a few swigs from his beer.
A short while later, Eddie’s bottle is half-empty as he sits, continuously replaying the moment in his mind. More specifically, he can’t stop thinking about the sparkle in your eyes; he’s never seen anything like it.
He snaps back from his daydream at the sight of your return, this time with an unopened beer in hand. Eddie looks nothing short of puzzled as you slide it across the table toward him. “Uh, no thanks, I’m-”
“Relax, it���s not for you. I’ll be clocking out in six minutes. I wanna hear more about that small town of yours. I mean, as long as that’s okay with you. I understand if you have other plans tonight.”
“No!” Eddie exclaims. “I mean, yes it’s more than okay, and no, I don’t have anywhere to be.”
You glance downward while scuffing your shoe against the floor. “Okay, cool. Keep it cold for me then?”
“Yeah, for sure. You can count on me.”
Shit shit shit. How is he going to keep this beer cold? Of course, ways to heat it flood his mind. If you come back to a lukewarm beer, that’ll be the end of him. He’s going to fuck this up and any chance of getting to know you will be squashed.
When you join him again, your drink is still cold and the bottle has left a ring of moisture on the paper coaster. Eddie’s unsure of how he managed to not lose it; if he’s capable of anything, it’s misplacing something when his only responsibility is to keep it in his possession.
As you slide onto the stool beside him, you’re quick to inquire. You ask him typical ice-breaker questions at first, and Eddie responds with a plethora of details. At times, he goes off on tangents. You don’t appear bothered by it.
Eddie talks about his ability to learn how to play songs by ear, and he delves into the intricacies of his favorite Dungeons & Dragons campaigns that he’s created over the years. He earnestly tries to convey its depth to you and throughout his ramblings, he doesn’t miss the concentrated look on your face as you try to keep up.
Lee is nearing the end of his cleaning routine and the other waitresses have left for the night. Neither of you is aware that the bar is devoid of a crowd, scorching lights, and blaring music.
Eddie has been too busy asking you about your origins and passions, his wide eyes and attentive demeanor affirming his genuine interest. Just as he mentions working at the shop and you’ve asked him how many tattoos he has, you’re interrupted.
Lee stands beside the table, armed with a damp rag and a spray bottle. “Awfully hard to wipe the seats when your asses are still on them. Scoot your booch,” Lee instructs by motioning toward the entrance.
Eddie doesn’t hesitate to slip off his stool. You, on the other hand, take your sweet time.
“Have a good night,” You say and give Lee’s shoulder a friendly pat.
Uncertain of his next move, Eddie hesitates while you make your way to an unmarked door. It’s half past two in the morning, and he feels a tug of concern about you leaving by yourself.
There’s a very good chance that you’d consider him clingy or intrusive if he waits here. Eddie opts to stand outside. He props himself against the building and idly nudges a loose chunk of concrete with his shoe to keep himself occupied. Soon after, you emerge into the night.
The slam of the heavy door prompts him to straighten up. “Hey.”
“Oh, I thought you left,” you admit and adjust your purse strap on your shoulder. “Thanks for telling me about Hawkins the Hell Hole.”
“The pleasure was all mine. Do you, uh…” Eddie inches forward, his Reeboks scraping loudly on the pavement. “Would you like me to walk you home? It’s pretty late.”
“I don’t live far, it’s just a few blocks.’
“Okay, I guess I’ll see you around then?”
Your eyes twinkle brighter than he’d previously seen. “I’d say the odds are in your favor.”
“Goodnight. Get home safe,” He says with a half-hearted bow.
“Likewise,” You reply, biting back a giggle.
Eddie watches you fade into the darkness along the unlit patches of sidewalk. Once you’ve turned the corner, Eddie smiles from the surreal sensation of floating on clouds.
In this moment, the feeling of joy is so potent that it’s borderline palpable. He’s the embodiment of elation, a soul soaring high. It’s a feeling he wishes he could bottle up and carry with him forever.
The next Saturday plays out much like the previous one, save for one detail: it’s considerably tougher to concentrate on stage knowing who’s in the audience. Post-performance, the routine echoes that of the prior week. The two of you gravitate toward the same table as before, establishing it as the one you’ll always sit at.
At first, a hesitation lingers before diving into more personal topics. However, as the night progresses and more beers are consumed, you seamlessly fall into them. Eddie weaves elements of drama and romanticism into his past, making it utterly engrossing for you to listen to.
When you propose getting together outside of the confines of the bar for the first time, Eddie eagerly accepts your invitation to show him around since he has yet to do any sightseeing.
Eddie is swept up in an exuberant wave of boyish excitement, and it’s unlike anything he’s ever felt. He never experienced it during his teenage years like the average person. The sheer thrill of having an instant connection with a girl is an entirely new feeling for him.
Week after week, your laundry days are synchronized and you’ve started the habit of making silly faces or giving each other the finger just because. During the late nights spent together at Dove’s Diner, Eddie finds enjoyment in seeing you eat. It’s a peculiar fascination, but it makes him happy. Seeing you completely at ease while enjoying greasy food is endearing to him.
When he arrived in Chicago, Eddie couldn’t shake the feeling of not wanting to move back to Hawkins. Even so, he wasn’t experiencing the same comfort here as he did in that cramped trailer.
There was a longing for familiarity that he had in his old surroundings. Eddie didn’t want to have to go back home in order to feel that sense of belonging again. He had his doubts about ever truly adjusting to life here until you came along. In your company, the foreignness of the city fades away, replaced by that feeling he’s been missing.
Several times, he’s been working in his sketchbook, adding to the pin-up style figures and faces that bear a striking resemblance to you. While engrossed in drawing, he hadn’t picked up on the similarities. But when he absentmindedly drew a simple heart, that's when it occurred to him.
Eddie like-likes you.
As your shift comes to an end, you head to the back room to gather your belongings. Eddie stands idly at your claimed table, picking at his hangnails while he waits.
“When’re you gonna ask her out?” Lee asks while tidying up nearby.
Eddie laughs heartily at the idea. “How about never.”
“You should. I can tell she’s into you.”
“Yeah, right. I don’t stand a chance.”
Lee puts down his spray bottle and looks at Eddie. “Listen, I’ve known her for a while now. Trust me on this,” he dumps a used ashtray out into a trash bag.
Eddie emits a noise of disbelief, his mind flickering back to the painful lesson he learned in his youth—he’s no one's type. Lost in reflection, he doesn’t realize you’ve returned with your sweatshirt draped over your bent arm.
Despite the tiring evening, you're upbeat in his presence. “Okay, I’m ready! I was thinking we could get some takeout and watch TV at my place.”
“Sure, I could eat,” Eddie says with a grin. Lee is shaking his head, looking particularly smug.
Your apartment is the polar opposite of Eddie’s, the difference is like day and night. It has a homey atmosphere and there’s a notable absence of wear and tear. He does have band posters, framed personal photos, and furniture, but they fail to create the same inviting ambiance that your apartment effortlessly exudes.
Seated beside Eddie on your couch, you tease him. “You’re terrible at this.”
“I’m trying!” He attempts to mimic your technique, but the piece of chicken repeatedly falls from his chopsticks.
“I can see that,” you stifle a laugh. “And you’re total shit at it.”
Out of frustration, Eddie impales his sweet and sour chicken with both sticks.
Glancing your way, he catches you smiling ear to ear, watching him. Eddie smiles back as he chews. “What? This way works just as well.”
You laugh and refocus your on the TV while resuming your meal. Eddie swears that you’re sitting closer to him than when you first sat down. Your thigh is almost touching his and your shoulder is just as close.
The paranoia subsides as he gets lost in thinking about how he can feel the heat radiating off of your bare thigh. But Eddie’s pulled back to reality when your chopsticks cut across his vision and dig into his takeout box.
He doesn’t mind, not really; sharing is caring. Having said that, when you lean over to look into the box, your shoulder bumps against his. A particularly appreciative sound escapes your lips, one that’s borderline pornographic.
“That’s really good, I’ll have to get some next time,” you hum and place your takeout box on the coffee table. “Or I could just keep stealing yours, it tastes better that way.”
Eddie is frozen, eyes unblinking. As you return to your spot on the sofa, you’re unquestionably closer this time. Your beautiful skin is on display in those shorts of yours and your bare thigh is brushing against his own. He could choke on air right now if he were still breathing.
You look over at him, your brow furrowed. “You good?”
“Yeah, yep. All good,” Eddie avoids making eye contact and stares blankly ahead. “Peachy keen.”
“Okay, weirdo,” you brush off his abrupt awkwardness and scoot toward the edge of the cushion. After gathering your trash, you look at him. “All finished?”
“Mhm,” He replies weakly and extends his box toward you.
With your arms full, you head into the kitchen, leaving him by his lonesome in the living room.
Eddie releases a heavy sigh and drags his hands down his face. Your absence allows him to reenter his body, but it only makes him keenly aware of his not-so-subtle half hard-on that’s outlined through the thin fabric of his shorts.
His eyes widen in alarm and panic takes over. “Shit!” Frantically brainstorming ways to conceal it, Eddie spots a fuzzy blanket at the far end of the couch and he retrieves it, draping it over his lap. While he tries to make himself look as casual as possible, he catches a glimpse of your approaching shadow just before the kitchen light is switched off.
In the few seconds he has left, Eddie tries out various hand placements, but none feel quite right. Every position feels forced and conspicuous.
As you stride back to the couch, your sweet expression eases some of the tension in his bones. “I got a bit chilly,” Eddie blurts out, hoping to preempt any impending questioning. “Is it okay if I use this?”
“No, I’m totally gonna tell you that you can’t use a blanket for its sole purpose.”
Eddie laughs nervously, “Alright, alright.”
This is arguably worse, being wrapped in your scent. It’s awfully hard not to get any harder when your natural smell is flooding his head. It’s intoxicating, and he finds himself inhaling deeply to capture as much of it as he can.
“What’d I miss?” You ask while plopping back down beside him.
The continuous movement causes Eddie to clench his back molars together because an image surges before he can even think to suppress it. He’d bet all the money he has that you’d look stunning on top of him. There’s fantasy looming alongside the image; Eddie wonders what you look like beneath your clothes.
“Nothing, you didn’t miss anything,” He mutters. When you start to squirm against the back of the couch, Eddie shoots you a questioning look. “You got ants in your pants?”
You huff, “No, there’s an itchy spot on my back. Could you scratch it for me, please? It’s driving me nuts.”
“Oh, um, sure,” Eddie fumbles for words as you angle yourself and present your back to him. “Where is it?”
“Right between my shoulder blades.”
Eddie’s eyes zero in on the outline of your bra strap that’s visible through your shirt across your back. Given his luck, that would be the target. Just to be cautious, he starts by scratching at the higher middle part of your back.
“A little lower.”
Eddie swallows hard as his fingers tentatively inch their way down. His belly begins to swirl the closer he gets to the clasp, but thankfully, you stop him just before he reaches it.
“Right there! Yeah, harder.”
If this goes on too much longer, Eddie could very well pass out. But, per your request, he applies more pressure. Beneath the blanket, the discomfort has only intensified—his arousal is now raging with a persistent ache.
“Oh my god, finally,” You say appreciatively and settle back into a more relaxed position.
The overwhelming urge to touch himself skyrockets as his body begs for friction. Eddie repositions himself to adjust the blanket, hoping to keep his erection concealed. From the corner of his eye, his gaze drifts along your figure, pausing at the rise and fall of your diaphragm as you watch TV.
A jagged breath falls from his lips, but he’s determined to clear his mind. Realizing that he can’t leave here tonight with your blanket as a shield, he has to find a way to distract himself by the end of this program.
Miraculously, he survived. Now lying in his bed, Eddie is surrounded by the darkness, save for the glow of the moon and the faint residual light from the streetlamps filtering through the broken blinds. Eddie stares up at the ceiling while his mostly naked body responds to the vivid recollections swarming his train of thought.
On any ordinary day, Eddie would resort to the routine of using his hand and lotion to relieve himself. Be that as it may, the stirring in his core demands a different sensation.
With the thought of you weighing heavily on his mind, there’s an alternative means by which he’s going to alleviate the frustration and desire that’s grown too loud to ignore. Eddie, already shirtless, yanks his boxers off in a swift motion and kicks them off carelessly. Moving onto his knees, he leans over the edge of his bed and retrieves a pillow from the floor.
He sits back on his heels in the middle of his bed and contorts the stuffing with intent. For a moment, he’s not sure how he wants to use it. His body’s impatience grows, causing his erection to bob expectantly.
Eddie licks his lips in anticipation and sets the bent pillow down with the bend facing him. With one hand, he firmly holds the makeshift toy in place. With his other, he strokes himself languidly, blotting the fabric of the pillowcase with precum as he taps his cock against it repeatedly.
Experimentally, Eddie rolls his hips downward, thrusting the sensitive underside of his length against the smooth material. His eyes fall closed, and he can’t seem to pick just one aspect of you to fantasize about, not when every inch of you is so captivating. Eddie grunts, “Yeah, you like that?”
He adjusts his hips, angling them lower to get more friction. The heat blooming causes Eddie’s jaw to go slack. The usual five or six minutes have been halved as the thought of your smile makes Eddie embarrassingly close already.
Wanting to get in a few more thrusts before he’s spent, Eddie pistons himself against the pillow. “Tell me how badly you want me, I wanna hear you say it.”
With one fist continuing to pin the pillow down against the mattress, Eddie trails his other hand up his pale, slender stomach. He digs his gnawed-down nails into his skin, leaving red streaks behind, as he tries to imagine it as your touch. Eddie doesn’t know what it would feel like if it wasn’t his hand, but the thought of you is more than enough.
Devoid of any visual aid, the absence of a magazine or porno tape isn’t hindering him. Typically, when Eddie only has his imagination to utilize, he can beat off without finishing until he eventually gets bored and gives up.
This time it’s different. As his thoughts run wild, Eddie’s rhythm falters. The bed frame squeaks, and the wood shifts while he thrusts as hard as he can.
“Uhhh,” A coarse moan pours from his throat as his cum shoots onto the pillow. Eddie’s thrusts slow to a stop and he pants. The tension in his abdomen gradually subsides as he floats his way back down to earth.
His eyes flutter open, and he’s faced with the mess he made. “Fuckin’ hell,” With a sigh, Eddie decides that he’ll deal with it tomorrow.
After changing into fresh boxers, he chugs down a glass of tap water. Utterly exhausted, Eddie collapses back onto his bed. The aged frame creaks in protest to his abrupt flop. The intensity has been burned away, and what lingers is rawness.
Here’s the thing, Eddie has a way with words, and his unconventional charm comes without a second thought. But conveying himself physically is a different story. His upbringing lacked affection, and consequently, Eddie was robbed of particular milestones. Among those missed moments was sitting on the grass beneath a starry night sky on summer night.
Eddie never got to pluck the green blades from the ground as he gathered the courage to have his first kiss. He hasn’t so much as held someone’s hand before.
With Mr. Pickles tucked under his chin, a wave washes over his heart, wading him further into the tide of ache. Eddie may be inexperienced but he’s not stupid. He’s picking up what you’re putting down. Your persistent hints practically scream at him to make a move.
But your persistence only worsens the anxiety because Eddie’s not sure that he can take the leap like you want him to. It’s not that he doesn’t want you, that couldn’t be further from the truth. It’s uncertainty about what to do if he gets to be with you.
Eddie’s drawn to you, his poor pillow could tell you that much. This isn’t the first night he’s spent laying here trying to talk some sense into himself. When he practices being smooth instead of awkward, Eddie struggles to navigate through the hypothetical scenarios that he’s in complete control of.
If his bedroom walls could speak, they’d tell of those nights. But after the sinful act he just committed, they have a hell of a lot more to say. Those bold utterances were far from who he is. It was a facade, a portrayal of a self-assured man he’ll never embody.
Talking dirty made him feel powerful in the moment because the mask allowed him to avoid facing how he truly feels about you. At his core, what Eddie craves is to baby you, he wants to show you that he can be sensitive. He’d die on the spot to see you in a state of delight from being showered with adoration.
Eddie closes his eyes and envisions a world where he can be what you want. He’d never be oblivious to having food in his teeth, and he’d never push a door that should be pulled. This false reality is one where he doesn’t disappoint you by shying away from your advances. It’s unrealistic, he’s just not wired that way.
During his younger years, Eddie endured the worst of taunting. The other kids mocked his short frizzy curls by referring to it as a “rat’s nest.” They told him that he’d resemble a troll until his dying days. It was ingrained into him that he was unworthy of any form of love—be it familial, platonic, or romantic. The remarks made about Eddie’s prominent nose convinced him that he was a walking safety hazard and he’d poke someone’s eye out if he ever dared to kiss them.
In the seventh grade, Eddie hit a breaking point. He was fed up with having chewing gum put into his curls. There are too many times to count where Wayne sat for hours with a jar of peanut butter, attempting to free the cemented wads from his nephew’s locks. One day, Eddie stood in front of the mirror in the cramped bathroom and cried at the discovery of another bright pink clump of gum tangled in his hair.
It may have been just one piece at that time, but it was the final straw. Out of desperation, Eddie did the only thing he felt would solve the problem for good. By taking matters into his own hands, he used the clippers to give himself a buzz-cut. As chestnut-colored locks cascaded down, settling atop the sink and his feet, the damage was done.
Wayne lent a hand in handling the patchy spots in the back of Eddie’s head that he couldn’t quite reach. The impromptu solution worked as he’d hoped, but it only opened the door to different torment.
The following school day, his classmates didn’t hold back, likening his appearance to that of an inmate waiting to meet Old Sparky, or cruelly suggesting that he resembles his imprisoned father.
Eddie quickly came to understand that he was never going to be the guy girls wished would ask them to the dance. The scars of rejection were etched into his self-esteem, and since then, he’s come to terms with his inadequacy.
Perhaps you’re interested in Eddie because there are still things you don’t know about him. Surely, once you learn how unworthy he is, you’ll laugh in his face just as the others did.
Tonight he’s shielded from the nightlife commotion inside his van, parked along the curb outside your apartment. He sits patiently, watching the pine tree-shaped air freshener gently sway with the feeble push of air from the AC vents.
It’s Friday night, and there’s nothing he’d rather do than spend it with you. Eddie directs his attention toward your building as you descend the steps of your apartment’s stoop.
Eddie detects the effort, even from afar. Your shoes look new and you’re wearing more makeup than he’s used to seeing you in. These differences have him pondering the significance behind the deliberate choices.
When Eddie casually suggested catching a movie a few days ago, he hadn’t thought much of it. To him, it was merely something you hadn't done together. He didn’t think twice when you got so excited about seeing a late-night showing of Die Hard.
It’s dawning on him that it wasn’t because you’re a big Bruce Willis fan. The reason you’re all gussied up is because this is a date. He asked you out on a date.
This is not a problem, per se. Eddie’s thrilled about going on his very first date, but fear also has him in a chokehold because he’s unprepared.
Wayne never took the time to give his nephew the lowdown on dating. It didn’t come up because Eddie never displayed interest or curiosity about it.
He’s at a loss. Eddie doesn’t know how to carry himself, he doesn’t have a clue about what’s considered proper etiquette beyond what he’s seen on TV and in movies. Are those even reliable sources?
As you cross the sidewalk in his direction, Eddie’s palms grow slick. It suddenly registers that he should be outside, ready to hold the car door open for you. But before he can act on this realization, you swiftly swing the door open and slip onto the passenger seat.
"Hi," You chirp, the sound almost a squeak as you close the car door behind you. You subtly adjust the bottom of your dress before securing your seatbelt.
“Hey,” Eddie’s eyes wander over your body until he finds himself admiring your bare knees.
With a jolt, his eyes snap back to your face, only for you to be watching him with a pleased expression adorning your features.
Eddie clears his throat and busies himself with turning over the ignition. “You look nice,” he scrunched his face. “Pretty! I meant to say you look pretty.”
"Thanks," you reply appreciatively and inspect your freshly painted nails to ensure they’ve withstood the indecisive wardrobe changes of the past half hour.
Throughout the brief drive, engaging in small talk grants Eddie a temporary respite from his brain being in overdrive. Determined to maintain composure, he makes a conscious effort to avoid looking your way.
Eddie successfully carries the conversation as you enter the lobby and get through the refreshments line. Luckily, you secure the last two seats at the end of a row; he’d have been mortified if the theater was oversold and there weren’t any seats left.
The first half of the movie goes as one would expect; you’re comfortably seated beside him, occasionally whispering commentary to each other. Meanwhile, Eddie shovels fistfuls of over-buttered and under-salted popcorn into his mouth, crunching away as the scenes progress on the screen before him.
But then there’s a subtle shift in your body language. He assumes that your inability to sit still might be caused by the need for a restroom break. That is until your knee gradually inches closer to his.
The film has become an afterthought as Eddie watches you place your hand on your thigh, noticeably close to his own that’s casually hanging off of the armrest. It’s impossible to differentiate the pounding pulse in his ears from the blasts of gunfire booming through the theater.
When your fingertips graze his, Eddie rips his hand away to reach for the bucket of popcorn that’s resting in the ditch of his opposite arm. “Want some?” he fails to whisper while offering the bucket to you.
The explosive flashes of red and yellow harshly illuminate your face and without a word, you shake your head and go back to the movie.
Eddie puts the bucket back where it was, and in the hopes of distracting himself from the guilty tingle in his feet, he fidgets with his wristwatch. Repeatedly, Eddie clasps and unclasps it, making the strap incredibly loose and uncomfortably tight around his wrist.
A few minutes go by and without warning, his heart stops because you unexpectedly rest your head on his shoulder.
As if struck by lightning, Eddie leaps to his feet. The motion launches the bucket of popcorn into the air, and the people in the row in front of you are showered with kernels. He's as stiff as a board as he’s confronted with mild uproar and a chorus of expletives.
Red-faced and unsure of whom to apologize to first, Eddie turns to you. “Shit! I’ll go get another one,” He doesn’t wait for your response and rushes down the stairs, practically leaping over them two at a time.
After bursting through the double doors and out into the empty hallway, Eddie brings his palm to his forehead, his other hand propped on his hip while he paces. Once he’s able to collect himself, Eddie heads toward the lobby, only to find that everything is powered down.
Eddie decides to use the little time he has to rehearse what he’ll say. There might not be anything he can do to play off his peculiar behavior; at least, nothing that he can think of at the moment.
As he shows up empty-handed, Eddie doesn’t overlook your rigid posture. Your left leg is crossed over your right, pointing away from him. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think that you’re just upset that he wasted the popcorn and didn't get more.
In your lack of questioning, Eddie feels compelled to explain himself. “Concessions were closed, so…” He gestures with upturned palms, but you don’t acknowledge that he’s spoken or come back.
Not having received a response, Eddie resorts to chewing on his thumbnail and his leg bounces in tandem. Lost in his head, he finds it increasingly difficult to focus on the remainder of the movie.
Exiting the theater and stepping out into the parking lot, Eddie’s voice lacks confidence as he walks alongside you. “What’d ya think? I give it a solid six out of ten.”
You reply with a casual shrug and wrap your arms around yourself. “It was alright.”
“How ‘bout I treat you to Dove’s? Wanna go for a bite?” Eddie suggests to salvage the remainder of the evening.
“I’ll pass. I’m not hungry,” you say curtly, taking a step ahead to open the passenger door for yourself, denying Eddie a second chance to hold it open for you.
“Oh,” Eddie begins, but his sentence is severed by the slam of the door. “Okay,” he finishes with a sigh.
During the drive back to your neighborhood, the air feels dense. The radio commercials do little to fill the space between you.
Upon the front tire nudging the curb, you get out of the van before Eddie has put it in park. He hurriedly follows suit, rushing over to catch up with you as you head toward your front steps.
“I had a good time tonight. Did you?” Eddie blurts out.
Pausing in your steps, you turn around and face him. “Yeah, I guess.”
Knowing that he’s the cause of your deflated spirit punches a pang to his chest. Eddie offers a gentle expression. “Would you wanna go again sometime? Probably best if you hold the popcorn though,” he chuckles uncomfortably.
“Night, Eddie,” You say with finality before letting yourself into your apartment.
Once you’ve gone inside, dejection overtakes Eddie’s features. “Goodnight,” he mutters to himself, biting the inside of his cheek.
Sifting through the mental archive of wisdom passed down by Wayne, Eddie desperately rummages for any guidance that could apply to his current situation.
Eddie has officially had the world’s worst date, and it very well could be the only one he’ll ever get to go on. It only hurts more that the outcome was entirely his fault.
You’re avoiding him, that much is obvious. You stopped showing up to do laundry together and while he performs, you intentionally keep your back turned to the stage.
After your Saturday shifts end, you no longer stick around to hang out with Eddie, instead choosing to leave with your fellow waitresses.
One would think that it was a tough decision, but it makes perfect sense to him. Eddie gives up playing on Saturdays to avoid crossing paths with you. He reverts to his old spot on Thursday nights.
It’s a way to protect himself while making things easier for you. He can’t fathom how repulsed you are by his presence at this point.
Eddie sits at the folding table in his living room, his feet hooked with one another. The blaring thrash metal fills the room as he meticulously drafts tattoo concepts, completely absorbed in his sketchbook.
The incessant ringing of the telephone hardly cuts through the music. Eddie ignores it for the first two rings and lets out a reluctant huff before pausing the tape and picking up the receiver.
“Hello?”
“Heyyy, can you come get me?” Your cheerful request weaves through the lively chatter and honking car horns in the background.
Not having seen you in two weeks, your voice hits him like a wall. “What for?”
“M’ready to go home.”
Eddie reads his watch and leans against the wall. “I don’t see what that has to do with me.”
“You know what, forget it. I’ll just walk home.”
“Absolutely fucking not. What bar are you at?”
“Errr, The Dugout I think.”
“Stay put, alright? Wait for me inside, I’ll be there in a few,” After hanging up, he recklessly shoves his feet into his Reeboks and snatches his car keys from the counter.
Eddie arrives, expecting you to be inside. But there you are, sitting on the curb, right where you shouldn’t be. He calls out to you and jogs over, dodging a few bar-goers on the way.
At first, you turn your head the wrong way when you hear your name called. When you spot him, you scramble upright. “You came for me!” Excitedly, you raise your hands above your head and it slightly throws off your balance.
“Holy shit, you’re plastered,” Eddie half-scoffs, half-laughs. His eyes roam your body, and he immediately takes notice of your scraped and bloodied knees. “Jesus, what happened?”
“Huh?” you ask, your drunken buoyancy unaffected by his evident concern. Following his guided point, you simply shrug. “I dunno, can’t remember.”
“You’re not here by yourself, are you?” Eddie scans the area, looking for any signs of someone accompanying you.
“Mmm... no, well yes. My girlfriends were here but they left.”
Eddie scoffs, “You’ve got some shitty friends.”
“Good thing I have you. My very own knight in shining armor is here to rescue me!”
“That tower of yours must’ve had quite the mini bar, princess,” Eddie remarks.
“Let’s go,” Eddie instructs, heading toward his van with the assumption that you’re following. Peeking over his shoulder, you’re practically tripping over your own feet.
The long strap of your purse slides off your shoulder, snags on your bent elbow, and the bag thuds against your calf.
“What am I gonna do with you, hmm?” He steps back, takes hold of your purse, and throws it over his shoulder. Then, he wraps his arm around your waist and holds you snugly to his side, determined to get you home safely by whatever means necessary. After helping you into the passenger seat, he reaches over to fasten your seatbelt. “No hurling in here, got it?”
“Yes, sir,” you salute before sitting back so that your head is supported by the headrest.
Getting you up the stairs was the hard part. He unlocks the apartment door and gently steers you toward the bathroom.
You make a feeble attempt to resist, grasping onto the door frame before finally yielding to your waning strength.
Eddie lets go of you and begins to rummage in search of supplies.
“Okay, Eddie Bear. I’m ready for my bath,” You slur, leaning against the wall for support as you start to ease yourself into the tub.
“Eddie Bear, huh? That’s new,” he snorts before glancing over. “Oh, no you don’t. C’mere,” Eddie grasps you by the waist once more, guiding you to sit on the closed toilet seat.
With both hands, he cradles your booze-warmed cheeks, unintentionally pushing your lips into a pout. “Stay put, would ya?”
Mumbling to himself, Eddie goes back to gathering the first aid supplies. “I look away for two goddamn seconds. Nothing but trouble, I swear.”
The pout doesn’t leave your face and you cross your arms with an annoyed huff. As the seconds pass, it's as though there’s elevator music playing in your head while you wait for something to happen.
Eddie crouches at your feet. “So, what’s your justification for getting shit-faced on a weeknight?” The tip of his tongue peeks out from between his lips as he begins wiping away the dried blood on your knees with a damp cloth.
“Boys are dumb, that’s why.”
“I know, aren’t they just the worst?” Eddie concurs with a hum. He stands to rinse the cloth, washes his hands, and then fully gets to his knees on the tile floor to apply ointment.
“Yeah, they are,” Your voice trails off as you look at his fingers resting firmly on your thigh, just above your knee, to prevent any inadvertent movement.
Engrossed in your own little world, you start humming an improvised tune. “Like them so much,” you sing-song to yourself.
Eddie glances up at you briefly. “What’s that?”
“Your hands,” you explain and poke each of his knuckles with your index finger. “You’ve got such nice fingies.”
“Fingies?” Eddie smiles as he secures bandages over both of your knees. He withdraws his touch from your thigh and he takes hold of your hand, turning it palm-side up.
“Mhm, the nicest.”
“Yours are nice too,” he comments as he cleans the scrape on the heel of your hand. As Eddie admires the intricate lines and wrinkles across your palm, he inadvertently brushes the cloth directly against your wound.
You make a high-pitched fuss in reaction to the sudden contact, reflexively pulling your hand away.
“Shit, sorry,” Eddie apologizes earnestly. He applies the ointment before applying a bandage. Rising to his feet, he theatrically brushes off his hands. “There, good as new.”
You reach out to him in a toddler-like manner and make grabby hands at him.
Eddie laughs and leans against the door frame. “I’m not carrying you. Brush your teeth so we can get you into bed.”
“You’re no fun,” you groan while you stand awkwardly, the bandages restricting full movement. You wet your toothbrush and squeeze toothpaste onto it, making sure to shoot a scowl at Eddie as you do.
After lackadaisically brushing your teeth, you plop the brush back into its cup. “There, squeaky clean. Happy?”
“As a clam,” Eddie says with a grin. He steps back to allow you out of the bathroom. “Go put your PJs on.”
With a dismissive wave, you drag your feet to your room and begin to dig through your dresser drawer.
Just as he’s about to start picking up after himself, he’s interrupted.
“Eddie,” You call out defeatedly.
“Yeah?” When he doesn’t receive an immediate response, he cautiously steps into the doorway of your room. There you stand, still wearing your dress.
“I can’t reach it,” You say, turning your back to him and bowing your head slightly, signaling that you need his assistance.
Eddie swallows hard and mutters under his breath, “Right, the zipper,” Stepping into the room, his hands start to tremble.
Now positioned behind you, he carefully takes hold of the small piece of metal. Despite the trembling, Eddie tries his best not to make contact with your skin as it’s revealed by the descending zipper.
Dizziness consumes him as his eyes flit between your shoulder blades. Once your dress is completely unzipped, Eddie takes a significant step backward, putting distance between the two of you. “Is that all you need?”
You return to sifting through your pajama options. “I think so.”
Eddie retreats to the bathroom. The image of your bare back is seared into his memory, he’s just gonna have to live with it etched into his mind forever.
After regaining his composure, he locates some aspirin and fills a drinking glass with water. “Are you decent?” Eddie asks hesitantly, not daring to step closer to the threshold without receiving confirmation.
“Uh huh,” You mumble, flopping onto your bed and committing to the first position you land in.
Holding the cup of water and two tablets of pain relief, Eddie re-enters your bedroom. He finds you sprawled and droopy-eyed lying on your back.
Eddie’s chunky metal rings clink against the glass when he sets it down on your nightstand. “I think you’ll appreciate this little visit from the aspirin fairy come morning. You’re gonna feel like shit.”
“Okay,” you murmur, your attention glued to how his strong nose casts a shadow on his cheek in the glow of your bedside lamp. Flipping onto your side facing the door, you yawn and stretch your toes.
Eddie gathers the jumbled blanket from the other side of the bed and drapes it over you, covering you up to your shoulders with care.
Although he wants to, he refrains from tucking you in, concerned that you might trip or get more hurt if you need to get up. “Well, goodnight.”
Just as Eddie turns to leave, your weak grasp seizes his hand before he’s out of reach. It stops him in his tracks, and his gaze follows the path from your joined hands, tracing up your arm until his eyes meet yours.
Fighting to keep your eyes open, you’re teetering on the edge of consciousness. “I don’t want you to go.”
He returns without needing any further invitation and sits on the edge of the bed by your belly. Releasing his hand, you rub your eye before tucking your fist beside your head.
Looking down at you affectionately, a grin graces Eddie’s face. He watches as your eyelids flutter closed, and your breathing becomes slow and steady. “Such a sleepy girl.”
With your eyes cemented closed, you adjust your head on the pillow before drifting off to sleep. Eddie stays put for a minute or two, simply admiring you. He’s never seen something so precious.
His heartbeat rattles his ribs, just as it did the first time he saw you waitressing at Double Barrel. That static-like tingling plagues his extremities as an old thought resurfaces. In those conversations where you shared your life stories, Eddie couldn’t help but wonder how it would feel to be kissed by you.
Eddie’s eyes brim with tears at the fact that his presence is solely due to your inebriation, and this closeness it’s about to expire. “God,” he exhales, rolling his eyes skyward to hold back his tears.
“Sleep tight, sweetheart,” Eddie whispers, pulling the blanket a touch higher over your shoulder. Then, he switches off the lamp and leaves you to rest.
Dwelling on the fact that you won’t remember tonight won’t do him any good. Getting this close to you would have never happened in sober circumstances. At least he got to take care of you in the way he always wanted, even if only for a short time.
Over the past few days, Eddie has been thinking about how he felt when you relied on him to get you home. He’s curious whether the call you made to him signifies that you still want him in your life. If that happens to be the case, then he can work with that.
Going through with this might worsen the sting of rejection, but Eddie has his heart set on mending things.
Within moments of entering the bar and scouring the room for you, he spots you conversing with Lee about a table’s order. Eddie begins to pat his thighs in an erratic rhythm as he feels his insides lurch.
As soon as Lee notices Eddie, he wraps up the conversation and gets back to work. You observe Eddie, noticing the hopefulness on his face as he strides across the room. “Do you need something?”
“Not necessarily. I was wondering if I could uh, make you dinner or something?” Eddie kicks one foot with the other and totters back and forth in place.
Your expression changes to one of disbelieving annoyance. “I can slap together a PB&J at home, but thanks.”
“No, no. I’m serious, I’ll make whatever you want,” Eddie insists.
“What for?”
Eddie briefly looks away, scratching at the nape of his neck. “I miss hanging out with you.”
“I don’t know,” You ponder with uncertainty, your gaze monitoring the occupied tables in case you’re needed.
“Let me cook for you. I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”
His pleading eyes wear you down. “Fine, when?”
A bright smile spreads across Eddie’s face, stretching from ear to ear. He bounces on his tiptoes with enthusiasm. “I’ll call you tomorrow and we can set a time then.”
“Sure, yeah,” you respond, your attention diverted to a booth on the far side of the room where the seated customers wave you over. “Look, I gotta go.”
You’re already back in work mode and walking away before Eddie can say anything else. He just stands there, incapable of shrinking his smile to a mere grin.
Bowing his head, Eddie pumps his fists at his sides in a moment of triumph. With the opportunity for redemption sitting in his lap, he has his heart set on making things right.
In the days leading up to the agreed-upon dinner, Eddie makes several trips to the library, hunting for a recipe for the meal you mentioned. He dips into his emergency savings to purchase extra ingredients, dedicating his time and money to practice making it.
The first go around, he forgot to add two crucial ingredients, resulting in a bland and tasteless dish. Eddie couldn’t let it go to waste, so he settled for the less-than-impressive dinner that night.
On the second attempt, he tried to compensate for the previous mistake by adding more than enough seasoning. He didn’t exactly do it on purpose; it poured out of the canister much faster than Eddie expected. Regrettably, that meal went straight into the trash. Eddie couldn’t stomach a forkful of it.
Eddie absolutely, positively cannot fuck this one up. He can’t afford to, both figuratively and literally. Without a doubt, if he serves you a shit dinner, you’ll push him out of your life for good.
When you knock on the front door, the perceived silence on the other side of the door is broken with a clatter and muffled cursing. The quiet resumes and hangs in the air for a couple of seconds before the door swings open.
There stands Eddie, hair a little tousled. “Hello, hello!”
His stomach does somersaults at the sight before him; your clothes accentuate your figure, and your skirt suits you. Once again, you look stunning and appropriately dressed for a date.
Meanwhile, Eddie doesn’t have many options to choose from. The most formal thing he owns is a button-up shirt and it’s too dressy, but it’s all he has. Paired with it are his holeless black jeans. Before today, he never thought it was possible to be both over and underdressed at the same time.
“Come on in,” Eddie says, stepping aside with reluctance, allowing you to enter his apartment.
As soon as he opened the door to you, his mind turned into a whirlwind of second-guessing himself. The shirt is definitely too formal, but Eddie wants to prove that he knows it’s a date this time, and he means for it to be one. If only he owned an iron so that the material wasn’t as wrinkly as it is.
He wants to prove that he can clean up nicely, evident from the scent of aftershave and cologne. Eddie meticulously clipped his fingernails and tidied his eyebrows, ensuring that he is as presentable as possible.
“This is my castle,” He gestures to the space.
The entirety of the afternoon was spent tidying up and Eddie couldn’t bear to leave a single surface undusted. Any potentially embarrassing materials were tucked away and he washed all of his dirty dishes.
As you enter and survey his studio apartment, he takes the opportunity to rake through his bangs with his fingers. You spot his sketchbook sprawled open on the guitar amp and pick it up.
“Oh, those are nothing, you don’t have to-” Eddie moves forward and reaches out, intending to retrieve the drawing pad, but pauses when you point to the sketch he recently finished.
“This one,” you trace the lines of the drawing with your finger before looking over at him. “I’d get this one.”
“You’d let me give you ink?” There’s a hint of insecurity and surprise in his voice as he subtly retrieves the sketchbook from your grasp.
“Maybe. It depends if you’re still shit at it,” you shrug casually, interlocking your hands behind your back as you assess the living room area. Your attention falls on the antique bookshelf, adorned with miscellaneous items and framed photos. “Has Cliff let you take clients yet?”
“No, you’d be my first real canvas,” Eddie admits.
As you continue looking around, his gaze is one beat ahead of yours. His eyes land on it just before yours do, and his stomach drops upon spotting the one thing he forgot to hide.
“Oh my god!” You squeal, rushing over to the couch and scooping up Mr. Pickles. “Who’s this cutie?”
Pale as a ghost, Eddie stares blankly back at you. How the fuck did he forget to hide the one thing on this planet that rids him of all masculinity.
“I’ll introduce you another time,” Eddie silently urges you to put Mr. Pickles back in his spot, desperately hoping you’ll never bring it up again.
In actuality, he should be thanking himself for the oversight, because you look far more high-spirited than when you stood outside his door.
“I’m looking forward to it,” You brush over the matted fur on the bunny’s head before carefully placing him back on the sofa.
The tension dissipates on his body as he picks up on the change in your energy. It’s reminiscent of how happy you were to see him when you were drunk. But this time is different; it’s genuine, rather than influenced by alcohol.
You’re lured into the kitchen by the incredible aroma, and the steaming food matches the enticing smell. “There’s no way in hell you made that.”
“You bet your ass I did,” Eddie retorts with his hands on his hips while he makes his way from the front door to the kitchen.
You step closer to him. “No one’s ever done anything like this for me before,” you purr, inching closer until your toes nearly make contact with his socked ones. With featherlight pressure, you place a tender kiss on his cheek. “Thank you.”
Eddie’s internal circuits fry as he tries to process the fact that he just got kissed on the cheek for the first time. His lungs refuse their vital function, denying him oxygen. He retreats by half a step, attempting to mask the blazing rosiness of his face.
“For god’s sake, I’m so sick of whatever this stupid game is.”
“What game? I’m not-” Eddie panics.
“You get me to throw myself at you by doing thoughtful shit like this, but when I finally make a move, you act revolted.”
“I swear to Christ I’m not playing with you. I mean, I’m not trying to,” Eddie explains, his words jumbling together. “I know I've been making a total ass of myself, and tonight was supposed to fix that. But I just- I keep screwing up because I like you and you make me so nervous.”
You scoff, halfway turned toward the door. “That’s hard to believe. You flinch if I so much as bump into you. You don’t want to touch me, I get it.”
A pang of guilt hits him like a baseball bat to the stomach. “No no no, I do! I wanna touch you,” Eddie admits. “Look, you mean so goddamn much to me. You deserve someone who can make you feel good, and I can’t do that.”
Still guarded, you sound agitated but you turn to face him nonetheless. “What are you talking about?”
His voice lowers, a whisper of shame. “I don’t know the first thing about pleasing a woman. Nobody wants to fuck the dorky virgin, y’know?” Eddie’s vision blurs from the tears veiling his vision.
You frown at the vulnerable quiver in his voice. “I do, I’ve been wanting to.”
“Don’t bullshit me,” he lets out a humorless laugh. “I wouldn’t be able to make you cum.”
“I have to disagree with you on that. You’re a fast learner,” You extend your hand to him at waist height.
Eddie stares at your outstretched hand, struggling to process the gesture. He holds his breath, torn between his anxiety and trust. Cautiously, he places his hand in yours.
The benevolent hold pulses a flash flood through his being, the frigid water jolting his systems alive. When you intertwine your fingers with his, the clamminess is evident against the softness of your palm. Insecurity floods him, worried that you’ll be repulsed by it.
Cracks of lightning electrify Eddie’s heart, rendering him unable to meet your gaze. Instead, he focuses intensely on your joined hands. “I have no idea what I'm doing though.”
“That’s okay,” you assure him with a confident smile. Giving his hand a slight squeeze, you add, “See, not so scary anymore, right?”
Eddie shakes his head, even though fear is still coursing through his veins. You pick up on his hesitation and knowing that he won’t do it himself, you guide his hand to your hip and leave it there.
He sort of caresses, not out of boldness, but seeking to alleviate the numbness in his fingers. The sensation has already spread to other parts of his body.
Your patient expression, graced with a grin, grows into a bright smile when you meet his eyes. Eddie’s confidence blossoms, and he uses his other hand to cradle your cheek.
Acquainting himself with the contours of your face, his thumb strokes lightly from beneath your eyes and along your cheekbone. He starts to smile too as his nerves give way to the feeling of reassurance.
As you tilt your head into his touch, your eyelids flutter closed, and you grasp at the loose sides of his shirt, pulling him closer. He steps forward willingly, but his voice retains an uncertain tone. “I really wanna kiss you, but I’ve never, uh…”
You lean in, and the tip of your nose gently brushes against his. The thundering of his heart in his ears drowns out everything but your voice.
“Close your eyes and follow my lead, okay?” The warmth of your breath encircles his lips, turning his knees to jelly.
Eddie can’t even whisper a confirmation. At your request, he closes his eyes, leaving him solely reliant on his other senses. The smoothness of your lips against his registers as a gentle peck with just enough pressure for him to feel it. It lingers, and he finds himself incapable of moving his lips in response.
“Want another?”
With his eyes still closed, he murmurs, “Yes, please.”
Devilishly, you press a kiss to his wrist, the hand that is still gently cradling your face.
Eddie’s eyes open, a pout and a scowl simultaneously forming his reaction. “Nu-uh, right here,” he insists, leaning in eagerly. He’s caught up in the desire to feel it again but he’s still hesitant to initiate the kiss himself.
You happily close the gap and this time, Eddie slightly purses his lips against yours, doing his best to follow your lead. After giving it a few tries, he feels you withdraw but his head instinctively follows, chasing your lips.
His eyes swirl with affection as he grapples for something to say, feeling breathless and dumb. “Fuck, I don’t wanna stop doing that.”
“Then don’t.”
Finally, Eddie’s able to pursue, but only a fraction of a second before you. With determination, his pecks carry more verve. It’s easier than he thought it would be; granted, he can rely on his ability to keep a steady rhythm, a perk of being a musician.
Eddie didn’t think this could get any better—that is until your lips slot perfectly between his, wet and warm. He pauses, malfunctioning once more. As you kiss him deeply, his mind is dusted in a golden haze and it feels as though he’s floating within himself. Enveloped by the sensation of your hands on his collarbones, a soft noise escapes him.
Mortified, Eddie freezes. Instead of deterring you, it only spurs you on. You wrap your arms around his neck and mold your body against his. The intensity of the kiss only escalates, he’s chasing your storm, matching your every move.
Your fingers entwine in the curls at the nape of his neck, coaxing more noises from him. Eddie is so far gone that he’s unaware of the growing bulge in his jeans. His hand leaves your cheek, traces down your shoulder, and along the outside of your arm before clinging to your waist with both hands.
You hover over his lips, a stream of electricity fizzling between you. “Is it okay if I take my shirt off?”
Eddie forgets to respond but then nods fervently. With curious eyes, he watches intently as you lift your shirt, unveiling skin he’s never seen before.
He inhales and exhales shakily as your necklace falls back into its place against your chest. It’s not a swinging pocket watch, but Eddie is entranced nonetheless.
“You said you wanna touch me,” you draw his trembling hands up your sides. “Now’s your chance.”
Eddie’s hands ascend and meet the silky band of your bra, and you guide his palms forward to the plush foam padding. Your reassuring hold is encouraging, but Eddie tears his stare from your breasts to check-in. He finds you already looking at him, exuding a sweet demeanor. “Give it a try.”
Eddie’s Adam’s apple bobs in the thick column of his throat, his hands unmoving beneath yours.
“Like this,” You squeeze your hands twice before removing your guidance and allowing him to proceed at his own pace.
Adrenaline motivates him to cup them independently this time, and his cock twitches as he commits to the action.
“You’re doing great by the way,” You offer a smile.
Growing more confident, Eddie applies more pressure. His thumbs move in tandem, brushing over the area where your nipples are concealed. The innocent delight in his eyes burns dark into frustration after a few squeezes. Eddie huffs in annoyance at the fact that he’s only getting handfuls of padding.
“Easy, tiger. Want this off too?”
Heartened by the lack of ridicule, he feels safe. Regardless, Eddie fails to articulate more than a few words, his heart lodged in his throat. “If that’s okay with you.”
“Come sit,” You suggest, taking his hand in yours to lead him to sit on the edge of the bed.
As he sits, Eddie thanks himself for having washed his sheets for tonight, despite never imagining that this would happen.
When you release his hand, both of them return to the plush of your waist, making himself at home there. The straps of your unhooked bra drape loosely on your arms, and his pupils dilate as the foam cups gradually gain distance from your body.
“Holy shit,” Eddie says under his breath, his bottom lip shining after a swift swipe of his tongue.
Your hips receive an involuntary squeeze as his patience begins to waver. He then slides his hands back up to your ribs, using his thumb followed by the heel of his palms to graze the bottom of your breasts.
With a sigh of relief, Eddie no longer has to daydream about what they might look like. His beautiful brown eyes roam over your body like you’re a masterpiece, a sculpture carved from stone solely for him to admire endlessly. Savoring the moment, he takes his time to appreciate every second. Eddie doesn’t take your trust for granted.
After a minute or two, you scoot backward onto the mattress toward the pillows. “Let’s get more comfortable.”
He watches you recline half-naked on his bed, and his belly swirls at the sight. Eddie follows suit, crawling to you. Now positioned between your legs, Eddie hesitates as he looks down at you, your hips not making any contact.
His touch resumes at your waist, but this time he’s stroking the expanse of your tummy; it inadvertently brings comfort to both you and him. Until this moment, he’s never had the chance to see the tiny details on your face up close—the distinct aspects that compose your sheer beauty.
Eddie’s hazelnut curls hang over his ears as his gaze trails over your neck and chest. His intense adoration makes you want to hide, but the unease is melted away when he captures your lips with his own. Eddie feels like it’s already been too long since he last kissed you, the deprivation like that of extreme thirst.
Goosebumps prickle his fully dressed form, a surge of belonging filling the cracks in the surface of his heart. Timid pecking is a thing of the past, each kiss more fervid than the one before it. The wet click of your lips drowns out the inhibitions buzzing in his ears.
Eddie’s large hand paws at your breast, his thumb playing with your pebbled nipple, drawing a whine from the back of your throat. You tug him closer by his jeans, bringing his hips down against yours. Regardless of the denim barrier, this causes a change in him. When you lift your hips against Eddie, he grinds back just as needily.
As your lips part, he begins a trail of affection along your cheek, jaw, and down your neck. When Eddie reaches your collarbones, his mouth moves hurriedly. He’s itching to fulfill the longing that’s been something he’s imagined plenty of times before. Kissing every inch in his descent, Eddie hunches over and takes your nipple into his mouth.
The melodious sound that pours from you makes him painfully harder. His cock strains against the metal zipper of his jeans, fighting to defy the taut material. You arch into his mouth, and Eddie continues to grind against the apex of your thighs.
He licks his way across to give much-needed attention to your opposite breast, all the while maintaining stimulation on the other with his thumb. Eddie suckles and flicks his tongue, his breath hitting your bare skin like a sweltering midsummer heat wave.
The reciprocity of sincerity is blowing his mind; the way it feels to have your hands weaving through his hair. There’s a slight tug when your fingers catch on a knot, and the sting only fans the flames burning in his lower belly.
Eddie releases your nipple, leaving it bereft of the heat of his mouth. Following his previously explored path up your chest and neck, he bashfully looks into your eyes. “Could I, uh, kiss you down there, too?”
“Normally I’d have to ask for head. Are you sure?”
The melted milk chocolate of his irises practically drips off of his lashes as he blinks at you. “I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life, sweetheart. I’ve wanted to taste you for so long.”
“I’m not entirely convinced,” You coax him playfully.
“I’ll just have to prove how starving I am then, won’t I?” Eddie quips, moving out of the way to remove your skirt. As he does, the waistband slips from your hips and he slides it off your legs.
You’re in nothing but your panties and the white cotton is not particularly sexy, but they sure are familiar. That day at the laundromat, Eddie never imagined he’d see you in this exact pair at some point. He wonders if you did.
His fingertips tap their way up your thighs until they reach the band of your underwear. You look so cute with your hands resting across your belly like an awaiting princess—his princess.
Much like the skirt before it, the garment is tugged down the curvature of your legs. Your knees knock together as your legs reflexively close. Meanwhile, Eddie is mesmerized by the damp patch on panties hanging from his fist.
“You wanna keep 'em?”
Eddie nods with feigned innocence. These would go to good use, he thinks.
“They’re all yours,” You grant his wish.
“I feel so spoiled,” he says while tucking them into his back pocket for safekeeping. Then, Eddie redirects his attention to the living art laid out before him. “Especially for getting to see you like this,” he drags his fingertips along the outside of your calves until they reach your knees.
Your legs fall open, proudly putting your glistening cunt on display for him.
“Fuck,” Eddie says, moon-eyed. He repositions himself between your legs, lying on his stomach. Drool pools on his tongue, his mouth just inches away from your body. With one arm wrapped under your thigh, Eddie uses a finger on his free hand to collect the wetness that’s all for him.
“Don’t be a tease,” You fuss.
“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Eddie responds, ready to put his new skill to use. It starts with a testing press of his lips against your clit. He works his way lower, mouthing at you messily, making out with your cunt. Eddie licks his lips and rests his cheek against your inner thigh. “Can I use my fingers too?”
“Yeah, just take it slow,” You gather his hair and keep it out of his face so it doesn’t get in the way.
Eddie glides two digits through your folds, admiring the way the pads of his fingers glisten with the mix of your slick and his spit. Slowly, he eases his two fingers into your entrance. They sink deeper without facing resistance, and you soak him down to his bottom knuckles. Eddie looks up at you from between your legs, amazed. “You’re so wet.”
You sigh, propping yourself up on your elbows to meet his gaze. “You own a mirror, don’t you? How could I not be.”
Flattered, Eddie smiles. He draws his fingers back before plunging them into you a little faster this time, though not by much. As you lay back and get comfortable, you instinctively roll your hips downward with each thrust of his fingers.
With his cheek still resting on the inside of your thigh, he’s unable to bring himself to speed up, downright mesmerized by the sensation of your velvety walls squeezing around his fingers. When he accidentally flexes and curls them upward, it elicits a pretty gasp from you.
Eddie’s gaze flits up, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “What was that?” he teases and does it again, deliberately. “Did you say something?”
You moan, “That feels amazing,” You run your hand up your belly to your breast, massaging yourself in tandem with his improved technique.
He finds a steady tempo, rubbing the spot that makes your nerves flare. With nothing else on his mind, Eddie is fully engrossed as he drives his digits into you. Your fingers suddenly appear before him to rub your clit for added stimulation.
“Oh my god,” You moan unabashedly, arching your back off of the bed in response to the heightened ecstasy.
“You like that?” Eddie looks up at you, feeling a rush of pride as you writhe.
“Yes- fuck, I’m almost there.”
Eddie boldly nudges your hand away with his nose, swiftly replacing your fingers with his tongue, flicking it passionately.
Your moans fill his ears as he laps at you, enjoying the way you taste when you unravel. He’s so in the zone that he fails to realize you’ve already reached your peak and become overstimulated.
You squirm in his grip, gently pushing his forehead away. “Eddie, Eddie!”
“Yeah?” His fingers stop abruptly, and he looks at you with doe-like eyes, your glossy sugar smeared all over his lips and chin.
“It’s too much,” You say exhaustedly.
“Shit, my bad,” Eddie frowns, disappointed that his fun has come to an end. He slowly withdraws his digits, admiring the way you’ve coated them. He drags his fingers down his tongue like your arousal is cake batter from a bowl. A low hum emanates from Eddie as he sucks them clean, inadvertently making a show of it. “God, your pussy tastes good. Even better than I dreamed it would.”
“Come here,” You beckon him, smiling blissfully.
Eddie wastes no time getting onto his hands and knees and crawls up between your legs. Hovering over you, he gazes into your eyes, cheeks dimpled. “I made you cum.”
“I can’t remember the last time I came that hard either,” you chuckle, noticing the sheen on his face. You grab your discarded shirt to wipe it off. “Here, let me-”
“No!” Eddie angles out of your reach, his brow furrowed. Using his still-sticky fingers, he wipes at his lips and chin, licking his digits clean once more. “Can’t let it go to waste.”
After you tuck his frizzy curls behind his ears, Eddie’s tender grin fades. Your hands slowly move down his pecs to his belt, and you tug at the metal buckle. Just as you free the leather from the prong, he stops you.
“Uh- wait.” The hesitance in his voice brings your pursuit to a halt. The way you shrink back causes his heart to squeeze.
“I’m sorry. We don’t have to go all the way if you’re not ready.”
“It’s not that. Believe me,” Eddie reassures you. He brings a hand to the side of your face and strokes your cheekbone with his thumb. “I’m just worried that you’ll never wanna see me again ‘cause I'm so terrible in bed.”
Your shoulders raise and lower with the deep breath that you take. “You said you want to make me feel good, right?”
“More than anything,” Eddie declares in a heartbeat.
“Your cock would.”
Eddie nearly shudders and his voice burns raspy. “Yeah? You want it?”
You hook your fingers through his belt loops and tug, staring back at him intensely. “Not want. I need you inside me.”
“Christ,” he gulps and presses his hips forcefully against yours, dampening the denim. Eddie lowers his mouth to your shoulder and kisses it. “I wanna know what it feels like so bad.”
You turn your head and nibble his earlobe. “Let’s take care of that, shall we?” When your hands return to his partially undone belt, Eddie doesn’t intervene this time.
“I don’t have protection though.”
Blindly, you unbutton and unzip his jeans. “Side pocket of my purse.”
Reluctantly, Eddie pulls away and awkwardly scoots backward off the bed. His pants hang low on his slender hips, exposing the snug elastic band of his blue plaid boxers. After finding the condom, he inspects it. “I have no fucking clue how to use this.”
Sitting up, you hold your hand out. “I can put it on you if you want.”
Eddie hands it to you, then it occurs to him that he’s still fully dressed. While you’re tearing the foil package, he yanks down his jeans and kicks them away, his belt jangling. Only a few buttons are undone from the neck before he gets impatient. Eddie tears his shirt over his head, leaving his mane disheveled.
He pulls at the waistband of his precum-soaked boxers indecisively, but the sight of your beautiful naked body reminds him that it’s only fair. Eddie pulls them down and his anxiety has caused him to go partially soft. When you look at him, he wishes the world would swallow him whole.
Your eyes rake across his slim frame, then meet his eyes instead of drifting below his waist. Eddie climbs back onto the bed, sitting on his haunches. You crawl onto your knees to join him and pull his body against yours, kissing him.
Mumbling against your lips, he tries to apologize for already failing you by being unable to stay hard, but his words falter as the kiss deepens, his worries becoming an afterthought. Eddie grips your waist, and the sensation of your breasts pressing against his bare chest makes him feel woozy. As soon as you break the kiss, he’s immediately filled with fear once more. “If it’s small or it looks weird, don’t tell me.”
You effectively distract him from his insecurities by trailing your lips down his pulse, dragging your teeth along the supple skin there. Eddie grips your ass harshly, a shaky sound pouring from his throat as you kiss your way down his body. He watches, his bottom lip pulled between his teeth.
As you finally look at his shy cock, you run your palms up and down the sparse hair on his outer thighs. “You’re the perfect size for me,” You compliment him with a smile.
“I am?”
You suck a bruise on the pale skin of his waist. “Yeah, you are.”
Eddie’s eyes close, his hands resting on your shoulders as he focuses on the sensation of you licking and biting him. Lost in the feeling rather than inside of his head, Eddie’s cock gradually rouses.
Having previously set it aside, you grab the condom. “Hold it still for me, please.”
“O-Okay,” he secures it at the base, his palm covering the trimmed thatch of curls. “Like this?”
“Perfect,” With one hand, you fit the band around the tip, and with your other, you roll the latex down his shaft. That alone causes Eddie’s mouth to fall open, a ghosted moan tumbling from his lips.
“There, easy peasy,” Sitting back up and wrapping your arms around his neck, you pull him flush against you. His wrapped, twitching cock is trapped between your bodies. “Tell me what you’re thinking right now.”
“I’m not sure I could if I tried,” Eddie says, his eyes flitting between yours. “Is this really happening?”
“It’s happening,” After kissing the tip of his nose, you settle back bringing him down with you to get comfortable, your head resting on the pillow.
Eddie returns to the previous position, this time with your legs hiked around his hips, causing his cock to rub against your mound. Afraid of poking around too much, he asks, “Would you do the honors, m’lady?”
“Why, of course,” you say with a giggle. You guide the head of his cock right where it needs to be and look into Eddie’s eyes. “Go ahead.”
He swallows hard and inches his hips forward, the tip of his cock breaching your entrance. Eddie sinks until he’s halfway sheathed by the hot embrace of your cunt. As he pushes the rest of the way in, his jaw falls slack.
“You doing okay?” You soothingly stroke the bulging veins on his forearms.
“Mhm,” Eddie mumbles with his lips rolled inward. After a few seconds without moving, he draws his hips back and then drives them forward. The moan that rips from his chest is unholy.
After two or three agonizingly slow and experimental thrusts, the motion comes naturally to him after all that practice he’s gotten from humping his poor pillow in this very spot. “Fuck me,” The hand that isn’t supporting Eddie’s weight fists at the bed sheets as he thrusts repeatedly, falling into a slow and steady pace. “Jesus fucking fuck.”
“Look at you go,” you moan out. “It feels amazing, doesn’t it?”
“Feels… god, you feel incredible,” Eddie grunts, propping himself up on both hands. His hair hangs down, swaying with the tempo of his hips. In this position, he can watch the bounce of your body with each thrust and he’s doing just that.
The grazing of your fingernails along his flexing hips throws off his pace. It weakens him, especially when you’re looking at him the way you are. Eddie is so consumed by the feeling of you wrapped around him that he can’t be self-conscious about the fact that he’s moaning every time he sinks back into you.
The shame of virginity has been lifted away as Eddie experiences this night of firsts with the girl he’s crazy about. Eddie is struggling to keep his eyes open, not wanting to miss a single second of this. He’s captivated by the way you’re watching his length disappear inside you over and over.
You look stunning lying on his pillow, anchoring his body to yours. Before tonight, he considered the concept of moaning someone's name to be cliché because it only happens in the movies. But Eddie’s had a change of heart because he can’t stop saying yours. It’s all of you right here, right now, all over, making a man out of him.
His muscles begin to tremble, and he lowers himself onto his forearms. Eddie rests his forehead against yours, his hips stuttering. “I’m so close, baby. I don’t wanna cum,” He slows his movement to stave off his orgasm.
“I want you to,” You express while gliding your hands down his muscular back.
“No,” Eddie protests, ceasing his thrusts entirely. “I want you to cum again first.”
“This isn’t about me.”
“Are you shitting me? It’s always been about you,” he pulls back to look into your eyes. “I’d do anything for you, you’re so damn worth it.”
Just before you have the chance to respond, Eddie unexpectedly rolls his hips. With one hand, he thumbs at your clit, watching how your eyes roll back. He doesn’t even have to look down to see the mess you’re making because he can hear it.
Eddie’s moans dance with yours as he pushes his knees forward, adjusting the angle of his hips to mimic a ‘come hither’ motion. He knows he’s found the spot he discovered prior when your legs spasm around him. In response, Eddie rubs your clit harder.
The way your walls tighten makes it all that more difficult for him to hold back. He’s on the cusp, his abs tensing as he tries to fight it. Your hand flies above you to push against the headboard, your other one occupied with gripping his flexing waist.
“Cum for me,” Eddie growls, frustrated with himself as he teeters on the edge, just seconds away from spilling into the condom.
Your brows furrow and your eyes squeeze shut, a rush of air getting caught in your throat as you climax.
“Yeahhh, that’s it,” Eddie’s abdominal muscles tense to their limit. “Oh- fuck,” His voice pitches higher.
“I’m yours,” You moan prettily and guide him down, letting him bury his face in your neck to give his arms a well-deserved rest.
“All mine,” Eddie says between his labored breaths. He grips and lifts your hips while you kiss his shoulder. Losing their previous steadiness, his strokes become shorter and more sporadic. “Fuck, you’re gonna make me cum. I’m gonna cuh- uh- mmm.”
Eddie lets out a whimper as he delivers two unsteady thrusts before slamming his hips against you, burying himself as he orgasms. His ass tenses and ripples, the muscles contracting as he rides out his high.
Panting loudly, Eddie stills his movements completely and props himself up to look down at you. “Jesus Christ. After that, I wanna have you for dinner every day,” he says against your cheek before kissing it. “As a snack in the middle of the night,” Eddie adds, kissing your temple. “Shit, you’d be good for breakfast too. It’s the most important meal of the day, y’know.”
You let out a winded giggle, your bodies sticking together as he struggles to keep himself propped up.
“Sweetheart, can I ask you something?”
“You just did,” You tease and smile wide when he rolls his eyes and snorts.
Eddie takes your hand, flattening your palm against his chest so that you can feel how vigorously his heart is beating. “Is this what being in love feels like?” He asks tearfully.
“Yeah,” you nod, placing his hand over your own heart that’s thudding just as hard. “Just like this.”
Reblogs are greatly encouraged and appreciated! ♡
★My Masterlist
★Tip Jar
tags: @nj01 @tlclick73 @foreveranexpatsposts @madelynraemunson
#eddie munson#eddie munson x y/n#stranger things 4#eddie munson fics#stranger things x you#stranger things x y/n#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x fem!reader#eddie munson x female reader#eddie munson x reader#eddiemunson#stranger things#eddie munson fluff#eddie the banished#eddie munson fic#eddie munson fanfic#stranger things eddie#st4 eddie#eddie x fem!reader#eddie x you#eddie munson hurt/comfort#eddie munson angst#eddie munson imagine#st4#virgin!eddie munson#inexperienced!eddie munson#eddie munson oneshot#eddie munson one shot
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Need Jay hard thoughts actually. Can you write about Jay having dark fantasies for his wife maybe.
𝘼/𝙉: thank you for your request <3
husband!jay x wife!reader
𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: Sexualization, breeding kink (thoughts) , somnophilia (consent isn't written but it has been established!), public sex, exhibitionism if you squint... Jay and reader are a freaky pair I must say!
𝙬𝙘: 353
Jake ver. | Sunghoon ver.
MINORS DNI
Husband jay is a need omfg! I feel like he'd get turned on by the most mundane things, like all you were doing was putting out laundry but that tiny peak of stomach he could see as you stretched up to pin out his sweatshirt was enough to fill his mind with dark fantasies of him fucking you in the garden, in said sweatshirt. Or when you were watching tv together and you fall asleep against him, your mouth slightly hanging open. It took so much restraint for him to not shove his dick down your throat, making you gag around him. That one time you were babysitting his nephew and all he could think about was filling your cunt up with kids of your own, watching both of your releases dribble out of your core, fucking them back into you with his fingers mumbling, "You're gonna look so fucking hot all nice and round huh honey,". The time he feels shameful to admit, as you were walking down the isle he couldn't help but get a semi as you were so fucking beautiful then, but oh how much prettier you'd be if you were spitting on his cock...
Sometimes he felt guilty for having such lewd thoughts about you when all you were doing was being his pretty little wife but then his mind always ran back to the morning he woke up to you giving him the suck of his life because he "Just looked so pretty,". Or the time you went out with his parents for dinner and your hand grazed over his dick more times than explainable. And his personal favourite, the time he was taking you dress shopping for your bridal party and you persuaded him to fuck you up against the mirror in the dressing rooms because he just looked, "So fucking hot Jongseong,", as your tight little pussy clenched as the woman outside pondered if everything was okay. So no he doesn't feel guilty thinking of these dark scenarios because in the end, his pretty little wife is even more of a slut than him.
𝘼/𝙉: pls leave feedback, like + reblog and pls send asks I love to respond to you <333
#run2gyuz#enha hard hours#enha hard thoughts#enhypen hard hours#enhypen hard thoughts#enha smut#enhypen smut#jay smut#jay hard hours#jay hard thoughts#jongseong smut#jongseong hard hours#jongseong hard thoughts#jay enhypen smut#jay enhypen hard hours#jay enhypen hard thoughts#jay enha smut#jay enha hard thoughts#jay enha hard hours
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johnny maintains his yearly christmas tradition with you, this time with a twist.
(18+/MNDI, f!reader, breeding kink, mentions of pregnancy, established relationship, brief mention of reader having a specific hair type. Originally written for @soapsgf as part of the secret santa I hosted, but adapted for tumblr!)
Johnny's enthusiasm for Christmas truly knows no bounds. Coming from a large family, he was surrounded by siblings, cousins, aunts, and uncles who all loved the festive season, and it created an impression that lasted a lifetime. By the time he was old enough to get weary of the holiday, deployments reminded him of how special that time of year was.
When deployments became old hat, little nieces and nephews were there to remind him of what it was all about. But now there was an itch inside him.
Last Christmas saw Johnny proposing to you under the sparkling lights of your flat's dinky little Christmas tree—and this year he needed to match the excitement that last year had given both of you.
Luckily, up in a snow-topped cabin in the Highlands, with a real fir tree and private hot tub—John MacTavish has a plan.
The sound of the radio and your gentle humming carry through from the kitchenette, filling Johnny with a warmth inside that not even the roaring fireplace can provide.
Johnny rushes around the living room of the cabin, grabbing the supplies he'd snuck in earlier from his truck—extra candles, blankets, and the red ribbon he has tucked in the back of his jeans.
Even the mere thought of his impending gift has him half-hard as he kneels on the fluffy rug, ready to go as he unzips his jeans, pulls down his boxers, and gets to work tying the ribbon around his rapidly hardening cock.
Johnny calls out for you, hoping his voice carries enough to be heard over the noise. When he doesn't hear you coming, he calls out louder, his voice booming and cheery as it so often is. "Bonnie!"
Finally, he hears you pause the music and set down the dishes in the sink—moments later, you appear around the door, bright-eyed and content with a dish towel still drying off your hands.
"Yes?" You call out, before you finally take in all of Johnny and his state of undress.
Johnny's smile is infectious, just as it always is—but under the sparkling lights it shines extra bright with a swirl of mischief, Christmas spirit, and arousal. "One last gift."
"Johnny..." You laugh, blushing ever so slightly as your hungry stare settles on where Johnny starts to stroke his leaking cock.
"Yearly tradition, c'mon." He smirks, thrusting his hips into the air slightly as if to tempt his love.
"Fuck. Hard already, Johnny." You tease him with ease, having done this sweet song and dance with him before. After all, it was a yearly tradition Johnny all but insisted upon keeping, even the year you'd spent at his parents where he'd fucked you oh so quietly and oh so dirtily in his childhood bedroom.
"Extra excited to give you this gift, doll." He growls, eyes clouding over with lust. "Get over here."
You quickly find your way to your knees, your hand falling to Johnny's velvety, hard dick in an instant as you begins to stroke him lovingly.
Johnny's hand strokes across your curves, embracing your figure before his fingers find their way lower—across silky thighs, with teasing touches as he goes. Each inch he edges up the hem of your dress, the more shivers wrack your body, and arousal flows through your veins.
When Johnny's fingers dip below the waistband of your lacy panties, the thick pads are greeted with your dripping slick. "Wet already?" Johnny teases back.
"Fuck off." You whisper, just before your lips capture his.
Both of your eyes flutter shut as you fall into each other's embrace, hands caressing each other's most intimate parts as your lips intertwine sweetly.
The kiss between you two escalates, lips and teeth growing hungry as your hands move over each other with enthusiasm.
"Merry Christmas, Johnny," you mumble against your fiance's lips, the hand not on his dick coming up to stroke across his stubbled cheek.
Johnny returns the favour, rough palm settling on your soft skin and caressing. "Haven't even given ye the gift yet."
"The gift wasn't your dick?"
"Not quite, lass." He smirks, fingers curling expertly inside you, against your most sensitive spot inside. His lips fall to your neck as he continues to stroke, nibbling at the one point he knows drives you wildest. "Lay back and find out."
The two of you part slowly, exchanging a few more pecks before Johnny helps lay you down. Your locks cascade around your head like a halo as Johnny settles you into the shaggy rug. His hands take the time to rove over your figure, appreciating every inch of your body under the twinkle of the fairy lights and the flicker of the candlelight.
He pushes the skirt of your dress down your thighs delicately, kissing at the sensitive inner flesh before peeling off your panties. His eyes hold yours the entire time in an intense gaze, but especially so when he pauses with his mouth latched onto your skin, sucking a mark into your flesh. Blue eyes burn into yours, bearing his hunger to you.
"I don't think eating me out counts as a Christmas gift either when you do it every time we fuck." You sigh, overcome with the anticipation and pleasure of Johnny's mouth hovering just inches from your exposed folds.
"Tha's no' the gift, doll." He purrs, quickly dipping down to press a kiss to your swollen clit—he smirks when the action draws a wanton moan from you. "Just getting you ready for the real deal."
Johnny spurs into action, pulling away and scrambling to push off his jeans and boxers. He pulls the ribbon from where it's tied at the root of his dick and tosses it at you, delighting when he draws out your giggles. You brush the ribbon off your face, curling it in your fist as Johnny spreads open your legs, setting your feet on his shoulders.
He's quick to line himself up with your wet cunt, swiping the head of his dick through your folds with a hungry grin and delighting in the way your legs quiver.
As he's about to push himself into the tight heat of your pussy, a weakly protesting hand comes to press against his muscled chest—one that speaks to a rationality neither of you really wants to listen to.
"No condom, Johnny."
"Not this time, bonnie." Johnny circles his cock around your entrance, waiting for permission for you both to give in to your more carnal urges. "Tha's your gift, if you want it."
"Johnny... are you serious?" You gasp, a smile spreading across your face, completely unrestrained. You'd talked about it before, yet you were just waiting for Johnny to come around to the idea.
"Dead serious, gonna make ye a ma..." He growls, before sinking into you fully in one thrust, making sure his cock is snug inside and filling you so completely.
"Fuck, Johnny!" You gasp, struggling to catch your breath as Johnny's hips start moving at a brutal pace inside you. All you can do is lie back and take it, watching as the gorgeous wall of muscle that is your fiance hammers his dick deep inside you.
Still, you need to get out your next words.
"Have something... to tell you." Johnny's eyes flicker to yours, yet he remains quiet and focused. "I'm... already pregnant."
For a moment, Johnny stills, eyes going wide before they're overtaken with an even wilder hunger in his gaze. His hips snap harder and deeper than they did before, as he practically turns into a feral beast on top of his you.
"All the more reason to fuck ye full of my cum, eh?" He growls, his voice desperate and strained as he strokes across your stomach where his seed has already taken hold. "Gonna fill you again, make sure it really takes."
Your eyes roll back in your skull, overwhelmed at the idea of being bred all over again by Johnny, this time with purpose.
You two cling to each other desperately, animal instincts driving you together, as you both desperately seek to make sure you're knocked up good and proper.
It isn't long before your cunt is being flooded with rope after rope of Johnny's potent cum—the man himself not pulling out, instead peppering your face with kisses as he keeps your hole plugged up and his load deep inside.
"Merry Christmas, bonnie."
#john soap mactavish x reader#soap mactavish x reader#soap x reader#soap mactavish#soap mw2#soap cod#john soap mactavish#call of duty x reader#call of duty fanfiction#bunny writes#secret santa
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I just think that the first time Damian and Bruce meet, like, properly, -- as in, Damian finds Talia's shrine for Bruce, thus demanding to meet him, --it should go kind of like this:
Damian, stance diplomatic, " Father. I must say, while your strength lives up to mother's praise, grandfather was right. Your softness promises ruin."
Bruce meets this child, -- his child's fierce steel look with wet eyes. After a while, he picks Damian up. He trashes. Hisses . Every touch is a battle, after all.
Bruce planting kisses all over his face freezes him. He melts in his father's arms soon after. "Baba."
"Hn."
" Beloved, now that you've officially met, I'd love to talk about our wedding. After all, Damian needs both of us--"
" You see him on Mondays. Get out."
Talia gives Damian a kiss of her own, albeit hurried, " Yes, of course. I'll return!"
Meanwhile? Ra's is looking all over for Damian. "Have you seen my nephew anywhere? Usually, he doesn't run from punishments..."
"I believe Ms. Al Ghul took him to Gotham, sir."
Ra's entire face falls. " We have to go."
" Wha-"
Several swords in his arms. Trying to pour Lazarus water is recycled water bottles. " WE HAVE. TO. GO."
#bruce wayne#dc#batman#batdad#talia al ghul#damian wayne#text#text post#battinson#protective bruce wayne#bruce is a twisted mf when he wants to be he'll trap ras in a maze in his own house and hunt him down for a week
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thinking..... nerd!peter shyly asking you out for the first time, completely prepared for a rejection and almost having a heart attack when you say yes - ⭐️
when peter's friends hype him up, it's to be expected. they float him with fake self-confidence and tell him how great he is and how lucky someone would be to have him.
this is expected, they are his friends. they know how great he is, because they know him.
you do not know him. you will not think he's great.
when may hypes him up, it's because he went to her in confidence and determination. he had sat next to her on the couch one evening, before letting it out.
'how do i ask a girl out on a date?'
may gasped, pausing the crime show, she couldn't wait for this moment. the moment her nephew would experience the thrill of having a lover in his life. he has no idea how alive he's about to feel.
'who are we asking out?'
'someone i like.' peter appreciates may, but she can also get ahead of herself.
may picks up on the apprehension, 'okay, what, you guys share a class or a friend group?'
'class. she doesn't really know me.'
his aunt shifts in her seat, 'have you tried talking to her? even just a little?' peter shrugs. 'i mean, i smile at her sometimes?'
'are you asking how to talk to her or how to ask her out?'
even if he feels shy admitting it, he cares more about getting to spend time with you. 'i could talk to her on a date, couldn't i?'
may grins, 'next time you see her, just ask her if she's doing anything this weekend and go from there.' peter freezes, 'go from where?'
'have you even thought about come comes next after she says yes?' panic fills him, 'no, i never thought i'd get that far.'
'peter!' may sighs, 'if you want a real answer, it's confidence. come up with a date and ask her.'
'what if she says no?' peter's aunt frowns, 'it happens. rejection sucks, but you brush it off and try again. you put yourself out there and tried, you got a no and that's fine, next time you ask, it won't be as scary.'
peter feels like he has no shot, but the one percent chance of maybe pushes him along.
-------
peter swallowed every bit of anxiety and slowly walked up to your locker. you were in another world, humming and singing under your breath. swapping books and folders you started to zip your bag, peter hasn't said a word and fears he's staggered a bit too long.
he did, because when you turned you jumped with a small scream. holding a hand over your heart you breathed out, 'you scared the fuck out of me, peter. are you always that quiet?'
peter wanted to ask you out, but he scared you instead. he doesn't have high hopes. he ignores you and spills before he has the chance to bolt, if you say no, he has the weekend to recover.
'can i ask you something?'
you smile, 'i think i did first, but sure.'
peter looks behind you at a group of your friends, they're standing back and looking very interested. he needs to get out of there, he thinks he's about to die.
your hand on his shoulder makes him look back at you, it's unfair to have eyes that can ease his anxiety and make it go tenfold.
'are you doing anything this weekend?' you take a second to think, 'um, i think my dad wanted to do something. why, what are you doing?'
when you see his face fall you understand his question, he wanted to spend his weekend with you. suddenly, you feel very stupid about your answer.
peter smiles softly, 'nothing, just wondering. you, um, have a good weekend, okay?' he's able to take two steps before you grab his wrist, peter spins back around and waits patiently, he's expecting the 'you too!'
'unless you want to hang out this weekend, in that case i have no qualms about blowing off my dad for you.'
an explosion of joy, your heart picks up, no way he's asking you out.
peter can feel his heartbeat in his throat, he has no idea how he got so lucky. may said girls liked confidence, he didn't show much, but he could now.
'would you like to go out with me this weekend? on a date?'
you can't stop smiling, your cheeks hurt. it feels better when he matches your smile. 'yes. i'd love to go on a date with you.'
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It's October when the autumn chill officially dawns over Hawkins. Wayne wakes up to fogged-up windows, and his bones protest loudly when he stretches to get up and make himself some warm coffee. It's too early in the year to turn on the heating; if they start that now, they'll be bankrupt before it's even January. So while the coffee is brewing, he shrugs off the old shirt he uses as a pajama, and puts on as many layers as he'll need to keep himself warm: first an undershirt, then a soft flannel, and then a faded brown sweater that's been sitting uselessly in his closet all through the summer. It's patched up at the elbows to conceal the holes that have fallen into it, but still warm and comfortable, which is all Wayne can really ask for.
'Ed, got coffee for ya!' he calls out when he's changed into his jeans and the coffee is almost ready.
Some muffled noises sounding vaguely like 'lemmesleeeeeep' emerge from the other side of the thin wall.
Wayne chuckles as he turns on the gas, deciding he might as well make scrambled eggs for breakfast; a thinly-veiled excuse to heat up the trailer by using the stove.
'And eggs in a minute!'
Another string of muffled sounds emerges from Eddie's bedroom, 'stoocold' being the only semi-decipherable one.
For a moment, Wayne feels guilty. He knows, deep down, that this is nothing more than his Eddie being dramatic. But that doesn't change his wish that he could simply turn on the heat without giving it a second thought and make Eddie's Sunday morning just slightly more comfortable. He doesn't care about the chill in his own bones, he's had worse. He doesn't care about the condensation on the windows, that is now changing into thick droplets that are gliding down to the windowsill, leaving traces of soot in their wake. He's not even sure if he'd ever want to live in a real, proper house. But the one thing he does want, is to get his nephew through the season warm and comfortable without having to count every penny.
Eddie finally emerges from his bedroom, with only his head peeking out of the blanket he has wrapped himself in, and a sleepy look in his eyes. The phone starts ringing just as Wayne greets him, and Eddie, who's closer to it, shuffles towards it.
Almost immediately after he picks up, his eyes shed their drowsy look and light up in a way that Wayne has come to know all too well, while his mouth curves into a wicked grin.
'No, sir, he's not here,' Eddie says into the phone, his eyes wide and innocent. 'When he didn't come home last night, I assumed he'd be spending the night with you. I guess he must have a secret lover we both don't know about.'
Wayne abruptly turns off the gas and barges towards Eddie, who barks out a laugh while he jumps back as far as the phone cord allows him.
'Just joking, Mr. Clarke, he is here!' he calls out in an annoyingly triumphed tone. 'And he can't wait to talk to you, here he is!'
Wayne playfully shoves Eddie against the wall as he takes the phone from him.
'Sorry for my menace of a nephew, Scott,' he says.
He hears a chuckle on the other side of the line, slightly distorted through the horn. It's as if his hand has a will of its own, clenching around the phone and pressing it almost painfully close to his ear; like he'll be able to catch the sound of Scott's laughter better if he could only press himself tighter to his phone.
'Luckily I'm used to middle schoolers, nothing I can't handle here.'
Wayne snorts and turns towards Eddie, who is now shamelessly staring at him from above his blanket-cocoon a few steps away from him.
'Scott says you should stop behavin' like a damn middle schooler,' he grumbles.
'Yep, that sounds exactly like something sweet Scott Clarke would say,' Eddie remarks, that devilish grin still plastered on his face.
'What can I do for ya, Scott?'
'Well, I just came downstairs for breakfast, and when I looked outside, I realized this is our first proper fall day.'
Wayne directs his gaze to the wet kitchen window. He hadn't even thought to look through the droplets on the glass; but now that he does, he realizes Scott is right. The trees around Forest Hills are definitely showing more yellow and orange than they did yesterday, and some patches of fog are still lingering a few feet above the wilted grass and muddy roads. The skies are a light shade of gray, telling Wayne that even though it'll be cold, it won't likely start raining anytime soon.
'I was wondering if you have any plans for today?' Scott's continues in his ear. 'We could go for a walk in the forest, admire the colors, see if we can find some cool mushrooms... What do you think?'
Wayne wonders whether he's imagining the nervous edge to Scott's voice, merely hearing in there what he wants to hear.
'I'm free all day,' Wayne says. He clamps the phone between his ear and his shoulder, needing both his hands to fumble around in his chest pocket and find a cigarette and a lighter. 'You wanna come over after breakfast? I can make a thermos of coffee and we can head into the woods here, I know a nice path around Lov- around the lake.' He can feel Eddie's gaze burning on him, but he refuses to look at his nephew, instead closing his eyes as he places the cigarette between his lips and lights it.
Scott is kind enough to pretend like he didn't notice Wayne's unfortunate stutter.
'A walk around the lake sounds perfect,' he says instead, his voice still as chipper as ever. 'I'll be at yours in an hour. Enjoy your breakfast with Eddie.'
'Real smooth, Uncle Wayne.' Eddie's amused voice cuts through the silence as soon as Wayne has hung the phone back on the hook.
'Don't be ridiculous now, boy,' Wayne grumbles. 'He's my friend.'
'With whom you're gonna hang out at Lover's Lake. Like friends do.' The sarcasm is dripping from Eddie's voice.
'I liked you better when you were still asleep in your bed,' Wayne remarks.
Eddie laughs loudly. 'You shoulda thought about that before you made me come out of it to freeze to death.'
Wayne crosses his arms and shoots Eddie an unimpressed look. 'Are you gonna do anything today or just spending your whole day makin' fun of me?'
Eddie shrugs – or rather, that's what Wayne supposes is happening underneath the moving blanket. 'I'm gonna take the kids to the pumpkin farm with Steve.' He lowers his voice and leans closer towards Wayne, continuing in an conspiratorial voice, 'We call that a date. Maybe you and Mr. Clarke should stop being cowards and come join us. Make it a double date.'
Wayne doesn't say anything; he simply rolls his eyes and walks back to the stove, lighting the gas underneath the frying pan again so he can direct all his attention to his eggs.
---
An hour later, Eddie has left – with a pit stop at the Mayfields' trailer – to pick up Steve. Wayne has done the dishes, dried the windows and filled a thermos with fresh coffee. By the time Scott parks his car in the spot where Eddie's van had been earlier, most of the fog outside has disappeared. Wayne watches him get out of his car through the kitchen window, but he doesn't come outside just yet, afraid it'll make him seem too eager.
Scott knocks on the door and then lets himself in, like he's done many times over the summer that now lies behind them. He's wearing a woolen coat in a dark gray color, with a simple black scarf around his neck.
Wayne feels his hands twitch with the desire to wrap themselves around Scott's waist, to tug him close and bask in the warmth of his body. Would his scarf feel as soft as it looks? Would he smell like fresh autumn air? Would his touch be as warm as the quilt on his couch?
'Oof, it's chilly in here,' Scott remarks, rubbing his hands together.
'I don't get cold that fast.' It's only partly a lie.
'I like the sweater.'
The easy and earnest compliment catches Wayne off-balance; he doesn't know what to do, where to look, where to keep his hands. He wants to escape Scott's approving gaze and hide away somewhere no one can perceive him.
Instead, he clears his throat and thanks the heavens for the fact that Eddie has already left.
'Ready to go?' he asks.
They head into the woods and Wayne leads the way as they stray further from the trailer park. Their feet easily find a rhythm that feels natural to both of them, avoiding the bigger puddles on the path and stopping every now and then to admire toadstools, dewy cobwebs, and fallen leaves in beautiful colors.
As they make their way around Lover's Lake, Wayne ponders what exactly the difference is between what Eddie would call a hangout, and a date. He doesn't exactly have a lot of friends who he hangs out with. He has his colleagues at the plant, of course, who he'd always kept at a distance, which proved him right when they were all too ready to come for his Eddie last March. He has some neighbors he's friendly with; he helps them with a thing or two around their trailers and in return they share a beer or a smoke with him. But he wouldn't call that real friendship either. He has learned long ago how dangerous it can be to let people come too close. Some people only wanted certain things from him, others would judge him when they'd find out a thing too many about him. And the pain of losing a rare, true friend became all too clear to him back in Vietnam.
After that, he mainly stuck to himself. And then it became him and Eddie against the world. He never needed anyone else. He was good at being alone, after all. There was a certain level of comfort to be found in loneliness.
So this thing with Scott – whatever it is – is not something he can compare to anything else. The only thing he knows is that it's definitely not lonely. And that he doesn't want to mess it up and lose the only true friend he's had in decades.
'What's on your mind?' Scott asks when they sit down on a fallen tree at the edge of the lake to enjoy their coffee. 'You've been quiet.'
'I'm always quiet,' Wayne points out.
It makes Scott chuckle softly before he takes a sip of his coffee.
'Not as quiet as you think,' Scott says. 'Today, you're thinking loudly. I can almost hear your thoughts.'
Wayne carefully places his own mug on the tree, then grabs himself a cigarette and lights it, all to buy himself some time. But even after a long drag and another sip of coffee, he still doesn't quite know how to voice his thoughts.
'Was just admirin' the fall colors,' he decides to say instead, when the silence starts taking too long.
He can practically feel Scott's eyes on his face as he stubbornly stares over the water in front of them.
'It really is the perfect day to do that,' Scott finally says. Apparently he has decided he'll let Wayne get away with it this time. Or maybe it isn't like that. Maybe he decided that he'll allow Wayne the time he needs to sort out his thoughts before he can voice them. Maybe he understands that Wayne sometimes needs a while before he's ready to talk about things. Maybe he decided that he didn't want to intrude. Maybe he decided that he values spending time with Wayne, no matter if they're talking or sitting in silence. And maybe this fall will be a little less cold than the ones Wayne has gotten used to, because when he risks a glance towards his left, he sees Scott wearing a smile that's appreciative of the nature around them. It's a smile that warms Wayne from the inside, in a way that the heater in his trailer has never managed to do.
#it's been a while but look i'm back on my clarkson bullshit#don't mind me rambling about stranger things#clarkson my beloved#wayne munson#scott clarke#eddie munson#clarkson#wayne munson x scott clarke#stranger things#fruity ficlet
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Concept:
Post-tadpole, Tav offers to help Astarion find a way to walk in the sun again, and she starts by going to different libraries and repositories and archives around the city to look for books that might be relevant. Astarion, obviously, has to stay in the rental room with the shutters closed during the daytime, so he can't come with her.
At some point, this takes her up to the posh part of the city, where the fancy ✨ scholarly ✨ archive is. She remembers most of the walk - it's not too far from the graveyard Astarion took her to, in the neighbourhood where he once used to live.
And like, it's never actually occurred to her that he could still have Actual Blood Relatives still living? It's not a topic she's ever thought to raise with him. But she has to sign in and out of the archive, and she just happens to notice the name three or four lines above hers: an initial and a surname she recognises.
Ancunín.
The same name from Astarion's gravestone.
A parent? A sibling?
A niece or nephew Astarion has never even met?
Thus begins a secondary quest of trying to reunite a broken family. Astarion is willing enough to talk about the few memories he still has of the thirty-nine years he had with his family before turning - a drop in the ocean compared to the 200 years spent suffering under Cazador - but he shuts down when she nudges him towards the likelihood that Mr & Mrs Ancunín are still alive. He retreats back behind the selfish, catty survivalist he was when she first met him and claims he has no interest in ever reconnecting. The pain in every clipped syllable says drop it, so she does.
But then he asks her, very quietly, several days later, what the initial was. He doesn't really react when she tells him - there's no obvious recognition, and he doesn't ask any follow-up questions or try to discuss it further. He just goes back to his book. She watches him out of the corner of her eye though, as she skim-reads her own giant tome of magical artifacts. A very long time goes by before she sees him turn a page.
For a good long while, the family issue gets put firmly on the back burner. They have other shit going on. Sometimes, it's following promising leads on a possible workaround for Astarion's sunlight allergy. Other times, it's the kind of ugly, ragged-edged breakdown that so often follows a period of relative safety and stability after a major trauma. He's been running in survival mode for two centuries, and now he's finally starting to feel secure enough for the rest of his mind to come back online, and all the trauma he couldn't handle at the time, all the pain and fear and tangled emotions survival mode was protecting him from, is catching up to him. During those sporadic episodes, trying to keep him from falling apart is her top priority and, well, time gets away from them and by the time he brings up his parents again, months or more have gone by, and they have a fairly good idea of what artifact of daywalking they need to find.
By the time it comes to actually meeting with them, still more months have passed, and they have already found it.
It's horrible, and heartwarming, and heartbreaking, and healing, and hurting, and so many other conflicting things that for a while - a long while - Tav doesn't know whether she actually did the right thing encouraging him to reach out to long-lost loved ones. It's a mess of moments that makes her heart ache for a dozen reasons. She finds out that Astarion looks most like his mother, but has his father's nose. She holds him for hours while he shakes and sobs into her shoulder because they never even left the city, they were here the whole time, and they never found him - and he's so angry and full of grief he doesn't know what to do with himself. She accompanies him to the home he was raised in, and the once-familiar surroundings jog memories he thought lost for good - he's glassy-eyed, recounting them to her, but she's fairly sure it's the good kind of glassy-eyed, so she doesn't mention it. She tries to make conversation at family dinner while he stares at his hands in his lap, dissociated, looking even more uncomfortable than she feels, utterly lost in a world that once fit him like a glove. There are a lot of feelings to try and mediate. They are all hurt, all damaged, all afraid, all looking for the ghost of a loved one in the face of a stranger.
But, eventually, there is a day where she overhears Astarion having a conversation with his father, and he sounds like himself - not the persona he puts on in public - and his father laughs at something he says in a way that's entertained rather than awkward. There is a day where his mother reaches out and he doesn't shake his head or step away - he lets her hug him goodbye. They have not slipped back into the graves they crawled out of in each other's lives - they are all very different people now - but they are learning new ways to fit together, and he seems to be pleased about it.
So she thinks, yeah, it was worth it.
#bg3#bg3 headcanons#astarion x tav#tavstarion#tav#so i saw a post mentioning that astarion's family could still be alive bc elves#and now i have Feelings#so!!!!! yells screams flings this into the void#also pry astarion having to start processing what hes been through once he's safe from my cold dead hands#also his poor folks lmao#his mother telling him that someone desecrated his grave not long after he died by digging it up#and then again recently by defacing it#and hes just 'actually both of those were me'#astarion ancunin
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zeyko
zeyko [zɛj.ˈk·o] vtr. heal, fix
Requests from @hyunjinoak: Can I request Neteyam x female reader story, in which the reader got hurt badly during a mission/war and her baby daughter/son keeps crying so bad for her(his) mom?
TW: violence, blood
With all the strength in his body, Neteyam shoves his younger brother to the ground, and raises his fist, intent on bringing it down square on Lo'ak's face. He hopes he will break his nose, or an eye socket, or maybe even his jaw.
Before his fist can crack bone, someone grabs his arm and wrenches him away.
He hears his father's voice. "Hey, whoa," he's saying, loudly trying to calm his son.
"It's his fault! It's his fault she was shot," Neteyam screams. "She went down there to protect him!"
Jake grabs his son's shoulders, spinning him so that they are face to face. He sees the anguish in his son's eyes, but even so, he can't let him hurt his brother.
Neteyam might be angry, but Jake knows he would regret it soon enough, if he hurt Lo'ak.
"Your son needs you now, Neteyam. He's crying for his mother, he doesn't know what happened. You need to go take care of him." He looks over his eldest son's shoulder, to see Lo'ak standing up, looking hurt and defeated. "I'll deal with your brother."
At the thought of his son, Neteyam stands up straighter. Without another word, he charges home.
--
It's the longest night of Neteyam's life. He stands outside of Tsahik's tent, listening to his wife's moans and cries, while holding his discontented infant in his arms.
The baby only wants Y/N. It's as if the little one senses that something is wrong, that his mother is hurt, and nothing he can do will calm the boy down.
Eventually, when things begin to calm down, Kiri emerges. Neteyam is near tears, the baby is screaming, and everyone is tired.
"Is she okay?" Neteyam asks.
Kiri nods. "She is. You go in. Give my nephew to me." She extends her arms and almost instantly, the baby settles in his aunt's embrace. Neteaym frowns, but Kiri shakes her head. "It's because I am calm, and he could feel your worry. Just go."
Confident that his son is safe with Aunt Kiri, he rushes into the tent, eager to finally reunite with his mate.
--
It happened in slow motion. Lo'ak took to the ground, wanting to claim a weapon for himself, and I followed, scared something would happen to him.
The ships were inbound quicker than I'd thought, and no sooner had Jake put out the warning, than the bullet had ripped through my side, tearing a searing hole in my flesh.
"Y/N!" Lo'ak screamed, tossing aside the gun he'd just picked up, and the world faded to black.
I had spent the next 12 hours in and out of consciousness, waking up to unbelievable pain, and then falling back asleep again. It felt like an endless cycle... until it did end.
My eyes open, with much difficulty, and the pain is subsided. It's still there, and it's still the worst pain in my life, but it is no longer a searing, hot open wound. I feel the sting of healing, and the numbness of whatever salve Tsahik and Kiri have come up with to place on the wound.
"Neteyam," I whisper. "Ninan..."
Kiri hovers to my right, and pats my shoulder. "I will bring Neteyam. Hopefully, Ninan is sleeping peacefully."
She exits the tent, and only moments later, Neteyam enters.
The sight of him sends me to tears, and though the sobs hurt my sore body, I cannot stop them. The wound at my side isn't all that hurts - I am covered in bruises and cuts from falling off the ship when I was shot, and I am tired, my throat is dry, and I just want to see my family.
Neteyam drops to his knees by my side, and I see the tears in my eyes reflected in his.
I reach my hand up, cupping his cheek, and he covers his hand with mine, leaning his cheek into my palm.
"I thought you were going to die, Y/N," he says in a low, breathy voice. "I thought you were dead, when I saw you lying there."
Shaking my head, I try to muster a smile. "I would not leave you, or Ninan. You know this."
"I'll kill Lo'ak for risking your life."
"No, Neteyam. Lo'ak isn't to blame. I followed him on my own. He was just... being Lo'ak. He didn't think."
"His carelessness almost got you killed! Almost took Ninan's mother from him."
I wince at the harshness of his tone. "We'll speak of this later. Is Ninan sleeping?"
Neteyam nods. "In Kiri's arms. You should sleep now."
He lays down next to me on his side, pressing his forehead to my temple.
"You will bring me my son at first light," I whisper, but my eyelids are already drooping, and Neteyam is pulling a fur over us. I feel warm, and the pain begins to subside as sleep starts to overtake me. As always, I feel safe with Neteyam close to me; I know with him here, I will heal faster.
In the morning, I will hold my son, and Neteyam will forgive his brother - because that's what family does.
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My mind is wrapped around the idea of Y/N already having a baby girl even if she's young, the dad ran off and she's single mothering this beautiful three years old. And when she gets close to Simon and they become friends he unexpectedly encounters her daughter.
Turns out she loves her Ghosty. To the point she will cling to him when he visits y/n's flat on base. And at first he's a bit scared, he's not good with kids, it reminds him of his nephew Joseph, and he's not sure he can handle it. But he also starts to feel protective over the child to the point he's too often at your flat, helping out, and sometimes babysitting. You were shocked the first time he offered after an unexpected meeting showed up. You were worried about leaving her with Simon at the last minute but you melted when you arrived home, seeing them play on the living room floor as she drank a juice box lazily.
"Simon..."
The kind look he was throwing your daughter made your heart jump in your chest.
It turned into a habit. Sometimes Ghost would stay late just to be able to read her a story. And it was on one of these nights that he held you close to him in the kitchen, pushing you against the wall softly, kissing you with a passion he was trying to keep at bay at all costs. Lost in the fever of the moment. It was embarrassing the next day, but you tried to reassure him that it was ok. You didn't mind. And that fueled him to get closer, despite the fact that he was terrified to get attached to the both of you. Like he hadn't already.
And then one day he has to babysit, you're on field training with recruits, and he's called on base by Price for a meeting with Laswell. He feels trapped but cannot refuse so he takes her with him and she's so happy to go with Ghosty to base.
This man practically infiltrates the base. Making sure that not even the security cameras see him with the child. No one should know. No one should think about a correlation between the child and him. The little girl is giggling as she sees her Ghosty act like a spy on a mission.
And then he falls into the main problem. Ok she's on base with him. But he has the meeting. So what? He sighs and says 'fuck it', absolutely horrified when the little girl repeats after him, but he heads straight to the meeting room. He needs a deep breath when he steps inside and when he does, his team and Laswell stare in absolute shock. Price doesn't understand but is smiling widely, Soap is way too excited and gaz just stands there smiling. Laswell is hiding a smile behind the file she's holding.
Soap tries to get closer and the girl in Simon's hold hugs him tighter, hiding in his neck. Simon throws the darkest glare he ever threw at someone, making soap stop dead in his tracks and pretend to look away as he rubs the back of his head.
The girl sits in his lap during the whole meeting taking everyone's attention once in a while. Price offered her paper and pens, highlighters. She happily draws her Ghosty, and the men standing now around the room. They gush over the drawings and she's thrilled.
When you're made aware of the situation you run throughout the base to the meeting room where you find them all playing with your daughter, soap having one of her hair clips in his hair, gaz letting her draw on his arm with a sharpie and Simon eyeing the whole situation like a hawk. Price and Laswell immediately soothe you, telling you it's ok. Simon apologizes profusely but you understand. After all she was safe. How could she not when the Task force 141 was babysitting her.
After that Simon tried to keep the team away but they are insistently asking him to bring her back. You explain that it's too dangerous and you'd rather keep her away from the middle of the base, Simon happy that you shut them down. Until you offer them to pass by the flat to dine. He feels slightly jealous, he likes having you and the child all to himself, like a happy little family-
He finds himself thinking that more and more. His little family. And the relationship between him and you only seems to grow. Now he stays sleeping. You both steal kisses when your daughter isn't looking. One special night you both give in to each other, rolling around in your sheets before falling asleep tightly snuggled together. Embarrassment had washed over you when your daughter ran into the room in the morning finding you both sleeping together. But she happily squealed that he had stayed for a sleepover.
And then it turns to dates. The team is happily babysitting during a short period of time. He stays practically all the time at the flat and he offers flowers and toys and looks at you like you're the world. He loves you, he admits it to himself and later on to you. The feeling of your reciprocated feelings makes him the happiest man alive.
----
I got more to write but it's 3am and I should go to sleep.....
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Glassblower!Bakugou, who uses the explosive fire of the furnace to transform the raw material into glass. Glassblower Bakguou who uses breath and movement and the strength of his body to throw and spin and expand the glass into the most ephemeral shapes and vessels. Glassblower!Bakugou who's technical skill rivals his strength, who creates pieces as bold as they are finessed and delicate.
He rarely attends the viewings of his pieces because he wants them to speak for themselves, but he always attends his classes where he teaches a new generation how to respect and craft with his favorite medium.
Then he meets you, who won a scholarship to his beginners class. For the first time he's hearing laughter in his sweatshop, as you react in delight seeing the process of gathering glass, scaring yourself into giggles as you turn on the powerful torches.
He falls back in love with glass seeing your eagerness to learn and understand. You ask insightful questions that make you think and genuinely can't stop thinking about you after the first class.
When you have to cancel the last class suddenly because your nephew is sick and needs you to look after him, he's suddenly on your doorstep with your final piece in hand grumbling, "How's the kid?"
He doesn't even know what he's doing there, but when he sees you smile- the tension in his chest melts away.
#glassblowing au!#bakugou#katsuki bakugou#bakugou katsuki#jasmina writes 🌸#kacchan#bakugou x reader#katsuki x reader#glass blowing#yes yes i did watch blown away before this
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SFW alphabet anon here ngl im one of the feyd rautha lovers so if you could do him first thatd be lovelyy <3 thanks
A/N: Sorry for being chaotic, i wrote it partially at 3 am when i woke up, partially on uni and partially half asleep. Also, sorry for personal stories, it will happen again. My bf knows that i start going on with stories about my friends and cousin of my grandma's nephew in the least proper times.
Warnings: Some mentions of toxic relationships, but nothing that can't be worked on
FEYD-RAUTHA SFW ALPHABET
A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)
It varies, depending on the stage of your relationship and whether you're alone or in public. Publicly, he's more reluctant to show feelings, but he likes physical affection, like keeping his arm around your waist or putting a hand on your thigh. He also compliments you in conversations with other people, after all, you are his partner, and he's proud to praise you. In privacy, he's more open to affection, but you need to get him used to it. Of course, as I mentioned, he shows you affections himself, but at first, it's all planned, he keeps his composure. Praises and sweet talking are true but spoken more jokingly, teasingly. You get the point, he tries to show his appreciation without seeming soft or weak. It's better if at first you are more openly affectionate. Feyd really appreciates when you hold his hand, or kiss his cheek or give him a small thing that reminds you about him or when you make him a playlist. And after some time, he may feel confident enough to return the affection.
B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)
It's a bit harder to start a friendship when you belong to a great House, especially House Harkonnen. But I guess Feyd has a few friends - and since his childhood, they are mostly his training partners. He had a lot of time to get to know them while fighting together, and they could gain his sympathy as a skilled warriors.
C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)
Surprisingly, he likes to cuddle, especially when you relax in bed. Sometimes he rests his head on your chest or on your lap and lets you hug him or stroke his head. Sometimes he's a big spoon and you fall asleep with him clinging to you like koala to a tree.
D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)
I mean, you rather quickly move into his residency, but it's kinda different. Because his family, court and servants live there as well so your shared house has a population of small city. And yeah, servants clean and cook for him, so there's no reason for him to learn these skills.
E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)
It depends. If you weren't long together and/or it was kinda your "fault" (you cheated or wanted to leave him, because for example, you didn't support his actions), it's possible that he would kill you out of anger. Or maybe because if he can't have you, nobody will.
If you already got closer to each other, then he lets you go away. He makes it quick and emotionless but he may make sure that you have somewhere to go and some money for a living.
F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)
It's kinda complicated question. Feyd himself would like to marry you quickly - not because he believes that much in formalities, but it's a way to solidify your bond and show that you're his. On the other hand, he still has some limitations as an heir. Even if you have a higher social standing or belong to one of the Major Houses, it doesn't mean that Baron Harkonnen will find you fitting his ambition or offering the best alliance. He may threaten Feyd that if he wants to inherit the title and everything, he has to get married according to Baron's decision. When Feyd notices that Baron doesn't have other heirs, unless he wants to leave everything to Rabban, Vladimir suggest that Feyd may have you as a concubine, or he may have you dead. So well, most probably you won't get the official title but you would still be his dearest concubine (and his wife would be like Irulan to Paul). He may even make a small private ceremony to celebrate your bond. Or maybe Baron dies before any wedding (with or without Feyd's help) and there's nothing stopping him from marrying you.
G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)
Well, considering that you're together and he cares about you, he can be really gentle. Sometimes he likes to tease you or his jokes and comments may go to far but when you confront him about it, he may tone down his malicious games.
H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)
It's similar to the general affection headcanon. He enjoys hugging you (he grips you tight then, as if he wasn't going to ever let you go. If he can, he nuzzles his face in the crook of your neck) as well as when you hug him but he's still getting used to openly showing non-sexual affection.
I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)
He says it first, but at the beginning it's still with a tone of amusent, he's manipulating you a bit. He mixes it with other sweet words to get you wrapped around your finger but he doesn't really notice when his words become more and more honest and heartfelt. If you know baldur's gate 3, it kinda reminds romance with astarion. At first, even if he likes you, Feyd plays you like a game and his words are part of the strategy; that's just how he treats everything and everybody. But as time passes, it becomes less of a strategy and more a true confession.
J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)
I made a whole post about this but in summary: Feyd isn't very jealous, he's too confident to be afraid that you would leave him. But he's very possesive and doesn't like other people trying to take away his possesions (yes, in this case you). He doesn't get suspicious for no reason, but when there's actual threat to his position - like, someone flirts with you, or gets too touchy, or maybe you enjoy someone's company too much - he takes quick action. He joins you, wraps his hand around your waist and joins the conversation. He's not threatening his rival openly but he emphasizes in the conversation that you're together, you're very happy and devoted to each other and you will stay together until death. If somebody gets really too close to you, Feyd may fuck you in semi-public place, so his rival hears who is your actual lover and who can make you feel good. Well, that's if his rival is of higher standing. If they are a servant, Feyd will willingly kill them. Maybe behind your back. So you don't protest.
K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)
Passionate, hungry, possesive. Wherever he kisses you, he likes to bite, but his favourite place is your neck.
When it comes to you kissing him, it’s has a different vibe. Feyd enjoy all your kisses, but if he had to pick his one favourite kind, it would be kisses on the forehead. He isn't eager to admit that, but he loves the affection you put in these kisses and how they make him feel cared for. Maybe he isn't as touch-starved as Rabban, maybe he hides it better but still both brothers subconsciously yearn for a gentle touch and kind words.
L = Little ones (How are they around children?)
Again, complicated topic. Feyd probably wants children but not for the... proper reasons. He needs an heir to preserve his blood and his lineage. Also passing his genes is important for his ego. If you're able to give birth to his child, he may also see getting you pregnant as matter of dominance and control. But does he really like children? Maybe. He can take care of them for some time and be that cool dad who treats you as a fellow adult. But he wouldn’t like the everyday responsibilities and the less entertaining aspects of raising a child and would probably leave it to grow up with a nanny and teachers.
M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)
He usually has to get up early for his duties (there's either some council or a training), but if there's more time, he likes to just lay in bed and cuddle with you.
N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)
Putting aside the NSFW aspect, well, I think that Feyd goes to sleep really late, so he either continues his duties or goes to relax with you. And there are many possibilities, you can just sit there and talk in peace or maybe go on a walk. Are there any places on Giedi Prime or Arrakis where you can go out for entertainment? That's a topic for maybe different post, but if the answer is yes, Feyd would eagerly enjoy the night life with you. Sometimes he just go to train a bit more, you can either just watch him or join the training (it makes sense, i often work out or go on a long aimless walk through the city when I can't sleep; it helps to get tired and to get rid of stress and emotions).
O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)
Slowly, definitely slowly. No matter, how much he cares about you, on Giedi Prime being vulnerable and talking about feelings is seen as weakness. And as it looks with everybody, it's hard for him to change the views they raised him in. So he either hides any more hurtful or other emotional memories, or mentions them without bigger, or treats as a joke. You need to get really close together, and he must really trust you to honestly speak with you about them.
When it comes to more neutral or positive things, he may not be too quick to tell too much about himself (growing up on Harkonnen's court made him careful about sharing important informations that can be potentially used against him), but he doesn't hide them too much as well - after all, he enjoys talking about himself and he wants to impress you, so as you get closer to him, you learn more and more "safer" facts about him. Also if you're vulnerable with him first, it helps him be more open and trust you.
P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)
I know I keep repeating it but it's hard to say. Even when he gets annoyed, Feyd is very good at keeping his composure and controling his emotions. Also when he gets angry, it's not loud, screaming rage, like with Rabban. He gets more cold and reserved, showing his anger by pushing you off or treating you with superiority. He may humiliate you or show his anger in a different way. But I would say, that it's not so easy to push him to that point. If you know what he hates (for example lying to him, trying to control him, insulting him etc), you can avoid this easily.
Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)
He has extremely good memory and remembers most details you mention. On the court he got used to catching and remembering every information that may be important, and that political skill is very useful in relationship as well (also, he cares about what you tell him, so don't think that he treats these informations just as a tool to control you)
R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)
Okay, it may sound like an easy answer but I don't think he would choose just one? Every day is his favourite, as every brings something new to your relationship. It was great when he met you for the first time. Great, if not greater, when he started getting to know you closer. Or when you started dating. Or when you celebrated your bond. Or....
Every day develops your relationship and brings you new opportunities, so he can't simply choose.
S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)
He isn't too worried about you, but not because he doesn't care. Just as a partner of heir to House Harkonnen, you are well protected - even if you aren't a formal couple due to political reasons. There are always guards and soldiers around, in case Feyd isn't there to help you. And in any case, he trained you and made sure that you're able to defend yourself.
T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)
Feyd himself isn't exactly the most romantic person so it depends on what you like. He's still very devoted to you, if i can call it that. Anyway, he would do anything (that doesn't go against his plans and desires, for example he wouldn't stop killing) to make you happy or to impress you so if you're into dates, anniversaries and other celebrations, he does it and he doesn't use half measures. As I mentioned in Q, he rembembers what you tell him, what you like and what you dream about so he makes sure that his gifts and dates fit your tastes. And he doesn't refuse to do something because it's too sweet or silly. If you like things he finds cheesy, he may just find it cute and an interesting break from his serious life and duties. The line is at keeping things that can hurt his reputation as a strong leader and warrior private.
U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)
Well, he's not an angel but some of his bad habits made you fell in love in him. And I will mention the one of the others, that may be a problem in relationship and life in general: recklessness. Yeah, it's cool when he's bold and like to take a risk, but he could care about his life more. He's a masochist, he's honourable and he likes to fight but it goes too far. Like when he fought Paul and after being stabbed he said only "you fought well, Atreides". Dude, I know you're horny for your cousin but maybe there are other ways to show it than dying with a smile. Every time I think about this scene, I understad how my bf feels when I do some careless impulsive shit.
V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)
It's not the most important thing for him but he likes to look good. After premiere of 2023 movie I googled why does he have black teeth (other Harkonnens doesn’t so it's not genetic). Some people noticed that his "pets" have black teeth as well, and blood on Giedi Prime is black so it may be effect of cannibalism. It makes sense but personally I prefer theory that it's more a fashion thing. Actually in some cultures dyeing your teeth black is a sign of status. So I keep thinking that for youth on Giedi Prime dyeing teeth is like getting a tattoo or a piercing and Feyd may be an heir to powerful House and ruler of Arrakis, but he also wants to look cool while being one.
(Also it makes sense that neither his uncle nor older brother have black teeth. I imagine them being like my family every time I get another body mod. Or like my friend's older sister when they got a tattoo. "You think it looks cool Feyd? It's disgusting. And controversial. You will get bored soon. If you wanted to look good, you could just buy a new coat. No one will trust a baron with black teeth, you have to look normal in work")
W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)
Well, it's a tough question but I suppose yes. I know that he seems cold and uncaring, people call him sociopath. And well, I have ASPD (which is a professional term for so called sociopathy), which results in low empathy (or lack of it). I also have suspected NPD, commonly known as narcissism. Sorry for that long personal rant but I have a good information for people who simp over characters like this. And I also like to fight the stigma and prejudices about personality disorders. Anyway, I can't speak for everyone, but despite myths of narcissists and sociopaths loving only themselves, I still can form close bonds with people. I don't feel what they feel, so I am not too worried when they are sad but in general I want them to be happy. And I lose someone (either because we broke up, they are away or they died), I may seem less moved but I still miss them and our time together. Anyway, I would consider Feyd to be similar. Without you, he will still go on. Find someone else, focus on his goals. World doesn't end on you. But he will miss you and he will try to keep you with him as much as he can. (I don't know if i sound clear or complicate things too much). Anyway, he's his own person and he can deal well on his own but you make his life much more pleasant.
Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)
Being underappreciated or feeling controlled. You may have an equal relationship with him, even though he may try to gain domination, it's possible to work on that power dynamic and get him to accept being equals. He even enjoys that challenge and somebody standing up to him. But Feyd wouldn’t stand being the one controlled and powerless. He would also hate if you saw him as weak and incapable leader or underappreciated his skills. You don't have to gush about everything he does, but you can praise him once now and then. Or just in any way, make him feel supported.
Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)
I might be wrong but Feyd makes impression of those people who needs only a few hours of sleep and they are full of energy. Like my friend who in high school one day said "you know what? I discovered today that sleeping more than three hours is an amazing experience" and I was like. How. How are you alive.
#feyd rautha#dune part two#feyd x reader#feyd rautha x reader#feyd rautha harkonnen#feyd rautha headcannons#feyd rautha imagine#dune imagine
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Hello I js read ur MC who takes inspriration from the protag of their stories and if you're still taking requests, is it possible to do a part 2 for it?
A/N: You are welcome. I pondered a little about the continuation of this concept, and figured out that Leona & Vil had the most potential for the second part, since I left a cliffhanger in their stories. Others seemed quite cliche or obvious—Riddle has a crush, he can easily deal with, and same goes for Malleus, Azul & Idia. I hope, you don't mind.
The first part can be found here. Obviously, read it first for the context.
LEONA KINGSCHOLAR & VIL SCHOENHEIT WITH THE READER, WHO IS INSPIRED BY THE PROTAGONIST OF THEIR STORIES.
Leona Kingscholar. 💛
— Leona is bad at admitting aloud that he made a mistake, but it doesn't necessarily mean he has no realisation of it. He knows, he hurt you. That is obvious;
— He starts paying more attention to you in the school, since he hasn't figured out how to fix your relationship yet. And that is when he notices that... You are actually not as cheerful as he remembered you to be? Most of the time, you sit away from other students of Savanaclaw?
— When he asks Ruggie about that, he shrugs. He tells Leona that you were always like this, and they even call you ”the sombre heir” among themselves, since you are not quite fun to have around. Leona is surprised. You were so different with him...
— In the end, Leona simply decides to speak with you honestly. He has this feeling that you will accept him either way. You always did before. But, oh, seems like he is not on your good side anymore, isn't he?
•
”Oi, kittie, watcha doin'?” Leona plops in front of you, putting his elbows on the table.
He is nervous, he will not lie about. It is the first time he feels such an overcoming anxiety before someone alive, and that is strange. It is just you, after all. Right?
”Dunno,” you answer slowly, putting a slice of meat in your mouth. ”Thinking about my family, who died so yours could take our throne away. You, Leona?”
Well, you definitely are not planning to forgive him so easily.
Leona shifts uncomfortably as he tries to catch your gaze. Without a luck.
”I accept my fault,” he murmurs quietly, hardly audible. ”And if anything, I understand your pain. I, too—”
A sudden laugh from your lips makes him stop in the tracks. As you wipe your mouth with the napkin, you smile suddenly. And when you raise your eyes on him, Leona almost flinches. Because there is nothing kind or gentle in these orbs now. Instead, they are cold. They are cold, and at the same time, they are awfully mad.
”What would you know about it, golden boy?” Your voice shift in a condescending tone as you shake your head slightly. ”Kings like your brother, Leona, they have honour. And princes like you or your little nephew have a bravery and heart. But people like me, Leona, the fallen ones, we only have rage. So, excuse me, but I don't think we are at the same page, kittie.”
You are hissing your last words, hand coming to grab Leona by his chin, tip of claws scratching his skin. He wants to back away, he intends too, but he is suddenly strangely fascinated by you. Intimidated, even.
”If you want to apologise, Leona, then do it properly. With falling on your knees, at least,” your fangs flash in a carnivorous smirk. ”And until then, have your dreams. Sweet or not—we will see in which mood I am going to be today.”
Leona gulps as he watches you leaving, eyes fixated on your back.
Perhaps you ignored his existence until now, willing to forget his rudeness. But now, it seemed, he lost the last pieces of your mercy.
...And he needs to figure out how to have your forgiveness really quick.
Vil Schoenheit. 💜
— Vil is not surprised when headmaster warns him, that someone from his dorm attempts to take away his housewarden title. He already knows who it is, and he is not surprised to see your face, when he enters the main hall;
— He had a bad week already: his hair products worked awfully, your number of followers outnumbered his own, and Neige practically took the role that was his in the very last moment. It is only logical that in the same week you attempt to take his title;
— And, of course, you succeed. The poison you created can be only worth of the Pomefiore housewarden, and no one can deny that. Even Vil. In fact, he always acknowledged your brains and wilt, so of anything, he feels it is fair win;
— What makes him stop frozen, though, is the person you want to see as your vice. Originally, Vil thought that you will take Rook—he is quite aware of his attraction towards you—but then... You chose him? Why? Why would you do that?
•
”Well,” Vil says, when the two of your are left in the room alone, and there is no need to act as you were friends anymore. ”What else are you planning to do with me? You are the housewarden—you won. Why making me your vice?”
You turn on your heels to face him, a big and shiny smile plastered on your face as you step closer to him.
”Don't be so mean, Vil-sama. Why do you act as if I hate you? I don't,” you put yours hands on chair handles he is sitting at, invading his personal space gracefully. ”I cannot hate a person, who helped me to understand what my signature spell is.”
Vil furrows, pressing his back to the chair more firmly, not trusting you coming close to him. Yet, it hardly changes anything—the tips of your noses are practically touching.
”I apologise, but I cannot recall such a thing.”
He had never helped you with anything in your life. Now, Vil is ashamed that he didn't.
He remembers your first day in the dorm. How you clinged to his side, with stars shining in your eyes, asking him about this and that. How you attempted to befriend him. How you only originally started to speak with Rook to understand him better.
Vil failed the little student of his.
And the person in front of him didn't want his acceptance now.
”How come?” Your hands are suddenly on his head, fingers wrapped around his favourite diadem, taking it off slowly. ”After all, you were the first beast I spoke with.”
He flinches, and you carefully kiss him on the cheek before putting the diadem on your own hair. It looks nice.
Vil hates that.
”I miss the kid you were,” he murmurs against his best judgement.
You hum.
”Bear the monster you created, instead.”
You left him on the vice position so it could be a remind for his mistake. For his cruelty. For his arrogance. He realises it now. You don't need to do anything special to hurt him, if he does it to himself, working under your command on the daily basis, seeing you shine, when he burns out.
You are beautiful, Vil accepts that. Your revenge is a charming one, too.
”I heard Neige got that role?” You ask suddenly, when he reaches doors, unwilling to turn back. ”Such a shame. Something must happened.”
He grits his teeth.
Vil hates himself for making you like this. Yet, he can't help but feel proud. Whatever he created you as—you would take what is yours, with blood and sweat. He can admire that about you. And deep inside, Vil thinks you do that, too. Deep inside you enjoy it as much as you hate it.
”Yes. Something.”
After all, there is truly nothing Vil can do, but accept his defeat.
The king is dead. Long life to you.
A/N: Based on protagonists or not—they had some darkness in theirselves as well; just as Simba was quite ruthless, when the situation required of it, in many interpretations of the tale, Snow-white learned how to be cruel, too. I think it is enamoring how these said protagonists can be just as their villains, especially if they were growing up around them in one way or another.
#twisted wonderland#twst wonderland#leona kingscholar#leona kingscholar x reader#vil schoenheit#vil schoenheit x reader
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