#he is a little sunshine he better get a seat next year
Text
out of style
Summary: A year after your divorce, you and Bucky come face to face at your closest friends' wedding. Emotions run high, leading to a fiery confrontation that takes a detour to Bucky's hotel room, where the old flame might just reignite.
Pairing: ex-husband!Bucky Barnes x female reader
Warnings: 18+, teasing, dirty talk, pet names, daddy kink, fingering, oral séx, no condom (but f is on birth control), language, a little alcohol, no mention of y/n
Word Count: 7.2K
Bucky Barnes masterlist
A/N: I really hope you'll enjoy it!
Please, do not repost or translate without my permission!
What an ass... He has no shame at all. And the worst part? You’re still somehow surprised by it. As if you haven’t known him for years.
You look away, making sure to take a sip from your wine before focusing on the conversation again. It’s Nat’s big day, and you’re so happy for her, but listening to this story for the seventh time is exhausting. Same reactions, too: “Wow, he’s so well trained.” or “The wedding bands didn’t fall even once. Enzo is fantastic.” He’s a trained dog, you don’t get why they’re so fucking impressed.
You give Nat a smile before you excuse yourself to go to the bar. Maybe you should get a cocktail, the wine tastes terrible. On the way, you notice Steve talking to Miss Sunshine in the right corner, and you just nod toward him politely, trying to look unbothered. It’s his best friend’s girlfriend after all. What did you expect? Plus, maybe it’s just a polite conversation.
“A Sex on the Beach, please,” you murmur to the bartender.
“Vodka so early?”
You turn your head with a sigh just to see a guy you recognize from Nat’s engagement party. A fresh haircut, a simple suit and wandering eyes.
“Is there a time limit for a cocktail?” you respond, rolling your eyes when you notice he is still fixated on your chest.
He immediately raises his hands in defense as he takes a seat next to you.
God, if you hate one thing about being single besides the lack of sex is this… needing to deal with those men. It was perfect when Bucky used to take care of them.
“I didn't mean it like that, sweetheart.” You scrunch your nose instantly. God no!
“Here you go!” The bartender places the glass gently in front of you, and you’ve never been more grateful to see her.
“Thank you!” You smile before taking a huge sip, hoping it will turn him off and make him get away.
“A vodka tonic for me.” His tone is commanding, and you try not to roll your eyes again as he leans in closer. “We’re matching.”
“Huh?” You choke.
“Vodka lovers.”
Alright, time to get out of here!
You quickly grab your glass and stand up, making sure to fix your dress just in case, but his eyes are already on your breasts again. For fuck’s sake! How is he Steve’s cousin?
And talking about Steve, you almost jump when you hear him saying your name.
“Hey.” You’ve never been happier to see him.
You can’t say the same thing about his friend, who’s right next to him, looking the creepy blondie up and down.
“Is everything alright?” Steve asks with obvious concern. “Do you feel okay?”
“Hey, man! The food is great and the company even better. Look at her, such an eye candy, am I right?” He chuckles at his own disgusting comment. “I mean, you’re married. Don’t answer that, I don’t want Romanoff on my back.” And after all of this, he has the audacity to wink at Steve. But before you can throw your cocktail over his shirt and make a scene, Bucky’s already getting in front of you, blocking your view with his huge back.
“If you want to keep your teeth, get the fuck out of here and never, ever get even within three feet of my wife. Am I fucking clear?”
His tone is so cold, harsh, and arrogant at the same time, but also so possessive. It surprises both: you and Steve, because he immediately looks at you confused before dropping his eyes on your hand.
He must be looking for a ring.
God, you never hated Bucky more than when you see blondie standing up and going straight outside just like that. It makes you even angrier because it’s always a man who has to explain the obvious signs to these assholes so they leave. You say no? You are playing hard to get. You are with a man? Then it’s all off-limits.
You sip your cocktail with frustration, the taste of vodka lingering on your tongue.
Then, you take a step toward Bucky, grabbing his arm and turning him so he can face you. “Listen and listen good, I’m not your wife and I don’t need you to play the macho hero! I can handle myself, so back off!” You wanted to leave after saying this, but the way he looks at you makes you change your mind. His eyes softened, showing a trace of your old Bucky, and it only pisses you off more. He labeled you just like that... “I divorced you for a reason, I’m not your property or responsibility. Stay out of my fucking business or I’ll show you exactly how well I can take care of myself!”
You hand him your half-full glass and storm out, seeing red. Or well, blue.
You anticipated that he’d come after you, of course you did. You know him, as much as you hate to admit. You still know him well. Too well.
And when you hear his sigh behind you, you don’t jump.
“You can handle yourself, but he was all over you. Sorry for being a gentleman.” He apologizes sarcastically. “I guess old habits die hard.”
“Too bad, Barnes! I am not your little wife. I am not your girlfriend. I am not even your friend.” You turn your head to look at him as he’s standing on the other side of the balcony. “And I am not that flavor of the month of yours, you have to kill these habits.”
He raises his head. “Flavor of the month?”
“Yeah, your plus one. You know, you should take care of her instead of trying to play hero and calling me your wife.”
“Keeping an eye on me? He smirks. “Thought you divorced me for a reason.”
Fuck him! He thinks he got you... “I did! You couldn’t open your mouth to say what bothers you, remember?”
“Well, I opened my mouth to do something else, far more exciting.”
You gasp, incredulous at his audacity.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You scream, walking toward him. “Seriously!”
“What is wrong with me? You tell me! You divorced me for a reason.”
“Don’t you have someone else to bother? Fuck off already, Bucky!”
“You got angrier with me now than back there with him. Unbelievable!” He shakes his head.
You take a deep breath, trying not to have a crisis. You are not gonna let him get to you. “Look, can you just pretend this didn’t happen?”
He instantly looks at you shocked as he leans in. “This as in,” he waves between you two. “Our marriage? You think I can pretend our marriage never happened?” His voice grew louder, his words punctuated by sharp, angry inflections. “You think just because we divorced, you get to ask me that? How can you...”
You’re taken completely aback by his whole attitude, and it’s like you’re back in time at your wedding as he made you sneak out so he can make you come on his tongue after saying all sorts of things.
You don’t know why you suddenly remembered that, but you need to snap out of it.
“I meant the whole interaction, you annoying man!”
“How was I supposed to know?” He looks much more relaxed now, though, and before you can think about it, you’re poking his chest.
“Why would I tell you to forget about our marriage, Bucky?” You smile. “You are more than free to think about me as you fuck your little flavor of the month. I am not gonna stop that.”
You see his eyebrows raise instantly as his gaze drops to your finger. “My little flavor of the month? How many times did you think about me fucking her?” His hand finds your wrist. “Did you wonder if I’m fucking her from behind as I choke her? Did you imagine me coming all over her tits? Did you-”
You grab his cheeks, just the way he likes it, to stop him.
“You think I have nothing better to think about? I have my own dicks that occupy my thoughts,” you lie through your teeth, and he knows it. God, he knows it as he chuckles right away.
“What’s so funny, Barnes?” You let go, expecting him to do the same, but he’s still holding your other wrist.
“You have no dick to think about. I know you broke up with your last flavor of the month, honey.”
He knows how much you hate being mocked with the word honey, but you bite the inside of your cheeks. “It’s funny really,” you fake giggle, looking up at him. “You assume I don’t have someone already. Maybe I’m just enjoying my life after our divorce... new dick every month since I am a free woman. I don’t even need something serious. You know how much I love sex.”
His smile immediately drops, his face reddening.
“You are absolutely infuriating!” Even his tone carries a sense of irritation.
“Aww, what happened?”
It’s his turn to grab your face, making you gasp. You don’t remember the last time he touched you, and you’re shivering.
“You’re playing a very dangerous game, and you know it!”
“I don’t play games, Bucky, that is your specialty.” You smile, trying to maintain your composure. “Now let me go and get back to your little girlfriend. You can be mad about how many dicks she thinks about.”
“You can’t do the whole non-attachment shit. I know you well, don’t forget that. You’re my...” He talks so fast you’re surprised he stopped. You know what he was gonna say, of course you know. The audacity!
“I am not your wife, Bucky. You literally have a woman with you here tonight. We divorced, we live in separate places, and we fuck different people.”
“Who are you fucking, huh?” He almost spits the last words. “Tell me! Nat said you’re single.”
“You’ve been asking Nat about my personal life?” And she is spilling to him? No way.
“Fuck...” he frowns, dropping his hand from your face. “No.”
“Steve!” You realize. “God, this is pathetic! Why do you keep tabs on me, huh? Can’t you just mind your own business? Is your life goal to piss me off?”
“I’m not the one calling Jessica the flavor of the month.”
“Ha!” You laugh in his face. “Well, you have no success in getting a girlfriend. And they all look pretty familiar.” You can’t hide the venom in your voice. “The differences are they’re just taller and with less in the chest department. Quite interesting, don’t you think?”
“So you’re keeping tabs on me too!”
“You flatter yourself. It’s quite obvious, look at Jessica. Does she know you were married to me? Does she beg you to fuck her mouth? Does she...” You take a deep breath. “Does she call you daddy, James? Does she ride you until you lose control and turn her on her back so you can pound her?” You don’t care anymore. Right or wrong, you’re gonna let it all out. “Do you praise her? Tell her how wet she is for you? How your cock is made for her? Do you... do you tell her you love her while she’s coming? Do you fucking call her your good girl?”
“Jesus-” You don’t let him continue his sentence, interrupting him.
“Does she take you like I did? Does she beg for you because she feels empty, James? Does she? Did any of them?”
“Stop. It.”
“Why? You didn’t stop!”
He sighs, reaching out to grab your cheeks gently. “No one does, are you happy? I don’t even fucking try. I don’t let anyone call me daddy, I don’t choke anyone and I definitely don’t fuck anyone like I fucked you. Are you happy? Seeing me miserable and pathetic? Are you enjoying it?”
You can’t deny the satisfaction and relief you feel when you hear that. Dating post-him was a very bad experience overall, so him not upgrading, indeed, in any way, makes you feel victorious. At least, you’re both suffering.
“Yeah, I actually enjoy that.”
“What about you?” He snaps. “Do you do all of that?”
“I don’t want to be called daddy, James.”
“You know exactly what I meant! You call those losers daddy? You choke around their cocks? Do you beg for their small dicks to go deeper and finish yourself off after it?”
“Like I begged for your small dick?” You ask annoyed, knowing how dumb this lie is, but what else can you say? No one compares to him and never will.
His response shocks you as he reaches down to the zipper of his worn jeans and pulls it down.
“What the fuck are you doing? Are you crazy?”
“Wanted to, you know… give you more mocking material in case you forgot how small it is.”
You have to think twice about what to say because the first thought was: I have enough videos, thanks. But you can’t. You can’t expose yourself like that.
“James, what the fuck are you doing? Are you trying to hurt me?”
“With my small dick?”
You look away for a few seconds, not wanting him to read you. “Why are you doing this? We divorced, you’re seeing someone, I’m good by myself... just let it go.”
He smiles at that, and you realize you indirectly told him you are indeed not fucking anyone.
“Why would I let go of my wife?”
You’re slapping his chest before you realize what you’re doing. “Stop this, Bucky! Just fucking stop.”
He’s hurting you, how can he not see that?
“You said you divorced me for a reason. You said...” he pauses. “You ordered me to leave you alone. Well, what if I don’t want to?”
“What are you, a fucking stalker?”
“No!” He almost screams. “I am fucking in love with you, you infuriating woman!”
“W-what?”
He can’t be joking about this, can he? He is not cruel. He is not vile. This isn’t a game.
“I’m in love with you. I love you. You own me... you fucking control me.”
“How?”
He laughs hysterically, running his hands through his hair before pulling. “I am fucking obsessed with you: how you are, if you’re doing well, if you miss me, if you’re fucking someone else, if your date went great, if you regret being with me, if someone else makes you smile wider. I dream about you, I am so miserable I couldn’t be with anyone. With Mia it lasted a month. I wasn’t... I wasn’t okay. I am not okay.”
You look at him, waiting for more. “Go on and zip your jeans, we’re in public.” You watch him quickly do what you demand before you continue. “And what about Jessica tonight? Or Alexa a month ago? Why are you lying to me?”
“It’s not real. Jessica... I was just trying to make you jealous, okay? I was sneaking looks all night, have you not noticed at all?”
You don’t smile, despite your huge instinct to. Instead, you cross your arms, watching him drop his gaze straight to your boobs.
“Why would I notice, James?”
“Well, how did you notice Jessica looking a little like you, that she’s with me here?”
Fair point...
“Just...” You’re suddenly gripped by this crazy urge to just fuck him right here. You even regret telling him to zip back up. You could have just lifted your dress as he lowered his briefs and took out his cock. And just like that, you could have just fucked against the wall or something. You would have let him rip off your panties too. You just need his cock so badly! “Shut the fuck up!” You snap, grabbing him by his neck so he can lean in enough for you to be able to kiss him. And oh, you kiss him!
You don’t have to fight to dominate the kiss, surprisingly, because he lets you. He lets you bite his lip and almost draw blood, he lets you unzip his pants again and push down his unfit-for-a-wedding jacket, and most importantly, he lets you be his again, as pathetic as that might sound. You feel him emotionally, not just physically.
Without wasting more time, you drop to your knees, making sure only your dress and shoes touch the floor directly. You drag down his pants and briefs at the same time from your position, and he looks at you surprised.
“I thought we’re in public and you were fucking some-” his words die as you bring your tongue to the head of his cock, tasting the precum, but not sucking even a little bit.
“Weren’t you saying something?” You tuck your hair strands behind your ears as you mock him. You love being on your knees for Bucky. He has this dominant energy, but he always makes you feel in power even when he fuck your mouth. And you enjoy it, you feed on it. One of the reasons you missed him so much. And he can take mocking. “Please go on. I am all ears.” You breathe out on his dick. “And tongue.”
“Oh god,” Bucky’s voice is a moan at this point, and you laugh. So easy...
“I’m your god now? Aww! Come on, do I have to do everything tonight?”
He looks down at you confused. His blue eyes are almost grey, and you know he’s on cloud nine already just because you’re there.
“What?”
“Oh, you need translation. Well,” it’s all you say before wrapping your lips around his dick and using both of your hands to push him as deep as he can go inside your mouth. He moans at the same time you gag, and his balls slap you in the face. He instinctively looks at you to ask if you’re okay, but you are more than okay. You are fucking alive. You encourage him to fuck your throat at this point by squeezing his ass cheeks and touching his balls.
“God, look at you! That pretty black dress…” He pulls out and back in not as forcefully as he can, but enough to make you start tearing up quickly. “On your knees for your man. That mouth!”
You find yourself moaning at the feel of his fingers grasping and tugging at your hair. Jesus, how you missed this...
“You have the sweetest mouth.” Does he even realize what he’s mumbling? “I could die right here. Right now,” he says and thrusts harder, which makes you close your eyes. You can barely see anything because of the tears, and he’s already close. “My pretty baby, my fucking girl.”
You’re getting wetter and wetter the more he talks, and it’s crazy. You’re cold and your jaw is hurting, yet you love this.
“Not caring if someone can catch us, just making sure you mark me again. God, I'm gonna come, baby. Gonna... should I p-pull-”
You don’t let him finish his sentence as you grab his ass to make sure you keep him there, in your throat, as he comes while moaning your name.
When he finishes, he immediately helps you stand up, before he kisses you desperately, his tongue immediately licking your bottom lip to get access. He lifts you up, wrapping your legs around his waist tightly. You moan in the middle of the kiss because his semi-hard cock is right where you need it, and it’s like torture...
“Need to taste you, okay, baby?” He asks with so much need in his voice. He sounds so whipped. “Need my pussy. Can I take you to my room?”
That is perfect, a dream at this point. But you need to make him a little more desperate.
“But the wedding… They would kill us.”
“I am sure you care sooooo much about this wedding and Nat’s stories. More than about getting my tongue on that pretty clit of yours and making you come all over my face.”
You can’t hold back your laughter.
“Fair point, Mr. Barnes. I deserve my orgasms, especially after listening to you pathetically trying to seduce me by admitting how desperate you are.”
“You dropped to your knees on this balcony just to mark my cock as yours.”
You pull his hair a little. “You said it yourself, it's already mine. Now get that ugly jacket and carry me.”
Bucky snorts, kissing your cheek. “You bought me that ugly jacket.”
“I know.”
*
You don’t know where you left your phone and even though you should feel panicked, you don’t. All you can focus on is Bucky taking off your dress and groaning at the sight of your cups. You couldn’t wear a full bra, so you improvised. They could barely hold your breasts, but no nipples showing? Win.
“Hurry up!”
“Jesus,” he moans and reaches for your cups. Desperate man... you roll your eyes, but let him uncover your breasts and grab them into his hands eagerly. He’s not just holding them, he looks and touches them as if he’s never seen boobs in his entire life, let alone yours.
“James...” You sigh, throwing your head back in pleasure when he finally gets your nipple into his mouth. Your hand finds his hair instantly, and you watch him suck happily while playing with your other nipple.
“You’re quite hungry,” you say with a smile, stroking his hair. You missed this so much. His need to always touch or sleep on your boobs, the way he grabs them while he’s pounding you... You shiver in anticipation when he switches to the other tit.
“Fucking shit, I missed them so much.”
You snort. “My boobs?”
“Mine.” He’s not sucking anymore, he’s eating them, shocking you.
“H-hold on a second, Bucky. They’re breasts, not my clit.”
“It’s been a year, love. Let me get my fill. I died without them. Died!”
As much as you wanted to think only about the part he missed your boobs, you can’t help the jealousy that clouds your mind. You were divorced, yet the image of him sucking someone else’s tits makes you want to hit a wall. Mia all over him... You pull his hair angrily. “You surely had other tits in your mouth, Bucky, for the past year. Don’t pretend this is any different.”
He immediately stops sucking. “You... you can’t believe this. Tell me you don’t believe this.”
You look away, too proud to face him. “What am I supposed to believe, huh? It’s been one fucking year.”
“I’ve been yours this whole year. I’ve been thinking about you, fucking my fist while watching... our videos, as fucked up as it might be. I tried to date, but I failed, and trust me, it has nothing to do with the size of my dick and my age. No one is you. No one smells like you or talks like you. No one is my brat with the god complex.”
“God complex?” You raise your eyebrow, keeping your face straight. “Fuck you.”
“I will fuck it out of you as I usually do, don’t worry.”
“Then why does it keep coming back?”
He chuckles. “Because you want to get fucked all the goddamn time.”
“Like you don’t!” You puff. “Come on, I breathe in your direction and you get hard, Bucky.”
“Did you see yourself? Did you have sex with yourself? You cannot judge me!” He grabs your breasts again. “There is no comparison, okay? You have no rival. Never did, never will.”
“That’s all?” You puff, amused. “My looks?”
“Do I even have to say… Your god complex exists for a fucking reason. You’re the smartest, most sarcastic, and feistiest person I’ll ever meet. One mocking comment, and you know how I get.”
“Pathetic?” You mock him on purpose just to get the reaction he is talking about. You love it when he compliments you.
“Is this why you divorced me? Cause I am a pathetic son of a bitch?”
You take a deep breath. “I divorced you because you refused to communicate properly with me anymore, and you know it.”
“So not because of my small dick, either,” he remarks, making you roll your eyes.
“No, your small dick is one of the reasons I am here.”
Bucky dramatically touches his heart. “So you’re using me for my sex skills!”
“As if you don’t beg me to use you. Come on, put that mouth to good use before Nat comes after us.”
He doesn’t disappoint as he finally rips your underwear off, just like you fantasized about, and you use this as the perfect opportunity to fish for more.
“What happened, Jamie? So eager. Aren’t you a little good-”
The word boy comes out as a moan when you feel his index finger curled up inside you suddenly.
“What happened, honey? Too big for you?”
“Dick!”
“You’ll get that. I just need to erase the memories of having little pencils in here. That must have been traumatic.”
“You’re such a jerk!” You snort, but he’s right. It was really bad.
Bucky shrugs, finally kneeling properly between your legs before lifting them on his shoulders. God, yes!
“Gonna give my pussy some loving.”
“D-didn’t know you have a pussy, James.”
He smiles against your inner thigh. “I certainly keep what I lick.”
“Eww, what the fuck.”
He snorts, kissing your slit. “I am joking, baby. Tried to imitate one of those dicks you thought you could replace me with.”
Petty fucking bitch! You grab him by his hair and push him closer to your pussy.
“Shut the fuck up and eat!”
His tongue feels like heaven, indeed, on your clit. You’ve lost count of how many times you remembered him eating you out so you can come this year. He's just so good at eating your pussy.
You let out a satisfied sigh when he adds a second finger. You start to feel like before… like you and Bucky are still married and with no problem. Like you're happy. He makes you so happy. Made.
So you stare at his hair and stroke it as he sucks on your clit, completely squashed between your thighs, and try to hold back your tears.
When he adds his third finger and starts tracing eight figures on your clit with his tongue before he flattens it, you know you’re about to come.
There is something about the way he always manages to make you vulnerable even if it’s not intentional, to cut you open and get in... and you don’t want it to be over. You can’t let him go again after tonight. You’d suffocate.
Your efforts to delay your orgasm and not tear up are futile because when he sucks a little harder, you come and start sobbing somehow. The orgasm is strong and even though you’d want to watch Bucky, you close your eyes, letting yourself go, and shut your mind down for a second. Everything feels so overwhelming. So amplified…
You’re grateful he doesn’t stop fucking you with his fingers, either, even though you felt him hesitating when he heard you crying. You really needed this.
As soon as you finish, you drop your legs, furiously trying to wipe your face. He knows the difference between crying because of a crazy orgasm and you being emotional. He instantly gets back on the bed next to you and pulls you into the tightest hug you’ve had in two years.
“God, I’m...” You don’t know how to continue this phrase. You should not feel sorry for crying and you’re not pathetic for it. “I m-missed you so much, Bucky. Why did you give up?”
You feel his warm breath on your forehead. “I never gave up, baby, I swear.”
“B-but you did. You didn’t even try for more than six months. When I told you...” You take a deep breath. “That I want a divorce, you didn’t even look at me. Once, Bucky! Not even once…” You show him your index finger. “You simply agreed. You gave up on us. I was waiting for you to say: no, let’s try. No, I’ll communicate. Your words...” You sob. “Your words would have been enough for me. You should know that.”
“Oh my god, baby, please, breathe!” He kisses your forehead over and over again. “I never gave up, I swear. I wanted to say no, I wanted to tell you all of that, but you asked me for divorce. It felt like you wanted out. You were tired of fighting... you were tired of me. And I didn’t want to tell you to stay just so you could either stay with me out of pity or reject me. I would have died... To look at you and beg, and to see you detached.”
You shake your head into the crook of his neck. He cannot...
“How would I be detached if I tried for six months? How would I get tired of you?”
“Exactly. You tried for six months. I thought you snapped out of it...”
“Out of what?” You whisper, scared to say it louder, but he hears you anyway.
“Out of love.”
You immediately lift your head to look at him. He’s crying, too. “Bucky...” You bring your fingers to his cheeks and start to caress them.
“I just couldn’t remember us like this. I couldn’t look into your eyes and see you staring at me like I’m a stranger.”
“Jesus Christ, when did we fail to communicate this much?”
He knows you don’t expect an actual answer, so instead of speaking, he holds you, and kisses you, and makes you giggle.
The more you move into his lap, the better you feel his erection pressing against your pussy. So close, yet so far.
He groans, placing his hands on your hips. “Careful.”
“Well, I don’t want you to be careful. I want you to fuck me raw right now.”
“Right now? He snorts, using his position to his advantage and moving. And just like that, you’re suddenly pressed with your back against the bed, and his mouth covers the valley between your breasts. That didn’t take a lot of convincing.
“Did you fuck anyone else without protection?” You ask unsure how to formulate it without it sounding a little weird. You’re not even sure you want to know the answer if it’s positive, but still.
“No. Only condoms and well... to be honest more my fist,” he chuckles, helping you get on your back again by bringing a pillow under your head. “I tested myself, of course.”
You nod, trying to hide your happiness. You selfishly wanted this: no one but you to feel him without any barrier.
“Good.”
“What about you?”
“No one for me, either.”
You would laugh at his proud face if you didn’t know he might use it to tease you later. You can use it too, though.
“Come on, baby, spread your legs for me. Daddy’s home.”
You laugh surprised, but you do what he says. You really missed having him between your legs.
Needy, you reach for his T-shirt, that for some reason is still on, and you tug it down, showing him you want it off.
He hesitates for a couple of seconds too long before grabbing his T-shirt by the neck.
“Come on, what did you do? Got a tattoo?”
You get your answer as soon as he’s finally naked.
“Oh, God!” You instantly lift your hand so you can grab his necklace. “What the fuck, James...”
“I told you I never gave up on us.”
“So you’re telling me you’ve been keeping it on since we divorced?”
He blushes, looking away. “Yeah.”
“Even when you were with other girls?”
Your heart is racing.
“Never took it off.”
You giggle, touching the surface of the ring over and over again.
“No wonder why nothing worked.”
“I had no intention to make it work.”
You say nothing, just looking into his eyes and letting him see how fucking much you love him, how he could never be a stranger, and you kiss him, wrapping your legs around his ass to show him what you need.
“I want you to pound me, okay? I want to feel you for days, do you hear me? I am so wet and ready. Please, just fuck me!”
You shiver a little when you feel the back of his hand brushing against your clit while he brings his cock to your entrance.
“Gonna make you mine again, alright? Gonna make you forget this year and everyone who,” He finally thrusts inside you. “Tried to get you.”
He’s thick. Really thick, and you can’t believe how you managed to survive without this stretched-out feeling for a whole fucking year.
“I hate you so much!’
He snorts. “I am pretty sure you love me. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have my cock inside you after one year.”
“This is the problem!” You hiss when he pulls almost completely out. “One year, Bucky!”
“Aww!” He says a bit mockingly before thrusting all the way in again. Oh my God... you close your eyes. “Is this your bratty way of telling me you missed my small dick?”
“Bratty? You think this is bratty?” You ask him sarcastically before bringing a hand to his ass. “Harder!”
“Harder, huh?” He quickly unwraps your legs and turns you on your belly before you can react.
You gasp, shocked by how fast he is and hating the emptiness, but he ignores it, bringing a pillow under your pussy.
“Ass in the air, come on.”
You comply immediately, staring at his face from the side. He looks like he’s on a mission, with his hair already in all directions and the wedding band hanging around his neck.
The first thing you feel is his mouth on your ass cheek, licking on a spot before biting.
You hiss. “James!” It hurts, not more than a spanking, but you weren’t ready for that.
“Mine.”
You snort, wiggling your ass. “Yeah, yeah. Now gimme my cock.”
And he does. He so does, he’s not slowly entering you, no. He pushes in almost fully with only one thrust, making you bite into your pillow.
“You missed that, didn’t you? The way I fill you up is so good. The way...” He slaps your ass. “No one can make you feel so good. No one can fuck you like the desperate whore you are for my cock.”
You moan loudly into the pillow. You love being called a whore like this. Because he is right and he is obsessed with it, anyway. “B-Bucky...”
“Tell me whose cock you love? Tell me.”
He’s thrusting so fast at this point that you can barely even hear him.
“Bucky.”
“No, no, no. That is not what you call me like this.”
“James...”
He suddenly stops thrusting, and you whine, lifting your spinning head to look at him over your shoulder. No matter how much you try to tilt your hips to make him move, you fail.
“If you want to get fucked, baby, you gotta call me the right-”
“Daddy. Daddy, daddy. Happy now?”
He rolls his eyes, obviously not that happy with your tone.
You smirk.
“I see you need a lot of battiness fucked out of you.”
“Then why are you not fucking me, daddy?”
“Oh, goddamn it!” He’s not holding back now, moving like he used to. “Tell me, baby. Tell me you love me... that no one, fuck- no one is like me!”
His voice tinges with a hint of neediness... maybe even urge. His vulnerability takes you a little aback because it’s stronger than his mocking. He’s genuinely seeking for reassurance as he gazes at you with a mixture of desire, desperation and longing. He’s searching for validation in your eyes the way you were earlier, so you give it to him.
“You’re the only one for me, J-James. I love you forever. I never... I n-never stopped!” You can’t keep your head up a second longer as you drop it on your pillow, moaning.
“We’re getting married tomorrow.”
You half-snort, half-moan. “W-we can’t.”
“We can.” The sound of his balls slapping against your pussy almost covers the sound of his voice.
“We... we have to apply first.”
He spanks your ass again, and you scream, the sudden pain making you feel so good.
“So wet for me. They stood no chance. T-they don’t know how hard you want it.”
“Daddy, please... Please!” You’re a moaning mess. You just need a little harder. Just a little.
You’re not sure if you’re gonna have a voice after this. He’s pounding you so hard.
“My good, good girl.” He’s squeezing your hips, and the sound of your skin slapping is echoing. “God, gonna come for me? Jesus, wanna fill you up with my come too. Please, baby.”
You don’t know when or how he manages to do it, but he sneaks one of his hands under your body and pinches your nipple. You gasp, the wave of pleasure hitting you as he keeps fucking you. You feel your body weakening when he says your name over andl over again, but you don’t open your eyes for a while, letting him fuck you desperately while playing with your breast.
“Gonna- fuck, take my come, wife! Take me!”
He’s coming so much... surprisingly much even for him. You can feel him dripping down your thighs even when he slows down, then stops his movements before he falls on top of you as soon as he finishes.
“James...” You groan. “You’re heavy.”
He places a small kiss on your back, and you giggle.
“I love you.”
You melt, but he moves to the side before you can reach for his cheeks.
“I love you, too.” You kiss him. “So much that I let you drag me out of my best friend’s wedding reception.”
Bucky snorts, brushing his nose against your face. “Pretend all you want, I know you were bored as fuck.” You feel him slowly pulling out of you, and you whine. It’s a little uncomfortable. “Sorry, wifey.”
“I’m not your wife yet.”
“Yet, but you were and you will be again this week.” He takes your ring finger into his mouth.
“Bucky!”
“What? We need new rings.”
You try to pull out your finger. “No, we don’t. I have mine.”
“We need...”
“How about we use all that money for a vacation instead?”
“Neah, honeymoon is honeymoon.”
He finally lets your finger go. “We are not buying other wedding bands.”
“I am not debating a new engagement ring, though.”
You roll your eyes, but you know it’s the best deal you can get.
“Fine, a new engagement ring,” you agree while rolling ro his side and placing your head on his chest. “I don’t wanna move.”
“Don’t want to or can’t?”
You decide to surprise him by biting a spot right above his nipple. He groans while you simply laugh.
“You just can’t be subtle, can you?”
“If you’d wanted subtle you’d have gone for someone like Steve.”
“Eww, Bucky. I have your come dripping out of me and you bring up Steve?”
“You literally talked about Nat a sec ago.”
Then, as if a switch was flipped, your eyes widen. “Oh shit, my phone!”
“Where did you forget it?” Bucky asks casually, so used to gathering your things for you. You really missed that, too.
“Table. God... Do you think they know?”
“Know what?” He giggles, raising both of you until your backs touch the headboard. “That you dropped on your knees in the middle of the wedding to suck my cock? Or how I fucked you raw until you cried.” A sudden realization crosses his face. “You asked me to fuck you raw. Are you... still on the pills?”
You roll your eyes. “You think I’d let you fuck me like this for the first time we talked to each other properly since we divorced if there was a big chance to get pregnant?”
“I assume you are still on the pills, don’t be patronizing!” He kisses your nose, which he knows tickles you.
Ass...
“You are asking a dumb question instead of getting your ass downstairs to bring me my phone.”
“How is that dumb? I wanted to know if I should get you a pill or something.”
“So you don’t want babies with me!” You try not to laugh as you say it, biting your lip to keep your face serious.
“Why do you act as if I told you I don’t want a baby with you?” He chuckles when he sees you pouting. “We’re just getting back together and no way you’d want a baby now. But if I am wrong, let’s go for it. I can give you a baby, just get off the pills.”
“You don’t give me a baby, James. We have a baby together!”
He sighs, getting off the bed to get his clothes back on. “Obviously, but I am the one coming inside you. This is what I meant. I am all in. But we need some adapting time at least.”
You should stop this whole teasing-testing thing. You both have the same opinion after all. You might have a baby, and you know he’d be involved one hundred percent, but not now. Absolutely not.
“I know. Thanks for asking.”
“You’re such a tease.” He snorts, putting on his pants. “Before I go, do you want me to run you a bath or should I bring you a towel?”
“Do you plan on staying there?”
He turns his head to you instantly. “Yeah, sure. I am gonna eat some steak and brag about fucking my wife.”
“Alright, alright. Bring me a snack and we can take a bath together. Actually,” you think about it better. “I’m gonna clean up and wait for you.”
“You want me to fuck you again, don’t you?” He asks as he fixes his jacket.
“Why? Is this all you could give me?”
“Oh, fuck you!”
“Sure.” You spread your legs at the same time you grab your own breasts, making him groan. It’s so easy to get to him. And it’s hilarious.
“Jesus, you’re planning to kill me.”
“Not you acting as if it’s the first time this happened.”
“It is the first time in over a year, baby.”
You feel yourself softening again. “True. Now, please, please, please, don’t give them any details and bring me a snack.”
“What snack?”
“Anything, make me a plate, I don’t care.” He nods before reaching for the keys. “Oh, and Bucky? Tell your flavor of the month you don’t need her anymore.”
“I told you she is not-”
“And tell Nat I’ll make it up to her!” You interrupt him before he can finish his sentence. You don’t need him to defend a random girl’s honor.
“You’re so jealous.”
“Lock the door!”
You giggle satisfied when he closes the door and let yourself scream out of happiness while staring at the bite he left on your ring finger. Mrs. Barnes never got out of style.
#bucky barnes#bucky barnes smut#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes fanfic#ex-husband!bucky barnes#divorced!bucky barnes#bucky barnes au#bucky barnes fluf#bucky barnes angst#bucky barnes x y/n#bucky barnes x you#marvel fanfic#marvel fanfiction#my fanfics#my stories
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I walked with you once upon a dream
warnings: astronomically large usage of the word "laugh", "whine" and "blush". not proofread ?? kinda ?? found this in my notes #fuckitweball
pairing: theodore nott x hufflepuff!reader
a/n: Part 2? 😊
The night had been unforgiving on you. You tossed and turned under your blanket, the wooly cover being too thick at one point and too thin at another. Every time you closed your eyes, they rolled back uncomfortably and as soon as you somehow managed to get somewhat comfortable, a song your friend had been singing the day began to play on loop in your mind, haunting you.
Finally, you somehow managed to succumb into a half awake half asleep state, but it seemed like Merlin wasn't done with you just yet.
Your mind was plagued by at least three different dreams, each one stranger than the last. War, pregnancy, the muggle movie Avatar all made a fashionable appearance, and thats why currently you're sat at the Hufflepuff table, your hair nearly not neat enough as you'd like it to be, your eyelids swollen and heavy, your under eyes tinted purple.
"Good morning, sunshine!" Cedric chirps happily as he slides into the seat next to you, his plate filled with his usual breakfast: toast and some grapes. Usually, you'd greet him right back, giving him a tight hug before discussing over both of your classes for the day, whining over the homework.
Today isn't an usual day, though. You manage to give him a small smile, weak enough to be called a grimace, even. His face is instantly taken over by a frown, his hand placed upon your forehead.
"Are you well, love? Did you manage to catch a bug of sorts?" He says, his worried expression reminding you of a mother hen. You can't help but let out a soft laugh at the thought, his worry replaced by an eye roll.
"Laughin' at me, are you now? Pffft, and to think I was worried," he huffs like a first year, offering you a glare. You've always been exceptionally good at reading people's eyes, though, so you see through his act instantly, the playful glint giving it away.
"No, mother hen Cedric. I'm fine, I just kept tossing and turning alllllll night," you giggle, the lovely sound turning into a groan halfway through. You cover your face with your hands, rubbing slow circles over your eyelids, the colourful shapes of all sizes giving you little relief.
Cedric starts going off about how you need to sleep earlier, get those very much needed 8 hours but you tune him out (like always), looking around the Great Hall instead. Most people are groggy while eating their breakfast, leaning their heads on their friends' shoulders, lids half shut.
Your eyes unconsciously drift over to the Slytherin table, curiously taking a peek at their expressions. People are wary of them, everyone knows that. Their mean faces and cold eyes leave little to the imagination, making most people grasp their wands tighter whenever walking past them.
You know better. You see better. You see their faces; their eyes bright and shining, their mouth's pulled into smiles despite the early morning hours, laughter echoing from all around the long table. It brings a smile to your face. You've always been fond of them, to everyone's surprise. You've managed to make quite a few surprising friends, too. Draco, Pansy, Blaise, Enzo, Mattheo, and Theodore.
Theodore Nott. You say his name with a dreamy sigh even in your thoughts. He's sole reason your heart skips a few beats whenever you're looking over at their table, the sole reason you check your lipstick and mascara before hanging out with them, the sole reason you've bought a new, ridiculously overpriced perfume to spray on whenever you know he'll be near.
Most would call this a silly little crush, but you swear on Merlin's beard you're in love. You're completely infatuated with that dark haired boy. He's fascinating, only speaking a few words every so often to express his opinion. He's not shy, by all means. You're smart enough to realise that. He observes, not interrupting unless necessary. You're pretty sure you've seen him smile only once. That was the day you learned the Italian boy had dimples. You haven't stopped thinking about them since.
You like to think that the rare sight called Theo Nott's smile was most of the time, directed at you. The first time you caught a glimpse of one you were walking by the shore of the Black Lake alongside him, the sun setting in the distance, casting gorgeous golden hues all over the place. You rambled on about your day, this particular one having been extremely exhausting, more so than usual.
You're not really sure what made him crack one of those precious smiles, but you suppose it was a joke about your misery. Seeing him like this, it made your heart skip a few beats. The rest of the walk continued in silence, but you wouldn't have had it any other way. You wouldn't have been able to stop yourself from declaring all of your bottled up feelings to him.
Most of your walks happened in comfortable silence, but you preferred that. You liked how with him, you could just, be. Exist, without a need for a meaning. After a long day, you didn't have to force a smile to your face. You could just appear in the Slytherin common room and ask for him to come and walk. He'd always come with you, without a single utter of complaint. You'd walk with him, ask for a few puffs from his cigarette, complaining when he'd shake his head, telling you how the sunshine girl of Hogwarts could in no way be caught smoking with Theodore Nott.
Youre shaken out of your daydreams as your eyes land on a pair of grey ones. Your cheeks heat up instinctively and you pray to Helga up there that he can't see it from that far across the room. You offer him a warm smile and your heart skips a beat (or two) as you see him biting his cheek to hold back a one of his own.
A little smirk still comes through and it makes you grip the table from giddiness, butterflies swarming all around the inside of your stomach. You smile even brighter and somehow manage to tear your gaze away, trying to focus on Cedric's rambling.
".....You're not listening, are you?" He deadpans, taking a sip of his pumpkin juice. You don't say anything, just offer him a sweet smile and press a kiss to his cheek before standing up and making your way back to your dorms to grab your books for the day.
First class of the day is divination. You don't think there's ever been a class that makes your eyelids heavier than that. Maybe you'll get to catch up on some of the lost sleep?
The bells rings, indicating the start of the first class. Students scurry off into different classrooms, but you're still quite far from yours.
"Shit, fuck fuck fuck," you curse softly, quickening your step. You grip your books closely against your chest and make a run for it, the sound of your shoes hitting the marble floor echoing across the massive hallway.
You burst through the trapdoor, panting softly from having to climb the ladder with your books in your hands, cutting off professor Trelawney in the middle of explaining today's lesson. She sighs and shakes her head, making you smile sheepishly at her. Hushed apologies spill from your mouth as you make your way to your usual seat in the back of the classroom but you're caught off guard as its taken already. Well, almost taken.
One of the seats seems to be unoccupied, but the other is supporting a very, very good looking Slytherin.
"Theo," you breathe out in surprise, cheeks flushing. You look at the free chair, then back at him. "Is it, is it okay if I sit here? I'm usually alone back here. Didn't expect for you to make an appearance."
He nods curtly and you thank him with a little smile, dropping your books on the desk. You sit down and try to tune yourself into Trelawney's teaching, but the heat radiating from Theo and his addictive scent are clouding your senses.
"Now, for the practical part. You are to be paired up with the person next to you. Tell each other about the dream you had tonight and search for the meaning in your books. You've got half an hour for the task."
That certainly snapped you out of your thoughts. You hear a cough next to you and you turn to face him, rolling your eyes playfully as he motions for you to start.
"Well, I don't even know where to start. I could not fall asleep, no matter what i did. When i finally managed to pass out after 5 hours of tossing and turning, i had this weird dream about snakes wanting to kill me." You start, grimacing as you begin to remember. You grab a quill and write a few keywords to the parchment in front of you.
You look back up at him to ask about his dreams but instead, you find Theodore Nott quietly chuckling to himself.
"Stop laughing, you bloke! I've had weird dreams ever since i was a kid!" You try and defend yourself, opening your book to try make sense of at least some aspect of the psychedelic visions. "What about you, though? What did you see?"
He hums in though, chewing on his inner cheek. "I saw me and you on a date at Hogsmeade."
That definitely catches you off guard. "....you what? Actually?
"Yes, actually," he chuckles, shaking his head, looking up at you. "I'm not making this up, i swear!" He adds, raising his hands in defence.
You cant help but laugh, writing that down as well.
"...we could make it a reality. If you're up tor it?" You murmur softly after a few seconds, pretty sure you're on the verge of passing out at any second. You keep your gaze down, not daring to look up. Not wanting to see his grey eyes sparkle with amusement for suggesting something so silly.
"Sure. Three Broomsticks, Saturday, eleven o'clock?" He inquires, and you barely have time to nod in agreement before the bell rings yet again. He leans closer and presses a kiss to your cheek, his signature lazy smirk painted onto his face before he mutters a simple goodbye, literally disappearing into thin air.
You sit still for a good few minutes as the classroom empties out, your hand hovering over the spot that his lips touched, a faint smile adoring your face. Holy fuck.
#theodore nott#theodore nott fluff#theodore nott imagine#theodore nott fanfic#theodore nott x reader#theo nott#theo nott fic#theo nott x reader#theo nott x you#harry potter#harry potter fanfiction#theo nott drabble
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i need more of “the customer is always right” before i wither away and die <3 the anticipation of IT happening is quite literally killing me ilysm
THE CUSTOMER'S ALWAYS RIGHT | b-minus
summary: eddie munson takes the unconquerable english midterm that's forced him to repeat senior year two times. dustin henderson gets a pep talk. uncle wayne gives his nephew a warning. you cook your eddie spaghetti some spaghetti. (17k)
pairing: virgin!eddie munson / f!reader
tags: idiots in love, experienced!reader, domestic bliss, staying the night, eddie munson tries to get used to being loved TW probable typos, swearing, discussions of being poor, talks of insecurities, kissing, heavy petting, oral sex (m!receiving) 18+ only!!
a/n: hi. hello. me again. you probably don't remember me because it's been almost TWO MONTHS. i'm really sorry about that btw this semester of college was sent from the actual depths of hell. please take this sixth installment of tcar and find it in your heart to forgive me <3 ily all xoxo
( PREVIOUSLY ) | ( MASTERLIST ) | ( NEXT )
˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗
“Okay, this is officially the last time I let you drive me anywhere,” Eddie gripes from the passenger seat of your too tiny car as one excruciatingly happy ABBA song bleeds into another.
He shouldn’t have expected anything less. You’re made of the same stuff you listen to — sunshine and melted ice cream and summer breezes. You match the blue skies above you as you belt the lyrics to the song you seem to know by heart.
The sight makes Eddie grin to himself, still beaming no matter how hard he rolls his eyes.
This was the only good thing about the breaks of his van going haywire and having to bum a ride to school from you — getting to see more of you in your element.
As much as he loved having you in his passenger seat, bobbing your head to whatever rock song he’d popped into the cassette player, there was something entirely different about seeing you in the driver’s seat.
This car was your safe space, spotted with stickers on the console and polaroids on the speedometer, where you could sing any damn ABBA song you wanted to because it was your own little bubble where nothing could touch you.
Eddie’s grateful you let him see it, all these parts of you that you reveal slowly to him like so many tiny rays of sunshine.
It’s even better to witness with a full stomach, which was maybe the second good thing about driving with you. You picked him up with time to spare to get breakfast — to take the long route to school and watch the rising sun sparkle over Lover’s Lake. There was no reason to speed through town like a maniac because he wasn’t in a rush. Today might be the first time all year he’s not five minutes late to first period.
He tells you to sing louder when you get all shy and hyperaware of his gaze, feeding you bits of your breakfast — but only on the instrumental parts so you don’t miss your favorites. The boy props his arm on the center console and folds down the wrapper of your greasy, plain biscuit with his thumb so it doesn’t get in the way of your bite. He doesn’t even complain when you try to sing through the mouthful.
He figures that this is what love is. A part of it, at least. That stupid, philosophical feeling people have been trying to describe for ages is sitting right beside him — with crumbs sticking to the corners of her mouth as she mixes up the words to the Dancing Queen chorus.
Love isn’t butterflies or tight chests — it’s this. It’s letting a person listen to music you hate because you know they love it and not caring that they’re singing horrifically off-key.
And it’s not like Eddie’s in love with you or anything. He’s just got a lot of adoration for you. It’s the kind of innocent affection that makes him love ABBA and think you’re one of the best damn singers he’s ever heard in his life — even though neither would be particularly true if he didn’t care about you so much.
It’s sort of like the love he’s got for Dustin, to still care about the little shrimp even when he’s annoying him to no end. But, at the same time, it’s not like that at all. Because Dustin Henderson isn’t the prettiest girl he’s ever seen. Dustin Henderson doesn’t make him feel like his heart is being trampled by an entire stampede of zoo animals.
No one quite makes Eddie feel the way you do. But even if he was in love with you, he’s got no way of knowing the difference — between loving and being in love. The only thing he’s really sure of is that he doesn’t know a damn thing. And that the sick feeling in his stomach he gets every time he looks at you can’t possibly be normal.
“Oh, stop being such a baby,” you retort. Your words come slurred and slightly muffled through the bite of biscuit in your cheek. “I know you secretly like it.”
“Of course I do!” he shouts over the catchy bass guitar and your subsequent laughter. “It’s just not the kinda shit I wanna listen to right before I take the biggest test of my life.”
It’s true. The past two times he’s been forced to take Ms. O’Donnell’s impossible midterm exam, he's listened to the exact same song — ‘Ride the Lightning,’ Metallica. It’s the only song that gives him enough of an adrenaline rush to gather the confidence to fail the same test. Twice.
Eddie Munson is a creature of habit. Today marks the third anniversary of the dreaded day that makes or breaks his high school career, but instead of spending it with Metallica, he’s spending it with you. He wants to believe you’re a good luck charm or some kind of lucky omen, but he’s terrified of getting his hopes up.
Expect the worst, and you’ll never be disappointed. That’s what Uncle Wayne always said.
“I think ‘When I Kissed the Teacher’ has plenty of useful advice, Eddie Spaghetti.”
The boy turns to you with a bemused wide-eyed gaze. “If you’re suggesting I makeout with Ms. O’Donnell to pass her class, I’m gonna hurl— like actually hurl. And I will deliberately do it all over the floor of your car.”
“Would you rather repeat your senior year? Again?”
“Yes,” he answers without missing a beat and with a very enthusiastic nod that makes his wild curls sway around his face. “I would rather be a senior for the rest of my life than kiss Ms. O’Donnell.”
“Well, it’s a good thing you won’t have to, right? Because you’re totally gonna ace this thing.”
This is what you’ve been doing for over a week now — twisting everything negative into something more overtly positive. You meet Eddie’s pessimism and self-doubt with a sort of hopefulness he lost somewhere between the first and second time he got held back.
You force him to study in the gentlest way possible because you’re never anything but soft with him. You make him pretty little flashcards and flip through them with him on the opposite side of his bed, obviously more enthusiastic about the whole thing than he is. You give him sympathetic pecks on his cheek when he gets a question wrong and kiss him totally breathless when he gets the odd one right.
Eddie would be lying if he said the incentive didn’t help at least a little bit.
There is no hint of impatience or sign of hubris that makes him feel stupid. You just teach him to be kinder to himself with tiny little reminders that you’re doing all this right along with him.
“Considering I’ve failed it twice already, I highly doubt that, sweetheart,” he counters, and he’s kidding — mostly. He says it with a teasing lilt and a twinkle in his squinted eyes, but you know that’s his way of covering up that he’s totally serious.
He really doesn’t think he can do it, pass this stupid exam. He’s got absolutely no faith in himself — but that’s okay, because you’ve got all the faith in him in the world.
“Well, that’s because you didn’t have me to help you study,” you argue, just before accepting the last piece of biscuit he plucks from the parchment and offers to you.
You speak through the mouthful. “But now you do! And we’ve been going over this all week and—” You cut yourself off to swallow the dry pastry. “—And you totally got this. You’re gonna blow ‘em outta the park, Eddie Spaghetti. I can feel it.”
Your optimism makes him smile even though he doesn’t really feel like smiling. He lolls his head against the seat to look at you, finds you with a pretty grin and tiny biscuit crumbs on the corners of your mouth, and has the sudden urge to tell you that he loves you.
It comes out of nowhere. It bubbles up all at once like vomit and startles him with its unexpectedness. The sudden and unfamiliar feeling makes him feel sick, like he just went upside down on a rollercoaster. Whoever said love felt like butterflies was a liar because it feels a whole lot more like getting punched in the stomach.
The words rise from his throat like bile and linger on the edge of his tongue. Eddie forces himself to swallow them back down again. The unsaid ‘Holy fuck, I love the shit outta you’ tastes far more bitter going down.
“What do I get if I ace it then, huh?” he wonders after an awkward blink of silence.
“Uh, I don’t know,” you shrug. “Your diploma.”
“I meant as a reward, dummy.”
“I feel like graduating high school is enough of a reward.”
“I just think I should be compensated for a job well done, is all,” he proposes with a lopsided grin. The teasing nature of his words drips from his mouth like honey.
You glance at him once, eyes wide and dumbfounded, then back to the road. “Eddie Munson…” you scold in a lighthearted lilt. “Get your head outta the gutter. It’s not even eight o’clock.”
That sort of thing wouldn’t have bothered you before. Any other time, you would’ve been all too happy to pull over and jerk him off in a barren parking lot, relieve all his pent-up stress about the exam in the form of a quick handjob. But you’ve been quite obviously keeping your hands to yourself since he told you he was a virgin.
You were serious about what you said before, about starting over, and Eddie learned that very quickly. You take to giving him tiny little pecks on the cheek and holding his sweaty hand in yours and hardly anything else — like you’re a couple of kids going steady.
Eddie likes it, though, the comforting nature of your unhurried disposition. He just hates the ache it leaves him with.
“It’s all I’m gonna be thinking about,” he confesses with a scrunched nose. “Just so ya know.”
“As long as it helps you pass,” you respond with the shake of your head.
“As long as it helps me pass…” Eddie echoes, quieter.
“Just think about the biggest kiss I’m gonna give you when I see you again,” you tell him, flashing him a beam as you slow at a stop sign. You trap your smile between your teeth and flash him a glance that can only be described as whimsical — full of shy smiles and fluttering lashes and sparkling eyes. “‘Cause I’m gonna kiss you absolutely stupid, Eddie Munson.”
A rose-colored hue sprinkles along the apples of his cheeks. He never thought a threat could sound so appealing.
“Cool…” is the only thing he could think to mutter in the moment, too busy trying not to smile too wide. He turns his glowing cheeks towards his lap and purses his smile towards his fiddling fingers. “But, uh, I have Hellfire after school, so… Maybe tomorrow?”
You meet his disappointed glance with a shrug. “You could come over after if you want?”
He wants to. He always wants to.
“It’ll probably be late.”
“Then just stay over.”
Your offer comes effortlessly but strikes a deep feeling of complexity within him. Eddie doesn’t know why it makes him so suddenly nervous, only that it makes his palms sweat almost instantly.
The two of you haven’t crossed that threshold yet — of sharing a bed to sleep. He’d catch you dozing on occasion, slouched against his headboard with your head on his shoulder, and he’d wake you. Not because it made him uncomfortable, but because he didn’t want your neck to ache.
You’d rouse with a groggy apology — “I should probably leave before Bowie starves to death and I drool all over your shoulder,” you’d tell him.
And it’s not like Eddie wanted you to leave, but he was more than happy to sleep alone. What if he snores obnoxiously loud or he does something gross in his sleep? If you got instantly turned off by some sleeping habit he didn’t even know he had, he thinks it might destroy him.
Eddie can’t control the front he puts up around everyone when he’s sleeping. And for a boy who’s still trying to impress a pretty girl, that’s a very frightening thought.
“Uh, okay… Are you— Are you sure?” he stammers.
His apprehension confuses you. The offer hadn’t felt like that big of a deal to you. “I mean… yeah? We practically did it over the phone last week. It’ll be just like that — but, you know, in person.”
“Right… Okay.”
“I can make us dinner, and we can watch a movie or something,” you propose and grin at the daydream of it all. You wouldn’t have to miss Eddie if he was beside you all night. You wouldn’t have to drift off to thoughts of him either, because he’d be right there. “Bowie would be stoked if you stayed over. She’s practically obsessed with you.”
The thought makes Eddie smile to himself. His heart swells at the idea that other parts of your life have already started to accept him. It makes him feel all warm and fuzzy in his leather jacket and ripped jeans and chunky metal rings.
“Her mom is too, right?” he asks you, mostly playful. He smirks all smug, but his cinnamon-tinted gaze gleams with sincerity.
“Oh, obviously,” you scoff without a second thought. “Have you seen her? She can’t get enough of you…” Your teasing lilt and soft smile fades as you squint at him. “Don’t tell her I told you that, though.”
Eddie pinches his thumb and forefinger together, zipping them across his lips, then rolling down the window to toss the imaginary lock out of it.
Wind whips through the small car with vigor, making a wild halo of Eddie’s already less-than-tamed hair. The intrusion forces you to squint, even more so when you laugh.
The sound of your giggling is like glitter or sunbeams. It’s as bright as yellow and soft like summer rain. It makes him smile, too, because that’s all he wanted to do in the first place — make you laugh. It’s all he ever wants to do.
Eddie cranks the lever to roll the window back up again as you tell him: “And, you know, if you stayed over, then I could give you that reward we were talking about.”
You’ve successfully stooped to his level now: head stuck in the very depths of the gutter. Most of your thoughts are innocent, cooking for him and holding him while you slept. Others, not so much.
“And that would be…” he trails off with raised brows.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” you squint at him as you turn the steering wheel to pull into the bustling parking lot of Hawkins High.
The place is as wretched as it always was. It hasn’t changed a bit, just sort of deteriorated with time. The nameplate on top of the building has started to grey and the tiger mural painted on the bricks is fading, but it’s still the same. The familiarity of it all hits you with an ice-cold pang of nostalgia.
“I would,” Eddie nods a very vigorous nod, all innocent and wide-eyed, as you park on the far side of the lot. “I would very much like to know.”
You lean across the console to press a swift kiss to his cheek. “You’ll find out later,” you assure him, lingering just ahead of his face. Closer by an inch or two and the tips of your noses would nudge against one another.
“Have mercy…” Eddie murmurs to himself, eyes and limbs suddenly heavy under the weight of his desire for you.
You made him promise he’d stay sober for the exam — no drinking the night before, no smoking while he got ready. Before now, he’d been perfectly clearheaded. Then you go and look at him with that look, and he’s instantly drunk on you.
He tries to close the distance between you but succeeds only in brushing your noses together before a loud honk blares from ahead of you. It sends the two of you jerking away from each other almost instantly, heads whipping toward the direction of the too loud beep.
It comes from Steve Harrington’s maroon Beemer that he’d parked just ahead of your Volvo. Him and his friends file out one by one — Robin from the passenger, Dustin Henderson from the back, and then Steve from the driver’s side.
The former two are beaming, far too happy for it to be so early. Steve looks more like a victim to the morning as he leans against his open car door. His smile looks like a wince and he props his wrist on the door, throwing his fingers up in the place of an actual wave. Dustin and Robin are far more enthusiastic with their gestures.
You and Eddie wave a tad bit awkwardly back at them.
“Look at him,” the boy says, trying and failing to hold back his laughter. “King Steve. Carpooling his kids like a real mom.”
“I’m pretty sure he’s a babysitter first and a human being second,” you joke, then more seriously tell him: “You don’t have to come over if you don’t want to, you know?”
“I know,” he nods. “But I want to.”
“Okay… I just— I don’t want it to seem like I’m trying to, you know, force you or something—”
“It didn’t.”
“—I was just saying it could be nice, you know? But I feel like it sounded like I was being a little pushy.”
“You weren’t.”
“And I don’t want you to be, like, scared to say no to me or something, you know? It wouldn’t hurt my feelings or anything, okay? I promise,” you ramble, partly lying because you know it would hurt a little, but you’d never tell him that. “The ball is totally in your court, so… Whatever you want to do, it’s completely—”
Your nervous blathering is brought to an unexpected halt when Eddie brings his hands to your face. He cups your cheeks in his palms, brushing his thumbs along the apples of them. The sleeves of his leather jacket tickle your chin. He sprayed his wrist with cologne this morning, you can tell; the musky cedarwood and tobacco are more prominent now.
The boy laughs softly when the suddenness of his action makes your eyes go wide, chuckling louder when he squeezes your cheeks and makes your lips pout softly.
“I wanna come over, okay?” Eddie assures through his laughter. “And you’re never annoying me when you ask. I promise. I’ll probably say yes to just about anything when it’s coming from you, sweetheart.”
“And you’re not just saying that?” you press, words slightly muffled with the way Eddie’s holding your face.
“I’m not just saying that,” he echoes more confidently. He shakes his head at you, then moves your jaw back and forth with his palms so he’s shaking yours too. You jerk away from him with a grin.
“I’ll see you later?” he asks you while he collects his things from the floor, which is just the little tin box he carries everywhere. He swears it has everything he needs in it. You assume it’s just a dull pencil and a couple of baggies of weed he plans to sell between lunch shifts.
“Yeah,” you answer with a smile.
He clicks the handle to open the car door, then kicks it open the rest of the way. He rolls his head back and puckers his lips for a kiss. You happily oblige him, meeting him halfway but turning at the last second so his mouth meets your cheek.
“Kids are watching,” you joke at his surprise.
And even though he’d only pecked your jaw, it makes Robin and Steve roll their eyes. “Gag me with a spoon,” the girl gripes as she walks past the hood of your car.
Dustin follows behind her, too preoccupied to care. He’s got an anticipatory grin on his face that reveals the blue and green braces on his teeth. The composition notebook in his hands has the Hellfire logo drawn in red and yellow sharpie on the front of it.
You’ve never met the kid, but he’s exactly how you’d expected him to be.
You heard a lot about him — from Steve mostly, but from Eddie too. Robin has the occasional story about the boy from whenever he visits Family Video. They all call him little shit most of the time, shrimp on occasion, and Dusty Bun when he’s done something particularly sweet.
It’s all from a lighthearted place, though. You figure it must be because Steve Harrington is waking up at seven in the morning to take some fourteen-year-old to school. And Eddie’s even worse — the second Dustin calls asking for a ride, he’s hopping in his van without a second thought.
The boy barely lets Eddie get out of the car before he starts bombarding him with questions about the latest D&D campaign. He prattles on and on about it while they walk towards the school, pointing adamantly at the notebook in his hands. You imagine it’s full of conspiracies and potential ways to beat the Cult of Vecna.
He’s so invested he doesn’t even care when Robin slips the cap from his hand and flips it backwards.
“Have the best day ever, kiddos!” you shout through your rolled-down car window.
You get a half-hearted wave from Dustin, but he doesn’t even glance at you when he does it. Eddie blows a dramatic kiss your way, but Robin rivals his sweetness with a middle finger and a rouge-tinted smile.
The bell chimes overhead, high-pitched and too familiar. The parking lot empties slowly, and the mindless muddled chatter fades too.
Steve saunters to your car after everyone else heads inside. He folds his arms along the passenger door as he leans down to look at you.
His hair is un-styled, but in a cool sort of way that only he can pull off. Chestnut strands fall down over his forehead while others are pushed back from where he’s ran his fingers through them. His jaw is dusted with a fine layer of stubble that sprinkles a shadow of a mustache on his cupid’s bow.
You’re both wearing the elements of your uniforms.
He’s got on a pair of faded jeans and the mandatory collared shirt, even though he swears Keith only makes him abide by the dress code. You’re wearing the all black get-up required of all Enzo’s waitresses. The flowy blouse and a-line skirt are now wrinkled from the drive over. You’re only missing your floral apron and Steve his forest green vest.
“How long until your shift starts?” he asks you, voice deep and gruff with the morning.
Your eyes flit down to the flashing clock on your dashboard, then back up to him. “I don’t have to go in until eleven today, but I was gonna see if I could pick up an extra shift.”
He nods and juts out his lips as he turns to squint down the parking lot. He looks back at you with a more hopeful gaze. “Wanna go fuck around at Family Video instead?”
And, of course, by “fuck around,” he means popping popcorn and playing some terrible, terrible slasher film on the television behind the counter that has more boobs and blood than actual plot.
You’ll stop for junk food on the way like you always do and spend the bulk of the movie tossing gummy bears and M&Ms into Steve’s mouth. You’ll waste hours talking about nothing, but it’ll feel like only minutes have gone by when it’s time for your shift.
“Are you kidding?” you scoff like it’s not the best idea you’ve heard all morning. Or maybe second best because Eddie’s proposal of a reward is still swirling around in the confines of your mind. “Of course I do.”
˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗
By sunset, Eddie Munson’s got a B-minus on his midterm, a crowd of kids singing his praises, and a date with the hottest woman on the planet. Life, as it turns out, was really starting to look up for the local freak.
“Best… campaign… ever!” Dustin shouts. He’s still so boyishly excited about the whole thing that he has to take in deep breaths before he says each word.
The emphatic exclamation echoes through the dim, empty hallway of Hawkins High. The rest of the school had left some time ago; all that’s left now are the scraps — the basketball douchebags, the theater geeks, the D&D nerds.
The Hellfire Club gets the entire west wing to themselves, and the unusual vacancy allows them to saunter down the corridor’s length like they own the damn place.
They don’t have to look over their shoulders for assholes that might trip them or stuff them into lockers. Still bubbling with the after-effects of such an utterly sadistic campaign, they feel like they’re on top of their own little world.
Eddie Munson hasn’t felt this good in a long, long time.
He spins on the heel of his worn-out sneaker and walks backwards ahead of his friends so he can examine each of their faces. He’d unleashed the whole Vecna lives twist that he’d been keeping in his metaphorical back pocket for some time now.
You were the one that gave him the idea, sprung it out of nowhere during a smoke session so many months ago. It feels like it’s been forever now. That was back when you were just his customer, and he was just your dealer — when all you needed was a little free weed, and Eddie just needed to pass a test.
You both somehow ended up with far more than either of you bargained for, but he’s not complaining. He hopes you aren’t either.
Dustin had sort of predicted Vecna’s resurgence. He’d scribbled it down in his journal with all the rest of his endless conspiracies. Well, actually, he suspected that Kas was still a villain and hadn’t slain Vecna like they thought — which wasn’t exactly right, but it was still pretty damn close. Eddie’s never met someone who cared so much about one of his campaigns.
So, needless to say, the curly-haired boy is beaming. His green-blue braces and pearly whites are on full display, partially from excitement but mostly because he was sort of right — in a vague, roundabout way.
Mike had been enthusiastic about it too, but that was before he had to suffer through his best friend’s endless boasts. His brown eyes roll damn near to the back of his skull as he huffs, angled jaw clenching from gritted teeth.
“Well, when you spend eight hours coming up with, like, a thousand different theories, one of them is gonna be right,” he’d finally groused.
Dustin only smiled at the lankier boy, totally unfazed by his grumbling. “It’s not my fault you have exactly zero work ethic. You’re just mad you lost.”
“Yeah, because staying up all night writing in your diary makes you a real winner.”
“For the last time, Mike, it’s not a diary!”
Lucas was too far away to join in on the bickering. The boy had been distant for a while now, actually. Eddie joked that he must’ve been upset about missing basketball practice with Carver and the rest of his goons, but Lucas hadn’t laughed as loud as he’d hoped. He only chuckled under his breath, shook his head, and said it was just girl troubles.
Gareth, meanwhile, is still grumbling about Vecna killing his ranger. Even though Dustin’s bard brought them all back with a resurrection spell in the end, he doesn’t like to lose. Eddie doesn’t blame him, but he’d be lying if he said the angry scrunch contorting his best friend’s features wasn’t hilarious.
Jeff had lost his druid too, but he was a much better sport about the whole thing. He usually is, especially compared to the rest of the club. He’s perhaps the only one who doesn’t treat every loss like the end of the world.
“Well, thank you, Ser Dustin,” Eddie responds in a fanciful sort of accent, bending at the waist in a gracious brow. “But I cannot take all the credit, I’m afraid.”
Dustin’s brows pinch together. “What do you mean?”
“He means that his girlfriend helped him put it together,” Jeff lisps.
“No way!” the boy gapes, totally dumbfounded. “The girl from this morning? In the car? She’s… She’s into Dungeons and Dragons?”
“Not really. No,” Eddie shrugs right before flashing a shit-eating grin. “But she is into me, so…”
The less-than-humble brag makes Gareth groan. His sandy curls fall back as he tilts his head toward the ceiling, ocean eyes rolling and then fluttering closed. “If I have to hear about your stupid girlfriend one more time…” he’d griped after the first few times Eddie managed to bring you up in every conversation — about a million of them ago now.
His annoyance doesn’t lessen Dustin’s confusion. “I don’t get it…”
“Gareth's just mad because he’s in love with Eddie’s girlfriend,” Jeff clarifies once more, feigning pity as he pats the boy on the shoulder.
“All I’m saying is, I would’ve tried a little harder to get her attention if I knew she was into freaks,” Gareth grieves, a little forlorn and distantly heartbroken, but shrugging it off like he isn’t all that affected by it.
You were a bit like Steve The Hair Harrington in that way. A little like Vicki Carmichael or, god forbid, Billy Hargrove. You’ve garnered a sort of popularity that’s made you into a sideshow attraction that everyone wants to ride — literally.
You’re popular in a much, much different way than Steve or Vicki or Billy. It’s left you acutely fetishized in an extreme sort of fashion, an object of desire for many in disgusting, lurid ways.
It seems Gareth didn’t go unscathed with his lust for you either.
Well, too little too fucking late if Eddie had anything to say about it. But he would never, because that’s his best friend, so he decides to scoff and tell him: “Like she’d be into you anyway.”
“Oh, please. I’m a total catch.”
“Is there anyone she isn’t into?” Jeff chuckles, too kind of heart to realize the mercilessness in his words. “Isn’t that, like, her whole thing.”
A sharp pang of anger strikes like lightning in Eddie’s chest. It’s ice-cold and red hot, a burst of adrenaline that feels like fight or flight. His hands curl into fists before he even realizes it. If it had been anyone else and not one of his best friends, he imagines he might’ve swung before he even thought about what he was doing.
Before the words to defend you spill like venom from his mouth, another beats him to the punch.
“Hey,” Lucas scolds from a little ways behind the group, making them all turn to look at him. His brows are furrowed slightly, but the rest of his face is contorted in an unreadable way. His hands are tucked deep into the pockets of the puke-green letterman he wears over his Hellfire tee. “Leave her alone.”
“How do you…” Eddie starts, then squints past the group, gaze zeroing in on the boy. “Since when do you know my girlfriend, Sinclair?”
“She’s friends with Max. And she’s, like, really nice. So maybe we shouldn’t talk about her like that.”
The boy with the wild hair grins something wilder. His gaze is stern but no less playful when he turns back to Jeff. “You heard the kid. Leave my girlfriend alone, Jeffy.”
When the phrase leaves his mouth, for perhaps the billionth time that day, he realizes how often he must say it. My girlfriend, he says. My girlfriend, my girlfriend — because he can’t get enough of how it sounds.
With a grin on his face and his dream girl on his mind, Eddie spins on his heel again to swing open the double doors of the high school’s exit. The chill smacks him in the face almost immediately.
It’s the strange knick of time in early spring where the days are warm, but the nights are so, so cold. This one isn’t any different. A bitter breeze pounds at his chest, ruffles through his curls, and pierces the fabric of his jacket. Eddie’s body mourns the sudden loss of warmth almost immediately.
“Wait, wait, wait,” Dustin continues to whinge, even though the rest of them have more than moved on. “Does— Does everyone know her but me? Mike, do you know who she is?”
The boy perks up at the mention of his name. He tends to get a little reserved unless he’s bickering or talking bout his girlfriend. The kid’s a complete and utter wreck when he’s been away from her for too long. Eddie used to make fun of him for it. Not so much anymore.
Mike runs a hand through his lengthy raven hair, then scratches at the back of his neck. His eyes squint and his nose scrunches. “Uh… not really? I mean, I think she knows El because she knows Hopper, but… I don’t know… No?”
Dustin’s face falls flat at his answer. Or lack thereof.
“Wow. Very enlightening, Mike, as always. Thank you,” he deadpans, then turns back to Eddie. His features go from deadpanned to hopeful: eyes wide, brows raised, lips quirked. “So when are we gonna get to meet her? Do you think she’d do a campaign with us? Holy shit— she could be the fairy! You know, of the Firethorns! I mean, you did just say the campaign was feeling a little empty—”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Take it down a few notches, alright, Dusty Bun?” Eddie chuckles as he slumps a heavy arm around the boy’s shoulders.
“Don’t call me that. We talked about this; that name is reserved for Suzie and Suzie only—”
“Didn’t you guys break up?” Mike wonders with a sort of blandness to his tone that only he could pull off.
“Shut up, Mike,” Dustin bites in response.
It was still a bit of a sore subject for the boy who’d just lost the so-called love of his life.
Suzie was a girl he met at summer camp about a year ago. Things were going pretty well until they weren’t. Something about her family being uber-religious and not approving of Dustin’s more agonistic disposition.
She broke up with him over Cerebro and hasn’t been on the channel since. It was cold. Ice cold.
Dustin still hikes up to Weathertop every now and then with nothing but a packed lunch and the hope that she’ll answer. She hasn’t yet.
And Eddie can make a mockery of just about anything — it’s practically a superpower at this point — but he knows when to leave well enough alone. Even the most innocent question can send the boy into a spiral of despair. Even now, he gets so suddenly weighed down by the burden of his sadness; lips turning downward and the insides of his brows curling slightly.
Eddie smiles a sad sort of smile down at the boy, but he’s too busy moping to see it. He pulls him closer with one leather-clad arm and uses the other to pat the boy on the chest. Their feet stumble less than gracefully over one another.
“Yeah, you’re never gonna meet her…” Eddie says in a mournful sigh.
Dustin blinks up at him, confused and even more hurt than before. “What? Why not?”
“Because she’d obviously like you more than me,” he scoffs like it’s obvious. “And I can’t have anyone taking my girl, Henderson.”
That confuses him even more. He was more prepared for one of Eddie’s stupid quips than something short of a compliment. It takes him by surprise at first, leaves him gaping for a moment, before rolling his eyes. “Shut up…”
“I’m serious!” Eddie chuckles, all loud and boisterous. The sound echoes through the vacant lot, made somehow emptier by the cold.
He stops walking suddenly and makes Dustin stop walking too. He takes the boy a tad bit roughly by the shoulders and looks down at him like it’s the first time he’s seeing him.
“I mean, look at you! What’s not to like, huh? You got their hair, the smarts, the personality—”
“And Eddie’s only got one of those things, so you definitely win,” Gareth quips from a few feet behind them.
“Exactly! Suzie was an idiot to let you go, Henderson.”
Dustin winces when Eddie jabs him in the chest. His saddened gaze flits to the pavement for a moment, then back up again. His eyes are brighter now, but still a bit melancholy — sort of like the streetlamp that flickers across the way. A light that’s going out but grasping for reasons to stay burning.
“You think so?”
“I know so, Dusty Bun,” Eddie grins — smiling wider when the kid’s beam falls flat again. He wraps his arm around Dustin’s punier frame. It’s supposed to be a hug, but it looks more like a headlock. “Never change, Dustin Henderson. Never change…”
˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗
Eddie hasn’t been to a sleepover since he was ten.
Fifth grade. Franklin Kowalski’s place in the suburbs. Trampoline in the front yard, pool in the back, and an assortment of soft drinks in a fridge in the garage. Maybe he remembers it so vividly because it's perhaps one of the more traumatizing experiences a prepubescent boy growing out a buzzcut could go through.
He knew he didn’t belong there — not in the good part of town with a bunch of boys in brand-new tennis shoes. Eddie Munson was trailer park trash, through and through. He wasn’t used to new clothes or two-story houses or underground pools. But he didn’t care where he came from. And neither did Franklin. Not at first, anyway.
The other kids were nice enough to him. They offered him their swim goggles when Eddie didn’t have his own and made sure he wasn’t left out of any of their conversations. It was all in a tongue-in-cheek sort of way, though. Their kindness was manufactured, a mask for pre-teen boy cruelty.
See, they only gave him their goggles so they could laugh when they got tangled in his curls. They only included him in conversation so he could be the punch line to each of their jokes.
All of it went over Eddie’s head. He was too innocent to realize he wasn’t being treated nicely, he was being taunted. He laughed along with each of their inside jokes because he wanted so desperately to be included, having no idea it was himself he was laughing at.
It took him until two o’clock the next morning to understand. He woke up all alone in the living room and found that everyone else had migrated upstairs without him. They were still awake, still laughing — and Eddie was forgotten in the dark.
He nearly cried when he called Wayne. He wasn’t sure if his tears were from anger or from sadness, but they stung all the same.
He punched the numbers on the keypad with a clenched jaw to keep from sobbing out loud. His gaze was still blurry with unshed tears. It made it dreadfully hard to see, and what little light spilled from the television — which had turned to static after midnight — didn’t help either.
“It’s three A.M., Eds. You sick?” his uncle gruffed into the landline.
“A little,” Eddie half-lied. He twirled the curly wire around his fingertip until it turned purple. He prayed he didn’t sound as sad as he felt. “Everyone else is asleep… ‘M scared I’m gonna puke everywhere.”
Wayne was there barely fifteen minutes later. He drove his rusted pick-up to the suburbs, found his nephew waiting on the curb, and didn’t ask questions on the drive back to Forest Hills.
Eddie hasn’t been to a sleepover since.
He’s got a feeling this one will be different, though. Because pre-teen boys are a hell of a different kind and you’re… you.
He’s pretty sure you couldn’t be mean to him even if you wanted to be. You’re nice, far nicer than he deserves. You’re lovely and sweet and decent — every synonym of the damn word in a thousand different languages. It still floors him that it would ever occur to you to be kind to him.
Eddie doesn’t feel all that worthy of your sunshine. He happily basks in your golden rays anyway. Maybe it’s because he’s selfish. Or maybe it’s because he’s so damn pale — in both the literal and figurative sense.
Eddie packs his overnight bag without a hint of methodology.
He isn’t totally sure of what to bring as he rifles through his disorganized drawers, so he ends up packing bits of everything.
He does the sniff test for each of his crumpled-up t-shirts. The one’s that smell the freshest get stuffed to the bottom of his bag. He can’t be sure of how many he’s shoved down there now — three or four, maybe five. It makes it harder for his pants to fit, two of the pajama variety and two of denim.
He grabs multiples of everything, just to be on the safe side. It takes only minutes for his backpack to fill up. He nearly breaks the zipper trying to fasten it, and still, he worries he hasn’t brought enough.
The bag sits upright on his mattress as Eddie bends down to grab the box of condoms that’s been idling under his bed for a year. The cardboard is coated with a fine layer of dust and time. He holds it between his ringed fingers, debating whether or not to finally break the seal and bring a few — just to be on the safe side. That’s when Wayne walks in.
The man isn’t looking at him. He’s too busy wiping his oil-stained palms on an already-stained rag, but his presence is sudden enough to freak Eddie out. The boy jumps like he’s been caught red-handed, scrabbles for a hiding place almost immediately, making the box sputter out of his grip. The thing falls to the ground with a dramatic thud.
He kicks it back under his bed again.
Wayne’s eyes finally flit up to his nephew’s at all the commotion. His bushy grey brows furrow when he finds him standing upright, hands behind his back, totally not suspicious at all. Raising a teenage boy has taught the man not to comment on what doesn’t concern him, so he keeps on swiping his fingers between the fabric of the grimy rag.
“I finished looking at your van,” he says, accent deep and husky and not of Indiana origin. “Turns out that noise you were hearin’ was a damn rock in the break line.”
Eddie scoffs, then eyes a stick of deodorant sitting on his dresser. “Wow,” he marvels as he swipes the thing from its place. He stuffs it into the side pocket of his bag. “A measly pebble coulda killed me, huh?”
“Should be good to go now, though.”
“Sweet,” the boy nods.
Eddie squints as his eyes flit around his room, head darting in either direction to make sure he’s got everything. Wayne watches him with an identical squint. “Where you runnin’ off to now? You just got home, what, fifteen minutes ago?”
“Uh… I’m gonna go see a friend,” Eddie answers, voice trembling and slightly far away. He unzips his bag again to make sure it’s sufficiently filled. He does a little mental checklist: shirts, pants, PJs, shoes— how the hell is he supposed to fit shoes in here?
You’ve only got one pair of shoes, Munson, he reminds himself. Where the hell do you think you’re going, anyway? A nature walk?
“Oh, right,” his uncle nods. A smile plays on the edges of his lips, but it weirdly still looks like he’s frowning. “The friend.”
“Yeah— Well, she’s my… She’s my girlfriend, so…”
The admission makes Eddie blush in a way he isn’t typically used to. He can’t count the number of times he must say it in a day, but something about saying it in front of Wayne feels different — real.
He turns his glowing cheeks down to his bag and makes difficult work of zipping it back up again.
Wayne doesn’t bother to hide his excitement. The bright emotion is almost unfamiliar. “Well, shit,” the man’s chuckle sounds from the depths of his chest. “Look at you, Eds. My nephew’s finally got his first girlfriend.”
The boy rolls his chocolate eyes. He jerks under the pressure of the shoulder clap Wayne gives him. It’s equal parts annoying and embarrassing — to be talked to like a child in this way. Maybe because most children have long had their first girlfriends by now, and it took Eddie all of twenty agonizing years.
“We were gonna hang out at her place since I passed my English test and everything...”
The excitement washes from Wayne’s tired eyes. They widen, as though in shock, and reveal more of the glassy whites of them. He just blinks at him for a moment, like his words are still processing. “You… You passed?”
“Yep. Got a B,” Eddie nods, a tad bit sheepishly. He finds it hard to meet his uncle’s mystified gaze. “Well, a B-minus, but… Turns out, I might actually graduate this year.”
Wayne seems to experience every emotion at once. He’s surprised, of course — it makes sense. Eddie spent two years failing the damn thing, after all. Then he’s proud, overjoyed that there’s a chance his nephew might finally grow up. He’s distantly saddened by the exact same thought.
The man swallows thickly, as though to down each emotion. He nods and tries his best to smile. “Damn. Good job, kid. I’m… I’m prouda you.”
Eddie isn’t sure whether to take the praise or cower from it. At a loss, he opts to deflect entirely.
“Yeah, well, she— the friend helped me study and everything, so… I feel like we should probably be thanking her, you know?” he half-jokes as he swings the pack over his shoulder. His winces under the weight of it. “I probably wouldn’t have passed if she didn’t force me to read that stupid book. I mean, it’s 1986; who cares about the roaring twenties and blinking green lights—”
“Hm…” his uncle grunts. It isn’t an acknowledging grunt, though. It’s more of a bemused sort of grunt. And he’s got this quizzical twist to his features that makes Eddie confused too.
“…What is it?”
Wayne only shrugs, trying to act like it was nothing, but can’t help but to ask: “You’re real serious about this girl, aren’t ya?”
Eddie, feeling a bit weighed down by such a heavy question, shifts on his feet.
“Uh… A little bit, I guess. Yeah,” he stammers in the place of an honest answer. If he were being totally truthful, he would’ve said something like, “As serious as a goddamn heart attack.” But that might’ve actually given Uncle Wayne one, so he doesn’t answer with all that.
The man seems to hear all the words Eddie doesn’t say, though. He always does. Eddie figures that’s what happens when you raise a kid for fifteen years — you get attuned to their every thought like a superpower or something.
It doesn’t make it any less annoying, though. Eddie’s never been able to keep a single damn secret from Wayne because he’s a total mind reader. It’s entirely possible Wayne knew Eddie was in love before he did.
“Just be careful, alright?” the man advises. He looks genuinely concerned, eyes glinting and brows pinched, like you’re a treacherous road or poison ivy.
The misplaced cautiousness makes Eddie breathe out a soft laugh. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“C’mon, Eds. Don’t play dumb,” Wayne tells him with a gruff chuckle — not totally unkind, just a Munson sort of curt. “You know what I’m talkin’ about. I didn’t even know her real name until you started bringing her around, 'cause all the kids at the shop call her the—”
“Don’t,” Eddie interjects sharply.
The bitterness in his tone is foreign. It contains the sort of venom he’s more like to spit at Jason Carver or Mike Wheeler if he’s being particularly dickish. Never at Wayne.
But that dormant urge to defend you rises like a sleeping dragon that just got poked in the belly. The words rise like bile in his throat and spew out before he can think to stop them.
Uncle Wayne is a weathered man. He’s seen a lot of the world, too much of it, but nothing’s ever quite taken him aback like this. He’s never seen his nephew’s chocolate button eyes hardened into something so cold.
Eddie gets all hyperaware of the heart on his sleeve and starts to crack under the pressure of it. He deflates, stern features crumbling into something softer.
“It’s different, okay?” he assures with his chin brought down to his chest — brows raised and wide eyes twinkling. It’s the same thing you’d said to Hopper not too long ago. Eddie hopes you met the words as wholeheartedly as he does now.
“And even if I explained all the reasons why it’s different, you still wouldn’t get it.”
His melodramatic tone makes Wayne scoff. “What? ‘Cause you don’t think I’ve ever been a kid in love before?”
“No,” Eddie shrugs playfully. “‘Cause you’re old.”
The foreign tension ebbs all at once with a pair of laughs. One is gruff, a couple of sharp exhales more than anything else. The other is a lighter, far more boyish giggle.
“I’m just trying to look out for you, alright?” Wayne tells him once the laughter fades.
“Yeah, I know. You always do,” Eddie lilts with a disposition that might make it seem like he’s displeased by his uncle’s constant pestering. In reality, he knows it’s saved him from a world of shit.
Like that time he wanted to get tacos from a new food truck that gave the whole town food poisoning. Or when he’d wanted to ask Tina Burton, the most popular girl in school, on a date his sophomore year.
It was Wayne that saved him the embarrassment from either. It’s like he can smell bullshit or something.
“But this is, like, the first good thing that’s happened to me since Ride the Lightning came out… So, I’d kinda like to enjoy this whole thing while it lasts,” Eddie winces like it’s a joke, but he means it more than anything.
Wayne nods understandingly. “Will do, kid. But first girlfriends are always hard, okay? Remember that. Try not to let it hurt you too much, Eds.”
His uncle claps him once, then twice, on his shoulder before swiping away the grime he’d accidentally spotted there. Eddie lets him, too far away to shrug him off. He doesn’t even move when Wayne walks out of his room.
He knows his uncle means well, but something about his cynical words makes his chest burn. It’s like he’s betting on his relationship with you not working out or something.
And Eddie knows he isn’t wrong. First girlfriends are hard. He’s heard enough shit from his friends to know that. Hell, Mike and Dustin have spent all year complaining about how complicated relationships are.
But it’s different.
Because they’re just a couple of kids and their girlfriends aren’t you.
Whatever form you come in, lover or executioner, Eddie’s more than ready to receive you.
˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗
You’ve never cooked for anyone other than yourself. And maybe Bowie.
That’s not to say you were a stranger to dining in company. Binging on takeout with Robin and Steve was routine. You’re pretty sure Benny at the diner has made more dinners for the three of you than you’ve ever made for yourselves — combined.
But it was different, to make something for someone with your own hands. It took a relative amount of care, an acute sort of attentiveness that only felt deserved for someone really special.
And Eddie was really special and then some.
There isn’t a word that encapsulates all the special he is. It makes you feel a bit guilty sometimes. You wish you were smarter so you could think of a big enough word to describe how much he means to you. But since you aren’t, you stick to making him homemade spaghetti and hope you can pour enough love into it that he feels all of yours.
Eddie arrives at your apartment before you’re ready for him.
You’d wanted to do more with your appearance by the time he came around — with your hair and your makeup and your clothes. Not because you ever had to, but because you thought Eddie deserved a girl who took extra care of herself in that way.
You got a shower in before you started cooking, but that was it. Your hair is unstyled and air-drying; your face bare and glistening in all its naked glory.
Clad in nothing but a hilariously oversized t-shirt and a pair of fluffy socks, you look more ready for bed than date night.
The knock at your door sends you into a momentary whirlwind. You scramble like someone’s seconds away from catching you naked — like there are four different fires in every direction and you don’t know which one to put out first. The panic is elaborate and fleeting, a bucket of ice-cold water on bare skin.
You figure that’s another part of caring about someone. You make them spaghetti because you love them and get nervous when things aren’t perfect. Love is all things stressful and homemade.
Eddie knocks on your door with several rhythmic raps. They’re evenly timed and spaced out. You recognize the bass line to ‘Crazy Train’ almost immediately. Da-da… Da-da, da-da, da-da. He must’ve been listening to it on the way over.
“Uh, come in!” you waver after an awkward beat. You’re yelling a little because you’re still standing at the stove, stirring the pot of noodles.
The door clicks once when it opens, then again when it shuts. The wall that separates the kitchen conceals your view of him, but you can hear Eddie’s shuffling in the living room from where you are because he’s never done anything quietly in his life.
Eddie toes off his sneakers before he heads into your apartment. You never asked him to do it, so it always confused you as to why. He’d told you, when you asked, that he knows he’s not the cleanest and that he cares too much about your space to make a mess of it.
He tells you he can’t take care of you in the way he would like — that if he had it his way, you’d never have to work at Enzo’s again; that he wishes he was rich enough so you never had to wait on snobby stay-at-home moms or misogynistic businessmen. But since he isn’t a rockstar yet and The Hideout pays their busboy’s fuck all, Eddie figures the least he can do is not leave shoe prints on your carpet.
It’s boyish and strangely profound and so, so sweet.
He drops his backpack and leaves his sneakers by the doormat like he always does. They fit neatly between the wall and the roughly textured rectangle that reads ‘glad you’re here’ on the front of it. One is upright, the other falls to its side.
Bowie blinks at him from where she idles on her perch, green eyes wide and pupils set in narrow slits. “Hey, pretty girl,” Eddie greets in a quiet coo, scooping her up in his arms. Despite her round belly, the calico weighs no more than a feather.
She meows once after being so suddenly plucked from her flower petal spot but settles into him instantly. He scratches at her chin to make her purr and revels in the soft buzzing sound she makes. Eddie waltzes into the kitchen with her, cradling her against his chest like a newborn baby.
You look over your shoulder and smile at the sight of them — at your two favorite beings on the planet, so obviously taken with one another. Bowie lolls in Eddie’s arm like he’s made of clouds and cotton candy. Her blinks are slow and lazy, her purrs audible to even you. She’s only this affectionate for him. You can’t even blame her.
“Smells good in here,” the boy compliments trying his best not to blush at the wide smile you give him. He’s still not used to being looked at so tenderly.
Failing to feel deserving of it all, he averts his chocolate gaze and flushed cheeks to the counter, where he plops Bowie down beside her half-empty food bowl.
You could only get her to eat so much of it before she got annoyed with you. Now she laps happily at the chunk of cat food like it’s the first time she’s ever tasted its goodness.
“Thanks,” you respond with a slight tremble to the edge of your voice. You turn back to the pot of spaghetti you’ve been stirring for close to ten minutes, eyeing the mixture of noodles and sauce and beef with intent because you need it all to be perfect. “I probably should’ve asked what you liked before you left this morning, but I only know how to make spaghetti, so… I made spaghetti.”
You look back at him, flashing the boy a nervous tight-lipped smile. It makes him grin, too, as he makes the terribly short trek over to you.
“Well, I actually love spaghetti,” he confesses, and it isn’t totally a lie. He just stopped caring for it around the millionth time Wayne made it because it’s one of the only things he knows how to cook too.
Eddie lingers at your side, hip pressing into the counter, radiating warmth like a sun stuck in human form. You can’t tell if he’s toasty in his leather jacket or if you’re just cozy in the honey-coated tenderness you have for him. You don’t even realize you’re smiling at him when he scrunches his nose at you.
“You should be careful, sweetheart. I’m kinda starting to think we’re soulmates.”
“That’s crazy,” you marvel, wide-eyed. “I was thinking the same thing.”
“Wow… We really were made for each other, huh?” he huffs with a similar sarcasm.
You try to keep the joke going, but it’s hard not to smile when you feel his hands creep around your sides. His fingers are soft on your waist, featherlight and a little unsure as he slithers along your back. The affection feels foreign on your skin. You bite back a shiver.
“Looks like way,” you affirm with a nod, tilting your head back so you can meet him halfway when he leans down to peck you.
It’s a soft and swift little thing, a brief brush of the lips that doesn’t mean anything but also the entire world. He kisses you just to kiss you — because he likes the feel of you or because it’s the sort of thing he can do now as your boyfriend. Either way, you revel in the unfamiliarity.
“Did the, uh… Did the test go okay?” you ask once he parts from you. You try not to sound like you’ve been agonizing over it all day and more like the thought had only just crossed your mind.
Eddie bites back a smile as he turns to walk to the opposite side of the counter. He makes sure any traces of the smirk have washed away when he hops onto the edge of it. The forlorn look he gives you is manufactured, all pinched browed and gloomy eyed.
“Um, no…” he fibs. “I, uh— I failed it again.”
You eye him from over your shoulder and notice how he shifts on his weight, looking down at the tile rather than up at you. It doesn’t cross your mind once that he might be joking. You just hope the flash of disappointment on your features was too quick for him to catch.
“That’s okay,” you assure and cover your chagrin with a smile. You shake your head and shrug. “We just try again, right? Not the end of the world.”
A grin tugs slow at Eddie’s lips. It’s bemused slightly and still sort of sad. He can’t believe how supportive you are of him even after he’s just told you outright that he’s failed — still loving even when he’s not good enough.
He reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulls out a packet of stapled-together papers. It’s perhaps the first piece of schoolwork given to him that wasn’t immediately thrown away. He’d folded it twice in half, then tucked it safely away with the intent to show you later. He unfolds it again to marvel at it once more.
The letter grade is written in red and circled twice. Ms. O’Donnell’s fancy cursive is scribbled just beside it — “Finally! Good job, Eddie! I’m very proud of you!” Even though the boy has never been particularly fond of the woman, her compliment makes his chest swell.
“Oh, shit…” he murmurs under his breath, but loud enough for you to hear.
“Hm?” you hum back in response. You don’t look at him, though, more focused on not burning yourself as you pull a tray of golden brown garlic bread out of the oven.
“I read it wrong…” he answers, feigning surprise. “This isn’t an F. It’s a B.”
The pan clatters to the stove when you spin around the face him. Your eyes are wide and your brows are raised, each of your features agape with shock. You’re not entirely sure how he could’ve misread it, but you’re prepared to celebrate with him anyway.
Eddie flashes you a pink, lopsided smile as he flips the creased paper around. He puts the grade on display for you with a knowing, mischievous glint in his cinnamon eyes. He’s too pretty and you’re too proud of him — you can’t even care that he was tricking you.
“Oh, my god, Eddie!” you shout with a bubbly laugh, all but launching yourself at him. You have to stand on the tips of your toes to reach where he sits on the counter. The bottom of your stomach digs into the granite as your arms wrap around his neck.
You don’t realize until you’ve locked him in this embrace that you’ve still got your oven mitt on.
Eddie bends awkwardly to reciprocate the hug, meeting you halfway so you’re not doing all the work.
One hand keeps hold of his midterm, but the palm of his free one spreads wide and warm along your back. The tops of your chests collide, soft and snug. They press together in such a way that it confuses him how he could’ve gone so long without feeling you like this — even in the most innocent way.
His chin settles along your clothed collarbone. With his nose digging into the cotton of your t-shirt, he inhales to find your warm floral scent. Eddies sighs and relaxes against you without thinking. He doesn’t know if anyone’s ever hugged him like this before.
“I’m so proud of you!” you praise, chin bopping on his shoulder. “I knew you could do it.”
Eddie chuckles softly at the severity of your hug, so full of intent — louder when you peck him on his cheek and then the rest of his face when you realize you can’t just kiss him once. His stubble is rough against the plush of your lips as you press them to his jaw and chin and nose and mouth.
He tries to kiss you back, but he’s smiling too wide.
He’s almost certain no one’s ever gotten this much loving over a B-minus.
“It’s ‘cause of you,” Eddie insists.
“No, it’s because you’re smart.”
“Mm, I don’t think that’s it,” he retorts with the shake of his head, too damn stubborn to take a compliment.
His chin pulls closer to his neck when he parts from you. Your noses are barely inches apart, lips so close he can taste them. He could kiss you if he wanted, but he doesn’t want to stop looking at you.
“I’m pretty sure I only passed because I was thinking about you the whole time...”
His words trail off. He’s got a crooked smirk on his lips like he’s only teasing, but brings his ear to his shoulder and gazes at you that way — so full of love and mischief. You think he might actually be sincere.
“Eddie Munson…” you scold at his suggestive tone.
A smile dances on the corners of your lips as you pull back from him completely. You finally slip the mitten off your hand as you return to the stove, clicking the knob on the back panel until it turns off again.
“I just hope you’ve been thinking about that reward,” the boy lilts as he slips off the counter. He grins and walks until he’s leaning on the refrigerator beside you. He’s no more than a couple of feet away, but he somehow feels much closer than that. “If I’m not mistaken, I believe we agreed that I’d get something if I passed…”
Eddie’s only teasing. He doesn’t actually want anything. Spending time with you now is enough. Making you blush was just a bonus.
He’d be lying if he said it didn’t cross his mind, though, far more times than he’d like to admit.
And truth be told, you had thought about it, too. But that makes it sound too simple. It plagued you, really. First, it was the “oh god, what if he doesn’t pass,” and then the “what the hell am I supposed to do when he does?”
A passing grade isn’t usually that big of a deal. You’ve certainly never received anything from one. But passing a test after failing it the first two times and having to suffer two more agonizing years of school because of it certainly deserved to be celebrated.
Eddie was strange, though. He wasn’t materialistic or overtly enthusiastic about anything other than music and D&D. Maybe if you had more money, you could’ve gotten him a cassette or a new Dungeon Master’s manual. But thanks to Enzo’s salary, you’re lucky if you’re able to pay bills on time. And it sucks because Eddie deserves nice things, and not just for passing some stupid test.
You hate that you don’t have anything other than spaghetti and adoration to give him.
It’s not fair to either of you.
You’d lamented to Steve about all this over gummy bears and buttered popcorn as Slumber Party Massacre played on the tiny television above the counter. The film was ripe with blood and random nudity, but you hadn’t fully paid attention to a single scene. You don’t think Steve had either because he was too busy trying to fuse two different halves of gummy bears together.
“Okay, you just passed a test you failed two times in a row,” you tell the boy, painting him a picture of your dilemma. “Your girlfriend wants to do something nice for you, but she’s boring and poor. What would you want?”
“A blowjob,” Steve answers without missing a beat. His brows scrunch together like the answer was far easier than you made it out to be. He shrugs and squishes the strawberry head of one gummy bear onto the blue raspberry bottom of another. “Obviously.”
You didn’t think the answer was so obvious. Especially not when you’re trying to take things slow. It wasn’t an easy feat either — not with Eddie at your place, looking at you with that look. His features drip with honey as rose petal spill from his mouth. It’s like he’s trying to tease you.
He’s got no idea he’s quite literally dealing with the master of teasing.
“We’ll see how tonight goes,” you tell him, flashing him an arched brow and a knowing smirk as you drag two of your fancy, ten-dollar porcelain plates from the cabinet. “Only if you’re good for me, yeah?”
Eddie quite literally forgets how to speak.
Like, if you’d asked him a question, the only thing that would spill out would be unintelligible murmurs of made-up words.
His brain turns to mush with the look you give him — a two can play at this game kind of smirk that makes his mind melt. And your words are so effortless, so smooth, like you know just what to say and exactly how to say it to work him like a wind-up toy.
He’s in way over his head. The realization makes his breath hitch.
All he can do is nod like an idiot and let you fix him a plate of your “finest batch of spaghetti.” That’s what you call it, and he figures you must be right because you lay an entire three-course meal out in front of him. Well, it isn’t quite that extensive, but it feels that way.
Plates of pasta, a bowl of salad, and stacks of garlic bread decorate your small square dining table. Eddie almost feels like he’s at Enzo’s, even though there’s never been a world where he’s been able to afford Enzo’s.
You wine and dine him like the finest of them. Even though it’s nothing more than homemade spaghetti and apple juice in wine glasses, it makes him feel special — the kind of special people spend hundreds of dollars to feel. But he gets you for free and fuck, he doesn’t deserve any of it.
He got so damn lucky with you.
He’s done trying to figure out why. He just wants to be more grateful for it.
Once he’s pleasantly full on a home-cooked meal, you usher him to the bathroom. There’s a bag full of stuff waiting there for him — toothbrush, toothpaste, body wash — all the essential shit that he’d forgotten all about. It makes his chest ache.
It’s less so that you knew he’d forget and more so that you thought about him at all.
Eddie imagines you getting off work, still in your Enzo’s-appropriate skirt and blouse uniform, scanning the aisles of Bradley’s Big Buy for things you think Eddie might need.
It’s mundane, but so beautiful still — to be remembered in the most minuscule of ways.
“—I didn’t know what to get you, and I couldn’t afford a lot, so I just got you that 3-in-1 stuff,” you ramble as you pull the dark green bottle out of the brown paper bag on the counter. You wave it mindlessly in your hand. “I don’t know, it was affordable, and you seem like the kind of guy who might use this sort of stuff, so—”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Eddie chuckles, trying to act like he doesn’t have an off-brand bottle of the stuff sitting in his shower back at the trailer.
“I don’t know,” you answer with a giggle of your own. You shrug and sit the thing back down. “You don’t have to use it if you don’t want. I just wanted you to have some stuff here so it could, you know, feel more like home…”
Your words strike something profound in Eddie’s chest, a lightning strike or a punch to the stomach. In that moment, he comes to the realization that home isn’t a place. It’s not four walls or the little trinkets that fill it. The people that make you feel all warm and cozy inside, the people that make you feel like you have a place in the world — that’s home.
It’s Wayne and it’s Hellfire and it’s you.
So it’s easy for Eddie to feel at home in your little apartment, and not just because you bought a bunch of stuff to make it that way.
He’s warmed by the hot shower and the thought that you’re waiting for him in your bedroom down the hall. The idea that he gets this night and so many others you with makes him feel all giddy — like he’s ten years old again and no sleepover has ever traumatized him.
Eddie uses everything you bought, still a little dizzied that it’s for him, but opts to use your vanilla body wash. It’s sweet smelling, with hints of deep musk and high lavender.
The scent of it on his own skin makes him feel like you’re on him and all over him. He has to flip the hot water to freezing before he steps out of the shower. Because, sure, he’s been less than shy about how much he likes you, but walking into your room with a hard-on is a bit more forward than he’s used to.
Eddie finds you waiting for him in your bed. You’re idling at the very center of it, knees up to your chest and back against the headboard, like you’ve been waiting for his return to get truly comfortable there.
You smile when you see him again. It’s that same grin you always look at him with, as though every time you see him is the first time.
He brings an air of cleanliness in with him. He's dressed in fresh pajamas, curls damp and still drying. Steam radiates off his skin along with the scent of freshly baked cookies and flower petals. It’s familiar to you because it’s yours, but it’s different on Eddie in a way you can’t describe.
“You smell good,” you compliment as he maneuvers through the velvet darkness of your bedroom. The black night is evaded only by your dim yellow lamp and the streams of orange that filter through your curtains from the streetlamps outside.
Eddie scoffs as he climbs onto your queen-sized bed. “Did I smell bad before?”
“No. You just smell sweet now. Like a milkshake.”
You shift to make room for him, pulling back your green gingham comforter so he can slip in beside you. Even though you’ve given him ample room to sit down, there isn’t any hint of distance between you. You keep yourself intently pressed to his side despite the several inches of space next to you.
Eddie hopes you never realize there’s a whole world of other places you could be than right next to him. He doesn’t ever want to see a day where you’re separated by more than an inch or two.
“A milkshake, huh?” he echos as he leans back against the slatted headboard and all your pillows. You twist until you’re practically on your side — hip digging into the mattress, shoulder propped along the cushions, chest pressed against his arm.
“Yeah. Like whipped cream or… vanilla cake…” you trail off, quickly losing interest in describing the scent of him when you’re staring the pretty boy in the face.
One half of him is bathed in shades of golden orange, the other half coated in a deep, deep navy. Eddie’s eyes are somehow darker than any night sky. They swim with their own galaxies and stars that twinkle back at you.
He looks at you and all words lose meaning.
“Yeah, I’m totally stealing your soap before I leave,” he jokes.
You shake your head at him, but smile anyway. “Thanks for letting me know, Eddie Spaghetti.”
Just like all the times before, neither of you realize you’re kissing until you already are. The gravitational pull that brings the two of you together is effortless and natural. You’re like the moon and Eddie’s like the tide — you drag him to you without trying and he bends to your every whim.
Kissing him is easy. It’s like breathing. You don’t ever have to think about it, you just do it.
You press your lips against the rosy plush of his, and it’s like taking a deep breath of fresh air. It’s an atmosphere kissed by the sun and the trees and the morning dew. It fills your lungs with a new life, makes it impossible to quit kissing him.
But when his tongue swipes against your bottom lip, when his mouth pries yours open to slip the pink muscle inside — that feels like getting the breath knocked out of you. The rough pattern of his tongue slides against your own, and you have to remind yourself to breathe.
Your lungs stop working, your chest aches, and there’s nothing you can do about it but let the moment pass.
Eddie keeps kissing you soft, though, coaxing fresh air back into your burning lungs. He helps you breathe normally again.
You move together like entwining summer breezes. Your thigh swipes against his lap and his hands find your hips to help guide you the rest of the way over. He’s halfway lying down now and you’re looming like an unconquerable mountain above him. Your back arches like a cat’s and your palms cradle his jaw while your tongue makes uncharted territory of his mouth.
The warmth lingering between your thighs presses into his lower stomach. It makes his grip on you tighten, hands pulling your hips further against him until he hears you moan.
The pressure of your clothed pussy against the pudge of his stomach brings you a distant pleasure. What really does you in is the thought of what little separates you — just the fabric of your cotton underwear and Eddie’s faded grey Tatcher Tire t-shirt.
But it’s hard to be indulgent when you’re so stuck in your head. Your mouth moves with Eddie’s on autopilot while your mind travels elsewhere. Because this isn’t supposed to be about you — it’s supposed to be about Eddie. You want to make him feel good for a change, but you have no idea how to go about it.
The foreignness is strange. It leaves you fumbling like you’ve never done any of this before.
In a way, you haven’t. Eddie is different from any guy you’ve ever been with. Not just because he cares about you, but because you’re practically the only girl he’s ever cared about in this way.
He’s a blank slate and you’re scribbled all over.
You don’t want to taint the pristine image he’s painted of you.
“Hey, Eds,” you murmur. The words are halfway spoken against his mouth because you don’t pull away in time to say them clearly.
Your tongue darts out to feel how numb your spit-slicked lips have gotten after being kissed so ardently. You know they’re probably swollen and more vibrant in their color now. Eddie’s a lot of the same, mouth rosy and obviously kissed.
“Hm?” the boy hums back.
“Do you wanna… Do you wanna do something else?” you ask him, all slow because you don’t want to say the wrong thing. His brows furrow beneath the thin curtain of his curly bangs. The silent question eggs you on. “Would it be okay if I gave you a blowjob?”
Eddie’s eyes widen for a moment. He swears he goes blind because he doesn’t typically see white when he blinks. The question isn’t the weirdest for a guy in this predicament — with a pretty girl on his lap with his spit staining her mouth. It just catches him a little off guard.
“Would it be…” he tries to echo but trails off with a breathy laugh. You say it like it wouldn’t be perfect — to have you between his legs with your warm mouth on his cock, looking effortlessly beautiful while you swallow him whole.
“Yeah… Yeah, I think that… I’d be a total idiot to say no,” he manages to stammer out, though words have long lost meaning by now.
The sight of his glazed-over eyes, warmed cheeks, and pink mouth makes you smile. He always looks at you like you’re the most amazing thing he’s ever seen — like you're the infiniteness of space or a deep, deep ocean — something profound he desperately wants to discover.
“I feel like you deserve it, right?” you squint down at him, partially teasing. “For a job well done, you know?”
Eddie nods until he finds the words to respond. “Yeah… Right. Totally.”
“Do you wanna lie down? Or would you rather me get on my knees?” you ask him.
Eddie swears he’s dreaming. He isn’t quite sure how you manage to say something so sinful with such sincerity.
“It might be comfortable to stay like this, but most guys like the visual of girls on their knees better so…”
There is no seductive lilt to your voice, no mischievous teasing to rile him up. It’s just a question of how he wants you, and it’s a very dizzying thought. Knowing he can have you however he wants makes his stomach all whirly and his vision start to swim like he just spun around ten times.
Eddie just blinks at you. His chocolate eyes and heavy lids flutter slowly like he’s trying to look at you through a layer of honey.
It takes him a second to answer because he doesn’t know what he wants — he rarely ever does, but now especially. How is a boy who wants you in every way imaginable supposed to pick only one?
“Uh, can you—” he starts before the words get caught in his throat. He grunts out a cough to clear it. “Could you, um… get on your, uh— your knees? Please?”
You smile at how politely he phrases it. You don’t think anyone’s ever said please when asking you for a blowjob before.
Eddie fidgets awkwardly beneath you, and you’re not entirely sure why. You’re the one that just offered yourself up on a platter, totally and unequivocally happy to do whatever he wants. He’s not the one that should be embarrassed.
You nod down at him, still grinning like an idiot. “Sure. You can stay sitting if you want. Whatever you wanna do.”
“Okay…” Eddie mumbles in response.
He watches you with wide, inquisitive eyes as you maneuver off his lap and onto the rug beside your bed. When he swings his legs over the edge of it, you settle intently between them. His cock twitches at the sight of you below him, blinking up at him with sparkling eyes that almost look like they’re begging.
Your palms settle on his clothed thighs as your knees press into the woolen rug beneath you. Your chest warms when you’re finally level with his concealed cock. It makes your heart go silly, the sheer thought of what you’re about to do. You don’t think you’ve ever been this excited to suck dick before.
You wait patiently for him to make the first move — then you realize he doesn’t know how because he’s never had to before. Instead, he’s waiting for you to tell him what to do. With button eyes intently focused on your form and hands anxiously gripping the edge of the bed, he’s entirely prepared to move however you want him to.
“Take off your shirt, Eds,” you guide gently.
He listens to you without thinking twice. His fidgeting fingers reach for the fraying hem of his shirt to yank it up and over his head. He has to tug harder when the neck gets caught around his chin.
It isn’t the first time he’s been shirtless in front of you. Between changing and heated kisses, he’s had ample opportunity to get over his lingering insecurities.
For a while there, he found himself comparing his body to all your other more prominent escapades — the Billy Hargroves and the Steve Harringtons. The overtly masculine types with bodies that scream, ‘I peaked in high school.’
Eddie doesn’t look like them. He isn’t as toned or as thin. He’s got pudge on his belly and sparse hair on his sternum in the place of defined abs and pecks covered in layers of chest hair. He doesn’t look at all like those basketball douchebags that could easily model for whatever magazine basketball douchebags read — if they even know how to, that is.
But you don’t seem to care. You love on him anyway.
Even now, your eyes rake over his bare upper half with a gaze that isn’t anything short of hungry. You reach for his face to pull him down for a ravenous kiss that does little to quell your appetite. Your fingers tangle in the drying strands of his hair in the same way your tongues do.
Eddie’s patient hands curl around the insides of your elbow as he keeps his lips obediently parted for you. He sighs into each of your eager kisses, more than content to let you swallow him whole.
You move down to his jaw and then to his neck. You nose his curls out of the way to sprinkle wet pecks to the warm skin there. You somehow manage to take your time and move with haste all at once — loving on all the places that need loving, but not lingering in one place for too long because there are too many of them to count.
The tip of your nose trails down his milky torso in time with your craving kisses. You press a final one between his ribcage, tongue darting out briefly just so you can hear his breath tremble before pulling away entirely.
Eddie’s hands remain on each of your arms as your fingers curl around the hem of his plaid pajama pants. It makes his grip unknowingly tighten.
“Wait,” he blurts with his eyes squeezed shut. You tense almost instantly. “Can you— I mean, can we, just… you know…” he trails off, voice tight like he’s holding his breath. It’s probably because he is.
“What?” you pry with wide eyes and the sick feeling like you’ve done something horribly wrong. “Is this… Is this not okay? We don’t have to, like, do any of this if you don’t want. It was just a suggestion, Eds. We can just—”
“No!” he exclaims, eyes flying open to find your panicked ones. He shakes his wild head so vigorously down at you it makes his curls sway. He both wants to quell your worry and plead for you not to stop. “That’s not it. I— I want to, okay? I do. I really… really do. I just… You’re so far away like this…”
His words drip with a soft sincerity, his honeyed eyes even more so.
Your alarm curls into a gentle smile at his reassurance.
You haven’t had many firsts in a long, long time. Your first kiss was on the playground of Hawkins Middle. Your first handjob was in the locker room of the community pool not too long after. Your first time having sex was on a towel in the grass beside Tina Burton’s pool after her birthday party when everyone else had gone to bed.
All your stereotypical firsts happened lifetimes ago, but you’ve had a billion more with Eddie.
You can say with more confidence than you’ve ever had in your life that this is the first time a guy’s turned down a blowjob because you were too far away on your knees.
“What?” the boy wavers at your silence. Your accompanying smile is somehow more frightening.
“Nothing,” you assure. Your brows pinch together as you smile up at him. “I just… I really don’t think we can be any closer than your dick in my mouth, Eds.”
Eddie rolls his eyes. His cheeks go rosy at your quip. “You know what I mean…”
“Yeah,” you answer softly. “I know what you mean.”
You rise again, this time planting yourself on his thigh. Your knees settle on either side of his leg and dig into the mattress below you, on top of him all over again. The position is a familiar one. The only thing different is a few months’ time and a lack of Fast Times playing in the background.
Eddie tilts his chin to peer up at you. It’s easier this way, he realizes, to be below you and at your mercy rather than above you. Sometimes he thinks you were made to be on top of him like this.
“How about this,” you lilt with a raised brow. “I can just jerk you off—”
“Sounds perfect,” Eddie nods.
A giggle bubbles from your lips. “Let me finish, you weirdo. I can jerk you off, and you can just tell me when you’re about to finish.”
“Okay,” he answers right before his brows furrow. “Uh… why?”
“So you can come in my mouth,” you shrug like it’s obvious.
Your words knock the wind from Eddie’s lungs — it’s like you’ve punched him square in the stomach. Staring up at you through drooping eyelids, he swallows thickly, then nods. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s sounds… Yeah…”
You breathe out a laugh and lean closer to press a kiss to the tip of his nose. You couldn’t help yourself — he’s too damn adorable. Your fingers curl back around the hem of his pants and boxers, dragging them both down in one fell swoop to free his half-hard cock. You tuck the tops of them under his balls.
You���ve seen a lot of dicks in your time — long ones, short ones, thick ones, skinny ones — you could make a damn nursery rhyme of the variety you’ve seen. Eddie’s doesn’t particularly stand out.
It’s middling in length and in girth, not big but not too small either, with a width that won’t hurt to take but will stretch you out nonetheless.
His cock is pale and a faint strawberry red at the tip. It’s the same rosy color his cheeks get when he blushes. There’s a vein that trails up from his balls and splits like a forking river up to his bulbous head. The bush at his pubic bone is fitting for a metalhead, but it looks like he’s taken a trimmer to the chestnut hair there sometime in the past month or so.
His dick isn’t ugly and it isn’t special, but it’s perfect anyway because it’s his.
“You’ve got a really pretty cock, Eds,” you praise in a low whisper.
He thinks you must be trying to talk dirty, but your gaze gets all shy — quirked brow, curled lip, twinkled eye — like you must really mean it. You seal your compliment with a soft, lingering peck.
“Can dicks be pretty?” he asks you, the question muffled against your mouth.
“Not usually,” you blurt before you realize.
Most guys are gross. They don’t shave because they don’t think they have to. Sometimes they smell bad, too, because they never really learned how to wash themselves. Either that, or they taste overtly of soap because they shoved a whole bar of the stuff down their pants right before.
Boys tend to care less about the situation their cocks are in. Only a handful you’ve been with really knew how to take care of themselves — Eddie for one, Steve for another, and Billy Hargrove on occasion.
“But your’s definitely is,” you promise.
“Um… thanks?” He doesn’t mean for it to come out like a question; he just never thought that exact string of words would ever be spoken to him.
It’s a little bit surreal to receive a compliment on a part of you that most people wouldn’t typically notice — like your shoulders or lips or thighs. Eddie’s almost sure you’ve complimented each of those at some point or another.
You kiss him again, both because he makes it insanely hard not to and because you know that’s the only way to get him out of his head. He’ll never get hard if he’s worried about getting hard. So you keep kissing him, letting him focus on the pattern of your tastebuds and the curves of your cupid’s bow, while you happily do all the work.
Your fingertips trail up and down the underside of his cock. Your caresses are featherlight and meticulous along his warm, stiffening skin, all but coaxing him hard.
When his cock is totally stiff and standing at attention at his stomach, you part from Eddie to bring your palm to your mouth. You spit a glob of saliva onto the center of it and let the added lubricant help your fist glide along his dick.
A stifled groan rumbles in Eddie’s throat as your fingers wrap fully around him. You’re only touching his cock, but it feels like you’ve embraced every inch of them.
The pleasure feels like static, like he’s just rubbed his socks along the carpet and he’s sizzling with the newfound electricity. He feels it in the tips of his toes and in the strands of his hair.
“Um, just to, uh… save myself the embarrassment,” Eddie cautions shakily. His voice is a few octaves higher than normal and audibly fragile. “I should probably urge you to lower your expectations—” He has to stifle a whine when you squeeze the base of his cock. “—Just a little bit.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that I’m probably gonna come, like, really, really quickly,” he tells you and tries his best to laugh. It’s as shaky as the smile he gives you because you haven’t stopped touching him, even despite his warning.
Your fist squeezes his cock, then rises again. You pause momentarily to swipe your thumb over his leaking tip before sliding back down again. It’s a slow and methodical cycle that’s going to make him burst far quicker than he’d like.
“That’s okay,” you assure with the shake of your head, brows furrowed because you don’t know why that’s such a band thing. You shrug. “Just means there’s more time for me to make you do it again.”
Eddie huffs out a sigh as his cock twitches in your fist, growing somehow harder at your words.
Your unhurried pace hastens in a way that’s still obviously disciplined. Your hand moves faster until you hear his breath start to race and see his milky white chest splotch with red. Then, when his rapid pants begin to tremble, your pace goes back to normal.
You push him to the very edge of the cliff and then pull him backward before he falls.
It’d be agonizing if it didn’t feel so damn good.
His eyes have long fluttered shut by now. You miss his chocolate syrup irises, but the look of pure serenity on his face is the kind of beautiful most people pay to see. His agape mouth, bared neck, rosy cheeks, and long lashes that tickle the apples of them deserve to be hung in the Louvre.
It’s a sort of heavenly that everyone needs to admire in their lifetime, but one that belongs to only you. The sheer thought of someone else having him this way makes you angry, sparks raging orange embers just behind your sternum.
Eddie grows quiet. Suspiciously so. He isn’t moaning as much as he was before, and his chest is totally still, as though he were holding his breath. You feel his gentle grip on the outsides of your thighs start to harden. You figure the added tension helps him stay hushed. It’s less so accidental and more like he’s trying not to make noise.
“Let me hear you, Eds,” you urge in a whisper. “It’s okay. Go ahead and whine for me.”
The assurance barely spills from your mouth before he’s moaning for you. It’s a long, drawn-out whine that travels from his chest to his throat and out of his mouth, concluding in a fragile sigh.
The sound makes you double your efforts. You want him to make that noise again — you never want him to stop making that noise for you. So you squeeze harder, rise faster, and pay more attention to his rapidly reddening tip.
You’re not entirely sure what Eddie likes the most. Most guys moan louder when you do something they like, but he seems to like all of it, so you don’t pay extra attention to one place. You keep jerking his cock, faster still, even when the muscles of your forearm start to burn.
“Fuck—” the boy sighs in a heavy moan, then cuts himself off with a pitiful whine.
He tries to lift his head and open his eyes to look at you, but he doesn’t have the strength to anymore. His head lolls back again when the pleasure begins to crescendo.
Sufficiently stupid, he can’t even find the words to warn you. “I’m— I’m close, sweetheart,” he slurs lowly. “I’m… Fuck… Fuck, I’m gonna…”
He doesn’t finish his sentence. His face screws up, nose scrunching and brows furrowing, as the feeling becomes almost unbearable. It’s all the warning you need.
Your fist holds onto the base of his cock as you dismantle his thigh and settle on the rug again. You don’t think twice before darting forward to lick the dribbles of pearly-white pre-come spilling from his reddened tip.
You wrap your lips around him totally, cheeks hollowing as you suck him there like he’s a piece of candy.
And Eddie dies. He passes away on the spot.
It’s the only way he can describe the feeling.
The crescendo of pleasure — that’s the life flashing before his eyes. The brief moment of numbness is the infinite void of death. The burst of ecstasy that spits from his cock in one, two, three loads is heaven.
It just has to be.
There can’t be a higher pleasure than the feeling of your mouth on his cock and the way you moan around him when his come spills on your tongue.
Eddie whines something pitiful. He loses all the previous inhibition that kept him so quiet he was too scared to breathe. One hand twists in the sheets while the other settles on the back of your hand, not pulling or tugging, just resting there as his hips buck off the mattress. He can’t tell if he’s running away from the intensity of his pleasure or if he never wants it to stop.
You don’t seem to mind that he doesn’t know.
You let his hips jerk wildly even when the tip of his cock hits the back of your throat and makes you gag. It does take everything in you not to laugh, however, when Eddie murmurs a fragile “sorry” through his cries.
And when his fingers knot in your hair, you don’t mind that either. You let him halfway fuck your mouth, even though you’re pretty sure he’s too far gone to notice that he’s fucking your mouth.
You don’t stop until he’s shuddering. Only when you’re sure he has nothing left to give you do you finally pull away from him. You leave a delicate kiss to the tip of his softening cock, no longer the angry red color it was moments ago. Eddie’s stomach clenches at the feeling of blatant sensitivity. His face scrunches as another feeble cry gets trapped in his throat.
You snap his boxers and pants back into place on his waist and rise.
“How was that for your first blowjob?” you ask him, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.
Eddie just shakes his head in response. He flops back against the mattress, the springs bouncing under his weight, and tries to find the words to answer you.
He doesn’t know how to tell you that he just saw Heaven and Hell at the same time and that you were both God and the Devil. There isn’t any string of words in any language that could explain the otherworldly pleasure you gave him with nothing more than your hand and mouth, so he decides to stay quiet.
With his eyes still closed, he can hear you laughing quietly at him while you slither in at his side. You lie beside him on your stomach. When you’re finally in reach again, he peeks his eyes open and reaches for you, pulling you toward him for a searing kiss.
You think it might be the first time he’s ever done so without asking awkwardly first — as though there was a world where you would ever turn him down. He seems to understand that now, the way he kisses you without thinking twice about it.
His tongue swipes into your mouth. The both of you moan when he tastes the salty tang lingering there. Eddie doesn’t even realize that it’s him he’s tasting at first — that the heady bitter-sweetness on your tongue is his come.
It’s less so that he’s tasting himself, and more so that his taste is in your mouth at all, that makes him exhale a moan against you. The heavy breath of it fans against your cupid’s bow.
“Oh,” you hum through labored pants when you part again. “It was that good, huh?”
“Better,” he answers with a crooked smirk on his swollen pink mouth. He’s finally able to open his eyes and see more than a blur when his high starts to subside. “That was fucking… I mean, that was… fuck…”
His speechlessness makes you giggle. Your gaze stays locked on his profile when he turns to look up at the ceiling.
“That was exactly what I wanted. And, like, I didn’t even know I wanted it, you know?” he rambles. “How did you— How did you know? How do you always know?”
You’re not entirely sure what he means by that, and honestly, neither is he.
You just always know what he needs. You buy him a toothbrush because you know he’ll forget his, and when you touch him, you know exactly what he likes — even though he doesn’t even know what he likes.
It’s like you’re another half of him, and not in the stupid soulmate way everyone always thinks they’ve found. You’re an identical part of him that no one else can fit. He’s only whole with you — like a sandwich cut into triangles or halves of an orange.
“Well, to be fair, I did ask Steve what a guy would want in this sort of situation,” you admit with a scrunched nose. “I just sort of went with what he said.”
Eddie’s brows pinch together as he turns his head to peer at you again. He blinks at you for a moment, dumbfounded, then sputters. “Wait— You’re telling me I have Steve to thank for that blowjob? Like Steve-Steve? As in Steve The Hair Harrington?”
His dramatics makes you giggle. You hide your grin behind your palm.
“Hope that doesn’t change anything, Eddie Spaghetti.”
You meant it as a joke, as in, please don’t think of Steve every time I give you a blowjob from now on, but your words settle something heavy on the both of you.
Because you’ve had Steve The Hair Harrington, in more ways than most friends tend to have one another. You’ve had a lot of people like that. There are people in the world with parts of you that most only give away when they’ve found someone really, really special.
You learned about that too late. And now you feel a lot less special.
Eddie hears all your dreadful, no-good thoughts because they’re also his own.
He’s a virgin with the town slut, so he often feels like he’s drowning. It isn’t because of you, though. It’s never because of you. The number of people you’ve slept with doesn’t mean a damn thing to him; he just wants to measure up to them.
He wants to be the kind of man that sticks in your head after you’ve been with a thousand of them — the kind you can’t help but remember fondly because there hasn’t been another one like him.
He’s got no idea he’s already better than every person you’ve ever been with combined.
“No, sweetheart,” he assures with the shake of his head. The apple of his cheek rubs against the fabric of your comforter as he looks at you with eyes deeper than an infinite galaxy. His gaze holds all of its own stars, and each of them is named after you. “It doesn’t change a goddamn thing.”
#published by bug#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson smut#stranger things x reader#stranger things imagine#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x y/n#virgin!eddie munson#eddie munson fic#eddie munson fanfiction#st oneshots
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eighteen — all along
fuck ur instincts — suna x reader & atsumu x reader
you and suna are just fooling around—so why does he care so much when you start falling in love with someone else?
previous — masterlist — next
word count. 1.3k
content. swearing, implied excessive alcohol consumption
Suna leans against the door after he closes it. He feels like throwing up.
This wasn’t how this night was supposed to go.
He wanted to get you back in some way, to remind you that you need him as much as he needs you. He fucked up when he told Oikawa it was just sex between the two of you (because it really isn’t), but he never thought his words would end up in this.
You’re with Atsumu now. You’re giving him up for Atsumu. You’re giving up on him.
It makes him sick.
“Suna?”
He looks at the girl beside him. Fuck, he doesn’t even remember her name. He’s hooked up with her five times now and, every single time, he only managed to call her by your name.
He’s an asshole. He deserves exactly what he’s getting.
“Hey,” he manages to say. “Kinda need a moment alone here.”
Her eyes widen. “Oh! Yeah! No, of course. I just wanted to check up on you.” She looks around before smiling at him. Sickly sweet. “I guess I’ll just see you around then.”
The girl starts walking away and—no, don’t do it, don’t do it—“Wait.”
She looks back at him. “Yeah?”
Stop it. You’re better than this.
“Do you wanna come to mine?”
A smile. “Definitely.”
Atsumu finds you by the pool, leaning against one of your friends while you watch Kaori somersault on the grass nearby. Your eyes are squinting slightly and a smile is plastered on your face. You light up when you see him.
“‘Tsumu!”
You try to get up, but end up stumbling and giggling into your friend’s shoulder.
“She’s drunk, Miya,” the girl slurs as she rubs your head, clearly wasted herself. “You be good to her, ‘kay?”
He smiles and nods, standing in front of you with his hands in his pockets. “Ya need help, baby?”
You shake your head, furrowing your brows as you try your best to get up. “Can handle myself, ‘Tsu.” You trip over your legs and burst out laughing, your friend joining you. “M’kay, you can help now.”
Atsumu crouches down and picks you up, your legs coming around his waist as he holds your thighs. “Ya good?” he asks, one of his hands going to support your back. “Tell me if yer not comfortable or somethin’.”
You nuzzle into his neck. “‘M good, ‘Tsumu. Thank you.”
He turns to your friend. “Are ya good? Do ya need a ride?”
“Nah.” The girl waves him off. “My boyfriend’s just over there. You take care of our superstar.”
“I always do.” He grins, nodding at her and saying goodbye before he carries you out of the house.
You mumble something into his skin that he can’t hear.
“Whaddya say, sunshine?”
“You’re so pretty, Atsu.”
His cheeks darken at your words. It’s not that you aren’t normally this affectionate—because you are, even when completely sober—but something about you just always makes him feel all light and giddy. You make him feel like he’s seven years old with his first crush, always so new and exciting.
“Yer pretty too, sweetheart,” he tells you. “Also really drunk.”
You slap his chest weakly. “So mean.”
He laughs, holding you close. “Did ya have a good night?”
“Kinda. It was sad for a bit.”
“Oh?” He frowns. “Did somethin’ happen?”
You hum against his neck. “Yeah,” you say, but before you can elaborate, your voice brightens up as you add, “But I’m all better now. Because you’re so pretty.”
“Yeah?” He chuckles, but he’s still worried about you. “Are ya sure yer okay?”
You lean back a little to look him in the face. Your eyes are hazy and your smile a little lopsided, but you look happy. Content. “I have you,” you say. “Of course I’m okay.”
You get to his car and he places you in the passenger seat, buckling the seatbelt and double-checking to see if it's secure before getting in the driver’s seat. He can hear you humming something as he gets in the car (“something stupid” you’d probably say if he asked what it is). He looks over to his side and sees you staring at him, eyes wide and adoring.
“What?” He laughs, trying to hide how shy you make him feel.
You’re still looking at him, blinking like you’re trying to see if he’s real. “‘Tsumu.”
His name sounds like honey on your tongue. So soft and sweet.
He feels his breath catch in his throat. “Yeah?”
“‘Tsumu,” you say again. Fuck, his heart is beating so fast. “I think I really like you.”
He knows you’re drunk and probably half-asleep, but there’s something about the way the words just spill out of you that feels so true. So real. It might be the way you’re staring at him like he hung all the stars in the sky. Or it might be because the words are coming from you.
He’d trust you with all that he had if he could.
He reaches over and places his hand on top of yours. “Say that again in the mornin’,” he requests. “Please.”
You nod fervently. “I will,” you say. “Because I mean it. I like you, ‘Tsumu. I really do.”
It feels better than anything that’s ever happened to him before. Better than winning a game. Better than beating Osamu. Better than having sex. So much better than anything because it’s you.
“Thank you,” is all he manages to say. “Thank you.”
You wake up in the middle of the night to a fuzzy feeling in your head. It’s not exactly a hangover yet, just a sweet spot between being awake and completely dead to the world. You try not to think about how it’ll feel in the morning.
Your eyes adjust to the darkness and you realize that you’re in Atsumu’s bed. You’re wearing one of his shirts and a pair of loose pajama bottoms that could be his or Osamu’s (their laundry gets mixed up a lot). He’s right beside you, one arm over your body, the other beneath you. He probably won’t be able to move his arm in the morning, but you have a feeling he doesn’t care.
You tilt your head up to find him fast asleep. His hair is falling over his eyes and his mouth is slightly agape, quiet snores escaping from between his lips.
Your body is facing him, curled up in his arms. You reach up to trace his collarbone with a featherlight touch and you swear you can feel him lean closer to you.
After your talk with Suna, the night had gone downhill. You spoke to your friends about it but, try as they might, they could only understand so much. It wasn’t like you understood it that well yourself. You downed more drinks that you should’ve and ended up barely knowing what you were doing.
Until Atsumu came, of course. That, you remember. You always seem to remember when it comes to him.
You wonder what you did to deserve this, to deserve him. To have him hold you in his arms when you know you probably smell like you’ve raided a whole bar. To have him check up on you and make sure you’re okay. To have him proudly keep you on his arm in front of his friends, to show you off like you’re the only thing that matters.
You spent a whole year with Suna, thinking that you were only worthy of being fucked in secret and barely acknowledged in public. Even people who claim they loved you once like Terushima just treat you like a toy to be played with whenever they see fit. Boys who barely know you ask for your number, not because of who you are, but what it would mean for them to "have" you.
Atsumu’s changed it all for you. He makes you want to see the goodness in yourself, the parts of you that he seems to recognize even if you don’t. Sure, he can be brash and loud and frankly a bit of a mess, but he makes you feel whole and safe.
You close your eyes and push yourself further into his hold.
Maybe this is what you were looking for all along.
notes. the new update sched is so good for my nerves like i need you all to feel with me here pls thank you (also if you wanna vote on my next series, there's a poll up rn 🫣)
#hqbaby.fyi#hqbaby#haikyuu#suna rintarou#suna#suna rintarou x reader#suna x reader#miya atsumu#atsumu#miya atsumu x reader#atsumu x reader#haikyuu x reader#suna rintarou fic#suna fic#miya atsumu fic#atsumu fic#haikyuu fic
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⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ 𝐏𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐏𝐨𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐃𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐆𝐞𝐭 𝐆𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐲
A venture to a club for a performance — the type that better suited the phrase ‘once in a lifetime’ — left you with far more than you could have ever anticipated for when you step out from the double, glass doors.
The secrets within the lustful atmosphere weighed on your own thoughts, as did the vivid imagery of what happened up on that stage: the drag of heated palms over your clothes and the whispered words of praise that would fuel your sinful dreams for a time.
Only, the source of your maladaptive daydreams waited for you outside.
჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈
꧖ Stripper!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader
჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕
꧖ 7.9k
჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔
꧖ Fluff, extreme spicy tension, emphasised size difference (Bucky is huge and beefy as fuck in this), Russian!Protective!Bucky
჻჻჻ TROPES: Grumpy/Sunshine, Meet Cute
჻჻჻ KINKS: Praise, size
჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔
꧖ I have been waiting for the opportunity for over a year now to create this AU, and I had the push from @sgt-seabass' experience at a certain event that she so graciously shared with me... 😘
꧖ A special thank you to a certain someone for their help with the Russian flirting...
꧖ I have to say that this Bucky was one of the hardest ones I have ever attempted — there were times I was so close to throwing in the towel. I am so glad I didn't.
꧖ It was so fucking hard to not add smut into this — I am determined to save that for a... special moment.
჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒔
꧖ It's A Man's World by Sevyn Streeter
꧖ greedy by Tate McRae
꧖ Soaked by Shy Smith
꧖ Crazy in Love by Beyoncé
჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒃𝒆𝒕𝒂
꧖ @thevillainswhore — you were a literal saviour, baby, thank you so much for sticking with my stubborn ass through this.
꧖ And to quote her when she saw the tropes: MEET CUTE? YEAH, SOME FUCKING MEET CUTE! 🤭
჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔
꧖ @buckybarnesevents Alternate June-iverse 𝗖𝟮 — Stripper AU
— Masterlist
꧖ @buckybarnesevents Build a Bucky Bingo
჻჻჻ Teasing (January)
— Masterlist
꧖ @anyfandomfluffbingo 𝗢𝟰 — Nightclub AU
— Masterlist
꧖ @anyfandomkinkbingo 𝗡𝟯 — Free Space
— Masterlist
𝐁𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐈𝐧𝐡𝐢𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
The crowded line around you bustled and shifted with excitement for what lay ahead in only — you checked your phone for the time — a few minutes. Double, glass doors artistically darkened would part to the masses, passes would be checked, and then you would be directed to and seated in your booked seats.
“What do you think they’ll be like up close?” your friend asked from next to you, their arm looped around yours to stay close. “What about–”
“Let’s just hope we get to see him,” you reminded your friend. “He’s kept a secret for a reason, no one knows if he’ll be at a show until he is there—part of his mysterious charm, I guess.”
As a birthday present from your accompanying friend, you were given a set of tickets to see a coveted show by the Howling Commandos — a group consisting of a few men and their host, Natalia, travelling through the states of your home country and performing risqué dances on a dimly lit stage to a crowd of howling women (and a few men, too).
That wasn’t what you were there for, however.
Within the ranks of the performers that made up Howling Commandos, was a man built like a God — from what you had seen on their social media, you learned that he was called Sarge. He had jaw length, dark brown hair, and piercing, slate grey eyes.
Not much could be parsed from his lack of information — it wasn’t abnormal to be a private performer, it was part of the allure and to gain profit, you suspected, but there was next to nothing known of the brooding mountain of a man that commanded such a presence on the stage that he was only brought out for the biggest of shows.
It was a little disheartening, if you were honest, that your particular show wouldn’t be classed among the bigger crowds — the likelihood of Sarge even being in the roster of performers was slim.
“I don’t know,” you mumbled, glancing around the gathered crowd. “I just– I hope we get to see him. Have you seen the way he dances?”
“Oh, yeah,” they replied. A strange, teasing smirk pulled at the corner of their lips, and it made you nervous for some inexplicable reason. “I’m hopeful too, babe—turn that frown upside down, it’s your birthday!”
You managed a small nod and smile in reply.
Not even a moment later, the doors before you parted, opening in a wide arc to reveal a provocatively dressed woman, a staff member of the ensemble. The bass of the music from within the nightclub pounded in your chest, and your heart skipped a beat as you handed the worker your joint passes — they flashed a wolfish smile and gestured you inside.
“She was hot.”
You snorted at your friend’s blunt commentary, though you nodded in agreement. The woman was dressed in what you could only describe as a modest corset and fishnets, topped off only with platform heels and an updo that would make a nineteen-forties housewife jealous.
The interior of the club was remarkably different to the outside. From the blackened windows, you could still see the dimmed glow of the neon’s that lined the outer signs and gutters of the building, but within the establishment, it was a much softer, moodier atmosphere.
Couches made of plush, burgundy velvet were lining booths and tables alike, while stools and tables made up the middle of the floor with a few stylistic chairs thrown among the mix. A stage, high off of the floor by at least four feet, lined the furthest and widest wall from the entrance.
Curtains covered the back of the wall, a combination of blacks, deep reds, and purples making up the canvas of a backdrop.
The music that played over the speaker sounded familiar, and you strained your ears to decipher the song — a classic for a club hosting a stripping event, with a sultry beat that made your skin prickle.
“Well, well, hello there, vozlyublennyy,” a voice suddenly called from the stage.
Your gaze snapped towards the source, and you found a woman standing right at the edge. Black leather met fire-red hair and lipstick; her mouth was curled in a wicked, sultry smile that turned your insides to jelly. The heels she wore made her as tall as a Goddess, and she bent her knees to squat down to better look at you. “Aren’t you pretty?”
“Oh, god,” you whined, hiding your face in your friend’s shoulder. They laughed at your shame. “C’mon, that’s not funny–”
“It is, sweetheart,” the woman cooed, and she offered you her hand to shake; blood red nails turned her porcelain skin paler, and she had a single, silver ring on her thumb. “Natalia—pleasure to meet you.”
You offered your name and your hand, only, she kissed your knuckles and left behind a stain of red lipstick.
Natalia tilted her head as she looked at your friend. “Interesting… very interesting.” Before you could question her statement, the leather of her pants creaked with the movement of her standing tall. “Why don’t you come take a seat over here for me?”
The chairs she pointed to were placed in the VIP section. Your heart thundered against your ribs with trepidation. “But–”
“Aw, thanks!” your friend cried, far too enthusiastically. The grip they had on your arm was iron tight, and you had no choice but to follow the direction they frog marched you in — straight towards the seats that screamed opulence.
“What are you doing– We– You didn’t pay for these?” you rushed, watching your friend sit beside you in the booth. On the centre table was a bucket of ice and a bottle of champagne, a tray of hors d'oeuvres beside it. “The fuck is this?”
“Just don’t think about it, babe,” they replied nonchalantly. A sample of food popped into their mouth, and they made an appreciative noise.
The sudden, mysterious determination of your friend set you on edge and made your stomach coil with anxiety. You could not figure out what they were up to, let alone having acquired such tickets to sit so close to the stage, and you realised with one hell of a start, if you reached a hand out from your set, the tips of your fingers brushed the very edge of the platform.
People began to take their seats with ushers directing them, and you took the opportunity to take in the interior again — a large bar was bordered by glass shelves stocked full of liquor, from whiskey to vodka, all the way to tequila.
While you stared around the space, the lights began to dim even further until you could barely see the stage.
“Hello, hello, all of my minxes,” Natalia said, her honeyed voice blanketing the crowd and kicking up the anticipation in the air by several degrees. Spotlights suddenly illuminated her figure on the stage, and you gasped at the sight — black leather pants accentuated her thighs and hips, and the dip of her corset in the harsh light was anything but modest. The red curls you admired moments ago sat over her shoulders.
The crowd cheered and whooped with her appearance; she took a bow. “Thank you all for the very warm welcome, darlings,” she cooed, the slight rasp of her Russian accent making her tone sensual. “Tonight is, as you know, a very special night.”
Her heels clicked over the stage as she strolled leisurely back and forth, holding the entire focus and attention of the patrons in her manicured hand. “We have ventured from far and wide to come here tonight. So it is of both of our benefits if I allow the boys to start the show, but first,” she said, coming to a halt in the middle of the stage. “Some house rules.”
You listened while Natalia listed off the do’s and don'ts for the evening — most of which you couldn’t believe had to be even mentioned. “Some people are pieces of work,” you muttered to your friend. They snorted a laugh and nodded in agreement.
“And with all that out of the way,” Natalia sang, and she tilted her head to search through the crowd. Her hazel-green eyes landed on you — something behind that playful gaze caused a shiver to run down your spine. “I present, Falcon.”
The show that Falcon put on toed the line in so many instances that the room felt like a sauna — a few women were using their leaflets to fan themselves. You watched with heat adorning your cheeks as he bowed to the crowd, then dashed off stage, opposite to where Natalia appeared once more.
Her sensual smile seemed to invigorate the crowd even more, and they whistled as she slunk to the very front of the stage as the music began an interlude. “I’m sure Falcon would not have minded a louder cheer, darlings,” she purred, arching a perfectly manicured brow.
An uproar of cries and screams made her laugh from her perch on stage. “That was much better, excellent.” Her heels clicked over the platform as she strutted back and forth, back and forth — if she were a cat, you suspected her tail would be twitching with the anticipation of cornering her prey. “Our next performer is a crowd favourite, and he is eagerly awaiting his turn behind the curtain–”
“Hurry up, Nat,” a deep voice said from behind the barrier of cloth.
The cackle of laughter Natalia replied with sent a thrill down your spine. “Easy—be a good boy now, Nomad.”
A blond head of hair that belonged to no other than the infamous Nomad appeared between the split of fabric, and he glared at Natalia with a playful heat that only made her laugh harder.
The appearance of him roused the crowd, and for good measure, he winked at a few patrons. “Come on out then, boy,” Natalia teased. “They seem to want you—we must give them a show.”
Nothing prepared you for the intensity of Nomad’s set. The sensual movements and choreography of his routine was mesmerising, and you often found yourself staring into his face as opposed to his body; those eyes never left the woman he danced over, a depth to them something only a lover would achieve.
By the time Nomad took a bow and strode off stage, your heart was jammed in your throat and your mind was flitting with dreams you only hoped would manifest while you slept. It was only early, though. The tickets stated clearly this show would run for at least another hour, if not longer — you looked to your friend whose attention was wholly fixated on the stage. “What are they–”
“Ah, darlings,” Natalia called, cutting you off, and an unnatural hush fell over the crowd. Some kind of electricity shot through the patrons like a lightning strike, anticipation heavy in the air. “You must think that tonight must be over—it is only early, I assure you, the night is young!”
There were a few hollers in reply.
“You need not fret. We have another surprise for you all,” she soothed. Her boots shone in the spotlight as she stalked to the front of the stage, and she squatted in place. Dark eyes met yours, and your breath hitched at the way she seemed to see through you.
Music swelled and pounded against your ear drums, the deep bass of it taking the rhythm of your heart and twisting it to its own beat. The lights dimmed and turned red, casting Natalia’s silhouette over the crowd.
“Please, welcome our very own soldier,” she purred.
A dark figure came out from behind the curtains and loomed over Natalia, even in her high heeled stilettos. They wore a cap to obscure their face; a jacket bulked their frame and covered a red henley, the first and second button unclasped to show the rounded neck of a black shirt.
No matter what they wore, there was no mistaking who just stepped onto the stage, and you felt what little control you had over your body slip through your fingers like sand.
Beside you, your friend grabbed your arm and shook it, squealing excitedly. “Oh, he’s here!”
You blinked, covering your open mouth with a hand — either to clasp your jaw shut or hide your surprise, you couldn’t decide.
“Well, hello there, Sarge,” Natalia greeted, and she circled him; each click of her heels loud against the floor. “I think we have a few voyeurs excited to see you.”
Sarge raised his head to observe the crowd, eyes sharp and bright under the red light. “Da, you would be right,” he said, face passive and void of any emotion. “I better get started then.”
The fabric hugging his chest wrinkled with a sudden roll of his shoulders, and he moved his neck side to side — a physical show of his strength that made the crowd squeal and shriek.
He did not even react.
That same passive stare observed the crowd before he glanced at Natalia. “Ubiraysya otsyuda, Natalia.”
Manicured nails brushed over her forehead while she saluted in farewell. “Have fun.”
“I can’t believe this,” you whispered in shock. The flood of heat that warmed your neck crawled its way up to your cheeks; suddenly unbearably warm while the lights overhead dimmed.
The vision of him on stage was otherworldly — nothing could compare, not even the videos and pictures uploaded to social media of his performances or press. Even his accent was stronger, deeper in person. He towered on stage with his mere presence, let alone his astounding height.
A few patrons whistled and called for him to start, but he merely threw them a heated stare that forced them to quieten down. The respect he commanded made your stomach flutter with nerves.
Next to you, you felt the seat cushion shift, and your friend leaned closer to whisper in your ear, “Happy birthday, babe.”
You blinked and looked at them with wide eyes. “What–?”
They nodded towards the stage. Confused and unable to repress the nervous shiver of being watched, you looked towards the raised platform, just as steel-grey eyes met yours. Sarge had searched the crowd like a famished wolf, and the hunger in his gaze reflected as such.
All of the breath in your lungs escaped in one fell swoop, the exhale turning into a squeak of shock that was not dignified. “Oh, oh,” you whimpered, moving back in your seat until your back was against the plush cushioning. “You didn’t– Oh no—no, I can’t–”
The frantic pleas turned to breathless whines when Sarge smirked at you; a slight quirk of his full, pink lips that froze the world around you. His handsome features came into full view with the sudden beam of a spotlight, and you took them in — a sharp jawline that would cut glass, paired with a straight nose above perfect lips. There was a light dusting of stubble over his jaw that offset the dark brown locks that fell to his neck.
People in the crowd caught onto who he was staring at, and they began to whoop in encouragement.
A gloved hand raised to halt the noise. “A little bird told me that tonight was someone’s birthday,” Sarge said, still staring straight at you. The slack in your jaw was almost painful. “And for the birthday girl, I have a surprise.”
“What,” you blurted.
Small giggles punctuated your stunned silence, the sudden hysterics of your friend almost made it all the more unbearable. The clarity that came with the sudden reveal hit you like a speeding truck on a highway, the mysterious change of seats; how Natalia picked them out from the crowd.
You turned to stare at them heatedly. “You did this?”
A sludge formed in your stomach when they nodded.
“I can’t, I can’t– Oh, god,” you gasped, overwhelmed with the sheer amount of emotion that coursed through you. “I can’t go up there!”
The doubt only gave rise to a sense of confliction — some small part of you yearned to take that stage by storm and have a dream become true, the other, however, wanted to crawl into a ball from the shame of such exposure.
“Yeah, you can,” your friend said, and they gripped your hand. “You’re going to go up there and have the time of your life—don’t let your fear steal this from you.”
Lights around the room dimmed entirely, casting the stage into darkness. Over the pounding of your heart, you could hear the heavy thump of boots over wood, then a solid shadow loomed at the edge of the stage; sans cap, and hair flowing loose down his neck, the few strands that covered his face brought to life the impulse to tuck them behind his ear.
“If it truly makes you uncomfortable, I will leave you be,” Sarge offered. The gravelly tone of his voice made you gulp compulsively from a sudden dry mouth.
He squatted in place, the toes of his boots right on the edge of the platform — you couldn’t help but notice the tightness of his jeans around his thighs. “Otherwise, darling,” he continued quietly, “Allow me.” A gloved hand appeared in your vision, and he smiled softly at you.
“I– Oh, fucking,” you rambled, unable to take hold of his hand. “I can’t–”
“She will,” your friend interrupted, and Sarge glanced at them — his expression had turned passive once more. “She just needs some encouragement.”
“Oh?” Sarge replied, a curious lilt to his accent. He stared at you. “That I can offer.”
The squeak of his boots sounded when he rose to his feet. His looming height only made your heart beat faster and faster against the confines of your throat — you watched his back and shoulders move as he strode back towards the curtains.
The crowd was in titters of anticipation for the beginning of the show.
And to your utter astonishment, Sarge turned on the spot to face you, and started to shed the jacket he wore all while maintaining eye contact — a spell you could not break, no matter how hard you could have tried, you did not want to.
Your jaw ached with the way it fell open in awe once the outer layer of his clothes were removed, leaving him in just his henley and undershirt; jeans hugged his thighs far more prominently now the baggier layer didn’t hide his frame.
“Go on,” your friend whispered, pushing you sideways on your seat to the edge.
“Ah, nyet,” Sarge barked, pointing at your friend. “Let me try to convince moya malen'kaya kukla.”
The seamless transition to his mother tongue made a small, quiet moan fall from your lips before you could bite back the impulse. Sarge, ever the cunning wolf, seemed to have heard it, regardless of the crowd of impatient patrons.
You watched as his index finger beckoned you, a come-hither motion that set the last of your reserved dignity to cinders.
“Idi syuda, viksen,” Sarge called. “Come here. Kneel at my feet.”
The pit of your stomach fell through the floor, much like your jaw, and as though you were bewitched, you rose from your seat to whoops and cheers; rounds of applause that could not be heard over the thunderous roar of blood in your ears.
Sarge stood on the stage, his eyes fixed on you with such intent it turned your knees to jelly, and as you reached the small set of stairs to the side of the stage platform, he moved towards you and offered a gloved hand to help you up.
“Here, darling,” Sarge said softly. One hand held yours while you navigated the steep steps, the other was placed on your lower back when you reached the solid and suddenly very large platform.
Under the guise of directing you, he leaned in close enough for the heat of his breath to be felt on the shell of your ear. “If it becomes too much for you to take—what I am about to do,” he clarified at your startled squeak. “You must tap my arm thrice, like this.” The soft tap of his finger against your arm was insistent and firm. “Understood, da?”
“Y–Yeah, yes,” you replied breathlessly, nodding once. “I– Okay.”
Sarge dipped his head low and grinned, so only you would see. “Khoroshaya devochka, lyubimyy.”
The music swelled and trembled the floor before you could even reply to his quip, and he looked around the stage. “Hmm, over there, I am thinking,” he said quietly, and then you were moved towards the other end of the stage, his hand still holding yours. “Are you ready, darling?”
You blinked, then hesitated a brief second. Sarge picked up on the swirling anxiety that viciously swarmed your mind and body. “Remember, you need only tap my arm three times and it stops. I will signal to Natashka, then she will take you to a quiet room to soothe you.”
“Well, there’s a back up plan, just in case,” you mumbled.
A small smile danced on Sarge’s lips again, the same one that he held only for you back at your seat. “There will always be precautions,” he said, his voice thick with the accent of his mother tongue. It was endearing and you couldn’t help but feel drawn to him for how nonsensical and calming his mere presence was — quite the opposite for what you would expect of a performer. “Besides, I do not want to frighten such a beautiful woman.”
“Oh–”
“Kneel, viksen,” Sarge commanded suddenly. You jumped in fright and fell to your knees with little hesitation — the rushed action made Sarge smirk. “Well done, darling.” Leather caressed your jaw, then your chin, and his hand tilted your head up to look into his face. When your gaze met his, he winked and licked his bottom lip before he silently mouthed, “I am starting now.”
His consideration swelled far more than your heart.
A loud voice called over the speakers, “Ladies and gentlemen, let’s make some noise for Sarge!”
The crowd roared a few decibels below deafening.
You watched in the sudden, dimmed lighting as Sarge turned back around and headed straight towards where he stood when he beckoned you on stage. His head was held high while he looked over the stage, and a spotlight caught his profile, sending it into sharp relief against the backdrop of crimson and purples.
Sarge’s beauty was unmatched by any model or actor. His side profile alone was enough to make a small, unbidden whimper fall from your lips.
The leather gloves that covered his hands were pulled off, exposing the skin beneath — swirls of ink lined the back of his hands, while a few patterns stretched artfully down some of his fingers. As for the rest of the artistry that you assumed decorated his body, it was covered by the red henley and black undershirt, let alone the jeans that hugged his thighs.
His heated gaze fell on you as he turned to stand directly opposite you — his feet shoulder width apart and his head tilted to the side so strands of dark hair fell over his cheek and jaw.
From within the crowd, you could just decipher the calls from your friend, and their encouraging cries fuelled your bravery — a blessing in disguise, for Sarge held out his hand and beckoned you towards him, just as he had done to get you on the stage in the first place.
Oh, fuck, you thought.
Instinctually, or foolishly, you placed your hands past your knees and onto the stage, then lifted off of your knees — everything in your body screamed arousal at such a dominant move. “Oh, fuck, fuck,” you mumbled at the ground. “I’m really doing this.”
Yeah, you are, the voice replied in your mind — it sounded familiarly like your friend that watched on.
One hand moved forward, followed by a knee; the other hand mimicked the firsts, then your other knee followed suit. The hard surface dug into your knees and palms, but you paid no mind to the subtle ache, your gaze too homed in upon the man that stood watching you crawl to him.
Sarge’s eyes bled from blue to black in the dimmed light, and he grinned; all teeth that shone white.
At last, you met the halfway point between your starting position, and where he watched on, when he held up a hand to halt your crawl. You sat back on your haunches and stared at him, eyes widening while he strolled forward — all the while grabbing the hem of his henley and undershirt, pulling it up to expose a deep, defined v-line.
The crowd moaned and screamed in unison, but it was a dull roar of noise over your mind’s insistent parade of what it would be like to kiss the skin of his hip; how tense his muscles could get in the throes of passion.
Before you could even shake yourself from that particular vision, you blinked and Sarge stood right in front of you — his very exposed hip within reach, if only you just leaned forward–
“Go on, detka,” Sarge purred, tapping the skin above the belt loop next to his zipper. And the bastard teased, “You want to, I can see it.” The impulse consumed you like a forest fire, and your lips met the heated skin in a chaste kiss. “Good girl.”
There was no discerning the patrons cheers any longer, the continued shouts and cheers of their voices melded into one, constant noise.
His fingers deftly worked the belt clasp, and you realised with an audible gasp that the black leather was branded with an inscription that sent a dull, aching throb to your cunt — Sarge’s Girl was decorated with silver filigree and a bold, full star on either side of the words. The buckle clinked as he pulled it free, then the strap where the text sat was pushed towards your parted lips.
“Open,” Sarge ordered, and you complied without a second thought.
His thumb brushed over your cheekbone, and he stepped back slowly, leaving his belt between your teeth. The heavy fall of his boots copied your heartbeat, the pounding rhythm sent your head into a spell of dizziness you wanted more of.
Your lips moved over the strap while your tongue tasted the earthy tones of treated leather; something you needed more of.
The leather dangled down your front, the end of it resting in front of your knees — Sarge tilted his chin up, looking down at you with an unreadable expression, as though he was contemplating something.
It all fell away — the sounds, the smells, the tastes when he kneeled down on one knee in front of you, eyes bright with a sense of mischief, and a smirk that rivalled the devil’s. “Let go,” he said, holding around the strap of his belt, right next to your cheek.
You bit down on the leather with a playful growl, and Sarge smirked as he pulled against your grip gently. “Give it back to me, devochka, before I tame the brat in you for all to see.” Shock flooded your system and forced your jaw to be lax around the hard leather. “Ah, there we go, Viksen. Arms out, wrists together for me.”
Your actions fell on autopilot to obey, and you stuck out your arms, wrists together, just as he asked for. He hummed and looped the belt around them, careful of the tightness of the leather against your skin. “Now, down.”
His hands moved you back onto all fours, the gentle grip of his hands while he did so sent a cacophony of butterflies to soar wildly in your stomach. The leather toes of his boots were all you could see when he got to his feet before, the deep, red henley fell to the floor a second later.
“Give it up for our Sarge!” That same announcer voice called over the speakers, and the crowd did not disappoint.
Warmth spread over your waist, and you realised it was both of Sarge’s hands feeling down your sides — one boot disappeared, then thudded as it landed on your other side.
He was standing over you– Oh, fuck, you almost gasped aloud.
A sharp, loud shriek fell from your lips with the sudden change of altitude — in the blink of an eye, Sarge had lifted you with both his arms around your waist. Your legs were draped over his shoulders, and his face brushed against your navel from the sudden proximity.
You could feel one hand splayed over the middle of your back to steady your frame and prevent you from falling backwards, though it did nothing to alleviate the rush of adrenaline through your body at suddenly being held in the air, with your thighs either side of his head, by one of the most handsome men you’ve ever seen in your life.
“Oh my god!” You scrambled to grab at his neck before you could master the impulse, and all you felt was the soft, brown locks of his hair in your fingertips. There was a hot breath on your stomach through your shirt, and the broad shoulders that held you so securely in the air shook up and down — Sarge was laughing at your fear, the bastard. “What–!”
Sarge’s other hand that was held to the side in a show of strength, brushed over the seat of your pants before he squeezed. The contact sent a rush of heat through the whole of your body as you realised just how close to your cunt his mouth was in conjunction with his hand on your ass.
The crowd was still whooping when he fell to one knee and twisted in place, so you lay across the stage — his hands wandered from your back to your knees. You could only see the wicked, hungry grin on his mouth when he peered around your calves; he arched a brow and licked his lips, carelessly fuelling the fire between your thighs.
Your wrists rubbed against the leather strap of his belt, and you subconsciously whined — you wanted to touch, to feel his strength under your fingertips.
“Easy, darling,” Sarge purred. “You will have your fill, obeshchayu.”
The buckle of his belt clattered to the floor with surprising speed, though you didn’t have time to linger on the newfound freedom — Sarge’s slow thrusts against the back of your thighs made a dizzy spell hit you with such force you almost passed out right then and there. “Sarge–! Fuck.”
“Not yet,” he rasped back.
You squeaked and looked down at him with widened eyes — the black of his pupils painted over the grey, bleeding profusely over the once calming seas of his irises.
All of your insides squirmed and vanished with the heat of his stare, and before you could even blink yourself back to reality, you were sitting in a chair on the stage with Sarge in front of you. His stature loomed over you and blocked out the patrons that cheered behind him — feet shoulder width apart and hands on your cheeks to tilt your head up.
The gentleness of his hold replaced the fire in your veins with an unexplainable adoration.
“Lyubimyy, are you with me?”
“Yeah– Yes, I am, just–” You stammered, blinking fast. “I got a bit flustered.”
Sarge grinned. “I know—it was sweet. So easy to entrance, hmm?”
“Hey–!”
“I joke, darling,” he teased. “I am almost done with you. I know you are eager to join your friend again.”
The music swelled over the speakers, the beat and bass reverberating deep in your chest — it didn’t feel like you were on the stage of one of the most prolific nightclubs of your city with a stripper performing with you, let alone talking to you in such a tone of hunger.
You had watched all of Sarge’s performances reverently, far more than you would ever admit, and never before did he treat a patron to such intimacy.
His press gave the same impression of stoic and blithe interest. Never one to talk unless questioned — Sarge was a quiet one, but yet, here he was, speaking to you with a reverence of what you’d expect from a lover.
Something tugged and pulled in your stomach with that particular realisation.
“Are you ready?” Sarge asked quietly, leaning in close while still moving his body to keep the crowd entertained. His eyes were clear and narrowed in on your features, darting from your eyes to your parted lips. “I will stop if you are overwhelmed–”
“No, no,” you rushed, and you reached for him on instinct — a reassuring, grounding presence the beacon you didn’t know you needed. “I’m okay, please.”
“As you wish, viksen,” he replied. “Follow my lead.”
The skin of his palms felt rough over your own hands, and he guided them to his chest, covered only by the dark undershirt — you realised it was a tank as opposed to a shirt. He turned on the spot and fell to his knees, boots tucked beneath the seat you were perched on, and his hands guided yours to the neckline of his shirt.
“We’re in the final stretch,” the announcer called over the cheering crowd. “Let’s give it up one last time for Sarge!”
Your fingers were squeezed by Sarge’s palms, the grip firm as he pressed your hands into his chest while manipulating the thin cloth into your fist. He looked at you over his shoulder with a sly smirk. “Have your fill, darling—pull.”
The fabric tore away with ease under the combined efforts of Sarge’s strength and your hands — black cloth revealed a chest covered in artistry, rippling with the movement of guiding you to strip his chest bare.
A small moan fell from your lips and into his ear.
“Settle,” he murmured back with a wide smirk.
You gulped while he turned his head to look out into the crowd, and the smirk he threw you morphed into a grin while he slowly moved his hips back and forth — a show far too intimate, but you could not look away. The low position of his beltless jeans left little to the imagination.
“Now you can return to your friend,” Sarge said lowly, helping you up from your seat while your legs shook. “You took it so well, darling. Come.” His warm hands guided you to the edge of the stage, where the stairs were situated, and he took each step down with you.
Your heart thundered and skipped the longer he stayed beside you, and finally, he helped you to your seat before moving your hand to his lips. A soft kiss brushed against your knuckles, and he smiled softly. “Goodbye, viksen.”
You watched him turn back around to walk back up the stairs, the muscles of his back and shoulders tensing and rippling with each step, and the time passed in a daze from that moment onwards.
Through the hazed lust, you barely acknowledged your friend who welcomed you back to the table with eager chitters and whispered demands after Sarge disappeared from the stage through the side exit.
The feel of his hands on you lingered, even after the soft touches of him guiding you back to the sanctuary of your occupied booth, and you found you didn’t want that sensation to ever leave.
The last of the performers dwindled on stage while patrons shuffled around to gather their belongings. It wasn’t often that the Howling Commandos lingered at a venue, given they were a sought after group of performers, they often had tours that were demanding beyond reason — though it was different this time.
After following them for so long, it was rumoured and then later confirmed on social media, that this show was the last for them for some time — no one knew for sure how long their rest would last, but it was well deserved regardless.
It was how you found yourself bouncing on the balls of your feet in anticipation beside the stage. Nomad, Falcon, and Natalia were mingling amongst the crowd for photo opportunities for the lucky few who purchased the extra bonus of a meet and greet.
You were not unfortunately one of the few, as much as you wish you were — the treat of being brought on stage was already too much for you to cope with and process.
The sound of footsteps of giggles emanated from your left, and you glanced over to find your friend on the approach. “You good?”
“Yep,” they said, popping the ‘p’. “Let’s go get some drinks!”
“But–” You tried to protest, but it was of no use — the grip your friend had on your arm was tighter than a vice as they dragged you out of the door and into the street. The night life of the strip of nightclubs was wildly alive with partying crowds and drunkards stumbling all over the place. “Oh, hell. Do we have to?”
They looked from left to right with a tight grimace pulling their expression taut. “I mean, no– Oh.” A scarily menacing smirk danced on their lips, and just as they opened their mouth to speak, they were cut off by a shout.
“Viksen!”
You whipped around to search for the source, when your mouth fell open in shock. Down the closest alleyway, leaning against the brick wall of the club he just danced in, was Sarge — a freshly lit cigarette dangled from his lips while the rings on some of his fingers glinted from a flickering streetlight opposite where he stood.
The black V-neck shirt and leather jacket bulked his frame even more than the hooded get up he wore for his performance, and he still wore those tight jeans and boots.
Smoke billowed from his mouth and nose while he threw the cigarette to the pavement, where he scuffed the lit end with the toe of his boot. “I never thought I would see you after the show,” he called, and he strode forwards, hands tucked into his jacket pockets. “It seems luck is on my side tonight.”
The closer he came, the more your insides melted — while he looked nothing like he did while he performed, he still exuded a lethal confidence that cut your resolve to shreds, and that smile of his didn’t help, not one bit.
Your friend suddenly gripped your arm and rushed, "I just remembered I'm staying with a friend tonight. Can you make it back home safe?"
“I–”
Sarge stepped closer and tilted his head. The passive line of his mouth while he looked at your friend smoothly changed into a softened smile when he met your gaze. “I will take you home, darling—if you would like?”
The pocket of his jacket chimed with the sound of keys. “I did not park far from the club, and I do not tend to enjoy…” He looked back towards the club where his fellow performers lingered behind. “I prefer to selectively spend my time with those I choose.”
“Well–”
Brown strands of hair fell forward as he looked to the floor, his posture turning open with the sudden show of bashfulness, and under his breath he spoke, “Ideal'noy byla by kompaniya krasivoy zhenshchiny, a ne etikh idiotov.”
You swallowed around the slither of fear that clutched your stomach in a vice — being alone with the man you were beginning to form a crush on was not ideal, not without preparation or a wing–
From the corner of your eyes, you saw your friend staring at you pointedly with wide eyes. Go with it, they urged, unspoken and greedily.
A deep breath rose your shoulders shakily. “Yeah, that– That would be nice,” you replied softly. “I, uh– I don’t live too far away.”
Sarge looked up with a blindingly bright smile, and it made your stomach flip and riot in place. “Good—that is good.” He looked at your friend again — you couldn’t help but feel heartened by the plain stare he gave them. “Do you have a way to get to your friend’s home?”
“I’ll call a cab.”
“I will wait with you,” Sarge said, and he set his shoulders. “I cannot leave you without knowing you will get there safely.”
“A real gentleman,” your friend teased while their fingers flew over the screen of their phone. To your horror, they glanced up at you and smirked. “I like him.”
The air rushed from your lungs in a shocked exhale while Sarge moved inexplicably closer at the statement, his arm brushing against yours in a feather light touch. He didn’t move to rebuke their words, nor did he make any noise of acknowledgement; eyes intently scanning the surrounding crowds as he would if he were guarding something precious.
It was a comfortable silence that stretched between the three of you while you waited curb side for your friend’s lift to arrive — a surprise that you would chew them out for endlessly later, but you were nonetheless nervous to be left alone with the mountain of a man beside you.
Passersby paid no mind to you as you waited there, surreptitiously shuffling your feet in place to inch closer towards Sarge. The warmth he emanated drew you in and you couldn’t resist the temptation to just be close — no matter the people around you, or the way your friend kept flickering their knowing gaze to you, a slight smirk still playing on their lips.
“Oh, here we are,” they said suddenly, their head turned towards the road where a car was starting to pull up. “My ride—perfect timing.”
Sarge moved forward and opened the back door wordlessly, inclining his head in farewell but uttering no words in their parting. You hugged them goodbye and tucked your chin into the juncture of their neck and shoulder. In your ear, they whispered, “Be safe, have fun; wear protection.”
“Come on,” you hissed, pulling your lip up in a grimace. “That’s not fair–”
They hugged you tighter, not allowing you to pull back from their embrace. “Have you seen the way he looks at you? The way he offered to take you home?”
You hesitated, but you truly could not see how it was any more than just friendly interaction. “No…”
“Enjoy his attention, babe,” they said softly, rubbing their hands up and down your back. “Just text me when you get in his car and then again when you get home. I want to know how he kisses you.”
Before you could scold them again, they pulled back and skipped to the open door of their lift. They looked up at Sarge and smiled. “Take care of my girl, yeah?”
“She will be safe,” Sarge replied simply. “I would not let anyone hurt her.”
Heat flooded your stomach and crawled up your neck while Bucky shut the door gently behind them. Through the tinted window, your friend waved goodbye, and you did the same as they were taken away; swept to their own respite and leaving you to fend for yourself against the butterflies that ran riot through your whole body.
The car’s tail lights disappeared around the corner at the other end of the street, and with it, your courage. It was suddenly overwhelmingly nerve wracking to be standing there next to Sarge, the cold breeze of the night biting through your poor excuse of warmth as an outfit. Your arms moved to automatically cradle your front, your hands gripping your biceps, when Sarge spoke, “Are you cold, darling?”
You blinked and met his gaze. “No, no, I’m okay,” you lied.
Sarge tilted his head, the strands of dark hair brushing against his cheek and brow. “You are not a very good liar.”
The words were said in such a deadpan statement it made a laugh erupt from you, and that made a smirk pull at Sarge’s lips — one that he reserved for only you. “Alright, yeah, I’m a bit cold–”
You couldn’t even finish your admission before a jacket — Sarge’s leather jacket — appeared in front of you. “Here, it will keep you warm. I cannot allow you to be in any discomfort, not if I am able to prevent it.”
“But–” You tried to protest, looking at him with widened eyes. What you wouldn’t give to wear that jacket, be enveloped in his warmth and distinct scent that filled your senses to lift you off your feet, but then he would– “But you’ll get cold too!”
Sarge narrowed his eyes and frowned. “Takaya upryamaya zhenshchina.” The gravel of his voice sent a shiver entirely unrelated to the sudden chill down your spine. “YA tebya obozhayu.”
“Hey, I don’t speak Russian,” you whined, pouting at him. “What did you say?”
Sarge only chuckled and shook his head while he placed the jacket gently over your shoulders, prompting you silently to slip your arms into the sleeves. “Never you mind, Malen'kaya Lisa.”
“Stubborn asshole,” you teased half-heartedly, though you burrowed into his jacket with a hum of contentment.
“Me?” Sarge laughed, and he took a single step back after adjusting the collar to better sit on your smaller frame. “How am I stubborn when you are shivering and refuse– Ay, moy bog, you are too adorable.”
The way his eyes brightened as he looked down at you suddenly hit you hard — the force of it leaving you breathless. Maybe your friend was right… “So,” you began nervously, and your hands fidgeted with the cuffs of his jacket.
Sarge smiled softly. “I did not introduce myself.”
“You don’t go by Sarge–”
“Nyet,” he laughed again. “No, darling. That is the name for the stage—only for my performances.”
“Oh.” The warmth from his jacket suddenly grew overwhelming with your embarrassment. “I didn’t–”
“Do not worry, Malen’kaya Lisa.” Sarge grabbed your hand and moved the cuff of his jacket from the back of it, where he placed a soft kiss. “My friends call me Bucky, if you so wish– Actually,” he paused for a second, then, “Please, call me James. Sarge and Bucky are for everyone else—vy zasluzhivayete chego to svoyego sobstvennogo.”
“I have no idea what you just said,” you replied with a nervous chitter wavering in your voice. “But, okay, James—nice to finally meet you.” The smile James gave you when you offered him your name made the butterflies ditch the fluttering riot for absolute pandemonium.
“Let me take you home, darling.” James took a step closer. His arm went around your shoulders. You let out a breath when you were pulled into his side — the comfort of being so close enveloped you, and “First, I would like to accompany you for a stroll. The night is young, viksen.”
You couldn’t help the snort of laughter at his words, and the blinding smile you received in return lit you from the inside out — you would do anything to see it again. “Are you trying to be old fashioned?”
James looked at you with a quirked brow. “Did it not work?”
“Maybe it did.”
“Nu, krasivaya devushka.” He leaned in close, his lips dancing over your temple, where he placed a soft kiss. The hot gust of his breath tickled your ear. “Allow me the pleasure of you on my arm for the evening.”
vozlyublennyy = beloved
ubiraysya otsyuda = get out of here
moya malen'kaya kukla = my little doll
idi syuda, viksen = come here, vixen
khoroshaya devochka, lyubimyy = good girl, darling
detka = baby
obeshchayu = I promise
ideal'noy byla by kompaniya krasivoy zhenshchiny, a ne etikh idiotov = company of a beautiful woman would be perfect, rather than those idiots
takaya upryamaya zhenshchina = such a stubborn woman
ya tebya obozhayu = I adore it
Malen'kaya Lisa = Little Fox
moy bog = my god
vy zasluzhivayete chego to svoyego sobstvennogo = you deserve something of your own
nu, krasivaya devushka = well, pretty girl
🤭
⠈⠂⠄ 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱 | 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 | 𝐚𝐨𝟑 ⠄⠂⠁
⠈⠂⠄𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 ⠄⠂⠁
#bucky barnes x female reader#bucky barnes x f!reader#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes x y/n#bucky barnes x you#bucky x female reader#bucky x f!reader#bucky x reader#bucky x y/n#bucky x you#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky barnes oneshot#bucky barnes imagine#bucky barnes fluff#alternate juneiverse 2024#babb2023#rookthorne's works
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i was wondering if you could make a rick grimes x reader fluff! <33
A FAMILY?
rick grimes x fem reader (season 5 era)
WARNINGS: reader has slight baby fever, young Judith, Alexandria era, cuddly Rick, soft reader/Rick, really just some fluffy stuff,
a/n: sorry for not posting my break ended so i had to go back to school and it's been hectic making up assignments and trying to get everything back in order, i've also been sick all week so enjoy this fluffy request while i try and catch up on more posts and stories to make up for the time i have been gone !!
she hummed softly as she lifted the once whining Judith into her arms, now she was happy as a clam and babbling while she carried a stuffed toy in her hand, y/n smiled as she looked over at the still sleeping Rick who just looked to damn peaceful to wake.
She sat with Judith while pulling off a story book Daryl had found on one of the runs thinking that maybe Judith would've liked it and sure as hell she did, her eyes brightened each time she looked at the bright colored pages and the illustrations, her hand ran over the bunnies that were drawn out on the page.
the light coffee colored pages had small paragraphs of words printed in black ink and a pretty font that y/n had started to read aloud to her, Judith sat back in her arms holding onto the bunny she had while she was focused on the book.
she was just a little over a year old so she was so focused on touching and exploring everything around her, she giggled hearing y/n say the words peter rabbit to her with a bright smile on her face.
Rick had heard the giggle as he flipped around flickering his eyes open to see the two sitting on the love seat in the room, he smiled so bright he thought he was going to explode.
"morning sunshines" he spoke covering himself in the white bed-sheets watching as y/n looked up at him, his daughter to focused on the book to even such as look up at him.
"morning sheriff" y/n teased sitting up with Judith in her arms and placing her down against the bed, she had thought about her own kid with Rick, she thought about giving a sibling to Carl and Judith.
she simply just wanted a family with rick, "what are you thinking about? i can the gears in your brain turning" rick asked propping Judith up against his chest as she fiddled with the book happily content with the pages she couldn't read yet.
"just a family" she spoke rubbing some of Judith's blonde hair from her face while she smiled softly, "the one we have now with all our friends or the family with Judith and Carl?" Rick asked while he rubbed his thumb in circles over the soft skin of her thigh.
"i mean the second one yes, but a new addition to the family would be a better way to put it i guess" she admitted looking down at his hand still rubbing small circles on her.
"like a baby? like Judith?" he asked watching her nod her head she knew it was stupid, she knew it was reckless but somehow someway she just wanted it so damn bad.
"tell you what if things blow over well in the next few months i will give you a baby, hell i'll give you as many as you want" he spoke with a smug smile and a wink referring to the baby making part.
"one little angel will do"
#rickgrimes#rick grimes smut#rick grimes#rick grimes x y/n#rick grimes x you#rick grimes x negan#rick grimes fic#rick smut#rick grimes x reader#female reader#rick grimes twd#twd#twd show#twd smut#twd fluff#twd oneshot#twd stories#twd carl#twd rick#twd fandom#twd fanfiction#rick fanart#twd fanart#twd reading#twd comics#rick grimes imagine#rick grimes x fem#fem reader smut#explorepage#exploremore
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Chapter 2: Don't Know What You've Got Till it's Gone
Collaboration with the Dustin to my Suzie, @corroded-hellfire 💚
Series Summary: Based on the Jonas Brothers song of the same name. You and Eddie share a hospital room in the wake of Hawkins' turmoil, striking up an unlikely friendship that could lead to much more.
Chapter Summary: You and Eddie are getting closer, and his friends can't help but notice something between you two. But when you receive devastating news, the pressure of being his upbeat, optimistic Sunshine becomes too much to handle.
Warnings: eventual smut (18+ only, minors DNI!), Eddie survives the Upside Down, hospital, mentions of surgery, description of Eddie's scars, controlled use of pain medication, angst
WC: 6.6k
Divider credit to @firefly-graphics
“Yeah, well, next time I tell you not to be a hero, you’d better listen to me.” A man’s voice stirs you from your sleep. You gently roll over onto your side and see fuzzy shadows behind the curtain that separates you and Eddie.
“Hold on, Harrington,” Eddie pushes himself up slightly, an edge to his voice. “What do you mean by next time?”
“He’s still out there,” a younger voice pipes up. “We wounded him, but—” He stops abruptly, turning his stocky frame towards the curtain. “Hey, can your roommate hear us?”
“She can!” you chirp, and utterances of shit and shut up fill the room. “Don’t worry; I won’t tell anyone about your nerdy D&D secrets.” Eddie had spent the better part of the last few days explaining the ins and outs of the game, taking far too much pride in his Dungeon Master status for a man pushing 20.
“Good morning, Sunshine,” Eddie calls out. “You decent? Want you to meet my friends.”
“Sorry, did we wake you?” A girl asks, but your view of her is obstructed by the curtain. “We have a tendency to be a little…”
“Loud?” The older of the guys offers. “Obnoxious? Grating?”
The boy shrugs. “That’s just the way we roll, man.”
“What do you mean ‘we?’” The first guy retorts.
“I’m all good, Eddie,” you say. Now that you’ve given the all clear, the older boy tugs back the curtain. You recognize him as Steve Harrington, who graduated with you last year.
“Steve,” he says, sticking out his hand for you to shake. “And, FYI, I do not play Dungeons & Dragons.”
You can’t help but let out a snort of laughter as you shake his hand and introduce yourself. “A shame. Eddie makes it seem like such fun.” At your sarcastic tone, Eddie flips you off, but you ignore him and continue. “We, uh, actually graduated together.”
“Yeah?” Steve asks, eyebrows shooting up so high they almost blend into his perfectly coiffed hair. “Huh. You think I’d remember that.”
“I mean, it’s understandable you’d forget,” you say with a shrug. “You had just lost the last basketball game of the season.”
“Ouch,” Steve says, holding a hand over his heart. “But that doesn’t excuse the four years we were in the same class.”
Wincing, you give Steve another shrug. “More like seven. We went to middle school together, too.”
“Well, shit,” Steve says, running a hand over his face. “Yeah, I was a douchebag.”
“Was?” a feminine voice chimes in. Steve rolls his eyes and turns to the side to reveal the younger guy and a girl your age that are sitting next to Eddie’s bed.
“Robin, right?” you ask. She perks up in her seat, seeming pleasantly surprised that you know her name.
“Yeah,” she says.
“You’re in band, right? I’m friends with Vickie, and I know she’s mentioned you a few times,” you explain.
“R-Really?” Robin asks, eyes widening.
“Mhmm,” you hum in confirmation, watching an unmistakable grin grow from cheek to cheek. You’ll have to follow up on that another time if you have a moment alone with her. “And you are…?” you start, turning towards the curly haired boy hoisting himself up on crutches, braces adorning his teeth.
“Dustin Henderson,” he affirms. “Artificer: Master Inventor and future Hawkins High valedictorian.” You shake his hand, giggling as the three older friends roll their eyes in unison at his introduction.
“Don’t forget ladies’ man,” Robin taunts, and Dustin hoists up two middle fingers in response, fumbling to keep the crutches secured under his arms.
“Sunshine here is a ballet dancer,” Eddie says, trying to steer the conversation away from the topic of love. You watch as Steve and Robin exchange an amused glance, with the former mouthing Sunshine and the latter just shrugging. “She does, um, pointe?” He looks at you hopefully.
You nod. “Yup! I’ll be right back at it as soon as this bad boy heals up.” You gently pat your leg, grimacing as even the lightest touch sends sharp pains down to your toes.
You talk with the group for a few more minutes, swapping gossip about people from your graduating class, until Mandy knocks on the door. “It’s time for your appointment with the surgeon,” she says politely.
“Surgeon?” Eddie asks, brows crinkling in confusion.
“Y-Yeah,” you stammer, leaning on the nurse as you maneuver into the wheelchair. “Just, um, protocol with this kind of injury. Make sure everything’s good and all that.” He seems to buy this answer, and you breathe a silent sigh of relief. “It was nice talking with you all!”
Once you’re out of the room, Dustin turns to Eddie. “So,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows. “Sunshine?”
“Shut up, Henderson,” Eddie grumbles, throwing a pillow at the boy.
“Yeah, be nice to him,” Robin teases. “That nurse just took his sunshine away!”
“So, are you involved with this sunshine?” Steve asks, an amused expression written all across his face.
“No, not like that,” Eddie says, suddenly finding the hem of his scratchy blanket fascinating. “Just friends.”
“You guys get along well,” Robin says, more statement than a question.
“Yeah,” Eddie agrees.
“And she’s beautiful, yeah?” Robin asks, raising her eyebrows at Eddie.
“Well, yeah,” Eddie says.
“So, what seems to be the problem?” she asks.
Eddie groans, dropping his head back against his pillow. Never mind the fact that Steve “ladies man” Harrington–an actual ladies’ man, not like Henderson–is in the room, but Eddie’s never been particularly comfortable talking about his experience—or rather lack thereof—with girls. There’s also the fact that he was literally attacked by bats from an alternate dimension, barely escaping hell with his life intact. And you’re so bright and sunny and the total opposite of what Eddie brings to the table.
“It’s just that she… I mean, I… you see, we—.”
“Oh, cut the bullshit, Munson. Stop playing games. We all see the spark,” Steve says, crossing his arms over his chest indignantly.
“There’s a spark?” Eddie asks quietly, lifting his head from the pillow and infinitesimal amount.
“I knew it!” Dustin exclaims loudly, earning an angry shush from someone passing through the hallway. “Look at the stupid grin on his face! Eddie wuvs his Sunshine!” He leans over to pinch Eddie’s cheek, but gets his hand slapped away.
“I don’t love her!” Eddie hisses. “Now, if you idiots could stop bothering me about this, and we can talk about anything else.”
“Okay, we’ll stop,” Robin agrees, but the mischievous smirk on her face says otherwise, “when you look me in the eyes and can tell me you don’t have feelings for her.”
Eddie lays back down and pulls the covers up over his head. “Goodnight and goodbye,” he mutters, despite the fact that it’s only 10 AM.
Steve yanks the covers back down, laughing when he sees his new friend scowling. “Calm down, man,” he says, sitting down on the starchy blanket, careful not to bump into Eddie. “We’re just messing with you. We’ll behave now.” He shoots Dustin and Robin a warning look, and the two grumble their apologies.
“‘S fine,” Eddie mumbles. “I’m tired anyway, so…” He lets his gaze fall to the doorway.
“Yeah, of course,” Robin says with a small smile. “We’ll visit soon.”
“Get well soon, buddy,” Dustin lowers his voice as quietly as he can—which isn’t saying much, given his normal volume. “The kids of the future are counting on more of your sadistic campaigns.”
As Eddie slips into a medicated slumber, he makes a silent prayer for sweet dreams. Your image appears in his mind, and he can’t deny the warmth it brings him.
Shit, he thinks. Those morons were right. I have a thing for Sunshine. He hopes that he’ll dream of you now that he’s admitted his crush.
No such luck.
The skies are red and gray, strange bursts of some sort of lightning fill the air. Weird shrill squeals fill the dead air. Eddie’s body is full of pain, searing and bleeding wounds making it difficult to breathe. Quick gasps leave his lips, his hands clutching at the ripped shreds of his shirt.
“Eddie! Shit!” Dustin’s voice rings around Eddie. The shorter boy is somewhere in the distance, not too far. “Steve! SOS! SOS!”
Soon, two pairs of hands are on Eddie’s body, trying to help, but only making the pain worse. He tries to steal himself against it, but it’s no use. The tears come, hot and thick as they build up in his eyes. The fear, the desperation, the pain. It’s all too much.
“Eddie?”
It’s not Steve or Dustin’s voice that Eddie hears above it all. It’s yours. But what are you doing in this God awful place? It’s the very last place that Eddie wants you.
“Eddie!”
The darkness in the sky fades, a subtle light beginning to shine through. Then, the next thing he knows, Eddie is blinking his eyes open in the bright hospital room, his face sticky with the trail of tears. He rubs at his eyes with the heels of his hands. Once his vision is cleared, he sees you being wheeled into the room in the wheelchair you were brought out in. Your face is pinched in concern and it takes Eddie a moment to realize you’re concerned for him.
“Can you wheel me over to Eddie’s bed instead? Thanks,” you say to the transporter, who does as you request. Eddie scoots over and pulls down his blankets, silently offering you the space next to him. Biting your lip, you look around as if you’re debating, before pushing yourself up onto your good leg and holding out your arms for balance. Immediately, Eddie reaches over and takes your hand so you can use him to steady yourself. Shooting him a grateful smile, you’re able to situate yourself on the edge of his bed.
The transporter looks like he doesn’t know if he should be allowing this or not, so he quickly puts his head down and leaves the room with the wheelchair. Eddie helps you get situated next to him before he pulls the blankets up over both of you.
“Another bad dream?” you ask once you’re comfortable.
“Yeah,” Eddie sighs.
“Was it as bad as the first time?”
“At first. But I heard you calling me a lot earlier this time. Got all nice and light again before I opened my eyes. How’d it go with the surgeon?”
“Oh,” you say, averting your eyes. “Nothing special. Just going over X-rays and tests and stuff, ya know?” You clear your throat, anxious to have the subject changed. “You know when you’re getting out of here?”
“Not yet,” Eddie says, sinking back against his pillows.
“What’s the first thing you’re gonna do when you get out?” you ask.
“Honestly? Get a fucking cheeseburger. This hospital food is shit. I mean, come on. What a man gotta do to get something better than gray mashed potatoes and lime Jell-O?”
“Okay,” you say with a giggle. “After you get some good food, what are you gonna do?”
“I dunno,” Eddie says with a shrug. “Haven’t really thought about it.”
“Oh, come on,” you say. “What’s Eddie Munson’s big dream? Be a big rock star? World tours? Opening for Ozzy? No—Ozzy opening for you.”
Eddie scoffs, gently nudging your shoulder with his. “Before all…this…happened, I was thinking about moving to Indianapolis after graduation. Get involved in the music scene there.”
“Indianapolis?” You wrinkle your nose. “That’s honestly super boring. You survived an earthquake and you’re only gonna go to the state capital?”
“Fine,” he whines exaggeratedly, smiling as he does it. “How about…Australia? I can be, like, a kangaroo farmer.”
“Is that even a thing?”
“It is now.” His loose, tangled curls brush up against the part of your shoulder left exposed by the pale blue hospital gown. “What about you? New York City? Maybe dance on Broadway, or be one of those…Christmas, kicking girls?”
You snort out a laugh. “A Rockette?”
“Yeah.”
“Eh,” you shrug, pushing away the thoughts of the news you’d just received from the surgeon. “New York’s nice to visit, but I need someplace warm. I’m thinking of going to California.”
“Just don’t forget about me when you’re a big Hollywood star,” Eddie teases, though there’s a hint of seriousness in his voice. “And if the movie you’re dancing in needs a band, you know who to recommend.”
“Of course. But do you really think I could get Tears for Fears to play?” His shove is a bit harder this time, making both of you groan as you laugh. “Kidding, kidding. You know Corroded Coffin will be at the top of my list. If you’re not too busy with your own gigs.”
Never too busy for my Sunshine, Eddie nearly blurts out, but he says instead, “will do.” He’s silent for a bit before asking, “Why didn’t you go to California?”
“Huh?”
“Why are you going to college in Indiana and not California?” Eddie tries again. “I mean, you said it yourself: the entertainment scene is much better there than here.” He scrunches up his nose. “Actually, why are you even in college?”
You bark out a laugh at the bluntness of his question. “Um, because that’s what people do after high school?”
“You don’t have to, though,” he quips. “Think about it, Sunshine. College will always be there, but if you wanna pursue dance, you’ve gotta do it while you’re young and, uh, limber.” His cheeks blush a delicious shade of pink.
“Yeah, well.” The truth comes tumbling out before you can stop it. “My parents didn’t think it was a good idea. Just dancing. They wanted me to go to get my degree; build a ‘solid foundation’ or whatever.” You trace invisible spirals into the blanket as you speak. “My dad told me that he could never tell his friends that I danced for a living, because they would, and I quote, ‘think that his daughter was a stripper with daddy issues.’”
Now it’s Eddie’s turn to laugh. “First of all, stripping is a noble profession, and I do not approve of any stripper slander in my home.”
“We’re not in your home,” you point out.
“I do not approve of any stripper slander in my hospital room,” he amends, flicking your forehead with his thumb and middle finger. “And, second, do not tell me that you made a decision about your future based on the opinions of your dad’s old-ass friends.” He groans when you remain quiet. “Seriously?”
“I just didn’t want to upset them,” you mumble. “The only reason they allowed me to study dance is because I’m also majoring in education. I could be a dance teacher.”
“Do you wanna be a dance teacher?”
“Someday,” you admit. “I taught some classes at my studio for the little kids, and I really liked it.” You gnaw at your lower lip.
“But?” Eddie presses, letting his thumb graze against yours.
“But it’s not what I want to do now,” you relent. “Right now, I want to go on auditions and maybe get cast in a play or a cheesy music video or a goddamn commercial and…and dance.”
Eddie gives your hand a quick squeeze before pulling back, not wanting to cross a boundary when you’re so vulnerable. “Then you’re gonna dance,” he murmurs. “We’ll get outta here and move to Cali, and you’re gonna dance.”
A month ago, the prospect of dropping out of school to dance professionally would have you downright terrified. Terrified of failure, of your parents’ inevitable disappointment, of finding out you’re not good enough. But now it only fills you with regret, because that dream became impossible with just the shifting of some rogue tectonic plates.
“Okay,” you say softly, once again wearing your hopeful façade. “Sounds like a plan.” A plan you’ll both easily forget once you’re back out in the real world, faced with the problems you’ve been shielded from within the hospital walls.
The two of you lay there talking about your futures until sleep overtakes you both. Eddie’s the first to drift off; you stay awake for a bit, consumed by echoes of today’s appointment with Dr. Sanoj. What was supposed to be a brief meeting about scheduling your surgery turned into something much more devastating. You rest your head on Eddie’s chest, only allowing yourself to unravel when you hear his soft snores. The combination of the energy expended by crying and the drowsiness from your meds allows you to sleep, still hiccuping from tears as you fall into a dreamless slumber.
Neither of you hear the soft click of crutches as Dustin hobbles back into the room. “Forgot my—son of a bitch, I knew it!” he whispers, slinging his left-behind jacket over his shoulder. “Steve and Robin are gonna lose their shit!”
The next morning, Mandy arrives with breakfast and medication. In front of each of you, she places a plate of runny scrambled eggs, fruit that is described as “fresh” but most certainly is not, and a small carton of orange juice. It’s strangely domestic, and you can’t help but imagine you and Eddie eating together in your shared home. You’re making pancakes or waffles or frittatas—anything better than the food in front of you. Eddie’s frying up bacon, wearing an apron that says Kiss the Chef, and you do, over and over and—
The rattle of your pill cup snaps you from your fantasy, and you dutifully swallow the pastel tablets with a swig of juice.
Eddie grins when Mandy gives him his meds. “Hello, beautiful,” he croons, making grabby motions with his calloused hands.
“Sorry to disappoint, Mr. Munson; no more painkillers in this batch,” Mandy says, laughing at his pout despite herself. “Dr. Franklin wants to speak with you; he’ll be making his rounds in a few minutes.”
“Oooh, Eddie’s in trooouble!” you sing-song, flashing a grin at him.
Rolling his eyes at you, Eddie downs his pills and leans back against his pillow. “Would be used to it. Was in Higgin’s office enough.”
“Oh, Eddie,” you say with a sigh. “Did you go down to the cafeteria while I was asleep and make some big dramatic speech on one of the tables? At least tell me that someone videotaped it for me.”
“You’re hilarious,” he says, tossing his empty paper cup at you. The giggle you let out has his stomach feeling tingly, and he’s sure it’s not from the medications.
There’s a knock on the open door to your room and an older man steps inside, a clipboard tucked under his arm. “Hey, Eddie. How are you feeling?”
“Better. Thanks, doc,” Eddie answers. “What’s the word?”
“Well, glad to say everything looks good. All lab results are normal and you’re healing up nicely. Of course, some injuries still have a ways to go, but there’s no reason you can’t be home for that.”
Eddie’s immediately thrilled. Finally, being able to get out of the hospital where he’s been poked and prodded and it’s impossible to get a good night’s sleep because of all the beeping equipment and nurses constantly checking on you. But as soon as the excitement came, it went. Because leaving the hospital also meant not spending most of the hours in the day by your side. No waking up to your laughter as he tells shitty jokes over your shitty breakfasts. No more saying, “I told you so” when Shelby confesses to the other twin, “I’m still in love with you” on your daily soap opera binges. No more constant sunshine.
“That’s great,” Eddie tells the doctor, his heart not behind the words. “When am I sprung?”
“Should be good to go tomorrow morning. I’m just gonna head back to my office, dot the i’s, cross the t’s, put my name on the X. You know, all that official mumbo jumbo. I’ll have Mandy get everything together. Your prescriptions, your discharge papers, and whatever else you’ll need.”
“Sounds good,” Eddie says, nails scratching at the blanket in his lap.
“Any questions for me?” The doctor asks. When Eddie shakes his head, the doctor gives him a smile and pats Eddie’s leg.
“Oh, I have one,” you say, raising your hand from where you’re tucked up in bed. “When is he cleared to shower? It’s like sharing a room with a donkey.”
The doctor lets out a small chuckle. “Eddie, you are officially cleared to take a shower. If you think of any questions, just tell Mandy. She’ll make sure I get the message.”
“Will do. Thanks.” Eddie nods his head at the man as he steps out of the room. Eddie turns his head to see you grinning at him. While it’s a beautiful sight, it now gives him a melancholy feeling.
“You’re being freed!” you call. “You can go get that cheeseburger tomorrow!”
“Should I sneak one into you?” Eddie asks, his smirk not packing its usual punch.
“Oh, please do,” you say. “God, I can practically taste it.”
“Or smell it? Like, how apparently you’re smelling me?” Eddie asks, raising an eyebrow. Part of him is a little embarrassed because the two of you were sitting so close together just last night.
“You’re not that bad,” you tell him. “I probably smell vile.”
Not a chance, Eddie thinks. “All right, well, I guess I’ll go take a shower then.” He stands up from the bed and over to the small pile of clothes Wayne had brought him the other day. Just some old t-shirts and comfortable pajama pants to sleep in, but it was still nice to have a touch of home.
Once Eddie has closed the bathroom door behind him, Mandy comes in to check your vitals.
“Heard the good news,” she says as she reads the numbers of your blood pressure. “Gonna be weird having a room to yourself? You guys have been inseparable.”
Your face heats at her words and you look down at your lap as she scribbles something into your chart. “S’fine,” you say with a shrug. Mandy looks down at you, a knowing smile on her lips.
“Uh huh,” she says as she clicks her pen. “Well, all your numbers are good. They stay this way, you’ll be headed to the operating room before you know it. Need anything?”
“No,” you say, downcast eyes on your blanket.
A bang from the en suite bathroom has both you and Mandy craning your heads in that direction.
“I’m good!” Eddie shouts. “Just dropped the shampoo!”
It makes you chuckle and Mandy shakes her head, fondly. You think she’s going to miss him, too.
“I’ll see you soon, I’m sure,” you say to Mandy as she heads out the door. Sighing to yourself, you cuddle up in your blankets and decide to have a five minute pity party. Not only are you facing multiple surgeries over the foreseeable future, but Eddie won’t be here by your side to keep your spirits up. Sure, maybe he calls you his sunshine, but you’re positive he isn’t aware of how much he brightens your days too. The water turns off in the bathroom and you quickly wipe your hands over your cheeks, trying to catch any pesky tears that may have slipped free.
The curtain in the middle of the room is opened—it’s only ever closed anymore if a doctor or nurse needs it to be for some reason. It allows you to see the bathroom door open, but before you see him, you can hear Eddie mumbling to himself.
“Man knows how to do laundry. What the hell is this? A fucking toddler shirt?” When you finally see him, your breath is caught in your chest—for two reasons. One, the teenage girl in you can’t help but respond this way to seeing the guy you have a crush on without his shirt. Two, you’d never really heard the whole story of why Eddie had to come to the hospital, and seeing the puckered and pulled flesh of his chest makes your heart ache. There’s bruising leaving purple and brown spots on top of red and pink gashes that are healing. It looks painful and searing against his otherwise pale white skin.
You know better than to stare. Obviously he’d assume you’re just staring at the scars, not admiring the small but sculpted muscles beneath them. It takes a Herculean effort to pull your gaze from his body and look down in your lap.
“Shit,” Eddie mumbles as he stomps over to his pile of clothes. He rummages through them until he finds another shirt. He’s quick in slipping it on, then turns towards your bed. Taking the few steps over in your direction, he sits down on the bottom corner of your bed. When you look up, there’s half a smile on his face as he plays with a small white cloth in his hands. “Believe it or not, this used to be a shirt that fit me.” He holds the cloth up and you see it’s a Guns N’ Roses shirt that’s been shrunk until only a child could fit into it. “My uncle must’ve shrunk it. Guess that’s payback for all the times I turned his white shirts pink because I left a pair of red boxers in the washer.”
“Led Zeppelin is better anyway,” you say, gesturing to the shirt he’s currently wearing.
“So, uh,” Eddie says, looking down at his lap and fidgeting with the too-small tee. “You saw the scars, huh?”
“I did,” you say in a quiet voice. His cheeks turn red and it breaks your heart. “No, please don’t be embarrassed, Eddie. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”
He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Shutting it again, Eddie shakes his head. “I, um… they just. They’re—what I mean…”
“Eddie, take a breath. It’s okay.” You go to reach for his hand, but you can’t bend enough due to your injured leg. Eddie shifts so he’s facing you and leans the rest of the way so you can take his hand. “There’s no scar you could have that would make me think any less of you. Plus, you haven’t seen my leg. It looks pretty gnarly.”
“Gnarly?” Eddie asks, looking up at you underneath his eyelashes, the tiniest smile on his lips.
“Yeah, I’m preparing for that California life,” you tease him. “Gotta fit in with the surfer dudes.”
Eddie laughs, shaking his head. “As soon as you get the OK, I’m booking our tickets.” He shoves the pillow out of the way and sits on top of the blanket. “I can’t afford first-class, so coach will have to do.”
“Lucky for you, I’m not a diva—yet,” you add, excited to play along with the fantasy game he has going on. “I can handle a few hours with the common folk.”
“And we thank you for gracing us with your presence.” Eddie’s eyes flit back to your leg. “When do you think you’ll be good to go?”
Dr. Sanoj told you that between surgeries and recovery, it’ll be at least six weeks, but you bite back that information. “Any day now,” you lie. “Just waiting on those discharge papers. But you know how that can be, with all the sign offs. Everyone’s gotta cross their t’s and dot their i’s.” Good God, shut up, you think.
“Cool,” Eddie nods. He looks deep in thought, tongue poking out in concentration. “Yeah, all right. I can make it work.”
You smile, rolling your eyes playfully at his commitment to the bit. Your pain meds start to kick in, and you drift off into a hazy sleep.
While you’re passed out, there’s a soft knock on the door.
“Oh, she’s asleep,” Eddie hears a woman’s voice softly murmur. There’s a slight creak as she sits in the chair next to your bed. “My sweet girl. Mom’s here.”
Your mom. Eddie uses his elbows to push himself up, pulling the curtain back a few inches.
“Um, hi,” he says, not realizing how nervous he is until he actually starts talking. “Are you Sunshine’s mom?”
The woman’s brow crinkles. “Sunshine?”
Eddie’s cheeks tinge pink. “Yeah, I, uh, I call her Sunshine,” he stammers, nodding in your direction.
“Then, yes, I’m Sunshine’s mom.”
“She, um, she’s—I call her Sunshine because she brightens up my day. Probably the only person in this building who doesn’t hate my guts, let alone like me.” He wants to stop talking, but he can’t. “I have these nightmares, y’know? From the, uh, earthquake thing. And she always pulls me outta them. I don’t know what I’m gonna do when I go home tomorrow.”
Your mom gives Eddie a sympathetic smile, gently stroking your hand, minding the needle poking into it. “Well, she’s always telling me how much you make her laugh. Lord knows she could use some happiness in her life.” She sighs. “I just hope her new roommate is as kind as you.”
“At least she’s getting outta here soon,” Eddie offers, “so even if she has a shi—bad roommate, it won’t be for long.”
“Six weeks isn’t exactly ‘soon,’” your mom says. Her gaze doesn’t leave your face, so peaceful in your sleep.
“Wait, six weeks?” Eddie nearly chokes on his own tongue in surprise. “No, she told me that the doctor should clear her in the next coupla days.”
Your mom shakes her head. “She’s got three surgeries to fix that broken femur, plus recovery time. The reason it’s only six weeks is because she’s young and healthy.”
Eddie feels like he’s been punched in the stomach. Why would you lie to him? Get him pumped up about the prospect of moving to California, living out your dreams together, for it to all be bullshit?
Tears prick at his eyes. Maybe this was all just a joke, a stupid prank on your part. Make the Freak think that someone actually cared about him, laughing behind his back the whole time.
Maybe it’s best that he’s leaving tomorrow. Then he won’t have to listen to you drag him along for your own sick entertainment.
You wake up around dinnertime, stretching your limbs as much as your limited mobility allows. It’s a far cry from your usual limber exercises, but it’s enough to get the blood flowing through your body.
An episode of Wheel of Fortune plays from the TV in the corner, but it’s blocked by the curtain. Eddie probably closed it while I slept, you think. That’s pretty much the only time you two keep the room divided; every now and then, you forget and wake up to the sight of Eddie Munson sleeping next to you.
“Eds? You awake?”
“Yup,” is his terse reply, with no enthusiasm behind it.
You open the curtain with a grin. “Are you grumpy because your novelas aren’t on?”
“Nope.” He keeps his arms crossed over his chest, left ankle draped over his right.
“What’s wrong?” you ask, frowning. “Did something happen while I was sleeping?”
“Yeah, actually.” Eddie finally allows his gaze to meet yours. His usual friendly doe eyes are clouded with anger. “Your mom stopped by.”
Your eyebrows pinch together in confusion. “Did she say something that upset you? I told her that all the murderer stuff wasn’t true, and she believed me—believed you.”
“Actually, we talked a bit about you.” The acid in his tone is enough to burn.
“What about me?” you ask, only becoming further confused by this conversation.
Eddie huffs out a humorless chuckle and licks his tongue across his teeth. “Really thought you had me, didn’t you? Think you could pretend to be all buddy buddy with me just to mess with me? Get in my head?”
“What? Who’s in your head?” Part of you wonders if this is all some medicine-induced stress dream. “Eddie.” You push yourself up as best you can, leg aching and body suffering from general soreness from being cramped in the bed for so long. “What are you talking about? What did my mom say to you?”
This time when his eyes cut to you, there’s more than anger there. There’s fury, pain. The sight makes your heart ache, and the fact that this look is directed at you is making your head spin.
“Just a couple of days, huh?” Eddie pushes himself to the edge of his bed so his legs hang off the side. His glare burns your skin and you feel yourself wanting to shrink down and out of sight. “That’s how long til the doctor will clear ya?”
Part of the puzzle of why Eddie was mad was starting to kick into place. Shit, you think. Mom must’ve said something about the surgeries.
“Eddie, I—.”
“Lied? Yeah, you did. But what’s that matter when you’re lying to The Freak?”
Guilt gives way to anger in your gut as he throws this accusation at you. Not once, whether in high school with him or after, did you think of Eddie as a freak. You’ve never agreed with those who called him names and treated him as lesser than.
“I didn’t lie to you because I think you're a freak, Eddie.” It comes out strangled between all the emotions vying to be expressed through your voice.
“You sure about that?” Eddie narrows his eyes at you, and it’s hard to see a trace of the laughing and smiling Eddie you’ve become so close with.
“Yes, I’m sure,” you grit out. “I lied becau—.”
“Well, what possible other motive could there have been?” Eddie questions. His hands are gripping the sheets beneath him, his knuckles turning almost as white as the linens.
“If you would just listen to me!”
“So you can lie some more?” Eddie scoffs and shakes his head. “Well, screw California.”
Confusion is suddenly back in your mixture of emotions. California? Why bring up that joke now? Unless…
“Wait,” you say, holding up a hand. “You were actually serious about going to California?”
“What?” he practically barks out. “You weren’t?”
“Eddie, I thought that was a joke,” you say with a disbelieving laugh. “Some made up fantasy to get us through spending all our time in these four plain-as-fuck walls.”
“Of course you weren’t really going to do that with me,” Eddie says, a sneer curling his lip.
“Because I didn’t know it was real!” you try to explain.
Eddie throws up his arms, grimacing as it tugs on his stitches. “Why wouldn’t it be real? Is me having a future that unbelievable?”
“What the hell are you on?” you hiss. “Eddie, you need to finish high school. And I need to get my bachelor’s degree. We can’t just be fucking off to California like it’s no big deal!”
Eddie bites his thumbnail before responding. “Let me get this straight. We narrowly escape death during this…earthquake…and you wanna just go back to our normal lives? Like we weren’t given a second chance to live?” He’s pacing around the room now. “My neighbor? Max Mayfield? Harrington told me that she’s blind now. She’s fucking blind and in a full body cast!”
“I’m sorry,” you say quietly, but he continues frantically walking back and forth without acknowledging you.
“And Jason Carver. Jason fucking Carver! I hated that son of a bitch, and now he’s dead. All those times he was a piece of shit to me and I wished something would happen to him, and now it did.”
“That’s not your fault,” you try. “You didn’t cause the earthquake.”
Eddie shakes his head. “That’s all I thought about: death and sadness. And then I met you.” His eyes are shiny with tears. “Someone who liked spending time with me, who believed in me, who had these crazy dreams just like I did. A…a friend.” He wipes at his face clumsily, embarrassed to be crying. “But you’re just like the rest of them, huh?”
“That’s not fair—”
“Y’know what’s real fuckin’ funny?” Eddie smacks his hand on his bedside table. “The other day, Harrington said that we—you and I—had some kinda ‘spark’ between us.” He scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Guess he’s just as full of shit as you are, Sunshine.” When he says the nickname now, it’s full of venom; there’s no trace of the sweet, goofy guy you’ve gotten to know.
“Eddie, if you would just let me—” But yet again, Eddie doesn’t let you attempt to explain any of the situation. The fact that a part of you somewhere deep inside is fluttery because Steve saw a spark between you and Eddie is something you have to put away to examine at a better time.
“Good luck with your surgery,” Eddie says. “Too bad the doctors can’t cure bitch.”
It feels like a punch to the gut, the air being knocked out of you. Your mouth opens and your lips move, but no sound comes out. There’s a crack in your heart, but it quickly feels like it’s been soldered closed with the anger bubbling up inside of you. Your lungs reinflate, the blood pumps heavily through your veins, and your fists clench where they rest in your lap. The urge to lash out is strong. And at this moment, you’re so very weak.
“You know what, Eddie? Fuck you. And hey, good luck getting to California with those murder charges on your record.” The moment the words tumble out of your mouth you wish you could take them back. Eddie stepped over the line, but you ran right past him. “Shit, I didn’t—.”
Suddenly you’re not looking at Eddie anymore. He’s pulled the curtain closed, the last glimpse you get of him is a raging fury in his eyes. And you can hardly blame him. The only thing that stares back at you is the gauzy white curtain still swaying from the forceful yank.
“Eddie…” The television volume gets turned up to an ungodly volume, making you cover your ears and impossible to have a conversation over.
You spend the rest of the night with your ear pressed to the pillow in an attempt to drown out the baseball game he’s watching. Given his penchant for yelling about the absurdity of sports, you doubt he’s even paying attention to it, but the broadcasters’ monologues about fastballs and strikes curtails any attempt to speak to him. You barely touch your dinner, and Mandy tuts at you worriedly, but you insist you feel fine.
In reality, you feel nauseated. You said a horrible thing to a wonderful person, and you really hurt his feelings.
Maybe we can talk it through in the morning, you think, trying not to get your hopes up. Maybe we can apologize and move on.
When you wake up the next morning, his bed has been slept in, left unmade while he’s probably in the bathroom. The curtain is pulled back; an excellent sign that he’s ready to hear your apology, and possibly forgive you. As soon as he comes back, you’ll give it a shot.
“Gonna be quiet around here for a bit without your buddy, huh?” Mandy says from the doorway. She walks over to Eddie’s bed and starts stripping the sheets. “You get to say goodbye?”
“Not yet,” you admit. “I’ll have to catch him before he leaves.”
Mandy’s brows furrow in confusion. “Honey, his uncle came and got him an hour ago.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “He didn’t tell you?”
All you can do is shake your head.
“Probably didn’t wanna wake you. I’m sure he’ll stop by and visit.” Mandy curls the sheets into a ball and tucks them under her arm. “I’ll be back with breakfast and meds.”
As soon as she’s gone, you burst into tears. Eddie left without saying goodbye. He left thinking you don’t care about him or believe in him. He left without his Sunshine.
--
taglist: @thebrookemunson, @mystars123, @h-ness1944, @hazydespair, @ajkamins, @aysheashea, @jasminelafleur, @brittney69, @arsonfrogger, @brassreign, @lunarzstarz, @aftermidnightwriting, @justtryingtobecreative, @micheledawn1975, @kailynn-exe
#albl#eddie munson fluff#eddie x reader#eddie x you#eddie munson#eddie stranger things#eddie munson smut#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x female reader#eddie munson angst#eddie munson fanfic#stranger things fanfic#fanfic#eddie munson stranger things#stranger things
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✨mr krabs i have ideas✨
festus with tanners mentor!girlfriend makes my brain tingle because there’s so much there
arachne and her being so happy they get to work together because they both got the 10s. controversially i am an arachne lover so childhood bestie!arachne is everything to me. they could never make me hate her. 😔
festus and her being there when arachne dies at the zoo and (according to book canon) walking home with clemmie and coryo after she’s taken by medics. festus proposes they all go to his apartment but when they get there he bursts into tears and mentor!girlfriend has to send clemmie and coryo on their way and ushers festus inside and stays with him.
later trying to convince festus to create an alliance between coral and tanner and festus teasingly telling her that he could think of a few ways she could convince him
her and festus being together at the arena but went their seperate ways to talk to other mentors and gather information. bombs go off and chaos ensues as they try to find each other
i have so many festus thoughts but im just going to leave this here and not be annoying
SpongeBob! You popped the fuck off with this one! (Also not annoying at all pls send me all your festus thoughts) also also sorry this took so long I finished uni for Christmas and have been in every day since oops, I really enjoyed writing this though. More festus to come ⁎⁺˳✧༚
- you and Arachne are basically siblings the way you grew up together
- I’m talking inseparable : born within two weeks of each-other and grew up as next door neighbours, walked into the academy on your first day together holding hands, sat next to each other at lunch every day, had joint birthday parties every year, etc
- no one could tear the two of you apart
- well, except a pretty determined festus creed, who laid eyes on you the second you walked into that classroom at 6 years old and knew he wanted to be your best friend instead
- Arachne, ever the social butterfly, was quick to attract a large group of friends around the two of you, which gave festus the perfect chance to get to know you better
- as the years went by you and Arachne stayed best friends, but if anyone asked you to name your closest friends, festus creed would also be on that list
- he was ever so charming, and a good listener (though only when it came to you) and when everyone seemed to move at Arachne’s beck and call, he would wait for yours to do anything
- it was sweet, in its own way, and it’s one of the things that drives the two of you to end up together
- like, obviously, festus has had a crush on you since he was a boy
- but you finally start to realise you like him back when all these little things start adding up
- he looks at you for your reaction whenever someone says something, he sits or walks or stands next to you at every chance he gets, he brings you the homework when you’re sick, he carries your bag around for you, he pulls your chair out for you in the canteen
- honestly the list goes on and on
- but the thing that finally gets the two of you together is when you and Arachne have a fight
- it had only been something stupid, but because everyone was Archane’s friend before they were yours, they take her side
you’d been sat on the steps outside the academy, eating your lunch alone in the sunshine while everyone else had gathered at your usual table. Though you knew you were still welcome there, you didn’t want to have to deal with the silent treatment from Arachne (and therefore everyone else) while she built up the courage to admit she was wrong like she always eventually did when it came to you. It was peaceful away from the noise of the canteen, and you found you didn’t mind being alone - at least, alone until the sound of someone running down the steps and right towards you, reached your ears.
Festus Creed took a seat right beside you, his lunch tray in hand and his backpack in the other. “You didn’t show up to lunch. I was worried sick.”
“Me and Arachne had a fight, a squabble really. It was literally over what we thought one of the answers were on the history of Panem homework.” Festus laughed as you did, swapping half of his orange with half of your apple slices. “She’s upset with me though, so I figured everyone would be upset with me.”
“Well, if it makes you fell any better, I think she’s upset with me now as well.” You looked at him confused; your confusion only growing as a smile curled on his lips. “I don’t think she’s too fond of the fact that I am oh so fond of you.”
you lean in and kiss him before his words can truly settle inside of you. but hours later, when they fully do, all you can think about is how you can’t wait to kiss him again sometime.
- when the reaping finally roles around, you and all your friends having to take on the role of mentors for the tributes, you and Arachne get the boy and the girl from 10 and it couldn’t be more perfect
- well, it’d be more perfect if you didn’t have to be mentors at all but, you know what I mean
- the two of you basically plan for your tributes to team up to fight against the other tributes because obviously 🙄 but all that goes awry when Arachne’s tribute kills her
your first reaction is complete stillness and silence. from the moment Arachne’s girl reaches through the bars of the zoo and stabs her right in the throat you have been completely silent. you couldn’t move, you couldn’t think, you couldn’t breath, you couldn’t scream. Total nothingness. you could only watch as Coriolanus ran forward, bravely pressing his hands against the wound in an effort to save your best friend. You didn’t even manage to get the words out to thank sweet Sejanus plinth, who dragged you to the floor and pressed you under him as peacekeepers rain bullets at the rouge tribute. Even when the gunfire stops and Arachne lies too still for a living person, even when Festus takes you from Sejanus and thanks him on your behalf, even on the walk home sandwiched between festus and Coryo, who’s hands are still covered in the thick of Arachne’s blood, you can’t seem to find the words. It’s only on the doorstep of festus’s apartment - the smell familiar and warm and welcoming - when things seem to catch up to you.
before he can even unlock the door to let you, Coriolanus, and Clemensia inside you’ve burst into hysterical tears: sobbing, gasping, wretching at the thought of what you’ve lost tonight. Festus sends Coryo and Clemmie on their way and ushers your inside, through the house and right to his bedroom, where he guides you to sit on the edge of the bed and kneels before you, hands cradling your face. “You’re okay, you’re okay sweet thing, just breathe.” His grip on your face tightens ever so slightly when you don’t seem to calm down, but it only helps to ground your more. “Breathe with me okay? You’re gonna be okay, sweet thing, it’s all gonna be okay.”
- you sit front row of her funeral beside Coriolanus and selfishly wish you had festus at your side instead
- when festus makes his way to his seat, which he finds is right behind yours, he reaches his hand between the gaps in the chairs and connects it with yours
- he holds your hand the whole way through the funeral and after, until the two of you end up in bed that night and he finally lets go to hold you fully, pressed against his chest as he cradled you to him
- when he wakes up the following morning however, it’s like he’s with an entirely different version of you
- it’s still you, but you’re cold, refusing to cry or grieve or do anything but focus on the games - all you want now is to get things over and done with
- winning doesn’t matter and you don’t really care what happens to your tribute, you just want to go home (which was concerning to you because physically, you were home)
“you need to convince Coral to partner up with Tanner.” you’re sitting at your dressing table as you to speak to Festus, him in his uniform on your bed as he waited for you to get ready to go and bond further with your tributes for the day. “He doesn’t stand a chance alone, he needs the help. Coral does, hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if they won.”
Festus only wiggled his eyebrows at you, meeting your gaze in the reflection of your mirror. “Well, sweet thing, I’m sure I could be convinced…” Festus is quickly quietened by your hairbrush smacking against his chest. “I was only saying!”
When he sees you try and smother the smile that tries to form on your face he stands from the bed, crossing the room, and wrapping his arms around your shoulders, speaking to your reflection. “Everything is going to be okay sweet thing. Trust me. In a week from now all this will be behind us and we can get on with the rest of our lives. You and me, a house somewhere in the upper city, two university degrees, other things. Whatever you want will be ours.” Your hands reached up to hold into his arms that wrapped around you, squeezing them lovingly as your stoic composure quickly dissolved. “But if what will soothe your roaring mind right now is an alliance between our tributes, then an alliance you shall have, sweet thing.”
You lean into his hold, titling your head to press a kiss to his clothed arm. “I love you, festus.” It didn’t matter that you knew he wouldn’t say it back just yet, he had always had a hard time verbalising his feelings, because you knew that he loved you, you could feel it right in this moment more then ever before.
- and then, only hours later, the trip to the arena came, and with it, the attack from the rebels
- festus had left your side for approximately 5 seconds, going to drag coral away from Tanner and the boy from 7 (who you hoped were all planning an alliance) when the first bomb went off
your ears ring with a shrill noise that only further disoriented you, your view blurry as you looked up from the rubbed floor of the arena and into the flames. the blast of the bomb from behind you had sent you flying forward, yet, you couldn’t see festus anywhere. smoke filled the room and rubble littered the floors, pieces of the ceiling and walls falling into the centre of the arena in the aftershocks.
you try and stand but your legs fail you and your arms shake with the effort you used to try and push yourself off of the floor. Rubble is falling closer and closer to you with each second, you can’t hear or see anything to anyone, let alone festus, and you’re sure that this is how you’re going to die.
just as you’re about it close your eyes and accept your fate, a shadow emerges from the ashes, running in your direction and yelling what you think is your name. it’s only when they grab you by the arms and hoist you up that you begin to see and hear properly again. “Coral.” You whisper, reaching out and caressing their face.
they seem unfazed, wrapping your arm around their shoulder and holding it against their collar bone while the other wraps tightly around your waist. “your leg is injured, so I’m going to have to drag you, okay? It might hurt.” your barley feel the pain in your leg and if you were any more conscious you might be worried about that, but right now all you can think about is how they came and saved you from the rubble. Coral could’ve ran, for freedom, to leave you for dead, for whatever. but they hadn’t, and a part of you didn’t really understand.
“you saved me.” you whispered, only loud enough for them to hear as they continued to drag you through the arena and to the exit. “what about you’re friends?”
“they’re fine.” they answered, helping you through the barricade and ever closer to safety. “so’s your little boyfriend. they all got dragged out by peacekeepers pretty quickly. we were too far in the destruction to be found as fast.”
you hear him before you see him. festus creed is calling your name in a wretched cry, sobs accentuating everything that came from his mouth. and when you catch sight of his frame, he’s being restrained by two peacekeepers, who seem to be insisting that he can’t go back in there, that’s they’ll find you but he needs to wait out here. before you can call out to him, Coral does so for you. “they need help! their leg!”
all eyes turn to you. you and the tribute from four gripping tightly onto each other, covered in ash and scrapes, hand gripping hand. it’s something festus never thought he’d see and it has him questioning everything he’s ever known. maybe the people from the districts were just like you and him. maybe everything he’d been told was wrong and it was silly to punish children, like himself, for the crimes of their fathers.
what he does know for certain is that he’s never run so fast in his life. he reaches you before the peacekeepers can and tears you from Corals hold, thanking them profusely even as peacekeepers drag them away to go with the rest of the tributes who made it out alive. he grips you with a strength you didn’t know he had, a hand cupping the back of your head and holding you tight against him. “I thought I lost you, God, I thought I lost you. I though you were…” he can’t say it, can’t bring himself to speak it out loud less he makes it come true. “All the rubble and the smoke and the fires, and when I tried to search for you they dragged me out. They told me I couldn’t go back in for you: I would’ve gone back in. I never should’ve left your side, what if you’d-“
He shakes his head, pulling you out of the safety of his hold so he can cup your face, thumbs runnings cross your tear-stained cheeks as he looks at you. “Never leave me. Not like that, not ever. Please. Promise me.”
He’s never sounded so pleading, so desperate, and he’s never wanted for anything more in his life. “I won’t, I’m sorry, I’m okay, I’m okay, I’m okay.” You’re a blubbering mess in festus’s arms, gripping to the back of his red blazer like your life depends on it. Your cries only worsen as the ringing in your ears starts to fade and you start to feel a throbbing pain in your leg. “I’m sorry. I love you, I love you.”
“I love you too, I love you too, I love you too.”
- festus follows you to the hospital and everywhere else after that
- but like seriously
- he already knew he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you and the attack in the arena only solidified that idea
- the hunger games are over and Lucy grey is crowned their winner within the week
- festus proposes the following morning
#beybaldes answers !!#beybaldes hc !!#festus creed oneshot#festus creed imagine#festus creed x reader#tbosbas x reader
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Aint No Sunshine When She’s Gone-Chapter I
Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd x Female Reader (no use of y/n)
You (Sunny) help your Aunt Penny out at the bar and are introduced to sweet, shy Bob by an old friend.
(Next chapter here)
Warnings: mentions of alcohol, handjob (m receiving), premature ejaculation, mentions of sexual harassment. Let me know if I missed anything.
Yep, Penny was right, you think as you roll through the parking lot, trying to find an open spot. The Hard Deck is packed.
You sigh as you shift your car into park. You were exhausted, but you knew Penny needed the help.
______________________________________________
*30 minutes earlier*
You were walking up the stairs to your apartment Penny’s garage as she was hurrying to her car.
“Where’s the fire?” You call. “Oh, hey! Jack called, I’m heading to the bar early—the new hire didn’t show and a carrier docked, so it’s a full house. I’ll see ya later, hon!”
“Do you want some help?” You offered. Bartending was the last thing you wanted to do tonight, but your Aunt Penny had done so much for you the past few years, it was the least you could do.
“Uhhh, yeah, that would be great. Maybe just ‘til 7 when Ashley comes? Are you sure though? I know you’re exhausted”.
You were exhausted. “No problem at all, let me just change and I’ll be on my way”.
“You’re a lifesaver, see you soon!”
_______________________________________________
You’d changed out of your scrubs into a pair of jean shorts and a plain black tee and here you were.
Let’s get this over with, you think with a sigh and open your car door.
_______________________________________________
“No, the blue one at the bottom, a little lower,” you hear the jerk behind you smile. “Yeah, actually grab me one from the way back so I know it’s cold. A little farther… ” he leers.
Alright, that’s enough. You rise, turn, and grab the $20 he laid on the bar. You pop the top and take a nice pull as you ring the bell. “Thanks for the beer. Now get out.”
“Excuse me?! You fucking bitc—“ he starts, but is interrupted by a heavy hand on his shoulder.
“Do we have a problem here?” Asks a thick-mustached aviator.
“Uhh, nope. I was just heading out. Have a good night” the jerk says, scurrying away with his friends.
“Bradley Bradshaw, long time no see” You smile, boosting yourself on the bottom shelf to hug him across the bar. “Thanks for that, by the way”.
You and Bradley had known each other since you were kids; your dads served together and your family remained close after Goose died. He was a few years older, something you never let him forget.
“No problem, you had it handled, I just wanted his seat. You look great.” He takes the now vacant spot. “What are you doing here? UCSD finally figured out you don’t know what you’re doing and fired ya?” He jokes, knowing you were at the top of your nursing class.
“Ha! No, I’m still there in the ER. Currently taking the flight nurse course though. Penny’s new hire didn’t show, and it was slammed, so I offered to help” you reply.
“Got tired of watching us flying and decided it was your turn?” Hangman says, pushing his way through to the bar to sit beside Bradley.
“Something like that” you smile, kissing his cheek. “Good to see you, Hangman”.
“Same, sweetheart. We just got back today, 4 months is way too long to be stuck on a boat.” Jake complains. You agree, there’s no way you could do that.
“Where’s dickhead?” Bradley asks, sipping his beer.
“You mean Derek? Back in Minnesota with his new girlfriend. Caught them in my bed after a 12-hour shift” You reply, sliding Jake a beer.
“Seriously? What a piece of shit. You’re better off. Never liked that fucker any way” Bradley mutters.
“Me either” Jake agrees.
“Honestly, I’m not sure I did either” you laugh. It was great in the beginning, but he was insecure and jealous; always accusing you of being unfaithful. You naturally were a bubbly, friendly person, but he was constantly berating for you for flirting and it had taken a toll on you. Always worrying that he was watching you and knowing he’d yell at you later for it, you started over analyzing everything and became a shell of the woman you’d been. When you’d moved across the country 9 months ago to live with Penny to complete the training for your dream job, it only got worse. He had moved out to be with you and not 2 months later you found him cheating. Dickhead indeed.
"You’ve always looked great honey, but you look lighter, happier; like your old self again. No wonder someone over by the pool table can’t take his eyes off ya" Jake winks.
You glance behind him and make eye contact with another khaki uniform. Deep blue eyes behind BCGs (birth control glasses), light brown hair, sinewy arms. You smile, which he returns, but quickly looks down, blushing.
“Tell me about him. I take it he’s shy?”
“Name’s Bob. Yeah, he’s shy. I don’t think I’ve seen him talk to a girl besides ‘Nix. He’s her new backseater, just moved out here before we sailed. He’s really fucking smart. From the Midwest, like you. All around good guy.” Bradley responds.
Someone starts shouting their order. “I better get back to it. I’ll be done around 7, wanna catch up?”
They nod, “We’ll be by the pool table whenever you’re ready.” Jake replies.
________________________________________
The bar is finally caught up a little after 7. You sneak into the employee bathroom to touch up your makeup and let your hair down from the clip you threw in. Taking a deep breath, you open the door and head out.
________________________________________
“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes!” Natasha says with a hug “How are ya?”
“Good “n you?” You reply, Minnesota accent slipping out.
“Good, happy to be stateside again. Hey, this is Bob, my new backseater.” Nat introduces you. “Bob, this is Sunny.”
“Nice to meet you Bob” you smile, shaking his hand.
“Uh yeah, likewise” he stammers, blushing again. “Is Sunny your real name? Or is it short for something?
“No, my real name is actually Aelia.” You cringe. “It means sunshine. But no one ever said it right, so my dad started calling me Sunny and it stuck. Is Bob short for anything?” You tease.
“Yeah, Big Ol’ Balls!” Bradley comes up behind him and squeezes his shoulders. Bob’s blush depends. “I’ve known Sunny here since she was in diapers, her old man was a wizzo too.”
You nod. “Yeah, my mom made him quit shortly after I came along though. He’s a commercial pilot now.”
You ask Bob a lot of questions, and he eventually starts to relax. You find out he grew up in a small town just a few hours away from you, is the middle child between an older brother and younger sister, and has a 3 legged golden retriever named Steve that he adores.
“Why the name Steve? You laugh as he shows you a picture of them both smiling at the beach. Steve is adorable, but Bob’s defined arms in the cutoff definitely got your attention.
He laughs too. “Not my choice, his previous owners named him that. They left him at the vet when he got hit by a car and his leg had to be amputated. I adopted him shortly after and didn’t want to stress him out more by changing it”.
Your heart melts. “That’s so sweet, who has him when you’re deployed?”
“My sister and her family live in Redlands and thankfully are happy to take him. I texted her that I was back in town and would come get him, but I got a picture back that the kids were planning on camping in the living room with him tonight—even had a sleeping bag set up in the middle for him, so I said I’d just pick him up tomorrow.” He smiled. You might as well be a puddle. How is he single?
“I wanted a dog since I moved out here, but my ex was allergic. I was thinking about looking into adopting once I finish my flight nursing courses, but we’ll see.”
“You should meet Steve. He’d love you.” Bob says quietly. It’s getting busier, you can hardly hear him.
“I’d like that” you lean to whisper in his ear, “Do you wanna walk the beach? It’s getting loud in here.”
He gulps but nods.
You grab his hand and lead him through the crowd, jutting your chin to the door, mouthing “Heading outside, it’s too loud” to Bradley.
“Sure” he mouths back, winking. You roll your eyes and continue towards the exit.
________________________________________
You keep your hand in his as you wander down the beach, eventually sitting once the noise of the bar isn’t so oppressive.
Bob breaks the comfortable silence a few minutes later. “I…I’m not good at this. Talking to women, dating, all that. If I don’t talk, I’m awkward. When I do talk, I’m awkward. I like you, Sunny. You’re sweet, smart and funny. You listen when I talk, and you’re so damn pretty, I couldn’t—can’t keep my eyes off you, I don’t want to mess this up—“ You stop his rambling by pressing your lips to his.
He freezes, but you murmur against his lips. “I like you too.” Suddenly he’s kissing you back with vigor. You lick the seam of his lips and he groans. Fuck, that sound. You want to hear it again and again.
You pull away, trying to slow down. “Will you take me out?” You ask, a little breathlessly.
“Yeah? Yeah, I’d love to. What are you doing tomorrow?” He asks, straightening his crooked glasses. God, he’s cute.
“Not a thing. I finally have a weekend off.” You reply.
“I’m gonna pick up Steve around 11. Can I take out you out after?”
“Perfect. I’ll give you my number. Will you walk me to my car?”
He nods and pushes to his feet before pulling you up next.
________________________________________
“I’ll pick you up from Penny’s around noon then? Bob asks, opening your door for you.
“Can’t wait.” You give him a quick peck, pulling back before you go carried away again.
“You know your cunt of a girlfriend stole $20 from me?” You startle as the jerk from earlier walked out from behind your car.
You could feel Bob’s entire demeanor change. “What did you just call her?”
The asshole shrinks as Bob stands to his full height.
“Nothing, I—“ he tries to backtrack, realizing he fucked up.
“Apologize and leave. And if I ever see you here again, you’ll regret it.” Bob interrupts.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that, I’ll uh… I’ll leave you to it,” he says as he scurries away. Again. Pussy.
“I’m sorry about that. I’m gonna follow you home, alright? You oka…?” He trails off as you move around the car door, bumping it closed with your hip.
“That…was so fucking hot,” you whisper as you fist his shirt and pull him to you. Pressing your front against his, you kiss a line from his jaw to his ear. “Too bad this we just met tonight. Because I want nothing more than to get on my knees and show you my gratitude.” His cock twitches against your stomach.
“Oh, ha, uhhh…you don’t, I mean you wouldn’t have to do that“ Bob stutters.
You push him against your car and kiss him again. His hands go to your hips, while yours slide down his chest, over his nipples (to which he inhales sharply), and across his stomach. You grip his hip with your left as you lower your hand to rub the length of him with the heel of his palm. Fuck he’s big.
He lurches with a startled groan. And so receptive.
You are burning up. He’s such a good kisser. His big hands are gripping your hips so tightly. The way he went from shy and reserved to defending your honor with a quiet, cool confidence. You palm him a little faster.
Bob breaks your kiss with a pant, “Sunny, I…”
“You…?” You continue for him, kissing and nipping at his neck, you can feel the precum leaking through his pants.
“I, uhh…I’m—“ he tries to continue, but you suck his pulse point. He releases your hip to grab your hand, but it’s too late. “Fuckkkkk, Sunny. I’m cumming”.
You feel him pulse against your hand. He’s breathing heavily and you can tell he’s mortified, but you are soaked. “I’m sorry, I’ve—“
You pull back from his neck to look him in the eye., bringing your damp fingers to your lips.
"No need to be sorry, Bob. That was so..." you lick up one finger, “fucking..." lick down the next, "sexy" and suck them in into your mouth, like you wish you could to his cock.
Bob’s eyes widen and he shudders. You step back and get in the car.
He takes a deep breath and turns to you, trying (but failing) to hide the wet spot. Oh, you were going to wreck him.
“I’ll follow you to Penny’s to make sure you get in okay, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”
You nod. “Thank you again. Goodnight Bob.”
“Night, Sun”.
________________________________________
#robert bob floyd#bob floyd x you#bob floyd#top gun maverick#top gun smut#bradley rooster bradshaw#jake hangman seresin smut#natasha phoenix trace
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omg pls can we get more daddy könig??? he seems like such a sweet father
a continuation to stages
“it will come to her, just relax, liebling.”
rather than grit your prevalent impatience, your husband’s words served better as a soothing salve to soften the pinch between your brow. as a first time parent, you had purchased nearly every book possible on the topic. from feeding to sating the most inconsolable baby. your most treasured addition to your collection by far was the literature dedicated to mapping out the proper timeline for a growing infant.
from the day you brought your daughter home until her first word, she had kept up with the outlined appropriate milestones for her age. every single one except for her first step. at nine months, she had yet to take her first independent step without the aid of her chair roller. your sanity allowed you to accept a second week off track but now you were nearing a month and you were tearing at the seams.
what if there was something wrong with her legs? had you not provided her with the proper diet? you’d worked yourself too fervently for even könig to break through. eventually he decided that perhaps the pediatrician could easy your mind. but the graying man, with experience well beyond your youth, could only offer vague optimism.
'she’s a healthy girl and will walk when she’s ready.'
Keep reading
könig understood your neuroticisms. his own strive to maintain a safe environment only skyrocketed the moment his small bundle took residence in his heart. but while he had his mannerisms, he was practical. and if his childhood taught him one this, it was that every individual grew at their own rate.
“let me see her.”
slipping his arms under her little arms, könig carefully dislodged his daughter from your hold. momentarily stunned by the shift in gravity, the near toddler quickly recognized her father as her new carrier and giggled in delight. unable to resist the juvenile charms, könig relented long enough to allow her chubby arms to curl around him, accepting the sticky fingers in his hair.
she garbled into his neck mangling his name far beyond any crude way you’d cut his given name into a nickname. the scene was enough to even bring a small smile to your face as you relaxed into your seat on the floor. it seemed as though his daughter was the least affected by the tension in the room, effectively cutting through it with her own beam of sunshine.
pressing a brief kiss to the side of her head, könig ignored the discomfort in his back as he lowered himself close enough to the ground to allow her feet to meet it. expectantly, she clung to his neck even as he attempted to gently pry away her hands. she certainly had a strong pair of arms as she fought against him before eventually relinquishing once to regained sight of you again. as if the short moment with her father had spanned a few years from you.
“you want her? alright, let’s go then.”
könig had taken over enough to know how often he could step before his daughter’s much smaller legs could catch up. it was an uncomfortable way to hover, but it was only one of the many inconveniences he saw through for her benefit. his arms jerked in all directions with every hop and stumble as she tried to close the distance to you with exuberance, juggling her version of your namesake along her gums.
he could see the defeated exhaustion in your eyes, despite your large smile as you beckoned your daughter with a curl of your fingers. when she was in range, you leaned forward, prepared to take over.
however, könig miscalculated the distance and let go a second sooner. before either of her parents could scramble to catch her before she hit the floor, she stumbled momentarily as if adjusting to the lack of assistance then took a shaky step forward and then the next. in a staggering repetition of steps, she closed the gap and tripped into your arms. she seemed to find the entire moment hilarious as she squirmed with giggles, all while trying to climb up your stunned form.
“—könig .... she just…”
in the midst of your defeat, your daughter just shattered your doubts. despite the overwhelming joy you felt, you found your eyes burning as tears threatening to spill over. sensing your vulnerability, könig leapt into action, dropping carefully to his knees to draw you both close into an embrace.
parenting was tough and you still had a long way to go. but you would all make it through it, one step at a time.
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Plaited and Braided (18+)
Ezra x afab!Reader ('They' pronouns)
Word Count: 4275
Summary: Ezra gets a hold of a supersonic whip (aka bullwhip) and tries it out on you. There’s aftercare and then there’s sex.
Tags: afab!Reader ('they' pronouns), outdoor whip play, Dom!Ezra, sub!Reader, aftercare, brief fingering, objectification, p-in-v sex. A very brief tease of ‘anal’ before Ezra gets lost in the sauce.
Pet names for Reader: sunshine, little toy, little pet.
Pet names for Ezra: Sir, Master
a/n: shout out to miss_anthr0pe on ao3 for doing an Ezra + Pet Play story that changed my life.
+++++++
Now this particular supersonic whip was made from genuine leather–nearly impossible to find in this particular sector of space. But Ezra had come upon it during a particularly raucous poker game and he was particularly pleased with himself for doing so. From one end of the handle and all the way down to the nylon popper, it was about six feet long. And it was well broken in without being overused. The main body of the whip, known as the thong, turned and coiled beautifully in 360 degrees–no stiffness to be found. Ezra’s eyes glowed bright and wondrous as he rotated his wrist and watched the plaited leather’s graceful movements. It was more serpentine than a snake. More curling than a tendril.
And Ezra’s heart raced in anticipation of hearing its tell-tale crack.
You two weren’t on the Green anymore, but the area was green enough to acknowledge it as such. Ezra was practicing in an open grassy space near the trees. The woman from which he had earned this prized weapon showed him a thing or two upon its bestowment. Showed him how to properly swing his arm and hold his wrist. How to follow through instead of yanking back–’That’s how you lose an eyeball,’ she warned him with a sharp glare and a stern finger.
What pleased Ezra most of all was how easy it was. The movements were simple and smooth and it took very little effort to make that first cracking sound. It was a loud sharp pop that went straight through his whole body and echoed through the greenery like a strike of lightning.
Kevva’s grace, Ezra felt as if he had stolen a power straight from the hands of the gods. His whole chest was alight with excitement and his cheeks ached from grinning. His arm and wrist? Shit, they were fine and dandy. No soreness to be had. Nothing compared to some of the other weapons he had been known to explore over the years.
Once he got used to cracking the whip by swinging it forward, he tried it from the side, too. Held the handle out in his left hand and perpendicular to the ground. He rotated his wrist leftward, careful not to distort the angle of his swing. He imagined it moving along a single plane. Once the bullwhip unfurled, he quickly rotated his wrist to the right and–there it was. That beautiful cracking sound once again.
Next, he practiced on one of the many towering trees surrounding your neck of the woods. Cracking the whip was fun and all, but he wanted to get some real use out of his poker trophy. He smudged chalk along the bark at about 3 feet from the ground and again around 5 feet. He stepped back and set to swinging.
Proper follow through took proper consistency. And Ezra’s excitement had settled into fierce determination. He wanted to engrave the movements into his muscles, carve his arm into peak formation to meet the same target again and again.
After some time, he allowed himself to rest. He stepped up to his victimous tree. His mouth curled downward as he wagged his head side to side assessing his work, gauging his new ability. In the end, he deemed himself more than ready.
—-
Ezra approached the campsite carefully, stepping lightly among the twigs and leaves. You were seated on a log, sharpening your knives. He waited patiently until you were done–you had a strong arm and good aim. He knew better.
But once you were free and clear of your own weapons, he took the opportunity to properly introduce you to what he had been doing all afternoon.
Now there are many different ways to experience this type of impact play, and Ezra had very particular thoughts about it. He didn’t want to leave long stripes across your back. He didn’t want to break the skin. He wanted to simply lick you with it. Torment you with just the tip. He wanted the welts to mottle your skin–make you look polka-dotted. His distance needed to be as exact as the speed with which he whipped.
He waited til just the right moment before gently swinging the whip upward and pulling it back down to hit you.
You yelped and jumped and spun around all at once–searching for the source of the bright hot pain dancing around your skin. You turned furious when your eyes found Ezra.
“What the fuck, Ezra?!” You groaned.
“Gotcha,” he peered over the grinning curl of his cheeks.
You pointed at him with an angry finger, mouth all twisted. “I knew it! I knew that thing was gonna result in MY suffering!” You rubbed your ass. “That fucking hurt!”
“I know,” Ezra said menacingly with a flash of his eyebrows. “That’s why I did it.”
“Kevva, why?” You whimpered and threw your head back, praying to the dimming sky. “Why is this happening to me?” You clenched your fists and stomped your foot.
Ezra chuckled. “Come on, sunshine.” He waved his empty hand at you. “I wanna see what this ‘thing’ can do to the skin of my delightful little toy.”
You slumped your shoulders and pouted. Your eyes narrowed and darted to the trees surrounding you.
He smirked. “Running and hiding will only prolong the inevitable, my dear toy.” He rolled his wrist, watching the thong of the whip twist and curl in the corner of his vision.
You whimpered louder as your whole body wiggled in frustration. You looked like a petulant child and Ezra basked in it.
He knew you so well. Too well. He loved the way you bit your lip in both worry and anticipation. He loved the way your chest began to rise and fall heavy with each heated breath. He loved the way you let him play with you, torture you, tease you til you were a soft, slumpy mess and then–and only then–would he finally fuck you, bring you to enormous heights of pleasure as you both surrendered to the burning desires of your bodies and their desperate need to crescendo and release.
He lowered his chin, hungry eyes watching you from under the shadow of his brow. “You know you wanna take it from me.” It wouldn’t be fun if you didn’t. The whole point was that you wanted to take it. You wanted him to take all the berating voices in your head and make them physical–make them tangible–make them real in a way that you couldn’t will yourself to do on your own. Ezra took that task on for you and with the utmost pleasure.
“H-how do you want me?” you finally muttered out with a pissy moan.
‘Poor thing,’ Ezra thought. ‘Can’t even look me in the eye.’
“I considered for a moment that I would enjoy the sight of you naked and hugging one of these tall and beautiful wonders of nature–” he said as he leaned backward, his head tilted up toward the treetops. “--But now that I have arrived at our base camp–” He looked at you and smiled with one hand on his hip and one on his whip. “--I believe I would most cherish this process if you were to stand with your hands against the high outer walls of our ship.” Your shared vessel. Your mutual home.
You sighed and grumbled… but you still took your clothes off. You folded your outfit and placed it at the bottom of your ship’s entrance ramp. You slipped your boots back on, though, and Ezra felt no need to have you go without, so he made no remark over it. He was simply grateful for warm weather and fresh air.
"Alright. Now stand upright with your hands against the hull, please and thank you," he spoke in an orderly manner.
You mumbled under your breath and yet… you still complied.
And because Ezra could not help himself, he stepped back further than necessary and cracked the whip twice–never making contact with your skin.
You jolted and yelped.
Ezra laughed, his free hand on his belly. "Scared ya, didn’t I?"
You scoffed and went to turn around, but Ezra was faster. He swiftly stepped forward and cleanly sliced the air, popping you in the back.
"Fuck!" You shouted and flinched, your hands gripping the metal hull.
"Maintain eye-contact with that Dasha logo or my toy’s face could be marred and I would certainly detest that outcome." He hummed in disapproval.
You shook your head and cursed.
He was tempted to crack the whip one more time, allow the supersonic boom to echo through the trees again, but you had complied so easily after that first assault, he was too enticed to continue his tease.
You jumped in place for the next two licks, much to Ezra’s further amusement. He loved the way your ass jiggled and tensed. The way your hands struggled to stay in place. The way your whole body struggled really. You were so responsive to his new prized possession and the flashing hot pain it gave you, he couldn't wait to hover his hands above your skin and feel the heat glow outward. Feel the rising waves of rushing blood and frictious cells swarming to heal and ease the damage well done.
Ezra had to take a moment to calm himself. He had only just begun. Granted, his muscles were beginning to burn finally after repeating the same motion for hours on end. He loved how simple it was to swing it around, letting it curl and unfurl before snapping it back in the opposite direction, following along an elegant arc and making direct and wonderful contact with your skin.
“Breathe, little toy,” he said after a few more tastes. “A toy’s shoulders do not belong inside of their ears.”
"Shit, Ezra. This really hurts." You spoke with your head tilted upward to allow your voice to bounce and carry since you had learned to not turn around.
Ezra scoffed and rolled his eyes. "I've done worse."
"So what? This fucking sucks!" you screamed.
Ezra cracked the whip so loud he nearly jumped out of his own boots. "I can walk away right now if this is too much for you," he threatened. And he meant it. He had done it before. Had cleaned you up while giving you a lecture on submission instead of the mind-blowing connection and orgasm you both really wanted.
You slowly rolled your shoulders down and back. You rolled your neck around as well. Your fingers curled into fists before splaying back out against the ship.
"Shall I continue?" He asked tersely, pointing at you with his whip even though you weren’t even looking at him. "And before you respond, it would behoove you to consider the tone that you choose to utilize when expressing your decision."
Your back swelled and fell with your breaths. "Yes. We can continue."
"That's what I thought," Ezra said smugly with glee.
And so he continued.
Welts began to rise across your back and asscheeks. Some were longer than he intended. He would make slight adjustments to his stance to avoid hitting you in the same spot again and again. He wanted to spread the love, spread the hurt around. Make a temporary work of art down the anterior of your torso.
He got your thighs a couple times, too, when he lowered his hips overmuch. And shit, those ones hurt him. "Oof. Sorry about that." He said, as if he wasn't already hurting you all over to begin with.
Once your high-pitched pained whimpers began to grow weary, he knew it was time to allow you respite. Allow you both to assess the damage to your body and move forward from there.
“Mhmm,” he hummed. Your legs were slightly spread and after he approached, he pushed the edge of the handle–the part leading into the whip itself–against your crotch from behind. The yearning moan you released was delicious enough to coat Ezra’s entire being in syrupy satisfaction.
“The way the sunlight is falling upon you is providing the most unique and astonishing texture across your skin, my lovely toy.” He continued to move the whip handle back and forth while you gasped and writhed. “If I were to paint your portrait, you would be dappled in the most vibrant gem-like oranges and shadowed in with regal ultramarines.” Your stomach tremored as he teased your sex. He spoke soft and slow. “By all the galaxies in our universe, known and unknown, you look absolutely stunning.” He emphasized with a kiss upon your shoulder. Another kiss upon your cheek.
“Thank you, Sir.” You whispered, tired and exhausted with burning skin. He was different then, in your eyes. No longer some frustrating annoyance. He had turned into a tender, adoring lover. Doting and sweet.
Ezra’s whole heart and dick jumped when you called him ‘Sir’. He had to clench his jaw to stop himself from taking you right then and there against the ship. He needed to take care of all the hurt he caused first.
“Let's go cool you off in the spring, alright?” He said over your shoulder with his head tilted.
“Yessir,” you murmured and he guided you carefully over to the edge of your camp with a gentle hand and a soft smile on his face.
Ezra could melt the way you looked at him with sweet, bleary eyes. You were so trusting and so compliant. You would follow him to the ends of the world in this moment if he requested it of you. He wanted you like this all the time–like putty in his eager hands.
“Can you take off your boots?” He asked.
“My what?”
“Your boots.” He pointed with his mouth, his hands steady on keeping you upright.
“I-I don't know.
“That's alright,” he cooed. He wanted to sit you down and remove them, but he knew your ass was too tender to sit just yet. “It is no matter at all.” He kept his voice soft and even. “Let's get you into the water.”
You nodded.
“It's a bit of a jump, okay?” he warned. “But you won't go under. I've got you.”
“Yessir,” you murmured and jumped in. You hissed briefly before relaxing, the cool water rising to your waistline.
“How does that feel?” He asked.
You nodded with your eyes closed. “Good.”
“Good, good.” He raised his brows high. “Now sink deeper so it's up to your shoulders.”
—-
You complied, whimpering as the chilling water enveloped you. Pain sparkled across your abused skin, but the spring also eased the fiery burning. It softened the aches that had begun to echo out from the welts.
You looked up and there was Ezra, kneeling at the edge of the pool, squinting and peering down at you with tender affection. He was drenched in pink-orange sunlight, glowing bright against the darkening shadows behind him. You could have stared at him staring at you like that forever.
Your head was quiet. So silent that you could hear birds chirping in the distance and leaves rustling in the wind. You could feel the wind–feel the cool movement of air across the exposed surface of your neck and cheeks. The water itself was calm and accommodating to the soreness along your backside. You felt beautiful. As if you were another part of nature experiencing itself. You felt woven into the cosmic tapestry.
And Ezra, of all people, was there to witness it. To experience it beside you.
"How do you feel, my sweet thing?" He smirked.
You didn't say anything. Just nodded.
He raised his eyebrows. "I need words, sunshine."
"I feel good," you answered in a voice that was both your own but also coming from someone else. "I feel really good."
"Good. Let's get you back to the ship." He grinned. "There is more I wish to share with you."
"Really?" You asked with bright hope.
He chuckled. "Yes, now come on." He reached his arms out and talked you through the climb from the water. You got dirt and leaves on your knees and palms but he brushed it away before guiding you by the hand back to the ship.
He brought you to your shared living quarters. He sat on the edge of the bed, admiring your soft expression and the shape of your body. He had been studying your back for so long, he had missed looking at his favorite part of you. He guided your limp hands to his shoulders.
"Hold onto me for balance so that I am able to remove these boots you're wearing."
He talked you through it, step by step, taking special moments just for himself as he slid his hand down your thighs and calves, savoring the feeling of your skin and leg hair. He pulled each boot off carefully, not wanting to move you around too much.
"Stay right here," he said with wide and serious eyes. He loosened the laces to your boots and pulled the tongues open before setting them down in front of an air vent to dry.
He stood behind you with a crooked smile as he unzipped his flight suit. The welts across your body were still swollen, but he knew their tenderness was beginning to recede. Your skin was unbroken, just as he pleased. And although the lights inside the ship were less vivid, he enjoyed the mottled sight of you just as much.
—----
You never moved. Never wavered or turned, even as Ezra’s nude form stepped back into your sight, grabbing something from the bedside table.
"You are a very brave little toy," Ezra said as he sat down on the bed in front of you, fiddling with… something in his hands–you weren't sure. You were too enraptured by his big brown eyes looking up at you, eyebrows curled, lines rippled in his forehead.
"Yes, Sir?" You asked.
"Mhmm." He nodded. His lips tight. "And now I'm gonna show you how I take care of my brave little toys."
You sucked in your bottom lip, biting it between your teeth. You waited.
"Place your hands upon my shoulders again."
You complied.
"Keep yourself upright," he spoke sternly.
Ezra’s fingertips, slickened with oil, stroked you back and forth between your folds. Your entire body shuddered at the sensation, a strange sound escaping your throat. Your own fingers curled into the meat of Ezra’s trapezius, thumbs digging in above his collarbone.
"How does that make my little toy feel?" He asked softly.
"G-Good, Sir," you vocalized through gasping breaths.
Ezra grinned wide and proud. He leaned forward and kissed your belly. "Good, good." He licked a stripe up your skin, next to your bellybutton, before resting his chin against it.
You sighed.
"Which hole shall I use this evening, hmm?" He asked as he looked up to your face between your breasts. His slick fingers found their way deeper between your legs, spreading slickness to the surface of your other hole. "What would bring the most pleasure to my favorite little plaything?"
You closed your eyes, nearly melting in place. Hot and heavy air cycled through your lungs. "Whatever you want." It didn't matter that your entire backside was still covered in aching welts. You didn't care about the logistics. You wanted Ezra and his hands and his voice and his cock in whatever way he was willing to give them to you.
"Whatever you want…?" He repeated, his fingers removed from you.
"S-sir," you quickly added, desperate for his touch.
Ezra hummed in satisfaction, his voice vibrating the skin of your stomach. He smacked a kiss against you before pulling back. "Such a …sweet toy of mine to allow me its use in whichever way I desire." He grinned. "I have been blessed once again by the Divines and given the opportunity to taste–" he licked and sucked at your breast. "--and devour such a willing pet."
Something began to change in Ezra’s eyes, something warm and blurry. His breaths began to heave and his mouth watered. His dry hand gripped your breast and he brought the nipple to his lips. He laved and sucked and bit into your flesh.
You whimpered and twitched against him. The hand between your legs had yet to return and instead you found it gripping your hip.
Ezra's mouth moved to your other breast, biting and sucking and licking your skin. His dry hand found your other hip and he tugged you close.
You nearly fell forward, one hand wrapping around his head, fingertips in his scalp.
"Come here, little pet," he said as he scooted further back onto the bed. "Come take care of your Master."
And suddenly the game had changed from 'toy for him to play with' to 'pet trained to serve.' You were so warm and wet and eager and horny that you didn't care what happened or what he asked of you. As long as you reached your summit–you did whatever Ezra commanded.
"Yes, Sir." You climbed after him, clawing up the bed. His oil-slickened cock was rock hard against his stomach–its heavy weight falling victim to gravity. You wasted no time in wrapping your fingers around it and bringing it to your entrance. Ezra had yet to stretch you out with his fingers and it was too late now. You were too desperate to do it yourself. You sank down an inch or two, just the tip really, before pulling back up and trying again. You made it a couple more inches this time, but you needed a short reprieve and pulled him back out.
You took a deep breath, lined his cock up, and sank down a third time. Moaning and groaning as you let your body suck him inside of you. He may have said 'take care of your Master', but what that really meant was 'do the work yourself.' The time spent outside with your bare back being lashed again and again–it had all disappeared from your mind. All that mattered was Ezra’s cock inside you. All that mattered were your two bodies making contact.
You placed your hands on either side of Ezra’s face as you began to glide your hips up and down, stroking his length with your core.
"So good for me," he groaned through gritted teeth. His oiled hand found your hip again while the other cradled your face, guiding you down to share a kiss and keep you close while you moved. "My favorite pet. My sweet, sweet little toy."
"Yessir. Yessir." You mumbled and nodded. You spoke right into his eyes.
Ezra’s chest grew warm and hungry. "You love your Master, don't you?” He held you tight and met your thrusts, savoring your slick wet heat. “You love the way his cock makes you feel?"
"Yessir.” You whined and curled your hips. “Yessir.” You whimpered.
A bright, hot clarity burst inside of Ezra’s mind as he watched you. "Master loves his favorite pet. How good they fuck his fat cock." He grinned. “They are exquisite,” he purred and scrunched his nose. “They are haunting.”
Ezra began thrusting harder, using the bounce of the bed for momentum. He gripped your hips with both hands. His cock was stroking that spot within you, the inner muscle of your clitoris that lined the front of your inner walls. His words and praise overwhelmed you. You turned your head to the side and keened again and again–your voice echoing around the room.
"You know you wanna take it from me." He said through gasping breaths. "You know you wanna take my come." His fingers dug deep into your skin as you struggled to maintain any composure. "Little pet." He found a rhythm that nearly took the breath from his lungs. From your lungs, too. "Be a good little pet and take your Master's come. Take it. Take it."
Your body went limp, falling into his, but your hips continued to move of their own accord. You were right there. Right on the precipice. And his voice in the back of your awareness–"Take it. Take your Master's come, little pet."--sent you careening over the edge.
"So good for Master. Such a good little pet." Ezra continued to use you–finding his own release seconds later as he fucked his cock into your slumping body. He had desperately wanted to wrap his arms around you and hold you close as he did it, but he was forced to settle with his grip on your hips instead.
It pained him, honestly, in the aftermath that he couldn't lay you on your back and kiss you down your front. But he never thought about that when he spanked you, or flogged you, or whipped you. He would get too caught up in the excitement of it–of watching you flinch and twitch and react. It was nice enough, he supposed, to have you like this–blissed out and draped over him. At least he could feel your front and admire your face–even if it spent most of the after-period pressed into his chest or neck. You really were his sunshine–all happy and bright and fiery. And while he couldn't cradle all of you in that moment, he could cradle your face and kiss and caress your cheeks and laugh at your half-awake responses to his questions about what to have for dinner and–
"Did you enjoy my new toy?"
You sighed with a smile. "I… enjoy what it brings me." You shake your head against his chest. "That's about as much as I can say right now."
He grinned. Satisfied enough for the time being.
+++++++
a/n: I've never personally been bullwhipped by Ezra on another planet, but I hope you are still able to find this story enjoyable.
tags: @wannab-urs @multiversed-daydreamer (for talking about Ezra and then telling me to do this story, LOL! Let's see if I can do Whiskey's version next....)
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sunkissed - lee felix x reader
requested by @hehehwh
“can you make a story with how the reader and the another members of stray kids go to the beach, but the reader is afraid of jellyfishes so felix helps them get over their phobia? <3 (after that they spend a romantic time on the beach)”
writers note: so this is my first longer(ish) form fic, i’m a little nervous about it because it’s a pretty specific request so i hope i do it justice. you didn’t specify reader’s pronouns/body so we’ll go with gender neutral. idk fuck man reader is just whipped as shit for felix and he’s just a sweet sweet baby. reader has never seen the ocean up close before for sake of the plot. any feedback is appreciated!
pairing ; felix lee x gn!reader
wc ; 2.0k
content warning: angst if you squint? reader has a panic attack kinda, mostly just fluff. reader is afraid of jellyfish, established but new relationship with felix, nicknames (love, bunny, etc.)
~~~~~~~~~~
felix was absolutely elated, he’d been begging you and the boys for ages to try to get you guys to visit australia with him. chan was always on board, enthusiastically insisting to the rest that it would be fun, but the rest of the men would always groan and gripe about the various typical complaints about australia.
“i still don’t know how you convinced us to come yongbok-ah,” seungmin chimed up with a whine as the nine of you padded your way through the brisbane airport. this earned a jovial ‘tsk’ from the sunshine maknae.
“you guys promised last year for my birthday we could go, minnie! plus i was finally able to convince (y/n) to come too,” felix said as he hooked an arm around your shoulders to pull you closer into his side.
he always loved to make sure you were as close to him as possible. usually, in the form of keeping a hand on you in some comfortable resting place on your body. often this would be your shoulder, your lower back, the dip of your waist, or his favorite, your thigh. he did these little touches so often you weren’t entirely sure if he was doing it for your own comfort or his.
you patiently listened to the boys’ chaotic talking as you followed along through the airport towards the taxi area to be taken to the airbnb that chan had rented for the week.
“hey (y/n) you’re going to love the beach, its always so fun when we go. i haven’t gone to these beaches since i was young!” chan turned back towards you from the front of the group to say.
this was a topic all the boys seemed to fixate on. this made sense, as they didn’t often get a chance to swim or some hadn’t even experienced the beach before. felix especially seemed thrilled about the beaches. you didn’t quite understand the hype, until the early the next afternoon the car you and felix had ridden in with minho, jisung and hyunjin had finally gotten close enough to the beach.
oh… you weren’t expecting this kind of beach…
you felt so stupid for not even remembering that ocean beaches existed. you had never seen them before, and you didnt ever plan to. the very thought of the ocean and all the nasty critters it contained terrified you to your very core. sharks, sting rays, but one invertebrate creature seemed to bring a different type of terror to you. jellyfish. you weren’t entirely sure why jellyfish seemed to rock you entirely to your core, but for some reason they just did.
“bokie does the air conditioning go any lower?” you heard a whine from the back seat.
“hyunjinnie i’ve told you it’s as low as it goes. when you get in the water it will be so much better,” felix replied softly, his soft baritoned voice soothing you. only slightly, though.
you were too afraid to admit your uncommon fear to felix, let alone admit it in front of all of his friends and band members. you elected to try to just tough it out. felix seemed to notice your discomfort, and while not understanding why he reached over to gently thumb at your thigh from across the center console of the vehicle. felix kept his eyes trained ahead as he tried to park the car.
“bokie! hyung-minho keeps trying to touch my butt how much longer-“ jisung started to complain.
“children, all of you,” felix tutted with a chuckle, finally clicking the car into park.
their humorous distraction quickly stops, reminding you of your racing heart as you peer out at the beach warily. the three boys in the back seat spill out of the car, rushing to find the other four in the other car, leaving you and felix to grab the beach supplies out of the back.
“love, are you alright..?” felix asked. he spoke so softly, he was always so soft and sweet with you. you looked down with embarrassment as you felt your mouth go dry, not quite finding the words to explain your situation.
“i uh.. l-lixie ive.. n-never been to an ocean before.. i d-didnt realize, i don’t know why-“ you stammered out, looking back up at the taller blonde.
felix’ dyed blonde hair framed his face so beautifully, the afternoon sun making it so shiny. he truly looked like an angel to grace this planet from above, with his almost glittery freckles and warm chocolatey brown eyes. his eyes were furrowed so cutely as he cocked his head and leaned against the back of the vehicle, listening patiently to your attempts to explain.
“i d-don’t like… th-the jellyfish...” you finally croaked out in defeat, looking down as you rubbed your arm with embarrassment.
“aww… i’m sorry bunny, i didnt know..” felix said with genuine apology. god, he was an angel even in the way he acted.
“of course you didn’t lix, i n-never told you. its just not really something that comes up in conversation,” you chuckle dryly, trying to lighten up a little. this didn’t stop your nervous peering out at the shoreline.
“we can set up further back, no jellyfish will get us there,” felix offered sweetly, looking inquisitively out at the shoreline as well.
“no baby i don’t want to make the others stay further back, look at them they look so excited-“ you began to say, and almost as if on cue they seven other men ran off in the direction of the rich aqua waters. with a casual gesture you add, “case in point.”
“i can stand by you the entire time- they’re hardly ever in the water but you don’t have to get in the water if you don’t want to,” felix suggested. after thinking for a moment, you give him a hesitant nod.
with wary steps, you help carry some of the beach stuff with felix.
“hey, hey we can set up here. its not that far back, they don’t even need to know why,” felix says softly, setting down the bag and laying out some of the towels. he wandered his way back to you arms snuggly finding their way around your waist as he tugged you close and cradled you against his firm, toned form.
“it’s alright… take a deep breath… tell me what you’re feeling.. how does the sand feel? good right? and the sun?” felix asked softly, his breath tickling your ear as he did so. you sighed and did as he suggested, knowing he was simply trying to ground and distract you from your anxieties and fears.
well.. yeah, the sand did feel nice. soft, warm, much different from the coarse sands of the riverbanks and lakes that you were more familiar with. the breeze blew softly through your hair, cooling the small droplets of sweat that had begun to collect at the nape of your neck. you felt warm, safe. you couldn’t tell if it was the warm glow of the early spring australian sun, or the warmth of your sweet boyfriend holding you close.
“feels nice…” you mumbled softly against his shoulder. your hand creeped all the way down his toned arm and slotted into his own hand.
“wanna try at least walking down the beach before the boys start shouting for me?” felix asked softly, pulling back only a little to brush some hair out of your face and kiss your forehead lovingly.
“i can try on my own lix, thank you tho. go swim with the rest ill see you guys over here when you decide to take a break,” you say with a smile and reciprocating his kiss with pressing your own to his jawline. felix pecked your lips softly before rubbing your back for a brief moment and making his way to the rest who were certainly about to tease him for being such a sappy boy.
as much as they griped about felix having a new partner, they didn’t ultimately mind. it meant everything to them to see their previous sunshine yongbok so happy.
you’d slowly made your way towards them as well, cautiously walking down the shoreline where they’d been swimming. for the first ten or so minutes, it actually felt nice. the sun felt so nice and warm, admittedly it was nice to be somewhere where you could be out in nature despite your nerves. you subconsciously wondered if the sun would possibly intensify felix’ freckles. as if he couldn’t already get more attractive.
you look over to see the boys all enjoying the water and smile. changbin is wrestling minho down into the water, causing so much splashing. chan kept himself afloat as he watched amusedly. seungmin and jeongin were busy swimming with just their heads afloat, weaving between the other boys and chasing each other. jisung had stayed back a little more, just cheering on the wrestling match that was happening. hyunjin stayed a little more shallow as well, citing not wanting to get his hair wet as felix just pounced on chan to disturb his peace.
it felt like you might have been worrying for nothing. until you had only gotten a few meters further down the shore and the worrying wasn’t worrying for nothing. you stopped dead in your tracks as you noticed a jiggly, translucent blob in front of your feet. you scrambled back in panic, terrified you’d step on a tentacle as you tripped and fell back.
noticing the commotion of you falling over, chan speaks up, “hey felix is (y/n) alright?”
turning his head to look over at the shore, felix’ eyes widened slightly.
“hey give me a second-“ felix said with a slight rush, standing up and wading through the clear waters to make his way back to shore.
“(y/n)? bunny are you okay?” felix calls out to you as he approaches. he quickly crouches down, helping to sit you up. what he didn’t expect was for you to practically throw yourself at him, hugging him tightly as you buried your face in his salty, wet swim shirt. “bunny?”
you can’t even reply as your hyperventilate, your eyes stinging as tears began to prick at the corners of your eyes. he pulled your heaving body up flush against his chest as he shushed you softly. he gave a soft hum in an attempt to soothe you, helping to slowly stand you up.
“i don’t think we can leave yet but we can go lay down by the towels yeah..? far away from all the water nasties..” felix offers to you. after a few moments, you nod slowly. your face was hot with embarrassment as you look down, keeping your face hidden with one hand and holding onto felix’ hand with the other. felix simply caressed the side of your face as the two of you walked back to the towels you’d laid out.
“i’m sorry baby i-“ you begin, only to be cut off with a quick, chaste kiss and a hand through your hair.
“don’t be. i forgot to mention sometimes they wash up on the water here… its okay, we can relax here.” felix smiled as he laid himself down on his side on his towel. the ends of his hair that had gotten wet now clung to the sides of his face and forehead so prettily, providing a decent distraction as you shakily laid down yourself.
“i promise next time we don’t have to come, they can go on their own. you can stay back here too next time if you still want to come,” felix tried to list off ideas.
now it was your turn to shush him and cut him off, “don’t worry lixie, we’ll figure it out. just let me lay here for a bit..”
felix smiled as he cradled your face in his hand. the pad of his thumb dragged across your cheek gently, feeling the heat of your now sun-kissed skin.
“shoulda put sunscreen on,” felix teases as he gives a soft kiss to your forehead.
you didn’t care about the sun, however. you were much more focused on a different sun. your sweet, sunshine lixie.
#skz x reader#felix lee x reader#skz felix lee#stray kids x reader#stray kids felix lee#stray kids yongbok#raeraewrites#lee yongbok#lee felix#felix lee
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30 Days of Music Masterlist
This is a collab with @jareaul0ver / @quinniehughsey
Series description:
This series will be a 30 part series in which a fic is based off of a song! I will link the songs as well as use a lyric from the song in every fic!
Feel free to request any players or songs in the comments or in my inbox!
btw i reached out to experts of one direction, taylor swift, conan gray, country, and r&b to pick the best songs!
Without further a do.... I present my 30 days of music masterlist below the cut!
“If I could fly, I’d be coming right back home to you.” - One Direction
If I could fly- Jamie Drysdale x reader (blurb)
Synopsis: After Jamie got drafted to the Flyers you were both missing the other more than ever. You would have left with him if it weren't for your classes. However, after a late night phone call with Jamie, you drop everything and go to him without a second thought.
"One single thread of gold tied me to you" - Taylor Swift
Invisible String- Luke hughes x reader (blurb)
Synopsis: You and Luke had always been friends, your families lake house being next to his. However the timing was always wrong, that was until you somehow ran into him at a bar in Jersey.
"But with you I see hope again, Oh, I'm a mess." - Clinton Kane
I guess I'm in Love - Matthew Tkachuk x reader (blurb)
Synopsis - Matthew opens up to you how your it for him. You have changed him into a better man he ever thought was imaginable after feeling "unloveable" for so long.
"More in love than you've ever been" - Jordan Davis
Next Thing You know - Quinn Hughes x Reader (insta)
Synopsis: After meeting Quinn at a bar in your 20's you can't believe how fast the time flies.
"This isn't goodbye, this is simply see you later"- Jenna Raine
See You Later (ten years) - Connor Bedard x reader (blurb)
Synopsis: You and Connor were high school sweethearts and always swore to be together forever. However after his draft you both realized maybe forever wasn't now. You had met someone else and were planning on goin threw with the wedding until a surprise visitor stops by a few months before your wedding date.
"Oh, I wanna see you undress now" - Chase Atlantic
Meddle About - Auston Mathews x reader (smut)
Synopsis: You and Auston met awhile ago at a bar, and now your at his place and things are getting a little steamy.
"So baby say you'll always keep me" - One direction
Truly, Madly, Deeply - Trevor Zegras x hughes!reader (blurb)
Synopsis: After years of pining Trevor finally asked you to be his. You couldn't help but say yes.
"Ocean blue eyes, lookin' in mine" - Taylor Swift
Gorgeous - Jack hughes x reader
Synopsis: You can't help but admire how gorgeous Jack is. He catches you looking at him a few times before you finally admit what your thinking.
"I hope I was your favorite crime, cause baby you were mine"- Olivia Rodrigo
Favorite Crime - Trevor Zegras x Reader
Synopsis: You pine over the days that you shared with Trevor, only to wonder if he does the same with you.
"I wanna make you drive all night just because I said 'maybe you should come over" - Phoebe Bridgers
Waiting Room - Jamie Drysdale
Synopsis: After Jamie got traded from the Ducks to the Flyers, all you want is for him to come back home to you, and you'd wait forever for him.
"Loving you's the antidote" - Harry Styles
Golden - Mitch Marner
Synopsis: Your relationship with Mitch healed a part of you that you didn't know was damage - his sunshine personality brought back a light in you that you didn't know went out.
"Save me til the party is over, kiss me in the back seat of your rover" -Conan Gray
Wish You Were Sober - Ethan Edwards
Synopsis: All you've ever wanted was for Ethan to swallow his pride and admit that he has feelings for you, but the only time he can ever seem to do it is when he's wasted.
"Friends don't look at friends that way" - Tate Mcrae
That Way - Jack Hughes x zegras!reader
Synopsis: You and Jack had always been friends, having met him through your older brother. However, you always felt there way more between you the line between friends and lovers blurring.
"The altar is my hips" - Taylor Swift
False God - Luke Hughes
Synopsis: Luke can't help but worship your body. You being the only religion he needs.
"she put her love down soft and sweet" - Hozier
Work Song - William Nylander
Synopsis: Will can't help but appreciate his girl, and how she has him addicted in all the best ways. In a way you were his drug, high addictive, he couldn't get enough.
MORE TO COME
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Better Than a What?
Fic Advent Calendar: Day 1
Advent Calendar Masterlist
Main Masterlist
SFW
Authors Note: Door number 1 is officially open and what a better place to start than with Harry desperately trying to get ahold of something to keep up the tradition. Likes, reblogs and feedback in any form is welcome and always appreciated, my loves x
Word Count: 4.3k
***
“Ray, she’s going to be so sad, I can’t look her in the eye and let her down like this,” Harry stressed to his driver from the back seat of the car as he knuckled sleep from his eyes. It was early, too early for that matter and Harry had just landed back in London after a long and uncomfortable flight back from the U.S. He was supposed to be back a few days ago but a then a storm in the U.K that caused cancelled flights then the mass rebooking of flights caused Harry’s travel itinerary to be thrown up in the air. As the nights passed and the days trickled closer to the 1st of December, flights were getting busier and filling faster as people began to make journeys home and away for the festivities or for some winter sunshine. Harry just wanted to get home. God, he’d bloody missed her and the few unexpected additional days that he didn’t have planned into his countdown to get back to her was driving him a little stir crazy.
“If it’s the Y/N I know, she’ll just be happy to see you, she’ll get over it, Harry,” Ray, his driver, tried to console a stressed-out Harry as his eyes flicked up to see him in the back seat pinching his lower lip while frantically scrolling his phone.
“I jus’ wanted it to be perfect and I’ve already made an arse of it,” Harry muttered as he felt Ray shift down the gears, slowing down to take a right turn into a car park. The car park was, unsurprisingly, empty, given that it was 6:04 A.M on a Thursday morning. Harry looked up at the screen in the car as Ray pulled into a spot near the door, seeing the bold 1st of December date that was haunting him and the temperature that was sat at a frigid -1° Celsius. He unclipped his seatbelt and bolted from the car, pulling his beanie down and the hood of his jacket up to protect him from the bitter wind chill. He had to catch himself as his foot slipped on the edge of a frozen over puddle as he double timed it across the car park, the last thing he needed was to rock up at home not only empty handed but with scraped and bloody palms from an embarrassing fall in a car park. The bright lights were leading him toward the building much like the star to the baby Jesus Harry thought, but he was more hoping his fluorescent guiding star would take him not to a stable but to a cardboard sleeve with 25 perforated doors stamped on the front.
***
‘This year Tesco have created the Christmas Party-’ blared over the PA system as Harry entered the store that opened minutes earlier in haste as he flinched at the loud noise. He paced the aisles looking for their Christmas sweets and bolted down aisle 4 when the first glimpse of a selection box and a Terry’s Chocolate Orange came into view. His eyes flitted over the shelves, but he was in so much of a blind rush he wasn’t really processing any of it. There was a tired looking member of staff filling up the red tartan packages of shortbread just next to him who, fingers crossed, would be his angel Gabriel as he approached them.
“Scuse me, good mornin’, I know this is mental today of all days but, advent calendars?” Harry tailed off his question as the staff member jumped having not seen anyone enter the aisle alongside her.
“Oh, um you’ll be lucky if we do, if you just follow me down here," the colleague wandered further down the long aisle, pausing near the bottom, “looks like just the dairy and gluten free ones and Reese’s left,” they pointed out the products to Harry.
“She’s allergic to nuts,” Harry sighed, stumped as to what to try next, as the staff member gave him a sorrowful smile, “my Missus is going to kill me,” Harry laughed quietly as Sandra, Harry has finally caught site of their name badge, let out a soft breath of laughter hoping to ease Harry’s mind.
“I’m sure she won’t, m’love,” the sweet, older lady pat his arm, “but, between me and you, I’ve heard the corner shop 15 minutes down the road from here are overrun with advent calendars,” she gave him a sly wink and a soft smile.
“Y’absolute diamond,” Harry all but cheered but being the only customer in the shop thought he’d better reign it in. “I’d kiss you, but I can’t, then she’d definitely kill me, thank you s’much,” Harry joked before smiling gratefully before speed walking toward the exit, hoping this time he’ll miss the frozen puddle as he sprinted across the empty lot.
***
He threw himself in the back of the car again, fastening his seatbelt as Ray piped up from the front seat again, “petrol station was a no, that’s Sainsbury’s and Tesco both a bust, where to next boss? I don’t think there’s an Asda round here,” Ray pondered, “and I think Y/N would be more offended with a posh Waitrose one than not getting one at all,” he let out a snort. The version of Y/N that Ray had become acquainted with was a woman of simple pleasures and a 10 quid advent calendar out of Waitrose was certainly not a simple pleasure to her, or at all necessary for that matter and Harry knew he was right. He distinctly remembers them being in a Waitrose two Christmases ago and hearing her mutter something along the lines of, “fucking Tory chocolate, imagine making an upper-class advent calendar, what’s wrong with the one quid Cadbury’s one?”
“Corner shop,” Harry gasped out catching his breath, he had actually sprinted across the car park the second he exited the shop and yes for your information, he did miss slipping on the puddle this time. “The corner shop closest to the house, f’you don’t mind Ray,” Harry directed, feeling a bit more confident, this little hole in the wall shop near their house has everything and little, old Ernie who ran it, has yet to let them down.
***
Harry was back out the car and entering the minuscule shop 15 minutes later, the bell over the door twinkling as the door passed over it. The shop was warm, it always was, Ernie had two plug-in, oil-filled radiators burning in that shop year-round. He had decorated for the holiday season, bits of tinsel taped round the bottoms of the shelves and some foil decorations straight from the 80s hanging from the ceiling. Ernie peering up from behind the glass cabinet he kept the pick’n’mix sweets in, his ancient cash register sat atop it that he refused to replace because “if it isn’t broken don’t fix it,” he reassured. He was clad, as always, in his brown overcoat, reminiscent of an old greengrocer’s, his thick-rimmed glasses with lenses even thicker so they made his eyes appear bigger than they were and of course, his signature tweed flat cap.
“Mr Styles,” the elderly gentleman proclaimed, his weathered hands clapping together as he spotted Harry entering the shop. “Long time no see, been away again, m’boy?” Ernie adored Harry as if he was one of his own, his oldest grandchild was a similar age to Harry and since they lived so far away as soon as Harry started appearing in Ernie’s shop, when he moved into the area when he was 18, Ernie had all but taken Harry under his wing and would always be a kind face to Harry if he needed it.
“Ern! It’s Harry and you know it,” Harry gave him a faux glare before propping himself up on the glass cabinet in front of Ernie. “Yep, jus’ back and how lucky are you that you are the first face I’ve seen,” Harry bat his eyelashes with a bright smile on his face before pinching a sour cherry sweet from the pick’n’mix tubs Ernie was stocking up for the day ahead.
“Not even that lovely girlfriend of yours?” Ernie asked, swatting Harry’s hand away from the sweets. “She’s popped in every day since you’ve been gone, you’re punching well above your weight with Miss Y/N, lad,” Ernie jested.
“And since when did Miss Y/N become y’favourite?” Harry gulped down the sour candy.
“She’s everyone’s favourite, is she not?” Ernie shrugged.
“I’ll jus’ send your Christmas present back then, will I?” Harry quirked an eyebrow up before relenting, “I suppose I can’t argue with that one, speaking of Y/N, she’s the reason I’m seeing your face before hers this cold and frosty morning,” Harry smiled sheepishly.
“Knew it, what do you need, Harry m’boy?”
“I need to get her an advent calendar,” he said shyly, “I know, I know it’s the 1st today and I’d usually have it by now, but I’ve been away and everywhere is already sold out,” Harry quickly justified, “and a little birdy told me you were the man to save me from the guilt of causing Y/N’s sad face.”
“I did have a lot left yesterday morning, but they flew out the door all afternoon and last night,” Ernie started, as Harry’s shoulders dropped, what the hell was he going to do.
“S’alright Ernie, I’ll figure something out,” he said sadly, mentally preparing to try every shop in the vicinity before going home to her.
“Here you, you didn’t let me finish,” Ern snapped Harry out his daze of trying to work out the closest shop to try next, knowing he was going to have to organise getting Ray paid overtime or some form of bonus for putting up with this, this morning. Harry quickly looked up at Ernie, seeing a glint of playfulness in the old man’s eye. “I was going to say, they were flying off the shelves all day yesterday and was down to my last few when I realised, I hadn’t seen you around,” Ernie turned his back on Harry and shuffled into the back room that was hidden away behind a beaded curtain that rattled and clicked as the beads bounced off each other when you passed through it. “An I jus’ thought to m’self, I bet young Styles will come calling at one point,” he called through from the back room, “so here we are,” Ernie came back with two distinctive purple rectangles that housed a Cadbury’s advent calendar in each. There it was, Harry’s version of baby Jesus, wrapped in carboard, and the corner shop was his stable. Did that make Ernie the virgin Mary then? Wait not important right now.
“Ernie, y’bloody… y’bloody angel,” Harry’s eyes lit up as Ernie shuffled back up to his place behind the till.
“What can I say? We aim to please,” Ernie was bashful at Harry’s compliment as Ernie tried to hand over the two advent calendars.
“Jus’ the one, Ern, keep that one for yourself, how much do I owe you?” Harry fished through his pocket for his wallet.
“M’wife’s had our advent calendars in the house since mid-November, she’s organised,” Ernie said pointedly.
“Oi,” Harry objected.
“Yeah, yeah, you’ve been away working. Keep it though, it’s yours,” Ernie smiled shoving the two calendars into Harry’s grip.
“M’trying to lay off sweets,” Harry let out, still in disbelief he managed to get his hands on them.
“Harry, you’ve stood there and ate a 10 pence mix-up worth of sour cherries since you’ve been in here,” Ernie and Harry looked down at the tub the offending candy lay in, and sure enough there was a dent in the pile shaped like Harry’s fingers. Oops.
“Well, how much do I owe you?” Harry asked again.
“Nope, a Christmas present for my two favourite customers,” Ernie shoved his hands in his pockets so he couldn’t accept any cash off the young man.
“Oh, give over, Ern, how muc-” Harry was cut off.
“No, Harry, now I’m going in that back room until you leave, I don’t want your money, jus’ don’t make my Y/N sad, alrigh’?” Ernie began his scuffle back into his back room.
“Your Y/N?” Harry called after him.
“Yeah, my Y/N, now get home to her before she wakes up without you,” Ernie stuck his head back out the beaded curtain to tell Harry off quickly before disappearing again. Harry hummed a quiet laugh, gripping onto the advent calendars under his arm.
“I’ll be back with your Christmas present at one point, Ern,” Harry called into the empty shop as he made his exit, knowing Ernie was listening for the twinkling bell that announced Harry’s leave, sounding out into the warm shop that was now, officially, sold out of advent calendars. Much to Ernie’s dismay, Harry had stuck a £10 note under the corner of one of the pick’n’mix tubs, that should cover the advent calendars. And the sour cherries.
***
It was 6.30am now, and Ray had just dropped Harry off at the house, sliding his key quietly in the lock as to not disturb the serene quiet that was cast over the house in the early morning. It was still dark out, and Y/N was expecting him back today so had left the porch light and the ceiling light of their entryway on for his return. Harry slipped inside the house leaving his bags by the door, he’ll deal with them in a while, after some time spent with his love. He kept the precious cargo of the advent calendars in his clutches. As he stood, he heard the rhythm of clip-clopping feet across the floors. Or should he say, the rhythmic clip-clopping of paws round the corner to greet him at speed.
“Hi Vince, m’boy,” Harry reached down, after depositing the advent calendars on their entry table, cooing softly before giving the golden retriever plenty of scratches behind his ear where he liked it, all while Vince tried to lick at whatever patch of Harry he could reach. All while his furry bum wiggled in excitement. Harry got down onto his knees to hug the dog closer to him, “you’re getting chunky, mummy’s been feeding you extra good since I’ve been gone again, eh?” Harry squeezed as Vince’s sides, there was definitely an extra layer of squish there that wasn’t before he left, if Y/N heard him commenting in it, he’d for sure get a row saying he was fat-shaming the dog and, ‘he’s just fluffy, Harry, leave him alone, look you’ve upset him now,’ when Vince was most definitely not upset as he basked in the extra attention from his parents.
“I think me n’you will be going for a run tomorrow morning, hmm?” Harry clutched Vince’s head behind his floppy ears as Vince began to grumble, the tell-tale noise he always made before barking. “Hey, hey, hey, Vincent,” Harry chastised, using the dog’s Sunday name, the golden retriever named after Y/N’s favourite painter. “No barking, you’ll wake Mum and I’m trying m’best to stay on her good side, yeah? Back to bed for a little while mate, an’ I’ll make you scrambled egg for your breakfast.” Vince seemed happy enough with that, nuzzled into Harry’s head for a second before giving him a sly lick along his cheek before trotting back to his bed in the living room. Harry got back to his feet, finally shedding his jacket, and kicking his shoes from his feet, the shoes left in a heap by the door and the jacket bundled into a ball on the entry table where he swapped it out for the advent calendars.
He crept quietly upstairs, hoping his entrance and early morning meeting with Vince hadn’t disturbed his sleeping girlfriend. Along the hall, he saw the door to their bedroom opened a crack, just enough for Vince to push open if he wanted to come up for a cuddle, or more likely, Y/N called for the dog to come up because she wanted a cuddle. Harry pushed the door open softly, the hinge of the door giving the faintest squeak as it gave way. What a site, there she was. His Y/N cocooned in duvet, blankets, and pillows, lying on her stomach, head turned to the side, her face was pressed into what was usually Harry’s pillow, hair in some sort of pile on top of her head, curled tendrils and frizzy wisps of hair escaping it and framing her beautifully squished face. She was out for the count, as Harry smiled at her sleepy form. His feet carried him across to their bed in a daze, as he sat on the edge of the bed, his free hand coming up to rub the furrow from her brow and hold her face in the palm of his hand, the difference in temperature between her skin and Harry’s hand stirring her from her deep sleep, her hand coming up to slap whatever was disturbing her off her face only to be met with the back of Harry’s hand as she gripped it quickly.
Squinting one eye open, “Har?” she croaked out, keeping her hand on top of his as his thumb brushed the high point of her cheek.
“Mhm, good mornin, love,” he smiled down at her.
“You’re back,” she sighed, her hand removing his from her face, tangling their fingers together, “you’re cold,” she stated.
“S’minus 1 outside,” he confirmed as Y/N pouted before wriggling backwards in their bed and opening the duvet to him, eyes still partially scrunched closed.
“In please, don’t like you cold,” patting blindly on the space in bed next to her she wanted him to crawl into.
Harry left the advent calendars on the bedside table before laying down with her as she flopped the duvet back over the pair of them as Harry brought her over to cuddle up to him, her eyes fluttering closed as her face found the crook of his neck. “Thought you always liked me, hm?” he teased lightly, thrilled to have her back in his arms.
“I do, I love you all the time, but I don’t like you being cold,” she explained, lips pushing against his neck in a kiss, he’d lay one on her good and proper when she came round from being asleep a bit more. “Fligh-,” she cut herself off with a yawn, “flight good?” she asked.
“Was as good as it can be for a 10-hour flight, slept a tonne,” Harry’s hand ran laps up and down her back as her own hand found purchase on Harry’s midsection, nails scratching his stomach over his clothes.
She hummed in response, letting a silence fall over the pair, if you listened closely, you could hear Vince padding around downstairs, playing with one of his toys, clearly not loving the idea of going back to bed when he had the promise of scrambled eggs for breakfast on the brain but leaving his parents to it, he’d get his food when they came down. “What did y’put on the bedside table?” she questioned after remembering hearing him set something down.
“Ah yes,” Harry reached over grabbing the offending objects that just looked like two purple blobs to Y/N without her glasses or contact lenses as she reached blindly behind her for the frames on her own bedside table before popping them on her face and blinking herself awake. “Oh, there she is,” Harry smiled fondly at her, finally seeing her eyes wide open, looking more herself now.
“You remembered,” Y/N pouted as Harry handed over her advent calendar as he put his own back on the table. The tradition had started when Y/N had first moved out of her parents into a place of her own, her and Harry were relatively new at that point and didn’t expect anything when she told him.
“D’you know what she said to me, she goes, ‘your too old for me to be buying your advent calendar now, Y/N, plus you live 4 hours away from us, what do you want me to do? Pop by after the food shop?’ my own bloody mother. I bet you any money she buys my brother one because he only lives a few streets over.”
So, Harry showed up at her front door, early, on the 1st of December that year with a Cadbury’s advent calendar he had paid a quid for (thank you very much Tesco Clubcard for the money off) and so began the tradition of getting Y/N’s advent calendar for her every year.
“’Course I remembered, had that organised for ages for me coming back, m’heart,” Harry lied through his teeth while acting as nonchalant as possible.
“You went and got it this morning, didn’t you?” Y/N saw right through him every damn time.
“Landed an hour earlier than I told you I would, had to go to four shops,” he smiled sheepishly.
“Knew it, liar,” she lay the calendar on the duvet before she pinched his side and kissing him on the cheek.
“Ernie saved my arse in the end,” Harry admitted.
“Good ol’ Ernie, eh? H, y’know I wouldn’t have really been angry if you didn’t get me an advent calendar, right? Would’ve played it up a bit obviously because God knows I like the attention, but I never would’ve actually been upset with you, I’m not that much of a cow,” she said seriously.
“No, no I know, but it’s tradition now innit, I would’ve been way more upset with m’self if I didn’t manage to get it, so get it opened, sweetness,” he pushed the calendar back into her grip.
“Open yours too then, Ernie must have had loads left if you got yourself one too,” she waited for Harry to grab his.
“No actually, last two left, tried to tell him to keep it for himself but he insisted, told me he had his already,” they both searched their calendars for the elusive number 1.
“Oh, yeah his wife told me she sorted the two of them with calendars weeks ago... fuck me, have you found it yet?” Y/N complained, thinking she had found it in the middle but was disappointed when she saw it was door 11 instead.
“Oh! There it is, bottom right next to the 17, how do you know Ernie’s wife?” Harry looked at her incredulously before having to point out door number 1 when Y/N still couldn’t find it.
“Ernie’s wife?” Y/N dug her thumb into the perforated cardboard to pop the door open. “Oh, Sandra, yeah, she works in the-”
“Tesco down the road,” they said at the same time.
“How do you know that?” Y/N questioned him as she tore open the foil covering of the chocolate hidden below.
“Long story,” Harry laughed before popping his own chocolate out and laying it flat on his hand, “c’mon then, what did y’get?”
“Little chocolate stocking? Is that meant to be a stocking or is it a sleigh?” she squinted at the sweet as Harry peered over at her hand and was just as stumped.
“M’sure it’ll taste the same either way. I’ve got a much more distinguishable snowman,” he held up the chocolate in her before tossing it in his open mouth as Y/N did the same. “Jesus,” he moaned, “you forget how good that Cadbury’s chocolate is.”
“Mhmm,” Y/N moaned letting it melt on her tongue, “that’s better than an orgasm.”
“Oi, get all the way to fuck with that one,” Harry laughed, taking the two advent calendars, and returning them to the bedside table before rolling over to hover over the top of Y/N. “’Better than an orgasm’ my bloody arse, it is,” he tickled her sides as she shrieked in laughter trying to kick free of the duvet and blankets, she was bundled in and out of Harry’s grasp.
“I’m kidding, I’m kidding!!” Y/N squealed trying to grip Harry’s hands to get them away from her body.
He relented as she gasped for air, “that’s what I thought, pretty girl, now gimme a kiss, I’m long overdue,” as Harry sank some of his bodyweight against her, holding himself up by his forearms as Y/N strained her neck up to meet his lips with her own. Their lips moving together in synchronicity, Harry sucked gently on her bottom lip before his tongue met hers briefly before they broke away with a short peck. “Mm tastes like dairy milk,” Harry laughed, swiping his thumb over her bottom lip removing the remnants of their kiss and a little chocolate.
“I mean it is sometimes better than an orgasm,” Y/N said bravely before she leapt from their bed before Harry could catch her.
“That’s it, lovie,” Harry said chasing after her round their bedroom. They heard Vince start barking from downstairs once he overheard all the hilarity and as Y/N began to make haste for the bedroom door to go appease Vince, Harry caught her from behind, wrapping his arms around her middle. “I promised I’d make him scrambled eggs for breakfast, but the second we’re done, me n’you are coming straight back up here and I’ll show you how much better an orgasm can be, yeah?” Harry pressed as a kiss to her cheek as he slipped past her out their bedroom, calling out to Vince that he was coming and if he didn’t hush up the eggs were out of the question. Y/N stood trying to catch her breath, noticing that Harry had taken their advent calendars with him to sit on top of their mantlepiece for the next 24 days.
***
Advent Calendar Masterlist
Full Masterlist
#harry styles writing#harry styles fic#harry styles imagine#harry styles fluff#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles fanfic#harry styles x y/n#harry styles x reader#harry styles x fem!reader#harry styles x you#Harry styles one shot#Harry imagine#Harry styles#harry styles oneshot#one direction fanfiction#one direction#harry styles christmas#twostepstyless advent calendar
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Ooo could i request: reader doing makeup for the ghouls/ghoulettes (your choice) despite having NO makeup skills whatsoever? I thought it might be funny. Have a nice day! 🫶🏻
Practice Makes Perfect
Nameless Ghoulettes (+Swiss) x GN! Reader
Warnings: none!
Word Count: 600
Note: thank you for this cute and fun request! this was so much fun for me to write! I also know nothing about makeup lol. I hope you enjoy anon!
Sorry for the wait I had finals and then I got the flu so it’s been an eventful 2 weeks lol
Please enjoy and much love <3
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You don't really know how you got in the situation of makeovers but you were having a sleepover with the ghoulettes. Cumulus was begging you to do her makeup.
“Oh, please (Y/N)!” She looked at you with her big beady eyes.
“Cumulus,” You looked away nervously, she knew you could never say no to her even though you have absolutely no makeup skills. Like at all. You sigh, “Fine. Don't say I didn't warn you.”
Sunshine beamed, “I’ll get our makeup box!”
Your eyes widen, “Box?”
Cirrus nods excitedly.
Sunshine came back with the box a little too quickly. The four of you are sitting in the living room area downstairs in the abbey, where the ghouls lived. The fireplace lit up most of the room as music played from some channel on the tv.
You were nervous. You never really did anyone’s make up before. You barely did your own. You look at makeup in the box, wondering what to use first. There were so many products in there. You didn’t even know what half of these things were.
Cumulus sits patiently watching you. Grabbing a brush and an eyeshadow pallet, you move close to her. You take a pink shade and gently apply it to her closed eyes. You could tell she was excited, the ghoulette was practically purring beneath your hand. It made you smile. You knew the ghoulettes never experienced sleepovers with anyone other than each other so it was an exciting time.
“What’s going on here?”
You were too focused on eyeliner to see who it was. It didn’t help that your hand was shaking trying not to poke the poor ghoulette in the eye.
“(Y/N) is doing Cumulus’s makeup and I’m painting Cirrus’s nails.” Sunshine paused to fix a nail and to answer Swiss.
The ghoul takes a seat on the couch watching you struggle. You study Cumulus’s face. You try not to wince at your eyeliner job. The wings were uneven and sloppy. It looks better from far away. If you’re mostly blind.
You choose a bright pink lipstick as you see the ghoulette’s eyes light up at the color. You begin to apply it to her lips but try not to laugh as you feel Swiss staring.
“Do you want me to do your makeup, Swiss?” You joked.
He rolls his eyes at you, “Pfft. No.”
You finish applying the lipstick and wipe a smudge you had accidentally made. Moving back, you stare at the work you did. You were really trying not to make a face. You supposed it could be a lot worse as it didn’t completely look like a five year old did it.
“I hope it’s okay. I don’t really know what I was doing,” you begin to ramble as you hand a mirror to Cumulus.
Anxiety fills you as you watch her stare at herself.
A big grin grows across the ghoulette’s face, “I love it!”
She tackles you into a hug repeating ‘thank you’ over and over.
Relief washes over you and a laugh erupts as you hug her back.
“I’m next!” Swiss slides off the couch and sits in front of you with a big smile on his face.
Sunshine whines, “I wanted to be next, Swiss.”
He sticks his tongue out in response.
You let out a laugh before grabbing the eyeshadow before getting close to him. You hear his tail tapping the floor in excitement.
Swiss can’t sit still for too long and you were fine with him occasionally moving. Except when he happened to pinch your waist when you were trying to do his eyeliner.
“Swiss, I swear to Satan next time it’s your eye.”
He chuckles at you which causes you to mess up the other eye. You sigh.
Maybe you could do makeup at each sleepover. Practice makes perfect. Right?
#ghost band#ghost#I heart my girls#sunshine ghoulette#cumulus ghoulette#cirrus ghoulette#aether ghoul#ghost the band#sodo ghoul#swiss ghoul#dewdrop ghoul#papa emeritus iv#rain ghoul#mountain ghoul#nameless ghoul#nameless ghoulettes#ghoulettes x reader
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The Heathen and the Christian
Ivar the boneless x reader ( OC)
Word count: 3401
SUMMARY:When a young anglo-saxon meets Ivar in the woods, she thinks he is a nice innocent boy, only to be shocked when she finds out who he REALLY is and what he is capable of.
A/N:This is my 2nd time writing with Vikings. I hope yall like it. I am also apologizing for (possible) mistranslations of irish and icelandic. I might do a part two to this series cuz i like how its going. Also not readproof
1-Oh Cernunnos god of the forest bless me and guide me.
2- WAIT
3-That one is mine
4- Do that again and you`re dead
Wandering the woods at this time of the year, gave any passer-by a spectacular and magical scenery. The rays of sunshine were breaking through the branches, illuminating the forest in the most wonderful ways. Summer was without a doubt the best time of the year. The weather was finally favorable for farmers, crops were flourishing and nature was thriving. But there was a downside to it. This season naturally brought along raiding parties coming from the north, with the intention of pillaging and eradicating every village in sight of any gold or treasure.
Villagers were adivsed to be extremely wary of their surroundings, and in case of any suspicious sighting to report to the guards.
Walking out of the small one-room cottage, Frigyth took her woven basket, hanging it on her left arm and took steady steps towards the neighboring woods that surrounded her village. She was a young maiden, '' ready to be married'' according to her parents, who took her tasks very lightly. She came from a typical peasant family, with three other sisters and one brother. She was at that age where she cared more about enjoying life than actually being helpful around the house.
She begged her mother days in a row to let her go harvest some berries from the woods, seeing as that was her only opportunity to explore nature and relax a tad bit. She took her already forming path that led her into a meadow, hidden from view by some on-growing bushes. She found a larger boulder, and took a seat in a dent, placing her basket next to her. She had plenty of time to finish her task, she thought, so for now she could enjoy a little bit of warmth.
Clasping her hands in a prayer-way, she took a glance around her, making sure she was alone, and started chanting an old prayer she used to hear as a child from her grandmother.
Ó Cernunnos Dia na foraoise
beannaigh dom agus treoraigh
mé tríd an bhforaois...
From a small distance, the prayer spoken by the girl was heard by a trespasser, that was lurking around in the woods seeking some alone time. Instead, the stranger took a detour and followed the voice, leading him into the hidden meadow. upon his arrival, he analyzed the young lady up closely, noticing how she had her eyes closed, and was in a vulnerable state. It would`ve been very easy for the young Viking leader to take his dagger out and kill her on the spot, which was what he should be doing, otherwise he risked getting noticed by the saxon girl, who in return would alert the whole village of the presence of Vikings.
Or perhaps he could kidnap her, get any valuable information out of her and THEN kill her. That seemed like a better idea.
The warrior got lost in his thoughts for a few moments that only when he heard the girl gasp did he snap back to the current situation he was in. The young woman that was not so long ago sat in a peaceful position was now standing up, grabbing her basket in front of her, as if she thought it would protect her from the unknown boy. You did not need to be a schooled noble to notice that the stranger`s attire was different from the regular anglo-saxon clothing, and the weapons well secured around the belt hugging his waist were a big tell-tale sign that she had just ran face to face with a Viking.
Frigyth was not sure what she could possibly do to escape this situation. If she ran, would she meet other Vikings? Or perhaps if she yelled for help, the barbarians would much faster come in to the aid of the mysterious boy and do her in. Her mind along with her heart were racing, blood pulsing through her whole body, as if it was preparing for whatever would happen next. Feeling a giddy feeling in her stomach, she spotted her way out, then she got into a running position, one leg in front of the other, slightly leaning on it and being ready to sprint at any given time.
The Viking however, seemed too lost in his tracks to think of what he should do to her. He was observing her. Long, curly hair, with a vibrant color that glimmered in the sun. He felt sort of... entranced by her?
Before he let her go, he wolf whistled at her, gaining her attention. '' I am Ivar.'' He spoke in a very thick anglo-saxon accent. Frigyth did a double-take, not being sure she actually heard him speaking in HER language. While on the outside she remained frozen, her mind was filled with multiple questions. Probably because she has never heard foreigners speak her language- or because she has never faced a norman before.
'' What is your name?'' Asked the Viking in an iritated tone. The young girl was not sure it was a good idea to tell divulge her full identity. But realizing she had no other choice, she defeteadly answered.
'' Frigyth.'' It was a simple and short answer, for which she hoped it would suffice. But by the looks on the warrior, he smirked slowly at her, watching with predator eyes as she was shifting uncomfortably her weight from one foot to the other.
'' What was that prayer you were saying earlier? It did not sound like your language.'' The maiden`s heart started beating at an alarming rate. Deep down she knew, that the prayer she was chanting earlier was considered heresy and it was forbidden among the christians. But it`s not like him, a Viking, would go and tell on her to a guard. After all, weren`t they pagans as well?
'' It`s an ancient language. I was praying to Cernunnos, the god of the forest, fertility. I- It`s forbidden to pray to any other god other than the One True God. But my grandmother used to tell me that the old Gods never left and are ever present.'' She finished, admitting what has been laying in her heart for many years, sighing in happiness when she mentioned her grandmother.
To say Ivar was shocked at the newfound information was an understatement. In all his life, he had never encountered a christian praying to a different deity. He was getting more and more intrigued by the girl, and the logical part of his brain that was constantly nudging him to kill her was shutting down completely.
The young leader-who had previously found a good sitting spot on the grass- nudged his head towards the empty place next to him, indicating to her to take a seat. With careful, calculated steps, she approached him, leaving a few centimetres between them, just in case he was going to strangle her, or who knows what else.
'' So... tell me...'' He trailed off, in hopes that the girl would tell him something about herself.
With frowning brows, she kept silent, waiting for him to continue with a question. Ivar rolled his eyes, and asked her about her family.
'' We`re but a family humble peasants .'' The Viking could tell she loved cutting straight to the chase, not giving out any other detail unless asked.
Gaining all the courage she could muster, she turned slightly towards him, asking the dreaded question.
'' Where did you come from?''
Raising his eyebrows, Ivar chuckled darkly, shaking his head softly.
'' I don`t think you want to know.'' He admitted cynically.
'' Will that get me in trouble?'' She asked shyly.
'' You could say that.'' Smiling softly, Frigyth directioned her eyes to the ground, trying to ignore the burning stares of the curious Viking whose hand was slowly reaching up to her face, pausing for a second and taking a hold of a piece of her hair, and twirling it around his finger -almost lovingly so- which made her flinch for a second, before relaxing back and letting him play with strands of her hair.
The atmosphere between the two was peaceful, even though there was silence, but it was a welcoming one, in which neither felt the need to interrupt it. It was as if an unspoken rule was set. Both simply wanted to sit down and get lost between the thousands of trees and take a break from their societal obligations. Ivar leaned back on his elbows, straightening his legs in front of him, to give them a stretch, which gave the girl a full view of his crippled legs. She widened her eyes in surprise, but quickly gained her composure when she noticed Ivar clenching his jaw in anger, averting her eyes elsewhere.
It felt like they were there for an hour or two, when Frigyth sighed sadly and stood up, clenching the handle of the backet in her left fist and started taking small steps towards the hidden entrance marked by two bushes with a beaten track in between them. Ivar frowned, his eyes following her figure sharply, similar to a wolf following his prey.
'' I should go.'' Looking at her feet, she was swinging the basket slowly in her hand, as if waiting for the boy to stop her from going, although, deep down, she knew she was running behind with her tasks and she was bound to return home eventually, and her mother would not be happy if she came back empty handed.
Ivar nodded stoically, breaking his eyes from the girl and with a loud groan, he rolled onto his back, and began crawling towards the girl, ignoring her stares of bewilderment at his methods of traveling.
'' I should probably go too.'' He responded and begudgingly so.
'' It was nice meeting you.'' Frigyth complimented, with a small voice.
'' We will meet again, christian.'' He winked at her, which caused the maiden to let out a nervous laugh, having no idea what he could have possibly meant by that, and on that note, they both departed their own ways.
Upon her arrival back home, she was welcome by her worried mother, who seemed to have a look of concern mixed with irritation displaying across her face.
'' Where have you been?! It`s almost dark outside. And what is this? This is all you gathered in all this time you were gone?!'' She pointed at her basket, which was barely filled with any berries.
Frigyth shrugged off the hand her mother had placed on her shoulder, sprinting inside the cottage. The one-room hut was warm and all her family was gathered round at the table, chatting lively amongst eachother. Her presence was sensed by her father, and one by one her siblings all paused mid-conversation, to look at the newcomer. Her father smiled warmly at her, motioning with his hand to take a seat next to him.
'' We were wondering when you would come back Frig. Your mother was worrying terribly.'' He laughed, patting her back twice.
'' And I had all the reasons to. You know what they tell us, the priests. The woods are no longer safe.'' Her mother huffed angrily, stepping into the cottage and slamming the door shut, checking the small window incorporated in it for any intruders that might be lurking outside their homes. She took her seat, next to her husband and continued eating her freshly cooked pottage.
Frigyth`s father let out a breath of air, rubbing his face with his face. The rebel daughter rolled her eyes, pretending to be oblivious to what her mother was saying. Should she tell anyone that today she has met and spoken to a possible Viking? If she did, then she would reveal to everyone that she had been slacking rather than actually gathering food for the family, and she risked losing the task she was given, and probably forced to return to her old duties, which were mostly around the cottage. So she took the smarted option, and never mentioned the encounter with the stranger.
'' I know. Aelflead and the other blacksmiths think that we are to prepare for an attack.'' The father confessed sadly.
'' What makes you think that, dad?'' The youngest sibling asked, with her curious natured eyes.
'' Because sweetie, we have been ordered by the king to forge as many swords and shields as fast as we can manage. But when we tried asking the guards why, he refused to tell us. They were all acting suspicious.'' He shrugged, ripping a piece of the wholemeal bread and dipping it in the stew.
Frigyth was starting to get nervous. What if they are about to be attacked? But again, Ivar did not look dangerous. Evenmore, he was crippled. Surely that meant he was maybe thrown out of his tribe and forced to die alone. And even if she decided to tell her family about her encounter, in what way would that help them escape the fury of a Viking raid?
The contact she had with the mysterious boy was what kept her awake most of the night, and by the time her body was exhausted and allowed her to fall asleep, the rooster was already crowing, alerting the family that it was dawn and that meant time to go back to work. However, something felt odd. While Frigyth`s family members were grumbingly getting out of bed, the young maiden heard screams and clanks of swords outside. When realization hit her, she alerted her family to be silent for a second in order for them to pay attention to what might have been going outside.
''Haeddi, take the girls and hide in the barn. Wilfred and I are going outside to see what is happening.'' The father instructed his wife. ''Here, grab this.'' He threw a newly forged seax to his son, and he took an old rusty looking blade for himself, gesturing with his head towards the door. '' Let`s go.'' With one solemn look, Frigyth`s father glanced at his girls, holding a strong and loving eye contact with his wife, silently reassuring her that everything was going to be all right.
When the girls were left alone, Haeddi looked at her daughters, trying to contain the tears threatening to spill from her eyes. '' We`re going outside. Stick close to each other. Once we reach the barn, find a hiding spot. Underneath the hay, behind it. I don`t` know. But do it as fast as you can. We don`t know what awaits us out there.'' The four girls looked at her mother, nodding shakily and following closely behind her towards the door. The mother was counting with her fingers how many seconds they had left before she would open the door and the chaos would start. Frigyth could hear the faint screams of terror coming from the villagers and once the door was open and they started running, everything went in slow motion. The action outside became more vivid. The shrieks and cries of pain were amplified and all of those made the girls run faster than they had ever done so in their entire lives.
Once they safely reached the barn, her mother grabbed the youngest offspring and she chucked them both behind some haystacks. The other two sisters went off climbing on a ladder and finding a safe space to bury in.
Frigyth was looking around, trying to find the first hidin place and duck under it, but to her terror, she was forcefully grabbed by her arm by a very muscular man, that looked like he could eat her alive. She gulped, eyes wide open and heart drumming against her chest, almost as if it was ready to jump out of her chest. He gave her an animalistic smile, that sent shivers down to her spine. Her sisters and mom were watching terrified from the hiding spots how poor Frigyth was going to get killed...or worse.
With an unmatchable force, he turned her around with her back facing him, and raising his axe and readied himself to cut her thin linen dress open, ignoring her pleas and screams to stop, but a powerful voice made him pause mid-action.
''BÍÐA!'' Both the cruel man and Frigyth turned their heads to look at whoever just stopped the brutal Viking. The girl couln`t believe her eyes. Sitting in a single seated strange looking carriage pulled by a beautiful white stallion, sat the very guy that around this time the other day she was enjoying her time with in the meadow.
''ÞESSI ER MINN!!'' Ivar approached the enormous barbarian and pulled him away from his victim by his hair, holding his dagger against his throat.
''Gerðu þetta aftur og þú ert dauður!!'' He spat with venom, letting go of him. When he looked at the shaken lady, he softened his eyes, offering a friendly hand for her to take. She shakily shook her head no, losing any trust she had in him.
Seeing how reluctant she was, Ivar huffed annoyed. '' If you come with me, you`ll be safe.'' He promised. She glanced back at her mother and sisters-who were terrifyingly and confusingly observing the interaction between the two-, looking back and forth between them and him. He instantly put two and two together, and rolled his eyes playfully. '' They will not be harmed IF... you come with me.''
But before she had any chance to speak, her father and brother came rushing to her aid. Wilfred, her brother, seemed unharmed, except for a few cuts here and there and some blood staining his blade, but her father seemed to have a pretty deep cut on his side, that was bleeding alarmingly.
'' STAY AWAY FROM MY DAUGHTER!'' Her father yelled, pointing his old and chipped sword at the Viking.
Ivar mockingly raised both his arms in surrender, faking a terrified expression. After a few moments, he then grabbed his trusty dagger, swirling it smoothly around his finger and pointing behind him at the army that was currently ravaging the village.
''See that? I am the leader of all of them. I can order them to stop anytime if I want to. That is why I am asking YOU again.'' He pointed his dagger in Frigyth`s direction. '' Are.You.Coming.With.Me?'' He asked slowly, putting an emphasis on each word, to ensure he was being understood.
The curly haired girl looked with saddening eyes at her dad, who was still clutching his sword with all his being, as if believing THAT could actually help her, then at her brother, who was copying his father`s movements, but with less confidence and then at her mother and sisters, who were all shaking their heads no and crying silently, not knowing what the outcome of this woul be.
There was no backing out of this. She had two simple but impactful choices. She either went with him, probably ending up a slave, but at least her family was safe, or so she hoped. Or she could refuse, and get killed by the previous Viking.
With determined steps, she approached Ivar, making him smirk in victory. Her father yelled at her angrily to get back there behind him, but she was already climbing Ivar`s carriage. The young ruler grabbed her hand softly, guiding her to sit on his knees, that she now got to observe, were covered in some sort of metallic braces.
Once she took her seat in his lap, he stroked her hair with one hand, while whispering in her ear. ''Good girl.'' She sat frozen in his lap, letting him wrap a strong arm around her waist to keep her steady.
She took a one last glance at her family, waving sadly at them and struggling to keep her composure.
'' They will be safe, right?! You promised!'' She asked desperately, glacing back at her house, which was now growing to be more and more far away.
'' On my arm ring.'' He pledged, placing his palm over his bracelet for a moment, showing her that he was serious about his oath. Grabbing with one arm the reins and with the other gripping her tightly against him, he yelled something in Old-Norse to the other men, fleeing the village afterwards towards an unknown location to the girl, from where a new life was about to start for her. She could only hope it was going to be good.
#vikings#ivar lothbrok#ivar#ivar the boneless#ivar x reader#ivar x you#ivar x oc#ivar the boneless x reader#ivar the boneless x oc#fluff#possessive#dark ages
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