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#his ice cream melted so he turned to alcohol

fueledbysano · 9 months

Text

𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐁𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍

who did you get? ♡

♱ ft. Mikey, Sanzu, Kakucho, Ran, Rindou

♱ content/warnings: slight nsfw, pure teasing, alcohol consumption, mentions of smokimg, public display of affection, high sexual tension.

♱ a/n: I had Koko and Takeomi too but then I wanted to add Shin and Waka so ig I'll do that for another post

The night was dark and cold, and the air was filled with the pungent smell of cigars and whiskey. Bonten had gathered in one of their club penthouse properties for a night of celebration, the sound of laughter and clinking glasses spilling out into the night.

Everyone was particularly in a good mood, including their leader, who was in his element, surrounded by his friends and underlings. He had worked long and hard to build his criminal empire, and now he could finally kick back and relax, secure in the knowledge that he had everything running smoothly.

As the night wore on, and the alcohol continued to flow. They told jokes and stories that they would never admit to in the daylight, and they laughed at each other's misfortunes. It was a rare moment of vulnerability for these hard-nosed executives, and they were all grateful to have each other to lean on.

As the night wore on, the alcohol began to flow freely. The men were feeling no pain, and the jokes and stories flew back and forth across the table. Until, Rindou suggested a drinking game, and the mood shifted.

He took out a spicy card game and took turns on picking one. They got…

˗ˏˋ Sanzu - lick ice cream off of the inner thigh of the player across you

The air was thick with anticipation as they waited for Sanzu to reveal his dare. And once he did, a hush fell over the group as they turned to look at you, who was sitting at the end of the table. Your face was flushed with embarrassment as you looked around your sides, figuring out if you were truly the one he picked.

The spontaneousness and spice of the dare had always been in Sanzu’s nature, but the man couldn’t help but feel his heart racing with excitement. He finally caught another reason to act his attraction towards you, with everyone else watching. When it was his turn to fulfill the dare, he took a deep breath and stood up from his seat. He could feel the rest of the group watching him as he made his way towards the woman.

The pinkette picked up a spoon and carefully scooped up some ice cream. He then made his way over to you, who was still blushing furiously, and leaned in close. The tension in the room was palpable as everyone held their breath, interested in seeing what would happen next.

And then, with a bold move, Sanzu knelt in between your legs and gently placed the spoon against your inner thigh, allowing the ice cream to melt and dribble onto the skin. You closed your eyes, anticipating the heat of his tongue meeting the icy sensation of the desert. And as you let it melt onto your skin, you could feel his pulse racing against his hands that kept your legs open.

The rest of the members are obviously enjoying themselves, sharing soft applauds to Sanzu and compliments to your body. Despite the initial embarrassment, you couldn't help but feel a rush of adrenalin as you watched the daredevil fulfill the bold request.

For just a brief moment, the world seemed to disappear, and it was just the two of you in your own private bubble. You could feel his breath in your core, his arms curled around your thighs, and for a moment, he thought that maybe, just maybe, he had given you a hint that he wanted to go all the way with you, on your own time and space. The tip of his nose merely pressed against your clothed clit as he finished the last drop of ice cream in between your thighs.

Afterwards, when the group had moved on to the next dare, Sanzu could feel your eyes on him, and he knew that something had changed within you. He knew that he had finally taken the first step towards his attraction.

˗ˏˋ Mikey - Act out your favorite position

Tonight, he found himself in a situation that was foreign to him, one that he had never experienced for himself before. Physical affection was not something that he was used to initiate nor display to others. It was not a part of his nature. But he knew that he had to set aside his facade of being a tough and ruthless man, even if it was killing him inside.

He took a deep breath, then turned over to the woman in question. He wrapped his arm around you for a moment, pulling you close enough to whisper into your ear, “You remember it, yeah? What we did last time…” He was obviously flustered, but his actions showed otherwise with the way he assertively held your waist and pulled you close, your bodies touching until you gathered the courage to straddle Mikey into the cowgirl position.

Mikey’s choice of position came as a shock to everyone present. The members of the organization were used to seeing him as a ruthless leader, someone who was always in control and never showed any weakness or vulnerability. But in that moment, they saw a different side of him, one that was softer, and someone who was willing to push outside their comfort zone. Mikey, for his part, was surprised by his own actions, and was a little embarrassed by the attention he received. But he also felt a sense of relief, knowing that he didn't always have to be the tough and ruthless leader, that he could be himself, even if it was just for a moment for fun.

You were almost unable to move, having Mikey’s hands planted on your waist and slowly rocking you back and forth. You could feel the bulge straining in his pants, pleased to know that the feeling of excitement and arousal is mutual. Everyone was flustered and quiet as the scene unfolds in front of them, raising suspicions that this had happened before (which it has). You couldn’t take your eyes off of Mikey with the way he tried so hard to stifle a whimper, throwing his head to the edge of the couch as you moved.

And then, as suddenly as it had come, the moment was over. The game had moved on, and Mikey was left sitting there, feeling a mix of emotions. A part of him wanted to hold on to that feeling, to explore it further and see where it might take him. But another part of him knew that he had a reputation to maintain, that he had to maintain his poise and composure for the rest of the night.

˗ˏˋ Kakucho — Passionately kiss the neck of the player on your left

He peeked as you drew this card, and he almost choked on his whiskey when Kakucho realized that he would be the one to receive the action from you. “I’m not doing it if you don’t want to.” You chuckled and prepared to pour shots as an alternative to the dare. “Where’s the fun in that? Go as long as you’d like.” Kakucho wouldn’t usually jump on something so daring on a normal day, but all the alcohol he’s consumed through the night definitely pushed him to encourage you. Sat in a manspread and arms spread over the couch, you sat on his right thigh and wrapped your arms around his neck.

He could feel the texture of your hair tickling the exposed skin of his chest, and the lingering scent of your perfume. He wanted to make a comment and praise how good you’re doing, but the words are stuck in his throat. You leaned forward, lips just inches away from Kakucho’s neck. You took a deep breath and closed your eyes, finally feeling the soft texture of his skin on your lips. Kaku’s body tensed, his muscles clenched as he let out a moan. You pulled away for a moment, catching her breath and taking in the moment.

However, you weren’t satisfied with your first kiss before deciding to lean in once more. As you kissed him once again, you felt the warmth of his skin, the softness of his flesh, and the beating of his pulse under your lips. Seconds passed and you continued to enjoy the feeling of Kakucho’s body pressing against yours, feeling a sense of intimacy you didn’t think you had.

For the next few seconds, it seemed as though time had stopped altogether. The silence was punctuated only by the sound of his breathing and the hum of the card table's lights, with the occasional pour of liquor from the other members.

Kakucho tried so hard on pulling himself together with the way you sat on his lap, his fingers digging into the armrests of the chair, whilst he bit on his other finger, making it obvious to the rest of them that he’d grown particularly fond of this dare that involved extreme physical contact with you.

Despite the rest being lost in their own thoughts, Rindou put his shot away before having to practically scold you. “Alright, that’s enough.” Just when it seemed the awkwardness would never end, you pulled away., almost forgetting that you were in the middle of a stupid drinking game.

Flustered and marked with your love bite, Kakucho opened his eyes to very intrigued colleagues and a cute sight of you still sat on his lap. The rest of the game continued without a hitch, and the group moved on to other activities. But your memories of the enjoyable dare between you and Kakucho stayed with your minds long after the card game ended.

˗ˏˋ Ran and Rindou – do a body shot

They “come in a package” Ran said… It would only add to the entertainment of the game (and the person) if they both do the dare. So when they drew “body shots” with you, they instantly knew what to do. As a devout guest to their exuberant parties, you could say that this dare was customary for the three of you.

Ran and Rindou nodded, their expressions thrilled. They knew that this dare was going to be one they would never forget, but they were determined to get through it with as much dignity as possible being in their workplace.

You easily undid the straps of your shirt, revealing your bralette to the entirety of your colleagues in the room before making yourself comfortable on the couch. Takeomi approached with two shot glasses for each of the brothers. The cool glass makes contact with the skin in between your cleavage, then on your navel.

“Bottoms up,” He kindly spoke before letting the two executives scurry to you like pigeons. With a deep breath, both brothers prepared themselves for what was to come. They knew it would be potentially embarrassing, but they were determined to complete the dare and show their colleagues just how much fun they can have at the regular Haitanis parties.

Ran propped his legs on either side of yours, supporting his weight on your thigh, careful not to spill the shot glass on your Navel. Rindou was already flushed, his eyes half-lidded and his lips pursed in a drunken pout. "Do you mind?" he asked, his voice slightly breathless with anticipation. You nodded at him, knowing what he was asking without having to explain himself. As you tilted your head back, Rindou leaned in closer to the shit glass on your cleavage, his lips hovering near yours. The two of you were nearly nose-to-nose, and for a moment, it felt like you were suspended in time, ready to be kissed by Spider-Man himself.

“Shot!” Sanzu spoke and simultaneously, Ran and Rindou each took the glass with their teeth and leaned their head for a shot.

The warmth of the alcohol trickled down their throats, and a drop of the fiery liquid trickled down Ran's chin and onto your thigh. You couldn't help but let out a soft gasp, the tickle of it making you squirm. The three of you were all tangled together, united in a moment of pure hedonism. It was a sight to behold, one that both excited and humbled you at the same time. And as you looked from one to the other, feeling the warm glow of the alcohol spreading through your body, you knew that this was the main event of your evening, in the thick of the action, with these two wildcards.

And though the memory of that dare would always be a part of their recollection of the night, they were proud of themselves for pulling it off so gracefully and fun.

#tokyo revengers #bonten #sanzu haruchiyo #manjiro sano #kakucho hitto #ran haitani #rindou haitani #sanzu x reader #mikey x reader #manjiro x reader #kakucho x reader #ran x reader #ran haitani x reader #rindou x reader #rindou haitani x reader #sanzu akashi x reader #manjiro sano x reader #mikey sano x reader

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bimbobaggins69 · 4 months

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𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫, 𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐬.

𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭: imagine hate sex w ex boyfriend eddie!!! 😖😖😖 like you’re at a party that your good friend robin dragged you to and of course you had to see your ex!! and he catches you with another guys hands all over you and he gets insanely jealous and fucks you in a random room. degrading you, and slapping your ass and shit 😝😝

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut ahead, 18+ mdni, angst, sweet baby steve, mean!eddie, mentions of weed and alcohol, degradation, bitch is used twice, hair pulling, face slapping, choking, slight oral (m receiving), unprotected p in v sex, rough hate sex, cream pie, steve and reader are end game.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: you came through with this nonnie, hope you like <3 omg surprise yall this is not a steddie fic, I know crazy. Thank you to the loml @xxhellfirebunnyxx for reading and hyping me up!

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.9k

The bass booms from the speakers as some top 40s pop hit plays throughout the oversized house. The solo cup in your hand nips at your fingers, the condensation causes them to prune as you babysit the pungent spiked punch that sits halfway full, ice completely melted from your abandonment.

You didn’t really want to come to this New Year’s party, but Robin begged and pleaded, telling you with her best puppy dog eyes that this could be her last chance to make a move on Vickie, so you bit the bullet and decided to make it a good night, the last of the year.

In your efforts to forget about your ex boyfriend you had broken up with two weeks ago, you made up your mind that tonight you were going to move on; so you picked out your skimpiest black dress, knee high boots and did your make up and hair to perfection. You knew he’d be there but that was something you were eagerly trying to forget about, you weren’t getting cute for him, no. You weren’t spritzing on the perfume he loved, in an effort to grab his attention. Nope, not at all!

Robin had left your side the minute you stepped through the door, but you couldn’t be too mad about it, you both had a game plan and she was very dedicated to finally getting the girl she’s been pining after all year.

You take a sip of your overly spiked drink, not able to hide the distaste as your eyebrows furrow and your nose scrunches up in disgust.

“Yeah, the punch is pretty awful.” A familiar voice says with a chuckle, when you turn your head in an attempt to put a face to it, you quickly realize it belongs to none other than Steve Harrington who’s smirking down at you, eyes roaming your body. Clearly his cocky king Steve persona has accompanied him.

“Yeah, it tastes like ass.” You say with another scrunch of your nose making Steve cackle at your words.

“Hey, I’m not even gonna ask how you know what that tastes like.” He says playfully, eyes growing darker as he moves closer into your space. “You’re not here with your little boy toy?” He observes as he looks around for Eddie, who normally held you as close to him as possible at these functions.

“We broke up.” Steve’s face lights up like a Christmas tree at your words, like he’s excited that you’re now ‘on the market’.

“Well, I would say sorry but…I’m not.” The bluntness of his words makes you crack a smile, which causes him to beam at you, a genuine pretty smile graces his lips. “You wanna dance?” He asks as he moves in closer, hands going straight to your hips.

You quickly look around before answering, noticing a heavy amount of bodies on the makeshift dance floor. “Um, sure why not?” You glance around one more time as you feel eyes on you, but no one seems to be paying you and Steve a lick of attention.

West end girls by pet shop boys begin to play from the heavy booming speakers, and you can’t help but smile hard as it’s one of your favorites. Steve’s hands graze over your hips and the small of your back as you both dance, a serious dance turning into silly attempts to make each other laugh and it works, he’s completely made you forget about your shithead ex. When two of hearts by Stacey Q starts playing you’re both touching each other in ways that are anything but friendly, his hands move to your ass as your hips grind against his. You can’t help but feel the slight hard on behind his blue jeans, the feeling of it on your hip has you biting at your glossed lip.

It was easy to lose yourself to the beat of the music and in the gentle, sweet touches of Steve’s soft hands, the total opposite of Eddie’s rough calloused ones.

“You’re so beautiful,” the former jock whispers into your ear, and his words have your heart pounding and your thighs begging to clench. “I always thought so.” He finishes before pulling you even closer, arms wrapped snug around your body.

As the music slows and holding back the years by simply red begins to play, Steve grabs your hips a little rougher, looking down at you with a smile full of longing. He moves in and your breath hitches, thinking he’s moving in to kiss you but instead he places a chaste kiss right on the side of your neck, it's sweet and gentle, just like him. It’s not something that you’re entirely used to, not something you normally enjoyed. But maybe something you need.

When the song ends you pull away with a small smile, “I have to use the restroom really quick, I’ll be back okay?” His smile falters a bit but doesn’t drop completely, he shakes his head and places his hands in his pockets, moving closer to the couch so he can sit and wait for you. The whole display pulls at your heart strings and makes your feet move faster across the hardwood floor, so you can get back to him quicker.

But once you enter the dark hall, you feel a hand wrap around your arm and pull you. You squeak out a scream and a hand covers your mouth, but before you can lash out and begin kicking and screaming; a very, very familiar set of brown eyes meet yours.

“Shut up.” Eddie hissed as he closed the door to some random bedroom, locking it before you can even wrap your head around what’s going on. “You havin’ fun out there with your little friend?” The anger in his voice is prevalent as he looks you up and down and shakes his head, as if he has any right to be disappointed.

“Yeah, actually I was having a great time until you came along.” You seethe before turning to wrap your hand around the doorknob.

“Wait, can we talk, please? Cmon sweetheart, this is killing me. I miss you.” His big doe eyes are dilated and you can smell the weed on his leather jacket, and the remnants of it on his hand that had been placed over your mouth five seconds ago.

“You’re high Eddie. Don’t you have other girls to bother?” You say, rolling your eyes before a sneer graces your futures.

“I told you, she’s a friend. She supports the band's music, that's it! I’ve never fucked her, baby. I swear.” His big eyes look so inviting and honest but you know what you saw, they were flirting and he looked way to into it for it to be friendly.

“Whatever, who cares anymore. Can I leave?” You say with a bitter taste in your mouth for this conversation, you’re done and you just want Eddie to leave you alone so you can get back to your fun night with Steve.

“No, you can’t.” He says before his hands move to your hips, “if this is it, let me have you one last time princess, please?” His fingertips dig into your skin hard, it makes your legs twitch and your panties start to dampen.

“One last time?” You ask as you study his face.

“If that’s what you want, then yes.” He says as his shoulders slump at the thought of never having you again.

“Fine, but make it quick. I have someone I want to get back to.” Your stomach sours at the thought of leaving Steve to have sex with your ex. But you don’t really owe anything to Steve, it’s not like you came here together and now you’re ditching him, or like you’re even together at all. That’s enough to have you grabbing and tugging at Eddie’s stupid belt. The way you tug at his clothes and scratch at his skin is very obvious this is going to be a hate fuck, and he’s not mad at the idea. Needing to let out some pent up feelings of having to see you and that fucking square Harrington on the dance floor, all cuddled up and shit.

He rips your dress over your head, smirking at the site in front of him. No bra, just black lace panties that sit high on your hips. He licks his lips as he takes you in, just your panties and knee high boots. A fucking vision.

“Get on the bed you little slut.” He orders and a thrill runs through your body at his words “legs open for me, let me see you.” He grunts out another demand before moving in closer, walking up to the bed like a predator ready to pounce on their prey. “Were you planning on fucking that loser?” He asks through gritted teeth at the thought of you underneath Steve as he treats you like a fucking piece of glass. That’s not what you need, not what you want either and he knows that.

“Not tonight.” You say with a sweet smile, it’s fake and Eddie can see right through it. His big ringed hand comes down and grabs a handful of your hair, “what the fuck is that supposed to mean, huh?” His face is now inches from yours as he waits for an answer, teeth clenching together making his jaw tighten with anger.

“I wasn’t planning on fucking him tonight, but if we hit it off, which we were. Then yeah, I’d probably fuck him if we went out again.” You answer back boldly, way too boldly for the man in front of you who has your hair wrapped around his knuckles, his face is the most visibly pissed you’d ever seen him. “You’d really let him touch you? Touch what’s mine?” His lips are just inches from yours, his warm weed breath hits your nose and god, you want to kiss him so bad.

But you don’t, that’s not what this is about.

“I’m not yours anymore, remember?” You remind him as your lips pull away from the too close proximity of his, an eyebrow shoots up on your forehead as if to say ‘what are you waiting for?’, making Eddie immediately jump into action, ripping your panties off your frame in one quick and rough motion.

“You will always be mine, no matter what happens between us, I need you to get that through your thick fucking skull.” He grates before slapping your cheek harshly. “My pussy, my ass, my mouth. Mine always.” His fingertips grab and dig into the hollows of your cheeks as he hovers over you between your spread thighs. “Say you understand. Say you’re my little whore.” His fingers dig into you even harsher, making your teeth poke at the skin. You whine in pain, but fuck if you aren’t completely soaked from how rough he’s being with you.

“I’m your little whore.” You whine, his tight grip on your cheeks doesn’t falter, his mischievous eyes look over your face as he smiles down at you, as if all the love he’d once had dissipated into thin air.

“That’s a good little slut, knows her place.” He hummed in satisfaction “You gonna keep being good for me, or you gonna be a brat?” His eyebrows shoot up in question as he licks his plump lips.

“Yes, I’ll be good for you.” He gives one more slap to your cheek before he begins removing his jeans off his hips to drop at his boots, then he removes his blue checkered boxers in one tug.

He grabs his hard cock at the base as he continues to look over your body, lying useless on the plush bed. “Gotta give it a kiss before you say goodbye, baby.” His grin eats up his entire face as his laugh lines deepen. As if on command you get up onto your knees and duck your head down to kiss and mouth at his leaking tip. You couldn’t lie, you were going to miss this no matter how much of an asshole he was.

“That’s it. Good little greedy bitch.” His head tilts back on his shoulders as he releases a deep breath.

Before you can take him fully into your mouth he reaches down and grabs your neck roughly, throwing you back onto the tacky duvet.

“Didn’t tell you you could suck it. Did I?” His voice is a low rumble, making you heat up from the inside out.

“Mm-mm.” Is all you can say as he squeezes the sides of your neck, not hard enough to restrict air flow but hard enough to have your eyes rolling back in pleasure.

“Then be my good little cum dump and listen to what the fuck I say.” He strokes his cock faster, bringing it up to your soaked folds and slapping it against your clit, hard.

“Fuck!” You cry out before he begins soothing it with soft rubs of his frenulum against your throbbing nub, creating the perfect friction that has you hissing and groaning.

“Perfect little pussy. You think Stevie can fuck this little cunt like I can? You think he’s gonna give you what you need?” He whispers hotly, cock now prodding at your dripping hole, he pushes in with one quick thrust and sheethes himself more than halfway inside of you, making your legs hike up over his hips and wrap around his back. Most of his clothes are still on, besides his black jeans and blue boxers that are pooled at his ankles. His leather jacket and megadeth shirt still covering all the parts you want to bite and suck on.

“Answer me! You think Steve can fuck you the way you need to be fucked? Like the filthy slut you are?” Eddie's words get cruder as his voice gets meaner, your lip pouts but he doesn’t miss the way you clench, so warm and tight around him.

“No, no one fucks me like you Eddie!” You mewl, it’s true but the words feel like molten lava when they leave your mouth, not wanting to give him that ego boost he’s begging for.

“I’m gonna cum in this cunt and you’re gonna go back out there to your little boyfriend with me dripping down your fucking leg.” He thrusts harder into your walls, grabbing your legs and folding you in half as he uses you like his own personal fuck toy.

His ringed hand finds its way back in your hair, tugging harshly as he begins kissing your jaw, down to your throat and then the tops of your tits as they bounce from his rough movements.

“You sexy little bitch.” He pulls your hair harder as his other hand moves between your writhing bodies, he rubs his thumb against your clit fast and with entirely too much pressure but the way his cock is hitting your spot over and over you can’t help but to let go, your high instantly taking over; legs shaking and head thrown back as you succumb to the bliss that Eddie never fails to bring you.

“Oh fuck! Im gonna fill you the fuck up, so full baby, you’re gonna be so full of me.” He laughs like he’d beat you at whatever game this was, he did. And that thought has you pushing him off as soon as he’s done.

You pull your panties back on and tug your dress up. Giving the metalhead one more death glare before you yank the door open, leaving it to slam behind you.

You move back out into the crowd of people, looking everywhere for those chestnut locks and honey eyes, as your heart pounds through your ears. You feel terrible, but you just can’t help yourself with Eddie. He knows your body too well, knows exactly how to get you going. But that’s all going to change, no more weakness, no more giving into his bad boy smirk and big dumb eyes.

“Hey, I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Are you okay? Thought you left without saying goodbye.” Steve says as he comes out of the jam packed kitchen.

“Sorry, I-I um,” you didn’t want to lie, you felt like you owed him the truth at least, especially if this was gonna go anywhere. “I ran into Eddie and we talked.” You look down at your leather boots as the lie falls from your lips, you didn’t want to outright say ‘I’m sorry I fucked my ex while I should’ve been out here with you.’

“Just talked?” His eyes find yours, but his face is so kind and earnest, you just want to wrap your arms around him and never let him go.

“Well, no. But I’m done, this time for good.” You reassure with a nod of your head.

“It’s okay, I understand. Just I-I really like you, and I have for a while. I just wanna be sure what you had with Munson is over before we start something.” He grabs your shoulder and pulls you into his arms. God you could cry from how sweet and gentle he is.

“It’s more than done, it’s dead and buried.” You murmur into his chest, soaking up his gentle caress.

“You wanna get out of here?” Steve asks, kissing the top of your head as his thumb rubs circles into your back.

“Yes, please.” You smile up at him before taking his hand in yours and heading to the front door.

Your eyes lock with Eddie’s for a minute too long, and the look on his face is a mixture of triumph and deep jealousy.

A girl sitting to his left whispers something in his ear, causing you to instantly look away.

He’s not your business anymore.

#— 𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐈 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐒 #eddie munson smut #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie x y/n #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x fem #steve harrington x reader

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incorrectbatfam · 1 year

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Could you please do some headcanons about Batmans cooking disasters over the years?

Age 5: Bruce puts tinfoil in the microwave. Alfred shakes his head and laughs

Age 6: He decorates a cookie so badly another kid cries until they throw up

Age 7: He tries to make a PB&J and the countertop is sticky for a week

Age 8: He tries to make Martha's chicken noodle soup but ends up crying on the kitchen floor surrounded by half-chopped vegetables

Age 9: He tries to impress a houseguest by recreating Thomas's mixology tricks (sans alcohol). There's still a stain on the ceiling to this day

Age 10: He makes green eggs. It's not on purpose. He's never even read the book

Age 11: He makes lava in the school cafeteria

Age 12: He tries to make cheese bread by drilling holes into a baguette and filling it with melted nacho cheese

Age 13: He melts a cutting board in the oven

Age 14: He folds a Pop Tart

Age 15: The chocolate-covered bananas he makes for the school bake sale come out looking very very wrong

Age 16: He's asked to drop a home economics class after mistaking refried beans for pumpkin puree in a pie

Age 17: He boils eggs in the carton

Age 18: He makes his entire freshman dorm evacuate after burning his ramen to ash

Age 19: He sculpts a severed hand out of meatloaf and is sent to the university psychologist

Age 20: He tries to bake a cake but doesn't have a cake pan, so he pours the batter right in the oven

Age 21: He tries Thomas's mixology tricks again, this time with alcohol. One of the tricks is flipping it over his head. He ends up losing part of his vision for 3 days

Age 22: He burns water. Harley Quinn is there. She still holds it over his head

Age 23: He packs his first patrol snack as Batman. It's a chocolate bar wrapped in a tortilla. The chocolate melts onto his gloves and he drops the tortilla down a sewer grate

Age 24: He makes an ice cream cookie sandwich to eat while he and Batgirl work on a case, but he's so engrossed in the work that he doesn't notice it melt until Babs points it out

Age 25: He enters the first annual Justice League cook-off and immediately gets banned from ever entering again

Age 26: He tries to comfort little Dickie Grayson by making fried cornbread from a book of Roma comfort recipes. It turns out about as well as you'd expect when you give Bruce Wayne hot oil. Bruce is genuinely bummed out, but Dick says it's the thought that counts

Age 27: Clark delivers a huge hunk of beef from the farm. Instead of waiting for Alfred to come back, Bruce and Dick try to break it down with a power saw

Age 28: Bruce and Dick's latkes are burned so badly they can play floor hockey with them

Age 29: He makes stuffed mushrooms. Badly. Like imagine the worst way you can fuck up a mushroom. It still won't compare to what Bruce did. And it's for a potluck with the West-Allens that Barry won't let him live down

Age 30: Bruce sees Dick struggling to make ravioli and he's like "Let me show you how it's done" before proceeding to make it infinitely worse

Age 31: Bruce sees a hungry Jason Todd and the first thing he does when they return to the manor is make a double-decker bread sandwich. That's bread with two more slices of bread in between

Age 32: Bruce packs Dick and Jason's lunchboxes when Alfred is out of town. They're supposed to include a salad. Instead, Dick gets a whole head of lettuce and Jason's is just a bottle of ranch

Age 33: He makes hot chocolate after patrol... but forgets the chocolate

Age 34: The Manor is too cold, so Bruce tries to warm it up by making Jason's favorite soup. His hands shake the whole time. Suddenly, he's eight years old again, sitting on the kitchen floor surrounded by scraps reminding him of his failure

Age 35: Jack and Janet Drake are out of the country again, leaving young Timmy by himself. Bruce decides to bring some dinner over. It's baked perfectly, but it's full of things that shouldn't be anywhere near a casserole dish. They end up ordering takeout and watching old detective movies together

Age 36: Steph walks through how to make waffles. Bruce is standing there, watching closely and taking notes. They still come out looking radioactive

Age 37: Cass asks if they can get smoothies. Bruce says he can make them at home. She gives him a warning look but that's not enough to stop him. Cue Bruce forgetting to put the lid on the blender

Age 38: Jason's first night back at home, Bruce tries to make that soup. It shoots out like a geyser and hits the lights. He's panicking until he hears Jason laugh, and then the soup doesn't matter

Age 39: Damian screws up hummus and he desperately tries to hide it so people won't see him as inadequate at something so basic. Instead of getting upset, Bruce assures him it's okay and offers to fix it. (He doesn't fix it, he just makes it worse)

Age 40: Bruce's birthday happens while he's fake-dead and away from home. He grabs a convenience store cupcake and sticks a single candle on it. Then he closes his eyes, pretends his family is around him, and makes a wish. (The candle droops and sets the hotel sheets on fire)

Age 41: Back at the Manor, he attempts to make lemonade on a particularly hot day. Selina offers to help, but Bruce declines, saying, "How hard can it be?" (Spoiler alert: it's not supposed to be full of seeds)

Age 42: Kate shows him a video of Canadians pouring maple syrup into the snow to make candy, so he gets her to boil the syrup so they can do it together. The problem comes when they can't control the pour and end up with a glob the size of Damian

Age 43: As part of a school project, Bruce and Duke try to deduce the Coca-Cola secret formula. Duke's teacher takes a point off because at the beginning he told her he'd taste the results, but there's no way he's doing that now

Age 44: The family gets together to make a full English breakfast Alfred's birthday. Each person takes a part—Dick has eggs, Jason has the grilled tomatoes, Tim has mushrooms, Duke has the bacon, Steph and Cass are tag-teaming the sausages, Damian just has to open a can of beans, and Bruce needs to put bread in the toaster. It goes South immediately when Damian reaches for his katana instead of the can opener

Age 45: Bruce puts tinfoil in the microwave. Alfred shakes his head and laughs

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waves-against-a-cliff · 27 days

Text

Fangs - Vampire!Johnny x You

Content warnings - squirting, blood drinking, dub-con(?), alcohol, blood mentioned, biting, mating press, cream pie, multiple orgasms

Soaps Masterlist

Main Masterlist

How you found yourself working on a task force made up of only vampires as a human was unknown to you. At the start, you hated it. Vampires didn’t get good reputations and for good reason. Those first few missions with them had really opened your eyes up to how utterly useless you would be up against them.

Impossible strength and speed, all sense doubled and depending on the age, disregard for the norms of mortal human kind. You had walked on eggshells for nearly two months until Soap and Gaz invited you out for drinks after you had hit an excellent shot.

It shouldn’t have surprised you when Soap had sat himself next to you in the booth and spent the rest of the night pushing every barrier. It turns out even young vampires were pushy against the norms. Or maybe he was a flirt. It's hard to tell with vampires. Soap’s thumb rubbed the soft skin of your inner thigh, far too close to your panties for any kind of excuse to work.

Not that you minded after a few drinks. Gaz whistled when Soap had pulled you onto his lap and smashed his lips against yours with such all consuming hunger it caused arousal to pool between your legs. He had pushed his tongue into your mouth and let out a low groan at your taste.

His hands wandered up your skirt and grabbed a handful of your ass, squeezing to the point you smacked at his hands. He chuckled against your lips as his tongue kept exploring your mouth. When he was sure you were sufficiently breathless he trailed his sloppy kisses from your mouth, across your jaw and down your neck.

Your hand curled in his messy mohawk as he continued to ravage you in a pub with Gaz watching. “Mmm Soap- you gotta-” Your body froze when you felt the sharp end of his fangs barely graze your skin. You swallowed as your hands turned shaky.

“Gottae what lass?” Soap asked, a cheeky grin on his face. “Come off it lass.” Soap said when he noticed your reaction and he rolled his eyes. “I wouldnae drain ye dry. What's the fun in tha’?” He asked as his eyes were drawn to the way your throat bobbed when you swallowed. “Wouldnae turn ye either. Just trust me.” He purred as he squeezed your ass again.

You nodded and a wicked grin spread across his face before he pushed you off his lap. “Come on.” He said and grabbed your hand.

He didn’t even take you to a motel, just drove to the nearest dark parking lot and turned off the car before he crawled into the backseat and patted his thigh. You didn’t need verbal orders to follow as you clambered after him and situated yourself on his thigh. The kiss he initiated was just as mind blowing as the last. He entangled his tongue with yours and groaned at whatever he tasted from you. He pulled your shirt down and pushed your skirt up to bunch up around the top of your thighs. “Fuck lass,” He groaned as he kneaded the soft flesh of your thighs.

He trailed his kisses down to your shoulders and you gripped his shoulders when his fangs penetrated your skin. It burned like ice and you could feel something enter your veins before something else entirely took over. You could vaguely feel that burn but your body nearly melted into his lap. It lasted only as long as his fangs were in you, which was long. Blood dripped from the two little sounds that he lapped up like a dog. “Ye taste so good. Knew ye would.” You wondered how long he had been wanting to sink his fangs into your flesh.

The bite marks were many and he only finally drank from you properly when you folded in half in the back of his car. His fingers still coated in your slick and cum held one of your legs against your chest while your other leg was supported by his shoulder. His cock slid out of your velvety walls slowly at first. His head hung between his shoulders as he watched the scene before him, as he watched the way your cunt pulled him back in.

You moaned each time his cock slid brushed against your g-spot until you screamed when he angled your hips slightly and he hit the spot dead on. He groaned deep within his throat as you clenched down on him like a vice. He leaned down and licked and sucked at your breasts.

He dragged his tongue between the valley before he flicked your nipples with his tongue. You shuddered each time he would tease them with one of his fangs and dug your nails into his skin when he sank his fangs into the flesh of your breasts. The feeling washed over you again and you anticipated him to remove his fangs just as the bliss started but he didn’t. He gulped down your essence with a fevor of a starved man- or vampire in this case.

“Soap! Oh my god.” The drug that his fangs gave you amplified each thrust from him, it made the blinding pleasure each time he slammed into your g-spot increase tenfold. You arched your back into a nearly painful position when the orgasm slammed into you like a train.

He didn’t remove his fangs from your plush breast and kept pistoned his hips in and out of you even as another orgasm slammed into you. You didn’t know he kept going, he didn’t even drink after the second but kept his fangs embedded in you.

At least you didn’t know until you felt a different sensation build. “Soap! W-Wait! That- that doesn’t- NGH-” You clawed at his back as whatever was building inside you cracked a little and you felt a liquid land against his abdomen and dripped down to your tight asshole. Soap growled when he felt that and kept going even as his fingers dug into the seat from holding back his orgasm. “Soap please! I can’t anymore! Please!” The persistence was answer enough.

You squirted again and again, each time the crack within you getting bigger until he removed his fangs from your flesh and you cried out. You kicked and flailed as it all came crashing down and you released against him one more time. He groaned into your ear as he filled you up with his sticky white cum. “Fuck lass.” He groaned.

When you looked at yourself in the mirror the next day, you were covered in hickeys and bites. You could still feel the tremors from last night echo through your body as you stared at yourself. Soap smacked your ass as he leaned over your shoulder, “Ye know LT is gonnae want a taste too.”

#soap x reader smut #soap x reader #soap x you #john soap mactavish #john mactavish imagine #john soap mactavish x reader #john soap mctavish x reader #john soap mctavish x you #john soap mctavish smut #johnny soap mactavish #johnny mactavish #soap smut #cod smut #call of duty smut #mw2 smut

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tinkerleaf · 1 month

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Prom with Dazai!

This man has me gnawing at the iron bars of my enclosure like a gorilla On another note, I hate how this turned out, but for some reason, this was so hard to write. Warnings: light cursing, a little ooc Pairing: dazai/reader Genre: fluff? Words: 585-ish Tags: @estelera11891

It was supposed to be just a simple favor, that’s it. All he had to do was be your escort to your senior prom, but it seemed to be a more difficult task than he had planned. Your friends were fine, they weren’t the issue. Neither was the music or the venue, or the faint smell of alcohol radiating from the teachers. It was you, you were the problem.

He didn’t know how enamored he would be the second he caught sight of you in your attire. He had no idea that he would be drugged by your presence, a warmth he had never known before. The lighting made your eyes look beautiful when they fell opon them. The feeling of your skin and fabric against his fingertips when the two of you danced sent him into a daze.

You two looked absolutely perfect together. You could hear a couple of your friends talk amongst themselves about Dazai, wondering who the handsome stranger was.

Out on the lonely patio, his eyes were all over your figure. His feelings for you were rather tame before, but now, he was losing his mind. He rested against the banister while you were facing the water. You smiled toward him, “Thanks for coming with me, I really appreciate you being here.”

He shrugged, “Someone as pretty as you shouldn’t be alone at Prom.” He thought back to the asshole that ditched you to go with someone else. When he actually saw them, he knew you really dodged a bullet. “I was actually quite surprised when you asked me to accompany you.”

You smiled, “I don’t think I’d have it any other way.” Your words slightly startled him, as if you may feel the same way.

He felt a sudden urge and slowly leaned closer to you. As you turn towards him, he slides a hand to caress your face as a rosy tint scattered across it. He looked so handsome in his suit, you could just melt. “Me neither.” Without wasting any time, he closed the gap between you two. It was a sweet, yet passionate kiss that surprised you more than anything. You had no idea that Dazai had any kind of feelings for you, but you weren’t one to complain.

When you two separated, he placed his forehead on yours. His eyes were sickeningly alluring. He placed another kiss on your temple, “It’s almost time to wrap up. Why don’t we get out of here?”

“Sure. Have something in mind?”

“Maybe, if you’re up for it.”

The two of you ended the night by getting ice cream. You talked and laughed about all kinds of things on the way back to your apartment, your hand in his. You couldn’t have asked for a better date to prom.

“I had a really nice time tonight.” You confessed.

As much as he hated to admit falling for someone, he did have a lot of fun with you. “Me too. Maybe we could go on an actual date sometime soon.”

“I’d love that.”

After saying goodbye and settling in at home, you scrolled through all the pictures you took. A trend that you noticed was how happy Dazai looked, something you didn’t see quite often.

Suddenly, a message buzzed from your phone. And then two. And then more. Your group chat was dying to know more details about Dazai.

When you told them he was your coworker, one of your friends got excited. ‘They got any more hotties like that at the agency?’ They sure do.

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em1e · 10 months

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༝ you know, i really like you, but are you like . . y’know?

家入 // DYLTGIR ⠀ ༝ ༝ ieiri shoko ⠀ ༝ ༝ 1.8k words ⠀ ⚠︎ modern!au where everything is fine, no pronouns but implied fem!reader bc of the song, in their early 20’s? suggestive kinda maybe idk man i just work here, alcohol consumption ⠀ — shoko loves retelling how the two of you got together.

contrary to popular belief, shoko ieiri was a lightweight.

as much as she likes to drink and smoke and brag about how she could outdrink any of the boys in front of you, she takes five shots back to back and you know you’ll be dragging her to bed with more effort than you’d like.

but, she’s having fun, and so are her friends, so who are you to really be upset when she has a pretty flush to her cheeks and she’s giggling like a schoolgirl?

“can ya tell the story of how you two met again?” gojo slurs out, leaning most of his weight on nanami, who just pushes him off with a scowl. gojo bounces from one shoulder to the next, into geto who welcomes him with a small smile.

it’s childlike, the way he asks, like he’s begging for a bedtime story from his parents rather than the embarrassing retelling of what brought you and shoko together.

your own cheeks are warm despite not touching a drop of alcohol, waving in front of you dismissively, “you already know the story, gojo, i dunno why you ask for it everytime you’re drunk.”

“but geto doesn’t!” he shakes his friend by the shoulder as if to emphasize this, and you fear geto might puke from the sudden movement, “he wasn’t ‘round when you two met, ‘member?”

you do, vividly remember how shoko would complain to you about gojo complaining to her about geto going on a ‘sudden spiritual journey and leaving them behind’, but you think maybe now isn't the time to bring it up.

and shoko’s interest has been piqued enough to your current conversation that she draws away from nanami with a giggle, arm wrapping around your own as she leans forward.

“you wanna know how we met?”

“‘f’course,” geto slurs out, now leaning against gojo. if anyone knocks into the two, they’d both go down in a heaping pile of lanky limbs.

“i don’t think-” you start, only to be shushed by gojo.

“she’s gon’a tell my favorite part!”

you roll your eyes, sending a pleading glance to nanami as if he’d ever have any amount of control over them, but he just shrugs and slides over the whiskey he’d been drinking. before you’re even able to touch the cup, shoko’s grabbing it and swinging it back into her mouth with a click of her tongue and a boop to your nose.

“nuh uh, you’re drivin’, ‘member?”

in your defense, you weren’t going to take a sip of the drink, but it still makes you pout how quickly she took it away. at least she’s distracted from the story –

“gojo ‘nd i were out drinking,” she starts, and you visibly deflate at the start of her recount.

༝ ༝

shoko was honestly surprised she managed to convince gojo to come out after such a disastrous midterm she is sure they both butchered. she knows he’s been down since geto dipped and the untimely failure was surely not going to bring his spirits up, but what broke college student doesn’t love to get drunk on a weekend? especially when your best friend offers to pay?

she thinks her offer is what really got him to come out, and he seems at least a little happy to be out of the house; not burrowed under five different blankets with a tub of melted ice cream at his side, flipping through the same four streaming services before ultimately doom scrolling on his phone.

it’s a nice change, she thinks.

and when he leaves for a second to get the pair of them another round of shots, she spots you.

pretty, with your hair styled nicely out of your face with a hot form-fitting outfit that hugs you nicely. she’s surprised she isn’t drooling. you catch her eye, offer a meek smile and turn away just as gojo comes back with the shots. shoko’s eyes haven’t left you, though.

gojo slides her the glass and she catches it without looking away, bringing the rim to her lips and tipping her head back until the liquid’s past her tongue, warmth spreading further through her body after it being her second (or third? how many had gojo passed her?) shot.

“you like ‘em?” gojo asks after shooting back his own, wiping at his mouth and following his friend's gaze.

“‘s cute.” she comments, but gojo can see the heart-eyes forming in her iris. he grins.

“i can go talk ‘em up for ya, if you want-”

that pulls her attention from you quick, eyes snapping to meet his, “absolutely not.”

“why not?” he straightens his shoulders as if he’s really considering going, “they are pretty cute. might have to talk to ‘em myself-”

gojo moves to step away from the table they’d laid claim to but before he can fully maneuver his way around, he’s being pulled back by shoko, who narrows her eyes and fixes her own little black dress with a pointed finger, “you are not ruining this for me.”

and she makes her way to where you were previously hovering, eyes scanning over every warm body until she finally spots you sitting alone, finger running around the rim of your glass as if you were bored out of your mind.

shoko could fix that. surely, definitely could fix that.

she slides into the seat across from you, smile already on her cheeks when your eyes shift from the glass to her.

“hi,” she starts, glad the warmth from the alcohol is buzzing under her skin enough to give her the boost she needs to be friendlier than usual. a look to the side and she catches gojo’s lingering stare, a smirk on his face as he cheers her on with a nod of his head, and it’s enough to spur her on further, “you here all alone?”

you smile besides yourself, hiding it when you look down at your lap. your fingers still tap tap tap at the rim of your glass, “i’m not,” you offer, “my friends are on the dancefloor and ‘m not much of a dancer.”

noted, shoko’s smile only seems to widen, “really? ‘m sure you dance just fine.”

you wave a hand absentmindedly in front of you with a scrunch of your nose, “nope, not me. i’m just here for the booze.”

“then let me buy you one?” shoko offers, eyes flitting to the cup you’d been nursing, “you don’t seem like a bourbon type to me. i’m thinking you’d like . . a strawberry daiquiri? or maybe a mojito? i can make a mean sex on the beach, too, if . . that’d be something you’re into?”

the implication isn’t lost on you; leaves you pausing for a second as if in thought, opening your mouth to say something then thinking better of it before bringing the glass to your lips and tipping your head back, drinking the entirety of it in one go.

shoko’s impressed at how you don’t cringe at the taste, head tilting as she waits for your reply to her offer.

“you don’t recognize me, do you?”

shoko can’t help the way her brows furrow at the question, head turning further as she scans over your face. sure, maybe you look familiar? you could be in her econ class, or even her physics class, both are at eight in the morning and she’s hardly alive at that point of the day – the bar’s so dimly lit, too, who is she to really say?

“i can’t say i do,” she says finally, sitting up straighter, “should i?”

you smile again, bashful and pretty as you lean forward but look away from her, gesturing for her to lean forward as well. shoko does so without hesitation, eyes on your lips when you bring your hand towards your face like you’re getting ready to spill a juicy secret.

“we’ve met before,” you almost whisper the words, and shoko’s glad she knows how to read lips or she fears she wouldn't catch the way they leave your tongue, “we went on a date like last year.”

you lean back, almost impressed with yourself at how she remains hovering forward, searching your face for any sign of it being a lie.

then, she’s on damage control, “i would've remembered a date with someone as pretty as you.”

another smile is on your lips, “i changed my style up a bit. s’okay if you don’t recognize me, especially in this lighting.” you half gesture up to the flickering neon lights hanging around the establishment.

“well . . what if we tried it again? ‘m sure i could make it up to you with that strawberry daiquiri?”

her offer is quite tempting, but still, you can’t help but tease, “we slept together, y’know? one night stand and you left before i even woke up.”

you almost pout as you recount the night, and shoko’s brows cannot raise any higher on her face from surprise when you add, “especially when it was so good.”

the sex? or the date? she wants to ask, but this hardly seems like the time when you’re looking at her the way you are.

“well how ‘bout another chance? ‘m not above begging.” shoko thinks gojo has been rubbing off on her, because surely these words are not leaving her lips. you’re just so fucking pretty, how could she skip out on another potential chance?

she holds her breath when you smile, head tilting as you think and think and think.

“sure,” you say finally, with a shrug, “as long as i get that strawberry daiquiri?”

shoko can’t stop the grin from forming on her face, looking over her shoulder to send a wink to gojo, who’s already into his own flirty conversation with some blonde.

“let’s get outta here.”

༝ ༝

shoko’s full weight is pressed happily into your side when she finishes retelling the story, with gojo and geto in a fit of giggles across from the two of you, while nanami left in the middle of the story to get another round of drinks for the table.

nanami makes it back just as the story concludes, and shoko’s quick to grab her next shot from the table as he sets the glasses down, swinging it back before she’s pressing into your side again with her head on your shoulder.

“don’t act like you’re not happy you gave me ‘nother chance.”

she leans up and messily presses a kiss to your cheek, and you can smell the alcohol she’d just drank on her tongue. tequila. nanami must hate you, because tequila means you’ll be sitting in the bath for an extra thirty minutes promising her you love her while she giggles (or pukes into the trash can you’ll need to pull beside the tub).

“never said i’m not happy.” you assure her with a smile, turning your head to press your lips to her own.

she grins at the contact, cupping your cheek clumsily, and you think there’s no one you’d rather be with.

#salmon rowe #shoko ieiri x reader #ieiri shoko x reader #shoko x reader #ieiri x reader #shoko ieiri #ieiri shoko #x reader #jjk x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen

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abibliophobiaa · 1 year

Text

Begin Again: Chapter Two

Summary: The year is 1988. After the loss of a beloved family member, you find yourself inheriting an old coffee shop. The quiet bartender at the Hideout across the street just so happens to catch your eye.

(18k+ words; eddie munson x afab!reader; sunshine!reader x grumpy!eddie vibes)

Warnings: Vignette style (sorta); Eddie’s post S4 trauma; panic attacks; nightmares; family member loss; grief; alcohol use; mild smut in later chapters so 18+; additional warnings to be added.

(AO3 Link) || Master List || PREVIOUS CH | NEXT CHAPTER

Summer, 1988

Before long, spring bleeds into a balmy summer and the Fourth of July inches closer.

While spring brought along with it new opportunities, new friendships, and new beginnings, you’re excited for warmer weather.

Excited for colorful dresses, walks around the town, smelling the freshly cut bouquets at the florist next door, ice cream cones that melt between your fingers, and watching the sunset from your apartment windows.

You wake with the sunrise on the third, spine cracking as you lift your arms up over your head to stretch the soreness from your limbs.

Your alarm clock blares bright neon in the early morning sunrise, reading 4:30 where it rests on the pile of books you placed next to your bed as a makeshift side table until you can purchase new furniture and really spruce up the apartment.

With a sigh, you slap a hand along the alarm clock and start your day. You tug on a pair of jeans, don a summery top with flowy sleeves, and drape your apron over your hips. The lights flicker on in the shop and the place illuminates, ready for a new day.

You prep the coffee pots and turn on all the machines. Croissants are prepared and placed in the oven, along with various other treats, and you wipe down the surfaces of each table accordingly.

The sign hanging in the window flips from ‘closed’ to ‘open’ and you assume your routine.

Every day just like the one that came before.

But there’s a comfort in it. An ease in which you live your new life here in Hawkins.

It’s familiar and it’s constant, with little diversion.

That is, until the girls start their shifts and probe you about plans for the weekend. Apparently one of their friends is planning on hosting a barbecue for the holiday with a small group of their closest companions.

And it seems they’ve invited you.

Max crosses her arms over her chest, one of her braids dancing over her shoulder as she does so. “You never get out of the shop.”

“Because I own the shop,” you remind her.

El hands a cup of coffee to a customer and glances over to where you and Max are presently cleaning up a coffee spill.

“It’s a holiday, just come ,” Max says.

“I don’t even know your friend!” The exasperation in your tone rises, the mop in your hand trailing more water along the floor.

“He’s your age, so is Robin, and we’ll be there. What’s more to know?” Max reaches down to lay a few towels onto the mess you’ve made, adding, “Plus, they are customers. I’m sure you’ve actually met them before.”

You're considering it. You’re actually considering going. “And he’s going to be just fine with me coming over to his place?”

Max nods. “His parents are never home, so we basically have the whole place to ourselves for the day. Just come.”

“Please…come,” El says, slipping out from behind the counter. “You’ll make friends. Actual friends.”

Your brow arches at that one. “As opposed to?” El slinks backward, giving you a tight smile.

“Your customers are not your friends,” Max says. “Well, they are. But these could be real ones. Come on. You’ve been in Hawkins for months and I don’t think I’ve seen you go anywhere even once.”

“I go places!” you reply hotly, your skin burning aflame in embarrassment.

The Hideout, but they don’t know about it.

“Okay, fine, so I don’t go places. I spend my afternoons in my apartment.”

“So you’ll come?” Both girls look at you expectantly.

“Fine!”

Three months.

Maybe more. He can’t remember the number anymore.

The amount of time that has passed since you moved into town and effectively uprooted his life.

His normalcy.

Before that, it’s been easy to keep people at arms length—to stay far enough away that they don’t ask questions.

Most people do tend to stay far away.

No one wants to be associated with the Freak, the murderer, the man who made a deal with the devil.

It didn’t matter then when they abolished his name from the news and he was cleared as a free man, and it certainly doesn’t matter now; people still look at him with disdain, whisper when he passes, step away from him when he gets too close in the supermarket.

He knows, though, there’s something about you that draws him to you.

Magnetic, you’re magnetic. That’s what it is, this feeling, this tug.

He hasn’t felt that way in a long time. This pull to another human outside of his core group (The Party), this desire to want to open up.

It’s coupled with fear but the urge is there.

It hasn’t been in a long, long time.

Before that, it’s two years.

Two years since the events of the Upside Down.

Two years since Chrissy died in his damn trailer home. Two years since he watched her bones break like twigs against his ceiling. Two years since he found out monsters lurked beneath Hawkins.

Two years since he watched Max fear for her life every day before that day. Two years since he became forever bound to The Party.

It’s been two years since he heard Dustin’s screams rattle his bones as he cut that rope.

Two years since he felt the first rip of his own flesh as those mouths full of teeth cut into his skin. Two years since he felt them attack from every angle. Two years since he laid there in hell on earth and pleaded that he’d just die.

Two years since he felt that blinding, agonizing pain as he shook in Dustin’s arms, taking what he thought were his last breaths.

Two years since he said goodbye.

Two years since he thought he had died.

Two years since he wished he had.

Two years since he woke up in that damn bed, and was poked and prodded by an endless team of doctors with wires sticking out every which way from his body. Since they tried to salvage what they could of his shredded skin.

It’s been two years, but when he closes his eyes…it’s as if it’s only been two minutes.

It’s why he doesn’t let anyone close.

The last time he did so, it set into motion the week that changed everything.

You’re not sure what to expect as you get out of your car. But what you definitely don’t expect is the large expanse of property and the gorgeous home that stands there surrounded by endless green lawn on that bright summer day.

It looms in front of you, intimidating in nature, and not only due to the size. On the patio outside is a group of people awaiting your arrival, a group of which you haven’t met all of.

Tray of cookies in hand, you start the slow shuffle to the side entrance where Max and El told you you were to enter by. Luckily, the fence already sits open, and the sound of chatter immediately greets your ears, mixing in with the sound of the radio spilling from a speaker and someone jumping into the pool.

You can smell the food cooking before you see it on the grill. Steve Harrington stands in the distance waving a spatula around as he talks. You recognize Robin next, with her short hair and glowing smile. The girls are in the pool with Will, Mike, Dustin and Lucas. You know the latter portion of the group that is not currently employed by you because they frequently spent time at Sunshine Coffee, trying to get a glimpse of their friends while doing homework together.

The most surprising, however, of all the guests at the barbecue is none other than Eddie Munson.

He sits in a lounge chair nearest to the pool, a cigarette between his lips, his bare arms on display for the first time ever , with his hair back in another one of his low hanging ponytails. You notice first the dark ink sprawling along his arms. Some newer than the others, judging by what you know of tattoos. Your eyes catch on the scar you can still see on his left bicep, like a little sun on his skin mixed in with a swirling array of black and gray that shifts and moves as he does. Seemingly aware of the kids now waving to you in earnest, he shifts his head over his shoulder, and though his gaze is obstructed by sunglasses, you can tell he’s surprised you're there.

I’m surprised too, you think, suddenly uncertain of where to stand, what to do, what to say. You fidget on the spot with a hand curling in your dress, tempering the urge to flee. It’s what you might normally do in a moment like this, what you’ve done long before moving to Hawkins was ever set into motion.

There isn’t much time to think, however, before Robin’s rushing over to your side and offering to help you with your things. She’s kind and pleasant—surprisingly so. She even goes so far as to give you a tour around the Harrington home, making you aware of where you can use the bathroom, get a new drink from the fridge, or a snack from the pantry. Not that you’ll need it with all the food cooking, but you’re appreciative all the same.

Once back outside, Steve greets you shockingly enough with a warm hug. Says he’s happy you finally showed up, as though he’s been waiting all day, and tells you food will be done in a few minutes.

It gives you a moment to get accustomed to your surroundings. Robin remains the perfect host at your side, prattling on about what she’s doing for college. She’s heavily intent on becoming a music teacher, and studying at the local community college. When she asks if you’ve ever thought about schooling, you mutter that you’ve never really thought to try.

Going to college meant staying in one place for a long period of time, and thus it’s never been a thought in your mind. Maybe in another life, another time, when you felt like you were ready to settle.

But now…no.

Now you’re content with your coffee shop, with training up the girls to do all the tasks you need to keep it afloat, and deciding how you feel about Hawkins later down the line.

She pulls you along beside her to plop down in the lounge chair across from Eddie, her foot kicking against Eddie’s ankle to draw his attention.

“You’ve met Eddie, haven’t you?” Robin asks, and your eyes shift to his face. It’s hard to see what he’s thinking behind those sunglasses, a mask settled across his features.

“We’ve met,” Eddie says softly, tipping his head down towards you.

“Hi, Eddie.” You wave his way and Robin glances between the two of you awkwardly, hands on her knees.

“Well, there’s the pool obviously, Steve has karaoke for later if we want to do any, you know where the snacks and drinks are, and, uh, food will be ready soon,” she announces, standing tall to her feet. “I’ll leave you both to it, then! Enjoy!”

It’s…well, it’s silent. And though that’s not entirely unusual for Eddie, it’s still striking to you at the moment. His arms rest on either rest, body slouching into the chair.

“You took the day off?” You practically wince at the small talk, but it’s the first thing that comes to mind in the endless silence that settles between you.

“Was going to work, but Steve is big on his family get-togethers,” he tells you, taking a sip of his beer.

So the fact you’re here makes your heart warm.

“I…uhm, I’m glad you’re here,” you say, turning your head slightly to catch his profile. He’s looking out into the pool, mouth a thin line. You let out a slow breath. “I didn’t know you’d be here, but it’s always nice to see you.”

He’s quiet. So quiet.

You get the impression the sentiment isn’t returned.

You try to not let it sour your mood. “Well, uh, I’m going to see if Robin needs any help. Want me to grab you anything?” You rise to your feet, hands swiping along your dress. “A water? Beer?”

“I’m okay, thank you,” he says, and you catch the faintest curl of his lips.

Okay then , you think, and march off.

You show up to the party in a summer dress.

Of course you do.

It’s yellow with all these little flowers all over it. Bright, just like the summer day.

Suiting for you.

You, who quite literally radiates the sun, even on the gloomiest of days.

He remembers the night you slipped into the bar and tried to pretend no one saw you—that he never saw you.

Even water logged as you were, he’s pretty sure he’s never seen anyone so pretty.

People notice it. They’d be foolish not to. Whirl around in their seats and look your way, trying to catch a glimpse of the girl with sunshine in her heart.

But since you’ve met, all the times he’s been around you have been on his terms, and now you’re in the middle of Steve’s patio with a beer in hand and your head tipped back in a laugh as Robin tells you a lively story.

“You invited her?” Eddie asks, turning his head to Steve.

“Actually Max invited her. And El,” Steve explains, spatula swirling wildly as he speaks. “She seems nice. We’ve gone to the shop a bunch. Robs and I. But she’s always so busy. This is the first time we’ve really gotten to really meet her. Why? You got a personal vendetta against baristas I should know about?”

Quite the opposite, he thinks, but he’ll never admit that to Steve.

They immediately love you.

Of course they do; how could they not?

You match their golden retriever energy, bodies swaying—and surprisingly so, since none of you are even tipsy—as Steve sings (incredibly off key) along to “Super Trouper,” and you and Robin try to steal the microphone every couple words. All in all, it’s a stunning display of a lack of singing talent, but the kids are loving it, and Eddie hates it because it’s like a punch to the gut.

It’s been this way since you arrived. Your endless charisma, that light that seeps from you, the way you flit in and out of conversations with everyone at the party.

Everyone except him .

That’s his fault, he recognizes. He’s not really made it an effort to pull you aside, offering nothing more than little comments here and there.

He can see it on your face. The way you recognize he’s distancing himself on purpose.

It’s easier when you’re at the bar.

There, you’re quiet. You’re unassuming. You talk between the two of you, sure, but it’s on his terms. Here, you’ve injected yourself into his world—into this group that he trusts with all the parts of himself that have changed since what happened two years ago.

They’re a safety net. They’re the only people he feels like he can still be himself around, and you’ve breached that, you’ve entered in and made yourself a home.

They love you, and they should , but it’s another reminder of the fact the last time he let someone close to him they died in his home. The last time he let someone get close to him, the kids were in danger, Dustin got hurt, Max almost lost her life because of Carver interrupting their plan, Robin, Steve and Nancy almost died.

He can’t let another person get hurt from knowing him.

He can’t let you get hurt from knowing him.

He’d never forgive himself.

It’s sometime later that you end up sitting with your dress hiked up a bit on your thighs and your feet in the pool as the kids talk around you. The sun has set in Hawkins and the sound of crickets and cicadas blends into the gentle hum of music spilling from the radio.

Robin appears with Steve, her chin coming to hook over Eddie’s shoulder and smacks a kiss to his cheek. “Can we keep her?” Eddie groans as she shakes his shoulders, trying to get a rise out of him, and stands at Steve’s side.

“She’s not a pet, Robin.” He tries to keep his tone neutral. Unaffected.

“You like her,” she points out, grin turning wide and wicked.

He shakes his head, earning a look from Steve. “Don’t even start with that. I’m not hearing it.”

She’s practically bouncing in front of him. “But it’s true. I can see it. You can't keep your eyes off of her. She’s beautiful, though, so totally understandable. How did it happen? When did it start?”

“Rob,” he warns, feeling his chest tighten.

“Eddie, this is good . It’s really good ,” Steve says. Robin nods enthusiastically beside him.

“And why is that?” He challenges with a narrow stare, standing to his feet.

“You looked happy today. We can excuse this moment of assholery and chalk it up to your denial speaking, but she makes you smile. I haven’t seen you smile like that in ages,” Robin says, voice high and right with emotion.

He knows she wants the best for him, knows she wants to see him happy , but he has the guys from Corroded Coffin, he has Uncle Wayne, he has the kids, he has her and he has Steve, and that makes him happy.

“It could be gas.” His reply is deadpan, sunglasses obscuring the crinkle around the corner of his eyes at the look on Robin’s face that says ‘shut up, asshole.’

“Eddie,” she warns, arching a brow up at him.

“I'm serious. Steve’s cooking can be questionable.”

“I'm going to choose to ignore that. My cooking is fine,” Steve argues, cheeks aflame.

“So how long has this been going on?” Robin’s relentless. He supposes he should know this about her by now, but it makes his head spin all the same.

“There is no this because all this is is that I’m her customer and she visits the bar sometimes and we talk.”

“She visits you at your job and you visit her at hers—that sounds like interest,” Steve says, a little too pleased with himself.

“Mutual interest,” Robin agrees, beaming so bright she mirrors the summer sun.

“Look, I’m not even going to venture there because it’s only a matter of time before she figures out why you guys are the only ones left in Hawkins who don't run away at the sight of me. I’d rather not be there when she puts two and two together and hates me anyway.” He pauses, taking a deep breath, fingers at the bridge of his nose to pinch there. “So I’ll keep her at a distance and remind myself that I think she’s annoying as all hell most days—”

Because he doesn’t know what to do with the feelings that stir otherwise. So now it’s push them down, tuck them away, sweep them under the rug.

The sound of your ankle banging against the side of a lounger greets his ears, and his head jerks your way. Steve and Robin’s looks of amusement drop into sorrow as your eyes flash between them and him, disappointment clear on your features. He catches the way your bottom lip wobbles, how your eyes widen, shoulders dropping. There’s a small “oh” that spills from your lips, as if you’re only realizing now you have stumbled in a conversation you were never meant to hear in the first place, but he can sense your embarrassment all the same.

You deflate, and Eddie proves himself right once again why it’s futile to get close, because he catches those first glittering tears on your bottom lashes, unshed now, but there all the same.

And he knows you heard him.

Let someone close… hurt them. Just as he predicted.

“I, uh, was just going to say goodbye. I have to wake up early to set up the shop.” You step forward to hug Steve and Robin. He doesn’t expect you to come close to him, but it stings all the same when you simply glance away and mutter, “Goodbye, Eddie,” before slipping away, and out of the yard.

Steve watches him as you go, eyes scouring every inch of his face, head shaking lightly. “Aren’t you going to, oh I don’t know, follow her? Make sure she’s okay? Come on, man.”

“She said goodbye,” he says, catching your fingers struggling with your door handle in your haste to leave.

“Go,” Steve reiterates, and Eddie grumbles his way across the lawn, catching your door just as you’re about to close it.

There’s a little huff that spills from your lips and there’s a part of him that has to temper down the thrill that jolts in his chest at the way your eyes narrow up at him expectantly.

You’re always challenging him.

Even now there’s a protest in your stare—on your tongue.

But you focus your eyes ahead instead and lift your chin, trying to conceal the hurt swirling behind your eyes.

Asshole, asshole, asshole.

“I have to go,” you remind him.

“I’ll, uh…I’ll see you around, okay?”

“Yeah,” you say, and he shuts the driver's side door.

And as he walks back to his group of friends, he scolds himself the whole way, because the best thing he could come up with in a moment of stupidity was say ‘I’ll see you around, okay?’

Eddie doesn’t come by for five days, and you don’t visit the Hideout for just as long.

It’s not that you’re angry at him. No—the initial hurt is long gone. Now you’re left with this bitter emptiness. A feeling of questioning, as if every truth you had thought you’d know to be a certainty was really a lie all along.

For weeks you were led to believe whatever this thing was growing between you and him had been real. This tangibility you could tend to, could nurture.

Yet at the first sign of struggle, he ran away. Pushed you aside without a second thought. Said those hurtful things at the party.

He’d run after you, sure, but only after he registered your pain.

Only after his friends looked at him like he’d absolutely lost his mind.

You want to believe that there’s more to the story, that there’s a reason why he said what he said and did what he did.

But the worst part of it all, the part that twists the knife deeper in your chest, is the thought that maybe there isn’t, and maybe you trusted him too fast. Dove headlong into a dead end friendship with the one person in town you felt most free to be yourself around.

That part hurts the most.

Eddie feels like an idiot.

You are an idiot, he tells himself as he stands in that flower shop near Sunshine Coffee , asking the owners for some sort of arrangement that speaks to an apology of sorts.

“What kind of an apology?” the husband asks, looking over at Eddie wearily. His wife stands in the back, watering the flowers about the room.

They must know you’re upset with him, and for good reason, too. It’s normal that he frequents the shop, but for the past few days he’s stayed away, not wanting to see that look of hurt across your features ever again. It’s bad enough that when he closes his eyes he can picture it.

How your foot tripped over the edge of the lounger, the way your words tumbled from your lips, your skirt rustling about your ankles as you sped away…and sped away from him.

Steve caught up with him the next day over the phone, trying to talk more sense into him. Trying to tell him there’s nothing wrong with opening up to a new friend, especially when that person was trying to go at his pace, respecting his boundaries, and never pushing him further than he was willing to go.

You’ve always been patient, and friendship is a two way street, where equal participation is expected from both parties.

Steve reminds him that this is a good thing.

His government ordered therapist does, as well. Reminds him that part of healing is doing the uncomfortable things, stepping out of his comfort zone, coming out from the shadows he’s shrouded himself within.

He’s not meant to live in solitude.

“It’s for a…I was a total asshole who took advantage of your kindness, and I deserve your rage kind of apology,” he admits, and watches as the older man regards him carefully before thinking to himself quietly.

“You can do pink roses.”

“Aren’t roses for love?” he asks, wanting to be clear. He’s always seen them around Valentine’s Day when all the couples at Hawkins High wanted to be all mushy and show their undying devotion to one another. “I’m not trying to say I—I love her or anything. I barely know her.”

“Pink roses mean gratitude. Seeing as you took advantage of her kindness and hurt her, pink roses are a perfect way of showing that,” he explains, putting together an assortment on the countertop and tying it off with a ribbon on the front. “Do you want me to write her a card?”

“Can I…take one to go?”

“Sure thing,” he says, ringing him up and sliding a blank card across the countertop. “And word of advice, boy: that girl is wonderful, so you better do better.”

I’m trying, he thinks, slipping out of the building.

And it starts with the little bouquet he has one of the girls deliver you later that day, with a little card affixed to the ribbon.

The words on the letter read: Fact of the day—Eddie Munson is a giant asshole.

Then beneath, in tinier lettering: Do you think you can forgive him, maybe?

Steve Harrington and Robin Buckley are always a welcome sight within the walls of Sunshine Coffee. Even before the Fourth of July barbecue, you’ve particularly liked them. The two would come in, often bantering with one another, bright smiles on their faces.

It always spoke to a close bond between the two; you don’t know them well , but that kind of bond is clear and attests to being tried and tested in the fire, and only made them stronger for it.

You’re a little shocked to see them here now, however.

The last time they saw you, the three of you were happy and high off of life, cheeks warm from the summer sun, arms looped around each other's necks as you sang ABBA, smelling of suntan lotion and lips stained from cherry popsicles.

You glance over your shoulder to Will and ask him if he’s good to let you go on your lunch break, and he’s immediately nodding his reply. The three of you slip out into the street, sights set on the local ice cream parlor, because Robin reassures you ‘ice cream is the perfect lunch for a day like this.’

It’s sweltering out. Sweat slicks your skin, the back of your neck, your hands. That first swipe of your tongue along your chocolate and vanilla swirl has you humming in delight, sandaled feet kicking out beneath you.

“I’m actually so shocked to see you two,” you admit, just as Robin sticks her spoon into her cup.

“We told you there’s no getting rid of us now,” Robin says, and she’s right, but it makes you smile all the same.

Makes you warm, and it has little to do with the heat shining down from the sun above.

“I’m actually planning another get together,” Steve says, tongue already cherry red from his ice. “You’re invited, obviously.”

“Thanks, Steve.” You swipe your tongue along another line of rainbow sprinkles, glancing out into the street.

You can see the now-quiet Hideout. It won’t be busy for a couple hours now.

“So, uh, that’s actually kind of why we ambushed you at work,” Steve says, catching your wandering gaze.

“Hmm?” Your head snaps back their way, wrist lifting to your mouth to catch the ice cream sliding down the side of your cone.

“He really likes you, you know? We know he can make a fool of showing it, but he does,” Steve starts.

“Who?” You’re playing coy, hiding your nervousness behind your ice cream.

Robin’s quick to answer with, “Eddie…we just ask you to give him a second chance, okay? He’s been through a lot. And I’m sure we’re literally breaking a thousand rules of friendship right now by approaching you like this, but he’s already been so much happier since you’ve been here. You, like, challenge him and make him come out of the little shell he’s put himself into and it would really break my heart—both our hearts, really—if that stopped.”

“I planned on it,” you tell them sincerely. But you also know it has to be on his terms.

He’s already started with his apology, and now it’s just a matter of…waiting to see what happens.

You can’t force yourself onto someone who doesn’t want you to be prevalent in their lives. And yet, you respect his past; you understand that there are parts of him you’ve not privy to that his friends are, and the fact that they may reveal why he is the way he is at his core.

Knowing that, being made aware of that, is something you want to happen on its own time. In the right time, and by his discretion.

It’s his story to tell.

So the three of you stand to your feet and walk through the town, talking about the upcoming weekend, planning things for dinner and dessert. And you plan for the future with the sun at your backs, bright and vibrant smiles as bright as the beams that dance along your skin, with nothing but hope to guide you all.

He doesn’t come the next day. Nor does he come the day after. And soon it’s a week since you’ve seen him in the four walls of your coffee shop. Which surprises you, because he left that apology bouquet of flowers with El to give to you.

You can only imagine his dark figure hulking as he entered that little flower shop, filling the vibrant room with a streak of black and gray. It makes the corners of your mouth lift simply thinking of it—imagining him having to order the plants and write up his little note card.

If you beamed when you read his little fact of the day, you’d never admit it. But the girls certainly caught it, pointing and laughing at the way you lit up like a Christmas tree at the prospect of Eddie Munson getting you apology flowers.

It’s what they babble teasingly at you, at least. All wagging fingers and pouty lips over the fact he had gone out of his way to make a gesture as he had in hopes of getting back into your good graces.

Only, you’ve not seen him since.

You thought maybe he would come see you— talk in person about why the way he behaved like a proper imbecile that evening.

You’re sorely disappointed, and the sting of fresh rejection ripples and dances along your skin, cracks between your ribs and curls around your heart.

Max catches you one evening, hours before you’re set to close up for the day. Normally, it’s your job to make sure the shop closes up. You’ve always wanted to make sure the kids are ahead on their schoolwork anyway, but now with summer here, they’ve offered to stay later more often.

Extra pay, they remind you.

Extra help, you remind yourself.

But on this day she glances over the glass case wherein all your freshly baked cookies lay, a fresh bar towel in her hand as she wipes the case clean and sparkly. You catch the flash of red hair before she huffs out a sigh and tosses the towel onto the countertop.

“Just go over there,” she says, and you don’t even need her to clarify, despite the way your brows arch in feigned confusion at her words, because you know exactly where she’s referring to. She humors you all the same, nearly barking out, “To the Hideout. And don’t make that face, because we all know you go over there. Right?”

“Yeah, we’ve known,” El says, counting the tips in their ‘College Fund’ tip jar you made for them.

“It’s…kind of obvious.” Will winces, putting a lid over a fresh latte.

Max lets out another sigh. “The fact of the matter is, you’re moping around and he’s moping around, and if you’re going to do that, why not just—oh, I don’t know—mope together?”

You level them all with your best stern look, hands on your hips, but they only hide their giggles behind their palms. They’re enjoying this; they’re actually enjoying your struggle in this very present moment. “I think you three forget I’m technically your boss.”

“But…we’re also your friends,” El says, and Will nods in agreement, passing you a smile over his shoulder.

“We kind of crossed over into friendship territory when you came over Steve’s,” Max reminds you, shrugging.

“So it was a trap, then?” you tease, backing up until your shoulders press against the glass case. “You three will be good to lock up?”

“You’ve taught us everything we need to know,” Max says, and the other kids nod in agreement.

“Fine,” you agree, raising a finger to scold them when they all smirk at you. “But if anything happens, anything at all, you come get me.”

“Go!” El lets out an exasperated giggle and you slip out the door.

The Hideout isn’t as busy at this time, you discover. Normally you’re there past eight at night, and it's just after four thirty now. The sun still has yet to set, but there’s no light in here, except for that of the neon lights that glow blue above.

There’s only the quietest of conversation around you. A few people spread throughout the place, an older couple in the corner, two acquaintances at the bar. And then there’s you, sliding up onto a stool and pulling out the worn copy of The Fellowship of the Ring Eddie let you borrow.

He eyes you cautiously as you do so, as if he expects the worst. But you’ve already made up your mind; made it up long ago, if you’re being honest with yourself. “You didn’t warn me that Gandalf died.”

His mouth drops open momentarily at that, but a slow smile spreads across his lips and he props a forearm against the bar across from you. He leans into it to get closer. “That would ruin the story.”

“Yeah, but you know I loved him.” You told him as much numerous times. You were fond of him, the way he cares and loves for the fellowship. The wisdom he harbors.

“I know,” Eddie says, sounding regretful. “Can I convince you to keep reading…under the promise that maybe things will get better?”

You huff and pout, sliding your finger into where your bookmark presently rests at the back of the book. “I don’t see how they can.”

“Well don’t you want to know what happens next?”

“I do.”

“Then will you trust me?” He pauses, catching himself before he continues. You watch him rub a hand along the back of his neck, rings glinting in the light. “Actually—don’t answer that.”

“Why not?” You press him, mouth settling into a firm line.

“Because I…damn it, I messed up, okay?”

“I know, and I got your flowers. I forgive you.” You nod in earnest, already resolute in your decision to forgive him and move on from it.

“Yeah, but it doesn’t change the fact I was still an asshole,” he says, sounding a little mournful. “You just…you didn’t hear the whole conversation.”

You try to offer him an easy smile as he walks around the bar and sits down beside you on another stool. It’s the closest you’ve been to him, you think. “Did I walk in at the wrong time?”

“Something like that.”

Your answer is simple then, “Okay…then I forgive you for that, too.”

“You shouldn’t,” he says quietly.

You shake your head at him. “But I do.”

“Yeah, but why do you do that?”

You’re not understanding. “Why do I do what, Eddie? I’m trying to forgive you for being an ass and you’re not letting me, so are you rejecting your own apology?”

“You’re just…damn it, you’re—and it drives me crazy. That’s why I said you annoy the shit out of me.” He groans at the end of his words, palm sliding down his face. “I’m just—look, I’m not used to people being like you.”

“Like me?” You point to yourself with your thumb, head tilting to the side.

He’s staring straight at you when he says, “Nice, sweetheart, nice.”

You ignore the little flutter that gives way at his nickname.

“Why is that?”

“Because of all the shit that happened two years ago,” he drops an elbow onto the counter and rests his forearm along the top. He’s close enough just the slightest shift on the stool will mean his fingers brushing the sleeve of your work tee shirt.

“I know,” you tell him. “And I’m sorry for that.”

His eyes shift to your face. A worry line forms between his brows, out of place on such a youthful face. “Oh, so you, uh, looked into it?”

“No,” you reassure him softly, resting your hand on the back of his. He flinches at first, but doesn’t make an effort to pull away. You offer him a slight squeeze and continue, “no I didn’t, Eddie.”

“Why not?” It’s as if he can’t believe you wouldn’t.

As if he wonders why you haven’t.

“I figured one day you’d tell me,” you reply, thumb shifting against his palm in a slow swipe before you pull away to rest against his book instead. “When you’re ready, of course.”

“Oh…o-okay.”

“Yeah, so will you let me accept your apology? This way we can start over.”

“I’d like that,” he agrees, moving to stand to his feet as a customer taps a few dollars against the bar.

“Go—back to work for you,” you tease, adding out in a quick rush, “and get me the second Lord of the Rings book!”

“So you are going to read?”

“You asked me to trust you,” you remind him, watching as he starts walking to his customer. “This is me trusting you.”

Things… change after that.

You were friends before your mild tiff, sure—but Eddie starts to change from that point on. You wonder if it’s a wish to try and maintain what he says, about trusting him, about him trying to appreciate what you’ve been to him these months. But your adventures travel outside the four walls of the Hideout and Sunshine Coffee for the first time one humid Saturday a few weeks after you restart your friendship.

After Eddie lends you The Two Towers and you breeze through it in a week’s time, you tell him you really want your own set of the books. “You know, to mark up and stuff,” you tell him, to which he calls that, “A crime that requires jail time, unless you buy two copies so you have one to keep for rereading and one to annotate,” and you shove at him as you sit beside him in his van on the way to a thrift store just outside of Hawkins in search of a new bookshelf.

You briefly wonder if this is the town he lives in, what with the way he navigates so smoothly, no question to what roads to take.

You don’t press him, however.

You’re patient with him. You want to see him grow in your presence. To pull back those layers of his rough exterior and find the gold within. You know it’s there; you’ve seen it sparkle numerous times now. Can sense it behind every secret smile he offers you.

Your first store leaves you empty handed. You slip and out of aisles in search of the perfect piece to put in your home, but find nothing to your liking. Nothing that would even do well with a nice coat of paint or a good staining.

The second shop has a nice carpet you end up purchasing, with Eddie’s awaiting arms there to carry it back to his car, but again no bookshelf. So it surprises you a little when you both climb back inside after Eddie shuts the back doors and says, “I could try and build you one?”

“Really?” You shift your head to look at him. He’s gone with a short sleeve shirt today. Red, the vibrant deep kind that makes your marrow sing because of how stark and stunning it is against his skin. “I couldn’t ask for you to do that. It’s too much, I—”

“I want to. How hard could it be?”

It leads you back to your apartment, where you sneak around the back so as to not disrupt the kids that you’ve left alone for the day while you enjoy a day off. The first in months, really. Eddie watches you fumble with the key, chuckling when your trembling fingers struggle a bit.

“Here,” he says, moving around you and filling the space beside your bodies with his own. His chest brushes your back, fingers dancing against yours as he pulls the keys from them. With a swift ‘click’ the lock slides open, and he pushes inside. “Good to know the lock still works.”

“The guy who installed it is really humble,” you tease and his eyes roll, shoving past him to inspect the apartment. “Look—I…it’s a little bit of a mess. I haven’t gotten around to fixing the place up yet. Taking care of the coffee shop comes first right now. Hence…all the stuff laying around in piles and boxes.”

When Eddie looks around, however, there’s no judgment there. Only curiosity in his dark stare as he glances around your space. You catch the mess in the sink, the boxes on the countertop beside it. There’s your unmade bed, with its burnt orange pillows and white bedspread, kicked down toward one end. To the side of that are your piles of books with your alarm clock and lamp set on them. Luckily, your clothes are unpacked and stored away in your closet, kept hidden behind a curtain you remembered to pull shut that morning.

“Well, here’s…my place,” you raise your arms in a sweeping circle. “It’s not much, but it’s…well, it’s mine. Needs a good coat of paint, some furniture, and a little love, but it does what it needs to.”

“I could help, you know?” he offers, giving the place another once-over.

“Eddie, you’re already here to measure a space for a bookshelf you’re going to build with your own hands,” you laugh out, a little shocked by his offer. “I can’t ask you to do that.”

“We could do it together, lighten the burden,” he says evenly, hands on his hips. Suddenly it strikes you as odd seeing him there. The quiet boy from across the way, now your friend offering to help you get more comfortable in your new home. “We’ll need to go to the store and pick up wood for the bookshelf anyway. Why not grab some paint while we’re there?”

“Really?” you ask, and he nods. “I—if you’re sure. I’ll make you all the cookies, just wait.”

He smirks. You think you like that look on him best, because one of his dimples pops when he does so. “I’ll hold you to it, sweetheart.”

You plan for the next weekend, then.

You don a simple tee shirt made to get dirty and a pair of shorts as you climb down the back stairs and slip into the coffee shop unannounced.

The kids seem a little intrigued by your plans two weeks in a row as you hurry to put together a coffee for your friend, but you remind them that you’re, “Simply conducting business, as usual.”

Max gives a little smirk to Will and El. “Oh, I'm sure there’s loads of business happening.”

The kids all burst into a fit of giggles as you splutter out a huff, tossing a pair of sunglasses over your eyes and calling over your shoulder for them to have a good time while you’re gone, and slip out the front door. Eddie’s there with the windows rolled down, metal music streaming from his windows, his hair free and in wild waves today. He’s gone with a ratty white tee and jeans, and he thanks you softly as you hand him his cup of coffee and whips down the road.

“Who is this?” you ask, listening to the words spilling from the speakers. “Take a look to the sky, just before you die. It’s the last time you will. That’s…well, it’s really chilling.”

“Metallica,” he says, chuckling as you wrinkle your nose in confusion. “A metal band. One of my favorites. You can add that to your collection of random facts about me.”

“Already written down,” you say with a soft roll of your eyes at him. “What does the song mean?”

“It’s based on the poem by Ernest Hemingway. About the Spanish Civil War. There’s basically this moment where the soldiers are surrounded on a hill and it’s their last moments before…well, before dying,” he explains, sounding a little far away. “I think the song all in all is about death, though. I mean, the part you mentioned is a thing someone does right before they die. That last look up at the sky, knowing it’s the last time they’ll see it.”

You almost want to ask him ‘ how do you know,’ but he continues quickly with, “If you like this one, I’m sure you’ll like more of their stuff. We may turn you into a metalhead, or at the very least someone with a little more refined taste, yet.” You open your mouth to give him a witty retort when he pulls in front of a hardware store and pushes his door open. You reach over to unbuckle yourself and grab the door handle, but he’s already there, offering a hand to help you down. “Okay, what color are we thinking of for the walls?”

You shrug as the two of you walk toward the store, bell jangling upon entering. “Maybe off white to match my bed?”

That’s how you learn there are approximately a thousand different shades of white to choose from. You suddenly regret asking Eddie to come along with you, even despite it being his idea, as the two of you stand in the store and thumb through a book full of different colors to choose from, turning what you thought would be a quick trip into an hour-long stay. Each one looks only minimally different from the one before it, and each one leaves you all the more confused.

“What about this one?” you ask, nudging Eddie with an elbow.

“It looks just like this one,” he points out, rubbing a hand along his jaw, his coffee cup still in hand though it’s long empty now. “How about you close your eyes and just…I don’t know, poke whichever one and go with that? And while you do that, I’ll go ask that nice looking employee over there what kind of wood we think we’ll need for your bookshelf.”

The two of you rejoin some twenty minutes later with your cash at the ready as a nice cashier rings up your purchases and glances between the two of you, smiling softly.

“Sweet that you’re building this young lady a bookshelf,” the older man says, eyes more on Eddie than you. He’s the same man who helped Eddie pick out the supplies he’d need to make you one in the first place. A pretty dark wood, with a gorgeous grain. “That young, summer love. I remember when I was your age.”

“We’re, ah, we’re friends,” Eddie clarifies with no delay, cheeks red at their highest point.

“Just really great friends,” you tell him, thanking him as he hands you back your change.

“My apologies then,” he says, but there’s a smirk along his lips that makes you believe his words were definitely intentional. “Have a great rest of your day, you two! Stay safe out there; it’s a hot one.”

It’s certainly getting warmer here, you think to yourself, sliding your money back into your little purse.

Still, you pick your paint up off the counter and watch as Eddie palms the handle of the shopping cart, spirit bright as you wish him a wonderful day and head out the front door.

And if your heart races a little bit, well there’s no point in pondering that.

The room is ready in no time for painting. Summer sun seeps through your open windows, air filtering in through the screens. You took down the curtains to keep them from getting messy and helped Eddie pull all your furniture into the center of the room to try and prevent any spills.

It doesn’t take long before you’re helping lay out tarps around the space to protect your floors, laughing when Eddie struggles a bit getting them to unfurl fully before draping them around the room. There are tins full of rollers and paint strewn about the floor, ready for usage, and music drifting from your record player hidden within your closet. A little Dean Martin, one of your grandfather's favorites, croons in your tiny space, bringing joy to your heart.

And then there’s Eddie, with his hair back in a low bun, taping around your windows and cabinets to ensure you don’t go over any of the areas you intend to keep as they are with the off white you had chosen.

“What’s your favorite song?” It’s a random question he asks as the song changes and “Everybody Loves Somebody” plays. “If you had to pick one, what would it be? The one you can play over and over and never get bored of.”

You’re mid-emptying your dish drain into your kitchen cabinets when you pause to think about it. The question catches you off guard, but you’re always excited when Eddie asks questions to get to know you better. And right now, in this moment where it’s just the two of you in your home, seems like the perfect time to do so.

“Uhm…” You trail off, running a towel over the inside of a still-wet bowl. “‘Lay All Your Love on Me.’ I could probably listen to it forever.”

He’s throwing another one of those smirks your way and you stick your tongue out at him, earning a low chuckle. “Sorry, okay, ‘Lay All Your Love on Me.’ It is a good song.”

“So you do listen to ABBA,” you tease.

“I can appreciate their songs, sure. Especially since Steve and Robin listen to them all the time,” he says, coming to join you in the kitchen, tossing the painter’s tape into your kitchen drawer for safe keeping.

You shove your bowl up in its proper cabinet, draping the towel over your shoulder. “What about you? What song can Eddie Munson listen to on repeat for the rest of his life?”

He seems a little caught off by your question. Face morphing from momentary shock to thoughtfulness, brows pinching together, mouth taut. “If I had to pick just one, I would probably go with ‘The Trooper’ by Iron Maiden,” he says at last.

“They’re the ones who sang ‘For Whom the Bell Tolls,’ right?” you ask.

“No that’s Metallica, but you’re learning, Young Padawan,” he replies, pulling out a fresh paint brush and holding it aloft. “Are you ready to paint?”

It’s easy to work with him in the confines of your apartment. The two of you mingle here and there amongst yourselves, but there’s a comfort in the silence that stretches out between you. It’s not the kind that needs to be full of conversation, because it’s more the feeling in your heart simply having him there.

The gentle brushes of your arms when you both reach to wet your rollers, the accidental splash of pale color you accidentally get on his arm when you do so, the gentle caress of his laugh that tickles the hair along your neck when he says ‘it’s okay.’ It goes on like that for hours, the two of you working in tandem, the sounds of Dean Martin and brush strokes intermingling with Eddie’s commentary, on his praise of how your work is coming out, his guidance on the hardest to reach areas.

You pause only to eat some pizza, kindly brought up by Will, who asks if you two need any help before he heads out for the afternoon. You thank him and offer him a slice to go, but wish him a nice rest of his day to rest and relax. And then you’re alone once more with Eddie, commenting on how this pizza isn’t like your pizza back home.

“Better?” he asks, picking a pepperoni off his slice and dropping it onto his tongue.

“Definitely better,” you hum delightfully.

“Where is ‘back home?’”

It’s your turn to smirk, shrugging. “That’s a long story, and we have work to do, my friend. Now eat up.”

It’s not long before you’re both sitting in the middle of the room, paint brushes laying in little cups, rollers in their tins, your hands supporting your upper bodies as you look up at your work. The room looks perfect. So much brighter than it was before, even despite the slowly setting sun over Hawkins. It’s a beautiful cotton candy confection; oranges, pinks and lavender visible through your window. You stare ahead and Eddie does too, chests heavy from exertion, sweat slicking skin, basking in companionable silence.

You jolt briefly as the pad of a finger brushes along your jaw, settling when you shift and realize it’s only him, staring at you with a look unnamable behind his eyes. “You got a little paint…right here,” he says, answering the question already stewing in your mind before you can even voice the words.

You glance down to where his hand rests against your skin, and then back up to his face, trying to hide the shaky breath that struggles to escape. It’s a short moment, but does little to quell the rapid turn of your insides as they do a flip within you, cut even shorter when a knock at the door sends Eddie jumping to his feet to glance through the peephole.

You suspect it’s someone you know, because he opens the door and greets El on the other side, her small wave and ‘hello’ greeting your ears soon after. “I just wanted to let you know I finished closing up. Money is all counted, and Max helped me set up for tomorrow.”

You climb to your feet, coming to step around Eddie and curl your hand around the door. “Thank you, sweetie. I’ll see you tomorrow. Thanks for helping out today.”

“Anytime!” she says, and you close the door behind her, leaving you alone once more with your dark haired friend.

The two of you clean up in silence, that brief moment of touch long forgotten as he helps you get rid of all the paint supplies and tosses them into a garbage bag. Your furniture and other things will have to stay where they are for now to keep dry, with a promise that he’ll come help you once more.

“Well…it looks amazing,” you say, doing a slow spin about the room as he finishes washing his hands in the kitchen sink, admiring your work. “Thank you again for helping, seriously. I wouldn’t have been able to do it without you.”

You watch his hand reach around him to fumble with his car keys in his back pocket. “It’s no problem. I should go though; I have to stop somewhere before heading home. Little bit of a drive, you know?”

“Oh—y eah, of course!” Your head nods rapidly, stepping backward a bit so he can move to the door. “Can’t exactly keep you here all night.”

“Goodnight,” he says, palm curling around the door handle.

“Goodnight,” you reply softly, hand coming up in a little wave.

You shut the door with a sigh and trail back over to your closet and lift the record, flipping it back over to the first side. The stylus settles where you want it and the familiar beginning notes of “Everybody Loves Somebody” fills your apartment.

Everybody loves somebody sometime. Everybody falls in love somehow...

You smile as you ready for bed, brushing a finger along the picture resting in a box for safe keeping of your grandfather, placed there lovingly by Eddie. Your fingers press against your lips and rest along his smiling face, voice quiet as you whisper, “I had the best day…”

Chance tells you he’ll be at your apartment by six, but he shows up early in a freshly ironed button up and a pair of slacks, hair perfectly styled on his head.

Chance buys you flowers and sets them in your awaiting arms as you approach that night.

Chance opens the door for you when you walk up to Enzo’s.

Chance compliments you on your features, tells you how good you look, brushes a kiss against your temple.

He stares at you the whole night through the candlelight glow, fingers dancing along yours ever so slightly.

He buys an expensive bottle of wine and makes sure you order whatever you want. You settle on pasta, and he orders a steak. Comments on the fact you didn’t need to be shy and order something cheaper. But you smile and bat your eyelashes, answering his questions as enthusiastically as you can.

It should be perfect. In all reality, it really should be.

It’s just…not fluid.

He talks about his work. About handing out tickets, arrests, the parties he’s broken up where underage kids got a little too rowdy. And you talk about your shop, your workers, your quirky customers. But it all feels very surface level, all very forced.

Stilted.

It’s not even to say he isn’t nice, because he is.

Maybe a little arrogant, what with the way he talks highly of himself and his achievements fresh out of high school only a couple years ago now, but you can write that off as him being excited and overly eager to spend time with you.

He’s just…not for you, and you can tell very early on into the date he’s not.

So as he drives you home and walks you to your apartment door, you press your fingers against the center of his chest when he leans down to kiss you and whispers how beautiful you are near your skin. Because while he’s nice and he’s perfectly fine, there’s no denying the fact he doesn’t rouse those feelings that a friend of yours does.

There’s no spark, no flame, nothing to kindle a connection with.

“Thank you for tonight, Chance,” you whisper, and lean forward to kiss his cheek.

He nods, resolute, and wishes you a goodnight at your door. Tells you he’ll see you around. You trudge up your stairs and slip inside your apartment, readying yourself for bed. You scrub the remainder of your makeup off from the evening, slip out of the dress you had worn to look nice at the fancy restaurant. It spills from your body into a messy puddle on the floor, and you toss it into the nearby hamper as you yawn, making your way across the room to where the lights from the Hideout dance and pulse against your skin. You press your fingers against the glass briefly, longingly, and shut the light on your book pile near your bed, dousing the room in darkness.

“So Eddie plays at this bar with his band from time to time. They used to play at the Hideout, but when Eddie moved out of town, he found this new spot, and instead of their five drunk people that used to be in majority of their crowds, they actually have a little bit of a following now,” Robin explains, leading you into the dark bar behind her. Steve’s there as well, but he’s standing off in the distance with some other guys dressed in dark colors, heads nodding as they talk. “Over there with Steve are…Jeff and Gareth. They’re Eddie’s band mates. And then there’s Kevin—he’s the one up on stage. He’s another. And Eddie…well, Eddie is probably in the back mentally preparing himself or something. He’s very passionate, like, very passionate about his music.”

You nod silently, finding yourself a little overwhelmed in the dark room. Not only is it in an unfamiliar town, but there’s a sea of swirling faces around you, melding together in the dim red lights dangling above. It’s definitely a younger crowd than that of the Hideout, and a lot more upscale. It seems like the kind of place people gravitate to, bodies pushing into yours as you try to force your way through the crowd behind Robin, her hand a vice around yours as she leads you to the bar.

She orders you both a round of tequila shots that you down swiftly, head darting around the area in search of the familiar head of wavy brown hair. He’s still nowhere to be found, however. “I can see if the guys know where he is.”

“I—I can wait,” you rush out, raising your voice above the music. “They’ll be starting soon anyway.”

“I’m sure he’d be happy to see you anyway,” she yells back, earning a glare from a woman standing close to the bar. She places an order for your next round of drinks and helps you back over to where Steve and Eddie’s band mates are.

Steve immediately raises an arm and tugs you into the crook of his elbow. “This is our newest friend,” he says, and tells them your name. Jeff and Gareth nod their heads, looking to you and then to each other, where they pass one another a quick look. It’s so brief you think you’ve mistaken it, and instead hold your hand up in a quick wave. “You’re probably looking for Ed, right? Here, let me show you around.”

Steve Harrington is kind and caring, first and foremost. You don’t know the full nature of his friendship with Eddie, but you know enough that you can tell they’re close. That whatever happened two years ago, from the brief snippets you’ve heard of it brought up in conversation, became a sort of catalyst for what they are to one another now. And because of that, because of the friendship between Eddie and yourself, that kindness and immediate love has been extended to you. You find yourself grateful for it as he leads you down a dark hallway, passing a break room you assume is for the workers of the actual bar, before he raps his knuckles on a room furthest in the back.

Eddie’s there a moment later. Dark hair loose about his shoulders, a lightning bolt earring dangling in one ear, tight jeans fitted to his thighs, Corroded Coffin written across his black tee shirt in white letters. He’s foregone his leather jacket, his bat tattoos, and another tattoo you’ve not seen before on the inside of a scarred bicep flashing before your eyes as he steps backwards into the room. You realize he only goes without when he’s outside of Hawkins, and you only briefly get a chance to wonder why before he’s gesturing for you two to come inside.

“I actually am going to check up on Robin. Make sure she’s not ordering too many drinks for them,” he says, pointing to you. “You know how Robs gets.”

“Oh I know,” Eddie says, but it’s accompanied by a fond chuckle, likely full of memories filled with Robin’s escapades.

You’ve only hung out with her a handful of times and can easily admit she’s a lot of fun. She’s also quite a bit more ambitious in social settings than even you are. You love that about her, though.

Steve leaves the two of you to it, door clicking shut and leaving you alone with the man. He drapes himself over the small couch situated in the far corner of the room, all long limbs over the top of the couch, one foot hooking over his thigh. You catch the barest hint of pale skin and lean muscle as he does so, catching your stare drifting before he says anything about it and focusing in on his eyes instead.

“This place is crazy,” you say, a little breathlessly.

“Definitely beats the Hideout, huh?”

“Definitely,” you agree, flopping down next to him when he pats the couch near his hip.

You were shocked when he brought up the show to you initially. Told you in passing at the bar about the show coming up mid-July, as if you’d talked about the fact Eddie plays in a band prior to that evening.

You want to press him further for not opening up about it sooner, but you suppose you should have picked up on the signs. His random strumming when you sat in the car together and his music played in the background, the tapping of his fingers, the random humming of songs and scribble of lyrics in a notepad when he thought you weren’t looking.

“I’m happy you invited me,” you tell him honestly.

“Of course, sweetheart,” he replies, his fingers spread along the top of the couch tapping your shoulder in a tune unknown. “I’m almost done with your bookshelf, by the way. Got my uncle to help with it, actually.”

“Oh no, don’t tell me that,” you whine, cupping your hand over your face.

“He wanted to help,” he reassures you, pushing at your wrist so he can see you. You shove at him jokingly, his laugh a rumble in your ears. “I’ve been keeping it at his place. Should be done probably by next weekend, if you want me to come to the apartment.”

You nod. “Next weekend is perfect. Maybe I’ll make us dinner. Like a little…celebration. We painted my apartment, replaced that hideous rug, and you built me a bookshelf. That place is actually starting to look like my place.” You pause, immediately rethinking your words, spluttering out, “Only if you want to, of course.”

“Sounds good to me,” he says, staring into your eyes just as a knock sounds from the door. A voice calls Eddie’s name from the other side, vaguely familiar to you, and Eddie shouts back, “Come in!”

Gareth appears with his longer hair flopping about his head, pausing when he catches you sitting on the couch beside his band mate. “Sorry. We just go on in five. Wanted to make sure you were ready.”

You shift away from Eddie on the couch, wiping your hands on your shorts as you stand to your full height. “I’ll let you guys get ready. I’ll see you out there.”

“See you out there,” he says, ignoring the way Gareth’s lip twitches upward when you duck around the boy and slip out of the room.

You wade through the sea of bodies once you’re back in the main area, catching sight of Steve’s floppy head of hair first before you see Robin hopping up and down beside him. They’ve managed to secure a little table and chairs, high enough over most heads that you’ll be able to see the stage. Robin hands you a margarita as you sit down, the drink chilling against your throat as you take your first sip gratefully.

She passes you a knowing grin, murmuring, “Where’d you run along to?”

“Stop instigating,” you huff out, but you giggle all the same, grinning when she pulls you into a hug. “But if you must know, I went to go check up on Eddie.”

Steve turns to look at the two of you then, explaining, “Robs snuck another shot while you were gone.”

“My friend over here has to catch up!” She jostles your shoulders a bit, and you hug her tighter.

“Your friend here has to work tomorrow, hon,” you remind her, running a hand down the back of her head when she pouts. “But I’ll have one more with you, okay? And then it’s off to bed for me.”

“Compromise,” Steve says, nodding enthusiastically.

Robin seems okay with that, plopping down onto the stool beside you as Corroded Coffin comes out onto the stage and gets into position. You briefly scan the band, their outfits all an array of black and white, with Eddie catching your eye the most. Him with his hair back, his band tee on display, ripped jeans tight against his thighs. And when they begin, you can only watch, completely enraptured, by the way his fingers move along his electric guitar. He moves like he was born to move on stage, head moving to and fro as he dives into the music—as if he’s one with it.

“He’s really good, isn’t he?” Robin asks low in your ear, sliding your shot of tequila in front of you.

You quickly swallow it down, following it up with your lime wedge. Your heart rackets against your ribcage as his fingers dash along the strings, movements precise and practiced, like the instrument is another part of his body, blending seamlessly into the rest of him.

“Yeah,” you mutter quietly, sipping the remainder of your margarita to chill your nerves that dance and hum with life beneath your skin, “he is.”

The fact you’re even here now means the world to you. This part of him he’s willingly choosing to share, something so deeply and uniquely his, that only his friends are privy to. It’s not lost on you, the meaningfulness of the evening. Being able to be there for him, in support of him.

You won’t take that for granted…this little glimpse of Eddie that you know has been entrusted to you for safe keeping.

It’s a day like any other. And by that, the girls are once again stirring the pot and trying to get a rise out of you and see what they can say to get information about the happenings of your personal life.

You should expect it by now, you suppose.

“Eddie’s been coming around more and more,” Max points out that afternoon as you and the girls close up shop.

El remains from a safe distance, as always, listening in on the conversation.

“Don’t think I forgot about what you girls did with the whole Fourth of July situation,” you warn them, brandishing your broom like a weapon.

“What do you mean?” El asks, and as much as you want to pretend she’s playing coy, you know he’s genuinely innocent.

“So you two aren’t trying to instigate anything between Eddie and I?” you press, looking in Max’s direction as she whistles to herself, suddenly highly intrigued by a spot on the ceiling.

“I know nothing about that at all,” Max says, holding out the dust pan so you can flick your collected dirt into it. “But if something were to happen, that would be pretty cool.”

You scoff disbelievingly. “There’s nothing going on with us, though. We’re friends; really good friends these days, honestly, but just friends.”

“Are you aware you just said friends three times in that explanation?” She seems way too happy with herself. “Seems excessive if you say you’re just friends.”

But you were.

You are.

There’s never been an indication as to anything that would suggest otherwise. He’s never given you any idea that his feelings are outside the boundaries of platonic friendship. Plus it’s only been five months since you’ve known him, and even less since you’ve been spending time with him.

You chalk it up to the girls wanting to have their fun and play it off once more like it means nothing—like there’s not a hidden part of you that does like Eddie more than you’ve let on, and finish cleaning up the coffee shop.

Eddie arrives as expected with your bookshelf at the ready. It’s beautiful. All dark brown wood with the prettiest natural grain, almost like it’s come from the forest itself. He helps you place your collection in their proper places on the shelves, taking a step back to admire your new set of Tolkien books, lovingly suggested by him. A little influence of his own self injected into your life.

You’ve settled on spaghetti, the smell of fresh sauce filling your apartment as Eddie takes in the place, now a lot different than when he saw it last. You've unpacked more of your kitchen, trying to ensure the place feels more like home. There’s a warmth to it now that you feel it lacked before. That, paired with your citrusy candle burning on the tabletop, and you feel your grandfather would be smiling down from wherever he is now.

You talk about the banalities of life as you finish up the cooking. His work, the building of your bookshelf, the minute updates to your apartment. You tell him about the kids and then business, how it’s prospering more than you could ever imagine. You’re making actual money now; enough where you could earn a decent living in Hawkins, though that part you leave out.

It brings him once more to the question you know he had intended to ask you last time he sat in this same space. His question to you is, “Where was home before here?”

As you told him before, it’s a long and winding tale. It’s like the stories in Middle Earth you’ve been reading about, these constant travelers, unable to settle for long in one place. So you settle for that, the abbreviated version, the simpler tale.

“My family moved a bunch when I was younger,” you explain, shoveling some spaghetti down onto his place and yours. He pours you a glass of wine as you move to sit, eyes not once leaving your face as you continue. “So, I, uh…bounced around a lot. You know, from school to school. It was kind of always that way for as long as I remember. As a kid I hated it. Never really staying in one place meant not really having a solid group of friends or people I could build any sense of community with.”

“I understand that,” he says, twirling the noodles around his fork.

“As I got older, though, I learned there were positives to that arrangement. I could get to know new people, experience new things, try new foods, learn new cultures,” you explain, memories of the various places you’ve lived. Warmer, tropical places; bustling cities; beach side apartments; quiet towns. “I had friends in…many places all of a sudden. I learned to sort of just seize the moment for what it is and make the most of it.”

“So how’d you end up here? In Hawkins out of all places?”

You swallow a bit of your noodles and down some of your wine. “My grandfather always wanted to see me slow down. I loved coming here as a kid, honestly. I have so many memories of this shop, just running in here and smelling his fresh cookies. The coffee. He’d sometimes sneak me some before my parents would let me have it. I’d spend my summers here with him, pretending to work for him, just…watching him. And he had such a, uh, joy for helping people. So when he died and gave me this place, I thought it was only right to uphold his name here.”

He nods, eyes soft as he regards you across the kitchen table. “Do you think you’ll stay?”

“Ah…that’s hard. My whole life I’ve sort of been running, I guess. Leaving before I could get too attached. I want to say I will, I just—”

“Don’t know any differently,” he says, and it sounds like he understands. “Running gets tiring, though. Trust me.”

“It does,” you admit, biting your lip.

You want to stop, you do. There’s just this fear that accompanies it. Of opening up enough to let people in and form a true community. Laying yourself bare to those who can nurture and also hurt you if you let them. But you’re trying. Sitting there, in that moment, with Eddie staring at you like he is, you find that you’re trying.

“If it helps your case in staying,” he says, climbing to his feet to toss his dish in the sink, “I’d be happy…you know, if you did. Steve and Robin would, too. The kids.”

Your heart warms as he says so, moving about your kitchen like he’s been doing so forever. He works in silence, even despite your protests as you tell him you’ll clean up, but he’s not having it. Instead he forces you to go pop on a record. Not ABBA, for the love of God (his words). You settle instead on Mötley Crüe, which he says is only marginally better, but he quiets after that. You can only hear the sound of a sponge against dishes and plates as he works, his arms shifting as he works. You try to keep from looking, but he’s all honed muscle and dark ink swirling across skin.

He goes to turn the sink off and starts to walk your way when the sound of a thump and a skitter of claws and wings meets your ears, loud enough over the music that it makes you jump out of your chair.

But Eddie’s reaction has your blood running cold. The way he lets out a strangled cry and stumbles backward into your counters, dropping down onto his bottom on the floor, hands around his kneecaps.

He’s not breathing.

You can hear the rasp of lungs that won’t fill, of his struggle as he turns in on himself, hand clutching at his chest.

You drop onto the tiles in front of him, gently crawling across the floor so as to not spook him further. He’s gasping like he’s in pain and you reach out to brush your fingers over the bats along the back of his forearm, along the curve of wings, trying to get him to look at you.

“Eddie?” You whisper his name, and his eyes shift just enough to meet yours.

Horror rounds those dark swirls of anguish, full of something you can’t quite see within them. Flashes of memory you’re not privy to. But you know it haunts him all the same, you can tell from what he’s told you, what his friends have, the events that no one speaks of and only alludes to.

“Eddie, it’s me,” you try again, watching his teeth clench. You want to reach up and smooth the tension from there, but instead keep your fingers connected where they lay against his skin. “It was just a bat or an animal or something. Hit the window. Silly little thing. I just washed the windows, sometimes they get confused. I’ve got you, I promise.”

You move even closer, sliding to hands up along his shoulders, up and down his arm until his focus trails to that instead of his shuddering breaths. “You’re having a panic attack,” you say out loud, though you’re sure he already knows that. “Do you want me to leave? I want whatever you want right now, okay?”

“N-no,” he heaves out, his expression fearful as he finally fully looks at you. His hand clasps around yours where it rests against his arm.

He’s pale.

He's so pale.

“Okay, yeah, I’m here,” you reassure him, his hand loosening so your palms can continue sliding up and down his arms slowly. “Try and match your breathing to mine. Slow inhales and exhales. I’m not going anywhere.”

You sit like that for a few minutes. Your legs bent so they can curve around Eddie’s broken form, your hands along his skin, his forehead against his knees as he gets a hold of his bearings.

He matches your breathing, slow inhales for five seconds, and then an exhale for just as long. Over and over again until he’s breathing normally once again, until the tension radiating from his form dissolves into a slower simmer.

You part from him only for a second to grab him some ice water, dropping back down to the floor to press the glass into his awaiting palm. He thanks you through a rasp as he sips eagerly, hands still shaking in doing so.

“Do you need me to do anything? Do you need anything?” you ask him, thumb still stroking his skin even now.

“This is fine,” he says. “Thank you. I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“You’re sorry? Eddie, I’m your friend. That means if you need me, I’m there for you,” you remind him, stilling in your movements. “That means the good, bad, and the ugly.”

He gives your hand another squeeze before standing to his feet. He drops a palm in front of your face and pulls you up with him. Your form teeters a bit, but he catches you before you can slam into him.

“I…that hasn’t happened in a while,” he says, still sounding a little regretful. “I just—ah, I’m sorry.”

“No apologies.”

His features soften a bit at your mock scowl. It soothes your heart to hear him laugh. “Thank you again for talking me through it.”

You want to say ‘anytime’ or ‘always,’ but those words don’t seem fitting when it’s clear he’s still struggling. But you don’t get a chance to say anything at all, because he’s brushing the topic aside in favor of pulling out the VHS he brought of Star Wars: A New Hope, and dragging your old electronics from your closet to set them up for your viewing party.

And as the opening theme song plays and Eddie’s face illuminates beside yours in the dark, you can’t help but to question just what happened to him in March of 1986?

July 30, 1988 dawns warm and bright. Today’s adventures involve a night out at the local Fun Fair. A grandiose carnival full of lights, candy, food, rides, and games galore. Everywhere you look there are new sights to see, from the Ferris Wheel at the very rear, to the chair swings that spin high above the rest of the crowd, feet kicking as people laugh and trill from above. You see vendors passing out cotton candy as you go, boys passing their dates oversized stuffed animals after showing off their heroic prowess that normally you’d scoff at, but find yourself grinning over instead. Your heart swells because it just screams summer and you’re surrounded by the people who’ve become so very important to you in almost half a year’s time.

You wear a yellow summer dress, littered with pink flowers that match the neon lights glowing as far as the eye can see. The world is doused in color and life, children giggling as they pass excitedly from where you’re tightly pressing against Eddie as you walk behind Robin and Steve, who are already in search of the Gravitron.

The kids have already run up ahead. Mike and El go to make out in the photo booth—a fact you only know because Dustin practically taunted them into submission for being disgusting—and Lucas and Max to go try their own hand at some games. Will remains at Robin’s side, telling her stories about his studies at high school, while you simply let Eddie lead the way for now.

It’s been two weeks since his panic attack in your kitchen, and he seems more or less his typical self. At least from what you can tell in the months he’s been a constant in your life. He’s happy. Happier now, according to Steve one evening in passing as the four of you play Charades in his backyard over a couple of beers and burgers. It’s not the first time you’ve been told as such, and yet there’s something that sparks to life and cracks like lightning behind your ribs at the idea Eddie is opening up once more.

“Come this way,” Eddie whispers near your ear, stealing you away from the group to lead you down a side strip of the fun fair.

People grumble as you pass, your body colliding with another here and there as Eddie drags you behind him, soft mutters of “sorry” spilling from your lips. You’re bumping against his shoulder when he stops. You laugh out, “Bumper cars, really?”

“Get in,” he chuckles, and you’re practically racing him to clamber inside one. It’s a flurry of tangling limbs as you go about it, hands reaching between hands to try and buckle yourselves in before the hustle and bustle of moving vehicles begins at the sound of a buzzer. Your hands move to the steering wheel, his voice high and tight as he says, “I’m driving, sweetheart.”

“I’ve seen you drive,” you tell him, pushing at his elbows with your own to keep him from moving you away from the wheel. “Plus there are kids here. We don’t want to hurt anyone.”

One of which slams into you both from behind, and just so happens to be a grinning Max and Lucas, looking a little too devious for your liking.

Eddie whips his head around and shouts, “The Party doesn’t attack other Party members.”

“Maybe if you two would stop flirting you’d have seen us coming,” she drawls, and they are driving away, leaving the two of you giggling in her wake.

Lucas yells over his shoulder, “Sorry, Eddie!”

You turn to look at the very disgruntled metalhead with a smirk, elbow digging into his ribs lightly. “You can drive.”

You like to think you don’t have many regrets in your twenty-two years of life. You’ve always been one to try something once, maybe twice. But this? Letting Eddie drive the bumper car, with revenge behind his eyes intent to be dealt to Max, rank up there alongside those few that do make your list. Because he’s a dizzying swirling mess, whipping arms, screeching tires if this thing had wheels. And yet you’re laughing, ribs aching from the burn from the force, as he slams into Lucas and Max over and over and over again until she’s cursing at him from across cars and an attendant reminds you this is a kid friendly ride and that all fighting should be taken off the premises.

Your body bumps his as you split away from the other couple, trying not to linger on Max’s words. Trying to not think about the way they made something like excitement bubble up into hope.

Where you’re standing now, your hands brush every few steps. The gentle thrill of fingers against fingers, the sides of palms kissing, wrists knocking in the spaces between you. But he doesn’t stray from your side, instead pulls you closer when someone bumps into your arm in passing and you wince, nearly arm in arm now.

“Chair swings?” he asks, the blue of the neon lights flashing in his eyes as he looks down at you. He points upward and you can see them in all their splendor dangling from up above. Your head tips back briefly to take them in, a slow swallow sliding down your throat. Sensing your hesitance, you feel his hand lightly brush your arm. “We don’t have to.”

“No—no, I want to.”

It’s how you find yourself in a chair beside Eddie, him looking like he’s ready to take on the world, lighter than you’ve ever seen him before. Whereas you? You’re gripping onto the metal of the chair so hard you’re certain your knuckles strain from the effort, heart hammering away in your chest. Because you wanted to see him happy, you wanted it so badly, but there’s the matter of your own fear welling up. The feeling of being high above the ground, of flying, of soaring like you’re about to be.

Eddie’s hand stretches over the spaces between you and you glance down, brow arching instinctively. He brushes his fingers with yours and waits for you to twine them with his, your fear dissipating knowing he’s there to tether you.

“I’ve got you,” he says, and you trust him. “I promise.”

They’re your words to him in your kitchen.

Your breath hitches, lips spreading into a slow smile.

Maybe you keep your eyes closed the whole ride. Maybe you simply listen to the sounds of others' joy around you. Maybe you pray every second you’re up there for the ride to be over. But as time goes by, with his palm resting warm and solid in your own, you open your eyes and glance out over the crowd. They’re small, they’re so small and you’re infinite—at this moment at least. And to your right, when you blink, Eddie’s there…just as he promises.

Running seems tiring like this, when you’re high above the world, free from it all.

Back on the ground, he leads you to the endless rows of games where the two of you fail miserably over and over again to secure any prize. But you can’t fault his persistence all the same, the way his tongue sticks between his lips as you stand before the ring toss and he loses over and over and over again.

“Eddie, come on…there’s more games this way,” you tell him, tugging at the fabric of his shirt.

You glance over to the attendant, as if he’ll have pity on the poor man’s soul, intent on trying to win just one game. He doesn’t though, and asks for another fee to play again.

All in all, Eddie ends up following you over to play a game of balloon darts, and you find he’s actually much better at this one. So much so he wins you a teddy bear definitely too big for your bed back home, and shoves it into your awaiting arms for safe keeping. Your fingers brush against the plush of its soft head, grinning down at the chocolate brown eyes that mimic Eddie’s.

“Teddy, meet Eddie,” you say, mostly to yourself, but Eddie reaches over to squeeze the arm of the bear all the same. “What do we think about grabbing some funnel cake and going on the Ferris Wheel? I know it’s not my baking, but it's practically a rite of passage for these kinds of things.”

You feel like a teenager all over again with the boy you find yourself giddy around, climbing onto the bench for the ride. With the way he tucks Teddy into the space near his hip to keep the bear in place and shifts you closer so he can reach over to rip parts of the sweet treat from the plate between the two of you. Hawkins grows smaller and smaller beneath you, the fear of the free fall long gone from your mind when he pins you in place with his stare, doughy sweetness flooding your tastebuds. And as you pause at the very top, a bit of powder spills over onto his chin, mingling with the scar that creeps along his skin there.

You lift a thumb hesitantly, explaining what you’re doing before you do so to not spook him. “You got powder…just there,” you explain, brushing your thumb across his chin, then further along the slightest bit of puckered skin.

He releases a shaky breath, but doesn’t pull away from your touch. In fact, he leans into it, as you tentatively slide it along the bottom of his jaw.

“Does it hurt?” you ask quietly.

He shakes his head. “Not anymore. Not now.”

Words hang in the spaces between you. You keep your hand against his skin and glance up to the sky, counting the stars in the sky, counting them like little blessings. Tiny secrets.

Of all the days you’ve spent here so far, this one has to be your favorite.

A reason in your ever growing list of ‘whys’ in your constant questioning of whether or not you wish to stay.

“So,” Robin says, fingers carding through a stack of vinyls. The way she says it immediately signals to you that she’s up to no good, though that’s hardly surprising since she and Steve are some of the biggest instigators you know.

Your white shoes tap against the carpet covered floors, tongues still cherry red from the ices you consumed with your friend before heading to the local music store. You tug at your tank top, trying to let the air filtering from the fan positioned in the corner of the room chill your skin.

It’s a scorcher today, and while most people seem to have gotten the memo to stay inside, you and Robin spent the day thrifting for new fall clothes for you and walking around town.

You’re confident this will be your last stop though before heading back to your apartment to watch a movie with her.

“You and a certain friend of ours seem to be getting pretty cozy lately,” she says, peeking up at you innocently through her lashes.

You flip through a stack, pulling a Blondie record from the bunch to potentially add to your collection. “We’re friends. Friends…hang out.”

“Friends that go on the ferris wheel together and share dessert,” Robin says, raising a brow. You shake your head, snorting lightly before moving to another bin of records.

“I share food with you and Steve all the time,” you point out. “You and the kids are meddling lately.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

You chuckle. “Of course you don’t.”

“You have to admit, it would be so cute—”

“Robin!” you warn, smiling wide at her.

“You dingus, you’re smiling because you like him so much. You can’t even fool me—” You rush around the bins between the two of you to clap your hand over her mouth, bursting out into louder girlish laughter as the two of you meet eyes.

“Let’s just get out of here,” you tell her, holding your record close to your chest. “Can’t take you anywhere.”

You both leave the store arm in arm, faces to the sun, world at your fingertips.

Gramps, you think , I’m starting to feel like this could be home, and that both terrifies me and excites me. Wish you were here…

It’s August 17th and Eddie is finally twenty-three. His Uncle Wayne wakes him with a cup of coffee brewed to his liking, and an omelet with all his favorite things. There’s a card on the kitchen table and a cheery balloon with a weight attached to it that sits beside it, Happy Birthday written in sprawling letters.

When he was younger, he’d probably have protested when Wayne reached down to curl a palm around the side of his head and kissed his head of waves, but now he’s only happy he’s still here to spend birthdays with him.

And judging by the smile on Wayne’s face, he feels the same. “You have any plans today, son?” he asks, sliding his Garfield mug before him, swirling a sugar inside.

“Just seeing Steve,” he says.

“Good kid, that one,” his uncle agrees, and it’s how Eddie finds himself walking toward Sunshine Coffee with Steve, wondering why the hell they were there now when the place closes at this time anyway.

The lights are out; he can see the dimness of the room from where they’re standing, but Steve’s telling him to hurry up because they have to meet up with Robin for game night and they’re about to be late.

“I don’t understand why we needed to stop here anyway?” Eddie huffs out, long legs carrying him as swiftly as possible.

“We need to pick up dessert. Your little lady friend baked a whole bunch and said we could come get them when ready,” he replies, tugging Eddie closer by his arm.

He’s about to curse Steve for pulling his arm like he is, but they’re opening the door and a light flickers on and all Eddie can do is stand in the doorway mute for likely the first time in his life as he takes in the scene around him.

The coffee shop has been completely transformed. The tables all moved together to make one giant seating area. Streamers of all colors hang from the ceilings, a banner that says Happy Birthday dangles from the front register counters. Music spills from a loudspeaker further into the room. And all about the room are the people who mean the most to him. From his Corroded Coffin friends, Hopper and Joyce, Jonathan and Nancy, the kids, Robin, his Uncle ( who gives him a knowing smile), Steve to his left…and then there’s you.

Standing with a cake in the middle of the room, his name written out across the white frosting in a bright red, with your makeshift attempt at drawing his guitar on the side.

Everyone’s shouting happy birthday, and when he looks over to Steve, he only gives him a nod and he’s stepping further into the room. It’s overwhelming, the fullness that floods his heart. The way the kids all step forward, wanting a chance to wish him happy birthday, to hug him. His friends do the same, each offering him well wishes and a pat on the back or a tight squeeze. Over and over again until his head spins, because he’s not used to this sort of affection.

Not used to being celebrated—not like this.

His Uncle steps forward as the crowd clears, reaching forward to bring his nephew close to his chest. “Why didn’t you tell me about this, pops?”

“I was held under strict guidance from that young lady over there to keep it a secret,” he explains, throwing a thumb over his shoulder to where you’re standing, head tilted back in laughter as Max and Dustin wave their hands wildly before you, clearly deep in some sort of tale. “You know, you’ve never introduced me to her before.”

“She’s a good friend,” he says, calling your name above the crowd. Your head immediately darts his way, before turning to the kids to excuse yourself. He tries to quell the rapid flutter in his chest as you draw nearer, as your skirt dances about your thighs, as your infectious curl smiles when you approach him. “I wanted to introduce you to someone.”

“Formally, at least,” Wayne says, passing you a little wink. “Seeing as we spoke a couple weeks back.”

You waste no time in reaching forward and hugging the man, shocking both Wayne and Eddie, but Eddie supposes it’s really not that shocking at all. You’ve always been warm. You ooze life and make people feel like they can be open, without any worry as to what you might think of them. It’s one of the things he admires most about you, so he simply smiles as Wayne shares in that embrace with you and pulls back after a while with a giant smile, murmuring something so quietly to you Eddie doesn’t quite catch it.

Your reply is a nod and you settle back at Eddie’s side, glancing up at him through your lashes as you wrap his side in a hug. The first hug you’ve given him. “Happy Birthday, Eddie.”

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he says sincerely, glancing at his Uncle. “Uncle Wayne…this is…” He tells him your name, and then does the reverse, finally introducing the two of you. But it’s as if you’ve known each other for years as the two of you split away from him and talk over the coffee pot, showing him how to work it.

He doesn’t miss the way he misses your warmth soon after it's gone.

Steve appears to his right, arms folded across his chest. “It’s okay to admit you like her, you know? Also, in case you were wondering, it was her idea to do this in the first place. We promised you wouldn’t get mad at her. We thought it was a good idea.”

“I’m not mad,” Eddie promises, and chooses not to acknowledge that first part.

Because he’s not even yet had a chance to process the feeling bursting from beneath his ribcage whenever you’re near. The way his stomach dips, chest tightens, palms start to sweat. He’s never really had many opportunities throughout his teenage years, always too weird, too loud, too much for most girls. Sure, he’s kissed a few here and there, maybe had a make out at the Hideout here and there in a dark corner.

But nothing like this, nothing of this nature. And he especially never expected it happening after the Upside Down.

For so long he’s seen himself as some beast. As some monster that lurks in the shadows.

Now…well, you’re different, he supposes. You draw those parts of him forward. You make him step forward and into the open, pulling him from the shadows he prefers to hide in.

He’s not quite sure what to do about that yet. So for now he slips into conversation with the kids about DnD. He listens to Hopper and Joyce regale him with stories he’s not yet even heard about Robin and Steve. When they later gather around to have cake, he ties his hair back and tugs you to his side so you can sit beside him when you place the cake down before him, candles flickering against the faces of those across from him.

He feels loved.

He feels undeniably and truly loved.

He inhales and wishes for this year to be the best one yet, and exhales hopeful that it will be.

The end of summer finds you sitting in the back of Eddie’s van with Eddie, Steve and Robin. Eddie’s gutted the thing, all his usual things cleaned out for now, and placed a makeshift bed of blankets beneath. Pillows are strewn about the place, creating the perfect outdoor movie watching atmosphere.

Robin and you have been left to your own devices as the guys collect your various drink and snack orders, staring out the mouth of the van up at the twinkling stars in the sky.

You don’t have those back home. The sky is always too congested, always obscured and blocking out their pretty light. Tonight, however, the sky is full with an endless sea of them.

“That one, right there,” Eddie says all of a sudden, popping up beside you on the back of the vehicle, “is Aquila…then look up, up, up— yeah, right there. That’s Cygnus.”

You turn to look at him, and the stars reflect in his eyes. You can hear Robin and Steve talking to your left, sure, but Eddie’s swallowing up all the air in the space.

All the attention.

“Are there any others?” You tip your head back up to the sky, feeling a flutter when Eddie’s fingers curl around your wrist and he unfurls your pointer finger.

“Okay, so a little bit to the right of Aquila is Hercules.” He drags your hand to the right, outlining the square-like shape in the center and the spindly, broken limbs from the four points. “Right to the left of that… is Lyra.”

He drags your finger to the left and points out the other small constellation, his breath dancing along your bare shoulder, making your breath come out in short puffs. His fingers unfurl from around your wrist and you shift a bit on your bottom, further away from Steve and Robin, your bent knee and leg hanging over the edge of the van bracketing Eddie in place.

He’s wearing a Metallica tank top tonight, and those dark jeans he favors, hair loose and wavy in the humid September air. He’s smiling at you, you realize, bright and open in the dimly lit space.

“How do you know so many constellations?” you probe, head tipping to the side.

You watch as his eyes drift back to the sky. With Steve and Robin so caught up in their own conversations and murmuring their need to go to the bathroom before the movie starts, Eddie regales you with a story about his parents. That his father had been in and out of jail his whole life, and that his mother always struggled because of it, seeking comfort in alcohol and other substances. At a young age, she actually ended up dropping him off at his Uncle Wayne’s house here in Hawkins and…never came back for him. It breaks your heart as he tells you. The idea that she could just leave the child she grew and loved within her own body at one time.

He tells you about those beginning years, learning to navigate each other's new spaces. The way his Uncle became a constant, when he’d been so used to people coming and going in and out of his life before that.

“My uncle and I got close. Like…ah, really close,” he admits softly, with the shyness of a young boy, shocking for the twenty-three year old man sitting before you. “That involved learning new things together. So there was a time where we’d sit outside and just look up at the stars with a book and see what we could find.”

“Your Uncle Wayne is really special,” you tell him, your voice soft even on your own ears. “I’m really happy you have him. He was…so wonderful when I met him.”

“Yeah, he’s…” He leans back onto his hands, chest parallel with the sky. From here you can see the soft outline of his face, the line of his nose, his jaw, the bump of his throat, the chains that rest in the hollow. “He’s really important to me. We’ve been through a lot together.”

You swallow thickly, the importance of this moment not lost on you. “Thank you for sharing that with me, Eddie.”

His palm slides across the van floor and you’re about to ask him what he’s doing when those fingertips brush your own. They just rest there, not seeking or holding, simply touching . Simply sharing in the closeness of proximity. You follow the trail of his forearm down to where your fingers lay, index tapping against his thumb, when Robin announces boisterously that the movie is about to begin.

Your group slides further into the mouth of the van. You settle down on Eddie’s right so you’re closest to the wall, hidden away from the rest of the group, your knees close to your chest as you watch the opening scenes spill across the screen, showing two young boys moving into a Santa Carla, California.

The Lost Boys is interesting enough and moves swiftly. The premise of vampires always seemed intriguing anyway, these creatures of the night not bound by the innate human morality code.

And as you get further into the movie and Michael finds himself drawn into David’s motorcycle gang because of his growing interest in Star, you lean over to Eddie and mutter, “You should be a vampire for Halloween. You dress like these guys on a daily basis.”

“Are you making fun of my clothing choices?” he asks, tugging at your forearm so you thump bodily against his shoulder.

“I’m just saying, it would be an easy costume,” you chuckle, just as Michael is offered some sort of wine that you most definitely know isn’t actually wine.

“Would you drink a random chalice like that?” he asks you. The sound of Star telling Michael not to do it greets your ears.

“Absolutely not,” you say, chuckling. “You know that boy is about to become a vampire. Easy.”

“You two!” Steve hisses loudly, making you jump from where you rest beside Eddie. “Stop with the chit-chatting! There’s a movie playing!”

A group of people in cars around you “shhh'' Steve, his hands lifting in exasperation. “I’m trying to get them to shut up and you’re all trying to get me to shut up? Come on, people, be grateful here!”

“Steven,” you raise your head from up where you’re hidden by Eddie, snorting when Eddie shoves your shoulder lightly. “Quiet down, there’s a movie playing!”

“This,” he says, pointing a finger between the two of you, “is a scary thing.”

None of you are able to ask what he means by that, because a worker with a flashlight comes by and gives you a final warning that numerous people have made noise complaints, and one more will result in your request for removal from the premises.

You’re giggling to yourself, shoulder against Eddie’s with your hand over your mouth as they walk away. His face presses near to your ear, his own laughing warm against your skin, as he whispers, “Thank you.”

Your head pops up in confusion, eyes clashing with his. “What for?”

“Just thank you,” he says, and there’s a poignant sincerity there that makes your chest ache with sudden sticky fondness.

You take that moment to shift closer to his side, your back against the side of his chest, his arm coming to drape around your shoulder. He’s warmth and comfort, protection from the chill of the soon to be fall air. And if you lean closer to him as the movie goes on, as Star and Michael explore the intimacies of their relationship in the background, he only pulls you closer, thumb brushing along your skin, gooseflesh jumping to life.

“To keep you warm,” he explains, cheeks growing darker, as he looks down at your cuddled up forms.

“Of course,” you reply, trying to hide your wry smile.

So while spring marked a new beginning, summer brought along with it warmth and the stirrings of something more.

You’re excited to find out what that something more is.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x afab!reader #eddie munson fluff #Eddie munson post s4 #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic

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wardenparker · 2 years

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Redbox Romance

Javi Gutierrez x plus size female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 11.9k Warnings: Food/alcohol consumption, cursing, some splashes of self-consciousness. Javi is an amazing kisser (no I do not take criticism), fingering, oral sex (f receiving), hair pulling, vaginal sex, protected sex (wrap it before you tap it), blink-and-you’ll-miss-it begging/praise. Summary: Bumping into a hot guy in line to rent a Redbox movie after work has never sounded like a better idea than when that guy is Javi G. Notes: Happy Spooktober everyone! We simply couldn’t do this big round of spooky season stories without including a movie night with Javi 🎃🧡🎬

Since he has had his entire world crumble, his perfectly controlled world shifted - Javi has realized how few friends he actually has. There is Nick of course, but he cannot call Nick over to watch a horror movie marathon. Not when he is trying to repair the damage he had done to his relationship with his ex-wife and daughter. Javi was sure that soon that they would reconcile, and Nick would be happier - something that his friend would be very proud of. The concept of going to the store is daunting but Javi has fallen in love with the Redbox location down the road from him at the local grocery store. He wants to buy junk food. All the things that are so bad for him, yet so delicious. Maybe even making cute treats - but his cooking skills are lacking - and watch movie after movie that are designed to scare and thrill him. Sighing, he grabs his keys and decides that he will do it alone, like most things he does now.

******

The line at this particular Redbox machine is always long. It’s in the front lobby of the grocery store right next to your work, though, and it has the best selection of horror movies of any machine in the city, so you wait. There’s only four people ahead of you so you tell yourself it won’t be that bad - fiddling in the pockets of your scrubs to pull out any scraps of paper from the day and toss them into the nearby trash can. Everybody else always has plans of Friday night, but you’re spending it curled up with some horror movies, and the frozen pizza and pint of ice cream that you’re going to pick out once you get inside the store. Maybe even some candy to sprinkle on your ice cream, because the patients you dealt with today sucked.

Three people ahead of him. Javi shuffles his feet slightly and looks around, wishing that he had someone to talk to, to share with. Gabriella hadn’t worked out— it wasn’t her fault. They just found they weren’t compatible like they had imagined. He’d tried dating but half the women he had talked to had flat out disbelieved his tale of how he ended up in the States. He sighs slightly and hums to himself, wondering if he could find a friends group online to be social with.

It was trying to sneak a peek of what the people in front of you were renting that did you in - losing your balance slightly from carrying your heavy tote bag in your shoulder and having the bag slip off and smack the man in front of you directly in the ass. Only to be startled by it and drop your bag, spilling things everywhere. If it were possible to actually melt like the Wicked Witch, you would be doing it right now – right now as you scramble to pick up your belongings, including the two large books that were making it so heavy in the first place. “Oh god, I’m so sorry!” You groan, hoping he isn’t too angry by the accidental accosting he’s just gotten. “I’m just…I’m clumsy. I’m really sorry.”

Javi turns in surprise, watching the purse spill – the only glance of the woman who is dropping down to her knees is fleeting but he thinks she might be lovely. Immediately, he bends down to help. “It’s okay.” He promises, hearing the mortification and distress in her voice. “I too am clumsy.” He chuckles, reaching for a pouch and scattered pens and assorted junk women always seem to carry.

“I didn’t mean t—” You look up, realizing that the man has bent down to help you, and completely deflate. He’s fucking gorgeous, because of course he is. This is LA. Sometimes you feel like the only token big girl in the entire city. It’s just models and actors and ridiculously attractive musicians as far as the eye can see. He’s probably famous, you think with a shake of your head. “I’m sorry. My bag slipped off my shoulder.”

He gives you a smile and nods. “It happens.” He looks down at the books in your hand. “Especially with such things.” He hands you the items he had collected and his hand cups your elbow as both of you start to straighten up. “Are you a student or do you carry books around always?”

“It’s research.” The explanation is immediate, but you cringe at yourself as soon as it comes out of your mouth. Just another pathetic Hollywood wannabe with a day job. That’s what your boss had said. “So, uh…I guess I always carry books.” You sweep the copy of Harold Schechter’s Hell’s Princess and the thick notebook back into your bag quickly.

“Research?” He looks back at the line as it shuffles forward and moves up before he turns back to you. “That I understand. I research a lot of things myself.”

“You do?” Unsure why he’s even still talking to you, you straighten up again and hoist your bag back into your shoulder, trying to smooth out your wrinkled scrubs and look presentable. He’s really…fuck he’s incredibly good looking. Tall and tan with wavy hair and big brown eyes and pouty lips that you just— don’t stare, don’t stare…

“Yes!” His eyes light up happily and he glances around. “I can only learn so much through movies and everything is different. I have to research everything.”

“What are you…researching? Or watching?” It’s like someone flipped a switch in him and turned him into a human puppy, excited to share and play and talk with whoever is around. And you’re more than happy to listen.

“I want to write a horror movie.” Javi confesses, knowing that most would find him ridiculous - even with the success of his collaboration with Nick. “I want to write the perfect thriller or slasher.”

“I’m writing a horror movie!” It’s probably a very weird thing to hear exclaimed in a supermarket anywhere but LA, but right now you’re enjoying the coincidence too much to care.

Javi’s eyes widen happily and he grins. “Really? What is it about? Tell me what your inspiration is.” It’s amazing to run into someone else that is writing even though it’s common in L.A.

“Have you ever heard of Belle Gunness?” Pulling Hell’s Princess from your bag again, you hold it out for him to flip through if he wants to. It’s probably unlikely that this sweet, incredibly handsome man is into true crime, but he asked, so you’re going to share. “She was a serial killer in Indiana the 19th century who lured countless men to her farm and murdered them. They say that the farmhouse was haunted for decades before she got there but I think her crimes started far before she arrived.” It’s not something most people would get excited about. You know that. But you have never been able to resist the oddities of history. “The crazy thing is that she was never caught, so we’ll never really know exactly how all these men and her children died. It’s just an absolutely fascinating character study.”

“Wow.” His eyes are dramatically wide as he takes the book and he starts thumbing through it. “That would be an interesting movie.” He is into it. “There are so few where a woman is the antagonist.”

“Gruesome, I know.” You laugh nervously, realizing that it isn’t exactly standard conversation for a complete stranger. “But like you said, there are so few female antagonists and her story is just that much more unbelievable because it’s true.”

“That would be awesome. Would you frame it as a haunting? Or someone continuing the killing spree?” He asks, curious about how you would tell the story. He's desperate to continue the conversation, and it's not just because you are interested in horror movies and are writing. You're pretty. He noticed that from the moment you looked up into his eyes, it captured him and he can't help but admire the soft features of your face and body.

“I almost feel like the haunting was sort of…fuel on the fire, if that makes sense. Negative influence powering someone who already had malicious intent. But I’m not sure how to frame that without it coming across as hokey, so I’m sort of blocked at the moment.” Shaking your head a little, you offer the incredibly handsome man a small smile and shrug before introducing yourself. “I probably should have started there. First name before favourite serial killer seems like better manners.”

Javi smiles, repeating your name and rolling his tongue over it. It's beautiful and fitting for such a charming woman. He takes your hand and gives you a small bow over your clasped hands. Maybe a little ostentatious for the line at a Redbox kiosk, but he likes the way your eyes flutter. "I am Javi." He introduces him. "Javi Gutierrez."

“It’s very nice to meet you.” The name rings a bell but you can’t quite place it, making you even more certain that you just stumbled onto some minor celebrity at the grocery store and are just too out of the loop to realize it. “So…what is your script about? Do you have ideas?”

"I have toyed with many ideas, but stick to none." He shakes his head at himself ruefully. "It is why I wish to rent some favorites. Acquire inspiration."

“Some of your favourites are here?” Motioning to the Redbox behind him alerts both of you to move up in line - Javi is now next up to the box.

He nods. “I have misplaced my copy of The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari when I moved, and this box is said to have one.” It was why he had chosen this Redbox to go to tonight.

“That—” You tilt your head at him and smile at the coincidence, thinking how horribly disappointed you would have been to realize that the man in front of you had just rented the only copy of the movie you explicitly came to rent. “That’s why I’m here, too.”

"Oh." He knows there is only one copy of the movie, the box said that there was only one left. He debates giving it to you, but he selfishly wants to watch it again. "There is perhaps— if it’s not too forward ? Why do we not share the rental?" He asks. "You can join me and we can enjoy it together?" His tone is hopeful, suddenly believing this to be the best idea he has ever imagined.

Typically, this would be the moment where the red flag waves in your mind and you think about safety. You think about every abduction scenario in every true crime story you’ve ever read or heard. This doesn’t feel like that though, and while you know that’s the lamest excuse anyone has ever had for ignoring a normally dicey situation — when was the last time you made a new friend? An extremely handsome one, at that? You can definitely dignify this to yourself and still have a good time. “I was planning on getting pizza and curling up on my couch tonight,” you admit, feeling warmth in your cheeks and a little bit of nerves like you’re fifteen and getting asked to dance by the guy you like. “So why don’t I have something delivered for us? We could…it could be fun.” And that way if you end up dead by the end of the night, someone will have seen you at his place. There. Problem solved.

It's on the tip of his tongue to protest, to insist that he would be a good host and provide the food, when he realizes why you might want to have some part of planning tonight. Instead of arguing, he nods happily, throwing a look over his shoulder to make sure that the person in front of him wasn't done yet and then back at you. "That would be acceptable, if—" He jerks his head towards the grocery store, "you allow me to purchase the snacks and desserts that we can indulge in to go along with the movies?"

It’s such an innocent request - sweet, ironically - and you can feel the broad, smitten smile spread over your face. “I think we might need more than one movie,” you suggest with a soft laugh, seeing him light up with excitement.

"Exactly!" Javi exclaims, nearly bouncing on his toes and turning around to see that the man had finished his transaction and it's his turn at the kiosk. "Shall we pick out the makings of a movie marathon of horror?" He asks, motioning you to join him as he lifts the sunscreen.

“You’re not…a Nick Cage fan, are you?” Just because he’s in your top three doesn’t mean he’s everyone’s cup of tea, but the man makes a hell of a horror movie. “Mandy is an absolute masterpiece, if this machine has a copy left.”

"We don't need to rent it." Javi looks at you bashfully, almost admitting that he is friends with Nick, but you would never believe that. "I own all of Nick's movies and those were with me so they did not get lost."

“Seriously?” Your eyebrows wing up in surprise, but you won’t pretend to be anything less than excited. Bonding over a favourite actor is definitely the foundation for a friendship - or more. “Does that mean you like Color Out of Space, too? Because I swear I can never find anyone to watch it with me and it’s so damn good.”

"Completely underrated. " Javi rolls his eyes and shakes his head. "Nick was so in the zone. He said that he had really delved deep, wanting to harness the untapped potential." He grins. "He also smoked a lot of weed during production."

“Where did you find an interview with him? He never does press.” Waiting until the movie pops out of the machine and ends up in Javi’s pocket, you turn together to go into the grocery store. “I mean, I totally believe it. I’d believe if he did a hell of a lot more than just smoke pot making that movie.”

Javi bites his lip, not wanting to seem like he is bragging. Especially since he had given you that little factoid. "It was just pot." He hums in amusement. "But, uh, he told me." He admits, not wanting to make it into some big deal.

“You’ve met him?” The way your eyes widen is nearly comical considering where you live and work. It isn’t so unbelievable to just…run into a celebrity on a trip to the corner store.

"Yeah." Javi nods and gives a small shrug. "We – uh, we worked together on a project last year."

“Oh shit.” You shove your hands in the pockets of your scrubs as you walk beside him, feeling borderline mortified. You’re here fangirling and blabbering on about your little amateur project and he’s a real professional. “That—that’s awesome.”

"It was." He smiles at the thought of the last conversation the two of them. "I bet that if you were to pitch your movie idea to him, he would be interested." He says. "Nick loves the nuance of a good horror story."

"I wouldn't even know where to start." The shrug you give him is honest at least, as you pick up a basket to walk around with. "Medical receptionist by day, amateur writer by night. Emphasis on the amateur."

"I was an amateur until last year." Javi doesn't look down on you for that, grinning over at you before he steers you to the candy aisle. "We must get all the snacks we can possibly crave."

"How do you feel about sour candy?" You're practically already reaching for the bag of Sour Patch Xtreme as you ask, always loving that hit of tart sourness with your sweet ever since you were a kid. If you're going to do this - you're going to do it right.

"I have never had those, but I do love a sour punch straw." He nods, knowing that he will buy whatever you want to snack on during the movies. "Are they similar?"

"They have a pretty similar level of sour." The bag of sour sweets is added to the basket, and the fruity gummy candies give way to chocolate as the two of you walk further down the aisle.

"How do you feel about Reese’s Pieces?" He asks as he holds up a box of the candy. "I love chocolate and peanut butter and these are addictive!"

"Chocolate and peanut butter is the closest mortals get to divinity," you joke, nodding emphatically. "Better get two boxes."

"Two boxes it is." He happily dumps two boxes into the basket and grabs a shareable bag of peanut butter cups and holds them up with a grin. "Double the deliciousness."

"The next question is the most important." Strolling a little further down the aisle, a plethora of popcorn options are laid out in front of the two of you just waiting to make you salivate. "How do you like your popcorn?"

"There is only one answer." He declares with wide, serious eyes. "Buttered."

"Oh, thank god." Smirking at him, you break out into a giggle at the extreme seriousness of his expression. "I was going to have to come up with an excuse to get out of this if you picked up a bag of Skinny Pop." Not that the snack doesn't have its merits - but it has no place in a movie marathon.

"What is 'Skinny Pop'?" He asks, sneering slightly at the mere thought of something that sounds disgusting.

"No butter, no salt," you shrug, grabbing a box of movie theater style extra butter popcorn off the shelf. "No flavour, basically. And definitely no fun."

"So that will not be at our movie night." He decides, shaking his head in disbelief at how someone could enjoy that. "Tonight is about thrill, horror and indulgences."

"Drinks?" Indulgences sounds very good, but you won't let your mind get too carried away. Not when he hasn't indicated this is anything more than a spontaneous new friendship.

“We must.” Javi glances over at you. “I have wine and some sodas, but we can pick out other things.”

"Far be it from me to turn down wine and soda." The whole thing is spur of the moment and a little giddy, and you're sort of feeling like questioning it would be looking a gift horse in the mouth. Why not just go with the flow and enjoy it?

“Are we decided on pizza for our meal?” He asks, giving you a grin of excitement as he sees the plans falling into place almost naturally.

"Seems like the most appropriate, doesn't it?" Nothing in LA is ever quiet, and other customers bustle around the two of you as you linger in the aisle looking over the abundance of snacks available to you. "Pizza is the ultimate comfort and indulgence all at once."

He tilts his head and nods, agreeing completely. “Although you cannot have a comfortable night in your work clothes.” He tells you. “So you must go change into your most comfortable outfit.”

"Oh! Um..." Looking down at yourself, you realize you had completely forgotten that you were in your work clothes at all. "I guess...if you want to give me your address, I can drive over after I change? I just finished work...but I guess that's obvious."

He nods, knowing that it would make you feel more comfortable to be able to come and go as you please and to know where you were going. “Absolutely.” He pulls out his phone to show you his address since it would be easier for you to text yourself from it.

He lives in a very ritzy neighborhood; you notice that right away. It's one of those communities that you hear about movie stars living in, but you say nothing about how very different your situation is from his. It doesn't matter. Not for new friends having a movie night. Instead you just text his address to yourself from his phone and hand it back with a smile. "There. Now you have my number, too."

“Okay.” He brightens as he realizes this and paints a serious look on his face. “How do you feel about ice cream?”

"If we end up in a food coma, it will be totally worth it." You nod with authority, as if accepting a secret mission of some kind.

“Completely worth it.” He hums as the two of you walk towards the ice cream sections. “Are you a vanilla and toppings kind of girl or something specific?”

"I normally get a pint with stuff mixed in, or coffee ice cream with caramel syrup. Those are my two directions." Most girls would demure, or go straight for chocolate, but there's no need for that here. You've both been pretty in line with your preferences so far, so you're curious to see if he'll feel the same way about ice cream.

“Coffee ice cream?” He hums happily and nods. “Only if we add cookies to it as well.”

"That sounds amazing." It's practically a groan from your lips and you're nodding again immediately.

“Are you a chocolate chip kind of girl or Oreos?” He smirks, happy he could make your favorite indulgence a little sweeter. “Or both? Both is also a good option.”

"I mean, I think we have to try both." He's so fucking handsome when he lights up like that, it's distracting and makes your chest tighten just a tiny bit in the best way possible. "For science."

He would be completely solemn as he grabs the cookies from conveniently place display and places them in the basket along with a bottle of caramel and one of chocolate sauces. “For science.” He agrees, enjoying this shopping trip so much more than his normal ones,

"Do we need anything else?" At this point you're going to have enough junk food for a full day's worth of movies and you only have the night planned, but it's fun to just - as he said, indulge.

“I don’t think so.” Javi watches as you put the ice cream in the basket and grins. “Maybe some medicine for when our bellies ache.”

"I'll be very glad to have tomorrow off work." It elicits a laugh from you, flustering under the beaming sunshine of that grin of his.

“Fantastic!” The two of you make your way up to the front and Javi takes the basket from you, keeping his word that he will buy the snacks. “We will get scared and scream and eat ice cream!”

******

It's a little over an hour later when you pull up to the house halfway up the hill, its typical southern California architecture blending into the upscale neighborhood and palm trees lining the property to give it that picturesque attitude of tropical luxury. The convertible that you saw him pull out of the grocery store parking lot in is parked under the port beside the house and you pull your own little sedan up behind it before checking your reflection one more time in your rearview mirror. While you were home changing you let your roommate know your plans for the evening, gave her the address you were going to and Javi's full name and phone number all out of an abundance of safety. Now it's just you in your favourite jeans and sweatshirt wondering if you haven't made some kind of massive mistake. Are you remembering him as so much better than he really was? Were you imagining the little bit of light behind his eyes when he awkwardly offered you a brief hug before you parted in the parking lot? God you hope not. But the only way to find out is to go up to his door and ring that bell.

Javi's nervously checking everything when the doorbell rings. He'd flown back home and started getting ready for you to come over for the horror movie marathon. Wishing he had an assistant here to make things perfect like he used to have, he had been determined to give you the same kind of experience you would have gotten if he was back on the family compound in Majorca. Candy displayed in easy to reach dishes, he had decided that the popcorn was better popped when you got here, a bucket moved into the living room with ice and sodas available. and he'd doubled checked that the bathroom you could possibly use was clean - it had been a bitch learning how to clean one of those properly. (He had a completely new appreciation for putting the seat down now.) Throw pillows and blankets that the decorator had insisted on where arranged so that the two of you can sprawl out and get comfortable but he wishes he had a dedicated movie room again. Maybe the next house he buys although he knows he most likely won't.

As he walks to the door, he wonders if he's too casual, or not casual enough, shaking his head at himself because this wasn't a date but he was just as on edge as if it was one. Opening the door, he greets you with a smile. "You came."

“You sound surprised.” And it both relaxes and surprises you in your own right. Does he not know how magnetic he is? “I, uh…I almost stopped to pick up pizza on the way over, but we never discussed toppings.”

It might be pathetic the way that his shoulders relax, and he lets out a metaphorical breath he had been holding but he was surprised. "You might have changed your mind." He tries to play it off casually. "I am a strange man to you, and it could be seen as odd that I invited you over."

“My roommate knows where I am.” You tell him honestly, stepping inside when he shuffles aside to let you in. “Besides, people have the wrong idea about things that are odd. Odd makes life more interesting.”

He chuckles and closes the door, stepping beside you and smiling. "So now we can discuss those toppings and we can wait for the pizza before we start the movies? Allow for less distractions and get to know each other?"

“Lead the way.” His house is beautiful, well decorated and airy with high ceilings and fresh paint - but the tidied stacks of things here and there give the impression of what your mother would have called artistic messiness. As though at any moment the whole place might be consumed by a new obsession and the stacks of things created by his current obsession will tumble. Which is…sort of like your place, honestly.

He leads you through to the living room, the door and windows open to the back deck and a luxurious view of the hills beyond the sparkling glass. Sky gorgeous and bright hues of orange and pinks before the sun sets. "This is okay?" He asks, gesturing to the setup of the food and drinks he's amassed so far. He's even thrown things in that he's had on hand and the ice cream is still in the freezer but the bowls and scoop are set out on the kitchen island just steps away in the open living of the back of the house.

“Our very own private screening.” The living room sofa is big enough for three full grown adults to sprawl out on and the tv takes up most of the facing wall. Throw blankets and pillows dot the space carefully and a full stack of movies sit on the coffee table next to the one you had rented together. “It’s…” your face cracks into a grin as you pull out your phone to open your delivery app. “It’s perfect. Way more than okay.”

He's relieved, grinning as if you had just showered him with compliments. "Good." He motions for you to sit down, choose whatever spot makes you most comfortable. That is what he wants, for you to be comfortable.

“So what is Javi’s perfect pizza combination?” Dropping down on his couch is easy – every inch of it is plush and inviting and you pull your socked feet up under you for maximum comfort.

“What is yours?” The debate over pineapple on pizza here is endlessly fascinating to him and he wonders if you will bring it up.

“My favourite pizza is a little unorthodox.” Opening the list of specialty pies in the restaurant’s menu, you offer him your phone to let him read: barbecue sauce, pulled pork, red onion, sweet corn, and the dreaded debated topping, pineapple. “It’s totally okay if that doesn’t sound good to you,” you tell him, knowing that he might be one of the many people totally grossed out by pineapple on pizza.

His brow shoots up and he smirks. “I am willing to try this pizza.” He agrees. “I was wondering if you were a pineapple person or no.”

“I don’t like it with normal pizza sauce but it’s so good with all this barbecue stuff.” It only takes a few keystrokes to get dinner ordered, and you tuck your phone away again with a smile. “Next time we’ll get your favourite. Doesn’t matter what it is, I’ll try it.”

“I am simple.” He gives you an apologetic shrug. “Salami, peppers when I wish to have heartburn.”

“Simple and delicious.” For the life of you, you aren’t sure why you seem so sure that there will be a second time. Tonight could be awful and awkward and you might avoid that Redbox for the rest of your life just to make sure you never run into him again — but somehow you are just positive that that won’t be the case.

“Would you like a drink? A snack while we wait?” He scrubs his palms against the lounging pants he had change into and gives a small chuckle. “I guess I underdressed for tonight.” He had gone a little too casual since you are in jeans.

“I don’t think it’s possible to underdress to sit on the couch and watch a movie.” You assure him. The truth is that you hadn’t tossed on the pair of yoga pants that you usually lounge around the apartment in because you’re a bit self-conscious about showing of your - admittedly round - figure. When it’s just you and your also plus sized roommate at home, you don’t care. “You said comfy, so these are my comfiest jeans. That’s all.”

“Okay.” He doesn’t quite believe that but he won’t push the subject. “Either way, you are beautiful and I am lucky you joined me tonight.”

“I—” Beautiful? You can feel the pleased and slightly embarrassed warmth creeping up your chest and neck and you have to clear your throat a tiny bit. “Thank you. I-I’m lucky you invited me.”

“I have been wanting to have someone to watch horror movies with and fate placed you right in my path. And it’s very nice it is someone like you.” He grins and motions to the collection of movies. “This is what we have to choose from tonight.”

“I think we have to watch The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari, don’t we?” Not that that will bother either of you. After all, it was your individual plan for the night.

"Of course. That should be first." He declares as he set the rented DVD on the coffee table apart from the other movies. "What else would you like to watch? I am open to all of them."

"You have an amazing collection." The stack of movies includes anything remotely spooky that Nick Cage has ever made, plus some classic slashers, groundbreaking pieces like The Exorcist and both versions of Suspiria, and more obscure choices like Let's Scare Jessica to Death. "Oh, I looove Suspiria." It's been ages since you've seen the original - streaming services tending to carry the remake these days. "Dario Argento is an absolute genius."

"I agree completely." Javi grins, quickly adding it to the must watch side. "Let us choose one more - just in case." He doesn't not want you to stay past the time you are comfortable, but it has been a long time since he has indulged in a night of nothing but movies.

"What's your favourite slasher?" Something classic, something artistic, and something gory. That's the key to a horror trio, in your opinion.

"I have a guilty pleasure movie." Javi admits, rummaging in the pile of movies and pulling one that he had deliberately put at the bottom of the pile. "2006's Stay Alive is an underrated movie, although it is not a traditional slasher, so I do not think it counts."

"I've actually never seen it." You offer him an encouraging smile because you can tell he's a little embarrassed to like it, and put it in the to be watched stack. "Don't tell me anything about it. I want to be surprised."

His grin lights up his face and nods eagerly. "My lips are sealed." He promises happily.

"Fantastic." The candy and some drinks have been spread around the room, but you had spotted the box of popcorn in the kitchen on your way through the house. "The pizza will probably take an hour or so." You shrug. Both of you know how busy a Friday night in LA is for a pizza place and how bad traffic can be for a delivery driver. "How does a popcorn appetizer and a drink sound while we get the first movie started?"

"Do you want wine, or I do have some whiskey if you prefer?" He asks, motioning over to the very sophisticated bar that is in the corner of the room. "It does not have to be just sodas."

"Actually..." His place is clean, you feel comfortable, and most importantly your Spidey sense isn't tingling or sending you red flags, so you smile and offer him a little nod. "Wine sounds great."

He nods and quickly walks around the bar to open the wine fridge that is behind it. "I have a Cava from my own family vineyard if you like sparkling wine?" He offers, holding up a bottle. "It is one of my favorite years."

"Your family has its own vineyard?" Your eyebrows wing up in surprise. "That's...killer."

"It is in Spain." He gives you a small shrug as if it is not a big deal. "Majorca."

"Which is even cooler." He downplays it as though he isn't proud, but he would not have even mentioned the vintage if some part of him didn't want you to know. It's the getting to know you phase of things and that's always entertaining. "The coolest thing my family ever owned was a camper."

"There is nothing wrong with a camper." He argues. "You can take it with you and have adventures."

"Well sure," you shrug, watching him carelessly pop the cork from the bottle like he's done it once a week since he was old enough to lift one. "But it would be a lot cooler to take the camper to a vineyard and camp out in the valley."

"Or maybe a tent." He hums. "One of those that are large and have a house set up in them. With the large bed and fairy lights strung overhead while you drink around a fire in vineyard?"

"That sounds absolutely dreamy." Glamping, your mom would call it, turning up her nose at it even while she used every inch of the kitchenette in the camper just like she was making dinner at home. "Like the perfect weekend getaway. Camping and drinking and snuggles. I love it."

"Have you ever done that?" He asks, wondering if you have a boyfriend suddenly. He doesn't think so, surely you would have said something, but he has to ask.

"Weekend camping getaway?" He picks two glasses up from the top of the bar and carries everything over to the sofa while you shake your head. "No...I don't think I've been camping with anyone but my family ever. And it's been years since we did that together."

"You should." He shakes his head and thinks that it is an utter shame that you do not get to indulge in something you obviously love. "I have heard camping in the desert is lovely."

"It's dangerous to do alone." It's not like you've run into a lot of guys who share all of your indoor, nerdy hobbies and love camping as much as you do. It's a unique combination, and you don't really care for the idea of risking your safety by going alone.

“That is something that I have not tried yet, but I want to.” Javi was sheltered a lot and since he had come to the US, he wanted to do things that were unavailable to him before.

"You should." The glass he hands to you to bubbling and cheery and inviting, making the look of wistful longing on his face even more pronounced. "Sleeping under the stars and cooking over a campfire? It's fun." And romantic, but you hesitate to point that out at the moment.

"I will have to find someone to knows how to do it." He wants to ask if you would show him, but that is entirely presumptuous for a movie night between people getting know each other. "Show me the ropes as you say."

"I hope you find just the right person." This would be so much easier if you had any idea whether or not he was flirting...

He bites his lip, slightly disappointed that you did not offer but he cannot make you like him. Instead of moping, he taps the rim of his own wine glass to yours. "To making new friends and movie marathons."

"And being extremely clumsy in line at the Redbox." You have to laugh at yourself, seeing as how it ended up with such a fun night for both of you. The part of you that is normally shakingly self-conscious is a little quieter with him. You're just a little nervous instead of downright anxious, which is the way that meeting new people normally makes you feel. And that is a very big deal to you.

"It was my pleasure to be accosted by your purse." He teases, sending you a small wink before he takes a sip of his wine. "It is not every day a gorgeous creature such as yourself runs into me." He tells you. "My very own rom-com meet cute."

If you hadn't just swallowed a sip of the delicious wine, you might be wearing it, completely floored by the compliment and wondering if it is possible for cheeks to become the temperature of lava instantly. "Believe me," you murmur, sure that you look as flustered as you feel. "The pleasure is all mine."

Javi wants to impress you, feeling very delighted in the way your eyes slide away shyly, like you were flustered. "Would you like to see my collection?" He asks you suddenly. "I have a lot of film memorabilia."

“Sure!” You have a few favourite recreated props and other pieces of your own. Enough to know that the pieces a person collects says a lot about them as a person. “Sounds like fun.”

Javi grins and motions you deeper into the house. "I had a better set up in Spain, but this is what I decided to bring with me when I— when I moved." He wants to go back and get more, but he has been nervous to, opening the door to the second bedroom and flipping on the light so you can step inside.

“Oh wow…” Stepping inside the room makes your eyes widen and your jaw slacken slightly, just taking in the sheer amount of actual real movie props on display in the large re-purposed bedroom. The built-in shelves are chock full of specifically Nick Cage-related items and you go from shocked to ear-to-ear grinning in an instant. “Oh, so you’re a Nick Cage fan,” you tease lightly, even though you immediately go over to inspect the chainsaw sitting on a table against the far wall. “Is this the actual prop chainsaw from Mandy??”

"Yes." Javi grins, catching the pure delight in your voice. "He was impressed with the collection too." He admits. "Although I still need to get my golden guns back from him."

“The golden guns?” When you whirl back around to look at him you’re in awe again. “How did you possibly get ahold of this stuff, Javi? You must be like the single most successful auction bidder of all time.”

He gives another shrug and looks around the room again, unsure of how to answer that. "I guess that anything is possible with enough money." He says finally before he looks back at you. "It is how I met Nick. I paid for him to come to my birthday two years ago."

“I—wow…” Of course you’ve heard of things like that, but never actually met anyone who did it. That kind of thing takes an insane amount of money. And usually an ego - the kind of person who believes they should get to possess the world just because they can buy it. Javi is definitely not like that. He’s sweet, and unassuming, and kind of seems like he didn’t want to even admit it at first. Maybe so you wouldn’t think less of him? “And then you worked together after that?” You can’t help the way your curious eyes roam around the room, zeroing in on the encased copy of the Declaration of Independence from National Treasure with the cipher encoded on the back. It’s cheesy, but you love those movies so much.

"I asked him if he would write a script with me." He admits, looking around proudly. "I think we will take home the Oscar this next year."

"Wait—" You're starting to feel like your head is spinning a little as the eerie feeling being sure that he must be famous somehow slides into place. The puzzle pieces that click in your head nearly make you squeak out loud when you look up at him again. "The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent? That was your script?"

He tips his shoulders up again, self-conscious again and he wonders if you hated the movie. "Guilty." He admits, rushing over to a shelf and pulling out his working script. His and Nick's notes are scrawled through it and he holds it out to you, proud of his name emblazoned on the front.

"You don't understand..." Your fingertips barely touch the pages, like you're afraid it might burn you or release some kind of booby trap. "I love this movie. Like I went to see it five times in theaters and I took notes on the characterization because I thought it was so good. It's phenomenal, Javi." The way your chest tightens, realizing that this man in front of you is the genius behind one of your favourite new films, is fangirling and excitement and definitely a dose of attraction like you've never felt before. "You're an incredibly talented writer, and I—I'm sure any horror movie you write is going to blow the genre right out of the water."

He can't help but blush, flustering as he looks down at the script that he had pour his soul into. "T-thank you." He murmurs softly, touched that you would say such a kind thing to him. Even after reading the reviews, he still didn't believe the success of the film, but he gives all the credit for it to Nick and his brilliant performance.

"Seriously." The way he shies away is endearing, almost blustering. "If you don't win an Oscar, I'll protest the damn Academy myself."

He gives a small laugh, relaxing at your vehement claim and nods. "I might take you up on that if it comes to it."

"Cross my heart," you promise, warming at the smile that spreads across his face.

When the doorbell rings, Javi is disappointed to leave the room in order to go to the front door to collect dinner. Pouting slightly when you insist that you pay, he at least pulls out his wallet to tip the driver, something that he had learned was very important here in the states.

The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari is only an hour long, the 1920 black and white classic being a perfect way to start the night as you both dig into the barbecue pizza and continue to savor the delicious cava that his family's vineyard produces. Things are a little more relaxed between you now, as you've started to get to know each other, and you feel like you're starting to get a clearer version of who this sweet, incredibly talented, and fairly nerdy man really is.

He is drawn to you. You are witty, incredibly knowledgeable and gorgeous. He feels himself starting to develop a crush on you, even as the movie plays and the two of you snack on the treats he had purchased. Enjoying the way that you laugh with your entire being and he wants to make sure that you continue to do that. Your eyes sparkle when you do and your smile is mesmerizing.

By the time Caligari is over and Suspiria is popped into the DVD player, you're pleasantly buzzing from the wine and pull one of the throw blankets off the back of the couch to drape over you as you start to crave that feeling of comfy-coziness that always comes with movie night. It lays over both you and Javi easily, almost putting you in a little cocoon together. He has inched closer to you, drawn to the spicy, floral scent of your perfume and needing the warmth of another body close by as he shivers slightly. His eyes move from the movie over to you and he bites his lip.

It’s a slightly sexier film, although that wasn’t at all why you recommended it, and you wonder if it has anything to do with the way Javi has shifted slightly beside you on the couch. Somehow, over the last hour or more, you’ve inched closer to each other And while you aren’t complaining in the least, it is definitely making you feel like there’s some kind of fire igniting in the place where your arms and sides are pressing lightly against each other. It’s intoxicating in a way that is completely different from the wine and far more distracting - a trick of your mind or wishful thinking making you sure you’ve caught him looking at you more than a few times tonight.

His breath catches slightly and can't deny that there is a sense of eroticism to this that has him thinking about other erotic things that nothing to do with the movie and everything to do with woman sitting beside him.

“Do you—um—” You swear you heard him gasp but you’re not sure why, and you glance over at Javi about halfway through the movie. “Are you enjoying it?”

"I am." Javi murmurs, leaning in more and inching just a little closer to you. "Are you? Anything to do to make it better?"

He’s barely a breath away when he leans in again, and you feel like you might catch on fire if he gets any closer - though you’re too fuzzy from the nearness to know if that’s a bad thing or not. “I mean…” You crack a grin, feeling your heart in your throat. “Did you have something in mind?”

"That is a...question." Javi nearly gulps as he wonders if you are waiting for him to make a move. "One that has several answers." He admits with a small grin.

It would only take the smallest movement to close the space between you, and your eyes flicker to his lips before you can stop yourself. "I—I think I'm very interested in those answers..."

There is his answer. Javi nods to himself, making up his mind as he stares at you softly. "You are?" He smirks slightly and reaches up to cup your cheek. When you nod, he leans in to kiss you in a burst of confidence.

When the moment of hesitation passes, it seems like you both internally toss up your hands. His arms are around you, you're pressing into his space, and the thread of tension that has finally snapped has both of you sighing into the kiss and letting it linger between you. His lips are soft and warm, drawing you in just as assuredly as his arms are around your body.

Javi groans against your lips, shuffling forward and needs to be closer to you. Wishing that he was lying next to you but that can be remedied, the tv and movie completely forgotten.

The only thought left in your head at this point is him - your hands finding purchase in his shirt before one slides up to the back of his neck and eventually ends up in his hair. Your kiss passed any version of innocent about thirty seconds ago and you don't give a single damn, especially not when you feel like tongue drag delicately along the seam of your lips and you open up to let him in without hesitation.

He moans as you let him in. Nothing mattering but the way you taste. He shuffles, pushing off the couch with his lips still locked to yours and moving so that he can climb onto the cushions beside you, his arms wrapping around your soft shoulders and pulling you to his chest. It all seems to happen in slow motion despite how eagerly you’re both grasp for each other. But within moments you’re laying side by side on the overly deep couch cushions, tangled up in each other’s arms with the entire rest of the world forgotten.

Javi slides his hand down your thick side, reaching for the cushion of your thigh and pulls it up, draping it over his hip so he can slide closer. Groaning when he feels the heat that is wonderfully trapped by your core radiating out while he slowly explores your mouth.

It really is the last thing you expected to happen tonight. Nothing could have been farther from your mind when you accepted his invitation. But now that you’re here it feels like it was meant to be. The tented front of his soft lounge pants hides nothing, letting you feel the heat and hardness of his excitement grinding into your core worth every roll of his hips. It’s stunning, and you moan into his kiss eagerly as you scramble to pull him impossibly closer.

He shudders when you drag him closer, happily going wherever you wanted him. A scream sounds from the tv but all he can think about is how you taste, breaking away from your lips so he can kiss down your heated skin.

“Javi—” As soon as he moves down your neck his name is dripping from your lips, a nearly ecstatic moan as you can practically feel him hardening between your legs.

“Beautiful.” He whispers against your skin. His teeth scrap over your pulse and he soothes it with his tongue. Sliding his hand up and down your thick thigh lovingly, he reaches back and slides his hand into the pocket of your jeans and grabs a large handful of your ass. “So fucking sexy.”

You whimper at that, drinking in his praise and rolling your hips up to meet his. “Want you so fucking bad,” you admit breathlessly, so wrapped up in him that you feel overwhelmed and elated all at once.

“You do?” Javi pulls back and gives you an almost surprised look. Half afraid that he had been caught up in the moment or that he was pushing too hard. “What do you want?”

“You.” Admittedly, you’re surprised that he’s surprised, but you’ve got enough self-esteem issues to not question it. “A-as much as you’re comfortable with.” Really, you have to laugh a little, but only a little. “I mean…I’m not opposed to sex in the first date…even if we didn’t really plan for it to be a date.”

“I wanted it to be.” He admits with a shy grin. “But I did not wish to make you uncomfortable.”

“I wanted it to be.” Reaching up, you brush an errant curl out of his eyes. “But I didn’t think you were interested in me that way.”

“I am not blind.” He grunts, pouting at you and leaning in to kiss you again. “You are a very beautiful woman and I want to take you to bed.”

“Please.” You are in no way above begging, especially when a man this handsome is praising you and wanting you. It makes you want to give it back tenfold.

It is hard to pull himself away, but he does it knowing that he is going to be able to be much closer soon. Standing up and holding out his hand for you, wanting to help you off the sofa. “We will be more comfortable in a bed.”

He’s stronger than he looks. You notice that immediately when he helps you off the sofa with ease, and pulls you directly into him for another kiss that leaves you breathless. “Lead the way,” you murmur when you’re forced to come up for air.

He’s nervous as he guides you down the hall, past the memorabilia room towards the master bedroom of the house. It’s been a long time since he had been with someone besides Gabriella and he wasn’t sure if that was in his favor.

Maybe you recognize that he's nervous because you've felt that way so many times before, or maybe you recognize it because you're also feeling it in this exact moment. Either way, when you reach for his hand just inside the doorway of his bedroom, you offer him a soft smile of assurance. "I'm nervous too. Don't worry about it."

“You should not be worried.” Javi frowns slightly. “You are gorgeous. Men must hit on you all the time.”

"Never." When you laugh it isn't exactly self-deprecating, just matter-of-fact. "I think you're the first man I've been alone with in...nearly a year?" You shrug, lacing your fingers through his in that same steady, supportive way. "You, though? Gorgeous, sweet, funny, and clever? I don't know how you're possibly single." And then you smirk at him, and wink, teasing to hopefully lighten the mood. Because he's too genuine of a man for you to believe he would lie about something big like that. "You are single, right?"

“Very much single.” He promises, although he would like that to change. “I have been used to people caring about me because of my name, my money.” He admits with a small shrug. “The last woman I was with could not handle wanting to put aside those things.”

"Then she wasn't good enough for you." There's a certainty in your voice - a surety - that you genuinely believe what you're saying. Money and fame aren't things you give a shit about, which makes you something of a unicorn in LA. "But all the better for me. Since I'm the one with you now."

He gives you a grin and a small wink. “That depends on how I perform.” He reminds you with a chuckle.

"If you fuck as well as you kiss, I don't think we have anything to worry about." Even if he fucks half as well as he kisses, you'll be in heaven. The man makes kissing seem like the most passionate indulgence on earth and you're pretty much living for it.

There is a slight ruddiness to his cheeks but he doesn’t shy away. Instead he reaches for your hips and pulls you closer. “There is only one way to find out.” He murmurs softly.

From there it's almost a blur getting to the bed, clothes being tossed aside as hands and lips caress every inch of skin as it is exposed. A flurry of grasping hands and needy kisses until the backs of your legs hit against his bedframe and you both go tumbling backward onto his mattress.

“Oh fuck.” Your softness is exquisite, and Javi pushes you into his bed as he clambers on top of you.

Somehow you knew his bed would be soft and luxurious, and the solid weight of him on top of you has you pressed into the mattress so he seems to fully surround you. Your knees part to make room for him in the cradle of your thighs, and every inch of you is on fire with wanting him. There are no barriers left - not a stitch of clothing - and you swear it might be the first time ever that you haven't immediately wanted to hide from sight when you were first bare for a new partner. Something about him just makes you feel safe, in a way you can't say you've ever felt before.

“You are so beautiful.” Javi gushes, his cock hard and leaking against your pillowy hip and he cannot help but rock himself into your skin, luxuriating in the warmth. “Gorgeous, a goddess to be worshiped.”

"We have all the time in the world." As badly as your body might be screaming to cut to the chase, aching for him to be inside you, the time to explore is something you won't take for granted. Maybe it will never happen again. Maybe this is just a one-time thing. If it is, you want as many beautiful memories of him as you can possibly get.

“I want to make you feel good.” He shuffles back to his knees, drinking in the sight of your body spread out for him and he cannot stop stroking your thighs. “What do you want, preciosa?”

Even just a few inches back he's out of your reach, and the impulse to reach for him - to wrap your fingers around his length and find out exactly what kind of pressure he likes with a fist around his cock - melts away to wondering if he's offering to do that. You lick your lips unconsciously, biting the lower one a second later as his large hands knead your thighs gently. "Would you..." You would never make him, but he did ask what you wanted. "Taste me?"

Javi groans in relief, happy that you have voiced your desire and nods eagerly. “Yes.” He practically pants as he leans in and presses his lips to yours. “I want to see how you respond to my fingers, to my tongue. Reenact Blue Valentine?”

It takes you a second to roll through your vague memory of the movie to figure out what scene he's talking about, but when you arrive at it, a smirk forms on your lips. "Do you like to have your hair pulled?"

He bites his lip and flashes you a slightly guilty look. “I don’t know.” He admits. “None of— no one has done that while I—” he breaks off the rest of the comment in embarrassment.

"Would you like to find out?" You won't push him to do anything that he doesn't want to, but you want to give him a chance to experience something new if he wants. And if you remember that scene in Blue Valentine correctly, there was a whole lot of hair pulling.

“Yes.” He doesn’t even hide how badly he wants to find out how it would feel. “Only if you want to though.”

"I definitely do." With gorgeous thick waves of hair like he has, you doubt you would have been able to resist.

You’ve given him permission, now all he has to do is move. Javi can’t until he leans back down again, stealing one last kiss before he starts to blaze a trail of kisses over your skin to his goal. Your head drops back onto the duvet the second you feel his breath on your core, his name a whimper from the back of your throat as you arch your back off the bed to try to get him to move closer to where you want him most.

There is a deliciousness to the way that you squirm towards him. It makes him feel greedy in ways he didn’t know he could. He starts slow, kissing the entrancing flesh over your womb and then both of your generous hips. In no way concerned with the rolls and folds he sees. Actually eager to explore.

Aware enough of yourself and your body to let your legs open wide for him. Leaning up on your elbows lets you watch the flex in his shoulders and the intense concentration on the parts of his face you can actually see when he isn't burying himself in your pussy. It's completely divine, drawing vocal moans and whimpers and gasps from your throat and making you so glad you talked it through so you don't have to hesitate for even a second before threading your fingers through the thick mass of hair on his head and giving a small but definitive tug with your nails scratching along his scalp.

The sensation of you pulling on his hair goes straight to his cock and he cannot help the loud moan that he sounds directly into your pussy. His hands sliding under your hips and wrapping around them before he dives deeper.

"Fuck!" It's like you found an Encouragement Button, and you repeat the action to see if you'll get as eager a reaction the second time. When he moans into you again you keen, loving the way the vibrations roll through your body and make you shiver.

He loves how vocal you are. Every sound you make is pushing him to make you give him more. Turning nearly craven for the praises that tumble from your lips and the sharp tugs on his hair. That he takes his time is both torturous and a virtue. Every stroke of his tongue is bringing you closer to your peak but not quickly - it's like he took your remark about having all the time in the world extremely literally. He is exploring every inch of you from the inside out, devouring you systematically, and you hope he never stops.

Javi slowly learns your body, his hands sliding up and down your thighs, caressing them as he licks into you. Taking brief pauses so he can kiss your inner thighs, right where they rub together before plunging back into your cunt like a favored dessert. Sweeter than all the candy still laying in his living room; he groans into you again.

The rambling, whimpering, begging mess you have become would probably make you a prime candidate for homemade porn but you can’t find a single ounce of restraint in yourself anymore. One hand flexes and pulls in Javi’s hair, tugging a little tighter as that familiar twisting in your belly starts to take over. Your legs tremble a little with the intensity of it, tensing at his ears and telling him you’re close before you can even gasp out the words.

You are so reactive to his tongue. Javi groans and doubles down on how eagerly he licks into you. Begging you to cum with every flick of his tongue. When you crest that peak you’re practically sobbing, your free hand tangled in the duvet and the one in his hair pulling tight the way you - and he - have learned that he likes. It makes you incredibly glad that you’re doing this at his place and not yours. Your roommate would be pounding on the wall and telling you to keep your ’oh gods’ to yourself. But when your thighs squeeze his ears just that much tighter and your back completely leaves the bed, that flood of cum makes you cry his name as loud as you please, and you don’t give a damn who hears it.

He can’t help but grind into the bed, needing the friction to relieve the aching want that is nearly at its breaking point. Unable to do anything but push you through your high, he moans into you as you soak his chin with the deliciously tangy flood of your cum.

“Holy fuck.” You can’t help giggling a little when you get your breath back, looking down at Javi and soothing your hand through his hair gently.

He grins, like a student receiving praise from a teacher or a man getting lavish praises from a lover, soaking it up and nuzzling into your touch. “You taste amazing.” He murmurs, ducking his head again to take another lazy lick.

"I'm glad you think so." That extra little shot of attention to your core makes you shiver. "You ready for more, querido?" The endearment slips from your lips easily when you look down at him, wondering who could possibly let this incredible man slip through their fingers and how grateful you are that they did.

“If you are.” He is aching to slide inside you, but if you are tired from your orgasm or have changed your mind, he will not protest. “What do you want?”

“You.” This time when you say it, it’s practically a moan. “Want you inside me, Javi, please.”

Javi nods, shuffling up to his knees and leaning over you so that he can reach for the nightstand. It’s been some time, but he wouldn’t be so irresponsible as to not have protection.

There's small amounts of shifting - pulling the duvet back and finding the comfortable nest of pillows at the top of his bed, wrapping up in each other for languid kisses, and finally resettling with Javi nestled between your thighs. Neither of you has the mind left for teasing, needing to feel how well you fit together.

The condom on, Javi braces his weight to one side - his right. Taking himself in hand, he strokes himself gently and groans when he presses up against your wet entrance. “Are you sure?” He looks earnestly into your eyes, elated that you are in his bed, but giving you one last chance to change your mind before he slides inside you.

"Absolutely." Your smile is as soft as your hands are when you cup his cheeks, thumbs dragging along the stubble on his jaw when you reach up to kiss him again. It's the surest you've been about anything in a long time, and that is surprisingly more reassuring than anything else.

He goes slow. His body suspended over yours, he fills you one slow inch at the time. In no rush as he stretches you out, his lips part against yours and a low moan is breathed into you as your walls grip him tight.

The moment of pause you both need to adjust to each other is only a pause. By your next breath you're shifting beneath him, raising your leg up to hitch high on his hip and let him sink a little deeper. Both of you groan deeply, messy and eager kisses interrupted only when he starts to move inside you.

Once he starts to move, he can think of nothing but the way you feel. Your walls pulsing around him and the soft cushion of your thighs and hips as he rocks into you. Panting out your name as he bottoms out again and again.

The rhythm takes over, hips rolling and breath mingling together slowly at first. The slow doesn't last long though, as both of you feel that same shuddering need for closeness that soon enough you have both hands above your head to brace yourself against hitting your head on his headboard as his pace ramps up to demanding. It's perfect. Both of your legs are wrapped around his waist as he pounds into your dripping cunt, tits bouncing with every thrust and encouraging praise falling from your lips in an endless ramble.

All Javi can do is grit his teeth, hissing between them at how tight you get. How obscene it sounds as his hips slap against your thighs and ass and your entire body takes the force of his increasingly hard thrusts. “Fuck.”

"So fucking good," you can feel yourself on the edge again, though the shaking in your thighs is as much from the way he's fucking you as it does with your impending orgasm. "Goddamn, baby, I'm gonna cum, fuck."

“Good.” Javi groans, your words just making him work that much harder. Sweat rolling down his face but he doesn’t pay it any attention, to lost in the way your walls are fluttering around him. “Cum baby, cum.”

It’s so easy to give in. To surrender to how fucking perfect he feels pounding you into mattress. You tense up under him, keening in pleasure and letting his name be the sound that falls from your lips as you fully come apart for him again. The only thing that could have been better would be if he had cum at the same time, but as you clench around him and draw him even deeper into your cunt you can feel how erratic his thrusts become.

He pants, a small whine the only sound he makes, his brow furrowed as he follows you into bliss. Gasping out your name as he stops thrusting, grinding deep into you as he can possibly get and pours himself into the condom in sheer relief.

“Fuck.” That small giggle touches your lips again, making you grin broadly against Javi’s shoulder as he holds himself over you. Just a little coaxing from you encourages him to let go and lay on top of you while he catches his breath, letting you ghost kisses across his face and shoulders and comb his hair from his face in the meantime.

He chuckles slightly, turning his head so he can press his lips to yours. He had anticipated renting a movie, coming home, and watching it by himself while he wished that he had someone beside him. Instead, he had literally run into you and was now more relaxed than he has probably ever been. “If this is how we act with horror movies, how will we be with romance?”

You grin at him, beaming in the afterglow of something so unexpected and beautiful. “There’s only one way to find out.”

His own grin matches your and he leans in to nuzzle your cheeks. “We can move the movie marathon into the bedroom and in the morning - I’ll treat you a brunch. If you want to spend the night and fall asleep watching movies with me.” He adds hopefully.

“Hmmm,” you pretend to think, leaving a kiss on the tip of his nose. “I think I’d like that a whole lot.”

“Good.” Javi flushes from both the kiss and the supreme corniness of his coming comment. “We can cuddle for safety.” He teases with a grin. “Have I mentioned I get scared very easy?”

"Don't worry." You tell him, when you finally stop giggling. "I'll protect you."

Javi grins and rolls off of you, pulling you with him so that you are sprawled on top of him, completely unconcerned with your weight. Actually enjoying the way you feel, grounding him and helping him feel like all of this is really real. “My heroine.”

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @katheriner1999 @littlemousedroid @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @hardc0rehaylz @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom

My Masterlist!

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Javi Gutierrez #Javi Gutierrez x reader #Javi Gutierrez x you #Javi Gutierrez x female reader #the unbearable weight of massive talent #tuwomt #plus size reader #spooktober #meetcute

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sirendeepity · 2 months

Text

[ Nessynriel one-shot ]

A/N: Those ship names are getting out of control, but anyway. I DID IT! 2+2 IS OUT ON 22/2! *animalistic sounds* And yes, Olivia Rodrigo's sad songs worked like a charm because I didn't have any hiccups while writing this (I was in public and the poker face was poker face-ing).

Also, don't ask me anything because I know nothing.

T/W: -

W/C: 1.9k

Their friends often joked about how Gwyn was the “keeper of the brain cell” shared between her, Nesta, and Emerie, being the smarter of the three. But what they didn’t know was how little she actually used said brain cell. For instance, Gwyn had not used it when she had watched Nesta dip two fingers into the icing of the multi-layered cake in front of them and then brought those fingers to her lips, sticking out her tongue and smearing white frosting over it. That was sign number four that Nesta was on her way out of the tipsy zone. And so was Gwyn. That was the only reason why, she would later try to convince herself, Gwyn stood from her chair and reached over the table, grabbing Nesta by the neck, placing her fingers right under the female’s sharp jawline as she licked the cream right off her tongue. Howls and whistles rose around them, but Gwyn didn’t miss the way Nesta’s pupils expanded, leaving little of the blue-gray of her eyes. She just grinned and pretended the warmth pooling in her lower belly was just the alcohol playing tricks on her, and not how Nesta Archeron had tasted on her tongue. Because that wasn’t her, it was the vanilla cream of Helion’s lavish cake—nothing to worry about.

[ *** ]

Nesta was staring at the bottom of her empty glass. The fourth of the night.

She had made the terrible mistake of ordering a cherry-flavored drink on the third round and realized too late it tasted like the lipstick her tongue had accidentally grazed, so she had to order something stronger to wash away her aroma. And possibly her memory, too.

Nesta would give herself a few minutes before going for the next one, and maybe she would steal a couple of sips from Cassian’s drink while she was at it. She really, really needed it, Nesta reassured herself. Before she could even turn around to look for him, Cassian’s raspy voice came from beside her.

“Should I start wearing the same lipstick?”

Nesta wished there was still something left in the glass she held in her hands, if only to distract herself from the misery. “What?”

Cassian grinned at her. Gotcha, his eyes seemed to say. “The lipstick. Gwyn’s. Should I wear it too?”

“Why would you ever do that?”

“Because your panties are in a twist, literally, and not thanks to me,” he leaned closer, taking a sip from his own drink. He was well and truly gone, too. “Or maybe it was not the lipstick, was it, Nes?”

“Stop it,” Nesta said through gritted teeth. She was feeling both guilty and turned on as it was, she didn’t need Cassian’s help in making it worse.

The bastard just laughed, earning himself a glare.

“It’s okay, Nes,” he whispered against her ear. His hot breath sent a chill down her spine, and Nesta had to fight the shivers as he aligned himself behind her, hips pressing against the curve of her ass. “I can help you ease all this tension,” he went on, taunting her with his lips on her neck, close to her skin but not quite close enough. She wanted to close her eyes and let him take care of her needs, let him melt that knot in her spine with those expert fingers of his, but she knew she couldn’t, not with so many people still around them, partying and drinking and dancing. “Maybe Gwyn could help, too.”

And that was it. The push that sent her over the edge. There was no coming back as she slipped and fell down the rabbit hole.

[ *** ]

Gwyn could’ve kissed Azriel for that don’t-freak-out question. She did kiss him, actually, and then agreed to his proposition. Which was Cassian’s—well, it all came down to Nesta, but who cared about he said, she said.

And now here she was, standing in a dark bedroom while the party was still in full swing just a floor below. Not that it was a surprise—Helion’s parties tended to stretch on well into the night.

But Gwyn was not thinking about the party. Had stopped caring about any of that after she had kissed Nesta Archeron. She hadn’t, technically, so there was nothing to be obsessing over, right?

Wrong.

She loved her mate, could not imagine her life without him—didn’t want to—but oh, how sweet that sin had tasted. What a dream it had been. Gwyn hadn’t been able to get that scent of jasmine and lavender out of her nostrils for the rest of the night, despite the tang of spilled drinks and too many bodies permeating the air.

Now she breathed it in, welcomed it as it filled her lungs.

Nesta was standing in front of her—watching, waiting—, Cassian only a step behind, mirroring Azriel. Gwyn had the vague feeling the males were not new to any of this and had a tacit understanding of what the rules were, what they could do, and what they should not. Nesta seemed to be thinking the same, and that kicked her into motion.

Two steps and her palms pressed on both of Gwyn’s cheeks, pulling her body flush against hers as their lips met, parted, and then met again. Gwyn opened up to her, and her tongue swept in, tasting thoroughly.

She heard movement, and then the Illyrians were at their backs, caging them inside two sets of wings. From then it was only lips on tongues on skin. Cassian helped Nesta out of her dress, not wasting time and grabbing her full breasts in his hands. They fit perfectly against his palms. Nesta let out a soft moan, her head falling back and exposing her neck. Gwyn sized it, biting into her soft flesh as Azriel’s scarred hand found the slit of her skirt, sneaking between the fine layers of silk to cup her, his thumb pressing lightly on her clit. He growled against her shoulder as his fingers grazed her entrance above the drenched material of her panties. Gwyn’s dress was the next to go. Once both of them stood in nothing but their skin, Nesta pushed her backward until they reached the bed between a kiss and the next, leaving the males to undress.

Gwyn fell on the bed, red hair fanning the silky sheets, and let her gaze travel over Nesta’s naked body. She had always thought her friend to be beautiful, but just then she realized how maddening it was to see her with swollen lips and flushed skin and that desperate, wanting need in her eyes. Gwyn rose on her forearms, meeting Nesta halfway, but the female only pushed her back against the bed, straddling her.

Nesta’s lips hovered above the hollow of her neck, her collarbones, then traveled over her freckled chest, leaving a trail of kisses before closing around one nipple. Gwyn gasped at the warmth of her mouth, that swirling tongue of hers.

She opened her eyes when she felt the mattress dip, and saw Azriel, in all his naked glory, kneeling beside her, a fist wrapped around his erection. Gwyn placed a hand above his, pumping him in tandem with Nesta’s sucking on her nipples. Cassian was grinding against his mate, and Gwyn could see the tip of his cock pushing between Nesta’s raised ass. His large hand came down on it, the crisp sound of flesh against flesh filling the air as he slapped her ass once more.

“Fuck,” Nesta murmured against her tits.

Gwyn smirked. “We should do that,” she said as she turned her head and wrapped her lips around Azriel’s head. She licked over the slit, the salty taste of his precum filling her mouth. Azriel tilted his head back, and his satisfied groan was inviting enough that Gwyn took inch after blissful inch with every bob of her head, using her hand to cover what she couldn’t fit in her mouth. She gagged every time he hit the back of her throat, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes, but she wouldn’t stop—couldn’t stop—until he came. Because seeing the Shadowsinger lose control, and knowing she was the cause of his unraveling, made Gwyn feel untouchable. Her plan changed when Nesta adjusted above her, their limbs now tangled, and rolled her hips, rubbing their clits against one another.

[ *** ]

Nesta kept moving, working both Cassian behind her and Gwyn under her, the wet sliding of their cunts filling the room, along with whimpers and moans.

“Her pussy feels good, doesn’t it, Nes?” Cassian murmured against her neck, a battlefield of bruises and love bites. He kept kneading at her breasts, pinching and pulling her nipples to the point of pain. Nesta picked up her pace, echoing Gwyn’s quickening breaths. The priestess’ hand, now replacing her mouth, went up and down the Shadowinger’s length in fast movements, wrist twisting at the top.

“Don’t make her come,” Azriel ordered, a shadow wrapping around Gwyn’s neck.

Cassian gripped her hips, halting her, and Nesta grunted at the sudden stillness, the denial.

“I need to-”

“I said not yet.”

Nesta whimpered at the command, the dominance in Azriel’s voice. It also pissed her off. So she gripped one of Cassian’s wrists and guided his hand between hers and Gwyn’s bodies, placing it where she needed him most.

Cassian chuckled, biting her lobe, “Troublemaker.”

Still, he circled her clit once, twice, before slipping through her folds. Nesta cried out, barely able to catch her breath as Cassian’s thick fingers curled inside of her, filling her, stretching her. Nesta felt her release closer with every pump, but Cassian kept avoiding the spot he knew would push her over. She needed more, needed—

“What was that, Gwyn?”

“Please,” Gwyn might have been whimpering, might have been crying. “Please, Azriel, let me come.”

Nesta could only watch as a dark curl caressed her freckled cheek, grazed the corner of her lips, and Gwyn opened for him, sticking out her tongue.

“Such a good girl,” Azriel murmured, then spit in her mouth. “Now you can come.”

Cassian removed his hand from inside Nesta, pressing her down on Gwyn’s core, guiding her hips. After two strokes, Gwyn’s back arched off the bed, and Azriel watched his mate orgasm with rapt attention. On the third, Cassian covered Nesta’s mouth with his hand, cutting off her scream as Nesta came so hard she saw stars.

Grunts joined their heavy breaths soon after.

Nesta felt something warm and sticky slide down the small of her back. She only had to twist her head to the side to see the white-knuckled grip Cassian had around his cock, still twitching against her ass. Nesta pulled him in for a sloppy kiss, all teeth and tongue.

When she turned again, she saw Azriel pumping himself one last time, hissing. Gwyn, cheeks flushed red and a satisfied grin stretching her lips, basked on the feeling of his release coating her chest. The last thing she saw was the redhead wrap her arms around her mate’s neck as he claimed her lips, then Nesta closed her eyes and let herself enjoy the feeling of Cassian’s wandering hands.

His kisses were a balm for her senses. “I’ll take care of you.”

He knew, of course he knew, that as good as it had felt, it was not enough for Nesta. That she needed to be fucked raw and then some more, until her tears soaked the pillows and his seeds soaked her.

Nesta chuckled despite the throbbing between her legs, asking for attention once more. “I know.”

#dee writes #2+2 #nessynriel #nessian x gwynriel #nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #nesta x cassian #gwynriel #gwyneth berdara #azriel #gwyn x azriel #acotar fanfiction

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quotent-potables · 7 months

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"You're worried about me," he says, and Marinette raises her eyebrows. "Should I be?" He laughs, looking down at his bowl and tracing his spoon through the melted ice cream and brownie chunks. "You know what one of the things I like best about you is, Marinette?" he asks, and Marinette sighs, pretending to think hard. "My genetic talent for making sweets?" she asks, gesturing to his empty bowl, and he snorts. "Good guess," he says, and he rests the handle of the spoon against the edge of his bowl. He turns his face so that he's looking at her, and she does the same. His smile is easy, unmarred by any heavy emotion. "You never make me feel burdened by your worry." Marinette feels her heart break a little bit, but she just frowns comically down at the last corner of brownie in her own bowl. "Funny, I don't remember putting alcohol in these."

— metamorphosis, a Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug and Cat Noir fanfiction by @peachcitt.

Read it on AO3

#quotes #fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 #archive of our own #miraculous #miraculous ladybug #mlb #ml #metamorphosis #peachcitt #the life cycle of the butterfly #worry

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nelapanela94 · 2 years

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tw: post war, SMUT

It's just sex.

You chant every day in the hope of convincing yourself.

It's only sex, that's how it started.

War came to an end, and life somehow granted you another chance. a quiet life, in which time goes by slowly. So slow you spent a year travelling the world with your retirement pensions once Levi had regained his mobility. You wanted to photograph places; Levi wanted to try every blend of tea before opening the teashop. The thrill had slipped down from gear five to one, and you even learned how to drive, though Levi doesn't trust you behind the wheel.

After so many years fighting side by side, you grew used to each other's presence, you never hesitated to take an apartment together. You even bent in laughter when the lessor called you Mrs. Ackerman.

But an ordinary day turned out to be a day out of the ordinary. Maybe it was the ethanol levels in your blood, maybe the lack of heat, or his boozed up gaze that seemed to lust after you.

Coyly, you bobbed your head from side to side, stood up from the wing chair, and toddled to him, making the wooden feet screech against the floor, wincing, and letting out a hiss when you jabbed the corner of the coffee table into your shin. Levi laughed. Tears peeked from the corner of your eyes and the jerk only laughed. Angry, you stomped in his direction as the floor tilted under your feet, stumbled, and plummeted on top of him.

Even the best cleaning products could not remove the garnet-red stain from the sofa, but right then, it was the least of your concerns. The fizz on your cheeks intensified, and alcohol wasn't to blame. from the impact, your messy bun fell apart, the ends of your hair tickled his face as he stared at you. His eyes moved from your eyes to your parted lips, then back to your eyes and his blush deepened, stretching to his ears as his blood deployed southward. Your eyes snapped open wide when you fell it against your belly, stoking the heat in your core.

It began like a fight, both refusing to let your guard down, wary, pending the other to pull out a knife.

But there wasn't any glinting blade seeking flesh.

Before he could push you away from him, you kissed him, tasting his lips as if they were soaked in poison, cautiously and afraid, tempting, and all your doubts ebbed when he kissed you back, his teeth skimming over your bottom lip; and from that moment on, you only separated to strip down, the pile of clothes melting like a scoop of ice cream on the floor.

All those gnarling scars you kissed; you doused his face with your lips, then his shoulders, tracing and retracing the bumpy tissue on his arms, chest, abs, and legs. Everywhere. You were both shaking, scared to inflict damage in one another. Staggered breaths mingled; dawdling fingers touched with hesitation.

This was a mistake, but you had no brakes.

Your bodies pressed together, he on top of you, one shaped to fit the other perfectly. Your neck to his shoulder, his hands to your waist, his voice whittled to your creases and hollow places as he purred, "I've always wanted you." And immediately, he mentally slapped himself for he might regret later.

"I wanted you like this too." Your throaty voice weave through your staggered breaths as you drew his head down, his lips pressed to your collarbone; he kissed the hollows in your neck, his tears blended with sweat. "You sure?" He rasped, holding his cock to your entrance in a tease, a chuckle stroked over your pulse.

"Uh-huh, you?" You fought a shiver as his lips trailed along your jaw and closed your eyes, bracing for the blissful pain. His mouth hovered over yours, his breath brushed your luscious lips, drinking your loud whimper as he broke your limits. Any gap between you vanished. He stilled, muzzling a grunt on the corner of your lips, basking in your tightness and warmth, and "Shit, you feel so good."

The back of his hand caressed your cheek, and you open your eyes, teary and red, slathered with fear and pleasure. "Are you ok?" he crooned, drawing languid shapeless figures on your shoulder.

"Move." One of your hands, closed into a fist, settled on the small of his back, while the other sauntered further down, fingers sinking and squeezing, urging him into you, deeper, faster, harder, Fuck, he felt so good. The crisp scratch of his thick hair tickled your mound; beautiful sounds enveloped his name. Squelching sounds, hips crashing. Your body responded to him, taking every inch and squeezing him so tight as if it didn't want to let go.

"Shit, I–" He rucked up his face, groaning and you knew he was close too. One hand slid up the back of your thigh and nudged your leg up, and he thrusted harder, cajoling a quivering whine from you as the tip of his cock kissed your cervix. If you thought he couldn't reach deeper, he proved you wrong.

"Lev–" A string of moans sliced his name to three letters as your nails claw and raked raw his upper arms, a tendon popping out on your neck, your head jabbing on the seat, sparks burst behind your eyelids, and it snapped. You writhed under him as he kept ramming, using your orgasm to wrench out his. His balls squeezed into him, and he pulled out before blowing up inside you, strings of cum lashed on your lower belly, sticky beads rambling down, swallowed up between your worn out slit.

Breathless, gasping, he crawled off you, swept his hair away and get dressed. He couldn't even look at you.

The cloud of ecstasy that blinded you rolled away, taking with it any smidge of alcohol.

"Would you get me napkins?"

"Sure." He hauled up and slipped into his shirt. "Hold on."

As he fetched them, you fish your underwear from the floor.

You pretended it never happened, a silent treat. But glances speak louder than words and the next time, you snuggled in his bed; a week later he was raving you on the kitchen counter from behind.

It's only sex. You replay in your head.

You wouldn't linger in his chest. You wouldn't fall asleep in his bed. You wouldn't feel anything else but his weight pressed against you.

Just flesh craving; don't let the heart mingle.

But it keeps insisting.

It was him who broke the treaty first.

"There's a new restaurant downtown, I thought you'd like to go. With me."

When your favorite song came on you offered a hand, "Dance with me."

A massage on the shoulders.

Chicken soup when sick.

Cooking a favorite meal.

Bathing together, falling asleep next to each other.

The promises you made to yourself, broken.

And tonight, soothed by the soft pressure of his fingers drawing patterns over your hip bones, you wonder if this love is one-way, or of he feels the same.

#levi ackerman #attack on titan #aot #shingeki no kyojin #snk #levi attack on titan #snk levi #levi aot #levi x reader #levi x you #levi x y/n #levi ackerman x you #levi ackerman x reader

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mako-neexu · 1 year

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For Ritsuka, kisses and bites, no matter the intention in it, are the same. The same goes for scars, anything that could be etched into him, he treats it with love and care.

After all, they are marks from people who cared about him, whether out of adoration or hatred, frustration or misunderstanding.

“’M sorry, about this...” Rokka mumbles against his bare skin, the very spot on his shoulder in which she bit down with so much force, he bled on the sheets in the throes of their intimacy.

At least, it wasn’t serious enough to have him get taken to the infirmary. Just cleaning it with bandages and alcohol was enough.

He laughs, cupping her cheek and kissing the other side, “I already said you were forgiven. But if you insist, then, feed me the ice cream you were eating the other day.”

Her gaze lingers on the patched wound as she bit her lower lip. He doesn’t like seeing her feel guilty. He already said it was more than okay with it, glad even that he bore the mark.

She bit the inside of her cheek, hesitant, “Nnn, just the ice cream?”

He smiled, “What, you want me to demand more?”

She perked up at that.

“Ah, well, I could farm mats for you! Isn’t the upcoming summer event Las Vegas? If I remember, you’d need to farm seriously hard for the Shop CEs-”

Ritsuka cut off her enthusiasm with a kiss.

And before she melted into it, he pulled away with a shit-eating grin, “Nice try, but I need my command spells for the next lostbelt.”

It was always cute to see her try and “borrow” his rights as a Master.

On her part, Rokka turned bright red and turned away, “A-At least give me something to do aside from giving you the ice cream...”

He had something in mind for a while now. He supposed that now is a good time to ask her of this opportunity.

“Then, all I ask is for you to be close once more to our friends.”

Ever since Ritsuka had brought Rokka with him to the storm border from a singularity that sponsored a baseball tournament, she had clammed up from seeing faces of the friends who weren’t hers, like visiting a family she knew well and loved yet had different facial features far from what she had known all this time.

She had been overwhelmed to the point where she had nearly cut his command seal bearing hand off with a knife she must have snuck from the kitchens. It was only due to his honed senses that he was able to sense the danger beforehand.

(Of course, no one knew except for him. No matter what happened, he was going to protect her while keeping what was his.)

After that incident, she spoke to almost no one, not even Mash, only to Ritsuka.

Though she felt guilty, she still made jokes and shallow remarks of taking his rights, and he would respond with refusal and tickles.

“...But they’re yours.”

“Ours.” He emphasized.

And before she could voice out what she thought, he continued, “My Master rights are mine though. But on everything else? We’ll be sharing it.”

Rokka stared at him for a long while. A blank stare that gave little about what she truly felt-

But then, she fell sidewards, hiding her face against his arm.

“You’re really stubborn.”

Ritsuka choked at that, smiling, bringing a lock of orange-red hair to his lips, “Says you.”

#1) im so bad at ending things #2) its so obvious im single and craving fluff #3) for the love of god someone send me the ability to write people fucking nasty #fgo #fate grand order #rokkaposting #fujimaru ritsuka #guda

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staticl0ve · 1 year

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Kiss it Better - Sixty/AFAB!Reader

Pairings: Sixty/AFAB!Reader (no pronouns) Rating: Mature/Explicit/NSFW 18+ Link (AO3): Make It Better (oneshot) Words: 5.6k Warnings: hurt/comfort, alcohol use, smut, PnV sex, oral (F!receiving), reader’s wearing a dress Summary: Sixty’s got a bit of a roommate problem and that roommate’s got a bit of a dating problem. Romance isn’t really his thing. But when your slew of bad dates and crummy luck with romance has you spiraling, he’s there, unexpectedly. Perhaps…he’s always been there. Notes: Wrote this in one crazy fever dream after listening to Rihanna all week.

Before Sixty left for work, the living room was immaculate, the coffee table streak free and devoid of grease. Coasters were neatly stacked, a vase of flowers sat in the middle. Sure, the man loved to party, but that didn’t stop him from keeping his home presentable. First impressions were important and the way an apartment looked said a lot about a man.

Of course, he did have a human roommate to account for.

As soon as he walked in, he was greeted with the sounds of a television. From the dialogue, it sounded like a sappy romance, the kind of low effort film that never made it to theaters. There was a half eaten pint of melting ice cream, dribbling a sticky mess onto the wooden table. Wine streaked down the sides of a freshly emptied glass. A tissue box was lying on top of a pile of crumpled, used tissues. His brown eyes followed a trail of potato chip crumbs to a bag hastily torn open and then to the culprit that wrecked the tidiness of his shared apartment.

“Shit. What happened? Did you get left at the altar?” he said, sarcasm dripping with every word. This was almost a routine for him, coming home and hoping you’d laugh off your misery with him.

Instead, your eyes were glued passive aggressively to the tv, refusing to acknowledge him. In between your crossed legs was a wine bottle that you were hugging to your chest. Your eyes welled up marginally and you tried your hardest to blink, to slow your sudden uptick in needing to swallow lungfuls of air.

“Not tonight, Six.”

He loosened his tie, the red silk coming undone with ease. Taking a few steps into the apartment, he dropped his work bag, leaving it by the door to prioritize your distress. As he neared the couch, he over theatrically dusted away stray chip crumbs and when you didn’t appreciate his second attempt at humor, he quietly sank down into the cushion.

Sixty gave you a quick once over, dragging his gaze from your bare legs to the thin, glittery number you chose for the evening. A dress it seemed, that your failed date did not get to appreciate. Brown eyes lingered for a fraction of a second longer at where your thighs parted around the wine bottle you were cradling. Look, the man had eyes and he wasn’t going to be shy about where they landed.

Attempt number three. Because, as they say, the third time’s the charm.

Running a hand through his hair, he feigned a stretch, knocking the side of his chest against your arm playfully. His teeth flashed in a wide grin like he was already laughing at a joke in his head.

“So did Prince Charming turn out to be a frog?”

“Can we please just—” you said and waved your arms at the television. “Sit here? Let’s just watch the movie and not…” You bit your lip, glancing up at the ceiling. A stinging burn pinched the back of your eyes and the insides of your nose. “…Not talk for once?”

His back slouched, head dipping lower so you couldn’t avoid eye contact. A warm hand squeezed your shoulder. He breathed out your name, finally hitting you with a pair of molten brown eyes. They were sympathetic, reminding you of all the times you’ve both sought each other for emotional support, although you more than him. The raw honesty only made your eyes sting further.

His voice shifted to a low whisper. “How long have we known each other?”

You had held in the urge to cry for too long, needing to sniffle and snort back the moisture in your nose. Compared to his neat black button up and pressed black slacks, you withered a bit at being the gross, wet (not in the fun way), and sniffly human. Sixty wasn’t letting you crawl back into your bad mood, handing you tissues from a box nearby and prodding you gently with an elbow.

“Three years, right?” he prompted.

“Yeah,” you answered flatly, facing away from him to blow your nose.

“And how many years have we been roommates?”

After a heavy sigh, you turned your head in his direction. “Two.”

“See that? That…” He slung an arm over your shoulder. The color in his eyes were brighter, touched by a warmth that you’d rarely seen. “That is us making it through the honeymoon phase.”

You didn’t even get his joke, but something about it made you let out a short, weak laugh. Maybe it was because the apartment at a glance looked like the home of two newly weds with his stuff intermixed with yours: the chore wheel on the fridge, a digital album on the wall that cycled through photos and most of them were of you and him. Then there were the flowers you received this week, the only pretty thing in the mess you’ve made.

You were sure it was from Sixty, the timing of it arriving after a terrible date was a little suspicious. Although, he insisted it wasn’t him, pointing out the anonymous nature of the note. The writing was short and sweet and you found yourself occasionally glancing at it on your way out the door.

Tonight’s date hadn’t gone so poorly when considering the metrics, being stood up happened to a lot of people. That didn’t seem to stop a crushing weight pulling at your chest, followed by a string of thoughts that only dragged your mood down the further you pulled at it. If your mind was once a neat and tidy spool of yarn, every date was a snag, a snip. The mess you’ve made of the coffee table spilled beyond the living room. Your laundry was neglected, your room untidy, and you were indulging in bad habits like staying up late with a bottle of wine and sappy movies depicting unrealistic expectations of romance.

Sixty’s voice guided you out of your head, but it wasn’t going to be a question you wanted to hear. “Were you supposed to go dancing tonight?”

“Kinda, there were plans to meet at some bar that had a dance floor…or something, I don’t remember,” you answered, tiptoeing around your memory.

Sixty caught on. He was a detective model after all.

“He didn’t show up.”

Instantly, you tensed back up, shrugging his shoulder off to sit up from the couch.

“No. No, he didn’t.”

Gracefully, he stood up, crowding your front and blocking the television. From behind him, the screen changed, flickering to a music video. A sultry electric guitar tune was joined by the vocals of a famous pop-star. You couldn’t see anything with Sixty in the way but you could hear the lyrics loud and clear.

Hurting vibe, man, it hurts inside when I look in your eye

What are you willing to do?

Oh, tell me what you’re willing to do?

Kiss it, kiss it better, baby.

His hand extended in front of you, a lopsided grin spreading over his handsome face. “Dance with me?”

“Six.”

“Come on. It’s me or that wine you won’t stop hugging.”

“Then I’ll stick with the wine, thanks.”

His tall stature deflated slightly, face drooping into a pitiful image of a puppy that had been kicked. He could tell his silly expression was melting some of your tension away as your grip on the bottle loosened.

“Humor me. Just this one song,” he added.

Reluctantly, you placed your hand in his. He easily pulled you away from the couch, maneuvered you around the coffee table, all while managing to slip the wine out of your hands and placing it somewhere out of reach. The song continued on, it’s lyrics drifting in and out of your attention.

I’ve been waiting up all night

Baby, tell me what’s wrong

Go on and make it right

Make it all night long

Sixty stood before you, smiling softly as he placed one arm around your waist and the other, cradling your head so you had to rest your face onto his chest. He hummed quietly to the song, his chest rumbling in waves.

His embrace was familiar to you. Friends hugged and that was what you two were. Friends. Hugging. You weren’t at all shocked by the warmth, or his clothes that always had a silken quality to it…or the firm and strong chest that flexed as he moved. His cologne smelled good though, like a rose garden. Somehow it didn’t soften his rather masculine image, but rather added to it. Sixty was a confident man, one who was rather secure in who and what he was, who he liked and boy did he like. After all, you were roommates. On plenty of occasions, you had awkwardly greeted his one night stands before they dashed away.

Your footsteps were matched to his as he swayed you both slowly to the music. One, two, three, four. A half turn, then another. A weight, literally, was added to your head. You weren’t sure if it was his chin, or nose but you were damn certain it couldn’t have been his lips.

“Talk to me,” he said.

You buried your face into his chest. “About what?”

His hand slipped from your back and up to stroke the space between your shoulder blades. “Whatever you want.”

“Why don’t you ever go on dates?”

“Hmm,” was the sound he gave in place of an answer.

When he met you long after he settled into deviancy, you both got along like a house on fire. Between your infectious laughter and your wicked desire to throw his jokes back at him. Sixty was hooked. And let’s be honest, he was again, a simple machine with two perfectly functioning eyes. You were intelligent, thoughtful, and the finishing note to his ideal trifecta was your unique brand of beauty.

You scanned his features, the small dent on his forehead drawing your focus. The mysterious dent with a story of its own.

It was year one of your friendship. Behind him was the backdrop of a crystal clear lake and you beside him, sweating buckets from a long, intense hike. As you cooled off in the lake with your legs in the water, Sixty spoke about his history and the atrocities he almost committed to his own kind. You listened, nodding and commenting when appropriate. The wake up call he needed was a bullet grazing his head and the rest as they say, was ancient history.

After hiking, you went out to a bar. His cheeks were flushed from a few thirium based drinks, his mind feeling marginally sparkly and warm. He was moments from risking it all to ask you out when the conversation turned philosophical and self reflecting. Android and human relations got brought up and your opinion changed everything.

“I’m not sure I’d date an android. Too many sob stories say it’ll just be tragic. Just imagine…an old, dying person and their eternally youthful partner.”

To his credit, Sixty did argue that technology was advancing faster because androids were involved. The cure for humanity’s fragility could be found.

As for you, Sixty was a funny guy with a great face and a physique which never strayed from being a lithe and powerful machine. A long way of saying he was beautiful, but what android wasn’t? Whenever he flashed you a wolfish grin meant only for you, you noticed the beginnings of a butterfly’s flutter in your belly. Long forgotten were the ignorant words a younger you said. Maybe the connection you felt was mutual? But by then it was year two of friendship and early in your roommate days when Sixty said something that changed…everything.

“Dating? Love’s overrated. I’m here to have fun. Something your date last night wouldn’t have known.”

Oh right, you brought home an AP700 named Sam, your first android date. And it was going really well. Unexpectedly well. In fact, this was already date number three. When you laughed too enthusiastically at their jokes, you swore Sixty was fuming in the kitchen. If anything, you should have been angry. The moment he set eyes on Sam, he stormed out and brought home two companions for what sounded like an all night sex marathon. You couldn’t get very far with Sam when things were so distracting one hallway over. The fight you had with Sixty the following morning was not a pleasant one.

This wasn’t anyone’s fault. The onus could have fallen on either side. You were uncertain about Sixty’s intentions. He was usually supportive with side commentary as you swiped left and right. Other days, he’d cross his arms and size up the android shaking his hand. You lacked the energy to add any of it up. Dating had worn you down until you no longer laughed at his jokes, or laughed at anything really. The pantry shifted into being over stocked with booze and lacking real food.

One evening, you came home to a mouth watering smell, your nose guiding you straight into the kitchen. It wasn’t like him to learn to cook, let alone lie that his sudden interest had everything to do with a popular British baking show and nothing to do with your alarming diet change.

Since then, he wondered if you noticed the silence from his side of the hallway. You were hurting. More than ever, Sixty wanted to please and make it all better.

He just didn’t know how.

“You don’t date, which is fine. It’s just a shame I never get to hear stories about weirdos trying to use your hair as floss,” you threw in when he remained silent.

“My needs are met,” he uncharacteristically answered with all of the lightness and playfulness gone.

“You mean sex?” you chuckled. “I get it. I know you think romance is overrated.”

Sixty’s face pinched in annoyance.

“It’s not like that.”

Distracted, your mood shifted from gloom to intrigue as you began interrogating him.

“What’s it like then?”

He rudely decided that was the moment to dip you and chuckled as you yelped. Your fingers clumsily gripped whatever parts of him were closest.

“Six!”

Sixty looked down at you through dimmed eyes, a faint smirk dimpling one cheek.

“What I want is out of reach,” he answered vaguely. His eyes bore into yours, his brow pinched and what little insecurity you saw dissolved as he rose you back up to a standing position. You didn’t know why you had to press. It could have been your frayed nerves, the wine…or that funny little feeling that had been steadily growing in your chest since your friendship started.

“What‘s out of reach?” you asked, voice firm. At the shift in color on his LED, the television clicked off. No more distractions.

“It’s nothing,” he answered. You glared at him…or pouted, either way he sighed and rolled his eyes. “What I want could ruin a friendship.”

“How?” You managed to try and not sound judgmental, keeping a gentle tone to your voice.

“You don’t understand, I want this person.”

“That’s it? This is fresh coming from the biggest risk taker I know. I’ve seen you jump off a balcony to prove a point about your,” you made quotations with your hands, “Superior design.”

He scoffed out your name. “What would you do in my shoes?”

You weren’t dancing anymore but he kept you in his arms, unmoving. Golden light carved out the edges of his cheekbones, bringing attention to the dusting of freckles on his pink tinted cheeks. His eyes narrowed while he waited for your answer.

“Knowing my luck, it’d all go to shit but I think that the reward would outweigh the risk. If that person…returned my feelings, then I’d have a chance at something rather than pining my whole life,” you replied. “But then again, do as I say and not as I do. My dating life is pretty crappy as is.”

As he considered your answer, the gears in your head began to turn.

“Wait…” you mused. “Is this friend…”

His hands moved to cradle your face, rubbing soothing lines along your cheeks.

“You.”

Your eyes widened, mouth falling ajar in a surprised gasp. “Oh.”

“Yeah, you’re kind of dense,” he joked. “I’m amazed we’re friends at all.” A smile was plastered on his face, one you would have seen if you weren’t busy trying to solve a puzzle.

“I don’t get it. Then…why all the one night stands?”

His shoulder raised and fell. “Thought it’d help.”

“Did it?” you asked, voice small.

“No.” He tipped your head upward. It was easier being a friend. Love was messy, it tied people together in ways that when things broke, it couldn’t be put back the same way. Sixty had preferred the path of least resistance, the route that guaranteed he’d fit into your world. “You deserve happiness. You deserve love. I just couldn’t risk not having you around.”

“That’s…” you laughed. “That is unbelievably cheesy, dumb…and…kinda sweet.”

“Did you like that? I can generate those lines by the second.”

“Oh my god, Six.”

“Kidding.” His voice module failed him, clicking into static. “I meant what I said.”

Boldly, you dangled yourself out there like a carrot on a stick. Your legs stepped out ahead of you, nudging your pelvis flush to his. He bit back a moan, hands fisting your hips to halt your movements.

“Are you sure? We can finish your movie.” he suggested, voice dipping low into a growl when you ground into him. He had to subdue his processes, force himself to behave. Secretly, he wanted nothing more than what you were hinting at giving him.

Your fingers slipped into his hair, kneading and tugging until a high pitched whine exited his chest.

“We’ve…waited a long time for this.”

“We have,” he agreed. For once, he wasn’t sure what else to say. Quiet was not his usual state of being. It made it easier for you to see the shyness that crept beneath the surface. His LED was a traitorous entity, flickering red briefly as he studied your micro-expressions.

“If we do this,” you continued. “I need to know this is gonna be for more than one night.”

“Sweetheart, we can do this every night.” He licked his lips, sticking out his tongue obscenely.

“Sixty,” you insisted, placing a hand to cover his mouth. “Seriously.”

He purposely mumbled behind your palm as he considered whether or not he should lick you to rile you up. Sixty blinked back at you, raising one brow.

“It’s important for me to know,” you pressed.

A voice came out of his audio unit from low in his throat and oddly louder than when he spoke out of his mouth. “Are you going to let me talk?”

You chuckled, lifting your hand.

“Do you know why I wanted to live with you? To spend more time together. Do you want to know how long I’ve wanted this?” He towered over you, head tilted like he was scolding you somehow. “Three years. Three. Years. So yes, this means something to me.”

“Well, hang on. You said you wanted to live with me cause you didn’t want me living with a random creep.”

“And?”

“I don’t know, jury’s still out,” you replied with a smirk. Wrapping your hands around the loose ends of his tie, you pulled the silk until his head lowered. His lips brushed against yours, tracing the outline of it.

“I heard your roommate has a talented tongue.” he whispered against your lips.

“Oh, does he?”

His answer was lost, stolen by a kiss. He crumpled forward, arms wrapping around your back. Unable to resist a slow exploration, his lips suckled, teeth teasing your skin with faint nips. He could capture your racing pulse beneath your skin and chased the the stream of data that comprised of your taste. Hands dug into the exposed backing of your dress, kneading and squeezing what he could reach.

You weren’t fairing much better. Your hands weren’t shy as you explored the texture of his silky shirt, nails clawing down his shoulder blades, shuddering at the disparity in his versus your strength from the flex of his back muscles. As your lips collided with increasing need, you could almost taste the urgency growing into the swell of a storm, feel the rush of blood roaring in your ears. Sixty was there, arms wrapped around you like a life preserve and you gave yourself to the currents, trusting him to keep you afloat.

Unwilling to break the kiss, he dipped you lower, slipping an arm behind your legs and lifting you off your feet. Your cry of surprise was muffled with another stroke of his tongue curling around yours. A palm on your back soothed you, utilizing the movement to also slide your zipper down. You could hear his footsteps echoing in the hallway and the breeze of a swift turn into his bedroom. He slipped you free of your dress and undergarments as you found yourself lying on his bed, staring up at his adoring gaze.

“Hey,” you said and he smiled back in return.

“Hi,” he answered and began unbuttoning his shirt.

“Wait,” you insisted. He stopped, confused. You’d explain it later, the details of an embarrassing dream you had of him.“Leave them on. Maybe…roll up your sleeves?”

Smirking, he did as you asked, slowly flexing his arms as he carefully rolled the fabric up. You laid back on your elbows, pensive and mildly distracted by how this night had gone. You’d been in his room before, although, not from this angle and certainly not naked. The thought of his many conquests made you a little uncomfortable.

“So…is this where the magic happens?” you asked to break your nerves.

The bed dipped from his added weight. He raised your leg up, draping it over his shoulder. His elbow pushed your other leg apart, seamlessly slotting his way between your thighs. In the dark, he looked deadly, still dressed in all black with a killer grin but he was staring at you like he couldn’t believe you were lying on his bed. He ran his hands down your thighs, grin softening into a shy smile.

“This, is where I make love to you,” he said without a trace of irony.

“Gross,” you laughed. You didn’t get to laugh for long when his tongue ran through your folds and flattened on the nerves above. He swirled it around, the texture of it softer and wetter than you expected. Faint rough edges, likely his sensors, acted liked ridged bumps, alighting sparks behind your eyes with every flick of his tongue.

“God! Sixty!” You choked out another moan. “Warn me f-first?”

He took a short break, lifting his head so you could see him smirk.

“Sure. May I?”

Roughly tangling your fingers into his hair, you gripped it gently, smiling slightly when he let out a low groan.

“Okay,” you said.

“Good. Lie back.”

The voice he used wasn’t one you were familiar with. It gripped you by the throat, turned you into a compliant mess of limbs. He reminded you of his gentle affection, kissing your inner thigh and nuzzling his nose back and forth on your skin. His other hand prodded at your core, catching the dampness that pooled between your thighs.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

You barely managed a nod, throat too dry and suddenly drier as soon as he eased in one finger. He was in as deep as his second knuckle, turning his hand to curl it and resumed lapping at your clit.

“S-Six.”

Before Sixty became a deviant, he had heard of rA9 countless of times, thinking nothing of it. The other deviants worshipped it like an idol and some saw it as their ticket to freedom. And no, this wasn’t going to be some eye opening moment for him because he had just found something better.

“Sixty!” you cried out.

You were less than gentle with how your fingers raked up the back of his head. He was out of his mind, drunk with purpose, tongue vibrating and twisting. As he added an extra finger, he soothed the stretch with a distracting suck on your overly sensitive nerves. When you got a little too lost in your head, he teased you with fluttery kisses, barely touching you where you needed it.

“Sweetheart. If I can’t hear you, how will I know how I’m doing?”

You whined something above him, feeling his lips curl against your thigh. Sixty knew he was being unreasonable, deciding then to angle his fingers and stroke a spot that turned you into a whimpering mess.

“What was that?” he asked.

He felt your hands in his hair pushing him back down, silencing his snark. He still managed to chuckle, mouth falling open to resume his torture. His fingers were lost in you, curling around restricting muscles and creating a collection of lewd, wet noises.

“I…I can’t,” you moaned, thrashing your head in the sheets.

“You can. Sweetheart. It’s okay. Let it go.” He heard you cry out his name as you tensed and came with a shudder. His mouth parted so you could feel and hear his moan. “I knew you’d sound so pretty like this.”

“Come up here.” You croaked out a weak imitation of a sentence but you were lucky he had good ears.

Sixty gave your clit one last lick, laughing to himself when you tried to buck him away. He made his way up the bed until his bulge was pressed directly on your pulsing core. At your gasp, he ground into you, not caring if you were marking his clothes. Fuck, he was crazy enough to consider wearing them tomorrow.

You regained enough energy to sit up a bit and fumble with his belt. “Need this off…”

His arms were two immovable pillars of steel and synthetic muscle. He merely watched, entertained by your struggle and growing desperation. You said his name impatiently.

“Mmm? I’m having a great time here,” he answered. Your knee to his rib wasn’t enough to even warrant a software warning, it just summoned another amused chuckle. “What do you need? Let me hear it.”

This arrogant and cocky act of his may had fooled anyone else in this moment, but not you.

“Sixty.” You paused once you unbuckled his belt to catch his gaze. “When I come home, it’s you I want to talk to. When I’m on those stupid dates, it’s you that I’m thinking about.”

You leaned in, lips almost kissing his ear. In your most sultry voice, you confessed, “And when I’m lying in bed…with my fingers in me, it’s your name on my lips.”

“F-fuck.” He felt himself tremble despite having no physical changes to his limbs. “We really should have done this earlier.”

“No time like the present, right?”

He brought his hand down to fumble with his pants and briefs, letting them fall past his hips. His hand gripped his length, guiding it through your folds. For half a second, he stilled, not long enough for you to notice. In that time he was able to appreciate the beauty of you splayed out for him, sweat beading down your chest, glistening as you panted. But best of all, was your face twisted in ecstasy, your teeth biting into your lower lip and the glazed sheen in your eyes. A view he’d store for later.

He kissed your forehead, lips still glued to your skin as he spoke. “I can’t wait to feel you.”

“Six…” you moaned as he pressed in. The rest of his name was choked off by the sheer overwhelming feeling of your connection. It was a snug fit, his cock slowly dragging over delicate nerves and then some. He pulled halfway out, thrusting at a steady and easy rhythm. You were pulled up from the bed, back arching so he could access your chest. A warm tongue dragged from your rib cage to neck.

His mouth opened, certain he’d be inspired to spew more filth in your direction but he found the words never came. Instead, his forehead dipped to rest in the hollow of your neck. Everything else faded until it was him and you, moving in sync. Your legs draped around his waist and he pressed closer, flattening you back into the sheets with his elbows bent and resting beside your face.

What he couldn’t say or put into words, he applied to his actions. Thrusting deeper, he slipped one hand between your legs, tracing the swell around your folds, wetting them before finding your clit. Slick fingers rolled around in wide teasing circles, growing tighter until he decided to find that spot he’d found with his tongue. He felt the pressure of your muscles squeezing around him, heard your immediate cry of pleasure. Every tell your body gave, he returned with soft grunts and moans of his own, with sloppy kisses and lowly murmured praise.

You think you heard a please as his fingers worked to build up the tension in your abdomen. His other arm had worked its way around your back, synthetic fingers slipping around sweat slick skin. It was a bit odd, being hugged and fucked all at once but it felt so Sixty. You wrapped your arms around what you could reach, his shoulders and the back of his head. He was close, whining, face pinched in concentration. A gleam of red light caught your eyes.

Gently, you smoothed out the curl that had fallen over his face, moving it to find the imperfection on his forehead. When your lips met the divot of android skin, Sixty let out a choked moan. He got louder when you scraped a nail on the back of his neck, the skin fading to reveal the texture of a data port.

He moaned out your name. “Sweetheart, I…I’m not…mmm, going to last if you do that.”

“That’s the point.”

Defiantly, you kissed his forehead once more and began tracing the intricate ridges of shallow circles and lines that connected his neck panelling. You felt his orgasm hit him first, the added slick allowing him to slide even deeper. His fingers continued their mission as a few swirls were all it took for you to feel the sweet pull of time and space stilling. He fucked you slow, wanting to feel every aftershock.

With care, he untangled himself from you, slipping out and laying a small kiss on your abdomen.

“Where y’going?” you slurred when he got up from the bed.

He chuckled, wondering if you thought he was going to just disappear.

“What kind of partner would I be if I left you like this? As much as I enjoy how this looks…” He toyed with your combined fluids, slipping two fingers in to smear it on his skin. Your mouth fell open when he took them out and dared to suck them clean, brown eyes locked on yours. “And tastes this good?”

You playfully hit his arm, groaning when his tongue returned to lap at your folds.

“Sixty!”

He got up with a smug grin permanently plastered on his face and stepped away to find a soft, damp cloth. Exhausted, you drifted in and out of awareness. When you opened your eyes once again, he was naked and laid out on the other side of the bed, looking apprehensive about coming into your space.

“I wasn’t sure if…” he started.

You reached out for him and he settled instantly between your arms, bumping his forehead with yours. This was usually the part of the night when he said goodbye to a guest, got up to shower and sometimes going as far as stepping out of the apartment if they planned to crash for the night. It wasn’t his thing, cuddling and lying awake to talk. Funny how his priorities had rearranged without him realizing.

“Do you feel better?” he asked, pulling you flush to his chest.

You let out a sleep weary yes of sorts, face nuzzling into the crook of his neck. He laid a gentle kiss on the top of your head, rearranged the sheets to adequately cover the both of you and settled back with an arm hugging you into his chest. The weariness that darkened your mood had long drifted away.

Tomorrow, was Valentines. He’d try to make pancakes in heart shapes, deciding he couldn’t think of anything better than spending a morning in a way that he once thought was best left for the romantics.

As he glanced down at you, your face relaxed into a peaceful slumber, his eyelids fluttered. A temptation he’d never felt before pulled him into stasis, something he never did with someone else.

He did tonight.

In the living room, a lamp was still on, its warm light illuminating what was left of the mess. The ice cream had melted into soup, wine forgotten, and chips gone stale. Crumpled tissues formed a pyramid pile like a sad shrine for a tissue box. At the center of the coffee table laid a glass vase filled with a blend of colorful roses. Their leaves were still lush and green, the petals unbruised. Sticking out was a paper note clipped to a decorative stick.

“To the most beautiful person, inside and out. You inspire me to be a better person. When you look at these, I hope they bring you the same joy that you bring me.”

Graphite smeared illegibly at the bottom of the note by a finger lacking fingerprints. The size and location of the smudge hinted at a name. A short one with a blurry S and swoopy Y.

Sixty.

#detroit become human #detroit: become human #dbh fanfic #reader insert #sixty #dbh sixty #dbh connor 60 #sixty x reader #dbh sixty x reader #Spotify

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comatosebunny09 · 2 years

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Sparkler [ Pt. 2 ]

Summary: This year, the Fourth of July brings sparks of a different kind between you and your dearest friend.

Genre: Romance, Smut

Warnings: Graphic Description of Sex, Language, Alcohol, Cunnilingus, Toe Sucking, Virgin!Reader, Female!Reader, OOC Kyojuro, MDNI!

Thank you so much for reading! Hope you enjoy! ❤️

It’s sticky, icy, and melting rapidly down your wrist.

The Bomb Pop you couldn’t wait to return to Tengen’s house to have.

“Stupid summer heat,” you mutter, lapping frantically at your fingers in pursuit of your traitorous ice cream. Kyojuro ingests you with furrowed brows as faint suckling sounds pervade his convertible. He squeezes the gear shifter for dear life, jaw clenched.

The seat sighs when you turn to him, though you regret doing that right away. Gilded orbs fasten to your every move, glittering in the sun, which nestles into the skyline behind you. And something cold drops into the pit of your belly. If you didn’t know any better, you’d assume that you see…desire churning beneath the smoldering pools of his irises.

You wince; feel like a child caught rifling through the cookie jar. “S-sorry,” you stammer. Lick up the remnants of your popsicle from your lips. Your lap is suddenly so very interesting as bashfulness inhabits your cheeks. You dare not look at him, his eyes drilling holes into the side of your head.

Your only warning is your name drifting from his lips, followed by the squeak of leather before your jaw is seized in tender fingers. With eyes wide as saucers, you peer at your blond friend. Have enough time to gasp his name before his cerise lips pan in. “Kyojur—mmph…”

Kyojuro fuses his lips with yours with such precision. Soft, supple, just like you knew they would be. Scorching you from the outside in. He gently takes possession of your neck, burrowing his fingers into the fine hairs at your nape. Persuades your lips open, dipping his tongue in for a taste. He pours a bitten-off groan into your body whilst coaxing your tongue into a lustful waltz. Leaves no part of your mouth unexplored as if he’s waited years to kiss you breathless.

Electrical currents surge through your body, hurtling into your center. Once the initial shock fades into the horizon, your hands move of their own volition. Shaky in their quest to tangle themselves in Kyojuro’s feathery, flaxen mane. He makes a hoarse sound, your fingernails having scraped his scalp. Practically rips his seatbelt from its socket in his haste to feel more of you. Kyojuro drags your upper body over the center console, digits burning a trail down your spine as the lip-lock grows greedier by the minute. The position is awkward, and you feel strained, but you bear it because it is him violating your mouth with such ferocity.

Much to your chagrin, he abandons your lips with an audible smack to partake of your throat, eliciting a drawn-out moan from you. Skates his thumb over your carotid artery as he blisters your neck with open-mouthed kisses that send pleasant tremors throughout. Your sharp intake of breath echoes in the car when he nips the bend of your shoulder. Angles your neck back to grant him full access to your inflamed skin.

“Kyoju…Kyojuro,” you mewl. Strong arms take you captive while he ravages you. Stamps your chin with hot, moist kisses whilst he journeys back to your mouth.

Betwixt taking sips of your succulent lips, he sighs a breathy “yes?”

Your mind clouds over, and you gulp down air. Press the heels of your palms into Kyojuro’s hardened chest. His scorching hands work their way to your waist, bunching up the soft chiffon of your dress at your hips. “Not that I don’t like this, Kyo, but…what… brought this on?”

He stops emblazoning your collarbones with needy kisses to trap you in his starved, incandescent gaze. Tears himself away, blinking sheepishly. “I’m sorry. Did you not want this?”

The sight of him makes your heart stutter—hair unkempt, framing his prominent features, eyes glazed with passion, lips red and puffy. He resembles something untamed, and it makes your mouth water. You scramble for his arms when he moves to untangle himself, entranced by the swelling muscles that sit there. “N-no, I do! I just…what?”

Kyojuro combs a hand through his hair, looking shamefaced at his lap. He sounds like a scolded child while he mumbles an apology. Says, “I acted too rashly. I must have misread your signals.”

What?

“Signals?” you parrot. Place a hand on Kyojuro’s sculpted quad, squeezing. Confusion etches its way onto your face whilst he averts his gaze. “What do you mean, Kyo?”

He covers your hand with his, vision still downcast. Peeks his tongue out to wet his lips. “I had assumed that my feelings for you were reciprocated.”

Something ricochets in your chest. You gape at Kyojuro, wide-eyed, gulping down air. Your pumping blood thunders in your ears. Gut swimming with dragonflies. Your feelings are mutual. You had an inkling that he had felt the same for a while, but you were too fearful of making the first move on the off chance that you were wrong. Besides, you didn’t think you stood a chance with someone as sought after as Kyojuro.

“Kyo, honey,” you venture, gathering his flushed cheeks into your hands. You coax him into looking at you. Let a shy smile take custody of your lips as you swallow your resolve. Hopefulness shines in his ocher optics, inspiring you to bare it all. “God, Kyo, I’ve liked you for years.” And you are suddenly weightless as clouds, chest aflutter.

“Really?” Kyojuro queries. You nod in the affirmative. Earn a close-eyed grin in reply that reaches the blond’s ears. Unbridled and boyish. His chest rumbles with a soft chuckle. You watch as relief wades over him, gentle like waves tickling the shoreline. You move to entice him into another kiss, more eager in your strides with newfound knowledge. But harsh rapping against the driver’s window causes you both to spring apart as if burned by fire.

You glance over Kyojuro’s shoulder to see Tengen, a shit-eating grin splitting his face in twain. Kyojuro rolls down the window at his friend’s behest, a beautiful flush branching into the tips of his ears.

“Sorry to interrupt, lovebirds, but it’s about to rain.” Tengen’s wine-colored eyes flit skyward as grey clouds take possession of the sky. “We’re moving the party inside.”

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#rengoku x reader #kyojuro x reader #rengoku kyojuro #my works #demon slayer fanfic #rengoku demon slayer #kny fanfic #kyojuro rengoku #kny reader insert #kny rengoku #rengoku kyojuro x reader #rengoku smut #kyojuro smut #kyojuro fluff #rengoku fluff #sparkler series

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iphigeniainaulis · 2 years

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C means Coffee | What coffee shop drinks can be associated with Ikevamp suitors

I really wanted to participate in the content creation challenge hosted by @xxsycamore and @queengiuliettafirstlady but couldn't write anything satisfying. So, I ended up with short series about what I love most — coffee

Promt: Day 5 — Small shop AU

Characters: Mozart, Comte, Napoleon, Sebastian, Shakespeare, Dazai, Vincent

Warnings: minor spoilers

Lemon affogato — Mozart

Chances are you won't like it at first.

An affogato is an ice cream based beverage. A few drops of hot Nespresso make it taste less like crunched snow, but generally speaking it's better to take this drink slowly, especially if you have sensitive teeth.

The same goes to Mozart. He may seem distant and sarcastic, his room is always chilly from Parisian draughts even in summer, and his welcoming “I despise you” breaths with the cold of January blizzard, making your face twist in such grimaces as if you’ve eaten dozens of sour lemons at once.

But if you show patience, you'll actually see how quickly this colossal lump of ice melts under the warm light in your cosy coffee shop. That's when you learn that lemons are actually sweet, and ice cream is not as solid as it used to be at the beginning of your banquet.

And if you want to spice things a little bit, add a teaspoon of any rum liqueur, for example, Kahlua. You'll see how an iceberg can turn into a lava volcano. Or is it the same thing?

Espresso martini — Comte

The story behind the origin of this drink was literally one young lady coming to the club and asking for something that could “wake her up, and then fuck her up.”

Nobody described Comte’s nature better than her.

One of the reasons why Comte’s presence in the room is so thrilling seems to be his complicated nature that much like this heady brew of coffee and alcohol consists of millions of contradictory fractions mixed together in a single person.

The first feeling you get after taking a sip reminds you of tasting a rich viscous mixture of classical espresso and exquisite French liquor on the tip of your tongue — close in a way to trying mead or honey wine but with its top note having a bitter flavour. It’s similar to what you think of him when meeting the nobleman for the very first time. Honey associates with ambery sweetness and the serenity of evening sun, with the colour of his eyes and the ultimate comfort you enjoy in the company of the father figure of the mansion. Although deep inside you know there is this courteous nonchalance, the invisible distance that he prefers to keep between the two of you and that makes you ask yourself subconsciously whether the forbidden fruit is as sweet as they promise?

If you're bold enough to indulge further into the drink’s flavour, be prepared for another surprise.

The cocktail’s name provides an idea that Martini Asti — a sparkling strong but not too strong wine made from white muscat — may be on the ingredients list.

What do you end up with? Right, a wave of frosty heat is rushing to your chest. It's vodka.

Comte may act like a perfect gentleman, but you know that his true self doesn’t match such a flattering description. He is not about rules and etiquette — he is the rave of colours, the passion of wild nature, the deepest senses brought to their maximum.

Don't let fancy covers and titles misguide you. With good Comte you never get what you expect. What has been hidden under the dust of centuries of self-control, self-restriction and self-destruction may find its way out in your warm embrace, and in this case you better be ready.

Because his love will literally wake you up and then fuck you up.

Hot Peppermint Patty — Napoleon

Let me see the receipt. Hot chocolate, perfect!

Hot chocolate has this special power to warm you from inside and give some extra energy, to calm the nerves and distract you from dark thoughts.

One thing you can tell about Napoleon is that he is a giant, uncontrollable source of life. If he is not cooking in the kitchen, he is fencing with Jean. If you don’t meet him at école, you’ll find him in the stable or in the library surrounded by books.

Sometimes the residents — Isaac and MC in particular — mention “the elder brother” vibes Napoleon gives them, but there is nothing offensive about it. Them wording it this way is simply an attempt to explain that Napoleon’s presence is calming enough to feel protected. Mainly, because you have the whole controle over the situation. The man will never do more or less than you ask, because he has great respect for humans, especially those with a big and kind heart — you included.

No wonder he decided to become a bodyguard after his revival. This is what his nature — honest and protective, but never controlling or sermonising — demands to do.

Consuming chocolate generates endorphins which give you the feeling of being in love. Reminds you of a certain Monsieur de Wa-ha-ha whose charms make him loved by everyone around.

And when you see him, a wide smile always blooms on your face. Like a child laughing when seeing a pile of chocolate candies.

Also chocolate remained a privilege of the rich for a very long time due to the expensiveness of cocoa beans. The drink is worthy of kings or, as in our case, the great emperor and the Nightmare of Europe.

The hot chocolate taste is framed with the fresh scent of Crème de menthe made with Corsican mint — a symbol of protection and virtue now we know what colour Napo’s eyes are.

Mint is also famous for its calming properties. Sergei Rachmaninoff, for example, said that a glass of mint liquor steadied his nerves when performing an extremely difficult twenty-fourth variation of his Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini.

Napoleon is a safe haven for those looking for redemption in calmness. He savours delicious food, nature and tries to find peace after many years of wars, losses and betrayals shining with the colour of blood. Maybe he cherishes tranquillity so much now because he was deprived of it in his previous life?

Mint is for “enjoying the moments”.

Which is a great part of Bonaparte’s story — his lover showing him how to stop seeing the world as an endless spiral of unpleasant unexpectedness and painful goodbyes. The flower field will wilt, the moon will follow the sun, nights will banish days. But as we live in the present we create, life is worth fighting.

Traditionally prepared cappuccino — Sebastian

Cappuccino is so trivial. Hell, no!

Well, there is no point in denying that this coffee drink is a must in every coffee house, restaurant and railway car all over the world. You may not find caramel cheesecakes, sandwiches or souffle pancakes with a stick of butter on the menu, but you will definitely come across the line with a word cappuccino written there.

Let’s put it another way round. Cappuccino is the foundation of any cafe and restaurant. Its flavour may seem colourless in comparison to other more “exquisite” coffee drinks, but this so-called flaw is what makes cappuccino so favourable.

Sebastian always hides in the shades of the residents of Comte’s mansion. He demonstrates neither Mozart’s musical genius nor a scent for writing like Arthur and Dazai do. He is ordinary, almost boring in contrast with the great historical figures he lives with.

But it's this “not so special” guy clad in nondescript grey clothes who MC can trust while adapting to her new life in a completely different place. It's this ordinary man who is always the first to mention her feeling sad, anxious or overwhelmed, ready to listen, to warn and to give her the best advice possible. Sebas is that particular person she can rely on taking her first, the most painful steps in 19th century France. To some extent he can be viewed as a symbol of MC’s stability in an extremely unstable environment. Because he was born in the same country and time period, thus reminding her of everything she’s lost after walking into that mystical door in the Louvre.

Now, let's get back to cappuccino once more. An interesting fact about this drink is that although it’s not so difficult to cook, even the smallest change in receipt may lead to unexpected results. Try to add a little bit more milk, and you’ll have latte. Add less and enjoy caffè macchiato. And this is a brilliant reminder to all of us.

Even if you don't consider yourself special, remember that there is no other person on Earth like you. You don't need to be famous in order to win one’s heart. Your character, motivation and attitude — that's what really matters. This thought is an important refrain in Sebastian’s route, don't you think so?

Lady Grey tea — Shakespeare

Shakespeare once called jealousy “the green-eyed monster”. Well, this beast definitely tortures Will every time he remembers that the Duchess of Bedford was the one who invented the famous british custom of afternoon tea.

He loves tea and with assistance from gentle Comte possesses a large collection of multiple types of tea from luxurious pearl oolong to bitter like oak roots redbush tea.

Though it should be noticed that the writer enjoys not the taste of tea per se but rather its ephemeral, always different fragrance.

Canonically, Shakespeare's villa is full of little boxes with various exotic oils, vintage bottles with flavoured rose water and amphoras with aromatic lilac petals inside. He adores exquisite perfume and he is pretty good at distinguishing fragrance notes — a sign of a delicate soul and true esthete. Also it reveals his inclinations towards psychology and observation since one’s preference for particular scents can tell a lot about this person’s traits, habits and manners.

Bergamot is known to be the queen of citrus in perfumery. Historically, its essential oil was used as an ingredient in cologne or simply as a skin or hair cream. Bergamot fragrance is so intense that sometimes Will leaves a cup with unfinished tea on the windowsill to fill the air in his cabinet with this rich scent of smoke in the night sky, cut grass covered in summer rain and tobacco cigars lighted in the darkness of the room.

Apart from bergamot aromatic properties, this fruit is famous for being the only citrus that can’t be eaten fresh. To be able to understand the true value of this fruit you first need to know how to cook it, then and only then will the original bitterness turn into rich tartness. Sounds pretty much like Shakespeare, right? The way you begin to see him after some time spent together is completely different from your first perception of him.

This particular trait of Will’s character brings him closer to Mozart, but the difference is that dropping a mask from Wolf’s face is possibly hard while doing the same to Will is hardly possible.

It doesn't mean that your relationship will be based solely on lies. But you should be ready that this Janus has two faces, and guessing which one he’s showing right now may be a real headache. Well, citrus bergamia is a capricious tree, after all. It blossoms during the winter, and never gives the amount of plants you were planning to gather.

This is not the whole story, by the way. Know how to distinguish Lady Grey from her famous counterpart Earl Grey? Cornflower petals, exactly.

In the language of flowers cornflowers mean hope in love. And who if not the great Shakespeare can chant the praises of love so strong that it still wins over Byron’s sorrow?

However, this flower has another hidden meaning — single wretchedness. That's why sometimes they call it “the Devil's Flower”. Will himself realises this dark, evil side of his, and it tortures him a lot. On the one hand, he wants to be where the light is, which is perfectly described through the metaphor with candles in his story. And this is why he struggles to follow Vlad’s orders when they may bring potential harm to MC. On the other hand, accepting this role of a fallen angel, Shakespeare denies himself the right to be revived and forgiven, thus struggling even more from the idea that his own decisions might lead to him not having a place in the world he is living in. He is a visitor — never a part of the cast. A lonely soul.

Isn't it the irony of fate that the first recorded use of the word "lonely" was in Shakespeare's Coriolanus?

“Believe't not lightly—though I go alone,

Like to a lonely dragon, that his fen

Makes fear'd and talk'd of more than seen—your son

Will or exceed the common or be caught

With cautelous baits and practise.”

Flat white with cinnamon — Vincent

Vanilla matcha latte — Dazai

Typically when people only get familiar with matcha, their initial reaction is to call this drink weird.

Since it's hard to describe. The first time you try matcha it tastes like plantains puree. The second round reveals the bitterness of vanilla roots, but you're still uncertain whether you like it or not as it's levelled by the spicy sweetness of flowers. The fifth time you order matcha you are already so in love with this neither-tea-no-coffee drink that you cannot imagine your life without it.

Nevertheless, matcha is a nourishing beverage. There’s never too much or too little when we talk about it. Matcha possesses this ideal balance between a soft subtle scent of tea leaves and deep, satisfying taste.

Dazai almost also has this ability to keep balance between compassion and respecting other people’s boundaries, between oddity and seriousness.

We first talk about Isaac. Are Dazai’s jokes really targeted against the apple boy? Does he want to make fun of him, to disappoint or, what's worse, to bully Ai-kun? No, never. Most of the scenes where the two men interact are about how Isaac feels embarrassed and uncertain of what to do, and Dazai takes a step only when it's clearly implied that the scientist needs some motivation or advice to move on. Bantering with Dazai helps him get rid of anxiety and usually leaves some food for thought.

The writer’s strange attitude is often backed up by the simple prose of life. Everyone remembers his dramatic appearance in the prologue. Adult Peter Pan in the window. But from the story with his point of view we can actually learn that Dazai did it after seeing MC’s worried face. She was a mere stranger, but Dazai wanted her to laugh and to feel at ease in the mansion. In other words, his childish trick was nothing more than an attempt to lighten MC’s mood.

This is where we should remember another important trait of matcha — its healing power. It's a famous antioxidant, metabolism booster and a remedy for tired mind and body.

If MC is anxious about something, self conscious or uncertain of how to react, Dazai’s emergency room is open 24 hours to provide help, support and so many more (especially in Mozart’s route). He’s here to listen and his jokes boost her spirit, giving MC the energy to face new challenges.

Flat white with cinnamon — Vincent

Milk and cinnamon are associated with innocence and purity, no wonder they are frequently used in pastel moodboards. Milk is usually mentioned when describing the scent of baby skin, the colour of sky on Bouguereau’s pastoral paintings and the wave of angel wings. And when we want to say that somebody is very kind and pure, the cinnamon roll is the first combination that comes to mind. By the way, in the language of spices and herbs cinnamon means “soothing warmth”. Just the right thing to say about our sunflower boy’s bright aura and (impressionistic) lust for light, sun and vivid oil paints.

An important feature of flat white is its deceiving softness. It can be easily confused with latte, but the difference is that in this coffee drink velvety milk notes only support the flavour while the dominating ingredient is fresh brewed strong espresso.

With Vincent it's easy to indulge into the cliche of an innocent angel. But Van Gogh’s angelic image isn't the result of him trying to escape reality by pretending to be a good, convenient guy. This is a voluntary act of accepting the world with all its flaws and loving it in spite of their existence. And that's what makes his palette so strong. Many emotions are hidden behind those milky clouds in his eyes. Childhood traumas. The passion for art. The envy of life. The sadness that will last forever. But he still chooses to be kind, naive and a bit shy. Not because he is obliged to, but because he wants to be like that even though his decision may bring a lot of pain and disappointment.

Victoria Erickson once wrote, “Honey and wildfire are both the colour gold.” She was right.

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